#maybe they’d have some words to clear the doubts and feelings of little self worth

[yautjalover]

I could use a big hunky Yautja to squeeze the depression out of me. Specifically an Elder to help iron out all of the negative thoughts. 😔

[marvojpr]

A GAME WORTH PLAYING |

CHAPTER 9 - kaisagi, saesagi centric

Summary: Isagi Yoichi has a friend. Boy does he love him, a little too much, almost concerningly so. Unfortunately for him, there are some people out there who love him just as much. One fight with his boy and he went spiral, so it is up for a certain someone, to make him see his true self and maybe keep Isagi as his.

Oh and Isagi doesn't get the boy. He's devastated.

Inspired by Strangers from Hell the show and webtoon.

Pairings: Michael Kaiser x Yoichi Isagi, Sae Itoshi x Yoichi Isagi, Original Character (Navitsu) x Yoichi Isagi

Tags: Slow Burn, Identity Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to even worse Enemies actually, Possessive, Obsessive, Itoshi Sae, Possessive, Obsessive, Michael Kaiser, Bottom Isagi Yoichi, Michael Kaiser is Bad at Feelings, Eventual Smut, Everyone Loves Isagi Yoichi, not following manga after phase 2 so after pxg and bm match i’ll make my own shitcuz i can’t wait for each update also it’s ass wdym nagi is locked off? he’s happily ranked top 10 easily, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Re Al Madrid team based on Real Madrid irl

Chapter 9:

Continuing day five of the break

— 

After washing his face with ice cold water, Isagi finally managed to calm down his flushed face. He physically couldn’t face his mother yet, or father for that matter, they’d both immediately pick up on what happened and he’d never escape their teasing. 

But a part of Isagi was more scared of them figuring out that he likes both sexes. He wasn’t sure how they viewed such relations, and how it would affect their relationship with their son. He knew they’d love him regardless, but maybe this topic… it just seems so… personal.

They were never religious to begin with—but that was how most parents in Japan like. 

And anyways, he doubts they’d kick him out just because he made out with his best friend on his bed, right? He hopes it doesn’t get too far. Not now at least. Because while he sure as hell didn’t want his parents finding out, if Ego or any member of the Japanese Football Association finds out about this he’s doomed. They’d never allow him to play football or participate in any official match ever again. He’d also be immediately kicked out of Blue Lock. 

Next time they should take precauti—wait, next time?!

What is he thinking?! That was just a one time thing! As if Navitsu would ever do this again.

He wouldn’t be against it per se, but he wants Navitsu to want it as much as he does.

He sighs one last time whilst looking at the bathroom mirror to make sure nothing looks abnormal, thankfully things didn’t escalate too far so there wasn’t much to fix other than his face and a little something…

Isagi makes his way towards the kitchen where his parents have already started eating without him, but he noticed that Navitsu was too busy talking to them to eat his. They looked so happy. And Isagi wishes it always stays this way forever. He’ll cherish these memories and these people till the day he dies.

Navitsu was the first to catch a glimpse of Isagi, waving at him to come sit with them, praising his mother’s cooking to try to convince him to hurry up, which caused her to blush and playfully pinch his arm. Isagi smiles fondly at them.

Sheesh.

One word and this could be gone.

No way. He’ll take it to his grave. Even if it meant letting go of Navitsu.

Their happiness is his priority.

He finally sat down next to his friend who filled his plate with food, making sure it could fill Isagi up. His dad laughed at how motherly Navitsu was towards , making everyone smile wholeheartedly. By the time they finished eating, Navitsu and Isagi were left to clean up the table and dishes.

Navitsu took care of the dishes as usual, and Isagi cleared the table.

By the stares Isagi was getting from Navitsu, he knew he wanted to talk about what happened earlier. But he couldn't bring himself to look at him directly, as if he was too shy to do so, but considering what happened on the bed earlier, Navitsu had some doubts.

“Hey, Yocchan,” Navistu sheepishly mumbled, eyes laser focused on the spoons he has in hand, as he scrubbed them for the millionth time already. Isagi hummed in response. “Abou–”

Suddenly, Isagi jumped from the sudden vibration coming from his pants. It was his phone, but he forgot he kept the sound high in case Anri would call to talk about the third phase since it was two days from now. He picks his phone up to see if it really is her. Unfortunately though, it’s an unknown, foreign number.

Confused, he looked at Navitsu, who was already looking at him with a puzzled look.

“I have to—”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, go.” Navitsu turns away from Isagi, just enough to give him a sense of privacy.

Finally, he accepts the call before the caller ends it.

“Guten Morgen, Schatz." The caller finally said, and Isagi could feel the smirk they had whilst saying it. It confused him though, who is this and why are they not speaking to him in Japanese?

(eng/Good morning, babe)

“Excuse me?” He questioned.

The caller laughed out loud, clearly amused by his confusion, and when he finally settled down he started again, his voice dripping with condensation. “Was? Schon vergessen, wer ich bin?” 

(eng/What? Already forgotten who I am?")

It took Isagi all his willpower not to hang up on him when he finally realized who it was, he grumbled and hissed at his phone, hoping Kaiser would hear him when he did to announce his annoyance. 

But, for some reason, he started heading towards his bedroom, “Shit. Wait, I don’t have the earbuds on.” 

“Hm? Klar doch… Ich warte nur auf dich.”

(eng/Hm? Of course… I’m only waiting for you.”

And for the life of him, Isagi couldn’t bring himself to care about what the hell Kaiser just said. Still, he put on the earbuds whilst he laid lazily on his bed, reviving the memories from earlier yet again, just to feel the same flutter in his stomach that felt so good to ignore at the time. How Navitsu’s tears fell on his face when they made out. He couldn’t believe that happened. Let alone he initiated it. 

His fingers found themselves caressing his soft lips the more he thought about his friend. However, since the day seemed keen on interrupting his desires, a hum broke him from his thoughts, forcing him to accidentally bite down on his finger. He remembered that Kaiser was waiting on the other line which made him annoyed once more. 

“Back,” he replied begrudgingly, as if this call was what’s stopping Isagi from being with Navitsu, which, in a way, it was. “Now, what do you want?”

Unfortunately, his rudeness didn’t budge Kaiser, but instead it helped entice it further, “sheesh, so harsh as usual, . Maybe you’re back to normal?” He breathed into the phone, “I prefer you drunk.”

Isagi’s eyes widened, but then his surprise turned into pure anger. “What the fuck did you just say? Did you do something to me last night, you clown?!” 

Kaiser hummed proudly, “I changed your life for the better if that’s what you mean. In fact—” But suddenly he was cut off by the other, while he knew dear  wouldn’t like what happened last night, he didn’t think he’d be this mad. Pretty overkill if you asked him.

But Isagi was having none of that, “who the fuck do you think you are?! Think you can do whatever you want to me just because you think you’re some hot shit?!”

“I am hot shit.”

“I’ll fucking kill you next time I see you.”

“Cute. Anyways, I called you for that reason specifically.”

“To commit suicide?” Isagi scoffed, “I can certainly help with that.”

“To meet you.”

The sprout-head was caught off guard for a second, but quickly regained his composure, “I’d rather die.” Seriously, where did Kaiser even get his phone number? And why is he acting so cocky after what he’d done to him? He should be worried Isagi would out him and ruin his entire career. 

“Wouldn’t you rather kill me? You left something with me yesterday.”

What? Like his dignity? He was about to cuss Kaiser out even more before his eyes fell on the necklace that he’s wearing on his wrist. May lord have mercy on Kaiser, because he won’t be showing any. He’ll shove it so far down his throat and take his own necklace back. 

“Trust me, You want to come see what I have.” Oh, Kaiser will want to see what is coming his way, just you wait. “Right, and also. What exactly do you remember from last night?”

“...”

“Heh, guess I’ll have to see you to know. Bye, bye!”

And with that, he hung up the phone. With whatever willpower he had left, he stopped himself from breaking the phone once he saw that Kaiser sent him a message. 

It was… an address. 

— — — — —

(Last night)

“You smoke?”

Kaiser looked up from his cigarette, his eyes trailing the figure standing behind him. His eyes then widened in surprise when he saw who bothered to come after him, but that quickly turned into unamusement. He huffed a breath in retaliation.

“Rarely.”

And with that, he thought the conversation was over already. He didn’t expect  to plop down next to him, as if they’ve done it a million times.  sure was full of surprises today. Still. It was an odd sight,  was. He looked a lot more relaxed than earlier inside, he allowed the wind to caress his hair carelessly, and closed his eyes to strengthen his other senses.

Kaiser would rather die than admit it, but peace suited him. 

It really allowed his other features shine. 

Unlike how he always was with him, so pissy and angry like he kicked his dog. It made Kaiser all the more amused by the strong hatred he had stored in that body of his, especially when it was mostly directed at him.

“Didn’t peg you for the type.”  finally spoke, his smile gone with the wind but his eyes remained happy as they were. In Kaiser’s daze, he had forgotten that  wasn’t just there like he seemed to be the last couple weeks, but actually sitting next to him and acknowledging him.

But he was very good at hiding his emotions, so he masked the silent buzzing in his chest cleverly. “Did you need something?” The German looked away, like a child throwing a tantrum. For some reason, he had the urge to punish  by not giving him attention like he’s been doing. Not like Kaiser would say it affected him one bit, because it didn’t.

He couldn’t see , but he heard a breath that sounded like a small chuckle. “It was getting loud in there. Just wanted some fresh air.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Maybe now the conversation could be over?

“You know, you get pretty hostile when you’re drunk.”

Kaiser scoffed pretty loudly, but decided to dain his cigarette with some attention. “And you get soft.” He wished he could read the other’s mind, if it was being used at all.

 shrugged his shoulders, accepting the insult for whatever reason. Seriously. What is. Going on. In his brain?! “I guess so. But I don’t mind it, it makes me think more logically.” A blatant lie, but one he couldn’t call him out on. 

Because his brain works beautifully under stress, and Kaiser, as usual, wouldn’t be caught dead saying that shit. As would Isagi if he heard it from Kaiser. 

“Do you ever? Unless it’s football related I doubt you use your brain.”

“See? Hostile,”  mused, his voice giddy.

Jesus, was  so drunk he didn’t mind Kaiser?

Why the hell was he still talking to him? 

He took in another breath from his cigarette.

’s eyes seemed to trail Kaiser’s movements, and the other did his best to try and ignore his prying eyes. He’s so used to having eyes on him, hell, even ’s. But this time it feels… weirdly personal. He doesn’t know whether to make a show of his handsome features to the sprout-head, or to tear his eyes off.

“Can I try your cigarette?” 

“Huh? Why’d you want to?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious how it managed to calm you down after earlier.”

Again, it baffled Kaiser how much  thought he understood, but in reality he couldn’t be further from it. He finally gathered his pettiness and put it aside to look at the blue eyed striker, “what makes you think I’m relaxed now?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.” Absolutely not. 

“Why?”

What a valid question… thankfully though, Kaiser didn’t bother asking himself that. He would much rather do what he deems appropriate. So for him there were other questions worth asking, such as; why the hell is  so interested in him right now?

“Careful. You sound like a friend who might actually care,” he resorted.

But instead, ’s face just turned passive, as if his remark made him sober right up. “I don’t care.” He finally said, tearing his eyes away from Kaiser and instead focused them on the night sky that was now filled with stars. “I’m just curious. Also you were pretty nasty in there, I wanna know why.”

Liar. Kaiser wanted to say. 

“Yeah, well. Your pretty face annoyed me.”

Liar. Isagi thought.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.”

“Well. I’ll make sure you won’t have to look at me again.” Isagi teased, his head remained pointed at the sky, but his eyes made their way towards Kaiser, a sarcastic smile on his face.

But Kaiser said nothing, letting the cigarette burn for a little too long.

“Would you get off my back then?”

Isagi knew what he was doing. He was doing his best to make Kaiser snap, and it seemed to be working, slower than one would’ve liked. But he’ll take his chances.

Kaiser, on the other hand, was too busy thinking of something else. “Do you know what my problem with you is?” His voice dripping with accusations, he sure knew what he was doing and was simply acting dumb. It made him angry just thinking of having played in his game. “Your denseness. You act like you don’t notice, but your eyes see everything.” He’d known better than anyone, after all,  managed to outsmart him of all people.

Finally, the striker turned to fully take in Kaiser’s form. “Look, I’m not sure what you think I know. But I don’t.” He honestly said, going as far as to put his hand on his heart as a promise, but he couldn’t help but worry about the burning cigarette. 

“Oh, you know.” Kaiser glared at Isagi, feeling offended by his ‘honesty’. Oh, how much he hated liars. 

“Try me.” Isagi challenged.

Kaiser remained quiet after that, figuring it was more trouble to talk about it. And he’d rather ignore his problems.

“Well?”

‘Just shut up, .’

“Fine, at least tell me why you indulged Navitsu in that fight.”

Does he not know anything other than football and Navitsu? “He started it.”

Isagi nodded at that, “I know.” he treaded carefully with his words, it seemed like the topic hit a sensitive spot for Kaiser. “But it seemed to get personal the more you two interacted.”

Kaiser, seeing his cigarette now burnt and useless, got a new one out. “Tsk. And just when I thought I could forget that pest.” He took in a deep breath, which caused him to fall in a coughing fit. He caught a glimpse of  looking at him strangely, but he didn’t know why, must’ve been the way he choked on his own breath that caused him to make a face that resembled the past. Ness always warned him about it. “Were you two attached at the hip or something?” He struggled to speak, but  understood him. 

Isagi smiled softly, trying not to make a show of what just happened. “Pretty much,” he remembered the past, where they were quite literally attached to each other, neither of them wanting to let go of the other. Back when that little shit wasn’t so embarrassed to shower him in affection in public. And back when Isagi was sure they shared the same feelings. 

Since Kaiser got so quiet, Isagi decided to check if he’s still awake, his silence is very worrisome. Seriously, has this guy ever shut up? Apparently he can. 

He was met with narrowed eyes that twitched slightly. Though Kaiser was looking at him, for the first time ever, it didn’t feel aimed at Isagi like it usually was. It brought chills from earlier he thought were gone.

Finally, he gave his best awkward smile, “there it is. That look from earlier. It creeps me the fuck out.” He bit the inside of his cheek while lightly fidgeting with his necklace.

Kaiser’s body flinched, as if momentarily stunned, his narrowed eyes now widened. Thankfully, luck was on his side since Isagi was still too busy playing with his necklace, with a stupid, sappy smile plastered on his face, to notice his reaction. 

It wasn’t his choice of words that surprised him, it was the expression he had while saying it.

What the fuck was happening to Kaiser?

Why was his chest suddenly fluttering all of a sudden? 

Why was Isagi acting so… genuine, making him feel this way?

Without realizing, Kaiser’s body shifted closer to Isagi’s, who was looking at him now with questioning eyes. The German boy couldn’t believe what was happening, it was one thing after the other, but he just couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud. 

It felt real, like it was his first. 

“Heh… Here, try.”

Kaiser, while trying to conceal his laugh (and failing miserably), handed Isagi his cigarette that was barely burning still.

The latter looked at him suspiciously, still very much caught off guard by the sudden change in demeanor. Still, he didn’t want Kaiser to start acting hostile with him again tonight, he wanted to get some answers, but the more he interacted with Kaiser the less he understood. And right now? He just hopes Kaiser doesn’t suddenly flash him with a gun. Very random, but he expects anything at this point.

So he took the cigarette in his finger, while also feeling suspicious towards the man sitting beside him. He felt his eyes on him, but unlike inside, it wasn’t harsh nor filled with hatred. This time it was more calm, almost… loving? 

‘Ok, calm down, Yoichi.’ He thought internally, ‘let’s take it down a notch.’

Finally, feeling repulsed by his own thoughts, he took a deep breath, thinking that it was better to change where this was heading. Unfortunately, he didn’t expect to just straight up choke on the smoke. 

He started coughing hysterically, noticing that the laugh coming from Kaiser was just increasing by the minute. That piece of shit knew what he got him into! Finally, his lungs calmed down, “that’s disgusting.”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Kaiser said in between laughs, he looked quite handsome if you asked Isagi. Anger and condescension weren’t a good look on him. Geez, what’s up with him tonight? First he thought Navitsu was going to confess to him, now he’s looking at Kaiser’s biceps—wait what?! When did his eyes move there?! 

Isagi immediately looked down at his feet, counting how many rocks were on the pavement. Kaiser grabbed the cigarette from him, took one last deep breath and then threw it on the ground. 

“Why do you smoke then?” Isagi questioned, now eyeing the smashed cigarette.

Kaiser shrugged, “I don’t, not really. Just when I get my shit absolutely wrecked.” He slowly started facing Isagi, the peace that laid on his face remained oddly comfortably. “Guess I’m a masochist.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Isagi hissed warmly.

Kaiser giggled at that, “did you like it?”

“Not at all.”

“Weird. Always took you for a masochist.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in front of everyone earlier.”

Kaiser’s face fell for a mere second, a glimpse of guilt flashed but was quickly buried under, but Isagi caught it.

“Can you blame me?”

Isagi nodded, “yes, I can. You don’t know me.” He insisted. 

It was Kaiser’s turn to grumble, “I know you plenty.”

“Like what?”

“Like how easily influenced you are by the most mundane people ever.”

“Like who?”

“Noa, that fucker who thought could mount to me, and your friends.”

Isagi let out a deep sigh, not sure how their peace was so easily dismantled. But seriously, looking back, Kaiser seemed pretty genuine with him. He… didn’t mind hanging out with him anymore… Still! He simply respected the guy, that doesn’t mean he likes him as a person yet. 

He liked his plays, his skills, and deeply admired his goals. But he was still an asshole.

“You know. It confuses me when you’re nice to me but mean to me in front of others.”

“I’m not nice.”

“You’re not mean either.”

— — — — —

If it was possible, Bachira would never choose to wake up so early. Unfortunately though, he had chosen a very bad spot to sleep in; in front of the window, where he could just lean in and barf whenever he felt sick.

Plus, the night breeze was too good to pass on.

But now he was regretting that. With the sun on his face he can’t do much other than wake up completely. He tossed and turned for five minutes before deciding that he could no longer fall asleep again.

His eyes, now wide awake, scanned the room, trying to figure out where he was.

Thankfully, he managed to locate a handful of his friends easily. So he got up lazily, a groan escaping him, and dragged his feet to the nearest one—Chigiri. Feeling extra mischievous this morning, he chose to tople onto the red-head. 

“Ow! What t—” But his cries fell on deaf ears.

Bachira groaned, “why did you bring me here?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Chigiri managed to push Bachira just enough to look him in the eye. “Did you eat something funny?”

“Nope,” a new voice joined, walking in the living room from the kitchen. “He’s just hungover,” Reo brushed his wet hair out of his face, water dripping on the floor. Clearly he was fine even after drinking, considering he was in a fucking robe.

Chigiri struggled to get Bachira off of him, so at the end, he just gave up and turned his focus towards Reo, “will you also offer us a hot shower and a robe?” He deadpanned.

Reo looked quite offended, like Chigiri had just killed Nagi, “and have Shidou masterbate in my bathroom?! I don’t think so!” 

Well, Chigiri didn’t really think that through, in fact, the thought that the others from yesterday were also sleeping here didn’t cross his mind whatsoever. So imagine his surprise when he noticed that he was sleeping on someone’s foot. 

He quickly sat up to eye the culprit, only to find that gossip-instigating bastard. 

“Move your damn feet,” he hit the crow-headed man harshly; waking him in the process. The latter opened his eyes immediately and met Chigiri’s harsh glares in an animated manner. Once he saw that he was clearly not welcome, Karasu groaned and sat up quickly to defend himself in case of another attack. 

“Gosh, princess. Calm down,” Karasu spoke in a deep, hoarse voice. 

“Fuck off, man.” 

Another man, who laid next to Karasu, slowly sat up like a zombie, lazily throwing an arm on him. After gaining some attention from the crowd, he finally announced; “you can put your feet on me.”

“Real shit?” Karasu mused.

“Real shit.”

Chigiri almost gagged at the two, but quickly shook his head and managed to refocus on Reo who finished making coffee and was already sipping it peacefully. “Who else is here?” He asked the owner of the ‘house’.

“Well, I just saw Shidou laying on the kitchen floor like a goddamn speed bump.” Reo shrugged.

“And I can see Hiori sleeping on the couch behind me,” Karasu pointed at the couch, making a show that he had to sleep on the ground for the other’s comfort.

Otoya looked there, his mouth forming an ��o’, “is that Kurona next to him?” And lo and behold, under the pile of blankets laid Kurona, calmly snoring the day away. 

Chigir nodded at the duo, and looked at the head that was settled on his lap in a questioning manner, as if asking ‘and you?’. Bachira shook his head, indicating that he, in fact, didn’t see anyone except for the people present in front of him.

Suddenly, a whistle was heard coming from Otoya, “maybe they’re in the bedrooms.”

And that comment seemed to set Reo moving, he quickly started making a beeline upstairs while screaming profanities on his way in an attempt to wake them up if they were really in the rooms. 

Otoya and Bachira started snickering under their breaths, clear amusement dripping. However, Karasu turned his focus on the boy laying behind him, gently shaking the couch with the strength he could muster after waking up after a hangover. 

The cyan-headed man passively opened his eyes, waking up more tenderly than the rest of them. The headache, however, wasn’t as forgiving as his awakening. He groaned the more he moved around. The movements automatically stirred the man next to him. 

Hiori mumbled a small ‘sorry’ when he saw his friend’s eyes fluttering open. 

“Never again. Never again.” 

“Damn right,” Chigiri agreed. 

And immediately Reo enters the scene again, “they weren’t doing anything nasty, but they still dirtied the rooms with puke and shit,” Reo huffed, returning to the cup of coffee that was set on the table before he left. 

The room stayed looking at Reo, clearly waiting for more details, but he simply kept on going on about spraying lace around the house to prevent certain urges. Behind him, another head was going down the stairs. Everyone stiffened without realization, their mouths opening ajar. 

Hiori was the first to suspect him, eyeing him with a sharp gaze. “What are you doing here? Is Kaiser also here? Is he trying to do something to Isagi—”

“Geez, get off my dick.” Ness made his way towards the kitchen, almost stumbling on Shidou in the process. He poured the last bit of coffee that was left from Reo when he made it. “Do you really wanna talk about that in front of everyone?” He asked, purposely not looking at Hiori.

But the cyan-head just narrowed his eyes in suspicion, what did Ness mean by that? “I have nothing to hide, and neither does Isagi.” He assured firmly, not entertaining the thought. 

Ness gave a breathy laugh, almost scoffing at Hiori, but at the same time he seemed genuinely against the idea, as if he knew something the others didn’t know. 

Otoya, surprisingly, was the first to call him out. “You do know something, don’t ya’?” His voice sounded unfiltered and still raw after waking up hungover, reminding the rest of their own equally painful headache and nausea. 

Bachira spared his teammate one last time before settling on Ness, but the German man remained unbothered by the glares and harsh stares he was getting, probably since he was already used to it from BM’s Blue Lock members (ahem, Raichi, Isagi). But Bachira seemed keen on quietly analyzing him, it caused Chigiri to feel goosebumps from how cold Bachira turned when he first laid eyes on Ness.

He couldn’t explain it, but Bachira was furious if he’d ever seen him mad.

“This doesn’t concern any of you.” 

“Every single time,” Hiori moved his entire body to face Ness, his eyebrows narrowing in frustration. “Every single time we went out, and Kaiser happened to see Isagi, he would try to start something up. Just what does he hope to achieve when he ruins the night for everyone. Yesterday you were lucky we were drained and therefore didn’t give him much mind, but if he starts that again when we are out, trust me when I say he won’t see Isagi till the day he dies.”

Otoya made some cat gestures, a means to mock Hiori’s threats, which earned him a slap on the shoulder from Karasu who was fairly impressed. 

“What do you even think Kaiser wants from Isagi?” Karasu asked, turning his head to look directly at Hiori, who in return put his hand on his chin to think about it.

“Nothing.” Ness declared, “or at least, nothing that’s too bad.” 

“And just what does that mean?” Finally, Reo asked suspiciously. Quite frankly, he wasn’t too bothered by the situation, until he personally talked to Kaiser and decided he wanted to personally see him fail before his eyes.

Ness looked down, “why do you always assume the worst?” 

Reo raised an accusatory eyebrow at him, not sure if he was being serious or just taunting them. “Are you seriously asking that?”

“Yes, genuinely,” Ness assured, and for a second, he seemed honestly interested in what they were so concerned about. “I know Kaiser, and I know his tendency to be… a jerk is an issue to you. But I can guarantee you that he is very much capable of loving someone.” He said with a sad undertone and a heavy breath, and if anyone noticed, they didn't mention it.

“Wait, pause,” Chigiri suddenly jolted, taking a sharp inhale before continuing, “love?! When did we start talking about love?!”

The room quickly turned their heads towards Ness, waiting for him to explain what the fuck he just said. 

On the other hand, the latter seemed confused by their surprise, clearly stunned by the sudden outburst coming from everyone all at once. 

“I mean…” Ness tilted his head to the side, “aren’t you just mad that Kaiser isn’t confessing to Isagi?” He innocently asked. 

“…?”

The room erupts in chaos, people (Hiori) accidentally stepping on others (Karasu) to get to where Ness was standing, or others (Otoya) laughing at the proclamation. And one singular man was as still as a wall, not yet processing the information.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

“CONFESS? WAIT, MAYBE IN GERMAN IT HAS ANOTHER MEANING!”

Ness was almost hit in the process, and absolutely flabbergasted. 

Finally, once the rest calmed down, Ness started speaking again. “I meant it in the way,” his face reddened, “you like, like someone?”

“Like, like someone?” Otoya asked with a teasing smirk, “that’s serious, man.”

Chigiri threw Otoya one last glare before turning back and placing a hand on Ness’s shoulder. “Can you explain it to us?”

Ness looked down, anger and weeks of pent-up frustration weighing on him. He’d never talked to anyone about this—and nobody had asked, until now, when Isagi Yoichi was involved. He didn’t care what they thought of him, but the way they saw Kaiser was unfair—flat-out wrong. Kaiser’s behavior wasn’t his fault, and only Ness had bothered to understand him, or at least tried to. 

Finally, he met with Chigiri’s less aggressive eyes, “I don’t know what you want me to explain.” He stubbornly said, refusing to show weakness in front of these people who rejected Kaiser. He didn’t have enough time to react before someone grabbed his collar quickly, causing his head to spin faster than he could handle before the headache came back.

Ness looked at the person who seemed to take this too seriously than needed, “listen here you walking migraine,” Bachira threatened, and Ness could hear some people in the background trying to stop him but failing. “You’ll tell that clown to stay as far away as physically possible from Yoichi, got it?” 

He could feel some sweat drop from his forehead, but with his free hands he grabbed and pulled on Bachira’s hair. “Why the hell would you want them away from each other?!” He yelled angrily, feeling a pair of strong arms grabbing him from his waist in an attempt to get him off of Bachira. 

“That fucker doesn’t deserve Yoichi, that’s why!” Bachira shrieked, a grimace crossing his usually bright face, an arm grabbed him and finally managed to push him to the ground with a thud. Then, a foot stomped on his stomach to keep him in place. 

Ness, still up and restrained, screeched back. “Yoichi should be happy someone like Kaiser is giving him the time of day!” 

“You piece of—” 

Another figure appeared in the room, quickly moving to punch Ness right in the stomach and kicking Bachira’s side. It happened so fast the others weren’t able to stop him, but regardless, were very grateful for his interruption. 

Barou looked at the two in disappointment and anger, “you two care to explain why I just woke up because of you?” He glared.

This is chapter 9

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, <- 9 -> 10

[ddarker-dreams]

Epiphany. Yan Albedo x Reader

Warnings: General yandere themes, implied unhappy previous relationship, and spoilers for Albedo’s story. Word count: 2k.

It wasn’t fair. 

A snowstorm, unlike anything you’ve ever seen rages outside, shards of lustrous ice falling from the sky with the intent to kill. The Dragonspine’s traditionally somber ambiance contorts into something far more sinister. Numerous hues of grays and dark blues blur together, obscuring your view of the mountainous region. It’s difficult to see anything outside Albedo’s workshop save for the storm. 

“Your shaking won’t stop unless you sit by the fire.” 

His matter-of-fact declaration startles you. Albedo hadn’t spoken in some time, his attention devoted to a specimen he had discovered prior to the storm. You would’ve shared in his enthusiasm if not for the overall situation and company. Sighing reluctantly, you stand from your spot, hugging yourself to stave off the biting cold. It’s impossible to settle on which is worse: staring at the blizzard or staring at him. 

Albedo’s fair skin glows from the light of the crackling fire, sandy blonde hair tousled around his face without care. As he studies the new specimen, his lips purse, eyes focusing on nothing but the work before him, like nothing else mattered. This is how you’ve always known him to be. Even if the world was falling apart around him, Albedo would never falter from what catches his interest until he felt sated. 

Sensing how you’re fixating on him, his attention flickers briefly to you, an unidentifiable emotion gleaming in his eyes. You’re the one to avert your gaze first. Sucrose is going to owe you majorly for this one, why did you even accept her request in the first place? Thinking about it now and cursing your past self does nothing yet you still occupy the time by doing just that. She had come to you panicked, pleading that you take this letter to Albedo in the Dragonspine, claiming it’s urgent. In the heat of the moment, your judgment lapsed and you caved. She spoke of needing to continue her research in Mondstadt or else she would’ve done it herself.

Look where your goodwill has gotten you now, you think. She owes me a week’s worth of dinner. 

You lament giving credence to his advice, but your stubbornness concedes, the cold too miserable to withstand any longer. The fire is right by his side to add insult to injury. Did he do that on purpose to spite you? It’s unlikely, yet your mind wanders to the worst-case scenario. If any other citizen of Mondstadt were privy to your suspicious thoughts, they’d think you unreasonable, as Albedo has established his reputation well. He’s a known eccentric, sure, but a genius one. A few quirks on his behalf that anyone else could overlook. 

Quirks that you used to overlook yourself.

“Would you please grab my bag,” he doesn’t look away from his prized sample but motions to the general area it’s in. “I need to write down my observations.” 

You follow through with what he asks. There was a time you’d have been over the moon to participate in his process, you used to practically trip over yourself to do anything he needed. That enthusiasm has long died off and been replaced by apathy. It’s when he reaches out to take the bag from you that you snap from your trance-like reverie. Whatever remnants of obedience that lingered in your subconscious are brushed away, as you decide to finally challenge him.

Inhaling sharply, you hold the bag just out of his reach, finally earning his recognition for more than a millisecond. 

“I’m not your assistant anymore.” Among other things, you think. 

The words come out more childish than you intended. What you had meant to communicate was your new, critical view on him — he’s a person just the same as anyone else — who held no authority over you. You hold your breath awaiting his response. Albedo doesn’t have an intimidating presence, not in the traditional sense. It’s his mind that you’re wary of. There’s no guessing what sentiments run through his head, yet that’s never stopped you from trying to unravel the mystery that is his thought process.

He gives you a long, hard stare. “I’m aware of that.” 

Where were you going with this again? Albedo doesn’t need to point out your needlessly spiteful behavior with words, his mildly irate facial expression says it just fine. His thin eyebrows threaten to furrow together and the corners of his lips curl down into a frown. You’re unsure of what bothers him more. What you pointed out, or that his work is being interrupted for even the slightest moment. 

The budding confidence you had is all but crushed beneath the weight of his unblinking gaze. Clearing your throat, you decide to take a new approach, straightening your posture in an attempt to be taken more seriously.

“Then tell me, why do you still act like I am?” Your question comes from a genuine place of confusion. Ever since your arrival, you’ve begrudgingly done the odds and ends he’s asked of you, almost like clockwork. You had fallen back into the rhythm that was your life up until a month ago. There was just something about the silent authority he carries that makes it impossible to say no. 

That is, until now. You’re determined to clear up the problems that have plagued your mind. Albedo’s had his time to be nonchalant like nothing happened between you two, but you’re not having it anymore. 

“Force of habit,” he nods his head towards your hand that holds his possessions captive. “Now, would you please…?” 

Your grip tightens and you shake your head defiantly. “No. Or at least, not until you give me a better explanation. Not just about that. How you act in general… none of it makes sense to me.” 

It wouldn’t take much effort from his half to wrangle his bag from you, you’ve seen him in action before after all, so it comes as a surprise when he instead gives in. You blink, gaping when he takes a seat by the roaring fire, and motions for you to do the same. An opportunity like this is hard to come by. The past few weeks, it’s been your code of conduct to avoid any interaction with Albedo, but your frustration can no longer be repressed. 

You take a seat by his side but intentionally leave some distance. 

There’s so much you want to say. Insults, questions, demands, anything. Anything that could give just a hint of closure that he refused to offer himself. It doesn’t help that this familiar area brings memories with it — good and bad alike — painful nostalgia eating away at your heart from the inside out. While you battle with your inner thoughts, he observes you in silence. For a time you hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and wind howling outside.

Finding the courage to speak up, your throat tightens as you force a question out. “Did I… mean so little to you?” 

It’s rare that Albedo ever looks taken aback, but your inquiry managed to do just that. His eyes widen ever so slightly, confusion etching onto his face before he manages to compose himself. Lots of intimate discussions had gone this way. You’d spend hours prepping yourself, meticulously going over what it was you wanted to say, only for the words to die on your tongue when you saw him. 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” He appears genuinely perplexed and you can’t help but feel silly. It may have served you better to think long about this, you realize, but now it’s too late. You rush to explain yourself in hopes of making better sense. 

“When I said I wanted to, er, part ways,” you can’t help but cringe at not knowing the proper label for ending whatever was going on between you two, “You just seemed, I don’t know, indifferent…?” 

In your head, this went down in such a different way. 

Your cheeks are set ablaze by the humiliation his silence brings. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this exact way when bringing up your feelings to Albedo, yet it’s just as awful. Archons, does he always have to look at you like you have three heads? 

When he finally gives you an answer, you wish you had never asked. 

“I knew you would come back to me eventually.” 

Now it’s your turn to give him an incredulous look. He says it without an ounce of hesitation, never once breaking eye contact, his resolve holding firm. Sensing a need to clarify, he attempts to do just that. 

“I considered a variety of variables,” he raises his hand and brushes his knuckles over your face, the unexpected tenderness making you shiver. “I know how your mind works very well. When you told me that’s what you wanted, your physical mannerisms didn’t line up with what you were saying.”

Your heart drops but he doesn’t stop there. 

“Biological responses never lie. It wasn’t anxiety that kept you from looking me in the eye then, it was reasonable doubt. You know it as well as I do. There’s something about me that you can’t place, and the natural human response to the unknown is caution.”

He stops caressing your cheek. “So, tell me [First], and maybe then you’ll reach the conclusion you’ve been searching for. Why are you afraid of me?”

Everything feels wrong. How he’s whispering such horrifying ideas into your mind, leading the conversation with expertise. Is it charisma? You don’t think that’s the proper word. No, it’s how damn certain he is, how he never once leaves room for argument. 

Albedo appraises your silence coldly. 

“See? You’re not sure yourself. Thus why I knew you’d return to me,” he retracts his hand and leans back, but the ghost of his touch leaves your face tingling. “When you don’t understand something, you study it. That’s who you are. It’s why I picked you to be my assistant, that quality of exhausting curiosity, much like the one I have myself.”

He’s hypnotizing you with his words, his even tone, his silent authority. You’re drawn in like a moth to a flame and trapped in a verbal standoff. Whether it was a result of your Vision flickering subconsciously resulting in the fire diminishing or some other cause, you realize what little warmth in the cave is disappearing, your breath materializing in front of you as a result. 

But it’s only yours. 

That’s when it clicks deep inside the recesses of your mind. Apart of what always bothered you about Albedo was this sense of uncanniness. Whenever you thought you were understanding him better, new mysteries would arise, leaving you worse off than when you started. This combined with his workload and the emotional distance you felt between the two of you is what led to your separation. 

Albedo’s face is but a few inches away from yours. He’s patiently awaiting a response or anything you could muster to challenge him with, though both of you are aware that no such thing exists. 

You manage to surprise him again by asking another question. “Why… why are you not breathing?”

And how could you never have noticed until now?

His long eyelashes flutter shut. “Relationships truly are troublesome. There are unspoken rules and expectations, both of which take effort to satisfy. I hadn’t mind trying to do so to keep you happy, but that approach didn’t work as intended.” 

Had it not been for the hammering of your heart and how lighthearted you feel, you’d challenge him on his definition of trying. Instead, you watch without so much as moving an inch, too in awe to utter a single word. 

“You always asked me to be more romantic, but I guess the phrase you take my breath away won’t suffice here,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you, but once you know… well, I don’t think I can ever let you leave my side.”

“I hope you won’t mind keeping me company a bit longer than you intended to.” 

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Fools in Love

Summary: He can explain how String Theory works. He can figure out Riemann Hypothesis. He can recite all the numbers of pi until he’s blue in the face. Yet somehow, Spencer Reid can’t figure out what to do for his first first anniversary. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader 

Warnings: Spencer Reid is a self-deprecating mf, Jane Austen quotes? But there’s a happy ending 

Word Count: 3128

Fools in Love

He scratches the back of neck, a nervous habit that he’s sure makes him look weak. He wants to find the perfect recipe to make a wonderful meal for Y/N. It’s his first first anniversary so Spencer’s completely lost as to what to do. Y/N deserves the most romantic dinner, especially considering how much chaos he causes. It must be a lot to put up with him, Spencer thinks. He’s even more useless when it comes to love than when it comes to cooking. While he might not be a fan of technology, given he has the Thai place down the street from his apartment on speed dial. She doesn’t deserve some take out Thai with paper plates. But he’s a scientist, a well-known and well-educated scientist who is completely failing at planning his first anniversary.

It was useless. Completely and utterly useless, Spencer thought to himself as he ran his fingers across the various titles of cookbooks. Some featured complex dishes from Korea and others were 30 minute meals of the vaguely Midwest variety. Spencer never in his entire 33 years of living felt so out of place in a library. He’s so at home in between the stacks of books, he finds the comforting words of long dead authors and intricate mathematical theories a second home. However, it seems that Spencer Reid has found the most intimidating section of the library: cooking.

And what do academics do when they are at a crossroad? Well, they call in the experts. The love expert came in the shape of Agent Derek Morgan himself. This idea just might be the most brilliant thought Spencer’s had or the dumbest, but Y/N is worth it. 

Okay, maybe it was a mistake to come to Derek, Spencer thinks as he sits in front of his friend, a coffee in his hand and an expression of pure fear on his face. 

“You want me to, what?” Spencer asks, shocked at Derek’s suggestive advice.  

“Lie in bed naked, call Y/N on the phone and make something up. You’ll be waiting in bed and then BAM! Anniversary sex,” Derek says, his eyebrows wagging as he sips his coffee. 

“Are you messing with me, Morgan?” Spencer says, his face pale from the very thought of lounging in bed naked, waiting for Y/N to come over to his apartment.

“Why not, I’m sure it would get you laid,” Derek reasons. Get me laid? Spencer and Y/N don’t get laid, he thinks. They do have sex, but it’s not getting laid. It’s more romantic and loving than just whatever Derek suggests. 

God, he can’t tell Derek that, he’d never live it down. 

“You have slept with Y/N, right?” Derek asks, suddenly nervous that he touched a nerve with his friend. As much as he likes to tease, Spencer knows that Derek doesn’t mean any harm, hence why he’s the first person he thought to come to. 

“We prefer to call it making love,” Spencer says, pretending to be very interested in his chocolate donut and trying to fight off the blush that rises to his cheeks. Even a year into their relationship, Spencer still gets butterflies at thinking about Y/N like that. 

“So you want this to be more romantic than just fucking, because you’ve done it for a year?” Derek proposes as simply as if he’s talking about a case. Not that talking about serial victims is anymore normal or weirder than the current conversation. 

“Morgan and you please stop talking about Y/N and sex in the same sentence?” Spencer says through gritted teeth. 

“Reid, kid. I’m just busting your chops, I know who you feel about Y/N. When you two are in the same room, it’s like there’s no one else in the world. And it’s kinda hard to get your mind to focus on one thing, but Y/N does that,” 

“I know,” Spencer says. “I can’t mess this up Derek. I can’t give another person a reason to leave me,” 

“Y/N won’t leave because you can’t plan a terrible anniversary dinner,” Derek says comfortingly. 

“I checked out 7 cookbooks, Morgan. 7, and I read them on the metro home. It’s useless, I’m useless,” Spencer laments.

He looks up to try to read Derek’s expression. The last thing he’d want to see on his face is pity or worse laughter. No, Spencer. Derek is your best friend. He’s the closest thing you have to a brother. Spencer feels almost guilty for thinking that Derek would laugh at him, while he might like to tease him, especially about his lovelife, they trust each other inexplicably. What’s written on Derek’s face is not pity or ridicule, it’s a smile. A smile not for Spencer, but for the colorful woman walking towards their table. 

“You told Garcia?” Spencer groans, but scooting over so Penelope would have a spot to sit with them. 

“Of course I told Garcia, kid. You know better than anyone that we can’t keep anything secret,” Derek explains, leaning in to kiss Garcia’s hand. 

“Spencer Reid! I can’t believe you,” Garcia says, smacking Spencer’s arm lightly. 

“Garcia!” Spencer shouts, clutching his coffee and hunching down in his seat to avoid being hit by the tech goddess with her hard rings on her surprisingly strong hands. 

“Don’t Garcia me, Reid. You need me, whether or not you realize it or not. I’m irreplaceable,” she tells him, grabbing a pink notebook and a fluffy green pen from her bag. 

Spencer nods in understanding, as much as he hates it, he knows that he needs help. It’s just a hard pill to swallow when help comes in the form of Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia, perhaps the two people on Earth who are the most in love. 

“I know I need you guys,” Spencer says, looking from Garcia to Derek, half expecting them to tell him to order some terrifying sex toy from a scretchy store on the edge of town or something equally horrifying. 

“What’s something that she likes? You know like a special thing that Y/N would never think about getting herself” Garcia asks, making notes with the fluffy when that bounces as she writes. 

“She likes to read,” Spencer suggests, thinking about the first date that they had. They talked for hours about their favorite books and ended up getting booted from the library for overstaying their welcome. Y/N found it quite endearing that The Little Prince is Spencer’s while her is anything and everything by Jane Austen. He thinks back to her eyes gleamed when talking about the book, or how passionate she got when she argued that Mr Knightley and Emma were soulmates. 

“Okay, that’s a start Spencer. Really good,” Garcia says, trying to boost her friend’s confidence. 

“What else?” Derek asks, thinking about the times when he and Y/N hang out with Spencer and Penelope. 

“Fret not, Boy Wonder,” Garcia says, softly patting Spencer’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of this,” she finishes as she reaches into her bag, that seems to have a never ending bottom, and pulls out a laptop. 

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“So Garcia and Morgan took over your anniversary plans and basically just made it how they’d want to spend their anniversary?” JJ offers, as she hands Spencer a beer from her refrigerator and sits back down at her kitchen table. 

Spencer takes a swig of his beer and shrugs his shoulders, thinking about how wrong this whole anniversary dinner has gone. 

“I just wanted this to be special, JJ. I know it’s only been a year, but Y/N is it for me. God, she was it for me on the third date,” Spencer confesses. 

“I know, Spence. I’ve never seen you this happy. Happiness looks good on you,” JJ tells him. 

“Y/N makes me happy, she puts up with me, so the least I can do is make this perfect for her,” 

“Spence, don’t sell yourself short,” JJ says, “You’re a kind man and a wonderful boyfriend, you’re both lucky to have each other,” 

“Thank you, JJ, but Y/N is the better person in this relationship. That’s why this needs to be perfect,” Spencer explains, his self doubt still littering his mind. 

“What about a baseball game? You can pay for a message to pop up on the Jumbotron. Like Happy Anniversary, Y/N,” JJ suggests, and Spencer really can’t tell if JJ is joking. She can’t possibly think that Y/N and he would have a romantic anniversary with the threat of getting pelted in the face with a baseball. 

“Sports games are not our forte, JJ. I honestly can’t tell who’d hate sitting in the sun for hours with angry sports fans,” Spencer adds. 

“Okay so no sports, I should have figured, Spence,” JJ winks knowingly. “How about this, think about somewhere that’s special to you two. Somewhere that makes you think of her,” 

“The thing is JJ, everyplace we’ve been together makes me think of her. The elevator when she first kissed me, the movie theater we always go to on Saturday nights, even the sidewalk outside my apartment building. Everything makes me think of her because she’s my everything,” Spencer says, hiding his discomfort at the conversation. 

“Spence, I think that anything you plan, will be wonderful. Have a little trust in yourself for once, Y/N is already head over heels in love with you, so I doubt that she’d really care where you go or what you do,” JJ advises, clearing up the dirty dishes from their Friday night pizza dinner with the boys. 

“I’m going to go JJ, thanks for talking me out of my head. If I took Morgan’s advice, I’d probably end up with a restraining order,” Spencer jokes, putting his jacket on and saying goodbye to his friend. 

“You think you need an Uber?” JJ asks, but immediately finds amusement from Spencer’s disgust at the idea of getting into an Uber. 

“Germs and technology sound like a nightmare, JJ. And I’m not going to remind you of the statistics regarding missing persons and those rideshare apps-” Spencer offers, but is cut off by JJ’s pretend annoyance. 

“Remind me to send Y/N combat pay, you know maybe she is a saint for putting up with you,” JJ teases. 

He walks out into the chill of the night, recounting the advice his friends gave him. Derek and Penelope’s plan was a little outlandish, a little too much for Spencer and Y/N. JJ, who Spencer knows means well, only served to remind him of how hard it must be with him. His steps are slow and languid, but his mind anything but. 

One step, you’re probably just a charity case that Y/N decided to save. 

Two steps, why on Earth would a woman like her even look at a man like you.

Three steps, you’re so pathetic that you can’t even plan a dinner for her. She’s too good for Spencer, you’ll ruin her. 

Everyone who you love leaves you or dies, anyway.

It’s that thought, not the thought of being alone, but the thought that he deserves to be alone that sends the tears down his cheeks. 

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Somehow, someway, Spencer made it back to his apartment. It never felt so dark, so unlike home. Maybe he just didn’t never realized that these walls aren’t home without Y/N. He really should try to get to sleep, but he’d rather fend off sleep with the endless supply of coffee than have to face a night alone in the cold bed. 

Just as Spencer makes his way to prepare a cup of coffee, he hears a distant jiggle of keys and the door knob rattle. And in comes Y/N, as fresh as the cup of coffee brewing and as beautiful as ever. 

“Happy Anniversary, my love,” Y/N tells him, dropping the bags on the floor. She moves over to him like a light breeze. All he wants is to welcome her embrace. He wants to scoop her up and carry her far away from the monsters that lie in wake. He feels an urge to be her protector, but how can be her protector when what he really wants is to be protected. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here, it’s so late,” Spencer says, praying that his voice doesn’t let go. He knows it’s futile, one look from Y/N, her palm to his cheek or even worse a chaste kiss on his forehead, Spencer would not be able to think. What is a genius without his mind? 

“I couldn’t wait for tomorrow, Spence, I just missed you too much,” Y/N says, her voice a prayer that spins around in Spencer’s brain, searching for refuge in his heart. 

“You really missed me?” Spencer asks, desperately wanting to believe her beyond belief. Y/N’s frown searches for an answer in Spencer’s distant expression. Even though they stand there with the kitchen light casting shadows touching as much skin as they can reach, Spencer is a million miles away.

“Of course I missed you, baby. And I just had to give you one of your gifts tonight. I just couldn’t wait to see your face,” Y/N says, practically bouncing as she bounds off to get the package for Spencer. 

“So this is only the first part, and stay with me, I know how much you hate technology, but I think you’ll make an excuse for this,” She tells him, handing him a heavy cube shaped package. It’s decorated in Y/N’s handwritten flowers and hearts, and a cute doodle of who Spencer can only assume is them. His girlfriend may not be artistic. But she’s the artist who paints the stars in Spencer’s night sky. She’s the tailor who sewed him back up when he was broken. She’s the architect who has the key and blueprint to his heart. 

Spencer opens the gift, his hands shaky and unsure. He’s terrified that Y/N can see right though him. He reveals the present. It’s a small wooden box with a red wooden heart that looks like it’s supposed to be pixelated. There’s a blank space on the top, that Spencer supposes is a screen.

“You gotta plug it in, Spence. So the messages can pop up. When you're far away from me saving the world, I can type a message from my phone and it’ll appear on your box,” she explains. Spencer looks up at her trying to search for what he did to get this lucky. 

“Thank you, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Spencer tells her, placing a kiss against her forehead. It’s the kind of kisses that tell you so much more. It’s the kind of kiss you give when you know there’s more where that one came from. It’s safe and warm and everything good about this world. 

“I gotta make sure you won’t forget me when you go traipsing all over the country. A hot genius like you only comes around so often. I’m sure you got loads of attractive people throwing themselves at you, Spence,” she says with a wink. 

“Hot genius?” Spencer repeats half dumbfounded and half joking. 

“Yup, I gotta make sure they know that you’re spoken for,” 

“I couldn’t forget you even if I tried, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I still don’t know what I did to ever deserve you,” Spencer says, as the tears and the fears of not being good enough bubble to the surface. 

“Spencer, baby. You’re shaking. What’s the matter? Huh,” she says softly, brushing her hand over Spencer’s head in a comforting and loving gesture. 

Spencer leans into her, his head pressed into her neck. He can hear her heartbeat and he can smell her perfume. He wants to get lost in her. Get lost in the feeling of total and complete love. 

“I just wanted this to be perfect, Y/N. For you- you deserve so much more than I can give. It must be so hard dating me. I know that I’m difficult to love sometimes,” Spencer murmurs, his tears pouring down his cheeks and spilling like his darkest thoughts onto Y/N’s shirt. 

“Spencer, you make my life so much brighter. So much fuller. I know that you got a lot going on up in that mind of yours and it must be kinda scary. It must be hard always being the guy people expect answers from. But I got you, sweetheart. And I’m not letting go,” Y/N tells him the words falling from lips like a psalm and taking on a new life in Spencer’s heart. 

“Thank you, Y/N. I really wanted this to be the best anniversary. I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Spencer apologizes as he peppers light, feathery kisses along her collarbone and up to her eyes. 

“Well you’re my mess, Spencer. Let’s be honest, I’d be completely happy to spend our anniversary anywhere with you. Except maybe sports games, that sounds like torture for both of us,” Y/N laughs and Spencer can’t get over how she practically glows in the kitchen light. It could be that his mind is foggy with love, but Spencer hopes that he never grows out of this blissful feeling. 

“Well it’s a good thing we’ll have many more to make up for this one,” Spencer says, letting himself get dragged to the large fluffy sofa. 

“Oh no, Mister. The next 50 anniversaries have to try to top this one,” Y/N tells him and Spencer’s heart skips and flutters at the thought of having another 49 anniversaries with Y/N by his side. 

“I doubt that 50 will be enough, Y/N” 

“As long as you’ll allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Y/N says, cuddling so close to Spencer that she can’t see where her limbs start and Spencer’s end. 

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” Spencer says running his spidery fingers down Y/N’s side much to her delight. 

“Ooh are you trying out some Jane Austen foreplay? Because that’s the way to make my panties drop,” Y/N says suggestively as she rubs her hand over Spencer’s chest and rests it on his neck. 

“Maybe tomorrow, I just really want to hold you close right now, Y/N.” Spencer says, sweetly kissing along her temple exciting a bout of giggles from the two of them. 

Spencer very well might be useless when it comes to love, but he was eager to learn that he’s worthy of love from his love expert. 

[astaroth1357]

Oh! How about the brothers with a very emotionally open MC? Like, they ain't ashamed to cry or express their emotions because they think that it's healthy to speak about your emotions to others! And they're also really good at telling what people are really feeling. Please and thank you very much! And congrats on 1,500 followers! You deserve it!

The Demon Brothers Reaction to a Very Emotionally Intelligent MC

Let’s be honest, in a game centered around resolving interpersonal family drama, this is kind of what the MC has to be canonically. Also um… I made the decision, for whatever reason, to listen to the Grand Escape by Radwimps while writing this, and uh, it got… deeper than intended. Whoopsie. 😅 I guess that's the hazard when you're so dependent on what you hear to set the tone for what you write… Sometimes you make a questionable decision and you mess up at the foundations 😕 My bad. 

BIG, BIG Spoilers for Part One (Lessons 1-20)

Lucifer

To be honest, he took it as a sign of weakness for some time.

Lucifer closes his emotions off to others because he views them as a vulnerability... This is why he wasn't completely surprised that the powerless human they brought to the Devildom was, in his eyes, overly emotional.

They were never afraid to say what they felt, show sadness to others, or even admit their fears… Though he appreciated the honesty, he wrote it off as a sign of human fragility and assumed they wouldn't last long. Not unless they toughened up and started to shut themselves off like him...

But that never happened. And one by one, he watched his brothers get won over by that feeble, emotional mess… He didn't understand it nor did he like it. At one point he even swore to himself that he wouldn't let whatever spell they casted on the others affect him too.

At least, until the attic incident came to light and he finally realized that the human wasn't a mess at all. 

When Belphegor escaped and the bombshell that he had been holding finally came to light, he honestly felt lost for the first time in centuries… He didn’t know how to approach the topic, he just wanted to hide away and let it all sort itself out… but they wouldn't let him.

 It amazed him how easy it was for the MC to empathize with his brothers and even himself through the whole mess. It was like they knew how everyone felt before they even had to voice it… He loathed to admit it, but for that moment they looked even more composed and capable than he did…

It was their handling of Belphie that really sealed it for him, though. A weak, pathetic, powerless little human talking down a being far beyond their capacity to fight? Then still offering him some comfort in the aftermath? He couldn’t have pulled that off... He’s long since forgotten how.

The MC managed to open his eyes to what emotional strength looked like and, from that point on, he never doubted them again.

Mammon

Mammon's go-to approach to feelings is unconvincing denial and his brothers generally aren't much better... So actually being open and straightforward with one’s feelings is almost a foreign concept to him.

So when the MC got dropped into his life it threw him through a loop. They were willing to just… say what they felt whenever? They’d cry when they needed to, laugh whenever they wanted, and generally tell people how they felt about things openly and honestly? What?

Weren’t they scared of being teased or made fun of? You can’t be that open down in Hell! Demons would take advantage of you!

And yet, the longer he spent with them the more he started to kind of get it… And then he started to genuinely love it.

They didn’t mind when he’d bawl at movies or talked about when his brothers were bothering him… Sometimes he didn’t even need to say anything to them. They’d just see something was off in how he was acting and offer a hug... No questions asked. No shame involved.

It was refreshing. Eye-opening. Hell, even comforting to just be himself for them. Sure, he still had to keep up appearances in front of his brothers to keep from being mocked, but when they were alone? He truly could act however he felt like for the first time in a very, very long time... And he treasured that.

Leviathan

Emotions are… a thing for Levi and not a thing he's that well equipped to deal with either…

So of course, he initially felt envious of the MC when they came down to the Devildom. They had no problem with navigating their feelings. They didn’t mind talking about them or crying or admitting when they were nervous and even worse? They could actually handle it all.

Levi doesn’t tend to make his emotions very secretive either, but when he got into a mood he usually couldn’t dig himself out of it... It doesn’t help that his brothers were so used to his complaining that they’d ignore his self-deprecation rather waste their time contradicting him... 

When he first saw them in action, though, he had walked in on them crying, but they didn’t tell him to leave or try to hide their face. They just let him say what he needed to while they let the tears run their course... then explained to him what the problem was later. They weren’t ashamed… Hell, they even looked like they felt better to have it off their chest…

How come he never felt any better after he had his episodes...? Why did he still feel like a worthless piece of shit all the time?? What kind of cheat code did they use for that?! It’s not fair!

Little did he know, talking feelings out to yourself (or your goldfish) is one thing. But talking to someone who actually wants to help is another thing entirely.

The first time he went on one of his rants, the MC just watched him quietly. It was like he was tearing down a house meant for demolition...and then they started picking through the pieces. They didn’t try to shame him hating himself, they just started pulling out things he should love instead. Stuff he never even considered before…

After that point, they became very good at noticing when he was going to a dark place and intervening before he could beat himself down again... After a while, he started leaving his room when he felt that way so he could go find them and talk. 

If his mind was an ocean then, for the first time ever, he finally felt like he had a way to weather the storms...

Satan

Didn't trust it, didn't trust them, and thought it was all an act for the longest time...

Satan knows a thing or two about putting up a front, so he's the most skeptical of other people's intentions…

When he first met them and saw open they were with their emotions, he thought it was all some kind of act. Like they were just trying to gain sympathy or lure everyone in so they could manipulate them later… But he wasn't buying it.

While he watched the rest of his brothers fall to their charms, he counted himself lucky as the smart one. He thought he could see the game they were playing and he wouldn't let himself be tricked into it...

… But then the whole book fiasco happened and he found himself around the human more often. Not only did their openness really seem genuine, they actually listened patiently to his complaints about Lucifer, his birth, his rank, his rage... everything. Just nodding along and watching him intently…

After a while, he started to question if they were even listening anymore so he questioned them. Point blank. He wanted to know what they thought and… their answer surprised him.

“I think you want to be your own person.”

To him, that answer came right out of left field. What about any of what he was just saying had to do with his identity??

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it had everything to do with it. And they deduced it so quickly from just a few conversations… He was impressed (and somewhat terrified) to have been read so easily...

For a while, he just had to study them. He wanted to know more about what kind of skills they used to understand him so effortlessly...

Though he never quite got a clear answer out of them, he found that he could respect their talent regardless and, just this once, let himself trust someone else wholeheartedly...

Asmodeus

If you're looking for a demon in touch with the emotions, then you don't have to look much further than Asmo. But even he can have blinders on sometimes…

When he met the MC, he actually liked how open they were about their feelings. He even shared their sentiments so he wasn’t bothered at all.

But when he bunked with them and Simeon in the Demon Lord's Castle, he got to see a different side of them…

After Simeon dressed him down about his narcissism, Asmo did his best to just gaslight the whole thing and put it behind him. … But the MC was watching.

Something must have tipped them off. Maybe a glance at the floor or look in his eye... Maybe just how utterly incapable he was to acknowledge Simeon's words… but they noticed that it bothered him.

"Don't let it get to you... I think you're doing great down here."

"Well of course I am, sweetie. Why wouldn't I be?"

Their reassuring words puzzled him at first... How was he supposed to take them? Were they pitying him? If he were Lucifer, he'd have half a mind to obliterate them for that alone...

But they didn't seem like the type… Asmo could read people just as well as they could, he knew sincerity when he saw it. Were they just trying to help…?

He kept that thought to himself throughout their time together in the Castle. Good heart or not, he didn't want to make getting a pact easy for them. He’d never bow to just anyone.

But after they proved their worth, it all started to click for him. This human was trying to reach out to him when they thought he was hurting… They didn't just write him off as shallow and self-absorbed. They were concerned for his feelings even when he wouldn't acknowledge them…

Asmo hung extra close to the human after that. He found someone willing to look beyond the image he worked so hard to keep up... Even if he didn't need their help quite like his brothers, he could see their effort and loved them even more for it.

Beelzebub

Beel is a straightforward guy who can appreciate straightforward people so he and the MC got along pretty well from the start.

He liked that he didn’t have to read between the lines with them. If they were upset, they’d tell him. If they needed to vent, they’d warn him. If they were happy and having a good time, they didn’t feel the need to hide it. It made life so much easier for him…

Of course, he couldn’t actually tell how good they were with emotions until he started opening up about Belphie, Lilith, and everything that went down before they all became demons…

He was kind of amazed how easy it was to speak to them, even during the painful parts... They never pushed him too much or pried for answers he wasn’t comfortable giving, nor did they make him feel bad for what happened to Lilith or missing his brother...

Honestly, they always seemed to know just how he felt about every new detail he told them. When he finally came clean about his guilt over the whole thing, they didn’t look shocked or surprised… If anything they looked just as pained as he did to have received the confirmation…

He found it oddly comforting to speak to them about pretty much anything after that. He knew that they’d listen and understand no matter what he put in front of them, and after they helped Belphie…? He’d happily love and trust them for the rest of his days...

Belphegor

"It wasn't your fault."

Those four words still ring in Belphie's ears from time to time… An echoing reminder of sorts…

He spent so long wrapped up in his own guilt, unable to talk about it to his brothers, that it turned him bitter and angry… He felt like he was the reason they were all in this mess to start with and that everybody else knew it too…

But hey, he'd say, at least down here there wouldn't be any humans around to ruin things. No humans there to steal away his family like before...

Which is why he snapped when Diavolo said they were introducing humans to the Devildom. How else was he supposed to react? They were just tempting fate for another disaster! Hadn't they learned anything at all??

While he was locked in the attic and the human came to his aid, he honestly took joy in deceiving them...

...At least at first. But on repeat visits, he started to feel his resolve slip.

They listened to him. They seemed genuinely interested in helping him and invested in his family's struggles... They looked like they cared for his brothers and even made efforts to reach out to him too... They told him about their worries and troubles in complete sincerity… with total trust...

He'd spend hours reminding himself that humans weren't meant to be trusted and all reasons he had to hate them... Repeating it all like a mantra until he felt convinced again. On the day he escaped, he finally had the pleasure of killing them himself...

But then, like a roach that just won't die, they came back and told him about Lilith… all before they said, "It wasn't your fault."

No one prompted them to say it. He'd never voiced it before... It was like they just knew... Like they could read the pain in his eyes this entire time…

He still doesn't quite share their stance on, "It's always okay to cry" so he doesn't like to dwell on the complete breakdown he had after that… He wished his brothers weren't there to see the Human-Hating Belphegor accepting a hug from them while he trembled and cried into their shoulder…

But he couldn't deny that he needed it. And from that day on, he’s accepted that he needed them as well...

[kanerallels]

OKAY OKAY ROUND TWO OF THIS! Kanera fix it or Kanera and waffles! Whichever works <3

*has no self control* *writes my first fix it* This was hecking fun! I hope you enjoyed it!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: 2,455

Tags/Warning: rated T (for time travel! *insert Hulk gif here*) and also near death

This wasn’t how Kanan wanted things to end.

He'd wanted more time. He'd wanted to explain things to Hera, to tell her how much she meant to him.

But things had moved too fast for him. Kanan was too late.

He felt the heat of the fire from the fuel pod singing the tips of his fingers, and concentrated on pushing it back with all his strength, his hands shaking slightly and his face twisting with the effort. The fire billowed high above him, but Kanan wasn’t afraid. Just full of regrets.

Behind him, he heard Hera scream his name, her voice full of raw desperation and fear. Kanan knew, without even needing to look, that she would run towards him and she did, her steps barely audible above the roar of the flames.

Turning without looking, Kanan diverted part of his concentration and caught her in her steps, holding her back with the Force. He felt her struggle against the grip, panic and fear pulsing through her.

Slowly, on some instinct he didn’t understand, he turned to face Hera. Maybe it was because of how much he ached to see her. Maybe it was to give her one last glimpse of him. Kanan sensed her desperation, her fear, how much she wanted to reach him.

But he couldn’t let her. There was too much at stake. So with a quick thrust, he sent her flying back to where Ezra was waiting, ready. His apprentice caught hold of her, holding her back. Kanan felt a flicker of gratitude-- he could always count on Ezra.

An odd tingling sensation swept across his eyes, and for a moment he thought he was crying. But crying had been impossible ever since Malachor. Since he’d been blinded.

Even as he thought the word, it was like a cloud was swept away from his eyes, and he could see. Kanan had no idea how, but he accepted it calmly, as he’d accepted his fate.

His gaze locked onto Hera first-- Hera, clad in an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, a look of complete horror and fear in her eyes, with the slightest hint of surprise and awe as she looked at him. Kanan took her in, drinking in the very sight of her. She was older than she had been when they’d first met, and had only grown more beautiful. And Kanan had only grown more in love with her.

Behind her, holding her back, was Ezra-- Force, Ezra. He was so tall, so grown-up looking. Kanan was well aware he’d only ever pictured the little boy from Lothal, and he felt pride stirring in his heart. Stay safe, kid, he thought. You know what to do. I love you both.

And so he released his hold on the flames and used all his power and strength to send the ship that held Ezra, Sabine, and Hera flying away from the fuel depot. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

They would be safe. And they would keep fighting. Hera always did.

That was Kanan’s last thought before the flames swallowed him.

But it wasn’t his last thought.

Even as the fire swirled around him, he heard a strange whoosh, and the sound of boots impacting on metal, and suddenly the fire was gone. And Kanan was somewhere else entirely.

“Did it work?”

A young male voice came from behind Kanan, stunned but excited.

“Of course it worked, idiot, he’s not dead and we still exist,” said a dry female voice that sounded… bizarrely familiar. Almost like--

Kanan turned towards the sound and someone tackled him to the ground, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, sorry-- eyes closed,” the young man ordered. “If you look, I’ll tell Hera.”

“What does that even mean?” Kanan demanded-- although it was a fairly compelling argument. Trying to shove the young man off of him, he said “Who are you? What are you doing?”

“Saving you, you dumb--”

The young man cleared his throat loudly, cutting off the woman. “We were sent here to save your life.”

“What?” Kanan’s jaw dropped, surprise flashing through him. “Wha-- no, I was supposed to die. It had to happen, to save Hera and Ezra and Sabine--”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the woman said, “They’re FINE, trust me. Well, other than the fact they think you’re dead.”

The young man groaned. “Okay, you should probably stop talking now. I’ll handle this.”

“You’re not much more diplomatic than me!”

“Everyone’s more diplomatic than you, Depa.”

“Depa?” Kanan asked, a frown knitting his forehead.

He heard his two rescuers freeze, and a muttered curse. “Yeah,” the young man said cautiously. “That’s her name.”

“That was my master’s name,” Kanan said, his mind racing. There was no way that could be a coincidence. Sure, there were probably other people in the galaxy named Depa, but--

“You can probably stop sitting on him-- he’ll behave,” Depa said dryly. “Right, Jarrus? That means keep your eyes close, and NO PEEKING or I’ll punch you out.”

“You can’t punch him out,” the young man said with a sigh.

“Why, because he’s an old geezer? I’m not afraid to hit an old man.”

Kanan sensed the young man rolling his eyes. “He’s not even that old right now! Okay, I’m gonna let you up-- please keep your eyes closed.”

The young man scrambled off of him, and Kanan slowly rose to his feet, wincing. He’d been burned, he could feel that much-- his hands, the back of his neck and his face especially. But somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

“I-- thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how or why you saved me, but thank you.”

“Someone had to,” Depa said, her voice surprisingly sincere. “And Force knows you needed help.”

“True,” the young man agreed. “But we don’t have all day here-- we need to get you back.”

“Back?” Kanan asked.

“Back to Hera and everyone else,” the young man elaborated. “If you follow us, we can get you out of here and back to them. They should be expecting you. Hopefully. We’re pretty sure Ezra warned them.”

“Reassuring,” Kanan said, keeping his eyes shut. “Which way are we going? And where are we, exactly?”

“This way,” Depa said, giving his shoulder a slight nudge in the right direction. As Kanan started walking, she added, “And we’re in some dumb alternate dimension.”

“It’s a world between worlds,” the young man corrected from ahead of them. “And it was really hard to get here. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff we had to do to get here. But it led us to where you were, which makes it worth it.”

“Why?” Kanan asked, releasing the question he’d been turning over in his mind. “Why did you come to save me? Why you in particular?”

He heard the young man’s footsteps stutter, like he’d paused in his steps. “Oh. Um…”

“Subtle, Jacen,” Depa said sarcastically.

“Jacen?” Kanan felt a grin cross his face. “So that’s your name.”

Jacen let out a sigh. “Nice one, Depa. Look, D-- Kanan. You’re… really important. To a lot of people. And they couldn’t just lose you if there was something that could be done.”

“So we did it,” Depa said matter of factly. “As you do. Oh, we’re here! This is your stop.”

They came to a halt, and Kanan sensed… something. Like a light at the end of a hallway, beckoning him forward. “And this is where I’m supposed to go?” he said warily. “It’s safe?”

“Trust me,” Jacen said. “She’s on the other side. Hera is. Your family is waiting for you.”

Kanan nodded slowly, his mind spinning. Despite the obvious strangeness of this whole thing, the way it had caught him off guard, there were a few things that he had a strange feeling about. Like he was two steps away from putting something together, something incredibly important. “Wait-- before I go through there. Will I be able to see?”

“I-- oh. No,” Depa said, her voice soft, almost shaken. “You never could after Lothal. That was the last time.”

“Then I at least want to see the faces of the pair that saved my life,” Kanan said. “If you’re alright with it.”

“I’m not sure--” Jacen began.

“Oh, shut up and let him,” Depa said, her voice exasperated. “What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, I-- I want him to.”

There was a short pause, then Jacen sighed. “I know. Me, too. Okay, go ahead.”

Kanan’s eyes flicked open. He was in what looked like outer space-- pure black, only broken up by strange white lines outlining paths. And, every now and then, circular doorways. “Huh,” Kanan murmured, his gaze sweeping across the place. And then it landed on the duo standing in front of him, and his eyes widened in surprise.

They were both a couple years younger than him. Jacen was a tall young man, tan-skinned except where it was green, especially along his pointed ears. His long hair, tied back in a ponytail, and scruffy goatee were a deep shade of green, and his eyes were almost an almost disturbingly familiar shade of turquoise.

Depa was a young Twi’lek woman with green skin, pink patches here and there. Her eyes were brown, and widened slightly with shock as they met his. “He really does have your eyes,” she said, her voice stunned.

“Wow,” Kanan breathed, any doubt in his mind swept away. “Are-- are you two-- Wow. Words fail me.”

Depa let out a snort. “Same here. But about that haircut. Mom was right, it really is awful. Worse than the one Jacen gave himself when he was eleven. It was really bad, be glad you didn’t see it.”

Kanan chuckled, then glanced at Jacen. “I-- and you two came here to save me?”

Jacen shrugged. “We wouldn’t exist if we didn’t. Well, I would, but Depa wouldn’t, and that’s a downside. Kinda.”

Depa punched him in the arm, and Jacen let out a yelp, darting away from her as she took another swing at him, and Kanan could only shake his head because of what he was watching. “This is unbelievable.”

“I mean. Not that unbelievable,” Jacen pointed out, a smile crossing his face that Kanan had seen a thousand times in the seat next to his own.

“Wow. You look… just like your mom. Both of you.”

Jacen’s eyes went wide. ���R-really? Um. Everyone says I look like… you.”

“That is Hera Syndulla’s smile right there,” Kanan said, and he knew it to his core. “Looks just like hers. But yeah, I can see our resemblance. Well. For now.”

The smile faded off of Jacen’s face, and he said in a low voice, “We can’t stay.”

Nodding, Kanan said, “I know. I should probably get going, too. Just--” he paused, looking at his children for the last time. “I’m proud of you two already.”

“That is so typical of you,” Depa said, rolling her eyes in a completely Hera movement. “Do you have any idea how many kids you’re gonna adopt? Hint-- it’s a lot.”

“No spoilers,” Jacen ordered. “We should go. But before we do--” he turned to Kanan. “When the time comes, tell Ezra that he doesn’t have to be you. He has to be him, and no one else.”

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Depa said breezily. “You’ll find him eventually.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean?” Kanan demanded.

“You’re about to find out,” Depa said with a wink, and that, Kanan knew, she’d gotten from him.

Leaning forward, Jacen said, “She’s your most infuriating child. Yes, more so than the Mandalorian.”

Kanan shook his head, grinning. “I can’t wait for you two to come along. I really can’t.”

Shrugging, Depa said, “You might not have to wait that long. Now get out of here, we’ve all got places to be.”

“Right.” Kanan turned towards the doorway, which was a blank white, and glanced back at his kids one more time. “May the Force be with you,” he told them.

“You always say that,” Jacen said with a slight grin. “See you soon, Dad.”

Kanan nodded, then stepped through the doorway.

Everything was dark as he stumbled out into what was some kind of clearing, or something. But he felt the sunlight on his face, and knew why it was. His eyesight was gone again, and he was okay with that.

A shriek cut through his thoughts, and he jerked his head up as someone shouted his name. “Kanan!”

It was Hera, her voice holding shock and joy and love, and Kanan heard her run towards him. But this time, he was running, too, and felt her slam into him. “You’re here,” she choked out, a sob shaking her body. “Ezra was right. I didn’t think--”

Kanan cut her off with a kiss, pulling her closer as she kissed him back. Breaking away from the kiss, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

Hera let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words, love.”

“I-- wait.” Kanan froze. “How long was I gone? How long since the fuel depot?” Panic raced through him.

“Only three months,” Hera assured him, clearly catching his fear. “You’ve missed a lot. There’s some things we should talk about.”

“I bet,” Kanan muttered. “Okay, let’s go talk.”

Hera stepped away from him, but caught hold of his hand so she could lead him. “Right this way, dear.”

Kanan relished the sound of her voice as he walked with her, willing to wait through whatever they had to talk about next.

Well. Almost willing. “There’s… one thing that I have to ask you,” he said. “There was this weird thing that happened while I was gone-- it’s a long story. But something that happened made me think-- it might be stupid, but I just need to ask--”

Cutting him off, Hera said, “Just ask, love.”

“Right.” Taking a quick breath, Kanan asked, “Are you… pregnant?”

He felt her stop in her tracks, shock radiating through her. “I--” Hera paused, then let out a sigh. “I was planning on telling you myself, you know. Not sure I should be thanking your Jedi instincts on this one. But… yes. I’m pregnant.”

Holy. Kriff. “I’m gonna be a dad,” Kanan whispered, the words surreal but beautiful. They were real. I actually saw my kids. Which means-- Jacen.

A smile slipping across his face, he bent down and kissed Hera again. He knew things had to have changed, and he had a lot to catch up on. But he was with the woman he loved, and he had a lifetime to look forward to. They could handle it together.

[enchantedblackrose]

Like I Love You

Jay Halstead/Plus sized Reader

Summary: Jay arrives at your apartment to pick you up for a date, but you're filled with self doubt.

¡Warnings! This potentially could be triggering. Poor body image, possible body dysmorphia, specific mentions of feelings of not being enough because of physical appearance

<Please, please lmk if I need to add any warnings.>

Loosely inspired by One Direction's Little Things

Like I Love You 

Your head throbs as hot tears of frustration continue to fall from your eyes. 

It was absolutely ridiculous to be this upset trying to pick out a decent outfit. After all, you've been successfully dressing yourself since age three.

But you don't have the mindset of a toddler. You're a jaded young woman with society's disgusting definition of beauty constantly shoved in your face. 

Deep down you know better. You know that the numbers on the scale give no indication of your beauty nor do they dictate your worth.

Sighing and trying to remind yourself that you are pretty, you again glance in the full length mirror. Standing there in nothing more than a top and underwear, fresh tears immediately fill your eyes. You only see flaws. Resisting the urge to poke at the cellulite near your thighs, you focus on your shirt. But the sleeves are cutting into your arms making them look weird. No, not weird. Fat. The too tight sleeves cause your arms to bulge. And the material clings to your soft tummy. You pinch the excess belly fat between your thumbs and index fingers, wishing you could squeeze it away.

You feel so ugly and gross. Angrily you pull the shirt off and throw it clear across your bedroom, where it joins a pair of jeans you couldn't breathe in and numerous other offending articles of clothing. None of which you look good in either.

You find an oversize t-shirt and slip it on before you just collapse on that very spot of plush carpeting.

Tears still roll down your face. All you wanted was something cute to wear. To be pretty. And go out with your boyfriend for a date night. He's a detective for the Chicago police department. The hours are already long and sometimes abnormal, but this week he, and the rest of the special unit he's a part of,  were logging extra hours on a particular difficult case. You haven't seen much of each other recently so you were especially giddy when you received his text earlier in the day saying there had been a break in the case which meant he could swing by your place and take you out on a proper date. Your reply had been almost immediate, telling him how wonderful that sounded.

You were surprised to hear from him again, still promising to take you out, but proposing you both meet up with his coworkers after dinner for some drinks. He included "begging" and "puppy dog eyes" in the message. 

Though you wanted to, you couldn't exactly say no for several reasons. You had already agreed to the date, so he knew you were free. Part of you suspected that he had done it on purpose. You'd accuse your favorite detective of entrapment later. 

You also were fully aware how much Jay wanted to introduce you to the coworkers he considered friends, having been invited to go out with them several times before. You kept putting it off.

Not because you had no interest in meeting everyone. Rather, the idea fed your worst insecurities.

What if they don't think I'm good enough? They're going to wonder what he sees in me. Then Jay will start wondering too. 

Wanting to do this solely for Jay's benefit, believing he deserved this after the hellish week at work, you went to your bedroom to plan your outfit. That's how you ended up in this nightmare. You only want to look your best, like you belong with Jay.

Nothing in your closet said that though. The truth of the matter was no one like him should be with someone who looks like you.

Cries turn to sobs. You draw your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You hear the door to your apartment unlock, Jay using his copy of your key to let himself in. Hastily, you wipe at your face, not wanting him to see you like this; yet you can't find the will to stand. A loud, nasally sniff escapes you.

"Babe?" His still unaware voice calls out from the hallway. "I got us reservations." You don't answer back right away and you hear his footsteps approach. 

Having found you, he stops in the doorway. "Whoa. What kind of nuclear clothing explosion happened here?" He indicates to the mounds of clothes which surround you and cover the better part of the carpet and bed. His laughter dies as soon as he sees your tear-streaked, puffy face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" his worry evident in both his voice and light eyes. He looks you up and down, frantically searching for any sign of what has you like this.

You mumble incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"The floor begs to differ," he teases. You glare back, in no mood for jokes no matter how well intended. He holds up his hands signaling he meant no harm before he pulls you to your feet. "What's going on?" You huff a heavy sigh in reply. His hand caresses your cheek and softly "hmms?" at you encouragingly.

"Nothing fits right," you confess. He hesitates unsure how to respond, so you continue. "I look extra fat in everything."

Jay frowns. "I doubt that very much. You always look good. I love how you look dolled up when we go out and I love when you're in an old tee and sweats."

"That's nice of you to say-"

"Well I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true," he cuts you off.

You give a tiny, weak smile. "I hate how I look." Your voice cracks. New tears sting your eyes.

He brushes the few teardrops that manage to escape with his thumb. "Baby, what are you talking about? You're beautiful." His voice is soft with a hint of sadness hearing you talk this way.

"This is not beautiful." You pat your flabby stomach, then your thighs. 

Carefully stepping to avoid the clothes which litter the floor, Jay makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge, still mindful of the garments piled there as well. He opens his arms, indicating for you to sit on his lap.

"My huge ass will probably crush you," you mutter.

"Baby-"

 

Exasperated you throw your arms up, "I look nothing like you!"

"Well I'm a guy and you're not so…"

"Stop. I mean you look like a freaking model. That face and those abs for days." You catch him looking smug, no doubt a witty remark is at his lips, but one glance at you and he leaves it unsaid. You continue. Your voice hushed, "I'm afraid of what people might think or say when they see us together. It's why I've been so reluctant to meet your friends."

His eyes sadden. He reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but stern, almost begging you to believe his words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I honestly had no idea, but listen to me, please. The only people who get a say about our relationship are in this room right now, okay? So our opinions are the only ones that matter. You. Are. Beautiful." He pauses only to shush you when he sees your mouth open. "The way your mind works fascinates me. Your sense of humor is amazing. You continuously show compassion for others, which in this world is not always easy. I swear your goodness is innate. Your laugh is intoxicating. When you smile...I wish you could see how your face lights up and your body turns me on exactly how it is. I have never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to you. I love you."

Jay's words move you, but they're not enough to silence your insecurities. "Even though I don't have a thigh gap?"

His brows furrow. "I...don't know what that means."

"It means my thighs touch each other. They're not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"...society."

"Society's ugly, not you or your thighs." His fingers trace nondescript patterns on the bare skin in question. "Besides, thick thighs save lives."

"Jay!" You laugh despite yourself. He smiles in return and presses his lips to your temple.

"I love you too. You know that, right?" You ask, realizing you hadn't said it back and he nods. A hand intertwines with his as you look in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're not. We all have insecurities or things we don't like about ourselves. I just wish you weren't so hard on yourself. I'm sorry too if you felt I was putting pressure on you to meet everyone."

"Not at all," you shake your head. "That's just me being me."

"Still, if my friends have a problem with us being together for any reason, they're not the people I think they are. Truly though, they'd love you. Hell, if we didn't show up together I could see one of them hitting on you," Jay pauses if imagining it.  "But seriously. They'd adore you. First, because they're going to see firsthand how good you are for me. Then because you're you. Funny, smart-"

"But I want to be pretty, Jay. And look like we belong together."

Jay sighs, but not out of frustration with you. He's only concerned."You are. And we do. I know nothing I say is going to magically change how you see yourself...I get that. You have to be the one to work this out. I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes and love yourself like I love you. Maybe then you'd understand you're so worthy of self-love. I promise, I'm right here and I'm going to keep reminding you how beautiful you are in hopes you'll start to see it."

Your hand caresses his cheek as you fight the urge to cry again. He leans into your touch. "You do help," you tell him because it's true and to reassure him. "I'm so lucky to have you. I'm really going to try to not be so down on myself. Besides. I  really don't want to ruin any more of our nights."

He waves you off. "A night trying to get you to see your beauty is not ruined. And the night's still young. We'll do whatever you're up for. Go out for a bit. Stay in and order food. Whatever."

A small smile appears on your face. You quickly peck his lips with yours. "I just want to wash my face before we do anything." Jay nods. You slide off his lap and head to your bathroom across the hall.

The light flickers for a second as soon as you hit the switch. You go to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run to get to the perfect temperature. Standing there, you glance into the vanity mirror. Your face is still slightly puffy with a few soft pink splotches across your cheeks from all your crying. You splash the water on your face and repeat the action several more times before using a fluffy towel to pat dry your face. You stare back into the mirror. And smile. It reaches your eyes and illuminates your face. You reach a realization. However fleeting or permanent, you don't know. But right now in this moment, you feel it. 

You're pretty.

-

[wdwmarveldisney]

Rumours

Scott McCall x fem!reader

Royalty AU

Summary: Princess Y/N (soon to be Queen) and her sisters have to find suitors by the end of the ball tonight or their parents will choose for them. What happens when all of her focus goes into her small investigation into the rumours of werewolves instead?

A/N: Ok so this is for @demxters writing challenge. Don’t know if it’s too late but I like it so I’m gonna post it. It is a royalty AU so that was fun to right. Also I think Scott is a little cocky in this so you have been warned.

Masterlist

Gif isn’t mine

Just to make things clear, you weren't the most fond of being dressed up like a doll and paraded around in front of suitors. You also hated that you didn't have worth until you had a man. Your father and mother, King and Queen of the kingdom, had organised a ball in honour of you and your sisters and had insisted you'd try to find your suitors by the end of the night or they'd been chosen for you. All three of you had been told that in order for the man to be worthy he must have a wealthy kingdom, highly respected and, of course, want to continue his bloodline. Your father had added that you should also feel something for him and that one was really a priority but your mother had disagreed. She was difficult like that. But even though you hated her views and all of this, you didn't have it as bad as your youngest sister. She had a major crush on her maid, Tammy, and it was something she'd only shared with you and your other sister and she was distraught when she found out she'd have to pick someone soon. Said whatever man threw himself at her first would do because she'd never be interested in any.

But back to being dressed up like a doll. Though you may despise it, you didn't look half bad in the lilac ball gown or the small tiara. Actually, having your hair braided in a crown suited you. And with the few touches of makeup, dare say you looked gorgeous. Relaxing your shoulders and shaking out your hands, you took a deep breath. A necklace was placed on you by your maid Charlene, a small gold chain with a circle pendant. Smiling at the girl through the mirror, you watched her curtsy and leave. With nobody else in the room and a good five minutes until they collected you, you reached under your bed and pulled out a box. Inside were papers, all connected with information on sightings of wild dogs though most claimed it to be a creature of the devil, a werewolf. You loved a good mystery and you loved a good secret so you investigating these cases without anyone knowing was thrilling. And though you believe yourself to be rational, the only logical conclusion you had brought up was in fact werewolves. Always on a full moon, always human like dog figures, in a pack and you had heard of someone even calming them down enough that their eyes didn't glow the strange colours they allegedly did. Another thing you had found out was that there had been a link brought up between said werewolves and a prince of a neighbouring kingdom. A Prince who was attending the ball tonight.

The plan was simple, dance with a few other men then eventually him. When you reach him, strike up a conversation about his kingdom then bring up you'd heard faint rumours about wild dogs near there. Watch his reaction and deem whether the questioning should go further. Maybe push a little more even when it seems like he doesn't know. Whatever you could do to get the truth and if you couldn't get it from him, see if there's anyone he looks to or talks to straight after. You liked to believe that over the many years you have spent training to be Queen (being the oldest and all) you'd learnt the art of observation. You'd learnt little ticks and traits most people had and had even been able to pick up on other non obvious ones. I mean it was you who had noticed the last cook lie about the stolen necklace and had managed to make him confess through a few psychological tricks you picked up. Or when you can tell your parents are lying or your sisters' are keeping something from you, you know. So this should be easy.

Hearing the distant echo of heels, you kicked the box carelessly under your bed and rushed to sit in the seat before your mirror as your hands moved to the corset. It was tighter than usual, no doubt upon your mother's request. She'd made it clear she thought you were putting on weight, cutting your meals down and making you walk around the grounds more. Said you spent too much time in your room when in reality you had just snook out to investigate by borrowing Charlene's spare uniform which you always washed after. Your mother disapproved with anything that wasn't related to royal duty and had always shut down your detective side growing up.

Speak of the devil.

"The ball's starting. I suggest you start heading down," you gave a faint nod at her words, not looking her way until she sighed. Your mother raised an eyebrow at you and you rolled your eyes before smiling brightly and straightening out your posture. She nodded before walking away and as soon as she was out of sight, you relaxed with a frown curving your lips down. You paused for a second, debating whether you really wanted to go or not but you had to. You threw your head back with a groan before standing up and leaving the room. Your sisters were waiting outside your room, both slumping against the wall as they spoke to one another. "What are you guys doing? We said we'd meet there," You began to make your way down the hall, your sisters quickly catching up and matching your quick pace as they laughed. "What's got you so paranoid? Worried about a certain someone maybe?"

"No, she doesn't leave this place, how could she be expecting to see someone?" Your jaw dropped at Anna's words, glancing to a laughing Victoria. Rolling your eyes, you reached up to fiddle with your necklace as your sisters grinned to each other. "Very mature. I'm actually more worried about the fact mother is watching over, she's literally the most intimidating when she's staring at you from the other side of the room over a glass of wine and a coy smile," Both nodded as the three of you stopped at the door, Anna sighing as she nodded to the guard who smiled in return and opened the door to inform them of the announcement. "I hate this," you chuckled at Anna, fixing your dress as your nerves got the better of you, "No, you hate men," Victoria giggled at the way Anna's face dropped as you just smirked. The youngest shook her head as she frowned, "You can't say that! What if mother and father hear? I'd be disowned!" You both stopped laughing just as Anna's name was called, the girl entering the hall with an unbelievable amount of grace and you prayed you wouldn't make a fool of yourself when you had to.

-

Walking down the stairs with all eyes on you is scary enough but when you almost trip on your gown, it's ten times worse. Thankfully no one had pointed it out or laughed (minus your sisters that is) and you could pretend like it didn't happen. Now though, you stood to the side and watched the dance take place whilst waiting for a certain Prince to join. Of course, he was too busy talking to his friends and joking around and it did not look like he was going to anytime soon. "Hey loser. How's it spending the night by yourself?" You sent the giggling girl a sarcastic smile before you went back to observing. "First of all Victoria, that was extremely rude. Second, it's only ten minutes in and third, I have to be just a little drunk to handle all this so," you downed the rest of your wine, immediately reaching for another two glasses from the guy who had just walked past with a thankful nod and small smile.

Victoria rolled her eyes as she copied you actions of taking another glass and raising an eyebrow as you downed both glasses one after another. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room and a small snort from her caught your attention and you followed her gaze only to see your mother's disappointed expression and harsh glare. You scoffed, reaching to one of the chocolates on the table behind you and leaving the glasses there, "Oh, is she disappointed? How unfortunate," Victoria laughed at your comment before her attention was taken away and she was waving to one of the guys across the room. She handed you the half finish glass and turned so her back was towards the guy as she adjusted her dress and fixed her hair, "Look good, right?" You grabbed another chocolate as you nodded and she patted your hand that held the wine glass, "I'll leave you with that. Have fun being a disappointment," she commented and you smirked at the words, a light laugh leaving your lips, "Oh, you know I will," you both chuckled at your words, her walking off to the guy as you downed the rest of her wine and continued to observe.

You saw the Prince talking with one of his friends who was nervously glancing towards one of the guards from his kingdom by the look of things and you grinned. Your eyes went to Anna who nodded along bored by the guy in front of her. Her gaze kept going to the maid by the stairs who was taking round some of the foods and chatting away with one of the other maids. You chuckled at the jealousy radiating off her and how oblivious everyone else (except Victoria, of course) was to it. Placing the glass down and adjusting your tiara, you straightened out your posture and made your way to the dance floor, noticing the way the prince was repeatedly glancing at you when he saw. You sent a sweet smile back, watching as he blushed and stuttered over his words, not that you were close enough to hear but you could see from where you were. You began to dance with a guy, some Lord or Duke. To be honest, you didn't really listen to his introduction after hearing how cocky and self-centered he was from the first few words to leave his mouth. You fake a smile, making sure he and anyone else knew that it wasn't real.

At some point, the prince had disappeared from his place at the side of the ballroom and as you stared round trying to find him, you moved to the next guy and sparing a glance to the one you're dancing with now. You continue to look round but do a double take when it finally registers that he's right in front of you. He laughs at your expression, seeming more confident than before after seeing you splutter in shock. Soon enough, you regain your posture and small smirk that he smiles at. "And who may you be?" He grinned at the mischievous expression you had, spinning you before answering, "Scott McCall. No need to ask who you are, m'lady," you scoffed at his words, rolling your eyes at his tone. You shook your head, trying to find the best way to continue the conversation to get it where you needed it. Why not just jump straight into it?

"I think I've heard of your place. Rumours of werewolves, right?" You watched him tense and a small frown form on his lips. He continued to dance with you but he didn’t seem to interested in conversation anymore. “Oh come on,” you chuckled as he spun you out, rolling your eyes at his expression. “Think they’re real?” He rolled his eyes this time, relaxing at the look on your face. With the slight shake of his head, he bowed to you as the music came to an end. One glance over your shoulder and you grabbed his hand to drag him over to a far corner. “I don’t necessarily believe anything without proof,” you nodded, taking in his words and laughed at how he completely dodged answering. The two of you stopped when you were a little further away from everyone else. You leant against the wall, smirk on your lips as you countered, “You’re avoiding the question. So,” you bit your lip, unable to bite back the grin at the fact you were so close to the end of the mystery, “What do you know? Are you the person that calms them down or, even better, are you one of them?” He looked tense, scoffing at the suggestion as he played with a ring on his finger. He was nervous so whatever words came out his mouth next had to be a lie. “I’m not, I’m not one of them,” you saw him look up at the growing grin on your face, the mischief and pride in your eyes. A breathy laugh left you lips as your hand went up to play with the necklace, “Oh my god, you’re a, I mean I thought maybe because when I went out and stuff, investigating’s hard, a lot of people had heard a connection with you and, well I thought that maybe they were wrong but, wow, they had it spot on, didn’t they?” He looked shocked at your rambles and you realised that you let slip you were investigating, “You can’t tell anyone that. My mother will kill me if she found out,” he sighed, nodding and looking back to the ring. He seemed to be figuring something out, face scrunched up in thought, “A secret for a secret,” he smiled at the way you were quick to agree. Shaking his head, he laughed before looking to someone across the room, “Derek’s gonna kill me,”

“Is he the alpha?” You asked, following his gaze to the guard the boy was staring at earlier. He had his eyes fixed on you with a fierce glare and you sent a cheeky smile and wave back. When you turned back to Scott, he was already looking at you. “No, he’s a beta. You can tell from the eyes,” he gestured a finger around his and you grinned at everything you were learning. Practically jumping with excitement, you asked, “Well, what about you?” He flashed his eyes at you, the blood red almost mesmerising and he smiled at the awed look on your face. “Red, alpha,” you giggled making him blush, standing up straight and placing your hands on his cheeks to bring him down for a closer look, “So cool,” you mumbled, eyes flickering between his before you realised he was looking at your lips, the red fading from his eyes. With a slightly forced chuckle and growing blush, you took a step back. “Yeah, I don’t kiss on a first meeting. Try third or fifth,” he smiled at the half smirk, half grin on your lips. He nodded in understanding yet still took your hands in his. “Well, I was thinking, maybe, I could come back tomorrow and we could walk around the kingdom or you know, just the garden,” you tilted your head for a second, pretending to think as he laughed at your antics, “I think I’m too busy learning to be a stone hearted bitch from my mother but I could clear my schedule,” you both chuckled, hands swinging slightly between you.

With a sigh, you glanced over his shoulder at Anna, talking to his friend from before. “Who’s that? I saw you talking to him earlier, he was staring at Derek. Actually, he still is,” Scott spun round and smiled at the sight of the brunet, “That’s Stiles. He kinda has a thing for Derek,” you sighed as you watched Anna stare at Tammy from across the room, clearly obsessed with the girl, “Well, he’d be a perfect fit for my sister. Maybe we should go over and tell them they both have love life problems that could be solved by getting together,” he raised an eyebrow at you so you explained, “She likes Tammy, her maid. Maybe if the two were to court and they married, lived in a castle alone together with said infatuations of theirs, they could be happy,”

He nodded, glancing back to see them both blushing messes and you saw him become slightly more concentrated before he looked back to you with a growing grin, “No need, they’re putting it all together themselves,” you smiled, watching them talk enthusiastically about it all, clearly very happy with the plan they were creating. “So,” you put all your focus back on Scott and smiled at his grin, “What time should I come by tomorrow?”

[amiechuchu]

Magic, Mayhem, and All Things In Between

Chapter 3: Background of the Study

[A/N: finally some y/n and loki development. soft loki moments. i am once again back with the self-indulgent fic and i hope you enjoy :’)]

other chapters can be found here

Weeks had passed since you had accepted Mr. Stark’s small favor. Weeks had passed since you began spending the majority of your time with the Asgardian brothers and dear Uncle Bruce. Though the days were filled with chatter, the late nights in the lab were quite the opposite. With only the low hum of machines to keep you company, you realized how lonely it can be. It was unlike the times you spent in the hospital, where you’d be surrounded by fellow doctors, nurses, and patients even at the dead of night. Despite how these late night duties meshed with early mornings, dulling your own sense of time, you didn’t mind it because of the company that you had. Research work, on the other hand, was a different story. Despite your years of experience, the burnout and loneliness that accompanied research work slowly made its way to the deepest parts of your brain.

“Hey,” a voice said as a hand waved in front of you, snapping you out of the trance you were in. It was Loki. “Are you okay, pet? You look rather dead.” The God held up a cup of freshly brewed coffee and passed it on to you.

“I’m fine,” came your quick reply as you received the cup from him, your hands nudging his slightly, “thank you for the coffee by the way.” You gave Loki a weak smile before beginning to sip from the warm cup of comfort that was given to you.

The lack of reaction was unusual. How many times has Loki seen you flustered with just the tiniest forms of physical touch? Probably every single time. Confused, he grabbed a chair and set it down beside you. “Are all you Midgardians always so dishonest about what you feel?” There was that usual bite in his manner of speaking. Though, no matter how hard he tried to hide it in his cold demeanor, he could feel the concern dripping from the words he uttered; the loneliness he saw in your eyes hit too close to home. Did he get too close? Maybe showing that he cared was a mistake.

Keeping your eyes on the warm mug, you hummed in reply, refusing to answer a clear yes. Your eyes glanced up at the God beside you, longing to understand why he’d even bother. Clearly, you were oblivious to any form of care or concern Loki has shown. It wasn’t as if you had your guard up, rather you were quite unfamiliar with the intimacies of talking about your own feelings. Although the question he asked was clearly rhetorical, you still wondered: Do Asgardians not repress their own feelings to prevent them from getting distracted from things that truly matter?

Green orbs stared at yours, noticing the ever darkening bags under your eyes. “I was just concerned,” Loki began, voice softening. The God looked away and focused on the variety of glassware set up on the table adjacent to them, “it has been a while since you’ve left the laboratory. You didn’t even sneak out to the medical wing for a little breather.”

You raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. How could he have noticed all that? How could he have cared at all? After all, you were just a lowly Midgardian, as he put it, and he was a God, a deity, someone with power and importance. “How did you-”

“It pains me that you put me on the same level as them, little doctor,” the God interjected as he faced you once more, “out of all the weeks we’ve spent in this laboratory, you really believed I wouldn’t have noticed.” He noticed the closeness of your proximity; his form inches away from yours, yet your mind was elsewhere. 

“In my defense, everyone else I’ve met in this tower described you as a narcissistic asshole and a war criminal,” you shrugged, “so, naturally, I didn't think you would care at all about my well-being.” You took a sip from your cup, and indulged in the buzz the caffeine began to give you. “But I don’t think you’re as bad as they make you out to be. They just didn’t think of the whole story. Just took out a portion of it. It was unfair - what they did to you. It felt as if you always had the short end of the stick.”

Silence. 

Now, it was your turn to shock your Asgardian companion. Being on the other end of empathy was foreign to Loki as everyone treated him quite harshly. He grew up in the shadow of Thor, the more loveable sibling, and, as much as he wanted to show off his capabilities, that he was just as worthy as Thor, Loki was left in the darkness, to wallow in promises unkept, to wallow in dreams broken, to wallow in his own great tragedy. 

Eyes feeling heavy, You turned your head towards Loki, waiting for a response; though you were a naturally perceptive person, the look on his face was filled with emotions you couldn’t make out. Was he mad? Did you say too much? That analysis was unwarranted, of course he’d be mad. Embarrassed, you looked down on your cup of coffee once more, “I apologize if I said anything out of line. There are just too many things in my mind right now. I don’t think I was able to filter my thoughts very well.”

“Pray tell, dear doctor. What are you thinking of?” Loki replied, deciding to change the course of their conversation. With brows slightly raised and his gaze set at your exhausted form, you felt the God studying you, attempting to break down the essence of what makes the little physician tick. 

Deciding to be a smartass, you replied, “like I said, many things.” You set down your cup of coffee on the table and crossed your arms. “Why do you ask, Loki? These past few weeks you’ve been awfully helpful to the point that Uncle says it’s weird and unlikely for you to do that just for a human. I appreciate it though, but I just don’t see why you should go out of your way to listen to me.”

“Your words wound me, doctor,” Loki chuckled, emerald eyes piercing yours, “can I not be concerned? I see years worth of loneliness and unfulfilled expectations in your eyes to the point that you can’t even deny it. I’m sure you understand what isolation and over independence can do.” Your eyes softened, glistening under the incandescent lights. You were cracking slowly, and the God knew this. He knew what you were seeking: comfort, validation, a shoulder to cry on. It was clear as day.

“Well, I could see all the walls you’ve built. You know everything about everybody, but barely anyone knows anything about you,” you attempted to reply proudly; however, your words were breathy, already beginning to shake. So much for an attempted bark. Embarrassed, you looked away defensively, not taking another moment under his perceptive gaze. It felt as if all the skeletons you’ve kept inside your closet were being showcased all of a sudden, and you hated every second of it. Your stomach churned as your defenses slowly came undone; it wouldn’t take a while now for you to start oversharing, possibly even crying your eyes out. His hand tenderly reached out to the edge of your chin and tilted it towards him. It was warm, soothing. Comforting.

“I could say the same to you, darling. You act as if you don’t build walls around you, yet you keep everyone else at arms reach. I know what loneliness and distrust does to people, and I also know that you shouldn’t hold yourself accountable for all these expectations.” There was a slight pang in Loki’s chest as he said all these truths. He too bore wounds invisible to the eye. He too carried scars from the past. These emotions were far too familiar to the raven-haired God much like old friends, and he was afraid that, by reading these off your face, he’d become attached somehow, mended together by a mutual understanding of each other’s pain. What would become of his plan then? His glorious purpose?

Looking up to him, you realized how small you were, how fragile, how easy it was for him to see through your façade. It was oddly nice to have someone who had a grasp on your inner demons, albeit without consent. You felt a connection in the making.

 Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to trust him.

 *

Days have passed since the God of Mischief and the doctor have shared a portion of the thoughts they hid away in the darkest parts of their head. It was needless to say that the two now had an unspoken connection, a commiseration of loneliness, self-doubt, and crushing expectations. Often, they’d find their gazes focused on one another, with smiles shared and laughter exchanged. Other times, a helping hand would linger longer than usual atop the other’s. A gentle squeeze or the light encircling of one’s thumb, a sign of care and concern; these gestures only happened when the two were alone, knowing that dear Uncle Bruce would be highly against it. However, it wouldn’t be long before the others noticed.

You were grateful that today was a relatively slow day in the laboratory. Majority of the specimens that were scheduled for today’s tests were finished earlier than usual along with the case presentations and progress reports Mr. Stark had asked you to make. Though it seemed like such a small feat, you took it positively; today, you could finally take a breather. You hummed happily as you began arranging the mountain of paperwork around the main table.

Upon reaching for the next pile of papers, a familiar hand laid atop of yours. You smiled and looked at your raven-haired companion, admiring the way his tousled locks framed his oh-so ethereal face. 

“Do you need help, my dear doctor?” Loki asked as his thumb drew circles on your hand. Though his silvery voice tugged at your heartstrings as they always did, your cheeks were slightly tinged a light shade of red at mention of the pet name. The God never called you his doctor before.

“I can manage,” you replied as you turned your hand, interlocking your fingers with his. You kept your gaze on your hands intertwined with his, the way they fit together so perfectly. “It’s surprisingly not as busy today.”

Loki leaned down, his face close behind your neck. “A bit bold today aren’t we, pet?” he jested, breath tickling the side of your ear.

Thor observed the scene from afar, shocked. He never thought that his brother would’ve established a bond with the doctor, not in the way that Loki didn’t deserve any type of social interaction, but in the way that his brother wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. With arms crossed, the God of Thunder continued to watch as the two continued on with their intimacies, wondering when and how this managed to start. He watched the way your eyes lingered on his brother attentively; the way you were able to tug a smile on Loki’s face; the way his face lit up when you were around; the way your gentle touch was able to open a different side of Loki. 

Though he was wary of his brother and his antics, Thor disregarded his suspicions: the two of you were much too happy occupied in your bubble of… friendship? No, it was more than that. So much more. Something was blossoming, and the God of Thunder was sure of it. He was unsure of the status of you and Loki’s relationship, but nevertheless he was still happy. However, he wasn’t so sure if your uncle would be so accepting of it, knowing the bad blood between what had happened in New York.

The doors of the laboratory swept open, startling the two friends. Thor coughed loudly to alert his brother and the doctor, but it was already too late for them to fall back to a more believably platonic position. Out came Mr. Stark and Uncle Bruce from the elevators, both shocked at the closeness of you and Loki. Tony looked more curious than shocked at the development. Your uncle, on the other hand, radiated a crushing aura, and, although Uncle Bruce’s face seemed calm and collected at the moment, you knew very well that there was anger hidden underneath it. He always warned you about Loki and the danger he could bring if you got involved, so it was no surprise to you if his anger came from both concern and disappointment. 

Awkward air filled the room as the two made their way towards the laboratory’s main table. Loki stepped back away from you, whispering something along the lines of you being okay. You nodded in affirmation then looked down, averting any type of eye contact, and started to fiddle with the sheets of paper you had in hand. 

Sighing, you knew it was taboo to speak of the laboratory’s peace out loud since it always brought bad luck. Now, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.

taglist: @gaycatlord-stuff​  @aces-tattooartist​ 

[anathtsurugi]

So, Star Wars buddies, y’all remember how I wrote that soulmate AU a couple years back...

Well, When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest is finally getting a continuation. The new story will be posted in about a month as part of @kalluzebminibang‘s mini bang event, but the first chapter is available right now on my Patreon. So if you still remember my odd little story, if it touched your life in some way and you’ve maaaaaybe got a few spare dollars lying around for a rainy day, you can hop on over and be one of the first to see the start of the new fic.

But for now, if you haven’t got the spare change but are still excited for the new story, here’s a little sneak peek at the upcoming You Can Take My heart, You Can Take My Breath.

~*~

 Ever since returning from Mandalore, Kanan had been working with him to try and figure out a way to regain his soulmark. Nothing they'd tried had come anywhere close to succeeding. Zeb still possessed amber in his field of vision, and would occasionally report other flashes of color flickering in and out. So it seemed the problem lay not with him, but with Kallus himself.

 These last few days, he had gone out early in the morning to meet with the Jedi, before he had to be on shift and before Kanan would meet up with Ezra for their own regular training. But this was even earlier than he normally woke. He doubted Kanan would even be awake yet. Even so, he would head out, maybe take a little extra time to get into the necessary head space...

 "I know you're not goin' out at this un-Ashla hour," Zeb grumbled from the bunk just as he finished dressing. "Y'should come back to bed."

 Kallus gave a fond sigh as he crossed the few steps back to the bed, dropping to one knee beside it. "I will do no one any good lying here unable to sleep," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to his partner's lips. "Go back to sleep, my love. I'll return in an hour or so."

 "Mm, there's other things we can do if you can't sleep, y'know," Zeb mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

 "Be reasonable, Garazeb," he started with a small laugh. "We can't have sex every time I can't sleep."

 "We could. It's an option. You're just choosing not to."

 Again Alex laughed, placating his lover with one last kiss. "Maybe so, but you at least require sleep, and if you're a good boy and get enough rest, I promise you can kriff me up against the wall when I get back."

 "Promise?" the Lasat grumbled peevishly as he rolled away from him.

 "Promise."

 "Fine. But I'm holdin' you to that. I don't care how late we are for morning shift."

 "Fair enough," Kallus conceded as he got back to his feet.

 "L'ashkerrir an," Zeb mumbled, barely awake.

 Kallus stopped in the doorway at the sound of those words, feeling that same flutter of unbound joy in his heart as he had the very first time Zeb had spoken them. He hoped it never stopped.

 "And I you...my dearest Zeb," he said softly, adoringly, before allowing the door to slide closed behind him.

 Kallus took no weapons with him when he departed the Ghost, despite every instinct he had always begging him to. The very first time they'd gone out into the jungle, Kanan had insisted he wouldn't need any weapons.

 "Are you crazy?" he'd asked, certain the knight hadn't yet been informed about the local fauna. "Do you have any idea what's out there?"

 Kanan had simply given him a shit-eating grin and offered up cryptically, "Only what you take with you."

 Whatever that meant. Still, Kallus had obeyed, and he had not found cause to doubt Kanan yet. This particular morning was no different, if not a touch earlier than even he rose. The sky had barely begun to lighten as he moved through the dense jungle. He'd likely have had trouble finding his way if he didn't already know where he was going. However, much to his surprise, their usual clearing was not deserted when he arrived.

 "Couldn't sleep?" Kanan asked as Kallus stepped into the circle, clearly having been sitting in meditation for some time already. As had been the case on all the mornings prior, he was not wearing his typical mask.

 "I don't know that I've slept properly since Atollon," he admitted, tired of his own stoic front. He had learned quickly that the knight could read him like a holobook. "Though neither, it seems, could you."

 "Call it a hunch," the Jedi said, nodding to indicate he ought to sit down beside him. "Feel up to contemplating your innermost self this fine morning?"

 "As much as one ever is 'up' for such a task," he conceded as he came to sit beside the man he had previously hunted. "Though Zeb did try to argue that it isn't even properly morning yet."

 "And he was right. Unfortunately for those of us with normal biorhythms, the Force says 'jump' when and where it wants to, so we mortals must abide. Let me see your arm," he said, holding out his hand.

 "See, Kanan?" he joked half-heartedly as he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, resting his forearm in the Jedi's outstretched hand.

 "I can see better than you can right now," Kanan returned in a similar tone, caught somewhere between joking and serious. Exhaling, he brought his other hand up to run his fingers over the skin where the soulmark had once been, and when he winced at whatever it was he was feeling, Kallus was once again grateful not to be able to feel it.

 "Close your eyes," the Jedi told him.

 Kallus did as he was bid, easily quieting the skeptical voice in his mind that had grown smaller and smaller since he'd watched the inquisitor burn away a piece of his soul.

 "Quiet your mind," Kanan coached him.

 Kallus knew the Jedi had not found it easy to convince him to let go of the tight patterns of control Imperial conditioning had worked him into. He still didn't find it easy to just...let go. To give up control of his mind and his thoughts and allow himself to just...be. The closest he came was his state of mind when engaged in a particularly fierce fight ― the sort where he had gone beyond gauging his opponent and plotting his own moves and had simply become lost in the rhythm of the moment...the dance of it. He couldn't say how much time had passed when he became aware of Kanan's voice again.

 "When you first realized Zeb was your soulmate...what did you feel?"

 "Relief," he answered without having to think about it. "Even though I had tried- to give it up...I had feared that my partner had died soon after Lasan. There was something...freeing...in finally hearing those words spoken aloud."

 "But...?"

 "That relief was immediately followed by anger."

 "Because he was your enemy?"

 "Because I was his."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I think I had always known...from the moment I was able to understand the words on my arm...that there would be enmity between my partner and I. The older I became, the more I was prepared to hate myself...for all of it. When the moment finally came...all I had left was anger...hatred...for him, myself...for the galaxy and everyone in it. I tried to tell myself I'd done the only thing I could do..."

 "But you knew different."

 "Deep down...I suppose...yes. I didn't begin to consider the implications of any of it until after Bahryn...and then everything was happening so quickly...and Zeb was forgiving me everything...even if he shouldn't have done. I loved him...so fiercely in those days. I clung to it when I was weak...in my darkest moments..."

 "And then you were captured."

 Kallus gasped, any response he might've had slipping away from him as the memories pierced his awareness, sharp and unforgiving.

 Thrawn's red eyes...his cruel sneer...

 The inquisitor's chilling voice...her molten, scorching touch as she-

 "NO!" he cries out in anguish, struggling to pull back, to turn away from the horror of it.

 "No. Don't run from this. Stand your ground, Fulcrum," the Jedi's voice comes to him again, firm but not unkind, guiding him in the darkness. "We're so close now."

 So Alex let the memory play out, trembling, but not looking away as he relived his worst moment.

 "It- broke me...when that bond was cut," he recounted, his voice unsteady. "I had bled for it...killed for it...in a way, I had died for it...and they took it from me. As easy as peeling off a glove...they stole a part of my heart from me...the part that was good...that was true and worth saving...the part that Zeb loved. They stole it from me," he hissed, feeling the sting of tears as they pushed their way through his closed eyelids.

 "Do you really believe that?" he heard Kanan asking him. "That the part of you that's worth saving is lost?"

 "Yes," he answered, voice still unsteady, but certain. "I don't- doubt his love...but why should someone as wonderful as Garazeb Orrelios...be bound to such a broken creature as this?" He had taken comfort in Zeb's promises...after Atollon...but did he believe himself worthy of them?

 No.

 "That's it, then."

 Inhaling sharply, Kallus suddenly found himself blinking his eyes open in the grey pre-dawn light to find Kanan now sitting in front of him, unseeing eyes gazing rather pointedly into his. Kallus had to resist the urge to pull back from him.

 "I...what?"

 "That's why you haven't been able to regain your soulmark. It's because you aren't certain you deserve to have it...that you don't want Zeb to be tied to you when, in your view, he has the chance to be free."

 "It- would seem so. Yes," he said quietly, achingly, as he let his gaze drop to the small patch of dirt that separated them.

 "Then there isn't anything I can do to help you," Kanan told him, reaching a hand up to grip his shoulder. "Until you know what it is that the two of you share, that bond won't return."

 Kallus inhaled slowly before giving a long sigh and looking up at the Jedi. "I understand. Thank you for everything you've done."

 "Don't give it up for lost yet, Kallus," Kanan scolded him mildly as he climbed to his feet. "Zeb's a stubborn one. He'll help you scrub out that Imperial mindset. You just need to give him a chance to prove himself. Go back to him. You two can probably get in a little extra time before the day gets going."

 "Right. I'll...catch up with you," he said, voice still little more than a whisper. Not watching Kanan go, the only indication he had that the younger man had done so was the quiet sound of his footfalls.

~*~

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[avengerscompound]

Running to a Standstill - 17

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2050

Rating:  E

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers.  While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 17

“This is an act of war, Captain!”

Ophelia Sarkissian stood behind a small army.  Steve wasn’t too concerned, he had his own, and he’d already taken out more HYDRA than was remaining just getting to the self-proclaimed Queen of Madripoor.  She had no true claim to the throne, except that she decided to use her position as Madame HYDRA to take it.  She had also broken several international laws outside of the fact that she was leading a criminal organization that was officially disbanded under orders of the UN after world war two.  Not to mention the crimes of unauthorized human experimentation, human trafficking, and kidnapping.  This was a sanctioned mission.  There would be some time spent in international courts after this was through, but Viper as she liked to be called, was going to the Raft and she would stay there until the day she died.

Carol landed beside him and gave a short nod.  “Sarkissian,” Steve shouted.  “Give yourself up.  This has gone far enough.  You know you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

“Madripoor doesn’t recognize your authority Captain,” Sarkissian snarled.  “Leave now.”

“I don’t know about you, Cap,” Carol said.  “But I think she talks a little too much.”

“I think you’re right, Captain,” Steve said. “Time to finish this.”

Carol took flight and barrelled into the group of HYDRA soldiers.  They went flying like pins in an alley.  “Stop them, you idiots!”  Sarkissian screamed as she shot a photon blast at Carol.

The soldiers that hadn’t been sent sprawling by carol had all quickly tossed back some pills.  Almost instantaneously the room erupted in chaos.  Carol and Viper were taking turns firing on each other.  The soldiers were changing.  Some bulking up.  Some grew tentacles or horns.  One on the far east side seemed to sprout wings from his back.  Steve threw his shield into the mass and began to fight.  He knew his agents were with him.  They began engaging in combat and he was very glad he’d taken the extra time to train his people to fight against enhanced soldiers.

He called his shield back and began fighting through the group to get to Viper.  Something sticky wrapped around his leg as he punched a guy who seemed to have had a crustacean-like shell form around him hard enough to crack the shell down the middle.  He slammed the shield down without looking and whatever grabbed him.  It let go and he vaulted over two more soldiers that seemed to have started growing fur.  He knew this battle wasn’t going to be a long one.  The drugs started to overload the soldier’s systems too fast and their bodies would start shutting down.  They were just trying to finish it first.  With Carol there, he did not doubt at all they’d be able to do it.  The problem was, Steve wanted to take them all alive.

He tossed his shield again, clearing a path to Viper who was now trying to escape through a secret door behind her throne.  Carol blasted the wall and Steve vaulted, first over two HYDRA agents and then the throne, catching his shield and slamming into Viper, knocking her sideways.  She caught herself before she fell and attacked him.  Carol began to circle the room taking out the mutated agents as Steve fought Viper one-on-one.  She wasn’t strong, but she was agile and highly trained.

“Do you think this will protect your beloved?”  Viper sneered as she parried with him.  “Or the child?  This is HYDRA, cut off one head…”

“And two more grow in its place,” Steve said in a bored voice, aiming a series of blows to her side.  “Save it.  I’ve heard it before.”

She flipped forward, aiming to put him in a thigh lock.  Steve reacted quickly, stepping to the side and using his shield to slam her straight down into the ground.  Steve used the back of his shield to hold her down.  “Ophelia Sarkissian, I take you into custody on behalf of the United Nations for crimes against humanity,” he said.  “And while you’re mulling things over on the Raft, you might want to let any of your colleagues that we don’t collect up today that Geo is not worth it.  Whatever you think that little boy can unlock, you’d have to go through the Avengers to get it, and this is what will come from it.”

Viper’s tongue pushed inside her cheek.  “Hail -”

He knew what was happening before he even realized he knew.  He quickly shoved his hand into her mouth, and she bit down into the glove, hard enough that if he was anyone else, she might have broken his fingers.  Carol landed beside him and raised her eyebrow.

“That’s a weird fighting technique, Steve,” she said.  “They teach you that in the army?”

Steve smirked as he grabbed the cyanide capsule between his pointer and middle finger and pulled it out of Viper’s mouth.  “Taught me to notice things.  Sorry to hear the Airforce was lacking in that department.”

Carol bit back an obvious laugh and looked around the room.   “I think we got them all. We might want to call in the cleanup crew.”

Steve nodded and let out a sigh of relief.  You would be safe now.  At least for a while. He just hoped you would be there when he got back.

The clean up took a long time.  Normally Steve was okay with that.  He never wanted to rush things when it came to cleaning up after a mission.  He wanted to make sure all the injured were treated, any dead were taken to a morgue, anyone arrested was processed and locked up.  All the I’s needed to be dotted and all the T’s crossed.  He had to make sure that what he had just fought to do, didn’t get immediately undone like had happened in the past.

This time he was antsy.  He needed to make sure everything was above board.  They had just taken a dictator out.  The power reshuffle could end up being dangerous.  He had to make sure every single person who was arrested today stayed locked up.  Particularly Viper.  He had to make sure all the drugs that were seized were processed and then destroyed and none ended up being taken and sold on the black market or worse, in the hands of yet another government agency hoping to recreate the super-soldier program.  He had to make sure that any data about the program that led to the creation of the drugs in the first place was locked up and kept out of the hands of any government agency.

Most importantly of all though, he had to make sure all names, including yours and Geo’s, were expunged from all data seized.  He had to protect you and anyone else that this had happened to, from ever being hunted again.

However, while he was supervising medics, and prisoner containment, and signing paperwork, and speaking with various authorities, he couldn’t stop thinking of you and Bucky.  He knew Bucky was okay.  He’d heard from every one of the other groups and knew they’d all been successful.  He knew that he was supervising the clean up in the same way Steve was.  He also knew exactly how Bucky got when he was on a mission.  He knew the dark place his lover went to.  He knew how long it took for Bucky to shake it off again.  Every time in the past Steve had wanted to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay.  That Steve had him and he always would.  But back then they were just friends and he wasn’t sure where the line was that would be okay.  Now he could do it and his mind kept flicking back to how he wanted to check on Bucky.  To hold him if he needed it.  Or to run a bath and wash the battle out of his hair.

More than that, he kept worrying about you.  Now he was on his way home he knew Bucky would be there.  He wasn’t as sure about you.  He was worried that you’d have run and that if you did run, that you’d have run straight into the arms of HYDRA.

Usually when the jet came into land at the Avengers Tower Steve was exhausted and ready to finish paperwork, debrief, and then sleep.  As the jet came into land, he was as tightly wound as he was when the mission started.

He was off the jet first, heading for the elevator before Hill managed to cut him off.  He rode it directly down to his floor and had to hold himself back from breaking into a run as he made his way to his apartment.  He threw the door open and looked around.  The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and air conditioning.  Geo’s Lego was on the coffee table, but that meant nothing.  If you’d run you’d have taken the go-bag and little else.  He called out your name and moved into the room.  He knew you weren’t here even as your name left his lips, but he hoped that maybe he was wrong and you and Geo were just napping.

He tried to find some signs of what happened.  A note that might let him know where you went.  The signs of a scuffle would even be good because then it meant you hadn’t chosen to leave him.  There was nothing out of order.  The kitchen was clean.  He went into Geo’s room and looked around. The bed was made, but there were a lot of Geo’s toys around.  The teddy bear he slept with was on the bed.  He hoped that was something to say you hadn’t run, but the fact he couldn’t see Geo’s tablet anywhere was making his heart hammer in his chest.

The door opened and he spun around and practically launched himself back through the door to see who it was.  Bucky stepped through the door and Steve sagged.

“Wow, thought you’d be happy to see me,” Bucky said, a playful lilt in his tone.

Despite the tone, Steve felt bad.  He’d hoped it would be you and while he was of course happy to see Bucky back safe and sound, and even happier that he could be as playfully teasing as he was, it didn’t change the fact you weren’t here.  “It’s just…”

“Steeb!”

Geo’s voice reached him before you appeared behind Bucky holding the little boy.  Steve rushed to you, pulling up when he reached you and cradling your jaw.  “Oh my god,” he said. “I thought you’d left.”

You furrowed your brow and looked up at him, Geo was tugging on Steve’s armor, and he took the boy from you without even realizing he was doing it.  “You told me not to go out.”

“Where were you?”  He asked.

“FRIDAY said your jet had landed and I went up to meet you,” you explained. “And then Hill said you’d come down here, but then Bucky’s jet landed so we waited for him to come down here.  I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Steve shook his head.  “I should have trusted that you’d be here.”

“It’s okay,” you said softly, leaning in a little, so the breath you exhaled teased his lips. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”

He brought his lips to yours and as you kissed him softly but deeply he felt his muscles relax.  There would be work to do still. He had to make sure that Viper went to the Raft and everything he had done to protect you had worked, but this was the start of things.  You were safe and here with Bucky.  The three of you could have a life together.

You pulled back slowly and caressed his cheek.  “You both look like shit.  You want to take a shower and sleep?”

“God damn yes,” Bucky said.

“We’re going to need to head down to the armory and then debrief.  Steve said.  “You’ll be here won’t you?”

“Yes, Steve,” you teased, giving him a gentle push.  “Go.  Do what you need to do and I’ll make sure there’s dinner here for when you both get back.  I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

// NEXT

[taeyohonic]

Zero Percent

Summary: There is a zero percent chance the Park Jimin likes you, right?

Pairing: Jimin x fem!Reader

Genre: College AU, Golden Boy!Jimin, Actor!Jimin, Group Project Hell

Warnings: swearwords, one scene where the reader gets groped without consent (obviously not by Jimin)

Words: 5k

Monday – 9:47 am – PoliSci lecture

Everybody likes Park Jimin. Not only is he the star of the drama department – making the Dean cry with his performance as Hamlet during freshmen year. No, he is also the head of the Environmental Club and part of the most elusive fraternities on campus.

Park Jimin is kind, smart and handsome. The guy is constantly surrounded by fellow frat brothers, drooling girls and you even heard a story about a stray kitten following Jimin around, resulting in him adopting the little cat.

So, you aren’t really surprised when he doesn’t remember you – you only share two classes and one lecture with him. It does sting a bit, though.

“And you are?”, the golden star asks, looking at you with friendly distance in his eyes.

“_______”, you answer.

It follows an awkward silence – all four of you staring at each other with unease. There is no greater hell than group projects. You’ve got no friends, or even acquaintances, in this course. It isn’t like you are a recluse. You just have a very small circle of friends. And you don’t have any desire to change that.

“Well”, Jimin begins and unlocks his iPhone, “let’s start with a shared google docs.” Now he hands his device over to the girl with thick rimmed glasses. She looks like murder and you are woman enough to admit you’re a bit afraid of her. She does start your 8 am lecture with an energy drink and cold pizza. every. single. week.

“We could meet up before class next week to divide the parts among us?”, the guy to your right offers and you haven’t ever heard him speak before. He usually just sits in class and doodles in his sketchbooks. The red one he is resting on right now is the third book you’ve seen him use in the last month.

Your eyes widen as his words reach your tired brain. Meeting up before class? Before 8 am?

The girl gives you Jimin’s phone and you add your contacts half-minded. There is not even a single crack on his screen. Is this guy even real?

“How about after class?”, Jimin suggests instead and winks at you. You nearly drop his phone when you see his left eye closing in mischief. Did Jimin really just wink at you?

“Nah, I’m packed till practice”, the guy answers and takes the iPhone out of your hands.

“What about this weekend?”, the girl asks and opens her calendar.

“I could manage Sunday afternoon”, Jimin says and stores his phone back in his jeans. His way too tight jeans. The jeans you’ve been staring at all through lunch today. He was wrestling for … uhm… fun with one of his brothers – Jungkook you think – and his ass was just… very present pressed against the denim.

“Sounds good”, the sketch guy says and the girl nods in agreement. Now all of them look at you; the person that did in fact have plans for Sunday. But you doubt they’d be very understanding of your self-care day off from the week.

“Yeah, sure”, you agree reluctantly and fish out your own smartphone, an old grandfather of Jimin’s model with many cracks littering the screen. Without looking up, you delete the do not disturb block in your calendar and create a new appointment: group project politics.

“We can meet up at the PoliSci library; I’ll get us a study room”, Jimin says and stands up – his tights directly in your eyesight. There is a hint of blush on your cheeks as you pack your things together yourself.

“Great”, the other guy cheers – way too enthusiastic – and departs from your group. His sketchbook is raised as he waves at you. You turn around to the others and they are both gone too. Well, what did you expect from a group assignment worth 15% of your grade with random people? Did you see Jimin’s back as he exited the lecture room? Maybe. And did your eyes lay a bit longer on his butt? It’d be a crime if they didn’t.

**

Wednesday – 10:03 pm – dorm room

“No way!”, your roommate shouts, her voice a shrill pain in your head. “Not the Park” You just nod, your late-night ramen hot on your tongue.

“How did you manage that?”, she asks and nibs on some seaweed crackers.

“Random assignment”, you mutter as you swallow down your food.

“You lucky, lucky bitch!” She throws one half-eaten cracker in your face.

“It’s a group project, not a blind date, Jisoo.”

There is a zero percent chance that the Park Jimin is even slightly interested in you. But then you remember his wink and you up your chances to three percent.

“Let’s get some beer to celebrate!”, your roommate suggests and totally ignores your unenthusiastic posture. The day was long – after working a shift at the kiosk on campus.

“I’m tired”, you whine, but your body moves as you get dragged to your feet by Jisoo. “My noodles”, you cry. She just rolls her eyes and pushes the warm cup into your hands. “Eat them on the way.”

You grumble the whole walk to the kiosk you worked just a few hours ago. There are so much more options to get two cans of beer at 10 pm on a Wednesday, but you do get a 5% employee discount – plus the 20% for being a student.

“Do you think he’ll invite you to the fancy parties?”, Jisoo wonders and swings your entwined hands between you. Your other hand holds your food – you want to save the rest up for drinking.

“Before or after I bear his heir?” Jimin’s fraternity is legendary for its exclusive parties. In contrast to most frats, theirs is known for the tight circle of invites. These events had a hand-picked guestlist, no cheap alcohol in sight. There were even rumors that Jimin makes all partygoers use reusable cups to reduce plastic trash. You do remember reading about this in one of the columns of your university paper.

“You’ll be fat after birth, so preferably before”, she reasons. You nod – true.

“I ain’t see any fat”, a male voice slurs and then you feel hands on your butt. You turn around, recognizing a squeeze before the hand leaves your body. As you see the guy who touched you, you feel fear setting in your bones. There are three of them and they do look very drunk. The darkened ally is not the most favorable spot to meet jerks. You can see the light from your store coming up ahead, but it’s late and deserted and they touched you.

“HEY”, Jisoo shouts and moves in front of your body. “NO TOUCHING WITHOUT CONCENT!”

His two friends are shocked by her loud outbreak and take a step back, but the toucher is still standing his ground. “Yo, be chill, bitch”, he says. Oh, he did not. Before you can even think about it, your arm moves on its own account. The lukewarm soup and the noodles splash in his face, coating his shirt and dripping on the cement. The guy’s eyes widen in surprise, but then they light up with anger. Shit. “Shit”, Jisoo whispers out loud.

And then Park Jimin is there, pushing in front of you. He creates a human wall between you and the three guys. His body heaves as he breathes in fast intervals. He must have run after he heard Jisoo’s shouting.

“Back off”, the golden boy says with a calm voice. His blond hair is so close, you are sure you can smell his eucalyptus shampoo.

“Hey man, this is between me and these two bitches”, the other guy answers, insulting you again.

“You’ve got a minute till my brothers catch up”, Jimin states. “Go. Now.”

Maybe the guy was too far gone, alcohol clouding his judgment, but he needs his two buddies nearly dragging him away from you. They whisper in his ears, half bowing to Jimin. “So sorry, man”, one of them says, clearly having recognized the star student even in the dark.

Jimin doesn’t react. Instead, he turns around to you and you get to look at his angered face. “Why are you two out here? Alone? In the middle of the night? Where is your rape whistle? Hm?”, he asks. You just watch him with surprised eyes.

“Hmm?”, he questions again, stepping closer to you. Jisoo stares silently at Jimin. She has never spoken to him but has always been a strong advocate for watching his ass during lunch.

“Uhm”, you try to answer and swallow the fear from moments ago down. “We… we-were getting to the part?”

Jimin just scoffs in your face, clearly not impressed with your fumbled words. “What are you even doing out here at this time?”

You are slightly intimidated by his presence, so your finger shakes a bit as you point to the kiosk behind you. “We wanted beer.”

**

You have no idea how this happened. One second you were assaulted, then saved by Jimin. Now you’re sitting in front of the store, waiting for the guy to come back out. Jisoo is sitting next to you on the steps, her elbows on her knees. Then you hear the bell at the door and turn around to see Jimin juggling three beers under his right arm and a steaming cup of noodles in his left hand. He comes to a still before you and pushes the ramen in your hands. After that he places two bottles in front of your feet and crouches down facing you. Jimin’s face has cleared and he looks friendly enough.

“Thanks”, you whisper into your cup. Jisoo hums in agreement.

“I called one of my brothers. He’ll get the footage from one of the security cameras tomorrow”, he explains and twists his own beer open, taking a big swing.

“Why?”, you ask confused and blow at your noodles. Jimin’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean why? So, we can write these bastards up”, he says, and you gasp in surprise, the noodles falling back into the cup.

“You’d… do that for us? Even though you haven’t even seen him… uhm… grabbing me?”, you question in wonder. Why would he go out on a limb for you?

Jimin just rolls his eyes at you. “Of course, I’d do that.”

He is halfway through his beer when Jisoo decides to participate in this semi silent semi one-sided conversation.

“What … were you – you know – doing out this late?”, she wants to know in the softest tone you’ve ever heard her speak in.

Jimin’s hand combs through his hair, the thick strands parted by his fingertips. “I was on a date”, he answers casually.

“On a Wednesday?” Maybe not your smartest contribution because both let out a chuckle.

“Some people date during the week”, Jisoo snorts.

“Some people do meth, Jisoo. Doesn’t mean these are good life choices. Wait – Jimin… did you leave your date to…”

“To rescue two girls from danger? Yeah.”, he finishes for you and dusts invisible dirt from his shoulders. You roll your eyes at his puffed chest and eat another bite of your food.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you”, he laughs, “I was just on my way back from dropping her off at thes dorms.”

After that, there is an awkward silence. The three of you aren’t friends – there is no connection, common interest or shared anecdotes between you. Well, apart from your group project and his unborn son. Before you can start to ramble about the specifics of the – still empty – google docs he linked you in two days ago, his cell starts vibrating.

“Yeah?”, Jimin answers absently and collects your empty bottles to dispose them into the recycling bin. His conversation is muffled at best and you look at your roommate. Again, you hear the bell ring as your coworker Jaehyung closes the door and locks the store.

He smiles down at you. “Why didn’t you come inside, ______?”, he asks in greetings and gives you a quick hug. You hold your ramen in a vice grip – you’ll not lose your second midnight snack again.

“Jimin insisted he didn’t need the 5% extra discount”, you shrug and Jaehyung looks at you funny.

“Jimin?”, he wonders and steals a bite of your noodles. Is there even a god?

“That’ll be me”, the man in question responds and locks his iPhone as he joins the extended group.

“Ah, man… I loved how you absolutely killed it last week on stage”, Jaehyung praises and pats the lead actor on the back. You couldn’t agree more. You’d been there with all the student employees from the kiosk. Jaehyung made it his mission to justify the outing as a bonding experience and teamwork task to your boss.

“This one even had tears in her eyes”, he whispers in mock secrecy and points in your face. Jimin looks at you with an unspoken question on his lips. The actor stops studying you and moves his eyes to look at your coworker, who stands very closed to your sitting figure.

“Glad you enjoyed it”, Jimin mumbles and spares a small smile. “I… really have to get to the frat soon”, he starts, “so, … I’ll better get you two to your room now.”

Jisoo stands up in a heartbeat, dragging you up as well. He’s going to walk you home?

“Nah, don’t worry, man. I’ve got this!”, Jaehyung answers. Jimin’s face is blank as he musters the scene in front of him.

“I’d really like to know that you got back okay”, he reasons and looks pointedly at your coworker.

“Their dorm is waaay out of your way, man. Just let me handle this… It’s the same direction for me anyway”, Jaehyung tries to reason and you see Jimin’s eyes flash in frustration.

Jisoo is just looking between both men, not really sure how to react. Has Jimin an ulterior motive to walk you back? Does he even want to walk you back? Is it more than just soothing his conscious?

Maybe your chances of the Park Jimin being interested in you just upped from three to fifteen percent.

“Sure”, Jimin reluctantly agrees to Jaehyung’s plan and faces you, his stare zeroing in on you.

“Write me when you get home?”, he demands more than asks and you can only nod dumbfounded.

“Just,… let me give you my number so you’ll be able to text me”, Jimin reasons and stretches his hand out to get your phone. You look at him in confusion – you exchanged numbers two days ago during class. He was the one messaging all of you.  

“I… uhm… have your number”, you tell him. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Since when?”, the campus star asks and musters you in suspicion. Your face colors instantly, a deep red tone on your cheeks, as you realize that Jimin doesn’t remember you’re in his group assignment. He… doesn’t even recognize you. You feel so embarrassed, more so when Jisoo, too, sucks in her breathe.

“Uhm”, this is… very humiliating, “we’re i- in the same.. group for our PoliSci class.”

There is a beat of silence as you see even Jimin’s cheeks dusted with a hint of red.

“Ah, right, sorry”, he says and massages his neck uncomfortably. “I didn’t recognize you without your glasses.” Kill me now.

You just laugh and swallow down the bitter taste in your mouth while moving closer to your friend. Now, he thinks you’re the murderer? There is no mercy for your pride here.

“Let’s get going, ______”, Jisoo says, way too chipper and links your arms as she pulls you away from this disaster. “Thanks again, Jimin-ssi.”

“Yeah”, you agree and bow in front of him to cover the humiliation painted across your face.

Jimin bites on his bottom lip, all too tempted to reply, but settles for a swift nod.

Then the three of you walk away and ss soon as he is out earshot, Jaehyung looks at you.

“I have never seen you wearing glasses, ______”

Well, maybe your predictions were a bit off, maybe your chances with Jimin were no more than two percent.

**

Sunday – 4:32 pm – PoliSci library

“Should we… just start?”, you ask as Jimin fiddles with his tablet. You’re both seated in one of the small study rooms of your library. There is a half-empty box of chocolates between you. Jimin presented them with a shrug – they were a present he got after his last performance, the sweets a gift from one of his fanclubs… yeah… plural.

Other than that, there is your old laptop in the desk, some of the books from your professor’s reading list spread around the table, and an empty water bottle. What is not here, is the rest of the group.

You don’t have their numbers, Jimin being the organizer out of the four of you. His is the only number that is saved in your phone and was used last Wednesday. There was a small part of you – hell, who are you kidding? – a big part of you, that didn’t want to text Jimin. After the embarrassment died down that night, you were really angry. How could he? He winked at you one day and then forgot he even knows you the next day?

You wanted him to be ashamed; having him franticly messaging the wrong girl in his group would have served him right. And judging by the sheer joy this girl is, he’d have gotten an earful calling her at midnight.

But then you didn’t want to imagine him realizing he had the wrong girl. No, you wanted to be present. So, you texted him briefly and rescheduled the reveal for this Sunday, when he’d see both of you. And now you two are alone. Perfect planning, ______.

“You texted them, right?”, you ask for the tenth time and Jimin nods, picking one more praline from the box.

“Yeah, and I also called while you were peeing”, Jimin answers and pops the dark chocolate in his mouth.

“Don’t say that word”, you say.

“What? Pee?”, he laughs, “Be happy I didn’t say piss.”

“Now you said it too”, you whine.

“What else am I supposed to say, _______?” Oh, the right name; nice.

“Going to the toilette? Stepping out for a second? Leaving the room?”, you list and grab a sweet. The air between you both isn’t exactly uncomfortable. You’ve licked your wounds over the rest of the week and can see your partner for what he is, an overachiever.

He has much on his plate, so many appointments and engagements, it’s no wonder he doesn’t remember one of the hundred of faces on campus. So, you decided to forgive him… to a certain degree. The degree being, that a.) he doesn’t even know there is an issue and b.) your big revenge fell down the drain with your female partner being a non-show.

For the last half hour, the two of you talked, mainly about organisatory stuff like due-dates and presentation formats. But then you pointed to the box of chocolates and you both strayed into more private matters. You complimented him – again – for his performance and Jimin expressed his relief that he received all-around glowing reviews. He even shared that there was a casting coach at one of the stage nights. The golden boy’s eyes lit up, as he talked about the offer to sign a contract with this coach, who was one of the most in-demands in his profession.

“We could just divide the parts evenly among us and pick the ones most to our liking”, your partner offers and shares his tablet with you.

“I doodled with a few topics last night… what do you think, _____?”, he asks, and you look at his notes. Of course, his doodles look like your versions of an exposé.

Why does he have so much resources to prep for this meeting when he can’t even filter your face?

“Yeah, the second theme looks… uhm quite promising”, you say and move to enlarge his mind map. You’re sure the first proposal is just as good, but there were a few words that you don’t even know how to pronounce.

The two of you work productively for the next half hour, separating some key elements of the theory and choosing your own parts. Jimin – being the one coming up with the whole topic – let’s you pick first. You try to decline but he is very adamant.

After you added all your points into the shared document, the both of you pack away your things and Jimin throws away the empty box of chocolates. So much for a healthy afternoon snack.

Jimin is just happily telling you he’ll sleep in tomorrow because your professor canceled your shared lecture. You can’t agree more – having moved your self-care day to tomorrow instead. You’ll skip your tutoring session in the evening, so the whole day is yours. A smile stretches across your face and you hear Jimin stumble on his words as he looks at you.

“There is a party at my frat today, if you wanne come?”, he offers and slings his backpack over his shoulders. Wait… what?

“A Bangtan Party?”, you whisper-shout and look at him – the smile frozen on your lips.

Jimin looks a bit embarrassed as he sees your excitement.

“Yeah… I could set you on the guestlist?”, he say, a bit unsure. Your brain is working overtime. The Park Jimin wants you at his party? The girl he couldn’t even remember a few days ago? A mere group project fail?

“Really?”, you ask as you feel anticipation cursing through your veins.

“Really.” Jimin’s eyes are nearly closed, a bright smile pushing his cheeks up.

Maybe… Maybe your chances of the Park Jimin being interested in you are higher than you thought, now that he knows who you are. You’ll give yourself solid 20 percent. This party is one of the most exclusive affairs on campus, why else invite you if there isn’t some interest at his end?

“Cool”, you say, “can I bring my roommate?”

Jimin nods and holds open the door, closing and locking it behind him.

“I’ll see you tonight then?”, he asks instead of saying goodbye and moves away from you. You see Jungkook… and is that Namjoon?... waiting two aisles behind you, talking to each other in hushed voices. You wave at Jimin in affirmation and turn around.  

**

“Don’t you think this is way too short?”, you ask – your insecurity slipping right out as you brush over the fabric of your dark red metallic skirt. Jisoo and you have been getting ready for the last few hours, which entailed not only some very hairspray-intense styling but also a tree diagram being constructed on the back of your pre-game nachos. Your roommate collected and rated every clue you gave her regarding the Park Jimin mystery – of course only after she squealed for a good minute.

“No touching my stuff”, Jisoo scolds and knocks away your fidgeting hands. She added ten percent to your prediction because she upvoted him rescuing you – and staring at Jaehyung in frustration – way higher than his misjudgment of forgetting your name and face. Even thought you pointed out that Jimin was on a date clearly indicating he maybe isn’t even emotional available.

“Your stuff is on my body, though”, you argue as both of you walk to the frat house. Their house isn’t that far off campus but it still is a 20 minute walk. You’ve got your pepper spray with you this time even if you left your rape whistle at home. There are few students out this evening, tomorrow being Monday making most of them stay in tonight. Before you can take the last turn do that their house comes into view, there is a person calling your name from behind.

You look and see the sketchbook guy from your group project jogging towards you. Jisoo looks at you questionably, not recognizing him. There is suppressed anger on your face and you try really hard not to be too mean to the person who left you and Jimin waiting today.

“Yeah?”, you ask and look at the slightly out of breath guy now in front of you. He’s got a gym bag over his shoulders, his running shoes still on his feet.

“Good workout today?”, you add with slight sarcasm in your voice. There seems to be a slight issue in translation because he just smiles wider at you as he gives you a small bow.

“Thanks to you, of course”, he answers, and you are this close to hitting a person today.

“What?”, you hiss and try to control your anger. This useless excuse of a PoliSci major will not lower your standards. Now the guy looks at you with a puzzled expression on his face – clearly not expecting you to me so hostile.

“You know? Yo- you and Jimin offering to do the selecting and dividing by yourselves really helped me out today.” Come again?

“What?”, you repeat this time without venom in your voice. His face moves to the side as he musters you carefully.

“Uhm… Jimin called on Thursday… telling us not to bother coming on Sunday”, he explains slowly as if you’re the dumb one. Jimin did what?

“What?”, you ask for a third time and now he and Jisoo look at you with worry.

“He.. he.. I mean Jimin – he mentioned that you two were totally fine with doing it alone… Mina and I offered to finalize and proofread the presentation in return”, he continues and you are just confused. So, so confused.

Why would Jimin lie to them – and to you?

“Ehm.. I’m sorry…”, you look at him sheepishly. He seems to understand and adds “Wobin”.

“Yeah, right… Wobin… this is a huge misunderstanding … let me – uhm talk to Jimin”, you say, the confusion slowing down your word flow.

Wobin looks at Jisoo in question and she just shrugs. “You’re staying with her?”, he asks her and she nods. “We haven’t had that much to drink… I think she just needs a minute. Thanks tough, Wobin”, Jisoo calmly states and your partner leaves with an uncertain wave.

“_______?”, another voice joins – because why not make it a whole convention here on the sidewalk literarily five minutes away from your destination. You turn to the male voice and see non other than Jungkook walking towards you with hurried steps.

“Hmm?”, you answer, still reeling from the confession mere minutes ago.

“What are you doing out here alone by yourselves?”, he questions as he catches up. Jisoo is frozen next to you – even tough Jimin is without question the hottest guy at your university, Jungkook is by far the most dangerous. Combined, they are lethal.

“We were just on our way to your house”, you offer and point in the direction of the frat.

“Yeah, I get that”, he says, “but why are you out here alone?”

“You can see Jisoo, right?”, you ask, not sure of anything tonight and look at your roommate.

Jungkook scoffs and shakes his head – clearly not impressed.

“After last Wednesday you’re still walking around alone at night?”, he wants to know. Last Wednesday? Wait how does he know about that?

“Who told you?”

Now Jungkook looks as worried as Wobin before. “Jiminie told me? Hadn’t I stayed longer at practice I would have been with him when he found you.”

“Practice?”, you ask.

“Yeah,… we’re preparing a inprov show to celebrate the anniversary of the drama department, you know?”, he explains and adds after he sees your expression: “Hasn’t Jimin mentioned anything?”

No, Jimin did in fact not mention he wasn’t actually leaving from a date but a late-night practice that day.

“He has been wreaking havoc since that night”, Jungkook shares. “Every brother had to sign up to cover a shift patrolling common paths during school nights.”

Now, he points at himself. “Today is my night so I’ll escort you to our mansion.”

Jisoo just looks at him like he grew a second head.

“You’re pepping for an improvisation show?”, she asks slowly as the three of you begin to walk.

This is the thing Jisoo has a problem with? Really? You feel your head spin while you try to make sense of the last two encounters.

Jimin didn’t go on a date last Wednesday. Jimin himself uninvited your partners from todays meeting. You shared chocolates with a liar.

“Wait… Jungkook?”, you ask not even looking at him. “Do you guys get a lot of gifts after your performances?” The student just laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, we’re not allowed to anymore. The presents were getting out of hands. I mean… Seokjin-hyung even got a gold bar once, a fucking gold bar.”

You speed up your steps as you see the frat house in front of you, few people mingling around the entrance. There is a guy standing at the door and you’re trying to get your student ID out of the bag – your thoughts making your hands shake.

Jungkook comes up behind you and just shoves you inside, saluting the other guy with a cheeky grin. You don’t have much time taking in the décor, but you do notice how small the group of students are mingling around the living room. There is soft R&B playing from a stereo and you see the infamous reusable cups full of alcoholic mixtures.

And then you see Jimin, how ridged he is standing in front of the fireplace, bottled water in hand. His eyes zero in on you and the blooming smile quickly freezes when he notices your disheveled state. You step around some guys on the couch, making your way towards him. He places his water on the mantlepiece.

“______”, he greets you and you hear the tension in his voice. He knows, you know – maybe not how much, but Jungkook trailing behind you with a guilty look tells him that you know enough.

“Jimin”, you start, completely unsure which lie you should focus on, your brain jumping around in circles.

“______”, he whispers and takes a step closer to you.

“Jimin”, you try again to form a coherent sentence.

Before his lips meet yours in a shy confession, you think to yourself:

Maybe there is a 99 percent chance of Park Jimin being interested in you.

________

there is... no logical explanation for this story, other than me having war flashbacks while thinking about group projects at university. did you enjoy this oneshot? Please tell me if you find this Jimin as "perfect" as I did (apart from manipulating the OC). did/do you have similar experiences with group work? I always hated it. with a passion. thanks for reading and feel yourself hugged (if you want to) from, dana

[fandomlovingfreak]

Take Two (3/?)

Fred Weasley/Reader

Rating: E for everyone (unless you don’t like physical fights and the mention of blood. Also there is slut shaming but I do NOT condone that behavior! Adrian is an asshole. Do not slut shame women!!!!)

Word Count: 2638

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Quidditch rivalries can cause tension between the houses but nothing is like the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Fred Weasley and (y/n) take Quidditch rivalries just a bit too seriously.

Disclaimer: Fred Weasley (George Weasley, any of the Weasley Characters, Harry Potter etc) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. I don’t own Harry Potter or any of it’s characters, and I do not profit financially from any of my posts. (This is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.)

Enjoy

It's weird to have worked beside Fred all night long and to have succeeded in being around each other civilly, at least for that moment. Maybe we could get past the tireless arguments at last. I was doubtful on the Quidditch Pitch much would change, as we are both quite competitive, but possibly all other parts of the school grounds... we could be something similar to friends.

I pass him in the hallway, giving him a small smile, to which he returns.

"Why the hell are you smiling at Weasley?" Carina whispers loudly.

I shush her, "I'm not doing anything!"

Carina raises her eyebrows, suggestively, "Well... he grinned at you."

I shove her away gently, "shut up."

"What happened last night? You got back so late."

"We cleaned the Trophy Room. That's it."

"That's it? You sure are acting friendly if that's all you did."

"We did nothing but polish dirty trophies. Let it go, Carina," I roll my eyes.

She hums in the back of her throat, not really believing it even though it was mostly the truth.

***

At lunch, Adrian talks loudly to some of the younger Slytherins. I find myself thinking how obnoxious he is, creating a commotion to impress the girls around him. As if he can tell I'm annoyed with his theatrics, he grabs for my hand, attempting to get me to talk about one of our dalliances.

"Stop it, Adrian," I shove him away.

"C'mon (y/n)," He tries to shove his face into the crook of my neck in a much too friendly way.

"Stop," I move away from him on the bench feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the way he's touching me. Not to mention how he's openly talking about our personal involvement. 

Adrian rolls his eyes, "don't be such a prude."

I frown, anger bubbling in my chest, "I'm not a prude. You're talking about something you shouldn't." I growl back at him, moving to get up from the table.

Adrian snorts, "Don't act like the rest of the school doesn't know how you are, (y/n)."

"Excuse me?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were fucking that blood traitor Weasley."

That's the last straw for me, "What did you just say to me, Pucey?"

"I said you're a bit loose--"

The crack of my textbook hitting flesh resounds around the Great Hall. I can't say I regret it. The sound was satisfying, and the look on his face was hysterical.

"Did you just hit me?" His voice comes out squeaky. I have to suppress a laugh.

"I don't know, did I?" 

"Miss (y/l/n)!" I hear McGonagall's voice behind me, "put that book down this instance." Exhaling the last of my rage, I set the book down on the table.

"Yes, Professor."

"What is going on here?" she asks, looking between Adrian and myself.

"It was Adrian's fault!" One of the younger girls speaks up. I whip my head in her direction, surprised she's taking my side when she practically worships at Adrian's feet. "he was saying something awful about (y/n), professor." I look towards McGonagall, hoping she can tell it was the truth. I know I'll still get into trouble for hitting Adrian, but hoping McGonagall can see what the girl said is true.

"What did he say to you, Miss (y/l/n)?"

Oh, I wasn't expecting to have to reiterate what Adrian said, "um... Professor..."

"Tell me what he said." Her eyes are stern. I look down at my feet, "he called me loose ma'am--" I feel the tears of embarrassment blossom in the corners of my eyes. I try to will them away; nothing Adrian Pucey said to me should make me cry.

"Mister Pucey, is this true?" McGonagall's voice has a hint of annoyance to it.

"Of course not!" Adrian lies between his teeth.

"He's lying, Professor!" Another girl says.

"Mister Pucey. Are you lying to me?"

Adrian glares at me for a beat, "I said it."

Professor McGonagall purses her lips, "detention both of you. Ten points from Slytherin each," I try to protest this, "and you Miss (y/l/n), you will serve detention with Professor Snape, while you Mister Pucey will be with me." She looks like she's going to walk away, but she pauses, "and Mister Pucey. If I hear you're saying such things to or about any of your female classmates again, your punishment will be much more severe. Do I make myself absolutely clear that that sort of language will not be tolerated inside these walls?"

Adrian again glares, "yes, ma'am."

McGonagall nods once before turning and walking away. I pause, glancing around the Great Hall. Everyone appears to be watching, even the Gryffindors. I spot Fred's eyes on me. 

Humiliated from the entire exchange, I calmly walk out of the room with my head held high. 

***

"Detention again?" Carina looks at me with disbelief. Up until this year, I hadn't found myself in detention once. I always put Quidditch first. If I had to miss practices, how would I keep my spot on the competitive team?

I had to wonder now if I was jeopardizing my spot with my reckless behavior currently, "I know it's bad. But Pucey deserved it. He called me... loose. I should never have slept with him, Carina. He's such a--"

"He's an asshole. How dare he? He's lucky he got to come near you at all!"

"What if he convinces the rest of the team to kick me off the team?" My eyes widen, suddenly terrified by the idea. It's not above Adrian Pucey to go out of his way to ruin someone else's life. 

Carina snorts, "Pucey doesn't hold a candle to you as a chaser! They'd be idiotic to kick you off the team over him. We wouldn't have a chance without you (y/n), but we can definitely win without him."

"I should've just walked away--" I regret everything now. The look on his face was definitely not worth being kicked off the Quidditch team.

"You're going to be okay. I promise," Carina hugs me, "how did the rest of the Great Hall react?"

I put my head in my hands, groaning, "They all were staring. There's no way the entire hall didn't hear everything..."

"Who cares what they think?" Carina tries to comfort me again.

"The entire Gryffindor table was staring... it was so awful. I'm going to live in the shadows from now on--"

"Oh, calm down. You're going to be fine. If anyone found the situation funny... I'll hex them into next week."

***

Carina convinces me to go to class after another couple of minutes of self-pity. I try to keep myself busy with listening to the teachers and disappearing into the swarms of students before anyone can say anything to me. 

Deciding to take a shortcut through one of the courtyards, I notice a horde of students gathered in a corner. 

"Why are you defending that slut?" I hear Adrian's voice ring throughout the crowd.

"Don't call her that!" Fred's voice roars back.

Oh fuck.

I run towards the commotion. George being quite a bit taller than Adrian, is visible from the back of the crowds. I try to push through my classmates to get to the front. There is no way in hell I'm letting Fred and Adrian try to murder each other.

"What the hell are you two doing?" I run into the middle of them, trying to push them apart. They keep trying to hit each other, even with my body trying and failing to keep them apart. "Stop it!"

"Get out of here (y/n)." Adrian hisses at me as his fist collides with Fred's face over my head. Hot blood gushes from Fred's nose as his own fist comes for Adrian's face.

I collide with Fred's chest, trying desperately to get him as far away as possible from Adrian. "Stop it, Fred!" I spot George on the inside of the crowd of students. I call for him, "George, please help me!"

He nods once, coming into the circle and pulling Adrian away from his twin.

Adrian sneers at me as I try to keep Fred on the other side of the students, "That's right, keep your little boyfriend away. He's lucky all he got was a bloodied nose."

"Yeah? Why don't you come back--" Fred tries to push past me, but I hold on to him with all my strength. 

"Fred, stop! He's not worth it."

"Not what you said last week when I--"

"Shut it," George growls at Adrian.

Adrian shoves George off of him with a sneer, "whatever. She's not worth it, mate. I wouldn't waste your breath on that one." What the fuck is he going on about? Adrian and some other Slytherin boys push through the crowds.

Seeing as the action was over, the crowds slowly trickle back to doing whatever they were doing before the fight. George shakes his head in Fred's direction before walking away with Lee.

I look up at Fred. His breathing is still ragged, like an enraged bull. That's when I see how much blood was trickling down his face and onto the front of his shirt.

"You're bleeding," I reach towards the cut, but he pushes away my hand.

Fred frowns, "Why do you care?"

I frown back, "Shut up and let me tend to your stupid face." His eyes widen before he sits down on the half wall so I can look at the damage.

Again, I reach for his face. I think the blood is only coming from his nose, but I'm not entirely sure. It's dried a bit on the bridge of his nose, but I suppose that's from him wiping at the blood with the back of his hand. 

"Looks like it's going to bruise," I gently touch the red skin under his eye. I realize I'm relatively close to him as I inspect the bruising. Embarrassed, I pull away a tiny bit, "sorry."

"Sorry for what?" His brown eyes are impossible to look directly at. 

"I-- never mind," I go back to tending to the cut. Bunching up the sleeve of my sweater, I dab at under his nose. Fred winces. "Oh, did that hurt?"

"A little," he admits, "but don't ruin your sweater because of me."

"It's just a sweater," I shrug as I gently wipe away some more blood from his lip. "Do you mind if I use a spell? You're bleeding quite a lot."

"Go ahead."

I nod, taking out my wand, "Sarcio volnero." Thanks to the handy healing spell I had learned over the summer, I watch as the wound repairs itself.

"Where'd ya learn that?" Fred asks curiously.

"Picked it up this summer from my mum," I say casually, still checking to see if the spell ultimately worked.

"Did it--is it healed?" he asks, touching his nose.

"Looks like it. You're still covered in blood, though," I motion from his nose to the top of his chest. 

"No spell for that?" he smirks.

I roll my eyes, "Unfortunately, I've never had to clean up so much blood with magic before." 

"That bad?" He chuckles.

"You look like something out of a horror movie," I roll my bloody sleeve up.

"A what?" 

"Oh, sorry. I forget that some of you don't know muggle stuff. It's a genre of film... a-- uh moving picture of sorts."

"Why do you know muggle stuff?" He looks genuinely interested to know. Weird, I thought everyone knew I was somewhat of a sore thumb in Slytherin being a half-blood.

"I'm a half-blood. My mum is muggle-born."

"Oh," he doesn't look disgusted. Honestly, he doesn't look like the information affects him in any way, which is nice. I know his family is pureblood, and I've learned that you can never tell how they'll respond to this sort of news. Draco Malfoy's disgust was proof enough of that. "Do you do a lot with muggles?"

I snort, "You could say that. My mum's whole family is muggles, mind you. I spend a lot of time with muggles."

He looks at me, thoughtfully, "I never expected your mom was muggle-born."

I cock my head, "why would you? It's not like there's some physical identifier. Besides, I'm a witch. What does it matter if I'm not pure or whatever." I wave my hand around, dismissing the idea of blood purity.

"That's not what I meant," he rolls his eyes, "I just meant since you're in Slytherin."

"Trust me; it has caused me a lot of problems."

That has him instantly frowning, "Who's giving you issues?"

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Weasley." I toss my head. Definitely don't need some chivalrous Gryffindor to play knight in shining armor for me. The idea makes me want to hurl.

"Don't be stubborn. If they're giving you issues I--"

"You can what? Cause a commotion by physically assaulting my housemates? No, thank you. I don't need or want you to inflate your already unbearably large ego over me."

Fred purses his lips, "It's hardly about you."

"Yeah?" I give him a look, "Who is it about then, Frederick?"

"It's... the principle. Slytherin's can't just go around acting like blood purity is this-- all-important thing. It's sick."

I snort, "Really? Slytherin's are this-- force of evil, but your blatant prejudice against an entire house of people you barely know is relevant? You don't know me or anyone in my house because you and the rest of you Gryffindors refuse to give us a chance. We're not as bad as you think."

"Fat chance you'd give Gryffindor a chance! Name a Gryffindor you're friends with!"

"Well, your sister, for one. We had Charms last year. She's delightful. Clearly can't be related to you!"

His face goes red, "You're friends with Ginny?"

"Yes, I am Fred Weasley! I have the emotional capacity to see past someone's bloody house!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're an ass! A complete and total ass!" I'm practically yelling at him in the corridor of the courtyard, but I can't find it in me to care. He is an ass, and it's about time someone screamed it at him. Maybe it'll get through his thick skull for once. 

"I can be friends with anyone from any house if I bloody wanted to."

I'm fuming. Absolutely fuming, "Now that's comical! You can't even have a normal conversation with me without it ending in a screaming match! And to think I just fixed up your ugly mug, and this is how you repay me? You're a joke, Fred Weasley." I turn on my heel, entirely over him and his attitude. For a moment, we were civil, and he ruined it, I think bitterly to myself. So much for detention and how I thought we had fixed something between us.

***

Fred POV

I feel my neck burn under her words. She wasn't wrong. I could never seem to get through a conversation with her without it turning into a mess. And she was right, she had fixed me up, and I hadn't even thanked her. 

I shake my head, not willing to feel sorry for myself over this.

"I need to get cleaned up," I mumble to myself, eyeing how much blood was on my shirt. It was disgusting.

I do regret fighting Adrian, but what he said about (y/n) was disgusting. I fucking hate Slytherins. They think they can say and do whatever the hell they want without repercussions. I couldn't help but threaten his life when he said those things about her. She wasn't some-- I should've just kept to myself. It wasn't worth it in the end.

I stalk off to my dorm. Can't walk around the halls like I'm in one of those--what did (y/n) call it? Horror movies? Whatever the hell that was.

[theelliottsmiths]

It makes me really sad how people happily consume deep, obviously hard won, creative output but aren’t at all prepared to accept that sometimes that battle gets a little ugly. Like you’re consuming content that obviously attracts a lot of criticism, and is completely impossible to do even from a practical point of view (recording, touring, etc.) without leaving the security blanket of employment, social security or society’s approval but expect the people in it to just ... not ever stand out or to misfit or be uncomfortable. It reminds me of what we had the other day, there is a fascination with darkness and wildness and being rebellious, but rarely are the onlookers prepared to deal with the blood and the tears and the dirt. I don’t understand that.

I mean I am basically expected to defend Richard at this point, but the thing is, he’s probably insufferable a lot of times. What gets to me whenever this comes up though, is that all the attributes people apply to him that are negative, almost all exclusively come from himself. Like, people read those interviews and for like one exception where Schneider is being a dick, it’s not like the others say “Richard was too controlling and dramatic” it’s him saying “yeah, I did that and that’s why I moved.” It’s like ... all the negative things people believe about him come from himself. People think he thinks he did the main stuff on Mutter because he went and said “I did too much on that album.” Because the rest of the band is pretty mum about it. And it makes me suspicious, and again, sad for him, that he is perceived that way because he goes out there and dares to show that vulnerable and flawed side of himself and admits what he’s done, and now he’s the boogieman because the others don’t say what they did, too.

Sorry for the emotional ramble, I’m thin skinned today, but I don’t know, people that make themselves vulnerable that way often get treated that way, and it just depresses me.

Disclaimer for the previous anon: this isn't about you specifically, this is a general thing

I think a lot of the issue is that most of the community on Tumblr are quite young and are still coming to terms with just how grey people are (not to mention we have no experience with 40 year relationships because the majority of us are half that, literally babies when it happened)? Because the reality is yes, people have flaws that are more offputting than lovable quirks and that's okay. The expectation that none of us should ever be annoying or have moments of cuntishness or self-centeredness is unrealistic and unfair, and the guys understand that well enough not to hold it against each other forever, especially when it's actively being improved. There are limits and he hit them, but that doesn't mean throw the whole boy out. He has so many good traits that balance it out!!! They clearly decided he was worth enough to them in other ways to keep around, the good times were enough to outweigh the bad ones.

I honestly think they all agreed, Richard included, that sanding it down into just saying it was Richards fault and moving on is the best course of action. I wouldn't be surprised if he's going a bit overboard to almost atone for it, downplaying other people's parts in it because it can't be denied that he was having a bad time. If you assume his heavy drug use was involved theres a whole other layer of regret and guilt and heightened emotions that could compound to make his reaction to his own behaviour worse. I just almost teared up considering that maybe he brings it up to remind himself and to show everyone else that he's trying? All of this post is essentially fanfiction with sources but that even more so but listen... Ouchie, right? Whereas most of the others are more forgiving of themselves and their behaviour so it's faded to a greater degree. If he shut up about it a bit more I wonder if they'd ever bring it up. He really does beat himself up and insist it's all in the name of his art.

We have slightly different opinions on the importance of Artistic Pain and Suffering, I know you side more than Richard on that than I do, but I can definitely agree that there's an issue with people loving the end product but rejecting how it came to be in the first place. That doesn't make any sense the way I worded it huh? If you want moral purity then anything outside that is going to feel like a blow. Is that why they say you should never meet your idols?

Related to that none-thing I just tried to say, there's also the fact that Richard has gone to therapy and worked on this stuff: He does acknowledge his issues and how they affected everyone else, and it's pretty clear the others appreciate that. A lot of it, even from our limited knowledge, has clear origins so I don't doubt that they take everything he's been through personally into consideration. I imagine the same can be said of Till and to a certain extent all the others too. You can't look at them through a purely individualistic lens, that's not how they think.

You know how a lot of people with mental health issues get into periods of hating themselves and can list a whole bunch of overinflated reasons why they're terrible awful bad waste-of-a-fleshsuit humans? Sometimes when Richard is discussed it's like people are listening to that and they agreeing without taking a second to evaluate the objectivity of the source. It's hard to look at for too long for some people. Till is treated way more sympathetically; his Bad Traits are less grating for people who don't know and aren't actually around him, I suppose.

I'm trying to find a quote by I think Paul about how he had to read a book of some kind to be able to understand and talk to Richard, Tumblr is impossible to search, but it really does highlight the effort they all put in that we don't see. They have long, long conversations with each other, they didn't just get angry, yell a bit, and then wait for things to change. Sometimes people forget that personal growth is a thing. He's not the same person in 2021 as he was in 2011 or 2001 or any other time.

Uh. Here's a cute Richard to improve the mood

[s-creations]

Hatching Day

José wished he could say he was prepared to raise children. But his past life and self-doubt leads him to think he's not as ready as he promised he would be.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros       Rating: General Audience       Relationships/Pairings:  José  Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Self-Doubt, Depsression, These are minor but still talked about, Hatching, The babies are arriving!

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Hello there! I will say, as a bit of a warning, maybe(?), that I'm unaware of José's or Panchito's cannon family members or relationships with their family. There's a lot of creative liberties being used in this AU to match what I want to write. This is just a heads up.

Edit on 02/20/2021: I changed a few words and fixed a few sentences. Nothing major.

José was not much of a ‘family’ person. His own was small and very close minded. It was the father’s way, the man of the house ran the show. You kept your mouth shut or you would be on the receiving end of some punishment. José had left as soon as he could, at the age of 16. No matter how much his mother begged or his father threatened. He left them behind and was honestly better for it. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

 That didn’t mean any relation after this meant much of anything either. They never lasted long. José knew his looks attracted a lot of attention. Parrots were not uncommon. Even more so where he grew up and lived. But his plumage was eye catching and he knew it. Vibrant green was adored and sought after by many. So, while his appearance could draw anyone’s attention in, whatever relationship that could happen fell apart quickly.

 Apparently José’s personality wasn’t too pleasing. Once the charisma fell away, people weren’t thrilled with the parrot’s worries or morose outlook on life. They were expecting to have a carefree parrot with vibrant feathers and an equally blinding personality to cling to their arm. Not a burden. Which was something José had heard numerous times. He quickly learned to play the part of the charmer and leave as quickly as possible the next day. 

 That was how he lived for years. 

 Until he met Panchito. 

 The rooster had been drawn in by the bright plumage, just as others before. José, however, was truthfully curious about the overly friendly and energetic bird. One that seemed to have the parrot stay with him while Panchito soaked in the culture. Curiosity turned to a dangerous attachment that José wasn’t prepared for. One he thought was going to eventually fall away when the rooster realized he didn’t want the parrot around. Only to be taken by the hand, allowing Panchito to take him away from Bahia, back to Mexico where the rooster lived. 

 It was the first time the parrot had experienced someone truly caring for him. Panchito more than patient when José couldn’t carry the suave personality any longer. When he just wanted to hide away and not face the world. Panchito made it clear that he didn’t love the parrot for the facade. He just wanted José. And it was something the parrot struggled with understanding for a while. 

 Just as he was getting comfortable in their relationship and happily traveled around Mexico with Panchito, they attended a local bar that was playing host to the American Navy. Where they met a duck with an interesting accent, a short fuse, and feathers so white it was blinding in the proper light. The relationship with Donald did start as a friendship. But was something that changed to admiration when he showed how fiercely loyal he was. When, on a night out, a stranger had gotten a little too ‘friendly’ with José. It was an amazing show that only lasted a few seconds. The duck knocked the other down with one hit and was making sure José was okay before anyone could even blink. 

 It all turned to painful longing when Donald had to leave. As they watched the ship leave shore, José felt his heart breaking. Turning to the rooster to find a similar look of longing on Panchito’s face as well. It was a silent agreement between the two that, if they ever found Donald again, they wouldn’t let him go. 

 It was a few years later, in a small village in the middle of the jungle, when they found the duck again. Donald seemed to be there with his Great Uncle Scrooge McDuck (the heck!?) and his twin sister Della Duck. The three were there to hunt down some treasure that José doesn’t remember the name of. It didn’t matter as Donald was just as thrilled upon seeing the other two as they were to see him. 

 That evening was spent hidden in a hotel room. Avoiding the heavy rain and scrutinizing eye of Scrooge as they hung around his nephew. The water falling heavily outside hid the already quiet confessions. Tentative kisses were exchanged before they huddled together on the small bed, falling asleep with smiles on their faces. 

 José was shocked but extremely happy when Donald told Scrooge the next morning that he was staying with the parrot and rooster. The older duck was not happy with the idea of leaving his nephew with birds he’d had never met before. It could have turned into an all out fight if  Della hadn’t saved the day by saying it would be best for Donald to take a break from their normal, adventuring routine. Giving the duck a chance to explore the world in his own way. Let him live his life for once.

 If the glare from Scrooge held any indication, he was somehow aware of the budding relationship between the three birds. And was no doubt less than pleased that his nephew was running off with these strangers. But José couldn’t honestly care less. He was with the two people he loved the most in his life and who understood him. The following year and a half was spent traveling the world. Barely a penny to their names, doing performances at hole-in-the-wall bars to make sure they had food and shelter for the night.

  It was a time the parrot liked to reflect on when Donald had to leave them. 

 Their travels came to a halt when Scrooge contacted his nephew. Saying there was one final adventure he needed the duck’s help on. In turn, Donald bargained that he was only going to give up one year to help with this new journey. José still felt a worrying sickness when he and Panchito saw the duck off. Even with the number of times the duck promised he would be back soon. The parrot felt as if there was a dark cloud over the horizon.

 One year turned to two. Donald kept in contact as best he could. Saying the final adventure had a number of unforeseen hurdles. Two became three. Now there was talk of Della carrying. Frustration coming from Donald because his sister was still determined to finish this one final adventure.

 It was halfway through year three that José felt that storm finally hit. He and Panchito began to worry when Donald hadn’t checked in during his normal time. Which only grew when their calls went unanswered. Leaving message after message with someone named Duckworth in hopes that Donald would get back to them soon. It all came to a worrying conclusion when they found the reason for the sudden silence when they reached out to Fethry in a final, desperate act. Only to be hit in the gut when the scatterbrained duck explained what had been happening. 

 The spaceship that took years to build and perfect. Della’s sudden pregnancy, which caused an uproar among the Duck/McDuck family as she wouldn’t tell who the father was. While they’d been aware of Della’s determination of this final adventure, José and Panchito felt sick when they learned that she wanted to fly the spaceship. Even when carrying and finally delivering the eggs, it was all she talked about doing. Then she stole the spaceship the adventuring family had been working on for so long in the middle of the night and left. 

 Just left. No note. No message. Nothing.

 José felt a sickening furry slowly build up within. What kind of person just leaves their own unhatched children? This new adventure wasn’t worth it! The parrot was ready to tell Fethry to let them talk to Della, so he could give her a piece of his mind, wondering why she thought a late night cruise among the stars was okay, when they were told she was gone. An unforeseen obstacle bringing her untimely end. Scrooge and Donald were no longer speaking with each other and the younger duck taking over caring for Della’s unhatched eggs.

 José and Panchito were on the first flight to American they could get. In less than three months afterwards, they were all married, living in a comfortable apartment, holding well paying jobs, and raising three eggs. 

 And José was honestly terrified. 

 He didn’t regret moving, or marrying, or finally settling down. But raising kids? Was he stable enough for that? Donal and Panchito were comforting and supporting when the parrot wasn’t in his best form. But they were aware of what was happening, they were adults. José didn’t have to say anything and they understood. Children were too young to understand why one of their caretakers might be smiling one day and closed off the next. 

 Would José have the same anger issues like his own father? 

 He shivered weakly at the thought, his buzzing mind finding relief when Panchito shifted in his sleep. The parrot tensing as he waited for the other to settle back down before relaxing himself. Donald, who was clinging onto the parrot’s back, mumbled weakly as he nuzzled against the green feathered neck. Despite the comfort and warmth, José still could not fall asleep. Eyes wandering back over to the crib where the eggs were resting.

 They’d been warned by the doctor that the eggs would be hatching soon. Any day in fact. Donald went on full alert to duckling proof the apartment and having the nursery properly prepped. Panchito had been hit with sudden inspiration, pulling up numerous lullabies and stories he wanted to share when the eggs hatched. And José...started to silently panic.

 He shivers again feeling a beak gently preen over the top of his head. Which quieted the spinning thoughts. 

 “I can hear your busy mind.” Panchito whispered, José hearing the exhaustion in his voice.

 “Desculpe querido.”

 “What’s wrong?”

 José pressed closer. Hands slowly brushing through the red feathers. “...What if they hate me?”

 “Who, the eggs? Why would you think that?”

 “With my job, I am going to be gone for so many days at a time. Will they forget about me every time? Will I just be the stranger that lives with them? And you know that I am…” He swallowed, burying himself into the crook of Panchito’s neck. “...What if I do not love them? What if it is just a neutral relationship? What am I going to do?”

 “Shhh, cálmate mi amor. The fact you’re so worried about this shows me how much you care. You can’t judge on something that hasn’t happened yet. And do you truly think we wouldn’t talk about you when you’re away? They will know so much about you it will be like you never left.” 

 José sighed softly. “You make it sound so easy.”

 “Because it is. Now, calm your head and get some sleep.”

 “...Chito? Can you…”

 “Of course, get comfortable.”

 The parrot did as requested. Moving his head back down to rest properly on Panchito’s chest, Donald settled back down as well. José smiled softly when the beak returned to the top of his head. Smoothing through the feathers as José felt himself finally drift off to sleep.

 __________________________

 It was two days later when the eggs hatched.

 José was watching over them in the living room. Resting on the sofa while the eggs were in a cloth nest on the floor nearby. Donald and Panchito working on cleaning the kitchen after dinner. It was calm. The definition of domestic bliss. Until the parrot heard the first crack. 

 His eyes instantly snapped over to the bundle of fabric. Scanning over each egg, briefly wondering if he had just imagined the sound. Only to find a small crack forming along the top of an egg. That grew further pronounced as the seconds ticked by.

 “Hatching…” José was able to weakly force out, barely above a whisper. 

 “What’s wrong?” Panchito turned away from the soapy water. 

 “The eggs are hatching.”

 There was the sound of shattering porcelain. Donald had allowed the plate he was supposed to be putting away in the cupboard to slip from his hands. The duck’s eyes wide with shock. “What...did you say?”

 José was spared repeating his answer when another crack sounded. Louder this time and followed by small peeps. 

 “Oh, okay!” Donal turned only to falter over figuring out what he needed to grab first. “Oh Selene, it’s actually happening. Um-”

 “¡Cuidadoso! The plate! You don’t want to cut yourself.” Panchito advised, offering a hand to keep Donald balanced as he stepped over the pieces. 

 “Right, you’re right. Um, we just...we need… What do we need?”

 José faltered slightly when the egg cracked again, the frantic sounds coming from the kitchen were not helping his nerves. 

 “¡Acalme-se!” The two others froze in their spot, eyes traveling over to the parrot. Who was letting out a slow breath. “Alright, pay attention. Donald, get the broom and dusting pan. Clean up the dish then come out here. Panchito, I need clean towels and warm water. Warm. Not hot. If it is so much for you, it will be too much for them. We will need them in order to get them clean and dried. We also need towels to wrap them in once they are cleaned. Once you have that come out here.”

 Both nodded before breaking away to complete their given tasks. Still trying to calm his nerves, José sat back down, placing a hand on part of the unbroken shell while he picked away pieces. 

 “Hey little one, you are doing great. Just keep pushing. You are almost out.” The parrot let out a small noise of glee when a yellow face suddenly broke free from the egg. Feathers slick and matted down, sticking to the pink skin underneath. A small beak ‘peeped’ softly sounding before the duckling started chipping away again. “There you are… They are breaking out, I can see one!”

 “We’re here, we’re here.” Donald panted weakly as he set a bowl filled with warm water down with an arm full of clean towels. Panchito sliding into the other side of José, letting out small coos and words of encouragement as they watched. 

 That's how all three sat. Pressed together as they gave gentle words, the duckling continuously pushing its way out. There was a collective gasp as the egg finally gave way. The duckling falling out and landing on his stomach. Squirming in the blanket nest as they attempted to right themselves. Donald reacted first. Carefully holding the small form up as his free hand dampened a cloth. Wiping gently over the new feathers and clearing the gunk away from the duckling’s eyes.

 Once cleared away, the eyes opened to reveal a deep amber color. Looking almost brown in a different light. 

 There was no time to rest as the next egg began to break free. As it was closer to Panchito, the rooster grabbed his own cloth to prep. It took less time for this duckling to arrive. While the first seemed to be methodical with its freedom, searching for the best way out, this duckling was more determined to break out as fast as possible. In it’s excitement, the duckling flopped out onto his back. Arms and legs moving frantically as it tried to sit back up. 

 “Aguanta pequeño. You took a bit of a tumble.” Panchito laughed as he cradled the small form close. He cleaned the eyes, both opening to reveal bright blue. The duckling gave a small giggle as they grabbed their feet. “Awww! They’re so eager!”

 José laughed softly at the scene before his attention shifted to the final egg. As the seconds passed, worry started to grow. The parrot’s legs eventually started to bounce as they waited. “The color is still good… How long do we wait? Do we even have a small enough tool to help and not hurt them?”

 Panchito gave a smile and gently preened José’s neck. “It’s only. We just need to be patient. Let them figure it out.”

 That didn’t calm José in the slightest. It was a few more tense moments before the first crack formed. Even then, all three were on edge and it took longer for the first section shell to break away. With a break in the egg, the duckling still seemed to be struggling. Being cautious, the parrot reached forward to help break more away.

 “José…” Donald’s tone held worry and a warning.

 “I think they need help. If a duckling is unable to break free on their own, parents or guardians are allowed to help.” The parrot argued back, continuing his work. A small form flopped into the parrot’s open hand soon, giving a small peep of confusion as they clung onto the parrot’s feathers. Grabbing his own cloth, José continued to speak calmly as he could while cleaning the residue off. 

 Eyes of forest green were soon looking up at José. Head tilting as the duckling seemed to be determining what exactly the parrot was. “Someone appears to be the curious type.”

 The parrot flinched slightly when a cream colored blanket entered his field of vision. Donald gave a smile before shaking the blanket again. Giving a nod of thanks, José took it and easily swaddled the duckling.

 “That was skillfully handled.” The duck casually commented. 

 “I have watched a lot of videos about this. Covered as much information I possibly could. Even asked some of the mother flight attendance for advice. I...I just didn’t know what to expect.” José flushed softly when a kiss was placed on his cheek. Turning to look at Donald, who smiled back.

 “I knew you were ready for this. You were worried for nothing.” 

 The parrot huffed as his cheeks darkened. Feathers ruffled when he stared down a sheepish looking Panchito. “Did you tell Donald.”

 “If it keeps you up at night, then it’s an issue we all need to be aware of!”

 José’s retort was cut short when a disgruntled peeping sound was heard. The duckling in his arms had their face screwed up, legs kicking as best they could in the swaddle. “Oh, they...they are hungry.”

 “I’ll get the bottles.” Donald easily passed his duckling over to the parrot before standing and heading to the kitchen.

 Own duckling finally calming down, Panchito carefully closer to the parrot. He and José leaned against each other as they admired the small bundles they held. The first was in a state of just about to fall asleep. The middle was still wiggling around, but was thankfully staying in the swaddle. The third was still, eyes cautiously looking around as if trying to assess the situation. José marveled at how young they were and how their personalities were already coming through. 

 His heart swelled with absolutely adoration with every second that passed. Bending down to carefully move his beak through the fluffy yellow feathers. The green eyed triplet chirped, giving a wobbly smile as José pulled away. The parrot felt himself just melt. He was so unbelievably happy at that moment.

 “We need names.” Panchito suddenly said.

 ...Aw phooey. 

[artificialqueens]

Maybe You're My Enemy (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

a/n: hey, hi, hello! welcome to the first canon compliant thing i have written since 2017, i am *~ petrified! ~* . i had to write something to fix these two though after the events of episode 8 because i just love them dearly (and the fact in the subsequent episode Lawrence just dropped in the fact they’d shared a bed didn’t help this at all). thank you so much to @purecamp for reading it over and reassuring me it’s not a heap of shit (so if it turns out that it is then just blame her xo). also the song it’s set to is enemy by Charli XCX in case u want to get the immersive vibes!

fic summary: On one side of Scotland, Lawrence disappears from social media. On the other, Ellie reflects.

***

They say, “Keep your friends close”

But you’re closer, I love when you’re here

I’m so far away sometimes, I’m distant, yeah

The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. The stagnant water of the quay is grey, and so’s the metal rail that Ellie’s holding on to as he narrows his eyes, tries to stop the wind from hitting them and making him tear up.

As if the wind would be the only reason.

He brings his gaze into focus on the HMS Unicorn, sat in the water in front of him like some massive whale that’s been planted in a bathtub. It’s a fucking ugly ship; a glorified tugboat on steroids with a big bowsprit sticking out at the front all out of place, but he likes the little bust of the once-white unicorn that sticks out from under it. Ellie remembers getting brought here for a school trip in Primary 3, pointing to the unicorn all excited and getting laughed at by the boys in his class that he knew were going to grow up to be the ones that gave the teachers lip and got suspended in high school.

He remembers that Bryce made up the fact that one of the boys had “said the f word” in the gift shop later that day, just so Ellie could have the satisfaction of watching them get screamed at by their teacher. Ellie still fucking loves him for that.

Ellie thinks the unicorn is out of place in all this grey. He remembers the time he did his unicorn mix when he opened for Willam, how nervous he’d been and messaging Lawrence about it and getting a “this you coming out to me as a furry?” in return which made him laugh and forget why he’d even been nervous in the first place. He can’t help the smile the memory brings to his face even if he wants to.

And he wants to.

Lawrence always could make him smile, get a laugh from him even when he didn’t feel like it. He remembers with a blow to his heart what Lawrence had said on the show- “you’re not terribly funny? Like you don’t have…zinger-y punchlines?” - and how Tia had laughed and Ellie had wanted so much to bite back but didn’t.

Because he always could draw a laugh out of Lawrence. Granted he was usually laughing at him rather than with him, but Ellie could still put a smile on his face by acting dumb, saying things that Lawrence would subsequently repeat in a screech of disbelief that would always make Ellie laugh harder anyway. He’d always self-impose ridiculous dares on himself in front of him: in Hive, “here, what if I did the entire shot rainbow?”, in Nandos, “d’you think I could do the wing roulette by myself?”, in Glasgow on the Subway on the way to a gig, “dare me to get off at Ibrox and I’ll go to the Louden Tavern dressed like this?”. Ellie had been used to being the class clown for Lawrence, the jester for the queen.

Or maybe just a fool.

Ellie’s always hated the colour grey.

You might help me, intimacy

I’ll admit, I’m scared

Maybe, maybe you can reach me, yeah

His surroundings turn to silver as he shoves his hands in his pockets, heads towards the V&A museum that’s still glinting despite the lack of sunlight. He’s stopped by two teenage girls that are polite and shy and squeaky-voiced as they ask for a photo- he supposes that’s what he gets when he goes out wearing the pink and purple fur coat with the hearts on it. Ellie forces a smile and thanks them for supporting him and they tell him he’s their favourite in return.

After they walk away he thinks they must have been lying, but then he feels the frown etch itself onto his face as he shakes his head. The self-doubt is a hangover from filming that he needs to shake off.

He squints at the museum as he walks past, fleetingly thinks about going in and looking at some of the old fashion to cheer him up. A’whora’s promised to go with him when he’s eventually allowed to come up to visit, and Ellie snorts at the idea of the fashion queen of the London scene in Dundee. The thought of A’whora’s reaction to the Wellgate shopping centre- the Credit Union, the B&M, the Jobcentre Plus- puts the first smile on his face he’s had in days.

Lawrence had gone round the museum with him too, when Ellie had dropped him off at the train station the day after a gig and they’d been killing time. It had been weird to just dick about like that together the first few times. Weird the fact there was no makeup, glue and wigs, no alcohol or gay anthems to yell over. Just two boys walking around a museum together. Like a date.

Ellie makes a face before he even realises. Not this.

The first time they did all of it together was weird. Just like everything Lawrence had written. Nandos, cinema, staying at his. That last one especially. Ellie can still remember the way he’d stared up at the bumpy ceiling from his position on Lawrence’s couch in the pitch dark, street lamps from outside casting shadows through the blinds. The room was too cold and the blanket was too small and he hadn’t slept a wink but he’d still do it all over again.

The first time they’d both lain on Lawrence’s bed the morning after the night before, cracking up at Scottish You Laugh You Lose compilations on Youtube and Ellie being unable to help the tears that streamed down his face at Lawrence imitating “big shoe, big shoeeee!”. The way they’d been close and the way their arms had touched and the way Ellie had felt ridiculous for the way his heart was hammering. Just a friend.

The first time they’d found each other under the dark lights of CCs when they’d both been through in Edinburgh to support Alice by chance. The way Ellie’s heart had lit up like a firework when he saw him. The way they’d laced their fingers together without even having to ask permission first, the way everything just seemed to be as simple as tequila rose shots and pink lights and leaning against the wall as they smoked outside.

The way everything else had just happened so easily.

Ellie squeezes his eyes shut before he can realise what he’s doing. The memories have forced their way in, kicked down a door in his head that he’d been sure he’d bolted shut.

He needs to change the locks.

Maybe you’re my enemy

Now I’ve finally let you come a little close to me,

Maybe you’re my enemy

You’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’

Ellie is in the same Stitch onesie he’s been shrugging on since the last episode aired. It stinks. He’s joked to A'whora that he can probably smell him through the phone, and A'whora’s asked if he just sweats out Mango Loco Monster. Ellie makes some joke about wringing out his clothes into a pint glass if he did, which makes A'whora retch on camera.

He’s glad they made up at least. They didn’t have too much of a choice, to be fair. Apart from the way they get on so well, their bond and their friendship, A'whora’s the only other one who knows what it’s like to be in Ellie’s situation.

Except A'whora never stabbed Tayce in the back.

“You should talk to him,” A'whora insists, bringing the whole sorry situation up in a pause where Ellie must have looked as if he was about to make a vodka bleach mixer.

Ellie looks pointedly back at him through the screen. “I’ve been telling you to talk to Tayce for months.”

He watches A'whora pull an awkward face and he’s satisfied he’s hit a nerve. “That’s different though. You and Lawrence don’t live together.”

“Yeah. Least I wasn’t stupid enough to move in with someone I fancied, how’s that going for you?”

A'whora splutters a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Ellie feels guilty all over again. He feels like that’s his default these days. “Sorry, chick, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, I mean. It’s fine. Just have to act as if I’m not in love with the bitch every time I’m around her, it’s not hard,” A'whora deadpans.

Ellie frowns. “You know Tayce feels the same. Everyone knows it.”

“No I don’t,” A'whora says instantly back to him, shaking his head and dissolving momentarily into pixels. “Besides, even if she did, like…it’s easier if she didn’t, y'know? All this…publicity, every move getting analysed. It’s easier to just…not.”

Ellie narrows his eyes. “You’re doing a smashing job making the case for me and Lawrence.”

“You know what I mean! You don’t get people asking where Lawrence is in every live you do. You don’t get people going through the show fucking…frame by frame and then editing every time you breathe around each other together and setting it to a bloody Little Mix song.”

Ellie bursts out laughing and starts singing Black Magic down the phone to him, which makes A'whora look pointedly at him before clearly being unable to hold it for long and instead laughing with him.

Both their laughter dies down and Ellie watches as A'whora smiles sadly, sincerely. “He’s worth the risk, Els.”

“Oh my God, prison. Who the fuck are you, Nicholas Sparks?”

The reference flies over A'whora's head and Ellie starts explaining the plot of the A Walk to Remember, steering the conversation out of the waters it had become marooned in, the captain of his very own HMS Unicorn.

He feels more like he’s aboard the Titanic with every message that goes unread.

Now it’s really clear to me

You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper

“It didn’t get you a badge though, was it worth it?”

Ellie’s asked himself that every day since the episode aired. Since he made the decision, pretty much. Financially? Yes it was. It’s pretty well-known at this point in the grand scheme of Drag Race that with each week you’re on the likelihood of securing more bookings is increased, and now with his slot at Drag Fest he feels as if he’s hit the jackpot.

Everything else? Not so much.

Ellie still feels his stomach drop if he thinks enough about that untucked, which he does all the time. Too much, in fact. The aggression in Lawrence’s voice which Ellie knew all too well was a manifestation of hurt on so many levels. The way Lawrence chose the conflict that Ellie wished he could have avoided. The way Lawrence left his feelings bare while Ellie couldn’t trust himself to do the same in case he said something he might regret.

The fact Lawrence had thought Ellie had set him up to fail was maybe what hurt the most, though. Ellie had wanted to ask him how he thought he’d be able to do that after everything they’d been through together. He’d tried to tell him he didn’t think it was possible for him to fail at something he shines at. He’d wanted to grab Lawrence’s pink fucking headpiece and bash him over the head with it until he realised that he’s Lawrence fucking Chaney, he is the Scottish drag queen. Lawrence is the one who will say something at a gig one week and it’ll be common drag parlance across the country by the next. Lawrence is the one getting booked by the BBC Social to make educational videos. Lawrence is the one on posters across Glasgow, for fuck’s sake.

Ellie might not have been thinking about the worst case scenario in that moment, but only because he genuinely didn’t think there could be one.

After all, he’d had his opportunity to sabotage Lawrence. Ellie remembers the first day when the producers had wanted to set up the Scottish queen rivalry, asked for something shady they could use as a soundbite. The way he’d sought out Lawrence on a smoke break and told him about the situation and reassured him that he hadn’t given them anything, and the way Lawrence had just smiled back at him, softly and genuinely, and told Ellie he’d done the same. The way they’d minutely linked pinkies together before breaking them and walking back inside as if they’d barely shared so much as a glance, neither of them wanting to draw any suspicion their way.

And he could’ve been harsher in that untucked if he’d wanted. Could’ve said how for someone that was meant to care so much about friendship and sisterhood, Lawrence had been doing a great job shitting on him from a great height about his lack of challenge wins and his run on the show.  

But he didn’t, because…well. He knows why.

Because the knowledge that he’d hurt Lawrence and lost his trust had done more damage than any joke Lawrence made at his expense could ever do.

Ellie goes live on the Tuesday afternoon. A comment on the chat reads, “are u A’whora and Lawrence still friends???”

“Yeah, me and A’whora are still friends!” Ellie bats the comment away with a fake smile.

He’ll blame his lack of comprehension skills if he’s asked about it.

I feel guilty, I feel nervous, I feel certain now

Maybe, maybe you can reach me

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it.

Maybe it’s when he wakes up on Friday and Lawrence’s Twitter isn’t loading. Maybe it’s when he reads the other Scottish girls condemning the fans, the word fatphobia leaping out, grabbing Ellie’s heart and wrenching it tight.

Surely not this?

Ellie searches Twitter and what he finds makes him feel ill. He doesn’t know what he had expected- he’d known the frantic tweet urging the fans to be kind that he’d typed out before he went to sleep hadn’t exactly been going to create world peace overnight- but he hadn’t expected any of this. Everyone loves Lawrence, surely.

Although perhaps he’s just talking from experience.

Maybe it’s when he shoots Lawrence a message that goes unopened. In all honesty Ellie doesn’t blame him. A flimsy sentiment about hoping he’s okay that clocks in at under 250 characters isn’t going to cut it, and he’s grateful when Bimini, with all their empathy and ability to read a situation as clear as day, texts him and tells him that Lawrence has replied to them and he’s…well, he’s managing.

Maybe it’s when Ellie goes live with A’whora and he manages to mention Lawrence entirely too many times. A cry for attention or an old habit that’s dying hard? He can’t tell. Perhaps it’s both.

It’s definitely got something to do with the Facebook post.

Whatever it is, Ellie finds himself stuffing any old random items of clothing in a backpack and hoping it makes an outfit, shoving the spare key into the soil of the plant pot outside his front door and texting Anne to tell her where it is in case…fuck knows, the flat goes on fire while he’s away or something. He looks up the train times as he’s on his way to the station; a terrible decision, really, as when he’s still fifteen minutes away he discovers there’s one in ten. Somehow he manages to make it to the station with just a minute to spare and his heart lifts to find that the ticket barriers are open, so he dashes through them and hurtles onto the train that’s waiting at the platform. He catches his breath as he slumps into a table seat, having to take his mask off for a couple of seconds just so he can breathe properly. The way his heart is going at the rate the train’s about to isn’t helping.

The chimes of the train announcement cut through his attempts at slowing his heart down, and the little robotic woman’s voice confirms that his ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decision is actually happening.

“This is Dundee. This train is for Glasgow Queen Street.”

Because this is all so last minute, but he needs to see Lawrence. He’s apologised probably ten times by now but he knows he needs to make it eleven. He knows (he hopes) that Lawrence needs that eleventh time too. He knows that Lawrence needs Ellie’s persistence, knows that it’s all just an attempt at self-preservation. Lawrence’s attempts at shutting Ellie out are just inviting him to bring a battering ram. At least, he hopes. But like A’whora had said…he’s worth the risk.

The train starts moving, and even if he wanted to back out now he couldn’t.

So cold at the surface, I’m scared of nothin’

Underneath, I’m nervous

Can you reach me?  

Ellie waits for the subway at Buchanan Street and his glazed-over eyes focus on a massive poster of Lawrence on the platform opposite. He briefly considers throwing himself under the next train.

The journey down had passed somehow in the blink of an eye and also agonisingly slowly. Too much time to sit and stare out of the window but not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say. He still doesn’t know. He’d said it all those months ago, he’s said it through texts and DMs. This time feels different, though. This time is different. This time there’s no cameras or runners or pink tables, or distance between them or tension at the fact nothing had aired yet.

It’s going to be the pair of them and Lawrence’s flat. Just like it’s been so many times before.

Ellie thinks he’ll probably just open his mouth, say whatever gets there first and hope it hits the right notes; a terrible decision arrived upon as a result of the lack of any other option. His mind is a messed up ball of television static, a knotted yarn of white noise that he can’t find the end of. He feels as if it’s made of the noise the train makes as it screams into the station, metal on metal and the low whoosh of the wind through the tunnel and the rickety shaking of the doors as they slide open and people stream off.

He picks up his bag and sinks down into the horrifically patterned upholstery of the seats, settling himself in for the journey. The little metal tin can of a train doesn’t take long to fire through the seven stops before Govan and with each one that passes Ellie can feel his nerves spiking and his mouth growing dry.

What if Lawrence isn’t even in? What if it’s all got too much and he’s gone back to Helensburgh for the foreseeable? Ellie could get a train up there, he supposes; he’s already on this side of the country, although he doesn’t know if Lawrence would appreciate the gesture or call the police on him.

Ellie concludes it would be worth it anyway.

He emerges from the Subway and the grey seems to hit him all over again, seeping into his clothes and forcing him to fight through the sadness that hits him like a wave. There’s a little beam of sunshine fighting to escape the clouds though, and Ellie hopes it’s some form of pathetic fallacy. Or whatever that one about the weather matching your feelings was. Fucked if he ever paid attention in Nat 5 English.

The streets of red brick tenements feel like pens of hostility as he passes windows that serve as frames for Union Jacks and Red Hand of Ulster flags. Even being raised in a Christian household doesn’t equip him to identify with this form of religion; where the disciples are football players and the gods are flags and the hymns are about killing Catholics. Ellie has always worried about Lawrence living here, told him as much, but he’s always been met with a bark of a laugh back and some comment about how he’s only saying that because he’s lived such a sheltered little life in Dundee and wouldn’t last five minutes trying to inhabit Glasgow and all its cheerful sectarianism. Lawrence has always had a very blythe attitude to the whole thing, and Ellie remembers when he’d held his hand on the way back from the Subway in full drag after a gig like it was nothing, the way some dick in an orange and blue scarf had shouted at them from across the street and Lawrence had just yelled back with an “awrite, babes?” as if he had a death wish.

Which is what makes this whole thing so grim. The Lawrence who drunkenly and sarcastically greets bigots at three in the morning from across the street doesn’t marry up with the Lawrence that’s holed up in his flat in the face of negativity. Ellie supposes that one homophobic Rangers fan is one homophobic Rangers fan, but Twitter can seem like the whole world’s population, and if Lawrence thinks the world hates him just because he’s reacted to something that was Ellie’s fault…

He feels his gut wrench.

Ellie turns into Lawrence’s street and feels ill. He could always go home. Turn and walk back to the Subway, train back to Queen Street, back to Dundee, back to the flat. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t even consciously made the decision, like it was all a dream.

He sleepwalks to Lawrence’s close door anyway, just like he knew he would.

His hand shakes as he presses the buzzer too hard, and the panic rises in his throat as the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. When there’s a crackle from the intercom, he freezes in fear.

“Hello?”

It’s Kiko’s voice. Of course his flatmate had to be the one to answer, drag out the humiliation of the whole thing. Ellie can hear the shake to his voice as he replies.

“Hey, it’s Ellie.”

“…Ellie?”

He chooses to ignore the disbelief, acts as if it’s normal for him to have travelled across the country to turn up on Lawrence’s doorstep in the middle of a pandemic when there’s a travel ban in place. He’s considering this essential travel anyway.

“Is Lawrence in at all?”

Kiko, for her part, seems to pick up on the way the whole visit is masquerading as routine. In the split second before she replies, Ellie finds himself holding his breath. He steels himself, prepares for a “no, he’s actually…”, to send him back to Dundee like a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into a bin.

So Ellie feels like his throat’s going to close up when Kiko replies down the intercom. “Yeah, two secs. I’ll buzz you up.”

The dread settles in his gut like a weight as the buzzer rings out into the street, harsh and loud and doing nothing for Ellie’s derailed train of thought. He pushes on the door, takes his first step into the close and the echo seems to hit him deep in his chest. He finds himself wishing Lawrence lives four up but he’s only on the first floor, and as Ellie puts his foot on the first step of the staircase he keeps his eyes trained on the stairs because he knows the moment he looks up he’s going to see somebody standing there holding the door open and even though he’s had hours to prepare himself, weeks even, he’s not ready for that in the slightest.

And when he finally brings his gaze onto the front door with four steps to go, he’s not ready for the way the sight of Lawrence almost knocks him straight back down again. He’s slumped against the doorframe and has very clearly not slept- since when, Ellie couldn’t guess. A black hoodie is swamping him and a pair of navy sweatpants are doing the same, making him seem smaller than he already is. The sight of his hair up in that tiny bun hurts Ellie’s heart because it makes him want to smile, reminds him of the Lawrence he’d dick about in the workroom and the smoking area and the hotel corridors with before it all went so wrong. His arms are folded and he’s looking at the tiles on the landing floor until Ellie reaches the doorway, shifts awkwardly.

“Hi.”

Lawrence doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s a minute detail that hurts Ellie more than he would have expected. He doesn’t reply for a second, then seems to relent. “Hey.”

Another pause. The atmosphere makes Ellie wish he’d worn a thicker jacket.

“You’re not meant to be here, you know. Wee Nicky’s probably had snipers trained on you since you got off the train,” Lawrence says, delivering the quip with a bitter, barbed edge that makes Ellie think it’s less of a joke and more wishful thinking.

“Wouldn’t be any less than I deserve, I’m sure,” Ellie smiles sadly, unable to make it meet his eyes. Lawrence’s expression remains unimpressed.

“So why are you here, then,” he not so much as demands an answer but disinterestedly inquires. Ellie bites his bottom lip before he replies, as if he’s forcing himself to make sure his words are perfect.

“I just came down because…well, I wanted to see how you were. I know the past week must have been shit for you.”

Lawrence raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as if to really drive home to Ellie how much of an understatement he already knows he’s made. “Yeah.”

Ellie sighs, wanting desperately to get the next part right. “And I felt like I needed to say I’m sorry. Y’know, in front of you.”

“You said sorry back when we filmed. We’re over it, it’s fine,” Lawrence says flatly, conveying that everything is not fine.

“It’s not fine, though. I wouldn’t have come down if it was fine. Things haven’t been fine since that day, and like…I miss you, Lawrence, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, or as a sister, or as…” Ellie stumbles, looking to the floor as he tries to articulate the other facet of their relationship. “…whatever else we are. Whatever else we were. I’m sorry for fucking everything up.”

There’s a silence in which the pair of them freeze and hold their breath. Time could very well be standing still for all Ellie knows. He immediately regrets bringing up all of…that. He should’ve kept it to friendship, shouldn’t have added anything on. Before he can overthink any more or begin to backtrack, a small sigh from Lawrence makes him look up.

“I thought you hated me,” he says. His voice is small and the words are unexpected. There’s so much Ellie could say in response. He settles on a joke.

“No, I think you’re a cunt. There’s a difference,” Ellie smiles tightly, the joke tentative. The snort it gets from Lawrence makes his smile grow without him being able to help it. “Was that a good one? Thought I was the unfunniest person on the planet?”

“We weren’t talking about your Bake Off improv,” Lawrence raises his eyebrows as he smirks, and Ellie fakes a wounded laugh.

“Shady cow.”

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says out of nowhere, his smile gone all of a sudden.

Ellie tries to drag the joke out a little longer, hold onto the sparks they’ve just created. “Nah, it was shit, you’re right.”

“No, Ellie…” Lawrence shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth a little. “I am sorry.”

Ellie feels the panic wash over him when he clocks the glisten in his eyes. “It’s fine, girl.”

“It’s not fine. I was a dick to you so many times, no fuckin’ wonder I thought you’d set me up. I would too if I had somebody talking down to me like I did to you,” Lawrence says gravely. His gaze is fixed on his floor and just as Ellie is about to speak he catches sight of two tears that fall onto the red carpet, the darkness akin to blood. His horror grows as Lawrence finally snaps his head up, tears shining in his eyes as he sighs helplessly in a shaky voice. “You’re amazing, Ellie, you’re such a talent, and…fuck, I missed you.”

His words mean more to him that Ellie had expected them to. He doesn’t want to let that show, though, because that’s too much, that means too much for the situation just now and he can deal with that realisation at a later date. For now, Ellie points at him in mock-accusation. “Hey listen, I’m the one that got the train down to come and make a big speech to you and say sorry. Buy your own damn train ticket for that.”

Lawrence’s voice is thick with tears as he lets out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“Wee bitch. Always have to make everything about you,” Ellie rolls his eyes, getting another teary laugh out of Lawrence and raising his hopes that maybe they’ll be okay.

And then the banks break and Lawrence makes a little choked-up noise, a sob that’s not fully a sob. His eyes meet Ellie’s and they’re full of so much sadness and regret that just looking at them creates a crack in Ellie’s heart, one that matches the crack in Lawrence’s voice as he speaks again.

“This has all been shit to do without you.”

Ellie doesn’t think before opening his arms out, shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”

When Lawrence immediately opens out his own and they meet each other in the middle and hug tightly, Ellie feels like a balloon that’s been let go and is floating up to the sky.

The clouds aren’t grey.

The way they’re holding each other brings back too many memories. Seeing each other at gigs and feeling butterflies take hold of his stomach. Coming off stage after a number and conveying his pride in him without even having to say a word. Saying goodbye at train stations with disappointment lodging itself in his heart. All the nostalgia makes Ellie want to cry, but he can’t start now. Instead, he breaths a shaky sigh, shakes his head before he speaks.

“You’ve always had me, okay? You’ve always got me. We’ve said sorry now, that’s the end of it. Periodt,” Ellie murmurs against his shoulder, adding on his trademark at the end. The laugh he gets muffled against his chest in return makes him feel lighter.

“I’ve not showered. I definitely stink. You don’t have to keep hugging me, you know.”

“You don’t. I want to,” Ellie says back. He means it.

It’s Lawrence that slides out of the hug first but he’s still standing close as he quickly wipes away his tears, looks Ellie up and down with a smirk on his face. “So where’s your Travelodge, hen?”

Ellie’s sheepish when he makes eye contact with him again, shrugs one strap of the rucksack off before replying. “You know damn well I’ve not booked anywhere.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Right, come on,” Lawrence shakes his head affectionately, stepping back into his hallway and letting Ellie finally cross the threshold to drop his bag like an anchor in the flat. It’s the physical manifestation of the burden finally being lifted off of him, the guilt and the regret melting away in favour of the flutter of his heart and a few small sparks that he wants to put in resin. “I get to choose the film later as reparations. Don’t trust you since you made us watch Cat In The Hat.”

Ellie gives a shocked gasp, genuinely offended. “It’s good!”

“Is it fuck. In fact, just for that I’m going to make you sit through something sci-fi and geeky and you’re gonna hate it,” Lawrence smiles with genuine glee, and Ellie can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. As the pair of them walk through to the living room, Lawrence jumps onto the sofa and fixes Ellie with a look that is clearly meant to be serious but that simultaneously Lawrence can’t commit to and Ellie can’t believe. “You’re sleeping here tonight, by the way.”

Ellie raises his eyebrows as he fakes his agreement, going along with the charade Lawrence is beginning. They both know they’ll end up curled up together on the sofa with neither of them having an explanation for how it’s happened, but at the same time knowing they don’t have to explain themselves. They know that Ellie will end up falling asleep slumped against Lawrence and that he’ll have to gently shake him awake, that he’ll wordlessly offer Ellie a hand to drag him off the couch with and that they’ll go through to Lawrence’s room like always. They know that they’ll wake up tangled together like the sheets and that Ellie will be there for him, that he’ll help Lawrence piece himself back together and they’ll go back to the start. Well, maybe not the start. Perhaps somewhere better.

Ellie keeps his friends close, but Lawrence is something a little bit more. Something a little bit closer.

Baby, you’re my enemy.