#these are all romance which says volumes about my reading habits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chibienvychan03 · 4 years ago

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It’s Valentine’s Day?

Pairing: Victor x female MC

Warning: lots of fluff and sassy MC

Summary: Given the amount of work you’ve received, the days blur into each other and you can’t believe you’ve forgotten about Valentine’s Day. You had planned on skipping it, but something changes your mind.

Gift fic for @otome0heart. Happy holidays!

When you arrive at the office, you find the atmosphere has completely changed. Instead of being hectic and chaotic, you see your employees whispering and giggling (mainly the girls), but the mood is definitely better though you still have your assignment to work on. Even though you’re their boss, you hate having to put your foot down hard so you will be able to complete it on time and on schedule.

As you’re about to say something, Kiki rushes over to you, looking like she’s on a caffeine and sugar high which to be honest is her default mode most of the time. “Boss, boss, boss!”

“Yes, yes, yes?”

“Who are you going to give your chocolates to?” Your confusion speaks in volumes. Sighing Kiki gives you that ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look. “Have you forgotten what today is?”

“Eh?”

“Told you so! She totally forgot.” Ah yes, Willow the voice of reason and sometimes the kill joy with reality. It makes you wonder what you forgot.

One glance around the office, you start noticing small things, namely all those red, pink, and white hearts. Then there are a few pictures of what appears to be a baby wearing a diaper while holding a bow and arrow. Isn’t it bad parenting to let a child that age hold a dangerous weapon? This annoys you, being left in the dark.

“What is it I’m forgetting?” You cross your arms over your chest, giving them that stern look, but it has no effect on them. They’re probably used to it by now or don’t care.

“I can’t believe you forgot! Hey, there’s still time to buy some chocolate.” Kiki bounces around you. Why is doing it? You have no clue except you wish she would stop as you’re becoming dizzy with her antics.

“Why is it important I buy chocolate?” What was so special about buying chocolate? It’s just another day. Wait a moment, what is today? Thanks to all the overtime you’ve been putting into this assignment, the days have become blurred. You at least know which day of the week it is, thank you Mister CEO and having to give updates.

“Boss, you have no romantic bone in your body,” Willow sighs a long one as if she’s the one suffering. She swivels in her chair to face the two of you. “Maybe that’s why you don’t have a date for tonight.”

“Date? We’re swamped with work. I can’t believe I’m saying, but we need to concentrate on this assignment.” For once, you’re the one who isn’t losing concentration or having a wandering mind as a certain someone who has a penchant for reminding you appears in your thoughts. You quickly squash those as now isn’t the time.

“Don’t tell me your date is work. Boring.” Kiki makes an exaggerated yawn.

Hearts. A baby wearing a diaper and armed with a bow. Chocolate. Date. What on earth involved all of these? Think. You rack your mind trying to figure out what they’re referring to.

Minor comes to the rescue. “Boss, who are you going to give your Valentine’s Day chocolate to?”

Your train of thought comes to a screeching stop. Wait a moment. It can’t be, can it? You pull out your phone to check the day. Friday the fourteenth of February. Oh shit. You can’t believe you forgot about this day. Then again, you have a habit of forgetting your own birthday. Oops?

All three of your employees are expectantly staring at you, waiting for you to answer their question of who you’re going to give chocolate to. Considering who your boss is and your desire for your company to be successful, you have no choice other than disappointing them.

“No one. I don’t have time for romance.” The truth hurts as many say.

“Boo,” Kiki pouts, but at least, she stops circling you like… a predator? “Why not give Kiro chocolate? He loves eating snacks.”

Err…..

“No way, she’s gonna give bro chocolate,” Minor chimes in. What a major fanboy. It makes you wonder if he’s started a secret fan club.

“Officer Gavin kicks ass,” Willow adds her two cents. “It’s a no brainer there.”

A guy from editing peers over the partition. “The mind is the strongest part of the body. I’m sure boss appreciates someone with a high IQ like Professor Lucien.”

“Kiro’s the same age as Boss.”

You plant your foot on Kiki’s as you do not want your age revealed to everyone. It works as she yelps and is now hopping on one foot, her good one. While you don’t mind them knowing your birthday, you do mind them knowing how old you’ve become. Not that you’re senior citizen old, but still!

“Two years isn’t a huge difference,” Willow points out. She knows you don’t want to reveal your age, but she does have a point about the age gap between you and a certain officer. “Not like four years.”

Minor nods his head in agreement. “And you two have a history together.”

“If you take into consideration, the ages people got married historically,” the editing guy counters. “Four years is nothing. Some of them are twenty years apart!”

“Kiro’s a lot cuter.”

“Bro can protect her,” Minor argues to which Willow agrees with. “He’s awesome with a gun and can take on ten guys at the same time.”

“Professor Lucien has helped with the show many times.”

Why is everyone interested with your love life? Or rather lack of it. Not that you mind as you have your priorities in order. It’s not like Minor or that guy from editing received any chocolate. The last time you checked, neither Kiki or Willow were interested in someone. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You can celebrate all you want. Just leave me out of it… and make sure you finish your work.”

“So if you’re not giving Bro chocolate, then that means I got some and he didn’t.” Hold the phone, someone actually gave Minor chocolate? Who’s desperate enough to give him some?

You turn your attention to Kiki and Willow. “Have you given your chocolate?”

“Of course!” Kiki chirps and then she points to someone you can’t recall his name. The guy blushes when attention is brought onto him. “We’re going on a date tonight!”

Willow just points to Minor. This does not compute. Error. Error. Did she just admit to giving Minor chocolate? Yes, she did. “We’re going on a double date. Someone has to keep the kids in line.”

“Hey!” Kiki sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry.

Reinforcements have arrived! Anna enters the room, carrying the materials needed for your latest assignment. “Back to work.” Yes! It’s nice having someone on your side.

“Awww… it’s Valentine’s Day.” Kiki pouts, however, she reluctantly returns to her desk. “We wanna know who Boss is giving her chocolate to.”

“She should give it to Officer Gavin.”

“Yeah, Bro will be happy to receive anything from you.”

“I’m sure Professor Lucien will appreciate your effort.”

“Kiro’s the best choice.”

“You guys…”

“We can have this discussion during our lunch break.” You nod your head in agreement. Maybe they’ll forget by then. “Since we all know, she’s giving it to CEO Victor.”

“Not you too.”

Lunch happens to take out from your third favorite restaurant. You originally planned to make your meals, thanks to those cooking lessons, but work leaves you with little time and energy. When you arrive home, all you want to do is face plant onto your bed and not wake up for the next eight hours. Thank whatever deity, they have delivery. It saves you time, and you can work up until your midday break.

Back to the battlefield you go. Your employees have other things in mind as they divvy up your portion amongst themselves and start working. You blink several times, wondering what has gotten into them. Were they not complaining about the workload? Why the sudden change of heart? There’s something fishy going on there.

You turn to Anna. “What’s going on?”

“I told them you’re taking the afternoon off.” Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the boss? “Hurry before the shops run out of the good stuff.” She ushers you out the door and then shuts it.

What about your purse? As if reading your mind, the door opens. Someone shoves your purse into your hands before shutting the door again. You attempt to open the door, but it refuses to budge. It can’t be locked as you can turn the knob. No, it’s more like something heavy is preventing the door from moving.

“You don’t want to give Kiro second rate chocolate!”

“Don’t you mean Officer Gavin?”

“Agreed. Bro is the one.”

“What about Professor Lucien?”

“You already know what CEO Victor likes.”

You resist the urge to bang your head on the door or nearest wall. Time to head over to the nearest shop for chocolate. While you’d rather not buy it, no one says you have to actually give it. You can make up a guy to give it to and eat the chocolate yourself. Yeah, that sounds like an excellent plan. You’d give yourself a pat on the back.

And then remember, you need a ride back to your place. Since you don’t want to give them any ideas, you decide to not call any of those guys. You scroll down your phone list and see the number to your classmate, the one Victor was ‘not jealous’ of. Yeah, right. You decide to send him a text, knowing that nothing would happen between the two of you since you’re female, and he swings that way. His quick response startles you.

He’s on his way.

His quick appearance also startles you. “I was in the area. You know dropping off my gift.”

“Aren’t girls supposed to be giving the gifts?” You blink several times, trying to figure out how this same sex thing works. While you don’t mind them, you have no clue about how they interact with each other. Your research lands you straight into the doujinshi area. While they’re entertaining, you doubt they’re completely realistic. Then again fiction tends to exaggerate things.

“Someone has to initiate it, and since he doesn’t have a clue, I have to,” your friend says with a slight shrug. It makes sense to you. “Have you given yours chocolate?” In spite of his helmet, you can tell he’s waggling his eyebrows at you.

“Ugh… Not you too.”

“Oh. Whoops? Sorry.”

You wave him off. “Not your fault. My employees are more interested in the lack of my love life than actually working.” He hands over you the second helmet.

“You gonna head home or buy something for him?”

Good question. While you want to head home, the thought of giving your ‘crush’ chocolate on Valentine’s Day sounds appealing even if it’s store bought. Then again, he does have a very high standard, considering his culinary expertise. By now, you figure all the good stuff is gone. Now the thought of going home sounds appealing.

“You can always make him some. I mean I did for mine.”

You stare at him as if he’s grown a second appendage. It’s something you hadn’t considered. To cover up your inevitable blush due to your friend being too smart for his own good, you shove the helmet onto yourself. “Is there enough time?”

“Unless you take several hours, you’ll be fine. Hey, why don’t I help you? It’ll go faster.”

“But won’t that be kinda like cheating?”

“You’ll be doing most of the work. I’m there to make sure things go smoothly and offer any suggestions.” Technically you’d be making it, but a little advice never hurts, right? Especially when the recipient of that creation happens to be that guy. Mister Critical.

If that’s the case, there’s no need to think about it. “To the nearest supermarket!”

Levi chuckled as he picked up speed without driving recklessly, making you wonder why he doesn’t seem to be the type to drive fast. His personality fits, but then again, looks can be deceiving as you’ve experienced many times, often with you looking like a fool. He pulls up close to the entrance of what appears to be a family owned supermarket.

“Ah, friends of mine own this place,” Levi answers your question before you can even formulate it.

Leaving your helmets, you two make your way through the shelves. You take your time to look at what they have to offer. For being this size, they offer more of a variety than you anticipated. You wonder what you’re going to use in your chocolate. Of course, it will not be too sweet as he isn’t into sweets like you. He says you’re sweet enough for the both of you. Maybe a hint of sweetness. Yeah. That means dark chocolate. You head to where they keep the baking supplies while your friend wanders through the other aisles. Dark chocolate with maybe some accents of… white chocolate?

“How about some flavoring?” He pops up from the next aisle, completely surprising you into an almost heart attack. “Oops? My bad.”

Once you get your breathing and heart rate back to normal, you see what he’s holding. He has a few different flavors in small bottles. They appear small, but you know better. Since they’re concentrated, a few drops will suffice lest the recipient be overwhelmed with the flavor.

Vanilla, rose, strawberry, and mango?

“Can you bring me one of each?” You request. Variety makes things interesting, and if one fails, you’ll have the others as back-ups.

“Sure.” Levi disappears just as quickly and quietly as he appeared. You swear he’s part ninja or something. Maybe he’s a secret agent. You end that train of thought before it takes a surprise journey.

With him not distracting you, you return your attention to the selection of chocolates in front of you. You read the cacao concentration before picking something not too bitter but not sweet either. On second thought, you grab more as you don’t know how many attempts you’ll need before you manage to make a decent chocolate. Having the main ingredient in your basket, you search for the others. Somewhere along the line, Levi takes the basket from you as it’s becoming heavier with your selections. Not that it was impossible to carry. Having a gentleman with you can be useful especially when you know he’s not interested in you other than being a friend and possibly siblings.

At the register, the cashier rings up your purchases. Your friend and she know each other. Yet, why is she attempting to flirt with him? Not that it’s any of your business. You just hate it when people are disappointed. He is either oblivious or doesn’t care like a certain someone in your life. Well make that four guys you know.

“Levi, why didn’t you call?” a middle-aged man appears. “I would have prepared your favorite snack.”

He politely declines. “Spur of the moment decision, and I have urgent business to attend to.”

“What can be that urgent you don’t want to spend time with your old pal?” He notices you’re in the company of his friend. “I see. What a cute girl you’re with. Whose girlfriend is she?”

“Er…” You attempt to answer.

“That’s the urgent business. I’m helping her win her crush over.” He appears to be teasing you, but something in his tone tells you he’s serious about assisting you with your quest to win him over and especially not make a fool of yourself like you normally do.

“He’s not a crush,” you mumble.

“Who took classes on cooking with me?”

You probably could pass off as a human tomato at this point. “That’s different!” You rack your mind trying to dig yourself out of this hole you somehow managed to fall into. Your brain starts waving a white flag, easily surrendering.

Levi chuckles. “I’ll stop teasing you.”

“You took cooking classes?” The cashier gives your male friend those eyes.

“Well yeah. It’s not healthy eating out or pre-made meals.” You wish you could have said that earlier. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. You hate it.

“We’d better get going,” Levi says, prompting her to hurry up ringing you up. “She still needs to cook and then give it to him before the day ends.”

Once you paid for the ingredients, your friend takes it back to his motorcycle before securing it and then you. He hops onto his bike and then heads to your place. You’ve been to each other’s homes so neither of you needs directions.

“Let’s do this!” You’re very much pumped to make these chocolates. And well if they turn out not the greatest, no one said you couldn’t eat them yourself, right? You plan on eating all the fails anyways, but even though you love chocolate, you hope there aren’t too many of them.

Levi smiles while shaking his head. “You’re like the little sister I never had.”

You turn to stare at him. Family? This brings several questions to mind, mainly about his family which he has yet to share anything about. “Only child?”

“No, I had an adopted brother, but that’s about it.” Levi shrugs and carries the bag for you. Good thing, it’s heavy. He doesn’t say anything more so you drop it.

Inside your kitchen, the two of you clean up and start prepping to make the chocolate. He helps with the set up but once you start actually making it, he steps back and let’s you take over with him supervising you. You decide to create four different flavors. Kind of like the saying, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.’ In addition to the flavoring, you have picked up some nuts, because well why not? Sometimes you believe he’s nuts.

Just as you’re about to put the pot with the chocolate on the stove, Levi holds your arm. “You don’t want to put it on direct heat. Use double broiler.” When you stare at him in confusion, he turns off the stove and explains. “Get a larger pot and fill it with water. Then you place this pot in it. Make sure the water doesn’t go into your chocolate.”

“Oh. No wonder why my first attempt ended horribly.” Whoops? You follow his advice and grab a larger pot to fill with water. Once it’s filled, you lug it over to your stove and turn it on. Next you place your pot full of chocolate in it. When it starts melting, you stir it and are thankful it doesn’t burn or turn hard. Wow. You’ll have to remember this for future use. This batch will be the vanilla flavored, some with nuts. Once it’s a nice gooey mess, you take it off the heat before grabbing your already prepared tray. You stir in some nuts and then meticulously pour it into the molds. When you used up what you melted so far, you ask your assistant to place it in the fridge while you start on the second batch.

As it turns out, you have more chocolate than you anticipate. Oh well you did prepare in case of fails, but so far, there haven’t been any as you have a very watchful assistant who keeps reminding you. Maybe you need to improve your concentration and not let your mind wander that often. It’s great for creating programs, not great when you’re trying to do something that requires concentration.

“Why not chocolate covered fruit?” Levi suggests as he rummages through your fridge. He emerges with a pack of strawberries. When did you get those? Oh wait, you went on a grocery run a few days ago. Come to think of it, you wonder why you picked up strawberries as they’re not in season. Maybe they were on sale? Given Valentine’s Day, you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case.

“I’ll pick up some whip cream later.” When you bring your gift to him, you plan on grabbing some. That’s until you see your assistant holding a tub of whip cream. “What?”

“I snuck it in while you’re distracted.”

Your eye twitches as you didn’t see him with it at all, but at the same time, you’re thankful. It means no detour. After all, he’s doing you more than a favor by not only driving, but supervising your cooking. This time, you know what to do. You wash the strawberries and have your assistant dry them off with paper towels. With him being busy, you start up the.. you lost count batch of chocolate. You get it to a nice consistency and turn off the stove. Then you realize, you don’t have anywhere to place them. You notice a lined tray ready to receive the strawberries. After thanking him, you begin dipping the strawberries and placing them on the prepped tray.

Minutes later, you’re finished and have a messy kitchen, but it’s worth it to make those home-made chocolate. As to whether, they’d taste good is up in the air. You’ve made a few extra for you two to try before you gift him with it. He gets up to start help with the clean-up, but you push him back down. Levi has done more than his share.

Once they’ve hardened, you take out your tester chocolates and divvy them between the two of you. For your first successful batch, they’re not too bad. It’s not like those sold at candy shops, however, they’re a vast improvement on your first attempt… attempts.

Between the two of you, you manage to find materials to wrap up your gift to him. You also decide to give him some of the chocolate as you’ve made more than you anticipated. A friendly Valentine’s gift. Levi surprisingly accepts it and pats you on the head like some sort of cute pet. Hey!

Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

Since you know Victor happens to be a workaholic and little romance in his body, you know he won’t take today off. If anything, he may be annoyed with the amount of chocolate he’s receiving from his female (and maybe male) fans. You stare at the gift in your hands, wondering whether or not to give it to him since he’s probably more than irritated. A nudge from behind causes you to stumble a little.

“He doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Er… I’m worried he’d find me annoying.”

Levi leans back on his motorcycle. “Why would he find you annoying?”

You wave your hand. “Capitalist CEO. He didn’t become a leading financial institution by being a pushover… or romantic person.”

“I’m sure he’ll make an exception for you.” You blink several times. “You’re a funny, kind, generous, hard working person. How could he not fall for you? If he so much makes you cry, I’m taking him out of the picture.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead you hug him. “Thanks.”

“Now go sweep him off his feet, and remember what I said about making him disappear.” He releases you so you can go to him.

“Right…”

“After all, no one messes with my little sister and gets away with it.”

“I’m not little!” you pout, but the huge grin on your face gives you a comical appearance. You hug him for a second time. “Fine, big bro.” Then it occurs to you if he sees you as his little sister, then oh boy… Victor would be in for a world of hurt should he hurt you. Isn’t that what big brothers do?

“Just don’t kill him. I still need him to sign my paychecks.”

“All right. He’ll be missing a limb or two then.”

You playfully punch him. “I’m serious. He still needs to write.”

“Who ever said it’s those limbs?”

This time your whole face turns red and you smack him with your purse. “You!”

“Feeling nervous?”

Come to think of it, you’re not. He’s distracted you with his shenanigans. “Nope!”

Something falling catches your attention. You see Goldman hastily picking up folders and papers. Having some mercy on him, you decide to help him pick them up. Unfortunately some of them fly too far from either of you and are about to escape when your big brother catches them for you. You thank him for it.

Goldman sounds nervous as he’s trying to warn you of something. It sounds like gibberish. “Slow down and take a deep breath.”

“Later!” Levi waves to you.

“Bye, big bro!”

This time Goldman’s jaw drops. Did he think you two were? Oh boy.

“We’re not in that kind of relationship. More like we adopted each other as siblings… unofficially.”

Goldman lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s a warzone in there.”

“Let me guess. Victor has many admirers giving him unwanted gifts?”

“Ding ding ding. You have won a prize. Yeah, he’s in a very, very sour mood. Please don’t say anything to upset him further.”

You give him that look. “I’m not that bad.”

He returns that look. “Yes, you are. I don’t know how many times you’ve left boss stressed out. I lost count.” Hmph. See if you help him with any of his assignments.

“I guess it’s better I don’t give these.” You hold up your wrapped gift.

“Are those chocolates?” Goldman looks horrified at the thought.

“They’re not sweet! I made sure of it. They’re not the greatest, but I’m getting better at cooking.” You’re proud of what you’ve accomplished and how far you’ve come from being a walking kitchen disaster.

“You made them?” Goldman gulps as if you’ve made Victor his last meal.

You glare at him. “I’m not that bad, and big bro helped me with them.”

Goldman shakes his head. “Good luck in there.”

“What? You’re going home?”

“No. I’m running errands.” He checks his watch. “Oh crap, gotta go before it’s too late. Thanks for your help.” With his papers and folders secured, Goldman wastes no time in leaving you in the dust.

“Bye?”

Might as well be prepared to enter the battlefield, aka LFG. You check your gift for the hundredth time you’d probably stare holes into it. Everything is good to go… except your feet. You mentally shout at your feet to start moving. After several swear words and threats, your feet start moving to the entrance and then inside where everyone looks like there’s a ticking time bomb somewhere.

Come to think of it, there is a literal ticking time bomb who calls himself their boss, aka Victor. The people move skittishly around you as you make your way to their boss’ office. Having given so many reports, you can walk there in your sleep. As you come closer to his office, the people become more stressed out and anxious. You’re tempted to sneak up behind them and yell “BOO!” However, a figure who suspiciously appears to be victor pops up in your mind, telling you that it’s childish behavior.

Even in your mind, Victor is a kill joy.

Just as you’re about to raise your hand and knock, you hear several strange noises coming from behind that wooden barrier. You blink several times before placing your ear against the door. While it’s bad manners to eavesdrop, you’re worried about Victor. Is he hurt? Does he need an ambulance? That’s what you tell yourself when that same figure chastises you about listening on other people’s conversation. From what you hear, it doesn’t sound like someone needs medical assistance. Phew. You take a step back, but being the queen of klutzes, you trip on something invisible (rather yourself) and fall back, landing right on your rear.

“Ow…” Somehow you manage to keep your voice low though it’s not low enough as you hear movement from behind the door.

Glancing around, you scurry over to a place to hide. Why are you hiding when you’re there to see Victor? You have no idea. Impulse perhaps? It’s small. You shove yourself into that little corner, hoping he would not venture further than the doorway to look out.

Victor lets out his sigh which you believe is reserved for you when you’re behaving childishly, looking like a fool, or thinking something he considers stupid. “I know you’re here.” When you don’t move or make any noise, he sounds exasperated. “I’m not mad at you. Promise.”

Since he has never broken any promises, you crawl out of your little hiding place. As soon as you appear in his sights, he seems to be in disbelief. Probably because you’re there or how you managed to cram yourself into that tiny space.

“I heard you went home early,” Victor starts off. He appears like his normal self though you know better. Even if he won’t admit it, he’s worried about your health.

“I’m fine.”

“I can see that.” His posture screams he wants to know why you’re there in the first place.

“Err… I have something for you.” You walk up to him before shoving your gift at him, more like at his broad chest.

Victor turns his attention to the thing you’ve shoved at him. “What’s this?”

“If you want to know, you’ll have to open it,” you tease him. Given the wrapping design and theme, it’s not hard to guess you’re giving him a Valentine’s gift.

“I’m not into sweets.”

You puff up your cheeks. “I know that. I made sure they’re not too sweet.”

His long fingers start to meticulously unwrap his gift. “You made these?”

“Yep!” You sound very proud of yourself.

“Shouldn’t you be giving it to your boyfriend?”

EH???

“What boyfriend?” Seriously you don’t recall being into any guy.

“You hugged that guy twice.”

“Oh, what about big bro?”

This stuns Victor into silence for a minute or two. “You don’t have any brothers.”

“Well now I do!” Wait a moment. “You’re jealous of my gay brother again?”

“I’m not jealous of your gay brother… again? What’s that supposed to mean?”

This leaves you in giggling fits. It takes you a few moments and a stern look from him for you to calm yourself enough to talk. “Do you remember the cooking class you substituted for?” Nod of his head. “It’s the same guy. My gay friend turned gay brother.”

You catch a blush appear on his face just as he turns away. “Hopefully they’re edible.”

HEY! “I worked hard on them. Big bro says I’ve improved a lot.”

Victor motions for you to follow him into his office. There are several stacks of papers and folders both on his desk and around it. What’s going on? It’s never this cluttered when you’re there ever. Victor appreciates his space being clean and orderly. You should know as he scolds you for making a mess or for putting away things in the wrong places.

“If now isn’t a good time, I can leave,” you say in an unsure tone.

“I’m almost done.” Victor ambles over to his chair behind his desk. He picks up his glasses and places them on his face. Without looking in your direction, he adds, “I’ve made reservations at that new restaurant you wanted to try.”

What? You rack your mind, trying to think how he heard about it. The only person you told is your now new big brother while you two were making those chocolates.

“You mentioned it in your moments post.”

Oh that. Making those chocolates and then mustering up the courage to give them has pushed that thought way, way far down. “Hehehehe. I forgot about that.” Wait a moment. “I made that post during lunch. How could you get reservations? It’s hard to get them unless you make it days in advance.”

“I have my ways.” Victor shuffles papers around before settling on one. His eyes never leave it as he continues the conversation with you. “It’s called having connections. You can use more of them.”

Ouch… Does he have to be that brutal? Although you know he’s right, you wish he’d tell you in a more gentle way instead of dropping it on you like a bomb. You’ve been working on gathering connections and have invited a few influential people to your show. Had it been a year earlier, they wouldn’t even consider being on your show which indicates how much you’ve grown and learned under his care.

“You’re better than when you started.” Is this a complement? If it isn’t, you decide to take it as one.

“But isn’t it expensive?” You recall the reviews and how they say it’s pricy but definitely worth it for the quality and experience.

“That’s for me to worry about. All you need to worry about is what you want to eat.”

“Okay.” You make you way to one of the chairs when you realize one of the chairs is occupied by a large mountain of gifts. In fact, they’re practically burying the poor furniture. You hadn’t noticed this, however, to be fair, you had several things on your mind. The fact your gift hasn’t joined this enormous pile gives you hope that Victor would try what you’ve made. At least yours has a chance of being opened.

After pulling out your phone, you browse the restaurants website, more specifically their menu. Their prices cause you to wince. It’d take you a week of work to get enough money for one meal, and that’s for yourself alone. As if on cue, Victor tell you to order what you want and ignore the price. He can afford it. According to him, it’s cheap for that kind of restaurant.

Wow… Cheap. The life of the rich and infamous.

You pull out a pen and pad of paper from your purse. When Victor raises a brow, you stick your tongue out at him. “It’s for random ideas.” As soon as he returns to his work, you peruse their menu. There are a lot of things you’d like to try and most likely to overeat, making a fool of yourself in the process. So this time, you’ll come prepared. You will plan what you’re going to eat for future visits so as to not tempt yourself to eat more than your stomach can handle. For a second, you consider telling Victor, however, you squash that thought. He wouldn’t praise you or acknowledge you for something he considers trivial.

By the time you finish selecting your dishes for this visit, Victor has finished cleaning up. “Will you be ordering the entire menu?”

Ouch… “Yes,” you reply with a cheeky grin. “Hope you can afford it!”

Victor stands over you, looking down at you and your notes. His soft snort tells you he’s read them. “Indeed you have ordered everything.” He pauses. “Wise decision to spread it out on multiple visits.”

Oh my. Did he just praise you again? While you’re tempted to request he say it again, you decide it’s better to not push your luck. After all, he’ll be paying for future visits. Unless he increases your salary, you doubt you’d be able to afford it without having to make sacrifices and live off of cup noodles like a certain someone who shall remain nameless.

“Are you going to try your gift?” You ask as you follow him, noticing he’s carrying your gift with him.

“Chocolate is for dessert,” Victor reminds you, causing you to blush. Right.

“Does that mean you’ll try it after dinner?” You bat your eyes even though he can’t see behind him. He doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head or does he? Hm… He has a knack for catching you doing things when he’s not even facing you or looking in your direction.

“Yes.”

His one-word reply causes you to be giddy with delight. You hope he likes it as you’ve put effort into making it…. Even if it’s last minute, but he doesn’t have to know that! What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him for now.

Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

With it being Valentine’s Day and Friday night, the restaurant is packed with a long line going out the door. If they’re willing to wait outside, then the food must be worth it. You become excited with anticipation. It may not be Victor level cooking, you appreciate good food.

“Victor, I—”

Some heavy set male runs straight into you causing you to lurch forward. Instinctively you brace for an impact that never arrives. Instead you find yourself in the embrace of the man you like a lot… maybe even love? Once Victor helps you back on your feet, you notice two things… Victor glaring and second your high heel is no longer high heel on the left side. You believe he’s glaring at you, however, he’s not looking directly at you, more like over you.

“Why should I apologize? She’s standing in the way,” the guy argues. Where should you stand? It’s not like there is a vacant spot for you to occupy. Now is there?

“You should look where you’re going. Perhaps you need glasses. I can help with that.”

The guy starts turning red. “I can see just fine.”

“Then you should have seen her.” Victor indicates you.

“She’s tiny. Careful someone might sit on her.”

Why you!

Victor stops you from marching straight up to him and giving him a piece of your mind. “On second thought, you’ll need a lawyer.”

“What?”

“You could have given her a concussion, and you broke her shoe.” So Victor did notice your heel-less left shoe. Hard to get anything past him.

“Gentlemen,” the restaurant’s manager speaks up. “There will be no violence in this establishment.”

“Tell that to him,” the rude guy grumbles.

“How is knocking someone over not violent,” you finally explode. “I coulda gotten a concussion.”

“Mister, please leave.” At first you think he’s referring to Victor, but his next words confirm who. “I’m terribly sorry, Mister.” He’s facing Victor. “Your table is this way.”

“Err…” You can walk but awkwardly with uneven shoes.

Victor understands what you’re trying to get at before you can say it. He literally sweeps you off your feet and carries you to your table. On your way there, more than a few customers look in your direction and whisper. Not everyday a guy carries a girl to their table.

Not like you have a choice given your broken footwear. Still it’s embarrassing to be stared at by these strangers. Somehow Victor ignores every single one of them. Of course, he does. He’s the great and mighty Victor. His name is very much appropriate for him.

At your private table, the manager fusses over the two of you, making sure you’re well taken care of before taking his leave. It makes you wonder if this is the usual service for Victor whenever he goes out or if it’s from the earlier incident. Thanks to you having decided what you want to eat before you arrived at the restaurant, you’re able to put in your order. Considering how packed this place is, you wouldn’t be surprised should service be slower than usual. Not that you’ll make a deal out of it.

Now what?

“Are you sure you’re just siblings?”

You groan. Not this again. “I’m sure of it. Unless I become a guy, he’s not interested in me.”

“You sure he isn’t lying?”

Here we go for another round. “I’m sure of it. We both like looking at cute guys and before you say anything, appreciation for nice aesthetics doesn’t mean I’m in love with them. It’s superficial level appreciation.”

Victor appears skeptical, but he doesn’t push it further.

A random thought pops into your mind, causing you to giggle.

“What useless thing are you thinking of this time?”

“All my thoughts aren’t useless. My mind can be creative and imaginative, okay?”

“What is it?”

You prop your head on your hands. “You should be more worried for yourself.”

“Oh?”

“If he’s going to hit on anyone, it’ll be you.”

Victor is stunned into silence. You’re not sure if he’s against same sex couples or tolerates them. Maybe it’s the realization that yes, there are men who would be after him. He probably had not even considered it much less thought about it.

“And if you hurt me, well you know how big brothers are overprotective of their little sisters.” You somehow recall he’s good at martial arts, very good at it. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to put it to use against a certain someone.

“He won’t have a chance.” Oh confident now are we?

Before either of you can say another word, your waiter arrives with a bottle of fine wine. “On the house.” She places it in a prepared container of ice. You peer at it. Oh it sounds good from what you’ve read. Apparently you’re not the only one who read it.

“You can have one glass.” That’s better than nothing. You’ll take it.

Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

Man you’re stuffed. The food is too good, but not as good as a certain restaurant which Victor knows all too well, considering he owns it. You’re thankful you ordered just the right amount. Knowing yourself, you’d still keep eating even if you’re full.

You pull out your phone. “I’m going to give them a five-star review.” In your review, you write about your experience there including the incident before dinner and their heavenly cuisine. If Victor asks where you want to eat and doesn’t feel like cooking, you know what you’re answer will be.

Victor scoffs at this though he seems to be amused and overall in a good mood. When you place down your phone, you notice your gift has been opened.

“So what do you think?”

“Needs improvement.” Your spirits sink. “But you’ve come a long way from when you started. I’ve had my fair share of less than desirable results in the past. No one starts out good or perfect.”

Then Victor must have had some fails when he first started cooking. This somewhat lifts your spirits. Considering he has a huge head start over you, you take it stride. It’s not like Rome was built in a day as they say.

After paying for your meal (minus the wine), Victor once again sweeps you off your feet to carry you to his car. Unlike some big wigs, he doesn’t need a chauffeur to drive him around. He’d probably become too impatient waiting for the poor person.

“Where are we headed?” You ask as soon as you’re safely secured and he’s behind the wheel.

“To the mall.”

“Eh?”

“Your broken shoes.”

Oh. “I can repair them at home.” You don’t want to trouble him more than necessary.

“I’m buying you better ones, sturdier shoes.” In his language, it means more expensive and better quality.

By now you should be celebrating. Free dinner and shoes, but somehow your heart isn’t into it. You’re not sure why.

“Aren’t you going to gloat about getting free shoes?”

You turn your head to face him. “Not in the mood.”

“Is something wrong?” Victor sounds genuinely concerned, given how you love to banter with him.

“It’s… I don’t know. I guess I’m not ready for this to end.”

“Is that so?” Victor takes a few seconds to look at you before turning his attention back to the road.

“I’m actually enjoying spending time with you.” Shut up mouth! Why don’t you dig a hole and bury yourself in it?

“Are you sure it’s not the food?”

This time you glare at him. “It’s not always about the food. Believe it or not, good company makes the food taste even better.”

“I see.” No, you don’t.

You puff up your cheeks and stare out the passenger side window. Could this get any more awkward? Scratch that. You don’t want to jinx yourself.

“Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Say what?

“A certain someone says she doesn’t want this to end.”

Right. “I don’t have my stuff.”

“Already taken care of.” How in the world? You decide not to question it.

Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

At the mall, Victor carries you as he’s not willing to risk you tripping and falling due to your broken shoe. Says that you’re a walking disaster with two good shoes. When he teases you, you can feel the warmth and affection in his voice. He does care in his own way, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. It just wouldn’t be him.

When the sales lady notices you and your predicament, she hurries over to you. “You poor thing. I’ll find a pair of shoes that’ll flatter your figure.” How does she know your size?

After Victor places you on a chair, you take off your shoes and turn one of them over. Oh… Right in the middle is your size. You haven’t worn this pair enough times to wear out the writing. Meanwhile Victor stands guard over you. Not like you’re going to have another person try to shove you to the ground.

The sales lady returns with a dozen pair of shoes. How she managed to carry all of them. You’re not sure nor do you ask. She does have good taste in footwear. You try on all of them, some of them twice. So many nice shoes, but you only need one pair. You don’t feel like owing Victor a lot. After some consideration and thought, you narrow your selection down to two.

“Which looks better? This or that?” You’re wearing one of the pairs.

“We’ll take them both.”

“Um… I need one pair.” Mouth, stop moving and let him buy you the damn shoes.

“Since a certain dummy can’t decide, I’ll buy them both for her.” Victor grabs the box for the shoes you’re wearing and the other pair. He heads over to the cash register.

“You have a nice boyfriend.”

BOYFRIEND?! “Er… we’re good friends.”

“Are you sure about that? The way he looks at you.”

You blink in confusion. “He’s probably annoyed with having to replace my broken shoes.”

She laughs. “No. He looks at you like you’re his most precious person, a treasure he intends to protect.”

“Eh? How do you know it’s that?”

She holds up her left hand. “My husband does that a lot.” Now you notice the ring on her finger. She’s married. “Take my advice, don’t let this one go. He’s a keeper.”

“Right.”

Once he’s paid for the shoes, you insist on taking a stroll through the mall to walk off dinner. Victor isn’t happy though he indulges you, and the two of you take a leisurely walk through the building. Good thing this is an indoor mall so you don’t have to deal with the cold weather. As you pass by the window displays, you take a good look at their merchandise. A pair of rings catches your attention.

“Promise rings.” You didn’t plan to say it out loud. You did anyways.

“Those are for children.”

You roll your eyes at him and point at the price tag. “I don’t think children can afford that on their allowance.”

“Right.”

The cute puppies and kitties catch your attention. You hurry over to look at them and maybe they’ll let you pet them! They’re so adorable. Although you’re tempted to adopt one, you know you don’t have the time or energy to properly look after one. Maybe one of your friends will let you pet sit? You’d be more than willing to look after their furry four-legged family member for a short time. After all, you took care of Pearly while Gavin was away on a mission.

Inside the store, they have more than kitties and puppies. They have fishes, mice, lizards, and birds. You’re not crazy about mice or lizards. The fish are pretty to look at, but they’re kind of boring. It’s not like you can play with them or pet them. A small bird wanders to you and starts whistling. Is it serenading you? You glance around to see if the employees would let you pet the bird. Sadly they’re all busy. You reach in and the bird scoots over to your hand before climbing onto your finger. Then it makes its way up your arm and onto your shoulder. It snuggles against you.

“Oh wow, he’s never been this friendly with anyone.” A store employee appears, startling you and inadvertently the bird too. “Sorry. We normally don’t let people touch him. He tends to be grumpy most of the time.”

You reach up and start petting him. He leans into your touch, chirping in content. “Really? He seems friendly.” If this bird is as how the employee makes him out to be, you’ve found Victor in bird form it seems. Maybe this can be Victor Junior? Thinking about Victor, where is he? You thought he’d follow you into the store.

“Miss?”

“Yes?”

“Please adopt him! I’m begging you.”

What?

“You’re the first person he’s been nice to. I didn’t think he would be attached to anyone.”

“Um… I’m busy so I don’t think I can properly care for him.”

“You’ll do fine. These are great starter birds since they’re not hard to take care of.” The store employee begins telling you the benefits of having a pet and one that’s low maintenance. You find out this is a cockatiel. Thinking about the name causes you to giggle.

Between the store employee and the cute birdy eyes, you break down and decide to adopt this adorable creature. This time, you’re paying for him along with what’s needed to keep him happy and healthy. He’s content to sit on your shoulder the entire time and growls whenever he thinks someone is a threat to you.

Cage, food, toys, perches, feeding dishes, something for water, some basic first aid, and the bird himself.

“What makes you think you can take care of a pet?”

This startles you and causes him to almost fall off your shoulder. “They’re not hard to take care of, and he’s cute.”

“All animals are cute to you.”

“Not all of them.” You glance over to the lizard section. “And he really likes me.”

“Right. Are you sure it’s not some sales gimmick?” Victor folds his arms over his chest, waiting for your answer.

“I’ve seen him interact with others. He isn’t social but he’s friendly with me.” You reach up to pet him, which he happily accepts. “He’s like a bird version of you.”

Victor lets out an exasperated sigh. “Since you’ve already bought him, let’s take the stuff to my car.” Wow, you didn’t think Victor would be on board with you purchasing a pet this quickly. You decide not to point it out.

On the way to his place, the bird is content with being on your lap. You’ll need to name him since you can’t keep calling him the bird or bird.

“Victor Junior or Vic for short.”

“What are you up to this time?”

“He’s just like you.”

“….”

“So I’m naming him after you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

You stick your tongue out at Victor. Victor Junior copies you, much to your amusement. “Our son isn’t ridiculous, are you?” You coo at the little bird.

“Our son?”

“Fine, my son.”

Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

Victor Junior has picked up quite a vocabulary during his stay at the pet shop. You can’t help but giggle at his antics. Since you’re spending the night there, you’ve set up his cage once human Victor has brought in his supplies. It’s getting late and Victor Junior looks tired. He’s yawning up a storm. You place him in his cage so he can get some sleep.

Since Victor is a gentleman, he insists you sleep in his guest room. It appears while you’re taking care of the bird, he prepared the guest room for you. Before he takes his leave so you can change, he holds out a small box. Is that a ring box? You open it to find one half of the promise ring set.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Victor stutters, attempting to deny it and saying that you’re interested in it.

“Now look who’s being silly.” You pull out the ring and slide it onto your finger before giving a surprised Victor a hug. “Does this answer your question?”

His response? He pulls you in for one passionate kiss.

Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that?

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc zen #mlqc MC #birb #otome0heart #mlqcsanta20

64 notes · View notes

aliferous-ly · 5 years ago

Note

I've never really asked for a drabble before... If it's okay with you, could you do 7 "I almost lost you" and 32 "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" with Logan and Deceit? I just kinda thought that it had the potential to make some angst with a happy ending. Oh and I only found you recently, but I love the writing that I've seen so far. I always love finding amazing writers. (I'm sorry, I'm a total suck up)

im gonna start this with if you’re on mobile, i am So Sorry

i started this and was like “ha im getting a little carried away” and then went “oh no”

and thank u dear!! that’s v sweet of u awe

summary: Declan is a loud and proud aromantic. Then he realizes why he feels weird, and off, and awkward around his best friend, Logan, and his world starts to crumble.

warnings: f word twice, lying, parent being imprisoned, angst, questioning identity, if there’s anything else lmk!!

It starts, Declan thinks, when Logan smiles.

The situation starts out innocuous -- they’re sitting in Logan’s room, Declan tossing a tennis ball up and catching it unsuccessfully, making a right disaster of Logan’s room with all the objects he keeps knocking to the floor. Logan, naturally, continues doing his homework.

And they’re just -- talking.

Declan likes to think his world should shift on a more momentous occasion, maybe with fireworks, fingers brushing against one another dramatically, Jason Mraz playing in the background.

But it’s the smallest thing. Declan throws the tennis ball up in the middle of his sentence -- “You can’t tell me you hate white pines, they have the softest needles” -- and he misses it on the way down.

So he takes a tennis ball to the face and sits up, sputtering, rubbing at his nose, arm reaching out to snatch it before it rolls too far.

Logan chokes out a laugh, eyes squinty and wrinkled at the edges. His laugh fills the room for a few thrilling moments and Declan thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world and he can’t stop staring at Logan’s engaging face, in the upturn of his lips and dimples carved in his cheeks.

He’s radiant.

Declan’s heart squeezes, lungs filling with something heavier than air, a foreign feeling washing through his veins. Like rose petals or sunlight. Woodsmoke or freshly fallen snow.

The gears in his chest shift and settle and he feels… right. More right than he’s ever been.

Which is, of course, why fear swiftly follows this gorgeous wash of emotions, because this is unusual and anything unusual is often bad.

Declan forces down the incoming wave of anxiety, schooling his expression into one of smooth disdain.

Just in time, too, because Logan opens his mouth and says, “It was only a matter of time until you paid for your crimes.”

“I’m too pretty to die,” Declan replies, thanking the heavens that while his brain may be steadily turning into mush (have Logan’s eyes always been that striking? Or his shoulders that broad?) his tongue still works.

“Implying Death themself has a type, intriguing,” Logan says. He flashes a look over his computer, the after effects of joy still written on his features. “Bold of you to declare what Death likes.”

Declan tries for a smirk but can feel the way his mouth turns to genuine grin, the traitor. “Aw, Logie, are you saying I’m not everyone’s type?”

“That would be rather ironic, wouldn’t it?” Logan says wryly. He types away at his computer, dutiously finishing an English assignment that Declan is currently ignoring for bigger and better things. “The aromantic everyone pines over.”

That strikes an odd chord in Declan’s chest, like he’s a half-tone off; not quite wrong, but not quite right, either. His expression must change, because Logan pauses in his typing. He blinks at Declan. “Something wrong?”

Of course, that’s when Declan’s brain decides that those words are simply too much, too much, his shoulders tightening, back tensing. It’s like his rib cage is squeezing his vital organs, which seems rather counterintuitive. He hates this unknown, this awkward buzz against his skin, the prickling feeling through his bones.

The resounding crash of everything happening all at once is overwhelming and Declan can’t seem to decide whether to sit as still as humanly possible or bolt.

Or, of course, do what he does best.

Lie.

“I forgot to do something for my mom,” Declan says, barely registering the words before they fall from his lips. He hasn’t lied to Logan in a very, very long time (he knows it’s because they have been best friends for ages, but his mind twists it into something of a foreshadow, even though it’s not, it’s not) and the resurgence of his bad habits leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, but. Desperate times. Desperate measures.

“Oh,” Logan says, disappointed, and Declan longs to explain -- what?

He angrily shoves the emotions deep into his chest. If he can’t explain them, he’s not going to give them the right of control over his actions.

(He ignores the prevalent fact that he has just lied to his best friend in order to escape his presence, but denial, evidently, is not just a river in Egypt).

“Sorry,” Declan spits out, meaning so much more than it seems. He stands, grabs his backpack, shoving papers and folders into it haphazardly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Logan calls out hollowly. Declan takes that as his leave and he slips out Logan’s bedroom door, backpack in tow, keys clicking in his pocket.

Something deep inside him aches. But he doesn’t know why.

Frustrated, Declan gets into his car and slams the door shut, fingers white-knuckled against the steering wheel. He takes a breath. He’s fine, he’s fine. He’s probably just sick, or something.

Or something.

Not for the first time, Declan longs for a working aux connection.

Because flicking through radio stations does not help.

Lewis Capaldi croons Someone you loved on one, Sam Smith singing Dancing with a Stranger. He woefully flips through two channels on commercial break, groaning when the last one has Adele, which, really?

He remembers Virgil’s favorite station, and turns up the volume to forty, My Chemical Romance’s Mama screaming from his speakers. He pulls into his driveway with Hallelujah by Panic! at the Disco blowing his ears out when he remembers that Logan once spent hours rambling about Brenden Urie and a conspiracy about curses and he slams his palms on his steering wheel, furious.

Can he not escape Logan for a moment?

As Declan slams the car door shut, throwing his backpack over his shoulders, and freezes at the sight of the stupid Beware, dog sign that Logan had vandelized to read Beware, snake, he realizes that no, he really can’t. Because Logan is his best friend, his favorite person, and his life is irreversibly intertwined with Logan unless he up and leaves with absolutely nothing, starting from scratch. Which would be worse than death.

He trudges up the stairs like a funeral dirge and when his door shuts with a click he leans against it, steadily sliding down until his knees almost touch his chin.

“Fuck,” Declan says out loud, unable to keep the emotion termoil inside like it should be.

His phone buzzes where it fell from his hands, angry against the carpet. Declan sighs. Rubs a hand down his face. And picks up the phone.

There’s one text from Logan that reads, “are you okay? I’m not irritated but you left rather…”

Well. The beginning reads as such. Declan assumes there’s more, but he’s unwilling to open it for the time being.

Then he has three from Virgil, two of which reference an obscure meme video and the third which reads “r u home i wanna play dark souls on ur ps4”.

And there’s a text from Patton asking if he wants normal chocolate chips or mint ones, and a followup that proclaims “never mind i got both! :3c”.

He sends a quick “no” back to Virgil and merely opens the texts from Patton, leaving only Logan’s unopened. I’m not irritated but you left rather… suddenly?

A strange emotion flutters about Declan’s chest and he groans. He doesn’t feel this way about his other friends, not even Virgil, who he’s known for ages and has gone through four too many devastating arguments to not be close with. Nor does he feel like this with Patton, his brother. Those bonds are, he’s certain, platonic--

Declan lurches forwards with a gasp, the realization bowling him over and leaving him breathless. He curls his fingers into the carpet, focusing on the texture instead of the immediate swirl of panic.

He -- does he have a crush on Logan? Him, Declan, the aromantic king, who once boasted the world could never produce a human Declan could fall in love with?

And it doesn’t track with him falling for Logan either because Declan would have loved him months earlier, suddenly falling in love with someone he’s loved platonically… it just doesn’t make sense. Declan can’t wrap his mind around it.

Maybe he’s just reading the emotions wrong. How can he -- what can he do that -- which --

What would Logan do?

An experiment, Declan’s mind supplies helpfully, so, well. Declan pressed his back against the wood of his door and thinks.

Hypothesis: he’s in love with Logan.

In love? A very rational part of his brain yells. You were talking about a crush before!

So Declan thinks, and revises. Hypothesis: he’s feeling romantic attraction to Logan.

Then he takes a few minutes trying to remember the following step in the scientific method and ends up looking it up on his phone, and it’s really long so he’s just going to cut some corners.

Procedure:

Well, Declan can’t think of any way to do this physically without making an entire fool of himself, so he changes the experiment into a thought experiment.

Procedure: Consider emotions of other relationships and compare to feelings for Logan.

Okay. Declan settles. He considers. He tries to imagine holding hands with Virgil and giving him flowers, but he can’t really picture giving Logan flowers either, so if it’s weird for both -- but he wants to hold Logan’s hand, not Virgil’s, and sometimes Patton’s, and Patton is his brother, he knows for sure his emotions are strictly platonic. So if Patton is the control group, the certainty of platonic emotions, Virgil is the one with normal emotions, and Logan has some weird emotions, so if Virgil and Logan’s are merely two different shades of friendship then Declan will know.

Declan closes his eyes and imagines kissing Logan, because that’s what romantic partners do, right? He imagines stepping closer to him until there’s inches of space between them.. Declan thinks about leaning in, brushing lips before pressing in, heat curling in his chest and oh god, oh god Declan’s face is on fire.

His eyes shoot open and he can only imagine how panicked he must look right now. He presses his hand against his chest, taking deep breaths. Then, reluctantly, he thinks about kissing Virgil -- nope, nope, eugh he physically shakes his head, gut rolling uncomfortably.

So that is a big contender for Declan has romantic feelings for Logan.

He sighs and clunks his head against the door. This sucks. Declan hates feelings.

The door downstairs sounds, opening and closing, followed by a resounding, “HEY, CICI, LOVE YOU!”

Dee sighs, a smile flickering across his face. He pushes to his feet and exits his room, wandering downstairs, aloof.

“Hey Pat,” he says, leaning against a wall.

“Ci, I’m making lots of cookies!” Patton declares, beaming at him, and Declan’s heart drops.

His expression must, too, because Patton’s features are suddenly painted in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that,” Declan says, and he feels bad, unexpectedly, for not replying to Patton’s text earlier. “Lots of cookies? With mint and chocolate chips? Enough to feed an army?”

Patton’s arms wilt and Declan reads the tremor in his shoulders, the glisten of his eyes. Patton tries for a smile and misses by a mile.

Declan crosses to where Patton stands in five steps, wrapping his arms around his smaller brother, pressing his cheek against Patton’s head. “What’s wrong?”

Patton takes a shuddering breath, returning the hug. “Nothing, really. I’m glad you’re home.”

“Ah,” Declan says. He tightens his grip on Patton. “Do you want help?”

“No.” Patton presses his face into Declan’s chest. He’s shaking, ever so slightly. “Can you talk with me at the counter, though?”

“Of course,” Declan agrees, mentally side-tabling his emotional turmoil.

“Okay,” Patton says. He’s quiet for a few more moments, then says, “And Steven Universe later?”

“Anything,” Declan says. He makes a face. The word had slipped out unbidden, but Patton doesn’t tease him for it.

“Alright.” Patton pulls away, takes a breath. “I’m about to make the best damn cookies the world has ever seen.”

“Damn straight,” Declan says, grinning. Patton pauses for just one moment more before moving to the kitchen, dropping various ingredients onto the counter and moving smoothly to gather more.

Declan wonders at his influence on Patton’s vulgar mouth, then shrugs. Patton’s a teenager. He can do what he wants.

“Weren’t you hanging out with Logan?” Patton asks conversationally. He’s pulling down bowls and sugar, obviously expecting easy small talk. And normally Logan is easy for Declan to talk about. He talks about him all the time.

So when Declan winces, Patton turns and addresses him with full attention, brows furrowed. “What? What happened?”

“I…” Declan considers for a moment to just lie about it but dismisses the thought. This is Patton. “I think I have a romantic attraction for him.”

Saying it out loud only cements the certainty in Declan’s chest. No, he hasn’t quite completed the experiment, but he just… knows.

The knowledge is both relieves and spikes his anxiety about the whole situation.

“Oh,” Patton says, eyes wide. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Declan says honestly.

“Alright,” Patton says. He turns back around and a wave of affection flows through Declan. “How did Roman do on his audition?”

Declan hums, eternally grateful for Patton’s ability to turn the conversation away. They talk about Roman’s skill as an actor for a few minutes, jumping to Patton’s involvement in VEX robotics (focusing on the robotics instead of the people) and they kill about forty minutes with Patton talking about his baby bot, Pat Jr.

When the clock strikes seven, Declan throws together two grilled cheese sandwiches and they eat in front of Steven Universe and the gems, Declan stretched out along the couch and Patton creating a throne of blankets for himself.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Patton murmurs, eyes never straying from the bursts of pastel on the screen, “but if you do have a romantic attraction to Logan it’s okay. You weren’t wrong in saying you’re aromantic. Because that fits you, you like it. There’s just more strings attached than you originally thought.”

Declan blinks, the smallest smile growing on his face. “Thanks, Pat.”

Patton hugs a pillow, eyes bright. “Love you, Ci.”

Declan pushes his foot against Patton’s blanket pile in response.

“Do you think we have to move?” Patton says, three hours into their movie night.

Declan breathes, slowly inhaling as if it gives him an excuse to not reply. “I didn’t. I don’t want to. But probably.”

“That’s why you haven’t told anyone,” Patton says. He shifts, turning to look at Declan. Declan maintains eye contact with the screen, despite having seen this movie countless times. “And why you told me to keep it under wraps.”

“Yes,” Declan says, because really, he lies to the world, but he doesn’t lie to Patton.

He tries not to lie to Patton.

“But something changed yesterday.” Patton’s not asking questions. Somehow, he just knows, despite being left out of the loop. “And you were going to tell Logan today.”

“Yes,” Declan says. Static thrums through his veins. Aladdin ignores a buzzing genie on screen, swatting him away to benefit his own desires.

“What happened?”

“Mom’s not getting out,” Declan says simply, because that’s it, really. Their mother is not getting out of jail. And with no father, their final hope is their uncle, three states over. Their father’s brother.

Two months away from eighteen, and Declan is forced to concede.

“When?” Patton asks. He’s trembling, but he’s not crying. Declan knows that will come later.

“Because of the legal mixups and leaning on Sasha, two weeks, probably,” Declan says. Sasha is, of course, their next door neighbor, the crazy cat lady of the street who “watches” the boys “all the time”.

“Two weeks,” Patton whispers. There’s a sheen in his eyes. Declan tries not to look but his gaze is like a magnet and Patton stares, stares, stares. “That’s not enough time. That’s not…”

Declan closes his eyes.

He really thought he would win.

He thought he could win.

They only had to last two more months. His deadbeat mom had to last two months and they couldn’t even keep the legal proceedings--

He takes a breath. “Uncle Thomas is nice, at least.”

“I don’t want uncle Thomas,” Patton snaps.

“Well we don’t have a choice, Pat,” Declan bites out, stomach rolling at the words, eyes snapping open.

Patton recoils, hurt flickering behind his eyes, but Declan knows it’s not enough to overpower the fire roaring in Patton’s lungs. “We did, we could have put more savings into mom’s defense, we could have found a place to live before it was our last resort but now we have to tell all our friends that we’re moving hundreds of miles away in two weeks!”

“Mom doesn’t deserve to get out,” Declan spits.

“I don’t CARE.” Patton’s fingers are clenched in fists. He stands. “I don’t care if mom deserves it or not. We deserve to stay.”

“The world doesn’t work like that,” Declan says.

Patton opens his mouth and snaps it shut, obviously restraining himself. A thousand emotions swim behind his eyes. Declan hates every single moment but he doesn’t say a word.

He leaves.

He leaves Declan sitting alone on the couch, watching Patton’s favorite movie. A door slams shut and Declan exhales heavily. They don’t get into fights, it’s just not -- Patton’s normally too upbeat to bother, Patton hates being angry, Declan normally doesn’t -- there’s nothing to get angry about, not in the grand scheme of things. They share easily, they have chaotic conversations, they…

They’re fighting.

Declan buries his head in his hands. He was too hopeful, too caught up on the possibility of the future to notice the sinkhole of reality.

He really thought -- things would work out, Patton has his lucky charm of a personality and Declan works, he works hard, so things should -- Declan’s a senior in high school, halfway through the first semester, he should be worried about grades and school dances and friends and crushes and --

Logan.

Declan curls, releasing something like a sob or maybe a dry heave. Whether or not he’s in love with Logan (most signs point to yes but there’s no way Declan’s addressing that) he still loves Logan, he loves being with him and talking to him and ordering his ice cream before Logan gets there to see the surprised and fond expression cross his face.

Two weeks?

To say goodbye to his best friend?

Before moving, before picking up his entire life and his family (just -- Patton. Just Patton) and going somewhere Else?

Declan doesn’t feel like an adult.

He doesn’t want to be an adult, either.

Even if the world is asking him to be one.

“You’re acting strange,” Logan observes.

Declan shrugs. “I’m always strange.” He takes advantage of shoving fries in his face to avoid expounding.

Logan sighs and puts down his burger. “Declan. Something’s going on.”

Several somethings are going on, actually, but thanks. Declan shrugs again. “Haven’t been getting much sleep.” Which is a true statement. He’s written about ten different ways to tell Logan he’s leaving, nine of which are ripped up in the trash, one of which Declan just burned because he doesn’t want even scraps of that disaster to exist.

Five days to go and Declan still hasn’t told him. Five days. They don’t have many classes together, otherwise Logan would have pieced together the weird treatment from the teachers. Declan wonders if just disappearing into the void is an alright way to go, but a little Patton in his head chastises him for even considering it.

Then again, at this rate…

“Hm,” Logan says. He has a thoughtful look on his face that’s absolutely devastating to Declan’s heart and general health and coherence of thought, let alone considering what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Is there a reason?”

Declan considers, eyes narrowing as he stares at nothing. “I neglect to answer that question.”

“So yes,” Logan says. The words fall from his lips with crushing sorrow. He takes a breath. “Why aren’t you telling me?”

“Telling you what?” Declan says, internally wincing at the hurt flickering through Logan’s eyes.

“Okay,” Logan says instead. He turns back to his food.

They eat the rest of the meal in silence.

Declan watches absentmindedly as Logan attempts to make a tower out of pens and pencils. With the addition of Roman’s copious amounts of colored pens, the tower is quite impressive.

Two days.

(Two Days).

Declan’s all packed. Sorta. Not really. He’s going to skip some classes in the future and pack all at once, throwing everything into the boxes (the empty boxes lining his room), not caring if anything breaks.

He…

He hasn’t told Logan yet.

Or anyone, really, but Logan’s the one that -- the one that matters the most.

Logan did, however, ask him if he was okay three times before leaving him be, because Logan knows that Declan becomes testy if asked the same question consistently.

So basically, as far as Declan can figure, Declan’s a tool. Logan is trying, and Declan is giving him jack shit to work with.

Patton has told all his friends, which means it’s only a matter of time before Logan finds out, right? Patton’s a sophomore, they’re seniors, and the school is large, but it’s also not as big as it seems.

Roman, sitting next to him, hums under his breath as he types. He’s editing his college essay, which Declan would be doing if he had a college essay to edit and also cared enough. The atmosphere is strikingly calm, which leads to an anxious buzzing under Declan’s skin.

Tell him. Just tell him. Just open your mouth and tell him. You’re in a library, he can’t get loud and yell.

Declan wonders if yelling would be better, actually, than wide eyed stares and wounded expressions.

He’s contemplating the merits of writing a letter (absolutely not, he doesn’t know why he’s even considering it) when he spots Patton out of the corner of his eye.

Patton in and of himself does not scare Declan.

The fact that he’s bee-lining for Declan and his friends does make him a bit nervous, though.

“Cici,” Patton hisses. The cutesy play on Declan’s middle name sounds odd in such a harsh tone of voice. He glances at Logan before staring at Declan.

Declan’s starkly aware of Roman and Logan’s attention when he says, “yeah?”

“You told them?” Patton says, and Declan--

Well.

A combination of fear and fury and regret zip through his veins at warp speed.

But Declan’s well trained in the art of deception.

He schools his expression into one of cool indifference. “That I’m taking you for ice cream? Nah. I didn’t think they’d care. You wanna go right now?”

Roman huffs a laugh, turning his attention back to his computer. Logan doesn’t look away, though, hand resting on a bright yellow flair pen.

Patton’s brow furrows. “I mean the--”

“Man, if you were that impatient you could’ve texted me,” Declan interrupts with a long, drawn-out sigh. He stands, swinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Get me some ice cream next time,” Roman says, grinning. His gaze doesn’t leave his screen. “Bye, loser.”

“Bye,” Logan echoes.

Something registers in Declan’s brain-dead skull that Logan sounds lifeless because his best friend has been distant (Declan. Declan is Logan’s best friend).

Declan pauses, sighs. Patton looks outraged and about two seconds from outing Declan.

“I’m sorry,” Declan says. Logan looks up at him. “It’s not your fault. Just… I’m going through some things. You deserve to know. I shouldn’t shadow you without any info.”

Patton looks even angrier, if possible, but then Logan’s talking and Patton hates interrupting people.

“Okay,” Logan says, soft as ever. “I’ll wait for you.”

And if that doesn’t make Declan feel like the nastiest motherfucker.

“Let’s go,” Declan says, pulling Patton along before Patton lets loose.

He opens his mouth, but Declan beats him to it, whispering, “Shh, we’re in a library.”

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Patton hisses instead.

“Language.”

“You haven’t told them?” Patton exclaims. He yanks his wrist from Declan’s grip but continues following him, arms gesturing wildly. “You’re the worst.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Declan mutters.

“You better get me ice cream now,” Patton says, crossing his arms. “After making me watch that.”

“That’s fair,” Declan concedes, and then realizes he’s going to have to spent the next thirty minutes listening to Patton chastise him and --

Honestly, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want it, but before he can say anything, Patton says, “don’t even think about escaping this.”

So he’s stuck listening to Patton chastise him for the next thirty minutes until their next class starts.

But he gets a turtle sundae out of it, so it’s like, at least 20% a win.

“CICI,” Patton screams from the living room.

Declan shoots to his feet, tripping and slamming his knee into the doorframe, scrambling to reach Patton as swiftly as possible. He appears at the edge of the living room, hand pressed against the wall, chest heaving, eyes blown wide. “What? What is it?”

He assesses Patton for damage, but Patton’s standing with his phone clutched between his fingers, shaking ever so slightly but appearing physically fine. He’s staring at Declan, lip trembling.

“Patton?” Declan says.

Patton opens his mouth, tears dripping down his cheeks. He sniffs, making an angry noise in the back of his throat as he wipes at his face. “I shouldn’t tell you! I should let you suffer because you’re mean.”

“Patton,” Declan says, approaching his brother like one might a wild animal.

Patton shakes his head and Declan stops.

“I’m upset!” Patton says. Then he lets out a laugh, choked. “But I’m so relieved.”

Declan doesn’t say anything.

Patton sniffles a few more times, then peeks at Declan through his fingers. Declan tries for a smile, sheepish. Patton smiles back, watery and soft. His shoulders shake as he laughs softly, his phone pressed against his cheek. “I was so scared.”

“Me too,” Declan says.

“I’m sorry,” Patton says, the anger draining from his face and leaving a wide-eyed pile of nerves. “I didn’t mean it. You’re not mean. You’re just scared.”

“It’s okay,” Declan says. His arms hand limply by his sides. He wants to do something with them, to cross his arms or put them in his hoodie pockets or something, but he also wants to leave them available for when Patton wants a hug, so he stands awkwardly instead. “I forgive you.”

“I’ve been calling Uncle Thomas,” Patton says.

Declan’s heart does something funny in his chest.

Patton pulls his hands away from his face, rubbing his cheeks clean, staring at his phone for a few moments before his hand drops, dangling at his side. “He’s -- he said he’s coming here. His job can be done online and the stuff he can’t do online he’ll fly back for which won’t be often, he said it’s important to him that we -- have a support system throughout highschool, and he wants us to finish here before doing anything else.”

The information barely filters through Declan’s mind because when Patton exhales another sob Declan steps forward and envelops him in his arms on instinct. Patton’s legs go weak. Declan sinks to the ground, Patton pressing his face into Declan’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Patton mumbles. “I don’t know why I’m crying. This is good. This is good.”

“Sometimes emotions have a funny way of showing,” Declan says. He runs his fingers through Patton’s hair, untangling the curls. “You’ve been stressed. It’s okay.”

“Why aren’t you crying?” Patton says. He taps his palm against Declan’s chest, reminiscent of a smack without any of the power. “It’s not fair.”

Declan laughs, sort of. “I might later. I don’t know. Emotions are weird.”

“You never told your friends you were moving,” Patton says. “Will they ever find out?”

“Probably,” Declan says. He squeezes Patton. “I know you told your friends. It’s better your way. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Mm.”

Declan can feel the rise and fall of Patton’s chest. It slows as Patton calms down. “We don’t have to move,” Patton murmurs.

“We don’t have to move,” Declan agrees, and Patton presses even closer.

Declan doesn’t know how he finds his way to the beach but at one point he’s baking Patton cookies and the next he’s sitting on a slab of concrete overlooking the pitch dark waves. He knows Patton is sleeping, or is at least pretending to sleep. He vaguely remembers writing a note in case Patton looks for him.

It’s been three days since Patton discovered Uncle Thomas’s moving plans. Discovered? Convinced? Declan isn’t sure.

And he doesn’t really know how to react. He’s been moving on autopilot, making dinner, doing homework, putting in minimal effort into his friendships so they don’t abandon him on the side of the road --

No. Declan shakes his head. Putting minimal effort into his friendships because his friends don’t deserve to be cut off without a word.

Nothing feels right.

(Something is off).

He hears footsteps and before he can whip around, before fear has the chance to truly take over his body, he hears, “this seat taken?”

“No,” Declan says, and Logan sits next to him on the concrete. They’re quiet for a few moments, watching the reflection of the moon, tasting salt on their tongues.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Logan says finally.

Declan closes his eyes, breathes. His emotions are all tangled up in his chest and he doesn’t want to tap into it for fear that if he lets out a little he’ll let out everything.

But Logan deserves to know.

(He deserves someone better.)

“My mom lost,” Declan says, which sounds nicer than it did in his head. “She’s unfit to care for us, anyway, but now she’s officially calling prison her new home.”

Logan’s quiet. Declan listens to his breathing. He spies Logan’s hand against the concrete and longs to close the distance and entangle their fingers, just for a modicum of physical comfort. The slightest hint of warmth permeates the air around Logan and Declan wants to lean closer, to press their arms together.

“My Uncle, on my dad’s side, is taking care of us. He… wasn’t originally going to move here, but Patton talked to him and he decided moving here is the best course of action.” Declan shifts. He doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know how to explain.

Logan stops breathing.

“I almost lost you,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper.

Declan glances at him and can barely comprehend the amount of horror shining in Logan’s eyes. Logan’s staring at him, expression open and terrified. “I almost…” He exhales, shaking. Declan watches him so closely he can see the sticking of his chest as he breathes, the tremor of his shoulders.

Declan’s heart stutters and he wants to tear his gaze away but he owes, he owes Logan this. Even though the only thing he wants to do is run away, to preserve himself. “I -- I never told you,” Declan says, more scared than he has been in a long time. He opens his mouth and stops, shrinking away. He looks over Logan’s shoulder, unable to maintain eye contact. “We were supposed to leave two days ago. I was going to tell you and then…”

Then I found out that I’m in love with you, and it freaked me out so much I closed myself off.

Logan’s truly shaking, and Declan doesn’t know what to do. You caused this. This is your fault.

“Ugh! I’m sorry,” Declan exclaims. He can’t stand this, these tentative moments, fragile as glass. He wants to take a hammer to the whole affair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not much but I was scared, and it’s not a valid excuse, but I was terrified, Logan, I couldn’t leave you! You mean too much to me!”

“You mean a lot to me too,” Logan says, but Declan’s on a roll, now, there’s no stopping the hurricane in his heart.

He moves his gaze to the waves, finding solace and energy in the constancy. “I was going to tell you when we were hanging out a few weeks ago in your room, and then I freaked out because -- and then I left, and haven’t been able to figure out how to word it since, and Patton’s better than I am, he told his friends almost immediately, imagine, having worse emotional competency than a fifteen year old--”

“Roman found out,” Logan says, grinding Declan’s tangent to a halt. “He mentioned something to me but I needed to hear it from you.”

Declan stares at him.

“I asked Patton if you were at home,” Logan explains. Declan can barely tell in the shadows, but Logan’s face seems to darken. “When he said no, I knew there was one other place you would go. Probably.”

Declan worries his lip. He’s that predictable?

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Logan asks, quiet.

“Because…” Liquid anxiety slogs through his veins. His voice drops, quiet, quieter than the sound of waves. “Because I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.”

For a second all he can hear is the crash of the sea and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know why the moon isn’t falling from the sky, why the stars haven’t combusted, because his world feels like it’s falling apart at the seams.

“I discovered that,” Declan continues, the words slipping between his lips before his mind has any say in the matter, “and didn’t know what to do, and then I needed to tell you I was leaving, and I love you, and I couldn’t. Because I’m a coward.”

Another beat. Declan takes a long breath. “I still love you. And I’m no longer leaving.”

“I suppose… now would be a bad time to bring up demiromanticism?” Logan tries.

“It would be a terrible time, but thank you,” Declan says, and he can’t help the small puff of laughter that escapes.

“I love you too,” Logan says, then, and Declan can’t breathe.

He turns to Logan without thinking, searching his sapphire blue eyes for deception even though Logan has never, ever lied to him. He can’t hope, he can’t dare to hope, the world would never give him two miracles. “Don’t trick me.”

“I’m in love with you,” Logan clarifies, nervous. His hands are wringing together and he’s biting his lip.

Declan reaches out, fingers trembling, to brush against Logan’s cheek. “You…”

“I’ve been in love with you,” Logan says. He’s looking down, away from Declan’s gaze, but he leans into his touch. “For awhile. I never wanted to bring it up because… you were so adamant about being separate from romance…”

“I thought I was,” Declan says honestly. “Which is why this is a real fucking trip, let me tell you.”

Logan laughs, and some of the tension in the air dissolves. “I can imagine.”

“God, I love you,” Declan says. He brushes his thumb underneath Logan’s eye.

“I love you too,” Logan says, eyes wide and sparkling, then he moves forward and cradles Declan’s head in his hands and Declan short circuits because he’s right there he’s RIGHT THERE and he’s touching him he loves him he loves him--

“You’re gorgeous,” Logan says, and Declan just stares at him dumbly because his mouth stops working. His heart is barely going, the only reason he’s not dead is because his body has some sort of instinctive survival instinct, or something.

Emotion clog his throat and Declan doesn’t know how he’s not sobbing already so he’s unsurprised when the smallest tear slips out of his eye.

“Oh,” Logan says, wiping the tear away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s -- it’s not -- it’s not you,” Declan chokes out. “God. This is so embarrassing.”

“I don’t care,” Logan says. He leans closer, pressing their foreheads together and staring into Declan’s eyes. “It’s okay to cry.”

Declan smiles thinly, blinking away tears. “I don’t deserve you.”

Logan stares at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” Declan says. His trembling hands hold Logan’s jaw. “And you’re so smart and passionate, and you have the most wicked sense of humor, and you’re my best friend.”

“No,” Logan shakes his head. “I mean, I am your best friend, but there’s no deserve in a relationship. We’re just people. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. Please don’t sell yourself short.”

Declan wants to say that only proves how good Logan truly is, but he settles for a simple, “Okay.”

Logan brushes hair out of Declan’s eyes, then sighs, dropping his head to Declan’s shoulder. Declan’s hands slide down to Logan’s upper back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Declan says.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Logan replies, muffled. He pulls away for a split second, eyes blurry and a crease already showing from his glasses pressing into his skin. “But if you withhold life-altering information like that from me again there will be issues.”

“I won’t,” Declan says. He swallows. He hates promises. He hates them, because he never feels like he can maintain them. “I’ll… I’ll try my hardest.”

Logan searches his gaze, nods, and then presses fully into Declan.

“Woah, okay.” Declan shifts as Logan clings to him like a koala bear. Logan’s basically in his lap and Declan, well. Declan has no complaints.

“I can do this as much as I want because we’re in love with each other,” Logan mutters, and wow, if that doesn’t send a thousand vibrations across his skin. In love with each other.

Declan grins. He likes the sound of that.

“You know,” Logan says conversationally. His fingers trail up to press against Declan’s face, outlining his lips. “I love it when you smile.”

Declan hums, his smile broadening. Me too, Logan.

Me too.

#im also posting this on ao3 bc this is a MONSTER #loceit #logan sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders #brotherly moceit #god the dynamics..... so good #roman sanders #virgil sanders #well virgils mentioned hes not actually in it OOPS sorry virge love u #does the ending make sense?? i hope so #deceit: i also love it when i smile thank u logan #<-- incorrect interpretation yet i love it #did someone order some uhhhhh fluff #willowaudreykeyes

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ourladylennon · 4 years ago

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1/2) About Fraser, a couple of quotes that caught my eye:

"Robert represented to me freedom, freedom of speech, of view"

"The most formative influence for me was Robert Fraser. Obviously the other Beatles were very important but the most formative art influence was Robert. I expect people to die so I don’t feel a loss but there’s a vacuum where he used to be"

"The way Robert lived, which became the way I lived for a couple of years and which I now figure for a rather aristocratic way of life, would be that he’d ring early in the day and say, ‘What are we doing for dinner tonight?’

'Once I got to know Robert, a nice thing would be going to the gallery and helping install an exhibition. Just sit around and smoke a bit of pot while somebody else was installing the exhibition. Helping. Play a little music for him.’

"There were many good times in Robert’s flat. Through my Beatle connections I’d hire a 16mm projector for the evening […] and I started off with Wizard of Oz. Robert got into this, wow, and he’d get some art movies. We got a lot of Bruce Connors, showed a lot of that. It was a very exciting period."

The boy sounded smitten, didn't he? Maybe nothing physical happened, (Robert was allegedly into darker men) but it looks like Paul liked the idea of being "romanced" by this handsome and sophisticated guy. There was an undertone of cozy, easy intimacy between them. You can tell by the way Bob would call to plan what they'd do for dinner. How Paul would sit there playing music for his eyes only while someone else was installing the exhibition. It speaks volumes that someone as image oriented as Paul went to Paris with an openly gay man without caring what others would say. It suggests a deep connection. The story about their "netflix and chill" encounters in Robert's flat is so suggestive as well. Paul could've been anywhere and yet there he was watching Wizard of Oz with this dude. I'd say those encounters were not about Paul's love of cinema. He just wanted to be around Bob. They most likely drank, did drugs and in my opinion, fooled around a bit, for the fun of it. It sounds like a fantastic way to spend the time, 10/10 recommended.

Paul also had a strong relationship with Tara for the short time they knew each other. The fact he did LSD with him before the other Beatles implies a lot of trust. Tara was very responsible and sweet in that occasion, staying sober to look after Paul in case he had a bad trip. I loved that about him. He was really concerned about keeping Paul safe and giving him a good time. They always hung out when they had the chance and John really disliked the guy. Then there is Tara's Christmas trip to Liverpool. I'm aware he knew Paul's brother Mike first and they were friendly but there was such an air of "meet the parents" about this situation. I'm not entirely convinced they were physical but I could sense a romantic crush. Tara was married but as a beautiful society swan in the Rolling Stones' circle, I think he was quite open to experimentation.

part 2 and my answer below read line :)

2/2) Again, I would never call Paul bisexual but I do think he was more attracted to men in a romantic/platonical sense than people realize. He enjoyed immensely the attention and the company of some guys. He would open up emotionally with them, learn their craft and incorporate their habits in a way he rarely did with his women, not even Linda. It looks like Paul wouldn't unlock certain corners of his mind unless a man he was drawn to gave him that permission. This is probably why he associated Fraser with freedom.

John was the most important of all because in a way, Paul would've never discovered and accepted himself without him. He used to kill frogs and engage in unruly behavior as a child to repress that soft, romantic persona he would become so famous for. Meeting a charismatic, brilliant boy who appreciated that vulnerable side of him must've been exhilarating. As they became a songwriting team, they both started seeing creation as sex, a view they'd carry for the rest of their lives. It's telling that once Paul lost John permanently, he went looking for the next man to fall in love with. But not even Elvis Costello, Stevie Wonder or Michael Jackson were enough to fill that gap.

Which convinces me of the eroticism of his relationship with John. It was the one connection he didn't have with all the others (with the possible exception of Fraser) and this is why the collaborations would often end up somewhat unfulfilled. He might've loved them intellectually but the erotic element wasn't there and it made a difference in the results.

About McLennon, few people dispute they were in love with each other these days. But what are the odds that two people who felt so strongly about each other and had plenty of chances to consummate their feelings in a physical way not doing it? They would crash and burn within six months. It's all speculation because Paul won't tell us but I don't think it's that much of a radical idea. I think a lot of stuff will come out once Yoko passes away and Paul faces his own mortality.

P.S: juicy bit about Heather, I'm bummed that we don't get enough info about this period because of that divorce NDA.

Anon, you are a well-researched individual and I’m impressed. This was the first thing I read this morning it was like a morning newspaper lol, thanks.

I entirely see what you mean about intimate undertones. "Cozy” seems like a good word to describe the general feel. I *tried* reading up some more on their relationship and I get a sense that Paul in general had a great admiration for Robert and your right- has that element of creation which is so essential to Paul’s being and probably his attraction. Robert seems to have given him a different side of creating than John did: art. That clearly created a bond for them and had some impact. Like with the movies and projectors, yeah cool and all, but “an exciting period” goes a bit deeper than that for sure. He clearly learned a lot from him about art, but whose to say about what else? The way Paul talks seems like he really admired, respected and trusted the man at the very least (I am even reading this quote that seems to imply Paul and Robert did hallucinogenic drugs together unless I’m misreading? That’d be a big leap of trust just like with Tara which still boggles me).

It’s not too big of a stretch to think Paul did enjoy being romanced, in exactly the way you put it, by some guy who was “handsome and sophisticated” who he found to be interesting, different, above average, with a new exciting form of expression. And not romanced in the obvious sense; more so unassuming things like having an intimate understanding of art with one another, who felt his equal in terms of that area of art, who was putting in the effort of engaging with him, showing him something others hadn’t, being so willing to share with Paul and to open his mind. You can definitely be romanced in friendships too though so I’m not saying this is exclusively any one thing in particular, though I myself do sense an undercurrent of more-than-standard interest after reading some more. In a nutshell, pretty much what you said:

I do think he was more attracted to men in a romantic/platonical sense than people realize. He enjoyed immensely the attention and the company of some guys. He would open up emotionally with them, learn their craft and incorporate their habits in a way he rarely did with his women

I still don’t think he would ever connect the dots of what that meant or what it could mean. I think to him, it just was what it was.

With John specifically, yeah there’s just no question for me. To me, they are every bit of the lore and legend of what soul mates are made of. Fire & passion on all levels. No disrespect to any of their longterm relationships outside of each other, because they clearly had deep feelings for their other partners, but I sincerely don’t think it that it connected on every level like it did with John/Paul. But of course, I still fall on the side of thinking nothing sexual ever happened (for more reasons than one I could see why they wouldn’t have fooled around imo). With 67/68 being that turning point where they *did* crash and burn because perhaps someone tried something- words or other- or perhaps nothing happened and that could have precisely been the cracking point.

I do find it interesting that Paul’s hanging around with Robert was right around this tumultuous period of John and Paul’s relationship...kind of makes you think doesn’t it? Like does this have any influence on what happened in India sort of thing; John seeing Paul being good, close friends with a gay man. Could it have stirred something up for John? Made him see a possibility where he hadn’t before? Interesting to think about and which I hadn’t thought about before....

I genuinely hope that Paul shares anything important with us before he passes. He doesn’t owe us anything, but my god would I die to know everything that happened between them and everything they felt.

#TW drugs mention #long post #ty anon #you got my gears going #asks #<3 #paul mccartney #john lennon #robert fraser #paul x robert #tara browne

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

Text

“The plasticity of the notion of reading meant that it represented the medium through which middle-class Victorian girls passed many hours, but it did not bring a uniform message. Like their parents and advisers, adolescent girls who were writing about reading were of two minds. On the one hand, as William Thayer put it, reading could be a way of demonstrating rectitude and diligence; on the other, it could be a route to indolence and the shirking of responsibilities.

Mary Thomas, away at school in Georgia in 1873, suggested these dual meanings of reading as she imagined a newly virtuous domesticity for herself upon returning home: ‘‘I will sew and read all the time, I am not going out any where, but intend to stay at home and work all the time; no matter how interesting a book may be, I will put it down and do whatever I am asked to do, they shall no longer accuse me of being lazy and good for nothing, I will work all day.’’ In its contrast to engaging in a social whirl of visiting and flirtation, reading, like sewing, represented a becoming and modest domesticity. However, reading might also subvert good intentions, and tempt a girl to inattention to, or even disobedience of, the demands of others or of household work. In any case, reading had a meaning for the self, as well as for the family and the culture.

Reading good books was of course a way of demonstrating virtue. Measured reading of improving texts was part of the regimen of many Victorian girls. As advisers suggested, the reading of history was especially praiseworthy. When Nellie Browne returned home from school in 1859, her mother noted in her diary with pride, ‘‘Nellie begins to read daily Eliot’s History of the United States,’’ a parentally encouraged discipline which would both improve and occupy Nellie now that her school days were over.

Jessie Wendover, the daughter of a prosperous Newark grocer and another regular diarist, recorded a steady diet of history in her journal, justifying her summer vacation in 1888 with the reading of a two-volume History of the Queens of England, as well as doing a little Latin and some arithmetic. The popular British domestic novelist Charlotte Yonge wrote her History of Germany specifically for readers like Jessie Wendover, who began it the following year. What American girl readers took from the history they read is hard to ascertain, because unlike their rapt reports on novels, they recorded their history as achievement rather than illumination.

One can certainly appreciate the irony, though, in encouraging girls to read accounts of national travails, the stories of armies, wars, and dynastic succession, which were ennobled partly by their distance from girls’ real lives. One of the advantages of history seemed to be that girls could be expected to have no worrisome practical interest in it—in marked contrast to the reading of romances or novels.

Victorian girls could build character through a variety of other literary projects, prime among them the memorizing of poetry. Over the course of the late nineteenth century, the publishing industry issued a number of collections of snippets of poetry known as ‘‘memory gems,’’ designed for memorization by schoolchildren. The verse in these anthologies was to serve as ‘‘seed-thoughts’’ for earnest young Victorians aspiring to know the best, and these were the likely sources for many of the couplets which appear in girls’ diaries and scrapbooks.

Margaret Tileston’s daily diary, recorded religiously for her entire life, both fed and celebrated a variety of literary disciplines, including most prominently reading and memorizing poetry. She too read histories during the summer, along with keeping up with her other studies, noting one July day following her graduation from Salem High School that she had ‘‘read my usual portions of Macaulay [a 40-page allotment] and French, but only a few pages of Spencer.’’ Margaret Tileston also read advice literature, such as Mary Livermore’s What Shall We Do with Our Daughters? and two books by Samuel Smiles, Self-Help and Duty. (The latter she described as looking ‘‘quite interesting and full of anecdotes.’’) Margaret Tileston’s diaries suggest a life consumed with the rewards of self-culture.

At fifteen, however, she recorded a brush with another literary genre and mode of striving—a seeking not only for mastery of the will but for beauty itself. Poetry first appeared simply as a verse of romantic poetry copied on the page: ‘‘Why thus longing thus forever sighing, for the far-off, unattained, and dim, while the beautiful, all round thee lying, offers up its low, perpetual hymn.’’ Margaret Tileston was now away at girls’ school, where she had experienced something of an emotional awakening in the intense atmosphere of schoolgirl friendships.

Her turn to poetry seems to reflect the new culture in which she was briefly submerged. That summer, back with her family on vacation on the Massachusetts coast, Tileston again turned to poetry, and to beauty, in an uncharacteristic passage of effusion. ‘‘The moon was perfectly lovely in the sky and its light on the water. We quoted lines of poetry, and it was beautiful.’’ By January of the next year, however, poetry had been incorporated into her disciplines of order and accomplishment. After returning from boarding school, she had moved with her family from the farm where she had spent her formative years to the town of Salem, where she attended the local high school. There she embarked on another campaign of self-improvement, the memorization of poetry, perhaps as a strategy to gain control of alien surroundings.

Two months later she described a new discipline: the daily ritual repetition of all the poems she had learned, of which there were by then 111. On May 25 she reported that her extraordinary ability to memorize poetry was gaining her a reputation. ‘‘Miss Perry asked me if I knew about 250 poems. She said that one of the Goodhue girls had told her I did. I remarked something of the sort to Miss Perkins one day in recess, and somehow it was repeated.’’ By the end of July she noted that she was beginning to have trouble finding new poems to learn because she knew so many already.

Appreciation of the beauty of poetry had dropped out of her journal. Nor did she suggest that the poetry had any meaning to her at all. Yet she very likely gained some of the satisfactions from poetry expressed by Louisa May Alcott, some years before. After disobeying her mother, at the age of eleven, Alcott ‘‘cried, and then I felt better, and said that piece from Mrs. Sigourney, ‘I must not tease my mother.’’’ She went on, ‘‘I get to sleep saying poetry,—I know a great deal.’’ For those feeling guilty, sad, misunderstood, or wronged, repeat- ing lines of elevating poetry had an effect in a secular mode analagous to the saying of ritual Hail Marys. The verses established an alliance with a higher authority and suggested personal participation in a glorious and tragic human struggle.

And in fact, poetry, even more than history, was the prototypical idealist genre. In 1851 the British educational pioneers Maria Grey and Emily Shirreff proposed the reading of poetry rather than fiction, explaining the crucial distancing effect of poetic subjects. ‘‘In a poem, the wildest language of passion, though it may appeal to the feelings, is generally called forth in circumstances remote from the experience of the reader.’’ They suggested that in poetry there was a higher truth than that of superficial realism: ‘‘The grand conceptions of the poet are true in ideal beauty.’’

Writing fifty years later, Harriet Paine too suggested that poetry had generic qualities of elevation. ‘‘After all, in poetry itself what we read is not the important thing. We should read poetry to give us a certain attitude of mind, a habit of thinking of noble things, of keeping our spirit in harmony with beauty and goodness and strength and love.’’ Earlier Paine had commended the memorization of poetry as neces- sary to ‘‘take in the full meaning,’’ suggesting just such a regular regimen of repetition as Tileston had pursued. The spiritual rewards from internalizing poetry were revealed by Paine’s proposal that it take place on the Sabbath: ‘‘Surely we must give a part of every Sunday to such elevating study.’’

Elizabeth Barrett Browning had censured poets for their historical escapism in her 1857 poem Aurora Leigh, arguing Their sole work is to represent the age, Their age, not Charlemagne’s—this live, throbbing age, That brawls, cheats, maddens, calculates, aspires. Yet it was in just its remoteness from ‘‘this live, throbbing age,’’ just in the ‘‘togas and the picturesque’’ disparaged by Browning that poetry was considered so appropriate for girl readers.

…If reading presented an opportunity to discover national allies, to demonstrate private virtue, and to suggest the triumph of the will against ennui or boredom, it increasingly endorsed another way of defining life: the excitement and the exercise of the feelings. Girls who read their daily allowance of Macaulay or the Bible with pride and self-satisfaction upbraided themselves for their difficulties in controlling their insatiable appetites for Victorian novels of all kinds. Reading for leisure or for pleasure invariably meant reading for ‘‘sensation,’’ reading for adventure, excitement, identification, titillation. In the process of this kind of reading, Victorian girls ministered to a complex of emotions.

…Perhaps leisure reading can best be defined by what it was not: study, sleep, or sewing. Girls chastised themselves for imperfectly learning their lessons, and sometimes blamed the distractions of leisure reading. Martha Moore, who had just begun to attend school in occupied New Orleans during the Civil War, confessed that she found the schoolwork hard and had had two crying spells before she ‘‘picked up an interesting story and with my old habit of procrastination, thought I would read that first, and then study.’’

She observed the inevitable consequence ‘‘that my lessons are very imperfectly known.’’ And even Margaret Tileston, whose discipline seldom allowed her to swerve from duty, could be seduced by light reading. At the age of fourteen: ‘‘I scarcely studied in my history at all, because I was interested in ‘Sir Gibbie,’ and wanted to finish reading it.’’ At the age of seventeen: ‘‘I undertook to spend the afternoon and evening on my Ancient History, but my thoughts wandered and I spent some time on papers and magazines.’’ At the age of twenty: ‘‘I did not study a great deal in evening, on account of my interest in my novel, but I read over my History lesson.’’

Girls also resolved to prevent reading from interfering with their domestic chores, usually their needlework. Treating reading as recreation, Virginian Agnes Lee observed, ‘‘I really am so idle I must be more industrious but it is so hard when one is reading or playing to stop to practice or sew.’’ Another Virginian, Lucy Breckinridge, set up a similar opposition, noting that she and her sisters had gathered together in her room ‘‘being industrious. I am getting over my unsocial habit of sitting in my room reading all day.’’ For Lucy Breckinridge private reading not only was not industrious, it was also antisocial.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Reading as the Development of Taste.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#history #victorian #american #jane h. hunter #how young ladies became girls

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aspenflower17 · 4 years ago

Text

Wrath is The Cat

Hey everyone! This is my first completed fan fiction. It is very long, but I want to make sure I don’t leave you guys hanging with an unfinished fic. It is for Obey Me! and I had fun writing it. Know that I have finished Lesson Twenty regular and Lesson 15 Hard, so there might be spoilers. It also talk about Fruits Basket in this fic, though I don’t think there’s any major spoilers for that (also, if you haven’t read it or watched the new anime, you should!).

I am posting this at midnight, so I apologize if there’s formatting problems or such. Please comment or DM me with anything major you see and I will attempt to fix :)

Satan / Reader

Word Count: 3960

[some angst at the end]

“Are you reading that again?” Satan asked, eyeing the newest volume of My Hero Academia Mc had.

“Technically, this is the first time I’ve read this volume, but yes, I am reading My Hero Academia.“

"Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why would you read that when you could read real literature?”

“Hold on just a minute,” Mc said, fully shutting the volume so she could face him, “What did you say?”

“Come on. You can’t tell me you find that more compelling and as well written as A Portrait of Dorian Grey.”

“I never said one was superior to the other. Just because on is good does not invalidate the other. By that mode of thinking, no one should make new literature because it would never be as good as the classics, which is, simply put, a stupid idea.”

“Well, what about the issue of the art itself. These over idealized figures that couldn’t actually look the way they do in real life. ”

“Says one of the prettiest men I’ve ever met,” Mc muttered under her breath.

“Hmmm… what was that?”

“Are you talking about uber-boobs and uber-muscles?” Mc asked, hoping he honestly hadn’t heard her.

“Among other things, yes,” Satan said, though she could feel him trying to figure out what she’d actually said.

“Not all manga and comics are like that! It’s a trope in both genres. Before I started reading them, it’s something I thought too,” Mc said, not realizing that her voice had gotten very loud and fervent. Satan sat there, looking as if he was deciding whether to continue the conversation. Mc took a deep breath, her inner fan girl needing to quiet down in order to get through to him, “Have you read any?”

“Yes… Well, I tried once. Levi begged me to read one, so I conceded. Long story short, it was not to my liking.”

“Which one?”

“I believe it was called, That Time I Accidentally Fist Fought A Monster.”

Mc pinched the bridge of her nose, a habit she’d subconsciously picked up from Satan. He smiled softly as he recognized the imitation. That was a terrible anime or manga to start someone off on. It had a pretty good story, but it had far too many silly anime tropes for someone like Satan.

“That… That is not the one I would’ve started you out on.”

“And just which one would you have started me out on?”

Mc stopped, and started to think. Most of the anime and manga she liked were romance, and she wasn’t sure if those would be a good fit for him, especially since most of them didn’t have much of a story line besides the relationship. Although, there was one she had been able to get her brother into…

“My first instinct would be Fruits Basket. I’m not sure how much you'd like it at first, but I think if you give it a real chance and read until… the third volume, probably… I think you’d really end up enjoying it.”

“What do you think I’d like about it?”

“Hmmm… You’d probably really appreciate the dynamics between Kyo and Yuki. I also think you’ll appreciate the character depth and development. There’s also a lot of plot intricacies and plot twists. I also agree with a lot of people online that it’s a good introduction to anime and manga.”

“I’ll try it then.”

“Wait… What?”

“I have a feeling you’ve had more success introducing people to new things, especially since you have specific elements you think I would enjoy. So, I will try out your suggestion.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with my impulse reaction? I probably know of one’s you’ll enjoy more,” Mc asked, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. Fruits Basket was one of the first anime she’s found on her own, and it still stood as one of her favorites. If Satan, who’s opinion she really valued, ended up hating it…

“I find I can trust your intuition most of the time. We also have similar tastes in regards to literature.”

“Oh… Well, I do have a copy of the first volume in my room if you want.”

“You have a copy here in the Devildom?”

“Mmmhmm. I ordered the whole set off of Akuzon after I found out Levi hadn’t read it.”

“I see. In that case, sure.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Mc smiled to herself the whole way back to her room. Though she was still a bit nervous, but after hearing Satan praise her tastes in literature, she was feeling more confident, “If I can at least get him to acknowledge it’s worth, I’ll feel accomplished.”

After grabbing the first volume, she thought for a second and grabbed the second. She put them in her book bag, and started on the familiar route to his room. All the brothers had a defined smell to their room, though Satan’s had always been the easiest for her to find. The smell of books started the moment you turned down the hallway his room was on. Standing in front of his dark wood door, she took a deep breath, knocked, then entered.

Satan was not where she had left him, which was kind of odd to her. Carefully avoiding a stack of books she had knocked over on a previous occasion, she started looking around, “Satan?”

There was some shuffling, and then his voice came from above, “You’re back quicker than I thought you would be. Come on up.”

Wait… What? Up the spiral staircase? For real? Everyone knew how rare it was to be allowed up to the second story of Satan’s room. No one went up without express permission. Even Mammon stayed out after being hexed so many times he’d lost feeling on the side of his big toe. Mc had only been up there once, and that was because Satan had wanted to show off his newest rare book. She had only been allowed to sit in the single armchair he had up theorem and she couldn’t touch anything, and for good reason. Satan kept his oldest, rarest, and most important books up there. He had even put a spell on every book up there to preserve them, and, if rumor was correct, a barrier that stopped him from going up there was he was upset. Aside from the few grimories and numerous magic books he had up there were rare human finds as well, all originals or first editions. One of Shakespeare’s folios. DaVinci’s Codex of Leicester. The Babylonian Talmud as well as an exemplified copy of the Magna Carter, both copies that the rest of the world didn’t know existed. A Gutenberg Bible, though his brother’s had no idea he had it. A collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Even an original copy of the Kama Sutra, which Asmo had given to him as a birthday present.

Getting to the top of the stairs, Mc stopped, not wanting to get too close to any of the books. Looking around, she couldn’t repress the sigh that emerged unbidden to her lips. Soft lighting that was perfect for reading with the spines of all the ancient books facing the world. Scrolls rested in their holders on the far wall. And there was the fourth eldest, crouched near one of the shelves, hand to his mouth and a furrow in his brow, thinking hard about something. His blonde hair had an almost golden hue in the light and his green eyes sparkled.

At the sigh, he looked up and smiled, “Go ahead and have a seat.”

Mc nodded and started over towards the chair she’d sat in the one other time she’d been allowed up here, but stopped halfway. The chair she sat on last time was still there, but now there was another chair. They looked fairly similar, being big reading chairs, but the new addition was much less worn and was more feminine in design. Having found the book he was looking for, Satan walked past Mc, and sat in the larger of the two chairs, effectively showing Mc which chair to take. After sitting down, she had to take a moment. It was by far, the most comfortable chair she’s ever sat in.

“I take it you like the chair then. Good, I’m glad,” he smiled, “I made sure it was large enough that you can curl your feet up on the seat like you do when you’re reading.”

“Wait… This is for me?”

“Of course. You need your own place to sit and read when you’re up here.”

Mc was at a loss for words, the gesture speaking volumes, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just promise you’ll keep coming over for our reading nights; that’s all I ask.”

“That’s the easiest promise in the world to keep! Of course I will!”

Satan smiled again, one of the real smiles she’d been gifted with more and more frequently, “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Now, where’s this book you were talking about?”

“Yes, hold on,” Mc turned and grabbed it from her bag, “So, these are collector’s editions, so I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be careful, but…”

“No problem,” Satan replied, taking the book, “If you’d indulge me, I also have a story I want you to read,” and he grabbed the book he had gotten from the shelf, “Do you remember the mystery author I told you about?”

“Yeah. Isn’t his name A. Cohen?”

“That’s the one. Well, I was wondering if you’d read his books while I read yours? I know mystery isn’t necessarily your favorite genre, but -” Satan cut off, looking down at Mc’s hand on his arm.

“I’d be more than happy to,” Mc beamed.

Satan smiled, “Glad to hear it. Now, these books are hard to come by in the Devildom. Please be careful with them. I happened to find a box set of his complete works, so replacing it would be pretty hard. The first one is Blind Intrigue.”

“Got it. Not that I wouldn’t be uber careful with anything you have up here.”

Satan laughed, “Well, I appreciate that,” and he opened the manga volume.

“Oh, did anyone tell you the way to read manga?”

“You read it right to left, correct?”

“Yes, including the speech bubbles. So, you’d read a page like this,” and Mc proceeded to show the way a page should be read.

“Ah. That would have been helpful last time. Thank you.”

“No problem,” and with that, they both started reading. Mc found Blind Intrigue very intriguing, enjoying that it wasn’t just another run-of-the-mill murder mystery. As she got further into the book, she subconsciously slipped off her shoes, and curled her feet up next to her. She almost forgot about the demon next to her. A sudden shift next to her brought her back to reality.

“I finished it.”

“Ah… W… What do you think?”

“It is much better than Levi’s suggestion. I am interested in continuing the series.”

“… If you want, I did bring the second volume with me…”

“You did?”

“Mmmhmm. I was hoping you’d like it enough to want the second volume…”

“Well, you did ask that I read until the third volume, so sure.”

“Mc beamed as she grabbed for the second volume, after safely tucking the mystery novel between the chair and her legs.

“So, are you enjoying Blind Intrigue?”

“Yes! It is really good. I like that it’s an actual mystery novel, a lot like the Sherlock Holmes stories. Most mystery novels revolve around a murder, but since this one dpesn’t, I like it more.”

“Very good,” Satan said while handing her the first volume back, “So, who’s your favorite character?”

“Huh? In Blind Intrigue or Fruits Basket?”

“Fruits Basket.”

“Ah, Momiji.”

“He reminds me too much of Mammon.”

“I… Guess? Just… give him some time. He’s really great.”

“So… who’s your second favorite?”

“Well, Momiji is my favorite favorite. Kyo is my main character favorite.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have a feeling you’ll really end up liking him.”

“Ah, well, good to know,” Satan said, as Mc handed him the second volume.

There was silence for awhile until Satan burst out laughing. Mc looked up expecting him to share, but he kept reading; a sign he really liked the story. Pretending to go back to reading, Mc snuck a glance at Satan. He had a content smile on his face, and was even further along in the book than she had thought he would be. She smiled, feeling satisfied and a little vindicated in her choice.

Mc was about halfway through Blind Intrigue when she heard Satan shift on his chair. She looked over to find him sitting with the second volume closed and eyes on her. She in turn closed his book, waiting for him to speak.

“If the rest of the series is this high of quality, I definitely want to finish it.”

Satan helped Mc transport the rest of the volumes to his room that day. Though he really loved the series, he would only read it when Mc was around. As she now had a chair upstairs, Satan suggested they read up there, and he began sharing all the amazing books he had up there with her. It was nice for Mc, especially since none of the other brothers knew she was allowed up there. Satan finished Fruits Basket fairly quickly, not quite gushing about how much he loved the characters and story, asking Mc if she had any other manga recommendations. She was more than happy to oblige. Soon, Satan was reading manga whenever Mc was in his room, but only when she was in his room.

He didn’t like manga that were all trope and no substance, but he would try anything Mc brought him since she usually brought “good manga”. One of his favorites was Jo Jo’s Bizarre Adventures. It came as a surprise to him when, one day he declared a series to be his second favorite, after Fruits Basket, and Mc told him it was a series that Levi had gotten her into.

“You know, I’m sure he’d love discussing it with you…”

“Wait. You think I should go waltzing into his room and say, ‘Hey Levi, I really enjoy The Watchman’s Spell and am all caught up on it. We should talk about it’?”

“Well, yeah, basically. I’ll be there to referee, so I can help if needed. I almost never see you two hanging out together, and I actually think you two have more in common than you realize.”

“He just gets so long winded about… whatever. He also acts childish at times.”

“I do those too.”

“You will apologize though. He will not,” Satan paused a second, and then continued quieter, “Plus, it’s different when you do it.”

“Have you ever considered that he doesn’t back down or stop because he feels like no one cares what he thinks or what his interests are?”

Satan stopped, his retort lost. Was that really why? He considered again, and then turned to Mc, “Okay, I’ll do it, but he’s not invited to our reading nights.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Levi didn’t take the news the way Mc would’ve liked.

“Wha… Mc, w-w-what are you t-talking about?”

“I’ve been showing Satan some manga and he’s liked some of them. I think you should show him some too since you know waaaaaaay more than I do. He really loved Watchman’s Spell.”

Levi seemed scared but also irritated, “You had him read Watchman’s Spell?! Why?!”

“I… I thought he’d appreciate it and when he did, I thought you’d be excited to have someone new to talk to about it…”

“I have the entire internet to talk to about it, plus you. Why would I want-” Levi broke off, scowling as he turned away, but then rounded back on Mc, “Are you doing this to make fun of me? Are you tired of me, and so you’re trying to pawn me off on someone else? What, are you using your pact to make Satan act like he’s interested in talking to me?”

“No, Levi, listen to-”

“Glad to hear it, because you’re not getting rid of me, ya normie! You’re the one that wanted to make a pact, so you’re stuck with me! We’re also best friends so you better-”

“Levi!” Mc grabbed his face with both hands, worried as she saw his tail appear. She had expected some jealousy, but nothing this bad.

Levi stopped. Having Mc this close to his face made his mind go completely blank.

“Just because I expanded Satan’s literary horizons does not change the fact we’ve already discussed our wifeoo’s. It doesn’t erase all the time we’ve spent watching and discussing TSL. All the raids we’ve gone on, owning all the noobs… Though I’m kind of a noob… The point is, Lord of Shadows, your Henry is trying to get the Lord of Masks and you to become friends, just like with the Lord of Fools.”

Levi screwed up his face, bringing up his hand to hide behind. Mc let go, feeling the tension leave the room.

After turning and composing himself a bit (Did Mc just hold my face?!?!?!?), Levi turned, lifting his eyes to Satan, who was simply watching him, “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Zeke.”

“He’s actually my second favorite.”

“Who is your favorite then?”

“Brielle.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that she seems like the type of character you’d enjoy. She’s not bad. In fact, I enjoy the dynamic she brings to the tower.”

“Well, she became my favorite when she stopped the entire colony from starting an uprising against Charles when they thought he was keeping them from going home.”

“That was chapter 5 right?”

“Y-yes, actually!” Levi smiled, his eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree, as he started discussing the plot and fan theories with his brother. Satan responded to all his prompts or listened quietly, occasionally adding his own thoughts. He was being more patient than Mc had ever seen him be with Levi, and even seemed to be enjoying himself.

Good, Mc thought, watching the two bond, They both needed someone to get them out of their own head. At least I know I can leave these two without too many regrets.

Mc hadn’t brought up the fact her year was almost up to any of the brothers. She didn’t know if any of them had realized how close it was. She was not looking forward to leaving, but she knew she couldn’t let them just revert back to the way they had been, especially Satan. They had all come too far.

“Mc has an interesting thought on this subject actually. Mc, what are you doing over there? Come over here!”

“Coming!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan traced his fingers along Mc’s chair. Of course he’d gotten the chair for her so she could be more comfortable, but also to have a piece of her after she’d left. He hadn’t realized how much it would come to mean to him.

He pulled out his DDD, starting to flip through all the photos he’d snuck of her. Her, next to him. Her being so careful with his books. Her, sleeping in his bed, hair splayed across the pillow. He couldn’t count the number of times her scent had kept him from going after one of his brothers since she’d left.

He knew he was being reclusive, and she wouldn’t have liked that. But, weren’t they all being reclusive?

He sat down, head sinking into his hands, DDD put on the arm of the chair. Why did she have to leave? She had been such a breath of fresh air, so willing to discuss anything and everything with him. He had been able to open up to her, and she’d accepted him just as he was. No strings attached. For the first time in his life, he’d felt unique. Wanted. Needed. No longer alone.

He knew she’d been that way with all of them, but… It felt like she’d specifically picked him. He hadn’t been particularly interested in the human living with them, other than to see what she was doing to his brothers. She had been the one to approach him about books. She had been the one to pick his brain. She had read almost every book he’d suggested. He was special… Right?

He hadn’t noticed the tears until he opened his eyes and only saw a blurry floor, “If I’m special, why didn’t she…”

Mc had given each brother a gift when she left. When it was his turn, she’d whispered something in his ear, but she’d been crying so her words had caught. He couldn’t make out the words then, and even though he’d run them through his head more times than he could count, he couldn’t figure out what she’d said. She’d been so beautiful standing there, fresh tears ready to fall. And then… she was gone.

He had isolated himself for a week afterwards. He hadn’t been in the House of Lamentation though. Too many memories. In some small shack in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere he could release all his feelings and hurt no one.

As he was about to get up, a white blur caught his eye. Blinking, he bent over and picked it up. It was a letter. He turned it over, his heart jumping when he recognized Mc’s handwriting. He traced the letters of his name, hands shaking. He then carefully opened the letter and started reading,

My Dear Satan,

Seems you were able to hear what I said when I left. Good. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get it out.

Anyways, I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t give you your gift in front of everyone else. Not only is it too heavy, but you’re too special to me for them to be part of the gift.

I wish I could tell you everything in my heart right now, but I don’t want to cheapen anything. I will return to you so please be patient and wait until then.

If you would, please go check on Levi for me. I can tell you right now, he’s not okay right now. He gets so lost in his own head and I worry about him. I leave him in your stead until I get back.

Satan, always remember: You are important. You deserve every ounce of love you can get. You also have the right to feel whatever you are feeling. You are not your brother, and I never want you comparing yourself to him, because you are an individual. I may not always be there with you, but never forget: you may not have had control over your birth, but that is not what defines you. You are so much more than a word.

Love,

P.S. I just realized you never told me. Who is your favorite Fruits Basket character?

Satan had never moved so fast down his staircase. Why had he chosen a spiral staircase? He was so eager, he almost knocked over the book pile he was looking for. When he saw what was behind it, he sank to his knees and gathered every Fruits Basket volume in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Levi was moping around his room when there was a knock on the door. For a second he thought it was Mc, but then realized she was gone, making himself sad all over again. He shuffled over to the door, and opened it.

There stood Satan with… manga… and, puffy eyes?

“Hey, can we hang out?” Satan asked.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update: I now have a part two to this story and here’s the link

#obey me #obey me!#obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #satan x mc

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klovenhooves · 4 years ago

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Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Five: Words of Affirmation

Johnny yanked open his closet door, eyes searching the sparse offerings, brow furrowed. Behind him, Miguel shifted his weight onto his other foot, face similarly focused, eyes critically searching the clothes.

“He knows what kind of clothes you wear, Sensei,” he started hopefully. “I don’t think you need to –”

“So you’re just going to wear whatever, then?” he asked, his tone vaguely snappy, and Miguel pursed his lips. “You and I are both under the microscope, Diaz,” he said, turning back to the closet. “And I am always worse upon closer inspection.”

“Sensei, don’t be ridiculous,” Miguel reassured, dropping a hand to Johnny’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t like you.”

Which, fine, Johnny could accept that idea, but that didn’t make him feel any less nervous. It certainly didn’t answer the question of what he should wear to this ill-advised get together that he’d been invited to. He was reminded, far too often, of his first date with Ali, where they spent the whole night dancing around the idea of their first kiss, only to chicken out and then not, ultimately ruining the romance the first kiss deserved.

In the months following, they laughed about that story like it was charming, but it always seemed weird to Johnny. Even now, years later, that was still an indicator of what overthinking could do, and now that he and LaRusso had been interrupted not once but twice, he had to wonder if the actual act would live up to the anticipation.

“You and Miguel should come to dinner at my place,” Daniel had said over the phone, the tone of his voice alone telling Johnny that he was smiling. “Robby, Sam, and Anthony will be here.”

“What, like a –” he caught himself before the word ‘date’ could come out, but the silence on the other end of the line told him that Daniel was waiting for him to finish the sentence. Stubbornly, he stayed quiet, Miguel, on his couch, looked at him in confusion.

“Who is it?” he had mouthed, waving his arms to get Johnny’s attention.

“It can be whatever you want it to be, John,” Daniel said into the silence that showed no signs of abating. “Will you come?”

Johnny snapped his jaw shut where it had fallen open against his will. He wasn’t sure when he started to notice the innuendo in some of the things Daniel said, but now that he was aware of it, talking to the man was far more difficult.

“Johnny?”

“Sensei, why is your face red?”

“When?” he asked into the phone, noticing as he spoke how rough his voice sounded. He cleared his throat.

He could hear Daniel smiling again. “Tomorrow? 7.”

“You free tomorrow at 7?” he asked Miguel, who looked at him with wide, confused eyes.

“We’ll be there,” he said, shushing Miguel with a hand, eyes on the coffee table, listening for Daniel’s response.

“Good,” Daniel said, satisfied. “It’s a date.”

He hung up before Johnny could respond, but he kept the phone to his ear, spluttering, while Miguel stared at him with a half-smile.

And now they were here, Johnny quickly realizing that he was probably going to need a beer before he even got to LaRusso’s place if he wanted to keep his cool. Miguel impatiently nudged him out of the way and started flicking through the shirts, making noises under his breath that he couldn’t decipher. Most of them seemed confused, but there were a few scoffs of disbelief in there, too.

Maybe Johnny should go into his closet and do the same thing, see how the little twerp liked it.

“Here, wear this one,” Miguel finally said, pulling a baby blue shirt out of the back of Johnny’s closet, so old he’d forgotten it was even there. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”

“What am I, a girl?” Johnny asked, taking the hanger anyway.

Miguel chuckled. “No, but you’re in looooooooove,” he drew the word out, dodging the shirt that Johnny threw at him, trotting down the hallway back to the living room.

“Get out of my house, Diaz,” Johnny called after him, the boy’s laughter as good a response as he was going to get.

***

“Dad, I made you some tea,” Sam gently set the cup on the edge of the coffee table, catching Daniel’s eyes on her way back up. “Chamomile.”

He smiled at his daughter and took the cup. “That’s so nice, sweetie, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, taking a shallow sip of the still-too-hot tea.

“I did,” she laughed. “You’ve been staring into space for like…half an hour. Figured you needed something to calm you down.”

“Calm me down?” he asked. “I am calm!”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sure, and your leg is tapping like that because…?”

He looked down at his jumping leg and put a hand over it. “Habit,” he said with a shrug.

“Dad,” she took the tea cup from his hands and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Sensei Lawrence is coming here. For a date.”

He laughed nervously. “It’s not a –”

“I can literally hear all of your phone conversations,” she interrupted with a stern look that reminded him so much of himself. “You’re allowed to be nervous.”

“Did I tell you that I invited Miguel, too?” he asked.

“No!” she jumped up from her spot. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I forgot!”

“I’m going on a double date with my dad and his arch nemesis,” she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this.” She snatched his cup of tea off the table. “I need this more than you do now,” she said firmly, taking a long drink before stalking off, shutting her bedroom door solidly behind her.

Daniel understood how she felt. Was it good to be nervous? Was that a bad sign? He couldn’t figure it out, and the longer he sat there, thinking about it, the closer the clock inched toward 7. He thought about Johnny, leaning on him on the surfboard in the middle of the night, head cradled by his arm. He thought about Robby, excited about the possibility of living with his father after sixteen years without him.

He thought about Johnny under the stream of the shower, chest rising and falling under his hand, eyes clouded, deep in thought.

They’d almost kissed twice – why was he nervous about the idea of a date?

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Anthony whined, his voice shocking Daniel violently out of his thoughts.

“I’m cooking dinner,” Daniel called out, knowing that his son was going to grab some junk food out of the pantry anyway and stalk back up to his room. Amanda was the one who was better at curbing Anthony’s impulsive choices – Amanda, who was in Malibu visiting her parents to tell them about their divorce.

“Sensei Lawrence is coming to dinner, right?” Anthony asked from behind him, his mouth full. Daniel struggled not to roll his eyes. Trust his son to be predictable.

“Yes, he is,” he answered, turning in his seat to see his son completely. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“I seem to remember you telling Johnny that I would kill him,” Daniel recounted. Anthony grinned.

“That was me being nice,” he said, rummaging in the bag of cheese puffs. “It was a warning.”

“Be nicer, please,” Daniel pleaded, but he was almost smiling.

Anthony shrugged. “I’m just trying to protect you, Dad. What if he takes your heart and karate chops it into little pieces?”

Daniel squinted at him, suspicious. “Quit watching CW shows on Netflix.”

“Tell Sam to stop watching Riverdale,” Anthony said, still unbothered.

“Leave the cheese puffs in the kitchen, please,” he called, but Anthony was already halfway up the stairs, the cheese puffs still clutched in his fist.

***

“If you’re worried about the first kiss, why don’t you just get it over with?” Miguel asked, safely buckled into the front seat of Johnny’s Challenger, flipping through Johnny’s tapes. “Do it first thing.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t say I was,” Johnny stammered, hands white on the steering wheel. “You said I was.”

Miguel shrugged. “You’re easy to read, Sensei.”

“Shut up, no I’m not.”

Miguel didn’t look up from the tapes, his finger tapping on top of Guns ‘n’ Roses. “Then why is your face red?”

“Are you going to play music or are we going to talk about our girly feelings for the whole drive?”

Miguel pulled free the tape and turned up the volume, leaving Johnny to marinate in his thoughts. As much as he wished he didn’t, Miguel had a point. Would he be able to sit through an entire dinner while he overthought everything that would come after? Would he be able to make the same mistake he made with Ali?

He was still thinking about it when they pulled up to Daniel’s house and turned off the car. Miguel led the way to the front door, but Johnny could see the lights sparkling on the terrace, near the pool. The table was set and ready for them, the lighting dark and romantic. It seemed almost too pristine for something that was supposed to include him.

Miguel looked back at him, almost on the doorstep.

“You alright?” he asked, and Johnny so clearly saw himself, a teenager again, standing on Ali’s doorstep, nervously waiting to be scrutinized by her rich parents, all the while knowing they thought he was more like them than he could ever be. Yet here was Miguel, standing bravely on the doorstep, in a red flannel shirt and jeans, asking if the grown man was okay.

“I’m fine, Diaz,” he choked out, and Miguel raised his eyebrows at him like he didn’t really believe it and rang the doorbell.

Sam answered the door, in a yellow dress that Miguel immediately complimented, slipping an arm around her shoulders for a sneaky hug that he managed to get away with before Daniel appeared beside her, sleeves rolled up toward his elbows, a smile already on his face.

He stepped aside to let Miguel through, offering him a hand to shake that Miguel took easily, and damn, when did that kid get so comfortable in his own skin? Johnny envied him – he wished he didn’t feel like such a kid when Daniel was around.

“Johnny?” He pulled himself out of his thoughts to find Daniel looking at him curiously, the light of his home behind him illuminating him around the edges. Johnny felt curiously like he was looking at a painting from a museum he’d never think to go into. “Are you coming inside?”

Why don’t you just get it over with?

He reached out for Daniel, pleased when the man offered his hand without question, and yanked him out the front door and onto the porch.

“What the hell –”

He stumbled farther than Johnny imagined he would, and he caught him against his chest, one hand steadying Daniel around the waist. When Daniel looked up at him, confused and indignant, Johnny slipped his other hand around the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss that no one had enough time to interrupt because if someone interrupted him a third time, he was going to have to throw all of their children and surrogate children into the pool.

Daniel made a confused sound against his lips, but his hands were clenched tightly in the fabric of Johnny’s shirt, pliant in his arms. Johnny pulled away long enough to see Miguel walking by, who gave him a wide-eyed thumbs up as he eased the front door closed. He rolled his eyes and let Daniel pull him in for another kiss, this one breathless and desperate and not at all like a first kiss.

He had to force himself to pull away because he was maddeningly aware that the longer they were gone, the more likely it was that they would be interrupted. Daniel was grinning when he pulled back, all teeth and Jersey pomp, his eyes still closed, and Johnny wished he had done this thirty years ago instead of knocking the kid into the sand. They could have had thirty more years.

“Does that mean you’re coming inside?” Daniel asked, his voice so soft it didn’t even sound like him, and Johnny tilted his head back to plant a kiss on his throat, backing him up so he was against the wall, the mostly closed front door on his left, the light from the kitchen barely illuminating them, the sound of their children a delicate soundtrack.

“In a minute,” Johnny said, lips still on Daniel’s neck, and Daniel exhaled a shaky breath, dropping one of his hands to Johnny’s forearm, like he needed to be stabilized.

“Take your time,” Daniel replied, head tilted back to the wall, eyes closed. Johnny pulled back for a moment to take him in, still perfect hair, slightly darker lips, face arranged in an expression he never thought he’d get to see, dazed and happy.

He pulled him back in, taking great care to run his fingers through Daniel’s hair, feeling rather than seeing the mess of it he was making, Daniel groaning against his lips, thoroughly distracted. Johnny could get used to this – kissing the man to distraction. He made a brief mental note to thank Diaz for the idea later.

And then Daniel was turning him around so he was pressed to the brick instead and all thoughts of Miguel went out of the window.

***

“Where did my dad go?” Sam asked, her eyes searching the empty kitchen. “He never leaves the kitchen while he’s cooking.”

Miguel watched her eyes go to the slightly open front door and linger. He could see the wheels turning there. After a moment’s awkward silence, she gasped.

“No way.”

“Maybe don’t go out there looking for him,” Miguel said with a laugh, slipping his arm around her shoulders while he could.

“Oh my god,” he thought she was angry for a moment, and then he looked down at her, and they both started giggling. “Thank God that finally happened.”

“Thank God what finally happened?” Robby asked, offering a fist for Miguel to bump.

“My dad and your dad are totally making out outside,” Sam said, loud enough that Anthony, sitting in front of the television, turned around to join the conversation.

“Ugh, Sam, too much information,” Robby groaned, but he grinned anyway. “So which one of us wins the bet?”

“Bet?” Miguel asked, looking between them.

“Well, I bet that they would avoid their feelings forever,” Sam said, counting them off on her fingers, “Robby bet that they were already hooking up, which, gross,” Robby shrugged. “And Anthony bet –”

“I bet they’d do some dramatic confessing after dinner,” Anthony grumbled. “So none of us win.”

“If I’m the one who told Sensei Lawrence to do…” Miguel faltered, trying to find the right word, “what he’s doing…does that mean I win?”

Sam gaped at him, eyes wide. “Wh – what? What did you do?”

He shrugged. “I gave him some advice. You know, strike first or whatever,” Miguel laughed.

“He doesn’t win!” Anthony whined. “He didn’t bet!”

“Didn’t bet what?”

All four kids went still, frozen like they’d been doing something far worse than having a conversation. Miguel was the first one of them to turn around, trying to keep the smile off his face. Johnny’s barely concealed smirk told him he wasn’t being as sneaky as he thought he was.

“Nothing, Sensei,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Are you kids gambling?” Daniel asked, his voice teasing.

“If I say yes will you fix your hair, please?” Sam asked, hiding a laugh behind her hand.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Daniel asked, a hand already rising to smooth it back down.

“Nothing,” Johnny said hurriedly, biting back a grin. “Nothing, it’s fine.”

“It looks like sex hair,” Anthony half-shouted from his place on the couch.

The room went silent. Johnny looked over to Daniel, who looked momentarily horrified before he just closed his eyes and started laughing. The rest of the room looked at each other, Johnny trying to hide a self-satisfied smirk before Daniel shoved him, playful and embarrassed, and everyone else started laughing.

***

Dinner started out surprisingly successful – Daniel had always expected this dinner to be awkward, with Miguel and Robby at the same table, himself and Johnny watching their kids stumble through conversation, Anthony being antagonistic, as only he could be.

But Miguel and Robby were fine, chatting amiably while Sam sat between them, happy and at ease. Anthony had his own comments to make, but Johnny handled him nicely, and even he had to admit that he was amused by Johnny’s newest nemesis. When he realized he was losing whatever conversational battle he and Johnny were currently entangled in, he switched to his usual home run shot:

“My dad could kill you,” he said, but it didn’t have the venom it usually did, when he was saying it to people who might actually believe him.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Your dad is too much of a good guy to actually kill me.”

Anthony shook his head. “He could still do it. He was a Cobra Kai once.”

“Anthony!” Sam admonished from across the table. Daniel felt his limbs go numb.

“No he wasn’t,” Johnny laughed, his eyes sliding from Daniel’s son to Daniel himself. Daniel, who felt the blood drain from his face the longer Johnny looked at him. Johnny stared, mouth slightly open. “You weren’t. Right?”

“Maybe we should go –” Sam was halfway out of her chair already.

“No, Sam, it’s fine,” Daniel reassured her. “It’s – it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t join Cobra Kai, I trained for a little bit with one of Cobra Kai’s…senseis.”

“So you joined Cobra Kai,” Johnny finished. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Cobra Kai wasn’t around at the time,” Daniel pointed out. “The guy told me he was Kreese’s sensei, that Kreese was dead, all of that nonsense, and I needed someone to train with for the ’85 All Valley, so –”

“What about –”

“Mr. Miyagi didn’t want me to compete. But I was…” he struggled to find the right word.

“Blackmailed,” Sam supplied helpfully. “He was blackmailed into competing. Some guy threatened to beat him within an inch of his life every day if he didn’t.”

“And I needed a trainer,” Daniel finished with a heavy sigh, his eyes on the table.

“You didn’t tell me you were blackmailed,” Anthony piped up indignantly from the other end of the table.

“Anthony only thinks Dad joined Cobra Kai because he found the gi in a box one day,” Sam added, eyes on Johnny. “Dad doesn’t…” she looked over at her dad, and then back to him. “Dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Johnny nodded, tightening his jaw. Daniel could see him trying to decide what to do, how to move forward with their kids watching.

“Then we won’t talk about it,” he said firmly, turning back to his food. He caught Daniel’s gaze and gave him a wan smile. Daniel didn’t know what to make of it.

He still wasn’t sure what to make of it when dinner was done, and Sam met him at the counter with dishes, muttering that she was going to take Robby, Miguel, and Anthony to Golf ‘n’ Stuff for a little while, knowing that she was trying to give him the privacy to talk to Johnny without any interruptions. He thought about telling her not to; he didn’t want to tell the story, definitely didn’t want to see Johnny’s reaction. Having the kids as a buffer might be good.

“If you really like him, you’re going to have to tell him eventually,” she said when he didn’t answer, clasping his arm for a moment before ushering everyone outside and into her car.

He didn’t have to listen hard to hear Johnny’s careful approach. He didn’t have to look to know what he was doing – leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets, eyes on his feet.

“We still don’t have to talk about it,” he said, and Daniel felt a surge of affection for him that almost knocked him off balance.

“But you want to know,” Daniel said wearily, grabbing a kitchen towel to dry his hands, turning around to see Johnny completely. He could still see the wrinkles in his shirt where his hands had been clenched earlier.

“Of course I do, LaRusso,” Johnny said. “But I’m not going to force you to tell me.”

Daniel shrugged. “You already know most of it. Kreese told Terry Silver to make me bleed, to make me suffer for ruining Cobra Kai. And then Kreese appeared, back from the dead, and,” he shrugged, trying to fight the urge to turn away from Johnny’s horrified gaze, “tried to kill me. Typical Kreese.”

“He made you bleed.” It wasn’t a question.

Daniel held out his hands, knuckles marred with thin scars from the wood. “He succeeded.”

Johnny took his hands in his own, eyes on the scars. Daniel could feel him shaking with anger. He looked up to his face, tight and stern, the very image of a terrifying fighter. “I know where he lives,” he said, his eyes rising to find Daniel’s. “Kreese.”

“John, don’t,” Daniel pulled his hands back. “It’s not worth it.”

Johnny scoffed, pushing himself off from the counter, where he was still leaning, to cage Daniel in with his arms. “It is worth it,” he insisted. “He shouldn’t have blamed you because we left.”

Daniel shrugged, and Johnny made a disapproving noise.

“That’s why you hated Cobra Kai so much when I brought it back,” Johnny said thoughtfully. He paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t blame you.” He brought one hand up to gently trace the line of Daniel’s jaw. “You didn’t need Terry Silver,” he said. “You’ve always been a great fighter.”

Daniel stared at him, trying to think of something to say, coming up empty.

“Terry and Kreese might have made you bleed, but they couldn’t really break you,” he continued, surveying Daniel’s face while still managing to avoid eye contact. “You’re too stubborn for that.”

Daniel managed a weak laugh, the sound of which relaxed the tense lines of Johnny’s face. “Jersey tough,” he said quietly, and Johnny finally met his gaze, blue eyes full of something Daniel couldn’t really identify. It was painfully soft, overwhelming to look at for too long.

“Yeah you are,” Johnny said softly.

He pulled him in for a kiss instead of saying something else, frustrated with his son for making tonight too serious, wishing fervently that he could go back to the front step, before they had to discuss their pasts, before Johnny had to fluster him with pretty words.

Johnny lifted him, like he weighed nothing, onto the counter, and dropped his hands to Daniel’s thighs, clearly deciding that he was going to kiss all of his seriousness away. Daniel let him, content to be pulled along by the sensation of his hands, of his lips. But this was unhurried, unlike their time outside the front door, exploratory, a different kind of intoxicating.

Johnny pulled back, just far enough that Daniel became aware that he was taller than him this way, blue eyes gazing up at him, sparkling in the light.

And then he sighed, almost like he was exasperated, even while he still looked at him with a fond smile, and pulled him back to his mouth.

“I love you,” he said against Daniel’s lips, so quiet that Daniel could almost pretend he hadn’t said it at all.

But he clutched him tighter, holding onto him fiercely, just in case he was thinking of backing away, of hiding. He could feel Johnny laugh against his mouth, the laugh almost a sob, and kissed him deeper, communicating what he was always too afraid to say.

“I love you too.”

#lawrusso #Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages

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terresdebrume · 5 years ago

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The Witcher - Favorite reads masterpost

Like much of Tumblr, I have recently fallen down the delicious rabbit hole of the saga of Henry Cavill’s abs in form-fitting leather, aka the tv adaptation of The Witcher. As always, that means semi-obsessive fic reading which in turn means recs! So, here’s a non-exhaustive, always evolving list of my favorite Witcher fic.

As of right now it’s...well, almost exclusively geraskier, because shipping is my primary reason for reading fics and also the Witcher (TV) tag is one of the most uniformly slashy ones I’ve ever seen, but there will be other kind of fics too. Hope you’ll enjoy :)

Tagging @nyliekeo because I’ve been saying I’d give you a rec list for a while and I’m finally (beginning to) deliver. Other stories will be added as I catch up with my reading and/or discover new ones.

Now with a Volume 2

Last updated Feb. 20th 2020.

Non Geraskier fics

Nighttime Conversations - Starfleet_Command_Unite_Bi

Specs: 731 words - Eist/Calanthe - Teen & Up Summary: Eist and Calanthe have a mostly serious conversation. Set about a year after they get married.

what changed? - TheSoliloquy

Specs: 1939 words - Eist/Calanthe - Teen & Up Summary: Eist is a man born to belief and faith. Skelligens put stock in destiny... Perhaps they shouldn't. Or: Eist and his relationship with the Lioness of Cintra and her cubs.

Three times (and a half) - karadeniz

Specs: 4 450 words - General Audiences - Happy family dynamics Summary: The annals of Cintra are not that interesting, so Eist and Ciri push the definition of a history lesson a little.

You know The Princess Bride movie? Yeah, it's a little bit like that.

Capable - periwinklepromise

Specs: 100 words - General Audiences - Drabble Summary: Renfri is capable of many things

Between Roaches - RabidRabbit

Specs: 1 522 words - Geralt & Roach - General audiences - Sad going to hopeful Summary: Witchers live far, far longer lives than their mounts. So how does one deal with having to find another Roach when the loss of the previous one left a great gaping hole in the heart many people didn't believe Geralt had?

A Quiet Night - 2spaces_lesbo1

Specs: 1 214 words - Geralt & Ciri - General audiences - Fluff Summary: They have a still moment together.

you’ll be alright (no one can hurt you now) - hopeless_hope

Specs: 1 347 words - Teen & Up audiences - Grief/Mourning, soft dad Geralt Summary: “Hey,” he says, making sure he has her full attention. Ciri looks at him, and the amount of hope in her eyes scares him, though he’d never admit it. He pitches his voice low and soothing yet firm. “No one is going to hurt you while I’m here. And I won’t be leaving you.” She gives him a twisted smile. “They all say that,” she says bitterly, and Geralt spares himself a second to remind himself of what Ciri has lost. Her parents. Her grandparents. Her home. Geralt is all she has left. - In which Ciri has a nightmare and Geralt does his best to comfort her.

Geraskier fics

Limpid As Dammit - Gigi_Sainclair

Specs: 3 100 words - Teen & Up Summary: "The first time, Jaskier does it out of kindness, to avoid hurt feelings."

Becoming a hero - charlock221

Specs: 4 181 words - Teen & Up - Graphic depiction of violence Summary: Jaskier found that being a damsel in distress was only fun when the peril was very, very mild.Being a damsel in distress was definitely not fun when the peril was four thugs threatening him and he hadn’t spoken to his usual rescuer in several months.He just wasn’t sure he had what it took to become the hero.

The Ballad of Pots and Pans - 6th_magnitude

Specs: 1 880 words - Mature - Friends to lovers Summary: Geralt knows Jaskier is a bard - but until now, he’s never properly listened to his songs.

Astra Inclinant - JustGettingBy

Specs: 11 790 words - Explicit - AU Summary: When Jaskier is seven, he first hears the myths of the Witchers--those foul, half-human beasts.When Jaskier is twenty-one, he meets Geralt.He falls in love with him not long after.

kamilica - yogurtgun

Specs: 3 295 words - Explicit - Service Top Jaskier Summary: Jaskier rubs chamomile oil on Geralt's lovely bottom.

your very best friend, in the whole wide world - sargarepa

Specs: 5 996 words - General audiences - Soft!Geraskier - Touch-starved!Geralt Summary: Geralt of Rivia has spent a strange amount of time feverishly obsessing over the way Jaskier can just casually touch him, like it's nothing, like he's not an aberration capable of breaking Jaskier in half with a sneeze. Jaskier saw Geralt slice through monsters like pudding, covered in guts and grime and his own sweat and blood, but there he was, leaning against him and tuning his lute. Geralt doesn't know how to classify the feeling gripping him every time it happens, but he knows he doesn't want it to stop.

the world will follow after - friendlyghost

Specs: 8 827 words - Explicit - Dopplers - Scent kink Summary: The thing about dopplers is that while they know their target’s mind, they aren’t all that skilled in actually impersonating them. It’s easy to look like the baker’s wife and to know that she’s having an affair with the laundress down the road. It’s much harder to know not to kiss the laundress in front of the baker.In which a doppler impersonates Jaskier, Geralt realizes some things, and then they (Geralt and the real Jaskier) have sex. In that order.

His Touch - Sevent

Specs: 6 203 words - Mature - Touch starved! Geralt Summary: Jaskier is an affectionate man. It drives Geralt mad, but in more ways than he knows how to put into words.

Masterwork - phnelt

Specs: 1 461 words - Teen & Up - Master Bard!Jaskier Summary: “Master Jaskier, please meet your apprentice. Valdemar, do try to contain yourself.” Master Juhani looked at Jaskier’s expression and coughed. “Surely you remember the duties of a Master, Jaskier.”

let us shake the abacus - Ark

Specs: 3 062 words - Explicit - Denial (of feelings) Summary: "This is a bad idea," says Geralt."Terrible idea," Jaskier agrees. He kisses up Geralt’s neck, his tongue wicked on Geralt’s ear. "Really bad."

What Pleases You - jesstiel (jseca)

Specs: 5 725 words - Not rated - Geralt & Jaskier do go to the coast. Summary: “Well, it’s just – we were on the brink of finding a dragon. You had Yennefer in your grasp – or perhaps you in hers, it’s difficult to tell, sometimes. Adventure, peril, romance! And.. you walked away.”

“You asked me to,” Geralt says, like it's that easy.

Now With Chapter 2: They Actually Get To The Coast.

Companionship - ArliaDevi

Specs: 4 104 words - Teen & Up - Found family Summary: In which Ciri suspects but cannot confirm.

Or, Geralt and Jaskier get domestic. Well, as domestic as they can.

it steals all my reason - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 1 382 words - General Audiences - Pneumonia Summary: The worst thing, Geralt thinks, is the quiet. There is no singing, just the heavy labour of breaths hard-won.

Sinister as Silence - MountainRose

Specs: 1 783 words - Teen & Up - Monster of the week Summary: Jaskier goes quiet for one second, and it's enough for Geralt to have a heart attack.

When the Morning Light Shines In - QueenForADay

Specs: 2 760 words - General Audiences - Morning After, Lazy mornings Summary: Jaskier can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man. In mornings where they were surrounded by trees, or half-way up a stupid, fucking mountain because of a stupid, fucking quest posed to them by some stupid, fucking man, he’ll always wake to the sound of Geralt moving around: whether it’s rolling up his own tent, or taking his blades to a whetstone, or fixing the last of Roach’s gear. He remembers Geralt telling him about not being able to sleep. Until then, he supposed, Witchers might not have needed it. Then again, until he met Geralt, he can’t say for certain that he knew exactly what a Witcher did and didn’t need. He can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man – except for now.

The Knack of Acting Normal - KeriArentikai

Specs: 4 407 words - Teen & Up - Geralt is bad at feelings, but he gets better Summary: It's been almost two years since the last time he's seen him. Jaskier looks the same to Geralt. Maybe a little older, he supposes. Happier, certainly, than when he turned away on the rocks. [Geralt is sad. Jaskier is sad. And then after a while they are both happy.]

Weak, My Love, and I Am Wanting - TabbyCat33098

Specs: 2 443 words -Teen & Up - Getting together Summary: Jaskier has written a lot of ballads about some woman who has stolen his heart. The thing is, he's been on the road with Geralt for the past month. He hasn't had any time to court a woman, much less have his heart broken by her. So who is this woman? The answer may shock you. // “There’s no lady,” Geralt says. Jaskier trails off. “Well, of course not,” he says instead. “I imagine a woman would take grave offense to the frequency with which we give our patronage to brothels, not to mention your unseemly habit of bathing in monster blood and other revolting gunk.” He wrinkles his nose. “Perhaps I should write an ode to your masterful powers of observation next.” “But you were talking about a woman tonight,” Geralt continues, ignoring Jaskier entirely.

there’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve just met - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 2 469 words - Teen & Up - Not really a character death Summary: “I wonder,” says Dandelion, lounging under a tree- his lute is in his lap. Geralt is cleaning his sword and stealing glances at him every few moments. “I wonder why it is some people feel so familiar. I could swear I’d never met you, Geralt, but you’re- maybe it’s just from those old songs.” He strums a chord, and when he starts on Toss a Coin Geralt grits out a “stop it” before he can even think.

Where the Field Meets the Forest - karcheri

Specs: 782 words - General Audiences - Flowers meanings Summary: Jaskier has been putting flowers into Geralt's hair. He catches on.

Speechless - Silverynight

Specs: 1 371 words - Teen & Up - Emotional repression Summary: The first time Jaskier wakes up next to Geralt he tells himself it’s an accident, even though he knows it doesn’t make any sense. Of course he’s attracted to his friend (the witcher would never admit they’re friends because he’s an idiot, but they are friends) he’s been attracted to men before, however… He’s never actually slept with one before, only women. Perhaps that’s the reason why he hasn’t said anything since he woke up. He’s still trying to think about what happened. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, quite the opposite in fact, it’s just… Jaskier thought he’d never sleep with a man.

a broken pot can still hold water - MarionetteFtHJM

Specs: 28 742 words - Explicit - Jaskier makes Geralt grovel a bit. Summary: Despite what his outward code of conduct would have you thinking, Jaskier knows when he is not wanted. He allows himself the exact amount of three days of wallowing in that small town before he packs his meager possessions and hits the road like nothing happened. In those three days he sings and dances for his food and drink, fucks the pretty barmaid and sleeps off the hangover before heading out in the morning of the fourth day. He travels alone for the first time in a while but it’s alright. Now, if only people would stop telling him that the Witcher asks about him - that'd be swell.

Surprise, Surprise - Laylabinx

Specs: 1 732 words - Mature - Graphic depiction of violence Summary: Even in the dim light, he can see that Jaskier is absolutely covered in blood. His clothes are splattered with it, his face is streaked, there’s even blood in his hair. His arms are slick and saturated up to the elbow and the sharp, polished blade Geralt had given him before he went into the cave is still gripped tightly in one fist like he can’t let it go. His knees are drawn up to his chest like he’s trying to make himself very small and aside from his quiet, hitched breathing he doesn’t move at all.Jaskier blinks at him and his expression crumples just slightly as he stifles back a sob. “I killed them.” (Or Jaskier is forced to kill in self-defense and does not handle it well. Geralt helps him pick up the pieces.)

Opulence - QueenForADay

Specs: 7 237 words - Explicit - Praise kink, some plot. Summary: In private, and sheltered from the wandering eyes of stablehands, Jaskier presses a light kiss to Geralt’s neck. “Please?” he mumbles against the skin, smirking as he trails his nose along a tendon there. “For me?” Geralt turns, catching Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that, if he wasn’t completely aware of how discreet they have to be, would become so much more. Jaskier still doesn’t move his hands though; one on the small of Geralt’s back, and the other holding on to a forearm. When he pulls away, Jaskier tries to follow, but a barked order from one of the grooms to a nearby stableboy makes him pull away. “Siren,” Geralt sighs. He would follow Jaskier anywhere. The bard knows that. He’s abused that fact. But the city they’re heading to has a reputation; draped in gold with springs of silver in the main square, it’s opulence at its finest. And Geralt is pretty sure that, although he’ll appreciate the comfy bed and the nice food, he’s going to fucking hate the rest of it.

Here’s a safe place (to lay your heart down) - Some_Dead_Guy

Specs: 1 439 words - Teen & Up - Hurt/Comfort Summary: “My mother used to do this for me, when I got headaches.” Jaskier murmurs, his voice quiet and soft, “I was a bit clumsy as a child, still am now I’m sure you’d say.” Jaskier chuckles and Geralt can feel the puff of his breath against his face, “I hit my head a lot, and this would make me feel better. Not sure how well it works on Witchers but–” “Works just fine.” Geralt mumbles, and his head splitting headache has dulled to a barely there throb under Jaskier’s fingers. Or, Geralt has a headache and his bard comes to the rescue.

I spoke your name (out loud to the room) - objectlesson

Specs: 1 151 words - Mature - Unrequited love Summary: You wish Jaskier would leave you the fuck alone, but he clings to you like ash after flames have laid waste to a village, like clotted crimson after you have killed something with your bare hands. However, you can scrub blood out from under your nails. Jaskier, so far, has proven to be far more indelible.

To Sleep Perchance To - Sospes

Specs: 16 955 - Mature - Graphic depiction of violence, torture, PTSD Summary: Jaskier gets kidnapped and tortured. Geralt comes to rescue him. Except it's not quite that simple.

Scales and Songs - TeenyTinyTony

Specs: 4 640 words - Teen & Up - Siren!Jaskier AU Summary: Geralt had known from the moment Jaskier introduced himself that the bard wasn't human, but he had seemed harmless enough and Geralt wasn't one to chase something that wasn't hurting anyone. It was easier not to mention it.

Starving on Scraps of Kindness - penguistifical

Specs: 4 388 words - Explicit - Orgasm delay/denial, not entirely human!Jaskier Summary: "It seems obvious in retrospect, but Geralt didn’t realize Jaskier’s true nature until the two of them encountered a succubus."

Benefits - ShastaFirecracker

Specs: 3 319 words - Explicit - Friends with benefits, coming untouched Summary: Whenever Jaskier's mouth isn't occupied, he talks. Low, easily, about anything. Sounds to soothe. And the thing is – unlike all the rest of the time, Jaskier is pretty sure that when he talks while he's chasing Geralt's pleasure, Geralt listens. It's a heady drug. And yes, Jaskier is becoming addicted.

Sleepsong - QueenForADay

Specs: 1 643 words - General audiences - Geralt wakes up from a nightmare, Jaskier helps. Summary: Some part of him wishes that people could see this – the man that they all fear so much, the Witcher, a hunter of the supernatural and evil, placated by his bard’s voice, melting into his arms. All he’s missing is hearing Geralt purr like a housecat. Every so often, Jaskier’s ears prick at the sound of a murmur of a hum leaving the other man, particularly when Jaskier presses a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head, or runs his foot along the length of Geralt’s bared leg.

And at the same time, he would gladly pick up a sword and kill anyone who even thought of intruding on a moment like this.

When sorrow sang - Ailendolin

Specs: 11 184 words - Teen & Up audiences - Regret, pining Summary: Alone, with only his trusted lute as companion, Jaskier sat in front of a pitiful fire, strumming his instrument with almost absentminded fingers. His hands were trembling, something Geralt had never seen them do before, and that was startling enough to make him pause at the edge of the clearing, just out of sight. “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting,” Jaskier sang softly, and his voice broke with so much sorrow Geralt could feel it in his very bones. After their fight it doesn't take long for Geralt to stumble upon Jaskier again. There's only one way down the mountain, after all. What he didn't expect was to catch him in an unguarded moment - one that changes everything for both of them.

Neither one prepared - Sevent

Specs: 10 050 words - Mature - Idiots who don’t know they’re in love, semi-slow burn Summary: Between the Djinn and the Dragon Hunt, Geralt and Jaskier share many encounters on the road. A collection of coincidences, through Jaskier's eyes.

look what you made me do - cicak

Specs: 6 569 words - Explicit - Farce with porn Summary: “Like that dandy has ever bedded a woman,” the woman at the next table scoffed. “All those sexy songs of his are about that Witcher.”

The Love of a Bard - SpaceSexual

Specs: 2 103 words - Teen & Up audiences Summary: "The pen is mightier than the sword - and so it would seem, is the lute." Jaskier's a bard, a truly exceptional model of his vocation. He writes songs that bring crowds to their feet and thinks his time spent with the Witcher has let him learn a step or two of his own. However, some dances require one step forward, and a few very rapid, fear-filled, paces back.

Priorities - Penguistifical

Specs: 2 590 words - Teen & Up - Geralt cares and so does Jaskier Summary: Geralt’s getting used to a certain bard's company, but he can’t help but notice that Jaskier takes better care of his lute than of himself.

Curiosities - Luddleston

Specs: 3 109 words - Teen & Up audiences - Banter, witcher biology Summary: "Geralt, let me ask you a question." "No." "Oh, come now. It's nothing ridiculous." Jaskier does his research, Geralt is tired of all the questions, and the questions get more and more personal along the way.

Woodash and iron and leather - LokelaniRose

Specs: 9 874 words - Explicit - Mutual admiration - Mutual pining Summary: Jaskier is the only person Geralt's ever been around who doesn't smell of fear. Russian Translation here Korean Translation here

lay (not) your heart against him - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 1 368 words - Teen & Up audiences - Geralt of Rivia is bad at communicating, scenting Summary: He’s a brave man but the core of it is that he trusts Geralt to save him before anything ever gets too close. It’s- Well. Geralt thinks the last time someone trusted him as far as they could throw him was when he was still a child. Before Kaer Morhen, before anything. His world is a cruel, cutthroat one. He doesn’t know what to do with this unceasing, unspoken dedication. So he doesn’t mention it. Probably Jaskier doesn’t even realize what he’s doing.

The Ballad of the Bard and the Moon - Ravenheart

Specs: 2 605 words - Mature - It’s all about the YEARNING Summary: If the moon allowed it, Jaskier would call himself a worshipper for as long as he lived. And that, he guessed, was the problem. Because the moon could keep you company, but it couldn't worship back. It might give you direction, and you might even be blessed with its protection, but it would go its own way, whether you followed or stayed behind. Stubbornly determined to walk the night at its own pace, painting its own path. (Alternatively: Jaskier spends over 2k trying to figure out that he's in love with Geralt, and then he does something about it)

in restless dreams i walked alone (the sound of silence) - august_embers

Specs: 16 136 words - Not rated - Mental health issues, suicidal thoughts (but no actual suicide attempt), Jaskier is not okay sometimes Summary: "Geralt is able to scent the guilt on a lying man from ten feet away, to catch sight of half a pawprint in the undergrowth in the dead of night, to know when to lean back before the coming blade can cut through his throat. Much of it comes from his training at Kaer Morhen, where his instincts were honed and enhanced, but even more comes from his travels and experiences while walking the Path. Geralt notices things, because not noticing means death. He does not notice the lack of singing." Something is very wrong with Jaskier.

front row praises - The_Watchers_Crown

Specs: 25 098 words - Explicit - Porn with feelings Summary: The girl rolls her eyes at him. “If you’re just going to stand here ogling the witcher, maybe go and do it out of the way.” “Ogling.” Jaskier scoffs. “Who’s ogling?” She looks unimpressed. “Have you told him you want him to fuck you?”

Inspiration - CobaltCephalopod

Specs: 1 131 words - General audiences - Magic, musical instruments Summary: Between all the half-hummed melodies and scratched out words to be had over the course of decades, Geralt knows how Jaskier’s songs work and how they are made. He’s the subject of them, more often than not, and he can’t count the number of hours spent falling asleep to Jaskier’s strumming while he huddles closer to the dying fire to read what he’d scribbled so far. Or: I figured Filavandrel's lute probably has some kind of magic in it.

a fool by profession - besselfcn

Specs: 967 words - General audiences - Jaskier tells his problems to a horse Summary: “Make sure my horse gets a bath,” Jaskier mumbles, in a poor imitation of Geralt’s distressingly low register. “Who does he think he is, honestly? Man has one bloody popular song written after him and he thinks I’ll attend to his beck and call, is that it?” He gives pause for Roach to weigh in, if she’s inclined. She snorts.

i’ve never been there bu i know the way - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 2 525 words - Mature - Basically jaskier starts being competent and Geralt is like. huh. Huh. Summary: On the left hand of the noble, however, is Jaskier. His charm is turned up to eleven, and Geralt could swear he’s batting his eyelashes, and his voice is all syrupy-sweet. He squints at his bard to no avail- Jaskier is very determinedly seducing this damn noble. And what’s worse is that it’s working. Somehow, improbably, Jaskier is charming him through shockingly well delivered compliments and subtle little flattering remarks. It’s such a far cry from the stuttering, irritating bard Geralt knows that he feels almost offended, like this has been purposefully hidden from him just to pull out at the most fucking inopportune time he could possibly find.

Tinseltown - LaurytheLatrador

Specs: 16 545 words - Mature - Alternate Universe - Hollywood Summary: Back when Jaskier was a small town busker he hooked up with Geralt, an MMA fighter gaining renown. Now Jaskier's a musician struggling to keep his head above water in Los Angeles, while his ex is one of the most famous actors in the world. He never expected their paths to cross again, but there wouldn't be any stories if life went the way we expect.

Where there’s a Witcher - ghostinthelibrary

Specs: 61 278 words - Mature - Alternate Universe - Modern setting Summary: Jaskier is a twentysomething recently unemployed journalist and amateur musician looking for his big break. So when he’s saved from the jaws of a wyvern by the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, he comes up with a brilliant idea: he’ll follow the Witcher around and sing about their exploits. He’ll gain fame and fortune and Geralt will get a much needed image rehab. Everyone wins. Unless Jaskier goes and falls in love like an idiot.

The Witcher Wolf - im_fairly_witty

Specs: 11 448 words - Teen & Up audiences - Geralt accidentally becomes an emotional support animal Summary: It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s... Inspired by @kayivy's lovely art on tumblr

home is nowhere, therefore you - Ark

Specs: 18 134 words - Explicit - Fairytales, love confessions Summary: "Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

Two Halves of a Whole - penguistifical

Specs: 3 450 words - Teen & Up audiences - Alternate Universe - Daemons Summary: Geralt doesn’t take much notice at first when the small brown bird alights on his table.

Second Refrain - Kenjiandco

Specs: 7 006 words - Explicit - Siren magic has unexpected effects on witchers Summary: It’s been...Gods, it’s been more than a year since their paths last crossed. Since Geralt emphatically un-crossed them, one could say, outside another cave high up on a windy mountain top. And here they are, trapped like a couple of treed cats in this little hole in a cliff face. No horse, no pack, no potions, no swords. Just a rapidly dwindling handful of dried meat, a useless hunting knife, a festering bite in his side that hurts much more than it should...and Jaskier, the surest omen that everything in his life is about completely stop making sense. Again. In which back-to-back encounters with a siren, a wyvern, and an old, old friend leave Geralt in need of a rescue. Just not the one he thought he needed.

is there a person more cherished - nowherebound

Specs: 629 words - General audiences - Just Geralt and Jaskier loving each other very much Summary: Geralt is the most fond of him. Fond, fond, fond… fond of his chestnut hair and sloped eyebrows, smoothed back by two gentle thumbs; honest eyes and sweet voice, bathing him in praise; slender waist and soft belly, perfect for resting his head on; petite hands, fingertips calloused from lute strings. How pretty, how divine, how lovely that Geralt is the one who gets to hold him, to love him. Yes, he is the most fond.

Food of love - tanktrilby

Specs: 22 485 words - Teen & Up audiences - Magical bard Jaskier, Renfri lives Summary: I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again. (or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

You Suffer Alone, Not Anymore - Sevent

Specs: 2 719 words - Teen & Up - Roach is an emotional support horse Summary: There's much Geralt is willing to put up with. The trials and tribulations of his witcher youth prepared him for a lifetime of cruelty and scorn. No one ever prepared him for kindness.

Guide - TenSpencerRiedPlease

Specs: 2 740 words - Not Rated - Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides, Protective Jaskier Summary: “Oh for the love of god Geralt, could you cooperate for like five minutes?” Jaskier asks as he pushes Geralt to sit on the ground. He doesn’t look impressed about it but if his ass wasn’t constantly going into some type of zone out or sensory overload this wouldn’t be an issue. They’ve already had to mute all the colors on the TV, it never plays very loud, he’s only just gotten used to sun light of all things and he can sit on the ground because Jaskier has long ago discovered that if he’s touching Geralt he doesn’t lose his focus in another sense so much. Geralt glares at him the whole way down but he does go.

#The Witcher #Geralt of Rivia #Geraskier #Jaskier #Fic Rec #Witcher fics #Matt reads #50n #60n #80n #100n #Masterpost

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Brick Club 1.4.2 “First Sketch of Two Equivocal Faces”

Time to meet the two least likable characters in this book, after Tholomyes. Mme Victurnien and Bamatabois try, but they can’t beat the Thenardier parents for slime factor.

The Thenardiers are animals (cats specifically) before we ever get to know them as people. Also I think this is one of the only instances where Hugo frames cats in a truly negative light? Usually cats are Liberty and Revolution and also Secret Lions. This time they’re cunning creatures taking advantage of a tiny mouse.

Hugo making quick work of some Class Opinions here. Hugo is describing this sort of in-between class, a limbo between middle and lower, made up of two types of people, of which I assume both Thenardiers are the former. When he compares them to the working class and the bourgeoisie, it’s about what they don’t have. I’m guessing that by “generous impulses” of the worker, he means solidarity? Working class people were/are more likely to help each other and engage in mutual aid, at least to a larger extent than others. Unless he’s emphasizing impulses, in which case maybe it’s more about being reckless? FMA says the bourgeois have “respectability”; Hapgood calls it “honest order.” Either way, that seems to be referencing a more “polite society,” a set of expected characteristics or behaviors and a certain level of success or money. I don’t know. It’s weird. Hugo’s class opinions are complicated and I don’t think I understand enough about French class history and culture to properly analyze all of this.

“There are souls that, crablike, crawl continually toward darkness, going backward in life rather than advancing, using their experience to increase their deformity, growing continually worse, and becoming steeped more and more thoroughly in an intensifying viciousness.”

I can’t help but think about Valjean here. Javert isn’t Valjean’s opposite, he’s Valjean’s weird parallel. Thenardier is Valjean’s opposite. Valjean is a soul that climbs towards the light despite spending so long in darkness, while Thenardier crawls towards darkness. In the moments when Valjean is actively working to become better, Thenardier is simultaneously actively becoming worse. After rescuing Cosette, Hugo mentions that Valjean had been on the brink of falling back into old habits and instincts from prison, but Cosette rehabilitated him and reminded him to work towards being good. At the same time, the Thenardiers are presumably falling into poverty and in the process of losing their inn. Later, Valjean decides to teach Cosette charity and bring her with him to help the poor. I think in general he is, at this point, doing more charity work than ever before. Thenardier kidnaps him and tries to hold him for ransom; in the process he also destroys parts of his own home. When Valjean saves Marius, after an active effort to realize that he needs to sacrifice to make Cosette happy, Thenardier is in the sewers stealing from corpses (or presumed corpses, anyway). As Valjean is dying, again sacrificing himself for what he thinks will be the good of Cosette, Thenardier is trying to trick Marius into doubting Valjean’s goodness and reputation, and trying to get money out of him. As Valjean dies loved and good, Thenardier goes to America to become a slave trader. Valjean and Javert’s entire lives run parallel to each other; Thenardier is like a perpendicular line that they both end up crossing at the same time each time. Thenardier is Valjean’s opposite in that he embodies exactly what Valjean had the potential to become.

Hugo says “We only have to look at some men to distrust them” and I wonder if that’s part of why we don’t actually see M Thenardier until now. The entire scene last chapter was full of all these bad omens and ominous imagery, so we were already suitably aware of the danger. Only, now we’re getting a real grasp and a true description of the reality of that danger for Cosette.

I really like that we get the line “he knew how to do a little of everything--all badly” because it’s yet another way in which he is Valjean’s opposite. Valjean knows how to do a little of everything as well, only he manages to do those things well and to succeed.

Hugo talks about Mme Thenardier’s love of trashy romance novels and throws in a bunch of references, conveniently in chronological order. Clelie goes with Mlle de Scuderi; Madeleine de Scudery wrote her novel Clelie (10 volumes!) in the mid 1600s. As far as I can tell, Clelie is about the siege of Rome and the romances between a bunch of different characters, and it’s very elaborate with a lot of long conversations. She used Roman/Persian/Greek characters as a thinly veiled disguise for contemporary society figures and political commentary. Lodoiska was a 1791 opera based on the novel Les Amours du Chevalier de Faublas by Jean Baptiste Louvet du Couvray. The opera (and presumably the novel) is a classic story of a nobleman rescuing his fiancee from a man who has kidnapped and wants to marry her. There isn’t much I could find on Mme Barthelemy-Hadot, except that she wrote melodramas in the early 19th century. Mme de Lafayette wrote La Princesse de Cleves, a highly realistic psychological novel, in the mid-1600s. She also wrote La Princesse de Monpensier, which was a prototype for the historical novel. There’s not much on Charlotte Bournon-Malarme, except that she was a writer in the late 1700s. Hugo is criticizing the chronological downturn of classic “romance” novels, how they’ve gone from realism and critique to dumbed-down adventure novels. It seems as though Mme Thenardier fills her time and her head with the latter.

Okay I’m not sure if I’m going to interpret the “Mégère parted company with Pamela” line right, because it might be a detail from a romance novel that I just can’t catch because I haven’t read romances from the 17th/18th century. However, I do know that Mégère was one of the Furies, the “jealous one,” and can be slang for a jealous or spiteful woman. The Pamela reference is a little bit harder, since there were two popular Pamela-based novels, but what I’m guessing at is that as Mme Thenardier aged and became less fierce and jealous all the time, she was just a woman who had been forced to marry a man 15 years older than her, who didn’t think much and was boring. I’m really not sure.

I can’t find much on Guillame Pigault-Lebrun, except that he was a fairly popular novelist during the Empire, whose quality flagged during the Restoration. He also apparently wrote some anti-Christian works, which seems to make sense for M Thenardier.

First of all, “the anarchy of baptismal names” is a fantastic band name.

So, from what I can figure out, pre-Revolution, a baby was named after a saint whose name was associated with the day of birth. For example, my birthday is April 14, so I would have been Ludivine. (I’m not sure what happens if someone’s birthday falls on a day with an opposite-gender saint associated with it. Did they just masculinize/feminize the name?) The French Revolution, as well as doing away with the old calendar, also did away with this tradition. People were now allowed to name their children (or themselves, if they did the paperwork) whatever they wanted. In 1803, this law was changed, and from what I can tell, you could either name your children the names of (Catholic) saints, or the names of people from classical/ancient history.

I’m not really sure how the Thenardiers got around this law, at least for Azelma. Epona is a Celtic goddess. Euphrasia was a saint from the 4th century. I have no idea what Azelma is. I suppose that’s the “anarchy” indicated. But maybe I’m missing something? Please someone correct me if I got stuff wrong.

Anyway, Hugo praises these changes as an aspect of equality. People aren’t restricted to the few names associated with their name day. They can branch out. Anyone can have the more “elegant” names associated with the classical/ancient history names, even workingmen. It’s also something that can’t be chiseled away like the Ns on buildings or removed like statues. People with those weird names from the decade they were allowed are living, breathing proof of the progress of the Revolution and force people around them to confront the fact that it happened, even if they’re back to celebrating the Restoration. Yet another minor but weirdly significant ripple of change.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.4.2 #les mis #les mis meta #maybe a little shorter than the last one?#maybe? but probably not

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grapesodatozier · 4 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk

here’s that wheelzier smut i mentioned forever ago!!

summary: mike’s new neighbors have been keeping him up all week, so his good pal richie suggests they pretend to have super loud sex a la easy a so that his neighbors get the hint. i think you see where this is going lmao

words: 9k. yeah idk how lol

read on ao3 or below!!

notfsw under the cut

Mike ate his lunch with his head resting on his arm on the table where he and Richie were sitting. “You know these tables are probably gross, right?” Richie pointed out with a small kick to Mike’s ankle under the table. Richie and Mike had become friends in college and now worked in their local mall—Richie in the record store and Mike in the bookstore—while they both tried to get their writing careers off the ground, so lunch breaks together had become a daily tradition. Richie had noticed that Mike had looked tired for the past week, but resorting to resting his head on the food and grime covered mall food court table brought his concern to a new level.

“Don’t care,” Mike grumbled as he shoved more fried rice into his mouth.

“Damn, you’re too tired to bitch about something? Are you okay?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “My new neighbors have been keeping me up all week. Apparently they can only have sex at two in the morning and haven’t figured out how thin the walls are yet.”

“Oh, so you’ve been up late beating your meat then?” Richie teased. Mike shot him an unamused look from under his dark fringe.

“More like brainstorming how to politely say, ‘Hey, can you either keep your fucking down or finish before midnight?’”

“Just play your music super loud and they’ll get the hint.”

“I’ve tried! But it didn’t work, and I have other neighbors, so I can’t exactly make a habit of that, especially on weeknights.”

“You’re telling me My Chemical Romance didn’t ruin the mood for them?”

“Fuck off, I didn’t play My Chemical Romance,” Mike huffed.

“Oh right, I forgot that’s what you actually jerk off to.”

Mike didn’t dignify that with a response; just chewed his broccoli.

“So these people really aren’t getting the hint, huh?” Mike sighed and shook his head, an adorable, pitiful pout on his face. “Well, maybe you just need to have sex louder than them. Assert your dominance.”

Mike snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause my sex life is thriving right now.”

Richie smirked, secretly pleased by that. He didn’t like the thought of anyone in Mike’s bed, of anyone touching him like that, seeing him like that. Anyone but himself, that was. “Well, then, let's Easy A this shit.” Mike gave him a look of confusion, his brow furrowed. Richie wanted to kiss it away. “You know that scene where they pretend to have super loud, obnoxious sex? Let’s do that this weekend, jump on the bed, bang on the walls.” Mike took another bite and chewed, contemplating. “Or we could make some super spooky ghost noises and convince them the building is haunted.” That got a smile out of Mike, one that made Richie glow with pride.

“I think any sex noise you try to make will scare them more.”

“Try?” Richie scoffed, trying to sound offended. “Mikey boy, if our performance scares them it’ll be because they’ll think I literally fucked the soul out of you.”

Richie wasn’t prepared for the way Mike would blush at that, at the weak scoff he let out as he looked down at his food. It made something warm flow through him, and he wasn’t sure if it was a horny-something or a feelings-something. He usually felt both around Mike. “If your lack of volume control will get me some rest then fine, use it.”

“You’re welcome,” Richie winked, shoving whatever he was feeling to the back of his mind. “So, when are we doing this?”

Mike looked up, clearly hesitant and clearly trying to hide it. “Um, I don’t know, does Saturday sound okay?”

“You’re telling me you have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than pretend to have sex with me?”

“Like you have plans.”

“Touche,” Richie grinned. The thought occurred to him that Mike’s neighbors might be out on a Saturday night, but the way his heart skipped at the thought of spending a night alone with Mike made him keep his mouth shut—or rather run in a different direction. “Good call on the Saturday, don’t wanna bother your neighbors on a school night, and Sunday’s the Lord’s day. Also, we won’t have to wake up early after our marathon moaning. I’m thinking big, I’m thinking theatrics, three acts minimum, a four hour performance, I’m thinking neighbors knocking down the door-”

“Don’t make me uninvite you,” Mike warned, cutting him off. But Richie could see he was giggling.

“So I’ll be at your place at eight then?”

Mike gave Richie that barely suppressed smile that made his heart go crazy. “Sounds good.”

“Oh it will,” Richie smirked, earning himself a piece of rice to the shoulder.

He was embarrassingly excited for Saturday.

-----

It was finally Saturday and Mike was embarrassingly nervous.

He’d accepted Richie’s offer, because how could he turn down the opportunity to spend a Saturday night alone with the guy he was absolutely head over heels for? But when he got home that day he actually thought through what he’d agreed to; he was going to pretend to have sex with Richie. He was going to hear Richie moan. In his bed. Richie was going to hear him moan. A thousand worries had been hounding him all week. What if hearing Richie moan made him hard? How would he explain that away? What if Richie thought the noises Mike made were weird? It didn’t help that Richie hadn’t stopped joking about how much he was practicing for their performance all week, accompanied by gestures that were definitely not work-appropriate.

Mike’s breath came with difficulty when he heard knocking at his door. He took his time walking over. When he opened it, he found Richie leaning against the doorframe, a rose and a box of chocolates in his hands. Mike couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face. “Are you serious?” he asked, stepping aside to let Richie in.

“What?” Richie grinned as Mike closed the door. “Your horny neighbors could’ve been in the hallway, I want them to know I treat you right.” Mike tried (and failed) to ignore the way that made him flush.

“I thought you said they were gonna hear how well you treat me.” And shit. Now that the words were out Mike realized he was not helping his own situation. He couldn’t help but notice the surprised way Richie raised his eyebrows. Shit, did Mike just flirt with him? Could Richie tell Mike was actually into him?

“Damn, you were trying to pass me off as a one night stand?” he asked, walking closer to Mike. Mike’s heart rate spiked as Richie drew the rose over Mike’s lips. “Here I was trying to make you seem like a nice, clean, respectable young man. Didn’t realize you wanted your neighbors to think you’re a slut.” Mike swallowed heavily. Richie’s voice had gotten low, and he was so close to Mike that he could smell his cologne, could feel the heat radiating off of him. Richie’s voice calling him a slut—however indirectly—rang in his mind, stirred something in his lower stomach, made his cock begin to twitch with interest. The way the soft petals of the flower brushed over his lips didn’t help. Mike knew he had to shut whatever this was down before he gave himself away and freaked Richie out.

In his dizziness, Mike responded, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you planned to make a habit of this.”

Something flashed quickly through Richie’s blue eyes, something so quick and well-covered that Mike didn’t even have time to consider what it might have been. With a theatrical wink, Richie said, “That depends how good a lay you are.” There was a pause during which Mike blushed, no thoughts in his head as Richie looked him over, only a deep want. “So, which way to the bedroom?” Richie asked, as if he had never been to Mike’s apartment before.

“You don’t want a tour?” Mike joked, regaining his footing.

“Oh, now he wants to show me his place,” Richie teased. His grin made Mike’s heart skip. Richie always made him feel so giddy.

“Come on.” Mike plucked the rose from Richie’s hand and turned, leading him through the small space to the even smaller space that was his bedroom. He only had a few decorations up so far, but his bed was neatly made, his belongings neatly arranged. And his bed, right up against the wall that he shared with his neighbors. Richie looked around as he kicked off his shoes. It felt weird to have Richie in his personal space, in an area so private, so much his own. But he also really liked it. He liked seeing Richie’s socked feet on his floor. And as much as it pushed his buttons a bit, his heart soared as Richie jumped onto his bed, flopping onto his back and making himself at home. Mike’s mouth went dry as Richie crossed his arms behind his head. He looked so cocky as he smirked up at Mike, his arms and torso feeling intimately on display despite the fact that he still had his shirt on. Mike’s eyes fell to his biceps, thinking about how soft his skin would be there if he were to trace it with his fingertips.

Fuck.

He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, all too aware of the way his hip was nearly brushing against Richie’s legs. Sure, Richie had been over plenty of times, but never in Mike’s bedroom; it made it all feel so much more intimate, made every move feel dire. “So… how do we start this?” he asked, not looking at Richie.

“Well, I usually start with some romacing, maybe some dinner, but clearly you didn’t think that part was important.” Mike gave him a look, but he smiled; Richie’s joking made it a little easier to breathe. It always did.

“Sorry I didn’t prepare any fake spaghetti for our fake hookup,” Mike shot back.

Richie sat up and threw his hand against his chest. “This is a fake one night stand? I thought I fake meant something to you!”

“I’m gonna uninvite you,” Mike giggled.

“Hey, come on, I’m just method acting! I’m getting into the scene!”

“You complaining is not making me want to moan.”

Mike’s heart stopped when he saw the look in Richie’s eyes change. They always changed so quickly, Mike always felt like he was just missing something before Richie schooled his expression. The one he’d landed on was mischievous, and a little dirty. But that was probably just Mike projecting what he wanted to see. He let out a small gasp as Richie moved closer and ran his fingers down Mike’s arm, from the inside of his elbow to the inside of his wrist, setting Mike’s nerves alight. His breathing was getting shallow, and it stopped altogether when Richie asked, his voice lower than Mike had ever heard it, “What would make you moan?” Mike’s eyes lingered on Richie’s fingers before finding their way up to meet Richie’s. His eyes were dark, concentrated on Mike. Mike didn’t know what was happening. He could barely breathe, and he felt frozen, like he was terrified, but he didn’t want this moment to stop, he didn’t want this tension to break. “Lie back,” Richie said.

“Sh-shouldn’t we be, like, bouncing or something?” Mike asked breathlessly, even as he let Richie guide him down, going so easily, loving the way it felt to have Richie’s hands on him, showing him where he wanted him, so gentle all the while. He ended up in the middle of his bed, and suddenly Richie was on top of him. Mike swallowed thickly. He’d pictured this so many times, while lying just like he was, spread eagle on his bed. He was amazed that his body hadn’t betrayed his thoughts yet.He wanted to reach up and cup Richie’s cheek, wanted to brush those curls back. He wanted to make him smile. He wanted to pull him down and hold him tight. But he felt glued down to the bed. That tension was still there, and he didn’t dare move.

“I’ll take care of that,” Richie said, and fuck, Mike had already forgotten what he’d said, and his mind was running wild with that sentence. He just nodded, not trusting himself with words in that moment. His heart leapt as Richie leaned forward, but he leaned over Mike and grabbed the headboard. Mike let out a breath, his eyes tracing over Richie’s extended arm. His neck was so close Mike could see his pulse jumping under his thin, fair skin. Mike could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and he wanted so desperately to be wrapped in it. Then Richie shot him that classic grin of his and Mike was melting, finding a fond and somewhat awestruck grin on his own face. “Ready when you are,” Richie said.

“Right,” Mike said, trying to clear away the fog in his mind. Moaning. He was supposed to be moaning. Under Richie. Casually. For show. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t imagine letting out a sound like that with Richie staring him down.

“Come on, I know you were a middle school boy at some point. You never moaned like a pornstar in the middle of class to see if you could get away with it?”

“No, I wasn’t an asshole,” Mike rolled his eyes.

“Hm, think the jury’s still out on that one,” Richie laughed. Mike smacked him on the shoulder. “Ooh, that was kinky,” Richie grinned, his eyes twinkling. He let his face screw up into an exaggerated look of ecstasy. “Fuck, do it again, baby.” His voice was a ridiculous whine, like a parody of a parody of porn. “See? Just like that. Super easy to make some sex noises.”

“I can’t do this while looking at you,” Mike groaned, throwing his hands over his burning face.

“Gee, thanks,” Richie joked. Mike dropped his hands.

“That’s not what I meant.” He tried out a smile, but he wasn’t feeling it. He was feeling nervous and scared. It was settling in now that he was lying beneath Richie, with Richie’s eyes on him, and the vulnerability of that was so amazing that it was terrifying. Mike wanted this, he wanted it so bad, for real, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to not overthink this.

“Hey,” Richie said, and his voice was soft, which honestly made things worse. His hand hovered over Mike’s hip for a second before landing on the bed next to him, the back of his thumb just barely grazing Mike’s jeans. “Just close your eyes, okay?”

Mike’s heart was beating even harder. Richie so rarely didn’t joke around. Why wasn’t he joking around? Mike didn’t want to close his eyes, didn’t want to not know if Richie was looking at him, he wanted to see his reactions to know if he was embarrassing himself. But he also loved the soft tone Richie had used with him, wanted to lean into it like an embrace. And Richie had asked him to, and he seemed genuine, so Mike nodded and let his eyes fall shut. “Fasten your seatbelt, baby, we’re about to hit some turbulence.” Mike let out a small laugh that was both amused and unimpressed, feeling himself relax at the joke. He peeked at Richie once before shutting his eyes again. Even just that view of the expanse of his throat had Mike’s body responding, and he really didn’t need that before things even got started. “I can get the ball rolling, okay? Just follow my lead.”

“Okay,” Mike nodded, his voice small. He licked his lips in anticipation as Richie began gently rocking the bed. Mike went with him, rocking forward and back in time with Richie’s movements.

“Fuck, that’s it baby,” Richie groaned. Mike felt like he was glowing before he realized that Richie had just started up the act. “That’s it, baby, just like that. Fuck, that’s so good.”

Richie was acting. But the words still made Mike’s skin burn, made him feel like he was doing something right. He wanted to chase the feeling. Tentatively, he let out a small moan. Fantasy and reality were coming together in the cruellest way, but Mike leaned into the fantasy part. There was no going back now anyway. Mike let out another breathy moan, this one louder.

“Yeah? You like that, baby?” Mike didn’t dare open his eyes. He didn’t think he could handle looking into Richie’s eyes when he was talking to Mike like that.

Mike let out an eager, “Yes,” instinctively throwing his head back. His hands trailed up the bed and twisted in the sheets beside his head as he rocked his body. It was easier to slip into it this way, and he found himself letting go, his moans and whines getting louder. “Fuck yes, oh, right there,” he cried. “Please, please, harder. God, yes, fuck me.”

It took Mike a moment to realize that the bed had stopped shaking, that Richie had stopped moaning. His eyes flew open. His heart froze in his chest when he saw Richie sitting back on his heels, his eyes wide and trained on Mike. “Shit, I’m sorry, was that—was that weird? I didn’t mean—”

But as he was dropping his eyes, too embarrassed to look Richie in the eyes just then, he saw it. And then he had to bite back an actual moan.

There was an obvious bulge in Richie’s jeans, thick and hard and long.

Richie tried to hide it, began to back away, but Mike sat up, which made him freeze. Mike could barely tear his eyes away, but his heart sank when he saw Richie’s face. He looked like he’d been caught over a dead body. Slowly, carefully, Mike reached out to him. Richie let him place his hand on his arm. As Mike leaned closer, so did Richie, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough reassurance for Mike, and he continued to scoot closer, to lean in, slowly so as to not make Richie run off. To show him that whatever he wanted, that was okay. Just as Mike was pressing his forehead to Richie’s, the tips of their noses just barely touching, Richie let out a whisper of Mike’s name.

“Yeah?” Mike said quietly. Neither of them moved. Mike watched Richie’s eyes move, but never up. They stayed on his lap, his dark lashes shading them from Mike’s view.

“I… I like you,” Richie admitted to the bedspread. Mike felt the breath leave his body. So much was happening so quickly, so many things he’d only ever fantasized about. It only made him more dumbstruck when Richie finally looked up at him through the lenses of the glasses he fiddled with, pushing them up his face. “Like, just so you know, this would mean something to me. So I can’t… I can’t do this if it doesn’t mean something to you.”

“It does,” Mike blurted out, finally catching up. “Mean something to me. Fuck, I can’t even tell you…” He trailed off, too many thoughts in his head to sort through. He liked Richie so much. He thought about him before he went to bed. He thought about him at work, he thought about him when he was listening to new music. He thought about him while masturbating. There was a lot to say, but as much as Mike loved writing, confessions were never his strong suit. So he placed his hand gently on Richie’s jaw, his thumb tracing over the soft skin of his cheek. He must’ve just shaved, and the thought that Richie had shaved for him made him grin to himself. He met Richie’s eyes and found them trained on his own. They were so wide and vulnerable; Mike felt like he was finally seeing all of those little glimmers he’d never quite been able to catch, all of them all at once. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

“You really feel the same way?” Richie’s voice was so timid, almost scared. Mike could feel his heart reaching out for him, tugging him forward.

“God, yes,” Mike nodded, nearly cutting himself off as he brought his lips to Richie’s. Richie met him just as passionately, pressing into him. The kiss was deep and desperate, both of them pushing all of their pent up feelings into it. Mike couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe how eagerly Richie was kissing him. His lips were soft and full and warm and perfect. He moaned and wrapped his arms around Richie’s shoulders, getting impossibly closer, until he nearly pushed him off the bed by accident, making them giggle together. And wow, Mike loved the feeling of Richie smiling against his lips.

“Here, lie back for me, baby,” Richie murmured, once again taking Mike by the waist and easily rearranging him. Mike flushed at the gentle manhandling, his body finally responding freely. It felt so good to not hold back. It felt even better to have Richie’s hands on him, raking up and down his sides while his blue eyes drank Mike in. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Richie said as he leaned down, claiming Mike’s lips again. Mike flushed at the compliment. He raised his hands to Richie’s back, slowly running them down, then back up, getting used to the fact that he could, that he was allowed to touch Richie like this. There was so much to focus on—from the way Richie’s lips felt moving against Mike’s, sucking Mike’s lower lip between his own, to the way it felt to run his fingers through Richie’s hair. It was even softer than it looked, and his curls ran through Mike’s fingers like water. Mike felt himself relaxing more and more with every touch. He swiped his tongue across Richie’s lips, needing more. He was thrilled when Richie moaned and parted his lips, his tongue gliding gently against Mike’s own. It was so simple, yet so dirty, and it had Mike moaning into the kiss and grabbing at Richie’s shirt as he rolled his hips up against Richie’s.

And then Richie’s lips were on Mike’s neck, mouthing at a sensitive spot under his jaw. “Richie,” he moaned breathlessly. He grabbed at Richie’s shirt, tugging it up as he craned his neck, giving Richie better access. “Please take this off.”

“Fuck, I’ll do anything you want if it means I get to hear you moan my name like that again.” Mike’s heart soared as he felt Richie smile against his skin. He kissed Richie’s hair, then his cheek, then finally their lips came together again before Richie sat up and tugged his shirt off. Mike let out a small, breathless moan as his eyes tracked over Richie’s bare chest. He was surprised to find Richie starting to curl in on himself, shy, almost nervous; he shut that down as soon as he could, sitting up and sucking on Richie’s collarbone while tracing his fingers appreciatively down Richie’s torso. He couldn’t help but moan as he ran his fingers down the dark trail of hair that disappeared below Richie’s jeans.

“You are so gorgeous,” Mike murmured into Richie’s skin. “Fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad for so long.” He melted into him when he felt Richie stroking his hair, flushed when he felt Richie’s hands running over his back, raking up his shirt.

“Yeah?” Richie grinned, tilting Mike’s chin up. He kissed Mike, slow and teasing. “You think about this before, baby?” Mike nodded, a small whimper sounding in the back of his throat as Richie kissed his ear. He lifted his arms as Richie slipped his shirt off, flushing at the way Richie drank him in. Again, he went easily back down to the mattress as Richie guided him, his hand splayed across Mike’s lower abdomen. The contact made Mike gasp. He could feel himself getting harder as Richie’s hand trailed lower, just barely grazing over the bulge in his jeans as he kissed Mike’s jaw and practically purred, “What was that you were saying about me fucking you?”

“Fuck,” Mike sighed as Richie palmed his hard on, bucking his hips up into Richie’s hand. “Do you want to?” he asked, peeking up at Richie.

“Fuck yes,” Richie laughed, as if he couldn’t believe Mike would even have to ask. He met Mike’s eyes and faltered a bit before asking, “Did you—like, are you clean?”

Mike bit his lip and nodded, blushing furiously. “Yeah, I um, I did that before you got here.”

That fucking shit eating grin that Mike adored spread across Richie’s face. “You little minx!” Richie cried in delight. “Did you plan this all along? Was this all just a ploy to get me in your bed?”

“I’m allowed to be optimistic!” Mike shot back defensively. “I didn’t think this was gonna happen, but I figured if you were gonna be in my bed I might as well prepare for the best case scenario.”

“God, you’re a dream.” Richie placed a fond kiss on Mike’s lips, then his cheek. “I still don’t believe that you even have neighbors on the other side of this wall, but given that you just said having me fuck you is a best case scenario I think I’m willing to overlook the trickery.”

Mike rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he pulled Richie down into a kiss. “Speaking of you fucking me, are you actually gonna do that? Or are you just gonna talk about it like an asshole?”

“Someone’s a little impatient, isn’t he?” Mike was ready to make another quip, but then Richie was running his hand over Mike’s hardening cock again, and suddenly Mike was speechless. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” Mike nodded. He tried to help Richie undo his belt, but his fingers were shaking, and Richie brushed his hands aside, taking over for him. The deft way he undid Mike’s belt, button, and zipper had Mike flushing a deep red; he couldn’t stop watching Richie’s fingers until he was sliding Mike’s jeans down his legs. Once they were off, Mike sat up, reaching for Richie’s belt, but Richie pressed his hand to the center of Mike’s chest and pressed him back against the mattress. Mike’s eyes went wide at that, and he stared up at Richie, breathless, as his cock throbbed visibly in his boxers. Suddenly all he could think about was just how much of his chest Richie was able to cover with just one hand. The cocky grin on Richie’s face was enough to have Mike going limp. “Aw, you like that,” Richie said. Not a question. He knew Mike liked that, he could tell, and that just made Mike whimper, made him squirm under Richie’s touch as he trailed his hand lower.

“Please,” Mike whined, reaching up for Richie and trailing his hands over his chest.

“Please what?” Richie’s teasing only made Mike harder, a wet spot forming on the front of his boxers. Mike couldn’t even put into words what he wanted—he just reached for Richie’s belt again, his eyes fixed on the tent in his jeans. “Aw, sweetheart,” Richie grinned. Mike’s skin burned, blushing from his cheeks down to his chest as Richie took him by the wrist and guided his hand down. “Is this what you want?” Mike mewled as Richie pressed Mike’s hand against his cock. Mike could feel how hard he was through his jeans; he needed to feel him, needed to taste him.

“Yes,” Mike breathed. “Yes, please, wanna touch you.”

Richie leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mike’s lips, slow and lingering as Richie just barely licked into Mike’s mouth. Mike was still collecting himself when Richie got off the bed, but Richie had Mike’s full attention when he started stripping his jeans off. Mike took his time raking his eyes up Richie’s legs before his gaze finally fell on his boxers, which were tight and black with the Playstation logo printed across them. He must’ve smiled, because Richie said, “Thought you’d like these,” as he climbed back onto the bed and kissed Mike’s neck.

“You wore them for me?” Mike asked, his voice revealing how giddy that made him feel.

“Guess you’re not the only optimist here,” Richie grinned. Mike cupped his face in his hands and pulled him down for another kiss. It was still so surreal to think that Richie felt the same way. Warmth flooded through him as he ran his hands over Richie’s back, his skin warm and soft. He let out a moan when Richie rolled his hips down against his.

“Fuck, please let me touch you,” Mike murmured into Richie’s lips.

Richie smiled into the kiss. “Soon. Wanna take care of you first.” Mike gasped as Richie shifted and palmed Mike’s erection through his boxers. Richie sat up and gently guided Mike’s hands back to the bed before sliding Mike’s boxers down his legs. Mike lifted his legs as Richie needed him to, then spread them, heat blooming through him at the way Richie looked at him as he did. A small, smug grin tugged at his lips. He could see Richie’s eyes darkening, could see his jaw clenching, and he gripped Mike’s thighs tight in his hands. “Mike,” Richie said in a strained voice.

“What?” Mike asked innocently. After a moment of heightened silence, Richie running his hands over Mike’s thighs, Mike continued, “Do you like it?”

“It” referred to the fact that Mike had gotten waxed a few days before, and did so regularly. It was something he did for himself, but the way it made Richie look at him was the most amazing bonus he could imagine.

Mike shivered under the weight of Richie’s gaze. Richie hadn’t even said anything but his name, hadn’t touched him anywhere but his thighs, but that look alone had Mike’s mind going fuzzy; he looked like he wanted to devour him, and Mike was desperate for him to do so. Finally, Richie ran his hands up Mike’s thighs, the tips of his fingers teasing over Mike’s hole. “Can’t believe you never told me about this… Fuck, you look so good.” Within seconds he had his head between Mike’s legs, pressing hot, wet kisses to the inside of Mike’s thighs. It made Mike’s breath short. He shivered as Richie looked up at him, his cool blue eyes hungry and burning. “You’re so fucking pretty,” Richie purred with a grin before dragging his tongue over Mike’s hole.

“Oh, f-fuck,” Mike gasped. He reached down and wove his fingers through Richie’s curls, both to ground himself and pull Richie closer. The sight of Richie’s head between his legs made him dizzy. With just a few strokes of RIchie’s tongue he was already a mess, his head thrown back, tugging on Richie’s hair with both hands, begging for more. He sunk into the mattress with a deep moan as Richie dipped his tongue past the tight ring of muscle, but it was suddenly over. Mike let out a pitiful whine and a, “Please don’t stop.”

“Mike, baby,” Richie said. Mike met his eyes, which were glittering. “Why do you taste like cherries?” Mike flushed at the knowing smile on Richie’s face.

“Um,” he stuttered, his mind still in a haze. Fumbling, he leaned over and got his lube out of his bedside drawer and tossed it down to Richie. “I, uh, earlier,” he tried to explain, words failing him. The way Richie was smirking up at him had him ridiculously turned on.

“You what?” Richie asked, teasing the tip of his finger around the rim of Mike’s hole, making Mike pull in a shuddering breath.

“I, I fingered myself a little before you got here.”

A teasing smile played over Richie’s lips. “Just a little?” He leaned over Mike, cradling his jaw, running his middle finger over his lower lip. Mike barely dared to breathe, his cock throbbing at the light way Richie teased him. His lips were so sensitive, and Richie looked so good when he looked at Mike like that. As much as Mike would hate to admit it outside of the bedroom, the cocky asshole thing really worked for him. Richie pressed his finger gently against Mike’s lips, and Mike opened his mouth easily for him, wrapping his lips around Richie’s finger and sucking, bobbing his head as he did so. All the while keeping his eyes, wide and eager, locked on Richie’s. His chest bloomed with pride as he watched Richie’s eyes stay stuck on Mike’s lips, Richie’s own mouth hanging open. And god, did it feel good when Richie slipped a second finger into his mouth. Mike whimpered and grabbed Richie’s wrist, holding him still while Mike worked his tongue over Richie’s fingers, closing his eyes as he bobbed his head. It felt so good, almost comforting, and the submission of it all had him making pleased little noises around Richie’s fingers. He opened his eyes and gave Richie his best please ruin me look. Another smirk pulled at Richie’s full lips. “Fuck, you really like this, don’t you?” Mike moaned and nodded, his eyes fluttering. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” Richie groaned, slipping his fingers out of Mike’s mouth so he could kiss him. As he teased his tongue along Mike’s, Richie reached between Mike’s legs and circled his hole with his now slick fingers, pushing one in, meeting no resistance. Mike moaned into the kiss and reached up to hold onto Richie’s curls again. It had been a while since he’d been fingered by someone other than himself, and Richie’s fingers were long. Mike spread his legs, pulled Richie in deeper, rolled his hips. His mind was in a complete haze of pleasure as Richie rocked his finger in and out of him, setting a steadily rising rhythm. “Fuck, so open for me,” Richie murmured into Mike’s mouth. “You’re a fucking dream come true, baby, can’t wait to get inside of you.”

“God, please,” Mike whined brokenly.

“Yeah, I know you want it, baby,” Richie cooed. Pressing a second finger inside of him, he added, “That’s why you got yourself all nice and open for me.” Again, not asking. Stating. Because he knew, he knew that Mike did that for him, and that made Mike practically writhe under him. His toes curled as Richie fingered him, his cock throbbing at the obscene wet sounds that rang out between their shuddering breaths.

“Richie,” Mike whined, “please, I want your cock so bad.” His cheeks burned, slightly embarrassed by how openly desperate he already was. But Richie pressed soft kisses to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, humming into his skin, and that helped Mike calm down.

“I know, baby. But I want you to take one more finger first, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Mike pouted and let out a small noise; he really wanted Richie’s cock, but his fingers also felt amazing, and when Richie used that voice Mike was convinced he’d do anything Richie asked. So he nodded and pressed a kiss to Richie’s lips.

Richie pulled away and sat back on his heels, covering his fingers in the cherry lube. As he trained his eyes on Mike’s dick, a devilish smile crept over his face. It made Mike’s breath catch. “Fuck, baby, you’re already a mess for me,” he marveled. His voice was so low and rich and so fucking cocky. Mike melted as the sound of Richie’s voice washed over him. He let out a small gasp as Richie leaned down, his warm breath ghosting over the head of Mike’s cock, and realized that a pool of precome had gathered on his stomach. As Richie gently pressed a third finger inside of Mike, he lapped up Mike’s precome, making Mike’s mind go hazy as he watched, feeling so full yet so needy. He happily opened his mouth when Richie leaned over him and kissed him, the salty taste passing between their lips. “God, baby, you’re fucking hot,” Richie murmured against Mike’s lips. “You take everything I give you so well.” The praise made Mike glow—it also made him impatient. Richie’s thrusts were slow and deep, making sure Mike was really ready for him, but Mike wanted more. He wanted Richie to fucking ruin him.

“Richie, please.”

“Please what, baby?” Richie teased. When Mike only whimpered, he continued, “What do you want? Use your words.”

“Fuck me,” Mike whispered, “please.”

Through a shiteating grin, Richie said, his voice full of innocence, “I am fucking you, sweetheart.”

Mike whined then, his lips slipping into an indignant pout. He buried his face in Richie’s shoulder and murmured, “I want your cock.” Richie tugged gently at Mike’s hair, guiding him to meet his eyes.

“Sorry, I don’t think I caught that.”

The way Richie was holding his head back, gentle and caring but clearly in control, made Mike shiver in the best way. Richie was looking at him expectantly, his eyes both dark and glittering. The fact that he was clearly enjoying playing with Mike made Mike want to submit to him even more. So, biting his lip, he gave Richie what he was asking for. “I-I said I want your cock,” he repeated, his voice still shy but louder now.

“Yeah?” Richie cooed. Maintaining eye contact, he took Mike by the wrist and guided his hand down to the tent in Richie’s boxers. Mike moaned as he finally wrapped his hand around Richie’s clothed erection, his eyes fluttering as he registered how hard Richie was, and how big. Mike couldn’t pick between admiring the outline of his cock or the cocky smirk on his face. “Is that what you want, baby?”

Mike pouted again and nodded. “Want it inside me, please.”

“You are so fucking cute when you pout like that,” Richie moaned, rocking into Mike’s hand. Pulling out of Mike, he stood up off the bed and stripped his boxers off, letting his cock bounce against his stomach. Mike moaned openly at the sight, sitting up and rolling toward him so that he could wrap his hand around it. He stroked him a few times before leaning in and licking at the tip, looking up at Richie before wrapping his lips around the head. Richie groaned and grabbed Mike’s hair again. He didn’t pull, just held on as Mike bobbed his head, hollowing his cheeks and taking more and more of Richie into his mouth, down his throat. Richie smelled amazing, and his cock was smooth and heavy on Mike’s tongue. But it was over all too soon when Richie pulled back. He chuckled when Mike whimpered at the loss. “Baby, as much as I’d love to see your face all covered in my come, I’m dying to hear what you sound like when I fuck you.” Mike moaned; all of that sounded amazing to him.

“God, please,” he breathed, sitting up to kiss at Richie’s side. He only got a few kisses in before Richie grabbed him under his arms and hauled him back onto his back, his head against the pillow. Mike’s body went limp, eager to be manhandled. He let Richie spread his legs, his limbs entirely pliant as he stared up at Richie with already hooded eyes. He smiled softly as Richie leaned down to kiss him.

“You have condoms?” Richie asked, his voice low as his lips vibrated against Mike’s.

“Top drawer,” Mike managed to say, nodding toward the nightstand. As Richie leaned over him, Mike seized the opportunity to press kisses to his shoulder, pale and smattered with freckles. He ran his fingertips reverently down Richie’s chest and stomach as he sat up, condom in hand. His muscles and ribs were visible under his skin, which was soft and marked by freckles and acne scars and blackheads that made Mike smile. He couldn’t believe how beautiful Richie was, couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without seeing him like this. “You are so gorgeous,” Mike murmured, wrapping his hand around Richie’s cock and stroking him while he tore the foil.

“You’re one to talk,” Richie grinned, his cheeks pink. Mike liked the way the blush looked on him. He gently removed Mike’s hand so that he could roll the condom on, giving himself a few strokes before pouring more lube into his hand. “You look so good,” he murmured, running his hand over Mike’s thigh as he spread the lube over his cock. “Can’t fucking wait to see what you look like getting fucked, when you come.” Mike let out a little moan when he felt Richie press the head of his cock against Mike’s entrance. “You ready, baby?” Mike nodded, but Richie just rubbed his cock over Mike’s slick hole, catching the tip teasingly on the rim. “Wanna hear you say it.”

“God, please fuck me,” Mike begged, reaching for Richie. “Please, please fuck me, Richie, please.”

Richie took his hand and entwined their fingers, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Gonna fuck you so hard, angel,” he grinned. Mike held tight to his hand as he slowly pressed into Mike. Mike’s head fell back as he felt Richie fill him up, so slowly he could feel every inch. He spread his legs wider, brought them up closer to his chest, already nearly breathless from how good it felt.

“Holy shit,” he breathed softly as Richie bottomed out, his hips pressed against Mike’s ass. He was so deep; Mike felt so incredibly full. His eyes still closed, he let out a small gasp when he felt Richie’s lips against his jaw, soft and slow and smooth as he worked his way up to Mike’s mouth.

“That feel good, baby?”

“So fucking good,” Mike choked out, still gripping Richie’s hand, which now lay beside his head.

“Feels fucking amazing for me, too,” Richie groaned, a smile on his lips as his kissed Mike. “Just tell me when you’re ready for me to move, okay?” Mike nodded. As Richie kissed him, slow and languid, the tension flowed out of Mike’s body, making him feel warm and loose.

“‘M ready,” he murmured into Richie’s lips. He opened his eyes as Richie lifted himself up onto his forearms.

“You sure?” His eyes were soft as they searched Mike’s.

Mike nodded and stroked Richie’s cheek. “Please move. Please, please fuck me.”

Richie leaned down and kissed him, deep and lingering, before sitting up again. His eyes dropped to where the two of them connected, but Mike couldn’t keep his eyes off Richie’s face. He watched his eyes go hooded as he pulled out, watched as he bit his lip as he pressed back in. Mike moaned as Richie slowly thrust in and out, letting Mike get used to the feeling. Mike rocked his hips with him, his toes already curling. It felt so amazing to have Richie moving inside of him; his body shined with every movement of Richie’s hips.

“Faster,” Mike moaned, eyeing Richie with pleading eyes. “Please, please I need more.”

“Yeah?” Richie said, his eyes burning with something that made Mike’s skin prickle in excited anticipation. Richie slipped his hand out of Mike’s so that he could grip Mike’s hips, lifting him as he suddenly thrust his cock deep into Mike, punching a high pitched moan out of him. “You want more?” Mike moaned as Richie steadily picked up the speed of his thrusts. But then he stopped, staying at a moderate pace. It still felt amazing, but Mike could tell from the look on Richie’s face that he was playing with Mike. And that just made him even more desperate, more desperate to please Richie, desperate for him to fuck him. “That fast enough, baby?”

Mike was already so far gone, gripping at the sheets beneath him. He looked up at Richie with desperate eyes and whimpered, “Use me.” Richie’s eyes widened a bit at that, like he was waiting for Mike to confirm that he really meant that. “Please,” Mike begged, his voice pitiful as he squirmed under Richie, bringing his legs up higher. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Please, please use me, want you to fuck me as hard as you want, want you to use me to make yourself feel good, please.”

“Fuck,” Richie groaned, his fingers digging into Mike’s hips as he snapped his hips forward roughly. Mike let out a punched out moan, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open as Richie began fucking into him fast and hard, taking his breath away. “You’re fucking perfect, baby, feels so good fucking you like this. Gonna fuck you so hard, just like you want, yeah?” Mike nodded and moaned. The sheets slid across his back, bunching around him as his body slid back and forth with the force of Richie’s thrusts. Richie looked amazing above him, his long curls hanging around his face, bouncing as he rocked his body into Mike’s. “You want me to use you, baby? You want me to fuck you like a little toy?”

Mike moaned loudly at that, his skin burning. Richie’s words, the cocky, breathy, low way he said them, had Mike’s cock gushing precome onto his stomach. “Yes,” he moaned brokenly, “please, oh my god.”

Richie slid his hand up Mike’s side, grazing his nails over Mike’s ribs, leaving a light red trail in their wake. The light pain made Mike pleasantly dizzy, but he only had a moment to linger on it before Richie was pinching his nipple, making him gasp, electrified with pleasure. “You’re such a perfect toy, baby. So good for me,” Richie praised. “God, you look so good getting fucked. Can’t fucking get enough of you, wanna keep you stuffed full of my cock all fucking night.” And fuck, Mike had always had a feeling that Richie would be good at dirty talk, but he was just completely blowing Mike’s mind. He felt so good, all he could think was how good it was, how he needed more.

“Please,” he moaned, his voice high and breathy and desperate.

“Yeah? You like the way my cock feels inside you, angel?” Richie’s grin was both dark and adoring; it made the fire in Mike burn even stronger, made him sink into that glowing warm feeling, lifted him to a whole new level.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Mike cried, wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist. “God, fuck me, fuck me, Richie, please, fuck.” Richie shifted his hips a bit, tilted them just so, and suddenly Mike was shouting, his back arching off the bed as stars swam in his vision. “Oh, fuck, Richie,” he nearly screamed. Babbling now, his entire body pulsing with pleasure, his mouth ran off a slurred string of moans and pleas. “Yes, yes, right there, fuck, fuck, fuck me just like that, please don’t stop, don’t stop, please please don’t stop, oh my fucking god, Richie.” Mike was barely even aware of what he was saying, his mind blanking, so overcome with how good he felt, how good Richie felt inside of him, how good his hands felt running over his skin, grabbing at his hips, teasing his nipples. The room was full not only of the sound of Mike shouting in pleasure, begging over and over for Richie to fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme, but also the sound of skin on skin as Richie fucked him, of the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall, of Richie’s own low moans.

“Fuck, baby, you sound so fucking pretty,” Richie panted. “Feel so good, so fucking tight around my cock.” His thrusts were becoming more erratic, his grip on Mike tightening as he leaned over him to kiss at Mike’s neck. Mike threw his head back, moaning as Richie lapped his tongue over his sensitive skin. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come, sweetheart.” At Mike’s broken moan, Richie made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan. “Yeah, you’d like that, huh? You want me to come inside your pretty little ass, sweetheart?”

“Please,” Mike mewled. He wrapped his arms around Richie, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other tangling in his damp curls. “Please, come in me, come in me, please Richie, I need it, I need your come so fucking bad, please.” Mike was practically crying, the tension in his body so tight, on that amazing brink of bursting.

“Fuck, Mike,” Richie groaned. He reached between them, finally wrapping his fingers around Mike’s cock. He fucked Mike harshly, moaning obscenely in his ear as he came. Richie was coming inside of him, and the realization of it, the fact that Mike could feel him, the fact that he was making Richie make those sounds, had Mike spilling into his hand, shouting Richie’s name into the heavy air of the room as white hot pleasure crashed over him.

He was still somewhere else completely when he felt Richie nuzzling at his neck, his lips warm and soft against Mike’s jaw, bringing Mike back down to earth. He slowly blinked his eyes open and stroked Richie’s curls. Smiling to himself, he let out a breathless, “Fuck.”

Richie hummed into his skin. “Fuck is right, baby.” Mike glowed at that. Baby. He could definitely get used to Richie calling him that. He turned his head, silently asking for a kiss that Richie happily gave him. His lips were slow against Mike’s, taking his time. Mike ran his fingers over Richie’s back; his skin was warm and slick in a way that made Mike want to get as close to him as possible, closer than that. Mike ran his tongue along Richie’s lips, giggling when he felt Richie smiling against him. He felt so flushed and giddy and loose; he’d never felt better in his life, he wanted to live in this fuzzy feeling forever. “Oh? You not done yet?” Richie teased, laughter in his voice. Mike felt him swipe his fingers through the pool of come on Mike’s stomach. He let out a light little moan as Richie ran his over his lips before sliding his fingers onto Mike’s tongue. Mike happily sucked his come off of Richie’s fingers, licking his lips and opening his mouth for more when he was done. They repeated this until Mike was pretty much clean. Richie draped himself over Mike, and Mike happily wrapped his arms around him and held him tight as they kissed slowly, no regard for time passing. After what could’ve been a few moments or an hour, Richie hummed and told Mike, “Gonna pull out now, okay, baby?”

Mike pouted, and a little whine sounded in the back of his throat, but he let out a small, “Okay.” Richie grinned and kissed his pout away before slowly pulling back.

Mike felt empty for a moment, but Richie didn’t go far, just tied off the condom and tossed it into the wastebasket. And then he was back, gently moving Mike so that he could lay against Richie’s chest, cradled safely in his arms. Mike made little happy, contented noises as he snuggled into him, feeling so happy he could cry as Richie stroked his hair. “I should’ve known you’d be super into cuddling after sex,” Richie said, a smile in his voice. Mike didn’t even respond, couldn’t think of the words to; he just pressed his face into the juncture of Richie’s neck and shoulder, pressing indulgent, open mouthed kisses to his skin. He decided he loved the feeling of Richie laughing under him. “Still feeling good, then?”

“Mm, so good,” Mike hummed. He honestly felt drunk on it, on how good everything felt. Or like he was dreaming.

Richie’s voice was soft and sincere as he said, “I’m glad,” and pulled Mike in closer, kissing his hair.

They lay like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow, in the joy they felt in one another’s arms, until eventually Mike sighed lightly and said, “I want pizza.” Richie laughed and held him tighter, pressing quick, affectionate kisses that made Mike giggle all over his hair and face.

“Houston, he’s back!” Richie crowed. “Does this mean I can finally tell you how fucking mindblown I am by how kinky you are? Because god fucking damn.”

Mike blushed and smacked him lightly. “Order the pizza first,” he grinned.

“Aye aye, captain.” Richie pressed a few more kisses to Mike’s face before leaning down and searching for his jeans among the mess of sheets and blankets and clothes. While he did, Mike stroked his back, basking in this new glow.

By the time the pizza got there, they’d put on most of their clothes and moved to the couch. Mike learned in that moment that if he pouted, Richie would happily get up and do as he asked, and he was still grinning about that as Richie paid the delivery guy.

Mike sat up eagerly as Richie plopped down on the couch, snuggling into him before he’d even opened the box, both of them grabbing for their slices. Mike couldn’t imagine a better Saturday night than this. “Oh, by the way,” Richie said, his mouth full, “I saw your neighbor in the hallway. Judging by the way he turned into a tomato when he looked at me, I think he got the message.”

Mike groaned and collapsed back into the couch, stuffing his face with pizza as Richie cackled. But he knew it had been worth it, and he knew they were going to do it again. And again. And again.

#wheelzier #notsfw

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x0401x · 5 years ago

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Why do you think the writers of the Tsurune anime decided to tone down masamina and outright cut out kaisei while pushing for sei/mina instead? It's just so baffling to me why they would alter the canon content from the novels so much. Like, what was even the point?

I’ve answered this question quite a few times before, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever made the point entirely clear, so here we go one last time. Sorry that it turned out so long.

So, in novels and manga or any written medium, creators normally have more freedom to do what they want, but when it comes to TV series, animators have been developing the habit of toning down whatever they can. Most of them have this conviction that the viewers only want to watch calm and relaxing stuff nowadays. Other than this, we get adaptations of popular works that basically exist to promote the source material, most of which rush up towards the end like crazy. It does seem like the Japanese audience has an obsession with comfort animes now, since life in Japan gets more and more stressful with each passing year, but it’s not like they’ve abandoned other genres. This general belief that creators should water down the contents however they can is pretty much destroying the industry, and it’s probably what the animators of Tsurune had in mind when changing the novel’s events into a much less dramatic versions or just cutting them off. That’s issue number 1 with the anime.

Issue number 2 is that animators of adaptations tend to ignore the reader demographic in favor of making the series neutral to please all audiences lately. But that’s only when the majority of the readers are women and girls. If it’s guys, you’d rarely see alterations. It feels like the general conception is that making the contents less “cringy” for men means more people will be watching it and having a positive opinion. It seems to completely slip the staff’s minds that the fans they disappoint mostly won’t feel willing to buy the DVDs or merchandise. This is where most of these adaptations fall flat, by the way. It’s kind of really obvious to me that these series are more prone to succeeding if the studios animate what the readers fell in love with, because the originals are popular for a reason, and it’s that people liked them the way they were. I think it’s only the expected when readers are disappointed not to see animes live up to the expectations, and that whoever picks the source material will feel the difference as well. Still, if the anime isn’t a BL, there’s this unsaid rule that you can’t show too much gay between male characters unless you have an excuse for it. Normally, nakama power and rivalry is what does the trick. I don’t think I need to mention that this is the standard in sports animes.

In the Tsurune novel, most of the gay doesn’t have an excuse. Of course, it’s not officially gay unless canon states it, but the books not only don’t give any justification for it, they get rid of possible justifications, so while you can’t say it’s not fanservice, you can’t label it as just fanservice, either. For a studio that banks off fanservice like KyoAni, that’s a problem, especially since the novel is packed with heavy scenes and even heavier quotes.

I mean, in Masaki and Minato’s case, they don’t have the nakama power or rivalry elements, so one possible excuse for them being so close would be that they’re master and disciple. But Minato makes it clear quite early in the story that Masaki doesn’t have to be his master because just having Masaki’s company is enough for him, and all in all, the two of them have a much more affectionate relationship than the other teacher-student ones from the books. Another excuse would be the found family dynamics, but Masaki already shares that with Kaito, who canonically sees Masaki as the older brother he never had, and their relationship is unlike Masaki and Minato’s as well. Kaito also has a monologue in volume 2 about Masaki treating Minato differently from everyone else in the club, and the way he describes it denotes that Minato is Masaki’s favorite, and that Masaki doesn’t bother hiding it. Just as a cherry on top, Minato often loses his rationality when it comes to Masaki despite being a serious kid, and he’s very verbal about wanting to monopolize Masaki. Add fate to the mix and you have the perfect recipe for anything except an ordinary mentor-pupil relationship.

As for Kaito and Seiya, there was a lot going on between them since the beginning, but the nakama power excuse only starts applying late in volume 1, because they didn’t get along very well at first. And even then the nakama stuff hardly applies to their interactions, where Seiya often acts like Kaito has a thing for him, for no reason other than Kaito’s reactions being amusing. Their relationship also does some big strides in the middle of volume 1, and Seiya literally migrates to Kaito’s side at some point. They don’t seem to have a friendship as strong as the one between Seiya, Minato and Ryouhei, but it’s Kaito who Seiya interacts with the most in volume 2 and he’s also the one that Seiya leans on whenever he needs any sort of assistance. There’s other unexplainable things here and there, such as Seiya taking a peek at Kaito’s sleeping face when it’s just the two of them in the room, or him implying that Kaito is jealous of the motherly attention he gives Minato. It goes on as far as the novel does. There’s literally no scene with the two of them that doesn’t make it look like Kaito is really into Seiya and that Seiya owns his ass but he’s the last one to know.

Back to the main point, it’s really hard to animate all of this without giving people “ideas”. For KyoAni, any gay exists ultimately for the sake of fetishization, and they often follow the “ship whatever you want, even yourself with the characters” model. If being gay is canonically a character trait in the original, it’s out (Violet Evergarden is probably the best example of that one), and if the gay can’t be interpreted as something else, it’s either out or downplayed. In Seiya and Minato’s case, that’s perfectly feasible. Not only are they best friends, they also have a familial relationship where Seiya treats Minato like a son. Minato has sworn eternal friendship to Seiya in the novel, and both he and Kaito describe Seiya as something like a helicopter parent. There’s more than enough counter-argument to remind the viewers that, whatever happens between Minato and Seiya, it’s all a product of their childhood friend bond. Anyone is free to interpret it differently in fanon, but the viewers (at least the Japanese ones) are ultimately aware that the anime is in its “safe zone”, portraying a friendship. Nobody on the Japanese side of the fandom actually believed that there was romance going on in it. On the other hand, if you search in Japanese for people’s impressions of MasaMina, you’ll notice people often saying that the novel makes you wonder if Minato and Masaki aren’t actually dating, or if Minato doesn’t have a puppy crush on Masaki, at the very least. Basically, everyone seems to agree that what goes on between those two is hard to define, but whatever it is, there’s this very particular, “special” air about them that differs from the rest of the characters, which normally manifests when they’re alone together.

As you can tell, this overall view is the opposite of the animators’ ideal. If the novel had been animated the way it is, it would’ve probably felt like a BL for the people watching. Not only does it come with practically set ships, it also doesn’t give much space for the proverbial “ship even yourself with the characters” option. To put it bluntly, the animation went through those changes so that it could fit the mold. It gave us SeiMina and even some NanaKai (the latter being honestly disturbing, since they’re cousins), while either toning down or erasing the rest of the duo and trio interactions. It made Minato’s accident with his mom actually seem like Seiya’s fault and didn’t really take the burden off his shoulders but instead swept it under the rug. It also made Masaki seem like a two-faced bastard who only became a coach for the sake of revenge, which means he was using his students (actual 15/16-year-olds) for his own personal gains. Shuu and Minato’s friendship went down the drain, Ryouhei was pushed aside as if Seiya was Minato’s only childhood friend, Nanao was never depicted as his own person, and the girls didn’t even exist 90% of the time. So yeah, none of the changes served any good purpose for the characters’ images. All it did was (try to) fill a quota.

Personally, this whole thing feels like we’re being told to the face, “we’ve given you what you want, now give us your money”. It brings me back to interviews I’ve read featuring Stars Align director Akane Kazuki and his statements about the anime industry being in a pinch, specifically because animators nowadays keep trying to make a fool out of the audience for monetary ends. Seems clear to me that the staff thought the female viewers would latch onto anything as long as it looked remotely gay, and that’s why I was so angry back then. Being looked down on like this by people who expect us to consume their media is pretty offensive, in my opinion. I’m glad there’s at least one creator speaking up about this matter and using the exact same arguments as I have been for more than two years now.

#tsurune #tsurune kazemai koukou kyuudoubu #narumiya minato #takigawa masaki #onogi kaito #takehaya seiya #wow i can't believe i'm getting asks about tsurune in 2020

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goodshipsherlollipop · 4 years ago

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Self-interview (but not really) Part 2

Thanks again @sherlollyappreciationweek

Comp1mom

Q: What made you decide to create a “Christian” version of Sherlock? According to the BBC version, he is a self-avowed atheist.

A: When I look at Sherlock’s true nature, I see such potential for him as a Christian. He exhibits so many characteristics that we, as Christians, try to show - forgiveness of wrongs done to him (note how he doesn’t fight back when John assaults him); sacrificial love (his willingness to die for others, as in TRF); the desire for true justice, the way Moriarty says he’s “on the side of the angels”. At least for me, I was intrigued by the idea of converting him to Christianity, to give him a true purpose for his life that has eternal consequences.

Q: Do you think that portraying Sherlock as a Christian is important? Why or why not?

A: I am always hopeful that people will read and see the validity in my reasoning for him becoming a Christian, given how often he has escaped death. Quite often, in stories, Molly puts the question to him - Why are you still here? Why have you escaped death so many times? That should be enough to make anyone reevaluate their life’s purpose.

Q: Molly Hooper is the one who proselytizes him, right? Why do you use Molly? Why not John, who must be a believer in Christ in some way or he would have had a problem with christening Rosie?

A: For me, it HAD to be Molly. Her character and the way she behaves in the show is consistent with the behaviour of a Christian. She loves Sherlock unconditionally; she sees beyond the detective persona to the real man beneath. She needs to be the catalyst for Sherlock to be open to the idea of Christianity, because he loves and trusts her. John, although he certainly believes in God and has some Christian (or Catholic in my story canon) background, does not live a life that is consistent with Christianity and its ideals. He has multiple sexual partners. Although I think he is an ethical man, I don’t believe he has the kind of sexual morality that is typical of committed Christians. Identifying yourself as a Christian because you were raised in a Christian home and went to church, does not make you one if you display behaviour that is contrary to what the Bible teaches. Either you’re committed to what you believe and try to follow what the Bible teaches, or you are not really committed to your faith, (not that Christians are perfect - far from it, but we do try to follow what the Bible teaches, and we feel guilt when we fail). There’s a difference between being a Jesus fan and a Jesus follower.

Q: What evidence does Molly use to convince Sherlock of a Higher Power?

A: In various stories, Molly points out the beauty and balance of creation, that it does not make sense for that balance to have occurred spontaneously. She also points out the complexity of the human body and how it is built with all its systems designed to work in harmony. Personally, I believe these two facts are huge considerations, and that it takes far less of a leap in logic to believe something created this beauty, rather than it happening spontaneously. Molly also points out the fact that Sherlock has been spared from death so many times and asks him to question why that is so, whether there is a higher purpose to his life because of that.

Q: How do you maintain Sherlock’s acerbic wit and still have him believe that Jesus Christ is more than a swear, is a deity, the Deity?

A: I try to show that Sherlock is not the “perfect” Christian. He has many years of conditioning in one type of behaviour, and that is something that is going to come out from time to time. I don’t find it as difficult to write him as someone who does not use the name of Jesus Christ in a profane way, because he doesn't talk that way in the show (unlike John). Personally, I am also not comfortable in writing (or reading) stories that use the name of Jesus Christ as an expletive.

Q: What does belief in Jesus Christ do for his detective work? Or does it influence his detective work?

A: Oh, I definitely think his faith adds an element of compassion to Sherlock’s detective work. He is no longer answerable only to himself, but he is trying to behave in a way that displays his faith and pleases God. That means thinking before he speaks, caring about the people involved in the case, rather than just the case itself. His motives, to glorify God in his work, are his priority.

Q: Is there any evidence in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s writing that Sherlock Holmes believes in Something Higher than himself?

A: I absolutely believe ACD’s Sherlock believed in God, which is one of the reasons I felt it believable to change BBC Sherlock’s atheistic stance. ACD’s Sherlock mentions Providence, as evidenced in this quote from The Naval Treaty.

“Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”

Also, in The Boscombe Valley Mystery, when Sherlock lets a dying killer go, he says, “You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes.” This implies God will judge the man after he dies.

Penelope Chestnut

Q: How long have you written Sherlolly stories? What made you start writing?

A: A dear friend of mine recommended watching Sherlock, and my husband and I binge watched it in the summer of 2017. After the final episode, I was so sad that the Sherlock and Molly dynamic was not resolved, I was moved to write a happy ending for them. My daughters have been involved in fanfiction for years, so I knew people did this kind of thing. My intention was to write a one-shot happy ending for them, just for my own satisfaction. After I wrote it, though, I found I didn't want to let the characters go. I had fallen in love with their story, and I wanted to keep writing for them. 60 chapters later, I decided to start publishing my story, A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage. This was just over 3 years ago, on November 7th 2017, when I joined fanfiction.net. I later joined ao3 as well and was publishing on both sites for quite some time. I've had a better response though on fanfiction.net, so have pretty much limited myself to that site over the past year and a half. I continue to make revisions and correct errors on my fanfiction.net stories, while I don’t really do anything on ao3. I have been likened to a writing machine on a couple occasions. To date, on fanfiction.net, I have published over 1.9m words. Putting that in perspective, in three years I've published the equivalent of more than 7 volumes of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (the longest book in her series), or close to two and a half volumes of the Holy Bible.

Q: Do you have a certain routine you follow when you write?

A: I don’t have a set daily routine, but I do set myself a goal to complete a certain amount of work per week. This has changed over time. Currently, I set myself the goal to write at least one chapter of a story each week, to keep myself in line with my publishing schedule of one chapter per week. If I am writing an installment for my COVID-19 series that is published in addition to my regular publishing schedule, I still try to write that in addition to my usual chapter writing for the week. So, at times I write more in a week than other times. I am also working on revising one of my AU’s into a Christian historical romance I hope to publish professionally next year.

Q: What is it like being a Christian author?

A: It brings me joy to spread a Christian message through my work, but, like anyone else, at times I do suffer self-doubt. I've questioned in the past whether my limited audience makes worthwhile the enormous effort I put into writing these stories. It can definitely be discouraging to get very little return on your work, and I have a bad habit of comparing myself to more “popular” writers in the fandom. I am, however, getting better at recognizing my own self-worth, having confidence that the lack of readers is not a reflection on my ability and talent as a writer, but more a reflection on the general lack of interest from the majority of Sherlolly fans in reading stories with Christian themes and the values that go along with it (particularly sexual purity outside marriage). Just as I don’t care to read stories of characters with a colourful sexual history because I don’t agree with that kind of behaviour due to my Christian beliefs, I imagine those without similar beliefs are probably not interested in reading about sexual purity or abstinence before marriage, as it is not something they can relate to. Thankfully, I am blessed to have a small but vocal support group who really give me the impetus to keep writing these Christian stories.

Q: Are there any devices you use in your writing as a legally blind author?

A: As I mentioned earlier, I absolutely would be lost without my iPad. Actually, it is the larger sized iPad Pro. I would also be lost without programs that give me the ability to resize the font so I can read it! Thank God for technology!

If you made it to the end of this two-part interview, I hope you enjoyed getting to know my writing journey better. God bless!

#sherlollyappreciationweek #sherlollyselfinterview20 #interview20

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ineffably-good · 4 years ago

Text

Snake Husbandry, 1/2 (GO Fic)

Summary: Aziraphale has some secret books he hides from Crowley about understanding his favorite snake. This story explores a few myths and realities about snake behavior.

Part of my Serpent and the Seagull series.

Complete! Read the whole thing on AO3!

______________________________

Chapter 1

One thing Aziraphale had learned in the first year of marriage was that Crowley always curious about what he was reading. It was nice, most of the time, having his partner show a steady interest in what he was thinking about and looking at and doing. But every once in a while, he just wanted to look at a book that he didn’t feel like sharing – something more private. He kept these books in the deepest drawer of his desk, behind a pile of folders.

The hidden books generally fell into one of three categories: romance novels, which he was secretly addicted to and which Crowley would tease him mercilessly about; books about things Crowley considered dangerous, such as spells that could injure one or the other of them but which he nonetheless felt it his duty to be somewhat informed about; and a few books that Aziraphale had acquired very early in their relationship, shortly after he’d first brought Frederick home. He had three – a slim volume on basic snake care that he’d used rather extensively at the beginning to ensure his new companion was healthy and happy, a rather fascinating and more academic book about different types of snakes and their characteristics, and one thick volume which would daunt any but the most passionate of snake enthusiasts – crammed full of tiny type and hand drawn illustrations and tissue-thin pages and titled “The Enthusiast’s Handbook of Snake Husbandry and Care.”

The third one was the one he most often reached for. Its academic and research-heavy focus appealed to him, but best of all it went on and on about snake lore – the myths and legends that had developed around snakes over the centuries – and took its time in proving or disproving them one by one. It spent a good deal of time on snake psychology and mating habits, and so help him, Aziraphale couldn’t help but draw parallels now and then not only between the book and Frederick, but between it and his spouse. Crowley was, after all, part snake. Sometimes, and especially in the winter, he was all snake, and for longer periods of time than one might expect.

Whenever he wanted to read it, he first made sure that Crowley was out and occupied for a few hours. Then he usually arranged it so that Frederick was curled up around his neck or shoulders. Best to have a plausible reason he was reading about snake husbandry if Crowley showed up unexpectedly and inquired.

But in all honestly, the truth was that he was reading and ruminating about both of the snakes in his life.

What could possibly be the harm?

Myth: Snakes will attack you if confronted.

Fact: Most snakes are not likely to attack unless they truly have no other option. When cornered, a snake will panic and do just about anything to flee the situation before resorting to brute force.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called from the kitchen.

Crowley looked up from his spot on the couch. “What?”

“Come in here please?”

Oh shit, he thought, the angel sounded snippy. Snippy was never good. What had he done or forgotten to do?

“I’m comfy,” he whined, just to buy time. If he was extremely lucky, it would work and the angel would give up and take care of whatever it was himself.

“I really must insist!” the angel said.

Definitely an increase in snippiness there. Snippitude? Was that a word, Crowley thought? It should be. No one could be as snippitudinous as his angel.

He heaved himself up with a sigh and sauntered his way into the kitchen. The angel was standing with portions of the coffee maker in his hand, looking prissy.

“We’ve talked about this, Crowley,” he said, shaking the basket at him. “You have to empty the grounds out of it at least once in a while! Look at this buildup, it’s obviously been sitting there dirty for most of the week!”

Crowley sighed. “Oh cmon, angel, we’re ethereal beings! We don’t have to clean things the hard way! You just –” he snapped a finger and the basket was suddenly magically clean – “take care of it the quick way.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That is not the point! We need to talk about household chores again, Crowley. Again! You’re going to have a seat at the table and we’re going to go over the chart of things that need to be done for the eleventh time and try to –”

“Oh, I’d love to angel, really!” Crowley said over his shoulder as he made a break for it as quickly as he could without literally running. “But I’ve got a client meeting – important, very important, thwarting to be done, freelance job – you know how it is –”

“Crowley, come back here!” Aziraphale called after him, sounding exasperated.

“Can’t right now!” Crowley shouted, fingers closing around the doorknob in triumph. “Back later and we can, uh, do that thing. The talking thing. Bye!”

He made straight for the park, where he found a bench in an area he knew Aziraphale rarely visited, and set about having a long nap in the sun.

Myth: Snakes strike without warning.

Fact: Snakes will warn you before they strike – if they can sense you, that is.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Crowley warned, as Aziraphale leaned over to pick up Frederick out of the basket where he was noodled up into a tight ball.

Aziraphale straightened up. “Whyever not?”

“Because he’s in a mood.”

Aziraphale tutted. “He’s not in a mood, he’s a lovely little snake, aren’t you Frederick?” he asked, peering into the basket.

Frederick reared up his head and spat at the fuzzy angel, giving his best, loudest warning. He truly didn’t feel like biting the angel today, not unless he had no other choice.

Aziraphale pulled back, then looked up at Crowley, who made no effort whatsoever to not have a “told you so” look on his face. “What happened?”

“He had a little fight with his intended breakfast,” Crowley said.

“Which was?”

“Greckle,” Crowley said.

“All right, please explain.”

“There was a greckle hopping around on the window by your desk, and Freddie here somehow got himself up onto the sill, and tried to eat him, not realizing there was glass in between them.”

Aziraphale winced. “Did he hurt himself?”

“Hurt his pride, maybe,” Crowley said. “The stupid bird mocked him mercilessly once he saw him face plant on the window. You know how greckles are. Only thing worse than a greckle is a starling.”

Aziraphale hrmed in agreement. He couldn’t put his finger quite on why, but even he knew that starlings were utter bastards.

TELL HIM TO STAY AWAY! Frederick shrieked, his voice somewhat muffled by the fact that his head was buried beneath several loops of his body. I’M FEELING VERY BITEY!

“He says to stay away, he’s feeling bitey,” Crowley dutifully translated.

Aziraphale sat down and picked up his teacup. “Well,” he said pleasantly, “nice of him to warn me off, I suppose. Better than just sinking his teeth into my thumb. He’s a good snake, regardless of what any bird might have said.”

“Shh, angel, he’ll hear you,” Crowley said. “And then he’ll just be unbearable.”

TOO LATE! Came the muffled cry from the basket.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

Myth: snakes have excellent eyesight and use it to see movement in their intended prey.

Fact: Snakes don’t always see as clearly as you might think.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said one day, a tone of inquiry in his voice.

Crowley looked up from his rather fascinating game of candy crush. “Yes?”

“I read in an article the other day that snakes can only see dichromatically – just two colors, blue and green,” Aziraphale said. “Is that true?”

“I dunno,” Crowley said. “Do you want me to ask him?”

“Ask who?”

“Frederick, you pillock,” Crowley said. “I’ve never specifically talked to him about what he sees. Could be interesting to find out.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shifting guiltily in his chair, and then lighting up with false bravado. “Why yes, that’s exactly what I meant. Yes, indeed, let’s do that. Spirit of scientific inquiry and all that!”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You meant me, didn’t you?”

“What?” Aziraphale demurred. “Heavens no. I certainly did not.”

“You did,” Crowley drawled. “Just a big ol’ serpent to you, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale looked at him pointedly. “Did you or did you not just spend two weeks mostly in snake form because it got below freezing outside?”

Crowley knew when it was time to change tactics. “Don’t you think that if I could only see the colors blue and green you would have heard about it sometime in the last six THOUSAND years?”

“Well I don’t know, do I?” Aziraphale protested. “Your eyes are very special, and it’s not like we sit around and – and paint! And I nearly ALWAYS have a blue shirt on. And the Bentley is black and the only real color in your old apartment came from the green of the plants! It seemed plausible that maybe I might have missed something.”

Crowley harrumphed. He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf to the left of the desk and ran his finger along the spines of the books there.

“Red,” he said snarkily. “Blue. Light blue. Gray. Tan. White. Kind of an orange. Dark yellow. Turquoise –”

“Oh, that last one is really more cerulean, my dear,” the angel cut in.

The demon glared at him. He came over to the desk and starting flinging Aziraphale’s pencils onto the desktop. “White. Goldenrod. Yellow. Brown. Red --”

“Actually –” the angel chirped.

“So help me, if you’re breaking in to tell me that one is more of a claret, we are going to have an argument, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked helplessly at him. “All right then,” he said faintly. “You can see colors. I don’t see what you’re so upset about.”

Crowley sat back down on the couch with a thump. He picked up his glass. “Red, by the way,” he said. “I’m drinking red.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re being such a child.” Aziraphale turned back towards his work.

They both sat in silence, Aziraphale scratching away on his ledgers and Crowley staring into space, until the demon broke the silence a few minutes later.

“We should test Frederick though,” he said. “It’d be interesting.”

Figuring out how to do so was a challenge. They’d learned that Freddie could point to things with his tail, so they finally settled on printing out a kind of simple color wheel for him that they laid in front of him on the kitchen table. Just the primary and secondary colors, plus black, white, and gray, all big and easy to identify. Then they got his agreement to look at various objects and try to tell them what color they were.

They held up an apple.

Frederick pointed to gray.

Carrot – gray. Lettuce – green. A picture of the sky – blue. Aziraphale – blue. Crowley – green.

“Wait a minute,” Crowley said. “What do you mean that he’s blue and I’m green? Our skin? Our hair? What are you seeing?”

Frederick looked confused, and confusion always made him irritated. I DON’T KNOW, he shrieked. HE’S JUST BLUE. BLUE IS SOFT. YOU’RE ALL GREEN AND SHARP.

“I’m mostly black and red,” Crowley pointed out to him, after translating for Aziraphale.

DON’T BE AN IDIOT, YOU’RE GREEN, JUST LIKE ME.

“He says he’s green too,” Crowley told Aziraphale.

“Fascinating!”

CAN WE BE DONE WITH THIS STUPID GAME NOW? Frederick shrieked. I’M COLD. PUT ME BACK UNDER THE HEAT LAMP, PLEASE!

Crowley sighed. “He says he’s done.” He picked him up and took him back to his heat lamp on the table in the office.

IF YOU’VE GOT ANY MORE STUPID IDEAS ABOUT THE STATE OF THE WORLD THAT YOU NEED DISPROVEN, JUST LET ME KNOW! Freddie said sarcastically as he settled back in his warm spot.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Crowley assured him. “You’re first on the list.”

HONESTLY, BLACK AND RED. YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE.

Crowley turned the lamp up to just the right setting, and left him to continue to snicker quietly to himself about his ridiculous owners.

Myth: Snakes are social animals and enjoy the company of other snakes.

Fact: Snakes, in general, do not like other snakes.

Despite the many, many instances in which Aziraphale threatened to never take him out of the bookstore ever again, the angel often couldn’t resist taking Frederick out for a stroll on a particularly nice day. All the snake had to do was look at him in a certain way – a sort of helpless, pouty kind of expression, punctuated by a tiny tongue flick – and the fluffy one would roll his eyes, stuff him in a pocket or wrap him around his neck, and bring him along on his intended walk through the park. Frederick, for his part, would contentedly hiss and settle in for the ride, determined to be good.

It wasn’t his fault if at least some of the time, a rambunctious bird made that impossible. And better not to discuss the incident with the rat beneath the raspberry bush at all. Some things were best forgotten.

On this particular day, the fluffy one and the pointy one were heading out to St. James with a bag of frozen peas for the ducks when Frederick decided he was not going to be left behind.

YO SNAKEBIRD, he shouted. I WANNA COME.

Crowley checked in with the angel, then shrugged and came over to his basket and picked him up. “Fine,” he said, draping the snake around his neck, “but you’re riding with me.”

Fine with him, Frederick thought. The nice thing about riding around Crowley’s neck was that they could actually talk the whole time. He curled up with his head on the demon’s shoulder, facing front, so he could watch all the people going by and insult them as needed. This was going to be fun.

It was a warm, beautiful day in early spring, and it seemed like half of London had headed to the park. They saw on a bench and fed the ducks their peas, then spread a blanket out on a sunny hillside and sprawled out for a rest. They were sitting there, munching on olives, when suddenly Frederick hissed and pulled his head up to stare pointedly at something.

“What?” Crowley said. “What is it?”

JUST LOOK! The snake shrieked. LOOK AT THAT!

Both of his companions turned to follow the direction he was pointing in and saw a man sitting about ten yards away. He was slim, with tight cropped hair and tattoos visible on both arms, but what was most notable about him was the extremely large yellow and white snake that was wrapped around his neck and shoulders. The snake appeared to be a yellow boa, intricately patterned in yellow and white, and had to be close to eight feet long. It literally rippled with muscle and a sense of tightly coiled power. It laid with its head on the man’s chest, languid and warm in the sun.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said. “What a lovely specimen!” He immediately felt both of his companions turn to glare at him and couldn’t quite help himself from needling them just a little. “I mean, he’s such a lovely color… I do like yellow, you know.”

“That’s enough, angel,” Crowley hissed. “You’re insulting both of us, here.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I’m insulting you both by admiring another snake?”

YES YOU ARE, DUHHHHHH, Frederick shouted.

Crowley translated. “Especially him,” he added.

WE HATE HIM, Frederick howled.

“We do,” Crowley confirmed, continuing to share Freddie’s comments with the angel.

Aziraphale blinked. “Well,” he said firmly, “I do think the yellow, while attractive, is a bit showy. I much prefer snakes in shades of black and red, as you both know.”

Crowley rolled his shoulders and allowed himself to be mollified as Aziraphale went back to his book. He and Frederick, though, continued to watch the yellow boa and make sneering comments to each other.

“He’s not very smart, is he?” Crowley muttered at one point as the boa just… laid there.

TOTAL POSER, Frederick agreed.

The snake, possibly picking up on some of the negativity wafting his way from a few blankets over, lifted its head and sighted them both for a moment, flicking its tongue out to scent them, and then went back to staring at whatever it had been staring at before. It looked unimpressed.

“All brawn, no brains,” Crowley said under his breath.

STRICTLY DECORATIVE.

“Couldn’t catch a bird if his life depended on it.”

PROBABLY TOO FAT TO EVEN MOVE.

Aziraphale slapped his book shut. “Will you two please stop?” he said. “You’re going to start some kind of skirmish and I’m going to have to separate everyone and then one of us is going to punched by the rather muscle-bound owner of the snake in question, and then I will be very put out.”

Frederick and Crowley both looked at him, Crowley blinking innocently and Frederick doing his best completely-harmless look.

“Why do you hate him anyways?” he asked, puzzled. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

Crowley, eloquent as always shrugged.

JUST DO, Frederick shrieked. DON’T LIKE OTHER SNAKES.

Crowley dutifully translated.

“But… you two like each other,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley and Frederick looked a little surprised at that, and they eyed each other warily for a moment as if startled to be reminded that this should have been an issue between them.

Crowley flapped a hand around dismissively. “That’s different,” he said. “Freddie’s the only true snake here. I’m a serpent demon. It’s not the same thing at all.”

HE’S HALF BIRD, Frederick squawked indignantly. IT DOESN’T COUNT.

Plus, he thought, well aware that he’d never share these thoughts with either of them, Crowley was just cool. He was the largest snake Freddie had ever seen or heard of, he could fly, he had magic powers, and he was, inexplicably, a member of his family. He wasn’t about to look a gift serpent in the mouth. He knew he was one lucky king snake to end up where he was.

“Snakes don’t like other snakes,” Crowley said. “You know that. We aren’t social creatures.”

I DON’T LIKE THE LOOK OF HIM. Frederick screeched. LET’S GO OVER AND TALK TO HIM AND TELL HIM HE’S STUPID.

“Perhaps we should go,” Aziraphale said, sensing trouble.

PROBABLY, Freddie shouted. I’M PRETTY SURE I’LL END UP BEATING HIM UP IF WE STAY.

“It would save him the humiliation,” Crowley affirmed.

HE’D PROBABLY CRY.

“Almost certainly.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tucked his book away and stood up and pushed the other two aside to shake out the blanket. He rolled it up into a tight cylinder and tucked it inside the picnic basket, then ushered Crowley and his juvenile delinquent towards the sidewalk in the opposite direction from the boa.

“Keep walking,” he said tersely as they both turned their heads to take one last glare at the yellow serpent.

The boa’s owner, looking vaguely amused, raised a hand in greeting to Aziraphale, who politely waved back.

Too bad, he thought. He seemed like a nice man. It would have been interesting to talk to him about his snake friend and see if he had any tips to share. He had the sudden urge to read more of his snake book at home, and see if he could ever hope to understand these two. He’d have to find something distracting for them both to do when they returned to the shop.

#good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #snek fiction #understanding your snake

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