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leviiattacks · 3 years

Text

No One Sticks Around | Levi Ackerman

note :: this was a request i just quickly wrote it because i managed to find some free time at 3am GODDD crying so hard rn i’m so upset over chapter 138 like i am in tears over it and school work T___T please i literally cried writing this because 138 made me so upset gn i’m a mess rn but if aot ends the way i think it does then idk maybe it won’t be that bad.

pairing :: captain!levi x cadet!reader genre :: angst, angst, ANGST word count :: 1.2k

warnings :: canon typical violence i guess?? not even really violence honestly but mentions of blood etc

He never understood why everyone had to leave him. Never understood why departure had to be defined as death. Never understood what he had done to be the one to witness each and every casualty caused by this misery but never become one of the bodies in the never ending bloody pile.

Living to be invincible wasn't as great as people made it out to be, neither was being as good as immortal on the battlefield.

Sometimes, Levi would look at his reflection and tell himself he had the urge to drop dead. He then would carry on to tell himself he knew he wouldn't be able to do that. He didn't want that really. All he ever wanted was to escape this cave of bloodshed.

The world was caving in and he couldn't do anything about it. No matter how powerful he was he couldn't. All he could do was watch in horror as he saw everyone else slowly die out.

He promised not to grow attached, there was no reason to grow connections or friendships.

Farlan and Isabel were bitter reminders of that.

That day he learnt death was worse when there was a shared familiarity between souls. Part of him died when he found them drenched in the damp downpour. Their blood soaked into the concrete beneath them.

The day he returned from that expedition he reeked of failure. He scrubbed his skin till it became red and he told himself to get a grip. Never grow attached Levi, no one sticks around. Those words remained stuck in his head .

But, he was stupid and made the same mistake again.

He had to redo the promise he made to himself again when he needed to put Erwin's life on a scale right next to Armin's. Another piece of him passed away when Erwin murmured his thanks. Silently, under his breath he told Levi he was grateful for all that he had done.

Levi didn't think he was grateful for it at all. In denial, he thought it was all a formality, after all, the both of them had been through thick and thin together. Erwin probably thought the least he could do before his death was to offer his thanks, that's how Levi saw it all.

Erwin died in his arms. He felt him sag and remain limp, he sensed his breathing falter and he shed a tear when it proceeded to discontinue.

When he returned from that expedition he scrubbed at his skin till it scratched and itched in irritation. He needed to be clean, needed to feel safe, needed to reassure himself that everything was okay. Everything would be okay if he followed his advice this time. Never grow attached Levi, no one sticks around. From then on those words rang in his head twice as often.

But, he was never able to learn in the past so what happened next served to be no surprise at all.

Present day.

He's only gone and done it again.

He's grown attached.

He knows it's wrong to choose you over Jean, he curses himself when he's fighting through his tears asking himself why he's being irrational and risking his own life for you, the weakest member of the squad physically, you've always been a hindrance when it's come to teaching combat. Somehow you scraped it into the top ten all those years ago because of your intelligence and problem solving skills.

As the years have passed you've also made yourself at home in one of the tiny crevices of Levi's heart.

Levi knows Jean is a greater aid to humanity than you, he knows it, he knows it, he knows it.

But, he can't go through the devastation of loss again.

His body acts before his mind can stop him, he darts to your rescue as Jean watches on in terror wondering why his Captain is acting illogically and picking you over him.

You're trying to look him in the eyes, telling him it's okay he can leave you behind and take Jean instead, "MY TIME IS UP. LOOK AT ME LEVI." Screeching and wailing the Earth is coming down to the ground around you.

He can't make himself look at you, he's not willing to change his mind.

Grunting in pain he stubbornly releases you from the grip the abnormal has on you, you're still screaming as you fall down the drop with him, your ear-splitting cries tell him he's made the wrong choice, but as he zips through the foliage aiming to return back to your base he eases up at the way you howl. It comforts him. He's sick and twisted for letting it have that impact on him, he feels like a monster but you're still alive, that’s all that matters. You'll return alive and he'll be able to shelter you from harm’s way.

"Don't let his death be in vain." He whispers the sentence into the shell of your ear and you freeze, his voice is cracking and you hold onto him tighter. You squeeze him in your suffocating grip and sob into his neck, you've both lost a comrade who shouldn't have died today.

By the time the two of you have reached safety he's still afraid to let you go, he hates himself for falling in love with you because the gap between the two of you can't be bridged. You're bound to die if you don't work on your strength and if you don't pass away before him it'll be because he'll stupidly sacrifice himself for you.

Trembling as he cautiously lets you off his back you ask him the long awaited question, "Why did you pick me over him?" Voice breaking up you attempt to keep your cool and find the reasoning behind the foolish decision he made back in the forest.

Levi turns to you hesitantly, his eyes are glazed over with tears and he doesn't know how to explain his selfish urge to you, in the moment he just knew he had to save you, knew he needed you to keep going.

Then he blurts it out without stopping to think of the repercussions of his words. "I'm not the kind of man to confess."

His hoarse voice tenses midway through, he has to cough in-between the sentence but his words are still able to sink in. They hang in the air and then what he means hits you.

You're worth more than humanity to him.

He loves you.

You nod acknowledging what has been said. "Your actions have told me as much." is all you can manage to choke out.

His eyes flick to your face, he's trying to memorize your features off by heart, he needs to commit them to his memory, he can't afford to forget how you look.

"Dying isn't an option for us." Your voice is soft and fragile.

He takes a hold of your hand and begins to draw circles atop your palm.

Edging closer to him at first you lean in to offer him a hug and tell him everything will be alright. Brushing his hair out of his face and stroking his scalp time passes excruciatingly slow

Gazing at you he Releases a shaky breath and unexpectedly grabs you by the shoulders lunging forward. His lips smash into yours, you give into his hold and the apprehension drifts away. Kissing him back you whimper into his mouth, you’ve never kissed anyone before but it all feels so right with him. His hands fly to the back of your neck tilting you deeper and you oblige. It feels like you’ve lived just to share this moment with him.

For now, he won't have to go back and scrub at his skin till it grows red.

For now, you have him and he has you.

Grow attached Levi, no one sticks around.

#levi #leviackerman #snk #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan levi #aot fanfiction #levi headcanons #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi scenario #levi fanfiction #levi angst #aot angst #leviiattacks

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darthkruge · 3 years

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Could you do an imagine where Anakin comforts an insecure reader

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Insecurities

Summary: Anakin comes home to find the reader drowning in their own insecurities and does everything he can to make it better.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Heavy talk of insecurities, including the reader feeling insecure about their body, personality, relationship, basically themself in general. A little bit of blood and some injuries but nothing major. Angst to fluff, I’d say?

A/N: Hi anon! First off, I hope you’re okay. Secondly, thank you for requesting! And ofc I’ll write this, comfort fics are my shit! I tried to get this request out as quick as I could and it did take a tiny bit longer than I wanted, but I wanted to do it justice. Also, y’all are beautiful and perfect and I love each and every single person reading this. If anyone ever needs anything, I’m here always. If you wanna talk or vent or just share some of your thoughts, I got you.

(not my gif)

It was just one of those days. You weren’t a stranger to them but, nonetheless, you always felt unprepared when they hit. The feeling where you wanted to crawl out of your own skin, your own mind. Where regardless of what clothes you wore, you hated how you looked. The thoughts were the worst part, telling you lies that felt terrifyingly like truths.

You’re worthless. You’re unlovable. You’re ugly. Everyone else can see it. They all know. No one really wants to spend time with you. You’re annoying. You’re stupid. You’re a bad person.

The thoughts spiraled and spiraled and spiraled until you were lost in your own head. When it came to this, you frequently fell. It was too painful to hold onto your consciousness and fight it, so you let go. The thoughts continued as you curled back up in your bed, in the apartment in Coruscant that you shared with him, the one that normally brought you such comfort, and stared blankly at the wall. Tears streamed down your face and you didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away.

Truly, the worst part was feeling so defeated. You were a strong Jedi and you took your training seriously. You’d fought in countless battles, you should be able to handle one in your mind. You wished you were strong enough to fight against these thoughts. The shame you felt around your insecurities only made you feel more alone. Instead of reaching out on days like this, you just forced yourself into silence.

You were especially afraid to tell Anakin. Your beautiful, perfect, kind, loving boyfriend. He didn’t deserve to deal with you. He had enough on his plate, it wasn’t his job to comfort you because you weren’t strong enough to deal with your own shit. You were scared that once he saw how you viewed yourself, he would come clean and admit to seeing you the same way. I mean, you were so obviously hideous, how could he not see it, too?

Meanwhile, Anakin was finishing up a training session in the Jedi Temple. Normally he’d train with Obi-Wan, but today he wanted to focus on himself. Honestly, he was a bit distracted. Since he had a busy day today and you had the day off, he had to leave before you woke up, which he absolutely hated. He loved being there when you woke up and cooking breakfast for the two of you. You’d been dating for a few months and he was truly shocked that you’d kept him around for this long. You were everything he’d ever wanted.

He realized he was smiling as he thought of you and decided to reach out with the Force to be reminded of your presence. He knew it wasn’t what the Force was supposed to be used for but he honestly couldn’t help it, he missed you. You were a comfort to him and he liked to check and make sure you were alright.

Anakin’s brow furrowed as he searched for you. Normally, you were meditating at this time and he could feel a sense of serenity and contentment around you. Today, however, he was met with pain. Pain, and fear, and hatred, and sadness, and anguish, and loneliness. Anakin braced himself against the wall, stumbling back at the severity of your emotions. Right after, he composed himself and took off in a run, trying to get to you as quickly as possible.

“Y/N? Y/N?!” Anakin yelled, bursting through the door. He was immediately taken aback when he noticed that all the lights were off. Walking quietly, he heard your sobs coming from the bedroom. He went in and felt his heart shatter. There you were, his angel, curled under the blankets, sobbing. He looked around and noticed the mirror in your room smashed. He walked over and gently placed a hand on your back, trying not to startle or upset you more.

You looked up at him and started crying even harder. He pulled you into his arms and noticed how you fell limply into his chest. The fight seemed to have extinguished from your eyes, causing him to hold you even closer. Your arms weakly surrounded his middle as his hands stroked your back and gently combed through your hair.

You felt lost and trapped, the world around you fuzzy and distorted from the tears. Even so, you felt him. You breathed him in, inhaling his comforting scent and feeling his warmth. He helped you ground yourself, the broken wails eventually quieting into soft cries. Anakin didn’t try to shush you, he just whispered reassurances into your hair, let you get it out, and held you. “I’ve got you, love. It’s alright, get it out. I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You listened to those affirmations as you sagged into him, taking a few more minutes to just lay there. Softly, Anakin pulled you away from him so he could study you. You saw his face contorted with worry and immediately felt guilty. Great, Y/N, now you’ve made him upset. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve this. Why did I have to be so fucking needy?!

Your thoughts were interrupted by him. “What happened, angel?”

“I-” You trailed off, not sure what to say. “I just had a shit day”

You could tell he knew it was more and, feeling vulnerable under his intensely caring gaze, brought your hand to move the hair out of your face.

Quickly, you heard Anakin take a sharp inhale of breath before grabbing your hand. Ouch. You looked down and noticed the cut on the back of your hand. It had mostly dried by now, thankfully, but the pain from punching that mirror earlier was definitely still registering.

He wordlessly went to the bathroom and brought out some gauze and anti-bacterial medicine. When he returned, his eyes drifted to the mirror and you saw him putting the pieces together. He spent a few moments in silence, his expression downcast. He worked quickly, bandaging you up and collecting his thoughts. “Why?” He asked, softly.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stand to look at myself anymore” You whispered, wiping away some residual tears from your eyes.

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous, love. Please, angel, please look at me.” He cupped your face and moved you so you were in his lap, making sure you heard every word. “You are truly the most breathtaking person I’ve ever met. You’re ethereal.”

Anakin’s voice was quiet as he told you these things. Quiet, yet powerful. Almost as if it was the gentle caress of his innermost thoughts. Completely honest and raw, yet too intimate for anyone to hear except you.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry your brain is lying to you. That must be so hard, fighting against your own mind. Baby, you’re brave. You’re so, so brave.”

You were shaking your head, “Ani, no, no I’m not. I’m not brave, I didn’t fight. I let them consume me. I was drowning and I couldn’t breathe until you came in. I couldn’t anchor myself at all, I was so weak” You said, disgusted with yourself.

“Shh, shh, Y/N, listen. You are strong because even though you felt the weight of everything on your shoulders, you didn’t drown. I know you felt like you would, but look! You’re here. You didn’t drown.” He took a second to pause, kissing your forehead lovingly. “Do you want to talk about what brought this on?”

“If I tell you, promise you won’t think differently of me?”

“I promise. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

You inhaled deeply, hands shaking slightly. Ani took them in his own, steadying them while looking at you deeply. “I’ve been dealing with some shit for a while and I think it all kind of caught up to me today? I hate how I look, Ani. I look in the mirror and I can’t handle it. That’s why I broke it, I just, I couldn’t. And then I was just thinking of how you don’t deserve to deal with someone like me. You shouldn’t have to come home after a day of training and deal with my breakdowns. I know I should have told you I’ve been feeling like this. I just was terrified. I was terrified you’d agree with me. I’m terrified you’ll leave me. I’m terrified you’ll wake up and see how you deserve so much more than the shitty fucking messed up person I am.” You trail off and meet his eyes, tears glistening in both of yours, “Ani, I’m so terrified” You finish, voice wavering.

Anakin rests his forehead against yours, pressing kisses to your hands. He lets his eyes close and tears fall down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe you were in this much pain and he never noticed. You were the love of his life and he felt like he’d failed you if you feel like this.

“Y/N, I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not going anywhere. You are the best person for me, hell, you’re the best person in the entire fucking galaxy. Everyday I wake up and think about how lucky I am to call you mine. You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re compassionate. You’re stubborn as hell and I love that about you. You challenge me and you’re a damn good Jedi. You’re strong, stronger than anyone should ever have to be. Your heart inspires me everyday. Simply, you’re good. And I know I said it a bit earlier, but I’m gonna say it again. You are stunning, love. Truly.” Anakin said, pulling away so he could really see you.

“Look at your legs! They’re so pretty, baby. Especially when you jump up and wrap them around me after I get home from a mission? That’s the best feeling in the freaking world! And your stomach! You always let me rest my head on it when I’m tired and I know you think it’s weird but it’s such a good angle because I can lay there and play with your hands. And, baby, your arms!! You give such good hugs and you when wrap them around me?? It makes me feel safe in a world full of chaos. And at night when you use them to curl into me, or when we’re dancing together? Fuck, I just love them.”

Anakin trailed off for a second. He held your face in his palms and you leaned into their warmth. “And you’re face, Y/N. It’s just so perfectly you. When I look into your eyes, I know I’m home. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t understand how you can hate your body when it's the body that makes me feel like I’m going to be okay. You make me feel like I’m going to be okay. I’ve always felt so out of control, so lost. But you ground me. Please, come to me if you ever feel like this again? You are not a burden or a messed up person. You’re everything. I’m here for you. I know my words won’t fix anything overnight. Even so, I promise you, I will repeat them everyday until you believe them and, after that, I will continue to remind you until my last breath.”

You hugged him and nuzzled into his chest, overcome with emotion. “I’m trying Ani, I’m really trying. It’s not easy for me to come to people when I feel like that but I promise I’ll try.”

His arms tightened around you and he placed a kiss on the top of your head. “That’s all I could ever ask of you, love. Thank you for being willing to try”

“Thank you, too, for talking me down today. It doesn’t normally get that bad. Some days are worse than others, you know? But you really helped me. I love you more than anything. I love you for loving me when I feel unlovable”

“I will always be here to remind you how deserving you are of love, happiness, and every other positive thing in the universe. I love you, too. I’ve loved you for years, I love you now, and I’ll love you forever”

Anakin hadn’t really let you go since he returned to the apartment. He was naturally a protective person and hated to see you hurting. He was so soft, so comforting. Although vulnerability is always hard, he made it so much easier. You knew he would always validate you, comfort you, and be there without judgement. He was everything you could possibly need and more.

Eventually, your breathing evened out as he rocked you in his arms. Anakin layed you back under the covers and went to pull away to sweep up the broken mirror’s glass. As he attempted to release himself from your arms, you whined and only tightened your grip on him. Anakin smiled and chuckled quietly, laying down and pulling you on top of his chest. You hummed contently and he placed a few more soft kisses onto your hair, your forehead, your shoulders, everywhere. You were his top priority always and he wanted to keep you safe physically, mentally, and emotionally. He could never deny you comfort, especially not in this state. After waiting a few more moments to ensure you were truly at rest, Ani closed his eyes. The glass could always wait until tomorrow...

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker x insecure reader #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #anakin skywalker #anon #requests

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theinkmage · 3 years

Text

Home

"Do you wonder?"

"Wonder what?"

"Wonder what we would become."

"I leave that up to fate. It's not really my place to decide."

"It can be." The hero said, reaching up to cup the other's face in his palms, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. Brilliant purple meeting stormy grey, like the sizzling flash of a lightning bolt on the cusp of dawn. "If you let it."

The villain looked away, pursing his lips. "Not everyone is as lucky as you."

The hero sighed, his hands falling away, fingers tapping listlessly against his thighs. "That I admit, but my point still stands." After a pause, he continued, "If I didn't know better, I would think you were scared of failing. That would most certainly explain your reluctance to meddle with fate."

He could almost predict the villain's response to that.

"I'm not scared of anything," the villain snapped, glowering at the city that sprawled before them from the rooftop of the building.

The hero had guessed right after all.

"And fate is fixed. It's supposed to be inevitable because it's determined by the cosmos. You can't change it." There was a hint of desperation there, barely, but the hero had known the villain long enough to pierce through his veiled attempts at subtlety.

"Yes…" the hero said slowly, staring resolutely at the villain.

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"But…" the hero let a faint grin slip onto his face. How he had missed these friendly banters with the villain when they were younger. "Destiny isn't."

The villain blinked, the epitome of baffled. "Destiny isn't what?"

"Destiny isn't fixed. It isn't determined by the cosmos. Even if your fate was given to you at birth, you don't have to follow its course. You can change it, by embracing your destiny."

The villain looked ready to argue, but the hero jumped in before he could. "And who's to say what's what? All we have are pre-conceived notions that are rubbed off onto us from the people we are surrounded with. They may be right, they may be wrong. For all you know, your notion of fate may be wrong."

"If you go according to that bizarre philosophy of yours, everything's going to end up wrong, you nitwit."

The hero snorted, his lips quirking up to the side. "The sky's grey."

"No, it's black."

"How do you know that the colour of the night sky is black and not grey?"

The villain scowled. "I just do."

"Oh really? Do you know what makes you happy in life then?"

"The two are not related."

The hero merely grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to face the villain completely. Oh, how they had both grown. Into two different people, so different, yet so similar. Their paths had crossed once when they were children, young and innocent and naïve to the works of the world, then separated as they had grown, as they had each accepted Nature's calling. And now, here they were. Their paths had led them back together.

"Do you trust me?" The hero asked quietly.

The villain frowned suspiciously, but a soft "yes" ensued after a period of time.

"Try to keep up then." The hero smirked as he brushed past the villain, leaping onto the next rooftop without so much as a glance behind his shoulder.

The villain grumbled, but the faint traces of a smile etched themselves onto his countenance as he followed close behind.

Above them, the faint crescent of a new moon shone, sending slivers of white cascading over the houses and the grass and the stone of the paths. For a moment, it was just the two of them, silhouettes against the backdrop of a starry night sky and the brilliant moon. Surreal, yet concrete.

The villain could have left before the next rooftop. He could have melted into the shadows before the sight of their old childhood spot popped into sight. He could have gone home or returned to base before standing at the top of that very hill where they had once stood, many years ago. Yet he did none of the above.

"You haven't been here in a long time." Somehow, the hero made it sound accusatory.

The villain lowered his head, scuffing the grass at his feet with the tip of his shoe. That, he could not deny. "I didn't have time."

For a long time, the hero didn't say anything, and the villain began to think that perhaps he had been forgiven and the hero would drop all this that was going on between them. He had never meant for both of them to turn out this way, him more than the hero, but life was never fair. Neither was it predictable.

"I don't think so." The hero mused, plopping down onto the soft green grass, palms flattened against the ground. "I think you were afraid. Of this place. Of the memories it would bring back. You think they would go against what you were taught you would become."

"Who I've become is the path I've chosen for myself. No one else forged it for me." The villain snapped harshly, with a little more bite to his words than he had intended.

The hero fixed him with a knowing look. "Is that what you really think? Listen to your heart, and tell me. Honestly."

The villain bit down on his lower lip before sinking down onto the spot beside the hero. He said nothing. Just stared into the distance ahead, and fixed his eyes on the heavens above. It was going to be early morning soon.

"Doesn't being here make you feel small? Infinitesimal? With the land stretching on as far as the eye can see and the stars littering the sky above? I have always come back here, even after you were gone. It made me feel free, like…like an escape from reality. Here, I…we can be whoever we want to be. No one to forge our paths for us, no one to decide what we could be, no one to force us to be what we could never be."

"Life is rarely that simple, Hero." The villain intoned, hands fisting clumps of grass on either side of him.

"And again, you're right. But that would merely be following what the cosmos has planned for you. Many people lament that life is difficult, that it can never give us what we want. Yes, but a few break through life's barriers, because they believe. They believe in what they want, they believe in a happier ending, they believe in embracing destiny and revolting against fate. You don't have to be who you don't want to be just because others have carved the path for you, because others like you have done it before you. You are not like the others. You are unique, and you are what makes you you. I'm not asking you to drop everything all at once, I'm just asking that you rethink your life choices that you have obviously made not for yourself but for others. I'm asking that you give yourself a chance. Just a small one, in a world that's too big for us."

An amalgamation of emotions rushed through the villain, and his heart ached. The words were on the tip of his tongue, struggling past one another to spill past his lips, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He swallowed the chunky letters back down, tasting bitterness and the acridity of them burning sharp against his throat, pressing his lips tight together, stinging eyes staring resolutely ahead.

They sat on the hilltop for a while, the crickets chirping around them, the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees, the brook singing merrily downstream.

"It's getting late," the hero said quietly after what seemed like eons. "I should go. Rest well, Kaison."

The villain started. He hadn't heard the hero use his real name since they were children. It evoked something in him, a stirring deep in his gut, something primal and raw and so achingly sweet and sour at the same time.

"Did you know, your name means "son of fighter or rebel"?"

The villain shook his head and the hero smiled sadly, slowly rising and making his way past the villain.

"Just now," the villain blurted out in a panic, the hero's back the only thing in his vision. His feet had stopped, and he had not turned around to face the villain, but the villain knew the hero was listening. He always had.

"You asked me what makes me happy. You did. When we were kids and all that. You've always been the one stable thing in my life, even after we went down separate paths. You were always there. You never left."

By now, the villain was struggling not to cry. But it was hard, as the tears pooled in his eyes and he bit down on his lip harder, angling his head downwards to stare at the patch of grass between his feet.

Suddenly, the hero was there, kneeling down beside him, taking his hands into his and holding on tight. "It's okay to cry. It's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to be free, to be whoever you want to be. It's okay to give yourself a chance."

The villain's emotions betrayed him, and the dam broke. It had been more than ten years since he had last cried, since he had last allowed himself to cry.

The hero squeezed his hands tighter. "You don't have to do this alone. If you're ready to try, I'm here to help."

The villain nodded, and he could see the relief in the way the hero's shoulders sagged, the joy in the beautiful smile that broke across his face. The hero pulled him into a hug, one that was long overdue, and that exact same feeling from earlier arose in the villain. It felt like regret, like relief, like a certain kind of joy and bliss, the only kind you could find when you were at home. And it felt like love. The love of an old childhood friend, the love of someone you could call home. It was the love of someone he had loved dearly since day one and had never stopped loving over the years.

As if reading his thoughts, the hero pulled away, cupping his tearstained face in his warm soft palms, resting his forehead against the villain's, their noses touching and their breaths misting in the cool air between them. "I missed you."

"Missed you too." The villain croaked, managing a shaky smile.

One minute, they were barely an inch apart, and the next, the hero's lips were on his. They fit perfectly, like a last piece fitting into a jigsaw puzzle. The kiss felt soft and sweet and slow, something warm and burning that crashed through their veins and threatened to burn them from the inside out. It felt like home, something the villain hadn't had in a very long time.

In the distance, brilliant purple met stormy grey, as the sizzling flash of a lightning bolt appeared on the cusp of dawn.

#hero x villain #soft villain #soft hero #writing #m x m #romance #fluff

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noforkingclue · 3 years

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Can you write a fic about Dhawan Master finding out that you’re asexual? I know you just wrote one for him, but I just adore the way you write. And I completely understand if you’re not comfortable writing this. Anyways, love your blog ;)

Thank you anon, I'm always up for writing for Dhawan!Master.

Honestly, even though I write smut I'm not sure where I stand I on my own sexuality. I known I'm bi and would like to be in a relationship but when it comes to sex I just... don't know. I'd much rather cuddle up with someone under a blanket together. I just feel kind of 'meh' about the idea of sex. Does that make sense?

Title: There Are More Important Things

Doctor Who tag list: @v4n1r, @queerconfusionthings, @yourneighbourhoodclown, @love-of-fandoms, @emilythezeldafan, @fabulous-jj-style, @theseeker945, @pleadingeyes, @kjaneway1, @truthbehindthemysteries, @im-a-muggleborn, @startrekkingaroundasgard, @mythandmagik, @geocookie21, @zerocanonlywriteshit, @thewinterpoet2, @anteroom-of-death

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @imjustassaneasyou

“I have something I need to tell you.”

The Master looked up at your and raised an eyebrow. He flicked a switch on the console and the TARDIS shuddered slightly. You bit your lip as you looked at the floor. You picked you nails as you shifted from foot to foot, wondering the best approach to what you wanted to tell him.

“You’re nervous,” he said, “What’s wrong.”

“It’s about me.”

“About you,” the Master frowned, “What’s happened.”

“I can’t keep living like this. Not tell you something about me that is so important.”

The Master’s shoulders sagged and he nodded.

“I understand,” he said quietly, “I knew this was too good to last.”

Now it was your turn to frown.

“What do you mean?” you asked

“You want to leave,” he said, “I understand. Honestly I was preparing for this and I’m actually surprised about how long you lasted with me. It been interesting. I’ll drop you off back home.”

“No!”

“Don’t lie to me,” the Master sounded bitter and you could hear the sadness in his words, “Please, just don’t lie to me anymore.”

“I’m asexual!”

Silence fell over the two of you. Your relationship with the Master had been slowly moving forward and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t excited about it. The Master had managed to pull emotions from you that you weren’t expecting. You never realised that you could feel this way about another being, let alone something as brilliant and manic as the Master. But although you were excited you were also afraid. Afraid that he would want more from you, more than you wanted to do.

“I like you,” you continued quietly, “Like, really like you, but when it comes to sex I just don’t… I don’t know, it’s like a piece that’s meant to be there is missing. It’s made being with people very difficult. They always expect me to do things that I don't want to and don’t understand when I tell them why. It makes me feel like I’m broken, like there’s something wrong with me, and because of this I’ll never find someone to spend the rest of my life with. I feel love, I get crushes, I just don’t want to have sex. I need to tell you this because you deserve the truth about me. You’ve never hidden anything from me and I’ve been keeping this from you. I understand if this has put you off me, if you don’t want to be with me anymore. You can drop me back on earth.”

By now tears were falling down your face. You angrily brushed them aside, ashamed that you had become so weak in front of the Master. The Master was looking at the console, probably too ashamed to even look at you. You swallowed thickly, your answer in his silence as you turned around to head back to your room to pack. However, before you even managed to walk one step the Master grabbed your wrist.

“You’re not broken.” He said quietly

“Huh?”

“I said,” he repeated, “You’re not broken. And all those other pathetic humans who have told you that are small minded and don’t deserve you.”

“You… you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” the Master spun you around so you were facing him, “There are far more important things in a relationship than sex. I don’t care, I’d rather have you with me, by my side and comfortable. You have been by my side when no one else has been and I have become used to your company. Your companionship is all I ever wanted, to have you with me and travelling with me. You make me feel like I’m a better person than I actually am. Maybe I just want someone who will stay by my side and understand me. Someone like you.”

“You are a good person.”

“Love,” the Master said, “You know what I’ve done.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Really? Even after all the suffering I’ve caused to you humans.”

“Maybe,” you gave him a teasing smile, “That’s what I like about you. And maybe there’s some humans I’d like to see suffer.”

“Whatever you wish my human.”

#fanfiction #doctor who #reader insert #request #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #The Master #master x reader

57 notes · View notes

writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Note

I saw this prompt for feysand and i would love to see your take on it - I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

I've really been enjoying your writing!!❤

AN: I took it and ran, and ran, and kept running. Thank-you so, SO much for sending it my way! This was a great prompt that had fun with. I’m glad you’ve been liking my stuff, it means a lot! ~5.5kwords

TW: Brief talk about death, anxiety, depression, fear.

Worth It

Seated at a canvas with paints or pencils in hand, Feyre was unstoppable. She could create landscapes with ease or depict a simple still life and turn it into something far greater. Art was where she lived.

Not in a basement classroom learning about Prythian history.

There wasn’t anything wrong with history, especially when it was as rich and vibrant as Prythia. But talking about wars, treaties, and assassinations could only be discussed for so long.

Of course, it didn’t help that Feyre was dyslexic, but she didn’t talk about that.

She glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else was as bored as she was. It was the first day of class and she was the only one not taking extensive notes. Well, she and a guy at the front of the room. All Feyre could see was the back of his head. His hair was dark as midnight and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up as he sat at his desk. He didn’t even have a textbook with him.

Feyre forced herself to pay attention as the Professor finally shut down the slide show presentation.

“Make sure you look of the syllabus,” Dr. Wesson addressed the class. She was a small woman with rich brown hair and a plain green dress. “It outlines the schedule of tests and essays. None of the dates will be altered. My TA will be at your disposal.”

Dr. Wesson nodded to the guy with the black hair and gestured for him to stand up.

And just like that, the class was the most fascinating thing in the world.

He was tall, taller than he’d originally appeared. His warmly tanned skin made his violet blue eyes bright and eager. A sly sort of smile traced his mouth as he observed the class.

“Call me Rhysand,” he said, “I’m working on my masters specifically in the historical aspect of how literature was shaped by wars in the land. I’m always glad to help with your questions. Just make sure you email me to set something up.”

The girls next to Feyre whispered to each other, exchanging significant looks. Feyre exchanged a significant look with the amount of reading and writing that was required.

Hell. It was going to be a long semester.

The class dismissed right at nine o’clock, much to Feyre’s relief. While most of the students flocked to the front of the room to either gawk at the TA or further discuss issues with the Professor, Feyre left the class. Already she could feel her dread pooling into anxiety. Her heart rate quickened and the muscles in her left hand twitched.

She just needed to get home and sit down with a canvas and paint.

As soon as she made it outside the Humanities Building however, the dread continued to tug at Feyre. It was far too dark. With far fewer lights than she’d expected for a college campus. Or maybe it was because there was a thick layer of clouds sagging down and threatening rain.

“Feyre!”

Snapping to attention, Feyre clutched her bag to her chest and found the source of her name.

Her friend, and roommate, Alis waved at her from a path diverging deeper on to campus. Her dark hair hung in waves down her back and the jacket she wore was flattering against her curves.

Feyre let out a long, releieved breath and plastered a smile on her face. Quickly, she moved toward her friend.

“Hey,” Feyre greeted and accepted a hug from the smaller girl. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you had a late class,” Alis explained, “and I knew it was with Wesson. I heard the woman is miserable. So intense. But--I mean--you’re going to do great. Your always so creative with everything I’m sure she’ll love you. Anyway, I was finishing up buying my books for the semester and thought I’d meet up with you.”

Feyre smiled as Alis spoke, grateful for the small distraction. Even if it was slightly horrific in thinking about trying to get on a professor’s good-side.

“Thanks,” Feyre said, “I appreciate it. It was a bit intimidating.”

“I think everyone just likes making freshman miserable,” Alis said. Alis was technically a junior, but had changed her major four times and couldn’t decide on a minor. She was not on track to graduate when she’d originally thought, but wasn’t at all concerned.

Feyre wished she could be more like that than the raging mess she felt she was.

Behind them, leaving the Humanities Building, the TA appeared leading an entire gaggle of girls.

“Let’s go,” Feyre muttered. “I’m exhausted.”

By the third week of the semester Feyre came to better understand her relationship with exhaustion. And it was not a good one.

She was fairly certain her body consisted of ninety percent caffeinated beverages and ten percent hot pockets. She’d never been one for eating much. Growing up had always been a struggle in keeping food in the fridge and a decent pair of shoes on her feet. Feyre knew by now how her body functioned.

It wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest. And there was a part of her that recognized that. And another part that ignored it.

Two nights a week, Feyre found herself stuffed in the basement with little enjoyment. Other than getting to stare and Rhysand when Dr. Wesson turned the class over to him for brief instruction.

And looking at him was enjoyment. He was far different from any other guy Feyre had encountered. His hair was kept neat and short sweeping easily back out of his face, a charming smile, and warm brown skin. Not to mention the tattoos.

Feyre had never really considered tattoos as being attractive. Perhaps it was the artistic side of her that couldn’t get enough of them. On him at least. The way the black in swirled on his skin and swept up his arms. It was a shame he never wore short sleeves or unbuttoned one extra cutton at his collar.

Hell.

Mentally shaking herself, Feyre forced herself to pay attention.

Rhysand was discussing scores from the test last week. And, to put it mildly, was not impressed. Oh, there was plenty of good to say. Some of the students were engaged in the topics at hand. Some of the students displayed an obvious grasp of complicated topics. Others did not.

Feyre found herself sinking deeper into her seat by the end of class.

He hadn’t called her out by name, but truly--it felt like he had.

“That’s it for today, enjoy the weekend,” Rhysand called out at the tick of nine, “and remember essay proposals are due by the start of class on Tuesday.”

There was a quick rustle of the students getting up and gathering their things. It was a glorious Thursday evening and Feyre had somehow managed to keep her Friday’s clear of classes. At least something had gone right.

“Feyre?” She whipped around to meet those stark violet eyes. Hell. “I needed to talk to you about the questions you had on the proposal assignment.”

Feyre bristled. And not just because some of the girls shot her angry looks for being singled out by the hot TA. She hadn’t asked any questions. She was just trying to skate by on this class and be done with her prerequisites so she could get into her Art Major.

She set her bag on the floor once more and went to the front of the class. Already most of the students were leaving, far too eager to be done with school for the night.

As Rhysand answered a few last questions and dismissed the rest of the students, Feyre approached. Already she knew what she was going to say.

“I don’t have any questions.” The words fell from her mouth with ease. “I already know what I’m writing on.”

Lie. But a well-practiced one.

Rhysand’s mouth curled in a smile. He hefted a small stack of papers in one hand and leafed through them. Feyre froze realizing that they were the tests from last week. He pulled one of the stapled bunches out before setting the rest down.

“Honestly, I was surprised while grading this,” he said, “I mean, you’re obviously smart. I saw that you were awarded the Starfell Scholarship, not an easy accomplishment. Not to mention your always engaged and taking notes.”

Feyre wished her skin wasn’t as pale as it was. Her skin flushed under his scrutiny, but she tilted her chin up and met his gaze.

“And?” she asked. “I take my education seriously.”

Somewhat. When she actually liked the work.

Rhysand handed her the test. And she saw the grade.

Hell.

Her stomach churned. Roiled actually. Maybe she was going to be sick. That was just what she needed.

“So?” she asked instead. “It was the first test of the semester.”

“And yours in the only outlier,” he replied.

His eyes never left hers and Feyre felt more and more inclined to throw something at him. Who was he to talk to her about her grade? He was just the damned TA.

“Dr. Wesson doesn’t like picking up the slack of grading or talking to students about it all that much,” he continued, literally reading her mind. “I’m just concerned about you falling behind.”

Feyre stiffened and pursed her lips.

“I grew up learning Prythian history, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said stiffly.

Another lie. She knew enough that basic education taught and what she’d heard and listened to. But reading about it? Her mind couldn’t grasp it. It had been hard enough getting decent SAT scores to get accepted in the University let alone writing that damned Starfell essay.

“Of course,” Rhysand said slowly.

And Feyre had the sense that he was assessing her. Analytically, carefully. In the was that one would size up an opponent or scrutinize a strange recipe. He was trying to understand her.

Feyre handed him back the test.

“Thanks for the concern,” she said, “but I’ll be fine.”

Perhaps he was just being nice. Perhaps he was merely trying to fulfill his duties as TA. But she had seen the way he acted in the class. At times rebuffing boys and girls alike. Not to mention seeing him around campus tossing a football around with two other boys. She’d also seen him get kicked out of the library for a parkour prank challenge.

In all honesty, Feyre had no idea what to make of him. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

He didn’t seem to believe her. Not with the crease forming between his brow nor the frown turning down one side of his mouth.

Well, that was his problem.

“Have a good night,” Feyre said. She spun on her heel before he could say anything and grabbed her bag and was out the door.

Once she was outside, she could breathe again. Strange. She often found the darkness, the night, to be so suffocating. It wasn’t long before Feyre realized something was off about the night. And then she realized. Alis was nowhere in sight.

Feyre dug her phone out of her pocket and found a missed text.

Sorry chica, caught up at study group. Probs gonna spend the night at Nuala’s too. See you tomorrow!

Of all the nights Alis could get serious with her girlfriend.

Feyre swallowed stiffly and stared out over the pavilion that stretched between the humanities building and out to the mathematics building. A few pathways branched off to different parts of campus and then there was the main one that would take her to the dorms. And of course, most of the streetlamps were barely flickering to life.

She’d never liked the dark. Never liked what could hide in the shadows. Nor what could sneak in silence. Perhaps it was childish to still hold onto that fear. She was almost nineteen years old after all. Nearly fifteen years later and here she was.

Feyre’s hands shook as she clutched her phone. She could call Elain. Nesta. Even just to talk to as she walked. Though Elain lost her phone even when it was in her hand. And Nesta was at work.

But it was fine. Feyre knew it was fine. Because all she needed to do was walk. And shed been walking for long enough that putting one step in front of the other was natural. Easy. Simple. Yet here she was. Standing.

When Rhysand spoke, she didn’t even start.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

Myself. “No.”

Silence.

“It’s getting late.”

“I know.”

Silence.

How strange it was, to hear only the hum of crickets and breath of night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre glanced at him. Even in the shadows she could see him clearly. It was like he was made of night, of dark, of the mysteries that she could never lay her hand on. She shook her head. Focus, Feyre.

“Of course I am,” she insisted, a little too sharply. “Maybe I like having time to think.”

“At nine-thirty at night. Outside the least exciting building on campus.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I heard that last year a group of boys nearly got suspended for trying to host a snowball fight, indoors.” Feyre couldn’t help but grin when she saw how Rhysand flushed.

“Technically, I’m not the one who brought the snowballs inside the building,” he said defensively.

“Oh, no, you’re just the one who built an entire fort in front of the main entrance to the building,” Feyre said.

It had actually been pretty hilarious when she’d heard about it from Alis. It almost made her wish that she'd been around last year instead of taking a year off.

“Technically,” he said again, the word making Feyre’s brow arch, “it was my brother who instigated the fight. He couldn’t let his reign be challenged.”

Feyre snorted a laugh and looked out over the quiet campus. It almost didn't look so dark and cold as she'd thought it had. But still, she felt her heart continue to hammer out unevenly in her chest. She couldn't walk home alone. Even the thought of taking one step forward had her clench and unclench a fist over the strap of her bag.

Rhysand continued saying something, but Feyre was only half listening. She was mostly focused on the thought of walking home. She could cut through the Science building. If it was still open. Or she could full out sprint.

“Are you alright?” Rhysand asked.

Flushing, Feyre pushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. “Fine, yeah.” She knew she had to ask him. Knew that it was her only option despite how embarrassed she might feel. “Could you--this is stupid, so you can say no--could you walk with me to the dorms?”

Rhysand was quiet for a moment. And in that moment Feyre was certain he was going to sneer at her. Laugh. Tell her to get over herself. Just like the others before him.

"Where do you live?" Rhys and asked suddenly, cutting Feyre off before she had the ch

“The dorms on the west side,” she said.

“Alliance Dorms?” Rhysaid confirmed. When Feyre nodded, he flashed her a small smile. “Absolutely.”

Relief pounded through Feyre.

“If you tell me what the deal was with that test.”

“You’re an ass.” The words were out before Feyre could stop them. Not the best thing to say to the TA of a class she was likely going to flunk.

Scowling, more to herself than him, Feyre started walking towards the dorms. She was a strong confidant woman. She did not need him to walk her home.

But Rhysand with those damned long legs kept stride with her easily. And he was laughing. Feyre was half tempted to knock an elbow in his side for laughing at her, but his next words caught her off guard.

“I like you Feyre,” he said, “you are rather interesting.”

She glanced up at him. Was he serious? She’d insulted him. She’d barely exchanged ten words with him at this point. And was scared of walking home alone. Granted it was a valid fear for a young woman on a college campus these days.

“Insane is the better word for it,” she replied, mostly under her breath. That’s what everyone back home said at least. In the small town where nothing was supposed to go wrong. But everything did.

“Interesting, curious, vibrant,” Rhysand listed off. “Far better words I think.”

Feyre had never been good with words. Like now. She couldn’t find the energy to respond to him. There was a spark in his eye that almost challenged her, begged her to continue the banter, the little game.

She remained silent.

She’d heard it was a far better mask for her to wear anyways.

The first paper she turned in for the History class was returned with far too many red marks. Far too many question marks. Far too many. So Feyre merely folded the thing in half and stuffed it in her bag.

She could burn it later.

Dr. Wesson ended the lecture right at nine and dismissed the class. Feyre had almost disillusioned herself into thinking she could avoid a conversation with the Professor. With Rhysand. But just as she was trying to maneuver around the giggling pack of girls that sat next to her, Dr. Wesson’s voice called out for her.

“Oh Miss Archeron, a word please?”

Feyre froze. She could feign a phone call. But then next class session the same thing would happen. So, Feyre braced herself for what was to come and went to the front of the class.

As usual, Rhysand looked perfectly unruffled. Despite the fact that Fall was quickly slipping into the winter months, he still wore a simple black button up tucked into slacks, the sleeves rolled up.

“Feyre,” Dr. Wesson said as she approached, she reached out a hand and gave Feyre a firm pat on the arm. “I know Rhysand spoke to you last week about your test. I wanted to follow up, especially in seeing how this essay went. Now, there is still plenty of time left in the semester, but I worry you aren’t grasping the things you should be.”

Blood pounded in Feyre’s ears. She could hear her heart beat throb, feel it in her veins. Her entire body flushed with embarrassment, stress, horror. Everything bubbled to the surface even though she’d tried so hard to tamp it down.

She tried to open her mouth but found her teeth were grinding together so bad that her jaw hurt.

“I think,” Dr. Wesson continued, “that you would benefit from spending a bit of extra time with Rhysand. Just to make sure you’re where you need to be in the class.”

Feyre found herself nodding and agreeing. Her voice was relaxed, calm even. But far too close to breaking.

After thanking the Doctor for her uncharacteristic kindness, Feyre stared and the poorly erased whiteboard over Rhysand’s shoulder for a long moment. With a slow exhale she finally met his gaze.

Rhysand met her eyes with such intensity that Feyre nearly lost her breath all over again. She shook it off and rolled her shoulders.

“Shall we get started tonight?” she asked. “Or I’m sure you have plans.”

“Nah, only kicking Cassian’s ass at Mario Cart,” Rhysand replied. He flashed her an innocent sort of smile. Feyre wasn’t sure if it was one out of kindness or mockery of some sort.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and stuck it out for him. “Just give me your number and I’ll let you know when’s a good time to study.”

Rhysand hesitated on a moment before accepting the phone and adding his details. As soon as she got her phone back, Feyre changed his name from Rhys to Prick. It seemed to fit better.

“It’s not a big deal you know,” Rhysand said.

He followed Feyre out of the classroom. His steps were confident against the carpet that had to be at least thirty years old. Truly Rhysand was an enigma with his ease, grace, and elegance when pitted against the drab interior of the Humanities Building.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Feyre said.

Once outside, the cold night air nipped at her skin and even through her jacket she could feel goosebumps rise. Just like the night last week, Feyre waited just outside the building doors. She stared into the night; across the courtyard she could see a few pale lights from the Math Building. None of the lampposts had been fixed which left most of the walkways in shadows.

Nothing about the night was out of place. It was calm, still, and everything lingered on Feyre’s mind. And just like last week, Rhysand waited beside her.

Overhead, Feyre could just make out the stars. Only a thin veil of clouds hung over the sky allowing a small bit of freedom to pierce her heart. But not enough.

“Could you walk with me again?” she asked quietly, unable to look at Rhysand.

“Only if you talk to me this time,” he said. That cheeky grin returning. And despite how much she hated it, it put Feyre at ease.

“Fine.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and began walking. “What made you pick history? There had to be something else. You don’t seem the type for old stuffy books or maps.”

“And who do you peg me for, Feyre?” His voice was practically a purr.

“High and mighty sitting behind a desk,” she replied drily. “Running some company somewhere. You certainly have the personality for it.”

He laughed unamused. “If my father had any say in the matter. A degree in history only puts off the inevitable.”

“That’s a rather bleak look on things,” Feyre said. It sounded like something she would say.

“Only if I didn’t enjoy what I was learning so much,” he said. In the flickering light of the lamps, they walked beneath, Rhysand’s expression brightened. “Between the wars and legends surrounding what shaped the country...it’s always been curious to see what we became. What we can become.”

His response seemed so honest, so genuine, that Feyre nearly stumbled. She barely knew him, had barely spent any time with him, yet she was beginning to feel that she knew him.

“So you devote all your time and attention to it?” Feyre asked.

They passed by the last of the campus buildings. A brisk wind scattered fallen leaves on the sidewalks and crunched under their steps as they walked.

“Don’t you have something you love? Something that you feel has changed you and you’d never want to give it up?”

A box of paints. Brushes that she’d had since she was ten. A canvas only half finished. She’d thought she could complete the image but it had been almost a year since she’d even looked at it. But art…art had changed her. Art had loved her just as she loved it.

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. Tilting her chin up, Feyre caught sight of a small patch of stars amid the inky black sky. Dim but shining still. “There’s always something.”

If he heard the sadness in her voice, he said nothing. Which was partially surprising, but Feyre would roll with it.

“The tutoring,” Rhysand began.

“No,” Feyre cut him off. “Not right now.”

“So you’re just going to ignore your problems?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Seems to be.”

Feyre stopped causing him him to move a few steps ahead of her. When he turned back towards her, he waited.

“I’ll admit to needing a little extra help to help my tests and essays, but I don’t see what else you’d need to know.”

“It’s alright to talk,” Rhysand paused, something else on the cusp of behind heard. But he restrained, his voice trailing off softly.

Feyre ignored the comment. Talking had never been her strong suit. She was more of action. Less idle, more work. Ever since she was a child it had been that way. She knew why, of course. It was obvious when she thought about it. So she never thought about it.

“What are you planning on studying?” Rhysand asked when she made no effort to continue on the topic of her test.

“Art,” she replied immediately. “I’m an artist. But my sister wanted me to get more of an education that could support me. So I’m just working on my prerequisites.”

“Art,” he repeated. There was a lilt to his voice as if he really were actually interested in what she was saying. “Sketching? Sculpture?”

“Paint and canvas,” Feyre said. “Since I was little. After my mom died, my sister bought me my first set of brushes and paint and everything I could need. She was only nine. I think she stole my dad’s credit card to do it.”

The reality of that had Feyre laughing softly, but Rhysand gave her look that was a mix of horror and confusion.

“It’s fine,” Feyre said quickly, “I’m fine.”

It was a lie of course. If she really were fine, she wouldn't have asked him to walk her home. She would better know how to control her fears, her anxiety. She would be happy.

“My mother died ten years ago,” Rhysand told her, his voice quiet and contemplative. “She’d been sick for a while and we knew it was coming. But for a ten-year-old boy, it was hard to understand. My father certainly didn’t. Still doesn’t.”

They reached Feyre’s dorms then, floodlights illuminated the front street and made it seem as though it were day. Feyre turned toward him and found herself smiling, just barely.

“Thank-you,” she said sincerely. “And I’m sorry you have to be a part of the dead mother’s club.”

“You too,” he said.

Feyre wondered if there was something else she should say. Wondered if he would even want to hear it. It was strange, that little flame of comradery that she felt towards him. But it was gone in an instant as Alis came running out from the building.

“Feyre! Get inside, it’s movie night!”

Shaking her head, Feyre offered Rhysand a small wave and headed into the dorms.

With three weeks until the next paper was due in that miserable class, Feyre spent her free time studying with Rhysand. It wasn’t as miserable as she’d been expecting it to be. Not when she realized he was far more laid back than she’d assumed. And then she’d met his best friends who were essentially like his brothers.

It was far easier to study in the relaxed environment that Rhysand created. And far easier to be herself around him. Of course, it had taken Feyre a while to decide that maybe they could be friends.

“Summarize what the chapter from last night’s reading discussed,” Rhysand said one night as they were studying. It was well after ten o’clock but they’d been given permission to stay in the building.

Feyre pursed her lips. She’d done the reading of course. As well as she’d been able. Most of had been hard to understand. No matter how she tried to focus or train her mind, her dyslexia always got in the way.

“Right,” Feyre said slowly. “It was about the last king of Hybern.”

“And?” Rhysand prodded.

“And he was a jerk,” Feyre added.

Rhysand’s fixed her with a look. Long and hard but still underlined with compassion.

“Feyre,” he said, just a bit more seriousness to his voice.

She sighed heavily and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. “I read it. I just didn’t understand it.”

Silence.

Feyre shot him a scowl but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m dyslexic. And History tends to be a bit harder for me to understand.”

Rhsand blinked. Once. But nothing else. No laugh or scoff of scorn. Instead, he smiled and pushed to text book toward her.

“Then read.”

“Read?”

“Aloud, preferably,” Rhysand said. He shrugged. “You want to be ready for the paper and subsequent test?”

“Prick,” she muttered. But she dragged the book towards her and began.

It became habit. A rhythm they fell into for the next several weeks. Rhysand helped Feyre study and prepare for the paper, the test. He walked her home, remaining the perfect gentleman. And Feyre, Feyre relished the time.

It was because he was genuine. Honest. There was something about him, deeper than the intensity he displayed on the outside. And for the first time in a while, Feyre found herself laughing with him. For the first time in a while, she was living for more than just expectations.

He was actually turning into her friend and it was strange thought indeed.

“Alright students,” Dr. Wesson announced towards the end of class on the last day before Thanksgiving break. “I have your midterm tests and papers graded. So now you can either relax or stress even further. Depending on the grade.”

A weak laugh bubbled around the room. Feyre gripped the underside of her chair tightly. She wasn’t ready for this. Not in the slightest.

Dr. Wesson slowly made her way around the room delivering both test and paper. Feyre, by some stroke of cosmic affair, didn’t get her paper until last and the entire room was empty aside from Dr. Wesson and Rhysand. Why was it they always ended up here?

“Well done, Miss Archeron,” Dr. Wesson said. She handed two packets of paper to Feyre and smiled. “I love to see improvement.”

Gaping, Feyre looked between the two grades. Heart hammering, she looked over the scores, brilliant red B’s shined up at her.

“I don’t usually offer extra credit,” the doctor went on, “but an exhibit is coming to the University about the Prythian Wall and it’s destruction. If you can come up with a project to demonstrate what it entails, I might be convinced to help you keep your grade up.”

Feyre could only nod as the professor bid them goodnight and left.

“Well done.”

Feyre looked up to see Rhysand beaming at her and she couldn’t help but grin. She leapt out of her seat and flung her arms around him in an embrace.

“Thank-you!” she whispered. It took her perhaps a moment too long to realize that a hung might not have been the best of plans. She hurriedly pulled back. “Sorry. That was uncalled far. I’m just really excited.”

“As you should be,” Rhysand said. His smile hadn’t dimmed but there was something in his eyes that Feyre couldn’t quite read. “It wasn’t an easy test.”

“And now we have a full week off for Thanksgiving,” she said. It was the best news she could have been given after getting her grades back.

“If you want,” Rhysand said, “my brother’s and cousin and I are having a game night, with pizza. If you want to come.”

A spark of excitement ignited in Feyre’s chest. She didn’t know when she’d developed a stupid little crush on Rhysand, but it was slowly starting to simmer out of control. She should have said no. Or come up with an excuse of some kind. Insead she found herself nodding.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They collected their things and left the building. Feyre took a few steps down the path they usually took to get to her dorm when she paused. She turned back to Rhysand and frowned.

“Where do you live?”

Rhysand looked a little sheepish. “Oh, I live over in the Court Apartments.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s in the complete opposite direction from my place.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been walking me home for practically a month.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Feyre asked, practically waving her hands in the air. “It’s basically a two-mile walk from my place.”

Rhysand shrugged. “You asked for help and I wanted to give it.”

Feyre stared at him. Her coat and scarf bunched around her neck, even though the night was perfectly clear. It was clear enough that she could see the billions of stars overhead. She could see them sparking in the black night. And for one she wasn’t overcome with her usual anxiety. Her usual fears. Instead, all she would do was stare at Rhysand.

“Why would you do that?” she insisted.

Rhysand opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Because you were worth it.”

His simple words hung between them and Feyre had a hard time knowing what to say or how to react. So she merely smiled and hooked her arm with his.

“Tell me about game night. Am I going to wind up on some snipe hunt?”

“Oh no, you and I are going to gang up against Cassian and beat him at Mario Cart.”

Feyre laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

And she realized that she wouldn’t mind if that’s how the rest of her nights played out. Late hours of laughs and friends, being around people--one person--who made her feel better than she had in a long time.

No, she wouldn’t mind it at all.

thanks so much for reading!

tags:

please reach out if i missed you and let me know if I put you on the wrong tag list/want to be removed. it’s generally going to be easier for me to just have basic acotar/tog lists and not go into too much worry about that, so just and fyi...anywho

tags: @tottenhamboys20 @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @emikadreams @rapunzel1523 @booksofthemoon @highladysith @fangirlprincess09

#feysand #feysand au #anon #prompts #answered #acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #acomaf #sjm #fanfiction #feysand fanfiction

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

🤬 | seokjin

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ frenemy!seokjin ft. e2l and the magnificent get-along sweater | 2K words → a/n: this is dedicated to my homie @jincherie who has been, as they say, wiping her ass everyday only to shit again. i can’t really do much to actually alleviate your circumstances except maybe making you smile, so i hope this can be your tiny ray of sunshine amidst the crap. this fic literally makes no sense because i wrote this within one hour so i’m sorry but pls know that ilysm!!

“Where’d you even fucking get this abomination?” you growl, struggling fruitlessly against the coarse fabric. In your fidgeting, your elbow knocks into Seokjin’s broad chest, causing more damage to your weak joints than anything. Even so, Seokjin grunts overdramatically, stepping on your toes in retaliation.

“Yoongi-chi, you know that I love you very much—” Seokjin seethes, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he fights to restrain himself from ripping the sweater in half, a la Hulk style. “—but I will not hesitate to stab you once I get out of here.”

“Not my fault that you both are acting like a bunch of toddlers,” Yoongi snorts, hip jutted out in contempt like the homosexual that he is. “And to answer your other question, I bought that sweater online after your last fight, when you two were literally wrestling on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether I walked into some intense BDSM play or a WWE ring.”

“You bought a fucking get-along sweater for us? What are you, some sort of Christian camp counselor?” you growl, kicking your legs out in an attempt to hit him. The slimy twink bastard jumps away gracefully, landing onto the loveseat opposite the couch that you were sitting on. He crosses his legs, opening his arms wide when your traitorous cat jumps onto his lap, looking to all the world like a terrible Bond villain from the 80s.

“If I was Christian, I would not put the two of you into a sweater together,” Yoongi says. He strokes your cat, who purrs loudly before pointing a contemptuous glare back at you, as if she was enjoying your torture too. Dumb cat. You never liked Miko anyway.

Yoongi continues, “Anyone would two eyes knows that you both are just one brawl away from fucking each other into the next dimension. Lord knows that your sexual tension could power the entire city.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to snort, who has been relatively quiet in comparison to you. He’s also less fidgety, but that might be because he at least has the advantage and comfort of occupying 90% of the sweater space due to his oceanic shoulders. You once described him as “horizontally imbalanced,” which he did not find slightly amusing.

“I would rather place my balls into a panini press and feed them to Miko than to ever fuck Y/N,” Seokjin fake-gags, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “It would be less hot for me to actually grill my penis than for me to sink into her hell-ish cunt. I swear, you could bake bread in there with how much yeast has accumulated from—“

You headbutt his chin before he can finish, squawking indignantly. The satisfying sound of his teeth clacking together in pain is momentary but worthwhile. “Excuse you, but it’d be an honor to fuck me! I’ve got that S-tier pussy! If my pussy was in a gacha game, people would spend thousands of dollars just to roll for my mystical coochie!”

Yoongi smirks. “So you admit that you do want Seokjin to fuck you!”

“What the fuck! No! That is—what the—I don’t!” You stammer, face flushing as you struggle to regain your footing in the conversation. Yoongi’s eyebrow raises, intrigued by your slip-up. “That is totally not what I meant, and you know it!”

Yoongi picks at his nails, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I don’t speak hetero. Prithee, explain thy peculiar mating rituals to one who does not walk the straight and narrow path.”

You slump back against the couch, forcing Seokjin to follow and fall backward with you. His shoulder hits you square in the boob, causing you to groan in pain. “Yoongi, just let us out of this thing before I lose a limb to this walking inflatable tubeman,” you plead, ignoring Seokjin’s glare.

“I resent that,” Seokjin inputs, but no one pays him any mind. Your attention is focused solely on the smirking kitty man in front of you, who grows smugger as time ticks on.

Everyone in your friend group is aware of the weird relationship you have with Seokjin. Ever since you met him in your freshman year of university, things were never peaceful between the two of you. It was always constant bickering, squabbling, competing… everything. Even Jungkook, Seokjin’s other sworn enemy, doesn’t argue with the elder as much as you did.

For three years, everyone just assumed it was your weird kindergarten schoolyard way of showing affection for each other, and at the beginning, it might have been. You and Seokjin, both of whom have never dated in their lifetimes despite being moderately popular while growing up, are unsurprisingly emotionally stunted and never learned how to just be nice to people you like. Affection who? Compassion where? To the both of you, physical connection can only be achieved through hair tugging and nipple pinching, and not even in the sexy way.

But at a certain point, things were starting to get tiring. Your arguments only grew larger in scale, to the point where it was getting hard to differentiate whether the bruises on your neck were from pinches or something else.

“I just… Ugh… When are they gonna fuck, hyung? I’m actually getting tired of their constant fighting,” Namjoon had lamented one afternoon, just a day after your last altercation with Seokjin. It had been a big one, where Seokjin nearly lost a tooth when you had landed a neat uppercut squarely on his jaw after he called your toes ‘a foot fetishist’s worst nightmare.’

Yoongi’s boyfriend had been staring listlessly into his bowl of soup for the past hour, and he was honestly starting to get worried when it looked like Namjoon had started muttering to himself in a foreign language. Yoongi almost thought he might have been scrying for a prophecy, begging for an answer to their most pressing question.

“What do you want me to do about it? Lock them in a room and let them out only after they’ve done the deed? Mixed bodily fluids? Performed the monkey dance to its climax?! No thanks, I don’t wanna be near them when that can of worms finally explodes,” Yoongi grimaced, shivering at the thought.

Namjoon shook his head quickly, face paling with him. “Heaven forbid. Maybe you can keep it PG? How about getting one of those get-along sweaters or something. I think they used those in kindergarten.”

Yoongi sighed. “Yeah, but the question would be how I’d get them into it.” He flaps his noodle arms around in demonstration. “I’m not exactly in the running for world’s strongest twink. Plus, years of fighting each other means they’re both stronger than I am.”

Namjoon shrugged. “Easy, just dare them to wear it. Make it into a competition. Nothing gets them more riled up than when they’re trying to outcompete each other.”

And so, that’s how the two of you had gotten stuck in a 3XXL Hello Kitty sweater that Yoongi had bought from Ebay. It has yet to be decided whether spending $40 on expedited shipping was worth it.

“Look, Yoongi-chi. We both promise that we will stop fighting once you let us out of this,” Seokjin says, smiling sweetly at him. Had Yoongi been younger and much more prone to the alluring temptation of the Straight Man™️, he might have caved. But Yoongi is older now, plus he knows when Seokjin is lying better than any polygraph test.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Fat chance. You’d probably stop fighting for approximately three hours before getting mad about mint chocolate ice cream or something.”

“Hey! Give us some credit. We both agree that flavor is abhorrent, so we would never argue about that,” you retort, with Seokjin nodding furiously in agreement. You glance at him. “And I feel like we’d last at least six hours without fighting. What was our record again?”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Seokjin says.

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay, I can promise at least five hours and thirty minutes. Maybe.”

Yoongi groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. His souring mood even makes Miko jump away in fright, and the two idiots trapped in a sweater can immediately feel the dip in temperature. Uh oh, here we go!

“I am absolutely sick and tired of the two of you dumbasses fighting all the time! It’s embarrassing as hell trying to bring either of you anywhere in public because everyone mistakes your little catfights for strange foreplay or whatever,” Yoongi glowers. The two of you shrink into your seats, ashamed.

“We’ve only gotten kicked out of one Costco—” Seokjin defends.

“But we did get fined for public indecency at the beach when I pulled your trunks down, which was totally unfair, by the way,” you mutter.

“You literally threatened to, and I quote, ‘Suck the soul out of Seokjin’s dick until he dies.’ How the hell is that unfair?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“It was a death threat! I would’ve accepted a charge for attempted murder, but that was not going to be a sexy blowjob, I assure you—”

Yoongi holds up a hand to silence you. “Face it, you both like each other. Whatever! Sure, you guys are the token straight people in our friend group, but that doesn’t make you bland as hell! Well, actually, it does but…” Yoongi pauses, wondering if it was worth lying. It takes a second for him to refocus. “Where was I? Oh right—“

Yoongi clears his throat, starting again. He heaves a deep breath, shoulders sagging tiredly as he puts on the sincerest face he can muster. “Listen, I just want to say that I care a lot about you, okay? And it sucks seeing the both of you hurting every time the other person says something really mean that neither of you even mean! If anything, will you please stop for me? If you really cared about our friendship, will you do it for me?”

There is a heavy pause as Yoongi strives to get his breathing back in check, his impassioned speech causing his fragile grandpa heart to race. He can feel his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, unused to using his “hyung voice” on Seokjin or you. Separately, the two of you are very reliable, never really needing him to scold either of you. Together, however… that’s a different story, but as the next eldest hyung, it really only fell to Yoongi to fix his friends’ mess of a relationship.

Screw age hierarchy. Yoongi would love to see Jungkook try to get Seokjin and you to fuck. Would absolutely pay to see the twerp squirm as he tries to even say the word “penis.”

After a while, Seokjin and you share a look. Yoongi watches with bated breath as he waits for either of you to speak, but he can sense some unspoken conversation happening between you. Perhaps, after years of exchanging blows, you had somehow knocked brain cells into each other and now share a weird psychic connection. Or, more likely, the two of you actually like each other and understand each other on a deeply personal level, so personal in fact that you could probably finish each other’s sentences, like—!

“We refuse,” you both reply in tandem, your joined voices echoing throughout the apartment. You both had said it so in sync that Yoongi might have imagined the other person speaking, but no—you both really did just say that to his face. In front of Miko. In front of his goddamn imaginary salad.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi squeaks. He cleans his ears with his fingers but finds no cotton there. These bitches! How dare they just throw his speech to the gutter! That shit took brain cells to think of, and he is not in the business of wasting his precious minutes by using them for productivity.

You shrug, leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder. He can see the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s confusion. “You heard us. We’ve made the executive decision to double our efforts, actually.”

Seokjin nods, not even shoving you off his shoulder like he normally would whenever you made contact with him. What? “Exactly. Honestly, we’ve been fighting for so long that we’ve kinda been just doing it for the bit at this point, and the fact that it annoys you so much is just the icing on the cake.”

Yoongi stares at them. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s connecting to his body at all; he feels like he’s floating. “So. What you’re saying is—“

“We know we like each other. Whatever. But we also like fighting, so who gives a shit if we’re having fun at the end of the day?” you shrug, pinching Seokjin’s cheek for good measure. As per usual, the elder retaliates by grabbing your finger with robot-like accuracy, before biting you there like a ravaging beast.

“And before you ask, no, we aren’t really dating. Yet. We kinda just wanted to piss as many people off before actually becoming official. We honestly didn’t think that you’d be the first one to crack.” Seokjin says, your finger falling from his mouth. The imprint of his teeth marks on your skin are plain as day, but you don’t look remotely bothered by it. In fact, you’re practically cooing at his ‘baby teefies’ like a psychopath.

“I—“ Yoongi stutters, at a loss for words for once in his life. He stands from the chair, but his knees give out from under him, causing him to tumble to the carpeted floor. He holds his head in his hands, shell-shocked. “So… That means…”

“Yeah, we’re kinda just freaky, I guess.” You muse before laughing hysterically when Yoongi begins to sob. “Hey, you’re right! We did make Yoongi cry! Do you think we could make Namjoon piss himself in rage when he finally confronts us too?”

Seokjin cackles, shaking your hand underneath the sweater. “If anyone can do it, I know that we can.”

And so, the two of you stand up clumsily to your feet, not bothering to escape the ridiculous sweater as you both waddled out of Yoongi’s apartment. From outside his door, Yoongi hears the sound of a new fight commencing, your shrieks resonating down the hall and for all the world to hear.

#btsghostie #bts scenarios #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts humor #e2l #kim seokjin #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bangtan #bts fanfic #the sleep deprived series

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

soft prompt ideas: comforting each other, cuddling, waking up together/going to sleep, going on a date, idk just being in each other’s company? i’m terrible at being specific but i hope these help!

hi bby<3 thank you so much to u (and everyone else!!!) for sending in prompts, they brought me so much joy and now i have SO many little soft things in the works:’)

yesterday ended up turning into a long day and i didn’t get to finish most of the things i started, but i wrote this while i was freshly showered and in bed and wanted to quickly whip up some bedtime softness to end the day right!! so here is the softest, quickest pre-11x07 bedtime one-shot and ode to the gallagher house, i hope u enjoy<3

Ian turned the creaky handle to shut off the shower, stilling the scalding water that had been beating a steady stream onto his body, soothing his aching muscles and weary bones. Ian was tired—after he and Mickey had gotten back from their various security stops around the outskirts of the city, he’d promised to help Lip track down and deliver parts to the people who’d bought the odds and ends of the stolen bikes, and then he’d somehow ended up in Lip and Tami’s living room that was half-packed into boxes for hours, silently sipping a beer and listening to them tag-team their attempts at persuading Ian to convince Debbie into wanting to sell the house— an effort that was a lost cause, and they all knew it.

It was kind of funny— they’d all gotten so close to losing the house so many times before, from being pulled out by DCFS officers to being kicked to the curb by fucking Patrick, to feeling desperate ripples of fear as they watched the house be put up for auction for a bunch of Northsiders and boujee fucking families who picked through the bare skeleton of the rooms as they pleased— so it was funny that after all of that, after their front door being plastered with more bright orange eviction notices than they could count, that the eventual thing driving them out of the house in the end would be a Gallagher himself, just because Lip wanted some extra cash. Ian got it— they were older now, and Lip had a kid to worry about— but he couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in his gut, something muted and dull but still there, every time Lip nonchalantly mentioned “fixing the house up” and “making gentrification our friend” and “getting on with our lives”—even though he and Mickey had readily agreed, at the family meeting that Mickey now had a right to be a part of, that it made the most sense to sell the house and for the two of them to find a place of their own.

And honestly, that prospect was a little terrifying; it sounded silly, but this crumbling house, with its paint stripping away and its roof nearly caving in, had pretty much been the only constant in Ian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had memories, ones that were soft around the edges, of him and Lip and Fiona sleeping curled in the backseats of cars and, on a few of the worst nights, on playgrounds or stoops or streetcorners when Frank and Monica were too far gone— and then inevitably one day, one sunny afternoon, they would come home to this sturdy gray house, and even then Ian understood that this was a place he could always return to. He didn’t really know what a world without the Gallagher house looked like; he always found his feet leading him back to these four walls, even those months when he was living with Mickey and he’d walk the silent moonlit city blocks back home to splash in the pool with everyone on those muggy, late summer nights. Thinking about the comforting sag of the Gallagher house was one of the few things that kept Ian going in the colorless cinderblock walls of his prison cell; the concave mattress of his single bed at home wasn’t much better than the inch-think foam pad he scrunched onto each night in his cell, but it was still familiar, it was still home, it had still held him through all of these years.

Lip wanting to sell the house was just another bitter reminder, along with the changing storefronts of the Southside neighborhood stores, the people walking by with baby strollers and shopping bags of organic groceries, the notches on the closet door that showed how much Franny had already grown, and the tinny sound of Fiona’s voice wafting through a Facetime call, a voice too small and too quiet to fill the absence she’d left behind—that things were always changing, that life wasn’t going to stop for any of them.

Ian clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, scrubbing his face with his hands to try to clear his head. The hallway outside the bathroom was still, the only sound the soft hissing of the radiator—when the fuck did this house get so quiet? There was no boisterous laughter wafting up from downstairs, no clanging in the kitchen, no WWE blasting from the TV at full volume; Lip and Tami had moved out, Liam was grown up and preferred steady conversation to the classic Gallagher screeching, and Carl was either off at the station for the night or doing god-knows-what in the basement— when did silence start to sink into these walls, without anyone really noticing? Even Frank was getting quieter, somehow, giving more blank stares than quick replies when they talked back and forth in the kitchen.

Ian stepped out of the bathroom and crept down the hallway, walking carefully in case Franny was sleeping; there was a comfort in the melody of the creaking floorboards, reminding him of all the nights when he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, sometimes gripped by the swirling black thoughts he thought he’d never be able to shake off, and he would hear Fiona tiptoeing around in the hallway, checking in on everyone while she tried not to wake them. Ian gripped the handle of the flimsy accordion bedroom door and slid it open as quietly as he could muster, ready to crawl into bed and hopefully snap out of all this wallowing.

And… oh.

The lamp on the bedside table was still on, shining a soft glow into the cramped room— but Mickey was curled up and fast asleep on Ian’s side of the bed, his mouth half-open and his head tucked to his chin, his hair slightly mussed and ruffled by on the pillow he was gripping onto. Ian smirked—he knew it was getting late, and Mickey might be asleep when he got home—but there was something so soft and innocent about the way Mickey was laying, like he was breathing in the scent of Ian’s pillow, that made him stop for a moment before mindlessly crawling into bed next to him. Ian let himself linger in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the steady waves of Mickey’s breathing, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and the innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and open that it almost hurt to look at.

Instantly, Ian felt something bloom in his chest from the pit of uncertainty that had been planted there. The Gallagher house had always been his home—but he realized in a sweeping moment that his best days here, ones where he felt solid and settled and himself rather than someone he was pretending to be, were the days when Mickey was nearby, the days when Mickey was just down the road.

Mickey made up the only other home he’d had, the only other place he’d felt this safe; they’d built a cocoon around themselves in the equally-as-shitty Milkovich house, smoking and laughing and whispering into each other’s skin in the darkness. Even as Ian’s grip on reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers, Mickey’s warm body next to his kept him rooted, in the same ways Mickey’s thrumming presence beside him kept him safe in all the blaring uncertainty of federal prison and imposing cell walls and the press of too many strange bodies in orange jumpsuits. Ian had always felt safe in the Gallagher house—but so much of that, since he was a scrawny fifteen year old, was because of the nights he spent awake in bed thinking up pipe dreams of a future with the loudmouthed kid he worked with at the convenience store, or when he could crawl into bed after a late night EMT shift and feel the solid, grounding weight in his chest as he remembered his road trip with Mickey to the border, and thought about Mickey having some kind of a better life in Mexico. So much of that feeling of home, especially through all of the epic highs and colossal lows, was just knowing that someone out there, by some miracle, loved Ian as deeply as Mickey Milkovich could— knowing he had a doorstep to run to when his own house was infiltrated by Monica and some stranger threatening to take Liam, or a bed to crash in for months when everything else in his life felt like shifting, unstable ground. So much of home was right here, and it always had been.

Ian quietly slid shut the squeaky folds of the door, discarding his towel and throwing a threadbare t-shirt over his head—and then he gingerly stretched out onto the opposite side of the bed beside a sleep-soft Mickey, his body radiating heat and the ends of his hair still damp from his own shower, smelling of the fresh scent of cheap shampoo and very slightly of toothpaste, mingling with the earthy smell of cigarette smoke and the other scent that Ian could only just describe as Mickey. Ian let himself lay there for a moment, listening to Mickey breathing— just breathing.

He reached over Mickey’s torso and shut off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a heavy cloak of darkness—but this time the silence didn’t seem so bad with Mickey’s steady breaths punctuating the quiet. He slid a hand over Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and breathing in deep—he could feel Mickey’s heartbeat vibrating into his own chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage as he held him close. Ian felt all the latent tension, the lungful of air he didn’t even know he had been holding, drain out of him—and it started to make him feel weirdly light and giddy to imagine sometime in the near future when he and Mickey would actually have a place of their own, a place where they could ride out the silence together just like this— a place with clutter and creaking floorboards and slanted moonlight of their own.

If the Gallaghers were “getting on with their lives,” like Lip had said—then this right here was the only thing that Ian was moving towards, just like he always had been.

#lol this was very contemplative and not very narrative heavy #but i hope u enjoyed??#i wrote 90% of this in my phone notes lol #also the fiona hall of shame got me feeling weirdly emotional about how much ian must miss fiona!!!!#anyways ty so much for the prompt<333 #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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dreamyaqua · 3 years

Note

Helloooo~!! I'm the same person who talked about Hyunjae and Haknyeon's rising signs! When I first wrote it, I wasn't deep into astrology yet. I've researched and tried to learn more about the Greek gods, the mythology, planets and associations to better my understanding. So, this time, I present all 23 members of NCT. To form an opinion on this, I watched their personal variety on their YT channel, took note of their physical habits and appearance, and read first impression stories. (1)

Also, don't worry about answering this right away! I just got very excited and wanted to share this :DD we currently have 5 members with confirmed risings; Johnny, Taeyong, Kun, Doyoung and Jaehyun. That's 18 members left, still! Also, I relied much more on their first impressions of each other as well as their appearance, habits and their neutral face because idols put up an act, which is enforced by their company. I'm running out of words so– (2)

(I decided to put the rest under a cut as the ask has gotten really long and I also put your asks together in regards to each member, I hope that’s okay!^^)

First up, Taeil! My first guesses for him were Scorpio (ruled out immediately lol), Capricorn and Taurus. I went with Capricorn at the end. Taeil just has a home-y, fatherly aura which Earth signs have. According to the members, he has that strong vibe that makes you want to learn from him. And we know that Capricorn is ruled by law and structure loving planet, Saturn. Saturn is associated with Cronus and Hestia. (3) Hestia is peace and home while Cronus was briefly the ruler of all. So, in short, a parent. Taeil as NCT's grandpa is accepted by many czennies. Which fits well. A typical Capricorn rising could have a petite stature as well as a wide-ish body type. Earth risings do tend to be stocky. Lips are usually either thin and wide or round but when they smile it's bright and feels familiar. It all starts from home~ Next up, Yuta! (4)

Yuta? Scorpio rising. I did try to see if he fits anywhere else but landed right back to Scorpio. One main reason, when he smiles, it's real. His healing and genuine smile is definitely a Scorpio rising trait. He's also pretty quiet in general but can get wild *insert clip of Yuta and Taeyong's chair race* and maybe even stir things up. Scorpio is associated with, Hades. Hades is generally a warm soul unlike his gruesome depictions. He's just a peaceful yet lonely guy. When he loves he LOVES (5) Traits seen in our double Scorpio royalty, Yuta. Winwin, Mark, Shotaro and Jungwoo is his Kore and Cerberus (you decide who's who).

Easy tackle, now we've got Ten! Your local cat mom. As I say that, I guess Leo. Leo risings have feline features and traits, which Ten definitely has. When you watch his relay cam, his day's pretty chill and made more fun by his cats. They're just positive morning people and Ten really has that effect. Leo is associated with Apollo and Heracles (and more). (6) Apollo's a talented man (if you read Lore Olympus, I just hope you don't associate those characters with the actual deities) and so is Heracles. What do they have in common with Ten? Well, both Apollo and Ten are artistic, gifted with languages, and talented in music. With Heracles? Well, we know he's a hero, an ace. Leo is also the sun. The core of our system. We can definitely agree on Ten being NCT's talented ace, which all supports my guess of him as a Leo rising. Next, Winwin.

My first guesses for Winwin were either an Aries or Leo rising. Though, at the end, I settled for Aries. The entirety of NCT is in love (obviously, exaggerated) with Winwin, and fire signs naturally have that magnetism. Aries rules the head area, and one frequent habit of Winwin's is scratching his head. He also tends to put his head forward (called a nerd neck, due to book reading) which is typical of an Aries rising. He also appeals with his eyes when he wants something, also very Aries. Winwin as an Aries rising just feels true and self-explanatory.

Next on our list is Jungwoo. A total Slytherin. Be a fool and fall for them, I dare you–oh never mind, you already have. Safe to say that Jungwoo is a Libra rising. Libra is Aphrodite afterthewholebeingbornoutofcastratedtesticlesthenformedfromseafoamshenanigans. We all know that Librans are pretty people. So pretty it's sickening, I'm getting too personal now. BACK ON TOPIC. I also had the thought of him being a Leo– I mean, if you've seen NCT World, Jungwoo definitely shone. Leos and Libras are similar in my opinion so it could be why I'm so unsure about it. Not many know but Aphrodite is a war goddess. Her role is very watered down, maybe because war was just not sexy to the Ancient Greeks. Still, Aphrodite conquered hearts, and Jungwoo has that main stage. Life is like a runway, especially with the way he walks. He also loves connections and making people laugh, both an Aphrodite and Apollo trait. Reason why I settled for Libra is that the first impressions of Jungwoo is that he looks serious, radiated sophistication but also wild. Aphrodite, being a magnetic and adventurous (iykwim) mad lad, has a definite influence on Jungwoo.

The next member is Lucas (12 more to go!). Lucas tries his best to make people happy. He loves seeing people be happy. And seeing how he says sorry when things don't seem to be exciting or done his usual way, I'm convinced he's a Libra rising.

I've written notes down but I have school so I'll complete this after LMAO

Back (new classes today so I'm hnghh). Okay, Mark! I believe he's where I left off. Mark is an Aries rising opinion. Also, while trying to hunt for their birth times, I stumbled upon someone saying Mark's birth time is 10:34pm. I tried it and it was Aries rising! Some habits that Mark does that's total Aries; touchy, laughs a lot, swears more than most, loud personality. He also has the Aries t-zone. His lovely gullbrows~

Next, Xiaojun. I was honestly stuck on him until I watched a fancam of him walking to the airport. His steps seem very grounded. Possibly, Taurus. I also thought he was a Scorpio and Leo but with the way Xiaojun gets defensive doesn't feel very water or fire (Aries is an exception). Xiaojun also enjoys food and cooking. He finds comfort in work, likes the easy way better, he's also quite practical. He's also hardworking. Probably either finishes homework the day it gets handed or when he's stressed. No in between. (I erased everything, I wrote by accident...)

Hendery has the Air sign look and also the Earth sign vibe but in the end, I settled for Sagittarius. Why? Well, Sagittarius is ruled by Jupiter (Zeus) and we all know that Zeus can get impulsive. Hendery seems to be so. Sag is also associated Dionysus, the stereotypical wild "people love people" drunk. Which Hendery also seems to be so. That's all for him. Next up Renjun.

Renjun has a habit of scratching or just touching his ear and head, his fight instinct is on 24/7, gets frustrated when something doesn't go right, very attentive when people tell stories, uses his whole body when laughs (stomping, throwing his neck back like it don't break). I guess he's either a Gemini, Pisces or Aries. The easily bored so they make chaos but also is helpful when needed trio, Hermes, Poseidon and Ares. Renjun just has a distinct style I can't pinpoint. No solid guess.

Dream's papa, Jeno. I believe he's a Capricorn rising. He just has that long faced, big nosed and intense eyes that Capricorn risings, from what I've observed, tend to have. I've also took up Libra and Taurus as other options but I went with Cap. Even if his go-to noises is confusion. I probably don't make 100% sense but I hope it's good enough. Anyway, Jeno has a potential to become a leader and Caps are great leaders. Not perfect but great. He also has some competitiveness in him.

7 more left! Haechan's turn! Haechan really does twist and turn people's heads. He could be a Gemini rising, mostly because he uses his hands whenever he talks, laughs, sing. He's also a trickster. Maybe Scorpio since he has that rbf and the presence that makes you quiver when you meet him in person. Another possibility is Aries, he's wild, impatient and banter skills are top notch. His silhouette either looks Arian or Scorpian. Face, Geminian or Arian. What do you think?

Next, Na Jaemin. Virgo rising. Jaemin knows how to smile, like he knows how to attract people with it, and we all know his smile is beautiful. He also has that motherly attitude towards his friends. A total introvert as well and is just calm (but can get naggy and fastidious). CEO at eye rolling, even if habitual and unintentional. GenZ Artemis.

Next, Yangyang. I'm dead sure on him being a Cancer. The way he walks is so baby? and my Cancer rising friends tend to do little skips and sometimes waddle. Whenever an opportunity arises, he takes it. He also enjoys comfort. These may be Taurus rising traits as well (they're similar in many ways) but when I watched ETC, Yangyang seems to have a protective side. A clingy side. So, I went with Cancer.

Shotaro is next! Always smiling, gentle voice, admires people and loves fun. Libra. A possibility is Aries. This is based on appearance. Arians tend to have weak chins (chins that don't stick out). He also has the "always look forward to tomorrow" vibe.

I-I don't remember who's next...

I suddenly forgot what I wrote before this. I should've planned this. SUNGCHAN. My Virgo buddy. When I first saw him his vibe screamed Virgo, he just had that short face Virgos tend to have. It's a mutable sign so it tends to get overpowered but every virgo I know has a short face despite being different ascendants. I was struggling figuring him out but I decided on Pisces. I'll be taking a stretch here. So descendant is how a person views the world. His being Virgo. Sungchan seems to look at the world as structured so he could feel the want to rebel. He seems to enjoy chaos but probably helps mediate the situation for the sake of doing so. My thoughts are slowly getting tangled.

CHENLE. Chenle's a virgo rising and mostly because his rbf is piercing. He always looks like he's observing and silently judging people. It makes more sense for him to be a Scorpio as well. Yes, he's bright and fun but Scorpios do have that side. Just more serious and a lot of roasting.

FINALLY THE MAKNAE. Jisung Park. Libra rising. He just likes peace but when he's chaotic, he'd want you to match his vibe. A balance, in a way. He also seems to get frustrated/stressed easily, gullible, awkward hands, and he's always quite pretty. Calming to look at. That's all. What do you think their signs are? I want hear your opinion :DD Also, I hope your exams went well!! You probably put in your 100% best so of course it did!!

First of all, thank you so much for your support! My exams actually went well and I’m so relieved I got it all over with for this semester.^^ And now, as you’ve already noticed in an ask I’ve answered earlier, I don’t cover NCT on this blog and therefore, I haven’t really given their rising signs much thought so far, so I’m not going to really have an opinion myself but I wanted to thank you so much for your hard work with all of this and for sharing it with us!! It was super interesting to read and I can only say that I think all of guesses make sense to me.

As a Leo rising myself, I felt super flattered while reading Ten’s paragraph - I’d feel super honoured to share my rising sign with him and I also feel like his energy is familiar to me, so I could totally believe that to be true!^^ And also, omg, I’d love for Yangyang to be a Cancer rising! I seem to attract Cancer risings left and right and he’s recently become one of my ults, so that would be great :’) (I’ll definitely start to analyze him more in the near future haha)

Oh, oh!! Btw, my close friend @jacksvnshine made a very in-depth analysis of Mark’s possible rising sign and she guessed him to be an Aries rising like you did! She’s so amazing at what she does and if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t know a thing about astrology. So I can highly recommend checking out her blog and I also really want to link her analysis for you here as you might find it interesting to read, and it’s exceptionally well made!^-^

I’m sorry that I can’t really give you my opinion on their rising signs, I haven’t studied them enough in that sense :( and I personally struggle with rising sign guesses because I always feel like I don’t know enough to make an “accurate” guess but oh well- a guess is a guess, we can never know for sure but my mind doesn’t really want to accept that. :’)

I truly enjoyed reading through your messages and guesses, thank you again for sharing this with us!! I’m sure there’ll be others who’ll find it interesting to read as well!^-^

#astro asks #rising signs #nct rising signs #wayv rising signs #wayv #nct #kpop astrology #nct astrology #wayv astrology #ask

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mihidecet · 3 years

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Sbi&co: D&D AU: Rivals and Friendships

New chapter POG! This has been a long time coming, friends! I do hope you enjoy <3 Lemme know what you think, and as always thank you so so much for reading!! <3

If Dream had to be honest, he’d say that this team seems to be quite fun.

They appear to be very close friends, from the way they rely on each other and joke around despite the huge Cloaker trying to wrap around the bard hurling insults at him. He does also remember the kid, the one he’d seen at the training grounds, and he’s happy to say that he was wrong to doubt his place in the tournament - he can surely handle himself quite well, and on top of that he clearly has a well established supporting structure built around him.

While the tiefling makes sure to make light of the situation, no matter how much he gets thrown around, Dream still remembers how he’d stepped between the younger teammate and danger before; the half orc greatly respects that, heaven knows how many times he's stepped between something aimed at Sapnap and vice versa.

On top of being a well oiled machine, this team also knows what they’re doing, both in terms of fighting and in terms of performing; he can’t deny how he’s been at the edge of his seat ever since they first entered the stadium, despite how his body is still a bit sore from fighting a Barlgura earlier that day - who knew ape-looking demons could hit that hard?

Sapnap's voice has been turning rougher and rougher too: he had been yelling insults at their opponent all fight, and now he hasn't stopped loudly whooping once ever since he'd seen the kid swoop into the stadium looking like a bolt of fire - the two of them would probably get along, if given the chance; that or they'd murder eachother after just a handful of seconds.

The only thing that's missing from this party is their fourth member who, if memory serves him well, is a rogue - the tall hooded figure he'd seen hanging around with the (maybe?) two tieflings.

He has been seeing the Cloaker they're fighting flinch back from ranged attacks that seemingly come out of nowhere, but as of now they haven't shown themselves yet. Either that or their fourth party member is constantly invisible, which George has assured them would be a pointless waste of arcane energy - Dream and Sapnap agree that it would still be very cool, but they have a mutual agreement regarding trying to stay on the wizard's good side, since they convinced him on sticking around after their round to watch everyone else instead of going to rest.

He is in fact in the process of turning towards George - he'd seen the tiefling kid surround himself in flames ever since the start of the fight and he wanted to ask if that was a common tiefling trait - when a light blue reflection catches his eye. A figure leaps from a stone pillar and disappears mid flight, as if vanishing in thin air, and reappears over the Cloaker's body, since the beast had managed to free itself from the arcane shackles that held it firmly to the ground.

In line with the dark, hooded figure that he’d seen that day at the training grounds, the stranger lands in a crouch, surprisingly stable, cape flowing behind them in a way that almost feels too elegant for the yelling-filled dirt stadium.

One raised hand holds what seems to be a weirdly shaped dagger - it’s a bit too far away to see correctly - before it plunges into the beast’s back, tearing a furious cry from it as it shudders in pain. Its movement jostles the figure around, but they don’t seem to care that much, holding steadily their ground - it awakens old memories of afternoons spent training and refining balance with Master Calvin, because what good is a fighter if they can get knocked on their asses at the first kick in the shin, but he figures the stranger might have served on a ship. After all, that is where Master Calvin picked that important lesson from.

The Cloaker, evidently not glad to have a knife stuck to its back, decides to take matters into its own … wings? and wraps them around its body before quickly and sharply twisting on itself, probably intent on flinging the hooded figure away.

And in its defence, the figure does get thrown off, but as their body flies up towards the sky, it follows a weird trajectory - a hand suddenly grabs his bicep as Sapnap lets out a breathless “holy shit”. That’s when he notices the thick chain the stranger is holding onto, and the weird curvature of the “dagger” they used suddenly makes a lot of sense.

He can’t help but laugh as the figure folds on themselves in order to sail towards the ground, the chain wrapping itself around the Cloaker - whose wings are still wrapped around itself, leaving Dream to wonder how much preparation went into that, or if the four of them have travelled the Underdark and fought one before.

Back on the ground, the kid is hopping from one foot to the other, staring upwards as his teammate descends; he then starts running and leaps, definitely more than should be possible, and grabs the figure’s leg as the chain is starting to curl back upwards, guided by its own momentum, furtherly pushing it forward.

The two struggle for a moment as the kid climbs his teammate’s body, reaching the chain himself moments before the other lets go; then, with a sudden burst of flames, the tiefling pops out of existence, only to reappear a split second later once again over the Cloaker’s back.

But Dream misses what happens on that side of the battlefield, because his eyes follow the movement of the cloaked figure as they fall - he expects somebody to catch them, to throw a spell to prevent them from crashing to the ground, but it never happens: the stranger lands on their feet and immediately propels themselves forward, rolling on the ground and quickly standing back up, as if they hadn’t just fallen from way too high up, and unsheathing a stunning looking shortsword.

Before he can stop himself, Dream hits Sapnap’s side with his elbow, eyes wide open because he is so sure. He know that, he’s seen that move so many times it’s been seared into his brain - his ankles still ache with the phantom pain of trying to achieve that specific landing technique.

Master Calvin’s pride and joy-

“That’s him- Sap!” He whispers in a hush, urgently patting his best friend’s side, trying to catch his attention; the beast’s angry screams are loud now, the chains around its body red and flaming, constricting its movements as it slowly descends to the ground again, thrashing against its restraints, but Dream can’t find it in himself to care about it that much at that moment, eyes trained on the cloaked figure that he’s heard about for years and years of training.

Still, Sapnap doesn’t look, all of his attention focused on the actual fighting happening, giving a questioning grunt before yelling out in glee as the Cloaker crashes to the ground, its tail lashing out wildly and almost crashing against the bard’s body. So Dream insists, quickly pinching his side, instantly finding himself face to face with a very unamused monk.

“What the fuck?!” Sapnap asks indignantly, only for his brows to furrow in confusion at his friend’s elated expression, Dream leaning forward to whisper urgently:

“That’s Techno.”

He waits for him at the exit.

He doesn’t really know why he does, since they will be both tired and beaten up - he’ll still surely be high on adrenaline after his team’s quite honestly glorious win - but he doesn’t really want to wait, he can’t really find it in himself to do so.

And also, he does it simply because he can. All participants have access to the same parts of the stadium, so there is nobody trying to stop him and Sapnap as they move towards the exit. Well, of course there are guards that check their identities, and guards that watch over all corridors. But still. Nobody stops them or questions them while they wait.

Loud chatter and laughter announces their incoming arrival - a bright, almost wheezing laugh is almost completely covered by a strong and high voice quickly recounting “that absolutely badass move I pulled, they’ll be talking about it for years, you’ve got to write a song about that!” - and when they turn the corner and appear at the end of the corridor Dream can’t help but feel himself stiffen.

Either from the sight of his hooded … rival? from across the corridor - he looks definitely much taller now that he’s not so far away - or from how the druid’s eyes zero on him instantly, pinning him down with a neutral stare and a cryptic smile.

“And the jump! Why don’t you use that spell more often, I love it so very much... Ph- I mean Flinar?” The kid stumbles on his words as he notices the elf has stopped laughing, following his eyesight with a confused expression that turns even more perplexed when he sees him and Sapnap standing there, evidently waiting for them.

“Oy! You two got a problem?” The kid asks, loudly, shooting looks towards the guards - counting them, making eyesight as if to check if they’re on a specific side, the kid has evidently been through some stuff - so Dream raises his hands placatingly, displaying the lack of weapons in his hands.

“No problem at all! Just wanted to congratulate you on the fight, it was spectacular!”

Behind the kid, he sees Techno’s shoulders sag with a silent sigh before he steps forward.

Oh, so he does know him.

It’s actually quite sweet how the whole group moves as a single unit, following behind Techno despite the fact that he probably intended to be the only one getting closer to the two of them.

Dream forces himself to display a relaxed attitude as he moves to meet him halfway - which he is, relaxed, he is calm, he has nothing to worry about, there’s nothing as normal and boring as meeting one of the best fighters there is in this whole region.

Up this close, Techno is definitely taller than him, which is something that doesn’t really happen much, with Dream being a half orc; once again, that has no effect whatsoever on his mood, nor the confidence he has regarding this meeting. The positive thing is, being shorter than him allows him to have a clear view of his face under the hood - if he hadn't been sure before, the bright blue eyes, pink toned skin and tusks would have surely confirmed his suspicions.

“I’m Dream, this is Sapnap. I assume I shouldn't be naming any names, right?” He quips, a smirk on his face that gets slightly bigger when the shifter in front of him huffs out a silent laugh, apparently amused, and extends a hand towards him.

“Jerry.” He grumbles out, prompting Dream to use all of his existing willpower to avoid laughing over the clearly fake name as he grips his hand in a handshake; Sapnap has much less restraint, bursting into a wheezing laughter and doubling over - he swears he hears the bard snort a laugh too, but when he looks at him his face is blank.

“So, who is this?” The kid asks, looking puzzledly between the two of them.

“One of Calvin’s students.” Techno answers quickly, prompting an understanding “oh” from the young tiefling, before pinning Sapnap down with a calculating look.

“And I guess you trained with Fruit.” The monk nods with a grin, turning his face towards the youngest of the group.

“I loved your fire tricks, I deal with fire too.”

“Well, mines are definitely better.” The kid replies instantly, so sure of his words that Dream is immediately wheezing, leaning onto Sapnap for support as the monk gapes, shocked.

“Oh my- Oh Sap you just got destroyed by a child!” The half orc wheezes out, which is an even worse choice because the kid explodes into literal fire, flames licking at his body as anger fills his eyes.

“I am NOT a fucking child!” He yells out, furious, but what frightening factor he could have had is very much dampened by how the rest of his team is laughing about it - the bard, which at this point Dream is half convinced must be the Wilbur Soot, is vehemently agreeing, laughing as he insists that yes, that is a child, a youngster, and the two quickly lose themselves into a heated debate.

After a moment, the druid steps in - that’s gotta be the Wandering King; they’re in the presence of legends, watching them squabble with a tiefling kid, shaking hands and playfully trading quips - placing a placating hand on each of the two tieflings’ shoulders and prompting their fighting to quiet down.

“We should be going, it’s late and we need to rest. It was a pleasure to meet you two.”

“Likewise. We’ll see eachother on the battlefield, then, I assume?” Dream asks, shooting Techno a glance; the man simply raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If we must.”

With one last chuckle, Dream turns on his heel, him and Sapnap moving back towards the viewing stands where they had previously left Eret and George.

“We’re gonna kick your asses!” Yells the kid a moment later; when Dream turns back he’s got a daring expression on his face, but he looks excited - it reminds him of himself, and he can’t help but laugh.

“Not if we destroy you first!”

#sbi au #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #technoblade #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot

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earthfluuke · 3 years

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like a drum my heart never stops beating (for you)

summary: when you’re gifted, you’re family. or -- happy moments we don’t get to see, because the show producers are a bunch of meanies who want to see us suffer.

novemeber 10 brought two amazing people into this world. alexa - @sunsetskyline - and rahul - @gaysarawat - i wish you only the very best of birthdays! may this next year in your lives bring you nothing but love and happiness! i wanted to give you both something for your special days, so i hope that this fic will suffice! i got a bit carried away, and it’s way longer than i intended for it to be. but something tells me the two of you won’t mind.

this exists in a happy universe where supot doesn’t exist, and pom has been in charge of the gifted program ever since he became a teacher. i also had to come up with a few codenames for the characters that didn’t have them, so i hope the ones i came up with are good!

title comes from gone, gone, gone by phillip phillips.

my reasoning for why there are eight parts is because pang is in class eight. do not come for me please, it’s 4 in the morning when i’m finishing this.

i. teach & constellation

Falling face first into the comforter, Pom lets out a long, held in groan. He will never say that he hates his job, because it would just be untrue. Every day brings something new; every student is one he adores. Watching them grow into better versions of themselves is something he will never tire of. The comparison between where they start at the beginning of the year and where they end up brings him immense joy.

But as much as he can say that being a teacher is one of his greatest prides, he can also admit that some days, it exhausts him. Long class periods are followed by one-on-one sessions, and in between, he makes sure all of his students are well fed, properly hydrated, and – most importantly – mentally healthy. That alone is difficult. Add on the fact that they all have beyond human potentials, and Pom’s fatigue becomes much more reasonable.

A hand cards through his hair, gently breaking the coif he has gelled back. Bangs now drooping into his eyes, he leans into the hand, the feeling of fingertips scratching his scalp lulling him a bit. Before he can drift off completely, a voice – half amused, half fond – asks, “Long day?”

“Long week,” he corrects, finally allowing his chin to tilt up to look at his husband. He’s already changed for the evening, his night clothes clashing against the slacks and button-down Pom has yet to take off; the most he’s done is loosen his tie at the door and let it fall to the floor on his trek towards the bed. “The end of the semester is always the busiest. Final evaluations and all that.”

Chanon hums sympathetically, brushing some of his stray bangs behind his ear. “I can handle dinner for the rest of the semester then. Can’t have you overworking yourself any more than you already are.”

“My savior,” he teases, but he’s genuinely grateful for the offer.

Lips tilting up at the edges, Chanon smiles. “What can I say? My husband deserves a break. He’s always caring so much for everyone else; I’ve got to make sure he’s being taken care of too.”

It’s Pom’s turn to smile, and while he’s been looking at Chanon the entire while, he then really looks at him. The front of his hair swoops across his forehead while the back is tussled from where it has been leant against the pillow. He’s in a pair of fraying sweatpants and a t-shirt adorned with a space pun that he’d have to explain for Pom to understand. Resting on his nose are a pair of circular glasses. They’re not the same ones from high school; those had worn out two years into university. But they are similar enough to give Pom a sense of nostalgia. For as much as they’ve grown and aged, Chanon is same chubby cheeked and deeply telescope obsessed Chanon from high school. He is the Chanon that Pom fell in love with; he’s the Chanon that he is still stupidly, ridiculously, earnestly in love with.

Pushing himself farther up on the bed, he settles his head against Chanon’s thigh. The fingers in his hair do not hesitate to adjust to the new position, and it causes Pom to sag further into him.

“We can eat in a bit,” he murmurs, curling his legs up so that they don’t hang off the edge of the bed. “Let me just lay here for a while.”

He cannot see Chanon smile, but he can hear it in his voice when he says, “Whatever you want.” It’s a simple statement, seeing as the thing he desires most is right beside him.

ii. magician & lonely

Korn is truly an enigma, and Ohm is so far from cracking whatever code he’s programed with. He seemingly enjoys to keep to himself, but people can only enjoy that so much, right? Everyone wants company from time to time, and if it is his mission to make sure Korn knows that he’s as much a part of this odd little family as anyone else, then he will gladly fulfill it.

But it’s more difficult than he planned for. Currently sat in an empty classroom, he’s flipping through the photos on his camera, and Ohm would have been convinced that he’s ignoring him, if not for the one headphone pulled away from his ear to rest farther back on his head. For the better part of half an hour, he has been listing off suggestions for their class’s weekly dinner night with no avail. Every option he gives is met with a low hum and nothing else.

He may have a reputation for being a bit airheaded, but he notices much more than people give him credit for. Punn keeps the scarf that Claire used to wear around her shoulders in his bag to hold on to when he feels stressed. Jack and Jo don’t quite mind being referred to as ‘the twins,’ but when called by their names, there are slight flickers just beyond their eyes. And for as slick as Pang and Wave think they’re being, he is more than aware of their roof top rendezvous. They are all little things that apply to each of his classmates, supposedly useless knowledge that Ohm finds more than important (because they are all important to him).

So as much as Korn goes off to be on his own, Ohm still knows enough. Like that he tends to favor Japanese food over anything else. It’s why he’s slipped in the new sushi restaurant that opened not long ago at least a dozen times. It’s easy bait to get Korn to talk and yet, nothing.

Deciding enough is enough, he slides off the stool he’s been sulking on to stand right beside him. He pouts deeper and deeper until Korn finally looks to him out of the corner of his eye, brow raised. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“Because you won’t pick anything!” he whines. “I’ve suggested every restaurant inside the city limits, and you don’t like any of them!”

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” he amends. “It’s just that I don’t particularly care which one we order from. I’m really not that picky.”

“But the rest of us always choose. I want you to!” Grabbing hold of his arm, he bops the top of his head against his shoulder, nuzzling into. “Pretty, pretty please? We use Khu Pom’s credit card, so the price doesn’t even matter! Whatever you want, we’ll get!”

For a moment, Korn is silent, and Ohm is afraid he’ll have to throw in the towel and try another time. But then he feels him swallow thickly and softly say, “Whatever you want to get. That’s what I want.”

“Korn! I already said, we always choose what we get–”

“Not what the rest of them want,” he says. “What you want.”

Straightening quickly, he tries to catch his eye, but Korn has already tugged the stray headphone over his bare ear and pulled his camera closer to his face to block Ohm from his line of sight. He figures that it’s as much of an answer as he’s going to get out of him, and though he doesn’t quite understand, he takes his word. He can try again another time, but for now, he has a sushi order to place.

iii. bodyguard & angel

“I think this is a bit much, don’t you?” Namtaan says, tightening her arms around Mon’s neck. Her feet hang at her side, swinging back and forth as she’s carried piggyback style through the hallways and towards the dorm building. “Just because I don’t have your potential doesn’t mean I’m completely incapable of exercising.”

Earlier that day, she approached her girlfriend with the request of teaching her self-defense. The interest hadn’t sparked from any specific situation; she had only supposed that it was a useful skill to have. And with Mon’s proficiency in athletics, she seemed like the perfect person to ask. She wasn’t an easy opponent, but Namtaan hadn’t expected her to be. Practicing with someone who can out-fight anyone she may ever encounter will make her more than prepared.

What she failed to remember was that as soon as Mon stopped being her sparring partner, she went right back to being her girlfriend, and honestly, Namtaan isn’t quite sure which one is worse. After seeing her panting on the practice mats, she’d rushed over with a towel – careful to wipe off her sweat on a separate one first – and a water bottle. That was more than enough to tide her over but for Mon, not so much. And thus, she ended up on her back.

“But you do have high blood pressure,” Mon reminds her as she turns a corner. The sun is setting, shining bright as it hangs low in the sky. Namtaan has to duck her head into Mon’s shoulder so that she’s not blinded. “So I’m pretty sure a bit of caution is warranted.”

“Exercise actually helps with high blood pressure,” she points out. “So your argument is completely inaccurate. Want to give me another reason as to why I’m not currently walking on my own?”

Clinging to her when she hoists her higher up on her back, she feels like she’s falling before Mon has her arms hooked under her legs once more. It’s an entirely intentional move that has her kicking her girlfriend’s hips. Her only acknowledgement of it is a breathy laugh that tells Namtaan that she’s smiling and the quip of, “Maybe I just wanted carry my girlfriend around. What good is my potential if I can’t use it on what’s most important?”

Stunned into silence, Namtaan can do nothing more than bury further into where Mon’s neck meets her shoulder, pink cheeks completely hidden. The two of them are not often overt with affection in public settings, but their relationship is still new enough for her to be caught off guard with spontaneous bits of mush and gush. She has yet to find a good way to react to it, so for now, hiding is the best option she has.

“Next time I want to practice, I’m asking Punn,” she mumbles against her skin. Mon laughs, and she kicks her hips again, harder this time.

iv. idol and babies

It’s nice to know how everyone feels in any given situation. It leaves little room for confusion or possible hostilities that arise from deeply repressed emotions. But regardless of how useful her potential may be, Claire tends to keep other people’s privacy as just that.

There are times when the colors are too vibrant to ignore, and they manage to spill into her peripherals even when she isn’t utilizing her potential. And well, curiosity killed the cat after all; she takes a peek, just a small one. But even then, she keeps what only she can see to herself.

But then there are rarities where she can’t not involve herself, though it’s always for a good cause, trust her. Usually, it’s only when one of her classmates goes blue, and the littlest gesture of a drink left on their desk or snacks dropped off outside their door rooms suffices to draw a bit of yellow around them.

She says usually, but…she’s never been able to turn down helping someone who’s pink.

It doesn’t happen very often. Wave has slowly but surely grown from a soft rose to a bright fuchsia, but any advice she has attempted to offer him is met with fierce denial. She can’t comprehend why, seeing as even Ohm has caught on to his and Pang’s terribly hidden secret. Though she likes getting under his skin, they are far from the enemies they were in their first year, so a few light, jabbing teases is all she gives him. Mon and Namtaan are the only two, besides herself and Punn, who have their acts together, so she has nothing to worry about there. And Korn…that’s another conversation entirely.

It’s when she thinks that her romance expertise is no longer needed that she catches a pink glow coming from across the canteen. She hasn’t gotten to talk much to the younger gifted students much, what with the third years focusing on their potentials individually rather than in a group setting. But she knows their names, and more than anything, she knows when someone has a crush.

Her gaze lands on a girl – Grace, she remembers – sitting with her hands curled beneath her chin, and if anyone else were to look at her, they would think she’s staring off aimlessly. Claire, however, follows her line of sight to land on a girl at a table a few away from the one she’s sitting at. She’s talking a mile a minute, hands flying in front of her face for emphasis. When she turns back to Grace, she finds the faintest of smiles creeping its way to her lips. That, she thinks, is what has her moving.

Sitting in the empty space beside her, she doesn’t hesitate before speaking, low enough for only the two of them to hear, “Are you just going to keep staring, or will you actually go and talk to her?”

Grace flinches, head whipping towards her. Eyes wide, she stammers for a reply, “P’Claire–”

“Nothing will come from watching from afar,” she continues. “Believe me, I’m speaking from personal experience. You’ll never have a chance if you don’t even try.”

Swallowing, Grace dares a quick glance back to the girl. She sinks a bit in her seat, whispering, “And what if I do and still nothing comes of it?”

“Then you get to move on. But between you and me,” she brushes a piece of her wavy hair behind her ear and smiles, “I think things will turn out just fine. Trust me when I say that not knowing is much worse than any reaction she may have.”

It only takes another glance to the girl and a bite to her bottom lip before Grace is slowly getting up and approaching the girl. She gives her a bright grin and moves a seat over to make room for her at the table.

Claire’s heart swells. Just as she suspected, Grace has very little to worry about. And now that she’s settled that, she can deal with the dual pink bodies across the table. Third and Time have been bickering back and forth since she’d sat down, but what can she say? She’s always loved a challenge.

v. class eight kid & wizard

Wave can’t remember how he ended up crowded against the wall in one of the school’s stairways, but it’s the position he’s in. And from the looks of it, he’s not leaving it any time soon.

Pang has one hand resting on the wall beside his head, and he’s smiling at him like that. It’s infuriating, but even more so, it’s absolutely heart stopping. One of the sides of his mouth is raised just slightly higher than the other, and he’s looking directly into Wave’s eyes like they hold the answer to the universe. He can feel the glare he’s sending him softening by the second.

“We were supposed to meet up with the others ten minutes ago,” he reminds him, if only to break Pang’s gaze. He should know better; Pang is as stubborn as they come, and when his mind is set on something, it’s near impossible to stray it.

The one side of his mouth raises even higher, and he dares to lean in a bit closer. Wave’s head, already pressed flat against the wall, tilts up, trying to put more space between them. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Pang, far from it. Rather, he doesn’t know if he trusts himself. He’s meant to be the rational one between the two of them, and when he’s encroaching into his personal space, he finds it hard to not let himself be the careless one.

“That means we’re already late. What’s a few more minutes going to do?” It’s a test, Wave is sure. He’s never failed one of those, and he’s not going to start because of some reckless kid from Class Eight.

He’s annoying on the best of days; he gets on Wave’s last nerves on the worst. He’s stupidly slow at times, doesn’t comprehend the most basic of mathematics, cannot button a shirt to save his life, and yet, Wave is hopelessly attracted to him, flaws included. He wouldn’t be Pang without them.

He isn’t quite sure what Pang sees in him, and perhaps he never will. All that matters is that he sees something. Though he won’t admit it (not yet), he feels lucky for it. The way Pang’s eyes hang heavy and half lidded as his free hand plays with his fingers is enough to make him shout it out loud and have it echo around the school for everyone to hear. Instead, he does the only other thing he thinks to.

Gripping the hand that already has his, Wave pulls him the rest of the way in until there’s no space left between them. Kissing is new, and he’s not sure if he’s very good at it. But it’s a nice feeling, it’s Pang, and it’s enough.

Short, simple, and sweet is the best way to describe it. They’re at risk of someone finding them, and more so, it’s enough for Wave to slip away. Flustering his boyfriend is a game he can play just as well as Pang, and as he walks down the hall, hands shoved triumphantly in his pockets, he knows he’s won this round.

“Fifteen minutes,” he calls over his shoulder. “Ohm is going to get antsy and come looking for us. Better hurry and come up with an excuse before we get to the room.”

Quick footsteps patter behind him, and an arm slings around his shoulders as they walk together. Irritating, thick-skulled, and thoughtless does not begin to describe Pang. But understanding, kind, and all kinds of wonderful more than does.

vi. class eight kid, magician & angel

“Namtaan,” Ohm whines, drawing out her name as he drapes himself over her bed. He, along with Pang, have taken refuge in her room, looking for something to do. Unfortunately for them, she’s a bit too preoccupied for whatever they’re needy for this time around. “I can’t believe you’re abandoning us for Mon tonight. We had plans!”

“You had plans,” she corrects, uncapping a tube of mascara and brushing the wand through her lashes. “And you failed to tell me about said plans. So if you’d like to put blame on anyone, put it on yourself.” Eyes flickering away from her reflection in the mirror to look at Pang’s, she asks, “You’re not going to complain?”

Pang shrugs with a grin. “I’m just here, because Ohm dragged me along. I told him you’d probably be busy, but he said you’d never be too busy for us.”

“She wasn’t before she got a girlfriend!” Flipping onto his back, Ohm spreads his arms out wide, kicking his feet in a childish huff. “We watched movies! Had game nights! Now you’re off to dinner with Mon while we have to stay here alone!”

“We can still do all of those things another time,” she assures him, unable to hold back a thoughtful smile. As dramatic as he is, she’s still stupidly fond of him. “And you won’t be alone. You have each other for company.”

Ohm rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You and I both know that as soon as Wave is done with his homework, Pang is going to ditch me for him.”

Pang lets out an exasperated noise. “What? I will not!”

“Sure you won’t. You’re telling me you haven’t already texted him to tell you when he’s done?”

“…you could come with me?”

“Absolutely not!”

Namtaan leaves them to bicker as she slips into the bathroom to change. Her level of primping is nowhere near Claire’s, but she enjoys looking nice, specifically on date nights. What shame is there in wanting to dress up a bit for her girlfriend?

Even so, it’s nothing far out of her comfort zone: a simple, floral dress with her favorite light blue cardigan. Turning around, she looks over her shoulder into the mirror, spinning a bit to see the end of the dress flutter about her knees. It’s nice, she thinks, to feel pretty sometimes.

Stepping back into the bedroom, she’s met by the boys’ argument, but it’s cut off by the time she shuts the bathroom door. The two of them are staring at her, slow blinks the only movements in their faces. She can’t remember a time either of them have been struck speechless, and she looks down at her outfit for a moment with concern. She understands it’s not her typical dress, but surely it isn’t different enough to garner this reaction.

Fingers curling into where the sleeves of her cardigan rest over her palms, she’s about to question them, but Ohm beats her to it. “Namtaan!” he exclaims. “You look so pretty!”

It’s her turn to blink, because whatever she expects the reasoning for their silence to be, this is not it. But their mouths are quickly breaking into excited smiles, and they’re looking at her like she’s the most amazing thing they’ve ever seen.

“How come you’ve never worn anything like this before?” Ohm asks, hanging over the end of her bed to get a closer look.

“I guess I’ve never had a reason to?” she answers. It’s never been something she’s thought about. More often than not, she’s in her school uniform, and if for some reason she isn’t, nothing she does warrants this level of dress. “I’ve never seen you in a suit or anything like that either, Ohm.”

“That would be fun though, wouldn’t it? If we all got dressed up really fancy?” His cheeks look as though they’re about to burst with how far the edges of his lips push into them. “It’s just…you look really pretty, Namtaan.”

She turns to Pang. He’s only the slightest bit more sensible, but he’s less likely to have the blinding positivity that Ohm does. He only nods in agreement. “You really do.”

This is so far from what she’s used to that she isn’t sure how to respond. It only takes one more look at them – the two impulsive yet caring boys she somehow got stuck with during her first year and never found reason to stray from – for her to return their smiles. They’re dense at times, don’t always think things through, but more than anything, they’re hers and that’s what matters most.

vii. idol, master & lonely

Ever since the gifted dorms had been split by boys and girls instead of provided on an individual basis, Korn has found it more and more difficult to find places to be alone. He can only stay in the classrooms for so long, and even those aren’t always empty. Their secret hideout is rarely vacant, more often than not littered with multiple of his classmates. Before, he’d at least had his dorm for solitude, but now, he doesn’t even have that.

Rationally, he knows that this should be good for him. Keeping to himself as much as he does isn’t healthy, and there are more than enough opportunities for him to spend time with the rest of the gifted kids, seeing as they tend to travel in somewhat of a pack. But jumping head first into the freezing cold water that is social interaction after going so long without it isn’t easy. He’s trying, truly, but sometimes, he needs some seclusion.

Mon is the safest space he has. She understands him in a way the others never will. Their potentials come with side effects that have had them wishing they were born without them on more than one occasion, and during those down times, they find comfort in each other.

It’s what has him stalking to the girls’ dorm room. With multiple nights without a wink of sleep, he feels himself slowly reaching the breaking point he’s talked himself away from too many times to count. If he’s lucky, he’ll catch Mon there alone. And if she’s not, she’ll know him enough to follow him to somewhere private.

The door is slightly cracked open, so he knocks once before sticking his head in. Instead of Mon, he finds the very last thing he wants to. Punn is propped up against the pillows on one of the bottom bunks, flipping through the pages of a book. Leaning against his side, Claire scrolls through her phone, glancing up at the sound of someone entering. She smiles at him, and it’s just too much.

Turning on his heel, he goes for the door, mumbling an apology under his breath. A frantic “Korn, wait!” is called after him, and a hand grabs his wrist. The grip is deliberate, and he knows by the way Claire’s fingertips go white beneath the pink polish on her nails that she won’t let him go without a fight.

He faces her, planting both feet firmly to show that he isn’t going to run. Even still, she won’t release him. Sighing, he asks, “What do you want, Claire?” Over her shoulder, he sees that they’ve captured Punn’s attention. He’s staring at him with a look to his eyes that Korn can’t quite decipher, but the last thing he wants to do is upset Claire enough to get him involved. So he softens his tone and says, “I was looking for Mon.”

“She just left with Namtaan,” Claire says. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay! We’re not really doing much, and it’s been so long we’ve talked.” There is desperation in her voice as well as in her eyes, and it pulls at a string of his heart that he thinks has always belonged to her. “Please, Korn?”

It’s then that he realizes that she’s wearing her glasses. It’s not a sight he sees very often, but it’s familiar and makes him feel warm. He doesn’t harbor any romantic feelings for her anymore; he’d gotten over those long, long ago. This is purely platonic, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t intense. This is the Claire – the Medfai – that he’s known since they were tripping over their shoelaces and sneaking bits of their lunches underneath their desks. A simple of pair of glasses reminds him of a far simpler time before potentials and gifted programs and multiple sleepless nights in a row. He so badly wants to cling to it, and he’s almost calls himself selfish until he remembers that this is something that Claire is offering.

“If you’re sure,” he says, as though he’s giving her one last chance to pull away.

“I am,” she assures. She sounds as though she’s holding back her excitement until he shuts the door and ventures further into the room.

Ultimately, it’s Punn that has him moving. “She’s not going to stop asking until you agree,” he says. He’s gone back to his book, and he casually flips a page before looking to Korn again. “It’s much easier to go along with whatever she wants. We both know that.”

We, not I. It’s the first time he can recall Punn acknowledging that he knows and cares for Claire as much as he does; it’s the first time ever that he doesn’t feel guilty for intruding on what he’s convinced himself isn’t a place he’s wanted.

“Okay.” Somehow, a single word brings her so much joy, and she’s tugging him towards her bed. He sits on the end, making sure there’s enough room between them, because there are still boundaries he’s not quite ready to break. But even with the space between them, he feels closer to anyone than he has in a very long time.

“So,” Claire chirps. Legs crossed in front of her, she’s leaning against her ankles and angling towards him. “Tell me what’s going on between you and Ohm.”

Groaning, he lets his head fall back against the wooden paneling around the edges of the bed. Claire is laughing, and he can hear Punn joining her. He would say he’s already regretting his decision, but he can’t; not when he finally feels like he’s starting to belong.

viii. teach & class xv

Pom has no reason to believe that this Tuesday will be different than any other, but he is sorely mistaken. Lesson plans tucked beneath his arm, he opens the door to his classroom and is met with a loud popping sound and a spray of multi colored confetti. Surprised enough to take a step back, he looks beyond the doorway and into the rest of the classroom.

The walls are draped in streamers, and there’s a long banner that reads ‘Thank You!!’ across the front board. On his desk is a tray of cupcakes in varying levels of proper decorations. Every desk has a bottled beverage atop it, and there’s one held out for him by Korn. He takes it, albeit slowly, and lets the door shut behind him.

This isn’t a special day, because he would have known if it was. He has every one of his students’ birthdays marked in the calendar in his office, and the little box for today’s date was empty when he last checked it. It isn’t his birthday either, so he’s at a loss for just what they’re meant to be celebrating.

“Want to explain to me what’s going on?” he asks as he reaches the front of the room. He places his things down, and the kids all take their seats, smiles still plastered across all of their faces. “I wasn’t aware there was something worth celebrating.”

“Of course there is!” Ohm says, because of course it’s him. “It’s the last week of the semester!”

“Ah,” he nods, their actions beginning to make more sense. “Prebreak excitement then? You do know that you still have your final evaluations, right?”

“We know,” Claire says. She points to her protective sunglasses, and even behind them, Pom can see her affectionate eyeroll. “We’ve been practicing nonstop on top of studying for our normal exams.”

“But that’s not why we’re celebrating,” Wave adds.

“We only have one semester left here,” Pang continues. “One semester left of the gifted program. And one semester left with you.”

“You’ve done so much for us over the past three years,” Namtaan finishes for them. “You’ve helped us with much more than our potentials, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’re very grateful that we got to have you as a teacher.”

The entire class nods in unison, and it takes a good few blinks to clear the tears from his eyes. It feels like yesterday that he told Chanon that he wanted to be a teacher. Classes have come and gone, and somehow another is almost out the door. He doesn’t pick favorites; he loves all of the kids he’s had and will love all the ones he will ever have in the future equally. But that doesn’t stop the special pocket in his heart that has tucked itself away for these ten kids.

He won’t break down, not until he’s in the confines of his apartment, and he has his husband’s chest to hide in. For now, he returns their smiles with one of his own and pretends it’s not a bit wobbly at the edges.

“And I’m just as grateful to have had all of you as my students,” he says. He hopes they don’t catch the shake in his voice, but if they do, they don’t make mention of it. “Now, come on, these cupcakes aren’t going to eat themselves. Maybe they’ll sweeten the fact that I have the order for all of your individual examination times.”

A chorus of groans echoes through the room as they all file to get their hands on a cupcake. He watches them all, and in each of them, he sees how much they’ve grown from the first day he met them. He never forgets a student, and he sees no reason that this batch will be any different.

#the gifted #the gifted the series #the gifted graduation #the gifted: graduation #tgg #my writing #there is so much to unpack here #there are so many pairings #so many friendships we haven't gotten to see #and a bunch of stuff the fan base has made up on their own #did i add ohmkorn just for rahul?#of course i did #how could i not?#i hope it was happy and fluffy enough to make up for all the insanity tgg is giving us #okay seriously it's 4 am i need to sleep #but happy birthday to you both!

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Two’s a Crowd (FE3H)

Felannie | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Teen | Complete There’s only one horse. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

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A/N: This was a Secret Santa give and I was asked to write ‘There was only one Horse’. Read here on AO3 for better quality! Also, I’m on Twitter!

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While Felix has never been one to follow the rules, he now understands why Byleth is so reluctant to let them roam outside the gates of Garreg Mach freely.

Sure, they’re adults and they can make their own dumb decisions. Still, it’s wartime; there are crest beasts and ample opportunity to be stupid enough to get yourself into a pickle.

Felix frowns. Annette’s colorful words, not his.

Byleth often turns a blind eye to the odd training session outside the Monastery, especially when it comes to Felix. Byleth knows that Felix can handle himself when it comes down to it, and while the Professor’s expression is prone to permanent frowning, he’s never said no. Not outright.

It’s more like carefully placed and unasked advice that he knows Felix won’t ever listen to but can claim to have given all the same.

“Just in case you find yourself gored,” said Byleth one dreary afternoon. “I’ll have the chance to say ‘I told you so’.”

So far, Byleth has been denied the pleasure because Felix is a slippery bastard; far too stubborn to die. And, as it turns out, he’s not the only stubborn person in the world, which brings him to his current problem:

Annette crashes through the underbrush alongside him, sagging with weariness and covered head to toe in mud and Goddess knows what else. It’s exactly Felix’s luck that she’s the one to sneak out after him because her curious little nose got the best of her.

At least it’s a cute nose.

“It just had to be a crest beast,” says Annette, mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. That’s cute on her too.

“It had to be two,” amends Felix. He’s never had any luck with anything, least of all women, so he doesn’t know why he insists on longing for Annette. Then, he suddenly remembers something else, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Ingrid is going to kill us.”

A long moment stretches between the two of them as they stand there in the woods looking at each other.

“We’ve lost horses before,” says Annette. Sure, they’ve lost horses, but never a Fraldairan Marsh Tucky. And its accompanying mare because, naturally, that was the horse Annette picked. Ingrid’s captious about her thoroughbreds and she’d brought those from Galatea personally. Felix pauses in his step, leveling Annette with a tired stare, to which she sighs in response. “Okay, yeah, she’s going to kill us.”

Annette is lucky that Felix likes her. More than likes her. Kind-of maybe loves her, not that he’s the confessing kind. But, all her goofy songs and eternal optimism in the world won’t save him from Ingrid’s wrath, Mercedes’s clipped threats for endangering Annie, or Byleth’s contempt for attracting her attention by merely existing.

Byleth’s a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to intra-army romance.

Annette’s mouth then tips into a tiny little smile and Felix wonders if it’s a bad thing that he likes the idea she’d followed him. She’d said that it was dumb of him to go it alone and that she’d been worried. The only person that worries about him nowadays is Sylvain, and it’s entirely unwarranted, unwanted, and suffocating in every way possible. The change is, admittedly, nice.

“There’s a village this direction,” says Felix, pointing to the west. “They’ve got a decent inn with tolerable food, and a stable with likely a few horses for sale.”

“Do we have the coin?” asks Annette.

“We’ll manage,” says Felix, thankful that he’d brought his purse with him that day. He doesn’t always, so maybe he’s luckier than he’d thought. His gaze slides back to Annette who watches him with interest, her eyebrows drawn up. “What?” he snaps, testily.

“Nothing,” says Annette, but judging by the sly little smirk on her face, it’s anything but. Felix doesn’t have the time to think about it anything further.

“We’re losing daylight,” says Felix. “We should get walking, otherwise Byleth will close the gates for the night.”

“He’d let us in,” says Annette.

“He won’t,” says Felix. He’d know, he’s camped outside the entrance before, punishment for making it back late. There’s a pause and then Annette laughs, causing Felix to scowl. Even if he likes the sound of it.

“He’d let me in, then,” says Annette.

Felix grumbles at that. “He probably would.” Annette smirks at him again and Felix rolls his eyes, but he’s only mildly irritated. Truly, Annette is lucky that she doesn’t incite his ire much. Felix wonders how this entire thing would go if it was literally anyone else stuck out here with him.

They’d probably have a sword through their neck already, or at least, be slightly maimed. Felix is in a maiming sort of mood. He and Annette head westward, slogging through the slick mud leftover from earlier rain.

“Hopefully, there won’t be any more beasts out here,” says Annette, and Felix whirls on her, pressing a finger against her lips. She blinks, surprised. But she doesn’t move away, if anything, she leans into the touch.

“Don’t!” hisses Felix.

“Don’t what?” she says against his finger, her breath warm against his skin.

“Say something like that. Don’t you know that’s exactly how it works?”

“What works?” asks Annette.

Felix groans, almost certain that she’s being obtuse on purpose because Annette’s the teasing sort. “It’s bad luck,” he says. “The moment you say something like that, it--”

There’s a deafening roar behind them that echoes through the trees. And then the woods fall deathly quiet. Annette swallows thickly, but to her credit, doesn’t pale or look scared. She’s a plucky little thing and that’s in part what Felix loves about her most. Annette isn’t one to back down, she seeks danger out. Case in point, trailing after him on her own.

Felix pulls his hand away from her.

“We’ve no choice,” says Annette. It’s not a question.

Felix draws his sword and readies a bolt of Thoron. “Might as well make it quick,” is all he says in return.

Annette answers with a resigned sigh.

Turns out, their luck is worse than anticipated, not that Felix is surprised. This entire trip has been working against him since before he left the Monastery.

“I have a bad feeling,” Byleth told him as he saddled up.

“Nonsense,” Felix said, annoyed at the Professor’s incessant mothering.

Felix is eating that word now, laying on his belly in the underbrush, slick with muck and worms. Annette shifts beside him, leaning closer.

“How long do we wait?” she asks.

“Until the damn beast is gone, obviously,” says Felix.

Annette’s eyes narrow at his tone. “This isn’t my fault.”

“You said the words,” says Felix. “You should never say the words.”

She huffs at that. “You’re the one that forgot a spare blade. Since when do you strap only one sword to your hip?” Then she pauses. “Also, what are the chances that it would just crack right down the middle--”

“The entire point of laying in this filth is to be quiet, Annette, and let the beast leave.”

Annette’s mouth snaps shut, but it’s not without an annoyed scowl shot in his direction. “You’re evil,” murmurs Annette, just loud enough for him to hear. Felix knows it’s absolutely on purpose. She’s got a mean streak in her at times, he’s just never been on the end of it.

The mud and foliage hide their smell, and eventually, the crest beast determines them to be a lost cause and saunters away. Felix reaches out to grab Annette’s wrist before she can get up. “Wait, just a little bit longer. It might come back.”

They lay there for longer than she wants, Felix can tell by her squirming, but Byleth’s words have been prophetic: it’s just one of those days. Finally, they rise. Annette looks down at her dress and cringes at the sight.

“I’ll have to burn this and get Mercie to make me a new one.”

“Mercedes has more important things to do than sew garments,” says Felix with an annoyed huff.

Annette narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll remind you that this is your fault.”

“I didn’t ask for you to sneak out after me.”

“You brought that upon yourself when you decided to go out on your own.”

Felix glowers. “Which I do, often.”

Annette shoots him a rival glare. “Because you have no sense of self-preservation. Honestly, Felix, I should have come with you sooner. How often are you so ill-prepared? How unlike you.”

Felix can’t deny that one; how unlike him indeed. “I’ve been distracted lately,” he finally says, and Annette’s face softens slightly. She thinks that he’s talking about the war, but that isn’t it actually, it’s more so the tight feeling in his chest that he gets when he looks at her. He’s taken to marking up trees in frustration, away from prying eyes in the training ground.

The dramatic irony of her blaming Felix isn’t lost on him.

“It’s going to get dark,” says Annette. Felix frowns. How astute and glaringly obvious. “And, according to you, Byleth will abandon you outside the gates.”

“Wouldn’t be a first,” gripes Felix.

“So,” starts Annette, rolling back on her heels slightly. Her hands are tucked neatly behind her, all manners despite looking like she crawled out of a sewer. “To the village then. We’ll get a room.”

Felix, who’d already turned around to head west, stops dead in his tracks. Then he closes his eyes. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Two rooms, he thinks. He can afford two rooms, he’s got enough gold for at least that.

When he looks back to Annette, she’s already beaming at him like she always does. Felix wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. Instead, he wants to do something a little more drastic, like pull her in for a hug.

Which is ridiculous, because Felix doesn’t hug people.

“Felix?” asks Annette. “You’re staring.”

It takes everything in him not to wince. “Mud,” he says, dumbly. “And sticks. In your hair.”

Eloquent, Felix is not. Despite this, Annette takes the explanation in stride and their walk to the village isn’t so terrible considering.

“Say that again, but the answer better be different.”

The innkeeper swallows, his thick neck turning a little bit red. Felix threatens people often enough that he’s got it down to a science. Arms crossed over the chest, his foot tapping in annoyance. The worst scowl he can manage followed by a flash of steel.

He’s having to make do without that last one.

“We’ve only one room left,” says the Innkeeper.

It takes everything for Felix not to jump the desk and choke the man out.

“Felix,” says Annette, resting her hand against his arm. He doesn’t pull away and neither does she, her fingers curling into his quilted sleeve. “It isn’t his fault. The men out in the bar must be the reinforcements we’re waiting on.”

Felix massages his temple. Right, reinforcements; Byleth had told them all they were expecting another Magic Corps to show up. Just their luck. Or lack thereof. He looks to Annette, who looks back at him, large eyes framed attractively by delicate eyelashes.

Goddess above, he can’t do this.

“You’ll take the room,” says Felix, finally tugging his arm away from her grasp. “I’ll stay in the stable.”

“Absolutely not,” says Annette.

“There’s no room there, either,” says the innkeeper unwisely. Upon Felix’s dangerous glare, the man immediately adds: “I’ve got two stable boys who bunk there.” They would find the one inn that employs by way of food and shelter, and not coin.

The innkeeper takes a deep breath and then bravely says, “There are two beds. If that makes a difference.”

It does, but only barely. Felix eyes the man warily, but slaps down a handful of gold.

That’s when Annette does the unthinkable and says, “And a bath, please. And fresh clothes.”

Felix is going to sleep in a stall with a horse if that’s what it takes, because he cannot, cannot share a room with Annette if she’s intent on bathing. Annette doesn’t think about these kinds of things. She’s not a healer like Mercedes, but she does her share in the medical tents. She sees a body like she sees everything else; just as it is and nothing more.

When he finally meets her gaze, she’s looking at him expectantly. Her eyes flash to his coin purse and then back to the pile he’s left on the counter. Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh and slaps down a few more coins.

“For the bath. And the clothes,” he says tersely. All Annette does is smile widely, happiness practically beaming off of her and she looks utterly ridiculous, covered in the mess that she is.

The room isn’t large, but there are two beds as promised. The stableboys haul a bath inside and Annette has the forethought to direct them to place it behind the changing screen. Felix lets loose a breath. Small blessings and some actual luck, finally.

Annette sings as she bathes. Felix washes his face in the basin by the door and changes into the clothes they’ve been provided, before settling into one of the beds. The moment he hits the mattress, he realizes how weary he is. It’s been a long day of dodging crest beasts and avoiding pesky feelings.

“Felix,” calls Annette from behind the screen, “has Byleth actually left you outside the gate after coming back late.”

Felix snorts a laugh. “Once. The lesson was learned.”

Annette chuckles and then goes back to her made-up tune. “Oh, how I love to bathe. Wash away the icky bits, ‘cause being dirty is just the pits.”

It isn’t so much that her voice is good, it’s just nice. Calming. Sweet. Felix closes his eyes and listens, drifting off to the soft tune on her lips. Comforting when you think about it because Annette sings about the things that she loves.

He falls asleep before her song shifts, singing about a dark, handsome swordsman instead.

There’s only one horse.

It’s a curse, straight from one of those ridiculous romance novels that Sylvain pretends he doesn’t like to read. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

Annette has the gall to look amused. “It’ll be fine, Felix,” is what she says.

It will be the exact opposite of fine because while Felix has been very good at keeping her an arm’s length away, that isn’t an option here.

Felix glares at the stablemaster who regards him with an apologetic look. The only reason Felix doesn’t gut him right then and there is because it isn’t his fault. The man isn’t responsible for the delay in new livestock, the rain had done that. Regrettably, because Felix very much wants to stab something. Anything.

His head falls back, cheeks to the sky, eyes slipping closed as he lets out a long, drawn-out groan. This is divine punishment, Felix thinks, because he’s too much of a coward to just tell the damn girl that he likes her.

Or loves her. But really, at this point, what difference does it matter?

Annette pulls herself up first, settling into the saddle with ease. Felix turns to drop gold into the stablemaster’s hand, who offers a small smile in return.

“If it’s any consolation--”

“It’s not,” Felix cuts in.

“-- I think that she likes you back.”

At that moment, Felix wishes that murder for entirely inane reasons is legal. But alas, it isn’t, and Byleth would be quite irate if Felix were to remove the head of this man. The Professor loathes cleaning up messes and Felix makes a lot of them. So, the stablemaster keeps his life.

Only because Felix is too lazy to think of a valid excuse, or cook up a proper plan.

He pulls himself up behind Annette and settles in easier than he thought possible. Annette’s tiny enough that it’s not as awkward as it could be. Felix slips his arms around her waist and she hands him the reins, and then they’re off at a small trot.

The horse is calm and moves along the road well. Annette leans back against Felix’s chest, humming a tune. Felix is relatively relaxed. The Goddess hasn’t set the world on fire just yet. Small blessings.

“This is nice,” says Annette.

Not how Felix would phrase it. He’s caught somewhere between ‘this is divine’ and ‘this is absolute hell’. He allows himself the former though, arms settling around her closer than he’d normally allow. His nose close enough to the crown of her head that he can smell the fresh soap she’d bathed with. He enjoys the way she fits against him.

Felix would say that Sylvain’s a saint for putting up with this on the regular, but it’d be a lie. Worse, Felix gets why it’s a lie because Annette in his arms feels nice, even if it’s on the back of a horse, and only because there isn’t another choice.

“Nice,” agrees Felix halfheartedly, when he remembers to reply.

“You know, one could even say romantic.”

“There’s nothing romantic about being forced to share a horse because the Magic Corps didn’t think to bring their own.”

Annette turns her head slightly to look back at him, lips quirked into an amused smile. “Not one bit?” she asks.

Felix looks down at her, frowning slightly. What on earth does that mean? And why is she so amused? “I said that it was nice.”

“Felix, you look like you ate some of Flayn’s cooking.”

“This is definitely preferable to that,” says Felix, meaning it.

Annette sits there, twisted awkwardly in front of him for a moment longer, watching him. Felix squirms slightly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Finally, she says, “I must admit, I’m at a loss.”

“For what?” asks Felix.

“Nothing,” says Annette. Felix frowns again because now she just isn't making sense. But then again, Annette often doesn’t make sense, it’s part of her charm.

The Monastery isn’t far from the village, barely an hour by horse. The rest of their ride passes without any issue. No crest beasts, no bandits, and miraculously, Felix doesn’t entirely combust after enduring close contact with Annette.

He’s decided to treasure the moment because it’s never happening again.

It’s no surprise that Byleth is waiting for them at the gate, their arrival having been spotted by a lookout and announced. The Professor looks calmly collected and not at all worried. Felix’s eyes narrow, instantly suspicious.

Felix drops from the horse first before reaching up and helping Annette down. She lands gracefully, her hands grasping Felix’s forearms. She doesn’t let go. Felix tries to pull away, but she holds tight, and damn, she has an impressively strong grip. She just looks at him, a soft little smile on her face.

“Annette,” says Felix, unsure how to continue.

“Felix,” replies Annette. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re such a gentleman.”

Felix is anything but, and he’s about to tell her that when she finally let's go. Only to reach up and grab him by the face, fingers curling around his jaw. She yanks him down, none too gently.

And then, Annette’s kissing him, pressing her lips against his with careful precision. Felix is surprised but he doesn’t go entirely rigid. His hands slide up to grasp her cheeks and he kisses her back. It’s not sweet in its touch, but it’s not scorching either, somewhere middling of the two. Her hand snakes around the back of his neck to grip him possessively, pulling him closer.

Felix responds eagerly, his fingers slipping into her hair, tugging her face into a different angle to slot their mouths against each other better. Then, he parts his lips, intent on licking into her mouth--

There’s a cough from next to them and they break apart. Felix doesn’t look away from Annette whose cheeks are tinged pink. Annette looks to the side. “Byleth,” she greets coolly.

“Um,” starts Felix, but can’t think of words past that.

“I’m pleased to see that the two of you are okay,” Byleth deadpans.

Annette is looking at Felix again, and his gaze is still glued to hers, unsure what’s just happened, still trying to process the kiss. That she’d started. That she’d enthusiastically responded too. That she seemed annoyed to have been interrupted in the midst of. The stuff of dreams, really, specifically his dreams, and more often than he’d like to admit.

Felix’s brain is having a hard time comprehending.

“As I said, Felix took fantastic care of me,” says Annette kindly. Then, she reaches up and brushes Felix’s bangs away from his forehead.

“I’d prefer it if the two of you would continue taking care of yourselves within the gate.” Byleth pauses. “And after the meeting. We have things to discuss.”

The mention of a war council breaks the spell that’d fallen over Felix. He can feel his skin burning bright red in embarrassment, and worst of all, Annette looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

And she’s holding his hand. He hadn’t noticed her grabbing it.

“When I was singing about the dark, handsome swordsman, who’d you think I was imagining?” asks Annette, words quiet enough for only Felix to hear.

“When you were singing about what?”

Annette pouts. “Oh darn, so you were asleep then. I’d hoped you weren’t.”

“Annette, what on earth--”

“Later,” says Annette. “Mostly because Byleth is giving you the stink eye, and I think it’s because we’ve delayed his carefully planned schedule.”

One look at the Professor proves her right. Felix clears his throat and takes several steps away, before grabbing the reins of the horse. “Right, then. I’ll just handle this. The horse, I mean.”

“I’ll see you in the war room,” says Annette, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

Felix decides that he doesn’t hate the light-hearted, flabbergasted feeling that’s floating through him. He also knows that the moment he regains his wits abashment will hit him full force because he’d practically eaten Annette’s face off in front of half the Monastery guard.

And Byleth.

So, Felix properly excuses himself in favor of stabling their new horse and perhaps locking himself away forever out of embarrassment.

If he’d stayed just a moment longer, he’d have seen Annette flash Byleth a conspiratorial wink as she passes him by. And how Byleth smiles slyly in return, tapping at his nose like he’s keeping a secret.

#felannie #felix x annette #felix hugo fraldarius #annette fantine dominic #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction

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herohotline · 4 years

Text

Warmth of You

Shouto Todoroki x Reader

A/N: HA! what was I thinking? ME? On a hiatus? as fucking if. that lasted a whole day.

Summary: Suffering from frequent insomnia, you find yourself drawn toward Todoroki and the warmth he provides. You’re absolutely sure that a crush has nothing to do with the fact that he’s the only one who can help you go to sleep.

Word Count: 5,500+ (god d. dammit. fuck)

When you go to a school like U.A, you naturally want to do your best. You want to get good grades, excel with your quirk- and never interrupt class.

You interrupt class with a big, uncontrollable yawn that has you reeling back with how hard it hits you. Shame immediately crawls up your neck and heats your cheeks as you notice how everyone’s eyes are on you- including your teacher, Aizawa.

“I’m sorry,” you groan, shoulders hunching up at Aizawa’s peeved expression. He quickly moves on to the next topic and you try your best to hold in the next yawn that comes- and the next one after that.

Sleep has been hard lately and you’re not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s because of all the new information you’re absorbing in U.A, but your mind can never quite settle when you need it to. Sleep will either be consistently interrupted from waking up hourly or you just won’t fall asleep at all until ridiculously late hours. You’ve tried your best to fix the issue since you really do want to do your best in school- your brain only being half-awake during class wasn’t the best way to achieve that goal.

You barely learn anything from Aizawa’s class today. It was something about hostages… you think. As class ends and everyone begins to gather their things, you think about how screwed you’ll be if Aizawa decides to do a surprise quiz again. You don’t think you’ll be able to keep your good grade if he does that…

“___,” a voice shakes you out of your stupor and you jolt, looking behind you. Todoroki stands there, his backpack around his shoulders and a curious look on his face. “Are you coming?” He asks.

You look behind him and see Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida waiting by the class doors. That’s when you remember that you were all going to go shopping today at the mall- you hiss through your teeth when you realize that you completely forgot. How could you have forgotten? “Yeah! I- uh, I just need a minute. I’ll catch up!” You tell Todoroki and he nods, leaving with the rest of the group and heading down the halls.

Now alone in the classroom, you sigh and put all your books in your bag as quick as you can. Your body is practically swaying with exhaustion, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. You were looking forward to today! It was a chance to hang out with your friends and relax- and you really needed to relax. With a determined mindset, you force your body to stand straight as you heave your backpack over your shoulders and run down to U.A entrance where your friends are waiting.

---

The train ride is chaotic and hectic, as it usually is around the evening. You’re pressed awkwardly between Todoroki and Uraraka the entire time- Uraraka is at least understanding about it and you two make frequent jokes about your situation, but Todoroki remains stoic and silent as ever. You don’t mind too much, though, because you’re pressed up against his left side and it’s unusually warm.

You’re actually comforted by it- the warmth reminds you of your bed and covers at home. If it wasn’t for the train’s constant swaying and jumbling, you could have fallen asleep.

Finally, it’s your stop, and the five of you all hold hands as you exit the train so you don’t lose each other. It was Iida’s idea, actually, and it was pretty smart. Once you’re all away from the station, Uraraka and Midoriya immediately break their handhold with flushed faces- the scene honestly makes you laugh. You thank Iida for the idea with a squeeze of his hand before you let go as well because you honestly don’t know if your sleepy mind would have made it through the crowd alone- and then you’re off to the mall!

Being inside the mall wakes you up quite a bit. For a straight hour, you’ve gotten energy from your friends to shop, eat, and make funny jokes with everyone.

“___!” Uraraka whispers toward you, gaining your attention as she hides behind a rack of clothes and urges you to come over. You quickly head over and look at the item in her hand- it’s a rather cute pink sweater dress that reaches to the knees.

“That’s so pretty!” You say, reaching out to feel the fabric. It’s soft and warm- just what you want from a dress like this. “Are you gonna buy it?”

“I think so,” Uraraka hums, her cheeks matching the color of the dress as her eyes dart away. When you follow her gaze you laugh under your breath.

“Thinking of wearing it for someone?” You giggle and she shoves your shoulder with a huff. “I think he’ll like it.”

“You think so?” She asks, looking down at the dress again. Her expression is akin to a love-sick puppy as she shyly bites her lip with a smile. “I think so too.”

After helping Uraraka secretly make her purchase and shoving it at the bottom of a bag so ‘he’ won’t see it, the shopping shenanigans continue. You buy a few things for yourself, but not as much as the others since you don’t have very much money. You save most of it for the food court since your stomach is rumbling, and in the middle of the crowded hall between shops you ask if anyone wants to come with you.

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” Midoriya says, “but I can still come with you!”

“You don’t have to! I can just go by myself, honestly,” you wave him off with a smile- no one really looks interested and you suppose that makes sense. Everyone else had lunch today, but you took a nap instead, so you’re a bit more lacking in the food department than anyone else.

“I can go,” Todoroki offers, already walking next to you.

“Really?”

“I could use a drink,” he shrugs, and you suppose that’s fair. After the discussion you and Todoroki head off to the food court, promising to text Iida once you’re done so you can regroup.

Talking with Todoroki is always fun, honestly. He’s got a unique personality and has interesting answers to otherwise uninteresting questions, so you like hanging out with him. You feel a familiar sleepiness as you walk together so closely- his left side giving you that heat again that makes you so drowsy. He’s usually quiet, but today he’s surprisingly talkative, so you try your best to keep up with him even though your feet are dragging and you feel another yawn coming on.

Oh no, here it comes.

You interrupt Todoroki’s speech about All Might with another big yawn that brings tears to your eyes and makes your body sag- it honestly drags on for a long time since you’ve been holding them back and you groan in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry! What were you saying?” You ask him as you rub your wet eyes- if anyone had been looking, they’d think you were crying.

“...Are you alright?” Todoroki asks. His lips are pursed and his eyebrows are drawn together in concern- you notice how he’s slowed down his walk considerably so you can keep up with him. “You were yawning in class too.”

“I yawned. It was only once,” you argue.

“You kept doing it. I saw.”

Ah, dammit. You forget that Todoroki sits right behind you- he probably saw you struggling to keep it in. “I’m fine, really. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep…” You honestly don’t want to get into it, not wanting him to worry over you- so it’s quite a miracle that you finally made it to the food court. “We’re here! I want to get a crepe, okay?” You eagerly change the subject as you rush forward, leaving your classmate behind as you get in line for one of the shops.

That familiar heat comes back to you as Todoroki stands behind you. Honestly, you want to push him away so he’ll stop making you so tired, but it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose. His head hovers over yours as he observes the menu and you frown, squinting in his direction.

Is he doing it on purpose…?

Nah.

Todoroki was a lot of things, and dense was one of them. You love him to bits, truly, but you don’t think he’d be the kind of person to notice when you maybe migrate towards his warmth when you were sleepy. And if he did notice, he’d probably just ask you about it bluntly- not subtly indulge you.

The two of you make your order- you with a sweet crepe in your favorite flavor and Todoroki with a simple green bubble tea. You decide that it’s a little too hectic to eat and shop at the same time, so you make your way to a bench next to a wall, sitting there with Todoroki as you both eat silently. While talking with your classmate was fun, doing this was just as good too.

Just the silence carrying you as you eat, watching people walk by and observing the world go on as you sit back and take it all in.

It’s not surprising that eventually you start to nod off in the middle of it all, right?

---

Todoroki only notices that you’ve fallen fast asleep when he feels the weight of you on his shoulder. He looks down at you- you’re already breathing deep and slow as you lean into the warmth of his body, the hand holding your treat slowly loosening. He’s quick to grab it before you spill it all over yourself and the floor- and then he’s stuck.

Sitting on a bench, a crepe in one hand and tea in the other, and then you leaning on him as if he were a pillow.

But surprisingly, Todoroki doesn’t mind. He lets you use his heat- he has been all day. It would take an idiot not to notice how exhausted you were, but even though you were, you pulled through so you could be there for your friends. Todoroki admires that about you, truly. But you deserve rest- and if he had to be stuck on an uncomfortable mall bench for you to get that rest, he supposes he’s willing to sacrifice his good posture. He continues on with his day, sitting there while sipping on his drink and eating your crepe in little nibbles he hopes you won’t notice when you wake up. But you’re totally conked out and the crepe is melting, so Todoroki eventually has no choice but to quickly eat it all before it drips all over him.

He’ll pay you back later. Now that his hand is free, he tries to reach into his pocket to reach his phone, but you’re laying on it and start to move around when he does.

So there he is. Stuck again, not wanting to wake you because his phone is in the wrong pocket. Thankfully, Todoroki is a patient person and he doesn’t mind sitting around. He doesn’t have to wait very long until a worried Iida is practically blasting through the food court.

Not wanting to wake you, Todoroki simply raises his free hand and waves it until Iida notices- though he’s too distracted calling out your names and spinning in frantic circles. It’s Midoriya who notices eventually and waves back- trying to get Iida’s attention once he knows where you are. The fire-ice user watches in amusement as his friends attempt to calm Iida down and point frantically toward the two of you- Iida could be such a worry-wart sometimes.

“You never texted us, we were wondering if something happened!” Midoriya says as the group finally makes their way toward Todoroki. “...Is ___ sleeping?”

Todoroki simply nods, placing a finger over his lips as he keeps an eye on Iida. “What time is it?” He quietly asks and Iida gives it right away- thankfully keeping his voice down.

“5:14!”

“They’ve been sleeping for about twenty minutes,” Todoroki murmurs, trying to remember when he last looked at the time. Twenty minutes? That sounded about right. Just before five, when a sudden rush came in the food court… He recalls he saw a woman in rather tall high heels and flamboyant clothing and he had wanted to take a picture for Aoyama.

“Why didn’t you text us?” Uraraka snorts, looking at your sleeping form against him with a smile.

“Phone’s in my left back pocket…”

“I see,” Midoriya laughs. “You didn’t want to wake them up. I’m glad you’re both okay, though!” Todoroki watches as the brunette girl brings out her phone and he can’t help but tense-

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Uraraka sings, pointing the camera in his direction. He hears the familiar sound of a fake shutter- purely put in for aesthetic reasons but telling him that she definitely just took a picture. “It’s a nice memory, isn’t it?”

The fire-ice user purses his lips. He doubts that was her intention.

“Shouldn’t we wake them up soon?” Iida finally butts in, “it’s getting late! We should get back to the dorms right away!”

“How lovely of you to remind us, class president.”

“You’re welcome!”

Todoroki hums- he would really like to get off the stiff bench, but he’s hesitant. “You guys head out without us. I’ll wake them up eventually and we’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure?” Midoriya worries and Todoroki nods- he wants to give you at least a few more minutes. Uraraka smiles beside him, most likely taking another picture before tucking it away in a pocket.

“Alright. You want us to take some bags?”

“Yes, actually. Thank you.” His friends proceed to take what they can carry of the bags sitting next to your feet- you didn’t buy very much, and neither did Todoroki, so they leave only two full paper bags for the both of you to carry. The fire-ice user waves with his free hand, smiling gently as his friends set off. “See you later,” he whispers.

“See you!”

Once the three of your mutual friends set off, it’s just him again. Silently, Todoroki ponders on how he’ll wake you- and if he even has the guts to do it. The mall will be closing soon, surely… He looks out one of the many windows of the mall, watching the sky slowly darken as time continues to pass.

He’ll have to think of something soon.

---

You wake up to the strangest feeling. Your whole torso feels lovingly warm- as if you were laying next to a firepit. But your legs tingle from a chill cold- it was as if your temperature was split in half.

Half and half… That sounds oddly familiar.

Your eyes are heavy as you barely manage to blink them open- you honestly can’t remember falling asleep in the first place. Your whole body and mind feels disoriented for a minute as you realize that you’re moving- how are you moving? Are you outside?

“Did you have a nice nap?”

“HMmuh?” You quickly fail at finding any words as you look up and find Todoroki staring down at you, a gentle smile on his face and his mismatched eyes shining. Okay- what’s going on? You force yourself to blink your eyes open again, but he’s still there.

You realize that the varying temperatures you felt along your body were because of Todoroki. The fire-ice user was carrying you in his arms- quite easily, might you add- with one of his arms locked under your knees and the other placed behind your back. Realizing this, your body is no longer cold at all- it’s all heated up from your toes to your head as you flush in the embarrassment of being so tenderly cradled by your friend.

“Y-you… you didn’t have to carry me!” You pathetically stutter, quickly looking away from his face- looking at him just makes you more nervous.

“I just wanted you to sleep a little longer…” He says, “would you like me to let you down?”

Did he really have to be so sweet?

“If our class sees us like this, I’ll never hear the end of it…” you grumble- you’re reluctantly comfortable in his strong arms. “Do you think… you could let me down at U.A?” It’s shameful to ask- he must be tired, right? But to your surprise, there’s no hesitance in his voice as he agrees.

But then you remember. “Wait! Our bags!”

“The others took them to help out.” He shakes you in his arms once- making you hear the sound of paper rustling. “I’m carrying the other two. They aren’t heavy.”

“They all saw me sleeping on you?” You groan. You almost don’t want to know, but you have to ask… “Did Uraraka take a picture?”

Todoroki seems surprised. “How did you know that?”

Ugh, of course. “Because I know her and I know her little demonic mind,” you frown, letting your head fall back dramatically as you sigh. “She’s totally going to blackmail me.”

“Ah. I was wondering about her intentions…” Todoroki shuffles you in his arms again, probably trying to deal with your weight. You realize you’re really not helping him at all by just sitting in his arms lifelessly, so you try to sit up as you wrap an arm around his neck. Your other hand goes toward his arm, blindly reaching until you find the paper handle of a bag and you slowly wiggle it away from his arm. He seems to get it as he stops walking for a moment, letting you take the bag and hold it in your lap before you wrap both your hands around his neck.

“Is that better?” You ask- you still feel a little hot from being so close to him. And with your arms wrapped around him… It almost feels like you’re in a fantasy, to be honest.

“It is, thank you,” Todoroki continues to walk as he smiles down at you- you bite your lip subconsciously and look ahead. Even if you’re doing your best to avoid his gaze, you can feel his eyes on you.

“Eyes on the road, bucko,” you mutter under your breath. Todoroki hums, laughing silently before doing as he’s told.

It’s silent the rest of the walk back.

---

After the whole sleeping-on-Todoroki and being-carried-by-Todoroki incident (something you tried to keep on the down-low, but Ashido found you both at the gates and immediately told everyone), things were a bit awkward for you. Todoroki was one of your best friends, but right now you couldn’t be in the same room with him without being teased relentlessly, so you find yourself subtly avoiding him just to get some peace of mind. You feel awful about it, but you swear to make it up to him once your classmates settle down. Rumors never lasted very long, anyway.

In the meantime, your sleep truly hadn’t gotten any better. The best sleep you’d gotten was when you were in Todoroki’s arms, as embarrassing as it was to admit. You tried to recreate his warmth- you bought a weighted blanket and a heating pad- but it wasn’t the same.

What was it about him, anyway? It drove you crazy just thinking about it. What sort of cure-all did he have hidden away inside him that made you sleep so soundly?

Ashido and Uraraka seemed convinced that it was your crush- but that was ridiculous. You didn’t have a crush on Todoroki. Definitely not!

Uraraka bugged you about it a lot, but then you’d bring up her little pink dress and she was quick to shut her mouth. Now you just needed to find a way to shut up Ashido and you’d be peachy.

Though you’ll admit- a week later, you were at the end of your rope. Aizawa won’t stop scolding you for nodding off or making amateur mistakes in class, and your grades are starting to suffer because of it. It doesn’t help that you can feel the burning of Todoroki’s eyes on your back nearly every day- it just adds to your guilt. You know he’s confused about you avoiding him- but it’s not like your friends will give you enough peace and time to explain it to him.

Bags are starting to show under your eyes- you really don’t know how much you’ve slept this week, but it’s worse than all the other weeks. You can’t afford to play around anymore. So on a Saturday night, you throw your stubborn heart in the garbage as you grab your phone and text the boy you’d been avoiding.

Tomorrow was a full day off, and you were determined to sleep in. You wanted to catch up on all those hours spent awake, and there was only one proven method on how to do that.

It was pitch black out- most of the students were sleeping or getting ready to, so as you were sending your text, you just hope that Todoroki is one of the night owls in class and you aren’t waking him up. You don’t want anyone to catch him on his way here- that is, if he even takes your invitation.

It wasn’t anything too revealing. You told him to come to your dorm because you wanted to talk. You want to apologize for avoiding him and tell him about your insomnia- and then slowly, slowly convince him to possibly snuggle with you until you fall asleep.

You know, normal friend things.

It’s not long before you hear someone knocking on your door. You quickly scramble out of bed and look through the peephole- once you see familiar white-red hair, you open the door and quickly drag Todoroki inside before shutting the door behind him. He makes a sound of surprise as you pull him by his shirt and you quickly let him go once the door is closed.

“Sorry. I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” You sigh and lead him to your bed, sitting down and patting the spot next to you. “Which is why I wanna talk to you. I’m sorry for avoiding you.”

Todoroki hums and when he sits on your bed, the mattress sinks and your thighs touch. “Why have you been?” He sounds indifferent, but his expression says otherwise. He’s obviously upset.

“I- I’m sorry,” you apologize again, “it’s just… When you carried me last week and all of that, our classmates were just relentless with teasing us. I just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, so I ended up avoiding you a bit.” You pick at your nails self-consciously while you admit this to him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“They’re just rumors,” he says. His lips purse as he pauses, thinking out his next words before carefully saying them. “I wouldn’t want half baked rumors to be the reason you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

“No!” You quickly wave your hands in protest, crying out on accident. That’s the opposite of what you wanted! “No, I- I still want to be friends! I’m really sorry I made you think I didn’t, Todoroki! I- uhhm- I really wanted…” Putting your hands back down in your lap, you bite your lip and huff. “I wanted you to know that I really appreciated how considerate you were for me at the mall. I really appreciated it… you’re kind, Todoroki. Especially for putting up with me.”

Todoroki just shakes his head. “I liked helping you. I’m glad I could… and I’m glad you want to be friends.” The vulnerability must be getting to him because he’s getting pink in the face. It’s now or never, right?

“Well, about that…” Oh boy, here we go. You sit up a little straighter, trying to fake confidence as you face your friend completely. “My sleeping hasn’t gotten any better. It’s basically gotten worse during this whole thing, and- well, I could sleep really well when I was with you, so I was- I was wondering-” Looking up at Todoroki, you hope that he gets where this is headed, but he isn’t showing any sign that he does. And right when you were thinking he wasn’t that dull, too… “I was wondering if you could… stay with me until I can fall asleep. Do you- do you get what I mean?”

You stare at him while he processes the information. His expression slowly but surely changes from stoic, confused, and then most definitely surprise and embarrassment as his eyes light up and his cheeks flush again.

“Oh. You want me to cuddle you?”

You can feel yourself basically bursting into flames. “I mean- sort of! No?? I- just- just close enough that I can feel your body heat? Oh god, nevermind.” You put your face in your hands- how could you have thought this was a good idea? You’re in the middle of doubting all your life choices and wishing you could disappear into the dark abyss of your hands when you feel the bed dip considerably. At first, you think Todoroki is leaving- but when you look up you see him trying to make himself comfortable as he lies down and readjusts your pillows.

“...I’m not used to mattresses like these. It’s squishy.” ...Right. If you remember correctly, Todoroki’s room has a tatami mat instead of a mattress-

“Wait. You’ll really do it?” You stare down at him from where you sit. He looks like the very definition of awkward- he hasn’t even gotten under the blankets, he’s fully clothed with socks still on and everything, and he looks like he has no idea how to relax on a mattress.

But even though he has no idea what he’s doing, he’s still there. He’s willing to help, even if it’s a little weird. “Yeah… I want you to sleep.” His hands lace and rest on his stomach as he finally finds a comfortable position: laying very straight on his back. Todoroki tilts his head so he can look at you and says, “plus, it wasn’t so bad the first time.”

You suppose this is just Honesty Hour, then. You think you’ve run out of energy to get embarrassed anymore, so you accept his statement with a sigh. “You could at least remove your socks and get under the blankets.”

“Right.” You don’t feel like watching him strip- even if it’s just his socks, so you stand up from the bed and head to your dresser. It might be a bit weird, but if you’re going to be cuddling Todoroki under your covers, you’ll need to lose the pants and get a tank-top. It’s going to get unbearably warm if you don’t. You gather some other nightclothes and head for your bathroom, leaving him alone for a minute as you change. The basketball shorts you picked out aren’t even yours, really. You remember you made a comment once about how you needed shorts and Bakugo threw these in your face once you wore your old ones which were too small.

While it was a rude way to give a gift, it was sort of nice of him to do.

Now that you’re ready for some awkward friend-cuddling, you open the door of your bathroom and take a peek into your bedroom. Todoroki’s socks are neatly piled at the foot of the bed along with his shirt- he’s under the covers and you can’t tell if he’s actually shirtless or if he’s wearing a tank-top like you.

“Um. Todoroki?”

He looks up at you, barely lifting his head from the pillows. “Yes?”

“...Are you shirtless?”

“No.” He pushes the covers far enough that you can see that he is, in fact, wearing a tank-top, but you almost burst out laughing when you see what it is.

“You wear an All Might undershirt?”

A little self consciously Todoroki nods and puts the covers back over his chest. He looks adorably small as he flusters over his shirt. “Yeah… It’s- it’s not too weird, is it?”

You finally walk out of the bathroom, heading to the bed. You cross your arms as you observe the bed- a hand on your chin and you hum. “No, it’s cute… what we’re about to do is a little weird, though.”

Todoroki huffs through his nose with a smile, silently laughing. “Yeah.” Good, at least you’re both on the same page. “What are you doing?”

“Figuring out how I wanna do this.” Because it deserves some thought! How can you make this comfortable? “Okay- back up toward the wall and lay on your right side.” He does as he’s told silently and after preparing yourself for a few moments, you turn off the lamp on your nightstand and get under the covers. You lay on your side so the both of you are facing each other, and now the two of you are in a standstill in the dark.

Todoroki makes the first move, his hand inching toward your abdomen and his fingers barely brush your waist. You practically freeze up from his touch even though his hand is so warm, and he hums silently. “Come here,” he whispers, his hand slowly grabbing your waist and gently tugging you.

You do as he says, shuffling close enough that you can feel that familiar warmth that soothes you so much- his arm staying around your waist as you come closer. You’re still hesitant- Todoroki’s knees touch yours, but that’s it. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea, you think- how can you go to sleep with your heart beating so fast?

As if he can hear your heart- and maybe he can, Todoroki whispers again. “Relax,” he says.

Impossible, but ok.

“How… do you feel about this?” You ask him slowly. Sure, he’s willing to help… but why? Todoroki sighs, his whole body melting into it as he sinks further into the mattress.

“I feel…” He hums. “I feel that if you can get peace from a part of me I really don’t like… then maybe that makes me feel better about myself.”

Taken aback by his honesty, you don’t even realize as he scoots closer. Your legs are intertwined, now.

“I don’t even have to try- you know? Just the very state of me… you lean into it.” One of his hands brushes through your hair. Your eyes still haven’t adjusted to the dark, so you can’t see his expression- his absolutely beautiful expression as he looks right at you. “It makes me happy.”

“Oh,” your breath leaves you shakily- honestly, he’s stolen all the breath from your lungs and the words from your tongue and now you’re left with nothing as you lay next to him. He is absorbing you more than you are him.

“Go to sleep,” his voice is so soft and quiet, you can barely hear it. “Please.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice.

---

Todoroki is a light sleeper.

So even though the several people stockpiled in your room try to be sneaky, he wakes up the moment they all begin to whisper, his eyes cracking open and glaring at the people who woke him up.

Todoroki guesses you forgot to lock the door, which is why half of the fucking class is gathered in your room and staring at the two of you like you were animals in a zoo.

“Go away,” he says coldly and everyone jumps- obviously they hadn’t noticed how he woke up.

“We were so quiet!!” Ashido yells in a whisper, looking very upset at being caught.

He really doesn’t want to deal with this, honestly. Yeah, call him a little cranky- but he wanted to keep sleeping. Todoroki frowns and wraps his hands tighter around your waist. The two of you must have tussled a lot in your sleep- the blankets are shoved toward the foot of the bed and you’re lying directly on top of his body.

“You guys are so cute together!” Uraraka coos silently, and he recognizes her phone. God, how long had they all been in here?

“Go away,” Todoroki tells them again and with a quick movement, he twirls you around in his arms until his back is toward the class and he’s successfully surrounding you- away from all your friends who groan at the cuteness being taken away from them.

“Todo-”

A sudden burst of ice shoots out of his leg and he shoves himself up with his arms, glaring daggers at them all- Ashido, Uraraka, Midoriya (how could he), Kirishima, Kaminari, Momo, and Jirou. After that, they all quickly scatter out of the room- no longer trying to be quiet as they beg Todoroki not to kill them and slam the door shut.

The door slam is what finally wakes you up. You shuffle from under him, body stretching as you groan. Todoroki lays back on top of you, making you loudly wheeze from the sudden weight. “Todoroki!”

“Mmm… no. Go back to sleep.”

You laugh from under him, your arms lazily wrapping around his back and patting him. “Someone got comfortable, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, at least let me-” You heave yourself up from under him, probably going to grab the blankets before you freeze up. Todoroki stays laying face down on the mattress. “...Todoroki.” He hums. “Why is there a wall of ice in my room?”

“You wouldn’t even want to know.”

You already know. In a quick second, you’re suddenly no longer tired- your body filled with a fit of hot anger as you throw yourself out of bed and shove on a sweater that lies on the floor. “Dammit! I’m so fucking stupid!”

Todoroki lays on his side as he watches you slam open your bedroom door. “Alright!” You yell. “Which one of you assholes am I hunting down?!”

“Momo, Jirou, Ashido, Uraraka, Midoriya, Kirishima, Kaminari,” Todoroki immediately tattles and he can hear voices yelling at him from down the hall. You’re already running and students are screaming.

Even though he should really get up and do something about this, he doesn’t. He melts the wall of ice in your room, letting it puddle on the floor before grabbing your thick blanket and letting it cover him as he lays back down.

Your bed is very comfortable, after all, and he thinks that he’ll probably be sleeping here again soon.

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benkouji726 · 3 years

Text

Merry Kissmas

Summary:

The one that answered Thomas’ question “will these lips ever be kissed again?”

(Spoiler alert: They will)

——————————————

After years of being in the military, the Captain had built a systematic living schedule, which, like all his other quirks and habits, died hard (pun intended).

So every night he would go to bed at 2200, flat on his back, arms on his stomach. He would list all the great battles in alphabetical order, or memorize one of the king’s or queen’s speeches, and then after exact 9.5 minutes he would be sound asleep. Fanny usually woke him at 0200, but at this point, he was able to go back to sleep in the blink of an eye. All in all, he slept very well.

Until tonight.

He had already counted all of the English kings and queens, both in alphabetical and chronological order, he even listed their significant others, while trying to describe them with just one word (he gave Charles II “slutty”, he didn’t want to speak of the royals in this disrespectful manner, but it was what it was), and he still couldn’t sleep.

In fact, he was so restless he felt like he was coming out of his skin. His heart pounded, his forehead and hands sweaty, he was even slightly flushed. And he just didn’t get it.

Granted, it was the best Christmas he had ever since he’d been dead, but should it affect him this much? Or this way? It was almost like he was hot and bothered. It didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have been aroused by the queen’s speech, could he? It was so highly inappropriate, to the point that just the idea of being turned on by THE QUEEN made him sick to his stomach and he couldn’t stay in the bed for a minute longer.

He got up, thinking some air might help, and wandered downstairs to the living room. The fire had already died down, Robin nowhere to be seen. He was debating whether to just sit on the couch for a bit or go out to the lake when he heard a long, familiar sigh.

He groaned, because due to some unidentifiable reason, Thomas was the last person he wanted to see at this troublesome moment. But the Captain still turned to the adjourning door to the dining room, and sure enough, Thomas was there, leaning against the door frame, looking up at something. His face was half hidden in the dark, half lit by the moonlight, and the Captain was suddenly struck by the fact that Thomas was truly a beautiful man, if only in his pale, skinny and dramatic way.

He also had an epiphany about why he was having a hard time falling asleep.

He was aroused. By Thomas. Because of the Twist-It.

Groaning once more, because the idea of being turned on by THOMAS was actually not so much better than being turned on by the Queen. Yet here he was, frozen on spot, staring at Thomas, all the sensations of being pushed up against Thomas in all the inappropriate parts flashing back to him, and he found himself almost half erect.

No, this was NOT happening.

He slowly backed off, desperate to retreat to his bedroom, when Thomas spotted him. Of course he did. It was just the Captain’s damn luck.

“Why are you still up?” Thomas squinted at him, suspicious, “you were never up in the middle of the night, even when Fanny was screaming particularly loudly those few nights.”

Damn him. They had been living together for so long that they hardly had any secrets left. And that was such a spot-on question to which the Captain had no answer to. Or he did. He just didn’t wanna offer it.

So he stalled. “I could ask you the same thing!”

“No, you couldn’t”, honestly, Thomas was way too sober at this goddamn hour, “I’m always up late in the night, and you know this.”

The thing was, he DID know this. He was always sound asleep, but somehow, he knew Thomas often had trouble sleeping.

He was thinking a different strategy to steer this conversation when Thomas spoke again, he seemed like he figured something out and was even rolling his eyes.

“She was in TV and nobody can actually touch her. Would you get over it already?”

It took ten seconds for the Captain to catch up on what Thomas was saying, and he was both relieved and a little embarrassed, because really, when did they get to know each other this well?

Better to go with it though. “But we can see her and her surroundings! In such close range! That was so unroyal!”

“You do know unroyal is not a word, right?” Thomas rolled his eyes, again. And the Captain was getting a little annoyed. Seriously, if there was one ridiculous person between them, it would so not be him.

“And you do know even if Alison wanted to kiss you, which she didn’t, and even if you two had the chance to both stand under the mistletoe, which you hadn’t, you still couldn’t physically lock lips, right?”

It was a low blow, he knew. And judging by the hurt look on Thomas’ face, it blew hard.

He expected Thomas to yell at him, to take a swing at him which led them into another fight (he would NOT admit that even the idea of fighting with Thomas turned him on a bit because what the hell was wrong with him), or to simply storm off. But instead he just glared at him, a million emotions flash through his big eyes, hurt, wistful, and angry. The small mistletoe hanging above his head, adding a flavor of irony and sadness into the image, and suddenly, the Captain didn’t feel like victory at all.

It didn’t help his guilt when Thomas seemed deflated like a punctured balloon after some hard glaring. He looked down, shoulders sagged, he looked even more pale and fragile than his usual self, which was saying A LOT.

“We really couldn’t, could we?” He murmured, sounding defeated.

Silence fell over them. Thick, uncomfortable. To the point that the Captain felt the need to lighten the mood, except he didn’t know how. So he spoke the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be: “But we could.”

Fuck. That came out of nowhere, and it was such bad flirting the Captain felt his face was on fire.

Thomas was visibly confused for a moment, until he wasn’t. He widened his eyes then. “Did you just suggest...”

OK. Time to do damage control. The Captain opened his mouth to say it was just stating the fact and what was Thomas thinking that it could possibly mean what he thought it meant, but his mouth decided to disobey his brain at that crucial moment.

“I mean you and Alison couldn’t, but you and me could. In fact, we did touch each other a lot during that Twist-It session.”

So there went all his hope of avoiding humiliation, great.

He didn’t want to look at Thomas after blurting out all of his inappropriate thoughts, because he knew what would be on his face. Surprise, confusion, awkwardness, even disgust. It was not his first rodeo.

Except he knew Thomas pretty well, even if it pained him to admit it. He knew, deep down, Thomas was not one to be disgusted by desire or attraction, even if they were not the normal kind for him. So he mentally braced himself and looked.

There was surprise on Thomas’ face, sure. But he also looked flustered. At first, the Captain thought it was embarrassment, but then Thomas licked his lips, eyes darkening, and the Captain found himself once again aroused, the desire so strong he felt like being punched in the stomach.

“But I thought you were straight?” He knew he should throw caution to the wind. His libido screamed at him for still asking questions when he could finally get some after such a long time, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“And I thought you would never be attracted to me. Guess we’re both wrong.” Thomas smirked. Actually SMIRKED. He looked nothing like the usual version of himself, not a single ounce of nervousness and awkwardness. He looked like the one he described in his love story with Lady Elisabeth: confident, handsome, sure of himself, not afraid to show his love and fight anybody who dared to stand in his way, and fearlessly enthusiastic. It was such a good look on him.

Feeling slightly dazed, the Captain stepped forward, like being pulled by some invisible string, while Thomas stood there, still leaning against the door frame, but somehow his whole demeanor had “invitation” all written over it.

When the Captain finally stood in front of Thomas, he was already so turned on he couldn’t see straight. And by the look of Thomas’ hungry eyes, he was equally affected.

But just when they were inches apart, breath mingling, two hearts pounding in sync, the Captain spoke, lustful yet still confused. “What are we doing? This doesn’t make sense. We never wanted each other before.”

“Didn’t we though?” Thomas whispered, brown eyes locking his blue ones. “I had been attracted to you even before you were dead, you know, pining military man who is this good looking? I might be dead, but I’m not blind. I didn’t think you would feel the same, but apparently tonight has proven me wrong.”

He smirked once more. Which made him impossibly more attractive, damn him, and said in a flirtatious tone. “And even if we didn’t, what is Christmas if not kissing the wrong person under the mistletoe?”

With that, he captured the Captain’s lips.

It didn’t feel wrong at all.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts christmas special #my fic #the Captain x Thomas Thorne #yep #I did it again #it started out as a pwp #but it took a sudden turn into pg town #I just want Thomas to be kissed OK?#preferably by the Captain #I need it!

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