#But I spent 2 fucking hours trying to put together the goddamn couch back with instructions that are so fucking shitty

[drewbydrewbydrew]

I have a fucking master's degree and I've been beaten by a fucking couch and a coffee table

[godzillerd]

Resident Evil 8 AU Pt 2: Parenthood Boogaloo??

Former Post Here

To summarize: Ethan takes deal. Miranda goes boom. Village goes boom. Chris is like this is serious. Heisenberg is like no baby for me pls. Ethan is like yeah no absolutely no baby for him pls. Chris is like sorry but baby for him. Didn’t even get a baby shower. Fucking brutal. Hate this place.

RIP pls forgive this obnoxiously long post that will never become a cohesive fic.

Why am I like this. 

My life is a sea of regrets.

Seriously though forgive how all over the place this is - it is literally me vomiting thoughts for sport.

Immediately after leaving the village (what was left of it) Heisenberg headed west with Rose. 

As expected, it took a matter of hours for the Duke to show up bearing gifts. Not much, mind you, but enough. 

He even allowed Heisenberg to start running a tab, despite quibbling that it was a bad business practice. 

For the first year, they were completely off the grid with zero contact with the rest of the world, usually living in ramshackle hunting cabins in the forests of whatever country they happened to be in at the time. Hungary, Austria, Slovenia, and eventually Switzerland. 

Not requiring food or water himself, caring for Rose was relatively easy with some help from Duke. Heisenberg became an old hand at building fires out of nothing.

The whole baby thing did not come naturally to him. In fact, it took over six months for Heisenberg to have any kind of clue as to why the potato might be screaming this time. 

He came very close to just killing it and fending for himself, but after seeing what Rose did to Miranda... it was enough to make anyone hesitant. 

Around eight months in, Duke showed up with a new present: A cell phone. And a secure number. And a delicate observation that Ethan Winters might actually kill Heisenberg if he didn’t call soon. 

Calls with Ethan were an infrequent thing. Ethan passed along pertinent information, but being under heavy monitoring, he didn’t have a lot of private time. 

Heisenberg had less of an excuse, and just genuinely didn’t like Ethan. 

Despite being told about it specifically, Heisenberg missed Rose’s first and second birthdays. She didn’t seem to mind. Ethan did.

Around then, it became obvious that living in the woods, completely cut off from humanity, wasn’t going to work out well for a growing child. 

Did you know electromagnetic energy can really fuck up a bank machine? 

Heisenberg (well, Duke) found a reasonable, small cottage on the outskirts of a village in the south of France. He put together a decent little business selling metalwork crafts that were simple (for him) to build, but could sell for high profit. Horses were a bit of a specialty.

Became the local backwoods crazy rural uncle who can fix anything using anything. 

Ethan managed to pull enough strings to buy himself a four hour window while in France for unrelated business to visit Rose for the first time just before she turned three. 

They agreed to meet in a town about an hour south as Ethan had ‘security concerns’. 

ie. He and Chris both doubted Heisenberg’s ability to blend into a crowd. 

To prove a point because he’s a petty bitch, Heisenberg walked Rose past Ethan five times while Ethan was waiting around for them. Ethan only noticed them when Heisenberg said his name. 

Shaving, showering, a haircut, and new clothes can do a lot for a man. 

Rose did not recognize Ethan and was extremely reluctant to speak to him at all. Eventually, she was coaxed into introducing herself as “Rosalie-Elise”. For reasons beyond Heisenberg’s comprehension, this seemed to have a profound emotional effect on Ethan. 

Aside from occasional visits from Ethan (usually every year or two) it was mostly Heisenberg and Rose against the world. 

Duke did roll through, though less frequently than when they were actively fleeing the village. He was incredibly fond of Rose, after all.

Until Rose turned three, Heisenberg largely saw her as a nuisance - something he was obligated to keep alive for his own sake. 

When she was three, and shortly after they settled in the French House, Rose began picking up on Heisenberg’s mannerisms. Speaking like him, sitting like him, trying to mimic everything he did on a smaller scale...

Overnight she went from a nuisance to the apple of his goddamn eye. 

Heisenberg rarely called Rose by her name unless it was serious. More often than not, she’s ‘Kid’ or ‘Blondie’

By the time she started school, Rose could dismantle, repair, and reassemble most standard engines (with a bit of help). She was also shaping up to be a mean little welder.

She also picked up a bad habit of swearing (fortunately, only in English)

Rose was raised speaking French almost exclusively, and her English was heavily accented. Heisenberg learned it with great difficulty, but became fluent by speaking only French for years.

Despite being happier by himself, cut off from other people, Heisenberg deliberately put in the effort to appear as ‘normal’ as possible. 

He never claimed to be Rose’s father - to her or to anyone else. Instead, he called himself her crazy uncle and left the gossip-mongers to come up with a story about her parents. 

Ethan was mockingly referred to as ‘Brother’ every time he called or visited, though. 

When Rose was six, Heisenberg gave her a watered-down version of what happened in the village. 

Watered down for him, at least. 

Rose had nightmares for six months. 

In the midst of that fun time, Ethan gave them a warning that the BSAA was starting to suspect something, so they up and disappeared in one night. 

This pattern continued for years, destroying any chance of Rose having a ‘normal’ childhood. 

Despite that, she developed a startlingly good mindset about things. Influenced by Heisenberg, Rose grew up with a tendency towards independence and isolation, with a hell of a lot of self-confidence and pride to boot. She never particularly enjoyed being around other children, even when she had the opportunity. She preferred staying close to Heisenberg whether it was necessary or not. 

Being an obnoxiously touch-motivated brat, Rose spent most of her childhood hanging off his neck, or flopped over his shoulders, or literally hugging him while he was juggling hot metal. Heisenberg gave up caring when she was about four and by the time she was five he didn’t really notice it at all. He often sprawled on the couch just so the kid could nap on him and catch up on sleep. 

After learning the truth about the village, Rose never did sleep particularly well at night - especially not alone in her room. Most nights, Heisenberg would sit next to her bed until she fell asleep. Sometimes even all night. 

Again, likely influenced by Heisenberg, Rose grew to dislike Ethan as time wore on. Despite her solid relationship with Heisenberg, most of their arguments were about Rose seeing Ethan. 

Heisenberg understood that their safety relied on Ethan being on good terms with both of them. Rose “didn’t give a fuck”

They reached a compromise eventually that Ethan was only ever promised one hour with Rose. If she wanted to leave after that, it was her choice. Similarly, Heisenberg let her set the boundaries about hugs and calling Ethan her father. 

Needless to say, Ethan stopped getting hugs by the time Rose was ten, and he was never called her dad. 

On the other side of things, Rose adored the Duke just as much as he adored her. Whenever Duke was in their neck of the woods, he made a special point to track them down in order to give Rose extravagant gifts. 

Puberty was a hell of a time.

A hell of a time

Rose manifested a massive amount of power in the span of six months when she was thirteen. Around the same time she discovered her love of girls, teenage rebellion, and sticking it to the man.

During one rip-roaring fight when she was fourteen, Rose sent Heisenberg through not one, nor two, nor even three walls. She sent him through five.

Somehow, that incident was enough to curb the rising tide of teenage hormones and got them both back on track.

Heisenberg always struggled with knowing how much or how little to tell Rose about their predicament. On one hand, Ethan hated the idea and thought it would destroy her entire childhood. On the other hand, Heisenberg disliked the idea of lying to the kid. 

Eventually, circumstances were such that there was no choice but to tell Rose everything in order to stay safe. By the time she was twelve, she had a pretty good idea about everything that had happened in the past. 

Mostly because Ethan assumed he wouldn’t do it, Heisenberg also told her all about himself.

Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly, after so many years) it didn’t change much. She tried to use it as ammunition during a few teenage tantrums, but when she realized it didn’t phase him, it was never really brought up again. 

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[constilationn]

Changing The Sheets || Part 2 🥀

A/N: Hey guys, I wrote a part two of this because I really like the direction it was going in. Anyway, I’m really really proud of this one and I loved writing it. Please do give any and all feedback, I love it. Much love guys. 

Rating: T?

Warning: naughty words, that's about it. 

Summary: You think you’re doing okay, Ashton shows up and you realise you might not be. But time can mend and you know that. 

Part 1

At the end of three weeks, crisis mode ends for everyone but you. Calum stops coming by every day, understandable because he has his own life to live but it hurts all the same. Luke and Michael still come around occasionally but everything goes back to normal. You’ve accepted Ashton isn’t coming back anytime soon, you’ve accepted that he’s probably with her now and it’s time to move on but it still hurts. It hurts so much that your heart seemingly twists with every breath you take and a pain lingers in your gut that you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try. Still, you think it might be time to fix the bedroom, throw out all of Ashton’s old stuff and start fresh. You think you can do that, think after weeks of shutting the world out, you can drag yourself down to the department store and buy replacements for all the stuff you broke. You can drag yourself out of bed, put your goddamn clothes on and start putting yourself back together like you promised you would.

And so you do.

Two days after changing the sheets for the first time, you kick the comforter back off and let it land on the floor. You drag yourself up, throw the pillows from the bed and strip the sheet from the mattress. It’s different now, this isn’t anger anymore or at least you don’t think it is, you think its acceptance, think it’s the determination to pick up the pieces of yourself and slot them back into place no matter what you have to do. Because you can’t stay in this apartment with all the things you shared and the shards of the promises he made to you. You can’t stay in this house with fragments of his cologne and toothbrush and his record collection that stares mockingly at you every time you sit on the couch and try to forget everything he destroyed when he left you. You think ... you think you need to make this place your own, fill it with your own love and your own light and everything you know you can be with him. Because you’ll be okay, you know you’ll be okay but it’ll take time, and you know that too.

The first thing you do when you finally force yourself away from the bedroom and away from the pile of sheets you’ve pulled from the cupboard, is grab a trash bag from the cupboard under the sink and head back into the bathroom. You don’t spare the broken glass another look as you sweep it into the bag, try not to touch the bristles of the toothbrush as you throw the fragments of the life you had before into the bag. In fact, you clear out every single thing in that room that belongs to him and make a note in your mind to buy your favourite bath salts and bath bombs and replace everything he said he loved with what you like because this is your home now, and you intend to make it a place filled with love instead of betrayal and regret.

The trash bag is full by the time you reach the closet in your bedroom, all traces of Ashton gone from the bathroom and the kitchen. You left the living room, can’t bring yourself to touch his record collection that he spent weeks organizing or the stack of books with his scribbled post it notes on top. You loved reading almost as much as he did. You’ve always been a sucker for getting lost in a story, mostly Jane Austen, and her talent for writing a romance you could only dream about. You’ve fantasied about meeting your Prince Charming on more than one occasion. You thought you’d found that when you’d met Ashton. Turns out you were wrong.

It takes you a minute. It takes you a minute because everything hits you, suddenly and all at once, and you have to stop yourself from falling back into the chaos you’re so determined to leave behind. You take a breath, shaking, then another and turn back into the bedroom without giving that stupid coffee table another glance. You might have to buy another one, fuck, you might have to refurnish your entire apartment until you can learn to love and breath in here again.

Crescent moons appear on your palms as you dig you nails into your skin in an attempt to stop your hands shaking. It feels stupid, like you should be able to shake and cry and scream all you want in your own apartment but you feel Ashton lingering in everything you do. You have to be strong, you have to be able to throw these things out without a second glance because you’ll destroy yourself if you keep them here for much longer. You’re torn, torn between keeping his things because you know you still love him, or getting rid of them because you know you have to move on. But there’s something in the pit of your stomach, something that feels suspiciously like hope, that he’ll realize his mistake and come back.

You tear his clothes off the hangars and stuff them into the trash bag without another thought.

You leave the stripped bed, bare pillows and duvet on the floor and drag the trash bag back through the apartment. You spare a glance to the clock that hangs in your kitchen and you’re surprised to see it’s almost eleven at night. It means you’ve spent the better part of three hours throwing every trace of Ashton out of your apartment without shedding a tear. It’s an accomplishment, of sorts, something to be proud of and you know in that moment, you’ll be able to make this apartment a beautiful home for yourself.

You grab the bag, pull the door just as someone pushes from the other side and you stumble, fall back and drop the bag as Calum stands on the other side of the door with his hand still on the door handle and a stunned expression on his face.

“Calum?” You scramble to shove Ashton’s stuff back into the trash bag as Calum watches with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you.” It’s the first time he’s been back in a few days and you weren’t expecting one of Ashton's best friends to open the door just as you were throwing out everything he owned. Calum’s voice is thick with amusement as he speaks. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m cleansing.” You fumble for the ties at the top of the trash bag and pull them tightly. “Getting my shit together.”

“Getting rid of shit, you mean.”

“No,” you sigh, run a hand through your hair and realizing you haven’t brushed it in the same breath you realise you probably smell awful. “I’m creating something.”

“You don’t have to get rid of his stuff right away, you know. Just like you don’t have to stop loving him right away.” Calum takes the bag from you, fingers gently brushing yours, and you know by your lack of resistance that he’s right. “Let me take this.” He pauses, glances at your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none and instead is met with a soft smile, he continues. “You’ll regret it if you dump this right now. Trust me.”

“I do,” you reply, relinquishing the bag. “I do trust you.” You pause, watching Calum as he smiles. A deep breath leaves your lips without you meaning it to and Calum raises an eyebrow like he knows there’s something you want to ask him. He waits, he’s patient because he knows how hard this is for you. “How is he?” You finally ask, voice no more than a breath.

“Luke says he’s heartbroken.”

“Luke? You haven’t seen him?”

Calum shakes his head. “I’m here for you, not him. He’s my best friend but I can’t support what he did.”

It takes a lot of strength for you not to cry then, and you blink back tears, sniffle and disguise it with a laugh as Calum wraps you in his arms. You almost deflate against him, like you can finally breath, like you’ve got the validation that Ashton is in the wrong, not you. “Thank you.” You whisper, fighting to keep your voice even. “Thank you.”

Calum pulls away after a minute, “Give me this shit,” he laughs, waiting as you grab your purse and jacket and lock the door. “You want me to drive you?”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.” You chuckle, following him down the stairs and outside to his car as you struggle to keep your gaze away from the trash bag he holds in his hand. You whole life is in there, well, your old life. You dig for your keys, push the thought away and head to your car. “I love you Cal, but we’re going different ways and you’re not the best driver.”

“I’m a great driver!” He insists as you duck into your car and give him a wave. He flips you off with a grin and you shake your head as you pull out of the lot ahead of Calum and take the turn to the department store.

You’re ready, you know you’re ready and you’ve already got a list in your head of what you can buy now that Ashton’s gone. You’ll fill the bathroom shelves with wicker baskets full of bath salts. You’ll buy new sheets, ones alive with colour and you’ll replace the cushion covers with the ones you wanted to get all along. You’ll buy plants and put them in every nook and cranny of your apartment and you’ll stock the fridge with your favourite food and forget how it used to be crammed with beer. It’s the next step for you, the next chapter.

But the thing is, you didn’t want to turn the page at all.

You pull into a space outside the store, grab a basket and head inside in high spirits because this is the first time you’ve felt confident with a decision since Ashton left. You dressed in something other than pajamas, you threw on some makeup and you hauled your ass out of the apartment because you’re so determined to make a life for yourself.

And you’re so confident in this decision, so unbelievably proud of yourself as you turn down the aisle to pick out your plants, that you think you might be having some sort of mental break when you see Ashton standing at the other end of aisle with a plant in hand.

And you freeze, your blood turns cold and you fucking freeze on the floor of that department store because every emotion that you’ve felt in the last few weeks hit you like a slap to the face and you fail to pick your jaw up off the floor, fail to turn around and leave despite the amount of fear and hate and adrenaline that’s racing through your veins. So, when he turns and meets your eyes and the plant he’s holding falls to the floor and the pot shatters, your heart fucking explodes.

And yet, you still can’t fucking move.

Your name on his lips for the first time in weeks makes your stomach turn and bile rise in your throat. Your heart races, thunders in your chest and you can hear blood pounding in your head as you try to figure out what to do before he reaches you. But you can’t leave now because he’s seen you and as much as you want to show him that he means nothing to you, you can’t bring yourself to destroy the last little piece of your relationship that has survive. So you take a breath, steady yourself because you refuse to be afraid of this anymore and turn to Ashton as he stops in front of you.

“Hi.” You wait for him to speak first and when he does, you’re surprised to find there’s anger in the pit of your stomach instead of the grief you expected to feel.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Hi.”

Ashton hesitates, “How are you?”

“How do you think?”

“I— “

“You what?” You’re aware you don’t give him the chance to finish but the rage that seems to have consumed you in the time that he’s walked from one end of the aisle to the other is the thing that guides you.

“I’m so sorry.”

You scoff, “I bet you are,” you glance down to the basket in his hands. “So what, you’re already shopping for your new place? For your new girl?”

You’re not sure Ashton’s eyes can widen anymore. He’s always known you were feisty, knew exactly what he was getting into but he’s never seen you like this, driven by blinding anger. “No. No, I... I’m staying with Luke. Thought I could get him something to say thank you.”

“Not staying at your new girls house then?” You haven’t unfolded your arms, eyes glaring at Ashton as he focuses on anything other than your face.

Ashton’s eyes fall to your shoes. “I haven’t seen her since that night.”

You laugh, short and bitter. “Don’t be shy, Ash. Since the night you fucked her.”

Ashton shakes his head, “Please, please let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” And despite yourself, you take a step closer to him. “You don’t love me anymore, remember.”

Ashton seems close to tears, frustration and exasperation driving him towards the edge. “Just give me a chance to explain, please.”

You’re silent for a moment watching Ashton as he watches you before you let go of your cart, raise an eyebrow and turn to leave the store. You’re not sure if Ashton picked up that you want him to follow but then you head into the parking lot and hear his footsteps behind you as he follows you to your car.

“Get in.” Is the only thing you say as you open the door to your car and watch Ashton slide into the passenger seat. He doesn’t have to say yes. All he does is wait.

🥀

A silver Honda passes you as you and Ashton sit side by side on the hood of the car. You’ve been here for seven minutes and twelve seconds, you know because you’ve been watching the seconds pass you by on the clock on the dashboard.

“We haven’t talked in a while.” You finally say, remembering every single might where you pushed the call button on Ashton’s contact on your phone.

“No,” Ashton replies, quiet as ever, “No we haven’t talked at all.”

The freeway’s almost empty but some traffic zooms by the two of you as you stare past Ashton and into the inky blue of the sky. It’s fourteen minutes past one, all you know is that you drove the freeway for two hours and then pulled over to the an emergency bay on the side of the road. But you don’t know much else because your head is spinning and Ashton is sitting the closet to you that he has in weeks.

You can’t avoid this forever, you suppose, which is a shame because you've done a good job trying.

So you sigh, slide off the hood of the car as you wipe your hands on your jeans. Ashton looks like he wants to follow but the glare you cast his way tells him to stay put. “This is how this is going to work. You’re going to answer every fucking question I ask you and I might not shove you in front of an oncoming vehicle.”

Ashton nods, barely breaths as he says “yes.” Probably because he doesn’t want to be thrown in front of a car, you suppose. But still, it’s a start.

“Who bought you your shit?” It’s no mystery to you that some of Ashton’s stuff disappeared from your apartment before you started to break everything. You couldn’t bring yourself to care back then. You do now, though.

“Luke and Michael.”

“You saw them a lot?”

“A bit, yeah.”  

You nod, run your tongue over your teeth. “Calum?” Because despite what he said to you, your trust has been shattered and you want to see if Ashton will lie to you even now.

“He hasn’t returned my calls,” Ashton says quietly. “I don’t know.”

Okay, you think, two questions in and you don’t want to snap yourself in half. You take a few steps away from the car, then walk back and stare Ashton straight in the face as another car growls past.

“How’ve you been? Really? Don’t sugar coat it.”

Ashton gives a sad sort of smile as he fiddles with the bottom of his shirt. “Fucking...terrible. Maybe worse. Haven’t been getting out of bed a lot.”

“Good.” You snap, can’t stop yourself because he should hurt just as much as you did. He shouldn’t be able to get out of fucking bed either. You breathe in the crisp night air and try to calm yourself.

“How’ve you been?” You stop pacing across the gravel of the freeway and look up at him.

“You already asked me that. I already answered.” God, your voice is vicious, prowls across the cool night air and bites at him. But you feel satisfied, knowing you can give Ashton little cuts like this.

Ashton bites his lip and looks down. He looks out of breath, like he’s run miles and you can’t help but think god, because he deserves every bit of pain you felt. “I know. But it’s all I think about.”

Cry me a fucking river. You want to scream. You couldn’t handle one fucking day of this.

Fuck, you love him so much.

And even though he hasn’t talked over you once you can’t help but snap, “Interrupt me one more time and you can fucking walk home.” And then before you can stop yourself, before you can falter, “Now, why’d you do it?”

Ashton stops moving then, stops fiddling, stops breathing, so quickly that you’re almost worried. But then Ashton opens his mouth and you realise you’re not ready for this answer so you cover your fear with malice. “Don’t hesitate” you say, “Don’t fucking um and ah. And don’t bullshit me, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Okay.”

“So why’d you fucking do it, you selfish prick.” You say and when your voice finally cracks, Ashton looks away.

Good, you think, fucking let him hurt. Let him feel half of what I have.

“Baby— “

“Why did you fucking do it?” You yell, veering straight past the nickname because you can’t handle that right now, not on top of everything else. You voice makes Ashton’s head snap up. “Don’t fucking look away from me. Just tell me!” And then softer, because your voice has cracked and you can’t do this anymore, “Just say it. Please.”

Ashton nods, wipes the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Okay...okay, but you can’t...it’s not logic. It’s not.”

“Just say it.” Four cars go past before Ashton speaks again and you fight to keep yourself steady on your feet.

“I got scared,” he says finally and you’ve never heard Ashton’s voice so small. “I got scared and you didn’t. I got scared and I panicked and I drank too much and you were a million miles away and I fucked up.”

“Not enough,” you shake your head. “That’s not enough. You don’t get to fuck someone and tell me you don’t love me and get away with it in a single sentence. That’s not fucking good enough.”

Ashton slides from the hood of the car then and you’re so scared he’s going to end this conversation and get back in the car and leave you again. So, you say the first thing you can think of. “You wanted it too, though, didn’t you? You wanted me?” And, fuck, you can barely stomach how stupid your question sounds but you need to know. You need to know.

“Of course I wanted you.” Ashton says, polar opposite to the venom that coats your voice. “Of course I did.”

“Then what the fuck?” You ask angrily because you don’t understand, you don’t. “What the fuck was all of it for. I don’t understand.”

“We weren’t supposed to make it.” Ashton whispers and the distance you’ve put between the two of you, you quickly close because you can’t miss this. “We were twenty-one and twenty fucking three something and we weren’t supposed to make it. It wasn’t...it wasn’t supposed to go anywhere because I was leaving for tour and you wanted that degree and wanted to leave this stupid goddamn city. And we didn’t have a chance in hell of making it.”

Your inches away from him now.

“And then by some fucking miracle, we did make it.” Ashton says, “and then you’re talking about a future with a house and a family and fucking colour schemes and shit and it scared me. I was fucking scared and so out of my depth and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You croak out, “Why didn’t...you could’ve told me.”

Ashton snorts and makes the two of you seem impossibly closer. “Do you know what kind of person you are to let down?” He asks, “I couldn’t do that to you and so I got scared and I tried to avoid it and I fucked up.”

“So you went and stuck your dick in someone else?” You spit, “like that wasn’t going to raise anymore fucking issues, like that wasn’t going to cause a bit of a problem, like— “

“You asked me why.” Ashton says and his voice raises for the first time. “You asked me why. I’m not saying it makes sense but...that’s it.”

You thought knowing would make you feel better. You really did, but now you know just how mistaken you’ve been. “I should’ve known,” you say, face white, “I should’ve known, I was right there and I just...I did nothing.”

You could deal with not knowing, you realise, you could deal with that but now there’s a pressure on your chest saying it’s on you, saying it’s your fault. You think you might throw up and brace yourself against the hood of the car.

“It’s not your fault,” Ashton says from behind you and you’ve forgotten how much you miss his comfort, his safety. “It’ll never be your fault. You have to know that.”

“But it is.” You say, snapping back around to face Ashton. “Because you couldn’t tell me. You couldn’t tell me and you couldn’t touch me a and so you had to find someone else.” And it’s so overwhelming, so fucking overwhelming and it hits you all at once and you don’t realise Ashton holding you until your legs are about to give out.

You want to push him away, want to throw yourself off, want to barrel into traffic for all you care but you’re not strong enough. Because you’re so fucking tired and sad and so, so in love with the boy in front of you that it feels like if you let go of him you’ll forget how to breath.

“I hate you.” You sob but pull Ashton closer and you shudder as he kisses the top of your hair. “I love you. I can’t fucking do this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ashton whispers. “I’m so so sorry. I’m sorry I did it and I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m so so sorry I fucked it all up.”

“No. Don’t do that. You don’t get to say sorry and have yourself feel better and leave me here like this. You don’t get to do that.”

“I’m— “

“I fucking love you,” You yell and somewhere, someone sounds their horn as they pass you and you kick up a cloud of dust. “God, I love you so much but I can’t fucking trust you and I hate you a lot but I still love you too. And I don’t understand how you can say you feel the same when you did all this.”

Ashton stops in his tracks then, freezes just like you did in the department store. “No one picked up the phone for me, you know that? No one picked up for the longest time and when Luke finally did, he gave me a fucking earful.” Ashton pauses, lowers his voice. “And I didn’t care.”

Everything in your head snaps quiet.

“What?”

“I didn’t care,” Ashton says, “because all I could think about was getting you back. I knocked on Luke’s door that first fucking night and said I want to go home.”

“But that can’t be true,” you whispered, “because you fucked someone else.”

You see the way that rips through Ashton, see the way it absolutely breaks him but you don’t feel satisfied. You just feel so, so tired.

“Yeah,” Ashton says and it’s the first time you’ve heard him own up to that. “Yeah and it only took me a fucking second to realise I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.”

You don’t say anything, watch the moon and the sky and a red car that growls past before you finally look back to Ashton.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ashton says. “But tell me what it is and I’ll fucking do it. I’ll do whatever you need, whatever you want. You’re so...” he trails off, bites his lip. “You’re so gorgeous, baby. You’re my favourite person in the world and I want to make you believe that again, if you’d let me.”

It’s too much, it’s all too much and suddenly all you need to do is go home and go to bed.

“Yeah. Well. I think you’ve done enough for today. Let’s go.” And the car is silent for the two hours back to the city.

You let Ashton walk you to the door for no other reason than you’re too tired to stop him. He casts a hopeful look at the door but you remember everything you’ve thrown out, what the apartment looks like now and the anger and emptiness still between those walls and you know you can’t let him in.

“You should go, Ash.” You say finally.

“Please,” is all he says. “Please, baby.” His voice is miserable and cracked and hoarse.

“I’ll call you.” You murmur. “I promise. I just...I just need a couple days.”

Ashton nods, presses a kiss to your cheek and leaves without another word.

You open the door and fall straight onto your bare bed. You’ve driven for hours, had the life drained out of you and all you need now is to sleep.

🥀

You get yourself a coffee the next morning, enjoy the sun for just a little while before you head back inside and sit and stare at your phone for a good couple of minutes. You know who to call, know what you want to say but you’re not sure if you’re ready for the conversation.

But you suppose that if you don’t do it now, you’ll have to do it later.

So, you pick up the phone, dial and it only takes a couple of seconds before Calum picks up on the other end.

“Hey,” you can already hear the concern in his voice, already know he’s straight back into panic mode. You can’t let it phase you though and so you take a breath and begin. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think,” you start, closing your eyes. “Do you think it’s stupid or, I don’t know, weak if I take him back?”

Calum doesn’t say anything for a long time, although you can hear him drumming his fingernails on the table top.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that as long as you’re in this for you and not him...then I think forgiving him is the strongest thing you can do.”

“I haven’t forgiven him yet.” You mumble.

“I know.” He says, waits for you to speak again.

“Thank you,” you say because you need him to know how much he’s meant to you throughout this. “I do love you Cal, really.” And of course, it’s not in the same way you love Ashton, you doubt you’ll ever love someone the way you love Ashton, but you need him to know nonetheless.

“You know,” he pauses and when he speaks again you can hear his smile down the phone. “You changed the sheets, not me.”

You laugh and cry at the same time.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Calum murmurs gently. “Go get him.”

And so you do.

🥀

The first couple months are difficult to say the least.

You walk on eggshells for the first while, walk around each other and every touch, every brush of your skin against Ashton is uncertain. You’ll wake up in the middle of the night to Ashton breathing softly next to you and it’ll get too much and you’ll pad to the living room and sleep on the couch and wake to Ashton staring at you from the kitchen with guilt in the pit of your stomach.

When you come home and Ashton isn’t there, there’s an initial wave of nausea that hits you so hard you can’t do anything but sit and stare at the TV without turning it on. You know that he’ll be getting groceries or having a beer with the boys but all you’ll be able to think is that he’s back out with her and he won’t be coming back to you.

There are days when you think you can’t do it and nights when you can’t be in the same bed with him. The uncertainty lingers for a while but in the midst of that, there’s so much more. You start dating each other again and Ashton looks at you like you’re his whole world. You eat takeout and watch cheesy movies and take stupid photos and there are nights when you stay up until three in the morning and talking about everything that’s happened. There are nights when neither of you say anything either too, you don’t need to, because you know you’re going to be okay.

Everything mends, slowly. There comes a day when you don’t find broken bits of glass in the drawer in the bathroom. There comes a day when you’re on the couch with Ashton and you think that, somehow, it’s exactly how it used to be.

“Baby,” Ash murmurs one night, knowing that you’re okay with the nickname now. “You awake?”

You leave it for a second and then reply. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.” Ashton says and you roll your eyes in the dark.

“Dangerous.” You grin into his chest. “What about?”

Ashton’s quiet for just a little too long before you realise this isn’t just going to be a goodnight.

“I just,” he says, “I lie here and I think about you. And I just...I just want you to know that there’s nowhere else I’d rather fall asleep than right here. That’s what I think every night before I go to sleep.” Ashton pulls you closer as you stay silent. “I just need you to know that I love you.” And he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Yeah,” you murmur and you kiss his jaw and then his lips with heavy eyes. “I know. I love you too, if you hadn’t realized.”

Ashton seems happy with that but you stay awake a little longer. You brush your hand over his skin until you’re calm enough to fall asleep next to him, next to the love of your life. And when you wake the next morning, it’s to the smell of Ashton cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

Everything mends, slowly.

The two of you mend last, but you think that’s okay. Because back before this, back when it all began, you were the one to change the sheets. And, you suppose, if changing the sheets wasn’t so bad, the rest won’t be either.

[saltlampsasuke]

Unfortunately, You Are Experiencing Symptoms of Falling in Love

Having your long-term boyfriend cheat on you is pretty bad, but you're lucky enough to have a rich, pro-hero best friend who lets you move in with him until you get a new apartment. Except lockdown happens. And you can't look for a new apartment anymore, and you can't go anywhere anymore, and neither can your best friend, and you think you might be falling a little bit in love with him. Or maybe you've been in love with him all along.

The story of how it takes a nationwide lockdown for you and Bakugou Katsuki to finally get together, part 2!

warnings: Coronavirus mentions

wordcount: 2,009

Here comes part two of my story! Please enjoy it!

The moment Bakugou hung up the phone, you collapsed on your couch. He had told you to pack whatever you wanted to take, but you couldn’t even begin to think about doing that right now. Yes, you had helped pay for the furniture, but you couldn’t bear to look at it now. What had Takumi done on your counter, your chairs, your desk? You had been so full of rage beforehand that the reality of your situation hadn’t truly sunk in yet. Calling Bakugou had used up all of your strength, and now, the emotions that had been stirring inside you finally boiled over as you began to sob.

You laid sprawled across your couch for what seemed like hours, soaking the cushions with your messy sobs as you mourned the wasted time, effort, and love that you had poured into your relationship. You cried until you began to feel drowsy, your eyelids starting to flutter closed, only to spring open when you heard your door slam shut. Had Takumi come back already.

“Oi, dumbass.” Bakugou had arrived. “Where the hell are you?” Realizing he couldn’t see you lying on the couch, you threw up a weak hand in greeting. You could hear the angry stomp of his boots as he walked over to you and sat on the arm of the couch, your body occupying the rest of the space.

“Hey, Bakugou,” you said quietly, your voice still trembling. He looked down at you from his seat, his eyes appearing softer than you had ever seen them.

“Hey, Shitty woman,” he replied cautiously. “You ready to go?” You slowly pushed yourself up off the couch, eyes red and puffy, hair a mess. You could feel Bakugou watching you carefully. He was uncharacteristically quiet, which you appreciated. There wasn’t anything to be said. Your eyes widened slightly as you processed his question. You hadn’t packed anything to take to the apartment. Would he be mad? Would he be willing to wait? Were you even capable of packing anything right now? You shook your head.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t pack anything. I didn’t do anything after I called you. I just sat here,” you confessed nervously. Bakugou moved so he was standing in front of you, with an unchanging tight frown on his face. The change in position did nothing to calm your nerves. If anything, you were more nervous than you were before. Which was ridiculous. This was Bakugou. Your best friend since high school. He had driven here, to your apartment, calling out of patrol and surely abandoning some fun nighttime plans. He was literally letting you move in with him. He wasn’t going to be mad about your failure to pack. Right? He wasn’t going to change his mind. Right? He put a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Listen up, because I’m not going to repeat myself. You know I’m bad at this type of shit. Fuck. I mean stuff. You know, the comforting and the making people feel better sh- stuff. I’ve never been good at it. Probably never will be. Honestly, I’m sort of surprised you called me instead of Round Face or someone like that. But I’ll show up. I’ll help you with whatever you need. Hell, if you want to take some time off work that’s fine.” You tried to interrupt him.

“Bakugou, I-“

“Let me finish. I don’t know exactly how you feel right now. Probably not good. And I know I can’t make this better for you. Even heroes can’t fix this shit. Mess. But I’ll help you pick up the pieces. If you need something, I’ll make it happen. So take your time.” Bakugou took a step towards you, and pulled you into his chest for a rare hug. You allowed yourself to relax into him, and for the first time since you walked into your apartment, you felt like you could finally breathe again. How had he known just the right thing to say? You cracked a small smile, and mumbled into his jacket.

“Thank you.” He let go of you gently, a small smile on his face as well.

“C’mon, let’s get in the car. I’ll just give you some stuff from my place. I don’t want to be in this shitty apartment anymore.” You were in complete agreement. There was nothing more you wanted than to leave.

You locked the door easily, and followed Bakugou out to his car. It was sleek and black on the outside, and the inside was full of fancy little dials and gadgets you had never been able to figure out. And you called yourself a support technician. Still, the seats were comfortable, heated and plush, and that was all that mattered. Bakugou had escorted you into the passenger seat, and the sigh of relief you had breathed once the doors had been locked and you had left the parking lot was audible even over the roar of the engine.

“You good?” Bakugou asked quietly. You nodded, then spoke, realizing he was focused on the road and not on you like he had been earlier.

“Better now that we’ve left the building. I don’t ever want to go back there again. I don’t ever want to see him again,” you replied. At the mention of “him”, you saw Bakugou’s hands tighten ever-so-slightly on the steering wheel. He spoke, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Well I can’t promise the first thing, but I’ll see about the second. We are going to have to go back, though. Unless you want to leave all of your stuff behind.” You didn’t want that. Most of the stuff you were more than willing to abandon, too reminiscent of Takumi for your taste, but there were many things back in your former apartment that you loved, and couldn’t bear to part with.

“How long is that bastard supposed to be gone for?”

“He said a few days. That could be anything from two days to two weeks. I couldn’t honestly say.” That was a problem. Running into Takumi again was your worst nightmare. You had said all that you had wanted to say, and now you just wanted a clean break.

“Alright, so we go back tomorrow. You don’t have to do anything tonight, just get used to the place, but tomorrow we’ll grab all of your stuff out of that shithole.” Bakugou turned towards you at a red light. “Is it ok if we ask Shitty hair and everybody to help out?” You nodded.

“Yeah. I’ll have to tell everyone sometime. But just Kirishima, and Sero. Midoriya too, maybe?” You asked carefully, knowing that Bakugou was still sometimes sensitive to mentions of the man blocking his way to the number one spot. Bakugou and Midoriya had made up a long time ago, in high school, and they didn’t fight at all like they used to. Still, you had spent too many nights back at UA in Bakugou’s room, sitting on his bed as he cried quietly over some small perceived mistake, after which he threatened to kill you if you ever told anyone, to not be careful. He had always been, and still sometimes was, afraid that he was a failure. Afraid he wasn’t good enough. He still had a hard time whenever he couldn’t save someone. You had never been able to convince him that you can’t save everyone.

“Why the hell do you want dumbass Deku to help you move stuff? And fucking tape elbows?” You smiled involuntarily again.

“Midoriya is strong, he’ll be helpful. Bakugou. His quirk is tape. I’m moving. He can help seal all the boxes.” You heard a sharp laugh.

“Damn, finally a real use for that dumbass quirk of his. We can call him the fucking moving van hero.” You shook your head, smiling wider.

“You’re terrible, Bakugou. I have no idea why everyone stays friends with you,” you said teasingly. Bakugou’s head turned sharply at your comment.

“The hell do you mean? I’m literally moving you in to my fucking house. And it was your idea to use him for his stupid tape. The real question is why I put up with you!” You knew he wasn’t serious. “And another thing! Isn’t it about time you started calling me Katsuki?” That was a shocker. Bakugou rarely ever let anyone call him by his first name. He would yell at anyone who tried. Yet here he was, all of a sudden demanding you switch, after so long.

“What?” you asked, bewildered and trying to make sense of this sudden demand.

“You’re going to live in my goddamn house, shitty woman! And I’ve known you since high school, it’s fucking weird that you still call me by my last name,” he replied angrily.

“Are you sure it’s ok? You hate when people call you by your first name!”

“I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I didn’t want you to! Just fucking do it!” Bakugou slammed his hands on the steering wheel. Clearly asking this of you had taken him a lot of strength. He was really going to let you use his first name. True, you had always been his closest friend but for some reason that was a line you had never crossed. It was fine for Kirishima to use Bakugou, no, Katsuki’s given name but for some reason it had never seemed right for you to do the same. You showed your bond in other ways. But he was right, you were going to live together. It only made sense.

“Alright.” You paused for a moment, afraid to speak the name. “Katsuki.”

“That’s more fucking like it, shitty woman” Katsuki parked the car outside of his apartment building, after passing through a security checkpoint. His building was so much nicer than yours, befitting the number two hero. You rarely hung out at his house, he wasn’t the type to have friends over that much, more so the type to go over to others or be in public, so you had only actually been inside less than ten times. It was exciting, but you still had questions about the sudden name change policy.

“Wait, if I have to call you Katsuki, you should have to call me something else too,” you stated as you followed behind Katsuki as he walked up to the main doors. He paused, and turned around to face you.

“The fuck you mean? I already use your first name.” You snorted.

“Only when you’re talking about me to someone else. I can’t remember the last time you actually called me by my name. It’s always dumbass, or shitty woman. I want a fun nickname like the ones you give everyone else, like Icy-hot or something! You can’t make me call you Katsuki and not call me something new as well” Your mouth almost slipped into a slight pout.

“Oh, so first I let you move into my house, and now you want a new nickname. What’s next, the fucking moon?” Katsuki grumbled. “I should let you live on the streets for being such a picky brat. You’re just like that dumbass story about that princess who couldn’t fall asleep on all those mattresses because there was a tiny little pea underneath. Maybe I’ll call you princess now, because of how fucking demanding you are.” He opened up the lobby door, letting you inside. You smiled. There was that trademark Bakugou Katsuki bluster. Translation: I’m glad you’re feeling good enough to joke around. You could tell that he was relieved that you were joking around with him again. You knew it would take time to get past Takumi. You had given that man so much, it would take a while. It had been less than two hours since the end of your relationship, and you had barely begun to process your emotions. But maybe it would eventually be ok. But you had Katsuki, your best friend, and the best man you knew. You had time.

“Princess is ok, actually,” you replied.

“Jesus fucking Christ.

[j0elmill3r]

a brief inquiry into online relationships

prologue - chapter i - chapter ii - chapter iii - chapter iv - chapter v - chapter vi - chapter vii - chapter viii - chapter ix - chapter x - chapter xi - chapter xii -chapter xiii - chapter xiv - chapter xv

chapter one

"friends don't lie and it all tastes the same in the dark"

Featuring: Chris Evans, Jaeden Martell, Katherine Langford, Jamie-Lee Curtis, Dodger Evans

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None, but if there is, please let me know and I'll add them in!

A/N: Thank you all for reading this series so far! It's getting going now, and I hope you all enjoy this series because I'm really into it and I have it all planned out for each chapter. If anyone wants to be tagged, please let me know by asking through my inbox or my messages! Feedback and comments are always appreciated!

--

You sat in your dad's trailer for the rest of that day, scrolling through your phone and looking at random TikToks you would show him later, only to have to explain to him what it meant.  He wasn't too up to date on technology, he didn't even have Instagram you were convinced that he barely knew how to use Twitter. But who were you to judge your dad's lack of technological knowledge? 

-

"Y/N, come on, get up," You groaned as your dad shook you awake, almost rolling you off of the bed. "Y/N." He dragged out. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, shooting a pissed off glare at your dad. Chris chuckled and shook his head.

"What the fuck is going on? It's like," You paused to check your phone for the time, only for your face to fall as you saw that you had been asleep for the past 6 hours, meaning it was 9pm. "Alright, nevermind." You mumbled.

"C'mon, I told Jaeden you would be meeting him at 9:30 so you could hang out with him," Chris said, ushering you to sit up and get out of the bed. "Go and brush your hair, you look like you were dragged through a bush, honey."

"Wow, thank you for the compliment, do you ever wonder why you don't have a girlfriend?" You asked him, standing up and walking into the bathroom and brushing your hair. Chris laughed and shook his head, fixing the bed up from where you had been sleeping.

"Because I'm so goddamn good looking that no one wants to be with me because they'd be upstaged?" Chris said, leaning against the door frame where you were standing. You laughed as you put the hairbrush down.

"If that helps you sleep at night, you can believe that all you want. But just remember that there's one person you can never upstage in the beauty department," You pointed at your dad as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, taking it off of charge and sliding it into your pocket. Chris stood waiting, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "It's me. Obviously." You pointed out. Chris nodded and chuckled.

"Ah, you got me there," He admitted. You smiled over at him and then stuck your tongue out at him. "Alright, go, I got stuff to do, have fun, but not too much fun." Chris said, pushing you gently and pointing at you glaringly before he shut the door. The trailer door shut behind you and as you looked out over the lot, you let out a heavy sigh, knowing that any one of the trailers in front of you could be Jaeden's. But, luckily for you, you saw that he was walking towards you. His hands were shoved into his pockets, obviously he wasn't used to the Boston weather patterns and that it was very rarely warm any month after August.

"Cold?" You asked him, getting his attention. Jaeden looked up at you and laughed, nodding.

"I didn't think it would be so freezing, I'm not particularly used to the cold," He said, watching you as you walked down the steps to meet him, a small smile on your face. 

"You get used to it after a while, I mean, it's only October and to be honest it only gets worse from here," You told him as you walked to his trailer, your jacket held close to your body as the wind cut through you like a knife.  "What has my dad told you about me?" You asked him as you entered his trailer. Knowing your dad, he had probably already embarrassed you.

"Nothing bad, all good things, I promise," He said. You smiled over at him as he turned his TV on. "From what your dad said, he told me that your favourite movie's The Lost Boys, and I've never seen it before so I thought we could watch it together." Jaeden said. You giggled and nodded. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, I mean, he knew your favourite movie. There was something about Jaeden that just made you feel so comfortable, you felt like you could be yourself around him.

"Yeah, but I'm kind off offended that you've never seen it before," You said. Jaeden laughed and shook his head, looking back over at you as you walked over to the couch, sitting down. "Like come on! It's one of the best 80's movies ever, it's up there with The Blues Brother." You pointed out. Jaeden sat down beside you and pressed play on the movie.

"I haven't seen that either," He said, looking up at you wearily. You let out a huff and shook your head. For someone who was appearing in a lot of movies, his taste appeared to be God awful. "I'm gonna have to spend all of my time showing you some great movies, aren't I?" You asked him. Jaeden nodded and smiled, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

"Would you hate me if I said I haven't seen any of the Star Wars movies?" Your jaw almost fell open as you turned to him, a look of pure shock written on your features. "I just haven't gotten around to it yet." He admitted.

"Haven't gotten around to it yet? They've only been out for like 41 years!" You exclaimed. "I can't believe this, I considered you a man of taste." You feigned offence. 

"Well, I apologize, Y/N," He said, making you laugh. "I promise, once you show me all of the other hundreds of movies you're probably gonna wanna want to show me, we can watch Star Wars."

--

The night went well, you finished The Lost Boys and arranged another movie night with Jaeden and said you would watch 'The Blues Brothers' the next time. You didn't go back to the house since it was nearly 2 am by the time you had finished, even though the movie finished at midnight. You had spent the other few hours of the night showing Jaeden pictures and videos of Dodger, and you promised you would bring him to set one day. If you were to be honest, you were the happiest you had been in a while last night. 

"How was it?" Your dad asked, giving you a cup of coffee as you woke up from sleeping on the couch. It was 7 am and you only had about 5 hours of sleep, and you still had to drive home to take Dodger out and give him his breakfast. Chris sat down beside you and put his arm around you, smiling as you groaned and put your head on your dad's shoulder.

"It was good, we watched The Lost Boys, he said you told him that it was my favourite movie," You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowed and your face scrunched up. Chris nodded. "How did you know?" You asked him.

"I made the mistake of letting Scott babysit you when you were four, he let you watch it and you were oddly fascinated with it," He told you. "Realistically, you should have been shit scared of it." Chris laughed and remembered the confusion he felt when he saw that you were sitting there watching the movie quite the thing. Scott looked more scared of the movie than you did, and he was way older than you.

"Can I bring Dodger here today? I promised Jaeden that I would let him meet him," You said, putting your shoes on and finishing your coffee. Chris nodded and then grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you're making promises to him?" He said suggestively. You rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

"I told him he could meet the dog, not marry him, dad. And anyway, we're just friends," You assured your dad. Chris nodded skeptically and hummed, chuckling. Across the lot at the mansion, everyone was beginning to gather. Jaeden was standing with Katherine, feeling oddly nervous for some reason. 

"So what are you trying to say, that you like Chris' daughter?" Katherine asked him. Jaeden sighed and nodded, he felt like an idiot. He had only hung out with you once and he felt like he was head over heels for you, what a fool. Last night was the most fun he had had in a while, and all you did was watch a movie and hang around. 

"Is it that obvious? I saw them bump into each other yesterday and they both had the puppy dog eyes about them," Jamie-Lee piped in. 

"If Chris ever finds out he'll kill me on the spot, I guarantee you that," Jaeden said. Speaking of the devil, Chris came towards them, completing the set. Jaeden's face fell, noticing that you weren't following behind your dad. 

"Where's Y/N?" Jaeden asked Chris. 

"She's gone back to the house to get ready and bring Dodger to set," Chris told him. Jaeden nodded. Back at your house, you had cleaned up and showered, changing from your pyjamas to actual clothes. You then took Dodger a walk before getting him into your car, taking his leash and driving back to the set. You took him to your dad's trailer and waited for them to call break. "Y/N?" Dodger barked and ran to the front door to greet his dad.

"Hey, how's your day going?" You asked your dad. Chris went to the bedroom and sat Dodger on the bed.

"It's going good, but better now my two favourite children are here," Chris said. "Wait, I just noticed that my colour scheme matches Dodger's." He pointed out. You pulled out your phone and videoed them sitting beside each other, their colours matching very ominously well. 

"Wow, you are that fashionable you stole the dog's combo? That's amazing, dad," You said, a sarcastic smile on your face. 

 --

At lunch, Jaeden had gotten off earlier and asked if you could bring Dodger, and he needed his afternoon run anyway. Waiting in the yard of the mansion, Dodger sat beside you looking up at the ball in the thing you used to throw it for him. 

"Hey," He said, appearing behind you. Jaeden was still dressed in the school uniform, and you couldn't help but laugh. "What?" 

"Nothing, I just didn't take you as the uniform kinda guy," You said. Jaeden snickered and smirked at you with a small shake of his head.

"I'm not, I just can't get changed yet. If I could I would, school uniform's are really uncomfortable," Jaeden said. 

"Tell me about it. I mean, it could be worse, I've been wearing then everyday for the past 10 years," You told him. "Look, Dodger, who's this?" Dodger spun around to say hello to Jaeden, who crouched down and pet your dog, trying his hardest to not get any dog hair on him.

"Hi buddy," Jaeden greeted your dog. "Can I throw his ball for him?" He asked you. You nodded and handed him the ball launcher, watching as he threw the ball for Dodger, who chased after the ball.

"Thanks for last night, by the way," You said. Jaeden smiled at you. "I brought Blues Brother's on DVD for tonight if you're still up for it." You told him.

"Yeah, of course. Who else am I gonna watch all of the supposed 'superior' movies with?" He asked you. You giggled and if your face in your hands. The sound of your laughter made Jaeden's heart soar, he would do anything to hear you laugh like that all the time, it was like music to his ears any time he heard it.  Dodger came back with the ball, dropping it at your feet and sitting back, looking up at you expectantly. "Guess he's looking for this." Jaeden handed you the launcher and you got the ball in the top part.

"Alright Dodge, you ready bubs?" You moved back a few steps before launching the ball halfway across the extensive yard. Jaeden watched you, impression written on his features. "Keep looking at me like that and I'll throw you across the yard like that." You threatened him playfully. 

"You would never," Jaeden challenged you. "You'd have to catch me first." He said.

"You think you can outrun me?" You asked him. He grinned at you before running off from you, running down to where Dodger was. "Jaeden!" You yelled, starting to chase after him. He apparently didn't care that he was supposed to be entirely clean, but there wasn't any rain, so he probably wouldn't get that dirty. You laughed as you chased after him, catching up to him slowly but surely. You didn't see him, but your dad was watching you, a smile on his face at the sight of you seemingly happy. 

--

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[viastro]

𝘁𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗮 承 : 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 | did i stutter? (2/5)

“They’re so weird.” You mutter to yourself after you turn off your phone. You’re about to press play on Maid Sama! when you hear a knock on your door. “Yeah Ji?”

“Yeah, yn, what the hell just happened in the groupchat.” Jihoon says as he walks into your room, holding his phone up towards your face. You raise an eyebrow at him, pushing his phone away.

“I’m doing what you asked me to.” You respond, taking a sip of your green tea. Jihoon stares at you with a shocked expression that reminds you of the pikachu meme.

“Holy shit.” Jihoon whispers and you look at him with a confused expression.

“What?”

“I just, you…” You stare at him, waiting for him to continue, only for him to cup your cheeks with his hands and smile at you.

“You LOVE me! Y/n CARE me!!” He exclaims and you roll your eyes, refusing for your smile to break through. You shake your head out of his grip and he giggles.

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of my room, I’m supposed to be resting.” You tell him and he smiles, reaching out and squeezing your cheek before heading out of your room. Right as he makes to shut your door he peeks his head in to say, “Thank you yn, it really means a lot to me.”

You glance down at your tea with a small smile, feeling proud of yourself for removing some stress from Jihoon’s shoulders. You’re also grateful that Seokmin backed down from his aggressive front when you apologized. Speaking of your prevented argument with Seokmin, you reach over and grab your phone, going onto Twitter to change your layout like you said you would.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Staring at the last message you sent a few hours ago, Seokmin is still, quite literally, flabbergasted. You, the girl who once fought him for going through the door first instead of letting you go through, backed down from an argument. You immediately shut it down, and even apologized for the first time in the two years you’ve known each other.

Seokmin goes to his contacts and calls Jihoon, asking if he saw what happened in the groupchat. “Yeah I did Seok. I’m happy you didn’t try and pick another fight after that.” Jihoon responds and Seokmin nods. They sit in silence for a moment before he asks another question.

“Is yn still sick?” Seokmin asks, to which Jihoon responds with a tired, “Yes Seok, she’s getting better though.”

Seokmin bites his lip, thinking of whether he should bring over some food as a type of peace offering. Jihoon, some way, somehow, predicted that’s what he was thinking, so he says: “She likes kimchi jjigae and beef brisket when she’s sick. The spice helps clear her senses. I’m at the studio right now and won’t be back until late, so if you could go ahead and bring her some food that’d be great.”

Seokmin gapes at his phone after Jihoon hangs up, wondering how the hell did he know.

He looks in the direction of his fridge and sighs. He doesn’t know why he cares so much or why he’s still a bit shaken up at the fact that you apologized and backed down from what would’ve been another argument between you two. He also doesn’t know why he’s reaching into his fridge and grabbing his container of kimchi, or why he’s about to start cooking you your favorite soup.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Seokmin doesn’t know why he’s standing in front of your door, holding a small care package with the food he made and some packets of tea. Hell, he doesn’t know why he spent an hour cooking your favorite food, but alas, here we are.

You hear a knock on the door, and you raise an eyebrow. You get up off the couch and open the door, seeing Seokmin standing there nervously.

“Uh, hi yn-” You slam the door in his face, turning around immediately so that your back is pressed against it. Your eyes are wide as you try and control your breathing, feeling absolutely blindsided at the fact that your sworn enemy is standing on the other side of this damn piece of wood.

Seokmin is also staring at the door with wide eyes, feeling a bit of anger and annoyance bubble inside of him. He thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of you guys getting along, but no. Hell, he made you your favorite soup as well as cooking brisket, went to the store and bought you tea, and came all the way to your apartment, just for you to slam the door in his face-

You open the door again, staring at him with really wide eyes, completely cutting him off from his internal monologue. You notice that his hair is a bit curly today, and he’s wearing his round specs, making his whole appearance seem a lot softer. He’s staring back at you with wide eyes, noticing your hair is tied back in a ponytail, and your nose is rather pink.

“I uh,” Seokmin starts, snapping out of his trance, making you break out of yours too. “I made you kimchi jjigae and beef brisket. I also got you some green tea on my way here.” Your mouth drops open and you gape at him, making him lift up a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks and you snap out of it once again, pinching your thigh for good measure.

“No there isn’t, I’m just really surprised.” You answer as Seokmin hands you the reusable bag that’s holding your food and tea. Once Seokmin’s hands are empty, he just kind of stands there awkwardly, and that’s when you come to your senses for the third time today.

“OH! Come in, let’s eat together.” You exclaim, leaving no room for him to say no because you phrased it as if it was a demand rather than a question. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He gives you a small, tentative, smile as he steps into your apartment. He takes off his shoes by your door, and heads for the dinner table. You place the bag down onto the table, and take the soup and brisket out.

“I’ll go ahead and open these, you can go get the silverware and stuff.” Seokmin offers and you nod your head, walking into your kitchen. Once you’re out of sight, Seokmin almost lets out a small sigh of relief because he’s so goddamn nervous.

“It’s okay Seok, just be nice. Talk to her.” He mutters to himself as he removes the cap from the soup, as well as the brisket. You walk back into the room, putting down a bowl and silverware in front of his seat and your own.

“Thank you for inviting me in.” Seokmin says as you both sit down and start to scoop some soup into your bowl.

“No, no, thank you for making me food. Especially my favorite food to have when I’m sick.” You tell him, taking a sip of the soup and almost groaning at the taste.

“This is so good!” You say, looking up at him with bright eyes, and Seokmin goes red in the face.

Holy shit she’s so pretty.

“Thanks yn.” He mutters, looking down at his bowl so that you don’t notice the fact that he’s a blushing mess. You smile softly, almost forgetting that he’s your sworn enemy.

“I’m just confused? Why would you do all of this for me? I thought you hated me.” Seokmin freezes, and you feel the tension rise in the room. “I-I don’t hate you yn.” He responds, taking a piece of brisket and putting it in his mouth.

“But, you’re so mean to me-”

“You’re mean to me too yn-”

“No, I know. That’s only because you’re mean to me first-”

“First? You’re usually the one who starts our petty fights-”

“Oh don’t get me started on how many arguments you’ve caused Seokmin.” You state with finality, feeling anger spread through your system as you glare at him. He looks away from you, fist clenching the chopsticks in his hand.

“God. I really thought we could start off on the right foot today, but we always fucking argue don’t we? We can never get along.” Seokmin says, chuckling darkly as he pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“This whole feud only began when you were so fucking mean to me on your first practice with the band. We argue so much because we’re both hard headed and seem to always have differing opinions.” You respond while you angrily take another sip of the kimchi jjigae. He glares at you for a moment, before letting out a defeated sigh. He shrugs his shoulders, a small grin appearing over his features, “I mean. You’re not wrong. Remember the one time we argued about which way is the right way to tie your shoes?”

You almost giggle at the memory, choosing to take a few pieces of brisket and shove it into your mouth instead. He glances up at you, noticing the furrow in your brows as you angrily eat the food he made for you.

“This is weird.” He says and you look up at him, only to realize he’s already staring at you. “What is?” You ask, taking another piece of brisket.

“We’re kind of bonding.” Seokmin responds, putting a spoonful of soup in his mouth. You think for a moment, because you guys were literally just arguing but now you’re getting along(ish). You nod your head, and you both continue to eat in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes.

Once you’re finished, Seokmin gets up to wash the dishes, leaving no room for argument. You sit there feeling conflicted, wondering where you guys are at now.

Are we friends? Enemies? Frenemies? Is that why my heart is beating so fast? What the fuck?

“Well, I’ll be heading out now yn.” Seokmin announces once he steps back into your dining room, giving you a small smile. “Are you sure? I was gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie or something.” You offer without thought, and your eyes widen slightly.

WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST-

Seokmin is currently shitting himself because you just asked him to watch a movie with you. “Uh, sure, as long as it’s not horror.” He answers as cool as possible, and you nod. You both head towards the living room and sit on the couch. You make sure not to sit too far from Seokmin so that he doesn’t make fun of you, definitely not because you wanna sit close to him. Not at all. Seokmin smiles slightly to himself once he notices how close you are, but chooses not to tease you about it.

You scroll through the free movies they have to offer until Seokmin says, “That one! Let’s watch Trolls!” You raise an eyebrow, not expecting him to have chosen a cartoon movie. He turns to you and tries to hide the big smile that was on his face by coughing into his arm.

“What?” He asks defensively, crossing his arms over his chest and you raise your hands up in surrender.

“Nothing seok, I just wasn’t expecting Trolls to be your choice. I’m down to watch it though.” You reassure him, pressing play on the movie. You glance over at him to see him grinning excitedly.

cute.

After a few minutes you realize just how tired you are. You’ve been sleeping earlier for the past couple days because Jihoon won’t let you sleep late. It’s only 9 pm and you’re already sleepy. As the movie continues, you find yourself fighting to stay awake.

Unbeknownst to you, Seokmin is also falling asleep. He stayed up until 5 am writing lyrics to a melody that Jihoon composed, so he’s running on four hours of sleep. Now that he’s sitting comfortably on your couch watching a movie, he’s pretty much about to pass out.

You both fought a losing battle, as you are now asleep with your head resting on his shoulder, and his head on top of yours.

“Yn, I’m home.” Jihoon announces as he steps into your guys’ shared apartment. He rubs his ear at your lack of response, about to scold you for not saying anything when he can clearly hear the TV playing.

“Yn I can hear you watching... Trolls? I always asked you to watch it with me but you never wanted to- GASP!” Jihoon says as soon as he walks into the living room, finding you and Seokmin cuddled together on the couch asleep.

“Holy fucking shit.” He mutters, immediately taking out his phone to snap a quick photo, sending it into the groupchat with Jun, Mingyu, and Jeonghan.

“The yn x seokmin shippers would literally pee themselves.” Jihoon whispers, chuckling to himself as he reaches over and turns off the TV. He helps you both ease into laying down as carefully as possible, laying the throw over your guys’ bodies. You groan quietly in your sleep, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Seokmin, to which Seokmin wraps his arm around you. Jihoon almost squeals but quickly contains himself. He snaps another photo, sending it into the groupchat.

“Sleep well stinkies.”

masterlist | next 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

ミ★ taglist: @omgnctchina @babiesanshine @loveseung​ @yejiult​ @rjsmochii​ (let me know if you wanna get added!)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

stream fallin flower or perish.

[benkouji726]

Five times Alex surprised Forrest and one time he didn’t

Chapter 2! It’s even longer than chapter 1, I must have lost my mind.

A little warning: this Chapter is Guerin heavy, and not exactly Guerin friendly. Sorry in advance.

----------------------------------------

2.

They didn’t talk about Guerin.

To be fair, it was not like Alex purposely had avoided talking about him, just, there had been no good chance to. When they were together, out on a date or stayed in, they had so much to talk about: their shared passion for emotional artistic outlets, either music or poetry, their combat days, and how they both didn’t agree with the concept of war but had no choice but to fight, their different PTSD-symptoms, their true selves, just to name a few. They also had silly and meaningless conversations, like who their favorite slayer was, or how they cried over the new episode of Queer Eye. There was never a dull moment in their three months long relationship, and at no point would Forrest willingly talk about Alex’s ex. He didn’t even know if Guerin WAS Alex’s ex or not, from what he’d gathered from Alex’s friends, they’d not been dating to begin with.

Which brought him to the second scenario where Guerin might have been a topic between them, if he had ever shown to the friend group thingy (still didn’t how to call it) whenever he was around. He knew Guerin would be there, as long as Forrest couldn’t make it. And when they accidentally bumped in each other, whether with or without Alex’s presence, Guerin would always politely nod, mumble something like “howdy”, and turned away. He steered away from open mic nights completely.

So it was not like Forrest could abruptly turn to Alex, when they were in the middle of discussing what they would do after Friday’s dinner date, and said casually, “hey you know Michael Guerin? The one you apparently have been in love with for at least a decade, who, judged by the looks he throws your way when he thinks you are not looking, is also in love with you. Who you wrote an epic love song for and SANG it in front of your family, your colleagues, the whole town, and ME? How is the love between you two doing? Still going strong?”

No, that was not going to happen. Besides, he was kind of afraid what the answer would be. So he asked an easier question.

“Why don’t we just go back to your house, so we can netflix and chill?”

Alex smiled fondly, “We ‘netflix and chill’ed the last Friday. Don’t you want to do something more fun?”

“How dare you to assume any time we spend together is anything but fun, you wounded me, Manes.”

“Oh my God”, Alex laughed, “I thought you were done with the cheeky lines.”

Forrest smirked. “For you? Never.”

Alex shook his head, but he also turned a little pink in his ears, which gave Forrest enough courage to say the next bit.

“And after we ‘chilled’”, he winked, Alex rolled his eyes, “I thought maybe I could spend the night?”

And there it was, the “I don’t think this is a good idea but let me think of a way to let you down gently” face. It came out every time Forrest brought up the sleepover thing.

Honestly, Forrest was a little tired. They were dating three months now, they texted each other almost every single day, they spent time together regularly, they had three or four dates each week, and they ended having sex after ALL of their dates. It was frankly a little ridiculous that they always had to leave after sex to go to their own houses, even when they were bone deep tired and they had tangled in each other in warmth.

So he interrupted whatever Alex was trying to say, and turned on his most charming smile, even though his voice was a little shaky, because hope mixed with fear for rejection was always scary as fuck.

“I make a killer pancake, if I do say so myself. I’d hate for you to miss out on that.”

Alex blinked. Searched his face for a minute. Looked down. And when he looked up again, the let-down face was gone, and he said, softly but determined, “Well, if you put it that way, I’d hate for me to miss out on that too.”

——————————

Dinner was great. The ‘chill’ part was mind blowing as usual, though they didn’t do much of the netflix part, because, and Forrest could not stress this enough, the chill part was REALLY good and they kinda had a hard time to keep their hands to themselves even after the “chilling”. So they just made out for God know how long, lazily and contently, between laughs and little convos, until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

That was, until Forrest was startled awake by some loud knocking. Next thing he knew, Alex was already out of bed and headed to his front door.

“Wait, what? Who?” In his defense, he was not fully awake.

Alex threw him an apologizing smile over his shoulder, and gave him a name he least want to hear.

“It’s probably Guerin, and it’s probably nothing. Go back to sleep.” With that, he was gone.

Like hell he was going back to sleep after THAT.

Sitting up in Alex’s bed, Forrest realized Guerin never spoke while knocking on the door, and Alex was so sure it was him before he even got out of bed. Which did not just suggest their complex relationship, but also indicated it was not a one time occurrence.

Suddenly, Forrest thought of the many times Alex rejected his request to spend the night together and wondered if that was the real reason behind it.

It was insecure and unhealthy as fuck, he knew. And he also knew Alex was never this type of man. But the fact Alex left him in the middle of the night (clock said 2 am, Jesus), and didn’t even hesitate to come to Guerin, was enough to make his blood boil.

So he decided, then and there, fuck it, I’m gonna be petty because I sure as hell feel petty.

They were on Alex’s couch in his living room, sitting respectfully far enough. Guerin’s face was buried in his hands, and Alex was saying something, quiet and soft.

Forrest went out, barefoot, bare chest, came directly in front of Alex, dropped a kiss on his forehead, and said in a sleepy voice:

“What’s wrong, honey? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Only then he pretended to notice Guerin, and acted innocently surprised.

“Alien Guy! What are you doing here, at this hour?”

Through all his antics, both Alex and Guerin seemed frozen on spot. Good. Dramatic effect accomplished.

Then Alex turned to him, gave him his “I know what you are doing but I don’t approve” captain glance, which was unfairly hot, at the same time Guerin blurted out,

“Wait, he is sleeping here now?!” He seemed WAY more upset about this than whatever had been bothering him before he came.

Alex turned his glance to Guerin, added a warning “Michael”, and Guerin deflated like a punctured ballon. He curled in around himself, defeated, and threw some puppy eyes towards Alex. And Alex visibly softened.

They looked in each other’s eyes, seemingly having a silent conversation, and Forrest suddenly felt cold without his shirt and shoes.

He was prepared to be told again that he should go back to bed when Alex spoke, steel in his voice.

“Forrest is my boyfriend, we’ve been dating for three months now. It’s natural that we spend the night together at this point, don’t you think?”

Guerin looked like he was punched in his gut.

Alex stood up, went next to Forrest, and continued.

“You know you can come to me anytime you need me, Michael. And I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you. You’re my family, that’s never gonna change. But your issues with Max, I can’t help you with. It’s something you need to talk to him. Hell, you both should see a therapist together at this point. But you’re never gonna have answers and solutions by coming to me and crying on my shoulders.”

“So what, I can’t talk to my family about my problems, just because they can’t solve it?” Guerin stood up too, anger and hurt all over his face.

“You can, just not after midnight, when my boyfriend is here. So right now, you need to go.”

Guerin looked down, “You don’t have to say the B word again, I heard it first time.”

He turned around and left, without looking at Forrest even once.

After he slammed the door shut, Alex took several deep breaths, eyes teary, and asked in a small voice.

“I know we need to talk about this”, he leaned in to Forrest, head rest on his shoulder, “but can we talk in the morning? I’m exhausted and just wanna sleep now.”

So they slept.

——————————

Next morning, Forrest was making pancakes and working out some plausible excuses as why he behaved like a goddamn high schooler and preparing for the hurtful but inevitable “look I’m sorry but I still love Michael” speech, when Alex appeared in the kitchen, freshly showered and looking like all of Forrest’s wet dreams rolled into one. It’s so unfair, the high schooler in Forrest whined.

What Alex said though, took him totally by surprise.

“I kinda liked it, you know.”

“...My pancakes? You’ve not had them yet.” He said, knowing perfectly that was not Alex was talking about.

Alex smiled, shyly. “No, I mean, when you came out and claimed your stake on me.”

Forrest blushed. He’d NEVER blushed. “You mean when I made a fool of myself being petty and immature like fuck?”

“Come to think of it, it WAS indeed very irrational and somewhat a dick move, so not adult-like”, Alex teased, but his eyes were warm and fond, “But I liked the fact that you would become this emotion-driven for me. And also the fact you’re willing to fight dirty for me, for us.”

Forrest felt so giddy he could combust. “Be careful there, Manes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you are enabling my bad behavior.”

Alex laughed. “Oh God no. For future reference, I’d prefer we solve our insecurities and problems by communicating, not through some childish possessive bullshit”, he paused, considered for a minute, and said in a quieter voice, “but I get it. I didn’t exactly give you a chance to talk about Guerin and our history, and I didn’t handle the situation very well when he showed up. I should have talked to you before I went to him, I’m sorry.”

Forrest didn’t want to push, he really didn’t. But when it came to Alex, he was seriously lacking impulse control, so he went and asked, “Why didn’t you then?”

Alex seemed to be lost for a moment. But then he began to talk, slowly but surely.

“Michael and I, we had this instant connection and we have loved each other for a long time. But we also shared painful history and a ton of issues. We decided, over and over again, that we didn’t work, but we were always drawn back together like we were being pulled by some invisible strings.”

He inhaled, exhaled. And continued.

“When I sang that song, I didn’t know he was gonna be there. But when he showed up, I thought, well, maybe it was a sign, that I should fight for him one last time, so I looked into his eyes, and bared my heart and soul for him.”

“Then he walked out in the middle of the song.”

He seemed so heartbroken Forrest couldn’t help but went to him and held his hand.

Alex held on tight.

“I decided then and there, I wanna move on, like, truly move on. Free myself and see if I can find someone who makes me happy and for me to make him happy. And I’m so glad that I found you.”

He looked into Forrest eyes then, raw and open.

“I don’t think I’ll ever able to fully stop loving him, it’s like in my blood. He knows this, and he’s under the impression that he is currently not good enough for me, and he’s improving himself, so that when our timing is right, he’d come back and we’ll live happily ever after.”

Forrest felt his heart sank. He wasn’t sure he was able to pick it up again.

“But heart doesn’t work that way. I can’t just order it to wait and not to fall for anyone else. When I’m with someone, I’m all in. I don’t treat them like they’re just a stepping stone for somebody else, that’s not how I’m built. And when I’m all in, I see all of you. And it’s really easy to fall for you, because you are the best thing that happened to me in a very long time.”

Forrest opened his mouth, but no word would come. He felt his emotions were on a roller coaster today, he didn’t even know where to begin to untangle his messy feelings.

Alex took his silence as hesitation and started to pull away.

“I get it if you don’t want to throw yourself in my mess. But I really want to try to work it out. Because you’re worth fighting for. WE are worth fighting for.”

At that, Forrest had no choice but to wipe his tears, hold him and kiss him.

They would fight together.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: He Belongs to Himself

(for @whumptober2019, prompt: Recovery, I wrote a piece set during the trial/post-captivity - this is our second Ryan POV. Thanks to @orchidscript for a couple of lines I borrowed from our convo on the fandom version of this universe and to @pinkcupboardwitch for helping me pick my scenario)

TW: Brief reference to suicidal ideation, violence/torture/abuse (none depicted, but referenced)

Ryan Michaelson falls asleep on the couch with the impact statement he’s been working on a flutter of loose papers on the floor, scratched-out starting sentences and half-written paragraphs, occasional little nonsense doodles in the margins where he tried to think his way through this.

They want him to give some kind of speech, before sentencing. His parents provided a couple of videos and photos of Danny before it all happened, but they haven’t come to the trial since the first week and they’re not interested in speaking on Danny’s behalf.

No, just like the rest of his life, their parents will do the bare minimum for Danny and Ryan will step in to try and fill the gaps, to be brother and parents both. It’s so much harder with so little of Danny left.

How do you even explain what it means to have your brother disappear and then return, only it’s not your brother any longer?

He’s been working on figuring out where to even start with the impact statement since before the trial began, since the initial preparation with the lawyers. He writes a draft and discards it - writes another one and tears that one up, too. Cries for a couple of hours whenever he’s alone in his room, then starts again.

They want him to explain what it was like to lose Danny, and Ryan’s got no fucking clue where to begin.

Does he open with the night Danny didn’t come back to the apartment they shared, wasn’t answering his phone? Does he start with the increasingly frantic calls to all of his friends, to the single thread that ran through them - he said he was going to see that guy he’s been talking to - to the realization that no one could get ahold of Nathaniel Vandrum either?

Does he begin with what it felt like when the cops called to tell Mom they’d found Danny’s car with his cell phone in a puddle of blood on the backseat, abandoned in a ditch in Oregon next to the dead body of the owner of the next car the abductor had stolen? Or when the cops explained to Ryan that the phone had been charged and on for nearly a full day - meaning that whoever had taken him had watched Danny’s phone light up with call after call after call, had kept the phone charged just to see it?

Maybe he could explain, in stomach-churning detail, what happened in his mind when a police officer had sat across the table from him and told him that local law enforcement and the FBI had begun thinking in terms of recovery rather than rescue.

He has no idea. All he knows is that there isn’t any way, not really, to explain what it felt like to be told his brother was missing - presumed abducted - presumed the target of foul play - presumed dead - never coming home.

The weird insanity he’d gone through, thinking his brother was dead. Going from a college sophomore with a 4.0 to a junior who nearly had to drop out when his grades tanked and he spent a year trying to drink himself to death, thinking if he did at least he’d see his brother again.

He couldn’t begin to explain his parents strong-arming him into therapy, telling the therapist all his awful thoughts, sharing emotions with someone when he came from a family where you never did any such thing, and the revelation of the therapist just… giving him permission to grieve, when his parents never did, when he felt like a burden, when he didn’t know how to keep going without the older brother that had always been the surest, most concrete foundation of his world.

Maybe he should start with how it felt to get the call that Danny was alive, that Nathaniel Vandrum had simply driven a truck out of the woods in Western Canada like a goddamn soot-smeared pissed-off Wendigo with his frightened brother, a bag of his favorite books, and one hell of a fucked-up story about the last four years.

Did Wendigos even come from Western Canada? Ryan can’t really remember, his Native North American Folklore & Mythology class was during the drinking-to-death time and he doesn’t remember most of it.

It doesn’t matter.

He could start with the way he’d been elated and scared, the way his stomach had dropped when they’d told him that before he could see Danny, he’d have to talk to some kind of expert about what to expect, so he wouldn’t cause extra anxiety during a stressful reintegration.

He could start with the way the trauma expert had held his hand and told him Danny was severely dissociated - a word he’d never heard before that day - and might not even know who he was right away. The expert had tried to make him understand that Danny had been held in captivity by someone who insisted he was a pet and not a person, had undergone something called extreme dehumanization, more words Ryan hadn’t known before that day and knew all too much about, now.

He could tell them what it was like to see Danny sitting at the table, hunched over and looking at everyone from behind wavy red hair grown out a little longer than when he’d left, blue eyes wide and scared that he’d be in trouble for using a chair and not sitting on the floor, begging someone to tell him where Nate was, to bring him back into the room, could someone find Nate?

He could talk about the way Danny flinched away from his touch but ran to Nathaniel Vandrum.

Maybe he could just talk about how fucking weird it was to have your brother’s sort-of-possibly-a-boyfriend be the fellow captive who freed him, who tried to kill a man to save Danny, and who sleeps in Danny’s bed but as far as Ryan can tell does nothing more than kiss his forehead or his face now and then and hold him through his nightmares.

Maybe he could talk about wanting to shout in Nate Vandrum’s empty fucking face that he should have done something sooner, that he should have saved Danny when more of Danny was left to save, just wanting to grab Nate by the shoulders and shake him and scream why couldn’t you have been stronger for him?

He could talk about how it feels to find yourself snapping at a traumatized man because he has the audacity to be very slightly less traumatized than your brother, and because he’s something to take all of his grief and hurt out on.

Because no matter how hard Nate Vandrum’s jawline gets, no matter how cold and flinty his green eyes go, he never, ever fights back against Ryan’s deep well of unresolved anger.

He just stands there, taking all of Ryan’s yelling, like he’s earned it. And maybe he fucking has. Ryan could tell them all about how looking at Danny’s frightened shattered life makes him want to cut Nathaniel Vandrum’s composure apart, because… because how dare he be so calm and collected, when Danny hides in a closet after breaking a glass, begs to be punished, to be fixed?

He’d been up all night trying to figure it out, and he just can’t think any longer. He’s written line after line after line trying to start and the day they wanted him to give the statement was just a few days away now. What would he say? Anything he said, that asshole Denner would be sitting right there listening to it, probably getting off on how he’d wrecked Ryan’s life by stealing his brother, enjoying getting to learn about Ryan’s halting, grudging work alongside Nate to teach Danny how to be human again.

He’ll probably sit there and laugh through the speech, no matter what Ryan says. He doesn’t want to bare his broken heart to that sadistic psychopath.

He doesn’t want to admit that Danny is so supremely, thoroughly broken.

He doesn’t want to admit that sometimes he wonders if recovery is even possible, or if he would spend the rest of his life managing a man two years older than him who can’t remember his own age or that bills are due or the names of the people who used to be his best friends - but who can explain in exacting, excruciating detail the way Abraham fucking Denner made him step in a trap and nearly break his own leg, just to see him do it?

Ryan’s eyes blur, with tears or exhaustion - he’s not sure which - and finally he falls asleep on the couch with Netflix still playing, lets the papers drop to the floor, allows his eyes to close and force him out of his fears and all-consuming rage on behalf of a brother who seems no longer able to access the feelings that boil Ryan alive.

Ryan wakes up sometime later to the gentle sensation of a soft fuzzy blanket being placed carefully over him. 

He shifts around, mumbling thanks and starting to drift back away, and for a second it’s like nothing had ever happened, really - like maybe he’s just fallen asleep studying, and Danny will be right there to laugh at him in the morning for not even making it back to bed.

The sound of the papers being shuffled back together wakes him the rest of the way and he groans, feeling the muscles of his back shifting around as he pushes himself up, rubbing at one eye. “Fuck, what time is it?”

If Nate Vandrum just put a blanket on him - if that passive asshole is reading Ryan’s halting attempts to explain the pain and grief he’s spent four years buried in - he might just punch him in the face. We’re not friends, motherfucker - you’re just the only person he’ll willingly touch, and I can’t bear to take anything away from him ever again, he’s already lost so much.

“2:45 in the morning, you fell asleep with Netflix still going,” Danny’s voice says calmly, and Ryan nearly jolts totally upright on the couch in shock.

Danny doesn’t look up, kneeling on the floor by the coffee table with his red hair falling over his face looking nearly auburn in the dark, carefully setting the pile of papers on the table before flicking at a miniscule, invisible speck of dust there. He’s shirtless, just wearing the warm, heavy flannel pajama pants that he’d asked Ryan to buy him, shyly, like Ryan could ever deny him anything he actually expressed a want for.

You were dead for four years, Ryan had said, wanting so badly to hug him, knowing at the same time that Danny would only go stiff in his arms and then suddenly go boneless and relaxed all at once in the awful way he’d been trained to accept any and every touch without complaint. You were dead and came back to life, Danny, I’ll give you anything you want for forever, man, just ask for it and it’s yours.

My name is Red. I-I just want some pajama pants that are really, um, warm and maybe with, uh, fleece on the, the inside-

Of course, of course I’ll get those, I’ll buy you a pair for every fucking day of the week.

Th-thank you for that. I get, um, I get cold a lot  now. Thank you for listening to my request, Ryan. Thank you for being kind enough to give me-

Hey, this is just doing something nice. Don’t thank me, Danny.

Red, my name is Red, please, um, don’t call me the other name. When someone does something nice for you, you say thank you. Be grateful for every gift you are given, Danny had recited, he’s tilted, eyes distant. And every breath is a gift Abraham chooses to give.

Even in the darkness, Ryan can see the lines of scarring that run down his brother’s back and wrap up his arms, the oddly muscled shoulders (chopping firewood for hours is a good shoulder workout but I skipped a lot of leg days, Danny had joked one day, and Ryan had been so shocked by his brother showing a hint of a sense of humor that he hadn’t even remembered how to laugh), the ribs that stand out too much and the sharp hipbones showing above the waistband of his pants.

When Danny turns to look at him, the blue eyes are quiet for once, warm and focused right on him instead of fogged-over and frightened. The ring of scarring across his face is less obvious, with only the moon for light.

In those unexpectedly clear eyes he can see Danny, his big brother, and Ryan can’t do anything but stare. Are you still in there somewhere after all?

“What are you, uh, doing up, man?” Ryan rubs at his eyes again, but hesitantly, like Danny might disappear if he does. On the TV screen, Netflix is asking if he’s still watching and Ryan feels immensely, supremely judged by it.

Of course the fuck not, I wasn’t even watching -before- I fell asleep at midnight.

“Dreaming,” Danny says casually, off-handedly, as if ‘dream’ isn’t just a code word for ‘nightmare’ now, because it’s not like Danny has any other kind of dream. “Came out for water and found you on the couch. You look, um, you look cold, Ryan. Is… is it okay? To put the blanket on?”

“Yeah… yeah, of course it was. Thanks for that. I don’t even have the energy to get up and go to bed, I feel totally wiped.”

Danny nods, watching him carefully still. Then he drops his eyes back to the sheaf of papers on the coffee table. “Is that what you’re, um, you’re going to read about me?”

Ryan swallows hard against the lump in his throat and a deep instinctive urge to pull the papers away. Please don’t look at how hurt and scared I was, things were so much worse for you. I don’t want you to feel guilty for this. “Yeah. I suck at this, though, I barely have anything written.“

“You’ll, um, you’ll do good, I know you will.” Danny shifts around on his knees, looking up at Ryan, and it’s just such a welcome change to see him with clear eyes. “You’re not going to do a recording? You’re going to, um, to stand up in the, in the court?”

“Yeah.” Ryan drops his head back, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “I have my suit picked out already - the red one? Looks good with my skin. Funny that I know what suit I’m going to read in but no fucking clue what to actually say.”

“You’ll know when you stand up, you’re always good at speaking to people. Or you used to be.” Danny hesitates, and Ryan thinks again how young he looks, something about the uncertainty in his posture, the wide blue eyes, the mop of wavy red hair that hangs over one eye. “I think you probably still are - I guess I don’t, um, I don’t know any longer.”

If you met Danny and Ryan on the street, you’d never guess Danny was two years older… but you might guess, just by looking, that Danny is profoundly, deeply fucked up - and that Ryan is profoundly exhausted.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m probably the same. I don’t want to do it, but I do at the same time, you know?” Ryan flings an arm over his eyes, wondering why he’s so awake when he’s only even been asleep for a couple of hours, really. “It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? He doesn’t even want to be found Not Guilty. He doesn’t care.”

“Maybe not. But you should do it anyway, for you.” Danny hesitates, and then Ryan blinks and lowers his arm to stare as he feels the barest, nervous brush of Danny’s hand against his shoulder.

He turns to look down into wide blue eyes and a tense half-smile, Danny’s shoulders hunched a little, up near his chin, the curve of the scar along his cheekbone traveling down the side of his face and cutting into his jaw, lit by dim moonlight and nothing else until the red seems paler, more faded.

Danny is more than six feet tall but ever since he came back, he seems so, so much smaller. Something about the way he folds into himself, makes himself less visible and less of a presence in the world.

“… Hey, you, you haven’t, um-” Ryan cuts himself off, afraid speaking it out loud will break the spell. 

You haven’t touched me since the night before you disappeared.

“I want you to speak. You’ll do really well,” Danny says with pure certainty in his voice - and it’s his voice, the voice Ryan remembers as the basic building block of his entire life. Danny had been a kid when he was adopted, but Ryan was still a toddler - and he had no memories Danny wasn’t a part of.

Not until four and a half years ago.

There’s a moment where Ryan doesn’t move, just feels the soft weight of the hand on his shoulder - Danny’s hands are sort of ruined, scarred and numb to temperature changes, but the weight of his touch is the same.

The same and so much more, all at once.

“Okay. I will, I promise. I’ll figure it out. You should head back to bed. If Nate wakes up, he’ll freak out if you’re not there.”

“He’ll come out and see I’m right here.” Danny shrugs, looking at him for a moment longer with those calm, thoughtful eyes - the opposite of how he’d looked since they brought back what was left of Daniel Michaelson for Ryan to try and put back together - but it wasn’t really an expression he’d ever worn before, either. “I don’t mind being awake. I don’t need much sleep now. I’ll nap while you’re in court, anyway.”

I know, Ryan thinks with a dip of despair. You sleep in the closet when we’re gone and you think we don’t know.

He fights it back and smiles, a little, reaching up carefully to lay his hand over Danny’s, sure he’ll pull away - but he doesn’t.

It feels like a goddamn miracle, but his brother doesn’t pull away from his touch.

Danny’s hand is cold, under his, and Ryan can feel the bumpy silk-soft ridges of scarring where that fucking bastard had sliced along over the tops of his veins, over and over again, creating a raised roadmap of the torture he’d put Danny through for his own sick entertainment.

“You should tell them about when we got super drunk at the company Christmas party and Mom and Dad caught us playing literal music videos off YouTube in the conference room and laughing at the Meatloaf one.“ Danny’s voice is a little dreamy, wistful.

"Y-you remember that?” Ryan’s voice goes soft. There were rules, Danny has explained again and again. One rule was to never think about Danny’s life before - to forget there had ever been anything else.

Danny’s memory is shot to hell from all the blows to the head and four years of nonstop panic and fear and being trained like an animal, kept like a pet. He barely remembers his own birthday.

But… but he remembers this.

“That was a couple months before I… um, left. I used to think about it all the time.” Danny looked away from him, briefly, and the line of his face, the profile, strikes Ryan all over again.

He took it for granted for so, so long before the morning Danny hadn’t come home and didn’t answer the phone.

Ryan was never going to take it for granted again.

“You never talk this much anymore,” Ryan says softly, marveling at the simple sound of his brother’s voice devoid of pleading or begging or reciting the parade of awful rules Abraham Denner forced him to memorize and live by. “I miss your voice.”

Danny just looks at him, and it’s silent in the middle of the night, the darkest hours. No birds outside, the apartment complex is quiet.

“That’s what you can do.” Danny’s voice is caught, thin and oddly strained.

“What?”

“Tell them you missed my voice.” He is still, so still, and then he seems to propel himself up off the floor to wrap his arms around Ryan, burying his head against his shoulder.

It has been four and a half years since Danny hugged him.

Ryan’s arms are up and around him too, feeling his brother’s chill skin, Danny’s hair brushing his forearm where his arms go around his neck. He can feel the raised bumps of scarring at the top of his back above his shoulder blades, the spots around his neck where Denner made him wear a barbed wire collar for days at a time, the way Danny’s shoulders are heavy muscle with skin stretched over it, without even an ounce of excess.

Danny starts to shake, and it’s only when Ryan hears the softest hissed intake of breath and feels dampness along the neckline of his T-shirt that Ryan realizes his big brother is crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Danny whispers in a broken, cracking voice, and Ryan feels Danny twisting his fingers into the fabric of his shirt just over his spine. The soft blanket slides down and away until it puddles around his waist where he still sits on the couch, holding onto the tall, lanky older brother who once used to hold him like this after his nightmares.

But God, Danny’s nightmare had lasted so much longer.

“I’m sorry,” Danny repeats, his voice shaking and thick with the tears that fall despite his best efforts to hold them back. “I’m so sorry, Ryan, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much… I, I’m sorry that I’m not the same person, that I came back the puppy, I’m so sorry that this is all that’s left, I know it’s not enough-… I’m s-s-so fucking sorry-”

“Sssshhhh,” Ryan says with his arms as tight as he can make them, as though Danny might disappear again if he doesn’t keep him firmly attached to the earth. “Ssshhh, don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault, it’s never been your fault, I love you. You’re my big brother, still, okay?” He pulls back, gently extricating himself from Danny, putting a hand on either side of his face to look right into the blue eyes, still bright with more tears unshed, tear tracks following the line of his scars down his face.

Ryan’s own eyes start to glitter in the darkness, and he tries to blink back the tears but when he speaks, his voice has all his emotion laid bare in it, too. “I never stopped looking for you, not ever. I looked every day. I’d still look every day. I would never have stopped looking for you, for the rest of my life.”

“I never stopped thinking about you,” Danny says tremulously, putting his hands up over Ryan’s. "He, he made me stop thinking about anything but him but he couldn’t hurt me enough to make me stop thinking about you-”

Then they’re hugging again and it’s so quiet in the apartment, so quiet except for the sound of two grown men crying on each other’s shoulders.

“This is enough,” Ryan whispers against the top of Danny’s hair. “It’s enough that any of you came back to me, okay? We c-c-can find the rest, I can help you remember, I can help. This is enough. You’re enough, Danny-” He catches himself and winces. “Sorry. I mean Red.”

There’s a pause, and Ryan can feel his brother’s heart pounding. When Danny pulls back Ryan’s heart drops, but his brother just looks into his eyes and smiles, the barest little hint of one, and says softly, “Danny is, is okay, for now.”

Ryan’s breath is caught somewhere in his throat, and he pulls his older brother back into his arms. “Danny, then,” Ryan says with half-sobbed laughter. “Danny. Danny Danny Danny Danny.”

“Daniel,” Danny says with a shaking voice, as though Denner might simply appear out of thin air to punish him. Then, when nothing happens, Danny repeats it. “Danny. Daniel. My name is Danny. My name is Daniel M-Michaelson and I, I d-don't…be, belong to…”

“You got this, Danny, come on,” Ryan urges. “You can do this. Come on, Dan, we can do this together.”

“M-My name is Daniel Michaelson and I don’t belong to him, I don’t-… I don’t belong to anyone b-b-b-but myself,” Danny says softly, and then he starts to cry again.

Ryan holds him but it’s different this time - his shoulders are back and his back is straight and every sob sounds not like fear or sadness but like pure, unbridled relief.

It probably won’t last - the trauma expert and the therapist both said to expect every two forward steps to come with a step back. He might wake up and want to be Red again tomorrow. He’ll probably go back to not wanting to be touched by anyone but Nate.

But right here and now, in this moment in the middle of the night in the safest place there is for him, Danny remembers who he used to be, and it’s eough.

Suddenly, Ryan Michaelson knows exactly how he wants to start the statement he’s going to read while staring right at Abraham Denner.

A few days ago, my brother hugged me for the first time since 2015. My brother, who was subjected to every kind of twisted violence until he believed that it was too dangerous to even think of himself as human, answered to his own name.

I want to tell you how it feels to be told someone you love has been abducted. I want to tell you how it feels to look and look every single day for four years and find nothing - and be told that you should prepare for him to return in a body bag.

I want to tell you how it felt to learn that, due to the violence, abuse, brainwashing, and trauma he was subjected to, my own brother might not recognize me.

I want to tell you how it felt when they told me Daniel Michaelson was gone.

Then, I want to tell you how it felt when, despite all the odds and every statistic and the efforts of Abraham Denner to destroy my brother down to his very core, I was given the gift of looking him right in the eyes as he came back.

My brother’s name is Daniel Michaelson, and he belongs only to himself.

That might not seem like much of a revelation to many of the people here in this courtroom today - but for my brother, it takes immense bravery simply to believe he is his own.

I have been asked to speak about the impact the last four years has had on my family, and I will. I will speak about every day I combed missing persons’ reports throughout the Northwest Coast for similarities to Danny. I will tell you what it was like to lose him.

First I want to tell you what it meant to me to get him back.

[hermannsthumb]

My birthday’s coming up and I was wondering if it would be cool if you did a fic? A fic involving TWO Hermanns?? If you have time of course...💖

happy birthday 😉😉😉😉😉

18+/not safe for work below cut! damn i need to write some sfw fluff on here soon

—————————————-

Hermann–to Newt’s great disappointment–has been incredibly blasé about this whole thing.

No, not blasé. He was appropriately freaked out of his mind when it happened, spent an appropriate amount of time shouting at Newt (because, yeah, it was Newt’s fault, so sue him! sometimes buttons are too tempting not to push and your lab partner gets caught in the literal crossfire and weird science happens!), and an equally appropriate length of time after that storming down to LOCCENT, HR, and the Marshal’s private quarters to file a complaint with anyone who would listen, but once a few hours passed, and nothing changed (for the worse, or for the better), Hermann began to chill a little. After a few days, Newt might even say it was back to normal.

Which fucking sucks. What’s the point of having your super sexy sorta-boyfriend lab partner suddenly split into two super sexy sorta-boyfriend lab partners if you can’t even, you know, test drive ‘em?

All Newt is asking is that Hermann humor him and let him live out a fantasy or two. Or four. If Hermann accidentally cloned him, he would be falling over himself to have weird, funky threeways. Both he’s would be. Hermann, on the other hand, won’t even kiss himself while Newt watches (and jerks off a little, because, come on, he has biological needs), let alone–

“I just don’t think it’s a very good idea, is all, Newton,” Hermann says. Hermann #1, the OG Hermann. Newt knows it’s him because he’s wearing a plaid sweatervest as per Newt’s request to make this a tiny bit less confusing.

“Why?” Newt whines. “If you’re going to make some stupid speech on the ethics of clone fucking, or fidelity, or abusing science again–” He got one of those speeches already when he proposed the make out with yourself thing. (Newton, how terribly disgusting, how immature, have you no shame? Newt doesn’t, but he can’t see how it makes a difference.)

“Don’t be so daft,” Hermann #2 says. Solid color sweatervest. Earlier today he and Hermann #1 put their heads together and powered through Hermann’s daily workload at an astonishing speed (Newt is not jealous, why should he care that his amazing intellect never affected Hermann like that) and now are doing a crossword puzzle together on the lab couch. The identical, synchronized hming and little no, no, what about-s has been driving Newt up the wall all afternoon. Mostly in a horny way. (Would they sound like that if they combined their efforts to turn Newt into a whiney, sweaty wreck?) “That’s not at all why.”

“Only,” Hermann #1 says, “well–” He shares a look with Hermann #2, and together they set the puzzle down. “How will the logistics of your suggestion even work?”

“In other words,” Hermann #2 adds, delicately, “how will we fit, Newton?”

“You’re rather…” Hermann #1 begins.

“…Compact,” Hermann #2 finishes.

Newt clambers over the back of the couch and squeezes himself between both of his super sexy sorta-boyfriends. His compactness makes it easy. “You will,” he promises. “Listen, have I ever backed down from something like this before?”

“We’ve never done anything of this sort together before,” Hermann #1 says.

But Hermann #2 frowns pensively. “No, no,” he says, “there was one occasion–”

“On my birthday,” Newt agrees. Hermann got a little carried away screwing him and slipped a finger in alongside his dick. It was pretty hot. Newt sometimes still thinks about it on nights when he and Hermann have had a lover’s spat and Hermann refuses to come to bed for some healthy anger-relieving fun–it keeps him warm.

“But that’s hardly the same as an entire,” Hermann #1 says, and then coughs, because Hermann wouldn’t say penis aloud if you held a gun to his head, “well–you know.”

Newt reaches out both of his hands, settling one on Hermann #1′s right thigh, and the other on Hermann #2′s left. Then he lowers them until they’re settled over-top the wool stretched over two identical pairs of junk, which begin to perk up in interest. Victory! “I think we should have sex,” Newt declares. “I think all three of us should have sex, and we should have sex right here in the lab. I promise I’ll even stop asking you to make out.” This is a lie, but he’s hoping Hermann will be more inclined to humor him once he’s in the throes of endorphins-releasing passion.

Hermann is always a pushover when it comes to being presented with the opportunity to get his dick anywhere within the vicinity of Newt, no matter how much he denies it, so it doesn’t take much–just a little bit of gentle rubbing and big, wide, innocent eyes on Newt’s part–for both Hermanns to go from I have never had sex before in my life, Newton, how dare you presume such vulgarities to groping at Newt’s love handles and macking messily on his neck. It’s really, really awesome.

“Goddamn,” Newt moans, “this is so hot.”

One Hermann works a hickey into the hollow of his throat; the other (having already unbuttoned his collar) tugs his tie aside to lick over his collarbone. Newt sinks lower down the couch, head tipping back. “Hah, keep doing that. Guh.”

“So very sweet,” Hermann #1 murmurs. (That’s another thing Hermann does when they fool around: he gets nice. Really, genuinely nice, the sort of nice that means he whispers little praises and compliments into Newt’s skin and acts like he’d rather die than ever raise his voice at him again. Newt really likes when Hermann gets nice.) He unbuttons Newt’s shirt the rest of the way and trails his fingertips down his chest, stopping when he reaches Newt’s abdomen, where he gives a little teasing pinch, and trails them back up. 

“He is,” Hermann #2 purrs, and flicks open Newt’s fly, one button at a time.

His jeans are pushed down from his hips. His briefs follow. Two identical too-big too-elegant hands wrap around his dick; Newt whines, and spreads his legs. “Fuck,” he says. “Hermann, I fucking love–” He stumbles a bit over the next word, because he’d been fully about to say you, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing? “–This.”

“Is there still lubricant under the sofa cushion, Newton?” one of the Hermanns says, deciding to mercifully ignore Newt’s verbal screw-up. He doesn’t stop jerking Newt off. “I don’t fancy ducking out to find some.”

Last time they fucked on the couch, Newt made a big deal of stashing the goods in it when they were done for future easy access. Now–as he nods, and Hermann #2 finds it quickly underneath a throw pillow–he’s goddamn glad he did. “I still don’t think we’ll fit,” Hermann #2 says.

“Don’t knock it til–” Newt curses, because Hermann #1 is doing something very nice with his thumb on Newt’s slit. “Til you uh, try it.”

They try it; after a great deal of rearranging, careful prep, indignant grunts on Newt’s part, and soothing kisses from both Hermanns to his skin and mouth, they fit, to Newt’s indescribable delight. He leans against Hermann #1′s chest with Hermann #2 pressed tight up against his back, both of their arms wrapped around him, both of their dicks pressed up inside him, and wantonly moans his little heart out.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, “oh, fuck, that’s–hah–ah–”

“Tight,” Hermann #2 grunts.

“No shit,” Newt says. “Wow!”

Hermann #1 isn’t speaking at all: the last glimpse Newt took of him, his mouth was slack, and his pupils were so blown they threatened to envelope his irises entirely. He makes a feeble noise against where he’s pressed his face to Newt’s shoulder. “Move,” Newt says.

“How?” Hermann #2 says.

“Do it,” Newt begs, “please, please, just a little, I wanna feel–”

He scrabbles his nails desperately at their arms, urging them on, and Hermann #1 squeaks and rocks his dick up just that bit more into him; then, unceremoniously, without so much as a warning, he comes in Newt.

“Oh, bugger,” he groans.

Hermann #2 makes a noise of disgust. “That feels very strange. You ought to have warned me.”

[tnystrk-exe]

Learning to Live 4

Tony Stark X Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

He walked out of the hospital, hand in hand with you, the security he ordered had just pulled up the car. There was a sea of pushy people and flashing lights. Everyone asking something, wanting answers from him. What was he gonna do? The ball was in his court. Was he too much of a coward? Did Iron Man have what it took? 

Tony opened the passenger door for you and shut it. Just keep quiet. Move on. Think things through and work with all the information later.  It’s all he had to do, but he was never good at that was he?

“Hey, Mr. Stark! When is somebody gonna kill this guy? Just sayin',” That’s all it took to set him off and light the fire.

“Is that what you want?” Tony asked, turning around, a phone immediately shoved into his face. “Here's a little Holiday greeting I've been wanting to send to the Mandarin. I just didn't know how to phrase it until now. My name is Tony Stark and I'm not afraid of you. I know you're a coward, so I've decided that you just died, pal. I'm gonna come get the body. There's no politics here; it's just good old-fashioned revenge. There's no Pentagon; it's just you and me. And on the off-chance you're a man, here's my home address: 10880, Malibu Point, 90265. I'll leave the door unlocked.” Tony grabbed the phone and threw it into a polar, the pieces shattering onto the ground, “Bill me.” He got in the car and peeled off. It was done, he did it, he had to deal with it.

“Tony what did you do?”

“What I had to.”

You shook your head, “That was completely out of line!”

Tony drove as quick as he could, there wasn’t any time to waste. “What the hell was I supposed to do, YN?”

“Not giving out where your address to a terrorist, sounds like a pretty basic idea. Your daughter sleeps there, Tony, what the hell were you thinking?”

“She’s not home. It’s fine.”

“But do you think they would care if she was or wasn’t? You put her at risk. To what? Prove your ego?”

“They attacked us. They already have. So what if this is or isn’t a personal attack? Happy got hurt. My face is already out there. Who do you think could’ve been the next target? Should I have let them figure out where to attack next or just risk the idea that your hospital or one of the companies be bombed? Ro’s school, maybe? Risking me is better than risking any of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking you’re gonna do, but you’re definitely not. We’re going to pick up the important things and then we’re leaving. You’re gonna fight this fight. What I say doesn’t matter, I know that, but at least get some type of back up.”

“I'm taking care of it now. They all know where the fight is if they want to get it on it.”

“God. It’s like you get off on stressing me out.” You leaned against the headrest, closing your eyes. “I think this is the closest I’ve ever been to hating you.”

“Oh, come on, I could do much worse than this,” he said, attempting to lighten up the atmosphere. He knew he fucked up in a bit of rage, but it was said and done. Nothing could stop what was coming now. 

“Is there anything worse than risking Ro, Tony?” You asked, fixing your gaze on him. “I understood when I said yes to you that risk were involved. You’re Tony Stark. Iron Man. Risk came hardwired. But you put her there, now, willingly. You didn’t even think about it.”

“Goddamn it, YN.” His fist clenched around the wheel, the car sped up. “She’s safe as can be. She’s not going to be home. The two of you are going to stay somewhere hidden for while I sort this all out. Nothing’s going to touch her or you.”

The rest of the ride home was silent. Both of you split up the second you stepped inside the house. Tony went down to his lab. You went up stairs. You filled duffle bags with clothes and important papers. Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S. looked through the crime scene. The doorbell going off brought the two of you out of your train of thoughts. 

You heard Tony talking to a woman downstairs as you brought the three bags to the balcony. Apparently from the woman’s side of the conversation an old fling. 

“....I'd go for that sort of thing, but now I'm a one girl kinda man. You know, trying out the wife and kid life. Well she’s not technically. Yet. Look I got bigger fish to fry right now,” he told her, turning to walk to the living room. The duffle bags landing directly in front of him. “And that’s the future missus.”

“That future isn’t in the cards at all right now,” you answered from up stairs. “Who’s here?”

“You rock my world too, baby. Um, it’s Maya Hansen. Old botanist pal that I used to know, barely,” Tony stepped out of his suit, “Please don't tell me that there is a twelve year-old kid waiting in the car that I've never met.”

“He’s thirteen,” she replied, satisfied with his scared reaction. “And no, I need your help.”

“What...what for? Why now?”

“Because I read the papers, and, frankly, I don't think you'll last the week.”

“I'll be fine.”

“That’s what he always says,” you rolled your eyes. “With everything happening I didn’t know we were expecting company. Especially not an ex girlfriend. Really packing it in today, aren’t you Tones?” You shook Maya’s hand. 

“She's not really.”

“No, not really. It...it was just one night.”

“Yep.”

“No. I know. Heard your usual jerk move of don’t remember you,” you smiled at Maya, “Well, you definitely made a good choice.”

“I did.”

“I wish I had decided on a one and done deal, but no. Took a look and thought ‘why not go on that ride as long as I can?’”

“My way does seem much easier,” Maya laughed. 

Tony looked between the two of you, “Wait, what’s happening here?”

“I’m feeling intense pangs of jealousy over Maya’s life choices,” you sighed. “Grab the bags, we’re picking up Ro and leaving town.”

“We’ve been through this already. Nope.”

“We’re leaving immediately and going off the grid until you get this sorted out.”

“The man says no.”

“The man,” you scoffed, “Nice going Howard.”

“Don’t compare me to him.”

“Oh right, because he wouldn’t have put us in this position.”

“I got kidnapped three times!”

“Let’s be fair here that third time could have been avoided if you listened to Rhodey.”

Maya’s attention was torn away from your bickering and to the tv. Helicopters were making a beeline to the mansion, the two of you too absorbed in each other to notice. 

“Guys can we um....”

Tony looked over at her, “What?”

She pointed at the tv, a bomb coming in quick. Before anyone could react, it crashed into the home. Tony motioned for the suit to protect you from the fall. The impact made his vision go blurry for a second. Glancing around he noticed Maya unconscious. A cracking sound made him look up, a piece of the roof caved in.

Tony braced himself. You made it, just in time to save him. “I hate you,” you panted. 

“I’m sorry.” Tony scrambled up, “Like I said, we can’t stay here.” Another missile crashed through the house, flinging Tony over the couch. He rushed forward, but stopped short when the floor crashed down into the lab. “Keep moving. I’ll find a way around. Grab her and get out.”

The two of you shared a quick look that said enough before you nodded and went to work. “Maya, honey, come on we need to get you out of here.” You urged her up. The suit was too awkward to walk quickly. You managed to work a repulser enough to get the two of you clear from the mansion. A few scrapes and bruises but that was better than the alternative of still being in the crumbling building. “Tony! J tell him to call the suit!” Immediately the suit started to come apart, flying back into the home. 

It all happened so quickly. All you could do was watch. Watch as a helicopter crashed into the home and more missiles showered down on it. The last of the ruins fell into the ocean and you couldn’t help but run to the edge, looking for any sign of Tony. The final helicopter disappeared in the distance. 

Around you there was hardly anything that resembled the home. Ro’s piano she was obsessed with, the Christmas tree the three of you had put together not too long ago, and no comforting voice of J.A.R.V.I.S.. There was the wall Tony and Ro had taken to marking her height on since she could stand. You trailed your hand along the marks, you needed to get to your daughter. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Maya asked, pulling you out of your shock. 

You let out a shaky breath, “I have to hope...” He wouldn’t leave this way. Tony always came back. Always did, no time to question it. 

It wasn’t long before the reporters and emergency services came to the location. You refused to talk to the press and answered the cop’s questions as well as you could. Workers spent hours clearing out the wreckage. You had hoped to leave hours before but people kept holding you back. 

All you wanted was your little girl. 

“Hey, ma’am?” A crewman waved a bit to grab your attention. “You want this?” He held up the  Iron Man helmet he had found in the pile of rubble. 

You nodded, walking over to him, “Thank you.”

The man walked away, leaving you alone. You traced over the panels of the mask. Hating that the last thing you had told him was that you had hated him. It was just frustration with nothing behind it and you knew he had known. Still it had been wrong. 

You kissed the helmet’s forehead, pulling away when you heard a faint beeping coming from the inside. Turning around you saw a red flashing light. The helmet opened for you and you pulled it on. 

“Stark secure server. Retinal scan verified.”

“YN,” Tony’s voice started, “what I did was stupid and selfish. I put you and Ro in unbelievable danger, it won’t happen again. If you really do hate me I wouldn’t blame you. Hell, I put you through a lot. You know, I’ve hit a whole other low today too? I had to steal a pancho off a wooden Indian...what am I doing? I don’t have much time...Tell Ro, dad’s sorry. Please. I don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas in time...I’m sorry, YN, I love you. Get Ro and go somewhere safe. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

You took off the helmet and let out a sigh of relief. Your body finally relaxing for the first time in hours. He was okay. Who knows where he was, but he wasn’t hurt. That was better than the unknown minutes before. 

Slipping away from the wreck and people you managed to get in Tony’s car undetected. You didn’t want to answer anymore questions or see anymore reporters. As you turned on the car, a knock on the window startled you. 

“Hi,” Maya smiled at you pleasantly, “I know it’s probably not the best time, but my taxi ditched when everything went...well you were there. Can I get a ride back to my place?”

You contemplated just leaving, there were more than enough people that could help her around, but the woman had been through a lot already. “Yeah, sure. Hop in.” Your phone rang as Maya got in, “Just type in your address.” 

“Hi mommy,” Ro greeted excitedly, “Picking me up tonight with daddy?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m gonna come get you. Daddy can’t come tonight.”

“Aw no! How come?” She asked, some disappointment in her voice. 

“Um...the Avengers needed dad for a secret mission. Okay? He said he’s sorry he might not be back for Christmas.”

She sniffled, “It’s okay. Can you tell daddy I love him and we can wait for Christmas when he comes home.”

“Yeah, Ro. I will. I’ll see you later. Listen to Mrs. H and be good for a little while longer. I just need to do one thing and I’m heading straight for you.”

“Okay, mommy, be fast. I miss you! Love you! Bye!” Ro hung up before you could respond. She always saw the end of phone calls as a race of sorts to see who could press the button quicker. 

“So...your daughter calls Tony dad?” Maya asked, attempting to make conversation.

“Yep,” you sighed, ready for the usual bout of questions. 

“How come?”

“Does it really matter to anyone else but us? Especially now?”

“You’re right, sorry. Really personal considering everything.”

“The papers are full of it lately, it gets to be a lot. Having to hear he isn’t her father constantly.” You looked her over, she seemed nice enough. “It’s not just because we got in a relationship. Trust me, I’m not willing to let just anyone around her . Tony and I have always been close, not couple close but good friends. I had a kid. Tony was always around. She started talking and called him dad and it stuck,” you rambled, part of you happy to talk about it for once. It was rare you ever did. 

“Tony doesn’t seem like the fatherly type. Then again, I only knew him for a night.”

“Lots of things about him that nobody could learn in a night. He wears fatherhood as well as any of his suits. Man’s an absolute natural.”

“Tony Stark has a soft side.”

“Why did you need to talk to Tony today of all days?” You asked the question that had been biting at you.

“I think that my boss is working for the Mandarin,” Maya cut to the chase, “So, if you still want to talk about it, I suggest that we get

ourselves to my place.”

You looked at her, “You think your boss works for the Mandarin? But didn’t Tony say you were a botanist?” 

Maya rolled her eyes, angry to be reduced to something so little. “What I actually am is a biological DNA coder running a team of 40 out of a privately funded think tank. But sure, you can call me a botanist.”

“Who’s your boss?” You asked, fully intending on passing on the information to Rhodey the second you were clear. 

“Aldrich Killian.”

Stopping in front of her place you weighed your options. You could go or you could try to get some more information. Tony and Rhodey were bad influences. “Let me walk you up.”

Maya led you up to her place and the two of you found yourselves on her couch. She started telling you about Wernher von Braun and his dreams before he lost his vision. “...See, we all begin wide-eyed. Pure science.

And then the ego steps in, the obsession.And you look up, you're a long way from shore,” she sighed, visibly disappointed in herself. 

“You never know what’s happening in the dark, Maya. The research went to a think tank. No way you could have thought this would happen.”

“Yeah, but Killian built that think tank on military contracts.”

“That’s what Tony would do, Howard too,” you shrugged, “Don’t judge yourself. We all do what we have to do sometimes.”

Maya flashed you a grateful smile, “Thanks, YN, I really appreciate that.” Someone knocked on the door. “Yeah! Come in!”

The waiter opened the door and pushed his cart in through the door before a man walked up behind him. The snap of the waiter’s neck was the only sound that filled the room. Then the drop of dead weight. 

“Run Maya!” You stopped in shock as something about the man looked familiar. “You were at the Christmas party?”

“I was,” the man smirked, “Enjoy that on the spot distraction? Had to research personal ties a bit more. You or Pepper. I guess I didn’t have to after all since, he went running to you after nearly dying. This one was intent on that route, but I didn’t see it panning out too messy. Now...well, why not use you since you’re already here?”  Killian wrapped a hand around your throat before you could process what was happening. “Now, Maya, care to explain why you were at Stark’s mansion last night?”

“I'm trying to fix this thing,” she answered, her tone almost bored. “I didn't know you and the master were gonna blow the place up.”

“Oh, I see. So, you were trying to save Stark when he threatened us?” 

“I've told you, Killian, we can use him.”

You gasped for breath, clawing at Killian’s arm. “Stop,” he demanded, his hand tightening even more. 

“Look, if we want to launch product next year, I need Stark. He just lacked a decent incentive. Now, he has one. You may think it’s messy, but he’ll do it. They have a daughter together too. That much leverage gets us what we need. I can’t do this alone.”

“Killing her at this point wouldn’t be any useful. I guess we’ll use her as a little lab rat. Doubt she’ll be able to handle Extremis.” You passed out, the lack of air getting to you. “The brat can be a carrot to dangle in front of him. He can give us what we want, then she’ll be the final experiment.”

Maya snatched the phone out of your pocket, calling the last number received. “Hello...Yes, Ms. LN was injured. We’re sending out a team to pick up her daughter. So if you could please give us your address. Any concerns can be handled in person.”

-

Ro finished up icing a cookie. They were supposed to be for Santa, but she would eat them instead. Santa shouldn’t come if daddy wasn’t gonna be home for Christmas. “Mrs. H?” She called for Mrs. Herrera’s attention as the older woman hung up the phone, “Is my mommy coming to get me now?”

“No sweetheart. I think I’d like you to stay with me for a little while longer. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Ro pouted, “Yeah, but I miss my mommy and daddy. I love you too, but I really miss home.”

“I know you do, but mom got called into the hospital.”

“She’s saving people like daddy?” Mrs. H nodded, “Then I’m not so sad...can I go watch tv with Mr. H?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll join in after I clean up this mess.” 

Ro ran into the living room, grabbing her well worn Tony Bear before jumping onto Mr. H’s lap in the recliner. The older couple were like her grandparents having watched over her since she was a tiny little thing. Safe to say they were her favorite really really old people to hang out with.

“Hey, Roro,” the old man kissed the top of her head, “How are the cookies looking?”

“Really yummy! When she isn’t looking we can sneak and take them.”

He chuckled, “Do you think we can make it past her. She’s pretty crafty.”

Ro nodded enthusiastically, “I’m staying more! So when she’s sleeping we can watch more movies and eat them! We can even have some chocolate milk!”

“Under the cover of night? Sounds like a good plan.”

“What are the two of you talking about?” Mrs. H asked, handing Ro a juice box. 

Ro smiled sweetly, “I wanna watch Polar Express, but he wants to watch the Grinch.”

“How about we watch the Polar Express and we let you open up your Christmas present early?” A pick me up for the disappointment the child had faced today. Ro had been talking about going home the whole day. 

“Yeah!”

“But you can’t sneak out and eat all the cookies when I’m sleeping.”

“Oh, okay,” Ro’s face fell at being caught, “I’ll be extra good. Promise.”

“Go on, grab yours. It’s the one with the Buzz Lightyear wrapping.”

Ro stood and ran to the tree. A couple of presents crowded it, most of them for out of state grandchildren. Grabbing hers, Ro shook the box. She liked surprises and drawing them out was always fun. “I love it!”

“You haven’t even opened it yet,” the old man laughed.

“I know but I’m so excited!  It’s gonna be so cool!” Ro started shredding up the paper, doorbell ringing before she could open up the box to see what was inside. 

Mrs. H waved it off, “Open your toy. I’ll answer the door.” Mrs. H opened the front door, two men blocking the entrance, “Can I help you?”

“We came to pick up the kid,” one answered simply.

“No. She’s fine here. No use in taking her anywhere else. Ro’s comfortable and safe here.”

“My wife is right. She isn’t going anywhere,” Mr. H chimed in, getting up from his chair. 

“Let’s make this nice and simple, okay? Give us the kid so we can be on our way,” the other piped up.

Ro looked between all the adults. The two men looked too big and scary. She never ever went with strangers. “I don’t wanna go with them,” she started, tears already in her eyes, “I wanna stay here.”

“Don’t worry, Roro you won-“ before Mrs. H could finish, a loud bang sounded out through the small living room. 

“Ro run!” Mr. H pushed her small body away, already reaching for the gun he kept near the recliner.

Ro stared shell shocked at Mrs. H on the floor. Red leaking on to the carpet. She didn’t noticed the splattered bits of red staining her Pikachu pajamas. The sound of more bangs made her run. Bigger footsteps chasing after her. Running outside, she crawled into her usual hiding spot. The bear was clutched against her chest as she crawled under the house. Her head not quite grasping what had happened at all. They were all safe and happy just a little bit ago. Mrs. H was just playing a mean prank. She’d tell the big men to leave and give her a cookie. Then Ro would cry, but Mrs. H would hold her and she’d be safe.

“Where did the kid go!”

“Fucking find her or that’s our asses.”

Ro felt scared, but she didn’t want to cry. If she cried she’d make loud sounds and she didn’t want them to find her. She finally made it to the trap door. The one that popped right up into the living room closet. Dropping her bear she pushed it up and climbed up into the closet. 

Her hand landed on something wet and warm. She sat on the edge of the hole and reached down for her bear, cuddling into it for comfort. Through the slits in the door she could see Mrs. H on the floor next to the closet and Mr. H next to the Christmas tree, her new chemistry set crushed under him. They’re eyes looked scary. Too scary. She wanted her mommy and daddy.

The tears started falling and she couldn’t help the sounds. Her mommy and daddy would save her, they always saved people. They’d save her too. They had to. Daddy always said he’d keep her safe. She hugged her bear tightly, hiding her face against its fur, it helped quiet her down some. 

“You’re fucking shiting me!” A man yelled getting back inside the house. 

“Little girl, come out! We know your mommy and daddy. We’re their friends!”

No, they weren’t. Mommy and daddy didn’t like mean people. She didn’t dare speak. 

Their footsteps could be heard going towards the rooms of the house. They wouldn’t find her in her closet. She wouldn’t move. She was too scared to even attempt it even though the front door was so close. 

How come mommy, daddy, or Rhodey haven’t came to save her yet? She tried to remember how Happy taught her how to fight, but she was too little and Happy never wanted to hurt her. The scary men would hurt her.

It felt like forever. All she could hear were the men pushing things and saying bad words. Ro shut her eyes tight, not wanting to see Mr. and Mrs. H. Their eyes felt like they were burning into her.

“How’d we lose that dumbass kid? How old is she four?”

“I don’t fucking know. The house ain’t that big and it’s dark out. She didn’t leave we’ll find her eventually.”

They rummaged through the kitchen for a while. One walked back into the living room, munching on a cookie she had made. He gave a kick to Mr. H’s head as he passed by. The sound of the crack making her flinch. “Not very many places to hide kid,” he called out, “We’ll take you to mom and dad all you gotta do is come hug uncle Davy.”

A woman walked onto the scene, undisturbed by the gore surrounding her. “That sounds kinda suspect don’t you think?”

The man aimed the gun and fired, the red haired lady dodged it easily, and Ro let out a squeak at the sound. Both men stared at the door and ran for it. Only the small woman in between Ro and them. Ro could hear nothing but screaming and hitting. They were gonna take her away. She crawled deeper into the closet, trying to hide under the hanging coats. 

Not too long after it was quiet, if you didn’t take into account the young child’s crying. She heard a steady clack, like the heels Pepper liked to wear, heading for the closet. The door opened and a woman crouched down to look her in the eye. 

“Hi, Ro,” she smiled, “I’m Natasha.”

...N-Natasha?” She asked unsteadily. 

“That’s right.” Natasha held out her hand, “Do you mind stepping out here?”

Ro nodded, trying to be smaller. “I don’t want you. You can lie. I want my mommy and daddy. I just want my mommy and daddy.” She started to cry loudly, the cry where it felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. 

Natasha reached for the child and picked her up, “You’re safe now. I’ve worked with your dad before. I’m an Avenger like him. My friend Nick there worked with your grandpa. See? We’re safe.”

Ro clung to Natasha, needing the comfort she was providing. If Natasha was an Avenger then she was safe. She could vaguely remember seeing a picture of her in papers in Tony’s lab when he worked on the other’s suits. “Are my friends okay?” She hiccuped, the words difficult to decipher but enough for Natasha to understand. 

“They’re hurt and we need to take you out of here. Let us take you somewhere safe.”

Ro shook her head, not understanding. “Are mommy and daddy going to be there?” She sniffled, “Tell them they need to keep their promise and make me safe.”

“As soon as we can find them,” Natasha reassured the child. Natasha pressed Ro’s face against her shoulder, making sure she wouldn’t see anymore of the grisly scene. It was probably in vain but she had to try something. When they were clear, Natasha helped her into the SUV, other S.H.I.E.L.D agents on the scene. 

“He’s all dirty and bloody…” Ro sniffed, not realizing her own appearance gave Tony Bear a run for his money.

“We can get you a new one sweetheart.”

“But daddy gave this Tony Bear to mommy. He’s special and I messed him up. I was supposed to take care of him. And Mr. and Mrs. H are so bloody too,” her breath started coming in short, “I don’t know where mommy and daddy are and uncle Rhodey is fighting. I’m all alone.”

Natasha took the small child’s face into her hands, “Shh, look at me,” she waited until Ro stared at her, “Breathe in and breathe out.” The pair continued the exercise until Ro calmed down. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

“....is this what happens where you’re an Avenger? I told daddy I wanted to be one…”

“You want to be an Avenger?” Natasha asked, bypassing the first half of the question, “That would be cool. Too many boys on the team already. Do you have a favorite?”

“Daddy. He keeps me safe all the time. He’s supposed to….Where am I gonna go?”

“Well, we found a nice family that can take care of you until your mom and dad come back home,” Natasha answered, moving Ro’s hair out of her face. “Why that face?”

“I don’t like strangers,” she answered, staring at the house, “Can’t I stay with you? I feel safe with you and daddy knows you, so you’re safe. We can even stay in my little house.”

Natasha was on the verge of saying no. There were things she had to do, but all she could think about was how she had grown up. The smallest bit of niceness would have done wonders. She looked at the frail, small thing that was covered in dirt and blood. “Maybe a couple of days couldn’t hurt.”

Ro shot up to wrap her arms around Natasha’s neck, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, kid,” Natasha patted Ro’s back. Another child wrapping her around their fingers. 

-

“Wakey wakey,” Killian said, slapping your face to get you to rise, “There she is.”

You groaned, opening your eyes. Looking down, you noticed they changed clothes and there were restraints kept you from so much as budging. “Whatever you want...I’m not the way you’re gonna get it. We’ve had this talk before.” And you had as grim as it was in the throes of the honeymoon phase. Tony and you both agreed no matter what he wouldn’t be used to hurt anyone no matter what the risk. You knew Tony would try like hell to save you, of course he would, but if it came down to it well... “He won’t give you what you want.”

“We’ll see about that. Won’t we?” Killian looked toward one of his lackies, “Your kid should be joining us soon enough. What the status on that?”

“They made it there at 10 pm. Still no word, but it’s an old couple and a kid. How hard could have that been?”

“No. No! Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this!” You shouted, trying in vain to fight the restraints. “Leave her out of this Killian. She’s just a child.”

“Maybe you do have some fight in you after all” he commented on your outburst, otherwise undisturbed, “Might help you with Extremis.”

Maya started setting you up with an IV. “This half is more his idea than anything,” she stated, “I just wanted you and the kid.”

You flinched away from her, “I’m telling you he won’t help you. He’d let me die before he lets another thing he made kill people.

“Well, we’ll just have to bank on you being wrong.” Maya injected the serum into the line. 

There wasn’t time to so much as think before you started screaming. You wanted to be stubborn and hold in the screams. Anything other than giving them the satisfaction, but this was worse than anything you had ever experienced. The liquid felt thick as it moved through your veins. The serum quick to contaminate every inch of your body. A fire had been lit inside of you. Any worries you had trickled away as it was replaced with physical pain. 

Killian took a couple minutes to appreciate the view. “Hasn’t gone boom yet. Might just survive. We should get this show on the road already. The other two and the kid can catch up.”

Everything Tag:

| @sophiatomlinson23​ | @cannonindeez​ | @memyselfandmaddox​ | @mendes-marvel​ | @space-helen​ |

Marvel Tag:

| @asguardiansoftheavengers​ | @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ | @lovely-geek​ | @atomicfandombomb​ |

Tony Stark Tag:

| @bit-bot0711​ | @tonystarkxreader​ | @mikariell95​ | @genzparker​

Learning To Live

| @editsbyjenny | @vesta-ro | @princess76179​ |

[badchoicesposts]

Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 3

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar)

Word Count: 2,752

Taglist: @flowerpowell, @timmagicktoad, @kingliam2019, @ao719, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog

If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!

A/N: In this chapter you’ll get to learn a bit more about Ali’s family. 

This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Ali had spent time in Drake and Liam’s apartment before. She spent most of her time there if she was being honest. She was lucky that Drake liked her enough to tolerate her presence there as much as he did. However, she had never really spent much time in the apartment alone. One of them was almost always there with her. 

She let herself into their apartment, looking around as she waited for Liam to come home from work. It was strange to be here without either of them. This place had been a second home to her for the past six months, but without Liam, it seemed big, cold and empty. Ali kicked off her shoes and made her way into Liam’s room. She dropped down onto his large bed, the soft mattress relaxing her muscles and alleviating some of the ever present pain in her lower back. 

Her eyes began to close as she gave into the drowsiness that had overtaken her body. However, the peaceful moment was interrupted as a sudden chill went up her spine, and she immediately shot up in bed. A soft scratching noise seemed to be coming from inside the walls, and the lights above her head flickered. She looked around the room frantically for a moment before the scratching noise chased her out to the living room, where she waited impatiently for her boyfriend to come home. 

When Liam arrived he saw Ali curled up on the couch, the decorative throw blanket pulled up over her head. Even though he had sat with her and calmed her down, it was obvious that he thought she was being ridiculous. He had laughed at the suggestion that what happened had anything to do with the supernatural universe and simply went to change the light bulb. Ali had the same experience several times after that night. Each time a chill would run up her spine before she heard the scratching noise and saw the lights flicker. Each time she had felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, and each time Liam had blamed it on faulty wiring or old light bulbs.

This time, however, Liam was lying in bed next to Ali when it happened. His face had been buried in her neck, and as he began to press gentle kisses to the skin there, the lights flickered. She jumped out of his arms as the scratching began and looked at him pointedly. 

“There’s a fucking ghost in your bedroom,” she said, almost hysterical at this point as she watched Liam look around the room with furrowed eyebrows. 

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this,” he said calmly, attempting to pull her back down next to him.

She pulled her arm away from him and placed her hands on her hips. 

“There is no logical explanation for this,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm around the word ‘logical’. “You have to move.”

Liam began to chuckle as he looked at the girl fondly. He stood up and walked over to her, wrapping her up in his strong arms. As his body enveloped her much smaller one, she could feel his chest vibrating with laughter.

“Don’t laugh at me!” she said angrily, her words muffled as she spoke against his bare skin. 

“Sweetheart, I promise you there’s no ghost,” he said, trying to hold back his laughter, as to not frustrate her further. 

“Then why does that keep happening?” she asked, turning her head to look up at him. 

Liam brushed one of her dark curls out of her face and kissed her forehead gently. 

“I promise I’ll talk to the landlord, and we’ll figure it out,” he said softly. 

Ali pulled herself out of his arms and made her way back over to the bed.

“You won’t figure it out because it’s a goddamn ghost,” she grumbled under her breath, pulling the covers up around her.

Two strong arms pulled Ali backwards, and she crashed into a hard chest. She looked up to see Bastien holding her close and reaching to grab Liam’s arm as well. Another member of the royal guard pushed his way in front of the two of them, stopping the reporters from getting too close. Bastien kept one arm wrapped protectively around her small frame, and his other hand rested on Liam’s back as he guided them towards the hotel. His jaw was clenched, and as the three of them rode the elevator back up to their floor in an awkward silence, Ali could tell he was extremely agitated. 

The rest of the guys from last night were all lounging around the sitting area of Liam’s room when they entered. They were each nursing their own hangover, but could easily tell that something was wrong as a negative energy entered with them. Maxwell looked over at them from where he was smothering jam on a piece of toast. The look of hope that was on his face from seeing them enter together quickly disappeared. 

Bastien paced up and down the length of the room, and for a few minutes everything remained completely silent.

“Your father is going to be furious,” he finally spoke. 

He didn’t look angry anymore. Instead, a look of concern crossed his features. Liam released a deep breath and his shoulders sagged the slightest bit. 

It was unsettling for everyone to see him look so defeated. He had always been strong-minded and strong-willed. It had been drilled into his brain from a young age that he should never show weakness and that it was always necessary for him to carry himself with an air of confidence. 

Ali stood glued to her spot by the door, not knowing what to do. The only time she had seen him like this was right before he had gotten on the plane back to Cordonia. Every one of her instincts told her to go to him and comfort him, but there was a voice in the back of her head saying that it wasn’t her place anymore. Even if it was, she wouldn’t know what to say. The world of media and nobility wasn’t one she knew anything about. Instead she just watched him. She watched as he took a breath, straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and put on a mask of neutral expression. 

“I’m sure my father will find some way to properly address the press as he’s done for Leo several times in the past,” he began calmly, before turning to face her, “Ali, you were completely right. I have a responsibility to Cordonia, and I should have never said the things that I did last night or this morning. It was a poor judgment call on my part. I apologize for upsetting you and my momentary lapse in judgement. I’m afraid you won’t be able to leave until the crowd outside disperses, but you are welcome to remain here in the meantime. Please excuse me.” 

With that, he walked to the bedroom of the suite and closed the door behind him. His words were short, and Ali could see that he was struggling to say them with as little emotion as possible. However, knowing this gave her no comfort as she once again felt tears stinging her eyes. He spoke as if he were addressing the public as a politician, not to the person that he claimed to love. She roughly bit down on her lip, desperate to not cry in front of a group of men that she hadn’t even known for twenty-four hours. She felt exposed, and she wanted to run and hide. But, her feet were rooted to the floor. 

Drake approached her slowly and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she barely registered his presence. 

Ali wasn’t sure how long she stood there watching the door that Liam had just disappeared behind, but she probably would have been there longer if the sound of several phones going off hadn’t pulled her out of her thoughts. Maxwell, Charlie, and Leo all pulled out their phones and skimmed through something before looking at her and each other nervously. 

“What is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse. Maxwell made his way over to her cautiously and handed her his phone. 

“Damn, they work fast,” she heard Drake say as he looked down at the phone over her shoulder.

The web page was opened to a Cordonian news site, and the title “Prince Liam’s Bachelor Party Hook-Up” was staring back at her in bold letters. There were pictures of the two of them kissing on the street outside the hotel and some of the group leaving the bar last night. The reporters had caught bits of their conversation, and the article told of how he begged her to stay with him, speculating how the pair knew each other. 

Ali handed the phone back to Maxwell and stepped so that her back was pressed against the wall, depending on it to keep her upright. She was aware that everyone in the room had their eyes on her now. Taking a look at her own phone for the first time that day, she saw several frantic texts from Cole’s sister, Emma, and a few from his older brother, Luca, asking where she was. 

“Moonessar, do you want to take a walk? My room is right down the hall,” Drake said cautiously, as if he were expecting her to have a meltdown at any moment. 

“No,” she said, already bringing the phone up to the ear as she spoke. 

She listened to it ring several times, relaxing at the sound of the voice that picked up. 

“Luca, I need you to come get me,” she said, before turning and walking out the door.

************

Ali had known the Larson family her entire life. The four Larson siblings had been born into a household with an abundance of money but absentee parents, and when Ali was young, her mother had worked as a maid and nanny for them. Ali grew up alongside the siblings and became fast friends with Cole and Emma because the three were close in age. When both of Ali’s parents died in a car accident, Cole’s older brother, Ezra, had insisted that she move in with them. She was only nineteen and had been such a mess at the time that they all agreed it was for the best. She had been living with them ever since, and the Larsons had become the siblings she never had and the family she needed. They had always been there for her.

Luca was the oldest of the four siblings, and even though he and Ali couldn’t be more different, their connection had always been different than they one she had with the others. Luca was the most put together person that Ali had ever met. He had expensive tastes, always wore a suit that had been perfectly tailored to his body, and was a prominent lawyer in one of New York’s biggest law firms. However, regardless of their differences, Luca and Ali seemed to balance each other out and had a natural chemistry that made them unstoppable when they worked together. Luca was kind-hearted and very obviously cared for her in a way no one else ever had. 

The other siblings had often joked that the two should just get married and finally make Ali an official Larson, and while Ali knew that Luca was everything she could possibly want in a partner, there was always a piece of her that couldn’t commit to a relationship with him. It was the piece of her that had always and would always belong to Liam. She had casually dated other people after Liam, but she had too much history with the Larsons to even consider that with Luca. If she entered a relationship with him, there would be too much pressure from the family for them to get serious, and she knew that she wasn’t able to fully give herself to him. So, she didn’t, and instead they had formed a different relationship. They weren’t like siblings, but they weren’t in a relationship either. She couldn’t explain what they were. They were just close.

Now, sitting in the front seat of Luca Larson’s car with tears streaming freely down her face, Ali wanted nothing more than for him to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay as he had done so many times in the past. 

“Luc, I-I m-made a mistake,” she choked out as he pulled into the parking complex a few blocks away from the building they lived in. 

After parking the car, Luca turned in his seat to face her and placed a hand on her knee, tracing soft circles on it through her jeans. 

“Let’s get you inside. We can talk there,” he said softly. 

He got out of the car and ran to the other side to open her door for her. He kept her locked tightly in his embrace as they rode the elevator up to the large penthouse apartment they all shared. Upon entering the two were met with the angry face of Emma Larson. 

“Where were you? You know that if you spend the night away from home you’re supposed to let someone know! You’re lucky we didn’t call the police!” she began, before Luca shot her a look that quickly shut her up. 

Even though Emma was the youngest in the household, there was no doubt that she was the one in charge. She currently had a tape measure hanging around her neck and was clutching fabric scissors tightly in her hand. From a young age she had been into design and had recently been trying to make her way into the world of fashion. She tended to “stress create”, and it was evident that she had been doing so for quite some time as there were varying fabrics in different colors spread across the living room floor. Her loud voice had pulled Cole and Ezra out of the kitchen, and they both straightened their bodies into a protective stance upon seeing Ali’s tears. Luca led her over to the couch, and Ezra went back into the kitchen to get her a glass of water before joining the group. 

“What happened?” Luca asked, his voice was gentle as he spoke to her.

Ali shakily pulled up the article on her phone and handed it to him. She watched as his jaw clenched momentarily while reading it and had to stop herself from crying even harder. 

“I’m sure it’ll all blow over in a day or two,” he said, a soft sigh escaping his throat as he handed the phone to his siblings. 

“The article isn’t what I’m upset about,” she breathed out. “I- I slept with him, and I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have, but I saw him last night, and I didn’t know how to let him go again.” 

“You slept with him?” Emma exclaimed.

“Well, obviously. What did you think she was doing when she didn’t come home last night?” Cole asked casually as he lounged back in his chair. Ezra and Emma both glared at their brother. 

“I feel so stupid. You should have seen him this morning. After we got mauled by the press it was like he just turned all of his emotions off. After everything, after telling me that he loved me, he just dismissed me like it was nothing in front of all of his friends. It was humiliating. God, I’m such an idiot.”

A fresh wave of tears began to fall down her cheeks, and she pushed off her glasses.

“This is all your fault!” Emma said, glaring angrily at Cole.

“How is it my fault? I didn’t tell her to sleep with him!” 

“You don’t leave your friend alone in a bar with their ex!” 

“I didn’t leave them alone! All of his friends were still there! Drake was there!”

“Children, please,” Luca said in an exasperated tone, his siblings’ antics only furthering his frustration. 

Ali buried her face in the decorative cushion next to her, wishing that she had actually used her common sense the night before and hating Liam for the things that he said. In a hotel room less than an hour away from her Liam was staring at his computer screen, hating himself for hurting her and dreading the conversation he was about to have with his father. 

[avidfanficwriter]

Failed Repetition (Chapter 3)

Characters: Chris Evans X OFC!

Summary: For as long as Chris can remember, he’s wanted to get married. He has wanted the white picket fence, beautiful wife on his arm and a house full of kids unlike his counterpart who isn’t thrilled with the prospect of marriage.

Rating: T

Warnings: Cursing.Mention of sexual acts/Situations.

Tags:  wolflhards. @tacohead13

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4.

Take care, Reagan.

Take care, Reagan.

The note was ended as if they hadn't spent the last six years together, like they hadn't lived together for four years or the 'I love yous' shouted during nights of passion were meaningless.

The note closes as if they were strangers, two random people who accidently bumped into one another on the sidewalk. Distant, Cold and longing to get away from one another. This wasn't how two people in love parted.

Was this what he deserved? A note as a goodbye--In place of a conversation? No explanation. No speech. Just a discarded piece of paper left on the counter and an insensitive 'Take care.'

Twenty minutes after reading the note, it finally starts to sink in, Chris calls Reagan and leaves her a long rambling voicemail that says nothing more than, "I love you, please come back." in fifteen different ways. He promises he'll stop bring marriage up, that it's not even that important to him if it costs him her.  They should talk in person, he says the first thing that comes to his mind in the voicemail and it mimics someone whose entirely lost, which he is. She's gone and he's to blame.

The pain hasn't set in yet, right now it's just pure panic.

He wanders around the house, searching for anything to keep his mind occupied while he waits for her to call back. Two hours pass and he sends her a text message:

"Reagan I love you Im sorry just come home so we can talk about this."

No response.

The house feels like it's haunted with memories of Reagan, every space inside the home reminds him of her. The counter where she accidently spilled her tea onto one of his scripts, they spent three hours blowing drying the pages so they were legible. The couch in the living room that looked amazing in the store but they soon discovered looked terrible after being brought into their home. The hole in the wall from when they put the paintings up, Chris slipped and in order to avoid hitting Reagan with the hammer he slammed it into the wall creating a huge hole; it became a great conversation starter. If it's not the memories torturing him, it's his mind tricking him into believing she's home.

Chris starts to beat himself up, if he would have just told her he was awake when she came home this wouldn't have happened. If he wasn't stubborn for just one moment of his life, he wouldn't have lost the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if he would have joined her in the guest room or carried her into their bedroom, this could have played out differently. They could have spoken, he could have prevented her from leaving. He would be exiled to the couch but at least she would've been home.

By noon, Chris had resorted to drinking in order to prevent himself from calling Reagan, at first it seemed like a good idea, he'd get drunk enough to pass out and by tomorrow she would be home. His plan was flawed, instead of passing out, he wound up calling Reagan again.

"I miss you." He whispers into the phone, his body slack and head spinning. "I do. I miss all of you, your tiny smirk when I'd say something smart, the curl in your hair you always fought to get out of your eyes; the way you bit your lip when you read." He exhales deeply, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. "I miss how you sound when I'm buried inside of you, those fucking pretty little sounds you make. I miss feeling your thighs shake around my head while you pull my hair as you beg for more."

Sober Chris had boundaries. Drunk Chris didn't care. "The way you taste, how you linger on my tongue hours after we're done and all I want to do when I come home is bury my head between your thighs again. Fuck, Rea..." He groans, palming his erection through his sweatpants. "I love the way your lips feel against mine, how your heart rate increases when I kiss along your collarbone. How your chest rises as I kiss down your body like you're on full display for me. I love that... I love you, Reagan."

Phone call number two, is less sexual but not at all any better.

"Do you remember when we first started dating?" He asks, glancing at the photos of them along the wall. "You told me you only dated guys that took relationships series, I told you I was one of them and you made this big schedule of things for us to do for me to prove my worth? And one of them was cooking? You made this fucking amazing meal, that stuffed bell peppers stuff and a homemade cheesecake and when it came my turn It was so bad."

Chris lets out a small chuckle over the memory. "I tried to make some chicken recipe I found online but I burned it. The smoke detectors were going off, the house smelled like smoke and then you showed up and I thought you were going to run. I could see it, this look of fear on your face." Chris shakes his head, rubbing at his eyebrow. "I ended up making eggs and we had to eat them outside because of the smell. Then you made that pie for thanksgiving to take over to my mom's and I burned that too. All I had to do was take it out of the oven while you were in the shower but I forgot. We should do that again, Rea."

Chris closes his eyes. "My mother would kill me but I always loved your pies more. Blueberry was my favorite." He clears his throat. "Do you remember that blueberry one we made for my nieces fundraiser and somehow we ended up eating it on the floor in the kitchen? My sister was so mad at us."

Phone called number three is mess. Chris doesn't know what he's saying anymore or what he's even trying to get at. Words are just coming out.

"Reagan" He starts off, holding back a sob. "I walked into the bathroom earlier and your soap was gone. I started crying... over soap. Soap!" He sniffles and lets out a small laugh. "I spent twenty minutes just sobbing in the restroom. I was fine when I saw you took some clothes but that soap. That stupid grapefruit soap you took and it broke me." Chris starts chuckling as tears pile in his eyes. "I didn't cry over the note you left, I was shocked but that goddamn empty shelf in the shower broke me." He voices slowly trails off into a whisper.

Chris wipes a tear that falls from his eye, "You're not coming back tomorrow are you?" He questions with a deep sigh.  "I just...I just wanna hear your voice, just pick up the phone, baby. God, Reagan." He pleads. "if you just give me a second to explain...."

"If you’re satisfied with your message, press 1. If you’re not and want to re-record, press 2. If you want to delete and start over, press 3." The voicemail recording interrupts him.

Chris growls, "Fuck!" he shouts throwing the phone across the room.

There's pain ripping through his chest as the hours pass, all he wants is for her to call him back or magically walk through the front door. He wants her to yell at him, call him an idiot, kick him out of the house that would hurt far less than what she's doing now. If they were arguing or fighting and she slammed the bedroom door on him it wouldn't hurt like this was. This, Reagan leaving with her things, refusing to answer his calls was torture. It felt like his heart was being pulled out of his body as if the arteries were being stretched until they tore.

He's done drinking, it's not helping, it's only worsening his heartache. The liquid seems to only intensify his emotions, everything makes him cry. The sight of a book she left, feels like a stab to the chest. Her coffee cup in the cabinet, makes him hold his chest and collapse to the ground. The smell of her perfume on the sheets in the guest bedroom makes him ill.

The second day isn't any easier, there's still no phone call from Reagan, or text message; or even an email. He drinks a cup of coffee and stares at the harrowing note that he hasn't been able to move from the counter. It's been reread multiple times as if he's searching for something else, a hidden meaning behind one of the words; or the possibility he's misunderstood it. There's nothing new, no matter how many times he reads it, it's just more heartache.

With his head on straight and no alcohol in his system, he calls her one more time.

The phone goes to voicemail and his stomach drops. There was a tiny part of him that expected her to answer this time. It's been twenty-four hours since he's seen her and even longer since he's spoken to her.

"Reagan," He starts out, calmly. "Baby," he tries to focus on his breathing, slow and deep breathes so he doesn't lose sight of what he's doing here. He wants Reagan to come home. That's his goal, to get his girl to come back home. "I... fuck." With a loud groan, he drops the phone from his ear and rubs his face. He doesn't know what to say or how to began. He's left her countless messages that got him nowhere, if any of them counted this was the one.. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. Just please come home, we can talk about this." He's bargaining, hoping she hears the sincerity in his voice before realizing his statement could be taken the wrong way. "No, I mean, we don't have anything to talk about. Okay? I fucked up, you're right. I shouldn't be forcing you to do what I want, I should've just shut up. I want to get married but if I have to choose between you or that, I choose you. I want you. I want you as my girl, my girlfriend, my friend, lover. Whatever we want to call it, I'm for. I can't lose you." He's rambling. "I love you, please just come home."

Three hours pass and the realization she may never come back home finally gets to him, he panics in the middle of making something to eat. It's a simple task but he caught sight of the Captain America: The First Avengers script Reagan had framed for him and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

His heart beat like a jackhammer, his mind is racing and he's struggling to breathe.

His fingers are tingling and the room is getting dangerously hot.

His body hurts and he's on the verge of passing out.

He can hear his heartbeat and feel it in his eardrums.

A panic attack.

Chris digs his cell phone out of his pocket and calls Reagan.

"Answer... Answer, Reagan. Please."

"This is Reagan, leave a message." Voicemail again.

He groans, hanging up the phone and grabs at his chest. The tips of his fingers are on fire, burning his skin, adding to the pain. Then he calls her again and again. Listening to her voice on her voicemail starts to calm him, his heart rate gets under control, the pressure on his lungs starts to dissipate. He can focus.

On the last phone call, he leaves one simple message. "Reagan, I'm so fucking sorry."

The next phone call he makes is wrong, it's not his place but if anyone knows how to get ahold of Reagan it would be her mother. She may have neglected to tell him where she was going but she would always tell her mother.

"Chris, she told me not to talk to you." Her mother says quickly after answering the phone.

He exhales deeply. "I just need to talk to her. She left in the middle of the night and she wont answer her phone."

"She's upset, Chris."

"I know!" He grabs his hair and groans. "I took it to far, I fucked up but I woke up and she was gone. Her stuff is gone and I'm suppose to just be okay with that?" He questions. "I don't get a chance to apologize or an opportunity to talk? I don't get to fight for her? She decides one night that we're done and that's it? I don't get told she doesn't want to be with me or that she doesnt love me to my face?"

Reagan's mother sighs. "Chris, honey..."

"We been together for six years, Margaret... six years. I love her. She's the last thing I think about before going to bed and the first thing I think about when I wake up. I can't... This can't end this way."

Chris knocks on the door, quietly at first before building up the courage to knock harder. The lock clicks causing his heart to race then the door slowly opens and there she is. Their eyes meet and she looks away, glancing at the ground with a sigh. "My mother?" She asks.

"Your mother." Chris says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

[ladyanatui]

The Seduction of Motomiya Daisuke, Ch. 3 *A Daiken Fic*

Daisuke’s friendship with Ken has always come easily. It’s the lusting after your best friend part that’s hard.

He just didn’t realize how hard until Ken starts acting weird.

Now, Daisuke isn’t sure how long he can handle his BFF and roommate’s sudden attentions. At least, not without potentially ruining a 12-year friendship.

AO3 | FF.Net

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

DAISUKE

Friday, 9 a.m.

I've spent the last twenty minutes in front of my full-length mirror, staring down my reflection. Trying not to worry about whatever the hell went on in the bathroom not too long ago. Trying not to panic.

I need to get a grip, dammit.

This is just a normal day, and nothing strange has happened this morning. I haven't spent the last couple hours fantasizing about my best friend, and he definitely wasn't flirting with me in the bathroom.

Oh, fuck.

Was Ken flirting with me this morning?

Because if he was flirting with me, if there's actually the potential he's interested in being more than we are now, that changes things.

Dammit!

Stop getting distracted, and stop getting worked up over nothing.

I flirt with Ken all the time. If he were interested, he'd reciprocate with more than blushing and stammering, right? Because he's been doing that since we were eleven years old. If he were actually receptive, it wouldn't be so damn one-sided.

For him to suddenly jump on the offense makes no sense. What the hell is going through his head?

When I finally emerge from my bedroom again, mostly dressed for my lunch shift at the ramen shop, decidedly less sexually frustrated than when I went into it, there's a warm scent drifting from the kitchen, but something about it's off.

Ken is at the stove, his bottom lip tethered between his teeth, brow furrowed at his pot. "Why isn't it working?" he grumbles. "This isn't supposed to be that hard."

I sidle up beside him, determined to play things cool, and glance toward the stove before catching his eye. "Whatchya making?"

He shoots me a scowl.

But a quick survey of the scene makes it pretty obvious: A bag of rice and a few jars of pickled plums and apricots sit on the counter nearby—he's making rice porridge.

Another glance, and I already know why his hard work is a dud. Inside his pot, the rice is mushy, but not particularly porridgey.

"You were supposed to turn the heat down as soon as it came to a boil, Ken." I try to suppress my amusement—especially when he sends me that deep glare—but he's just too cute when he tries to cook things. He's really terrible at it.

I mean, rice porridge isn't difficult to make, even if it's a bit time-consuming.

"How long did you let it keep boiling on medium high?" I raise an eyebrow when all he does is glare again. "Don't get mad at me. You're the one who doesn't know how to make rice porridge, Ken."

Pouting, he plops the lid back on the pot and turns the burner off. Then, he turns his back on the stove and crosses his arms—over his bare chest. Apparently, during the time I was definitely not hiding and panicking in my bedroom, all Ken has managed to put on is a pair of dark gray boxers and an untied robe that ends mid-thigh. His hair, dry now, is doing this weird curl thing by his ear.

It's weird. By the time the sun rises, Ken is always fully dressed and ready for the day. He rarely walks around in even a set of pajamas, let alone his underwear.

Not that I'm complaining.

"I'm sure it'll taste fine even if it's a little thick." I move closer and grab the spoon to stir the porridge. It might also be burned on the bottom.

Laughter bubbles from my mouth before I can prevent it, but another deep glare puts me in my place.

I stifle the chuckles as I move in front of him and lay my hands on his shoulders. "It's okay if you're not very good at this. You know that, right?"

Ken's glare focuses on the floor, but his pout grows more pronounced. A soft pink has spread across his cheeks, warming his normally pale skin. I'd want to strangle him if he wouldn't so goddamn cute like this.

Besides, this is the Ken I know. Shy, adorable Ken who blushes every time I compliment him or stand closer than is strictly a reasonable friendship distance.

I step closer, nestling one foot between his slightly spread legs, and poke his nose to draw his attention. "You want me to throw something together really quick?"

His eyes trail up my body—I fight off a shiver—and his mouth twists into a frown. "You don't have time before your shift, do you?"

"I could make you an omelet," I add with a shrug. "Speaking of work, since when do you have Fridays off?"

He shakes his head, and his blue-violet eyes finally shift to meet my gaze. "The office is closed today, remember? This is my long weekend."

I nod.

It sounds familiar. Mostly, I remember talking to Fujita-sensei about shifting my schedule so I had most of the weekend off to spend time with him. After my shift today, we'll both be here for the next two days straight, no obligations but to each other.

I'd be lying if I said that doesn't scare the shit out of me right now.

"So?" I ask after a moment.

Ken lifts an eyebrow, but his pout has mostly disappeared.

"Omelet?" I suggest. "Or something else quick before I have to head out?" I hesitate but lift my hand to smooth the curls by his ear—it's everyday sort of thing I'd do. "You're going to need a haircut soon."

His cheeks light up, pink spreading across his smooth skin. "Actually, I was thinking of growing it out again."

I cock an eyebrow and struggle to hide the pleasure from my tone. "Really?"

His blush increases, emboldening me.

My fingers thread through his soft hair and slide out to the ends, and a soft gasp escapes his mouth. "I kind of miss it. You looked really pretty with the long hair."

When I meet his eyes again, they're wide, and his cheeks are a bright pink now.

Uh, perhaps a little too bold.

I release his hair and clear my throat. "You hungry? Food, right?"

He nods.

Without another word, I move to the fridge to grab the eggs and other ingredients, and Ken moves out of the way to give me space to work, watching from afar. I chop veggies, shred cheese, and scramble eggs while the skillet heats up, and when I gather everything by the stove, I try to alleviate the strange tension in the air.

"How much do you know about making an omelet?" I throw behind me.

"You've got to break some eggs, right?" Two lanky arms encircle my waist, hands clasping just above my belt, and Ken rests his chin on my shoulder. "Isn't that how the saying goes?"

My body tenses.

Ken never initiates touching, despite obviously enjoying the affection.

Then, as his words set in, I laugh, my chest shaking, and lean my head back. My eyes dart toward him, but I immediately shift my focus back to the hot skillet. "Yeah, something like that." I clear my throat. "I'm off work around three. What do you want to do tonight? Any fun plans?"

Ken hums, the vibrations sending a pleasant thrill through my shoulder and neck. "Something relaxing. Maybe a movie." And he buries his face in the crook of my neck, then holds extra still while I flip the omelet.

I nod, movement stiff. "That sounds nice."

He releases a soft sigh, and the hairs on my neck bristle as his hot exhalation permeates my clothes. "I want to choose this time," he murmurs.

"Yeah, okay…"

There's something inherently sexual about the way his speech and breath feel against my skin, and fuck, I'd probably agree to anything he asks right now.

I blink to clear my vision, then curse under my breath and flick off the burner. The omelet is just starting to brown on the bottom when I slide it onto the plate—it could be worse, but I shouldn't have been distracted in the first place.

"You know," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "we have this whole weekend—I should show you how to cook something. That way you're not utterly helpless."

Ken leans back with a scoff. "I'm not helpless, Motomiya."

"Food's ready." I take the opportunity to pull out of his grasp. "And I need to head out."

When I look back, he has a pensive frown on his face, but he says again, "I'm not helpless." His words are softer this time, less accusatory.

I sigh and step close again, drawing his attention with a finger under his chin. "It's okay, Ken." I offer him a small smile that swiftly transitions into a full-blown, conspiratorial grin. "I like how much you need me."

A blush spreads across his cheeks, but he holds my gaze with an intense look in his blue-violet eyes.

Whatever he's trying to communicate, I'm missing the meaning.

I swallow, mouth suddenly dry, and step back. "I have to head to work. Can't be late."

By the time I have my shoes on by the door, Ken is sitting on the couch with his omelet and a pleased smile on his soft features as he flips on the news.

[this-lioness]

Feeling a little overwhelmed.

The kitchen cabinet doors still need to be done.  This is taking a lot of time because they have to dry pretty thoroughly between each coat, and each one needs 3 coats + a light touch-up.  Then we still have to do the edges. This is not helped by the fact that Marc didn’t sand the primer coat before he started painting the first side (which was supposed to be the “front” of the doors), meaning that with each coat of paint on top all the goopy drips and imperfections became more and more obvious.  So now I’m going super slow on the other side so that it will be nice enough to be the display side.  I’m not mad I’m just disappointed.

We have a gala coming up in two weeks, and I still haven’t sat down to design / paint the mask I’m supposed to use, nor put together any of the little details. We are doing a 5k in a couple more weeks that we are only now starting to “train” for.  I’m less stressed about this than it sounds, but it’s still frustrating.

Both of my parents have birthdays coming up, and an anniversary.  And my stepfather really wants to get back out to the lake in time to see the colors in what he personally considers “prime time”, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s really looking for, because yesterday everything looked beautiful to me? And if I take him too soon he’s going to be disappointed, but if I take him too late he’s also going to be disappointed, and my mother is just 100% disappointed with everything 100% of the time.

Marc asked me about five times what I was planning on doing for my Halloween costume until I was finally like, “I’m just going to wear the “candy witch” costume I have up in the closet.  And I think he’s disappointed, because he loves Halloween (so do I!) but I just do not have the bandwidth to come up with and assemble a costume this year, just to stand around and hand out candy to kids, and also it’s going to rain on Halloween. I sense he’s disappointed that I’m not as “into it” as in previous years.

I am excited for the holidays, but can I just express how much I hate the huge pile of empty decor boxes that sits behind the couch for 3+ months until they’re all over?  I fucking hate living around the clutter of holiday decorations PLUS the clutter of the boxes that the decorations are stored in.

We also still haven’t done the photo for our Christmas card this year, and we need to get on that SOON.  Not only does the photo need to be staged, but we need to be sure we have our outfits, and then there is a LOT of digital editing that needs to be done afterwards.  Like a good couple hours, at least.

I also have 4+ design commissions that I haven’t even STARTED on!  And I’m running out of things to tell these people that aren’t, “I PHYSICALLY CANNOT.”

Oh hi, Thanksgiving is also coming up.  His Mom will be coming over the night before, and my mother is pretty much only able to eat liquids and gruel, and then afterwards we like to be “those people” and go out for Black Friday.  I NEED to have the kitchen done before all this.

Because the kitchen and dining room is complete fucking disarray I have not been able to clean the house!  And a messy house is a huge, huge stressor for me.  I was going to try to do laundry yesterday, but the guy was doing the furnace, and so clearly I couldn’t occupy the same space. I am thinking of skipping the gym tonight just so I can put a dent in the huge pile that is accumulating in the bedroom.

Marc has not paired socks in like three weeks?  Despite the fact that he knows this must be done regularly, like every time I do the laundry? But it just keeps piling up and piling up and piling up, and no matter how many times I’m like, “SOCKS????”, he’s just like, “Well, I didn’t know where you put them!” (1. They are in the same place they always are and even if they weren’t   2. You could ask) or the excuse is, “I didn’t know they needed to be done, you should have put them where I can see them? (1.  You are a grown ass man who wears socks EVERY SINGLE DAY AND WE HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR ALMOST FOURTEEN YEARS. YOU ARE FULLY AWARE THAT SOCKS MUST BE PAIRED AND THAT IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY.   2. Last time I put the overflowing box of unpaired socks immediately onto your side of the bed, and you MOVED IT TO THE FLOOR AND BLISSFULLY CONTINUED LIVING A LIFE OF UNPAIRED SOCKS.)

We also have THREE events coming up: an author expo, a Christmas craft fair, and A SECOND Christmas craft fair.  The summer fair at the cemetery was SO GREAT because people bought a ton of stuff, but this means that I need to rebuild my inventory.  And “rebuilding my inventory” isn’t just hopping online and buying shit!  I need to design it, and craft it, and then finish it, and do I have enough materials on hand to do it all?

The garden still has not been put to bed for the year, and I don’t know when the hell we’re going to have the perfect combination of time and weather!

Also, I still have two fucking bags of clothes that I need to stage and photograph so I can post it online!

And I haven’t even S T A R T E D photographing my own jewelry to create an online store!  Nor do I have any idea when I’m going to have the time to do it!

Also, I would like to be able to draw and paint!

Also, I was supposed to write 10k words in September, and I didn’t fucking write ANY, because how??? Even if I can work up the momentum to finish this goddamned book, when the fuck am I supposed to do it?

And Rosie is getting fixed at the end of this month, and Bones needs to go back to the vet for bloodwork next month to make sure his kidneys aren’t failing and he hasn’t lost any more weight.

So yesterday, on the way home from the gym, when I’m like, “I cancelled the second Christmas fair, the one at the school. It’s just too much for me,” and he’s like, “It’s too much? Are you kidding?”

And I swear to God... I swear to God I would take a bullet for this man, I would literally murder people for this man, and he has my whole heart, but I may have never wanted to fucking strangle him so much as I did right then.

JESUS EFFING CHRIST DUDE.  Y’know, I would also like to spend twenty minutes twice a day sitting on the toilet and browsing my phone.  I would really also like to check myself out of all responsibilities every time there’s a football game on TV that I want to watch.  It would be really great to never have to fucking think about HOW EVERYTHING IN OUR LIFE OPERATES ON TIME AND WITHIN BUDGET AND HOW LITERALLY EVERYTHING GETS DONE, except I CAN’T DO THAT.  Last night when we were supposed to be “relaxing” in bed, I sat there sorting through mail so that everything would get paid / done on time, while you sat there scrolling away on your STUPID PHONE THAT I HATE SO MUCH.

He has a bare minimum of responsibilities:

1.  Take the garbage bins to the curb and back again.

2.  Feed the cats (I occasionally help with this)

3.  Do the afternoon litterbox scoop (this frequently gets “forgotten”)

4.  Load / unload the dishwasher, hand-wash anything that cannot go in the machine (this maybe gets done once a week, it frequently goes until the sink is so filled with shit that I cannot prepare meals)

5.  Take the trash out to the bins (this has been known to sit WAY LONGER than it should)

6.  Clean the bathrooms (There are 3 -- 2 full and 1 half. One of the full baths does not need to be regularly cleaned because it’s only there to hold litter boxes, we don’t actually use it.  That leaves 1 full bath and 1 half bath, the latter of which is STRICTLY HIS.)  The bathrooms are cleaned maybe once a month.

7.  Clean the floors (vacuum and mop).  This ONLY gets done when guests are coming over, or when I complain that the floors are disgusting and they REALLY need to get done.  Half the time he will vacuum (and not thoroughly), and then say, “I’m going to hold off on mopping until right before X gets here, that way they’ll be fresh and clean”, and then will conveniently forget to mop at all.

It’s not as if he’s not aware.  We have talked about this.  He FREQUENTLY AND WITH HEARTFELT SELF-DEPRECATION will confess that he is terrible about keeping up the house, and promise that he will get better, and it takes everything in my power to say, “No you won’t. Can I just stop pretending that I believe you when you say that, because you clearly do not actually mean it or, if you do, you have no intention of putting forth the physical and mental ambition to follow through.”

And you know what? I DON’T CARE!  I love my house and I love taking care of it.  I married him knowing these things about him, and he is such a good partner otherwise that I was willing to overlook it, and we laugh about it most of the time and it’s fine. It’s actually fine!  I’m not just saying that!

What gets me -- what borderline made me want to murder him -- was the incredulous, “Really? The second craft fair is too much?” last night, and I think the dark depths of my silence afterwards must have clued him into the fact that he had been a Dumbass Supreme, and he spent a good 20 minutes reminding me how awesome I am.

Yes. Yes, I know I’m fucking awesome.  Sometimes I just want you to be a little fucking awesome too. PLEASE.

[written-seoks]

and that’s why i got all the power

BTS | Yoongi/Jungkook | College Swim AU | Mature

find this on ao3 here

Jungkook has looked up to Yoongi and Namjoon since his sophomore year in high school, when Yoongi and Namjoon were just entering their freshman year of college. So when Jungkook gets signed on to that same college in his senior year, he’s almost too nervous to swim properly. So Yoongi helps him out.

-

It's Yoongi that finds him in the blessed empty locker room (a rarity) after his disaster of a 100 IM.

He almost missed his event, and then had gained so much time that he had been last in his heat of 8. Everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. He had dragged himself out of the water, breathing heavy. He had snatched his towel and sweatpants that he left on the staging chair and walked to the locker room, not meeting anyone's eyes . One of the other swimmers in his heat had bumped into him with his shoulder and had said, “This isn’t high school, kid.” With so much venom Jungkook stood still for a moment before running off. He'd almost tripped twice on his way to the locker room, ignoring Coach Jordan’s yell. He's annoyed and disappointed in himself. Even Jordan’s comforting confidence couldn’t help him now. He's frustrated himself almost to tears by the time Yoongi finds him, sitting on one of the benches.

Jungkook’s frustration only worsens when Yoongi shows him the finals' heat sheet. Thick eyebrows furrowed under blonde hair, fuming a little at Jungkook.

“Your time made the finals, but only by a hair; you’re number ten.” Fuck. Swim meets have Prelims and then, depending on the meet, finals either that evening or the next day. Only the top 10 in an event make it to the finals - although a swimmer can ‘scratch’ themselves out, so someone who was number 11 will become number 10 or even 9 because someone above them has scratched as well . That meant that Jungkook was safe as number 10. He might even move up to number 9. Yet, it meant that his swim in the finals would have to be a lot better than that abysmal time he went if he wants to place in top 5 .

“Hyung- I -” Jungkook, hyped up on adrenaline and nervousness, can’t string two words together. Instead, he frowns and looks down, frustrated with himself. He’s in college now, he shouldn’t have this problem anymore!

Yoongi studies him, tone softening, “What happened out there anyways? You looked, no offense, like a drowning cat.” He places a water-wrinkled hand on his shoulder.

Jungkook stares down at the damp sweatpants he had pulled on after his event before he had dried off, brain still not working right . He thumbs at the university logo stamped on his thigh. “I- I dunno. I dunno, hyung. I just got so, in my head? I guess?”

"Yeah, I could tell.” Yoongi scoffs. “You were shaking like a leaf when it was, like, event 2.” The men's 100 IM was event 10. Jungkook feels his cheeks heat with warmth at being so emotionallyunstable. He's a seasoned swimmer! He swam for 4 years in high school! Why is he acting like summer league kid at their first club meet? “I didn't want to say anything because you, uh, needed to go through that? I mean -” Yoongi looks like he's trying to backtrack. He sighs and pushes Jungkook further into the locker room by the chest, behind a divide to afford them some privacy . There's a mirror on their left that shows Jungkook’s swollen, red eyes when he glances into it.

Yoongi crowds him into the corner. “Jungkook-ah. We all went through this - I went through it when it was my first college meet, so did Namjoon. I clammed up before my first meet as well, I didn't say a word the whole way there. I even started shaking before the 200 Free. Namjoon was worse - he snapped all his caps before his race and then got disqualified on his turn." Yoongi laughs and places his hands on Jungkook's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "I have faith in you to turn this around Jungkook-ah."

Jungkook melts, he smiles helplessly at Yoongi. His shoulders slump and he lets Yoongi draw him in for a mind numbingly-good hug. He finally relaxes. Yoongi, his idol, someone he aspires to be like, has faith in him. He puts his arms around Yoongi and tugs him in closer, taking comfort in the warmth of his hyung.

He kills it in the 100 IM finals at that meet. He comes out first and jumps out of the pool, right into Yoongi's smiling, proud arms. He's absurdly happy. He even went a personal best. "Thanks, hyung," he whispers into Yoongi's shoulder.

~

Jungkook doesn't start to have problems again until it's January. State championships are coming up and he's terrified.

Not to mention the other big problem he's terrified about, the one that he started having around December, right before winter break . Right before Yoongi went back home for break. Right when Jungkook realized that he had a crush on Yoongi. Which was especially a problem because Jungkook spent two hours with him twice a day. And spend half an hour with him twice a day while they were both somewhat or fully naked in the locker room. And listen - Jungkook got used to locker room nudity quick, it's normal for swimmers and it's never been a problem before . But it's a little bit of a bigger problem when that nude person is your biggest crush since freshman year in high school .

Jungkook feels a little bit like a creep when he's talking with the other members in the locker room and he catches a glimpse of Yoongi changing, still covered with a towel . Even though Jackson is stark fucking naked next to him, chatting about his final in his psychology class . It's just... something swimmers get used to. Casual half-nudity, casual, accidental groping during practice.

But Jungkook cannot get used to seeing Yoongi pull himself out of the water after practice like a goddamn Greek god, slick with water, bangs in his eyes after he pulls off his cap .

His crush on Yoongi is terrifying. Yoongi is very close to JB, the senior captain who'll be graduating this year. And Yoongi is very, very close with Namjoon, who no one doubts will be captain next year. His crush on Yoongi could get him kicked off the team. With the stress of freshman year bearing down on him, swimming is his only comfort right now. And all that could change if someone found out about his crush on Yoongi. So he keeps quiet. Stops going to team outings when Yoongi is there. Avoids him during meets. Jungkook hopes that his crush will fade and he'll be able to be a normal friend to Yoongi.

Except that when they come back from winter break and Yoongi shows up at practice, Jungkook's crush comes back 10 times worse .

Fuck.

He can only hope that Yoongi hasn't noticed his weird behavior.

~

Yoongi has definitely Jungkook's weird behavior. He keeps trying to corner him after practice or when they see each other in the varsity room. Namjoon has even pulled Jungkook aside and asked him what is going on. Because his Crush on Yoongi is starting to affect swim and school and his social life. He'll drift off in practice and miss the set because Yoongi's laughing at something JB has said and he looks so good. He'll drift off in class because he's thinking of Yoongi. He's starting to become detached from the team because he's stopped hanging out with them. Because Yoongi is usually there.

Yoongi finally corners him in the varsity room. Everyone is trickling out to get an early night for their meet tomorrow morning. Jungkook, curled up on their soft couch in the corner, is tiredafter practice and a test and a long Overwatch session last night . He's running himself into the ground with swim and studying and gaming because any spare moment he has is spent thinking about Yoongi .

So, he's innocently curled up on the corner of the couch in a fetal position, legs curled to his chest when Yoongi approaches him .

Jungkook rises out of sleep when Yoongi sits next to his head and dips the couch towards him. "Gukkie - hey, wake up -" Yoongi shakes his shoulder, rubbing his back. Jungkook groans at the soothing stimulation. "Open your eyes, b- buddy." Jungkook snuffles and parts his eyes a little. "Come on, wake up." Yoongi hums and shakes his shoulder a little more, harder this time.

"Mmmm, yeah." Jungkook sighs, body responding tiredly . He rubs his eyes with his fists, yawning as he uncurls and sits up. Yoongi smiles sweetly at him as he lifts and, oh shit, he's so beautiful. Jungkook has to admit that in his sleepy haze, he hadn't realized that it had been Yoongi waking him up. And, as he's waking up, he realizes that there is no one else in the room. It's him and Yoongi. Alone. And Yoongi is giving him a look.

"Um... what's up, hyung?" Jungkook's voice is still slurred with sleep and his brain isn't working, but anyone could recognize that this is not going to be a normal conversation . It's also not going to be a conversation that Jungkook will enjoy. He can imagine how this will go, Yoongi's a nice guy so he'll be gentle but it's still going to break Jungkook's heart when he's rejected . Yoongi will say something about how Jungkook's a good guy and an okay swimmer, but it's too creepy to be on the same swim team with a gay guy that has a crush on him so if he could please get his stuff and get the fuck out, that'd be great, please never speak to him again .

"Jungkook-ah. Gukkie, are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, hyung, what was that?" Jungkook doesn't meet Yoongi's eyes.

"I said that I know you've been avoiding me. I - Well, I mean, you've been absent from the team hangouts and this is the first time I've seen you in the varsity room for weeks. I know that you were busy with school, maybe , but last semester you still made time for the team and, like, usually me 'n Namjoon would see you around separately from the team anyways but Namjoon tells me that he's been seeing you around, so I guess it's just me you've been avoiding . So, I'm sorry, if I did anything? Or if I make you uncomfortable -"

Jungkook stares at him in shock.

"What? Hyung, no - " But Yoongi keeps talking over him.

"I mean, I know that some people are uncomfortable with, like, gay people, and I guess us sharing a locker room probably doesn't help at all . I just mean, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable and I, uh, wanted to ask you not to tell coach or any of the other guys because they'd kick me off the team ." Yoongi pauses his word vomit to sniffle and Jungkook's gaze snaps up to see Yoongi's eyes are wet. "I get it if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, and I appreciate you, um, not telling anyone - "

"Hyung, shut the fuck up for a minute." Jungkook puts a hand on Yoongi's shoulder and pauses to parse the information Yoongi piled on him. "You're gay?"

Yoongi jerks back, "You didn't know? I thought you knew? I thought that was why you were avoiding me because you heard I broke up with Jinyoung, you and JB hang out so I figured he must have told you... JB was kinda pissed," he blurts out. After a pause his eyes widen, "Shit, fuck, sorry I dumped all that on you then, I - wait, then why were you avoiding me?"

Jungkook recognizes the deflection and tries to deflect back, "Uh, I've just been, um -" He should tell Yoongi. He shouldn't tell Yoongi. Should he tell him? Yes. No. Fuck.

Yoongi frowns at the silence that hangs between them and then sighs, "You don't have to tell me." He nods to himself, expression distant, "I'm sorry for waking you up." He brushes Jungkook's hands off of his shoulders.

Jungkook sees his chance slip away. "Wait! Hyung, I- I'm -" He chokes on his tongue, Yoongi glances back at him, eyes still a little bit red from earlier. Jungkook tries to take a deep breath and coughs, chest burning. Yoongi's blank expression fades away and he looks concerned. Well, that's good, at least Yoongi kind of cares about him. "I'm - I'm gay too, hyung. Well, more like, um, bisexual, but I guess I identify more with the gay community because it's larger and more recognized- " He rambles almost unintelligibly .

Yoongi's face breaks out into a smile and he laughs once. "God, you sound like Namjoon, Kook."

~

It's the last meet before state, but Jungkook isn't worried. He's made state times in almost all his races two times over, he only has to worry about the specific invitational and junior nationals cuts coming up .

So why is he so jittery? He’s gonna slip and crack his head on the tile at this rate. He’s talked to Coach Jordan twice over and more and has warmed up as much as he should - even a little more than he should. He’s pacing around behind his block, headphones blasting but mind distracted.

It’s event 2.

He’s event 26.

Is it because Yoongi gave him a smile and a pat on the back? Is it because Yoongi is swimming and he’s been working on his back and bicep muscles? His deltoids are delectable and all Jungkook wants to do is bite into them…

Yoongi finally gets done with his 100 Backstroke with a fantastic 52.5 only to find a jittery and frustrated Jungkook waiting for him . So he takes matters into his own hands.

By dragging Jungkook into the locker room and pulling him into the back, behind a wall or two of lockers and around the corner .

~

“Jungkook-ah - I’m, I wanna help you calm down, hm? Will you let hyung take care of you?” Yoongi presses him further into the tile wall and noses into the crook of Jungkook’s neck, taking a deep breath of chlorine .

Well, this is... unexpected, to say the least.

Jungkook moans, riled up with adrenaline still coursing through his body from his race . “Yes, hyungie, please - please.” His hands grip at Yoongi's shoulders, digging in. He's trying not to grip hard enough to leave a bruise, but it's so hard when Yoongi's so close and all Jungkook wants is him to be closer .

“Gukkie - baby, you’re gonna have to quiet down, hm? Can’t you be quiet for hyung? We don’t want anyone hearing us, do we?” Jungkook bites down on the whine that wants to escape as Yoongi slowly presses kisses into his collarbone and along his deltoid . Yoongi's hands slip on the water covering his body, reaching his hips and then his ass, groping him over his swimsuit .

God, Yoongi's making it hard to keep quiet, but he can hear the roar of the water as races take place outside the locker room, reminding him of the chance that anyone could walk in . Namjoon could walk in looking for them - fuck - swimmers from the other university could come in to change or shower. Yoongi smiles into his shoulder when Jungkook can't hold back a groan at the feeling on Yoongi's long, perfect fingers pressing along the line of his thighs .  "Come on, you can be a good boy for hyung. Don't you want to be a quiet little slut for me? hm?"

Jungkook can only dip his head to Yoongi's shoulder and nod frantically - "Wanna - ah - wanna be good for you hyung." Jungkook lets his hands fall to the small of Yoongi's back, trapping him against Jungkook's body . Yoongi bites Jungkook's shoulder at the feeling of their hips colliding. "Hyung, Yoongi-hyung, can't - don't leave any marks -"

Yoongi hums, biting him again on his chest, "I know, baby, but you're just so - so tasty ."

Jungkook giggles, "Yoongi-hyung, I - ha - I'm not tasty!"

Yoongi shakes his head, "You're a snack, baby." He blows a raspberry on his upper stomach. Making Jungkook giggle even more.

"Shut up, Hyung! I'm not a snack!"

“Mmm, but you are, sweetheart.” Oh, how Jungkook’s weak heart quivered at the pet name - “You’re so sweet, I could eat you up. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you, honey. Would you like that?” The mood has almost given Jungkook whiplash because of how fast it had changed.

Jungkook’s moan at this reverberated throughout the locker room. Yoongi frowns dramatically , “Aw, sweetheart, you’ve gotta quiet down or hyung won’t give you what you want.” He reached up to pet Jungkook on the head as if he were a dog - “Be a good little boy for me and I’ll touch you as much as you want.” Jungkook’s knees become numb, become jelly, become air.

He collapsed into his hyung's arms and nodded, moaning at some silly little words. Who knew words could reduce him to such a mess?

“That’s not being quiet, baby. Do you need hyung to shut you up before he takes care of you?” The condescending questions Yoongi asked him added to the fog in his brain and daze in his eyes. Jungkook nods, kind of unsure what Yoongi was going to do… but, in his heart Jungkook trusts him. Then Yoongi takes a sharp turn into unknown territory by stuffing his silicone cap into Jungkook’s mouth .

It takes Jungkook a moment to breathe through his nose, but by then Yoongi is on his knees and he finds that breathing isn’t so important anymore .

~

He wins the event. He went a 19.10 second 50 FR. He went a personal best. Fuck.

His teammates crowd around him when he steps out, ignoring the other racers getting ready for the 50 BR. Yoongi is right there, grinning, satisfied. “Glad I could help, kid.” He mumbles into Jungkook’s ear, pulling him into a tight hug. It’s then that Jungkook quickly realizes that he’s wet and almost overheating. He almost collapses into Yoongi’s arms. “Go on Guk, go sit down and dry off. Joonie and Jackson have been coming up with inspiring quotes to write on people.”

Jungkook just stares at Yoongi for a moment, starstruck. “Okay, hyung. Um- Than-”

Yoongi pushes him off with a shoulder pat, “We’ll talk later, rest for your 50 FL okay?” SuddenlyJungkook is glad he didn’t sign up for the 50 BR this week. He’s not sure he could recover from having Yoongi go down on him and then doing a 19.27 second 50 FR in time for the 50 BR.

Anyways.

~

Through some careful scheming, Jungkook and Yoongi end up on the bus together. By careful scheming, Jungkook means that Jungkook had forgotten his deck shoes and Yoongi had been chatting with a senior from the other team so they were the last ones on the bus . So by the time they had gotten on, everyone else had already settled down for the long trip home. Sitting side by side, silent, while the rest of their teammates sleep is a great feeling, Jungkook thinks . What do you say to the hyung who you had big gay feelings for and who sucked your soul out not more than four hours ago?

Nothing, is the answer to that.

~

It takes two hours for Yoongi to break and start talking.

“Guk? Gukkie, are you awake?” Jungkook grumbles, he had nearly been asleep, but not yet.

“Yea-” He yawns and stretches, almost hitting Yoongi in the face, who lets out a soft oof.“What’s up, hyung?” Jungkook asks, like he doesn’t know what Yoongi wants to talk about. He’s trying to stall and stay in his stable fantasy for as long as possible.

“You know. Listen, I-”

“Ha - Hyung, um, we can forget about it if you want? I’m sorry that I made you take care of me-” Jungkook stumbles, but it’s obvious that Yoongi is Not Impressed. Yoongi puts a hand over Jungkook’s mouth. Childishly , Jungkook considers licking it.

“Shut up for like five minutes, please. Can you do that for hyung, Gukkie?” Jungkook nods, face blank as he can make it. “ Firstly , you didn’t make me take care of you. I wanted to and you let me for some stupid reason. Secondly - Ah fuck-” Yoongi runs a hand over his face - “I don’t think we could forget about something like this anyways. Or at least… I can’t.”

Jungkook finally interrupts, terrified that this is finally it, Yoongi is gonna throw him away - “Hyung - um -” His throat clams up and his lip trembles .

Yoongi gives him a look, “It hasn’t even been two minutes Jungkook. If you want to leave after hearing what I have to say that’s fine but please hear me out. I - uh,” Yoongi sucks in a deep breath and wrings his hands in his lap. “I really , really like you Jungkook. In a gay way.”

Oh. Oh. What the fuckening?

“Hyung- a- are you joking with me? I- that’s not a nuh- nice thing to joke about, hyung -” Jungkook sniffles and rubs a hoodie sleeve over his eyes and nose. It only makes him feel worse.

Yoongi frowns, “No, of course, I’m not joking with you, Jungkook - I didn’t go through almost a semester of pining for this to be a joke . I like you Jungkook.” Yoongi slips under Jungkook’s oversized hood and looks him in the eyes. “ Seriously . No joke, baby.” Jungkook bursts into full-on tears and Yoongi startles, looking around to see if anyone has woken up . Thankfullynot.

Yoongi waits a minute for Jungkook to calm down before curiosity gets the best of him, from Jungkook’s reaction… Well, Yoongi can only hope . “Guk? Do - um - do you like me too?” It seems kind of self-centered to Yoongi’s brain, but he’s gotta know.

Jungkook sniffles and hits Yoongi’s shoulder - “Of course I do! Who couldn’t with your perfect smile and your beautiful hands and your amazing freestyle - ah!” He dissolves into sniffles again after being tugged into an embrace by Yoongi over the elbow rest between their seats .

“I’m glad, Gukkie, I’m glad.” God, Yoongi can feel himself getting emotional as well. Jungkook has made him soft. Oh well.

There’s a whooping call from the back of the bus and they both jump from shock, bumping their heads together before looking around to see - Namjoon and Jackson, grinning like buffoons and yelling . They’re only silenced when Jaebum, in the seat in front of them, slams a well-aimed hand back into Jackson’s face.

Jungkook laughs and leans into Yoongi, "I should return the favor sometime, huh?" Yoongi blushes and falls into tearful giggles against Jungkook. They stay like that for the rest of the ride home.