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sequinsmile-x · 11 months

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Oizys - Part 2

Part 1

He never brought it up unless she did, small details emerging every now and again, usually after nightmares she would have once let him believe were about a cold floor in Boston, not the lumpy ground of the woods in Utah more than half a lifetime ago.

-x-

Hi friends!

This was only ever supposed to be a one shot, but I had an idea for a follow up and in classic Vic fashion it would not leave me alone so here we are. You definitely need to read part 1 for this to make sense!

I would like to dedicate this to @sapphoe-sun, who allows me to torment her with fics like this at my will. I'd apologise, but we both know I absolutely would not mean it <3

-x-

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: Troubled teen industry, implied/referenced abuse (nothing different to what would be mentioned in canon), trauma/PTSD

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily smiles as she gets out of the car, something in her chest easing as she walks towards Jess’s front door, excitement at seeing her children for the first time in a few days flooding through her system. Whilst she didn’t work for the BAU anymore, a decision she and Aaron had made a few months ago, she still helped out with cases when the team needed her. They’d spent the last few days in Ohio, the distance between her and her children feeling like she was on a different continent not just a couple of states away, and she was excited to be home.

Around rounds the car and places his arm around her shoulders. He drops a kiss on the top of her head as they step onto Jess’s porch and Emily rings the doorbell.

“I was thinking we should go to the zoo this weekend?” He says, and Emily tilts her head to look at him, “Vi loves the polar bear, Jack loves the lions. It’s one of the few places we can keep them both entertained.”

Emily chuckles and nods, “That sounds like a good idea,” she says, the thought of an uninterrupted day with her family making warmth buzz in her veins, “We may have to carry Vi away from the polar bear though, she thinks he’s her best friend.”

He laughs but any further conversation is cut off as Jess’s front door opens and he watches as something close to surprise flashes across his ex-sister-in-laws face, causing concern to spark in his stomach.

“Oh, hi,” Jess says, leaning against the doorframe, smiling as she looks at Emily, “If you’re here for the kids they aren’t here,” she says, and both of their smiles slip from their faces, “Your mom came to get them a couple of hours ago, she said she wanted to take them for dinner and she’d let you know.”

Any relief Emily had felt as they approached the house was now gone, her chest tighter by the second, “No,” she says, disconnecting herself from Aaron as she digs through her purse for her phone, her stomach twisting when she sees she has no new notifications, no texts or missed calls, “She didn’t call.”

Anxiety spreads through her veins like wildfire, destroying everything in its wake as her brain fills with worse-case scenarios that she knows are ridiculous but she can’t shake off, all of them finding places to hide in her lungs making it impossible for her to take a deep breath. She hated her mother having the kids by herself even when it was a planned thing, every minute an eternity until she saw her children again, but this was worse. The thought that she had no idea where they were enough to make her choke. She sees flashes of the wilderness as she blinks, a familiar chill she’d never been able to shake crawling up her spine, its hand wrapping around her throat.

She’s brought back to the moment by Aaron’s palm on her lower back, his warmth reaching her even through the material of her shirt, and she snaps out of it. She fixes a smile on her face, one she hopes the other woman can’t see through and clears her throat. Despite her panic, she knows Jess has no idea, that she doesn’t know the depth of Emily’s issues with her mother, and all she would have seen was a grandmother fresh back from an assignment in Europe who wanted to spend time with her grandchildren.

“She must have just forgotten, We all know how Vi and Jack can talk anyone's ear off,” she says, grateful that by some miracle her voice doesn’t shake. She looks up at Aaron, “We should just go to my mother’s they are probably there by now.”

She turns and walks away without saying goodbye to Jess, something Aaron covers up with a comment she barely hears about how it had been a long few days and that she was tired before he says goodbye for the both of them. Emily is already in the car, her seatbelt fastened and her thumbnail in between her teeth, when Aaron opens the driver's door and climbs in next to her.

The tension in the car is palpable, the air thick with everything she wants to scream but can’t. It had been eight months since the case that had made her accidentally admit her deepest secret to him and the team, a shared experience with an unsub that had briefly knocked down one of the walls she’d built when she was young. Aaron had been nothing but understanding since then. He agreed to not to her mother about it despite the fact Emily could so clearly see that he wanted to protect her from something that happened years before they had even met. He never brought it up unless she did, small details emerging every now and again, usually after nightmares she would have once let him believe were about a cold floor in Boston, not the lumpy ground of the woods in Utah more than half a lifetime ago. She wishes she’d told him years ago. That she’d set free the part of herself she’d locked up so tightly long before she had, his comfort and his warmth the balm she should have known she needed.

She can feel his gaze burning into the left side of her face as she purposely stares forward, sure that if she looked at him she’d burst into tears.

“Em-”

“Can we just go?” She asks, cutting him off, her voice harsher than she means it to be. She sighs and places her hand on his knee, squeezing tightly in a silent apology, “Please?”

There’s a beat of silence and for a moment she worries he’s going to argue with her, but then she hears the click of the key in the ignition followed by the start of the engine. He links one hand with hers and she holds on tightly, needing the connection she still wasn’t entirely sure how to ask for even after all this time. Affection he always seemed to know she needed before she did, always waiting at the sidelines ready to hand it out without being prompted.

They drive to her mother’s in silence, the only sound the repeated attempts of Emily trying to call her, the phone going to voicemail each time before she hung up without leaving a message before trying again.

Aaron holds her hand the entire way.

___

“Where the fuck are they?” Emily asks, her arms tight over her chest as they stand in her mother’s driveway after being told by her housekeeper that she wasn’t home yet and that the kids hadn’t been over at all.

“Have you tried calling her again?” Aaron asks, doing everything he can to keep calm himself despite his own anxiety rising. He needed to stay level-headed, something that Emily usually did herself, but the kids were, and always had been, her Achilles heel. The chink in her armour that made a woman who had faced death without blinking the nervous wreck in front of him.

“I haven’t fucking stopped trying, Aaron,” she shouts, her jaw tight as she grinds her teeth, “How does she not know that she can’t just take them somewhere? Who the fuck does she think she is just disappearing with them?”

Aaron knows that there isn’t an answer to that, and that whilst there was likely an explanation for all of this, no matter how flimsy, which Elizabeth would deem as a reason. He doesn’t say it though as he watches his wife pace back and forth in front of the house she had once lived in, her nerves shot as she tortures herself with scenarios he knows he won’t be able to talk her out of. The only thing that would calm her down would be seeing Jack and Violet.

He’s about to risk his career by abusing all of the systems he has access to, his phone in his hand to call Penelope to ask her to put out an APB on Elizabeth, when he hears the familiar churn of the front gate. He turns at the same time as Emily and the relief he feels is palpable when he watches Elizabeth’s car pull into the driveway.

Emily swears she doesn’t have control of her body as she walks towards the car, her legs shaking underneath her as her mother’s driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, lifting Jack out and onto the ground. She takes a breath so deep that it hurts, catching on every rib as she sucks it in when she sees Elizabeth climb out of the car, Violet already in her arms from where she’d removed her from the car seat. She turns away for a moment so the kids can’t see her, and she tries to catch her breath as she wipes her cheeks, pushing away tears of relief that had escaped past her lashline.

“Mom, Dad!”

She blows out a breath before she turns back to face them as Jack calls for them and she smiles widely, wearing it like a mask, as she crouches down as he runs over. She wraps her arms tightly around him and kisses the side of his head, the smell of his shampoo calming her down.

“Hi honey,” she says, pulling back to look at him, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he replies, squeezing her once more before he untangles himself from her to hug Aaron. Emily briefly watches the two of them together, before she’s distracted by her daughter.

“Mama!”

She looks over at her two-year-old and beams, purposely ignoring her mother as she takes Violet from her and pulls her into her arms.

“Hi sweet girl, Mama missed you,” she says, placing repeated kisses against her little girl’s dark hair, “Mama missed you so much.”

“Grandma took us for pizza,” Jack says, his voice full of excitement, and Emily looks at her mother, her eyes cold whilst neither of her children are looking at her.

“That was nice of her,” Emily says carefully, her eyes locked with Elizabeth’s as she makes her feelings clear despite her choice of words.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen them so I thought I’d surprise them,” Elizabeth says, and Emily has to suppress a bitter chuckle, creating a lump in her chest that hurts, and she shakes her head.

“It was a surprise for everyone,” Emily mutters, and Aaron steps closer to her, his hand on her back as he takes Violet from her, kissing the toddler's forehead as he says hello and settles her on the ground simultaneously.

“Jack,” he says, turning to look at his son, “Take your sister and get in the car,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, “You can play music on here or watch some of those videos she likes on YouTube if you want.”

Jack looks back and forth between them, his eyes flicking from Emily and Elizabeth who were in a silent standoff, and Aaron who was still looking at him, and he nods. He reaches out for Violet's hand and starts to lead her to the car.

“Come on Lettie,” he says, using the nickname only he used for his little sister, “That means the grown-ups have to talk.”

Violet, mercifully unaware of the awkwardness her brother had picked up on, follows gladly, always happy to be wherever Jack was. The three adults wait until they hear the car door open and then close again, the silence that follows the slam of the door loud and uncomfortable.

“Where the hell were you?” Emily asks, her anger barely restrained now the anxiety was gone and she knew her children were safe, “You can’t just take them somewhere without telling us.”

Elizabeth sighs, “I told Jessica where we were going.”

“I am their mother,” Emily grits out, her hands tight around her arms as she crosses them over her chest, her nails digging in through her shirt, “You need to tell me where they are. Via a phone call, or a text at least.”

“Emily, you’re being dramatic-”

“I tried to call you,” she says, cutting Elizabeth off, “Dozens of times. Why didn’t you answer your fucking phone?”

If Elizabeth wants to reprimand her for her language she doesn’t, instead she sighs, shaking her head at what she clearly still thinks are dramatics from her daughter.

“You know what I’m like with my phone, and I thought we’d be here before you.”

Emily laughs bitterly, well aware of Aaron standing just behind her, “That’s not good enough.”

Elizabeth crosses her arms over her chest, defensive in a way Emily doesn’t think she deserves to be, “You’re acting like you don’t trust me with them.”

Emily scoffs, “That’s because I don’t,” she seethes through her teeth, keeping as quiet as she can despite her fury because she knows Jack and Violet are in the car and that no matter how loudly Jack played music on Aaron’s phone, they’d still be able to hear them, “I don’t trust you with them.”

Elizabeth visibly deflates, her arms dropping to her sides, and it only stokes the fire in Emily’s belly. Her mother’s surprise an accelerant to her anger, because the fact she was shocked, that she couldn’t think of one reason why Emily wouldn’t trust her, hurts more than she cares to admit even to herself.

Anger had always been easier than acknowledging how much power her mother still had over her even now.

“Emily-”

“Why would I trust you?” She cuts her mother off before she can say anything, not interested in hearing any of it, “I was taken from this house in the middle of the night when I was 16 years old,” she says, pointing at the place she had never quite been able to call home, “I woke up terrified to two men standing at the end of my bed and I thought ‘if I can get Mom’s attention this will be ok,’” she hates how her voice cracks, and she hears Aaron take another step closer to her, “But then I saw you standing at the door, watching it happen.”

It hangs between them for a moment, the weeks that neither of them had ever spoken about, and she watches as Elizabeth looks past her, her eyes clearly fixed on Aaron, before she looks back at Emily.

“That was for your own good,” Elizabeth replies carefully, “You were out of control.”

“I was a child. And don’t for one second pretend it was done for anything other than protecting your reputation.”

If those weeks in the woods had taught Emily anything, it was that she had made the right call not telling her mother that she was pregnant the year before. She knew that her ability to make her own choices would have been pulled out from under her and she would have been sent away. Forced to live in hiding under a shelter built by shame and her mother’s disappointment until she returned 9 months later without a baby, doomed to live as if nothing had happened.

She hoped that if, god forbid, something similar happened to Violet in the future she would come straight to her. That her daughter would know she was a safe space and always would be, and that she’d hold her hand through it all no matter what her decision would be.

“Emily,” Elizabeth says, as if speaking to a child, “Why don’t we go inside and talk?”

“Why?” She asks, “So the neighbours don’t hear? So no one else finds out you send your kid to a behavioural camp when all she wanted was for you to love her,” she says, purposely making her voice louder towards the end of the sentence. “I slept outside for weeks in a crappy tent full of holes and a sleeping bag that was probably older than I was,” she says, wiping a tear away furiously from her cheek, her knuckle rough against her skin, “We were barely allowed to eat. What did I do that deserved that?”

Elizabeth doesn’t flinch and Emily hates that she can’t tell if thats because she already knew or because she was just so good at never showing how she really felt. She wants to see a reaction across her mother’s face. She wants to see horror, or sadness or guilt. Anything other than the same expression that had always made her want to scream.

“You were drinking, partying, getting up to all sorts with who knows-”

“I was a teenage girl,” she says, chuckling humourlessly, “It doesn’t take being a profiler to know that all I wanted was your fucking attention,” she feels the fight drain from her and turns to look at Aaron, almost colliding with his chest he was so close now, “Let’s go home.”

“Emily, you can’t just walk away,” Elizabeth calls after her.

“Yes I can,” she replies, not even looking back, “I’m done.”

“You are not a child-”

“Do you want to know what I thought when I didn’t know where you and the kids were?” Emily asks sharply, turning to look at her mother and taking a step back towards her. She waits until Elizabeth nods, and she shakes her head, “I thought you’d taken them somewhere like that.”

This time, horror does sweep over Elizabeth’s face, and jealousy that makes Emily feel guilty swoops through her belly.

“Emily,” Elizabeth says, shaking her head, “I would never do that to them.”

She feels something snap inside of her, any control she had over her emotions is gone in an instant. Everything she’d thought ever since those long weeks in the Utah wilderness coming out as she shouts at her mother.

“Then why did you do it to me?”

Her words echo around them, the accusation wrapped up as a question rippling outwards in a way Emily isn’t sure will ever stop. She finally tears her gaze away from Elizabeth’s and briefly looks at Aaron before she walks away, the car door opening and shutting quickly.

Aaron looks up at his mother-in-law and has to remember every promise he has ever made to his wife to stop himself from saying something. He’d stayed silent throughout the argument, well aware that as much as he wanted to intervene Emily did not need him to protect her. She needed him to love her, to comfort her, and that is exactly what he intended to do.

He stares at Elizabeth, his eyes stern as he stands in place a beat too long before he turns in silence to walk the short distance to the car. When he climbs in Emily is just settling back into her seat after clipping Violet into her car seat in the back and the only sound is a song playing on his phone that was still in Jack’s hand. He starts the car, and drives away, the gate still open from when Elizabeth and the kids had arrived.

Emily reaches out for his hand and he takes it, squeezing her fingers together in a silent promise that everything would be ok.

___

It’s bedtime before they have a moment alone.

If he hadn’t known Emily as long as he had, or hadn’t seen her ability to keep up appearances so many times first-hand, he would have been taken aback at how normal she had acted all evening. The switch between baring her scars to her mother outside the house where it had all begun, to helping their kids with homework and bath time with a smile on her face when they could home, was almost jarring. She laughed with Jack as he tried to teach her how to play one of his video games, the little boy unaware that Emily was already very good at it, but acting as if she wasn’t for a moment of mother-son bonding. She paced back and forth in Violet’s bedroom, the toddler half asleep against her shoulder as she demanded another lullaby, her mother’s singing voice one of the few things that could get her to sleep ever since she was a newborn.

He’d always been impressed with his wife’s ability to compartmentalise, even back when she was just a member of his team, but tonight it made him sad. His awareness of where it came from, that it was one of the things she shared with her mother, the woman who had let her down so spectacularly, a kick to the gut.

They are both sat up in their bed, the door slightly ajar for when Violet inevitably joined them in the night, and their backs against the headboard before Emily says anything.

“I don’t…I don’t know how to fix this,” she says, her focus on her hands as she rubbed cream into them, something she insisted on doing every evening, “I don’t know if I want to fix this.”

He turns to look at her, his eyes lingering on her side profile, every bit as breathtaking as she was the day they met and more. She sometimes lamented getting older, her nose scrunched up as she looked at herself critically in the mirror. He thought, and made a point of telling her, that she had never looked more beautiful. Every change to her body, every laugh line on her face, a reminder of the life they shared together.

He wondered if she hated getting older, if she rubbed cream into her hands that supposedly slowed down ageing, because there was part of her that worried she’d turn into her mother. Something he knows simply isn’t possible.

“It’s not up to you,” he says, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear, smiling softly when she turns to look at him, “I think the ball is firmly in her court, sweetheart.”

She nods, humming softly before she leans into his side. She sighs as she wraps his arm around her shoulders, his comfort enveloping her in the way she needed it to.

“She’ll never apologise,” she muses, reaching out for one of his hands, half smiling when she doesn’t miss how he grimaces at the feel of her slippery skin but holds on to her anyway, “Even if she realises what she did was wrong she won’t…and I guess I have to find a way to be ok with that if I want to continue to have a relationship with her.”

He wants to tell her that they never have to speak to her mother again if she doesn’t want to, but he knows it won’t achieve anything tonight.

“Well,” he says, hooking his finger under her chin and making her look at him, “you don’t have to be ok with it tonight. Or even tomorrow,” he leans in and stamps a kiss against her lips, “Or the day after that.”

She chuckles softly, and kisses him once more before pulling away, “Or the day after that?”

“We can take this at whatever pace you want,” he assures her, “We’ll figure out what you want to do and go from there.”

She smiles at him, her eyes shining with tears she doesn’t want to shed and she rests her forehead against his for a moment, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, cupping the back of her head, “Now we should try and get some sleep, we’ll have a little monster in our bed in the early hours of the morning demanding your attention.”

She chuckles but lightly slaps his chest as they lay down, “Don’t call our daughter a little monster,” she says, and his only response is to pull her into his arms. She curls around his side, seeking out the warmth she would have once thought didn’t exist as she settles down, her head on his shoulder, “The kids love her.”

He sighs and runs his hand up and down her back, his fingers catching on the notches of her spine, “I know they do,” he says, kissing the top of her head, “And I know whatever you end up deciding will be the right thing.”

She scoffs, unsure how he could be so sure when she felt so adrift, his love for her the liferaft she was desperately clinging onto. “How do you know that?”

“Because you love them, and you’re the best mom on the planet,” he says, holding her impossibly closer when the praise makes her tense in his arms just like it always did, “You always put them first.”

She hides her smile into his t-shirt, her eyes closed as she tries to hold off tears. It’s all she’d ever wanted - to be the mother she had craved when she was a kid herself, and she liked to think that’s exactly what she was. She was the one both Jack and Violet sought out when they were sick or upset, just like their father did, and she was the one they both came to when they needed help. She hoped that would continue, that it would change from helping them with homework or opening up a new toy to helping with problems with friends at school and their first love and heartbreak. She always wanted to be the first person they called, that they’d know she would always be there ready and waiting.

“Let's get some sleep,” she whispers, already being lulled into relaxation by her husband’s hand dragging up and down her back as the exhaustion of the day finally takes over.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he says, his lips against the top of her head as she gets heavier against him.

“You too,” she mumbles, her words slurring together.

He’s still awake, keeping a vigil over Emily, her soft snores filling the room, when Violet sneaks in several hours later, her eyes bleary and her hair a mess as she drags her toy polar bear behind her. If the toddler realises he’s awake she doesn’t acknowledge him, instead walking around the bed and climbing onto it, crawling to her mother’s side. She’s barely laid a hand on her, her tiny fists grasping at her mother’s t-shirt when Emily stirs, turning to face Violet with her eyes half open.

“Hi Vi,” she mumbles as the little girl lays down next to her, curling up in her mother’s already waiting embrace.

“Mama,” the toddler mutters, already mostly asleep again now she was in Emily’s arms.

Aaron watches the whole thing with amusement as his wife starts snoring again and he's not sure she was ever fully awake. He settles onto his side and wraps his arms around the two of them, finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that whatever happened next, they’d all be ok because they had each other.

-x-

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 7 months

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Sicktember #19

Prompt: Curled Up With a Pet

Fandom/OCs: Priest ‘verse OCs (Luc and Flora)

Words: 2530

Sicknario inspo: 'Have you taken anything for that fever?' from this post and caught in the rain scenario from this post.

Author’s comments/background: Ah my sweet babies, in the honeymoon of their relationship. This is tooth rotting fluff, giving a new meaning to the idea of sickly sweet, but it’s definitely sickfic and easily one of my favorite things I wrote this year. Another prompt that just needed some characters to bring it to life, though, which made writing this easy. Enjoy the continued progression of Luc and Flora’s relationship. I set myself up perfectly for some romantic sickbed sex as the next chapter. We’ll see if I have the b*lls to write that, though.

~~~***~~~

The last week in June was always when Father Luc took his summer vacation. He had rented an isolated cabin by a lake in a different state this year, ensuring the lowest possible chance of meeting someone he knew, which enabled Flora to join him along with Charlotte, his golden retriever. The pair had been scheming and anticipating the trip for months. Days of uninterrupted time together, not having to hide or cover their whereabouts, was something they had only dreamed of. Now they would actually experience it.

The first few days of the trip were blissful. They spent hours basking in one another's company, talking about everything and nothing, elated not to be watching the clock or looking over their shoulder constantly. They ate every meal together, swam at all hours of the day, cuddled on the couch, stayed in bed for hours, explored and memorized every line and curve and expression and breath… perfection was the only word they could find to describe those first days.

Around midweek, though, Flora was going a little stir crazy. It was decided that she would run to the nearest town for a grocery run and some window shopping. Luc despised shopping of any variety, so he opted to stay back and go for a hike with Charlotte on the nearby paths. It would be their first time apart in days, and Flora felt a little strange leaving them in the rearview mirror. She felt almost exposed without the warmth of his solid presence only a touch away. She decided she wasn't going to linger long in town, not wanting to waste a single moment of the blessed week.

Luc, too, missed Flora the moment her car disappeared, but he had been looking forward to hiking since they'd gotten here. Flora was not an outdoors girl, though he knew she would've toughed it out just to please him, so he seized the opportunity to go while she was otherwise occupied.

In his eagerness to get a few miles under his boots, he didn't look at the weather before starting off, which proved to be a huge oversight. The first half of the hike was perfect. He set a challenging pace, but didn't push himself and eased up when he needed to, though he refrained from taking any long rests. Charlotte trotted along with him merrily, enjoying her investigations along the path but never straying far from his side.

The hour he'd set for his midway point arrived, and since he was feeling great, he decided to go just a bit further. The moment he made this decision, so it seemed, the rain clouds rolled in with frightening speed. Within minutes the first fat drops were falling. Luc groaned and turned around immediately, knowing it was probably too late. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes rain was falling steadily, surprisingly cold for the month of June. He had a cheap plastic rain poncho in his pack and he threw this on, knowing it would do little good in this, heavy, soaking rain. He tried to keep up the same pace, and even sped up where he could, but the path was steep and slippery in many places and he was forced to slow down for the sake of safety, so in the end he lost time. He avoided any injury, but he still slipped and fell more than once, and soon he was muddy on top of everything else. Any enjoyment he'd gotten from the first half of the walk was quashed by the cold, wet second half, and he was beyond relieved when the cabin appeared over the rise. Charlotte started running when she saw it, desperate to get somewhere dry, and he wasn't far behind.

Even though they returned almost forty-five minutes later than he intended, shockingly Flora hadn't returned either. He realized she was likely trying to wait out the rain, since driving in inclement weather made her anxious as it was, and this was unfamiliar territory to boot. Relieved not to have worried her, he toweled off himself and the dog, threw his filthy clothes in the wash, and hopped into a hot shower.

He felt worlds better when he emerged, except that the damp chill seemed to have settled in his bones. Donning a sweatshirt and sweatpants, he planted himself on the couch to await the return of his beloved.

About an hour after the rain had slowed to a drizzle, Luc heard the truck in the driveway. She had texted him when she was leaving town that she was on her way and that she'd picked up frozen pizzas for dinner, so he had the oven preheated and the pans ready. He waited just inside the door for her, and the moment she entered they collapsed into each other as if their absence had been months instead of hours, a hug so tight that neither knew where one of them ended and the other began. He breathed in the sweet scent of her, relishing the tickle of her hair against his neck.

"I don't know how I'll get used to not being able to touch you in public again," she murmured in his ear, echoing his thoughts exactly.

"We won't deal with that until we have to," he murmured back.

They continued with similar sweet nothings while they moved as one into the kitchen and got the pizzas into the oven, unable to keep eyes and hands away from one another.

"How was town?" he asked after a while, in the midst of making sweet iced tea to go with the pizza.

"Adorable. It's cliche, but the best word to describe it is quaint. They have little shops for everything. The grocery store was very overpriced, but they did have a lot of good stuff. I definitely splurged a little. How was your hike?"

He made a face. "Wet. Well, breathtaking at first. The trails are wonderful. But we got caught in the rain and got drenched before we could get home."

"I wondered why Charlie was looking all bedraggled. And why you chose to shower without me," she said, nudging her hip teasingly against his. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know you were really looking forward to that."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll get another chance before we leave. But next time I'll actually check the weather first."

The rest of the night passed similarly. The rain never stopped with only the intensity varying from hour to hour. After their first day out of the house in days, the pair was tired and spent a languid evening watching movies on the couch. Flora sat in Luc's lap, her head on his chest, with a blanket covering them both. Luc was thankful for all the extra warmth keeping him from shivering, since he still couldn't get warm. They both dozed off and on, but during one interlude between movies, Flora made Luc promise to take her out to lunch the next day and go with her to a bookstore cafe she'd seen for dessert. Because Luc's only objective for the whole week was to make Flora the happiest woman alive, of course he said yes.

~~~

In the wee hours of the next morning, Luc woke out of nowhere. Usually a hard sleeper, at first he was confused as to why he was awake, until he realized the pillow was unpleasantly wet under his face because apparently his nose was running. He gingerly lifted his head to find one nostril was completely clogged while the other was already tickling furiously, as if a dozen sneezes wanted to get out suddenly. He crept out of bed, careful not to disturb Flora. Charlotte raised her head to look at him from her bed on the floor, then laid back down with a huff of annoyance.

He tiptoed around the foot of the bed, scrubbing at his nose until it squelched which only served to make him want to sneeze more, and over to the ensuite bathroom. Once the bathroom door was shut behind him, he blew his nose several times, then finally gave in to stifle a smattering of fittish sneezes into a towel. Another round of nose blowing, which triggered a little coughing fit, and at last he felt better. Opening the bathroom door, he was startled to see Flora half sitting up, blinking at him in confusion.

"Are you okay?" she mumbled, fuzzy with sleep. "Heard you coughing."

He frowned. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'm fine. Just a tickle."

"Heard you sneezing too. Are you coming down with something?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a little chill. All the rain yesterday and such. Nothing to worry about."

Flora nodded, already coasting back to sleep. She was out before he had gotten under the covers. Before he could settle, he again had to scrub at his nose and was annoyed to find that it was already feeling drippy. He laid down with a huff reminiscent of Charlotte's and closed his eyes. He too was asleep again in moments.

~~~

The couple slept in the next morning, as had been their habit this week. By late morning, though, Flora, more of a morning person than Luc, was flitting around like a butterfly getting ready while the priest hadn't yet managed to get out of bed.

"Why are you getting all dressed up?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"Because you promised to take me to lunch, silly! It's already brunch time as it is."

He ran a hand across his face, suppressing a groan. "Right, right. Okay, then I need to start getting ready too." He tried to keep his tone positive, but going into town was the last thing he wanted to do. Anything beyond moving from the bed to the couch was the last thing he wanted to do. But he could never disappoint Flora, not during their magical getaway. He was sluggish getting ready. His nose and throat still bothered him, his eyes felt puffy, and now he had the makings of a headache too. Yet he didn’t complain, smiled at Flora whenever he was near, and tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

He couldn’t hide anything from perceptive Flora, though. He hadn’t made much headway in getting ready, and had only just made it out of the shower when she stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm. “Are you okay, Luc? You look pretty out of it.”

He sighed, choosing truth over a white lie. “I think that hike yesterday really took it out of me. I’m exhausted. Got the sniffles. Just really don’t feel great. But hey, I can still take you out to lunch, don’t worry. I want to make you happy and make the most of our time here."

Flora gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t do that to yourself. I can see in your eyes that you really don’t want to go out. You stay here and rest and hold down the fort. I’ll run up there and grab a book or two and some lunch and coffee to go for us. You don’t need to make yourself miserable for my sake.”

He chuckled softly. “I would never be miserable if I was with you. But if you’re sure, then I’ll take you up on that offer. I know you’re getting bored just hanging around here. And all I want to do is go back to sleep for a while. I promise I’ll be better company when you get back.”

“Especially if I bring you some caffeine,” she laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll see you in a few hours, then. Enjoy your rest.”

“I’ll miss you the whole time,” he said softly. He hated that he would have to watch her drive away again, but knew he wouldn’t feel any better if he were with her in this case. It was for the best for him to stay here, so he could get himself into shape to enjoy her when she got back.

~~~

Flora was back by late afternoon with a bag full of books, and a bag full of takeout, plus a carrier of drinks. Luc wasn’t in the living room, and she had a strong sense of deja vu, recalling the official beginning of their romance when she nursed him though a horrible chest cold. She set the food in the kitchen and the books in the living room, then poked her head into the bedroom, smiling at the sight that greeted her.

Luc was wearing the same clothes he had been when she left, and it looked like he had turned around and laid down as soon as she was gone. He was on top of the bedspread, but covered in the blanket she always traveled with, snoring deeply and curled up in a “C” shape around Charlotte, who was also snoozing. Unlike the first time she had nursed him, though, she wasn’t about to let him sleep all day, not when they only had a few precious days left alone together. Plus, she was hungry, and she assumed he would be too.

She perched on the side of the bed and ran her hand up and down the length of his leg. When he didn’t stir, she tried gently shaking his arm. He shifted and mumbled, immediately scrubbing his nose, which she noted was an angry shade of red, into his shoulder with a snuffle. She went to brush the riot of dark curls away from his forehead, but frowned when her palm made contact with his skin. She shook his shoulder again, softly calling his name. His eyes flickered open and lit up upon seeing her. They shared a tiny smile.

“Hey, sleepyhead… Have you taken anything for that fever?” she asked softly, trying not to let worry color her tone too much.

“Fever?” he mumbled. “What fever?” Luc slowly sat up, rubbing a palm into one eye and sniffling, only to be wracked by a harsh shiver a moment later that made him hiss in discomfort.

“Oh no, are you cold?” Flora asked, though the answer seemed obvious, scooting closer to him and lifting her arm invitingly.

“Freezing,” he said, and she thought she heard his teeth start to chatter as he pulled her blanket closer around himself, then sagged against her with a sleepy yawn, his heated skin making the hair on her arms prickle. She simply sat and held him for a bit, weighing their options.

“Looks like I might be making another run into town,” Flora murmured. “I’m not sure how much medicine I brought. I think I just have Tylenol and Ibuprofen.”

“Don’t go again,” Luc mumbled, still half asleep against her. “I’ll be fine. I just want you here with me.”

Flora laughed softly. “If you insist. Your wish is my command.”

“All I wish is that we go watch more movies with coffee and dinner.”

“Call me Jeanne, then, because I think I can make that happen. As long as you promise you’ll take some medicine and not get any worse.”

“Your wish is my command,” Luc echoed sleepily, his dimple flickering in a smile.

#sicktember 2023 #skt 2023 #priest 'verse ocs #prompt 19

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feverishly-kpop · 9 months

Text

Matz & Ateez - Part 3

Everybody had done their best to be quiet for the afternoon out of respect for Seonghwa and Hongjoong but after hours of being on their best behavior the rest of the members were getting restless.

After half an hour of screeching laughter and a suspicious number of loud thuds and bangs Seonghwa had had enough, pulling a blanket over his head.

“Joong, make them stop. My head…” he whined from under the covers.

Hongjoong groaned into his pillow. A dull pain had been building behind his eyes for the better part of the afternoon and their dongsaengs’ antics were doing nothing to help. Tossing back his blankets Hongjoong walked to their closed door.

“Yunho-ah” he yelled with the most intimidating voice he could muster in his current condition, followed immediately by a fit of painful coughs. The apartment fell silent before Hongjoong heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Hyung?” Yunho said from the other side of the door, his tone indicating that he knew that his hyung was not pleased.

“Get them under control and get them out of here” Hongjoong growled, sending the footsteps racing back to the common area. Hongjoong sighed in relief as he heard Yunho frantically instruct the rest of the members to get ready to go and, just a few minutes later, the sound of the door opening and closing.

Then silence. The sweet, sweet sounds of nothing.

Hongjoong laid back down in his bed, craving nothing more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“Joong. I really don’t feel well” Seonghwa muttered from his bed.

Yeah, join the club.

“I think my temperature is up. I’m…really dizzy” Seonghwa added, his words slurring in a way that instantly put Hongjoong on edge.

Sitting up again, he looked over at Seonghwa who was trying to get out of bed but failing miserably, clearly too dizzy to do much more than lean against his headboard with his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, don’t try to get up. Lay back down. Okay?” Hongjoong said softly as he noticed the tears running down Seonghwa’s rosy red cheeks. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, Hwa. I’ll be right back.”

And with that Hongjoong hauled himself to his feet again, this time heading toward the washroom.

For all of the times he had complained about the small size of their apartment it certainly felt anything but in the moment. He made it half way down the hallway before he had to stop and lean against the wall to catch his breath.

He was just about to continue when he was startled by a voice behind him.

“Hyung? What are you doing out of bed?” Yeosang said as he popped his head out from his own room.

“Sang…I’m fine…” Hongjoong started but instantly gave up when he realized there was no way he was going to make it either to his original destination nor back to his own room. “Fuck, I’m dizzy too now” he muttered under his breath.

Yeosang raced forward from his room, grabbing Hongjoong around the shoulders as he guided him back to his room.

“What are you doing here Yeosang? Didn’t everybody go out?” Hongjoong asked between coughs, doing his best to bury his face in his elbow.

“We figured somebody should stay back here with you two. In case…well I guess in case something like this happened” Yeosang responded as he sat Hongjoong back on the edge of his bed.

“Thank you. Seriously. I didn’t realize how far the washroom is from our room” Hongjoong whispered, exhausted from the few minutes he spent on his feet. “But you definitely shouldn’t be in here. You don’t want whatever this is, trust me.”

Yeosang smiled sadly back at Hongjoong. “Hyung, as much as none of us want to get sick, somebody’s gotta take care of you.”

Hongjoong knew Yeosang was right. “Can you grab the thermometer from the cabinet in the washroom?” He relented. “And please put a mask on.”

*~*~*~*~*~

It didn’t take long for Yeosang to confirm that both Hongjoong and Seonghwa were running uncomfortably high fevers, which explained why neither Yeosang or Hongjoong could get Seonghwa to stop crying.

After an hour of cool compresses, changing clothes, popsicles, and calming words Yeosang had managed to single-handedly ease Seonghwa back to sleep. Hongjoong had fallen asleep almost immediately after Yeosang checked his temperature which was frankly a relief. Yeosang couldn’t handle tears from both hyungs at the moment.

Once he was sure that neither of them would be waking up any time soon Yeosang slipped out, pulling his mask off as he left their room and closing the door behind himself.

#kpop sickfic #kpop fluff #sickfic #ateez fluff #ateez sickfic #hongjoong fluff #sick hongjoong #Hongjoong sickfic #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa sick #seonghwa sickfic

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joyfullyacat · 1 year

Text

A gift and reward for being a Good Noodle @cacaocheri

CW: it's just unbelievable fluff, genuine praise, and a dash of pining, a pinch!!

When you had signed up to be a daycare assistant at a massive pizza-arcade-megaplex mishmash of an establishment, there was one of two things you had not realized at the time.

The first one was that you'd pretty much be exclusively handling naptime - not that it was an issue, quite the contrary. Seeing the steadily sleepy faces protest their hardest before falling face first forward into a pillow was the highlight of your day.

For the second? That you'd be the assistant to an animatronic who liked to... Stare.

Just stare.

Sun, in all of his eccentric, bodacious tendencies, seemed to not quite know how to handle you. More accurately, how to handle himself around you.

More often than not you'd catch him staring while standing in the designated "sun spot" like a cat while the surrounding lights were turned off for nap time. The area took up a little less than half the room, just by the tables dedicated to arts and crafts. He'd get the next activity ready there while you did your part.

When you asked about it in your first week working with him. His optics not being equipped for the dark was the frankly flimsy excuse that he gave you

Said flimsy excuses are something he excelled at actually. Most famously was why the children called you Mx. Bunny. You found out that it was because Sun had mistakenly referred to you as Sunny-Bunny while asking about your absence to a coworker while trying to explain to the kids your whereabouts. (You were unfortunately out at an appointment that day.) He had tried to tell you it was because of a sticker that you somehow didn't notice on your uniform that he definitely tried to sneak on there without you noticing.

...That was just the tip of the iceberg for his endearing blunders, really.

Now currently - it was just about that time once again, getting the kids to hug their plushies and clutch their blankets. Where you'd feel... Not holes being burned into you like generally intense stares go but more. Protected? Looked after. A sort of safety net reassurance, a mindful eye.

It made the whole process feel less daunting as each little one in their myriad of ages was tucked away for the next hour.

And for once, you did not have to keep any little one cradled in your arms or draped over your lap while humming sweet little nothings that came to mind or reading a story.

A mission had finally become available. One you had been meaning to do but the stars simply wouldn't align for it.

...

Just... Talking to your coworker.

Uninterrupted.

Honestly, something easier said than done.

Carefully, you pick yourself up from the designated napping grounds, happy you situated yourself on the edge so you wouldn't have to weave between the group of tikes. Though, when you turned to face the Sun himself, you involuntarily freeze.

The daycare attendant was standing where he always did in all his typical glory, hands politely clasped in front of him with interlaced fingers but...his expression was new.

Subtlety glowing eyes set in a downward slope, even his permanent ear-to-ear grin - if he had them at least, seemed to be... Softened in a sense.

And he was looking right at you, unabashed, with that expression you can only describe as adoration. Maybe admiration for a less strong term.

It was the sort of fond look you'd give to someone talking about their passions, wholehearted focus placed onto that sole being.

Your face all of a sudden felt quite hot and going right back to your duty seemed far more interesting than confronting the mechanical individual who was sending your heart to take leaps and bounds right out of your chest.

Sun's hands moved before you could turn yourself away. Untangling before making a simple beckoning motion done with a flick of his wrist towards himself, regarding you patiently with a tilt of his head to the right.

That was far smoother than you would ever care to admit.

Though it meant that it was definitely too late to turn back now.

Stiffly, you wander to his right side and he leans down some to make up for the over two-feet of height between you and him. Making a personal conversational easier, that he begins, startlingly enough.

"Hello there, Daydream, all's well with the kids today?"

Daydream... That was new. Though not as new as the way he spoke to you, tone playfully conspiratorial as if this was a little secret to be had just between you and him.

Your thoughts were becoming more tangled by the minute with this sort of attention. Were you lonely? Was this projection? Is he aware of what he was doing?

You clumsily reply after clearly missing a beat, tugging at your collar some. "Ye-yeah they're a good bunch today, been behaving for you too, haven't they?"

"Only with your assistance, I think they... Need you around." His volume lowered some in his musings, a hand coming up to rest on your left shoulder with a reassuring squeeze as he continued, "You've been good for them, a big help really."

Sun spoke as warmly as his namesake or maybe that was just you feeling unbearably stuffy under the uniform as his praise hit you.

"It's -... It's nothing! Really I'm happy to do it I mean - that's why I signed up for this job, y'know?" You offer, almost dismissively as you try to downplay your flusterment.

"...That's what you'd think - others signed up for this job before you but they've... Come and gone. Replaced," He murmured ominously, head bobbing some as he spoke of those previously in your station. "They wouldn't take this seriously, just leave all the work to me... And then came you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn to face you fully and allow him to guide you into facing him as well.

You could only hope he didn't have some ability to read -

"Your heartrate is elevated, Daydream, are you feeling well?"

...

Dammit.

"I'm good! Yeah I'm just fine it's just uh - warm in here, yep." When did you become the floundering mess bad at making excuses? "Just uhm... What were you saying? Then came me...?"

The animatronic's eyes lidded some in seeming amusement before he continued on, "Yes... Then came you, who came to this job wholeheartedly. Who helped on day one then went above and beyond by day two. Who's taken up a duty that traditionally we'd just go without and with... Minimal questions."

Both you and him shared a little shared moment of snickers and chuckles as you definitely asked about every little thing. From schedules to him and his abilities to the jungle gyms.

Though Sun wasn't done just yet, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders now. "I'm sure you've noticed my staring," This time he had the decency to be sheepish about what he was saying, an emotion you were used to finally as his eyes flicked to the side briefly. "Though you were kind enough to never confront me about it, I'm sure you wondered why and... It's because of that. Just... You. You taking care of the children, of all ranges and even the occasional meddlesome preteen that'd come about. I... Admire that... About you."

The attendant cleared his throat and you didn't have the mental capacity to wonder how that was possible as it seemed you hit max volume for how many compliments you could stomach without letting them become butterflies all throughout.

All you could get out in reply was some strangled hissy breath as your brain attempted to start up after short circuiting.

...

"Daydream?" He asked after a few moments, looking to you with concern when you had made no other sound nor motion.

It was just enough to jumpstart you to reality again. "Hi - yes, right... Sorry just this wasn't - see I first stood up to hopefully talk to you about the staring thing and you've... Basically turned the tables without meaning to! And I..."

It was becoming readily apparent you and him were both chronic nervous ramblers.

"Thank you really, Sun. I appreciate that so much more than I can really put into words."

You had only been working at the daycare for a few months? Not even a season had passed and it was the most valued you ever felt at a job thus far.

"You're quite welcome! I think it's time we get the activity set up for the little ones now, what say you?"

"...Right! We're still on shift, they'll be getting up soon - I'll follow your lead. I just have one more question."

"Shoot."

"Where did Sunny-Bunny come from?"

You were met with utter silence and you coulda swore his eyelights went black before he spun on a heel and went right to work.

"Hey - I thought we were over this hill!" You wanted to shout but there were still sleeping toddlers nearby so an angry whispery cry would be the next best thing.

"Hmm yes, I do think we should have them decorate snowflakes that does sound like a good idea! Great thinking, assistant!" He moved right along and danced over it like it was nothing, going over to the back wall of cubbies and containers to get the needed supplies.

With fond exasperation, you sighed.

You'd get your answers, eventually.

this has my heart in a vice grip and i will be normal about it for the next few days <3

#joyfic #sun x reader #sun x y/n #daycare attendant x reader #daycare attendant x y/n #is it still a y/n fic if y/n is not used once?? probably not but o well-#this had me twirling my hair and kicking my feet #im very soft #this is in such fucking contrast to another writing i have in my drafts its like whiplash #do enjoy!!!

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maccreadysbaby · 5 months

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: bullying, anxiety attacks, slight violence?

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

welcome to jesse todryk’s funeral, hosted by asten evans and an old history textbook. by the way, both of asten’s portuguese lines are telling of his character and foreshadowing, so if you want to pop those suckers into google translate to read them, i would love it, thanks

part ten

❝ BLUDGEONED BY A BOOK ❞

FRIDAY — AUGUST 7 — 8:00AM

BENTLEY WENT TO SCHOOL ON FRIDAY SIMPLY TO DISTRACT HIMSELF. From everything. From Dick (who was still not awake.), from Damian wanting him gone, from the Secret Keeper that kept popping in and out of his head. He figured school would help him at least stop thinking about all of that for a while.

He hadn’t gone to dinner the previous night or breakfast that morning, for the sake of staying away from Damian. It was fine — he never got very hungry when he was upset anyways. It was easy to fake that he was just tired when Bruce came to check on him after dinner since he hadn’t slept properly in a couple days. (He had gotten four hours of uninterrupted of sleep the night before, though, which was really good compared to the cat naps he’d been taking.)

It was also easy to fake that everything Damian said didn’t hurt half as bad as it actually did, and that it didn’t make him want to cry his eyes out or give him extra anxiety about being taken away by social workers.

The car ride to school was completely silent, and Bentley sat in the passenger’s seat next to Duke instead of in the back with Damian like he usually did. Thankfully, it went mostly unnoticed. Bentley assumed Damian wasn’t about to tell anyone about what he’d said, so Bentley wasn’t going to, either.

But he was going to try and fix it.

He’d been wracking his tired brain for hours (given his four hours of sleep had been eight pm to midnight and he’d been awake since then.) on how in the world he could live up to the Wayne name without being a superhero. He came up with nothing. He wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to be Robin like all of Bruce’s sons had, and even suggesting he be Robin instead of Damian was ludicrous. Bentley still cried when it stormed. Robin couldn’t be a kid that cried when it stormed.

So, Robin was off the table. (It had never been on the table, actually.) Bentley couldn’t even beat a twelve-year-old at a spar, so superheroing was off the table, too, and now the table was empty.

But that was fine. He’d figure it out eventually. Right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand — school.

More specifically, not getting lost after he told Duke he could walk himself around the building. They were a bit earlier than usual, it was about eight, so he had time to get lost if he really couldn’t remember the way. The sun was shining and making the building gold. He took the left at the top of the staircase. At least he knew the left was right.

Thankfully, when he turned left, students spreading everywhere and filling the halls with lively chatter, one blue-haired-Brazilian made not getting lost a pretty easy feat.

“Hey, Whittaker. Feeling better?” Asten drifted out of basically nowhere, in his uniform and smelling like cigarettes per usual. Bentley fell into step with him in the crowded hallway. He pretty much remembered where Dr. Keene’s room was, but he definitely wouldn’t have an issue finding it now.

“Yeah,” Bentley replied simply, tugging his backpack tighter on his shoulders.

“Good. It sucks to be sick in the first week,” Asten stated. “Though I guess it’s never a bad time to have a vacation from the Academy. Well, as much of a vacation as you can get with Nico playing the role of temporary teacher.”

Bentley snickered lightly as they continued down the hallway. He could see doors on the left coming up, and he was pretty sure the second one was Dr. Keene’s. He was fairly confident he would’ve found it even without Asten to assure that he was going the right way.

Speaking of, Asten cursed under his breath, and Bentley glanced over at him just in time for him to throw his jacket, irremovable, suffocating cigarette-smell and all, over Bentley’s face. He made a surprised noise and slowed to a stop, grabbing the bottom of the fabric.

“Asten?”

“Shh. Keep walking, ginger,”

He felt Asten’s hand land in the center of his back to keep him from veering off course, and after a second of (literally) blind trust, the blue-haired-boy pulled the jacket off of Bentley’s head and messed his hair all up.

“Todryk and his squad of gremlins went by. Ever since he heard the ‘new Wayne’ got sick on the third day of school, he’s been talking about having a conversation with you. And Todryk never just talks,” Asten explained. Bentley blinked and smoothed his hair down the best he could without seeing it.

“Oh… thanks,” He replied after a moment. Asten shrugged as they made for Dr. Keene’s room.

“The old throw-something-over-your-head move only works a few times, but it really does wonders. You won’t believe how many beatings I’ve warded off by hiding my face,” He continued. “Especially from Todryk. He’s dumber than a box of rocks.”

Bentley snickered again, and Asten cracked a smile as they took a left into the Enviornmental Science classroom. They’d been learning about different types of precipitation when Bentley stayed home, and he was pretty sure Dr. Keene’s post said they were going over the types of weather and water cycle one more time today before they moved onto a different subject in the unit.

He and Asten made their way to their trio of desks and sat down in it. Nico wasn’t there, but it was early, and Asten didn’t seem bothered about it, so Bentley wasn’t, either. Instead he pulled out his phone and replied to a text from Bruce that said all good? that he’d received not one minute ago. He hoped his simple yes was a good enough response.

“Did you hear? Another kid from Bristol vanished this morning — a girl,” Asten said, leaning forward over the desk. “And her friends said she told them about a nightmare with the Secret Keeper the night before. You know, a lot of these missing people claimed to have seen her.”

Bentley nodded, trying his best to push her terrible face out of his head and keep his expression neutral. “That’s so weird,” He forced out.

“The weirdest,” Asten responded, grabbing his red pen from his backpack and spinning it between his fingers.

Bentley tapped his fingers on the table. “Where do you hear about all this stuff?”

Asten shrugged. “I have nothing better to do in Crime Alley than bum off the nearest place’s wifi and look into current events. It’s either that or go get mugged for fun.”

Bentley didn’t say anything. Instead, Dr. Keene walked into the classroom and, after a second, started making his way to their desks. His light brown eyes were bouncing between Bentley and Asten as he made his way to them, and he slowed to a stop next to their group of tables.

“Nice job on your work while you were out. Most students choose to ignore it,” Dr. Keene said to Bentley with a warm little smile. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Bentley nodded up at him, sheepishly. “Okay… thank you.”

“Of course,” He stated. He patted Bentley’s shoulder lightly and proceeded across the room to his desk. Asten snorted.

“What?” Bentley asked.

Asten shook his head, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms with a little smile playing on his lips. “Already becoming the teacher's pet and you didn’t even know it. Typical Wayne kid if I've ever seen one.”

“What do you mean?” Bentley questioned.

“Bruce Wayne’s kids have always been teacher’s favorites. One of the algebra teacher’s still has Dick Grayson’s graduation invitation on her wall. And the theater coach can’t go a single class without talking about Jason Todd.”

Bentley snickered a little. He’d have never pinged Jason as a theater kid, but he guessed it made sense given his love of literature and extensive knowledge regarding classic plays and books.

“Are you in theater?” Bentley questioned.

“Dear God, no,” Asten replied with a snicker. “Sometimes I hang around in their rehearsals after school if I don’t feel like fighting my way back into the Alley yet.”

Bentley nodded lightly, but didn’t respond.

The bell rang, and Dr. Keene made his way to the front of the room. He kept all the textbooks on a shelf near his skeleton, and he began to grab them and hand them out.

“The water cycle review worksheet is on page sixteen. Lucky for you guys, since it’s Friday, I’m not going to make you do any more than that,” He stated, handing out the textbooks to a few students and going back to retrieve more. “On Monday we’ll get into the real meat of unit one, about the sky. It’s one of my favorite units.”

Bentley listened quietly as he brought two books to their table and put them on their desks. “I think you guys will find it interesting, even though we won’t be talking about UFOs or other worldly entities.”

Bentley saw Asten make an ew face, and he snickered.

Dr. Keene finished handing out textbooks. “You can talk with your tablemates, just not too loudly; and you may use your cellphones after you finish the page and bring it to me.”

Bentley watched him go over to his desk and click around on his computer. Not a moment later, soft music came on, and he sat down in his chair.

Quiet chatter began to filter across the classroom. Bentley turned to the right page in his textbook, like everyone else was, and glanced over at the empty desk across from Asten.

“Where’s Nico?” He questioned softly, and Asten shrugged, glancing up only after scribbling something on the worksheet.

“I’m not sure. He said he was here a little bit ago, and he’s so committed I think he’d rather die than be late for class. I’ll text him again,”

Bentley watched in silence as Asten pulled out his phone and typed under the table. He couldn’t help the slight buzz that surfaced under his skin. Nico said he was at school, but didn’t come to class. That wouldn’t be so freaky if half of Gotham wasn’t vanishing without a trace.

Asten put his phone away, and they worked on their worksheets.

For five minutes. For ten minutes. For fifteen minutes. Asten sent a few more texts during that time, but got no responses. Twenty minutes. They finished their worksheets and there was still an empty desk at their table.

“Still no response,” Asten stated, and while he was still cool as a cucumber, it was obvious he was getting suspicious. “I’m about to call his scrawny butt.”

Bentley said nothing, but after a few moments of silence, the classroom door opened and the scrawny butt in question came through it.

Dr. Keene simply asked: “Do you have a late note, Mister Rockefeller?” And when Nico shook his head no, he nodded and didn’t say anything else.

Bentley and Asten both watched as Nico made for his chair and sat down quickly. It was painfully obvious he’d been crying — Bentley could recognize the red-rimmed blue eyes and pink nose combination anywhere. He’d spent a lot of time locked in bathrooms waiting for it to fade off of his own features back at Whittaker Estate.

Dr. Keene brought Nico a book and told him what they were doing, and gave him a supportive pat on the back before he walked away.

Once Dr. Keene was gone, Asten leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nico said back a bit too quickly, flipping his book open with one hand while the other stayed rooted in his lap. His voice wavered way too much for it to pass as anything but emotion.

“You’re a bad liar,”

“Stop it, Asten,” Nico practically pleaded, his dull blue eyes flicking between both of them before he looked down at the book. Asten did, indeed, stop it. He sat back again and took to silently scrutinizing his best friend from across the table, and Bentley was left as the monkey in the middle, glancing between them every now and then.

Bentley’s phone vibrated.

He’s not using his right hand.

He glanced up from Asten’s text and looked back at Nico. He was writing with his left hand (his non-dominant hand, which made his usually neat handwriting way worse than normal.) and his right hand was still sitting, unmoved in his lap.

I see, was what Bentley texted back.

“Nico, what happened?” Asten tried again, quietly. Nico didn’t do anything but shake his head and stare at the book really intensely.

Dr. Keene stood up. “Class wide bathroom break. You can go if you need to, you can stay if you don’t.”

Bentley didn’t miss the way Dr. Keene eyed their little group of desks with something like sympathy. Asten didn’t miss a beat, either. He was up out of his seat and gesturing for Nico and Bentley to follow him before anyone could do anything else. Thankfully, more kids around the room stood, so it didn’t look suspicious.

Bentley rose from his desk and put his phone in his pocket, and Nico begrudgingly stood, too, making sure his hands were in his jacket pockets before he followed Asten out of the room.

The hallways were weird when they were empty. They looked a lot bigger than normal, and they were really quiet. A few more kids filed out of the room behind them, but Asten broke away and went to a farther bathroom. The three of them had hardly stepped inside the tiled room when he turned on his heel and asked:

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

Nico took to staring at the terra-cotta floor. Now that Bentley focused really hard, he could see blood on the cuff of his right blazer sleeve.

“It’s not that bad,” Was his half-whispered defense, and it might’ve held some merit if his eyes weren’t already brimming with just about as much liquid as they could hold without spilling over.

(Geez. Bentley was brand new at this whole friends thing, and something like this had to happen on only his third day in person with them? He had no idea what he was doing. But he guessed he should at least try, right? He did sincerely care about Nico’s wellbeing, so maybe he should just try to treat him the way he treated Damian. Well, the way he treated him before he started avoiding him like the plague.)

“Nico,” Asten said, but the blonde only turned the slightest bit away.

“…You’re bleeding,” Bentley tried quietly, gesturing vaguely to Nico’s sleeve. “Did you get hurt?”

Nico did that thing where he looked long and hard at Bentley’s face. He still wasn’t sure why he did that. But after a solid five seconds of silence, Nico looked away and wiped at his eyes again. Then he extended his bloody hand toward Bentley.

Toward Bentley. The redhead did a double take and glanced around, eyes bouncing to Asten, before he glanced back at Nico and gently pulled his long sleeve out of the way.

“What the hell?” Asten suddenly snapped, moving forward toward them, and Bentley drew in a sharp breath.

The words BRISTOL BRAT were scraped into the back of Nico’s hand, probably with something small and dull (it didn’t look deep or precise enough to be a knife), and they were bloody and still bleeding. It looked like he’d tried to clean it off, because his skin was tinted pink on that hand and on the fingers of the other, and probably gave up when it wouldn’t stop bleeding. Asten jerked on his wrist and pulled his hand closer so he could examine it.

“Was this Todryk?” He practically hissed like some kind of snake. His tone had gone venomous, his eyes stormy and grim. Nothing like the usual carefree aura he carried around, and it threw Bentley for a loop and a half.

Nico was crying again, trying his best to wipe his eyes with his opposite hand. “He cornered me. In an alley, while I was walking here from the bus stop. I-I tried to make it stop bleeding-”

“We’re taking you to the nurse,”

“What? No!” Nico practically squeaked, jerking his hand away from Asten with a pitiful little sob. “If we get him in trouble it’ll just make it worse. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“He scraped words into your hand, Nico. That could be considered torture,”

Nico didn’t reply, but kept wiping furiously at his eyes as he cried quietly, the sound bouncing around the empty bathroom. Bentley wished he could help more than offering support, but he couldn’t really, so he let a hand drift up to rest on one of Nico’s shoulders.

What did Bruce and Dick and everyone do when Bentley was upset, or hurting? Crying?

Bentley stood there for a second, and considered lots of things before he finally settled on asking a risky question. Well, what was the worst that could happen? He’d be shut down?

“… Do you want a hug?”

It was certainly something he’d want if he was in this situation, but not everyone was the same as him. Some people probably hated hugs.

Fortunately, Nico didn’t seem to be one of those people. Because as fast as the half-whispered question could leave Bentley’s mouth, the blonde turned and walked straight into him, prompting Bentley to bring his arms up around his shuddering shoulders.

He noted that Nico was a crier and a hugger. (Both of which Bentley was, too.)

“Ele merece ser queimado vivo,” Asten muttered from off to the side. “We have to tell someone, dude. That’s basically assault.”

“No!” Nico sniffed, bringing his arms up and around Bentley’s back loosely. “Please don’t, Asten, please.”

“Your parents are going to see it anyways,”

“No they won’t,” He protested, and Bentley felt him reposition his head against his shoulder. (It was really strange to be on the giving end of a hug instead of receiving. But he couldn’t say he didn’t like it.)

“Bentley?”

Of course Asten would turn to him for his opinion.

Bentley glanced over at him and blinked. Well, he’d cried himself to sleep last night and didn’t tell anyone, so he guessed if Nico didn’t want anyone to know about the cuts, then they should just… not tell anyone. Right?

Varying Wayne voices that said tell someone if it gets worse bounced around in his skull. Jason hadn’t told anyone about Bentley’s hurt hand all those months ago, but he’d made it clear he would if it got any worse.

Bentley shrugged as much as he could without disturbing Nico’s position too much. “Uh… I think we should… do what makes him comfortable. For now. Unless it gets worse.”

“Yeah,” Nico agreed quietly, with a string of little coughs. His crying was starting to sound a little more wheezy than Bentley would’ve liked.

Asten let out a puff of air. “Fine, fine. But if he goes stabbing you with knives or trying to brand your other hand, I’ll shove his own foot so far up his rear end it comes out of his mouth.”

Nico pulled away from Bentley and fished something out of his jacket pocket. It was the little gray thing he’d puffed on once after school — the thing Bentley thought might’ve been, like, drugs or something? He watched curiously as Nico shook it for a few seconds and then put it in his mouth, pushed in the top of it with a little hiss, and breathed in deep. He did it twice.

Bentley didn’t ask what it was.

“Let’s just go back to class,” Nico muttered after a few quiet seconds. “Please.”

The three of them shared glances, gave Nico time to calm down, and then did exactly that.

Most of the day went normally. After they went back to class, they reverted back to their most common source of conversation: missing people and conspiracies. Bentley went to the library for free period, answered some texts from Bruce, and went to Geography and talked about time zones.

It was when he was walking between Geography and Spanish that things went wrong again.

The Geography classroom wasn’t that far from the Spanish room — only a few moments walk. Asten was probably already in there (his classroom was even closer to Spanish than Bentley’s.) and ready to talk about aliens or something. Bruce had texted Bentley several more times during the day to check in on him, and he was answering one of those many messages on his way through the halls, not paying much attention to the people around him in favor of responding timely.

So, naturally, that was the moment someone chose to grab the handle of his backpack and jerk him backwards, and his fall was only broken by his back slamming into the row of lockers. His phone fell out of his hand and clattered on the tile.

“Hey there, Wayne,”

Bentley looked up at who was talking. It was a really tall boy (taller than Asten, who was already a lot taller than Bentley.) with fuzzy blonde hair and little black gemstone earrings. There were two other boys behind him, one was short and pudgy with a big jacket and beanie, and the other looked like a stocky athlete in a varsity Gotham Academy jacket.

Blonde hair. Dumb earrings.

Crap.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you sooner or later? You’ve been hanging around with my favorite little nerds to scare!” Jesse Todryk’s vomit-green eyes scanned Bentley judgmentally, and he sneered.

Bentley said nothing. What was he supposed to say? Jesse was towering over him like his dad always used to and it was making his heart hammer behind his ribs. He wasn’t touching him, he wasn’t coming at him, he had to remind himself. But the not-so-distant memory of Nico crying in the bathroom because Todryk scraped words into his hand like some kind of sick torture-fest made him want to cry just a little.

Instead, he leaned down and picked up his phone. The hallways still had a few kids in it, so he assumed making a scene wouldn’t be good. Jesse made a face, a scowl, Bentley saw it in his peripheral. He slid his phone in his pocket and made a move to walk away — the Spanish classroom was so close — but Jesse grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back, shoving him into the lockers and keeping the hand on his shoulder so he couldn’t move.

“I wasn’t done talking to you, Wayne,” He spat, his face drawing closer to Bentley’s with an annoyed scowl.

“Get off,” Bentley tried quietly, squirming under his grip, but that only got his shoulder pressed harder into the metal behind him.

“Nah, I don’t think I will,”

The two boys behind Todryk disappeared off to the right.

“I’m so tired of the Wayne’s running this school. There’s always been a Wayne here, everybody loves them. They’re the center of attention everywhere they go. The golden students,”

Bentley sucked in a shaky breath, glancing around the emptying hallways for someone, anyone, but the few kids still going past were ignoring them really well and no adults were around.

He thought he was done getting hurt when he left his father.

He squirmed again, ducking down in an attempt to run under Jesse’s arm to the Spanish room, but the older boy caught him by the scruff of his blazer and yanked him back like he was some kind of cat.

“You might be quick, but quick doesn’t beat me,”

Bentley could hear his blood pumping in his ears as Todryk shoved him back against the lockers with a sick looking smile, pushing a hand against both of his shoulders, this time.

“I’m so sick and tired of the Waynes running this city. Being everyone’s favorites,” He spat, in Bentley’s face, only a few inches from it. Bentley’s eyes were burning spectacularly, but he didn’t dare let himself cry, not in front of him. “Let’s see how much your teacher likes you after you skip her class.”

He was suddenly being moved. Jesse grabbed him by his hair and pulled him across the hallway and Bentley made a small sound. It reminded him of the nightmare where his father threw him down the stairs.

He wanted so badly to wiggle out of his grip, but fighting always only got more pain. So what did he do?

He took it, just like he used to take it from his father. He stayed quiet while the bully dragged him along, and quiet when he shoved him forward with a thwack onto the tile in a little janitor's closet, and quiet when the door slammed with a twisted, bubbly laugh.

And he was alone. In the dark. There was a sliver of light coming from under the door.

“Have fun in there until pick-up, Wayne,”

He heard laughter and footsteps recede.

Bentley pulled himself out of the floor in the pitch black room and made for the door, twisting the handle.

It didn’t twist. Not an inch, not a centimeter. It didn’t move.

He tried it again. He tried it again and again and pulled on it and jerked it and the door was slamming around on it's hinges and it sounded exactly like the door from… home.

Bentley’s heart felt like it was about to rip right out of him. It was pitch black. It was so dark, just like it always was when his father… just like it was back…

“Let me out!” He tried, jerking on the knob. “Please!”

“Please, father, I’m sorry!”

The buzzing in his body turned into trembling and the tightness in his chest felt like it was choking him. He opened his mouth to call for help again, but all that came out was a strange little noise and a pitiful sob.

He was in the closet.

After who knows how many minutes he spent fighting with the knob that wouldn’t budge, he sat down on the floor, tears streaking down his face at an unmatchable rate. He kept tugging at his own shirt in an attempt to make his lungs work but they wouldn’t. Everything hurt. Everything hurt.

This hasn’t happened since the grocery store.

It hadn’t happened without Tim.

He tried to remember how Tim helped him at the store but he couldn’t. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see because it was too dark. All he could think about was his father ripping open the closet door and having his way. He was going to die.

He flinched when his phone clattered out of his jacket pocket onto the floor.

His phone.

He picked the little device up in his trembly hands, sending nothing more than the word help to the very first name at the top of his list.

He didn’t even comprehend that there were actually two names there, and that it was a group chat, not a single message thread.

A flood of messages came in only seconds later, including an are you okay, a where are you, and a what’s wrong?

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see the screen through his own tears and he couldn’t make his fingers move no matter how hard he tried.

His phone started ringing. The caller ID was Asten. He tapped the green button.

“Bentley? What’s going on? Where are you?”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Are you crying?”

He tried to make words come out but he couldn’t, he couldn’t. Even with Asten’s questions lingering in the air, laced with concern and alertness, he couldn’t talk.

“Where are you, dude? I’m leaving class,”

Bentley sucked in as much air as he could. It wasn’t much, and it hurt, and he sobbed. He knew he needed to talk for them to find him but he couldn’t breathe. “Locked… the closet.” It hurt his chest to force the words out and he started coughing so hard he wanted to throw up. Everything hurt.

“Jesus, dude — what closet? Where are you?”

He coughed harshly. The only thing his brain supplied was Whittaker Estate, Whittaker Estate, Whittaker Estate. Instead of saying that, he sobbed again. “… I don’t know.”

“Shove something under the door so I can find you,”

It took way too much willpower to force his body to move. It felt like he was underwater, like he weighed a million pounds. He felt around on the nearby shelves until he grabbed something thin and fabric-ey, and shoved it under the door into the hallway.

There was a moment of silence, before Asten’s voice came again, quieter: “He said he’s locked in a closet.”

It was clear he was talking to someone else, but Bentley couldn’t think straight enough to work out who else’s voice he heard. He was too focused on trying to breathe and not throwing up.

Bentley coughed more and silence passed, and he couldn’t think of anything but his father, his father, his father.

“I see it,” Asten said, but Bentley hardly heard him through the static in his brain and his own unquenchable wheezes and sobs. Everything hurt so bad.

There was rattling on the other side of the door, a weird sound that told him there was someone else on the other side, and he curled in on himself, scooting back into the farthest corner of the closet so maybe his father wouldn’t be able to reach him right away.

The door swung open, light flooded in, and Bentley’s father had blue hair.

“Oh my God,”

Someone else came into his view, someone blonde, and then they were in the closet next to him. He flinched away but they grabbed one of his arms, gently.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay,” They repeated quietly, like a broken record. “It’s okay, Bentley.”

He got guided into a one-sided embrace on the floor, and he could hear them breathing, and their heart pounding.

“It’s okay, Bentley. It’s okay,”

“It’s okay,” Is what they kept saying. Over and over, for a long time. Bentley was thankful for whatever strange hug-thing he was in, because he was able to hear their breaths and try to match it. It didn’t stop the crying or the cramping in his organs or the headache that was starting to gnaw at his skull, but it gave him some clarity, at least.

When he was finally able to think and look around and comprehend things again, he realized that Nico was the one holding onto him, and Asten was crouched in the doorway, watching them quietly. His green eyes looked stormy again, but also sympathetic, and Bentley couldn’t see Nico’s face, but he was pretty sure he was crying from the way he was breathing.

A long moment of silence ensued as Bentley re-gathered his bearings.

“We should call your dad,” Asten suggested softly, shifting his positioning in the doorway. “Or… take you to the office.”

Bentley just shook his head. If acting like that in front of his newfound friends wasn’t embarrassing enough, going to the office like that would humiliate him. His phone was laying next to him again, probably because he’d dropped it, and the call Bruce idea didn’t sound so bad. So he used one of his legs to nudge it toward Asten.

“You’re okay with me using it?” He questioned.

Bentley nodded, and the blue-haired-boy picked up the device and began tapping on it.

“That was scary.” Nico said quietly, pulling away from Bentley so he was just sitting next to him in the floor. His eyes were red-rimmed just like they had been earlier that morning. Bentley repositioned himself against the shelf behind him and pulled his knees up, taking a shuddering breath. He wanted Tim. “Was it Jesse? Did he lock you in here?”

Bentley silently nodded.

Nico huffed. “What a jerk.”

“…Hey, Mister Wayne. My name is Asten Evans, I’m a friend of Bentley’s… yeah, no, that’s what I’m calling about,”

Bentley glanced up at Asten, who was now in the hallway, drawing imaginary shapes on the tile with the toe of his shoe.

“One of the school bullies locked him in a janitor's closet, and I think he… had a panic attack or something. But it's over now, he’s okay, if not a little shaken,”

Bentley just stared at the floor. He couldn’t hear the other voice, but he could imagine Bruce’s immediate worry when he realized it was another kid’s voice on the opposite end.

“Yeah, we’re, uh, still at the closet, actually. He doesn’t really want to go to the office,”

A quiet moment passed.

“No, I don’t think so. Our teacher knows I left class in a hurry but she doesn’t know why. I think-“

A pause.

“But he’s doing good with us, Mister Wayne, I promise. I think that’ll just stress him out,” Asten reasoned. And then he muttered: “Yeah, of course.”

Bentley looked up when Asten came into the closet and held the phone toward him. “He wants to talk to you.”

Bentley sat up a little. “He’s here,” Asten said.

“Hey, there, bud. I heard what happened, I’m on my way to get you right now. Would you like to wait for me in the office, or the nurses?”

“No,” Bentley muttered in response, wiping at his still-crying eyes. “I wanna stay here.”

“Do you want me to message Duke or Damian for you?”

“No,” Bentley repeated.

“Okay… well, your friends probably need to head back to class, so-“

“That won’t be a problem, Mister Wayne,” Asten spoke up, leaning closer to the phone. “Even if he did go to the office, we wouldn’t make him go alone.”

Bentley heard Bruce exhale. “Okay… okay. If you’d like to stay on the phone with me, Bentley, that’s fine. If not, I'll be there in just a few minutes.”

Bentley nodded lightly. His tenseness was starting to ease. “You can hang up, I’m… okay.” He muttered.

“Alright, bud. I’ll be there in just a few minutes, okay?”

Bentley sniffled. “Okay.”

“Bye,”

After a quiet moment, Asten ended the call, and sat down against the wall across from Bentley, right next to the door. He put the phone on the ground and carefully nudged it back across with his foot.

“I’m sorry,” Bentley whispered, wiping at his eyes. “You… don’t have to stay with me.”

Apparently he wasn’t supposed to say that.

“Whoa, Whittaker, are you apologizing for having a panic attack?” Asten questioned, scrunching his face up. “It’s not like it’s something you willingly choose to do. You don’t have to apologize.”

“And you’re not bothering us at all,” Nico added, smiling lightly when Bentley glanced over at him. “Asten’s used to stuff like this. I have asthma attacks a lot. Pretty sure I’ve had one in this exact closet, actually.”

Bentley sucked in a breath. “What’s… asthma?”

Nico blinked. “Well, it’s… it’s like a sickness that makes it really hard for me to breathe sometimes. That’s what I use my inhaler for,” He took the little gray thing out of his pocket and shook it with a quiet rattle, then put it back. “Asten’s actually one of my emergency aids. Which means if I go to the nurse’s office with an asthma attack, she calls him down there to help me.”

Bentley said nothing, but the conversation was helping to distract him and help him feel a little better.

But then, a different voice came. Not Nico’s, not Asten’s. One that was way more intimidating, from in the hallway.

“Looks like someone found the Wayne. Doors open,”

Jesse’s voice was the one floating through the air. It didn’t sound like he was talking to them, he probably couldn’t see inside the closet.

Bentley tensed again when Nico grabbed his wrist. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was scared or because he knew Bentley was probably scared, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

“Probably Damian,” A second voice replied. Bentley glanced over at Asten, and he was scouring the shelves, dragging his eyes across every available tool before they finally rested on a couple stacks of old, worn textbooks.

Nico said nothing, and Bentley stayed equally quiet as Asten stood up slowly. The footsteps were getting closer, and the blue-haired-boy gently brought his hand up and grabbed a textbook off the top of the stack. His hand dipped when he was supporting its full weight — it was thick and heavy looking.

Jesse Todryk stopped in the doorway, spotted Bentley and Nico, and laughed sinisterly.

“Well! Isn’t it little mister-“

Bentley flinched almost violently when Asten — with the same unmatchable storm in his eyes and scowl on his face — swung the textbook like a baseball bat aimed at the sun.

“Vá queimar no inferno, seu filho da puta!”

Bentley flinched, and Nico gasped when the blunt corner of the book’s spine came in contact with Jesse’s head so hard it whammed him into the door, and he ragdolled flat on the tile.

“Jesse!” The short boy screeched, kneeling down next to the bully, who looked completely and totally zoned.

��Oh my God, you’re going to get so suspended!” Nico suddenly exclaimed, gaping up at Asten with wide eyes.

The Brazilian shrugged, letting the textbook thud on the floor. “It was self defense.”

“He wasn’t hurting us!”

“He was gonna!”

Bentley said nothing, but instead, stared at the book that laid between Asten’s feet and where he was sitting.

He didn’t condone violence or anything, but… it was kind of nice to have a friend that would cause a little bit of mayhem on his behalf. Just a little bit.

“We should probably get out of here, though. Time to walk Bentley to the office?”

Nico glanced over at Bentley, and when he nodded, they stood up and left the closet. And they didn’t spare a second to look back at Jesse and his friend, even while the beanie kid cursed them all the way down the hallway.

(Bentley didn’t know what suspended was, but from the way Nico yelled it, he was pretty sure Asten was going to get it.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

19 notes · View notes

lambden · 1 year

Note

for the spotify wrapped meme: no 69 for Geraskier or any ship of your choice? listen i just had to go there

unfortunately (luckily??) for you, darling anon, my sixty-ninth song of the year is an anthem for returning to a relationship that has hurt you and falling back in love with them >:3

M, 2.6K words, infidelity (yenralt lol) and some mentions of alcoholism (jaskier lol)

Jaskier, despite his best efforts, is only human. The chattering of his teeth is not something easy to hide, especially not when his travelling companion and only company for months is laying only a few feet away. Jaskier could perhaps mistake his repose for sleep if not for the nearly constant hitching of his breath. The witcher inhales, long and deep, into lungs magically crafted to breathe better and slower than humans. Jaskier shivers, curling and uncurling his toes and rubbing his bony calves together for warmth. The witcher’s breath catches in his system, throat and lungs and chest and body still. Jaskier exhales, a small puff of white air against the clear, dark night. The witcher exhales, two seconds too late— deep, and false, and unless Jaskier is reading the signs wrong, definitely annoyed.

The cold would be easier to stand if he could just fall asleep; surely in the night his unconscious body would find some miraculous and impossible way to retain heat that his conscious self lacks the muscle memory for.

If he falls asleep, the witcher that he met will leave him. Jaskier grinds his chattering teeth together, and closes his eyes tightly, and buckles himself in for a long night of shivering.

Across the campsite, the witcher inhales. Before Jaskier catches his exhale, the edge of his thin blanket behind him rises up into the air, cruelly exposing his already cold back to the night air. Jaskier gasps, then gasps louder as a furnace presses against him. The witcher had moved towards him in stony silence, and he does not speak now either. His legs press into the back of Jaskier’s, thick knees finding the hollows and thick, warm thighs offering support for his frozen ones. His arm wraps around Jaskier’s chest, finding purchase on the breast pocket of his thin jacket and holding on as if he’s likely to blow away. His other arm winds under Jaskier’s neck like a heated pillow for him to rest his head on, and the blanket falls over them both.

“Thank you,” Jaskier shudders, the two syllables disintegrating into many in his cold mouth. He continues anyway. “Thank you, Geralt.”

The witcher makes a grunt like an animal. An animal would not have thought to share its warmth. Jaskier snuggles back into the witcher, and Geralt’s grip around him only tightens. He begins to thaw.

“We would save coin if we shared a bed,” says the witcher. His hair is dishevelled from the hunt, hanging loose and dirty around his pale face. He’ll need to bathe for at least half an hour to scrub off all the guts that thankfully only belong to monsters, and then he’ll probably dawdle for another hour in the bath because he enjoys it more than most things.

Jaskier has a twinge in his back that threatens to cause serious damage if not dealt with in the next day, and the last thing he wants is to spend the night bathing and then fucking his witcher. He never enjoys the baths afterwards as much as the ones before, even if it is nice when Geralt waves his fingers below the surface of the gauzy, soapy water to cast his magic fire spell. He just needs a good seven hours of uninterrupted rest.

Those eager, golden eyes fall on him. Jaskier inhales, and Geralt’s nostrils flutter too as if he’s breathing in deep to catch the scent of his bard. Which, really, he is. Jaskier gives in— he is, after all, only human. “You’re taking the bottom bunk, then.”

The witcher laughs, loud and unencumbered. He would never have laughed like that when they first met. Jaskier takes this kernel of information and shoves it deep, deep down inside his heart, like a dragon hoarding something very special to admire later. Then the witcher reaches down to fumble for his coinpurse, and in the process accidentally-except-actually-very-on-purpose fumbles around Jaskier’s trousers.

They never even make it to the inn. Jaskier, despite how his body aches the next day, swears it’s one of the best nights of his life.

The flaps on his tent flutter— not in the evening breeze rolling down from the peaks of Caingorn, but from someone trying to drunkenly find the ties holding them together. Jaskier stares across the tent, letting whoever it is struggle. He’s already halfway through a bottle of vintage Toussaint white, and the sourness is beginning to give way to sweetness with each new sip. He can’t even remember why he was angry enough to drink himself into a stupor.

With a triumphant exhale, the witcher unties the opening to Jaskier’s tent, and slides inside without asking. Oh, right. There’s his anger.

Jaskier doesn’t shy away from Geralt’s questing gaze— he’s drunk too, although he’s had a considerably less enjoyable night. He doesn’t try to summon any composure or lessen his glare, not even as the witcher ties the tent closed again without asking. Not even as the witcher comes to kneel at the end of his bedroll, his hands splayed comfortably out on his thick thighs and his shoulders sitting low and relaxed. Not even as the scent of lilac and gooseberries hits his system— a scent more sour than the dry wine.

Neither of them speak. Barbs rise unbidden to Jaskier’s tongue, but he swallows each and every one of them. Should you be doing this drunk— hypocritical. I thought the dragon hunt was important to you— stupid. Astonishing that an infertile mutant still has enough stamina to fuck two of his lovers in one night— cruel, and bigoted. The dwarves will hear us, you know— as if either of them give a shit.

Geralt’s mouth is warm as ever, leaving a trail of wet marks along the side of his throat. If Jaskier closes his eyes, he can visualize them— like angry, beautiful bruises. Except Geralt doesn’t nip hard enough to bruise, even as Jaskier wishes he would. If Jaskier had everything he wished for, they wouldn’t have chased an insane sorceress up the side of a mountain. They’d be somewhere else. Somewhere coastal, maybe. Somewhere he and his witcher could stand in the surf together, and bruise each other so intimately that the marks never faded.

The witcher reaches between his legs, his aim true as ever. As Jaskier’s head lolls to the side to make more room for the man kissing his neck, he is surprised to find himself blinking back tears. Of course, nothing gets past his witcher; the kisses move up his chin, past his jaw, and onto his cheek. Jaskier laughs, somewhat hysterically. Geralt doesn’t stop kissing him until his lips are pressed right against his wet eyelid. There, he mutters into the salty skin, “Okay?”

“Of course,” Jaskier’s breath hitches. Then Geralt does that thing he really likes with his hand, and his breath leaves him entirely. “Oh— yes, of course, yes! I’m alright.”

“Alright,” echoes the witcher quietly. He kisses Jaskier’s forehead. It feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done. Jaskier steels himself not to hate the man he’s fallen in love with, and not to fuck up a good thing just because his heart sings for a better one.

In Geralt’s arms, Jaskier glows brighter than a candle in the dark summer night. In his lover’s hands he is made immortal.

At Bleobheris, Jaskier heals in a way he thought impossible. Old wounds close up; blisters on his heel from walking behind a horse for more than twenty years, and soft spots on his heart from walking behind the horse’s rider for the same amount of time.

New wounds open, ones that hurt much more. He learns of the oppression that he took part in by travelling the Continent and singing anti-Elven slander to anyone who would listen. He learns of more oppression than he could possibly imagine, and he stops thinking of his own life so seriously. He does not choose a higher calling; during the raid, it chooses him. The alias claims him. This new group of wandering souls— the oldest wandering souls— need him, in a way he has never been needed his whole life. When the great oak is raided and his friends and lovers and family are massacred, Jaskier resolves himself not to give in to survivor’s guilt. He knows he was left alive for a matter of utmost importance.

He forms new connections, a new underground community, and in doing so connects with countless others who need him. It is exhausting to have found his purpose. The exhaustion fuels his art; he doesn’t sing Toss A Coin no matter how many coins people offer to toss. His new songs are thinly disguised fuck-yous to monarchs, rallying the Continent against those who would tear it apart from the inside, and hope for a better future. People hate it. People love it. He’s never made any music like this before, and he’s never spent less time selfishly waffling over his own music, either— his nights are spent sleeplessly ferrying refugees to secret meet-up points, and learning new codes and languages spoken only by those in the know. He doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself.

He celebrates each victory with a bottle, and then one triumphant bottle becomes a bottle and a shot, and soon he’s racked up a tab at most taverns that will still let him play. No matter how far he distances himself from his old life, the last sip around the ring at the bottom of every bottle tastes like death, destiny, and heroics. And, of course, heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak.

The song comes to him after one especially lonely night. Jaskier would love to say he had been planning this song full of empty threats and hollow lies for years, spitefully scrawling lines into his journals between other fantastic romantic affairs. But the affairs would be as false as the rest of the story. He doesn’t write the song, it arrives written; he merely pours it onto the page. What for do you yearn? Good, poetic rhymes. Or at least they would be if he could sing them without his voice cracking.

He knows the song will hurt the witcher, should it ever travel far enough to reach his ears. He knows, too, although it turns his stomach once he’s sober, that songs hold enough power to do serious damage. But even though he convinces himself he’s forgotten the specifics of his decades-long infatuation with the witcher, he cannot, and will never, forget how the witcher made him feel.

Despite knowing it’s wrong, Jaskier plays the song for an eager and wide-eyed audience. Heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak. They lap it up. He burns. His voice cracks— he’s only human.

Threadbare both at the seams of his sleeves and the cavities of his heart, Jaskier wonders when he stopped feeling the cold.

He should feel it here more than ever. None of the witchers have put any work into maintaining their drafty fucking fortress atop their frigid fucking mountain. That’s still a word that it’s hard to wrap his head around— not fortress, which he’d always known about, nor mountain, which he has more than enough experience with. Witchers. In the plural. A whole family of them, thicker than any family united by blood and hard-pressed to accept visitors.

Except they had accepted him, for some fucking reason. Bewilderingly, it was likely Yennefer’s doing. And also, he can hardly call them a ‘whole family’ after their school lost more than half its ranks to an insane power-hungry demon who possessed a little girl who looks just like a princess that Jaskier once played at court for.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel the cold; maybe his head is still spinning from the last few days. He had never expected to run into half these people again, and in fact has complicated relationships with more than a few of them, and those relationships have only grown more complicated since his arrival here. He supposes things will get easier soon as he descends the frigid fucking mountain and leaves the drafty fucking fortress far behind him. Maybe once he’s on proper flat ground he’ll be able to clear his head. He’ll have a drink without being worried a demon will kill everyone if he sleeps off a hangover, and he’ll light a fire without his burnt fingers shaking too badly to strike the match.

The real reason he has to leave is more selfish than any he could admit aloud. Even in this place he’s never been, there are too many memories— ones he swore to leave behind when he left his old life. He doesn’t want to see the spitting image of Pavetta bundled up in a wolf pelt, somehow also resembling her adoptive father. He has no desire to remember exactly how mad he used to get at Yennefer, and even less desire to rekindle their strange new friendship. He feels too raw and exposed and sober and vulnerable up here, as the memories dance on the edge of his consciousness.

No. Holes in his jacket or not, he’d better get going.

Hands actually on the lever to push open the courtyard gate, he moves to do so— and is blanketed from behind by a furnace. It takes Jaskier a moment to identify the witcher, and then another moment to identify the embrace as not exactly Geralt shoving him up against the gate, but. A hug. He’s… this is a hug. He’s being hugged, by Geralt.

“I need to go,” Jaskier mumbles, muffled, into the witcher’s broad shoulder. They’ve always been of a similar height; he isn’t sure why he remembered Geralt so much taller. He turns his head to speak more clearly, and he catches golden eyes already watching him intently. “Don’t,” warns Jaskier, even though the witcher hasn’t said a word.

“I need you to stay,” Geralt tells him, firmly but quietly. His tone leaves no room for an argument. Jaskier still reaches for that old familiar urge, for all the anger that brought him to write of burning his witcher. His witcher. He finds his pockets empty, and with no barbs to throw, he’s left speechless. A rare thing, for a bard. Rarer still, Geralt breaks the silence to speak again: “If you go, I’ll follow.”

“You’ll— well— you— you won’t just follow—”

“Yes. I will.”

“You have a child—”

“She can come.”

“I don’t— I mean, shouldn’t she stay? She just went through some severe trauma, and she’s supposed to be safe here—”

“She’s safe with me.”

“Right,” Jaskier huffs. Apparently he does have one barb left in him— he regrets it immediately. What happened to Ciri hadn’t been Geralt’s fault, much as what happened to the Wolves hadn’t really been Ciri’s. But he searches the witcher’s gaze for offence, and finds none. “Why would you need me to stay? Party’s over, isn’t it? Not that I was an integral part of the operation—”

As he’s done a hundred times before, Geralt kisses Jaskier quiet. It should, by rights, annoy him. But just like the previous hundred times, it delights him too much to play on his nerves. How could he be irritated as his heart sings?

Then Geralt breathes him in, deepening the kiss, and Jaskier realizes, oh. The witcher is kissing him, all these years later— after so much hurt between them both, and so many changes that neither one of them could call himself the same man, the witcher— his witcher is kissing him.

Jaskier kisses back. He’s only human.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #my writing #song meme #drabble meme #anonymous #asks #this was so much fun to write!! i love that song so much man

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clusterbuck · 2 years

Note

Tying your lover’s tie prompt if you’re so inspired 💙🦛

5x18 spec but the idealised universe wishlist kind that’s also kind of another take on a 5x17 coda? idk it got away from me a little

(i know they’re not wearing ties in the bts pics and some details were sniped by the bt bones sneak peek just let me live)

my hands are shaking from holding back from you

2.5k, T, ao3 link

Three weeks later, Hen and Karen renew their wedding vows.

Three weeks later, Buck has spent twenty-one nights in Eddie’s bed and approximately nineteen of them extremely aware that Eddie’s bed might be the only place in life he ever wants to be. That he wants to fall into Eddie’s bed at the end of the day and not have to concentrate on keeping his limbs separate from Eddie’s, which seems pointless anyway since they wake up every morning curled into each other.

Three weeks later, Buck has spent approximately eighty per cent of his time berating himself for taking this long to notice that he is ass over teakettle in love with his best friend.

So now Hen and Karen are renewing their wedding vows, and Buck is—Buck is a lot of things, but he’s mostly worried about the concept of Eddie in a suit.

Buck is, after all, only one man. He’s a little worried it might be too much for him to handle.

send me an intimate romance prompt!

The day Jonah goes after Chimney and Hen is the last day Buck will ever set foot in his loft, but he doesn’t know it at the time.

The end of the day finds him at Chimney’s apartment, tickling Jee-Yun's belly with one hand and holding his phone in the other, staring down at it and trying to figure out whether he’s in the process of talking himself into or out of calling Eddie.

Into, because his head is full of thoughts tripping over each other at the speed of light, and every time he manages to catch one it makes him so angry he wants to throw things. So angry he probably would, if not for the baby half-asleep next to him. Into, because he feels like a piece of driftwood battered about by the sea, and Eddie’s always been good at bringing him to shore.

Out of, because it’s late and Eddie’s an hour ahead of him anyway, and Eddie’s been travelling and needs his sleep. Out of, because Eddie’s just spent twenty-four uninterrupted hours with his parents for the first time in years and he probably has more important things to worry about than the fact that Buck’s longest-ever relationship is in the process of imploding.

He doesn’t have to make the decision, in the end, because Eddie calls him. Buck figures it’s because he wants to bitch about his parents and makes it halfway through his half-hearted question before Eddie cuts him off with a snort.

“That’s not why I called, Buck,” he says, the same kind of fond exasperation in his voice as when Buck tries to leave his house before dinner. His don’t be stupid, Buck voice, the one tinged with just enough affection that Buck can’t ever bring himself to get annoyed about the stupid part. “I saw your girlfriend on tv.”

Even through the phone, Buck can hear the way Eddie’s mouth curves around the word girlfriend like it’s sharp. Spiky. Like a landmine on his tongue.

“Yeah, well,” Buck says. “That is definitely a thing that happened.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Buck says, “It’s just—”

He then proceeds to rant about it for another seventeen minutes.

“But you don’t want to talk about it,” Eddie says, and the slight laugh hidden behind his words travels down the phone and settles between Buck’s ribs, holding him afloat.

“Shut up,” Buck mutters. He’s quiet for a moment, then: “I have to break up with her, don’t I?”

“Do you want to break up with her?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck says, immediate, and tries not to think about how the word feels like relief. “I—yeah. I think maybe I did anyway.”

“Living together not all it’s cracked up to be?”

“Do you think it’s possible to love someone but not really like them?” Buck asks instead of answering.

Eddie huffs. “You remember where I am right now, right?” Then he sighs. “But I figure it’s probably different when it’s family.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Yeah, it probably is.”

So the next day he goes back to his loft, a speech for breaking up with Taylor prepared and ready to go, but Taylor stands in the doorway and doesn’t let him in. And Buck had been prepared for a screaming match, but all that’s left is quiet resignation. Like it’s a done deal. Which—is probably fair, he thinks. He’d probably be resigned, too, if he’d gotten the kind of voicemails he’d left Taylor last night.

Buck wonders if maybe he should kick Taylor out—it was his apartment first, after all—but it seems like a lot of effort for an apartment that’s never felt like more than a place to sleep and store his things. So he mutters something about figuring out details about the apartment later and turns on his heel, on autopilot down the hall and into his jeep and down the roads he knows like the back of his hand. He lets himself into Eddie’s house, and the relieved breath he draws feels like his first real one all day.

It’s only early afternoon, but exhaustion weighs on Buck like rocks piling upon his shoulders. Just an hour or two, he thinks. He has time to nap for an hour or two before he needs to pick Eddie and Christopher up from the airport. Eddie doesn’t know he’s coming, but Buck can already imagine the pleased sort of surprise that will spread across his face when Eddie spots him.

Only he stretches out on Eddie’s bed and closes his eyes, and the next thing he knows he’s blinking them open in the hazy half-darkness of twilight and the bed is shifting from the weight of someone sitting on it.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, and when Buck manages to get his eyes all the way open he sees Eddie’s soft smile, the one he’s pretty sure only he and Christopher have ever seen.

“Fuck,” Buck groans. “I was gonna—”

“Hey,” Eddie says. “If I could pick between airport pickup and this, I would pick this every time.”

Buck doesn’t think he’s awake enough to start picking apart whatever that might mean. “You could have had both,” he mumbles instead. “This is the closest thing I have to a home right now.”

“My bed?” Eddie asks.

“Whole house,” Buck says. “We didn’t—Taylor and I didn’t talk about what to do about the loft, but I’m gonna give it to her. She doesn’t have a you.”

“No one does,” Eddie says. “No one but you.”

“No,” Buck agrees. “So—I can stay here? For—”

“For as long as you need,” Eddie interrupts. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” Buck mumbles. “I know.”

“You do have to move over, though,” Eddie says. “You only get to sleep in my bed if you make room for me.”

It seems fair enough, Buck thinks as he drifts back into sleep.

Three weeks later, Hen and Karen renew their wedding vows.

Three weeks later, Buck has spent approximately eighty per cent of his time berating himself for taking this long to notice that he is ass over teakettle in love with his best friend.

So now Hen and Karen are renewing their wedding vows, and Buck is—Buck is a lot of things, but he’s mostly worried about the concept of Eddie in a suit.

Buck is, after all, only one man. He’s a little worried it might be too much for him to handle.

He’s spent the past three weeks adjusting to exactly how badly he wants to put his mouth on Eddie. And his hands. And his—

The point is, after three weeks he’s getting pretty good at controlling himself around the versions of Eddie he sees every day. Eddie in his uniform, the fabric stretching tight over his shoulders and his ass; Eddie in his turnouts, still preening a little every time he pulls the suspenders on now that he’s back on active duty. Eddie at home, soft and unguarded in sweats and well-worn henleys; Eddie, first thing in the morning, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his hair sticking every which way. These are versions he’s used to, as much as anyone can ever be used to the vision that is Eddie Diaz.

But he hasn’t built up an immunity to Eddie in a suit. He hasn’t seen Eddie in a suit since—he’s not sure he ever has, actually. So Buck just wants it known for the record that in the event he loses his entire mind, it’s not his fault. It’s the suit.

Eddie’s standing in front of the hallway mirror muttering to himself, and Buck can’t tear his eyes away from the lines of his shoulders, the close cut of his suit pants. It takes him a moment to realise that the smooth rippling of Eddie’s arms is because he’s trying to tie his tie, and that the muttering consists mainly of swearwords.

“Hey,” Buck says, stepping closer. “Need a hand?”

“I need Windsor knots to be less fucking complicated,” Eddie says.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Here, let me do it.”

“I can tie my own tie, Buck.”

“Can you?” Buck asks, gesturing at the tie Eddie is clutching.

“In theory,” Eddie says.

“Well, let me do it in practice,” Buck says. “Or we’re gonna be late in a second. Chris is all but sitting in the car honking for us.”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles. He turns as if to face Buck, but Buck grabs his shoulders and positions him back in front of the mirror, moving to stand behind him.

“I only know how to do it this way,” Buck says, reaching around him. Eddie stands still in the circle of his arms, and when Buck speaks he can see goosebumps rise on Eddie’s skin where the exhale from his words brushes past.

Buck works quickly, carefully, trying to focus all of his attention on his hands and not on the fact that if he just turned his head a little his lips would meet Eddie’s cheek. If he shifted his weight the slightest bit forward, the fly of his pants would press against Eddie’s ass.

Yeah, he’s trying to keep his mind off that one.

The moment lasts a lifetime and it’s over before it even begins, and Buck briefly entertains the idea of messing it up and redoing it just to stand here a few seconds more. But the longer he stands here, the more tempted he is to throw caution to the wind and press his lips to the side of Eddie’s throat, and that’s a line he won’t be able to uncross.

So he adjusts the knot, tugs on Eddie’s collar to make sure the points are even, and takes a step back.

In front of him, Eddie exhales, like maybe he’s been holding his breath.

“Okay, good to go,” Buck says, his voice only the tiniest bit shaky. “We should—”

He’s interrupted by a honk from outside, and Eddie huffs a laugh. “I thought you were kidding about the honking.”

Buck shrugs. “I gave him the keys, he made his own decisions.”

“I feel like you should have seen this coming.”

“Maybe,” Buck grins. “But come on, we should go before he gets carried away and the neighbours complain.”

“He gets that from you,” Eddie mutters. “I didn’t raise him to be obnoxious like that.”

Buck snorts, even as warmth spreads through him. “Sure you didn’t.”

Eddie grins. “No comment.”

Eddie’s fucking with him. Eddie has to be fucking with him, because Buck can’t think of a single other good reason for anything Eddie is doing right now.

It starts the second they take their seats for the vow renewal ceremony. Christopher sits between them, and Eddie stretches his arm out along the back of Christopher’s chair. Then his fingers brush Buck’s arm. It’s light at first, barely there, so brief Buck almost thinks he imagines it. But then it happens again, and when Buck whirls around to look at him, Eddie quirks the corner of his mouth into half a smile.

It starts there, and it keeps going, like Eddie’s magnetised and Buck is the pole. Eddie’s never more than a few feet away from him, touching him more often than not. It’s an arm pressed against his when they lean against the bar together, a knee brushing his thigh under the table when they sit down for dinner. It’s Eddie going to the bar and bringing back drinks for both of them, and Eddie standing behind his chair, resting his forearms on Buck’s shoulders and leaning over him to talk to Maddie when he comes back instead of just taking his seat.

Buck looks up, craning his head back to look at Eddie. From his vantage point he can’t see much, just the jut of his chin, the tip of his nose and the occasional flash of hair. Then Eddie looks down at him, leaning back a little so Buck can see his face, and it’s upside down but Buck’s pretty sure that’s Eddie’s Buck-and-Christopher smile.

Buck opens his mouth to ask a question—he’s not sure which question, exactly, but it’s probably somewhere in the neighbourhood of what the fuck—but the music that’s playing shifts into a song that Buck recognises from Eddie’s kitchen playlist, and Eddie’s face splits into a grin.

“Hey,” he says, his fingertips tapping out the beat on Buck’s sternum. “Come dance with me.”

And what’s Buck going to do, say no? Of course he follows Eddie out onto the makeshift dance floor. Eddie takes his hand, and Buck’s only ever seen Eddie doing something Christopher calls dad dancing but this is definitely not that. This is Eddie moving fluidly in time with the song. This is Eddie’s hips rolling and Eddie’s hand settling on Buck’s waist, pulling him closer, until their bodies are pressed together and Buck moves along with Eddie. This is Eddie’s breath warm against Buck’s ear and the slight scruff along Eddie’s jawline scraping against Buck’s cheek, and this is Buck about to lose his entire mind.

“Eddie—” he manages to say, trying very hard to keep his voice level and not too breathy. “Eddie, what are you—”

“What am I doing?” Eddie asks, a glint in his eye, and Buck nods.

“I’m testing a theory,” Eddie says.

Buck frowns. “What’s your theory?”

“This,” Eddie says, whisper-soft. There’s a moment, and then Eddie leans in and his lips meet Buck’s. He’s stunned into stillness for one heartbeat, two, then Buck’s hand comes up to cup Eddie’s jaw and the other one clutches the tie he’d tied for Eddie earlier. He’s probably pulling it askew, but Eddie’s mouth is soft on his, warm, insistent and gentle all at once, and Eddie tastes a little like the champagne they’ve been drinking and a lot like home, and the tie doesn’t really seem important in the midst of all that.

“Accurate,” Buck murmurs when Eddie pulls away, breathing hard, going only far enough to rest his forehead against Buck’s. Music is still playing, something slower, now, and Buck isn’t sure whether they’re swaying in time to the song or the beat of their intertwined hearts.

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“Your theory,” Buck says. “I don’t know, is accurate the right word? Are theories accurate? Should it be correct?”

“We can look it up later,” Eddie promises, ducking in for a quick kiss that turns into two, three.

Buck snatches one more, then: “Eddie?”

“Yeah?” Eddie says, running his thumb along Buck’s cheekbone.

“Will you take me home?”

Eddie grins, the bright kind of smile that’s been Buck’s north star for longer than he even knows how to count. “Yeah, Buck,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

(Later, once they get home and put Christopher to bed, Buck unties Eddie’s tie. It’s a lot more fun that way.)

#911fic #buddie #buddie fic #ask emma #emma writes #hippolotamus

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luke-hughes43 · 2 months

Note

Paige takes Mackie to a family day UMinn and she asks if he’d like to skate and the boys give him trouble cos he ends up having to wear one of the uminn jerseys on the ice and Paige sent photos to them. But they play a bit of one on one and he realises she’s gotten really good since starting at uminn!

yes!!!!

he grumbles about the whole thing but will ultimately do anything for his girl. he loves Paige more than anything so if he has to wear a uminn jersey for 2 hours than he will even if he gets chirped by the guys for it.

for the first half, they are just being your typical couple at a family skate. holding hands, hugging each other, not being much farther than an arms length away been attached at the hip.

but the second half, she challenges him to 1 on 1 saying, "come on babe. let's play 1 on 1. first to 5 wins. loser buys dinner."

"you're on baby." mackie says smiling.

Paige ends up beating mackie 5 to 2 and so mackie has to buy dinner (he was going to anyways bc he never lets Paige pay for anything) and the whole time mackie was smiling from ear to ear.

like mackie knew she was good, she had to be to play at minnesota, but he could definitely tell that she's gotten better since going to college. she's gotten smarter, stronger, and faster.

he's just soaking up all of the time that he gets to spend with is girl, uninterrupted.

#paige greene #mackie samoskevich #umich hockey #uminn women's hockey

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thespicykrab · 2 years

Note

Zuko and Mai don’t have much time together, so they end up having quickies in the private gardens most of the time. Just hiking clothes up, fucking against a tree, hoping that nobody comes looking for them for a few minutes.

Oh, they definitely do. Being Fire Lord and Fire Lady is a lot of work, but Mai and Zuko are young and horny, so they "accidentally" end up in the gardens - in the most remote spot they can find, at least at first - at the same time, on many, many, many days. It's not preferable, for either of them, but hey. It's pretty hot, actually, and if their breaks are like that? Well, neither of them are going to complain too much. Half the fun of it becomes trying to make sure no one sees them in the garden.

(It does get a little weird the one time they see Longshot and Ty Lee leaving the gardens with ruffled clothes, messy ponytail & braid, and messed up makeup right as Mai and Zuko are walking into the gardens. They all just pretend they didn't see each other.

Longshot and Zuko give each other a fist bump the next time they see each other, and Mai and Ty Lee share a knowing smirk.)

The servants and guards figure out what's going on pretty quickly. They were all young once, and they're not stupid. They make sure that the Fire Lord and Lady get some uninterrupted "lunch" time whenever possible. Sometimes they do actually just eat lunch and relax in the gardens - plenty of other times, though, Mai spends significantly more time, uh, greeting the dragon. As it were. (Zuko's dragon.)

And there's even more times where they just can't enough of each other so they run off to the gardens, leaving the people who they were supposed to meet with wondering where they hell they were.

(Fucking each other's brains out in the garden, that's where.)

I actually really liked this idea so I wrote a little something to go with it. Hopefully it's alright - still somewhat new to the world of smut writing and a little unconfident (also the first time I've actually published Maiko smut, too). So anyways enjoy!

------

“Fuck,” he groans as he buries himself inside her. Mai groans with him, throwing her head back against the tree.

“Agni, you feel so damn good, Zuko,” she breathes, her nails digging into his shoulders. Mai whimpers as he pulls himself out almost completely, only to mercilessly slam back into her; her eyes flutter closed, and she bites down on her lip as she mewls.

“You feel so good,” he growls as he thrusts, squeezing her ass with his hands. He can't help but admire her, her dress hiked up above her waist, pulled apart to expose her breasts. Not exactly what he prefers, just the best they could manage in the hour they each had free. She rocks back against him, forcing his cock even deeper as she meets him thrust for thrust. He can feel the pleasure coiling, white hot, in his gut, and he has to grit his teeth, clench his core to hold back.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to come before Mai does - he’s going to make her fall apart as many times as he can before they have to go back to work.

“Keep fucking me like this,” she moans,” and the whole damn palace wíll hea-”

Her voice trails off into an incoherent cry as she shakes under him, coming all over him as he fucks deep into her. Zuko leans down and hungrily claims her lips, his tongue dueling with hers as she catches her breath. He shifts slightly, adjusting their position so Mai’s legs hang over his shoulders instead of wrap around his waist. She lets out a soft, uncharacteristic whimper at the jostling as her walls clench down around him - fuck, he’s going to come soon.

“Good,” he whispers in her ear,” let them.

Mai doesn’t say a word - instead she grins, her face flushed with pleasure, and winks before she tugs him down into a searing-hot kiss as Zuko snaps his hips against hers.

He hates that they have to make do some days, that these moments are all they get - but, he thinks, if even a few of those moments are like this, he’s more than happy with ‘making do’.

#spicy krab answers asks #spicy krab writes #mai #zuko #maiko #spicy maiko #mai x zuko #lemon #minors dni #atla #anonymous #spicy

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caniruineverything · 10 months

Text

i wanna taste her lips (yeah, 'cause they taste like you)

Chapter 2: and does (s)he even know how (s)he hurt me?

Chapter Summary: Jack sees Katherine and Davey kissing in the park, and leaves, upset. Crutchie notices, and talks to him, helping Jack understand who he really is in love with.

Jack grabbed his sketchbook and pencil, then dashed out the door. He had seen a really nice view from a fire escape the other day, and wanted to draw it. Inspiration really did strike at any moment. He raced through the streets all the way to his destination, panting by the time he got there. He clambered up the abandoned fire escape (because he didn't always respect the law, but he didn't want to trespass on the property of innocent people) and sat down, staring at the wide expanse of the city. His city.

He sketched different perspectives for hours, getting caught up in the gorgeous view. His sketchbook had gotten much more filled up by the end of the day, full of sketches of buildings, clouds, people, cars, and whatever else he could find. It was near one o'clock when he stood up, hungry, and pulled a few coins out of his pocket, ready for lunch. After getting a bit of food, he walked around, enjoying the familiar sights and sounds of lower Manhattan.

He'd been walking around for maybe a half hour when he noticed Katherine and Davey sitting on a bench in a park, the one all three of them frequented. He was about to walk over and ask if he could sketch them, when he noticed how close they were sitting. They were pressed together, no space in between them despite the summer heat. He ducked out of the way, hoping they hadn't seen him. He got lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you see it), and they continued to talk, uninterrupted.

As he watched, the both looked down at their laps, seemingly embarrassed about something. Then, they glanced around, as if checking if anyone was watching them. Davey glanced at Katherine, said something to her, and she turned to him. As he watched, stomach sinking as it occurred to him what was going to happen, they leaned in, lips meeting tentatively. They were kissing. Well, if he'd needed any proof that he was screwed, there it was.

He turned away, not able to stomach watching them anymore, not wanting to see the two lovebirds kiss over and over again, and definitely not wanting to see the lovestruck expressions they were most definitely wearing. He left, running away faster than he'd run to the fire escape earlier, day ruined by the two people he had hoped would never betray him.

Because he left, he never saw Katherine and Davey pull away, blushing, and laugh, clearly embarrassed. He never heard Davey say,

"Thanks, Kath. I needed that. Good practice, and I'm definitely gay."

"You're welcome. And I know I'm bi, but not attracted to you, don't worry." He laughed, then looked thoughtful,

"You definitely aren't in love with him, right?" Katherine laughed, and reassured him,

"Nope. You know who I like." He smiled, clearly happy that he wouldn't have to share his crush, and told her,

"Yep. I do. Go for it, I think she likes you too."

"If I do, you'd better tell him. He's so in love with you, even Race can see it."

"Kath!"

"Just saying!" Their laughter continued for a long while, both red in the face and beaming.

Jack entered the lodging, tears in his eyes and red in the face, though for a much different reason than Katherine and Davey were. He lowered his head as he walked through the crowded area, trying to get to his bed without anyone seeing his face. No such luck, though, as halfway there, Crutchie called out to him.

"Jack? Why's ya back so early? I though ya s'posed to be gone for longer." Jack really didn't want to talk, but he knew brushing Crutchie off would hurt him, and he couldn't bear to be the one hurting the younger boy. Keeping his lead low so Crutchie couldn't see his eyes, he responded,

"I'm fine, Crutchie. I's just. . . tired, that's all." He could see Crutchie get worried.

"Are ya sick? Ya never get tired so early." Jack sighed, not wanting to talk anymore than he had before.

"No, Crutch, I's not sick. Just lemme sleep, please?" Jack wasn't one to say please much, so when he did say it, every newsie knew to listen.

"Okay. Lemme know if ya need anything, 'kay?" Jack felt a surge of gratefulness for Crutchie's kindness. He said as much, and walked over to his bed, burying his head in his pillow and letting angry tears slip out silently into the fabric, his sadness heard by no one in the empty room. How could Davey betray him like that, kissing the girl he was in love with? How could Katherine kiss someone else, even after what they had on the rooftop? He knew it wasn't fair, love had no rules, but it still hurt like hell.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he heard quiet footsteps accompanied by the scrape of a crutch.

"Hey, Jack, I, uh, broughtcha dinner. If ya want it, that is." His heart, though slightly cracked, swelled for his brother. He sat up, he saw Crutchie try to hide his double take at Jack's red, swollen eyes. He didn't say anything, though, just set the half-full plate down on the bed, careful not to spill anything.

Jack reluctantly picked up the somewhat clean fork next to the food and began to eat, realizing after a couple bites how hungry he actually was. Nothing like heartbreak to build up an appetite, he supposed. When he was done, he set the plate aside, and glanced up at Crutchie, who was hesitating by his bed.

"What's wrong, squirt?" he inquired, using his affectionate nickname for the boy as a way of thanking him. Crutchie visibly wavered, then asked:

"Jack, is ya okay?" Jack was taken aback, though he tried to hide it. He hadn't been expecting that, though of course, Crutchie had always cared deeply about those close to him.

"Yeah, bud, I's fine. Why'd ya ask?"

"Ya just seems so. . . sad lately. Is. . . is it me? Did I do somethin' wrong?" Jack paled, his heart hurting at the notion that Crutchie could feel responsible for this.

"No, no, no! Ya did nuttin' wrong. You's the bestest brother I coulda asked for." He wasn't the best with words, but he was desperate to make sure his brother wasn't blaming himself.

"Okay," Crutchie relented hesitantly, "but will ya tell me what's botherin' ya? Please? I hates to see ya like this." Jack figured he should tell someone, get it off his chest and all that, and who better to tell than Crutchie?

"I just. . . Ya know Kath and Davey have been hangin' out lots?" Crutchie nodded, attentively listening as he always did. "Well, I saw 'em kissin' earlier. I thought Katherine loved me, but she and Davey, they's in love. I's just hurt, I guess, and I needs time." Crutchie had been following along but took pause at something Jack had said.

"Wait, you's in love with Katherine? I's sure ya were in love with- " He cut himself off at that, leaving Jack very confused.

"Whaddaya mean? Course I's in love with Katherine. We kissed in the Penthouse during the strike, remember?" Poor Crutchie just looked even more confused.

"No, you's definitely in love with Davey. Have ya seen the way ya look at 'im?" Jack just stared at Crutchie. Is he insane? Do I need to take him to a doctor?

"Crutch, there is no way I's in love with David Jacobs. It's always been Katherine. I'm not a queer." When Crutchie looked hurt at his last sentence, he amended, "Not that that's a problem, ya know I support Race and Spot. I just, I likes girls, ya know?" Crutchie nodded reluctantly.

"Jack, ya know ya can like boys and girls, right?" Jack scoffed, of course he knew that. But he didn't, right? No, of course not.

"Yeah, I knows that. Doesn't mean I like both of 'em, though." Crutchie mumbled something to himself then, which sounded suspiciously like:

"Oh, God, he's in denial."

"Hey! I ain't in denial!" Crutchie paled, then denied saying anything.

"I didn't say nothin'!" Jack knew he had, in fact, said something, but he decided to let that go. He had more important things to worry about.

"Fine. So if I was attracted to both genders, and I ain't sayin' I is, why do ya think I's in love with Davey?" Crutchie looked somewhat placated with this, and launched into his defense.

"Okay, ya always seem happier to see 'im than ya do Kath. Ya also never stop starin' at him when ya think he don't notice." Jack spluttered, then composed himself.

" I don't do none of that." Crutchie shot back a quick,

"Yeah ya do."

"I do not."

"Do too."

"Do not"

"Do too."

"Okay, fine, maybe I do." Jack said it both because he remembered that, yeah, he kind of did do that, and because he wanted this back and forth nonsense to stop.

"Yes! Ya also is way more protective of 'im than ya are for Katherine."

"Dat's 'cuz Kath can 'andle herself. Ya know that. That one don't count."

"Yeah it does. Davey can handle 'imself too. Ya just don't wanna admit it." Jack conceded that point, then realized Crutchie was gearing himself up for more. How can there possible be more?

"Ya want to draw 'im more then ya wanna draw anyone else. It's 'cuz ya like starin' at 'im."

"What? I do not!"

"Like starin' at him, or draw him the most? Look in yer sketchbook if ya need more proof." Jack idly flipped through it. Crutchie was right, he did have more drawings of Davey than of anyone else.

"He's just. . . easiest to draw. It's good practice."

"Use whatever excuse ya need."

"Hey!" But Crutchie was moving on to more, somehow. Was there some truth to what he's saying? He didn't want it to be true, but there was some part of him that almost did.

"Lastly, ya always make some sorta excuse ta touch 'im. You's always touchin' him somehow. Oh, and, the way ya look at him, like he strung the stars in the sky. That's the gayest shit I ever seen."

"Hey! Language!" Then the rest of it occurred to him. "Wait, what? I do not look at 'im like that.”

"Yeah, ya do."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, ya-"

"No. I's in love with Katherine Plumber. Davey is my best friend, and I's completely fine with that."

"You's jealous 'cuz he was kissin' her and not you. Do ya really want to kiss her?"

"Yeah!" Crutchie leveled him with a look so severe, he began to actually think about it. Soft lips on his own, tasking of sunlight and ink, and smelling of spices and leather. Wait- leather? Where was the perfume? He pulled away in confusion, only to be faced with Davey's freckled face smiling shyly back at him. His heart skipped a beat, he was just so cute! What? Cute? Davey? The other boy ducked his head, cheeks dusted with pink, and Jack felt as though his whole body was made of butterflies. Fuck it, he thought, and leaned in again.

Crutchie was watching him closely, he realized, after he had come out of his imagination. He sat there for a moment, dumbfounded by his realization. Crutchie just smiled, proud at his work being successful.

"Holy shit. I's in love with Davey."

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

#fanfic #newsies #javey #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #that feeling when your crush kisses someone else #but you actually like the someone else #classic jack kelly #mr bi disaster

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