#and the temptation and hope and promise in it!!! which lets one wonder if maybe just maybe they'll break the cycle or at least make a dent

[selfdestructivecat]

The Best Medicine

AO3 Link (kudos are greatly appreciated!)

A/N: FINALLY it’s done! My fluffy magnum opus! You want simps? Boy howdy, you’ve come to the right place!

HUGE thanks to @lovelivingmydreams for being my BETA again! Her help is always greatly appreciated! Check out her fics!

I hope you guys enjoy! ^.^

Words: 17,127

Rating: T

Genre: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Roman/Virgil (Prinxiety)

Warnings/Triggers: Minor injury and blood; Self-deprication/hatred; Swearing

Summary: Roman hears Virgil laugh exactly one (1) time, and decides that he will do literally anything to hear it again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman and Virgil do not get along.

Roman is Creativity, wonderous and striking and beautiful. He speaks as if barely resisting the temptation to burst into song, his voice boisterous and lyrical. He dresses like the prince he knows he is, purest white and passionate red accented by the noblest of gold. His very presence demands attention, confidence shining from him like rays of sunlight and charisma dripping from every word, sweet as honey. And of course, he deserves this attention. His ideas are unmatched, his execution flawless. When he requests attention, he receives it, because his existence brings a promise to dazzle and amaze.

Virgil, on the other hand…

Okay, so maybe Virgil isn’t as useless as Roman initially thought. The emo’s own demands and urges occasionally serve a noble purpose in protecting Thomas. A star can’t shine if its light has been extinguished, after all. And perhaps Virgil’s frantic nudges towards rehearsing more for performances are… helpful. And Roman appreciates the assistance. Truly, he does!

But by the gods, why does Virgil have to be such a downer!?

Virgil’s voice is low and growling, almost like a warning that he can, and will, bite if provoked. His clothes are as dark and gloomy as his personality, all blacks and grays that seem to drain the color out of any room he occupies. His nonchalant sloppiness regarding his appearance – evident in his unkempt hair, ill-fitted clothing, and splotchy eyeshadow — seems to mock Roman’s diligent perfection. Where Roman is loud and bright, Virgil is quiet and subdued. Not that Virgil lets that stop him from being frustratingly persistent whenever Thomas tries to approach a cute guy.

Roman and Virgil do not get along. They don’t get along because they literally can’t. They are like water and oil, fire and ice, Patton and spiders, and whatever other cliché Roman can come up with to accentuate the fact that they just aren’t compatible.

Even after Virgil revealed his name, the Anxious Side barely shows himself. When he does sulk from his room into the commons, it’s always with a sullen expression, like he had just attended a funeral. His demeanor rarely changes when he interacts with the other Sides, and when Roman does notice a change, it’s usually Virgil simply alternating between “Grumpy” and “Very Grumpy”. Even Patton’s bubbly cheer, usually infectious, seems unable to penetrate the darkness that is Virgil’s seemingly endless pool of angst.

This stubborn insistence on gloominess persists even when the Sides attempt to include him in fun activities, such as game nights and movie marathons. While the others are laughing and cracking jokes (including Logan, in his own… unique way, usually involving flash cards), Virgil rarely even smiles. At most, he would flash a smirk or snort in amusement, which in Roman’s humble opinion doesn’t count. A smile is meant to convey happiness, and laughter is the definition of unrestrained joy. Virgil smirks like he's plotting something, and he is quick to slap a hand over his mouth at the slightest hint of a chuckle.

Virgil’s smiles are few and far-between, a feeble candle’s attempt to pierce an all-encompassing darkness. And not once, in all the years that Roman’s known him, has Virgil laughed.

Until…

Well.

Let’s start at the beginning.

For Roman, the day began like any other. He woke up at approximately nine o’clock, lured from his bed by the delectable aroma of Patton’s patented (or rather, “Patton-ted”) pancakes. He spent the next thirty minutes donning his usual ensemble and brushing his hair meticulously, so that not a single strand was out of place. With a snap of his fingers, the speakers in his room turned on with a satisfying click, providing pleasant music for Roman to sing and hum along to as he worked on his appearance. By the time the last few notes of Beauty and the Beast’s ‘Be Our Guest’ faded away, Roman left his room with a grin on his face and a song in his heart.

He had taken the stairs two at a time, loudly declaring his presence with a sweep of his hands. He was greeted with Patton’s chirpy “Heya, kiddo!” and an eyeroll from Logan, as was the norm. However, he was surprised to see that Virgil was also in the kitchen, quietly setting the table as Patton flipped the last of his pancakes. At Roman’s entrance, Virgil looked up and slightly grimaced, as if Roman’s presence were akin to a bug that had naively wandered into the house. Roman made sure to lock that memory up in a safe place in his mind, because he was absolutely going to bring it up later and he was going to redefine pettiness.

(Not because it hurt. Because it didn’t. Roman didn’t care what Virgil thought. He knew that he was amazing, and one gloomy emo’s opinion wasn’t going to change that. Obviously.)

And so, ignoring the grumpy Side in favor of the delicious stack of pancakes Patton was plating for him, Roman had walked over in long, confident strides.

Until suddenly, he wasn’t.

Now, Roman is usually the epitome of grace. He has memorized dozens of choreographed numbers from various musicals, perfecting his control over his body and honing his ability to transform movement into art. He is a well-seasoned fighter with many victories to his name, his body sharpened just as much as his beloved sword. But at that very moment, as Roman approached the breakfast table, his hip caught the edge of the couch in the common room, causing him to lose his balance. The next thing he knew, he was face-to-face with the floor.

Roman groaned in pain, hip already bruising from the impact. Luckily, he was otherwise unharmed, aside from the severe blow to his dignity. He was just starting to push himself up from his spot on the floor when it happened.

“Pfft—!”

Roman’s eyes had shot up, face flushed when indignation, but whatever snappy defense he had planned on shouting was soon caught in his throat.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Virgil was laughing, nearly doubled over and needing to support himself on the kitchen table. His eyes, normally stoic and unexpressive, were sparkling with mirth, crinkled from the wide grin that seemed to grow with every moment. The laughter itself was loud and raucous, as rough around the edges as the Side it came from, but it was delightful and genuine in that way all laughter is.

And it was beautiful.

Which brings us back to the present, where Virgil is heaving from the force of his laughter, Patton is rushing to Roman’s aid, and Roman has been staring at the cackling Side for approximately seven seconds too long to be considered normal. He barely processes Patton helping him to his feet, the fatherly Side chiding Virgil for his behavior despite his own lips quirking in amusement. He completely misses the smirk Logan sends his way, sharp and teasing, as he sits at his spot at the table. He doesn’t even touch his pancakes as Virgil’s giggles slowly die down, allowing him a moment to breathe and wipe tears from his eyes.

“You sure you have enough room for those pancakes, Princey?” Virgil snickers, “After the carpet you just ate?”

Patton spit-takes the milk he had unfortunately been sipping at that very moment, and Logan hides his own smile behind a napkin as he brushes away crumbs that aren’t there. And Roman would be offended, except he is too distracted by how Virgil’s eyes sparkle from unshed, happy tears. And how had Roman not noticed that Virgil has heterochromia, his left eye an emerald green and his right eye the loveliest of purples, both shimmering like gemstones?

“Nothing?” Virgil goads, smiling around a bite of sliced strawberries, “You got a stomach ache from your pre-breakfast meal?”

Logan barks out a loud “HA!” at the quip, and Patton scolds Virgil despite looking close to laughter himself. This finally snaps Roman out of his stupor, allowing him to hastily shoot back a jab of his own. The rest of breakfast is spent exchanging light-hearted insults with the Anxious Side and nearly dropping his fork every time he glances up and sees Virgil’s teasing smile.

And as he’s lying in bed that night, replaying that moment over and over again like a broken record, he comes to two important conclusions.

One, that Virgil’s laugh may be the most wonderful sound he has ever heard in his entire existence.

And two, that he would do literally anything to hear that laugh again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Exactly two days have passed since The Incident. Roman had dedicated those two days to intense research, hours spent watching various comedians and reading pages filled with jokes. Roman is now a certified comedy expert, and he is ready to perform just as he always has: perfectly.

…Since when did Roman get pre-performance nerves?

Roman finds himself frozen at the top of the stairs, hand on the railing and ready to descend. He can faintly hear Logan and Virgil conversing in the living room, their voices too soft to discern anything specific. Roman knows his hesitance is absurd. He is more than prepared. 

And yet, as soon as he heard Virgil’s voice, his mind was filled with memories of precious laughter and an insufferable smirk. Blood had flooded his cheeks for reasons he couldn’t discern (or perhaps simply refused to), and suddenly descending the stairs seemed like a horribly daunting undertaking. 

This is stupid!

With a deep breath and much more effort than such a task demanded, Roman takes a hefty step, allowing the momentum to guide him the rest of the way down the stairs. He turns towards the common room, and his breath catches when he sees that Logan and Virgil are turned towards him. His journey downstairs may have been an unrivaled feat of mankind, but it certainly wasn’t quiet.

“Greetings, Roman,” says Logan, who is situated comfortably on the couch with a notepad on his lap. 

Virgil, lounging sideways in the loveseat with his legs draped over the armrest, gives a wordless salute. Roman feels slightly irked at the lack of a proper greeting, which is strange, since it had never bothered him before. 

The two continue to stare at Roman, who stares back in confusion before realizing that he should probably give them a response.

“Oh! G-greetings, Logan! Virgil!” Roman leans on the banister and crosses his arms in a hasty attempt at nonchalance, but if his aching back is any indication, the position must look incredibly awkward.

Logan and Virgil both raise an eyebrow in sync. 

“No nicknames today, Princey?” Virgil asks, looking suspicious at Roman’s abnormal behavior.

Roman inwardly winces. Only a few seconds, and he is already completely thrown off kilter, his charisma slipping through his fingers like sand. Fumbling his words slightly, he tries to recover.

“I, uh, decided that I should focus my creative talents on… our upcoming videos! Yes, that’s right! I sincerely apologize for the lack of nicknames on my part.”

Regaining a bit of confidence when his words come out evenly, Roman smirks playfully.

“Careful, Emo. One might think that you want me to call you nicknames.”

Virgil balks, the tips of his ears noticeably red. 

“N-no, that would be stupid,” Virgil grumbles, looking away. 

Roman smiles triumphantly. While the two are now allies instead of enemies, it is still way too much fun to tease Virgil.

Logan takes that moment to speak up. 

“Well, nicknames aside, I’m glad that you are focusing your efforts on future projects,” Logan commends, “In fact, Virgil and I have been conversing on a similar matter.”

Roman perks up, interested.

“Oh? A new Sanders Sides video? Perhaps one featuring… moi?”

Roman strikes a dramatic pose, and Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Actually, we were discussing a potential livestream with some of Thomas’ friends,” Logan corrects, “Virgil was helping me identify some potential obstacles that come with streaming live, rather than simply recording and releasing a video.”

“Everything you say will be out there forever…” Virgil mutters, his voice low and sinister, “No editing. No take-backs. Just thousands of people catching your every word, waiting for you to say something wrong or problematic…”

Virgil shudders, his eyeshadow darkening like clouds before a heavy downpour. Roman can’t help but scoff, and Virgil’s eyes dart back towards him, sharp and challenging. 

“I think you’re over-exaggerating, Gloomy Tunes. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Virgil’s expression darkens, and he opens his mouth to retaliate. However, to Roman’s surprise, Logan reaches over and places a hand on Virgil’s knee. Virgil startles, eyes wide as he turns to Logan instead.

“Roman is partially right, although his tone could use some work,” Logan says, throwing a pointed look towards Roman that makes him feel slightly taken aback, “You are catastrophizing, assuming that everyone watching will be looking for reasons to tear Thomas down. While it is certainly possible that there may be a few–” 

Logan quickly summons his pile of flashcards, flipping through them until he finds the one he is looking for.

“...”trolls” in the chat, the vast majority of people will likely be there because they like Thomas, and won’t be purposefully looking for ways to disrupt the stream.”

He then offers Virgil a rare smile.

“But nevertheless, you make a good point. Because we are streaming, we will not be able to edit out any mistakes. So it would be best to execute greater caution before we speak, so that we don’t say anything that can be interpreted poorly. I’m sure we can count on you to assist with that.”

Logan gives Virgil one last reassuring pat. Virgil remains still for a moment, flabbergasted at the praise, before turning away in embarrassment. But Roman catches a hint of a smile.

Roman suddenly feels inexplicably jealous.

“Roman, now that you’re here, perhaps you could help us brainstorm activities we could do during the stream?”

Roman shakes his head slightly, dismissing the strange feeling. 

“Of course!” Roman grins, walking towards the couch, “Have we decided on a theme?”

“Not yet,” Logan says, shaking his head, “But Patton did suggest that we could use the stream to raise money for a charity. While we haven’t decided which charity we will be raising money for, we have narrowed our options down to three different organizations”

Logan flips to a page in his notebook and places it on the coffee table, but Roman is no longer paying attention. 

Charity… Charity…

Roman’s eyes light up, suddenly remembering his reason for venturing downstairs to begin with. Seeing the opening, Roman pounces. 

“Say, Virgil. Speaking of charity…”

Virgil turns towards Roman, once again suspicious. He is no longer smiling, and some part of Roman feels… colder, like a camper whose campfire was suddenly extinguished by a great gust of wind. Nevertheless, he presses on.

“Do you know why crabs don’t donate to charity?”

Virgil blinks, not expecting such a shift in the direction of the conversation. Roman pauses, allowing a moment for the suspense to build.

Unfortunately, he waits a moment too long. As he opens his mouth to deliver the punchline, Logan interrupts. 

“Crabs don’t use money, Roman,” Logan asserts, frowning in confusion, like how a teacher may react to a particularly dumb question from a student, “Nor do they use technology that makes donating to charities possible.”

Roman’s eye twitches. 

“Yes, that is true, Logan,” Roman says through gritted teeth, “But also—”

“Furthermore, I doubt that crabs possess the intellect necessary to make such a transaction,” Logan continues, “I don’t understand why you are bringing this up. I’m very certain that all of the stream’s viewers will be human, unless a viewer’s pet is sitting with their owner, and even then the animal does not have the ability to make any donations.”

Virgil snickers behind his hand, and Roman feels his face grow hot. He doesn’t know if he’s more upset at the fact that Virgil is laughing at him, or that Virgil is hiding his pretty laughter. 

“I know, Logan,” Roman growls, a vein popping on his forehead, “I’m not arguing about whether or not crabs are capable of donating to charity. I’m not that stupid.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Virgil pipes up.

Roman sends a scathing glare towards Virgil, although most of his anger quickly dissipates at the smirk playing on Virgil’s lips, and his mind is filled with pretty pretty pretty.

“Well then, I don’t understand why you are bringing up the subject of crabs,” Logan frowns, his brow furrowed in confusion, “Unless you are suggesting that as a potential theme for the stream? One of the charities Patton suggested is called “Mermaids”, so perhaps a nautical theme is not out of the question…”

“No, Logan,” Roman whines, running a hand roughly through his hair, “I was trying to do something—Look, can you just let me say what I want to say without interruption? Please?”

At the near-pleading tone in Roman’s voice, Logan raises an eyebrow. Even Virgil’s suspicion momentarily gives way to curiosity. After a moment, Logan sighs, then gestures towards Roman to carry on. Roman sighs in relief.

“So, do you know why crabs don’t donate to charity—”

Roman quickly raises a finger towards Logan, seeing the Logical Side open his mouth to answer.

“Don’t answer that, Logan.”

Logan looks even more confused, likely at being asked a question he is not expected to answer. He looks towards Virgil, who simply shrugs, before turning back to Roman with skepticism. 

Roman pauses once again, although not for as long as he would have liked, fearing another interruption.

“...It’s because they’re shellfish!"

Roman grins broadly, arms outstretched, like a museum tour guide presenting a grand painting.

The silence that hangs in the room is heavy. 

No… no reaction?

Logan, somehow, looks even more confused, while Virgil remains silent, looking towards Roman as if silently judging him. A far cry from the laughter that Roman was hoping for.

“What… What does being a shellfish have to do with donating to charity?” Logan asks hesitantly, as if trying to parse a trick question. 

Virgil sighs as he turns to Logan, his expression noticeably gentler than when he was looking at Roman. 

“I think it’s a pun, Teach,” Virgil explains, “Like, a play on the word “selfish”. So it’s like saying that crabs are selfish, so they don’t donate to charity.”

“Ah!” Logan brightens, pleased at finally understanding, before his expression suddenly sours.

“...Ah.”

Virgil snorts as Logan wrinkles his nose in displeasure, as if he had smelled something particularly unpleasant. 

Roman, still holding the pose, feels his heart sink like a deflated balloon. While Virgil had technically laughed, it had been at Logan’s reaction, not Roman’s joke. He feels like an actor on stage who flubbed their lines, except he has no idea what he did wrong. 

Does Virgil not like puns? Roman wonders, No… No, Virgil tries to hide it, but he always laughs at Patton’s puns. Does he not like crabs? He didn’t react too negatively to the first half of the joke, so that doesn’t feel right.

…Is it me?

Roman feels strangely hollow, as if something deep inside him had either shrunk or disappeared.

…No, that’s ridiculous. It can’t be that.

Before Roman can ponder further, Logan speaks up once again.

“Well, now that we’re done with… that,” Logan shudders, flipping through his notebook once again, “perhaps we can continue discussing the charity stream?”

Sighing in defeat, Roman takes a seat beside Logan.

But his mind isn’t on the stream. As the three Sides converse, Roman is already planning his next move.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman leaves his room with a renewed sense of confidence. He faintly hears his computer buzzing away, struggling under the weight of hundreds of open tabs, the fruits of Roman’s rigorous research. 

He has soared beyond the title of a mere expert. He is now a comedy connoisseur. No one will be able to withstand the pure, unfiltered humor contained in every joke he tells. 

He’d like to see Virgil try to hide his laughter now.

Roman smiles as he makes his way to Virgil’s room with a pep in his step. However, right as he’s about to knock, he notices a delicious aroma wafting up from downstairs, something sweet and homely. 

Ah, Patton must be baking, Roman concludes, mouth already watering at whatever delicious treats Patton must be whipping up. Given the smell, the baked goods must nearly be done.

…Perhaps Virgil can wait just a few minutes. Just long enough for Roman to sneak a cookie or two. 

As he heads downstairs towards the kitchen, the aroma of sugar and chocolate growing stronger and more enticing, he’s surprised to see not only Patton, but also Virgil in the kitchen. Roman notices flour in the Anxious Side’s hair, as well as splotches of cookie dough on his cheeks and around his mouth. 

He is grinning ear-to-ear, and Roman suddenly feels as if an invisible assailant had punched him in the stomach, hard. 

Patton, a hot batch of fresh cookies in his hands, finally notices Roman. He smiles brightly in greeting, settling the tray on the counter. 

When Virgil sees him, however, his smile nearly vanishes, and Roman feels strangely hurt. 

“Hi, Roman! You’re just in time! Virgil and I made some chocolate chip cookies. Did you know that Virge is an amazing baker?”

Patton lightly hip-checks Virgil upon mentioning his name. At the gesture, Virgil smiles slightly, but it’s a shadow of its former self.

“I was not aware,” Roman says, turning towards Virgil with a teasing smile, “I didn’t know he had time between all of his brooding.”

The smile is completely gone now, and Roman realizes too late that Virgil had taken his words seriously.

“Wait, Virgil, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever,” Virgil growls. He pointedly faces away from Roman and, spotting the tray of cookies, snatches one off the tray in an attempt to play indifference. He winces slightly at the heat, as the cookies haven’t been given the proper time to cool, before popping it into his mouth anyway. He immediately hisses in pain, spitting the hot cookie back into his hand and reaching for a napkin.

“Oh, careful, Honey!” Patton warns, rushing to the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk, “They’re still really hot! Here, let me get you something cold to drink.”

Roman snickers, but stops immediately when Patton shoots him a disapproving look. He suddenly recalls Logan reacting similarly after Roman had teased Virgil. 

He doesn’t quite understand. He and Virgil had always teased each other and traded jabs like this. He knows that they don’t mean anything, and surely Virgil does as well. So why were Logan and Patton looking at him like he had done something wrong? And why had Virgil taken his words so seriously instead of reacting in kind?

Virgil takes the offered milk gratefully, downing almost the entire glass.

“Thanks, Pop-Star. I appreciate it.”

Patton beams at the nickname, squeezing Virgil’s arm affectionately. 

“Now, I know you’re eager, but good things crumb to those who wait!”

For a second, Roman expects the same silence that had followed his own joke. However, Virgil immediately starts chuckling, hand once again rising to hide it. 

“I guess I couldn’t take the heat,” he shoots back, to which Patton responds with peals of laughter. 

“Nah, you’ll be okay, Virge. You’re one tough cookie, after all!”

Virgil snorts indignantly, his hand falling to support himself on the table, and he and Patton lose themselves to giggles. With his hand out of the way, Roman gets a full view of Virgil’s laughter, and breathing suddenly feels slightly more difficult.

After a moment, however, the warm feeling is quickly replaced by irritation. In what way was Patton’s joke better than his!? Patton hadn’t spent hours researching the best jokes and puns. He likely makes them up on the fly! 

So how is Virgil laughing so easily!?

Flustered and indignant, Roman interrupts, determined to produce the same result.

“W-well, I gotta say, these cookies will certainly, uh…”

He fumbles further when Patton and Virgil turn towards him, his words catching when a ghost of a smile is directed his way.

“...They’ll do what, Roman?” Patton gently prompts, giving Roman the opportunity to pick himself back up. Roman shakes his head, dispelling the irrational emotions.

“These cookies will certainly… bake my day!”

Roman grins, pleased that he was able to remember a cookie-themed pun off the top of his head. Patton cheers, laughter intermingling, and runs over to give Roman a hug. But Roman doesn’t feel victorious, because as Patton wraps Roman in his arms, he sees Virgil over Patton’s shoulder.

His arms are crossed as he leans against the counter. He is no longer laughing as he gazes as Roman, unimpressed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s been weeks, and Roman isn’t making any progress.

Roman had tried numerous jokes, ranging from knock-knock jokes, to dad jokes, and even a single “Yo Mama” joke that had produced such a disastrous reaction that Roman had quickly decided to not attempt a similar joke again. 

(He knows that they don’t technically have mothers, being manifestations of aspects of a personality. He didn’t need Logan to remind him.)

And yet, every time without fail, Virgil doesn’t react. 

Roman doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, which frustrates him to no end. He knows that comedy is subjective, and that certain subjects may only appeal to some. 

But he knows that Virgil likes puns! As much as Virgil claims to enjoy only dark humor, Roman has seen the way Virgil quickly turns away at corny jokes, his shaking shoulders giving his amusement away. Roman has seen the way Virgil responds to Patton’s puns. Hell, even Logan’s drier sense of humor can produce a snicker from the usually grumpy Side. 

So what is Roman doing wrong? 

…A voice in his head whispers an answer that Roman refuses to consider, so he ignores it. 

No, he would not allow himself to be discouraged. He’ll reach a breakthrough eventually, or his aspect isn’t Creativity. 

As he leaves his room, a new batch of jokes rattling around in his head, he passes by Patton in the hallway.

“Hey Roman!” Patton says cheerfully, and despite Roman’s melancholy, the Moral Side’s cheer brings a smile to his face.

“Hey Pat, have you seen Virgil?”

“Yeah, I was just talking to him. He’s downstairs in the living room.”

It’s subtle, but Roman notices a slight change to Patton’s demeanor. His smile is still bright, and he is still bouncing on the tips of his toes, but it is as if clouds had drifted to partially block the sun.

“Did you… need something from him?” Patton asks, slightly hesitant.

“No, I just wanted to talk to him about something,” Roman answers, frowning slightly at the change in tone.

“Ok…” Patton stops swaying, and his expression shifts to something more serious. “But, Roman… Please go slightly easy on him, okay? Today has been a bit rough for the Shadowling.”

“Rough?”

“Yeah, he didn’t say anything about it, but he seems a bit more on edge. I think that’s why he left his room to spend time downstairs. You know how his room can be sometimes.”

Roman nods, shuddering at the memory of doubts and fears invading his mind, like monsters creeping in the darkness and concocting evil schemes. 

“Do you know why he’s upset?” Roman inquires further.

“No, I didn’t want to pressure him,” Patton says, brow furrowed in worry, “I just hope he knows that he can come to us if he needs anything…”

“I’m sure he does, Patton,” Roman reassures, patting Patton on the shoulder, “and I’ll be nice, I promise.”

At his words, Patton smiles in relief. 

“Thanks, Roman. See you for dinner? I’m sure you’ll be waffle-y pleased at what I’m making tonight!”

“Of course,” Roman chuckles, “I won’t miss it.”

With a final wave goodbye, Roman heads downstairs. Sure enough, Virgil is lounging on the couch, lying down sideways with his head propped by a pillow. He is scrolling through a social media app Roman doesn’t recognize, probably Tumblr if he were to guess. Roman can faintly hear music emitting from Virgil’s earbuds. He seems lost in his own world.

If Patton hadn’t said anything to Roman, Virgil would have seemed perfectly relaxed. However, now that Roman is looking for the signs, Virgil definitely appears slightly worse-for-wear. His eyes are glazed from something other than boredom, and despite the fact that he’s lying down, Virgil carries tension in his shoulders, and his hands are shaking. 

Roman hesitates, unsure how to proceed. His presence seems to be far from pleasant for the Anxious Side, if their previous interactions are any indication. However, simply leaving when Virgil seems so upset leaves a sour taste in Roman’s mouth. His purpose as Creativity is to inspire and entertain, after all, spreading wonder and happiness to all. Besides, he sought out Virgil for a reason, and is reluctant to back out now when Virgil is sitting right in front of him.

Roman brightens like a lightbulb, an idea beginning to take shape. If Virgil is feeling down, then Roman can do something to cheer him up. And what better way to do that than with a joke? 

Pleased with his plan, Roman struts forward, greeting Virgil with a wide smile.

“Hey Virgil!”

Virgil yelps, his phone flying from his hands and landing on the carpet. Virgil swirls towards Roman, his gaze nearly murderous. 

“Geez, Roman! Warn a guy, will you!?” Virgil snaps.

Roman winces under Virgil’s glare. His words had come out slightly louder than he had intended, his excitement leaking into his voice. He does feel slightly miffed at Virgil’s reaction, though. Roman hadn’t intended to scare Virgil, so he doesn’t think he deserves the daggers Virgil is shooting at him.

…Although, perhaps Roman can afford Virgil some grace. He did seem to be on edge before Roman announced himself, so Roman can understand the reaction. And his original intent was to make Virgil feel better, so it wouldn’t do any good to start any arguments. 

“Ah… my deepest apologies, Surly Temple. It was never my intention to scare you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.

“You’re… apologizing?”

That catches Roman off guard. Why does Virgil seem so surprised? Why wouldn’t Roman apologize? He is a prince, after all, and chivalry is an important tool in a prince’s repertoire. Of course he would do the polite thing and apologize for his errors. Roman suddenly feels offended at Virgil’s insinuation.

“Of course I’m apologizing! Why wouldn’t I?”

Virgil seems even more bewildered.

“Well, excuse me for being surprised! It’s not like you do it that often, do you?”

Roman is stunned. What does Virgil mean by that? 

“What are you talking about?” Roman demands, his voice rising, “When have I not apologized to you for something I’ve done!?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about when you constantly make fun of me and treat me like a villain!” Virgil yells, his own voice rising to match Roman’s.

The two fall silent, Virgil’s words hovering in the air like a putrid gas. Virgil’s tough exterior cracks, like hardened clay when heated for slightly too long. 

“I… Ignore that,” Virgil says, his expression regretful, “I didn’t mean any of that. Sorry for raising my voice. ”

Roman can’t hear a word, Virgil’s voice muddled as if Roman is submerged underwater.

After Virgil’s acceptance, he had thought that everything had been resolved. Virgil was listened to, his role as Anxiety accepted and even commended, and he no longer had to play the part of a villain. He had even seemed happy. So naturally, Roman had thought everything was okay, that Virgil had forgiven them for everything they had done. But Roman…

A whirlwind of memories suddenly barrages him, moments strung with insults and passive-aggressive comments directed towards the Anxious Side. Moments he had easily brushed off at the time, assuming that Virgil would naturally do the same.

Roman… never apologized to Virgil. For any of it. Even worse, Roman had continued to exhibit the same behavior, completely unaware of the pain his words were inflicting. An overwhelming emotion encompasses him, one he is finally able to identify: guilt.

“I… I really haven’t, have I?” Roman whispers, his voice croaking slightly with emotion. Virgil’s eyes widen in panic.

“Roman, it’s fine, seriously!” he exclaims, rising from his lounged position on the couch, “It’s not a big deal–”

“It is! I thought things were okay, but you must have assumed…”

Roman’s words trail off as a more horrifying thought crosses his mind.

“You don’t think… You don’t think that I still hate you, right?”

Virgil’s eyes dart to the side, purposefully avoiding Roman’s eyes.

“I mean… Don’t you?”

“No!”

Roman’s voice comes out desperate, and Virgil recoils as if struck. Another silence hangs in the air, even tenser than the first. 

Slowly, as if approaching an easily-spooked animal, Roman delicately settles next to Virgil on the couch. Virgil curls into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Seeing how unsettled Virgil looks, Roman is tempted to back off, or to cut the tension with theatrics. But he holds his ground, like a weary soldier bracing himself for the next wave of enemies. This conversation is important, and if he wishes to make any ground with Virgil, he needs to persevere. His jokes can wait.

“Virgil.”

Virgil reluctantly faces Roman, his face partially hidden by his arms so that only his eyes are visible, guarded and apprehensive. Roman wants to kick himself for putting that expression on Virgil’s face.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do.”

Virgil falls silent. Roman takes a deep breath. 

“Virgil, I treated you horribly.” Roman begins, cringing when his voice cracks at the last word, “I ignored and berated you when you were just trying to help. I assumed you were the enemy, and I treated you as such without truly getting to know you. That is not how a prince should act. That’s not… That’s not how anyone should act. And for that, I deeply apologize.”

Roman meets Virgil’s eyes, trying to convey his sincerity through his expression. Virgil’s eyes widen, holding the gaze for a few seconds, before he squirms uncomfortably and looks away.

“I already told you, you don’t need to apologize,” Virgil mumbles.

“But I—”

“Roman.”

Roman’s mouth clamps shut.

“Please, just listen to me for once,” Virgil pleads. Roman’s expression must have betrayed his hurt, because he quickly amends: “Sorry, shit, I’m bad at this. I just—I mean—You’ve—UGH!”

Virgil rises to his feet, hands gripping his hair tight enough to hurt. He takes a few deep breaths, and Roman notices, with another guilty pang in his heart, that his eyeshadow has darkened significantly.

“I-I’m sorry,” Roman stutters, moving to stand before Virgil, “I didn’t mean to—”

“STOP APOLOGIZING.”

Virgil’s voice echoes, magnified by his anxiety. As if the words are an incantation, Roman freezes in place.

“I—I’M SORry, I didn’t m-mean—"

Virgil inhales, shaky and uncertain, then exhales. His shoulders are still tense, his eyeshadow as dark as a starless sky, but he still forces himself to meet Roman’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, you’ve treated me horribly in the past,” Virgil starts tentatively, “and I won’t lie and say that your words didn’t hurt me. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. But I—”

Virgil words catch, as if a dam had suddenly slammed down. But with another wobbly breath, he continues.

“You weren’t the only person who was being an asshole,” Virgil admits, hugging himself tightly, like he might drift away if he loosened his grip even slightly, “I called you names, too. I… I made your job a lot harder than it had to be. I purposely sabotaged your plans instead of just… communicating with you.”

“We didn’t make it easy,” Roman defends, taking a step towards Virgil, but not moving any further when he notices Virgil flinch at the movement, “I never gave you any chance to say your piece, and when you did attempt to voice your concerns, I brushed you off. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“I just… I don’t know what you guys want from me,” Virgil breathes, his voice nearly a whimper, “At least before, I knew where we stood. I knew what boundaries I could push, and what lines I couldn’t cross. But now Patton runs up to hug me whenever he sees me, and Logan asks me about the audiobooks I’ve been listening to, and you—”

Another breath.

“You’ve been acting weird!” Virgil cries, “You keep seeking me out, almost like you want something from me. But whatever I do just isn’t enough for you, because you always end up sulking off like I had somehow insulted you. I’ve been trying so hard to be nicer. I’ve even held back on the name calling and insults, but obviously I must still be doing something wrong! And I—”

Virgil chokes, as if emotion is clogged in his throat, and his face crumbles in mortification as his eyes well with tears.

“What do you want from me!?”

Roman watches helplessly as the tears start to fall, Virgil frantically wiping at his eyes and struggling to get his breathing back under control. This isn’t how Roman had wanted this interaction to go at all. It was the last thing he wanted. He had spent all this time trying to get Virgil to laugh, to feel happy in his presence. And yet, all Roman had managed to do was make him cry. If Virgil’s laugh is like warm sunlight, then his tears are like a blizzard, battering him and driving a chill into his bones that leaves him feeling numb and hopeless. 

Roman is bombarded with another wave of memories as frigid and painful as a hailstorm, echoes of past interactions between the two, and Roman realizes with a start that Virgil is right. He has been holding back on the insults. In fact, Roman can’t recall a single jab thrown at him since his conversation with Logan and Virgil about the livestream. And that was weeks ago.

But, to Roman’s horror, he can remember several times he had insulted Virgil. He had meant to be teasing, and he had expected a similar jab in turn, but Virgil had just taken them silently. As if… accepting them as the truth.

What have I done?

Roman remains frozen in place, silent and useless, as Virgil attempts to rein in his tears, black streaks of eyeshadow trailing down his cheeks like rain on a windowsill. At the time it matters most, Roman has no idea what to say. So instead, he does what he does best, and acts impulsively.

He grabs Virgil, who had started shaking from barely repressed sobs, and pulls him into his arms.

Virgil tenses up, instinctively pulling away as if the gentle gesture is an attack, and Roman despairs at how he could have possibly messed up so horribly for Virgil’s first instinct when Roman grabs him is to expect pain. Roman braces himself for an attack, ready for any punches Virgil will throw at him. He deserves it. 

Instead, Virgil, who Roman has never seen display any sign of vulnerability, collapses in his arms, hands clutching the back of Roman’s shirt.

And he wails.

The sound is so devastating that it brings Roman to tears. He didn’t think Virgil was capable of making such a sound. He is tough, not allowing the slightest bit of hurt or weakness to show on his features. His expression is constantly guarded, not giving the slightest indication of his true intentions. When the two were enemies, Anxiety’s nonchalance frustrated Roman to no end, because it hinted at Anxiety knowing something he didn’t.

The shield is down now, Virgil lacking the strength to pick it back up as his body is wracked with sobs. Roman, still feeling hopelessly lost, eases the two of them back onto the couch, muttering soothing reassurances that feel futile against Virgil’s anguish, like a few meager sticks attempting to block a torrential river. But somehow, Roman must have offered some form of comfort to the Anxious Side, because Virgil’s sobs eventually subside. Roman wonders if Virgil will push him away, but he makes no effort to move, so the two remain still and quiet in each other’s arms, the silence only occasionally punctuated with a wet sniff. The silence is uncomfortable for Roman, who is so used to filling every moment with noise, but he allows it to linger. For Virgil’s sake. 

After a few minutes, Virgil finally speaks.

“So, uh… Just to clarify. You… You don’t hate me?”

Roman’s heart breaks all over again.

“No. Of course not,” Roman declares firmly.

“...Really?”

Roman tightens his grip around Virgil, a few stray tears falling.

“Really.”

He states it like a promise, one he intends to keep until his dying breath.

“...Okay.”

Virgil’s voice is hesitant, lacking conviction, and Roman knows that Virgil doesn’t quite believe him. But that’s okay, because Roman will be sure to dedicate his every moment to proving he is a man of his word. It will take time, but Roman is nothing if not determined. 

After another few moments, Virgil begins to pull away. Roman lets him. 

“So… We’re cool?” Virgil asks.

“Cool as cucumbers,” Roman reaffirms, giving Virgil a watery smile. 

Virgil chuckles shakily, and Roman’s chest does a funny little flip. Virgil scoops his phone from where he flung it onto the floor, then plops back onto the couch. 

“So… Did you need me for anything?”

Virgil’s expression is tentative, remnants of suspicion still clinging to him like icicles after a winter storm, but he is giving Roman a chance. If Roman wants to try to make Virgil laugh, now would be the perfect opportunity.

But he looks exhausted. Their emotional conversation had likely taken a toll on the introverted Side. Even though Virgil indicated that he is willing to speak with Roman for a bit longer, Roman knows that a prolonged conversation is probably the last thing Virgil needs right now.

“No, I’m alright,” Roman says, “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Get some sleep, Ebenezer Snooze. Can’t have Thomas saying something embarrassing to a cashier at Starbucks, right? We’ll need you to help keep us in check, so you need to be well-rested.”

Virgil’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. While it’s far from the laughter Roman craves, it still fills him with a great amount of pride, because for the first time it’s truly meant for him. His heart flutters again, like a butterfly prepared to take flight, and he feels content. He waves farewell, turning to return to his room upstairs. 

Except apparently, the couch has a vendetta against him. In a flash of pain and déjà vu, Roman’s leg catches the side of the couch, and he goes crashing down like a baby deer on unsteady legs. 

He groans, slowly pushing himself up, when he hears a familiar sound.

“Pfft—!”

He whips towards Virgil, who has a hand covering his mouth.

“S-sorry,” Virgil says, his body shaking with repressed laughter, “You okay?”

Roman doesn’t know what expression he makes, but it must be hilarious, because Virgil can no longer contain his laughter. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Roman suddenly doesn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. In fact, he feels more like he’s flying on soft, puffy clouds.

“Your—hehe —your face!” Virgil squeaks through giggles.

Still laughing through his poor attempts to conceal it, Virgil kneels down to help Roman up.

“I’m sorry—hehehe—You’re not hurt, right?”

Something akin to concern suddenly flashes across Virgil’s features, and Roman momentarily panics, fearing that Virgil may stop laughing. He stumbles to his feet in a rush, determined to soothe Virgil’s worries before they can completely snuff out his joy.

“I’m okay! Really! Just a silly fall, no harm done.”

Despite his reassurances, Virgil’s laughter does subside, and Roman feels like a general watching his army get swept by enemy forces.

“I still shouldn’t have laughed. And after that whole conversation about being nicer to each other—”

“Virgil, truly, it’s okay,” Roman insists, “I’m tougher than I look, I can handle some heckling.”

Then, Roman suddenly remembers the past few minutes, where Virgil was an absolute mess in his arms because of awful things Roman had said. His eyes widen as he realizes his error, and he quickly backtracks.

“N-not that you aren’t tough for feeling upset when I said mean things to you! Anyone would feel upset—I mean—”

“Okay, okay, I get it, Princey!” Virgil interrupts, pressing a hand to Roman’s mouth to stop him from talking, and Roman goes incredibly still at the contact, “I know you didn’t mean it like that. And…”

Virgil’s expression softens, suddenly shy as he retracts his hand.

“I don’t mind if you call me those nicknames, or make jokes at my expense. I know now that you don’t really mean them. And…”

He cringes, as if already regretting the words he plans to say.

“I kinda… like the banter. It’s fun. Y-y’know, when you don’t actually mean any of it.”

Virgil’s cheeks are tinted pink. It’s absolutely adorable.

“Very well then, Stormcloud,” Roman says with a smile, “I look forward to it.”

Virgil appears momentarily stunned, his cheeks darkening, before he turns away in an embarrassed huff.

“Well, don’t let it keep you up at night, Mr. Bold and Brash,” Virgil grumbles, turning his attention back to his phone.

Roman grins, leaving Virgil to his scrolling, and he’s pleased to note that Virgil’s hands are no longer shaking.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman blinks bleary eyes as he stares at what must be the five hundredth joke article he’s visited this month. His eyes dart to the time on the corner of his screen. 3 AM glares at him condescendingly. 

But he can’t sleep yet. He’s so close to a breakthrough. He knows he is. He just needs to push on a little longer.

Now that he and Virgil have finally resolved things, Virgil is sure to be more receptive to his jokes. Roman now understands that what he had interpreted as stubbornness and judgment before was actually Virgil’s guard raised in preparation for an insult or deprecating joke. 

Roman blinks rapidly at the memory, forcing away something other than exhaustion, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. 

They’re okay now. While Virgil may not be completely comfortable around Roman, he is willing to listen and give him a chance. 

But that presents another problem.

Roman had previously believed that the problem was the nature of the jokes themselves, when it actually was his and Virgil’s strained relationship. Not realizing that, Roman had experimented with different types of jokes and narrowed his repertoire down to several categories, eliminating types of jokes that Virgil didn’t seem receptive to. Now, after months of work, Roman is back to square one. 

It’s good to have more options, and from a logical standpoint, this development is entirely beneficial. But as an artist, Roman can’t help but feel a little frustrated at a month’s worth of work entirely down the chute. 

But hey, it wasn’t all for nothing. Roman knows so many jokes off the top of his head that he could fill several books. If he plans correctly, he can probably get in several jokes with each interaction he has with Virgil from now on. And surely it can’t take too long to narrow down Virgil’s favorite flavor of humor? 

Roman pulls up a document containing all of the jokes he had discovered in his research. It goes on for hundreds of pages, and the font is tiny. 

Reasonably, if Roman is able to get in three to four jokes per conversation, and he typically sees Virgil around two times per day, then it will only take Roman…

Roman summons a calculator to quickly do the math. He winces. That’s a lot of digits…

Okay, so maybe he should at least try to narrow it down a bit. 

Groaning, Roman rises from his desk and slumps to his bed. From his bedside table, he snatches a notebook covered in sparkles and with the words “Operation: Laugh Track” tastefully adorned on the cover. It’s almost completely filled with notes in Roman’s neat, curly handwriting, the text shimmering in red, sparkly ink. While Roman has a separate document on his computer where he keeps his growing supply of jokes, this notebook is dedicated to detailing Virgil’s reactions and speculating different methods of approach. 

Roman sighs, noting glumly that most of the notebook’s contents are now completely useless, before turning to the very first page. 

Compared to his later notes, the first few pages were written in a rush, the handwriting sloppy and the ink smearing in several places. Roman’s face heats as he remembers the breakfast that started it all, when he had first heard Virgil laugh. Roman had been so flustered that his mind could barely keep up, and he had opened the first notebook he could get his hands on and poured his heart out, like a poet starstruck by his first love. 

As such, the first few pages were mostly an… embarrassingly detailed recollection of Virgil’s laughter: the way his eyes shone, the way he needed to clutch the table to keep himself upright, the way his lips parted into such a huge, happy smile…

Roman’s face burns hotter, and he quickly flips through a few more pages. Eventually, the text becomes slightly neater, as Roman had finally been able to collect himself. It details Roman’s determination to recreate the laughter, and several potential plans. Roman scans over a small section titled “Types of Jokes Virgil Might Like”.

“Dark Humor” is the first bullet point on the list, immediately followed by “Puns”. Roman had decided to focus on the latter, as puns were easier to find online and quicker to tell, allowing Roman to experiment with different jokes faster. Plus, Virgil usually responds positively to Patton’s puns, so Roman had concluded that corny humor was still his best option. 

Roman pauses, then rapidly flips back to the end of the book to a blank page, scrawling the words “Things That Make Virgil Laugh”.

Compared to the other Sides (sans Logan, perhaps), Virgil is still very subdued when it comes to expressing emotion. However, ever since they had made a greater effort to include him, Virgil has opened up significantly. Smiles came more easily, and the ever-elusive laughter was slightly less elusive. In fact, Roman can recall several occasions that have produced giggles from the normally sullen emo.

For the first item on the list, Roman writes “Patton’s Puns”. While they don’t always make Virgil laugh, they consistently produce smiles, sometimes followed by an appreciative chuckle. Not quite the result Roman is looking for, but it’s a promising start.

The next item is “Logan’s Deadpan”. This is a bit more abstract, and not nearly as consistent as Patton’s jokes, but Roman can recall several occasions where a dry comment from Logan made Virgil laugh. Indeed, several of these moments made Virgil laugh even harder than Patton’s puns. This is closer to the result that Roman wants.

However, this approach presents more obstacles. Roman isn’t exactly sure why Logan’s comments make Virgil laugh, or what about the delivery is so humorous in Virgil’s eyes. He also doubts that he would be able to recreate Logan’s humor, given how Roman operates in grand displays, while Logan is not one for dramatics. 

But it is still good to lay out his options, so Roman simply adds a question mark and moves on.

Something else that makes Virgil laugh…

Well, there is something that definitely created the result Roman wanted. It is the exact moment that incited Roman’s fervent plunge into comedy in the first place. The very first moment Roman had heard Virgil laugh.

Roman had fallen on his face.

Roman groans, his bruised hip throbbing slightly at the memory. His pride still hasn’t fully recovered since that incident. He has an image to maintain, after all, and the visage of a gallant prince is slightly skewed when said prince is on the floor. The wound had also reopened when he fell again this afternoon, and although Virgil had attempted to hide his laughter this time, the damage was already done. 

Feeling slightly miffed at recalling such a humiliating moment, Roman decides to finally call it a night. He won’t be able to focus on his work when he’s in a bad mood. He returns the notebook to his nightstand, snapping his fingers to change into pajamas as he crawls into the silk covers. Another snap, and the lights turn off with a soft click. Roman sighs, unable to completely disperse the embarrassing memories. But accompanying the memories is the sound of Virgil’s laughter, ringing in his ears like twinkling bells, and Roman is suddenly much more reluctant to part with them. 

Roman’s pride may have taken a heavy blow, but if it made Virgil laugh so beautifully, maybe it wasn’t all so bad…

Roman’s eyes fly open, and he shoots to a sitting position, his exhausted limbs crying in protest. He figured it out. A sure-fire way to make Virgil laugh, and to make him laugh hard. Best of all, it wasn’t something the other Sides did that Roman had to attempt to recreate. It was something Roman had done all on his own. 

Of course! The solution is so simple! How had Roman not thought of it before?

Eager to write down the idea before it can escape, he grabs the notebook and once again begins to write. Sleep can wait a little bit longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman sits restlessly on his bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep, scribbling frantically in his notebook until the sun peeked over the horizon. Despite the exhaustion that had seeped into his bones, Roman had risen from his bed and carried out his morning routine, dressed and ready to tackle the day before another soul had even stirred. 

Patton usually calls all the Sides to breakfast at around 9 o’clock, which meant that Roman had several hours to kill before he could attempt his new plan. Those hours were filled with a sad attempt at researching more jokes and several discarded sketches. Eventually, Roman gave up on trying to distract himself, too excited to focus on anything.

Finally, Roman hears Patton’s familiar voice, and he shoots up like a dog rushing to enthusiastically greet their owner. Moving as quickly as he can without outright running, he stumbles his way downstairs. He is delighted to see that Virgil is with the other Sides in the kitchen, grumbling about waking up so early. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Roman exclaims.

The greeting does its purpose. Everyone gives him their attention, including Virgil. Perfect.

Roman strides forward in long, graceful steps, a perfect antithesis to the event about to occur. As Roman rambles nonsense about how delicious breakfast smells, he angles his strides so that his leg catches the couch on his way over, similarly to his previous blunders. This time, however, Roman is prepared, and he slightly angles his fall so that the impact doesn’t quite hurt as much. Holding his breath and forcing his muscles to relax, he collides with the floor with a loud bang! To further sell the act, Roman groans, as if in pain.

And it works.

After a moment of silence, he hears Virgil snort involuntarily, then start to giggle, and before long he is laughing hysterically. Patton lightly scolds him, hands on his hips, and Roman resists the urge to tell Patton to cut it out. Virgil smiles apologetically, before rising from his seat, and Roman is momentarily terrified that he’s leaving, carrying his gorgeous laughter elsewhere. 

Instead, he crouches down beside Roman and offers him a hand. Roman stares at it for a second, as if he has never seen a hand before in his life, before accepting it. 

In the few seconds of contact they share, Roman is acutely aware of how warm Virgil’s hand is. He feels the rough texture of subtle calluses on Virgil’s fingers, and he wonders what kind of hobby the Side partakes in to achieve those calluses. Does he play an instrument? Does he create art? Would he be bothered at all if Roman were to join him—

Virgil pulls Roman to his feet, and Roman is stunned once again because holy shit Virgil is strong, and then Virgil lets go of his hand and walks back to his seat in the kitchen, and Roman feels cold.

“Are you alright, Roman?”

Roman is startled out of his stupor by Logan’s voice, and when he returns his attention to the table, he sees that all three other Sides are looking at him with various degrees of concern. 

“You didn’t hit your head or anything, right?” Patton asks, walking over to check Roman’s head for bumps and bruises.

“Oh shit, you don’t have a concussion, do you?” Virgil suddenly speaks up, joining Patton beside Roman, “They don’t seem like a big deal, but I’ve heard that they can really mess you up. You don’t feel dizzy, right? Wait, there’s a thing that happens to your pupils if you’re concussed, let me grab my phone–”

Virgil rushes to turn on the light on his phone, his previously carefree demeanor suddenly reverting to a familiar anxiety. This tirade is very familiar to Roman, as Virgil would often lose himself in a hastily-rambled list of what could go wrong in any situation. When he was Anxiety, it would come out condescending, a silent reprimand for not thinking of all the potential dangers in the first place. Since then, Virgil has worked hard to soften his tone, fighting against the instinct that someone would interrupt or dismiss his arguments. And the other Sides have put in effort as well, giving Virgil room to say his piece and taking it into consideration, even if his conclusions are slightly exaggerated. 

Still, some of that frustration had always lingered for Roman. He knew that Virgil just wanted to keep them safe, and that he wasn’t trying to ruin Roman’s ideas. But he still couldn’t help but be irked, and slightly hurt, when someone had only negative things to say about something he worked so hard on. 

But this is different. Virgil isn’t tearing down Roman’s creative pursuits, exposing every flaw like a judge on a cooking TV show; he’s listing all of the possible negative symptoms that Roman could be suffering, occasionally glancing at Logan as if hoping the Logical Side will tell him how to defeat each and every one of them. 

Virgil is feeling anxious for him.

As Virgil attempts to fuss over him, gently held back by Patton while Logan kindly debunks his reasons for concern, Roman realizes that he really likes seeing Virgil worried for him, seeing Virgil care about him.

If Roman wasn’t convinced to go through with his plan before, he certainly is now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman proceeds with his plan slowly, only tripping once every few days, and spreading out the incidents irregularly so as to prevent a pattern from emerging. He even practices stage-falling in his own room, although he fears that Virgil, who is always meticulous when it comes to Thomas’ stage performances (specifically the smaller details that could leave room for error, which would result in “complete humiliation”), would recognize his fall as unnatural. So while Roman does slightly alter his falls to prevent some pain, he still falls hard enough that small splatters of bruises trail along his hip and arm. 

But Roman doesn’t care how much it hurts. He would endure falls five times as painful if it made Virgil laugh harder. But nevertheless, Roman’s plan works perfectly. Every time he would fall, without fail, Virgil would laugh. Roman would punctuate his fall with groans, perhaps a swear for colorful effect, and quickly swivel towards Virgil. He would pretend to glare at Virgil making fun of his expense, but it was really just an excuse to look at Virgil as he laughed, to soak in his beautiful giggles and to watch as his face lights up like a firefly. A light fluttering in his chest and a warm happiness would numb any pain Roman was feeling.

(And Roman may have been imagining it, but sometimes, when Roman’s fall is particularly funny, Virgil’s eyeshadow seems to sparkle in the light. He plans to confront Virgil about it later, but for now he’s content.)

Most of the time, Patton would rush to his aid, chiding Virgil for his behavior as he helps Roman to his feet. Logan’s reaction would always be much more subdued, a quirk of the lips or a sparkle in his eye the only indication of his amusement (although by Logan’s standards, he might as well be laughing just as hard as Virgil). 

However, the best days are when Virgil comes over to help him. 

He would clasp Roman’s hand for only a moment, giving Roman barely enough time to appreciate the slightly rough calluses on Virgil’s hand, which Roman has since learned is from several different hobbies he occasionally dabbles in, including playing the guitar and drawing. The warmth would envelop Roman’s hand, like he was warming numb fingers before a crackling fireplace, and spread from that one point of contact to all over his body. Then Roman would be pulled to his feet, and even after numerous falls, Virgil’s strength surprises him every time. Perhaps he could ask Virgil to accompany him on one of his adventures? He wonders how Virgil would appear decked in armor and with a sword in hand, ready to protect and defend…

Then it would be over, often accompanied by a quick examination of his person to ensure that he is unharmed, and a pat on the back if Roman is particularly lucky that day. And Roman would feel cold, like a window had suddenly blown open, beckoning frigid air into his once-warm home that would leave him shivering. 

If Roman were to describe his predicament to Logan, to explain the rush of euphoria he experienced every time Virgil laughed, followed by a withdrawal that felt more devastating every time it occurr, Logan would likely claim that he’s developed an addiction of some kind. Roman wouldn’t be able to dispute it.

But it’s alright, because Roman never has to suffer for long. So what if he has to fall slightly more often? So what if not a day goes by where Roman experiences a dramatic tumble? So what Roman’s left side is almost entirely covered in bruises, like a canvas attacked in shades of purple and brown? Virgil is still laughing, and that’s enough. In fact, it’s perfect. Roman will gladly paint his body in bruises if it makes Virgil smile.

Roman should have known better. All good things eventually come to an end.

Things were going so well. Too well. Roman has seen enough theater to know that everything comes crashing down in the second half of the performance. Perhaps his hubris is to blame, or maybe he couldn’t see the warning signs through the rosy haze Virgil’s laughter always managed to produce. He had been so warm, so happy basking in Virgil’s sunlight, that he couldn’t see the clouds creeping along the horizon until they had completely blocked out the sun. 

And once again, Roman is left fumbling, diving to recover something he didn’t realize had slipped through his fingers.

Virgil stops laughing when he falls. 

He doesn’t stop all at once. The change is subtle at first, Virgil’s face still contorted in laughter as he helps Roman to his feet, but his laughter is slightly quieter, or he’s able to stop sooner. Then, it diminishes to a small chuckle, no longer so hard to control. Soon, Roman’s clumsiness only produces a teasing smirk, but Virgil’s eyes are no longer crinkled and shining from unrestrained laughter, instead reflecting confusion and concern. He’s starting to notice the pattern.

This will not do.

A joke loses its humor when repeated one too many times, and Roman knows this all too well. He has progressed well beyond the rule of threes, to where Roman’s tumbles are almost expected from the others. The novelty has worn off, leaving only worry regarding Roman’s personal coordination. 

Roman tries not to panic. He had finally found a way to consistently make Virgil laugh, and he honestly doesn’t know what he would do if he lost that laughter forever. Patton’s puns don’t pack the same punch without Patton’s delivery, and Logan’s unorthodox sense of humor is nearly impossible for Roman to replicate. This is his only option.

Okay, so if he can’t change the punchline… maybe he can change how it’s delivered?

Yes, that could work. Maybe he could flail his arms a bit, like those inflatables often found at car dealerships. He could even use a bit of creative magic to suspend himself in the air for a second longer, like a cartoon character who has yet to realize they had sprinted straight off a cliff. A harder fall could also accentuate the comedy. That shouldn’t be too difficult to pull off. It might hurt a bit more, but he couldn’t care less.

Roman nods to himself, feeling a bit better at having a new course of action. He faintly hears Patton calling everyone for dinner, and steels himself for his performance. 

Show time. 

Roman exits his room, and he’s surprised to see Virgil leaving his own at the same time. Virgil smiles when he sees him, saluting with two fingers. Butterflies flutter around in circles in Roman’s stomach, but he manages a smile and a wave of his own.

They walk down the stairs together, exchanging small-talk and nicknames, just in time to see Patton place a steaming pot at the center of the kitchen table. Logan is assisting with setting the table. 

As Roman and Virgil pass through the living room to the kitchen, Roman spots a familiar couch, and sees the opportunity to put his plan into action. He subtly moves towards the couch, bumping his hip against it at such an angle that he would fall forward. Roman relaxes his limbs, and after weeks of falling in this manner, he no longer feels the instinctual urge to throw his hands out to catch himself. As he falls, he manifests creative energy within his body, ready to be released in a thunderous smack! once he collides with the floor.

Except the collision never comes. 

Instead, Roman falls into something else, and he feels two arms quickly wrap around and support him. Roman’s eyes fly open in surprise, worried that he may have accidentally fallen into someone, before involuntarily gasping.

Virgil’s face is hovering inches from his own. 

Virgil had somehow whipped around and caught him. His arms are around Roman’s waist, holding him suspended above the ground like one would dip a partner during a romantic dance. His arms are so warm and strong and protective and it’s a good thing he’s holding Roman, because suddenly his knees feel weak with the desire to swoon. Virgil is looking deep into his eyes, his face a lovely shade of red and very close to Roman’s.

Virgil hastily manhandles Roman to his feet, once again astounding Roman with his unexpected strength, then awkwardly takes a step backwards, putting some distance between the two that Roman desperately wishes to close.

“S-sorry, didn’t mean to grab you like that,” Virgil stutters, and Roman wants to tell him that he can grab him as much as he’d like, “You were just suddenly falling and—jeez, Roman, be careful! That’s, like, the fifth time this week!”

“Virgil’s right, Roman,” Logan says, causing Roman to whip towards the table. To be quite honest, Roman had completely forgotten about the other two Sides. Both Patton and Logan look concerned, although there is another emotion hidden in their features that Roman is unable to identify.

“You’ve been awfully clumsy recently, Ro,” Patton adds, and the unidentifiable emotion vanishes, “Not that that’s a bad thing, but… You didn’t hurt your legs recently on one of your adventures, right?”

“No!” Roman is quick to reassure, flailing his hands, “I promise, I’m okay. I’ve just been a bit clumsier than usual. It’s that damn couch, it has a grudge against me, I’m telling you! It’s proving itself to be my most difficult adversary yet!”

Virgil smiles slightly at the joke, but Logan takes his words at face value. 

“Well, that is something we can easily remedy. Perhaps we could move the couch elsewhere, or replace it with a smaller—”

“You don’t have to do that!” Roman interrupts, suddenly feeling oddly protective over a piece of furniture that had helped him make Virgil laugh so many times, “I was joking, it’s really just me being clumsy. It’s not because of the couch.”

The tension is back, the others looking even more worried than before, and Roman feels like he’s been cornered. 

“It’s not like you to be so clumsy, Roman,” Patton says, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Roman smiles in what he hopes is in a reassuring manner.

“I’m okay, really—”

Virgil shoots to his feet, suddenly looking incredibly panicked. 

“You didn’t hit your head recently, did you!?”

Roman is momentarily taken aback, and he suddenly feels slightly overwhelmed at Virgil looking at him with such intense worry. He had hoped they wouldn’t return to this subject.

“N-no, I didn’t hit—”

“Concussions can lead to dizziness, or a lack of coordination, right Logan?” Virgil presses on, ignoring Roman’s words completely, “He fell really hard over a month ago, right? Before breakfast?”

Logan nods, appearing deep in thought.

“That’s true, although he didn’t show any of the usual symptoms of a concussion afterwards. His consistent clumsiness started more recently.”

Logan turns to Roman.

“I know you said you weren’t injured recently on your adventures, but are you sure you haven’t been hit on the head by one of your, uh, “assailants”?”

Roman flounders helplessly, unsure how to exactly disprove Logan’s hypothesis. The truth of the matter is, Roman hasn’t ventured into the Imagination in a while, too occupied with researching jokes to make Virgil laugh. But he can’t say that. He would never live the humiliation down.

Patton moves as if to approach him, and Roman decides to put an end to the conversation before it can escalate any further. 

“Darlings, I promise you that I’m fine! Look, the delicious dinner Patton worked so hard to prepare is getting cold. Let’s talk about this another time.”

Logan narrows his eyes, recognizing that Roman is deflecting his questions, but eventually sighs and takes a seat at the table. Seeing Logan yield, Patton and Virgil also reluctantly sit down, but Virgil’s eyes follow Roman as he walks over.

“Well, if you’re sure, kiddo,” Patton relents, “but you’ll tell us if something is wrong, right?”

“Of course!” Roman grins, his steps quickening as he makes his way to his spot at the table, an escape from the uncomfortable topic in sight, “Now, what’s for dinner–”

One moment, Roman is reaching for his chair, and the next he is feeling a familiar vertigo as he lurches backwards, his feet slipping out beneath him with a piercing squeak! Roman doesn’t even have a moment to comprehend what just happened before he hears a loud crack! 

His world blurs, a rush of adrenaline struggling to catch up with the situation. He blinks open his eyes, his surroundings swirl around him like he’s looking through a kaleidoscope, and he can’t quite seem to focus on anything. Even his thoughts feel slower than usual as he tries to figure out what just happened. 

He’s on the ground. He… fell? What could he have tripped on? He doesn’t think he bumped into any of the chairs. But Roman is having a hard time reaching any concrete conclusions, like his thoughts are a bit more slippery than usual, constantly squirming from his grasp like fish desperate to return to their ocean home. He feels dizzy and almost nauseous, a feeling similar to the drop of a rollercoaster, except it isn’t going away. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Soon, it is joined by a dull, repetitive throb, like someone is using his skull for drum practice.

He sees… faces above him. His friends, although it takes a bit of effort to remember their names. Patton looks incredibly distressed, tears beginning to form in his eyes, as he fusses over Roman but doesn’t quite touch him. Logan grabs Patton by the shoulder to gain his attention, and speaks to Patton in a commanding voice. Roman is struggling to comprehend the words they’re saying, but Patton seems to have no trouble, because he nods shakily and leaves the kitchen. And Virgil…

Virgil.

Virgil’s face is deathly pale, and he looks shell-shocked as he simply stares at Roman. He presses his hand gently to Roman’s temple, and Roman has enough clarity to hopefully anticipate Virgil’s warm hand cradling his head. Instead, the touch is answered by an intense pain in Roman’s temple, and he gasps in surprise. Virgil doesn’t seem to hear him, and he withdraws his hand, the blood draining completely from his face. 

The tip of Virgil’s fingers are red. That’s… that’s blood. Is Virgil bleeding? Did he hurt himself?

Roman struggles to make the connection, his head throbbing more intensely, as if trying to resist his efforts.

Virgil touched… his head. There’s blood on his head. He’s… bleeding? 

Logan grabs Virgil’s arm and shakes him, saying something urgently. Virgil doesn’t respond, completely fixated on his bloody fingers. Logan shakes him harder, and Virgil flinches violently, looking like he’s going to be sick. 

Through the dizziness and nausea, regret pierces through his thoughts like an arrow. He doesn’t want Virgil to feel sad. Why isn’t he laughing? Roman had fallen, right? Shouldn’t Virgil be laughing?

Roman tries to raise his hand to cup Virgil’s face, but his limbs feel incredibly weak. All he manages is a soft brush along his cheek.

“Why… not laugh…?” Roman attempts to speak, but his words slur like he’s several glasses deep into a bottle of wine.

Virgil expression shifts, flickering through several emotions so quickly that Roman’s frustratingly slow brain can’t keep up, until it returns to a devastating fear. If Roman’s arms didn’t weigh five hundred pounds, he would have hit himself for causing that expression. Luckily, his head is doing a fine job on that front, pain and nausea battling for dominance.

Roman feels his eyes closing on their own, and despite Logan and Virgil shaking him and calling a name that he realizes belatedly is his own, he slips into unconsciousness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman wakes slowly, bleary eyes blinking away a dreamless sleep. The first sensation he feels is a throbbing, familiar pain pounding away in his skull. He raises a hand to touch the area the pain is coming from, and his fingers meet bandages. 

Groaning, he pushes himself to a sitting position, slowly gaining his bearings. Walls decorated in velvet reds, a scattering of canvases and art supplies, and numerous twinkling fairy lights confirm that Roman is currently in his room, more specifically in his bed. Roman notices an additional blanket had been added to his silk covers, a baby-blue, hand-knitted affair with a slightly-skewed pattern of hearts. Roman also counts several additional pillows added to his already impressive collection, fluffed and arranged around him like a nest. 

Roman smiles. Patton may be the self-proclaimed “dad” Side in the Mindscape, but he sure acts like a mother hen. 

Roman moves to sit up further, but he meets resistance. Something heavy is resting on his legs. Puzzled, Roman looks down to where the weight lies, wondering if Patton had gone against Logan’s advice and adopted a pet of some kind. It takes a while to discern the shape, given the dimness of the lights, but once his vision clears, it doesn’t take long to recognize. Roman lets out an involuntary yelp, flinching back in surprise.

Virgil is kneeling at Roman’s bedside, head nestled between his arms and softly snoring. Despite Roman’s violent reaction, he doesn’t stir. 

Roman’s headache suddenly feels far less important as he stares unabashedly at the sleeping emo. What is Virgil doing in his room? How long must he have been waiting there by his bedside for him to fall asleep in that position? And, most importantly, why?

Roman’s head throbs again, and he finally makes the connection between his pain, the bandages, and Virgil’s bedside nap. He was injured, and given how he was wrapped in bandages and moved to his bed, it must have been somewhat serious. But it’s difficult to think through his headache, and Roman grits his teeth in frustration. 

Before he can ponder further, his bedroom door opens to reveal Logan and Patton, the latter holding a tray of food. Upon noticing that he’s awake, they both perk up. 

“Kiddo! Oh my gosh, you’re okay!” Patton exclaims, although his voice is much lower than Roman expected, so it comes out like a stage-whisper. He rushes to Roman’s side, placing the tray on the bedside table.

“I made you some soup,” Patton says, his voice even softer now as he kneels next to Roman, “I know you aren’t technically “sick”, but hopefully it’ll help you feel a bit better.”

“Thanks,” Roman says gratefully, carefully maneuvering the tray onto his lap and sipping a spoonful of soup. It’s delicious, spreading a warmth that almost seems to chase away the pain. 

“I am glad to see that you are alright,” Logan says, his voice also low and gentle, “We were all very worried about you.”

He frowns slightly, and his next words are slow and tentative, as if he’s carefully choosing what to say.

“I know you must not be feeling your best right now, and if you would prefer, we could save this conversation for another time. With that being said, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Roman doesn’t answer right away. It’s difficult to think through the pain, and he is still having trouble remembering how he hurt himself. Still, Roman is not one to back away from a challenge, so he nods. 

“Alright, thank you. And we can stop at any time if it’s too overwhelming, okay?”

Roman nods again, feeling slightly unnerved. He has no idea what Logan wants to ask him, but it must be serious, given both his and Patton’s expressions.

Logan takes a deep breath, then asks the first question. 

“What is your name?”

It takes a while for Roman to process the question, because it was honestly the last thing he expected Logan to ask. His name? Why is Logan asking if he knows his name? Of course he knows his name! Roman wants to ask why Logan would ask something so obvious, but he stops, seeing the grave look on Logan’s face. This question must be important, even if Roman doesn’t yet realize why, so he decides to table his curiosity for now.

“My name is Roman.”

Despite the simplicity of the question, as well as the obvious nature of the answer, Logan’s shoulders relax. He seems incredibly relieved, like Roman just told him that a dangerous medical operation was successful, rather than just saying his own name. 

Logan hesitates again at the second question, but presses on.

“Do you know… our names?”

Another curve ball. Roman feels even more bewildered, but continues to humor Logan. 

“You’re Logan, and he’s Patton. The guy sleeping beside my bed–” Roman’s words stutter when he momentarily turns his attention back to Virgil, and he hopes that the dim lights are enough to hide his blush, “–is Virgil.”

Logan smiles widely, like how a teacher would praise a student correctly solving a difficult math problem. 

“Good. That’s very good.”

Roman can no longer hold back his overwhelming curiosity, and so he gives in and voices his confusion.

“Why are you asking me these things?”

Logan’s smile vanishes, and Patton frowns with concern. 

“Do you… not remember?” Logan asks slowly.

Roman’s head throbs, as if trying to answer the question for him, and Roman hisses in pain. The memories are still very fuzzy, like they’re hidden behind thick glass.

“Bits and pieces,” Roman answers honestly, “I’m assuming I hit my head, right?”

Logan nods.

“A few days ago, you slipped on some water that had spilled onto the kitchen floor. You fell and hit your head on the tiles. There was some minor bleeding, but the injury wasn’t too severe. We still decided to disinfect and bandage the wound to prevent infection.”

Roman nods along, his memory of the event slowly returning. 

“While the cut on your head wasn’t serious,” Logan continues, “you did hit your head rather hard against the floor. You seemed to experience some difficulty focusing after you fell, so we concluded that you may have experienced a concussion. Rather ironic, given what we had been conversing about right before that very moment.”

Right, the dinner. Roman remembers them pressing him about his increased clumsiness, to which he managed to deflect their questions. He had then rushed to his own seat, eager to escape their interrogation. 

It had all happened so fast. But Roman can remember the moment he fell, the sound of his head banging against the tiles, and the dizziness and nausea that followed.

“Yeah, I think I remember,” Roman says.

“That’s good,” Logan says, looking relieved, “One thing that we were most worried about was possible amnesia, which can sometimes accompany a concussion. That’s why I asked you those questions. I wanted to confirm that you didn’t suffer any memory loss.”

Roman nods, finally understanding.

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. My head is killing me, but otherwise I feel alright.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Logan smiles, “and I’m sorry to hear that you’re still experiencing some pain. I suspected as much, since headaches are a very common symptom of head trauma, so we have made a greater effort to keep our voices low. We can also provide you with some pain killers, if that would help?”

Roman nods earnestly, eager for even a momentary respite from the pain. At his response, Patton smiles and leaves the room to fetch the medicine.

“While Patton takes care of that,” Logan says, “would you mind if I asked a few more general questions? While I’m very pleased that you remember your identity, as well as ours, it would be good to ensure that you haven’t forgotten anything else.”

With Roman’s approval, Logan begins asking another series of questions, asking for general facts like the year, or which state they live in, or the current U.S. president. He then shifts to more recent, significant events, like what Roman gifted Patton for his most recent birthday, or the most recent video they filmed together, or the day that Virgil revealed his name. 

Once Virgil is mentioned, Roman gathers the courage to ask what’s been on his mind since he woke up.

“How… How long has he…”

Patton, who had returned with the medicine during Logan’s questioning, follows his gaze to Virgil’s sleeping form, and he smiles.

“He was beside himself with worry.” Patton explains, “We tried to get him to sleep in his own room, but when I came to check on you in the middle of the night, he was right back here.”

“I believe he wanted to see that you were alright with his own eyes,” Logan elaborates.

Both of their expressions are knowing, and Roman feels himself blushing.

“He was that worried about me?” Roman asks, feeling incredibly touched.

Patton’s smile takes on a mischievous edge, curling like a cat’s.

“He was,” Patton grins, “He really cares about you, y’know?”

Roman’s face grows hotter, but he can’t help a dopey smile from spreading on his lips as he turns to Virgil, diligently guarding Roman even as he sleeps.

Suddenly, Virgil begins to stir.

“Oh! That’s our cue to leave!” Patton announces, grabbing Logan by the arm and dragging him towards the door.

“Wait, what?” Roman startles, “Where are you going—”

“I’m sure you two have some things to talk about,” Logan says, eyes twinkling mischievously, “We’ll leave you to it.”

“What do you mean—”

The door closes with a soft click, leaving Roman alone with a slowly-waking Virgil. The Anxious Side yawns, rubbing his eyes, before his gaze falls upon Roman. He freezes in place, and Roman is just as stunned. 

Virgil isn’t wearing his eyeshadow. 

The lack of dark make-up, coupled with unruly, sleep-tousled hair, has given Virgil a gentler look, almost innocent. His eyes, usually stark against black eyeshadow, sparkle and shine like flickering candlelight. To top it all off, Virgil is bathed in the warm glow of Roman’s fairy lights, softening his sharp and angular features. And amidst it all is a discovery that causes the butterflies in Roman’s stomach to throw a party.

“You have freckles.”

Virgil snaps out of his stupor, his hands flying to his cheeks with a squeak. However, his hands aren’t big enough to cover his ears as well, and their red hue gives away Virgil’s embarrassment.

“N-no I don’t!” Virgil declares vehemently.

“Yes you do!” Roman exclaims, leaning closer to Virgil so he can get a closer look, “You totally have freckles!”

“It’s just the light!” Virgil attempts to argue, leaning away from Roman’s awe-struck gaze, “It’s too dark to see! And you have a concussion, so you don’t know what you’re seeing!”

“My vision is completely fine, Phoenix Wrong,” Roman counters, grinning when Virgil blushes hard enough that his freckles contrast against the red, making them stand out even further, “I also haven’t experienced any hallucinations or memory loss since I woke up.”

“O-oh,” Virgil stutters, “That’s… That’s good.”

Roman laughs, unable to hold it back any longer. Virgil is just too adorable. Virgil scowls grumpily at the laughter, lowering his hands to cross his arms and giving Roman a wonderful view of his beautiful freckles.

“Why would you hide them?” Roman asks, “They’re so pretty.”

Virgil’s eyes widen at the word “pretty”, and he blushes harder, much to Roman’s delight. He then turns away, embarrassed.

“...They’re stupid,” Virgil mumbles, “Ruin my image.”

“I don’t think they’re stupid,” Roman frowns, “They’re cute.”

Virgil chokes, his hands clutching his arms tighter, as if resisting the urge to once again cover his face.

“Yeah, but I’m not cute! I’m Anxiety! Anxiety isn’t supposed to be “cute”!”

Roman wants to argue against that, to present a long list of evidence he had compiled over the past month, but he refrains, knowing that Virgil would probably not appreciate it. Instead, he settles for a compromise.

“Well, I think they’re lovely,” Roman says genuinely.

“You’re lying,” Virgil shoots back immediately. Roman gasps in indignation.

“I would never! Honesty is a necessary virtue for every prince!”

The theatrics have the desired effect, and Virgil snorts, some of the tension leaving his body.

“They still look stupid.”

“Patton has freckles,” Roman retaliates, “Are you saying that Patton looks stupid?”

“Of course not,” Virgil scoffs, “He, like, defines cute. He’s the fucking Heart, for fucks sake. They suit him. I’m not… That’s not me. I’m not cute.” 

Roman sighs, knowing that he won’t be able to change Virgil’s mind anytime soon, even if he so earnestly disagrees with him.

“If you say so,” Roman relents. Virgil sighs in relief, the blood finally leaving his cheeks. He slowly begins to stand, groaning at the sudden shift in position, and Roman winces sympathetically. Holding such an uncomfortable position for so long couldn’t have done his back any favors. After stretching out his sore limbs, Virgil hovers awkwardly, appearing unsure if his presence is still wanted. Seeing this, Roman scoots to the side and pats the now-empty spot on his bed. Virgil blushes, but still gingerly settles beside Roman. 

He’s gone completely silent, biting his lip and messing with the hem of his sleeve. Something seems to be on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asks.

Virgil flinches, hand reaching to clutch at his arm. 

“It’s nothing,” Virgil deflects, “Don’t worry about it.”

Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Well now I’m definitely worrying about it,” Roman says, crossing his legs and shifting so that he’s facing Virgil, “That’s, like, literally the worst thing you could have said if you didn’t want me to worry about it.”

“No– I just–” Virgil fumbles with his words, squirming under Roman’s determined gaze, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big deal if it’s bothering you.”

The blush returns with a vengeance, creeping down Virgil’s neck and to the tips of his ears. 

“What’s wrong with you!?” Virgil groans, bewildered, “How can you say stuff like that with a straight face!?”

“I’m just built different,” Roman replies with a smile. He cradles his face in his hands, arms perched on his crossed legs, and stares Virgil down with wide-eyed attention.

Virgil hesitates, but something in Roman’s expression must convince him, because he eventually concedes.

“It’s about… something you said. Y’know, right before you fell unconscious.”

At these words, Roman is gripped with an ice-cold fear. He can’t remember exactly what he said after he fell, but given Virgil’s reaction, it must have been bad. Did he reveal his plan? Did he confess how utterly smitten he has become with Virgil’s laugh? With Virgil himself?

“You were asking why I wasn’t laughing. Like you… expected it.”

The memory hits Roman like a baseball bat to the face. He had said something along those lines. Oh shit, that’s basically a confession, right? Virgil must have figured out his plan. Or at the very least, Logan had drawn the necessary conclusions and promptly shared his findings with Virgil. Either way, the result is the same.

Oh gods, Roman feels like he might melt from the heat of his embarrassment. His face is no doubt the color of a deliciously ripe tomato.

He expects Virgil to look uncomfortable, if not outright disgusted. He knows how silly he must have appeared to have spent days looking up every joke under the sun, just to recreate a single sound that completely undos him. And it’s definitely extreme to continuously hurt yourself for another person’s amusement. 

It was too much. He’s too much. 

Roman usually prides himself in the sheer magnitude he conducts himself in. His presence fills a room, his voice commands attention. For him, too much is never enough. He always needs to be more, to go beyond the limits that had previously held him back, to break the walls that hold him captive. He is color, he is music, he is imagination incarnate. He is grand, dramatic presence. And that is probably the last thing Virgil wants. 

Virgil, snarky and defensive and introverted. Virgil, mellow and muted and subdued. Virgil, the soft whisper advising caution, the shadows that warn of potential danger, the hero in villain’s clothing. He is darkness, he is trepidation, he is a knight without armor, loyalty and diligence without the shiny exterior. 

Roman is Creativity, noisy and boisterous and loud. Virgil is Anxiety, dark and subdued and quiet. They are like water and oil, fire and ice, Patton and spiders, and a million more clichés that Roman wishes he could rewrite to fit his desires. They just aren’t compatible, and it was stupid of Roman to think otherwise. 

Roman braces himself for rejection, but yet again, Virgil surprises him.

“Do you really think so low of me, that you expect me to laugh while you’re bleeding?”

But the conclusion he draws is even worse than Roman could have anticipated. 

“W-What?”

Virgil’s expression hardens, and if it weren’t for the way he was rapidly blinking, Roman would think that he was simply angry.

“I thought we were okay now! You said you didn’t mind if I teased you! But I would never–”

Virgil takes a shaky breath.

“Do you really think I’m the type of person who would laugh while you’re bleeding out!?”

“No! ” Roman shouts frantically, “No, of course not!”

Roman rushes forward to pull Virgil into his arms, but Virgil evades his grasp, his shoulders beginning to shake. 

“You said that I’m not the bad guy anymore!” Virgil cries, “You said that I’m good ! That I make you guys better!”

“You do!” Roman reassures, “Gods, Virgil! You do! Every moment that I spend with you, I become a better Creativity. I become a better me. Virgil, you are not the bad guy. You are one of the kindest, most selfless people I’ve ever met. You work so hard to protect us without expecting anything in return. You continuously go outside of your comfort zone to accommodate our needs. You are wonderful. I’m so sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Virgil doesn’t seem convinced, and despite his best efforts, a few tears fall, glittering under the fairy lights like tiny cascading stars.

“Then why did you think I would laugh when you were in so much pain? That’s not something a good person does!”

“I didn’t think you would laugh at me!” Roman yells desperately, “I wanted you to laugh at me!”

Silence.

“Wha… What?” Virgil whispers, sounding absolutely gobsmacked, “Why would you… Huh?”

Roman looks down at his hands, unable to stomach whatever look of disgust Virgil must be giving him.

“I… wanted you to laugh,” Roman confesses, ears burning, “That’s why I tried to fall earlier that day. That’s why… I’ve been falling for the past few weeks.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything, and Roman wonders if this is what dying feels like. 

“I’ve been trying to get you to laugh for over a month,” Roman continues, “You didn’t seem to like any of the jokes I told you, but then I remembered that you laughed when I tripped, so… yeah.”

Another minute of silence, so palpable Roman can barely take it. 

“So… all of the jokes, all of the falls…” Virgil speaks slowly, as if trying to parse the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “...it was all just to make me laugh?”

“Yeah…” Roman sighs, feeling utterly defeated.

“But… why?”

Roman laughs, a pathetic, broken sound. Does he really need to draw this out, to humiliate himself further? A warrior is already dead once the fatal blow is dealt. One doesn’t need to bother themselves prolonging a battle that’s already decided. 

But Roman can’t refuse Virgil anything. He’s already proven that he would throw himself to the ground countless times for this man. So really, Roman has no choice but to admit the truth.

“You have the most beautiful laugh, did you know that?”

Virgil makes a choked sound, like a bird caught by the neck.

“It’s true,” Roman chuckles, not giving Virgil any chance to dispute it, “Your laughter is like… It’s like leaves dancing on an autumn wind. It’s like the thrum of a guitar building up to an electrifying solo. It’s like shooting stars streaking across the sky, one after another. It’s so…”

Roman’s chest heaves, and he suddenly feels overcome with emotion.

“Brilliant.”

Virgil gasps, his voice wobbling, and Roman can’t help but look up. Silent tears are pouring down Virgil’s cheeks. 

“You can’t–” Virgil’s body shakes involuntarily as he fights back sobs, “You can’t mean that!”

“I can, and I do!” Roman insists, “You are amazing, Virgil! Just as brilliant as your wonderful laughter!”

“Stop!”

“I heard you laugh a single time, and I thought I might die if I never got the chance to hear it again.”

“Stop it! You’re lying!”

“I’m not,” Roman sobs, his voice a desperate plea. He reaches towards Virgil again, and this time he doesn’t resist.

“You are beautiful, Virgil,” Roman professes, pulling Virgil to his chest, “You are every bit as beautiful as your laughter. Gods, just a simple smile from you and I lose my mind. Do you know how gorgeous your smile is?”

Virgil tries to protest, but he can’t get a word in between his sobs. Roman hugs him tighter. 

“I’ve created countless works of art, and none of them hold a candle to your beauty. I’ve had nights where I can’t sleep because I’m haunted by your breathtaking eyes. You have such wonderful eyes, did you know that?”

Indeed, even when they’re filled with tears, Virgil’s eyes are no less beautiful. 

“You are wonderful, Virgil. You are kind, intelligent, and unbelievably funny. I can’t comprehend how I ever could have thought that I hated you, because now my favorite moments are the ones I get to spend with you. And my greatest wish is that you would allow my company for a little while longer.”

Roman closes his eyes, a few tears escaping.

“...But I understand if that is no longer possible. It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, my dear. I just wanted you to understand how incredible you are. If you so wish, I will ensure that we only encounter each other when necessary and give you the space you–”

Virgil punches Roman on the arm. Hard. 

“OW!” Roman yelps, grasping his throbbing arm. The punch was particularly painful, as Virgil had hit an area covered in bruises. “What was that for!?”

“You’re an idiot,” Virgil growls, “Literally the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

Roman opens his mouth to protest, but he’s cut off once again when Virgil rockets back into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“You… Y-you…” 

Virgil squeezes him, his next words coming out in a wail. 

“You’re such a dumbass and I love you so much!”

Roman’s heart decides it’s done with simple gymnastics and leaps so high that it soars and lodges itself into Roman’s throat. The butterflies are having a rave in his stomach, EDM and flashing lights and all. He can’t breathe, but breathing has never felt less important than at this very moment.

“Y-you–!”

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” Virgil howls, clutching Roman so tightly he might actually be cutting off blood circulation. 

Roman, quivering from dancing butterflies and his wannabe gymnast heart and him feeling literally every single emotion at once, crumbles like a house of cards, the two of them falling together into silken sheets and a knitted blanket patterned with hearts.

“I love you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s a beautiful day in the Mindscape. The state of Florida had decided to bestow mercy upon its residents with a perfectly sunny day. Sunshine poured through windows throughout the house, basking the rooms in a warm, cozy glow. On perfect days like this, Roman would normally venture off into the Imagination, the cheerful weather sparking inspiration. If he didn’t feel up to a grand adventure, he would go for a walk outside, seeking interesting encounters or simply enjoying the fresh air. Suffice it to say, Roman does not like to let such beautiful days go to waste. 

But today, Roman is not in the Imagination, nor is he outside. The inviting sunlight peaks through Roman’s bedroom window, which the Creative Side pointedly ignores. Instead, he is curled up in his bed, writing snippets of poetry in red, sparkly ink. Sitting with Roman is his reason for not leaving the house. Virgil is lying down perpendicular to Roman, back supported with a few of Roman’s many pillows and legs draped over Roman’s own. Like Roman, he also has a pen in hand, except instead of poetry, Virgil is drawing. 

The atmosphere is quiet and peaceful, like the haze blanketing the world just before sunrise. Normally, Roman would avoid silence at all cost, unable to endure a single moment of boredom. But right now, he is content to sit in complete silence with his favorite person in the world, basking in each other’s company.

…Well, maybe not complete silence. What can Roman say, old habits die hard.

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil looks up from his sketch.

“Yeah?”

Roman resists the urge to smile and give himself away.

“Are you a broom?”

Virgil tilts his head to the side, like an adorably confused puppy. 

“...because you’re constantly sweeping me off my feet!”

“Pfft—!”

Surprised and flustered, Virgil dissolves into giggles, a lovely shade of pink blooming on his cheeks. Despite his embarrassed state, Virgil doesn’t bring a hand to cover his face. He doesn’t hide his laughter anymore. At least, not for Roman. 

“God, that was awful, ” Virgil laughs.

For Roman, that’s more than enough encouragement to carry on.

“Are you a parking ticket?” Roman says, his grin widening, “because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”

Virgil laughs harder, bending at the waist over his sketchbook. Amidst his hot-red face, his eyeshadow shifts to a sparkly lavender (and wasn’t that a delightful discovery on Roman’s part).

“Hey Virgil!”

Virgil can barely speak through his laughter, but he tries.

“Ye—hehehe—y-yes?”

Roman pauses, allowing Virgil to regain a bit of his composure, so he can tear it back down again.

“You’re so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line.”

Virgil snorts indignantly before falling victim to another powerful wave of laughter, tears pooling in his eyes and threatening to fall. The laughter is contagious, and Roman can’t help but join him.

Gods, how did he get so lucky?

“H-hey,” Virgil says between bouts of laughter, “Hey, Roman?”

Trying to reign in his own giggles, Roman responds.

“Yes, Stormcloud?”

As a less-seasoned performer, Virgil isn’t quite able to stop himself from grinning ear-to-ear before telling the joke. But nevertheless, he delivers it with enough gusto to make Roman proud.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes,” he states, trying to feign seriousness but failing miserably, “I just can’t look away from you.”

Roman howls with laughter, Virgil quickly joining in, and the two are a giggly mess.

Even after a year of dating, Virgil’s laughter still takes Roman’s breath away. And making Virgil laugh? It’s Roman’s favorite thing to do in the world.

Well… Maybe not his favorite. There is one thing that’s even better.

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil turns to Roman, still giggling, lively and breathtaking and beautiful.

“Yeah, Princey?”

“...Kiss me?”

Virgil’s smile softens into something saccharinely sentimental, and he doesn’t hesitate to lean over to Roman and grant his request. Butterflies erupt in Roman’s stomach as he pulls Virgil in closer, feeling content and warm and loved.

When the two part, they can’t stop themselves from laughing again, each filled to the brim with pure, unrestrained joy.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides virgil #sanders sides roman #myfics #google docs and AO3 decided it didn’t want to format correctly #so yay 1 hour fixing spaces around italics! #but it was worth it #(will really appreciate anyone pointing out weird spacing!) #hope you guys enjoy!

[llclown-kittyll]

"Greed"- Antisepticeye x you

Prompt: “Open the door or I’ll kill them all.”

Antis batshit crazy in this one, so closer to canon-

TW: yandere themes, implied murder (not to graphic), kidnapping, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse

  Cshh-cshh-cshh. Sawing…sawing…sawing. It took hours…maybe years, you didn't know. Time was like a foreign language to you now. Always wanting to learn it, but could barely understand it. You were always left in a state of disorientation when he visited you. Which was often. Whether it was his psychic abilities or by man-made drugs, forgetting where the bed you slept in was was a common occurrence. 

  Once the rope that was around your ankles and wrists finally broke, you ran. Quicker and quicker. It didn’t matter that the thorns and rocks in the ground cut into the soles of your feet, you needed to get out. Get out of the cottage that he trapped you in. Since the first day, he's tried to sway you into living a pleasant life with him. You almost gave in to the temptation- all the mind games and all the nightmares would stop if you just obeyed him. If you pretended like you loved him, as you weren't kidnapped, and pretend as if he wasn't a monster. Although, the final push for you to finally enact your plan for leaving was what took place two days ago.

Anti brought a bound man into the living room, throwing him onto the floor. He said he wanted to play cards with the two of you, mentioning how you seemed bored with playing goldfish with only one other player. It wouldn’t be ‘fun’  without a reward, according to him.

If you won, you got to go outside for an hour. Within no more than 10 ft away from Anti, of course… but he promised he wouldn't start a conversation- so you’d sit in peace, atleast. It’s been ages since you last felt wind. Since you were able to feel something familiar and welcoming. Though, if he won, you’d have help him torture the man. He promised you’d only hold him down and hand tools to him while he did the dirty work, as if that was supposed to make you feel any less mortified.

You lost that night.. you wish you could forget the screams.

 The sky was as dark as your circumstances when you moved. You stayed in the woods for cover, still in eyesight of the road in case a car passed by. One never did. Your breathing was ragged and lungs were burned when you reached the back of a building- and yet you pushed. Your desire to be safe and live was fueling you. You shoved the door open- finding it was a gas station. You knocked over a display case of keychains to get attention, too tired to yell for help. A man ran up to the front-seeing you covered in patches of dirt and stained blood from the card game. Mouthing help and leaning on the counter, you tried to catch your breath.

“Oh my god- Ohhh my god, are you okay? Are you shot? What should I do?” He asked in a panic.

Tears of joy from finally escaping and tears of anguish from all the horror you’ve been through ran down your cheeks. You pointed to a water case on the counter and reached for the work phone, pressing 911 as quickly as you could. The worker got a bottle of water and took the phone-answering the call. As you chugged down the water, wondering how long it’d take till you saw your friends again, the lights started to flicker on and off. It wasn't over yet, you could still escape.

Staring the worker dead in the eyes, you whispered, “Hide.” He told the operator that you were ‘on something’. You tried again, “Hide, please.”

You didn't have time to explain the unexplainable- both of your lives were at risk. The man backed away, appearing threatened by you. Shaking your head and running into the back closet, you hoped to whatever higher being was out there that the worker ended up okay and that the very being that you ran from didn’t find you. You stayed quiet, silent tears running down your face. The worker's high pitched scream let you know that he was here. You covered your mouth, choking back a sob. You could hear the windows of the gas station shatter and aisles being knocked over in anger.

 “I know you’re here~” The monster sang quietly, making his way to where you were hiding. You bit down on your arm to muffle the sound of your heavy breaths .

“You’re not in trouble, I promise. I know you get…a little scared sometimes. It's a natural human response to run from what you cannot understand. Please come out, sweet one…” He said aloud. His footsteps sounded closer and closer. You knew deep down that there was no way out of this.

“I told you I’d never use physical force on you… And I kept my word, didn't I?”

You stayed quiet.

“I know you're in that closet so just answer me before I tear that door off,” Anti spitted out, tapping his knuckles gently on the door frame to tease you. A stark contrast to his harsh words.

“Yes…” And it was true. He's never physically hurt you. But all the other ways anyone could hurt someone, he did.

“I - I want you to come on out so we can go back home, Darling… It's almost breakfast time but I'll lie you down for a long nap after we get you cleaned up. Then I’ll probably hand feed you- you must be so weak after all that running and jumping and whatnot.” 

“No. I’m not going back with you… The only way I’ll go back is if I'm dead," You replied with a steady voice, at least you hope you did.

He was silent, raking his nails over the door gently.

 “Ohh, Sweetheart. I'll give you a choice- We can stay here, for however long it takes you to come back to the love of your life. Do note that I don't need food or water like you do… And if you pass-out- well, I’m only helping you technically by carrying you out. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death. But..” He trailed off,

” For every five minutes you stay in there, I’m going to kill ten townspeople by random… You've seen my wonderful pet, Sam, haven't you?”

 You felt sick, your whole body turning stone cold. He rapped his knuckles on the door to one of the tunes he played a lot. Some old rock song. Covering your face and crying, hating yourself for even considering just staying here for a sliver of peace at the cost of innocent lives. 

“Open the door or I’ll kill them all~” He softly laughed, adding slashing noises for affect. You reached up, pausing, knowing you were fucked either way. The second the door was open, you were picked up by under your arms. Sobbing, you were set on a counter and hugged tightly. The ‘itch’, as you called it, of his skin traveled through you, making you shiver, but not with coldness. It was a feeling comparable to very light electrocution. 

“I missed you so much… It's been so long since I’ve felt you, Darling.” His hand cupped the back of your neck, making your face press against the crook of his throat. He looked up for a second,

“Six hours… A whole six hours you weren't with me at our home,” He faked a sob, “We’ll definitely have to make up for lost time…”

#angst #antisepticeye #x reader #antisepticeye x reader #no comfort #whump #captivity #yandere #death implied #injury

[prttykittes]

:3 anon

Hi! Sorry it’s been such a long time! But i had some MASSIVE drama in which ima be coping w rn by writing. Cause, I feel like i won’t recover from it.

some of these are actual messages that we sent.

You were lovely. The best thing that’s happened to me since that day. We talked and talked till we went to sleep. We always thought of each other. You, loved me. Not in the way you thought. You have a girlfriend. She’s right there, lying in bed sleeping as you talk with me. The day you told me you had feelings, I didn’t know how to respond. My whole body began to shake. I didn’t know what to do. My mind begins to wonder as i try to find hints from you. They were so obvious, I was just slow. Your poor girlfriend was never told of how you felt about me. I even told you multiple times that communication is key in any relationship. You try to explain how you feel, going through what you think about me. My mind goes blank as I myself don’t understand how im feeling. I tell you to go talk to your girlfriend immediately. To tell her what you told me. Everything eventually becomes ok. You begin to blame yourself. I felt bad because I felt like i could’ve done more. Yet everyone i ask, they said i did everything i could. I know i could’ve done more. We both try to distance ourselves for our own good but, every time we try to part we can never let go. Everyone has told me to block you. I can’t. You were everything. Every time, i try to forget. But, you were truly a lovely experience i can never forget. So you stop yourself everytime, hoping that we can talk comfortably again. you felt like maybe why you feel so bad is because you love me as a friend and, you’re scared thats going to happen is that you’re just going to get blocked then boom never get to speak again. its hard for you to keep thinking about it just randomly you go to bed, then you wake up and you wont see my name there anymore. like you got it though your head. what you did was your mistake, but its just thinking about the chance of waking up and it all going to be real then. it doesn’t help that the other mistakes you’ve done just come back as well. even the ones that you told your dad you were going to be fine and fix, but you never got to before he died. so you’re just trying your best to be normal again but its getting harder and harder. you’re afraid of losing someone you trust most and seems like they care. Our story is just like the song “Promise” by Laufey. This specific verse: “I’ve done the math. there’s no solution. we’ll never last. Why can’t I let go of this?”. The song perfectly explains our relationship. We know we should leave, but we can’t. We know that we’re fading apart but, we keep coming back. “No matter how long I resist temptation, I will always lose. It hurts to be something, It’s worse to be nothing with you.”

. I hope your doing well, :3 anon! <3 (nice to see u again! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡)

#kittytail #:3 anon #anon: :3 #hii :3 anon!! its so nice to see u again!! <3

[astaroth1357]

How the Brothers Would Try to Corrupt MC w/ Their Sin

I have a headcanon that it's part of demonic nature to try and corrupt humans. Though I think it would be unlikely that the brothers would try to intentionally corrupt MC post-pact, it's still like second nature to them. That means they may try to unintentionally, uh… infect their soul with sin and drag them down into eternal damnation! They don't mean it, but be careful MCs of the world.

Lucifer

One of the hardest things to do can be to make others take pride in themselves… but Lucifer is always ready for a challenge.

The name of the game is praise. The human mind can be easy to manipulate so with enough praise even the most stubborn human will start to believe a drop of their own hype.

Building up pride is a steady thing... He'll usually pick a strength or talent of the MC to give high praise. Perhaps they sing beautifully or they're rather clever, don't worry. He'd let them know.

Light sprinkles of praise steadily increase their self-esteem, which may seem nice and almost healthy at first, but in truth he's laying a trap… He knows how effective his words can be and he's just waiting for them to go to the MC's head.

You think then he would be done right? Oh no. That's not the fun part. What's fun is to then offend that pride he's spent so long building.

He thinks it's cute, really. A small comment here or a little condensation there and they'll get so mad. It's just so amusing!

Of course, he can't take what he dishes, so they'll need to watch out. But don't worry he loves them, even if they're just a little too fun to play with…

Mammon

Since when does the Avatar of Greed give gifts?

Really, that should be the MC's first red flag. Mammon isn't known for generosity, so when he's spending what little money he can hold onto on them, it's time to raise some eyebrows.

It may seem nice, almost sweet, when he manages to track down a rare vintage of wine for them or take them out to a ritzy restaurant for the night but unfortunately it's all just part of the plan…

Nobody has tastes higher than Mammon. He can't afford them most of the time, which leads to compromises, but given all the Grim in the world he'd be living in the lap of luxury - which is exactly the kind of lifestyle he wants the MC to crave too.

Anyone, no matter how modest, can give into temptation. How easy would it be to taste the sweetest wine or enjoy the most wonderful trip then want to do it again? It may seem innocent at first, but piling on the finer things can soon have the MC craving for them when they pass.

Then all Mammon needs is to make little promises, "If I make it big this time, then we'll go to France!" or, "If I win this next hand then I'll buy ya another glass." 

So how many times will the MC give Mammon a pass, then? Will they stop questioning how he comes up with his cash? Will they let him gamble just that "little bit" longer? Will they even join him...?

If they keep getting that taste of luxury, then maybe it's not so bad… right?

Leviathan 

You think the easiest way to get the MC jealous would be to flirt with other people since that's how most people go about it but, uh… 

This is Levi we're talking about. Casual flirting is pretty much out of the question.

So what is a demon to do to get their hapless human jealous? The answer is, be patient.

No one's perfect, humans especially! They'll slip up eventually… 

Maybe someone from back home just got a new car or they're sending out marriage invites. 

Maybe they have a friend who's better than them at school or sports or there's just someone who has something they want: Money, talent, looks, followers, friends, you name it. When they see it, he can feel that envy creeping in…

From there, all he has to do is feed it. Let the world poke at their little insecurities for him while he plays the supportive boyfriend!

"Did Mammon really get the promotion? I thought it would have been you! That's so unfair..."

"Satan beat your scores again? What is this, the third time? Doesn't that suck?"

Small little comments… but all with a goal to fill the MC with toxicity...

"Are Asmo videos still doing better than yours? I think I know how to drop his numbers... if you want."

And soon enough, anyone can be an enemy. Everyone has it better than them… so they push the world away in order to feel better. And they become so toxic, the world rejects them in turn...

Except, of course, for their loving boyfriend, Levi.

Satan

If you want to keep someone mad, it's best if you're not the actual one doing it.

I know, it sounds counterintuitive, but turning yourself into the enemy risks the target cutting you out. Satan knows this, so he'll never enrage the MC directly...

But indirectly? There's a start.

Everybody has little pet peevs. Tiny things that aren't important, but dig under the skin nonetheless.

Breadcrumbs in the butter, gum-smacking, toe-tapping, tones of voice, or just little annoying inconveniences that can sour one's day...

Satan is well-versed in these tiny annoyances, he'd dare say they're in his domain. And, perspective that he is, he'll know what frustrates the MC soon enough.

Then it's just a matter of execution.

Maybe he jacks with their toothpaste tube or "conveniently" forgets where they put their books... Or they keep mysteriously finding fingerprints on their game disks or seemingly can't keep their room organized to save their life!

It may just seem like the world hates them... but really it's just their demonic lover.

These tiny details and little mishaps will just build and build like cracks in their foundation until it all breaks and comes crashing down… and he'll be right there egging on every moment of it!

Asmodeus 

You would think that Asmo would have the easiest time tempting the MC into his sin, but that's not so.

Sure, most traditional definitions of Lust begin and end at carnal desire, but what about those MCs who maybe aren't so drawn to the sins of the flesh? Fear not! Because the keyword for Asmo is desire.

Really, Asmo is happy if the MC's mind is full of nothing but him. He wants them to desire him, to love him obviously, but to the point of obsession. His heated kisses and sensual whispers are only means to that end, which can change whenever he needs.

The MC will have their life bombarded by their beautiful demon. It's not an unwelcome smothering, he's among the best boyfriends they could ever hope to have, which is exactly why he’s so effective!

He wants them to need him at every moment. Soon it will feel weird to go places alone without their demon… Certain things they could do themselves, like their hair or getting dressed, they'll want him to do instead.

Of course, if he's able then he'll certainly seduce them as well and at every chance he gets! From the House to RAD and even in the throne room - he's shameless!... But that's the fun, isn't it?

Beelzebub 

Oh Beel… He's probably the most dangerous one of them all. Not because he's so demonic, but because he's so sweet!

When Beel makes food for the MC or orders them an extra side, he does so with love. He just wants them to be full! ...or so he thinks.

Beel's demonic instincts creep up on even him, he's just not one to really question what or why he does things sometimes. He'll know he has the urge to see the MC eat or just be indulgent… but he won’t know why.

You could actually say it works to his advantage. Whenever he offers the MC another turkey leg or a few more bites of cake, his tenderhearted insistence is often so sweet that they'll just go along with it and try to keep eating… even if they're already full.

Now, the human body can only take so much food at once, but over time it can adapt to changing habits.

Eventually, the MC will find their appetite expanding to catch up… They'll stop feeling full as easily as they used to and soon the bigger portions that Beel gives them will be all but a necessity!

Of course, the worst case scenario is that this doesn't happen at all and they do serious harm to their health by always pushing past their limits… but there's no guarantee Beel's solution won't just be more food anyway.

Belphegor 

Belphie is the only brother who will knowingly (and gleefully) try to make the MC as sinful as he is!

It's all for selfish reasons. If the MC is slothful, then they'll want to go out less and (probably) spend time with him more. Win-win if you're Belphie.

Since he's well aware of what he's doing, he's pretty damn effective at it. No other brother will be as committed to meddling with the MC as he is.

He'll convince them to cancel plans or sabotage their alarms so they oversleep. He'll suddenly be unable to sleep without them while his naps seemingly get longer and longer… And if they have something to do, he'll be the voice in their ear saying it can wait!

Really, at any opportunity he can get Belphie will try to drag them down or slow their progress with the sweet, sweet promise of relaxation or a good time...

Sure, it may sound nice at the time - great even! - but it won't take long for their promises to break or deadlines to pile up… Sure, the MC could try to catch up but wouldn't that be too much work? Wouldn't they rather rest instead? Why even worry about it?

It's a seductive line of thought and Belphie sells it well, it'd take only the most motivated MC to resist his charms but like that'd stop him. If he wants the MC for himself, he'll happily put their life on hold to do so. Just go with it... yeah?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #i got really excited to use the word ritzy #don't get enough chances for that kind of thing

[iovchlde]

a fool’s wish.

in which you drown in wishful thinking— fool yourself into thinking that his words were meant for you. but as her name falls from xiao’s lips, you wonder if it’s truly worth the effort to stick around any longer.

pairing

xiao x gn!reader

genre

angst

author’s note.

i am not apologetic for writing this.

there’s a familiar stutter in your heart when you feel his fingers latch onto your wrist, fingers tenderly wrapping around the expanse of your skin— pleading for you to stay, and helpless without strength. and right off the bat, you feel weak. his touch is too easy to pull out of, too easy to escape from, and yet the stubborn part of you wishes to stay.

you’re a fool, and you’re almost too aware.

but for the sake of your sanity, and your slowly cracking heart, you’d learned to set boundaries. you try your best not to take everything at face value, you try your best not to stick around, you try your best not to let your eyes linger a little too long into the eyes that stare back at yours. and you’re missing one— “the best boundary of them all is not giving in,” your friend would say.

you agree. but quite frankly, not giving in is the most difficult part; once your eyes meet his, it’s like the walls around you crumble. and then there’s nothing.

you’re vulnerable.

the dim lamp in the far corner provides little light, and the curtains are drawn over the windows blocking out the glow of the moon, a carefully calculated plan in hopes that it’s harder to see him. yet, you can’t shake off the weak stare that’s digging into your back, and you surely can’t shake off his hand that’s holding you so carefully.

but, it feels so heavy.

“please stay,” he whispers, his words so quiet and airy, with the weight equivalent to that of daggers. you can’t help the grimace that forms on your lips.

“you know i can’t,” you tell him, biting back the temptation to turn around, and the want that seeps through.

“but it’s so lonely without you.” and his words weigh even worse than before. there’s a slight prickle of pain that starts at your fingers, that spreads through your body, until it’s tugging unbearably at your heartstrings. there’s a slight shuffle of sheets behind you, before you feel another pair of hands latch on. “i feel cold.”

and you feel like you’re starting to burn— little embers latching onto small pieces of you and crackling.

“i promise that it’s only temporary.” because she’ll be here in the morning, to be everything you’ve wanted, you want to continue. though, you know from the way your throat constricts, that you’re on the verge of cracking.

your lips stay tightly pressed— you want to stay put together, it’s the least you could do for yourself. your voice gives too much away, a sliver of vulnerability that you wish not to peek through.

“but i love you,” the words fall from his lips, and you almost freeze, unwarranted. you half expect a warmth to bloom within you, one that has your heart beating in a frenzy, and your mind is a lovestruck haze. but it doesn’t ignite that familiar flame within you. rather, it brings a scalding heat that eats you from the inside-out, and it stings.

you’re a fool. you know that, clearly.

“tell me that when you’re sober,” you say dryly. but you know, and maybe it’s for the best, that he won’t. and maybe, never will.

because you know, by the small slip of her name— that you hear as you slip through the door, one last time—, that it was never you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao angst #xiao x reader angst

[kashimos-hajime]

no regrets (8/8) | r.b.

summary: For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Or, Reiner finally understands what peace is.

WARNINGS: MANGA SPOILERS!!! angst, mentions of violence, we get our happy ending :) pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 6.7k

a/n: welcome to the last chapter!! thank you so much for being on this journey with me. there are a few callbacks to previous chapters so see if you can catch ‘em all heheh 

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Few months ago ymir asked if I could let her write one last letter to krista, and I did let her. I stood over her shoulder the whole time, watching her pen down all this sappy shit and I kept thinking about you the whole time, behind those walls. What you were doing, what you were thinking. Maybe if you thought about me. I dont know.

I’m starting to see the appeal of wrting what youre not strong enough to say to a persons face. I never thought Id find myself on the other end of this stick. for some reason, I thought that I could stop myself, resist the temptation, or maybe that I didnt feel for you as strong as I thought I did once I was away from you. I was wrong.

What do I even say? I mean shit, I can barely see, my limbs are barely in tact, and all of it—shiganshina, it haunts me, even though I cant really remember it that well. Half of it goes black and then I remember hearing your voice, I remember Bertholdt, I remember you screaming.

You couldve walked away. why didnt you walk away? It doesn’t make sens. Why did you think to cut me out? Why did you try to save me? Im trying to make it make sense inmy head. It’s not working.

Fuck I dont know what I was thinking when I asked for a paper and pen. Why am I asking you questions? Its not like ill ever understand. At this point, I think it’s pity thats letting Zeke let me waste ink on trying to write straight. He doesn’t know what im doing, but thats better this way. Better than sleeping—better than eating. I just wanna talk to you and this is as close as I can get. Its my own damn fault, but I dont care. 

I completed my mission. After this, im done. ill give up the rest of my term. I dont want any of that glory anymore. I dont want to be a hero. Im just done.

Fuck, my head hurts so much. I dont really know if what im saying is making sense. Im hoping you never read this.

im sorry. I wish I could explain it to you some day, but chances are, ill be dead soon. Whether for treason or because they need to pass on the Titan, and I wont be able to see you again. Which means youll never know how sorry I am. How much I

Thats okay. I dont think youd believe me now even if I did say anything.

I remember your dream to live by the lake with a bunch of kids. You know I started to wonder if youd mind if they were our kids, not just some orphans who needed a home. I’d imagine one of them with blond hair. Imagine them swimming in the lake.

Never told you that was my dream too. Never knew i could have a dream of my own, something only I wanted and not just something to further marleys damn agenda, til I knew you. Sounds stupid but its true.

I think youd like Marley, if we weren’t sworn enemies. Just want you here with me right now. make me sleep easier knowing you’re there when I wake up. 

Dont want secrets either. Fuck I miss you so bad. I feel s o tired all the time. 

I rember when i first saw you all could think about was how you were the most prettiest girl id ever seen. I don know if you know thats why I tried to distance myself. Knew I couldn’t get distracted from my mison. happened anyway. Wish I could tell you that. 

wish I could tell you I love you. Wish I could see the look on yur face when you try lobster for the first time. Youd love it. Not sweet, but tons of desserts here too.

Shit. And the ring on your finger. ill put a ring on your finger. I promised. i swear ill go home and buy a ring for the moment I see you again. Might not be pretty but will do the best I can.

Olnly wnat only wnat only want to see you again and beg for your forgiveness. Let you know if I had a choice, I wouldnt have done it. Would take it all back, nd stay. i wanted to stay, stay with you and the others. I used to want to spend the rest of my life in those walls, now I think im sick and tired of them dividing people who arent even that differnet.

My eyes are beginning to burn. Worse because the skin is sitll growing back. Fucking hell god I miss you. miss your smile more.

I know i dont deserve your forigvneess forgiveness. I want you to be angry with me. I deserve as much, and I cant ask you to, but 

With love,

Rienr

You fold the letter, eyes closing as your fingers trace where the ink bled, the old tear stains wrinkling the paper beyond measure. Some are older than others, and you trace over his name again, your eyes burning, your throat tight enough to suffocate.

You’re leaning against the wall as everyone disembarks. They had taken Eren off first, Hange and the others getting ready to depart for the city while Connie and Jean lift a covered stretcher too white for the vivacious girl that lays dead beneath it.

They pass you silently, and you catch sight of a certain captain approaching, his pale eyes nearly swallowed by the shadows haunting his face.

“Captain,” you say, straightening. Placing the letter back into the tin, you slide it back into your pocket as he folds a green jacket over his shoulder. You give him a nod.

“You made it out alive,” Levi observes. He stops beside you, eyes more focused on what’s ahead. No doubt he’s not looking forward to having to take Zeke to wherever he needs to go—somewhere far, far away from Eren. You cross your arms. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Levi,” you intone. Sighing, you step in beside him and look out at the Walls you can’t see in the distance, your entire body wrought with a strange fatigue that’s only sewn into muscles by adrenaline leaving the body. “I think I’m going to stay.” He tilts his head to you, eyes flickering to your face, and you mirror the shift, your arms tightening. “I can’t leave this unfinished. Not after Liberio.”

“The farm will have to be abandoned,” he points out. “The kids, too.”

“I’ll make sure I move them where someone can take care of them. Somewhere north, far away from the brothers,” you assure, although still, your heart begins to sink and you close your eyes, exhaling deeply. “I have to hope they understand.”

Levi only nods, and you open your eyes as he wordlessly takes the jacket off his arm and offers it to you. Grasping it wearily, you open your mouth to ask questions but he only sets off, back towards the cabin where Zeke is still being held, and you snap your jaws shut, looking down at the jacket.

When you unfold it, you swallow the hard rock in your throat at the blue and white slipping beween the folds of olive green before there’s a sharp whistle. Looking up, you see the carriages already beginning to load up, and you glance back at the door where the captain has disappeared through before jogging down the ramp.

You slither your arms through the sleeves and shuffle the fabric along your frame as something thumps against your thigh, and you frown, reaching down into your pocket and coming into contact with something smooth and hard.

Withdrawing, your lips part at the green bolo tie gleaming in the lights of the port and you, without another thought, pull it over your head, letting it fall against your breastbone. 

“For your services to the Survey Corps.”

There’s no time to second-guess now. No time to debate.

“Good to have you back,” Hange murmurs as you walk towards the carriage taking Mikasa, Armin, and the others back to the city. You tug the lapels of the jacket tighter around yourself and flash them a weak smile. 

The Wings of Freedom on your arm feel like a brand, and it prickles your skin as you climb in after them.

.

Distantly, he remembers flashes. 

Eren reaching forward for Zeke, the exhaustion ripping him every which way, the sound of ODM gear whizzing in his ears as he tries to make sense of the punctured sensation in his armour.

How he had softened his nape, intending to die then. At least, let his death have some meaning, he had thought. Let him make one last effort to repent for everything he did to Paradis, and to his friends who’d been more family than his own mother.

He slips in an out of consciousness for the next few days. He doesn’t know what is up, what is down, but he does recognize his surroundings blearily, the way his head spinning somehow slowing when he presses his temple to the wooden floor.

How can he almost hear your voice in the echoes of the panels, countered by someone who almost sounds like Annie before he drifts off again.

When Reiner finally regains consciousness again, he wakes to someone crouched down in front of him. Jerking up, he lets out a sound before a palm slaps over his mouth and your face is shoved against his own.

“Shut it,” you whisper fiercely. “It’s just me.”

Your name muffled by your own hand, his eyes begin to burn and you lift your palm away as he sits up and you draw back. You’re dressed in clothes that look like they’ve seen better days but you’re relatively uninjured as you pull back. New lines adorn your face—one of the many prices of their damned war—and you only look exhausted. 

Sitting up, Reiner’s whole body groans as he leans against the wall, but he can’t tear his eyes away from you. Your hands are hovering around his body like you’re scared he’ll collapse and there’s a fracture in your mask.

Something gleams on your finger and his eyes flit to it, his heart lurching when he realizes what it is.

The ring. You’re wearing it. You…

For a moment, a glimmer of their teenage selves shine through and he wants to reach for it—touch it so he can remember what it’s like to be happy. He thinks it’s an awful like now; the swelling of his heart so big he can’t breathe; the way his lungs are static in his chest; how he can’t say anything because there are so many words that want to come out first.

“You’re here. You’re alive,” he finally settles on raspily. Your eyes glint with a youthful pain as you nod.

“So are you.” 

And he doesn’t know who moves first—you or him. Nothing is forgiven as their bodies crash in an embrace that lacks grace, but they cling onto another like the world is ending and they’re the only ones left standing. 

Maybe they are.

He buries his face in your neck, and your arms are so tight around him your fingers dig into his shoulders as your body melts against his and his skeleton sags in his own body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “I‘m sorry.” A hand against your neck and an arm around your waist, he wraps his legs around your own and traps you against him. You seem to only sink into him even more.

Is that enough? I don’t want you to hate me.

You suck in a breath, and then it comes out shuddering. “You can spend the rest of what life you have left repenting for making me fall in love with a man who was always supposed to die.”

Softly, in his mind, your voice cools the searing heat of hatred inside him. It’s enough. It has to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. It’s like they’re the only words he knows. He can’t remember ever meaning it this much. For him dying, for making you love him, for ever coming to Paradis. For loving you. For loving you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I know.” Your face turns to press against his own. Your lips brush against his jaw and his eyes slide shut, tears rolling down his face. “I read every single one of your letters.” Drawing back, you cup his face in his hands and your fingers smear his tears all over his cheeks as his palm rests against your neck. Thumb stretching up to touch your chin, he feels sobs shuddering in his throat at seeing you again—looking at him almost like you used to. “I can’t begin to understand, but I know you are. And I know you love me.”

Choking, he gasps, “You should hate me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I should.” You’re crying, too, voice thick, tears stubborn on your cheeks as you give him a watery smile. “I should hate Marley, too. But it’s beautiful there. The water by the sea… I want to be there with you next time. We need to go together, before you leave me alone, okay?”

Reiner doesn’t quite hear you. He hears Marley, and beautiful, and he’s never noticed how beautiful you are when you cry, but right now, it’s the simplest truth he knows. 

“Okay.”

When you tilt his chin up and kiss him softly, something inside him explodes from the gentleness that makes him want to crack in the palm of your hands. It sears him from the inside out, makes him grab onto you like you’ll disappear—this is another dream, isn’t it? 

It has to be. 

You can’t be kissing him again after four years. He doesn’t deserve it. You’re an illusion, something his mind made up to deal with the pain. He’s finally cracked for good, just like Bertholdt said he would, and he’s the devil, not you.

But then you pull away just for a moment to smile, eyes barely open as you look at him with a sad tenderness that wraps him in an invisible embrace, and he is faced with the heart-wrenching reality. 

The sky is falling, you are holding him tightly again, and they’ve lost their years. But you’re here. With him. 

He knows that this isn’t a dream as he feels the coolness of the silver band on your finger and the heaviness in how he knows he hasn’t repented a damn thing. 

Why him?

As you run your hand through his hair, you press their foreheads together.

“And I do want a family with you, by the water if you’d like,” you murmur fleetingly against his mouth and his eyes widen, cheeks burning, entire face crumbling as he turns his face in to your shoulder, crushing you in another brace. Sobbing into your neck, his fingers dig into your shoulders, wrap tight around your waist, squeeze you so close he isn’t sure where you end and he begins and your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Reiner, say it.”

“Please,” he whispers thickly into your skin, and you cradle the back of his head with a hand. He’s nothing more than shambles. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” you promise. His breath is hot against his own face as you pull his head back and cradle his face again, thumbs brushing away the tears from his red face. “Just a bit more. A bit more and then it’ll be all over, you know?”

And he understands, then, what you want from him. Struggling for breath, for his lungs to stop seizing in his aching chest, he cups your face that turns into his palm on instinct, your face wet with your own tears as, for a moment, they try to pretend this isn’t where they really are.

Like they’re still in that afternoon in Trost, a thousand years ago, with the kids flipping coins into the water fountain and a cream bun between them. Like they’re under the tree, apple juice on your wrist and his lips on yours.

Like it’s those trips to the city, the walks on the Walls. Honey is dripping down your chin and he’s pretending he doesn’t want to kiss you, or there’s grease smeared on his forehead, and you’re reaching up to wipe it off his skin.

Like a thousand moments all at once, and he nods to himself as you brush your hand over his temple. The world outside is startlingly quiet, as if the universe itself stopped everything itself to watch this moment, and Reiner takes a breath that bruises his sternum before he’s holding your left hand where that ring still sits.

And slowly, he pulls it off, whispering as firmly as he can. He’s sure he fails—he’s shaking all over from your presence alone.

“When this is over, I’ll put that ring back on your finger. I promise.”

The smile that splits your face is dazzling. It’s the smile he’s missed since the day he left it.

“We have a lot of things to work out, Reiner Braun.”

And your fingers barely brush his jaw before you’re leaning to press a sweet kiss against his mouth. It’s sugary on his tongue, like honey and apple slices.

.

Your back is warmer when you’re pressed up against Reiner’s. The ship is quiet, and their pinkies are just barely hooked on oen another’s as you stare blankly at the empty space between Connie’s boots. You don’t speak, and Reiner’s gaze is only on you. He can’t look at anything else now that you’re back by his side again.

There’s a cut on your cheek from the fight just half an hour ago, and there’s dried blood along your hands where your knuckles had split open, but everyone seems too exhausted to clean themselves up. 

Reiner himself has a blanket pulled over his shoulders, and he sighs, slouching in his own sack of flesh.

Your head tilts towards him, enough that your temple presses against his cheek. His eyes close and he leans into your touch. Not a word passes by, but their hold on each other’s hands tightens. And Reiner thinks. 

For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Something that hasn’t burned since he left Marley as a child.

Reiner thinks he doesn’t want to die anymore. He doesn’t want to miss you for another moment.

.

Raising from the steam, you groan, your hands searing from the inside out as you touch your face where you swore every inch of your skin had been stretched, but nothing seems out of sorts as you glance around. Everywhere, all your friends who had turned just as you had are in various states of disoriented. The air is still hissing, crackled with surprised screams and shouts of names as people look for one another across the field. 

It smells like cooked meat and burnt hair, a none-to-pleasant mixture that turns your stomach.

Getting to your feet, you wipe at your face, trying to ignore the weird feeling underneath your nails and the ache seizing your muscles. Trying to ignore the remnants of Eren lingering like a ghost that won’t really leave you alone. You shiver, and a strange cold sweat takes over your body.

He had taken you to the sea, except it wasn’t the shore you were familiar with. There was a cabin nearby, with blonde children running, chasing after one another and a man with golden hair standing on the porch, firewood in his arms as he calls out silently. Or maybe you had been standing too far to hear.

“Eren… where are we?”

“Wherever you think you are,” he had said. “I just brought you where you wanted to be.”

A voice, quiet as a memory, catches your attention. “Here let me help.” A soft wind blows throw the mist, cooling your scorching face as you feel a presence stand behind you.

“Oh, thank you.” You look over your shoulder to see a tall boy, and your heart stops. Mouth dropping open, you stare at his foggy image, but he only smiles fully, a smile so tender it reaches every corner of you as you stumble forward, fingers stretching for him. “Bertholdt!”

His smile grows only that much more, eyes squinting a bit and a flash of teeth before he’s looking at your hand that passes through his chest. All at once, all the hope built up in your chest crumbles, and your hand snaps back, trembling just before him. He lays a hand over your own and your eyes begin to burn, tears slipping down your cheeks.

And then, softly, you barely whisper, “I miss you.”

Bertholdt’s smile merely grows, as if to say everything he couldn’t say before. As if to show he’s at peace now—that your last memory together isn’t every part of him, and your lips press together, trying to stop yourself from shaking.

 Shadows form in the fog, and together, the two look as a freckled boy and another girl steps out of the mist a distance away, beaming like the sun. Connie and Jean stagger to their feet just behind you, and your heart lurches into your throat when you recognize them.

“Marco! Sasha!”

Someone calls your name and you turn around just as arms scoop you up and you let out a surprised noise before settling into Reiner’s arms. Looking over your shoulder to look at Bertholdt, your heart only sinks.

He smiles and Reiner lets out a sharp breath beside you, settling you down. “Bertholdt…” More shapes emerge. A shorter boy accompanied by another taller one, both alike in their features. You recognize one as the Jaw Titan holder before Falco, but the other—

“Marcel!” Reiner chokes out the name, hand stretching out to the fog, but the boy merely tilts his head and waves.

Closing your eyes, hot tears streak over your cooling flesh as you fling your arms around Reiner again and press your face into his neck. He cradles the back of your head, and he feels… somehow weaker, but still, there is that impassable strength in his core that wraps around you as he watches over your shoulder, still clinging on despite your clothes hot enough to burn.

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive. It’s the only thought in your head. Your last clear memory had truly been the others taking flight, and the pain that had ripped apart your body before sewing it back together again in unjust proportions. Your limbs had been too big, your blood racing too warmly through your head as your legs pumped but your brain screamed to stop. 

Your fingers had sank into Reiner’s legs to pull him down and you had watched—watched Jean take a bite out of him—

You shiver and Reiner’s arms tighten around you instinctively, constricting enough to let you know that his attention isn’t on you quite yet.

Boots shifting on the ground tentatively, your knees feel gummy as you draw back long enough to look at him. He still looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to watch the mist retreat. Bertholdt and the other two boys fall into a pool of fog, and your lips part in a farewell, but it’s already too late.

He’s gone.

A wind sweeps through the battlefield, tickling your sweating neck and cooling your boiling blood.

“Hey,” a soft voice croaks.

Their eyes meet in tandem. He regards you softly, like you are the reason the sun rises and the stars hang at the sky. Overwhelmed, you can only cup the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. Your other hand along his jaw, it takes all you can not to pull him into a bone-crushing embrace that’ll send them both to the ground.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whisper hushedly against his mouth, throat swelling as he lets out a soft noise of surprise as you pull him into another tight hug. You don’t care that you’re crushing him, just that his heart is pounding against your own chest. “I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so sorry.” 

His eyes widening, he wraps his hands around your wrists and pulling you back just enough to kiss your fingers that crumple against his mouth. Clasping one of his hands in both of your own, you close your eyes and he uses his free fingers to brush the tears off your cheek before reaching into some dented tin you don’t recognize.

Eyebrows furrowing, you feel the heat leave your entire body, sapping your energy too, and your eyes snap to Reiner who steps back, cracking it open and presenting it to you. 

“You’re not the one who has to be sorry. I don’t think I’m the Armoured Titan anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I get the rest of my life back, but either way, I want to spend the rest of it repenting to you in any way I can, if you’ll allow me to.” A weak smile. “Truth.”

Your throat closes up, and you stare down at the ring so protected, gleaming despite the destruction around them. It looks almost out of place amongst the grime smearing your skin, the sweat drenching their skin, the smell of blood and metal clinging to their clothes, but Reiner only watches you with a tenderness you can barely meet. It’s so overtly overflowing with devotion that your heart is resting on your tongue, seizing control of everything. 

You barely nod, chewing on your lip, trying not to cry even harder as his eyebrows rise in relief and he lets out a long sigh.

He lifts the ring out of the tin, snapping it closed before sliding the band back home onto your finger and all at once, everything floods you. The exhaustion, the pain, the hunger, thirst, grief wrapping around your bones and chaining you to the ground.

It’s over.

The minute he put the ring on your finger, it would mean it was over. No more blood, no more fighting.

Just like he promised.

You barely croak out his name before you fall to your knees. You trust him to catch you, and he does.

[THREE YEARS LATER]

Just after the Rumbling had stopped, you had gone back to Paradis alone and came back with three children to a man who was still uncertain in a world that was changing. 

Since then, you’ve learned so much about the world, about yourself, about Reiner. 

How he’s seized by night terrors even now, just like you, and how one thing that soothes it is going out for a walk while the sun still simmers below the horizon, the sky a dark navy blue spliced with orange rays. The intricate details like him making a point to tie his own tie because his father never taught him how or the way he has to chug his coffee so he has enough energy to get through the day.

And some days are horrible, haunting, but now, it is far outweighed by the good. He teaches Xav how to dress smart, takes the girls out shopping. Sometimes, he’s spotted around Liberio with a flame-haired boy riding his shoulders, you trailing behind hiding a smile behind some ice-cream.

Different nations, foods, cultures surround you now—citizens of countries coming to settle down roots, spread cuisine to Marley. The idea before, of humans so different than you but still similar at the root of it all, existing, still blows your mind. The technologies that you had never seen before, languages you’d never heard, sights you’d never seen, had all swarmed you as you stepped into a new world with him.

But there is always one thing you’ll come back to.

Leaning against the railing in the port city Reiner told you was the harbour he had left twelve years ago, and returned to seven years ago, you watch the clouds travel in slow drags across the pale blue canvas hung high above your head. The water spans for as far as you can see, glimmering under the sun and gorgeous enough to take your breath away. You pull at your coat across your chest absently, ignoring the tender growl of your stomach. 

Breathing in the salty wind, you feel your chest expand at the litle fishing boats a little ways out.

Reiner was right. You don’t get sick of the sea. You never will—not of this much water. You still remember the first time you had swam in it, the salt-water making your hair crisp, the cold sweat forming on your your sun-warmed skin.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you spot blonde hair and warm eyes and smile. Your heart flutters a bit. You shift on your feet.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Reiner leans down beside you, and you clasp your hands, letting the sea wind curl against your neck. Reaching to slip his hand in between yours, he sighs and you lean against his shoulder, glancing at their pile of interlaced fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you whisper, although even still, you can feel a numbing at your fingertips. You remember what it was like to be a Titan, even now. The sensations haunt you—flashes of your own mutated body, the grotesque meat of your hands sinking into the ankles of the man beside you, the bloodcurdling roar spilling out of your throat.

Glancing at their fingers, you watch the flashes of silver of the rings play in the sunlight, your band now having a matching counterpart on his own hand. You grasp his hands tightly, bringing them up to your lips and his own grip tightens when you dust a kiss gently along his scarred knuckles.

“No,” you finally say at length. “I’m not okay. Going back to Paradis makes me nervous as hell, but we’ll manage.” He nods slowly, and you let go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. His own encircle your waist, pulling you flush against him and your eyes close at the familiar warmth—a warmth you’ve woken up next to most days for the past three years. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmurs, and your fingers play with the soft edges teasing at your pads as his nose presses against your cheek. Your eyes flutter at the soft heat emanating from his skin, and you shake your head, melting against him. With one arm still around you, he slants his body away from just enough to pull a bag out of his pocket and it crinkles as he hands it to you. Taking it, you frown and look inside.

A cream bun. You can’t help the crumbling in your expression and Reiner holds your face in his hands carefully, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Let’s stay positive,” he whispers. “We don’t know the situation until we get there and Historia briefs us.”

“I know,” you whisper and his entire expression eases at your words. His eyes gaze at you as if you’re the sole centre of his universe, and he cups your jaw more insistently, pulling you in for a gentle kiss, one you ease into, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth. Laughing, you feel his little nose scrunch and your heart bounds up into your throat as he pulls back only to kiss you again, softer this time.

“Get a room!” A sharp female voice ruins their moment and you pull back just enough to see a red-headed boy running towards them and Reiner crouches down just in time to scoop Xavier up.

“When are you getting married?” he demands. “I was promised cake when you guys got married.”

“I dunno. When you move out of the house I guess,” you tease and Xavier pouts, rubbing at the side of his nose with the heel of his palm.

“Besides, you got cake for your seventh birthday, buddy,” Reiner groans as the boy twists in his arms. “You’re getting heavy. What are you feeding him?” he adds, smiling roguishly at you and you roll your eyes as Alina and Anya approach, sun hats protecting them from the glaring sun. Alina, grocery bags in hand, waves. Anya, who’d been the one to shout, tucks her coin purse back into her bag before flashing you a great big smile.

Only fifteen and seventeen. You can barely recall what it’s like being that young anymore, but you’re grateful they didn’t spend it the way you did. They get to know beauty, and no limits at all. The former comes naturally, the latter is partially because Reiner spoils them rotten.

Alina picks a flower with velvety purple petals from a bouquet she cradles in her arm, extending it to you.

“For good luck,” she says. “And protection.” Your heart melts at her words and you pause for a moment, looking from the gorgeous bloom to Reiner, occupied with the boy in his arms making silly faces at him. Then, without another moment, you sneak the flower behind his ear and he reaches up immediately to hold it against his head, turning to you in surprise. 

“To protect the both of us,” you explain.

“Thank you. I’ll be extra careful now.” He looks at the girls, setting his free hand on Alina’s head heavily and she flushes, smiling grandly. “You three behave while we’re gone, alright?”

You nod. “Listen to Levi.” 

“And listen to your sister,” Reiner adds to Alina and Xavier. The former rolls her eyes, the latter sticks out his tongue. “I’ll miss you.”

This is their home—their family that tumbles together into a huge hug, and you can’t help but stand back, watching how they all seem to merge into one unit, unaware of where one part of their reach ends and another begins.

As Reiner pulls you into the hug, your heart soars through your body, effortlessly pounding in your throat and in your fingers and everywhere at once. Liquid heat pools everywhere as Xavier screws up his face when you kiss his cheek, the same way Reiner does after he’s eaten something sour.

And maybe it’s a bit different, or a bit broken, the shards of their bloody history still poking at their heels whenever they think you’ve forgotten them, and it’s most definitely not perfect, but you would rather have it like this then anything else.

“Hey, guys!” Breaking apart, the family look over to see Armin, Annie, and Pieck walking over. Gabi and Falco meander a little bit behind, pushing Levi in his wheelchair, and Jean and Connie are running not far behind them, shouting at one another. You stifle a laugh and Xavier shimmies out of Reiner’s hold to run towards them. The girls follow after him, trying to hold back their runs but the closer they get, you can tell the more frantic they are to say goodbye.

So this is what they’ve made a peace. Something, you hope, is good.

Annie bypasses them quickly, making her way over to you and you survey her face as Reiner squeezes your shoulder, walking over to their friends. Her blue eyes are fixed on your face, and you feel your lips curving into a smile as she shoves her hands in her pockets. Her hair is swaying in the wind, gleaming flaxen, and you remind yourself, not for the first time, that Armin and Annie’s kids, if they ever decide they want them, will be gorgeous.

Hope for the future, and all that.

She stops in front of you, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“So,” she says at length, “we’re going back to Paradis. I’m surprised you decided to come with us. You don’t owe any of us anything.”

“I know. But… you’re my best friend. You do the talking, I fly the getaway plane, right?”

“Yeah. There used to be a time when it probably would’ve been the opposite.”

You nod, and they stand in silence for a moment, watching each other. Two women who should not have been friends, but were against all odds. You don’t think you would be here today if it weren’t for Annie.

Your heart lurches and you take a step forward just as she does, her mouth open to say something. You throw your arms around her and she lets out a noise in surprise as you close your eyes. Arms coming underneath yours, her hands dig into your shoulders and you smile against soft hair as she sighs, easing into your hug.

“Finally working together on an actual assignment,” you mumble and her head tilts as her small frame shifts, a hand patting you on the back as a sign for you to back up. “Just like we always said we would.” 

Bluntly: “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“You, too.” Pulling back, the two look at one another for another soft moment before you remember the bag in your hand and you shift the bun up in the bag, extending it towards her. “Want some?” Her eyebrows rise in faint delight, before she’s reaching over, pinching and tearing a piece off. 

You grin and do the same and you gesture for her to come stand by the rails with you, stuffing the bag into your coat pocket. Leaning against the warm metal again, you hear a seagull call. The plane you’ll be flying to Paradis floats on the water, the technicians giving it the final check before you take off.

If anything goes wrong while you help prepare and oversee accommodations for the rest of the ambassador group, you’ll remember to fire the black signal flare, but you trust Historia. You trust your friends.

You glance over at them, all laughing, and you notice that the flower has gone from Reiner to Pieck, who’s taking it out of her dark hair to tuck it into Jean’s, and his cheeks redden as he brushes it more securely behind his ear.

Annie catches your attention again, pointing out idly that they’ll have to separate soon when they finish with the plane, and you tell her to just wait a couple minutes more as Reiner catches your gaze. Setting Xav, who has somehow wormed his way back into his arms, down, he walks back over to you, and his hand trails purposefully over your back before resting at the nape of your neck, a reassuring weight on your body.

“You guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Annie replies. “You have a clingy boyfriend,” she tells you. 

“I think it’s charming.”

She rolls her eyes. Reiner smiles, and you pat the railing beside you—silent invitation. He leans in on your other side, clasping his hands and watching the fishermen pull themselves to shore, singing a tune to each other—one familiar to all three of them and one that you wish you could get out of your head. 

“Soon may the Wellerman come…”

A faint breeze tickling at your fingertips as a sharp call for embarkment splits the harbour, you simply sigh and look over at Reiner. “I just want these last few moments to last.” His eyes meet yours, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyes. Annie lets out a soft noise of disgust and you bump your hip against her as Reiner pulls back.

Closing your eyes and lifting your head to the wind, you can almost imagine the one person missing standing on the other side of Annie, dark hair like spun, stained bronze and eyes like warm chocolate. He’d smile and tell them not to worry in that sincere way of his that makes you believe every word he says—as long as they were careful, they wouldn’t walk into any traps.

Your chest aches, and your lips tug into a heart-wrenching smile as you begin to sing along. Reiner slips a hand in between yours, pressing his temple against your head and you loop your other arm through Annie’s.

She rests her head on your shoulder, listening to your voice, eyes on the sailors bringing in their haul below them. Reiner hums the shanty softly, distractedly, eyes cast across the sea.

You tilt your head up to the sky, at the stars you cannot see but will join one day, and smile.

#fic: homebound #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun imagine #reiner braun fic #reiner x reader #reiner x you #aot #aot x reader #aot x you #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan fanfiction #snk #snk x reader #snk x you #shingeki no kyojin x reader #my writing

[wangxianficrecs]

Sweeties, it’s time for

I’m In The Mood For A Fic Where���

_______

1.  Ahhh mojo your blog makes my world go round and back and around again.  [You’re so sweet!] I was wondering if you could help me out with your next "I'm in the mood for a fic where".. I'm looking for two types of fics

A) fics in which WWX regains his core somehow (either by working on it, divine intervention, core sharing, anything!!) I so desperately want my boy to have his precious and favourite sword back (◡ ω ◡)

B) fics where WWX (or LWJ) *almost* marries someone else.

Thank you for your help!!! (~￣³￣)~❤️ ~ @akyra-talanoa​

1a.

nothing gold can stay by rikke (M, 10k, wangxian, my post)

❤️Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller (not rated [G], 15k, wangxian, my post)

the path to heaven / immortal wangxian by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 51k, wangxian)

Chimera by nirejseki (T, 18k, wangxian)

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Different Paths to the Same Route by JustAWanderingBabbit (T, 184k, 3zun)

24 Hours by tailor31415 (E, 6k, wangxian)

Core-Thieving Hand by x_los (T, 5k, wangxian)

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian by antebunny (G, 43k, wangxian)

1b.

to swim through the fires by littledust (M, 37k, wangxian)

❤️Neatly Arranged by thunderwear (T, 46k, wangxian, my post)

Rebound Betrothal by mondengel (not rated (G), 2k, wangxian, my post)

History Will Call Us Wives by silvermarie (E, 17k, wangxian)

today was a smoking sky by typefortydeductions (E, 38k, wangxian)

~*~

2.  hello! any recs wangxian modern au/mpreg? please and thank you!

Here’s my mpreg post (mostly current) and also

Brilliant Mistake by brooklinegirl (E, 54k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Winter Moon, White Rabbit by nachttour (E, 62k, wangxian, WIP)

Stale Spice, Sandalwood, and Nests by Tyongslips (M, 18k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

3.  Hello!! This might not be specific enough to find anything, but I was looking for modern wangxian fics that have a very distinct italicized 'oh' moments together? Like both of them or either of the pair doing something that makes them suddenly realize

every time we kiss i swear i could fly by sarahyyy (T, 3k, wangxian, my post)

【那夏天的我們】a stroke of fate by puddingcatbeans (G, 60k, wangxian)

not in so many words by jaws_3 (T, 18k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

4.  In the mood for fics where WWX is genuinely afraid of LWJ, believing that he will kill him/hurt him/cast him out/haul him back to Gusu for punishment; with emphasis on LWJ's reaction when he realizes and it hits him like a sack of bricks, and ideally on his efforts to regain WWX's trust. Not looking for something where LWJ really does wish WWX significant harm, but it's ok if he has well-intended ideas that he doesn't realize would hurt him. Any time period, canon version, or AU is good. Example: decay by antebunny.

~*~

5.  Hi there! First of all thank you for making such a helpful blog. I have been reading tons of great stories due to you.  [I’m so glad!] Secondly I would love to read a fic (a) where lwj is a single dad and then meets wwx (b) Best modern au fics with lots of angst. Thanks!!! ~ @pastashouldbeeatenwithafork​

5a. 

❤️A Flower That Blooms In Adversity by thunderwear (M, 62k, wangxian, WIP, my post)

like wildflowers (we grow) by moonsteps (T, 80k, wangxian)

say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn (E, 69k, wangxian)

plant a little happiness (let the roots run deep) by fleurdeliser (E, 48k, wangxian)

tear out the thread one by one from your skin (’til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention) by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 41k, wangxian)

paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 54k, wangxian)

love thy neighbor by wincechesters (M, 7k, wangxian)

No Need to Change a Tune by yeolinski (T, 10k, wangxian)

5b.

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108, wangxian, my post)

A Sequence of Coming Outs by kippalittlefox (M, 24k, wangxian)

new york, i love you by Anonymous (T, 7k, wangxian)

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32, wangxian)

An Ocean Between Us by feenwitch (E, 11k, wangxian)

总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie (E, 76k, wangxian, *mind the tags!*)

me and you, always and forever by fyredancer (E, 150k, wangxian)

Momentum Deferred by DisasterBiAlert (T, 13k, wangxian, my post)

After the Final Rose by azurewaxwing (E, 55k, wangxian)

there's no promised goodbye here by Anonymous (T, 54k, wangxian)

defective requiems by Misila (M, 9k, wangxian)

❤️Common love isn't for us by feyburner (M, 8k, wangxian, my post)

twice by Misila (T, 8k, wangxian)

one good thing by Yuu_chi (T, 27k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

6.  Hey! Can you rec some fics with wangxian being in cloud recesses or modern au of college?? Thanks!

I have tags for #students at cloud recesses and #college/university au

~*~

7.  Would you happen to know any fics where lqr and wwx actually get along and have a good relationship? Lqr the scholar he is and wwx the inventor/genious ???? There are a lot of possibilities there.  Thank you so much have a great day and stay hydrated!!!

❤️To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 79k, wangxian, my post)

❤️to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, my post)

Just Say Yes by edenwolfie (M, 312k, wangxian)

Post-war baby! by like_a_bird_that_flew (E, 23k, wangxian, WIP)

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, my bookmark)

~*~

8.  Hello! I love your fic recs and the hard work you do! I've discovered so many new favourites thanks to you! [Yay!] I was wondering if you know of any fics where they're shapeshifters or some such? Animals or wing-fics or something similar? ❤

I have an official tag for #animal transformation, and on my AO3 wangxian collection (which returns more search results than tumblr) here is the search for shapeshifter, and wingfic

over forests and mountains by beechtree (T, 9k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

9.  hii do you know any fics that focus on lwj and lxc and their relation?? thanks <33

❤️Begotten by ecorie (G, 37k, wangxian, my post)

Brotherly Concern by Ibijau (G, 11k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

10.  hellooo! do you know any fics where jiang cheng finds a-yuan instead of lwj? thank you for all your recs btw, they're super helpful!!! [Thank you!]

grieve the living by Misila (M, 161k, wangxian)

Overflow the autumn pools by Mhalachai (T, 74k, jiang cheng & lan wangji)

~*~

11.  I love your blog! Thank you so much for all the wonderful recs! [Thank you!]  I don't suppose you know of any fics where WWX is a non-human entity of some sort, but presents or is disguised as a human? (Or maybe he even thinks he is human?)

Cruise the tags mentioned above in #8, too.

❤️Spellbound by Latios (T, 37k, wangxian, my post)

When fish soar by mondengel (G, 2k, wangxian, my post)

Breathing Firestorm by ladyshadowdrake (M, 111k, wangxian)

flame and rust by cl410 (M, 29k, wangxian, WIP)

❤️The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 55k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Magical Marriage Ribbons by starandrea (M, 376k, wangxian)

Ever Distant Shores by fuddy_duddy (rainier_day) (T, 69k wangxian, WIP)

~*~

12.  Hiii do you know any fics where wwx or lwj OR wangxian leave the cultivation world/retire/grow old together away from cultivation drama? Something like And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea , All that is solid melts into air by huxiyi , and that fic where post resurrection wwx just decides to not bother with dafan mountain and opens a flower shop:  focal, filler, and line by bosbie.

Dan Tian / Heaven by ArchiveWriter (T, 20k, wangxian, WIP)

The Slow Regard of Silent Things by Moonpuddles (T, 3k, wangxian)

Pair of Swallows, you and I~ by Moonpuddles (T, 13k, wangxian, series in progress)

~*~

13.  Hello! Do you know any fics where wangxian has some incompatibility issues/dysfunctional relationship that isnt because of canon typical one braincell wwx, but because of more structural things like their mental age gaps, how wwx will prolly hate cloud recesses after the honeymoon bliss is over etc. Generally fics that show wangxian having to work to build the relationship

~*~

14.  Hi! Any wangxian onlyfans au fics? I read For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm and the ongoing sequel KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) and those were so good!!! I'd like to find more similar fics!

Temptation's Mask by threerings (E, 58k, wangxian, camboy wwx)

A ghost by the light of the phone by shibrogane (E, 10k, wangxian)

~*~

15.  Hey, do you have any fics where lxc doesn't like (or outright despises) wwx?

❤️to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, my post)

I don't like your boyfriend by lazulisong (G, 3k, wangxian, my post)

~*~

16.  Do you know of any fics where the Lan Elders (unsuccessfully) try to make Lan Zhan marry someone other than Wei Ying?

Lie Open To One Another by levament (M, 41k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

17.  Hii! Do you know any fics that similar to Ardent Desires by crestre / Baby Of Mine by pupeez4eva ? I've been searching for it and want to read fics that similar to those so bad. I hope you and your followers can help me! Thankyouuu

The Trouble with Talismans: a Treatise on Time-Travel by Young Master Lan Xiaohui (Age 6) by stiltonbasket (G, 17k, wangxian, WIP)

~*~

18.  Do you know any wangxian fics where either one or both of them are models/actors/musicians/famous in some way?

The Fault in Our Stars by Vamillepudding (T, 18k, wangxian, my post)

Patient came so hard from prostate exam he kicked me in the dick by Hades_the_Blingking (e, 17k, wangxian, my post)

An ocean in a drop (not a drop in the ocean) by dea_liberty (E, 10k, RPF, yizhan, my post)

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by Anonymous (T, 55k, wangxian, my post)

Make It Count by wearing_tearing (E, 47k, wangxian, my bookmark)

❤️Love wakes me by dea_liberty (e, 46k, wangxian, my post)

life, drama and action by Akai__hana (G, 13k, wangxian)

call me, beep me by myung (T, 39k, wangxian)

Rest by sassybluee (T, 115k, wangxian)

~*~

19.  hello, i'm searching for a fic where wwx like... transmigrates into mdzs/cql? like i think there were a couple of them and but i can't find them for some reason?

Untitled. by c11to (M, 61k, wangxian, WIP)

#wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #wangxian fic finder #in the mood for a fic #i haven't read these unless noted #crowd-sourcing #fic finding #fic finder

[broadstflyers]

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first ever fic! It's really just an idea I've had for months, and then wrote, and then couldn't figure out which hockey boy it fit, until some mutuals were kind enough to help. I settled on our boy Barzy! It's inspired by Taylor Swift's "Gold Rush", and I really wanted to do my best in reflecting the beautiful imagery this story creates for me. I hope I did it justice. It's a little terrifying putting my writing out there, but I hope people enjoy it!

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Two curse words, it's really just internal conflict within the reader

Summary: You're celebrating your dad's 50th birthday with some friends and family at a dinner party. You happen to land your eyes on a beautiful stranger, who you can't seem to get out of your head. You spend the rest of the night wondering, should you go up to him?

Or do you let him walk out the door?

___________

They say when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, time stands completely still. As you gaze into their eyes, it feels as though you’ve known them for multiple lifetimes. It feels like home. Is that even remotely true?

You start to take a sip of your drink and turn your head slightly to take in your surroundings. Your eyes dance around the room, until they stumble upon another pair of wondering eyes. Your eyes lock, and you’re instantly sucked into the mysterious yet intriguing twinkling grey-blue color that compliments his navy blue suit. Suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat, every part of your body stiffens, except for your lips that part slightly and eyes that widen. The drink is long forgotten, you’re even struggling to keep it from practically falling out of your hands and onto the wooden floor. The party is now just a blur, the noise? What noise? The world is muffled, as if someone stuck your head into a hundred pillows. Images stream through your mind like an endless movie reel wrapped in shimmery gold. Endless laughter on a first date over coffee. Him rubbing the back of your hand as you take a stroll through the park. Holiday mornings, exchanging gifts. Would he participate in the tradition of opening small gifts first, or would he want the biggest gift right off the bat? Ice skating and him catching you as you stumble on a pesky track in the ice. Him tossing you into the pool while you’re trying to put up a fight in a losing battle. A sweet and quiet proposal where he promises his forever love. A kiss at the altar in front of all your friends and family. Chasing after rambunctious little kids trying to get them to nap. All these gold dripping images of a pure love plow through your brain. Your heart is the unmovable object. They are the unstoppable force.

You and him only shared a look for what was probably half a second, but the thick air that seemed to only be affecting you made time feel like it stood completely still.

You burst back into reality with the help of a slight head shake. “Woah,” you quietly whisper. You blink a few times and finally get around to taking a sip of your drink to quench your parched throat. Did you just see a whole future...with a stranger?

“Hey, are you okay?” Stella asks. Her hand gently touches your arm as she cocks her head to the side. Her brows are furrowed in what can only be described as pure confusion. Did you really space out that badly as she was talking? What were you guys even talking about?

“Oh,” you say as you gently shake your head, “yeah.” You chuckle, “yeah, I’m just fine.” You wait a beat then say, “Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom really quickly, okay?”

“Sure thing,” she nods. “Do you need me to come with?”

“I’m totally fine, I promise,” you reassure with every bone in your body while giving her your drink. You really just needed to be alone to calm your racing mind that has now turned a complete stranger into a romantic interest with the power of a golden montage.

You make your way over to the exit of the dining hall and push the creaky open with your shoulder, and the amount of force you had to use honestly hurt. Your heels click down the tiled hallway of the golf club to find the bathroom door. The rectangular bathroom mirror framed in an intricate gold design holds your reflection. You slightly tilt your head as you take a look at your face. It’s like someone took the color of a clown nose and colored in your face with it. Jeez. You shake your head and sigh. This isn’t good, and deep down, you know that. You hate when you’re like this, all flustered over someone who just happened to lock eyes with you. His eyes. They were gleaming and just all around beautiful. What were you thinking again?

Oh, right.

Well, it’s pretty obvious he has this power over you, and you don’t like that. Now is your face going to become red everytime you see him? You check your phone. There’s still two hours left, plenty of time to possibly see him again. You can’t tell if that’s necessarily a good or bad thing.

You pace around the bathroom trying to reason with your begging heart. He was pretty good looking, which means that so many people naturally want him. Who was he even talking to, anyways? You gasp and stop in your tracks, blood running cold. “He was talking to a girl,” you mumble. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t sound completely and utterly crushed. In the heat of the moment, you completely failed to realize the blonde standing next to him. You lean over the counter, the cold marble feeling on your arms making your arms break out in goosebumps. You take one last stern look in the mirror at your face. “See, this is why we can’t allow ourselves to fall that hard,” you whisper angrily, “everyone wants him, and I just...I don’t like a gold rush like that.” You shake your head again and take one last deep breath to shake out any other thoughts. You can see yourself standing barefooted at the bottom of a hole looking astounded at how tall the walls have grown, and how distant the light looks. It feels like you soared lightheartedly into the sky, just to fall and crush every bone in your body.

You roll your eyes to yourself while slightly cursing yourself out. Pushing the bathroom door open, you step out into the hallway and make a beeline back for the dining hall. Your purse starts spastically vibrating, so you hastily fish your phone out to put an end to the obnoxious noise. Scanning the text, you read that your mom is asking where you went, as the cake for your dad’s birthday is going to be cut soon. You sigh as you text, “I’m hurrying back now.”

That’s all you see before you feel a slight brush tickle your bare shoulder. Your eyes don’t dare move from your phone screen. You reason that it’s not someone you know, as they would have said something to you. Your hands shake as you put your phone back in your purse.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice trails off as he continues to walk down the hallway after he brushed up against you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, without turning around, which is admittedly ridiculous.

As soon as you can judge his footsteps are far away enough, you make a quick glance behind to see if it really was him. And judging by the navy blue suit, it was.

Suddenly, the golden montage flows through your mind once more, showing an image of yourself wearing an old shirt of his, maybe one from when he was in high school for whatever sport he played, if he played one. Your feet feel the coolness of the wooden floor of the supposed home. The home both of you share? It’s so tangible, so real that you almost reach out to touch it. It’s right there...

Your head jerks yourself out of the vision once more, or rather the fact that you’re now faced with a white wall in front of you. You sigh a long frustrated sigh. I can’t believe I really walked by the entrance, how embarrassing, you think as you turn on your heels to backtrack. Why does this stranger have you so wrapped around his finger? No one else has been able to even come close to doing that. You feel your face with your hand, and it’s burning. I’ll go in there looking like a tomato, it’s fine.

You do your best to quite literally shake off those thoughts as you push open the dining room hall door. “There you are!” your mom says. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, we’re going to sing happy birthday to Dad.”

“Can’t wait,” you beam. After all, your dad only turns 50 once, and this night is about him, afterall. You follow your mom to a table with a white tablecloth resting on it.

Stella pops out from behind your dad to approach you and whispers, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You resist the urge to gently shove her in front of everyone. “Yes,” you pleadingly insist, “now stop asking me in front of Mom and Dad, they’ll think something is wrong.”

She side eyes you with an attitude. “Fine.”

“They’re my girls,” your dad says with a smile.

You and Stella laugh while leaning into him for a quick hug. “Hey dad,” you both say in unison.

The room completely dies down, people could hear a pin drop. “Ready?” your mom asks the guests. The room takes a collective deep breath.

And so the melody of Happy Birthday rings joyously through the hall, you can see the mystery stranger out of the corner of your eye. Heat radiates off your skin, it’s almost like you can feel his eyes boring into you. It takes all the willpower you can muster, but you resist the temptation to look over at him all throughout the song.

When the song is over, the room breaks out into obnoxiously loud clapping. You, Stella, and your parents share loving looks and warm smiles.

Eventually, everyone proceeds to return to normal chatter at the one rectangular table of two that they’re sitting at, and so do you, Stella and your parents.

You pull out your seat next to your sister near the middle of the middle of the table and sit, fixing your dress.

“Ahem,” Stella says in an ill attempt to cover her suspiciousness with a clearing throat noise. Queue whatever accusatory question she’s got.

“Let me just set something straight,” she starts.

“Go for it,” you say as you reach for some water.

“It’s definitely that guy a few seats down, isn’t it?” She smirks. She’s got you trapped in her little web, and she knows it.

You may or may not have fought back choking on your water or pulling a ridiculous spit take on the nice white table cloth.

You lean in and harshly whisper, “Well you didn’t have to say it that loudly.” You glance over at the mystery stranger and see his hand wrapped around his glass as he goes to drink it. He has a thick silver ring on his pointer finger?

“Hello?” Stella shifts her head to selfishly cut off your view of him.

“Okay,” you sigh in defeat, “yes it’s him. Happy?”

“Very,” she says, very satisfied because she finally pried it out of you and got you to admit it. Someone else has you wrapped around their finger. She didn’t even have to know all the details of the montages to know. She could tell by the way your eyes glossed over and how your lips would slightly part like you were in a hazy daydream.

And you were.

“Who is he anyway? And why don’t we know him?” You ask.

“I don’t know, honestly. A little strange, isn’t it? Why don’t you ask mom who he is?” She suggests, but her cheshire smile suggests that she will somehow find out, with or without your mom’s help.

“But mom’s going to absolutely harass me until I say something to him. Just you on my tail is enough,” you say with an eyebrow raised as to say ‘don’t test me.’ And Stella knows you’re right.

“Alright, fine,” she concedes, “But why don’t you, I don’t know, talk to him?”

“I did,” you nonchalantly float.

Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an “O” from disbelief. Did you really not talk to people that much?

“Really?” she practically squeals.

“Yeah, he brushed by me and said, ‘Sorry’ so I said, ‘It’s okay.’” Okay, now you get why your friends and family get mad at you for refusing to talk to people. But cracking this joke was one you could not pass up.

Her face scrunches up and she exhibits the biggest eye roll you have ever seen. She opens her mouth to start saying something, probably to scold at you, but you open your mouth to cut her off first.

“Alright no, I haven’t. And do you know why?” As you’re about to get your thought out, you’re interrupted by a fit of laughter down the stretch of the table. Your eyes scan but freeze on the stranger, whose nose is adorably scrunched up as he laughs with multiple, yes multiple, people about goodness knows what. And there’s that other blonde that you still don’t know, laughing with him. You tear your stare away and focus back on your sister.

“Look, that right there. That’s why,” you say, anger burning through your chest.

Stella raises an eyebrow in her own judgemental manner. “He talks to people? You know people do that right?”

Now it’s your turn to return the favor of a judgemental eye roll. “No, Stella, I mean just look at him and the people he’s surrounded by. It’s so obvious that everyone wants him. Just look at that girl with him. I’m not the only one who wants to love him.”

Silence ensues between you two. She picks up her phone and shoots a quick text. After a moment she says, “Well, I think if you just talked to him, you’d be pleasantly surprised with what could happen. I have to help mom with distributing gift bags. You stay here,” she instructs.

You can only assume you’re not being called to help because Stella graciously told your mom that you’re potentially working up the courage to talk to someone that’s not one of your three friends or your family. How generous of her.

A few friends of your dad stop by your seat to say goodbye before they head out. The noise slightly dies down enough to scarcely hear some other conversations. You hear nothing out of the ordinary, just a girl talking about getting into her dream school to some guy. Your ears slightly move as you pick up on a voice that sounds like the one in the hallway earlier.

“Yeah dude, but did you see the fake out on the goalie on the second goal? That had to have been the best part.”

Out of instinct you open your mouth to interject, but quickly shut it and put it under lock and key. You blink in disbelief. Hockey? Did this man just speak on hockey?

You circle the rim of the coffee cup and stare at the brown liquid. In a different universe…

In a different universe you would have actually kept your mouth open, and maybe even squeezed some words out, too.

“Actually, that seamless stretch pass down the neutral zone from the defenseman after a pretty difficult forecheck set up the play pretty well. I’d give him a lot of credit, too.”

He’d probably look a little shocked, as do most guys when you interject your two-sense about hockey. But maybe he’d break out into a small smile and offer a rebuttal. Yeah, that sounds nice. Maybe one day…

Maybe one day you’ll be sitting next to him on the couch, watching a game while cuddling and brushing the hair out of his face. Oh who are you kidding, you’ll be up and screaming at the TV. It’s your staple.

A noise of someone dropping something behind you slightly startles you and pulls you out of your once again golden daydream. You finally stop mindlessly circling the rim of your coffee cup to take a sip, but only to find it’s now ice cold.

This is why you hate looking through a pair of rose colored glasses. It distracts you from enjoying things. You glance over at your dad who’s still talking to one of his good friends that lingered after festivities. You’re supposed to be celebrating him right now, but instead you’re literally stuck in this cursedly pure golden daydream that is almost too good to break.

You can see him. He’s still there, at the end of the table, chatting away with some dude. The blonde left at some point, though.

“Well, I gotta head out, man, good to see you. My sister needs help with packing her stuff for college tomorrow, so we’ve got a busy day coming up.”

Could that girl have been his sister?

“Congratulations to her on getting into her dream school by the way,” the guy says. “I talked to her when she was here earlier, and she seemed super excited.”

A wave of cool relief washes over your body, remembering the conversation about college you picked up on earlier. It was his sister.

“Yeah she is, she worked really hard, and it also involved a whole lot of crying,” he chuckles.

Ain’t that right, you think to yourself.

The table shakes as he pushes out of his chair. Your eyes remain glued to your coffee cup no matter how much you want them to move. You just can’t gather the courage to say something, and you’re cursing yourself for it. You don’t want to sit here and dream about him anymore. You want to actually let these things happen, for once. You want to just unleash all these swirling and sickeningly sweet emotions from your body and drown him in it. You want so badly to leap up and say something, anything. Step on those voices taunting you and mocking you saying that it could never happen, it could never be so it will never be. He’s so inviting that you can’t resist any longer. You go to reach out to him, but the door shuts before you know it.

And just as fleeting as he came,

He’s gone.

Fuck. It feels as though a brick is sitting on your chest, suffocating you. You really let your worries control you, and this time it feels as though you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You just can’t believe you let it happen when your mind was begging you to talk to him. You always do-

“Shit,” you mumble. In your frustration, you knocked over the remnants of the coffee onto the not-so-white-anymore table cloth. Tears prickle up in your eyes, your throat closes, and your nose begins to sting. You quickly swallow these emotions down your throat and begin to use a napkin to soak up the excess coffee. Drinks have really not been your friend tonight.

For the first time, you notice as you clean that it’s just you left in the room, besides a few people cleaning up on the other end. You’re not sure where your family has gone, but you haven’t received any texts prompting you to leave yet. It’s so silent that you can hear some muffled chatter down the hall.

Suddenly, you hear the same creak of the door open with an “oof” that doesn’t quite sound like your dad. Your blood runs cold and you freeze mid press into the tablecloth. You glance up without turning around to see a lone jacket hanging on a chair suspiciously close to the chair he previously sat in. Your eyes widen and dart around the room, but you dare not move, waiting to see what he does. Even after cursing yourself out for ten minutes while cleaning up spilled coffee, you still haven’t learned to make the first move. His presence feels like a forcefield, you can feel it heavily pressing into your back.

But he isn’t moving to grab the jacket, no.

A pointer finger with a silver ring taps your shoulder.

“Hey,” the clarity of his voice rings in your ears like a bell. Your heart is racing so fast that it feels like it’s going to burst out of your rib cage and run its own 10k. You slowly crank your head around to meet his eyes for the first time-- face to face.

And you must say, his face is really pretty when you actually talk to him face to face. Maybe you should do this more often. You take in his golden features, and struggle to hide a small smirk creeping up on your face. His messy hair falls perfectly into place on his head, and his kind face makes you feel as though a mess of metallic gold swirls are playfully swirling and dashing around you both. You’ve found him in this lifetime.

“I’m Mat, can I help you clean up before I grab my jacket?”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #mat barzal x reader

[drivingsideways]

2021 Kdrama Year in Review

2021 has been a very mixed year for me as far as drama watching goes. I started by watching at least 3 shows simultaneously and now I'm ending with watching maybe 1 episode a week, if I remember to. (Wheel of Time, in case you're wondering :D) .

On the kdrama side, I think I've probably dropped more dramas than I finished, especially ones that aired this year. I didn't get past two episodes of Sisyphyus: The Myth (sob!my Cho Seung-woo loving heart is a desert) and I dropped Jirisan post episode 10 (more sobbing for Kim Eun-hee nim and the Jujubes); Reflection of You seemed like a promising lesbian-arthouse drama, but poisoned itself with heterosexuality early on, and I had to drop it despite Shin Hyun-been's prodigious, chameleon-like talent and Go Hyun-jung's everything.

I discovered, binged on and loved 2020's Hospital Playlist season 1 this year, and then was incredibly disappointed by the lacklustre season 2 (except by the music, Let's Forget It is my top song of the year).

Another "oldie" that I watched this year was 2019's "Melo is my Nature" which I've written about here, and which really is THE perfect rom com, and in conjunction with 2021's Run On made me think that kdrama romances needn't suck. But the sensibilities of these two and 2020's Into the Ring (reviewed here) are more the exception than the rule in this genre, I've found.

For reasons that don't need explaining at this juncture, around mid-year, I decided that kdrama romances and the associated fandom were Very Much Not For Me, which basically put about 60% of what gets aired and is accessible to me out of my to-watch list; in a move I can only describe as a self-goal, I then went ahead and watched twenty hours of 2014's Fated to Love You anyway. On the plus side, this definitely cured any lingering temptation to watch kdrama romance while also making me root for the Jang (squared) Heist-Romance drama that surely somebody, somewhere is writing the script for even at this moment. The power of the Jangs cannot and should not be denied. (as an aside, someday I should probably write the meta on the line between Jang Na Ra's character in FTLY and Kim Shin-ah's character in Chief of Staff as a meditation on the more-things-change-the-more-they-stay-the-same on the merry-go-round of misogyny)

I thought Move to Heaven and Squid Game existed on a continuum of butter-smooth Netflix era kdrama: easy to consume and easy to forget; Hellbound, later in the year, was more of the same. I've forgiven The Silent Sea a lot of its, hmm, gonna go with lack-of-smartness, for the incomparable Bae Doona, which is obviously entirely reasonable of me; but if you're going to watch a space themed Korean media product for the year, please let it be the ridiculously fun and marshmallow-soft movie Space Sweepers. (KIM TAE RI, KIM TAE RI, KIM TAE RI etc)

In the crime/ thriller/ political genre, which became my go-to dramas once I factored out romance, I found two of the year's biggest hits Beyond Evil and The Devil Judge banal in their world view and mediocre-to-bad on almost every other count- script, editing, performances. If you must pick one to watch, Beyond Evil is better by leaps and bounds, not the least because it does have outstanding performances- Gil Hae-yeon as a corrupt, abusive councilwoman and Choi Dae-hoon as her traumatized son; Choi Seung-un is a star and I hope I will get to see her in something good really soon!

I really enjoyed 2020's Nobody Knows, not the least because Kim Seo-hyung in turtle-necks and long coats is clearly our reward for surviving this life. If you're catching up with Lee Jung-jae's filmography post Squid Game, 2019's Chief of Staff isn't bad as a political drama, though Lee Jung-jae's stardom quite obviously warped the entire thing, in the same way that it did Squid Game's ending.

So! Best dramas of 2021?

In the order that I watched them:

Run On

This is a series I became more fond of in hindsight than while I was actually watching it! I think that's because the entire plotless, feelings-only vibe is a bit difficult to sustain in a continuously engaging way over 16 episodes; a lot of the quirkiness of the series relied on its dialogue, which I think, didn't always translate well into English (no shade on the translators, who are obviously doing the best they can in demanding circumstances). Some of my tension with the series came from a ham-handed Schrödinger's lesbian subplot for one of the characters- that part dimmed my enjoyment of a series that was, I thought ,fundamentally queer in its worldview. But! once it was done, I was able to savour its ambition and its main conceit- pulling off a "rom com" that's actually about two people falling in love with themselves as much as each other, while avoiding the pitfall of navel-gazing whinginess in the characters. This is a show that's got a very soft heart, and doesn't mind showing it: what else is life for, it seems to ask, if not for choosing to be kind to ourselves as much as others, if not to show our love and revel in giving and receiving it?

Mine

I've written a long-ish review here about everything that I loved about this genre-defying series, and I don't have anything more to add to that, except to say, watch it and thank me later!

Deserter Pursuit

This is probably the most obviously hard to watch, given its subject matter. I think what I essentially enjoyed about the show is that it knew what it wanted to say and said it well. It's not experimental in aesthetics or story structure and its emotional beats are predictable. But the familiarity of these things doesn't detract from your emotional and intellectual experience of the story- a trick that Squid Game didn't quite pull off, imho-instead it allows you to have just enough of a safety net that allows you to separate the fictional from the factual; the show offers you catharsis without absolution- a pretty difficult thing to pull off, usually, in stories about war. Jung Hae-in is currently in some kind of drama jail for Snowdrop, I think (?) but I enjoyed him in this; though the real revelation for me was Koo Kyo-hwan who should clearly be in all of the things, all of the time.

Inspector Koo

I've been resisting writing a review of this, because I...don't know how to? Inspector Koo's charm lies partly in its outlandish premise and plot, it's zany, theater-esque screenplay and performances, and mostly in its self-aware, utterly joyful enjoyment of its own absurdity. It's a show that's deeply painful but also absolutely hilarious; a show about being women in a post Me Too, post truth, post-everything world; when our species is hurtling towards its inevitable end, is there any point to an individual pulling themselves out of a landfill? And that too, for some arguably quaint- perhaps even archaic- idea of justice? Koo Kyung-yi (Lee Young-ae) and Song Yi-kyung (Kim Hye-jun) are harlequins in our late-capitalist theatre; beneath their comedy is unspeakable tragedy, truth that's only palatable if you approach it sideways, or in secret, private places, in dark woods, or in dreams where you throw yourself from a moving car or face it with a shotgun, (like Kim Hae-sook in a mindblowing performance as Director Yong). "Rookie" writer team Chung So-yi and director Lee Jung-hyeum barely make a misstep in the show; the performances are uniformly engaging, with a special shout out to Kim Hye-jun who's an actual movie star; Lee Young-ae's years of experience show in her equal parts-wacky-yet-restrained and deeply emotional performance, and oh, yes, my fave fave fave Kwak Sun-young gets to shine as Koo Kyung-yi's best friend, co-conspirator, sometimes-betrayer and love interest (fight me!). In short- if there's one kdrama you're going to watch in the last three days of this year, let it be this one!

#kdrama #master list #year in review

[silvermoonchan]

the 1 | bang chan

❀ Pairing: Chan x reader ❀ Genre: angst (but not too much, I promise), idol au. ❀ Synopsis: Trying to let go is hard, especially when the ending isn’t what we wanted, imagined or expected. But sometimes it’s okay to let go - and it doesn’t hurt, not anymore.  Based on Taylor Swift’s The 1 - “I persist and resist the temptation to ask you, if one thing had been different, would everything be different today? But it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the one.”  ❀ Warnings: none (I don’t think, let me know if you notice any!) ❀ Word count: 1.4K ❀ Series: Memories, teardrops and shooting stars ❀ A/N: this is the first thing I wrote in... 4 years? 5? So it’s not the best and english is not my first language so... yeah, hope you enjoy!

Missed chances, fate, life; simple things we mention in passing to explain something, to justify an outcome or simply to reassure ourselves. Things that could and should be reasons why something happened or didn’t happen for that matter. As human beings, we cannot let things go, we need reasons and explanations. We wonder, we ponder, we imagine and dream up alternatives and possibilities. Could it have happened differently? Could it have ended differently? What if we had arrived one minute later or left a minute earlier?    What if. Could have. So many questions. So many possibilities. So many uncertainties.  Oh how we love those and can never let them go. But sometimes, just sometimes, a day comes when we don’t feel the need to wonder or imagine anything else anymore. We just remember and smile, happily or bitterly. Because it just was and that, in itself, is enough. You never thought this would be you. You never thought you would one day stop asking yourself the dreaded what if. You really thought it would always be there, in a tiny corner of your mind. How could it not? It had taken you so much by surprise, the way it had happened, the way everything had unfolded. You here, him there. How unexpected.  Three years later and you could finally feel yourself letting go of it all. The questions and regrets and hopes. It was done, it was in the past. You couldn’t change any of it. You didn’t want to, not anymore. You were happy, he was happy, no need to change any of it. Even if you would never see him again except through your tv and on the subway ads. But that was okay too. It was the way it was and that was enough.

❀❀❀ Two kids discovering Seoul and its secrets, basking in sunshine and dancing in the rain, full of dreams and hopes, wishing for the stars but content to live among the clouds. That was you and Chan, it had always been.  You were so young, so naive, thinking the world was there for the taking - it was just a matter of time. But time was never on your side, it was always running away from you. And you realised it in 2017, four years after meeting Chan for the first time. Entering a kpop agency had never been in your dreams, or even ever on your mind to be honest. You knew about them, you liked the artists they represented and pushed on the stage. But you never thought you would one day try to be one of them.  Before that fateful summer of 2013, you would have laughed at the idea of ever singing or dancing in front of anyone but yourself or your mother. But then, during a hot July day, you were out, just turned 16, giddy and feeling so grown up. You saw the JYP banners, the staff in their bright blue t-shirts, the swarm of hopeful teenagers crowding them. Your friends and you exchanged mischievous smiles, laughed and ran to join them all. It couldn’t hurt to give it a try, just for fun, a way to make good memories you could fondly remember when you would be older. You never took it seriously. Maybe you should have. Things went so quickly. A five minute audition in front of a small team of assistants led to a bigger audition in front of important people, which eventually led to an offer and questions and decisions. And that was it, you were now a kpop trainee. How strange. How unexpected.   On your first day, your shy and quiet self walked around the company building with reverence and awe, still not believing you were actually doing any of this. You kept wondering if you had made the right choice. Maybe you should have said no. But, in the end, you never regretted it. Because that first day, you met Chan. And you would never regret meeting Chan. Never.

He was so confident for a teenager, not even hesitating a second to approach you and introduce himself and assure you everything would be fine. You instantly believed him, him and his dimples and sweet smile. He was so kind for a stranger, it was surprising and lovely and you could not get enough of his kind eyes and reassuring words. You knew, right there and then, that you would never forget this boy so far from his home. You knew he would be someone you would forever cherish and remember lovingly. And even after all this time, all that happened, that was still true. Time passed, you sweated and sang and danced and cried and fought to keep your place in the agency. It was hard, so much harder than you thought, but you kept on going, kept on pushing yourself because Chan believed in you. And you didn’t want to disappoint, you didn’t want to lose him. So you kept on fighting and getting better, week after week. You didn’t see each other as much as you would have wanted but those stolen moments between practices were like little treasures you could not get enough of. You secretly shared snacks and smiles. You built memories in practice rooms and studios, hidden away from others. You loved it. And you loved him.  It took you so much time to realise it, even more to admit it to yourself. You loved him, Chan, your first friend here, your  anchor and light in this tough, scary world. It terrified you. Those big, overwhelming feelings.  But then, on a late night, while hiding away in a studio, as usual, you both exchanged this look that told you that maybe, just maybe, those feelings would not be the end of you. Maybe, just maybe, they could be a new beginning rather than ending. And it felt that way for so long, god, those weeks had been some of the best of your life. The secret smiles, quick kisses, brief hugs and stolen moments, they were your everything and meant everything. It felt like you had reached the stars and were dancing amongst them every night, celebrating something only Chan, you and the sky knew. It was exhilarating. 

But you crashed back to earth in 2017, that fateful day you were gently told you were good, but simply not good enough for JYP. It was over, you were being sent back to your parents, with broken dreams and no idea what you were going to do. He promised you nothing would change, that it didn’t change the way he felt. But you knew that it changed everything.  So many nights you wondered what would have happened if you had joined another agency rather than quit all hopes of becoming an idol. Would it have changed anything? Would you have kept in touch? Would you have been by his side when he debuted, a proud smile on his lips and stars in his eyes? You spent so many minutes and hours imagining what could have been if you had fought harder, if you had kept hold of his hand and love. But you had taken the decision to let it all go when you left, your suitcase in hand. You didn’t want to hold him back from his hard-earned dream. He deserved better.

❀❀❀ You had spent so many years so sure Chan was the one, so many days and nights basking in his light and dreaming big, wonderful dreams with him. It had been so obvious and perfect then. He simply had been the one. And you had spent so many years since then wondering, pondering, imagining. What if. Could have.  You couldn’t escape him, his face everywhere on tv, social media and ads. He had made it and was thriving. You kept an eye on him, on his band. Because you would always love him. Because he would always be the one. But now it was time for you to stop wondering, pondering, imagining. It was time to let go.

Today marked exactly three years since you had last seen Chan and hugged him and kissed him, since you had left a dream and a part of your heart behind. You couldn’t help but smile when glimpsing his dimples and kind eyes plastered all over the subway station. Yes, it was time to let go. And you were happy to do so.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids angst #skz scenarios #skz imagines #bang chan #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #skz angst #chan x reader #chan x you #kpop scenario #kpop x reader

[musette22]

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p 

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.” 

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”  

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is. 

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

#evanstan #rpf #my fic #my writing #chris evans x sebastian stan #3k celebration

[mandoalorian]

hi can i get a dio one shot where his gf is kinda little miss perfect like she always listens and never breaks the rules and her parents are always pressuring her to do really good but as she keeps hanging out with him and his friends she becomes more of her own person and she comes out of her shell more and starts liking the things he likes and maybe she stands up to her parents after they say he’s a bad influence for her ???

The Bet [Dio x F!Reader]

Author's note: Anon asked for a one shot but they’re getting a three part mini-series instead. 🖤 this is for all my lovely nonnies who have been asking me to write for Dio.

Warnings: mention of food and drink, brief mention of alcoholism, cigarettes etc

Word count: 2000

Masterlist

"You've been staring at her all day," Raven groaned, stabbing a curly fry into her pot of ketchup and shoving it in her mouth. "Just go talk to her."

Dio shuffled around uncomfortably. "I can't." he frowned, narrowing his eyes in your direction. There you were, sat at the cafeteria table alone, your head deep in a book. You'd left your lunch to one side, hoping to get back to it once you finished this chapter.

"Aw, does Dio have a crush?" Raven cooed teasingly, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Shut up," Dio retorted quickly. "You have ketchup around your mouth."

Raven's smile quickly faded as she pulled out a compact mirror to check her appearance. Dio went back to watching you. You were beautiful, and he just didn't understand how the world around you seemed to ignore you. He could somewhat relate. Although he had his group of friends, he still felt like an outcast. But you were always alone, your head in the clouds or stuck in some book. As far as he saw, you didn't even have friends. You spent your days cooped up in the academic library, studying or doing your homework.

"Pointless staring," Ash rolled his eyes, but Dio just swallowed, trying to dismiss his comment. "You could never get a girl like her."

Dio finally turned to face Ash, and even flicked a glance towards Raven who was still wiping ketchup from the corner of her lip, about to reapply her black lipstick. "I could get any damn girl I want." Dio folded his arms across his chest.

Ash hummed, scrunching up his nose. "Sure kid, whatever. If that's what you chose to believe."

Dio scoffed incredulously and leaned over the table. "You tell him Raven! I could get any girl!" 

Raven didn't look up from her mirror once. "Sounds like he's challenging you, Dio."

"Is that true?" Dio hissed. "You're challenging me?" his voice was sour.

Ash nodded his head and picked up a curly fry from Raven's plate. "We're all still up for getting wasted in the park tonight, right? Dio, if you can get ‘little miss perfect’ over there to join us, I'll take back what I said."

"That's ridiculous," Dio shook his head. "She's not gonna come with us. Sometimes I don't even know why I bother going with you guys," Dio looked back over to you— you really were little miss perfect; with the perfect smile and glistening eyes. When Dio looked at you, it was like nothing else mattered. The whole world turned into a blur, only, he could just about make out Ash's chuckle in the background. "Fine. I'll do it." Dio frowned. He knew if he didn't at least give it a shot (or better yet, succeed), he'd never hear the end of it from Ash and Raven.

Dio threw the crust of his sandwich back down on his plate and pushed his tray to one side before standing up. He brushed down his outfit, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable before speaking to you, and sauntered towards you. He could practically feel Ash and Raven's eyes burning into his back from the other side of the cafeteria.

"Hey," Dio greeted, clearing his throat and sliding down on the unoccupied seat across from you. You looked up from your book and your eyes met with his. "I'm Dio— I'm uh, I'm in your science class and math class. You might not know me but-"

"Trust me, I know you." you shot back before you could even let him finish. You turned a page in your book and pretended to seem uninterested. It was difficult though, because the mysterious boy with jet black hair and pierced ears was for some reason giving you the time of day. You— out of all people. You usually had good intuition and you felt in your heart that there was something not right about this interaction.

"What are you reading?" Dio asked curiously, peeking over to try and get a glance of the pages.

"1984." You mumbled back.

"Oh I love that book!" Dio exclaimed with a grin as he kicked his feet back on the table, knocking your dinner tray slightly. Now that comment made you look at him.

"You've read 1984?" you raised your eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, read… watched the movie… same thing really," Dio shrugged and you couldn't help but giggle. He was adorable— and slightly dorky which was something you hadn't expected at all. "It's about how there's someone always watching you…"

"Yep," you nodded in affirmation and pointed towards the table where Dio was once sat at. "Kinda like how your friends have been staring us out since you came over." you waved at them awkwardly. Raven avoided eye contact, looking back down into her bowl of curly fries.

"Shit, I'm sorry about them," Dio sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "The truth is, Ash bet I couldn't pick you up."

"Why would he bet that?" You asked, sliding your bookmark into the novel and placing it down on the table. You suddenly felt vulnerable but at least Dio was being honest with you.

"Because, I can't stop thinking about you," Dio shrugged helplessly. "And I want to get to know you better. Would- would you be opposed to that?"

You thought for a moment, and then shook your head. Elated, Dio smiled and scrawled down his phone number on one of your napkins. No person had ever shown you any interest, and now one of the school's most intimidating guys wanted to ‘get to know you better’? You'd be foolish to lie to yourself anymore and pretend like this wasn't something you'd thought about before. You'd caught glimpses of him at the back of class, you'd try to repress a smile every time he quipped a sarcastic comment back at a teacher or distracted the class from their work.

He wasn't the type of guy you ever imagined ending up with, but you were still intrigued by his enigma. Dio might've only recognised you from science and math class recently, but you'd known him since preschool. Before he dyed his hair, got all those tattoos and piercings. He even used to live in your neighbourhood, before his dad died and he had to move. You'd heard stories about him since then, about how he'd ‘gone off the rails’. But he still seemed nice enough. Truthful, and he still had that sparkle in his chocolate coloured eyes that you remembered from when he shared the sandpit with you in elementary.

The napkin with his number on weighed you down until you got home. You placed it on your dressing table and sat down. It was staring at you— begging for you to call. You sighed, giving into the temptation and rang the number. After three rings, Dio answered.

"Hey, it's me." you said quietly, nervously biting your lower lip.

"Oh hey! I'm so glad to hear from you. I was beginning to get afraid that you wouldn't call." Dio admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. You overheard some chattering in the background.

"Are you busy?" you wondered out loud.

"I'm just with Ash and Raven. We're having a few beers in the park. You're more than welcome to join us."

You winced at the thought of joining them for beers in the park. You'd barely took a sip of champagne at your aunt's wedding, nevermind drinking bottles of beer with the most intimidating group of teenagers in the whole town.

"Oh I don't know Dio…" you mumbled.

"Hey, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. It'll just be nice to have your company— and I promise, we don't bite." you considered his words and sighed.

"Okay Dio, I'll be there in half an hour. Text me the address."

"Got it," Dio grinned. "See you soon."

Ash chuckled as Dio hung up the phone. "We don't bite?" Ash quoted Dio with a smirk. "Oh, she's really that innocent huh?"

"I want you both to behave," Dio warned. "Don't scare her away." 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you should change your outfit to something maybe a little more alternative. You wanted to fit in with Dio and his friends, after all. However, you remembered Dio has come to you, interested in you just the way you were. And you swore that you weren't going to change yourself for anyone. You combed through your hair and grabbed your favourite pink lip gloss— one that you wore only on special occasions.

Your mother came in just as you were applying it. "And where do you think you're going?" she snarled, raising an eyebrow as you puckered your lips.

"Out with some friends." you shrugged nonchalently.

"What friends?" she questioned you further, her voice was highly strung and she stood with a hand on her hip.

"You remember Shane Morrissey from preschool?" you asked nervously. "Well- he goes by Dio now, and-"

"No." your mother narrowed her eyes. "That boy is nothing but trouble. Ever since his dad died and he and his mother got evicted, I've heard that he's turned to a life of crime. A petty thief. And his mother? An alcoholic."

You scowled at your mother's condescending and judgemental attitude. "You don't know him." you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

"And I'm not sure you know him either." your mother snapped back.

"I'm going whether you like it or not," you huffed, standing up and grabbing your jacket. "You can't shelter me your whole life." 

Before your mother could even reply, you bolted out the house and ran down the street. Luckily, it wasn't too cold, and the address to the park was only a ten minute walk from your home. You spotted Dio, Raven and Ash almost immediately. The trio were sitting on a small grassy patch.

You sat next to Dio and tried to engage in conversation, although you weren't really familiar with the things they were talking about. Dio helped you out though, taking his time to explain things so you understood and he encouraged you to talk about your own hobbies and interests. The second Raven tried to peer pressure you into drinking, you politely declined and Dio whisked you away from them. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked you in private.

"No, I'm okay, I think," you nodded your head in affirmation. You really didn't want to go home— you were having such a good time with Dio.

"Because if it's too much…" Dio trailed off. "Maybe we can go back to my place?" he suggested. "I know Ash and Raven can be intense. So it would be just us."

Your gaze flicked back to Ash and Raven who were sharing a cigarette and you smiled. "Yeah, okay," you agreed. "I'd like that."

"Good," Dio replied softly. "Let's go then."

Taglists— let me know if you wish to be added!

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dio nypd blue #shane dio morrissey #dio x reader #shane dio morrissey x reader #shane morrissey x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian