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officialleehadan · 1 year

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Moon-Hung

Letters to M Energy

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Dear Zephyrine,

I understand that this must be something of a shock for you. If you truly had no knowledge that there were worlds beyond your own, which can be accessed through the correct means… I now think back to my earliest days in training as a mage, when we were told so much of what could be done that my head spun. The great mastermages of the school came before us, as they do every year, to demonstrate their specialties.

They showed us that day what power and hard study could accomplish. I was the child of a poor farming family, and the idea of so much power staggered me. Now, of course, I have my own specialties, but I will likely never be one of the great masters, although I am a mastermage in my own right. It is rarely spoken-of, but there is very much a power difference between mastermages. I am capable, and have passed the requirements of my school, Silver Winds, but I am unlikely to reach the great pinnacles of achievement that some of my teachers might boast.

You asked me what a mastermage is, and the honest truth is that it is nothing but a title. A marker of my education, and the level of power I can muster, along with assurances of my control over the magic I wield. Different schools have different standards for mastery, but Silver Winds is known to be rigorous. It is harder to achieve mastery through them, but masters out of Silver Winds are held in higher regard than some other schools.

I have gotten off topic, and I apologize. Within my school, travel between worlds is known, although those worlds are nearly always the realms of elemental beings, or to one of the Upper Realms, or Heavens as we call them, or Lower Realms, Hells, which house the creatures of the pits. The beings of the Upper Realms are not always kindly, and the ones from the Lower Realms are not always evil, but it is more common.

It is from those Realms that those of my world often summon others. The summoned beings are rarely intelligent, and serve a number of functions. Most often, they act as messengers, who carry letters and deliveries over long distances. It is not power-efficient, and will never replace caravans for trade, but they are useful.

So all things considered, I am not so surprised by a journal that can send letters between worlds, although I admit, I’ve never heard of a world like your own. Indeed, I’ve never heard of a world that has people, such as my own. I had planned to find a mercenary caravan to join, and I still shall, but I think I will seek one heading west to the great Archives, and the mages there. If anyone will have answers, it will be them.

Besides, what have I better to do than seek answers? I planned to travel, and west is as good a direction as any.

Atemis passed to refill his pen and looked out over the incredible view before him. His current camp was at the top of a towering waterfall, fed by a long, twisting river. The road followed it, and he had decided it would be the perfect place to rest before he traveled onward.

On a whim, rather than continuing his letter to his new friend, he tried to capture the view on the page. He wasn’t a master artist by any means, but he was good enough. Of course, nothing could truly capture the magnificence before him, but at least he could offer a glimpse of it. It seemed like a gesture of good faith, considering her concern about indecent artwork that must have come from other correspondents. He had been a student once, he knew such things happened, but to offer crude artwork without invitation seemed doomed to a poor reception.

On a whim, he sketched in the paired moons he knew so well. They were barely visible at twilight as it was now, but they hung in the sky, and he had always loved them.

This is the view from my camp tonight. I am at the top of a waterfall, and I have already been fishing for the night, which produced a simple, but tasty stew for dinner. I try to follow waterways whenever I travel. The spell to purify water is a simple one, but the spell to create water is so difficult that it is worth it only if the caster is stranded in the desert.

The moons will be bright tonight, and I am glad for it. I think the waterfall will be beautiful in the moonlight. I will remember this camp for the future, and I will likely mention it to other mages I meet on the road as a good one. It is common practice to build up the best camps along a road for travelers on their way through. Camps with water, easy food in the form of fish, and a lovely view are few and far between.

You said you do not care for the outdoors, which I understand, and to an extent agree with. Travel is enjoyable in some ways, but disagreeable in others. If I may ask, what do you enjoy in your own time? Reading, I believe you mentioned, but what else? For myself, I enjoy music, and magic of course, and I admit a fascination for sewing, although I have no skill at all for it beyond mending a seam here and there.

“We do have novels here, and I admit I’m fond of them. Although many prefer more serious works, I do sometimes seek out romances, and tales of honor whenever I pass a bookseller. They are less common than histories, although I enjoy those as well, but I look for them anyway. I wonder if any of the novels I have read mirror your world as it sounds that your novels mirror mine. It seems an astonishing possibility, and I will ask for such things at the archive when I arrive there.

I’m intrigued by the idea of your ‘internal combustion engines’. I know you said that these ‘cars’ are not your specialty, but perhaps you could include a drawing in your next letter? The idea of powering things with contained lightning is not new to me, but I think perhaps we have come at the process from a different direction. Portals and teleportation magic for travel, or levitation spells on ships, for travel between continents.

I have never ridden in one of the great airships, but I have seen them. There are three that make stops at Silver Winds through the year, bringing with them all the things the school requires, in exchange for the reinforcement of the enchantments that keep them aloft.

We do use communication spells (one thing your novels got right, it seems) and they are reasonably common, although not universal. A powerful mastermage can boost one from continent to continent, if they have access to enough stored magic. Most mages, however, are limited to city-to-city at their best.

Magic is astonishing, and wonderous. Every time I think I have it figured out, it surprises me in new ways. This journal not the least of them, in fact. I have always loved it, and so when my magic woke as a child, I was delighted. I still am, and constantly search out things to learn about my chosen profession. There are so many different options for spellcasting.

I specialize in battle magic, which is to say, magic used for combat. I wish it were not so valuable a specialization, but there is always some war or another that needs mages. Many courts will keep a few on hand to discourage attacks, and mercenary companies pay well for mages like me. I hope not to need my magic to save, or take, lives, but it seems inevitable sooner or later. Given time, I hope to leave practical battle magic and move to theoretical, or to spell-creation, which I prefer.

You asked why I am going to Shadowhelm, and I am afraid the answer is not an exciting one. It is a large city, and a frequent stop for many trading caravans who buy furs and gems form the mountains in exchange for the goods they bring from elsewhere. It is also known as a fine place to hire on mages, thanks to its location between several large mage schools. My own, Silver Winds, is the nearest, but Red Shadow, which produces more battle mages than Silver Winds, and Hammergold, which specializes in item enchantment, are both nearby.

The pay will not be as good hiring on there, as there are plenty of mages to choose form, but as a mastermage, I may be able to secure a better rate. Out of every class of a hundred or more, fewer than ten mages reach mastery. Most simply do not have the power, and the rest lack inclination. I studied for years for my mastery, and failed the trials twice before I succeeded.

I hope you will tell me the results of your tests, and I certainly intend to share my own as I travel. The mystery of our shared journal has me delighted and intrigued, as does the knowledge I believe we can share between our worlds. Your science for my magic, and perhaps even the applications that might be shared between them. Certainly your ‘electricity’ may have a great deal of promise through magical use. I suspect that my use of energy, a word I think may mean the same thing between our worlds, will have some value to you.

I am losing the light, and so I feel I must wrap up this evening’s correspondence. I do look forward to your next letter, and I find that our conversation has made this time alone on the road far more enjoyable. Would you be bothered if I used our letters as something of a journal as well as letters between friends? I invite you to do the same. Perhaps we might trade recipes, songs, and drawings along with our discussions.

Best wishes, and I hope your day tomorrow goes well.

Until then,

Atemis val Raich

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Letters to M Energy

Dear Somebody (Subscriber Only!)

In Reply (Subscriber Only!)

Riposte Response (Subscriber Only!)

With Hope (Subscriber Only!)

Pen-Pals

Moon-Hung (New!)

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MASTERLIST

#Writing #writing prompt #story #novel #romance #love #spilled ink #spilled writing #spilled romance #spilled feelings #writeblr #lee hadan #LGBT #inspiration #long post

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atomicfilm · 3 years

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INTJ pairings

I'll make this into a fun short "put you in my pocket and take you `to my mom's Thanksgiving party" version too.

I'm not an INTJ, but I do converse with them (and by them, I mean maybe 3 total and 1 regularly) and I've been asked to talk about my thoughts on this, so for tonight only, I'm giving myself a really cool sash that says I'm an authority on the subject. I also think as an INTP I run into somewhat similar issues with certain types.

* means I like this pairing.

Typically, the INTJ's golden pair is the ENFP. I think that works for some people, but is probably a kind of short-lasting passionate fling rather than the ideal pairing. ENFPs are great people, they're lots of fun to be around, they care a great deal. They bring out the INTJ's soft side, which they may hate but they secretly quite admire. But ultimately, ENFPs can be flaky. They see something new and exciting and they move on. Novelty is the greatest motivator in a lot of ENFPs. New friends, new places, new things to do. And while the INTJ may deeply admire that and may find it quite exciting, it's not going to last forever. Eventually, the INTJ will become tired of playing games and want to settle into their ideal lifestyle pursuing their carefully strategized goals and the ENFP will become bored. The INTJ I speak to and I have the same issue, which is that ENFPs by nature are manipulative. It can be used for the good of inspiring people and bringing them together, but it can also become quite selfish and unstable. This leads to the ENFP saying things like "You try to apply logic to everything" or "you don't really respect me" or something like that when in reality, if someone loves an INTJ they'll love that they apply logic to everything and they'll love their snarky edges.

INFPs. I have not heard a lot of feedback about them as I think INTJs tend to be drawn more to extraverts. But as someone who spends quite a lot of time with INFPs, I would imagine that a lot of INTJs who can't make it work with ENFPs can also not make it work with INFPs. Once again, INFPs are great at engaging our minds but they are terrible at accepting that we live by rationality. INTJs use Fi a little bit, so to some extent they'll have similar engagements with their emotional side, but INFPs live by thinking "what can I do to nurture myself" and INTJs live more by "how can I best mold the world to fit my vision of efficiency". You'll see the commonality of Fi at the worst point possible when the INTJ is breaking down. INFPs kind of never stop using Fi and as someone who is thinking-dominant, that is almost impossible for communication. Ultimately, they'll eventually hit a point where their love languages and ways of interactions may be so disparate that they feel neglected.

ENTPs **. This is a golden pair that I can kind of get behind. The INxJs I know are obsessed with ENTPs and tend to think they're quite attractive. They're not only gregarious (when they're not arguing) but they're also quite intellectually stimulating and since they have opposite functions from the INTJ, there is still quite a bit of difference to make it fun. There shouldn't be too many emotional issues, aside from the fact that both these types tend to bottle up their emotions and resent vulnerabilities. The ENTP will probably be the more caring of the two in a conventional sense, but I would think both would have similar love languages of caring both through action and thought. ENTPs also tend to not be quite as flaky as a lot of xNxPs are, but, I would rate both of these types as highly likely to ghost. My best advice is that if you want to be around ENTPs, pick one who can be honest about their real values and whose values align with yours. If they make a lot of bigoted jokes, take that at face value, no matter how "ironic" it is. ENTPs can be a little fake in the sense that they will blend in just enough and hide behind so-called irony to be friends with a lot of different people.

INTPs. I don't really see it. I think INTPs are lovely as an INTP who likes other INTPs. Likewise, I enjoy a good conversation and friendship with an INTJ. But I find it not only difficult to tolerate relationships but also being told what to do. I make every decision in a relationship as a compromise and I think that would eventually quite interfere with the INTJ's ambitions because I wouldn't back down on mine...at least, not without resentment. So perhaps an INTJ and INTP with similar life goals could work out romantically, but personally, I view them as platonic and the one time I liked an INTJ it ended beyond poorly. I don't bring out their softness and they don't bring out mine. We're more like buddies who complain about other people when we do the entire group project by ourselves. Of course, romantic preference is a preference.

ENTJs. When has it ever worked out for someone to date their sister-type? Name one time! If someone names one time I'll update this. I think an ENTJ and an INTJ would be quite an argumentative couple even if they were on the same side about everything. Then again, INTJs do admire extraversion and it is always nice to be around people you don't have to explain yourself to every sentence.

INFJs ****. Oh, I like this pairing. I have not heard much about it, but I think it would be really cute. INTJs are complete badasses. They're very "I'm going to take over the world and you're just going to have to deal with it. And if you say no I will secretly cry". INFJs are very "I'm going to do everything in my power to heal everyone and the world and I am probably crying because I saw a baby bunny". INFJs are The Best! They have the softness of ENFPs but they're logical and they use Ni like INTJs but have Fe, which means they are thinking about harmony 24/7 and not that Fi-version of harmony. That genuine "I will make sure everyone is cared for at no social benefit to me" kind of harmony. They do socialize with a lot of people, but INTJs sometimes like to be social and party, they just aren't typically regarded that way. Do Fe and Fi mix that well? Maybe not. But as an Fe user who is quite fond of INFJs, I think they could potentially be a very cute power couple with the INTJ and there would be fewer issues with communication than other types as Ni-doms (but this also might be boring at the same time).

ENFJs. Similar to INFJs. They might work together a little less simply because of the change in function positions.

ESFPs *. Do I know for sure that this is a good pairing? No! But gosh, do I like it. INTJs become ESFP-like when they're sad. So, you know, maybe the ESFP will draw out the worst version of the INTJ and that could really suck. But this is the perfect little theatre kid dates total nerd trope and I like that. ESFPs have the social circle that the INTJ desires and the INTJ has the "got their shit together" vibes that ESFPs, despite being quite talented and successful, may lack. They both have skills one another can benefit strongly from, but it may come at the cost of a lot of arguments. Not sure. But I think this is actually my personal favorite since they have near-opposite strengths but a common reason to respect one another.

ISFPs: Pft. Idk. This is not the same as ESFPs. ISFPs are lovely but they sort of fill the same niche that INFPs do. Perfect for an INTP like me, but I don't think INTJs are looking for the quiet, artsy, weirdo so much because they already often fill that niche to some extent, even if it's more technical. I've noticed that INxJs really want to be around people who are the life of the party and very socially dominant (and ISFPs can fulfill that role, but there are other types who win via extraversion). The ISFP will likewise appreciate a little practicality, but I've noticed they're more likely to gravitate towards other xxFPs. Probably a better friendship and as a relationship would take more effort.

ESTPs: I think this one comes with its own difficulties and will work less than ENTP/ESFP pairings. This is because while they can have the same charisma that ENTP and ESFPs have, they can also have that same fakeness as a defense mechanism. Both will value action but the ESTP will probably drain out the INTJ more than ENTPs will (who are more ambiverts) and more than ESFPs too. With ESFPs, there's a good amount of the right kind of opposites. INTJs are action-driven, but they're strategic and take a while. ESFPs are action-driven, but they're more spontaneous. And ultimately, that leads to a lot of arguments about how to get things done. Whereas, the ESFP and ENTP might give the INTJ complete room to "manage", the ESTP seems less likely to do so.

ISTPs: This would be so stale. INTJs tend to show big emotions (to their own despise) when they're upset and ISTPs love to ghost at any sign of emotion. They would dip so fast. Top-tier friendship on an intellectual level but never particularly deep and unlikely, albeit not impossible to evolve into a relationship. Same issues as with INTPs, there's going to be a lot of admiration and probably not a lot of emotional attachment. I have witnessed an INTJ have a crush on an ISTP but that ISTP had a crush on me so that tells you how that went. Messy business.

ESTJ: Yeah, I guess. I don't like ESTJs as a general concept but I suppose INTJs aren't necessarily as opposed to capitalism and tradition. Sounds dry. Next.

ISTJ *: This is probably a really solid pairing for the INTJ. Very marriage material, have the same job, raise cool kids. But I think that sounds boring. So if you want the "perfect life", this is probably a good type for you but I couldn't do that. You would probably only have minor arguments and the INTJ would have to learn to trust that ISTJs are incredibly good at reading situations while the ISTJ would have to learn to love that the INTJ is more fantasy-oriented than they are. Odd, right? Ultimately, you have two people who can be very commitment-oriented, who care for people the same way, who want to fix society, who analyze everything. You just have two generally different ways of doing that, where the ISTJ is probably actually better at being in society and the INTJ wants to change it in more drastic ways (although, for moral reasons they both want to change it).

ISFJ: I don't imagine it working particularly well. I honestly can barely imagine it at all. An ISFJ is my best friend and he is THE MOST gentle buddy. You cannot make fun of him even playfully and keep the friendship. Probably a deal-breaker for a lot of INTJs as they tend to love a good tease. My ISFJ has dated an INTJ before and while they’re still friends, it was a bad experience to witness all around. INTJs are very competitive and ISFJs are very open with their affection so that ran into issues but also, the ISFJ is not as likely to stand up for itself in a way that INTJs easily respect, which is to say, when they do it it will be something like “hey, you hurt my feelings” and if you’re the kind of person to respond “then you’re too sensitive” you’ve got a whole ass toxic relationship on your hands.

ESFJ: I think this could work a little better than the ISFJ pairing and a little worse than with the ESFP. Of course, there are general grounds for arguing over emotion vs. logic, but both types can have quite a good bit of talent and practicality coexisting. ESFJs tend to be a little better with criticisms (although they are still sensitive and should be treated very gently too) and they're more likely to want to accomplish goals that the INTJ finds easier to respect. For a lot of ISFJs, their goals are sweet and simple like raising a family, working as a computer scientist. The ESFJ might be a little more oriented towards large goals similar to that of the ESFP, which is more of the category that INTJs tend to fall into. However, the INTJ is going to have to accept that ESFJs love a LOT which means throwing a LOT of parties, probably the most out of any type and its probably going to lead to some burnouts.

Overall, INTJs are great but need to learn to practice kindness and put their natural tendency for intellectual superiority aside. They shouldn't be with anyone that doesn't want to accomplish things they can respect. They shouldn't be with people who want them to compromise too much (they probably won't). They should be with people who bring out their nurturing capabilities and who they want to do things for, but not people that they see as incapable of taking care of themselves. They may prefer more social people and admire people who can network while being direct and genuine. Based on these criteria, INFJs and ENTPs are my highest recommendations while ESFPs (my favorite) and ISTJs also make the list for various reasons.

BUT, that being said, RELATIONSHIPS (including friendships) ARE A SKILL. They are most successful when someone becomes good at learning respect and compromise that doesn't cause resentment, regardless of type. All individuals will have different specific interests as well as red flags. And if you need me to tell you if your relationship works, it probably doesn't and you can DM me.

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timelesslords · 3 years

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Girl’s Night

Read on AO3

In which Annabeth has a little too much wine at Girl's Night and feels very guilty about it. Thankfully, Percy doesn't mind taking her home.

Annabeth Chase was very good at holding her alcohol.

In all honesty it was mostly because she didn’t drink that much to begin with. Being drunk had never been all that appealing to her— years of being on edge for the next fight made it difficult for her to intentionally dull her senses, and she never liked how foggy it made her brain either. Living in New Rome for the past few years hadn’t completely squashed those instincts, despite its top of the line anti-monster security.

But still. Annabeth could keep it together pretty well, when she chose to indulge. She’d gone to a few wild parties earlier in college, mostly at Piper’s behest, and she didn’t mind having a few glasses of wine every once in a while.

Girl’s Night was every once in a while. Every first Friday of the month, if you wanted to be exact about it. In all honesty the practice was probably a bit dumb and middle aged for a bunch of people (and, okay, ‘a bunch of people’ was generous- it was really only Piper, Annabeth and Hazel) in their early twenties, but Annabeth didn’t care. It was hard to keep up with people these days, and Annabeth appreciated the emphasis on female camaraderie and friendship.

Plus, Piper had really stellar taste in wine.

Tonight’s had been especially good, and after a long and stupidly stressful week at school (Annabeth wished she could emulate Percy’s senioritis, but unfortunately the Architecture program only got harder as it went on, not easier) Annabeth found herself a little extra appreciative of the relaxing effects of alcohol.

It seemed like all of them had had a tough week, because they were all buzzed pretty fast. Piper was even happy to deliver the latest Hollywood gossip, courtesy of her dad, and Hazel was telling them a story about a probie getting stuck in the unicorn stables that made Annabeth laugh so hard she was practically sobbing. Piper and Hazel were not much better; Piper had completely fallen off the couch from cracking up so hard, and Hazel could barely get a word in edgewise before she completely dissolved into giggles again.

It was then that Annabeth caught a glance of the two completely empty bottles of wine in front of them, and realized that all of them— though mostly she, specifically— had made a grave mistake. She had no idea how many times her own glass had been filled and then subsequently emptied, but it was enough that she was well past tipsy and solidly in drunk territory.

It was hard to care about the bad parts of being drunk when you were currently drunk, Annabeth was finding. Everything was just so much funnier.

Apparently Jason had also sensed that they were drunk, or maybe he just had heard the deranged cackling coming from the living room, and wanted to make sure they were all still alive.

“Are you guys alright?” he asked, sticking his head through the doorway.

“I’m fantastic. I mean, I don’t know about you two, but I am—” Piper paused, letting out a small hiccup, “Feeling awesome.”

“I feel great,” Hazel agreed, barely able to stop laughing long enough to let the words out.

Annabeth wasn’t sure she remembered how to form coherent words anymore, so she just gave a thumbs up.

“You guys are really drunk,” Jason said, voice an impressive mix of concern and amusement. He walked into the room, picking up one of the empty bottles of wine they’d left on the table and examining the label.

“That’s my man. Very smart,” Piper said, apparently completely seriously, leaning against Jason’s leg.

“Pipes, you realize this wine is like, 20%, right?” Jason asked, ignoring her declaration of his intelligence.

Piper frowned. The expression seemed very exaggerated, or maybe Annabeth’s head was just messing with her. It was very funny either way, and she had to stifle a laugh.

“Shut up Annabeth. Let me see that,” Piper said, holding her hand up for the bottle. Jason very wisely did not let Piper hold the bottle herself, instead holding it at eye level in front of her. She gripped the bottom of it, pulling it towards her and squinting at the label.

“Nevermind. I can’t read anymore,” Piper said, relinquishing her grip on the bottle. That sent Hazel and Annabeth into another fit of laughter. They would probably be drunk even if the wine wasn’t that strong, but it certainly explained why Annabeth felt like she was floating right now. She hadn’t been this wasted since at least freshman year, maybe ever. Everything was a little blurry at the edges, and she was dizzy in a kind of delightful way. She let out one last giggle.

“And that means we are officially at the me-calling-your-boyfriends time of the night,” Jason said, setting the bottle back down on the table. Piper groaned.

“Party pooper,” she grumbled, though she didn’t move herself off his legs.

“Sorry babe,” he said, apologetically, “You guys are welcome to crash here, obviously. I’ll just call Frank and Percy to let them know.”

“S’fine,” Hazel said, yawning and pulling out her phone, “I’ve been texting him. I’ll just tell him now.”

“That’s against the spirit of Girls Night.” Piper said, pointing an accusing finger at Hazel, “You’re a cheater.”

“I had to tell him about your dad’s friend secretly dating his co-star! She was in his favorite movie!” Hazel protested.

Annabeth had not texted Percy tonight, in part because, as Piper had said, it was against the spirit of Girl’s Night, but also because he was probably asleep. Usually he’d stay up and wait for her to get home, even though New Rome was probably the safest city on the face of the planet, and the chances of anything happening to Annabeth on the six block walk between their respective apartments was ludicrously slim. But he’d been practically dead on his feet when she left, and had agreed pretty easily to turn in early when she suggested it.

She immediately felt bad about the prospect of waking him up. She knew she should though— he’d much rather be woken up in the middle of the night than wake up in the morning with her not there. Even though it would take about three seconds to check his phone and realize everything was fine, old habits die hard and it would unnecessarily stress him out. Especially since it was the one night he’d agreed not to stay up and wait for her.

So waking him up was inevitable. Worse, she was starting to realize that she really wanted to be home with him. As comfortable as Piper’s floor was (and given how drunk Annabeth was, it was genuinely pretty comfortable) she just really wanted to be in her own bed, preferably with Percy also in it.

“Annabeth’s gonna want to go home,” Piper predicted, drawing Annabeth out of her thoughts, “She gets boyfriend clingy when she’s drunk.”

“I do not,” Annabeth said, even though she most definitely did.

“You’re a bad liar,” Hazel said, patting Annabeth’s leg sympathetically.

“I’m an excellent liar,” Annabeth said. Under normal circumstances this would be true. Unfortunately being drunk was not normal for her.

“Uh huh.” Piper said, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want Percy to come pick you up.”

Annabeth looked into Piper’s eyes, currently a very pretty green shade. Not as pretty as the shade of green Percy’s eyes were, but nice, for eyes that were not Percy’s. What was she supposed to be doing again?

“This feels like a trick,” Annabeth said, squinting.

“She wants Percy to pick her up,” Piper said, tugging at Jason’s pant leg.

“Yeah, I got that,” Jason said. Annabeth was pretty sure he was laughing at them, but in her current state it was a little hard to tell. “Let me go get my phone.”

Piper whined as Jason walked away, leaning back against the couch.

“Can you even walk, Chase?” she asked, looking dubiously at Annabeth “He’s going to have to carry you home.”

“I can walk,” Annabeth said, very offended even though she didn’t entirely know if her statement was true. Piper snorted.

“You’re lucky Percy is strong.”

“This is all your fault, McLean. Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Annabeth said, aiming a soft kick at Piper’s leg.

“Okay, in my defense I didn’t read the label,” Piper said, pulling her leg back just in time to avoid Annabeth’s foot.

“How is that a defense?” Hazel asked, though she was giggling.

Piper did not have time to further defend and/or implicate herself, because Jason appeared in the doorway again.

“Percy’s coming, he’ll be here in ten.”

“Was he mad?” Annabeth asked anxiously. Piper rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think Percy is physically capable of being mad at you,” she said.

“He thought it was funny, actually,” Jason said, ignoring Piper.

“Told you so,” Piper said smugly.

“Shut up,” Annabeth grumbled.

The next ten minutes passed in a very drunken blur. Now that she had fully realized she was intoxicated, the feeling only seemed to compound, each uncounted drink catching up to her with a reckless abandon. She was vaguely aware of Piper crawling back on the couch to lie down, and Hazel curling up in an armchair. Annabeth just stayed on her little patch of floor. If she got too comfortable, she wasn’t going to want to get up.

She could feel something anxious starting to prickle under the surface of all her artificially happy feelings, but it was sort of difficult to dissect when she couldn’t really think straight.

“Hey, Wise Girl,” a familiar voice said.

Annabeth looked up to see Percy smiling down at her. He looked so pretty she almost started crying. Almost. Crying as a normal human function was fine and good and emotionally necessary and all that, but crying because you were drunk and your boyfriend was hot was just embarrassing.

“I’m drunk,” she told him. Might as well get right to the point.

“Yeah, I gathered,” he said, still looking at her with entirely too much affection, “You feel okay enough to walk home?”

“Yeah. I wanna walk,” Annabeth said, accepting his hand and pulling herself to his feet. If he hadn’t been holding her she probably would have fallen over.

“You sure about that?” he asked skeptically, putting his other hand around her waist, steadying her. She leaned into him, because she always leaned into him, and yeah, okay, maybe she needed his support to walk straight, but what about it.

“Very sure,” Annabeth said. Already she was adjusting to being on her feet. Percy half looked like he wanted to protest, but making it out of the living room seemed to convince him that she was okay to at least make it a few blocks home.

Sitting down on the bench in the front hall to put her shoes on was somehow worse than walking. She managed to shove her shoes into her sneakers, but getting them tied was probably not going to happen.

“I can’t remember how shoelaces work,” Annabeth admitted, looking up at him, “Does that mean I’m screwed?”

“Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” Percy said, leaning down to tie her shoe for her. Annabeth shut her eyes tight, then opened them again, trying very hard to focus out her vision. It didn’t work.

“What’s the bad news?” Annabeth asked, because bad news tended to ruin good news, and she’d rather just get it out of the way.

“You’re going to be very hungover tomorrow.” Percy said, straightening up. She thought he was smiling, but considering there were two of his head floating around in front of her, it was kind of hard to tell.

“Are you laughing at me?” Annabeth asked. He was definitely smiling now.

“I would never,” Percy said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “C’mon, lets go.”

Their goodbye was not as extended or elaborate as Annabeth expected, mostly because Piper and Hazel were already half-way to being passed out. Still, there were some waves, some I-love-yous and a partially incoherent apology from Piper, though who it was aimed at was something of a mystery.

Stairs were just a bit tricky, but she managed to stumble down them without seriously injuring herself. She was sure Percy helped somehow, but she could barely tell the difference between his arms supporting her and her own movement.

“What’s the good news?” Annabeth asked, once they were safely on the sidewalk, heading in the direction of her apartment. It was probably cold, but between Percy’s body heat next to her and her own drunkenness, she could barely feel it.

“You haven’t thrown up?” Percy offered, half-heartedly. Annabeth swallowed down a gag.

“Don’t say those words again,” she warned. Percy winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

“That wasn’t even good news, that was irrelevant news,”

“I think it’s excellent news, personally.” Percy said. He was laughing at her again, probably, but she also probably deserved it. Probably. She was wrapped under his shoulder because his arm was still helping hold her up, so it was kind of hard to see his face. She focused her eyes down at the sidewalk in front of her instead, focusing on not tripping.

“You would,” Annabeth said, “You didn’t have good news, did you?”

“I was sort of hoping you would forget,” Percy admitted.

“I never forget,” Annabeth reminded him. She had an excellent memory. Especially for things that had happened only 2 minutes ago. Admittedly the rest of the night was already starting to get a little blurry.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Annabeth felt a small stab of guilt. He was teasing her, sure, but he was also being stupid nice even after she’d dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night to practically carry her intoxicated self back home.

And now she was remembering where that little wiggle of anxiety had been stemming from. He didn’t like being around drunk people. He never really said anything, because he was him and thus was probably allergic to the mere thought of even mildly killing anyone else’s fun for his own personal comfort or convenience. But she knew him well enough that he didn’t need to say anything. He’d never taken up Piper’s offer to go partying with them, even though he encouraged Annabeth to go when she’d wanted to, and he hardly ever drank himself. Even then it was only in social situations, and usually just one drink that he probably didn’t even feel.

So maybe he hadn’t flat out said he didn’t like people being wasted around him, but he had told her about Gabe; how he was a drunk, abusive asshole. It wasn’t too hard to put the pieces together.

“I’m sorry I got drunk,” Annabeth said. It was kind of a lame apology considering she was probably slurring her words a good amount, but she meant it anyways.

She felt something shift in his demeanor— if she was sober, she would know instantly what the slight change in pressure meant. As it was, she was kind of in the dark.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. She thought he sounded surprised, but maybe she was mishearing, because it would be dumb for him to be surprised by that. At the very least, he should understand she felt bad about ruining his night.

“Because, I got messy and you had to wake up and take me home even though I could have just slept on Piper’s floor,” Annabeth said. Words were sort of flowing out of her without her completely approving them, in a jumbled rush. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t quite remember how to stop it either.

“I don’t mind,” he said, just as she’d known he would. He meant it too, even drunk off her ass she could tell he wasn’t annoyed at her at all, even though he would be totally justified to be.

“But I could have just slept on the floor,” Annabeth repeated, though even the thought caused her to lean deeper into him.

Percy slowed his pace, almost stopping. Annabeth tried looking up at him to decipher what he was thinking, but she couldn’t really make out his face well enough to tell.

“This isn’t just about waking me up, isn’t it?” he asked.

Ugh. Why did she forget in her drunken stupor that he knew her just as well as she knew him? Obviously he was going to pick up on something deeper that was making her feel guilty.

“I just—” Annabeth started, then stopped. It was difficult to pick words precisely enough for the thoughts she was having.

“I know you don’t really like parties and stuff. Or drunk people. And I’m a drunk people right now, so I’m sorry.”

Great job, Annabeth, Annabeth thought to herself. Very delicately put. The lack of subject verb agreement, that was a nice touch. You didn’t sound completely fucked up even a little bit.

God, she hated being drunk.

“I didn’t want you to wake up alone, tomorrow,” Annabeth said, trying again, “But I forgot that me being drunk might be worse, so that's why I feel bad.”

Percy stopped walking. At first Annabeth thought it was in response to what she’d just said, but then she realized they were in front of their apartment building.

Then she realized he wasn’t making any moves to go inside, so it was about what she��d said after all. Instead he turned her around so she could see his face, keeping his arms around her waist in support.

She couldn’t quite read his expression, yet another reason why alcohol was the devil.

“I have a feeling we’re going to need to repeat this conversation in the morning when you’re sober,” he started, “But just for the record, you being drunk doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

Annabeth studied his expression, searching his face for any signs of mistruth. She found none, but she also couldn’t entirely trust her senses at the moment.

“Are you just saying that?” Annabeth asked, suspiciously, “Because that’s the sort of thing you would lie about.”

She had sort of expected him to sigh in annoyance, but to her surprise he smiled instead.

“I’m not lying, I swear.”

“But you don’t like other drunk people,” Annabeth insisted. For some reason the two ideas could not coexist in her mind.

“I don’t like drunk strangers,” he corrected, “You’re not a stranger.”

“Well, duh,” Annabeth said, which made him laugh. She hadn’t meant to, but she liked hearing him laugh, so she would accept it anyways.

“But doesn’t it— I don’t know, bring up bad memories, for you?” she asked, cautiously, “I don’t wanna do that. I don’t even really like being drunk.”

He just shook his head.

“If it did, I would tell you. But it doesn’t, I swear.”

Annabeth frowned. It was probably just her stupid wine brain, but she couldn’t quite connect the dots between all the points he was making.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” he said, somehow still smiling, “You’re you.”

“That’s a lame answer.” Annabeth said.

“It’s true,” he said, in that stupid earnest honest voice of his, “I mean, maybe if you started throwing beer cans at my head when you got tipsy it’d be different, but you’re the opposite of aggressive when you’re drunk. You actually get really cuddly, it's kind of cute.”

Annabeth knew he was trying to comfort her, but she also knew that Gabe had done a lot worse than throw beer cans at him. She felt a surge of anger on his behalf, but more powerfully a wave of sadness looking at his upbeat expression. It was so supremely unfair that she wanted to cry, but she just hugged him instead. She was probably proving his point about being cuddly, but she didn’t even care.

“I’m so glad your mom made him into a statue,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Me too,” Percy said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I love you so much,” Annabeth said, because she really, really did. Like so much. An embarrassing amount, if she were capable of feeling embarrassed about anything having to do with Percy Jackson, which she was pretty sure was impossible.

“I love you too,” he said, kissing the top of her head to prove it.

“Piper said I get boyfriend clingy when I’m drunk,” Annabeth admitted. He laughed, his chest vibrating beneath her.

“She might be right about that.”

“She’s usually right about things,” Annabeth said, without thinking. Then—

“Don’t tell her I said that.”

He laughed again, but it was quieter. She felt it more than she heard it this time.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he promised.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Annabeth said, because she really did feel bad about that, even beyond all the other stuff, “I should have paid more attention to what I was doing.”

She felt him shrug underneath her.

“Stuff happens, it's not a big deal,” Percy said easily, “We’ll just sleep in tomorrow. Speaking of, we should probably go inside.”

As soon as he said ‘go inside’ Annabeth’s brain suddenly registered that she was exhausted. It was late, her head was swimming, and his chest had been very warm and very comfortable. She’d fallen half asleep without even realizing it.

“Inside sounds good,” Annabeth agreed, yawning.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” Percy said, finally pulling away, brushing a few stray curls out of her eyes.

Maybe if she had been sober she would have protested. As it was she was pretty happy to climb on his back and rest her head on his shoulder. He looped his arms under her legs and lifted her up easily. Gods, he was stupidly strong. She should appreciate that more.

“I love you,” she mumbled one last time into his shoulder. Whether he’d heard or responded was a mystery to her, because she was asleep before he finished climbing the stairs.

#reposting this with a preview this time bc i learned my lesson lol #it's let Annabeth get messy hours #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth fluff #percabeth oneshot #percabeth angst #pjo #pjo fic #pjo fanfic #pjo fanfiction #hoo #hoo fic #hoo fanfic #Annabeth chase #Percy Jackson

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butwhyduh · 3 years

Text

Jumping

Tim drake x reader

This is during the time that Dick has to fake his own death. I’m also ignoring most of canon tbh. Mentions suicide ideals.

You worried about Tim. I mean, you always had since you met him in a coffee shop and they gave him your order instead of his and all he did was ask for a shot of espresso to go with it. But tonight you were terribly concerned because Tim was so sad that he was dull. His shiny black hair hang limp and his bright blue eyes looked dull and blood shot.

You couldn’t exactly blame him. It was only 2 week before that his brother Dick had died. He hadn’t touched his computer all day but instead sat staring at various places around his apartment. You forced him to eat a very late meal and he took all of 3 bite from his food.

You washed up and went back in the living room for him to be gone.

“Tim? Tim?” You asked. You noticed the window to the fire escape was open. You walked over and shivered at the cold breeze.

He was standing on the edge of the roof and you froze. Your first thought was ‘is he going to jump?’ Your heart pounded as you gently called him and it scared you even more when he didn’t respond.

“Tim? Timothy? Tim, what are you doing?” You said with fear creeping in your voice. There was no way that you could climb the stairs up a level to stop him if he jumped right now. He looked down at you disoriented.

“What?”

“Please step back. You’re- you’re scaring me. Tim, please,” you said and he took a step back but looked bewildered. You quickly climbed the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a daze. You pulled him into a hug and farther from the edge. Your body was shaking and he confusingly pat your back reassuringly.

“Don’t scare me like that,” you chided him before mentally kicking yourself. If he was that bad, he needed support not anger. He really didn’t seem to get it.

“What are you talking about? What’s got you so scared?” He finally said clearly.

“I thought- I thought you were going to jump,” you said burying your head in crook of his neck. Your fingers gripped the back of his shirt tightly and you listened to his heartbeat. You might never let go of him.

“Oh shit. I wasn’t- no. I just needed to think,” he said rubbing your hair gently. “Sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay. I’m just worried. It’s a lot to lose your brother. Maybe you should talk to someone,” you said gently. He looked at you guiltily.

“I’ve been a little too lost in it, hu? Sorry. It’s just that.... I never expected this to happen. He always seemed invincible. He’d jump off the roof with no hooks or nets and swing on light poles before landing on the ground and wouldn’t hurt a thing. He’d take on metas and come out unscathed. That was just Dick, you know?” Tim said after a minute. “Nobody knew how he did it.”

Tim pulled you both to sit on a lawn chair on the roof. Your fingers played with the back of his hair and you couldn’t stop looking at him because you had never been so worried to lose Tim before. He flinched at the sight of how you looked at him. You were genuinely terrified earlier.

“I wouldn’t jump. I wouldn’t do that. Especially not to you,” Tim said and it scared you that you weren’t sure if he meant that he’d never do it or not where you’d possibly see. “Don’t worry. I’m right here.”

You let yourself believe that and you leaned into him, pressing your ear against his chest. His heartbeat calmed you and you listened to it as he rubbed your back. He stared out at the sky and Tim didn’t know how long you were both out there before he noticed that you had fallen asleep. He smiled a little.

Then his next thought was the logistics of getting you down to your bed without waking you. The fire escape wasn’t exactly built for carrying people through. Soft goosebumps were on your arms in the cold and Tim carefully picked you up and miraculously made it back into your apartment. After a few hair raising seconds where he almost smacked your head and feet on a door frame, he managed to get you in bed.

You hands had a death grip on his shirt and Tim was pulled into bed. It wasn’t the worst idea to get some sleep. And he certainly felt that he owed you some peace of mind after he scared you so bad. When was the last time he fell asleep? He laid back and you clung to him tightly.

The next morning you woke up warm. Far too warm. And arm was thrown over your face that you wiggled out from under and another held your back. You stretched your fingers that felt like they had been gripping something all night. The sun was out and Tim was still in bed. You put the pieces from the night before together and looked up at his face.

There was no scowl or wrinkle in his brow. He looked peaceful. His lips had a slight pout in sleep. His face had a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks and his hair had fallen over his eyes. You gently brushed it back to get a better look at his beautiful face. You held the back of his head as light as you could while staring at him. You almost never got this view and you just watched him sleep for a few minutes.

“Isn’t it rude to stare,” he said after a while. You jumped a little and laughed.

“Did I wake you?” You asked.

“No. I think I actually got a full night sleep,” Tim said and he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Yeah, we should probably get breakfast,” you said moving to get up. Tim wrapped his arms around you tighter and squished you to his chest. You squeaked.

“Not yet. A few more minutes,” he mumbled almost back asleep. You chuckled and booped his nose. Tim’s eyes flew open. “What was that?”

“Waking you up,” you said and he gave you a fake glare before his arms slowly moved. Then Tim attacked your sides with a tickle. You shrieked and jumped back before he stopped. He smiled at you almost ruefully before gently kissing you chastely. His smile fell when he pulled back.

“I’ve got to go to Bludhaven today. Take care of some of his stuff that he’d want to keep,” Tim said and you frowned.

“Do you need me to go?” You were still worried about him.

“No, Jason is going. Don’t worry about me, okay,” Tim said seriously. “I need to get up because he’ll be here in 30 minutes? Maybe?”

The knock on the door said that his timing was a little off. Tim got up to go answer it. Jason stood there and he frowned as he looked Tim over.

“That’s your clothes from yesterday.”

“I’ve got to change,” Tim said, letting him in. You came out of the room with a sweater over your clothes and smiled at Jason who nodded his head at you. Tim went in the bedroom to change.

“Hey,” you whispered, barely audible. Jason looked at you confused. You hadn’t really interacted much before. “Watch out for him. He’s not okay. Alright?”

Jadon just nodded. “Anything I should know?”

“No. Not really. He scared me last night,” you admitted as you put on a pot of coffee. Jason gave you a look that clearly read ‘do I need to kick his ass?’

“What did he do?”

“He just stood on the roof edge. I thought- I thought he was going to jump,” you whispered and Jason’s face dropped. Tim hadn’t exactly had the most self preservation in his history.

“Shit, seriously?” He said with a sigh. You nodded.

“But he just seemed confused when I found him. I’m worried. Just watch out for him, okay?” You said.

“What are you two talking about?” Tim said walking in the room, throwing on a tie.

“Really? A full suit?” Jason said rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, one of us needs to look like a functional adult in case someone stops by. I can’t exactly wear sweats everywhere as WE’s CEO,” Tim said. You straightened the tie and collar.

“... and then there is you,” Tim said looking at Jason after you were done. “You look like you tattoo out of the back parking lot of a Denny’s.”

“Maybe I do,” he said dryly with a little curl to his lip. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

Tim nodded and gave you a kiss and Jason groaned by the door. He gave the ‘come on’ hand gesture. Tim rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know when I’m going to be back. See you later.”

“Bye.”

Half ways down the highway, with Tim as a captive audience, Jason starts to talk.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Cut the shit. For real,” Jason said, violently passing a slow car on the highway in his truck. Tim grips the dash and is sure he’s going to die.

“I’m fine. Why do you think I’m lying?” Tim said through gritted teeth. Jason keeps driving roughly.

“Well, your girlfriend thought you were going to kill yourself last night and that isn’t exactly the first thought I’d have if I saw you on the roof. So either she’s being dramatic or you’re acting really off. Which is it, Timbo?” Jason said. Tim never missed Dick more. Jason had the subtly of a butter knife to the gut.

“I might be a little sadder, sure. I mean, my brother died,” Tim said. “Can you drive without trying to kill us?”

“I’m driving fine. Go on,” Jason said, crossing 3 lanes. The squeals of car horns behind them tell Tim he isn’t the only one that doesn’t like his driving.

“I’m gonna die in this car,” Tim muttered. Jason glared at him. “Watch the road! Okay. Fine. I feel numb. Okay? Like I don’t feel happy or sad about anything. And I’m fucking guilty because I should be over the moon because I just moved in with my girlfriend and then...”

“Then your brother died. It’s normal to feel like shit Tim. But to be numb.... you ever think you’re depressed?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know. I have anxiety,” Tim answered.

“You can have both. Is it this exit or the next?” Jason asked two second before the ramp comes up.

“This!” Tim yelped and Jason turned them off to a side road going at least 70 mph. Tim held the dash and considered praying despite being an atheist. Jason finally slowed down enough to not look like he’s driving a getaway car.

“I think you should see a therapist. I can give you mine’s number,” Jason said and Tim quickly turned to look at him.

“I didn’t know you went to therapy.”

“I was tortured, beat to death, and had to dig myself out of my own coffin. Does that seem mentally okay in anyway?”

“I mean, no. But I don’t know,” Tim said with a shrug. He just hadn’t thought about it.

“Anyways that’s not the point. The point is that she’s used to Gotham’s brand of bullshit and will help you. Okay?” Jason said driving into a parking lot and skidding into a space. “If you scare your girl like that again, I’ll knock you out.”

“Yeah. I won’t scare her again. It was an accident. And I’ll talk to your therapist,” Tim agreed. Jason nodded.

“Let’s go do something I’ve been dreading all week. Clean out golden boy’s apartment,” he said with a grimace. And they did. Anything of value was personally taken by the pair. Anything of Nightwing or Robin. Any Flying Grayson stuff. Anything that his brothers had gotten him. A moving service was moving the rest to a storage unit later that day.

Jason sat on the concrete steps outside the apartment and tossed Tim a beer. Tim barely caught it before sitting down himself. Jason pulled out his own.

“Jason, I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars to not drink that before we leave. Can we have this moment at the manor after we survive the drive home?” Tim asked and Jason sighed.

“Sure kid. Dickhead wouldn’t have liked me getting you drunk anyways. Let’s get this stuff back,” Jason said and they both went to the truck.

After dropping off the stuff and talking to Alfred, Tim and Jason were back in the truck. The beers were mercifully forgotten. Jason passed him a paper with a name and number.

“My therapist. You better call them. If not for you, for your girlfriend. You can just talk and shit,” he said not looking off the road. Jason knew better than to think that this kind of thing could be done for someone else. But he also knew it probably only took a tiny push for Tim to get help.

“Yeah, thanks.”

A few hours later Tim sat on his bed with his phone in hand. Yeah, he needed to call them.

#tim drake angst #tim drake x reader #Red Robin x reader #Jason todd is a good brother #dick is dead #batboy x reader

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yuta-nakamots · 3 years

Text

misfit - j.sc

Pairing - Sungchan x Reader

Genre - Horror/Thriller, Angst, Fluff

Warnings - serial killer, character death, violence, murder, implications of sex

Summary - A murderer is on the loose, killing with no regret and ending the lives of more than just a few people. No one knew who it was, turning against each other upon even the slightest bit of doubt. Maybe you should’ve been more careful with who you chose to trust.

Word Count - 5.3k

A/N - this is inspired entirely from a dream I had a few days ago. I've added very little to what I saw in my dream aside from Sungchan as the male lead. yes, I am freaked out by this and yes, I am scared of writing for Sungchan bc I don’t know his personality all too well but as an ‘01 liner myself I have faith in us

Written for the #NeoHalloween writing festival hosted by @nct-writers. Check out the masterlist here.

For five months now, your town has lived in fear. A serial killer was on the loose and he was known by the name of Hickleback Jack though no one knew where the name came from or who had started it. Each month, the population of your town voted on the local community board to have one person executed who they thought was Hickleback Jack. So far, not a single guess was right leaving five innocent people dead. Well, five plus an extra thirty, give or take.

See, the thing about Hickleback Jack, was that every time the votes came in at the end of the month, he could see just who voted for him and targeted them as his next victims. He killed six of those people over the following month, adding up to seven dead each time the town guessed incorrectly. It was getting to a point where no one trusted each other, no one dared to say anything against each other in fear of being accused or in fear of being the next to fall mercy to Hickleback Jack.

Not much was known about this killer other than his appearance. He’s male with a tall and broad figure though he always covers his face with some kind of mask. His common weapon is known to be an axe. People have claimed to have seen him late at night under the dim orange glow of the street lamps but he was never caught by the authorities, leaving everyone restless and waiting for the next kill.

The night was still young when you had gotten home from school and it was a Friday night which was basically an open invitation for you to call over your boyfriend, Sungchan. He had transferred in to your university at the start of the school year, and had ended up sitting next to you during your sophomore seminar class, leading to the start of your friendship with him.

A simple friendship soon blossomed into a relationship after Sungchan’s bright personality began shining through his somewhat intimidating exterior. You lived without fear when Sungchan was around, the love you had for him blocking out anything else in the world that wasn’t him.

You sat on your bed, your homework spread out in front of you while you held your phone up to your ear. “Do you want to come over tonight?” You ask as soon as he picks up your call.

You hear rustling on the other end of the call before Sungchan clears his throat and speaks, his voice husky from sleep. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I said, do you want to come over tonight?” You paused and heard him yawn. “You fell asleep after class didn’t you?” You smiled to yourself thinking of your boyfriend’s handsome face as he napped after getting back to his apartment once he finished with his classes for the day, which was a common occurrence now that the semester was in full swing.

“Mmm,” he hummed in thought, “as much as I’d love to, I really shouldn’t have taken that nap because of how much homework I have.”

“Oh, that’s okay, do your homework first,” you reassure him, “maybe we can hang out some other time this weekend. It’s only Friday after all.”

“Definitely. Are you starting yours right now?” Sungchan asked.

“Yeah, I’d rather not wait and end up cramming on Sunday night.” You laughed, knowing that said event has happened more times that you’d like to admit.

Sungchan let out a noise of agreement. “I’ll let you know when I’m done with my homework though.”

“Same here.” You promised.

“Alright, let’s get to work and I’ll talk to you soon.” He told you.

“Sounds good, love you.”

“Love you too.”

With that you hung up, eager to start on your homework in hopes of getting to spend more time with your boyfriend. You actually had a lot of it this weekend thanks to molecular biology, and you figured that if you couldn’t talk to Sungchan, who had yet to take the course, you called up your study group discord instead. Luckily, many of them were in similar situations as you, faced with the daunting task of completing all the worksheets assigned during class earlier in the day.

“Okay so was anyone paying attention during the lecture today?” Your classmate Chenle asked.

“I know Yeji fell asleep so you’re in the same boat as her.” You interject, recalling the sight of both of them knocked out in their seats as the professor droned on about the functions of the structures inside cells.

Yeji let out a gasp of shock at how blatantly you called her out. “I may have fallen asleep but at least I still know that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“Everyone knows that, Yeji.” Your other classmate Jaemin said, his voice void of enthusiasm.

“Okay, Jaemin, we get it, Mr. Serious.” You teased.

“Yeah, this is a biology study group, not a bible study group, lighten up a little.” Chenle jokes.

Jaemin scoffed, “sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who’s trying to do well in this class.”

“Well not all of us enjoy the taste of coffee with six shots of caffeine in them.” Yeji argued back.

“Guys,” you called out as Jaemin and Yeji started arguing, “guys!” They finally stopped to hear what you had to say. “Let’s just get this over with sooner rather than later because I know none of us want to be awake at 2am trying to figure this out alone.”

“Agreed,” Chenle said, “so question three, the one about the DNA mutation, how is missense different from nonsense?”

“Missense is where one of the bases mutates and changes to something else, therefore changing the protein level,” Jaemin explained, “nonsense is the same theoretical concept except it spells out one of the stop codes.”

Yeji let out a groan, “can you slow down, or like, I don’t know, use easier words or something?”

Most of your night passed by like this and before you knew it, it was already nearing midnight and you could tell your classmates were just as exhausted as you. “I think we should call it here.”

“Definitely,” Yeji confirmed, “tomorrow morning at 10?”

You all let out similar answers of acknowledgement before Chenle spoke up. “The poll closes on tomorrow night so make sure to vote if you haven’t already.”

Because of how long this has been going on for, everyone was already on the same page once someone mentioned the poll or voting. “There were only five kills this month so I wouldn’t be surprised if the last one is announced tomorrow or Sunday morning.” Jaemin chimed in.

“All the recent kills were related to the university so I know a lot of people are suspecting someone in our age range.” Yeji informed the group.

Jaemin let out a chuckle, “if the killer actually is a college student, I wouldn’t be surprised since it is getting close to the last wave of midterms and then finals so that would explain why the victims fall into the same category.” The chat fell silent at that. “I’m just saying that he’s getting a little lazy by grouping all his kills like this.”

“Jaemin, are you sure you’re not the killer?” Chenle asked with a laugh at the end.

“Guys, I can promise you that I’m not the killer, I swear on my life.” Jaemin promised.

“Alright, that’s enough detective work for tonight, I’ll start the call again around 10 tomorrow. Sounds good?” You conclude, wanting to curl up under your covers already, which is exactly what you do once everyone wishes each other a good night and hung up.

Morning came a little too quickly for your liking, the bright sunlight flooding into your room through the window and forcing you awake. Checking your phone, you saw that it was 9:30am, meaning you had some time to spare before your next meeting with the bio study group, along with a notification from Sungchan that he had sent well after you had fallen asleep.

Sungchan > y/n

2:14am: Just got rescheduled to work opening shift tomorrow.

2:15am: Didn’t finish my homework but I can stop by at your house after work with my stuff and we can hang out and have fun once we’re both done?

Your heart warmed at how he stayed up late trying to finish his homework for you and that he suggested the idea of coming over after his shift at a small local restaurant finished just so the two of you could be together even if you’d be focusing on your own tasks for a while.

y/n > Sungchan

9:32am: Sorry I didn’t text back earlier, I just woke up!

9:32am: But of course you can come over, I might even be done with my work by then ;)

You plugged your phone to let it charge and left it on your nightstand as you made yourself breakfast downstairs. The house was quiet since your mom already left for work and you dad worked a night shift job and was probably sleeping at the moment. It was strangely serene as you prepared yourself a bowl of cereal though the calm was rudely interrupted by the sound of your ringtone coming from your room.

Deciding to get it after eating breakfast, you poured the cereal in first, thinking about the way Sungchan had told you before that he liked to pour the milk first and let the cereal soak up the milk. “It makes it super soggy and I like it.” He tried reasoning with you, to which you only raised an eyebrow at.

Just as you put the milk carton back into the refrigerator and was about to take a bit of your cereal, your phone started going off again. You placed your bowl onto the kitchen table and made your way back up to your bedroom to see what it was that was so important this early in the morning. Checking the notifications, it was Yeji who had been calling you so you shot her a message.

y/n > Yeji

9:39am: What’s up?

Yeji > y/n

9:40am: I just dreamt that it was Jaemin who was the killer

9:40am: please call me right now I feel like I’m going to go insane

You heeded her words and called her immediately. “So what happened in the dream?”

“I don’t know, I just remember being chased by a man with an axe and I was running to the school to try to see if I could get help but then I tripped and when I turned around, it was Jaemin.” Yeji blurted out without a single breath in between.

You paused, trying to take in all the information she just threw at you. “Do you have any reason as to why you think you dreamt this?”

“The way he was talking last night,” she stopped to catch her breath, “he spoke so in detail that I couldn’t help but overthink like, what if he is actually the killer? What if we’re next?”

“Well, you can vote for him in the poll if you want but personally, I don’t think it’s him.” You think of your next words carefully. “I’m not trying to invalidate your thoughts but Jaemin does come from a reputable family-”

“Y/n, it could be anyone. Family doesn’t matter. We have no information on the guy, we don’t know what economic class he’s in or anything.” Yeji interrupted.

You took a few seconds to gather your thoughts before speaking again. “That is true, but we all know Jaemin wants to be a surgeon right? He’s in all these difficult classes and he maintains such high grades-”

“Okay but how is that relevant?” Yeji interrupted yet again.

She was getting on your nerves but you held yourself back. “Listen, I’m just trying to say that with the amount of time and effort he puts into school, I don’t think he could be the killer. The killer plans his kills well enough that we just can’t find him and that probably takes just as much time as school does for us.”

Yeji took a while to respond though when she did, her words surprised you. “Now you’re starting to sound like the killer.”

“Yeji, I can promise you that it’s not me. I’m just as scared as you are in this whole situation,” you reasoned, “I’ll even vote for Jaemin if it makes you feel better.”

She let out a sigh across the line. “Okay fine. Maybe a kill will happen while we’re on the call and it’ll clear Jaemin’s name.”

“I think you’re letting it all get to you, just try not to think about it for a bit.” You advised.

“But am I really overreacting y/n? We live every day in fear of being the next victim. Tomorrow is not promised to any of us, so am I really overreacting?” You look over at the clock on your wall as she spoke, realizing that it’s already 9:55 and you should probably start the call already.

“No, I don’t think you’re overreacting, I’m just saying that constantly thinking about it to this extent isn’t good for you. We still have school to pay attention to,” you explain, “speaking of, I’m gonna start the call now.”

“I can’t just stop thinking about it that easily but whatever, let’s just hope that we’re not associating ourselves with a murderer by doing this.” You can only shake your head as you start the call.

Chenle joined immediately followed by Yeji. “Good morning ladies, President Zhong here. How are we doing on this fine day?”

You rolled your eyes even though a smile spread across your face. “I’m doing good, Mr. President. Ready to finish off these worksheets.”

“Good, good,” Chenle affirmed, sticking with his act, “and you, Miss Yeji?”

“Fine.” She shot out.

Chenle let out a quiet chuckle, “someone’s a little grumpy this morning. Maybe we should’ve met a bit later.”

“No, let’s just get this over with.” Yeji grumbled just as Jaemin joined.

“Great! Now that the head brain cell is here, let’s get this meeting started.” Chenle exclaimed.

Four hours into your meeting and eight out of ten worksheets later, your phone begins to ring with an incoming call from Sungchan. “Hold on guys, I gotta take this call. Hello?”

“I’m downstairs, come pick me up.” You couldn’t deny the butterflies that spread throughout your chest upon hearing your boyfriend’s voice. You got up to let him in though you certainly didn’t miss the teasing coming from your laptop as your classmates yelled about you and Sungchan.

As you made your way downstairs, you froze halfway down the stairs, seeing Sungchan already in the kitchen eating the bowl of cereal you forgot about. “I’m guessing you made this for yourself earlier and forgot to eat it.” He said through a mouthful of food.

“Babe, no, don’t eat that, it’s like five hours old. The milk is probably stale.” You exclaimed, worried about his health if it really did go bad.

Sungchan only shrugged as he took another spoonful into his mouth. “Tastes fine to me.”

You rolled your eyes before turning to head back upstairs. “Join me in my room once you’re ready, you cereal monster. Leave the dishes in the sink too.” As you returned to your room, you couldn’t help but wonder how Sungchan got in though you figure he’s probably seen you use the spare key under the doormat a couple times since you often were too lazy to get your own keys out of your bag most of the time.

When you sat down in front of your computer again, Jaemin had just finished explaining the answer to the problem you guys were working on earlier so you chimed in asking him to go over it again though he was quickly overrun by an excited Chenle. “Is Sungchan there?” He practically yelled.

“No, not yet, he’s eating some soggy cereal downstairs.” You inform him.

“Alright, let me know when he comes in.” Chenle says, unphased by your boyfriends’ odd preference of cereal.

Halfway through Jaemin’s explanation, Sungchan came into your room, placing his bag down at the foot of the bed before he took his jacket off and stripped out of his work uniform. “I heard a door open, is that Sungchan?” Chenle shouted over Jaemin once more.

“I never get to fucking speak in this group.” Jaemin huffed, at which Chenle muttered a quick ‘sorry’ back.

“Yes, Chenle, Sungchan is here,” you announce, looking over at the boy in question who had just finished pulling a shirt over his head and winked when he saw you staring at his body, “he seems very flirty today, must be because of you, Mr. Zhong.”

Sungchan sits down next to you and places a kiss on your cheek, smelling oddly of cleaning supplies, but you pay no mind to that, figuring he must have used them at work. “How’s it going Chenle?” He asks, though his attention is only on you and he places his hands on your cheeks and leaves a quick kiss on your lips.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear the two of you kissing,” Chenle remarks, earning a laugh from Sungchan, “but anyways, you should come back to the basketball team. We miss our giant point guard, you know.”

“Nah, I’m too busy these days. I already have work and school plus I still want to spend time with y/n.” He commented as he shifted to lie on his stomach next to you.

“Man, who knew a girl would be all it took to make this dude throw his love for basketball out the window.” Chenle taunted.

“Love makes you do things, you know how it is.” Sungchan replied, resting his head on your thigh.

Running a hand through his hair, “anyways,” you divert, “back to what Jaemin was saying about meiosis.”

“Thank you, y/n, I thought I’d never be able to speak again.” Jaemin uttered pointedly. “As I was saying, the main difference between meiosis and mitosis is that it creates four daughter cells instead of two like mitosis does.”

“Hey guys, wait, did you see the article that just came out?” Yeji inquired. “It’s another death.”

There was a moment of silence before anyone said anything. “No but you can read it to us.” Chenle concluded.

“Okay,” you could hear the deep breath Yeji took before reading the article, “it says here that the body was found at around 1:20pm in an alley between the lower-income housing apartments, the cause of death is assumed to be by Hickleback Jack using his axe, and the estimated time of death is anywhere from 12 to 1pm.”

“Wow,” Jaemin began, “so he just killed out in broad daylight.”

“Not gonna lie Jaemin, but I thought you were the killer.” Yeji let out blatantly.

You were mildly shocked at her bluntness, but not surprised given how stressed everyone was. “Me?” Jaemin gasped, “Yeji, you know I’m pretty much Rapunzel with how much time I spend in my room studying. And when I’m not studying, I’m either editing pictures or playing video games.”

“It’s true,” Chenle confirms, “he really doesn’t leave his room. We had a sleepover once and I felt like I was becoming a hermit like him.” Sungchan slightly wheezed at that, sending Chenle over the moon. “Did you hear that? Did you guys hear that? Sungchan thinks I’m funny!”

“Yeah yeah, enough about me being a hermit. But Yeji,” Jaemin addressed, “why did you think it was me?”

Yeji hesitated before responding. “I just- the way you were talking the other night...I don’t know. It just sounded so specific and detailed that I couldn’t help but think that it could have been you.”

“I don’t think a murderer would simply reveal his plans like that, you know.” Sungchan proposed.

“Well yeah, but it’s just the way he spoke, it was like he had things organized...you know what? Let’s forget I said that, but I know the four of us are clear.” Yeji resigned.

Sungchan sat up, “wait, why am I not cleared?”

“Y/n, what time did he call you?”

“Like 2-ish.”

“Exactly. Sungchan, you don’t have an alibi, as far as we know, until 2 and the time of death is stated to be 12 to 1pm.”

“I was at work earlier in the day, though.”

“Can you prove it to us?” Yeji pressed on.

“Yeah, my coworkers can vouch for me.”

You were quite surprised at how aggressive Yeji was being towards your boyfriend but you didn’t see any reason to stop her since she had very valid arguments. “Send a screenshot of it to Chenle and we’ll verify you from there.” Yeji commanded.

Sungchan slouched down a little next to you. “I don’t have the numbers of my coworkers though.”

“Alright, then you’re still on the list of suspects.”

After finishing all the worksheets for microbio and ending the call around 3:30, Sungchan pulled out his laptop and started typing away at a half-finished lab report for his human A&P class. You fell asleep curled into his body, his warmth and the constant tapping of his keyboard lulling you to sleep.

When you woke again, you immediately noticed the absence of a large boy next to you and frowned to yourself. As you came to, you heard noise coming from the kitchen and identified your mother’s voice followed by Sungchan’s. Noticing the time on your phone, you guess that he was probably helping her prepare dinner since it was already past 6 and your family ate around 7 before your dad left for work.

By the time you made yourself presentable and came downstairs, your mom and Sungchan were already setting the table. “Looks like our sleepyhead finally woke up.” Your mother exclaimed, making you grimace. “You didn’t tell me Sungchan was staying over,” you were about to open your mouth to say that you didn’t know that either but you weren’t given the chance to do so, “it’s okay, especially with that killer still on the loose, it makes me feel better knowing there’s someone around to protect my baby.”

You looked at Sungchan as if asking him for answers though he seemed to only avoid your gaze, reluctantly taking the seat across from you at the dining table. Your father walked in, delighted to see your boyfriend. “Sungchan! Good to see you, how are things at school?” He asked as he joined you all at the table.

“Okay for the most part, I haven’t taken to my writing class all that much though I enjoy my other science classes.” Sungchan answers.

Your dad hums in approval while you stare down Sungchan, trying to get him to look at you. “Remind me again what you’re majoring in again?” Your mom asks, Sungchan whips his head around faster than you can make eye contact with him.

“I’m majoring in forensics.” He states.

“Interesting, interesting,” your father contemplates, “you know, y/n here wants to become a pediatrician. The two of you are practically opposites in the science field, one dealing with crime and the other dealing with children.”

Sungchan let out a laugh, “I guess opposites really do attract then.”

You hated how well he entertained your parents and you hated how much they liked him. For the rest of dinner you tried to pin him down through your stares and even played a game of footsie with him but nothing seemed to work. It was only once the two of you were back in your room getting ready for bed that you were able to talk to him.

“Look, I’m not mad at you or anything, I’d just appreciate it if you talked to me first before just telling my parents that you’re staying over.” You told him as you went through your skincare routine.

Sungchan jumped onto your bed as he apologized. “Sorry, I just thought that since both of us finished our homework and with the killing today, it would just make sense for me to stay over.” He opened his arms, inviting you in as you stood up after finishing your night routine.

You copied him, jumping into your bed straight onto Sungchan, effectively pushing the air out of his body. He grunted as your weight fell onto him though he still wrapped his arms around your waist and shifted you up the length of your body so your face was level with his. “Hi” you giggle, shy from the sudden close proximity.

“Hey.” He says back with a smile as you slide off him, leaving an arm and leg slung over his body. “Tired?”

“No, not really, I took a nap earlier since someone didn’t care to wake me up.”

“You looked too cute, besides, you need all the rest you can get.” Sungchan explained, using his free hand to squish your cheeks. “If you’re really not tired then I know a way to make you tired.” His hand found its way down to your butt to further emphasize his point.

“Ew, no, not now.” You quickly refused, moving his hand up to your waist. “Just go to sleep and I’ll probably fall asleep after you anyways.”

“Oh wait,” Sungchan said, reaching over you to the nightstand for his phone, “did you vote on the poll yet?”

“No, I almost forgot.” You groaned, lazily reaching for your phone as well.

You pull up the local community board and enter your information, looking at the list of all the citizens, pondering on who you’d give your vote to. “Who are you voting for?” Sungchan asks, looking over at your screen.

“I really don’t know.” You tell him, though truthfully, you had someone in mind.

Thanks to the nap you had, you really couldn’t fall asleep no matter how hard you tried. You ended up dozing off occasionally but you’d wake up half an hour later only more irritated than when you first fell asleep.

You don’t remember what time it was, but at some point, Sungchan had removed himself from your grasp, unaware that you were still awake, though you made no effort to stop him thinking that he was just going to use the restroom and come back. Five minutes passed, five minutes turned into ten, then twenty, and you decided to check on him once thirty minutes had passed.

The house was completely dark, not even the light from the bathroom was on. You checked inside in case Sungchan had maybe gotten hurt and passed out, but he was nowhere to be found. After searching almost all the rooms in your house, you had yet to find any sign of him. After a bit of thinking, you had wandered out to your mothers’ greenhouse thinking that maybe some time with the plants would help to calm your mind.

It did anything but that.

Not long after setting foot inside of the small shed, you heard screams coming from nearby, getting closer and closer. You watched from the inside of the tinted glass as three girls ran through your backyard and into the next property. You couldn’t help it that you were frozen to your core, knowing who was coming.

You saw his frame as he jumped over the fence from the other end of your yard, axe in hand, running through the open grass and you thought he might have noticed you until he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued on you. You should’ve ducked down as soon as the girls ran past but it was too late now and there was no second way out of the greenhouse.

You knew you should have tried to run, maybe smash through the glass panelling but something in you told you that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to stop him. Steeling your nerves as he crosses the threshold of the greenhouse, you call out to him. “I know who you are.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

It was as if your world was crumbling before you, the once so comfortable relationship you knew felt fake, even though Sungchan, your loving boyfriend stood right there. The only difference was that you knew who he really was.

“Why?” You start, “why did you kill all those innocent people?”

“It’s all for fun, y/n.”

“What do you mean ‘for fun’? Those are real people you know, people with families and friends who miss them dearly.” You nearly cry out as he continues to approach you.

“You see, life is a game.” He paused his words as he came to stand in front of you. “Laws are nothing but a social construct that us humans follow mindlessly until our own demise.”

He takes a step closer to you, but you stand your ground. “Laws are what keep us safe and keep us happy. They allow us to lead our lives peacefully with others-”

“They are nothing but limits.” He closes the distance between the two of you, an arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you towards him, and you allow him to do so. “My dear, sweet, y/n. If only you weren’t so smart, I wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.” You were trying to persuade him just as much as you were to yourself. “You’d never.”

“Oh? And what makes you think that?”

“You love me.”

“I do, I love you so dearly, but now that you know who’s behind all the killings, there’s no way that I can let you go.” You felt his axe nudge the back of your leg as he brought both arms around you. To an outsider, it would look as if a couple were having a conversation, but for you, this was a fight for your life.

“Take off the mask.”

“Why should I?”

“So I can talk to you properly.”

He took off the mask without much more convincing, his normally handsome face now distorted by the crazed look in his eyes. People often say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and if they really were, then Sungchan didn’t have a soul.

“I swear to you that I won’t ever tell anyone about this, about you.”

“I don’t believe that you’ll keep that promise, my dear.”

“You know how much I love you. As long as we can stay together, I will not say anything.”

“This is not a tale of beauty and the beast. I am no beast to be tamed and there is no happy ending to this story.”

“Sungchan, no. You don’t mean that.”

“Do I really not mean it, or is that what you would like to believe? Something tells me it’s the latter.” He held you tight against him with one arm, the other raising his axe. “It’s truly a shame that your beauty must go to waste, you were truly a wonderful person both inside and out but I’m afraid that your life must end here.”

Before he could prep his swing, you pulled away and grabbed the nearest pot, launching it at him, the ceramic breaking against his head making dirt rain down upon both of you.

Not even a second passed before his axe was flying at you, lodging itself into your neck, nearly severing your head from your shoulder. You should’ve been thankful really, thankful that Sungchan had given you a quick death, not his usual route since it was so painless and easy for both the victim and the assailant.

He liked a struggle, but for you he made an exception out of love so that the last thing you’d see was him, your lover, before everything stopped.

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ladyloptr · 3 years

Text

•Part-Time•

Request: twt@LUSTFORLOKI. To sum up this one, Reader is a college student who took a part-time job in the Avengers tower as a sort of housekeeper/maid/butler. Steve, for all of his self-righteousness, doesn’t know how to treat a housekeeper/maid properly in the 21st century. Thankfully, Loki shows up, and as usual, has a plan for everything. (I’m such a Steve-anti. Poor Steve.)Lots of angst, some fluff.

Fandom: MCU AU

Pairing: Loki x College!Reader.

Warnings: Angst, Abuse, Violence. OOC Steve, Major Steve bashing, so any Steve-stans, please look away.

{————}

You need this job.

That’s the only reason why you’re here, and why you tolerate some of the insanity that you’re forced to endure.

You saw the advertisement on the internet, it was hard to miss. Big, bright and attention grabbing, just like your employer, Tony Stark. He was looking for a butler basically, but also sort of a housekeeper. Someone to help keep the tower in order, but also to help the Avengers if they ever needed anything.

Surprisingly, for all of his melodrama, egotism and childishness, Tony Stark is a great boss, and his wife, Pepper, is an even better boss. They’re both always pleasant to you, they pay you well, they pay you on time, they’re never rude (despite Tony’s jokes sometimes being a little-uncalled for), and they never really ask much from you.

Sure, your job is to help keep the 90-something tower “in order”, but you, interestingly enough, don’t do much cleaning. As Tony once said “I have people I pay to do all of that.” Your job is mostly centered on making sure that Tony’s physical files are organized, that the training room has all of the practice weapons properly locked up, and to make sure that the kitchen and main lounge/living room isn’t a hot-mess-express.

So, the only thing you really ever have to clean up is the kitchen, and on occasion, the living room. The Avengers don’t typically leave behind much of a mess.

Really, the insanity isn’t Tony, or Pepper, or cleaning, or the pay, it’s helping the Avengers when they “need something”.

Oh-correction. The insanity is helping Steve Rogers when he “needs something”.

The Avengers are all grown ass adult superheroes (minus Peter), and you’re a college student taking a part-time job so that you can take care of yourself. Most of them find it uncomfortable to ask you to do meager things for them, so they mostly ignore you, and do things for themselves like functional members of society.

Except for Steve Rogers.

You are unsure of what you did, but the moment you started working here, he’s been nothing but cold and mean to you. He asks you to bring him a drink, to bring him a snack, to bring him a napkin, to bring him his breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s gotten ridiculous. He’ll even ask you to make sure his bedroom is neat after he wakes up, and to make sure his bathroom is cleaned every few days.

This is behavior you expected from the Asgardian princes, Thor and Loki, but definitely not from Captain fucking America.

Then again, as Captain America, perhaps his behavior rightfully represents what a lot of Americans are; entitled.

(I’m American also, lol, no hate plz.)

He’s nothing like what he was supposed to be. On camera he was gentlemanly, kindhearted and appreciative. It was a shock to you when you found that Loki, of all the people in the tower, acts more like Captain America, than Captain America.

Which was truly bewildering to you at first. Just think about it for a moment...

The guy who tried to take over the whole world and enslave mankind is the one who greets you with a smile everyday, and offers to make you tea on Saturday and Sunday mornings (which are the only mornings you can work-you got those 7am college classes, RIP). He even helps you with your studies, homework and college essays if you find yourself falling behind. It took some time to get used to his kind gestures, which sometimes bewildered even Thor at times.

While Loki got familiar with you, your relationship with Steve Rogers, on the other hand, ended up only getting worse.

It turned abusive, sometimes violent, and the only reason you never went to Tony is because you know that the two are close friends and coworkers. You could go to the other Avengers, but you’re sure that their relationship to Steve is similar, as well.

Bucky Barnes is another person you know is close with Steve. Those two go way back-before you were even born.

One day, you were careless in leaving your house. It was a Saturday morning, you were tired and you hadn’t noticed that both of your arms had begun to bruise from Steve’s super soldier strength.

He had hit you a few times in anger yesterday. You can’t really recall why.

“What are those on your arms?” Loki asks, within seconds of seeing you. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“I’m The God of Lies, my dear, you’ll have to do better than that.” Loki says, looking over your arms, carefully. “Is someone harming you?”

“No. I fell.”

“Try again.” Loki challenges, looking up at you sternly.

“I’m fine.”

“Who is harming you?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. “Is it someone in here?”

“Loki...”

“Is it an Avenger?”

Loki catches the subtle change in your eyes, the spark of fear that lit up when he asked whether or not it was an Avenger.

He growls. “Who is it?”

“Loki, please, I don’t want to talk about it.” You plead, getting rather uncomfortable now. “Can we just... play chess or something?”

Loki frowns at you for a while, before sighing in defeat. “Fine, alright.”

He doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the day.

You make sure to wear long sleeves to cover the bruises on your arms for the next couple of days, at least until the bruising goes down.

“What did I tell you about leaving my bedroom a mess?” Steve demands. “It’s a simple request. I’m not asking you to teach a dog to sing.”

Steve has decided to now confront you in an empty hallway about not tidying up his room yesterday.

“I’m sorry...” You mutter. “...Tony wanted me with him all day yesterday.”

“You couldn’t have come do it before you left? You just went home knowing my bedroom is a mess?” Steve asks, quickly getting upset.

“Tony clocked me out himself, so I was already off shift. Besides, it’s not like you can’t clean your bedroom yourself.” You answer.

Wrong answer, apparently.

He grabbed your arm and held it in a bruising grip, once again reminding you that he’s no ordinary human.

You let out a whimper and try to pull away, which proves no use. You’re not surprised when he slaps you. You’re surprised by how a super soldier serum can make a simple slap so painful. You’re even more surprised when your nose starts bleeding.

He must’ve inadvertently popped a blood vessel or something.

He raises his hand again, and you close your eyes, prepared for a punch or something worse, but it never comes. You open your eyes and see Steve looking at something behind you. You turn around and see Loki standing at the other end of the hall, his hands behind his back, an indifferent look on his face, but his eyes tell a different story.

You’ve known Loki long enough to realize that if you want to know his true emotions, you read his eyes, not his face. He’s a master at using his face to guard his true feelings.

And his eyes currently hold a barely contained storm of rage inside of them.

“I apologize for... interrupting...” Loki barely managed to keep his voice steady. “But dinner is ready, and I was wondering if (Y/N) would be joining us tonight.”

You nod, frantically. Steve releases your arm, and you rush over to Loki’s side.

“Loki Laufeyson, master of perfect timing, always ready to save the day.”

“Actually.” Loki corrects. “It’s Loki Odinson, master of sorcery, always ready to put ignorant Midgardians in their place.” He smiles a very unpleasant smile. “But yes... I suppose you’re also somewhat correct.”

“No one will believe you.” Steve says.

“Perhaps you’re correct.” Loki drones. “I am not here to hold a conversation with you, however, I am here to take (Y/N) to dinner.”

Steve snorts derisively, and walks by Loki, intentionally bumping shoulders with him.

Well, Steve was bumped, Loki didn’t move even a centimeter.

“Might want to clean her up first.” Steve says, as he retreats. “Wouldn’t want everyone to think you were beating up on her before dinner.”

Loki clenches his jaw. You look away, nervous about what he’s going to say.

You’re startled when he tilts your face up by your chin, and then slowly uses his seidr to heal any damage Steve has dealt you, including the bruises on your arms. He checks you over multiple times, making sure you aren’t still hurt.

Once he’s finished, he takes both of your hands and makes eye contact with you. He’s still upset, but the anger has tapered down to a manageable level.

“How did you know he was hurting me just now?” You ask, in a hushed tone.

“The same day I inquired about your bruises, I forged a... connection of sorts.” Loki explains. “Today, I felt that you were in danger, so I went looking for you. I have a similar connection with Thor, otherwise that oaf would’ve perished long ago.”

You nod, it makes sense, somewhat. You blush as he kisses your cheek and then your forehead.

“I am sorry.” Loki squeezes your hands, gently. “I wish I had noticed earlier. I would’ve killed him in that moment, would it not result in me being casted back to Asgard. The last thing I want, is for you to be left here to deal with all of this on your own.”

“Well... there’s nothing we can do about it now...” You murmur.

“I believe that to be untrue...” Loki’s eyes slowly shift up to the security cameras. “...Rogers appears to have forgotten about the many eyes this tower has.”

Your eyes widen. “The security cameras...!”

Loki smirks. “Stark will review the footage if you ask him to. I could accompany you to his lab tonight after dinner, if you so wish.”

“Yes, I’d love that.” You wrap your arms around Loki as tight as you possibly can. “Thank you!”

“You’re most certainly welcome.” Loki chuckles. “Time to cook up a scandal...”

A/N: SORRY STEVE STANS, I TAKE ALL REQUESTS, NO REQUESTS LEFT BEHIND.

Also, I wrote this while struggling with depression (it’s been two weeks, and it seems to not be improving, and this crap can last as long as a couple of months, so I wrote it anyway. Better than waiting a few months to finally get on this), and I’m not sure if y’all have noticed, but my storytelling feels weird in this one. My ability to produce a thorough, flowing storyline appears to be sort of hindered right now. I’ll try to update it if I can.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #reader angst

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

7 Secrets Drabbles

The one where the boys watch the girls freak out

(requested by anon)

Genre: Soulmate au

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Word Count: 3.7k

This is a drabble based off of my main series “7 Secrets”. If you would like to read the whole story (which I think you should but I’m kinda biased) then check out my m.list. It’s now completed!

Premise: This takes place in chapters 4 and 5 in the main series, it’s when the girls get the warning call that they’re going to meet the boys. The boys were sitting in on the call the entire time, unbeknownst to the girls. :)

Bang Si Hyuk was planning on having a private phone call with Kyung-soon, Seohyun, Himari, Beth, Aera, Ichika, and Minsuh. He was about to deliver some very big news, and he didn’t want a single thing to go wrong.

So you can imagine his surprise when he entered his office only to find Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook looking up at him expectantly.

“...may I help you with something?”

It was Jimin who spoke first, and it was obvious why. Mr. Bang had always struggled saying no to Park Jimin. He held a soft spot for the boy.

“We’re here for the phone call. You’re doing that tonight, aren’t you?” Jimin looked at him with the biggest puppy eyes he could manage which left Bang Si Hyuk sighing and nodding as he plopped into his chair.

Jungkook and Jin let out a whoop of excitement, but Mr. Bang shot them a glare strong enough to quiet them.

“You can stay under one condition.” Each boy looked at him like innocent little angels, but he reminded himself to not buy into it for one single second. “You have to remain quiet. You stay out of frame-”

“It’s a video call?” Yoongi pipes up, mouth falling open ever so slightly in the way it always does.

Mr. Bang furrows his brows. “Yes...what did you think was going to happen?” The looks on their faces were priceless, and for a second he almost wished he could take a photo of the moment.

Taehyung shrugs his shoulders, the near permanent smile that’s been on his face the past few weeks reappearing as he thinks about his soulmate.

“I just wanted to make sure you made the call, I guess.”

Mr. Bang chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re smitten and you haven’t even met her yet.” Taehyung turns an impressive shade of pink, but it does nothing to his smile.

A flurry of movement and instructions, and the portable television from three levels down is wheeled into Mr. Bang’s office. After some quick set up and Jungkook chatting with Ji-hoon who looks like all of this is his own fault, Mr. Bang shushes everyone again.

Perhaps he should have told the boys about their soulmates years ago, because with one little word the entire room falls silent. He should have known that soulmates would serve as a good incentive.

“Alright, as I was saying before. Please remain completely silent throughout the call. This is a lot for the girls to take in; I haven’t had the time to ease them into the news like I wish I did. I think it would be too much for them if they realized that their soulmates were eavesdropping on a private conversation, don’t you agree?”

Everyone nods, but Jin himself is grinning while looking down at his shoes. At the mention of him being someone’s soulmate he can hardly contain himself. He stands behind the couch beside Jungkook, while Hoseok is sitting on the arm of the couch and the other four boys are crammed onto the cushions.

“Right, so we have to be quiet.” Jungkook repeats back, clearly ready for the call to be made already. “Anything else?”

Mr. Bang laughs quietly, fiddling with his computer as he brings up the girls’ contact information. He hovers over Beth’s name, since she’s usually the one he calls. The boys hold their breath, watching the tv screen where Mr. Bang’s screen is mirrored.

“Do not for any reason come into the frame...and I guess try not to take any of the girls’ reactions too seriously. They might be a bit…”

“Freaked out?” Hobi supplies. Mr. Bang nods.

“Sure, freaked out. Ready? Get your wiggles out now before I call them. And remember-”

“Yeah yeah, no speaking,” Taehyung murmurs, standing up and running in place before settling back down on the couch squished between Jimin and Yoongi.

“Are you calling Beth?” Namjoon asks, the emotion clear in his voice. It sounds like he’s stopped breathing as Mr. Bang continues to hover over her contact information.

Mr. Bang thinks about it before shaking his head, and Namjoon’s shoulders visibly drop. “She just went into work today for the first time since landing, chances are she’s probably still there. I’m trying to think who is most likely home at this point...should we try Seohyun?”

Yoongi’s head shoots up. “Yes. We should.” Everyone chuckles knowingly at his attitude.

“Alright...calling Seohyun in 3...2…”

The tell-tale sound of the facetime ringing echoes throughout the room, and Yoongi can’t help but reach out to grab Taehyung with as much strength as he can muster in the moment. Which, if you asked Taehyung, is a considerable amount.

There’s a pause in which everyone holds their breath before someone answers the phone.

“Seohyunie, where are you? You’ve been fired or something!” A voice cuts through the room like a searing hot brand, but nobody appears before the camera.

“...hello?” Mr. Bang chuckles. He’s apparently used to this. The boys, on the other hand, look like they may pass out at any moment.

Only Jungkook is able to breathe, and when he does he just breathes out a name. “Minush…”

Suddenly Minsuh’s face cuts across the screen, a bright smile overtaking her features.

“Hello Mr. Bang! Seohyun left her phone down here, she’ll be down in a second.”

“That’s alright, would you mind actually gathering up everybody? I know that this is a bit unexpected, but I was hoping to speak with all of you.”

There’s a flash of concern on Minsuh’s face, but she doesn’t get an opportunity to ask what Mr. Bang means when another voice draws her attention.

“What do you mean I’m fired?” Minsuh passes the phone to her, and Seohyun comes into frame.

Yoongi sighs, leaning forward on his seat until he’s nearly slipping off of the couch. He’s still clinging to Taehyung, which is probably the only reason he doesn’t fall off the couch at that moment.

Seohyun gives Mr. Bang a smile before turning to listen to what Minsuh is telling her. Minsuh pops her head back in for a moment.

“I’ll go grab everyone, they should be here. But, are Beth or Soon-ah back yet?” Seohyun shrugs in response, moving away from where Minsuh answered her phone in the kitchen.

The boys grin down at Yoongi who is caught between gasping for air and not breathing at all. Seohyun is preoccupied with something, but she remains in the frame as she sets her phone down on the coffee table. She’s wearing a graphic tee with the words “AGUST D” printed across it, her hair pulled up into a ponytail so it wouldn’t fall into her face while she was studying.

“Should I sync you up to the TV? That’ll be easier for everyone to see.”

Mr. Bang nods. “That’d be great, thank you.”

Seohyun hums a tune while she gets to work, pausing for a moment as she looks back at the screen.

“Mr. Bang…”

“Yes?”

“Is everything alright with the boys?”

If Yoongi wasn’t smitten already, the sweet look in Seohyun’s eyes as she inquired after him and his brothers was enough to send him careening over the edge. Mr. Bang gave her a soft smile.

“Yes, the boys are just fine. Yoongi is fine,” he adds, giving Yoongi a glance. That statement could be left up to interpretation, seeing as the boy in question wasn’t sure if his heart was still functioning properly.

Seohyun chuckles on the other side of the phone before giving out a shout of triumph as the camera angle suddenly changes.

No longer are the boys viewing through Seohyun’s phone, but through the camera on the TV. They can see the entire living room as well as the end part of the kitchen. Seohyun is kneeling beside the coffee table, setting her phone down.

“Better?”

“Better.” Yoongi and Mr. Bang respond at the same time. Seohyun doesn’t notice, instead rushing off to find the others.

“Be right back!”

Soon the room is empty, and all seven boys let out a collective sigh.

“This is harder than I thought,” Jungkook whispers to Jin. He ignores the glare he receives from Mr. Bang. Jin nods emphatically, squeezing the back of the couch hard enough that he leaves imprints on the fabric.

The front door opens and Kyung-soon enters. She jumps when she finds herself face to face with Mr. Bang.

“Hello Kyung-soon,” Mr. Bang gives her a sympathetic smile. Kyung-soon takes off her jacket, edging closer to the couch in the front room. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing fine. May I ask why you’re on the TV?”

Jin breathes out a string of prayers as Kyung-soon tilts her head in a quizzical manner.

“Oh, well I needed to call everyone and-”

“Bang PD!” Ichika chirps upon entering the room, Himari trailing behind her.

“Wow, you look good on TV,” Himari smirks, causing Hoseok to nearly lose his balance on the arm of the sofa.

Taehyung’s smile has somehow managed to triple in size as he gets to watch his soulmate in real time.

“Do you guys know what’s going on?” Kyung-soon asks, settling down on the chair beside the couch. Himari sits down on the couch, Ichika sitting in front of her and resting her back against her knees.

It’s almost as if they’ve had plenty of these kinds of calls and already know their designated spots.

Himari shakes her head. “No. Do you know when Beth is coming home? Did you just get here?”

“Yeah, I just closed a deal!” Kyung-soon grins while the other two girls congratulate her. “I texted her a while ago, she didn’t respond.”

“It’s because she’s a workaholic,” Aera enters the room followed by Minsuh and Seohyun. “She probably won’t be home for a while. I texted her too.”

From the way Namjoon is wringing his hands together, Jimin thinks that he may break something. He must be really nervous if he’s pulling Jimin’s attention away from his soulmate appearing. But it doesn’t last for long, soon enough he’s just as engrossed as the rest of his brothers.

Minsuh plops down beside Himari while Seohyun and Aera take up the space on another small couch.

There’s a clear spot between Himari and Minsuh, which Namjoon can only guess is typically reserved for his soulmate. The face that the spot is currently empty hurts him more than he’d like to admit.

Mr. Bang attempts to start again, not doing a very good job at making it look like he’s not about to drop some life-changing information on them.

“I’ll call Beth in a second...I’d like for her to be here for this.”

Himari’s brows furrow. “What’s going on? Is everything ok?”

“Yes, everything is fine,” Mr. Bang reassures. “In fact, I have some great news for all of you. I was just hoping that everyone could be present when I told you this.”

The girls are silent on the other side of the room, and the silence drags on long enough for Mr. Bang to pull his phone out and hold it up to his ear.

“Let me call Beth. If she doesn’t answer, would one of you be willing to go and get her?”

Everyone nods, exchanging glances. Kyung-soon has gone pale as she sits straight up in her seat, silently communicating something with Aera across the room.

Namjoon’s eyes don’t leave Mr. Bang’s face as he calls Beth. When she doesn’t answer, Namjoon sighs and leans back against the couch. Possible scenarios are racing around his mind, and Jimin gives him a reassuring pat.

“Mr. Bang…” Aera starts, looking entirely unsure of herself. “Please tell us what this is all about. You’re scaring me.”

If Jimin could teleport, he would right now.

“No, it’s nothing, it’s just...well, the boys know.”

Just like that, all six girls drop their jaws. About two seconds of silence reign before a flurry of questions and demands are thrown at Mr. Bang.

Kyung-soon and Aera are both standing, either one laughing at the other.

“Oh, I told you so! I won!” Kyung-soon shouts, making Jin want to shout with her.

“Did you, though? I feel like I can still win this,” Aera defends. Seohyun looks past her to Mr. Bang, all her flair gone.

“Wait, what do you mean they know? Oh no. They know. That’s not good.” Seohyun looks at Minsuh, who simply stares into space.

Ichika still sits on the floor, a look of determination on her face. “If they know, we’re going to meet them, right?” It takes every last bit of Taehyung’s willpower to not leap up and tell her yes.

Himari whips her phone out, texting as fast as she can. As soon as she’s sent her texts, she sinks down low into the couch, head in her hands. Hoseok’s heart stumbles until Himari raises her head again and she doesn’t look disappointed. Just shocked.

“Minsuh,” Himari mumbles out in a daze. Everyone quiets down upon hearing the usually bold Himari turned to a small figure on the edge of the couch. Her face is pale now, but she looks at the younger girl pleadingly.

“Hm?” Minsuh asks, still staring off into space.

“Could you go pick up Beth from work? She took the bus today. Even if she leaves now, she won’t be here for a while.” Himari’s voice is quiet and controlled, but Hoseok can tell that she’s barely keeping herself together.

Minsuh comes out of her daze, finally focusing on Himari. “Me? Oh...sure. Yeah, that’s fine.”

Without another word Minsuh gets up and leaves, leaving Mr. Bang staring out and observing the expressions of the soulmates on the other side of Seoul and the soulmates sitting here in his office.

Jungkook has tears glistening in his eyes since Minsuh had to leave, but he looks oddly proud of her.

Yoongi is still clinging to Taehyung, but now Taehyung is also clinging to Yoongi. Both are at risk of swallowing a fly as their mouths hang open.

Jin has backed away from the couch and now is leaning his back against the wall. He doesn’t blink as he stares at the screen in front of him, almost as though he’s scared that if he does his soulmate will disappear.

Jimin rests his elbows on his knees, bouncing one leg as he looks at Aera with an indescribable look that almost has Mr. Bang offering him some alone time.

Namjoon is staring burning holes into the carpet.

Hoseok is alternating between staring out the window for two seconds and back at his soulmate for three. Mr. Bang knows this because he counts. Twice.

They pass the next twenty minutes in a similar fashion, Mr. Bang making futile small talk with the girls while the boys aren’t quite sure what to do with themselves.

“So…” Kyung-soon starts up. “Are the boys ok with this? How are they?”

Seohyun nods on the other side of the room, suddenly very fidgety with her tee shirt.

Mr. Bang looks around the room with a small laugh. “Oh, they’re great. I’d say they’re pretty excited with the whole thing, actually.”

“Don’t lie to make us feel better,” Himari quips.

“I’m not. Trust me. Have I ever given you a reason not to?”

“Yes,” all the girls say in unison. Mr. Bang looks offended, but he’s unable to defend himself as Beth chooses that exact moment to enter the apartment.

“Ah, Bethany,” Mr. Bang smiles, and Namjoon’s head pops up with impressive speed at the mention of his soulmate’s name. “How kind of you to stop by.”

Beth kicks of her shoes while shooting Mr. Bang a smirk that has Namjoon wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

Whatever it is, he knows for certain that he doesn’t want to ever get out of it.

“I saw you called me. Sorry I missed it, some of us have work to do.” Beth says when she sits down at her designated spot, the action making Namjoon more at ease now that everything is complete.

“So what’s going on? You don’t tend to call without scheduling it first.”

Everyone steels themselves for the big reveal yet again, and Jungkook is surprised that Minsuh didn’t tell her on the ride over. Perhaps it was the right thing to do, though. Something tells him that Beth finding out while in the confines of a vehicle might not be a smart move.

“Well, remember that conversation we had a little while back, when you requested that I give you a 48 hour notice before meeting your soulmate so you could have enough time to catch a flight to Antarctica?”

Namjoon can’t help the chuckle that slips out of his mouth, but he’s quick to clamp his mouth shut again. Thankfully, Beth doesn’t seem to hear him, instead opting for a slightly confused look.

“Yeah, I remember. Why do I get the feeling that I’m once again the last person to know about something important?”

Jungkook reaches down to rub the back of Namjoon’s neck in an attempt to loosen up the clearly tense state of the leader. It’s a pity that Namjoon has to go through this part alone, but something tells Jungkook that this may be a trend where him and Beth are concerned.

Beth continues looking at Mr. Bang warily as he begins to speak. “Yeah, sorry about that. You’re just hard to get a hold of sometimes.” There’s a pause in the which Namjoon considers ripping the laptop from Mr. Bang’s hands and explaining himself, but Mr. Bang continues on. “Ok, Bethany. Consider this your 48 hour notice.”

The boys are caught between watching Beth and Namjoon, although the two of them end up having very similar reactions.

Namjoon chews on his cheek while he awaits Beth’s words, and Beth chews on her lip as she comes up with something to say. There is no uproar or shouting this time around, just Himari gently squeezing her friend’s arm in support.

Beth leans up, resting her elbows on her knees. “Alrighty then,” she stands from the couch and Jimin has to tug on Namjoon’s arm to keep him from doing the same thing. “48 hours? I could probably pull some strings, make it to Antarctica in time. You don’t happen to have any pilot friends, do you?”

Mr. Bang smiles, looking over his laptop to Namjoon who has a ghost of a smile on his face.

The boys watch as Beth settles down, leveling Mr. Bang with an intimidating look as she begins to ask him about where and when. Everyone settles back down, both the boys and the girls seeming to come out of their dazes.

Notes are taken, instructions are given, and Taehyung and Yoongi whisper to each other so quietly that Jimin wonders how they can even hear each other.

Hoseok watches on as Himari slowly comes back out of her shell that she thrust herself in. He’s unsure of what to think, but as she mumbles things to Beth and the two of them chuckle, Hobi finds himself able to breathe again.

What began as a contained phone call, with all of the boys sitting quietly and watching on, gradually turns into the boys moving about freely and Taehyung even sprawling out on the floor like his own soulmate. Taehyung watches her as she disappears from the frame, worried that she left without even saying goodbye. He can’t help the giggle that falls from his lips and he sees that she only left to return to her usual spot but with cereal.

Jin and Jungkook grow restless as the call drags on, mirroring each other as they attempt the quietest squats they can manage. Eventually Jimin joins in as well, keep his gaze firmly planted on his soulmates.

Namjoon stretches and makes room for Hobi on the couch. Yoongi falls asleep while watching Seohyun who has her legs tucked in as she rests her chin atop her knees. His quiet snores fill the room, but Mr. Bang doesn’t have the heart to wake him up.

Namjoon and Hobi quietly converse, discussing the dynamic their soulmates have.

“They’re really close,” Hoseok notes. “I mean, they all are.”

“Yeah, but they definitely have a tight bond. We’ll have to make sure we do a lot of things together.”

It’s nearly 11 when the call begins to wrap up. Taehyung gently taps Yoongi, who for once bolts up from his sleep without a single word.

“We’re all excited to see you,” Mr. Bang says, grinning.

Beth laughs, “By we you mean you and the staff, right?”

Namjoon and Hoseok chuckle darkly, their laughter masked by Mr. Bang’s own laugh.

“Obviously. And maybe a few other people as well. See you Thursday?”

“See you Thursday.”

Mr. Bang cuts the call, looking around the room expectantly. “Well done. I don’t think they noticed. See you Thursday?” He asks, clearly worn out.

“Thanks!” Jungkook shouts over his shoulder, heading out along with his brothers. Taehyung and Jimin burst out into a sprint, relieved to finally be out of the confines of Mr. Bang’s office. Jin follows along, clutching his stomach as he groans.

“I’m starving,” he grumbles. “Hobi! Call the takeout place you like!”

Yoongi stumbles along the hall, clearly still half-asleep. “Thursday, you guys.”

Everyone piles into the elevator, each one mumbling something about Thursday. Hobi gets the takeout place on the phone, giving his order.

Namjoon leans his head against the wall of the elevator, smiling to himself.

“You’re soulmate is funny,” Taehyung says. “Do you really think she’ll go to Antarctica?”

Everyone chuckles at the comment, Namjoon included. “Who knows. I hope not, though. It’s too cold there.”

“Are you going to get her?” Jin asks, eyes wide. “There’s polar bears up there!”

Namjoon smiles at his friend, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Oh, you’re smitten Namjoon!” Jungkook cries out. Everyone joins in on the teasing, hardly letting the leader breathe. He glares at them all, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t act like you guys aren’t, either.”

“Yeah,” Jimin pipes up, eyeing his next target who is none the wiser. “Can we talk about Yoongi with his mouth wide open all night?”

It’s safe to say that Jimin had nowhere to run in the small elevator, and Yoongi made him regret his words in record time.

taglist: @mae-musicbitch @heartblackerthancoffee @agustneeds @eusticenatalie @taylorroe3

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aylinaliens · 3 years

Text

The Not So Scary Haunting of Sarawat Guntithanon— Chapter 1

Fandom: 2Gether

Pairings: Sarawat/Tine

Summary: Sarawat Gay Panics 24/7 over his new roommate (who, by the way, might be a ghost, which is weird on so many levels but whatever, if a man wants to thirst over the supernatural being haunting his apartment so be it!)

Word Count: 1621

Notes: i'm not even excited for 2gether the movie yet here i am, posting another sarawatine fic. basically our boy Sarawat gay panics every single minute of every single day because the ghost who is haunting his apartment is pretty. that's it. that's the plot. just sarawatine being dumb, mutually pining idiots.

Read the first chapter on Ao3 or down below!

How was it possible that a disembodied voice could sound so... god damn enticing and lovely? At first, Sarawat found himself pressing his body deeper into his bed but after getting over to his initial shock and fear he allowed himself sometime to appreciate the sound of it. Although his heart was in his throat, Sarawat could not deny the wave of comfort that filled his veins, from his finger to his toes warm spread through his body.

Which was weird—and frankly crazy. Ghosts can possess people, right? Or kill them? Sarawat wished he paid more attention to all the horror movies Man and Boss dragged him to because maybe then he wouldn’t be laying in bed, already whipped, ready to drop down on knee. Hand in marriage sir, please give me your hand in marriage.

He should be terrified of this figure, not lowkey turned on.

Curse Sarawat and his inability to function around attractive boys. Curse this motherfucking hot as heck ghost and his stupid dimples.

Sarawat awakes to a blurry and translucent figure hovering mere inches from his face.

The next day he swears to Man and Boss that the reason he remains frozen was because of fear and not because he was having a full on gay panic attack... over a ghost. That’s what this person was, right? A ghost? He was a rationale adult but he had enough brain cells to connect all the dots.

Sarawat sucks in a deep inhale of breath, allowing his eyes to burn every line, curve, and dip of this mysterious figure's face.

The dim light of his bedroom combined with the near translucent nature of the figure meant that Sarawat never was able to get a clear idea of what this ghost looked like. Just the glimpses he did get left his throat dry and heart pounding rapidly.

The figure had a closed mouth smile etched across his features, all soft pink lips and crinkly eyes and dimples. Sarawat briefly thought of leaning forward to press his fingertips against those pink lips just to see if they were as soft as they looked. But then he realized that was insane and weird so instead he just beat that thought away with a stick. Gay thoughts: be gone! Don’t you dare become a simp over a motherfucking ghost.

The bottom half of his face was crystal clear which was both a blessing and curse while his top half looked as if it was about to flicker away at any moment. Sarawat was positive that this was abnormal, but then again this was his first encounter with a ghost so maybe it was, in fact, normal? It’s not as if he was given a manual or anything.

He couldn’t quite tell what shade of brown this mysterious figures eyes but he allowed his brain to imagine that it was probably vivid, just like the rest of his face. He was debating on the actual shade when he a disembodied voice spoke.

“Hello.”

He should be terrified of this figure, not lowkey turned on.

Curse Sarawat and his inability to function around attractive boys. Curse this motherfucking hot as heck ghost and his stupid dimples.

Sarawat was like ninety percent sure of his sexual identity but now he was having a crisis about the fact he was possibly crushing on a whole new species. Needless to say he was losing his mind!

He could just imagine the headline of the video Man would inevitably make him sit down to film and post on their jointed YouTube channel.

STORYTIME: I ALMOST MADE OUT WITH THE GHOST THAT'S HAUNTING MY APARTMENT!

Sarawat was positive that his best friend would insert various memes and jokes throughout his very honest and real existential-slash-moral-slash- philosophical crisis Sarawat was having.

It would probably rake in a lot of views but Sarawat did not want to be known as That One Guy Who Simped Over A Ghost for the rest of his life.

He was almost positive that if he told his friends the trust extent of how he felt, they would want to change their channel from music and vlogs to something more akin to Buzzfeed Unsolved.

They would buy a spirit box and Ouija board online and force Sarawat to try to communicate because of course they fucking would, those absolute menaces.

He could already see Boss glancing around like a conspiracy theorist, seriously asking the ghost are you DTF (that means down to fornicate in case you need clarification), Mr. Ghost? Just give us a sign, any sign. Man would most definitely feed into this or make the situation even worse.

Which is why he was not going to reveal what happened tonight. He would just play off as sleep paralysis. Yeah. That is the best way to prevent his best friends from blowing this situation out of proportion.

Sarawat wanted to say something but the words died in his throat. What would he even say? Hello. Please smash your face against mine! Uh, no way in hell. Maybe it was a good thing that he had trouble forming words right now. It would save him a lot of embarrassment.

The figure leaned down closer and— fuck fuck fuck gay thoughts go away— peering curiously down at Sarawat. “He definitely can see me so why isn’t he saying anything?”

Because you can’t verbally keysmash in real life you beautiful and vaguely threatening supernatural being.

The figure hummed, deep in thought, before leaning back (thank goodness) only to do something that made Sarawat let out a very unflattering shriek in surprise. Well there goes his reputation. He didn’t have one in the first place to begin with, especially not with this ghost, but still. There it goes.

Ghosts were unable to touch people right? Right? So why did a ghost...just touch him?

Sarawat raked his brain trying to remember the drama he watched a few months back with his brother (it was Phukong unsubtle way of being like, hey, bro, I like boys but I’m still scared of coming out so let’s just both pretend like I didn’t just cry at the scene where Ohm Pawat’s character comes out to his mother, I swear I’m emotional because of the acting not because I can relate to it).

Sarawat was positive that the ghost in that drama couldn’t actually touch anyone. He was like ninety-six percent sure that every time he tried his body would just go straight through the other characters.

He forgot how it was possible that the ghost could touch, and kiss, the human, though. He should have paid more attention but hey, he was also trying to think of an inconspicuous way to let it slip that he was also gay. Great (disaster gays) apparently think a lot alike.

Anyways, the figure poked his chest and Sarawat almost pissed his pants in shock. Clearly the ghost was just as surprised that he could actually touch Sarawat because he froze, making Sarawat happy that he decided to wear a shirt to bed tonight.

He assumed that the ghost must have thought he was dreaming to (wait can ghost dream?) so just to make sure he poked Sarawat three more times in the same spot and yup—Sarawat felt it. He felt it clear as day.

“Oh.” The figure tilted his head to the side. “This is weird. I shouldn’t be able to do that.”

Yeah, obviously.

Sarawat opened his mouth to finally speak (he swore he was going to play it cool and be all like: hi! i promise i’m not having gay thoughts right now!) but before he could a loud crash in the next room made him jolt in surprise.

After being rendered motionless for a few minutes, Sarawat finally gained control of his own body. He threw himself upright into a sitting position but in the process of doing so he accidentally slammed his forehead against the figure whose face was technically still in close proximity.

Cursing, Sarawat clutched his head as pain made white spots cloud his vision. “ Fuck .”

From next to him the figure cursed too. “ Shit.”

Eventually the pain subsided into a dull ache, allowing Sarawat to glance over at the boy—ghost, supernatural being, angel, whatever—next to him.

The top half of his face was no longer translucent anymore.

In fact, he wasn’t translucent at all.

Crimson blood began to trickle out from his nose, causing Sarawat to gape in horror.

Not because the image was a terrifying one. I mean, yeah, it was a bit weird but it has been established that Sarawat, that certifiable himbo, was in a constant state of ‘mark me down as scared and horny’ tonight, but because a ghost...was bleeding. From a wound that Sarawat gave him. Was that like, scientifically possible? Note to self: send a text to Earn so that she can ask her girlfriend about it.

Also? Sarawat was finally able to label the ghost's eyes as being a cross between honey and caramel. Obviously, his poor gay started chanting oh oh oh oh oh because yeah, read above, Sarawat Guntithanon? Himbo, Simp, Dumbass Extraordinaire. Either way he was a mess.

The possible brain injury and the shock of the entire night finally caught up to Sarawat, making his stomach churn with nausea and vision become blurry.

Without meaning to, Sarawat fainted—not even elegantly like one of those heroines in a romance novel but like a dead, fucking fish, limbs flopping every which way—right into the arms of the mysterious figure he was still dying ( yikes bad choice of words) to know the name of.

The last thing he registered before completely blacking out was that someone was cradling him to their chest, rambling away.

“Oh my god. Did I just kill him? No. No way. He’s still breathing. Shit. Sarawat! Hey, you saraleo, wake up!”

#2gether #2gether the series #still2gether #sarawatine #sarawatine fic #sarawat guntithanon #tine teepakorn #sarawat x tine #thai bl #bl fic #jdsdlkf whipped!wat and equally whipped!tine is my favorite so i had to write this #also this is inspired by he's coming to me but very vaguely

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antiadvil · 3 years

Text

Starlight

summary: There isn’t much else to do during lockdown, so Dan and Phil go stargazing.

rating: PG13

wc: ~2k

notes: This was written for the @phandomreversebang for the beautiful prompt and art provided by @ayushikuu and betad by @gravyflavoredjuulpod. They were a great team to work with and I'm really happy with how the overall project turned out!

read on ao3 or after the cut

“We should go stargazing,” Phil said one morning over breakfast.

Dan snorted. “In London? Good luck, mate.”

Phil shrugged. “I was thinking not in London.”

“You want to go on a trip? Everything’s shut down, Phil.”

“Not far. I bet you don’t have to travel very much to get away from the light pollution.”

Dan looked skeptical.

“Really,” Phil insisted. “We should do it. It’ll be fun.”

Dan stirred at his coffee. “It might be fun.” “It will be fun.”

“Stars are pretty,” Dan said.

“So are you.” Phil dropped a kiss to Dan’s cheek. “I’ll do the planning. Don’t worry about it.”

It was surprisingly easy to rent a car for a night. Phil was still in shock that it was legal for him to drive a car; he had been ever since he turned seventeen. However, Phil seemed to have fooled the rest of the world into thinking he was a functional adult, including the woman he spoke to on the phone, so after a walk to the car rental place and a 5 minute conversation with the man at the desk, he handed a set of car keys to Dan and pointed him towards a small white car at the end of the line.

Dan raised his eyebrows at the car keys Phil had put in his hand.

“I said I would do the planning,” Phil said, “Not the driving. I think we’re all better off if I do not do the driving.”

Dan grumbled slightly, but he took the keys and climbed into the driver’s seat, peeling his mask off and dropping it in the glove compartment. “Do you have directions?”

Phil followed suit. “Of course.” He pulled up the directions he had prepared on his phone. After looking at some light pollution maps online, he had chosen a general area just past the outskirts of London to aim for and prepared directions in advance. They’d just drive until it was dark enough that they could see the stars.

Dan started the car and carefully pulled out of the parking spot. “Lead the way then, planning boy.”

Phil wrinkled his name. “Planning boy?”

“It’s a nickname in progress.”

“Stop progressing it. It sucks.”

Dan stuck his tongue out. “You suck.”

“Oh yeah? Well your mum-”

A car honked behind them.

Phil looked at Dan and giggled.

The car honked again.

Phil scrunched his nose at the car, but he started reading Dan the directions.

They quickly found themselves outside of London. Phil kept an eye on the sky until he thought he could see enough stars, and then told Dan to stop.

Dan pulled off to the side of the road and climbed out of the car. “Here looks good.”

Phil pulled a picnic blanket out of his backpack and followed, unfolding the blanket and laying it as best he could on the ground. He sat down, basking in the warm summer air and stretching himself out to look up at the stars.

“I hope whoever owns this field doesn’t mind,” Dan said, sitting down next to Phil.

“I’m sure they won’t,” Phil said, hoping they didn’t come out to check. He turned his head back to the sky, trying to take in the sheer number of stars sparkling above him. “I always forget these exist.”

Dan pointed at one. “Is that Sirius?” Dan asked. The brightest star in the night sky.

Phil pulled out his phone and checked a night sky app he had downloaded earlier in the day. “No, that’s Venus.” He put his phone down. “Sirius isn’t actually visible tonight, I don’t think.”

“Disappointing.”

“A bit,” Phil said. “But we’ll be able to see a lot of other stars tonight.” He rearranged himself on the blanket. “Did you know Sirius is actually two stars?” Phil smiled, proud of his little star factoid.

“No,” Dan said, rolling over on the blanket, propping himself on his elbow to listen.

“Well, it is,” Phil said. “It’s one bright star and then a dimmer one. They orbit each other, it’s a binary star system.”

“Mmm,” Dan said. “Like in Star Wars. On that planet.”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “Like in Star Wars.” He paused. “I like the idea of binary star systems. Being a star must be so lonely. You’re all on your own; all of the other stars are so far away. It would take years to even send a message to your closest neighbor. At least being a binary star means you don’t have to be alone.”

Dan laughed. “Phil, by star do you mean celebrity?”

Phil tilted his head. “I didn’t mean to.” A pause. “I don’t like the word celebrity. But I guess it works, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dan said softly, folding his head into Phil’s neck. “It’s a nice metaphor.”

Phil pulled Dan a bit tighter. “I’m glad I’m not alone.”

Dan sighed a bit, melting into Phil’s touch. “Being alone sucks.”

“If we were Sirius, which one of us do you think would be the brighter one?” Phil knew the answer, had seen how bright Dan’s coming out video had burned while his own was just a flicker in the background, but he wanted to know what Dan had to say.

“You,” Dan said immediately.

Phil couldn’t help but laugh. “What?”

“Phil, I haven’t uploaded a video in over a year.”

“But when you do-”

“But I haven’t.”

Phil sighed. “But when you do-” he tried again.

Dan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m tired of the spotlight. It was fun for a while, but I just… I don’t want to be that person anymore. I need a break. It’s nice being less in the public eye.”

“Do you think someday you’ll want to be that person again?”

Dan hesitated. “It won’t be the same. But someday, yeah. Once I have everything figured out.”

Phil laughed.

Dan poked him. “Don’t laugh. I will have everything figured out one day. You’ll see.”

“Mmhmm.”

Dan poked him again.

“Okay, okay,” Phil laughed, rolling over. “It’ll be good to have you back,” he added, fondness creeping into his voice.

Dan snorted.

“I mean it. So many people don’t have anyone, Dan. They’re hurled into this soul-sucking business all on their own. Do you know how rare it is to have someone with you you can depend on? Not even necessarily in entertainment, or on youtube, just… in general. So many people are alone.”

Dan hummed quietly. “I feel bad for everyone who hasn’t found their soulmate yet.”

“Do you really believe in soulmates?” On a certain level, Phil knew what Dan’s answer would be. He’d watched Dan’s coming out video. He still had trouble keeping himself from blushing when he heard the way Dan described him. Real best friends. Companions through life. Like, actual soulmates.

“Yes,” Dan answered instantly, without any hesitation.

Phil propped himself up on his elbow. “You’re like, the least spiritual person I know.”

“You believe in soulmates.”

Phil waved a hand dismissively. “I believe in all sorts of weird shit. Not you, though.”

Dan shrugged. “I believe in things I have evidence for,” he said softly, reaching to brush at Phil’s hair.

Phil’s heart melted. “Oh.”

Dan smiled, pulling his hand back.

“No, keep talking,” Phil said, teasing, though he did mean it, a little bit. It was nice to hear Phil’s boyfriend say nice things about him. So sue him.

Dan laughed. They had been together long enough that he could recognize Phil’s clumsy request for affection. “From the moment we met, there was just… something about you. I don’t know how to describe it. We just… clicked. I couldn’t get enough of you. I never wanted to stop talking to or being with you. But it’s not the initial feelings that make me think we’re soulmates. There are so many other explanations for that. Weird teenage hormones, not enough exposure to well adjusted gay people when I was a kid. It’s what happened after that that convinces me. How the feelings didn’t fade. How we fit together. Grew together, almost. I just can’t imagine anyone fitting me better. I can’t imagine someone finding me when I needed them more. It was like it all happened for a reason. I don’t know how or why. I just know it did.”

“Mm,” Phil said, not sure how to reply to a speech like that. “I love you too, I guess.”

Dan laughed, and then they were quiet. “I love you too.”

The stars really were beautiful, Phil thought. He pointed out the few constellations he knew to Dan, who listened attentively, even though he probably already knew them.

It was comforting, the warmth of his boyfriend beside him, the light of the stars scattered above, the darkness blanketing it all.

“I don’t want to leave,” Dan admitted.

“Me neither.” The stars were so bright. Living in London, it was easy to forget about how beautiful the sky was when you could actually see it. “We can do this again sometime if you’d like.”

Dan hummed quietly. “That might be nice.” A short pause. “But we still have to leave.”

“Is it really leaving if we’re going to come back?” Phil pondered, half joking.

“Yes.” Dan pouted. “It’s an ending. I hate endings.”

“Maybe it’s a beginning,” Phil said.

“A beginning of what?”

Phil shrugged. “Our drive home. More nights like this. A new chapter of our life.”

Dan sighed, half-mocking. “That’s the trouble with beginnings. Always an ending included.” He noticed Phil’s glance. “It’s silly. I know.”

“It’s not silly,” Phil said softly, dropping a kiss to the side of his head.

Dan sighed, turning towards Phil’s voice and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. They lay like that for a few minutes, just breathing, melting together, until Phil pulled away.

“C’mon,” Phil said, standing up and reaching a hand down for Dan. “Let’s go.”

Dan took his hand.

Dan drove the way home mostly in silence, letting his left hand drift towards Phil’s right. Phil glanced over, and Dan seemed to have a decent amount of control over the car with his remaining hand, so Phil accepted Dan’s hand, folding their fingers together. The car rental place was closed when they returned, but Phil filled out the return paperwork and put it in an envelope with the key and put it in the dropbox for returns. Then he returned to Dan and they started their walk home.

“That was nice,” Phil said.

“It was,” Dan agreed.

Phil glanced around. The streets were nearly deserted, so he reached for Dan’s hand. Dan accepted, using their threaded fingers to pull Phil a little bit closer to him.

“What time is it?” Phil asked.

Dan yawned. “Nearly 3 am.”

Phil yawned too. No wonder the streets were so dead. “I’m tired.”

Dan sounded amused. “You’re normally up later than this anyway.”

Phil bumped Dan’s shoulder. “So are you!”

“Maybe I’m not tired,” Dan said, yawning again.

“Stop yawning,” Phil said, fighting a yawn back. “You’re making me yawn.”

Dan made a face. “I’m not making you do anything, dork.”

“You know, people copy yawns more when people they’re close to yawn. So sort of, you are making me do it by being so irresistible.” Phil tried for a wink.

Dan just snorted. “Just don’t yawn.”

“How am I supposed to not yawn when my soulmate yawns?”

Dan laughed, climbing the stairs to their flat and fumbling with his keys. “Only you could say that sentence,” he said with an almost unbearable amount of fondness in his voice.

Phil turned back and looked up before he followed Dan into their flat, hoping for a last glance at the stars.

The sky here was completely black.

#phanfic #phanfiction #prb #my writing

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dweetwise · 4 years

Note

OUT OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHO IS PINNING FOR DWIGHT ITS ACE WHO HE CHOOSES AND THE OTHERS ARE LIKE ????? WHERE DID HE COME FROM ????? ace is actually really romantic and soft and cares very deeply for dwight and it took him awhile to show that yes he is serious and no he's not gonna use him and leave

I’M SORRY IF THIS WASN’T MEANT AS A REQUEST the idea just popped into my head and i had to write it! yes i have a soft spot for this ship leave me alone ;w; also i cried at “ace is actually really romantic and soft” like you can’t just sAy thAT to me and expect me to function properly hnsdsfdhfdg ;A; no warnings for this one, only a little crack and ooc!

word count: 2000

Ace X Dwight (/X p much everyone): Never reveal your winning hand

“—fock off with that shit! He’s stayin’ with me!” David yells.

“I should share with him, I’m his best friend!” Jake counters.

“Ya just wanna get in ‘is pants!” David accuses.

“Oh, as opposed to you, huh?” Quentin butts in, crossing his arms and glaring defiantly at the Englishman.

Ace leans further back against the log and watches the spectacle unfold with a lazy smirk.

The Entity had recently gifted them tents to sleep in, only there weren’t enough for everyone and some would have to share. The girls had been able to decide their sleeping arrangements easily, but David’s temper had sparked an argument among the boys and now all of the men were sent into the woods until they could come up with a solution—‘Peacefully,’ Claudette had insisted, shooting a pointed look David’s way.

Which was proving much harder than anyone would have anticipated, since it turned out nearly everyone wanted to share with Dwight, and wasn’t afraid of voicing it since their leader was currently stuck in a trial and oblivious to the argument going on.

Bill had left only minutes into the discussion, angrily claiming he’d rather sleep on the ground than listen to them for another second, followed by Tapp and Ash who had watched the scene with varying levels of disbelief before silently agreeing to share with each other.

Ace already knows how this will turn out, but it’s just funny to watch the others fight over Dwight.

“Since when ‘ave you lot even fancied ‘im?” David glares. “And you—ya barely just got ’ere!” he stops to address Felix in an accusation.

“And that means I probably have a better chance than any of you,” Felix explains calmly. “I’d actually make a move and not just pine for four years.”

“Hey!” Jake protests.

“Alright, what reason the rest of ya got?” David demands, regarding the group skeptically.

“I just wanna make sure he’s not perved on by someone else!” Quentin argues.

“No, you want to white knight for him!” Jake counters.

“Shut up Jake, now what about the rest?” David interrupts.

“I’d just really like to spend some time with him to get to know him better,” Adam explains.

“Me too,” Jeff says. “I haven’t had a proper chance to ask him if he’d be interested.”

David nods in acknowledgement, before his eyes meet Ace’s and he can’t quite suppress the disgusted sneer upon imagining Dwight ending up sharing a sleeping space with him.

“I just think he’s cute,” Ace says with a smile, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

“Look, why is Ace even here?” Jake sighs in annoyance. “Nobody would touch him with a ten-foot pole, least of all Dwight.”

“Maybe we should just ask Dwight who he wants to share with?” Steve suggests, cocking his head in thought.

“NO!” a chorus of protests interrupt him and the well-intentioned teen offers an apologetic grin.

“Look, we all know I’m ‘is type—” David starts, puffing up his chest, highlighting his generously open neckline that shows off his build.

“You don’t know shit,” Jake argues. “He sure as hell wouldn’t go for a dumb meathead like you!”

“Mate, you watch your mouth—” David starts.

“There you are!” a familiar voice interrupts the argument and both David and Jake freeze, turning their heads to look at Dwight making his way over to the group. “What’s going on? Bill said I should come sort something out?”

“Uhh…”

Ace rolls his eyes. At first, everyone was shouting over each other, and now, face to face with the object of their affection, are rendered speechless like a couple of schoolboys.

“Err, did you see the tents?” Steve starts, taking the initiative to explain when nobody else is making a move to do so.

“Oh! Yeah, they’re pretty neat, huh?” Dwight says with a small smile.

“Y-yeah,” Steve stammers and blushes a little, Dwight’s cuteness apparently making his words leave him, so Jeff takes over.

“There’s not enough for everyone, so we were just trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements,” Jeff explains. “Do you… um, do you have a preference…?”

Ace can feel everyone holding their breaths as Dwight blinks a couple times in confusion, before a flush spreads over his face.

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about me,” Dwight says, nervously wringing his hands together, before finally meeting Ace’s gaze. “I already know who I’m sharing with.”

Ace swears he hears jaws drop to the floor as Dwight makes his way over and sits down next to him, making himself comfortable against Ace like he’s done countless times before, only this time they have an audience.

“Welcome back, cariño,” Ace murmurs warmly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “How was your trial?”

“It was okay,” Dwight says, looking up at him with a happy smile. “Could have used some of your crazy luck, though. I missed you.”

And then the boy dares to place a peck on his cheek in their first gesture of PDA, and Ace doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smug grin from the others.

“You could have told us,” Adam scolds him, huffing in annoyance but otherwise seeming to have collected himself.

“What?” Dwight pipes up, a frown on his handsome face and oblivious to Ace taking his silent victory over the others. “What do you mean?”

“N-no, not you…” Adam stammers, averting his eyes.

“Fucking figures,” Quentin scoffs in disgust, meeting Ace’s eyes and not bothering to mask his hostility.

“Is there a problem?” Dwight is suddenly raising his voice, wrapping his arms around Ace almost protectively, looking at the others defiantly as if daring someone to protest.

Ace finds the display unbelievably adorable, his normally meek boyfriend coming out of his shell to defend his honor. He places a kiss into Dwight’s hairline to soothe some of his nerves but not ready to defuse just yet, a twisted part of him wanting to see how the others react to their leader’s possessive behavior.

“Not at all,” Jeff says, trying and failing to hide the surprise on his face. “We just had no idea you were… involved.”

“We’re not ‘involved’, we’re dating. He’s my boyfriend,” Dwight is quick to remove any doubts, scowling at the others as intimidatingly as anyone with his baby face and doe-like brown eyes is capable of.

“Well, I suppose that’s the end of that discussion,” Felix comments, not seeming terribly phased to learn that Dwight is taken.

“Yeah, uh… congrats!” Steve laughs nervously and gives them an awkward thumbs-up.

“You’d better take care of him,” Jake glares at Ace like he’s the scum of the Earth, and Ace is fluent enough in Jake-talk to know that’s the closest thing he’ll get to having the saboteur’s blessing.

Ace raises a challenging eyebrow in response and Jake grits his teeth to no doubt suppress a snarky comment that he knows Dwight wouldn’t appreciate hearing, and Ace smirks over the moral victory and focuses his attention on David instead.

And promptly has to suppress a laugh over the brawler’s reaction. David is staring at them, or well, mostly at Ace. He looks completely gobsmacked, looking Ace up and down before looking down at his own, naked and well-defined chest, confused beyond what his fighting-filled brain can handle.

“Something on your mind, King?” Ace asks cockily, knowing full well the scrapper is most likely trying to figure out why Dwight would choose someone like Ace over a prime specimen like himself.

“How the fuck,” David merely mutters but, thankfully, isn’t picking a fight. Dwight still tenses in Ace’s arms and Ace’s grip tightens around him in an attempt to soothe him.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Ace murmurs into his lover’s soft hair, and that’s enough to reassure Dwight, the man relaxing into the embrace.

“So, guess we’re sharing with each other!” Steve exclaims, breaking some of the tension over the group. “Who’s going with who?”

“I’ll come with you,” Quentin says, still sounding a little pissed off but not about to cuss anyone out again, at least. “Unless someone has any more confessions to spring on us,” he snarks.

“Works for me,” Steve beams, nothing seeming to ruin his good mood.

Ace hears Felix mutter something about how he “Might as well go with Bill”, but then he sees David approaching Jake and instantly focuses on that instead.

“So, Jake…” David starts, cocky attitude back in place as he approaches the sulking saboteur with his shirt fluttering open—what the hell, did he pop even more of the buttons?

“What,” Jake spits, the challenging glare never leaving his face, and Ace almost prepares for a fight to break out.

“Wanna share?” David asks instead, not bothering to hide the way his gaze roams over Jake’s body. Ace chokes on a disbelieving laugh and from the way Dwight’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, he’s not imagining the sudden sexual tension between the two frenemies.

He sees the wariness in Jake’s expression, and the way his eyes very obviously linger on David’s now exposed chest.

“Fine,” Jake says, but it lacks any real heat, at least of the ‘I’m-five-seconds-away-from-punching-you’ kind, and David grins and seems way too pleased with himself.

Well, there goes everyone’s undisturbed sleep for tonight.

Finally having sorted out their sleeping arrangements, with Adam and Jeff being the unlucky ones left but not seeming to mind being stuck together, the others take their leave to go set up the tents.

Ace is finally able to wipe the smirk off his face in favor of a softer smile that’s solely reserved for Dwight, turning his head around to face his boyfriend and about to start explaining the strange behavior from the others, when…

“Had enough of your gloating?” Dwight deadpans, taking Ace completely off guard and making him gape a little stupidly. “I’m not dumb, I saw what you were doing.”

Ace offers a nervous chuckle while trying to collect himself. He should have known by now Dwight is not nearly as naïve as he seems, and that he’d easily pick up on what was really happening.

“I’m sorry, amor,” Ace says, wincing from embarrassment over his childish actions. “I did want to show you off, especially after hiding for so long. And I also really wanted to watch Jake eat his words,” he confesses, clasping Dwight’s hand and bringing it up to brush his lips against the knuckles. “Forgive me?”

Dwight’s frown immediately melts into a dopey smile, and Ace barely has the time to blink in confusion over the kid’s perfect poker face before Dwight’s lips are meeting his in a reassuring kiss.

“Of course, you dummy,” Dwight beams at him, placing one last quick peck on his lips. “I’m just… really happy you think I’m even worth showing off.”

“No no no, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this,” Ace returns the smile, carding a hand through Dwight’s hair in encouragement, his boyfriend immediately leaning into the touch. “You’re not allowed to talk about yourself that way. Because…?”

“Because I’m…” Dwight starts, a flush creeping up his neck. “’Gorgeous’ and ‘perfect’,” he says, doing air quotes.

“Uh-huh,” Ace’s smile widens even further as he takes Dwight’s hands in his own to stop the self-conscious gesture. “And?”

“S…” Dwight flounders as his face reddens even further and he averts his eyes. “S-‘sexy’.”

“Damn right you are,” Ace purrs, releasing his gentle hold on Dwight’s hands to wrap around his waist instead. “I’ve got good taste.”

As if 75% of the male survivor population thirsting after his adorable boyfriend wasn’t proof enough.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dwight huffs, embarrassment giving way to a fond smile.

“You love it,” Ace counters, placing a playful peck on Dwight’s nose.

“I love you,” Dwight corrects, chasing his lips and going in for a passionate kiss that has Ace’s breath hitching in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest.

And damn, if the others knew exactly what they were missing when it comes to Dwight Fairfield, Ace would be in a lot of trouble.

#dbd fanfic #dwace #ace visconti #dwight fairfield #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #request

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"You've got to be joking…" Robin groaned to herself more than to either of them and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Right… this still was a public place, even at night. After a second of collecting herself, she put on her game face and continued her way towards Snape's desk, where he mentioned for her to sit down as well. Honestly, she was only glad that she didn't have to sit at her own desk like some idiot in detention, and that probably was the exact reason why Snape made her sit up front with him now. At least Robin chose to read that intention into his actions now.

"Hey, why doesn't she have to write a stupid three page essay on valerian root?!" David complained a second later, with clearly more of a pout to his tone than would leave any room for dignity.

"Because unlike someone I'm not in detention." Robin replied neutrally but with a deathly glare. "Now shut up and do your work."

Surprisingly enough, David actually looked quite intimidated in return, but Robin had the faint idea that this might be more due to Snape's glare than her own. Huh, maybe she should have let him handle this… with him being… the professor… and all that… Robin looked down at the book in her hands and took a deep breath to counteract the heat burning on her cheeks.

"McGonagall found him sneaking around the hallways with one of her own students. A second year girl, who should be serving her own detention with Minerva right at this moment." Snape said, much to Robin's surprise. She hadn't expected an explanation for the ongoings, and certainly not coming from him on his own account. But she also couldn't help the barest hint of a smirk that came to her lips.

"So that should be the infamous tall-and-older girlfriend he keeps bragging about? I must say I'm disappointed… Is she tall at least?" Robin mumbled, hiding her smirk by looking down as she placed her book on the desk between herself and Snape.

"No." He replied in perfect indifference and Robin had to snort, however very quietly and very shortly.

"Pity…" She brought out in almost the same level of indifference that for her as well as for him was but a mere charade at this point.

"I can hear you, you know that?!" David complained, and this time Robin remembered her place for once and kept quiet.

"You already have two weekends worth of detention, should we make that three, Mister Thompson?" Snape asked with that particular expression that literally gave every student the jitters in utter terror. Well, every student but Robin, but he hadn't used it in her in a long time, so who knew how she'd react… Robin wasn't too keen on finding out. David looked back down to his work, probably intimidated just as much as angry, but at least he seemed to stay quiet this time.

"So, uh, yes…" Robin started to get back into work mode and effectively stop herself from getting tempted into sassing Snape. With David around, he surely would scold her rather than smirk, and she didn't have the nerve for that tonight. So back to the facts it was. "As I was saying earlier, I haven't memorized the entire book. But while flipping through the pages on my way back down here, I came across something interesting on page 132."

Without a word, Snape moved to flip to the mentioned page, and his frown melted away as he read over the text. However it returned once he reached the next page, and Robin hoped she hadn't suggested something entirely stupid and unrelated. Only once he'd read all three pages of related information, he finally looked back up at Robin. "Have you read the entire instructions?"

"Well, I hardly had enough time for that on my jog back here." She shrugged. "I read the description of the functionality, not the instructions or additional information."

He looked minorly surprised at that. "And that sufficed for you to believe that it might be of use?"

"I suggested it because it looked promising." She corrected. "One has to start somewhere. If it's rubbish, we at least know what we're NOT looking for."

"Interesting approach." He mused, and Robin felt momentarily stunned by how close that comment had gotten to an actual compliment. "I believe you discovered something that might very well be worth a try."

"But… maybe we should look through the rest of the book as well? Maybe there's another spell that fits even better?"

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes without any annoyance in them, and went to flip to about the middle of the book. "Up to which point do you sincerely remember the contents?"

"The last page I can remember for sure was about… repairing broken spines… it had a very peculiar picture in the top right corner. Somewhere in the 70s or 80s…" She sighed and gave him an apologetic half smile. "I always remember the contents and the layout better than the page numbers."

After a few seconds of flipping through pages, Snape pointed to the page Robin had described. "This one?"

"Yes! Page 78… I wasn't too far off then." She smiled to herself for a moment. "Up to that one I remember what every spell was about."

"Good." He merely said and started scanning every page from that point on. Seems like Snape put an odd lot of confidence in Robin's memory… but she really was certain about the contents up to that point. It was all very basic, short-term restoration and spells for every-day practical use. The one about broken spines on page 78 was the first one that was a bit more complicated and unusual in its use, and that is the only reason why Robin had remembered it. It was the first one she didn't care to remember.

For a moment Robin watched Snape reading, but then she felt stupid looking over his shoulder, even if only figuratively. He could assess these spells way better than she could, and if he found something suitable for the occasion he would probably show it to her. Maybe.

With a silent sigh she let her eyes travel over the almost empty room. It was an odd perspective to be looking out over the class from this side of his desk… but one could really see almost everything from here. Everything, happening in front of you. Nothing in your back. Yeah, Robin felt comfortable sitting here. Then she studied the desk itself, along with the few things on it. Perfectly organized chaos, as always… but for once she actually understood the system behind it, which pleased her quite a bit. She'd happily trade desks with him any day, and that even though she couldn't even imagine switching seats with someone in class. She'd been sitting in the same spots in each of the classrooms for over two years now… and she doubted that she'd ever willingly sit elsewhere. The great hall however was a different issue, she'd never had a specific seat there, so she was fine with switching tables in there. But this was a classroom, and she felt oddly comfortable in a space that wasn't her own. Huh…

Her eyes then fell upon the mysterious tome this entire fuss was about in the first place, and she was grabbed by curiosity. "May I… take a look at the book we aren't currently working with?" She inquired carefully, prepared to be right about being denied but equally prepared to be surprised.

"Be careful, it is… delicate." While delicate didn't seem like the word he had wanted to say, and she got a decent idea about why he didn't speak his mind once she heard David quietly groaning over his essay, Robin still understood the sentiment. This book was important, somehow. So she gave him a small nod with a sincere and serious expression, before she carefully moved the heavy thing over to her end of the desk.

The first few pages looked decent enough; there were handwritten descriptions of spells, some strange symbols and drawings… nothing that stood out in particular. But once Robin had actually read a few pages, she couldn't help the deep frown that creased her forehead. "This is absolute gibberish! It may look valid, but anyone who spends at least a little time studying this book would realize that these aren't even workable spells."

Now that got Snape's attention immediately, and seeing as he had finished skimming over Robin's book anyway, he turned his attention towards her entirety. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"You see… for once, the actual words for the spells aren't even given. Not one single time! I mean alright, one could argue that the book is meant for wizards so advanced that they don't need words. You know… people like you." She regretted saying that the moment it was out. But maybe he would overlook the accidental compliment if she just continued. "However, what definitely strikes me as odd and leads me to the conclusion that this isn't even meant as a proper spell book is the technical terms used throughout the descriptions, as well as the names of the people mentioned."

Now he definitely looked curious, deeply intrigued to be exact, and even people who weren't practiced in reading his microexpressions would be able to see that. "What, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

"I'll gladly tell you in a moment, but just answer me one question first, please… because otherwise I'll feel really stupid in my assumption." Robin said quietly, not because she felt insecure, but because she couldn't have David hear this in case she made a fool out of herself. "When do you think this book was written?"

"I assume the manuscript itself is from the second half of the 16th century, but it was obviously rebound several times up to this point, which makes the binding by far younger."

"Okay. Okay…" Robin nodded to herself for a few seconds as her brain tried to make a coherent line out of the many different strings of thought in her mind. Then her eyes lit up as she started to explain. "So, the thing is: most of the terms, all the ones I know at least, are directly taken out of Renaissance culture. It's a colorful mixture of philosophy, architecture, literature, music… And the names, I recognize them from this time period as well. But they all have nothing to do with magic, not even the slightest bit. It's like… putting numbers into the alphabet!"

Snape seemed genuinely interested in what Robin was saying, and he looked up from the book to meet her eyes. "How exactly did you come to know Renaissance culture?"

"I had a lot of time two summers ago and attended some classes. At a muggle university. I know, not very appropriate for a Slytherin, but oh well… I was horribly bored. To be honest, I had already forgotten most of the things I learned, but reading these names and terms now definitely brings back a lot of it. I mean, I at least know that they're things from the Renaissance." She shrugged with one shoulder, as she felt like the biggest nerd in history and yet the biggest failure for having forgotten most of those classes already. "Anyway, if the manuscript was written in the 16th century, that would explain the Renaissance influence. Now, I do have some more… theories, about the book. But I wouldn't want to bore you, sir, I'm sure you already know all of this and I'm just… babbling. Sorry."

"In fact, I was previously unaware of this connection to muggle history and culture, and I dare say I would not have learned about it without your babbling. So please, do enlighten me about your theories." He said calmly, giving her one of those still entirely unreadable looks. "You have my fullest attention."

"Well…" Heat rose to Robin's cheeks once again, and she couldn't quite believe that she had discovered something he hadn't yet noticed. "The book is basically a spell book written with muggle terms… and it surely requires extensive knowledge of both worlds to write something like this. So my first assumption is that the author was a half blood… or a muggle born. But it doesn't matter, actually. The thing about knowing both worlds really leads me to believe that the author knew what they were talking about, and thus the gibberish was intentional gibberish. And if the gibberish is intentional, it makes me wonder what the intention of this book is in the first place. You say a page is missing… What if the entire book was merely created to hide that one page?"

Going by the look Snape was giving her once she had finished her sentence, Robin had just said the dumbest thing in the existence of nonsense. Great. Insecurity finally showed on her face as she still held his gaze. She just wanted to help him, to solve this mystery…

"I agree." That was what he finally replied, before briefly gazing at the still working David and then looking back at Robin. "Your theses… will serve as a decent basis for any further efforts."

What?! He thought she was right?! Robin's lips curved up into a small smile. "Uh, if I may ask, sir… did you find a spell for restoring the page? If it really is the sole purpose of the book to hide whatever is written on it, I'm actually even more curious to know what its secret is."

"Likewise." He mused, quietly enough so that Robin could barely pick up on it, but then he spoke up in a normal voice. "I still consider the method you suggested the most suitable." Upon Robin's frown, he added, "Page 132."

"Ah… Maybe I should consider reading the entire thing then." She smiled and carefully closed his book, while switching its place with her own book on the desk. Only then a thought caused her heart to sink in an instant. "I mean… you surely only asked for my assistance in this because I have literature spells in my possession. I… could lend the book to you, if you'd like that."

"Indeed, my intention was to borrow this particular book from you." He said with the gravest expression he had worn all night, and Robin found her heart hollowing out even more. Of course he wouldn't want her to actually partake in any of this… she'd merely been lucky to be included up to this point. But… it was hard to let go of such a great mystery. Of the illusion to be useful, the illusion to do something important for once. That was until he spoke on. "However I cannot deny the fact that you improved my understanding of this book immensely. And… neither can I deny that you are the most reliable assistance I have. Could you imagine yourself to-..."

"Yes." Robin cut in before he could even finish his sentence. "I… sorry for interrupting, but I would very much like to keep assisting you."

She actually got a not-smirk in return. "In that case, I suggest you to read those three pages now."

With a nod, Robin picked up the book and leaned back in her chair while flipping to the correct page. She wouldn't allow herself to get all too excited about this… she was, but this situation required a certain professionalism, and she would do her best to display that now. It didn't take her long to read the three pages, twice even.

"It's… a potion?!" She finally stated with an incredulous expression. "That's weird…"

"Why do you think it is a potion instead of a spell?" He asked then, but this was a professor-question, not a Snape-question.

"Well, seeing as you said a simple restoration spell wouldn't work, it certainly has something to do with the fact that spells aren't strong enough to counter or reverse the magic used to remove the page in the first place. The magical properties of various ingredients combined in a potion however should be strong enough for that." Robin replied without thinking much about it, and placed the book back on the desk with a shrug.

"Good." He looked fairly pleased with her reply, which pleased Robin in return. "You have studied the list of ingredients required for this task, yes?"

"Yeah, I've studied the entire procedure. Twice."

"There are… a few required ingredients I currently do not have in my possession." He kept it vague, eyes flicking to David for a second before returning to Robin. She understood. "We have to get our hands on those first, before we can start on the potion. You are aware of the time it will take to prepare the procedure?"

"Yes. I am." She stated in determination. "No problem with that." The potion would take two months to make… honestly, if anything, she was sad that it wouldn't take longer. Who knew if Snape would ever allow her to help with something again once this was over?

Before either of them could continue, they heard a quiet snoring coming from the Slytherin boy, who had literally fallen asleep over his essay. Robin snorted, and Snape rolled his eyes in return.

"I truly cannot say Minerva could have picked a worse time to drop him off with me." He muttered, grabbed a random journal off the stack at his end of the desk, and then rose to his feet to walk over to the sleeping David. With an unforgiving glare, he smacked the boy in the head with the journal. "This is detention and not your bedroom, Mister Thompson."

"I-I'm sorry, sir…" David immediately brought out as he startled awake, frightened eyes looking up at his professor.

"Seeing as it is well after midnight, you may leave for now. However I expect you to return right to this spot after breakfast."

"Yes, sir…" David sighed in defeat as he rose to his feet, and jumped once Snape snatched the essay from his hands. "Goodnight, sir…" With that, he shot one quick look at Robin before scurrying out of the classroom.

"I hate that child." Snape muttered as he returned to his desk, and Robin couldn't help laughing at the dry honesty. She really couldn't agree more… but she knew it wasn't her place to comment on it.

"So, where will you get the missing ingredients?" Robin asked instead, while he sat back down. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Seeing as I will be stuck with Mister Thompson for the entire weekend, I would highly appreciate if you could indeed… run a few errands."

"Yes, of course! What do you need me to do?"

"Tomorrow is the fourth Saturday of the term, correct?"

"Yes?"

"That means you will get to go to Hogsmeade for the first time, and I ask of you to go indeed. There is a small shop that sells various ingredients for rare potions to anyone who pays enough, off high street obviously. A black building with a golden inscription over the door. I would like you to go there tomorrow. Follow the second alley going to the right off high street to its end, then turn left and you should come across the shop after a minute's walk." With that he turned to face the desk rather than Robin and got out a snippet of parchment to scribble a quick list on it. Then he handed the paper to Robin. "If I'm not mistaken, you should be able to get all of this in Hogsmeade. Tell the man in the shop that I sent you, and you shouldn't be refused nor expected to pay straight up."

"I will do my best, sir." She answered with what she hoped was a positive expression of professionalism and not an overly excited smile. Going to Hogsmeade hadn't really been on her agenda up until this point, but it also wasn't like she had any other plans for tomorrow. After all, she still was only too glad to get to help with this entire mystery. Surely running errands for him would be better than whatever she would've come up with, for nothing that had to do with the potions professor was ever short of interesting in the first place.

"Certainly I do not have to tell you that this entire endeavour is to be kept between you and me. Furthermore I expect you to take your involvement in this as seriously as I do."

"Of course I take this seriously!" Robin gave him an incredulous look that probably let on a bit too much of her hurt expression along with it. "Have I ever given you a reason to doubt that I'm absolutely serious about my work and studies?"

"No." His reply came fast and with certainty. "I am well aware of your dedication for all matters you concern yourself with. However you ought to know that in my terms there is no casual participation. I take your involvement as seriously as my own, and I expect you to do the same."

"You're my professor, of course I take you seriously!" Robin still didn't quite get what he was aiming at. Maybe she should consider going to bed soon… her brain was getting slow.

"Not me, Mitchell!" He rolled his eyes in that exaggerated annoyance once more. "You have to take yourself seriously! I do not have the time or nerve to listen to a self-deprecating speech every time before you voice a thought of yours. Speak your mind and I… will refrain from scolding you, should your comment be redundant."

"Promise you won't yell at me when I say something stupid?" Robin inquired carefully, even though she finally grasped where he was coming from with that statement. Actually, it was rather nice what he was saying. He took her seriously, and demanded for her to be in this completely or not at all. That's really all Robin could've hoped for.

"I do not make promises." Snape answered with a frown as he leaned back in his chair. "But I tell you now that I will not yell at you unless it is absolutely necessary."

"Good enough for me." Robin smiled ever so slightly, feeling both incredibly excited for this private project but also incredibly worried that she will somehow screw it up and make him regret that he put enough trust in her to allow her to assist in the first place. Well, she would just have to be better. Better than she was now, and better than he expected her to be. Just… what did he expect of her to do, exactly? For now, running errands. She wouldn't let him down right on the very first task (nor on any other, actually).

"You look exhausted." He stated then, perfect indifference with a hint of a sigh. "You should go to bed. There isn't any more to be done until tomorrow anyway."

"Yes, sir." With a small sigh she got up and made her way over to her backpack on her own desk, grabbing it on the go as she continued towards the door. Really, she was indeed exhausted and doing herself a favor rather than following his order by heading to bed now…

"Your book, Miss Mitchell." His voice stopped her a few steps away from the door, and Robin turned around to him once again.

"You should keep it for now… with the other book I mean. Isn't that what you would prefer anyway?"

"It is indeed." The not-smirk was back, and so was the lifted eyebrow. "I should assume this is more than fair after lending books to you for two years."

"It surely is." Robin smiled, tiredly, but sincerely nonetheless. "Goodnight, professor."

"Miss Mitchell?" Again, his voice stopped her just before she could open the door, making her turn to him yet again with a question on her face. He spoke on before she could voice it. "Hogsmeade certainly isn't a dangerous place by any means, but since students are rarely seen venturing off high street, I would still advise you to be careful when going to that shop tomorrow."

While he looked perfectly indifferent in that statement, rising to his feet and gathering up the two books from his desk with an expression of utter boredom, the very attempt to hide anything from his face that could have given off the impression of concern or care actually was what gave him away. Just having noticed that made Robin's smile brighten inevitably.

"I will be careful. No need to worry about your precious ingredients." She couldn't help adding that second sentence with a small smirk, and upon receiving a small glare and a not-smirk in return, Robin finally made her way back to her dorm.

… … …

If Robin had felt like she was anything more than just a third year student last night, Saturday morning definitely had every intention to put her back into her place.

First, she had decided to actually make somewhat of an effort in terms of dressing for being errand-girl today (seeing as she hadn't forgotten what Snape had said about her representing the Slytherin house and his own person), and thus she'd ended up with the same old, large and black turtleneck jumper she fancied, tugged into some blackish drainpipe jeans and kept in place by a black belt with an admittedly very scratched silver buckle. Oh well… concessions had to be made. Her mom always said black was classy and staid… and while Robin didn't agree on the 'staid' part, she still wanted to appear classy today.

Her choice of wardrobe however led to the first instance that tried to put her back into her place, namely her fellow students, who didn't cease to make comments from joking to mocking to insulting during breakfast. Well, in comparison to the other third years, with their colorful shirts, patterned dresses and generally average thirteen-year-old style of clothing, she did stand out a lot. Robin looked quite a lot more like some of the sixth or seventh years, if anything… But she suffered through the comments in silence on the outside, and just a hint of doubt and shame on the inside. Maybe she should make an effort to fit in more… but then she looked at everyone again, seriously, and the thought flew out of her mind to never be considered again. Nope, not gonna happen.

After breakfast, the real issues began. Equipped with her trusty leather backpack that was (as always) stuffed with anything she could possibly need, ranging from parchment and books over snacks to a rain jacket, and of course the list of ingredients she was to acquire, Robin stepped out into the courtyard in sincere appreciation of the dark grey clouds in the sky. Way better than sunshine… that only ever made her eyes hurt.

"And where's your permission slip, Miss Mitchell?" McGonagall asked then, eyebrows risen and clearly expecting something Robin wasn't sure about.

"My… what?" Thus came her very eloquent reply.

"The permission slip signed by your parents for this instance? Allowing you to leave the castle grounds in groups of at least three students to go to Hogsmeade?" McGonagall prompted again, and a new existential dread overcame Robin upon the professor's words. Fuck.

"I… I didn't think to let them sign it. I… thought it was more one of those 'for your notice' kind of things." She replied in a faintest hope to somehow fix this situation. "I mean, I traveled the entire country of England by myself over summer! Well, not the entire country, obviously, but I traveled by myself, alone, WITH their explicit permission. They would probably laugh at me if I asked them for permission to go on a fifteen minute walk away from home now!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Mitchell, but rules are rules."

"But that's ridiculous!" Robin couldn't help the exasperated sigh, nor the inevitable rolling of her eyes, as she threw her head into her neck to angrily glare at the sky.

"I do not make the rules, but I'm still obliged to follow them. As are you." The professor pointed out, then added a bit more kindly, "If you are so certain that they will allow you to venture out on your own, you can always send them a letter before the next Hogsmeade Saturday in two weeks and have them sign their permission."

An idea sprung to Robin's mind immediately, born both of McGonagall's words and her own refusal to accept her fate. "So it does not have to be the specific slip given to us before term, but a handwritten approval would suffice?"

"In my eyes, yes." The professor frowned. "However I…" Her voice trailed off as she watched how Robin took off her backpack and dug her arm into it to the shoulder.

Upon seeing the professor's astonishment, Robin merely said, "Extension charm… helps with carrying the books." Then she took out a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen she usually didn't use for Hogwarts business, and wrote a quick note. It read: 'Hereby we allow our daughter Robin Mitchell to leave the castle grounds in groups OR by herself at any time not officially prohibited by the school rules.' Then Robin handed the paper to McGonagall.

"If my parents sign this, would it suffice for me to be allowed to leave the school grounds also by myself whenever we are officially allowed to go to Hogsmeade?" She asked the still astonished professor, and put her stationery back into the bag while waiting for an answer.

"Usually students simply break this rule instead of asking for permission. It merely applies to third years anyway, to ensure they get used to the new freedom before abusing it." McGonagall finally replied with a doubtful expression.

"Well, I'd rather change the rules to fit my needs than break them, to be honest." Robin shrugged. "That's usually less stressful for everyone."

Now McGonagall straight out looked incredulous and yet undoubtedly humored. "In that case, if you get your parents to sign this piece of writing, then yes, you may go on your own this year as well."

A smile spread on Robin's lips. Part one of her plan had worked, at least. "Great. Where can I find you in approximately twenty minutes, professor?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are plotting, Miss Mitchell, but I can assure you no owl will be that quick."

"I'm not planning on using an owl, professor… I'm planning on bribing a house elf." Robin replied with a hint of mischief in her tone that even she could hear herself. "They are very nice, actually, if one is respectful and kind. And as far as I know, there is no rule against asking them for a favor."

"Indeed there isn't… However they are not a replacement for owls in any way."

"I have no intention to make them do anything they don't want to, which is not to say that I could in the first place. But I think I can offer them something in return that may convince them to do me this one favor." After a few seconds of silence, Robin added, "Please, professor… I really need to go to Hogsmeade today. And seeing as the only thing holding me back currently is a missing signature from my dad, I have come up with a perfectly by-the-rules plan to get you just that. Just because it's not commonly done this way doesn't mean it's any less legitimate."

"You certainly are creative in your sheer determination to make it to Hogsmeade today." McGonagall sighed. "I'm heading to the teacher's lounge now, should your efforts lead to the desired result."

"Thank you." Robin gave the professor a bright smile, then made her way towards the kitchens as fast as she could without running. This had to work… she would not stop even one second before those damned ingredients were on Snape's desk.

It took Robin a good ten minutes to convince her favorite house elf, who she had gone to for chocolate cake in the middle of the night more often than she liked to admit, to do her this favor. Not because the female elf (whose name Robin had learned to be Buttercup) would've refused Robin, she'd never do that, but because Robin had to convince her to accept a bar of Twirls in return. Finally, after explaining the advantages and necessity of fair trading to the entirety of the kitchen staff, Robin could get the young elf to accept the trade. Five minutes later, after apparating from the Hogwarts kitchens to Robin's family home in Oxford and back again, Buttercup happily exchanged the now signed permission slip for the chocolate bars Robin was handing her. Really, bless the house elves for being able to apparate in and out of Hogwarts, and bless Robin's brain for remembering that at such a convenient time.

After saying thank you and making sure Buttercup actually liked Twirls, Robin was on her way to the teacher's lounge in an instant. For once a plan of hers was actually working out the way it was supposed to, and honestly the feeling of success sufficed to gather up enough confidence to knock on the door and ask for McGonagall. The professor didn't actually seem all too surprised anymore when Robin handed her the now signed note, and without further ado she allowed Robin to head to Hogsmeade at last. If Robin wasn't mistaken, she even saw McGonagall smile in amusement for a brief moment when she finally turned to leave.

______________________________

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2]

In the following weeks, as he sees Jon a few more times, Gerry's hair fades out and he looks rather more 'forest nymph' than 'American Gothic'.

So it's not much of a shock when the next time Jon catches sight of Gerry striding through the library stacks, his hair has been re-coloured. This time it's a smooth buttery yellow and Jon is struck by how young the warm, bright colour makes him look.

Gerry doesn't feel young though, he feels tired and bored and wrung out, and he wishes he had never agreed to take art commissions.

"It's only the one time!" Gertrude had insisted to a very put upon Gerry, very early in the morning. "And if he puts in a good word for you in his circles, your name will really be on the map in the art world."

Gerry wasn't particularly interested in being put on any maps, or being picked apart by rich, stuck up strangers, but he had agreed to try, mostly because Gertrude had put a lot of effort into making his passion for art an actual career and he felt like he owed her.

(He forgets, frequently, just how much of a commission she takes on the sales of his paintings).

So there he was, striding around the library at 7 am and desperately looking for exactly the right reference book. Unfortunately, it has been out of print for years, and Gerry can't seem to find a copy anywhere that won't cost him half a liver. He has the money now, but he refuses to pay half a month's rent to a second-hand retailer on principle.

Jon watches him skulk around for so long, (apparently forgetting that he is, in fact, a librarian) that Sasha comes out from her desk to ask Gerry if he's looking for something specific. She's wearing her big round glasses today and even indulged herself in her favorite waistcoat to beat the Monday blues.

"Why, yes." At this, Gerry looks directly up at Jon, where he is standing and watching him from the upper balcony level. Jon's face burns, and he ducks out of sight, but not earshot. "I do actually come here to borrow books, not boys." And he smartly feeds her the name of the reference book he has been hunting for almost an hour.

Sasha giggles at his antics, "We do have a copy of that, actually, but it's very popular. There's a waitlist; also it's checked out right now."

Gerry's whole demeanor sags and he sighs in defeat. "Guess I really will just have to order it off the internet, then." He eyes the stacks of books, old and new, looking vaguely betrayed.

"No!" Sasha's exclamation takes everyone a bit aback, being that they are in a library and all. "You know, my mate has this sweet little bookstore, and he loves hunting down rare copies of older books, he might have a copy?" She wrings her hands, eyebrows raised in question.

Gerry beams down at her, causing even stoic Sasha to blush and scurry off to get a piece of paper for the address.

They're already most of the way to the front desk by the time Jon realizes just which bookstore Sasha is busy recommending to the man he is dating , and just who owns that particular establishment.

By the time he manages to get downstairs to try to deflect the situation, Gerry is out the door, nothing left but the faint scent of oil paints and leather from his jacket.

***

Tim Stoker leaves Gerry feeling faintly dazed. By the time he stumbles out of the bookstore and into the tea room, elusive book in hand, he's forgotten everything he has ever known in the face of such intense flirting. And Gerry thought he was bad.

Throughout the whole episode at the library, the walk through Chelsea, and the exchange with Tim, Gerry had never once taken a moment to consider that Sasha's friend with a bookstore and Jon's Martin with a bookstore might be the same person.

He chooses to blame the lack of sleep and general disarray that is his life for the oversight.

Which is how, 9:30 in the morning, having been awake for almost 24 hours and completely finished, Gerry walks up to Martin in his tea room and says, "I'll have whatever is pink and in that jug, please. The biggest you've got."

Martin, of course, recognized him immediately. He would have recognized Jon's gothic childhood boyfriend from his social media stalking alone, but Jon's frantic texting was also a pretty big giveaway.

Martin: Relax, I don't bite clients this early in the morning. He's in safe hands with me.

Jon: HE KNOWS THINGS ABOUT ME. Besides, who's gonna stop him from biting you?

Martin: Whatever he has to tell me can’t possibly be worse than the office gossip I heard about you before we even meet.

Jon: W H A T

Now, here Gerry is before him, and he’s quite pleased with what he sees. Even tired and vaguely dazed, his presence in the little room carries a certain energy that Martin enjoys.

"Right away. Take a seat and I'll call you with it." Martin's voice is sweet, but gentle and firm, in a comforting sort of way. Through Gerry's sleepy haze, the instruction makes perfect sense, although he has neither paid nor offered a call name.

Gerry considers taking a seat on the plush bench that occupies one wall, before deciding that he desperately needs a cigarette, and wandering outside.

Technically he is only supposed to smoke at night when he's painting and needs just the right kind of boost, but he decides to call this one since he's on a painting-based errand when he's supposed to be sleeping.

"Gerry?" He turns toward the sound of his name, to find the barista offering him a large to-go cup of what he assumes is fruit ice tea. He frowns at having his name known (his new, much-preferred name, no less) and then frowns at a blonde, bespectacled man in a tea room attached to a bookstore.

His brain finally takes a moment to function, and he puts all the pieces together in an avalanche.

"Martin?" Far from his usual self-confident tone, the single word comes out in a squeak that would make even a toddler wince.

"Yes?" Martin returns the single word in the same solidly reassuring way, and even offers a happy smile.

"I didn't... I didn't recognize you."

"Would be pretty hard for you, considering this is the first we've ever met." Martin's voice is calming in a way that eases Gerry a bit, teasing and all.

"Thank you. For the tea, I mean." Gerry closes his eyes and desperately begs his shit to pull together for him, just this one time. "It's nice to finally meet you."

His hands are fully occupied with a book, a cup of tea, and a cigarette, but Martin doesn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you too. We're giving Jon a heart attack by doing it without him."

"That is the lawful good," Gerry says, after a long drag of his smoke. "A panicked Jon is a happy Jon, after all. Whatever would he do with himself without a situation to unnecessarily complicate?"

"Yes, the man does seem to thrive on anxiety, doesn't he?" Martin asks warmly, eyes crinkling around a fond smile. "Speaking of, you seem pretty wrecked yourself. Good party, I hope."

Gerry's answering laugh has a razor edge, "Not hardly. This fucking painting I'm working on will be the death of me." Gerry lifts the reference book as proof of trauma and stabs out his cigarette viciously.

"Hmm, sounds like a pain. I hope you typically find art a more enjoyable career?" Martin asks, tilting his head inquisitively. His curly hair moves fetchingly and Gerry catches himself tracking the movement.

"Mostly, yes. Although I keep the bartending gig for variety. You'd be amazed at the sort of inspiration someone can find in the right drunk crowd." Gerry grins, thinking of all the ridiculous things he’d seen walk in and out of the bar in his run there.

"I'd be very interested to see what kind of art you can turn that into. Maybe you'd like to show me sometime?" Martin's words are open and friendly.

Gerry eyes him for a minute, hiding behind a long taste of his drink. He's trying to suss out Martin's motivations, for his kindness and general geniality. The drink is good and it tips Gerry's mood far enough back into cheerfulness that he shrugs off his considerations for the time being.

"You know what," Gerry quips back. "I think I would like to show you sometime. How 'bout tonight."

It's not a question really, with Gerry's typical force of personality behind it, and he leaves the shop with Martin holding an address in his hand and a time to drag Jon over for dinner that evening.

***

Gerry does not make a big deal of Martin coming over. He acts as if any other friend is coming over for dinner.

He tidies, a little. Lights a few candles. Wears pants. The bare minimum really.

He isn't trying to impress anyone, he tells himself sternly.

Except he is, obviously. He doesn't know Martin very well yet, but he does want to keep Jon around, and they are a packaged deal these days. Which he was happy with, truly.

In their limited interaction, Martin had been sweet and put Gerry instantly at ease. He knows, from many years of working a bar, how to spot a dipshit, and feels confident in his assessment of Martin's character.

But, it's his own character that concerns him. People don't always like Gerry past surface interactions. He can be tempestuous and moody, and catching him tired is a pretty bad idea. The combination of artist and mommy issues can be jarring.

He desperately wants those things to not bother Martin though. He wants Martin to like him, and he's not interested in putting on a show to make it happen.

It occurs to Gerry an hour before they're due that he doesn't even remotely know what takeout to order for dinner.

(He knows what Jon will eat, and he obviously knows what he likes, but what about Martin? Why didn't he ask this morning? Why didn't he ask Jon earlier?)

Gerry is just starting to really panic about all the life choices leading up to this moment, when he gets a text from an unknown number, instantly filling him with relief.

Martin: Since you're hosting this time, I'll grab the take-out. Jon says you like Thai, I'll bring that. You got the drinks covered?

Gerry: As long as you drink either coffee, vodka, or water, yes.

Martin: I'm sorry, I subsist only on the blood of virgins.

Gerry: Oh dear. I couldn't tempt you to settle for Earl Grey?

Martin: Hmmm, yes, I'll accept your offerings this time.

***

The first knock comes right on time. Gerry, dressed in his best paint-stained jeans and cherry blossom kimono, opens the door with a flourish.

Martin allows himself to be welcomed in and hands the food off to the dramatic artist, who deposits it on the table where he has already set the tea tray.

"No Jon? Not that I mind quality ‘us’ time, of course."

Martin is busy taking in the rambling studio space and barely spares the attention to respond, although he manages a blush at the flirty tone. "He's, uh, running late. Work stuff. You know Jon."

Gerry smirks at that. "I do indeed. Is it a 'stumble in at 3am' late, or 'we could probably wait to eat' late?"

"Hmmm? Oh, let's wait a bit? If you don't mind." Martin seems equally taken with his painting wall and his book wall and keeps trading his attention between the two. The paintings, being the larger attraction, eventually win, and he meanders over to study them closer.

"Do you keep all the completed paintings around?" His voice is soft and reverent, and Gerry feels a rush of pride for his work.

"For a while. I like to make sure they're in their final forms before I release them into the wild." Martin blinks big brown eyes at him, before grinning and giggling slightly.

"You're very talented. Jon said as much, showed me the pictures, but words and photos are nothing compared to seeing the real thing." Martin really regards his paintings as if they're special, and rather than the prickly feeling of appraisal he feels during gallery nights, it fills Gerry with warmth.

He turns to examine the wall himself. It's filled with an eclectic group at the moment. Large abstracts made by pouring paint and then layering designs over, three-dimensional pieces painted and then embroidered or quilled over in select places, including a particularly wild eye design. Surreal faces and scenes that seem realistic except for the wild subject matter of planets in meadows and chimeras going to battle.

"Is this what comes from your adventures in bartending?" Martin asks Gerry, turning from the wall and towards the slightly taller man.

"That, and my traumatic childhood." Gerry makes sure to laugh at the last, taking the edge off the small confession.

"Obviously." Martin offers.

"Obviously." Gerry accepts.

***

Gerry and Martin drink tea on the floor while they wait for Jon. Gerry gently prods Martin through the story of how he came to open the bookstore. The blonde man even softly confessing that he had to lie on his CV to get the librarian gig at Magnus.

"How old are you? How did you convince them you had a Master's degree?" Gerry is incredulous. Not that he doesn't think Martin could have an advanced degree. But in paranormal research? Gerry hadn't even known that was an option.

"That's the thing! I'm only 29 now . I worked there for five years!" Martin's voice pitches up in disbelief. "I'm still in shock that anyone ever brought it. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"

"I do, actually." Gerry shifts slightly, adjusting his balance with the long remembered urge to flee from those desperate times. He fiddles with his teacup to distract himself. He brought this particular set from a pawn shop because the filigree and florals appealed to his love of colour theory. Soft pinks and corals warm against the cool aqua background.

"Jon says you wanted to go to art school when you two were younger."

It's not a question, but merely Martin offering the same space for openness that Gerry had given him.

"I never went. After my A-levels, I had to get away, and I never really stopped moving for long enough to go to uni when I was younger. Now I'm settled and it's not important to me anymore. Besides, no one asks for a copy of my phantom degree when I sell a painting. So I'm happy with how things turned out for the most part." He stops to consider the outline of a possible past for a moment, one where he didn't have to skip college and go ten years without seeing Jon. "Besides, can you imagine a 27-year-old in art school? The young ones would sacrifice me for more creative talent."

Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they laugh easily and move on to different topics, sliding through the easy stages of getting to know each other.

***

Jon does eventually arrive, looking panicked and harried. He de-ages 10 years when he finds them laughing and relaxed instead of tense and awkward.

So, the three of them eat cold Thai take out on the floor of Gerry's loft, leaning against the perfectly good couch. They share the odd intimacy of people who have known each other for very disjointed amounts of time but like each other just the same.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #tma #fic #also on ao3

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

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Fic Friday: Relaxation

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Turns out there are character’s besides Adachi from the Persona series I like, so figured I’d write a little something with one of them, starting with Dojima.

Summary Dojima has had a long day at work. Reader helps him unwind with a couple beers and some TLC.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Consensual Sex, Couch Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff And Smut, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex

Relaxation (F! Reader/Ryotaro Dojima)

Sitting beside the table, leaning casually on your palm, you paid only half attention to the drone of the late night news anchor and flashy headers filling the screen. You cast a lazy glance at the time glaring at you from the corner of the screen. It only reinforced the obvious: it was late. Yet you had a feeling Dojima would run late again when he had asked you to watch Nanako - more like to keep her company, given how capable the young girl was for her age - and had no qualms about it. Yet it still surprised you, even with your past experiences, just how late Dojima’s work kept him from home some evenings. One would think they couldn’t function for even a scant amount of time without him.

Though, Dojima had only requested you to keep an eye on Nanako until she had gone off to bed, so, really, you were the reason for staying so late. The little girl, like all children, seemed to vastly underestimate how long she could stay awake, and had gone to sleep several hours before. But you preferred sticking around until Dojima came back. It put you at ease seeing him return safely, not to mention it gave you an excuse to spend a few fleeting moments with him, though he was often rather exhausted after his shift at the station. He had never complained about the habit either, if anything he seemed to gather a little cheer despite his fatigued state at the sight of a familiar, friendly face greeting him. So you stayed, waiting much longer than necessary, while time and television programs slowly ticked on and away.

The sound of the entryway door opening and closing from the foyer broke through the dull, fake cheery drone of the latest repetition of the week’s expected weather. You glanced away from the TV set when the second door slid open, and you spied Dojima standing in the doorway. He looked tired as always, though happy to be home. When he noticed you were waiting for him again, you spotted a tiny, pleased spark to his expression and your lips twitched up at the corners.

The twitch bloomed into a full, warm smile of greeting as you got to your feet. “Oh, you’re back,” you noted cheerily, though kept your voice level and quiet. “Long day it seems like?”

Dojima didn’t chastise you for stating the obvious. He only sighed and nodded before responding. “You have no idea,” he confirmed, shutting the door behind him and making a beeline to the kitchen. “Half the station’s out sick. It’s a miracle they didn’t keep me all night,” he grumbled, opening the fridge.

“I’ll get out of your hair then,” you said, moving to his side and touching a hand to his shoulder. “I bet you want to get some shuteye before they call you back again, right?”

Ordinarily, now was the time when Dojima would nod in agreement, give you a parting peck on the cheek or lips, thank you for watching Nanako again, and apologize for how long his arriving home had been, all before bidding you goodbye and to stay safe. But tonight he seemed more needy for company, lonely almost. “I know you already stayed late watching Nanako,” Dojima began, though he knew very well you could have left earlier, “but would you mind staying a bit longer?” he asked tentatively, and your heart fluttered in response warmly.

“Sure, I’d be glad to, if you want me to,” you agreed. You leaned into give him a quick kiss on his cheek before returning to your previous seat on the cushion beside the table.

You were a little sleepy yourself by now, but you wouldn’t pass the opportunity to spend more time with him if you had the choice. Of anyone you had ever dated, Ryotaro Dojima was the one hardest to get free time with, especially alone time, given his additional responsibilities as a father on top of being a police detective. Neither of which you faulted him for though. To you, he was worth the effort, even if he was a little rough around the edges, and not the greatest with expression himself.

Dojima rummaged through the fridge’s contents for a few seconds, pulling out two cans of beer and closing the door. He made his way to the living room, setting down of can in front of you on that table, before sitting on the adjacent side of the table in front of the sofa.

“Thanks.” Dojima hadn’t asked you whether you wanted the drink, but you knew he wouldn’t have been upset if you had declined either.

You cracked opened the beer and took a small drink, wrinkling your nose slightly at the taste. Dojima repeated your actions, though he took a larger gulp from his can, and the room lapsed into silence. Though, as you continued to watch the droning news stories and the peppy commercials pepper in between, it was a pleasant silence. Lacking the heavy, awkward atmosphere silence sometimes possessed, or any of the pressure to frantically search for a conversation topic. One another’s presence was enough to make you comfortable, the company nearly therapeutic on its own. You were content to simply satisfy whatever need for quiet company Dojima had for however long he wanted it.

Out of the corner of your eye while you sipped the contents of your can, you noticed Dojima shift awkwardly, tensely, rolling his shoulders or stretching his back and rubbing his neck and wincing. When he rose at one point to retrieve a second beer, he even made a soft sound, something like displeasure or irritation. Another casualty of a long day at work, you imagined, especially the more sedentary parts. Dojima’s long shift had done more than drain him physically and mentally it seemed.

“Do you shoulders hurt?” you prompted curiously.

Dojima’s eyebrows knit together and up in surprise, as if he hadn’t realized what he had been doing or that you might even notice. “Ah, just a little stiff. Fewer people sure doesn’t mean less paperwork,” he groused, and you saw him grimace again at another twinge of obviously sore muscles.

“Let me help,” you offered, though it was more question than anything.

“Ah, no, you don’t need to go to any trouble,” he dismissed quickly.

“Really, it’s fine, it’s no trouble,” you assured him.

Dojima sighed, as if your persistence vexed him, though it was a sigh of defeat. You knew he was prone to brush things off, and sometimes it took a little convincing tor him to accept an offer of help. He nodded, wordless agreement to your insistence.

You stood up, moving to Dojima’s side of the table and crouching down close behind him. He returned to his drink, focus seemingly turned back to the news. You didn’t waste time, quickly getting to work and placing your hands on his shoulders and starting to knead. Your touch was gentle at first, carefully prodding here or there to map out the state of his sore shoulders. Dojima was tense as well, some of it beyond just the stiffness of his muscles, like always, but that tension evaporated soon enough. Feeling him relax, and having more of an idea on what to work through, you added more strength to your massage.

“You’re really knotted up to hell and back,” you pointed out, running across a knot of muscle that was extra hard and tight. Dojima released a sound that was a mix of a hiss and a groan when you applied a little more pressure to the stubborn knot..

He said nothing to you, though. And once more the comfortable silence took over the living, the only true noises the distant drone of the television and the small sounds Dojima continued to make while you tried to soothe his soreness. By the time you had gotten his shoulder satisfactorily loose, Dojima had finished his second beer, but didn’t rise yet for another. You weren’t sure if he had decided two was enough for the late night or if he was enjoying your massage.

His neck was your neck target, not strung nearly so tense as his shoulders and back, but still obviously sore. When you pressed your fingers into the muscles of his neck, it elicited much more pleasant sounding noises, less like the almost relieved pain when you had massaged his shoulders. The familiar tone of them made you grin, and you bent your lips to his ear.

“You know, Ryotaro, all this stress building up isn’t very good for you,” you murmured, shattering the silence.

“I’m used to it. It’s nothing,” he brushed off again, and you frowned.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t so tense,” you countered. A thought had come to you as you massaged the kinks from his neck. “You know, I can think of something that might relieve some of that stress,” you drawled, the kneading of your fingers morphing into featherlight touches on his skin, and you placed a few soft kisses following the path of your fingers.

Dojima hesitated, but seemed to follow the subtle hint well enough. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve got the energy,” he wavered.

“Don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, planting a few more kisses and gentle touches on his neck. You smiled when a tiny shudder rolled through him. “I’ll handle everything. I just want to help you unwind and relax, I promise. They work you so hard you deserve it, after all.”

He gave a deep hum of consideration. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment of thought.

You got to your feet, helping Dojima to his own, abandoning your empty cans and moving toward the couch. Dojima sat down and you straddled him languidly, gently pushing him back to relax against the cushions completely. He slipped his finger through the knot of his tie, loosing it and the letting the collar fall a bit before relaxing completely. “Now, just lie back and relax, okay?” you insisted, one hand splayed flat over his shoulder.

“If you say so.”

Once Dojima was completely settled, you bent forward, kissing lightly along his jaw, his stubble scratching at your lips. You trailed slowly across his skin, down his neck and back up. Rewarded with a couple of pleasant, quiet hums, you moved to his lips, pressing yours to them. As you began to kiss him, Dojima’s initial response was slow, tired. But a subdued enthusiasm welled up in the kiss the longer it went on, moving to match the sensual pace you dictated. A muffled, satisfied sigh escaped him, and you took it as your cue to carry on further.

Brushing both hands down the front of Dojima’s shirt, you worked the buckle of his belt nimbly, slipping the leather loose and discarding it. You lay a palm on the crotch of his slacks, the beginnings of an erection rising beneath your touch. You rubbed your hand against it gingerly, coaxingly. Feeling the slight bulge grow beneath your fingers, you set to undoing the catch of his pants with your spare hand. The hand stroking him through the cloth moved swiftly, dipping past his waistband and the line of his underwear to caress him more directly.

You broke away temporarily from the kiss to allow the pair of you to catch your breath, just in time for a gruff, but suppressed groan to drift from Dojima’s mouth. There was an exhausted hint to the noise, though his pleasure was plain as well. His dark eyes were closed when you looked at him, basking in the sensation, and the hints of a blissful expression had painted themselves across his weary features. When you returned to his lips, you were smiling, delighted to see some of the day’s stress already melting away.

Pushing his pants and underwear down more until his cock stood free and half-hard beneath your hand, you grabbed it in a surer grip. Dojima inhaled sharply, and you flanked down, feeling him twitch and harden further. You drew your hand up and down, again starting slow, gaining momentum and stroking faster until he was at full mast from your touch. You teased the head for a bare moment, before moving your hand away and pulling back, admiring the sight of him lying practically boneless against the cushions. A delightful flush of color dusted his cheeks and his collarbones where they peeked out from his dress shirt, and when he opened his gray eyes they were half-lidded. You tore yourself from your reverie quickly; you weren’t doing this simply for the pretty picture.

You climbed off of him for a time, and he eyed you curiously, as if wondering what had stopped you. Dipping your hands up beneath the hem of your skirt, you hooked your thumbs under your panties and tugged them down, letting them fall onto the floor. Gathering the ends of your skirt in one hand, you clambered back onto his lap, settling yourself more comfortably over him.

Reaching beneath you, you took his shaft in your hand again, guiding it your lips and sliding it between them to lubricate it with the wetness had pooled between your legs while you touched him. When he was coated well enough, you brought the head of him to your entrance, slowly easing yourself onto him. Another gruff sighed escaped Dojima, and you returned to his lips to kiss a third time.

This time the kiss was deeper, more passionate, and a little sloppy as you took more and more of his length into you, stifling tiny sounds from you both. When your hips pressed flush, and all of him was sheathed inside of you, you stopped, savoring the ache of him stretching you, a small gasp disappearing into his mouth when his length twitched again. His hands made their way to your hips, fingers absently kneading your curves through your clothes.

You leaned forward, pressing yourself more closely to Dojima, chest crushed against his, feeling the rumble of his chest as more muted sounds rolled through him, dying on your tongue. Your eyes met his gray ones again, half-lidded still, hazy with his fatigue, but also with a lusty quality that made you clench around him unbidden. Spurred on by the alluring expression in his eyes and the delightful hardness filling you up, you shifted your hips. Rocking them slowly, you allowed Dojima to relish in the tight, soft heat, and letting you feel every inch of him.

Your pace remained slow and steady, almost lazy, though the muffled noises coming from your throat and his own spoke of how much you both enjoyed it. As you had promised him, you were more than happy to do the work, letting Dojima relax and lose himself in the pleasurable sensations. His touch through clothes, while light, was pleasant and soft, encouraging you to stop now and then and grind your hips against his and kiss him a little harder, a little more ardently. Though the pace was languid, it was sure, building a low, simmering fire in your belly and a tension you tried to shove to the back of your mind in favor of focusing on Dojima.

Though he was tired, concerned he would have been too drained to be very involved, Dojima’s hips rocked up to meet yours gently, the motion almost involuntary and instinctive, rather than a concentrated effort. It only added to the pressure and the heat. You fisted your hands in the collar of his shirt, driving your hips more firmly against his and feeling the rumble in his chest intensify.

When the kiss parted for the third time, it was of Dojima’s accord. He buried his face in the hollow of your throat, panting hotly against your skin there, his small noises as muffled by your skin as they had been by your mouth. With his lips no longer around to stifle you though, you clapped a hand to your mouth in their place. Dojima’s fingers grew still, becoming a tight grip, digging into your skin through the fabric, tightening a little more each time your heat swallowed him up again, pushing him closer to the edge.

You whimpered and winced at how tight his hold became, hearing his breathing, ragged and heavy, become more labored in time with the strength of his grip and the rhythm of your hips. You thought you heard him growl something gruff and unintelligible into your neck, but in the moment you very well could have imagined it. You were far too distracted to pursue that train of thought though, choosing to rut against Dojima’ more desperately.

All of it, the vice grip of his hands, the labored breathing, and the gruff sounds smothered by your skin, was the precursor to Dojima reaching his climax. Still squelching any stray noises, he finished a low, rumbling groan that made you shiver. His hands held you so tightly as he filled you, they nearly interrupted the slow buck of your hips, and you rocked them with a bit more force.

Everything combined, with the aid of some friction from clever angling of your hips, had put you so to your own release, too. Dojima’s climax was enough to drag you over with him. Your walls fluttered around his length, milking him for all he had left, and making his hips jerk against yours spasmodically for an instant.

A thick silence followed when both of you were spent, falling back into the couch. Again it was the welcoming, almost soothing silence though that added to the moment. Dojima’s head lolled back against the cushions, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, his shirt crumpled from your grasp. You stayed that way for what felt like a long time, your bodies still joined, hot and tired, basking in the afterglow until your breathing returned to normal and your hearts stopped pounding.

You finally eased yourself off him tentatively, feeling overly sensitive, but pleased, hoping he felt the same. “Feel any better?” you whispered in his ear, moving a hand to toy with the short-cropped strands of his graying hair.

His answer was gruff and drained, but not unpleasant. “Exhausted… but better,” he admitted, not bothering to lift his head, his eyes closed.

“Good,” you said, smiling and placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and then another. “I’m gonna get going then, let you get some well-deserved rest. Just make sure you make it to your bed, alright?” you teased, knowing it wouldn’t have been the first time Dojima passed out on the couch; though this in particular was not a proper way to fall asleep there.

You got to your feet, gathering your underwear from the ground and shimmying back into them, smoothing your skirt down. “Call me if you need me to watch Nanako again, alright? Or, you know, if you just want me around,” you said, giving him a joking when he opened his tired eyes and fixed them on you.

“Wait,” Dojima shot up from his boneless position, tucking himself back into his underwear and redoing the catch on his pants. He rose to his feet as well/ “You don’t have to go. You could…” His words lapsed low, muttering almost, as if he were hesitant to speak them loud enough for you to hear, and a cute new flush decorated his cheeks.

“What was that?” you pressed.

“Uh, why don’t you stay the night? With me. It’s late and…” He paused, searching for the words, “I’d appreciate the company.”

The feeling of warmth that welled up in your chest at his hesitant, almost shy request was enough to make you blush, too. “All you had to do was ask,” you confessed, grinning and moving to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pressed a much more chaste kiss to his lips, which he returned just as sweetly. “And I promise I’ll behave and let you sleep,” you joked, sealing your teasing with another kiss.

With that decided, Dojima grabbed the remote off the table, turning off the tv for the evening and tossing it back down, while you grabbed the empty beer cans and moved them to the kitchen. You followed him then to his room, feeling warm and nearly giddy, or as giddy as you could be when you craved sleep.

When the bedroom door closed, you both tiredly discarded most of your clothing, leaving you both in your underthings. Climbing into the bed, you curled up against Dojima, and he draped an arm over your after pulling up the sheets. Snuggled against one another so warmly, made weary from a long day and from the strenuous end to it, the alcohol an extra tip to the scales, it didn’t take long before sleep claimed you, heavy and comforting.

#Writing #Fanfiction #Persona 4 #Ryotaro Dojima #Reader-Insert #Ao3 #Archive of our Own #Fic Friday #NSFT #N/S/F/W

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drawbauchery · 4 years

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The Inherent Eroticism of Clowning

fic by cartoons-tothemoon

At some point, Rico realized that Kowalski wasn’t a smiler.

He wouldn’t call the guy happy or well-adjusted, but, then again, could he even call himself that? And he smiled all the time!

But Kowalski…

It wasn’t like he was an especially angsty guy, he was just…moody. Emotional. Maybe even more so than Private. Private had two modes that he volleyed through, and otherwise remained at a middle point of the emotional equilibrium where he was just…fine. Skipper’s emotional state also seemed to be apathetic unless under great stress. But Kowalski? Kowalski bounced back and forth between that spectrum, it might as well been like watching a tennis game.

It fascinated him on some level that their resident nerd seemed to share many of the same instabilities as he did, and on some level, he was able to find a kinship in that.

Of course, Kowalski was never receptive of such a friendship, and why would he be? It would mean, on some level, admitting to being some sort of freak. An overly-emotional basket case with some unexamined problems here and there.

Sure, it was fine to BE like that, but admitting to it meant some form of culpability. The only reason Rico usually didn’t have to deal with consequences like that was because Skipper didn’t usually bother over-examining the issues that laid before him or the little discipline he gave him was harsh and swift enough to be a simple slap of the cuffs for five minutes before Rico could go on with his life.

Kowalski wasn’t the type to receive a slap on the wrist. He was, for lack of a better word, good. Not morally good, but, good by the standards of the team. He could be building his third edition of a death ray, but as long as he stayed out of Skipper’s way in the morning he might as well be a saint.

Come to think of it, Kowalski stayed out of everybody’s way, pretty much. Sure, they ate meals together and watched movies, but unless Skipper called them together or he had something to show off, he mostly kept to himself. He was usually in his lab or in Private’s greenhouse…

These were the facts as Rico knew them. Kowalski was a paradoxically over-emotional logical man of science, who gave off the vibes of being a gifted student in grade school, and kept to himself.

And he wasn’t a smiler. Over-emotional, yes, overly positive emotions? Not quite.

Rico figured it was his job to change that.

———

Over breakfast that morning, Private and Skipper went through their strange morning charade of being simultaneously open and loving and incredibly repressed, which, made for good entertainment on slow days.

However, this was not going to be one of those slow days. He had the lofty goal of trying to make Kowalski not only smile, but laugh. Laughter was easier to gain without just simply asking than smiling. It was sudden and explosive, while smiling was quiet and demure. Not his style, but he was looking for something of the same effect.

And besides, to get a genuine smile out of him in the first place, what was he really going to do? Complimenting him would feel weird, and anything else felt like uncharted waters for a reason. He might be known as the impulsive and weird one, willing to dive into anything, but, that came to violence and action. Those things made sense to him. Social things, even benign ones like these with people who he has known for years, had their own rolling tides associate with them. He didn’t know if these seas would treat him unfavorably, but he would never truly know until he took the plunge.

As plates were set down on the table of some weird sort of Russian pancake that Private had found on the internet and had wanted to test out in the kitchen, a thing that seemed to make him rather proud, enthusiastic to try something new, Rico dropped a line in Kowalski’s direction he had found on the internet.

A spoon was dropped.

Private looked scandalized, his palms practically super-glueing themselves to his face in shock. Skipper looked a little horrified, eyes briefly flittering to Private to read his reaction. Yeah, he saw that. Kowalski seemed to share in this same look of horror, jaw agape, blinking once or twice to get a read on the situation before letting out something of a confused scoff? - He was guessing that was what it was - before he wrapped a hand around his mouth too and turned to the side to cough.

He couldn’t guess what his own face looked like, but he guessed it was a little vacant, at the least. didn’t see anything wrong with what he said, but he probably should’ve guessed he’d be wrong about that given his track record.

And that was how Rico once again found himself forever trapped in the ‘too horny on main’ corner that seemed to exist only because of him, with cold blintzes and an empty kitchen to return to.

He was forced to acknowledge it. In the event of being given the choice to sink or swim, he sunk. And everyone knew he did.

———

Upon reflection, Rico was starting to think that Kowalski might have been a happier person than he thought he was. He knows that whenever Private tells him a lame pun or joke, he gives a small laugh or two to keep him from getting discouraged. Not to mention, whenever Skipper praises an invention, be it an actual “good work, Kowalski!” or a back-handed “I like that it hasn’t killed us yet” seems to make him rather excited, though that could just be the pure enthusiasm he has when it comes to his work carrying him through a demonstration.

Come to think of it, Kowalski doesn’t smile a lot around him. He might if they’re in a group, when they’re all celebrating something with this big mob mentality thing going for them, but, otherwise. Nah.

Maybe this is because they don’t hang out a lot? He WAS banned from the lab. There was a sign and everything.

Maybe he just didn’t like him all that much? It’s not like he ever SAID anything really, but who could be for certain?

These were the things he had to think about while he braided Julien’s hair. Well, tried to, anyhow. He didn’t exactly understand how it worked, and no matter how many times Julien explained it to him, even that day, he didn’t think he was ever going to get it. However, on some level, it was their “thing” to do together, on days where they didn’t feel like doing anything but lounging around, but still wanted to do something more than watch TV. So, that seemed to be their afternoon, trying to figure out a French braid while he contemplated the emotional state of another man. It would sound almost scandalous if Julien didn’t know.

“You are like, the funniest guy on the planet,” Julien stated. “The idea that he can’t even shine a smile at you is a thing that is preposterous.”

Rico hummed at that, giving him a small head scratch that had Julien reaching for his hand to keep at the motion, but his mind was still somewhat elsewhere.

Julien probably only thought such a thing because he already liked Rico, and this love of his had made him dumb. Just yesterday he read online that he should microwave a metal spoon before having ice cream, so it’s easier to scoop out of the tin, and Kowalski had to save what he referred to as his “souped-up electromagnetic baby” from such an act as soon as the sparking had drawn his attention.

Yes, truly it was love that had made him dumb. Nothing else, be it circumstances nor his general careless nature, could be the cause of such a thing.

At least the microwave thing had made Julien laugh. Watching Kowalski scramble from his seat at the kitchen table to wrestle a uranium-powered microwave off the counter, forgetting in his panic that he could’ve simply unplugged the thing. Such an act toppled him over, almost crushing him underneath the device. Julien found the erratic movement funny enough to laugh, even if it turned Kowalski three shades of a flustered red in the face afterwards.

Rico was also there. He knew what was going to happen when Julien had suggested it, and wanted to watch the sparks fly with him. He should’ve expected Kowalski to prevent them from absolutely destroying his creation, but he didn’t expect that.

Perhaps Kowalski was full of surprises like that. Multi-faceted. A puzzle.

That almost frustrated Rico more. He HATED puzzles. He liked things direct. To the point. Muddling through ambiguity was just such a weird and fussy thing to him. There was a reason he was the only one in the group with a functional romantic relationship that was able to stand more than three months of time, but it wasn’t that easy.

For one, Julien had asked first.

For second…what was he even supposed to say? “Have you secretly hated me this entire time or are my jokes just simply that terrible that you can’t even smile in my presence out of principle?” That was too direct. That got to the heart of this weird insecurity that had only popped up in the last week, and Kowalski seemed like the type to be frightened by that kind of thing.

And besides, the last thing Rico wanted was to look insecure. The second last thing Rico wanted, though, was to BE insecure, so those two conflicting thoughts sort of kept him from taking action. Or, at the very least, taking action at this point in time.

He was considered sort of an absolutist in his own right. An all-or-nothing sort of guy. However, that didn’t mean he was incapable of walking the thin line of gray that lined the black and white.

He just wasn’t capable of doing that right now.

After all, he was trying to learn how to braid a French braid.

———

Rico decided to lay relatively low for the rest of the day. Nothing during lunch, no weird comments during dinner. Nothing.

Sure, he still talked, but, it was a casual sort of thing. All very shallow stuff like “hey, how was your day?” Or “hey, dinner was pretty good tonight.” You know, normal things that sounded so utterly strange out of him. He might as well have been flying a kite at night, that’s how unsavory he guessed it came off given the ire that Skipper gave him during dinner, though Private seemed to welcome it.

It was a movie night tonight, though, and it was Rico’s turn to pick, so he figured he’d take advantage of the situation he was in. Especially since Private and Skipper were busy making up the popcorn (why there needed to be two of them when they weren’t even using it as an excuse to make out, he’d never know) and Julien and Maurice were chilling in the other corner of the room, reading or looking at their phones or something of the sort.

He had to seize the opportunity that he had so carelessly squandered earlier.

Rico flickered through a bunch of action movies, a few catching his eye for later viewings, but none of them really appealing to him at the moment.

He turned to Kowalski and shrugged.

“Y-You got any n-nature docu-documentaries you’re lo-looking to watch?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“O-Only if they’re, if they’re cool.”

Kowalski seemed a little surprised at this. He shrugged. “There’s one about anacondas I’ve been looking to watch.”

“A-Are you s-sure that isn’t m-meant f-for pri-private viewing?”

Kowalski had to take a second to think about it before returning slightly scandalized, though more mad than anything else really. “It’s the REPTILE. That’s a dated joke even by your standards.”

Rico laughed a little to himself before sobering up. “I g-guess I ha-have been acting, acting weird t-today.”

Kowalski regarded this at first dryly, but then with a touch more compassion than Rico thought he was capable of showing towards him. “Oh, uh,” he began elegantly.

Rico sighed. “There’s-there’s a lot of el-elements t-to how I’m f-feeling, ya know?”

It looked as if Kowalski was about to put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, but he seemed to hesitate for a reason Rico didn’t understand that well, but also didn’t want explained.

“Yeah. L-lots of el-elements. H-hydrogen, Ox-oxygen, RadoN, Yttri-yttrium…The lot.” He sighed once more, trying to keep the smirk from sliding onto his face.

The hesitant hand that was at first drawn to Rico’s shoulder found a place under his chin as Kowalski slowly thought about what he said and how he compiled it together. When Kowalski realized, his eyes widened and Rico received a punch in the arm as Kowalski laughed, genuinely LAUGHED at such a stupid, corny science joke! He could’ve sworn Kowalski would’ve called him a son of a bitch as he did if he was that type of a guy. Seeing him laugh made Rico laugh too, with a sense of camaraderie that came with it, which kept Kowalski laughing as well in a sort of self-perpetuating cycle.

Rico let out a heavy breath as he had finally gotten it out of his system, and out of the corner of his eye, saw something he had never really picked up on before.

When Kowalski laughed, perhaps for too long, or maybe a little too much, or he just didn’t want anyone to pick up on it, he went to cover his mouth with his hand. It helped to mask the emotion somewhat, and it wasn’t the first time Rico picked up on the motion as a way to maintain a pokerface, but he saw it in a somewhat new light, so to speak.

He just had to be casual about it.

“Y-you do that every time?”

“What? Oh.” Kowalski said, hiding a smile behind his fist, though to call it hiding was generous in its own right, if not inaccurate. It was more of a self-soothing gesture. A comforting gesture, more than anything else. “Well, we can’t let you get too egotistical, huh.”

Then it took Rico a moment to think, and Kowalski used the time to grab the remote and select the documentary. When Kowalski pressed play, that’s when he realized it, “you mean this morning you-!?”

“Shh! It’s starting.”

———

“They didn’t even wait for the popcorn.” Private pouted, his arms wrapped around the largest bowl they could find in the kitchen.

“Did you hear how they were dancing around each other? Get a clue, am I right?” Skipper muttered as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

Despite their misgivings and their grumblings, they too soon could be found in front of the television for a movie night, even for a movie like this.

(I didn’t want to genuinely write out some sort of ass-clapping joke, but that’s probably the kind of joke Rico told. I know it in my heart, but with the ambiguity there you can kill the author who killed the previous author, so to speak and say what kind of joke he made. I capitalized the parts of the elements that spell out the secret message. You learn something new every day, but nobody ever said you learned something useful every day. You just happened to today. )

#cartoons-tothemoon #fics #submission #pom #yells into the void #KOWALSKI AND RICO ARE SO SMITTEN WITH EACH OTHER #and they are the ONLY ones in the house that are smitten no one else #jsdflsd i love the insight as to how rico #is the only one who's capable of maintaining a romantic relationship #he may be insane but he doesn't bullshit around #also i got so giddy at the twist in the end there #rico you need to wake up and realize just how 'in' with kowalski you actually are #the only thing left to do is make out

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justheretobreakthings · 4 years

Text

Perchance to Dream

Written for @gentronlegendaryfriendships

Day Three: Telepathic Bond | Crying in Front of the Other

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Sleep Deprivation

Word Count: 5,092 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Characters: Keith & Lance Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Story Summary:

In the stress-filled days following Shiro's disappearance, it becomes clear that Keith is in desperate need of a good night's sleep. Lance and the rest of the team are determined to find a way to make that happen.

It was understandable that Keith would be in a bad mood as of late. After all, now that Zarkon was out of commission, a lot of political matters across the galaxies were up in the air, and the paladins were constantly meeting with one planetary leader after another. They were still having to keep up with battles and missions, and although the Blade was lending its assistance wherever it could, it still felt like they were spread thin now that they were short one paladin, and battles were that much more difficult now that they couldn’t form Voltron.

And, of course, there was the matter of what Shiro’s absence meant for Keith.

The other paladins didn’t have a whole lot of detail about what Keith had gone through when Shiro had disappeared on the Kerberos mission, since Keith wasn’t exactly eager to share any details about his past with anyone, but there were some things he couldn’t hide, not when some of his teammates were witnesses to them. Like the fact that Keith had been expelled from the Garrison for disciplinary issues within a week of the news of Kerberos breaking, or the fact that he had been living in self-imposed isolation for a year afterward, with no sign of having had contact with any sort of family or friends or of any family or friends even existing, until Shiro had finally returned, whereupon he steadfastly took up the role of Shiro’s right-hand man while remaining stubbornly closed off to everyone else in the Castle of Lions.

So, some emotional regressing was probably inevitable, and the rest of the team had formed an unspoken agreement to let it slide when Keith was snappish with them, when he skipped group meals and bonding sessions, when he stormed out of meetings, when he’d take the Red Lion out on yet another fruitless search for any sign of Shiro without letting anyone else know he’d be gone.

It was understandable, sure, but that didn’t mean they weren’t allowed to be irritated by it. And Lance was accustomed to being irritated by Keith, so it wasn’t like this was anything new. Just more of the same.

And more of the same also meant more venting about his Keith-related frustrations to Pidge and Hunk, who were annoyingly not particularly receptive to hearing about it.

“Look,” Pidge told him during one of these rants, cutting him off right in the middle of a very impassioned tirade about Keith having rammed into his shoulder in the hallway earlier that day without even stopping to apologize, “I’d be annoyed too, but cut him some slack. He just lost his brother, again. He has the right to be in a bad mood.”

“A bad mood, sure,” Lance said. “But there’s a limit to mood badness we should be willing to tolerate. Not like he’s never been a grouch before, but now it’s at the point where it’s messing with public image and missions. And team morale.”

“Him shoulder-checking you in the hallway really screwed up your morale that badly?”

“There’s no fucking way he doesn’t know he owes me an apology,” Lance snapped. “He’s just intentionally being a dick.”

“You always say that when it comes to Keith.”

“It’s always true.” He sighed. “Come on, help me out. When you get into a really bad mood about the situation with your brother and dad, you still pull yourself out of it after a while. What’s the difference there, huh? What do you do that Keith doesn’t?”

Pidge bristled. “I don’t get into ‘bad moods’, it’s perfectly justifiable to be pissed the fuck off when a tyrannical empire kidnaps your family and - ”

“Hang on, whoa, I wasn’t saying it wasn’t justifiable!” Lance said hastily. “I was just - ”

“So, what, does it mess with your fucking morale when I get grumpy about - ”

“I think what Lance is trying to say,” Hunk cut in, “Is that, when you’re feeling extra upset about the whole setting, the anger still settles. It’s just not sustainable to stay so angry for a longer period of time, you’d completely burn out and wind up basically breaking down. You’re mad about the whole thing, and rightly so, but you temper it enough that it doesn’t keep you from functioning and interfere with daily life, right? Meanwhile, Keith’s temper’s been flaring a lot longer than is healthy. It’s no good for him to not be coping.”

“Yeah,” Lance said with a nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

“Like hell it was,” Pidge muttered, but thankfully she let it go for now. “It’s not like I’m doing anything to work through the anger, really. Just, like you said, it burns out. Eventually I just gotta sleep it off, get some air, wait ‘til I can focus again.”

“Ah, okay, so Keith has to sleep it off,” Lance said. “I’m sure a nap will make everything all better again.”

“Hey, you asked how I deal, and I told you. Not my fucking problem if you don’t like the answer.”

“Well,” Hunk said slowly, “It… actually could help.”

Lance frowned over at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a well-known fact that lack of sleep basically kills your mood, right? Just think of how cranky toddlers get after they miss a nap. I mean, I’m not trying to say Keith is a toddler or anything, or that this is a temper tantrum, nothing like that. But, well, he’s been really pushing himself trying to find Shiro, and he hasn’t really been recharging. He’s still up earlier than the rest of us, and a couple nights ago when I woke up halfway through the night and went to get a snack, he was up pacing the hallways.”

“Huh,” Pidge said. “Come to think of it, I’m usually the last one to bed, but I have heard Keith still moving around in his room a few times while I was heading to my room to sleep. And he’s been yawning a lot in diplomacy meetings. More than usual, I mean.”

“Oh!” Lance said. “And our last team training session, I was totally kicking his ass on reflex time against those drones! Normally he’s like, almost as fast as I am, but he was stumbling around like a drunk! Think that was because he was tired?”

“Lance, he normally has the fastest reflexes out of all of us,” said Hunk.

“No, no, we’re pretty much even. My reflexes just look slower to you guys because you’re more used to seeing them.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s how it works,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “But hey, the point stands. Bit of sleep would probably do him some good.”

“Well, if it means a possibility of a slightly less pouty Mullet stinking up the place? It’s gotta be worth a shot.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The next time Lance encountered Keith in the hall, he didn’t wait around to get brushed off or bumped into. Instead he strode straight up into the path of Keith’s stomping boots, earning himself a level glare that he pointedly ignored.

“Hey,” Lance said, “Cancel any plans you’ve got for tonight. We’re doing a sleepover.”

“... What?” Keith said, blinking uncomprehendingly.

Lance wasn’t sure if Keith was just taken aback by his abruptness, or if he actually didn’t know what a sleepover was. Just in case, he explained. “You know, we all gather together, have some quality bonding time, get as comfortable as possible, then pass out and sleep through the rest of the night and, if we did it right, half of the next day too. We’re all meeting in the paladins’ lounge, at - at half past, uh… fuck it, Altean clocks are stupid. Once you start seeing someone heading that way in pajamas, it’s time.”

“No thanks,” Keith grunted.

He moved to step around Lance, and Lance held out a hand to block him. “Wait, you gotta hear me out first. We’re all gonna put on our paladin pajamas and lion slippers - that’s all mandatory, by the way, sleepovers are very strict about dress codes - and gather up all the pillows and blankets we can find, and we’re going to basically transform the lounge into a massive blanket fort. And Pidge is gonna bring her caterpillars along to join, and they’re basically the softest things in all of existence, and we’re gonna taste-test some of Hunk’s new dessert recipes he’s trying out, get nice and stuffed before we go to bed. Basically, this is gonna be the best night’s sleep any of us have had in years.”

“I’ll pass.”

“No, look, you can’t pass. It’s team bonding.”

Keith huffed. “We do plenty of team bonding in all our battles and meetings. And speaking of which, we’ve got more important things to be focusing on than blanket forts.”

“Well, yeah, but how are we going to be able to focus on those important things if we don’t take some time to relax in between? All work and no play makes Keith a dull paladin.”

“All… what are you talking about?”

Lance sighed. “Okay, look, I’ll level with you. The whole team’s been kind of, uh, concerned, lately. About your mood. And Hunk noticed you haven’t been getting much sleep lately, and frankly it’s making you even more of a grouch than usual - no offense, I mean - so we figured - ”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Keith growled. “Yeah, I’ve been in a bad mood. Do you wanna guess why, Lance? Can you think of anything that might have happened lately that may be worth getting a little bit upset over? What could I be concerned about, huh? What could I possibly have going on that’s more important than a goddamn sleepover?!”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” Lance said. “Maybe if you got a decent night’s sleep, you wouldn’t be yelling at me right now.”

“I’m not yelling!” Keith snapped. “And I definitely don’t need you to be monitoring my sleep schedule!” He stepped around Lance, and this time, Lance didn’t stop him. “Have all the sleepovers you want, but leave me out of them,” Keith muttered as he left.

Lance slumped as he watched him go. He had figured that it would take a bit of convincing to get Keith on board for a sleepover, but he hadn’t actually expected him to get angry over it.

God, he definitely needed a nap.

“Stupid, stubborn Mullet,” Lance grumbled under his breath, scuffing his shoes against the floor as started back to the lounge.

-----------------------------------------------------

The sleepover may have been a no-go, but that didn’t mean they had to give up on Operation: Make Keith Actually Get Some Sleep quite yet, especially since, in the coming quintants, the dark bags under Keith’s eyes, the disheveled state of his hair and his clothes, and his irritability were all increasing before the very eyes of the rest of the team. If any of them had had any doubts over whether he was sleep-deprived, they were certainly dashed by now.

But since apparently Keith had some sort of issue with his teammates actively encouraging him to sleep, they agreed that they would have to try more subtle methods to get him past his insomnia, help him sleep without letting him realize they were doing it.

Lance initially proposed raiding the med bay for some sort of sleeping tonic and slipping it into his food, but that idea was shot down immediately by Pidge explaining that it would be too risky to use a medicinal sleep aid on someone when they didn’t know how it would react with his biology, and Hunk saying that drugging Keith without his knowledge and consent was just an extremely sleazy and messed up thing, and making it clear that he found it very disturbing that he even had to point that out to them.

But there were other things to try, discrete ways to try to make the Red Paladin a bit more susceptible to some solid sleep. Hunk planned out dinners over the next few nights that heavily featured poultry and whole grains, which he explained to Lance induced the production of some sort of sleep hormone - Lance honestly had sort of zoned out the moment Hunk started throwing science into the conversation. Pidge messed with the lighting in the living quarters to dim the lights in Keith’s room, just enough that he probably wouldn’t notice the difference, but would also have a slightly easier time falling asleep despite the light.

Even the Alteans got in on it, as it seemed the human paladins weren’t the only ones who had taken notice of Keith’s insomnia. Allura had them all do meditation shortly before the castle’s night cycle began, under the pretense of it being a training exercise for the paladin bond. Coran, who it turned out was an ardent advocate of aromatherapy, pumped some sort of faint fragrance into the air vents in the living quarters, which smelled a bit like lavender and vanilla, although with a certain tartness to the scent that was distinctly Altean.

And yet, even after all of that, they still weren’t seeing a change. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Lance decided to try his own hand at it a few quintants into their new subtle approach, figuring it couldn’t possibly hurt. He waited in his own room with the door kept open, until he saw Keith pass by in the hall and called him in.

“What?” Keith asked. The word came out sharp and tetchy, but lately that was how everything Keith said sounded, so Lance paid it no mind.

Instead, he simply held out his headphones. “Would you mind giving this a listen for me? I think something’s a little weird with the audio, like it’s scratchy or something, but it’s hard to tell. I wanna know if I’m just imagining it.”

“Wouldn’t Pidge be better with audio stuff?” Keith asked.

“With fixing it, yeah, but right now I just need someone to give a second opinion.” Lance bounced the headphones in his hand. “Come on, please?”

Keith let out a long, low breath, but he obliged, taking the headphones and sitting on the edge of Lance’s bed as he placed them over his ears. Lance gave him a thumbs-up and pressed play on his music player, watching Keith’s face carefully. This was a special mix he’d been using for the last couple of years, and the fact that he’d had his player in his backpack with him when they’d wound up in the Blue Lion was a godsend. A playlist of soft guitar songs and light Caribbean ballads with steady and melodic percussion beats, all interspersed with ocean sounds. It had lulled him to sleep every night since he’d been in the Castle of Lions.

The mix played for a few minutes before Keith moved one of the earphones aside and said, “I don’t hear anything weird.”

“You positive?” Lance said. “Listen real closely, all right? Close your eyes, it’ll help you concentrate.”

Keith did, and his eyes stayed closed for another few minutes before he shook his head. “It all sounds fine to me.”

“Well, that’s good,” Lance said. “Guess it was all in my head after all.” He accepted the headphones as Keith handed them back to him, then cleared his throat. “So, ah, did you like that music? You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“Sure,” Keith said with a shrug.

“Hey, that’s - that’s cool. Gives us something in common. You know, if you want, you can borrow my music player for a while.”

“That’s all right, you keep it.”

“No really, I think you’d like it. You could, like, give the whole mix a listen, let me know what you think. I bet you’ll enjoy it, I’m sort of known for having great taste in music.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“Since when are you so eager to let me borrow your things?”

“Uh, since always? I’m generous.”

“Lance, last week I accidentally used your toothpaste instead of mine and you acted like I had stabbed you.”

Lance huffed. “Our bottles look completely different, how could you possibly have - ? You know what, not important. Just, I’m up for sharing now, okay? So come on, just take the music. You’ll like it.”

“Not until I figure out what you’re trying to - ”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m just trying to help you, Mullet! This is supposed to be relaxing! So could you quit being so goddamn stubborn for once in your life and just take the stupid headphones already?!”

A pause of silence stretched between them as Keith’s expression slowly fell to a dark scowl. “Oh my god. Is this seriously about that stupid sleep thing again?!”

“Yes,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “You know what, yes, it is. And honestly, we shouldn’t be having to go to this much trouble to get a grown-ass adult to actually take a nap, and this is getting really ridiculous - ”

“Wait a minute, ‘we’?”

“Well, it’s kind of really fucking obvious that you haven’t gotten half a dobosh of sleep in ages, but since apparently you’re too proud or something to admit you actually need help, the rest of us have had to intervene to keep you from just straight up dying of exhaustion.”

“For the love of - I don’t need anyone’s help to sleep!”

“Oh, like hell you don’t. Look at you, the bags under your eyes are so big I’d have to check them at the ticket counter. I don’t know why you’ve gone and decided that having trouble sleeping is something you’ve got to be ashamed or whatever’s going on in your head, but - ”

“I can sleep just fine! I don’t want to sleep!”

“What, because you’re being so damn productive in those extra waking hours you get when you don’t? You’re not exactly doing yourself any favors here.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that!”

“Well then what’s it got to - ”

“Do you know what happens every time I fall asleep?” Keith snarled. “You know what I see every single time?”

“Uh…” said Lance.

“I see Shiro.” Keith crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Every time I close my eyes to go to sleep, it’s Shiro. Sometimes I see him bleeding out in the hall of a Galra base. Sometimes I see that gladiator arena he told us about, and he’s in the middle of it, barely hanging in there. Sometimes he’s just floating out in the middle of space and he’s cold and he’s too far from anyone or anything to get help. And sometimes it’s just the Black Lion, getting shot to smithereens right in front of me in the middle of battle and I can’t do anything to stop. He’s hurt and he’s dying and I just do nothing.

“Because that’s what I did, didn’t I?” He choked out a dry laugh that was completely devoid of any humor. “He got taken, right under our noses, and we didn’t even know until we got back to the hangars. He could be dead, or being tortured; maybe the Galra have something in mind for him that’s so horrible we can’t even fathom it. And we could have prevented it, but we didn’t. And it’s all I can think about, and when I’m asleep, it’s all I can see.

“Hell, I got nightmares after the Kerberos thing too, imagined his shuttle crash-landing against that stupid moon and wound up with that playing over and over every night. But at least that time, it wasn’t like it was my fault. Not like I was there and could have done anything. Not like I’d ever seen Shiro hurt and scared before, so my stupid brain couldn’t use that for reference. This time, though?” He tapped his temple. “It’s all there. Just waiting to play out.”

He took a shaky breath. “If I stay awake as long as possible, though, just let my body pass out when it can’t handle being awake for one more second, I don’t dream. I guess I’m just, like, too exhausted for the subconscious to do anything but wait for me to wake up. So I can’t sleep until I absolutely have to, you know? Because if I don’t I end up - I have to see - ” He gritted his teeth and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“... Shit, dude,” Lance said, slowly lowering himself onto the bed next to Keith. “I, uh… I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Keith grunted. He lowered his hands and Lance could see the glistening of tears there before he brought his knees up, wrapped his arms around them and buried his face in them. “God, you’re not supposed to see this.”

“Why not?” Lance asked softly. “Keith, if you’d told us what you were dealing with, we could’ve helped you out.”

“How?” Keith snapped. “You can’t control what I dream about, you can’t undo what happened to Shiro. I just - I have to deal with this.

“Keith, you don’t need to - ”

“Yeah, I do.” He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “Okay? And this isn’t me being stubborn or anything, I’m just stating facts. This isn’t something that can be fixed, it’s just something I - something I have to figure out. Somehow.” He coughed. “So, please, Lance. Stop trying to help. Tell the others to stop trying to help.” With one last sniff and failed attempt to blink away the now cascading tears, he stood and turned away. “I’ve gotta go,” he mumbled. “Should really get to the training deck.”

“But - ”

“Don’t - don’t tell the others. About this. It’ll just… make them worry.” And before Lance could say anything in response, Keith was out the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------

It was several vargas later that Keith finally stopped training and came back to the living quarters, and by then the castle was well into its night cycle. Keith was drenched in sweat, trembling somewhat from exertion as he trudged his way back toward his room.

So, the sight of Lance standing in front of the door probably wasn’t a welcome one, and Lance was unsurprised by the glare he received as Keith approached, which deepened further as he spotted the music player in Lance’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith asked.

Lance took a deep breath. “I, uh - I had a bit of an idea. I know you said you don’t want me to, like, get involved in - in this whole thing going on with you, but I gave this a lot of thought, I really did, and I think you should hear me out. I’ve got something you really need to try.”

“Lance,” Keith sighed. “We already went over this. I don’t need you to help me fall asleep. And besides, the music, the beach sounds? They just don’t work for me, okay? There’s no point in - ”

“No, okay, I know we went over all of that,” Lance interrupted. “But this is different, I swear.”

“Lance - ”

“Look, this is either going to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done for you, or a stroke of absolute genius. It’s like fifty-fifty and we won’t know which one it is until we try it. So, here.” He held up the headphones. “Just give it a shot.”

Keith frowned down at the headphones, but slowly, he obliged, taking them from Lance’s hand and positioning them onto his head. “All right,” he said, closing his eyes. “Ready.”

Lance nodded and pressed play, then watched Keith’s face. At first he remained stoic, then, gradually, his brow began to scrunch in confusion. Lance held his breath as he watched, and after about a minute Keith’s eyes opened to look warily at him. “What… what is this?” He moved the headphones down, and Lance could just hear the sound of the playing track: a voice, soft and tinny at this distance from the earpiece but still confident and sincere. “We’re entering a new era of human exploration of the unknown universe, and every one of you has the ability to become part of history.”

“That,” Lance said, “Is a speech that was made about five years ago at my middle school, and probably a couple hundred others. By a certain Galaxy Garrison lieutenant I admired very much.”

“Yeah.” Keith brought the headphones off his head completely to stare at in his hands. “Thought I, um, recognized it. How did - how did you even get a recording of it way out here?”

“I downloaded a video of it that was on Youtube, converted into an MP3. Listened to it while I worked on my Garrison application, because that stupid application process was frustrating as shit and I needed the motivation. Guess I just never deleted it.”

“...Oh.” Keith kept staring at the headphones for a while longer before slowly moving them back up onto his head and closing his eyes again. Lance watched as he stayed still, for long enough that Lance was starting to wonder if Keith had forgotten he was there, when Keith finally opened his eyes back up and pushed the headphones aside again. “It’s… nice,” he said softly. “Hearing him talk. I’d… forgotten… how nice that was.”

Lance gave him a small smile. “Yeah. That’s the idea. See, I got to thinking, about the stuff I was having you try listening to before, and how you didn’t find it relaxing the way you were supposed to, and I realized, like, the reason that that stuff calms me and helps me sleep, is because it’s for me, specifically. Like, the Timba music is stuff I’ve been listening to my whole life, that I’d play in my room at home all the time, and the ocean sounds, they make me think of swimming and going to the beach with my family and laying down on a surfboard to watch the sun and stuff. And, you know, stuff like that, it makes me feel at home, right? It feels peaceful, and familiar, and safe, and that’s all good for getting a good night’s sleep, and for keeping the bad stuff away.

“But for you, well, none of those sounds are really home to you, are they? The music genre’s kinda niche, and I figure you’re more into… I dunno, punk rock? Post-hardcore? Some genre where your mullet might be considered acceptable. And as for the ocean sounds, I mean, you lived in the middle of the desert and you don’t even swim.”

“I can swim,” Keith said.

“Eh, you don’t so much swim as just ‘not drown’, but whatever,” said Lance. “Point is, they weren’t the right sounds for you. So I asked myself, okay, what sort of things would make Keith feel at home? Duh, explosions. But then I realized explosion sound effects would probably be hard to sleep through, so I went searching through my MP3s and found this. And, like, it works doubly well because if you fall asleep with this playing and Shiro shows up in your dream, then your subconscious or whatever might connect the two. So instead of him, um, going missing or - or stuff like that, dream-Shiro will start giving a motivational speech instead. You know, how sometimes when you’re asleep and dreaming and you hear a sound in real life and your brain just sort of incorporates it into the dream? I mean, it’s just a theory, but it has to be worth a shot, right?”

“Lance, I dunno if - ”

“Yeah, I don’t really know for sure either. Might be a little out there. But, you know. I just thought maybe this could be, uh - this could work. Here, you can set it to play the track on a loop like this, see.” He held up the player to show him. “And the whole thing is about an hour long, so it’ll probably only make it through one loop, if even, before you fall asleep, so you don’t need to worry about it getting super repetitive and driving you crazy. Now, the real motivational stuff is only at the beginning and the end. The whole forty-five minutes or so in the middle is mostly just talking about the Garrison’s programs and how to apply and stuff like that, but that’s still probably better than nothing, right? You can dream about Shiro in teacher-mode or whatever.”

Keith bit his lip in thought, eyes darting between Lance and the headphones, before quietly saying, “... Yeah. Maybe.”

“Try it, at least. For the team’s sake, yeah? ‘Cause we’re all kinda worried about your health at this point, and - and I don’t care what you say, you really need a good night’s sleep.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

Keith nodded, reaching and hand out to take the music player from Lance. “I’ll try it, at least.”

“Great!” Lance said, face brightening. “Let me know tomorrow how it goes, okay?”

“All right,” Keith said. “And, um - just - for the uh, for the - I just - it’s, um, it’s nice to know that you guys all - ”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, Mullet,” Lance said. “Now, go the fuck to sleep.”

-------------------------------------------------------

For the first morning in a long time, Keith wasn’t the first paladin up and about. In fact, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were all already halfway through their breakfasts when Keith finally showed up in the kitchen, blinking drowsily against the light. But it was a different drowsiness than usual. The sort of drowsiness that came from just having woken rather than from desperately needing to go to bed.

Wisely, none of them made any remarks about the change. They bid him good morning and asked if he’d like to join for breakfast, as casually as they would have on any given morning on the castle before Keith’s whole insomnia episode began, and he accepted, his focus entirely on the food in front of him.

Lance waited until Hunk and Pidge started their own conversation, distracted enough by each other not to pay the rest of the table any mind, before tapping the table near Keith’s plate and giving him a questioning thumbs-up. Keith nodded, and Lance smiled as what he had already suspected was confirmed: Shiro’s speech had worked.

Lance was a goddamn genius.

And in the following quintants, as Keith gradually grew less irritable and the bags beneath his eyes started to fade, it became easier to believe that maybe, the team could get through this. Keith could get through this.

He just needed his goddamn genius teammates to help out a bit sometimes. That’s all.

#gentronweek #badthingshappenbingo #vldgen #keith #lance #shiro #my writing #fic: perchance to dream

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