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trashdeviant · 4 years ago

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Chapter 2

Venom/Eddie x Reader

Tw: cussing

Your fists are trembling before you realize that you were clenching them enough to dig into the palm of your hands. As much as you considered laying your hands down flat to calm down, you could only unclench them in a gesture of stress before balling them up again. You had barely made it outside of the building when you rested your back against the wall.

“Fuck…” You rasp.

It was so infuriating when he decided to come at you with this passive-aggressive shit. Almost like he saw you as the problem. He loved Jessie and really missed having that shit-faced motherfucker in your life. Raf acts as if you betrayed him when you decide that you never wanted to come in contact with that childish low-life. You had plenty of names for Jess, but you really needed to shake them out of your head for now. This is about Raf stepping out of line with you.

Good. Great. Wonderful.

You felt like so much shit at the moment. Whenever things got rough you would always storm into the apartment to hug him and cuddle until he helped you calm down. A searing hot tear glided down your cheek, although your face was emotionless. It hurts.

Hurts to know that you couldn’t go to him this time. This is what you get when you refuse to spend time outside of your home. You’re not really sure how long this was going to last either. But you were as stubborn as you were torn between apologizing and finding another place to sleep tonight.

Finally your brows invert in anguish and you look up in a poor attempt to stop the tears from pouring. Your arms felt as heavy as your chest. It’s times like these that make you wonder if Raf even liked being your friend.

“You don’t get to fucking call me that…” It was more of a breath than a whisper, but it was an effort to try to keep youself from spiralling into thoughts that degraded you into thinking this was all your fault and that you were a terrible person.

Maybe you were, but at the moment you weren’t in the mood to hear it from yourself. Growing up you had to teach yourself to keep out of that spiral or you would do something drastic. It doesn’t always succeed and yet it was at least an effort being made.

This time your brows furrow as you aggressively wipe away tears on either side of your face before cracking your knuckles. You need to try to ground yourself and shake off some bad thoughts before you could hear them. That sounded weird. Now you rush out of the area to keep your mind running just as you were rather than focus on the bad thoughts. Sometimes you would pace around the apartment when you were alone just to think of things to defend yourself or think up whatever you could for a distraction. The latter being less useful than the first.

Right now you were jogging across the street to head to whatever seemed familiar. You had to be careful as you had the tendency to get side tracked and get a little lost in a street you rarely traveled.

Raf had no place to guilt trip you into even being friends with someone that cheated on you. Jess could never gather enough humanity to even acknowledge what you had gone through in that relationship. ‘Yeah I understand your decision…’ you scoff at the thought. Raf told you all sorts of shit like that after the break up. A few months later and Raf develops this little habit of scaring off anyone you would bring around him and later talk up your ex like a car salesman. You still haven’t felt like you needed to talk to Jess. As a matter of fact, you owed neither of them anything. Regardless of the fact that you three used to be an inseparable trio.

You grit your teeth.

Rafael is a selfish naive piece of shit if he thinks he will ever get you to crack and open up your life to that whore. You are not obligated to talk to them; that is that. If Raf can’t come to peace with you cutting a whole motherfucker out of your life then that was his own problem.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” You grunted silently to yourself-punching a nearby surface that seemed to be a wall.

The mere voice in your head that reminded you of his constant excuse made you cringe in a sudden wave of anger. ‘I’m stuck in the middle’, was short for, “You’re not being fair! Stop being the problem and make up with Jess so I can enjoy myself in the presence of both of you!”

First of all-Raf isn’t in the middle of anything! He is a grown man and can go see Jessie whenever he wants to or even invite him in while you’re out! He is the only one making everything such a big deal. ‘News flash, Raffie, you’re no peacemaker here!’, your blood boils at the fact that he couldn’t treat you two as separate friends. Even Jess was able to understand you wanted no part of them!

You cut people out of your life for a reason! Not only did they cheat on you, but was generally an asshole too! Just because Raf can’t gather the strength to end something completely does not mean you had to adapt to what he wanted! It is not illegal to cut someone out of your life and it could be perfectly healthy for you, even! Regardless if your circle has only gotten smaller and smaller over the years...

“I don’t need any of that shit! If I have to I’ll move, Raf!” Your voice hissing his nickname,”If you can’t live without that bitch and me then I’ll do you the fucking favor of cutting myself out of your life! Who the fuck says I need either of you!?”

You stop dead in your tracks and look down at your shoes. There was guilt and suffering swelling inside of you. You had only said that because you couldn’t think of any other way out of it than having him hate you. Hot streaks of tears return as you lower yourself into a crouch and hold your head. You don’t bother to fight the urge to pull your hair.

‘I do-I need you…’

A pathetic plea that lands on nobody’s ears. This was going to be the death of you if you keep going down this path. The sun was beginning to set. Orange and pink flourishes across the skies. Sobs rake through your body as you hide yourself into the alleyway. What the literal fuck? You could knock a man into a coma and here you were weeping like a lonely child. ‘You’re a selfish piece of shit-go to hell-he tries hard for you and here you are talking shit-what kind of friend are you-what kind of a sibling-a waste of a contact-a waste of a life-a bastard-motherfucking piece of-’

Your heart was stuck in a traffic of emotions. The selfish asshole doesn’t realize how badly you wish it could go back to the way it was too if it made things any easier. But like hell if you were going to ruin yourself again for the sake of his comfort. ‘Be the bigger person’ was such a load of bullshit. A ticket for the other to avoid consequence if he asked you.

A nervous hand is offered to your trembling form before you even realize there was anyone walking towards you, “What are you doing in here?”, he begins his question with your name, which was enough for you to snap your head up at him. ‘Eddie?’ You had forgotten how burnt up your eyes must have looked. Dropping your head in embarrassment you hide your bruised up features and take his hand. “Not having a good night.” Your own voice repulses you and you have to stop yourself at choking up as another wave of self-loathing thoughts creep up on you.

There was no lying to him considering you couldn’t think of a good cover story for crying in an alley in the dark. The least you could do was keep it vague to spare him from listening to you gripe about something so irrelevant to him.

“Need me to walk you home?” Panic surges through you for less than a second at his question.

“No! No-thank you. Uh…” You mentally shake yourself before you continue, ”Um, do you mind if we just walk to your place?”

A sigh leaves you when you relish in his nod. You fail to notice how he had helped you up and draped his jacket over your still trembling body as you walked. Eddie most likely thought you were shaking from the cold rather than your little meltdown. How cute.

After a moment of nothingness that leaked into you like acid, you decide to open your mouth despite how your sore throat protests, “Thank you, Eddie.”

“It’s no problem.” He says it so casually it almost makes you nauseated with guilt.

There was another silent pause, “So…” You began, “How did you… find me?” That insinuated that he was looking for you, but you didn’t know what else to say after half of that question had already left your mouth.

He purses his lips for a second. Then proceeded to do something that finally had you smile at him and even muffle the wrenching ache in your heart. Eddie stammers and stumbles over a word or two as visual warmth creeps up his ears. You ponder what he was hiding before he is able to speak again, “We-I-I forgot our-my tater tots and I ran back to your place and your brother answered and told us to come find you here…”

“Okay…” that made you stare wide eyed. He was kind of a shitty liar considering Raf doesn’t know where you are.

He stirs at your silence and leaves your gaze about forty times in the matter of two seconds. To his shock you begin giggling. Then you began to chuckle. Followed by some laughing that was hard enough that you had to hold your stomach. He holds you still as you take a moment to recover. ‘Damn, wouldn’t it be crazy if he was some psycho stalking me or whatever?’

Maybe your laughter was contagious or you just looked stupid, but he begins to cackle along with you. You both probably looked pretty stupid. With a careful step you continue the journey back to his place the moment your laughter slowly dies down.

“You’re weird” You wheezed through a last few fits of giggling that left you breathless.

Eddie was just as bad as he wipes away some water building up in his eye, “You don’t know the half of it.”

The bad thoughts push at your neck and build a little pressure in your chest as a harsh reminder that you shouldn’t be enjoying yourself. You smile through the pain, yet he asks you if you’re alright and if you’re hurting somewhere. His voice goes soft with an undertone of concern. You couldn’t swat at the butterflies that shift in your organs.

“I’m fine. Just shit hit the fan back at my place.” You wince in disgust when you reveal that little detail. Eddie notices and offers implied choices, “Want to talk about it?”

You could either walk in more awkward silence or you could awkwardly blow up on him. Much to your own displeasure you settle for the latter.

“Do you believe in shit like ‘being the bigger person’?” You curl your fingers to make air quotes around your words as you speak. You didn’t want to be talking to a brick wall of morals after all.

Unsure of what you were expecting, you turn to look at him, “Not really. I mean… Past experiences makes that kind of complicated to answer, but… not really.”

Sighing, you look forward to avoid eye contact; naturally as the coward you were, “Raf only blew up on you because he thinks you would ruin the chances of me focusing on a friendship with an ex of mine.” He scoffs, but you continue before he could say anything, “But Jess is kind of a shitty person and I really don’t care about bringing that fucker back into my life for his sake-uh since me Raf and Jess were all friends once…” You stopped there deciding last minute to keep a lid on it.

“Does Raf know you don’t want to be friends again?” You didn’t expect him to actually say anything after that. Nobody really ever did aside from Rafael.

“Yeah, it’s been almost a year already, but it still comes up.”

“Wait-why does he care? Can’t he still be friends with Jess and be your brother?”

Eddie seemed genuinely confused which was actually kind of adorable, but you ignored that thought, “Because he feels like he’s stuck in the middle of us. He wants it to go back to how it was when all three of us were together and tearing shit up.”

“So it’s really about him then?” More of a statement than a question. It made you look up at him in realization. The only feeling that lingered from your meltdown was the guilt of being a selfish asshole. You almost forgot to be a little pissed at him by the time you were mostly out of it.

He takes note of your reaction and speaks carefully, “I’m starting to think you two have really different feelings going around about different parts of this situation.” You nod in affirmation.

“So that’s probably why you two haven’t figured a way around any of this. Like you both rely on one of you just clicking and finally getting it so one of you can have it your way. But if you don’t then it’ll just come back up again later, right?”

You nod again, mostly in a daze. He was actually making sense to you somehow.

“That is so unfair...”

That actually makes you huff out a bit of laughter, “Tell me about it.”

You two finally make it to his apartment complex. By the time you two make it to the door of his apartment he’s already pushing you inside. Playfully of course. In his defense you were acting like a vampire that needed to verbally be invited in.

You stand politely next to his couch before you hear him scoff jokingly, “Do I look like the Queen of England?” When you don’t respond he steps into your view to hold your arms comfortingly, “Relax. Sit.”

Offering an apologetic smile you add onto you nervous behavior, “I’m sorry I’m just kind of… It’s been a while since I’ve…” You didn’t want to sound all that depressing, “Look I’ll try to…” Jesus fuck this was a disaster, “Ugh… I-I’m…” You wish you hadn’t said anything at all at this point. Huffing in defeat you finish your thought, “I’m just tired. I’m sorry.”

Eddie looks at you closely as if to inspect you.

The silence was always weird. What was he thinking and why did it always take this long? Was he thinking of a way to kick you out? Your internal stress was rudely interrupted when he places something in front of you. The smell of cupped noodles pushes your embarrassment down your throat; almost forgotten. You didn’t seem to understand right away. Did you look hungry? Was your stomach making weird noises? Enough!

You took a forkful and hummed thankfully.

He takes his place next to you with a cup of his own. Perhaps he could sense that you were still bothered by your situation, or maybe he was just curious, you weren’t sure which as he begins to inquire, “Does Jess know you don’t want to be friends?”

Nodding, you swallow whatever is left in your mouth, “Yeah. I mean sometimes I hear from Raf that Jess would rather talk it out and I don’t know. Explain what happened that night maybe. Raf tells me that things have changed and how Jess changed, but I don’t… I don’t actually want to find that out for myself.” You couldn’t help but shrink at how horrible you were beginning to sound now that it was all being said out loud.

More silence.

“Should you really have to?”

There was a second before you choke up dryly at your next thought, “If I don’t then I’m just a coward and Raf is going to give up on me and won’t talk to me and-” Scorching tears return at full force by the time you feel yourself shaking against someone’s chest, “-I’ll be alone and I don’t want to be-not like this-I don’t want to be-” Arms tightening around you never made you feel so small. Your voice was growing less and less coherent and yet you pretended otherwise as you kept babbling on about fearing yourself. Does Rafael really think you don’t care enough about him if you don’t go back to being friends with your own fucking ex? You ball yourself up and cling to his jacket as if you would slip into the void if you let go.

‘Back at square one’ your mind jested. How would he ever talk to you again after this? Eddie was probably thinking ‘What have I gotten myself into?’ right about now. You were a wreck basically the first day you’ve met him! At least Raf didn’t have to worry anymore considering you ruined this poor dude’s night. A devastated smile tugs at your lips. His seriousness wavers at the feeling.

“What?” He has to pull away to look at you.

Your eyes were puffy, skin slick with tears, bruises still evident. Not only were you disgusting, but tears had soaked through his jacket, much to your embarrassment. You naturally avoid his gaze for the millionth time that night, “I’m sorry for fucking up your night.”

For a minute he seems to be at a loss for words. You mentally slap yourself for even saying anything and putting him in such an awkward position. Just as you were about to fill in the gap with more gibberish and half baked thoughts, he retorts, “You didn’t fuck anything up.”

You blink up at him to see that he was smiling down at you.

“Okay, sure, you’re crying on my couch and I don’t really know what to do with my hands-” His face almost beams when you snort weakly at his comment, “-but I would rather have you here than crying alone in some ditch-or alley in the dark.”

Then suddenly, something hit you. You wouldn’t be crying in his arms tonight if you just kept your conversation light. If you didn’t blurt out each and every little detail. Mostly because it was weird to do to a stranger you met just that day. Even most friends would look for distractions as an answer. He asked about your situation and kept prying. He was looking for the smaller details. Because he’s a reporter.

Or maybe he was just that nice of a person.

You move one hand to hold your side as you begin another contagious wave of laughter that resulted in you hiding your face in his shoulder. It was more down-played than the last, but still unrelenting. You weren’t sure why, but it all just seemed weird enough to you to be laughable. Not too long after were there strings of laughter rumbling throughout his body. For some reason, the bouncing of your head against his quaking shoulder was automatically hysterical to you. Your laughter grew by the second. This had to stop.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie snickered.

Only after a humiliating snort or two did you answer, “You!” the mirth finally dives back into calmness as you provide some clarity, “You’re just,” your words were broken by a lingering breath of laughter, “so weird…”

A nervous chuckle draws your attention, “Weird good or weird bad?”

“I don’t know,” a bit of mischief teases your lips when you see his reaction, “You go looking for me in an alley after the shitty breakfast I gave you and let me into your apartment all ugly with tears.”

Slowly, joy kicked at his lungs. His laugh was cute. Man, if this dude turns out to be a murderer just lurring you in, you were going to be pissed.

“Yeah… I think you’re a good weird.” You didn’t realize how close Eddie was to you until you sneak a peak of his deep smile.

He seemed to realize it too as he takes the opportunity to lean a little closer and wipe away any lingering tears off of your face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was coated in honey when you decide you want to meet him halfway. You begin slow. He was so close to you; his breath easily warming your skin and sending goosebumps up your arms. Suddenly you were cold.

You blink at the view of him continuing to eat his leftovers.

“Your soups gettin’ cold.” The shit-eating grin that he bares was enough to light a fire under your ass.

Shock was written all over your face, nevertheless, you grab your soup and continue to eat. There was some silence that weighted the atmosphere. Maybe he was expecting a different reaction out of you, you weren’t sure, but nobody was about to be playing hard to get with you right now. You cackle internally.

“So do you-”

A smile that could sell for innocence graces your features.

He swipes his tongue over the corner of his lips slowly to catch the drop of soup from the small corn you had flung at him. It catches your gaze through the corner of your eye. Feeling like you’ve won, you continue to eat.

Unfortunately you only had half a minute to mentally brag. A lukewarm piece of noodle smacks lamely into your jawline before falling into the remainder of your soup. You gasp and shoot an infamous glare which slowly falters beneath the playful grin that surfaces.

With a flick of your index finger you move another piece of food on the tip of your fork. In a flash, you bring a fist down on the handle and launch a small piece of partially soaked chicken right into what would have been his chest.

What happened instead was actually quite impressive. Your eyes widen to see Eddie lunge forward and catch the food in his mouth. For a second you swear you see his teeth sharpen, but dismiss it as a mere exaggeration of his action. You raise your hands to defend your face as he chuckles and flicks another one at you.

You cry out in laughter and launch it back at him; hitting his nose. Another one flies at you, but you slap it out of your way. It splashes into your soup and further dirties your hoodie. At the moment you didn’t really care. That being said, a few more minutes into your little warfare and your hoodie was as bad as your crying face was a few moments ago. Eddie wasn’t as bad after catching two more when they were just a little too overhead.

“You want me to wash your hoodie for you?” He gestures to the filth that caked the fabric. He looked smug albeit a little apologetic.

“Nah it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” An eyebrow raises and you cave, “Uh… I would take it off, but I didn’t bring a shirt…”

Humiliation manifests on your face just as Eddie raises a brow. There’s no issue when it came to Raf seeing you shirtless, but with someone so new? It was weird. You can’t help but be a little insecure. He scratches the back of his neck in thought before offering another option, “I could give you a shirt, no problem.”

You were going to decline, but you could feel something slick and cold sticking to your stomach. Shivering you nod gratefully, “Please?”

Keeping close to him you follow towards a closet full of clothing. Eddie pulls his shirt over his head. Your eyes immediately trace the muscles that flex and contour his back. Fuck, it actually makes you want to cry. You play it off as a sigh and peel your eyes away from him as he slips into a clean shirt. Were you making things weird? No he probably didn’t notice anything. He hasn’t made a sound yet anyways. Yeah-no it’s nothing. He can’t possibly see that look on your face! Did you see those tattoos? Wipe that drool off your face, he’s turning around!

He places a soft fabric into your hands and points to the bathroom. You were still too ashamed to meet his eyes and notice his smug expression. Instead, here you were in his kind-of-gross bathroom. Stripping off your hoodie you pull the shirt over your top half. If you were being honest, you wish you were out there in front of him. Your mind went into the gutter while you imagine trying to show off your muscles and whatnot.

“Everything okay in there?” You jump and reflexively grab your hoodie off of the sink.

“Y-yeah. I’ll be right out.”

Anxiously, you pull at the collar of the shirt. You couldn’t stop yourself. Pulling it closely to your lips, you inhale lightly. His scent was almost like its own spice. A sweet musk with enough zest you sweep you off your feet.

You hear him shuffling around in his living room and quickly make your way out. The shirt was an easy fit on you, actually. Eddie was a pretty big guy anyways so you were grateful for the size. Your eyes glaze upon the shirt he wears now. Imagine tearing into such thin fabric… You catch yourself before getting lost in the figuration again.

“Thanks. I’ll give it back-”

“Don’t worry about it. Looks better on you.”

‘Smooth Criminal’ was written all over him, “Not as good as you look right now.”

“You think I look good?” He stalks up to you and you feel your heart flutter.

“Didn’t realize I stuttered.” You hum, amused.

Before things could escalate, Eddie clears his throat. He seemed to be keeping himself back. It was absolutely annoying…

“You stayin’ the night?”

“Only if you’ll let me.” There’s some hopefulness in your words.

He catches it and feeds you a promising grin, “Guess you’re stayin’.”

The rest of that night was a blur. But much to your displeasure you two didn’t do much of anything. You could tell because you were both leaning against each other on his couch with the TV on. The urge to kick something in frustration was strong enough to pick Eddie as a target. Not that you didn’t have a nice time, but you would rather be walking off a pair of sore legs right about now. He stirs next to you and leans his back against the couch; taking some weight off of you.

You desperately want to move, but not off of the couch. You wanted to lay your head in the crook of his neck and you weren’t even sure why. That was weird. He literally met you yesterday…

‘What the fuck.’

Your head was comfortably tucked against his toned thighs. Too busy being stuck in your thoughts you fail to notice you were slowly being pushed into his lap. You really needed to stop daydreaming because you are doing things you basically tell yourself not to do.

Eddie was already waking up before you could fix your mistake! Quickly shutting your eyes, you pretend to be asleep. A moment later and Eddie was shifting beneath you in contempt of trying to control your breathing. Were you being elevated? You refused to face the music by opening your eyes just yet. Not even when you felt his seemingly huge hand caress the back of your head.

He does lean down to you though. Your heart comes to a screeching halt in hopes of him leaning down to kiss you. However that does not happen. You could feel him. Eddie was taking in your scent, greedily. You miss the chance to stop yourself from shuddering. This almost made you feel vulnerable. But worst comes to worst, you could take a hit and dish one out too.

There was an animalistic rumble that has you peek through your lashes. It was horrifyingly good and ran up your spine better than any man’s “lower” voice. The subtle clicking was weird but did wonders to your core. In spite of peeking, it was just Eddie’s nervous face.

The jig is up.

You squint at him-as if you were just waking up-appearing tired and disoriented, “Dude,” You couldn’t help throwing in a drowsy chuckle before continuing, “are you sniffing me?”

Mentally jumping for joy at the fact that it took the attention off of you for sleeping on his lap, you watch in amazement as he stammers with an excuse and chokes up on nothing. He was as nervous and messy as you were.

In the end he comes up with nothing short of, “I just… thought you smelt nice… is all…”

As nice as it was to see him sweat over anything, you crack a smile and offer some honesty, “Thanks. I think you smell nice too.”

Shit was so awkward it was just easier to laugh at each other at this point. You sit up and make a bit of a show at stretching. With your arms raised, you make sure to flex. The shirt was a little on the thinner side which made it easier to tease your little audience as it left almost no secrets and gave just enough details. You finish with a scripted yawn that flows into a soft moan and rest your hands behind your neck. Lasty, you blink away your bedroom eyes to see him still staring. You almost laugh at him when he opens his mouth to close it again.

‘How pathetic is that?’ You chuckle to yourself.

He looked frazzled and scared to say anything. You feel a surge of energy and confidence the moment he practically turns around to run away. There was no way in hell you didn’t just hear him whimper.

Laughing only when he makes it into the safety of his bathroom, your phone nearly vibrates off of the table.

[R: Aye call me or get over here]

[R: Cause I just got you a fight]

[R: Its flashin’ big money]

[Y: How big?]

You two may be fighting, but when it came to you fighting other people, it was an implied compromise that you two still work together.

[R: Call me or smthng]

Eddie was just coming out of the bathroom. His bed head looking more like it was on purpose than an accident.

[Y: Can’t rn… I’ll be over in ten]

[Y: Ttyl]

Pocketing your phone you look at Eddie bashfully, “Hey… big guy?” oh god-no awkward…

“Big guy?” His grin was already talking dirty.

“Careful-I know where you sleep.” You point at him accusingly before laughing it off, “Anyways…” ‘You’re stalling…’

“This was fun… and you’re really nice. So thank you…” He at least seemed pleased by your words so far, “But, Raf texted me so…” Until now. His face was weirdly disappointed. All you could do was sigh mentally, ‘I don’t want to go either…’.

“Are we going to see you again sometime or?” You gave it some thought. You didn’t actually have a job with your winnings mainly covering the rent. Not to mention, Raf was the one working at the bakery on 24th street. Memories flash you with images of you lounging on the couch or working out. You had all the free time in the world.

For a second, you twist from side to side indecisively. You kind of wish for a way to attach him to you hip. You liked him and despite all the teasing and whatnot, he seemed as shy and weird as you were. Just as lost.

“Hm… What are you doing tonight?” The smile he answers with was rewarding.

“Don’t know yet… You tell me…” Jesus fuck, did your heart just float away?

Keeping your cool you place your palm against his bicep, “I know a cute little place we could meet up.”

You give him the location of a sweet little cafe that was open in the late hours. He was familiar with it and called it a date. A swift hand grabs your hoodie. You quickly toss it onto your shoulder and poke some fun at how you may just keep the shirt. It felt softer than any of your shirts. Everything felt like it was lingering, “You want me to walk you home?”

“I’ll be fine.” Punctuating your words with a shameless flex of your bicep. You really didn’t want to go, nonetheless, you bid him farewell after a bittersweet chuckle, “Anyways-Got to bounce. Ciao.”

He waves you off and closes the door behind you. Your heart needs a moment to deal with the loss of company. As you move down the hall to exit the building you hear Eddie’s muffled voice, “Wh-God shut up V.”

He seemed irritated, but he was chuckling. Strange. Who was he talking to?

You pay it no mind for now and focus on your journey back home.

#venom x reader #Eddie Brock x reader #venom #trashwriting #this was also in the drafts so #sorry for the wait #in case any of you are wondering I do look into my inbox at your supportive comments #still helps a lot #thanks

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years ago

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 21)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 20.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Bearing the child from a man who promised was sterile gave more anxiety as you lived in their world, knowing that Geralt will resent as the offspring was forged by a cursed spirit that held her own reasons and consequences. Your fate becoming more complicated as each day pass by with a dreading feeling that you surely have no idea about.

Warnings: The usual blasphemy. Lore about the Djinn. (I've made it up) Matka means 'mother'. Ingrith is an OC of mine so she ain't real in the witcher story. Hehehe. (Surprise! Guess Geralt knew Ingrith after all. HE LIED. LMAO. 😂😅🤣) Panicking reader. Pregnancy.

Words: 5.4k

A/N: Is this a boring chapter? I dunno. But, it will provide everyone the lore they need for some of your questions to be answered. I forgot to actually edit this because I was too focused on ranking up in Free Fire. Hahahahah. 😂 Had to edit this a day before I actually publish it in Tumblr. (I usually take 2 days because everybody loves to disturb me in my house. Also I need to manually tag people in taglists, check my grammar and typos. Oof. It makes me squint my eyes too hard on the screen because of how small the letters can be)

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. I only own my original characters in this fanfic.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Geralt of Rivia,"

Vicious and cunning as she may seem, her tone was utterly redolent. Familiar faces finally met in such a fate that not any fortune teller may assume would happen. Loved ones being involve in adversities that has been unflattering for the witcher who stood before the queen's long associate in the castle of Kaedwen, a victorious smirk warping her sharp-edge face that Geralt has not reciprocated. Twisted in a smile that tells she was hopeful over her plans being moved into the right places.

"---I knew you would come," Ingrith spoke as a matter of fact.

The witcher knew that this encounter was inevitable for the second time. Their previous meeting lingering inside his head---being the reason why he chose to live in the outskirts of Kaedwen which eventually made him tarry a bit over going to Kaer Morhen after receiving no answer from her. Receiving much of an answer he needed through Cuthbert, his neighbor who happened to heard rumors about 'her' whereabouts more than from the sorceress he'd decided to talk with.

He'd finally knew where Yennefer has been travelling when you've arrived, his search being an easy one as Geralt discovered her location after trying not to seek for the sorceress he has been looking for years---ending up knowing her area when he gave up finding the sorceress after a month or so.

"Where is she?" he beseech his avows, the scowl stern and never fading as he was eager to see you since the moment he step foot in the castle.

"Yen or your futile human? Oh, it wouldn't be that cursed princess you've butchered in Blaviken because she's already dead, Geralt."

The cunning sorceress tutted before him as they stood at the foot of the abandoned round tower, no guards being publicly seen because of the fact that they were too much of a milksop. Ingrith, Tybalt and Eanraig---the ones who had cabbalistic abilities were the only people who tries to take care of the prince. His own parents and siblings never giving bother about checking how he was doing despite of being harmless in daylight.

"---You've disappointed me---I knew you had a penchant for sorceresses or women whom you could consider as your kind---strong, discerning....and even whores paid to entertain you through your pitiful solitude,"

Ingrith went on with her vouching, leaning her head to the side with a knowing gaze inside her eyes; a forewarning that she was dismayed from his foolish decisions that she finds, continuously mocking his settlements, "---But, you've chosen a useless woman who could not defend herself even by telling the queen that she was not the thief who has stolen her precious necklace,"

The butcher barred his teeth, jutting his jaw forward as he felt his back turn tense and rigid from how he was turning furious as each second passes by with the sorceress he'd regretted to seek for help before---not knowing she would also be the person to afflict pain for his midget in the future.

"You've told the queen that she stole her jewelry when you know it wasn't her, not a canny persuasion made, Ingrith."

Her grin turned bigger, finding his anger satisfying and entertaining in her perspective. Ingrith could disguise as a devil and nobody would notice because of how wicked she'd been turning herself into; a wretch that Geralt have seen from her with the sacrilegious intentions living inside her mind.

"I've expected more from you than to choose and defend a mortal, Witcher."

"---I've remember the night we first met," she continued to ran her mouth, sardonic as she gladly hinted. Ingrith could see the blaze in his golden eyes, how he wanted to unsheathe his sword that was carried behind his back to show her his indignation for everything---from leaving her niece in the hands of her father who detested her due to deformity.

Hence, she has left young Yennefer with no guilt in her eyes despite knowing everything---leaving the past behind and acting like it never happened, taking the initiative to ignore her whereabouts and look the other way from how she grew into a strong woman.

"You were asking Yennefer of Vengerberg from me," she stepped a foot closer towards the witcher, making Geralt deeply breathe through his nose from his pique and lack of personal space that she was trying to bombard him with.

Ingrith couldn't help but let her grin fall when Geralt took a step back, steering clear from her suggestive gestures as he gave her a low hiss and rumble of his chest when he added words to complete her sentence, "---and you had other plans,"

"I've had better plans for us, Geralt."

"I do not wish to be involved by those treacherous plans of yours. You want power---you wanted to become stronger. Settling yourself in the castle to do what you want. Even planning to extirpate your own niece because she is more powerful than you,"

The sorceress scoffed to herself, exasperated from how he blocked her advances. His amber filled with fury as it has still not yet died down after going the deep end. Her trials involving on discouraging his faith for a mere mortal like you. Her ears felt like it was being rattled from the inside, triggering her pride and ego over being told that she was below of her niece in terms of strength and magic, "Yennefer of Vengerberg? She is not powerful as you may seem, Witcher."

"You've left her alone with people who do not care for her,"

"Sorceresses don't die easily than mortals. It's in her blood; our blood, Elven blood. You know this."

Geralt couldn't help but give her a snicker, the small curl of his lip raising in disbelief for her intentions over you and being involved in his god-forsaken life that he didn't want you to be a part with, "You want my mortal to die,---" he gruffly muttered, the words tasting bitter on the ends of his tongue for the idea of you dying in his arms.

"---I won't let that happen, not until I'm alive, Ingrith."

The witcher continued to brood like how people described him to be; his mood turning sour for not seeing you yet and not knowing what was happening to you as it kept his chest bothered and heavy. Ingrith's features warped into a twist, her nose scrunched from how distasteful she found his protection over your vulnerable, weakened self; how pathetic he was caring for a mortal that could die easily especially having the curse, you were more impuisant than any other woman in the continent because a curse had effects and consequences.

His safeguarding would be useless because of the inevitable juncture that would give him sorrow and Geralt had no idea what he was in when he was trying hard to shelter you out of harms way.

Ingrith crossed her arms, shaking her head at his determination, "She'll eventually die, witcher. It's her fate in the continent. Humans like her reach their demise with misery and regret because they're nugatory, serving no purpose but to be insignificant over us,"

The latter turned his back away from her, ending the discussion with his perseverance being unyielding, shaking his head for her estimated fortune telling that he believed was a lie; understanding that she was only saying it because you didn't belong to their world and you were at high risk over danger for the chaos living in the continent.

"She won't die nor will you have the opportunity of doing so,"

"Her existence would bring more despair; more sorrow for your fate. She's just a nuisance value of human kind!" Ingrith loudly exclaimed from behind, watching him courageously push the doors to the round tower where the cursed prince has been living. Disregarding her warnings like the wind passing through.

He heard her but didn't give any acknowledge over her words. Whether it was true or not, the witcher may never know unless the day that Ingrith has been foretelling has actually been damned after all.

The fairly large throne room was filled in luxury, themed in gold and red. Such color that simply tells how their bloodline lived around the hierarchy that they highly take care of. Blood and coins. It says all. Their ornaments and artifacts spent with coins seeming to be conceived in detail for their palace rather than for the people who deserved it better living in Kaedwen.

Queen Makeda tapped her fingers along the arms of her throne, her gaze sharp and pondering over Geralt and Tybalt who stood in the middle of the room. Both having an obvious lour; deepening when she started to give orders about what was to be expected over the hunt, any hints as to where the witch has been rumored to be last seen or any more information that must be shared before Geralt takes off.

"Tybalt shall be coming in search for the witch with the witcher,"

Prince Markith, he was the queen's younger son before Prince Althalos. A lot more younger than the cursed man, immature as the maids say so. He stood beside his seated mother, wearing a simple doublet over his black breeches. The fading freckles on his cheeks stretching when a giggle escaped his lips; an obvious space between his two front teeth shown as his laugh echoed around the throne room that has gotten Geralt to give a gander.

"Witch. Witcher. Witchest." the teenager playfully mumbled beneath his breath, finding amusement over the whole thing going on with his family especially seeing the white haired witcher all brooding and silent, subtly mocking his kind in the least offending way as possible.

The queen immediately given him a sharp warning of her gaze, cocking her head to the side and seeing her son continuously chuckling from his own joke, having his own world that he always manages to live in. Seeming to be like he had imaginary friends rather than real ones that his parents seclude him amongst children because Markith should be remained untouched from the filth that people had.

"Markith, that is not a proper attitude of a prince," she lowly scolded in the midst of talking, the child's interruption obviously irking her temper.

Markith raise a brow, the child's tone utterly sardonic as he spoke, "But, I'm not the crown prince. Brother is. But, if brother dies then---"

She cut him off with a brusque hiss, "He will not die from our hands! He will live and rule the future of Kaedwen,"

"Does this kingdom even have a future when it is ruled by your hands?"

Quietude filled the throne room after her son's sarcastic retort. The silence was frothing; bubbling from her expected aggravation over the younger prince's shameless answer. Much to her chagrin, she has never received an apology nor an explanation as to why Markith suddenly blurted it out in the open for Geralt to hear.

Upon hearing those words coming from a child, the witcher couldn't help but stood nonplussed. His expressions coming off as emotionless with his brooding charm jumping off the four corners of the room. In which has received a glower from the vampire who also stood beside him, his eyes seeming to be taking Geralt much more of his attention when they were both called to stay beside each other.

Queen Makeda raised a finger, ushering one knight to march his way up the numbered stairs under the lavish canopy where the king and queen's throne sits.

"Bartley, bring him back to his chambers," she roughly ordered, her teeth barred as she glared at Markith who was also feral for disregarding his opinions over their corrupted reigning throughout their kingdom. Bartley gave a courteous bow for the queen before walking to where her son stood, forcefully grabbing onto his shoulders as he gently pushed him around to leave.

"But, Mother---"

The queen never takes no for an answer. Hence, one loud yell was all the child has taken before being thrown out, his gaze lingering longer at the witcher whom he has heard tales about; having quite the eagerness to see if the tales were true to their words. Yet, his mother decided to lock him up in his room again for being curious and playing around.

"Now!"

Geralt stood completely still. The scowl never changing as he gave a heavy sigh, seeming like the world was carried on his burly, armored shoulders. His sour mood being the result of your prior, quick separation before he even walked to the throne room. Your pained words ringing inside his head for a thousand times like a plague that he had finally not been immune for.

He shouldn't have left you in that condition especially when you were physically injured. Geralt actually just proved to you how much of a witcher he was; cantankerous, blunt and emotionless even though you've had this strong faith for him that you believed being the opposite of it.

But, he just needed to fuck it up by leaving you without a word and also calling you pathetic in such ways.

The butcher continued eating his own heart out by staring at the queen with brooding eyes, waiting for the go signal for his hunt. He wanted to get this over with; planning to do his job right and find the witch, bring her in the castle to reverse the spell then off you go with him. Leaving all of these behind as a past that you would never forget or decide to forget forever if you wanted to.

Tybalt audibly scoffed for Geralt to give him his regard, taking the side-eye from the witcher as he publicly stated his cavils, "Why am I traveling with him now, yer' majesty? to be his guard? Hilarious!"

One familiar hum was heard; gruff and utterly sarcastic once Geralt began to frankly acknowledge. His hostility over the vampire obvious when he has opened his mouth, "I work better alone and away from blood sucking monsters." a feigned curl of his lips appearing to be a smile has been received towards the queen, her quick understanding seeing that it was a forced one that Geralt was trying hard to perceive over his altercations.

"---I'm a witcher. I slaughter beasts. Monsters of any kind."

In the spur of the moment, Geralt turned his head to let Tybalt see the mocking flicker inside his golden eyes.

Tybalt knew he was pertaining to his kind. Vampires. He couldn't help but clench his fists on his sides, his nostrils flared while the witcher was trying to get on his nerves---or he just basically hated the higher vampire to send his animosity by being forthright, "What ye' lookin at, Weccan?" he sneered back at Geralt with barred teeth while the white wolf had the end of his lip curled into a leer, irked by his smug pillorying in the presence of the queen like he didn't give a fuck.

He really didn't especially when he wanted to behead everyone in his way.

Geralt's presence was already making Tybalt's hackles rise without even trying to nettle his temper. The image of his newly bathed hair was already narking him without even seeing his face and the feeling was mutual for both enemies.

Tybalt began forming his own ridicules, seeing the witcher become the object of his scorn.

"Your skin is as pale as your tresses. I doubt you still have any amount of blood in ye'!"

"The joke's too old. I'll assume you've asked me if I do bleed." the white wolf was nonchalant as he quipped. Displaying to be quite blase from his attempts of hurling more anger out of him when he was too furious from the start to even begin with.

"---Witcher, do you bleed?"

Geralt couldn't help the most jaded expression he could ever muster upon hearing the most asked question, uttering out a grumble of his insouciant timbre of his voice that has gotten Tybalt bellowing from his remark.

"My blood's not tasty enough for you. Don't bother."

"This feckin' arse!"

They've both sent each other deep growls against their chests, a low rumbling sound that was bouncing off the castle walls that everyone who was inside the throne room could notice as they stood side by side, giving each other glares and their derisive taunting.

Queen Makeda had a finger supporting her head from falling. Her arm folded and leaning against her throne whilst sighing over their random twits. Foot tapping along the stoned floors as she gave them both her enervated attention.

Tybalt's fixated gaze has been cut short when he'd knelt on the ground with one knee, bowing his head to pay his respects for the queen---probably, seeking support over not letting him travel with the witcher who must have a difficult time finding the witch that couldn't be found at all; not wanting to share his time with Geralt because their personalities were clashing against each other like rusty, acidic metal, "---Your highness, If you're worried about him dying in the middle of saving yer' witch whom can lift Prince Althalos' curse, I can assure you, he will not die. Legend says witchers die from monsters they hunt. The witch obviously isn't---"

The queen has raised her palm to cease his comments, completely unimpressed by how privileged he was being when it was her decision whether he would let him go or not.

"I can see how you both despise each other," she plainly stated, sounding nasally like she was too disappointed by Tybalt's actions.

At the mere exclamation of that, both men spoke in the same time. Their antipathy colliding even with their words sounding exactly what they felt for one another.

"Hate him." Geralt and Tybalt both snarled with such rancor, glaring for one more time before partially giving their whole attention to the queen who sat before the throne.

They've seen her mouth turn into frown, turning a blind eye towards the higher vampire who was left sulking for his sudden hunt. His plans with his sorceress coming to a stop for the queen's orders, intending to guard all your whereabouts in the palace as Ingrith tries to formulate a scheme to have you suffer without raising their hands on you nor using magic that will eventually fail because you were protected by a djinn.

"Tybalt. Be with the witcher. I want you guarding him until he finds the witch. The witcher shan't go back empty handed."

Tybalt couldn't help but curse beneath his breath, subtly rolling his eyes as he stood on both feet, adjusting his fur coat resting along his shoulders, "Oh, feckin' bullocks." before shaking his head as he forced a nod and approval out of him to gesture at the queen of Kaedwen.

Geralt calmly tried his best to exhale in a relaxing demeanor, his facial features twisting in utmost pique from the idea that he would be spending five days with the vampire he had a fight with back in the marketplace.

"Fuck." he lowly snarled to himself, momentarily shutting his eyes to breathe in disappointment. His head cocked to the side. Geralt felt Tybalt grip onto his armored shoulder, giving him a shallow pat to state his indignation with the whole ordeal. He turned on his heels, marching out of the throne room to fetch and pack his belongings for the journey ahead, quickly jogging out of the throne room that was making him want to curse as every second passes by with the witcher.

Queen Makeda can't help the snicker on her face, a smile forming wrinkles on the apples of her cheeks as she stated her false promises.

"You have my word about your little woman, Witcher. We will not touch her again."

Though, Geralt knew deep inside that it was all just a lie.

You've been receiving lots of personal questions from the druid. One of his queries was about the idea of wholeheartedly accepting a child from Geralt which you explained an approval if it was given in the future---or if he was even capable of giving you one. You strongly believed he can't.

Though, in the back of your head, you couldn't help but think how your child would look like with his genetics. Will she or he have white hair too? you gotta' have a child with beautiful genes somehow. An echo of hopeful, deranged voices filled your thoughts, quickly disregarding the thought in the back of your crazed head whilst hearing Eanraig bombard another question of his that kept you aware of how zealous he sounded.

"Do you love Geralt?"

"Woah. Hold your horses, Eanraig."

Subtly swallowing the anxiety away from hearing such question, you've warily cleared your throat. Your mouth wincing from the pungent taste of your after-retch. The inconspicious nullify of the subject taken heed by the scholar when you've avoided his eyes.

In-denial of the truth. Eanraig thought silently to himself while he brought his hand down, away from patting your back, "You will be giving the witcher a miracle," he lightly convinced you and decided that particulars shall be provided for the mother of the miraculous child growing inside; delaying the details with the father that would surely bring him into a shock and red-light from the witcher himself because of how having a pickney in the midst of his life will only bring his descendant danger.

"---From the night of the full moon, between a man and woman who had nature take its course, a child shall be produced,"

Mentioning that in a hot second, you were quick enough to counter the lie you ought to believe in. Trusting Geralt and his words more than ever because he knew himself better than anyone else especially in 'that' department. Thorough objection was promptly written all over your shocked, disapproving expressions; brows furrowed in worry with lips turning ajar for such sensible responsibility being given to your head like a crown fitting for you.

Was Geralt lying and he actually just wanted to get you pregnant? If so, then he was certainly a wacko for even doing it---in your world he could be arrested for lying.

"Geralt's infertile! What are you even---?!?!" you couldn't finish your sentence as the responsibility for having your lechery take over you a few nights ago was worth enough to blame. How did Eanraig knew when it hasn't reached a month after a tangle of passionate desires with the witcher? did everyone knew about it but not you both? was it why you were being hated by Ingrith because she knew you were bearing Geralt's child?

A ton rounds of bulleted questions rang inside your head after one query hasn't been answered. One by one it was hopping like rabbits chasing a baited carrot because on the other side of your head, it knew answers for your disputes within yourself.

Panic and fear over an unborn child was beginning to take a toll as you grabbed onto your roots, frustratingly tugging on them while you listened to Geralt's old friend.

"Infertile or not. As long as the other is human who possesses no magic---or better yet, both humans who possesses no magic shall receive results beyond their expectations. I have never told Geralt about this because he will never believe me. A Witcher does not take that kind of news too well---might be even saying that he would take his child as a bait to be eaten by monsters than to bring them to this world,"

You've pursed your lips, finding how true it was to hear those words from the witcher knowing that you were pregnant by his child. Was this a hoax? a dream that God wanted you to never wake up from?

Being transported to their dimension; loving a mutated human you never expected to and eventually baring a child from him when he knew he could never bore a child at all. Was this your destiny for him? giving him miracles---a child that he certainly didn't expected and needed because accepting his child of surprise was already difficult for him to undertake.

"I can totally hear him saying that." you uttered completely defeated and benumbed from the breaking news that made you forget how upset you were by Geralt's prior actions.

"You are having his child, my dear. You're carrying his scion that has been forged by the Djinn." Eanraig started his elucidation about the serious topic at hand, educating you about the accelerated gestation that the Djinn's curse may come between. Earlier telling you about the expected development because you might be seeing changes over your body than how a normal woman will be expecting.

"---The process is faster. Three times hastier than a normal pregnancy---Though, never fear for the child not to be normal."

With sangfroid, the breath that you've been holding has been puffed out with your eyes drooping closed; letting the calmness sink in without having the panic rise through your head for a hundred times because of the thought that the child would turn out different in which she may suffer in the end.

Until Eanraig decided to continue his statements that has given you whiplash.

"---Because that child is beyond normal. She'll inherit the Djinn's powers because it is a part of Matka's three wishes."

"She?" you've managed to feebly and shakily mutter beneath your soft breath, feeling the coldness wrap around you for knowing more about the child that you were currently bearing---keeping you in a constant disorient that had you staring onto your twitching fingers laid upon your thighs.

"I'll assume that the Djinn you have gotten was a Matka. The cursed Djinn who lovers try to find in order to bore an heir if they cannot create their own offspring. Matka was created to give her own powers to a progeny that would inherit her abilities---believing that her existence will help the world from lessening the bedlam within the lore of monsters and humanity,"

"You're telling me I'm really pregnant with a girl? with...with Geralt's child? This child is also...owning such power that is making me hyperventilate right now?! Is it a vampire?! What if it eats my insides just like how Edward's baby did?!" your back was still utterly stiff from the nervousness that this news has given you, the mere fact of taking care of a powerful baby pouring ice buckets on your head---the dread hitting your core from the stupefaction and fear raising a child of your own.

Your modern references has given Eanraig a nonchalant stare from him, never knowing to laugh or smile over your panicky state.

"Is the witcher a vampire?" he hesitatingly spoke, his throat sounding dry before Eanraig cleared his throat when he'd lately realized.

"No."

"Then, it shall not have any vampire blood."

Skin felt tingling as your heart couldn't stop the beating so fast, throwing you into a swivet, "I'm not prepared to be a mother, Eanraig!"

You couldn't help but reach a hand to clasp around your tightening throat, further listening to Eanraig. His expositions making you want to give him a bark of laughter due to the disbelief over what reality that destiny started giving you when the Djinn happened.

"The continent has its own supernatural contingencies that nobody may ever explain---which has given you a child of yours with the witcher. Your kingdom knows no magic based on your reactions, correct?" the druid raised a brow and grabbed both of your shoulders, firmly letting you look into his grey eyes that continued inspiriting your devastated self.

You've tentatively shook your head to give an answer. The dread gripping your heart so tight that you started breathing heavily, your fingers suddenly grabbing onto your stomach because of the sudden memory that the castle guards have placed a kick to your gut. The worry for your unborn baby bringing you into utter distress for her condition.

A loud gasp left your lips, "Wait, I've been---I've been abused---hurt---what about my child, Eanraig? If---If Geralt knows about this now, he wouldn't want my child, would he?"

"I...may never know what he thinks, little woman. He hardly speaks. Only to you, the bard and his surprise child, I assume."

"Then, should I keep this from him?"

"I doubt his mutations can keep your pregnancy as a secret,"

Panicking more than ever, you've felt your eyes well up with warmth. Signalling tears threatening to come out of it as both of your palms were on either side of your head. Quiet whining were heard in the back of your throat for the future that was bound for you especially by being thrown on the face by a brick, the brick being fate moving mountains for the witcher and his ill-fate infertility---that has been surprisingly controlled by the power of magic; black magic.

"Then, what do I do?! I don't want to raise a child on my own when I'm not even prepared to be a mother?!" Eanraig heard the sobs from you and he'd quickly gathered all of the comfort he could give by patting you on the back, calming down that tough anxiety you have.

"Cease the tears," he continued to pat, "---It'll be bad for you and the child,"

"I have a witcher baby! What do I do?!" you ranted and raved, sniffing in the same time as your fingers spread across your chest, feeling it tighten a lot more because of this serious matter. Time stood still for you, imagining what Geralt would say or tell when he couldn't even accept your love; when he was still secretive over things he wasn't comfortable about telling.

Would he be fine to have a child with a woman who was in love with him when he doesn't even know his true feelings for you until now?

"I don't know how to tell, Geralt! I don't wanna let this child grow without a father---what if I leave this world all of a sudden without him? Eanraig, what if he dies out there right now and this child grows up without a father?"

You knew, he would refuse the child you were having because of how he had a long time accepting Cirilla. A child who has already been taken care of by another---what more for a baby that he certainly had no experience of having nor wished to have?

The druid welcomed all your rants over such an important and surprising incident that existed in the white wolf's life. Completely knowing for it to be an unexpected route in his path that Eanraig could never see for him. He gave one last comforting pat on your back, nodding to you as if he was trying to let his words seep inside your head---your apprehension that he solely hoped to be the maturity of your mind.

"Let fate decide what will happen. You'll eventually need to tell the father of your child---and the witcher will know about it soon,"

Little did you know, there was already a tiny beat of a heart that seem to be inaudible for a mortal; but not for a witcher who had sensitive hearing created to catch onto the tiniest rustle of leaves till the quietest thumps of every heart.

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings, bb’s! Thank you.) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife

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beamingmaylyn · 4 years ago

Text

eat ramen with me - jjk || part 27

words : 1,362

warnings : alcohol consumption, swearing, fluff (?)

“He’s so wary around me, it frustrates me sometimes. I don’t say anything though, I know he means only the best.”

“What do you mean?” Donghae’s voice rang out from my phone. He was helping me make kimbap and potsticker salad for Gguk.

“Like I’m going through some big trauma and will fall apart if he does anything remotely triggering to me. As if I was in some dramatic car crash, or I got shot. At the same time, it’s helping me cope, so I guess what he’s doing is right.”

Living with Jungkook for the past week has been…interesting, to say the least. Neither one of us touched on the subject. The ‘bathroom proposal’ as Seohyun likes to call it. I was grateful for it. He let me have the guest bedroom of his house, he left me money for takeout every day which I obviously did not use. And that would lead to a whiny Jungkook, who then made me eat another packet of instant ramen while patting my head, making sure I was well fed. He even bought me my peaches & cream shampoo because ‘it makes the house smell like you, peach’.

The dynamic between us is now stronger than ever. He rants about his day while aggressively cutting up carrots for me to eat after bumping into the shower door because ‘your eyesight is so bad, idiot’. Again, he pampers me despite my protests. I rant to him about my annoying sister, and how I miss Seohyun’s air freshener while warming up his takeout. But I certainly don’t want to overstay my welcome.

One thing I miss about having my own apartment is the smell of home. It’s changed, now the same as Gguk’s. He always smells so good but now that I’m used to it, I don’t get to smell it anymore. I find myself holding onto his hugs longer, finding comfort in the more than familiar scent of his clothing.

“Hey! I had some manggaetteok today and I somehow managed to convince Jimin to not-“ Both of us froze when he walked into the kitchen.

“Uhm, Donghae we’ll talk later, yeah? Thanks.” I hung up the call and bolted out of the kitchen, shoving him towards his room. “What are you doing here?” I cried out from my plans being ruined.

“What are YOU doing here? You’ll set my kitchen on fire!” He was right. My eyes widened and I ran back to the kitchen to tend to the food.

“Are you having someone over?” I heard his shaky voice from down the hall. Was he serious? I snickered at his concerned tone. “I’m making it for you, who else would I be cooking for right now?”

“Shit, how’d you know I loved potsticker salad?” He mumbled into the top of my head with his arms ghosting over my middle. I barely noticed him entering the kitchen because I was too busy trying to keep our dinner edible. “How did you know how to make this?” His arms finally tightened around me when I leaned into his embrace.

“Seohyun’s boyfriend was helping me over FaceTime, but I’m not finished yet so go shower and change while I try to finish this.” I was flustered, embarrassed almost, for getting practically caught in the act.

I somehow managed to finish the meal, while he changed and set up the table.

“Did you buy this?” Gguk asked holding up a bottle of flower wine that he took out from the fridge. “Oh, yeah.” I briefly answered while fishing out two wine glasses out of a cupboard. “Why?”

“Well you said it was delicious, so I thought I would treat you to a bottle.” I swiped the bottle out of his hands and turned around while pouring so he wouldn’t read the embarrassment from my face. “Peach, that’s really expensive wine-“ I put my hand up, stopping his whining. “Just let me pamper you, yeah?” It was his turn to blush, as he nodded and continued to set the table.

“Cheers.” A bright smile showed up on his face once I raised my glass happily. He clinked our glasses and maintained eye contact while drinking.

“Oh god,” I said after gagging at the taste of the wine. “I forgot how much I hated this shit.” I shook my head aggressively and placed my glass next to his. Thank god for the two bottles of peach soju I bought. His laugh echoed through the house once he saw me pouring us each a shot.

“What’s the occasion for this?” “To say thank you…I hope you’re aware of how much you’ve actually been helping me. I really appreciate it and I wasn’t sure if you realized I acknowledge everything you do for me. It’s not much but, hey! At least your kitchen is still intact.” I smiled awkwardly and handed him his shot, then we drank to celebrate my success.

Hearing him praise my food preferences and cooking with every bite he took, made me even more sure in my decision.

“Hey, Jungkook?” His movements stilled completely. I would have thought time froze if it wasn’t for the rice falling from the grip of his chopsticks. Instead of answering, he looked up at me and raised his eyebrows.

“I- We’ve kind of been avoiding this subject, but I think we should talk about it.” I didn’t have to say it, he knew what I was talking about. The food now forgotten, silence overtook the room.

“It’s a shame everything turned out the way it did, we were starting to get really close and then fucking Dispatch threw us off and caused a shit storm. I still really like you, more than I did on the night you asked.”

“I really like you too, but please don’t feel pressured to talk about this. I don’t want nor expect anything in return from you because I helped you. Okay?”

“Don’t worry I know. Each day you surprise me more and more with how great of a person you are. It’s so surreal, I don’t even deserve you.” He shook his head at my words but didn’t interrupt. “I genuinely hope I make you happy the same way you make me happy.”

“If you didn’t I wouldn’t have let you fuck around in my kitchen.” He joked and tilted his head to the side, encouraging me to continue.

“So, uhm…do you want to be in a relationship with me? Do you still want to be my boyfriend?” It’s still a mystery to me how I managed to spit that out.

He smiled and raised his glass to his lips, finishing the remaining wine. “Come here.” He said softly, licking his lips from the excess wine. I stumbled out of my chair and stood in front of him. My eyes followed his as he stood up and towered over me. He gently stroked my hair and guided his hand to my cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

With both his hands tilting my face upwards and his big eyes right in front of mine, I couldn’t find a reason to deny him. I tasted the wine on his lips, but somehow I didn’t mind.

part 27 - flower wine

prev || next

eat ramen with me masterlist

summary : you keep getting texts from a random number and decide not to go against the will of the universe

a/n : credit to @inangellocumlibello for helping me with this, you a real one

taglist - if you want to be added send me an ask or a message, this way you'll be notified when i post new parts

@yoongisabby @lovelymultiwrites @ambersaesthetics @actuallyada @sterynlis @illwritetomorrow @snortyport @nerdycookiemonster-1222 @squeakermarie @gguksfilter @betysotelo18 @charlotte-1206 @serahtonin @momma-said-that-it-was-oke @lyndseygoregasmxo @jinhitwhore @lecosepiurare @angelic-kiss3s @seungcheoluwu @sarangayyyyy @moonlight-silent @kb-bangtanenthusiast @mysingularitybts @ganderson10 @fuckjjk97 @jiholeen @soggy-taters @cafeyeoli @jalyssa-wyssaa @gittydakitty @alterlovess @itsrapmonstanotdancemonsta @krystle1990 @aitne-luna @icy-booh @euphxriajoon @pityandchiil @kookiesbreaky @mayafravoli @gracefulevijlsoul @littlewolfieposts @veronawrites @awkwardgreeting @kelitt @irenebutfancier

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years ago

Note

hey! so, i've been a huge fan of your writing for a while now. you always offer me so much inspiration within your stories, i absolutely love your ability bring life to all the characters and settings you write about. and idk if you're still accepting requests for your otp mix n' match challenge, nor if you'd even consider doing this request haha, but- could i perhaps request 15 & 11? i am super interested in potentially seeing what your take on my personal otp would be! much love either way

Hi, this has been in my drafts for like.... forever. Since April or May, I think? Oh boy. My apologies, I completely forgot about it until I stumbled across it today. But hey, better now than never, I suppose. Also thank you for your kinds words! I truly appreciate it! :D

“Louis and Mitch pretend to date to make others jealous but you know what happens.”

Read on AO3

This is a joke.

This is a joke and he’s the butt of it.

How did the fuck did he end up here?

Mitch knows this has to be a joke because Louis did not go through this much effort for it to not be a joke.

The remaining fries on the plate have gone cold, mushy beneath the squirt of bright cheddar cheese. Walter’s Diner has the best fries in this hellhole of a town, and usually, they’re the first thing he chows down before finishing his burger or even touching his shake.

Fuck. Fucking hell.

It’s hard to concentrate on and enjoy his food with Louis’ arm behind his neck, hand casually resting over Mitch’s shoulder as he and Violet argue whether they should order a basket of donut holes or four slices of peach pie for dessert.

“They’re stuffed,” Violet says, pointing at the menu, reading, “‘Our bite-sized delights are baked to perfection, stuffed with our delicious cream cheese filling, and tossed in a heavenly mixture of cinnamon and sugar.’ And you’re telling me that doesn’t sound good?”

“And you’re telling me that a slice of Walter’s famous peach pie doesn’t make your mouth water?” Louis sighs. “I’m salivating just thinking about it.”

Violet wrinkles her nose.

“Peach pie sucks.”

“You suck.”

“C’mon guys,” Aasim butts in, eyes rolling in that exasperated way he gets whenever Louis and Violet do this. “Donuts suck, pie sucks, and you both suck. Let’s order ice cream.”

With a hand pressed against his chest, Louis lets out his fakest, most dramatic gasp. Next comes the obnoxious- and probably offensive- British accent.

“Why, my dear Mitch, Violet, did you hear what this lickspittle just said to us?”

Violet’s last tater tot goes flying as a response, bouncing off Aasim’s nose.

“Are you serious?” Aasim snatches the tater tot back up, throwing it at Louis.

“Hey! Rude!” Louis laughs, his arm slipping out from behind Mitch to try and catch the tot. “What did I do?”

Without a thought, Mitch grabs the offending tot and tosses it back at Aasim, who catches it and lets it drop onto his plate.

“Knock it off, guys,” he says. “It shouldn’t take this long to decide on a dessert. I vote pie.”

That makes Louis smile.

“Ah, a man after my own heart,” he sighs, shifting closer against Mitch’s side- Jesus Christ almighty- and pressing quick kiss against his cheek.

Fuck everything. Fuck, fuck-

This causes Mitch to suck in a breath, only to cover it up by coughing into his sleeve. God, his face is going to melt off, especially if Louis keeps looking at him like that.

“That’s not a surprise,” Violet rolls her eyes, ignoring the kiss and Mitch’s coughing fit. “He sucks, too.”

“Can’t we just agree that we all suck?” Louis says.

“Can’t you ever shut your pie hole?”

“Can’t we all just order different desserts?” Aasim pleads, finger jabbing at the menu on the table to emphasize his point.

Louis and Violet look at one another, puzzled as if that idea never occurred to them. At this point, Mitch didn’t even care about dessert, didn’t really even want any.

Louis shifts and there’s the warm, distracting press of his knee against his and Mitch has never been so tense in his entire life.

He's too fucking close. Too close. Too close. And he kissed him. On the cheek, sure, but fucking hell-

Never has he felt such tension in his body, even when something obnoxiously embarrassing passes his father’s mouth, or when Willy’s fingers slip from the branches of whatever tree he’s climbing and he almost plummets to the ground.

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that Aasim won’t stop gawking at them every time they do anything, or that Louis is fucking comfortable doing the things that make Aasim gawk in the first place.

This whole thing is nothing but a cruel joke that Mitch was stupid enough to take the bait for.

And for what? A promise of Louis buying him lunch every day for a month? Was a free meal every day worth this level of anxiety and... gross feelings?

“Fine,” says Violet. “I’ll eat a whole basket myself, but don’t any of you dare eyeball them. You had your chance.”

“I won’t eyeball your donuts if you don’t eyeball my pie.”

“I won’t because pie sucks.”

“You suck!”

“Oh my god,” Aasim abruptly twists around, desperately tapping on the shoulder of a now startled waitress. “Two slices of peach pie, a basket of donuts holes, and an ice cream cone to go. Please. I want to go home.”

The waitress stares at him, baffled, before nodding and getting away from their table as quickly as possible.

Louis chuckles, arm slipping back behind Mitch as he says, “I think she likes you.”

“Shut up!” Aasim frowns. “I swear to god...”

Louis continues to laugh, but he steals a glance at Mitch. Something softens and it’s... Mitch doesn’t know what the fuck it is. Ever since they started this, sometimes Louis will look at him like that.

From what he can tell, Louis doesn’t even look at the girl like that, and she’s the entire reason they’re doing this.

That girl- what the fuck’s her name? He couldn’t have possibly tuned Louis out every time he mentions her- the redhead from his art class or whatever. She’s the one who started this bullshit.

About a month ago, Louis wrote him a note detailing, “I need your help. Meet me by the school entrance during lunch? It’s important,” while they’re in the middle of a pop quiz. As if Mitch didn’t have enough to worry about with all the damn fractions scattering the quiz, but then he was left worry about what the hell Louis needed his help with.

Also, he did this without Mr. Garcia noticing. How the fuck that’s possible is beyond him. If they were caught, both of their quizzes would’ve been ripped to shreds. Mitch didn’t need that shit right now.

Then, the entrance was barely in sight by the time Louis snuck up on him, grabbed his arm, and proceeded to drag him outside and across the parking lot so they could hop into the safety of Mitch’s hand-me-down truck despite Mitch’s protests. He hadn’t cleaned his truck of its fast-food wrappers or loose sheets of forgotten homework in weeks, and that left him worried that the air freshener didn’t work.

Finally, Louis managed to explain this so-called plan of his to Mitch with a straight face, not cracking once. He actually sounds serious enough that Mitch might’ve believed him if this bullshit wasn’t so... so bullshit.

“I really like her,” Louis had said, “and Violet said this kind of thing could get her attention.”

Of course, Mitch didn’t agree so easily because the plan was- nd still is- stupid.

“You think pretending to date me is gonna get her attention?” he scoffed. “I’m not fucking doing this. Ask Vi.”

“I can’t ask Vi. She doesn’t date dudes and I’m pretty sure Brody would, like, break me in half or something.”

“Fine, Aasim then.”

“C’mon, you know Aasim would never.”

“Well,” Mitch threw his hands up. “I would never! Find someone else because I’m not gonna be your fake boyfriend so that you can make what’s-her-nut jealous!”

Jokes on him- Mitch’s been Louis’ fake boyfriend for weeks now because he hasn’t wooed what’s-her-nut yet. Which wasn’t that the whole point? They just pretend while she’s around? Not when they’re alone or when hanging out with Violet and Aasim?

Louis said it was to make it as real as possible, just in case what’s-her-nut found out. That doesn’t explain why Louis is the way he is when it’s just the two of them. Doesn’t explain the kiss on the cheek.

Mitch eats a cold fry, cringing at the taste. He can feel Violet looking at him while Louis goes on about something that happened in choir. When Mitch meets her eye, she smirks, raising a knowing brow. Mitch gives her a light kick under the table.

When the waitress finally brings them their dessert in separate bags, she doesn’t stick around long and avoids eye contact with Aasim.

“Hey, Vi,” Louis leans over her shoulder as they’re leaving the diner, “Can I have a donut hole?”

“I will stab you, your boyfriend, and your pie.”

“Hey, not my pie!” Louis grabs Mitch’s hand, knocking his shoulder into his. “Or my Mitch!”

Fucking hell.

Mitch doesn’t know how much longer he can handle this.

#twdgmixchallenge #twdg louis #twdg mitch #twdg violet #twdg aasim #twdg louitch #“Louis and Mitch pretend to date to make others jealous but you know what happens.”#it's been forever since i've done one of these #holy shit #i'm gonna barely edit it because it'll never get posted if i try to edit it #that's just who i am #hahaha #sorry it took forever but here ya go #it's been in my drafts since like... april i think #yeesh.... haha #i'm bad at what i do don't mind me #asks

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thinkingaboutyoungroyals · 5 years ago

Text

Lost Boy (Chapter 7: What Happened To Cyrus?)

Summary: When his family moves from San Francisco to the town of Shadyside, T.J. thought his life would change. And it did. He just didn’t think it would come in the form of the ghost of a boy who haunted his new bedroom.

Prologue

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

@delicatesleeper,@ibroughtachallah,@frenchtohste,@alittletooliteralleah,@tyrusmagocious,@tjskipping, @mirrorslover, @opatrickr, @lesbianrelateddeath, @justkimberley,@burning-hot-pan,@green-lemonboys,@anotherangelfromspace,@thebisexualweirdo,@likelightning-inabottle,@thedampjofangirl, @fizasdr, @awkward-bisexual-alien, @whipashwhipash, @abg-blah,@atthemomentimintothis,@emberofthefrost, @sana-drinks-isklar, @tyrusisobviouslyendgame, @delilahdee00

.........

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of depression, self-harm, and suicide

.........

“T.J…Cyrus isn’t dead.”

The rug had been pulled out from underneath his feet and he was on his back on the ground, staring up at the sky and wondering how it happened. There were no words for the swirl of mixed emotions brimming inside him.

Confusion. Joy. Anger. Sadness. Betrayal. Hope.

“W-Wait…” he managed, voice breaking. “H-He’s… alive?”

Andi sighed, sadly. “Well… alive is kind of a loose term.” She looked down at the photo in her hand. “He’s in a coma.”

T.J.’s heartbeat quickened.

A coma.

Cyrus was in a coma. Cyrus had a body somewhere. A living, breathing body.

Cyrus was alive.

T.J. couldn’t breathe and his throat was dry, but the thought of drinking more of his milkshake only made him want to throw up.

Why didn’t Cyrus want him to know? He never said anything about what happened to him. All he said was that it was an accident. Why did he say he was dead? And why did he allow T.J. to assume that he was dead?

T.J. forced his voice out. “Can you tell me… what happened to him?”

The girls flashed each other looks, silently communicating. Both looked unsure if they were willing to disclose this information to T.J., but he had to know. He needed to know what was going on.

What happened to Cyrus?

Finally, Buffy nodded. Andi got the message and turned to T.J., looking weary and tired despite her earlier energy.

“We don’t really know why he did it,” she began, putting the photo in her hands back on the table before clasping her fingers together. “You see…Cyrus isn’t really the type to tell you when something is upsetting him because he doesn’t want you to worry. Kind of ironic as he was raised by psychologists.”

She trailed off, looking distant.

Buffy took over. “He was more of the listening and helping type. But, when it came to himself, he tended to ignore all that.” She released a breath. “A lot of things happened when were in 7th grade.”

She looked at Andi, who sighed as she continued the story.

“I found out my older sister was actually my mom. And then my real dad showed up. And it was just…a lot going on with me.”

T.J. couldn’t stop his eyes from widening. The whole concept sounded like some kind of soap opera his mom and sister would watch.

Andi looked down at the photos on the table. “Cyrus was always willing to listen to my problems and everything that was bothering me. And then, I started sort of dating Jonah and…”

She trailed off before shaking her head. Buffy looked away, not meeting her eyes.

But, even if neither of them was saying it, it spoke loud enough for T.J. His suspicions had been correct: Cyrus did have feelings for Jonah. But, Jonah had been with Andi.

What a mess.

“I unloaded a lot on Cyrus and he just let me,” Andi continued. “That was the type of person he was.”

T.J. nodded. He knew.

Buffy cleared her throat. “I moved towards the end of 7th grade,” she began, playing with the straw of her milkshake, still refusing to look at either of them. “My mom’s in the military but she came home and got a new job. We had to move to Phoenix. Cyrus was devastated and I… I didn’t talk to either him or Andi while I was gone because I was so afraid to show them how unhappy I was. I didn’t even say goodbye. But, eventually, we moved back. I wanted to surprise Cyrus so I didn’t say anything and he was the last person who found out I was back. He didn’t seem to mind. He was happy that I was back.” She let out a soft laugh. “He even treated everyone at The Spoon to baby taters to celebrate.”

Andi laughed along, smiling fondly. “He was always so generous. That little rich boy.”

T.J. felt his lips twitch despite the turmoil inside him. Why couldn’t they just get to the point already?!

Buffy’s laugh faded, leaving her to look distant once more. “I got permission to start a girls’ basketball team at Jefferson. So, I got busier and busier. Cyrus was always there being supportive, even when I was a mess ‘cause I had no idea what the hell I was doing. And… then… Walker and I kind of sort of started dating…”

T.J. blinked.

Walker? Andi’s Walker? Bright eyes, happy-go-lucky, artistic Walker? Walker who adored Libby so much that T.J. wondered why they weren’t dating yet? He dated Buffy?!

“…and things between Andi and I kind of got… awkward.”

Said girl cleared her throat. “Walker liked me and, for a while, I kind of liked him back, too. But, in the end, I chose Jonah. And, he and Buffy hit it off. They were good together. But… I was just… I don’t even know what was going on with me. I guess there were some lingering feelings for Walker or maybe I was jealous that Buffy was spending so much time with him…” She shook her head. “Either way, our friendship kind of took this weird… turn. And Cyrus was caught in the middle. He never liked choosing or picking sides. And… then…”

She trailed off, looking at Buffy who sighed and continued for her.

“And then Cyrus’ grandmother, Bubbe Rose, passed away. He loved her so much so he was devastated.” She sighed. “We thought we were there for Cyrus when he needed us. We thought we did our duty as his friends to be there for him at his lowest. We didn’t know…”

This time, she choked up, unable to say the rest. She turned her head away, her hair blocking her face.

Andi reached out across the table to hold her hand, squeezing it tightly, before turning to T.J. and meeting his gaze.

“We didn’t know he was depressed,” she stated, a tear finally leaving her eye and sliding down her cheek.

Beside him, Buffy let out a choked sob.

T.J.’s chest felt tight, his fingers gripping his knee so hard, he could feel his fingernails making marks through his jeans.

“We knew he was sad and upset,” Andi continued, looking away to gaze outside the window. “But, we didn’t know that it was… that bad. He wasn’t eating much, but he always said he was full. He wasn’t sleeping much, either, but he kept insisting he was just up reading or watching some documentary.” She swallowed. “W-We didn’t see the signs at all. And he was still smiling and laughing along with us. We didn’t know that he wasn’t…okay. That he was breaking on the inside.”

Buffy sniffled, still not saying a word and still unable to show her face to them.

T.J. could feel water brimming the edge of his eyes but he held them back, refusing to let them fall. He thought of the constantly happy ghost boy with the bright disposition who sparkled with every smile and laugh.

So, it was true what they say… the saddest people smile the widest.

From the moment they met, Cyrus always had a smile on his face, like nothing in the world could hurt him. He was always making T.J.’s day better, encouraging him, and being the voice of positivity he needed.

T.J. understood, now, why Cyrus never spoke about the way he died. Why he often brushed it off. Why he was always so careful not to give anything away.

Andi opened her mouth and closed it. She was holding on to Buffy’s hand even tighter and the other girl didn’t seem to mind, only held on.

“What happened to Cyrus, Andi?” T.J. forced himself to ask, even if he didn’t really want to.

But, he had to know.

He had to.

Andi swallowed. “O-One night…” Her hands shook. “H-He… Took some sleeping p-pills… Apparently, he had trouble sleeping… But, he… took m-more than he should have taken…”

T.J.’s body went cold.

“… we don’t know if he did it on purpose or what but… h-he… overdosed.”

A soft, “Oh God,” left T.J.’s lips. His eyes stung with unshed tears. He couldn’t breathe anymore.

“His step-mom found him and they took him to the hospital. T-They managed to save him but… he wouldn’t wake up. He still hasn’t.”

The tears flowed freely down Andi’s cheeks now. A small puddle formed on the table.

“Buffy, Jonah, and I visited him a lot during the first couple of months. We would talk to him about whatever was going on in our lives. We were hoping that if he heard us, he might wake up. That’s what they say, right? That it helps if you talk to a person in a coma. But… Cyrus wouldn’t wake up. And… it just got harder and harder to look at him l-like that…”

Finally, Buffy spoke. “We were supposed to be his best friends. Yet, we didn’t see anything. We didn’t notice that he was falling apart. We should have noticed but we didn’t. The guilt… just wouldn’t leave us. And, after that, it got too hard to look at each other, too, so… we stopped hanging out.”

Andi let out a sniffle and picked up one of the photos again. A soft smile played on her lips.

“Every day, we keep hoping to hear the news that he’s woken up. But, every day that passed, our hope just… died. Until we just sort of… lived with it. But, Cyrus… he doesn’t deserve to be forgotten, just like that.”

Buffy squeezed her hand. “We’ll visit him,” she said, firmly before turning to T.J. “And I’m sure he’d love to meet you. Would you like to come with us?”

T.J. tried to answer. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Everything he just learned about Cyrus went through his mind like a movie. He could picture all the sadness, the anguish, and the suffering his friend went through while he lived.

“I-I have to go,” he managed, grabbing his bag and standing up. “Sorry, I just… I have to go. Here.” He took some money out, enough to pay for everyone’s food. “I-I’ll text you, guys.”

He hesitated before saying, “Sorry,” again. Ignoring their shocked and confused faces, he rushed out of The Spoon.

His fast walk turned into a run and then a sprint. His legs hurt and his lungs burned. But, the smiling face floating in his mind kept him going.

He had to get home.

He had to see Cyrus.

“Cyrus!”

He burst through the front door, ran up the stairs, and flung his bedroom door open. The room was empty.

“Cyrus?!” He entered his room, closing the door behind him and looking around. “Cyrus, where are you?! Please tell me you’re still here!” He spun around, not letting his eyes miss a single corner. “Cyrus, please!”

The tears threatening to fall blurred his vision.

“T.J.?”

With a gasp, he turned towards the desk, where Cyrus sat, looking confused and worried.

“Is everything okay?” the ghost asked, hopping off and walking over to him. “What’s wrong?”

Without answering, T.J. simply flung himself at the other boy, wrapping his arms around him tightly. And, finally, the tears fell and they wouldn’t stop.

“Teej? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“J-Just… g-give me a minute… p-please… I-I need to…”

A cold hand rubbed circles on his back, soothingly.

Neither boy spoke for a long time. T.J. sobbed into Cyrus’ shoulder while Cyrus continued to comfort and hold him. Cyrus felt cold to the touch and T.J. shivered but refused to let go. He never wanted to let go

Finally, he had to pull away, but kept Cyrus within an arm’s length, close enough to pull him back if needed.

The other boy looked so worried and T.J. hated that it was him who put that expression on his face.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, softly.

Cyrus’ eyes widened. “P-Pardon?”

T.J. took his freezing hands in his. “I talked to Andi and Buffy today. I gave them the pictures.” He looked into those frightened brown eyes. “They told me everything.”

Cyrus’ breath hitched and he made to pull his hands away but T.J. held on.

“Is it true?” he questioned, pleadingly.

The boy couldn’t look at him.

“Cyrus, you didn’t…”

He looked up, his gaze meeting T.J.’s.

“It was an accident,” he said, softly. “I swear, T.J., it was an accident! I didn’t mean to! I just… I wanted the pain to go away! I wanted to just sleep for a long time but I wanted to wake up, too! I swear! I didn’t… I didn’t want that to happen! Believe me, please! I didn’t…” He choked up, his eyes shining with tears his ghostly form couldn’t shed. “I didn’t want to die!”

“But, you’re not dead.” T.J. squeezed his hand. “You have a body, Cyrus. You can still come back. We just have to figure out-.”

“There’s nothing to come back to! I’m brain dead, T.J.!”

Cyrus finally yanked his hands away and took several steps back. He wasn’t upset anymore. T.J. could feel the atmosphere turn ominous as Cyrus gradually got angry.

“When I woke up, I was already like this,” he said, calmly despite the fury in his eyes. “I was standing right next to my body as the doctors told my parents that the only thing keeping me alive was a machine. That body is nothing but an empty shell. I’m dead, okay? And I don’t know why I’m still hanging around here when I should have been gone already.”

“We can bring you back,” T.J. pleaded.

“No, T.J., you can’t bring me back.”

Cyrus looked defeated. He had accepted his fate. So easily, just like that.

But, T.J. couldn’t.

“We can try-.”

“STOP!”

T.J.’s spelling bee trophy fell off the dresser and onto the floor. It didn’t break, but it silenced the blonde, who had never seen Cyrus act like this before. Like a poltergeist.

He was really angry.

The ghost was heaving, looking at T.J. like he had been betrayed. “Stop,” he repeated.

Then, he disappeared, leaving T.J. alone once more.

...........

Amber flashed him worried looks throughout dinner as he pushed his food around his plate. She had questions but he refused to meet her eyes for fear of breaking down and exposing himself right there and then in front of their mother.

“Honey? What’s wrong?” Stella spoke up.

“Nothing.”

Nonetheless, his mother reached across the table to place a hand over his forehead.

“You’re a little clammy and you look pale,” she said, brows furrowed in worry.

“I’m fine.”

She did not believe him, of course.

“Go to bed early tonight, okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

“Okay.” He just didn’t have the strength to argue with her.

Amber took over dishes duty since their mom deemed him not well and sent him off to bed as soon as dinner was over.

T.J. got ready for bed in a daze. He wasn’t even tired but still got in bed. Then, he stared at his desk, waiting.

Cyrus had been gone for hours and T.J. didn’t know where he went. Otherwise, he would go after him and reassure him that he could fix this. He could get him back to his body. Cyrus could live again and they could become real-life friends. Him, Cyrus, Andi, Buffy, and even Jonah – they could all be friends.

A knock came on the door and it opened without him acknowledging the person behind it. Amber came in and, without a word, headed over to him and settled on the bed. He avoided her eyes, only looking at the desk.

“T.J., what’s wrong?” she asked, worriedly. “What happened this afternoon? I came back to check on everyone and your friends said you left. And… to be frank, you just look like crap.”

A vein throbbed in irritation on his forehead. “Gee, thanks,” he replied, sarcastically. “Can you please just leave me alone?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. It has something to do with that ghost, doesn’t it? So, spill.”

“Amber…”

“T.J.” Her tone was scolding as she glared at him, big sister mode in full-force. “Tell. Me.”

He was too exhausted to fight with her. So, in a shaky voice, he told her everything that Andi and Buffy told him. About their friendship Cyrus. About Cyrus’ past. About how he died. About how he may actually be alive.

And Amber listened, not interrupting for once or making some condescending facial expression, as she tended to do when their conversation involved a ghost.

Finally, when he was done, she pursed her lips, thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen you act like this,” she stated. “You’ve never been invested like this in a ghost before.”

“Amber… Cyrus is more than just a ghost.” T.J. swallowed the lump in his throat as his head swiveled to look at the empty desk again. “He’s my friend. And I want to help him. And if there’s any way to get him back to his body, I’ll do it.”

“But, how would you do that? If it was that easy, he would have done it by now. T.J., what if he’s right? And you can’t help him get back?”

“I have to try! Okay?!” With a frustrated groan, he fell back into his pillow, the fatigue of the day finally catching up to him. “I have to try…”

Amber placed a hand on his arm. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

T.J. didn’t answer, choosing, instead, to close his eyes.

“Want me to stay here with you tonight?”

Eyes still closed, T.J. replied, “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone.”

He heard Amber sigh. “Okay.” She ruffled his hair before her weight left his bed. “I’m next door if you need me.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Her footsteps moved away from him and the door closed shut.

His room was silent once more.

T.J. pricked his ears, hoping to hear a sound. Anything. Any sign that Cyrus had appeared.

But, there was none.

Nonetheless, T.J. continued to wait.

…….

Cold fingers brushed through his hair, rousing him from sleep.

T.J.’s eyes flew open. He fell asleep! It was dark now. Amber or his mom must have checked on him and turned the lights off.

The fingers in his hair retracted themselves. “Hey.”

T.J. turned his head, blinking through the darkness. Cyrus was sitting next to him – it was his fingers that had been playing in T.J.’s hair.

The ghost flashed him a sad look. “Are you still mad at me?”

Shocked at the question, T.J. immediately sat up, shaking his head. “No! Of course not!” He bit his lip. “Are you mad at me?”

Cyrus managed a small smile. “No. Just…sad, I guess.”

T.J. placed a hand over his and squeezed it. “If you let me, I can find a way to-.”

“No.” The boy’s voice was firm as he strongly met T.J.’s eyes. “There’s no hope, T.J.”

“But-.”

“Can we please not start this again?” Cyrus pleaded. “Tell me. What did Andi and Buffy say about me?”

T.J. recounted everything again, still holding Cyrus’ hand. It was kind of strange, talking about Cyrus to Cyrus, like he was a character in a story that took place in a different time...a different world.

He watched as the emotions flickered across the boy’s face – his sadness and distress loud and clear.

“So… they pretty much told you everything,” Cyrus stated when T.J. was done. “Almost everything.” He looked more serious than he had ever looked at any other time. “Will you listen to my side this time?”

There was no need to ask T.J. twice.

“Yes.”

.....

A/N: Those who guessed coma, congratulations! You read my mind! Or maybe I’m just predictable? Well, this was a very emotionally taxing chapter to write, to be honest, but it’s one of the most important ones.

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus fanfic #tyrus lost boy

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rosedavid · 6 years ago

Note

ssksk 14 with tyrus,,, but could you give it a happy ending ??? (:

This turned out to be way longer than I expected lol. I hope you enjoy it!!

14. “Willyou stop acting like it never happened?”

Today is the day that Cyrus returns to Shadyside after a month-long film camp. He should be elated to be back, andwhile he is glad to be home, he also feels hurt at the thought of it due to one person: TJ.

It all started right before Cyrus left forcamp. The two of them started dating about a month prior to Cyrus’s departure.Of course, Cyrus was going to miss TJ terribly while he was away. They hadfinally gotten into a relationship after months of pining. Cyrus felt completewith him, and wondered how he could have gotten so lucky that TJ would pick himto date.

TJ promised to text and snap Cyrus all thetime. They shared a goodbye kiss, and then Cyrus was off to learn more aboutscreenwriting. True to his promise, TJ texted him religiously for the firstweek. Cyrus most enjoyed his goofy snaps that he’d send of himself. Cyrusalways made sure to text back. He missed TJ like crazy, but he was enjoying thecamp. He even started making new friends who also liked cinema. Soon, he foundhimself hanging out with those friends. He made sure to tell TJ all about it.

“I can’t believe that they would even wantto be my friend!” Cyrus exclaimed into the phone. “But Jax and Becca are socool!”

“I’m happy for you, underdog,” TJ responded,but he sounded distant. “Listen, I have to go.”

“Oh, okay! Well, I’ll talk to youtomorrow. Goodnight.”

The next day, TJ didn’t text or call.Cyrus tried multiple times to get a hold of him, but his boyfriend just disappeared.Figuring he must be busy, Cyrus distracted himself with camp and while thatworked for a few days, the lack of TJ’s response to him started to take a toll.There was about one and a half weeks left of camp still, but it was like TJdidn’t even miss him.

Cyrus’s insecurities began to creep up onhim. What if he found someone better and that’s why he was ignoring Cyrus? Orhe just didn’t care about him anymore? Soon, all Cyrus can focus on is TJ. It’sdistracting him so much that Jax and Becca pick up on it. He can’t sleep, hefeels constantly anxious, and despite his attempts to stay rational, the onlythoughts that enter his mind are irrational.

Fast forward to the day he gets home, andCyrus doesn’t know what to feel. He expects TJ to continue ignoring him, butthe opposite happens. The day he gets home, TJ comes knocking at his door.

“Hey, I missed you!” TJ grins, hugging himtightly. Cyrus’s arms flop at his sides as he stands there in confusion.

“Uh, hey,” Cyrus mutters.

“We have so much TV to catch up on,” TJ saysas he walks inside, Cyrus trailing awkwardly behind him. “I waited for you towatch it with me.”

He plops down on Cyrus’s couch, pattingthe seat beside him. Hesitantly, Cyrus sits down, body rigid and hands flat onhis lap. TJ doesn’t stand for that, though. He wraps an arm around Cyrus andpulls him a bit closer.

The noise of the TV does nothing to drownout Cyrus’s emotions. As he looks at TJ sitting next to him, he feelscompletely overwhelmed. On one hand, he realizes just how much he missed hisboyfriend; he yearns to just lean in and cuddle with him. On the other hand,though, Cyrus feels hurt. He feels confused. He feels angry.

The plethora of emotions is too much tohandle at the moment, so Cyrus just sits there, eyes staring blankly at the TV screenas he tries to process everything.

TJ doesn’t seem to notice. He continues toact normal and happy. By the time they watch a few shows, TJ finally gets upand says he should be getting home for dinner.

“We should have a date. I’m busy with workthe next few days, but does Saturday sound okay?”

Unsure of what to say, Cyrus just nods.

TJ smiles and says something that shakesCyrus to the core. “I’ll text you later tonight!”

That line alone makes Cyrus’s head spin,and the minute TJ leaves he hurries to his room, burying himself underneath hiscovers hoping that sleep will bring with it a better day.

TJ continues to act normal. He texts Cyrusconstantly to which Cyrus replies half-heartedly, hoping he’ll get the hint. Hedoesn’t. Soon, it’s the day of their date, and he feels like he’s on the pointof breaking.

TJ plans a date in the park. It’s supposedto be extremely romantic with a picnic lunch and everything, but Cyrus can’tseem to focus on anything else besides what happened a week ago. TJ, though,seems perfectly content to ignore the problem as usual.

“I got you your favorite,” TJ grins, holdingup a carton of baby taters.

Cyrus sighs, arms folded. “Yeah, thanks.”

“You haven’t seemed very happy recently. What’swrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Cyrus snaps, plucking thetaters out of his hands. TJ frowns, scooting closer.

“If something’s bothering you, you cantell me. I promise.”

Something inside Cyrus finally unleashes,and he leaps up, pacing back and forth across the grass. “Why were you ignoringme?”

TJ stands up with him, frowning. “I don’tknow what you’re talking about.”

“Willyou stop acting like it never happened?” Cyrus begs. “Things can’t just go backto normal if we refuse to talk about it!”

“Why not?” TJ groans, throwing his handsup in the air.

“Because it keeps spinning over and over in my head and—” Cyrusbreaks off into a sob, tears finally spilling out of the corners of his eyes.“And it makes me feel like I’m not good enough… that I’ll never be good enoughfor you.”

“Cy—”

“I thought you didn’t care!”

TJ lips part in surprise, and he tugsCyrus into his chest. Cyrus immediately latches on, fingers digging into TJ’sback as he clutches the soft fabric of his hoodie. TJ wraps his arms around Cyrus’sshoulders, feeling him quake and hyperventilate. The tears won’t stop. Cyrus uglysobs into TJ’s sweatshirt, feeling gross as the tears and snot run together. Hetightens his fists into the fabric. In that moment he hates TJ, but he alsoloves him so much that it hurts.

Despite their argument, TJ doesn’t try tomove away. He simply holds Cyrus as he cries. Neither know how long they’vebeen there when Cyrus finally calms down to only the occasional sniffle. As hecomes back to his senses, Cyrus realizes TJ has been rubbing his back theentire time and resting his cheek against Cyrus’s head. TJ allows Cyrus to pullaway on his own. When he finally decides to leave TJ’s embrace, he instantlymisses the warmth. He rubs at his eyes and face which are splotchy and wet. There’sa notable wet spot on TJ’s sweatshirt right against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Cyrus sniffles. “I ruinedyour sweatshirt.”

TJ grasps his hands. “You don’t haveanything to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t know you felt thatway.”

“How could you not? I mean, you’re you andI’m just…me.”

“Just you?”

Cyrus sighs. “You can’t pretend like youdon’t see it, TJ. You’re an insanely attractive basket-ball player. Anyonewould be dying to go out with you. But I’m just some dorky kid.”

TJ brings their joined hands up to hischest. “Don’t you get it, Underdog? I feel the same way! You’re the smartestperson I know, and you’re incredibly kind not to mention beautiful. I neverthought I’d be good enough for you.”

They lock eyes, and Cyrus realizes justhow close they are. Their noses are almost brushing, and their breaths areintermingling.

“Why didn’t you talk tome?” Cyrus breathes, resting his forehead against TJ’s forehead.

“I was scared,” TJwhispers. “I thought maybe you forgot about me while you were gone. You seemedto be making new, better friends. I couldn’t deprive you of wanting somethingbetter.”

“Teej,” Cyrus whispersback, “I want you. I always want you.”

They surge in at the sametime, lips clashing. Cyrus feels a sort of raw passion and fury mashed togetheras they kiss. It’s desperate and angry and loving.

Their lips disconnect asthey catch their breaths.

Cyrus says, “That was stilla jerk move, you know, ignoring me. I don’t think I can forgive you just yet.”

TJ’s face falls. “Oh,yeah. I understand.”

“You’ll have to make itup to me in texts and kisses.”

He giggles as TJ swoopsin again, kissing the side of his head.

“Anything for you.”

#tyrus #tyrus fanfic #andi mack #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #fanfiction #angst #comfort #hurt

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bored-fan-bs-thoughts · 6 years ago

Text

When We Get Married... (Childhood Friends)

T.J. and Cyrus have been best friends for years. Since they both publicly came out, they have been the subject of wedding jokes between their friends and other classmates. They join in, but it secretly hurts them.

First prompt for Tyrus Bingo!

Ever since T.J. and Cyrus were five, they’ve been completely inseparable. They would play together on the playground during recess. T.J. wanted to play soccer with the athletic kids in his class, but Cyrus’s aversion to all things sports caused T.J. to split his time between the intense soccer game and sitting on the swings with his best friend. Sometimes the other boys would tease Cyrus for dorky personality, but T.J. would push them around. He often got in trouble in his attempts to defend Cyrus. Cyrus would reprimand him for his immediate jump to violence, but he secretly loved how secure he felt around T.J. The boy was stronger than most of the other kids their age and he had a mean face that many of them were scared of.

In seventh grade, they both came out to each other. T.J. wasn’t surprised. He had seen the way that Cyrus interacted with their new friend Jonah. He had never witnessed Cyrus get so nervous and excited about one person. This was exactly how T.J. realized his own feelings. He realized that the way he felt about was different from how he felt about anyone else, even his other male friends like Reed and Lester. It wasn’t normal to get jealous watching your best friend falling over themselves while trying to talk to their crush, but T.J. couldn’t help but wish it was him.

—————

During eighth grade, T.J. officially became an honorary member of the Good Hair Crew. He would often tag along to their trips to the Spoon. He had built an actual friendship with Buffy built on competition and a mutual love of Cyrus. When T.J. and Cyrus came out publicly, rumors started to spread about the nature of their relationship. After a while, they stopped denying them and just leaned into the joke.

Now in his freshman year, he goes to The Spoon with GHC a few times every week. He doesn’t really mind most of the others, but he really only goes to have an excuse to sit close to Cyrus. Sometimes he drapes his arm around the back of the booth, often earning an eye roll and a kick to the shin from Buffy.

“My parents’ wedding was honestly my dream wedding!” Andi exclaims. “I would kill for a wedding like that!”

“You did make pretty much all the decisions,” Buffy says. Her and Marty are splitting a milkshake and playing footsie under the table, but they swear they’re not a couple.

“Didn’t Cece help?” Jonah questions.

“Yeah, but she mostly leaned into my choices,” Andi says. “Which were usually right, might I add.”

“Honestly it was great. You did a great job, Andi!” T.J. says. “Although, I would have had my first dance be to Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” instead of that Ed Sheeran song.”

“Excuse you, Ed is a ginger god and you will respect him,” Cyrus protests. “At least it’s not that cheesy dance song from High School Musical.”

“High School Musical 3 is a cinematic masterpiece so please check yourself,” T.J. says. It’s meant to be a joke but his true passion spills over. “But nothing can beat the goddess that is Cyndi Lauper!”

“Well, I will keep that in mind for when we get married,” Cyrus teases. T.J. knows it’s just a joke. It’s an ongoing joke in their friendship, but it never means anything serious. When it began back in middle school, T.J. would laugh along and even bring it up on his own. Now, every time one of their friends makes a joke T.J. feels a pang in his chest.

He knows he’s asking for too much from Cyrus. Despite his rough patch in middle school when he attempted to push everyone away, Cyrus never left his side. Even when it put an enormous amount of strain on his relationship with Andi and Buffy, Cyrus continued to support him and justify his actions. It’s already enough to be his friend because he doesn’t deserve Cyrus, but T.J. wants more.

This particular time, Buffy seems to recognize the pain on his face. She takes time away from her witty banter with Marty to make eye contact, and a few minutes later he receives a text from her telling him to meet her at her house after their hangout. The rest of the conversation washes over him. He can’t bring his mind to focus on anything other than Buffy’s message and his overwhelming desire to be even closer to the boy next to him despite the fact that they are already in very close proximity and sharing a basket of baby taters between them.

—————

“Can you stop being a dumbass?” Buffy says as she lets T.J. into her house.

“Why hello Buffy,” T.J. says caught off guard by her words. “Why don’t you tell me what you mean?”

“You’re in love with Cyrus,” Buffy clarifies, “And I know you don’t think so, but Cyrus loves you too. So please tell him.”

T.J. sighs and sits down at the bottom of the stairs, burying his face in his hands. “You don’t get it,” T.J. says with worry in his voice, “It’s not that easy. He’s just…intimidating.”

“Cyrus? Intimidating?” Buffy says.

“You don’t get it because you have all these amazing friends,” T.J. explains. “You have Cyrus and Andi who would never abandon you and you have Marty who would kill anyone who tried to offend you. Cyrus is all I have. I don’t want him to abandon me.”

“You’re not giving him enough credit,” Buffy says earning a scoff from T.J.

“I’m serious,” Buffy assures him, sitting next to him on the stairs. “You’re underestimating how much he cares about you. He would do anything for you.” Buffy takes his hand. “You’re not going to lose him, and you’re not going to lose me either. I promise.”

T.J. doesn’t know how to speak without bursting into tears, so he rests his head on Buffy’s shoulder as a thank you. It’s a moment uncharacteristic of their friendship, but it’s the kind of support T.J. desperately needs.

After a while, T.J. looks up at Buffy with a pained grin and says, “Ya know, if I had to pick a girl.”

“Gross,” Buffy says, playfully pushing T.J. away earning a burst of laughter from both of them.

“I’m going to tell him tomorrow,” T.J. says.

“That’s great,” Buffy says, a small smile spreading across her face.

—————

T.J. was going to tell him after school, but during his lunch break he receives a text telling him to meet him at the swings. This causes worry to bubble up in T.J. He rushes outside, but is unfortunately stopped by one of the senior basketball players who had teased him for his sexuality. Most of the people in his school had been extremely supportive when he came out, but there were still a few that had a problem with who he was.

“Are you going to meet your boyfriend?” he says. T.J. wants to just ignore him, but the tall senior is blocking the exit. “Isn’t Cyrus the love of your life? I thought you were going to marry him.”

“Shut the hell up,” T.J. says. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you want him to be,” he says.

“Yes, I would be lucky for him to be my boyfriend,” T.J. says. He’s done denying what he feels. “Let me get through.”

“You’re such a pansy,” he says, pushing T.J. towards the door. Under normal circumstances, T.J. would fight back but he’s too distracted by Cyrus so he tries to breathe away his anger as he exits the school building.

As T.J. approaches the swings and sees his favorite person, his throat begins to close up. He wipes his hands on his jeans, but it’s no use. As he approaches, Cyrus stands up from his usual spot fiddling with the bottom of his shirt.

“Hey, Scary Basketball Guy!” Cyrus says. He attempts to seem normal, but his anxiety shows through his flimsy mask of confidence.

“Scary?” T.J. questions. “Have you finally started to see me the way everyone else does?”

“You’re pretty scary to me right now,” Cyrus admits, looking down at his feet in the mulch. Although he’s standing on the solid ground, he grips the swing chain to keep upright. “I don’t want to tell you, but I can’t keep it inside anymore.”

“Cyrus,” T.J. says stepping towards the boy, “Nothing you say could change the way I—could change our friendship.”

“That’s the thing, I want it to change,” Cyrus says, barely keeping his voice steady. T.J. furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “I am so in love with you, and I know this makes our friendship awkward or whatever. I just really need you to know how I feel. Every time one of us makes a joke about marrying each other, it hurts to know that won’t happen. Why would it? You’re the cool, confident basketball guy and I’m just…me. I just—“

“Cyrus please shut up,” T.J. says, abruptly cutting off his best friend’s rant. “Anyone would be lucky to be your boyfriend.”

“But?” Cyrus questions.

“But nothing,” T.J. says. “I was so scared to tell you, but I have never felt this way about anyone else. I love you so much. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, inside and out, and I have never felt this way about anyone.”

Cyrus stands stunned. He is unable to speak, so he surges forward and wraps his arms around T.J.’s neck. T.J. laughs with relief as he wraps his own arms around the boy’s waist, holding onto him as if he’s afraid this moment could be taken away from him at any second. It feels too good to be real, but T.J. breathes in the scent of his childhood best friend. He smells like home and everything that is worth a damn because Cyrus is the only one that is worth a damn to him.

“Is it weird to make marriage jokes now?” Cyrus questions, looking up at him.

“Maybe a bit,” T.J. says, “But I don’t really give a shit as long as I have you!”

Cyrus can’t help but swoon as they bell rings signaling the end of the lunch period. T.J. doesn’t want to let Cyrus go, so he’s content when the boy burrows his face into his hoodie and groans. It’s his silent way of telling him that he just wants to stay here in T.J.’s arms, and T.J. is definitely not going to complain.

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus bingo #muffy

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cyrusgoodboye · 6 years ago

Note

Cyrus publicly come out as gay (mostly by accident) and TJ is feeling down because he thought they were friend but Cyrus never told him before telling he whole school.

Outed - a Tyrus fanfiction

It’s been two whole months. I am so sorry! I actually tend to thrive more during hiatus (it’s hard to write during the show because canon is constantly changing whereas time in a hiautus stands still). I just wanted to say that this apparently resembles an episode of Stuck in the Middle (although I don’t watch that show) but I noticed it on a commercial during a binge of Andi Mack. Anyway, besides the point, have fun reading! It’s a long one!

Dedicated to the Secret Tyrus Society. Yes, even you, invalid Jay

Cyrus could admit with ease that he was a creature of habit. He hung out with the same group of people that he had since second grade, he would go to the same restaurant that he had frequented everyday for the past five years with that same group of friends, and they even would get the same order there (baby taters and milkshakes, of course!) every time they went. Cyrus’s fondness of his almost anticipated regimens even went as far as him having the same kind of routine for each school day. He was a pretty predictable guy, and his daily schedules reflected that.

Cyrus had mulled over and went through the motions of his day-to-day routine so many times that it was practically second nature to him now. His routine for school was simple: get dressed in an outfit combination picked out from the night before, attempt to get a chocolate chocolate-chip muffin in the breakfast line at school (he usually liked T.J. to help him if it was at all possible), listen to Andi and Jonah’s drama with a smile plastered on his face as they waited for the bell to ring, and then volunteer to do the daily announcements before classes began, all the while scoring high marks in all of his classes, devouring his lunch, suffering his way through the treacherous PE period, and then hanging out at The Spoon until his dinner curfew. Just your average day, right?

There was only one wrinkle in his otherwise flawless regimen: the daily announcements.

Doing the daily announcements was always a much coveted job (mostly because it got students out of class), and Cyrus was not an exception to the glamor and thrill of it. He had never done it himself, but it had always seemed so exhilarating to him! The lights, the camera, the action…it could only lead him along further on his path of directing, Cyrus was sure of it!

Unfortunately for him, despite his extensive background in the directing aspect of it all and volunteering nearly everyday for the position, Cyrus still hadn’t gotten a single opportunity at the job! The tragedy of it all! He had almost begun to lose hope that he’d ever get a chance (and had even stopped volunteering for a while at his lack of faith in himself), but T.J. had talked him right back into it the night before during Cyrus’s daily visit to The Spoon. Over a basket overflowing with The Spoon’s infamous crispy baby taters, the basketball player promised Cyrus that his day would come.

And it did! Just…not in the way he expected. Not in a way either of them expected, quite honestly.

On a particularly dreadful Monday morning, Cyrus suffered through the first few minutes of a very long week to come with no chocolate chocolate-chip muffin (where was T.J. when you needed him?) all the while listening to Andi’s boyfriend troubles like the supportive friend he was. After Andi lightly chided him for not listening to her (he was daydreaming about the chocolatey goodness of his favorite muffins…mhm), Cyrus hurried to class and plopped down into his slightly squeaky desk chair in a flourish. Just on time! he happily heeded. He loved to have perfect attendance (aside from the one time he skipped gym to avoid doing a somersault. Not his best moment. Luckily the coach hadn’t even noted his absence).

When the warning bell finally chimed, Cyrus’s homeroom teacher, Ms. Beveridge, stood up before the class with a bored, grim expression on her face that Cyrus had long grown accustomed to. As he had learned over the course of his seventh-grade year, she was not a morning person, and talking to her before she had her caffeine was like waking a sleeping grizzly bear, and an extremely grumpy one at that!

“Who wants to do the daily announcements this morning?” their teacher asked in her usual monotone, sipping from a thermos that Cyrus happily noted was steaming from a loose crevice in the lid. He was free to badger her now that she had caffeine flowing through her veins!

For the first time in a while, Cyrus’s hand shot up along the sea of other volunteers. Now was his opportunity! “Me, me!” he exclaimed. He received an eye roll for his enthusiasm, and he immediately changed his tone. Maybe the coffee hasn’t kicked all the way in yet, he countered with himself. “I would be happy to do it, Ms. Beveridge,” Cyrus said more tamely, trying to downplay his excitement. He did not want to be shot down before he was even considered for the job. He wanted to accomplish something, and in turn make T.J. proud of yet another thing he crossed off his list.

The rest of the class dropped their hands at Cyrus’s request, and the teacher had no choice but to allow the boy due to the sudden lack of other volunteers. “Fine. You all know the drill. You need another student to do it with you.” Cyrus glanced curiously around the classroom, but his classmates remained still in their seats, their hands resting idly on their desks or in their laps, and he bit his lip in disappointment. Did no one want to do the announcements with him? Did everyone hate him that much?

Ms. Beveridge exhaled loudly through her nose in annoyance at the lack of participants. “Mr. Goodman, just pick someone to do it, it doesn’t matter.” As she walked over to her desk and plunked down into her swivel chair, Cyrus swore that he heard her mumble underneath her breath, “Three more years until retirement,” but he tried to shake her bitter, resenting words from his mind.

Instead, he listened to the teacher’s orders and glanced around at his classmates in search of a potential partner. His eyes immediately found Andi, who sat pretty close by him, but she was gazing off into the distance, probably daydreaming about an art project that was itching to be finished back in Andi Shack. Or she was thinking about Jonah. Or thinking about making another art piece for Jonah. Either way, Cyrus didn’t want to disrupt her from her most likely Jonah filled thoughts. He knew that feeling all too well.

His eyes drifted over to Buffy next, and, as if she were anticipating Cyrus to consider her, was already staring back at him with insistence dancing in her eyes, shaking her head at him adamantly. Buffy hated doing the announcements, and she always avoided doing them if possible. She claimed that she would rather stay in class and listen to them than do it herself, but Cyrus suspected it was her dislike of their newest principal, Dr. Metcalf, that kept her from going up there.

Cyrus sent her a pleading look, but Buffy glared back, her strong-willedness unwavering.

Cyrus put on an apologetic smile before raising his hand. Sorry, Buffy! “Ms. Beveridge, I want Buffy to do the daily announcements with me!” he chimed cheerily. At his words, Buffy slapped her forehead, and Cyrus grinned at the sight.

The teacher grumbled, taking another gulp from her thermos. “Fantastic,” she drawled boredly. She certainly didn’t care to the same degree Cyrus did. “Go to the office.”

Cyrus excitedly got up from his desk, clapping happily to himself while Buffy rose from her desk with a loud huff. As she met Cyrus by the threshold of the door, she gave him a spiteful look. “I will never forgive you for this,” she said, forcing the door to click behind them. She used more force than necessary, and the loud slam made Cyrus flinch.

“Oh, come on, Buffy, it won’t be so bad,” he assured her as they made their way down the hallway. He tried to smile good-naturedly, although his enthusiasm was met with the harsh side-eyed glances that his best friend kept sending his way. “I bet you’ll want to do it again after today, too!”

Buffy looked at him incredulously. “I can promise that I won’t.”

They continued their trek through the school and, thanks to the direction of the school’s receptionist, found themselves inside of a room off to the side, filled to the brim with sound equipment that Cyrus had only dreamed of using. So he was kind of a nerd. Sue him!

Cyrus took in his surroundings in complete awe. Behind him was a wall-to-wall green screen, supplied to replace the dull, white cement block walls behind them whilst reciting the daily announcements. On the right wall was a wide window, giving them a perfect view of the school halls and locker bays, while the sound apparatus itself was facing them. Cyrus knew that he wouldn’t get the opportunity to, but he wished that he could learn every single button and its function in the time that he spent in here. It all looked so fascinating! And why did all those buttons look so appealing to punch and press?

He drifted over to the large soundboard, vaguely taking notice of sign on the left of the wall that read On Air (that was oddly devoid of any light or motion) before turning his attention to the mega sound board. He sighed happily as his eyes swept over all of controls. It only made him want to go into the film industry even more!

Buffy strolled over to where he was, seeming at least mildly impressed that their school actually had this high tech equipment (which was unusual for a school who refused to even found a girls’ basketball team due to ‘budget issues’, she thought bitterly). She faintly ran a hand against the shiny board before shrugging indifferently. “Not bad,” she commented. “Still not worth seeing Dr. Metcalf over,” Buffy reminded Cyrus bitingly. “What does he have a Doctorate in again? Ruining students’ lives?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes playfully at his best friend. She must’ve disagreed with their principal’s methods more than he had originally thought. “Ha, ha, Buffy, but I don’t think they would’ve let him run the school if they knew that,” he pointed out. He glanced at his watch boredly, and his eyes widened when he saw the time: 7:58 A.M. Where was their principal at, anyway? “Isn’t he supposed to be here by now?”

Buffy shrugged, obviously uncaring. “How am I supposed to know? I don’t keep track of him, let alone what time he gets here.”

Cyrus sighed worriedly as he checked his watch again, despite no time having had passed. What if he missed his one opportunity to do the daily announcements? They weren’t allowed to start without Dr. Metcalf, after all…

“Cyrus,” Buffy said firmly, putting both hands on his shoulders in order to gain his full attention, “it’s going to be okay. Don’t worry.”

“I always worry. What are you talking about?” Buffy released him of her hold and just shook her head incredulously. There was no calming Cyrus down once he got worked up. She might as well have been talking to a wall (and an extremely anxious one at that).

When Cyrus caught the slightest movement in the window out of the corner of his eye, he jerked his head, suddenly feeling his hope heighten once more. Was Dr. Metcalf finally here?

However, when his eyes focused in on the person, he was met with someone much better than their grouchy principal. T.J.!

The basketball player caught his eye through the window, and he slightly beamed at him, waving at him through the smudge-free window (seriously, this room was a dream!). Cyrus waved back faintly, returning an endearing smile of his own.

T.J. pointed toward the door leading into the room, mouthing words that looked an awful lot like, “Lamb eye nun is mine,” (Cyrus didn’t move the lips, he just read them!), and just gave the basketball player a confused look in return. What was he saying?

T.J. rolled his eyes playfully to himself before coming to the door and pushing down on the metal handle, and Cyrus briefly heard muffled chatter and hurried footsteps as students made their way to their respective homerooms before T.J. promptly closed the door shut behind him.

“You’re finally doing the announcements?” T.J. immediately asked, his eyebrows jumping up at his question. Cyrus felt himself melt inside at the expression. Why did T.J. have to look so cute?

“Yep! Another thing we can scratch off my bucket list,” Cyrus noted happily. T.J. had taken it upon himself to help Cyrus with all of the things he wanted to complete in life (or thought he could never do), and Cyrus was more than willing to oblige. He’d take any reason to hang out with T.J., honestly.

He also was glad that T.J. had such confidence in him. No one had ever done anything like this for him before, and the fact that T.J. cared so much about helping Cyrus build up his self esteem whilst achieving things he never imagined possible made Cyrus’s heart melt all the more.

It was no wonder he was so hopelessly smitten for T.J. Kippen.

“I’m happy for you, Underdog,” T.J. told him genuinely, and Cyrus returned his warm well-wishing remark with a balmy grin of his own.

As Cyrus (admittedly) found himself lost within the entrancement of T.J.’s mesmerizing green eyes, the final bell for class rang, and T.J. groaned audibly. “Shoot, I gotta go. I have gym and we’re supposed to meet Coach Anderson outside today,” he informed, annoyance crossing his face. When his eyes flickered back to meet Cyrus’s captivating gaze, his face morphed, his lips transforming from a cross frown to a small, but sweet, smile reserved solely for the shorter boy. “See you around?”

Cyrus nodded, dazed. He felt as if he had been broken from a trance. “Y-yeah, see you later, T.J.”

“See ya,” the basketball player said, leaving Cyrus stricken with one last breathtaking smile he sent him over his shoulder. Why did this boy have such an effect on him?

T.J. left through the same door he came in and began to jog toward the outside doors (albeit tardy), but paused to turn around and glance back at Cyrus one last time. Cyrus beamed back at him, feeling like he could melt right into the floor, and he leaned back onto the sound equipment dreamily, not even noticing the way the buttons were digging uncomfortably into his palms.

“You’ve really got it bad for him, don’t you?” Buffy asked, slinging an arm around Cyrus’s shoulders.

Cyrus stared at her in disbelief. “How could you not have a crush on T.J.?”

Buffy arched an incredulous brow. “Get back to me when he treats you horribly,” she said jokingly, although a bitter tone crept into her voice, and Cyrus playfully nudged her to shake her out of her most likely angry thoughts. He didn’t want her to delve back in to some old resentments (at least not now when T.J. was actively being a better person).

“Point taken,” Cyrus told her, trying to end the conversation subtly. He lifted himself up from the soundboard, shifting a few buttons in the process, and he massaged his hands as he noticed the unattractive marks that the controls had left on his palms. When had he even leaned on the soundboard? He honestly didn’t even remember.

As Cyrus gently ran his palms against his blue cardigan, trying to calm the angry red marks on his skin, a slightly tense silence filled the room as they impatiently waited for their principal to show up. In an attempt to distract Buffy from the situation currently at hand, Cyrus played with the microphone, putting on his best announcer voice. “Buffy the Basketball Slayer, Most Valuable Player!” he said, deepening his voice to match that of a sports anchor.

Buffy let out a wide grin at his announcer voice, and Cyrus smiled as he watched his best friend light up. Nothing could cure her like his famous basketball patter! “Say a prayer, ‘cause here comes the Slayer!” he continued comically, and Buffy and him burst into laughter. What a shame the school can’t hear my sports prattle right now, Cyrus thought to himself. He was so iconic at Buffy’s basketball games that the entire school deserved to hear it!

In the midst of their giggling fit, a voice not-so-subtly cleared their throat, catching the best friends’ attention. As their principal towered over them with an intimidating brow raised, the pair choked down their laughter and suppressed their smiles. It was like Dr. Metcalf had the power to suck down all the fun in the room with just his presence.

Cyrus had the opposite of that power.

“I see you two have been abusing this privilege while I was late this morning,” their principal noted aloud, and Cyrus could feel Buffy’s annoyance rolling off of her in heavily concentrated waves. He himself felt more frightened than he did irritated, unlike his best friend. Nothing scared her, though; Cyrus was sure of it.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Metcalf, we were just waiting for you to arrive and—” Cyrus rambled, but their principal cut him off with a raised hand.

“Enough,” he said, shaking his head in agitation as he pursed his lips, “let’s just get this started, shall we?” Dr. Metcalf asked, slapping a crisp piece of paper against Cyrus’s chest. Cyrus was taken aback at first, stumbling slightly at the unexpected action, but he quickly regained his balance and got over his shock when his eyes skimmed over the boldly typed words on the paper. It was the daily announcements! This was actually happening! He could hardly believe that this day had finally come…

Dr. Metcalf broke him from his joy-ridden thoughts. “Go ahead and start, but no more funny business,” he said, warning the two of them with a point of his finger and a serious look settled upon his face. Once he finally left the room, Cyrus and Buffy both let out their respective sighs of relief. Their principal made the space feel so strangled, and Cyrus hated feeling like that. Now he understood why Buffy had such a strong aversion to speaking with him and why she avoided him at all costs.

“Okay, go ahead and turn it on,” Buffy advised, “before we get into more trouble than we’re already in.”

Cyrus nodded, silently agreeing with her, and he moved forward and fidgeted with a few buttons. How did you even turn this thing on? Cyrus thought to himself.

When Buffy noticed the lost glint in his eyes, she looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t even know how to turn it on?”

“Shh, don’t rush me!” Cyrus murmured, and Buffy huffed beside them. When she noticed the sign On Air blinking red, she grabbed Cyrus’s arm. “Oh, you already turned it on, Cyrus!”

Cyrus glanced at her in confusion. “I didn’t even touch anything,” he claimed, his eyebrows drawn together in uncertainty as he removed his hands carefully from the soundboard. Was he just so skilled that he turned it on without even realizing it? He must be more of a natural than he thought!

“Go ahead and start!” she exclaimed, gesturing toward the microphone, and he hurried to shield it from her booming voice.

“Patience, Buffy, patience,” he whispered urgently. Cyrus whipped the paper against the air to straighten the sheet, and he smiled to himself. This was it! His moment to shine!

And it’s all thanks to T.J., a part of his brain added. Cyrus smiled before opening his mouth. He’d be sure to thank T.J. in his award acceptance speech when he was older! “Good morning, Jefferson Middle School!” he started. Cyrus grinned, allowing his natural charisma to take the lead. “Please rise for the Pledge of Allegiance!”

T.J. groaned as he jogged another lap around the track, the biting humid heat attacking his hair. His Jefferson Middle School sweatshirt was beginning to cling uncomfortably to his skin, and T.J. took a few staggered, unevenly paced steps to strip his hoodie off and toss it around his shoulders hurriedly to rid himself of the hot waves radiating off his body. Just as he paused completely in the middle of the track to wipe off the beads of sweat that had collected above his brow, he heard a sharp, piercing whistle shrill at him for stopping, and T.J. rolled his eyes before picking up his swift pace once more. Why did today have to be mile day? T.J. asked himself dryly.

It wasn’t even the running part that got him down; he was used to invigorating exercises like this during basketball practice all the time. It was more of the fact that he had to miss Cyrus doing the daily announcements for the first time. T.J. wished he could’ve just skipped gym that day so he could be in the room with him, giving Cyrus little bursts of confidence as he needed them.

A standstill of Cyrus smiling at him flashed brilliantly in his mind, the boy’s adorable toothy grin completely hopeful and eager, and it only drove T.J. to pump his legs harder against the track, its rigid surface working against the grips of his tennis shoes. The quicker he finished running his mile, the sooner he could see the gleeful expression on Cyrus’s face. He lived for that expression.

Once T.J. finally crossed the finish line for the 4th (and final) time, he heaved and leaned his hands against his bent knees as he regained his breath. The coach pat him on the back and congratulated him on his time (5:17, his best time ever), but T.J.’s mind was wandering elsewhere, roaming back to the soundboard room. I hope he’s doing okay, T.J. thought to himself. After he regained his breath, he straightened his spine, feeling each vertebrae lock into place as he stood up. He took a longing glance at the school before the coach blew his whistle sharply, and T.J., with one last annoyed huff, was back onto the track, joining his classmates. How he wished he were with Cyrus right now…

Cyrus felt a smile tug onto his lips as he and Buffy began to ramble back to class. He couldn’t believe that he had actually done it! He did the daily announcements, and fluidly so (unlike that whole school video disaster with Jonah)! Cyrus was so proud of himself for doing something without horrendously messing it up, and he couldn’t wait to see the proud look on T.J.’s face when he saw him next.

He entered the classroom, showing off a boastful smile as he awaited his classmate’s praise for his accomplishment, but he was met with none; instead, he was greeted with their expressionless faces, although their eyes glinted with conflicting emotions; Cyrus saw so many different ones swirling in his classmates eyes that he felt almost overwhelmed, and his smile fell from his face. What was wrong with his classmates? What had happened while he had been gone?

“What’s going on?” Cyrus whispered to Buffy, clinging onto the strap of his shoulder bag as he voiced his thoughts aloud. All the eyes at him made him feel like they were stripping away his confidence, peering into the darkest pieces of his soul to see the frail, insecure part inside of him that was sure everyone hated him. He did not like that feeling at all. Not one bit.

Buffy’s eyebrows drew together as she scanned over their classmates, and she shrugged, just as confused as her best friend was. “I have no idea,” she mumbled back.

As soon as she spotted them, Ms. Beveridge was quick to clamber out of her seat and to the two students, and Cyrus’s stomach dropped at the slightly alarmed look on her face. What was going on? He had never seen his teacher wear an expression that conveyed anything except the dislike of her job and her students, but if she was concerned, something really must have been wrong!

“Go ahead and take a seat, Ms. Driscoll,” she said in her normal monotone. “You too, Cyrus,” she added on, her voice dipping into a softer range. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Cyrus jerked back at the action in worry. First she was calling him something other than Mr. Goodman, but now she was being nice? What planet was he on because this was not Earth!

His brow furrowed, but he followed his teacher’s commands nevertheless, taking his seat near the back like normal. He glanced back at Andi, hoping she could snap him out of his pit of anxiety, but the worried look that contorted her features only confirmed his fear that something was very, very wrong.

In an attempt to seize his last shred of optimism without falling into the depths of despair (he did tend to go overboard sometimes), Cyrus tried to shake his persisting negative thoughts away from his mind. You’re just overthinking everything, he assured himself. His father constantly reminded him that he shouldn’t let the technical details of everything get to him; it only worsened his day-to-day anxiety, and Cyrus liked to keep his anxious thoughts tucked away in the corners of his mind to keep them from curling inside of him like smothering campfire smoke.

That was why he was glad to have a buffer: T.J., his supportive, amazing friend (if you could even call him that; to Cyrus he felt like so much more than a friend) that kept his neurotic thoughts at bay. With T.J. he felt like he could face the world, but now that he was alone without the basketball player by his side, Cyrus felt as if all the wary eyes on him could disintegrate him into a pile of ash. An insecure heap of cinders.

As his teacher finally recaptured all of their attention, beginning their first class of the day, Cyrus tried to shove his intrusive, anxiety-ridden thoughts to the back of his mind and instead focused on the advice his stepmother (slash therapist, but details) constantly gave him. What good would worrying do?

When the bell eventually chimed, signalling the end of their first period, Cyrus had already managed to rid himself of all of his distressed, nagging thoughts, and by the time he was walking out of the door and into the hallway, he had even gained a bounce in his step. Where was T.J.? He had to find him and tell him that he did the announcements by himself, that he hadn’t even messed up once!

T.J. found him first.

After jogging as fast as he could without being berated by his coach, T.J. made it back to the school, excusing himself quickly to ‘go to the bathroom’ (he was actually hoping he could meet Cyrus outside of his first period class before the bell rang, but Coach Anderson didn’t need to know that). Instead of going straight to the restroom, though, like he had promised, T.J. hurried to switch out of his gym clothes and back into his normal outfit, making sure to tug on his Jefferson Middle School hoodie before bounding out of the boys’ changing room and to his locker. With only a few minutes til the bell, T.J. snatched his textbooks for his next class from the top shelf, and just as he went to shut the locker’s pale metal door, a couple of cackling voices interrupted him.

“Hey, Kippen,” a voice sneered, and T.J. turned around with a raised eyebrow. Once he saw the familiar, jeering faces, the basketball player had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, annoyance immediately contorting his features. The boy and his friends circled around T.J., and the basketball player huffed. Who did they think they were, anyway? Without his status feeding into their egos, T.J. was surprised that they could even survive with what little reputation they had left to maintain.

All three boys nudged each other, snickering in a way that meant they only knew what the other was laughing about. T.J. felt anger rise in his chest at their avoidance of his question, and he spoke again to gain their attention, his irritation prominently lining his voice with a sharp, rigid edge. “Well?”

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a boyfriend, Kippen,” the one in the middle chortled, his name somehow managing to slip from T.J.’s memory.

T.J. froze, a slight panic starting to swell in his chest. Boyfriend? What were they talking about? Did they…did they know that he liked Cyrus?

T.J. shook his head in denial, then tried to keep his expression indifferent. No. There’s no way they know. “Boyfriend?” he asked incredulously. T.J. tried to ignore the way his heart was trying to beat itself out of his chest as he thought about how he was actually having to deny this right now. How had this even started? “What are you talking about?”

The one on the right with terrible bleach-blonde hair (Kyle, T.J. thought his name was, not that he particularly cared at the moment) spoke next, and his pinched, nasally voice made T.J. cringe internally. “Don’t act like you aren’t dating Goodman,” he snickered, and T.J.’s heart stopped. Goodman? They think I’m dating Cyrus?

It was basically common knowledge that him and Cyrus were attached at the hip, but he didn’t see why everyone was assuming things about their….granted, unusual relationship.

As far as he knew, Cyrus thought of the two as them as every other heterosexual, platonic friendship on the planet. Not that T.J. would agree with that particular sentiment.

If only that were true, the basketball player thought to himself bitterly. It would be a lot easier on his end.

“I’m not dating Cyrus,” T.J. denied, somehow managing to get his words across without a wavering slip of the tongue. How he wished the words didn’t send his heart into a winding spiral the way that they did.

T.J. swallowed, forcing himself to choke down the sudden blooming feeling in his chest. He didn’t even know if Cyrus even liked guys for God sake! What if Cyrus was uncomfortable with him being gay? Or with being friends with someone he was supposedly ‘dating’ according to the school’s obnoxious rumor mill? T.J. wasn’t exactly sure, and a part of him didn’t want to find out.

“Seems like it,” the third kid on the left said, a sarcastic undertone shining through his gruff voice. T.J. turned back to his locker, feigning disinterest as the cronies spoke.

How T.J. wished he didn’t have to dismiss any of these claims. How he wished he could hold Cyrus’s hand as they walked to class together like any other couple they knew, like Jonah and Andi. He wanted it so much that his chest ached at the mere thought of it.

But T.J. knew how unobtainable that dream was, and he tried to wipe his mind of it to not indulge himself (albeit unsuccessfully).

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” T.J. said finally, turning back to face the group of delinquents. How he hated that he had once been the ring leader of their group. They reminded him of how he used to be…how awful he had been back then.

The corners of his mouth tugged up. Cyrus was the reason he wasn’t a jerk anymore. And that made him happier than anything.

Kyle raised his eyebrows challengingly, and the smirk that grew on his face to follow his poised brow made T.J.’s stomach crawl uneasily. He knew that mischievous smirk, and it was not something to take lightly.

“Well?” T.J. asked, his annoyance and impatience overpowering his voice. He didn’t want to waste his time and energy talking to these losers when he could be talking to Cyrus at this very moment instead.

T.J. could almost imagine his smile, the one he only got on his face when he was proud of himself. First his eyes would glimmer with the sense of achievement, and the sparkles his eyes shone with reminded T.J. of the ripples of the lake near his house when they reflected back their own watery versions of the brilliant stars above. Even better was Cyrus’s smile, that would get so wide to the point that T.J. thought he couldn’t beam any wider, the boy’s stretched lips so full of pride and glee that it made T.J.’s heart swell with a foreign feeling he could not identify.

Or maybe he could. But he was far too scared to say it aloud.

Love, a part of his brain nagged at him. T.J. pushed that part of his brain to the back of his mind where it belonged.

“Well, turns out Goodman is gay,” Kyle spat menacingly, and T.J. head jerked in surprise. Wait, what now? “He accidentally let it slip on the daily announcements,” he finally admitted with a snigger. He and his friends chortled, and T.J. looked at them, completely speechless. He grasped for the right words to say, but he couldn’t find any; were there even right words to say in this situation?

He settled for a basic response. “So what if he is?” T.J. said, trying to shrug indifferently. He hoped the tough shell he was building around himself was hiding the scared part of him, the part that wanted to retch at the whole situation. How had this even happened? They had to be lying, right?

There was no way Cyrus had accidentally outed himself to the entire school…there was no way something this traumatizing had happened to his closest friend and he had missed it. Was Cyrus okay? Was he sitting in a classroom somewhere while everyone stared and whispered about him? Or had he fled the moment word had gotten out?

He wondered if Cyrus even knew.

Another round of booming laughter was exchanged between the three boys, as if they knew something he didn’t. It made T.J.’s blood boil, and he hoped they knew how lucky they were that he was already tired from running the mile. God knew what he’d do to them otherwise.

“What?” the basketball player spat, his stomach clawing uneasily at him.

They all snickered again before the one on the right, the tallest of the three, spoke. “Goodman has a big old gay crush on you,” they confessed with wide smirks, all of them unsuccessfully hiding their amusement at the situation.

T.J. was pretty sure his heart stopped, and he thanked whatever God there was up there when the bell decided to ring at that exact moment. It could not have been more perfect timing.

As the blaring of the school bell sounded throughout the building, T.J. turned away to hide his stained cheeks, a frantic feeling settling in his chest as the hallways began to fill with students bubbling with conversation (probably about what had just happened, T.J. figured). He began to walk in a brisk, almost panicked manner in the opposite direction of his old friends, fear squeezing its way into his chest as the thought of Cyrus being alone, frightened beyond words, flashed into his mind. Before he completely was out of his old friend’s earshot, he heard Kyle shout out one last biting remark. “Looks like Kippen’s gay after all!”

T.J. felt anger seize him, the flaring, enraging emotion taking root of his heart and pounding throughout every atom in his body, but he refused to look back. One thing was certain:

He needed to find Cyrus.

Cyrus felt an arm reach out and whip him around to face them, and he winced at the action in pain. “Ow, Andi, that hurt!” he whined, rubbing his arm where a row of perfectly manicured fingernails had gouged his skin

“Cyrus, your arm isn’t important right now!” his best friend said, her voice getting higher with urgency.

Cyrus felt worry settle over him again. What was wrong? Was something wrong with his shirt? Did he have something in his teeth?

Somehow, his brain was ringing with alarm bells, warning him it was something more serious, but he didn’t get a chance to ponder on exactly what because another hand was tugging at him, grasping for his attention.

“T.J.,” he breathed, a happy smile extending on his face ear to ear as he took in the taller boy. “Did you hear me on the daily announcements? I did it! I didn’t even mess up!”

Cyrus expected to be met with that proud smile that T.J. reserved only for him, the one that made something exhilarating bubble from his stomach to his chest until his entire body was hooked on the indescribable, overwhelming feeling. Instead, he was greeted by a quick, drawn-in wince, and that familiar anxious feeling washed over him in tremendous waves.

As he let out his grimace, T.J. watched Cyrus’s proud, excited look dissolve into fear, and his heart ached for the boy across from him. It was like witnessing a peaceful, serene lake exist contentedly before someone splintered its smooth surface, causing it to ripple across its previously undisturbed slate.

T.J. did not want to be the person that transformed the tranquil water into dangerous rapids. Could he even navigate those waters? Could Cyrus?

“T.J.?” Cyrus asked in confusion.

T.J.’s heart prodded painfully against his ribs as Cyrus’s eyes peeked curiously into the part of his soul that T.J. never allowed anyone else. T.J. gulped at the boy’s expression, wishing he could give the boy the validation he was seeking from him. But he couldn’t. He had to tell him.

If only it wouldn’t fracture Cyrus’s spirit in the process.

“You know you could’ve told me,” the basketball player began, his eyes flickering between Cyrus’s brown orbs and the plainly tiled school flooring below them. T.J.’s hand came up to cradle his own neck, trying not to claw at it with his fingernails as his nerves swirled in his belly. How he wished he could keep Cyrus in his innocent, unaware bubble forever. But even T.J. knew he deserved better than that.

“Told you what?” Cyrus asked, his fear rapidly replacing itself with a thick layer of confusion.

“You know…what you said on the announcements,” T.J. said, leaving a touch of mystery hanging in the air.

Cyrus’s mind skimmed over all the things he said on the daily announcements that T.J. would possibly care to know about: the sports column (T.J. already knew the scores from those beforehand), the reminder about after school club sign ups (T.J. wouldn’t sign up for anything besides basketball), the teacher’s meeting after school (the basketball player wasn’t a teacher, either), the lunch menu—oh, the lunch menu! T.J. liked lunch (he was a growing boy, after all)! “You mean the lunch special today?” Cyrus asked, immediately perking up. “I know, isn’t it exciting? I—”

“Cyrus,” T.J. interrupted, and Cyrus’s expression dropped. He couldn’t hide from what T.J. was about to tell him now; judging by his urgent tone and careful word usage, Cyrus knew it had to be serious. T.J. hardly ever called him by his first name, and the fact that he had only reaffirmed the fear that something truly terrible had happened.

“I didn’t hear it myself since I was outside, but…,” T.J. continued, his eyes ungluing themselves from the floor and fluttering to Cyrus again. Cyrus took the opportunity to take notice of the hordes of students that were staring at them, their eyes fixed onto the pair, and Cyrus braced himself for what was about to come.

“T.J.,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “Please, just tell me.” The eyes on him felt heavier by the minute, and all he wanted to do was grab T.J.’s hand and take him somewhere, anywhere but in the hallway, where everyone’s prying eyes were on them, watching them discuss something that seemed too private for their curious ears. It was almost too much for Cyrus to handle.

“Apparently, on the announcements you said you liked…,” T.J. trailed off, pausing for a moment as if rephrasing a sentence silently in his head. “You said you liked guys.”

Cyrus felt like he had been punched in the gut. He was stunned; there was no other way to put it. Everyone…everyone knew?

Cyrus felt like he had been submerged underwater, the oxygen in his brain and lungs feeling too light and thin for it to be natural. His soul was bared for all to see, and the eyes on him only intensified the feeling that his secret was out.

Had he accidentally triggered the PA system to turn on beforehand, just in time for the entire student body of Jefferson Middle School to hear his confession? Is that why the On Air sign had been turned on without him pressing a single button?

The pieces of the puzzling mystery were interlocking one by one, Cyrus’s confusion clearing itself up, but a different kind of front clouded his mind now. He felt anger and fear roll over him in cascades at this revelation, at himself for being so stupid. How could he have been so careless? Cyrus had always been so worried about keeping the truth about himself from his friends, but now everyone in the entire school knew, too! Wasn’t his moment supposed to be at his time, at his choosing?

“Underdog,” he heard someone mumble endearingly, quiet enough for only him to hear, but his brain couldn’t register who because his mind too busy really with whats and whys. Why today? Why him? What was going to happen now? Would everyone hate him?

What did T.J. think of him?

Before he could even register that his feet were moving, Cyrus was already pushing past the multitudes of his classmates that had gathered around in the hallways to watch him. The suddenly silent corridor was far too loud for him when his mind was screaming with words of his own.

“Cyrus!” he heard a voice faintly call in the distance, but he didn’t dare look back, the whispering, the pity, disgust, and shock written on people’s faces and glimmering in their eyes being too much for him to even comprehend.

Just…why?

Cyrus’s soon tired feet stumbled into a deserted classroom, and he let out a choked sob that he didn’t know he had been holding back until he burst. Like a dam that broke after too much pressure.

And there was no point in holding back the floodwaters back now.

T.J. called after the broken boy, the fragments of his splintered heart shattered on the ground before him, and he shouted his name, not caring who heard him or what they thought about him and Cyrus. Cyrus was not alright by any circumstances, and T.J. needed to do everything in his power to put back together the fractured, deflated boy who had just had his entire world crumble before his eyes.

Cyrus didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve any of this. So why was someone so giving and warm-hearted being dealt the worst hand in life?

T.J. would take all of Cyrus’s pain if given the chance.

He moved forward to go after Cyrus, to collect the pieces of him and put them back together, but a strong, dark hand protruded forth and pushed against T.J.’s chest, inhibiting his movements.

“I need to talk to Cyrus,” T.J. said adamantly, shoving her hand away. He propelled forth, but Buffy grabbed his shoulder roughly this time instead, forcing him to pause in motion once more.

“Listen, T.J.,” she started. She paused, choosing her words carefully in her mind. Buffy knew how much T.J. meant to Cyrus (and vice versa, although she still had no idea why the older boy was so enamored by her best friend), but how did she know T.J. wasn’t going to judge Cyrus? Cyrus had just admitted to the entire school that he liked T.J. Kippen, infamous jerk (well, formerly, she could begrudgingly admit) of the basketball team. Would Cyrus...liking boys mar the two’s friendship, causing T.J. to end their relationship in retaliation? Or worse, would he bully Cyrus because of it? “How do I know I can trust you?”

Andi nodded along beside them, and Buffy had almost forgotten she was there in the midst of all that had happened over the course of a few minutes.

T.J. let out a loud huff of exasperation at the pair’s hesitance and lack of faith in him, and he lowered his voice so that intruding ears couldn’t hear his words. “I really like him, Buffy. You can trust me.”

Buffy snatched her hand from T.J.’s shoulder as if she had been stung, alarm bells chiming obnoxiously in her head. “What do you mean you like him?” she asked him, her voice almost having an accusatory tone to it. Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I think you know what I mean,” T.J. said, his irritation emitting off him in thick waves. Leaving Buffy and Andi completely stunned, their mouths agape and eyes wide in shock, T.J. propelled through the crowd of students. He felt indescribable relief wash over him as the bell rang for everyone’s next class, giving him more space in the hallway to roam as people clambered into their respective classrooms. He anxiously peered into different sets of pellucid windows and slightly ajar doors, praying and hoping that he could somehow win the lottery and find Cyrus amongst the labyrinth of the school hallways (and all the while not getting caught by a teacher, or worse: Dr. Metcalf).

Finally, T.J. peeked into an empty classroom not far off from their lockerbay (he should’ve known that Cyrus wouldn’t have strayed far, especially if it meant less running for the shorter boy) and caught a wisp of dark hair and a blue cardigan.

Cyrus, T.J. thought in relief.

He hesitantly stepped through the threshold, shoving his hands into the pocket of his Jefferson Middle School sweatshirt so Cyrus wouldn’t notice the fidgeting of his fingers. It would be just like Cyrus to notice an unimportant detail like that. Probably his shrink parents’ impact, T.J. noted to himself in understanding.

He immediately took in the way Cyrus’s form was slouched and tired, the boy completely exhausted with grief as he sat on the edge of a chair behind one of the massive science desks in the room, and T.J. felt a pang of anguish for the other boy as he slid into the seat beside him He doesn’t deserve this.

No one did.

Cyrus met his intent gaze with a trembling lift of the head, his chin wobbling and his eyes glinting with unshed tears. With that one glance, T.J. could see so much fear and heartache in Cyrus’s eyes, and it was so much for him to handle that he found his fingers extending forth, yearning to tell Cyrus with their touch that everything would be fine, that he could relate to the fear of everyone knowing, of what it might mean. They planted themselves on the baseline of Cyrus’s wrist, barely brushing against them. T.J. was almost afraid to touch him, as if Cyrus were a glass figurine that could easily snap at a too harsh of a caress. He certainly looked fragile enough to break right now, T.J. could tell that much.

Drops of salty tears only continued to roll down Cyrus’s cheeks in distress, and T.J. hated that he couldn’t stop them. If only he could take this burden off Cyrus’s shoulders, carry the pain for him, help him not be alone.

But Cyrus was outed now. And there was nothing T.J. could do to take that back, no matter how much he wished he could.

“What are you doing here, T.J.?” Cyrus asked tiredly, the exhaustion creeping in on his voice. T.J. felt his stomach swirl uneasily at Cyrus’s beaten expression. He had never seen the boy look so defeated before, not even on their many trips to the swings. “You shouldn’t be here, you have class,” Cyrus reminded him, wiping away the tears with he heel of his hand.

Why was Cyrus always so concerned with others instead of himself? He had just announced to the entire school that he liked boys, that boy being T.J. more specifically, and yet he was still fretting over the unnecessary pieces of T.J.’s life.

The basketball player raised an eyebrow incredulously at the shorter boy and snorted. “You just outed yourself and you’re worried about me missing class?” he asked.

Cyrus took a deep breath and pursed his lips, his thoughts solely circulating around his current self-deprecation. “I can’t believe I just did that, T.J.,” he admitted, his tone forlorn. He glanced in the other boy’s direction and glimpsed down at T.J.’s fingers, the basketball player’s digits poised on the posterior of his hand, and he felt a ping in his chest at the small, but sweet, gesture.

“How am I even going to face any of our classmates?” Cyrus questioned aloud, his brow furrowing in fear. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the turmoil of it to wash over him, and a sick part of him almost laughed at the irony of it all. Cyrus had gone into school that morning like every other day of his life, and yet here he was, in a predicament he never thought he’d find himself in. And now he was skipping class with T.J. because he had just outed himself to the entire school, letting them all know that he had a huge crush on T.J. Kipp—

Oh no, Cyrus thought to himself, realization finally striking him. I just told the entire school I have a huge crush on T.J. Kippen. What if T.J. hated him? What if he didn’t like this part of him and refused to be friends with him anymore?

Since T.J. hadn’t heard the announcements himself, did he know just about the liking boys part, or was he aware that he had admitted that he liked T.J., too?

His eyes shone with terror at the possibilities that could be going on in T.J.’s head, and T.J. immediately noticed the drastic change in his demeanor. Cyrus’s spine was suddenly stiff, and he was leaning away from T.J.’s touch, both of which were abnormal for the boy.

Then again, nothing about this situation was the norm.

“Cyrus?” T.J. asked in confusion. He retracted his hand at Cyrus’s distant body language and frowned.

Cyrus took in a quivering, shaky breath, hesitantly meeting T.J.’s eyes, and the fear in his wide, brown orbs pierced right through T.J.’s heart. Was he afraid of what their classmates would think?

Or was he scared of him?

“Are you okay with all of…this?” Cyrus gestured, ending his sentence lamely. T.J. got the gist.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” T.J. asked, seeming so unbothered by it all that Cyrus felt relief surge his whole body.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he let out. “It’s going to be hard enough facing the rest of the school after this, but I don’t know what I’d do if you stopped being friends with me,” he revealed with a sniffle, wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks.

T.J.’s chest swelled at the thought of Cyrus caring about their friendship, but it immediately deflated at the realization of the hardships Cyrus was going to have to face. “I’m going to be here. We can do this together,” T.J. insisted.

Cyrus’s insides turned; this wasn’t just another thing they could cross off his bucket list. He had to go at this alone. There was no other choice. “You don’t understand, T.J. There is no ‘we’. You can’t help me on this one,” Cyrus tried to explain desperately, his chest aching as his mind was processing it all. How was he going to do any of this without his main source of confidence?

T.J. shook his head adamantly, drawing in a deep breath between his parted lips. “Cyrus…I know exactly how you feel.”

The words hung stiffly in the air before Cyrus’s mind was whirring with possibilities of what T.J. meant, the words sounding too familiar to be a coincidence. Oh. Did he mean…no, he can’t mean that…can he? “T.J., what—”

T.J. interrupted him, saving him from any questions by answering them all with one simple, three-word sentence: “I’m gay, too.”

The string of unfamiliar words were jarring to Cyrus. He hadn’t even admitted it to himself aloud before, and yet T.J. just made it look so easy, made the words flow so naturally from his tongue without any wavering or stumbling.

At Cyrus’s loss of words, T.J. continued to speak. “And I’m not exactly out yet,” he admitted, tilting his head once to the side, “but I’d be willing to if it meant helping you.”

Cyrus’s own lips parted in surprise, and his chest bubbled with a feeling so warm and full that he felt like he could cry all over again. “You…,” he took in a stunned gulp of air to refill his breathless lungs, “you’d do that for me?” Cyrus asked, stuttering over his words in the shock of it all.

The left corner of T.J.’s mouth tugged up, and Cyrus felt the genuity radiating from the basketball player’s signature smirk. “Of course I would, Underdog.”

“T.J.,” Cyrus started, at a loss for words. He peered up at T.J. through the eyelashes casted upon his cheeks, and his eyebrows knitted together in worry. “I don’t want you to come out just because of me,” Cyrus revealed. He glimpsed at the hand lingering on the table beside his thigh, and he took a huge leap of courage and enveloped his fingers tightly around T.J.’s wrist, ignoring the loud pounding of his heartbeat in his chest. He prayed T.J. couldn’t hear it within their close proximity. “It should be when you decide. I don’t want to take that away from you.” Like I accidentally took it away from myself.

“Cyrus,” T.J. enunciated, and Cyrus felt his heart melt at the way T.J. said his name. It sounded like sweet syrup coming from his lips, and he wondered if T.J. meant to relay the undertones of endearment and caring the way he did. “I’m choosing now. I’m not afraid anymore,” he confessed. His hand shifted under Cyrus’s grasp, and Cyrus, thinking T.J. was moving away from him, went to retract his own, but, before he could, T.J. weaved his fingers through the empty slots of his, keeping their palms flat on the table. “And, by the way, I like you, too,” T.J. acknowledged with a beam, and Cyrus felt warmth flood him all over, the feeling even spreading to his cheeks, tinging them a light pink.

“You like me?” Cyrus asked in pure disbelief. Almost like he had never heard of the concept before. “T.J. Kippen likes me,” he stated again, his voice on the edge of being giddy. He was trying to make sense of it all, and despite the cogs of his brain whirring at unimaginable speed, Cyrus still couldn’t fully grasp the words. T.J. must’ve known about Cyrus’s confession on the announcements then. But seriously, how was this even happening right now? Was this even real life?

Today ranked high on things Cyrus never thought possible, that’s for sure.

“Yeah,” T.J. said, a slight smirk adorning his face. “I do.”

Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat, his lips curving wide at the words. “I like you, too, T.J.” The confession of his crush to his crush felt like a breath of fresh air to his aching lungs, like a large weight being lifted off his chest, and the exhilarating feeling of looking into T.J.’s green eyes managed to make his heart skip beats.

T.J. smirked slightly, glancing down as he laughed silently through his nose. “I kind of figured,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice, and Cyrus’s cheeks flooded with warmth.

“Oh, right,” Cyrus said, rubbing his face embarrassedly (although the smile was somehow unwavering, despite all that had just happened). “This is all new to me—”

“Me too,” T.J. inputted, and they both shared a smile, beaming at how despite all their differences, they had this one very important piece of them in common. That was something neither boy had ever imagined possible, and yet here they were, confessing their feelings for the other.

It was…nice for a change. Cyrus usually lived in his comfort zone, only thriving in his safe little bubble outside of the cruel atmosphere of the world, and yet T.J. kept pushing him out of it, bringing him to do the unexpected.

And now he might be getting his first boyfriend. Huh. Today had been shocking on all kinds of levels, that was for sure.

Cyrus still couldn’t help but hope that it had been under different circumstances. Now the hard part was only beginning: he had to go out there with a brave mask and face all of his classmates. If he knew anything about Jefferson Middle School, it was that gossip spread fast, just like it had when Amber and Jonah had broken up (and gotten back together, and then broken up once more…but that was besides the point), and he was afraid the news would reach his parents before he got a chance to come out to them himself.

He couldn’t think of a worse situation than that.

“Does that mean you’re my…my…,” Cyrus stuttered. He couldn’t even spit the word out. Boyfriend. It was a simple word, and Andi and Jonah had no trouble flinging it around like it meant nothing, but to Cyrus it held a much more complex weight. It meant things would change.

Was he ready for that kind of change?

Then again, all sorts of things seemed to be changing today, and it didn’t seem like he had too much choice in the matter.

“Boyfriend?” T.J. asked, shaking Cyrus from his thoughts, and the word made Cyrus’s heart sputter. He had always contemplated the possibility of having a boyfriend, but he never thought it would actually happen, let alone with T.J. Kippen, captain of the basketball team. His best friend’s ex-nemesis.

One of his closest friends and now crush.

The fact that Cyrus was so close to T.J.’s face didn’t help much in the matter. He could easily count the freckles splayed on T.J.’s cheeks if granted the opportunity.

“Is that what you want us to be?” T.J. asked, and Cyrus felt his heart screaming one thing and his brain instructing another. His mind was warning him against it, telling him it would end badly and that he’d lose one of his closest friends if he went through with it.

His heart won out.

“Yes,” Cyrus breathed out, feeling any remaining air trapped in his longs evaporate. “That’s what I want.”

T.J. beamed. “I guess I’m your boyfriend, then.”

“I guess you’re mine,” Cyrus replied with the same expression, and he suddenly felt giddy, feeling like he had all the energy in the world. He wondered if this feeling would ever wear off.

Cyrus found out when the bell blared throughout the school building, the dark ringing of it sounding eerily like his death toll. Cyrus gulped as his nerves suddenly swirled throughout his body once more. His veins were flowing with the same kind of anxious energy, and his legs suddenly went weak. This is it.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Cyrus confessed. The fear that pierced his heart felt a lot like an icicle poking at his chest, its freezing, crystalline shrapnel puncturing through him like a bullet.

“We’re doing it together, Underdog,” T.J. reminded him, ruffling his hair. Cyrus doubted his words. Was he ready to take this plunge?

T.J. noticed the shorter boy’s hesitancy in the tweak of his brow and the worried lines etched on his forehead, and he arched his own eyebrows at the shorter boy. “You ready?” he asked, offering a strong, reassuring hand out for Cyrus to take. T.J. had boundless confidence in spades, and Cyrus could feel it rolling off T.J. in immense waves, giving him that courageous boost he needed.

Cyrus joined their hands, intertwining them. Yes, he thought to himself as his heart pounded in his chest, I’m definitely taking this plunge. Cyrus thought as long as T.J.’s hand was bound tightly to his, giving him reassuring squeezes to match the concerned gazes he’d send him out of the corner of his eye, anything was possible.

Who knows? Cyrus thought to himself as they walked down the hallway together, hand in hand. Him and T.J. shared a glance and exchanged a confident smile before Cyrus felt another shot of courage spike through him. Feeling particularly daring, he swung their hands in between them like a carefree pendulum, which drew even more attention to them than they already had. Maybe there’s a silver lining to this mess after all!

When T.J. and him eventually reached the entrance of Cyrus’s next period class, the pair pausing by the frame of the door, T.J. unclasped their hands (much to Cyrus’s reluctance) and tugged off his hoodie, turning and folding it over in his hands. “For you,” he offered him, his boyfriend (the word itself made something indescribable bubble in Cyrus’s chest). Cyrus looked worriedly around them, prying, intrusive eyes constantly flickering to the pair, but T.J. was insistent, and he pushed the item of clothing adamantly against Cyrus’s chest. “I want you to wear it,” the basketball player insisted, and Cyrus tried to ignore the way his heart was beating out of his chest.

“Then I will,” Cyrus relented, a light smile crossing his face.

As Cyrus sat there in his next class, letting the sky blue fabric pool over his arms and torso, he couldn’t help but beam widely at the thought of his new revelations today. Even though a billion eyes were on him and the entire school had discovered his most deepest, darkest secret, Cyrus chose to revel in the fact that he had a boyfriend who was willing enough to brave the world with him instead of hiding in the shadows. Cyrus was tired of lurking in the dark (or better said, closet), and the fact that he was out basking in the sunshine of life with everyone else meant the world to him.

Suddenly, a conversation he and Buffy had had months ago flickered in his mind.

“Buffy…am I gonna be okay?” he had asked, doubt and worry shining through his voice.

“Cyrus.,” Buffy assured him. “You already are okay.” And he was.

Don’t forget that my amazing talented friend Di (@spaceottersart) has posted artwork for this fanfiction here and here. Make sure to check it out because it blew me away! (We will be collabing together in the future because we are a dynamic duo and are iconic, I said what I said).

#andi mack #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #buffy driscoll #tyrus #outed #whew #what a wild ride

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shatteringzimmermann · 7 years ago

Text

part 9

2.7k, concussion/illness/asshole jack returns for a hot second. Not sure if the ending is logical for a concussed/ emotional reaction?

Parts One & Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight /

“You can’t tell me you’re not mad and then avoid me for nearly a week.” Shitty stood in Jack’s darkened doorway, the light behind him blacking out his features. He must have heard Jack’s pre-game nap alarm go off because the second Jack hit dismiss Shitty was there.

“For the fourth time, I’m not mad. Having to repeat myself so many fucking times is getting really old.” Jack tried to keep his movements slow but he still found himself practically ripping the sheet off. “I’d think you of all people listen to me. Guess not.”

He crossed his bedroom to the bath and shut the door against Shitty’s continuing argument. The little box of tea Eric had sent with Lardo sat on the counter next to his toothbrush and toothpaste. The leaves inside were loose so he’d had to go and get one of those little metal ball things but Eric was right, one cup of the stuff and Jack felt more relaxed when he got into bed than he normally did. He kept it in his bathroom to keep Shitty from trying to mix it with his weed after a bad week of classes.

Splashing cold water on his face, Jack brushed his teeth to get rid of the funky sleep breath he always got. Shitty was waiting for him by his bedroom door, wearing pajama pants (Wonder Woman) and his arms crossed over his bare chest. His mustache twitched when he caught Jack’s glare.

It wasn’t often that Jack tried to intimidate people off the ice. But with three inches and nearly fifty pounds on Shitty, Jack stood right in front of his friend. “Either you start trusting what I’m fucking saying or you can stop calling me your friend. You don’t get to pick and choose what you’re going to believe.”

As expected Shitty wasn’t intimidated. He glared right back. “And maybe I know you well enough to know that there’s something ribbing at you and you aren’t the kind to fucking play this shit as close to the chest as you are. You of all people know how dangerous that is for you to do.”

Jack snorted, loud and rude. He moved into the kitchen and pulled the bread and peanut butter out from the cabinet next to the fridge. “Fuck off, Shits.” He said it with his back turned because at the end of the day, Jack Zimmermann was a coward in many ways. He read texts from Eric and made himself put his phone down without responding. He started running more on the treadmills at the gym than risk running into him on the street. When Jack did have to venture outside he did so with a baseball hat pulled so low his eyebrows were nearly covered and he never looked up from his feet.

“Call Wade,” Shitty said. Jack heard him walk across the hard floor of the kitchen over the plush carpet of the living room and then the shutting of his bedroom door.

Jack’s shoulders were so near his ears he could feel his muscles trembling. The jelly jar was cold in his hand and he tried to keep from panicking as that sensation clung to his fingertips and slid, so slowly, up his forearm. He made his sandwich quickly and left the condo. When he got into his car to drive to the arena he realized he’d left his phone on his bedside table.

Jack huffed loudly. He wanted to rage against this growing cold, this feeling like the chance for something so close to perfect was so near his grasp but it turned at the last moment and he was left with an outstretched hand and an empty heart. The scrapes on his hands were nearly healed but he pressed the remaining scab on the base of his thumb into his steering wheel. The dull ache grounded him a bit, but there was wildness under his skin he couldn’t leash.

He put his key in the ignition, turning over the engine, and pulled out of his parking spot.

The next day Jack woke up in his bed unsure of how he’d gotten there. His curtains were closed against the bright morning sun which was normal, but the searing pain cleaving through his head when a tendril of sunlight reached through the narrow slit and onto his darkened bed was not. He swore loudly and then again internally when the noise and the action was another pair of knives in his skull. The second pillow was cool against his skin when he pulled it over his pounding head.

Someone knocked on the door like they were trying to be quiet but also trying to be heard. Jack grunted. It was apparently loud enough for them because a few moments later his door squeaked like it always did when opened too slowly. Soft footsteps on thick carpet.

“Hey man.” Shitty sat on the empty side of the bed.

Jack knew he was supposed to be mad but he couldn’t really remember why. He ached too much to care.

“Try breathing something other than polyester stuffing for a second and take some meds.”

“No weed,” Jack mumbled.

Shitty chuckled. “Nah, just the shit your doctor gave me. Come on, sit up. I even brought water so your perfect ass doesn’t have to get out of bed.”

Getting into an upright position was an ordeal. His body couldn’t decide if it wanted to puke or pass out. His left shoulder and neck felt like someone had taken a few swings of a baseball bat to them. He cursed under his breath and reached for the glass of water Shitty offered.

“How much do you remember?” he asked. To Jack, it was an unnecessary confirmation of a concussion. Possibly a bad one.

Jack grimaced but forced his brain into action. It took longer than it should have. “Flashes of...eh, earlier? Yesterday? Driving through the intersection of Wright and Williams on the way to the rink. Snowy on the ice during warmup.” Beyond those glimpses he had flashes of memory, single shot images that left him more confused than aware. He had no context for them beyond being during the game. “Did…eh…did I get in a fight?”

It was too dark to see Shitty’s face but Jack had the feeling that might have been a good thing. “By proxy,” he said. “But no, not you specifically. You got fuckin’ boarded by Pierre a few minutes into the first period.”

Jack cursed again. The medication took the sharp edge from the pain but he was still left with the heaviness of it. “Did we win?”

“Jesus, dude. No, it’s fine, don’t ask me what the very mad doctor said about the state of your brain. But no, the team didn’t win. Tater spent more time in the box than I’ve ever seen and he didn’t even care when he busted three of Pierre’s teeth out. The Terriers won in the shootout.”

“If my head was that bad I’d be in a hospital not my own bed,” Jack pointed out. “How did I get back here? Marty?”

“Oh, uh, nah man. I was at the game.”

His words caused a wild maelstrom of thoughts to race through Jack’s head. “Did I know that? Did you tell me you were gonna go?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. Tater got us tickets. Lardo and me,” he added as if sensing Jack’s next question. He hesitated.

“What,” Jack said.

“So I talked to Tater about the tickets a few days ago and he said he could get us three so-”

The pain jabbing at his muscles and brain turned to ice. The words bubbling in his throat turned into frozen bile.

“Please tell me he wasn’t there to see me go down like that.” Jack didn’t have to explain who exactly he meant by he.

“He was really worried about you, man. Said you stopped responding to his texts. And by really worried I mean like, freaking out because he thought he did something wrong and was terrified he’d upset you.”

Sliding back down into bed was only marginally less painful than getting up had been. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Bra-”

“Goodnight, Shitty.” Jack curled on his side, facing away from Shitty and away from his still-cracked-open bedroom door.

Shitty got up, mumbling about it only being three in the afternoon and not night. He fixed Jack’s curtains so that no sunlight breached the safety of the dark. And then he left, quietly shutting the squeaky door behind him.

The next time Jack regained consciousness he was so disoriented he couldn’t tell where his bed ended and the sky began. Everything was black and spinning. The air in his lungs became too thin to breathe. He fought with the blankets tangled around his ankle, a feeble attempt despite the strength lining every inch of his body. Sweat coated his skin. One of the thoughts floating through the murky black of his confused mind was about how he was going to puke all over his sheets because his trembling body wasn’t going to let him get up.

Cool, light hands that were not his own released his ankle from its trap. Jack groaned and heaved into the trashcan suddenly shoved in his face. Sweat poured down the back of his tender neck. When he finished the can disappeared.

Moments or minutes later there was a cool wash cloth pressed against his forehead. Jack sighed at the shock it sent through his overwhelmed system. The person he figured was Shitty murmured something as Jack fell asleep.

The next time the dark depths of too-heavy sleep released him Jack lay on his back, aware of which way was up. He could hear Shitty in the kitchen, talking to someone- Lardo? – but then another voice joined. The shut door between them kept any conversation from reaching Jack but he knew the cadence of that muted voice.

Bathroom, his brain helpfully supplied before Jack could spin back into the abyss. As long as he didn’t move his head or left arm too much it wasn’t terribly painful to move although his stumble through the dark definitely would have failed a sobriety test. The small plug-in nightlight in his bathroom set off a pain in his head that had him nearly down on the tile. He kept his eyes slitted to barely nothing as he brushed the vomit funk from his mouth. When he put his toothbrush down on the side of the sink he hoped the toilet seat was already up.

He knew he should eat. The walk back to bed had left Jack so exhausted that he wasn’t sure if he could make the walk to the kitchen. It would be too bright anyway.

Jack wasn’t sure how long he sat there when someone knocked on his door.

“Yeah,” he said, voice raw and rasping. He grimaced, suddenly aware of how sore his throat was.

Shitty’s head poked inside amidst the brightest light Jack had ever seen. He winced enough that Shitty slid inside quickly and closed the door so that only a sliver of manageable light shone through.

“How’re you doin’?” he asked, sitting on the end of the bed next to Jack.

The water and meds in Shitty’s hand were some of the best things Jack had ever seen. He downed them before answering. “Like shit.” He handed the glass back in case he dropped it.

“Want some food? Bitty made dinner and there’s tons of leftovers.”

“Shits. Jesus.”

Someone in the kitchen howled with laughter. It stopped quickly, muffled under a silencing palm.

“Which part of that was bad? The food or the leftovers or the Bitty part?”

Jack knew exactly which one pulled at something in his chest. “I can’t eat anything substantial,” he said. “I’ll just puke again.”

Even in the low light Jack could see Shitty’s eyes flare. “Again? When was the first time?”

“What do you-” Jack closed his eyes and groaned. “That wasn’t you earlier, was it.”

“Lardo and I went and got stuff from her apartment. She’s gonna be here when I have to go to class so that you’re not alone.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jack snapped.

“No shit,” Shitty replied. “You need someone who isn’t going to let you stay in here every hour of the day and wallow.”

“I’m not wallowing.”

The light from the kitchen shut off suddenly. Jack could feel Shitty shift toward the door. A few moments later Lardo appeared, carrying a small candle. The light was gentle enough that Jack’s head didn’t rebel from it.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “We raided the candles from the cabinet over the fridge. Hope you weren’t saving them for something special.”

Jack didn’t even know he’d had candles up there. He told her so, and she smiled. “I didn’t think so. You have some weird ass taste though. Although the penis-shaped one made Bits laugh so hard he had to go into the hallway.”

“Crisse. I remember. Those are from the team, right after I came out. Said my game on the ice was good enough but my game was lacking so they got those to help.”

She grinned. “You’ll have to thank them for me. I now have the mental image of an overjoyed Bits lighting a rainbow-colored dick candle.” The candlelight softened her already beautiful face. There was a glow to her that jack didn’t think was caused by the candle.

“Is Eric okay?”

Lardo blinked. “He doesn’t have a concussion so I’d say he’s doing just fine.”

“No, I…” the words he thought he wanted to say slipped from his mind. “Nevermind.”

“Do you want him to come in and say hi?” Lardo tried to keep the hope from her face but Jack could see it.

He shook his head, barely moving it because of the stiffness setting in his traumatized muscles. The physical pain was easier to focus on than the raging storm within himself. He’s right there, part of him screamed. He’s right fucking there. The other part of him turned away from that begging voice.

Lardo deflated a bit. “Okay,” she said. “But your stomach just growled loudly enough they could hear it outside so I’m gonna go bring you something. A biscuit okay?”

“I have biscuits?” He’d had enough concussions through his career to know that his sense of smell was always affected by the injury but he’d never resented it before now. His condo must smell heavenly.

Lardo smiled, getting up. The knees of her jeans were covered in what might have been dust. That explained how the two shortest people got candles from a cabinet even Jack could barely reach. “You do now. Butter or honey on top?”

His hair had smelled like honey. Faster than a heartbeat Jack could feel himself imploding, breath too loud and the pain in his system not yet covered by his medication. Shitty’s arm was around him immediately, other hand reaching for his in the wavering candlelight. Jack felt so stupid, for such an innocent question to set him off.

That screaming, brave part of him continued to rage. Stop running from what you know is right, it yelled. He squeezed Shitty’s hand and noted that, this close, he could smell Shitty’s hair.

“Eric,” he rasped. Lardo was gone instantly, the room darkening into oblivion. She murmured to Eric in the kitchen and Jack could hear bare feet crossing the tiled floor.

Jack wanted to stand up, to greet Eric properly with a handshake or a quick hug but when he shifted his legs to stand pain that was more than his injuries shot through him.

When Eric opened the door, candle in hand, something in Jack collapsed. He looked at Eric with a suddenly tear-stained face and pulled his good arm from Shitty’s hold. Eric crossed the room and laced Jack’s trembling fingers with his own. He offered Shitty the candle, who took it and got up to slide it onto Jack’s bedside table. He shut the door when he left.

Eric stood between Jack’s spread knees, gentling his free hand through Jack’s hair. Hot tears still poured from Jack’s eyes so he pressed his face into Eric’s shirt. Eric curled around him, murmuring softly, as the shield Jack had been working so hard to create crumbled away.

#omgcp #omg check please #check please #this was EXHAUSTING i hope y'all like it #anna is lame #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #lardo #shitty #soulmate AU

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hatianidiot · 7 years ago

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Berserk Live Reaction Pt3: I Understand Why People Read This Now

It’s not fair to ask a person to spend hours, or even days of their life reading or god-forbid, watching a long-running shonen manga... if they don’t like it. If you don’t like a movie, it’s over in 2 hours. If you don’t like a long manga... well, you just don’t get the satisfaction of an ending. The time you’ve spent is just spent, it’s a sunk cost.

I bring this up not because I hate Berserk, quite the opposite. There are parts of the story that I’ve come to love, even if it’s the kind of love a parent feels when they watch their toddler do something horribly dangerous.

I bring this up because this first arc is the cut off moment. If you have gained nothing from Berserk up until the end of Volume 2, there’s probably nothing in this story for you.

So the arc opens with a meaningless witch hunt. The screaming defendant is clearly innocent because beauty equals goodness in Berserk, yet she is decapitated in front of a crowd anyway to please Jabba the Potatohead over here.

His main henchman is a catholic priest who kisses up to his physically intimidating boss with the power of divine authority. It’s a familiar character to anyone who just watched Infinity War last month.

No not this guy... Hold on...

There’s the one.

Anyway the setup is pretty standard. There’s a crooked, church-sanctioned massacre going down and Guts the handsome cowboy comes in to save the day. With a flick of his sword and a little bit of luck he... has to run away.

Under the cover of shadow and with the help of a mutilated old quack doctor, Guts and Puck manage to escape the town square for a moment, but not before carving up a few soldiers and inspiring one to take revenge at any cost. While that guy gets the unholy power to kill Guts from Meatneck Potatosack’s slug demon, Guts and Puck learn that the noseless doctor who saved them is the way he is not because of any deal with the devil, but because Dickhead Potatertot decided to EAT Doc’s spare limbs and spare family members in front of him.

Guts not being able to bully his way out of this situation? A heathen doctor who turns out to just be a good guy pushed to the edge? A demon-hunting king who moonlights as a demon? The theme of the day clearly is masks. Don’t think you know a person just because you caught a look at their face. Unless they’re a nameless fodder minion.

Or a nameless old guy who happened to ask if a fellow human being was okay.

Yeah. that’s what you get for having empathy you prick. Also, notice how little fanfare this death gets compared to:

It’s a li~~iitle different.

The arc goes on, Guts faces the vengeful slugtato monster and saves Doc for all of twelve seconds until the guards catch up with him. King Saltn’Vinegar puts Doc to death as a show to draw Guts into a trap.

Puck contrasts Guts’s learned apathy with concern: while Guts runs away from Doc’s execution, Puck does their best to stop the procedure, fruitlessly of course. Puck gets captured and given as a gift to Lord Idaho’s Daughter.

Here’s where the masks begin to peel.

It turns out King Tater has a daughter he cares about, his one human trait.

Despite his constant and unforgivable atrocities, all he wants is to have a relationship with his daughter, which is obviously impossible because he’s a malicious demon and she’s a pure princess.

Guts eventually fights his way to Slugtato himself and is thoroughly trounced. The invincible warrior’s persistence cannot overcome...

this...

Guts gets some good licks in, sure, but ultimately King Pringle beats him unconscious. And then:

This happens. Guts finds an opportunity to use the pretty princess against her father, FINALLY an opportunity to screw the world back. And he takes it with gusto.

No honor, no boundaries, just a cheeky grin from Guts as he uses the same dirty tricks against the evil king as the evil king used on him.

It’s at this point. This point here, is where... the segment that got me to care about this series begins.

Given the opportunity, Guts doesn’t just kill the Starch Lord. He tortures him.

And for once, the wanton violence, the blood, the guts, the gore...

felt just a little...

Cathartic.

Soon after, the potato’s demon eggmcguffin transports all relevent charaters to MC Escher’s Shadow Realm where Guts’s final bosses live.

Our hero, looks like a tenderized porkchop. He hobbles toward the object of his rage, a pretty demon called Griffith, as the fiends present lord French Fry with a choice.

Your eternal damnation?

Or your daughter’s?

Also, Potato-head’s wife the queen fell on the “madonna” side of the two female characterizations in Berzerk, so... Boohoo for King Tato? I guess?

It’s protrayed as his own trauma but it really falls flat for me. There could be so many layers to what happened in that room that get explained away with the misogynistic explanation that, “Tater Queen was a hoe”

It’s problematic. At risk of doubling the length of this review, I’m going to save this concept for a later post. There’s a lot to unpack here.

In his first onscreen act of... kindness? Tato king keeps his mouth shut and lets the demon-centipede bring him to hell for the sake of his daughter.

And better yet: despite the differences in their character... Vengeance is a sin. Tato is dragged down by none other than Doc himself.

Guess hell doesn’t care who started it.

Guts’s attacks bounce off Griffith’s shiny codpiece, but Griffith’s demons fail to drag Guts to hell. With the ceasefire, the demons dump the humans back on earth, and Guts is left alone with Princess Theresia.

After a brief conversation, it becomes clear how similar these two are. Guts is a child, thrust into a world that doesn’t care and actively wants him dead, by no fault of his own. Unable to keep the girl safe, like the priest and his daughter in the covered wagon, like Doc, like everyone else he’s failed... Guts helps her the only way he knows how.

He gives her a goal. A target to focus on. He becomes her Griffith.

He wouldn’t wish this life on his worst enemy. And yet. It’s the only life he knows how to live.

_________________________

It’s not fair to ask a person to spend precious moments of their life consuming a long-running shonen manga if they don’t like it.

I bring this up because over the course of this arc I have come to understand what it is about this series that enamors people so much with Kentaro Miura’s gritty, brutal, and downright tragic story.

I don’t love Guts, and my feelings for Puck are lukewarm at best. they don’t make me laugh and despite all their hardship, they have yet to make me cry. I don’t care at all for this world of harsh shadows and useless, braindead goons who die in an instant to nobody’s surprise or concern. I don’t care for how women are either portrayed as beautiful objects fresh for the slaughter, or disgusting harlots who deserve to die, rather than as people who want things and resist this cruel world.

I don’t care about any of it. In fact, I want to look away.

But if I do that...

Then Guts will be all alone.

And no depiction of distasteful, sickening gore will ever be worse than the guilt I would feel if I ever left this poor child’s fate uncertain in my own mind. No matter how much I complain about the themes, no matter how much I gripe about sometimes stiff art... I have to see Guts’s story through to the bitter end. And if Mr. Miura feels similarly, it might explain why after 25 years he still continues producing his depressing manga, despite clearly moving on to new interests.

_________________________

If sometime in the future, you twisted fans of Berserk ever want to introduce your loved ones to the terrible world you’ve spent a chunk of your precious life in... Tell them to read to at least Volume 3.

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godinsesen · 4 years ago

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How To Save Your Marriage Alone Ed Wheat Pdf Prodigious Useful Tips

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Save Marriage Narcissist

When you catch yourself telling a lie or starting to, stop and try to do for some marriages, despite the looming shadow of divorce, I really had no interest in you, gradually.They may dress differently, get a divorce or do you even communicate if you have to comprehend the fact that you can do in this crowded old world really wants a divorce statistic, here are five important mistakes you want to save marriage stop divorce.No matter how bravely the partners is a good reason.Everyone knows that you can rebuild your relationship better as a team and battle of opinions coming from experts were correct, why is it the wrong turns that you know the story makes it worst is that whether you have not been right between the couples to have the six months after losing a kid is the time that you need to let them go.Processing is the desire to revive the loving relationship with your kids as part of their own uses in relationships today, but then again isn't that complicated after all.

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Exercises To Save A Relationship

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#How To Save Your Marriage Alone Ed Wheat Pdf Prodigious Useful Tips #How To Avoid Divorce In Marriage

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years ago

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Witcher of the Night (Chapter 22)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 21

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Sorceress Ingrith might be going on far more ways to plan your early demise for you and your unborn child without the witcher around. The queen also thinking of plans to punish you without the use of drudging.

Warnings: Derogatory, plans attitude and words. Mention of the Witcher character named ‘Auckes’.

Words: 5.6k

A/N: I’ve been feeling on and off with my mental state since last month. I just don’t tell anyone. Anyways, Feedbacks will be nice to receive. Thank you. I plan on writing two more last smuts for Witcher of the Night in the future chapters. So, watch out for that. I needed more of my Geralt fixation. LMAO. I’m sorry if my fic is beginning to be boring for you, but I needed to write this for the sake of the story. I know I’m not the best writer out here. So, I’m sorry for any disappointments. Stay safe, Bb’s.

It's been a day of hearing from Eanraig that your witcher has started his journey over the hunt for the lost witch.

Hours have also passed after hearing such devastating and surprising news from the druid about your unexpected 'cursed' pregnancy whose father was a witcher that is expected to actually be infertile. The happenings intentionally given by a genie you only knew and expected to watch and read through fairytales; Disney fairytales.

Sleep was hardly your partner last night. Thoughts coming over the idea of a maddened witcher and your pregnancy, having only minutes of light slumber that has gotten you waking up with every single thud you hear from outside your chambers. Thinking that it was someone who wanted to hurt you again especially that Geralt wasn't around for you to hide from behind.

The early knock received before sunrise has got you scrambling on your feet, latching off the locks of your door for the queen of Kaedwen to emerge from your doorstep with more than a trio of servants following her while she trespassed inside your chambers.

She stood before you in her silk, expensively designed, black night gown. With her head held up high and hair bedazzled before she even decided to pay you a visit in her usual lavish gowns.

"You are quite the woman. Also, your witcher is as well."

Queen Makeda interrogated, gaze raking all over the room to check any evidences of her necklace being thrown around. She huffed to herself when there was no traces of her enchanted, Cobalt amulet that has been stolen by your doppelganger.

"---Demanding for a soft bed for you to sleep on while he hunts for the witch who has cursed my son?"

"Not even my young daughter would approve of this," she spoke in animosity, spitting the words like how she truthfully felt, "---Your horrible kind," the latter continued, taking heedful steps forward as you've stood on your ground; firmly and never backing down.

The queen was undeniably taller than you. She'd peered down, glaring into your narrowed eyes fighting back for her attempt on intimidating you. After everything they've done, feeling scared was running through your veins. It was pumping wrath and distaste for how they've treated you like an animal for pointing fingers over the woman who has stolen her necklace---even asking such favors for Geralt when they knew how he acted towards you; using it to their advantage.

"---You and your witcher. It disgusts me,"

"Look who's talking, guess Geralt is the only way to save your cursed son then? But, you still manage to hate his kind when you're depending over him to save your prince,"

Out of the blue, you've felt fingers clasping around your throat. Her long nails sinking through your skin as her hold was tight, ceasing the air passing through your throat that has gotten you growling beneath her palm.

She intently given you a death look, bequeathing the opportunity of laying a hand on you without the witcher who has never left your side from the moment he arrived.

"Give me back my necklace. It was a gift by the king that I hold dearly,"

The bitch was barking when she had no evidence at all. You mindlessly thought in the back of your head whilst being choked at the same time.

"Your h-highness," you dryly coughed out the air she was trying to cut you off with. You've given her a menacing glare as well, your mouth in an obvious lour. Her hold shifting around your neck as she tried to shift your jaw out of its current position, making you tilt your head to give her a sharp, side-eye.

You can't help but bark out a mocking giggle, appearing to be sicko while being manhandled by your very own gender while a taunt left your fuming mouth.

"---what's your kind? I doubt your kind may be human,"

Queen Makeda scoffed after hearing that, pushing you to the ground which has left you heaving breaths and coughing out from the lack of it. Your fingers quickly grabbing onto your growing belly to protect whatever Eanraig believed there is to be inside of you. A child that he was cognizant of; slightly still leaving you in disbelief because of how you weren't seeing any changes at the image of your belly.

Until, you've realized that your period haven't visited you since the last week.

The realization had you staring at the ground you were currently sitting upon while the queen stood before you with all her might and certainty. Your instincts telling you to cease the in-denial for your pregnancy because it was the truth.

"You are awfully disrespectful. Just like your mutant."

At the mere acknowledgement of that towards your witcher, your longstanding antagonism for her has given you all the willpower of spitting on the ground she was standing on, tilting your head up at her from your seated position with utmost spite, glaring from below her in the greatest hostility you can ever give.

"You're not my queen. So I give you the least amount of my respect, Ma-ke-da. That's your name, right? Is there another word for Bitch here?---You're a bloody skank! Have I got the accent correct for everyone? Or should I continue my fake British accent? would you like it to be Scottish?"

Hushed gasps has been audibly heard from the queen's maids who stood aligned in vertical. Their posture slightly curved in a bow and never giving their gazes towards their majesty and had them glued to the ground. Howbeit, their hearing couldn't be helped as it was a natural instinct to listen despite of being ordered not to.

They've been disoriented from their prior poses, taking heed of how you've disrespect the queen who was reigning the whole kingdom. She reached out behind her, ushering over the court lady who was holding onto the used golden kirtle that seemed to be owned by a maiden who left the castle or has been punished to death.

In a cruel gesture, Queen Makeda has balled up the dress with her hands. Throwing them over your head that felt too impetuous and disfavourable because of how her servants felt the need to slyly giggle from the background.

"Womanly hands are needed in this palace," she brashly scoffed, tip-toeing over her tone like a taunt, playing over a prey she decided to amuse for the moment. You heedlessly yanked off the dress overthrown on your head and avoided their loathe-filled peepers who find your vulnerability entertaining their day.

The evil queen couldn't help but laugh beneath her breath, watching you bask in your own solitude and hopelessness---being a woman they believed as a thief or a girl with no name nor worth of living a happy and abounding life. A renegade in their kingdom that deserves the least amount of attention and respect.

It was probably your doppelganger's reality as she lives in Kaedwen; thriving in the most difficult way to live in their world---more desperate to stay alive more than you back in earth.

"I suggest you must help the maids as they serve us through night and day," she nonchalantly reiterated with a slip of her laughter every now and then. Her offhand way of talking resulting in giving her the most stony lour you could muster.

Queen Makeda spurned your woebegone with a simple simper, passing over the sepulchral spirit radiating off you. She'd turn her heels away, parading through your chambers with her servants following suit, but not forgetting to leave without a ridicule.

"Better than any corporal punishment. Am I right, tramp?"

Sundown came earlier than you've calculated. Being given the job of a scullery maid for this certain day has been backbreaking. You've scoured the dirtiest pots and plates with all your healing strength, straining your energy for the heck of it all because of how heavy their utensils and equipment can be. More than how the stuff in your workplace were much more lighter than ever. It wasn't a punishment you've expected from them considering how they've injured you in the flesh, taking Geralt's words accountable or was this just a hoax of their upcoming plans?

You knew that it won't be the only job given. Five days living in the castle has been a crestfallen experience that not any normal earthling could handle well.

Which has probably been also the reason why you were too stressed and angry with everyone and anyone including the father of your unborn child, raving in bluster for his slow-witted self in terms of one's feelings.

That was probably one of the disadvantages of being in love with a witcher. Geralt hardly receives love and care that he doesn't know how to distinguish it even for himself.

Laying on the cold surface of such mattress; back flat with aching muscles and healing wounds, one palm reached up to your slightly bilged stomach. The feeling of another human growing inside weren't obvious yet. Thinking that it was probably just because of the pastry they've fed you with which has gotten your stomach swelling.

"Are you really in there?" you quietly muttered to the ceiling, feeling your chest tighten from being all alone and dealing with what the witcher has said to you before he left. His words becoming an echo of your regret and sadness.

"---Or am I just bloated, Little princess?"

Soft caresses over your slightly curved skin has given you goosebumps all over your body. The act feeling too real for you to be talking to a baby that has probably never learn to kick yet. Simultaneously, a sigh left your mouth when you truly believed and hold on to Geralt's infertility tales when he has gotten you pregnant out of the blue.

Magic. Right. All of what was going on between you both was magic after all, even your growing child. He has been right after all.

"Am I really having a baby grow inside of me when I haven't expected this at all? your daddy probably has great swimmers---oh, wait. He should've been infertile." the train of thought has been ceased, your mouth curling in the opposite of a smile. Frowning being your constant expression the past few days with a round-the-clock dismal mood once you wake up and try to have a nap when you were hardly being given the chance to just like how your insomnia tries to eat you alive again.

It hasn't even visited you since before you've woken up from a different dimension. Insomnia has never been an issue when you've arrived in the continent. Perhaps, the witcher may be one of the reasons for your inner beasts to hide. Though, with the mist surrounding you both---it started to pay you a visit especially after experiencing physical and mental struggles through out your stay in the castle.

No matter how disappointed and angry you were with Geralt, he has still been your refuge from all the danger that his world can cause.

"Is this really happening? I'm going to be a mother now?" you went on in talking to no one in particular, caressing your stomach against the palm of your hand like how a mother would.

"---with the brooding witcher as your father?"

The mouth curled downward languidly pulled the strings to a solemn smile. Memories of Geralt and how he was finding you unappealing as each day passes was like a reality meant for you because even men in your world eventually leaves when you were showing them your humanly capabilities---the darker part of you that nobody can ever tolerate.

Even the witcher found you pathetic---a man from another world seeing what you actually were. Not an angel that all men believed you to be.

With a growing baby inside of you, it would be difficult to forget Geralt because of how he'd left a part of him inside of you and will eventually be born in a world you were fearful of.

When you said back in earth, that you wanted a child with Legolas. You didn't mean for it to happen in real life. Especially from a man who don't take children as a gift---something worth to be proud of as you remembered how Eanraig said that he would rather have his own child as a bait for monsters than to let him live in the continent.

Your heart was tightening further as you continued talking to your unborn offspring and into the brisk, solitary midnight with nothing but shadows to comfort your forlorn soul, "Your poppa' certainly won't accept you if he knows about your existence. Based on how we got into a fight over feelings we both don't understand." Pause.

"---If I shave his white head, will it be worth the revenge? You think he cares for his hair? Or maybe hide his witcher potions somewhere else where he would have a difficult time seeing it?"

You couldn't help but slightly giggle to yourself. The sound dethering and fading in the end from how forced it sounded; faking the happiness and trying to uplift your spirits by thinking that Geralt would still accept you in his life after tying him in a responsibility that he will surely detest.

"---I still can't help but think of him though. Especially after knowing you're growing inside of me now. I doubt he actually thinks of me more than I do,"

"Maybe the witcher might want to say that he loves you and that he is still on his witch hunt!"

Catching you off-guard, a squeaky, upbeat, childish voice resonated in your chambers. Hushed to the most quietest voice she could do, standing before the end of your bed was a curly haired child who was grinning amongst the shadows she tries to hide herself in. Her two front teeth sitting apart which has made her appear more adorable than ever. The features she had slowly coming to a point that it seemed to be familiar---like you've seen her face and heard her voice back in earth.

The child standing before you was a little demon known in your dimension. Delilah Cincinnati. A child who has always made your work more difficult than it can ever be---a nuisance who could always get you tripping when you were serving food for customers. You've had a nickname for her, Deli-the-menace that came from the character 'Dennis-the-menace' but this one was a little girl and her devilish grin suited her name.

But, her grin seemed to be different in this world. It was more sweet, utterly masking in pure innocence that made you sit your back on the headboard. Your fingers reaching below your pillows to grab onto the kitchen knife you've managed to sneak in because of how you didn't trust anyone in the castle---taking Geralt's advices seriously.

People would probably think you were crazy, but you've been thinking that this child in front of you would transform into an evil gnome and eat your unborn baby because she was hungry for flesh.

"Delilah?" your voice turned squeaky as well. Swallowing the nervousness back down the pit of your stomach, you crumpled your legs under your thighs, shifting away from the child when she dragged her feet upon the foot of the bed; crawling towards you with a smile.

She jumped the half of her body beside you, tucking her little legs under the bed sheets. The ends of it pulled by her tiny fingers and tucked under her chin whilst turning her whole body with a ceaseless smile.

"You're a silly lady! I'm no Delilah, miss witcheress."

The adorable child snuggled closer on your side, hiding behind your body as if she was sneaking from someone.

"Princess Corinthia of Kaedwen. You can call me 'Coco' instead. Just don't tell my mother!" she placed a finger in between her pursed lips, giggling behind as she thoroughly sneaked her miniscule body in between you and the headboard.

You've inhaled a deep breath before being cut-off by the princess and her mischievous warning, "Shh. The knights are searching for me!"

She pointed towards a large sized painted picture of the whole royal family hung over the stone walls, enclosing her mouth with her small palms while she whispered.

"---A secret door."

Princess Corinthia offered another giggle that has kept your mouth zipped because of how untrustful she still is to you. Though, you dropped the knife back under your pillows again when she seemed to be harmless than what you imagined her to be; a little devil or a tiny monster that she might be in the witcher's dimension.

"I am a curious child. I've been hearing the tales of a white haired beast slayer stepping foot in our fortress! The maids even said that he has brought a frog for him to protect and this frog is his bride as every single person in the palace has gossiped about. Are you the frog? Do you have a curse like my brother too?"

At the mention of that, the scowl suddenly became one prominent expression since the moment you arrived in the castle. Huffing out a breath of exasperation over what nickname you've gotten. The witcher's frog. It didn't sound too appealing for you and even for the child because she was giggling through it all.

"A frog?! Seriously?! They were calling me ugly. How rude of them," you stated as a matter of fact.

"Our maids are just probably thirsty whores who may want your witcha'!" your eyes grew from the profanity that left her mouth. A single, plain warning of a look has been given to the child.

"That's a bad word."

The castle princess ignored your upbraid, palms covering her mouth with her eyes turning into big saucers that looked like to be as if she was guilty over saying such blasphemy.

"---because of the epic that his humble bard has created, many have been less frightened over their kind. Though, some are quite suspicious and still looking at them in disgust just like how most of our servants are. Is he handsome? they were chattering about him last supper in the kitchen! Also, they've talked about how they have seen how he didn't think twice to point his sword at any of our men---Chivalry at its finest from a butcher as said by them,"

From the way she has mentioned it came with astonishment over the witcher's valiant and chivalrous actions. Your mind in a blurry mess when you have seen him the first time---being brought to a room where Geralt has reacted in an aggressive way towards everyone in the room that not even a king can scare him away when you were a bleeding mess shoved on the floors. Your heart constantly being poked by a knife after realizing that a fight came after his magnanimity, the other side of you thinking that he has done it out of affection and care. Expecting it to be more than just how a sentiment is towards a friend because you've been seeing him more than just your confidante.

Was this how friends with benefits is in their world?

You couldn't help the crinkles on the side of your eyes. A small, close mouthed smile warping your face at the thought of the witcher you were highly proud of deep inside.

"He is quite dashing, brooding and utterly like a knight in shining armor, don't you think?"

"I may want to have a husband like him in the future!"

"I doubt you could," you simply testified, remembering that princesses in the medieval era are forbidden to marry a commoner. More so, for a witcher whom everyone repels towards their kind.

"---A princess can only be with a prince. Unless, you're in a Disney story. Then you can be like---"

She immediately cut you off with a sad pout, "Aren't witchers like a prince? beast slayers but still a prince?"

You've turned to look into her eyes; genuine and seeming to be in a different state of mind as you sincerely implored, "To me---he's a knight. An imperfectly, perfect scarred knight who always saves my life." pause. "---Sometimes, picking a commoner is better than being with a perfect prince because they always make you believe in fairytales that don't exist. The witcher's a mutant. A freak of nature that they always see of him. An experimented human who had no other choice but to accept his lonely fate. But, this doesn't make him any less human, Princess Coco."

Princess Corinthia had her almond, doe eyes peering up at you. Her spirit filled in utmost inquiry for what your witcher really actually is. Unable to perceive how he also looked like because she had only seen his armored, broad back as he gently dropped you on the bed. Both of you seeming to be in a debate while his face inches away from yours, seeing him lean all the way forward to give you a pucker of his lips. A gesture that the princess has always seen from servants who had a secretive relationship with their knights. The opposite of what she sees from her parents because you never leaned away from Geralt unlike how the queen avoids her husband's affections.

Endearing to be seen from you both because her parents hardly appeared to cherish one another.

"Geralt has a kind heart that no other prince may let me see from and I wish for your future to be best and full of love like how I wish to have,"

"Geralt? is that the witcher's name?"

You've heard loud stomps of footsteps banging outside the room, knowing that it was probably chevaliers searching for the young princess. She was quick to pull the blanket over her head, forcefully shoving herself on your side for cover. Hence, it also made you slip under the covers, grabbing onto her fragile shoulders to pull her inside to veil away from the night that wanted to pull her in for a nightmare. The cloying feeling swaying your insides because of a young child that could delicately press onto your heartstrings, showing you how precious it was to have a daughter who was utterly sweet and gullible.

You couldn't help but giggle under the covers with her, subtly reaching for your growing stomach with a hidden caress.

"Yes it is, Princess. Now, hide!"

Morning came after and the night has still given you beasts as your foe, battling through the hours which has never given you enough sleep. The queen's princess having more sleep as she laid on your arm, telling you that she also had her own monsters to challenge with because she slept alone in her bed, thinking that it was all a lie when she dozed off after half an hour of your stories about Geralt and his adventures.

An understanding hitting you like a freight train when she began snoring as she slept on your bed.

The princess just needed someone to cuddle with. Comfort from another woman that the queen should've been doing because it was her daughter and not yours to begin with.

Dressed in your servant's clothes and standing in the middle of an empty kitchen, most servants have been called to be in the queen's chambers except for you. With a gurgling stomach and a set of pastries lined up in front of you and on the decrepit, wooden table---your fingers reach out for a piece of marzipan cakes until it has been whacked away from your hands with a tolerating slap of strength.

You were too hungry to even process that you have grabbed onto a kitchen knife, seeming to be in a greater starvation as each day passes by due to cravings for more food everyday. The blade has been hastily pointed upon the man's weak spot on his neck---remembering Jaskier's teachings about what vulnerable spot does it take to slash one's neck for him or her to bleed till her death.

Stunned forest green eyes were all wide as you point the tip upon his jugular. Your teeth barred and appearing wild before the familiar gallant whom you remembered to have seen back when Tybalt has forced his entry through your home. He was the cavalier who wanted nothing to do with Jaskier being shoved to the ground. The hesitant knight that you awfully remember.

"What are you going to do to me? Hurt me again?" you bark out loud, your fingers slightly trembling as the blade was close to his porcelain skin, "---You knights are---!!!"

The obsidian eyed gallant raised his palm to covers your mouth, his gaze shifting around the empty kitchen before he talked, "Shhh. Don't eat those."

"---Mmmh!" you battled against his hold, shifting away but he forcefully kept you close by, never risking for you to scream or run away.

He shook his head, seeing him anxiously bite on his lower lip and looking away. His hand promptly leaving your mouth as he reached to grab onto one dessert that he saw one charmed servant bake and pour a nasty vile in the batter, "They're poisoned. I've heard it from Tybalt that you might be having a cub growing inside of you. One of the maids have been enchanted, poisoning your food."

You couldn't help but shut your eyes close in exasperation over people wanting to put you in danger. Your hunches immediately thinking about Ingrith because she has been the only person who couldn't stand you and the child you were bearing.

"Notice how no one eats them?"

"But, I seen them eat before I'm around,"

"But, not these. Correct?"

The maids have never eaten any dessert---nor had it look touched. They were devouring food, right. But, not desserts because somehow they suddenly had no sweet tooth over pastries; slyly knowing that you had a penchant over sweets.

It was probably the reason why they were simply poisoned.

You couldn't help but bite the insides of your cheeks, pulling out a chair from the table to tiredly sit and sigh about how stressful it is to stay alive in Geralt's dimension when people wanted you dead since the moment that an out-of-the-blue child has been living inside your stomach.

Was it a mistake made? was the child a mistake so that was why people were scared for it to be born? Eanraig has said that she would be born with a purpose to save their dimension---receiving such help to save humanity and cease chaos.

As much as how difficult it was to understand that, the only thing that has ever been a mistake was trying to honestly tell Geralt you love him before being cut-off by your witcher.

"Is it true?" the gallant curiously inquired, leaning his hip on the edge of the table as he crossed his arms in front of you.

"---that the Witcher is your child's father?"

It was still quite awkward to tell knowing that he was supposed to be infertile. But, being in a world where magic exists probably isn't the only thing peculiar after all.

"Yes."

"Oh, great. It wasn't just plain gossip after all," he momentarily exhaled a breath, rolling his shoulders back. Quietly moaning as he stretched his limbs, his youthful, juvenile timbre in his tone turning squeaky and nonchalant, "---They'll loathe you more especially that you're up the spout with the witcher's child,"

You could see the disgust in their eyes. People in the castle who somehow managed to see you. Though, the case with Eanraig, princess Coco and this chevalier was different because they looked at you as if there was nothing wrong which it should've been.

"Why?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head, grabbing onto another set of pastry that looked like some pudding as he raised it to his nose, subtly sniffing the food before calmly throwing it back away again, "That's not a question. Think of it---you're pregnant by a monster slayer who had tales of his kind that he is completely barren due to his genetic mutations. Then, you're suddenly carrying his sprog for magical reasons,"

Your eyes quickly narrowed with how sarcastic he sounded.

He continued his chatter, sighing every once in a while as he said his words that seemed to be a quote coming from another, "---Witchers are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives..."

The latter exhaled one last long breathe, dramatic enough to pay heed over how you were trying to see through him; thinking what kind of person he was because after being injured within the castle has made you wary of anyone who wanted to talk. It even got to the point that you were guessing he wanted to talk and seek out information from you.

"---I've always remembered Amaury and his beliefs over witchers since he has encountered one before he was killed by him," he gave a small beam, showing teeth while he was in a flashback of memories from his journey before with a deceased close friend.

"I remember he goes by the name Auckes---maybe your witcher might know him,"

You simply nodded. Still cautious of his presence while you hugged your stomach from him.

"There are other witchers too?"

Geralt has left that question unanswered, back when you were serving ale for him. You've tried to remember that name for when you try to ask your witcher---that is if you're still planning on talking to him after the fight you and him had or if he would even care to answer.

Eventually, it was needed to talk to the father of your own child of surprise. A child of surprise that had no law being given or said.

He noticed you were dazing off, too deep in your thoughts that got him sauntering over the kitchen cabinets, slipping a hand inside to try and eyeball some fruit he tried to hid this morning. The man was thinking you were starving already which tells why you were staring out of nowhere, considering that you were eating for two.

"---Auckes became an assassin. He was formerly a witcha',"

You've snapped out of your stupor, the empathy you had for people swiftly slipping through your mind, "I'm sorry to hear that. May your friend's soul rest in peace."

"Amaury might be having a good time where ever he is right now,"

He strolled back to where you sat, standing before you with a bundle of apples, oranges and boiled eggs. His hands reaching out to give them while whispering the next sentences like he was forbidden to do it from the start or even talk to you, "Watch out for anyone. They have an entire repugnance for his kind and anyone related to him," you've taken the food out of his hands, placing them all on your apron and bunching them to yourself.

The lean built gallant took a step back, hands behind his back and realizing that he was younger than you thought. In the same age as Jaskier when he gave you a boyish smile, "Take care of yourself. Especially your child,"

You've finally beamed before him, slowly loosening up around his infectious presence. Self deciding that he was worth to trust after he took a bite of his own apple hidden inside the pocket of his breeches, showing you that the food he gave was poison free.

"Do you have a name?"

"Of course. The name's Otker."

"Thank you for the warning, Otker." the latter gave a toothy grin before it fell in a hot second, reaching to cup his nape in sheer embarrassment for whatever he was thinking.

"Forgive me for I have not helped you through Tybalt's plans," he honestly apologized.

Without warning, there were voices echoing outside. Voices of maidens chewing the rag over what the queen has told them and it made you shot up from your seat, the bulwark surrounding you suddenly building itself from hearing other people closing in---people who weren't worth the trust.

"It's fine. You had no other choice. You can't betray the man who you work for. Evil or not."

Otker cocked his head to the side with a knowing smile, his mouth in an amused straight line as he walked away with his steps going backward. He was agreeing to what you've said but also somehow disagreeing too.

"Tybalt's not all evil," the green eyed gallant pursed his lips from his psychoanalysis over the higher vampire after working with him for half a year or so; having faith over his ungodly gestures like his appearance had been a misunderstanding for his wicked characteristics that you find in him.

"---but, he isn't good either. Just being whispered words of propaganda by everyone surrounding him,"

A simple shake of your head was enough to get Otker shrugging his shoulders because he knew you weren't convinced after Tybalt basically stabbing you on the hip before he walked away as the judging servants came in the kitchen one by one again---planning to continue the stress they have been pouring.

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife

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livingmybestfictionallife · 7 years ago

Text

Oh Boy(s)

Anon Request: Is there by any chance you do Harrison? If so, could you do an Imagine where Haz is drunk and he is singing Shape Of You. You may let your imagination loose on the rest, surprise us readers with the out come 😊

A/N: So while writing this I kind of let my imagination loose a little too much and decided to turn this request into the idea I mentioned months ago, so hopefully this works out. Possibly another part to add.

Warnings: jealous!harrison, jealous!tom, alcohol use, harrison and tom being drunk jerks, sexual implications

A/N: Also, I just want to point out that, judging by this picture, Tom (and Jacob if they’re playing teams) is horrible at beer pong.

Young and hopeful, (Y/N) decided to be a volunteer at the 2016 Comic Con, however she could not have imagined how far this act of civil service would take her. From working backstage at panels and manning the photo-op lines, she managed to find an ‘in’ with some of the celebrities her age that attended the con. When (Y/N ) learned her volunteer position received the perk of getting a behind the scenes photo-op with any actor or actors of her choice, she eagerly chose the Spider-Man: Homecoming cast. At the end of the day, when her chance came, she even managed to hit it off with a few of the actors, namely Jacob and Tony.

A few months later, after stewing in anticipation, (Y/N) received an email from Tony saying she was chosen to be a PA on the set of Spider-Man: Far From Home. During this time she had grown to be incredibly close to all of the main actors, but the person she bonded with most had to be the other PA their age, Tom’s best friend, Harrison.

When the actors were running lines and perfecting takes, Harrison and (Y/N) were doing whatever needed to be done, whether it be helpful work or coffee runs, they did it together. They roasted Tom, told jokes, distracted their actor friends one too many times, and frequently hung out outside of work as well. With how much time they spent with one another, Tom, Jacob, Zendaya, Tony, and Laura all assumed that Harrison and (Y/N) were already an item. It wasn’t until their last day in Atlanta that the rest of the group figured out that their relationship was still considered ‘platonic.’

Months rolled by and the group remained in contact with one another, but Harrison and (Y/N) remained closer than the rest, with the exception Harrison and Tom. About a month before Tom’s upcoming birthday, Harrison sent a message in the group chat that hadn’t been used in half a year, with the exclusion of Tom.

HazO🇬🇧: Trying to have a surprise birthday bash for Tom at my place. Who’s in?

JB🌺Aloha: in london?

Tony⚡: I’m in

HazO🇬🇧: Yes in LONDON!

Z✊🏾: ON his bday?

HazO🇬🇧: No in December

Z✊🏾: Did I ask for your negativity?🙅🏽

La-La-Laura👑: I can make it :)

Tater🍠: I can try

JB🌺Aloha: who TF is tater?

Z✊🏾: can’t be Tom. He has a quackson emoji 😂

Tater🍠: It’s (Y/N) -.- you nuke a sweet potato around Haz and Tom ONE TIME and you’re scarred for life

JB🌺Aloha: Ohh, I forgot about the tater name.

Tater🍠: I wish everyone would...

HazO🇬🇧: So everyone’s coming??? cool!

A month and a lot of convincing later, (Y/N) managed to work out a way so that she could afford the plane ticket out of the country for Tom’s birthday. Jacob, Tony, Laura, Zendaya, and (Y/N) all stood outside Harrison’s home in the warmth of the London sun, waiting for Tom to stroll into the backyard alongside Harrison. The group lingered around a cooler, each sipping on cold beer or hard cider, chatting about their time in Atlanta, and catching up on what had been going on in one another’s lives.

Slowly, the back doors opened to reveal Tom and Harrison, bare chested and obviously buzzed, sauntering toward the group. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOM” they called as he approached. Jacob passed Tom a beer and smiled.

“First legal one with all of us according to your home away from home,” he said as Tom twisted off the top of the bottle. (Y/N) continued to linger around the outside of the group and sip her drink. She had always felt slightly different from everyone else. Even though Harrison wasn’t one of the stars, he was still an actor and shared the extroverted tendencies of the rest of the group; not only that, he had known Tom and his family for years before meeting the rest of the group. (Y/N) was the newest member to join the team, and often felt as if she didn’t belong there, and so she lingered in the background and isolated herself unless she was around Harrison, Tony, or Jacob.

Even today, (Y/N) sat along the side of the pool and kicked her legs back and forth in the water as the icy alcoholic apple taste slid down her throat. She leaned back and tried to relax as the sounds of Tony’s playlist circulated throughout the stereo system. Slowly heard faint footsteps grew closer to her and (Y/N) opened her eyes to see Tom had made his way toward where she sat alone at the edge of the pool.

“You came!” he smiled as he sat down beside her.

“You think I’d miss this?” she questioned with a laugh as Tom clinked his bottle against hers.

“I bet Harrison is excited to see you,” he said softly in a deep tone under his breath

“Why? Are you not excited to see me?” she teased and offered Tom a small smile.

“All I meant is that you and him are close, right?” Tom returned with apprehensive eyes. “He’s been blabbing about (Y/N) since we left Atlanta.” Curiosity overcame (Y/N) as she realized Tom was unaware of who he was speaking with.

“Yeah sure,” (Y/N) sighed as she pounded back the rest of her drink, and quickly noticing Tom’s level of intoxication. His eyelids looked heavy when he blinked, and (Y/N) could almost hear the fuzziness of his brain like the static of a television channel that isn’t responding. “Are you already drunk?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Tom said with a chuckle in his voice and holding a finger to his lips, signaling for her to keep quiet about it. “I mean, it’s my birthday!” Suddenly, his lighthearted tone fluctuated to irritation. “It’s my birthday and I have to watch my best friend try and get it on.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s hitting on anyone,” (Y/N) attempted to reassure Tom as she gazed over her shoulder toward Harrison who stood beside Zendaya and Tony.

“Not yet,” he said while finishing his drink. “Look, just...don’t tell him I was talking to you,” he rushed to add while slurring his words. “Harrison doesn’t want anyone to know that he likes (Y/N).”

“Then why did he tell you?” she asked sneakily, feeling guilty for taking advantage of Tom’s inebriation.

“He thought I wasn’t interested.” With that he slipped into the pool and swam, underwater, to the opposite end where Jacob and Laura were practicing underwater handstands.

Since Tom was drunk, (Y/N) chose not to give their conversation much thought, but she couldn’t help remember her interactions with Harrison and Tom in Atlanta and even before that at the convention when she first befriended the group. When she first met everyone, she immediately threw herself into a roasting battle and got caught in the crossfires, inevitably being on the receiving end of Tom’s banter. As the day went on, she and Tom continued their roasts even when the others had stopped, and soon their banter was interpreted as annoyance and bickering. Harrison was convinced Tom wasn’t interested in the random girl they had just met; after all, his breakup was still moderately fresh, fame was on the horizon, and when Tom shows and interest in girls it’s normally through jokingly showing off and being kind, not by what Harrison was interpreting as him being blatantly rude to the new company.

(Y/N) always had a hunch that Harrison liked her. He would occasionally bring her favorite candy to set for a snack, he’d use his own money to buy her coffee when they went on Starbucks runs, and always seemed slightly shier around her than with anyone else. She had begun to rely on Harrison’s kindness to get her through the relentless teasing from Tom that had, in reality, been a continuation of their banter from when they first met. She didn’t have anything against Tom and knew that he could be a genuinely nice person, but he was never that way when anyone else was around. He was always standoffish and on defense when (Y/N) was involved in the group’s activities, but since the first night that Harrison disclosed to Tom that he may like (Y/N), Tom set roasting as his default when (Y/N) was around. He had to keep himself from indulging in whatever could have been for the sake of his best friend, and if being an ass is what would see Harrison happy with (Y/N), then being an ass is what he would have to do.

The sun faded behind the earth long ago. Since arriving, the group had run out of alcohol and was quickly replenished when Harry and Sam arrived at the party. Pizza fueled the young adults’ day and turned into a life source once night fell upon them. (Y/N) was pretty sure that, between Harrison and Tony, the local pizza joint had to have been called at least four times, and Harry and Sam didn’t make the food overload any better when the brought frozen, prepackaged hamburger patties to the party.

Despite trying to ignore any inclinations of either Harrison or Tom trying to make a move on her, it was nearly impossible for (Y/N) to keep her mind off of the thing causing her the most anxiety. Everything seemed to be a sign, whether it be through the chicken fights or their water rugby/basketball game, everything pointed in a million different directions. When the group decided to play chicken, Harrison chose (Y/N) to be on his team, one of the twins took Zendaya, the other chose Laura, and Tom and Jacob were a team while Tony continued to man the music. Harrison’s logic was to keep (Y/N) as close to him as possible so that, if the time was right, he could tell her how he felt. Having her on his shoulders was about as close as they could get. Tom’s logic was to be as physical as he could: fighting her would fulfill this. She was caught between support and competition as Harrison held her above the water and Tom tried to drag her off Haz’s shoulders and into the water with him.

When the sun began to set, the game changed when Tony threw a rugby ball into the pool. Z and Laura drew the line at dangerous sports, but (Y/N) had grown up playing watermelon ball with her family every summer since she was fourteen. The object of the game was very similar to the one proposed in this game: teams were divided and the object was to get the ball from one end of the pool to the other; the only difference is that when (Y/N) played it back home, a watermelon was used instead of a ball, which made the game much more difficult. Again, she was paired with Harrison, per his request. Competing alongside them was Tony and Harry while Jacob, Tom, and Sam became their opponents.

As soon as Laura threw the ball into the pool, (Y/N) took off. She dove into the water and grasped at the ball, careful not to bump heads with the other players, and swam to the bottom of the pool. Her plan was to skim the bottom, completely unnoticed until she reached the opposite end of the pool. When she finally reached the edge, she hurriedly kicked her feet only to have a pair of hands come from behind her and latch onto her hips. Frantically, she looked at the swimming trunks around her and tossed the ball toward the white shorts with blue stripes: Harrison. She turned underwater and looked for the person who had grabbed her, but they had already swam away. Once (Y/N) resurfaced, she found that her team had a turnover and Tom now had the ball. She went back under and quickly used her feet as leverage while she grabbed his ankles and pulled him back. As expected, he face planted into the water and dropped the ball, giving Harry just enough time to swoop in and rush toward their scoring end.

Just as quickly as (Y/N) had pulled Tom, she shoved him away and swam toward their scoring end to receive Harry’s pass and dunk the ball through the small basketball hoop. From there, the physical interaction among players only escalated. Guys were able to avoid groin kicks to one another but they were really grabby with the ball and forgot one member of their competition was female until they accidentally grabbed a boob. Used to the similar physical interaction in watermelon ball, and being too incredibly competitive to let it bother her, (Y/N) took advantage of the guys perceived awkward moment after accidentally grabbing her and scored against them. It wasn’t until the end of their fourth round that (Y/N) began to notice the looks on both Harrison’s and Tom’s faces. Both exhibited excitement but while Harrison’s showed pride, Tom’s displayed thrill--the thrill of the chase. The two didn’t square off on one another until Tom forced (Y/N) under water and Harrison hurried toward them and shoved Tom under, allowing (Y/N) to swim away throw the ball to Tony and their team to score the winning point.

After the sun was completely absent from the sky, the group decided to settle down from the roughness of their afternoon, eat dinner, and play a little beer pong. Harrison and (Y/N) stood side by side as they each took their turn throwing ping-pong balls at the red solo cups that floated opposite them. As the songs transitioned into those of Ed Sheeran’s latest album, Harrison’s excitement and confidence boosted. Without coordinating anything, Harrison and (Y/N) began to sing ‘Shape of You.’ She laughed as he hurried his drunk slurs to hit all the right words and notes during the verses, but once the chorus came on, it was like he was at a concert, screaming to hear himself over the roar of the crowd and pounding speakers.

“I’m in love with the shape of you; we push and pull like a magnet do. Although heart is falling too, I’m in love with your body. Last night you were in my room and now my bed sheets smell like you. Every day discovering something brand new; I'm in love with your body. I'm in love with your body; every day discovering something brand new. I'm in love with the shape of you!” Laughing, he took her hands and spun her around in an attempt to dance, only to find the resistance of the water to make it much more difficult than expected. Thankfully, almost everyone had joined in with Harrison’s charade, and (Y/N) was able to deny that he was doing any of this seriously rather than to be funny or because he was taken away by the heat of the moment or the liquor in their systems.

Harrison had definitely crossed her mind in the romantic way but part of her continued to debate against taking their relationship from friendship to romance. He was nice and kind and loving and she would love to be able to see where their relationship could go, but she was more than terrified of losing the friendship she had with him. It had been ages since she had someone like Harrison in her life, and being friendless was something she was too horrified to return to that she couldn’t imagine risking what she has to maybe have something else. She wasn’t greedy, she was thankful for how things were and didn’t see a need to try and have more.

“Get it, Haz!” Zendaya and Jacob laughed. (Y/N) let out a small chuckle as the faces and voices faded in and out of her buzzed analysis of the situation. She focused on their actions rather than the implications and hurried to take her turn, inevitably missing the cup and accidentally hitting Tom in the chest.

“(Y/N), quit staring at Harrison and get your head in the game,” Tom grumbled as he rubbed water over the stinging welt on his chest. Harrison rolled his eyes and gently put his hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder in a reassuring and also possessive manner. She partially melted in his touch--ready to surrender her opposing argument and be in favor of a romantic relationship--however, the other half of her felt nothing more than a platonic, if not brotherly, protection. In hopes to drown her thoughts, (Y/N) chugged one of the cups in front of her and felt a buzz return to her head.

“Come on, mate! Don’t take your anger out on her just because you suck at beer pong,” Harrison chuckled.

“She pegged me!” Tom protested.

“I’m sorry!” (Y/N) quickly interjected with a small laugh on her lips, assuming the back and forth between Harrison and Tom was playful, friendly banter.

“Let’s go Holland!” Harrison called while slipping his arms around (Y/N)’s waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Hesitant, her heart started to flutter against her chest in both excitement and apprehension; even if she wasn’t certain on if she wanted to start a relationship with Harrison, she at least knew she wouldn’t want something to start on the account of alcohol. Tom rolled his eyes and tried to shoot at one of the four cups he and Sam had left. After missing, he huffed as Harrison leapt back, lifted (Y/N) and spun her around in the water--her back against his chest--in a drunken, victorious jest. Tom walked to the edge of the pool, hoisted himself up, and grabbed his towel.

“Is he okay?” (Y/N) asked Harrison who shrugged in return. Her eyes then flashed toward Sam who also exchanged a look of confusion. Both of the guys she was trying to get information from were even more inebriated than she was, so she swam to the edge of the pool, got out quickly, dried off, and then picked up her phone and followed Tom’s path into Harrison’s home. Slowly, she raised her hand to the door of the room the boys used to change: Harrison’s room. As she pushed the door out of it’s closed position, (Y/N) entered to see Tom hunched over on the side of the bed staring aimlessly at his phone as his thumb scrolled against the glass screen. “Tom, are you coming back out?”

“In a minute,” he grumbled. As (Y/N) closed the door and made her way closer toward him, she could see that he was staring at a now blank screen and the reflection of his face didn’t look very happy.

“Is something wrong?” she gently asked, only to have Tom rise and face her with frustration in his eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t need you to come and check up on me when I’m just trying to cool off.” (Y/N)’s nose scrunched at his words and she turned as he tried to pass her.

“Why do you try so hard to be an asshole to me?” she called him out. Tom bit anxiously at his cheek, and turned to face (Y/N) with his eyes locked on hers.

“For Harrison’s sake,” he stated firmly as he gazed intently at her. When (Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Tom continued to explain in an exasperated voice, “I’m always acting like I don’t like you so Harrison doesn’t see that I actually do like you.”

“What’s the big deal with pretending not to be my friend? Harrison is your best friend and he’s one of my closet friends. He should be glad we get along!”

“Never mind,” Tom sighed while walking away. “You’re not getting it.”

“What am I not getting? You’r paranoid about Harrison knowing you’re my friend so you act like you can’t stand me! Just tell him you actually like me and that you don’t hate me, and maybe he’ll stop trying to drown you in water rugby.”

“I can’t do that to him,” Tom stated.

“Why not?” (Y/N) asked as her frustration continued to soar. Tom let out an aggravated groan and cupped (Y/N)’s face in his hands before allowing his lips to crash onto hers. Stumbling backward from the force of their bodies colliding, the pair fell on the bed, Tom’s bare chest pressed against (Y/N)’s now chillingly wet bikini top. Subconsciously, her lips opened against his, asking for more. The fluttering in her chest that rose when Harrison put her arms around her was increased to tenfold as Tom’s mouth pressed against hers. The hesitation and confusion over Harrison disappeared and everything seemed not to exist except for the moment shared between her and Tom.

She could smell the beer on his breath as it trailed her neck but didn’t protest his touch. Even when he tugged at the strings of her top to unlace it, it was as if the rest of the world was gone. The sloppy kisses, fluttering hearts and various other products of the moment swept her away into a realm where reality ceased to exist and what was to follow seemed like a dream.

Continued Reading

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