#the last one is so stupidly dramatic but I guess that would be fitting with the plot ha ha

[endlessnightlock]

Can you do Number 13 or 30 for the fluff prompts? Pretty please?

30. "i can hear your heartbeat- why is it going so fast all of a sudden?"

This is part two of a story you can read here.

My chair is still clattering against the floor when Peeta leans across his hospital bed and captures my arm in a surprisingly strong grip, preventing any chance I had of making a quick escape from his room.

For someone who’s been in a coma, he moves fast. Perhaps my grief has made me stupidly slow. Either way, he has me trapped.

Neither of us speaks. Instead, we warily assess each other. I wonder how many of the things I said when I thought he was unconscious he heard. At least he doesn’t look frightened or crazy, I realize. He’s breathing hard, eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to penetrate my mind. Confused, I’d say. Not homicidal. That’s a start.

Uncomfortable with his frank gaze, with no clue as to what he’s thinking, I try to shake his grip. I'm too close. It's too much contact. Though he resists at first, he finally releases my arm. I tell myself not to rub the spot where his fingers dug into my skin. Everything feels like it’s burning---my face, my stomach. My heart is on fire.

“Why did you run?”

"The doctor needs to see you---"

"Katniss," he says tiredly.

I really don't want to go into all of this with him right now, but he won't stop looking at me, and I don't feel like I can leave now. "The last time you were awake, you tried to choke me," I whisper. "The night you and Johanna, and Annie were rescued."

He frowns. "I don't remember that."

"I do. I was there for the whole thing. Hard to forget."

Things are awkward as Peeta settles back on his pillows gingerly. He's just now aware of all the machines he's hooked up to. "Are they alright?"

"Jo and Annie?"

He nods. His fingers are curled lightly into his hands, and I wonder if it's intentional if he's trying to keep from looking at his hands and thinking about what he doesn't remember trying to do to me. "Yeah. Jo is bunking with me, actually. We have a lot in common---she hates me too."

"You're always so dramatic," he sighs, shifting on the bed.

I frown at him. I am not dramatic. "Yeah, yeah. Annie is with Finnick. As in, she won't go anywhere without him. They're pretty much attached at the hip."

For a minute, I'm wistful, jealous of Annie and Finnick and their love. Anyone looking at them can see it. No one asks their angle; no one assumes it's all for show.

We fall silent again until he sighs loudly. "Sit down, would you? You're making me nervous glowering over there, ready to run. I'm not going to eat you alive."

For some reason, I do what he asks. Maybe because I feel like this has to happen eventually with him. I can't avoid him forever. Maybe it's stubbornness, and I'm too spiteful to show him any fear. It's probably not the smartest thing I've ever done, but when he scoots to the side of the hospital bed, I sit beside him. If he hadn't lost so much weight, we both wouldn't fit without me sitting in his lap.

We sit hip to hip, staring straight ahead, neither of us acknowledging the other at first. Peeta is so different now. He used to know exactly what to say or not say in any situation. Slowly I begin to acclimate to his proximity, and it's not awful. I'm nervous thinking about his first reaction to our reunion.

"I'm starting to remember what happened that night," Peeta admits. In his lap, he clenches and unclenches his fists.

"You're not going to do it again, are you?" I ask, only kidding a little.

He relaxes his hands and turns his gaze to me, eyes roaming my face. "No. I don't want to choke you," he reassures me.

"Well, that's a start."

He laughs weakly. "Yeah. I guess so. I was afraid that night. Of you. That's why I did it. You were you, but not really. You were shiny. Shimmering, like none of the lines of your face would stay in place. I thought you were going to kill me."

"'What about now?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not afraid of you now."

I don't say the same. I wish I could.

Peeta slumps against the bed like talking to me took all of his energy. I find myself turning to his side and laying my head on his chest. We lay quietly, too tired and raw to talk.

Eventually, our breathing evens out, and he runs a hand down my braid comfortingly. Beneath my ear, his steady heartbeat picks up.

"I can hear your heartbeat- why is it going so fast all of a sudden?" I want to ask Peeta, but right now, I'm not sure I can deal with his answer.

[timelady-queenofhell]

Some fic cover art ideas....

(Zero photoshop skills, just using my phone and a free app lol)

[sunjaesol]

we’re dancing under the rain

canon compliant juke | fluff! | inspiration: rain // ben platt

Julie wondered if one day, she could stop loving. Because damn - it hurt. It hurt to love so much and continuously have her heart be broken. Love and heartache cycled through her life like a never ending train and the girl was in a constant battle of wanting to shut down or give it another chance. 

She always chose the latter, obviously, but that hurt too. The price she needed to pay to have such meaningful friendships. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have become a family with a trio of ghosts and an adjacent skater ghost. The problem of caring so much was when the heart got involved, when that heart beat a second too fast, too willingly, too adoringly. 

It made her vulnerable, her heart jumping out of her chest to sync with the other person and then getting crushed instead. This time, it cut her particulary deep. 

Nick broke up with her. 

A puffy-eyed Julie sat huddled in the studio under a blanket. He did it during lunch. All of a sudden, he pulled her aside into the hallway, told her they didn’t quite fit together and that it was better if they broke up. He pretended like she had a say in it, though it was clear he already made up his mind. Which was even worse, Julie found. Nick had thought about it before, probably more than once. His words made her feel like a fool. There she was, thinking their relationship was going smooth, getting squashed a minute after that: no, actually, it’s not going smoothly and you’re probably in denial so let’s end it now.

Later, she’d probably thank him for ripping the band-aid. She was now allowed to be heartbroken.    

Outside, rain was slamming against the pavement. That was the only good thing about the situation; the weather deciding to match her mood and mourn with her.

Luke poofed in with his signature grin, lips shaping to blurt out a story and then crashing into a frown when he saw the state she was in. 

“Jules?”

Wordlessly, she covered her tear-stained cheeks with the blanket. She hated it when people - especially Luke - caught her at her lowest. The boys were dead, she couldn't really complain about minor inconveniences when the only reason they were breathing was out of habit. 

The couch dipped at her feet. A careful hand patted her calf. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled. 

“Yes, cause that’s what I do when nothing’s wrong.” His voice was light, though a keen ear like hers could sense the hint of concern. “I cry.”

Julie huffed, pulling the blanket back to scowl at him. “Nick broke up with me. But it’s whatever because it clearly wasn’t as big of a deal to him as it was to me, so-” Shrugging, she sat upright and wiped her runny nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “It is nothing.”

Her fingers combed through her hair, trying to relieve the heat bugging her skin. God, she just wanted this day to be over with. She didn’t want to rehearse and do homework and eat dinner and pretend everything was dandy. She just wanted to cry and sleep and not have Luke’s stupidly green eyes drown in pity. 

“That sucks though,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Her lips rolled inwards, a smile forming despite her mood. “Not your fault.” Their gazes met. It felt new, somehow. “My heart is just… too open, I guess.”

Luke tapped her calf again, mirth lilting his tone. “Still not a bad thing. It was cool in the 90s and it’s cool now. He’s an idiot for not going crazy over it.”

“My open heart?”, she chuckled. 

“Yeah.” A beat. His eyes haven’t wavered. “Or you. In general.”

The smile bloomed to a full grin, a sliver of levity easing the ache in her chest. Why did he always know what to say? Granted, he used to be horrible at cheering her up, when she was fifteen and sadness lingered in her every move, but he got the hang of it after two years. A reassuring kiss on her temple before a stressful gig, a particularly uplifting speech during band circle, a new tune he came up with when he knew she didn’t feel like talking. Her teenage girl melodrama unfazed him. 

Luke met her halfway for a tight hug. It was the most comfortable place to be; her cheek on his shoulder and his arms holding her so securely and how, after all they’ve been through, his 90s cologne smelled like home. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Some ghost girl is going to be so happy you’ve had practise dealing with me.”

He snorted. “Ah, yes. My harem of ghost girls. The, uh, market is really big for me.”

It wasn’t something they often discussed. It became clear that the boys weren’t going to cross over any time soon (if crossing over was even a thing, or the thing they thought it would be) and had time to settle into a long afterlife. Willie had been wandering around since the seventies and only now found Alex, so who knew how long Luke and Reggie would have to wait until they met their ghost-mate. It was a sad thought, but at least they had each other and music and the band. 

There was also the minor problem that Luke sometimes had this look on his face, usually fixed on her, that left little to the interpretation. It hasn’t happened in a while, but every so often…

It kind of made her breathless. Whatever. It was dumb. Those feelings have long been buried. The point was that he should look at ghost girls like that - not her.   

(A month after The Orpheum, they sat side by side behind the grand piano as they belted out a new song they’ve been working on, her fingers expertly gliding across the keys and slamming on those that needed that extra power. Julie was fully entranced, head thrown back and smiling through the lyrics as their voices reached a beautiful harmony no one could compete with. The last note drifted across the studio. When she turned to look at him, she expected to see the same grin. Instead, Luke gave her such a tender look, close, and let his doe eyes wander past her nose. Had Reggie not poofed in, she didn’t know if she would’ve had the restraint to not give in. To not be selfish. It was years ago, but she thought about it each time he joined her at the piano. It was the price for friendship, Julie often reminded herself. For an eternal bond.) 

Rain kept drumming into the ground. It sounded like a million ping pong balls fell onto the roof at an incredible speed. 

Luke pulled away and shot a look outside. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Julie nodded. “I made a deal with God today. If I cry, the world does too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic.”

The smile stuck to her cheeks. Luke only needed a few minutes to lift her spirits. Tears didn’t even well up anymore. Was that bad? That one the same day, just in the afternoon, she already felt a bit better? She decided to not mull on the why.

“Wanna dance in the rain?”

She blinked. “What?”

He matched her smile, throwing his thumb at the doors. “Do you wanna dance in the rain?”

It was as if her brain wasn’t processing his words. “What? Why?”

“Why not?”, he shrugged. “You feel like shit, it never rains in LA and it’s fun.”

Quiet excitement coursed through her veins, the thrill pushing energy back in her bloodstream. Why not? The expectant twinkle in his eye brought colour to her face, jumping off the couch pulling him up with her. His whooping got her to laugh. It almost surprised her; she hasn’t properly laughed at all today. 

They each pulled one sliding door open, their ears instantly bombarded with noise. It was the hardest downpour of the year! 

“No running for cover!”, he yelled above the loud rushing of rain.     

She stuck her pinky out. “Only if you won’t!”  

And then they stepped in the rain. They were drenched straight away, a squeal erupting from her lips as the coldness crept between her clothes. He laughed, raking his hair back and leaping into a puddle. Water splashed around him. 

His voice bellowed through the sound. “C’mon!”

It spurred her into action, his laugh replaying in her head over and over again, as her head lolled back and began to twirl in circles. Faster and faster, giggles tumbling out as felt herself becoming one with the rain. This was exactly what she needed. A moment of silliness and unconditional joy! 

Luke was dancing like a maniac next to her, feet kicking and arms outstretched. She found herself staring at his profile, how bliss broke the lines in his face and caused a crescendo of glee to overcome him. It was mesmerising. Julie found herself slowing down, taken aback by the hope rising in her chest at the mere sight of him. 

What she hoped for, she didn’t know. (She did. She just couldn’t admit it just yet.) 

As if sensing her thoughts, Luke caught her eye with and yanked her into the dance without a second of hesitation. They spun around, hands intertwined and arms outstretched, daring to see how long they could keep going before one dropped from dizziness. Julie wasn’t afraid though. Luke would never let her fall. 

They let go just as they were losing balance, snickering like fools and trying to find footing again. Julie jumped onto his back, him instantly jostling her around until she got chucked off like a sack of potatoes. Each grin and laugh and crack of thunder mended her heart, slipping the pieces back together and allowing it to bloom once more. Keep on breaking, keep on loving, keep on hoping, keep on hoping for-

Luke locked his hands around the small of her back. “Ready?!”

He didn’t have to ask twice, their steps speeding up as she threw her arms beside her and then, at their fastest, pulled one leg up to swing in his hold. How she didn’t slip on the soaking wet ground was a miracle. 

Julie’s smile rivalled his, grabbing onto the lapels of his shacket to get him closer. He had something else in mind, hands slipping to her waist and launching her in the sky in one fluid motion. It took her breath away, quickly grabbing onto his shoulders and yelling her lungs out. It was just like in her dreams. Was it selfish of her to have yearned for this? 

(She felt it. The way her heart washed away all the troubles, how the numbing cold shrivelled to make place for someone else.)   

They shouted exclaims and curses into the rain. About Nick, about music, about each other, about how fucking unfair life could be, but damn - moments like these were worth the pain.  

Her drenched curls tickled his face, causing him to sputter and attract her focus. Julie looked down at him and didn’t stop the heartstopping smile growing on her face. Oh. 

Her fingers swiped against the planes of his cheeks, his grin beaming up at her and letting the dormant wildfire (snug between her ribs, among the flowers and the lyrics) come alive again. For so long, she hasn’t allowed herself to feel it. But how could she not when Luke propelled her into the storm itself, unify them like the whirlwind of passion they authentically were? 

They were the thunder and the lightning, the silver lining and the punch line - the dancers in the rain. 

He gently set her down, feet splashing. She didn’t let him pull away, instantly wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his wet shirt. They smelled like wet dogs and it was better than any perfume she’s ever had. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

His head settled on top of hers, cool breath fanning her skin. “I can’t have you down in the gutter, Jules. Ever.”

I love you. “Ever?”

She felt him move, her eyes tilting to meet his. That expression she cherished deeply returned tenfold. His tender smile, the green hooded by shy eyes, an incredulous hitch of the breath. 

Luke nodded, flitting gaze as if he didn’t quite know what to focus on, and carefully brushed a droplet from her cheek. “Ever.” 

(Julie got a cold the next day. It didn’t matter - she had the boy of her dreams to keep her company.) 

Breathe deep, let it wash over you We're slowly becoming lovers I promise you we won't be like the others We won't go running for cover

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @willexx​ @unsaid-emily​ @ourstarscollided​ @sophiphi​ @unsaidjulie​

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations

A storm rages through the 104th's wooded training quarters, leaving a long hike for Jean and Marco to fix a water-logged issue... the time alone making for some unexpected discoveries.

(for the sake of the fic + levels of maturity I am achieving with this story, everyone will be legal adults!)

Chapter One: An Obscurity.

“I’ll kill them all! Just you wait and see!!” The dining hall had been relatively calm, the tranquil buzz of steady conversation and cutlery clinking against plates mixed to create a pleasant hum. It was one of those rare nights their usual starchy glop was exchanged for a more sustainable, hearty potato soup, paired with a cheap but effective booze. A good night to say the least. A good night until Eren (Dumbass) Jaeger opened his obnoxious mouth. The young man’s tired phrase reverberated throughout the hall, pitching obnoxiously off the high ember ceiling. God, I’m too sober for this…

Eren’s endless prattling of ‘I’ll save the world’ or ‘I have more passion than anyone here’ had gotten old fast. It bugged the ever-loving shit out of him, and with the current daggers-for-eyes and under-the-breath-scoffs Jaeger was getting, the sentiment was well shared.

“Don’t give me that Mikasa, I mean it! I’m going to kill every last one of those-'' Eren was promptly cut off by Jean’s hands smacking the table in front of him, causing a nearby fork to clink to the ground. Jean rose from his seat with an overly dramatic flare, making a show out of swooping his hair back. If the entire dining hall weren’t already watching the pair with dreadful, tired looks, they certainly were now. Some hushed whispers and exasperated groans sprinkled about the room as Jean assumed his stance towering over Eren.

“Well, all hail King Jaeger, eh? Oh don’t worry my friends, the man who can’t balance on his ODM gear will stop the incoming apocalypse!” he taunted, voice oozing with that special kind of ridicule Jean knew got Eren’s blood boiling. He was up and out of his seat before Mikasa had a chance to pull him back. Jean snorted loudly.

“Eager are we? Well then Jaeger, fight me like the man you’re always claiming to be.”

“Says the fucking horse face”

“Oh how original”

“Foal!”

“Jackass!”

The surrounding cadets watched with jaded faces, sighing at the scene unfolding for at least the third time that week. It was no longer entertaining, or really worth wasting any time or energy on, so they returned their attention to their much more exciting dinners and side banters.

The ever arrogant duo stepped to the center of the room, assuming, of course, all focus to be on them. Sharing dissent and ill-bred sneers, they theatrically assumed their fighting position. Guess I’ll just have to put him back in his pla-

“Nope. Okay-hah, we’re done here.” Marco interrupted, their foolish behavior striking his last nerve, the last nerve of the entire collective dining hall for that matter. Sighs of relief and annoyance sounded around them as Marco marched over and grabbed at Jean’s jacket, pulling him out from the table and towards the door.

“‘Ey, what’re you doin-” Marco wordlessly dragged the half pissed, half confused and positively tipsy Jean across the room, the grip on his jacket unwavering. A small chuckle escaped Jean’s mouth at Marco's unexpectedly forceful behavior. Damn, those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?

Marco sighed as he led him towards the door, a poorly concealed smile creeping its way onto his features. “Bedtime.” Marco concluded, biting back his smile in need of a more threatening look. Jean didn’t fight it. Instead, he bristled as he caught Conny’s snide face before the door to the dining hall was shut by Marco’s boot. The low lit lantern illuminated the two in a soft orange glow and the thick wooden door effectively drowned out the murmurs coming from behind it.

The change in air was drastic, shifting from a crowded and loud mess hall to the peaceful sounds of an autumn night and Marco’s freckled face incandescent under that old lantern. Marco’s hand remained firm in the layers of his jacket yet neither made motions to move. Jean was in a weird sort of trance and yeah he should move and unblock the way for Marco but for some reason he didn't. It wasn’t as if the other had really given him a chance to, what with him still holding onto the front of Jean’s coat.. A couple still moments passed and Marco had a strange, almost calculating look on his face.

Jean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, the alcohol starting to intoxicate his body and the sheer closeness of Marco starting to intoxicate his brain. But if the loosening grip on his chest and Marco’s suddenly flushing face said anything, whatever this was had gone on a bit too long. The last thing Jean wanted was to make his good friend uncomfortable- No matter how nice just standing there in the cool breeze with Marco’s hand on his chest… Nope. Backtrack on that line of thinking. Immediately.

Things were getting awkward fast and Marco looked like he was going to say something and shit he probably shouldn’t have chugged that last bit of his drink, huh? To clear the sudden tension caused by his inability not to fucking gawk at Marco, Jean did the only thing his dumb tipsy brain could think of: make a drunken escape.

“Betcha can’t catch me.” he blurted before breaking out of Marco’s loose hold, running towards their quarters in a less than put together fashion. Was Jean literally running away from whatever moment just passed between the two? Why yes, indeed he was. But Marco’s eventual breathy laugh and quickening footsteps enclosing in on him told Jean everything was fine. Well consider that a job well done.

The two then stupidly ran around the camp, Jean hiding behind every tree and supply wagon trying to scare Marco, and Marco doing everything in his power to tackle the other. After a particularly bone crushing embrace and a loud laughing fit quickly admonished by Shadis, the inebriated pair walked the rest of the way to their dorm, the air around them now whimsy and casual.

They trudged through the wooded path, torches lighting the ground every few yards. They sprung into sporadic fits of giggles over absolutely nothing, both of the men now feeling the full effects of dinner’ mead, and Marco no longer playing the role of the responsible sober friend.

The cadets had been training in the woods for a week now, the goal being to get them used to ODM gear and combat in a dense forest. It was a welcome change of scenery from the usual parching desert and brutal heat. Being surrounded by rich greens and active rivers somehow made the strenuous drilling and long hours somewhat enjoyable.

Though navigating the dark forested path whilst drunk proved to be more than a little difficult. His attempts at walking straight in the dense woods were apparently remarkably entertaining, as when Jean confidently waltzed straight into a tree the slightly less drunk Marco lost his absolute mind, laughing himself into a puddle on the ground.

With minimal bumps and bruises, they eventually made it to their quarters. Marco plopped himself dramatically onto an old shipping barrel and started to squirm his way out of his jacket. Ok, perhaps the other was drunker than Jean thought.

Chuckling to himself, he walked over to help his struggling friend out of the confines of the fabric. Marco stopped squirming and tried to accommodate for Jeans helping hands, flushing slightly when his eyes met Jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, turning to eye the door as Jean finished struggling with the last button.

With the jacket discarded, Marco straightened his gaze to look up at Jean, who seemed to tower over him. A couple heated seconds passed in silence until Marco started… shaking? Before concern could settle in, sporadic chuckles started to escape from the man underneath him, evolving into a full on belly laugh. Jean took a small step back and looked down at him in bewilderment but Marco just shook his head, words be damned in his current state.

“Sorry, I just-” he began to topple over himself, a fit of laughter bubbling in his stomach. “I don’t know why I’m laughing honestly-” he spat out through giggles. He was fluctuating between attempting to catch his breath and then losing it all over again. It was utterly ridiculous, but Jean couldn’t hold back his own ugly laugh at the scene. Every couple of seconds Marco would try to stop and speak through the laughter but to no avail, making Jean slump to the ground in front of Marco, clutching his stomach as his body heaved with mirth.

Marco was snorting at that point and on anyone else he would’ve been annoyed at the sheer volume. Say, if Eren was sitting on that barrel losing his damn mind over nothing at all he would’ve slapped the sense back into him. But something about Marco’s water filled eyes and big loud smile just made him feel warm. Or.. perhaps that was just the alcohol.

He grinned as he looked only at the mad man sitting in front of him. From this distance he could see each little freckle adorning his nose and cheeks and the way his nose would scrunch in between sets of giggles. It was an endearing sight, cute even, though Jean would never admit that aloud.

Too caught up in their snickering, the two almost didn’t notice their comrades briskly stumbling in, Ymir being the one who pushed the two large wooden doors hurriedly. “In.” she commanded, and stepped back as everyone else dashed inside. Jean startled and Marco’s laughter alleviated as Ymir eyed them, her face contorted so it was impressively indecipherable. She had quite the poker face, though some general annoyance seemed to seep out as usual.

“What’s the damn ruckus about?” Jean demanded more than he asked, his filter coming back down hard now that more people were around. Ymir looked at Jean with a face that basically read as, ‘Shut the fuck up you’re the one making a dopey ruckus.’ Instead of voicing any of that though, she shut and locked the door as the final cadets made their way inside.

“Massive storm coming in, it’ll do some damage” she stated plainly before her eyes went back to Marco. “Maybe you two lovebirds would’ve noticed if you weren’t screaming like damn hyenas.” she joked dryly, her arms coming to a close across her chest. Marco snorted slightly at the tease but Jean stood up defensively, though perhaps a bit wobbly.

Before he could say a word, Ymir cut in with a raised brow. “Whoaaa relax there horsey, I’m kidding. Mostly. Just go lock the windows in the other rooms before they blow out in the middle of the night.” he nodded hesitantly in response and gave Marco a floppy wave of sorts. He still looked like he was glowing, as if somehow the light from the torches outside still reflected in his pale brown eyes. A sneer from Ymir brought his attention back to… what exactly? Oh right, the windows. Jean quickly left without another word, cursing the alcohol slightly under his breath. The rest of the cadets shuffled about, fulfilling whatever it was their makeshift Captain Ymir ordered.

Not without a scoff and an eye roll, she turned back to Marco. “Just us,” she demanded. “Help me with the rest of the rooms.”

__________

(MARCO POV)

After a solid half hour of flood-proofing the place to the best of their ability, as well as general clean up, Ymir poured the two of them a small whisky to top off the night. Marco relaxed into the sole couch of the common room and Ymir slumped herself into a chair by the window.

The living space was dusky and growing winds pounded the windows, putting them slightly on edge. Nevertheless, Ymir seemed to have something to say to him. She gulped down her drink and tossed the empty glass onto the ground, Marco’s eyes widening in both awe and intimidation. He steeled his nerves as he prepared for whatever it was Ymir needed out of him.

She looked at him like a scientist to a specimen, searching for something upon Marco’s features. Marco squirmed under the intense stare, and it was then that Ymir asked the burning question, cutting right to the chase.

“Do you like Jean?” she probed. Marco sucked in a quick breath at this question. The answer was yes, but why was she asking in the first place? Not knowing exactly what angle she was getting at, he tried to answer in the simplest, most non revealing way.

“Yeah I mean we’re definitely good friends.” he said apprehensively. Not wanting to look Ymir in the eyes, his gaze fell back to the rather pretty glass in his hands, thumbs tracing the engraved pattern.

Ymir smirked at this reaction and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a carefree ‘Ymir’ kinda way. “Marco. You know what I'm asking.” her voice was laced with mirth and her sneering face told him she probably already knew his answer. Damn her perceptiveness. Marco had hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his… feelings. But he supposes after tonight's less than subtle antics, e.g., grabbing a laughing Jean into an animalistic embrace and holding it for much longer than necessary, people would start suspecting something.

His eyes still didn’t meet hers as he sighed shakily, knowing there was little to no backing away from this conversation. “Please just… Don’t tell him?” he pleaded, looking back to the girl sitting across from him. Her previous visible mockery and inevitable taunt had faded, her features setting into something akin to understanding.

“Sure, you can trust me.” she said casually, taking a swig of the remaining whisky straight from the bottle. “We’re the same in that way if ya catch my drift.” Although compared to, say Christa, Ymir’s words would seem invasive and rude, they were sweet in their own way. And although Marco wouldn’t say this wasn’t invasive, he appreciated the kindness nonetheless.

Regardless, Marco definitely “caught her drift”. He looked at her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, pleased to know there was at least one other person in the 104th that wasn’t straight. He chuckled, still embarrassed despite the genuinely accepting nature of their conversation thus far. “God, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she sighed dramatically, “Maybe the way he was looking at you. Maybe the way you were looking at him… Or maybe just a hunch I happened to get right.” Marco laughed at the sentiment before a frown crept onto his face. “Does anyone else…”

“Know?” she finished. Marco nodded. “No, they don’t. It seems only I had the misfortune of seeing you two ogle each other all the damn time. Awful luck on my part. But don’t ya worry, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

He snickered as he raised his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid inside. Ymir gave him a curious glance, and Marco softly set the drink down to his side, hands reaching up to grab at his warming face.

“God, what do I even do about it?” he mumbled through the palms of his hands, and Ymir could taste the desperation from where she sat.

Resting her chin between her fingers, she spoke. “Look, hear me out before you interrupt and tell me I’m wrong - but he likes you too.” Marco lifted his head to speak but Ymir cut him off with a glance. “I said, listen. I see the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. He wasn’t just glancing at his friend… He was admiring you, Marco, your features. Now to me, that’s pretty telling.” Marco contemplated what she was saying, tried to really think about it before he shot it down entirely.

Is that really true? Is it even possible that the oh so straight Mr. ladies man Jean could… Feel the same way about him? It’s true they had some… moments tonight. Hell they’ve been having “moments” for as long as they've known each other. Though Jean did end up speeding away from one of those so called moments just over an hour ago… Was he being too hopeful? Oh god was he coming on too strong?

Ymir groaned at Marco's crestfallen face and stood up, closing the distance between the seats and plopping herself next to Marco. He gave her a curious glance, and in turn she gave a patient smile, well it was really closer to a grimace but still, it was the principle of it all.

He sat quietly, picking his lips with his bottom teeth. Ymir let him wallow in his worry for a whopping three seconds before kicking his ankle with her boot.

“Ow!” Marco pouted. An unspoken question of ‘The hell was that for?’ being shut down before it could be voiced.

“Oh shut it you were visibly spiraling.”

Ymir sunk into the back of the couch, pondering a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Jean isn’t going to initiate anything. Seeing as you’re more in tune with your emotions than that knucklehead is, you need to drop your damn balls and make a move.” Marco scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile at Ymir’s bluntness.

“I know, I know… You’re right.” Marco finally begrudged, causing Ymir’s ‘Of course I'm right’ smile to appear. “But we never get alone time - we’re always interrupted before he can fully open up to me…”

“Yes!” Ymir exclaimed. “You see it now. Sure it might seem tricky, but if Christa and I can find a way, you can too.” she winked and Marco damn near choked.

“You- and- I had no idea I mean-“ he stuttered before she kicked him again.

“Shut up. And don’t tell a soul.” She smiled cheekily. He nodded intently.

“Course, Ymir.” She playfully punched him, standing up from the sunken couch.

“Good luck, Marco.” she whispered.

He beamed, his chest gleaming with a soft gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Marco turned in for the night, his mind raced with endless possibilities, ranging from transcendent to nightmarish. Wishful thoughts flashed through his mind; Jean getting impossibly close, feather light touches of hands, his head resting in the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco being told he was wanted, telling Jean he wanted him. He bit his cheek, smiling stupidly at the fantasies before he felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jean could easily not feel the same. Jean could easily have never entertained the same idyllic fantasies as Marco was now.

Great, now it hurt.

Plagued with a new sense of guilt, he tossed and turned in the seasoned cot, praying for sleep to take him away from the build up of emotions in his chest. He pondered the possibility of similar thoughts dancing in Jean’s mind…

__________

(Jean POV)

Jean didn’t “wake up”, he just was up. That damned storm last night had kept him awake practically all night. What first was an occasional gust quickly turned into a rampaging wind-demon set out to prevent him and apparently only him from sleeping soundly. Someone had cursed him. Probably that damn Jaeger out for revenge due to Jean always winning their feuds. Typical.

The little sleep he did get consisted of repeated unsolicited scenarios about… Well that didn’t matter now.

It was the morning after a ferocious storm and he was reluctant to see the wreckage he knew he had to help out with. He groaned, rolling out of his bed in an overly dramatic pout. Sure he was acting a bit like a child but right now he just needed sleep so damn everything else, he’s going to throw his little fit. He caught Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, his hair ruffled and looking extra fluffy. He was giggling at Jean’s stubborn theatrics, a sweater-hooded hand loosely covering his mouth. Cute. Jean felt a bit more energized after that and he didn't bother to question why.

Once dressed, he headed out to meet the rest of the trainees outside the sleeping quarters. Holy hell, the damage was bad: shingles of the roof scattered the grass, trash was knocked down, even some large trees had fallen in the distance.

Eren rolled his eyes before their commander could even step close. “God, can’t we make someone else clea-” the brat began before getting hit softly by Armin.

“Eren! One day of cleanup doesn’t equate to the fall of humanity.” he sharply retorted. Jean chuckled at this exchange, overjoyed to see the prick put in his place by his own best friend. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to spot Marco…

“ATTENTION CADETS.” their Commander roared as he marched toward the gathered crowd.

“YES SIR!” They yelled back in unison, fists crossing chests in an assertive salute.

“Deep woods ODM training is put on hold for today due to the storm. I will be assigning you each in groups of two or three to aid in cleaning this mess.” Jean scanned the surrounding area nervously, where was Marco? “Proceed to the front to get your duty from me before you grab a cold meal.” the Commander directed. Pairs of people made their way to get their job of the day, but Jean stayed behind, unable to spot Marco. Nerves crept up his spine as the line got shorter, indicating he would have to grab a job with someone he possibly couldn’t stand - especially after such a shitty sleep.

A few moments later and the remaining crowd was scant, still no Marco to be seen. “Jean, you’re on running water. I need you to go up to the creek and find the source stopping the water from running back to us. We have enough for the day, but this cannot go on. You will need a partner…” Shadis trailed off, finding only Annie and some guy Jean barely could remember the name of. Tomas? Tobiaus? Timothious?

He sighed, knowing nothing but complaints would come from either cadets if forced to spend an entire day with him. Jean crossed his arms, awaiting a choice of partner from his boss while he dreaded the inevitably long journey stuck with either insufferable silence or annoying small talk.

“Commander sir, I can go with Jean.” A pleasant voice chirped in from behind. And with those few words: salvation. Jean subconsciously uncrossed his arms and smirked as the Commander let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Marco approach.

“Thank Heavens, the one person who can stand him.” he murmured, Marco frowning at the not so quiet comment as he walked up to Jean's side. “That is fine, pack plentiful in case you get stuck for a night, we are not sure how much wreckage is up there, nor how long the journey on foot will take. There’s a shed around there you could set up in for the night. Do not come back today if you do not have ample time before sundown. Now get moving!” he ordered, his last words reverberating in a loud squawk.

“Yes sir!” They saluted before Jean met eyes with Marco. “Where the hell were you?” he questioned. Marco playfully rolled his eyes.

“Worried, hmm?” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I was just helping Ymir with something.” he replied brightly. Ymir? That seems random… But he decided to not question it.

The two went back to their rooms to pack for their lengthy and no doubt strenuous trip up the mountain. Jean found himself not only not dreading the excursion, but actively looking forward to it. He felt a bit like a hyperactive kid as genuine excitement coursed through his veins. Should he bring his comb? Nah he probably won't need it. But what if they do end up having to spend the night and Jean turns too much in his sleep and his hair gets all messy and floofy and Marco looks at him with damned bed head and then probably giggles to himself and makes a dumb but cute comment about it because its Marco and somehow he always manages to make what Jean is insecure about into something he can actually like about himself just like when he’d said Jean’s eyes were pretty like a brown hibiscus and he stopped hating the way his eyes looked when he saw his reflection looking back at him and- Jean grabbed the stupid hairbrush and threw it into his bag.

Once sufficiently supplied, they scarfed a crummy cold meal before heading out as quickly they could manage.

Marco seemed awfully giddy as they started down a gravely path lined with fern. Though cheerful he often was, Marco was struggling to hide a smile. It wasn’t a bad sight at all, though Jean was curious. “What’s got you so damn happy today?” he questioned. Marco shrugged.

“I think I made a new friend - always a nice feeling, yknow?” Jean would say he’s surprised, but everyone in the 104th loved Marco, even the stoic ones, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly his new friend was.

“Ymir?” he asked plainly. Marco nodded, a soft smile finding its way onto his face.

“Yeah. Y’know, she may seem edgy but she can be really kind.” he expressed, eyes a bit starry and thoughtful. He clearly didn’t hear how the words sounded to Jean.

Jean bit back the bitter remark already forming as envy crept its way into his mind. Why was it bothering him? He’s still his friend. His best friend even. Gah, not a big deal, keep it together. He told himself before rephrasing whatever edgy comment he was going to sneer into a hopefully harmless question.

“You like her?” he ended up asking, false humor falling from his tongue.

Marco looked visibly confused. “What? No I’m- not my type. She just has a good head on her.” he surmised. Why won’t Marco ever admit attraction? Does he not trust Jean? Jean had no problem divulging about those he found hot, so why wouldn’t Marco do the same?

The next few hours were spent bullshitting around as they walked; sharing stupid jokes about who in their class was most likely to get kicked out, a stupid conversation about Ymir that probably shouldn’t have peeved him so much, Jean going on a long winded rant about how justified he is in smacking Eren atop the head, Marco stopping to pick up random bird feathers exclaiming each time that, “No Jean, you don’t get it, this one is rare.” and eventually, as the sun started its descent towards the horizon, their casual banter shifted into their hopes for the future.

“Eh, I don’t wanna get married. Who wants to be stuck with a chick forever?!” Jean quipped. At his words Marco chuckled nervously, his gaze diverting to the coarse dirt beneath him.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get married. I’m fine living a life alone with me and my hobbies.” he said flippantly, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. Jean found the tone of his voice had changed into something more sullen and somber, and a glance over at his friend did not yield him any better results. Jean must do something about this.

He lightly elbowed his friend. “Well, if ya change your mind, I think you’d make a great husband some day.” Jean said honestly, no lick of sarcasm to his voice. Marco’s knees wobbled for a moment before he corrected them, clearing his throat to cover his obvious nerves.

“Thanks, Jean. You too.” he replied, biting his cheek. Another glance towards his friend showed a soft smile and a flushed face. Jean succeeded. Though now he too felt a bit hot in the face. He once again decided not to unpack that.

As they hiked, they spotted a would-be stream leading down to their base. Taking note of the lack of obvious running water, they were certain something rather large had blocked it. “Guess it’ll be a chore huh.” Marco pointed out. Jean began flexing dramatically, his tight muscles showing slightly through the thin white tunic.

“Pfft, your ol’ buddy Jean here will fix it right up for us, eh?” he joked, Marco eyeing him with a raised eyebrow followed with a hearty laugh. Sure, he wasn’t helping Jean’s ego, but he didn’t care.

The more they conversed alone, the more Jean felt his social facade fade, ending up losing whatever filter he had in place for other people all together. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, only knew that it made him feel relaxed and just genuinely, all around good. Perhaps it was the lack of a crowd - or Eren Jaeger. Either way, he was loosening up and took joy in seeing Marco enjoy himself on this trip as well.

“This is nice,” Jean said, smiling at the open air and lack of obvious walls. It felt open here, almost free. Hell, for the most part, they’ve forgotten completely about life inside the walls. Marco looked over and followed his friend's gaze to the sky, basking in the comfortable feeling.

“It is…” he began, sneaking another glance at Jean. “Really nice.”.

PART 2!!! 

https://foulcrownkryptonite.tumblr.com/post/663166809268224000/tracing-constellations-pt2

[satorinni]

𝕞𝕦𝕥𝕖

track 18: feelings?

Kenma has never really been a people person. Yeah, over the years he’s gotten better with ‘human interaction’ , but he would still prefer to be alone. There were very few people whose company he didn’t mind, and recently he had been contemplating whether you should be added to the list. Though that idea has been teetering in and out of his mind given the fact you two hadn’t actually hung out in person.  Actually, save for the one pants-less interaction, neither of you had ever been in the same room together. But still, he kinda likes you. More than a friend, he’d like to think. Though the idea scared the fuck out of him, he would actually like to take you on a real date. One that didn’t result in your dinner being up in flames. 

Maybe he’d even take you to a cutesy café in Tokyo. Like the one he was currently sitting in. Eating apple pie. Across from a girl. A girl who definitely wasn’t you. 

“Honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t just become a model.” After the photoshoot, Etsuko insisted on getting a bite to eat. Something about wanting to catch up because it’s been a whole year. He didn’t really understand why, he knew for a fact Kuroo called her every time something juicy happened to him. Whatever that meant. Besides, he couldn’t turn down a slice of his favorite food.

“Because wearing stupid clothes and standing in front of a camera for hours is not my ideal career, ‘Tsuko.” He took another bite of what was left of his slice. He’s glad he chose to sit in a booth away from the windows, he had already been recognized twice on the way here. It’s why he did his best to avoid walking through the city. Especially dressed like this.

“C’mon, Kenmaaaa, the button up is cute. You look like a businessman.” She snorts through her smoothie straw. 

“I am a businessman. I’m quite literally a CEO.” He gives her a deadpan stare before taking a sip from his own milkshake. “I don’t know how your rooster boy manages to wear this stupid getup 24/7. I’m suffocating in these slacks.” He’d been pulling at the tight-fitting pants all day, but the magazine suggested he look professional for the shoot.

“What’s the matter, Kenma? Too much junk in the front?” Etsuko wiggles her eyebrows at him. She always did have the dirtiest mind. 

“Gross, ‘tsuko.” He squints at her and shakes his head. 

“Speaking of your little fella, when was the last time you got laid, baby boy?” Despite her suggestive tone, Kenma knew she was genuinely curious. She was the one who told him what sex was anyway. Gross, he shudders at the memory. 

“Is that an offer, ‘Tsuko?” He knew it wasn’t, and he knew even if it was the answer would be no, but he was deflecting. 

“Only if you let me post it on the hub.” She winks at him and slurps at her empty cup for emphasis. “Quit deflecting, Kenma, I heard about your lil boo thang.” She cracks up at her own joke and asks the waiter for a refill. 

Kenma scrunches his nose in disgust. “Don’t call her that.” Yeah, you guys weren’t dating, and yeah, you probably didn’t even know he liked you, but still. 

“Look at you, defending her honor, how sweet.” She mockingly shakes her head at every word. “I heard you stole her from little rooster boy.” She leans in towards him, like it was some big secret.

“Of course he exaggerated that, he’s the one who set her food on fire. Besides, she texted me first.” He recounts the way he freaked the fuck out when he saw you texted him. His demeanor was always more calm over the internet, probably why he had millions of fans, but he was still an antisocial wreck IRL.

“Ahh, so she’s ballsy, huh. Who knew little Kenma liked bold girls? Tell me about her.” She leans her head into her palm. To anyone else she would’ve dropped it already, losing interest. But this was Kenma, she was always poking her nose into his business. 

“She’s a med student, same age as me. Friend of a friend, I guess. “ He shrugs. He figured that would keep her dormant enough to change the subject. 

“You got yourself a smarty pants. Cute, but that’s not what I wanted to know.” She raises her eyebrow at him. “Do you like her? Is this just a hump and dump? You gonna marry her?” Her eyes got wider with every question, it kinda freaked him out. 

Damn, he thought he could dodge it, but Etsie has always been super pushy. “I don’t know. I mean I'm definitely not gonna hit it & quit it. I haven’t even hung out with her for real.  And dude, I’m 23, m’not thinking about marrying anyone at the moment.” He held his breath and figured that was enough. He was not ready to admit it out loud yet.

“Ah ah ah, you skipped a question, baby boy.” She gives him a devilish grin and leans in even closer. “I won’t tell a soul.”

Okay, even if she was a bit much, Etsuko never spilled Kenma’s secrets. To anyone. Not even Kuroo. But it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. It was just... Was he ready to admit he had feelings? It's only been a few months, and he hadn’t even spoken to you in person. So what if he texted and called you 24/7? Wouldn’t it be too early? You’d probably be freaked out if he went ahead and confessed his feelings so early on. 

Ah, fuck it. 

“Yeah, ‘Tsuko. I like her. Like a lot. She’s funny as hell, smart as shit, and she gets me. Plus she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. Like, prettier than you.” He knows that would probably offend any other girl, but he was only ever straight up with ‘Tsuko.

“EEK!” Etsuko lets out a pig squeal that has other customers staring in confusion. She balls her fists up and starts shaking aggressively. “My baby boy has a crush! EEK! I’m so proud of you.” She leans over the whole table and grabs Kenma’s face, placing a loud kiss on his forehead. 

He flicks her forehead and smiles. “Shut up, it’s not like this is the first crush I’ve ever had.”

“I take pride in being your first crush, little bro.” She places her hand on her chest in mock pain, but the grin on her face exposes itself. 

“When you put it like that it sounds like incest. I was 8, you weirdo. ” Both were true, when Kenma first met Etsuko he developed a crush on her. (Mostly because she was the only girl who he’d ever interacted with.) It only lasted a month anyway; he eventually got annoyed with how much her and her brother were at his house. Now, after 15 years of being stuck with Kuroo, Kenma could only ever see them both as the siblings he never had. 

“Still, I was your first love, Kenma.” She looks off dramatically into the distance, as if she was having a flashback.

“You’re gay.” The smirk on his face gives off his slight amusement with her stupidly dramatic antics. 

“Now, “ She slams her hands on the table, causing more people to stare and the silverware to rattle, “Aren’t you going to ask me about my lovelife?” 

“No, I don’t care.” He snorts at the hurt look on her face. 

“Well, my girlfriend is doing WONDERFUL, Kozume Kenma, thanks for asking.” She crosses her arms and sticks her nose in the air.

“Yeah, whatever, you’re paying.” He pulls out his phone to see if there are any texts from you. On cue, the notification on his phone displays your name. He grins down at the unopened text, not even bothering to hide his happiness from Etsuko. 

Mid-rant about how he should pay because he’s got all the money, she stops and stares at him. A soft smile appears on her face, a swell of pride shoots through her. She only ever saw Kenma as a baby brother, and was genuinely happy for his growth over the years. 

Suddenly, Kenma’s phone flashes with your contact, a facetime call from you. 

“I gotta take this.” He moves to sit up, but looks up at Etsuko at the last second. 

She grins and nods towards the door. 

“Go get em, tiger.”

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: kozume kenma x medstudent!f!reader

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: send an ask to be added!

𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: enroute to being a neurosurgeon, y/n l/n doesn’t have time for fun, let alone dating. after her friends set her up on a blind date gone wrong, she comes face 2 face with none other than her date’s best friend. her world flips on axis, and suddenly she has no idea how her brain works, or love-at-first-sight.

𝕒/𝕟: this was probably rlly poorly written LMFOAD

taglist!

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[mannien]

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - PROLOGUE

The one with graduation, daisies and carnations, and a hopeless emotional addiction.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: some stress and anxiety here and there

Some feelings are addictive. It’s easy to get used to the way something tingles with excitement, warms up with passion, or stings with powerful adrenaline rush. People get comfortable with feelings known and desired and more often than not, they turn them into coping mechanisms. Whatever sticks their wobbly pieces together the longest, is the ultimate solution. Feelings don’t need to be entirely positive or with pure intentions behind them. As long as they cover up the shattered pieces, they stay. They may enhance some experiences, especially when someone decides to stick with something as simple as joy. But some make life more difficult than it seems; they mess up the timeline and allow people to feel so many wrong things before reaching the truth.

An array of emotions weaves through fresh university graduates. A sense of freedom and relief is somewhat clouded by fear or excitement. Someone has an internship lined up, their friends take a year to travel across Europe, a roommate has an apprenticeship at their next job. Others might take things slow and see what the future holds, while some students get prepared to have a fresh start. The overall unknown seems to be the underlying tone in the speeches during the graduation ceremony, but each person in polished shoes and with a rapid heartbeat subconsciously sticks to a feeling that makes them feel more at ease.

Students of each program are called on stage. Every little success along the way is cradled into slippery hats and fitted gowns with the university’s subtle emblem on the front. The audience is sitting on the large balcony above the graduates. People clap with appreciation at each young person walking across the wooden floor and shaking the chancellor’s hand. Some receive a more enthusiastic applause, sometimes even a roar of cheers. As the long queue of journalism graduates makes its way through the hall, the names are listed rapidly. Students walk as if they were a part of an assembly line, trying their best not to delay the process of the nerve-wracking hand-shaking and walking without tripping. The last are always graduates with exceptional results, so the crowds are encouraged to clap vigorously. And that’s what’s heard when the eyes of two women in the audience are focused on the proud figure walking on stage: the loudest cheers of the afternoon so far.

“Remind me, why aren’t we screaming for your boyfriend, and the whole department of journalism is?” A questioning voice surprised Millie so much that she jumped in her seat.

“I’m nervous, Thea. That’s why.”

She stated the obvious. Millie Beaver was the one to frantically fix the sleeves of her gown as a nervous tick. She got up early that morning, dreading the day full of polished festivities and exaggerated elegance requested upon a bunch of tired, educated enough people. The pride in successfully finishing her studies was yet to come; her body was rather keen on reacting dramatically to the large crowds of scholars, pupils and their families. The dread of participating in an unrehearsed event like this clouded her brain and made her focus solely on not loosing it. Though she wouldn’t dare admit it to the smiling man, who was just about to shake some hands on stage. The confidence he wore on his face was something she was used to seeing, even in the least favourable scenarios.

“I still don’t get it, how some people are born so talented that they don’t need to work their asses off to get somewhere,” she shrugged, making her tight black curls shake with her head, “I mean, the hours we spent on reading and researching…”

“I guess we’re just different.”

“Different? It’s not fair, that’s what it is. Patriarchy at its finest.”

The comment made Millie laugh and release some of the tension. Her eyes followed Franklin into the side corridor, where a little crowd of his friends formed a circle around him – the star of the department - before continuing into their seats. His cheerful stance made her bit her lip in excitement; for a moment, she tried to forget about whatever was said through the speakers. She genuinely wanted to be feel happy for him and his academic achievements. After all, she spent previous months on watching him get to the top of their classes almost effortlessly, as if he was born to be talked about by the teachers.

Millie felt her heart speed up at the thought that he might start searching for her for a little cheer, or even a tiny wave of support. But Frank sat down and continued to enjoy his fame, and Thea started to pull her up from the wooden chair.

“Come on, it’s our turn.”

She followed her friend and attempted to smooth out the heavy gown. Her light brown hair flowed as she walked, making her nervously fix it every now and then. She turned to the very end of the queue to find Jane, who wore a wide smile. They made eye contact and the blonde sent her a half-smile, knowing that they are almost through the tough part. It calmed Millie to know that she had her support system, not only up in the balcony, but also somewhere among the students of literary and media studies. At one point she feared that her nightmare of falling off the stage will become reality, but as a surprise to her and her close ones, clumsy Millie walked gracefully and with pride painted across her face.

Mission accomplished: she made it through college without falling.

The main floor of the event hall once again filled with students, their peers, and families. Loud chatter was heard across the building as people were celebrating the achievements of the year’s graduates. Some of the groups moved outside and took in the chilly London air. It smelled of rain and freedom, clouded with light grey pillows in the sky.

The three girls tried to make it through the crowds of chatting people in search for the perfect spot to take pictures together. Jane wore the highest heels of them all, so she was designated to lead them to the wall with the logo of the university. In a tight weave of pinkie fingers, they rushed through the hall just as they would through a college party. Millie felt dizzy from the sea of the same black gowns surrounding them from every angle. Some people waved at them, so she kept her smile wide and left Thea – with her one hand free – to the waving back duty. Their secure escape led them safely to the back wall on the side of the entrance, where some of the students usually found peace between classes and sat down on the floor, watching over the busy entrance to the building during the semester. The carpet remembered a lot of spilled coffees and teas in the wobbly little cups purchased from the cafeteria inside. Millie let out a breath of relief, seeing that only a couple of students found this spot perfect for keeping the memories.

“Hey, congrats! We’re graduates!” Jane welcomed the group that was finishing their poses in front of the wall.

Thea laughed with them, but desperately waved her hand in front of her reddening face to cool off.

“I hate your speed in heels. That was too fast!”

“Don’t worry, at least you don’t have to run to the Linguistics ever again.” Millie pulled her little bag from underneath the gown and looked for a sheet of paper with old notes. As long as Jane was busy chatting up other students, the other two tackled the makeshift air conditioning to prevent Thea’s makeup from running.

“Okay, are we ready for some iPhone memories?” The sound of a snapshot stopped Millie from frantically fanning their friend’s face.

“You sound ready. Do you have a tripod or a selfie stick, though? I want to have a picture with all of you.”

“We could still catch that group and ask someone to snap a few?”

“I’m not running anywhere, I’ve just fixed my face!” Thea puffed her cheeks and did a few more waves around them, certainly for an enhanced dramatic effect.

“Then don’t run anywhere, I’ll call my mom to come here, she’s probably out for a smoke anyway.”

“You really want to have your graduation pictures taken by your mom?” Thea and Millie chuckled at Jane’s resigned sigh. “Maybe Frank could come here? I trust his steady hands more.”

“He was supposed to go to the student’s office after the ceremony. Honours and stuff.” Millie pursed her lips.

“Right when we need him! What a boyfriend.”

“Jane!”

“Do you need a hand, girls?”

A sudden male voice stopped the rising argument and made the three of them look into the corridor. He welcomed them with a warm smile and soft wrinkles by his eyes. With a small bunch of colourful flowers, he stood out in casual, non-graduate clothes, yet with similar youthfulness to him.

“I’m not my brother but I can take a straight picture in focus.”

“What the fuck?” Millie covered her mouth in shock. Hesitantly, she took one step away from Jane and Thea, afraid of her next reaction. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to my friend’s graduation, fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m serious!” She raised her voice and made her way over to him, meeting his steps somewhere in the middle of the distance. He was smiling at her stupidly and she couldn’t stop herself from mirroring his reaction.

“I’m serious too, you made it! That’s so cool!” He opened his arms and invited her in, with a small encouragement of his waving hand.

One of the most addictive feelings are those of an utter comfort and safety. This teasing sparkle making your insides warm up and encouraging you to be a little more positive. That’s precisely what Millie felt when she was engulfed in a tight hug by her childhood best friend. Tom held her tightly across her back and swayed them side to side, earning a hearty laugh from the girl who was now, shining. She felt a sense of genuine relief once he squeezed her in reassurance; her brotherly figure showed up, so she was finally able to relax. Suddenly everything felt easy and perfect. All of the stress, fear of the unknown, anxiety about the grand event of the day, and the rest of damaging emotions slowed down their tempo in her veins, simply because she was home. Her smile swiftly changed into more prominent and definitely brighter by a shade or two. As he held her close, he could feel Millie’s warmth suddenly radiate through his body, making his eyes twinkle with joy because of this very girl.

“Congratulations, Minnie Mouse, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered next to her ear, cautious of what others may hear from their little exchange. She did not need any more nerves weighting her down, so he decided not to make a big scene – even though he definitely wanted to tease her worrying head and make sure she’s having a good time. “you’re all grown up now, so I got you flowers.”

“Oh, so otherwise you wouldn’t?” Millie shook his head, but accepted a small bouquet of carnations and daisies.

“Nah, I know you hate flowers.” He winked at her and put his arm around Millie’s arms, tucking her into his side a little too tightly.

“Absolutely. Thanks Tom, I’ll throw them out after the pictures.”

“Go ahead,” He tucked her in even more, making her squirm in discomfort. It was one of their things, to squeeze one another too tight. It made them feel connected as if they were siblings. They knew how sibling love worked, Tom having three younger brothers and Millie being the youngest of three sisters, but it was refreshing to have it a little spiced up. She let out a shy laugh and pushed him away before taking the delicate bunch from him. She lost the smell of his familiar perfume and took a breath. Once he extended his hand to Millie’s friends, he was back to his public confidence and charm. “Hey! Thea and Jane, right?”

They took an intimidating number of pictures; some of them good enough to share with people, other more fitting into a private photo album filled with silly, heart-warming memories. The group shared a lot of easy laughs together; Millie’s girlfriends eased into the lightly flowing chatter with Tom in no time. It made her sink into the bubble of comfort and light; she was smiling brightly when they reached the entrance to the building. Tom opened the glass door for all of them. A slightly chilly air hit Millie in her blushing cheeks and slowed down the pinky glow spreading across her cheekbones. Somewhere in the distance she noticed her parents lurking excitedly at the group and waving them over expectantly.

There was this heaviness slowing her down and taking up an excess of space in the back of her mind. As they were making their way across the university’s main square, Millie slowly turned her head to the side. She perked up at the sound of loud cheers and noticed a familiar group of students. Among them, there was Frank—laughing and hugging people from his department—and he definitely enjoyed being in the centre of attention. She was sure he didn’t even notice her walking by, but she didn’t want it to affect her as much as it was going to.

In turn, what she didn’t think of was the attention someone would give to her best friend: the smiling, cheerful young man, who was shamelessly chatting up Millie, Thea and Jane.

“Oh my God, is that Tom Holland?”

This simple question, raised somewhere from the group of journalism graduates, didn’t surprise Tom. However, it definitely rose the hairs on the back of Millie’s neck. Though he brushed it off and sent her a reassuring smile, Millie felt panic flowing through her veins. They both knew it could happen, but Tom seemed to be focused more on making her a priority, rather than fearing being recognized as the famous actor. He watched her reaction, now fully aware of her boyfriend emerging from the crowd and skipping towards them.

“Hey, I was trying to find you earlier,” he brushed his hand through his dark blonde hair and gave her a brief smile, before turning excitedly to Tom. “Hey man, I didn’t know you were coming!”

“We just went to…” she paused, seeing as he was already extending his hand towards her friend. “…take pictures.”

“The girls had a nice little photoshoot back inside.” Tom cut short his smile, raising the side of his mouth only to her. He accepted Frank’s handshake but didn’t allow it to turn into a bro-hug. It was fairly easy to read their body language; Franklin tried his best to seem friendly with his girlfriend’s celebrity friend, but the said celebrity was too kind to allow his cheekiness outshine Millie’s comfort zone. Jane and Thea turned their heads away at the sight of palms squeezing a little too tight for a friendly greeting. Frank’s friends and a couple other bystanders watched the exchange with prying eyes, and Millie let out a frustrated groan at the unnecessary tension.

“Cool, cool. Can I steal my girl for a moment?”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer, but rather just took her hand and pulled her to the side, hiding slightly behind the group of people. He fixed the tinsel attached to her hat and winked at her, giving her his full attention. He looked at her with his gleaming blue eyes and made her smile at the intimate moment.

“You good, sweetie?”

“Yeah, just fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Are your parents here? I haven’t seen them.” She looked around, trying to find his mom’s flowing blonde hair.

“They went to get the table at the restaurant nearby. Wanna join us?” He searched her face and leaned in closer, brushing his nose against hers. Millie laid her hand on his shoulder and allowed him into her little space.

“Why are you asking me to choose between our parents?” She chuckled, but patiently waited for his reaction. “Could we all spend time together, at least once?”

“I told you, it’s not a good idea,” Frank brushed his lips against Millie’s, slowly easing her into him and making her return the kiss. “you can ask Tom to come to the party tonight, it’ll be fun.”

“No promises.”

They shared a few more kisses that left Millie breathless - Franklin wasn’t usually the one to publicly show his affection, so she craved anything he willing to give her. She smiled up at him and let him go, happy that he took the minute to catch up with her.

With one last wave of his hand, Frank joined his party. Although he was instantly pulled into celebratory pictures, he couldn’t help but watch Millie walk away; she joined Jane and Thea in a heart-warming group hug. She was just sweet like this: sticking to her people, making sure everyone’s happy, and embracing all the kindness in the simplest actions. Franklin smiled to himself at the sound of her cheerful laugh and turned back to his friends, but then he noticed the source of her laugh. Her and Tom did a barely-there joyful dance, raising their hands and curtseying to her parents. Alfred, her dad, patted him on the back and shook his hand vigorously, while Millie was being squeezed by her mom.

People from Frank’s department praised him for having any kind of relationship with Tom Holland. Frank watched Tom’s joyous exchange with his girlfriend. Tom was proudly paying attention to his best friend, and Millie’s cheeks were hurting from the smiles. She was content and felt at ease. She was sure that her heart was filled to the brim with love and comfort.

Yes, being addicted to feelings is difficult. It holds people hostage in the arms of the sole premise of positive emotional experiences. It’s also blinding for the addicts, making the loss of certain feelings hurt more than it should. Addiction feeds off the weak, the confused, and the uncertain. It eats them up alive and strives to receive more and more satisfaction. It allows for the illusion of reality, so that the addicts can project certain feelings onto their consciousness. They live in their bubbles of unruly contentment and often forget to look into their souls and perform a regular check-up.

Millie was an addict.

***

Please let me know what you think!

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear @sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection @cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0

[lovelylogans]

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

warnings: vampires (blood drinking mentioned), alcohol consumption, food mentions, cuddling, kissing, death mentions, if i’ve missed any please let me know!

pairing: logan/patton

word count: 6,003

notes: for @fangirltothefullest for our discord server’s secret santa! prompted with “Preferably logan-centric and fluffy! Logicality would be great! Logince would also be good. Maybe some cute cuddles by a fireplace?” title is from “baby it’s cold outside!” the idea of vampires being able to eat red food comes from a book i remember reading as a kid, but i cannot place the title, so if anyone knows it please let me know!

Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Bailey’s, it turns out, is a particularly adept calmative.

It’s made the world go hazy and lovely and beautiful, and that’s even before Logan acknowledges the way his eyes are half-lidded and he’s leaning his head a bit more against the side of his wingback armchair than he would if he were entirely sober.

Logan narrows his eyes down at his mug, the one Roman had wheel-thrown and painted him with the chemical illustration of the molecular construction of caffeine on it, which is half-drained, the whipped cream and marshmallows melted, the peppermint stick meant to stir already losing its red stripes. Logan plucks it from the mug and sticks it into his mouth, crunching it, wriggling in the armchair to get more comfortably seated, and to get a better view.

Roman, Janus, Virgil, and Patton have long since been occupied with a board game; Remus left to do whatever it is that Remus does at night, probably screaming profanities at random passerby, so it’s just the five of them left. The Christmas party’s been winding down slowly for the past hour or so, the fireplace still crackling but burning lower and lower, their hot chocolate supply depleted, and Roman and Virgil’s fits of competitiveness losing fervor as the moon creeps higher and higher in the sky. The white of the waxing moon peeks out against the clouds that distribute the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky.

The snow catches the light of the Christmas lights hung outside the house (goodness, hadn’t that been a trying day) so the snow gleams in technicolor reflection, the rest of the world lit by the hazy orange glow of the street lamps. It is very beautiful, and Logan, in an unusually sentimental fit that he would tell himself in the morning was brought on by the alcohol, is incredibly grateful to be alive, at this precise moment, that allows him the company of such wonderful friends in such a beautiful world.

What a statistically improbable event they all are. What an outright scientifically impossible group they all make—a vampire, a set of twins that turned out to be a banshee and a siren, a selkie, and two humans. Three years ago Logan would have scoffed at the idea of any sort of supernatural, mythical humanoid, much less even suspected he’d meet them. And now he is in love with one, and is best friends with the others, and his life is so strange, so odd, so wonderful.

Logan comes back into himself when Roman cries out in protest, making Logan’s ears ring unpleasantly, as Janus crows in victory, holding the longest road card aloft, the dark gray seal-skin on his face gleaming pearlescent in the firelight. 

“Cheater!” Roman accuses, his voice still maintaining that double-pitch—a high keen layered over Roman’s typically pleasant baritone—that always makes something in Logan’s head throb.

“Just because you didn’t strategize your road properly,” Janus gloats, pointing—and yes, the yellow road winding around the edge of Catan is decidedly longer than the red road circling over itself in the middle.

All the while, Virgil is muttering darkly about how useless the Largest Army card has been, tossing it aside, and Patton looks up at Logan, dark eyes glinting brightly in amusement, freckles speckled across his face like constellations, trying his best to hide his smile around the specially-ordered red-dominant candy canes he’s been eating all season, his fangs gleaming white, freed from the fake teeth Patton usually wears to pass as human, his lips tinged artificially red.

Logan feels even warmer all over at the sight of him.

Patton’s eyes get even brighter, and he flashes a sweet smile at Logan before he turns back to the board game and breaks up the squabbling with patient declarations of “Everyone did a really great job!” and “The fun’s what matters, right?” and being so stubborn and relentless in his optimism and platitudes that Janus and Roman relent and grumble grudging “good game”s at each other.

Patton’s far more patient than the pair of them—which makes sense, as he’s been practicing at it since the seventeenth century, according to all their estimations surrounding the first edition of Human Understanding he’d acquired the month after he’d been turned, in a fit of uncharacteristically dark humor—so he always wins out when it comes to digging in his heels and cheerfully going about something with the consistency of the little bird and the diamond mountain.

Roman ducks out to sulk for a moment, under the excuse of adjusting Patton’s painstakingly maintained gramophone he’d bought in the 1920s—he still has the early prototype phonograph he bought in the 1870s, but that one is even more painstakingly preserved in the rooms full of obsolete technologies, clothes, and knick-knacks that Patton’s accrued and hoarded throughout the years like a magpie—and the sound of Bing Crosby crackles to life in the next room, crooning “White Christmas,” the snapping of the fire providing unintentionally harmonious percussion. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the original vinyls, too—Patton’s got loads of vintage music from artists Logan had never even heard of before.

Janus bows out, next, content to allow the high of his victory usher him out the door. He even allows Patton to fuss over ensuring his coat is warm enough to protect him from the snow, considering he’s wearing his sealskin coat and not a proper winter coat, and then even lets him fret over Janus staying moisturized, despite the fact that both Janus and Logan have attempted to explain that Janus’ version of moisturized and the human version of moisturized are quite different in execution, one being smearing lotion all over oneself and the other consisting of sealing himself into his skin and taking a dip in the nearest ocean. 

Logan mentally backtracks over the previous sentence and immediately blames Patton for the pun, and simultaneously promises himself to never utter it in Patton’s presence. Patton still brings up the time Logan had accidentally mentioned Patton sinking his teeth into something, and can hardly finish recounting it before bursting into giggles. He is fortunate he is so adorable, otherwise it would irk Logan to no end. As it is, when it happens, Logan can’t summon up anything stronger than resigned affection. 

He’s in love with a vampire who is currently fretting over a selkie with the exact air of a concerned father. It’s a fate he’s all too eagerly accepted.

Janus usually gets snappy about being mother-henned, so Logan suspects that either the Bailey’s has done a number on him, or the Christmas sentimentality is getting to him. 

And, considering that Janus had one mug of mulled wine with dinner, Logan has a fairly good guess as to which is the root cause—especially taking into consideration Janus allows Patton to hug him goodbye. Janus wishes him a happy Christmas in a tone that is not quite as drawlingly dramatic as usual.

By then, the gramophone is playing a new song, a soprano prettily warbling “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Roman seems to be over his discontent over losing because he joins in, singing pleasantly rather than shrieking—he usually leaves the wailing to the banshee in the family, it’s just that the whole “drawing men to their deaths” aspect of his voice emerges when his temper flares—and Logan swallows down the sudden lump in his throat at the sound of it.

Of course, Roman’s voice is supernaturally exquisite, but there’s something different about it now; Roman had tried enchanting Logan, exactly once, after Logan had pestered him for weeks out of scientific curiosity, so he can say with certainty that this isn’t like the captivating sound that put him in a stupor with the speed and subtlety of being hit by a train, but it’s like someone has captured the flame in the fireplace and tempered it to a temperature that a human could stand, the cozy sensation of being beside a fire rather than the fire itself, and set it directly inside his heart.

You’re happy, a sober corner of his brain says dryly. You know this, you’re happy.

He is.

He is stupidly, incandescently, absolutely happy.

He will blame the dryness of the room from the fire for the sudden wetness in his eyes when Virgil joins in, usually quite shy about singing, but it is almost equally as pleasant as Roman’s, even though Virgil’s vocal chords (and the rest of Virgil) were entirely, completely, mortally human.

They are excellent, the pair of them. Not just their voices, but them, as people—they are excellent. Logan is exceptionally glad to have made their companionship.

Logan takes a deep breath, downs the last half of his hot chocolate, and launches himself from his armchair, perhaps a bit wobblier than he was at the start of the night, and Roman laughs without halting his song, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulder to steady him.

He can only join in for the last part of the song, which is probably for the best; Logan supposes his voice is tolerable enough, but it surely cannot compare to a siren, or to Virgil’s voice, rumbling like thunder. Also, he does not want to make a fool of himself, and surely singing more Christmas carols than necessary while not entirely sober would be a surefire way to do that. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Patton watching the three of them, a fond expression on his face, even if there is a flash of sudden gloom that passes over his face as the three of them sing “ Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,” and Logan frowns to himself, noting it.

Intellectually, he is aware of the various burdens an immortal life forces upon its receiver; Patton has hundreds if not thousands of sketchings and, when the technology became available, photographs of people he had known through the hundreds of years of his life, painstakingly filed away. 

Intellectually, he is aware that Patton was the source of unexpected windfalls that had been bestowed on Virgil’s family throughout the years, the reason Virgil and his siblings could afford to go to college; it is only after he and Virgil knew who Patton truly was that they found the reason behind the luck that struck his family once a generation. Patton had once been Virgil’s great-great-great-grandmother Violetta’s dearest friend, and she his; he’s been anonymously helping the descendants of all his friends in a similar manner for centuries. 

Intellectually. He is aware that Patton fears the day that he will lose them all, and he will be left alone, unchanged, eternally in his late twenties, as he has been for centuries.

It is different to be intellectually aware of something, and to remember seeing Patton show Virgil the portrait he had personally painted of Violetta and choke back his tears because he’d missed her so much, and meeting and befriending Virgil had been a bit like having a piece of her back in his life again, and getting to know you has been such a gift, such a blessing. She would have adored you, as I do, and then Virgil had hugged him, and Patton had gotten so overcome he had not been able to say much else.

It is this memory plucking at his heartstrings that sends him stumbling in Patton’s direction.

Patton moves so quickly that Logan’s eyes can’t track it; one moment he was watching the three of them, the next he’s caught Logan around the waist, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Patton says, and Logan takes a half-step closer to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck.

“Hello,” Logan says. He is about to attempt to say something that is emotionally adept, he really is, except Patton’s skin is smooth and cold under his fingers, and his lips are still tinged red, and Patton’s eyes dart down to Logan’s lips and then looks him in the eye and then he smiles, and any particularly subtle ideas about how to probe Patton’s emotions or perhaps to get him to stop thinking about the curse of bearing witness to the passage of time entirely flee his mind.

He barely has enough time to hope that Patton’s mind is similarly empty before Patton meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Logan’s; even though they’ve been together for years, Logan still isn’t quite used to the chill of Patton’s lips meeting his own. It makes him shiver every time.

Patton is always so sweet, so soft—Logan thinks only part of that is that he is a vampire afraid of hurting his comparatively delicate human lover, and the majority of it is because Patton strives to be sweet and soft as a default state of being, because he is a person who understands that kindness is not a state of being but constantly, consciously making mindful choices to be kind—and his kisses reflect that about him. 

He almost always tastes of mint, because Logan had established early that he was perfectly fine with Patton drinking blood, he would not be facing secondary exposure to someone else’s blood, absolutely not, he holds a less than zero amount of desire to become an amateur hematologist through taste, and so Patton was incredibly scrupulous about brushing his teeth after consuming the blood he’d procured through a source of his in blood donation.

Patton tastes of peppermint now, and Logan sighs into the kiss, lips parting, and he feels the slightest, teasing pinprick of fangs against that sends a thrill zipping down his spine, and—

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Roman bellows with good humor; Logan turns to scowl at him over his shoulder anyways.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Patton begins, brow creasing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we do,” Virgil says, an edge of a laugh in his voice. “Besides, us humans have to sleep.”

Patton usually forgets about this; he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, but he can. Logan knows of at least three decade-long naps that Patton’s taken; he has next to no memories of the foundation of the United States, because he was snoozing for the vast majority of the buildup to the Revolutionary War and the establishment of the government afterwards.

He is, though, content to lie in a bed he’d bought for Logan’s use as Logan dozes throughout the night; sometimes Logan wakes up to Patton propped up on an elbow, looking at him with an expression in his eyes that is a bizarre mixture of fondness and jealousy.

Patton nods and says wisely, “Or else Santa won’t come to your house.”

Virgil snorts, “Yeah, that’s why.”

“I’ll have you know that Nikolass’ a close personal friend of mine,” Patton sniffs, “and it is a very long way from Gemile.”

“North Pole,” Virgil corrects. “Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“Mm,” Patton says neutrally.

“Patton, did you really know St. Nick?” Roman demands.

“No, no, you’re right,” Patton sighs, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Far too late for you mortals. Off to bed, then, and don’t forget to leave him some börek!”

“ Milk and cookies,” Virgil says, he and Roman now wearing twin expressions of desperate curiosity. Logan, who knows when St. Nick supposedly lived, keeps silent.

“He prefers börek,” Patton says, his nose twitching, a telltale sign he’s holding in laughter. “It’s traditional, where he’s from. Leave him a note that old Patton remembers him, it’ll earn you börek points!”

“Brownie points,” Virgil corrects again, “Patton, did you actually know Santa Claus—”

Patton bursts into giggles, unable to hold up the ruse for very long.

“The figure we know today as St. Nicholas of Myra lived in the 300s,” Logan explains. “He predates Patton by thirteen hundred years, approximately.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Patton cackles, eyes bright, making him look as young as his face presents him to be.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil says, as Patton pulls Roman into a hug, “you say that like it’s entirely unbelievable when you’ve shown us paintings of you and other completely unreal people like Maid Marian—”

“Aw, I miss her,” Patton says.

“— sorry if Santa Claus is too far out of the realm of belief from the vampire, ” Virgil continues to grumble, even as Patton folds him into a hug, too.

“He has also known Marie Curie,” Logan says, still unable to quite believe it even though he’s practically memorized the missives she had sent Patton. “Also, I may have elevated my threshold of belief to include vampires, selkies, sirens, and banshees, but I absolutely will not be budged to start believing in childhood myths.”

He pins Patton with a look. “And I am still unconvinced that you knew Robin Hood.”

“Well, he wasn’t actually called that then — ” Patton begins.

“Nope!” Roman practically yells. “Nope, Logan, you are not going to take the fact that I am one degree separated from the Merry Men, I refuse to listen to you debate this again, Sheriff of Not-letting-Roman-have-this-one-thing-ingham—”

“All of my research suggests the people you knew were imitators—” Logan begins again.

“As a Christmas gift to me, shut up,” Roman says. 

“Roman,” Patton scolds.

“ Please shut up,” Roman amends politely—only his tone is polite, as the words themselves and the eyeroll that accompanies them are not particularly courteous. 

Virgil distracts him quite handily by physically turning Roman around and nudging him toward the door.

Patton follows after them, Logan a few steps behind.

“All right, well, be safe going home,” Patton says, beginning on his spiel as Roman and Virgil pull on gloves and scarves. “Are you calling for a ride?”

“Walking,” Virgil says.

Patton makes a discomfited noise. “In this cold?”

“We barely live three blocks away, Ed-worry Cullen,” Roman says, and flaps his arms to show off his new peacoat, a gift from Janus. “We’re all bundled up.”

“All right, well,” Patton says, clearly still fretting, “Text message me when you get home?”

“Just text works,” Logan murmurs, but he can empathize with Patton’s difficulty with memorizing certain terms; it’s just that Patton’s are mostly technological in nature, and Logan’s are slang. Back when they first met, Patton still had the occasional slip-up and called texts telegrams.  

“Text me,” Patton corrects himself, smiling at Logan and squeezing his hand in silent thanks before turning his attention back to Roman and Virgil.

“We will,” Virgil says, and amends, “or at least, I will,” because Roman was notorious for promising he’d text when he got home only to wake up to fifteen missed calls from Patton because he’d forgotten to do so.

“Good,” Patton says with a sigh of relief, then, “All right, bring it in!”

Logan releases Patton’s hand so Patton can step forward and hug Roman and Virgil simultaneously; Roman pulls a face at him over Patton’s shoulder, likely still stung by Logan’s accurate theory about the validity of the so-called Merry Men Patton had been acquainted with.

Though Logan is the correct one, Patton may believe that those people were the original Robin Hood and his band of thieves, but he was most likely deceived considering the earliest myths of Robin Hood originated two hundred years prior to Patton’s birth, even if Patton protests that the dates of the origin of many myths during his human life are incorrectly cited—

Logan presses his lips together in an expression that is not reciprocating the face that Roman pulled at him. Logan is correct; he can rest easily knowing this. And perhaps Christmas is not the proper time to bring up this oft-rehashed debate.

Even though Logan is right. It should not be oft-rehashed because he is right.

“Merry Christmas, Brainy Swan,” Roman says, stepping forward to give Logan a hug that Logan would describe as brotherly, except he knows Roman’s brother and this is far too tame, even if there is more back-slapping and hair ruffling than Logan would prefer. 

“I am not anything like Isabella Swan,” he begins—this is an oft-rehashed debate, too, but this one is far more teasing in nature; Logan, at least, has the retort of pulling up any image of a particularly hideous mermaid mock-up or ugly fish and showing it to him with the (Virgil-taught) response “This you?”—and Roman rolls his eyes.

“Stop denying the Twilight renaissance, Lucy Weste- nerd -a,” Roman says, and reaches out to pluck at the patched elbow of Logan’s tweed jacket, even as he’s hugging Patton goodbye. “You’re dressed Victorian enough—”

“Patton isn’t anything like Dracula,” Logan disputes this time, because obviously Patton would never drink Logan’s blood or turn him without his consent. He straightens his waistcoat, and is about to reach into his pocket, grab his phone, and show Roman the image of a blobfish he has saved for a special occasion to tell him that this is clearly his long-lost twin, not Remus.

He may or may not have rehearsed this with Virgil to ensure a devastating effect.

“Can we please go before you two spend all of Christmas Eve talking about vampire franchises,” Virgil groans.

“Yeah, as fun as that is, most nights, this is kind of a special night!” Patton says brightly. If it were anyone else, Logan would wonder if he should attempt to scan his tone for sarcasm, but Patton probably does think it’s fun. 

Virgil steps forward to hug Logan next; a one-armed hug around the shoulders, quick. It’s what they’re both best with, really; abrupt, swift affection that can be moved on from in a tidy manner. 

“Merry Christmas, L,” Virgil says, then he steps forward to allow Patton to give him a more substantial hug; Patton wraps his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, squeezing him tight, his eyes shuttering for a brief moment, his face becoming gaunt. 

“Merry Christmas, Pat,” Virgil says in a very quiet voice.

“Merry Christmas, V,” Patton says, his voice equally quiet and a touch strained.

Something deep in Logan aches at the sight of them before the look on Patton’s is wiped clean, so abruptly it’s almost as if Logan’s imagined it, and Patton inhales deeply and lets go of Virgil.

“Text me,” Patton reminds them, as Roman and Virgil step off the front stoop.

“I will,” Virgil promises.

Roman’s face splits into a grin, and he calls back, “Merry Christmas, Elena Gil-boring!”

Logan’s head whips around, and he opens his mouth to respond—he isn’t sure with what— and the world surrounding him spins, and he’s weightless, airborne, and as suddenly as it started, it’s stopped. He sees Patton smile at him before Logan closes his eyes, the world still spinning in a way that is distinctly unpleasant.

“Okay?” Patton asks, gently touching Logan’s shoulder.

“Mm. Dizzy.” Logan takes in a deep breath through his nose—the smoke off the fire, the lingering scents of their dinner and desserts, peppermint—and releases it, shaky, through his mouth, before he chances opening his eyes again.

“Sorry,” Patton says, guilt in his tone.

“It’s all right,” Logan says, and he smirks a little. “I’m sure Roman would have said something to interrupt the Yuletide peace if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, Roman would have,” Patton teases, amused, before he blurs for a moment and comes into focus just as quickly, Logan’s empty mug in his hands, one of his many fluffy blankets over his arm—Patton is almost always eager to use his preternatural speed when they are alone in his home. “Would you like another?”

Logan evaluates it; he does not drink very often, but it is a holiday, and he has eaten a sufficient amount and kept well-hydrated today. Though, he does not usually get too vertiginous when Patton moves him quickly, unless they are moving a great distance, he does have reason to suspect that the alcohol is the reason for it today. He’ll have to mention it to Patton; so long as he avoids that, and keeps it to this last mug, he should not face any unfortunate aftereffects in the morning.

“Yes, please,” he decides.

Patton kisses his temple and casts the blanket in front of the fireplace with great fanfare, fluffing it up so that it is at optimum comfort levels, before he unfolds another with an equal amount of fanfare, wrapping it around Logan’s shoulders. Logan smiles at him in thanks, as he knows the blanket is likely for his benefit—Patton frets about Logan getting too cold when they cuddle due to their disparate temperatures—and there’s a rush of artificial wind as Patton zooms to the kitchen. 

Logan wraps the blanket around himself a little more securely as he settles in front of the fire, taking a moment to adjust the wood with the poker, listening to the popping crackle that allows him to lean back in time to watch the spray of sparks leap up the chimney. There’s the sound of a needle being lifted off a vinyl, the vinyl being replaced, and the needle lowered back down; Patton has switched them to an album of orchestral performances of Christmas songs.

Another rush of wind, then, a soft tap of fingers at the top of his head. Logan tilts his head back to look up at him.

Patton’s smiling down at him, eyes reflecting the last remaining sparks, his dark eyes catching the light like stars. He cradles the mug in his hand, and, despite the great speed at which he had moved, he has not spilled a drop.

“Here you are, love.”

“Thank you, dear,” Logan says, placing the poker back where it’s meant to be before he accepts the mug. Patton takes the time to settle in beside him, setting a tray on the hearth, before he wraps his shoulders in the fluffy blanket, too.

Logan smiles a little at the sight of the tray. One half would pass as a traditional, human charcuterie board, if perhaps a bit heavier on jellies than most. The other half is crowded with sectioned blood oranges, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries, all foods as red as Patton’s punny Christmas sweater. It says Merry Chrismath! on it, with math formulas sketched out to form the shape of a Christmas tree, which Patton had purchased specifically because the corners of Logan’s lips had turned up at the sight of it in the store.

Patton takes a sip from his own mug—from the smell of it, mulled wine—and sighs in satisfaction.

“This feels very human, doesn’t it?” Patton asks Logan, as if he is asking for Logan’s approval, and in all honesty he probably is; Patton has been undead for so long that the memories of his human life are dim and distant. “Sitting in front of the fire, eating snacks. About to cuddle.”

It does feel rather human—all he has to do is pretend that his boyfriend is a red food enthusiast, rather than, for whatever reason, red foods being passable enough to a vampire that they are the only human foods he can stomach. 

He doesn’t waste time pretending, though. Why should he, when his reality is stranger than fiction?

Logan presses his cheek to Patton’s shoulder, for a moment.

“I’m perfectly satisfied with this being a shared vampire-human experience,” Logan says, deliberately misunderstanding why Patton is asking. He likes that Patton is a vampire; it is part of him, it is why they have been able to meet. He does not understand why Patton sometimes seems to act like Logan would prefer a human boyfriend, because he wouldn’t. He prefers Patton.

“Well,” Patton says, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I suppose I’m all right with that too.”

Logan reaches for his own mug and takes a sip, before, once again, pressing his cheek against Patton’s shoulder in a way that presses his hair against Patton’s face.

Patton huffs softly in amusement. “Are you trying to get me to smell you?”

“I find it interesting,” Logan says, and he does; the amount of data Patton can deduce by one smell is absolutely astounding. He has plans for a more specific experiment, which he will ask Patton to conduct on a day he is bored and amenable to such suggestions.

Patton hesitates, just for a little bit, before Logan scoots closer, about to tilt so that some of his more major arteries will be closer to his nose.

“All right, then, for Christmas.”

Patton presses his nose against Logan’s hair, kissing the crown of his head, before he inhales, slowly, curiously, like someone trying to place what’s cooking in a kitchen without being able to see what is being prepared.

“And?” Logan asks.

“Mm,” Patton hums, getting his thoughts in order, before he inhales again, this time as if he is a sommelier inhaling the scent of a fine vintage. “Well, you, my favorite smell in the whole world.”

Logan feels very warm in a way that has nothing to do with the blanket, Patton’s arm around his shoulders, or the fire before them.

“You washed your hair this morning—oh, this is a new shampoo!”

“You didn’t like the other one, you thought it was too chemical-y,” Logan says. “I finished it yesterday.”

“Ooh, thank you,” Patton says. “Not that you didn’t smell lovely without the overtone of whatever phoenix is supposed to smell like, but I like this one much better—ooh, lemongrass? You’re spoiling me.”

Logan grins into Patton’s collarbone; really, only Patton would think that a new shampoo scent was spoiling.

“And the usual soap smell,” Patton says. “Sweat, skin, deodorant, your aftershave. You walked by someone smoking today; tobacco and herbal cigarettes, that’s unusual, those were way more common back in the forties—damiana, blackberry leaf, rose, and,” another inhale, “hibiscus and mullein. Gosh, the thought of those takes me back.”

Logan is about to ask—perhaps a past acquaintance or friend smoked something similar in those days—but Patton moves on without ruminating on it further, which makes Logan feel an odd prick of pride; nostalgia has been one of Patton’s greatest strengths, true, but also one of his greatest downfalls.

“Did you have tacos for lunch yesterday? I can smell the spicy salsa still.”

“You cannot,” Logan says, still stunned, even after years, at the amount of things Patton can detect. He’s probably smelling the capsaicin in his salsa, for one, but Patton can also smell certain chemicals the body produces: illness, for example, but also things like cortisol and oxytocin.

“Mhm, makes my nose itch a little. And I can smell the stuff we had at the party, and for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, so it wouldn’t be as fun for you if I listed that off...” Another inhale. “Oh, and I can tell you’re a little tipsy.”

“I think that’s probably why I got dizzy when you ran with me earlier.”

Patton kisses his forehead as a form of apology. “And. You’re happy.”

Logan pulls back just enough, just so he can look Patton in the eyes. 

There are a great many supposed vampire stories that claim to know the color of a vampire’s eyes; blood red, commonly, but yellow or gold were popular ideas, as well. Silver, sometimes. Almost always, the presumed color was a color not found in nature.

Patton’s eyes are so dark a brown they are practically black, the iris near indistinguishable from his pupil unless someone was shining a direct light at them. They were the same color when he was human, Patton thinks; he has an illustration of his mother hidden away upstairs, and they are identical in shape and shade. They are beautiful, and captivating, and full of the warmth and love that are so perfectly, wonderfully Patton.

“I hope you don’t have to smell me to know that,” Logan says, and then, fumblingly, “I mean—I am aware you can smell my oxytocin, but I hope you know that I am without relying on that sense. That I am happy, I mean. Because I am. I do not tell you how you make me feel enough and I feel the need to do so now and articulate it clearly. You make me incandescently, impeccably happy. I am deeply in love with you. I could not have imagined the way my life is now, but I do not want it any other way, because you have made my life so much better.”

Patton’s expression has softened, his head tilting to the side, his lips tilted up into a smile, his eyes so full of affection that Logan almost has the urge to look away, overwhelmed. But Logan, bolstered by something —the Bailey’s and peppermint schnapps, the Christmas spirit, his own love for Patton, he isn’t sure which or if it’s a combination of all of them—keeps looking at him, savoring the expression, before his hand drifts up to cup Patton’s jaw.

They lean in simultaneously, and Logan’s eyes drift shut as he presses his lips to Patton’s once again; this time, without anyone to watch or heckle, Patton’s soft lips part easily for him, Patton’s fingers tangling in his hair, and Logan shivers a little with pleasure as Patton’s tongue brushes against Logan’s bottom lip. Patton is always, always so intolerably tender with him, so careful and deliberate, as if Logan is something to be savored, something exquisite and vitreous that needs to be handled delicately, something precious.

Logan tries his best to treat him in kind. He touches Patton’s face, Patton’s mouth and lips and tongue, eternally cool to the touch, with the kind of mindfulness he gives to pipettes and microscopes and test tubes, as if touching Patton in a way that is any less than the amount of devotion and love Patton deserves will irrevocably contaminate the results of his hypothesis. 

But then Patton’s tongue brushes against his own, and Logan gasps, and he moves to kiss Patton with the devotion and love and passion that ignites in Logan’s stomach, burning hotter than a Yule log, his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his ears, and Logan presses himself even closer to Patton, so wonderfully chilled to the touch, the only thing that could temper the heat flaring to life in Logan’s stomach to something bearable, the only thing that brings balance, something as undeniably well-paired as the heat source and the heat sink—they bring each other thermodynamic equilibrium, romantic equilibrium, equilibrium in all things—

Patton pulls away, just in time, just as Logan needs to break away to gulp in a breath that Patton does not need to take, and Logan looks at Patton, whose eyes are flaring with their own kind of heat.

“I love you too,” Patton says, and he presses his forehead to Logan’s, inhaling deeply; Logan wonders if his body has started producing dopamine and norepinephrine and serotonin and vasopressin, if Patton can smell it.

“I love you so much,” Patton says again, his voice trembling with the weight of it.

Patton wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him into his lap, and Logan wraps his arms around him. Patton cuddles closer, rubbing his cheeks against Logan’s hair almost like a cat.

“I love you too,” Logan says, “I love you.”

Patton bundles the blanket around them, the fire crackling and the ebb and flow of string music in the background, and Logan presses a kiss to Patton’s cheek.

“I love you,” Patton repeats.

I love you, I love you, I love you, they whisper at each other, wrapped up in a blanket until the fire sputters down to embers, Patton’s cold skin keeping Logan from overheating, the pair of them exchanging kisses that only slightly tip into overly passionate, always returning to holding each other, cuddling in front of the fire, even as Logan’s eyelids slip lower and lower as the moon rises higher and higher in the sky, so comfortable and so adored and so absolutely, completely sated that he cannot help but drift off in the comfort of it, one thing ringing in his ears that carries him off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

[the-volume-is-astronomical]

The Crown, The Sword, and The Gay

The Tower

A/N: mi gente im just trying something out and seeing if people like it :] ive had this done for like months and months on end and i finally decided to share it so em enjoy 

First | Previous| Next

words: 2380

summary: Roman’s stomach is making it very clear that this talk wasn’t going to end well... as long as he doesn’t end up in that tower.

pairings: eventual prinxiety, eventual intrulogical, eventual moceit 

warnings: some potty language (not much), stress, anxiety, disappearance mention, flashback, crying

(let me know if theres any other)

Roman felt himself waking up, maybe because of the stupidly bright sun hitting his eyes, he didn’t know how that was possible since he remembered closing the red velvet curtains shut tight, so he didn't have this exact issue. So, when he heard some ruffling and things being moved around he wasn’t all that surprised. 

¨Rise and shine, you little brat¨ Ruth said in a very tired but demanding voice. 

¨Oh dear nurse, allow me five more minutes¨ Roman whined putting a pillow over his eyes so he could block out the rude sun.

¨Oh, flattery will get you nowhere, mister.¨ Roman could hear Ruth moving around the room, preparing breakfast no doubt. Roman took the pillow off his face and sat up, hair a wreck, and his eyes squinting because of the light coming from the window.

¨And he finally rises,¨ Ruth said sarcastically.

¨Yeah, yeah, the dashing prince has awoken.¨ Roman said half asleep. Ruth helped him sit down so he didn’t trip over anything and started serving him breakfast, she wasn’t going to wait for him to finish eating as she was already heading for the big oak doors. 

¨Wait!¨ Roman sobered up, Ruth flinched a little at the shout but turned around anyway ¨Can I do anything for you?¨ She asked.

¨ Come eat with me, you for sure haven’t eaten anything today.¨ Ruth went to argue but closed her mouth when she noticed she, in fact, had not eaten.

 She sat down in the chair in front of the royal, Roman made a few hand gestures as if to show she was open to take anything, she knew the monarch wouldn’t eat until she had settled for something so, she took a piece of bread and started eating, as did he.

After a few moments of silent eating Ruth spoke up ¨I still don't understand, after all these years you haven’t become a spoiled brat that doesn't care for his servant¨ Roman didn't even look up at her he just said ¨I guess you raised me well.¨ Ruth almost choked on her bread and looked at Roman as if he had gone insane. “Oh come on don't be so humble Ruthie!¨

She still looked at him confused and a little annoyed at the nickname but mostly surprised he would say anything of the sort, ¨Ruth, you are my nurse. You have been with me my entire life, You fed me when I was a baby for god sake! I consider you a mother, even if I have another mother in the throne room right now,” Roman shivered at the thought of having to talk to his parents after the events of the past week but continued anyway “and I sure as hell think of you as the person who raised me.¨ 

Once he had finished he immediately put a mouth full of food and kept eating as if hadn’t given that speech. Ruth still looked shocked but cleared her throat ¨Well, then I made you a sap!¨ Roman started laughing ¨How will your future spouse ever forgive me?¨ Roman burst out laughing and Ruth gave a small chuckle. 

Ruth stood up and went to Roman's closet to gather his outfit for the day, while he finished breakfast. She threw the clothes at him “Hey!¨ Roman made his trademark over dramatic gasp. She sighed “I unfortunately also gave you my dramatics…”

 “And I don’t resent you for that!” Roman screamed back with a big smile on his face. 

Ruth looked like she had something on her mind. Roman didn’t have to wait much before she said what that was, he never did. ¨Would that make you and my Remy brothers?¨ she said, actively ignoring the prince’s comments. Roman stood up going towards his shoji screen to change behind. ¨Ha! We already consider each other brothers so it wouldn’t be much of a change.¨ Ruth started making his bed “Well this is new information to me.¨ Roman giggled a bit 

¨Remy´s supposed to be back by noon, he passed a lot of territories to deliver this message so I sure hope he’s alright¨ Roman has always thought she was a worried mother even to him when he went on long trips.

Roman stepped out from behind the screen and reassured her ¨ He’s fine! He may act reckless but he's very calculating… but expect him a few hours later than what the estimated time of return” Roman slipped away looking for his shoes. ¨Oh and why is that?¨ she asked, hands on her hips, Roman gave a nervous chuckle. 

Shouldn't have let that slip.

“Roman…” Ruth said in a warning tone. Remy was going to kill him but he didn’t want to die at his nurse’s hands “Remy’s been... seeing... this person a-and when his message trip aligns with where they live… he spends some time with the person so…” Ruth looked at him as if deciding something, “As Remy’s mother, I thank you for telling me the truth..” Roman was relieved “But, as your mother, I have to say…YOU SNITCH! Snitches get stitches for a reason!” Roman laughed genuinely and Ruth joined.

After their giggle fit, they heard someone knock on the door. Ruth went to answer the door, it was a guard “His and her highness request the prince’s presence,” Ruth thanked the guard and turned around and Roman looked mortified, “Roman, you have to talk to them.” Roman had never heard Ruth speak that soft. Roman only felt dread “Ruth I don't want to go” He was genuinely petrified.

“I understand, but they are very understanding and I believe they wouldn't punish you for simply trusting the wrong person” Roman shook his head “ They’re already so protective. They always had me under knight or guard surveillance but now they might do something so I won’t be able to sneak by” Roman was panicking and Ruth noticed, she walked up to him. And took his hand “Roman they just want the best for you…” Roman took his hand away from her own “No! They are just afraid they aren’t going to have an heir after one of them ran away.” Roman's hands were in his hair and his eyes started to glaze over.

Roman was very much not over his brother's apparent “disappearance”

“I understand Remus vanishing has affected your parents over protectiveness, BUT they have always aimed to protect you but after what happened...can you really blame them for it?” Roman sighed, Ruth forced his hands out of his hair, he took a shaky breath to calm down “No, but getting hurt is part of life! So what if I trusted the wrong person? Everyone does!” He gestured to the sky as if it was the only person listening, he felt so defeated. 

“Well I can't change anything so, you should tell your parents that!” She didn’t know what to say to make things better. “I’ll try, let’s just hope they at least try to listen” he left it there and headed out of his bedroom’s oak doors, he never liked disagreeing with Ruth. 

 Roman walked down the long hallway towards the throne room but, of course, he wasn’t alone because that would be too much to ask apparently. Instead he was being escorted to see his parents by the guard that had informed him his parents required him. He already knew what they were going to talk to him about and he was dreading it.

Why did he have to make such a mistake?

Did the universe want him to not trust anyone after what happened?! If it would make the sinking feeling in his stomach leave then he would happily oblige.

The guard stopped at the throne rooms doors and Roman took a deep breath as the guard gave him side eye glance and opened the doors, “You required my presence?” Roman spoke trying to keep his voice steady and his head high, “Yes, Roman, we would actually like to talk to you about last week's event…?” He phrased it as a question a little too late. Roman’s father, King Leonardo, wasn’t an emotionally driven person and never was truly soft with anything he said, but he cared. The way he was soft spoken with Roman was just having the opposite effect that his father wanted.

Roman’s mother, Queen Victoria, was very comforting and always tried to shield her children from harm's way, but coming from a family of royals, she didn't have an example to follow but she wanted to be there for her child. “Roman, my little lion heart, I need you to keep in mind this is for your safety...ok?”  Following everything by the book, always looking and being her best, so she would be a good example even if she wasn't nurturing, all she wished was for Roman to know she loved him and Remus with her whole being, Roman just gave her a tense nod as a response. 

Roman’s Father spoke up, “Roman, you're going to be under knight supervision at all times,” That wasn't as bad as Roman expected, he basically already was! Anything but to be stuck in that damn tower “...And you have to stay in the south tower-” ...He should have knocked on wood. 

“Father, I did nothing wrong! I shouldn't be punished for this-” Romans mother spoke up, she knew both her son and husband could be hot headed. She wanted to stop anything before it got the chance to begin “Roman this isn't to punish you! We want to protect you-” The Queen sounded like she was pleading with her son.

Roman did not hear her plea or just ignored it “...For how long do I have to stay there?” Roman’s mother spoke up, “Don't worry, you'll be there maximum 2-” 

“Indefinitely.” 

The King spoke in a cold unforgiving tone, Roman knew he had messed up big time. Victoria turned to her husband “Leo, we agreed he wouldn't be there for more than 2 fortnights, we agreed on that.” The Queen seemed upset but was obviously attempting not to show such emotion. 

“Those were the rules we agreed to when he was a child and he would grant being punished” Both of Roman’s parents were staring at each other, showing they weren't going to back down.

Roman spoke, “Understood.” His voice was mostly monotone but tight, Victoria turned to him with an apologetic gaze. Roman shook his head. It was his own fault, his mother shouldn't blame herself for his actions. 

“I'll tell Ruth, so we can pack.” Roman turned to leave but his father had more to say. “Before you go, Hugo won't be your assigned knight. One of the new recruits is climbing in status and popularity very quickly and he agreed to-” “babysit” Roman cut in. “-protect you. As long as I recommended him to Queen Marie for her armada” 

As if things couldn't get any better, he had to meet this new recruit, he hoped they would at least get along. Roman just nodded and opened the door to leave. At that moment, Roman’s father called the guard that had escorted Roman to get the new recruit as soon as possible, he just left as quickly as he could. 

His parents knew that not being around people and not being able to talk were some of the worse things that could happen to him. They decided it was going to be the way to punish him. Though, he never stayed for more than a month, now he understood why. 

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As Roman- basically power walked- back to his room, his brain tortured him with memories of his 7 year old self being forced onto the tower for the first time.

No! Please it was an accident-!

I won't do it again!

I won't- Please! 

That was all he said as his father signaled the guards to take him, his mother not being able to look, turned her head away, trying to ignore every motherly instinct in her body to stand up and comfort her child. 

The guards dragged him out of the castle- the only home he knew- and shoved him in a carriage, where Ruth was waiting for him. Ruth had always been happy around him but her expression was unreadable -looking back she seemed angry, he just hadn't seen her that way before- but, Roman didn't care. He threw himself onto Ruth and sobbed his tiny heart out, Ruth trying her best to calm him down, he eventually fell asleep. Three hours later, he was woken up by Ruth.

“Were here, principito”

Roman was scared. Ruth saw it in his eyes. 

“Come on! You offend me, you really think I would let them take you to a scary place?” 

The little royal could only muster a small “no”. Ruth took his hand and walked with him toward a tower. Roman thought it was beautiful, that's the day he figured beautiful things can hurt you. 

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

Roman never got used to it. He always dreaded the ride there, all the build up to the feeling of nothingness. When he looked up at the tower, he got the same feeling that he did when he was 7, Roman learned to not look up. He’d always prefer being in the tower when he was a kid because, back then they allowed Ruth to stay behind with him. Now she would only go in the carriage with him and leave.

After they stopped allowing Ruth to stay with him, at least he had Hugo to bother, by asking him for stories of his adventures. He didn't have that anymore.

The only adventure story he had now was a vibrant red book, in the book shelf of the tower, the only fictional book in his whole collection. He will admit, it was a very smart move on his parent’s part. They always monitored what he read, filled his whole book shelf in the tower with Philosophy, Math, and Royalty etiquette. When he begged for weeks on end for an adventure book they granted him one but, they made sure it was the only book that was fictional. They wouldn't give him an adventure book based on real events, No! That would be giving Roman too much hope. 

Good move.

[igotyouniverse]

Higher

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader

Request: henlo I know I already requested something, but can I please get drabble prompt no 7 with hyunjin from stray kids, either like rivals to lovers or maybe secret crush. And make it SOFT please. fast forward 15 minutes` → make it ;) now.

Prompt: “That's the eggnog speaking.”

Genre: rivals to lovers, non idol au, fluff ending, suggestive.

/Lots of bickering and oppressed feelings and ;) tension, friends trying to hook you up with Hyunjin, who you’re totally not interested in.

Warnings: light swearing, alcohol, suggestive(!!), make-out

words: 2.7k

Part of my Seasonal Requests Special - Winter Edition.

a/n: This was so much fun to write. Oh and it's a full-blown scenario. Whoops. This was requested by my best friend: @ithilinne Honestly I hope you find it as funny as I do, lol. ❄️❤️❄️❤️I enjoy writing bickering so much, it's fun! Plus, dude. Hyunjin. Do I need to say more? I hope you like it !❤️

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

“I'm totally getting drunk tonight.” you exclaimed in annoyance, helping Felix to put some snacks on the table. “Mind telling me why?”, your friend asked grabbing some of the alcohol bottles he had in his cupboards, to place them near the snacks. “Dude, I'm studying like crazy. My life's basically books.”, you groaned, while placing down cups, “but apparently I'm not good enough to get in the top rankings. But guess who is? Hyunjin. Again!”, frustration swang in your voice, as you spoke about your long-time rival.  

“He's not even studying!”, you added, throwing your arms in the air. Felix chuckled next to you, a grin gracing his face. “You really need to let off some steam.”, he said, making you roll your eyes at him. “I don't have time for such distraction.”, you hissed and looked at the clock, pretty sure that your friends will arrive soon to your small gathering.  

“I don't even get why you're so annoyed by Hyunjin. We're in the same group of friends after all. And I honestly think you two would hit it off-”, you stopped Felix in his sentence, putting a hand on his mouth to keep it silent for a second.  

“He annoys me because he doesn't study and is still beating me in every single seminar. That's fucking unfair. Plus, he is arrogant and annoying.”, you muttered, a sigh leaving your lips as you waited for the doorbell to finally ring. If you were being totally honest, you weren't even sure why exactly Hyunjin was taking your last nerve. Maybe it was the way he always grinned at you in that stupid cheeky way whenever you had to take an exam. Or maybe how he always asked about the rankings in the group chat – even though he were perfectly aware of the fact that he was better than you. Every. Single. Time. But maybe it was how he always tried to tease you every chance he got. And maybe – just maybe, because he was ridiculously good-looking for being such a pain in the ass.

When the doorbell finally rang you rushed out of the kitchen, hearing Felix laugh behind you. The first person who greeted you was your best friend, two bottles of eggnog in her arms. “Damn, you do know what I need.”, you chuckled as you hugged her. “I always do, love.”, she winked and pecked your cheek before disappearing in the kitchen, greeting Felix. The rest of the group just walked in after her, greeting you with hugs and even more booze. Last but not least, Hyunjin entered the door and grinned at you. “Just saw the new rankings.”, he clicked his tongue, sighing at you while walking past you, “I'm still at number one.”, he whispered into your ear, before entering the kitchen as well, leaving you behind. Ass.

You felt Felix's eyes on you as soon as you entered the kitchen as he handed you a glass of eggnog. “Exactly what I need.”, you mumbled and took the cup, taking big sips, enjoying the sweet flavour on your tongue.

“I honestly thought I might fail that one sociology exam. I swear, I didn't study a bit.”, you heard Hyunjin brag to Minho but you clearly saw how he looked at you with that stupid grin on his stupidly beautiful lips. “Yeah, right.”, you snorted before rolling your eyes at him, taking another sip from your drink, trying to keep you sane. “I'm sure you'll be better than me the next time.”, he said, shrugging his shoulders before chuckling.  

“You know what's better than sex?”, your best friend whispered in your ear, making you jump slightly as you didn't even hear her appearing next to you. “Angry sex. Letting off some steam, you know.”, she added, wiggling her brows at you. You rolled your eyes as hard as humanly possible and grabbed a second cup full of eggnog after already finishing the first one.  

Your eyes wandered over to Hyunjin, who casually leaned against the wall, talking to Minho and Felix. He wore his longer blonde hair in  a loose ponytail, messy strands of hair falling down on his shoulders in soft waves. You let your gaze continue to wander over his figure, how his black leather pants hugged his figure and how his fitted shirt showed off his upper body. “I'm telling you.”, your friend whispered still right by your side, obviously following your gaze, “If I were single, you know.”, you freed your gaze from Hyunjin's figure and looked at her brown eyes, which winked at you. “God, stop it. He's arrogant and annoying.”, you sighed, before biting your tongue. You looked up for a second, just to meet Hyunjin's gaze, which nonchalantly eyed you just the way you did with him, before a mild grin appeared on his face and he looked back to his friends. Damn it.  

An hour later you were peacefully munching on some crackers your friend  handed you between your cups of eggnog. “Oh wow, I see an empty cup and that's a crime!”, you heard Felix say, dramatically putting his hand on his heart to show his shock. “I already had-”, you started your sentence, but Felix interrupted you, “Nonsense! You need more!”, and before you could protest he filled your cup and chuckled as soon as you took your first sip.

You started to feel the warmth inside of you, leaving you all fuzzy. For a moment you felt like your mind wasn't about studying and grades, which you enjoyed to the fullest. You let your eyes wander through the room, watching how your friend was nuzzled against Chan's arm, while talking to him and how Minho tried to play Jenga against Changbin but lost for the third time in a row, which let the boys around them laugh out loudly. You chuckled, watching how he pouted and said that Changbin was probably cheating or else he wouldn't be able to win. Your eyes searched for Felix and maybe even for Hyunjin - which you would obviously never admit in a sober state of mind, but you couldn't see either of them.  

As your bladder was filled with alcohol you naturally needed to go to the bathroom for a moment. Staying in front of the sink you checked your Make-Up you put on fro the night, after washing your hands. You slowly turned your face from side to side, checking if everything was still set and looking okay-ish. You left the bathroom with a small smile on your lips, heading through the floor until you suddenly had to stop in your tracks as Hyunjin nearly ran into you.  

“Oh sorry, didn't see you there.”, he said with a small chuckle. You rolled your eyes. “Yeah.”

“You look really pretty tonight.”, you heard him say and for a second you thought you lost your ability to breath. ´”What?”, you asked furrowing your brows. “I said, that you look really pretty tonight.”, he repeated calmly.  

“So I'm usually ugly?”, you snorted back at him.  

“No. You actually look pretty every day but especially tonight.”, he answered, scratching the back of his head.  

“Yeah, stop making fun of me, idiot.”, you rolled your eyes, wanting to go back to the others but your legs just didn't want to move.  

“I'm not making fun of you-”, he started.

“Seriously, shut up, Hyunjin.”, you interrupted his sentence, “Honestly, you're an arrogant and annoying ass.”, you snorted, feeling how the booze in your system made you feel way more confident than you used to be.

“What annoys you about me?”, he asked you while moving a step closer to you.

“Everything. Your teasing and always being better than me, without actually studying.”, you started but you felt how your voice got just a tad shakier when you felt him shifting in front of you.  

“Honestly, it's unfair. Would be easier you if you weren't that hot.”, you said before even realizing what words left your mouth. The alcohol in your system not even letting you feel ashamed over what you said.

Hyunjin chuckled in front of you. “Did you just call me hot?”, he asked but you shook your head.  

“Nope. That's the eggnog speaking. Not me.”, you laughed and tried to focus your eyes on anything else beside his body who was moving dangerously close to yours.

“Ah, bummer.”, he sighed in front of you, “would be great if it were you speaking.”, he added and a small smile graced his lips.  

“Why?”, you asked, your eyes finally able to actually look at his.  

“Well, because I wouldn't feel stupid for saying that I actually think you're attractive, too.”, he chuckled once more.  

“What?” you asked, completely dumbfounded, not quite sure if you're brain was even able to process this conversation.

“Jeez, I'm kinda confessing here. Would you mind meeting me halfway here?”, he sighed. At first you were annoyed but as soon as you saw his lips turn into a small smile you just blinked at him, realizing that he maybe wasn't even making fun of you at all.  

“Hyunjin.”, you said slowly, “You're annoying. And arrogant.”, you said, replying what just came out of your mouth minutes ago.  

“Yeah, you already said that. Thank you, by the way. It's not like I was complimenting you or anything.”, he responded.

“Annoying. Arrogant. Stupid.”, you whispered, while staring at Hyunjins face, your eyes wandering over every of his features. His deep brown eyes, with that small mole under his left one.

His small nose and those perfectly shaped, stupid lips on which your gaze rested for a couple seconds. You secretly wondered how they would actually feel on yours. You wanted to know how the fabric of his shirt felt under your hands and his bare skin under your fingertips. You needed to know how it felt like, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him towards you and how it would feel to have his slender hands on your body.  

“I'm curious.”, you whispered as you moved closer to him until you could feel his breath on you cheek. Your eyes wandered back to his, which were locked on you. You felt how one of his hands cupped your cheek, his thumb softly running over your bottom lip, leaving you with goosebumps. Your breath quickened, when you let your hand rest on his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly in  his chest. You let your hand wander up over his shoulder to let it rest on his neck, until you slowly pulled him closer to you until your lips finally connected with his.

They were soft and tasted sweet like eggnog, gently moving against yours in perfect sync. Your other hand joined the one already resting on his neck, pressing him even closer to you, which made him smile softly into the kiss. Hyunjin's hands wandered down your back, until they rested on your hips. Chills went down your spine, warmth slowly spreading through your body which wasn't coming from the alcohol. It felt like you were finally doing that one thing your body and heart told you to do so many times but you never gave in - until now.

Just when you thought about how good it actually felt to kiss him, he moved his lips away from yours, his eyes looking at yours.  

“Curiosity satisfied?”, he whispered. You looked at him for a moment, letting your hands wander over the fabric of his shirt until you let them rest on his chest. Your hands shortly continued their way over his arms, until your hands were over his, which were still resting on your hips. He let you intertwine your fingers with his, leaving you in complete control over the situation. You looked over his face again, feeling an urge to just place a kiss on his skin, so you placed them on his neck for a quick second, leaving soft, quick kisses on his jawline and his cheek. “Not quite.”, you whispered back at him, before pressing your lips on his again but this time you wanted more, you needed more, completely unbothered by the fact that you were still standing in the floor of your apartment at a party.  

His lips were just as soft as before, slowly moving against yours, making you hum. You wrapped your arms around his neck again, his arms now gently around your waist, pressing you closer to his body to eliminate the air between them. You had to admit, kissing Hyunjin felt amazing. Like something you've wanted and waited for. You enjoyed how gentle he was, even when he smoothly let his tongue slip into your mouth for a moment, deepening the kiss, leaving your body with goosebumps all over again. Even now, he let you take control, kissing in your own tempo and exactly how you wanted and needed it.

He let you wander your hands over his upper body, exploring the softness of his skin. You wanted to touch every inch of his body, the urge to feel him nearly overwhelming you. Between all the teasing and glancing, all the cheeky grins and smirks you were curious. Curious how it would feel to feel that pretty mouth of his on yours.  

You enjoyed the physical sensation, how his hands gently stroke your back, until they reached for your head, holding you tightly. You were surprised about the gentleness of his hands, about the way he touched you.  

“More.”, you whispered between kisses, feeling how Hyunjin smiled against your lips. You lightly dug your fingers in his neck, connecting your lips again, feeling how his tongue entered your mouth once more. This time, you felt more pressure behind his kiss, as if he waited for you to allow him to do so. His hands slid down the sides of your torso, sending chills over yogr body, before resting on your hips. You felt how his grip tightened a little bit more and you smirked before grinding your body against his. A small gasp escaped his mouth and you wondered what other sounds you could possible coax out of it. You could feel how his kisses increased in intensity, his lips always connecting with yours, his tongue gently playing with yours. You needed to know what sinful things those lips were able to do.  

“Oh my God. Finally!”, you jumped away from Hyunjin, heart beating rapidly in your chest, as soon as you heard Felix yelling from the other side of the floor. “Jeez, this took way too long.”, he added and sighed in relief. Another head popped up next to him, belonging to your best friend, which raised a fist and smiled.  

“Dude, I said eggnogg is the solution!” you stared at the two of them while listening to some excited screams from the kitchen as soon as the others saw you, too.

“You owe me a 20, Minho!”, your best friend  screamed back at the kitchen and started to laugh. “I swear, I made like a hundred bucks tonight.”. She looked at you and Hyunjin, giving you a cheeky smile. “Anyway, we don't want to disturb you two any longer so we will be hanging out in the kitchen.”, she wiggled her brows, “with the doors closed and music playing so please, continue.”

Felix laugh halls through the floor before he turned around and closed the door  to the kitchen behind the group, leaving you alone with Hyunjin again.

“Not awkward at all.”, you whispered to Hyunjin, whose arm was around your waist. You looked at each other and immediately started laughing together at the absurdness of the whole situation.  

“I can't believe they actually made bets with money,”, he responded, placing a soft kiss on your temple. You smiled, closing your eyes for a moment.  

“So, what do you wanna do now?”, you asked him, looking at his twinkling eyes.

“Continue?”, he answered with a grin before wrapping both of his arms around you again, and placing his lips on yours once more.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄  

[vagrantblvrd]

moar biker luke au?

(Modern AU Idea)

What about that time poor Din is picking Grogu up at daycare or school or whatever and there’s an, idk, substitute or something who thinks he’s Hooligan?

Like, idk, the night before was rough and Din was up late and when he drops Grogu off his hair is messy.

(Perhaps Luke had something to do with that, playfully ruffling his hair to wake him up because he knows Din isn’t much of a morning person, but he’s stupidly adorable like a grumpy bear cub, and anyway. Din was running late and didn’t have time to primp in the mirror or whatever.)

He’s wearing a faded shirt with the logo of a band he listens to on the front - nothing graphic or upsetting but it’s a rock band, so you know, clearly of The Devil - and old jeans he should have gotten rid of a long time ago but they’re comfy and he loves them, and anyway. He forgot to do the laundry and Luke was out of town most of the week, back home with his family for something, and anyway, they’re clean and he can deal with the rest later.

Also, though. Leather jacket that was a gift from Boba a few years back and it’s a little chilly in the morning, and he loves the jacket, so yes.

Basically Din just looks like a Very Tired Dad when he drops Grogu off in the morning, and the regular teachers and whatnot smile at him because he’s honestly the sweetest man, and clearly adores his son as much as Grogu adores him, but!

The Substitute who sees Din and is like Hooligan, and obviously their co-workers are too blind to see it. Why just look at his child! Messy hair and grubby little hands - he’s a child??? - and anyway.

HOOLIGAN.

Din doesn’t notice The Substitute having a fit because he’s invested in making sure Grogu remembered his school stuff, crouched down to help him out of his jacket and run a hand through his hair to make it look a little more presentable. Grinning when Grogu tries to do the same for him but it’s too late for that, buddy, Din’s hair is always going to be a mess.

Drops a kiss on the top of his head and tells him to be good, please, my old heart cant take it otherwise and gives Grogu a little push towards the other kids, his friends and waits until he’s inside the classroom before he heads off to Boba’s shop or wherever.

And, okay.

Same routine for a couple of days and after the third one he finally realizes he’s getting the stink-eye from the Substitute and is like. What did he do???

He mentions it to Luke in passing who is like oh??? and drops by Grogu’s school or daycare or whatever that afternoon under the guise of bringing him his lunch. (Oh, what’s that? Din made sure he had one with him that morning, haha, guess he’s just being sill again, huh? Oh, is that a new teacher?)

Luke is charming and sweet and friendly and learns one of the regular is out sick for the week and they’ve got this Substitute. Bit prickly, stickler for the rules and whatnot, but they’re new and hopefully experience in the real world will help give them a more...balanced perspective, or something like that.

And Luke, okay, he knows what’s going on.

Knows Din gets mistaken for being this bad boy figure because he looks the part, you know?

Rough around the edges and such, comes across as gruff, even aloof sometimes, but he’s just.

Quiet.

Watchful.

One of the most respectful people Luke’s met, doesn’t see the point in useless chatter and it gives people the wrong impression of him.

Also, you know.

The thing where he doesn’t mind bending the rules and such, but does so for  reason.

And, Luke knows thanks to Paz and the others Din grew up with, he was a Good Kid growing up. Got into fights here and there, but always to protect someone who couldn’t protect themselves. Got good grades in school - smart, smart kid who took honors classes and such - and so on.

(And then there’s Luke, and Leia. Smart kids themselves, but the Thing their dad and chip on their shoulders and anyway, Luke’‘s pretty sure if Din ever got detention it was a rare occurrence compared to him and Leia who might as well have lived in detention half the time.)

Anyway.

Luke and Leia look like Good Kids and are kind of the exact opposite. Like, sure they got good grades in school too, but they were definitely the trouble kids.

Din, who actually was a Good Kid but looks like he’s not, and anyways.

Luke’s run into people before who thought the worst of Din from on glance at him, like they knew anything about him.

Stll. He makes a point of meeting the Substitute and making nice with them, all friendly, non-threatening smiles and chitchat before has to leave before his own lunch break is over and such.

AND THEN.

Luke makes sure to be there when Din picks Grogu up that afternoon. Brings his bike and all.

Makes sure to be obnoxious about it, revving the engine and wearing his Rogue’s jacket and Din’s Aviators he pilfered a few days ago and Din keeps giving him :(((((((((( face about getting back.

The regulars at Grogu’s school/daycare have seen him wearing that particular Look before, maybe got some some harmless flirting tossed his way to get Din to sigh at Luke and his suitors before putting his arm around Luke like hey no, this idiot’s mine, get your own, and anyway.

They know Luke’s the bad influence in that particular family, bad seed and all.

Luke roars up on his bike, right next to Din and his minivan and Grogu who is mcfreaking delighted to see Luke and his bike.

“Why are you like this?” Din asks, handing Grogu over when both he and Lue make grabby hands at one another, but it’s all soft and fond and he maybe gives Luke a little hey, hello, i missed you today kiss even though Luke is stupidly dramatic in the dumbest ways.

And Luke, okay.

Catches the eye of the Substitute who is staring at the three of them all scandalized and whatnot because look.

Din was in the process of getting Grogu into the Very Safe car seat in the backseat of his adorable minivan when this Hooligan came tearing in on his motorcycle like an actual hooligan.

Din had time to do the laundry so he’s wearing jeans a thread away fro falling apart and this nice sweater Grogu helped Luke pick out for Din as a birthday present or something like that. Soft and comfortable and presentable. Brings out the color of Din’s eyes and has gotten him more than a few appreciative looks - like the ones right now from some of the parents. The same ones who flirt with Luke because it’s fun and safe and Din’s reaction is always the best, and anyway.

Din looks like the Good Kid he was, the Good Man he is, and Luke looks like the awful, terrible, no good Hooligan he absolutely is.

Anyway, it’s not like Luke’s making a point or anything, just.

He’s not a fan of people assuming the worst of Din when they don’t know the first thing about him.

Din is like, I’m onto you Skywalker, because he’s not an idiot, you know. Luke only wears his biker gang gear when he’s off with Biggs and Wedge and them, and Luke’s been acting weird the last coupe of days.

And since when, Din would like to know, when does Luke show up here on his bike? He knows Grogu’s not big enough to ride on it with him.

(Let’s say this all happens before Din meets them because I didn’t think of that at the time, but whatever.)

He glances over his shoulder and thinks a-ha, when the Substitute’s eyes go wide at getting caught staring (scowling) at them, and then looks at Luke who gives him this Stubborn Idiot look he gets sometimes.

“My hero,” Din says, getting a laugh out of Luke and the back of his hand smacking his shoulder playfully because Luke’s being serious here, you jerk, the least you can do is not make fun of him, okay?

He gets a peck on the cheek and promise for a better thank you later when there’s no audience, and anyway. Give me my kid back and we’ll see you at home, yeah:

And...yes.

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[bird-in-a-cage]

Impression

“So, they don’t know they’re brother and sister yet?”

Billy rolled his head a little from Steve’s shoulder to look up at his face, chocolate drop eyes concentrating on the Harrington family television. This was the third time they were going to watch through all the Star Wars movies because Steve, stupidly brilliant pretty boy baby face Steve Harrington, still didn’t quite get it, but wanted to so he wouldn’t be teased by his pack of almost teenage dweebs anymore.

Billy understood the movies. It wasn’t that hard. And really any excuse to spend another Friday night in Steve’s arms, on his stupidly huge couch with one too many decorative cushions was more than okay. They were just a tangle of limbs, snacks and drinks on the coffee table in preparation so neither would have to move more than to just change the video tape over or use the bathroom.

There were far worse ways to spend a Friday night than trying to get your secret boyfriend to understand the plot of Star Wars.

“No, not in this one. That happens in the third one.”

“Oh! The one with the little bears?” Steve’s eyes sparkled a little when he remembered something. It was a cute little trait Billy had picked up. It happened over a lot of things, mostly small and inconsequential, but it was nice to see it so close up.

“Well, they’re Ewoks, not bears but yeah, that one.” Billy sat up a little to light a cigarette. Usually he wouldn’t smoke indoors, but Steve’s mansion was always empty and he didn’t seem to mind. Plus it was winter outside.

Fuck Indiana winters.

“But then why do they look like bears if they’re not bears?”

Steve's hand was warm on Billy’s lower back, as he inhaled and chuckled on the exhale. “Because it’s space? Shit can be called anything if it’s not real.”

The blank blink Billy received made him chuckle all over again, want to pinch Steve’s soft cheeks and call him an idiot between kisses to that natural pout and confused forehead. “But they’re bears though…”

“One movie at a time doll face. You’re missing the plot of this one.”

Billy settled back down and there was no more talk of bears. There weren’t many questions at all really. During the first viewing Steve had been a barrage of whys and who’s that and why is that important and why does that guy in the black cape get his own music, trying to walk before he could run in understanding what the plot was and trying to guess where it was going. Now he was quiet, just watching, sharing Billy’s cigarette for as long as it lasted. It was nice, homely. Something Billy wasn’t quite used to yet. But the movie played and he was happy. It was getting easier to be happy around Steve. Just be himself.

The phone rang during Han Solo’s big scene. It ruined the emersion a little bit. Billy would never admit out loud he had a crush on Han Solo, because he wasn’t stupid, but he felt that everyone had a little bit of a flutter for him. Surely? Right?

Steve reached back to where the phone was sitting on a side table. It was still so weird to Billy that his house had more than one, but the perks of being rich. More than one phone, a massive television and a personal VCR player. A whole bathroom for just downstairs. Billy sat up again, reached for an open soda and paused the movie as Steve answered, tucking the dark green rectangle under his chin.

“Harrington residence…. Oh, hi Mr Hargrove…”

Billy froze dead on the spot for just a second, his blood running cold, eyes probably wide and frantic as he grabbed Steve’s wrist to check the time on his watch. Curfew had been half an hour ago. He’d been so wrapped up in the movie and Steve and just being content and happy for once he’d completely forgotten to keep an eye on the time. And now he was going to get it for sure. The only reason he’d been allowed over anyway, to spend time with another boy, was because of the Harrington name. It held a lot of prestige in this dumb hick town. And Neil was a stone cold sucker for keeping up appearances.

Billy went to move, to get up and find his boots he’d kicked off hours ago and drive back as fast as he fucking could, but Steve put a hand on his leg, gave him the eyes, pushed down slight but firm. Stay.

“Yeah he’s here… We’re just working on a school project Mr Hargrove I-...”

Steve’s regular phone voice was equal parts butter wouldn’t melt innocent and boardroom professional. It was a wild mix. Billy stayed frozen to the spot, giving eyes he wasn’t sure weren’t completely insane. The longer he stayed, the more trouble Billy would be in, they both knew this, and yet Steve just rubbed his thigh like it was no big deal. Like he wasn’t on the phone to someone who had broken Billy’s wrist in the past for breaking curfew when he was thirteen.

That had been by half an hour too. And because Billy had been at another boy's house.

“Oh, you want to speak to my father? Sure. I’ll just pass you over, hang on...”

Billy just sat back and watched, now in total fascination and complete confusion as Steve tossed the handset back and forth to himself like he was passing a basketball in warm up drills, as he swung his long legs off the couch and stamped his sock covered feet on the floor, rocked and rolled in place to make the couch springs squeak in certain ways, talk muffed things that weren’t even real words into the back of his arm, before tucking the phone on his shoulder again on the opposite side.

“Yes?” The voice that came out was a whole octave deeper. It still sounded like Steve, but it didn’t. Each letter was far too pronounced to be how Steve would say it. He grinned at Billy, listening to Neil talk through the handset. “I apologise for that, but the boys have been working very hard all evening, I don’t think they’ll be done anytime soon. Maybe it would be best for their educations if William were to come home tomorrow?”

The smirk Steve shot across the couch was something wicked. It was so clear he’d done this many times before. Billy had never heard Harrington Sr, had only seen him in that one photo in the hall, but the voice Steve was using matched the figure pretty perfectly. He even molded his body to fit more in an upright posture, arms and legs straight, face more square somehow. Morphed into what Billy assumed was a perfect characterisation of his father. Even scratched his top lip all pretentious like Harrington Sr looked like he would do.

“I understand your concerns Mr Hargrove but I assure you this is for their best interests. There’s quite the setup on my dining room table, and heaven knows my son needs all the help he can get.”

Billy finally started to relax again, sinking back properly into the cushions, when Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, mimicked Neil yammering on with his free hand. Neil was a totally different person when he spoke to people he respected, tried to always get on their good sides no matter what town they moved too. It was a show of course but no one really knew that.

"I assume the reason he didn't call is because it wasn't planned Mr Hargrove, boys will be boys after all. William is perfectly fine here. More than welcome to stay, he's a good influence on my Steven."

Steve reached out to the coffee table for the half empty pack of Billy's Marlboros and his lighter, hitting one out as he balanced the phone on his shoulder.

"Now if you don't mind, I do have some important work to get back too. Please refrain from calling unless it's an emergency. We will do you the same courtesy. Goodbye."

With that, Steve stretched his body back to hang the phone back on his receiver and light up the cigarette, laughing at Billy’s expression which must have been a weird mix of everything but mostly, what the hell was that?!

“What?” He chuckled around the puff of smoke. “You think I’ve never pretended to be my dad on the phone before. Gotta keep the school off my back somehow.”

Billy snatched the cigarette without malice, just for a calming inhale, just to let it sink in that stupidly brilliant pretty boy doll face secret boyfriend Steve Harrington was actually something of a genius. Just to let it sink in that Billy was free for the night. Without a second question asked. All because of a voice and a name.

God, small towns were weird with their hierarchies.

He passed the cigarette back and settled back into his previous spot on Steve’s shoulder, felt lean arms come back around before one of them started the movie again.

“Your old man’s a fucking dork by the way,” Steve muttered, stubbing out the filter in an ashtray after a few minutes. It made Billy laugh and squeeze Steve’s thigh, just where his hand was.

“I know man, I know.”

[wordsablaze]

10~ the chance to see the light

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: 2021 is lowkey already a mess so here some good vibes with these two dorks being almost the exact opposite !!

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @havenoffandoms @lasaga666 @mayastormborn 

previous chapter

-

The market is loud.

So incredibly loud.

Eskel has rarely ever come across a market so loud and even if he has, he’s never stayed longer than just passing by for necessities or just travelling through to leave town. Crowded places can never exactly be a witcher’s best friend due to all the mutations so no matter what, Eskel always feels a little on edge in markets.

Jaskier on the other hand seems to be in his element from the moment they enter the crowds. He greets practically every merchant they see even though he buys nothing from them, which baffles Eskel, who’s used to often buying things he doesn’t remotely need from various people because he feels bad for wasting their time, but it seems to be the norm for Jaskier - he figures it’s a bard thing. And a pretty endearing bard thing at that.

Well, it’s endearing until Eskel bumps into someone, swivels on the spot as they both apologise to one another, and then turns back to find Jaskier gone.

“Jaskier?” he asks, but said bard is nowhere to be seen.

Eskel groans, his mind unhelpfully reminding him of the siren incident, and cranes his neck to look over the people around him to try and spot either Jaskier’s lute or his bright doublet. When he can find neither, he sighs and starts moving, mumbling apologies every time he has to literally push past the sheer number of people that he didn’t even think could fit in this town and hope none of them think badly of him for it.

He’s just beginning to think Jaskier had used the market as an excuse to be rid of him when someone crashes into him but instead of immediately jumping back, latches onto his arm with a surprising amount of strength.

“Eskel, there you are!” Jaskier grins, steadying himself but still not letting go. “I am so sorry for disappearing, I didn’t know you’d stopped walking.”

Eskel exhales slowly, nodding. “That’s okay. There’s just, uh, a lot of people here.”

Jaskier’s expression softens into sympathy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be so crowded. You can never really tell which towns go for the morning rush until you’re part of it, unfortunately. Do you want to leave?”

Eskel blinks at being given the choice. He’d figured that, the same way he’d taken responsibility whilst hunting a siren, Jaskier would decide their plans whilst hunting a mirror. “No, that’s fine, just… let me know where you’re going next time?”

He means for it to be a joke but Jaskier frowns, biting his lip as he slowly lets go of Eskel’s arm. The small distance that creates between them doesn’t last long because Jaskier hesitantly slips his hand into Eskel’s, not quite gripping it properly but carefully holding his fingers in place as if waiting for approval.

As much as Eskel wants to provide said approval, he hesitates. “Are you sure? That’d send a pretty clear message that we’re… that you’re friends with a… with me.”

Jaskier smiles softly, somewhat sadly. “We are friends, darling.”

“But this is different and-”

“I know,” Jaskier interrupts, “but I can’t promise I won’t get distracted again and I don’t want to get overwhelmed with your witchery senses and all.”

Oh, so Jaskier is just being considerate. Eskel chides himself for thinking anything on the contrary and nods, returning Jaskier’s smile as best as he can because he���s not about to refuse him when he’s just trying to help. “That’s very kind of you.”

Another frown flickers across Jaskier’s face but he doesn’t explain it, only nods and gently squeezes Eskel’s hand as he firmly interlocks their fingers, so Eskel doesn’t question it, letting himself be guided to the different stalls.

If later asked, he wouldn’t be able to recall what anyone was selling at any of the stalls. What he would be able to recall is the way their hands may as well have been made for being held, the way he could feel a firm tug all the way up to his shoulder every time Jaskier turned to admire something or the other, the way Jaskier turned around with a look of concern if Eskel didn’t move fast enough when being pulled along.

He genuinely has no idea how much time passes before Jaskier comes to a complete stop with a rather dramatic gasp. “That one! Oh, Eskel, isn’t it lovely?” Jaskier asks, gesturing to a small, circular mirror.

The merchant seems a little sceptical to hand it over at first, presumably not a huge fan of witchers, but Eskel watches as his gaze travels to their connected hands before his doubt morphs into amusement. When he looks up again, he’s smiling and offers the object up with no hesitation, which is a little confusing but it’s not like Eskel is going to question it.

“Well, what do you think?” Jaskier asks as Eskel takes the mirror, squeezing his hand in what could be excitement or support but is appreciated either way.

It’s a pretty simple design, with one side smoothed down perfectly to create a reflective surface and the other side curved outwards with a flower carved into it. He shrugs. “It’s really nice.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Melitele save us from witchers and their limited reviews. It’s a rose, Eskel. It’s not just really nice, it’s perfect!”

Well, if Jaskier is so determined to continue comparing him to roses, he’s not going to complain regardless of how much he disagrees. And yes, upon further inspection the carving is an impressively delicate rose, so he smiles. “It’s really perfect?” he offers.

Both Jaskier and the merchant laugh, and Eskel is so distracted that he forgets to pay attention to how much Jaskier is spending on the mirror, on him. He’s drawn out of his thoughts when Jaskier tugs on his hand again, grinning.

“You’ll be happy to know we can leave now!” he announces. Although Eskel is more than relieved to finally get out of the sensory mess otherwise known as a market, he selfishly doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier’s hand yet.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not really, no. I replaced my lute strings not long ago and we just ate and I don’t really have much coin left anyway because the patrons of this town aren’t particularly generous so there’s nothing keeping us.”

With a sigh, realising there’s no excuse for them to stay attached any longer, Eskel releases his hold on Jaskier’s hand and starts walking back the way they came. He makes it about three steps before the scent of honey he’s so quickly become comforted by turns sour. Though when he turns to see what’s happened, Jaskier is smiling as if there’s nothing wrong.

“You forgot your mirror, Eskel,” Jaskier tells him with a nervous chuckle, holding out said object.

He takes it from him but that can’t have been the matter because Jaskier still smells the way Lambert does when Vesemir withholds his brewing privileges. Before he can ask, Jaskier brushes past him and speeds up so quickly that Eskel almost loses sight of him again before he manages to catch up.

“Jaskier? What is it, did something happen?” he asks eventually, by the time they’re nearer the inn and there are less people around.

Jaskier shakes his head but doesn’t stop walking. Eskel glances between him and the mirror, which he then pockets so he doesn’t break it, before sighing, confused. “Do you need more coin?”

That seems to have been the wrong way to go about fixing things because Jaskier turns on his heel and folds his arms, all but glowering at him. “I do not and will never need your pity coin, I am perfectly capable of covering my own expenses, thank you very much!”

Eskel wants to disagree, considering that Jaskier is currently wearing his spare clothes, but he also has the feeling that Jaskier wouldn’t take too kindly to him pointing that out. Instead, he just shrugs. “I’m sorry, bardling, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jaskier interrupts once more, but this time he just sounds tired, his previous determination long-gone. “Just tell me honestly, was it really that bad?”

“What?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier gestures vaguely to nothing in particular and yet somehow looks surprised when Eskel doesn’t seem to catch on. He sighs quietly. “You know, holding hands?”

Wait, what? Oh gods, Eskel seems to have completely missed something here. And apparently Jaskier has too, because he seems equally as lost when he sees that Eskel has no idea what he means, his glum transforming into uncertainty.

“How about we go inside first?” Eskel suggests, which he feels is the most logical course of action since the inn is within sight.

The second they’re back in their room, having deposited their respective lute and swords on the floor, Jaskier whirls and gives Eskel a pointed look. “You let go of my hand. I think it’s better you explain why instead of me standing here and guessing.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Eskel says honestly, “you said you were helping me in the market and I didn’t want to take advantage of that kindness once we left.”

Jaskier scowls, but it’s clearly not directed at him because the next thing he does is launch himself forwards and throw his arms around Eskel, who definitely doesn’t stumble in a not entirely unpleasant shock, no sir.

“All due respect, darling, but you witchers can be so stupidly obtuse,” Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder and Eskel laughs, letting himself relax into the embrace and waiting patiently until Jaskier eventually pulls back, thankfully free of any sourness.

“Just to clarify then: this is permission to uhm, hold your hand even when we’re not in markets?” Eskel asks, swallowing down the awkwardness he can sense burning inside him even as the words leave his mouth.

Jaskier grins. “Yes, even the mightiest of witchers are allowed to engage in the more ordinary act of hand-holding.”

Although he’s sure his doesn’t have quite the same charm to it, a matching grin blooms on Eskel’s face. “You know, I thought it was rather extraordinary, actually.”

Just as Eskel had predicted, there’s about three seconds of confusion before Jaskier blushes and his grin once again widens in a way that seems impossible and highly dangerous. He’d say it must be another bard thing but he’s beginning to think it’s just a Jaskier thing and he’s almost afraid of how many Jaskier things he’s been keeping track of lately.

“You’re quite the flirt for someone so obtuse,” Jaskier informs him, raising an eyebrow.

Eskel shrugs. “Must be the company I’m keeping.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests, but the accompanying giggle just makes it sound adorable. As soon as he thinks that, though, Jaskier smirks at him. “So you’re keeping me?”

Ah, not again. He truly has no idea how he’s meant to react to what he’s almost certain is flirting and unfortunately, that fact only seems to amuse Jaskier instead of discouraging him. Not that Eskel has any idea why anyone, especially this bard, would want to flirt with him in the first place.

“You’ve got your thinky-face on again,” Jaskier accuses him quietly, poking his chest. “Do you really have to think so hard on the concept of keeping me?”

Eskel finds himself shaking his head just a little too quickly. “No, no. I would be honoured to continue keeping your company, I just- I don’t know how to do this.”

Jaskier tilts his head to the right, raising an eyebrow. “With ‘this’ being what, exactly?”

That’s exactly what he wants to ask.

“This… this flirting thing,” he settles on.

“I wasn’t really considering it to be a thing so much as just the flirting,” Jaskier says, so quietly that it’s barely even a whisper.

Eskel can literally feel the way his eyes widen. He can also literally smell the way Jaskier begins to doubt himself so, without thinking, he reaches out and grabs the bard’s wrist, instantly regretting that choice when Jaskier flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, letting go immediately, “just, uh, just don’t leave yet. Please.”

With a slow exhale, Jaskier nods. “Yet?”

“You can leave whenever you wish,” Eskel clarifies, relieved when all Jaskier does is smile rather than take him up on that offer.

To his credit, Jaskier barely even moves as Eskel tries to compose himself. He rubs his fingertips together before just wrapping his arms around himself and shifts from one foot to the other but he doesn’t leave, giving Eskel as much time as he needs to choose an answer that doesn’t come across as something else that can be taken in the wrong way.

In the end, he just sighs. “I don’t- I mean, I haven’t been flirted at for longer than I can exactly remember. You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing the difference between the typical bardic reputation and the- and anything more… serious.”

“Bards can’t be serious?” Jaskier jokes, but it seems like an automatic response rather than his genuine response if the frown on his face is anything to go by.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eskel replies, very much wishing that he did.

Jaskier nods, reaching out for and taking both of Eskel’s hands. “I can assure you that despite also holding the uhm, the typical bardic reputation, I was being entirely serious about flirting with you.”

Eskel was a little afraid of that, to be honest.

“But if you don’t- that is, if it were to make you uncomfortable, I would be happy to uh, take that problem off your hands and stick to less serious flirting,” Jaskier adds, “or no flirting at all, even. That one may be considerably more difficult since flirting essentially becomes second nature in my trade but I can certainly attempt such an endeavour if it would ensure that we continue to travel together. And I’m aware you’ve already told me you’re happy with that arrangement but it only feels right to make sure in case-”

“You can stay sure,” Eskel cuts in before Jaskier rambles himself into a mess, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“But?” Jaskier asks, raising an eyebrow.

Amazed at how the bard somehow knows he needs to continue, Eskel smiles a little. “But I don’t know how to flirt and be serious about it.”

And he genuinely doesn’t. Obviously. He’s a witcher, he’s more than lucky if anyone at a brothel wants to keep their eyes on him, never mind maintain a conversation, and even then, that’s only if he goes to one in the first place. It’s not like he’s never been flirted at before, but it’s a little hard to take any of it seriously when it’s usually accompanied by undertones of fear or curiosity or mocking jest.

“It’s not like I’m an expert,” Jaskier scoffs and immediately, inexplicably, some of the tension in Eskel’s body melts away.

“What about all those romantic ballads of yours?” Eskel asks, frowning.

Jaskier shrugs, his thumbs drawing tiny soothing circles on Eskel’s hands. “Just because I sing about relationships doesn’t mean I’m in one, darling.”

Eskel is honestly a little baffled by how that can be possible. He can’t imagine being blessed with someone like Jaskier and then deciding not to try and keep him around - which reminds him to violently berate his brother for doing so - but frankly, he’s pretty glad nobody else has because if they had, he’d never have been given the chance himself.

“You look nice in my clothes,” Eskel blurts and, going by the redness that bridges over his nose all the way to his ears, Jaskier mercifully seems to understand what he’s trying to convey.

“I hope you’re aware you’re not getting them back now,” Jaskier teases.

Eskel shrugs. “A loss I’m willing to endure.”

Jaskier laughs brightly, throwing his head back with his hair arching messily in the air above him, his hands tightly clutching onto Eskel’s to stay balanced, and Eskel doesn’t need to be an expert on relationships to know that he’d happily lose any of his belongings if it meant being able to keep Jaskier in his life.

Well, maybe not his mirror.

-

...in retrospect, i may have made them a tad ooc by projecting too much but hey, it be like that sometimes :)

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[s-horne]

28 for superfamily!

“What in everything that is holy is that?”

Harley bumped into Peter’s back when he stopped dead on the lawn. “What?”

“That,” Peter said, pointing at the vehicle parked up on their drive. “Come on, Harl. Don’t tell me you can’t see that thing. Look at it! It’s the size of our old school bus. What the hell–”

“Language!”

Harley snorted at Peter’s eyeroll and turned to greet Steve as his Pops stepped out of the front door, Mary on his hip.

“Seriously, Pops,” Peter said, accepting Mary when she squealed and reached for him. “Where did Dad even find this? It’s huge.”

“That’s what your Pops said.” Tony followed Steve out onto the lawn, a wide grin on his face and a couple of cool bags in one hand, keys in the other. “And I don’t just mean the–”

“Nope,” Harley cut in, holding his hand up in anticipation. “You can stop that right now.”

Tony smirked as Steve just sighed, resigned and used to the antics of his family.

“Seriously, though,” Peter said, bouncing a little to keep Mary amused as she reached out for his hair. Her little fingers could hurt. “What’s with the coach?”

“It’s not a coach, you monster,” Tony said, smacking Peter on the back of the head as he walked past to load the bags into the trunk. “It’s a mini-van.”

“Not very mini,” Harley muttered, holding out a hand to tickle Mary when she lunged for him. The girls always wanted to be close to their brothers whenever they were home from college, and the boys were happy to oblige. “Could fit my college football team in there.”

Tony huffed, walking back over and taking his youngest daughter into his arms. “Ungrateful brats. Give me my angel. You won’t bully Daddy, will you?” Mary went to Tony happily, babbling as he repositioned her on his hip. “Right? My favourite–”

“Tony! Don’t finish that sentence! You’ll give them all a complex.”

Meeting Harley’s eyes, Tony winked. “Yes, darling,” he said to Steve, turning to head back into the house and fish out their last child. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Steve shook his head, albeit fondly, and was about to speak when a bundle of energy crashed into his legs. With an exaggerated groan, Steve stumbled forward a few paces, much to the delight of the girl attached to his leg. The air filled with loud giggles.

“Beach day, Pop!” Morgan cried, lifting her arms into the air. “Beach day!”

Bending down effortlessly, Peter swept in and swung her through the air. “Beach day, baby!” he said, tickling his sister’s stomach until she squealed. “You all packed and ready to go?”

“Took my colours,” Morgan said, wide smile ever prominent. Her curls had fallen loose from her ponytail already and were sticking to her forehead despite the number of clips trying to hold them back. “And my tutu.”

“Your tutu? Wow!” Harley commented, taking some foldable chairs from Steve and walking down to the van. “Gonna be the prettiest baby on the beach.”

“You’re all ready to go in the van then, aren’t you, babe? The stupidly big truck that could seat 700 people?”

Steve laughed at Peter’s words and Harley’s eyeroll. He stepped back to look at it when he’d deposited Morgan’s bag by her car-seat and tilted his head. “It is quite big, isn’t it?”

“Quite big?” Peter repeated incredulously. “It’s insane, isn’t it, Morg? Yes, it is. Yes, it is.”

Harley had always been the quieter of the two Stark-Rogers boys, from childhood right through to their college years, so it was no surprise that he was the one who shot Steve a sheepish and considering look.

“It is a little large, Pops.” His tone had an edge of apology to it and Steve chuckled at his gentleness. “Why did you need it this size? Got any other kids that you need seating for?”

“Yeah,” Peter chimed in, “I thought Mary was your mid-life crisis? You said no more kids after Morg and then, bam.”

Steve laughed again, reaching an arm out to pull Harley to his side and waving at Morgan when she shouted at her name. “Definitely no more kids,” he assured them all. “The four of you is enough – too much, one might say. Your dad just… well. I have no idea why, really. He went on and on for ages about making sure we had enough space for a family holiday.”

“Baby girls do have a lot of stuff,” Peter commented, dipping Morgan and pulling her back up before she hit the ground.

“And so do sweaty, teenage boys.” Tony reappeared on the lawn, Mary asleep on his shoulder with her face half-hidden in her teddy – Peter’s old one, to be precise. How she’d managed to fall asleep through the racquet her siblings had made was anybody’s guess. “I need a coach to fit all of your dirty laundry on whenever you decide to come home.”

“Oi!” Peter said through a laugh, bouncing Morgan on his hip again as a distraction when she tried to lunge to Tony. “But come on, Dad. What do you know about driving a vehicle this size? You’re meant to buy a sports car when you lose it, not a bloody–”

“You cheeky sod! You better not corrupt my angels on this damn holiday,” Tony grumbled, nodding at Morgan giggling into Peter’s chest. “They’ve been so sweet without you pair of goons here. And they have at least a few more years of thinking Daddy is amazing, so shut it.”

“‘Mazing!” Morgan cried, lifting her arms in the air and grinning, baby teeth fully on show. “Daddy, ‘mazing, Daddy!”

“Isn’t he just?” Steve cooed as he reached over and took her from Peter. “We love Daddy.”

Harley laughed as Peter rolled his eyes again. “It’s not that we don’t love Dad, but we also value our limbs.”

“Exactly,” Peter said. “I have a match when I got back to college in two weeks. Could do with all my bits and bobs still attached.”

“I’ll personally claw off your bits and bobs if you don’t shut it,” Tony growled, sticking his tongue out at Peter’s faux-shocked expression. “Go get your bags.”

“And you want your children to stay angels? Honestly, Dad. Bad influence.”

“I’m going to leave you here and you won’t come on the damn family holiday.”

Peter laughed as he bent to pick up his duffle. “Keep talking to me like that and I won’t want to come.”

“Oh, you two!” Steve shouted from the van, “shut up and get in the deathtrap.”

“Everyone,” Tony said loudly, one hand covering Mary’s ear as he did so and the other darting out to smack Steve on the arm. “Get in the damn van before I steal my favourite children and leave you all here.”

With one last wide grin to show he didn’t really mean any of it, Tony turned on his heel and headed for the mini-van.

Harley caught Peter’s eye and they both spluttered a laugh, looking back to watch Steve try to corral Morgan to sit in her seat on the van and be buckled in and Tony try to jump up the step with a sleeping baby in his arms.

“Not to be dramatic, but I think we’re all going to die.”

“Wouldn’t be a Stark-Rogers family holiday without that threat, though, would it?” Harley laughed, clapping Peter on the shoulder and lifting his own bag onto his shoulder. “Also, shotgun backseat.”

Peter’s outraged cry followed him all the way to the van.

(this list)

[spaceyantique]

five’s a crowd [beatles x reader] part six

chapter summary: It’s game night with your bug boys, and it goes about how you would expect. John is chaotic, Paul does very little to contain that energy. Ringo confirms that he IS, in fact, an old man, and you and George spend the evening sharing an armchair.

warnings: there is drinking and some (offscreen) drug use. we don’t condone drugs! please be safe!

these chapters certainly are getting longer, yeet. let @kalypsichor​ and i know what you think and if there’s anything you want to see!

masterlist

one | two | three | four | five 

What can you say? Between his sweet personality and those bluer-than-blue eyes, Ringo always gets his way. You’d tried as best you could to avoid any more pure, unadulterated John-related chaos, but Paul had teamed up with Ringo for an unbeatable duo of puppy-dog eyes. They’d cornered you in the kitchen one day until you finally relented, damn them.

So, that Saturday night, you’re all squished around the table in the living room as Ringo slams down a comically large board game box. From the way his eyes light up as he looks at it, you’d think it would be glowing gold and sparkling, Cave of Wonders-style. 

“Fuck’s this about?” John’s brow furrows at the name on the box. He’s already gone through half his first drink of the night: a vodka tonic with more vodka than most people would go for. Paul’s hanging over his shoulder with a beer, also a bit tipsy.

“Clue! It’s my favorite game of all time!” Ringo’s excitement is endearing and sunshine-yellow, as always.

“Thought we were playin’ Monopoly.”

“We’re trying to mend friendships, John.” Ringo fixes him with a false-stern look.

“Yeah, John, Monopoly is a game that only ends in violence. ‘Sides, I actually like Clue,” you say.

“A board game nerd too. Who knew?” George smirks. He’s got a beer in his hand as well. Though you’re overall not thrilled to be forced to participate in another night of John Lennon ruining the apartment, you can certainly say that a pro is that you’re next to George. You’re sharing the overstuffed armchair because John and Paul have claimed the couch (“for canoodling,” Ringo accused), and you can feel the warmth of George’s thigh even through your jeans. How is this boy so warm?

For a second, you catch yourself thinking of the last board game night, which ended with you and George next to each other not so unlike tonight. Unfortunately, it had been in a dark closet during a drunken game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, and you’d been too awkward even with the alcohol to try anything. 

Thankfully, you’re brought back to reality by Ringo unfurling the instructions across the table. They’re nearly too large for him to fully open with his arms extended and you have a sudden vision of him as Clark Griswold from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

“Right!” Ringo declares, now unfolding the game board. “Everyone pick a character. There’s six, so everyone gets their own, no teams.”

“Red!” John lunges across the table for the red, but misses slightly in doing so and scatters the other pieces across the board. He’s met with a chorus of indignant cries and Paul smacking his bicep. “Sorry! Got to have me color!” 

“Right then, John’s Miss Scarlett.” 

John dramatically reclines on the sofa with girlish flair.

“Paul! Paint me like one of your French girls!” Paul rolls his eyes, muttering something about the importance of nude modeling to the art world and how John would take advantage of it.

George quietly takes the green piece and places it on his starting square, then turns to you.

“It matches my socks,” he says with a smile. Your heart flutters as you see that he’s wearing said fuzzy green socks right now. Don’t blush, please don’t blush, for God’s sake.

Instead, you grab the nearest piece to you (blue) and place it on your spot.

“I’ll be Miss Peacock.”

Ringo picks Colonel Mustard and George and John goad Paul into being Professor Plum (“Professor Paul! It fits, you’ve bloody GOT to!”). As Ringo deals the cards, Paul whispers something to John and heads to the kitchen, claiming he’s getting a drink. He does come back with a six-pack of hard cider, but he also places a phone down in the center of the board, on top of the Top-Secret envelope with the winning cards. 

“Is that where my phone was? I’ve been looking all day for it,” George asks as you crack open your can of cider.

“It’s the prize,” John says, his mouth curling into that wicked, Grinch-like smirk once again. As stupidly smug as he is, you’re a bit drunk and it’s hard to keep a grin off your face. “Whoever wins gets to decide who gets the phone.”

“It’s my phone, though. I bought it, I paid for it.” 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does too!”

“Well, now it’s a part of the game! We play for it.”

George, rolling his eyes, goes to reach for the phone, but a hellish shriek from John and Paul’s protest stops him. 

“Thou shalt honor the game!” Paul cries.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Bad things!” Paul’s grinning widely now and you’re biting your lips to keep from smiling. “Like in Jumanji!” 

“Yes, we get sucked into a jungle world for years and years until someone finishes a board game that we left in the attic and releases us and we have to fight all the animals they unleash too.” Ringo’s smiling now too, and George reluctantly agrees to play for his phone. “Then we’d best start now! Usual rules, plus each time you move, you drink.”

“Don’t worry,” you whisper to George, feeling a bit bold from the warmth of the alcohol already. “I’m pretty good at this game. I’ll win it back for you.” 

The smile he gives you increases that warmth in your body tenfold.

***

It turns out you are not, in fact, pretty good at Clue. It has a lot to do with your cards, and thanks to Paul’s subpar shuffling skills, you have a shit hand. Several turns in, and you’re not at all close to solving the murder of Dr. Black. Your lack of strategy also may have something to do with the fact that you’re onto your second drink (rum and Coke but with diet Pepsi because it’s cheaper). However, you’re relatively confident in winning, as John both does not know the rules and doesn’t currently have the capacity to learn them.

“Then... then I’ll use that portal. The secret passage,” John slurs, and Ringo shakes his head adamantly.

“No, you can’t, John. The passage is in the greenhouse. You’re not in the greenhouse.”

“Well then, where am I?” Ringo points at John’s red piece in the ballroom.

“How the hell did I get over there?!”

“Honestly, John, are you high as well as drunk?” You ask with a smile. He takes a liberal slug of his vodka tonic before responding in a deadpan: “This is my personality.” Behind him, Paul mouths “a bit high,” and you giggle.  

“Oi, you’re one to talk!” John shoves Paul with his shoulder, still with that easy smile on his face.

“Look, y’know, the people have right to know, it’s-”

“The people! The people? What fucking people?”

“What’s all this?” Ringo looks up from his expertly technical dice roll. 

“They’re drunk,” George laughs. 

“Can we get on with it, lovebirds?” You shift in your seat and are suddenly reminded of being pressed against George’s whole side. You can practically feel him breathing.

“Yeah, some of us are trying to win here. The stakes are high,” George grins. “So if you two could pull your heads out of each other’s arses-”

There’s a chorus of laughter around the table, and John drops his cards with a hilariously restrained “oh shit.”

With a good deal of direction from Ringo (“‘S like herding cats, the lot of you!”), gameplay continues.

“Alright… John, do you have… the rope?” Ringo bites his lip, glancing over his cards and his scratch sheet of paper. John gasps.

“What? How’d you know that?” He cries, and you laugh, leaning towards George a bit more without thinking. You let your head fall onto his shoulder and suddenly you’re back in that darkened closet again. You’d sat just like this on the floor, but with your knees curled up against your chest. Your head was on his shoulder, and his hand was so close to yours-

George stiffens a bit, and as if you’d been shocked, you sit straight up. You make eye contact with Paul accidentally, and for a second, that infamous pout curls into a smirk. You hear an echo of his voice in your head. I’ll get the truth out of you one of these days, y’know. Your eyes fall to Geo’s phone lying on the board, and you suddenly realize that it was Paul who’d gotten it from the kitchen, not John.

“Conspiracy!” John shouts suddenly, both echoing your thoughts and shaking you out of them.

“It’s not a fucking conspiracy, John, you guess, it’s how you play-” George argues.

“Ringo must be cheating!”

“How do you not know how the game works?” Paul teases, and John scrunches up his nose at him.

“Well, I was doing just fine until you-”

“Don’t blame me for your incompetence-”

“Incompetence!?” John practically shrieks, and Ringo snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Off with his head!” George says, and pantomimes cutting his own head off. He lets his ‘severed’ head loll back onto the armchair’s cushioned back, exposing his neck. He’s got such a lovely neck, more slender than one might expect. It’s long and the tendons and muscles are defined, and his collarbones peek out just a bit over the neckline of his shirt. He’s been wearing his hair curly for the past several days, and it goes in waves past his ears, ending in a little flick just below his earlobe. The sun has set by now, and in the lamplight, his skin looks like gold. Your eyes travel back up his hair, and you suddenly notice-- oh, fuck, he’s looking at you. 

You snap your head back to the game so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. John and Paul are still arguing, and you just barely catch Ringo sneaking a peek at John’s cards while his guard is down.

“Hey! Hey… do you wanna fight?” Paul says, and leans close to John’s face.

“... no.” John’s tone is sheepish but he’s smiling widely.

“Good.” Paul leans a touch closer. You swear John almost stops breathing.

Your eyebrows nearly hit your hairline as George snickers.

“God, get a room,” Ringo sighs, and John leaps up from the couch, Paul not far behind.

“Gents, fair lady, I’ve forgotten something in my room, and I’ve got to… get it.” With that, John stumbles down the hall towards his and Paul’s bedroom.

“I’m… helping him.” Paul rushes out too. 

“Then there were three,” George says after a beat of silence.

“Two,” Ringo says, standing and stretching. “S’pose that’s the end of it, so I’m going to put my headphones on as quickly as possible.” He bids you and George goodnight and then heads to their shared room, taking the fleece blanket from the couch with him.

“Smart move,” you say. “Poor Freddie upstairs said his bedroom’s just above John and Paul’s. He’s about to get a free show.” 

“With surround sound,” George says, and you snort. Reluctantly, you force yourself to get up, detaching from George’s side and busying yourself with picking up the cups, cans, and bottles littering the various surfaces in the living room. As you release your armful into the kitchen sink, George’s sudden shout from the living room startles you. 

“You idiot bastard! That’s what this was about?” You turn to see George still standing in the living room, hunched over his phone and calling down the hall to John and Paul’s room.

“You put fucking TINDER on my phone?!”

[dyaz-stories]

#29 and #30 for Inukag please 🙂

Here you go! This is a follow-up to the College AU I started last time, you can find the Part One here. I’m hoping to post once every two days and to have the last part out for the White Day. Hope you’ll have fun with that!

By the way, if anyone wants to be tagged for this, I’d be more than happy to do it! This will also be posted on fanfiction.net and Ao3, in case you would rather follow it over there :)

29. “Uh … how long were you standing there?”

30. “Don’t judge me–you’re the one who sings Disney songs in the shower!”

Inuyasha had meant to surprise her. It was a weird thing, probably, to want to surprise a girl by doing her fucking dishes, and perhaps he was a little too excited about that, too, because damn he fucking liked that girl way more than he should. He had come right after his last class, since he didn’t have basketball practice on Mondays, and Sango had opened the door at his first knock.

She had glared at him for a few moments, and he had simply waited. Sango wasn’t his biggest fan, but he didn’t blame her. Girl was extremely protective when it came to Kagome, and he would probably be the exact same, if he ever had the chance.

“If you hurt her,” Sango said, very matter-of-factly, as she stepped out of the way to let him in, “I’ll rip your heart out.”

“Keh. I’d like to see you try, slayer,” he answered, though if he hurt Kagome, he would probably let her.

She let out a dangerous laugh, but didn’t reply.

“I’m going to train. Dishes are in the sink.”

“Wait, where’s—”

The door slammed behind her, and he rolled his eyes. How dramatic could she be?

He dropped his bag on the ground and looked around. The place was very small, much like the one he shared with Miroku, and the setting was just as terrible. The living-room was ridiculously small, and he wasn’t even sure how he could fit in the kitchen. That wall, right by the sink, was stupidly placed, and from the look of it, the small room next to it was the bathroom.

Where he could hear water running.

Someone was taking a shower.

Shit.

So Kagome was in there, water running alongside her jaw, down her neck, her back, her legs, over her thighs, on her br—

Yup, nah, not going there. He swallowed with some difficulty and shook his head, trying to push the images out of his head. Fuck. Couldn’t Sango have warned him? At least he couldn’t smell her distinctly, with the shampoo and shit, but when she’d get out she’d be— tempting.

Dishes. He was there to do the dishes. Right. He needed to be doing that, not thinking about how good she’d smell when she’d come out, or about her long legs, her creamy thighs, her wet, parted lips, her small, lovely breasts, her—

Dishes.

But if he took hot water, she would probably notice, so, erm, he should… probably wait? He eyed the sink, and there wasn’t much in it any way, meaning that if he started now, he wouldn’t get to spend much time with her at all.

He couldn’t believe he wanted there to be more dishes when him and Miroku almost fought over who would do them at their place.

He liked that girl so much it was stupid.

“If there’s a price for rotten judgement… I guess I’ve already won that.”

He almost jumped, but no, Kagome hadn’t come out, and the muses weren’t singing to him either. She was just singing, apparently, just when he thought he couldn’t like her any more or could think she’d be any cuter.

“Who d’you think you’re kidding, he’s the earth and heaven to you.”

And she was doing the voices. Inuyasha held back a laugh, half-sitting on the table as he listened to Kagome. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting himself be enraptured by her voice. No one could see him, and that meant he didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to worry about people laughing at the half-demon so hopelessly in love with a priestess — yes, yet another, who could break his heart again because he didn’t deserve her either.

“No chance, no way, I won’t say it, no no.”

Same. That Megara girl really knew what was up, huh?

“It’s too cliche, I won’t say I’m in love…”

Ah, to be the one Kagome was thinking about when she sang that. To be the one who held such a place in her heart, to be able to hold her. He’d take far less than that, if he could. He’d be her friend, if she wanted him, he’d take being able to simply love her from a distance, even if that would crush his heart. He’d take anything if it meant he’d be able to keep her in his life.

“At least out loud, I won’t say I’m in love…”

His eyes snapped open when he heard the door sliding, and next thing he knew, he was looking at a very wet, very naked Kagome, with a simple towel wrapped around her.

She screamed.

He, fortunately, held back a scream — that was the least manly thing he could have done and he would never have gotten over it — and turned around.

“Fuck— Sorry— Didn’t mean to— Sango let me in for that dishes thing and I didn’t want to take your hot water—”

“You scared me,” she whispered, and she saw him tense. “I’ll— I’ll go change. Give me a second.”

She slid in her room, and closed the door with a last look at him. She couldn’t help but chuckle after that. His reaction? That was adorable. The look on his face, the blush, the way he clearly wanted to turn around but was holding himself back… And the thing he’d said about the hot water? Ugh. How could he dare.

She got out after having thrown on a tee-shirt and jeans. He had his hands in water, and she frowned when she realized he hadn’t put gloves on.

“Aren’t you going to burn yourself?”

He glanced at her, looking almost relieved that she was dressed now, and shot her a grin.

“Half-demon.”

“That doesn’t mean it would be pleasant, surely…” She tried dipping her hand in the water but he intercepted her right before that

“’m good, really, but it’s still hot,” he said, letting go of her hand almost immediately, like that touch was what had burned him.

She remained silent for a couple of seconds, not knowing what to do about this. About how fast he had stopped her so she wouldn’t hurt herself, about how warm, how gentle and careful he was despite his brash exterior, about how… She cleared her throat.

“So, erm, how long were you standing there?”

He grimaced. “Not long, I swear, I— Don’t judge me, you’re the one who sings Disney songs in the shower!”

She was unbelievably grateful that he was focused on the dishes when he said that, so he didn’t see her turning bright red. He’d heard that? Well, it made sense, because she was singing it when she had walked out but, still, he wasn’t supposed to hear her sing that.

“Oh, c’mon, I have a nice voice!” she joked, hoping she sounded natural.

“Keh. ’s alright, I guess.”

She bumped her head against his shoulder to indicate her disapproval, which was about the highest place she could reach, and then, when it turned out to be surprisingly comfortable, chose to stay there. Inuyasha tensed briefly, then relaxed.

“You’re leaving a wet spot on my shirt,” he protested playfully, forcing himself to say something so he didn’t just think about her body leaning against his, about how his shirt would spend like her after that, about how much he wanted her right now.

“Boo-hoo. So what, you can take almost boiling water, but wet hair is what sends you?”

He laughed, but didn’t reply. “Do you really mind?” she asked curiously after a few seconds. “I can move if you do.”

There was moment of silent, and then:

“…Nah. Nah, I don’t mind. You can stay there.”

For as long as you want.