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forzalando · 5 months

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Seeing Someone

Lando Norris x friend!reader (female reader)

summary: Lando is finally ready to tell you how he feels when he overhears you say that you've started seeing someone - but overheard conversations aren't always what they seem. wc: 5.5k author's note: a few disclaimers: 1. let's all pretend that everyone has to spend a few weeks at MTC before the start of the season and they commute to/from London. 2. therapy and mental health help are so important - i purposefully left some things vague because people go to therapy for a variety of reasons and it should be normalized! i also didn't want things to get too heavy or potentially upset anyone by choosing to elaborate on something they relate to/hits a little too close to home. 3. this was inspired by a post i saw on my dash that said "when you said you were seeing someone i was hoping you meant a therapist". this originally started out more light-hearted, but the angst came out and i couldn't stop. feeling a little insecure about this one - thoughts and feelings in the comments/reblogs/my inbox would be so cherished and appreciated :) once again, special shoutout to @sof1shticated for being my beta reader. couldn't do this without you, Mel! warnings: mentions of reader going to therapy, mentions of reader drinking, a few curse words (i think), and angst! but there is a happy ending (even if it's a little open-ended)

Lando had searched the entirety of McLaren HQ at this point and started to worry – you were quite literally nowhere to be found. Usually, this wouldn’t phase him, since you were notorious for getting distracted or caught up in conversation with everyone you came across. You especially found ways to delay leaving MTC when you had to be there physically – the commute from HQ back to London each day was objectively the worst part of everyone coming together in the weeks leading up to each new season.

Today, however, the two of you had plans to get dinner at your favorite restaurant in London and you would never miss a chance to devour your favorite scallop risotto, cheese garlic bread, several glasses of wine, and a heaping mound of tiramisu for dessert.

He stopped speed-walking abruptly when he saw a familiar head of brown hair out of the corner of his eye.

“OSCAR,” Lando shouted, his speed-walk turning into a run. “Oscar, have you seen Y/N? She told me to meet at her office at 5:00pm but it’s 5:30pm and she is literally missing. She better have a good excuse, I hate being late.”

“Missing? Are you sure she’s not just caught up in a meeting? I saw her heading to Zak’s office around 4:45pm, did you check there?”

“Zak’s office, of course! The one place I didn’t check. Thanks, Osc, you’re the man.”

Oscar rolled his eyes – “Anytime, Lan. What are you running late for? Hot date?”

Lando didn’t miss the wiggle of Oscar’s eyebrows and slight smirk. It wasn’t a secret to the Australian that Lando had a crush on Y/N – although Lando had never confirmed or denied it, it was pretty obvious to anyone who spent more than 30 seconds around them.

“Ah, something like that,” Lando said nonchalantly, a bashful blush making its way to his cheeks.

“Good luck, mate!” Oscar threw a wave over his shoulder as he heard the retreating sound of Lando’s trainers smacking against the floor.

In truth, although you and Lando were just friends and Lando was terrified he may ruin that, he had plans to tell you about his feelings for you that night at dinner. It had been almost a year since you started working for McLaren, and almost a year of Lando pining after you in secret. He spent most days trying to convince himself he was content just being your friend, but he was determined to make 2024 his year. His first win, hopefully of many, maybe even WDC contender material, and finally plucking up the courage to be honest with you.

As Lando hurriedly approached Zak’s office, he could see that the door was slightly ajar and heard your voice trailing through the opening.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Zak. And a massive thank you for approving the time off on such late notice.”

“Anytime, Y/N, you know you’re like family to me and everyone here. You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I’m seeing someone. It’s still new so I’m not set on him yet but I have a really good feeling about it, I’m really starting to wish I had called him sooner. He actually suggested the days off, I’m seeing him on Tuesday and hopefully things continue to go well.”

Lando’s heart dropped to his stomach – all week he had been thinking about tonight. How to tell you, how you might react, how nervous he was, and each day he grew even more anxious. He was panicking – what was he supposed to do? How could he sit across from you all night knowing that he’d missed his chance?

“That’s so good to hear,” Zak said earnestly. “Keep me updated and enjoy your days off.”

Lando could hear chairs scraping and scrambled to leave the scene before you walked out of Zak’s office to find him eavesdropping. He got about 50 feet down the hallway before he heard your voice from behind.

“Lan,” you shouted. “I’m so sorry, I’m totally late but I had to meet with Zak about something and his last meeting went way over.”

You jogged a little to catch up to him – a bright smile on your face that made his heart rate skyrocket and his palms grow sweaty. He couldn’t see you feeling like this. Not tonight, not when he could barely keep himself from telling you that he would be a much better boyfriend than whoever you were dating.

“We still on for dinner? I grabbed everything I needed from my office before I met with Zak so if we leave right this second and ignore the speed limit, they may seat us,” you bumped his shoulder as you joked.

Unable to help himself, only thinking about how hurt he was even though you’d done nothing wrong, Lando blurted out an excuse. “Actually, I was trying to find you to tell you I can’t make it.”

He tried not to react when he saw your face fall a little, but he told himself it was because you were disappointed about the last-minute change in plans and not that he wasn’t going.

“You should still go though,” he offered quickly. “I’m sure you have someone you could take with you!”

Your eyes spotted Oscar across the hallway and you smiled slightly – it had been a while since you had spent time with him and you knew he was having a rough week.

“Yeah, I have someone in mind,” you mused, focusing your eyes back on Lando. “Is everything ok? Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m fine, I just forgot I have plans.”

“Well, we had plans. You scheduled over me?”

“It’s a last-minute thing. Date thing. Last-minute date thing.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “Oh, that’s great!” You plastered a fake smile on your face – hoping that he was just as oblivious now as he apparently is to your feelings. “I hope you have a great time, she’s a lucky girl! I’ll see you on Wednesday, I’m taking a couple days off!”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, you sped off in search of Oscar to bribe him to accompany you to dinner. While you set off across the room, Lando smacked himself in the forehead and groaned.

“Why did you tell her it was a date, you idiot,” he mumbled to himself. Now, it was his turn to speed walk through McLaren HQ, but if he had turned around just for a moment, he would have caught you stopped in your tracks staring at him longingly as he walked away.

You shook your head and sighed, continuing your quest to find the younger McLaren driver and rope him into an evening filled with good food and, if you were being honest with yourself, probably a few tears.

A few moments later, you spotted floppy brown hair bouncing as Oscar walked toward the employee parking lot.

“Oscar!” You yelled after him, increasing your pace to catch up to him.

“Hey,” he said, confusion evident on his face, “I thought you were going out with Lando?”

“He’s got a date,” you blurted. “He has a date and he canceled on me and it’s fine. I am fine. But I want my scallop risotto and tiramisu so you’re coming with me.”

“Sure, Y/N, lead the way.”

Oscar was, to put it extremely lightly, confused. Lando was completely enamored by you – anyone with eyes could see it. Oscar was wholly convinced that Lando was going to officially ask you out at dinner tonight, especially after the brief conversation they had while you were late to meet up with him.

Yet, here he was, sat across from you in a dimly lit room as you sipped on your third glass of wine and, with all the subtlety of a neon sign, wiped a tear from your lower lash line.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for him, I’m so happy for him. But canceling last minute is a dick move, right? It’s a dick move. I know I’m just his friend, sometimes I feel like just a colleague, but I’m not being dramatic, right?”

Oscar stared at you blankly – his eyes wide and a look of pure fear on his face. He considered himself good at most things, great at quite a few, but comforting a crying woman was bottom of the list of Oscar Piastri’s skills.

“It’s totally a dick move,” he nodded his head eagerly in agreement. “I just don’t get it – when I saw him earlier he was frantic trying to find you. I think he’d scoured the entirety of MTC, he was out of breath when I found him.”

“Well, at least he had the decency to find me and tell me in person that he planned on ditching me.”

“Yeah, but that’s just it, it didn’t seem like he was trying to find you to tell you that. He complained about being late and when I asked him if he had a hot date, he blushed.”

“He is literally on a hot date.”

“Ok, well, when I asked him I meant did he have a hot date specifically with you.”

You scoffed and set your glass down – as much as you loved Oscar and you knew he’d never judge you, if you had any more wine you’d end up sobbing and not just wiping stray tears away.

“As if! Lando has never once made a move on me even though I flirt, or at least try to flirt, with him any chance I get.”

“You flirt with Lando?”

“I made him a personalized Spotify playlist, had Stroopwafels overnighted to him from The Netherlands after Vegas, bought him a sweater for his birthday with a card that said ‘to match your eyes’, and I compliment him every time I see him.”

“That’s your idea of flirting?”

“Well, yes.”

“Y/N, that’s just being nice to people. You’re nice to everyone. Lando is not going to understand that you’re a little extra nice to him and that means you’re trying to woo him.”

You huffed and slumped in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Ok, well, how would you flirt with Lando?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that question?”

“Yes because apparently you know all about flirting! And by the way, Logan thought I was coming onto him when I was just being nice so some people would consider my actions flirtatious.”

“That doesn’t count, Logan thinks Uber drivers are flirting with him when they say ‘have a nice day’.”

You and Oscar shared a laugh at the mention of your mutual friend – somehow an even more hopeless case than you in the world of romance.

Your laughs turned to giggles and eventually died down completely. A sigh climbed its way out of your throat, the sudden change in your mood evident to Oscar.

“It doesn’t matter anyway – he’s seeing someone so no more trying, and according to you failing, to flirt.”

“You don’t know how serious it is, maybe this was a first date and it’ll go horribly. He definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend if that’s what you’re worried about, he was just saying the other day that Lily and I make him feel painfully single. We can ask him about it on Monday!”

You frowned a bit and tried to recover, but Oscar noticed the way your face fell slightly. “I’m actually taking a few days off, I need some personal time. I won’t be back at MTC until Wednesday.”

“Is everything ok? You don’t have to tell me but if you need anything, you know I’m there for you, right?”

You smiled at Oscar – it was a rare thing to find such great friends in the people you worked with, but you got so incredibly lucky with the McLaren team, especially Lando and Oscar. “I know that, Osc. You’re a gem.”

With a nod of understanding, Oscar changed the subject to something more pleasant, and you enjoyed the rest of your evening with your friend.

When Wednesday morning rolled around, you felt like your stomach might explode from nerves. You had resisted texting Lando over the past few days to ask about his date, you didn’t want to seem too eager and hoped it would come up naturally in conversation during the day. You hadn’t talked to Oscar much, though he’d texted you a few times to check in, but you wondered if he had talked to Lando at all and if he had details on how well Lando’s date went.

You arrived at MTC fairly early, hoping to get a head start on your day. Winter break was nearly over, and you were swamped with finalizing everything for the start of the 2024 season. It wasn’t until lunch that you saw Lando at all and he just so happened to be waiting in your office, sitting comfortably in your chair, while you were walking back from your latest meeting.

“Lando! What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” he scrambled. “I was just…I don’t know really. I guess I wanted to see you, we haven’t talked in a few days since you’ve been out.”

“Well, we’ve both been busy. You could’ve texted me. How was your date?”

“It was good. Great. How about yours?”

You smiled remembering your evening with Oscar, assuming he had told Lando at some point that he had accompanied you. “Honestly so fun, we had the best time. I hope we get to do it again soon.”

Lando cringed – jealousy rearing its ugly head as he looked down at his feet before answering. “Same, I’ll probably go out with her again this weekend.”

“Good for you,” you gritted. “I’m glad you had fun. I actually have a million things to do so if there’s nothing important…”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to see you. I guess we’ll catch up soon? Hope you enjoyed your days off.”

Mustering up a fake smile, you told him definitely, awkwardly standing as he rose from your desk and left your office. As soon as he was far enough away that he couldn’t hear you, you groaned. The tension between you and Lando was unbearable, though you didn’t understand why it seemed to mostly be coming from him. Before you had a chance to think any further, you could hear your phone buzzing from inside your bag and begrudgingly pulled it out to see a text from Oscar.

did you go on a date over the weekend?

no? why are you asking me that?

well then why did lando just sit across from me and say ‘did Y/N tell you anything about her date?’

he was just in my office, I asked him how his date went and he asked about ‘mine’. i assumed he was talking about Friday and that you told him i brought you?

i never told him, i guess he thought you brought a real date?

You paused before responding to Oscar, confusion evident on your face and in your lack of response. Before you could type out a reply, two more texts came in.

ok something is up because i just told him that i went with you on friday and he said “i know, i saw you in her insta story in the reflection of a wine glass, i’m talking about yesterday”

insane that he looked close enough to see me in your wine glass but not the point

i literally haven’t been on a date in two years

let me figure this out

You slid your phone back into your bag and pulled out your laptop – your Lando problems would have to wait until you were at least somewhat caught up after missing two days so close to the start of the season.

Meanwhile, at a conference room table in MTC, Oscar was confused. Which, as of late, was a common occurrence when it came to you and Lando.

“Mate,” Oscar addressed Lando, “if you’re not talking about Friday, what date did you ask Y/N about? She hasn’t been on a date in forever.”

“Well then he must have canceled on her because she was supposed to have plans yesterday, it’s why she took days off.”

“I don’t know the exact reason why she took days off but she told me on Friday that she was and didn’t seem too happy about it. Said it was personal reasons.”

“Going on a date is personal.”

“Not ‘take two days off of work’ personal! Where are you even getting this information?”

Lando looked away sheepishly, afraid to admit to Oscar that he had eavesdropped on a private conversation between you and Zak. With Oscar looking at him expectantly, and a bit like a pissed-off Mum, he blurted it out.

“I heard her talking to Zak! Last week on Friday, when I was looking for her, she was in his office and the door was cracked. She had asked him for a couple days off and talked about how she recently started seeing someone and was seeing him again on Tuesday aka yesterday.”

Now Oscar was really confused. You had cried over Lando publicly on Friday, and he knew you fairly well, which meant there was no way you would be crying over Lando and going out with someone else four days later.

“I think you need to just talk to her because I promise you, she is not seeing someone. Also, what do you care? You ditched her for a date on Friday.”

Oscar had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched Lando’s face fall.

“Lando, tell me you didn’t.”

“I might have.”

“Jesus, Lando, you heard 30 seconds of a conversation and decided to lie to her? Because what, your ego took a blow? Some caveman instinct?”

“No, I don’t know, honestly. It just slipped out! I had planned to ask her out for real and when I heard her say ‘I’m seeing someone’, I just didn’t know how to be around her. I couldn’t be around her that night.”

“You need to go talk to her. Apologize. Preferably, immediately.”

Lando jumped up from his seat and sighed. “You’re right. She might kill me, and she has every right to, but I have to talk to her and apologize to her. Wish me luck!”

Before Oscar could do what Lando had asked, Lando raced off towards your office, barely stopping himself from tripping over his own two feet.

Across MTC, you had just settled your mind and gotten into a groove of catching up on emails and making progress on deadlines. As soon as you thought to yourself that the day was going better than expected, your office door flung open and Lando Norris was standing stiff in your doorway.

“Lan, I told you that I’m busy. What is going on?” Annoyance was evident in your voice and Lando cringed knowing that this conversation was probably not going to be very pleasant.

“Why did you take time off?”

Your body straightened in shock, of all the things he could have asked you after bombarding you in your office, you wouldn’t have guessed he would pry into your personal life.

“That’s none of your business, Lando. If you were worried about me, you could have reached out, but I haven’t heard from you since you ditched me on Friday.”

Lando could see the hurt on your face, he could see it evident in your body language. He thought back to how you had looked upset immediately when he told you on Friday that he couldn’t go with you – when he told himself it had nothing to do with you wanting to spend time with him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry for that, it wasn’t – I mean I didn’t, I didn’t want to not go. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Ok, I’m totally lost. You didn’t know what to do about what, Lando?”

He steeled himself for your reaction – something he had learned by being your friend for the past year was that you held trust and truth in high regard. You didn’t like being lied to, and you didn’t like people trying to dig into your life or get information you weren’t willing to share.

“I heard you in Zak’s office. I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose, I swear, I was looking for you because you were late meeting me. Oscar told me you might be with Zak so I went there and the door was open. And I heard you. So I lied and told you that I couldn’t go to dinner, I don’t know why I said I had a date. All I could focus on was how hurt I was, I just couldn’t be around you and then I felt so stupid and terrible for lying so that’s why I didn’t text you at all.”

You were completely and utterly perplexed – you couldn’t even react with anger at the thought of Lando listening to a private conversation and outright lying to you. What could he have overheard that he was so upset about?

“Lando, I’m still confused. What did you hear? How did I hurt you?”

“No, no, you didn’t hurt me. You have no idea how I feel about you – I was going to tell you that night.” Lando was word-vomiting at this point, he never wanted you to find out this way but he couldn’t stop rambling. “I have had feelings for you for so long, and I finally decided that I was going to tell you even if I was convinced you don’t feel the same. And now I know you don’t because you’re seeing someone and – ”

You interrupted him sternly, allowing the anger you were feeling to come forth and shoving down your confusion. “I’m not dating anyone? Is that why you asked Oscar about my ‘date’? Where did you get that idea?”

“You told Zak that you’re seeing someone and that it’s new but things are going good. I heard you say you were seeing him again on Tuesday.”

Your eyes doubled in size – if you weren’t so pissed off, you might have found humor in this, but you felt heat rising to your cheeks and your stomach churned at the thought of divulging your personal struggles.

“Lando, I’m seeing a therapist,” you hissed.

He froze for a moment, then scrambled to shut your door which was still ajar from him barging in.

“A therapist? Are you okay? What’s going on, why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been struggling?”

“No, no, you don’t get to do this right now. You don’t get to make me less angry by being kind and caring.”

“I’m not doing it to make you less angry, Y/N, I genuinely – ”

“I don’t care, Lando! You eavesdropped on my private conversation, misunderstood the context of that conversation, and then you lied to me. You hurt me. And now, because you got your feelings hurt and did things you shouldn’t have done, I have to share something I wasn’t comfortable sharing with you just yet.”

Lando was speechless – you could see the remorse on his face, the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but in that moment you wanted him to feel even worse than you were.

“And you want to know the worst part,” you cried. “I feel the same way about you. I cried to Oscar at dinner because I thought you were with someone else, that you would have rather been at dinner with a different girl.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Can we please just go somewhere and talk? Really talk this out? I know I messed up, but this doesn’t have to change things or how we feel about each other.”

You wanted to, god, did you want to – you knew Lando hadn’t done any of this on purpose. You knew he didn’t have malicious intent and you knew how hurt he probably felt at the idea of you being with someone – it was exactly the way you felt when you thought the same about him.

“I think you should go, Lan”. Despite every part of you wanting to sit and talk, you knew that you needed some time to settle down.

“Ok,” he whispered. “When you’re ready,” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “if you’re ever ready, you know where to find me.”

His posture made you feel sick as he left your office – Lando was always confident, shoulders back and head held high, but as you watched him through the glass walls surrounding you, he was hunched over. Dejected. You’d only ever seen him that way a few times – after he was torn apart by the media or after making a mistake during a race.

It hurt you to see him that way. But, he had also hurt you, and you needed time.

It had been two weeks since “the incident” with Lando – that’s what Oscar started calling it and it stuck. Fight felt too strong, disagreement felt too weak, so it became something nameless. Undefined. Indeterminate. Exactly like what existed now between you and Lando.

Oscar and Lando were set to leave for Sakhir in a week and you wouldn’t see them again until you joined the team for the Australian GP. If you didn’t work things out with Lando before they left for testing, it would be well over a month without a resolution.

The thought made your eyes burn with tears – you were still upset but more than that you missed Lando. You didn’t even have to wonder if he felt the same because you’d seen him around MTC. He looked just as awful as you, if not worse, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation.

You began packing up your things to leave the office, grateful beyond belief that it was a Friday and you’d have two days without seeing Lando’s familiar curls everywhere you turned. At least at home, you would only see them behind closed eyes and wouldn’t have to blink back tears.

A knock at your door startled you, but you assumed it was your team lead looking for your latest analytics report. At least there was one thing you could be happy about – the car data was phenomenal and all signs were pointing to an amazing season for McLaren.

You told whoever was knocking to come in, not looking up from your bag as you rifled through your files. “So sorry, Tom, I meant to bring this to you earlier but I – ”

A throat clearing cut you off, and you looked up to see Lando standing in your doorway with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and one of those cheesy “I’m sorry” balloons in his left hand. You almost giggled, but then you looked at his face and your heart dropped. Dark circles under red-rimmed eyes - he looked awful.

“I know you said you’d reach out when you’re ready to talk, and I wanted to respect that and give you all the space you need. But, we’re both miserable. At least I think you’re miserable, I know I am. I miss you terribly. I miss my friend. And if that’s all you’ll ever be to me, I can respect that and I will cherish it because the past week has been the worst week of my life.”

“Lando, I – ”

“Please, please let me get all of this out. Please let me apologize.”

You smiled slightly, nodding your head for him to continue.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy. It wasn’t on purpose but I should have left as soon as I heard you talking because I know how important trust is to you. I violated yours and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you. It doesn’t matter if I was hurt, I could’ve just said I wasn’t feeling well or asked you about what I overheard immediately. After apologizing for overhearing, of course. I’m sorry that it took Oscar talking sense into me for me to come to you in the first place. I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that I behaved like a child instead of talking to you about my feelings. My actions made you feel forced to tell me something personal that you weren’t ready to share. I’m so sorry, and I hope you know that I’m here for you always.”

He let out a deep breath and you watched his shoulders relax slightly for the first time in two weeks. You knew he was sorry – you’d known how sorry he was immediately when he started explaining and apologizing the first time around, but you just weren’t ready to hear it yet.

“Thank you, Lan,” you whispered as you walked towards him and took his free hand in your own. “I know you’re sorry and I know that this was all a misunderstanding that just got out of hand.”

“I am also sorry for springing my feelings on you. I wanted to tell you properly, ask you out properly, but I couldn’t explain myself without telling you. I ruined everything, it was woefully unromantic.”

“Yeah, that was a bit shit, I didn’t get my big grand gesture or anything.”

Lando’s eyes grew wide, a hopeful gleam in them. “I mean, would you – is that something you would still want? I don’t want to pressure you and I don’t want to assume that you still feel the same.”

“I do,” you said softly. “But, I think we should work on really moving past this before we officially jump into anything more.”

“I completely agree. However, I do have a reservation for two in about forty minutes to make up for ditching you, if you’d like to join me? Otherwise, I’ll have to bring Oscar. He won’t stop talking about the cheese garlic bread.”

“No, Lando, you don’t understand. He ordered three baskets. I went home and typed an apology email to Zak for ruining his diet.”

You both erupted in giggles, leaning into each other for support and out of habit. It felt so good to laugh, the weight and stress of the past two weeks rolling off in waves as Lando’s shoulder bumped yours and you heard the unmistakable laughter that you’d come to love so much.

“Maybe we should bring him anyway,” you pondered. “He’s been an exceptionally good friend to us both the past couple of weeks.”

“He can come next time, I’d like you to myself for the evening. If that’s ok?”

“More than ok, Lan. I’ve really missed you.”

He leaned in quickly, kissing your cheek gently and then nuzzling his nose against your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume he’d gifted you for your last birthday. “Not as much as I’ve missed you,” he objected, his eyes glimmering slightly. Wet eyelashes fluttered against your neck as he stayed tucked into your side for a few more moments.

“We’re going to be late,” you whispered, with a sincere lack of urgency.

“Can we go back to my hotel room instead? Watch a movie and order in? Jus’ wanna hold you.”

Your heart constricted – as much as you wanted to tease him and say he owed you a night out and your favorite meal, you wanted nothing more than to spend the night in Lando’s arms.

“Of course, Lan. I think I need that too.”

On the way to Lando’s car, you passed Oscar who gave you both a knowing smile and a short wave. If you asked him if he had been waiting for you guys to leave, he would deny it. He would deny being so invested in your reconciliation that he waited close to an hour after he could leave for the day to make sure you were both ok. He would also deny that he tracked both of you and when it dawned on him that you were skipping your dinner, he sped to that little Italian place and stole your reservation for an order (or two) of cheese garlic bread.

He couldn’t resist sending a poorly taken picture to the group chat with the three of you and you burst out laughing when you opened it.

“Lan, Oscar somehow stole our dinner res,” you giggled, turning your phone to show Lando an unmistakable basket of bread and a follow-up text with several heart emojis.

Lando held his phone up to snap a quick selfie of you two cuddled up in bed, him leaning in for the second time that evening to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. Almost immediately after it delivered, your phones lit up with another text from Oscar.

HOT DATE FR THIS TIME?

You and Lando looked at each other and smiled, the mutual understanding of where you stood with your feelings evident.

not quite yet, but soon :)

#lando norris x reader #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader

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ma1dita · 24 days

Text

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.3k

summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. split povs: pollux, annabeth, your depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint

(posted 5/14/24, semi edited—def coming back to this)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking. In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why…why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, not children, Dad. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere. There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die than for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎#pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst

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weskie · 14 days

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O Captain, My Captain! (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | 2100 words, dubcon, gunpoint blow job, sex fantasies, gender neutral reader, wesker being a little shit but somehow still a lil soft | Fic Directory

original request

You always were his favorite. So smart and perceptive, sharp and witty. Of course you would be the one to find him first. It almost pained him to devastate you in such a way. To see the way your face fell when those words left his mouth.

“I’ve always been with Umbrella.”

The way you whispered his title in disbelief when he pointed his gun at you was… perplexing. He figured you’d have one of your usual wise-cracks to chuck at him. Instead you–

“I trusted you, I–” You quiver, staring down the barrel that could spell your undoing in a mere flash. Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the tank containing the Tyrant. “Please don’t kill me…”

Beautiful, isn’t it? Wesker thinks to himself. He wonders what you must think of his good work. What you must think of everything.

Deep down, he doesn’t want to do this. In fact, it had been his plan to grab you before death could take you in some twisted form or another. You were the only one he wasn’t keen to place in this experiment. He fully intended to run off with you in his arms, play the hero, whisk you away to safety and maybe finally allow some of his affections free to make an attempt at something more. You weren’t supposed to find him.

You’ve certainly dashed his plans. So what now?

“I’ll do anything!”

Of that, he’s certain. Most people staring down the barrel of a gun would say the same. Perhaps…

Now that’s a thought.

“Anything?” He asks with a cock of his head. “And just what could you do for me, my dear?” The corner of his mouth twitches in a small smirk as the term of endearment hits you. He saunters forward, handgun still trained on you. Little do you know he’d clicked the safety on before raising it toward you to begin with.

It’s precious how you shiver under his gaze. Like you know exactly what he’s thinking, or you’re at least partly aware of it.

This situation has obviously ruined his plans to pursue you once the dust had settled. Perhaps he should take what he can get now while he’s got the opportunity. Sure there’s terror in your eyes, but he’s seen the way you looked at him before. The glint in your gaze, the pining glances and shy smiles. Wesker was no fool.

But he is an opportunist.

“I don’t kno–”

“Oh, but I think you do.” He purrs, pressing the muzzle under your chin to force you to look right into his eyes. He glides his thumb across your lower lip, tongue peaking out to wet his own. “Ah, ah… Don’t squirm. You wouldn’t want my finger to slip, would you?” It isn’t even on the trigger. He smiles sweetly as you take a breath to still yourself. “That’s it, sweetheart. Very good.”

You’re adorable like this. Eyes wide, lower lip quivering beneath the pad of his thumb. Wesker leans forward until his lips are next to your ear.

“I want you on your knees, my dear. Think of it like a new training exercise– just you and me.” His breaths fan against the shell of your ear, words shocking your eyes even wider. He can hear you gulp in anticipation before you start to descend. “Show your Captain what you can do, hm?” The sight alone has him twitching in his pants. He’d never admit to the overflowing excitement in watching you kneel before him, knowing full well he was about to have you in a way he’s only dreamt of. God, the thoughts he’s had of you– the way he’s come apart at mere fantasies all because of you…

His breath stutters as you work him free from his pants, halting entirely when you grasp his cock and stroke. He can feel the tremble in your grip, so he smooths his free hand through your hair to coax you to relax. He nudges you forward gently.

He knows you can’t see his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses, but he almost wishes you could. If you could only see the exhilaration in his eyes coupled with the lack of genuine hostility, maybe you wouldn’t be so afraid of the gun in his right hand. Maybe you’d know it was all for show to keep you from getting any bright ideas. And fuck, he could’ve dropped the damned thing the second your tongue grazed the underside of his tip. It’s been so long since he’s been touched by another; he never has the time to even consider it with his double-triple-agent life. It’s almost embarrassing how sensitive he is to the warm wetness of your tongue.

But he needs more.

His fingers curl in your hair to pull you nearer– his signal for you to open wide and take him. He releases a shuddering breath when your lips wrap around him, descending nice and slow. The sensation of you sucking him is simply beyond words, completely and utterly tantalizing in the way it combines with the hot drag of your tongue.

A soft moan works past his lips when that pesky gag reflex of yours makes your throat clamp deliciously around him. He doesn’t let you pull off. He can’t drop the facade quite yet– can’t be too gentle lest you get any stupid ideas.

“Ah, ah… Hold it.” He breathes, fingers gripping tighter in your hair, pushing your head down. “That’s it, dear…” For all of your sputtering below, you manage to resist the need to release him by the time he finally jerks you back.

He gives you a minute to gasp desperately before pressing the gun to your temple. Your eyes flutter open as if you'd forgotten the lingering threat. Your pupils are blown and the way you squirm is all too obvious.

He knew you'd like this.

Somewhere, deep past that layer of fear, there was a part of you so aroused by this that you couldn’t help but let it affect you. Maybe, with his cock down your throat, you realized that this was what you’d always wanted too. That all those sweet little looks you’d hide when he’d turn your way weren’t for nothing. That your lust for your Captain was coming to fruition in an unorthodox way that was still just as delicious as whatever sinful thoughts you’ve kept of him all this time.

“I'm impressed. But you can do better for me, can’t you?” Wesker’s eyes roll when you dive back in of your own accord, suckling and swirling the tip in a way that screams more than mere survival instinct. It takes no time at all for him to give in and start with slow thrusts into your mouth. Paired with the way he controls the bobbing of your head makes it truly like heaven itself. Wesker could damn well forget everything– where he was, all that had happened, even the Tyrant mere feet away meant nothing right now. Your little gags and chokes around his shaft ring like music to his ears, drowning out the hum of machinery preserving his subject, echoing in his mind to wash away every scream he’s heard since this mission began.

There’s just this.

Just you and him.

“That’s– mmh, that’s it!” Wesker’s breaths grow heavier by the second and he presses the muzzle harder to your temple, wordlessly demanding that you keep up with those wicked glides of your tongue, keep swallowing his cock, keep fucking taking him.

His mask begins to slip with every weakening moan that was never meant to make it past his lips until finally– fucking finally– he holsters that damned gun and grips your head with his other hand, hips rolling until that familiar tightening sensation grows and grows and your name chokes breathlessly from his lips. With one last sharp thrust, Wesker buries himself to the base, hands pulling your face flush to his groin as he paints your throat with his release. His thighs quake and he can just barely register your hands grasping to still him.

He tries so hard to be quiet and maintain that perfect decorum of his, but it’s useless to try. Not when he’s balls deep in your mouth, not when he knows he’s claimed you from the inside out. He’s thought of this too many times. Of how he’d have loved to have you on your knees under his desk back in his office. You’d suck him just as sweetly as you’ve done now, one hand stroking the base of his cock while the other smooths up and down his leg. He’d let you get him close– so fucking close. He’d let you get him right on the brink of losing himself and then kick away in his swivel chair and fuck you senseless on the desk. He wouldn’t even care if the rest of the team could hear the sweet sounds you sing for him. He’d fill you over and over again until his come leaks from you. He’d kneel down and eat you clean just so he could fill you all over again.

Every fantasy flashes in his mind as the throbbing bliss tapers away. This absolutely cannot be the last time he has you.

It won’t be.

Wesker pulls out slowly, staring down intently to watch every inch slip free. His thumbs wipe away at your tear tracks before kneeling to your level.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks as if he hadn’t just put you in an impossible situation and made you think your only way out was to let him fuck your mouth. He smiles at you, though, try as he might, he can’t quite manage that same wicked smirk he’d given you earlier. The facade has faded, and he’s back to the same old Captain Wesker who used to hide his smiles at your quips. The same one who now feels the tiniest pang of guilt at how spooked and used you look.

There's one last thing he needs from this moment. He couldn't possibly let it pass him by knowing he may never have the chance again. And, if he's lucky, you'll understand every unspoken word.

Wesker leans forward, hands cupping your face to bring you into a kiss that was far from the depravity he'd shown you mere moments ago. Your squeak of shock is swallowed by him, and it's the perfect opportunity to wiggle his tongue into your mouth and explore to his heart's content– pleased to no end when you reciprocate.

“You've always been,” he pants between wet pecks to your lips, “my favorite of the bunch.” One of your arms loops around his neck, and that’s when it hits him.

Cold steel presses beneath his jaw and he smiles against you, proud beyond measure that you'd pulled one over on him so easily.

“Still trust me?” He asks.

“Should I?” You counter, panting softly against him. He can see the way doubt blends with belief. You’re the picture perfect specimen of indecision and he would just love to see your reaction to this…

“Go on. Pull.” Wesker murmurs. “Trust your Captain.”

When you make not even so much as a twitch to flinch from what you’d expect to be an exceptionally loud mess, he grasps your hand, finger creeping over yours to direct it onto the trigger.

How peculiar that, much like he’d done, you hadn’t even put it on there.

You look at him with wide eyes for the hundredth time since you found him, suddenly looking much more terrified than when he’d first aimed it at you.

“Wesker, I–”

Click.

You flinch for nothing, and Wesker simply gives you a smug grin as he watches you realize you were never truly in danger. You run through a variety of emotions. Anger, betrayal, disbelief, acceptance…

“What's wrong, my dear?” Wesker purrs, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You didn’t think I’d actually kill you, did you?”

The look on your face elicits a deep, amused chuckle.

“Foolish. I suppose you’ll need to be made to understand just how deep my appreciation for you goes, hm?” With his free hand, he removes his gun from your grasp before pushing you slowly onto your back. Your chest heaves in anticipation, though you lack that deer-in-the-headlights look from earlier.

Good.

Wesker removes his glasses, placing them on your head to rest against your hair.

“Remember,” he whispers, leaning down to nibble at the side of your neck. “Trust your Captain.”

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker fanfiction #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #wesker x you #resident evil #dead by daylight #dbd #request #i hope this is good lol #i do apologize that this took so long to write #its been a stressful ass life these last few weeks but DAMN i love this prompt

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storiesiwrite · 6 months

Text

Home ☾ Lee Seokmin

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

Word count: 5026

Summary: In which you’re having one of those days when it’s a struggle to be kind to yourself, and Seokmin makes sure you feel appreciated and loved.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Seokmin has a gnawing feeling in his gut that tells him you’re not feeling your best today.

It’s evident in the text messages you leave him throughout the day, in your unusual choice of words. Just a small difference, but a difference all the same, and he knows you too well to miss the signs.

Perhaps it also has something to do with your tendency to hide behind a smile even as you’re buried deep in your struggles. You don’t like the idea of people around you noticing. Seokmin would know; as terrible a habit as it is, it’s one that he and you both share.

Suffice it to say, it isn’t long before he begins losing his concentration at work. Completing the simplest of tasks eventually becomes a challenge, but he can hardly expect anything else when you’re constantly on his mind.

The moment his seven-hour shift is over, he wastes no time packing up his things and clocking out of work. The original—and usual—plan has been to head straight home, but those texts of yours made him change his mind. He decides to make a detour instead, making sure to snag a couple of your favorite desserts along the way.

It begins to drizzle shortly afterwards, the skies painted in shades of midnight blue that signal an impending downpour. Not the most ideal situation, but he doesn’t mind the rain beating down on him as he runs down the streets. Doesn’t see the negative because all that matters to him is that he is coming home to you.

Please, he says in a hopeful whisper, please hang on until I get there.

And by the time he reaches the door to your shared apartment, his clothes have been completely soaked through, and he fights to catch his breath. His keys are somewhere in the depths of his sling bag, but retrieving them with both hands occupied would be a hassle, which is why he resorts to pressing the bell with one side of his knuckle. It doesn’t take long before he hears shuffling on the other side and the door cracks open.

The sight that greets him breaks his heart into slivers.

You’re standing there beyond the threshold, your eyes puffy, the dark circles beneath them more pronounced than ever. Faint blotches of red have spread across your cheeks and nose, as if you’ve spent an ample amount of time rubbing them raw. You’re faring worse than he imagined, yet despite everything, you still manage to smile.

Though said smile falls the moment you take in his drenched state.

“Oh, Seok,” you say, concern etched on your features as you quickly pull him inside and shut the door.

He settles down the desserts on the small side table (thank the heavens they were wrapped in plastic, otherwise they would not have survived the terrible weather). Peeling off his wet jacket, he places it atop a drying rack nearby and watches as you dash towards the bathroom with a frown on your face.

“Did you forget to bring an umbrella?” You call out to him, reappearing mere seconds later with a clean towel in one hand. He can’t help but smile at the gesture, so endearing it warms him despite the cold seeping through his skin.

“Well, um, I was in a hurry this morning, and it completely slipped my mind,” he explains as you take his hand, leading him towards the kitchen. When you tell him to sit on one of the shorter stools there, he simply obliges. Standing there in front of him, your face level with his own, you begin drying his face and neck with the towel.

It’s not that he actually needs your help—he can pat himself dry perfectly well—but he accepts it anyway, sees it as an opportunity to truly look at you.

This should feel comforting. This nearness with you, this form of intimacy he would never want to share with anyone else. And in other cases, he’s certain it would. But never in the two years of your relationship has he had this much trouble gazing at you. Especially like this, up close with your bloodshot eyes and swollen cheeks. It hurts him to acknowledge that he wasn’t there for you when you needed him the most.

And still, he doesn’t look away. He knows he has to say something, has to begin the conversation somehow.

“I’m sorry, love,” he tries. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

With a shake your head, you say, “I know, and you don’t need to apologize for that. But please, promise me you’ll remember to take your umbrella with you next time?” You move on to his wet hair, gently dabbing it dry. “I just don’t want you to get sick, is all.”

He gives you a small smile. You’ve always been so caring of others; it’s one of the many things he adores about you. “I will. Promise.”

“Good.” There it is, a small upward tug of your lips. It’s a start.

“I actually swung by the bakery earlier,” he says, nodding to the table near the door where the desserts lie waiting. “Bought some of those glazed donuts you love.”

You follow his gaze. “Did you?”

“Yeah, and I also brought home some boba.”

Your mouth opens slightly in delighted surprise, your eyes crinkling. “You have to stop spoiling me, Seok! I don’t think I can keep up.”

“Not planning on that any time soon. You’re just going to have to put up with it.”

A soft laugh escapes you. “I guess so.” You push the towel aside when you’re done, running your fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to tidy it. “There. Better?”

He leans towards you to kiss you on the lips. “Better. Thank you, love.”

“Don’t mention it.” You cup his face in your hands, and he leans against your touch.

He steals yet another brief kiss from you. “You okay? I haven’t asked you how your day was.”

He feels you tense slightly, though your expression remains neutral. “It was good. Spent the whole day at home today, got to relax a lot. You know how much I like staying in.” You chuckle with a strain that hasn’t escaped his notice. “How was yours?”

“Well, work was more hectic than usual, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m just glad to be back home.”

“So am I, Seok. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, love,” he murmurs. I’m with you now, he wants to add. You can talk to me.

But you say nothing, closing your eyes and leaning your forehead against his. Seokmin’s thoughts begin to wander as he weighs his options: should he be straightforward and ask you outright, or should he wait until you’re ready to talk? He imagines the latter would be the better solution, but he knows you well enough to know that you always try to bottle your feelings up.

He recalls the first time you broke down in tears in front of him; it was early on in the relationship, and you were in your fourth semester in university. You’d been given an assignment, one you were struggling to finish under the pressure of its nearing deadline. Naturally, it made you compare yourself to others who you thought were miles ahead of you.

He remembers having a hard time stringing together the words to console you, because seeing you in such pain wounded him in ways he could never describe.

“You can tell me,” he could only manage back then, his arms wrapped around you as if that alone could shield you from all the pain in the world. He’d take it in your stead if he could. “Whatever it is that’s upsetting you, you can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh. I promise I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, that’s not it, not at all,” you’d replied in between sniffles. “It’s just me overthinking again. I know it’s stupid.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t dismiss how you feel.” He kept repeating these words. But it seemed like nothing he was saying truly left its mark on you.

“You-you’ve also had enough on your plate already, and I wouldn’t want to add to that—”

“It doesn’t matter, love. Even if I do have enough on my plate, I still wouldn’t mind. I’d still want you to come to me.”

Your body shook as you tried and failed to contain your sobs. “I’m so, so sorry, Seok, I didn’t mean to cry but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I... I didn’t mean to ruin the night. I didn’t to be an inconvenience to you.”

Oh, he thought, his heart breaking in two. He never even once saw you that way. He never, not even for a split second, thought you were an inconvenience.

He couldn’t understand why you felt guilty for feelings you had no way of controlling. He couldn’t understand why you felt ashamed of being human. He could only hug you tighter, could only watch like a fool as you fell apart in his arms.

And then he felt it, simmering beneath the surface—anger.

Anger at whomever it was that had the gall to make you believe you were ever an inconvenience. Anger at himself for having failed you so terribly. He’s your boyfriend, for god’s sake. You were supposed to be able to trust with him. And clearly he’d done an awful job at making you realize that he doesn’t mind you crying in front of him.

He doesn’t mind sharing the emotional burden you’ve always insisted upon carrying all by yourself. None of it matters to him if it means that you’ll feel less alone.

And this time, he won’t repeat the same mistakes again.

He pulls away to look at you, and your eyes snap open at the movement, your hands dropping away from his face.

“You sure everything’s alright?” He asks you again. “You don’t sound well at all.”

“Mhm. My nose has been stuffy since this afternoon, I think. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, nothing a few cups of tea won’t fix.” You take a few steps back from him, decidedly avoiding his gaze. “Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up and then we eat?”

The warmth in your tone from earlier has chipped away, replaced by a stiffness he’s grown all too familiar with. The kind that always tinges your voice whenever you’re dodging the truth. The kind that tells him you’re building your walls back up.

Alright, then, he thinks to himself. Waiting it is.

“I’m gonna get a bath running for you, okay?” You say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze.”

He stands up from the chair so quickly he nearly stumbles. “No, no, that’s alright.” He moves closer to you. “You don’t have to. I’ve got it.”

“No, no. I can do it for you.” You’re still not looking at him in the eye. “You must be tired from all that work.”

His jaw clenches a little. Even as you’re struggling, you try to put everyone else before you. You refuse to let him take care of you.

And finally, after a long silence from his end, he makes himself nod.

“Okay, then. I won’t take long.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

God, you think to yourself, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. What a long, shitty day it has been.

You never knew staying at home the whole day could leave you so emotionally drained. It began the moment you realized you’d nearly missed an important online meeting because you’d thought it was scheduled for tomorrow. In your rush to get yourself prepared for said meeting, you managed to spill coffee all over your work papers, the smudged ink rendering the words illegible.

After the meeting, it took you seemingly-endless hours trying to salvage whatever remains of these papers. Because these papers are the same ones you’ve spent months carefully drafting, writing, and revising after every feedback from your boss. The same ones you’ve spent countless of sleepless nights poring over to see if there is anything you’ve missed, to make sure all the details are in line with the facts.

And for someone who thrives with the help of daily to-do lists, this whole thing stresses you out. Your schedule for the week is already very packed as it is, and the idea of not doing a few tasks that you really wanted to get done today, all because of this stupid, stupid mistake of yours that you could have easily avoided...

You feel like screaming. And you certainly feel like an idiot. What makes you think you could pull off juggling a university major with part-time work?

By now Seokmin must have already figured things out, despite your earlier efforts to pass it off as nothing more than symptoms of a cold. But there’s no doubt that he knows. He’s too observant to have missed anything.

And the fact that you’ve spent the last thirty minutes or so sequestering yourself in the bathroom isn’t helping your case. Try as you might, you don’t have it in you to face him like this, not when it’s so obvious that you’re frustrated. More frustrated than you probably have the right to feel.

Then there’s a soft knock on the door. It clicks open and Seokmin’s face slides into view. “Hey, love. May I come in?”

You nod, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, of course.” You pretend to pat your hands dry. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He moves closer until he stands right behind you, his hands finding your waist, his chin resting on the crook of your neck. “Just that you’re taking so long in here and I’m starting to miss you.”

A laugh weaves its way out of you—the first genuine one of the day. You’re not surprised; if there’s anyone you know who can lift your sunken spirits in a matter of seconds, it has to be him.

“I miss you too, Seok.” You turn around to properly look at him, putting your arms around his body, his warmth enveloping you as he reciprocates the gesture. “You know, I was actually thinking...”

“Yeah?”

“What about a movie after this? I wanna get all cozy with you and watch something while we eat the snacks you bought earlier.”

His smile is soft as he regards you. “Sounds like a plan. Got anything specific in mind?”

“Not really, no. But I think I want something light-hearted. Like a rom-com? Would that be okay with you?”

“I’m okay with anything you want.” He plants a kiss on your cheek. “Just pick a movie, and I’ll get it up and running in no time.”

“Okay.”

As a comfortable sort of silence takes over, you allow yourself to think you got away with it, to hope that Seokmin would sweep it under the rug this time. But then his smile falls, a graver expression now taking its place, and that hope gutters out as easily as an unsteady flame. You stiffen, already knowing where this is going even before he speaks.

“But first, I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Of course. You knew he would catch on, but that knowledge doesn’t make this confrontation any easier.

You try to keep your voice from wavering, forcing down the lump on your throat. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong.”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.” His fingers brush the darkened skin under your eyes, run down the side of your blotched cheek, as if to say, I can see right through you. The gesture feels so intimate that you have to look away, only to regret it immediately. It gives you away, leaves you with no choice except to start confessing.

“You knew?” The words escape you in an embarrassed whisper. What a stupid question to ask. Of course he knew. He probably found out the moment he stepped into the apartment, the lingering signs of your frustration clear as day.

“Yeah. When you sent me those texts earlier this morning, I knew something was wrong.”

Oh. And here you thought you were being subtle enough.

Seokmin hesitates for a moment, as if sorting out his thoughts. “I was... I was going to wait until you’re ready to talk,” he says by way of explanation, his brow lined with worry. “But I can’t stand not doing anything when you’ve locked yourself in here for the past half hour. I can’t stand the idea of sitting still when you’re just one door away and it’s clear that you’re not alright.”

You squeeze your eyes shut like you’d just seen a sight that stung.

“You can tell me,” he continues. “You don’t have to keep it from me.”

“I know that, Seok. I just...” you trail off, finding that it keeps getting harder and harder to hold back the emotions threatening to drown you. It takes you some time to muster the courage to look him in the eye again. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me if it upsets you like this. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? What is there to even talk about? Nothing really happened; you spent the whole day just contending with that cruel voice in your head that always tells you you’re not enough. That you’ll never be enough, especially because you manage to mess up even the simplest, most trivial of things. Especially because you let said things ruin your whole day.

It’s embarrassing.

At your silence, Seokmin shifts closer to you. “Talk to me, love. I’m here for you. I won’t judge you, I promise.” His voice is so gentle that for a moment, you’re tempted to just give in and tell him everything.

This isn’t about the lack of trust; it has never been, and even Seokmin himself knows that. And neither is this about worrying what his response would be. If there is anything your past experiences with him can tell you, it’s that he deals with your breakdowns in a loving, gentle way. Every single time.

He’s aware of your mind’s tendency to shove one worst-case scenario upon another until you’ve run out of space and energy to think about anything rational. Admittedly, it’s not the healthiest habit, and you’ve been trying to unlearn it, but sometimes there are days when you simply can’t cope and begin to spiral.

Despite everything, Seokmin always understands. You know he would understand now, but it’s precisely the reason why this is the last thing you would want to talk about. He’s the kind of person who feels deeply, who doesn’t need to try too hard to put himself in other people’s shoes. That act of sympathizing can be so draining, and you’re not willing to subject him to that. His work is exhausting as it is without you having to pile your struggles atop of his own.

All you can offer him now is a tight-lipped smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said it’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head. “It’s clear to me that it is. And even if it’s not, I’ll still want to hear it all the same.”

The small, knowing tug of his lips tells you he can see what’s running through your mind. You find yourself having to bite back a dry laugh. Ridiculous, really, how you bother trying to hide things from him when he knows you as well as the back of his own hand.

“Even if it’s something I’ve told you many, many times before?” You ask, still giving him the option to move past this.

“Even so. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. We’ll figure it out, the way we always do.”

His kindness leaves a gaping hole in your aching heart. This, you think to yourself, this isn’t something you deserve. You’ve simply been fortunate enough to have crossed paths with him that one fateful night in a certain cafe, that night that changed the trajectory of everything else that came along afterwards.

A tear slips down your cheek. Then another. Disappointed in yourself, you forcefully rub your eyes, only to have him reach out to stop what you’re doing.

He winces a little, as though he were the one on the receiving end of your roughness. “Careful, you’ll hurt yourself like that.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “Here, let me do it for you.”

And it is at this moment that you finally break, the walls you’ve built to keep your emotions at bay crumbling under his touch as he slowly wipes away your tears. He treats you with the utmost care as you cry on his shoulder, listens to you as you try to recount to him all that has happened today. His attention stays undivided the whole time, even as you stutter or can’t seem to find the words to express how you feel.

“I know it’s the same problem every time,” you sob. You hate the way your voice breaks all over. “I know it may seem like... like I’m not changing at all, but I truly am trying my best, Seok.”

His free hand draws soothing lines down your back. “I know that, love. I have never once doubted you. And I can understand how hard it is to overcome this. But you can. You’ve gotten so much better than you give yourself credit for.”

That reminder that you don’t deserve him flits through your mind yet again, scolding you for not feeling ashamed. But the look on his face shows not even the slightest hint of ridicule or disappointment. Seokmin simply holds you in his arms and whispers in your ear over and over that everything will be alright. You want so badly to believe him.

Sniffing, you pull slightly away to meet his gaze. You don’t care for the redness in your eyes or the tear stains on your cheeks. It’s important that he hears this from you and sees the sincerity behind it. “You’re being so good to me, Seok. Too good to me. You always... you’re always doing so much more than I ever deserve—”

“Don’t say that—”

“And I can only hope that you’re alright with being stuck with me. I know I can be a lot to handle, and I can’t imagine I’m easy to love.”

At that, he stops talking, stares at you as though he has a hard time believing what he’s heard. As though waiting for you to take back your words.

And when you don’t, he asks, his voice low and serious, “Why do you think that way?”

Because you can’t think otherwise. Would he not grow tired of your problems? Would he not grow tired of you? Who wouldn’t when it’s the same shit over and over again?

He takes your silence as a sign to go on. “Do you really think that that’s how I feel about you? That you’re difficult to love because you go through problems sometimes? Because you have feelings like real people do, like I do?”

Pain flashes across his features, along with something else. It takes you a while to recognize it as anger, though you know that anger isn’t directed at you; rather, it’s on your behalf. “I’m so, so sorry that you were made to feel like you have no right to be sad or upset when things are difficult. But I’m here to remind you that whatever it is you feel, it’s valid.”

You say nothing in return, feeling the weight of his words as they sink in.

“I’ve seen the way you treat others,” he continues. “I’ve seen how deeply you appreciate and care for them. You don’t think twice when it comes to helping people, even the ones you barely know. But I’ve never seen even just a shred of that same kindness when it comes to yourself. You constantly beat yourself up for simply being human, and you have no idea how much that breaks my heart.

“And it makes me wish you’d see yourself the way I see you, because maybe then you’d come to learn all the wonderful qualities you have that you always seem to look past.” He lifts your hand to his lips, leaving a trail of kisses along your knuckles. “You’re a student working a part-time job; don’t you realize how impressive that is? Not to mention the fact that you’re getting better and better at not overthinking when it used to be tough for you. All this progress has never escaped my notice or anyone else’s, just your own.”

You’ve calmed down by now, your crying reduced to small sniffles. It’s still hard to keep your eyes open, and it’s even harder to come up with a response. But you’re content with simply hearing what he has to say, and your heart is full of tenderness and warmth. He’s never once failed to make you feel so loved.

“And as for what you said earlier about me being stuck with you”—he pecks your lips softly—“I hope you know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going to love you any less because of your struggles.”

His declaration hits a little too close to home, rubbing at a lifelong wound that has yet to heal. After all, the reason why you hadn’t wanted to get into a relationship before Seokmin came into the picture was fear. Fear that once your partner discovers just how ugly and messy things can get for you, how much emotional baggage you carry, they will leave.

A part of you has always known that confiding in Seokmin would make it hurt less. But a greater, selfish part of you is afraid that he’d grow tired of putting up with you and your constant problems. Maybe you’d never dare to admit it out loud, but the truth is that you would rather struggle alone in silence than lose him altogether due to your honesty.

But Seokmin sees through all that. And instead of leaving, he stands by your side and holds your hand through it. He holds your broken pieces as you try to stitch them back together.

And all the things he’s said about you... you know he truly means every one of them. He’s genuine in everything he says and does. But you can’t wrap your head around the idea of someone great like him can see you that way. It’s a surreal thought, one you never dared to entertain before now.

But maybe he’s right. Maybe you’ve been too hard on yourself. You’re certain that if it were anyone else going through the same, exact motions as you are now, you wouldn’t tell them the hurtful things you hurl at yourself at any given chance. And you’ve always known that progress is never linear, and falling down once or even a dozen times doesn’t eliminate all the previous steps you’ve taken. It doesn’t diminish all that you’ve accomplished, all that you’ve done to be better.

Whatever it was that Seokmin saw in you that one night from two years ago, when he asked you to be his, it doesn’t matter. For the millionth time, you’re so glad you took the leap and trusted that he would catch you.

All these new thoughts running through your head, all these feelings of fondness and love for him coursing through you, yet you can only manage to ask him this: “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know all the right things to say every time.”

He lets out a small laugh, relieved that you’re no longer as upset as you’ve been before. “Because I’m only saying the truth. Loving you is a commitment, a decision I make every single day. And that decision comes easily, willingly, because you’re so, so easy to love.”

You feel like crying all over again, but for the right reasons this time. God, you really are the luckiest person in the world. “So are you, Seok. I hope you know that, too,” you say as you pull him into a hug.

“Feeling any better?” You may not be able to see him, but you just know that he’s grinning.

“Yeah.” You nestle up against him. You don’t ever want to let go. “Thank you for always hearing me out. For not only accepting me as I am, but also encouraging me to be the best version I can be.”

“I can say the same thing to you, too.” He kisses your brow. “Thank you, love. For all the times you’ve held my hand and kept me grounded and going when it’s so easy to give up. You’ve been there for me in ways I can never explain, and I’m so, so grateful.”

It truly is the least you can do for him. You snuggle your head into his shoulder with a contented sigh. “Thank you for always giving the best hugs.”

He laughs heartily at that. “You can have all the hugs you want, I promise. But I need you to promise me one thing in return. Promise you’ll never hesitate to let me know whenever you’re not feeling okay. I’m here for you, and I don’t want you to go through things alone. I want you to let me take care of you.”

You glance up, your eyes meeting his. “I promise, as long as you do the same and let me take care of you, too.” And when he nods, you add, “I love you.”

He’s beaming so widely that you can’t help but do the same. “I love you, too.”

It’s been true all along: home is not a place but a person, after all.

— ☽ —

author’s note: not so proud of how this fanfic turned out, but i’m still glad i got it done because it truly helped me get through a tough time. i hope that you find comfort reading it as i did writing it. lots of love and take care ♡

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junkdrawerfics · 9 months

Text

First Suspicions

And final findings.

Summary: Two instances when your curiosity gets the best of you and Jasper has to distract you from the truth. And one instance when he's not there to do so. Curiosity might just be the thing that kills you.

Words: 1768

Note: I like this part a lot more, so I hope you guys also enjoy it! I tried to do a quick but believable process of discovery. Longer note at end.

Also @little-miss-loves-fictional-men your comment on my last post almost made me cry. Thank you for that.

---

“So you’re not related to your siblings, right?”

A month into the semester, and Forks feels like home already. Largely in part to Jasper, not that you’ll ever tell anyone that, especially him. It took only a few days for you to become fast friends. Being around him felt easy, maybe because he never seems to judge you for your odd habits, or maybe just because he’s one of the kindest, most empathetic people you’ve ever met.

Whatever it is, your friendship quickly breaks from the confines of the school. Whether it be studying at you new favorite coffee shop - though you’re thinking of going somewhere else since he rarely wants a drink or anything - or going on a walk through the woods as you’re doing now.

Jasper offers a wry smile as he helps you over a large log, “Just Rosalie, I’m afraid.”

You shoot him a disapproving look, though he catches the glimmer of laughter in your eyes, “Don’t be mean, Jasper Hale. She doesn’t seem that bad.”

It is strange though. Except for their matching gold hair, there’s not a singular similarity between him and Rose. They’re honestly the most different out of the family, personality-wise at least. Maybe that’s normal for siblings though.

“No, I suppose she’s not,” Jasper murmurs, looking up at the sky, which is practically hidden behind the canopy of pine needles. “Though I’d much rather listen to Edward go on about Bella than her talk about herself.”

Bella Swan. The girl who moved to Forks just one year before you. You have a class with her, and you honestly like her quite a bit. While you’re both awkward, it’s nice to know someone else who’s close with the Cullens.

And she might know things that could answer your growing list of questions.

Like why are they all so pale? Why do they avoid most of the school? Why do you never see them on the rare sunny days Forks gets?

“So why do you ask about my siblin’s darlin’?” Ah. Right. You weren’t being too subtle, you guess.

“I just think it’s crazy how similar you all look,” you explain, keeping your eyes glued to your shoes. Mud sticks to the sides, both dry and wet. You’ve been walking for a while now. “I mean, you all look different, obviously, but you all have the same eyes. And you’re all gorg-”

You bite down hard on your tongue and come to a stuttering stop.

That wasn’t supposed to come out.

Jasper stops right beside you, lips drawing into a wolfish, slanted smirk. You stand completely frozen, eyes wide as he steps closer, too close, leaning forward against the tree behind you. Your heart flounders wildly in your chest. Sometimes you forget he’s so tall.

“I’d sure like to hear you finish that declaration, miss (L/n),” he hums, tone bright with barely concealed mirth.

“Nope!” Your heart lurches as you duck under his arm and scuttle away. Heat burns across your cheeks despite the chill in the air. His laughter echoes behind you, warm and deep and lovely. Too lovely. Your face goes darker. “You didn’t hear anything. I didn’t say anything. Oh hey, look at that tree!”

Jasper watches you dash away, relief warring with his amusement as he follows close behind. You’re observant, more observant than he expected. He’ll have to be more careful. At least he was able to distract you.

This time.

---

“Do you always run this cold?” You poke Jasper’s shoulder as you pass him on the way to your desk.

The blond glances up from his textbook, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this, “I suppose I do.”

“Maybe it’s cause you don’t eat enough,” you muse, reaching for the bag of chocolate you keep hidden in the bottom drawer. You hold it out to him with a conspiratorial smile, “I always like to keep a secret stash, want one?”

“No thank you, darlin’.” Jasper smiles, though it’s tighter. Maybe you only see it because you’re looking for it, but you swear he looks uncomfortable for a split second.

“I feel like I never see you eat,” you admit, putting the bag back in its hiding spot, “Even at school. None of you eat.”

Jasper’s brow furrows. He can feel your concern, but also your curiosity. They radiate off you in equal degrees, so he can’t tell how carefully he should tread.

“My siblings and I are on a…special diet,” he explains slowly, eyes falling back to his textbook. He can’t hold your worried gaze while he lies to you, even if it’s not really a lie. “We prefer not to talk about it.”

You tilt your head, pouting softly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

Guilt. Jasper can feel it biting at the back of his mind. But he smiles and murmurs a soft, “Thank you for understandin’.”

You nod. It still seems strange, though. The more you think about it, the more questions you have. You’ve hardly seen him even drink water, and that can’t be normal, even more for a special diet. But it’s not like he looks unhealthy. No one can look that good if they’re not eating enough.

A sudden heat creeps up your neck. Coughing awkwardly, you turn your attention to your own homework, trying to not focus on just how good Jasper always looks. The man is surprisingly fit under all those sweaters -

Then why does he run so cold? The thought comes back to you, like an annoying fly circling your head. You’ve noticed the same thing about Alice when she gave you a hug. Their touch is like ice, cold enough to leave you shivering after the smallest graze. It’s the kind of cold you read about in your murder mysteries, when someone is dead.

Curiosity burns hot in your chest, making you all but forget the slight warmth in your cheeks. Some things just don’t add up. And you know you shouldn’t pry, it’s none of your business and you don’t want to push him away. So why does it matter so much to you?

“Do you need help with that problem, darlin’?”

You jump, glancing up to find Jasper looking over your shoulder at the worksheet in your lap. You didn’t even hear him get off the bed. It’s almost like he’s a ghost.

“Um, sure, yah.” Your growing anxiety seems to slip away with him so close, and with it goes your curiosity. Shaking your head, you cast him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted I guess. Did I space out?”

Jasper squeezes your shoulder warmly, voice tender with something fond, “You were starin’ at it for a few minutes. I figured it might have been givin’ you trouble.”

“Yah, yah, I guess I’m stuck.” To be honest, you don’t even know what worksheet you’re on. Help can’t hurt though. “Thanks, Jasper.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Another successful distraction.

---

“Huh.”

You pause in your reading, jaw dropping a little.

To end the quarter, your U.S. History teacher was allowing you to do a report on anything that has been covered in class. You decided to do research into the Civil War, specifically the confederate army since you felt like it was often dismissed in class discussions. Understandably, since it’s an uncomfortable topic for most.

But you were curious, as always. There’s no doubt they were on the wrong side of history, proven by how things ended. Even if you hate what they stand for, you want to know both sides of it.

So you dug up some old books. And by old, you mean old. Written very close to the time period of the war old. They’re only digital copies, since there’s no way you could afford them otherwise, but still. And it took searching some obscure website to find them.

It makes this all the more confusing. You double check the publication date. The copyright. All of it. They all confirm the age of the book.

So how are you looking at what seems to be a carbon copy of Jasper?

It’s an old photo, dated 1862. Black and white and a bit fuzzy. A young man sits perched on a horse, decked out in a full confederate uniform and a cowboy hat. His hair is longer, light, brushing his chin, just like Jasper’s. But that’s not it. No, it’s something about his face. About the lopsided grin on his lips.

You quickly skim the few paragraphs next to the photo, eyes going wider with each word you read.

‘Jasper Whitlock, born in Texas, became the youngest man to earn the rank of Major in the Confederate Army. Major Whitlock was labeled missing in action in the year 1863, when he disappeared while evacuating U.S. citizens who were at risk in the wake of the war.’

Jasper.

They even have the same name. Different last names, but still. Can that be a coincidence? Maybe they’re related, you try to reason. That wouldn't make sense, after all. It’d be crazy. Absolutely crazy.

You decide to google this man, Jasper Whitlock, but only a few generic results for ‘jasper’ show up. Nothing about the young Army Major. You lean back in your chair, brows furrowing. That doesn’t make sense either. Unless-

“What are you reading?”

You shriek, slamming your laptop shut.

Bella holds her hands up, eyes wide.

“Oh my gosh, you scared me!” You press a hand to your chest, laughing breathlessly. “I thought you were Jasper.”

The brunette looks at you strangely, “Why? Are you hiding something from him?”

You flinch. That’s straightforward. For Bella at least.

Trying to give her an easy-going smile, you explain, ��No, he just has the tendency to sneak up on me. I’m working on a history project, that’s all. He knows all about this stuff and I definitely don’t, so I’m trying to spare myself some embarrassment.”

You hate lying. It makes you feel gross, but you don’t want to freak Bella out. There’s a lot of ways this could be explained, you’re sure, and you’re probably overthinking all of it.

Yah. There’s no way that this Jasper Whitlock could be connected to your Jasper. It’s impossible.

Right?

This time, Jasper isn’t there to blow out the spark.

---

Unless.

The word rings around in your head.

Ringing and ringing and ringing until you jolt up in bed later that night and snatch your laptop from your nightstand.

‘cold skin’

‘doesn’t eat’

‘avoids sun’

‘doesn’t age?’

You click enter and only one word comes back.

‘vampire’

---

So! I was so excited to incorporate the whole history thing! My headcannon is that Jasper would have been recorded in history because of his accomplishments (I mean, the real youngest major of the confederate army was 36 so him being 19 is crazy) but the Cullens have worked to to keep his name off the internet somehow. I'm sure one of them could pick up some computer skills with all that time.

And that's why you only see him mentioned in old, written text. I don't know, I think it's something really cool to think about! And what a cool way to do a reveal!

Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed this!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #jasper whitlock is a minor historical figure and you can't prove me wrong

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adiduck · 9 months

Note

Since it's one of my favorite scenes in TGM, maybe the '86 boys finding the most beautiful plane ever built (i.e. the F-14 for those who don't know what I mean) and figuring out who gets to pilot and who has to backseat? Or '86 Ice and Mav after seeing the Admiral in his hospital bed? Or Ice having a chat with Rooster?

Gonna go with the first one, because I'm actually really pleased with the banter LOL

“Ice,” Mav says, hunched over as he looks through the binoculars. He’s gone very, very still.

“If it isn’t good news, don’t tell me,” Ice says.

“It’s… well, it’s news,” Mav says, and hands him the binoculars. “Last spot on the right.

Ice takes the binoculars and looks through them.

He stares.

“Well,” he says finally. “She may not fly.”

“That’s true,” Mav agrees.

“And we won’t outrun any of the bogeys in the air.”

“Also true.”

Ice falls silent again, staring. “...Rock-paper-scissors for the pilot seat?”

“You’re on,” Mav says.

“I can’t believe you cheated,” Mav hisses, as they slide down the last of the bank.

“I did not,” Ice lies. “How would someone cheat at rock-paper-scissors?”

“You hesitated!”

“You want a redo? I’m sure we could stop someone to referee,” Ice says. They start out into the open, looking around at all the people milling about like so many chickens with their heads cut off. “But if not, I think we should run.”

“Argh!” Mav says eloquently.

They run.

In front of them, an F-14 Tomcat looms large, big and beautiful and just for them.

By some miracle, nobody stops them as they dash across the runway towards her.

“Do you often cheat at rock-paper-scissors,” Mav asks, as Ice walks up to the generator, hoping against hope has he activates the machine--

It lights up.

“Fuck, yes,” Ice says.

“Glad you’re willing to admit it,” Mav says, because he’s a jackass. Ice rolls his eyes.

“No time to preflight,” he says, and rounds to march towards the ladder. “Unhook us will you?”

“No, I’m going to just stand here and wait for us to be caught,” Mav mutters.

Ice ignores him, jumping into the cockpit and hauling his helmet back on, taking in the familiar, if aged-looking, dashboard.

“Hi there, baby,” he says, and feels the warm weight of familiarity settle into his bones. He runs his fingers over the dashboard for a moment. “We’re gonna treat you right. You up for a last flight?” He flips the Master on, fingers flying through the start engine sequence. “Come on, sweetheart, you show these pretenders how it’s done--”

There’s a thrum, and the first engine turns over.

Down on the ground, Mav whoops.

Ice doesn’t bother to suppress his grin, cheeks hurting with it. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about,” he says, and lets reflex kick in, coaxing the second engine to life as Mav climbs in behind him.

“Fuck, it’s been a bit since I sat in this seat,” Mav complains through the radio, as Ice secures the canopy.

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to be much help,” Ice assures him, and throttles forward and out of the hangar bay.

“Fuck you, too.”

Ice’s grin widens. “Don’t proposition me in front of our date, Mav, it’s bad form.”

“Oh, I’m sorry baby, you know you’re the only girl for us,” Mav says, instantly, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Ice shakes his head, taxiing them out and taking in the taxiway in front of them, the completely cratered runway. He feels the smile fall off his face slightly. “Hm.”

“...Taxiway it is, I guess,” Mav muses.

“Short runway takeoff,” Ice agrees. “You a praying man, Mav?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither,” Ice says, and starts the takeoff sequence. “Let’s go.”

#adi is a writer #ask game #icemav #they're taking a lovely lady on a date ;)#operation groundhog au #wip snippet

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sixhours · 2 months

Text

Firsts - Crawl

Anna learns to crawl.

Rating: Everyone Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, Joel is a sap, mostly follows canon, fluff, fluffy baby stuff, no really this is sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting, don't forget to brush your teeth Word count: 1.3k

Notes: I promise it's just fluff this time. Sickly sweet with a dash of humor, nary an angsty cloud in sight. Joel thinks of Sarah but it's not sad.

You can also read Firsts on AO3.

~*~

The first rays of morning sun are just peeking into the living room where Ellie sits cross-legged on the floor, entertaining the household’s happiest early riser. Anna, recently fed and changed, has been whisked downstairs to give her mother a rest.

Ellie should be asleep right now, too, curled up in her bed in the garage, but sometimes the nightmares come back with a vengeance. The baby’s solid weight in her lap is a comfort.

“Good thing you’re cute, kid,” she signs as she speaks, interrupting the movement of her hands to cover a yawn.

Joel, up for an early patrol shift with Tommy, is making coffee in the kitchen, one good ear trained on his daughters’ one-sided conversation, soothed by the sounds of Ellie’s voice and Anna’s occasional coo.

When the coffee is done, he settles into the armchair across the room and waits for the caffeine to kick in.

Ellie gently sets Anna down on the floor. The baby frowns immediately and turns with a soft whine of protest, reaching for her sister, rocking back and forth as she tries to get back into Ellie’s lap.

“So clingy,” she sighs, picking the baby up and plopping her back down on her legs.

“She’ll be crawlin’ any day now,” Joel says, sipping at his mug.

“You think?” Ellie looks up at him, then back at her sister with wonder. “Just think of the trouble you’ll get up to then, little crotch goblin.”

Anna giggles and pats Ellie’s mouth to feel the air of her sister’s words. A bubble of drool pops at the corner of her tiny bowed lips and Ellie wipes it away with her sleeve.

Joel winces, surveying the room with fresh eyes. He sees every sharp corner, every hard surface, every uncovered outlet. He’d forgotten about this part. They really need to start baby-proofing.

After a thought, Ellie stands and places Anna on her favorite blanket a few feet away. She steps back and sits down, then makes the sign for come here .

Anna leans forward on her hands but doesn’t make a move to go further. Instead, she finds a tassel on the blanket and grabs at it, trying to grasp it in her chubby fingers to pull it into her mouth.

“C’mon, bug,” Ellie beckons, tapping the floor to get her sister’s attention, then signing and speaking at the same time. “You can do it, kiddo.”

Joel watches, lips quirked in a smile, as Ellie continues to encourage her sister to cross the distance without much luck. After a while, he eases himself down onto the floor, setting his mug on the coffee table.

“Lemme try.”

“Think you can do better, old man?”

He shrugs. He’s pretty sure Ellie is the favorite, but he won’t tell her that.

“Tell you what,” Ellie says. “She comes to me first, you have to take my stable mucking rotation for a month.”

Joel snorts. “Yeah? And what do I get if she comes to me?”

“I’ll…do the dishes for a month.”

He shakes his head. “No deal. You’ll just eat at the caf.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll…I’ll take diaper duty whenever you ask. No whining.”

“S’a deal.”

Ellie hesitates. “You agreed to that way too fast, dude…”

“She’s on solids now,” he grins. “An’ I have a good feelin’ about this.”

“Oh, gross. Asshole.”

He ignores this and reaches out for his youngest daughter. “C’mere, li’l bug. Show us what ya got.”

Anna looks back and forth between her father and sister and flashes a gummy grin, pleased to find two of her favorite people at her level. She rocks forward, makes a soft, happy noise, and doesn’t move further.

Joel grabs the TV remote off the couch, forbidden fruit, and taps it on the floor to get her attention.

“C’mon, baby girl. You know you wanna play with this.”

“Hey, no fair, dude,” Ellie protests. “That thing is like baby crack.”

“Never said we were playin’ fair, kid.”

Ellie groans and looks around, finding a stuffed giraffe in the basket of baby toys. She holds it out with one hand and makes the sign for giraffe with the other. Anna coos and grins, waving her arms in recognition…but she doesn’t budge.

They go back and forth, each trying to tempt the baby, neither having much success, although Anna remains enraptured by the attention.

Just when Joel thinks he’s got it–Anna is on hands and knees and pointing in his direction–Charlie’s sleepy voice carries from the stairs.

“Are you playing fetch with the baby?”

Joel and Ellie exchange a look.

“She’s not a dog you guys,” Charlie sighs, stepping between them and reaching down to pick Anna up.

“Hold on,” Joel says, stopping her with a hand to the side of her thigh. “She almost had it. She was comin’ to me.”

Ellie scoffs, “Yeah right, dude. You were about to owe me a month's worth of stable duty.”

“Joel,” Charlie says slowly. “Are you betting on our kid?”

“No!” he protests, then relents. “Maybe a little, but we’re just encouragin’ her.”

“Right,” she scoffs. She frowns, then backs up a few feet and kneels, signing, “Anna, come to Mama.”

“That ain’t right,” Joel grumbles. “Smart girl knows where her food comes from.”

Charlie shoots him a look and quotes him verbatim, mimicking his drawl.

“‘Never said we were playin’ fair.’”

“Hey, you have to make a wager if you want in,” Ellie says. “I have diapers and Joel has stables.”

“And I pushed her out of my vagina,” Charlie says dryly. “I’m exempt from extra chores.”

Ellie grimaces and fakes a gag, but doesn’t argue.

Pleased to be the literal center of attention, the baby bounces on her diapered bottom, makes a raspberry with her lips, and rocks forward on her hands again. A thread of drool escapes her chin and drops to the blanket, and she zeroes in on it, oblivious to the competition around her.

Soon the three of them have exhausted an arsenal of toys and trinkets in their efforts, and Anna is starting to lose interest. They’re so caught up in the little game that they barely register the front door opening, the thud of boots on the living room floor. The vibrations capture Anna’s attention, though, and she turns to find her Uncle Tommy frowning down at them in confusion.

“The hell–?”

They’re settled in a perfect triangle with baby Anna at the center, failed temptations scattered in a loose circle around them, like they’ve performed some kind of sacred ritual and summoned a baby in the process.

Anna gives a little burble of delight and takes off, scooting across the floor on hands and knees like she’s been doing it her whole life. She bypasses Ellie and Joel and reaches her uncle before the rest of her stunned family can utter a word.

One chubby hand reaches out to pat Tommy’s boot, and she looks up at him with big, gray eyes. He bends down to pluck her off the floor.

“Ain’t that a fun new trick,” he smiles as she smacks his cheeks in her tiny hands and blows a raspberry in his face. “When’d you learn to crawl, li’l bug?”

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #ellie williams #babyfic #baby #family fluff #fluff

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year

Note

Child!reader tugging RoR characters, asking to be pick up and telling them their hungry? My nephew does this all the time and I can't resist feeding him his favorite food

What a cute concept~

-Brunnhilde patted your head gently after giving you a juice box, smiling as your eyes lit up before you grinned up at her, “Snack?” she chuckled, ruffling your hair, making you squeal, “Not right now Y/N. Dinner will be soon so you can’t have any snacks until after dinner.” You nodded and sat down, enjoying your juice as she headed out to meet with some others to go over some paperwork. The door on the opposite side of the room opened, revealing one of your favorite people in the whole world!

-Odin- You immediately stand, leaving your empty juice box behind, “Papa Odin!” a rare smile appears on his face as you toddle over, immediately holding your arms up, “Up! Up!” he instantly had you in his arms, letting you hug him as far as your little arms would go before he looked around, finding you alone in the room before his attention was brought back to you, “Papa Odin, snack?” he chuckled warmly, knowing Brunnhilde had told you no, but seeing your pleading eyes, he couldn’t resist as he took you out of the room and to the kitchen, “Just one. Don’t want Brunnhilde to get mad at me.” you thanked him, tearing into your favorite snack while he smiled down at you with a fondness in his eyes.

-Buddha- His eyes go bright and smiles as he sees you as you quickly run over to him, hugging his legs, “Buddy!” he laughed warmly, picking you up, tossing you into the air once, your delighted squeals filling the air before he grinned, almost mischievously, “Wanna get some snacks?” the stars in your eyes were near blinding as he holds you close, tip toeing out of the room to avoid Brunnhilde catching the two of you and once out of the room, he made a mad dash, listening to your delighted squeals. Brunnhilde found the two of you in the kitchen a half hour later, snack wrappers surrounding the both of you as she folded her arms, a disapproving glare aimed at Buddha as she knows that he is an enabler when it comes to snacks. He just gave a weak grin, trying to act cute while you looked up at her, chocolate all around your mouth, looking like a chipmunk with your cheeks stuffed full.

-Thrud- Your tiny arms instantly were wrapped as far as they would go around Thrud’s calf, “Sissy!!” she smiled, kneeling and pulling you into her arms, “Hello there, Y/N! What are you up to?” you beamed brightly, “Hugs and snacks!” she couldn’t help but smile, giving you the hugs you wanted, before her smile weakened, knowing dinner was soon, “You know Brunnhilde doesn’t want you ruining your appetite for dinner. What if we have a fancy snack after dinner?” your eyes were sparkling as if they were made of diamonds, “Fancy snack?” she nodded, holding you up as she walked out of the room, heading to the dining room for dinner, “Yeah, we can make something super fancy for you! With extra whipped cream!” your hands reach for the sky as you cheer for whipped cream, making her laugh.

-Zeus- Your eyes sparkly, “Grampy Zeus!” he beams brightly as you run for each other, “Y/N!” his hands easily meet your waist and pulls you up into a hug, spinning around which makes you squeal with delight as your arms go around his neck. Zeus looked around, frowning as he saw no snacks, “Did Brunnhilde not give you any snacks?” you shook your head, “Sissy said no snacks until after dinner.” He frowned, putting his hands on his hip before he spoke, “Well that just won’t do! I’ll give you some snacks! Brunnhilde can’t tell me what to do!” a shadow loomed from behind him as Brunnhilde spoke, her hands on her hips, “You sure about that?” Zeus screamed, tossing you into the air in fear but you squealed in delight, finding it fun before Brunnhilde caught you, holding you on her hip, “She needs to have a proper meal before any more snacks!” Zeus pouted, folded his arms across his chest, “You’re no fun!” she glared at him and he squeaked in fear, afraid of her glare before the three of you headed down to the dining room together.

-Ares- He melts, seeing you running over to him, a smile on your face as he instantly sweeps you up, twirling you around as you giggle, “Ares-Ares, want snacks?” he melted again, cooing gently, “Snacks? Of course, if you want snacks, you’ll get snacks!” you cheer and he takes you to the kitchen and showers you with snacks, smiling brightly at your smiling face. A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his bliss and he turned, instantly freezing, seeing a very angry Brunnhilde there, “What do you think you’re doing, giving her that many snacks! She’s not going to eat her dinner now!” he found himself on his knees, getting scolded while you continued to eat snacks, as your appetite was ruined now, there was no point in stopping you now, but Ares was saddled with babysitting you once the sugar rush hit you and he had to chase you around the Norse pantheon for what felt like hours until you finally crashed.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror odin #ror buddha #ror thrud #ror zeus #ror ares

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callsign-relic · 5 months

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I like when people write predators going with a cat and mouse scenario like Tom and Jerry but different, it’s actually risky for the human vs their mech, the mechs got the size advantage and depending on the area the playing field, no matter how far the human runs their mechs just going to toy with them, Rodimus just letting his human run along his desk letting his hand slowly close around them once he finally decides to reel them in

AAAAAAHHHHH ANON YOU GET IT 😩😩😩 the key word here is “letting”. One of my top favorite things in size difference is how the bot can really do whatever they want to the human. The human thinks they’re so close to escaping when Rodimus decides he’s bored, and scoops up his little pet in mere seconds with ease. You caught me in a good feral mood today I would be more than happy to ramble a little scenario for this. Under the cut since I don’t wanna post blocks of text on people’s dashboards HAHA, no warnings this is sfw but open ended

Imagine the human getting caught trying to escape from Rodimus, and they fall flat on their behind as the blue glow of the captain’s optics wash over them while he gives them a curious, almost bored, half-lidded look. The human thinks he’ll grab them any second now, but they gently move to come to their feet, and Rodimus does nothing. He just watches them.

The human finds some hope in that. Maybe he finally got bored of them, and was going to allow them to go free. There’s when the human bolts in the other direction, doing their best to cross the distance of the mech’s desk all the way to the air vent on the other side.

Their goal is in sight, just a few more steps—

Until they ram into something.

Disoriented, they stumble back, holding their head and looking up to see a familiar yellow servo blocking their way. They turn and lock eyes with their captain, an amused little smirk cracking up the side of his dermas. The human growls, forcing their way up and scaling the mechanical grooves of his palm. They vault to the other side, only for that same hand to slam down in front of them once again— this time, gently pushing them back and further away from their goal.

The human looks back to Rodimus, who keeps that same little half-entertained grin. He thought this was funny. His cute little human, thinking they could ever stand a chance against his comparative strength. How easy it was for him to push you aside, erase all progress you had made. Oh, but you kept on trying. He could see the fire in your little spark— or, heart, he corrects himself. It was just adorable.

He had been so wrapped up in his cooing that he had hardly noticed you halfway across his desk again. Now, he knew this was cute, but it was the middle of the night. He had a ship to run tomorrow morning.

Having enough of this little playtime, the captain, in his half-asleep daze, slowly reaches over to you. You feel your blood pumping as you dash at a breakneck pace, but as the captain moves slowly and sluggishly, he covers all you had ran and more, and in mere seconds.

The open air vent above you stared back at you almost mockingly as yellow digits curl painstakingly slowly around you, sealing your fate as the captain secures a loose fist around you. You can’t help but let out a cry as you’re pulled up and away from your only chance of escape, tucked neatly onto the mech’s chassis. The gentle thrum of his spark and engine within him almost made you sick, but the captain couldn’t be more content to have his little buddy safe in his hands again.

Now… what was the captain going to do with you?

#relic answers #always happy to answer Rodimus based asks teehee

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jjsstars · 11 months

Text

// a break // theo/stiles || on my ao3

|| summary: stiles takes theo to his favorite diner as a way of sealing their peace, they both have trauma to talk about

|| tags: pre-slash, greasy diner food, hurt/comfort, talk of the dread doctors, talk of neglect & abuse, talk of void stiles

Theo wrinkles his nose as he steps inside the diner, trailing behind Stiles who walks in with a beaming smile. It’s sunny out, just barely, the suns coming up over the tree line across the street of the 24/7 diner Stiles claims has the best food.

Theo can’t argue anything opposite and when Stiles offered to take him, just them, Raeken swore he was going to pass out right there and then. But as he slips onto the sticky red seat across from Stiles, his brain reminds him that this isn’t a random dream nor is it fake. Stiles plucks a menu from where they’re stood up against the window of the table, Theo follows the action.

He’s not sure what to get, his brain automatically look at the prices and trails through the items for the cheapest option. When he was still under the dread doctors control he had to scrape money together more than once, paying with coins and crumbled dollars for a measly half of a sandwich that made the waitress looking at him pityingly as he scarfed it down. There’s no half a sandwich options on this menu, but a side of fries is only a few bucks.

“What can I get for you boys?” A curly haired waitress approaches with a practiced customer service smile, though it looks a little more genuine when she looks at Stiles. He must be here a lot if she recognizes him.

“A burger and fries with a coke.” He states and hands the waitress the menu, teeth showing in his wide smile. Theo finds himself grinning just seeing Stiles so happy, so at ease.

“And what about you hun?” She turns towards Theo, pen stopped on the notepad that she’s scribbled Stiles’ order on.

“Just- just a side of fries and a water.” The scoff Stiles lets out takes Theo off guard, his head whipping to stare at the brunette boy in front of him.

“He’ll take what I’m having.” He says simply with a hand up to prematurely stop Theo’s arguing. Raeken can only give a weak nod before the waitress is dashing away, not at all bothered by Stiles changing Theo’s order.

“Stiles—.” He starts but is quickly stopped.

“I’m paying, and there’s no way you’re only getting fries and their questionable tap water.” Theo nods again, more sure of it this time, and Stiles looks at him with a satisfied expression so Theo takes it as a win.

“What are we doing here anyways? I mean- I’m- I’m not complaining- it’s just, we’ve never really hung out just us before.” It’s stuttered and Theo trips over his words an embarrassing amount. He gets a little deja vu to when he and Stiles had just met, back in fourth grade, when Theo hadn’t gotten his stutter under control and Stiles was one of the only kids that’d talk to him without getting annoyed with how long it took him to get a sentence out.

“I know we’ve never been the closest but uh- I feel like you should know about this place.” Theo feels his brow furrow before Stiles’ letting out a small sigh and continuing.

“I come here when I need a break. From the supernatural, from normal people drama, from school, from whatever. And lately you look like you could use somewhere to get away from whatever it is that’s bothering you.” A small amount of guilt twists in Theo’s gut, he must be really obvious is Stiles caught on to how out of it he’s seemed.

It’s been tough the past few months, sure Beacon Hills has calmed down supernatural wise, and the pack is trying to enjoy their last few months of school, but Theo can’t seem to relax. He’s living with the McCalls now, no longer sleeping in his truck, and he’s forever grateful for it but it’s been a bit of a shell shock. He never knew family’s could be so close and spend so much time together, he thought that was something only movies did. And half the time Theo doesn’t know how to act in those situations. He’s always waiting for that imaginary shoe to drop, for someone to start yelling, throwing things, chaining him down like the doctors did. It’s yet to come.

“That obvious huh?” Raeken lets a hand rub at the back of his neck, Stiles’ eyes track the motion, studying him in a way. He never realized it before but Stiles does that a lot, watch for things, catalog people’s reactions, Theo gets it. He does it too, it’s a trauma thing as Lydia calls it.

“Only to me. So, you don’t have to talk about it, we can just talk about something stupid, or I’m here to listen.” Stiles picks up a napkin to fold and unfold, always doing something with his hands.

“Thought you came here to get away from that all?” The brunette shrugs, creasing the fold of the napkin with his thumb nail.

“A break doesn’t mean ignoring it, it just means relaxing. If talking will make you less tense then you should talk.” It flows so easily out of Stiles mouth, so second nature, Theo figures he must’ve told someone this before.

“You’re gonna therapist me?” A small smile tugs on Theo’s lips when Stilinski rolls his eyes.

“No. It’s called being friends.” There’s definitely more to it but for now Theo won’t push, he’ll just talk, like Stiles said. He tried momentarily to talk to Scott once late at night, and Lydia a few times, but there was always too much guilt about dumping his stuff on their backs. Theo figured they had enough of their own trauma to deal with, but it feels different with Stiles, not nearly as nerve wracking for whatever reason.

“I uh- I guess it’s weird being my own person, without the doctors y’know. I’ve never not had them around since I was nine, I just- it’s hard, to be a person, to not understand things I know I should, to feel out of place everywhere I go.” Something akin to understanding flashes in Stiles’ eyes when Theo meets them, it’s not pitiful like Lydia gets, or sad like Scott, just knowing. He gets it.

“I thought your sister died when you were twelve?” Raeken nods and watches how Stiles chews his lip, trying to put all the pieces together, trying to figure out what each word Theo told him means. It’s another habit Theo’s picked up on, Stiles’ brain is always working overtime to solve things, and he always chews his lip when he does.

“I met the doctors when I was nine but they didn’t get me to- do what I did- until I was twelve. After that they were my entire life, I never had friends or family or anyone, it was just them and experiments. So many fuckin experiments.” It doesn’t hold the anger it used to when Theo would talk about what the doctors did, he’s too tired for that, instead there’s sorrow practically dripping off each word he says.

“Experiments?” Oh, Theo guesses he never really did tell Stiles or any of the pack what happened.

“They’d do surgery’s and experiments on me a lot, they knew I’d heal from it eventually so it was perfect for them. I lost count of how many times they cut me open. I know- I know eventually I stopped feeling it, I stopped, I- I stopped feeling like anything but their toy to use.” Stiles looks like he wants to reply but the waitress is returning before he can.

The two plates of burgers and fries gets placed in front of each boy, as well as their drinks, they give polite thanks and thankfully the waitress doesn’t stick around. She must sense there’s a heavy topic being discussed as she stays silent while setting the plates down, nodding shortly before disappearing to the back of the diner. Theo and Stiles are still the only people here, it’s too early for anyone else.

“I know the feeling. Well- not exactly, I didn’t get experimented on, but I know what it feels like to be used like that.” Stiles says between a bite of fries, eyes not glancing at Theo as he talks.

“With Void?” It’s not a real question because Theo knows the answer. He’s heard the story of what happened, the stories he should say, he had to get different sides for the doctors and then he found things out on his own. He always feels sick thinking about what Stiles went through, and he’s right, they’ve both been used.

“Yeah. I’m sure you already know what happened, but it was horrible to live through. I felt so helpless, so manipulated but I couldn’t pull myself out of it, I can’t imagine feeling like that for years on end. Those doctors will rot for what they did to you.” There’s a bite to the last sentence and Stiles points a fry towards Theo as though it punctuates his point further. Raeken appreciates it, it’s genuine, there’s real care behind the statement.

“Thank you, it means a lot. And for the record, I’d totally kill that nogitsune with my bare hands.” A laugh bubbles out of Stiles chest, his hand coming to wipe at his mouth that has a smear of ketchup from his burger on it.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that, thank you. I think we might be able to arrange that, maybe get you some silver claw covers or something—.” Stiles gets cut off when Theo playfully kicks him under the table.

“I’m trying to be nice here!” They’re both laughing so it loses all malice.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s- it’s sweet, thank you.” He composes himself and gives Theo a warm smile, one that Raeken instantly returns. His chest feels filled with light hearing Stiles call him sweet, which feels stupid to Theo’s logical side, he doesn’t care, he just wants to savor this moment.

#steo #theo raeken #stiles stilinski #theo & stiles #theo x stiles #teen wolf #they’re idiots your honor #jj writes #jj moodboards

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d00mbunnie · 2 months

Text

“I’ll go with Dimitri.” You respond.

Dimitri gets up and wipes his mouth and hands with a wet wipe that was sitting next to his plate. He straightens his jacket and comes over to you with his hand out stretched for a hand shake.

“I will be very happy to show you around.”

You take his hand and shake it. He has an incredibly strong hand shake. His hands are calloused, probably from living outside for years, having to do hard labor. He walks toward the exit. You follow him out. He walks fast for someone old you think. You do your best to keep up.

“So, I think we will start at the library.” Dimitri tells you, “it is my favorite place in the whole of Save Haven 13. Very beautiful building. Good lighting. And they have a map, so I think it’s the best place to start. Plus, if you have questions I can’t answer, they will be somewhere in the library.” Dimitri explains as he guides you to a four-story building build of grey stone and large glass windows.

You gaze up at the building. It’s the tallest one in town, most of the other buildings are one or two stories high. There are a few 3 story buildings, but most are shorter than that. The library stands across from a red brick building marked meeting hall. When you look at the Top of the library you can see a glass dome on top and the top of a tree which is inside. Dimitri ushers you in excitedly. You can tell he’s really pleased to show you around. You dash up the Stone stairs and walk inside.

The interior is amazing spacious. The tree you saw the top of is at the center of the building. It has a red sash tied around it’s trunk with various trinkets attached to it. In front of the tree many little offerings people have left. The walls of the library are white with dark wood trimmings. The railings on the many stairways are tarnished copper. At the desk in front of the tree is a pig with blonde hair. You’re not sure if the hair is a really convincing wig or her natural hair, she had cat eye glasses and a air about her that tolerates no bad behavior. The two of your approach her desk.

“I am here today with my new friend.” Dimitri explains in hushed tones, “I would like borrow a map of the save haven to show them for a bit.”

The pig nods curtly then disappears under the desk and reappears with a large map that she hands to Dimitri.

“Thank you.” He says.

You walk over to the left side of the first floor. There are many long, dark wooden tables. Dimitri unscrolls the map over a table close to the window. The map takes up half the table. You look over the map, you see that the library along with the town is at the very center of safe haven. You can tell you’ve barely seen most of it.

“Now, we are here in town, obviously.” Dimitri explains pointing to the town, “most classes and activities take place here, but sometimes things happen other places.”

You nod in response. You notice the part marked entry fields. There are many little doors drawn on the middle of the field but the fields are even bigger than what you saw they stretch to a place marked misty shore.

“that’s where I came in.” You point to one of the doors.

“Ah, yes. Most people do come in from there but there are other ones all around the island. Like at the far end over here were the woods and the beach are also there are a few in the faerie forest but those are just for the faeries.”

You see that the dark forest is market faerie woods.

“You don’t go in the faerie woods with out permission. It’s not that the faeries don’t like you, but they’re busy with the up keep of the island and that’s their home so we give them space to relax with out having to deal with us. You wouldn’t want customers randomly showing up to your house, no?”

“Oh yeah. I could see how that would annoy them.” You nod.

“May I ask why you have come to save haven? Was there something you wanted help with? Like do you want to go back to school like me or maybe you have money problems? Or life is just too hard right now?

my crappy drawing of the map.

#CYOA #cyoa part 4 #choose your own adventure

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imakemywings · 1 year

Text

Sapphic Book Recs

Moving outside the realm of fanning out over characters we already know, here are a few book recommendations that feature or center F/F relationships. (Note: I am NOT including comprehensive trigger warnings--please mind your triggers if you choose to check any of these out!)

The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir - My personal favorite on the list. If you’re into the F/F lit scene at all, I’m sure you’ve heard of these. TLT is a masterpiece of modern fantasy and has enough moments where its glib tone gives way into something raw and real that it keeps the stakes high and the reader invested. The characters jump off the page and the worldbuilding is colorful and strange. However, if you’re easily squicked by gore, you might want to give these a pass--necromancy is a central pillar of the world and Muir does not hold back on the ick factor.

Recommend if you:

Like stories that keep you guessing

Like messy characters

Savor a bit of codependency in your F/F

The Burning Kingdoms trilogy by Tasha Suri - TBK is a fantasy series set in a fictional country inspired by ancient India. Suri weaves together the stories of several characters and does an excellent job of showing how her two main protagonists--Priya and Malini--are torn between their attraction to each other and the roles of responsibility they choose to take up. Suri also does an excellent job of allowing the female characters to drive the plot, even where they don’t exist in positions of power. (Longer review here)

Recommend if you:

Want female-focused fantasy

Enjoy the push and pull of “duty vs. love”

Enjoy multi-POV stories that unfold gradually

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters - Fingersmith is a period romance piece that involves deceit, heist plans, and falling in love with the mark. This is one of those books where re-reading it a second time will definitely feel different than the first go. Waters does a great job with the interplay of the characters’ motivations which are gradually revealed throughout the book.

Recommend if you:

Enjoy spy/heist stories

Love it when characters lie to each other

Are mostly looking for romance

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon - An epic high fantasy novel clocking in at over 800 pages, Priory covers a lot of ground and a lot of fantasy staples. Ead, an outsider to the court of Inys, has taken it upon herself to secretly guard the queen for reasons of her own--with the results you might hope for as she gets closer to Sabran.

Recommend if you:

Enjoy a romantic subplot but don't want it to take over the action

Enjoy multi-POV stories that unfold gradually

Like the tension of "duty vs. love”

Want an epic dragon-on-dragon fight

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston - If you just really want something lighthearted and if you’re a big reader of fanfiction, this might be your choice. OLS is a fluffy piece that relies heavily on the found family trope with just a dash of fantasy. The standout character is definitely love interest Jane, a suave, confident butch who sweeps protag August off her feet from day one. (Longer review here)

Recommend if you:

Are mostly looking for romance

Do not want lots of angst

Prefer a story where everyone gets along

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See - I debated including this one, because it is not explicitly F/F, which is going to be a deal-breaker for some people. But honestly the romantic and sexual undertones of Lily and Snow Flower’s relationship come across so strong I’m willing to put it up here. This book is set in 19th century China and centers around the intense friendship of two women, starting from childhood and through their adulthood. This one will take you on an emotional ride for sure. A film came out based on this, but in short my review on that is: the book is better!

Recommend if you:

Are okay with ambiguous relationships

Like looking at what women’s private lives looked like in the past

Are looking for something dramatic/emotional

#femslash february #book recs

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antvnger · 8 months

Note

Who are your top 10 favorite muns to write with and why? If a mun is a multimuse also tell which are your favorite characters to write with and why?

(The order in which you list the people doesn't matter unless you want to assign them specific places.)

Question Master

Hhhhhmmmm. Umm. Ant-Mun, is this for you or for me?

((It’s for me, Scott. I got this. Okay *rubs hands together* let’s see here. This is gonna be really hard because I have some good ones here.

In no particular order:

@stxrksarc Iron Mun. A creative genius, a sweet soul, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had the honor and privilege of making on this sight. ❤️💛❤️🐜

@inz-lokisdottir Inz Mun is the sweetest! I love talking with her ooc and I love the stuff we come up with. Scott and Inz go so well together and it’s a lot of fun. Inz Mun is a lot of fun.

@arandomnerdsrp358 my Cassie. A wonderful person through and through and I enjoy the threads and random asks we come up with. We have a great Scott/Cassie going here.

@og-ant-man Pym Mun. Their Hank and my Scott got off on the wrong foot at the start what with Hank grounding Scott from the suit, but over time, they worked it out and developed a good relationship. And Pym Mun is awesome in general.

@thegrandharveyspecter Grand Mun. I never expected Scott to make friends with characters from Suits yet here we are. Grand Mun is a great writer and really has Harvey’s character down pat. I love it.

@indoraptorgirlwind Kit Mun. Like this person is fun in general. All across the board, keeping Scott in his toes and it is a pleasure seeing them in our inbox.

@guardian-rocket Rocket Mun! This dude is awesome. Like seriously. Excellent writing, incredible grasp of the character, and just an awesome imagination. And props for the best tumblr website ever.

I can’t pick between the two so I’m throwing my Lokis into one bullet point. @benevolentgodloki and @askthesecondgenerationavengers you guys are awesome!

@spideymn and @silently-judgingyou you’re relatively new to my RP scene but I’ve enjoyed every interaction with you so far!

@born-to-be-mischievous I just love seeing you on my dash. You’re incredible and I enjoy seeing whatever you give us))

#for the ant mun #ant mun #question master #love for the muns #blog positivity #you guys are amazing

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years

Text

A Thin Line

Prompts: first anon sweetie this ask was very long and i want to be polite to people’s dashes BUT it is the main plot so it was treated well :)

might I humbly request some janus and remus, platonic or romantic, preferrably as angsty as possible :) (oh and also a touch of hurt/comfort because I may love angst but I Am Also Fragile) - anon

Hi, I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a story focused on brotherly dukexiety? It’s one of my favorite dynamics and I almost never see anything for it. No pressure if you don’t want to, I just love your writing and I’d love to see how you write these two! - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: intrusive thoughts, dissociation, possibly unsympathetic patton but not by the end

Pairings: listen i’m still on a kick of being like i will write only gen things and make them emotional and important because fuck you after a ‘‘‘‘‘‘discussion’‘‘‘‘ with someone earlier this week SO gen

Word Count: 5883

Dark, darker, yet darker.

It pools in the corners, crawls across the walls, something darker than darkness. A little witch boy, curled in the shadows, eyes single pinpricks that you can’t see unless you’re already too close. Come, little boy, come down, down, down into the depths where the light won’t reach and the creatures of the night run wild and free.

Where there is light, there must be shadow. When a shadow touches the light, it is destroyed forever.

That was the story Janus told them when they were little. He and Virgil would cling to each other, Virgil because he claimed he wasn’t scared—he was—and needed to protect little Remus. Remus because he was scared—and he should be—and he was small enough to fit into Virgil’s lap.

Janus would sweep them into his six arms, murmuring about how the darkness was needed, there couldn’t be light without dark, that they were safe in the shadows as long as they stuck together. Virgil would mutter about how he knew that, he just needed to make sure Remus understood that so he wouldn’t get scared. They’d never leave him alone.

Remus was new. A baby Side, no more than a fledgling, still trying to piece together the broken shards after Creativity Split. He still reached for the phantom half of his brother, trying to claw back the other half of his heart. Tentacles would sprout from his back, excruciating because they were wrong, no matter how many times Janus would sprout all six of his arms to show him it’s not wrong, sweetie, it’s okay, see? You’re just like me. Remus would scream, haunted by thoughts that ran through his head that he’d never heard before, where’s his brother, why isn’t he coming back to fix it?

“I’m your brother too,” Virgil would say softly, stroking a sobbing Remus’s back, “and I’ll never leave you. I’m right here. I’ll take care of you.”

Remus, the little Dark Side, grew up in the shadows until they molded themselves around his arms, his legs, and grew into the ghoulish smile on his face.

There is something comforting about the darkness. Something cathartic. Wandering deep, deep into the misty shadows, pushing past the last pinpricks of light until he can’t see anything, not even his own hands, and waiting until they race up his spine. To let them sink into him, take control, and that’s when the thoughts would come.

The distant cries of despair, the dissonant shrieks of pain. The images that flashed too real and too bright in the darkness, the prickling sensation on the back of his neck that made him feel like he was being watched.

“Alright Remus, that’s enough for now.”

And he would be back. Janus would be leaning into his peripheral, waving with a teasing smile as he pulled Remus up off the couch and led him to the kitchen for dinner. Virgil would be on his phone, glancing up in time to offer Remus a small smile as he plopped down next to him.

“Hey, little octopus,” he’d say, ruffling Remus’s hair, “you have a good day?”

“I thought about bad things!”

Virgil would chuckle. “Well, that’s your job. You have fun?”

Remus would grin so hard his lips would ache and he would tell them all about it. Janus would smile and reach over, tweaking his ear. Virgil would laugh and tell him he’s doing his job.

And Remus was happy.

Then he found out about the Others.

There can be no light without darkness, Janus had said. Somehow Remus never figured out that there was light.

Patton, Logan, and Roman.

Roman. His brother, his twin, the other half of Creativity. Remus threw himself at the border between the Light and the Dark when he glimpsed Roman’s red sash, uncaring how it burned his hands and made his bones ache because that was his brother over there, he wants his brother back, why won’t they let him?

Janus had gentled him away from the barrier, setting him down with a Kraken plushie and explaining that no, Remus, they couldn’t go over there.

“But why,” Remus had whined, twisting the Kraken’s arms, “he’s my brother, Janny, I want—I just wanna see my brother.”

Something had twisted in Janus’s face. “We can’t go over there, Remus, we’re…we’re not wanted.”

Not wanted? Did that mean his brother didn’t want to see him?

“…yes.”

Virgil had appeared at the first scream.

It took hours. Hours of Janus holding him in his lap, running his hands through his hair, down his back, holding him close. Hours of Virgil muttering soft words, letting Remus squeeze his hands until their knuckles turned white. Hours of Remus’s lungs doing their very best to exit his body as he cried and screamed because his brother didn’t want him.

That was the first time Remus cried over a brother.

When he was older, he learned a bit more. He learned that Roman didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t Split away from Remus because he wanted to, he didn’t know it was going to happen any more than Remus did. He learned that Logan didn’t like Roman either; as Logic, he and Creativity were to be at odds anyway, even if they weren’t Split.

He learned that Patton was the reason for a lot of it.

Janus had hesitated when trying to explain this, eventually settling on what was too simple of an explanation to be the whole story but made too much sense to be a complete lie.

Patton is Morality. Patton is responsible for what Thomas believes to be right and wrong. If something is Wrong, Patton will cast it out.

Janus, Deceit, is Wrong. So Janus is pushed away into the darkness to hide things from Thomas.

Virgil, Anxiety, is Wrong. Anxiety scares Thomas, which is Bad, so Virgil is pushed away.

Remus, Bad Creativity, is Wrong. Roman is Good Creativity, and Thomas only needs to be Good.

“But he can’t stop us from doing our jobs,” Janus had assured, “as you well know. He can’t stop us from reaching Thomas, he can’t prevent us from any of that. We just…can’t go into that part of the Mindscape.”

Virgil had huffed. “Not that we’d ever need to go over there. What’ve they got that we don’t? More sunlight? No, thank you.”

Janus had chuckled, reaching out to ruffle their hair. “That’s the spirit, boys.”

So Remus had shrugged and turned his back on the barrier. He had a brother over here and he had Janus. And they were safe in the darkness, what more could they need?

And Remus was happy.

And then—and then Virgil started to leave.

“Thomas is letting me get stronger,” he had announced at one dinner, a grin on his face, “I can feel the real world more than ever.”

Janus had raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you tried manifesting there yet?”

“Not yet. But soon. I think I’ll be able to do it.”

Remus had bounced up and down in his seat. “Does that mean we might get to talk to Thomas too? Like the Light Sides?”

Virgil had reached out and ruffled his hair. “That’s the plan, little octopus.”

“Well, that isn’t good news at all.”

“Oh, we know you practice your cape sweeping in the mirror.”

Janus had reached over and gently cuffed Virgil upside the head. “Enough of that. Save your energy for Thomas.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Cape.”

“Do you want dessert or not?”

“Ooh, ooh! I do!”

The first time Virgil had left, Remus and Janus had gathered in the living room, anxiously—heh—waiting for any sign that Virgil was in trouble, that something was going wrong, that they needed to step in. But Virgil had sunk out completely, the only sign of him the ambient pulsing of the Mindscape as Thomas reacted to what was going on.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Remus had chanted over and over under his breath, “he’s gonna be okay, he’s gonna be okay, he’s gonna be okay—“

Janus had reached out and carefully stilled his hands, murmuring something about stimming being okay but he shouldn’t hurt himself while doing it.

And when Virgil had reappeared, grinning, Remus had thrown himself into his arms and started peppering him with questions.

“How did it go? Did you manifest? Did everyone see you? Did Thomas see you?”

“Slow down, sweetie,” Janus had murmured, getting off the couch and helping Virgil sweep him into his arms, “let him breathe.”

Virgil had ruffled Remus’s hair, still grinning. “It worked. It worked, Janus. It totally worked.”

Janus had paused, his own smile growing, before he ruffled Virgil’s hair too. “Awful, my dear, simply awful of you.”

Virgil’s grin had sharpened. “I was.”

Then he started to leave more often. Remus wanted to go with him, but they’d refused.

You’re not strong enough, sweetie, Janus had said, Roman is still Creativity to them, I don’t want you getting hurt.

The reason I’m able to do it is because Thomas is letting me get stronger, Virgil had said, maybe when you’re older.

It wasn’t until Virgil didn’t come back that Remus realizes they were lying.

He remembers screaming at the barrier for hours, beating his fists on it, thinking that they’d taken Virgil captive, let him go, he wants him back, how dare they? He remembers Janus finding him and catching his hands, pulling him away and onto the couch. He remembers pummeling his fists into Janus, screaming about how could he be so calm about this, they took Virgil, doesn’t Janus want him back?

“They didn’t take him, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, still holding Remus’s wrists, “they Accepted him.”

Remus freezes. “They fucking what?”

“Virgil got Accepted, sweetie.” Janus runs his hand through Remus’s hair. It doesn’t feel like Virgil. “That’s why he isn’t here.”

“So, what, they just—they decided he’s Good, now?”

Janus hesitates. “Not exactly.”

Remus growls, throwing himself backward and out of Janus’s grip. “I’m not them, Janus. I’m not Thomas. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Janus just looks at him. “I’m not lying, sweetie. That’s not what happened.”

“So why isn’t he here?”

“Because he—“

“If you tell me he got Accepted again, I’m going to rip your balls off and pan sear them.”

Janus sighs, adjusting his gloves. “Virgil was Accepted by Thomas. That means that Patton’s ability to push him out is being overridden by Thomas’s desire to see him.”

Remus doesn’t, in fact, rip his balls off and pan-sear them. “So what, now he’s…over there?”

“Yes.”

“Can we see him?”

“Patton still has control over us, Remus.”

“So what, if we get Accepted we can go over there?”

“Yes.”

Remus narrows his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Janus sighs, reaching out to ruffle his hair again. “I knew you were getting better.”

Remus leans away. “Tell me.”

Janus pauses. Then he lowers his hand and sighs. “Virgil didn’t know he wouldn’t be able to come back. He…Remus, if we don’t get Accepted, we might never be able to see him again unless it’s outside the Mindscape.”

“So we just have to get Accepted.”

“…yes.”

“Okay,” Remus murmurs, missing the look that flickers across Janus’s face, “okay. Get Accepted. Get Accepted.”

If he gets Accepted, he can see Virgil again. He can see Roman again. He can do it. He can do it.

That night is the second time he cries over a brother.

The darkness is quieter now. It’s just the two of them. Janus spends so much time plotting and thinking that Remus doesn’t have anyone to brainstorm with. He lets the brain hit him without an umbrella, walking slowly down the dark path until he’s soaked in them. Janus doesn’t even look up anymore when he comes in for dinner.

Janus can manifest now. Thomas—Thomas let him. Granted, he showed up as Patton the first time, and then he had his identity reveal, and they—they just let him keep showing up. Patton couldn’t push him out. Did that mean Thomas wanted to see him? Did that mean Thomas was closer to Accepting him?

Was Janus talking to Virgil? Was he talking to Roman? Did that mean that Remus could come in soon too?

Janus chuckles when Remus bombards him with questions, catching his hands and sitting them on the couch. “Slow down, sweetie, I can’t hear all of them.”

Remus huffs, letting Janus squeeze his hands. “What’s going on, Janny? You don’t talk to me as much anymore.”

“Oh, I know, sweetie, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy.” He rolls his eyes. “You know how difficult it can be to talk to someone who won’t listen, don’t you?”

“Mhm.” He glares at Janus. “Sure do.”

“…alright, I deserve that one.”

“But it’s going okay?”

“Oh, yes. Roman in particular has been very helpful.”

Remus perks up. “Really? Roman?”

“Mm.”

Remus wriggles with glee. “And what about Virgil? Have you seen him too? Is he okay?”

Janus huffs. “As contrary as ever and enjoying every moment of it.”

“Yay!” Remus claps his hands. “Do you think I’ll be able to manifest soon too?”

“…yes, as a matter of fact.” Janus pats his shoulder. “I think you’ll have your chance before too long.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. But, Remus—“ Janus shifts forward, his expression serious as he takes Remus’s face in his hands— “manifesting isn’t as easy as just showing up, alright? Thomas doesn’t know you exist yet, he’s not going to react well.”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if he reacted well.”

“Yes, that’s true, but just because you can manifest doesn’t mean you’ll get Accepted. It just means that you’re a concrete enough thing in Thomas’s head.”

That takes a bit of the wind out of Remus’s sails. “So…”

“So,” Janus says, aiming for gentle and hitting right in the soft part of Remus’s chest, “you could manifest and it could make it easier for Patton to push you away.”

Remus stops. His eyes widen. “You mean if I…manifest…I might never get Accepted?”

Janus nods slowly.

“But that didn’t happen with Virgil! And that’s not happening with you!”

“We don’t know about me yet, sweetie.”

“But you—you said it was going well!”

“It is for now. But I would be irresponsible if I let you go up there without knowing that.”

Remus chews on his lip. “So what should I do?”

“Whether Patton likes it or not, we are parts of Thomas. We can’t go away. Thomas needs us.” Janus runs his fingers over the curve of Remus’s face. “Just be you, do your job. That’s what’ll help you.”

Okay. Okay. Just do his job. He can do his job. He runs back into the darkness and lets it sink into him.

If he’s going to do his job, he’s going to do it right.

The whispers come to him easily as soon as he opens the door. Blood in the bathtub, sticks of deodorant devoured in three bites, shaking hands, darkness, darkness, darkness.

Remus grins. He can do this.

Janus gives him the signal after a night of work, whispering that Thomas is still feeling the effects of what happened. Remus reaches out, feeling the Mindscape twist and turn around him until—

He can see it. The outside. He can see Thomas. He can see Patton, he can see Logan, he can see—

He can see Roman.

He can see Virgil.

He pushes.

“Have you ever thought about killing your brother?”

Thomas flinches. Remus grins, beginning to pull up from the aether behind the TV. Roman can’t see him. Oh, Roman is going to be so surprised—

Knock him out.

The whispers make him pause.

Knock him out, take his place, show them the rest of Creativity.

Well…it’s not a bad idea.

The screams as he appears make the smile grow wider, Thomas’s gaping eyes as he climbs out from behind the TV music to his ears. He looks around and for the first time, they see him.

He looks over at Virgil, wanting to say something about how it’s so good to see him, he’s missed him, but—

But Virgil isn’t looking at him. He’s glaring at Logan. And Thomas. And Patton. He’s—what?

Maybe…maybe Virgil wasn’t expecting it. That’s right, Janus said they could only talk out here, in front of everybody, maybe—maybe Virgil just didn’t know he was coming.

That’s okay.

Remus grins, spinning his tales and watching as Thomas reacts beautifully. See, he says in occasional glances at Patton, see? I’m as much a part of Thomas too, don’t you see?

But then—then Logan starts talking.

And he’s saying things like it’s okay, he’s harmless, he can’t do anything to you. You’re alright, this isn’t you, you’re going to be alright.

And…it hurts. It hurts. It’s hurting. This isn’t supposed to hurt. Janus didn’t say anything about this hurting. He should ask Janus. He tries to summon Janus—

“Ah!” Thomas holds up a finger. “One of you is enough.”

Janus isn’t coming. Janus isn’t coming and Virgil isn’t helping him and Patton isn’t listening to him anymore and Logan is talking to Thomas and—and—

He can feel his power slipping away. It’s leaving him. He’s losing his ability to stay there. Thomas is pulling away from him. In a desperate attempt, he looks at Virgil, please, please, let me stay, I’ve missed you so much, let me—let me—

“You know what's funny?” Virgil looks at him. Why…why is Virgil looking at him like that? “You used to really unsettle me.”

…what? No, no, Virgil—Virgil liked him. Virgil was his—

“I thought that you were some... terrible illness.”

Remus’s chest clenches. Virgil just looks at him.

“Now I can see that you're just... a common cold. A mild inconvenience that's...gone before you know it.”

There’s a distant whining sound in his ears, Remus realizes after a moment. He isn’t in his body anymore, separated from them so much he may as well be back in the darkness, his body left here. Something from far away hurts.

He doesn’t remember sinking out. He doesn’t remember getting back to Janus. He doesn’t remember collapsing weightlessly on the floor.

He remembers hearing the afterimage of Roman’s voice.

“It's a little like looking into a funhouse mirror... but instead of a giant head, or, like, long legs and a tiny torso... it shows you... everything you don't wanna be.”

He remembers the way Virgil looked at him.

He remembers the whispers.

They don’t want you. They will never want you. It’s your job to be unwanted.

They’re going to leave. Virgil left and he’s happy about it.

Janus will leave. He’s closer to being Accepted than you are. His power hasn’t been taken away from him.

You will be alone.

The darkness is your only friend.

Janus is putting so much work into being Accepted. Janus is working so hard and he’s—the others seem to prefer him. Right? Isn’t that what this taught him? Janus never got stripped of his power, did he? And he keeps being able to leave. Remus can’t leave again. Is…is that right? Is that what’s going on?

He goes to ask Janus once or twice but Virgil’s words keep ringing in his ears. A mild inconvenience that’s gone before you know it.

Is that all he is?

Is that why Janus is working so hard to leave?

He misses Virgil. He misses the others. He wants to go back to them.

He doesn’t care about you.

He wants to say that’s not true. He wants to say that Janus came and found him after that, that he pulled him into his lap and shushed his cries, that he wiped away his tears and called him sweetie. He wants to say that Janus was there for him when he was upset, that he made sure he ate and got to sleep snuggled up with his favorite Kraken plushie.

But the whispers point out that Janus never denied anything. He never told Remus that Virgil was wrong. He never told Remus that it would be alright, that this wouldn’t happen every time, that this wasn’t what he was expecting.

What if this was the plan all along?

Slowly, slowly, he watches.

Janus doesn’t bring up the fact that Remus hasn’t gotten another chance to manifest. He doesn’t comfort him over the fact that no one seems to miss him. He doesn’t tell him when he’s leaving anymore, he just goes.

Remus sits in the darkness, still and quiet, and watches as Janus draws further and further away from him.

Part of him screams out to follow, to tug on Janus’s cape like he did when he was younger and ask him why, why are you doing this, why are you leaving me?

Part of him thinks that Janus would stop, that he would gather Remus in his arms and kiss his forehead and tell him no, sweetie, I’m not leaving, I’m just trying to figure something out so we can leave together.

Part of him, however, thinks that if Janus were to do that, Remus wouldn’t need to ask for it.

And so when the day comes and Janus doesn’t come back in time for dinner, Remus leaves the table laid out with their food and lets the whispers tug him down, down, down.

If you scream in a dark forest and no one is around to hear it, do you make a sound?

That night is the third time Remus cries over a brother and the first time he cries over a father.

Remus is alone in the darkness now. The darkness is quiet. It’s too quiet. It seeps into every little nook and cranny and drowns it in shadow. The shadows are long, infinitely long, stretching further and further each time Remus looks at them. He huddles around his Kraken plushie underneath the covers, a single candle in the lonely darkness. No other point of reference exists anymore, not since the barrier felt so out of reach and no one else set foot in the darkness of the Mindscape.

But he prefers the quiet to the whispers.

Alone, alone, alone.

Unwanted, unloved, unappreciated.

Did you think anyone would choose to stay with you, in the dark, when they could be together, in the light?

There is light and there is darkness, but there is no light for you.

It’s cold. It’s so cold.

In the darkness, with his eyes shut tightly, he pretends. Pretends they didn’t leave him, pretends that he’s not alone. Pretends that he can hear their voices just outside, that they’re worried about him.

Pretends that he can feel a hand carding through his hair, Virgil’s hand, that he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

C’mon, little octopus, he imagines Virgil saying, c’mon out. Let me see you. I missed your face, I wanna see it.

Be gentle, he imagines Janus saying, he’s been like that for a while. He’s going to be sore, he won’t be able to move much.

I know, he imagines Virgil saying sharply, I’m not the one who forgot to tell him what the plan was.

He imagines Janus kneeling down, hands working their way under his arms to his waist, trying to coax him upwards into a hug, come here, sweetie, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you, I’m here now, we’re all here now, let us take care of you.

What happened to being ‘gentle?’

And because this isn’t real, he can imagine the others are here too. He can imagine Logan, who took his power away and made Thomas ignore him, is crouching down too. He’s been like that for a while, I don’t think there’s going to be a way to move him that won’t hurt.

So what do we do, he imagines Virgil saying, I’m not leaving him like this.

Remus, he imagines Logan saying in the same soft voice he used for Thomas, Remus, can you hear us? Your muscles are going to be stiff and sore from being all curled up, you could get hurt if you stay like that.

He likes the soft voice. The soft voice is nice. He doesn’t hear that anymore.

It’s not working, he imagines Janus saying, what do we do?

And because this isn’t real, he can imagine Patton is here too, even though Patton hates him. He can imagine Patton slowly crouching down, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Sweetheart, he imagines, Patton’s voice full of affection and care the way it will never be, wiggle your fingers.

What?

Wiggle your fingers, sweetheart, just a little. Try and see if moving a bit will help you move more.

Remus takes a deep breath and tries to wiggle his fingers. It hurts, it hurts so bad, but they move.

They moved! They moved!

Good, sweetheart, he imagines Patton saying, very good. How about your hands, can you squeeze your toy?

Remus squeezes the toy, weak to the soft voice.

Oh, very good, sweetheart, good job. He imagines Patton’s hand moving to his back. It’s not warm because it’s not real but he imagines the pressure from it. Now, do you think you could roll onto your back?

That’s quite a leap, he imagines Logan saying, concerned, do you think that’s a good idea?

All he’ll need to do is shift his weight. He imagines Patton’s hand being firm. Just roll a little.

I’m right here, he imagines Virgil saying, I’ve got you, little octopus.

Remus closes his eyes even tighter and rolls, every muscle in his body crying out as he slowly comes to rest on his back.

Good, sweetheart.

Good job, sweetie.

I’ve got you, little octopus, you won’t fall.

Very good, Remus, he imagines Logan saying, that’s excellent. Now, try and relax your neck. It’ll hurt if you keep your head off the ground like that.

But that means they’ll see his face. He doesn’t want them to see his face. They might remember that they don’t like him.

But this isn’t real. So it won’t matter, they’ll still be kind to him.

But this isn’t real. And he’ll have to realize that.

He doesn’t want to.

He imagines them coaxing him to do it, Logan saying he doesn’t want Remus to hurt himself, Patton saying it’s alright, Virgil saying he’s right here, Janus saying that they won’t leave.

Wait, Roman—!

Something slams into him.

Remus gasps, the impact jostling him hard enough to break through the rigid grip he has on his muscles. It jerks him across the carpet, rug burn forming on his back as something heavy crashes down on top of him. In an instant, his lungs are burning and he’s desperate for air, the sting of it euphoric as his body comes back to life.

And staring at him, his own eyes filled with unshed tears, is Roman.

Roman stares down at him, his hands braced on either side of Remus’s head. He’s panting too, breaths hitting Remus’s face as his weight bares down, warm and solid and real.

Roman is real.

Roman is here.

“Re,” comes the horrible croaky voice as Roman stares at him, “Re, you’re—“

Remus swallows through a bone-dry throat. “…Ro?”

A wounded noise escapes Roman as he drops, wrapping his arms so tightly around Remus and dragging him upwards into his lap. He throws Remus’s legs over his and buries his nose in his neck, panting breaths shuddering out as Remus stares at the—the—

Virgil looks at him with a crooked smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Hey, little octopus.”

“V-Virgil?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” Virgil reaches out and scruffs his knuckles along the sides of Remus’s face. “I missed you.”

“Don’t drop your Kraken,” comes Janus’s gentle voice and Remus looks over to see his gloveless hands guiding it back into Remus’s grip.

“Janny?”

“It’s me, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, coming up to cup his face in his hands, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you all alone.”

Remus swallows. “You left me. You both left me.”

Anger surges up in him, even as Roman clutches him tighter.

“You lied to me! You said—you said you wouldn’t leave! You left me alone! You—you promised!”

Janus doesn’t say anything. He only wipes away Remus’s furious tears as Virgil begins to run his fingers through his hair.

Remus wants to pull away. Wants to pull away from all of them. They lied, they left, they promised and they broke it. He wants them to see how much it hurt, wants them to have to grovel and plead to be forgiven, he wants—he wants—

He wants Janus’s soft murmurs. He wants Virgil’s gentle touches. He wants Roman to keep holding onto him and never let go.

Remus collapses into a heap of humiliated tears as Roman holds him tight.

After a long, long time, Remus looks up, watching as Janus holds a handkerchief in front of him and encourages him to blow. He does, a desolate honk sounding in the room.

“When Janus came through,” Logan begins, startling Remus, “we expected you to come with him.”

Remus stares up in shock. “You?”

“Yes, little one,” Logan says in that soft soft soft voice as he crouches down, “I didn’t mean to scare you so badly.”

“You didn’t scare me,” he says, too quickly, too petulantly. Logan just gives him a knowing look as Janus squeezes his hand. “…maybe.”

“In looking after Thomas, I didn’t consider that you might need looking after too.” Logan reaches out and carefully fixes Remus’s collar. “And I didn’t know what it was like for you.”

“Janus explained everything.”

Remus looks up to see Patton watching him. He swallows and burrows a little more into Roman.

“I…it’s my fault you were pushed away,” Patton continues, slowly lowering himself too, “I thought it was right. That it would be better for Thomas.”

Remus watches him warily over Roman’s shoulder.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Patton says, slipping into that gentle voice again, “but can we…try and start again? Janus and Virgil wouldn’t stop talking about how much they missed you, and Roman—“

“I told him I’d break the barrier and get you myself if he didn’t let us,” Roman whispers into Remus’s hair, “because you’re my brother and I fucking missed you.”

“R-Ro…”

“Yeah, Re, it’s me. I’m right here.”

“Roro…”

“Come stay with us,” Patton murmurs, “please, Remus? It’ll be alright, I promise.”

“Me too, sweetie,” Janus whispers, pressing a kiss to Remus’s forehead.

Virgil ruffles his hair again. “Come home with us, little octopus.”

Remus finds Logan’s gaze. “But what about the light and darkness? Don’t—doesn’t there need to be both?”

“Yes, little one,” Logan says gently, “but we don’t need to be separated, we can be together.”

“We can?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Patton finishes, “we can.”

“I get both brothers?”

Roman grumbles as Virgil shoulders his way into the hug. “Yup. You get both brothers.”

“You had him to yourself for a long time,” Roman grouses, “lemme have my turn.”

“In your dreams, Princey.”

“I’m hopes and dreams, so take that!”

“Kiddos,” Patton says as Janus says, “boys.”

Logan chuckles as the two of them hunker down around Remus. He adjusts his glasses and glances at the couch. “I suppose we might need to set more places at the table, hmm?”

“Great,” Virgil mumbles, “I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Roman nudges Remus. “You hungry?”

“Mhm.”

“Come on, then,” Janus says, “let’s have dinner. There’s a lot to talk about.”

Remus’s lips curl up into a small smile. He has his brothers back. He has his father back. Logan is going to help look after him. Patton wants to try again.

They’re going to have dinner. They’re going to eat dinner and no one is going to leave and maybe, maybe, he’s been Accepted for real this time.

And Remus was happy.

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #creativitwins #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders

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