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specialagentsergio · 3 years ago

Text

side effects may vary

summary: An unexpected side effect brings you and Spencer closer—literally—when he’s prescribed a medication to help relieve his chronic nightmares.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: prescription drug use, one small sexual reference, discussion of tornadoes (spencer gives a small infodump)

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ “there was only one bed” event. when i saw the “medication makes someone sleepy” prompt, i had to take it, because this happens to me regularly lol.

word count: 2k

masterlist

It’s become a habit for you and Spencer: every Friday night you can, the two of you get together and watch a movie or show. It’s always at your place because he doesn’t have a TV, but he doesn’t mind—you have the better couch anyways. He thinks he could stay on it forever, especially on the nights where you don’t watch anything at all and talk for hours instead.

He made the mistake of mentioning this Friday night tradition to Morgan once. He’d questioned just why, exactly, Spencer liked going over to your place so much. Spencer hadn’t realized Derek was teasing him until he’d already come up with the lame excuse of your couch being really comfortable.

Morgan had chuckled. “I think it has less to do with the couch and more to do with the person who owns it, kid.”

He was right, of course, but was Spencer going to admit his silly little crush? Absolutely not. Especially not to Derek. He just continued going to your place every Friday, stubbornly ignoring the smirks and eyebrow wiggles sent his way from the man.

It’s one such night a few months later when an alarm on his phone goes off, making you both jump. He nearly spills the popcorn everywhere in his scramble to turn it off. “Sorry. It’s—wow, it’s nine already.” As usually happens when he’s with you, he’s lost track of time. It’s why he set the alarm in the first place.

“You have somewhere to be?” you ask.

“Um, no. I just…” he trails off, leaning forward to dig through his satchel at his feet, searching for the white paper bag he picked up from the pharmacy earlier in the day.

You don’t ask aloud, raising an eyebrow instead. It’s you providing him with an out—you’ll let him pretend he didn’t see it if he doesn’t want to answer the question.

He sighs, pulling the little orange bottle out, a prescription from the psychiatrist you’d coaxed him into seeing. “It’s just, uh… it’s supposed to help with, y’know… dreams,” he explains quietly.

“Nightmares,” you clarify.

“Yeah. That’s what the alarm was for.” He pops the cap and looks at the little pills inside. “To remind me.”

“We can finish this later,” you say with a gesture towards the TV. “It’s okay if you need to leave.”

He shakes his head. “She said to take it a few hours before bed. There’s plenty of time to finish.” Not that he cares that much about the show. He just doesn’t want to cut his time with you short.

“The bottle says it can make you drowsy, though,” you say, pointing out the little flap on the side of the bottle he hadn’t noticed.

“It won’t,” he dismisses nearly immediately, shaking a dose out into his hand.

“You can’t know that.”

“I’m a chronic insomniac. I’ve tried medication before. It doesn’t work,” he says firmly.

“If you say so,” you say, unconvinced.

“I do.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The words on their own typically imply annoyance or resignation, an insistence that the speaker knows better, but from you, all he can detect is amusement. And if he didn’t know better, he’d say your slight smile conveyed affection.

“Oh, I won’t,” he replies confidently, and takes the dose with a sip of water.

That confidence turns out to be misplaced.

It doesn’t happen quickly. You finish watching the current episode and he insists on another. About halfway through it, he starts to feel… different. A little… foggy and unfocused. Any movement he makes feels slow, and his eyelids are getting heavy. Try as he might, he can’t quite keep them open. He’ll rest them for just a minute….

“… encer. Spencer.” Something pokes his arm and he grumbles, shifting away.

“What?”

“It’s over.”

He blinks a few times, slowly reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Credits are rolling on the TV screen; he's about to ask why they look slanted, then realizes it's because he's slumped to the side. He pushes himself back to sitting, a delayed "oh" leaving his mouth. He rubs the sleep from one of his eyes, and catches your expression in the other.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" you protest but the little laugh punctuating your words gives away what he knew you were thinking: I told you so.

With a sigh, he begins gathering up his things, pulling his bag into his lap and untying his shoelaces so he can put them back on.

“What are you doing?" you ask.

"Um, going home?"

"You can't ride the Metro like this," you say. "You're half asleep."

He tries and fails to suppress a yawn, but still insists, "I'll be fine."

"Spencer, I don't like you riding the Metro this late even when you're totally lucid. You know that."

He does. You often express such worries on your Friday nights, offering to let him stay with you. He always declines. Your couch may be comfortable when he's sitting, but it's not long enough for his legs horizontally.

He also worries about what he might say in his sleep. He's been playfully teased by team members often enough already. The last thing he wants is to ruin your friendship by expressing his feelings for you in his sleep.

He's got one shoe on and is about to put on the other, but you snatch it away. "Hey."

"No,” you say firmly. "You're staying here tonight."

"(Y/N)--"

"Take your shoe off." You flip the TV off, stand, and stretch. "And come to bed."

His mouth drops open a little. Come to bed. Did he really just hear that? You say it like it's the most natural thing. It sounds so...domestic.

He really likes it.

His eyes follow you as you walk to your bedroom. You stop in the doorway and look back to him. "Come on."

He's in a bit of a daze as he walks towards you, not realizing he's still wearing one shoe for a few steps. He clumsily kicks it off, then follows you through the bedroom door and into the adjoining bathroom, where you provide him with a spare toothbrush.

Normally he wouldn't want to share toothpaste with someone. He's even refused to do so a few times on cases when his little travel-sized tube has run out, instead going down to the front desk of whatever place they're staying at for a replacement, no matter how tired he is. But tonight he doesn't even think twice, just takes the tube when you pass it to him. It simply feels...normal, as if you and him do this every night before bed.

I could get used to this.

Spencer's still a little groggy from the medication, so it isn't until he’s standing in the bedroom that he realizes that there’s a problem. "There's only one bed."

"Um, yeah," you reply. "What, did you think I had bunk beds?"

"No, I just..." He's not sure how to explain it when you're pulling back the covers like it’s any other night. "There's one bed... and two of us."

"That's correct. It's a queen. It's made for two people," you point out. You sit down on one side, then pat your hand on the other.

He slowly approaches the bed, but hesitates, twisting his fingers a little. Your expression shifts, and he blinks. Surely that's not a look of disappointment he's seeing?

Your voice is quiet when you speak. "Spencer, if you don't want to share a bed with me, you can just say it."

"What? No!" he exclaims. "That—that's not it at all."

"Okay, then, what is it?"

"The opposite,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I can't believe you want to share a bed with me."

"Why wouldn't I?" You say it so simply; he can hardly believe it.

"Well, because I'm... me," is the reply he comes up with. "I'm annoying, and I talk too much, and my limbs are all long and weird--"

"I don't think you're annoying, Spencer," you interrupt. "We wouldn't be friends if I did."

"Oh. I guess... I guess that's true. But my arms and legs--”

"Are fine,” you reassure.

“I…” He’s a little too out of it still to think of something else. “Well, okay.”

“Since that settled..." You smile up at him. "Would you get into bed?"

He can't help but smile back. "Okay."

You both settle in. Right before you turn off the light, he speaks again. "I talk in my sleep," he says quickly, heat rising to his cheeks. "Just thought you should know.

"So I'm gonna get your fun facts in the night, too?" you ask, the corner of your mouth turning up.

"Maybe." He fiddles with the collar of his shirt. "Derek says every night is a toss up between that or gibberish…”

You laugh. "Noted."

You turn the lights off and silence falls over the room as you both find comfortable positions. The medication definitely hasn't worn off; sleep is quickly approaching him again. He feels a light touch on his arm. It trails down to his wrist. A slight pause, then you're sliding your hand into his. On instinct he winds his fingers through yours. He hears a content sigh right before he drifts off.

---

Morning light spilling through the curtains wakes him up. He takes in a deep breath and stretches. He feels amazingly well rested; more than he has in a long time. And he had the best dream about you….

Spencer rolls over, then jumps a little—you're right there next to him, awake and looking at him with a soft expression.

"So it wasn't a dream," he says aloud.

You smile. "No, it wasn't.”

"We slept in the same bed," he says, dumbstruck.

"We did."

"You... held my hand?"

A nod and a bashful smile. “I did."

"Huh." He's quiet as he processes this and gathers his memories together. There's a question that comes to mind, but he doesn't know if he’s brave enough to voice it. Instead, he asks, "Did I sleep talk?"

"You did," you reply. "You told me the widest recorded tornado was 2.6 miles wide."

"The 2013 El Reno tornado," he says automatically. "It’s also the second most powerful tornado recorded. It occurred on May 31 of that year. Though it officially ranks as the widest tornado on record, current Doppler estimates of the 1999 Mullhall, Oklahoma tornado indicate that it may have been 4.3 miles wide."

You blink. "That's terrifying."

Spencer winces. "Sorry."

"It's okay." You hesitate a little, biting your lower lip, then slowly reach out and take his hand. Again, his fingers thread through yours perfectly.

He looks down at your joined hands, then back at you. His question from before returns. "What does this mean?" he asks quietly.

"It means..." You take a deep breath. "I like you.”

He frowns. "I know that. That's why we're friends."

"That's not what I meant." You squeeze his hand as if to remind him that you're holding it. "I meant that I like you as more than a friend."

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?" he squeaks.

"Really," you confirm. "If you don't feel the same, I understa--”

You're cut off by him leaning forward and pressing the lightest little kiss on your lips.

"I like you as more than a friend, too," he says softly.

You give him the most wonderful smile. "Then get back here and kiss me properly."

Spencer obliges. He's never cared less about morning breath.

You scoot closer to him when you break apart and push his limbs around slightly to get into an embrace. "Finally," you murmur into the skin of his neck.

The sensation makes him shiver. “What do you mean?"

"I’ve been trying to get you into my bed for weeks."

He nearly chokes on his own sharp inhale. "I—what?"

"Not like that," you clarify. "I just wanted a good opportunity to confess. I figured you'd be too comfy in bed to run off right after I told you."

“You think I'd run off on you?"

You shrug. “You tend to remove yourself from a situation if your feelings get too intense. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but in this case, it’s the last thing I wanted to happen, you know?”

"Yeah, I get that,” he says. "I promise not to do it with you, though. About anything.”

You lift your head to look him in the eyes. “Kiss me again."

Spencer does.

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

tell me what you thought here!

smut follow up: hands to myself

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #thinkin of writing a ~saucy~ companion to this...#also shoutout to clonidine for being the only reason i can sleep regularly ✌

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minniepetals · 4 years ago

Text

wine

— summary: you’re filled of surprises when drunk

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: fluff

— word count: 1.7k

— warnings: drunk y/n, alcohol consumption

— a/n: i’m sorry i’ve been gone for a while and then just put on this content that’s basically jimin centric. forgive meee (literally just came up with this idea)

"Okay, that's enough for you, pretty girl."

The soft mewl of whines immediately escapes from your lips the moment Jimin takes your cup from you and holds it far away from your reach. Your brows crease together, lips jutting out into a pout, and your eyes begin to tremble with sadness as two little hands come around to reach over the man who had stolen your drink from you.

"But I wasn't done," you complain as your head falls into a hazy dreamscape where you ignore everything else around you and throw all your manners aside, eyes set right on the cup Jimin holds in his hand. You hold yourself against his shoulder as your free hand reaches out for the cup, only his arms are too long for you to stretch that far, so the next thing that surprises them is the way you're quick to climb onto his lap without hesitation. The lady that's usually so quick to apologize for even the smallest inconvenience and blushes instantly at the slightest intimacy is surprisingly much bolder when she is intoxicated.

The rest of the guys surrounding the two of you in a circle of the living room simply smirks at the amusing sight while Jimin himself blinks at the fact that you're straddling him just for that half empty cup.

"Y/N." He clears his throat as he composes himself after a few seconds and hands over the cup to Namjoon without averting his eyes from you.

You on the other hand only care for your drink and is just about to climb off with your next target being the leader but Jimin is quick to grab ahold of your shoulders and bring you back to face him. "But Jim–"

"Hey." His tone is low, filled with dominance, but he can see how flushed your cheeks are due to the alcohol and the way your eyes glisten with innocence despite the position you are in. He almost finds himself wanting to just coo and give you all that you want but he knows that sometimes spoiling you too much isn't good for you. "You're our good girl, right?" He asks the simple question with a challenging raised brow.

You huff at the question and sit yourself steadily on his thighs with a pout and two arms that crosses against your chest. "That's not fair, you can't always pull that card on me."

"Oh?" The corner of Jungkook's lips tug into a smirk. "And why can't he, babygirl?"

"Because it'll automatically make me want to submit to him no matter what. You guys will always use that question to your advantage because you know I don't wanna be your bad girl and I hate disappointing any of you."

Yoongi chuckles at your complaints before settling himself back into his seat with one leg crossing over the other. "Is that how you see it?" It's not everyday you openly confess your feelings and they were definitely going to take some advantage of this situation.

"When you say it in a mean way, yes." You pout.

"I was mean?"

"Mhm!" You're quick to nod yet they simply chuckle lightly at your accusation.

"How so?" Jimin falls intrigued.

"You stole my drink and used that low, dominant tone on me."

"I did it because you've drank enough."

"But I can take one more," you insist as your arms unbind themselves and your eyes seek pleadingly into his, body lurching forward to him as your press your hands on his shoulders. "Please, Jimin. I can be like you, I can take my drinks well."

"Sounds to me like you're already drunk," Hoseok states.

"But I'm not!"

"Says every drunk person ever," Taehyung snickers.

"But I..."

Ah.

Those eyes.

It falls so cute and so sweet, pleading not only to Jimin but for the rest of them as well because you want something. You usually do this in an unconscious way, not realizing you look the way you do, in a way that makes it almost impossible for them to say no to, but this time they're pretty positive you know what you're doing. Drunk Y/N is a cheeky little thing who likes to voice out her thoughts and feelings much more than sober Y/N, it seems. And she isn't as shy.

"Can't I be selfish for once?" You ask in a small voice, the same one that sounds like you're about to hide from them as if they had done something terribly wrong.

But maybe because you're drunk, you're just playing with them and is not that serious.

They hope that's true so Jimin takes the bait and sighs. "Alright, I'll allow you to be selfish this time around but only because you're the most selfless person to have ever existed." The way your eyes light up as your head perks up almost makes them want to laugh at your sudden mood swing. "But no more alcohol," he states sternly.

"Aww man," you huff. "What else can I ask for that's better than that?"

"I'm sure you can think of plenty of things, little one," Seokjin grins.

"Fine, then I..." They observe you carefully as you search around the room when your sentence trials off, lips pursing while trying to come up with something better than the reward of alcohol. Usually the you they know wouldn't even choose to look at drinks but it's cute discovering a new side to you. With your cheeks still flushed and your body still sat on top of Jimin, your head returns back to him looking quite confused as to what to choose.

Until your eyes meet his and a smile curls along your lips.

"Well?" He raises a brow. "Figured out what you want?"

"Mhm," you nod. "You."

Oh.

While Jimin sits there taken back with his mouth slightly open, the rest of them snicker at how their usual shy girlfriend is shamelessly flirting with him. It's quite a sight to see. The usually flirty man breaking composure at one single word but a part of them envies Jimin's position.

They want your attention too.

"Y/N." Jimin lets out an exasperated sigh when he sees the way your expression is nothing except innocence. Taking a moment, he sits back again, meeting your eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well..." It seems you haven't gotten that far yet. But as they watch you think and think it over in your head, they also see the way your cheeks turn another shade of pink as your eyes fall to the floor, suddenly looking quite bashful.

Have you sobered up?

Perhaps not. It hasn't been that long yet after all.

Still, they guess drunk you still has some shyness in her no matter what type of alcohol tries to change her.

"I want..." You turn your head to the side, cheeks flaring as you bring your thumb to your lips and lightly bite on the nail. "I want to.." The last bit of your words were too incoherent to hear.

"What was that?" Jimin presses.

"Can I kiss you?" It's soft. A whisper.

"Huh?"

"Can I..." You look up at him again though this time your eyes aren't as brave as they were a minute ago. "Can I kiss you?" You repeat your words, a little louder, just a little, and he sits there, another surprise hitting him, before Jimin consents.

"Go on," he simply says and the rest of them watch as their shy little babygirl works up the courage to place her hands on Jimin's shoulders again.

Your eyes, though still filled with bits of bashfulness, falls with some hints of lust and Jimin holds your hip as you lean forward at a painfully slow pace that makes him want to just smash his lips on top of yours. But he's a patient man and you were the one who had asked to kiss him, not the other way around. And that of course also surprises all of them.

Drunk you is quite cute and adorable and she's full of surprises with hints of seduction.

You lean forward, face just inches away from Jimin's with eyes that do not fall away for even a second. They know that if you weren't intoxicated, you would have already closed or averted your eyes at this point if a situation ever had you in such a position. Namjoon laughs to himself at the reminder of those times when you'd like to shy away first before gathering the courage again to kiss them. So seeing you like this is definitely a new sight to see.

Something they all don't quite mind.

"Jimin." You whisper.

"Mhm." He hums.

"I love you." You claim his lips with your own. A sweet kiss that leaves him too soon but he keeps himself back from chasing those sweet lips of yours. "Can you say it too?" You plead with him when you look at him again, face still close enough to grant him another kiss.

He doesn't hesitate. "I love you, my sweet love."

Your hand drifts up to his cheek, your lips brushing against his as he closes his eyes. Jimin gives you a single squeeze on your hip and it's enough for you to claim his lips again. But rather than taking that lead that you had thought to bravely take, Jimin's the one to make you lose your breath when you part your lips for him. A soft mewl escapes your lips while the rest of the six has to sit through that torturous scene before them.

They're babygirl mewling and making them lose their heads.

Yet just as Jimin is about to snake an arm around your waist to pull the two of you closer together, your lips slip from his with your head following along before it falls right upon his chest. He blinks and the next thing he knows, he hears your breathing growing long and gentle and Jimin closes his eyes to take in that moment of frustration as he realizes you had the audacity to fall asleep in the midst of things.

Jungkook is the first to softly snicker when his hyung curses under his breath.

"What a tease."

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halstudandruz · 4 years ago

Text

Research Purposes ~ Part 2

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Jay x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: What happens when the only person in the world you didn’t want finding out does?

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Part one found here (NSFW, 18+)

A/N 2: Also thank you to @enchantedblackrose for the idea 😊

If you are not 18+ and are unable to read part 1 and want to back story just hit me up (:

“We’re so freaking late. There’s no way we’ll have time to stop for my car.” You rushed around Jay’s apartment, pouring coffee for both of you.

“And whose fault is that.” Jay looked at you accusingly.

“I was just trying to help the environment.” You shrugged, handing him his cup after checking the lid.

“You and I both know we wasted more water in there together than we would’ve showering on our own.” He retorted grabbing his badge and gun off the coffee table to secure them to his belt.

“Yeah okay so I wanted shower sex sue me.” You rolled your eyes shrugging your jacket on.

“I wasn’t the one complaining.” He smiled, taking a drink.

“We would’ve had more than enough time if you didn’t insist on cuddling this morning.” You pointed out, remembering how he pulled you back into his chest every time you tried to move out of bed a couple hours prior.

“You like shower sex. I like cuddling.” He teased handing you your purse.

“Maybe we can draft up an alternate schedule.” You joked.

“I do hear compromise is the key to a healthy relationship.” He replied.

“We gotta go if you don’t want to get pulled over for speeding.” You changed the subject reaching for the door knob, before being tugged back by your arm, turning in time for Jay’s lips to meet yours in a sweet, passionate kiss.

“To get us both through the day.” Jay winked reaching around you to open the door and usher you out.

This was the second time that week you and Jay would be showing up to work together. Nobody noticed it the first time, but your anxiety climbed at the thought of someone recognizing and approaching you about it. What would you say? You and Jay were only in it purely for the sex. Right? Regardless of that fact that you had stayed at his house almost every night the past couple weeks even without the promise of sex, or how your stuff was starting to accumulate at his house from the past few months. A few t-shirts mixed in with his, hair straightener resting on his bathroom organizer, makeup scattered about on the dresser. Friends with benefits, that’s all it was. Nothing more and you certainly were not gaining feelings for him. Absolutely not that was against the rules and you were not about to be some stereotypical fuck buddy turned feelings trope, but you were getting sloppy apparently. You agreed to enter through the front while Jay entered through the back. Skipping up the steps you threw a smile at Trudy offering her a good morning, but in return she stared you down, eyebrow raised as she rested against the desk.

“What?” You stopped in your tracks in front of her. But she stayed silent giving you a look, and you just knew she knew. She was Trudy Platt. She knew everything.

“You should tell him.” She whispered to you, and it’s not the first time she had said something of the sort recently.

“Tell who, what?” You continued to fake innocence as you had the times before.

“It’s going to end badly.” She pushed again.

“It already did end badly.” You reminded her before trudging upstairs feeling the heat of her stare still on your back. Everyone except Kim was already there, including Jay who had his feet kicked up on his desk looking through a file. You greeted everyone draping your coat over the back of your chair and falling into it.

The first hour ticked by slowly, and you found your eyes moving across the room to focus on Jay. Opened documents lay across your desk. He looked so relaxed, shoulders loose, breaths slow and even, head resting against his palm as he fought not to fall asleep. You knew he would rather be out chasing suspects, but deep down you were starting to register you were okay with paperwork days. It meant he was safe, and that thought scared you a little. The last time you had those same thoughts you were staring at a different man in the room. A man who sat not too far behind Jay, clicking his pen absentmindedly as he often did when he was bored.

“Ruz, I’ll break the damn pen.” Kevin grumbled, as he had many times before in response to the habit.

“Sorry.” Adam mumbled, setting the utensil onto his desk away from his fidgety hands.

You chuckled at the small exchange, experiencing the exact same one many times in the years you had been detailed in intelligence with the best people you could’ve ever asked to work with. That certainly didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated though, and you were the very obvious example of that. You watched Jay’s head bob catching himself before adjusting in order to keep himself awake. His eyes accidentally met yours, heart rate immediately increasing. He sent you a small smile as his eyes started to roam over your body. Looking for a distraction from the tedious work. You couldn’t scold him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been doing the same thing the past 10 minutes. Looking at his arms that were tight against his sleeves you wondered if the scratch marks you left on his biceps this morning would still be prevalent, or if the fading hickey from nights prior was still noticeable on his hip bone.

“I need coffee. Anyone else?” You asked trying to divert the obvious eye fucking your were giving each other. Everyone in the room raising their hands. You laughed taking notice of all the tired eyes who so obviously wanted to bash their heads off the desk already bored out of their minds, just waiting for a case to jump off.

“I’ll help.” Jay offered, voice gruff from barely speaking all morning. Together you poured and distributed everyone cups. Sitting back down into your chair when Jay was handing Kev his.

“You gonna shave that thing anytime soon? You usually can’t stand it past a week.” Kevin asked Jay, referring to his beard. They had always teased him whenever he claimed it grew in patchy compared to Adam and Kevin’s and it usually resulted in him having a clean shaven face the next shift. But it had grown in quite nicely this time, and he made sure to keep it presentable by trimming it as needed.

“No, it’s starting to grow on me. I’m keeping it for research anyway. Seems it can enhance far more than just my facial features.” Jay shrugged casually sitting back down atin his chair, and at his words you choked on your coffee spitting it all over your desk. Uncontrollable coughs tickling your throat.

“You good [Y/L/N]?” Hailey asked standing up to help you.

“Yeah..sorry. Just.. went down the wrong pipe. Didn’t expect it to be so.. hot.” You explained between coughs looking across the room to glare at Jay who wore a cocky smirk on his face, flipping through papers not daring to look up at you.

“You forget your ice?” Adam asked, knowing you had put a couple cubes of ice in your coffee every morning cooling it down so you could drink it faster.

“I must’ve. Kinda out of it today.” You shook your head taking napkins out of your drawer to try to clean up the mess you had made on your desk as well as your white shirt.

“I’ll get you some.” He started to walk towards the break room.

“It’s really okay I spit most of it out anyway.” You laughed.

“I’ll just get you a new cup.” He reasoned and you just thanked him not feeling like bickering with him about it. He had been going out of his way to do nice things for you recently. You assumed either so you wouldn’t spill the beans about him and Upton or because he felt bad.

“There’s no way this is coming out..” You grumbled dabbing at the tan stain forming on your shirt, “Do you happen to have a spare?” You asked, turning towards Hailey.

“I’m sorry I don’t. I used my spare the other day after that shooting and haven’t brought another extra.” Hailey apologized. You waved her off thanking her anyway.

“There’s one in my locker.” Jay offered, “You’ll probably just have to tuck it in.” You thought for a moment, it probably wouldn’t look like a big deal. Just a friend helping out a friend.

“Okay. Thanks.” You nodded getting up to head to the locker room where Jay followed. “I know where your locker is.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, but you don’t know my combination nor are you very good at opening dial locks. Hence why you have a keypad one on yours.” Jay pointed out, spinning his combination. He was right. You could never open dial locks.

“Do you analyze everything I do?” You crossed your arms annoyed at how well he always seemed to know you.

“You’re an interesting person babe.” He smiled handing you the shirt as he kissed your forehead.

“Watch yourself. You don’t know who’s hiding in here.” You lectured, “this is your fault by the way.”

“I know. Total win-win situation.” Jay laughed, smiling brightly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me Jay Halstead.” You groaned, a small smile on your lips.

“What a way to go though, huh?” He quipped, giving you a quick kiss.

“Get out.” You pushed his chest.

“What? No free peep show? I offered you my shirt and everything.” He acted offended.

“They’re gonna start getting suspicious if we are in here any longer go.” He huffed at your reply giving in and leaving as you turned around to switch shirts. Jay’s scent immediately overwhelmed you as you slipped his shirt on. Causing your body to relax in turn at the familiar fragrance. Jay was right, you had to tuck the shirt into your jeans, otherwise it could’ve been a dress thanks to your large height difference. Turning to walk out of the locker room, you were met with Adam holding a new cup of coffee out to you making you jump at the unexpected body in your path. “Thank you.” You giggled taking it from his hand to take a drink.

“Did you change?” He asked, eyeing the shirt you now wore.

“Oh yeah. I had white on and it was gonna stain so Jay offered me his shirt.” You explained, shifting on your feet at the uncomfortable conversation.

“Well I have one. It might fit you better.” He offered moving to walk towards his locker, but you put a hand to his chest stopping him.

“I’m good this one is perfectly fine.” You reassured him, Adam stared at you, breaking the tense silence with a long sigh, leaning against the side of the lockers.

“Listen we never got to talk about that night you came to my apartment. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry you-“ He began to apologize when Kevin peeked his head in the door.

“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt..” he looked between the two of you awkwardly, “but we just got a case.” Adam cleared his throat as you nodded,

“We can..finish this later.” You chewed on your lip pushing past him to grab your coat out of Kevin’s hand.

It was nearing 8 o’clock by the time Voight had given you guys permission to go home and get some sleep. Knowing you’d be returning bright and early in the morning to continue to case.

“What do you think about pizza tonight? I’ve been craving some Bartolis.” Jay asked walking down the stairs behind you.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You stopped turning to face him when you rounded the corner out of sight.

“Well I can just get pizza and I’ll stop for whatever else you want too.” He offered.

“I’m not talking about food, Jay.” You laughed, looking at the ground. Your mind had been racing since showing up with Jay this morning.

“Then..what are you talking about?” He asked, stepping closer towards you.

“I mean I don’t know I’ve been at your place almost every night the last couple weeks.” You whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t carry to anyone nearby.

“Well we can go to your place. That’s fine.” He reasoned.

“No that’s not..” You sighed not able to find the words.

“Hey, just talk to me. What’s up.” He encouraged hands falling to your hips holding you gently.

“I’m just worried we’re starting to get careless. Showing up to work twice in one week together. One of these days we’re bound to get caught either coming in together or showing up on scene together. We don’t even know what this is. I don’t want to have to talk to Voight about it in the meantime.” You explained.

“We can be more careful. I promise. I just don’t want you to freak out about this.” He assured you tucking your hair behind your ear. “Can we just address how good you look in my shirt. I’m so glad you’re such a klutz..” Jay’s eyes roamed up and down your body.

“I am not a klutz! How did you expect me to react?” You crossed your arms, glaring at him as you did a few hours prior.

“Well is it not the truth? This thing is still on my face purely for your satisfaction.” He reminded you by trailing his lips down your neck, immediately summoning goosebumps from the raggedness tickling in the wake of his lips. He winked knowing his point was proven, moving up to place a soft kiss on your lips. “Sooo pizza?” He asked, pulling back, hopeful look on his face.

“Fine, but I’m not going in to get it.” You rolled your eyes, a bright smile on your face when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you towards his truck but when you rounded the corner your eyes connected with Adam’s who stood near the door, eyes wide between you two as Jay let his arm fall to his side, your feet rooted to the floor.

“I forgot my wallet in my locker.” Adam explained stammering over his words.

“Well don’t let us keep you. See you tomorrow brother.” Jay remained calm grabbing your arm to pull you out. Patting Adam on the shoulder when you passed.

“Shit!” You cursed when you reached Jay’s truck.

“What?” He questioned and you looked at him dumbfounded.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” You scoffed.

“He’s not gonna tell Voight. For starters it’s Adam. Plus we know about him and Hailey. He can’t.” He shrugged.

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” You yelled.

“You just said that’s what you were worried about.” Jay reminded you, trying to catch up. “Babe.” He urged when you didn’t answer him.

“You don’t get it Jay!” You shook your head, lump forming in your throat at the anxiety the situation presented.

“No, you’re right I don’t. I’m sorry. Help me understand.” He grabbed a hold of your hand trying to get you to face him.

“Not right now.” You chewed your lip feeling a few tears fall down your cheeks, quickly swiping them away before they were seen, but you knew Jay would know regardless. You were tired, hungry, and now slightly panicking at the thought of having to address the entire situation. His hand squeezed yours tighter before starting his truck putting it in drive.

All Tag List:

@corebore123 @scarletsoldierrr @hehurst23 @beautiful-bunny89 @ingie @halsteadsway @malrunaway @grettiwrites @inlovewith3

Jay Taglist:

@jayxhalsteadx @life-treatments @weepingfestivalmentality @toomuchtv95 @queen-of-arda

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #Chicago pd #one chicago imagine #one chicago

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years ago

Text

The Grandfather Clock Chimes | 1921

Pairing: Carlisle/Esme

Rating: G

Word count: 1977

Warnings: None

Summary: The first time Carlisle and Esme are alone together.

A/n Thanks to @jessicanjpa for the idea to do a solo Carlisle/Esme fic! I’m obsessed with them at the moment, so writing the first hopeful, awkward, thrilling moment when they’re on their own made my heart all kinds of happy!

In the entry way, the tall grandfather clock noted the hour.

Esme counted five chimes.

Carlisle was rarely home this early.

His arrival through the grand front door had startled Esme, who had become quite used to their little routine, but did not seem to shock the bronze-haired boy composing at the piano. No, Edward had merely smiled in that shy, all-knowing way of his, and welcomed the doctor home before announcing his intent to visit town. Esme had watched him go, shocked into physical silence, but inside, her mind raced, shouting panicked thoughts at the boy.

She had never been alone with the doctor, and had no idea what to say to him.

Stifling a grin, Edward had patted Esme’s hand in a half-hearted attempt to soothe before he took his leave, off to town to ‘collect supplies,’ whatever that was supposed to mean.

And that’s how Esme and Carlisle came to find themselves alone in an unnecessarily large house, sitting unnecessarily far apart in the unnecessarily spacious living room.

Esme sat straighter in her chair, if that was even possible.

On the sofa across from her, Carlisle mirrored her action.

The seconds ticked by.

“I was reminded of you while at work today,” Carlisle spoke suddenly. His voice disturbed the heavy silence between them, and Esme blinked to buy time while she found her voice.

“Oh?”

Though her response was minimal, Carlisle felt encouraged — the brief, thrilling moment when she spoke to him was much better than the silence.

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, leaning forward in his seat in a futile attempt to close the space of the entire room that lay between them. “A woman visited her brother in our burn ward, and she had the same length hair as you do, with the same bounce to her curls. For just a split second, I thought it was you — but of course, it was ridiculous to believe it could be.” To illustrate this, he shook his head slightly, admonishing himself. “Regrettably, you are confined to the house and our land for the time being, so obviously, you could not have been visiting me at the hospital. Not to think I would presume that, were you to leave the house, you would visit me at the hospital,” he was quick to correct, glancing at her nervously. “No, you could be there for any number of reasons, I’m sure. Though,” his eyes darted to the wall just to her left, avoiding her slowly yellowing eyes, “those reasons are escaping my mind, at present.”

Despite nerves that made her wonder if she still possessed the ability to pass out, Esme smiled. Carlisle always seemed so proper, so put together — nothing ever flustered him.

Nothing, it seemed, until today.

Without Edward there, Esme could afford to be honest with herself in this brief moment of mental privacy. And, since she was being honest with herself, she could acknowledge that she quite liked seeing the doctor flustered.

In her silence, Carlisle continued to babble. “Once I got a better look at the woman, it became doubly clear she could not have been you. Her hair, while a shade of brown, was nothing like the unique caramel color of yours….” He trailed off once again, his gaze falling from the wall to a spot by Esme’s foot.

Esme pursed her lips against a smile. His nervousness had an unexpected effect on her — it seemed to embolden her, almost, to push past the uncertainty of her own. She attempted a slight change in topic. “How was your time at work?”

His perfectly golden eyes snapped to hers, a measure of relief in them. “Quite pleasant, to be honest. All easy fixes today. That is not often the case.”

“Is that why you were allowed to come home early,” Esme prodded, unable to fight the smile that tugged on her lips. She continued to be bold, watching his expression carefully as she spoke. “I admit, I found it a pleasant surprise to have you home before your usual time.”

Hope — beautiful, lighthearted, blossoming hope — lightened Carlisle’s eyes. He leaned forward, now in danger of falling off the sofa. “You did?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, caught off guard by his exuberance. She realized how her careless words could have been interpreted, and hurried to cover her tracks. For all his happiness at present, it was clear he did not share her feelings — best not to scare him off. “It is good for Edward to see you often — though he is older than me in our immortal years, he is still a boy at heart. He needs your attention, your guidance.”

Carlisle’s face sobered, though he quickly softened the lines into a small, understanding smile. “You are right, of course. I should spend more time with him. I am grateful for your insight.”

Esme’s useless heart could have melted right then. Always so polite and considerate, her doctor was, and it never failed to chip away at her carefully constructed reservations.

They fell into silence again, and Esme bit the inside of her cheek — a human gesture carried into this new life. Her hands laid over each other on her knee, touching the skirt of the light blue dress she wore — a gift from the man who sat at her opposite. Her fingers interlaced and tightened as she raised her eyes to his once more, trying to provoke her courage into gathering again.

“What did you and Edward do for fun before I arrived?”

Carlisle’s eyebrows raised, and so did Esme’s. She hadn’t planned on asking that.

Carlisle’s lips stretched into a nostalgic smile, and Esme decided right then that it was the most beautiful expression one could make.

“We spent a lot of time exploring the areas we lived in — visiting shops on cloudy days, hiking in the vast forests, even swimming in the lake sometimes.”

Then, his expression clouded, and Esme nearly had to sit on her hands to keep herself from rushing over and caressing his cheek, wanting to offer him every ounce of comfort she could.

“But I must admit,” Carlisle continued, sounding sad in a way that broke Esme’s heart, “those days were few and far between. Edward is…an introspective soul,” he decided on his phrasing finally, sounding like he chose the words with great care. “There are many days when he prefers to stay at home and lament over a choice he had no chance to make for himself.”

Esme had noticed this. Despite all the good times she and Edward had together, there was many an occasion when he would insist that they were all damned. Him and herself she could believe with little argument, but Carlisle? His damnation was a more difficult point for her to be convinced of — he seemed too pure, too wonderful, too good to be stopped at the gates of Heaven.

“I think he requires a push sometimes,” Esme reasoned, having gained great insight into Edward during these past few months of her new life. “He is intelligent, he needs something to stimulate his mind and take away from those dark thoughts. Perhaps visits to museums or—or an opportunity to play his compositions publicly, like at one of those galas you’re always being invited to.” The ideas came to her suddenly, tumbling out of some vault in her mind she wasn’t aware she possessed. “Maybe even school would be good for him.”

At this, the corners of Carlisle’s lips turned down, and Esme sucked in a breath — had she said something wrong?

But Carlisle shook his head, speaking gently. “It would not be right to leave you home by yourself, not while your control is…still in its early stages of success,” he finished delicately, always hesitant to insult even the most deserving being.

“Right,” Esme agreed, looking at her lap as she thought. A new idea sparked in her brain, and her eyes snapped to the doctor’s with enthusiasm. “I could teach him!”

Once again, Carlisle’s eyebrows raised, this time in clear surprise. “Is—is that something of interest for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Esme nodded, excitement overtaking her. “Though I don’t remember much of my career, I know I was a teacher in my human life — I would love the opportunity to rekindle that passion.”

Carlisle grinned, and Esme had to amend her earlier thought — this was the most beautiful expression one could make.

“I think that is a fantastic idea,” he enthused, hands settling on his knees. “I will go into town tomorrow morning and order all the necessary supplies. Are there any subjects of interest you yourself would like to expand upon? I would be happy to pick up the materials.”

Esme tilted her head as she thought on this. There was something, a curiosity that had always played at the back of her mind.

“Architecture,” she answered, then surprised herself when a playful smile overtook her lips. “If I learned about it, maybe I would stand a chance restoring this crumbling mansion of yours.”

Carlisle dipped his head in a teasingly bashful acknowledgement and promised to find her the proper books and supplies.

Esme leaned back in her chair, mildly embarrassed to find how far she had extended herself in Carlisle’s direction. “Perhaps you could be a guest lecturer of sorts — when your schedule allows, of course.”

Carlisle blessed her with her favorite grin once more, and Esme basked in it. He tilted his head as if explaining some inside joke. “Esme, we do not sleep. I am sure I could find time to help with your project.”

If she thought his smile would do her in, it was nothing compared to hearing him say her name! How lovely it sounded coming from his lips, resonating in the gentle baritone of his voice. She wished she could pretend she did not hear it, to ask him to repeat himself, and have the chance of hearing him say it again. Then, perhaps, she could return by speaking his own name — his familiar name, as he had used hers — something she rarely allowed herself to do.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the front door opened and Edward’s scent filled the home.

The breath she would have used to speak tumbled from her mouth in a sigh. So soon…

But the clocked chimed again — six tolls, this time — and Esme was startled to discover that she and Carlisle had been together in that living room for over an hour.

How had the time stretched in an eternity, yet been over in mere minutes? What was this man’s presence doing to her?

Esme’s eyes sought Carlisle’s once more and she felt a pleasant warmth upon realizing that his eyes were searching hers with an equal fervor. They stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, locked in a gaze of unexpected intensity.

She hoped, down to the deepest parts of her useless heart, that there would be more moments like this, where it was just the two of them. Yes, part of her was relieved at being freed from this constant state of being unsure, but another part regretted Edward��s rapid return.

Part of her would have been perfectly content to sit in the hesitant, hopeful, awkward, thrilling silence with Carlisle for an eternity.

She didn’t quite know what to make of that.

Knowing their time for this evening was done, Esme and Carlisle stood and met the boy in the foyer, welcoming him home. While they inspected and praised the packages he brought — items for the house and gifts for the two he was quickly starting to consider as his parents — Carlisle and Esme avoided each other’s eyes.

Only Edward could know what the other was thinking.

And, out of respect for them both, he would not tell them that they were thinking exactly the same thing.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! You can find my masterlist here :)

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

Note

Chris lying on top of someone getting cuddles plz Ash I beg of you

Follows on Time Apart, It Doesn’t Work As Well As You’d Hoped, and Learn to Fly

Their heartbeat is slow and steady underneath his ear, and his eyes close, letting himself dwell in the sound. His fingers twist in their shirt, relax, twist and relax, rubbing his thumbs over the seams of their binder underneath.

They hum, softly, a tuneless sound very nearly like his own, and that’s like drifting in a warm sea, floating on saltwater and feeling the sun on his skin. Their fingers gently move through his hair, blunt bitten nails not quite scratching his scalp, just rubbing with their fingertips.

The coffeeshop is quiet around them, emptied-out except for the two baristas who speak in low voices under the whirring of the espresso machine, handing drinks out the drive-thru window, bags of cookies and cannoli, a scone or three. They don’t ask if Chris and Laken need anything more.

They know that the need, as it stands now, isn’t for the coffee that’s gone cold in both their cups. It's for the space to have their quiet together, after time apart.

The rain pours, outside, a soft and subtle rush, like blood pulsing through the veins of the world. Blood goes into and out of the human heart, water goes up to the atmosphere and then back to earth. It’s the same.

The earth breathes.

So does Laken.

Chris, like a bird with wings open to the wind to rise, listens to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Laken murmurs, without pausing in the soft rhythm of their fingers. “Or of what happened to you, or of what it means for us. My future is with you, that hasn’t changed. I’ve never been afraid of you, Chris. Afraid for you a couple of times, sure, but never of you.”

“I’ll freeze up,” Chris says back, voice low. The music that plays over the speakers switches in a wild, odd swing between the sort of instrumental jazz Chris is used to and the occasional bouncy 80’s pop song. He wonders, in a detached way, which of the baristas has their iPod plugged in to the speakers. “Every, um. Every time. I can’t-... I can’t, can’t stop it right away. Ever.”

“I know,” Laken says. They’re on their back on the back, shoulders propped against the arm of the couch, head tipped back a little towards the ceiling. Chris lays on top of them, his own feet up on the couch’s arm at the other side, the soles of his worn-out slip-on shoes pointing up. His fingers run over the thick, smooth binder fabric under their t-shirt, back and forth, back and forth. His fingers skim along the edge where the black of the binder meets the skin over their lower ribs.

He mirrors the movement of their hand through his hair without realizing it.

“You, you, you shouldn’t-... someone who, um, who can’t... I'm, I'm fucked up, Laken."

“No one gets out of this life without some dings, baby,” Laken says, and their hand slips down, cups his jaw and gently encourages him to look up as they look down to meet his eyes. Theirs, always, are pools so deep and dark he can’t tell iris from pupil. Some of the long part of their hair falls forward, framing their face. “Nobody. Yours are a little rougher than some others, but I’ve got mine, too, you know? I love you, dings and all. We're fucked up but we're fucked up together."

“You don’t freeze.”

“No. I throw punches. And trust me, it’s not always the right response. Even if it feels good in the moment.”

“I, I, I wish I could fight.”

“You did.” Laken sighs, a low soft exhale, and he listens to the sound it within them as well as without. “You pushed her away. You said so yourself. You pushed her away and said no.”

“Not, not right away.”

“God, Chris. You’re even braver for fighting when your body is screaming at you not to. It’s not thoughtless, for you, like it is for me sometimes. You have to push past years of hurt in a couple of seconds. That’s big.”

“It, it, it feels… small.”

“Well, it’s not.” The firm matter-of-factness of their tone makes him smile, secretly, turning his head briefly so the expression is made against their sternum, the warmth of their skin that settles under his own.

“I’m going to to to to, um, to make, it, it harder on you,” He says, looking back up at them. He doesn’t like to look right into people’s eyes, never has, but it’s not so bad with them. Sometimes. And he knows they’ll let him look away when it’s too much. “You know? You, you should… you should maybe find someone else.”

“I should be there for the man I love,” Laken says, voice getting a little softer. There’s a clatter of metal steam-cups over by the counter, the baristas rinsing everything out during this slow time, when the nearly-overwhelming rain means no one is getting out of their car right now.

The two old men - Mr. Malley and Mr. Cilly - have gone back to their homes. It’s nearly lunchtime, and Chris’s stomach feels a little hollowed. He’ll get a scone in a little while, maybe. If he remembers.

“But... everyone who loves me dies, gets hurt, gets gets gets lost,” Chris whispers, feeling a sharp twist inside him. A grief and pain that was wiped away, pushed down by drugs but never fully destroyed. It rises in a wave to break against him, as if they have only just died, the two of them. His mother’s eyes fading as she told him it would be okay, in the end. His father had already been gone.

“That’s a goddamn lie,” Laken says, and there’s an insistence even in their half-whisper. “Jake’s still here. Nat’s still here. Antoni’s still here, Kauri’s still here. I’m still here. Hell, those weird old dudes seem to care about you and they’re still here, aren’t they?”

“But, but, but when I, when I tell everyone-”

“I’ll be right fucking there. Wherever you want me.”

“Everyone will know what I am.” They’re silent, but he can feel their correction behind their lips, barely held back, and he smiles, just a little. “Okay, okay. What I, um, what, what I had to do.”

“If that’s what you want to do, I support you. And I’m not turning away just because you’re doing something amazing, even if it’s dangerous.” They run a finger along his jaw, and their smile is bright, their teeth just slightly crooked in a way Chris loves. “I told you. My future is with you, and that’s a choice I made like a month after you said that you loved me the first time. I knew it was me and you, Chris. Whatever stands in our way, we’ll get through it.”

Chris blinks at them, thinking, and then his own smile widens. It’s still a little trembling, a little hesitant… but stronger. “Blow, um. Blow it apart and go through the wreckage.”

“What?” Laken blinks back at him.

He shakes his head, smiling and laying his ear back down over their heart, looking out the window at the driving rain. It’s made puddles in the parking lot, and he sees a bright white and red polka-dot umbrella as someone makes a mad dash for their car from the bookstore a few doors down.

“My mom,” He says, softly. “My, um. Mr. Malley said… my mom would, um, would would do that. If she couldn’t get over something, or around it, she’d… she’d she’d she’d go through it. Knock it it it it it down or, or, or, um, blow it up."

“Then let’s make like your mom,” Laken says, softly. “And blow WRU to bits and walk right through whatever’s left of their bullshit and build our life there. Take their wreckage and make a statue out of it. Or a hammer. Which we will then bash them with."

He laughs, against them, and they laugh, too.

He's missed the sound of their laughter so much.

When their hand moves down, he grabs onto it. Their fingers are warm, as always. Warm and dry, the perfect counterpoint to the weather. They press a kiss to his hair and he lets his eyes close, enjoying the feeling.

“Do, um. Do do do do you want to meet her?”

“Who?”

“My mom. And, um, I guess, I guess my dad, too. I I I I know where they are, now. Where they’re… they’re buried.”

Laken inhales sharply. “Since when?”

“Akio, um, told me. Do, do you want to… meet them?”

“Sure.” Laken hesitates, then adds in a kind of nervous feigned humor, “What if your mom doesn’t like me?”

Chris thinks of the woman in his mind, still fuzzy around the edges and with a voice he can only remember when he isn’t thinking too much about it. Dark hair and a bright laugh, holding him tightly when he needed it and letting him run when he needed that instead. The woman who went to every single practice and meet, who had been so excited for him to qualify for the national elite team alongside Akio. He can almost see her clearly, if he keeps his eyes closed and forces his way around the headache that still tries to push her back into the light.

“I think,” He murmurs, “She, she, she, she would have liked you. A lot. And and and and probably been mad it took me so, um, so so so long to bring you by."

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

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tenthgrove · 3 years ago

Text

Yandere Prompt Event: Poly La Squadra with 24, 223 and 242

24: “Can’t you see? The world is a scary and dangerous place. If you stay here, you’ll be safe. In my arms.” 223: “Why are you crying? Who hurt you? I’ll bash their skulls in.” 242: “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that? Your body is for my eyes only.”

Cw for attempted date rape (not by a character)

In any other place, a crash as loud as the one you just heard in the adjoining house would be cause for concern, but not here. You’re entirely used to this sort of thing from La Squadra.

You continue picking out your jacket for the evening as someone, your best guess is Formaggio, scrambles to their feet on the other side of the wall. You chuckle a little as you hear the pained ‘I’m fine,” resonate through the building followed by a few frantic questions from Pesci to make sure this is really the case.

Truth be told, you don’t know where your odd neighbours La Squadra got their nickname from, though with their close, laddish behaviour, you suppose it’s not a surprise. You asked once and Illuso said it’s because they’re a hit squad for the mafia, which you found to be a right good laugh.

Accessories selected, you grab your bag and make your way to the front door. Your days have been good lately, and a night on the town should do you wonderfully in such a mood, especially when your date for the evening is such a good looker. As you step into the street, you catch sight of Illuso on his front porch with a drinking glass. He clicks his tongue as he eyes you.

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that? Your body is for our eyes only,” he calls out mockingly. You start and turn to him, ready to rebuke such a rude comment when a voice louder than yours shouts down from the top floor.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” Gelato yells from his bedroom. Sorbet comes to his side, looking down at Illuso with an equal amount of fury. “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO THEM?”

“Alright, alright. It’s just a joke,” Illuso defends himself. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“So? Apologise,” Sorbet demands. Illuso grumbles but complies.

“See? That wasn’t hard was it?” Gelato jeers him. “Sorry about him (y/n). Hope you have a nice night.”

“You too!” You call up to them. “See you!”

Sorbet shuts the window and you continue on your way, not wanting to say another word to Illuso after such an unpleasant encounter. All said, despite your overall good standing with La Squadra, this isn’t the first time one of them has said something… oddly possessive, for a person who is meant to be no more than your friend. You try to blame it on the alcohol. Surely there can’t be something the squad isn’t telling you. No, that would just be baseless suspicion.

::::::::::::

The club is very much alive as you walk up to the front door. You’ve been here a few times, a fan of the music and the eccentric revellers. You’re sure tonight will go just as smoothly, and you’re excited to meet your date. So far, you’ve only spoken online.

You catch sight of three familiar faces swaying out the front. It’s Melone, Ghiaccio and Formaggio, the latter of whom looks barely conscious as he sways on the others’ arms. You rush over to check on them.

“Is he okay?” you ask.

“Fine. Just shit-drunk,” Ghiaccio sighs. “We’re taking him home.”

“Didn’t you leave after I did? How is he this drunk already?”

“He was drinking at home, but it wasn’t clear how much until he got here. Anyway, we don’t want him puking anyway, so we’ll be taking our leave. Hope you enjoy yourself darling!” Melone bids you.

“Wait, you aren’t actually going in there are you?” Ghiaccio criticises. “This place is dangerous as fuck, you really shouldn’t be in there alone.”

“Let them have their fun Ghia,” Melone maintains. “I’m sure they’ll be just fine.”

“Oh trust me, I will be. Surely if this place were that dangerous it would have shut by now,” you reckon. “Anyway, nice bumping into you, see you later!” you tell them, heading off to the door.

Melone waves, then, unseen to you, pulls out his phone.

“Risotto? Yes, it’s Melone. The emails right, they’re in the club. I was going to go in to see who their date was, but with Formaggio in this state we won’t even get past the bouncers. If you could take our place, it would be much appreciated.”

::::::::::::

Are you even awake? You can’t be sure when your body is so light and heavy at the same time. How do you feel so drunk when all you had was half the drink your date bought you. At least he’s here, letting you lean on him as he takes you out to wherever this is. He’s been so nice to you all night, buying you that drink and… oh. You need to get out of here.

“Excuse me?” you slur. “I’m gonna go back inside. Don’t worry about me, I can call-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” your date says, his grip around your waste tightening. “Just a little further.”

“No, I’m not going with you!” you insist, trying to break away. The man utters something profane and attempts to lift you up. You thrash, but in such a weakened state, what hope do you have?

You’re utterly without defence.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” A voice yells from behind. Are the drugs messing with your hearing? Because a voice that deep could only be-

“Risotto! Get (y/n) out of the way! I’m going to handle this bastard!” A second voice shouts. That’s Prosciutto! Why the hell are those two of all people in a place like this.

There’s a brief struggle before you find yourself in a pair of arms distinctly warmer than the last. Risotto hoists you up against his chest and carries you several steps back, safe from the fight about to begin between Prosciutto and your attacker.

From what you don’t know, your attacker lets out an ear-wrenching scream.

“Risotto, what’s he doing?” you ask weakly. You’re starting to cry from fear and confusion.

“Hush, don’t worry about it,” Risotto says. He turns around and holds your face against his chest so you cannot see at all. There’s more screaming, all of it your former date’s. Then, when it is weakened to a whimper, a gunshot.

Prosciutto steps over to join you.

“Why are you crying? Did anyone else hurt you? Who hurt you? I’ll bash their skulls in.”

“They aren’t hurt,” Risotto assures him. “Just frightened, it isn’t surprising.”

You cannot bring yourself to respond, just slipping down further in Risotto’s embrace as your remaining strength gives out. Risotto kneels with you to keep you in his arms.

“If I knew this would happen I never would have let them out of that damn house,” Prosciutto gripes.

“Likewise. The risks are getting greater. As syndicate control in this area grows stronger, the thugs are becoming more brazen,” Risotto agrees. He looks down at you sobbing in his arms, and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Prosciutto?” Risotto says.

“Mm?”

“It’s time. There’s no other way to protect them.”

You look up.

“What? What do you mean? What do you-”

Your voice is cut off into a muffled panic as your face is pushed against Risotto’s shoulder, arms pinned behind your back and bound with rope.

“Wait! What are you doing! Ris- Pros- I-”

“Shh,” Risotto calms you, hoisting you over his shoulder and leading you to the car at the end of the alleyway. “Can’t you see? The world is a scary and dangerous place. If you stay here, you’ll be safe. In my arms.”

#TG's yandere event #yandere cw #date rape cw #la squadra #la squadra x reader

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odos-bucket · 3 years ago

Text

Protective Batbros, a subsidiary of my Protective Batdad series

Tim is sitting alone.

It was something Dick had made note of shortly after arriving at the gala. There are people scattered around at various tables, but even more people milling about and socializing. Before he can do more than smile and nod to the newest Robin, a small group of WE investors draw his attention into a dull conversation.

Dick talks with them for a little while, then makes his rounds throughout the big hall, mingling with various acquaintances, and sampling some hors d’oeuvres. By the time he’s back to where he began, he notices that Tim is still sitting by himself. Or, he amends, maybe someone else has been by and gone again?

Tim ’s posture is perfectly straight, and he isn’t looking around. His expression is neutral, but not blank like he’s spacing out. There are appetizers on his plate that he clearly hasn’t touched. One of his hands is folded in his lap, the thumb of the other hand is rubbing methodically at the polished handle of a decorative spoon. Dick makes his way over to take the seat beside him.

“Heya, kiddo.”

“Dick!” Tim’s face lights up when he sees him, if only for a moment, which makes Dick’s heart light up as well, as he pulls the kid into a one armed hug.

He makes a brief mental note of how tightly Tim clings to him in return, then files the observation away to analyze later.

He doesn’t like how little they’ve seen Tim around the manor recently. His parents have been in town for the past week and a half, which throws a bit of a wrench into their nighttime escapades.

But it’s a good thing, he reminds himself. Tim doesn’t get to spend nearly enough time with his parents; it’s good that they’re around. Dick feels a little guilty for thinking of them as an inconvenience, even though he’s pretty sure Bruce does too.

Dick leans back into his own seat, but keeps an arm resting on the back of Tim’s.

“How’s it going?” He asks.

“Okay,” Tim says with a shrug, expression and posture already returned to their neutral state.

“Been kinda boring without you around this past week.”

“Yeah, sorry. My dad likes to know where I am.” He begins to rub his hands together, then seems to realize what he’s doing, and forces himself to return to the subtler motion of worrying at the silverware.

Dick nods, watching his hand.

“Must be nice having them around for a while.” He is being supportive. He needs to be supportive.

“I- yeah. It’s great…”

Dick looks at him with an open expression, waiting for some clarification.

“They’re not like around around,” Tim says. “They still work. But it’s nice when we get to have dinner together. And Mom says that maybe we can try to have a family game night before they have to leave again, if there’s time…”

Dick resists the urge to ask when that will be. Tim sees right through him.

“They’ll be leaving for Norway before the end of the month.”

Dick isn’t sure what the appropriate reaction to that is, and his expression sort of ends up stumbling into a grimace. He glances down to keep it concealed, and Tim is kind enough not to draw attention to it.

“I’m sorry they’re not staying longer. But it’ll be good to have you around again.”

Tim nods absently. An uncomfortable expression flits across his face, but vanishes quickly.

“Tim, are you feeling okay?”

At first he just gets a noncommittal noise in response to the question, then after a minute Tim wrinkles his nose, and glances around the room.

“It’s loud.”

Dick nods. He hadn’t really been attuned to the noise level himself. It wasn’t especially loud by Gotham aristocracy standards, but he could see how it might be annoying to someone who was bothered by that type of thing, or just wasn’t particularly used to it. Of course, Time would be used to it though, so that didn’t really factor in here.

“I might have some headphones in the car,” he offers. “They’re not noise cancelling, but they might help. Do you want me to go gram ‘em?”

Tim’s expression shifts, and he eyes Dick, like he’s trying to decipher something about him.

“This isn’t exactly an appropriate setting for headphone,” he says after a minute. “I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

“I don’t think anyone here who’s sober enough to notice whether or not you’re wearing headphones is going to feel slighted if you are.”

Tim shrugs stiffly. Dick glances to where his hand is still fidgeting with the flatware, and feels a spark of concern that he might just rub a hole into the pad of his thumb.

“Why don’t we step out for a sec?” He suggests.

“Because it would be rude?” Tim offers uncertainly, not picking up on the rhetorical nature of the question.

“Just for a minute,” Dick insists. He doesn’t like how uneasy Tim is here.

Tim glances around them cautiously, twitching slightly as the band hits a particularly high note, then turns his attention back to Dick and nods.

They head out through the front doors. And while a few people glance at them as they leave, no one hinders their exit.

Outside, Tim seems to finally notice the blister he’s been wearing into his thumb all evening.

“Does that hurt?” Dick asks.

He doesn’t get a response at first, as Tim is frowning down at the finger with apparently intense concentration.

“It’s ugly,” he says after a minute. “I used to pull at the skin around my nails. It never hurt badly, just looked weird.”

“I think Bruce keeps bandaids in the car. I’ll go grab you one.”

“That’s-“ Tim begins.

But Dick is already halfway down the wide outdoor staircase. He doesn’t want to leave Tim along for long if he’s been by himself all night, but figures he probably won’t miss much in the forty five seconds it should take him to get to the car and back.

He finds bandaids, and a set of earplugs in the glove compartment. As he dashes back to the main entrance, he acknowledging that the round trip may have taken closer to sixty five seconds, but figures that’s still pretty good.

When he gets to the top of the stairs Tim’s talking with a woman. Or rather, he’s holding very still and being talked at, by a very unhappy woman, who it takes Dick a moment to recognize as Janet Drake.

“-Don’t know what could possibly have made you think it was appropriate to come out here in the middle of a party. We came back to the table and you were gone! People were asking about you too, and what were we supposed to tell them?”

“Hi,” Dick interrupts, as loudly as he thinks he can get away with, and in a deliberately upbeat voice. “I’m so sorry! I had to get something from my car, and asked Tim to come keep me company. I thought we’d be back in before anyone had a chance to miss us.” He dips his head apologetically, and looks back up with a bashful grin.

Mrs. Drake seems completely caught off guard, looking rapidly between Dick and her son, whose gaze has been mostly focused on a spot behind her right ear. After a minute she manages to force some composure into her expression.

“It’s not that we mind you borrowing him, Mr. Grayson-Wayne. It’s just coming back to the table to find that he’s not there, you understand-“

Dick waves off the rushed explanation of her concern.

“I’m sorry to have worried you.”

She studies him for a minute. Dick isn’t sure what she’s looking for, or what she thinks she’s seeing. But he matches her scrutiny, and forces down the thought that he does not like this woman.

She looks away from him quickly enough, clearing her throat.

“Come, Timothy.��

Dick slips the bandaid and earplugs into Tim’s suit pocket as he follows them back inside, and squeezes his shoulder once there’s no longer a plausible reason for them to be going in the same direction.

He then proceeds to spend the rest of the evening maneuvering himself to keep the Drakes in the periphery of his line of sight, keeping an eye on his little brother. Because Tim can handle himself in this environment, but Dick knows he doesn’t like it, knows that all the sound and bright light gives him a headache. And they’re all a little nervous in crowds. And he knows intellectually that the chances of anything really bad happening tonight aren’t actually all that high. Even so, he needs to look out for Tim, because what if no one else is?

It’s almost too hard to think about. Dick has given himself permission to be a little overprotective, feeling like he has a pretty damn good reason to be. But the thing is, Tim’s not really supposed to need it. Not all the time. Not here. He has a family. Dick has always felt a little guilty for resenting them, but watching the Drake’s go the rest of the night without saying more than a stray word or two to their son makes him wonder if maybe he has the right.

He doesn’t know their situation, not really. But he knows what he sees and he doesn’t like it.

“Can we make sure Tim’s family’s at the same table as us the next time we have to go to one of these?” He asks Bruce later that night, asks as if they themselves aren’t already Tim’s family, even if it feels wrong to imply.

Bruce hums a distracted agreement, and Dick thinks he must see it too.

Not that it matters especially, but I kind of picture this happening in the same continuity as this story, but maybe a couple months beforehand (or maybe just a couple of weeks if you want the Drakes to be on the same visit).

Hope you enjoy!

#tim drake #dick grayson #batman #batfam #batfamily #robin #nightwing #my writing #bat bros #batbros #is that a tag?#I don't know #fanfiction

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i-moved-blogs-ffs · 4 years ago

Note

Danganronpa request can a reader who is really kind and a sweetheart adopt the warriors of hope and helpem to forget they traumas and also can the reader beat the hell up the warriors of hope parents after everything they done to those innocents children's please

Of course, my darling! I love the WoH so much- I adopted them too, they're your adoptive siblings now so you all gotta get along ok-

These are probably gonna spiral into parenting headcanons because I cannot help myself- just let these kiddos have a happy home life man- :(

TW for mentions of abuse. It's nothing explicit, but it can be upsetting to some. Please be cautious.

Anyways, let's get started!

- 🌸🍭mod mikan🍭🌸

S/O adopting the WoH!

Now, we all know these kiddos had a bad time.

They were all abused in different ways, neglected, put down to the lowest point they could be.

Junko was like a light at the end of the tunnel for them, a savior - someone who cared, someone who they could trust, someone who loved them. But it was all lies.

She didn't care.

They couldn't trust her.

She didn't love them.

But then, you came around. At first, they thought you were like every other demon; evil, cold and uncaring.

And yet, there was this warmth radiating off of you... Almost like another light they could chase to get to true joy.

After Komaru and Toko defeated each of them, they felt lost. What were they supposed to do now that their empire has failed? Were the adults going to punish them, by abusing and taking advantage of them even further?

The group wandered the streets of Towa City, alone, hiding from every adult they could see and fending for themselves.

However, they stumbled upon you and Komaru. You two have been actively looking for them after finding out they survived.

But the reason why you were looking for them, was pretty unexpected.

You wanted to take them in as your own. They were just kids after all, no matter how much they tried to make themselves seem bigger. You wanted to help them, teach them that not everyone will hurt them, because they deserve to be loved like any other child does.

And so, they went with you. Very reluctantly mind you, but they didn't have much of a choice.

And as time went on, they opened up to you, one by one. And soon, you guys became like a happy family.

Somewhat dysfunctional, but still happy family.

Ok so, origin story's out of the way, now let's get in a bit deeper-

Parenting the Warriors is pretty hard- they each have something about themselves that you need to keep in mind.

And besides, taking care of 5 children wouldn't be easy even if they weren't traumatized-

You have to be patient, warm and kind to them, and to you that's no problem!

I would imagine Masaru would be the first to let his guard down around you, because he could tell that you weren't a bad person from the start.

He would start to admire you greatly, seeing you as the only cool adult around!!

He's always trying to impress you or get your attention because of that. And you always give him praise, telling him he's the most awesome kiddo ever!!

He always gets a bit bashful when you do, scratching his head as an "awhh, shucks!", escaping his lips.

He's very fond of you! He wants to do the things you do, like trying out your hobbies or imitating your mannerisms. He just wants to be as cool as you are.

While it is cute, you have to teach him that he's only the best when he's himself!

Kotoko was probably the second to open up. The first thing she noticed is that you never, ever used her trigger word in a sentence, not even on accident. You always used words like "soft", "tender" or "mallow", maybe even "delicate".

Not me looking up synonyms on thesaurus.com rn shHDHS

Like Masaru, her initial gut reaction always told her you were a good person, but the walls she had built up just couldn't let you in right away.

And when she does get comfortable, she becomes super clingy. She's almost as fond of you as Masaru is, honestly-

She always goes to you for any sort of help. She feels like you're the only person she can trust 100%, whether it be with her feelings or some other problem.

You're like- the only person who she's super nice to all the time. She used to be like that with Monaca, until you took them in.

Actually, speaking of that, they completely stopped literally worshipping Monaca's every move once you entered their lives.

Now, next up is Jataro. He initially thought you hated his every move, and that you only took him in because of pity.

But, you were proving him wrong every day. Going out of your way to talk to him, being so incredibly kind that it made his heart hurt.

You always help him out with his art! He loves when you sit down and paint, sculpt or draw with him, even if you're not artistic yourself. He feels like he's wanted, and all of that self-hatred almost completely washes away.

The biggest moment was when you finally convinced him to take off his mask. And when he did, you could tell he was way happier.

You two burned the mask together, leaving that part of his life behind you and turning over a new leaf.

And because of your influence, the rest of the kids are way nicer to him as well now!

Nagisa was the fourth one to take his guard down.

He saw how much Masaru, Kotoko and Jataro trusted you, and after observing you further, he began to see why.

He was always very distant from you, and you respected that. So, you were pleasantly surprised when he suddenly started going out of his way to help you, talk to you or spend time with you. However, you never questioned it, which made him relieved.

It's like you two silently agreed that you were cool with eachother.

He's very mature for his age, so he's the first one to try and help you with regular day-to-day tasks, even without you asking for said help.

Mans over here about to start doing your taxes HDHDH-

You always tell him to chill out, but he insists. He knows how much trouble he and his adoptive siblings are making for you, and it's his own way of thanking you.

Now, Monaca's a little interesting.

At first she was only pretending to care about you, like she did with the rest of the Warriors, but after a while she genuinely grew to love both you and her siblings.

She doesn't like the fact she cares one bit, but she can't help it.

She still has very manipulative tendencies, but you always see through them and her lies. You call her out on it, but never berate her.

She's very kiss ass-y, I guess?? Always complimenting you for the smallest reasons and calling you sweet nicknames.

She sometimes just wants to make you mess up to try and get herself to stop caring-

Like whenever a problem comes up, she always goes, "S/O can fix it!😌🙏 Our (affectionate parental term) dearest can do anything!🥰💞" and the rest of the kids are like "yah!!💖💕" because they love and support you while you're just there like🧍

Because no you can't rebuild the economy do you look like bob the fucking builder-

AnywaY their parents are already dead, so you guys beat up H*ji instead. :)

Ah, family bonding time. 💕

And done!! I love these little spawns of satan so much you guys don't even know- this was literally so fun to write that I think I got carried away a bit hshGhd- I hope this is ok!

Make sure to wash your hands, stay hydrated, take any meds you may need to and stay safe! You were so brave, have a lollipop! 🍭

#nurse!🍭#mod nurse🍭#mod mikan🍭#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa ultra despair girls #ultra despair girls x reader #masaru daimon #kotoko utsugi #jataro kemuri #nagisa shingetsu #monaca towa

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

Note

Hey there! Admittedly I'm a little bit nervous since this is my first ask, but I'll try to not be too rambly.

So, recently the main subreddit, r/RWBY, made a ban on active users of the r/RWBYcritics subreddit. As a result there's been discussion around bad-faith criticism in the latter subreddit. What are your takes on bad-faith criticism?

For me personally, I think a bunch of people are misusing the term "bad-faith" and using it as a way to shut down criticism, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it.

Hey there, everyone! We woke up to some drama this morning, huh? And hello to you too, Tortoise! I'm so glad you decided to send in an ask, even if it's following some pretty tumultuous events...

Right, I'd like to start with a story. The story of how I personally don't spend time on Reddit, but I have plenty of friends who will occasionally cross-post something for me to see. Yesterday (or the day before? Idk time is meaningless) a friend told me about a post — which, significantly, I'm now having trouble finding — that covers RWBY's inconsistent writing and the fandom's tendency to try and explain away those missteps. They'd thought I'd be interested because I'd just had a conversation here on tumblr where I made that exact point to someone who, also significantly, vehemently disagreed with me, but in a very civil fashion. Given everything going on, I feel like this side point needs emphasis: we debated, we did so in a sometimes heated, but nevertheless respectful manner, it was clear neither of us was going to sway the other, and the conversation ended. The two "sides" of the community interacted without Armageddon coming about.

But back to the purpose of this tale. I went to take a look at this point and found that it no longer exists. There's just some vague message about it not obeying the subreddit's rules. "What happened?" I asked. "Why'd they take the post down?" "People were getting too heated in the comments," my friend replies. So, given that the comments were still visible, I proceeded to read through them, expecting personal attacks, slurs, harassment, etc. Any number of things that would justify deleting the post itself to put an end to such behavior. Instead, I found a thread of people having a conversation. Was the conversation heated at times? Sure. Did one or two individual posters edge into the realm of petulant, "No. You're wrong and stupid" responses? Yes. Was any of this remotely what I was expecting given the post's removal? NOPE.

"This isn't allowed?" I said. "Well then what is? People were being civil! Or at least as civil as hundreds of strangers ever get when discussing a series they're passionate about online."

Then, this morning, I hear that the entire critic subreddit has been banned.

So to answer your question, Tortoise, I don't actually think that "good faith" criticism exists. Meaning, it's not just that fans are misusing the term "bad faith criticism," but rather that there is no unified, agreed up method of writing criticism that will meet their standards. It's not possible and we know it's not possible because fans have been trying to meet those elusive standards for years:

A fan posts nothing but praise for RWBY until changes make them criticize the show as it is now. Their entire body of work is dismissed as the product of a "hater," despite the overwhelming gap between positive and negative reviews.

A fan posts a review that's a pretty balanced mix between praise and criticism. They're dismissed because it's still too much criticism.

A fan posts a review that's 99% praise with 1% criticism. That's still too much, with fans focusing on the single problem they had with the work and using it as an excuse to dismiss the entire review out of hand.

(As an aside, the argument that critics are "obsessed" with only saying negative things and that the only problem here is that they're "too" negative ignores the argument that... RWBY has a lot of flaws nowadays. Few are willing to acknowledge the possibility that it's not fans insisting on making things up to be mad about/ignoring the good parts of the show, it's the that show is, as of now, legitimately more of a mess than it is a praise-worthy product. If I'd been writing recaps in the Volumes 1-4 days, my work would have been skewed far more towards the positive. The critics' stance is that RWBY has gotten worse, which yes, results a higher volume of critical posts. To say nothing of how criticism takes far longer to explain, likewise resulting in posts focused primarily on that side of the divide. I really enjoyed the image of a crying Jaune reflected in his sword. I did not enjoy that moment's context. Saying that you liked an animation choice is a one sentence thing. Explaining the complexities of Jaune securing emotional moments, the problems with Penny's second death, the hurt many fans experienced watching an assisted suicide, etc. takes a whooole lot longer. Hence, you get massive, multiple posts about these nuanced topics and fewer, smaller posts about the details that are working well.)

A fan talks about a topic that has been metaphorically banned by the fandom as a whole. They have something good to say about Ironwood. They dislike something about Blake/Yang. They enjoyed Adam as a character. They have a problem with Ruby's leadership, etc. There's a whole list of topics nowadays that will result in an automatic dismissal, regardless of the point the fan is trying to make or how well they make it.

A fan talks about the minority representation of RWBY — its black characters, its queer characters, its disabled characters, etc. — and as a result has something to say about the biases and missteps of those writing these characters. This is considered an attack on the writers and, therefore, automatically bad.

A fan talks about how they enjoyed RWBY as it was years ago and is having trouble reconciling the dark, complicated story with the simple, hopeful one we started out with. This is seen as an attack on Monty's vision and an unwillingness to accept that "everything is planned."

A fan does as asked and ensures that their post is meeting all the requirements of "real" criticism. They have an argument to make. They have a point. They provide evidence. They recommend a solution. They keep their tone respectful. They don't attack the creators. They provide disclaimers in every single paragraph about how they do not hate RWBY. It doesn't matter. They're considered too negative.

I have, quite literally, seen every one of the above examples on multiple occasions. I have had many of the above accusations leveled at my own work. When fans say that they're fine with criticism provided it's not "bad faith" criticism, they don't actually have a specific post-type in mind; a checklist of behaviors another fan can emulate and, provided they do that, no hate will come their way. Or, if an individual fan does actually go, "Yeah. That criticism I'm fine with" that response is in no way universal. One person's "They make a good, civil point" is another person's, "Omg stop bashing the show!" Because "bashing" has come to mean everything from curse-laden insults towards everything RWBY has ever done, to posts that just happen to say something other fans don't agree with.

It's a rigged game. There is no way to post criticism about RWBY in an agreed-upon, appropriate manner. This recent ban is proof of that. I think it's incredibly telling that almost immediately after I was going, "Wow. A pretty calm debate about the flaws of RWBY in the main sub. That's great to see," all posters from the criticism subreddit were banned. The main sub literally just had the sort of criticism that they claim to accept — people respectfully posting analysis-based arguments resulting in calm debate — and yet they implemented the ban anyway. I'm not going to pretend that I've never gotten too heated on my own posts, never made snarky comments when I'm frustrated, never used exaggerated reaction GIFs that can come across as insulting... but I'd say on the whole my RWBY work is precisely the sort of "good faith" criticism that other fans are supposedly looking for. I never make an argument I don't think I can back up with evidence. I try to allow for the nuance and differing opinions of complicated topics. I try — even if I don't always succeed — to write in a clear, respectful manner. Yet none of that work has stopped people from telling me I'm a "bitter... raging asshole," a "deranged, delusional psychopath," telling me to set myself on fire, threatening to smash my head in, or just messages to straight up kill myself. If someone like me who legitimately works hard to create fair, defendable criticism and who only ever posts on a personal blog that people can easily block, who never engages in debate until someone else starts it first, never seeks out other fans I disagree with to harass them about what they like... if someone like me is still a "bad faith" critic who "deserves" that kind of hate mail... then what kind of criticism do people want?

Nothing. That's the answer. No criticism whatsoever, of any kind, no matter if it's delivered respectfully, is making a good point, whatever. That's why "RWDE" was created. That's why the critic subreddit was created. The community at large has demanded a complete separation between Praise and Anything That's Not 100% Praise, which has now resulted in this ban. Any other explanations we see are excuses, which becomes glaringly obvious when you look at the mods' supposed reasons for implementing the ban:

"Constant arguments with r/RWBY users" - As opposed to the arguments surrounding things like shipping that never, ever happen?

"Vote manipulation and comment brigades" - The subreddit with 3,000 participants, with around 200 on at a time, is manipulating the votes of a subreddit with 155,000 participants, with over 1,000 on at a time? Those numbers just do not check out. If a positive post is downvoted, or a critical post upvoted, maybe that's because large swaths of the community actually agree/disagree with that assessment, not because the incredibly smaller group is somehow manipulating things.

"Attacking and harassing those they disagree with" — Again, as opposed to those non-critics that never, ever harass people? This is an individual problem, not a community problem. Both critics and non-critics have their sub-groups acting in ways they shouldn't. If anything, the main sub will have more individuals harassing other fans, simply by virtue of being so much larger. As the above examples attest, it's not other critics who have told me to light myself on fire and, just to be clear, the asks I've responded to are a miniscule number compared to the amount I've received. I delete the lion's share for my own sanity and to save my followers from reading the really graphic threats.

"Months-long NSFL spam brigades" — I am, admittedly, not sure what this is referring to. Spamming of NSFW content? If so, that's also an individual problem.

"Homophobic, transphobic, and racist attacks towards our users" — See the above points. Again. If someone is being homophobic, transphobic, or racist, then yes please, ban them. Don't ban an entire community for the actions of a few. It's like walking into a store and banning a customer for causing a scene... but then also banning everyone else who happened to be shopping at the same time. It's guilt by association.

The silver lining to all this? The community as a whole isn't pleased. At least according to the main subreddit comments and a few individual voices like MurderofBirds. Despite the increase (from my perspective anyway) of critical voices post-Volume 8, criticism of RWBY is still very much seen as taboo. As this ban showcases. But it's really reassuring to see so many fans, critics and non-critics alike, going, "This was a mistake." A community is meant to include all aspects of engagement: praise, criticism, and the gray area between. If anything, fans like the mods of the main subreddit should be creating a separate subreddit that is specifically for praise. In the same way that there should have been a tag for RWBY praise, rather than trying to eliminate any and all criticism from the main "RWBY" tag. The majority of fans, even those who claim to hate critics and all they (presumably) stand for, recognize that a blanket ban of all criticism is not the way to go, especially when "criticism" has come to have such a staggeringly broad definition. If you want your RWBY experience to be nothing but sunshine and roses (ha), then cultivate your own internet experience to reflect that. Create your own pockets with rules about how this is the space for praise and if you're not up for praising RWBY right now, don't interact with us in this particular space. Don't try to make the entire community — the main tools used to discuss the show online — conform to your preferences. As established, there is no "good" criticism that everyone in the fandom will accept, which just leaves a fandom with no criticism at all. I'm glad to see I'm far from the only one who, when presented with that extreme, is going, "Nope. No thank you."

#rwby #mymetas #suicide tw #rwde

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intheticklecloset · 4 years ago

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My Hero Academia Sentence Starters #1-10

A collection of the MHA sentence starters I've done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories.

~~~

1) Lee Deku, Ler Kaminari

“How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?”

Kaminari blanched, shocked and hurt by Deku’s harsh tone. He took a step back, frowning at the boy who sat at his desk, eyes angry and fists clenched.

However, a moment later it seemed to register with Deku what he’d done, and he instantly went from looking livid to looking guilty. “I’m…I’m sorry, Kaminari. I just…” He sighed heavily. “I want to get this done, and everyone keeps telling me to take a break, but I can’t, I’m so close—”

Kaminari paused, looking at him with concern. “They’re…they’re right, you know. You need to take a break; you’ve been up here for hours. You’ve had half the class tell you to come eat dinner or watch TV or something.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. If not willingly, then because I’ll make you.”

Deku looked at him, seeing the wiggling fingers seconds before they made contact with his upper ribs, trying to wiggle their way into his underarms, which Kaminari knew was a bad spot. Surprised, panicked giggles spilled from Deku immediately, without his consent. “Nohohohoho! Kaminariehehehehehehe! I h-hahahahahave to fihihihinish--!”

“You’ll finish it after you take a break.” Kaminari finally managed to get into one underarm, nearly toppling Deku out of his chair in a fit of hysterical giggles. “Don’t make me use my tickle-shocks on you. I’ll do it, Midoriya.”

“Nohohohohohohohohoho!” Deku pleaded, squealing when Kami gave up on his other underarm and instead went for his hip. “NAHAHAHA!! OKAY OKAHAHAHAHAY I’LL TAHAHAHAKE A BREAK!!”

Kaminari grinned, satisfied, and tugged Deku out of his chair. “Come on. Dinner and video games. That’s what’s on the agenda for you for the next hour, my friend.”

2) Lee Deku, Ler Shinsou

“Wanna show me your face, bashful?”

Deku shook his head, still covering his blushing face. Shinsou smiled down at him, lazily trailing his fingers up and down his boyfriend’s sides, making him squirm and giggle quietly.

“That’s too bad. I guess you really don’t want me to tickle you, then.” Shinsou grinned.

“Shinsou,” Deku whined, “that’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“I can’t look at you while you’re t…tic…” Deku stammered, trying and failing to say one of his favorite words. Shinsou noticed his ears became as red as his face. “You know.”

“Do I?” The violet-haired boy chuckled lowly, gradually trailing his fingers up into Deku’s underarms. “Come on, Izuku. I want to see your cute face.”

“I c-cahahahahan’t,” Deku whimpered, giggling louder now, at war with himself between bringing his arms down protectively or keeping his face covered up. “You’re so mehehehehean…”

“Aww, but I want to see that big smile of yours.” Shinsou gently grasped his wrists. “Let me see you, Izuku.”

“Nohohohoho…” Deku kept giggling even though Shinsou wasn’t tickling him anymore, his hands gradually pulled away from his face. He twisted his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. Shinsou took the opportunity to begin nibbling on his exposed neck. Deku jerked beneath him, trying to cover up again, but this time Shinsou held his wrists firmly and wouldn’t let go. “Nohohohohoho! S-Shinsou, no fahahahahahahair!”

“You are literally the cutest thing on this planet,” Shinsou murmured between nibbles. “Sorry, Izuku – I’m not letting you hide this time~”

3) Lee Todoroki, Ler Kirishima

“Put me down,” Todoroki said.

Kiri grunted. “Nah, man, I got you. Go ahead.”

“You’re going to drop me.”

“I’m unbreakable.”

“I’m not.” Todoroki gripped Kirishima’s shoulders with his legs. He was perched precariously on them, trying to change a lightbulb in the living room. Rather than get a chair from the kitchen, Kiri had suggested using him as a boost, which Todoroki was now seriously regretting. “Kirishima, just put me down and let’s get a chair. It’ll be safer than whatever this is.”

“I got you, Todo,” Kiri replied, holding him firmer for emphasis. “Go ahead and change it.”

Todoroki rolled his eyes. He wasn’t playing this game today. Rather than do as Kiri said, he reached down to scribble into his open underarms, making the redhead yelp and tumble backwards, losing his footing and falling toward the couch.

Todoroki quickly made an ice slide for himself, knowing he’d fall over the back of the couch if he didn’t. Once they were separated – Kiri on the sofa, Todoroki on the floor – the icy-hot hero sighed. “Look what you made me do. I’m going to have to explain to Mr. Aizawa why the living room got drenched in cold water now.”

The next thing he knew, Kiri had leapt over the side of the couch and used his own slide to meet him on the floor, quickly straddling him and digging his thumbs into his hips. “If you’d have just changed the light bulb this wouldn’t have happened, Todo.”

“If yohohohohohou’d just puhut me dohohohown--!”

“I told you I had you, man.” Kiri smirked. “This is what you get for doubting me.”

4) Lee Aizawa, Ler Present Mic

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Present Mic turned on the classroom lights, grinning at his friend who lay bundled up like a caterpillar in the corner of the room. “Lunch is almost over!”

“Go away,” Aizawa muttered.

“Your kiddos are going to be back any second!”

“I know.”

“You have to get up!”

“Let me sleep, curse you.”

Mic grinned even wider, striding over to Aizawa and yanking down the zipper on his sleeping bag. “Up, up, up!”

“Ungh.” Aizawa allowed himself to be pulled out of his warm cocoon, but made no effort to stand or do anything more than go limp. “You’re so annoying.”

After successfully managing to get his friend out of his hiding place, Mic crouched down behind him an drilled his fingers into his underarms.

“Nahaha-! Whahat the-?! Mihihihic!” Aizawa screeched, trying to roll over, but Mic pinned his arms to the floor with his knees and kept tickling. “Stohohohohp!”

“Get up, get up! The second half of the day is about to begin!”

“Dohohohohohon’t you hahahave somewhere to be?!”

“I do!” Mic laughed. “Right here, tickling you awake. Look alive – the students are coming!”

“Gehehehehet off, you annoying loudmouth!” Aizawa finally managed to wiggle his way free, scrambling to his feet while Mic got to his nonchalantly, the first of his students from Class 1-A walking through the door not a second later. Aizawa glared at Mic. “I have work to do.”

“You bet you do,” Mic replied, smirking. He turned and waved over his shoulder.

5) Lee Todoroki, Ler Iida

“I know you can do it!” Iida encouraged, unable to help but smile at his friend’s predicament. “I’ve almost got it; hang in there!”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Todoroki screamed, laughing hysterically as the marker dragged up and down his foot, drawing patterns on it he couldn’t see. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE IIDA!!”

The class rep was currently drawing a map to all the pressure points in the foot, both as practice for himself and a reference for his friend to use later. He’d been surprised when Todoroki offered to let him draw on him, and even more surprised to learn how incredibly ticklish his icy-hot friend was. He smiled at the hysterics he was inadvertently producing, holding onto Todoroki’s toes to keep his foot as still as possible.

All of it was driving Todoroki up the wall. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! PLEHEHEHEASE I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAHAKE IT!! IT TIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLES, IIDA!!”

“I’ve only got a couple left,” Iida replied over the loud laughter, grinning. “You can do it.” He resisted the urge to scribble wildly just because he could. He did have a job to do. “Just one more!”

Todoroki tossed his head back and laughed louder and wilder than Iida had ever heard before when he dragged the marker’s tip along the space just below the ball of his foot. If he weren’t in the room to know what was happening, he’d think his friend was being brutally attacked.

Finally, he pulled the pen away, released his friend, and sat back. “There! All done!”

Todoroki collapsed with relief, gasping for breath, still giggling. “T-That was awful.”

Iida grinned. “Ready to do the other foot?”

“No!!”

6) Lee Deku, Ler All Might

“I thought heroes were supposed to be strong,” All Might teased, smiling at Deku. He pressed his thumbs into the soft flesh of the boy’s sides, earning the brightest, bubbliest giggles in return.

“I ahahaham strong!” Deku insisted, squirming but not trying to stop him. “I can tahahahahake it!”

“Oh, can you, now?” All Might hummed. Suddenly his soft pressing became rougher digging, and Deku knew immediately he’d regret saying that he could handle it. “We’ll see how long you can last against the number-one hero.”

“F-Fohohohohohohormerly!” Deku reminded him, always one for accuracy. However, as soon as the words were out, he wished he could take them back. “Nohohohohoho, wahahahahait, I mehehean-!”

“You wound me, young Midoriya.”

“I’m sohohohohohohorry, I dihihihihidn’t-!”

“Take this!” All Might suddenly tackled him to the floor, pinning him in place as he scribbled his fingers up and down the boy’s torso, and Deku tossed his head back and screeched with panicked, excited laughter.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! ALL MIHIHIHIHIHIHGHT!!”

“Have you forgotten, Midoriya?” The former pro hero laughed. “I am still here!”

7) Lee Kaminari, Ler Bakugou

“Be careful where you put that thing!” Denki cried, jumping out of the way.

Bakugou gave him a sideways look. “It’s a hand buzzer. It can’t hurt that bad.”

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” The electric blonde huffed out a breath. “It tickles. Watch where you’re aiming it.”

There was a long, long pause.

Bakugou glanced at the item in his hand, then up at Denki, and he grinned evilly. “It tickles, huh?”

Denki turned on his heel and bolted, but not fast enough. Bakugou had him tackled to the ground and pinned to the floor within moments, the hand buzzer pressed into his side.

“NahahaHAHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHOHOHO!!” Denki cried, laughter bursting from him before he could think about it. “Dohohohohon’t! That reheheheally t-tihihiHIHIHIHCKLES!! BAKUGOU!!”

Bakugou laughed, pressing the buzzer everywhere he could. Sides, ribs, shoulder blades, lower back. All of it made Denki squirm and cackle beneath him, begging him to stop. “You’ve got to be kidding me! If this tickles you so bad, what are tasers like?”

“WOHOHOHOHOHOHORSE!!” Denki screamed, pounding the ground with his fist. “PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IT!!”

“You know they’re worse?!” Bakugou laughed again, but he relented and let him go. “Have you been tasered before?”

Denki groaned. “Shut up.”

8) Switches Todoroki and Deku

“I just wanted a hug!” Todoroki cried, trying desperately to get away from Deku’s strong grip around his back. “Midoriya!”

“You’re getting one,” Deku replied, grinning, digging his fingertips into Todoroki’s ribs. “A tickly one.”

“You sneheheaky little-!”

“Aww, was that a giggle?”

“Of cohohohourse it was!”

“You’re so ticklish it’s adorable, Todoroki.”

The icy-hot hero blushed, squirming, trying to get away. “Stohohohop!” He grabbed onto Deku’s hip and squeezed. “Lehehet me go!”

“AIEE!!” Deku shrieked, pulling away so hard he actually took Todoroki with him, tumbling backwards and landing with a crash on the floor. Unfortunately, that left the half-and-half boy on top of him, and he was still squeezing Deku’s hip. “NAHAHAHAHAHA!! TODOROKIEHEHEHEHE!!”

“Whaaaaat?” Todoroki teased, getting settled, completely unbothered by the hands pushing at his head, his shoulders, anything they could reach. “I just want to give you a tickly hug, Midoriya~”

9) Lee Todoroki, Ler Momo

“For being such a tickle monster, you’re awfully ticklish,” Momo observed, smiling.

Todoroki lay on the ground, curled onto his side as she dug into his ribs and underarm, and he was giggling hard into the carpet. “I knohohohohohohohow!”

“Is that what you were trying to do? To get me to fight back and tickle you?” she teased, rolling him onto his back and squeezing a thigh, making him jerk and let out a loud bark of laughter. “Ooh, good spot?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Todoroki cried. He couldn’t believe how fast the tables had turned on him. One minute he’d had Momo pinned beneath him, and now here he was beneath her, laughing helplessly as her nimble fingers danced all over his torso and now his thighs. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE NOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!”

“You’re just so cute like this, Todoroki. How can I stop now?” With that, she straddled his knees and grasped both thighs, kneading deeply and sending him into fits of hysterical cackling he had no control over whatsoever. “Aw, tickle, tickle~”

“MOMO, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” He pleaded, pounding the ground. “YOU WIHIHIHIN!! I GIHIHIHIHIHIHIVE UP!!”

“Sorry,” she replied, not sounding sorry at all. “You’ll have to beg a little more than that~”

10) Lee Shigaraki, Ler Dabi

“Why are you always so grumpy?”

Shigaraki held perfectly still, staring Dabi in the eye, unwilling to give in. The fire-wielding villain had his hand wrapped around him as though going in for a side-hug, but the press of fingers into his ribs told Shigaraki that he was being anything but friendly.

“Why are you always so optimistic?” Shigaraki spat back. “It makes me sick.”

“Sorry, boss. Can’t help it, I suppose. Much like you probably can’t help being grumpy all the time.” Dabi let a slow, confident smirk creep across his face. “But I can fix that for you.”

“I don’t need fixing.”

“Oh, you need way more fixing than any of us will ever be able to help you with,” Dabi replied, digging his fingers in a little more. “But for now, I think this will do.”

Shigaraki tensed. The way they were positioned, he couldn’t easily get out of Dabi’s grip, and if he touched him with all of his fingers without thinking, he’d turn the fiery villain – quite ironically – to ash. “Don’t – don’t touch me, Dabi.” The league’s boss grunted and squirmed, but Dabi kept up. “This isn’t funny. Let me go.”

“Wow, listen to that! The boss is begging me to let him go.”

“I’m not begging,” Shigaraki snapped. “I’m demanding.” There was a pause, and then a sudden screech as a loud bout of laughter escaped him. He collapsed onto Dabi’s chest with unstoppable giggles that he hated himself for letting free. “Nohohohohoho! Stohohohohohop it!”

Dabi chuckled. “So the boss is ticklish, eh?” He wrapped both arms around him and pulled him in close, drilling his fingers into his ribs and sides and belly in rapid succession, and Shigaraki was helpless to the laughter that poured out of him in response. “That’s good to know.”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #tickle drabble #compilation #quick prompts #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #sentence starters

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hutchhitched · 4 years ago

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Don’t Talk To Me

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 76: Modern a/u Katniss is getting over the loss of her sister (you decide how) when she meets Peeta. She’s closed off but he finds a way in. Maybe she works for him? Him for her? Maybe she cries herself to sleep on his bread scented shoulder? (Please yes I need that) [submitted by @endlessnightlock]

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Y’all... It’s finally here. This is story number nine from the nine prompts I claimed for the 2020 @everlarkficexchange and then lost the will to write during the early months of the pandemic. I wasn’t sure I’d get here, but it’s happened. This is not the story I intended to write when I took the prompt, but sometimes the muse takes control, and I simply follow. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays and @endlessnightlock for being supportive of my plot change.

Katniss Everdeen hates people. Well, that’s not exactly true, but she doesn’t exactly like them either. They’re too…human or whatever. Too many acquaintances. The last thing she wants to do is get close to any of them, especially after the events of the past few months. She’s barely holding it together as it is, and introducing people or, even worse, friends could tip her right over the edge. She values her sanity.

That’s probably why the new, sweet, disgustingly optimistic, overly friendly hire at the coffee shop where Katniss works irritates her so much. He’s just so nauseatingly earnest. It makes her want to punch him in the face.

“How’s my favorite barista today?” he asks when she joins him behind the counter while still tying her apron. She mumbles noncommittally, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. “I like that sweater.”

“Peeta,” she says as she attempts to maintain control of her temper. He looks at her with such eagerness, she wilts under his obvious enthusiasm. “I’m just… It’s not a good day. Can we not?”

His face falls, and she almost relents. She doesn’t know what it is that’s convinced him she’s someone he needs to befriend, but she simply has no interest. She doesn’t want more entanglements. They hurt too much.

“Sorry,” he whispers and turns away. She swallows a twinge of guilt for hurting his feelings, but she doesn’t yield. Instead, she pivots to the espresso machine and starts making coffee. They work together silently, their only conversation about drink orders. They move around each other easily with no uncomfortable bumping or banging elbows or shoulders. He’s a good worker, at least, and he knows how to take a hint.

“See you tomorrow,” Peeta says softly as his shift ends, and she flashes a brief smile. She doesn’t want to be rude, but come on. He doesn’t have to be friends with everybody.

It continues like that for months, him fruitlessly friendly and her taciturn and distant. He continues to pursue a friendship, never pushing or prodding, simply being there and consistently showing kind. It’s exhausting.

“How do you manage to stay so sickeningly upbeat?” she asks finally after several days of wanting to scream. He wears her down. She’d tell him to stop, but she’s starting to think she might like his optimism a little bit.

He pauses for a second to glance at her before returning his attention to slipping sleeves onto the cup he’s holding. He calls out the order and smiles at the customer before answering. “What’s the other option? Being miserable?”

“Well, I’m pretty good at it.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he argues softly. “I think you’ve had a rough time, and you’re grieving and healing. No one begrudges you that.”

She gapes at him for a few seconds before snapping back to attention. The last thing she needs is to break down in front of everyone. Somehow, she thought he didn’t know anything. It’s disconcerting to realize her grief is on public display when she’s worked so hard to tuck it away. She reels, and he presses his lips together in frustration.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s… You’re fine.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m taking my break.”

His wounded expression slices through her as she flees.

****

Another couple of weeks pass before Katniss finds herself alone with Peeta again. They’re scheduled to close on a slow night, and everyone else has gone home when he locks the door behind the last customer and she turns off the light and secures the window for the drive through window.

“Alone at last,” she jokes and is struck by his wry grin.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Lock up? I think I do.”

He catches her gaze and refuses to let it drop. “Pretend to be happy you’re here with me.”

“I—”

“I’m sorry,” he insists. “I thought maybe if I could talk to you and stop being so, you know, wounded that maybe we could take a shot at being friends. I didn’t mean to upset you, Katniss. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

She doesn’t answer for several beats. He squirms a little and drops his eyes to study twisting hands and twitching feet. She’s going to regret this. She knows she will. Still, there’s something sweet and shy and kind that she yearns for when the rest of the world is so hard and cold. Maybe it’s weakness or something else equally awful she should expunge from her personality, but she can’t let him spiral this way. Maybe it’ll stop hers, too.

“We could, uh, try that.”

It comes out garbled and stunted, but the change in his countenance makes her glad she took the step. A thousand emotions flit over his handsome face, but a grin splits his lips so wide that his teeth flash white. She holds up her hands to head him off, but he steadies himself. With eyes twinkling, he chuckles.

“I saw the fear there for a second. I’ll control myself before I start asking the deep stuff.”

“The deep stuff?” she asks, still gun-shy.

“Yeah, like it’s crazy that I’d voluntarily cover a shift for you if you called in sick, but I don’t know your favorite color.”

“It’s green.”

“Mine’s orange.”

“Like those chairs?” she laughs and nods at the overly bright upholstery on the furniture. Apparently someone in corporate thought pumpkin spice wasn’t just their most popular fall drink; it was also where customers could put their butts as they sipped caffeine-laden drinks.

“Softer,” he answers, his voice a breathy whisper. “Like the sunset.”

Her eyes drift shut. He’s put a spell on the space with his words, and she wants to stay there for a moment. When he’s not being overeager, Peeta Mellark is charming as hell. Lord, help her.

“Can I tell you a secret? It’s really important.”

She tenses, but when she opens her eyes, she finds that he’s moved closer to her and propped his hip against the counter. He looks so young and hopeful there’s no way she can be scared of him.

“If you must,” she sniffs and smiles to soften her response.

“Lean in close. It’s a big one.” She does so slowly, and he waits patiently until she’s close enough that he can whisper, “Don’t tell our boss, but I’m a tea guy. Two lumps of sugar. I don’t even like coffee.”

Her eyes widen for a split second, and then she bursts into laughter. Tears gather in her eyes as she shakes. “That’s not a big one!”

“Coffee is life, Katniss. A known tea drinker would be cast out among the wolves. I’ll just stay incognito. I’m trusting you with my life here.”

“And what if I spill it?”

“Spill the tea?” He winks as she gasps for air. Just as quickly, he wipes his expression from his face and assumes mock sobriety. Somberly, he picks up the broom and starts to sweep. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have one fewer opponent to beat out for employee of the month.”

The whole idea that Katniss, surly and grumpy as she is, could ever win a customer service award is so preposterous she can’t keep from giggling. By the time the café is clean, she’s a million times lighter. When they head separate ways after locking up, she watches him as he strides down the street. Before he turns the corner, he tosses a look over his shoulder and waves. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She waves back.

****

They become friends, and it upends her life. Katniss isn’t used to having people around. Not since her sister passed away and left her all alone in the world. Katniss had gotten used to being an orphan, but when her sister was killed in a car crash, the loneliness and despair overwhelmed her. With Peeta around, she doesn’t feel quite so isolated anymore.

They take short walks on shared breaks, and he leans down to pick dandelions from between the sidewalk cracks before handing them to her with a bashful grin. He shields her from overly aggressive customers during busy periods at the café, and, after several weeks, he manages to convince her that spending time together outside of work isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Friends do tend to see each other in social settings,” he teases, and Katniss finally relents.

They go to movies and basketball games and art exhibits and archery competitions and all sorts of other things she had no idea she’d enjoy until Peeta suggested the activity. Sometimes, they do mundane things like grocery shopping together. She finds she likes trying new things as long as there’s someone with her and they can debrief about what was good and bad afterward. He convinces her to try one of those art classes with BYOB wine and a pre-chosen image to paint, and she gasps when his own creation takes on a life of its own while hers seems like a bad paint with water replica. He teaches her to cook bread and cookies and cinnamon rolls, and she shares her heirloom lamb stew recipe with him. They’re comfortable together. He never pushes, never makes her feel like he needs anything more than simple friendship.

Until, that is, the anniversary of her sister’s death.

She should have taken off work. She knows that, but the café is short-handed. Besides, she needs the money. It’s rainy and muggy and awful when she leaves the house, and the subway is packed much more than usual. She’s jostled and pushed and touched inappropriately (although, that was likely unintentional with how closely pressed together the passengers are in the train car), so that by the time she gets to work, she’s irritable, grumpy, and a ten seconds from losing it.

It’s possible it’s the weather or the alignment of the stars or an almost full-moon or the changing of the seasons. It could be that other people are suffering from trauma and loss and depression, as well. Or it could be that Katniss just has really bad luck.

“This drink is wrong.”

The harsh complaint is snapped at her by an unpleasant looking man with white hair and a beard. He looks at her like she’s something rotten on the underside of his shoe when he shoves the cup toward her and sloshes some of the hot liquid on her outstretched hand. She hisses at the burn and immediately turns to the sink to run cold water over her skin before it blisters.

“Don’t turn your back on me! Fix my coffee.”

Katniss tenses, her guard up, but she refuses to move. His actions burned her, and she’s following not only methods of self-preservation but also the company’s safe work policies. Injuries are to be treated immediately on the job. She’s doing that.

He continues yelling, attracting the attention of patrons and staff. Peeta finishes with the order he’s taking and quickly intervenes, coming to her rescue whether she wants him to or not. She’s not sure which is accurate.

“Can I help you, sir? My name is Peeta, and I’m—”

The man squints at Peeta and raises a shaking hand toward me. He’s livid, and Peeta takes a half-step back at the fury that’s suddenly directed his way. The situation escalates. It’s not pretty. The police are called, and customers are shaken. That’s nothing compared to the way Katniss quakes inside her own skin. She’s barely holding it together when their manager intercedes.

“Get her out of here,” Haymitch barks at Peeta before turning to the customer. The coffee cup he’s thrown at her rolls on the floor in a puddle of liquid. The name scrawled on the outside is Snow. It’s ironic. Katniss has always hated winter.

They make it to the back before she crumbles, and Peeta lets go of her hand to help her sit down on a stack of crates. He settles next to her and pulls her into a loose embrace—tight enough so that she knows he’s there but loose so she doesn’t feel trapped. It’s the perfect way to comfort her. He’s perfect, and she’s a mess.

The tears flow, and she’s too broken to bother to wipe them away. Shoulders shake and sobs tear from her throat in gulping heaves. At one point, she moans her dead sister’s name. It’s a mournful wail that washes over her and makes her hurt even worse. He pats her back and toys with the tip of her braid. It’s an unlikely source of solace, and it causes her to turn into him and press her face to his shoulder.

He smells like bread, she realizes in a random flash of clarity. She’s lamenting her sister, but that scent claws at her senses and registers in the olfactory section of her brain. How odd, she thinks before a fresh wave of grief shakes her torso.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Take as long as you need. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She’s not, though. She’s not all right, and she knows he understands that. He’s working with a limited vocabulary as he tries to help her. That’s what people say when they’re faced with a weeping friend. She’s done it herself. His tone of voice and gentle touch more than prove his compassion for her pain.

She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but it’s long enough that her tears have soaked his shoulder. A sharp cough invades their little bubble, and they both glance up to see Haymitch in the doorway.

“Clock out,” he orders in that gruff way of his. “We’ve got you both covered. Take her home, boy.” Peeta nods at the nickname without protest. It would be offensive if it meant anything other than their boss can’t remember anyone’s names, although that’s bad enough.

Peeta hails a cab and gives her address. He escorts her to her door and unlocks it for her before guiding her inside and seating her on the couch. When he moves away, she grabs at his hand and pulls him down next to her. His arms envelop her again, and she presses her face into his neck and allows the tears to streak down her cheeks while she hiccups. She hates being vulnerable, but she trusts him. They’ve grown close over the past few months.

Finally, she runs dry. Her sobs subside, and her body stills. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, he simply waits and gives her the space for what she needs. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve with someone who allows it to occur instead of hindering the process. She’s not okay. She won’t be for a long time, but she’s survived today. For now, that’s enough.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. When he doesn’t answer, she glances up at him through wet lashes and finds him looking at her with compassion in his piercing blue eyes. She could fall into them if she’d let herself. When he lifts his hand to brush flyaway wisps of hair from her forehead, she thinks maybe she should.

Time freezes. There’s a pulse between them that shakes the world. They’re drawn together, and she doesn’t second guess it or pull away from him. Instead, she closes her eyes and meets his mouth with hers. It’s gentle, just a sweet brush of lips, but it tastes like a reawakening, like the snow melting away and the earth coming back to life in spring.

It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s also right. After the events of the past year, she deserves a new beginning.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 76 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #don't talk to me #bring on the new beginnings #ready for the next round

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years ago

Text

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Six

ao3 - masterpost

Hey, babes! Here are our canon fixes for the week:

1. When Nesta was six, she met with a man who declared more or less immediately that she would forever be hopeless at playing an instrument or singing, but that she had a good ear for music. Bull.

2. Nesta is apparently so desperate for a friend that she gives the House life, but never really hangs out with the priestesses. Um. Okay? Sounds fake, but okay.

3. Both Gwyn and Emerie have never left their homes in Sangravah and Illyria, respectively, except for when the IC brings them to the library. Not exactly a fix, but something we will start to explore.

Enjoy!

---

Since Nesta's accomplished virtually nothing in her life, she expects her ideas of "new things" to try to be easy to come up with. But after an hour of brainstorming in bed that Thursday evening, she only has two things scribbled in the notebook Thalia gave her: Wear yellow and Learn to play the trumpet.

"Don't suppose you have a trumpet in here?" Nesta says to the House.

The House only pulls the curtains shut in answer.

"Bedtime," she agrees, shutting the notebook and placing it on her bedside table. "I think this one-per-day rule is a bit much, don't you? Especially considering these self-defense lessons. Do you think other girls will come?" Nesta doesn't always wait for an answer when talking to the House. It tends to interject as it pleases, generally by opening doors or magicking a cup of tea in front of her. "I think that Emerie girl would like to. From Illyria, I told you about her...oh, thank you," she adds, for the House has placed the novel Nesta started last night by her pillow. "Shall I read aloud, then?"

She does, until she falls asleep.

The next morning, she draws looks from the hood-less girls and slight double-takes from the veiled priestesses; no doubt courtesy of the bright yellow dress the House had pulled out of her wardrobe this morning. She ignores them, not stopping until she reaches Clotho's office. When she knocks, Thalia's voice calls for her to enter.

"Well!" Thalia says, smiling.

"I'm never wearing this color again. It washes me out." Ruins the detox and more regulated eating she's had this past month.

"I think you look lovely," she insists, and Clotho nods. "But that's certainly your prerogative. Is that the worst consequence?"

"Yes, yes," Nesta says impatiently, waving a hand. "It won't kill me to try new things. Lesson learned."

Thalia looks over at Clotho. Perhaps she can tell what the priestess looks like under her hood, or perhaps she talks to her mind-to-mind like Feyre and Rhysand do, but Nesta almost thinks they exchange a glance of some sort. Amused, perhaps?

"Can either of us help you with anything, Nesta?" Thalia asks pleasantly, and gestures for her to sit down.

"Maybe," Nesta says taking a seat. Her cheeks color slightly as she does; why is she bashful about this all of a sudden? Around Thalia and Clotho? "I...well, I've started some self-defense, you know."

"We know." They both did, had both asked her how it was going. "You're still enjoying it, aren't you?"

"I...I am-it's good for me." Enjoy is a strong word.

"You said it helps keep you focused," Thalia says. "Centered."

"Yes. It...makes me feel good." She doesn't normally struggle with her words so much, does she? Does she sound like an idiot to the two of them, or just to her own ears? No, Clotho and Thalia would never say that about her. Never even think it. It's only her who's like this, trapped in her own wretched mind, slave to something dark and horrible and become just as vile-

But no, that isn't true. It's not just her who feels that way. And that's why she's here.

"It makes me feel more in control," Nesta says finally. "Of my life and my body."

Thalia leans back, satisfied. Clotho doesn't move. Nesta wonders if they know, if they can guess at what just went on in her mind. Either way, they both wait for her to continue.

"And I thought," she says, pausing to draw breath, "that maybe some other girls might be interested. With...Cassian."

At this, Clotho does cock her head.

"We meet in the mornings. Not on Tuesdays and not over the weekend," she adds, just so they aren't sitting in silence.

After a few moments that feel ridiculously long, Thalia says, "I think that's a wonderful idea, Nesta."

For a brief, strange moment, something happens. Nesta breathes in as Thalia finishes her sentence-not in relief or any emotion in particular, just to breathe-and as she does so, something inside of her shifts. Un-constricts.

But it's gone just as soon as it arrives, and before Nesta has time to dwell upon it, one of Clotho's notes appears. For a select group of girls, perhaps.

"Yes, I think we have the same few in mind...Of course, Nesta, you're welcome to share this with all of the students, but just between Clotho and myself, I think we'll privately encourage four or five...yes, thank you for bringing this up to us, Nesta," Thalia says, finishing with another warm smile.

Don't go just yet, Nesta, please, Clotho writes as Thalia takes her leave. I wanted to ask you how you were doing.

"I'm well. Thank you."

I'm glad to hear these self-defense lessons have something to do with that...our own lectures and exercises too, I hope?

Nesta raises her head slightly as her cheeks tinge pink. "I-yes. I think so." Clotho waits, unmoving, until Nesta sighs and says, "I do like the lectures."

Wonderful. Which ones?

Nesta answers honestly, "All of them." It's...it's quite something, to learn things. Things she never knew, never imagined, from females who are so passionate about them. "And...I like the jewelery. I like working with my hands."

I'm so very happy to hear you're finding yourself here, Nesta, Clotho's pen writes out. Have you given any thought to a more permanent assignment?

"I...thought you were supposed to."

With your input, of course. We would never want you to do something you were uncomfortable with.

But Gwyn's not comfortable with Merrill, is she? "I don't know. There's not really anything wrong with any of the priestesses, I suppose." It's only when Clotho begins lightly shaking with amusement that Nesta realizes she probably shouldn't have said that. "That is...I like them." She does. Enough.

Well, I'm happy to hear that, too.

Nesta rises, rather abrupt. "I've got to sort books," she says, and doesn't wait for a proper goodbye before leaving.

---

The amount Nesta has improved after only a few short weeks of being in the library floors Cassian. Her weight gain, voluntarily asking him for self-defense lessons, her performance in said lessons, and she still manages to find time to ask if other girls can join. Not even touching upon the fact that she's said she doesn't feel so dependent on alcohol anymore.

It shows incredible strength of character, and it makes Cassian's heart swell so much that he almost doesn't care when he meets an unfamiliar, tipsy young male he realizes must be one of the rebels in Windhaven, glaring at him.

Almost.

"What are you doing outside of your camp, boy?" Boy, he says, because he is one. He's not yet participated in the Rite.

"Visiting family," the boy slurs. "Sir," he adds, mocking.

"Go home," he orders, trying to imitate Nesta when she's at her coldest.

Perhaps it works, because the boy blanches before sneering and turning away.

He has to tell Rhys they're getting more brazen. Normally Cassian wouldn't care at all what any of them say to him-or at least, say he doesn't care-but if these pricks are bringing Nesta into it, all bets are off. He's going to follow up on whoever that was and make sure he doesn't come back to this camp until this situation is under control. Until the threat on the throne, on Nesta's life, is vanquished.

Shaking himself, he pushes into Emerie's shop. "Good morning."

She looks up. "You're back. Hello," she adds.

He gives her a smile. "Who was that?"

Emerie does not return his expression. "My baby cousin, Bellius," she says, bitter. "But never mind him." Just like that, Emerie phases out of her ire and into a cool, detached expression. Just like Nesta, he thinks. Perhaps that was why they liked each other-if they liked each other. "What can I help you with?"

"Perhaps you can help me," he says. "Nesta-Lady Nesta-you met here a few weeks ago?"

"Yes," she says, careful. "I remember."

"Well," he says, unsure of how to introduce the subject. "She's...started taking some self-defense lessons. For exercise. With me."

Emerie looks unconvinced. "For exercise?"

"And she thought you might be interested in joining. And that you have some friends who might be interested, too."

Emerie's face doesn't betray anything. She studies him, and it's been about ten seconds before she says, "Did she?"

"Yes," he says, feeling only slightly like perhaps the two of them training together might not be good for him.

"Hm," she says. After another minute of her own quiet deliberation, she says, slowly, "I will attend one of these lessons...and then I will...consult with my friends."

"All right," Cassian says, thankful that it's over. "Someone will be along to pick you up Monday morning."

He doesn't dawdle too long in saying goodbye. He has a lot to cover before Monday-figure out the best way to introduce self-defense to very traumatized, potentially, females, and now he'll have Emerie, and Nesta. What kind of dynamic will that create?

But he's been a soldier his whole life. Surely he can handle a few young females.

Hopefully.

---

Nesta has taken to carrying around her notebook wherever she goes, just in case she gets an idea of some new thing she can try. A girl named Deridre approaches her and asks her what self-defense is like, and if it's at all like the meditative yoga they do with the priestess Agata, so she writes that down. She goes to one of Daphne's lectures for the first time and learns about resuscitation and scrawls the name of a method to stop choking that seems simple enough to learn. Gwyn sees her writing and says, "You know, your finger nails are shaped so nicely. How come you never paint them?" so she adds that to her list, too.

She finds, actually, that it's quite nice to carry the book around. It's nice to have an excuse to write with such a fine pen. It's been years since she has.

Her sisters visit her over the weekend at her invitation and they are thrilled by her new things.

"I could teach you to paint," Feyre suggests.

Nesta wants to reply that the idea is to attempt things that do not make her want to pitch herself off the veranda, but instead she says, "You already tried that."

"Right," she says, deflating.

"But," she says, oddly disturbed by this response, and grasping for something to say, "maybe we can...sculpt. Or something. One day."

Feyre brightens at this. "Whenever you have time," she says, happily.

"How's self-defense going, Nesta?" Elain asks, would-be casual.

Nesta rolls her eyes. "You've heard we're inviting other girls?"

"Oh, Nesta, I just think it's such a grand idea-"

"Everyone's really excited about it, honestly, they've been trying for something like this for so long-"

"And with the Illyrian girls, Cassian said-"

"We know it's not exactly a unit, but still so impressive-"

"And we hear you're doing really well!"

"Yes! Really well! Maybe I could join you one day, too," Feyre says, hopeful.

"I'd watch. Or, or maybe even try some!"

Nesta takes a sip of water. She forgets how much noise these two make, honestly. "I don't think it's as exciting as you've imagined," she says. "Sure, you can come one day. Maybe not while the other girls...I'm a bit nervous," she confesses, suddenly. "Clotho and Thalia wouldn't let if they thought it was a bad idea, but I don't know..." She looks out onto the rainy city. The House keeps the interior warm for her, but sometimes she thinks she can still feel the cold in her bones anyway. "I mean, I'm the only one who ever leaves the library, and it could go really wrong. Obviously, no one's going to force herself to do this, and they can just no, but-uh," she finishes on a stammer, as she turns back to look at her sisters.

For there are shining silver tears in Elain's eyes, and Feyre's face looks cracked.

What has she said? What horrible thing has she done?

"No, no," Feyre says hurriedly, reading her expression.

"Sorry, Nesta," Elain says, bringing her hands to wipe her eyes. "It's just...it's just so nice to see you like this...about something."

"Oh," Nesta says, eventually.

Her sisters leave in the evening, but the likeness of their faces in her mind do not. Their expressions, their...love.

Is she really so different now, she wonders all weekend. Is she so much better? She doesn't feel particularly much of anything.

If this is better, then what had she been before?

Monday morning rolls around quickly, and she is decked in the uniform the House has supplied her and finished with a light breakfast, waiting at the arena on the roof before the sun has even fully risen.

"Nervous too?" Cassian says from behind her as he neatly lands in.

"I suppose," she says, not turning around.

"How long have you been here?"

"Fifteen minutes."

He chuckles. "Maybe more nervous than I am. Well...shall we begin?"

"No one's here yet."

"So? We can start just the two of us." He shrugs out of his jacket. "Would put us at ease, at least, don't you think?"

Us, he says. Like they are the same. They get nervous by the same things and the same things calm them down and they do it all together.

"Yes," she says, clearly needing it.

The movements come easier than on Thursday. Each time she gets better, and it is, she will admit, a rare sort of feeling. To know that she is improving at something. To feel it in her blood and bones.

Cassian's instructions leave no room for worrying in her mind. When she slips out of his holds, breaks out of his grip, all she can think of are his body and hers, anticipation of his next move and victory when she gets it right, or disgruntlement when she is wrong. They move through the steps in sync, almost like the ballet she used to study, and she is so consumed with it that she does not notice until they are done that they have an audience.

Not a particularly big one. Gwyn, Deirdre, and Azriel has brought Emerie, but an audience nonetheless.

"All right," Cassian says. "So what Nesta and I just did is called the Grunge Hook." He launches through into an explanation of what it means and Nesta blinks as she realizes he must have known they all had arrived. Seen them, heard them.

Her cheeks go cold. She can never notice anything else when he's there. Certainly not as they were; touching, talking...

"So Emerie and Nesta, and, ah, Miss..."

"Gwyn," Gwyn says at the same time Deirdre says, "Deirdre."

"Right," Cassian says. "Well, you two pair up."

Emerie walks over to Nesta and they are ready faster than the other two. Nesta tenses. They have not yet been outside-perhaps this was a mistake-what will Gwyn think of her now? She won't sit next to her for lectures anymore, won't come help her put books away-

But it is only a moment, and then Gwyn turns to Cassian and says, "I guess we should have dressed differently."

"You can wear whatever you're comfortable with," he says. "And you don't have to do anything you don't want to, either."

So Deirdre keeps her hood secured on, but Gwyn shrugs her robe off entirely to reveal simple, like-colored dress. Perhaps she'd like leggings and a skirt like Nesta's, she thinks. If she decides to continue...if other girls decide to join...

Emerie's, surprisingly, not as good at the movements as Nesta is. Surprisingly because Nesta doesn't really think of herself as good at this, just better than before, and because, well, Emerie's Illyrian, and all the Illyrians Nesta knows...

"It's your wings," Azriel says, approaching. "They throw you off balance."

She droops. "So I can't. Because I'm clipped."

Nesta flinches-it's such an ugly word. But what to say?

Azriel answers before she can, his shadows clearing from his face. "Of course not," he says, patient. "Just hold yourself this way," and he shows her how to maneuver her wings.

Emerie seems as though her emotions sway easier than Nesta's, as she appears cheered up by this. "Let's try again," she says to Nesta.

And they do, but it is not like before, with Cassian. It is not as in sync, and she is not as focused. Over on the other side, under Cassian's watch, Gwyn and Deirdre are doing even worse.

When the hour is done, Deirdre hurries back down faster than she has moved throughout the whole lesson, and Gwyn shoots Nesta a small smile, and nods her head once at Azriel, before saying, "Good to see you again," and leaving. Emerie says, "Thanks for thinking of me," and perhaps sounds a bit more genuine, but she turns to ask Azriel to take her back right after, and then she is gone too.

"Brilliant," Nesta says aloud, miserable.

Cassian looks over at her, surprised. "What?"

"Are you kidding me? That was horrible."

Cassian laughs. "Are you kidding me? That was great!"

"Enough," she snaps, skin burning. "I don't need-"

"Woah," he says, raising his hands. "Woah. Seriously, Nesta, what's wrong?"

She clenches her hands into fists. "Stop mocking me."

"I'm not!" he protests, and his stupid eyes are wide and innocent and his stupid voice is confused and concerned when he says, "Come on, why are you upset?" so she has no choice but to answer.

"They hated it and they were bad."

Cassian laughs again. A real laugh this time, with his head tilting back, and the sound echoing in the mountains. Her heart lurches. She ignores it.

"They did not hate it," he says, eyes twinkling. "And they were not bad. They're novices. Not everyone's a born natural like you, with a perfectly paired partner in me," he teases, winking, almost as though good-natured.

"They couldn't get away fast enough." Deirdre didn't even take off her hood. So much for helping other females.

Cassian's grin falters. Shit. Had she said that out loud?

He moves closer to her. "Do you know how many clipped Illyrian females have agreed to come to anything remotely similar to this?"

"You know I don't," she snaps, but he doesn't rise to her bait.

"None," he says, calm. "Emerie is the first. Do you know how long Deirdre's been in here?"

"No," she says. Longer than Gwyn, but not more than that.

"Since before Amarantha took over."

Nesta winces. Over fifty years, at least, then.

"And she came...you convinced her to come."

"I didn't," she says. "Thalia-"

"She told me," he interrupts. "She told me you told her what it was like and she wanted to try it."

Nesta stills at this. "Well...what does it matter if she just tries it once?"

He laughs-again! Why does he laugh so often? "Aren't you doing that? Trying things once? Oh, no, I don't mean it in a bad way, Nes, don't look like that. I'm just saying...okay. So it's not for everyone. Maybe she tries it once and never does it again. But it's still worth a whole fucking lot that she tried. And that's because of you. And how do you know she's not going to try again, anyway? Because she left when the hour was up?"

Nesta reddens slightly.

"Fuck," he says, and this time it doesn't amuse her, his easy swearing. "I-shit. Nesta. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings."

She startles. "I-what?"

"I just mean..." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Look. You did a good thing. Whether or not they continue, you did a good thing. And I think they will, for the record. Emerie might not want to come every day, you know, she might not have time...but I think Gwyn liked it enough."

Nesta feels something inside of her flutter. "She did?"

Cassian nods. "Definitely." He looks at her for another moment, then shakes his head.

"What?" she asks, dreading the answer.

"Nothing," he says. "I just don't understand how you can't possibly be so proud of yourself. Especially today." He shrugs slightly, completely oblivious to what is happening inside of her. That feeling from Clotho's office. What is that?

But it is gone as soon as it arrives, just like last time. He says, "See you tomorrow, Nesta," and leaves. And then she does too.

---

Cassian, Nesta learns over the course of the next few weeks, is right.

Not about her, obviously. But about the females still being interested.

Gwyn's excited about it. "I didn't realize you were so good," she gushes.

Nesta huffs in amusement. "Hardly."

"Well, better than the rest of us!"

"Just a bit more practice," she says. And there is something about the lessons with Cassian...though they don't do as much together, though, anymore. Not with the others there now. She almost wishes that she had not invited everyone for each of the lessons...maybe one morning with him just to herself.

But that's-that's just absurd. He's hardly hers.

Deirdre finds her that Monday, too, and thanks her for convincing her to go. Nesta privately wonders what on earth it was she had said that worked, because the conversation barely stands out in her mind, but she tells Deirdre she's glad to hear she enjoyed it, anyway.

"I think Roslin and Ananke would like it too," she says. "Thalia told them it would be good for them, but they were too nervous. I'll try and convince them...I didn't realize how much fun it would be," she adds with a gentle laugh.

Fun?

"Oh," Nesta says. "Oh...well, good. I mean, good to hear. I hope they...join too."

And Cassian is right about Emerie as well. She does not come on Tuesday, but she does on Wednesday, and tells Nesta she thinks she can keep coming twice a week.

"And your friends?" she asks.

"They're interested," she tells her. "But I think I have to work a little harder at convincing them."

Nesta nods, not wanting to ask what they might have stopping them from coming. Whatever happened to Emerie's wings-whoever had clipped her-perhaps those females have someone like that in their lives.

It is on the second Wednesday that Emerie arrives that Nesta asks her if she'd like to stay a while longer. She'd already asked Azriel the day before if he could possibly take her back after lunch, and he'd agreed.

There was something odd about talking to Azriel, she noticed. Something about those shadows. Something about the way they-looked?-at her. Something...

But Emerie agrees, if a bit shyly, and she asks Gwyn if she'd like to take lunch with the two of them instead of in the priestesses' dining hall, and Nesta has her new thing for the day: hosting people for a meal.

They ogle everything openly, jaws dropping as the House pulls out chairs for them and food appears as Nesta requests it.

"Thank you," she says.

"You're...talking to the House?" Gwyn asks.

"Yes."

"Oh. Thank you," she adds.

"Thank you," Emerie says quickly.

The House likes them too. Nesta can tell. There's a bit more effort being made here today, she thinks, as she notes a fancy bouquet in the middle of the table and finer china than she normally uses. Nesta smiles to herself.

Nesta searches for something she can say, a safe topic that has nothing to do with self-defense, but Gwyn beats her to it. "So, how do you two know each other?" she asks.

"Nesta came to Illyria to scare some rebels who are trying to kill her," Emerie answers casually.

Gwyn jerks her head towards Nesta. "Really?"

"Not quite how I would have phrased it," Nesta says. "But true enough, I suppose."

"Why are they trying to kill you?" Gwyn says, eyes wide.

Wonderful. What a fantastic luncheon this is.

"They don't like me very much."

"They're scared of her," Emerie says. "And they want to overthrow the High Lord and High Lady." She turns to Nesta. "What do you think of that?"

Nesta raises an eyebrow as she cuts into her food. "Of killing my sister and Rhysand? Well, I've certainly thought of it myself, at times."

They both laugh. Nesta blinks. Then she smiles slightly.

"I have to assume I'm against them," she says. "But to be honest, I don't really understand any of the politics here. I'm...not very well-informed."

"Oh, neither am I," Gwyn says, shaking her head. "It's terrible. I mean, I've lived in this court all my life, and I'm so pitifully ignorant. It's ridiculous. I don't know the first thing about Illyria, like. Or even Velaris, really. And I have no excuse. I live in a library, for gods' sakes."

"I don't know of any books I'd recommend for you to learn about Illyria," Emerie says, thoughtful. "Not unless you read Illyrian, that is."

"See, I didn't even know there was an Illyrian until you just said that. Pathetic."

"Can you recommend other books?" Nesta says, latching on the chance to steer the conversation away from the history of the Night Court and into perhaps the only topic she might be able to contribute to.

"Oh, of course," Emerie says, pausing to swallow. "What do you like?"

"Romance," Nesta says, as Gwyn says, "Adventure."

"Ooh, The Knight Society. That's both. You can read that together."

Gwyn grins at Nesta. "Book club," she says. "What's it about?"

Emerie launches into a description of the book-the series, actually-and eventually, Nesta finds herself not looking for things to say, but rather just...talking. Not forced. Not desperate. Just a part of the conversation. Easy, flowing...fun, almost.

Funny, at least. Emerie is clutching her sides laughing as she describes the worst romance novel she ever read and Gwyn giggles, her hands covering her mouth, but Nesta says thoughtfully, "That's not such a horrible idea, though."

"You think-"

"No, no, the premise is atrocious, yes," she says. "But that exact scene...that has potential."

"Potential, right," Emerie says, laughing still.

"No, I mean it," she says, but she lets it go, lets the conversation drift naturally.

She is disappointed when Azriel comes to take Emerie back, but picked up by the fact that they all are. Emerie promises to make time to stay for lunch again, either Monday or Wednesday of next week.

"This was so lovely," Gwyn says to her, wistful, as they walk down to the library together. "So much nicer than in the dining hall.

"Really?" Nesta says before she can stop herself. "Well...I eat lunch every day. You can join...if you'd like."

Gwyn brightens. "I would!"

So after two weeks of lessons with other girls (Roslin and Ananke have joined, and Lorelei and Ilana, too, though the later doesn't participate so much as watch), and more random assignments from Clotho, and new things for Thalia, Nesta finally finds herself with a few hours of quiet after Friday evening's lecture has been canceled.

"Shall we read?" she says to the House.

Lights flicker in answer. Too many for the usual yes or no. This means Nesta has to follow.

"All right," she says, standing. "To the veranda?" she asks. But it's too cold out, so she hopes not.

Instead, the House leads her to a room she hasn't been in since her first stay, upon first exploration. She has had no need.

"Oh," she says at the door, softly.

The knob turns slightly, not fully opening. The House giving her the final decision.

But she doesn't want to hurt its feelings, so she opens the door.

The music room-a conservatory, it can be called-just by the sheer size of it-is grander than she remembers. She had opened the door and not even stepped inside, that first time. Just stood there, frozen, before snapping the door shut and hurrying away.

She takes a slow step in, but almost as though she is being walked by some other being, she takes another, and then another, and before she knows it, she is seated at the piano.

Ballroom grand. Enormous. Sleek and glossy and it would sound just perfect, she knows.

Lights flicker from behind. She turns and lets out a little laugh.

"Thanks," she says, shaking her head at the spotlight, "but I don't think I'm going to be learning the trumpet this evening."

The lights stop, as if the House is acquiescing.

The lights above her now flicker briefly. So will you play the piano, then?

Nesta inhales and exhales deeply. Slowly. Again. And again. The same way Cassian has her do after lessons.

There's really...there's really nothing stopping her. There's no reason not to. If she were to pick up her notebook and write down the reasons why she can't play right now, there wouldn't be any.

So why can't she do it?

She doesn't have an answer. So with another deep breath, Nesta closes her eyes and gently presses her thumb to middle C.

The sound is soft, and then that feeling, from with Thalia and Clotho, and Cassian, hits her again. But as she hits the second note, it does not fade away. It stays this time. So she plays.

#nessian #nessian fic #acosf fic #acotar fic #nesta archeron #whatever the hell am i supposed to tag this asssssss????????#anyway. i'm thrilled to be sharing this!!#cannot WAIT for next chapter also #because nesta had to go on a journey to get to her journey #because she was in such a bad place!!#but here she's like...she's been getting better but not good #and now she can start getting good you know??#so exciting #hope y'all enjoy<3 #oh and btw i don't about you but i'm turning 22 next friday when i post chapter seven #so in case you were looking for a sign to share what you think...this is it #😌#lol #but kind of for real

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abused-sides · 4 years ago

Note

- A and B sit next to each other on public transport. B keeps fidgeting and whimpering, and A realizes that their clothes smell like blood

A being Logan or Janus, B being Virgil. maybe a asks virge what’s wrong and he says that he got sexually assaulted and when he tried to call for help, the people who were sexually assaulting him beat him up. virge was trying to get away from them, he didn’t know where the bus was going and he lost all of his belongings that were in a bag (the sexual assaulters took it and it had like his wallet, sketchbook, medicine, etc.) a offered to take virge home and help and you can decide what happens from there.

totally okay if you don’t want to do this, just an idea >//<

The train was cold and dark. The rain hammered against the windows, creating a thick mist that made its way into the cabin from an open window to the booth at Logan’s right. It was 2am. The only sounds came from the boy seated in the both facing Logan, hunched in on himself and sniffling. Logan had tried to talk to him earlier, but the boy shrugged him off.

Something copper filled Logan’s nose. He’d been trying to find the smell for ages, but couldn’t. Then, the boy shifted, asked the stewardess for water in a gravelly voice, and the smell grew stronger.

“You’re bleeding!” Logan gasped.

The boy yanked his hoodie back down over his thighs, covering the dark stain in his jeans.

The stewardess offered medical support, but the boy begged her to leave it alone. She very reluctantly left.

“Please, can I get a look at you?” Logan asked. “How much longer of a ride do you have?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I just… snuck on. Didn’t plan it.”

Bruises decorated the right side of his face, bringing a trail from the huge blotch at his chin to the little pebbles along his brow bone. Fresh blood trailed from his nose.

Logan fumbled for a moment before pulling out a handkerchief. He tentatively reached forward. The boy didn’t move. He dabbed at the blood, then gently wiped it away. The boy winced.

“I’m Logan,” he said softly. “I’m coming back home from a business conference. What were you doing out?”

“Virgil,” he mumbled. “I was… trying to get to a friend.”

“Where are they?”

“New Evers.”

Logan bit his lip. New Evers was four hours in the opposite direction.

“How about I put you up for the night and help you figure that out tomorrow?”

Virgil looked up at him with watery eyes. He shoved Logan off, who fell into his booth with a grunt, and wrapped his hoodie tight around himself. “No, I’m good.”

“You’re not good,” he said flatly. “In fact, I’m worried if you don’t get medical attention—”

“I don’t need medical attention!”

Logan fell silent. Virgil flinched.

“They can’t… help me. They can’t fix what happened.”

Logan glanced around. The train car was still asleep, the stewardess long gone. “I’m going to have to insist you let me have a look at you. At least give you some money for a new train ticket.”

“How far am I?” He asked softly.

“Far. Four hours and counting.”

A few tears dripped down Virgil’s cheeks. “Okay.”

“What happened?” Logan mumbled as he gently wiped the blood from Virgil’s face.

Virgil recounted the story, how he’d been kicked out of his house and decided to travel to the train station since he knew his friend— Remus —would take him in. The streets were empty. His attackers first took his bag, then they took him. Three of them held him down while the other did what they wanted, then they rotated, and Virgil couldn’t recount how long it went on for. When he tried screaming for help, the one holding his head bashed his face into the pavement. He eventually went unconscious, and when he woke up, the group and his bag were gone.

“You can stay with me for as long as you need.” Logan’s hands trembled, rage curling deep in his stomach. “I’ll pay for everything, and I’ll help you contact Remus.”

“Okay,” Virgil said reluctantly. “Sure.”

Virgil’s legs trembled horribly when they stood to get off the train. Logan offered an arm, and Virgil let it wrap around himself gratefully.

“Sorry for shoving you,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay.”

They ducked their way through the rain, Logan half-carrying Virgil, until they made it to Logan’s flat. He flicked on the lights in the foyer. Everything was clean, everything intentionally placed, not a photo off centre.

“Here’s the bathroom. There’s some pain cream in there, I want you to use it, okay?” Logan lingered after Virgil shut the door. “I’m going to go set up your space. Do you want to sleep in my room or the living room?”

“Your room.”

“Okay. You’re safe here, Virgil.”

“...okay.”

Logan brought down spare pillows and blankets to set up on the floor for himself. He dug out the dusty guide to the television and set that on the bedside table, and made sure everything was as neat as possible. The shower started. Logan relaxed.

He pulled out his phone and texted,

Logan: Hypothetical question. You meet someone who’s just been assaulted, raped, and mugged. They refuse medical attention. What do you do?

The response was almost immediate. Logan sat on the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

Janus: Interesting. How bad are the injuries?

Logan: They won’t let you see the extent of them.

Janus: I would insist. If they still don’t let you— are they pale? Shaky? Sweating? Showing signs of blood loss? Are any bones broken— swelling or bruising?

Logan: They’re shaking, maybe a little pale, but that’s all.

Janus: I’d let them work through it at their own pace.

Janus: Is everything okay, L?

Logan: I have a guest.

Janus: Should I call someone?

Logan: No.

Janus: Keep me updated.

Logan set his phone aside as the shower shut off. He stood in the doorway and Virgil’s gray eyes darted around everywhere before they settled on him. Logan stepped into the room and Virgil followed a moment later.

His pale skin was covered in one of Logan’s blue towels. Bruises littered his shoulders, purple and black. There was a gash on his right leg that looked like it could use stitches but would survive with just a wrapping.

“Sit down,” he asked, “let me get my first aid kit?”

Virgil hesitated then sat at the edge of the bed. Logan found him some shorts to put under the towel.

He quickly got to work cleaning, disinfecting, and wrapping the legs, then checking for all the signs Janus has taught him a million times over. There didn’t seem to be any significant injuries, other than the leg.

“There’s some gravel in your cheek. Here.”

He bruised Virgil’s bangs back with a feather touch and rested one hand on his forehead. Virgil stiffened to a brick as Logan plucked the crumbles from Virgil’s rough skin. He slowly relaxed, only tensing again for just a second every once in a while.

“Do you want a sleep shirt?”

He nodded.

After he was dressed, purple hair shiny from the shower, Logan nodded to the T.V. “I figured you’d want something to fall asleep to. Please, pick anything.”

He got into his covers on the floor and Virgil frowned.

“You’re not taking the bed?”

Logan shook his head. “Please. After what you’ve been through— don’t even. You can take the bed.”

Virgil hesitated. “Alright. Uh, thank you.”

He kept his eye on Logan as the television played. It took him hours of watching to feel comfortable, confident that Logan really would leave him alone.

Logan woke around 5am to an empty bed and a lump at his feet. He rubbed his eyes as his heart fluttered. He took the blanket from around his own shoulders and settled it over Virgil’s sleeping frame, and settled the pillow under his head. Then he laid down next to him, only shivering a little, and fell back asleep.

xxx

does anyone want a part 2?

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #virgil centric #analogical #angst #hurt/comfort #whump #rape tw

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emilyplaysotome · 4 years ago

Text

The Queen Makes Her Choice: Part 6

This is the final chapter to a multi-part smutty fic with the MLQC boys. This might be the filthiest thing I've ever written 😂

This whole series is for those 18+ only.

Catch up:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Miracle finder makes it impossible to see anyone, and even if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t matter.

Gavin is on a mission, Victor is on a trip, Kiro is on tour, and Lucien…

…well, Lucien isn’t replying, or posting, or commenting.

No surprise there.

I have no idea if he’ll show on Saturday even though the rest of them will be there. I’ve booked us a private room in one of Loveland’s hottest “sky clubs” - a lounge located at the top of a high rise with nothing but large glass windows and views for days to accompany the drinks and people.

It was a splurge on my salary, but I have to do this right.

If I do this right well...

...maybe there's hope of keeping them all by my side.

There’s still no reply from Lucien as I get ready an hour before everyone is supposed to meet. I decide to tell him that I need him there, and let that be the end of it.

I don’t have much in my closet for this event, but buried in the back I find an old clubbing outfit from my birthday two years ago. The top is an iridescent blueish-purple with spaghetti straps, a revealing back, and cropped to show my midriff. I pair it with a flowy dark skirt that balances out its sex appeal, tying my hair back, and putting on a simple necklace to show off my neckline.

I feel pretty and knowing that I’m about to meet four (well, hopefully four) men who have all confessed to me, I feel confident that they will too.

—

I arrive early and finish my drink too quickly in the hopes of calming my nerves. The waitstaff gets me another and I tell myself to cool it for fear of getting too drunk before they all arrive.

The room I’ve reserved is bigger than I expected, with seating that could easily accommodate 25 people. There are standing cocktail tables and ink blue couches that have a soft, velvet fabric accompanied by tables for drinks.

I’ve settled into the center of one of the couches and I’m distracting myself on my phone, hoping that my nerves will fade when I hear the door open.

I’m surprised that its Lucien who I see first.

“I didn’t think you were coming?!” I say.

He kisses me before sitting next to me, looking around the room.

“I wasn’t sure if I would.”

“But why?”

He sighs and shakes his head, smiling.

“Too much thinking. Too much worrying.”

I have more questions, but I won’t get to ask them as Victor enters next. Upon seeing Lucien I can see his defenses go up. He puffs out his chest, tilts up his chin sneering at him, making no attempt to hide what can only be described as a very sour expression.

I get up and stand between them, gently taking Victor’s hand and guiding him to sit beside me on the couch. Sandwiched between him and Lucien, I thank him for coming. The mood only grows more tense with each addition.

Gavin is next.

Kiro is last.

It’s clear that they all thought I had planned something for them and them alone based on the disappointment I see on their faces when they register their competition in the room. Once they’re all assembled, Lucien and Victor on either side of me, Gavin pouting with his arms crossed and standing by one of the cocktail tables and Kiro who paces like a wild animal in a cage, I begin.

“I know you’re all eager to understand what this is about,” I say. “And I first want to thank you all for being in my life.”

There are gruff acknowledgments all around, but no real words or statements from anyone. I can tell by the way they’re drinking and refilling their glasses that they’re just as nervous as I am, and not wanting to drag things out I continue.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want in my partner, and I keep coming back to daily life. Waking up next to someone I love each morning, making breakfast, hearing about their day…”

It’s then I look at each of them, one by one.

“…and I’ve come to the conclusion that none of you can do that for me.”

“Now wait a minute,” Gavin starts to say and I cut him off.

“You’re always gone on some mission for God knows how long.”

I turn to look at Lucien, “You disappear on me at the drop of a hat…”

Then Victor, “…you spend 50% of your time doing business outside of Loveland City….”

And finally Kiro, “…and you’re on tour for the foreseeable future.”

They all seem bashful because they know I’m right.

They all know they couldn’t be 'the one' unless they all made major concessions for me.

“So I think for now, until things change, I will commit to none of you and all of you.”

There’s shock from Gavin.

Laughter from Victor.

Annoyance from Kiro.

Anger from Lucien.

Gavin quickly spits out “That’s…” but Victor cuts him off.

“Only fair. None of us can really run to her side when she needs us, but between the four of us we can take care of her.”

I’m stunned that he actually agrees, not just understands.

I thought that out of the four he might be the most difficult to convince, but suddenly I’m watching as he argues with Kiro about what it means to love me. Lucien is silent, along with Gavin. They listen as they wrestle with what they already know about our world to their ability to accept being a part time boyfriend.

There’s silence when Victor reminds them aloud of the danger I face.

Being with me is not just being there for the good times, though I’m grateful that lately there’s been many. This time of peace may disappear just as easily as it arrived and they all know it, even if they don't want to admit it.

I’m surprised when Gavin is the second to agree to keeping things as they are, with the caveat that I not think about anyone but him when we’re together. I find myself feeling shy and can feel the heat creep into my cheeks as I nod back at him, knowing that his request is easily fulfilled.

Satisfied by my reply he smirks before making it known that he doesn’t want to discuss things further and will invite me on a date soon, leaving me with the others.

I can tell that Kiro is close to compromising, but Lucien beats him to the punch.

“Alright,” he says with that smile of his. “This just gives you more time to decide that you love me most.”

The comment makes Kiro look as if he’s going to rip Lucien’s head off, and he charges towards him. Victor puts his hand out and holds Kiro back, reminding him that this is not about how they feel about each other but how they feel about me.

Lucien quietly laughs and whispers in my ear, “I will try sticking around in the future in order to prove to you that I’m all you need, if that’s truly what you’re looking for.”

“It is,” I say.

I’m not lying, but for now I’m relieved to have found a loophole.

I’m relieved that it seems I will not have to choose after all.

“While I don’t like the idea of leaving you with these two, I must be off to a prior commitment. I only meant to stop by because you were insistent. And because I will always be there for you, despite what you may think.”

He’s being mysterious but I can tell whenever we’re together he can’t help but be pulled back to me as much as he tries to run away.

I can tell that he looks for excuses to be with me, even when he's busy.

“Thank you Lucien,” I say and mean it.

I’m grateful that I don’t have to say goodbye, especially to him.

I’m surprised when he kisses me, deeply, in front of the others and I can feel that his eyes are on them as he does it, almost as if he’s challenging them.

When he pulls away I watch as Victor rolls his eyes as Kiro grows incensed again. Lucien pretends not to care and leaves, ignoring the string of obscenities that flows out of Kiro.

“Enough,” Victor eventually says, sighing and returning to the couch next to me.

“I understand why we’re doing what we’re doing,” Kiro says, still standing. “But doesn’t it bother you seeing that?”

“No,” Victor says coolly. “It only motivates me to please her more.”

I feel his hand wrap around my midriff and he kisses me, passionately, in front of Kiro. I let out a surprised moan and after a moment he pulls away with a smirk.

“See?”

I’m embarrassed and I quietly scold him for kissing me like that in front of Kiro. Not to be outdone, Kiro comes over and kisses me too. I can taste the cocktail on him and the wine on Victor and between the alcohol and their touch I realize that I feel a bit light headed.

As Kiro kisses me, I feel Victor’s hand travel under my skirt and up my thigh. He starts rubbing me and I moan, prompting Kiro to deepen his kiss, moving his hands from my face to my neck and then chest. When he pulls away, Victor capitalizes on the opportunity and kisses my neck as he slides one of his fingers into me.

I can tell they’re both more intoxicated than they’d ever admit, and to be honest, so am I.

Sober me would have stopped this but drunk me is flying high on everything that is happening. It feels too good to worry about the waitstaff walking through that door, and I close my eyes knowing that Kiro is watching Victor play with me, eagerly awaiting his turn.

He’s impatient though, and my top comes off leaving me fully exposed to both the men and the city beyond the large glass windows. I feel myself reaching for both of them, to make them feel as good as they’re making me feel and I feel Victor’s other hand unbutton his pants.

What happens next is a bit of a blur.

It’s almost as if I come back to myself, stripped bare and breathing heavily on a couch that isn’t mine and in a lounge where anyone could have walked in at any moment. I see the two men next to me, panting and satisfied on either side, tucking their shirts back in as they return to a disheveled version of the men that appeared earlier in the night.

I will pretend that I don’t remember bouncing on top of Victor as I sucked on Kiro. I will pretend that I won’t remember finishing both of them on my knees, with my hands and my mouth before letting Victor finish me with his mouth while Kiro watches on, all the while stimulating my other sensitive spots.

I will pretend I don’t remember Victor playing with time to drag out my pleasure when it finally comes, and that I do not giggle when Kiro whines, “Oh come on, that’s just cheating…”

When the waitstaff finally do enter, we are all fully clothed and in the process of sobering up with cold glasses of water. I worry that the room reeks of sex and that they know what happened, but it would appear that they are none the wiser.

Victor grabs the tab that I was supposed to pick up and pays for everything, leaving just as much in tip before saying to us, “Let’s get out of here.”

On the street we are silent - the cold air sobering us to the reality that lies beyond.

“Do you mind if I take her home?” Victor asks Kiro politely, and I’m surprised when Kiro shakes his head.

“I have to catch an early flight for our next leg of the tour.”

“You’ll keep in touch, right?” I ask, almost scared that the greediness of my actions will catch up with me, but Kiro just smiles his bright, pop star smile.

“Of course Miss Chips. Until we meet again.”

He kisses me sweetly, and neither he nor Victor seem to care that the other is present for this moment.

He leaves and Victor takes my hand, slowly walking me back home.

We’re silent for a few blocks before he starts chuckling out of seemingly nowhere.

“What?!” I demand.

“You continue to surprise me.”

I look at him, puzzled as to what he’s talking about and he continues.

“I’ll have to come up with a new contract to ensure I get at least one fourth of your time.”

He’s teasing me, but I know him well enough to know that he’s actually impressed at how I’ve managed to get what I want despite how things are usually done. He’s known from the start that I haven’t wanted to say goodbye.

That I’m not ready to.

There’s kindness in what he’s saying, and it’s not lost on me. As much as I know he wants me for himself, he won’t rush me.

He loves me too much to do that.

They all do.

The topic changes quite naturally and before I know it we’re chatting as if our salacious night never happened. He’s mocking me for being a glutton and I’m pretending to be outraged that he’d call me such.

I invite him in because I’m back faster than I expected and to my disappointment, he refuses me.

“LFG calls,” he says, and I can tell he’s disappointed too.

“Ok. Thanks for walking me home.”

He smiles and kisses me and just as I turn to open the door to my building and head inside, he grabs my arm.

“But now that I know what you want, soon enough you won’t have this excuse to keep the others around…”

He lets go and turns on his heel, not glancing back and walking away with the kind of confidence and swagger I know only he posses. My heart races as I watch him turn the corner and out of my sight before turning in.

—

I shower the night off of me and change into cozy pajamas, crawling into bed. I have four messages, one from each of them, all wishing me good night and reminding me that this is for now.

“One day work won't consume my life,” Victor repeats.

“One day I will prove to you that I can stay,” Lucien says.

“One day my mission will be complete,” Gavin promises.

“One day it will only be us,” Kiro muses.

One day.

But until that day, I will savor having all them in my life.

And I will love them all as much as they love me, for as long as I’m allowed.

This was fun to write and *very* out of my comfort zone. As always, if you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend, liking it, commenting to say that you enjoyed it/what you liked, or buying me a coffee!

While this is most likely the last installment of this short series, if you like my writing I hope you'll follow me for more in the future.

tagging:

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@hifftn

@ho-lee-snow-balls

@redheadkitty11

@superllamaathleteshoe

@mamafishfound

@clilee

@uniunikilla

@x-klamstrakur

@itsannaslife13

@exosexosekai

@galaxystarrr

@minvirsa

@xxnxcxlx

@thirsty-for-mlqc-bois

@the-rlyn

@crystalrainwish

@kazuyaasai-serenaspencerli

@nad-zeta

@crystalcrystalcrystal

@britishatheartamerican

@goldenrosefae

@caitvoyancy

#mr love #mr love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mr love gavin #mr love kiro #mr love victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc lucien #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mlqc smut

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