i will NOT pick fights with my group members i will not i will not and i will ESPECIALLY not pick fights with the girl who’s both one of the leaders of the project and who i’ll probably be coworkers with next year i will have patience i am so chill and fine and secure and confident not at all going to explode

SERENDIPITY.

(n), beautiful accidents turning out in beautiful journeys.

Nothing to explain, just Vampire!harry.

Smut, Smut and Smut.

Masterlist , Let's talk about more vampire H!

Author's Note: This's me just testing waters with my fantasy writing skills. It got deleted at first and I had to write everything again with fat sad tears. Tried my best hope ya'll like it. Reblogs are always appreciated and I kinda deserve it for this one *sheepishly*

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back.

Or

Y/N interrupts Harry amidst his meal and ends up him clinging to her.

Kittens. One hell of the beasty creatures they're. You'd give them your heart but they'll prefer their two hours sleep over it. Such type of beasty wee landed Y/N into such situation. She's been searching for Meowsie her cat for fifteen minutes now when she heard a feeble cry of an animal. The tall trees with it's roots snatching at soil - the moon at it's peek. Gasping she crouches down for the rescue of a deer with it's fur wrenched in blood. 

When she does so her eyes struck at the sleekness of a pair of loafers stubbing yellow leaves under it. A groan of annoyance whirling in air and gulping she rakes her eyes to find a tall, swiney man staring down at her in offence like she disturbed him. 

He's gorgeous. Features that of greek sculpture with silk kissing it, eyes –well she can't figure them out in her fear. "Who're ye'!?" He snarls and she toppled back on her bum with a squeak, "Aish. should be asking you the same." She shuts her eyelids. He thinks she's very stupid for leisuring in an abnomished forest at this hour of night when every creature's ready to strangle her alive. 

"Who're you?" She emphasizes each word grabbing the broken branch and pointing it towards him mustering some courage not letting her brave cascade waver. 

His first instinct was to say that he's vegan. But, why should he when he's not. He doesn't like lying. 

He steps from under the shadows of trees rims glimmering under the beautiful moonlight, "Could be anythin' ye'r little brain's been thinkin' of." He smirks towering her and scrambles back. Her facial expressions blown out more from the fright he's causing. 

Poor little thing. 

Before, he could fill in her curiosity his prey escapes into darkness gaining his attention. He growls throwing his head at his shoulders — Harry isn't that of tantrum throwing person (a practice of one hundred year has taught him that bitterness brings you nothing) but he's been devastatingly hungry and the feeding clubs grossed him out. 

The smell of grinding bodies, sweat and the combination of different human's blood makes him sick to core rubbing his appetite away. He's bored of them. 

Her sweet glazing auroma calls him to trap her and take a succulent bite out of her but before that she benefited the opportunity running away from him exiting the dark forest only to find Meowsie snuggling inside her bed. 

"You batty creature!" She huffs, "No wonder I'd be found – dead one day because of you." 

With whoever; she bumped in the forest wasn't human at all Y/N thinks. 

.                                  .                                .

She's been fighting her sweet tooth for so long but it's not helping her. She muttered a fuck it before lecturing Meowsie, "No sneaking." When Meowsie meowed bobbing her head she cheered, "Good baby." Like a proud momma. 

It was success. Reaching the nearest store and buying the oreo yogurt to savour it immediately. When she strolled outside gloomy vibe hit her causing her nerves to shudder winter chillness freezing her toes.

The cup hits the pavement and she emits a loud scream as a brutal force rams her in a brick wall. 

A groan of pain rumbling in her chest and she shuts her eyes as a shadowy demon creeps up her calves agonisingly trying to pop her in two. 

Counting on her death when it screeches in horrifying noises being ripped into bits and pieces mercilessly. When she squints her eyes open she finds the mossy jade eyes peering down at her more pissed than he was in the forest, "do ya humans don't sleep at night? Or are ye' a mouse that steals good-ys at night?" He traps her head with his hands on either side of wall and she grumbles at his insult of calling her human. But isn't it what she is? A human? 

"I -- don't be mean." She pouts hissing at the dull ache in her legs and he sighs voice getting gentler, "Can ye' walk?" When she nods he scoffs with a thick accent lips quirking and nose scrunching. He wanted to leave her at it but the scared look on her tightened his chest and he felt his responsibility to walk her home safe and invest if she got hurt. 

"No you can't!" He winds his arms around her encouraging her to put all of her weight on his side as he walks her. "Who're you. And how did ya do that?" She asks with a timid voice. He doesn't want to scare her away but the truth's he's been keeping an eye on her for days. Muttering a curse to himself whenever she'd have her nightly visits without a care for herself. Silly human. 

"Harry." He replies without a care and if it wouldn't be for the pain she's feeling she'd have never let him inside her home. "I can't even eat my yogurt in peace 'cos of you Harry." She reproaches as he sits her on sofa taking her ankles and putting them over his knees. 

[That's how I felt when you interrupted my meal you little pesty thing he wanted to mutter but held back.] 

Taking out the potion Nana gave him that heals painful scars. 

"It'll hurt a bit little mouse." He murmurs pulling out the cork of bubble shaped bottle she flinches, "Don't call me that!" Staring at the way her ripened gnashes disappears in beautiful spirals. "Then stop acting like a coward-y mouse." He stands up looking down at her slumpy with sleep. He shushed her, "'s okay. . ." with each dab feeling sorry for exposing her to his world and now the demon who was manifested without a precise spell thought they're co-related kept lingering around her and well he couldn't leave such an innocent girl to be harmed by evils.

"Not gonna tuck ye' in bed, now." He stands up chin doubling raising his hands in defence albeit he's privy for such actions. Too domestically affectionate for him. 

"Please." She doesn't want to be here on uncomfortable sofa and wants to snuggle inside her blankets. "Fine." He rolls his eyes not giving heed to the angelic details of her home for that it'll create a soft spot in his heart for her. 

His body swimming in her scent once stepping inside her room and he tucks her under quilts grabbing Meowsie akwardly and putting her beside Y/N so she could cuddle with her. He stares her for time and Y/N doesn't hear door shutting and he's out of her bleary vision in a tick 

.                                  .                           . 

White swarms over the crimson in hues with yummy smell spreading everywhere along with the waves of Y/N melodic hum. Meowsie tries to rip the muffin batter and Y/N smacks her paw away ending up having a standoff stare competition with her in the kitchen. 

She literally heard her saying mean mommy. 

Y/N thoughts are all over the place. All she could think of is his's stupid beautiful face and they way his gentle touch made her feel floffy from muscles. He shouldn't pesk her like that. The white chocolate chip pops and she was about to see if they were done when a rasp crawled in her ear making her jump and causing the pyrx bowl to hit the oak counter, "Been thinkin' of meh, lil mouse?" 

"What the fuck. Harry!" She spins sending him into fits of laughter with squeaky scream.

"Not funny. Don't you guys not go somewhere unless invited?" She gasps putting her hand atop her heart and Harry's eyes follows her commotion, "'course we do. Got some manners 'n shite." He scoffs with cupid bow quirked up and nose scrunched. 

"Then where are your manners now?" He smirks at that leaning at her level, "You manifested me s' hard it broke rules." Heat splashes on her cheeks and she notices the intricate details of his features finding them dull and sick than his prior glow. She gasps in shock taking his hands leading him to sofa and sitting him with a push to his shoulders. 

"God. You look terrible what happened?" He gives out a smile at her care throwing his head into headboard cushions, as she scrambles back to kitchen to take out muffins from oven she asks worriedly proper concerned for his health, "Would you like something?" 

A warm mug of delicious bubbling blood thank you very much.

He wanted to mutter but his throat went dry from the headache making him all dizzy. He's been death starving for days now cause his appetite seems to vanish and tongue wouldn't accept any kind of blood since the day he smelled the gush of crimson running inside her veins. 

"Can I bite you?" He regrets the moment it slipped from his tongue. Y/N doesn't seem to mind instead mulls about it for a moment putting two warm hot cocoa milk and red velvet muffins on the lil coffee table. 

"Will it keep you alive?" When Harry closed his eyes in gentle affirmation she cranes her neck to side like she has seen in many movies. "Okay. Go then." He smiles weakly taking her fingers ever so tenderly in his hold and ushering her in his lap. 

"If you wouldn't mind — it'll be more comfortable like this. ." She just nods knees bended on either side of his thighs and his mouth waters at her appetizing sweet smell. He rakes his nose along the curve of her neck swearing that she's made of puddle of how soft her skin's. His senses wrecking havoc as his fangs glistens at the surface grazing against the barrier of her sensitive spot. 

"Aa-a!" She cries out and He pulls her back anxiously brows kinking, "Didn't even bit yet." 

"Surprised is all." She confesses shyly and Harry shakes his head with a silly smile letting her fist the hem of his shirt tight as he wrapped his arm around her waist smushing her closer to him and keeping her head in one place stopping her from squirming..

"Ticklish baby mouse ye're." Saying this he pushes his fangs into her flesh and she created a mousey noise head lulling. He gives out a moan-y growl at the taste of first droplet hitting his tongue. He doesn't think he could stop from now on. She tastes like the nectar birds of heaven could feed on. 

His body coming to life. Inners feeling fresh as ever again. 

She feels float-y. Like taking a nap over clouds and letting the zephyr cocoon her and she stuffs her face in the crook of his neck breathing him happily with a loopy smile.

This's oddly satisfying and calming. He wants to take care of her. She's a beacon he always wants to keep protected from the storm. He gasps feeling himself nourished all over again after days of starvation. Lapping at the shiny drops of what's left making her giggle and he could easily recognize that smell. Of her arousal. 

She's all worked up in his embrace snuggling closer to him. He has been in this position with many people before but once they serve his purpose they'd been walked away to take care of.

"Don't go lost on me little mouse y'need to eat somethin'." He settles her over his thigh taking the mug and muffins. 

Tearing it in two and bringing it to her mouth as she lays her head against his shoulder. He sighs happily feeling full as she nibbled slowly, "Thank you." He wipes the crumbs from the corner of her lips feeling the petalness of them and wondering what he shouldn't be wondering at all. "'S okay." She quips with cracky voice making Harry chuckle and sipping onto his own warm milk.

.                                  .                               .

Harry didn't know a human could attract him like a magnet to metal. She manifested him once and now he's always at her cosy home, he likes the radiance of sunshine that promises from her presence. They watch movies till the clock doesn't strike six in the morning, have secret rendezvous hidden from the eye of normal people at the places Y/N has never been, he has his weekly bites from her and in return brings her every Oscar Wilde's books from his shelf. 

Biting her's the most pleasing yet excruciating part because the way she melts like a honey over him like she depends on him and the sweet smell of her wetness that billows in the room makes Harry gripe at her sides, sometimes drinking more than her petite body could handle. He feels awful after that. 

Cuddles her to sleep and makes the walnut pie he learned from his Nana which apparently is a witch (she isn't actually his grandma — he has long forgotten about his real family). 

Harry took her to the vampires museum and when her marshmallow lips baubled in astonishment at the wings of Angels displaying on the burgundy wall. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist the whole time eyeing anyone that would look towards her weirdly (humans aren't allowed at vampire premises, but who dares to point a finger at Harry? No one.) One of the reasons he hugged her in a smushing coddling suffocating way to lather his scent all over her leaving her flustered and confused. Y/N has finally met someone that shares the same sleeping schedule as her insomniac ass. "We better leave before they hang me angel here too." His breath was hot against her neck running shivers down her spine. 

His words carrying amiability and seductivity causing Y/N to gape at him. Did he just call her his Angel? He definitely did. Annoying leech that's fucking up with Y/N's emotions. 

They didn't talk about it at all after that. 

Harry did with Nana. Freaking out to her how his emotions are always spiraling for her. That he wants her all to himself. Wants to feel her in ways that's beyond just the touch. Nana just laughed it off and made him eat his coconut pie. He almost choked on his bite. Adam apple bobbing in pain when she cleared to him – that; The they indeed have bonded to eachother. 

Her blood runs inside him. His marks are on the most precious spot of her body. Where lovers claim their affection — how could he not feel like that towards her? She's sure that Y/N also feels the same for Harry. 

Harry was getting done with some cluster of work when a stab of pain invaded his whole body prickling uncomfortably against his skin. Something's up. He could feel in his bones that his little mouse's not okay. When he goes her home he's met by pure silence making him more anxious than he already is.

He picks Meowsie from the floor rubbing her crown as he steps inside her bedroom. She's layered under many fold blankets in her bed shrinked into a pea and her head perks up when Harry's voice reaches her, "Angel. . ." She throws everything aside tackling him to mattress making him squeak.

He smiles petting her hair as she purrs against his chest fisting the hem of his shirt tightly. "One of those days?" He asks genuinely not stopping his gentle action and she bobs her head  vigorously bottom lip wobbling, "Oh my little mouse – c'mere what happened?" His gaze flitting between her's as he cups her cheeks squishing them adorably. 

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back, "Then can I bite you?" She just wants to distract herself from the unbearable headche of her history course. 

He chuckles breathily at that sighing because could he say no to her? No. He smiles down at her dimples denting in his cheeks, "Kay. Go then." She stuffs her face in the dip of his neck sniffing the marbled beach fragrance of him that of summers I'm December's cosiness. Her teeth grazing at the curve of his pale skin and Harry closes his eyes in anticipation. He feels intimidated by this little human being like no other. His little human.

Her teeth grazing against his cold skin and Harry almost whined letting a moan slip his eyes rolling back into his sockets as she bites him. His hands on her ass twitching to grope at the flesh when his cock stirred with her heat leaking against it. She creates sweet filthy noises succling the mark and "Enough." Harry cleared his throat and the haze in his head bounding her wrists between them pulling pulling her away looking at her sternly when she whines. 

"Baby. . talk to me." He caresses her cheek with his knuckles but she ignores his words floating in her all headspace staring the mark she created. Tracing the beautiful hue of love bite with her fingers, "How did it feel?" Harry's eyes flutter with charming smile as he kissed the hand which's not busy memorizing him. 

"Like a lil mouse ticklin'" She leans at that kissing her work of art, giving wet little sweet kisses up his jaw palms running down his midriff as she whispered. 

"This?" Her hips stuttering with his swell sitting delicious between her panty clad pussy lips, she peers up at him from her under her lashes as her lips rested against the corner of his pillowy full mouth. 

"And this?" Test of his patience. "Like I've never felt before." Saying. He smudges his lips against her's in a succulent, sweet and affectionate kiss. Lapping tenderly with his pink wet tongue at her mouth to deepen the kiss squishing her cheeks in the process. Swallowing her whimpers and whines down his throat like she's most precious. She humps his bulging cock with erotic swivels of her hips and Harry griped at her sides to leave blue blemishes in some hours.

He closes his eyes still smiling foolishly resting his temple against her's – noses doing eskimo kisses. 

"Can we talk now, what's disturbing my angel?" He tucks her hair back kissing her forehead and she bobs her head embarrassed at her tantrums. "It's silly. 'M gonna fail my history exam." His eyes twinkle, "Just havocin' your brain for this?" 

"No worries. I gotcha."

. . .

This's how they ended up like this surrounded by notes and papers. Harry complaining with an unbelievable scuff, "What do they teach ye' kids now days? That didn't happen at all in history." Still ending up helping her with learning which ended up him giving her his slender fingers fucking her with them to let her work for her reward.

"No pet. Wrong answer." He tutted eyes still on the quiz card and it's the sight for sore eyes. She cramps her thighs around his wrist and he curled his fingers rubbing her walls in return as a warning, "Come on lil mouse ye' right there." He leans from the edge of his chair to snatch a chaste kiss from her parted ones.

"189-5?" She mewls not sure of her answer and Harry again pressed his lips against her's murmuring against them driving a third finger inside her and rubbing her clit in circles with his thumb, "such an intelligent girl. doin' s' good fo' me – wanna cum?" He bites at her earlobe gripping the quiz cards tightly.

"Yes. Please‐" He cuts her off taking his digits out making her whine and squirm loudly. Sage coloured panties clearly drenched in her slickness as Harry licks her sweet juices like a hungry kitten from his fingers wrapping his magenta lips till his knuckles — if it's a lollipop humming around them vulgarly.

"Harry No!" She huffs making grabby hands at him and he squeezes her bossom thigh to push her down, "Harry yes. Now -- tell me babe where Buddhism originated from?" He wets the pad of his thumb nonchalantly eyeing her playfully and Y/N just wants to kiss that pink pretty tongue as he turned the page around.

She grabs his hand moving them closer to her swollen pussy head falling at his mere graze, "Please." He gives love nibbles at her cheek flickering her clit to tease her.

"What baby?" He murmurs gliding them up and down her slit causing her to rock her pelvis against his touch his freezing fingers adding upto sensation. "Want your fingers." She gasped breathily because before her request Harry was stuffing her back with his fingers massaging the sweet shell of her g-spot.

Her tummy coiling with pleasure and she threw her arms around his neck parted lips pressing against his throat, "Last quiz and then ye' can come all over me fingers." He tells her pinching her thighs. His cock weeping in his pants. The world around them deafening to glitter noises and Harry puts his chin atop her shoulder raising the card infront of her shoulder as she thrashed in his arms.

It was for his last criss-cross of swipe when she gushed all over him with noises that stroked Harry's ego and this time he gave her a hickey coaxing her orgasm from her high, "Hmh. S' warm I could stay inside ye' forever." A sugary smooching voice echoes in room when he kissed the spot between her ear and neck.

Y/N thinks Harry has successfully made a nest in her heart.

. . .

They were flopped over quilts in her bed moon glowing happily in love with them together and Y/N turned in his arms admiring each glimmer of his skin with an awestruck puppy eyes, "You're such an Angel. . .so pretty." He chuckles softly bringing her closer to her chest to hear her heartbeats.

"People think otherwise my mouse." He gives out a 'oof' sound giggling when she climbed up his torso heels of palms pressing against his pecks. "You're for me resting in the depths of ye'r skin — that went through love and sorrows, nourishment and pains until god decided you were meant to be mine. . ." She sucks in a breath cupping his beautiful face to lull it side to side. Harry could bite her whole made of petals and honeycomb she is. He stares her zoning out for a moment.

"Sorry. But seeing ye' with my bites makes me s' hard. . ." He whispers. "Bite me again then." She nuzzles in the crook of his neck pressing her wet crotch down against his hard dick pressing against his zipper.

"So polite and carin'." He grins smacking kisses against the thin skin of her shoulder reaching the mark that's still pudgy and purple. She moans getting him out with shaky fingers and kissing him heatedly in full vigour making slick filthy noises. He slaps her bottom ripping her panties to throw them carefully rubbing his weeping blushed head in between her clenching pussy lips to smudge their arousals.

Whimpers of bliss whirling in air when he slipped inside her slick cunt filling her to brim his balls pressed against her bum, "Fuck. Just how I imagined — tight 'n snug. I love ye'r cunt baby." He gritted grinding his pelvis against her's in slow teasing motion hitting one spot continuously.

"Feels good. . ." She cries softly thighs quivering by his sides and he wrapped his hand around the nape of her to bring her down for another passionate kiss, "Would ye' bond to meh? Huh - lemme cum inside ye'r pretty pussy? Make it mine?" He mumbled wet-ly against her lips sucking her lower one to make it all plump and pinkish.

"Make me yours." She gives out a squeaky whimperish moan when at her words he licked his mark biting it. Her walls creamping around his cock to feel each, ridge and thick vein and she turned a loopy butterfly in his arms.

"Ye' can't cum unless I give ye' permission and I've had plenty to drink. . ." He growls grabbing her jaw eyes turning oyrx and she wipes her own blood from his mouth to press her thumb against his tongue letting him suck. Now, she doesn't have one mark only it's plenty that of flowers scattered on canvas.

He stretches his legs wide toes curling holding her down from her hips to fuck into her with rough mind forging thrusts, "Yes!" Y/N whispers with hoarse throat that she hasn't spoken from months.

"Cum fo' me. Over me cock baby wants to feel ye' Angel." He moans fondling her breasts in his large calloused palms smauching kisses at very skin he could find to shower his love to. Y/N comes a wave of shiver running from her soles to head as she just created noises straight out of porn.

Her creaming around him. Warm and slick cum dribbling down his balls didn't last Harry too. He came inside her in thick spurts of ribbons leaving blueprints at her arse.

They remained like this for some moments. Cacooned into eachother breathing eachother Harry memorizing her to memorize the memory he could never forget and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand.

He lays her on bed gently slipping out of her shushing her with pecks on mouth when she whined from sensitivity, "Gonna take care of ye' little mouse." He bends her knees kissing them stroking the insides of her shivering thighs to calm her down taking his discarded boxer from side.

"Want you to squeeze baby -— I came alot." She does as he said and he cleans her with his clothe showering her in kisses and praises.

Running a steamy bath with essential lavender and rose oils and bathe salts. Resting her between his legs to feel her skin everytime against his skin.

"I love you. Gonna keep ye' forever." He whispers in the silence of night and she smiled with fuzzy heart. Feeling good and fluttery. "I love you too."

Shrugging she retorts playfully, "I'd be all old and wrinkly but you'd be still this gorgeous now that's unfairrrrr." He just laughs at her cuteness creating obnoxious kissing noises while kissing her face.

"Gross." She mutters bashfully eyeing him and he fake offends tickling her sides causing the water splash from rims, "Wasn't gross when I was fucking your brains out—" She tries to smack him in between laughters.

"Heyyyy."

Late beginnings

Summary: Mac goes out for a drink, and happens upon some advice he takes into consideration about his skewered relationship with Wukong. Before finally taking some action to mend the long burnt bridge. (Author’s note: I barely did any beta reading for this so if it’s worded strangely that’s just how I write without the normal filter on. I’m country so HOWDY) Next Page ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The night was late, but he didn’t care, he might as well have been nocturnal with the way his whole life revolved around the whole stereotype of shadows and shit. He’d walked into a bar he’d passed through a few times before, donning his human disguise of course beforehand, and walked in without sparing anyone else a glance. Before planting his rear in one of the stools seated at the front bar, ordering a drink to get the night started. “I’m really looking forward to seeing that new Monkey King movie with the trailer they just released. You saw it too right?? The whole style of the film is on par with their most recent game- OH, you think they’re gonna make a game of it?? I bet you they wiiiill!~” Ugh, great, just what he’d come here to avoid.

Mac’s eyes glanced to the blabbermouth boasting about whatever new movie was being made about his ex, to see two girls residing a ways down near the other end of the bar a few seats away from him. Both looking to have had a fair night themselves already if any of the cups and plates hanging around their spot was anything to go by. “Probably. I hope it’s better than last game that came out on the Brick 360, the bugs in that thing were gross to deal with.” Their friend commented back. Before looking down at their phone and claiming that it was getting late and that they had to go. “Yeah I’ll see ya Monday!” The chick waved their friend off a lazy farewell after they’d paid their bill before going back to their drink, now taking less tedious sips as the mood seemed to smooth out from their conversation prior. “I see someone’s a pretty big fan of that ol’ man.” Macaque piped up from where he sat, earning the attention of the stranger he’d directed his comment towards. “The Monkey King yeah?” Sparks danced in the chick’s eyes at the recognition of the name, before the stranger perked up and beamed a smile back at him, “You betcha! I’m a total nerd for that legend.” ‘A legend, hah.’ “S’the whole reason I moved to China in the first place.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest, “All the way from America!” Mac whistled, “That’s a pretty far leap to take, even for a legend. What, you hopin’ you’ll get the chance to see em’ or somethin’?” He sneered, taking his glass and lazily swirling it in his hand. “I wish!” She laughed, “Nah I mostly just moved here for work. If anything though it’s cuz a them for where I am now. I’d never even heard of him till about five years ago!” Mac blinked, lowering his drink from his lips, “You’re joking…”

“Not at all! No one hardly knows the story back home. Only reason I found out was cuz I just started gettin’ into anything monkey-related as a hobby.” She pointed at him, “Don’t laugh either, it’s a wildly popular standpoint to have these days online.” Mac quirked a brow at that, he’d hardly touched the internet these days save for whenever he needed some quick info on something he couldn’t find elsewhere. He held his hands up, “Hey I ain’t judging…” He smirked a little to betray the look that he totally was though. It was kinda funny how ironic it was him being there right then. She squinted at him, “Anyways...Yeah, I’d seen stuff of him online, but I’d never paid much attention to it up until recently.” “What made you change your mind?” Mac boredly probed, taking a sip. She simply shrugged, “I was in a dark headspace, guy made me laugh.” He paused, “Wait, seriously??” “I mean have you HEARD half the crazy shit he’s done??” ‘Babe I’ve LIVED through half the shit he’s done.’ “Like, literally, the guy is HILARIOUS. My favorite story out of them all being one where he literally tricked THREE taoist immortals into drinking his own piss!!” She burst out laughing while Mac choked on his drink a little, not having expected to hear that of all things. Sure he’d heard a few of the shenanigan’s his peaches had gotten up to throughout his journey to the west but he’d never heard that one before. Nor had he the patience to read through all that mess of context that had been published either. “Ahhh man, it still gets me…” The chick sighed with a few leftover laughs as she wiped a tear from her eye. “What about you? What’s your favorite story?” She asked. And suddenly Mac felt like he’d been put on the spot as he stared back at her. “Come ooon, surely there’s one that’s gotten your gut rolling.” She pried. ‘Plenty, but there ain’t no way in hell I’d tell a soul.’ “Bahh...there ain’t the first one that comes to mind that I’d like. Honestly I’m not even much of a fan.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Whaaat?? Aw come on! There’s tons of cool n’ funny stories!” “Heh..can’t imagine what you find so charming about a guy who’s too good for his own friends.” Mac spitefully twacked himself mentally for spewing something so personal like that out. Ugh, and he hadn’t even finished half his drink yet… The chick sitting to his left seemed to tilt her head a little before she squinted at him. Her silence being what brought his attention from his drink to her as he blinked back with a quirked brow. “What?” “Your eyes, they’re like raging storm clouds.” She pointed out. He blinked, not really sure how to feel about that. The only one who’d ever really pointed that out to him before was… “...So?” “Nothing!...” She shrugged, turning back away towards her own drink as if no conversation at all had happened between them. Whatever...he had his fill of shit to drink to either way. The night might’ve been late but he was just getting started. “He makes me laugh though.” She pointed out, earning her a glance. “All his stories n’ stuff. If there was ever a man I’d want, it’d be one who could always make me laugh.” “Hmph, not one for strength?” He took a long sip. Ignoring the bitterness of others fawning over someone he’d come to love before he’d gotten so popular. “Strength is fine n’ all, but it can only take a relationship so far..you gotta have more pieces to put in that crockpot of a relationship if you wanna make it taste good. Stuff like patience, honesty, a little bit of everything to help it all come together to make it juuuuust right.” “Hm…” “It can’t be all just you putting the stuff in there either, it’s gotta be a contribution from both gardens. Otherwise you’ll just barren your lands and be left with nothing to spare yourself or others in your life with.” She glanced at Mac, “Relationships are tricky like that, but they should always be a 50/50 split~” She winked. That...actually sounded like pretty sound advice. Something he’d heard a little here and there before but never so simply laid out. Though it made sense from his standpoint, fairness n’ all that. But he’d been that way with Wukong before and it had never worked out, all the bickering and such, so what had gone wrong? “Can I...ask you something?” Mac inquired. “Shoot.” “What’re your thoughts on..a relationship that seemed fine, but then the other changed so much that everything about it fell apart?” “Mmm...care to sprinkle in a lil more context?” The chick eyed him. Mac’s face scrunched up a little, no idea why he was asking some random mortal for relationship advice of all things. “Hey man. We’re both probably never gonna meet again after tonight, so if you’ve got skeletons in your closet, your best place to let em’ out is here. Bartenders are known for being the most well kept secret keepers in all the world after all~” She winked at the bartender in question who simply looked the other way with a look that might’ve suggested such a fact as truth. “Hm…” Ah screw it, “Alright alright…” He sighed and put his drink down, “There’s..someone. We used to be real close, we were strong together but then uh..shit got real and he had to go deal with it. But when he came back he uh, wasn’t the same as before, an I might’ve sorta assumed he was cheating on me so…so we kinda fell out.” The chick nodded, “Ahh..the classic misunderstanding of change and cheating, a tale as old as time.” She seemed to hum a moment before she turned from where she was seated, if not to hop down off her stool and plop down on the one right up next to him. “Uh-” “Shhh, lemme see those eyes.” She squinted, leaning in and staring deep into his. It’d would’ve been really unnerving if she hadn’t said anything about them before, now he was a lil put off that he might’ve been asking a witch of all things for advice… “Right. Well, at least you feel bad about it. So there’s that.” He blinked and his brows furrowed, “Wh- of course I feel bad about it, it was his fault-” He suddenly had a finger pressed to his lips. “Nope! Nooononono, you do not get to throw all the blame elsewhere like that sweetheart. There ain’t no way in hell you’re gettin’ a second chance with them if you keep that up.” She pulled her hands back. His face scrunched up and he found himself crossing his arms, if he had his tail out it would’ve been irritably swaying behind him right then at just how annoyed he was getting at this weird lady and her words. “Oh yeah? An what do you think’s best then huh?” “I dunno if you’d be up for that kinda challenge…” She idly fiddled with an imaginative piece of lint off her sleeve, which only seemed to irritate Mac further at the thought of him not being able to handle Wukong of all people. Like sure he’d gotten his ass handed to him before but he could still hold his own! “Try me.” The chick glanced back at him with a smirk, which caught him off guard for a second before he shot her a glare back. “Alright, but it’s definitely not gonna be as quick or easygoing of a recovery as you might hope it’ll be. Nor is there even a chance of you recovering it in the first place. But, you at least got that spark enough to try so who am I to deny?” ‘Hmpt, dam right I got a spark.’

“First of all, no more blaming, if you’re gonna tackle this properly, you gotta do yourselves a favor an quit it with the blame placing. Sure it’s easy, but it ain’t gonna get you nowhere but back to square one. It’s all in the past, the now is now. So push forward to fix it and put it behind you two so you can focus on the more important things.” “Easier said than done…” “Hey man, even if they don’t follow the same ruleset at first you could always work things out to make it one later on. I’m just tellin’ ya right now so you won’t just go diggin’ yourself a deeper hole.” Honestly at this point he was pretty much six feet down under, death to him would’ve been a mercy right then. “Fine…” He rolled his eyes. “Next up, apologizing…” -----------~----------- “I thought I told you to stay off my island.” Mac didn’t really glance back from where he stood high up on one of the breathtaking ledges that which Flower Fruit Mountain bolstered. His arms crossed, eyes sternly held against the leftover warmth of the late afternoon sun as it shifted the skies hues from blue to blood red. Hopefully that would be the only tinge of red the Mountain would see after today. “I know.” “What, no witty remark? Give me one good reason-” “I just wanted to talk.” Mac stated plainly. “Why the hell should I give you the chance?” “...” Mac wasn’t sure if he could come up with a good enough reason after the shitshow he’d caused him the last few centuries, most recent being his spat with him between MK. “I’m sorry.” That seemed to catch the king off guard, as he paused in his vicious glare to stare at the other. “Excuse me??” “I’m.Sorry.” Mac turned finally to Wukong, that look of fiery malice having softened immensely upon meeting their eyes. “I was wrong for what I did and I’m sorry.” Wukong’s face looked like it had had a stroke with how frozen in place it was, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hurting everyone around you just to get back at you, I was wrong for doing that. And I just wanted to apologize.” Mac’s face twisted a little, the words coming out a little rougher than he’d liked, but he’d managed to get three steps in so far… “If you think a few sorry’s are gonna be enough to make up for all that crap then you gotta nother’ thing comin Mac.” Wukong finally shook off the surprise and crossed his arms with a steely gaze. “Nah I know they ain’t worth shit with as long as it's been...which it’s been..a really, really long time come to think of it..nearly 3000 years…” Fucking yikes. “What’s your point?...” Wukong raised a brow at him. “My point is...my point..” What was his point? To make amends and hope they’d get back together? To go back to the way things were? That couldn’t be done with the way things were now. Wukong had a successor, a moral compass, a lotta shit that Mac didn’t. A lotta shit that he wanted but never could figure out how to get his own. His face scrunched up a little and he sighed, “I..just wanted to make things right.” “Oh-hoh? After so long you finally decided to admit you were at fault? Sorry Mac, but it’s waaaay too late for that.” Wukong huffed, “Honestly, this is probably just another one of your stupid tricks if anything. The old Macaque would never throw himself down like that.” “Well maybe I’ve changed!” Mac exclaimed suddenly, his temper flaring a bit as his eyes flashed lightning. “3000 years later? As if…” Wukong rolled his eyes and turned away, “You’ve still got that same look in your eyes you always do whenever we fight. Do me a favor and just keep away from the hot springs this time yeah? The last time you were here you sent a whole dam boulder over there and smashed half the pools.” He waved his hand dismissively. “And I happen to take my once a month bath’s very seriously.” Mac’s nostrils flared a little at just how flamboyant Wukong was acting towards him and his attempt to make amends. How he just saw his attempt as a joke and nothing more, it pissed him off. Wukong had changed and everyone had accepted him, well not everyone, but still, why couldn’t the same be for him? Had he really fooled himself into believing that there was a chance he and Wukong could be together again? His shoulders slumped a little. Of course, who was he kidding. A 3000 year old pit of grudges wasn’t about to just up and disappear at the wave of a white flag. This was Wukong, the same guy who still playfully pestered the gods and demons around him for past conflicts that had happened between them. -----------~----------- “But you can’t just go, ‘ooo I’m so sorry for what I did.’ Nah, you gotta follow the five steps.” The chick claimed. “Yeesh, this a learning course now?” Mac tilted his head to the side. “It is if you wanna make things right.” She claimed matter a factly. “The five steps have never failed me before and have worked wonders for any an all my relationships. Might not quite have the same range of effect you’re going for but it’ll at least be a good start.” “Heh, you got the guts to back up that case?” Mac sneered. “I will if you don’t manage to screw it up.” The chick pointed out. “The five steps go as follows.” - express sorrow (I’m sorry) - own guilt (I was wrong) - name specific wrongs (I did X) - name impact (I hurt you) “And finally...” -----------~----------- “What can I do to prove myself to you?” Macaque asked finally. “What can I do to at least make it to where we can..not fight anymore..and just talk?...” Wukong stood there for a long moment, his features unreadable as their silence was muffled by the wind bellowing between them both from being so high up. “You really are serious about this aren’t you?...” Wukong’s head shifted ever so slightly, but not enough to where Mac could get a reading on his emotions. “I’m tired of fighting and waiting and thinking that if enough time passes things’ll go back to the way they were...when they never will. Trying to hurt you isn’t gonna make the old you come back, no matter how many times you beat me down...It’ll never be the same.” Mac admitted finally. A quiet gust settled down between them, before Wukong seemed to let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. “Can’t believe it took me 3000 years to beat the sense into you.” He turned and looked back at the other, where he no longer held a look of seething hate, but more akin to that of the same tired look just as the one Mac wore. Mac felt a sliver of guilt wriggle its way into one of the cracks of his heart and he glanced away, pulling a hand back and scratching his head. “Yeah well...your kid hit me pretty hard last time, enough to knock it in place.” A small smile crept a little onto his face. “Hm~ He’s gettin’ pretty good at hittin’ stuff with that old stick.” Wukong’s eyes glinted a little at the appeal of how proud he was for MK having taken Mac out the way he did. A little over the top and flashy, just like him.” “He’s got a pretty strong master to thank for that…” Mac found himself yearning a little for that same glint to be reflected on his memory the same way as MK’s. Not that he couldn’t see himself holding the same appeal for MK the way Wukong did, kid was strong, just a lil desperate in some of the cracks that shaped his outline. Something Macaque found that was easy enough to take advantage of, and something Wukong held a blind eye to. “Hm.” Wukong’s reply pushed him out of those thoughts for the moment as they shared a brief look between one another. A glimmer of reconsideration flashing between the two before Wukong finally turned his head away to drink in the sunset before them. “One chance.” Mac felt his heart nearly stop at that answer. “I’ll give you one chance, but if you screw this up, don’t even think about showing your face to me again.” Wukong replied, “I mean it this time…” Mac swallowed a little and nodded. Anything, he’d be willing to do anything to gain back what little trust he could from Wukong. “Good...you can start making up for it by apologizing to MK.” Mac blinked and sputtered a little as Wukong turned away and began to make his way back down the mountain. A smile playing on his lips while Macaque groaned to the heavens about his next trial.

i ain’t gonna face no defeat

in which alex was a figure skater.

word count: 2,916

some willex, juke if you squint

tw: occasional swearing, period-typical homophobic parents (q word is used as a slur exactly once)

———

“Cut off my circulation even more, why don’t you?” Alex grumbles, grabbing his arm away from his sister.

She rolls her eyes and nudges him as he adjusts the arm band. “Hey, feel lucky you’re even doing this. I don’t think Mom and Dad actually realize what you’re skating to.”

Alex hesitates and sucks on his teeth. “You think they’ll be mad?”

“Oh, they’ll be livid,” she deadpans, then smiles softly. “But they can’t stop you.” She gives him a pat on the shoulder as he leans over to pull on his boot covers. “I’m gonna head to the bleachers. Break a leg!”

Alex calls after her, not looking up, “That’s only for theater and you know it, Mel!”

A few minutes later, he’s called to the boards, and he can’t shake off his damn jitters. He knows he’ll be fine once the music starts, but right now his skate guard won’t come off and he really has to pee all of a sudden and oh my god why is he wearing a tank top when it’s so fucking cold—

Alex steps onto the ice, and the announcer calls his name while he glides into a stretch before taking his beginning pose. He ignores the way his arm, raised in a fist, is shaking while the beginning harmonies start to play, and he skates.

•••

Alex began figure skating when he was six. It was an odd situation, really; he didn’t care about doing it one way or another, and he would’ve been fine with not doing it since his parents would always say it was a girl’s sport. His little sister, Melanie, however, wanted to skate so badly, but with her being the four-year-old she was, she was terrified of doing it alone. Begrudgingly, his parents signed him up for lessons alongside her.

Much to their dismay, he was good. Like, really fucking good. He landed his first single jump after only two years, and his first axel after six. He managed to get height in a way that his coach’s other skaters didn’t; maybe it was the inner pent up anxiety making him bounce like a jumping bean, who knows.

Alex wasn’t just good at jumps, either; he got his Y-spin after four years. He was that kid on the ice who accidentally cut people off with an impeccable spiral. When he practiced his programs, the other kids would move towards the boards to give him room and sneak a glance.

As much as Alex liked the attention from his peers (god, that support system was something else), he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that his parents never sat in on his sessions. They would only ever come to the shows and competitions his sister was a part of; he had to find his own ride to the others (thank god for Bobby's parents, honestly). It had made him angry at first that they didn’t want to be involved, but as he grew older, and learned more about himself, he realized he could use it to his advantage. He could skate to anything he wanted.

Alex was 13 when he chose to skate to Somebody to Love. To anyone else, it was very unassuming, just another kid skating to a popular song at the time, maybe even a tribute, since Freddie himself had passed two months before. It was everything to Alex, though. He pulled out all of the stops; his costume was the whole armband and wifebeater getup, and his coach let him assist in choreographing it.

He didn't know it was his last program.

•••

"Hey, Alex?"

He looks up from his math homework and hums in recognition.

Mel bites her lip and leans against the doorframe before mumbling, "I wanna quit."

Quit? Shit, nonononono— "—nonononono, Mel, you can't quit! If you quit, they're gonna make me quit!"

She closes the door softly behind her and walks slowly up to him. "Alex, the only reason I've been skating for the past year was so you could keep doing it. I'm really sick of skating at this point, and I wanna switch to something else. I'll keep going if you really, really want me to, but—" She sits next to him on his bed, lowering her voice to a whisper, "You saw how they reacted to the recital, 'Lex. You think they might make you quit anyway?"

Alex sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. She's right, he knows she's right. It just fucking sucks.

He tilts his head back. "You can quit," he whispers.

Mel places her hand on his and squeezes, whispering back, "I'm sorry." Alex looks back down at her. "I really with there was something we could do, but there isn't," she continues, recollecting her hand. "At least your last program was a good one."

He gives her a sad chuckle. "Yeah, I guess so. And, I'll have more time to focus on the band. Luke'll be happy about that."

Mel rolls her eyes, takes a breath, and leaves Alex to his own devices with a pitying look.

If she hears him practicing the beat to Somebody to Love in the basement the night she officially quits, she doesn't say anything.

•••

"Julie, what are you doing up there?"

Julie throws a shoe over the wall of the loft and into the evergrowing pile on the floor. "Cleaning out all of your old junk. Which one of you had a magician phase?" she asks, holding up a cheap, ratty top hat and matching plastic wand. "It was Reggie, wasn't it?"

Alex chuckles to himself, poofing up next to Julie. "Why do you think he knew who Caleb was when we met him?"

Julie lets out a loud laugh, continuing her digging. "Are the other guys here?"

"Nah, they're looking for a gig. I just got back from the park," Alex answers.

“Just the park?” Julie asks sarcastically, and before Alex can retort, she adds on, standing up straight, “Hey, whose skates are these?”

She’s holding his old figure skates in her right hand.

The black fabric is a little faded, with the familiar scuffs still on the toe. His dark blue skate guards are all dusty, but the blades still somehow look intact, given there wasn’t much opportunity for water damage in a loft.

Alex scratches the back of his neck, ignoring the rising blush in his cheeks and bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. “Those, uh, those are mine, actually.”

Julie looks up from the boots at him in awe. “Whoa, you skated? That’s so cool!”

Alex drops his hand, mouth open in hesitation. “Really? It’s not... weird to you?”

He can recall a tight grip on his arm, firmer than the band that had been ripped off. "Alex, what made you think it was okay to pull off this kind of stunt? You don't want people thinking you're some kind of queer, do you? Why we've let you continue this is beyond me, it isn’t any good for you.”

“Why would it be weird?” Julie asks, quirking her head to the side in such a Julie way that Alex would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so worried.

He shrugs, shuffling his feet from side to side, and mumbles with a wince, “I don’t know, because I’m a guy and figure skating is like, a girly sport, I guess?”

Julie shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed with a soft smile on her face. “First off, it’s not inherently girly, and second, if it’s something that you enjoyed, then that’s what matters, right?”

“I guess so,” Alex replies, looking down at his sneakers. Is that all that matters, though? He pauses for a moment in debate, then adds on at Julie’s encouraging expression, “My parents made me quit when I was fourteen.” He takes a breath. “They were never that involved in it, though, they actually only let me because my sister did it. I, uh, after I skated to a Queen song in a full Freddie Mercury getup, they weren’t too happy, and made me quit.”

At some point in his spiel, Julie had put her hand on his shoulder, and now she was squeezing it before pulling him into a hug. “Your parents are stupid,” she mumbled into his chest.

Alex chuckles, something emotionless, a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah. They were.”

Julie pulls away with a gasp, a bright smile on her face. “We should all go skating this weekend! The public rink just opened up a couple weeks ago, and I can bring Flynn so it doesn’t look like I’m talking to myself—” she falters, cutting herself off, “I mean, if you’re cool with it. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Alex thinks back to his many (many) practice sessions, and remembers the feeling of finally getting that move right, of flying in the air for that one glorious millisecond, of seeing some of his closest friends every other day. He misses it, of course he misses it. It was his biggest outlet before he focused all of his attention on drumming. But, he can’t help but feel that stupid fucking guilt clawing at his throat, can’t help but imagine oh, so clearly the look of betrayal on his mother’s face the night he came out.

Then again, he had lived the rest of his life out of spite of his parents. Why not keep it going?

“That sounds really fun,” he replies, pulling her back in. “Thank you.”

•••

A world sans Caleb was a new one to Willie. However, it was also a very welcome one, because it was in this world that he was able to just relax with Alex in the studio, enjoying every second they spend together without worrying about the time running out.

Which is why he was (reasonably) surprised when the time ran out.

They throw Alex an impressively offended look as he removed his arm from behind their shoulder. “What?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Willie scoffed.

Alex chuckles to himself, pressing his lips into a line. "As much as I would love to stay here and cuddle with you—" At that, Willie's face goes bright red, and Alex counts it as a win in his head, "—the band and I are going ice skating when Flynn gets here, which should be in about five minutes."

"Oh," Willie's face brightens as they reply, "sounds fun!"

Alex winces. "Yeah, making sure Luke doesn't accidentally become tangible and run over a seven-year-old while playing human bowling on the ice with Reggie is super fun." Willie laughs something golden in response, and Alex only hesitates for a moment before adding on, "Uh- actually, would you want to come with us?"

Willie grows soft, still getting used to finally being included, but quickly schools his expression before replying, "Yeah, I'd love to! Though, fair warning, I'm kind of only good at the one kind of skating?"

Alex quickly scrunches his nose. "That's fine, I'll help you," he offers, slowly untangling himself from Willie.

Willie isn't sure how much help he's really gonna be, but they figure even an amateur would be better than whatever the fuck kind of Bambi creature he is on the ice, so they nod and pull Alex up by his hand off the couch.

•••

They arrived to the rink a few minutes ago, and while Julie and Flynn are buying their rental skates and Luke, Reggie, and Willie attempt to steal some without being noticed, Alex laces up his own skates by himself on an open bench.

It isn't until after he yanks the last bow that he realizes— putting on those skates should not have been that easy.

Yeah, their clothes are usually easy to put on, and they can summon their instruments any time they want, but touching anything else usually takes an immense amount of focus. Hell, the dahlia pin Julie had bought Luke for his guitar strap took five tries to actually hook on rather than just drop to the ground.

And yet, his skates just— went on? Laced up with no problem? His foot didn't go through the sole even once? He wiggles his toes around inside the boot, and only feels the familiar push of fabric against them.

He decides not to question it, to not think about the implications of his skates possibly being attached to his soul, and tries to avoid yet another afterlife crisis as they walk toward the boards. Or, at least, he walks, while Luke just bolts onto the ice with no hesitation, and Reggie quickly follows. Alex falls back behind Julie and Flynn, who step onto the ice and begin gliding around, and Willie somehow finds their way next to him, grabbing onto his hand. They make it to the door, and Willie lets go with a small nudge to the shoulder. "Alright, hotdog, show me what you've got," he jokes.

Alex lets out a small laugh and steps out onto the ice, a weird feeling of deja-vu settling into his nonexistent bones. Once he gathers his bearings, he glides along before maneuvering closer to the middle of the ice and pulling himself into a scratch spin. It takes him a minute to really center the spin, but with the phantom tingling of blood rushing to the tips of his fingers before he pulls in completely, suddenly it's 1990 and he's doing his Lacrimosa program and he wants to try to land every jump he's ever learned, even though he knows that trying his axel right now is a horrible idea, and—

He's exited the spin now, looking back at the door to see Willie about a foot away from it, gripping the wall with a concerning amount of intensity, an odd combination of fear, shock, and something else (awe, maybe?) coming to rest on their face. He skates back over, and Willie's expression doesn't seem to change. "You—" they swallow, "—you can skate."

Alex slides his feet back and forth, his arms behind his back. "Yeah, I figure skated for eight years, actually. Did, did I not mention that?" he asks, smirking a little, knowing damn well he very much never mentioned that.

Willie closes his eyes, sucks on his teeth, and takes a breath, getting over their minor bluescreen moment. "Help me?"

"In order for me to help you, you need to let go of the boards," Alex responds. Willie looks at the boards, then back at him, eyebrows furrowed. "It'll hurt a lot more falling into two flat surfaces rather than one," Alex reasons, and Willie hesitates before finally letting go.

"There we go," Alex says softly, taking both of Willie's hands in his. He begins to slowly pull them along, not caring about passing through lifers, while Willie's feet slip and slide beneath him. Alex tries his hardest not to laugh, and Willie quips, "I thought I was supposed to be the athletic one."

Alex scoffs, "Who told you that? Are you the one lugging around an entire drumset every weekend?" At Willie's laugh, Alex tacks on, "I didn't think so."

They make a full lap around the rink before Alex lets go, having to prevent Luke and Reggie from pulling on some little girl’s milk boxes to make her go faster, because no, that’s not how physics works, and yes, people will notice, Luke.

After, Willie moves to get off at the boards, and Alex pulls a disappointed pout. Willie just motions toward the ice, saying, "I know you didn't just come here to pull me around the whole time, I wanna see your turns and stuff."

Alex hesitates, "But I don't want to leave you here by yourself—"

He’s cut off by a familiar harmony playing in the background, and Luke and Reggie poof by his side in an instant. Alex barely has any time to register it before Reggie is putting a hand on his shoulder and Luke is asking if he’s okay.

And Alex doesn’t know how to answer that right away, if he’s being honest. At first, he thinks he might not be, because all he remembers is scolding, leaving, hiding, but he reminds himself it’s 2020 and he’s a ghost; that his parents are as involved in what was left of his life now as they were when he came out— not at all. The feeling of freedom starts to envelope him; the same freedom as when he danced with Dirty Candy at Eat ‘n’ Beats, the same freedom as when he played the drums at the Orpheum, and the same freedom he had before his last recital. He takes a deep breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” Alex replies, trying to hide his newfound itching to just get back out there.

Reggie drops his hand from his shoulder with a smile; meanwhile, Luke catches notice of Julie and Flynn starting a mini snow fight, to which he immediately races over and shouts, “I want in!” Reggie just shrugs and poofs over. Whether to stop him or join, the world may never know.

Alex rolls his eyes at his friends’ antics and looks back over at Willie, anxious energy seemingly radiating off of him— except, not as it usually does; now it was more excitement than anything else.

“Go show off, Alex,” Willie says, shooting him away with a smile.

Alex unsuccessfully tries to suppress the overwhelming giddy feeling that rises in his chest, and he skates. Again.

Finally.

[like today]

ao3

Dean wakes up without a weight on his chest.

He stretches on his bed, rolls on his stomach and smiles into his pillow that smells of fresh laundry. He feels comforted by his room, and the simplest event of finding his slippers right next to his bed.

On an off day like today, he usually puts on his robe and makes his way down the chilly hallways with only the sound of his steps and the faint buzzing of the generator for company.

Some days, like today, Cas is already in the kitchen. Dean makes eggs while he sits at the table munching on cereals. It’s just a habit he picked up from Jack; he can’t really tell what they taste like. Dean used to snap at the kid for the constant crunching in his ears so early in the morning - now he’s used to it. He sits across from Cas and eats his breakfast.

Every other day, Sam walks in and wants to talk about a weird dream he had and what it could mean. Rowena tells him he’s got a gift he needs to learn to control, but Dean is not sure there’s much to interpret about a cart full of expired food. Sometimes Sam talks about a case he heard about or an article he read.

Some days he says there’s case not too far from there, and he’s thinking of going ahead, check it out, see if it’s something up their alley. Some days Dean even agrees to let him go alone without putting up a fuss.

*

Today, Sam leaves and Dean asks Cas, “You sticking around for this one?” – back turned, eyes down, hands busy. Sometimes he doesn’t feel brave enough to do that either, so he just goes back to his room and hopes to find him there when he returns.

He makes his bed, carefully smooths out all the creases. He takes a long hot shower, humming a song he got stuck in his head, styles his hair, puts on some clean clothes.

Then he goes to the map room where Cas is usually squinting at Dean’s laptop screen. Not too long ago, he used to knock on his door and ask, “May I borrow your laptop?”; now Dean just leaves it around, and Cas doesn’t ask anymore. Dean doesn’t mind.

It’s curious – he uses only three fingers as he types, one index of his left hand and the index and middle finger of his right hand. Dean had been about to bring it up to Sam one time, but then he thought of all the things Cas knew about him and never mentioned and decided to keep this one about Cas for himself.

While they research, they’re quiet for the most part. Some days, the table between them is covered in books, in pizza boxes, in weapons, in blood. Some days, they argue and storm off and some days, Cas makes Dean laugh and Dean makes Cas do that face that Dean likes.

If he's had a long night, sometimes Dean dozes off with his head on his hand and his gaze in Cas’ general direction. Bitter thoughts drift him away, like, how Cas probably shouldn’t be there, and how this was never a place for an angel.

A titan of the sky, confined in a human body, squeezed on a chair in an underground box. How his skin must prickle, and his wings long to be stretched. How long it will be before he won’t take it anymore.

Dean doesn't like those days. He gets snappy and irritable and Cas leaves and it makes everything worse.

Most days though, like today, he looks like he's exactly where he's supposed to be and when he meets his eyes across the table, maybe even exactly where he wants to be.

Sometimes Dean relaxes a little too much and he’s woken up by the sound of the coffee mug Cas puts down next to the book he fell asleep on. His brain register a looming presence and his insticts tell him to jerk away, but before that can happen, there’s Cas’ hand on his shoulder, heavy and familiar.

Dean heart slows down, he sits up and drinks his coffee.

*

Today is peaceful, but Dean feels a little more alive, like on those blue early mornings on the road that make you regret stepping out of your car without a jacket and the smell of gasoline filling your nostrils seems stronger than it’s ever been.

Dean opens up the police scanner on Sam’s laptop and checks his texts. Most days there’s one from Jody who just wants to check in, like she’s patroling outside of their bunker. Today there’s one from Claire, replying to a text he sent her the night before.

you on a job?, he asked

no, just finished one, is what she wrote back.

He writes, come by for the w/e. Then adds, he wants to see you and sends attached a picture of Cas that he snaps on the spot without him noticing.

A few seconds later Claire writes back, just admit you miss me. And right after, ok. And then again, kaia wants burgers.

Dean grins and shots back, just admit you love my cooking

She sends a rolling-my-eyes emoji. Dean snorts and Cas looks up.

“Claire and Kaia are spending the weekend,” he explains.

"Good," Cas smiles and then says, “You should make burgers. She loves them.”

*

Some days Sam calls and says there’s nothing for them, and some days he calls and says there’s something for them.

Today Cas is typing away and Dean has just sat down with a fresh cup of coffee when Sam calls and it’s something.

Dean is not too bothered. Outside the weather is bad, but the place it’s nearby, the job seems easy and they can be home in time for dinner. And if they hit the traffic, well, Cas will be there. They will be fine.

He will roll down his window a little even if it rains and Dean will turn the radio on, and a familiar track will start in just the perfect spot, right before the chorus, and Dean will sing along quietly, tapping his fingers on the wheel, under the grey and the wet and Cas’ gaze, curious and slightly amused.

*

Cas asks again if they have everything, like he’s packing for a kid going to summer camp (Dean tells him), and takes one of the duffel bags from Dean’s hand without asking, and walks past him, like he’s used to carry Dean’s clothes and weapons. “Do you have your snack for the road?,” he asks, climbing the iron stairs and Dean stops in his track, glosses over the snarky suggestion that he’s the kid going to summer camp in the scenario, and instead actually wonders if he’s got time to run to the kitchen real quick, but then he shrugs, shoulders his bag and says “We’ll stop along the way.”

They can stop along the way, like they sometimes do. He will get a hot bagel and Cas will down half his coffee, and they will stand right outside the store, where they can’t get wet but they can breathe and hear the rain. And Cas will say – well, Dean can never anticipate what Cas is going to say, but that’s the good part.

*

Dean tells him to wait for him outside as he brings the car around but when he does, Cas is not there. Dean turns off the engine just as the first raindrops hit, hit, hit the windshield. Today there’s something different, he feels, in the familiar, comforting smell of the Impala, something fresh, new, something that whispers to him that he’s got the whole day ahead and all the time in the world after that.

By the time Cas gets out of the metal door, rain is falling heavily all over the roof and Dean feels nowhere on Earth, surrounded by water. Dean doesn’t hear the door shutting, but spots the blurry silhouette of a trench-coated figure approaching. He turns the key in the ignition and as the lights go up, he’s on Earth again.

Cas is unbothered by the rain, as he is unbothered by most natural events. He takes his time opening up the backseat door to toss the duffel bag in, before slipping in the passenger seat, trenchcoat soaked, hair dripping and raindrops running down his cheeks. Dean’s lips quirk up. Cas says, “I had forgotten a book.”

Dean doesn’t care. He says, “You should dry your hair,” but Cas shrugs, “There’s no need.”

Dean reaches towards the backseat to take a t-shirt out of his bag. He throws it on Cas’ head and starts rubbing his hair and he's so startled that for a moment just lets him.

“Dean,” he complains then and pushes his arms away, “I’m not a child,” he says. His face is red and his hair wild. Dean counters his annoyed look with a grin, “What?” he says.

Cas shakes his head, “Can we go now?”

But Dean is not ready yet. Sometimes, when he's alone with Cas like this, he feels something grip his insides and tug at him to say something.

He usually wants to say, I’m glad you’re here, but today he also wants to say, we could let Sam handle this one and just go for a ride, we could stop only when we get out from under the clouds and we could watch the rain from a distance and we'll be standing in the light, and if we’re lucky it won’t be too cold but if it is, who cares? You won’t be bothered by that and I won’t be bothered by that either cause you’ll be there, he wants to say aren’t we lucky? aren’t we lucky that you’re with me and I’m with you right now? and I have this feeling swelling in my chest, I don’t know what it is.

And I wish everyday was like this, exactly like this, but I’m not sure what this is.

But when Cas’s expression blends into confusion and he blinks, “Dean?”, he shakes his head.

They’re fine. With the whole day ahead and their whole lives after that. He feels like tomorrow he can have anything, but today – he likes today just the way it is.

“Just thinking,” he says, starting the car and taking the road, “Having a good day, is all.”

With the corner of his eye he can see Cas dubiously looking out at the pouring rain and back at him.

Dean meets his eyes and gives him a smile to see if he can prompt one in return without saying anything.

Cas’ lips twitch for a moment and then he smiles back.

_

*about Sam's dream: to my knowledge expired food in dreams mean unfinished business and stuff of the past we carry with us (sorry sammy i thought it was fitting - i had the same dream if that's any consolation)

Never Satisfied [Chapter 3]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“I can’t tell if this is a date or a debt collection“

“So where do you want to eat?” Corpse murmurs, sitting in the same car with the same girl he’d been in only a few days ago. His seatbelt clicks and he tilts his head to peer at her from his peripheral vision. She’s buckling up and getting settled in the passenger seat where no one but her has sat in for months. His cheeks turn pink when she turns to look at him, catching him staring which brings a grin to her face. 

“I’m buying you food, bud, you pick.” She answers simply, leaning back in the old seat. 

Corpse sits frozen for a minute or two as he contemplates what the best option would be. 

Nowhere? Could I get away with that though? 

His anxiety is starting to creep up again - the dark demon of his existence. The everpresent rain cloud over the parade of his life. 

What if I make myself look like an idiot. What if I picked something she doesn’t like? Would she think I’m weird? What if whatever I get makes me sick and I end up embarrassing myself! 

Wait, she’s a klepto. What if she robs me?!

“If you can’t think of a place, there’s a little bistro about ten minutes down West Colt avenue that has some pretty bangin’ Greek food.” She suggests calmly, taking his silence as indecisiveness. She’s good at picking up subtle cues, he’s thankful for that. She seems to easily be able to get along with anyone despite her wild personality. She may have a wild spirit, but she’s got the ability to tame it when needed. She’s the only one with that power from what it seems. 

Corpse takes a moment, nods and puts his car into drive to head in the directions she mentioned.

He isn’t completely sure how she’s perceived his indecisiveness though, which is bothering him - was she annoyed by it and wanted to put an end to it or was she just trying to be helpful and prevent him from getting himself worked up? His mind spirals so easily, he hates it. Even in a calm and casual - ok, as casual as it’s gonna get with this girl - scenario, his head is spinning with nothing but the worst outcomes and possibilities. That’s anxiety for ya, it’s a fucking bitch. Either way he appreciates her stepping in like that, saved him quite the bus load of anxious pondering, so the least he can do is offer her a quick smile. 

Don’t make it weird, Corpse!, he scolds himself.

She’s looking out the passenger side window, fingers tapping calmly and rhythmically against her knee, seemingly not bothered by the loud silence in the vehicle. He, however, is not so at peace with it. He’s usually the one to enjoy silences, unless he finds himself in these kinds of situations - in-closed space with another person. He tries to ask himself what would other people do to put an end to the quiet that feels almost like a physical presence. Small talk? That’s one thing he’s never been good at. Music? That’s the key here, however he can’t be sure how to properly use it to his advantage. He can’t just play whatever and expect it to be fine. He appreciates taste in people - he knows he’d be mildly offended if people didn’t respect his taste, that’s why he always pays attention to the favors of others. Especially when it comes to music. 

That’s why, before turning the car radio on, he pauses to ask: “What kind of m-“

“Anything. Really.” She says quickly, cutting him off mid-question before laughing in a certain way Corpse can’t quite place...nervously? Could that be it? That’s a sound he never expected he’d hear from her. Is that feeling even in her specter of emotions? Her? Nervous? - sounds more impossible than him being confident. 

 “Anything?” He’s curious now. She’s managed to intrigue him so easily. He smirks, switching from the radio over to the CD he has placed in the stereo. It’s a compilation of several bands he enjoys listening to, songs that help relax and soothe him. Bonus points for the effect they have on his anxiety - they always manage to suppress it even the slightest bit. Many of his favorites are on there, a lot of genre mixing as well: rap, punk, industrial. But there are also a few mellows on there, even a couple foreign songs that she might not have heard before. 

Much to his relief, a little glow appears in her eyes at the sound of the tunes that fill the car, burning brighter than the reflection of the midday sun that’s already present in them, “I’ve always loved music...haven’t found anything I don’t like.” She tells him, voice traveling softly as she closes her eyes for a moment before opening them and allowing her grin to widen, “So...my choker, huh? Thought it suited ya?”

Corpse laughs a little, low and timid as the car comes to a slow stop at a red light. “I thought it was mine, I swear.” He admits, shrugging slightly. “I go by a C name on the internet so…thought it was a product of my bullshit sentimentality or a shopping spree I can’t recall.” He swallows hard, contemplating whether mentioning he’s online was a bad move or not.

 Luckily, she doesn’t  seem to have acknowledged it, as she promptly speaks up again, “You do look good in a collar, you have that bad dog kind of vibe. If it didn’t have such sentimental value I would’ve let you keep it.” She laughs, a sound so light, almost like a glow you can see more than a voice you can hear. It’s contagious too and he can’t help but chuckle with her, blushing again. 

“You would look good in one too I bet.” He says but cringes right as the words leave his mouth. He’s quick to regret what he has said, his tongue burning with a bitter taste as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and clenches his jaw. 

Fuck! Stupid! Stupid! Why the fuck would you say something like that?? She’s going to think you’re a fucking creepy pervert who’s imagin-

Corpse’s mental anguish is put to an abrupt pause as something warm covers the fingers of his right hand. He lets his tunnel vision focus on his hand to find hers curled over it. 

“Hey…you still with me?” She asks carefully, thumb touching one of his rings. “You don’t have to worry about offending me. It takes a lot to do that, if you can’t tell. Besides, you seem pretty cool and you’re not a narc so that’s a huge plus.” She squeezes his hand before wiggling her fingers under his palm and pulling it from the steering wheel so their fingers could intertwine. “If you need it, you can always grab my hand any time and squeeze until you don’t feel nervous. Although, you never need to be nervous around me. Consider me your personal human safety blanket. Or a….what to call it?... - A checkpoint! If everything or everyone else makes you anxious, I’m your checkpoint person where that anxiety should evaporate. Sounds good?”

Corpse stares at this literal stranger in his car. A stranger holding his hand and promising to be there for him when his anxiety overwhelms him. Letting him rely on her whenever his chest tightens or his heart speeds up. He feels so much while looking at the sight she is. Gratitude and confusion take over though. “Why would...you-..” He attempts to mutter, but she’s quick to cut him off yet again.

“Because I know what it’s like to be anxious and I wish I had somebody to help me when I was feeling that storm in me.” She replies, shrugging her shoulders with nonchalance and gives his palm another gentle and encouraging squeeze. “Even if this is a one time hang out sesh between strangers, you can count on me until we go our separate ways.” Confidence radiates from her like waves of warmth and safety. 

Her aura’s reaching out to his, offering him reassurance and comfort. And so, he decides to accept.

Corpse finally brings himself to squeeze her hand back. “-...thanks.” He murmurs, lips quirking up in a smile. 

But I don’t want this to be a one time thing…I might actually have a friend. I may have just clicked with someone like I haven’t in so long. 

She releases his hand so he could continue driving, nodding her head as if to tell him she’s still there despite the loss of contact, reassuring him that he could reestablish that contact whenever he’d like or need to. 

He now feels more comfortable in the car, more relaxed than he can even remember. Music plays from the speakers but it’s overpowered by their voices singing along to the songs they recognize. Corpse can’t help but note she sounds nice, singing like that - so carelessly. She’s by no means a Utada Hikaru, or a Mariah Carey but she knows how to hold a tune and he can appreciate that. He’s no BONES either after all.

He doesn’t want this drive to end, he doesn’t want this bubble of comfort and leisure to burst. He rarely gets the luxury of finding himself in a state like this one so peaceful yet so chaotic. So familiar despite him not having experienced it before. It all feels so natural despite how out of place it is. It’s so many things contradicting each other and it’s beautiful to him. It’s comfort, it’s happiness. It’s the absence of anxiety - a feeling he wants to enjoy for as long as possible. He has Cora to thank for this, for managing in less than a full day of knowing him what people who’ve known him for years haven’t been able to do. He’s aware that this is temporary, this car ride can’t last forever and neither can this outing. But he knows that when they step out of this car, when they leave this bubble, her hand will still be within his reach. And when this hang-out sesh is over, he’ll be able to make another one happen. There is always this big step of overcoming his anxiety he has to face whenever he wants to invite people within his proximity and in his life, but with her, that step disappears. It’s erased from existence by the simple touch of her fingers. The oddly powerful grip of her small, gentle hand. 

Corpse is not one to believe in fate, but there are some things that are inevitable. Things that are special and always happen with a reason and a message. He’s not blind either - he knows what he’s got here, with her, falls in that category of special.

@fockingwhore  @vixenl  @annshit  @wineandionysus

The Lioness and the King - Part 1

*In honor of Leonie getting her God-tier art, I finally got off my ass and am writing that Leonie x Dimitri fanfic I promised!*

Please, let me know what you think of it!

Summary: When Leonie joined the Blue Lions it was primarily to keep a close eye on Byleth, her one-sided rival. Falling in love with the future King of Faerghus was not on her to-do list.

-

Leonie’s first impressions of the Blue Lions was... underwhelming to say the least. Not to say she didn’t like them, or they rubbed her the wrong way, but she could tell she was an intruder. Mercedes and Annette were joined at the hip, Sylvain, Ingrid and Felix had years of friendship behind them, and Dedue never left his majesties side.

Surprisingly, Ashe was the one she got on best with at first..

“You use Goose feathers to fletch your arrows?” she asked as the she and Ashe practiced on the archery range.

“Sure, what about you?” he asked, loosing an arrow. It landed nearly dead center and Leonie’s competitive side preened as she saw it was just a hair further away than her own.

“Whatever I can get my hands on. Duck, mainly, but I like falcon,” she explained, nocking another one.

Ashe nodded. “Yeah. After Lonato adopted me I could try out lots of different feathers, but Goose works best for me.

Leonie felt her mouth quirk in annoyance. That was another thing she recognized as a gap between her and the Lions. The wealth gap between them. She knew that Mercedes’ family had fallen on hard times, and Ashe had been born in poverty, but still, all of them had known a level of wealth and privilege that she could only ever dream of. The only exception was probably Dedue, but the rest of them probably didn’t actually have to worry about money.

Ah well. The price we pay for competition.

Speaking of, the object of her competitive verve was on the other end of the training ground with Felix, sparring.

Byleth Eisner, the son she didn’t know that her teacher had. Truth be told... he unnerved her. That blank, emotionless face that only ever seemed to curl into annoyance. He never flinched, he never faltered, he moved with a grace that was positively unnatural.

She shivered. Sometimes she doubted he was human.

“Ah, Ingrid said I would find you too here!” said a cheerful voice. Leonie turned to See their House Leader, Dimitri.

“Aa-h! Y-Your Highness! You- you surprised me,” Cried Ashe, quickly bowing.

Dimitri flushed. “Ah- Ashe, I’ve told you, Dimitri is fine.”

“I- I’m sorry Your Highness. That’s- tha’s just too strange for me,” ashe was looking about, clearly looking for an escape.

“Hey, uh, Ashe, I think I left my spear in my dorm. I’m gonna go-” she began and Ashe cut her off.

“N-no no! I’ll go get it for you!” Ashe bowed to Dimitri once more and rushed off.

Dimitri blinked after him and turned to Leonie. “That was well done.”

Leonie shrugged, “Eh, I’ve wrangled worse.”

Dimitri cleared his throat. “I- uh, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am Prince Dimitri of Faerghus. And you’re our new House member, Leonie?”

She nodded, slinging her bow over her shoulder. “That’s me! And, uh, should I call you Your Highness or...”

Dimitri shook his head. “No, no! Like I told Ashe, Dimitri is fine.”

“Right, good to know Dimitri.”

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments. Leonie really had no idea what to say. She’d never met royalty before, Hell, The Alliance didn’t have a King at all. The Grand Duke might run things, but there was no “Divinely Chosen King” or any of that. Even the most stuck up of Nobles, Like Lorenz and his family, weren’t treated like that.

As it turned out, Dimitri broke the silence. “You are, uh, very skilled with that bow!” he said brightly.

Leonie immediately picked up. “Uh-huh. I’ve been hunting since I was a little girl, but Captain Jeralt taught me how to really shoot. Now I almost never miss.”

Dimitri nodded. “You think highly of the Captain.”

She beamed. “He’ the best there is. I hope to surpass him one day.”

“Of course,” said Dimitri good naturedly.

The clash of steel to the side signalled the end of Byleth and Felix’s sparring. As they left, Felix shot Dimitri one of the dirtiest looks Leonie had ever seen. ‘What was that about?!’ thought Leonie, alarmed. She turned to Dimitri, only to see an almost mournful look cross his face.

He shook it off a moment later. “Ah, nevermind that. Felix and I- well, we have problems of our own. I do not wish to bother you with them.”

‘Problem?’ thought Leonie, alarmed. ‘That wasn’t problems, that was borderline hatred!’ But before she could voice them, Dimitri bowed.

“I hate to impose, but I have a request to make,” he said. He gulped nervously. “Could you perhaps show me how you use the bow properly? I’ve attempted to learn but... I tend to break them by pulling to hard.”

Leonie blinked at the sudden change, but mentally shrugged to herself. Whatever was going down between Felix and Dimitri wasn’t her business.

“Sure, you can use the training bow Ashe was using,” she said, unslinging her own again. Dimitri beamed and grabbed the loose bow. 

“Now, first of all, the most important thing with the bow is-”

SNAP!

Leonie wheeled around to see that Dimitri had, in record time, managed to snap the bowstring. He gave a sheepish smile that was downright adorable, in her opinion. “Uh- I-... I’m sorry?”

Leonie blew out a breath. “Well, let’s start with the basics, judging draw strength.”

-

“Been training the boar, have you?” came the cold voice of Felix.

Leonie looked up from her essay. They were in the classroom, working on an essay on tactics. Ingrid had had to actually drag Felix in, much to the amusement of the rest of the class. Even the ever-stoic Professor had cracked a slight grin at that, or at least an upward mouth twitch.

But now Felix was lingering over her, most of the rest of the class either gone or chatting in private.

“Boar? You mean Dimitri?” she asked, confused.

Felix snorted. “Yes, the beast. You’ve been teaching him the bow?”

Leonie nodded, not sure where this was going. “Mainly how not to break them with one pull,” she said dryly.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “My advice? Stop. Or exercise caution. The Boar is dangerous. Let your guard down around him and he’ll gore you to death.”

Leonie balked at the vitriol in Felix’s voice. “Are... are we talking about the same person?”

Felix gave a bitter grin that looked more like a death rictus. “It’s a convincing disguise isn’t it? But that’s all it is, a disguise. The Boar is nothing but a savage beast. Sure, like any beast he can be affectionate, but he’ll rip your throat open without a second thought.”

Without another word Felix swept away, leaving an alarmed Leonie in his wake.

“Well... that was... something.” she said to herself. Inside, her mind was whirling. What the hell had Felix meant, a Boar? Dimitri had never been anything but kind and polite to her. What did Felix know? Or presume to know?

Uggh, she should have stuck with he Deer. Not nearly as much drama there.

Dimitri approached her, interrupting her thoughts. “Leonie! Are you finished?”

Leonie shook her head like a horse ridding itself of flies. “Pretty much. Up for another archery lesson?”

Dimitri beamed. “Indeed! I’ve been practicing, and I managed to pull the bow without breaking it.”

“Heh, that’s great. Maybe now you’ll be able to shoot an actual arrow.”

-

Let me know what you guys think! If you like it, I’ll continue, but you’ve got to let me know. I won’t bother if no one seems interested.

BTW, I’ve decided that Leonie and Dimitri’s ship name is Lion King.

We've Got Tonight - Ch 6

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

The next chapter is the last part. I'm truly sorry.

In case you missed it: Chapter 5 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 6

“Cas, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry, miss, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Agent Michael Jagger.” Castiel’s bewilderment is so endearing and familiar that Andy nearly loses her composure.

She grabs his hand, pulling him uncomfortably close, and she can see suspicion dawning amidst the confusion. She tows him to the back area of the restaurant, technically for staff only, but she doesn’t figure petty rules like that matter just now.

“Listen, Miss, you’ve shown interest in my partner and scheduled time to socialize with him later. While I do understand that you are traditionally attractive, I really-“

“I need you to listen, and then I need you to look. Do you understand?”

“Not even a little.”

“That’s okay, hun, neither do I.”

And then she tells him everything. He can only stare at her silently afterwards, his mouth working as if he’s lost the ability to speak.

“Read me, Castiel. You can see if I’m telling the truth. Hell, go deeper and see what I’m telling you. Please, it won’t hurt anything if I’m lying, and if I’m telling the truth, you and I can save them. Please, please, I’m literally begging you. Just look.”

Castiel gingerly slides his fingers into her hair until the heels of his hands are resting on her cheekbones and his thumbs rest on her temples. His eyes slide shut, his face going just a little slack, and then he’s there with her in the memories, memories that faded with the sunrise but seared themselves permanently on her brain the second she saw the three of them again. She knows the moment he sees his own death because his body convulses ever so slightly, but he holds on until the scene plays out and she takes her last breath in the dream.

His eyes snap open and unerringly find hers.

“How is this possible? Who are you?”

If she didn’t have those weeks of memories, she might be afraid of him right now.

“Cas, you know who I am. You saw me. I have no more idea why this is all happening than you, but we’ve got this second chance, and we have to take it.”

He eyes her cautiously, but his mistrust is beginning to fade. “I’ve been fooled before. You could be hiding something, I suppose, but...I don’t think you are.”

Relief floods over her, though a bitter tinge underlies the sweetness.

“You believe me?”

He nods reluctantly, his dry lips thinning unhappily. “I saw your plan. Are you certain this is what you want to do? Do you think it will work?”

“Well, Cas, you can see I don’t have the best track record with plans. Can you think of anything better that leaves the world intact and you, Sam, and Dean all standing?”

Even though she knows what his answer will be, her stomach still drops a little when he shakes his head.

“Yeah, me neither. It was worth a shot.”

He searches her face without suspicion this time, only a deep, genuine sorrow. “I wish I could have had those weeks with you, Andrea. In the vision, you were a good person to spend time with.”

“Call me Andy, Cas. I swear, I never could get you to call me Andy.”

“But your name tag-”

She cuts him off with a kiss to the cheek. She holds back everything else she wants to say to her friend-that-never-was. It wouldn’t make any sense to him now, on this side of their non-existent time together, and it wouldn't make either of them feel any better. She hands him a piece of torn paper from her order pad, this one larger than the one she gave Dean.

“Check the memories you read off me to be sure, but I remember the ritual starts at midnight tomorrow night. They took me from the Brass Monkey not long before then. You can investigate if you need to, but I would bet that they’ll be at the first address I gave you a few hours before then, say eight or nine o’clock, getting everything set up before they come to snatch me. You know what you and the guys will need to take them out; without my blood and the ritual, they’re still dangerous, but they’re only human. Tell Sam and Dean whatever you need to get them there, but...I don’t think you should tell them what you saw. I think everything would get too muddled, and we’d end up right back at the same crossroads with Crowley.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to still meet up with Dean tonight? What if-”

“Everything has happened the same way so far, Cas, down to Sam nagging Dean about vegetables. And I’ve got to give myself something,” she says, her laugh a little more desperate and hysterical than she intended. “I can’t just...Look, just give me this one night, okay? I think I deserve that. I think Dean deserves that.”

He glances from her to the scrap of paper in his hand. She notices that his lips move a little when he’s reading, and she thinks that little quirk suits him just fine.

“Why is there a second address?”

Thanking whatever higher power gave her this second chance and the ability to keep the fallen angel out of even a few of her thoughts, she turns away from Castiel, moving towards the sink to start on some dishes that someone has let pile up. She’s under enough strain right now that she can’t disguise her expression anymore, and she honestly doesn’t think she can handle the sadness in his eyes for one more second.

“I’m going to keep myself out of the way this time; I have no intention of starting another apocalypse. I’ll stay in tomorrow night and triple lock every entrance to my apartment until you tell Dean to call me and give me the all clear. That’s where you’ll find me when the job’s done. And, Cas?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at her with a tortured expression she never sees.

“Remember, we can’t leave any loose ends this time. That’s how you get more apocalypses.” ...

She’s ready and waiting for Dean when he walks in the bar. She can tell he’s taken a little effort with his appearance: his hair is freshly styled, he’s wearing a button-up that isn’t a flannel, and - wonder of wonders- he actually shaved. Having spent an extra minute or thirty on her own primping, she is pleased when his eyes go a little wide as they rake over her seated form.

“I already know I look good, but damned if you didn’t just make me feel edible,” she quips.

She is rewarded with the warmth of his smile as he takes the stool next to her. She’s pleased (but not surprised) when he brushes a kiss on her cheek in greeting. She sips her drink as he orders one of his own, and then they turn on their stools to survey the crowd. He leans a little closer to say something, and she hears him inhale when he gets near.

“You smell amazing. What is that?”

She grins behind her glass. Dean Winchester is not one to comment on a woman’s scent, at least, not in such an innocent, non-sexual way. And yet, both times around, he does just that.

“Lavender and clover blossoms from some boxes on my balcony. I clip some fresh bits sometimes and rub them on instead of perfume. Smells cleaner, less suffocating.”

“I like it.”

They talk about little nothings and nonsense for the next few minutes, favorite bands and movies and foods and anything she can think of just to listen to him talk, to experience him a little more. She doesn’t remember being able to make him laugh this much before, and she thinks maybe she’s doing just a little better time around.

“So, what’re you gonna wow me with?” he asks, gesturing towards the stage with his half-full glass.

“I was thinking ‘Making Love out of Nothing at All,’ but you could probably talk me into ‘Lonely Is the Night’ or even ‘All out of Love’ if you get me tipsy enough.”

He laughs, a bright, weightless sound that cracks her heart in half. She can’t help leaning in and kissing him then, and he leans right back, blissfully unaware of the burden she’s struggling more and more to hide. She pulls away, and he opens his mouth to say something, but she pecks him on the lips again just long enough to stop him speaking.

“You don’t. But you could.”

There’s that smile.

They sit in companionable silence for several songs, sipping their drinks and listening to the other singers. She’s just about to go put her first song request in when he looks over at her, freezing her utterly with one side-long glance.

“How long?”

She can’t have heard him right.

“I’m...I’m sorry?”

“How long have we got? Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, or can I keep you out later?”

Oh. Oh, God, Dean, why?

“You know what? I think I might actually go for some Bob Seger. Come help me pick one out.” ...

Chapter 7 (end)

To give without knowing (5/ ?)

word count: ~5k content warnings: mention of blood, sensory overload from potions, alcohol, brief mention of the possibility of drowning Read on AO3 previous / next

The noise reached Geralt before the inn was even in sight. Cheering. Clanking of mugs and the scratching of cutlery on plates. Shouting. And above all singing. Jaskier’s singing.

A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips even as his head was hammering from all the noise. With every step he took towards the inn it got louder, pressing down on him. Still he forced himself to go on.

By the sounds of it, Jaskier wasn’t exactly pacing their room anxiously in wait of Geralt’s return, but Geralt at least hoped that Jaskier would be happy to see him return from the hunt successfully.

Or maybe it was just Geralt who couldn’t wait to see Jaskier again.

The hunt itself hadn’t been harder or more dangerous than any other, but it had left Geralt feeling drained and exhausted. Any lonely. Always lonely.

Geralt was well aware that he had been the one to insist that Jaskier should stay back at the village and he didn’t regret that decision, but trudging back on his own while the world was too loud and too sharp around him and black blood was splattered on him, he had enough time to think. About how when he brought the young woman he had saved back to her lover, she had been embraced and her lover had pressed kisses into her hair.

No one would ever be there to greet Geralt like this.

And that was alright. He didn’t need hugs and kisses. He had Jaskier. Even if his friend wasn’t truly waiting for him. The thought of his presence was enough to make Geralt’s heart skip a beat and his feet carry him back to him faster.

He knew he shouldn’t hurry like this. He should at least wait until the blood had dried enough to get the worst of it off and for the blackness of his eyes to recede.

As it was, all he did was pull the hood of his cloak deeper into his face and slump his shoulders as if that could make him look less menacing.

It was a valiant effort doomed to fail. 

As soon as he pushed the door of the inn open, eyes turned to him and the cheering quieted down to hushed whispers. Geralt should have been thankful for the lack of audible assault as his head was already bursting from the noise, but all he could think of as more and more smiles dropped and voices died out was that there was one voice still going, strong and unafraid and beautiful. Jaskier’s voice.

He was still singing, uncaring of the way his audience didn’t pay any attention to him anymore, as it should have. He didn’t waver, his voice didn’t take on a bitter note as Geralt took away what should have been his.

Geralt had wanted to keep his hood up and his head down and get through this room as fast as possible. It was too crowded. The smell of alcohol, sweat and food was too much. Everything was. If he stayed in here any longer, he would snap, burst, collapse. Every second worsened that pressure in his head. He should leave. He couldn’t risk these people witness him losing control and becoming a snarling and cowering mess when he couldn’t handle the sensations any longer.

But he couldn’t resist, couldn’t leave without at least looking up at Jaskier.  

Black eyes met blue ones.

Without meaning to, Geralt froze to the spot. Jaskier’s eyes were always blue, always warm and always breath-taking. But now, as Cat made Geralt’s eyes more hideous than ever, Jaskier’s eyes looked brighter, bluer, more beautiful.

For a heartbeat Jaskier held his gaze, before his eyes left Geralt’s face to rake over his body, taking in every part of him without faltering in his song describing Geralt’s supposed heroics. A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine and goosebumps erupted on his arms.

Then Jaskier’s eyes found his again, a question in them as Jaskier cocked his head to the side.

Geralt understood and he gave a nod so small that no one but Jaskier would have noticed.

Yes, that simple gesture said, I am alright. You needn’t worry.

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his voice became brighter somehow.

Something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. He wanted nothing more than to stay and watch Jaskier. Like this, with Jaskier singing despite the lack of applause and appreciative eyes Geralt could almost let himself believe that Jaskier was singing only for him.

But that wasn’t true. Jaskier thrived at the attention and praise of others and as long as Geralt was in the room with him he wouldn’t get that, not to the extent that he deserved, even though over the course of his song more and more eyes turned back to Jaskier, giving Geralt a chance to slip away.

Tearing his eyes away from Jaskier, he made his way to the back of the taproom where stairs were leading up. Once he made it to his and Jaskier’s room, he shut the door and leaned against it heavily. His head dropped back until it touched the cool wood. It wasn’t enough to shut the world out. It wasn’t enough to ground himself against the onslaught of sensations still coming at him.

He could still hear the sounds from downstairs. He closed his eyes and listened as Jaskier changed from his jaunty tune to a more subdued song, slow and soft and soothing. No cheers and banging on tables accompanied the music.

A shallow breath left Geralt and he forced his muscles to relax. It took him longer than it should to gather the strength to push himself off the door, take off his armour and start washing the blood away.

When a soft knock on the door announced Jaskier’s return, Geralt’s eyes had almost gone back to their normal colour. Not that the unnatural yellow was much better than the black.

“Can I come in?” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt’s pulse spiked up and his throat was too tight to reply. After swallowing thickly, he opened the door for Jaskier. Despite how often Jaskier had already seen him like this, despite the lack of fear he had shown down in the taproom, Geralt still felt a spike of fear shoot through him any time Jaskier bore witness to just how little human was left in Geralt.

Yet as Jaskier let out a relieved breath and slipped into the room as if Geralt wasn’t a threat, the fear subsided as it always did.

Geralt didn’t argue when Jaskier took the cloth he had used to watch himself away from him and started to gently dap at the scratches Geralt had gotten from the fight. Jaskier worked quietly and in concentration – a stark contrast to his usual lack of focus and need to make himself seen.

His barely-there touches were just enough to ground Geralt. Anything more than that would have made the headache flare back to life, and yet Geralt couldn’t help but wish for more, for the touches to linger, for them to be given as a sign of affection instead of just a necessity.

But he was lucky to receive even this much from Jaskier. He shouldn’t ask for more. So he didn’t.

When the pulsing pressure against his temples finally subsided and the colours and noises around him lost their sharp edge, Geralt was the first to speak, giving a vague comment about how Jaskier’s earlier performance had appeared successful.

Jaskier’s face lit up and Geralt felt a pang through his chest when he pulled away.

“It was! It’s been so long since I had an audience so appreciative.” His mouth quirked into a smirk. “Try telling me again that those fae gifts don’t bring luck. I had a wonderful audience, you barely got hurt and by the looks of that bag of coins you have there, the alderman wasn’t too stingy either.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. It really had been a good day. Better still, since he was back with Jaskier.

“Why don’t we celebrate this streak of luck?” Jaskier asked with shining eyes. “It’s been too long since we just took some time for ourselves without worrying about monsters or coin.”

Geralt’s stomach swooped and he was all but ready to jump at the opportunity to watch Jaskier have fun, laugh and maybe lean against Geralt as he joked. But even the thought of going back down to where people would be staring at him unabashedly and shoot him dirty looks was enough to give him pause.

Geralt’s hesitation must have shown on his face for Jaskier’s brows knitted together in contemplation. “Ah, I see,” he said quietly.

Geralt swallowed harshly. “No, it’s fine. I want to.”

Though his insides twisted uncomfortably, he made to grab for the coin bag. Jaskier’s hand on his arm halted him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jaskier pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he thought. “How about we go somewhere else? Somewhere a little nicer and quieter? I have found this beautiful spot earlier that I wanted to show you.”

A wave of relief washed over Geralt and he nodded, letting Jaskier pull him along.

--

Jaskier had been right, the place was nice. Just outside the village was a lake, surrounded by a handful of trees, giving them shade from the hot summer sun.

They sat in silence and watched as the dying light of day reflected in the still waters. At least Jaskier did. Geralt wasn’t able to stop himself from glancing at his friend, the way his hair took on an almost reddish note as the sun disappeared behind the horizon and his cheeks glowed almost golden.

He was beautiful. Far too beautiful for someone like Geralt.

As if sensing Geralt’s melancholy, Jaskier produced the bottle of wine he had bought from the innkeeper as they had made their way outside.

Geralt raised an eyebrow when he saw just how expensive the bottle was but he didn’t make a comment and Jaskier didn’t offer up an explanation for why he had spent so much money on this either.

After not even an hour of drinking, Jaskier’s cheeks were turning a pretty shade of red and his lopsided smile didn’t seem to want to leave his face anytime soon.

Geralt had taken to holding onto the bottle so that Jaskier wouldn’t drink it all in one go. That didn’t stop Jaskier from trying to sneakily steal the bottle back. ‘Sneaky’, in this case, meaning that Jaskier leaned over Geralt with all the subtlety of a gossip hunter watching a drama unfold, practically falling into his lap.

Geralt froze, unable to push Jaskier off of him as he should have and fearing that Jaskier’s mood would turn sour if he realised just how close he was to Geralt. The shock was enough for Geralt to slacken his hold on the bottle.

With a triumphant grin, Jaskier snatched the bottle out of his grip, their fingers brushing together.

He took a long swig and when he sat the bottle back down, a few droplets of the red wine glistened on his upper lip.

Geralt couldn’t look away. He was lucky that Jaskier showed no sign of being bothered. Had he been sober, he probably would have squirmed at the intensity of Geralt’s attention. As it was, he almost seemed to preen under it, as if Geralt wasn’t a witcher but a handsome man whose attention was something desirable.

Whether it was the summer heat or the alcohol, it didn’t take long before Jaskier shrugged off his doublet and flung it too the side. It wasn’t the first time that Geralt saw Jaskier in only his undershirt – hell, he had seen him wear far less than that many times – but Geralt felt heat rise in his face nonetheless. His mouth went dry when Jaskier stood up on wobbly legs and stretched his arms high over his head. His shirt rode up a little, revealing a stripe of smooth skin.

Geralt’s fingers twitched and his jaw clenched. Abruptly, he turned away. It wasn’t right to look at Jaskier like this. Not ever, but especially not now when Jaskier was on the verge of being drunk.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said with mirth in his voice. “I am going to do something very stupid and very fun.”

Geralt’s eyes darted between Jaskier’s. Without meaning to he leaned closer. Did he imagine Jaskier doing the same?

He must have, for a second later, Jaskier gave him a wink and a grin and with a “Stop me if you can!” he dashed towards the lake.

At least he tried. Jaskier wasn’t steady on his feet anymore and the fact that he kicked off his shoes and tried to shimmy out of his breeches as he ran towards the water didn’t help either. More than once he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before he would fall.

Geralt’s hackles rose. In his mind he already saw Jaskier slipping and hitting his head on one of the rocks lying on the ground or worse - falling into the lake and being unable to keep himself afloat, inebriated and disoriented as he was.

A small cry of surprise as Jaskier once again lost his balance made Geralt jump to his feet. He was at Jaskier’s side in a matter of seconds, just as he was tripping and about to hit the ground.

Without thinking, Geralt reached out and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back up to stand on his feet.

“Careful,” Geralt said in a low voice, too aware of how Jaskier pressed himself close against Geralt in an effort to stay upright. Geralt was suddenly very grateful for the fact that Jaskier was still wearing his undershirt, even though the thin fabric did little to separate them.

A breeze rippled the water and Jaskier shivered in his arms despite the still hot evening air.

“Maybe you should put the rest of your clothes back on,” he said.

“Maybe you should lose your clothes,” Jaskier shot back.

Geralt’s breath hitched.

“What?” His voice cracked on the word.

“For swimming.” Jaskier beamed up at him. Too close. This brilliant smile was too close. Their faces only inches apart.

Geralt’s heart pounded against his chest. “We’re not going swimming,” Geralt said, though his voice was anything but stern. “You can barely stand on your own.”

Jaskier huffed. “Then you just have to make sure I don’t drown.”

Geralt let out a sigh. “Jaskier…”

But Jaskier’s eyes were wide and pleading and his hands had somehow found their way to Geralt’s chest, clutching his shirt. He must have been able to feel his heart beneath the thin fabric.

Geralt’s resolve broke. “Fine,” he relented and slowly pulled away from Jaskier, only leaving a hand on his arm to make sure he wouldn’t fall over.

Having to suddenly stand on his own again made Jaskier’s face twist into a disappointed frown that was quickly washed away when he waded into the water until it reached his waist.

Once Geralt was sure Jaskier was safe to walk on his own, he stayed where he was at the edge of the lake where he could keep an eye on Jaskier.

“Come on in!” Jaskier shouted to him when he finally realised that Geralt wasn’t at his heels anymore.

Geralt shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, a twinkle of mischief in them.

“Alright then,” Jaskier said and took what was probably supposed to be a menacing step towards Geralt.

Within a heartbeat, Jaskier’s mirth was wiped off his face and was replaced by shock. Time slowed as Jaskier slipped, falling backwards. He had just enough time to call out “Gera-“ before he disappeared under water with a splash.

A grin twitched on Geralt’s lips, ready to say “I told you so” as soon as Jaskier appeared on the surface again. The water was shallow, he should come up any second now.

He didn’t.

Geralt’s grin froze. “Jaskier?”

No reply.

The seconds dragged on and suddenly each one felt like an eternity. “Jaskier!”

Panic spiked up in Geralt. Without hesitating a moment longer, Geralt tried to rush to where Jaskier had gone under, but the water made it impossible to move quickly.

Jaskier is a singer, he knows how to hold his breath, he told himself.

Yes, a poisonous voice in his head replied, but he is drunk and it’s dark and who knows what lurks in these waters? You knew this was dangerous and you didn’t stop him from going in the water. If anything happens to him, if he gets hurt or drowns, it will be your fault.

Frantically he scanned the water for any shadows that could be his friend.

Without warning, something burst forth from the water just before Geralt with a loud cry.

Geralt tensed, ready to defend himself, when wet arms wrapped themselves around him, trying to drag him under. Geralt lifted his hands to push the thing off, when he heard a giggle next to his ear.

Jaskier.

A relieved breath escaped Geralt when he realised whose hair it was that tickled his cheek. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Jaskier, needing to hold him close, to feel that he was alright. That Geralt wasn’t the reason why he was hurt.

It took Geralt a moment to realise just what he was doing. He wanted to let go, to take a step back, but Jaskier tightened his arms around his neck, refusing to be let go.

“See?” Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the grin in his voice. “Now you’re already wet. Now you can come swim with me.”

A frown darkened Geralt’s face. “Don’t do that again.”

“Why?” Jaskier said, no less cheerful. “It worked, didn’t it? You came after me.”

An involuntary shudder ran through Geralt and without meaning to, he tightened his hold on Jaskier. “I thought you were drowning. Jaskier, I thought I was about to lose you.”

Saying it out loud was different than just thinking it. It was so much worse. He wouldn’t have been able to say it if Jaskier had been himself right now, but drunk as he was, Geralt could have the hope that he would forget all about this come the morning.

Still, Jaskier must have picked up on the slight tremor in Geralt’s voice, for he pulled back again, just enough to search Geralt’s face.

“But I didn’t. You came to save me. You always do.” A small smile danced across Jaskier’s lips. “Always my hero.”

The words twisted something in Geralt’s chest. “I am no hero.”

Especially not Jaskier’s, though in this moment he wanted nothing more than for that to be true.

“Don’t say things like that.” Jaskier’s voice was small and his brows drew together, looking strangely broken.

Geralt’s throat grew tight. All Jaskier had wanted was to have fun. A nice, relaxing evening as the perfect ending to a good day. And Geralt was ruining it. He couldn’t ruin this for him. He had to make this right.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he was bracing himself.

“I doubt you’ll be calling me a hero in a second,” he forced his voice to take on a playful note.

“Why?” Jaskier asked, narrowing his eyes. “What happens in a seco-“

He was cut off by his own outraged cry when Geralt bent down low to scoop Jaskier up only to throw him back in the water.

When Jaskier came back up again, spluttering in indignation but with the twinkle of joy returning to his eyes, Geralt felt a low rumble rise up in his chest that broke free in a barking laugh.

At the unexpected sound, Jaskier’s indignation made way for something softer. He wiped the wet hair out of his eyes as if he wanted to see Geralt better. The look he gave Geralt was almost one of awe and wonder, his mouth opened into a silent ‘o’, before his lips stretched into a grin and he joined in with the laughter.

The next time that Jaskier jumped towards Geralt and pulled on his arm, Geralt willingly let himself be pulled under. It was worth it if it meant hearing Jaskier’s laugh again.

--

When Jaskier finally tired and they trudged back to their spot beneath the trees, Geralt was uncomfortably aware of the wet shirt sticking to his skin. Even worse, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Jaskier's shirt clung to his chest. The white fabric had turned see-through with the wetness and Geralt had to close his eyes to keep himself from looking.

It did nothing to distract him from Jaskier’s presence. If anything, being unable to see him sharpened Geralt's other senses, zoning in on any other part of Jaskier. He could hear Jaskier absentmindedly ripping out blades of grass. He could smell the alcohol and lake-water on Jaskier that by all accounts should have been anything other than pleasant but somehow made a wave of calm and content wash over Geralt. Jaskier wasn't touching him anymore, but he was sitting so close to him that Geralt's skin felt like it was set on fire. The lingering laughter quieted down as the night had grew darker around them. While Geralt remained silent, just taking in the for once peaceful moment, Jaskier began to hum; not one of his usual drinking songs but a softer one. Geralt wasn’t even sure if Jaskier was aware of his own singing or if he was too drunk to realise what he was doing. What he was doing to Geralt. Geralt had heard Jaskier sing so often and yet there was something strikingly different in the way he sounded now. His voice carried something that made Geralt want to live in this moment forever. Just sitting here beneath the stars far away from anything and anyone else, with just Jaskier by his side and his quiet song drifting through the air. But it couldn't last. As more stars blinked into existence above them, Jaskier's song got interrupted more and more often by his yawns and come the morning they would have to head out again, the carefreeness of this moment forgotten and replaced by the promise of danger and angry shouts.

"Jaskier?" Geralt asked into the dark. "Hm?" Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the tired smile in his voice. "We should go back. You need to sleep." Jaskier sighed, but didn't protest when Geralt stood up and pulled him to his feet as well. It was a testament to how much Jaskier truly needed his sleep that he leaned as heavily against Geralt as he did while Geralt made sure he wouldn't trip in the dark. When the grass gave way to the uneven cobblestones of the village’s streets, Jaskier pressed himself even closer to Geralt so he wouldn't stumble. It was so very tempting to just pick up Jaskier as Geralt had done mere hours before and carry him back to the inn. But what had happened in the lake had been a spur of the moment decision. It had only been to get Jaskier out if the gloomy mood Geralt had caused. Jaskier had wanted to have a good time and he had been willing to allow Geralt to be the person to make him laugh. It would be too much to hope that Jaskier would welcome Geralt's touch now that the silly mood had disappeared.

So Geralt was prepared for the moment that Jaskier would come to his senses and pull away again. He wasn't prepared for the way his heart would drop when Jaskier actually did it. Geralt forced himself not to tense up again. It wouldn't be fair to Jaskier. He shouldn't feel pressured to keep touching Geralt for any reason. Jaskier stumbled a couple of steps away from Geralt. He bent down and Geralt was wholly prepared to steady Jaskier while he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the street. What Geralt didn't expect was for Jaskier to suddenly start making weird noises. Were he a generous man he would say it sounded almost like meowing. "What on earth are you doing?" Geralt asked dumbfounded. "Shhh," Jaskier hissed without taking his eyes off of the other end of the street. "You'll chase it away." Geralt followed Jaskier's eyes and landed on a small shadow walking curiously towards them. A cat. Looking as focussed as Geralt had rarely ever seen him, Jaskier creeped forwards until the cat was close enough to sniff at his fingers. Jaskier let out a delighted little squeal when the cat snuggled against his legs and pressed its head against his hand. Geralt crossed his arms and watched in amusement as Jaskier began talking in a high-pitched voice to the cat. "Geralt," Jaskier whispered so as not to spook the cat. "Come here. Her fur is so soft!" Geralt shook his head, refusing to close the distance between himself and the cat. A warm fuzzy feeling spread through his chest as he watched Jaskier continue to pet the cat. Geralt would be damned before he got any closer and chased the cat away or accidentally agitated it enough for it to scratch Jaskier. Jaskier's face twisted into a frown. "Why not? You don't like cats?" he asked almost in accusation. "Got scratched by one as a child? I'd have thought that a big strong witcher like you wouldn't be scared of a little paw with claws." Geralt's lips twitched at Jaskier's teasing tone. "Never got close enough to get scratched. Cats don't like witchers. They run away." Jaskier's amused smile turned into a look of disproportionate pity. "Are you telling me you never got to pet a cat either?" Geralt shrugged. "Not since becoming a witcher. Don't really remember if I ever did before." "But that's so unfair!" Jaskier's eyes widened. "You deserve to pet a cat. Everyone does. They are just so pretty. Cats have the prettiest eyes. When the pupils go all round that's the most adorable thing." Jaskier's voice softened and his voice took on a dreamy note. "And they are such a lovely shade of yellow. Or gold. Like the sun. Or like dandelions." Geralt suppressed a snort. It wasn't Jaskier's fault that he didn't realise the cat still begging for his attention had green eyes. After all it was dark and Jaskier was more than a little drunk. For a long moment Jaskier just looked at Geralt as if he had forgotten what he had wanted to say, before finally sighing, "I just really like those eyes, Geralt. And the hair looks so soft and I just want to bury my fingers in it. And maybe braid it." This time Geralt couldn't stop himself from snorting. "Jaskier, you are already petting the cat. And I think its fur is a bit too short for braiding. It might scratch you if you tried." Jaskier let out a longsuffering sigh and gave Geralt a look so pitiful as if the weight of the world was baring down on him. "I know. 's why I don't do it. Wouldn't want me to. But I really want to." Not knowing what to say to that, Geralt just grunted. Suddenly Jaskier perked up again. "We need to get back to our room!" he announced with unexpected urgency. "If you can't pet the cat then you can cuddle with Friend instead." Geralt blinked at him, his heart refusing to beat a normal rhythm. "What?" Jaskier didn't give any explanation, just jumped to his feet, grabbed Geralt's hand and dragged him in the direction of the inn - or rather, he stumbled next to Geralt while Geralt led him to their destination. Geralt knew that Jaskier couldn't possibly mean what Geralt so desperately wanted him to mean, but that knowledge didn't stop the irrational disappointment that clawed into his chest when Jaskier let go of his hand as soon as they reached the inn and made no move to take it again. Once in their room, Jaskier began frantically searching through his bags before he finally let out a triumphant shout. "Ah-ha! There he is! Friend!" He turned around with a blinding smile and presented to Geralt what he had been looking for. It was the wooden sheep. The bitter disappointment from before was replaced by a wave of fondness for Jaskier that made his heart feel as if it would beat out of his chest.

“You called it Friend?”

“Of course,” Jaskier beamed, “Because that’s what he is.”

When Geralt still made no move to take the sheep, Jaskier wiggled it in his hand, as if tempting a cat to come play. "Take it," he insisted, brimming with excitement. "It's a sheep! All fluffy and cuddly and petting it makes me happy. I want you to be happy." Geralt did nothing to fight the warm smile, abandoning the thought of pointing out that the wooden sheep very much wasn't fluffy. Carefully, Geralt reached out and took the sheep from Jaskier. Jaskier's face lit up as if Geralt had just given him the best gift despite being the one who had been given something. As Geralt ran his fingers over the smooth wood he couldn't help but think about ways he could actually make this sheep fluffy for Jaskier. Maybe the next time they came across a shepherd Geralt could take some of the wool and attach it to the wooden sheep? But for now Jaskier seemed to be more than happy with Geralt's gifts just as they were. When Jaskier let himself fall onto the bed, a pleased expression on his face and snuggling into the pillow, he whispered, "If I'm going to get another gift I would really like for it to be a cat." His words got muffled by the blanket he pulled up to his face. "So you can have a little cat-friend too." Geralt hummed in agreement and joined Jaskier on the bed, though what he really wanted to say was that he didn't need a cat-friend as long as he had Jaskier as his friend. But he couldn't say such things. Especially not while they were sharing a bed and Jaskier kept looking at him with his sleepy blue eyes. Despite Jaskier's earlier yawns and the way he didn't seem to be able to keep his eyes open for longer than a couple of seconds, Jaskier didn't immediately drift off to sleep. Instead he kept studying Geralt's face and began playing with the ends of Geralt's hair that lay on the pillow between them. Geralt didn't have the heart to tell him off for tying a myriad of tiny knots into his hair. He could almost pretend they were braids. -- Not a week later Jaskier found a wooden figure in form of a cat curled into itself. It was impossible to tell if Jaskier remembered what he had said about cats or anything else that had happened that night, but there was no doubt that Jaskier already loved the figure just as much as he did the other ones. Immediately he handed it to Geralt, insisting that he should feel the satisfying smoothness of the wood. More to distract himself from the tight feeling in his chest than out of actual curiosity, Geralt asked for the cat's name. "I don't know. It has to be something nice," Jaskier said. "Something beautiful." He studied the cat in contemplation and uncharacteristically silence. Geralt's heart skipped a beat when Jaskier finally looked up at him with an achingly soft expression and said, "Golden Eyes."

--

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐒 — 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐢.

#pairings ー pro hero! midoriya izuku x gender neutral! reader (slight izuchaco)

#warnings ー  terrible angst lmao (this is my first lolol). also, did i name this after a meme? y e s

#wc ー 2.1k

the heels of your formal shoes clicked against the linoleum tiles, echoing softly around the empty hallways. you much rather preferred this peace and quiet as opposed to the loud and energetic home of the wedding goers outside. they were beginning to give you a migraine with all the excitement and happiness that they radiated. that, and the overpowering scent of overpriced perfume and leather shoes.

you hummed quietly to yourself, leisurely making your way down the hall. the bride and groom's rooms were just about here, if you remembered correctly. you chuckled softly as you heard the loud squeals from one of the rooms, presumably from the bride and her bridesmaids, which only confirmed your assumptions.

you were so deep in your thoughts that you didn't hear the faint creaking of the old wooden door, nor the hand that shot out to grab your wrist.

your training at u.a and had given you exceptional strength and reaction time, but whoever had grabbed you was at least ten times stronger. you thrashed and struggled as much as you could, hoping your captor would lose their grasp over you, but to no avail. their grip only tightened.

"calm down, will you?" a soft voice whispered in your ear. a smile formed on your face at the familiar voice, and you immediately stopped trying to land blows on him.

"izuku!" you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him. the taller boy returned your hug, nuzzling his face into the nape of your neck. you did the same, relishing his familiar cologne and the way his unruly hair, despite it having been gelled, tickling your cheeks gently.

"i missed you." he mumbled, bringing you closer. "i've missed you, too, big guy, but uh—" you wheezed, tapping his shoulder to tell him he was holding you too tight. he let go of immediately, shyly scratching his pink tinted cheeks. his hand was still on your waist, as if he didn't want to let go of you, but you didn't say anything.

"s-so, how are you?" he asked awkwardly, trying to look you in the eye but failing to do so, instead opting to stare at the space behind you.

you smiled at the sudden shift in his demeanor, finding it endearing. even after all these years—even though izuku had grown more confident in himself, he was still that same shy boy you met in middle school all those years ago. it was nice to see that the fame and money hadn't gotten to his head, unlike some other heroes who had let their ego grow too big for their own good.

"i'm doing wonderful, izuku!" half-lie. you could have been doing better, if you were being honest, but now didn't seem like the time to tell him that. "how about you, 'zuku? seems you've gone and gotten yourself a wife!" you took his calloused hand gently from your waist, rubbing your thumb across the scars that had marked him over the years. though he had learned to control his quirk, it seemed that he still went 'plus ultra' at times.

you stared at the man before you, smiling at his flustered state. he was dressed in a suit and tie, since they had decided on a western-themed wedding. he looked extremely attractive, albeit a little uncomfortable in the formal clothing, you had to admit, all with his unruly hair contrasting his pressed clothing.

midoriya cleared his throat, moving his hand away from your waist. you were slightly disappointed, but didn't say anything, nor did you show it. "uh, well, future wife." he corrected, chuckling softly. "though, not that it really matters." midoriya began to mutter. "ochaco's gonna be my wife in a few hours anyway, so there's basically no difference. oh my goodness, i'm going to be a married man in less than a few hours! i don't think i can handle that!would i even be a good husband? i think we should call off the wedding—"

"woah, buddy, calm down." you held the now-hyperventilating midoriya by the shoulders, helping him to sit on one of the nearby couches. the apple of his cheeks were now a bright red, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly with each breath he took. your mouth formed a small slant as you frowned.

"i don't think i can do this, (first name)." he said, tears trailing slowly down his cheek. "i don't think i can carry on with this? what if ochaco suddenly decides she doesn't want to marry me? what if we aren't as perfect for each other as we thought?" he turned to you, green eyes wide and frantic.

as much as it pained you to see midoriya end up with someone else, it hurt you more to hear him doubting himself. midoriya was one of the bravest, kindest, and most considerate people you knew, and to see him in such a vulnerable position just reminded you that even the greatest people had their insecurities.

"oh, 'zuku." you sighed, resting your forehead on his suit clad shoulder. he smelled faintly of aftershave and like flowers, which you hadn't noticed previously. midoriya nuzzled his face into your neck out of habit, the moisture of his tears gathering on your nape.

"i know you may not see it yourself, but you're truly wonderful, izuku. ochaco's one lucky gal to have snatched you up." you chuckled softly, ignoring the bitter taste in your mouth. "i don't understand how you can doubt yourself, 'zuku. you're so brave, and kindhearted, and you've always put others before yourself. you're literally made of hubby material." you felt the low rumbling of midoriya chuckling against your collarbone, the sound alone bringing a small smile to your face. "and if you seriously think that ochaco would leave you, bakugou might have hit you harder than necessary."

midoriya had begun laughing now, removing his face from your neck. his previously sorrowful and anxious eyes were now twinkling with amusement. you smiled at the sight, glad to have been of service.

"thanks, (nickname), i really appreciate that." he chuckled breathlessly, holding your hand between his. you felt your cheeks warm at the way your hand seemed to mold perfectly in his, as if the world was mocking you, saying 'this man could have been yours.' you two sat in silence, just enjoying each other's company.

"you know," midoriya spoke after a while. "i used to have the biggest crush on you." he admitted with a light blush on his cheeks. you cocked your head to the side, slightly confused. midoriya continued. "to be honest, i only ever accepted ochaco's confession because i thought i never had a chance with you, as bad as it sounds."

if you didn't the universe was playing with your feelings before, you were sure that it was now. "o-oh?" you choked out. "why'd you think that you didn't have a chance with me?"

ever since you had met midoriya on your first day at u.a, you had been attracted to him instantly. his shy yet determined personality just drew you in, like a moth to a flame. for years you had desperately hoped that he would one day confess that he returned your feelings, and even went as far to wait for him even after your graduation. but it never came.

until today, it seems. on his wedding day.

the irony of it all pained your heart. here was the moment you'd been fantasizing of since you were a first year at u.a, but it didn't go as you had expected. you didn't feel the butterflies that you had expected to feel. you didn't hear the birds singing. you didn't feel sickeningly in love. you just felt sick.

"i don't know," midoriya sighed, leaning back in his seat. he ran a hand through his curly green hair, mussing it up even more. "i guess i just thought you were always too good for me." inwardly, you screamed at your past selves for being the densest humans on earth. "that, and whenever i came near you, bakugou would always stare daggers at me." he chuckled awkwardly.

you disregarded his last comment, sitting rigidly beside midoriya. your eyes burned with tears that couldn't seem to fall, and your heart was beating irregularly slow in your chest. there was a weight on your shoulders that made you feel like you were carrying the entire world's burdens on your shoulders, alone.

"(first name)?" midoriya placed a hand on your knee, looking at you with concern. he stared at you with those damned green eyes. the same green eyes that you had fallen in love with. the same green eyes that you had spent nights thinking of. the same green eyes that stared back at you as if he hadn't just confessed his past feelings for you. "are you okay? you're looking a little pale."

"i-i'm fine." you tried to smile, but you couldn't find it in you. it was so selfish of you, to be honest. this was another woman's groom, and here you were about to cry because he had returned the feelings that you had assumed were unrequited? 'that's real shallow.' you reprimanded yourself.

"are you sure?" he tilted his head innocently to the side, looking like a cute puppy. you stood abruptly, unable to handle to pain in your chest. unfortunately, you were feeling a bit woozy and swayed a little as you rose to your feet. "hey, why don't you sit down? i can go get you some water—"

"i said i'm fine!" you snapped, pushing his hand away from you. the hurt look that flashed across midoriya's face made guilt envelope your entire being. "i'm sorry. i suddenly got very dizzy, is all." you lied.

midoriya pursed his lips into a thin line. he knew you well enough to know that you were lying. still, he didn't say anything, knowing it would get you nowhere if he forced you to tell him the problem. "are you sure? can i get you water, at least?”

you shook your head, eyes not meeting his. "it's alright, izuku. we've got to go now anyways, it's almost time for your wedding." you said with a small smile. it didn't quite seem right, though, midoriya noted. it didn't seem to reach your eyes.

"o-oh, right!" he scratched the back of his head, checking the time on his watch. he noticed your stiff movements as you hastily scrambled out of the room, muttering a small, "good luck, izuku." on your way out. he could only call out for your name as you stepped out of the door, not knowing why you had suddenly gotten so strange. was it something he had said?

you watched with tear filled eyes as uraraka slowly made her way down the aisle, the ever present blush on her cheeks made more prominent as she made eye contact with her groom. she was dressed in an elegant white gown, her short brown hair styled flatteringly around her face.

you snuck a glance at the groom, who had glassy eyes as he watched the love of his life make her way towards him. a small pang of hurt echoed in your chest as you watched him take her hand in his, just as he hand done with you just a few minutes previously. you bit your lip to suppress the low cry that threatened to escape.

the rest of the ceremony went by in a blur for you. the words of the officiant barely registering in your brain. you were too busy imagining that it was you standing with midoriya at the altar. that instead of uraraka, you were the one holding his scarred hands, staring into his eyes lovingly and giving small shy smiles if you would catch the eye of some of the guests that you had invited.

but you were launched back into reality as the officiant called out for any objections. you were tempted to raise your hand and profess your love for the green haired pro-hero, but held out, knowing you'd not only ruin your friendship with him, but also your friendship with uraraka, who was beaming with joy as everyone stayed silent. you loved midoriya, but you treasured uraraka just as much.

your tears seemed to finally be able to flow freely as you watched midoriya cup uraraka's cheek gently, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world and one wrong move could destroy her. you looked around to see that you weren't the only one crying. though, you were sure you were the only one crying for your own selfish reason, as opposed to the other guests who were crying from the sweetness of the now-married couple.

a lump was caught in your throat as the two newlyweds descended down the aisle, the green haired man catching your eye briefly. the only thing that echoed in your mind as he looked away was the reminder that it could have been you walking with him.

New Amsterdam Chapter 100

Wade’s arm draped around Peter’s body as the smaller man curled up against his side while Aunt May talked. Aunt May sat in her chair, calmly stirring some sugar into a cup of hot tea, and said softly, “Phil and I have met before.”

“How?” asked Peter, clearly fascinated.

{I love how we can feel that question. Petey-Pie! You can rest your little head on our pecs forever!}

“When I first graduated nursing school,” Aunt May said slowly, “I joined a group called Help All.”

Wade winced. He’d heard far too much about that group. How they used the good natures of the young adults they tricked into working for them to drum up funds for expeditions that were little more than human trafficking research groups. Francis had gotten some of his subjects from them.

Aunt May nodded at Wade. “You know,” she said.

Peter looked up at him. Wade swallowed; he didn’t want to tell his boyfriend that his aunt had, however inadvertently, worked for a human trafficking group. “It was—uh, bad. They used legitimate people as a front for human trafficking,” he said curtly.

[Yes. Let’s spare him the gory details.]

“They pulled naive and stupid college kids who wanted to make the world a better place to act as the front of their operation as they scoped people out. The lucky ones were sold. The unlucky ones were chopped into spare parts to have their bodies sold on the black market.”

{Does she want to give him nightmares?}

“Don’t look at me like that Wade,” Aunt May advised. “I do not hide the darkness of the world from my family.”

“Hiding and not telling everything are different,” Wade argued.

She snorted and Peter gently burrowed into Wade’s side, sighing softly as Wade’s arm came around him. “What happened?” Peter asked. “How did you find out?”

Aunt May took another sip of her tea before she put the cup down on the table. “Oddly enough,” she said, “it was SHIELD. Well, technically, it was Phil, but he was working for SHIELD. They had asked our group to come to a region in another country, which I will not name except to say that it no longer exists. See, there were some serious natural disasters in the country, and there were a bunch of orphans. Smart little cusses that they were, the orphans banded together and hid on, and under the streets instead of allowing themselves to be hauled up in orphanages—where their very own government was prostituting them out.” She shook her head. “It was disgusting.”

Sounded eerily similar to what was happening with the street children of New Amsterdam, except that New Amsterdam’s children weren’t orphans, for the most part.

“SHIELD helped?” Peter asked.

{Aw! He sounds confused!}

[But why does he sound confused? All of that “SHIELDing humanity for the good of all” crap should mean that he trusts them.]

{But—his aunt clearly doesn’t trust them. Maybe she taught him better?}

Aunt May sighed. “Yes,” she said wearily. “See, they were the ones that took us to the country. They provided food, shelter, medical tools, Everything we needed to help these orphaned children get healthy. Strong.” The woman gave a low, bitter laugh. “They played us like the fools we were. Led the authorities right to them. And then? When we asked SHIELD for help? They sent us home. No explanations, no help, just deposited us on US soil with a note to remember we’d signed non-disclosure agreements.”

Wade could almost feel it when something clicked in Peter’s brain. “Is that how you met Uncle Ben?” he asked.

Aunt May’s lips quirked in a smile. “Not quite. See, one of the kids I’d gotten attached to had been taken for—bad purposes.” Her lips pressed in a thin line. “I won’t go over the details; they still piss me off and I don’t have room to vent until the you-know-what that commissioned that squid over there comes to collect it. So they took the kid.”

“And you went hunting,” prompted Peter, voice full of awe.

“Hunting?” asked Wade, startled.

Aunt May grinned. “Oh, yes,” she said firmly. “I went hunting. I hunted down the illegal side of Help All, did everything in my power to take them down—legally, I might add—while I tracked down that one kid. I’d gotten him traced to a barge in New Amsterdam when I met Ben—he was working his own case trying to figure out where all the children his team was rescuing from unsavory situations were coming from.”

“And you teamed up?” asked Wade as he snuggled down with Peter, who yawned.

Her lips twitched again and her eyes sparkled. “Hardly,” she said. “He thought that I was a loose cannon. I thought he had a stick up his ass.”

Peter buried his face into Wade’s side and Wade could feel the smaller man shaking in laughter. He stared, fascinated. Aunt May—the woman who had raised Spiderman—had been a vigilante? Maybe it was in Peter’s DNA.

{Maybe he’ll share that DNA with us.}

[That was a terrible joke.]

“What happened?” asked Wade.

“I wasn’t as careful as I thought I was. I got caught, Ben managed to rescue both me and the children, and promptly yelled at me about procedure and the importance of backup at which point I shoved him over the side of the barge. Luckily, he could swim.” May grinned. “Now, Peter, you have something to do.”

Wade could feel Peter grimace before he pulled away. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Good boy,” said Aunt May with clear pride as he shoved away from the couch and left the room. “Now, Wade,” said the woman turning that piercing gaze onto the mercenary. “You’ve figured it out.”

No need to ask what. The only thing that he could have figured out, the only thing that would have given her that look, was that Peter was Spiderman. Clearly, she knew as well.

“Man didn’t know the first thing about my boy, and then told me not to worry.”

Tony didn’t know that Peter and Spiderman were the same person, and he’d dared to tell Aunt May, who clearly knew, that Peter was going to be fine when he was in a life threatening situation.

[No wonder she hates him.]

{Why does she hate Norman then? I mean, I know why we hate him, and why Petey does, but why does she?}

“I have,” Wade admitted.

Her lips twitched. “Do you see the joke now?” she asked.

He’d kidnapped Spiderman to keep him safe. Wade’s own lips twitched. “I do,” he admitted.

“Good.” Aunt May grabbed her tea and took another drink. “Look after my boy,” she ordered.

“As best as I can,” Wade promised.

Little Jackpot Pt. 12 (Final)

~ Last Part ~

Seven hours later, Ambry returned to her normal size. It had happened abruptly when she’d been trying to fall asleep in her now oversized bed. One minute she had been practically drowning in her sheets, and the next, everything was exactly the right size again.

“I’m back!” The once again five inch pixie exclaimed as she flew out of her house and into Sebastian’s bedroom.

The witch himself was currently passed out in his own bed, sprawled out on his stomach with his arms sticking out at odd angles. Ambry flitted over to Sebastian’s prone form, hovering a few inches above his face. “Sebastian wake uuuup.” She whined. When that elicited no response from the sleeping human, Ambry carefully lowered herself onto his exposed cheek, her bare feet forming little indents on the pale skin.

Sebastian, roused by the contact, began to stir, letting out a tired groan as he went to roll onto his back. Ambry lifted back into the air, happily waiting until his eyes popped open and took in the sight of the pixie flying above him.

At first, an annoyed look formed on Sebastian’s face. His shoulder length white hair was atypically messy, long bangs mussed across his face. He looked about ready to complain about his rude awakening when he seemed to recall recent events, namely the state he had last seen Ambry in. His eyes went wide as he quickly sat up straight in bed.

Ambry flitted backwards to make room for the rising human, an amused smile on her face as he registered her change in size. “I’m back to normal!” She cheered, giving a happy little twirl mid-air.

“I can see that.” Sebastian remarked. Rather than the dry tone he would normally take, he actually sounded pleased, there was a grin on his face and everything.

Of course Sebastian was still totally massive compared to her, but their current size difference was something she could handle. She had spent months working on acclimating to the size of the human world, she was fairly confident in her ability to interact with it comfortably. If she’d had to get used to being two inches tall...well Ambry didn’t know if her sanity would have stayed intact. After that whole experience, five inches was plenty enough for her.

Sebastian resituated himself so he sat with his back against the headboard of his bed. He pulled his knees up, creating a blanketed hill behind Ambry. She didn’t hesitate to take a seat on one of the human’s knees. Despite the excitement, she was still physically fairly tired from her lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until after she had gotten herself comfortable on her new perch that she looked back at Sebastian’s face. She was a bit startled to see the content expression had been replaced by one far more serious. “Why did you never tell me about your ability?”

Ambry didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what ability of hers he was referring to. She combed her fingers absentmindedly through her pink waves, trying to find the best way to explain the situation to a human. Sebastian may have been a witch, and one fairly well versed in the cultures of magical begins, but he was still a human. Pixie behavior didn’t always make sense with his purely logic driven mindset.

“It’s not something we feel the need to advertise.” Ambry started with a slight shrug. “It’s so rare that one of us actually uses it.” Honestly, it was something that only ever came to mind in dire situations. Otherwise it really didn’t hold a prominent place in her thoughts.

“But pixies must have purposefully kept it from humans, otherwise it would be written about in textbooks.” Sebastian pointed out, a note of frustration rising in his tone. As a scholar, he didn’t like knowledge being kept hidden for the sake of it.

Ambry sighed. “I don’t know, I guess we just figured keeping our last line of personal defense a secret was for the best.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to counter the pixie but seemed to stop himself when realization hit. Ambry assumed he must have realized that if Kole had known about her ability to reduce her size, he would have accounted for that. This would have meant that she likely wouldn’t have been able to get out of the criminal’s clutches earlier. “I suppose that makes sense.” Sebastian relented. And Ambry could tell that, while he was itching to get this new information published in the next textbook, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to give up the pixies’ secret.

“Besides,” Ambry started, arms folded over her chest, “you can’t even say anything about withholding information when you never told me my wings are apparently so damn valuable.” She allowed a tinge of bitterness to seep into her voice.

Sebastian seemed to almost visibly wince at Ambry’s words. There was definitely some guilt there, which kind of took the wind out of her accusatory sails. “I didn’t...I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.” He admitted, his dark green eyes downcast. “I thought hardly anyone even knew about pixie wing potions anymore.”

It was impossible to ignore how genuine Sebastian sounded. It was obvious he really hadn’t thought anyone would ever try to abduct his companion to obtain her wings. Which meant it was unfortunately difficult for Ambry to be too hard on him. Yes, he should have told her, but she could see why he hadn’t.

“Tomorrow, the whole coven is coming over to help cast protection spells on the house.” Sebastian promised, lifting his gaze to meet Ambry’s. “And until Kole is caught, I think it’d be best for you to stick around me, or Adrien, or anyone in the coven.”

Ambry quirked a single eyebrow. It wasn’t overly frequent, but there were occasional instances in which Sebastian would display a somewhat overprotective side. Normally she would get outright angry with him for trying to govern her life too closely, but given recent events she couldn’t pretend there wasn’t some sense to what he was saying. There was no reason to believe Kole wouldn’t make another attempt at nabbing her, and she was not about to be so easily abducted again.

“I’ll take that into consideration.” Ambry told the white haired witch. Sebastian almost looked like he wanted to argue but seemed to think better of it and instead provided an accepting nod. Certainly a wise choice on his part. “Alright, well I’m pooped.” She announced, flying up off of Sebastian’s knee and turning back towards her house.

Ambry was about to head off when she suddenly felt a gentle but firm grip take hold of her right hand. She glanced over her shoulder to see her hand being dwarfed between two of Sebastian’s fingers. She gave the witch a questioning look.

“Maybe since the house hasn’t been protected yet, you should stay close by tonight.” He suggested. “You know, just in case.” Sebastian’s expression was calm and well schooled, but she could swear she noticed a slight bit of red color the pale skin of his cheeks.

To say that Ambry was surprised by the witch’s proposal would be an understatement. She had once teasingly asked if she could sleep next to him in bed. He had failed to pick up on her joking tone and had gone on to insist upon how ridiculous such a notion was when she had her own perfectly good bed. Ambry realized Sebastian really must have been concerned about the possibility of Kole making a reappearance if he was willing to suggest something like this.

“Are you going to get my bed out of my house or--”

“I was thinking you could just sleep on the other pillow.” Sebastian gestured to the pillow beside his own, the one that would belong to another human if they were to share a bed with him. Ambry could feel the tips of her pointed ears heating up, though she couldn’t exactly be sure why.

“Um, I guess that’s fine.” Ambry finally said after a long pause. “Hold on, let me just grab something.” Sebastian released her hand, allowing her to swiftly dart into her house, grab a blanket and fly back in a matter of moments.

After that, Ambry settled herself down on the massive pillow. It was like lying on a cloud. And the light blanket she’d grabbed was more than enough for the summer night. When she turned to her right to glance over at Sebastian, she could see that he too had settled down onto his pillow, his head turned towards her. “Goodnight.” He said quietly, his eyes already beginning to droop.

“Night night.” Ambry replied with a soft smile.

When the next morning would roll around, the pixie and witch would find they had moved around quite a bit during the night. By the time Sebastian woke up, he would find himself laying halfway on Ambry’s pillow, with the five inch pixie practically cuddling his nose in her sleep.

Made the Right Wish

Kyoru Week 2020, day 1 Rating: All ages  *Takes place post-manga, so read at your own risk!*

Title and story vaguely inspired by the verse below, which is the chorus of the song “What I’m Leaving For” by Lady A.

"Take a look at our little paradise

It ain't much, but baby you and I

picked the right star

made the right wish

there ain't nothing out there like this"

There were very few things that Kyo had truly been sure of in his life. In fact, he could only think of three things-he loved his son and unborn baby, he loved his wife, and he loved his job.

Well, four things.

This morning, as he lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady thrum of the rain on the roof, he was 150 percent sure he wanted to stay home today.

It had been four years today since the curse had broken. He'd kept track, watching each anniversary pass by with bated breath, praying that it wouldn't somehow rear its ugly face within him again. Or worse, within his son.

He had to remind himself that it was also the four year anniversary of the day he'd knelt in front of Tohru outside the hospital, clinging to her hand and begging her to accept his love.

She'd said yes. So not all about this day was bittersweet.

And now, here they were, in their own house by the sea, with a tiny red-headed boy sleeping in the next room.

With the end of the curse, Kyo had been stripped of his connection to the cat spirit, of course. So there was absolutely no logical reason for him to still feel sluggish when it rained-not that being possessed by a cat was particularly logical, either, he supposed.

Next to him, he heard Tohru stir. He glanced in her direction. She was on her side facing him, eyes still shut, hair in disarray from sleep. "Are you okay?" she whispered, still not opening her eyes.

Their son had been difficult last night, not wanting to go to sleep. Kyo had tried to help, but Hajime was a huge Mommy's boy right now, and Tohru inevitably ended up taking the brunt of his tantrum. She was exhausted. Yet, she had heard the rain just now and woken up to check on Kyo anyway.

His heart swelled at the realization, both with love and a sense of guilt.

He inhaled deeply and rolled over to face her. He rubbed his thumb against her cheekbone. She smiled wearily in response.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "I should be asking you that. How'd you get him to finally lie down?"

Her eyes fluttered open. She put her hand over his, holding it in place against her cheek. "I told him that he could sleep with us tonight, since you won't have to get up early for work tomorrow."

Kyo chuckled. "Smart thinking."

"It worked immediately," Tohru replied, letting out an airy laugh.

"He's a cuddle bug. Just like his mom."

Tohru's eyes were closed again now, but she still answered him. "You're pretty cuddly, yourself," she pointed out.

"I guess. Sometimes."

She quirked an eyebrow in response, making it clear that she thought it was more than sometimes.

"It would be nice if I could stay home and help you today," he said softly, leaning over to kiss the tip of her nose. He stayed closeby afterwards, admiring how peaceful her face looked. Her thick eyelashes, the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the pastel pink of her lips. He was so lucky.

"You should stay home today. But not to help me, to rest. It's raining."

He scoffed slightly. "Yeah, right. I don't have time to rest. And besides…" he paused, running a finger along the slight swell of her stomach, "...you're the one who should be resting."

"What if you stayed home and we both rested?"

"Then Hajime would just run the house, and I don't think either of us would like the consequences of that very much."

"He's got to be tired, too," she reminded him. Not only had he been up late last night, but he also irrationally felt ill every time it rained. "Let's have a movie day."

"Wait...are you serious?"

She opened her eyes again, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Yes. Why not?"

"Tohru, we need all the money we can get right now…"

She sighed and scooted closer, capturing his lips to silence him. "We're fine, Kyo-kun. You said you want to stay home. So stay home. You work hard for us."

Tohru wasn't working right then. Kyo had figured that watching a wild toddler and growing another little human added up to a full-time job. They were getting by on his income just fine, but Kyo wasn't sure if he'd ever honestly be able to stop worrying about money.

He sighed in defeat, pulling her into another kiss before answering. "Okay. You win. I'm making breakfast, though. What would you like?"

As Tohru opened her mouth--likely to protest his demand, Kyo thought--their mattress squeaked and drooped a little bit under a new weight. Tohru gasped in surprise as a little body wiggled its way between them.

Kyo ruffled their son's light red hair before giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Good morning, Hajime."

Hajime returned the sentiment by simply nuzzling his face against his father's chest. Just like Tohru had anticipated, he was groggy and likely not feeling well.

"Daddy's making breakfast today," Tohru told him, running her fingers through his messy hair. He batted her hand away and Tohru sighed at his grumpy mood, but also couldn't help but smile a bit at how he was clinging to Kyo. Hajime loved both his parents; there was no doubt about that. But with how attached he'd been to Tohru lately, moments like this where he only wanted Daddy had become more rare. Kyo smiled back at Tohru, knowing they were sharing the same thought.

"...Pancakes?" Hajime mumbled after a moment, tone muffled by Kyo's chest. Kyo nodded.

"Definitely. With chocolate chips?"

Hajime nodded, and Kyo got out of bed, scooping the toddler up with him. He propped Hajime up on his shoulders and headed out to the kitchen. Tohru sat up, shaking her head, dreading the impending sugar crash they'd have to deal with later.

She sat at the table in their living room, watching her boys make pancakes together. Well, really, Kyo made the pancakes and Hajime contributed by pouring the chocolate chips in. Moments like this were precious to her, and she knew they were to Kyo, too. Hajime likely wouldn't remember this exact point in time when he got older. But Tohru knew the small things like this would stay ingrained in her and Kyo's hearts forever. And soon they'd have another little boy to add in.

Pancakes were served at the table, where Tohru thanked her chefs with kisses on the cheeks. Hajime watched with wide eyes and a mouthful of food as Kyo turned on the TV and flipped through channels, looking for a movie they could all watch-the TV wasn't turned on much in their house. Kyo still didn't have much of a liking for movies, Tohru was just always too busy to really sit down and engross herself in a show, and Hajime spent too much time playing to really pay attention to anything happening on the mysterious screen.

When he got to a cartoon that made Hajime laugh, Kyo chuckled and set the remote down, pulling his son into his lap.

"Hang on!" Tohru said, springing up from her spot on the floor.

"Tohru," Kyo groaned. "Careful, please."

"I'm fine, Kyo-kun!" she insisted, already down the hall. A minute later, she returned with her arms full of pillows and throw blankets. Soon the little family was bundled up, Hajime in the middle, wrapped in so many blankets that Kyo told him he looked like a "Hajime burrito."

By the time the movie was over, Kyo's mind had been numbed by the shallow content, and he blinked a few times before looking over at Tohru. She was making an equally displeased face.

"That wasn't very well-written, was it?" she commented after a minute.

"Well, it's meant for kids his age," Kyo pointed out, looking down at their toddler. He sighed and laughed lowly when he noticed the boy's slow, even breathing and closed eyes. "And he wasn't even watching. When did he fall asleep?"

Tohru giggled, clamping a hand over her mouth to avoid disturbing Hajime. "I don't know."

Kyo leaned his head back against the wall behind him, letting his eyes flutter shut, as well. He'd kept himself going for this long, but the drowsiness the rain impeded him with was finally catching up with him. He sighed contentedly as Tohru ran her fingers through his hair, opening his eyes half-way to look over at her.

"I love you," he reminded her.

"I love you more."

He shook his head at that, but didn't really have the energy to get into a fake-argument about it like they did to mess with each other sometimes.

Tohru smiled in return before she spoke again. "I know you hate it when I have to go to the doctor by myself…"

Kyo sighed again, this time out of disappointment. "I should have taken yesterday off instead of today. Then I could have gone with you."

Tohru shook her head at his obvious bitterness. "The point of me bringing this up was, I found out what we're having."

Kyo's eyes opened fully as he looked over at his wife in surprise.

"I was trying to think of a fun way to tell you, but...I guess now's as good a time as any. It's another boy."

Kyo started crying almost immediately, unable to stop tears from sliding quietly down his cheeks. "I knew it," he whispered, wiping at his face. Tohru laughed. He had been insisting it was a boy for the entire pregnancy. Stubbornly, Tohru had always said it was a girl, though she really had no inkling one way or the other.

"You were right," she whispered back. "We need to start thinking of names."

Kyo nodded, sniffled a little, and leaned over to kiss her.

"Thank you for giving me a family. I love you."

"I love you, too. Now stop it, or you'll make me cry, too."

He chuckled and hugged Hajime a little closer. "I used to think that I used up all the luck in the universe when you started dating me. And then again when I proposed and you said yes. And then again, when Hajime was born. I don't know where the hell I'm getting enough luck to have another son."

Tohru wiped at her own now-wet cheeks, then reached over and smacked Kyo on the arm in playful protest. "Look what you did!"

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Kyo-kun...you deserve this. All of it." She trailed her touch down to his left wrist, fingers tracing the spot where his prayer beads used to sit. The beads that were now in a drawer of their dresser, waiting until Hajime was old enough to hear the story and understand the significance of it.

Kyo shook his head slightly, but didn't argue.

"Well...I could never wish for anything more."

"Didn't we say we wanted one more baby after this one?" Tohru teased.

His eyes went wide. "Well, um...d-did we say that?"

She giggled. "We don't have to discuss it yet."

Kyo sighed in relief, shaking his head at his wife.

"You dork."

"I know what you mean, though. I don't think I could ever wish for anything more, either."

Kyo nodded and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Hajime's forehead and one to Tohru's belly. "We've made the right wishes. I mean, look where they got us."

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852407

@kyoruweekofficial

glow, star.

summary: Sandalphon and Djeeta find it easier to fall asleep when they’re together.

notes: Sandalphon/Djeeta, fluff, 4 chapters and 6535 words, insomnia, sharing a bed, confessions

a/n: This a completed work! Chapter one is down below, and you can find the rest of the fic on AO3!

Chapter One: Midnight

The stars, Sandalphon had found, were better company than people. They didn’t demand much of him; just a few glances their way to remind them they still glowed, and a bit of admiration now and then. They were uncomplicated, simple, and cold. That cold relieved him, in a way that none of the people aboard the Grandcypher did.

There were those that still watched him with wary eyes. Their distrust chilled the air, made his steps a little quicker, his stare a little sharper. He had almost killed the person they admired the most. Leader, Captain, Singularity: it didn’t matter what he called her. Beloved would be the title that suited her best.

And those that forgave him more quickly, those like their captain, tried too hard to make him feel like he belonged. Sweet words, constant questioning to his well-being, invitations to come chat or dine or do something mundane together.

Neither type of people was something he enjoyed. Too bitter, too sweet-- at some point, extremities started to blur together.

But if Sandalphon did not think about people trying to befriend him, or those who found every excuse to despise him, worries started to tug at him, trying to catch his attention. Trying to remind him.

There were things he blamed himself for. There were people he could not forget. Too many mistakes, too many memories, crowded his head. It spurred him to keep going, keep moving, but reminded him that he could not stop, not until he achieved everything he needed to. If he lingered too long to think about one thing, then another dragged his attention away, and so on, and so on, until his thoughts knotted together.

Sleep was a gift he was deprived of. Sleep visited him in bursts, snatches, a few hours here and there. He had forgotten the last time he had woke up with the sun. There were too many things that kept him awake.

Yes, Sandalphon preferred the company of the stars. Or perhaps, he had no choice but to enjoy their company at this time of night.

It would have been fine this way. Him, the stars, the quiet deck, the gentle hum of the ship, the wind in his hair, the kiss of clouds across his face.

“Sandalphon? Why are you still up?”

Like she always seemed to do, she showed up at the most inconvenient times.

“Should I not be?” he asked archly, keeping his gaze pinned to the stars.

“You don’t need my permission,” Djeeta teased lightly. “I’m just worried you might be tired tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine. Perhaps you’re the one that needs to go to bed, if you have enough time to worry after others.”

When she gave no response, Sandalphon entertained the hope she had left him to sleep. But no. He could hear her gentle steps across the deck until she was by his side. Even without looking at her, he could feel her presence.

Djeeta was the sun; warm, bright, hopeful. Everything gravitated around her. The entire crew were sunflowers in her presence. Even something in him gave a small sigh when she was around. Captain, Leader, Singularity. Beloved.

“I think I’ll stay up,” she said.

“Then it’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“If you’re tired tomorrow,” he said.

“We can be tired together,” she replied.

“I doubt it.”

“You don’t get tired easily, Sandalphon?”

“I’m used to sleeping little.”

“Do you have insomnia? Or is something bothering you?”

“I don’t need much sleep to function,” he said, ignoring her question.

“Sometimes I stay up, too,” she said. Djeeta always forgave him, never pushed. “I have… dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Nightmares, sometimes. I can’t sleep afterwards, so I just read.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, and the words felt foolish on his lips.

“Wouldn’t it be stranger if you did? I’ve never told anyone,” she said.

Sandalphon glanced at her, just once, at this statement. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair ruffled by the wind. She had wrapped a pale blue blanket around herself, to protect against the chill, and to cover her white night dress. And in her eyes, he could make out the glitter of the stars. Bright, and close enough to touch.

“Were you kept up by nightmares again?” he asked.

She shrugged, sliding down to the wooden floor. Her calves were tucked under her thighs, her white dress puddling around her. She tucked her blanket more securely around her. Sandalphon was certain it was cold on the floor. Weren’t her legs freezing? It annoyed him that she had done that, and it annoyed him more than he noticed.

“Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t have to give you one,” she said.

“You’re--”

“Insufferable?”

“No.”

“Amazing?” she suggested.

“Strange. You’re strange, Singularity.”

Djeeta looked up at him. Her mouth was quirked, her nose red. There was something inscrutable in her eyes, for just a second, before she burst into a grin and held out her hand. “That’s not the worst thing I’ve been told!”

“... What are you doing?” he asked.

“Talking to you?”

“No, I mean… that .”

“Giving you my hand?” She wiggled her fingers. “Don’t you want to feel if my fingers are still delicate?”

A flush crept up his neck, warm against the night’s chill. “I already told you I regretted that decision, didn’t I?”

“I know, I know. Well?”

He felt a flicker of hesitation, before his fingers slowly crept across her palm of their own accord. She took that chance to entwine their fingers together, before she pulled him down. He dropped, legs giving way, until he was shoulder to shoulder with her, so close he could lean his head and bury his face in her hair.

“Was that necessary?” Sandalphon said, breath shaky.

Djeeta shrugged. “I just thought it'd be easier to talk if we’re on the floor together.”

“You could have said something instead of doing this.”

“It was faster this way.”

Their hands were still entwined. Palm to palm, fingers laced together tightly, a sphere of warmth. Her fingers were still as delicate as he remembered. Slender, strong, with her palm calloused from battle. Scars covered her hands like constellations. Did she notice what they were doing? Wasn’t she going to withdraw her hand away?

“The stars are beautiful,” Djeeta said with a sigh. “Hey, are you cold?”

“Isn’t that a question I should be asking you?” he said sourly. “You’re not really dressed for this weather.”

“I have a blanket. You don’t.”

“I don’t need one.”

She was silent, then, and he turned his gaze to the stars. They were rich, thickly spread like drops of cream against the velvet of night.

This conversation with her was directionless, purposeless. They were holding hands, for no reason at all. And yet, he was still here, on the cold floor, unable to withdraw his hand from hers.

The sun was the grandest star of them all, and right now, it was close enough to touch. She was warm, right next to him, and somehow her banter had drove away the worst of his tangled thoughts. The night didn’t seem as cold, not with her. He blinked slowly, once, twice. And before he knew it, his eyes closed and did not open.

Sandalphon couldn’t remember any of his dreams. He was not sure if he wanted to, or if he could even call them dreams. They streaked passed him in a blur of color and sound. He saw only fragments: a piece of blue sky, a coffee tree sprouting, smoke and fire.

He started awake. He had dozed off for only a few minutes, but it was more than he usually managed to sleep during the night. He stiffened. Djeeta’s hand was in his, and her head was… her head was lying on his shoulder.

Somehow, she had fallen asleep, too, in the cold. A moment’s panic gripped him; were humans able to sleep in the cold without issue? Wasn’t it dangerous for her?

He looked at her, urgently, but her breathing was steady, and her eyelashes fluttered. Her head was still warm and soft on his shoulder, her hand still gripping his tightly. Good.

“You’re so strange,” he whispered. Of course, she couldn’t hear. She always made him want to do pointless things.

It wouldn’t do them any good to stay out here. If he fell asleep again, or if the others caught them together, it would cause more trouble than he wanted. And he couldn’t just leave her out here by herself, not in the cold, with only a blanket.

Without hesitation, he picked her up, his arm looped under her knees, his hand on her back. She was light in his arms, despite the muscle in hers. Her eyelashes casted shadows on her face, her mouth slightly parted.

He trekked through the darkened underbelly of the ship as swiftly as he could. Where was Djeeta's room again?

When he found it, he sighed, trying to open the knob quietly while keeping a hold on her. The door opened with the smallest click, and he nudged it aside with his hip.

Sandalphon moved carefully, navigating without much light, until his foot hid the frame of her bed. She hardly stirred the whole time he set her down gently, and he clumsily pulled the covers over her shoulders. It was all much more effort than it should be to bring someone to bed.

He stopped once she was tucked in. His hand tingled, and he raised it in front of his eyes, barely making out the shape in the gloom. He opened it, and clenched it shut. It still retained the glow Djeeta’s touch gave him.

Sandalphon should leave. It would be too confusing, too hard, to explain why he was in Djeeta’s room at this hour if anyone were to catch him. But still. Still. He could not forget the moment of pure sleep he had gotten when he was by her side, his first one in a while. And… he could not forget his hand in hers, and her head on his shoulder, so close he could kiss it as many times as he wanted to, and her laugh and gentle words and teasing…

It would be wrong to stay. But… “Sandalphon?” Her voice, made slow and tender by sleep. His name a diamond in her mouth. Always she showed up at the most inconvenient of times. “Are you here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“You’re tired,” he said.

“Maybe… Where are we?”

“In your room.”

“Did you carry me here? Thank you…” Her voice trailed off.

“You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

“Okay… but....”

“But?”

“Don’t go.”

Would it be okay to do so? And why? Why was she like this? Strong and delicate and a mess of contradictions. She… she made him feel...

“Okay,” he murmured back. “You’re so needy.”

“Come here,” she said.

“Where?”

“Bed.”

“Why?”

“Sleep next to me.”

“What?” he hissed, ears red. “D-do you even…”

“Don’t sleep on the floor.”

“I-- Well, your bed is hardly--”

“Please?”

“It’s not right!”

“Please?” Djeeta repeated. “Sandalphon?”

He held his breath as he came to her side. He lowered himself on the edge of the bed with a creak, felt the rustle of sheets. Djeeta shuffled, and there was a gap between them on her bed. He sat there for a few moments, trying to keep his mind blank.

“Lie down.”

“I’m on your bed--”

“Lie down.”

He lowered himself, stiffly, uncomfortably. He dared not move an inch. She was so close Sandalphon could feel her warmth, her shoulder almost-- but not quite-- brushed against his through layers of blanket.

“You’re so strange,” he whispered.

“So are you.”

Quiet again. He closed his eyes so he could see nothing, not the roof of Djeeta’s ceiling, and not her curled up next to him. She had said his name like it was a diamond. She had a million stars in her eyes. And always, always, he found himself pulled in by her gravity, whenever he wanted to be or not.

Sandalphon sighed, gentle, and let sleep pull him under its mellow waters. And just before he sank, he wondered why his hands still longed for hers.

All Families Have That One Blanket

Shadow woke up curled up on the couch in the Midoriya Family living room.

He coughed, hacking at gunk in his throat. He felt even worse than he had yesterday. Achy and tired and dizzy from a headache. Not that his body was normally stable, but being this sick was making it worse. Even if his healing quirk did work on anything that wasn't injuries, and it didn't, he was far too tired to use it right now without blacking out. He shivered, pulling his one knit throw blanket tighter around him.

Were normal nomu even able to get sick...? He didn't think so, given that they were corpses given Quirks. Just his luck, really.

Whatever was wrong with him, besides being ill, Shadow did not know. For an experimental high end nomu, he'd somehow turned out unacceptably weak. Weak at that scale was still several times stronger than most humans, but the doctor had still expressed disappointment.

Weak, and willful. He had been awake for a brief while after his creation, watching other experiments. Shadow remembered asking one day, why had he been created? The doctor smiled and answered that he was to serve someone named All For One, a god among men. 

But...why? Shadow had never met him. What did some guy he had never met want with him? Did he have to listen to whoever that was?

Soon after he'd asked those questions, he had been sealed up. Abandoned. 

The doctor had said that he loved his creations. Right. Sure he did.

Shadow shivered again, pulling the blanket tighter around him. Ugh. Why was he still here? This was his fifth day at this house. Izuku, acting sort of against Shadow's will actually, had made an tearful case to his mother to let him stay ("His home was destroyed, mom!"). That had to be the only reason he was here.

With that in mind, as pleasant as she seemed, the boy's mother would eventually overrule her son and throw him back out. She had to have found out at some point what he was. Shadow fully intended on leaving once that day came. No need to resist and trouble Izuku any more than necessary.

But she hadn't done it yet. If the day was today...his head throbbed with pain. That would not be ideal.

He looked up at a noise. Mrs. Midoriya walked into the living room. She wasn't a terribly tall woman, but at his size she was a head bigger than him.

She came over to the couch, leaning forwards to get a look at him. "Oh, you're awake!" she said with an air of pleasant surprise. "You weren't looking so good last night. Are you sick?"

Another cough. "Yes," he managed. His voice was scratchy.

She nodded. "I thought so..."

Hm. Nothing about him leaving. Still acting enough on Izuku's behalf to keep him here. That was a relief.

She'd go and leave him alone to recover now. She hadn't asked for him to be here. He was strong enough to handle that.

Instead, for some reason, she went right to his bedside. Shadow turned his head a little to watch her.

She stood by the side of the couch, looking down at Shadow with her big round eyes, like Izukus'. She was just tall enough to loom over him. "Do you want anything to eat?" She asked. "Some water?"

What? "...No." 

"No? Not hungry?"

He tried to subtly move away, into the couch cushion. "Mm-mn."

Her brows lowered. "Oh...that's not good."

Then she moved suddenly and her hand came down onto his forehead. He flinched, startled. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"Huh?" She took back her hand once he jerked away, her round eyes staring down at him with confusion and concern. "I'm just feeling for a fever, Shadow. That's all. Hold still, please?"

She can do that? Well...he didn't see any way that could possibly hurt him. Non-nomus could only have one quirk, and a sensing quirk on its own would be harmless.

Shadow settled back down into the couch. "Mm-hm."

He was prepared this time and stayed still. She felt his head, her fingers gently parting his stiff fur.

Being touched felt...it felt strange. His brows furrowed. It was a weird sensation. Not bad, he thought, but weird. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. 

"You feel really warm." She said, lifting her hand away. "I hope you've only got a cold."

She wasn't using a quirk...it was just temperature? He wormed one of his own hands out from under the covers to feel his head too. 

"Hm." He could see what she meant. His skin felt hot there for some reason. But the rest of him was cold. Weird.

"How bad do you feel?" She asked. "Do you think you've got the flu, or just a cold?"

He had no idea what that meant. Why was she asking? "I don't know." Shadow shivered, and tried to nestle into the couch with his blanket. The damn thing being knit made it basically a net that let most of the warmth out. He only had it because it had been within reach.

"Oh, you must be freezing," Mrs. Midoriya said, genuinely sounding distressed. "Wait just a minute!"

Shadow stared at her retreating back as she hurried down the hall to the bedrooms. What was she doing? Her actions weren't making sense. She did know he was a nomu, didn't she?

He was still puzzling it over a few minutes later when Inko came back. She was holding a folded, brown and grey plaid blanket.

"Here you go!" She said. "It's scratchy, but really warm." She let it unfold in a stiffened cascade, dividing it roughly in half over her hands. Then she lay the doubled blanket on top of him. He tugged on it a little to bring it up to his face, and shifted to get the sides underneath him and trap heat. 

He lay still again. In a moment, he was feeling a little better. She hadn't been lying, it WAS warm. 

"I should get you your own bed," Mrs. Midoriya fretted, "so you don't have to keep sleeping on the couch."

Shadow coughed. His own what? "I'm fine here." He liked the couch; he could keep an eye on things from this spot. Just in case.

"Still, you get no privacy out here..." She looked around the living room, judging the space.

Shadow breathed in to speak. "Why are you doing this?"

"Huh?" Mrs. Midoriya said, her attention snapping back to him. "Why am I doing what?"

"Hovering over me." 

What he was precluded any possibility of anyone accepting him. Almost anyone. Izuku did, but that boy cared about everyone. It was honestly absurd. A pair of heroes had chased Shadow down to kill him like the rest. His power equaled theirs but his stamina did not; he had been beaten and pinned to the ground when Izuku appeared. Shadow had assumed that at best he would stand there and watch, if he didn't just join in.

Then Izuku had cried out for the two heroes to stop. When they hadn't, he physically forced the issue. Absolutely nobody else would have done that. Done that and then invited him home, AFTER learning he was a nomu. 

"Izuku isn't here." A brief coughing fit made him stop talking. His voice was rougher afterwards. "No need to fake anything."

"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Midoriya asked, befuddled. "You're sick, of course I'm caring for you. It's just part of my job as a parent." Tears welled up in her eyes. "How badly have you been treated?!"

Oh. Now she's crying for some reason. Uh. Okay. "Just normally," Shadow said slowly, gripping the blankets and backing into the couch cushion. She had gotten closer. He felt like she was about to do something and it was making him nervous. "I'm a nomu, so it's onlY--!" 

He yelped when she dove at him. Shadow flailed when he suddenly found himself up in the air, taking quick rough gasps of air.

He and his breathing soon calmed down. She wasn't hurting him. Her big soft arms had him surrounded, blankets and all, but were keeping him from falling too. 

Mrs. Midoriya was sobbing now. "You poor boy! You didn't deserve that!" She sniffed. "Izuku...told me how he found you."

Ah. That. "It was reasonable that they would think I was an enemy."

"Trying to kill you when you haven't done anything is NOT reasonable!" Another sob. She breathed in to steady her voice enough to speak. "Listen...its wrong to hurt people just for who they are. Izuku knows what that's like...that's why..."

Her voice broke again. "I couldn't do anything about it. Or...maybe I just thought I couldn't. I should've tried harder, for his sake..."

"Izuku?" That made no sense. A child with enough power and fame that pro heroes knew about him, ostracized and beaten down? One of his two tormentors had even said something about All-Might being Izuku's mentor. All-Might! Shadow had spent most of his life under a rock in an underground lab and he knew who All-Might was. 

"He's becoming a hero." Bitterness entered Shadow's voice. Heroes had everything handed to them. "What does he know about that kind of pain?" 

"Izuku didn't have a Quirk two years ago!" She wailed. "He's such a brave boy, he would have tried to be a hero even without one, but..." She sniffed, her voice wobbling. "The way things are, the whole world would've been against him."

That was...startling information. Two years ago. Two years ago Izuku was some nobody. That isn't a long time. He'd thought everyone had a Quirk. To be born without one into a sea of powered people...how old is Izuku? How long did he have to struggle against the tide? 

"...I understand now," Shadow said grimly. 

Mrs. Midoriya took a few deep breaths to calm down again. Her arms tightened around him just slightly.

"So, you see...neither of us want you to suffer through that too." The pressure from one arm went away. Her hand ran down one of his quills. "It's your choice, but if you want to stay, you'll always be welcome here."

It was a moment before Shadow replied. "...I can..." He spoke slowly, not quite keeping the disbelief out of his voice. "...choose? Whether I stay?" 

"Yeah, of course.” She said warmly. “You're practically family already."

Family? He was family?

Shadow breathed in sharply, blinking. His eyes had started stinging. Everything he was feeling right now was too much. He had never been so glad to be wrong. This woman was just... overwhelmingly loving.

He understands now. Izuku's kindness came from his mother.

He should...answer her somehow. Shadow breathed in to speak. 

It caught in his throat and he ended up in another coughing fit.

"Oh! Right, I'm sorry, you're sick!" Mrs. Midoriya said, flustered. "Nevermind, here, I'll let you down."

She was so flurried, Shadow instinctively struggled to free his pinned arms from the blankets to hang on to her, thinking she might drop him. 

Thankfully, she didn't. Mrs. Midoriya gently shifted him in her arms onto his back, his head resting on her elbow and her other arm supporting his legs and body. He stopped struggling to free himself, and instead hung on to the blankets to keep them from sliding off. She cradled him in this way for a moment, and lowered him to the couch, sliding her arms out from under him to let him down. 

Shadow was a little impressed that she could hold him up like that. Did she have a strength quirk? 

With still-watery eyes, Inko smiled at him. "Don't worry about deciding anything important yet, alright? All you should focus on right now is resting and getting better." She wiped her eyes. "I'll be in the house all day, so just yell if you need anything, little guy."

Though he was exhausted and aching, Shadow found himself smiling too. He felt warmed. "Yes, Mrs. Midoriya."