#there's only two moments in the entire show that make me cringe + grimace and physically shut my eyes and look away from the screen

[vaggieslefteye]

Angel, can I see you in your dressing room for a moment?

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 11: Truth Hits Everybody

“I am a coward.” He said breathlessly, “But only because I don’t want you caught in my mess.” His bottom lip caught on hers for just a moment, and he released her with a tormented expression.  ��You deserve better, Rook.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Illario tries the "make her jealous" act, a missive from Viago delivers devastating news, Harding walks into the middle of a tense moment between Rook and Lucanis, and Ghilan'nain loses two dragons.

Word Count: 3.6k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: typical DA related violence, death, mention of murder.. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

In the middle of the villa gardens, Fiamma slid a vial of fish oil over the iron bistro table towards the First Talon.

“Caterina, please just take it. Let’s be done with this.”

Her early weeks at the Dellamorte residence hadn’t been entirely awful. By some stroke of luck, she and Caterina got on well, and typically took their breakfast together amongst the rose bushes, weather permitting. Their only point of contention? Caterina’s health. 

“Pretend I did, and I’ll tell your cousin how fabulous a job you’ve been doing around here.”

Fiamma swapped Caterina’s coffee for a glass of carrot juice. “You were going to do that, anyway.” She said, “Take it, or I’ll give you decaf.”

Caterina expressed her displeasure by ignoring her and poking at the half-eaten grapefruit on her plate. With an exasperated sigh, her breath visible in the crisp morning air, Fiamma examined the gardens. The flowers were bare and wilted from the autumn chill, and a few stray leaves drifted from the trees, sprinkled with dew from last night’s rain. Serene, save for the occasional rustle of foliage as birds skipped the surface, pecking and tugging freshly surfaced worms from the dirt. 

Suddenly, Caterina threw her arms wide with a loud gasp, interrupting her thoughts.

“Lucanis! My boy!”

As he strode across the courtyard, she shivered and gathered her cloak closer. Fiamma never understood how a man so close to her in stature carried himself as if he were seven feet tall. Stooping to plant a kiss on Caterina’s cheek, he grimaced as his grandmother squeezed his face between her hands, showing off a warm smile she only reserved for him. 

“How was your contract?” She asked, patting the empty seat beside her. 

“Too long.” He eased himself into the chair and reached for the carafe of coffee, pouring himself a cup. Leaning back, he nodded at Fiamma in greeting.  

“Enjoying your stay?”

“I would enjoy it more if your grandmother wasn’t so stubborn.” She said, returning her attention to Caterina and dropping her voice. 

“Take. The. Fish oil.” 

“Caterina, why do you give Fiammetta such a hard time?” Lucanis asked.

The First Talon scowled at her grandson’s admonishment and threw back the vial, her rings glinting in as sunlight peeked through the clouds. She chased it with juice and held out her hands expectantly.

“She abuses me, Lucanis.” Caterina grumbled, snatching her coffee from Fiamma’s grasp.

“De Riva, how can you treat a poor, defenseless old woman like this? After all she’s done for you?” His wink turned into a cringe as Caterina knocked her cane into his shin under the table.

“Call me old again and see what happens, boy.” She growled, standing up and shuffling past them. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic!” Fiamma called after her. “You’re not going to finish your coffee after all that?”

“You two deserve one another’s company!”

Fiamma leaned in towards Lucanis. “You saw her spit that fish oil into the carrot juice, right?”

“Old Crow trick,” He said, drinking his coffee. “People usually reserve that method for poisons.”

“Caterina thinks all medicine is poison. She’s going to be the first Crow to die a natural death.”

Lucanis smirked. “She’s too stubborn to die.”

Fiamma’s chair scraped over the patio stones as she stood and gathered the remnants of breakfast from the table. “I should go make sure she’s not putting out a contract on me.”

“Allow me.” Lucanis offered, swallowing as he set his cup down. He stacked the empty plates, taking the rest of the dishes from her hands and adding them to the top. 

“No need to pick up after the help, cousin!” Illario called in the distance, rounding a corner by the pond, arm in arm with his latest paramour: a wide-eyed wisp of a girl who clung to him, shivering, far too scarcely dressed for the cold. Illario’s influence, no doubt. 

Lucanis frowned, and Fiamma elbowed him in the ribs before he could speak.

“Just let it go,” she said under her breath.

“De Riva’s here as punishment.” Illario explained to his date, pulling out a chair for her.

“You couldn’t even spare a blanket?” Fiamma asked cooly, turning on her heel and pushing past Lucanis. “Classy, Dellamorte.”

His lip curled, and he shrugged off his cloak, draping it around his companion’s shoulders. The girl opened her mouth in protest and he shushed her, muttering something in her ear. Fiamma ducked under Lucanis’ arm as he held the kitchen door open, casting a disappointed glance over his shoulder towards his cousin.  

“He was sweet the first week.” She said as she set the dishes in the sink. “Then when he realized I wouldn’t jump in bed with him, he started parading around women to make me jealous.”

“Are you? Jealous?” Lucanis asked, nudging her aside and filling the sink.

“Of yet another victim of Illario’s facade?” Fiamma braced her palms against the marble countertop and hoisted herself up. “I pity her. He’s become such a selfish, cruel brat. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Lucanis said, scrubbing at the plate in his hands harsher than necessary.

Fiamma hopped off the counter, reaching for a towel. “You’re such an old-fashioned romantic, Lucanis. How did you end up that way?”

“Probably the brief influence my parents had over me.” He said, passing her a clean plate to dry.

“Make sure whoever you end up with someday remembers to thank them for that.”

A huff of air escaped his nose as he watched her from the corner of his eye. “Death is my calling, Fiamma. I fear any fool who fell in love with me would only share that fate.” 

“Don’t fall for a fool, then.” she quipped.

Lucanis’ smile faded as he watched her put away the dishes on a nearby shelf.

“My cousin is an idiot, Fiamma. Just ignore his antics. He’ll get bored, eventually.”

“Why are you cleaning?” Caterina’s cane clacked against the tile as she stormed into the kitchen so quickly Fiamma wasn’t even sure if she needed it. “If the maid doesn’t have enough work, she gets lazy!”

“We’re avoiding Illario. Have you seen his newest conquest?” Fiamma inclined her head towards the window. “She’s quite the catch.”

Caterina stood on her toes, peeking through the curtains, and scowled. “Too young for him, but sufficiently naïve.”

“A shame. I’d hoped he might have finally found the one.” Rook murmured, giving Lucanis a wink.

Caterina lowered herself, having seen enough, and tapped her long fingernails on top of her cane. “Take your cousin to Viago and find him a contract, Lucanis. He clearly has too much time to spare.” 

He snorted and wiped his hands dry on his trousers, returning Fiamma’s wink. “I’ll be seeing you, De Riva.”

Caterina’s eyes narrowed, shifting between them as her grandson stepped onto the patio. She motioned towards the den with a contented grunt.

“Come, Fiammetta!” she said, “I need you to pen some correspondence for me. My carpal tunnel is acting up again.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Mail.”

An envelope hit Rook in the face, and she sat up with a start. Glaring at Taash, she snatched it letter from the floor. “Can someone with a more delicate touch handle that?”

“Got a specific abomination in mind?”

“Get out before I kick your ass.” Rook threw a candle and Taash ducked with a smirk, watching it crumble as it hit the wall behind them. 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

They flopped beside her on the chaise hard enough that it rocked back. Rook braced her arm on the seat to keep from toppling onto the floor. 

“So I’ve got this thing with my mother later. Can you come with me?”

Rook gave them a bewildered look. “You’re asking favors? Now?”

“Uh. Yeah? That a problem?”

She sighed. “No, Taash, not a problem. I’ll be there when you need me.” 

“Thanks.” 

As they departed, Rook stared at the envelope in her hands bearing the De Riva seal. She hadn’t seen Viago in a week - the longest span of time since they’d reunited. It’d been a heavy week, too. She, Davrin, and Emmrich had descended into a nightmarish Grey Warden stronghold called the Cauldron, filled with blight and darkspawn. Hopeful to find where the gloom howler had taken the missing griffins, they discovered her plans to blight them instead - a twisted idea of freeing them. Davrin was rightfully distraught, but kept a cool head, turning his attention to researching obsessively in search of answers. 

The tension between her and Lucanis hadn’t helped, either. He was sulking in the pantry more than usual, carrying a look of shame every time she glanced in his direction during dinner. Why should she feel guilty about him wandering around like a kicked dog? He was the one who wanted to play the role of tortured romantic.

Rook took a dagger from her belt and worked its tip underneath the wax seal, tearing the parchment free and skimming her cousin’s missive. She squinted, trying to make sense of it, before she rose from the chaise and left her chambers. In a daze, she descended the worn stone staircase and crossed the courtyard as she reread it, her attention never leaving the page until she pushed through the kitchen doors. They creaked loudly on their hinges in protest, breaking Lucanis’ focus from behind the stove.

“Rook?” He looked up in surprise, carefully removing a steaming pot of water from the heat and setting it aside. “Are you alright?”

With a trembling hand, she extended Viago’s letter towards him. “What do you know about this?”

Perplexed, he reached out and took it from her. His eyes darted back and forth on the page, his frown deepening the further he read.

Cousin,  I hope this finds you well, and that you understand how deeply I regret our last encounter. I have feared for your safety my entire life, and never more than now, as you take on these gods. Know I will always come to your aid whenever it is in my power. Do not be afraid to call on me.  I’ve passed on your parcel, but I have many questions. You should not feel obligated to take care of Manius Casini’s family. Hear my words when I tell you they have more than enough gold for a good life in his absence. The Crows made sure of it ever since we recovered his body from the canals.  Your generosity is admirable, but do not spend another silver on the Casini family’s behalf. If you feel so inclined, perhaps that money could be put to better use on a place of your own in Treviso? That way, your vagabond strays can stop sleeping on my couch. -V

Lucanis scratched his cheek and passed the letter back to her. “I thought you knew, Rook.”

Her mouth felt dry. “Knew what?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Viago and I killed the Antaam responsible for your father’s death. The same night of the murder.”

“But Manius Casini murdered my father.” Rook protested.

Lucanis hesitated before continuing, clearly uncertain he should. With a sigh, he pulled out a chair, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor, and gestured for her to sit.

“I don’t need to tell you that Dante De Riva was losing his mind, Rook. He was suspicious of everyone, even Viago. Casini was a double-agent in a Crow operation against the Antaam. The only reason your father wasn’t aware was because he’d stopped taking contracts and isolated himself so much. Casini came to warn him, but your father didn’t believe him, despite their long history of working together. He fled for help, but by the time he reached the Crows…”

The room suddenly felt suffocating and Rook’s knees, already trembling, gave way as she slumped in her seat. Lucanis’ lips parted in astonishment.

“You killed him.” He breathed as he drug out another chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he sat down. “That’s why you’re sending his family money.” 

“I thought he-I didn’t-” 

“I’m not judging you, Rook.” He reassured her. “You don’t have to justify it to me.”

“I thought it was him, Lucanis. Illario told me-”

“Illario?” He straightened in his chair. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He read the report-”

“Then my cousin must be illiterate. I wrote that report myself. I was very clear.” Lucanis leaned forward, his demeanor softening. “Tell me what happened, Rook.”

She swallowed hard. “Illario brought Manius to the Opera House. On my birthday. He had him tied to a chair like a gift. He gave me this…” She tore her shortsword from its hilt and flung it across the table. It knocked against the wooden surface, rolling to a stop at the center.

“You’re not at fault for this, Fiamma.” Lucanis said, taking the sword and examining its blade in the firelight before setting it on the mantle. “Illario is.”

“I think a part of me knew. I just thought if I had revenge, it would go away. This feeling-this empty horrible-” 

“My cousin restrained an innocent man, handed you a weapon, and told you where to aim all that grief and pain.” Lucanis crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. “You’re an assassin, Rook. Illario knew what he was doing.”

She watched as he traced circles over her knuckles with the pads of his fingertips. For the work he did, his hands were surprisingly soft, where they weren’t calloused from years of wielding his blades.

“Manius claimed my mother was addicted to lyrium.” she whispered. “Is that true?”

“She got clean, but died from complications during withdrawal.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rook.”

���So my father was paranoid and a liar?” She sniffed, drawing her hand away and wiping her nose with her wrist. “And everyone knew but me?”

“Don’t let it change who he was to you. Grief blinded him, and he hunted down every Antaam running lyrium through Treviso. Unfortunately, it put a target on his back.”

Rook squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. “Why did no one tell me?”

“Viago asked them not to, to preserve your parents’ memory. He was trying to protect you. But he should have told you himself by now.” 

“I deserved to know then,” she said hoarsely.

Lucanis’ thumb brushed against her cheek comfortingly. “You did.”

“I can’t forgive Illario for this. Not ever, Lucanis.”

He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Firelight gently illuminated his brown eyes, shadows emphasizing the contours of his face. “I’m not asking you to.”

“He’s the coward. Not you. I should have never-”

“Rook…” A defeated sigh escaped through his nose, “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you about that day. There aren’t words enough to apologize-”

“No, I shouldn’t have called you that, you’re not-”

“I have been. With you.” He rose with her as she stood, one arm snaking around her lower back, pulling her against him. She blinked in surprise as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Rook rested her cheek against his palm, and a slight smile played on his lips.

“Fiammetta, I-”

The kitchen doors burst open, and they simultaneously recoiled. Clearing his throat, Lucanis turned towards the fireplace, watching the flames, and Rook planted her hands on the table as Harding entered.

“Rook! I’ve been looking for you…” she paused, glancing between them.

“What is it, Harding?” She asked, glaring at the patterns in the wood, trying to compose herself.

“Right…” Lace seemed keenly aware she was interrupting something, even if she didn’t know what that something was. “The Wardens sent word. One of Ghilan’nain’s blighted dragons is in Hossberg. Not far from Lavendel.”

Lucanis turned around. “The one that attacked Treviso?”

Harding nodded. “No sign of the one from Minrathous, as of now.” 

“Get the others.” Rook pushed herself up. “We shouldn’t waste any time.”

Lucanis caught Rook by the arm as she moved to follow Harding.

“Now? Are you sure about this? You should take some time to process-”

“Not to sound religious, but I don’t get to decide when these things happen. The gods do.” She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened around her bicep.

“Lucanis! Let me go-”

He pulled her in and smoothed his hands down the sides of her hair until he was cradling her face between his palms. His eyes searched hers desperately as his mouth hovered above her own.

“I am a coward.” He said breathlessly, “But only because I don’t want you caught in my mess.”

His bottom lip caught on hers for just a moment, and he released her with a tormented expression. 

“You deserve better, Rook.”

Her fingertips brushed against her parted lips as she watched him leave. Shoulders slumped in self defeat, Lucanis pushed through the doors without a glance behind him. With a shaky breath, she composed herself, reluctantly retrieved her sword from the mantle, and followed.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Damnit!” Neve shouted across the battlefield, “We need more hands!”

Rook’s knuckles turned white around her weapons as Ghilan’nain’s Icetalon extended its long neck and roared, spreading its wings wide as it took a menacing step in her direction. They’d put up a good fight until a second dragon, the very one that attacked Minrathous, arrived. With an endless supply of blighted blood at Ghilan’nain’s disposal to feed her thralls, Rook and the others were getting nowhere and only growing weaker. Even with Taash, a seasoned dragon hunter, on their side, they couldn’t seem to subdue them.

Lucanis and Assan soared overhead, striking at weak spots just as a streak of green blasted through the sky and lodged itself in the side of the dragon’s head. The Icetalon staggered back, falling to the ground. Rook turned around to search for the origin and cried out in relief.

“Viago!”

The ballista aimed for the Seartooth and fired another bolt, disorienting it. He leaned over the edge of the wall with a cocky grin.

“Thought you could use a hand!”

She smirked as the last dragon standing roared. Seizing the moment, Rook jumped over the dead Icetalon’s tail and dispersed a chain of lightning across the field. Stunned, the Seartooth barely caught Lucanis coming down upon its head, burying his blade in its skull. With a shriek, the beast shook him off and stumbled, collapsing in a heap.

Davrin cut in, sprinting and launching himself onto the dragon’s back, just as Assan dove through the air, swiping at its eyes. The Grey Warden drove his sword into its throat, gripping the hilt as he swung in the air, yanking hard to tear a line down the front.

Blood rained over the battlefield and Ghilan’nain’s thrall flapped its wings in a panic. With a feeble cry, it took to the sky only to plummet, shaking the ground beneath Rook’s feet with such force that it knocked her on her back.

The walls behind them erupted in cheers, and an ominous sense of déjà vu came over Rook as Ghilan’nain seethed above.

They were celebrating too soon. 

“She’s reanimating the dragons!” Neve warned. “We have to stop her!” 

Rook nodded, ducking under floating limbs and blighted tentacles to reach the closest ballista. She employed all her strength, digging her shoulder underneath it, lining it up with Ghilan’nain.

With a sharp inhale, she found her shot, just as her father had taught her during archery lessons. She fired on her exhale and took a step back, watching as the missile embedded itself in Ghilan’nain’s core. The dragons fell motionless, as the elven god howled in pain. The Wardens on the walls rallied, charging closer and Rook fell to her knees, exhausted. She grinned up at Neve as she caught her breath.

“For Minrathous?”

The detective smiled, offering a hand and yanking her upright. “For Minrathous.” 

Their faces fell as the air stirred with magic, static crackling above them. Neve threw out a shield just as a nearby group of Wardens were propelled back, and time slowed. Rook raised her head against an invisible force as Elgar’nan appeared beside his sister. He surveyed the field, frowning as his attention fixed on Rook.

“One resists…”

“The Dread Wolf’s influence.” Ghilan’nain rasped, “His presence lingers.”

Elgar’nan scowled and waved his hand. “Ever defiant, for now.” 

The air crackled again as they disappeared into nothing. Time progressed, marked by the sound of falling bodies - alive and dead - as they crashed to the ground with haunting thuds.

Neve released her shield and doubled over, chest heaving, and Rook scanned the field anxiously for her allies. Above, Viago, the other Crows, stood with Emmrich, Harding, and Bellara. To her left, Assan licked Davrin’s face as he sat up from where he’d fallen. Taash sheathed their weapons not far behind.

“Where’s Lucanis?” Rook asked in a panic. 

“Here.” 

She turned as he heaved himself from a deep puddle with a grunt, thick mud clinging to his boots and armor.

“We survived,” Neve said bitterly, staring at the sky. “Some of us, at least. Too bad the gods got away.” 

“We have our revenge. And so does Minrathous.” Viago interjected, casually descending a wooden staircase and leaping over a pile of debris. With a sob of relief, Rook rushed forward and flung her arms around his neck. He stiffened, attempting to pry her off.

“You’re making me look soft in front of the Wardens.” He hissed.

“Just let her.” Lucanis clapped a hand on his shoulder as he limped past. “She needs you right now.” 

With a resigned grunt, Viago encircled Rook with one arm, giving in to a reluctant half-embrace. 

“You did good, Little Flame.” He said. “You did good.” 

[bbina]

"y/n? it's me, can i come in?"

eunseok knocks on your door, an ear pressed on the doorframe as he listens for any movement

sungchan worriedly looks over at eunseok after a moment of silence. eunseok huffs and knocks again, this time a little louder incase you were just asleep. yet the two were still met with silence

that is until eunseok hears your sniffling from the other side of the door. now there was a 50/50 chance that your door was unlocked, and eunseok being your older brother, took that gamble. what could go wrong with opening your door (he did knock twice..)

and lo and behold, your door was unlocked this entire time. the two twin towers head inside your room only to be met with the sight of you crying on your bed

“stop moping around” you hear eunseok speak. you didn’t even notice he entered your room, your cries blocking the sound of him knocking. too emotional to even look up from your bed, your mind too heavy to even face your own brother

“y/n” he calls out, tapping on your leg as you quite literally give him no response. not even bothering to look at him.

you lay still.

you feel like absolute shit. your mind going haywire as you think about almost every possible outcome from your dilemma with wonbin. the consequences of your actions from the start finally caught up with you as you dwell in your mistakes.

you sniffle and eunseok sighs.

"he left seok... and i haven't even explained everything to him" you sobbed, finally looking at your brother. your eyes widened when you noticed sungchan was also with eunseok

"oh, i didn't know you were here too..." you mumbled, referring to sungchan while trying to hide your crying face from him.

sungchan smiles sheepishly, "eunseok called me"

you glared at eunseok for even thinking of calling sungchan for backup just because you haven't left your room all day. can't a girl cry her eyes out in peace?

"so would you like to tell us what's going on?" eunseok sits on your bed as he watches you intently.

with a sad sigh, you pick your phone up from the bed and started showing eunseok and sungchan the receipts you have. from wonbin's instagram story that he was at the station, to your unanswered texts and dms you've sent to wonbin for the past 2 days

"y/n, you literally broke his heart and you expect him to act the same?" eunseok grimaces, reading through all your texts. he was internally cringing at how desperate you were

"you didn't have to put it in that way!" your lips quivered at the reminder of what you did, "i didn't mean to.. if anything it was sungchan's fault!" you exclaim

"me?!" sungchan blurts out, pointing to himself

"now let's not shift the blame here... YOU initiated your little setup with wonbin when you had that stupid ass crush on sungchan.. and now that it backfired on you, you don't know what to do" eunseok points out, jabbing your forehead with his index finger

you flop back down on the bed, scrolling through your endless text messages to wonbin. not a single text of yours was read. you frowned at the memory of you doing the same to wonbin just almost a week ago. now that the tables have turned, it came right back to bite you in the ass

"the least you could do is give the guy some space and not bombard him further. it's almost like you're trying to manipulate or gaslight him into thinking that all this time you liked him when in fact you didn't... or did you?"

eunseok takes a second to pause, looking at your face for a reaction with what he just said. he had a little hypothesis with himself that there was actually no way you didn't like wonbin back in any way. with the way you're acting right now? you might as well just admit to him (and sungchan) that you like or liked wonbin at some point in your little arrangement

your silence just gave eunseok the answer he needed

‘it all makes sense now..’ eunseok thinks to himself as he watches you stay silent

you like wonbin.

“you like wonbin” eunseok says with a bit of amusements in his voice

you snap your head towards your brother with a puzzled look on your face. you like wonbin? you do but not in that way. wait, no you don’t. do you? you’re not even sure. in retrospect you did ended up knowing wonbin quite well. you’ve grown accustomed to his little habits. maybe you’re just used to having wonbin around that you forgot what it’s like to be on your own. has wonbin become something more in your life without you realizing?

“i don’t like him” you deny, brows furrowed as you try to ignore the weird feeling in your stomach. no you don't, you didn't possibly like him, he was just your distraction from your previous feelings for sungchan, “at least not in that way you're trying to say..”

eunseok purses his lips and gives you a look. a look that basically means to stop lying to yourself

“you wouldn’t act like you just got your heart broken if you didn’t like him one way or another, y/n.” sungchan butts in. wondering how you can’t see through your actions

eunseok suddenly starts laughing and smacks sungchan on his back

"not you giving my own sister advice when you were the reason why this all happened in the first place"

sungchan blushes and waves him off

"how would've i known if your sister liked me back then? i'm pretty sure she doesn't now already because..." sungchan trails off, making eye contact with eunseok before nodding. must be their own little twin telepathy

"she likes wonbin"

"she likes wonbin"

they both say at the same time like the twins from the shining. it scared you a little with how on sync they were, and even coming up with the same conclusion at the same time

you watch as the two idiots nod their head in unison like they just discovered something grand, talking amongst themselves at how they were basically playing detective

but the question still remains. do you like wonbin?

you start to reminisce all the times you've shared with wonbin. from the first time he saw you cry and wiped your tears, the time you first snuck out with him by the beach to listen to him play the guitar, to the time he first sat next to you in the car, to the little grocery trip, to the time you helped him cook, to that one dinner where he basically saved you from embarrassment, to the time he comforted you, the times he stayed up with you til you fell asleep, to literally every waking moment since that night

and how could you forget your first kiss with the boy you claim you don't like?

with everything going on, you couldn’t just bring yourself to reflect and admit your true feelings. you needed a few days to compose and sort yourself out before doing something that may or may not possibly ruin what you had left with wonbin (if you even had any left)

you want to fix this mess you’ve caused. you want to make amends to wonbin, you want wonbin back in your life.. but how?

"even if i do like him, what do i do now? he's probably elsewhere living life and i'm stuck here with regret" you say defeated, looking down at your lap. "i'm probably too late to even explain things" you chuckled bitterly

eunseok and sungchan both look at each other before looking at you. even they don't know what to do. eunseok reaches over and pats your head

"just give this some time. time heals everything and just.. go with the flow. he'll come around eventually" eunseok says, stroking your hair as an attempt to cheer you up

"we're always here if you need anything!" sungchan adds, attempting to lift the mood as well

with a sigh, you look up at the two boys in front of you. "thanks guys" you say with a sad smile, "but this is between me and wonbin.. i'm at fault here so i have to be the one to make it up to him"

sungchan gives eunseok a look

"not sure how i'll do it but i'll find a way.. i always do"

"that's the y/n i know" sungchan chirps

eunseok gives you a curt nod and a dad smile. "you know where to find me"

not a little later, the two boys leave your room to do something else (totally not because you kicked them out) and now you were left alone with your thoughts. thoughts that you clearly need to sort out before you do anything

taking eunseok's advice, your plan for now is just let time do it's thing

between the lines ★ time

⤷ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

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★ notes .ᐟ this is lowkey bad but i needed an interval!!!! ANYWAYZ are we getting somewhere

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[babyboiboyega]

I can explain (Shangqi x f!reader)

Shangqi x f!reader

Prompt: “When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you makes it right.” + never wanting to pull away kiss

Content: a little angst, but more fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Babyboiboyega’s Marvel Masterlist

A/N: this is my first ever time writing for Shangqi (or Shang-Chi), and I already have a lot of other ideas for this incredibly loveable character.

I hope you all enjoyed this!

A heavy sigh left Y/N’s mouth as she unceremoniously dropped onto her couch. The feeling of her limbs relaxing into the cushions almost prompted a moan of relief to follow the heavy sigh. It did, however, make her eyes flutter closed as she leaned her head back.

Y/N had been thinking of this moment the entire day. The moment when her week ended and her weekend began; a weekend of not having to deal with rude, angry-at-the-world customers who decide to yell at her because a privately owned publishing warehouse doesn’t print the book that they want. Or the customers who don’t check their emails for their tracking information and then get mad at her, for some absurd reason.

Another sigh leaves her mouth, and this time with the sigh goes her thoughts of work, entering the empty air for the weekend. 

But being off on the weekend didn’t exactly mean being absolved of texts and calls from fellow coworkers, ranting about customers, or even management. So when her phone’s ringer went off, signaling a new incoming text, she simply kept her eyes closed. She certainly had enough time to read and reply...but maybe later.

The text had already migrated to the back of her mind in the span of a few seconds...and then her phone went off again. This time, two quick “dings” sounded through her apartment. 

Her eyes opened before she slowly sat up, her phone coming into view. Before she could spare another though about her phone and it’s notifications, her hand quickly reached for the remote and pressed the power button.

She managed to flip through a few channels before her phone rang once more, and this time it was accompanied by a few knocks on her door.

Completely disregarding the fact that it was almost 11 at night and she hadn’t been expecting anyone, and being fueled by her now very obvious annoyance, it only took her a few strides to reach her door. In all honesty, she’d had no idea what she was going to say to whoever was on the other side of her door; but whatever had been ready to leave her lips died as soon as she opened the door.

“Shaun?”

She hadn’t been able to control the volume and surprise in her voice, and she saw his grimace in response. She couldn’t find it in herself to care if he didn’t like the volume in her voice; the very next emotions she felt surge through her body was...well, it was a cross between worry and anger. 

“Y/N...hey.” He had a sheepish smile on his face; one that showed off his dimple. One that she had to restrain from returning. But then she remembered the last time she had seen that same smile and the last time she had even heard from him. Her eyebrows raised incredulously.

“‘Hey?’ ‘Hey’?? That’s all...that’s all you have to say to me after being gone for...a month? And some weeks?” 

She could hear the hurt in her own voice, and it made her want to cringe at herself.

‘He could have been doing more important things than worrying about you’ is all that went through her mind.

Her arms crossed self-consciously in front of her.

“Please, let me explain. It’s… it’s actually crazier than you think.”

The hesitance on her part came from her nagging thoughts that flipped between “he was genuinely busy” and “he’s about to make up some absurd excuse for why he hasn’t spoken to you while also letting you down gently”.

“May I come in?” His eyebrows were raised as he gently asked for her permission. Y/N quickly nodded and stepped to the side before her thoughts could scare her too much.

His eyes stayed on her as he stepped past her, entering her apartment. She took a second to take a deep breath before closing the door behind him. 

She briefly wondered how her face looked as she turned to face him. Did she look as hurt and worried as she felt? Could he see her feelings on her face?

“I’m sorry for disappearing for...as long as I did. And I’m sorry for not reaching out at all during that time. But I can explain why.”

His eyes followed her figure as she walked slowly around her kitchen counter. He made no effort to hide the pleading look in his eyes, and he only began talking when Y/N raised her eyebrows from across the counter. 

“Okay. Just...bare with me.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed and more questions filled her mind as she watched him take a breath as if he were bracing himself. 

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect when he had started talking, but she definitely wasn’t expecting a story filled with martial arts, trained assassins, ancient organizations, soul-sucking demons, and dragons. 

Even after he had explained everything, his eyes watching and waiting for her reaction, she still couldn’t find the words to express herself.

Her body was frozen in its same position, and her eyes were wide and staring right at him. As the silence stretched between them, he couldn’t help grimacing slightly once again.

“Also, my name isn’t really Shaun. It’s Shangqi.”

That last piece of information seemed to finally shake Y/N out of her stupor, as she blinked quickly and let out a quick breath. 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” In all honesty, all of this was kind of making her head spin, and it was evident in the way her breathing picked in just the slightest. 

“W-What exactly do you say to someone who’s just saved the world? ‘Thank you’? ‘I owe you my life’- because, I guess, technically, I do owe you my life. Because of you, I still have my life- or my soul.”

At her rambling, Shangqi’s expression shifted from one of wariness to relief to a little worried. It had only just crossed his mind that he was worried that she wouldn’t believe him, and not worried about how she would receive the information.

She believed every word that had just come from his mouth, simply because she knew that he wouldn’t lie about something like this. She knew that he wouldn’t lie to her… at least she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You don’t have to say anything. I...I just needed you to know why I was gone. The thought of letting you go one more second thinking I just...left you was driving me crazy.”

A humorless laugh forced its way through Y/N’s lips. 

“Yeah, thinking I had driven you away was driving me crazy too.”

Before she could even regret her words, her eyes were drawn to Shangqi, whose head was shaking quickly. In a few steps, he had walked around the counter, coming to a stop a few feet from her. 

“That was never the case, I swear. You could never drive me away, not even if you tried.”

At the minuscule smile that appeared on her face, he risked taking another step forward. 

From where he stood, he could smell faint traces of her favorite perfume that had slowly worn off during her day. Her favorite perfume had quickly become his favorite scent, simply because it reminded him of her. 

From where she stood, she could easily see the faint signs of exhaustion on his face. No doubt from the strains of the last month and a half. It made her want to reach out to him. 

“Every second, from the moment we left, all I could think about was coming back to you. Even while staring into the face of a-”

“A mega soul-sucking demon?”

The quiet laugh that left his mouth seemed to weigh on her body, but not with pressure. Instead, all she felt was warmth, and it coursed through her veins with the power of 11 suns.

“Yes,” there was laughter in his voice as he responded, “even while staring into the face of a mega soul-sucking demon.”

As he spoke, he had gradually moved forward until taking a deep breath would easily have their chests brushing against each other.

Y/N couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke, her eyes flickering between Shangqi’s.

“You...you really thought of me when you were saving the world?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand raised and gently cupped her cheek. Soon after, she felt pressure from his forehead connecting with hers. Without hesitation, her own hands lifted, coming to grasp at his sides, desperate to pull him closer.

His breath fanned across her face as he spoke, and it made her hands tighten.

“When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you always makes it right.”

His words were quickly swallowed by Y/N’s lips pressing against his with fervor. The hand that was on her cheek gently titled her head back as he kissed her back with just as much passion, while his other hand wound around her waist. They both pulled at the other, as if they couldn’t get close enough. 

The warmth that had been coursing through her veins quickly turned into leg-numbing electricity the longer their lips were connected. Her eyes were closed, and so were his, but they could both see the other’s face behind their lids, surrounded by the stars their presence created. 

The only thing that could pull them apart was the need for air, and even then, as their foreheads connected and their lips stayed hovering over each other’s, they breathed the same air.

Shangqi’s words were shaky as he spoke, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“You make everything right.”

**********

Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this! I would take requests for this character, but I still have a ton of requests for LOK....

But maybe sometime in the near future!

In the meantime, I would appreciate it if y’all would interact in any way with this! Comments, criticism, questions, etc would be amazing, as would reblogs, but even just liking this helps!

Stay safe, y’all!

[shotorozu]

hullo, hope ur having a great day. Do you know that thing where people’s girlfriend shows their boyfriend how a tampon works? Like they demonstrate using a bottle and show their boyfriends, can I have that for the big three? ty and godbless 😚

how it works

character(s) : midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto, bakugou katsuki

legend : [Y/N = your name] quirk not specific, i used they/them pronouns but Y/N has a 🐱

headcanon type : crack (literally one mildy dirty joke from bakugou but that’s it)

note(s) : anon specified that they meant the main three in another message so,, do not be confused with that part. uhh i don’t use tampons either so how they worked really confused me 💀

»»————-　♡　————-««

midoriya izuku

to start off with this post, i’d say you’d have to show him. like— he’s not the type to straight up ask you how a tampon works

but he is kinda curious so..

he lives with his mom, and only his mom. so it’s not like periods are a totally foreign subject to him. BUT HIS MOM DIDN’T SHOW HIM HOW TAMPONS WORK

and he didn’t have any female friends, or any girlfriends before you so.. yeah.

moving on, he’ll get all red and flustered when you first ask him-

“izuku, do you know how tampons work?” it was wrong of you to ask him while he was STUDYING

“t-tampons??” he’ll immediately drop his pen, the blood rushing to his cheeks immediately.

but, because izuku is quite CURIOUS, he’ll say yes. he probably wouldn’t have gotten the guts to ask you upfront anyway

you prepare a clear reusable cup, and you’d fill it with water as you get ready the tampon

“ok, so this is how it works.”

you say that as a warning, just before you plung the tampon into the water

and izuku’s there, nodding— waiting for you to demonstrate to him how it works he sounded really excited NJWJDWJ

anyways, you dip the tampon into the water— and izuku’s eyes widen like saucers when he sees it EXPAND

holding it up, you show him what it looks like, the size of the tampon expanding twice it’s size in a matter of seconds.

“o-oh.” izuku lets out, startled.

he’ll start glancing back and forth between the wall, and the soaked material— clearly flustered, and also unsure what he’s looking at.

“does it really get that big?” he asks in a whisper like tone, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him

and you just nod, amused by izuku’s face— which is literally like this 😳

needless to say, he has a lot of respect for you. especially if you can use tampons so casually

but at least he knows how it works, but this will probably keep him awake at night for a bit

out of all of the characters in this list, he’s the most mortified (in a way) it’s almost amusing.

todoroki shouto

shouto will just straight up ask you himself.

pure definition of shower thoughts. he thinks a lot in the shower (thus why he’s kind of a conspiracy theorist.)

so he probably thought of that during the shower— and he didn’t really wanna ask just any of his girl classmates.

yeah, he has a sister. but all she ever did was disappear for a few days once a month,

he obviously has his mother too, he wasn’t exactly close to her either because he was isolated from his mom, and even his own siblings

but then he remembers he has you, his s/o so..

he immediately rushing towards you, entering your room in his usual manner, asking you how it works (with his blunt nature of course)

and you’re just like 🤠❓❓ “..why do you wanna know”

shouto just tilts his head, “i thought of it during the shower.” his curiosity quite raw “and.. i have no one else to ask.”

and you can tell he means well so.. you kiss his cheek and stand up “alright! follow me.”

fastforward, you sit on the counter as you fill a clear glass with water, while you prepare the tampon

“you ready, shou?” again, you say that as if you were warning him— but he only nods, watching attentively to see what would happen.

you dip the tampon in the cup, and it immediately absorbs the water— expanding by a lot

the color in shouto’s face drains, and he’s just there like 😦 “woah.”

“it expanded by a lot.”

“yeah, it does that.”

“can you feel it when it expands?” shouto asks, holding the string to check how heavy it is

and unlike the other two in this list, he’s brave enough to actually hold the string, not disgusted whatsoever

“hm.. i don’t know? it feels normal.” you shrug, opting to just look at shouto’s reaction

“i see.” he nods, “thanks, Y/N.” he kisses your cheek, before hoisting you off the counter

he’s glad he knows but.. he has a lot of respect for you if you can wear one every month.

homeboy just thought it just stayed like that the entire time

out of all of the boys, he’s more chill— seeing that for the first time. but he’ll probably ask if you want to use pads out of concern NWNSNSJZ

bakugou katsuki

no.

nope.

he does not want to know.

it probably came across his mind a couple of times before, but as of now? he’s not curious. not in the slightest

it’s not like he thinks periods and tampons are gross. he respects you for dealing with that shit— but he’s just not curious.

on the contrary, you still ask him if he wants to know how tampons work.

in this case, you use pads— but you already know it expands to that size already.

“kats, are you curious as to how tampons work?” you ask him one day, when you guys are just relaxing in your room

he turns his head slowly, looking at you in the eye “... no.”

“why though??”

“don’t you just plug ‘em in, and then take it out?” katsuki rolls his eyes as if it was that simple

“it’s not that simple though,”

“i still don’t wanna know.” katsuki insists, voice gruff “actually.. why are you asking me? don’t ‘cha use pads or some shit?”

he’s right but you choose to ignore him

“so you wanna die one day, knowing you don’t know how tampons work?” you tease, grinning at him

he only rolls his eyes. he doesn’t really want to know, but again— he can’t really resist you anyway

so he finally says yes. “fineee. but make it quick.”

moments later, you’re in the bathroom, filling a clear cup with water. katsuki just stands by the door way, watching you prepare the items

for dramatic effect, you added red food coloring, which earned a scoff from your boyfriend “what’s the food coloring for?”

“dramatic effect. and also accuracy.” bakugou only grimaces

you tell him to go closer, moments before you show him “okay. you’re about to see how this works.”

“just get on with it,” he says, feigning impatience— but you know he’s actually watching

you dip it in, and katsuki had to do a literal double take— watching how a small cylinder turned into a weird.. red floppy sponge

bakugou’s standing there, a hand on his hip like 🤨 “what am i even looking at?” his ears cringe at the sound of it dripping back into the cup

and your face is just 😟 huh BECAUSE YOU USE PADS AJDJWJSJ

“i.. don’t know??” you laugh at his reaction, and he honestly doesn’t wanna hold it even though he knows it’s just water with food coloring

“it was literally a cylinder a second ago.” he comments outloud, brows furrowed and face contorted in utter confusion.

“i know right?” you comment in amusement, “i mean.. i knew how it works but i never saw this in person.”

“ah yeah, it’s because you use diapers.”

katsuki teases. you know he’s just joking, but you still glare at him like 👺

and he just holds his hands up in resignation “sorry.”

in short, it was quite weird to see it expand in real time. but at least bakugou katsuki knows how tampons work.

“but i’m still bigger.” katsuki kisses your temple, before turning around and exiting the bathroom— going back to your bed.

you’re appalled.

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing, and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, and use my work for audio readings without my permission :))

[prouvaireafterdark]

We’ll Let the Flame Burn Once Again - a 3x07 Coda

My take on 3x08, with 100% more bed sharing, love confessions, and blow jobs than I’m sure canon will give us tomorrow.

Also on AO3!

***

Alex is halfway through the file on the Lockhart Machine when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Michael’s name flashes across the screen like an accusation when he digs it out of his coat.

“Fuck,” Alex sighs. He’d been so preoccupied with being kidnapped and faced with a life-changing career dilemma he’d completely forgotten that he’d never returned Michael’s voicemail or given anyone an update on the Kyle situation.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back, I—” Alex starts when he answers the phone, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Are you home?” Michael asks sharply. He sounds panicked and out of breath, like he’s just been running for his life.

“Uh, no,” Alex answers. “Why, what’s wrong?”

The laugh Michael lets out is strangled and more than a little hysterical. “Better question would be what isn’t, but I’ll give you the cliff notes: Jones took over Max’s body and now he’s trying to kill us.”

“What?” Alex asks, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Oh, and he’s also my fucking dad apparently,” Michael continues.

“What?” Alex says again. If that’s true, Alex has a few questions about where the hell those curls came from. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Michael says bitterly before he adds, all in a rush, “Look, I don’t know what he’s planning, but if he’s trying to get to me it’s only a matter of time before he goes after you and something tells me I won’t be able to build a bomb to get you back this time. You need to get somewhere safe, somewhere he won’t be able to find you.”

Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know about our history? Alex wonders. 

He looks around at the wooden beams of the abandoned barn-turned hospital room he’s currently stuck in as he replies, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t think he’ll be able to find my location.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Alex assures him. If he knows Ramos half as well as he thinks he does, he’s pretty sure this building wouldn’t even show up on a map. “Where are you going to go?” 

“No fucking idea,” Michael says. “My place isn’t safe and neither is Isobel’s so maybe we’ll just find a motel for the night or something until—“

“No, don’t do that,” Alex interrupts. “He’ll probably be expecting that and with Max’s face he’ll have access to police resources. If he’s motivated enough, he’ll track you down by the end of the night.”

Michael lets out a loud sigh before he says, mostly to himself, “Fuck Max for being a fucking cop,” frustration heavy in his tone. “You got any other ideas then?”

Alex considers that for a moment before he remembers the cabin Jim left him. It’s not a top secret military bunker, but it’s remote and about as secure as they can hope for right now.

“I do, actually,” Alex says at last. “Where are you right now?”

“The hospital,” Michael answers. “Maria’s fine, Liz and I just checked on her.”

“Okay good,” he says. “He probably won’t attack you if you’re in a public place so just stay there and wait for my call, okay? There’s something I need to take care of and then I’m all yours.”

Alex cringes at his own wording, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay,” he says. “Just—hurry?” 

“I will,” Alex promises. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” Michael replies, and then the line goes dead.

Alex turns back to his phone screen and pulls up his contacts. He hesitates for a minute, asking himself if what he’s about to do is really the right choice.

But then he thinks of Michael and how much easier it would be to protect him with access to all of the resources and intel Deep Sky has to offer. If Jones is even half the threat he seems, Alex has a feeling he’s going to need all the help he can get.

Alex makes the call. It rings twice before he gets an answer.

“Have you made up your mind then?” Ramos asks, foregoing a greeting entirely.

“I’m in,” Alex says, projecting confidence he doesn’t quite feel. “Now do you think I can get a ride back to my car? I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Thirty minutes later, Alex leaves Kyle in Ramos’ care and hits the road. He’s careful not to speed too much—the last thing he needs is to get pulled over right now—but he’s definitely pushing it.

Alex had called Michael back while he waited impatiently for Ramos and gave him instructions on how to get to the cabin—an indirect route with minimal traffic cameras along the way. Looking at the clock on his dashboard, Alex guesses Michael will probably have already let himself in by now.

Sure enough, Michael’s pick-up truck and Isobel’s SUV are already parked outside by the time Alex pulls into the dirt path he calls a driveway. When he opens the front door, he sees a small crowd of people in his living room, all wearing various expressions of exhaustion and defeat.

Rosa has her boots propped up on the coffee table next to Michael’s hat where she sits in the armchair in the corner, her eyes trained on Liz who looks to be wearing a hole in the carpet with all of the pacing she’s doing. Michael is sitting with Isobel on the couch, her head resting heavily on his shoulder and her arms drawn tight across her chest. 

They all look up at him as he steps over the threshold, but Michael’s the first to react, his back straightening against the couch the moment he lays eyes on him.

“Alex,” he says, little louder than a whisper. Alex feels the sudden desire to pull him into his arms. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Alex says, closing the door behind him. “It’s a long story, but I found Kyle.”

“You found Kyle?” Liz asks, her eyes wide as she takes a step closer to him. “Where is he?”

“With his uncle,” he answers.

“His what?” Rosa asks at the same time Liz says, “Kyle doesn’t have an uncle.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Alex says. 

This time of night, Alex figures they could all use a pick-me-up, so he heads to the kitchen and gestures for them to follow. 

While he gets the ancient coffee pot going, he can hear the sound of chairs scraping against the floor behind him as they all find a seat at the table in the middle of the room. There’s an empty seat next to Michael when he goes to sit, so he takes it, figuring it’ll be easier to stay focused on the task at hand if he doesn’t have to look directly at him.

As he sits down, he catches Michael’s eyes shifting toward the dusty bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge, but he surprises him when he doesn’t ask for it. Alex isn’t sure if that’s for Rosa’s benefit or his own, but either way he can’t help but feel a little proud of him.

They talk for what must be hours, starting with Kyle and Alex’s involvement with Deep Sky and ending with the shit show that went down with Jones tonight. It’s a lot to process, for all of them, but they do manage to come up with a plan for tomorrow. 

Michael is understandably suspicious of Deep Sky, but after Alex relays what he learned about the Lockhart Machine’s origins in Caulfield, he wants to get his hands on it. The idea of working so close to him makes Alex nervous for more reasons than one, but Michael’s right—he needs his help if he’s going to make any meaningful progress before the other shoe drops with Jones and pretending otherwise is going to get someone killed.

Liz, for her part, is eager to dive into the science to see if there’s anything she can do to help Kyle, so Alex will take her to the barn in the morning before he and Michael tackle the Lockhart Machine. 

With no leads on where Jones took Max’s body, Isobel and Rosa decide to check on Maria and see if there’s any progress they can make on freeing her from the hold Jones has on her mind. 

It’s as solid a plan as they’re capable of making with what they’ve got, so the moment Michael yawns behind the grimy bandana on his hand Alex is ready to call it a night.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight,” Alex says. He pushes back from the table and starts collecting coffee mugs to put in the sink as he continues, “There’s a guest bedroom down the hall and an extra bed in the secret bunker under the coffee table in the living room for people to crash in.”

“The what under the what?” Liz asks, bewildered.

“Alex Manes, do you have a sex dungeon in your basement?” Isobel asks, sounding intrigued and a little impressed before she grimaces suddenly and turns to Michael. “Ew, wait, did you know about this?”

Alex resolutely does not look at Michael as he sighs, “It’s not a sex dungeon.” 

He considers telling them about the room’s true intended purpose, but decides against it—there’s been enough revelations about distant fathers for one evening. 

“It’s just an extra bedroom,” he continues, before turning to Liz and Rosa. “The bed down there is big enough for two people to fit in if you guys don’t mind sharing. The bed in the guest room’s just a twin, so it’d be a tighter squeeze.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rosa shrugs, eyes on Liz as she continues, “As long as you don’t steal the covers.”

“Oh come on, that was one time when I was seven,” Liz protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Isobel interrupts their sibling banter to say, “Dibs on the guest room then. Sorry, Michael, you’re on the couch tonight.”

Michael shrugs like he expected that, but Alex stops him with a hand on his arm as he goes to walk toward the living room.

“No, take my bed,” he says. Michael’s eyes drop down to where Alex’s hand has caught his forearm and Alex lets him go. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“What?” Michael asks, cocking his head so his curls fall into his eyes. “No, I’ll take the couch. Sleep in your own bed.”

“Michael, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch after the day you’ve had,” Alex argues. “You need a good night’s sleep in an actual bed.”

“And you don’t?” Michael counters. “Besides, if you sleep on that lumpy-ass couch you’re definitely going to fuck up your leg and I think we can both agree that that would be kind of a problem if Jones catches up to us.”

Alex sighs and tries to stare him down, willing him to let him do this for him, but Michael just keeps defiantly meeting his gaze.

“Oh my god, would you two shut up and just share the bed if the couch sucks that much?” Isobel asks and they both turn to look at her in shock. “It’s not like it would be the first time,” she adds under her breath.

Alex shares another look with Michael and waits a moment for him to react, to give any sign he wouldn’t be okay with that. 

All he does is shrug and say, “I’m game if you are.”

If he’s honest, Alex has no fucking idea how he’s supposed to get any sleep lying next to Michael all night—his stomach is already in knots just thinking about it—but he nods his head anyway.

“Alright,” Alex agrees. “It’s just down the hall that way, I’ll show you. Does anyone need anything to sleep in? I’ve got some spare pajamas.”

There’s a chorus of yes’s all around, so Alex heads down the hall toward his bedroom to grab some clothes with Michael not far behind him. 

“Looks, uh—nice in here,” Michael comments awkwardly as they step inside the bedroom, and Alex can’t help but laugh.

“You don’t have to lie,” he says as he starts digging through the dresser for some old t-shirts and sweatpants, glad for once that he never got around to cutting down the right pant leg on them. “Besides the new sheets, this is all Jim Valenti’s old stuff.” 

“The clothes too?” Michael grimaces.

“Oh, no, these are mine,” he says as he hands Michael a bundle of clothes. “Bathroom’s through that door there if you want to shower. There should be an extra toothbrush and towels under the sink.”

Michael nods, and then scoffs when he sees the Air Force logo on the t-shirt Alex hands him. Alex rolls his eyes at him as he heads back out into the living room to distribute clothes to the rest of his guests. 

It takes some time getting everyone settled—the sheets on the other beds need to be changed and Liz and Rosa have some questions about the giant hole in the wall in the basement—but soon enough, Alex heads back to the master bedroom. When he gets there, he sees Michael standing by the far side of the bed, water weighing down his curls and a pair of Alex’s sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He isn’t wearing a shirt either, the Air Force tee Alex gave him sitting on the comforter on Alex’s side of the bed.

Alex isn’t sure if this is an act of protest against the United States Armed Forces or if Michael is simply trying to drive him insane, but either way, Alex scoops up the t-shirt on his way to the ensuite bathroom along with the emergency crutches he keeps here and another pair of sweats for himself. 

He goes through his nightly routine without issue, grateful that he’d gotten around to buying a shower chair for the cabin so he can actually wash the last few days off his skin. 

He’s expecting Michael to be asleep when he gets back, but instead he finds him sitting crosslegged in bed with the lights still on, his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. Alex’s heart aches at the sight.

“Hey,” he says softly as he makes his way over to the bed. 

Michael looks up at him, an inscrutable look on his face, and waits for him to speak. 

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay because there’s nothing about today that has been okay,” Alex tells him, “but I’m here if you want to talk.”

A small smile tugs at Michael’s lips. “Thanks,” he says.  

When he doesn’t say anything else, Alex gets into bed with him, resting his crutches in the narrow space between the bed and the nightstand. Michael gets the lights with his powers, plunging the room into darkness, and Alex lies down on his back while his eyes adjust, too aware of Michael shifting in bed beside him to really let himself relax enough to sleep. 

It’s a few moments later when Michael lets out a huff that sounds a little like a laugh.

“What?” Alex asks, turning to look at him. He can just see the curve of Michael’s nose in the moonlight bleeding through the curtains.

“Nothing, I just—“ Michael starts before he sighs again, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s a little ridiculous that this time last year we were dealing with your homicidal father and now we’re dealing with mine. The more things change the more they stay the same, I guess.”

Michael says it like it’s funny, but Alex feels a twinge in his chest at the thought of Michael going through what he went through last year. Feeling unsafe around your parent is a special kind of pain, one Alex knows intimately, and it’s the last thing he would have ever wanted for Michael. He’s been through enough.

 On impulse, Alex reaches across the bed for Michael’s hand. It takes some searching, but eventually he finds it resting on top of the comforter between them. He half expects Michael to pull away from him, but he threads their fingers together instead. Michael’s palm is warm against his own, his grip secure, and Alex feels his eyes begin to burn as something inside his chest settles at the touch. 

He swallows down the emotion in his throat as he tells him, “We’re gonna figure this out.” 

“You don’t know that,” Michael says, scarcely louder than a whisper.

“Yeah, I do,” Alex insists. “Jones may have crazy alien powers we can’t comprehend, but we have the Lockhart Machine. If it was your mother who built it, it could hold the key to taking him down.”

At the mention of his mother, Michael goes quiet again, and Alex watches his chest rise and fall with the deep breath he takes. 

“You really think she built it?” Michael asks at last, hesitation in his tone. 

Alex gets it—this machine, if it works like the radios the Valentis had, could have alien glass with his mother’s voice inside. It makes sense that Michael doesn’t want to get his hopes up and invite the crushing disappointment he’ll feel if it doesn’t.

Alex squeezes his hand reassuringly as he answers, “I think if there’s anyone who can find out for sure, it’s you.”

Michael is silent for another long moment, so long that Alex thinks he’s done with the conversation, before he finally asks, “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks, taken aback by the question.

Michael shifts onto his side to look at him directly. “Yesterday you didn’t want me anywhere near what you were doing and now you’re holding my hand and telling me it’s all gonna be okay if we work together,” Michael says, lifting their joined hands off the bed for emphasis. “What’s changed?”

Alex’s throat clicks as he swallows, something like shame weighing down the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t meant to make Michael feel like he didn’t want him around or that he wasn’t useful.

“I’m sorry,” Alex apologizes. “I was just scared.”

“Of what?” Michael presses.

“Of what Deep Sky would do if they found out about you,” he answers. “I knew if you kept investigating the bats, you would find Deep Sky sooner or later and I was terrified that for all their talk about changing narratives and building bridges between humans and aliens that they wouldn’t be any different than my father if they actually met one.” 

“Well, you could have told me that,” Michael says after a moment, his voice softer than the accusatory tone Alex is anticipating. “I would have understood.”

“But would you have let it go if you knew you were onto something?” Alex asks. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Michael admits, something like a smile playing at his lips. 

Alex sighs heavily, expecting the answer but no less happy at being proven right. 

“But being cagey and lying to me about what you knew didn’t make me want to let it go either,” Michael continues. 

“I know,” Alex says. “I just thought—If I didn’t try to protect you and just let you walk into something like that and you got hurt, I… I would never forgive myself.” 

Alex feels Michael’s thumb caress the back of his hand and closes his eyes at the sensation, letting it wash over him and remind him that Michael is here, that he’s safe—that he hasn’t failed him yet.

“Well, it was for nothing anyway,” Alex sighs as his eyes drift open once more. “Turns out you’re the whole reason they wanted to hire me in the first place, so—“

“Wait, what?” Michael asks, raising his head off his pillow to look at him better, and Alex curses his own sleep deprivation for letting him admit that so easily. “I thought they scouted you because of your dad.”

He swallows audibly before he answers, “That’s part of it too.” 

“But not all of it,” Michael says, not a question but a confirmation. “What, did they think they could get an alien on their side if they played the long game with you?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Alex says, hoping that’ll satisfy him.

Michael must sense that Alex is holding something back, though, because he releases his hand and sits up on the bed next to him. “Alex, what aren’t you saying?” 

Alex sighs and pushes himself up against the headboard so he and Michael are on the same level. He pulls his left leg in toward his chest protectively while Michael looks at him, his eyes intense and expectant.

Alex finds the words eventually. “Ramos wanted me to join Deep Sky because he thinks I view life differently than other people.”

“Because you already know aliens exist?” Michael guesses, his head quirked to the side.

God, is he really gonna make me say it? Alex thinks, his stomach dropping at the thought.

But then he takes in Michael’s earnest confusion, how far away the fact that Alex still loves him must be from his mind that he still doesn’t get it, and realizes they can’t keep doing this to each other—talking in riddles and euphemisms because it’s easier than being honest. That’s not who Alex wants to be anymore, and it’s certainly not what Michael deserves.

“Alex?” Michael prompts him, his voice dipping with concern, and Alex thinks, Fuck it. 

He’s already made a few major confessions tonight—what’s one more?

“Because I’m in love with one,” Alex admits at last, his heart thundering behind his ribs as he braces for Michael’s reply.

There’s a beat where Michael does nothing but stare at him blankly, the words taking a moment to register in his ears, before he asks, eyes almost comically wide, “You’re in love with me?” 

Alex laughs humorlessly, his eyes beginning to burn again as he answers, “Of course I am.”

“But I thought—you and Nazi guy—?“ Michael starts.

“Are over,” Alex finishes for him. “Forrest was nice and fun to hang out with, but he’s not you. He’ll never be you.”

A second and a year pass in the excruciating moment Michael takes to process that statement. It makes him feel raw and impossibly exposed, like Michael is holding his beating heart in his hands and Alex is begging him not to break it, but the next thing Alex knows Michael is pushing into his space and capturing his lips in a harsh and desperate kiss. 

Alex’s heart nearly bursts with relief, his leg dropping back down to the mattress. He reaches up to cup both of Michael’s cheeks to keep him close, his days-old stubble a pleasant scratch against his palms. 

Michael breathes a contented sigh against his mouth as he tilts his head for a better angle and tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking out against Alex’s bottom lip. Alex opens for him without a moment’s hesitation and as soon as Michael licks into his mouth, Michael’s tongue sliding across his own, Alex feels like he’s been set on fire, the desire he’s been suppressing for over a year now flaring hot and inexorable inside of him. 

Alex wants with an intensity that almost scares him, his cock stirring against his thigh already and Michael’s barely even touched him. The feeling amplifies when Michael throws his leg over Alex’s hips and settles heavily over his lap, the solid weight and warmth of him pulling a moan from Alex’s throat.

Michael swallows the sound eagerly as he snakes his arms behind his neck, his hips shifting restlessly over Alex’s lap as he kisses him. Alex drops his hands from Michael’s face to wrap around his waist instead, pulling him closer until they’re nearly chest to chest. 

One of them has to break the kiss eventually, and as Alex gasps for air with his head tipped back against the headboard, he can see Michael looking down at him with adoration in his eyes. He takes Alex’s face in his hands and laughs, a soft, wet sound, before he kisses him soundly once more. 

“I love you so much,” he murmurs against his lips, and Alex’s grip tightens as he feels those words brush against his skin and settle in his heart.

Alex leans that little bit forward to kiss him again, slow and languid this time as the heat continues to simmer between them. Michael peels Alex’s shirt over his head and begins to rock gently against him, his ass rubbing back and forth over Alex’s growing erection with every movement of his hips. 

He can tell that Michael’s getting hard too, can feel the heat of his cock through his borrowed sweatpants. Alex removes his hand from Michael’s waist and slides it lower until he feels Michael’s happy trail peeking out above his waistband. 

He strokes his thumb over the hair there, teasing the skin at the edge of the fabric without ever dipping beneath it. Michael squirms against him with a soft, plaintive whimper when he does that, so Alex gives him what he wants, lets his hand slip lower so he can rub his palm over the hard line of Michael’s cock, relishing the way Michael moans softly into his mouth as his hips twitching closer on instinct. 

“Are we really doing this right now?” Alex pulls away to ask, his thumb rubbing a slow circle around the head of Michael’s dick through the soft fabric. 

“Are you saying you want to stop?” Michael asks him, tipping forward until their foreheads meet.

“No,” he answers.

“Then yeah,” Michael breathes, reaching down between them to cover Alex’s hand with his own. “I think we’re doing this.”

“In that case,” Alex says, “I want you in my mouth.”

“God, yeah,” Michael whispers, his cock jumping beneath Alex’s hand at the thought.

Alex gives him a hard kiss before he pulls back to say, “On your back.”

Michael climbs off of Alex’s lap without another word. He rolls over onto his back next to him, his thighs falling open to give Alex room to work with. 

Alex slips between them easily and moves in to kiss him again, once on the lips before he begins pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his chin. He lingers at his neck, sucking a bruise into the spot underneath his jaw that he knows drives Michael fucking crazy. 

Michael rewards him with a choked-off moan, his legs spreading wider around his hips. Alex wishes he had the time—and supplies—to ruin him properly, work him open with his tongue and fingers until he’s a keening, whimpering mess before he fucks him like he deserves. For now, though, his mouth will have to do.

Alex can feel Michael’s pulse jackrabbit against his lips as he continues down the column of his throat, Michael’s hands burying themselves in his hair. He dips his tongue into the hollow of his collarbone before he slips further down his chest, cupping Michael’s pecs in his hands and squeezing just enough to get a reaction from him before his mouth latches on to one of his nipples.

He scrapes his teeth against the bud before soothing the hurt with his tongue and Michael’s breath catches in his throat again. He’s always been so sensitive, so responsive to Alex’s touch, and Alex can’t get enough of it.

When he’s teased both of his nipples to hard buds, Alex starts to move lower still, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down the length of his belly until he stops right above the waistband of his pajamas.

“Alex,” Michael moans as Alex sucks another bruise into his skin, his fingers tightening their grip on his hair. “Please.”

Alex gives one final kiss to the sharp angle of Michael’s hip bone before he sits up to pull his pants off. He drops them off the side of the bed carelessly before he settles between Michael’s legs once more, running his palms along the soft skin of his inner thighs and enjoying the way the muscle jumps beneath his fingertips.

Michael’s cock leaks against his belly, flushed and wet at the tip. Alex wastes no more time getting his mouth on him, lapping at the pool of precome shining against his skin before he takes the slick, swollen head into his mouth. He revels in the feel of it forcing his mouth wide open and moans softly at the bitter taste he catches on his tongue. 

Alex looks up at Michael through his lashes as he starts to suck him, sinking down onto his cock a little lower with every pass of his lips. Michael’s got his bottom lip caught painfully between his teeth, his eyes trained hungrily on the way his cock is slipping in and out of Alex’s mouth. 

The soft, needy whimpers Michael makes as Alex swallows around him are music to his ears, stoking the fire inside of him until the pressure in his own cock becomes unbearable. Alex grinds his hips down against the mattress for relief, but it only makes him more desperate to come. He slides one of his hands straight into his own pants and groans around Michael’s cock as he starts to fuck his fist.

It’s not much longer that Michael’s hips start to twitch against the mattress and his fingers tighten their grip on Alex’s hair. He barely gets out a warning, “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” before he’s pulsing hot and wet across Alex’s tongue. Alex swallows it greedily, moaning softly as he works Michael through the rest of his orgasm and keeps chasing his own with eager, shallow thrusts. 

When Michael’s had enough, Alex pulls off of his cock and buries his face against his hip as he comes quietly over his own fist, making a mess of the inside of his underwear. He’ll probably be embarrassed about that later, but for now he’s content to come down to the feeling of Michael gently petting his hair.

“Get up here,” Michael says when he’s recovered the ability to speak, tugging lightly on the ends of Alex’s hair to get his attention. 

Alex groans as he lifts his head off Michael’s hip and maneuvers himself until he’s lying next to him again, his stump crossed over Michael’s thigh. 

“Did you—?” Michael cuts off, eyes caught on the sticky mess on Alex’s hand now that he’s pulled it free from his pants.

“Yeah,” Alex admits, a little sheepishly. 

Michael stares at his hand for a long second before he grabs his wrist and pulls his hand closer to his face. He looks Alex in the eye as he sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, grunting softly as he licks them clean.

“Fuck,” Alex whispers, his cock twitching in vain against his thigh at the sight and feel of Michael’s tongue sliding between his fingers.

“You missed sucking my cock that bad, huh?” Michael asks when he lets them fall from his mouth, voice low and rough as gravel as he pushes into Alex’s space, so close he can smell himself on Michael’s breath. 

Alex lets out a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he answers.

Michael leans in to kiss him, quick and dirty and possessive, before he pulls back and says, “Guess I’m just gonna have to wait until the morning to return the favor then.”

“I guess so,” Alex says, hooking his clean hand around the back of Michael’s neck to bring him in for another one.

Michael kisses him back eagerly for a long moment before he pulls away. “Be right back,” he says, and climbs out of bed.

While he’s in the bathroom, Alex shimmies his dirty sweatpants and underwear off his legs and onto the floor. It’s only another minute before Michael’s back, a damp washcloth gripped between his fingers. 

It’s warm against Alex’s skin as Michael uses it to clean him up, and when they’re done they settle down for bed, Alex’s head resting on Michael’s chest and his arm thrown across his waist.

And as Alex finally closes his eyes for the night, his thoughts naturally drift to all the problems they’ll be facing tomorrow morning:

Saving Kyle. 

Freeing Maria. 

Stopping Jones. 

Unlocking the secrets of a mysterious 50 year old alien device and hopefully not going insane while trying.

But as the steady sound of Michael’s heartbeat lulls him to sleep, the loudest thought in his head is that Michael loves him. 

Whatever happens come morning, they’ll deal with it together.

[elysianslove]

when the stars align; oikawa tōru

requested by anon; ❝ hi bb :) can I request an Oikawa and reader story where they’re two petty/sarcastic best friends. Like they just have that understanding that their love is shown through petty comments or bickering lol but n e ways, the reader gets approached by a guy she doesn’t really like but isn’t thinking and says she’s seeing Oikawa and now they have to act like a couple but all they end up doing is bickering and Oikawa complaining. I hope that makes sense lol thxx <3 ❞

pairing; oikawa tōru x reader 

warnings; it’s the fake dating trope with oikawa tōru. that is a warning in itself

note; i screamed when i found this in my inbox this trope has a special place in my heart and the fact that oikawa was requested??? pls don’t let this flop :(

━ you’re not sure why you said it. you rack your mind for an excuse: you’ve known him too long, you spend majority of your time with him, you had just been texting him a moment earlier — that must’ve been why you’d sprouted that ridiculous excuse to rid yourself of spewing out a futile, useless rejection. there’s an array of mixed emotions on you as you watch the boy before you shrivel in disappointment, sighing in frustration.

“i’m sorry, i’m dating oikawa right now, actually,” you had said, like the liar the same boy you refer to has coerced you into becoming to fuel your endless sneaking out.

the guy before you, honestly nameless due to both your carelessness towards him and your uncomfortableness around him, shoves his hands into his pockets cooly, attempting to shrug it off. “well, you know where to find me in case it doesn’t work out,” he jokes, and you have to fight off the urge to cringe directly in his face at his words.

instead, you lightly smile, more similar to a grimace, and nod politely, before turning and heading in the complete opposite direction, despite the other way having been your initial route. your shaky hands fumble for your phone, and you pull it out, unlocking it and tapping on the messages app.

i did something stupid, you type out, and you’re unsure whether you’re grateful or thrown off by how quick oikawa responds.

not surprising. what did u do

the familiarity of his tone only calms you slightly, and before you can talk yourself out of it, already having thrown yourself too deep when you’d thought up the lie, you explain the situation briefly. instead of a text message response, his caller id flashes across your screen, and your breath hitches. regret begins flooding you, and carefully, you slide to answer.

“i don’t want to hold your hand!” you complain, smacking at his palm when it reaches for yours.

oikawa sighs amusingly, grabbing your wrist anyways and linking your fingers together. against all odds, and to your disappointment, you shiver at the feel of his hand in yours. it’s considerably larger, and despite the fact that this is farthest from the first time you’ve gripped his hand, your insides twist. his fingers are slender, and his palm and the pads of his fingers are soft. for all the years you’ve known oikawa, his hands constantly run cold, and you’ve hated it for multiple reasons. one being the way it gave him an ego boost of ‘cold hands only mean i have a warm heart.’ the second being his infuriating actions of constantly pressing his palms to your skin, specifically the back of your neck. but most importantly, it signifies just how little oikawa tends to care for himself at times, the way his hands shake when it gets too cold, when the world grows too small, the tips of his fingers a bruised blue and purple. and you hate it. even more so, you hate how much you hate it.

despite all this, his hand feels — nice in yours; it’s a comfortable contrast to your own warm hand. still, your frown remains on your face as you see the school gates appear before two of you, never daring to reveal any of your thoughts to him.

“if you didn’t want to hold my hand, you would’ve thought up a better lie,” oikawa argues, and you turn your head to glare at him. he diffuses it easily when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand, your words faltering momentarily. “could’ve had anyone! iwa, mattsun, makki— i know they woulda loved to do this with you.”

“you’re insufferable,” you huff, but your cheeks are painting red, visibly too. he’s right, you realize. he’s terribly right.

“but you still chose me,” he teases.

your hand in his twists until you’re bending his wrist at an awkward, painful angle, until he’s pinching at your arm to force you away. he’s right, but that doesn’t make it mean anything.

by now, you’ve spent more time glaring at oikawa threateningly and in warning than you have your entire friendship with him, and it’s honestly starting to give you a headache. after admitting your situation to the three other third years, and giving them maximum fifteen minutes to laugh until they ran out of breath, iwaizumi included, spend the next twenty minutes huddled up next to oikawa, your chair attached to his.

the guy, who had been persistent enough in asking you out that you’d resorted to this, decided to spend his lunch break in the same area as the five of you, leaving you unable to push away and bicker with oikawa the same way you would any other day. you pick at your food as you avoid his gaze, oikawa’s arm around your shoulder heavy, leaving a trail of sparks up your spine and along your arms. it makes you want to scream, loudly too.

makki and mattsun have resorted to making fun of the guy, whispering between themselves, but it’s still awfully loud enough that there’s no possible way he can’t hear. iwaizumi and oikawa have their attention on each other, discussing some upcoming practice match in the weekend.

and all you’re left with are your thoughts, your nagging, unbearable thoughts, about how pretty oikawa’s hand looks as it hangs by your shoulder, brushing against your arm with every small shift of his body. with shameful, red cheeks, you shut your eyes in frustration, and allow the regret to boil and build in your stomach.

the weeks pass steadily. outside of school, your relationship with oikawa remains unchanged, and although he’s just as touchy as he is with you with an audience, the source of affection continues to be — simply friendship. and whenever you catch any disappointment building because of that, you pinch yourself in reminder than none of it is real. the way he always has an arm around you, the way he fumbles with your fingers, the way he ties your hair back for you while you work on an essay during your break, the way he kisses your cheek, a show of respect for your boundaries, but as a way to reinforce that you’re his in front of anyone, or the way he lets you lift one leg over his own, just because.

and you’re left wondering that if it were real, would it be the same?

he sits before you now, cross legged on your bed, back straightened and mouth stuffed with popcorn, completely engrossed in the movie before him with his eyes wide open. the three other boys are spread across the room: makki laying on his stomach, chin perched on his hands by the edge of the bed, while mattsun and iwaizumi share the couch, drinks in their hands, all three just as enamored by the movie as oikawa. 

you had always been aware of just how pretty he is, and everyone around you has always ensured that you do. was it the way the light from the screen shone in his face, reflecting in his pretty brown eyes and shadowing some of his features? or was it the way he sat so comfortable in your bed, in nothing but sweatpants and a loose shirt because, of course, the four of them were bound to stay the night? was it the way his lips glistened with the water he gulped, or because of the way his tongue poked out to lick at the salt from the popcorn? 

or was it nothing in particular, or everything all at once?

sighing lowly, you shift and sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and heading towards the bedroom door. “i’m gonna grab some water; anyone want anything?” you announce.

none of them seem to hear you, too lost in the movie, but makki turns his head to the side slightly, eyes remaining on the screen, and replies, “no thank you.” it’s all you need to leave the room.

as you walk out, oikawa eyes you, then eyes the filled up water bottles next to where you had been sitting. his heart tightens in his chest.

two months into the fake relationship you’d established with oikawa, and it begins to feel natural. it no longer feels off putting to walk hand in hand with him to school, or to greet him with a grandiose hug and a kiss on the cheek, or to wear his jersey to games and cheer for him from the stands, or to constantly have his ankle looped with yours beneath the table where, despite this all being for show, nobody can really see.

outside of your fake relationship traditions are your friendship traditions, which include, but are not limited to, him walking you home. it’s always been mostly because your mother adores him, or because he prefers the food that’s at your home as opposed to his, or because your home is on the way to his anyways, but it’s a lot closer, so he always ends up staying longer than anticipated.

either way, it’s not unusual that he walks by your side as the moon illuminates your path. it is, however, not very like him to stay quiet the entire way. you can see the roof of your home growing in size as you near it, and he’s yet to say a word to you. it both weirds you out and worries you, and before you can convince yourself you were overreacting, you pause in your step, the gravel beneath you scratching and crunching as you turn to face him.

“alright, spit it out.”

his eyes meet yours, wide and confused. “what?”

you sigh. “something’s up, and you’re either gonna tell me now or i’ll force it out of you later,” you reply.

“i’m not—”

“oikawa.”

“stop it, i’m fine—“

“tōru.”

“i can’t do this anymore.”

your heart stills, and almost as if in understanding, in pity, so does the world around you. the wind no longer howls in agony, respecting your need for silence as the trees around you look on curiously. your brain processes a little slower than your mouth, and you’re asking him, “what are you talking about?” before you could think.

his gaze falls from yours again, and he takes a step back. “i can’t be with you anymore. or — fake being with you anymore,” he admits to you.

you’re not sure why, but you had imagined this scenario to be a lot less earth shattering than it is. maybe you’d grown to like faking it, because it slowly started to become the closest you could get to experiencing it realistically. you refuse to speak, and it isn’t because you’re angry at him. it’s because you genuinely are lost for words. it’s not even a real break up, but it still hurts just as bad, if not worse. it��s your own fault for believing that this, whatever this was, was as simple as it seemed.

“not unless— not unless i can really be with you.”

what?

“what?”

he breathes in steadily, and moves forward, closer, closer, closer to you. his hands rise to your cheeks, cupping them softly, flinching when your breath hitches. but you make no move to push him away, only stare up at him, in wonder, in confusion. he opens his mouth, preparing himself to speak. you expect a monologue, a speech, a declaration of his undying love for you, because it sounds just as dramatic as oikawa is. the moon above you holds its breath, waiting for the band to snap, for the words to spill and drown you. 

but then he kisses you. 

his hands urge you up and he meets you halfway, pressing his lips to yours. they’re soft, and he tastes like cherry, and it’s probably your chapstick if you were being honest with yourself. his mouth moves languidly against yours, as if he’s trying to drag out every moment, as if he wants to purposefully slow down time, begging and pleading for the world around him to stop. the kiss is sweet, gentle, and somehow, kissing him is exactly the way you’d imagined it would. it’s breathtaking, and dizzying, and overwhelming, and needy and it’s beautiful. 

when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go of you. his hands remain cupping your jaw, his mouth hovering over yours. his thumb brushes along your cheek momentarily as he gazes at you, admiring you, as if memorizing every inch and every detail of your features. 

“tōru, you idiot,” you sigh. the insult isn’t foreign to him, not even on your tongue, but he still looks taken aback, and even more so when you reach up and close the distance between you again. the world lives again, the moon celebrating within the clouds, the wind twisting in your hair, whispering and whistling cheerfully by your ear as the trees dance.

 it all comes together, and the stars finally align. 

end note; i’m so happy with this!!! i hope everyone enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it!!! <3

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: i pulled this shit out through writer’s block, yeah that says enough, cursing

word count: 3.1k

this is part three!

Natasha Romanoff was more than pretty, and everyone that didn’t already have that figured out was starting to realize it. By the time her second week ended, you had seen her actually use her sword only once, but you only needed to see it one time to know that she was skilled with it. Unfortunately, the butcher didn’t get the chance to see her work with a weapon until he got too close to her and she showed him up close. 

That gave you a laugh. 

She was insanely strong, quicker than you could see sometimes, and as sharp as a whip. She was more impressive than you could have ever imagined, and she demonstrated it nearly every time you watched her without even trying. Even when she was doing simple things, you couldn’t seem to take your eyes from her. From the way that she held her utensils to the way that she was careful not to step on your flowers when she went past your garden, nearly everything she did made your stomach flutter with an emotion you had never felt before, and you couldn’t decide if you liked it or were annoyed by it.

You would never forget the feeling that settled in your stomach when you saw her from atop one of your horses, and you realized that somehow, she was even more beautiful when you looked down at her from just a slightly higher angle. She was still smiling from the rush of a practice fight with a skilled swordsman that was just passing through, and though she had to put in little effort, she won. You had witnessed the last half of it yourself after you rode back in.

You had watched her begin to stalk off with that same stunning look of soft pride on her face and your heart stopped when she turned on her heel and headed straight for you, practically high off of the fight. Your brain scrambled for words in that moment, and all you could think of to say before your time was up was “you won”, but she beat you to your humiliation. “You ride with two legs over?”

Your brows furrowed at her and her question until she gestured towards your horse with a slightly red hand, like it had been hit one time too many with the wooden sword. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Most ladies…” Before she could finish her sentence, she trailed off, like she had just remembered the way that your first talk about how women should and should not be. Her look of triumph had faded into a slightly hesitant one, and then you gestured for her to go on without caution. When she took too long, you sighed.

“You mean the way most ride with both legs on one side?” You drawled, and she nodded wordlessly. You thought that the rule was idiotic, yourself. Men, because they had pants, were supposed to ride with one leg on each side of the horse. It was seen as disgraceful and quite the opposite of modest for a woman to ride that same way, regardless of riding pants. “I think that’s idiotic. I could fall off much easier that way.”

“Wouldn’t want you to fall,” she said, and it could have been the way that the sun was shining at that moment, but you could have sworn that she was close to smiling at you.

“I wouldn’t particularly want to be mistaken as a man, either.”

“I think that I can confidently say that no one is ever going to mistake you for a man, My Lady.”

Dinner was fine meat and heaping piles of starches, and Natasha was in Pietro’s old spot. He was used to it by now, and instead of being upset about it, all he would do was laugh a bit and whisper something to Wanda that you could never quite catch.

“I hope you’re enjoying your time here,” you told the knight, who looked up from her plate of food. “How has your search been?”

You saw her frown a bit. “I haven’t found anything that strikes me quite yet.”

You almost cringed at that, because a voice deep in the back of your own mind was telling you that you had certainly found something that struck you. “Is the setting uninspiring?”

“No, not at all,” she said slowly, like she wasn’t even afraid of offending you. And she wasn’t, because she knew that you wouldn’t have been offended. “It’s just… I’m nearly there. Just not quite.”

“You still have months,” Wanda reassured her quietly, working on her turkey leg. “I’m sure you’ll succeed in your knightly quest by then.”

“I think so,” Natasha said, and you nodded at her encouragingly.

The rest of the dinner went swimmingly. There was little chatter here and there, and most of the talking came from Pietro, his jokes back to back and then he would be dormant for minutes at a time until he had cooked something else up for the group. There wasn’t the air of hostility that had slowly but surely been dissipating with each day that Natasha had been there. Finally, the thick tension stopped rolling out like it was being produced in a factory, and then, the four of you were just there. Just four people eating a nice meal together, with no setbacks.

Of course, that didn’t last long.

§§

You always bathed alone. To people who had been born wealthy, having staff- they would be inclined to call them servants- bathe you meant that you were important enough to be tended to. It gave people thoughts of importance, and it made them believe even more than they already did in the superiority that mattered very little after death. A man or woman who could not get their servants to wash them is no lord or lady, they said. But you liked to wash yourself. It was the few and final shreds of dignity that you had after your husband and the impossible year that you spent with him, and even though he was gone, you surely weren’t going to stop washing your own body. Not when you could hardly ever do it back on the farm. Not when you had two working hands just like anyone else.

However, there was one thing that you could never do by yourself, and that was putting on your corset, and then wiggling into the dress. Wanda volunteered for it once after telling you the significance of a lady helping another into her clothing,, and when she realized how utterly helpless you were, she offered to help you do it every day. You accepted the offer after trying to do it on your own again the next morning.

You had never known that there was a designated corset assistant for a lady. You knew that there were typically a few women that a lady had on hand, and you had started off with a few before you realized that you really only needed Wanda. But the woman that helped a lady into her corset was seen as the woman’s most trusted confidant and the closest friend that the lady had, and when you let Wanda dress you for the fifth time, you realized that it was true.

And there she was then, waiting right by your door to dress you for the thousandth time with her eyes aerated as you dried off, sighing and groaning at the way that you could already feel the corset trying to strangle your insides. You grimaced at the object while you held it up, looking at it strangely like you did every time you laid your eyes on one without fail, and you didn’t even have to say a word before she was crossing the room and helping you step in it. While she was tying you up, you did your hair for the day. Every now and then, your eyes would meet in the vanity and she would silently ask you whether or not she was tying it too tight. She never did. You gave her a kind smile once she stepped back after finishing with the first layer of your dress, and then there was a quick succession of knocks on the grand door of your bedroom.

You and Wanda shared a confused look. When there was another round of anxious knocks, you threw your nightgown over your shoulders, your heart rate starting to pick up. “Come in,” you answered, brows furrowed at the thought of something being so important for someone to interrupt your alone time. That hardly ever happened. A man with brown hair walked in, legs taking hesitant strides until he got to Wanda, who stepped in front of him before he could quite reach you. He was holding out a sleek, black box. Wanda took it from him and then handed it to you, and you thanked him softly and took it, and then opened it to see a letter and the seal that you would never forget.

Your heart stopped for a second.

Forgetting that you weren’t alone and that you were nearly indecent, you ripped the letter open with a huff and started to read it, and when you did, you nearly dropped it to the floor.

My Dearest Lady of Riverstone,

I have been trying to reach you with word of my intentions for quite some time, and have not been receiving any answers. Luckily for you and for our imminent future, I won’t need an answer. My question has already been given a positive response by the High Priest himself. I have asked for your hand in marriage, and now, after all of my waiting, I shall receive it. By the end of three cycles of the moon, you and I shall have met and married. I look forward to meeting my wife, and the soon to be Lady Rumlow.

The room was utterly silent. Even though you hadn't uttered a word aloud, Wanda and the brunet man who was frozen by the blank look on your face knew that whatever it was, was horrible. You had read it twice before a minute passed, and you almost had it memorized, but you couldn’t stop looking at it like it was growing dandelions straight from the paper. You took in a deep breath, exhaled, heard Wanda’s soothing voice from under a thousand layers of ocean, and then read it again just to make sure that it was right.

Of course it was.

The High Priest allowed Brock Rumlow’s “claim” for your hand. He overrode your obvious refusals with the power of the highest man of the land besides the king himself. If what he said was true, then you weren’t getting out of the marriage. There was no way you would.

A sob escaped your lips, and before you could put your head in your hands, Wanda was right by your side, disregarding the contents of the letter without even reading them to comfort you. The young man ran off at the first sight of your teary eyes out of respect for his lady, and he quietly shut the door after himself.

You were too busy catching your breath to hear the noises you were making. If you knew that the miserable sounds were coming from your mouth, you would have stopped them if you could. You sounded like a woman being drained of the very little she had left, and Wanda held you through it all. Your hands were shaking and the letter was crumbling in your fist, and you held it tight to your chest, subconsciously hoping that if no one else read it, that it made the contents of it completely untrue.

“I don’t want to.” You were only able to say it clearly one time, and then you were shaking your head and blubbering to yourself over and over again, the same few words spewing from your mouth like they were the only ones you had ever learned.

You didn't know how Wanda knew what happened, but she did. “I know, I know.”

You didn’t know how he got away with it, and yet, you did. Anything with the High Priest’s signature was practically law, and a man like Rumlow wasn’t going to back down if he had gone to such lengths to obtain a right to marriage. Three months. You had three months. And that was generous.

“How am I… how?” You whispered, drying your face even though you knew that your tears were about to come back at full force. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“You won’t have to,” Wanda insisted strongly, her accent getting thicker with the emotion that she was putting out. The twins never told you where exactly they were from, but you knew that it was far away. Maybe even from across the sea, but that had nothing to do with you. “We will find a way to fix this, do you hear me?”

There was absolutely no way to fix it, and both you and Wanda knew it, no matter how stubborn she was deciding to be. You were going to be married to a man that you had never even seen before, and everyone was supposed to be fine with it. You were not.

§§

The second that Wanda left you alone, probably to conspire with her brother, you ran out of your room. You made a beeline out of the side door and nearly stumbled over an overgrown branch, but you caught yourself and kept pushing, walking quickly and missing all of the flowers that you typically stopped to look at and care for. Tears were in your eyes as you trailblazer through your safe space, destroying it with negative emotions and thoughts.

The second that you got to the rose bushes, you fell flat on your butt and put your face in your hands knowing that you were far away enough from everyone for them to not hear your cries. Even if they did, you were at the point where you didn’t have it in you to care. You were being given away against your own will to a power hungry man, who would probably make you leave this place and have you carted off to his own keep. Something told you that Rumlow was worse than your late husband could have ever been, and that said something.

“Are you hurt?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at hearing a voice so close to you. When you realized that it was Natasha, looking at you with more than mild curiosity, you inwardly groaned. “I’m fine.”

“What’s got you worked up?” When you didn’t answer immediately, she cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with how distraught you looked. “Was the bathwater not warm enough for you, my lady?”

Your tears stopped for a moment and you started laughing, putting a hand over your chest as you leaned back a bit. “If only bathwater was the height of my problems.”

“Is it political?”

“It might as well be.” It was.

You were both silent for a moment, and then, she sighed. “You’re getting married, aren’t you?”

Immediately, the air was yanked from your lungs, and you nearly broke your neck trying to look over at her. “How?”

“I know that look in your eyes,” she said softly, and you could have sworn that it was the softest tone she had ever taken with you. “It’s the look of someone being backed into a wall. You’re getting married to a man you don’t know, aren’t you?”

“Damn you knights and your observations,” you snarled, but your heart wasn’t in it and you both knew it. “I would rather die than marry this man.”

She had a confused expression on your face, like she thought you were acting irrationally. “Why are you worried about it, then? If you send a refusal fast enough-”

“He’s been chasing me ever since my husband died, and now he’s got the approval of the Church.” You saw her eyes widen. “There’s no way to stop this now.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, and then she looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s going to kill me.” You said aloud, and before she could tell you that you were being irrational, you kept going. “He’s had two wives, and one has never been seen again. The other was found with stab wounds in a forest, not even buried. He did it, I know he did. He’s an evil man-”

“Brock Rumlow?” Natasha asked, connecting the dots. Everyone knew about Rumlow and his wives. He was nothing short of a horror story. “Oh, fuck.” You didn’t even flinch at the language.

“He’s vile. I won’t live longer than a year-”

“Not if I can help it.”

You turned to look at her again, the smile on your face slightly condescending as you tried to gather yourself again. “What can you do? What can anyone actually do?”

“I’m here for a year,” she stated, and you nodded, an exasperated look on your face. “If you’re truly worried about him attempting on your life, I can be your guard for as long as I’m here.” She saw you open your mouth. “And before you ask what good that will do you, I can teach you, too.”

“Teach me to, what?”

“How to not get killed,” she said gruffly, and you frowned. “Defense.”

You looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not serious.”

“As serious as a murder.” She took a step closer to you. “I know that beneath all this anger, you’re really just scared. And upset. You don’t want to talk about it, I know that, but you should. It’s not good to bottle things up and wait for them to explode, trust me.”

You scoffed. “If I try to talk to someone, they will send me off and say I have some form of hysteria.”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, and you felt your heart beat nearly out of your chest. “You could spill your life to me for the next year, and then I’ll be gone. I’ll be like a journal you can trash. I wouldn’t tell a soul what we talk about, if you want to talk. And you could be the same for me. If you don’t want to learn to fight, you can at least speak.”

You considered it for a moment. “And then what?”

“After the year, we part ways.”

“What would you talk to me about?” The second question was so implied that you both heard it; we have nothing in common.

“Whatever comes up. We’ll just listen to each other, because god knows this kingdom hardly listens to women.” You gave her a long look in the silence, watching the way she watched you in return, and finally, she cleared her throat. “Do you accept?”

“No one can know,” you said quietly, and despite your lack of reasoning, she nodded. You both knew why. She took a step forward with an outstretched hand and you stared at it in the same way you did the first time she did it, but you took it quicker this time around.

“Every other night, I’ll meet with you..”

“Where, in the gardens?”

Her low laughter complimented the mood that set across you both. “Where else would we meet?”

                                                        ****

here it is! the third part (that i am very nervous/not very pleased about)! comments and feedback are thoroughly appreciated! i’ve been really stressed out with work and school work lately and have not that much time to myself without staying up hella late, so i’m sorry if this = donkey’s ass. thank you guys for reading this 🥺

if you like the series so far, please remember to reblog! reblogging means so much to the people who do work of any kind up here. (omg not me begging for a reblog LMAO) 

tags (you can ask to be removed or placed at any time!): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @drdarcy-lewis @blackxwidowsxwife​

[bailey-reaper]

A drabble where Barok finally asks his crush out on a date but everything goes wrong? with a happy end? :)

A Comedy of Errors... (but Barok's not laughing)

Notes: 😂 Even though I love Barok having happiness and love and kindness to counterbalance all the suffering and turmoil he's endured... I do also love it when he loses his rag at people / things go wrong and irk him. I *love* everything that goes on in his office during the 3rd case in the 2nd game... it's my favourite part of the whole thing! He gets so angry and it's glorious!

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: schadenfreude; cringe; things going wrong; frog mention...

"It's a date!" they said with a big smile and a rosy blush on their cheeks. It almost felt like a dream – Barok had said he was 'deeply fond of them' and invited them out to dinner with him; a date.

"Yes..." Barok nodded, similarly blushing but trying not to acknowledge it, "I'm... looking forward to it," and he was. Deeply.

"Me too!"

The two agreed to meet a week later at a restaurant that Barok was familiar with; he explained it was not because he thought his taste was better, but rather because he was on good terms with the proprietor and, thus, far less likely to be poisoned...

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

At last, after a week in which the two of them thought of little else, the day of their date arrived. Despite a few annoying things going awry prior to him leaving the home, such as a button popping off his shirt when he accidentally rolled his shoulders back with a little too much gusto and his favourite cravat still being too wet to wear, he was determined not to let himself be downhearted.

He arrived at the venue promptly and waited outside for his beloved to arrive. Much to his frustration, a pigeon decided to relieve itself from its perch just above him -- leaving an unpleasant stain on the shoulder of his dinner jacket. Thankfully, he spotted it before his beloved arrived and was able to remedy it with a handkerchief before they saw it.

That didn't stop him scowling up at the pigeon, who flew off in a hurry as it clearly sensed danger.

"Barok!" their voice drew his attention, and took his breath away as they approached looking as radiant as ever. They were clearly dressed for the occasion.

"You look lovely," he remarked as he took their hand and kissed the back of it, "Thank you for coming."

They giggled, "The devil himself couldn't have stopped me."

He smiled at that, "I'm glad..." before offering them his hand, "Shall we?" they nodded, accepting his hand, and allowed him to lead them inside. Barok regarded the maître d and frowned slightly. Something was niggling in the back of his mind; déjà vu but not in a pleasant way, "Good evening," he pushed the feeling away. It would not spoil this date, "I arranged a table for two, name van Zieks."

"Ah yes!" the head waiter said, smiling, "Good evening, Lord van Zieks, allow me to show you to your table."

They were led to a lovely little table that offered a wonderful view of the inner courtyard and the fountain that was situated in the centre of it; it was an appropriately intimate space for a date. Barok pulled the chair out for his beloved and tucked them in, before sitting down himself. The head waiter handed them both menus and set a wine list down on the table, leaving them to look over the fare on offer.

"Wow," his beloved breathed, "This place is amazing."

Barok smiled, "I'm glad you like it... it's a fitting venue for one as beautiful as you."

They blushed and buried their nose in the menu, "T-...Thank you..."

"What wine would you like?" he picked up the menu to inspect the selection on offer.

"I think you're best suited to choosing that!"

"Hmh... very well."

Finally, the maître d came over, "Can I take the order of the two lovebirds~?"

Barok peered at him once more, cocking his head slightly as he studied the grinning man; there was definitely something... odd about him. It gave rise to the most curious irked sensation in the pit of his stomach, "Ahem... We'll have a bottle of the House Sauvignon--"

"Oh do forgive me, sir, we're fresh out of the Sauvignon Blanc..." the waiter said, vaguely apologetically.

"I see," Barok sighed, "Never mind... we'll have a bottle of the Moselle..."

"Mmmm... we're out of that one, too...."

"How about a bottle of Hock?"

"Sorry... none of that, either..."

"Well, in that case... a Burgundy?"

"... Ah... I regret to inform you...."

He grimaced in disbelief, "What the devil is going on... has your cellar dried up or some such? What wines are on offer, then?"

"Well... actually we're fresh out of wine, sir."

"Then why didn't you say that at the start?! More to the point, why bother bringing the wine menu over?"

"Well... on the other side are a number of other drinks that are available..."

"....." he sighed and turned the double-sided drinks menu over to peruse the other beverages on offer, "Fine. A bottle of Moët & Chandon. Black label."

"My, my! Someone has expensive tastes!" the head waiter remarked with a jovial laugh.

"..." The seething glare Barok offered in reply seemed to have the effect of making the man wither somewhat, "Just... tell me you have the damned thing in stock."

"Yes! We do indeed."

"Well that's a relief. Now, before we even bother with food, is there anything not on the menu?" he wasn't going through that... ordeal again.

"No, no!" the annoying man said with a shake of his head, "The kitchen is fully stocked!"

"A small mercy," Barok observed, before looking over at his beloved, "I'm... sorry about that rigmarole regarding the wine... what would you like to eat?"

They smiled and shook their head, "Oh, no, no, don't be!" then, they gave their order to the maître d before folding over their menu and returning it to him.

"Excellent taste!" the waiter said, before looking to the dour reaper, "And what can I get to delight you, sir?"

"Frogs legs to start," he said, "Followed by the steak, rare, with seasonal vegetables."

"Very good, very good!" he made a careful note, then took both the food and drinks menus, "I shall bring over your champagne in a moment and your food will be ready shortly. Do enjoy the wonderfully ambient surroundings, perfect for a date like this!"

Barok peered at the waiter as if he were more than overstaying his welcome; finally, he left them in peace.

"Gods..." he shook his head and sighed, "I do not remember the head waiter ever being that... vexatious. What has gotten into him?"

His beloved smiled, "Oh it really doesn't matter, I'm just happy to be here with you."

"Yes..." he nodded, "You're right, I'm delighted to finally have a chance to spend time with you... like this," it was a blessing that they'd reciprocated his feelings and were amenable to a date with him. No doubt most would be intimidated by his pseudonym and the general way in which he carried himself. But not them, not his beloved. They seemed to accept him as he was, and that was greatly welcomed.

They talked, mostly about how their weeks had been and about shared interests, such as the books that had taken their fancy of late. It was surprisingly easy to converse with them, which was a welcomed change from Barok's perspective. His beloved made for far more enjoyable company than the wooden aristocrats who drove him to the depths of boredom with their inane nattering and inconsequential opinions.

"This champagne is really lovely," they remarked, after taking another sip from their flute, "I'm not normally that fond of bubbles... but this has such a nice, fruity after taste."

"I'm glad you like it," he said with a nod; relieved that the beverage had a) materialised and b) wasn't corked or in some other way undrinkable. The way this date had been going thus far, outside of the interaction with his beloved, had left him wondering what else might go wrong.

Sadly, he didn't have to wait long...

"Your starters!" the waiter announced as he came over with two plates, their contents concealed by silver cloches. He set the two plates down, one in front of each of the diners, then lifted the first cloche, before turning to Barok's, "And, for the gentleman, frog's legs..."

Only, it was not frogs legs. It was a whole, live frog. After a few blinks of its beady black eyes and inflations of its vocal sac, the amphibian launched itself off the plate and into Barok's hair.

"What?!" he reached up in a bid to grab the creature, but his unwelcome passenger hopped out of the way and on to the floor, before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. Barok glared at the waiter, "What is the meaning of this?!"

"Gracious me! I do apologise! I must have written 'raw frogs legs' by mistake!" the maître d said with a look of shock that was strangely disingenuous, "Do forgive me! I shall put in your order immediately--"

"Don't bother," Barok snapped, "Just make sure the main course isn't an entire living, breathing cow."

"Now, now, don't be ridiculous, sir...."

Once more he levelled the waiter with a withering glare.

"Please," Barok said to his beloved, "Don't let your food go cold."

They smiled, "Shall we share it, perhaps?"

"Oh..." that brought a blush to his cheeks, "No... I... couldn't possibly take from your plate..." but, to his surprise, a piece was already being presented to him. He decided against continued declining, and leaned forward to accept the mouthful, "Thank you..." he said, once he'd finished chewing and swallowing.

"It's good, isn't it?" his beloved said.

"Yes..." perhaps all the more so, having come from their plate.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

Thankfully, the rest of the date seemed to go surprisingly well -- in so far as there were no more frogs or similar cock ups (though his steak was medium, much to his disappointment, he decided against complaining as the mere fact the thing was edible was relief enough).

"I've had a lovely time," his beloved said to him as they finished off their dessert course.

"So have I," Barok replied, smiling softly, "Thank you, for agreeing to join me."

"Oh.... no... it's my pleasure... I've enjoyed myself a great deal in your company, Lord van Zieks."

"I'm glad to hear it... this has certainly been an... eventful date. I'm sorry, again, about all the oddities that have occurred."

"Oh, no, don't be! It's been a wonderful and memorable date, I loved every minute!"

"Oh ho! It seems this date has been a marvelous success, dear fellow!" announced a familiar voice. Barok knew that voice. It brought a scowl to his lips and a furrow to his brow almost instantly; as if the very muscles in his face were conditioned to respond in this manner.

"Herlock... Sholmes?!"

The maître d tore off his disguise and grinned happily, "Yes! It is I! You never suspected a thing!"

"... What are you doing here?!"

"Why! I had heard rumours that the Reaper was going on a date, so Iris and I took bets on whether that was the truth or not. Alas, it seems I now owe her five pounds..." he looked momentarily crestfallen, "But who can be glum when such a lovely couple is here before them? Truly, you two are as sweet as syrup together!"

"Hehe, thank you," his beloved smiled happily at the compliment.

". . . . . . . So you came to sabotage my date?" Barok hissed.

"What?! No! I came to ensure that you had a most memorable and eventful night, and I think I've exceeded expectations on all fronts!"

"You have indeed!" they said, nodding.

"Well," Barok folded his arms, "In that case, I shall leave the bill to you," he stood up smoothly and took his beloved by the arm.

Sholmes fell over, arms flailing, "Wait... WHAT?!"

"Farewell, 'detective'," Barok called over his shoulder as he escorted his beloved out the door. It brought him no end of delight to think that the man would be washing pots until the early hours.

(Let that be a lesson to you, you second-rate crime scene botherer!) he thought, smirking to himself. This was a most pleasing end to what had been a wonderful date, despite Herlock's meddling.

"You have some truly interesting and intriguing friends, Barok," his beloved observed as he walked them home.

"I'm not certain that 'friend' is the correct word here, my dear," he replied, though he was still smiling to himself as he held their hand and squeezed it fondly. It seemed that despite the ... characters that plagued him, they were not enough to deter his beloved.

That was certainly a huge relief.

[debbiebeary]

Disgust and Ecstasy

1

“God, Dillon, your butt is so damn perfect!” crooned Brian between mouthfuls of his sweet, young starfish. Dillon whipped his legs around in ecstasy on the bed where, occasionally, Brian and his husband (presently at work) would sleep in together. The room was tight, but cozy inside the charming 1920’s-era character home. The last shimmers of dusk shone blue through the window and the amber glow of a lamp on the other side of the room bounced off a far wall, flooding the two writhing men in its honeyed light. “Thanks big daddy!” the handsome young cub replied, his tongue flopped out of his mouth in bliss as his heavy set daddy friend slurped between his fit little asscheeks.

Dillon was attending university in the Pacific Northwest in the Willamette valley, just over the cascades was the town of Alder Glade, where Brian worked on the school district board and was also a producer at the local theatre.

The two were drawn to one another initially through mutual attraction. Dillon was a chubby chaser. Always had been, always would be, and from the moment he set his eyes on the Nordic beefcake he was sold. Eyes sparkling blue like a glacial lake, a full greying beard unsuccessfully covering a thick neck, double chin and perky chubby cheeks. Down lower Brian had a healthy portion of fur covering his meaty chest and round pot belly.

A belly that was almost always sucked in, much to Dillon’s lament.

Brian may have been a chubby daddy, but he was what some people may call a ‘sad chub’, an ‘accidental bear’ (as opposed to an on purpose bear), a ‘reluctant fat boy’. He may have enjoyed the attention from younger men his status gave him, but if things were up to him he would have been a lean muscle bear with not an ounce of fat on him.

Dillon, though enjoying the romps with the larger daddy, (as presently he was twisted around with his back against the sheets, the big daddy bear lunging towards his erect, throbbing member, sinking down all the way to his brown bush), he couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing.

In the last year since university he had put on thirty pounds, going from roughly one hundred and thirty pounds to one hundred and sixty, if he had it his way he'd add at least another hundred pounds on top of where he was, too. He felt sexier than ever, yet as he guided his daddies hand to his softening stomach, he felt Brian scoff through his fellatio, reluctantly giving his cubby a rather passionless belly rub. He couldnt help but feel a little bit deflated in response, but he tried hard to stay hard. Turns out it was hard work.

Dillon rolled his eyes and tried his best to enjoy the blowjob. Imagining his friend stating ‘oh my, look at this belly you’re growing, fattening up nicely aren’t we, boy?’ or ‘looks like my little butterball is going to be a bear soon’ while giving his growing tummy a healthy slap. He could tell, however, this would never be the case. Brian liked him because he had just enough meat on his bones he wasn’t skinny anymore, but too much more meat would be more than the older bear could stomach. He loved his fur, his skin, his hazel eyes and mischievous smirk. He did not like his gaining fetish.

“C’mon big daddy. Rub my big belly!” said Dillon in a husky voice.

“You’re still just an otter, boy.” The daddy growled as his face was buried in his crotch between his budding fupa and thickening thigh. Dillon hated it when his daddy friend downplayed his weight gain. Total boner killer.

Dillon sighed.

“Alright Brian, time for me to fuck that fat ass.” Dillon chirped excitedly, trying to keep things interesting, especially after that intentionally disruptive comment of Brians.

Which brings us to the second issue between the two, Brian was a reluctant bottom, only taking the position so he could get his hands on Dillon’s 'still perfect' body. He wasn’t, however, particularly enthusiastic about the whole setup and sighed deeply before taking the position.

“Alright boy,” he said, sticking his chubby ass up into the air, at two hundred eighty pounds and a height of six foot three, it gave Dillon quite the mountain to climb for his prize. But as usual, that wasn’t the position Dillon wanted to take Brian. He stared and smirked in response,

"C'mon boy, I don't have all night, Ken will be home at 11."

“Naw big bear, not like that. On your back. I wanna see your big sexy belly!” Brian failed to fully hide a grimace as he flipped onto his back, his tummy wobbling slightly as he did so, only slightly, however because Brian’s abdomen was still tensed in vain, always to Dillon’s chagrin.

“Oooh fuck that’s so hot Brian!”

“Well at least someone likes it!”

“Oh god yeah I do,” Dillon said, guiding his lubed up dick towards Brian’s hole between his fluffy buns, “fuck yes I dooo!” he moaned as his cock sunk into Brian’s hole.

“fuck…” Dillon moaned as he began to rock on his knees against Brian’s chubby rear. Brian’s cheeks were red and sweat began seeping out onto his bald forehead as he was beginning to get pounded, Dillon often started slow but often reached a fever pitch. Brian's cheeks and chin began to wobble with every thrust, but those weren't the only features jiggling.

As Dillon found his rhythm he looked down at Brian’s gut, when he was being pounded in missionary there was no attempt to suck in, showing, at last, the tubby extent of Brian’s grey furred belly. The faster and harder Dillon pumped his dick into Brian the more Brian’s chunky belly began to ripple, his shallow but wide belly button beckoned him and Dillon began to finger and massage it,

“Such a sexy belly, daddy.”

“Thanks…” Brian croaked dubiously.

Dillon leaned forward and clamped his mouth around Brian’s fat moob, sucking hard on his nipple.

“Ohhhh, boy, that feels so good!” moaned Brian despite himself.

“Fuck I love nursing your fat tiddies daddy!”

As Dillon got closer and closer to his climax he released Brian’s legs and grabbed his soft, wobbling gut with both his hands, shaking it with all his might, rippling his fat as he began to pound Brian’s rear as hard as he could,

“So. Fucking. Fat!” Dillon cried out as he flooded Brian’s guts with cum.

Dillon rolled off Brian panting and Brian finished himself off quickly with his right hand and a few flicks of his wrist, snuggling up to Dillon after getting off.

Dillon had news but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to say it out loud.

“In a few weeks I’m going to Vancouver to see a feeder.” He said simply

“Dillon,” Brian responded in a concerned tone, “I’m getting worried about this fetish of yours.”

2

Dillon sighed and rolled his eyes reading Brian’s text after sending him a dick pic.

Brian: you better watch that belly, son, I don’t want it to get too big and cover your cock and your bush.

Dillon wanted more than anything for it to cover his cock and his bush. Comments like this weren’t rare either, they were getting more common, especially after his lecture about abdominal weight being bad for the heart the last time they were both together before his trip up to Vancouver.

‘Yadda yadda. Like I haven’t had that catastrophizing, clean eating, healthy heart shit crammed down my throat all my life,’ Dillon would always think when confronted with such obtuse sermonizing.

Sermonizing that was becoming more and more common in recent times and not without a cause either.

It had been three months since the feeding in Vancouver B.C., which occurred late November. The trip was a hedonistic foray with a handsome blonde bear named Hayden, who sat at a rotund two hundred eighty five pounds and had a thick slab of an overhang tantalizing Dillon between every mouthful of sea-salted chocolate caramel ice cream (lactose free). His deep, mostly smooth but only very lightly blonde-furred belly and golden skin, only interrupted by the odd mole (which Dillon thought was sexy anyhow) and dopey, thick bearded face drove Dillon to the heights of ecstasy.

Since that meeting something clicked in Dillon’s brain. Mainly his appetite. The consequence? A lot had changed. Particularly Dillon’s waistline. Brian was right to cringe. Dillon had blossomed from one hundred and sixty pounds to one hundred eighty five. The twenty five pound gain hardly went unnoticed. Classmates made fun of his double chin. He bought an entire new wardrobe. His parents were concerned. His sister across in Baltimore laughed at his chubby face over Zoom. All in all he was feeling rather pleased with himself.

He looked in the mirror and stretched his arms above his head until the shirt he was wearing rode up all the way past his bellybutton.

“Finally outgrown mediums!” He exclaimed to himself cheerfully. Cupping the belly with both hands, he lifted it from underneath, pooching it up, making the bellybutton appear deeper. He stuck his finger in. With the belly smooshed up the way it was his finger was already as far in as it would go as it did when he put it in Brian’s. He imagined himself fatter.

Brian: it’s going to be fun playing with that dick this weekend, boy.

Dillon paused. Fiendishly, he propped his phone against a cup and a shampoo bottle in front of his dorm mirror and angled his phone until it framed his belly perfectly. He took a video of himself jiggling his new soft belly, fur abound, some of it getting sucked into the black hole of his belly button. After a few jiggles get gave his little growing gut a few meaty slaps and ended the recording. He then sent it to Brian.

Brian: that’s an unfortunate look.

Dillon: how come?

Three dots scintillating in that monochromatic frosted blue inside the mellow primary blue bubble. Then they stopped. Dillon face twisted with mischief.

Dillon: is it because my belly is getting big?

Three dots. This time a response followed.

Brian: Dillon. You’re getting too fat.

Dillon’s dick sprang to attention.

Brian: You need to start hitting the gym before you get any bigger.

Dillon’s dick throbbed so hard he felt like he would faint. Through his wicked, lust-fuelled haze a seed of a scheme germinated and burst through the damp soil of his mind, a season full of conniving growth passed in an instant.

‘I wonder how much fatter I can get before I see him again?’

Dillon: how fat is too fat?

Brian: when you have the same BMI as I do.

Dillon quickly added things up, Brian’s BMI had recently gone up due to him gaining back a bunch of weight, now sitting at three hundred twenty pounds. To which he couldn’t even coax a belly pic from Brian (well, he managed to get one, but Brian was standing with ‘good posture’ and sucking in his gut so hard it made his face look constipated).

‘6’3, 320 lbs.’

‘5’11, 185…’

He played with the numbers on the BMI converter on his phone until they showed him what he needed to know.

He needed to gain one hundred pounds.

‘So be it then’

Quickly, he thought up a lie, a delicious one, and concocted a plan in his head immediately.

Dillon: oh man! I’m sorry daddy! My sister is coming over from Baltimore, haven’t seen her in a while. We’ll have to reschedule!

Brian: aww, that’s too bad cub. Have fun with your family though!

Dillon: sure thing!

Three more months of classes. He’d been sitting on his lazy ass eating cafeteria food, fast food and tonnes of soda, milk everything. It’s what caused his weight to go up so drastically in just three months. He calculated at least another twenty pounds.

‘185 + 20….’

Unable to contain himself, be brushed his growing pink nipples amongst a sea of fur after ripping his shirt off over his head in a swift motion.

‘…= 205lbs’

He had to take his hand off his dick so he didn’t cum.

He never thought he’d be over two hundred, and just in time for swimsuit season he calculated - a conservative estimate -that he would be at least five pounds over.

His next thoughts made his body operate as if on autopilot.

Dillon: hey Hayden, does your work still need an extra guy… uh, bearista? And are you still looking for a room mate? Maybe I could come up and fill both those positions. That is if they’re willing to pay an illegal American under the table.

The very thought of his plan working filled Dillon with such lust he looked in the mirror and thought about what he would look like at two-o-five.

Then he thought what it would look like at two eighty five.

He plunged his thumb into his belly button and wrapped his fingers down under his belly, he stood hunched so he gave himself an overhang to grab onto. Dropping his phone into the empty sink, he twisted his nipple with his other hand.

“Yeah, fuckin piggy. We,” he jiggled his belly to let it know he was addressing it, “we got a lot of growing to do in Canada, don’t we piggy? Yeah, I’m gonna get so fuckin fat, I’m gonna get so big it’ll give Brian a fuckin stroke!” He said, his voice getting whiny and lustful “Brian? Uh, fuck. Brian, why are you looking at me like that?”

And he mimicked Brian’s voice,

“Good-god boy! What the fuck have you done to yourself!?” a vividly imagined expression popped into Dillon’s head of a dismayed Brian looking down at an obese Dillon splayed out on his bed, fat rolls cascading down his furry body.

At that, wheezing and panting, clearly on his way to becoming out of shape, he threw his head back, stumbling backwards against the wall, and sprayed his load all over his chunky reflection in front of him.

“Oh fuck yea!”

After he cleaned up he remembered the text that sent him on his horned out fantasy. Grabbing his phone, he noticed two texts that made him want to do it all over again.

Brian: don’t eat too much with your family! You’re getting too chubby! Maybe hit the gym instead.

He’d lay into that last comment for sure. As a lie. Then he read the next one.

Hayden: yeah bud! We’d love to have you up here! I’m over 330 now and only getting bigger, maybe I’ll rub off on you a bit!

“Rub off on me? That’s the idea baby!”

[goodlucktai]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just…”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

#

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

#

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

#

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

#

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

#

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.  

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

[angelsdevils]

Imayoshi x Reader

Title: First love 1/2 Fluff No Warning

Imayoshi never expected himself to fall hard for you, especially since he didn’t even know your name. It was kind of cliche if you thought about it because the moment you passed by him in the library, it was like flowers fell around you. Everything had moved in slow motion and he couldn’t focus on his studies. It was only when Susa had called you over and had a full conversation with you that he learned your name.

“How are you settling in (L/N)?”

“Call me (Y/N), I cringe when called my last name. I am doing okay though, its different my Japanese is not the best right now.” 

“Well, if you ever need help. I can help since we are in the same class. Plus English is my best subject.”

“That would be amazing~Susa right.”

“Yep, oh this is Imayoshi. He is the same year as us.” 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” Imayoshi cleared his throat, and gave you a smirk like smile.

“The pleasure is mine, did you want to sit with us to study,”

“Sure, I got nothing else to do,” you sat beside Susa since you knew him better than Imayoshi. Imayoshi couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous but it didn’t show on his face.

“Oh (L/N), you should come to the party tonight. I think that would help your social circle he~” he trailed off as you grimaced at the mention of a party.

“Social circle? I need one of those?” Imayoshi cracked a smile and Susa laughed slightly.

“Sorry, I just~”

“I will go as long as the two of you don’t leave me alone. Once my social battery runs out I poof into thin air.” 

“Fair enough, if you give one of us your address we can pick you up.” Susa said and you wrote down your address and number giving it to the both of them. 

“Just text me when you are here, don’t knock. For the love of all things holy do NOT knock. The last thing any of us want is my dad and brothers giving us the talk…” 

“Alright…” They said in unison, Imayoshi glanced at Susa, and Susa knew that Imayoshi wanted to pick you up.

“Well, I should go. I need to change out of this, and into something more comfortable.”

“Alright, I will text when I am around the corner.” Imayoshi stated and you gave him a thumbs up.

“Seems good to me.” You were then gone, and Susa turned his attention to his friend and teammate.

“You like her?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah, for a brief moment, I could sense you got jealous when she sat next to me.”

“Ah, sorry… it just it came out of no where.” 

“It’s fine, she oddly suits you.” Susa said going back to his studying and Imayoshi smiled to himself. 

You had decided to dress comfortable, which consisted of ripped jeans, a tank top with a flannel on top and converse. You added a beanie to top the look off, and as on cue you received a messaged from an unknown number. 

To: (L/N) (Y/N)

From: Unknown

‘I am around the corner’

You knew exactly who it was and messaged him a quick ‘k’ and grabbed your key before leaving.

“I am heading out dad.”

“Wait before you do…”

“Yes?”

“Your brother is staying at a friends house and I was called into work over night. Money for food is gonna be in your dresser, keep all doors locked and windows locked when you come home. If you need me call my work phone so I will answer immediately.”

“Alright love you dad.” 

“Have fun sweety… stay away from boys, they are disgusting little beasts.”

“Right, like you were with mom.”

“Exactly! So stay away from them!” 

“Alright, whatever you say. Bye dad!” You rushed out and jogged to meet with Imayoshi, and quickly pulled him so you were far away from your house.

“Why the rush?”

“My dad, that’s the rush.”

“Ahh…” He glanced down at your hand and he felt a tint of red on his cheeks. Once you guys were far enough you let his hand go.

“Susa said he will meet us there.” 

“Alright, so what is the occasion?”

“After midterms, just a small get together.”

“Makes sense.” You smiled at him and he looked ahead adjusting his glasses as he led the way to the house. Once you both arrived, he let you in first and Susa was by your side already introducing you to everyone. Your social battery was at about 3/4 so you hoped you could make it through the night. 

“Yo~” You waved and two dudes, one with red hair and one with a freckle under his eye came to you.

“You aren’t from here…”

“No sir I am not, what gave it away? My accent?”

“Yeah, I am Himuro that is Kagami.”

“Nice to meet you guys.”

“Where are you from?”

“Ohio, USA…” (if you aren’t just go with it)

“So the cornfields?” Kagami asked and you looked at him.

“Dude seriously? We have cities, its only when you go north that there are corn fields, why do everyone assume Ohio is out in the middle of no where.?” You said in English and you lost about half of the people there.

“Hey, I just assumed.” He replied and you rolled your eyes.

“Anyway, now that everyone is here. Lets play truth or dare!” Someone from a far said and you groaned. You hated games like this, but you didn’t let it show on your face. You sat beside Imayoshi, and Himuro. They went over the rules and put the bottle in the middle. 

The game was actually pretty fun, and there was a lot good dares. Luckily you didn’t have to do anything yet, but you knew you would do truth.” 

Kise, whom you learned the name of ended up spinning the bottle and it landed on you.

“(Y/N)cchi~ truth or dare?”

“Alright, I am gonna be lame… truth…” you said laughing causing several others to laugh.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Are you single?” 

“As a pringle…” You spun the bottle and it landed on Susa.

“Truth or Dare, Susa?” 

“Dare?” You grinned and he paled slightly realizing he made a mistake.

“Great choice, I dare you too…. dance to APinks Nonono…”

“No…”

“Or, wear lipstick at school tomorrow.”

“Fine, someone play the song.” He groaned and you secretly got the camera and videotaped the entire thing. When he was done he groaned slightly hiding his face with his hands. You couldn’t stop the string of laughs that escaped your lips, while everyone else was laughing at him.

“I am so going to get you back…” He said and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Do your best!”

He spun the bottle and it landed on Imayoshi, and Susa groaned hoping it was you. Though a sudden idea came into mind and he smirked causing Imayoshi to blink.

“Truth or Dare Imayoshi?”

“Dare…”

“I dare you to kiss (Y/N), not a peck either. I mean full on make out,” Imayoshi actually opened his eyes to stare at his friend. Susa knew exactly what he was doing, and Imayoshi was about to object.

“I can’t do that, we just met today.”

“Either that or wear a cheer uniform tomorrow.” You grimaced, you kinda felt bad for Imayoshi. He was on the receiving in of what was suppose to be your punishment.

“First off, why are you punishing him?”

“Oh he knows why.” Susa said and Imayoshi shot a glare at the male.

“I will just~”

“Just kiss me dude, I have no problem with it.” You said and everyone looked at you surprised.

“I am getting disturbed at the thought of you in a cheer uniform. Plus seriously, how bad can a kiss be? We are just having fun…” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I see, you must want to kiss someone more your type… I understand.” You teased and he slightly panicked but you laughed and he realized you were teasing him.

“I am joking… so that cheer uniform or kiss me?” You asked and he leaned over and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle, he began to move his lips against yours gently. He bit your bottom lip slightly which you granted him access too, he gripped your chin slightly so you wouldn’t move away. Imayoshi felt his heart rate increase as the kiss continued. He hoped you felt it which you did because it felt extremely magical in your opinion. The kiss had lasted a few minutes, but when you both broke the kiss you guys were panting. His forehead was against yours, your noses were touching. 

“Well, don’t they make a cute couple?” You heard someone say but you ignored it and was about to pull away but Imayoshi captured your lips again. He didn’t want the kiss to end. He soon captured your lips and everyone realized that he wasn’t going to stop unless they made him. You gripped his shirt returning the kiss, but parted again shaking your head.

“W-Wait, that’s enough. We are in front of people,” this time you were extremely red. Imayoshi realized and couldn’t help his own blush dusting his cheeks.

“Sorry, I got carried away.”

[cuddlepilefics]

I’m glad to see you back!! I’m not sure if you are accepting requests but just in case I’d like to request an emeto sick Jooheon with Changkyun as a caretaker! (Can you guess who my biases are lol) I hope you are doing well!!

Sleep well, honey

Fandom: Monsta X

Sickie: Jooheon

Caregiver: Changkyun

Prompt: 'Hot water bottle' @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Monsta X had finally gotten a day off after a long time. Most members wanted to go out and have fun or visit their families, who they haven't seen in a while. The two maknaes however felt tired out from their busy schedules and decided they'd stay at the dorm and sleep in as late as they'd want to, which on Jooheon's case ended up being really late. Changkyung had already been up for two hours and not wanting to wake his friend, made himself a small breakfast before lazing on the couch and watching TV. It was already a bit past lunch time when he started to worry. Sure, they all were exhausted but sleeping this long really was extreme. The youngest decided to give Jooheon thirty more minutes before he'd go and check on him. Those thirty minutes passed with Changkyun unable to focus on the drama he was watching before he got up and quietly made his way to his friend's room. He carefully opened the door just a crack, peaking into the dim room. Apparently, the older rapper was still asleep. Walking closer, Changkyun looked at his hyung. Jooheon was curled up around a pillow, hugging it to his middle. His brows were furrowed, forehead glistening with sweat. Before the younger could feel for a fever though, Jooheon stirred, looking at Changkyun surprised. "Sorry for waking you", the maknae apologized, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Closing his eyes again, Jooheon shook his head and denied: "You didn't, I've already been awake for a while."

Uncomfortable with the silence, Changkyung asked: "Are you okay? I thought I'd check on you, considering how late it is already." – "I-I've got a stomach ache... Can you make it better?", the older groaned, grimacing in pain. As if to prove his point, his stomach grumbled angrily, causing the rapper to squeeze his eyes shut and bury his face in the pillow. Unsure of how he was supposed to make it better, Changkyun offered: "Well, you haven't had breakfast yet. I could make you something light and see if that settles your stomach." Gritting his teeth as a cramp hit, Jooheon shook his head. "Please don't make me food", he breathed, when the cramp let up. Rubbing the older's back comfortingly, Changkyung wracked his brain to come up with another way to help his friend. "How about a hot water bottle?", he hummed after a few minutes of thinking, "Might help your muscles relax and ease the cramps a little." – "Please", Jooheon nodded, gripping his pillow tighter. Squeezing his hyung's shoulder, Changkyun got up and promised: "Be back in a minute. Hang in there." The older nodded again, although this time, his dongsaeng couldn't see it as he was already out of the room.

As he waited for Changkyun to return, Jooheon couldn't help but notice the way the pain in his abdomen slowly morphed into something else. His stomach churned, letting out a sickly gurgle. Propping himself up on his elbow, Jooheon brought his fist up to his lips and muffled a queasy belch. He hoped it was just some gas wanting out but by the way his mouth watered, he could tell he wouldn't be that lucky. Unsure of what was going to happen, he stayed propped up, which was how Changkyun found him a few minutes later. "You okay?", The rapper asked worriedly, placing the hot water bottle aside to take in the other's sickly appearance, noting, "You could blend in with the wall perfectly with how white you look right now." – "I-I don't know", the older muttered, "It just hurt at first but now, I feel nauseous out of nowhere." Gently pulling the pillow out of his hyung's grasp, the maknae hummed: "Let's camp out in the bathroom for a while." Jooheon nodded, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He needed a moment for his head to stop spinning and for his stomach to settle a bit, as he feared he'd get sick all over the floor the moment he stood up.

Changkyung stayed close by and wrapped an arm around Jooheon's waist, supporting him as he stumbled to the bathroom, one arm cradling his upset stomach. The older already felt bile rising up his throat and swallowed back a gag, clenching his teeth, afraid something would come up before they made it to the bathroom. His shaky legs giving out the moment he reached his destination. Jooheon squeezed his eyes shut praying for his stomach to settle while the younger flipped up the toilet seat. Knowing how much his friend hated throwing up, Changkyun crouched behind him and rubbed his back. He could feel the heat radiating through his shirt. Remembering that he had wanted to check for a fever earlier but had gotten distracted when the other woke up, the maknae pressed the backs of his fingers against his hyung's neck. Jooheon shuddered at the cold touch. "You're burning", the younger cooed sympathetically, getting back up to fetch a cold washcloth. Jooheon only groaned, not really surprised at the revelation. His stomach was still doing backflips and he could feel his mouth water. Swallowing convulsively, the rapper moved closer to the toilet bowl. He hated being sick with a passion and would try his hardest to keep his stomach in place. Slowly he was losing the fight though and it freaked him out. Changkyun could tell by the way his friend's hands shook. Draping the cool cloth across the older's neck, he hummed: "Deep breaths. Stressing yourself out isn't going to help."

Trying to take a deep breath, Jooheon shook his head. His air was cut off by his throat contracting with an unproductive gag, that brought tears to his eyes. Only seconds later, his stomach lurched and he choked up a wave of mainly stomach acid. Changkyun was there, rubbing his back and whispering words of encouragement. Clutching the other's hand for support, Jooheon retched again. His ears rang as he threw up last night's dinner. Catching a short break, Jooheon tore off a wad of toilet paper to first dry the tears and sweat before cleaning his lips and chin. "Do you think you're done?", Changkyun whispered, rewetting the washcloth. The older shook his head, crossing his arms over the toilet and dizzily resting his head on them. Gently combing his hair back, the maknae sighed: "You already felt sick last night, didn't you? I remember you barely ate anything for dinner." – "Jus' wasn't hungry", Jooheon denied, cringing at the vile smell. "Alright, sit back against the tub for a moment, yeah?", the younger frowned, reaching to flush the toilet for the older, "Are you sure you're not done? You barely ate dinner and skipped breakfast entirely. How could there possibly be anything for you to throw up?" – "T-There is", Jooheon insisted, leaning over the toilet again.

They sat there for another twenty minutes but nothing happened aside from the rapper's stomach turning painfully. Still running his hand up and down the older's back, Changkyun offered: "Do you want me to call any of the hyungs for you?" Jooheon shook his head. They should enjoy their day off. "I could get you some water. Maybe if you drink something, you could throw up and get it over with", the younger tried, hoping to find a way to help his friend feel at least a little better. Unsurprisingly, Jooheon shook his head again. He hated throwing up, so there was no way he'd make himself sick even if he would feel better afterwards. After another ten minutes, Changkyun was able to convince him to move to the living room couch. While the older curled up there, drawing his legs up to his chest and hugging his sore middle, the maknae fetched a bucket and placed it next to the couch just in case. Then he collected the hot water bottle he had abandoned on his friend's bed and went to refill it, so it'd be nice and warm again. "You still want this", he asked quietly, crouching next to the couch and showing his hyung the hot water bottle. The older nodded, uncurling just enough to hug the newfound heat source to his middle. It was only now that he noticed just how cold he felt. Changkyun picked up on the little shivers and frowned. Jooheon's fever must have gone up if he was having chills like that.

Retrieving a fluffy blanket from his room, the maknae also fetched an ice pack before returning to the living room. He spread the blanket over his hyung's tightly curled up form and warned: "I'll put something cold on your forehead. Your head must be hurting from the high temperature you're sporting." Jooheon mumbled something incoherent and flinched a bit when the younger pressed the icepack to his forehead. Heart aching in sympathy, Changkyun stroked the other's arm till he had gotten used to the cold sensation on his face and was able to relax a bit. "Do you want me to turn on the TV to distract you a bit?", the maknae asked, reaching for the remote. He couldn't just let his friend wither in pain. Though he didn't get a reply, he turned on a random drama that was playing, making sure the volume was just loud enough to understand. After a few minutes, Jooheon opened his eyes and glanced at the TV too. If he couldn't sleep anyway, a distraction didn't sound too bad. In the beginning, the background noise and distraction were really welcome but after sometime, all the colors seemed to blur together, making the rapper's head pound. He closed his eyes, hoping to follow along with the plot despite not being able to see it. It didn't work and not being occupied anymore, he started paying more attention to how his body felt. Jooheon could feel every slight turn of his stomach and took a deep breath, reminding himself that the bucket was right there and nothing bad could happen to him. He'd be fine.

Ten minutes later, Changkyun noticed how his friend's skin shade looked faded and washed out. Just as he wanted to ask if everything was alright, the older propped himself on his elbow and leaned over the edge of the couch. Pulling the bucket closer, Jooheon drew in a shaky breath. Tears already pricked at his eyes. They finally had a day off and he had to spend it miserable like this. "Ssh, you're okay", Changkyun promised, moving closer to rub the other's back. The older choked out a sob before ducking his head into the bucket with a forceful retch. Changkyun patted his back as he coughed up a wave of sick. Considering it was mostly stomach acid and bile, Jooheon's throat burned making it incredibly painful to take in a breath. Before he could really recover from the first wave, his stomach lurched again and the younger cringed at the wet splattering noise. Changkyun could feel his own stomach clench and looked away but his hand never stopped drawing soothing circles onto his hyung's back.

Exhausted, Jooheon flopped onto his back, his arm draped over his face as he tried to recover from the exertion. "I'll get you some water. You don't have to drink immediately but maybe rinse your mouth", Changkyun hummed, placing the icepack back onto his friend's forehead before getting up and making his way to the kitchen. When he returned, the older seemed almost asleep but groaned quietly when the maknae rubbed his arm to get his attention. Jooheon sat up with some struggle and accepted the water his dongsaeng handed him. First, he rinsed his mouth a few times before taking a small sip and handing the glass back. Helping the older get settled again, Changkyun tucked the blanket around his hyung's shoulders and asked: "Will you be alright for a moment, so I can clean this out?" Jooheon nodded with his eyes closed. He felt like the couch was moving underneath him and just wanted for it to stay still so he could go to sleep. With the dizziness taking up most of his attention, he barely noticed when Changkyun returned and placed the now clean bucket back on the floor. The maknae could tell Jooheon wasn't asleep, his face didn't look relaxed enough for that. In hopes of helping the older get some rest, he played with his hair and gently scratched his scalp, successfully distracting Jooheon from most of his discomfort. He was too exhausted to stay awake much longer anyway. Changkyun smiled a bit when his hyung's face relaxed and he huffed a soft breath in his sleep. Sleep well, honey.

[lunar-wandering]

Sunset Alley

so i’ve been developing this AU, which I’m calling the Sunset Wukong AU. The basics are that, after sealing DBK, the gods feared the amount of power Wukong had, so they tried to seal him too. Only they kinda failed. Wukong can’t use his powers during the day, as doing so will make him slowly start to turn to stone. Thankfully, sunset will reverse this process, and Wukong can use his powers as he wishes during the night.

...anyways, I got so obsessed with this AU, that I’m writing fics for it, so. Here’s the first one!

Word Count: 1k

read on ao3

Pigsy waited, in the alley way beside the Noodle Shop. He had heard MK ramble on and on about how the Monkey King had helped him to win a rather tough battle earlier in the day, before seemingly vanishing afterwards.

Pigsy knew, for a fact, that Wukong's curse affected him during the day. And so he waited, patiently, for him to show up.

And show up he did, sitting up against a wall in the alley way, his tail curled up in a position Pigsy had come to recognize, as an expression of pain.

Made sense, really, considering Wukong's right arm and left leg were almost entirely stone.

"Wukong, you can't keep doing this." He said, sitting down beside him. Wukong shifted a little to give him more space, gritting his teeth as the motion clearly caused him some pain.

"I'll be fine." He said, "It'll be sunset in a minute or so. The stone will recede."

"I know that." Pigsy responded, glancing up at the sky. He could start to see faint signs of orange on the horizon already. "It doesn't change the fact that you should stop putting yourself through pain every day."

"The kid needed help. Did you want me to just sit back and watch him get injured?"

"No, but you should've asked for help. You can't keep MK in the dark about this forever."

"Watch me." Wukong hissed, anger causing a snarl to form on his face, before he took a breath to calm himself down. "I....I don't want the kid to know. To know that I'm weak. He'd worry."

"He's already worrying." Pigsy said, "And you should tell him, because he knows something's wrong, but he doesn't know what, or how to help."

"There's nothing he can do to help." Wukong said, before cringing, and curling up tighter, tail thrashing as the pain increased.

Sunset had started.

The orange colour of the sky seemed to reflect and be absorbed into Wukong's fur as he shuddered.

The stone started to recede.

Slowly.

Agonizingly slowly.

The numb pain of the stone started to fade, to be replaced with the far worse burning cold sensation that sunk down deep into Wukong's bones.

It hurt.

It always did.

No matter how many times it happened though, he couldn't get used to it.

Pigsy sighed as he watched his brother curl up in pain. He took a glance at the sky. Red was starting to fade and blend with purple. Soon, night would fall, and Wukong's pain would be mostly over.

Mostly.

Pigsy rummaged around in his pocket, pulling out a small tin of cream he'd been given just for this occasion. He took the cover off, knowing that Wukong wouldn't be able to do it by himself in his current condition.

"Here." He said, holding it out to Wukong. "Sandy bought this for you. It will help with the pain a little."

Despite hearing that Sandy bought it, Wukong still eyed the tin suspiciously.

"I don't need some kind of old man bones cream." He said, voice strained and grimacing from the pain still electrifying his arm and leg.

"Oh don't be a baby and just take it." Pigsy said. Barely a few more seconds passed before Wukong caved, using his good arm to take a little bit of the cream and start softly rubbing it into his arm, followed by his leg, in the places where stone was slowly starting to turn back into fur.

"This is just going to make my fur all sticky and goopy.." He mumbled, not wanting to admit that the cream was helping, if only a little. Pigsy snorted.

"A little goop isn't gonna harm ya." He said, as Wukong took a bit more cream out of the tin. "You take a hot as hell shower when you head back to the Mountain anyways."

"That doesn't change the fact that having sticky, goopy fur feels gross." Wukong whined, but he still continued to rub the cream onto his arm and leg nonetheless. Pigsy laughed.

The two of them sat there for a while, Pigsy telling Wukong about some of the weirder customers he'd served that day and some strange stories he'd heard on the news to distract him, while Wukong continued to rub the cream into his fur, interjecting into the stories every now and then with a quip or two. They continued like this until the stone had almost vanished completely, and only the tips of Wukong's fingers and toes were still rock. Wukong started moving his arm and leg slowly, testing how much he could do before they started to ache again.

It didn't take much to make an aching pain start shooting through them again, but Wukong figured it was good enough. Slowly he moved to start to stand up. Pigsy stood up with him, ready to help him if needed.

...Not that Wukong had ever let him do that before, but that didn't mean that Pigsy wouldn't try.

Thankfully, Wukong didn't seem need the helping hand, as he stood up just fine on his own, although he put more weight on one leg than the other. His tail was still curled up in reaction to his pain, but Pigsy could tell it was slowly starting to loosen. Wukong silently brushed off his clothes, looking ready to leave.

"I meant what I said, earlier." Pigsy said, before Wukong could summon his cloud. "About telling MK. He deserves to know."

"I'll think about it." Wukong said. Pigsy sighed.

"This isn't something to think about Wukong. If you won't tell him, then I will." He said, and the look in his eyes told Wukong that he fully intended to follow through on that threat.

"......Fine. I'll tell him." Wukong said, "The next time this kind of thing happens. I'll tell him."

"I'd rather you'd tell him before this happens again, but I'll take what I can get." Pigsy sighed again.

There was a moment of awkward silence in the now dark alley.

The sun had set.

Night had begun.

Wukong summoned his cloud, carefully climbing up onto it instead of jumping, so as to not aggravate his sore leg any further.

"....See you again later?" Wukong asked, awkwardly. Pigsy snorted.

"Try not to make it a habit of only coming to see me when you're injured."

[batbirdies]

Asymmetric Replies

AO3 link

It was late, and the gala was only about half over but Tim was maybe a little exhausted and not wanting to admit that he might not be 100% over his most recent illness. He was perfectly fine, but the residual phlegm, throat clearing, and coughing that was mild during the day tended to get more prominent at night. So he’d slipped out of the ballroom earlier than he might normally allow himself and retreated to his room, where he took off his tux and put on a hoodie and sweats and decided to just veg for the rest of the night.

The den was quiet and watching mind numbing television sounded like the best way to waste some time in the place of schmoozing the rich and famous. 

He must have drifted off, leaned back against the armrest with his eyes drooping. The next thing he was aware of was faint shuffling sounds coming from behind the couch. He figured it was Alfred, taking a short break from the event himself and checking in when he didn’t see Tim in the ballroom anymore. However, when he took a deep breath and shuffled himself to an upright position what he found was not Alfred, but Damian.

Tim blinked at the image before him, because the kid was still in his mini tux, red bow-tie in place, and he was methodically arranging a chess board that hovered near the back wall between two bookshelves. Tim stared for a bit, the voices from the tv behind him sounding more like low buzzing than words. 

It had been louder before, someone - he supposed Damian - must have turned it down.

“What are you-” Of course his voice came out in phlegm and gravel and he had to pause, clearing his throat before he finished. “What are you doing in here?”

“I have grown tired of the Gotham elite. Father excused me for an early ‘bedtime’.” While Damian didn’t look up, he still put air quotes around ‘bedtime’ and glared at the chess board with all of his derisive might. 

“Care for a game of chess, Timothy?” At this, he did finally look up.

He stiffened though when he saw Tim’s no-doubt dumbfounded look.

He quickly schooled his expression, grimacing internally at the awkward silence that followed before Tim watched whatever openness had been on Damian’s face quickly shutter away. “Sure,” he tried after a too-long pause, a twinge of guilt in his stomach at the forced blankness on Damian’s face as he turned back to the board.

“You do not have to,” he spat back, shoulders high and tense, “I am only bored and do not wish to indulge in your trash tv, as you so call it.” 

“No, it - uh, it’s a good idea. I’m bored too.” It took a moment to untangle himself from the blanket he’d wrapped up in on the couch. He left it draped over the armrest, shuffling over to the chess table. Sliding into the seat opposite Damian always felt a little bit like sitting on the other side of a police interview, with how intensely he stared, but it no longer held the underlying edge Tim used to expect. 

He’d called him Timothy, even. Which was...not entirely new, but something Tim had been noticing more and more. It wasn’t his favorite but it was definitely better than Drake, and didn’t hold any of the old animosity he was once accustomed to either.   

That didn’t mean Tim still wasn’t a little bit cautious as he watched him finish arranging the pieces. Nor did Damian’s shoulders completely lower as he set the last one in place. 

“You have first move,” he gestured lightly to Tim’s pieces as he leaned back in his chair, surveying the board. 

Tim looked down, mildly surprised to see he indeed had the white set in front of him, meaning Damian purposefully gave him the first move. It was definitely odd, he thought, as he moved his first piece, not putting that much thought into it. 

Damian normally stayed at those events until the very last one of them was finally heading back up to the private areas of the manor (usually Bruce), refusing to “give in” or something, Tim didn’t know. But it was a pattern. And here he was, taking an ‘early bedtime’ to come in here and play chess with him. The very implication of a bedtime was normally grating to Damian, as it would be to Tim.

There weren’t a lot of reasons Tim could think of that would send him up early, unless something had upset him, enough that Bruce told him to leave. Or, it was something he didn’t want the others to know about. 

“So,” he started, watching as Damian confidently made his first counter move. “These things are the worst, right?” Tim could cringe at himself. Of all the ice breakers…

Damian, however, didn’t give him a disdainful look or make a snide comment, he only sniffed haughtily and nodded. “Indeed. Father’s peers are insufferable.”

Tim glanced down at the board, doing his best to actually concentrate, knowing Damian wouldn’t take it well if he thought he wasn’t trying. Three moves later they already had two pawns in deadlock and Tim was still trying to wrap his head around how to ask without getting his head bitten off. 

Maybe it was none of his business. And Tim wondered, a little, why he was suddenly concerned; but for how Damian’s shoulders were still high and tight and he knew how the people at these things could be. He probably saw the least of it of all of them, really. Most of the sycophants who tried to talk to them instead of either ignoring them or just existing in the peripheral already knew Tim from when he was small. He’d existed in these circles for years. And not to mention he was white, and “well bred” by most of their standards. Damian had no such advantages. 

But Tim wasn’t good at the older brother thing, really, if he even considered himself one. Dick seemed to think so, though, and Cass. Even Jason sometimes made offhand comments about ‘little brothers - right Tim?’ when he was in a good enough mood. 

So maybe.

Quietly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. He opened his text window and scanned the conversations there. No new messages.

“Dick’s asking if I’ve seen you.” He glanced up, gauging Damian’s reaction, but he only looked up in mild surprise, eyebrows raised. “Should I tell him no? Or does it matter?” Tim knew that if Damian was upset, and he hadn’t gone to find Dick, he either didn’t want to see him for some reason, or he felt like he couldn’t interrupt whatever he was in the middle of in the ballroom. Maybe he was dancing, or charming some reporter into writing the right article. 

“You may tell him whatever you wish,” was the cryptic response, as Damian looked back down, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. Tim frowned, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. 

“He’s probably just surprised you headed up early. It’s a little out of the norm, I mean.” 

Damian’s hand paused where his fingers rested just on top of his knight. “Yes well,” he said quietly, “even I grow tired of acting.”  

Tim hesitated briefly, before sucking it up and asking directly, hoping this shift in dynamic might stick. “Did somebody say something rude? Because if they were being -” He didn’t want to outright ask if someone was being racist, but it had happened before. “Bruce puts on a show but he honestly doesn’t put up with that stuff. If you tell him who it was, he’ll make sure they don’t get invited to these things anymore.” 

Damian pulled his hand away after making his move and finally looked up, expression unchanged, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen. “What, exactly, do you assume was said?”

“I...I don’t know.” Tim shrugged, feeling mildly wary, like this could be a trap he hadn’t seen coming. “Most of the people at these things just suck.” He had to clear his throat at the end, residual phlegm taking that moment to come up and mangle his last word, following up with a short round of wet coughs he tried to smother into his elbow. 

Damian was frowning at him when he looked back up. “I am fine,” he said, voice a little more forceful than necessary. “I’m not sure the same can be said for you, however.” 

There was a curl of distaste to his mouth as he watched Tim make his next move, sniffling loudly and glancing around for his water that he’d left on the coffee table. Tim almost snapped something defensive back but just then there was noise outside the room

They both looked up to find Jason swinging around the doorway, tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. “This where you made off to, Gremlin?” He asked, glancing between them as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe. 

“I do not see why that is any of your business.” Damian grumbled, reaching across the board and taking Tim’s bishop. Tim stared at it for a moment, the move computing in his head before he swore under his breath and Damian smirked. 

Jason’s heavy footsteps padded across the carpet until they stopped just next to the board. 

“This is priceless, you didn’t even change your clothes.” 

Damian looked up with a glare, eyebrows drawn low, “And I see you must have chosen to change into a second tux then.” 

Jason snorted, hiking his pant legs up before he squatted down to stared at the board at eye level, scrutinizing their game. “Nah, B sent me to find Tim and make sure he wasn’t hacking up a lung in secret. I’ll take any excuse to leave these things early. Dames, he’s gonna take your knight.” 

“Jason,” Tim held no compunction about reaching over and shoving Jason in the shoulder, knocking him off balance enough that he fell sideways, landing on his hip and holding himself up with one hand.

“I do not need your help.” Damian added for good measure, though his expression when he looked back at the board was distinctly unhappy. 

Instead of getting back up, Jason shifted until he sat cross legged on the floor. “You two are a picture.” He slipped his phone out from somewhere, Tim noticed when he glanced away from the board, and held it up, “Damian in a tux, Timmers in his pajamas, I feel like it’s a real representation of who you are as people.” 

Tim looked down, mildly concerned at the phone pointed his direction. “Are you drunk?” 

“That would explain it,” Damian mumbled under his breath. Tim let out a huff of unexpected laughter, having to suppress another cough when Jason dropped his phone back in his lap. 

“Hey, it’s the only way to get through these things. I’m sending those to Dick, by the way.” 

Tim made eye contact with Damian over the board and they both rolled their eyes. 

“So in sending you to come find me, Bruce was actually just trying to get you out of there before you embarrassed yourself.” 

Damian snickered, stifling a grin as he curled over the board a little more closely. 

“Hey now, I am not drunk, just a little tipsy, I don’t overdo it at these things, ok?” Jason pointed a finger at both of them in turn and then smirked as he leaned back on his hands. “It may have been a fool’s errand though, since Damian was already on duty.” 

Tim was ready to roll his eyes again but Damian sent a glare toward Jason and hissed, “I was merely bored.” 

“Sure you were,” Jason grinned, “no way you were concerned about recovering-little Timmy, vanishing out from under our noses.” 

Tim blinked while Damian sputtered, face going slightly red, “I am not under the impression that Drake needs a babysitter,” he finally managed to snap, glancing at Tim just in time to make fleeting eye contact before his gaze darted away again. 

“Jay,” Tim said under his breath, a warning tone to it before the other man raised a hand in surrender, picking his phone up to look at and summarily dropping the subject. 

Damian looked tense again, jaw and eyes hard as he glared at the board, refusing to look up when Tim didn’t make his next move right away. 

He almost brushed it off, letting his gaze fall back to the match...but it did make sense. It would explain why Damian left the party early, why he didn’t seem to care if Dick knew, and why he might be willing to play the part of a tired little kid to get out of there for the night. And why he was suddenly so defensive when Jason implied it. 

Tim was utterly blank for a moment, processing that. He glanced up for a second as he reached toward the board and found Damian staring at him again, before his eyes flitted back to the game between them, the tips of his ears going bright red. 

Tim was about to push his rook forward, putting Damian in check, but he veered his hand toward the other side of the board at the last second, moving his second bishop to take a pawn instead. Jason was watching again, sitting up just straight enough to see over the top of the board and when Tim looked over, he winked.

Tim felt his own face heat as he rolled his eyes a second time, leaning over the game board and swiping a wrist under his nose briefly as he let Damian take his Queen, resting his chin in his hand. 

Damian won, which was no surprise. “Ah well,” he said as he stretched over the back of his chair. Jason had eventually retreated to change out of his tux and returned in sweats and a t-shirt. He was currently lounging across the couch on his phone. 

Dick appeared just as the match was ending, clearly having showered, hair wet and a damp ring around the neck of his shirt. “Good game,” Tim said as their oldest brother wandered into the room.

“Yes,” Damian agreed with a short nod, beginning to put the pieces away in their respective boxes. “It is unfortunate you are at a disadvantage while you recover. We will be on more even footing next time.” Tim cleared his throat, suppressing a smile as Damian stood up. “I will go change.” 

He spun around in time to almost run into Dick, who quickly veered out of his path, brushing a hand over his head as Damian ducked away and out of the room. Jason peered over the edge of the couch and Tim stifled another cough as Dick fell into the chair Damian had just vacated. 

“Having fun?” He asked, obviously suppressing a smirk. 

“Shut up,” Tim went to kick him under the table and he laughed, grin spreading over his face. Tim looked away the minute it turned to something softer, fiddling with the top of the one of the game piece boxes and thinking he could probably do this if things kept on the way they were...make the whole older brother thing work.

@lilan-norah

[secretbondsandloveconfessions]

All Bastards Are Brothers

Just a series of kinda fluffy, kinda angsty one-shots about the brotherly bond between Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Stories are not connected.

Ao3:

Part 1: Knowin’ My Fate Is To Be With You

Azriel shows up to dinner one night with a hickey, leaving the Inner Circle full of questions. Rhys and Azriel have a heart to heart.

“Az, what's that?"

Mor asked. He traced her glance back to the crook of his neck where, after a moment of thought, he remembered the dark purple bruise given to him only a few hours before. He quickly covered it up with a wisp of shadow and feigned innocence.

"What's what?"

"On your neck there." She pointed at the shadow. "Was that a bruise?"

"There's nothing there."

"Bullshit, move your shadows."

"I don't think I need to, there's nothing there."

"What's going on down here?" Cassian turned to face them. This could only go downhill from here.

"Azriel has a hickey," Mor said, her voice chipper and mocking.

"I do not."

"Then why won't you show me your neck?"

"Why won't you believe me?" He shot back. He was always ready to accept a challenge, and as Mor stuck her tongue out at him, he did the same.

Cassian watched the two curiously before clearing his throat. "You know, Az, before you go all defensive, you should know you're blushing." Shit. That wasn't good. He could feel his face heat up faster than he anticipated. He didn't dare look at Elain, but he felt her heavy gaze. Her very own blush was likely brushing down her pale skin as she watched him get berated for the mark that she left.

"Fine." Azriel removed his shadows and hissed. "It's a hickey."

"I knew it!" Mor cheered loudly, gaining the rest of the attention of the table. He faced Cassian again, who had a feline smirk. "Who?"

He kept his mouth shut. Any name would be a lie—one that Mor would be able to sense—and he wasn't about to bring Elain down with him.

"Second one this week," Cassian said. "I think Azriel has a side piece."

"Second one?" Mor raised an eyebrow at him, and Azriel wanted to cringe at the memory of the training earlier this week. His face felt hot. If he had blushing before, he had to be scarlet by now, especially after Cassian walked over and pointed to the place between Azriel's wings, causing Mor to squeal with delight.

Azriel had chugged the rest of his wine by the time Cassian sat down again and cursed the Mother for his luck.

"Neck and the wings? I didn't know you had it in you, Azzie," Cassian teased. Azriel weaved the shadows around him further, wondering if he should just winnow away at this point.

"How long has this been going on? Do we know her?" Mor asked. "OH! Is it the female who hit on you at Rita's?"

Azriel kept silent, refusing to answer either of his friends' remarks. Though that only seemed to spur them on more.

"Azzie, she was a hot one, no wonder you kept her for yourself," Cassian followed, and Azriel braced himself as the blonde opened her mouth again, but it never came.

"Alright, leave him alone," Rhys intervened. "He's one snigger away from disappearing into the shadows forever."

Cassian and Mor protested, but he only raised another hand.

"You never stop them from mocking me," Cassian mumbled. "That's all I'm saying."

"You make yourself a target, boy." Amren chimed in.

Mor laughed loudly at that, before pouring both of them another glass. Azriel was thankful for the subconscious reaction and the change of subject.

However, he only got a few moments of peace before he felt Rhys's warm presence ask to enter his mind, and despite his better judgment, Azriel let him in.

I'm impressed. Rhys purred into his brain from the other side of the table.

Fuck you.

More like fuck you if we're going with the evidence.

What do you want?

Let's chat tonight. Rhys vacated his mind, though not without leaving in his mind a picture of Azriel's own face, thoroughly red and sheepish, and a mocking laugh. He knew Rhys wouldn't be his savior tonight.

———

Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous, so as he knocked on the open door of the study, he pressed his lips together and grimaced.

"You wanted to talk?" Azriel asked.

Rhys nodded, leaning against his desk. "I did, and I do."

Feyre sat next to him, absorbed in a pile of paperwork, and if Azriel was about to have the conversation he thought he was going to have, then he definitely didn't want her there. He sent a pleading look to Rhysand, who, much to his credit, understood. "We'll go out to the balcony."

With a kiss to Feyre's head, his High Lord led him out to the private deck, and the anxiety in Azriel's stomach soared, his shadows swirling around him.

"I'm assuming this is about earlier."

"You're seeing someone," He stated, watching as Azriel nodded. "And I had no idea. You didn't tell any of us, which makes me think that Amren's assessment was true."

"What did Amren say?"

"She muttered something to me about you being the only male she can stand because you hide every aspect of your romances. She was wrong, Az. You've kept them out of the spotlight, but you've never lied about being with them, not like you did tonight. It made me wonder, what makes this one different?" Azriel remained silent, unwilling to answer his brother's question. Luckily, Rhys answered it for him. "I can only think of three reasons why you'd keep the identity of your lover secret."

"I see you've put a lot of thought into this."

"It's not often that you take extra measures with a lover." A valid point. "I want you to be happy, brother, truly, so please don't hide yourself from me—you have a record of doing that, you know. Will you promise me that you won't lie about anything?"

"Will you promise not to tell the others?" Azriel asked him, quietly. "You can tell Feyre, I wouldn't ask you to keep something like this from your mate."

"I swear it on the graves of my mother and sister."

"I won't lie to you then." A fond smile crossed Rhys's face.

"Good, well, I want to make sure this person is worth it, so I'll start by asking, is this secret lover worth putting the strain forward?"

"Yes," was all he could think to say. He didn't trust himself to say anymore. Rhysand's smile got bigger, spilling over into his violet eyes, and Azriel felt himself blush a little once more. Rhys was always the most sentimental out of the three.

"Good. I'm glad they're worth it. Now, I have questions. Number one, you're ashamed of this person."

Azriel looked up in alarm. "Why would I be ashamed?" Cauldron, he would scream it to the entire Night Court that he loved Elain Archeron. The entirety of Prythian if he had to.

"I thought that maybe you had gotten tangled up with someone you shouldn't, like a Spring Court Lady, or a human, or I thought for a long moment, that maybe she wasn't a she after all..." Azriel raised his eyebrow at the last one.

"What?"

"Well, it occurred to me that I didn't know if you took males in bed, and then I started thinking, that if you really hadn't wanted us to know, you could and would hide it very well. I'm not here to judge, but if you say yes, then I feel like this chat will get a little more heartfelt than intended." Rhys rambled on, scratching the back of his neck. Azriel almost pitied him.

"I've never taken a man to bed, Rhys, and I do not plan too."

"Okay, good because I was lousy at talking to Mor about that."

"...and she's not lesser fae either."

"All right then, number two: is this a protective 'She's my mate' scenario?"

"No, I don't think we're mates."

"Are you sure?"

"Most people don't find their mates, Rhys," Azriel reminded him, masking the annoyance in his voice. Just because both he and Cassian found their mates didn't mean they all would.

"True. Number three: she's someone we know. In that case, my only question is how sweet, flower growing Elain is able to bruise an Illyrian."

Azriel gaped at him, demanding. "How?"

"The only person redder than you at dinner, which, by the way, was the highlight of this decade, was dear sweet Elain. Feyre told me that she thought Elain too innocent to hear it. I didn't quite think so."

"Are you going to have this little chat with her also?"

"Oh, I think she'll suffer enough from her own embarrassment than to have me do it again. Besides, you're more fun to torture."

"Can't you go tease Cassian?"

"We both know why I can't do that..." Rhys said candidly, and Azriel didn't dare to be hopeful that Rhys would drop the subject. Rhys's small frown turned into another smile soon after, and Azriel swallowed. "You hardly ever have anything for me to talk about anyway. I need to utilize this situation to its full potential. In fact, after you inform my mate of my win, I'm going to ask her to paint your lovely face...you remember the one?"

Rhys sent the same picture of Azriel's blushed face. Azriel rolled his eyes and spoke. "Shut it, Rhys."

To his surprise, Rhys did, choosing instead to turn towards the railing and look over the glittering lights of Velaris. Azriel did the same and took another sip of his wine.

"When do you think you'll tell everyone else?" Rhys said after a moment.

"Oh, I don't know, I'd rather have tonight fade from their minds before I say anything, though I suppose that's rather optimistic of me."

"I don't think Cassian and Mor will let that go, brother, but you can deal with them."

"Well, then there's always Nesta...And I'd rather not have my cock ripped off of my body."

Rhys cringed. "She's going to be a hard one to convince, my sympathies lie with you."

"My only hope is that she and Cassian can distract each other."

"Again, optimistic."

"True," he said cordially before quickly adding, "But I suppose it's up to Elain, really. She's much more conservative in these matters."

Rhys scoffed, "The irony in that statement. You two are made for each other."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't bullshit me. You do the same exact thing."

"I do not," Azriel insisted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Az, when's the last time you had a quick fuck?"

"Wh—?" Azriel sputtered. "That's none of your concern."

Rhysand gave him a long look before he turned it into a sickening grin. Azriel wanted to slap it off his face. "You were saying?"

"Go fuck yourself," he laughed.