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justmeinadaze · 2 years ago

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Playing the Game Part 6 (Steve X Plus Size Reader)

Warnings: Dom/Daddy Steve and all that that implies (I regret nothing!) Reader doesn't really Brat in this one. You two will run in a jerk from Steves passed and he will be an asshole.

Word Count: 2715

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Steve folded his arms from his place on the couch.

“Uh oh. Be careful, Robin. Steve has his pouty look on.” You whisper loudly next to her. He narrows his eyes playfully at you, shaking his head.

“Come on, Stevie. You won’t be alone. We’ll all be there with you.” Robin smiled at him from her place on the floor in Steve apartment.

You had all met at his place to hang out and share a few drinks. When Nancy arrived, she announced that the high school was putting together a little gathering for any alumni that wanted to attend. The younger kids had zero interest in going but you and Robin were excited at the idea of seeing the school again. You understood why for Steve that sounded awful but even Eddie said he would make an appearance just to piss off as many people as he could.

“Didn’t we just see all these people a few months ago at the Halloween party?” Steve asks feeling more and more like he was about to lose this battle.

You stand up and flop down on the sofa next to him. He uncrosses his arms and pulls your legs closer to him. “Baby, if you don’t want to go that’s completely fine.”

“Yeah, but I know you want to go and I don’t want you to go alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with our friends.”

He purses his lips as he lets out a deep sigh from his nose. You hop off the couch and grab his hand, dragging him out onto his patio. “Ok, what’s running through your mind, Steve?”

His fingers reach forward grazing your own as his gaze shifts to the floor. “I feel bad.”

You reach up and move his head up to meet your face. “Why do you feel bad?”

He exhales as he lets go. “If I go, I feel like it’s a reminder of who I was and if we go together than that’s going to be a reminder to us both which will hurt you. Then if I decide I don’t want to go then I feel like I’m abandoning you to face those people alone which, again, is a good reminder of how it was in high school.”

“Baby, you didn’t abandon me in school. We just… didn’t meet or talk or whatever. Steve, you’re still so hard on yourself. We’ve talked about this a lot. This man here is a new man, a good man. Fuck the past. Just show them who you are now like you did with me.”

He grins as he leans down to kiss your lips. “Thank you, baby girl.”

Your own smile grows as you leap into his arms, wrapping your legs around him. “You’re very welcome, Daddy.”

#########################

“Honey, you look good! Calm down. It’s ok.” Steve was fidgeting with his casual suit he decided to wear. He DID look really good. He chose his black jacket and slacks with a light blue button up shirt underneath. His black leather shoes were gleaming in the light. You also decided on a more informal attire, wearing a black jumper dress with a short sleeved white shirt underneath. Your black flats clacked against the floor as you and Steve headed towards your friends.

Robin seemed just as jumpy as Steve but for a totally different reason. “Do you think Vickie might come tonight? It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

You loop your arm around Steve’s waist as puts his own across your shoulders pulling you to his side. “I hope so. I still think she had a crush on you.”

She grabs your cheeks and kisses your forehead. “Oh, my little motivation pill. I love you so much.”

“Well, howdy there, beautiful people.” Eddie saunters in dressed in his usual heavy metal garb. You gesture at his clothes.

“Weren’t even going to try, were you?”

He grabs his heart. “Princess, it’s like you don’t know me at all. Of course not.”

After Nancy and Johnathan arrive, you all make your way towards the gym. A good amount of people actually showed up and everyone was already mingling out on the makeshift dance floor. Steve’s eyes never rest in one place. He’s constantly on the lookout but for what he isn’t sure.

Robin gestures towards your old high school friend group. “Let’s go say hi.”

“Oh, I will later. I’m just going to stay here for a bit.”

“You can go.” Steve looks down at you with a smile. “Seriously. I’ll be fine.” He gently pushes you away from him as you and Robin head towards your friends.

Once again Steve finds himself alone at a table at an event, bored and drinking spiked punch. Everyone else had left to go catch up with the other alumni from their classes. He watches you talk with a slight smile on his face. Seeing you like this always makes his heart skip a beat. His mind starts to drift slightly as he wonders what WOULD school had been like if he had been with you then?

He knows you would have been front and center at all of his sporting events, filling up the empty seat left by his parents. He would have joined you to your clubs and nerdy conventions. He would have been so confused but you would have definitely explained thing to him in a way that made sense and even if it didn’t who cares?! He’d be with you. He would have taken you on dates to the movies, fancy dinners, and school dances. You would have made love to him at Lover’s Lake then after you two would hold each other and just talk about the future. God, why hadn’t he paid more attention back then?

“Holy shit. Steve Harrington?” A loud, familiar voice brings Steve back to his present hell. His old friend Tommy Hagan pulls out a chair next to him and he cringes when the boy pats him aggressively on the back.

“Hey Tommy. How’s it going?”

“Never better, man. Never better. Carol and I got married and popped out a few kids. I’m a manager at my dad’s office so making some good money.” Steve nods his head, taking another sip from his cup. “Yeah, dude. So how have you been? I heard about Rebecca. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal. I mean, I met my current girlfriend that I’m really into so…” His eyes flash in your direction and Tommy turns to look.

“Y/N Y/L/N? Are you serious?” He chuckles to himself.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “What’s so funny?”

“No, nothing. I guess you’re no longer on your A game, huh, Stevie boy?”

Steve’s jaw tightens as he lets out a small sarcastic laugh. “I know I haven’t seen you in a long time, Thomas, so I don’t know who you think you’re talking to but I’m going to give you this one and only warning.”

Tommy stands up straight, no longer amused and Steve quickly stands up as well. “Oh? And what warning would that be?”

“Steve? Everything ok?” You ask coming up from the side of them.

“I guess it’s easy to let your woman fight your battles for you when she’s bigger than a fucking house.”

Steve steps forward but you sidestep in front of him facing Tommy. “Speaking of houses, I heard a rumor your dad is about to lose his gigantic mansion. How is the business by the way? My understanding is no one wanted to work for a company that’s in the red so your daddy had to hire you as a last resort.” You blink obnoxiously in his direction.

Tommy shakes his head as he huffs air out of his nose and stomps off. Steve’s arms wrap around your stomach as he leans in and rests his head on your shoulder.

“You ok?” You ask him as you rub your hands over his.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Are you?”

“Pffft, please. I never would have made it through school without knowing how to handle a few Tommy Hagans.” You smile as you turn around and grab his hand. “Come on, Harrington. Let’s go take a look around.”

######################

“God, everything feels so weird now that we aren’t kids anymore.” He says as you both peak into rooms and roam through hallways. You stop suddenly pulling him back. “What is it?”

You reach for the handle and open the door of a classroom. “Do you recognize this room?”

“Um, it’s a…”, he looks around at the literary quotes hanging on the wall and notices some books in a cabinet in the back corner. “An English room?”

“Very good, Harrington.” You grin as you make your way towards one of the desks.

“Wait a minute. Isn’t this Ms. Wick’s Freshman English classroom?” Your grin grows as you watch him start to remember. “Wow! I sat right here.” He walks towards a desk near the back of the class. His own smile faulters when he looks over at you.

“And I sat right here.”

The same row, one chair ahead of him.

“I remember the first time I ever saw you; you walked in dripping with sweat. Her class for you was right after gym. I assumed anyway. Every afternoon you would slink by me and I would hear you throw your body in to the desk. Sometimes before Ms. Wick came in you would let out this obnoxious sigh.” You laugh at the memory.

Steve suddenly walks past you towards the teacher’s desk, rummaging around in the drawers. He pulls out a sheet of paper and two pens, lightly jogging back to where you were. He guides you in your old desk and positions you so you’re facing the front of the room.

You hear him scoot into a desk and write something down on the paper. After a few seconds, there’s a light tap on your shoulder. You turn your neck and see Steve’s hand holding out a folded piece of paper. When you open it, you bite your bottom lip to contain your giggle.

Do you like me? Yes No Maybe

You open the pen, making a few marks as you fold it up and reach your arm back to give it to him.

Do you like me? Yes No Maybe

Do you like me, Steve Harrington?

This time he threw it back over your shoulder and it landed in front you on the desk.

I love you, Baby Girl.

After you write on his note, you get up, placing it on his desk in front of him. He glanced up at you before opening it fully.

I love you to.

You cup his face in both your hands as you lean down to kiss his lips. Steve wraps you in his arms pulling you closer to him making you giggle.

“I love the enthusiasm, Daddy but I am not going to fit on this desk. You and I will fall over and die.”

He chuckles as his lips roam down your neck. “One of the best ways to go out.”

“Where would you take the girls? When you got frisky during school hours?”

Steve leans back from you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He gets up grabbing your hand as he drags you out of the classroom down the hallway. When he finally turns into a room, you quickly read the sign before he pulls you through the door, Girl’s Bathroom.

You laugh at him as his lips collide with yours, pushing you back against the tile wall.

“Really, Steve Harrington? The GIRLS bathroom?”, you ask between his aggressive open mouth kisses. You purr as his hips grind against yours, his hands on your ass bringing you closer to his clothed groin.

“Yeah, I’m a gentleman.”, he answers cheekily. He undoes his belt and reaches into his pants to pull out his cock, pumping it a few times in his hand. You hike up your jumper and pull down your panties to your ankle as you lift your leg around his waist. Steve grabs your thigh eagerly as leans into you, the tip of his dick grazing your center.

You moan and lick your lips before you speak again. “You know Daddy, I’m starting to think you have a thing with bathrooms.”

He smiles down at you as he slowly pushes himself into your entrance. Steve leans forward as he begins pumping into you slowly. “No, little one. I just have a thing for you.”

You grip his neck, clinging to him as he thrust his cock into you harder making you cry out. You bite into his shoulder trying to stifle the volume of your moans so no one hears. You hear him grunt into your ear and your turn your neck towards the beautiful sound.

“Say it. I want to hear you say it to me.”

You pull his hair moving his head back so his eyes are on yours. “What do you need to hear, Daddy? Hm?”

His hand drops your thigh as both palms roughly come to your cheeks. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

He shakes his head and delivers a particularly hard thrust that border between pleasure and pain. “Tell me you love me.”

You search his eyes, still seeing the dominant daddy shining through but there’s a small glint of Harrington hiding behind him. The Steve Harrington who had been hurt by his parents, previous friends, girlfriends, and even life itself.

“I love you, Steve.”

He releases your face, gripping your leg once more, and increases his pace as he rests his forehead against the nook between your shoulder and neck.

The coil that had been steadily winding in your belly snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck as he fucked you through it chasing his own climax. You pulled your head back gently leaning on his own as you whispered adoration against his parted lips.

“Please Daddy. Cum for me, baby. I love you so much. I want to feel your cum inside of me, please.” His mouth connected with yours as his hips sputtered and he released his seed deep inside your aching pussy.

Steve pulled himself out of you and let go of your thigh but he didn’t let you go. When he removed his lips from your now swollen ones, his face hovered in front of your own with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Steve? You okay?” He doesn’t answer immediately, making you nervous. “Honey, look at me. Do I need to call an ambulance?” You let out an anxious chuckle. Tenderly you run your hand over his cheek. “What’s going on, baby? Talk to me.”

He runs his tongue over his lips and finally his eyes open, meeting yours. “I’m okay. I’m just…really fucking happy.” He smiles wide showing off his beautiful teeth as he kisses your forehead, letting his mouth linger there before pulling away. “I love you to.” He runs his palms over your hair smoothing it down before shuffling into one of the stalls and grabbing some toilet paper.

“I know this isn’t the best but”, he reaches down and cleans between your legs. You flinch slightly at the feeling of the rough high school cheap paper. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s ok. Did any of your other girls complain back then?” He gives you an awkward side glance. “What?”

“Um, I never actually had sex IN the girl’s bathroom.” You bite you lip, trying to hide your grin. “Hey, hey now. You said take you to where I took girls when I felt frisky not where we had sex. That would be in the Harrington home or my car. I never actually did it on campus.”

He bends down and pulls up your panties before grabbing his own pants. A thought hits him suddenly while he’s buckling his belt. “Wait. Did you ever…?”

“Did I ever what, Harrington?” You narrow your eyes playfully knowing exactly what he’s asking.

“Oooh you bad girl!”

“See that’s your biggest problem. You keep underestimating me.” You toss him a sly wink as you casually saunter out of the bathroom.

#dom!steve harrington #daddy steve harrington #daddy steve #steve x plus size reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #joe keery #joe keery smut #joe keery fluff #steve stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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viviennevermillion · 2 years ago

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Trivia Headcanons

notes: reposting bc I’m deleting my archived sideblogs. just some trivia headcanons about vil.

warnings: none

Okay first off he’s blind as shit. His eyesight is worse than both Azuls and Treys and he wears high quality contacts. Wouldn’t go out with glasses. If he ever runs out of contact lenses he has Rook guide him through the school while he pretends he can see perfectly fine. He totally thinks glasses can look beautiful on other people but he himself doesn’t like his appearance with glasses. He looks super cute with glasses though, especially if it’s small round ones.

His favorite piece of clothing are scarves! He loves to wear them all throughout autumn and winter. They’re fashionable and comfortable and they make him feel safe and warm. He always wears designer scarves and makes sure he never wears one that is itchy.

Vil loves to relax with music. After a stressful day once he is out of those heels he will lay down in bed, turn the lights off and start listening to relaxing piano tunes or slow and emotional movie soundtracks.

Dust allergy. The only reason he was awake when the curse thing happened in Chapter 5 was because he was constantly sneezing in his room at Ramshackle dorm. Forgot his allergy pills at Pomefiore. Worst night of his life.

As someone in the entertainment industry as well as an intellectual, Vil knows all about the effects media can have on society. He vehemently refuses to star in any content that is potentially problematic or make ads for shady companies. Vil holds true to his values and doesn’t want to associate himself with anything he deems intolerable.

He can also very easily tell the difference between advertisement and propaganda. Is the intention to make the viewer buy the product or to change the viewer’s stance on something? Vil knows and he’s ready to go on an angry rant everytime he notices someone using problematic content or propaganda in movies, ads and other media.

This is a man who is experiencing The Public™ on a daily basis. He has a really good intuition for how society is going to react to things by now. If you see Vil watching the news and sighing, holding his hand in front of his face and shaking his head there’s a 95% chance it’s going to turn into a shitshow

Vil rants. A lot. Not about personal stuff and nothing with bad intention but just society, the media, if the people who hire him for photoshoots suck, the education system, when students slack off…when you hang out with him by the end of the day there’s a big chance he’s going to complain about something that doesn’t sit right with him and go on about this for at least 30 minutes

Is someone to bond over opinions with you. He accepts other opinions, appreciates when people stand up for what they believe in and listens to other perspectives but when he’s going on a rant about gender roles for example and you agree with him he’s going to feel validated. A lot more than if you just call him beautiful because he hears that every day from hundreds of people

This is somewhat canon from his school uniform personal story but while he loves his appearance and being perceived as beautiful he absolutely despises being reduced to his looks and superficial appearance being placed above skill and hard work. That is because Vil’s whole understanding of his own beautiful appearance is closely tied to skill and hard work. So when someone like Cater comes along and wants to take a pic with him out of selfish interest and basically to cheat his way to clout and fame and using Vil’s appearance as a means to reach an end well….we saw how he reacted. And while Vil may be both a model and an actor he tries to keep those two seperated. He’s more tolerant about being perceived as “just a pretty face” when it comes to photoshoots but when he’s acting he really wants to bring his skills across and make the character he’s playing shine with his hard work. Also a reason why he doesn’t like to be type-casted for his appearance. So when his looks are being used in movies to gain more views and money instead of just letting him act without focusing too much on his appearance only he’s going to be mad. One time they wanted him to shoot a scene shirtless for the audience reactions and Vil went off on a tangent about how he can make the scene captivating with his acting alone and how he doesn’t want his looks to overshadow his performance right then and there on the set and they had to convince him not to quit the job.

Tbh most of the people who work with him know not to piss him off. He’s very professional and mature on the job but if you don’t treat him with the respect and decency he wants or dismiss his values, skills and hard work he can get nasty. He knows never to overstep a line and he’s been taught to remain quiet a lot of times when he has something to say and he’s often submitting to social standards and expectations because he has to but if you really piss him off and getting angry won’t harm his image he’s not afraid to voice his anger.

Honestly? Has a bit of a rebellious side that he hardly ever shows and keeps under lock and key. Closest you can come to seeing it is in debates and when he explains his views to you. Or when he gets emotional. He never publically acts on it but oh boy if he did he’d be wreaking havoc and he’d look absolutely fabulous doing so.

Writes poetry sometimes. The only person he shows it to is Rook, who also writes poetry himself. They do in fact talk about this quite frequently

Is a classic literature and poetry nerd. Has read so many works from famous authors of all kinds of countries and kingdoms and he often projects onto them

Has so many playlists and moodboards it’s unreal

That’s how he processes his emotions. Vil has such a strong aesthetic sense he can just feel vibes and symbolism and meaning from aesthetic things sometimes. So making a playlist or looking at images that express his feelings helps him a lot in dealing with the emotions he normally doesn’t show to other people.

I can definitely see him having an anonymous blog or private Magicam page where he just posts creative stuff like poetry, aesthetics, playlists, moodboards, writing etc. He has 5 Million followers but he literally gets so proud over every follower and comment he gets on his private little creative account because he knows that that’s 100% because people love his work if they see it. He doesn’t post that often as on his main account because he’s busy but it makes him happy.

Vil is one of the most empathetic people in the entire cast. He isn’t always sympathetic but he can easily feel other people’s emotions when he wants to, read between the lines and just have his mind flooded with feelings and vibes. His empathy is also very closely tied to his aesthetic sense which is what makes him such an excellent actor and so good at bringing out people’s qualities and inner worlds through aesthetic means like their looks or singing f.e.

Owns and uses one of those stress balls. Quite frequently.

Loves looking at landscapes and nature but has a phobia of bugs and dirt

Always wears gloves and a face mask while cleaning and honestly that’s valid

He always has plenty of medical and emergency items stocked. Bandaids, disinfectant, painkillers, ice packs….you ever need something like this? Vil has it. He never runs out of them and never forgets to restock them.

Doesn’t drink. It took him so much time and hard work to get where he is today so he won’t even risk getting close to being tipsy or drunk and potentially doing something that could negatively impact his career. Plus he believes it’s better for his health like this.

He does absolutely adore those alcohol-free cocktails though. Loves when they mix a whole bunch of fruits together and make it look gorgeous and also taste excellent

Vil has good audio and video editing skills for his club. He also made the background track for the song he wrote for the VDC all by himself.

Has a journal where he keeps track of his growth. Things that go in there include life lessons he learned throughout the day, career milestones, quotes that relate to his most recent accomplishments, struggles he’s overcome, goals he sets for self-improvement, self-care things he does, his workout plan and just small things that make his day better or make him proud of himself. Has Trey’s encouraging quotes from his Lab Coat story in there. Not even Rook has seen that one. Whenever he feels bad he will just reread it and see how far he’s come.

His favorite season is autumn

Seeing his own ads is so weird to him. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been in the entertainment industry and how much he’s used to seeing his face everywhere, when he wants to watch a video or something and he sees his own advertisement clips coming up, he never gets used to this

Has respect for a solid majority of fashion styles. A lot of them may not be his personal thing but he can see style patterns and how to make a person look good in a specific style and as long as you do take care of your appearance he respects your style choices. Want to be goth? Dark academia? Or have a leather / biker gang / rock band kind of style? Fine by him.

Writes emotional songs that never see the light of day

Is a sucker for fancy lamps and lights. The chandeliers at Mostro Lounge or pretty lanterns make him go 👀

Loves lava lamps. He finds them relaxing. He owns a purple one.

Also has an appreciation for fancy stones and basic knowledge about gems. Sometimes Jade shows him crystals or rocks he found in the mountains and Vil knows what kind they are or if they’re valuable. He refuses to help them with scamming people though so he never tells Jade if they’re valuable.

The type to get anxious when he can’t sleep. He has his schedule for his beauty sleep with a set minimum of hours he needs to sleep and if he needs to get up early in the morning and he’s already like, 10 minutes over the time when he should have slept he starts panicking and that makes him even less likely to sleep. He cares greatly about getting his necessary amount of sleep but even he has sleepless nights once in a while.

Always has his arms wrapped around a pillow or part of his blanket when he sleeps and tends to wear hoodies to bed and fall asleep with the hood on because it makes him feel comfortable.

#vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit headcanons

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 4 years ago

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Moving day

Based on @lucywrites02's writing challenge, with the prompts "1. You're family" and "8. I have a surprise for you". I wish you a very happy birthday, Lucy!

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (Tony Stark's daughter, not Morgan)

Word count: 3.2 K

Warnings: fluff and pregnancy :) This was very adorable to write.

Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87,@jesuswasnotawhiteman, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7, @toe-vind-ek-jou, @t00-pi, @selfship-mishaps, @sallymagnoliaposts, @deadgirl88, @enderslove

Gif: @moonrainbow

It had surprised Thor greatly how quickly and intensely his brother had fallen for you. He was as committed and truthful as he has never been in his long, long life. He looked at you softly, in comparison with everyone else. As soon as you walked in a room, he followed you with his gaze and invited you to his conversation. It wasn’t a surprise that after a few months of this very silent flirting (that very few noticed, because it mainly consisted in batting eyelashes and repressing subtle smiles when the other was around) you’d come out of the shell and admit you started dating. Thor was ecstatic.

Tony, on the other hand, was not amused. Not amused at all; in fact, he hated the idea of you going around with that God. He said, explicitly “if you ever get in trouble because of him, you solve it yourself. Nothing of coming for daddy to help, clear?”. Pepper had told him to cut some slack, and observe at how happy you were together, but he, stubborn to the bone, had to take a few months more before accepting the fact that his little girl was in love with the God of Mischief.

But the months passed by; almost a year, and you grew closer and closer. You hated to sneak into his room every night, and get interrupted all the time by every single soul in the compound, or mocked to death every time you cuddled on the sofa, watched a movie or read a book together. So, it all boiled down to the same conversation:

“I don’t think he’s ready”, you said while pouring some milk on your cereal. Nat rolled her eyes.

“He’s even readier than you”, insisted Wanda. They were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do something about it. “He’s lived much longer, if any of you two were to be unready, that’d be you”.

“Do you think I’m not ready?”, you doubted yourself.

“God, Wanda. You’re planting unnecessary seeds here. The girl’s already anxious enough”.

“I just think… I want him to be with me for the rest of my life. I don’t know if he feels the same”.

“He totally does”.

“Yeah. No doubt about that. Just look at how he looks at you. What are you even waiting for?”.

“I don’t know, a signal?”.

“Of what? You’re impossible. Unless God themself comes down the sky and tells you textually just move in with him, you wouldn’t consider it a ‘signal’”, bitched Nat. But she was right. Commitment was not exactly your thing, even though you were as in love as you could be.

You heard an oncoming scream approaching the room. In silence, you three observed cautiously, and moved away from the middle. The screaming increased its loudness, until a body shattered the roof and fell to the floor violently. Loki laid still among the dusted debris until a second screaming started sounding from the sky.

“Oh, fuck”, he said, managing to get up quickly and making himself as a shield for you three. Thor landed on his feet over the same spot Loki had fallen. Dust flew everywhere and the floor cracked a bit more. “Don’t”, he alerted, pointing at his brother menacingly.

“I’m tired of your whinings, brother. Do something or I’ll do it myself”, spat Thor, grabbing Mjölnir and leaving the room. Loki sighed and sat on the couch, cleaning the remains with his magic. Wanda sighed and put it all back together.

“And what was that about?”, asked Nat, eating a candybar, still on the same spot as earlier. It wasn’t an unusual scene.

“I…”, said Loki, but desisted. You sat on the couch by his side and he laid, using your lap as a pillow. You took out a tissue and started carefully cleaning the blood off his cuts. He smiled softly. “We just had a fight”.

“I can see that. What did you fight about?”.

“He wants me to… well, talk to you”, he struggled to say.

“Well, we’re talking now”.

“Yes. No, wait, no. Like, talk talk”, he clarified, and Nat and Wanda nodded, leaving the room. You could still hear their chattery from the door.

Loki sat up and grabbed both of your hands, making direct eye contact. He was nervous, which only made you even more unsettled. He was never nervous. He was always calm, even in life or death situations. He was unfazed in everything and with almost everyone. Almost.

“What do you want to talk talk about?”, you joked, and he chuckled, releasing some tension.

“I want you to move in with me”.

“Oh. Wait. What?”.

“Like, move out. But with me”.

“To your room?”.

“Out of the Compound”.

“To an apartment?”.

“Yes”.

“Here?”.

“In Midgard, yes”.

“But like, in New York?”.

“Wherever you want, actually”.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, and Loki grew nervous again. You couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that… a God just fell down the sky and told me to move in with you”, you clarified, which didn’t actually clarify anything.

“You… what?”.

“Yes, I’d love to move in with you, love”.

And in no time you were already packing things up and going together on apartment huntings.

Tony insisted on helping you out himself, which was hilarious, given the repulsion he had for the idea in the first place. So, you’d go to an apartment by yourself, check it out and talk to the owner for a bit; Loki would arrive later, tensing things up (the owners would usually recognize him, but after a little chat they’d find out he’s a fine man), and then, just after you’d be all calm and good, the owners would see in the papers you’re a Stark, and tense up even more. Easier to say, it wasn’t a normal neighborhood chat.

You had finally decided on a small but very cozy apartment near Central Park; far enough from the Stark Tower, but you could get there pretty quickly for every mission.

You found the place advertised on the papers, and when you showed it to Loki, in sickness and all, you insisted on going to visit it that same day.

“My love, my dearest… you need to rest. I’m afraid you might faint again”, he cooed, trying to get you back to bed.

“A little fever won’t do anything to me, really, I’m f…”, you said, but you felt like vomiting, so you stopped your words and sat on the floor. Loki sat by your side and rubbed your back.

“If you feel better tomorrow, we go, yes? Now, come on, I’m gonna call Banner and you wait on your bed”.

“No, but they might take it, we need to go to make sure…”.

“What about I go, call you on one of those animated images, and you can see it from here?”, he proposed, helping you up. He meant a video call.

“That… sounds about right”.

But you had no actual time to have that video call, for when he was in the apartment, Banner was delivering some more important news.

You’ve been to the examination’s room of the compound before. But this time it seemed brighter. The lights shone so strongly, you had to close your eyes a little.

“What would you like to do about it?”, asked Banner. You were sobbing and trembling.

“I… I don’t know, I’m sure Loki will leave me”.

“What? No, don’t base your decision on that guy’s opinion”.

“Well, I don’t want the kid to not have a father, you know?”, you said as he gave you a tissue. “I want to have it, I’ve always wanted a kid. I think I’m… ready? I’m probably not. Not by myself, and I can’t do this alone. He’ll leave me, won’t he? Why would he want to have a kid with a mortal? We’d die as fast as he blinks”.

“Look, I’m no one to talk about it, but this sounds more like your anxiety and less like something he would do. He really loves you, he has for like at least a year, and I don’t see that going away anytime soon”.

“I know. You might be right”.

“You’re allowed to doubt everything. This is a huge thing, y/n. Think this through, talk to people, talk to your friends, or your parents. Don’t let this eat you”.

“Thanks, Bruce. You’re really… you’re being really nice, I appreciate it”, you sobbed. He handed you another tissue as he rubbed your shoulder.

“This is your call, okay? You have time to think. Text me later how you’re feeling, and have bed rest now. And if you feel too bad, take this”, he handed you some pills, “it should be innocuous for the baby”.

One of those days, that same week, you had decided to make it the official moving day. So, you put every box in the van and drove through the city, to your new home. You haven’t told Loki yet what you knew, and you were terrified he’d get even more upset because you didn’t tell him before the moving. But, to be fair, you didn’t think he’d actually leave.

You had told no one about it, despite Banner’s indications. But it wasn’t eating you. You were enjoying it silently. You were glad; you had your doubts, fears… Hell, you were terrified. But you knew, if Loki wasn’t going to be a part of that, you could do it yourself. You hoped he’d wanted to, though.

Loki and you had started taking the boxes inside, all by hand (to be honest, he was a little scared of the neighbours watching him do things with magic and kicking you two out). You laughed through it, and played races to see who’d finish their boxes first. He was wearing one of those midgardians shirts and pants that melted you completely. He wore that for your anniversary dinner the week before that day, and he noticed how much you loved it on him, so he started wearing fancy casual clothes more often than not.

After about two hours, you were done and completely exhausted. You laid in the middle of the wooden floor, surrounded by boxes and a strong smell of floorwax and fresh paint, and looked at each other fondly.

“Welcome home”, you said, and he showed you the biggest smile he’s ever done.

“I think this place is perfect. It’s away, but not exactly far from your family for whenever you’d want to be with them”.

“Yes, it’s perfect”, you said, getting up and helping him up. “You know, I have a surprise for you”.

“Really? What is it?”.

“Tonight at dinner, shall we? In the meantime, what about we get something to drink before unpacking?”.

“Can’t wait for tonight, then. Would you like some tea?”, he said, surrounding your waist with his arms. You played gently with his hair.

“Yes”.

“I love you”, he said, giving you a small peck over your smile.

“And I love…”, you started saying, but the entrance got filled with noisy people, interrupting you. Four of your friends were already filling the place, giving you an idea of how a small party would fit in there. “... you”.

“Oh my God! This place is so well illuminated!”, said Wanda, marveled.

“And what’s that smell? Have you been cooking something weird?”, said Nat, less enthusiastic, but equally curious. Sam and Bucky were still on the door, and Sam seemed to have brought food. Like a cake, or something similar. Wanda and Natasha were quick to invade the place without further notice.

“Oh, you got one of those hidden drawers! What are you hiding in there?”.

“Probably sex toys”, guessed Nat.

“I’d say drugs. But, like, alien drugs. You know, from his town”, apported Bucky, now making his way in and leaving the cake over the counter.

“I thought drawers were supposed to be for clothes”, said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but hidden drawers? Sexy clothes”.

“Actually, I’m saving my daggers in there”, finally said Loki, kissing your cheek before pulling away from you, and appearing a cup of tea in each guest with a movement of his wrist.

“Boring”.

“So, guys, what do you think?”, you said as you started opening one of the boxes.

“I think it’s small”, said Tony, as he walked in. Pepper rolled her eyes behind him.

“Don’t listen to him, you guys chose perfectly. This place will look very nice once you paint it and decorate it”.

“It’s already painted”.

“Oh. Well, it… it looks nice”.

“Thanks mom”, you chuckled. “It’s small but we don’t need it to be big”.

“You better be actually saving daggers in here”, Tony peeped inside the hidden drawer. “Now that is not so hidden. I wouldn’t like to open it up someday and find a…”.

“Dad, please”, you rolled your eyes and went to Loki’s side. “Don’t worry, you won’t find anything weird. Just the daggers and knives of my very innocent boyfriend”.

“Well, you’ll have to think further about having knives so close to the floor, you know”, he muttered. Loki furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why?”.

Tony ignored him and walked to you earnestly, with the most serious face expression you’ve ever seen, and everyone observed quietly. He grabbed you by the shoulders, and inhaled a deep breath. All of the sudden, his eyes got watery, and you realized Banner had told him about the pregnancy. Your heart beat so fast you thought you’d faint again, right there. The corners of his lips formed a tiny smile, and he hugged you tightly. Loki was certainly confused now. As far as he knew, Tony didn’t like him, and why would he be so happy about you moving out? It’s not like you were his only child, either.

“I’m so proud of you”, he whispered, and then Loki had the feeling he wasn’t talking about the new apartment, but didn’t ask any further.

That night you managed to cook something special, even though you still hadn’t gotten the gas installed. You cooked together, and laughed at every minor inconvenience the house could give you. The doors of the countertop cabinets were the perfect height for Loki’s 6’4” ass to stump his head every time he tried to open it.

After some time of silent cooking, absorbed on each’s thoughts, Loki asked about your dad’s pride.

“Oh, he’s… well, he just, gets very emotional with these things”. He chuckled at your very obvious lie.

“No, he doesn’t. Certainly not with me”.

“Come on, he likes you now. He likes anyone I love, because you make me happy, and because he has no other choice”.

“Well… I thought he’d be less amused”, he admitted. “Hasn’t he? Other choice, I mean”.

“I don’t think so. He’d have to deal. Family is family”.

“Oh, do I know about that”, he said, cutting a carrot more strongly than before. You laughed.

“I meant it in a good way”.

“Well, your family is one thing, mine is another… I can’t push yours to like me, as much as I would like to. They’re very nice, and I wish I had a family like that, but I don’t”.

“Love, family is built”, you said, this time a little more serious. He repressed a smile, still looking at the vegetables. “You’re part of this, too, you know?”.

“Of this?”.

“You’re family”.

He didn’t repress the smile this time.

“You’re right. You’re my family, too, my love”.

“You…”, you took a deep breath. It was the perfect moment. “Do you ever imagine us in the future?”.

“Why yes, of course”.

“Really?”.

“I want to spend all your life with you. I didn’t want to rush into things because… I don’t know, scaring you out of anything, but I…”, he said, and the alarm on your phone went off, to take the rice from the fridge. You two laughed at how mundane this conversation seemed. “But I love you, and I want you by my side”.

“Okay. Well I do too. That’s good, right? That’s good”.

“Yes, of course it’s good, why so doubtful?”, he laughed, grabbing a tomato and stabbing it.

“Because I’m pregnant��.

“Yeah”, he chuckled, without actually realizing what you just said. And then, he fell. “Hold on, what did you just say?”.

“I’m… I’m having a baby. Yours, of course”, you clarified. You felt like you had to, but it wasn’t actually necessary. Silence filled the kitchen.

“Oh dear” he paused. He left the knife over the counter and looked at you, looking for any trace of a joke. You weren’t joking, and you grew nervous as he let time pass by without saying a word. “How could you not tell me this before moving in?”, he muttered, still in a bit of a shock.

“Oh. Well… I…”.

“I wouldn’t have let you carry those heavy boxes, love, I’m so sorry”, he said, and cupped your cheeks. “Are you really…?”. You sighed in relief. For a moment you thought of the worse.

“Yes, I am”.

His arms embraced you completely, hugging you as tight as he allowed himself to. He muttered how much he loved you, and how happy you had just made him, for the rest of his life.

Later that night, as you laid in bed, he cuddled you from behind with his hands on your tummy and his lips on your bare shoulder. You could feel his soft breathing grazing your skin, and his warmth keeping you safe.

“Loki”, you whispered, checking if he was still awake. You couldn’t sleep.

“Yes, love?”, he whispered back.

“Are you sure you want to be a daddy? With me?”.

He turned you around, and lowered his head to your abdomen. He sank his face and kissed all around your stomach and hips, leaving a trace of kisses up to your neck, and then your lips.

“How could I not?”, he whispered in a low voice. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, teased “besides, the word daddy comes out so well from your lips”.

You laughed softly, and after some more silence that was fairly filled with loving stares, a thought crossed his head and you saw the light of his eyes turn to dark.

“What is it, love?”, you put a strand of his hair behind an ear.

“I… I’m just realizing something bad”, he said, and you nodded. “I’m a Frost Giant”.

“Why is it bad?”.

“My actual form is bigger than this. And… colder. And if the baby were Jötun too...”.

“You think the baby might hurt me?”.

“They might. I don’t know. Oh no, what if they hurts you?”, he began to panic, and you shushed him, kissing his temples.

“Don’t worry, Lokes. If that’s the case, we’ll figure it out”, you reassured him. “And maybe it’s not. And we’ll have a little and very healthy half-Jötun running around this small apartment. When have we not solved our issues? We’re good at that bit”.

“You’re right. You’re right, my dear”. He sighed, and then chuckled. “Should we have gotten a bigger place?”.

“We’ll be a very close family”, you laughed.

“We already are”, he whispered, cuddling back to you. “We are a very close family”.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki headcanon #loki odinson #loki fic #lucywrites19 #loki x fem!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x y/n stark

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lillian-nator · 4 years ago

Text

Everything below was made by Me, Eye, and Ethan over the course of like 3 days

Thank you (with additions from sleepy my beloved)

Okay

Wilbur isn’t the oldest

Techno is

But it’s a war run empire, they take pride in their troops and armies and triumphs

The soldiers come first

So Techno is the commander in chief , the general

Wilbur, second born

Is heir to the throne

To the diplomatic side of the empire

and Tommy Gets shit

He doesn’t even understand why Phil had another kid

Of course there is the situation where Techno or Wilbur dies, or one of them steps down, but it won’t happen

Was he really born to be the understudy

he was born as a backup

Tommy was an accident but they’re not gonna let the public know that

like he's the Zuko

Phil doesn't really pay attention to him so his mother picks up the slack

Wilbur is 21

Techno’s 23

Tommy’s 17

However I have a really good idea for prince Tommy, just like what if he doesn’t like the way that people treat him? Like he doesn’t want all these yes men he wants to be he wants to be told now, he want somebody to tell him he that’s against the rules he just wants him like structure he just want someone to hate him he want someone to not like him and say no and tell him that he’s stupid which is why he does all of the stupid shit that he does

Ever since he was like 4

Everyone has said yes

He wants to defy them

He wants to just do something to make someone say no

That and he lowkey

He wants ~~Phil~~ Wilbur to pay attention to him

Is a Little Shit who causes so many problems on purpose to try and find someone who will push back against him

He wants someone to give him structure and discipline but overall he just wants his family’s attention

He’s broken shit, thrown temper tantrums, he’s started fights and he’ll he’s even snuck out and stole things

He’s never been stopped

People consider him snobby and spoiled

He's a brat

He gets everything he wants, but he doesn’t really want it, he just asks to see if they’ll tell him no

Tubbo = Stable Boy

Ranboo = Prince of another country (probably the americas)

Ranboo could definitely fit the role of an overseas royal prince who Tommy sees as a regal, spoiled, uppity little shit. Like Tubbo, who Tommy sneaks everywhere, has met Ranboo and likes him. Tommy can't possibly see why, he's unbearable.

Bench Trio = Best freinds

I think that Tommy and his brothers were always very very close

they just have jobs and shit

They took over Phil's shit

they probably drift apart as they get older, Wilbur and techno have duties and Tommy starts his quest for attention, they grow apart from their little brother without realizing it

Tommy and his mother (kristin) are always and have continued to be close

she definitely chides him, and tells him quietly to not do things for all of his "misbehaviors"

but there is only so much that she can do, because she has the duty to not make a scene

that and she's not who he's looking for attention from

You may be asking "How is crime recognized, identified, discussed, and atoned for?" more specifically, "Is it a 'you stole my bread so without asking anyone I'm cutting your hand off' or is it the US court system" ~~You may also be Ethan~~

The answer is:

like the UKs

But more like

Okay so the Supreme Judicial system, but Phil (and then Wilbur) has teh final say

Court system, but with Phil overseeing everything

instead of a judge

HOWEVER, that's in the national level

in smaller villages, its more of the cut your hand off system

because the judicial system isn't regulated

So bonus questions:

Punishments and the identification of whether a crime counts as a crime?

soldiers can call crimes out, and citizens can file reports

Phil's not really shit, he just doesn't show Tommy any attention because he's busy with the other two

Just honestly doesn't even care about most shit Tommy does

Like, doesn't pay attention to it until it affects him, he's busy running a country and training the boys to running a country

I don’t think they (the brothers) realize how badly everything is affecting Tommy

The only one who knows anything about the full extent would be his mom, and she’s in a similar boat to Tommy

Phil doenst really see her much either

Not like she could “Make a Scene” trying to get Phil to pay attention to his youngest, to actually love his child, he’s barely around

Kristin and Phil spend time together at night, but during the day everything is for the cameras

its like the UK royals, how they do shit just for the people

And Phil doenst want to hear about the kids at night, he wants to spend time with his wife

Tommy has stolen a car and will do it again

Just fucking hopped in and took a joyride

With Absolutely No Repercussions

Do you think Phil ever tries to hire like, a nanny or something? In the aftermath of the Car Incident? Yes, and it never worked

Tommy, like 15 at the time, pissed as hell as a random ass woman tries to tell him to go to bed at 8:30 pm

Tommy wants somebody to tell him no but not somebody hired to tell him no mannn

Tommy goes to like parties - like ragers

he has a network of really famous friends like young actors and shit

dude is a party animal, underage drinking, rumors of drugs, he’s the PR Teams worst nightmare, but they’re not going to say anything

The press makes up SO MUCH SHIT

The press once said that he had done cocaine when it was really one of his friends

Tommy adopts two dogs (hello Betty and Walter) without asking either of his parents

Betty is short for Elizabeth

He brings them in off the street

Literal abandoned street dogs and he goes, mine now

He like, walks down the street with sunglasses on, and just doesn't look at anyone as he walks the dogs, who have like black nice leather leashes

The paparazzi always finds him walking the dogs

like a modern celebrity

Mans can and will call the paparazzi on himself - because he is a drama queen ETHAN Tommy voice "hello pa pa. I have hired two new staff, pa pa." "Huh?" "they have found work in this palace as emotional support animals, pa pa." "....ok." tommy voice "he didn't even blink, elizabeth the fourteenth" END OF ETHAN MAKING FUN OF THE BRITISH

By the way just to clear things up with you all, Tommy addresses Phil as "Father"

most of the paparazzi's pictures of Tommy are him flipping the camera off

He poses for them

just sees a camera and fucking sticks his tongue out and flips them off

He’s wearing some atrocious outfit while walking his dogs and he just has a full on fashion photshoot of poses for them

If his dad won’t give him attention at least they will

Tommy befriends some of the staff

he hates a lot of the butlers tbh

thinks they're stuck up

but likes to gossip with the maids, and sit in the kitchen as the chefs cook lunch "Heyyyy, chef!" "Your highness, what is it, are you hungry?" "Can't a man just talk to his chef? Befriend his castle staff?" "Ah."

that and the kitchen gives betty and walter treats

Top ten Prince Thomas microaggressions

Number One: he calls Phil "your highness"

For context, kings are referred to as Your Majesty

He calls Wilbur Your Majesty

It was a joke when they were younger, a habit from then on, but now it’s to spite Phil

Tommy spends an ridiculous amount of money on clothes all at once, purely to see if Phil would yell at him for using the family debit card for it

He never wears the clothes

He doesn’t particularly like any of them anyways

Instead he donate them all anonymously

Tommy may be a brat but he isn’t wasteful

By the time Tommy’s 12 he’s started acting up, and it escalates slowly until he hits 15 where things just start snowballing and he gets worse and worse

he's definitely nicknamed by the press as some sort of party animal or fratboy

a spoiled brat

He’s 16, and he knows his place in the family, he is forgotten and glossed over, but he won’t be ignored, not if he can help it

The Public gives him the attention he wishes his father would give him, he walks his dogs with the paparazzi tailing after him, just hoping that maybe one scandal or one horrible picture will eventually be enough to make his dad actually See him

he'll tell the paparazzi what they want to hear

and give every magazine a story to tell

they notice him

he just wants somebody to tell him no, somebody tell this boy no without being paid to please

Tommy probably has like, pierced his ears or smth. Gotten tattoos.

he has holes in his face yes.

he pierced his ears and his nose

He has a tattoo on the inside of his finger that matches with Tubbo and Ranboo

Maybe the picture of him plastered from last weekend will make his dad reprimand him

Maybe the weed found in his backseat will get his Dad to ground him

Maybe the bottle of fucking pills he was “holding for a friend” but got caught with Will get some sort of reaction

and its not like he's only doing it for attention

he starts it for attention, but he loves it he does

he has fun, he loves his friends, he likes the parties and the air

but, he also loves the attention, he's not gonna lie

Tommy who took adderall at a party once but it didn’t do anything for him, he seemed to function a little better actually

Tommy who knows Techno has adhd and takes adderall for it, Tommy who puts two and two together Bc he’s not fucking dumb

Tommy realizing his dad never cared to even get him diagnosed or treated

and Techno does notice, he does figure it out, but he does either a "hey..." or a "m8 I'll just get you your own if its helpin you focus" and tommy is furious

Tommy's life here is just

'trying to be yelled at HARD MODE'

Just wants to be screamed at, lowkey

I think, Wilbur avoids the tabloids

And the press

And the news

However, his advisors often read him the shit about Tommy - or anything about him

But they never see the pictures

They don’t see the picture of Tommy drunk on a strangers balcony

They don't see how bad it is

Tommy however? LOVES reading what the press has to say about him

Phil sees it however,

And he’s so disappointed

He gives Tommy so many talks but it never works

Because it doesn’t get him to love Tommy, to care about what Tommy does

Not like their mother

And he never makes a scene, not in the way Tommy wants to

It's all about "YOUR RUINING OUR IMAGE"

not: "YOUR RUINING YOUR LIFE"

He never asks if Tommy is ok

He never asks if he’s safe

Tommy's mum however, SO MANY AWKWARD "STAY SAFE" TALKS

He doesn't just fucking jump off shit because of her, he's slightly less reckless so that he can come home alive to her

I just think that Wilbur, no matter how busy, would find time to concerned yell at his baby brother if he were to find out about the pills

Weed and alcohol? Not great but ok.

Pills though?? He is full blown concerned Wilbro there

His brothers care. Their father is busy. He's a jerk sometimes too.

Wilbur does put out the fire a bit

He’s glad Wilbur had his best interest in mind

But man

The news headlines

They do him dirty

Shit like “Prince Tommy Caught Doing Cocaine at Frat Party” really fuck him over

They really just try their best to make him look like shit 95% of the time

Tommy loves it, just a little

Bad press is still press

He laughs at the headline Bc he knows he wasn’t doing cocaine, but Phil doesn’t, wilbur and techno don’t know that

It’s a tense week after that headline is released

His mom doesn’t even know if Tommy would have actually done cocaine

They just don’t know

Kristin asks him

She’s the only one who believes him

I think Wilbur wants to believe him, Techno too

But it’s hard to, especially when you’re not even sure you know your own brother anymore

Wilbur says something along the lines of being disappointed in Tommy, if he thought Tommy was trying to be better

Tommy scoffs and says he is trying, but that it’s real rich of Wilbur to be or entering to care now

This isn’t even the worse headline

One time a blonde kid got picked up from the same party Tommy was at on a stretcher, he had had an allergic reaction

Some shitty journalist saw and automatically assumed it was Tommy

They ran with the story that the prince had fucking overdosed for at least a week

The things they say are close to the truth but not quite

The PR Team tries their best to help but

They don’t even know what’s true or not

Tommy goes on a bender for a week, and walks into their office with coffee and pastries to apologize

They all know that presents mean a rough week of damage control

But Tommy imports them these Bomb ass donuts so

Fair trade really

Also heaven forbid tommy gets seen with a girl

It’s the worst shit

Tommy gets caught, drunk off his ass, pushing a couch out a window

(To be fair the people were moving soon anyways, they didn’t need the couch, it was a going away party)

And the next morning, recalling what he did

He orders up those pastries and calls the coffee place

Swings by to pick up the coffee and picks up the pastries all within the next two hours and delivers them on the third with an apology note

It’s fucking DAMAGE control

Thinking about Tubbo and Ranboo being Tommy’s DDs when they can

They are

When Tommy’s handler isn’t around

Them doing wild shit together but not Wild Shit

Tommy teaches them how to do burnouts and donuts in a fucking lambos in an empty mall parking lot

Ranboo goes everywhere incognito, Tommy practically flaunts his rank, Tubbo is considered a nobody and doesn't have to do anything but show up in casual clothes. He has a uniform for stablework.

Ranboo's parents are approving of his friendship with the fledging prince, as they hope he can wrangle Tommy to regality and he's building positive relations between the two kingdoms.

Phil is disapproving, worried Tommy will taint Ranboo and his rep and cause a tense air between the two kingdoms. Tommy loves Phil's worry, he practically bathes in it, it's the attention he so craves.

Tommy definitely will hold Tubbo's hand when he walks with him, because the headlines all scream Tommy is the gay?? and while he's very incredibly straight, he finds this hysterical.

Ranboo isn't always in Tommy's kingdom and rather spends most of his time at home. He might be second to heir or the crown prince himself, but he does have to spend time in his own country. Tommy face calls him a lot and he and Tubbo are ecstatic when he announces he's going to visit

I imagine he's second to the throne because that means he can focus on building relations instead of training to be king.

Older sibling Fundy, gets chronic illness, and Ranboo has to take over the throne for a bit

One of Tommy's worst stunts was hitching a ride to the Americas/Ranboo's kingdom without telling anyone.

Whether by boat or plane, he was gonna go visit his young king friend no matter what.

I say "young king" but he's still a prince. Just filling in for fundy

But all eyes turn to Ranboo and Ranboo is stumbling with attention he'd never known. Tommy has to help, doesn't he?

He expects such a punishment for stowing away to visit, but the headlines are... positive. Prince Tommy's friendship with Princr Ranboo becomes.... legendary, practically. Tubbo is always excluded from the news, even when he comes with.

Never too fantastical for classism

But no, the headlines see Tommy's visit not as the young, rebellious prince stowing away, but as a young boy risking his skin to visit his stressed friend.

Tommy is appalled.

And Tommy just groans and shows him the phone

And Ranboo laughs and goes

“There there Tommy, I’m sure dragging me to a frat party will be enough to ruin the good press.”

“Maybe get a dui, you’ll have diplomatic immunity so no jail time?”

“Boo, I wouldn’t get jail time even if I wasn’t em-mune, I am simply too poggers.”

“Sure man, let’s go with that.”

Tommy’s like “maybe I need to actually start doing hard drugs”

Ranboos just like “no -“ just “Please god no, your brothers will kill both of us.”

The Boo is terrified of Techno and Wilbur

Not as royals though, simply as Tommy’s older brothers

Like he knows about Tommy’s issues with validation and feeling unloved, he knows his Brothers are often very busy

But he also sees the way they look at Tommy, and the way they look when people talk bad about Tommy

He knows if something were to happen and he was to cause harm to Tommy or cause Tommy to cause harm to himself

It probably wouldn’t end well for him

Wilbur and techno try as hard as they can

But they’re SO busy

That they can’t do much especially when Tommy’s so persistent on doing his shit

Tubbo is great with the horses he tends to, and Tommy adores them. Ranboo is an excellent, regal rider and Tommy and Tubbo are more rough and ballsy, so races are fair and fastpaced.

Ranboo once got bucked by a royal stallion and Tommy and Tubbo never let him live it down.

I imagine Tubbo lives on the property, as some servants do. He either doesn't have a family, has a bad one, or his family doesn't live close to the palace.

So Tommy 10/10 sneaks to the servants' quarters and he and Tubbo sneak out to ride the horses.

I feel like Wilbur makes more of an effort after the pills and cocaine incident, he tries to ask Tommy about the headlines

Purples is Tommy’s friend

Rich family, old money

Throws a lot of the parties Tommy goes to

Purpled and punz :handshake: Tommy

Frat Boys

I think you guys are underestimating the time that Tommy spends at the castle

Like he still has school, and usually 3 days out of the week he follows around his brothers like an endearing little shit

But those 4 days where he’s gone (which includes weekends) plus nights, he’s doing shit

Also, yiu know Pongo right

101 Dalmatians

That’s how Tommy walks Betty and Walter

They are like standing completely proper and walks straight

ah yes, the royal bitches and also betty and walter are there too

the paparazzi taking pictures of Tommy and the dogs

and Tommy turns, taking his sunglasses off, and smiles big and wide "They have names you know? You should stop callin' them 'the royal dogs'."

One of the guys, he's familiar with the prince turns on his camera and asks "what're their names Prince Tommy?"

"Betty and Walter. Give them some respect."

Tommy visits Ranboo sometimes. Ranboo was looking for him one day and just found him standing in a long hall, staring at a portrait.

It's Ranboo, just barely younger, hands folded behind his back, the perfect picture of regality.

Tommy is staring at it because he knows that at home, there is a portrait of Wilbur looking like that, and one of Techno, and one of Phil and Kristen, and one of himself.

But somehow this image of Ranboo is.. haunting

Not because it doesn't match with the Ranboo he knows, but because it does.

It haunts him because he can stare at his portrait for hours and never see himself, but this is so plainly Ranboo that it's chilling.

Ranboo stands beside him, hands folded behind his back as they always are when he is in nice clothes and his eyes are visible. Tommy glances over and Ranboo is facing him, but staring up at the picture. It's still him.

The clothes are different and his hair is longer now, but Tommy can't tell the difference past that.

He knows that Ranboo is what his family wants him to be

He knows that Ranboo is him if he hadn't strayed, the same past

Ranboo knows exactly what’s going through his head right now

And he knows exactly what he needs too

They get fucking piss ass drunk in Ranboo’s room order takeout and FaceTime Tubbo

They can party tomorrow, Tommy doesn’t need to be in public right now

ANywyas

Tommy and his mother have a wonderful relationship

she teaches him literacy and history, they have a tutor teach him maths

they eat breakfast together every morning

the whole family does

but his mum tries to eat lunch with him at least 3 times a week

he goes out for lunch the days he doesn't eat with his brothers or mom, out to some resturant, sometimes, they trash it or party, sometimes he just brings Tubbo, no big group, and they just chill

With Ranboo in line for kingship (the way royalty works is that if the ruler dies, it will always go to the next in line of blood, never by marriage. Even if every heir was dead, it would still not go to the ruler consort but instead to a family member of the late ruler), rep is so much more important

he can't really be seen with Tommy sometimes

not on the bad weeks

not when Tommy just destroyed a bnb or set off fireworks with his friends, or was caught throwing chairs into his friend's pool

Tommy likes sport cars

big car guys

He has an exorbitant amount of fancy cars

its truly like

disgusting

how many cars he owns

Wilbur makes fun of it Bc the kid is just now legally old to drive

But Wilbur has so many expensive instruments

Some of which he doesn’t even know how to play yet

to be fair

Wilbur doesnt go breaking his instraments

Techno, techno has swords, which makes sense Bc he’s a general

But the amount swords he has just hanging on his wall

Never meant to be used

It’s so many

I feel like Tommy has a few cars that he doesn’t even let get scratched tho much

His babies

he has his expensive cars that he wrecks

and then his expensive cars that he treats like gold

They’re named

Clementine is this horrendous orange car that he absolutely loves

Its a bright orange ferrari

(He loves it Bc it was a gift from Phil, one of the first cars in his collection)

(Tommy doesn’t know that the idea was his mother’s, his father didn’t know what to get him)

all of his cars have padding in the back for his dogs

Tommy hates purse dogs, the girls with them are always fake and horrible

but he wishes his dogs were that small

Easy to transport

but they got all gangly limbs like him

and stand up to his hip

Henry is his sleek black classic mustang convertable

its what he drives when he doesn't want to be followed by the papp

It’s what he drives when he takes The BT to lunch

its not that the paparazzi doesn't know its him

they know

but he's not in one of his bright fucking obscene cars

The press and Tommy have a weird sort of understanding

He creates their headlines and they let him have moments to himself

If someone breaches that

They risk getting blacklisted

that car was what he drove to his grandmother's funeral in

im not naming his grandmother, but all royals live like forever

Clementine barely sees the road I think

She’s kept in top condition

By Tommy’s own hands

But she probably doesn’t get driven to the parties

Or the brunches

Or the clubs

She's used pretty much exclusively for black tie events

Tubbo is his driver for those Bc he trusts no one else with the car

And he has to exit her before she’s parked

So Tubbo valets and then meets him inside

It’s also how Tubbo gets into the black tie events

so its modern right

so its like thousand-dollar suits instead of capes

so, Tommy just refuses to wear blazers and suit jackets

he always wears his button-ups rolled to his elbows

Maybe, maybe you’ll get him in a vest

But most of the time it’s a button up, rolled up sleeves, and the tie is most likely incorrect or untied

The only reason it’s correct half the time, is because Wilbur makes him let him tie it

Tommy won't wear the jacket because he prefers to roll his sleeves up - he's able to do anything, party or just like rough housing with his brothers, or helping out the staff

Wilbur won't wear a tie, or a button up most days, opting for a high-end sweater and loads of jewelry; its just much more his style.

Techno won't wear a vest because it restricts the places he can hid weapons, and he almost never keeps his tie tied.

Tommy trying to walk past Wilbur to leave with and untied tie

“Wait! You know you can’t leave like that, come here.”

Tommy’s groans and slumps over but walks over to Wil anyways

“I’m just gonna untie it halfway through the party, you know i will.”

“Well, I’m not letting my little brother walk a red carpet with an untied tie, you know I won’t”

The second half said in a mocking tone of voice, very clearly mimicking Tommy’s whining

It’s a soft moment, they stand there together, brothers

And as Wilbur’s pat the finished tie, they make eye contact and both of them have undeniably fond looks on their faces, damn they’re brothers n shit

“Thanks Wil.”

It’s quiet, it’s soft, it’s Tommy

“Of course.”

Just as soft, just as quiet, wholly Wilbur

Wilbur clears his throat breaking the soft atmosphere of the room

“Now go, you gremlin. Don’t be late”

Wilbur ruffles Tommy’s hair, careful not to mess it up too much

Tommy rolls his eyes And quickly heads for the door “Bye Wil! Love you! Don’t wait up!” Wilbur quickly yells after him

“Love you too! Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Oh Wil you know I can’t promise that!” Wilbur just rolls his eyes and returns to his book

Yeah Tommy stays away from tobacco I think

Just weed

and I wouldn't be surprised if like hits peoples vapes sometimes, but doesn't smoke cigs

for sure, its stressful

Wilbur smokes cigarettes though

and he can't act out like Tommy can

and Phil loves him..

Techno and Wilbur watching Tommy rebel in the ways they never got to

They feel kinda sad, that they never got to be kids like that, sad that Tommy feels like he has to act out for attention

he gets to do shit

like he gets to be a real teen

the whole, dumb rich 17 year old experience

like yachts, and expensive hotel rooms, and sport cars

And sure they probably wouldn’t have been going to frat parties or crashing brunch places, but they see him with BT

See him have actual friends

And they’re happy for him

But it hurts a bit

And Tommy's hurting too

It's a lot

but its like

even if Phil wasn't shit

its a lot of attention

like everyone is watching them at all times

Techno and Wilbur have to stay refined in the eyes of the press

Tommy gets to put on a show for them

Yeah yeah

Do you know how much a drunk picture of Prince Tommy is worth?

Too much

Some random guy on his first paparazzi job, gets a pic of Tommy, shirt mostly unbuttoned, tie tied around his head, drinking out of a beer bottle, and flipping off the camera while stumbling out of the most expensive hotel in the UK

The guy never has to work again

Purpled son of some billionaire, and Ranboo a literal prince is with him

They are both laughing at him

Tommy swung on a chandelier that night

A picture of that ends up online, some socialites Twitter

The amount of people in her dms for that picture?

Ludicrous

Like just the random pictures from Snapchat stories

Magazines pay thousands

Yeah the amount of double takes people have done going through their friends Snapchat stories like

Just tapping through

“WAIT WAS THAT PRINCE THOMAS????”

So, Dessert Drinks

It’s alcoholic beverages that have like chocolate or gram crackers or maybe candy in them

That are meant to taste like a dessert

So there’s chocolate cake margaritas, or like s’mores drinks

They’re Tommy’s favorite things in the world

Everyone thinks that he’d like the like strong, burning, whiskey esk stuff

But no

He wants the sweetest thing you got

Like he’ll drink straught vodka, but not if he doesn’t have too y’know?

He also like wine strangely enough

The like really expensive wine

Bc it reminds him of Wil

They have it down in the cellar

Techno is the whiskey dude

Or like 1942

Which is just a really bougie tequila

He just likes the shit that burns

Tubbo will drink literally anything

He’ll eat anything too

It definitely comes from the spot that he didn’t have that many choices like Tommy, but he genuinely just likes anything

Which is why Tommy really likes to treat him out to fancy fucking restaurants

One of Tommy’s favorite past times is spoiling his loved one

Fucking loves giving presents n shit

It's his love language

Ranboo doesn’t pay for anything when he’s visiting

Tommy insists on paying

Tommy has millions from the throne, he will use it

Plus he uses his daddy’s card so like, Phil can afford to spend the money

Oh he has one of those black cards doesn’t he

And by he I mean Phil

But you know, Daddy’s card

Black amex all the way

Boujie motherfuckers

Tommy's drunk like persona is different depending on the environment

When its Wilbur and Techno having to deal with Drunk Tommy

He’s like an excitable puppy, he would switch from rowdy to sappy real quick for his brothers

So they’re trying to get a drunk Tommy to bed but Tommy’s 100% clinging to them

Just full of affection

Techno tries to leave to go study and drunk Tommy just looks so fucking sad

Kicked puppy

He’s very much turning on the little brother charm, full scale pouting, whining, nicknames and all

making grabby hands, sitting on thr ground, fluffed up hair, shirt all wrinkled

"Fucking - fine. What are you gonna do without me, hm?"

He’s a god damned puppy and it’s hard to believe this is the same kid who got in a bar fight last week

he hangs off the chandeliers of boogie hotels

he also trashes his friend's rentals

on the other hand, he hugs his brothers

and steals Wilbur's crown

when he wears Will's crown it goes over his eyes

Still does after all these years

He’s grown but Wils head is simply too big

Tommy has his own crown of course

he just doesn't wear it as often as Wilbru does

Wilbur wears his all of the time

Tommy wears his when

A. he's drunk and with friends

B. at formal or royal events

he likes wearing it when he's partying

still thinking about drunk Tommy and his brothers having to deal with him

He makes techno give him a piggy back ride

He can walk fine, he just wants a piggy back ride man

Can you blame him?

They all really miss being little

They miss being able to be kids n shit

when their mother took care of them

and their father did all the king shit

And when Techno would give Tommy piggyback rides in the garden

When Wilbur had all the time in the world to learn how to play guitar

Even if it comes from Tommy getting drunk off his ass they’re glad they can still find the childish joy that they once had y’know?

Techno gives Tommy a piggy back ride to his room, and Tommy steals Wilbur’s crown and they talk and it’s nice

And as everything winds down Wilbur plays his guitar

And it’s so similar to when they were younger man

...

but then,,, Wilbur gets called down for an emergency meeting

and Techno has to make sure the guards are doing their rounds

and Tommy's left all alone in The Prince's Chambers

and people wonder why Tommy likes partying

fills the time, doesn't it?

He wakes up cold and alone and hungover

And he calls Tubbo and they just fucking day drink man

It’s a bad two days

Yeha but basically after this night he and Tubbo get fucking drunk as hell and they don’t come back to the castle for two days

And Tommy is barely sober during those two days

After those type of days happen Tommy always goes completely straightedge for a week

He doenst need to develop an addiction y’know?

Plus the chaos doesn’t have to happen drunk

He’s pretty irrational sober anywyas

half of the parties he's at he's not even drunk

sometimes he'll get high

but he just likes the adrenaline

and just hanging and being fucking assholes with his mates

POV you are an emotionally wrecked prince who is hanging onto this present as proof that your dad knows who you are at least in the slightest and you find out it’s not actually a gift from him but something your mother told him to get you

He didn’t even think twice just called the dealership and asked for the car, didn’t even know which one it was

mmmmm Tommy wrecks Clem that night

It’s not a good night for anyone

Got drunk as hell man

No dd

Car crash

I don’t think Clem is totaled

And Tommy is ok

But she’s scratched and dented and it’s just a representation of how Tommy feels

Something about Clementine being symbolic of hope and the idea that his father knew him

And with that crashing down

Clementine was bound to crash too

Tommy gets out with some bruises and Clementine can be fixed

But it happens on a public street so it’s everywhere

Tommy wrecks Clem

Then fucking goes on a bender

just destroys shit

parties so he doesn't think about it

and then he fucking crashes

Wilbur and Techno and Kristin all know what the car meant to him, what it symbolized to him

So when there’s a headline and a picture of Tommy staring at a wrecked Clem, they don’t know how to feel

maybe he mentioned something about upgrading Clem to Phil, or offhandedly at family dinner

And Phil asks something like “Right and when did you get this one?” Very rudely y’know

And Tommy’s like, it’s the one you got me for my birthday last year, and Phil just says something about how he has to be more specific because he doesn’t even know which one that is

And Tommy feels everything crumble around him and he just tensely says, “never mind...” and goes back to his food

The other three watch the whole exchange like, “fuuuuuuuuuck”

And then as soon as dinners over Tommy’s out the door man

He’s gone

he doesn't take the dogs, which means he's causing damage

He doenst even take Tubbo

they can hear the handler hand Tommy the keys

Tubbo comes to Wil to ask if he knew where Tommy was and that’s when they realize Tommy’s going out to cause real damage

And Tommy’s phone is turned off

They can’t contact him

Tommy gets handcuffed

he won't get arrested, but he'll get brought back in a police car

he fucking like crashed into a poll on purpose

like it was less on purpose and more like he definitely wasn’t not trying to hit something

And then they fucking breathalyzer him and he’s drunk as balls

Straight vodka type night

there's a bottle in the cupholder

He gets out when he wrecks and you just see him dead eyed staring at the scratches on her hood

The dent in her door

The cracks in the windshield

And he just takes a swig of the bottle

He lets the police take the bottle and handcuff him, taking him back to the palace

Clem is towed back too

He doenst care man

this is bigger than party to distract Bc it’s all he’s thinking about even drunk n shit

So I feel like he’s absolutely crushed

he spends like a week or two in a depressive episode won't leave his room, won't talk to his dad

and then he asks his mom "why didn't you tell me?"

and she just purses her lips and and shakes her head

and he's out

he needs to leave

he doesn't need her pity

and he just goes to Purp's and parties

because he just wants to have fun for one night before he learns that everything is a lie

His brothers are there as much as he lets them be

Tubbo too

Ranboo would try to make it over after seeing the headlines

he gets on a jet

and goes as soon as he sees the news

cause Clem was Tommy's baby

He loved that fucking car man

And then

Boom

One dinner is all it took to ruin everything

Phil's just left like "what'd I do?"

Techno is straight faced

Wilbur rolls his eyes at Phil

And Kristin just looks stressed

She’s still staring the the door Tommy all but ran out of

none of them finish dinner, Kristin waves the butlers over to clear the plates

They don’t, and Phil is just so confused and frustrated and he doesn’t know what happened

Top 10 Prince Tommy Headlines: 10. Mourning or Disrespectful: Prince Thomas caught smoking outside grandmother's funeral 9. New Connections? Prince Thomas and Prince Ranboo seen outside Palace walking Royal Dogs 8. Protective Older Brother; Crown Prince William shielding Prince Thomas from cameras while walking down London streets 7. When Will He Stop? Prince Thomas continues his week-long bender 6. Another Frat Party: Prince Thomas found stumbling drunk after rowdy night at The Ritz London 5. Boy Crazy? Prince Thomas and Mystery Boy seen dancing at Crown Prince William's Birthday Ball 4. Is Prince Thomas's Rampage Over? The Prince seen hungover, nursing a coffee at London Branch Costa Coffee 3. Time to stop; Prince Thomas caught doing cocaine at socialites party 2. A good friend - Prince Thomas flew to the United States to help Prince Ranboo with new responsibilities

1. When is enough, enough? Prince Thomas crashes after driving drunk, arrested.

10 Tommy doesn’t smoke cigs so mans was just getting high at his grandmas funeral

he was real close with his granny, it was a sad day

It was because his father said something like “oh, I didn’t know you were coming Tommy”

It was his fucking grandmother Phil

Tommy just puts his sun glasses on, and sits as far away as he can

Number 5, the boy is Tubbo, Tubbo thinks it’s fucking hilarious, Tommy is pissed

Some of those headlines seem like they’re from the car month

Obviously number one is

But then the bender headline

Then the coffee one

And then the Wilbur one

They seem like a series of events

big month for the press

Tommys hungover and he calls Wil asking for him to pick him up

And Wilbur drops everything Bc he’s just glad Tommy’s coming back home

wilbur fucking glares at the cameras

Tommy's used to it

And then the press tries to mob them and Wilbur Almost breaks decorum

Like almost fucking yells at someone who gets too close

and Wilbur never does that

he's so in-line

he never breaks the rules

but goddamn if they take one step closer -

He’s been especially stressed, and all he wants is to get his baby brother home man

He’s been smoking a lot more since the wreck

He just wishes he could make everything better

Tommy relishes in talking to the press

Wilbur will clart someone who gets to close to his baby brother

The press who’s never seen Wilbur as anything other than composed and charming suddenly being faced with a very angry older brother who smells slightly like cigarette smoke

Wilbur in the Pogtopia coat but it’s some designer piece that’s expensive as hell

It’s his smoking coat

And it’s what he picks Tommy up in

So he smells like smoke

And not the tasteful cologne he usually wears in public

just like a dark overcoat

really expensive wool

Wilbur using it to cover them from the cameras

when they were younger, like 16 and 12, Wilbur would hide Tommy

like no one got a picture of Tommy until he was 14 or 15

Kristin really hid the boys when they were kids too

Tommy trying to peak out and make faces at the camera

it was illegal to get pictures of them younger than 10

like immediate blacklist

And also maybe some legal issues

Wilbur pulls Tommy's hood up over Tommy's head

And it’s very older brother of him too, he pulls it over to protect his face but then cinches the strings to be a little shit

Those Wilbur and Tommy brother moments comps exists in the universe too

But it’s just shit like that

Tommy has a great support system

He really does

His brothers love him

His mom loves him

He has two amazing friends and a bunch of other great friends as well

And sometimes he feels like a brat for throwing all these fits over his dad y’know?

Wilbur always tries to like, keep an arm around him when they're doing red carpets

And keeps Tommy sitting next to him at Royal events

but also like, steals food off his plate

and ruffles his hair

Tommy whispers the fucking worst jokes about the dignitaries and nobles and Wilbur has to keep a straight face

god thats tommys favorite thing to do

he tries so hard to get Wilbur to laugh and lose his shit

The fucking big boobs bit

But it’s Tommy whispering it to Wilbur completely out of context and randomly at a gala

ALSO

THE WHOLE EXTENDED FAMILY BULLSHIT

TOMMY HATES IT

LIKE WHO THE FUCK IS THIS LIKE AUNT TO HIM?

HE DOESNT KNOW HER

But Royal Families are always big on that shiit

They try to hug him n shit

And Tommy depending on how Brave n shit he’s feeling (how fed up he is) will either politely excuse himself or straight up say no and step back with a glare

he's honestly uncomfortable around the strangers

who say they're family

like he's too sober for this

He needs a god damned drink

But he’s in a vest and a nice tie and his crown is sat proper on his head

And he can’t have a drink

god he's like a little doll, he plays by Phil's rules

the crown comes on and he's the proper prince

He fucking hates it

he sips on Wilbur's wine, and does the whole "tequila for water" thing sometimes

Flask in his sleeve

Techno catches him with the flask once and is just impressed

god is that a look on Techno's face

He sees Tommy slip it from his sleeve and somehow sleight off hand take a drink

And it’s just a raised eyebrow and a head nod that says

Good for you

Bc techno also needs a drink during these events

Sometimes Tommy will spike his and Techno's drinks

as Wilbur regally sips on wine

Wilbur fucking also secretly wishing he had a flask during the drier events

Wine drink just isn’t enough sometimes

Wilbur puts on his best face

and pretends he wants to be there

and gives out a warm smile, and raises a glass

god he fucking hates it sometimes

and sometimes he loves it

but man, does he hate it sometimes

Tommy complains and Phil makes a passive aggressive comment about how

“Oh but don’t you love parties Tommy.”

Wilbur sits between them

The table goes

Techno Kristin Phil Wilbur Tommy

Tommy just sneaks another sip of the flask

he doesn't have time to deal with his dads shit

Slumps back in the seat

He probably wouldn’t even try to hide it after that

Not like Phil is actually looking at him

He can let the press have it

He doenst care

just like leaves the flask next to him

under teh table

and jsut takes large swigs from it

Tommy maybe having a group of his friends crash one of the stuffy events

Not an important one

So fucking dedication ceremony to some inane building

He just invites a wild group of socialites

It’s nice

It’s not as wild as a normal Tommy Innit party

But it’s not a stuffy fucking boring ass royal meeting

they just bring some fucking whiskey into the back room and chat shit

Tommy fucking has a group of friends crash this gathering

It’s not wild

But it’s not stuffy

It’s nice

Tommy even drags Wilbur back for at least a little

and that takes a whole lot of work

It really does, Wilbur isn’t even a little tipsy off the wine, and Phil been by him the whole time and it’s just been hell, he can’t get wiobur away from the “socializing” hes doing

but when Wilbur is a bit tipsy he just becomes more charasmatic

truly a king

Less someone putting on a mask for their father

A little bit more authentic

he's a natural, sipping wine with one hand, and shaking hands with the other, crown propped beautifully on his head, million dollar suits hanging off his frame

It’s nice to see his brother in his element

its a bit sad

but its nice

A little yeah, Wilbur’s

Wilbur’s leaving him, not really but

Wilbur being king is-

It’s going to be hard

Different

More than it is already

Wilbur will always love him

But eventually he’ll be too busy for Tommy

Just like Phil is

And it hurts

But that thought is what makes Tommy take a drink of his flask and drag Wilbur to the back room

Wilbur doesn’t have to forget him yet

Tommy looks real regal too

Wilbur wishes that Tommy could see what he sees

But he knows that Tommy’s self worth issues would take more than a nice hug and some warm words to fix

Tommy looks regal, and the gold crown really fits with the whole golden boy aesthetic

and he laughs, and makes conversation with everyome

and everyone eases up around him

Wilbur wishes that Tommy saw what he sees

also

Tommy and Ranboo's texts have been leaked once

Wow so many dog pictures dude

but also

:sparkles:state secrets:sparkles:

That was hell to clean up

it fucking was

it used petnames (which the public is never supposed to know about the nickanmes of royals fun fact)

and said shit about Phil

and detailed Fundy's illness which isn't public

and talked about meetings that Wilbur forced Tommy to attend

Tommy was terrified

Ranboo too

He was so scared someone would be angry at him for it

He doesn’t think he could handle be yelled at for this thing that wasn’t even his fault

like of course he could've not said it over text

but one of his best friends lives an ocean away

and his life is just all about secrets

dont make this something too

:sparkles: hackers :sparkles:

if someone god a hold of Tommy's IP, or Phone, or Phone number

dms

they could be using instagram, twitter, or snapchat to have some of these converstaions

dms can get leaked real easily

Mmmm you ever think about Crime Bous

Because all I can think about is when Wilbur does get out of the house, and just like every event they go to

Tommy isn’t a fucking party boy then, he’s just Prince Thomas, Crown Prince William’s baby brother

And they always get photographed and shit

But they have a great time

They’re always smiling when they’re together

Sans Wilbur being a really protective older brother, and when their grandmother died

It’s nice to just go get lunch together at that one specific cafe they’ve been going to for years

Or just walk the dogs together

Just hang out and be brothers

They sit at the same table every time, and Tommy has gotten a Raspberry Lemonade since he was 8

When they walk the dogs, Wilbur holds Walter and Tommy holds Betty

Sunglasses on, big wool overcoats, and pants that were sewn just for them

And they’re seen walking out on the streets during big events a lot too

To like take a breather

Tommy has made a habit of allowing the press to ask him questions whenever they find him

Wilbur on the other hand always knows exactly what to say to press that come up to them

He always shoos them off with a polite “we won’t be answering any question right now thank you” and a blinding smile

And Tommy’s making a face at the press from over his shoulder

Either like sticking his tongue out or making some sort of face at Wilbur

As he gets older, he stops doing it as much because it gets a bit tiring, everything is tiring

But he does it every once in a while, usually a sharp grin over Wilbur’s shoulder accompanied by a middle finger

when like press sees that Wilbur smokes like a lot

big thin

and I feel like Wilbur would straight up be like "its not a big deal, its completely legal"

and hes like smoking 8 cigs a day, but its fine

He doesn’t have an issue

It’s just a little stress relief

King at 21 is a lot to handle

and maybe the stress is so much that it becomes a problem

but hey its his relief

its legal

he's fine

That’s Wilbur’s mantra most of the time

he falls asleep in Tommys bed a lot, waiting for the teen to come home

wilbur does

he finishes a pack, and sighs, rubbing his eyes

The empire is on the brink of war, it always is

He looks in Tommy's room, its empty

And he sits on the bed, waiting

10 minutes later he's asleep

The sheets don’t smell like Wilbur, and Wil thinks that’s what makes it’s so comforting

They don’t stink of nicotine or Wilbur cologne

The smell like Tommy

and while that smell like expensive booze, and coconut shampoo

its perfect

and the dogs are in Tommy's room too

he's a little less alone

Betty is the cuddler

She’ll come up and sleep next to Wil

but she wont do it to just anyone

its a bond, its trust

its the fact that Tommy likes Wilbur

she growls at Phil

she nudges at Kristin, LOVES kristin

anyways

its lonely and sad

because Tommy usually doesnt come back

Tommy snakes back in early in the morning and tucks Wilbur in

Though most times Wilbur falls asleep in Tommys bed

Uncovered

Completely dressed

He’s lucky bettys fur is sleek otherwise his very expensive clothes would be covered

I think Wilbur more often then not will wake up with Tommy in his arms, and that makes him very happy

like, Tommy comes it at 5am, and just snuggles next to Wilbur

It’s makes Tommy sad to know his brother is waiting up for him to never come

But at the same time he’s always so happy to see him when he gets home

I imagine sometimes butlers come to get Wilbur for work, and Tommy makes them leave so that Wilbur can sleep in "Hello your highness, we came to fetch King Wilbur for his morning briefing" "He's sleeping." "Well, I can see that Your Highness -" "So let him sleep." "Prince Thomas -" "Let. Him. Sleep. Okay?" "Yes, Your Highness."

I've decided that Tommy is the big spoon

in these vulranable moments, when Wilbur is weak, Tommy kind of holds him

like obviously there are a lot of tims, where Wilbur wants to hold his baby brother

however, Tommy kind of holds Wilbur, like wraps himself around Wilbur, and puts Wilbur's head in the crook of his neck

this happens when Tommy comes home to find Wilbur in his bed

either this, or Tommy curls into a ball and rests his head against wilburs chest

Tommy has daddy issues

Wilbur has the weiht of the world

Techno has ptsd

Phil: fuck you my kids are completely fine!

Wilbur’s nicotine addiction

Tommys abandonment issues

Technos fucking PTSD

Once, when the empires war was getting really, really bad, and Wilbur had to decide life or death shit

He smoked a whole pack in a day

And then just kept going

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking

why wouldn't they stop fucking shaking

Tommy stopped partying that week, he isn’t ignorant, nor a fucking dick

He was Wilbur’s right hand for as long as he needed him

Despite how badly he wanted to party until he could see straight

His brother needed him

His king needed him

And he will gladly serve Wilbur as long as he would have him

He stood right behind Wilbur

Every decision

He was right behind him

Even if it meant constant decorum and constant royal dress, Tommy was there

And that was a grounding fact

If Tommy hadn’t been there Wilbur thinks he may have lost it that week

Sometimes the only thing that kept Wilbur’s hands from shaking terribly was holding Tommy’s hands

When the advisors and court had left

Tommy would take Wilbur hands and make him do breathing exercises

Wilbur wasn’t allowed to look anywhere other than Tommy’s eyes

They would get through this

Together

They would, Tommy would make sure of it

Tommy in the room also made everyone a bit nervous and loosen up around Wilbur though

Because sometimes they act like they can boss Will around

And Tommy is stone faced, and has the media wrapped around his finger

The court knows that all it would take is one “scandalous statement” from Prince Thomas to end their careers

Wilbur could fire them, but he’s stressed

Any other day, he’s a fucking FORCE to recon with

But Tommy? He’s here to ensure the best or their careers would end

And you know that Tommy has at least 3 sources in the biggest news outlets in the empire

He could get ANYTHING out there

Wilbur’s throne is the biggest in the middle

Two thrones smaller aside him

Within the like office / study / planning room

Tommy's hasn't been used until just then

Tommy finds it quite uncomfy

But he can deal

Also Tommy drops the nicknames for the week or so

No “Big Man”

It was “Will” and “William”

Your Majesty at one or two points

But that felt a little too formal for both of them

Too alienating

Tommy learned a whole fucking lot of fucking politics that week

Not that he didnt listen in his lessons it’s just that

Well

He can’t not listen if he’s not there

It’s different IRL too

Seeing all the decisions

It’s terrifying

And he’s exhausted

Dressing nicely and talking for 12 hours a day about politics

And life / death decisions

So many cuddles dude

Just permanently cuddling if they’re not presently working or “coping”

And I think

That although Wilbur is the one who’s going through it

When they cuddle, Wilbur likes to hold Tommy

Just in the sense that Tommy’s here and safe

In the midst of all the death around Wilbur

He needs to know that his person, his kid is alright

Plus having this one thing this one routine helps him feel a little on control during this out of hand time

:sparkles: Prince Tommy PR leak :sparkles:

I talked about how Tommy was close to his grandmother

and how he was smoking outside of her funeral

maybe it was during that time in his life

really dark place in his mind

smoked and drank every day

Wilbur smoked a lot during that time yet

they probably drank together a few times

like straight up vodka

Just they’re so young and so tired

and so its like, pictures of Wilbur and Tommy (and just Tommy) drinking in the parlor, and in the like, bar area of their private living area, dark eye bags, red eyes, just straight from the bottle

Both of their ties were undone, no jackets, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, Wilbur's top 3 buttons are undone, they're both like manspreading

like they're just at their lowest, particularly Tommy, but Wilbur was having an adjacent bad time

Tommy's hair is a fuckin' mess

HOWEVER, they're both still clean shaven, neither of their shorts or trousers are wrinkled or stained

They may be going through it, but the royal image waits for no one

How does the castle react? Immediate lock down.

Interrogations or some shit

none of the princes are allowed to leave

they have to do clean up

they write scripts essentially for Tommy and Wilbur to adress the press

they need to send out a memo that they don't agree with underage drinking

its all structured, scripted, and written by advisors (and their father)

major damage control

which is just not what Tommy needs right now, because he's like trying to work through his grief

and Wilbur has a fucking fight with his father about that

Phil does not care

They fucked up

Someone else fucked up

And now they’re going to be big boys and fix it Like Phil's going to Tommy's room to get him to look over what his quick press tour and Wilbur jsut stops him in front of the door "He's fucking grieving - Let him have a moment will you? Don't you know how close he was with Gran?" "You messed up. He messed up. Now you're gonna be big boys and fix it." “You’re horrible sometimes you know that?” “I am your father” “Then act like it, your majesty”

meanwhile Tommy: in bed, hasn't slept, major depressive spiral, cuddling Betty, Walter standing guard at his door, holding onto a blanket that his grandmother gave him

just - can't even cry anymore

just empty

Literally just despondent

Staring at the ceiling as Betty noses his face

like good luck getting to get up, let alone read shit

He hasn’t showered in days

He is very much not presentable

like it's only been a week or two since his grandmother's death

and he still is processing

He is no where near done grieving

#tommyinnit #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #philza minecraft #philza #technoblade #tubbo #ranboo #SBI #sleepy bois inc #sleepyboisinc #LILLYS NEW AU #THE KING THE WARRIOR AND THE PRINCE #long post

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harveywritings92 · 4 years ago

Text

BNHA vampire soulmate scenario: you see them again/ they introduce themselves.

They find you and don't leave you alone.

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

Dabi: It had been almost a month since the 7/11 incident, Dabi kept his distance watching and protecting you from the shadows, That all change today, he was watching your house from the old abandoned grocery store-across the road from your bar (your house is on top of the bar). He noticed you haven't step outside for almost two days, Dabi frowned as he step out of his hideout and as soon as he got close enough to your home his nose scrunched up as he was hit by a fowl stench: he made a disgusted noise... it was like mix of rotten milk and cantaloupe...

You were sick! but that wouldn't explain your lack of activity...unless- Dabi felt his stomach drop into his feet he checked the gargoyle you keep by the door for your spare key, he unlocked the door and walked inside your house and found you passed out on the floor at the bottom of your stairs! he rush over crouched down to check on you... he put his hand on your neck, Fuck your skin was like a furnace. "What the fuck do I do?" he hissed picking you up of the floor and putting you on the couch in your living room.

You wheezed in protest feeling your body being lifted away from the nice cold floor, your eyes opened straining to see who had moved you? but all you could see was a black and purple blob looking down at you; before moving away from sight as your overheated mind tried to comprehend what was happening, Who was that? How did they get in... but soon you drifted back into unconsciousness, and felt something cold on the back of your head...

You woke up disoriented and very confuse you looked around and you were still in your Livingroom... with half melted bag of frozen carrots resting behind your neck and another bag of frozen corn shoved down your shirt, which bewildered you the last thing you remembered was trying to crawl upstairs and go to your room, than nothing. You heard someone clear their throat and looked next to you to find a man who looked like a ragdoll was sitting in your recliner watching you...

"Who the fuc-" you croaked only for the guy to thrust a yellow pill and a glass of water towards you. "Take this first.." he muttered as you eyed the pill suspiciously "patchy" rolled his eyes at your wariness. "It's just Tylenol." he put the glass on the coffee table and showed you the box, "If I wanted to hurt you, wouldn't I have done it already?" he stated as you hesitantly took the pill and the water from him and swallowed it trying not to gag as it went down your throat. "Who are you?" you hissed voice still hoarse trying not to show fear, which was in vain as Patchy's cerulean eyes lit up in amusement seeing through your bluff. "I have several names, but these days I go by Dabi." he said waiting for your reaction but, to his utter astonishment you clearly had no idea who he was... "ok..."Dabi" How did you get into my house?" you huffed as Dabi gave you this unimpressed look.

"Y'know the whole reason for hiding a key, is to not make it obvious."

"What are you talking about? What key?"

"Yeah, good one...the key under the gargoyle."

"...I don't keep a key under my gargoyle."

You say watching Dabi's expression shift to confusion as the scarred man pulled the the duplicate key from his pocket, he showed it to you and your stomach felt like it was full of rocks... that was definitely your house key!... But, it looked newer, shinier then the one in your purse. "You don't recognize this?" Dabi asked feeling your fear which caused his instincts go haywire wanting to remove whatever caused the distress, as you shook your head insisting you've never owned a spare key!

Dabi took a sharp breath through his nose, taking it in all the scents around the house before picking up faint traces of a another male... Dabi let out a low inhuman growl as he relaxed against into the recliner. "Good news doll, you gotta a new roommate." Your mouth opened to protest, but something in the deep crevices of your soul was telling you to trust the scarred man as he played around with the duplicate key. with a feral glint in his eye. "Bad news is... It's gonna suck for whoever the hell pissed me off." his purred flashing his fangs at you.

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

Hawks: You were at work it had been to weeks since Hawks showed up on your doorstep, let's just it didn't go so well... It was like in the movies you opened the door saw the blond vampire standing there, you gasped, screamed and fainted scaring the crap out of the poor guy! At the moment he was currently loitering outside the gym you were teaching at, he could hear some of your students parents talking about you.

"It's waste I tell you, someone with her Quirk should've gone pro!" A woman said in a snarky tone the man next to her nodded. " I agree. if I had a Quirk like L/n-san I would be saving lives and kicking ass, instead of teaching kids how to dog paddle!" Keigo growled looking up from his phone and spoke up.

"Yeah...She could've gone pro, but instead she's here teaching your kids not to drown..."

Both adults froze and saw the number 2 hero glowering at them his wings slightly puffed and raised making him look bigger, They sheepishly apologized and scurried off, Just as you walked out, with an unreadable expression it was obvious you had heard everything just now, but were relucted to say anything as the two of you started the routine of walking home together, you were still on the ropes about Hawks.

When he first showed up (after you woke up) you freaked out thinking he was there to to silence you and keep his secret, however after calming you down, he started going on about soulmates, blood-bonds and you being his other half, you were very reluctant to believe him after all... the first time you saw him, he was covered in blood feeding off a woman who looked half dead! Hawks seemed genuinely remorseful about you seeing that, it wasn't his intention to scare you, he explained how the woman was fine.

She wasn't dead like Y/n had thought! he just used his venom to put her into a state of ecstasy... she likely has no idea the winged blond had been drinking her blood, She was at home most likely believing she had a wild night with the number 2 hero. He even showed you the girl's social media account to prove it; There she was doing a bathroom selfie bragging about the wicked "hickey" Hawks had given her...

Now here you are a month later and the vampire hasn't left your side since! Well... Except for when he has to go on patrol, then he has one of his feathers following you, and you have this sinking suspicion that Hawks has been sleeping on your roof at night...though you're never sure, you could hear something rolling around up there but whatever it is, is usually gone by the time you go check it out, later that night Hawks texted you inviting you to dinner, you read the restaurant's name... Dang that's pretty swanky place, you didn't even know if you had a dress or whatever to wear! luckily in the far reaches of your closet you found an old black dress that seemed suitable enough for the job... and sighed. " I only wore this once, to a funeral..." you muttered before getting ready.

You wished you had taken a shot of whiskey before you left the house, you were a ball of shaking anxiety as you entered the restaurant, the hostess eyed you with a unpleasant sneer. "Can I help you?" she said in fake sweet tone. "Y-Y/n L/n, I-I'm here to meet a Mr. T.K.?" you stammered the hostess scrunched her nose as she gave you a once over snorted.

"I don't know how you found out about his reservation... but I can assure you the number 2 hero doesn't associate with your type." she with sneer your face would would've been flushed with anger if you weren't holding back every fiber in your body to slap that smug smile off that bitch's face. "Well can you go check?" you snapped standing up to your full height which threw the hostess off, she curt nod and walked off into the back...

(Hawks knew you were here he could smell you the second you walked in, his eyes briefly skimmed over the menu as he herd hostess approach, without you... "Sorry about that Hawks." the redhead cooed as the blonde looked at her bemused she snorted. "Some fake (h/c) slut tried to say you were waiting on her-" she continued talking as Keigo talked over her. " I am waiting for Y/n." he stated firmly as the hostess finished what she was saying. "Just let me ask my boss to let me off and we ca..." she trailed off and blinked not believing what she just heard.

"w-What?" she chortled thinking this was a joke as Hawks deadpanned repeating what he said. "I am waiting for Y/n, go get her." it wasn't request the hostess looked like a fish as she stared at the No. 2 slack-jawed. "Bu...You.. I- what about me?!" she sputtered lip quivering like a child who'd been denied candy, the winged man just eyed her incredulously making it clear he doesn't know her. "What are you talking about?" Hostess didn't answer she just stomped away to go get you.)

A few minutes later she came back all red in the face. "Please follow me ma'am." she huffed now it was your turn to be smug. "Oh?... But I thought the No. 2 hero didn’t associate with my type?" you hissed as she snapped her head up to look at you eyes her brown eyes filled with jealous rage and you realized....It was her. The girl from the park. "My apologies ma'am." she said with a forced cheery tone as she led you to a private booth where Hawks was waiting his wings stood up at full attention as you sat down.

"Hey did you have any trouble?" he asked nodded towards the front desk where the hostess was giving both of of you the stink-eye. "You don't recognize her?" you whispered as Keigo's brow furrowed as he tried to piece it together.... had.. they slept together?...Hmm no, signed her tits? that was a possibility, He hummed scratching his beard You could tell he was drawing blanks. "She's the woman from the night...when we met?" His gold eyes widened.

"Oh... the blood that tasted like charcoal and moldy bread." he grimaced in disgusted as he finally pieced it together you tilted your head as him bemused. "That’s what smoker's blood taste like...to me anyways, other Vamps have told me it varies." he stated you hummed nodding your head both intrigue and worried that you were getting use to this odd situation.

While you two were going over the menu, Keigo couldn't help but notice how off you were acting, you were fidgeting and looking around almost like you were...scared. why would you scared? all the other girls he'd brough.... Then it hit Keigo like ton of bricks.

He was treating you like one of his fans! and not his...hopefully soon to be lover, Dammit! He didn't even think about your comfort zones or asked if you wanted to go out and where did you want to go, he just assumed you would jump at the chance, because what girl doesn't want to go on a date with the number two hero?

After a few moments Keigo put the menu down. "Hey...wanna get out of here?" You were about to protest but the blond put his hand up. "Let me rephrase that; Do you want go somewhere else?" you shyly nodded Keigo called the waiter paid for the drink he had earlier and the two of you went on a very simple and impromptu park date involving pizza and an outdoor movie theater that Keigo had no idea existed; all in all he actually had fun!

And so did you given the joy and admiration he was sensing coming off you in waves. as opposed the fear and defensiveness you usually gave off around him, which made Hawks hopeful for the future... but for now he'll just settle on being friends, He smiled staring at the spare key you gave him, the blond let out a tiny churr feeling giddy as he fell asleep on your couch, as you caught him outside earlier.

…..Yes, he was totally sleeping on your roof.

#boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #bnha vampire au #bnha scenarios #Dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #Touya todoroki x reader #hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader

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bluegarners · 4 years ago

Text

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse.

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family.

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.”

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair.

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan.

Money. Old money at that.

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick.

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance.

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor.

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food.

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes.

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand.

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up.

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind.

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely.

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim.

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation.

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more.

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop.

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at.

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him.

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone.

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it.

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry.

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it.

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation.

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known.

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company.

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties.

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects.

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow.

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest.

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods.

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches.

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers.

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking.

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready.

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports.

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice.

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology.

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again.

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful.

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened.

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has.

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles.

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line.

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be.

108 notes · View notes

sickficsies-and-whumpsies · 4 years ago

Text

Request for @animewhump: she requested a sick!Inumaki, and I’m here to deliver. I hope that this is somewhat good!! Inumaki’s such a complex character to write, and since I haven’t read the manga (yet) everything’s even more complicated, but I did what I could…! Let me know what you think :)

TW in the tags.

////////

Inumaki wakes up feeling not too hot.

Quite literally.

Before he has the chance to ask Ieiri for some pills or whatever she is going to deem necessary, Gojou decides to drag Inumaki and the other second years outside, for training.

Not that he stays with them for long, anyway.

Something comes up, something that needs his attention, so he leaves his students alone, trusting their judgement when it comes to training individually and in groups without adult supervision.

In hindsight, Inumaki thinks, he is glad that Gojou isn’t there now. The teacher would probably sense his student’s discomfort immediately, and he would force him to train even harder.

Had it been someone else, someone with a little more tact, they would probably ask Inumaki to get some rest, but Gojou is… different, when it comes to handling problems like the one at hand.

Maki dries her forehead, panting slightly. She's sporting shorts and a T-shirt, wearing a cap to protect herself from the boiling sunheat, and Panda definitely looks too hot for comfort.

But Inumaki can't quite understand how.

He keeps pulling at his shirt, trying to wrap it tighter around his quaking shoulders, teeth chattering as if he were bathing in the Pacific Ocean in the middle of December. The sun does nothing to warm his freezing skinー it isn’t, he knows it isn’t, but it sure feels like itー and he is actually convinced that his toes are eventually going to fall off, at this rate.

“-ge, you okay there?” Panda calls, waving a paw from a few meters from where Inumaki is sitting on the grass. Even Maki turns around, cocking a concerned eyebrow at the boy’s unusual stiffness.

Normally, he’d be participating way more actively, but today something about Inumaki feels indubitably off.

“Inumaki? Hey, are you alrー”

“Salmon.”

Maki is there too, looming behind Panda. She crouches in front of Inumaki, bringing a careful hand forward. “Here, let me…”

Panda cuts in, approaching him, “You’re shaking pretty bad. Are you sick?”

Inumaki shakes his head, stubborn, averting his gaze, “Bonito flakes.”

Before she makes contact, however, Inumaki bolts upright, knees buckling under his weight. He takes a couple of tentative steps back, staggering, fists clenched at his sides as he snarls, “Bonito flakes!”

“Okay, okay.” Panda calls, eyes wide, taking a step back and extending one arm to force Maki to do the same, “But, huh, are you positive you're fine?”

“Salmon.” he nods, trying to keep the shaking at bay, to no avail. The young sorcerer sluggishly gets up from his spot, stumbling a bit but managing to stay upright. Lilac, half-lidded eyes blink at the offending sunlight that blinds them, and after taking a few steadying breathsー not that it works, reallyー Inumaki heads back to training, ignoring the concerned looks that are being casted in his direction.

Sparring continues without further interruptions, though Inumaki can feel himself getting weaker and weaker as seconds go by, bones freezing despite the melting heat of July. He feels jittery, clammy and wrong.

Well-aware of the piercing gazes of his friends, evidently keeping an eye on him, he tries to look fine. He doesn't like this, he's never liked being a problem, not when he can't even explicitly explain, not when he's forced to listen to the people around him play guess.

It's frustrating.

Sweaty palms reach to brush damp ash-grey hair off his forehead, as beads of sweat drip from the messy mane, down his forehead, onto his nose and cheeks.

He feels cold, and yet, he's uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from his body. Maki’s blows ground him painfully, but he's aware of how dodging continuously will only result in his friends fussing over him, unnecessarily.

“Put some spirit into it, would you?” Maki grins, cocky, landing another blow that sends the boy stumbling backwards.

Panda watches from not too far away, humming.

Maki’s staff jabs at Inumaki’s shoulder, pushing him backwardsー she is definitely holding back, it's painfully obvious at this point. He manages to catch himself from falling, ending up a few steps away from his opponent. His weak knees are bent, and his hands attempt futilely to pry themselves away from the kneecaps they seem glued to. Inumaki struggles with each rasped, shallow inhale, trying to will the thick fog away.

He can't, he can't!

He needs to straighten up, to protect himself from the upcoming attacks. He's not allowed to slack like that, he needs to be physically strong too, because his technique has its limits, and he knows it far too well.

He knows he needs to focus, he's aware of the others’ gazes on him, and yet, before he can bring his eyes up to meet theirs, his vision flickers.

The suffocating darkness gets ahold of his being, overwhelms his senses, drags him under, deeper below the surface.

The sorcerer lets out a pitiful yelp, choked.

He's out before he even hits the ground.

Until, he doesn't.

Maki has seen it coming, she's been able to tell that her friend had been a push away from collapsing for a bit, and the confirmation comes when, after taking a few steps toward him, he doesn't acknowledge her at all, and drops like a sack of wet cement.

She leaps to cross the distance between them when Inumaki starts to bleach alarmingly fast during the fall, revealing the painfully obvious flush on his cheeks and eartips.

“Inumaki!!”

“Toge!!” Panda cries simultaneously from his position, running toward his friends. Maki hooks her arms under Inumaki’s armpits, and starts to lower him to the ground, wincing at the heat.

“Damn it, he’s burning up.” she hisses. Maki kneels next to her friend, patting his cheeks as she attempts to rouse him, to no avail.

Panda watches horrified as Inumaki’s face twists in discomfort, mouth gaping as he sputters shapeless sounds, eyelids twitching. He kneels to his other side, silent as Maki grabs Inumaki’s shoulders and shakes him slightly, hoping to make him come to, at last.

And, surprisingly, he does after a moment.

Inumaki shoots into an upright position with a cry, shaking uncontrollably in Maki’s hold. She can see just how disoriented and delirious her friend is, pinpoint pupils darting around like a deer in the headlights', struggling to breathe.

He’s sweating and shaking, trying to pry himself from the hands on his shouldersー stay back, stay back stay back stay back stay back…!

Maki sees Inumaki's lips start to move, and immediately lets go of him, urging Panda to step back, for their own safety, and Inumaki's, too. If he uses his technique now, he's going to get worse, and right now they can't afford that.

“Inumaki, it's okay, you're okay. It's us, it's Maki and Panda.” she speaks, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible, “You're sick, okay? Do you understand what I'm saying? Inumaki.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, nodding after an instant. The two other sorcerers relax visibly, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Can we come close, please?” Panda asks tentatively. Another nod, frantic.

And so they approach him again, careful with their movements, slow and calculated not to startle him further. Panda nods to Maki, and she nods back, trying to catch Inumaki's shifty gaze.

“I'm going to feel your forehead for a second. Can you tell me what's up?” Maki's tone is soft yet firm, determined to get to the bottom of this. Her slightly calloused hand sets itself onto Inumaki's forehead, and her olive-green eyes widen behind the square spectacles. She hisses without even realising it, and lets her hand shift and move down to touch the side of her friend's neck.

“Yeah, definitely a fever. High, too.”

“Geez, alright.” Panda swallows the lump in his throat. He's always been a bit of a worrywart, especially when it came to his two best friends, “How long have you been feeling sick, Toge? “Why didn't you tell us!?”

“N-nori seawe-ed, soy sau-sauce, rice? Bonito flakes, rice.” Inumaki wheezes, shaky, and collapses, colliding with Panda's fur. The latter frowns, and so does Maki.

“We're notー we didn't get that, sorry.” he apologises, mortified, “Toge, do you think you can text us what's wrong?” Panda adds, handing him his own phone.

Inumaki grabs it with unsteady hands, sweaty brow furrowed as he types, painfully slow. After a minute, he hands the device back to Panda, taking a breather.

I feel bad. My head hurts. It's too cold.

“We should probably get you out of the sun, then.” Panda cues, and Maki nods immediately, grabbing their stuff.

“Can you carry him?” she asks.

“Yeah, I got him. Call Gojou-sensei in the meantime, please.”

“Already on it.” Maki hums and heads toward Inumaki's room to get it ready, phone held between her ear and shoulder, praying for the teacher to pick up soon.

“I'm going to lift you, now. Hang in there, alright, bud?” Panda asks, no, pleads, and he feels Inumaki nod, just barely, but it's there and right now, it's all he needs.

As soon as she leaves, Panda lets his gaze fall onto Inumaki's again. Everything about the boy screams discomfort: his already-pale skin has lost even more color, and splotches of red cover his cheeks and ears. His hair is damp, plastered to his face uncomfortably, and Panda delicately brushes it off his eyes.

They're clouded, dull, and it's obvious that he's in pain.

Gently, oh-so carefully, he lifts Inumaki, arms hooked under his knees and behind his back, neck crooked uncomfortably when the boy's head lolls to his side and his face is buried into the fur that tickles his nose.

Panda walks slowly, trying not to jostle the sick sorcerer. He whimpers, half-choked wordsー he wasn't limiting himself to onigiri ingredients anymore, eitherー escaping his trembling lips, eyes fluttering.

“Shhh, it's alright, Toge. It's okay. We're almost there, your room isn't far. Maki already warned Gojou-sensei, and she's getting the room ready.” he hushes, tender.

Inumaki's dry sob is painfully grounding, and Panda's heart clenches in his chest.

“H'rs…” Inumaki slurs, and Panda almost freezes. It's not a command, per se, so it's not harmful, but he shouldn't be speaking now.

“I'm sorry.” Panda hums, sympathetic and worried, “Try not to talk. Rest. We're close, almost there.”

“Boni-ito fl-flakes.”

“Mh, ‘no’? What do you mean?”

Inumaki groans, fingers fisting the fur. It doesn't hurt, so Panda doesn't really mind. If it helps his friend to distract himself, then he won't tell him to stop.

Panda can feel Inumaki getting more limp, but the boy doesn't look like he's falling asleep, no. Instead, the young sorcerer seems exhausted, spent as if he'd just used his technique ten times in a row, on the brink of fainting.

The Cursed Corpse speeds up, and soon they're in front of Inumaki's room, door slightly ajar.

“I think he's getting worse, he looks so tired…” Panda says, and gingerly lays Inumaki down onto his bed. Maki's fast to take the boy's boots off, and she sets them on the windowsill.

“Panda, is that you?” Maki calls from the inside, and opens the door for her friends, stepping aside to allow Panda to walk in without making Inumaki bump into the doorframe.

“How is he?”

“I got a thermometer from Ieiri-sensei, and fever reducers if it gets too high.” she says, and Panda hums out in gratitude.

“And his mission?”

“Inumaki, hey.” Maki calls, running her fingers through his hair, and he only blinks sheepishly in response.

“I'm going to take your temperature. The thermometer's tip is cold, but bear with me for a moment.”

She slides the object under his sweaty armpit, and Inumaki shivers violently. Panda pats his head, and while Maki waits and makes sure that Inumaki doesn't move around too much, she looks at the other.

“Gojou-sensei will be here soon. I asked him to pick up some sports drinks, plus onigiri with pickled plum for Inumaki. Hopefully, he won't take too long.”

“Nothing he couldn't handle.” she reassures, “When I called sensei, he was already done. Ah, he says he got the first-years snacks, but nothing for us.”

“Cruel of him.” Panda chuckles.

Maki does the same, nodding, “Right!?”

The thermometer beeps, and Inumaki jumps, eyes wide. He coughs and sputters, and soon he's lifted to sit on the mattress, rather than to lie down on it, and a handー a paw－ runs up and down the whole lenght of his spine.

“40°C, fuck.” Maki bits at the same time, glancing at the offending numbers, “We need to cool him down.”

“There, there, breathe through it, Toge.” he says, handing the boy a glass of water that Maki had prepared beforehand.

He helps him drink, holding the glass for Inumaki. The cold liquid drips down his twitching chin, but he swallows a couple of sips and, surprisingly for him, he doesn't choke on it.

“Lukewarm bath. Or shower. Whatever he can handle.”

Panda hums, “What do you suggest?”

As they talk, Inumaki throws his head back, evidently against his friends' suggestions, and whimpers a plea, or what his friends have learntー through the yearsー to identify as such.

Before he can tell them to stop, Maki's not there anymore, and he hears her drawing a bath, testing the water to keep the temperature around 32°C, not too cold but cold enough to cool him down.

Hopefully.

“B-bonito flakes, bonito flー” he coughs again, bringing a fit up to stifle the cough. The glass is once again pressed against his lips, but he pulls away and shakes his head, teeth chattering, stomach twisting. “N-no, no pl-please.”

And, this time, Panda is forcedー quite literallyー to set the glass down. The fog that takes over the Cursed Corpse as Inumaki activates his technique soon fades, and he sighs.

“Toge, you need to stay hydrated. Your fever is very high, your body needs the water. Please, man.”

“Bon-bonito fla-kes.” he coughs, and Panda cringes. Maki pokes her head inside the room.

“Bath's ready. Can you strip him down, please?”

“Sure, but I'm going to leave his underwear on.” Panda nods.

“Duh, I wasn't planning on ever seeing Inumaki butt-naked, thanks. I already have enough trauma to deal with as it is, no need to add more.” Maki laughs, trying to ease the tension. It helps a bit.

Panda lifts Inumaki again and takes him to the bathroom, sitting him down on the lid of the toilet and taking his clothes, minus the boxers, off. Maki grabs the sweaty items and tosses them inside the laundry basket whilst Inumaki is gently lowered inside the water.

As soon as he's under the surface, up to his shoulders, he jerks and thrashes, crying out and sobbing as he struggles. Panda holds Inumaki's head to prevent him from accidentally drowning, whispering half-choked apologies, and Maki gently wipes a damp towel over his forehead and the part of his neck and chest that isn't underwater.

“Bonito flakes, b-bonito flakes!!” he yelps, face twisting up in pain, “Rice, mustard leaf, mu-mustard leaf, soy sauce…”

He's wailing, trying to get rid of the hands that are forcing him to stay inside the bathtub. It hurts, it hurts, it's too cold, he thinks he's dying, he knows he is.

He wants to get out, he's freezing, he's really freezing. Inumaki doesn't understand why they're doing this to him, he doesn't know what he did wrong, he doesn't know why his friends are punishing him like this.

He vaguely remembers using his technique on Panda, and it only sends him further down the spiral of panic that's clawing at his chest.

Inumaki's scared, and he's hurting. He just wants to get out of there, he needs to.

“Has he boiled over yet?” asks someone from the bathroom's doorstep, and he can't turn around, but he wants to, and maybe this person will help him.

Maki's tempted to snap at Gojou, but she doesn't. “Did you get the things I asked you, sensei?”

“Sure I did!” he chirps, waving the plastic bag, “I got cold patches too. Didn't know what brand to get, so I got a bunch of them.”

Maki and Panda thank their teacher, bowing their heads too. It's been ten minutes since Inumaki's been in the water, so Maki opts to take the boy out of it and into some dry, light clothes.

Panda helps him out of the tub, and Maki wraps a fluffy towel around his shoulders. Inumaki’s shaking like a leaf, whimpering miserably, and Maki wrapped the towel a little tighter, sighing worriedly. She places the back of her hand onto his forehead, and it feels a bit cooler than before, but they need to dry him off before they can take his temperature accurately again, so Maki asks Panda to hurry while she goes rummage through Inumaki’s drawers, retrieving a pair of clean boxers and a T-shirt.

“Here.” she says, passing the clothes to her friend, “Do you need help to change him?”

“No, I got this, don’t worry.” Panda smiles, though worry seeps clearly through his features.

Maki nods, “Okay, then I’ll pour him a glass of whatever Gojou-sensei bought, and I’ll ready a bowl with water and a towel, for later.” she says. Then, she closes the door behind herself to give the others some privacy.

Gojou is still there, and Maki’s surprised that her teacher’s caring enough to wait and see if his student is actually okay. As if on cue, he chuckles, shrugging, “What, shocked that I’m not as heartless as you kids make me out to be?”

“We have our reasons, sensei.” she says honest.

“I suppose you do, I’m not going to blame you guys for that.” Gojou laughs. A moment later, Panda comes out, carrying Inumaki. He sits him onto the mattress, back against the bedframe. Gojou tosses Panda the cold patches as he watches from a distance, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Panda gently applies it to his friend’s forehead. Maki slides the thermometer under Inumaki’s armpit for the second time that day. It takes longer than the first time, but it’s a good thing, they know it is. As a matter of fact, the results are good, and Maki and Panda exhale in relief.

“39.4°C, more than half a degree lower than before.” Maki says, and Gojou nods satisfied and relieved, even if he wasn’t too worried to begin with, to be fair.

Inumaki does seem a bit more cognizant, but he’s silent, blinking slowly at his hands that rest on his lap. He swallows, and it’s the signal that friends’ have been waiting for.

“Here, slowly.” Panda says, helping him to drink from the glass. It’s not water, it’s sweeter and mildly bubbly, Inumaki notices, tempted to drink more. But his stomach’s upset from the heat, so he reluctantly pulls away after three medium sips.

“Hungry?” Maki says, grinning gently, “Gojou-sensei got you pickled plum onigiri.”

Inumaki nods, still shivering, and takes the food that Maki hands him with unsteady hands.

Gojou flashes two thumbs up and leaves without another word. Maki and Panda still bow their heads to express their gratitude as he exits the room.

“Should I ask Shouko to give him some meds?” Gojou asks, yawning as if he were annoyed, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Maybe some mild fever reducers? If it doesn’t spike, he’ll be fine, but... better safe than sorry.” Maki says, rubbing soothing circles between Inumaki’s trembling shoulders, not too hard.

Inumaki’s three quarters through his onigiri when he chokes, coughing abruptly and hitting his chest with a weak fist. Maki and Panda both rub at his back, trying to coax whatever got stuck into going down the right tube.

Inumaki’s slightly less pale than beforeー but still paler than averageー and his cheeks aren’t as scorching, and his eyes aren’t as empty and dazed. Still, the fact that he’s been silent for a while is definitely a source of worry.

Maki and Panda exchange a confused look at the expanse of his shoulders, before the latter clears his throat and speaks. “Toge, man, are you alright?”

“Yeah, you haven’t said a word.” adds Maki after a moment.

Inumaki nods, “Salmon.”

But something’s not right, he doesn’t sound convincing at all and even he knows it. He grabs the phone that had been placed on the nightstand, and opens the memo app.

I’m sorry.

“For what?” Maki and Panda ask in unison.

I ruined training. And you were forced to take care of me and give me a bath as if I were a child. I’m sorry.

Maki sighs, exasperated, and Panda shakes his head, “Toge, you didn’t ruin anything! And we weren’t forced to take care of you, we wanted to!! You would’ve done the same. You’re good, don’t worry.”

It was embarrassing.

“For you? Maybe. For us? Not one bit.” Maki explains, “Get over your embarrassment already, because you’re the only one who thinks that the need for help is embarrassing. I swear.”

She’s maybe a bit harsh, but she knows she is right, and so does Panda. Inumaki’s face heats up, and it’s not the fever’s fault, but he doesn’t question it. He grabs the hem of his T-shirt and brings it up to cover his mouth and part of his nose, gaze shying away.

Gojou’s there too now, and he hands Inumaki a little blister with pills, “Here, take one now, and one if the fever isn’t down in six hours.”

Inumaki nods and bows slightly, before he lets Panda lift the glass for him. He drinks a sip, puts the pill on his tongue, and tilts his head to will it down after taking another sip. He coughs a bit, but the pill’s probably long dissolved by now, so it’s not a problem.

Maki smiles tenderly, and pats his back, “Come on now, get some rest. I’ll be back later.”

“Yes, we’re taking turns!” Panda explains to Inumaki, who only blushes further. Maki and Gojou live after waving their hands briefly, and Inumaki goes horizontal.

He’s still cold, but not as much, and his head hurts a bit less. Still, he’s dizzy, and tired. Struggling earlier has left him drained, and Panda’s constant chatter helps him doze off before he can apologise again, or wonder why his underwear is backwards.

He’ll take care of that after a nice nap.

(3/29/2021)

#no manga spoilers #fever tw #sickfic #40°C = 104°F #32°C = 89.6°F #39.4°C = 102.9°F #jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #inumaki toge #zenin maki #panda #gojou satoru #sick inumaki toge #3.7k #hurt/comfort

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backalley-requests · 4 years ago

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The Proposal | Chapter Six

The Proposal Masterlist

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

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

Word Count: 2,989

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not anymore than they already did.”

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

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

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

“You already know I do.”

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

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

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

“Did you just get out of the shower?”

“I— yes.”

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

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

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

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

“I would’ve,” he shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How is that fair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shut up. Race me again.”

“I could still win!” Hvitserk insisted.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just hate conceding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @momowhoo

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #the proposal #vikings #i started falling behind in writing it lol #so i gotta do two in one day at some point #I’ve just been busy #yet ive still kept up one a day so... 👀#I’m glad some people have liked it!!!

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we-are-inevitable · 4 years ago

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not moving on, not looking back // javid (ch. 10)

A/N: y’all know the drill

TW: discussion of abuse (physical and substance related)

Read On AO3!

And that’s how it starts.

They stop at David’s beforehand so he can change out of his slacks, shirt, and tie, and if David purposefully wears an outfit to elicit a certain response from Jack, he plays it off pretty well. He had changed into a tight white t-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit in all the right places, hidden under a baggy hoodie that he didn't take off until he was safe within the walls of Jack’s home. It feels… empty, now that Katherine isn’t there to fill the space with her voice, her presence.

It’ll be an adjustment, but as long as Katherine and Jack are okay with it, then David will follow their lead.

David sits alone on his phone while Jack goes upstairs and changes. He scrolls through twitter for a while, until he hears footsteps and-- oh, holy shit. Jack walks into view wearing a black sleeveless muscle shirt and gray sweats, and his hair looks so deliciously messy from combing the gel out. He’d clearly gone for the more comfortable look, and David has to stop himself from staring.

“You want anything to drink?” Jack asks as he walks into the kitchen, which prompts David to stand and follow him. Jack grabs a beer from the fridge, offering a second to David.

“Hey, I know we kind of talked already, but… How are you? Like, really?” David asks as Jack takes a drink.

Jack takes in a deep breath and shrugs as he hops onto the island in the middle of the kitchen, swinging his feet. He looks up at David, who has positioned himself to lean against the counter about two feet in front of Jack. “It… It tore me up for a while last night, after she told me, but honestly? I feel a lot better. Like a weight’s been lifted. I had a bad panic attack, but we talked more last night than we’ve talked to each other in ages, and I… I feel like I got my best friend back, y’know? I didn’t get a lot of sleep, though, just… because it’s makin’ me think about stuff I ain’t never thought about before.”

“Like what?” David asks softly, tilting his head before taking a sip of the beer. “Not that- I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but maybe I can help a little. I don’t mind.”

“It’s just… Family stuff,” Jack admits, then rubs his forehead. “We told my Ma last night and she was, y’know, a bit disappointed, but she understood. I just… The whole divorce thing makes me feel like my dad,” Jack explains softly, crossing his arms over his chest. For someone who is nearing thirty, Jack looks like a vulnerable teenager right then. He slowly looks up into David’s eyes, gulping. “He always said he regretted not getting a divorce. He wasn’t a good guy at all. Homophobic, real republican, but my mom married him because he had a good job and a good family. He was the one to kinda push the whole football thing on me, but I was never good at playin’, y’know? Loved the game, but I didn’t have any skill, trust me," Jack says with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Did they get a divorce? Your parents?”

“No, my, uh… My mama died before anything was finalized, and everything kinda took a turn. I got… I don’t know. I was really fucked up for a long time. The school counselor suggested that I start drawing my feelings or starting a journal or something, and it worked. Really well, actually. I loved it.”

“Is that what got you into art? Kath mentioned that you wanted to go to art school,” David murmurs, moving to lean against the island, right next to Jack’s leg.

“Yeah, actually,” Jack says with a laugh, then gulps. “My dad wasn’t a fan of me doing the art stuff. I took an art class in middle school, and we had a showcase at the end of the year. I invited him to it, and he-- Do you, uh, do you mind if I talk about this? I don’t wanna force, like, heavy shit on you if you aren’t comfortable,” Jack cuts himself off, looking at David with a gulp. “I’ve only ever told my ma and Kath about this. My dad just… wasn’t a nice guy.”

“Thanks for checking in, but I don’t mind, okay? I’ll tell you if I’m ever not in the right headspace, but, Jack, you’re going through a lot. Just let it out,” David encourages with a sad grin.

Jack nods, then takes in a deep breath. “So-- Art show. Dad said he wasn’t gonna come. Told me he wasn’t gonna support me doing something ‘queer’, even though I’m- even though I told him I wasn’t,” Jack explains, taking a long drink from his bottle with a blank expression on his face. “But, uh, he didn’t believe me when I told him I wasn’t, and he… slapped me. That was when I was eleven. The physical stuff continued, ‘specially when football season started up again and he saw that I was on the bench every game, ‘cause I really wasn’t good at it. It got… rough. It only stopped when my coach noticed a bruise when we were practicing and I- I guess I was real stiff and limping real hard, so he told me to sit out, and when I took my pads off, my shirt lifted up, and… My dad was in police custody the next morning.”

“Fuck, Jack,” David says in an apologetic voice, staring at him with a lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry you went through that… Did he go to prison, or--”

“Yeah, there was a bunch of evidence, so- so he went to prison. Really easy case against him. He was supposed to get, um, ten years, I think. The last time I saw him, he told me that he was glad my mom was dead so she didn’t have to see me 'turn gay’- like I said, he was a shitty guy. That… I don’t know. I used to be like that, too, but then one of my friends, a coworker of mine, came out, like… eight years ago?” Jack bites his lip, looking down at his hands after putting his bottle down. “I’ve changed. I realized that I was just actin’ like him. I never realized he was so… bad, until I became an adult.”

“Are you still…” David gulps. “You haven’t talked to your father?”

Jack looks up at David, and smiles sadly. “He had a heart attack in prison, about five years in. So… yeah. I’m all that’s left.”

David is at a loss for words. He doesn’t know what to say. This is not how he thought the night would go, but at least Jack was getting to vent and David was getting to know him on an even more personal level but, good God, Jack had been through so much.

And adding being adopted, losing his daughter, and divorcing his wife into the mix…

Jack has hurt more in his life than he ever let on.

“Jack, I… I don’t know what to say,” David admits with a frown, but slowly reaches out, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me all of that. You… You’re so strong, y’know? You’ve been through so much, yet you’re successful and smart and… I know we haven’t known each other long, but I am so, so proud of you. But- but you shouldn't have had to be so strong. You didn't deserve any of that. Not the… Not the abuse, or the homophobia, or the pressure. If you ever need to talk about it again, I’m just a phone call away.”

“Thank you, Davey, that means a lot,” Jack says with a tight-lipped grin, then gulps. “What about you? You got any skeletons in your closet? 'S only fair that you tell me somethin' sad now, y'know.”

David stares at him for a moment. He then holds up one finger and downs the rest of the beer in his bottle, taking in a deep breath once he is done. His eyes close and he tilts his head back, then begins speaking. “From the age of twenty-two to about a month and a half ago, I was addicted to cocaine. I had a brief stint in which heroin was a daily thing, but that stopped after a few months. Too expensive. I regularly had sex with drug dealers in exchange for pills, I’ve been kicked out of gay bars for showing up high out of my mind, I now go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and I have to spend, like, ten minutes every morning trying to convince myself not to call in sick just because I’m having bad withdrawals. Bad as in, like, shaking in the shower and crying because I feel like I need to shoot up.” He slowly opens one eye, shooting a sad grin toward Jack. “I guess we’re even, huh?”

Jack stares at him for a few moments, then lets out a laugh as he nods along. “I- I guess you can say that, yeah,” He murmurs, then looks at David with a gulp. “If you ever need anything, just let me know, ‘kay? I don’t… I don’t really have experience with that kind of stuff, but if you ever need anything, I’m here, whether you need to talk, or you… need somewhere to stay,” Jack says slowly, seriously, and David nods. “I’m right here, Dave. Just like you're here for me.”

“Thank you, Jack. I’ve been getting better, I think- the, uh, withdrawals are starting to mellow out, at least a little bit, but it’s just… getting used to sobriety that’s throwing me for a loop,” David admits. He watches Jack’s eyes shift from his face to the empty bottle in his hand, and David shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking-- I never had an alcohol problem, it was just the drugs. I, uh, don’t drink often, though. Just to make sure.”

David doesn’t drink often because David has an addictive personality. David doesn’t drink often because David knows he’s susceptible to alcoholism if he goes down the wrong path.

It makes him feel better to know that Jack is watching out for him in that way, though.

“If you’re sure,” Jack responds with a kind smile. The two of them fall into a comfortable silence. Jack finishes his beer, David watches him, and everything is… calm.

But not for long.

“Dave? Can I ask you a kind of weird question?”

“Shoot.”

“How’d ya know you were gay?”

David’s eyes widen a bit. He wasn’t expecting... that. He looks up, but Jack refuses to meet his eyes. He’s instead staring at the cabinet above the sink, sitting eerily still, and David isn’t sure how to respond for a few moments. Slowly, David shrugs, and looks down at his hands. “I just never really found an interest in women. Plus, I used to be really into this guy in one of my classes… I don’t know, it was just kind of natural for me. My parents were religious, but they never really said anything about it if I brought guys home for dinner, or if I wore makeup to school. I never really had that… epiphany, I just… I was just gay. Never questioned it,” He explains, holding his breath in the heavy silence that follows. He slowly glances back up toward Jack, expecting to see him staring off into space, but to his surprise Jack is staring right back at him. “Can I ask why you’re asking?”

Jack gulps. There’s a long moment of silence, before he sits up a little straighter. “Kath has been talking about 'self exploration' ever since yesterday. Mentioned she’s, uh… curious.”

“Mhm.”

Jack meets David’s eyes. He stares for a few moments before locking his lips, straightening his posture, and saying, “I think I might be, too.”

There’s a beat of silence. David holds his breath. Holds Jack’s gaze. He waits for a few moments, waiting for Jack to back down, but it never comes. Finally, David gives in.

He asks, breathless, “Wanna find out?”

There’s no more speaking after that.

#jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #javid #javey #tarrytown au #jac writes #newsies #newsies fic #newsies live #livesies

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nicklightbearer · 4 years ago

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whatever here is the fic

we happy few, nick lightbearer is once again hunted by foggy jack but this time he fights back. just..... not.... well.

this is a tickling fanfic fair warning <3

“Nick.. Nick!”

Rolling over, Nick Lightbearer grumbled and pulled the sheets over his head.

“Virgiiiiiiiiillll.. Five more minutes…” “In five minutes you’ll be dead, idiot! Up, up!”

Nick blinked a few times before feeling a small something land on his stomach- with a high-pitched screech, he sat bolt upright, scrambling to throw the blankets off. There was an oof! from the floor where they landed, and Nick shivered as he peered over the bed.

A rat. There had been a rat- wait- Virgil?

“.. What? What! You’re dead! I- I already avenged you- what do you want now??”

The rat huffed indignantly.

“Well, maybe I’m trying to keep your stupid arse alive, huh? He’s headed here already- so put some pants on, for god’s sake, and find a weapon!” “He? He who?” “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who do you think??”

Who would- ah bollocks. Nick leapt to his feet, clutching at the wall for support as his head spun. God, even the reds and yellows were wearing on him..

“Foggy- Foggy Jack?? But I- I thought he-“ “Oh, come on. Put two and two together, Nicky.” “Ooh, if you weren’t dead, I’d right love to throttle you for the stupid vague clues…”

Virgil wheezed out a laugh that made Nick roll his eyes as he dug through the dresser.

“You may have blasted the bastard right hard, but it’d take more than a riff or two to kill a man. He’s more starstruck than ever, now.” “See, that wasn’t so hard! Straight answers, Virg, straight answers!”

The room wavered again and Nick cursed angrily as he toppled over trying to pull his slacks up.

“Who taught you how to quip back, huh?” “Could have something to do with the fuckin’.. Broken mood booth outside.”

Grumbling, he finally managed to stand up and pull his pants up proper, tugging on his jacket with only a moment’s hesitation. The blue one, yes, he’d rather wear dark colors if he’s hiding from a serial killer.

“Anyway- where is he now?”

There was a pause, and Nick looked up. The rat was gone.

“Virgil..? Dammit.”

A sudden jiggling of his door handle made him gasp, and he backed away before bolting towards the window.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckit in a bucket, ooh, I don’t have my-“

The front door splintered under a heavy blow, and Nick squealed another curse to himself before nearly leaping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

”Guitar!” “Mr. Lightbearer.. Do open up, please! I brought ahh.. Some whiskey! A gift from a fan!”

It almost gave him pause before he shook his head wildly.

“No, no. Focus, Nicky!”

He cast his gaze around the room in a panic. Empty pill bottles littered the sink and floor, and he shoved a few of them out of the way to rummage through the cabinet. Nothing.

Nothing but a plunger next to the toilet- though he considered it, the flimsy weight felt more useless than his own fists, and he discarded it quickly.

That left.. the tub.

Wait. The tub! He leaned over to whip the curtain back, and cringed slightly at the sight of the woman inside- thank god, she was clothed. But in her hand was his goal- just last night, he’d been on the.. Receiving end of…

Pulling it carefully from her grasp, he sighed in relief before jolting at the sound of the door splintering again. Fuck, fuck! He couldn’t let Jack see this poor bird- wait-

Checking her pulse, he sighed in relief. Okay, problem for later. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman woke up alone in his house. He quickly pushed out the door again, closing it and jiggling the lock just to make sure it wouldn’t open again- yep!

Then again, that left only himself and the eye that now peered through his former front door, which was largely splintered to bits. He backed up a little before dashing to his bedroom, both hoping and not hoping that Jack would follow.

“Ohh, Mr. Lightbearer… Nicky~!” The slip from formal to a deeper purring tone sent a shiver down the rockstar’s spine, and he clutched at his makeshift weapon nervously as he pushed his back against the door.

“Hey, lock it and get back, idiot! He just broke the other one down, what happens when he slams an axe through this one??” “Virgil- ooh, you’re right!”

He’s always right. Nick jumped back, casting his gaze around the room after clicking the lock shut. Not much to work with, really, but he could.. He could hide- er- well, the closet would be too obvious, right? Or would it be so obvious that he wouldn’t check?

“No, he knows you’re stupid, Nick. Fucksakes.” “Well, what- ooh!”

Pulling open the dresser drawers, he started throwing clothes on the floor next to the window. The rat perched on top of the dresser sighed as he watched, but Nick ignored him for the moment.

“And what, pray tell, is the plan here? D’you have a gun you never told me about? A machete? Hell, even a baseball bat-” “No- I’m fine for weapon, thanks. This is- well- you’ll see!”

Shouldn’t say it out loud, not with how the door groaned as a weight was thrown against it. Nick shuddered as he pushed the clothes haphazardly closer to the wall, then scooted behind the curtain. The pile on the floor was enough to hide his feet- and the curtains were against a black window, so no light would give him away…

It wasn’t perfect. But if the closet was checked first, he’d have the upper hand.

The door splintered after only a few more hits, and Nick held his breath. He could just barely see through the fabric, having his face so close- and seeing Jack again, albeit this time with a slightly more ruffled appearance, made his heart leap into his throat. Terror was enough to keep his fist gripping the weapon, and he watched with wide eyes as the killer stalked into the room, the red glimmer from his own eyes casting an eerie light over the room as a cloud of fog rolled in after him.

It was nothing if not dramatic, he mused, almost inspired by the sight if he hadn’t been fearing for his life.

Jack hummed to himself as he glanced around the room, the familiar tune to Cheer Up bringing a grimace to Nick’s face. Genuinely, the guy was still a fan- it felt bad to be holding a weapon towards any fan for any reason, but..

Seeing the glittering knife that Jack held whipped his perspective back instantly. Fuck, this guy was absolutely bonkers- though, granted, that only made him feel worse- he couldn’t afford to be wishy-washy about this!

As predicted, Jack didn’t even notice the curtains, instead peering under the bed before turning towards the closet.

“Nick, Nick, Nick… Really, I can’t believe you’d let yourself be cornered so easily. Really, I expected more resistance. No activated security system-”

Fuck! He’d forgotten to turn it on in his drunken stupor the night before!

“No bobbies to guard the house, and not a single manager in sight.. Oh, wait!”

A flash of anger nearly made him leap out right there- but no, he’d wait and bide his time.. For just the right moment…

As Jack grasped the handle on the closet, Nick tensed.

“I suppose you don’t have one of those, do you?”

He flung the doors wide with a taunting laugh that died slowly, his outstretched arms lowering with confusion.

“What..?”

Now!

Nick leapt from his hiding place, nearly tripping on all the clothes but somehow managing to stumble so that he was standing on the bed- not unlike someone hiding away from a mouse, except the mouse was a person and that person had a big knife with his name on it, possibly literally.

However, his unsure footing made him miss his target of ‘back of the skull, god, please let me just knock him out’ and instead slam the instrument across Jack’s back. The impact made him tense, and he squeezed the handle nervously-

Only for electricity to zip out of it, making his palms tingle as the killer gasped. Oh, fuck on a stick.

But.. Something was off. Rather than immediately whipping to stab him, Jack stumbled, slamming against the dresser and clutching at his suit.

“What- what in the blazes-”

Well, no time for hesitation! He swung again, this time holding the button down with purpose. Anything to catch this guy off guard, right? It was also far easier to tap repeatedly at his body rather than his head, and… It worked.

Somehow, it worked. Jack’s arms were glued to his sides and he shimmied away from the assault, expression shifting from a confused pout to a more.. Well, his cheeks puffed out and he cringed, but a smile still seemed to tug at his lips. This smile was different, though, and seemed far more genuine than the mask let on.

“Stop- hey, stop! What- waha- wait!”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Foggy Jack. Serial killer, menace to society, his personal fuckin’ stalker….. Was ticklish.

Okay. Okay. Well, this information was definitely going to be put to use- let’s see- right the fuck now. Nick slid down from the bed, using the Tickler to bop Jack closer to it- an easy task, given that he nearly tripped himself right onto it. With a quick push.. Perfect!

Foggy Jack was now on his bed. Disheveled, covering his mouth to hold back giggles, and with an expression bordering on infatuation shining out from behind his hand.

For a minute, he was stunned, before remembering the knife. Glancing down, though- oh, he wasn’t holding it. He’d dropped it- there, on the floor.

Jeez, it was almost like he didn’t want to kill Nick.

….. Shelving that thought to dwell on later, Nick grinned with as much menace as he could muster.

“Well, well, well. Ya know, mister Foggy Jack, you’re not half so scary like this.”

Jack yelped as the Tickler was pushed squarely against the middle of his stomach, trying to grab it but letting go quickly as Nick tapped the button a few times. The sensations of light electricity dancing across his torso quickly gave rise to more giggles, ones that he could hardly hold back for all the delight he clearly felt.

“Really! Sheesh, if I’d known about this before, all this lot of stuff would have been so much easier.. Hey, arms up!”

Nick huffed, pushing the arms that seemed nearly glued to his sides before just wiggling a hand between sleeve and shirt. For practiced fingers like his, coaxing out more shocked laughter was easy- and with the Tickler now running up and down his stomach, Jack finally broke.

“Waihihihit! No- stop! St- ahaha! It tickles!” “Well, I sure fuckin’ hope it does, lovely… That’s the point.”

Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how to handle things from here. Sure, he could wear out Jack and- wait, perfect. He’d just tickle the man until he properly passed out, then run and find a bobby. Perfect!

Though, as he watched the man writhe beneath him, escalated to proper laughter as skilled fingers squeezed at his sides and the Tickler continued tormenting his stomach, he was a tad hesitant. The ticklish near-agony that made shrieks ring out was… Hm, fun!

As he listened to more of that adorably broken-up laughter, he wondered how addicting this sort of drug might be.

“PLEHEASE- DON’T- DON’T TICKLE ME- IHI CAN’T, I CAN’T TAKE IT! M- MAHAHA- NNNNICK!” “That’s Mr. Lightbearer to you, mister Foggy. Go on, ask me proper to quit, maybe I’ll think about it. Probably not.” “Mr. Light- eehee! Lightbeareheher! Please!” “Please what??” “Plehehease- dOHON’T! Stoooohohop tickling mehehe!” “Don’t stop tickling you? Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart!”

Though the petname didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, Nick chose to eliminate any chance of a response by ducking down- the sudden closeness of their faces made Jack go silent, breathless with both laughter and starstruck awe. Nick winked before ducking his face down and blowing a raspberry right against his neck, sliding the Tickler to press down against his torso again.

The response was immediate. Jack flailed wildly and cackled, beating at Nick’s back weakly as he choked out wordless pleas. Of course, none of them were heeded, and a few more raspberries were instead strategically placed on the man’s neck. In all his years, even knowing that most people were at least a little ticklish around the face (due to the masks, certainly), he’d never garnered a reaction quite this intense. Must be extra sensitive- therefore, weak, and the wheezes between laughs made Nick grin.

It was honestly.. Kinda cute. He was glad that his goal was to tickle the man to pieces, since otherwise he’d normally give a break by now.

As the struggling became weaker, and the laughs reached pitches that frequently dipped into silent snorts, Nick hummed to himself. Now would be a good a time as ever to drop a little.. Finale, let’s say. He pulled back for a moment, easily readjusting their positions- now, with Jack laying limply on the bed and only weakly with his arms linked around his waist, he climbed on after him properly. It wasn’t hard to sit above his prey, wiggling his fingers a little for extra effect- and relishing in the burst of giggles and flinch- before tapping his chin.

“Now, let’s see.. Something tells me you’re nearly tuckered out. But I’m not quite done, oh no.” “N.. No??”

Something about the way his voice was suddenly softer, even shy in a way- it made Nick’s stomach do a few flips.

“No! Of course not. You’ve been awful rude, banging my door down and threatening me. But I can put that behind us.”

Bending down again, he placed a hand on either side of Jack’s head, their faces nearly touching- once again, Jack held his breath, eyes wide.

“.. Close your eyes for me, Jacky.”

The speed at which his hesitation faded to nervousness, then to giddy anticipation.. It was adorable. Jack finally closed his eyes, then covered his face with a shuddering giggle.

From there, it was easy for Nick to unbutton his jacket- and even easier to bury his face against Jack’s stomach, nibbling through the shirt and earning a new set of squeals.

“No! No- ahaha- ooh, you-!” “Go on, give me a laugh! Just for me, Jacky! Ooh, those could be lyrics..”

He hummed a bit with the idea before returning to his previous actions- and it wasn’t long before the laughter died down, Jack barely writhing beneath him. Nick sat up eventually, finally giving it a rest as he watched the killer gasp a few times before he was silent.

… He leaned forward to check for a pulse. Yep. Hammering away, actually, but calming down.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to do. Sitting back on Jack’s legs, he gazed down, watching him sleep with a foggy confusion building in the back of his skull.

Sure, a bobby might.. Be able to help. But he was so tired. And Jack was warm- warmer than he expected, and…

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt. He did crawl over to the side of the bed to push the knife under the dresser, first, but.. Yes, a nap.

Popping a spare Joy he found under one of his shirts, he flopped onto the bed, resolving to take care of the matter later. It was probably fine.

#this one's for you #hackneyfashioninstitute #<3 #we ticklish few #lightbearer #foggy poggy

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