I Really Really Really Want A Ghost Tattoo *cries In Too Many Bills To Pay* I May Set Up Tattoo Tickets

Sebastian x Reader(Ch.3)

It’d been a few days since you had seen Lord Phantomhive and his esteemed butler. Although your father had a habit of forcing you into doing things you weren’t particularly eager to do, you felt that partnering up with a demon to solve a substantial amount of murders and kidnappings would at least be entertaining. Besides, you still needed to know why this particular demon had such an effect on you. With you, yourself, being half-demon, you had met your fair-share of demons and other supernatural entities. But never have you had experiences with them, such as the experience you’ve shared with Sebastian; and from what you can tell, he’s never had such a thing happen either. You were also bemused as to why it took you so long to sense Sebastian’s true nature. You would use this mission as an opportunity to find out why Sebastian Michaelis was different from any other demon; and you had no doubt that he would be doing some investigating of his own.

*You and your father were now standing in front of the Undertaker’s building*

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Nick Robles’ Hades fan art!

i tried red bull for the first time today and it tasted fruity and i had the sudden urge to kiss a man is this what it's like to be a red bull driver

More ideas!

God Au. Heavily based on @sallysoot God au! Technoblade fic. Check it out cuz it's absolutely beautiful!

Philza being the god of life and death. He is the reason you have lived for so long. And everytime you happen to die, he resurrects you. Even if it's against your wish. Please don't be so harsh with him. He has lost so many people he held dear, he can't bear to actually lose you.

He calls you his goddess/god and sometimes the younger gods (like Tommy and Tubbo) call you mother goddess/ father God. Even if you're a mortal

Has offered to make you a god

Technoblade, the blood god, also the god of war. The humans that worship him say he's cruel and heartless but he's actually awkward. He would fight the whole world and other Gods for you. And because he's so tough, he's afraid he'll hurt you so he's super gentle with you.

He's scared to hold your freaking hand as it's massive compared to your hand. But he finds it so cute. If he found out someone had hurt you, Philza knows Techno would tear them apart.

Tommy, the God of chaos! Kinda the life of the party, but horrible life? He creates chaos everywhere he goes and forces you to join him. The only way you can stop him from destroying something is if you refuses to join him.

He enjoys having you around and considers you a best friend. Enjoys when you, him, and Tubbo hang out together (Tommy's is Platonic!)

Wilbur, the god of music and insanity. He writes songs dedicated to you. Your smile, your eyes, his love for you. Songs and poems galore! Every time he creates a new piece, you're the first one who gets to listen to it. Sing with him please, he'll love it.

But the God of music has a dark side. Where he conducts the fall of nations and bloodshed. He goes mad with heading the people cry out. He says, "It's music to my ears~". Just know, he'll never show you his insanity, for fear it'll drive you away.

Nihachu, the goddess of rage and the forgotten. She's the forgotten, stuck in the black pit filled with anger and sadness. But no matter how hard she rages, screams out to be heard. No one hears her.

Till you did. You heard her whispers as you were left behind and filled with rage. You heard her cries and you went to her. She finds comfort with you. With you, she's calm, she smiles, she loves. You make her feel important and loved.

Schlatt, the god of wealth and alcohol, He takes and takes. He wanted to take from you, but when you kicked him to the curb. He decided he would rather have you than take from you.

He spoils you beyond belief, anything you want? Done! Handed to you on a gold platter. He may say he hates spoiling you, but he's lying. He's happy to see you covered in the gifts he gave you. Gave you a Ruby ring that shows the other Gods you are with him.

Dream, the God of lies and manipulation. He didn't want to fall in love, he believed love was pointless. Till he spotted you from above the clouds and was smitten from the start. But he finds it so hard to court you.

You believed he was lying to you. He was the god of lies after all. But he stayed around. He spent months, almost a year just being your friend till you believed he really loved you.

Touya breathed in. Dabi breathed out: Let’s reconstruct his death.

 [Because we know more than you think.]

Here is the funny thing: At this point we have more information about Toya’s entire childhood, than we have about Hawks’. So let’s be faster than Horikoshi thinks is good for us, and reconstruct it accuratly.

There are three big things to “assume” before I start. First: Dabi is not a Nomu. Second: Dabi is not an undercover hero. (I saw “theories” about this and I won’t waste time by listing up all the reasons this is impossible.)

Third: The “Hawks’s parent was a thief”-theory is true. (Their names are written in the same kanji; There was no need for Ending to mention this name in ch. 250, other than plot-setup; It fits chronologically in both Hawks’ and Endeavor’s history etc.)

So, Let’s tell the story of Todoroki Toya. - For this I elaborated an extreme professional graph:

Looking at the dates and following the canon rhythm of all Todoroki siblings being around 3 years apart, Dabi is currently 26.

In the picture of his shrine, he wears a traditional middle-school uniform, which means he “died” between age 14 and 16. This perfectly fits in line with the information we got from Fuyumi, which told us that Toya died, shortly after Rei left the house respectively after Shoto got his scar. (Meaning, we talk about a time-frame in which the Todoroki-children were left ‘alone’ with Endeavor.)

His scars are neat and symmetrical, which means Dabi’s scars are self-inflicted. The placing of Dabi’s facial scars perfectly matches the locations of Endeavors flame-beard, which means he tried to copy Endeavor’s looks.

We know that Endeavor stopped training Toya to focus on Shoto. (Because Toya was allowed to play with his siblings, while Shoto was dragged away. Toya had to be 12 - 14 when we saw him playing soccer with them in ch. 39.) So Toya lived at home before he died.

[We know the hard trainings-program of the HPSC would not allow many breaks to play with siblings at home. We know from Natsuo (in ch. 250) that Toya often (!) played with him. The HPSC would also have informations about a unforgettable quirk like his, if they had any conection with his “death”.]

This hilariously sad, because it means: Toyas death was not a trainings-incident inflicted by Endeavor nor was it inflicted by the HPSC!

Toya Todoroki died because of something he did himself. (Every clue points towards this and I can’t believe how many people get this wrong when theorizing.)

But this is where the thrill starts: Because we also know that Toya cared for his siblings…

And to tell you my own bloody theory: Toya wanted to proof that he wasn’t a “failure” and he wanted to protect tiny Shoto from the painful training. So he tried to impress Endeavor by teaching himself how to use fire like him - and he forced himself to handle the pain. But the flames where too hot and Toya set a huge fire. Seriously injured, in fear, shame and rage he run away from home. Since the fire had destroyed the surroundings, his family thought his body got incinerated within and declared him dead.

And Dabi was born.

…So is there anything more to think ab-

“Yeah Sherlock- How the fuck does Dabi know Hawks’ real name?”, a rhetorical (and a little rude) reader might ask.

Great question! To be honest, I’m just as confused as Hawks. (But before you throw your tomatoes, let’s see if we can change that:)

First of all, I’ll assume Dabi didn’t pay black hats to hack into the database of the Hero Public Safety Commision, because firstly, this would make his persona completly non-essential to this knowledge - and secondly, they litterally have “Safety” in their name - So I’ll fucking hope their firewalls are…  hot.

From a writing point of view it makes way more sense that Hawks shared his name with Toya Todoroki in person.

So let’s look at Hawks’ life in the graph. Hawks was born in Fukuoka, which is a five-hour-ride away from the Todoroki’s mansion in Mustafu. Tiny Hawks spent his first years of life in a dumpster. (”Ah, pardon, Sir. My bad, I failed to see the floor, because of the trash piles NEXT TO YOUR FUCKING CHIL-!”)

However there are two possibilitys:

1.: Keigo and Toya met in the HPSC in Mustafu.

If this is true, it probably happened in the (2 - 4 year) timeframe after Hawks got scouted and before Shoto got his “perfect” quirk, where Endeavor found himself still enraged about Toya’s “wasted-potential”. So forced Toya to train with the “government-kid” (…which was a prodigy in contrast to his own “failure of a son”.)

In this scenario, Hawks broke the rule of “never using his real name again” and told Toya during the match. Back then Hawks was only around 6 - 8 years old, so its plausible for him not to remember Toya’s face well. … But on the other Hand: If Toya had ever participated in the HPSC-training, the Comission would have informations about him and his unforgetable quirk. Its unlikely that they wouldn’t recognize Dabi’s describtion in their data base.]

2.: Keigo and Toya met in Kyushu in autumn.

We know Endeavor captured “Takami”, before Keigo was recruited and forbidden to use his name.

We know it happened in autumn and we can assume Keigo was younger than seven years. There are many possibilitys- Maybe the thief Takami exploited Keigo’s quirk for criminal activitys and that is the reason Keigo was so skilled at a young age. Maybe Toya was with his father that day…

- But at this point it feels like throwing stones in the dark: Eventually we will hit something, but it might be fucking bruised.

Or what do you think? Did I make a horrible mistake somewhere up there?

Either way- I’m hyped to get more content to analyze, so I can keep ignoring my homework during quarantine.

Act On It

Summary: You learn that the cute barista you’ve been crushing on might have an…otherworldly disposition after you accidentally cut yourself.

A college, coffee shop, and vampire AU all in one!

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, and anything in between

Word Count: 15,639

A/N: This is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written. I found this vampire!yoongi fic sitting in my WIPS back at the start of the year. I did my best to pick it up and rewrite the story into something interesting.

Hopefully you guys like it.

In your opinion, college is a fairly safe space. You go to classes, get along well with friends, enjoy sitting near the pond in the middle of your campus when the weather is nice. There are rarely any crimes—and when there are, it’s a stolen bike, a petty fight, or an…“attack”.

But! Attacks are rare.

Hell, sometimes they aren’t even acknowledged. Not everyone chooses to believe in folklore—that vampires are real and walking among us.

Some people are disbelievers because they’re too scared to give into the reality that every day they might be around someone who could pin them down and steal their blood in a split second. Others just…think it’s a hoax—the few and far between vampire attacks, that is.

“Those people just want attention. They can fake fang marks like that with special effects make-up.”

Society seems to be torn on their existence—just as some people refute the existence of ghosts or spirits, or even god and higher powers. You for one—well…you believe. At a younger age, in an event you’ll never forget—you had fallen off a swing at the park and gouged open your knee on the turf. In what seemed like a flash a shadow had appeared above you—a man looking to be in his late 20’s to early 30’s. When you glanced up he had knelt down—his eyes meeting your curious and slightly frightened stare. His eyes were crimson, and it had seemed as if his irises were pulsing with….with…

“You need to be more careful,” he had told you, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily against his throat. He hadn’t bothered to help you up, instead stepping back— fingers trembling near his sides. “You can’t afford to get hurt around others if you keep smelling like that.”

And then he was gone. But despite his disappearance, his words stuck with you—lingered in the back of your mind for days—weeks, even.

What do I smell like? You had wondered, but had never bothered to search for the answer. Anytime you pondered potentially pricking your finger or making a harmless little cut, immediately those crimson eyes popped into your mind, and you found yourself weak at the knees—unable to follow through.

Years later, you’ve nearly forgotten about that man at the park—those deep red eyes and resounding words. You’re a college student—you’ve got papers to write, tests to take, applications to fill out—you don’t have time to worry about things such as ghosts, or higher powers, or vampires. As if. The only thing on your mind is class and the coffee you get every morning to help you through the day.

Also the cute, yet bored faced barista at the campus coffee shop you seem to face nearly 7 days a week, regardless of the time you leave to get your coffee. He’s charming in his own right—dark hair, styled a little lazily, and dressed in casual clothing that perfectly accentuates his body. He’s minimal effort good-looking, and you can’t believe how much you’re attracted to him sometimes.

“Morning,” you greet with a smile when you step up to the register, the line advancing forward. He doesn’t bother to look up, already hitting buttons on the screen in front of him and reaching to grab a cup to write your name on.

“Usual, right?” he asks in a low voice, sounding groggy, and you stare at the top of his head as he bends to grab a marker that had fallen on the floor.

“Tired?” you respond instead. He grunts.

“Long night.”

You hum in understanding as you watch him press the marker to the cup, however, instead of writing your name, with sloppy handwriting he ends up scribbling his own, and you break into a fit of giggles.

Cocking an eyebrow, the male glances up at you.

“Wow, suddenly our names are quite similar,” you say, pointing at the cup, and when he sees the permanent black Yoongi written he curses.

“Fuck, I’ll get you a new one–,” he begins apologetically, but you cut him off.

“No! It’s ok, it’s just a cup and you already know me, so it’s no big deal,” you laugh, smiling at him. He pauses.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just draw a little heart next to it to make it cute and I think I’ll be fine,” you tease, and while Yoongi rolls his eyes, he can’t help the small smirk that comes to his face.

“I make no promises with that heart. Go ahead and swipe your card.”

Nodding, you do, and once the charge goes through you walk to the other end of the counter to wait, knowing by now that Yoongi will simply take your receipt and throw it away, since neither of you want it.

As you wait for your drink to be made, you pull your phone out and scroll through your twitter feed, trying to catch up on all the latest news and gossip before you run off to class. However, your finger only manages to swipe upward a few times before there’s a gasp behind you, and you turn to find a girl staring in horror at her phone which has just landed face down on the tile floor.

“Oh no,” you say, highly sympathetic as you squat down and gently pick the phone up since she’s clearly too petrified to do it herself. You peek at it, tilting the screen your way, and the hiss that escapes your lips is enough to let the girl know that she’ll be needing a new phone sometime soon.

“Shit, the glass,” you mumble as you return the phone to her, managing to mirror her thankful, albeit disappointed smile. She says that she’ll clean the glass up since it was her fault, but you tell her that you’ve got it, and reach over to grab a napkin.

“Don’t touch it, Y/N. We’ll clean it up,” you hear Yoongi’s voice command from the background, almost warning you to not do anything stupid, but you wave him off. You’ll be fine, it’s just a little glass.

So, putting the napkin next to the tiny shards, you gently use the side of your hand to brush the pieces onto the napkin. In the background Yoongi calls your name to get your drink, and then immediately sighs when he sees you bent down, trying to macgyver glass onto a napkin like a cave man.

“You’re dumb,” he grumbles as you stand up, turning to face him with the napkin full of glass in your palm.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” you grin triumphantly, but just as you transfer the napkin to Yoongi to be disposed of, a piece of glass tears through the thin layers of paper and scrapes your skin.

“Ow, fuck,” you curse, examining the damage as Yoongi hurriedly takes the glass from you and tosses it into the waste bin. You hold your palm out, fingers lightly pressing at the cut—red seeping at the edges—but before you can move to find something to clean yourself up, Yoongi’s hands are embracing your hurt one.

“Yoongi?” you say in surprise, watching as his thumbs brush against your palm, pressing down slightly on either side of the scrape. At the action more blood appears, and you glance up at him in shock.

“Yoongi…?”

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Family

Warning for descriptions of illness, self-hate, violence and destruction.

Technoblade catches a fever as he moves his base to the far north. Fortunately, his father finds him. They talk.

///

Technoblade glared at his reflection in the ice.

Hunter. Warrior. Weapon. God. The undying and undefeated. The Blade.

He rubbed at his sore eyes, attempting to take in his less than ideal appearance. His hair didn't have the right luster to it, dry and limp in its braids. Sweat beaded down his dull pink skin. Even under his thick cape and the radiating heat of netherite armor, his body shook with chills.

His pride battled with his practicality, and as it often did, practicality won.

Technoblade, in all his undying and undefeated glory, was sick.

All those sleepless nights, days straight spent traveling across the ocean to transfer all his materials to his new base (in an isolated village, in an isolated frozen wasteland) must have taken their toll.

That made sense. Recognizing this, Techno made the conscious decision to stand up and walk back to the library he'd converted into headquarters. He did not get that far. After a wobbly start, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing of his head, peeking them open and watching the world swim, he took a few steps and tripped over his own hooves- faceplanting in the packed snow.

He laid there for a while. Just thinking.

The Blade, felled by no man. Oh, no other warrior could ever lay a hand on him. What killed him in the end, you ask? He died of the sniffles, in exile by his own brother.

Man, this sucked.

Techno tried to push himself up but the weakness in his arms made them shake and give out after a few seconds. The library wasn't that far, was it? He squinted into the swirling snowflakes and frigid air, through the fading colors of the setting sun to the vague shape where the building should be. He could make it there before nightfall if he thought this through carefully. A plan of attack was in order.

A tactical combination of rolling, scooting, and crawling. At precise intervals so he wouldn't critically tire or injure himself, complete with more squinting around to check that he was moving in the right direction. As cold as he felt he knew that the netherite armor would prevent hyperthermia. That gave him time, but he still wanted to be inside before dark. You can't exactly fight monsters when you can't stand. Like hell The Blade was going to die to a zombie.

It could've taken an hour, it could've been ten minutes. But at last, Techno pulled himself into the library with a groan, the door shutting behind him with a gust of wind.

The rough wooden planks cut into his cheek yet the overwhelming tide of exhaustion that swept over him banished any thoughts he had about his situation. His eyes fluttered closed as his stomach turned inside out.

He did not sleep.

He stayed very, very still, and could only be glad he'd made it out of L'Manburg when he did. What would Tommy say if he saw him like this? He'd taunt and mock him as if Techno hadn't sat with him though dozens of sick days just like this when they were younger. Hadn't taken care of him, told wry and teasing jokes to cheer him up, tucked him in and gave him water and thin broth even when he fussed and moaned about it.

Sometimes he felt like Tommy'd forgotten everything he had done for him over the years.

Techno swallowed back a lump in his throat, shifting just a bit to be a little more comfortable on the floor.

There's a certain way time moves when you're sick. Extraordinarily slowly, like sap running down the side of a tree- occasionally fizzing out like someone switching the stations on the radio. Except half the stations are static and the other half are blinding agony.

He thought he could hear the ice cracking, somewhere under the howling of the storm out there. Something crackled and popped in his ears, and they twitched at every tiny noise, each disturbance in the air they could detect. Which- admittedly- was not a lot. Your senses aren't the best when you're sick, Techno discovered. He never really had been sick himself before, it was always him and Phil nursing Tommy or Wilbur or Tubbo. For a long time he doubted piglins could even get sick in the overworld.

Apparently they could.

Technoblade risked a quiet huff, more of and exhale than anything. The nausea rose and he winced.

Now he was hot. Sweaty and sticky and gross-feeling. Normally when he thought of hot, he thought of the Nether- the place he was born. Normally the heat was welcoming. But the heat in the Nether was dry and settled in your skin, comfortable and enveloping. This felt like something was trying to claw its way out of him, and it didn't mind tearing him apart to do it.

Well, best of luck to whatever it was. Technoblade had decided, back when he first got away to this village- hell, far before then- that no matter what, he would keep going. No matter what he sacrificed, no matter what others tried to take from him, no matter what they thought and no matter what thoughts came from his own mind- he would survive. Techno decided that he wasn't going to die. So, this fever was just going to have to deal with that.

It must've been in the thick of the night. Pitch-black outside, you couldn't even see by the stars with the blizzard and the clouds. No one would find him.

So his eyes fluttered closed.

He fell into a light sleep, shallow and empty. The weightless and shapeless feeling of passing through a portal, the in-between of dimesions.

When he stirred again, the ache in his stomach slightly more manageable, though his bones were heavy like bedrock and his mind was a mess of cobwebs.

He stirred, and his hand gripped fabric, blankets on the floor beneath him. His cape wasn't hooked around his shoulders but draped over him, his netherite armor nowhere to be seen.

Techno sat straight up even as every fiber of his being protested. His ears perked, eyes scanned the house, heart pounded in his ribcage.

"Easy, easy... it's just me."

The door opened and closed again.

He narrowed his eyes at green and black robes teasing the ground, socks and sandals trailing snow into the house.

Technoblade sighed, wheezed, let himself fall back into the pile of comforters.

Philza kneeled beside him and pressed the back of his hand to Techno's forehead. "Definitely a fever, buddy. Just relax." Technoblade grunted in response, and Phil smiled. "I noticed you don't have a bed in this new base of yours, so I took the liberty of making you one. Where would you like it?" His eyes twinkled, grey-blue like the early morning sky, and the wrinkles in his face deepened a bit as his smile grew wider.

Techno made a weak gesture to some corner of the library. Philza patted his shoulder and stepped away.

He fidgeted in the blanket pile, eyes trained on Philza's movements. He wasn't afraid- not really, but still he wondered how Phil found him. He'd traveled so far north, covered his tracks well, slipped into the slow and quiet village without so much of a whisper of his presence.

"I was just in the area, wanted a moment to myself, you know? I happened to spot a piglin crawling through the snow in the distance. I wasn't sure, so I asked around a little. Turns out the villagers are worried about you too." Philza placed the bed down and scooted it to fit in the cubby between Techno's chests. He turned with a raised brow.

Ah. So, he must've spoken outloud. Technoblade muttered to himself and glanced to the other side of the room. Phil chuckled and approached, leaning down and hooking an arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you on a real bed, hm? Sleeping on the floor's no good for your back." Being pulled to his hooves made Techno's head spin. He tried to shake and push Philza off.

"I... can handle this... myself." His voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy, tongue dry. Phil gave him some room and he immediately stumbled- the wood grain swirled and spiraled like a mixed drink and the chills were back. Philza caught him, leading him calmly to the bed, scooping up all the blankets from the floor into his arms and setting them beside Techno on the mattress.

"Sure you can. I'll get you some water." Phil took a glass bottle from the bag on his hip and stepped out of the library-base, leaving Techno alone again.

Technoblade turned over in the bed, burying his face in the pillow. "I have a reputation to keep..." He mumbled into the cushion. Everything felt so heavy. Someone could've piled end stone on his back and he wouldn't have noticed.

Maybe having Philza here was for the best. Better him than anyone else, if it had to be someone.

He must've drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knew Philza was tapping his shoulder to wake him up, murmuring to him as he let Techno drink from the filled bottle. The water was still slightly cold, and Techno could almost taste the edge of frost and earth in it. He grimaced a little at the bitterness.

"I know, I know, it's not the best. I'll get you better tomorrow, some soup and some more pillows. How's that sound?" Phil drew away the bottle and laid Techno's head back on the bed. Techno made a noncommittal noise, frowning.

Philza chuckled. "You don't like someone taking care of you- I get it. You've grown so independent now. But everybody needs a hand once in a while."

Their eyes met, Phil's gaze so gentle, full of a warmth that looked strange to him after all this time. Philza held the contact only briefly before returning to tasks around the house (some kind of tidying up), and Techno was grateful for that.

He mumbled to Phil's back, " 'M just glad it was you who found me and not Tommy..."

Philza paused but didn't turn to him. "Oh? Why's that?" A hesitant curiosity in his voice.

Shifting in the blankets, Techno scoffed, shallow and breathless. "Cause he'd... he'd laugh at me. Tommy always... always laughs." Always laughs in that sharp and annoying way of his- Techno, well, saying Techno hated the sound would be a stretch (he only hated one thing), but it wasn't high on his list. Maybe he liked Tommy's chuckles more, because they sounded like Phil, because they meant he was really okay for a moment and Techno didn't have to worry about him putting on a false bravado that would just end up hurting him more with his stupid, biting laughter.

"What makes you think he would?" There was a stiffness to his shoulders, hands flat on the crafting bench. Phil's long blonde hair should be tied back. Either it was stuffed into his robes, or... or he cut it for some reason. Techno felt his lip twitch downward, but he decided to focus on Phil's words instead.

Because Tommy making fun of people was so wildly out of character. He would've laughed himself if he didn't feel so sick and dead-ish. "You, heh, you think that he wouldn't?" He'd taunt him and then he'd leave. That was a Tommy thing to do, wasn't it? Do his childish mocking playground routine and then peace out. On to another person to scream at and another adventure to kill himself on.

Phil hummed, and Techno could hear the smile in his voice. "Oh, he absolutely would laugh, without a doubt." After a moment the amusement in his tone softened into sincerity. "He'd still take care of you though."

The creaking wheels in Technoblade's head came to a harsh stop. He blinked.

"What... makes you think he would?"

Philza didn't answer for a moment. Then, quietly, he did. "Because you're his brother, Techno. He loves you."

He loves the power I give him, Techno wanted to spit back. Tommy just loved using him as a threat to others, since they were little, since he noticed others weren't scared of a short, loud blond kid, but they were scared of a big piglin with a sword.

It had always been that way. Tommy bragging and talking it up, with Techno standing just behind him, a hulking and menacing shadow and shield. Silent and violent.

It had always been that way. Until Techno left, of course.

"Doesn't act like it," He said, quiet and drained.

Now Phil turned and walked over to him, kneeling once more, a sorrow and a fondness in his face. "He's always been like that. Tommy's young, and he's stupid, and he's headstrong. But he loves his family, you have to give him that." He fixed the blankets around Techno. "That means you."

The frozen wind outside battered against the library windows. Technoblade wasn't afraid, or angry, but something bubbled up then, puke or outrage or the lingering stinging pain of betrayal. He gripped Philza's arm-

"I'm not- I'm not anything to him, nothing, just a... a tool. Something to, to threathen people with. To use to do his dirty work!" Shapes swirled and shifted colors in his vision; he felt fire on his skin and ash in his lungs. "I told him, I told him my code, I told him what I wanted, exactly who I was and what I would do... what did he do? Did he listen to me? No! I tried- damn it, we tried it his way! I used my words Phil, I told him..." But no, Tommy didn't listen, Tommy never listened, only ever listened to what he wanted to hear... maybe, maybe Tommy did love them but he loved them wrong, and he loved his doomed nation and broken, posioned ideals more.

Phil used his free hand to hold Techno's, curled tightly into the fabric of his robe. "I know you did, son, I know..."

A growl rumbled in Techno's throat and he pressed his eyes shut. "And when it didn't work, I did it my way. He didn't like it my way." Tommy never liked it his way. "It was peer pressure the first time... you know, all those people telling me, I didn't make that choice... I didn't!" He remembered, Schlatt bellowing in his ear, all those eyes watching, Tubbo's eyes, his wide and teary eyes... "But I lived with it, Phil, I've lived with it every damn day since."

"I know you have." Just a soft reassurance as Phil rubbed circles into the back of his hand.

"We fought about it, we had the conversation, we used our words and we used our fists and we used them and they didn't work." They were supposed to work, why didn't they work? Something was supposed to work. "They didn't work and he was still so angry! Supposed to stay in the pit, I said, it stays in the pit... it didn't stay in the pit, Phil, it crawled back up with us and it's following him and eating him alive..." Tommy let the thing out, maybe it was already out and following him, either way it was there, and it was hungry.

"He's trying, Techno. He's angry, and it's his responsibility to deal with that anger. It's not your fault." Philza's voice almost cracked, it got all whispery and fragile and it hurt.

Technoblade shook his head, a wild look in his eyes. "And he's letting it! He let it eat him up and let it eat his country up and eat Wil up and eat everything up... but it's so much bigger than him, Phil, it's angry, it's eating everything up. Is it eating me up, Phil?"

"No, Techno, it's not. You're away from L'Manburg now, you're cold and you're sick but you're safe."

He laughed, shaky and fading like aftershocks from an earthquake. "Safe, safe... I thought we were safe. The war was supposed to happen and the war was supposed to be over and we were supposed to be free." Free, free... how stupid was he? He trusted them, he trusted Wilbur, he trusted Tommy, he trusted them like he always did. He left to get away from it and he came back and fell into it all over again.

"I let them in my base, Phil, my secret base... I let them in and they ransacked it! I checked, I checked just a few days ago and so much was gone! So much more than I gave! But that's just what they do right? They take and they take and they take!" They give nothing back, they use him and throw him out, and Technoblade says nothing, said nothing because he didn't know what to say, because words always failed him. But violence never fails him. "They killed my cows, Phil! They took stacks of emeralds and they killed my cows and they waltzed all over the place like they owned it!"

"That sounds awful, Techno, I'm sorry..." Philza's voice trailed off, as if he'd run out of comforts to offer. And that was fine.

"And then, and then, and then..." His grip went slack. His face burned and hurt and went red but he didn't cry, no, he didn't cry. "They took my armor and my weapons and after the war I helped them win they took it all and spat in my face. They made a government! A new government!" He hit his fist against Phil's chest, his jaw clenched so tight, his palms white and red from his claws pressing in. "Just right in front of me, just declared Tubbo president, just let him give his little speech and laughed in my face, Tommy always laughs..."

Phil moved to sink his hand in Techno's hair, brushing through the loose parts with his fingers. "They didn't understand everything you did for them, they fought for their country back and they took it, and they didn't think about you. I'm sorry."

Technoblade took a sharp breath. "And Wil..."

And Phil's face hardened, tense and pained. "There's nothing you could've done for Wil, Techno. He was too far gone."

"Nothing, nothing... nothing but ash and smoke and blood and fire." They listened to him, for once. For a single moment they stopped and stared. They wept, so terribly afraid of him, and fought bloody and dirty through their tears. And Wilbur, in the cloud of soot and agony he'd brought upon these people he was supposed to love and to lead, he begged Phil to kill him with a smile on his face.

"It was a horrible day, Techno."

With that sentence, sinking down as light as a feather yet unimaginably heavy, Techno let his head fall into Phil's chest. "All gone and what to show for it? Nothing, nothing... the minotaur fell and the city was swallowed up in dust and rubble."

Philza held him. "New L'Manburg looks beautiful, Techno."

"New L'Manburg is built on bones and death and lies and betrayal, Phil, it's poison and it's a curse and... and it's eating itself up..." His voice, sapped of the energy from before, was just a breath in the air.

"Tommy will be fine, Techno."

Technoblade felt the tears as deep cuts down his cheeks, felt them soak into Phil's robes. "Tommy hates me, Phil. I just don't know if he hates himself more." A person had to hate themselves, to do all the things Tommy did, to see everything that became of it, and to try the same thing again.

"And he chose this, he chose this 'government' and these laws and to follow this same path that drove him into the ground before..." He said, dizzy and numb, "...and I shouldn't care. Shouldn't bother me, not my problem, shouldn't worry about it, shouldn't think about it..."

Phil smiled, so much sadder this time. "But you do."

"But I do and I don't."

"Because you love him."

"I love him and I hate him."

Techno looked at Tommy and he saw a little boy. Maybe that was just him being an older brother. Maybe it was because Tommy was still childish and crude. Maybe it was because Tommy had suffered so much- the revolutions, the exile, the war and the bloodshed and the betrayal- he never quite got the chance to really grow up. And so Tommy hung onto that bit of reckless youth he had left, and Techno held onto it the same. That didn't give him a free pass. But... it made sense.

Technoblade was his brother, afterall. With Wilbur gone they just had each other.

Philza, their father, their anchor, their beginning and their end (literally in Wilbur's case), smiled again and ruffled his hair.

"Well, that's just part of being part of a family, isn't it?"

Techno thought about that, he thought about that hard, and he must've thought about it too hard because the world started dimming and turning to black. Philza held him and soothed him as he fell into a light sleep, shallow yet somehow fulfilling.

Minho - Hybrid AU!

part II

“one, two, three, four!” Minho was clapping his hands to mark the rhythm as the cheerleaders practice their moves

“again! and pay attention to the twist this time, Chaewon!” you rolled your eyes just hearing her name

Chaewon was a light brown Mini Lop bunny hybrid and a pain in the neck ever since she was transferred to your school last semester

she got extremely attached to Minho because he’s also a Mini Lop hybrid, but a black one

and she was always around, always trying to get his attention, always doing him favors, always looking for an excuse to be touchy with him, always annoying the life out of you

and you hated her

she was pretty, she had gorgeous hair, big bunny eyes and a cute smile, she was so nice and so docile, the perfect bunny hybrid

and you really hated her because you, a lynx hybrid, were none of those things

your facial features were more intimidating, your feline eyes always keen on everything surrounding you, your ears twitching to sounds far away, your reflexes faster than average, your tongue ready to snap at anyone who crosses you the wrong way…

you would never reach Chaewon’s level of perfect

and it wrecks you inside because you know that eventually Minho will choose her and leave you behind

it’s only the natural option since you’re a predator and they’re both preys

predators never end up with preys, everyone knows it

why would a Mini Lop bunny be with a freaking lynx? Lynx eat rabbits for breakfast, lunch and dinner

it was bad enough that Minho was your best friend, it shocked the entire school when you both started hanging out

it took them almost a year to get over the fact that you both were indeed friends with each other

but there’s still some people who think it’s weird

Chaewon is one of them

she never said anything in front of you because you know she’s scared to death of you, maybe because you’re always angry around her and your angry face is not really friendly

but you don’t care because you’re constantly hearing her say hurtful things about you to her friends

saying that you’re probably coercing Minho to be your friend, that you have eerie eyes and a chilling presence, that the only time she saw you laughing was horrifying and she had nightmares because of it, that she doesn’t understand why you don’t let Minho alone, that she’s a better choice for him since they have so much in common, etc etc etc

she’s not completely wrong, though, but it still hurts hearing her say that Minho will probably “wake up and run away from your predator trap”

you shouldn’t have a crush on him, it’s wrong

but your heart is stupid and does stupid things, like falling in love with Minho

Keep reading

Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri, roommates!au

Masterlist

Summary: You, Lando, and Oscar are roommates. The three of you promise to take care of each other. It takes you all far too long to admit just how much you mean it. featuring dj!Lando for cece :) based on a blurb I wrote for my 1k celebration so if the first bit feels familiar that’s why! 7.4k words

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of vomiting (non graphic), illness, a breakup, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

Lando’s not expecting the phone call he gets from you. It’s late, too late, really, for him to even be awake, let alone for you to be calling. Oscar’s sitting on the couch next to him, gaming controller in hand, and when Lando swipes to answer the call, he mouths the words who is it? Lando mouths your name in reply, and Oscar’s half asleep flat expression turns into a look of concern. The three of you are roommates, but you’re gone for the night. Lando didn’t ask where you were going when you left.

“Hello?” He asks, waiting for your response.

There’s a sniffle, then a hiccupy gasp for air that has Lando sitting up straight in his seat. “Lan. Could you- fuck, m’sorry, just- d’you think you could pick me up?”

Lando stares widely at Oscar for a moment, heart clenching in his chest. You sound upset- more than upset, really. He stands up, already searching frantically for his keys.

“Yeah, love, of course,” he says as Oscar follows suit and stands up. “Should I bring Oscar?”

You sniffle again. “Yeah, please, just…”

“It’s okay. Send me your location, yeah? Take a deep breath, we’ll be there soon.”

You mumble something, and then you hang up on him. Lando shoves his phone in his pocket and looks up at Oscar, who’s holding the keys to his car. That works. Oscar heads for the door, while Lando makes a pit stop in the kitchen. When he meets his friend in the entryway, Oscar’s staring at him with confusion.

“She’s crying,” Lando says in explanation, holding a paper bag close to his chest.

They make it across town in record time. Oscar groans when they pull into the apartment complex you’d sent the location of.

“Isn’t this her boyfriend’s place?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Lando doesn’t get a chance to answer, because you step out of the front door, and they’re both distracted. Oscar swears under his breath, and Lando follows suit at the sight of you- you’re in a t-shirt and shorts. There’s snow on the ground. Oscar pulls his hoodie over his head just before you make it to the car door.

You climb into the backseat and collapse in on yourself. Both Lando and Oscar are turned towards you, and Lando’s sure their facial expressions are matching looks of concern. They both hand over their items without a word- Oscar’s hoodie, and Lando’s carton of ice cream and a spoon. You pull the hoodie over your head and open the ice cream.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Oscar says, voice low.

Lando nods. “Yeah. We can just sit here together until you feel up to anything else.”

You nod and chew on your lower lip, and the light from the street lamp outside catches on the tear tracks on your cheeks. “He dumped me. Can we just go home?”

Lando reaches his hand back to squeeze yours. Your fingers are ice cold. “Of course,” he says softly.

As Oscar pulls away, he and Lando exchange a look of worry and anger. They’ve never liked your boyfriend, but they hate to see you hurting, too.

“Thanks,” you add, voice small in the backseat. You hold onto Lando’s hand tightly. “I knew I could count on you guys.”

Lando squeezes your hand again. You’re quiet most of the way back, and he lets it go. Oscar’s right to not push you to talk about it. That’ll come in its own time.

Oscar drives back to your shared apartment, pulling into a parking space in the garage. He gets out before Lando and slips around to the backseat, opening the door for you. The Aussie wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

When you all get upstairs, you collapse onto the couch. Lando follows suit, not wanting to leave your side. Oscar isn’t far behind. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, something quiet that Lando doesn’t pay attention to. He just watches you for signs of distress. You stare at the tv blankly and chip away at the ice cream with your spoon, leaning on Oscar as Lando leans on you. Slowly, the three of you melt into the couch, none of you wanting to break the silence and suggest going to bed.

…..

Oscar wakes up on the couch at 3 in the morning, and when he looks around, this awful feeling hits him. It’s like someone’s reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. You’re laying there, your head on his stomach, one of your arms over his thigh. Lando’s laying nearly on top of you- together, the three of you are like a stack of toppled dominoes. There are blankets strewn over all of you. Oscar can vaguely remember Lando’s attempt to cover all three of you up as you all began to drift off.

You’re fast asleep, and when Oscar peers down at you he can still see the tear tracks on your cheeks. He’s never liked your boyfriend- ex boyfriend, now, thank god- but breakups are awful no matter what. He’s got half a mind to go over and confront the guy, because who leaves their girlfriend- ex girlfriend- to walk out of their apartment in the dead of winter in a t-shirt and shorts? Even if you had broken up, he seemingly hadn’t given you the chance to put on sweatpants and a hoodie. Or maybe you hadn’t wanted to stay long enough.

Lando shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to you. It’s only now that Oscar notices Lando’s hand linked with yours, fingers knitted together on your stomach. A pang of something flares up in him at the sight, at how right it feels to have you both right here like this. He does his best to tamp it down. He brushes his fingers against your cheek tentatively, relaxing just a bit at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.

You nudge into the touch, eyelids just barely fluttering. Oscar wonders to himself how anyone could ever let you go. The sight of you in the backseat, teary eyed in his hoodie, is burned into the back of his brain. He’d do anything to keep you from ever crying again.

When he wakes up again, it’s much later in the morning. You and Lando are both gone, and something about that makes his heart clench. But he hears noise in the kitchen- Lando, talking to someone, the sound of food sizzling on the stove. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes before trudging his way over there.

Lando’s at the stove, cooking something that smells awfully delicious and makes Oscar’s stomach growl. You’re sitting on the counter nearby the way you always do, still in Oscar’s hoodie, hands folded in your lap. You’re the first one to spot him- you smile, but it’s subdued. There’s a tinge of sadness to it. Something aching behind your eyes.

“Morning,” he finally says.

Lando turns over his shoulder with a smile. “I was just about to send her to wake you,” he says. “I made breakfast.”

Oscar nods. “Thanks. Smells really good.”

He takes his normal spot on a stool at the kitchen island. He passes by both of you on the way there, and you reach out to squeeze his upper arm. He brushes a hand over your knee and smiles at you.

You’re quiet. Usually, you’d be chatting their ears off. But Lando plates up the food and distributes it without a word from you, and it has Oscar feeling sick to his stomach. You stay sitting on the counter, and you push the food around on your plate with one hand. Lando sits next to Oscar and exchanges a look with him.

Both boys clear their plates without a word from you. You’ve only taken a few bites. Oscar clears his throat as he clears his and Lando’s plates. Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“I stand by what I said last night. We don’t have to talk,” he says. “But if you want to talk, we’re here.”

You shift and smile just a little. “Not much to talk about, really. The breakup has been coming for a long time, I think. So. It’s fine, really. Just weird, you know? We’d been dating for a year- that’s a year of my life… not wasted, but. Weird to lose someone like that so quickly.”

Both Oscar and Lando nod in understanding. You nod back. That’s that. If you don’t want to talk about it more, they won’t force you. It’s enough to know you’re safe at home, really.

…..

When Lando has his first DJ set after your break up, he begs you to come and watch. Much to his and Oscar’s surprise, you agree eagerly. They’d both thought it would be a harder fight. Lando’s been getting bigger and bigger DJ gigs- not enough to quit his day job yet, but enough to get excited about. You haven’t been to them recently, which had been a bit of a sore spot for Lando, though he’d tried not to let it on to you. So. If you want to go, he’s not going to question you on it.

On the way there, you size him up in the back of the Uber. You tug at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re too buttoned up,” you say, nose wrinkled.

Oscar laughs and nods. “Yeah, lose a button,” he adds.

He reaches over and undoes the top button of Lando’s shirt with nimble fingers, and great, now Lando’s sweating.

“Or two,” you chime in.

When you reach up and undo another button, Lando thinks the blush must be obvious on his cheeks now. It’s probably running down his neck, washing over his chest, just like the soft touch of your fingers against his skin.

“Why not three?” Oscar says, smirking.

Before he can undo the third one, Lando bats Oscar’s hand away and glares at him. Oscar’s had a shot before they left the apartment, pregaming because he hates crowds and loud places and social environments. He’s definitely a little tipsy, and because of that, he’s a bit more daring. It’s going to be the death of Lando.

By the time he’s halfway through the set, Lando’s gone and lost both of you in the crowd. He won’t lie, it makes him a bit nervous. He knows you were there one second, and then the next time he looked, you were both gone. He knows in his head Oscar won’t have let you out of his sight, but it doesn’t stop his heart from clenching. He thinks of his phone, down under the stage, itches to have it in his hand so he can text or call or find you, somehow.

When he finally climbs down and grabs his phone, it’s lit up with a bunch of notifications. He swipes past the ones from Max asking how late his set goes, past the ones from friends who stopped by, telling him how good he did. In the middle, there’s a text from Oscar.

Call when you’re done.

He calls. When Oscar answers, he gives him directions to meet the two of you in a bathroom and then promptly hangs up. Lando would be more concerned with the two of you apparently hiding out together in a bathroom if Oscar hadn’t told him about it. He doesn’t have the energy to let himself get jealous. He just heads towards the two of you. He knocks on the single bathroom door, calls out to Oscar, and it swings open.

“She had a little too much,” Oscar says.

Behind him, you’re kneeling next to the toilet, Oscar’s jacket underneath your knees. It’s such a sweet touch that it makes Lando’s heart ache- there’s just something about seeing Oscar taking care of you. But he does his best to focus and steps into the bathroom. Your hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Your skin is pale, and when you turn to look at Lando, your eyes are bloodshot. He hisses and turns to Oscar.

“I know, I know, I said I’d watch her-“ Oscar says, raising his hands defensively. “She’s good at pretending to be sober. Until she’s way too far gone, and then…”

“Lan!” you call out, high pitched and wobbly. “I love you.”

Lando widens his eyes at Oscar, who nods.

“There’s been a lot of that. About both of us. She was not happy when I pulled her out of sight of you.” Oscar sighs. “I can’t figure out if it’s just- you know, she loves her friends, or-“

Oscar trails off. Lando furrows his brows.

“Lan,” you repeat again, and he turns over his shoulder to look at you, then tries not to visibly wince. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, love,” he says, softly. “You done throwing up, you okay to move?”

You shrug, then nod. Great. Not super convincing. When he turns to Oscar, he winces. Lando drags a hand down his own face. Interrogating Oscar will have to wait- the first priority is to get the three of you out of there, hopefully without you throwing up on them. He sighs heavily and makes a plan in his head.

Lando’s not sure what god he pleased, what good karma he’s earned, but the three of you make it outside without you throwing up again. He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he and Oscar spend 5 minutes debating on whether walking or getting a ride would be better- you’re drunk and wobbly, but at least if you threw up, it’d be on the sidewalk. Oscar hates that idea, is worried about you tripping and falling on the way, about how they’ll manage to get you all the way back. You stand there and watch them argue, Oscar’s hand on your shoulder to keep you from falling over.

“Boys, stop fighting,” you say hazily. “You’re both so pretty.”

Lando’s eyes go wide at that. He stares at Oscar, who seems to make a face that says I know. Lando turns to you. You’re smiling widely up at him, blinking glassy eyes and tilting your head. You reach out and tap your fingertip against his nose, then laugh. Lando swallows tightly.

Oscar uses his distraction to flag down a cab. Lando can’t find the energy to argue anymore. They’d normally put you in the middle, but this time they sit you next to the door, just in case you do need to throw up. You spend the entire ride with your head on Lando’s shoulder, and he can tell you’re starting to get drowsy just from the way you sag against him. When they climb out of the car, Oscar puts one of your arms over his shoulder, and Lando does the same on the other side.

By the time they get you up to the apartment and into the bathroom, you’re half asleep, leaning heavily on both of them. When your hand slips against the bare skin of his chest, he swallows tightly. Oscar puts toothpaste on the toothbrush for you, and Lando helps you brush your teeth, his hand wrapped around yours gently.

Then they head for your bedroom. Lando grabs you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from your dresser. He sets them on the bed and gets ready to leave the room so you can change, and then slaps his hand over his eyes when you start to take off your dress before he even gets the chance. He hears Oscar’s hand hit his own face, too.

“We live together,” you say, and Lando can practically hear your eye roll. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Lando sighs. “It is, and you’re drunk, so.”

You laugh. “I guess. I’m dressed now.”

Lando groans when he uncovers his eyes and spots the pair of shorts still on the bed. He puts one hand over Oscar’s eyes, one back over his own, and says, “Shorts. Now.”

You grumble something about taking them off later anyways, which has Lando melting into a puddle over the thought. He hears you shuffling around, and then you grab both of his wrists and tug them away from his and Oscar’s faces. You’re fully dressed this time, and you collapse backwards onto the bed.

“Will you guys stay till I fall asleep?” you ask, softly.

Both of them nod and sit down on the edge of the bed. You curl up in the middle, each of them on either side. Oscar lays a tentative hand on your shoulder, while Lando brushes hair from your face. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, melting into the bed.

When you do, Lando nods silently towards the door. Oscar nods in agreement, and they both slip out of the bedroom. Lando looks back to check on you as he shuts the door. You look peaceful, finally.

Oscar heads for the kitchen, and Lando follows. He reaches into the fridge and comes back with two cans of sparkling water, which Lando accepts eagerly. He’d been unaware of just how thirsty he was until that moment. He drinks half the can in one go and then looks at Oscar expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Oscar prefaces. “I’m not sure about anything. But. She couldn’t stop staring at you up on the stage, and she told me about ten times how pretty you were. And then she said it about me, too. To my face. And like, right after that she threw up, but.”

“But,” Lando repeats. “You saw something. Different than her just being a drunk mess.”

“It felt different,” Oscar says, softly. “Just. I can’t explain it.”

Lando nods. He presses his lips into a thin line. Oscar follows suit, rubbing his hand against the smooth surface of the countertop.

“What do we do?” Lando asks quietly. He feels wildly out of his depth here. “I mean. D’you think she has feelings for…”

Me? You? Lando’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be either. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach. In an ideal world, he knows what he’d like to happen here, but that’s a pipe dream. Unrealistic.

“She’s really vulnerable,” he says, before Oscar can even answer. “And like. That would really make a good roommate situation weird, right?”

Oscar laughs, but it sounds forced. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Lando says. “Okay. So. We just let it go.”

Oscar nods. There’s something in the look on his face that makes Lando think maybe there’s more to this. That they shouldn’t brush it off so easily. But it’s late, and he’s exhausted, and this topic feels so, so difficult to broach right now. So he claps Oscar on the shoulder with an open palm, and then disappears into his bedroom.

Lando’s avoidance of the subject doesn’t last long, because the next morning, before you wake up, Oscar corners him in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” Oscar says, which is never a good sentence to hear at any hour, let alone before the sun has even risen.

Realistically, he should’ve known this was coming, because Oscar never willingly wakes up this early on a weekend. It’s still dark outside. Lando can barely make out Oscar’s facial expressions in the dim light. He flicks a light switch and watches the other man wince.

“Rude,” Oscar grumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for starting off my morning with that sentence,” Lando defends. When Oscar frowns, he softens. “What’s up?”

As if he hadn’t expected to actually get to this point, Oscar shrinks in on himself. Lando leans against the counter and tilts his head. Oscar’s younger, but he’s usually the more mature one. It’s odd to see him so lost for what to say.

“Last night,” Oscar starts, chewing on his lip when he pauses. “She- I- I can’t stop thinking about…”

Lando’s gut wobbles. “About her. You like her. And you think she feels the same.”

There’s this weird jealousy in his chest. He’s jealous of both of you, he realizes, and he grips the counter behind him with his hand. He wants to be the one you like, and he wants to be the one Oscar’s into, too. He’s known it for a while, really, but this is the first time he’s had to confront it head on. And it’s - it’s a problem, probably. His best friends and his roommates. He can’t have both. Can’t have it all.

Oscar frowns and shakes his head. “No. Well. Yeah, but- it’s more than that. It’s.”

Lando tamps down the ache in his chest, plasters on a smile. “Oscar. It’s okay.”

“No,” Oscar says, dragging out the sound. “You don’t- you don’t get it.”

“You guys would make a cute couple,” Lando says quietly. “Like. Really, Osc, you’d be good together-“

“I don’t just want her,” Oscar interrupts, and Lando's heart skips a beat. “I don’t- fuck, it sounds crazy, but. I woke up that morning, after we picked her up, and you were both on the couch with me, and I just thought, yeah, this is how I want to wake up every day. And if that’s crazy then- forget I said anything, but-“

Lando clears his throat. “It’s not crazy.”

Oscar freezes, one hand halfway through his hair. “It’s not?”

Lando shakes his head and bites his lip. “No. I think I’ve been feeling the same. Just… I felt crazy, you know?”

Oscar nods. Lando can’t stop staring at him, at the red flush on his cheeks, the wide eyes. He reaches his foot out and nudges it against Oscar’s shin.

“I meant what I said last night, about her being vulnerable,” he says, and Oscar sighs heavily. “She needs friends right now. And she doesn’t need friends who are caught up in figuring out their feelings for each other and maybe her, too.”

Oscar huffs. “So we just…”

“Wait and see?” Lando asks sheepishly. “Feels shitty, I know, but our first priority is making sure she’s okay.”

Oscar nods. Lando nods back. And that’s that, for a while. And maybe for a while, it’s enough to know that Oscar feels it, too. To know he’s not alone.

…..

You know Lando well enough to know he’s not one to admit when he’s sick. You’d think he’d be the exact opposite, but he tends to try and tough it out until the very last minute. He hides it well, except when it comes to you and Oscar.

He’s getting ready for a DJ set nearly a month after the one where you’d gotten far too drunk. There’s loud music playing through the apartment as he eats dinner, dancing along to the beat. You sit on the kitchen counter in your usual spot, and Oscar stands next to you. You’re both watching Lando bounce around the room. He’s trying to convince you he’s fine without actually saying it. It’s not working.

He leaves the room for a moment, looking for his phone. Oscar looks up at you.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” He asks.

You nod and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Definitely.”

But Lando says nothing about not feeling well, so you do your hair and makeup and get into an Uber with him and Oscar to head for a club. You and Oscar exchange a glance when Lando presses his forehead to the window of the car. He’s mumbling along to the song that’s playing over the speakers. There’s sweat on his temple. You’re starting to worry.

He tumbles out of the car and into the club with you and Oscar in tow. Once the bright lights and loud music hit him, he perks up a bit. If you know him, you know it won’t last. He’s going to wear himself out during his set and then fall apart right after. He sends the two of you to the bar, tells you to put it on his tab. Oscar loops his hand in your arm to keep you close- you’re not complaining. Without saying anything to each other, you each order plain Cokes. Lando won’t question if there’s alcohol in it. You order him his go to drink- a gin & tonic, but ask the bartender to go light on the gin. You hand it off to him before he heads up for his set, and when he hesitates to kiss your cheek like he normally would, you eye him carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says, which tells you more than anything that he’s definitely not fine.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. You press the back of your hand to Lando’s forehead and sigh. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He’s burning up.

“It’s a short set,” he says, slurred but loud enough to be heard over the thud of the bass. “I’ll be fine.”

You watch as he walks away. Oscar takes your arm in his hand again, pulls you away to a nearby booth. Normally, you love watching Lando’s sets, love listening to the music he’s chosen, and watching his face light up at the crowd’s reaction. But now, as he takes his place, you just feel worried. You can tell Oscar’s worried too, just from the way he drums his fingers against the table in an unsteady pattern. Normally the two of you would find yourselves out on the dance floor, especially when Lando plays the songs he knows you both love, but you can’t find it in you tonight.

When he stumbles off stage from his set, he’s grinning ear to ear, but his eyes are half closed and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin that you know isn’t from the dj-ing. You and Oscar stand to meet him, and you brush damp curls from his forehead to check his temperature again. He feels even worse. Oscar winces as Lando sways in front of the two of you.

“Let's get you home,” you suggest, and he just nods.

When you get back to the apartment, you deposit Lando on the couch. Oscar stays with him, pulling a blanket over Lando and propping him up with pillows. You head for the bathroom first and open the medicine cabinet.

“Lan, what’s wrong?” You call out.

You hear his disoriented grumbling. Oscar translates. “He says he’s fine.”

You lean out into the living room and fix Lando with a glare. “Shut up. You need medicine. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and sinks into the couch. “Sore throat. Headache. Little bit of a cough.”

You nod and return to the surprisingly well stocked medicine cabinet. You grab the cold medicine that describes his symptoms the best and head back to the living room. Lando has the blanket wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon, and he has his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s running his hand up and down Lando’s upper arm, a look of concern on his face.

You hand Oscar the medicine. “Here. Give him a dose, will you? I’m gonna heat up some soup or something.”

“M’not a baby,” Lando mutters.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Oscar teases gently.

Though the medicine cabinet was well stocked, the kitchen is less so. None of you like grocery shopping. You manage to find a can of chicken soup in the back of a cupboard, and it’s not expired, so you heat it up quickly. You return to the living room with the soup and a large glass of water.

Lando is fully tucked into Oscar’s side now, draped messily across the other boy. You sigh at the sight, at the way Oscar runs his hand through Lando’s hair, at the content little smile on Lando’s lips. Even when he’s sick, this is enough to bring him comfort. You wonder, then, if you could be enough, too. The memories pass through your brain- the way they’ve both taken care of you after your break up. Now it’s your chance to return the favor.

You sit down on the couch on Lando’s other side. Oscar takes the bowl of soup from you carefully, and then you hold the glass of water up to Lando’s lips. He sips carefully, then pulls away with a soft sigh. His cheeks are rosy red, and he shivers. You and Oscar both wince in sympathy.

“You should’ve told us,” Oscar says, quietly. “Should’ve canceled the set.”

Lando shrugs and elbows him lightly. “Got through it, didn’t I? Can’t go around canceling sets if I’m gonna make it big, can I?”

You roll your eyes and nudge the Brit slightly. “Your health is more important than you making it big,” you chide.

He turns to look at you, gaze hazy but still amused. “Mm. You won’t be saying that when I’ve got enough money to take care of the two of you for the rest of your lives.”

“Is that your plan?” Oscar asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

Lando closes his eyes and nods. “You two can be my sugar babies,” he asserts. “Never work another day in your life.”

“Okay, Norris,” you say, biting back a laugh. “Eat your soup.”

He does as he’s told, melting back into the couch as he holds the bowl and spoon in shaky hands. Oscar keeps his hands on the bowl, too, just to be safe. To show your support, you lean against Lando’s shoulder to help prop him up. As much as you hate to see him not feeling well, you think that maybe you could get used to this.

You tuck him into his bed later that night. Oscar’s next to you, having carried him into the bedroom from the living room. Lando was pretty much dead weight, high on cold medicine and his fever and so, so out of it. You pull the covers up to his chin and smooth sweaty hair from his forehead. You cringe at the clammy feeling, and Oscar laughs.

Lando blinks up at both of you with heavy eyes. “Meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?” You ask.

He lets his eyelids fall closed. “Gonna take care of you two. The same way you take care of me. I think abou’ it all the time.”

He yawns, turns his head, and falls asleep nearly immediately after that, lips barely parted, chest rising and falling smoothly. You feel frozen for a moment. He looks so peaceful. He wants to take care of you. Your heart is pounding.

Oscar wraps his hand around your elbow and squeezes softly. “He’ll be okay.”

He thinks you’re worried. You don’t know how to tell him that Lando being sick isn’t the problem. The what’s got you all mixed up inside is the way Lando says it so easily. Never work another day in your life. I think about it all the time.

You swallow and back away from the bed, because you have the strongest urge to crawl right in next to him and drag Oscar right with you, until you’re all curled up in a pile together. You can’t do that. Oscar leads you out to the living room. You think he knows something’s up, because he doesn’t let go of you the whole time, but he doesn’t say anything either. You need to shake this feeling. You can’t think about them like this. It won’t end well.

“I’ll make us some popcorn, yeah?” Oscar suggests. “We can watch Bake Off.”

You nod as you make your way over to the couch. You try to tell yourself you should keep your distance, should sit far away from him. But when he sits down and pulls you into his chest, you can’t help but sigh happily.

“When we inevitably catch whatever he has,” you say, “we’re gonna need more chicken noodle soup.”

…..

Oscar comes home from work one day a few weeks later, and finds the two of you in the living room- a pretty normal occurrence lately. You’re laid out on the couch, your ankles in Lando’s lap. You smile up at him happily, and he laughs. He’s glad to see you, honestly, both of you. He’s had a rough day. This is exactly what he needed to come home to.

“Comfy?” He asks.

You nod eagerly. “We saved some pizza for you. It’s in the kitchen.”

He snorts. “Gee. Thanks. Couldn’t wait till I got home?”

You pout up at him. “I was hungry.”

Lando nods in agreement. “She was being whiny, Osc, had to feed her.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, leaning over to ruffle your hair. You press into the touch, like a cat. “And then I’ll have dinner.”

“Ooh, take a shower beer,” you suggest.

Lando laughs. “I was gonna say the exact same thing.”

Without even thinking, Oscar leans over the couch and kisses both of your foreheads. “Geniuses, the both of you.”

Neither you or Lando seem to question it, or the blush on his cheeks, so he doesn’t even try to explain.

By the time he finishes showering, and finishes his shower beer, a bit of the stress has melted away. He sighs heavily when he steps out, towel dries his hair, and pulls on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. He eats a slice of pizza, cold, in the kitchen.

When he makes it back to the living room, you’re curled up in Lando’s arms, halfway in his lap. He grumbles, not even realizing he’s making the noise until you look up at him. You throw one arm out wide, beckoning him close. Lando looks up with a happy, soft smile and pats the open space on his chest. And really, Oscar’s had a shit day, and the spot between Lando’s jaw and chest looks quite cozy, and if he’s being invited, then-

He collapses into the two of you, slips his arm around you and presses the side of his face to Lando’s chest. Oscar takes a deep breath, smells Lando’s cologne and your perfume, the intoxicating mix of both of you, and closes his eyes. He feels someone’s finger drag down the slope of his nose, and another hand brushes his hair from his forehead.

“Bad day?” You ask.

He’s exhausted, and everything is a bit hazy feeling. Syrupy and slow. He could fall asleep like this, probably. You sound a million miles away, and also like you’re tucked away in his chest, like he’d like for you to always be. Close and protected.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Really bad day.”

A thumb brushes over his cheek. There’s a hand in his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He lets out a fluttering sigh.

“Poor baby,” you say. He thinks the hand on his face is yours, the hand in his hair, Lando’s. “We just gotta wait for Lan to make it big, yeah? ‘nd then me and you can be his sugar babies, let him pay for everything. Just like he promised.”

Oscar laughs and rubs his cheek against Lando’s chest in some sort of nod. He can feel Lando laughing, too, high pitched and breathless. His hand squeezes at your hip, where it landed when he sat down.

“I’d take such good care of the two of you,” Lando says, quietly.

Oscar knows how much truth the words hold, and suddenly his stomach aches with want. Because Lando already takes care of both of you and him any way he can, and Oscar does it for you and Lando, too, and they both wish they could do it even more so. Could kiss away your tears, could hold your hand when you cross the street. He wants it. So does Lando.

“You already do,” you say, even quieter.

Oscar feels Lando’s breath hitch in his chest. He opens one eye and finds your eyes closed, your hand pressed to his cheek. Lando’s hand, banded around Oscar’s back, squeezes softly. Oscar holds his breath.

You shrug, like you know they’re watching without even opening your eyes.

“You both do,” you add. “Picked me up when I called, checked on me ever since…” you sigh and bury your face deeper into Lando’s chest. Oscar reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand tentatively. “Couldn’t ask for more.”

Even on the worst of days, Oscar thinks that maybe you’re right. He couldn’t ask for more. He’s got everything right here.

…..

A few nights later, Lando wakes up to the creak of the door, and his eyes fly open. He turns to look and finds you standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Love?” Lando asks, quietly. It’s the dead of night. “You alright?”

You shrug and sigh. “Can we cuddle?”

He blinks and nods, wonder fleetingly if he should go and get Oscar, because this feels unfair, but- then you step backwards, walking away. You must want to go to your bed, must feel more comfortable there. Lando slips out of his bed, takes his phone with him, and follows after you. His confusion grows when you don’t stop at the door to your bedroom. You walk right past and head for Oscar’s room. You open the door, and Lando looks past you to the warm glow of the lamp Oscar always forgets to turn off, to his sleeping form.

“You’re easier to wake up,” you say, softly.

Lando blinks wildly as you trudge your way over to the bed. “Love?”

“Want cuddles,” you state as you climb into the bed next to Oscar, who’s snoring softly. “From both of you. Come on.”

And, well. You should probably all talk about this, really. But you’re already tucking yourself under the blankets, and Oscar looks cute, and Lando’s so, so tired, and he wants cuddles, too, so. He sighs and makes his way over to the bed. You grin and roll towards Oscar, who finally shifts awake at the motion.

“Hi?” He says, confused, sleep coating his voice.

You don’t bother to explain, just slip an arm around him and curl close. Lando sits down on the edge of the bed and makes eye contact with Oscar, who seems frozen between confusion and happiness.

“She wanted cuddles,” Lando explains. “From both of us. I’m easier to wake up, apparently.”

Oscar shrugs and nods. He rolls towards you and throws his arm over your middle. His fingers motion towards Lando, who breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, they’ve talked, but there was always a chance Oscar changed his mind, or that this would be weird. But, if he’s offering…

Lando crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh when he lays down next to you, and he can’t fight the smile that crosses his lips. He slips his arm around you, his skin brushing against Oscar’s, too. Oscar presses a kiss to your forehead. Lando bites back a flare of jealousy, and he’s not even sure which one of you he’s jealous of. Then Oscar brushes his fingertips against his bicep, a soft, gentle touch that reminds him he’s part of this, too. Lando kisses the back of your neck and closes his eyes, already sleepy again.

…..

When Oscar wakes up the next morning, you and Lando are still in his bed. He breathes a sigh of relief at that, having been worried one of you would wake up and panic and leave. He watches the two of you for a few moments before he lets his eyes slip closed again. The weight of your head on his chest is comforting, and the soft rise and fall of Lando’s ribs under his hand is even more so. It’s rare that he’s awake before either of you unless he has to be up early.

He opens one eye again, just to look, just to take it in. Lando’s head is pressed against your shoulder, the top of his forehead and his mass of curly hair just visible to Oscar. He could get used to this. He’d like to wake up like this all the time, the three of you all wrapped up together. And maybe that’s wishful thinking, but for at least one morning, he gets to have it.

If he wasn’t so worried he’d wake you up and spoil the moment, he’d trace the lines of your face with his fingertips and draw patterns on your shoulders. He’d do it to Lando, too- shove his tank top up until he could touch the bare skin of his ribs, run his fingers over the bumps. But he wants this to last as long as possible, so he just lays there and stares.

Eventually, you start to stir, and with you, so does Lando. It’s strange, the way it makes Oscar’s heart clench in his chest. He wants so badly for both of you to just stay right here, with him. If he could hold you both in his arms like this forever he would.

When you open your eyes, you smile softly at him. Lando shifts behind you and opens one eye, and the same soft smile slips across his lips. You press yourself farther into Oscar, and reach a hand behind you to pull Lando close.

“My boys,” you say, quietly. “My favorite boys.”

And. That’s when it hits Oscar, like a punch to the chest. There’s something in the way you say it, something about the look on your face. He just knows. He knows because he sees it in himself, in Lando. He doesn’t need to talk about it right this second, doesn’t need to ask. He just knows you feel it too. So he leans up and over, hears the way Lando’s holding his breath. He moves his hand and presses his lips to your cheek, to your warm, soft skin. Then he does the same to Lando. You smile even wider. Lando, not one to be left out, does the same to you, then Oscar, leaving his skin burning. You follow suit, and your lips are warm against Oscar’s jaw. He thinks maybe he’s in heaven.

The three of you fall back asleep in a tighter pile, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. There’ll be time to talk later. For now, it’s enough to just know.

…..

A month later, you’re in the front of the crowd at Lando’s DJ set, watching with wide, bright eyes. He has three buttons undone, the work of you and Oscar during the car ride over to the club. He’s grinning down at you as someone hands him a shot, and then he tosses it back with a grimace. You wonder if he sees the stars in his eyes as you look up at him.

Oscar’s behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He has a drink in his other hand- your drink, taken from your own grip when you started moving your hands to the music. His nose is pressed behind your ear, and when he speaks, his breath tickles against your skin and makes you shiver.

“Y’know, he said he’d take care of us,” Oscar says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but just barely. “But all I can think of right now are all the ways I wanna take care of him.”

You laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s the unbuttoned shirt,” you tell him, gesturing at your other boyfriend. “S’like kryptonite.”

Never mind the fact that the shirt’s only unbuttoned because of the two of you. Oscar laughs and squeezes his arm around your middle. Lando tilts his head at the two of you, like he knows exactly what you’re up to.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees. “But that’s less buttons for us to deal with later.”

You nod in agreement. “Good point.”

When Lando’s shirt is laying on the floor later, next to Oscar’s shirt and your dress, and you’re all slumped together on the bed in a pile, you remember what Oscar said earlier and laugh. Neither of them bother to ask what you’re laughing about. They just kiss your cheeks and join in with laughter of their own.

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