#you are putting poison in your own dinner and then wondering why we feel like shit

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

I need to call the pharmacy to refill my prescription. My pill bottle is on the bedside table. If I sit up I can reach it and get the Rx number and call the pharmacy and refill my meds. The idea of sitting up and reaching over is fucking unbearable and feels impossible to do. The pill bottle is in view. It is like 3 inches out of my reach. If I don't call it in today I won't have my refill in time for the holidays. I physically cannot make myself sit up and grab the bottle. This is what we in the business call absolute bullshit.

[yerimbrit]

[flufftober day 11, wc: 1.4k] - murder mystery dinner : WWIB

“OH MY GOD!” someone screams, frozen in shock when the body turned over is revealed to be none other than y/n, the host of the whole dinner party. she’s unmoving, cold, and, wonyoung—or rather, the rising supermodel sarah coulter—gasps, “she’s been murdered!”

wait, wait, wait. let’s backtrack—how did we even end up in this situation? well, for starters, it’s basically halloween. maybe 20 days early, but regardless, basically halloween. and since y/n is such a genius (yes, clap all you want), she decided she wanted to host a dinner party involving everyone she talks to. which is a bit much for a dinner party, for someone who claims to not talk to too many people.

cryptic invitations were handed out mysteriously in a number of methods, including but not limited to: slipping it in the invitee’s locker, having a stranger pass it to the invitee, the invitee magically finding it in their pocket, and probably more—y/n doesn’t remember all that info. with the invitation were the details and an assigned role when scanning a qr code, along with a form where you would put your fake name to be addressed by. 

the location for the dinner party is a decently sized and lavishly-decorated party venue, with a small seating area near a bar top (serving non-alcoholic drinks, of course) and a short corridor leading to a locked dining room. guests arrived in their finest attire befitting of their assigned character, mingled for a bit wondering where y/n was, and when allowed in the mysterious locked area, were struck by horror to see the host herself on the floor and (supposedly) unconscious.

hyunseo makes brisk strides over to the body, her stethoscope shaking around her neck as she moves. as she kneels down on one knee, she presses two fingers against the pulse point on y/n’s neck and pats her face, sneakily glancing at a cue card she pulled out from her pocket a second ago. “blue around the mouth… and she’s super stuff-” she squints at the card, “stiff.” 

guests crowd and clamor around the physician, and she looks to them, “it could be poison, it also smells kind of fruity.”

minji side-eyes hanni who’s about to make some kind of joke, and it shuts her up. “but who could it be? it’s not like she poisoned herself.”

hanni raises her hand, suddenly poised and in character, “i, farandoliah von siegmeyer, have a statement to make.”

“okay, miss siegmeyer-”

“it’s farandoliah von siegmeyer, thank you, detective boonville!” she interrupts minji valiantly.

the detective replies curtly, “i am not calling you by your full legal name, miss siegmeyer. but do go on.”

everyone watches the heiress intently, curious to hear what she has to say in the midst of this tragedy; an alibi? or an accusation? “i saw eleonora and greg lingering over by the corridor,” hanni points to hyein and rei, or greg and eleonora respectively, whose faces twist into offense, “also, it wasn’t me because i was chatting up detective boonville at the bar.”

hyein adjusts her blazer which is sitting fashionably around her shoulders, her arms not in the sleeves. “this is extremely disrespectful, miss farandoliah von siegmeyer,” she spits out, “i’ll have you know i was just checking the venue out with eleonora.”

“i was only there for five minutes and left, greg was still there after i made a full lap though,” rei adds, taking her sunglasses off and folding them, tucking them into the breast pocket of her own blazer. the ceo turns to the bodyguard angrily, practically fuming. a cue card flies out of her hand and onto the floor, and everyone tries not to look at the fallen item.

“are you claiming that i murdered august!? believe me, i don’t even know why her face is blue, apparently because of poison, why would i murder august?” hyein defends herself, “if anything, miss madeline is suspicious because she kept glancing over; i could almost feel her gaze burning into my skin while i was over there.”

the guests’ attention shifts to jiwon, the librarian, who is wiping the lenses of her specs and then frowns. “i was staring because i saw lysithea going into the room.”

now they whip their heads to haerin, who furrows her brow. minji crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “what were you doing inside the locked room?”

eunchae puts a hand into her pocket and checks a silver pocket watch which was awfully familiar to the observant eyes of danielle who then glares at her. “why do you have her watch? what would the bartender have to do with august’s watch?”

the bartender shrugs, “i took it when i saw her before you guys came in, looked expensive. hey yura, i heard you and lysithea are quite close to august, am i mistaken?”

danielle purses her lips, keeping mum about the situation. haerin looks back at minji, who has been keeping the journalist under her scrutiny. “i was having a conversation with august, and then i came back out. miss hunter,” her eyes flit to danielle briefly, “then approached me and we exchanged some… pleasantries, and she went into the room after me.”

the artist’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, unable to think of something to use as her alibi. she tries to pull her own cue card out, but something else falls from her paint-stained apron pocket, clattering to the floor. it’s a small bottle of a car maintenance product, labeled with a sticker. minji picks it up before she can, and widens her eyes, “miss hunter, what are you doing with antifreeze?”

“i,” danielle gulps, “i forgot to put it back after i used it on my car before i came here.”

wonyoung’s snooping around y/n’s body, feeling around her pockets and finding two pieces of paper. her touch makes the (well, supposed to be) dead body giggle and then stop abruptly.

(“wony-unnie, stop, i’m ticklish!” y/n whisper-shouts, not opening her eyes. wonyoung grins at her and sticks out her tongue.)

“there’s two letters on august!” the model stands up, brandishing the papers in her hand, “they seem to be from yura hunter and lysithea melbme.”

she hands them to minji, who opens one with skepticism. “my dear love august, it is a joy to attend this dinner party that you host. i’ve missed you dearly; we’ve both been so busy, our work leaves no time to go on those escapades we had back in college nowadays… i’d like to ask if you’d be up to coming with me after dinner, just the two of us. i still love you, and i’d hope you’d feel the same after we met again last weekend. sincerely, lysithea.”

danielle is biting her lip in anger and what seems to be betrayal and hurt. minji opens the other paper and clears her throat, “hey august, i know we just saw each other a few days ago but i missed you. i’ll keep it short, but do you want to hang out after this? i’ve got something really, really important to tell you. fancy me for a few, yeah? best, yura.”

“you’ve been seeing august?” haerin faces danielle, “i thought you were the one who dumped her all those years ago.”

“we made up,” danielle grits her teeth, “and i thought you haven’t seen each other in years. so that lipstick stain was yours on her collar, wasn’t it?”

“that’s beside my point. look, just because you’re jealous that she loves me and not you, doesn’t excuse the fact that you gave her antifreeze!? she’s dead, yura,” the journalist grabs the artist’s collar in rage, “dead! this goes beyond any revenge. what happened to moving on like a normal person, huh!?”

the artist looks away, ashamed, but quickly sneers at haerin, “so what if i did? i knew i wasn’t going to have august. but most of all, i didn’t want you to have her, not after you stole her away while we were on a break.”

haerin opens her mouth, only to be stopped by ‘august’ herself, who has sat up in concern. “congrats on solving the murder…? that escalated really quickly, what the heck.”

everyone’s characters break, and the chatter starts up again. haerin and danielle exchange a look that y/n can’t quite piece together, so she stands up and dusts off her legs and walks up to them. “it was fun watching you two fight over me, you know. also, if you guys could sit down for the actual dinner, that would be great.”

“we get to eat!?” hanni exclaims and gets a hand slapped over her mouth by minji, “ow! what was that for?”

there’s five on each side, with y/n at one end of the table. she holds a glass of apple cider up, smiling at the mess she orchestrated a couple of minutes ago. “to the murder of august walter!”

“you still have blue around your lips.”

“shut up, greg.”

flufftober masterlist!

a/n : THAT WAS NOT UNDER 1K IM SORRY but wasn't that so fun lol is this foreshadowing (it's not) (no clickbait)

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // forty-five

| @catamano

next / previous / beginning

ELION: Not at all. I’m simply accustomed to powerful women. Indeed, hierarchal structure is one of the few things in this world I enjoy. I can respect authority spoken by someone who knows firmly what they want; A commander that isn’t afraid to give commands. EIRA: But you don’t respect mine. ELION: That’s hardly the case. I respect you a great deal. But I also enjoy you greatly in other ways, so I’m inclined not to listen. It’s quite the paradox. A part of me does feel quite poorly. I’m just being ripped apart on the inside by my own internal dilemma— EIRA: Can’t you take anything seriously?! ELION: Yes. Yes I can. And I do. I’d like to get to know you. EIRA: Why? ELION: You ask me to be serious, then I will give you a very serious answer. I once loved a woman like you. You remind me of her in the most achingly beautiful way. It’s painful. And I want to feel it more. EIRA: …So it is a kink. ELION: Only partially. EIRA: laughs Ridiculous. Did she love you back? ELION: For a while. EIRA: Shocking. Let me guess, you drove her away? ELION: Not at all. I lost her. EIRA: Oh. She… I’m… sorry. ELION: She didn’t die, if that’s what you think. At least, not in that way. No, I imagine she lives, still. But the woman she once was… Death is simple, you see. We grieve in the face of it. And grief has a name and a shape. It’s understood. There are far worse things than dying. To carry on when there’s nothing left of us… That is suffering of another sort, entirely.  EIRA: And I remind you of this? Shouldn’t you resent me? ELION: Not at all. I’m reminded of the fondest memories. You see, like you, she hailed from the mountain regions; One of the snow-touched elves of the north. I wondered if you might have had elvenblood yourself. That striking color of your hair… EIRA: I’m no elf. Just unlucky. ELION: Unlucky? EIRA: My parents were perfectly plain and human, in a village of other perfectly plain humans. I imagine that’s why they threw me out when I was barely strong enough to open my eyes. I’ve been putting people off since I was an infant. So forgive me if your advances don’t exactly stir my pot. ELION: Then, my apologies. I should not have expected you to respond the same. She was, I suppose, a particular case. EIRA: How did you… meet? ELION: Very accidentally. We met during one of my assignments long ago. She was no stranger to battle; A ranger, and better with a blade than I. They say poison is a maiden’s murder weapon, but she preferred a more direct approach, and I’d never been beaten so badly. EIRA: You were sent to kill her? ELION: No, I was sent to kill her client. And I did kill him, but she certainly didn’t make it easy for me. EIRA: Well, that’s a story if I’ve ever heard one. ELION: I have many. I expect you do, too. We could exchange them sometime. I can be quite civil when I need to. Dinner, drinks, I’ll even wear my hair up. EIRA: Tch. Do I look like the type to be wined and dined? ELION: I hoped not. EIRA: Then you weren’t wrong. But I’m no one’s replacement. ELION: I would never think to replace her. But then, seeing you, I considered maybe I ought to finally move on. EIRA: Find someone else. ELION: Ah, well. Suppose I should. I’m happy to accept when I’m defeated. But you must at least give me credit for trying. For what it’s worth, I was sincere. EIRA: … ELION: About what I said before… the trials… do be careful and look after yourself. EIRA: I— ELION: Yes, I know. You’re strong. And more formidable people than you have been ground to dust in those games. Even if you do survive… I hope that when you come out on the other side, you’ll still remember just how strong you were.

[moonlight0934]

Again

Bellamy quietly paces around camp. It’s quiet, though it is the dead of night, and the only people still awake are the ones on night shift. No matter how long he laid in bed, he couldn’t seem to fall asleep, wondering when the Grounders were going to attack again. When his people were going to start dying again, and when he was going to fail to protect them again. When new memories are going to join the ones that circle around and around in his head. Lifeless bodies, blank faces, and terrified survivors.

Eventually one of the night shift guards notice him. He can’t really tell which one it is, but he just waves them off. Whoever it is turns back around, so he keeps walking circles around the dropship. His mind runs faster than his feet no matter how much he tries to force the thoughts out of his head. Eventually a hand lands on his shoulder, and he jumps. Clarke is looking at him with concern filled eyes.

“Bellamy, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Princess.”

“You don’t look fine. Come on, just come back to the dropship with me. We can talk about it.”

Bellamy shakes his head.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You are going to drop from exhaustion if you keep this up. This is the third night you’ve done this in twice as many days.”

Bellamy sighs.

“Clarke, can you just leave me alone?”

Clarke sighs too.

“Fine, I’ll leave you be, but try to get some sleep tonight. If not, I’m going to get your sister involved.”

“Yeah, and she’d tell me to just die already, so best of luck on that.”

“You two are so complicated,” Clarke mutters as she walks back towards the dropship.

Bellamy looks back to the night shift, realizing that who he made eye contact with earlier was Harper.

I bet she ratted me out to Clarke. Jeez, those two don’t know how to mind their own business.

The next day started just like normal, a lot of supervising teenagers with zero work ethic. It’s exhausting, and Bellamy only got an hour of sleep. So, he’s running on fumes by the time dinner rolls around.

At least maybe I’ll be able to sleep without seeing their faces. The kids that I was responsible for. The kids that were sent down here to die, and they did, because of me.

Octavia sits down beside him, not looking at him.

“Clarke told me that you haven’t been sleeping. I didn’t want to come over here, but she bullied me. I figured I’d sit over here for a while to make her think that we talked.”

“Ok.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just continues staring off into space while his head is in a different place.

Octavia stares at him for a minute before saying, “Wow, she wasn’t kidding. You really are being spacey today, Bell.”

“Do you want to talk, or just pretend?” Bellamy snaps, and Octavia immediately recoils.

“I was just saying. You look really off. I can see why she was worried.”

She stands up, marching over to Jasper and Monty. Bellamy puts his head in his knees, feeling like he should feel guilty though he doesn’t. He can see Clarke watching him from a few feet away where she’s eating her dinner. He ignores her, and puts his head back into his knees. No one bothers him for the rest of dinner. Once dinner is over, he heads to his tent to get some sleep. Someone follows him, but he shoos them away without even paying attention to who it is. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits his jacket.

Bellamy is walking through the forest, though it’s not a part that he recognizes. He’s alone at first. Then someone calls his name from the right. He looks over, moving far slower than he normally would though he can’t seem to think of why.

That’s when he sees it, bodies. There are bodies strewn across the forest floor, blood soaking into the dirt and grass. Monty’s face is half gone, the other part melted by poison. The eye that’s left roams around, not focusing on anything, but obviously still alive. Jasper was spared such a horror with his guts strode from his body into the distance. Harper and Monroe were both pierced by the same arrow. It went through Monroe’s heart, and struck just a little lower on Harper. Both of their eyes stare into the sky unseeingly as if they were looking back home one more time. Maybe wondering what their parents were doing, maybe thinking about what they would have been doing if they hadn’t been forced away. Bellamy looks away when he sees Murphy whose right arm is completely gone.

That’s when he notices the blood all over his hands. It covers his clothes, his hair, and every inch of uncovered skin. It seeps underneath his nails, and makes him gag. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force the horror scene out of his mind, but then someone touches his face. Their hand is cold even though they have to be alive to reach out to him, he still struggles to force his eyes open. Clarke stands in front of him also covered in blood, the blood that as leaders they were supposed to be able to stop their people from shedding. Instead their lives were extinguished, and the reminders are practically burned into Bellamy and Clarke’s skin.

“We did it wrong this time. We didn’t save them,” she says, voicing the same things that he had just been thinking. “What were we thinking when we decided to take control?”

“I don’t even remember. I just wanted Octavia to be safe,” Bellamy whispers.

“She isn’t here. In fact, she helped. She helped them, not us. We let someone that did this into our midst. We let her stay,” Clarke whispers, moving ever closer to Bellamy.

“No, O wouldn’t do that. She’s just a child, but she knows that there’s no coming back from this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. She’s not your baby sister anymore. She’s grown up, and she’s hurt people. There’s no denying that. Her loyalty belongs to Lincoln, not to us. She would let us die in a heartbeat. She even said that she blames you for all of it, everything. Your mom is dead, so you’re the only one left to blame. The only one left to take her anger out on. The one that she decided was her enemy.”

“Octavia doesn’t see me as an enemy. She’s still my sister, despite everything.”

“You’re right. No matter what she did or didn’t do, she’s still not to blame for this. We are, because we didn’t protect them. We just let them die.”

Bellamy looks down at his hands, his eyes glazing over.

“We did this?”

“Yes.”

Bellamy startles awake to see Jasper standing over him.

“What the hell?” he demands, scooting back.

“Sorry, man. I was just trying to wake you up since you didn’t show up for guard duty. Clarke is watching them while I was coming to get you.”

“Oh, right.”

Bellamy takes one last hard look at Jasper, who is still alive. He’s breathing, and ok, albeit a little traumatized. Bellamy pulls on his jacket as he walks out of the tent. Jasper follows behind him, giving him worried looks due to his hard expression. His eyes search out Monty, Monroe, Harper, and Murphy. Then last of all, he locks eyes with Clarke. She waves at him though she looks concerned too. Bellamy ignores all of that in favor of walking over.

“I’m here now so you can go.”

Clarke gives him a skeptical look, but nods.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Bellamy nods harshly, his eyes still turned away. Despite knowing that it was just a dream, he can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before it’s real.

[dream-this-nightmare-over]

my friend lives in deep forest

Our family friend's friend had a son who ran to forest

Surprise was a word of a day as the word got out 

Bruised and blue unbudging gem of most crystal truth before gathered excuses at the wake all dressed in drought

Forgotten were the screams given as answer to heart begging to be listened

Wind rippled through his clothes shadows ran ahead of him before tree line closed 

They said there was snow on his soles

I imagine he outrun his demons and held victory ball in snow covered grove

My friend goes to party of some friend who is not my friend 

I text 'have fun' then wonder how to make new friends if you are never invited anywhere 

My friend talks about birthday dinner he is taking his friends to while I am waiting behind glass for irony to be acknowledge

He played it cool said he doesnt like mixing his friend groups

There are crumbs of cake for me if i wish to come day after at tea time

We are so polite makes me want to throw up aren't we supposed to be having fun before they come with chains cause we failed to do a runner while jury was out

I would say it's karma that coincidences aligned making him revoke his invite if i weren't taught to be polite and not this spiteful monster that resides behind my smile behind all my carefully crafted lies

Bluest eyes i have ever seen outside my mind 

How did it feel when your plans fell out

Did you think of loneliness between my cracks 

Did my words come back in sinister echo from place of regret

Taking red slip out of wallet like you could ever forget what you wanted from night out

Isnt it tragic to know love is conditioned paradox: made to be loved, unable to love 

You have so much to learn

I hope you will be free one day just like birds in your inked prayer

Blame it all on the date on calendar 

Ignorance has nothing to do with supernatural 

I have always wanted to find the culprit

Why does it matter if someone doesnt care 

We will all be oblivion one day

I wonder did son of woods keep a diary 

Did he write his thoughts hoping poison will get out 

Did the realization that hopelessness has no way of getting eradicated once it takes root made his handwriting messy and impatient 

Did he break his own heart during sleepless nights that became only respite from world that only knows how to shout

Did the daydreams fail him miserably did the dreams gave up on him 

Did he hold on till winter as last hope someone would follow the foot marks and stop him 

I hope he found freedom

I hope he howls with wolves

i hope he haunts nightmares of every soul that made him feel unreasonable and fragile

I wonder did they throw away the diary 

Did they burry the guilt to survive cause that's what this is all about

Survival of cruelest.

It's never no one's fault but your own for believing someone cares how you wish to live your life 

People will do everything to kill your will to live 

Build piers for your dreams then warm their socks on ashes of your descend now that you cant fly away 

Release arsenic if needed in air you breath  to kill whats left alive

People will rather kill the good that try to give advice in good nature mistake of putting themselves on line for someone who will never change when told their behaviour hurts those around them 

Snow melted three times over since lives faded into names parents are afraid to mention in front of those that stayed

Like escaping the doom of drowning in bilge of your burned ruined silenced potential is not the bravest con 

For someone who i never really knew outside birthday parties when we were still kids when we were still all invited,

His ghost sure does work overtime to haunt my words like we have shared history unfinished business cautionary tale keeping me alert never to drop my guard keep writing poison will only get blacker but dont you let it stain your heart 

Perhaps the dead get transcript of souls similar  to avert them from going over percipice before it's too late

How long were we fighting same war unknowingly on same sides different frontlines

Who counts fallen and lost 

Who reads anymore poems of the disturbed 

Run uncorrupted child, run away dont look behind 

There is nothing here worth saving 

All the good ones are dead or snuffed out anyway.

[yesiwasateenagewerewolf]

When Richie announces to the Losers that he's dating a guy, Eddie - freshly divorced and living on his own for the first time in his life - declares, with a rather maniac gleam in his eye that he wants to throw a dinner party for the Losers to meet Richie's boyfriend.

The thing is Eddie has never thrown a dinner party before. In fact, Eddie has only recently started to cook for himself at the tender age of 41. He's teaching himself with a step-by-step guide.

So far he's made boiled eggs, fried eggs, poached eggs, scrambled eggs and he's planning to try making an omelette. The step-by-step guide starts with eggs so that's what Eddie's doing. Still he is determined he will throw a dinner party for Richie (and his boyfriend.)

Eddie goes out and buys scallops. He buys fresh pasta. He buys expensive wine. He plans an extravagant menu starting with lightly seared scallops. Then he overcooks the scallops, terrified he'll give someone food poisoning, and turns them into rubbery little bullets.

He's forlornly wondering how to save them when there's a knock at the door. It's still hours before anyone is supposed to arrive. Eddie opens the door to find Richie standing there.

"I know I'm early, but I thought you'd be freaking out so I'm offering my services as a sous chef," Richie says, wandering in and rolling up his sleeves. He heads straight for the kitchen and surveys the mess Eddie has made.

Eddie trails behind him, slightly mesmerised by the fact that Richie knows him so well. Richie scrapes the rubbery scallops into the bin and suggests they make a salad for a appetizer. He sets Eddie to chopping vegetables while he tastes the ragù Eddie has made.

It tastes like beef, tomatoes and salt. "Don't worry! We can fix it," Richie assures, opening one of the expensive bottles of wine and pouring some into the ragù. He hunts through Eddie's fridge and finds garlic and onions which also get added.

Eddie has been tending to a small collection of fresh herbs which he keeps on his kitchen window sill because his cookery guide said fresh herbs would taste better. Richie picks some thyme, bemused, and adds it to the pot.

"Eds, why are you growing these if you don't use them?"

"I was going to! I was going to try an omelette with chives if the plain omelette went well."

Richie smiles fondly. "We can always make omelettes if everything else fails."

He helps Eddie make a simple salad dressing from the oils and vinegars in Eddie's cupboards and Eddie is surprised by how delicious it all is. Richie even slices up the organic sourdough Eddie buys to make a bread basket for the table. It's rustic and homey. Eddie loves it.

It's nothing like Eddie planned, but it's so much better. He sets the table while Richie washes his hands and heads off to pick up his boyfriend.

Left alone, Eddie puts his head in his hands and sobs.

He realises - too late - that he did all of this to impress Richie. That he wanted to show Richie he could be good partner material. He wanted to make Richie a delicious homecooked meal, host a fabulous party, make Richie feel adored and loved.

Instead Richie was the one who showed what a good partner he'd be. Thoughtful, understanding, helpful. Things Eddie knows people wouldn't believe if he told them but things Richie has always been for Eddie. And Eddie was so happy cooking with him, playing house, being domestic.

But this is a dinner party to meet Richie's boyfriend and Eddie, because the universe really does love making Eddie miserable, has just realized he's in love with Richie. He goes to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, worried the other will know he was crying.

The Losers arrive. Richie arrives for the second time, but now with a young man called Anthony. Anthony is nice. He's an actor - mostly on the stage, but he's had some small parts in police procedurals.

He's younger than Richie, but doesn't run afoul the 'half your age plus seven' dating rule that everyone outside of Eddie seemed to know about. He's polite, nice, offers to help clear the plates which Eddie won't hear of because he's a guest.

When Eddie starts clearing the table, Richie just joins him, following Eddie into the kitchen and asking about desert. Eddie - horrified - realizes he never even thought about dessert. Richie tells him to brew some espresso and hunts through Eddie's fridge for ice cream.

Five minutes later and with just two ingredients - espresso and vanilla ice cream - Eddie is serving Affogato and blushing at the compliments he gets from Bev (who spent time in Italy) and Bill (who really likes Affogato and how did Eddie know?)

Everything is cosy and relaxed and intimate in the best way. Eddie doesn't even really register Anthony after a while. He drinks wine and talks to his friends, catches Richie watching him and smiling proudly.

It's so good until, one-by-one, the other Losers start to stand and stretch and yawn and tell Eddie they had a wonderful time but they need to be going now. In the end it's just Richie, Eddie and Anthony left.

"I should get a head start on the washing up," Eddie says. Richie nods.

"Yeah, I should be getting this young man home."

Anthony swats at him playfully and Eddie's heart aches.

He says goodbye to them and goes into the kitchen, needing to be alone.

He hears Richie linger, telling Anthony on the doorstep that he just wants to say thank you again and that Anthony should wait for him in the car.

Then Richie is back, in Eddie's kitchen, relaxed and happy, grinning wide.

"I just wanted to say thanks again, Eddie. It really means a lot to me this party and you hosting it. I'm gonna deny I said any of this tomorrow and blame it on the wine, but I was really worried me coming out and dating guys would change things between us."

"I'd blame the Clown but it's not like the 80s were an enlightened age. It's shitty but I still had your voice in my head telling me I'd get AIDs if I touched a subway pole. I know we were just stupid kids and you didn't mean it, but your mom...fuck this is coming out wrong."

"It just means a lot to me. That's all. It just really means a lot to me."

"Richie, I..."

Eddie doesn't know what he was going to say, but then it doesn't matter because he's kissing Richie, and Richie is kissing him.

They're kissing in Eddie's kitchen while Richie's boyfriend waits for him in the car downstairs. It's so wrong but Eddie doesn't stop it. He lets Richie push him back against the counter, moans into the kiss, clinging to Richie, hungry for everything he can get.

Richie is the one who breaks away, who looks at Eddie with wide-eyed fear - as if seeing Eddie for the first time - the one who books it out of Eddie's apartment as fast as his legs will carry him.

Eddie quietly cleans up, trying not to think about what just happened.

He's about to go to bed when there's a knock on his door.

He opens it to find Richie standing there.

"I broke up with Anthony," Richie says, watching Eddie wearily, as if he expects Eddie to shut the door on him.

Instead Eddie takes his hand and kisses him again.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

DC

Sneaking out for Superhero Teenagers: a Guide by White_Tiger94

Bruce has rules about his kids meeting other heroes. Namely, that they shouldn’t. But Tim needs to take care of a problem in Central City, and Bruce is out of town. So what's the harm in sneaking out of town and doing it himself without letting anyone know. What could go wrong?

Batkids meet the Justice League!Fic

All For The Game

One Thing Right by notyouranswer (gorgeouschaos)

Nathaniel spends five years as a Raven. Kevin never gives Andrew a reason to live. Nathaniel and Andrew still find each other.

SVSSS

What's A King To A God? by Zizzani

Part 1 of System Override

On a mission with Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, Mobei-jun meets an unfortunate end.

Shang Qinghua seizes his authorial rights.

Clone Wars

what your heart used to be by draculard

Obi-Wan never lets his friends know when he's injured.

Ahsoka wonders why.

Wizard of the Jundland Wastes by phoenixyfriend

“Jeedai,” someone hisses, fear and wonder and confusion in one.

“He saved one of our own,” Madame Lilliroot snaps. “He’s been nothing but kind, and he lives alone out in the Wastes. That man came here to get away from trouble, and we’re not going to ruin that for him just because we now know what the trouble was. Am I clear?”

It takes a moment, but everyone nods eventually. They’re used to hiding runaway slaves, if they have the room to put them up, and lying for the sake of others if they don’t. They can hide a runaway Jedi, if that’s what Ben is.

“Nobody speaks a word. Not to the Hutts, not to traders, not to family, not to troopers. Nobody talks.”

poisoned chalice by qigiined

“Hello, padawan Kenobi,” Master Dooku says, kneeling down and offering Obi-Wan a hand to shake.

Obi-Wan’s eyes follow him. He says nothing even as he lowers his head and takes Master Dooku’s hand. Master doesn’t let on, but Qui feels a little blip of intrigue at Obi-Wan’s size, or rather, his lack thereof.

“My name is Yan Dooku,” Master explains, “I am the master of your master. I sent your master an invitation for you and him to join the rest of our lineage for a meal. How does that sound to you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says.

(Dooku organizes a dinner party for his lineage. Qui-Gon struggles the the fallout of putting his youngest apprentice's welfare before his master's demands.)

Bonding Rituals by blackkat (+ podfic)

Cody smirks, tilting his head. “Sounds like Fox has a date,” he says, and Rex is suddenly, vividly reminded of the fact that Cody and Fox are batchmates. Something must have gone wrong with the cloning process there, because that much asshole in one batch should be physically improbable. For a moment, he almost feels sorry for Fox.

Then he remembers that Fox yelled at Fives last time they ran into each other during an escort mission on the front, and decides that he actually doesn’t.

What you hear is not silence by Lady_Iwa

When Obi-Wan Kenobi and Mace Windu get a rather insistent Force-vision directing their attention to the Rishi base, the last thing they expect is to find a Force-sensitive clone who may very well change the course of the war.

Or: Ghost Company gets five new shinies, Obi-Wan gets a padawan, Cody gets a new perspective on things, and Mace gets a (many) headache.

handpicked by smilebackwards

“Boil,” Cody called over the voice comm, because this was getting ridiculous. “Why is everyone comming me that we need to name the ship the Negotiator?”

“Oh,” Boil said. “Yeah, about that.”

[buckys-black-dress]

all the signs i don't read

a/n: guys!!! I'M OFFICIALLY DONE WITH MY FIRST YEAR OF UNI! i'm sooo happy to finally be done, i can focus on writing more for you guys this summer :) here's a lil somethin' i whipped up after my last final today. enjoy! xoxo, ali <3

wc: 2.5k words

[bucky barnes x fem!reader]

read part two here!

-

You never thought anything of it.

You never thought anything of it when every time someone would come into the room, Bucky would act like he couldn't stand being touched by you.

It was little things, at first.

You would be in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee for him and you. He would be holding you from behind, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. And then Steve, or someone else, would walk into the room.

And he would shake off your touch, like you were poison.

It never hurt less.

But it's not like you could ever make a scene out of it, or anything. Because nobody even knew you and Bucky had been dating for the past two months.

You had no one to turn to in this situation. No one knew you two were together, and you kind of messed this up for yourself when you agreed to all of this at the beginning of your relationship. Bucky had told you he wasn't really ready for PDA, and you had told him, in a haste, that it was fine.

But after two months of extremely close calls, your patience was wearing thin, and you know it sounds bad. But you've been extremely careful with him, always asking asking him if everything was okay before going further with anything involving physical touch. You always made sure you weren't crossing any boundaries, but it was starting to get frustrating.

You couldn't understand why Bucky could get all touchy-feely with Steve and Natasha when he felt like it, but was practically gagging at your touch.

You were currently cuddled up on his bed, watching a movie. You were on cloud nine, basking in the warmth of your boyfriend's touch. This was one of the rare instances where he would let you get this close. It was nice, and you made sure to always take advantage of it if the situation presented.

You could feel Bucky's gaze fixed upon you as the colors of the TV screen reflected onto your skin. Your eyes dip down to his, and a warm smile graces your face as your eyes meet.

You couldn't ever put into words how happy Bucky made you. You had liked him for so long before he even asked you out, and you were over the moon the day he had brought up wanting to take you out.

It was another night of dinner with just the two of you. Everyone else was on a mission, and since you two were the only ones left, you had decided to make the decision to make food for the both of you.

"James?" Your voice resounded through the empty kitchen and dining room.

"Yeah, honey?" He answered, painting your face red in a blush.

"Do you... just- nevermind." You shake your head, looking back down at your plate.

"Hey, look at me." He says, putting his hand over yours. "I was actually tryin' to figure out how to ask you this..."

Your brows are pulled together, wondering what he was talking about.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, James." You reassure him. You were grateful that he was such a good friend to you, and that he trusted you enough to open up to you.

"I was wonderin'... would you like to... go out on a date with me sometime?" He asks, holding your gaze.

You're sure you look like a fish out of water right now, your mouth opening and closing in shock. He wanted to ask you out?

"I just... I like spending time with you, I like how you call me James, I like how you don't judge me and how long it's taken me to get comfortable here. I like how kind you are, and how you've always asked the others to be patient with me, so... would you like to go out on a date with me?" He held such hope in his eyes.

"I... I would love to, James." You reply after a moment of silence.

"I'm so happy you said yes." He smiles warmly. "But just... don't mention it to anyone? I don't want Steve or Sam on my case. You know how they can be sometimes." He smiles, and you nod at his request.

"Of course, James. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, we can go at your pace." Your tone was soft and understanding.

"Thanks, doll. You don't understand how much it means to me." Bucky returns your soft smile, and scoots his seat closer to yours.

His gaze was fixed on you, and while you were playing over the time in your head, Bucky leans in and pecks your lips gently.

"Hm, what're ya thinkin' of, honey?" He questions, sensing your mind was elsewhere.

"I was just thinking of that night when... when you first asked me on a date. How sweet you were." You smile coyly, leaning back in for another kiss.

Your stomach fluttered at Bucky's hum of approval at your actions. He deepened the kiss, motioning for you to fully sit on his lap. Bucky gently placed each of your legs on the sides of his thighs, his hands grasping your hips.

As he stared from your eyes to your lips, back up to your eyes, you felt lightheaded. This was the most intimate the two of you have gotten so far, and you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Soon enough, your lips are back on his, moulding onto his like you two were made for each other. Although you two loved watching movies together in each others' rooms, (to avoid prying eyes, of course) you have never been so close to him before like this.

You felt yourself getting high on his affection, and once you had it, you didn't think you could ever go without it.

As Bucky's grip on you tightens, your hands move up to his shoulders, also moving to grasp them. Your hips move with a mind of their own, grinding against his lap.

You didn't think anything of it, but Bucky freezes at the action. His hands stop their gentle strokes along your sides. His lips pause their actions, and you feel him pulling away.

Both physically and emotionally.

"James, is everything alright?" You ask wearily, truly perplexed. Everything was going so well...

"I just... I can't do this, Y/N. I- I'm so sorry... I can't do this with you." He leans back, and limply moves his hands to flop onto the bed at his sides.

"O-Oh," Your voice breaks as you process his words. He didn't want you. This has all been a joke to him. Even in private, your touch made him uncomfortable.

"I... I have to go." You slide off Bucky's lap, gathering your belongings from the end of his bed and rushing out the door.

Without even a glance behind you, the door slams, and Bucky is sat dumbfounded on his bed. Why did I do that? He thinks to himself. Why did I say that to her?

As tears filled your eyes, you just pray that no one will see you. Unfortunately, your room was on another floor, and you think the stairwell would be the best option to avoid people at this point in time.

But of course, as fate has it, Steve is taking the stairs up. You can tell he's probably just returned from his nightly run, as he's sweating through his shirt.

You quickly wipe your eyes, hoping they look too puffy. Your nose was probably red, too, but just sniffle to clear it.

At the sound of your nose, Steve's head shoots up. Your eyes meet, and you plaster on possibly the fakest smile you've ever produced.

"Steve! How was your run?" You ask enthusiastically, trying to make it seem like you were just fine.

"Yeah, it was good. Took a bit of a longer route today. What are you doing here? You never take the stairs." He asks with a raised brow.

"I uh... I was watching a movie, and I had some snacks that were sitting a little heavy on my stomach. I thought a flight of stairs or two could do me some good." You shrug, trying to look as unsuspecting as possible.

"Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes seem a little red." Steve counters. He could feel that something was off.

"Y-Yup, I was watching a sad movie, you know how I get." You give a fake laugh, turning back around. "I have to head back, but good talk, Steve. Enjoy the rest of your night!" You practically yell while walking away from him.

The door of the stairs close behind you in a haste, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. You hated lying, but it's not like you could've said anything to Steve. He had no clue about anything having to do with you and Bucky.

While you locked yourself away to your room for the rest of the night, Bucky was still trying to process the events. How in the matter of a minute, he managed to shift your entire relationship. He was kicking himself, trying to figure out how to fix this. He couldn't seek out advice from Steve like he normally would in situation like this, or ask Natasha. Usually, she was the one to help him when it came to women these days.

But now, he was on his own.

And he was fucked.

So, he had two options.

One, go to Steve. Confess everything; dating you for the past two months, admit he was an idiot and didn't want anyone to know. Realize it would've been fine if everyone knew because everyone loved you. Try to win you back.

Or two, try to get you back on his own. And let's be honest, that option was not looking too good. Clearly, Bucky was clueless in this topic.

So now, he was left to stew.

That night, you drifted into a dreamless sleep with a heavy heart and a tear-soaked pillow.

-

The next few days were... rough, to say the least.

You could barely drag yourself out of bed. You would leave your warm blankets and pillows around eleven each day, which was unheard of for you. Natasha and Wanda would stop you on your way to the kitchen, and try to pry the problem out of you.

Sweetie, this isn't healthy for you.

Honey, just tell us what's wrong. We're here for you.

Y/N, we're worried about you. We love you, but you look horrible.

That last on made you crack a smile, but shook your head and headed in to make yourself a coffee.

For the first time in two months, you were only making coffee for you.

And fuck, was it killing you.

You so badly wanted someone to wrap you up in a hug, rub your back, and tell you it was okay. To tell you your touch was comforting, that they wanted to be close to you.

But of course, fairytales weren't real. You were alone again, and it seemed that it would stay that way for a long time.

No matter what you did, all you could hear in your head was James' words. I'm sorry, I can't do this with you. With you. With you. With you.

And you couldn't help but wonder. What was it about you that was so repulsive to him? You were understanding from the beginning. You just thought he wasn't ready for PDA, that he just wanted his privacy, you understood.

But what you didn't get was how James could have asked you out on a date, how he could've kissed you, for fuck's sake, and yet be so ashamed to be seen with you.

So you allowed yourself to only wallow for five days. You only gave yourself these next five days to feel sorry for yourself, whatever you needed to be pathetic for a few days, but that's it. After that, no more.

You were tired of feeling like you weren't good enough for anyone, like you were a burden. You were an amazing person, and if some people couldn't see that, it wasn't your problem.

You were done.

-

During your five days, you hadn't seen Bucky once. And of course, as your luck would have it, day two brought you your ex-boyfriend.

All in his glory, in the kitchen.

With not one, but two mugs of coffee.

His eyes meet yours, and you see a light in his. But you made sure you were quick to put that out.

"Do you need something, Bucky?" You all but sneer, and his soft smile drops.

"I just... I was about to bring you some coffee. Just how you like it, iced and black." He tries the smile again.

"No thank you, I'd rather make it myself." You turn your stare to the coffee machine, grabbing a capsule and sticking it in the machine before sliding it shut.

Bucky just stands there, dumbfounded. Again.

This seems to be a trend with you.

"Y/N, come on. Let's just sit down and talk about this. Let's go to your room, or maybe mine-" He begins, but you couldn't be bothered with him anymore.

"You know what, Bucky? No. If you want to talk, we can do it out here, for anyone to see. What are you afraid of? Me? Scared that someone will see you with me? God forbid, someone sees that you like me, right? God fucking forbid someone actually is proud-" your voice cracks in an ugly way, and even though you don't want to seem weak in front of him, you continue, "proud to be with me. I gave myself time. Time to understand why on Earth you seemed so... so disgusted to be with me. So ashamed.

And I got over. I am not going to let you make me feel like I'm anything less of a great person, and anyone would be lucky to have me. So screw you, and your secret relationships. I'm done."

By the end of your speech, tears had definitely made it down your cheeks, and your coffee was long forgotten as you turned to move out of the kitchen.

Bucky's eyes had widened at your words, realizing the weight of his mistake. He had made you feel so small, so repulsive and you thought all those things about yourself were true.

But they couldn't have been further from it.

Bucky loved you. He had only had you for two months, but in that short time, he was so hellbent on keeping you a secret. On showing the others that he wasn't weak, that he was still a big, tough guy. That he didn't need a girl to comfort him, or to help him through the nightmares.

But you were the best thing he ever had, and now you were slipping away.

But if Bucky is anything, he's a determined man. And he's determined on getting you back.

-

a/n: aw shit, what's gonna happen?? don't worry, i would never leave y'all hanging like this. part 2 will be coming shortly :) in the meantime, enjoy whatever this is. love, ali <3

read part two here!

[danafeelingsick]

Ooh since it’s his birthday, can we have Diluc dealing with the aftermath of a birthday dinner gone wrong? Perhaps something was sour but he didn’t realize until it’s too late. Emeto ensues.

anon, i think i wrote way too much... i was halfway through this thing when i stopped and re-read your request and realized you didn't specify any caretaker, and the word aftermath kept nagging at me, like, it's supposed to be after. and i wrote a whole birthday party scene. so! i made one part, almost like an alternate ending to what i was writing originally. and i'll post the second part as soon as i'm done with it. but for now, here's your request.

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ, ᴅɪʟᴜᴄ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1.5

NON-KINK BLOGS AND MINORS DNI

PART 1

PART 2

In which Diluc has to deal alone with the consequences of overeating at a birthday dinner.

ᴀᴏ3

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ alcohol mention, induced vomiting, mentioned fainting, light stuffing, overeating, food poisoning, throat finger!ng

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ 3,4k~

❝𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎.❞

Diluc found himself silently thanking the wind for leaving the streets completely empty that night. The cold biting breeze left him shuddering, seeming to open gashes into his coat every time it blew over him.

No wonder no one was around, with the city's main tavern closed for the night, and not a single bard to entertain the passersby, why would anyone be? At least no one would see the pitiful face of distaste the young man had, for that he was grateful to the cold wind.

That gratitude, however, didn't extend to its archon, for he knew now the former didn't have a hand in it. As far as he could tell, that drunkard wasn't even in Mondstadt anymore.

The darknight hero suddenly stopped where he was, gripping a nearby wall as he felt a shuddering wave of nausea wash over him, leaving him dizzy and distrustful of his sights. It wouldn't be the first time it happened that night, each step he took would make him feel heavier and heavier.

How could he let this happen? He thought, bringing a hand to cover his mouth as a low sickly belch flew past his lips.

Diluc had been hopeful this dreadful day would go by and none would be privy to it. He had been naive, so naive to think any would respect his wishes, and let him enjoy his birthday in peace.

Was it even his birthday still? He looked up to see the full moon casting its silver light down on him. It should be past midnight by now, just another day like any other.

As it should be. Hell, he should've realized sooner when Charles dismissed him so nonchalantly, saying he could very well take care of the bar on his own. And how cordial the maids had been, when they would normally cower around him. Even Kaeya, who hadn't seen him all day, managed to track him down and refused to leave his side until he came with him to the Knight's headquarters under the guise of some business meeting.

“Ugh…”, Diluc grimaced as he recalled the shouts of surprise, and that slimy smirk on Kaeya's face as he bared his way out.

His gut had already cowered in anticipation as he saw the feast cluttering the table. Diluc wasn't someone weak of stomach, but having so much food crammed in his belly in such a short period ensured a bad time later on. And to top it all off, he was sure something he ate had gone sour.

He wouldn't put it past him, given how unfavorable luck had been to his side that day, and how Kaeya had arranged that impromptu birthday party. Each guest had brought a dish of their own, resulting in varying qualities in culinary and presentation.

The Outrider, Amber as he recalled it, had tried her hand at preparing Sweet Madames and Sticky Honey Roasts, trying to fill in the absence of the traveler as they were out somewhere in a land beyond the sea. After a bite or two, Diluc just couldn't stomach any more of it, the chewy texture and the sheer abuse of seasoning quickly became too much for him, no matter how much she insisted.

While Jean's mushroom pizzas had been a palate cleanser, and Eula's moon pies had been filling enough, there were simply too many dishes to sample properly. And the lingering taste of alcohol in everything Kaeya had cooked… Diluc had his gut complaining under his tight belt in no time.

It was already dark out when he finally got to leave the Knight's headquarters. And now he could only hope no one would spot him like that, staggering his way home in the middle of the night, like a pitiful boozer with nowhere to go.

The former captain scowled as he heard his stomach give a low growl as it tried to settle, viciously churning the heavy mass of food sitting stubbornly inside. He could almost feel it brushing past the inner walls of his guts as he felt it tossing and turning inside.

Paying too much attention to it already had his tongue driving back with weak gags, so instead, he focused on swallowing. Diluc closed his eyes, drowning out his vision that seemed to be slightly tilted. He gulped, once, twice, then breathed through his nose, hoping any voluntary motion would take his mind off the nausea.

The constant intake of saliva only seemed to be adding to the fullness of his stomach, leaving his esophagus with the impression of a ghostly hand pinching it from the inside. His mouth was filling with drool quicker than he could swallow. It was starting to take more and more after the taste of something he had eaten.

“...urp–”, he had to clog his mouth shut as he felt a bubble of air suddenly rise past his gullet, bursting in the back of his tongue with a foul acidic sting.

It tasted like grape juice, he realized with a shuddering exhale leaving his nostrils, how clearly it tasted sickly sweet and strongly acidic, unbearably bitter as it washed over his tongue.

Halfway through the night, he had already drained an entire bottle in between bites, it was the only thing he could properly stomach after eating so much off-tasting food.

Diluc clasped a hand firmly over his mouth when he felt a muffled gag cause his chest to hitch, trying to suppress the clear image of the undercooked meat dripping from his fork, the slimy chewy texture, the bizarre taste.

He could feel something shifting inside his queasy stomach, sending more air to rest in the back of his tongue before he could swallow it. Diluc was desperate for any form of relief from the pressure in his stomach, so he tried to carefully burp behind his hand.

“...guh… buur–”, he let out a startled hiss as his cheeks suddenly bulged out, a watery surge flooding his mouth.

Fuck, fuck. His mind was screaming at him now, shifting all of his attention to the solid clumps of undigested food swirling inside his mouth, rolling over his tongue. He had to– without thinking, he tried swallowing, bit by bit, feeling chunks of undigested meat and boiling acid travel down his throat.

It felt utterly revolting, being forced to taste twice the meal he'd been forced to eat mere hours ago, but he couldn't just let it happen now. It was unthinkable to have him dirtying the streets with the contents of his pitiful stomach. Enough drunkards were left to do this, he refused to become another.

The poor man was wheezing behind his gloved hand, swallowing convulsively as he tried to clear the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Once he could open his eyes again, he shakingly lowered his hand, glancing at it to see there was a smear of drool coating it.

The restless churning of his stomach contents and the loud gurgling sounds only seemed to worsen. He held a clean hand carefully over the curve of his belly, feeling something shift constantly under his skin and his form-fitting clothes.

It felt like his legs were made out of cotton as he took a step forward, followed by another, then another. He had to shift all of his attention into putting one foot in front of the other, right then left, and somehow not mess this up.

His mind was far away as he walked, tracking the way to his home out of muscle memory. On a good night, Diluc would commute in a few minutes, without a single soul spotting him as he stuck to the shadows. Now, he had no notion of time, but no less than an hour had been spent and he was only halfway there.

He could only hope he would have enough control to command his stomach contents down and his legs forward. All he knew was he needed to get home before he had the chance to fall ill again.

***

It was… so cold. The darknight hero had his arms folded tightly over his chest as he started approaching the winery. It wasn't the wind anymore, a ghostly chill seemed to be following him wherever he went, refusing to let go as it cloaked him in a shuddering blanket.

His fingers were nearly numb as he gripped the handle and flung open the front door. A couple of steps inside and it was gone, almost like it wanted to see him home safe, but he didn't let go of his position. Diluc seemed to be operating with muffled hazy orders ringing inside his head, he made a beeline for his bedroom, ignoring, or rather, barely listening to the timid greetings of his servants.

The nausea was now dizzying, muffling his senses as if he was underwater, listening in to the distant sounds of his stomach groaning. The door creaked as he pushed it, then creaked again as he closed it behind him.

He staggered towards his bed and sat, his wary body sinking into the mattress as it begged for a rest. Diluc felt like he could just fall over as he lazily undid the clasps of his boots and kicked them off to a corner.

Next, his coat slid out of his shoulders, falling away to the other side of the bed and disappearing over the edge. He fought a fierce battle against his belts, undoing them with the unskilled fingers of a sickly man.

“...phew”, he let out a puff of air as the pressure over his belly was finally released, ridding himself from his shirt as well as the mere brush of fabric over it spelled discomfort.

Diluc looked down to see his otherwise lean abdomen had been forced into an unusual curve, the skin stretching over it like and taking an odd pinkish tone, making it look too similar to a flustered anemo slime as if puffed out. He dared to graze his fingers over it, morbidly impressed by how noticeably it had altered his shape.

The flesh practically pushed back on his fingers, he could feel how full his stomach was under the outer layers, like the bloated gut of a decomposing carcass. He settled a hand over it, careful as to not apply any pressure, and felt the distinct motion of his stomach twisting under there, almost like a colony of critters writhing inside a trap, wrapped in a ball of cloth, squirming.

He didn't want to think about it, but his mouth was watering profusely, his tongue almost heavy with a thick coating of off-tasting saliva. He could still faintly taste the vomit he had to swallow back multiple times during his way here. Maybe it would be best to just let it out, he thought, feeling his stomach almost jump in agreement.

Diluc rose his eyes and searched his moonlit room, hoping to find anything he could drag under his bed just in case he needed it. He knew he was going to need it, and thankfully, a small bucket had been left from gods know what purpose, maybe some careless maid had left it. He was more than thankful for their incompetence now.

The young master got up, and stumbled towards the wooden bucket, momentarily kneeling in front of it as he thought of just giving up and sleeping right there, safe from the threat of dirtying his bed. His muscles ached from the strenuous walk from Mondstadt city to here, a commute he could easily muster multiple times if necessary, in a better state of mind, of course. But as of now, it left him sore and with ragged breath.

He was definitely drunk, he concluded, of the few meat skewers he had eaten, and the countless glasses of grape juice he had used to wash down the awful parts of that feast. Someone could've easily swapped his drink for wine, and him, with his taste buds fried and mind somewhere greener, would be none the wiser. For that, he swore to strangle Kaeya.

He gripped the bucket as if it was a tender neck and dragged it to the foot of his bed, then to his lap. Part of him wanted to wrap himself in blankets and just hug the bucket until relief came, but the other part barely wanted to move, so he stayed there, slumped over and staring somewhere off, trying to focus on the noises of his stomach.

“ghh…”, he groaned, nausea still swirling inside him, leaving him groggy and miserable, but quite there.

He held his mouth open, panting as he felt pain twisting his inner organs, letting saliva drip into the bucket, the sounds almost sharp in contrast with the silence. His stomach wouldn't stop writhing, loud gurgles coming from it as it tried to mix the food and drink crammed tightly inside, churning but unable to digest any of it.

The sickly man was only able to produce a few short queasy burps as he tried to flex the muscles of his throat. It frustrated him, he was sick and in pain, he needed to get whatever was harming him out but he wouldn't have it that easy. If could go back and curse his past self for cutting his vomiting spell short, he would, but for now, he could only feel miserable about it.

Why only now was his gag reflex being stubbornly strong? He was never like this. At the first sign of someone tampering with his food, he would be quick to pry it out using his fingers, just for safety. He wasn't opposed to vomiting, maybe a little apprehensive about it, but it was something he learned to face as a necessary evil.

Diluc looked at his hand, thinking long and hard about if it would be worth it. He was still wearing his gloves, the bright red and black fabric stood out against his pale marked skin, it was surprising how he managed to miss it.

He had to, he thought, remove the glove with his teeth and set it aside. Shakingly, almost timidly, he raised two fingers and introduced them inside his mouth, carefully trailing the extent of his tongue. It felt awfully warm and tender against his skin, saliva coating his fingers in a thick slimy layer.

“...ha… guh–”, he let out as he reached the gullet, causing a weak gag to make his throat clench around his fingers.

He couldn't stop now, so he went even deeper with the middle one, feeling around the soft meat writhing against his touch. He started stroking his tongue, slowly at first, driving his fingers in and out of his throat. It didn't take long for him to gag harshly, his stomach jumping and landing with a wet slosh, sending its contents crawling up his food pipe.

It wasn't enough to get him to vomit. He kept stroking desperately, his throat clenching, trying to choke out his fingers. He gagged again, so harshly his eyes watered. His stomach inching closer with each stroke.

He waited for another painful gag, the sound of his forced retching scrapping at his throat, leaving it raw and tender. Saliva flowed into the bucket, each harsh cough sending it spraying into his hand, sliding down his skin, and slithering towards his wrist.

He was close, he thought, forcing another gag and quickly retrieving his hand as a wet belch erupted out of him, bile prickling his tongue. So close.

“...ughh… gh…”, he panted, his mouth hanging open as a series of short wet burps left him, each bringing him closer and closer to finally– “huurk–”, he anticipated a small gush of vomit spraying out of him, nearly missing the wooden bucket in his lap as he readjusted his position.

There it was. Diluc nearly winced at the pungent taste of acid on his tongue, it barely resembled grape juice as it fell into the bucket, but he could still distinguish its taste. Far worse than what he had swallowed before.

He went back to stroking his tongue, hoping to rid his stomach of a little more pressure, as that amount meant nothing. This time he wasn't being so gentle, digging his fingers mercilessly into his throat as he felt himself getting desperate.

”...huu��� urgGGHH”, he retched into his bare hand, his stomach writhing from the violent motion, but he didn't stop until he felt its contents bubbling at the back of his throat. “BuuUuuUURGHHhh.”

A gush of thin disgustingly warm vomit shot out of his mouth before he could retrieve his fingers, he nearly winced as the sickening boiling concoction completely coated his hand. It dripped unevenly inside the bucket, barely a cup's worth of semi-fermented and acidic grape juice.

Diluc shakingly held his soiled dripping hand over the bucket, panting miserably with threads of drool hanging from his mouth.

He must have looked truly pitiful as he was now, barely dressed, sickly and pale, and even then, struggling to get the offending poison out of his system. His head felt heavier and heavier, his eyes wanting to roll to the back of his skull as his body begged for rest.

His throat was sore and bruised from all the abuse, and still, he hadn't even tapped into the food he'd stuffed into his overtaxed stomach. It gave a low ill growl as it agreed, almost coaxing him into continuing.

With a defeated grumble, Diluc shoved the now cold and slimy fingers into his throat, just the sensation of it, the odd shock of temperature, and the texture of his saliva against his tongue earned a weak unproductive gag out of him.

He tried not to think about it, taking the involuntary motion of his gullet to introduce his fingers even deeper, moving them as if he was trying to pry himself open.

“...ah… ha…”, he panted, trying to squeeze in struggling wet breaths in between audible gags, the air rushing in and out grazing his skin. “hah–”, wheezing with half a hand down his throat maybe had been the answer to his problems, as he nearly choked.

Diluc didn't have it in his mind to muffle the coughing fit that followed, he didn't even bother to remove his fingers, choosing to hold his tongue down as he kept hacking over the bucket. His fit quickly evolved into retching so violently his shoulders were jumping with each one.

“...urggGH–”, he coughed out, feeling something painfully dense climb up his food pipe, cutting his breath short as he struggled with it. His hand was trembling, his nail digging into his tongue out of nervousness

It took a couple of weak shivering strokes for him to finally feel vomit burst out of his mouth, a lumpy dense slurry covered his hand and sprayed up to his upper arm, lumps of nearly untouched food sliding off him and dripping softly on the bucket.

Once he started, there was no stopping it. A heavier wave of vomit splashed inside the bucket followed the first, this one more than just a mouthful, adding a new layer of filth to the bucket.

“EeeeuUURRrrrgh!”

Diluc had his eyes screwed shut as he struggled with each new surge of chunky almost sharp vomit leaving his throat razed. He could feel so clearly the lumps grinding the walls as they left him, pouring into the bucket like unrelenting rain on the roof of his house. His hearing was muffled.

When he could finally breathe properly he found himself slowly slipping forward, the bucket now glued to his chest as the arm laced around it bent awkwardly. Diluc parted his lips only to find two fingers jammed in between them, his teeth buried into them.

He blinked, and how long had passed? Maybe less than a minute, he hadn't properly fainted but still, he desperately needed rest.

Diluc let out a shuddering breath as he adjusted himself, one look at the bucket had his lips hitching into a grimace as he spat out, trying to rid his mouth of the vile taste.

“Fuck… ugh”, he groaned, his voice a husky pained whisper.

At the very least, he had managed to rid himself of some of that cursed food, but he didn't have the chance to savor the relief. He didn't feel any different, arguably he felt even worse.

That didn't matter now. He'd have to deal with that in the morning. Diluc settled the bucket under his bed, not enough energy left in him to even think about getting rid of it.

His body sunk into the mattress, the wooden frame creaking despite how light, shriveled he felt. As soon as the back of his head hit the pillow, he welcomed sleep.

***

[goodlucktai]

Could you write something about natsume getting a hug?? Just, from whoever n for whatever reason. I keep thinking about how no one ever really hugs him n it makes me sad

x

The absolute last person Joji expected to see today was Natsume Takashi.

Joji slows to a stop on the corner of the street, a block away from the train station, and stares shamelessly.

It's been a decade since the last time he saw Natsume, but he recognizes him immediately. Of course he does. His light hair and eyes aside, Joji has thought about him on-and-off since junior high.

Joji remembers that rainy day when he was thirteen, an empty desk in the middle of his eighth grade classroom, Ito leaning over in his chair to whisper, "Did you hear? Natsume was in the ER. He almost died. The police are looking at his foster parents."

It was as if he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. He sat there, frozen, while their teacher called them to attention for homeroom and announced that Natsume wouldn't be in their class going forward.

What was the last thing Joji had said to him? "It's no wonder your parents didn't want you." Why the hell had he said that? A book, if he remembers right. He'd lent it to Natsume and Natsume gave it back all water-damaged, like he'd gone for a swim with his backpack on. Natsume's eyes were on his hands, on the ruined book, and he'd tried to apologize, said he'd pay for it, but Joji just snatched it away, ticked off.

"This is what I get for trying to help you, I guess. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you."

Joji is almost twenty-four now. He's going into pediatrics. His fiance, Sakura, is a foster parent. She is currently the proud and fiercely protective mother of two beautiful twin girls.

Sora and Miu are terrified of adults and they go everywhere together and sometimes they make up stories. Sometimes they lie, about why their uniforms are torn, why they're home late, why their lunchboxes are covered in dirt. They have this look in their eyes sometimes like they're just waiting to get hurt again.

Sakura has the patience of a saint. She never raises her voice. She stitches their torn uniforms, replaces their lunchboxes, and, on more than one occasion, has marched into their junior high school and threatened the staff with physical violence if her babies come home with bruises one more time.

Needless to say, Sora and Miu adore her. It took them longer to warm up to Joji, but they're there now; no longer flinching when he moves in their direction, greeting him happily when he comes over for breakfast, smiling shyly when he staggers into the apartment underneath the weight of two giant stuffed rabbits that cost nearly half his paycheck, because it's their birthday, Sakura, they need them.

Joji tries to imagine someone telling them "this is why your parents didn't want you" and goes absolutely breathless with rage.

Natsume glances up from his phone to look right at Joji, as if someone had pointed him out. Caught staring, Joji shuffles in place for a moment, and then squares his shoulders and heads over.

He's expecting the Natsume of his memory; he's expecting him to curl his shoulders and duck his head, the way Joji's girls still sometimes do when a stern auntie wants to talk to them.

He's not expecting Natsume to level him with a clear, politely confused gaze. He pockets his phone, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of the cardigan he's wearing; a size too big, like something he borrowed out of someone else's closet, but it's a charming look on him. He's dressed well, in dark-washed jeans and white high-top sneakers, and his silvery hair is long, probably long enough to fall past his shoulders if he didn't have it piled up in a bun. There's a squat calico cat at his feet, glaring up at Joji with judgmental green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Natsume asks kindly. His voice is a shock to the system; Joji remembers him like it was yesterday.

"Oh," Joji says, stymied. It never occurred to him that Natsume might not recognize him in turn. "Um, I'm Watanabe Joji. We were classmates in eighth grade."

"That's right," Natsume says with gratifying quickness. He looks a little embarrassed now and returns Joji's short bow. "Sorry, it's been a long time."

And we weren't exactly friends, he doesn't say, but that common knowledge sits neatly between them.

"Ten years!" Joji replies with some forced enthusiasm. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry?"

"The, ah, reunion this weekend? Ito, from our homeroom back then, put together a whole thing. Our whole class is getting together for dinner and drinks."

It occurs to him that Natsume might not have been invited. Joji thinks that's less because he isn't welcome and more because Ito almost certainly didn't have his contact information. The few times his name has come up, Joji's friends have gone quiet and melancholy. A few of them are parents now, or aunts and uncles at least. All of them know better than they did when they were mean, shitty little teenagers.

Joji opens his mouth to assure Natsume that they'd love to have him, but Natsume cuts him off with a laugh.

It's not a mean laugh. It's not unfriendly in the slightest. But it stings anyway, because Natsume is laughing out of pure disbelief.

"No, no," he says, waving a hand, "god, no. Could you imagine?" he adds, glancing down at the cat. The cat huffs, settling a little more solidly against Natsume's ankle. "We're just passing through, actually."

"We?" Joji asks dumbly. Did he mean himself and the cat?

It's Natsume's turn to get cut-off, this time by a long, drawn-out shout of "Takashiiii!"

A short, russet-haired young man around Joji's age comes barreling down the sidewalk toward them at a flat-out run. Joji's first inclination is one of alarm, but Natsume steps forward with his arms outstretched, and the stranger collides with him in an embrace that looks like it hurts.

Natsume is laughing again, but it's softer this time. It's the warmest sound Joji has ever heard him make.

"What's this for?" Natsume is saying, patting him on the back.

"Just missed you," his friend replies.

"You saw him twenty minutes ago, Satoru," comes the exasperated call from further down the road, and Joji glances over to find a small group headed their way, laden with shopping bags.

"Yeah, exactly," Satoru says, leaning back without letting go, just enough to gaze up at Natsume with a cheeky grin. "I'm all Takashi-deficient. It's pretty serious."

"Sounds serious," Natsume replies, and agreeably keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as the rest of their group catches up.

A tall, dark-haired man stoops to pick up Natsume's cat, and it settles agreeably in the crook of his arm. The brown-eyed woman beside him lets out a coo, shifting all her bags to one hand so she has one free to scratch it behind the ears.

"We're being rude," the dark-haired man says in a soft, pleasant tone. "Who's this, Takashi?"

Natsume introduces Joji as an old classmate, giving absolutely none of their history away in tone or expression, but somehow all of his friends seem to clue in to something anyway. Their collective demeanor shifts, in an unidentifiable way, even if their polite smiles don't slip an inch as Takashi introduces each of them in turn.

All but Nishimura Satoru, still tucked up against Natsume's side, who gives Joji a positively poisonous look.

"Okay, Satchan, you're going to lose privileges if you can't be nice," Kitamoto says dryly, and extracts him from Natsume's person with a deftness that speaks of years of practice.

"Nooo," Nishimura says, but it's curbed quickly by Shibata shoving a bag at him and snapping, "Carry this! It's that stupid lucky cat statue you just had to have, and it's heavy!"

"It looks just like sensei! Tooru loves it, too!"

"I do," Taki admits.

It's a warm afternoon, right at the end of August, the sky turning golden with the beginnings of dusk. Joji still manages to feel cold.

He grew up, but Natsume did, too. He always regretted what he did, he always wondered if Natsume was okay, wherever he went, but Natsume hasn't seemed to spare him a second thought. He's got his own friends now; bright, kind people who look like they'd raise hell for him. Who run to meet him.

Joji missed the chance to have a place in Natsume's life. He's a footnote, now, and not a very good one.

"Jojojojo!"

The bright voices have him spinning around, forgetting everything else, and he lights up when he spots Sora and Miu waving at him from the other side of the street. Sakura has a firm hold on their jackets so they can't go spilling out into the street until the pedestrian crossing sign lights up, and then she releases them like a couple of eager hunting dogs.

Natsume's friends shuffle to one side politely, and Joji steps forward to catch his girls when they reach him. They're so beautiful and he missed them so much, this weekend they were away to visit Sakura's parents. He kisses them each on the head, and then kisses Sakura on the head in the name of fairness, and it makes all three of them laugh.

Taki coos just like she did with the cat, hands clasped together under her chin.

"What sweet girls!" she says. "Are they yours, Watanabe?"

"Yes," Joji says proudly, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. They've come so far, not hiding behind him from the group of strangers, even if they press into his sides shyly. "This is Miu, and this is Sora. We're adopting them."

Sakura shifts her weight imperceptibly, a barely-there tell. Waiting, he knows, for the surprise, or outright condemnation. She's dealt with a lot of bullshit for taking these kids in, from family and ex-friends and even total strangers. It rolls right off her, and she usually gives as good as she gets, but she hates when Sora and Miu have to hear it. They don't deserve to hear it.

Joji will have to explain it to her, later, why he brought it up. Why he knew it would be safe to bring it up in front of these strangers.

Sure enough, all their faces soften immediately, a gentle transformation. Natsume crouches, gazing at the twins with an expression that Joji remembers from his childhood. The delicate resilience, the willingness to reach out even if he got hurt.

The look on his face ten years ago when he handed back that ruined book, owning up to his mistake and trying to fix it, buying Joji a replacement even after Joji said something unthinking and cruel.

"I was adopted, too," he says.

"Really?" Sora asks quietly.

"Really," Natsume tells her. "My parents died when I was little. I wasn't an easy child to care for, even though it wasn't my fault, so I got passed around a lot. It took me a long time to find my place, but I found it. Did you find yours?"

"I think so," Sora says, glancing around Joji at her sister.

"Me, too," Miu adds.

Sakura clutches Joji's hand hard enough to bruise. She won't cry here and now, but he already knows it's going to be an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night.

Natsume looks up to meet Joji's eyes when he says, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

It's forgiveness. Joji hears it plain as day. He didn't get a chance to ask for it-- isn't sure he deserves it-- but there it is, freely given. And it's reassurance, too.

When Joji's daughters used to curl their shoulders and duck their heads, it would always tug at the memory of a boy he used to know, who was as kind as he was desperate for kindness.

Now, he thinks, when his girls are making a mess of the kitchen trying to follow a pancake recipe with their friends, or dragging a stray cat inside with big, hopeful eyes, it'll remind him of this afternoon. Natsume's clear, bright eyes, and the protective cluster of friends surrounding him.

The world wasn't fair to him; it left a mountain in his life that he had to climb, complete with all its pitfalls and crumbling paths and bad weather.

And here he is on the other side, goodness intact. Smiling. Loved.

He found his place. Sora and Miu found theirs.

And god, if that doesn't give Joji hope for everyone else.

"It was nice to see you," he says thickly, hoping Natsume hears his honesty. "Don't come to the reunion, that was-- a stupid thing to say, but-- would you-- dinner?"

Natsume hears it. He tilts his head, considering, and then says, "We missed our train, anyway."

"And I'm starving," Tanuma says agreeably. Clearly, he says it more to agree with Natsume than anything.

Nishimura is the hardest sell, watching Joji with hard eyes. But then his gaze dips to Sora and Miu, and all his sharp edges go soft, like butter melting in the sun. After a handful of tense seconds, he visibly gives up on his anger with a huff. His friends, watching patiently, all give absurd little cheers when it's clear he's on board.

"Fine, but if you live farther than three feet away, we're getting an Uber," Shibata threatens, rustling the shopping bags in his hands with annoyed fervor.

They drift in the direction of Joji's home, and Kitamoto talks Shibata down from the Uber with the promise of ducking into a 7-Eleven for ice creams instead, and Taki and Sakura are fast friends, rolling their sleeves up to compare tattoos-- Taki's is a strange, occult-looking circle that Joji makes a mental note to ask about-- and Tanuma lets Sora carry the fat cat, while Miu pets it with reverent fingers.

Natsume walks beside Joji, calm and unhurried, with Nishimura on his other side. He grew up with so much grace.

"Can I add you to the class groupchat?" he asks without thinking.

"Good luck with that," Nishimura butts in, not unkindly. "He's the most unreliable texter you've ever met. He left me on read for like two days once, and we live together."

"You'd have better luck with an email," Natsume says apologetically.

It's more than Joji thought he'd get; they exchange contact information, in the middle of this chaotic, noisy group making its way down the street toward the well-lit combini on the corner and then, beyond that, home.

Natsume doesn't seem to have any interest in reconnecting with his old classmates, and Joji doesn't blame him for that. Even though it will certainly piss Ito off to be kept in the dark, even just for a few days, Joji decides it's for the best.

Nishimura's goodwill can't be stretched that far.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Yellow | Draco Malfoy

Hey lovelies, here’s another Draco. I don’t know why but right now he’s all I have the motivation to write for. I hope you don’t mind! 

Description: Y/n and Draco falling in love with the color yellow and each other

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: It’s a little angsty, a little smutty, very fluffy, and way too long

Word count: 6k

Tags: FLUFF, angst at times, the ending hints at smut

Tag list: @fashionably-crying​ , @draconisxcaput​

Yes, I’m using this gif again, sue me

Yellow. Sunshine, flowers, freshly pressed gold. Everything that’s eternally happy and pure and good. 

Yellow. Sickness, potions gone bad, poison. Bile when there’s nothing left to throw up. 

Yellow. Kissing, and fighting, and doing. The color of life itself.

The color of the pumpkins growing in Professor Sprout’s greenhouse and of her nails as she writes notes on information long ingrained in her memory.

“Can anyone tell me the name for what is in front of you all right now?” Professor Sprout’s jolly voice rings through the greenhouse and you can’t help but smile as you raise your hand.

Sprout nods at you, a smile on her face too, knowing quite well that you’ll tell her what she wanted to hear and more.

“It’s a cucurbita pepo, also known as a pumpkin. They’re grown during the summer months and then harvested in autumn, just in time for the muggle celebration of Halloween. They are used in cooking quite often however they are rich in tryptophan, which is converted to serotonin upon consumption, which in turn causes fatigue. Thus cucurbita pepo seeds are used in certain forms of the sleeping draught potion. It’s also why we get sleepy after eating pumpkin pie.”

You giggle at the end of your spiel and the sound trickles through the greenhouse and wraps around a certain blonde at the back of the class who is furiously writing down everything you just said. You don’t notice, though, you’re too busy revelling in Sprout’s approving nod. She begins speaking in depth about the facts you shared and you hurry to write them in your journal, the one that you keep specifically for herbology. It’s filled with plants of all kinds, each with detailed notes and sketches that you drew yourself. 

When you flip to your page on pumpkins you begin adding notes you don’t have, just a few details here and there. You aren’t gifted in every subject, not like Hermione, but you are proud to admit that you excel in herbology and know that you will keep the notes you have been working on for many years to come. You brush your sunshine nails across the page as Sprout rattles on about the antioxidants and other nutrients found in Pumpkins. Vitamin A, magnesium, potassium. You already have it all written down.

“Those are well done,” you’re startled by a voice emanating from over your shoulder, “no wonder you’re so good at this class. Your notes are amazing.”

You’re shocked to find none other than Draco Malfoy standing behind you, towering over you and peering curiously at the sketches that you made of some pumpkins a few days earlier. You know the Hufflepuffs share this class with the Slytherins but usually your groups don’t mix. As in they never do. It’s well known throughout the school that Slytherins hate Hufflepuffs. A lot. So it’s only natural that you, one of the softest Hufflepuffs in the school, cower slightly in the presence of the prince of the Slytherins. 

“Oh, um,” you shuffle closer to the table, putting some space between you and him, “thank you, Draco.”

His eyes widen when you say his name and the entire class goes silent. Even professor Sprout ducks her head, stopping her rambling and busying herself with watering a patch of sunflowers behind her. Regret immediately floods your system and you feel slightly sick. Every eye in the class is on you and him, waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. You almost expect him to slap you by the way everyone is acting. You curl into yourself, pulling your hands into your sleeves. You’re undeniably terrified.

What happens next though astounds everyone, most of all you. Draco doesn’t quite smile but his eyes crinkle at the corners and he reaches his hand out, curling his fingers around your shoulder gently. Your head springs up at the contact, fuzzy and spinning. What is he doing?

“You’re welcome, y/n.”

Your cheeks immediately heat at the sound of your name coming from his lips. Since when does he know who you are?

He lets go of your shoulder and looks around the greenhouse, as if noticing the eyes on the two of you for the first time, “what are you all staring at? Mind your own bloody business.”

And just like that the sound and bustle of the greenhouse returns to normal, if not a little more forced and with a few more whispers than before. He nods at you, your entire face burning this time, and walks back to his spot, falling into conversation with his housemates like nothing had happened. 

You run a hand through your hair before returning to your notes, trying to fend off the peppermint scent still clinging to your jumper.

The color of the potion that earns his house ten extra points.

You have never been good at potions class. You can try to blame it on Professor Snape, claim that he has it out for you and is the reason all your potions bubble a puke green and smell of death, but that would just be avoiding the truth. The horrible, disheartening, and cruel truth that is, quite simply, that you are absolute garbage at brewing potions.

Draco, on the other hand, is the best chemist Hogwarts has seen in years it seems. Even better than local witch prodigy Hermione Granger. Again, you could blame it on your professor. You could argue that since Snape was also a Slytherin that he gives special favor to Draco. But that wouldn’t be fair to him. 

You pout from your seat in potions class, watching the clock tick too slowly and too quickly at the same time. It’s much too slow given that this is your last class of the day and dinner is calling your name. It is, however, much too quick as you only have forty minutes left to complete the dreaded invisibility potion. In front of you lay the ingredients, taunting you relentlessly. The invisibility potion is among one of the more difficult potions you have to master before the end of year exam and, so far, you’ve had no luck.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. This is the fifth time you’ve completed your potion first and without error. ten points,” at the sound of Snape’s voice, and the cheering from Draco’s housemates, your head slumps, “perhaps now in your spare time you could help Miss. y/l/n. She seems to be having,” he clicks his tongue sharply, “difficulty.”

Your head snaps up, turning to face the blonde boy across the room, your cheeks fiery. His blue eyes, in turn, are wide, much like your own. You’re a deer caught in the headlights of the freight train that is Draco Malfoy. You’re frozen at the thought of having to speak to him and of having him answer you. As he starts to get up, textbooks in tow, you finally thaw. You think back to the greenhouse, and his hand on your shoulder, and feel the color draining from your face.

“Professor that isn’t necessary, I can-” 

Snape silences you with a flick of his wrist, “you can fail on your own instead of take help when it’s offered?”

You just lower your head, mumbling a “no, sir” and pretending to search your textbook. Your heartbeat skyrockets as the blonde boy joins you. He places his own textbook next to yours, his long fingers skimming the pages. Your eyes are drawn to the rings on his fingers and you want to ask him about them but the two of you aren’t close like that and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. The same peppermint scent floats around you, stronger this time. You swallow tensely, feeling once more the eyes of your peers.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble more into your cauldron than to him, “I know you don’t want to help me. You can just pretend if you want and I’ll figure out this mess myself.”

You stare at the bubbling, black potion and hold back the nausea. It is very much not the sunshine yellow that it’s supposed to be. You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears. You begin crushing chameleon scales in silence. You can feel his stare on the side of your face, searing into your cheekbone. You do your best to stay focussed but you can barely concentrate under the weight of his gaze. Being this close to the Slytherin boy still makes you nervous. What kind of nervousness, that is though, you aren’t so sure. 

You’re startled when he takes the ingredients from your hands, his fingers brushing yours lightly, “I never said I didn’t want to help you.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes and giving him a soft smile, one that makes his eyes widen and his fingers clench. That’s all it takes for the two of you to begin fixing your botched potion. You work side by side, silently except for when he asks you to hand him some ingredients. It’s hypnotic, watching him take what you ruined and make it all better. You feel almost special for a moment before you shake your head slightly, clearing the silly thought. You don’t notice him watching you from the corner of his eye, his lips slightly turned as he notes how flustered you are.

By the end of the class your potion is it’s proper sunshine yellow again and you feel entirely relieved. Although you can’t help but worry about tomorrow's class and how you’ll have to do it all over again.

As if reading your mind Draco turns to you, his hand on your book preventing you from darting away, “do you want to be partners?”

Oh boy.

The color of the scarf she wraps around him when she finds him asleep in the courtyard. 

It’s mid October and the days have already begun getting shorter. The air is crisp and stings your ears as you walk through the courtyard, admiring the changing leaves during your spare period. You’re the only person there, the chill in the air having deterred the other students from crowding the benches and tree stumps. You don’t mind. You needed a little bit of quiet today.

You’ve been a little out of it all week. Some Slytherins had been making your life a little hard, goading you in the hallways and talking loudly about you whenever you were in ear shot. You have no doubt that it’s about Draco helping you in potions. You don’t talk to him outside of class. Merlin, you barely speak to him in class. You just copy his notes and let him guide you through the potions. You definitely don’t deserve the torment but you can’t do anything about it so you’ve just been trying your best to ignore it.

You take a corner, rounding a rather large oak tree before you suddenly halt. You come inches away from a boy slumped against the base of the tree. His eyes are shut and soft snores fall from his gaped mouth. Upon further inspection, that is noting his green and silver jumper and white blonde hair, you realize that it’s Draco. Your pulse picks up as soon as you see him, your eyes taking in the school books scattered around him. He must have been studying, or trying to at least. 

Your heart aches for him. You wonder what on earth could have possibly made him exhausted enough to fall asleep in the freezing courtyard. As if on cue, the wind picks up and you ring your hands together to create some heat. You move around him quickly, closing his textbooks and piling them next to his bag. You put the cap on his ink bottle and tuck his quill next to it and the books. 

You step away from him. You don’t want him to wake up and have him find you hovering over him. For just a second, though, you admire how peaceful he looks while he’s sleeping. Usually his forehead is creased and his lips pursed. Right now, however, he’s relaxed. He looks his age for once: seventeen and alive. Alive, just asleep. You sigh as you look at the boy, wishing you could wrap your arms around him.

As you go to walk away, you take one last look at his face. Your heart pangs again at his rosy nose and cheeks. His ears are also a bright red, bitten from the cold and definitely painful. You don’t think before you act, you just take the grey and yellow scarf from around your neck and carefully wrap it around his. You make sure it covers his ears and nose, sofly pulling the ends to wrap around his hands as well. 

You take one last look at him. You don’t know what comes over you but you lean down and press a soft kiss to his hair. He smells like green apples today and your heart aches more than ever. 

The color of the first snitch he caught as captain and the color of her sweater from the front row.

It’s the first quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and you’re more excited than you can say. There have been rumours spreading that Slytherin has a new captain and everyone has been dying to know who. They’ve kept it under wraps, no doubt wanting to stun Gryffindor during the match. The stands around you howl in anticipation, practically vibrating from all the voices speaking at once.

The wind whips around your ears, loud and bone chilling, and you think for a moment to the scarf you left with Draco. You blow in your hands, warming them before wrapping them around your ears. Hogwarts really needs to work on bettering the stands or at least accommodate them for the colder months.

You’re with a few of your friends, each one of you more high on adrenaline than the last. You stand in your bright yellow jumper at the front of the stands, gripping the railing and watching the field for any signs of movement. You’re more excited to see the Slytherin team than anyone else. Perhaps that’s because Draco has been on the team since second year and you now get to stare at him for an entire game, uninterrupted. You shake your head quickly. Where did that come from?

“Y/n, where’s your scarf? It’s freezing out here!” you turn to your best friend, Luna, and give her a small smile, your cheeks red but not from the cold.

Luna has a lion hat on her head and you can’t help but giggle. It’s definitely protecting her from the cold.

“Someone needed it more than I did,” you rub your hands together again.

She smiles at you like she knows you gave it to Draco but that would be impossible. She pulls you into her side, letting you share her body heat again. You speak a little about the upcoming match but ultimately end up doing more teeth chattering than talking. Soon there are trumpets blaring and you can’t stop yourself from leaning against the railing of the bleachers once more, your heart pounding in your chest.

Everyone holds their breath, the only sound throughout the stadium is the howling wind. Your head pounds, not from a headache but from the blood rushing through your body, electrified. You grip the railing right, the cold of the metal stinging your fingertips. The hairs on the back of your neck raise instinctively. They’re so close, you can feel it in your bones.

You blink and the next thing you know the sky is streaked with green, smoke billowing around the players who fly in a tight ‘V’ formation. You squint your eyes, just like every other student and professor around you, trying to make out who is leading the pack. When you catch a glimpse of his white blonde hair your mouth drops. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re cheering like mad. The wind picks up your hair, whipping it around your face as you throw your hands up and scream like you don’t have a care in the world for what anybody else thinks of you. And you don’t, not right now while the boy you think you’re falling for has just been announced as the new Slytherin captain. 

Before you know it Luna has joined in, screaming with you, not for the sake of Draco but because you look like you’re having fun for the first time in weeks. She grabs your hand, waving your arms in the air and shouting into the wind. With the two of you screaming together it’s just enough for Draco to hear over the wind. He turns his head, his eyes easily pulling your yellow jumper from the sea of blue around you. He smirks and your heart stops. Before you can even begin to process the glint in his eyes he’s in front of you, hovering over the railing on a broom that looks like it costs more than your life. He’s biting back a cheeky smile.

You let go of Luna’s hand, stepping towards him, “Draco, you made captain!”

You don’t know where you gained the sudden courage to talk to him like you’re friends but right now you don’t care. All you can see is the boy on the broom, smiling at you like you’ve never seen him smile before. The stands around you roar but you can’t hear them. They don’t exist, not right now at least. 

“You know it, pumpkin,” your heart stops, you mouth gaping at his casual use of a nickname, and he laughs, a real and absolutely mind melting laugh, “I can’t stay but I got something for you. I noticed you look a little chilly.”

He pulls the green and silver scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around yours but keeping hold of the two ends. The stands fall silent but it doesn’t matter, you still can’t see or hear anything but Draco. He tugs on the ends of the scarf, bringing your face inches away from his own. You almost think he’s going to kiss you for a moment. Oh, what you wouldn’t give for him to kiss you right now. Anything, you would give absolutely anything. Instead, though, he leans down and rubs his nose against yours and you giggle easily. 

He lets go of the scarf, flying off to start the game but not before turning around and shouting, “wish me luck, pumpkin!”

You giggle again, your face flushing, “you don’t need luck, Draco!”

He winks and flies to meet his teammates. The game is fast paced and intense. Your eyes stay glued to him the entire time. His nickname wraps around every part of you, his voice echoing in your ears, warming you better than any scarf. You aren’t at all surprised when he catches the golden snitch. No one in the stands cheers louder than you do. 

The color of the bruises on his cheekbone and his knuckles and on Zabini’s fucking stomach.

Your back is pressed against the stoney wall of the castle, his chest almost touching yours. You’re backed into the corner, not daring to even breathe. His breath is hot on your face and you cringe backwards, your head cracking against the hard surface behind you. 

Blaise Zabini pushes you closer to the wall, if that’s even possible, and you feel like an animal, trapped and frantic, “who do you think you are, puff?”

“I-,” you glance around his head, looking anywhere but his murderous eyes, “what are you talking about?”

That is clearly not the answer he is looking for, practically growling in your face, “what did you do to Malfoy?”

“Nothing!” you cower away from him, your blood turning cold at his accusatory tone. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. If he’s going to hit you, you don’t want to see his fists before they land on you. Tears drip down your face relentlessly and you don’t care. They aren’t going to change anything. Blaise Zabini hates you and there is nothing you can do about it. Your mind goes immediately to Draco, something that doesn’t shock you anymore. All you think about these days is him.

Blaise’s breath smells like liquorice and death as he gets up in your face, “stay away from him, y/l/n, or you’ll regret it. I promise you that.”

Just like that, Blaise isn’t touching you anymore. The cold air of the castle wraps around you and you snap your eyes open, watching his retreating form stalk out of the hidden hallway he dragged you into. You sag against the brick behind you, finally letting the full on sobs that you had been holding in rise to the surface. You collapse, sliding down the stone, not caring as it scrapes and rips your shirt as you do so. You curl into a ball, letting all the pain from the last few weeks consume you. 

You get lost in the memories. You see Pansy pushing you down the steps outside of the great hall and Crabbe lacing your soup with a puking potion. You hear all the insults and slurs that have been thrown at you ever since Draco complimented you in the greenhouse and it stings. Your chest and throat and wrists burn and you grip your hair in your fists, hoping that if you just tug hard enough then you can make every bad word said to you and every bruise disappear. Of course you can’t, but if you don’t try then you might lose yourself right here, right now. Well, more than you already are that is.

No matter how hard you tug, you can’t stop the cries from spilling out of your mouth. They mask the footsteps pounding towards you. You slam your fists into the marble floor repeatedly, your palms bruising. Your blood rushes through your ears, muffling the sounds of the castle and everyone in them. You hear your name being called but it sounds like whoever is shouting is underwater. Are they shouting, though, or are you just losing your mind? You hear your name again and you scream. You just want the voices to stop. Please, someone make them stop. 

Gentle hands grab your fists before you can do any more damage to yourself, pulling you into a chest and wrapping two strong arms around your shoulders, “y/n, what’s going on? What happened?”

Draco’s voice is panicked. That’s the only word for it. He sounds absolutely terrified. His voice soothes you for a moment but soon you’re pushing against his chest, Blaise’s words in your ears again. Your palms collide with his chest as you shove him with all strength you have. It isn’t enough. Of course you aren’t strong enough to knock away a quidditch captain. His green apple scent clings to you, wrapped in his arms, and you cry harder. You clutch his shirt in your hands now, clinging to him for dear life. You cry out his name and his heart shatters.

“Y/n please, pumpkin, tell me what happened,” he kisses your hair hard, like he’s hoping it’ll magically calm you down.

And it does, sort of, but only when he trails kisses down the sides of your face and along your cheekbones as well. His lips are like a gift from the heavens, working quickly and easily to draw your attention from your showdown with Blaise and place it on him, and him alone. Soon your sobs have stopped completely. You’re still crying but you can breathe and that’s more than you would have been able to do on your own. When you finally wrap your arms around his neck he stops, pulling his head back to look into your eyes.

You swallow hard when you see his face, more importantly the tears slowly trailing down his creamy skin, “I’m sorry, Draco, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Stop,” he shushes and runs his hand up and down your back, trying not to grimace when his fingers slide over the rips in your shirt, “I’m just glad I found you. Now tell me what happened so I can’t beat up whoever made you so upset.”

You want to chuckle, because you know he’s trying to make you feel better, but you can’t, because you also know that when you tell him he’ll probably push you away too. You tug your lip between your teeth, looking over his shoulder and then back at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can’t look at him while you say it. You can’t see his face when he drops you.

“I don’t think you want to beat up Blaise, Draco.”

He lets go of you. Of course he lets go of you. Your veins sting as the cold air rushes around you again. You clench your fingers into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms. Your throat aches, like you’ve been poisoned and the antidote is walking away. You open your eyes to Draco at the end of the hall, just about to turn the corner. You do your best to choke back the sobs again but you can’t and even if you could what would be the point? He clearly already thinks you’re pathetic so honestly why bother anymore? You need to just let it all out.

When you do though, cry that is, he stops, his shoulders and back going rigid as he listens. He turns quickly and his eyes widen when he sees you. You take a step back, gripping your shirt, or what’s left of it, and smoothing the material beneath your fingers, doing your best to keep it together. This was the final straw, the last kick to a foundation that has already been crumbling, and you’re just waiting for everything to come caving in now so it can take you with it. 

You don’t realise that your eyes are closed until there are hands on your body and you’re forced to open them again, “Draco, what are you doing-”

He smashes his lips against yours, fast and hard and unrelenting. He tastes like peppermint and desperation and, by god, does it breathe a new life into you that you cling to. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down exactly where you had. His hands tangle through your hair, tilting your head slightly and tugging. You can feel his rings against your scalp and it’s the epitome of bliss. You have to to grab his cloak to keep from falling over, your entire body clay in his hands. He pulls back, barely so but in any way it’s still too far. 

His lips brush yours as he speaks, his fingers massaging your scalp slightly, “I’ll be back, pumpkin, I promise,” he kisses you hard one more time, “but I really need to go beat Zabini into next month now.”

The color of the fireplace they fall asleep beside on Christmas Eve.

Your dorm is dreadfully empty and you feel a little bit alone, even if it’s only for a week or so. Your parents are renovating the house and decided it was best if you spend the holidays in a place that isn’t covered in dust and smells like paint. You know it’s for the best, and that you more than likely would have been miserable, but the Hufflepuff common room just isn’t the same without it’s usual life. 

You pull a sweater over your head, grabbing your notebook before heading out to breakfast. The corridors are empty and it’s eerie, the only other faces being the ones held in frames. They smile at you as you pass and you wave politely, hurrying to the great hall.

When you step through the grand doors you finally see some real people, but not many. You see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table and a few familiar faces in the Ravenclaw section, but none you know enough to join. You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ears. This is going to be a long week. As you turn to the Hufflepuff table, however, your eyes skim over a familiar blonde head buried in today’s paper. Your heart races as you switch courses, heading straight to the Slytherin table and trying not to lose your nerve.

You round the table, walking up behind Draco and stopping quietly. Whatever he’s reading has his full attention because he has yet to notice you. You take the moment to play with him a little.

You lean down, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering, “broomstick stocks are up three percent. That’s good I hear.”

Draco drops the paper and you giggle as he turns his face to look at you, the shock mixing with something gentler in his blue eyes. He jumps out of his seat immediately, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers through his hair and melting into his warmth. The worry you felt walking into the great hall disappears at his touch. You press your face to his neck like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Y/n, what are you doing here? I thought you went home,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.

You hold back the shiver. It takes all your willpower to not tilt your head and give him better access to your sweetest spot. You tighten your hands instinctively, forgetting they’re wrapped in his hair. You don’t mean to tug on the strands, and you almost feel bad about it, but at the noise that leaves his lips you almost do it again. It’s low and primal and, Merlin, you want to hear it again. His arms tighten around you and all the nerves in your body are painfully aware of every place his body meets yours. 

And every place you wish it is but it isn’t.

You clear your throat lightly before you speak, clearing the lump but doing nothing to make your words any less breathy, “I could ask you the same thing, don’t your parents usually hold large parties during the holidays?”

His hands find your hips as you talk and the end of your sentence comes out as a mere whisper. You squeeze your eyes tighter, his touch driving you crazy in the middle of the damn dining hall. It’s not even ten yet! 

“That’s exactly the reason I stayed,” his voice is strained, his hands squeeze your hips and you barely bite back the moan between your teeth, “however, pumpkin, now I see that it’s a fucking gift from Salazar himself that I did.”

You lift your head from his shoulder and meet his eyes, gasping at the sight. His pupils are blown wide and his lip is between his teeth. His hair is mused from your fingers running through it, pulling it, and it makes you want to do it again and again until he does something other than look at you like that. Like he's a starved lion and you’re his next meal. Or maybe you just want to tug until he does something about it.

He squeezes your hips again, harder than the last time, and this time you can’t hold back your moan. It’s quiet, thank Merlin, but he hears it. It wraps around him, like your scarf, and something in him snaps. Soon he’s dragging you into the hallway and you’re tripping on your feet trying to keep up with him. The few people in the great hall openly stare but, as has become your new norm, you don’t care. All you can think about is Draco and all the possibilities of where he could be taking you.

He drags you to an area of the castle you’ve never been to before: the dungeons. Your blood pumps quickly through your veins and you’re filled with adrenaline, each step feeling more like walking on a cloud than the last. His hand in yours is warm and strong, sure of himself and of you and, most importantly, that you want him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you in a way that makes you almost push him quicker down the halls. You glance around, noting the empty corridor. What is it people always say?

Fuck it.

You stop abruptly and he looks back at you again, only this time concerned. His expression doesn’t last though, probably because you push him against the wall and pull his lips to yours. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, your palms splayed against his flushed cheeks as you take your turn in pulling his lip between your teeth. You bite down gently and he moans into your mouth, a deep and masculine sound that makes you want to rip his clothes off right here in the middle of the hall. You press your body against his, needing to feel as much of him as you can get. Of course it isn’t enough. It never is.

He pushes back against you, clearly having enough of his passive position. He flips the two of you, pressing you deliciously into the stone behind you. His hands glide along your hips but, unlike in the great hall, they don’t stop there. No, Draco’s hands find your bare thighs and his fingers wrap around them, the cold metal of the rings biting into your soft flesh. You say a silent prayer to whoever up there was looking out for you enough to sway you to put a skirt on this morning. 

His lips are still on yours and, when he all of a sudden lifts you and presses you harder against the wall with his hips, he swallows the moan that rips from your chest, matching it with an equally fierce groan. For the first time all morning he’s exactly where you need him and it’s absolutely breathtaking. You squeeze your legs around him, pulling him as close to you as you can get him. He doesn’t protest, rolling his hips against you and edging your vision with stars.

“Draco, common room. Now,” even as you say it your hands are on his shirt, already working at undoing it.

He wastes no time, rushing down the stairs with you still in his arms, still working on the buttons. He breathlessly murmurs the password before pushing through the door. You grab his face again, hungrily pulling his mouth to yours again as he sets you on a table. His hands find the hem of your jumper, ripping it over your head before tossing it aside. You finish opening the last button quickly, pulling his shirt from his shoulders and dropping it as well. You don’t think twice about letting it hit the ground.

You look back to him and feel breathless, the wild look in his eyes mixing with something so heart wrenchingly soft. His hands smooth up your exposed back, igniting your skin with a fire you’ve never felt before. He leans his face into your neck again, his lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet and pulling your skin between his teeth. The only thing you can think to push past your lips is his name, crying out into the room lit only by some embers in the grand fireplace.

“What do you want, pumpkin. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

You push him back slightly so you can look into his mesmerising eyes, “I want you to make love to me on every surface in this room.”

And he does just that.

Yellow. The color they fell madly in love to.

[multific]

Solve a Murder

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: You were desperate. You needed help and so, you turned to the one man in London who would be able to help.

“Mr. Holmes, I’m here to hire you to solve a murder.”

“And who’s murder would that be?”

“Mine.”

“Pardon?” asked Dr. Watson.

“It’s my step-sister. I suspect she and her husband want me dead. You see, I inherited my father’s land when she thought she would be the one to get it. And now, just the way she looks at me. She offers me drinks, way too often, I suspect she is trying to poison me. I fear for my life, and lately I haven’t been feeling well. You need to help me. Find evidence that she is plotting my death so I can go to the police.”

The two men looked at each other. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have come.” you said as you stood up, they made you feel like you were a fool, but then the Doctor spoke up making you look back at him.

“How long have you been suspecting that she is trying to poison you?”

“About a month. My dad died five months ago, I lost my mum when I was little, so he married another woman who gave him my step sister. My step mum died two years ago, or rather disappeared. Dad left everything to me in his will. And my sister was fuming, saying that she was the one to deserve it. Back that I was so sad, I didn’t even realize she said that. During the four months I was grieving, but then I started to notice things.”

“Things like?”

“Her servants bringing me food and tea, which is a nice gesture but...it’s usually after I already ate. And then I started to get sick a lot more often. I’m not one to fall sick easily. The doctor said it was just a cold, but...I know she did something. The look on her face said it all. She looked happy when I was in bed for a week. I tried asking for help, but everyone thinks I’m paranoid.”

“I believe you.” said Watson as he looked back at Sherlock who only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly only the mind of a woman, making up scenarios. Why are you really here? You are wasting my time.” his words were harsh. And they hurt. Just as the nice Doctor turned to scold his friend, you spoke up, tear running down your face.

“I hope Mr. Holmes, that you will visit my grave one day. I just wish to see your face when you realize that you were wrong.” you said as you stormed out of the house.

You felt so silly. And to think that you were extremely nervous when you decided to seek for his help. You didn’t even realize that you left your scarf at the house. 

***

You were truly helpless, you didn’t have any friends to talk to, your maids were fired by her, leaving only her trusted ones behind. You were trapped in your own house.

And you didn’t have evidence to go to the police either. Although you looked everywhere in the house for signs. But you were unable to find anything, no bottles, no poison, nothing.

The worst however was that you were gradually falling more ill, day after day.

It felt like you were dying from the inside. So, you called the doctor over.

The doctor said that your illness was due to the loss of your father. The doctor blamed depression, but you knew it wasn’t that. Not with the way your sister was smirking and smiling when she thought you weren’t watching.

One day, you felt so terrible, you couldn’t even get out of the bed. 

And from that day on, you didn’t.

You were so ill, the sun hurt your eyes and you felt useless. You just laid in bed, you weren’t even sure for how long.

You had barely any appetite. And you wondered how many days have passed.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, two gentlemen are here to talk to you. They said they brought your scarf back.” one of the maid’s said before they left, leaving the door open to let the two men in. You tried to sit up, look at least presentable, but you were too weak.

“Miss Y/L/N,” you recognized that voice, that calm and kind voice.

“Dr. Watson,” you said smiling at the man, not noticing that Sherlock was also in the room.

“You left your scarf. Don’t get me wrong, My Lady, but you look very ill.” said the doctor as he placed the cloth by your hand. You grabbed it and thanked him.

“The doctor was just here, yesterday I think. Said it’s only depression.” you said letting out a long sigh. 

“That’s ridiculous. I saw people looking more heathy on their death bed. May I examine you?” you gave him a weak nod, then you turned to Sherlock who was standing on the other side of your bed.

“Will you take my case now, or in a few days when I’m gone?” you asked looking at Sherlock. His eyes met yours.

***

Dr. Watson determined that you needed immediate care in a hospital. Although your sister argued with him, telling him that you already are in the care of a doctor. 

That day, Sherlock took your case. He clearly noticed something which he didn’t’t share at the time.

You were in the hospital for three days, and you already felt better. Every day Dr Watson would come over to talk about the case or ask questions. Although you were sure Sherlock was already close to finding evidence.

***

One day, you were finally better, so you could walk around a little. You were sitting outside, reading a book under a tree when you noticed Mr Holmes making his way over to you. 

“It was the food and the water and the tea and the cookies and everything.” said Sherlock as he sat down beside you. “You were poisoned gradually, small portions on everything you ate, and drank. The maid did it, because your sister ordered her to. Both are in custody as we speak for attempted murder.” he said, but even with your suspicions being right, you didn’t feel better.

“Thank you Mr. Holmes. I will pay you as soon as I get out of here.” you said before turning to look up the tree, watching a little bird hop from one branch to the other.

“Hmm.” you didn’t notice the look Sherlock gave you. But he noticed just how much livelier you looked. Your eyes shined, your skin shimmered in the light. You looked a lot better. “So, as I observed, you are not married. Neither am I.” he said.

You had to admit this was the worst possible way someone tried to court you. You looked at him, eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“I’m saying that I find you quite beautiful and I would like to know you better.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh? That’s it?”

“Don’t get me wrong Mr. Holmes, I appreciate the compliment, it’s just... Your timing, Sir. I am still in hospital because my sister tried to poison me, my brother-in-law is still out there, possibly stealing everything that he can move from my home. And you are...handsome.” 

“Then, I will be back with the same proposition in a few weeks. Ms Y/L/N.” he said as he stood up and left.

You laughed a little, thinking that he was joking.

After all, what could a man like him possibly want from you?

***

It had been almost a month since you left the hospital.

You were half right about your brother-in-law. He did steal a couple of items when he left, but luckily they didn’t mean anything to you, so you were just happy that he was gone. 

You hired new staff and fired everyone. You were not sure who you could trust.

You also made sure that every food and drink was thrown out or went down the sink. You were not taking any chances. 

The fact that you only had 2 members of staff made you do some work you were not used to. You were no brat and you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, so you helped with the cleaning where you could. 

You were working in the kitchen, cleaning the cupboards when a voice behind you made you startled. You nearly fell off the furniture as you were cleaning the very top shelves.

“Miss, Mr. Holmes is here.” 

“Thank you, Tina! Let him in, please.”

“He is here, Miss.”

This is when you finally turned around and noticed the man smiling up at you. Tina already left to get back to her duties.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Y/L/N. I must admit, every time we meet I can see a different side of yours. I have never seen a lady on the sink, cleaning the shelves.”

“Well, someone has to do it.” you said slowly climbing down. Sherlock helped you, making sure you won’t fall. “I assume you came for your payment. Give me a moment. I put it in an envelope in the library.”

You said washing your hands before heading into the library. You pulled the drawer of your father’s desk out and pulled the envelope out.

“For your speedy resolution, and for Dr. Watson’s help regarding my health, I added a bit extra. Thank you very much.” you said handing him the payment.

“I actually didn’t come for the payment, Ms. Y/L/N.” he said but you watched as he reached out to take the payment from you and slipped in into his pocket. “I’m here to keep my word. What I said in the hospital, I wish to get to know you better. You seem like a very interesting and smart woman. You realized that your sister was bad, even when everyone, including me, thought that you were delusional. I apologize for that.” you honestly didn’t know what to say. You thought he was a man who wouldn’t see you in a romantic matter. But then again, he just mentioned getting to know you.

“Maybe, you can stay over for lunch? I will cook up something nice.”

“You?”

“Yes, I am yet to hire a new cook, and in the meantime I do the cooking, my old nanny taught me a few recipes.”

“Sounds nice.”

And so, he stayed for lunch, dinner and the next day he came over again and every single day after.

He was charming, and the two of you could speak for hours about everything and anything.

Before you knew it, months, and years passed.

You certainly didn’t think that when you decided to go to Baker Street 221B to ask for help, you would find your future husband.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway fleursirvart  v-2bucky ehsebastian  crunch-time-sports pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmiler smexylemony greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd thisismysecrethappyplace sincerelyfan theoneanna aestheticsandmarvel rororo06 castellandiangelo avengers-r-us destynelseclipsacastellandiangelo  spilledinkindumpster celebsimagines capsiclesdoll firstangeldragonranch snoopy3000 firstangeldragonranch puknow crazzyter alwayshave-faith  soleil-dor  alex12948 scream-kiwi79

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

My taglist is open!

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank You for reading my story!~

[thefanficmonster]

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002  Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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[ragingbookdragon]

I saw you want idea for flash. Maybe Barry falling in love with Bruce's younger sister who is justice league member. Barry has a crush on her because she is a good cook and very optimistic with a habit of making puns. Cue the cute fluffy romance with food.

P.s. sorry if it's too much. I love your works on the lanterns.

Okay, I changed it just a pinch, but I think it works well! I'm glad you love my GL works dear! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Barry had been to Gotham more than a few times. Honestly, the city gave him the creeps and he stayed away, but he’d been a few times. He was probably the superhero besides Superman and Wonder Woman that didn’t have to call before he entered the area. That being said, his Midwestern sensibilities got hold of him more than they did most, and he couldn’t help but call ahead. Except when he didn’t get a response from Bruce, it worried him, and he got to the Batcave in record time.

“Bruce!” he called, skidding to a stop near the Batcomputer, only to find a young woman sitting in the chair with a worried look on her face. “Uh…”

She jumped at the sound out his voice and spun around, the worried look giving way to relief. “Flash! Oh, I’m so glad someone answered!” hurrying over, she took his hand and led him to the screen. “You have to help Bruce.”

He blinked, looking over at her. “Who are you?”

“Who am—” she shook her head. “That’s not important right now.” Pointing to the screen, she explained, “Joker and Harley took over Arkham Asylum and they’re unlocking the cells all across the blocks. Bruce is good, but I don’t know if he can manage that many supervillains at the same time.”

She clicked a button and the screen flashed, showing Bruce in the middle of a fight with Killer Croc and Poison Ivy. “The others are busy across the city running missions.” Turning, she took Barry’s hands in her own, tears coming to her eyes. “Please, Flash. Help Bruce. Please.”

Barry could only gape at the woman and look at the screen again, watching as Bruce took a blow to the side, and he nodded, pulling away. “Alright. I’ll help him.”

Her shoulder sunk in relief. “Oh, thank you.” She picked up some kind of device that looked like a scanning thermometer and raised it to Barry’s head, clicking the button.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a scanner. I’ll be able to get into your suit’s frequency to help you.” She turned and set down the scanner, then tapped at the screen. Immediately, directions to Arkham Asylum flooded the sensors in Barry’s cowl. “There. Can you see them?”

He nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I’ve got ‘em.”

Grinning at him, she winked. “Now run, Flash. Run.”

Barry shot her a look. “That’s original.” And he was off in a streak of yellow lightning.

***

It took less than thirty minutes for Barry and Bruce to reign in the asylum and make it back to the cave. And boy, was Bruce not happy to see his coworker in Gotham city, much less her who’d called him.

“I explicitly told you not to call anyone unless I ever told you to do so.”

Barry watched as she inconspicuously rolled her eyes, but he knew Bruce saw the reaction too. “I made a judgement call.”

“Your judgement was flawed, (Y/N).”

She glowered at him. “Maybe your flaw is being an anti-social jerk.”

The Flash narrowly managed to turn his snort into a cough.

“I didn’t call in another superhero to rain on your parade, Bruce.” (Y/N) grabbed Barry’s arm and yanked him forward. “I called your friend who was going to have your back when you needed it.”

Bruce looked between the two and Barry couldn’t help but blurt out, “I still have no idea what the relationship is between you two, but I’ve seen Wally and Bart argue long enough to know that you guys are family.”

(Y/N) laughed while Bruce merely grunted. “We’re siblings. Bruce is my older brother.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Barry looked between them. “So, are you not a superhero then?”

She smiled. “No. I’m just technical and moral support for the family.” Meeting his eyes, she added, “And the occasional referee whenever someone has beef with another family member.”

He chuckled. “Telling me the woman who has no martial arts training can keep up with the master detectives?”

(Y/N) winked. “It always helps to have a Superman-Stun-Gun on your person.”

Barry all but cackled, and Bruce griped, “Are you two done? I still have business to take care of.”

She stuck her tongue out at Bruce and grabbed Barry’s hand. “C’mon Barry, you’re probably hungry.”

“I’m always hungry.”

***

(Y/N) ushered him into the kitchen and onto one of the barstools. “Sit. I was just about to pull the chicken out of the oven.”

“What’d you make?”

Cracking the oven, she let the steam billow out before opening it all the way and reaching in with her oven-mitted hands, pulling out a glass casserole dish. Inside was a bubbling mixture of chicken and rice and the second the scent hit Barry’s nose, his stomach grumbled like a whale.

His cheeks flushed and he pressed a hand to his stomach. “Sorry.”

(Y/N) smiled and set the dish down on two wooden trivets before removing the gloves; she grabbed a serving spoon from the drawer and scooped out a good helping of rice and one of the larger pieces of chicken, setting it in front of the Speedster.

When he picked up a spoonful and brought it to his mouth, she gently laid a hand on his wrist, stopping him with a quiet, “Careful, it’s hot.”

Barry closed his mouth in a small “ooo” and blew softly, then put the spoonful in his mouth. Immediately he groaned, eyes closing as he chewed.

“Pretty good, huh?”

He swallowed and nodded. “It’s fantastic.” He stuck the spoon back in the bowl. “It reminds me of the chicken and rice my mom used to make.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flashed with a sad tone, but only for a moment. “My mother used to make this for Bruce and I when we had bad days. It was the comfort food she’d learned how to make when she was young.” She blew on her own spoonful. “I’ve spent almost two decades trying to recreate that loving feeling I used to get when I ate it as a kid.”

Before he could say a word, a shout sounded through the foyer. “AUNT (Y/N)! WHY IS THE OLD MAN ACTING LIKE AN ASSHOLE MORE THAN USUAL!”

She snorted, looking towards the doors when her nephews wandered in; the tallest one stopped and cocked a brow at Barry sitting on the barstool. “Oh. So that’s why B’s in a bad mood.”

“Jason, be nice,” she tutted, spooning the food onto plates, and passing them to each boy that walked over.

The young man glowered at Barry, who was on some level unnerved, but he met the teal eyes with his own firm baby blues. “He’s in my spot.”

(Y/N) nodded to the counter. “Then sit on the counter for now. Barry’s our guest.”

Barry speedily, ate the rest of the food and stood up. “I should actually be getting back to Central.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “But you didn’t even stay for dessert.”

That made Barry perk up. “Dessert?”

She winked. “If you gimme just a sec, I’ll have it whipped up…in a flash.”

Barry cackled while the others around her groaned and then someone cleared their throats, causing them to look towards the entryway at Bruce. (Y/N) smiled and plated some of their dinner, holding it out for him.

He took it and didn’t even cool it off before taking a bite. But the way his expression softened just a moment, told her all she needed to know; he leaned over and pecked her temple, murmuring, “Taste’s just like mother used to make.”

Bruce took the plate and walked back over to the doorway, but stopped and said, “Barry…thank you for the help tonight.” And then he was gone, leaving Barry to gape at the doorframe and (Y/N) smiling.

“I think Hell just froze over, Aunt (Y/N).”

She rolled her eyes and ruffled Tim’s hair. “And there went the loving moment.” Laughing along with her nephews, she looked at Barry. “So, dessert?”

He smiled politely but shook his head. “I really need to be getting back.”

“I understand.” She nodded and gave Jason another serving when he handed his plate over. “Barry?”

He paused, glancing back from the doorway and she gave him a look that made his insides feel warm and fuzzy. “Yeah?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Barry winked in return and was off in a flash.

[christinesficrecs]

A very long list of updated snowed in fic recs for @starsandmoony​ 💜

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Stiles stretches gently and Derek grumbles clutching him tighter in his sleep. Stiles tries not to yelp when Derek buries his face in the back of his neck.

Well fuck.

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Whenever he’d inquired, Stiles had just smiled that enigmatic smile, so like Deaton or Morrell, and said something about being unable to think around the bustle of town.

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Nope.

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Fuck his life.

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Beacon Hills has a snow storm. Totally-not-cuddling happens.

Come Fly With Me (Or Don't) by stilinskisparkles | 15,325

Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn't seen since high school but really doesn't mind getting reacquainted with.

Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands.

The Man in the Snow by mikkimouse | 15,894

Derek finds a young man injured in a ravine on the border of his ranch. That's strange enough, but the mystery only deepens when the young man wakes up without any memory of what he was doing out there.

Blizzard Boyfriend by literaryoblivion | 1,897

With a record-breaking snowstorm on the horizon, threatening a city shutdown for a few days, Stiles gets the bright idea to put an ad up on craigslist for someone to spend his snow days with that would be filled with cuddling, movies, alcohol, and potential makeouts or more.

It's a joke until someone responds.

and home before dark by verity | 3,175

The mystery of the absent Hale brother was hardly a mystery at all until he appeared at last, set on taking up residence out in the woods.

(In which Derek is a hedgewitch. With a cat.)

Let it snow! Let it snow! (but please let it stop eventually) by relenafanel | 19,123

Stiles grew up with his bedroom window overlooking Derek's bedroom, so when he returns home for the holidays he's surprised to find a stranger in his nerdy neighbour's bedroom.

Only, he's not much of a stranger.

It is Derek Hale, the guy who is going to be his new step brother, if the rumours are true.

Red Against the Snow by Ember | 34,219

Stiles is trapped for the holidays in the cabin of a strange man/hermit named Derek. A strangely friendly wolf befriends Stiles during his stay. It's up to the teenager to find out why Derek has secluded himself from society, what the feelings he's beginning to have means, and what the connection between the mysterious man and the mysterious black wolf is.

an exaltation of larks by llassah | 25,370

All Derek wants is to get through the lambing season with his body and spirit intact. He had thought that the blizzards would be the main danger, not a highborn omega with beautiful eyes and a stubborn streak.

The flamingo in the yard by Vendelin | 6,107

It isn't fair that Stiles needs to work Christmas, when his dad is on the other side of the country. Or that his really hot, next door neighbour is around for the holidays as well. Or that there's a power outage that makes things even worse. Or better.

(Fake) Winter Weather Brings Us Together by tylerfucklin (zimothy) | 10,535

So naked cuddling with Derek while suffering from hypothermia wasn't really on Stiles' to-do list for the week, but neither was that kiss--so who was Stiles to complain?

It's a Wild Pitch (But He's a Contact Hitter) by jettiebettie | 11,828

They're combating supernatural forces with blunt instruments now. Seems legit. As long as Stiles doesn't end up getting frostbite, he's willing to roll with it. Not that his friends have to worry about that. Fucking werewolves.

Abominable by Revenant | 20,277

Where Derek buys a secluded cabin halfway up a mountain, meets a yeti and falls in love with Stiles, but not necessarily in that order.

stilinski v. a. snowman | tumblr ficlet

This fic was inspired by this prompt: ‘we’re stuck in a log cabin overnight during a snowstorm bc of some stupid school team building exercise and it’s freEzing and I can’t sleep and you can hear me shivering in the next bed so you pick me up and dump in your bed and good grief you are hot in every sense of the word’ au

[capseycartwright]

Im so so excited for your fake dating au! If you feel like posting a preview, I’d be so here for it

listen all you ever have to do is ask

God help him, Eddie had just invited his parents – who he was lying to about his current relationship status – to live with him for a week.

“You look like you’re having a panic attack,” Buck hummed, flicking on his indicator so he could change lanes, Eddie having some sort of mental breakdown in the passenger seat of Buck’s jeep. They’d carpooled to work that morning, and Eddie had tried to save his best friend from the awkward ‘meet the parents’ dinner, he had, but Buck had insisted it would look strange if he forced his boyfriend to take an Uber when Buck himself had a perfectly good car.

So that was why Eddie was slumped in the passenger seat of Buck’s car, holding a crumpled Trader Joe’s receipt, and wondering how to fake his own death.

“I am,” Eddie huffed, shaking his head. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this, Buck.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Buck reminded, turning off the freeway and onto familiar residential streets. “Anyway, I’m doing you a favour – I’m going to cook while you entertain your parents,” he said. “That way, none of us are going to get food poisoning, and I’ll impress your mom and dad. Wins all around!”

“Ha,” Eddie huffed. “The only way you’d be doing me a favour is if you stab me, right now, so I have to spend the next few days in hospital and not cohabiting with my parents – who I have not lived with for this amount of time since I was nineteen - and if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m pretending I’m in a relationship with you to get them off my back!”

“I’m not going to stab you, Eddie,” Buck rolled his eyes, pulling into the parking space in front of Eddie’s house, Eddie’s heart thundering against his ribcage as he realised his parents were sitting on his front porch, lost in conversation.

“They’re here,” Eddie sighed, shredding the receipt he was still holding tightly to into a mess of tiny pieces that littered the floor of Buck’s car.

Buck was moving before Eddie could question what he was doing, tugging Eddie close to him, in what would likely be perceived as a romantic embrace by his parents, who were undoubtably watching from the porch now. Buck’s shoulder blocked them from view, mostly, and Eddie could feel Buck’s warm breath against his cheek as the other man breathed in and out, slowly, and softly.

“Are you trying to get me to calm down?” Eddie questioned, catching onto Buck’s game quickly – it was something he’d seen him do with victims more times than Eddie could count, Buck slowing his breathing in a way that whoever was near him was helpless to do anything but mimic his actions. Eddie had done it himself enough times, when the two of them were in a tight spot, Buck the only person in Eddie’s life who’d ever truly been able to talk him down from panic.

“Yes,” Buck snorted. “That, and I’m helping you put on a show for your parents.”

“You think they’re watching?”

“Of course they are,” Buck shrugged, leaning in a little closer, his forehead pressed to Eddie’s. Eddie knew his parents view of them was obscured enough that it probably looked as though he and Buck were kissing, and Eddie swallowed a flutter of nervousness that exploded in his stomach as he wondered what it might actually be like to kiss Buck – to close the miniscule space remaining between them, and press his lips to Buck’s, to know how it would feel to have Buck’s mouth against his own.

Shaking the thought out of his head, Eddie glanced over Buck’s shoulder, giving his parents an awkward wave.

“Let’s do this,” Buck grinned, pulling back and cutting the engine, nudging open the door. “I’ll grab the groceries; you say hi to your parents.”