#But with how often his absent parents have been brought up I think having both was always intended

[pureconancommentary]

Mentioning the dad and both moms, the exact same people scolding them after their haunted mansion adventure, makes me wonder if they weren't supposed to have another parent. Because it's super weird to go 'huh, who can take us to Touto tower this weekend. Because one parent definitely can't, and I'm not even going to mention why the other one isn't an option'.

Like. We get mention of the other parents later. But why does it feel like Gosho always only plans for one parent to be around at the beginning of his series?

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

By moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part one, two Three- My heart

Summary: Adar steals moments from his Sunset before heading to battle.

His Andúnë remained, her soft light illuminating the depths of Adar's heart. She stayed far from the tunnels edge, away from the men who swore their loyalty. He missed her warmth when there and found himself often trudging through the uneven mud to the children's tents.

This day she lay on their soft bedding. Spread like he had been on the breaking wheel. But there was no pain to be had here. Instead each limb had one or more Uruklings curled around them. Atop her breast lay the baby she'd saved, drooling into her clavicle. He smiled gently down at them, leaving her to rest.

He walked with her when he could. Into the sun to watch over her while she gathered herbs. He knew he didn't need to, that the Uruk scouts in the trees would've protected her. Still the stolen moments were irresistible to him. Her hair catching the light, her laughing with the children. Sweet as bird song. He longed for her to look softly at him. To bend her lips into that perfect smile just for him.

It was a foolish dream. He was a broken and twisted thing. She was not bound to him and never would be. Her light was meant for someone better.

...

You felt Adar's presence for a moment before that shadow passed. You couldn't move, so covered in the Uruklings as you were. It was warm, suffocating even but pleasant. They all slept in a pile together when their parents were gone. It seemed they felt the cold more keenly than their mothers.

Uruk women were hard working. None would dare put in less than their men. A deserved pride, you saw how strong they were yourself. You admired them greatly. You'd been a passive thing in your home. Never given the same opportunity for greatness as your male kin. Your small skill with a sword had been behind your father's back.

Glüg's mate, Vusha, and other pregnant women stayed with the children and the wounded. Still there were no idle hands here. They worked mending and healing alongside the children. Building supports and covers if their stomachs weren't too swollen. Vusha swiped the tents flap open. She chased the little ones off, with a bark of laughter and brought you out to the tunnels beyond for the day.

Vusha was a brash, vulgar tongued women and you liked her greatly. Often her jokes and stories brought a fierce blush to your ears. Of late she'd focused much of her energy on your own lack of relationship experience.

"Far too pretty a thing not to get a little messy in your bed roll." She said with a wink. You'd buried your face behind the tunic you'd been sewing.

"What about the men-folk. Not too bad to your eye I'd imagine." She nodded to the group beyond.

You followed her eye to the men. They came from a village that Adar had taken a day ago. Most were barely out of their childhood and the ones that were, tended towards harsh and unfriendly. One looked to you both with a curled lip.

"I think not." You said, drawing your eye to the baby. He was large now, able to toddle on fat little legs between you and the other children.

"Suit yourself." She huffed and you breathed a sigh of relief. "You know Glüg's brothers' meant to be a good ride?"

When night fell you felt a shadow pass by the tents. A familiar shiver ran up your spine and you fought the smile threatening to split your face.

"Andúnë." Adar's gravely voice spoke. You turned still crouched by the children. He bowed his head to you his bare hand over his heart. He did this each time and still it made your heart flutter. He greeted you so softly, like you were a Lady and not a lowly Elleth in the muck.

"How are they." Adar spoke, turning to the tent and away from your gaze. You blinked, shifting your own too. You hadn't realized how intensely your stare must have been. You cursed how awkward you'd become in front of him now.

"Well, my Lord. The baby has a tooth now." You smiled, rubbing your ankle absent mindlessly.

Adar turned back to you, his brow furrowed a moment before he reached his hand to you. You savored the roughness of his skin against your own.

"Ah yes, fret not." He rasped as you stood. His hand left yours cold. "They set one another right in time."

You watched where he did. The baby toddling, falling and crawling quick after giggling children.

"Their skin is tough, yours however..." Adar turned back to you. You pulled your lips tight, he had broken skin but it was healing well. Likely to scar however given your resources.

"I am fine Lord Adar." You said.

"If you won't tell me truthfully, I'll check myself." He hummed.

You didn't respond right away. His gauntlet shifted on his swords pommel and Adar dropped to his knee. You frowned, his hand touching the torn edge of your dress. Adar's rough fingers barely touched your ankle when your mind returned to you. You shrieked, skipping back as your heard the children laugh. Staring back at Adar's wide eyes you flustered.

"I'm fine! I swear!" You urged.

"Are you in pain?" Adar's rough voice spoke gravely. Your heart thundered in your chest. His eyes darkened, baring into your own as he stood.

"No! No, no. I just." You fumbled, fingers tightening on your dress as he approached. The room felt silent as you cast your eyes from his. That soft meadow green that felt like it could swallow you whole. He paused, before you saw him bow in your peripherals.

"Please, forgive me." He whispered. "I didn't mean to... impose."

"Oh, please my Lord rise." You gasped, placing a hand to his armored shoulder. "I'm well, everything is well."

He rose, your hand slipping from where it had rested on his chest plate. You felt your heart in your throat, your face was so hot. There was tightness in your chest that felt for all the world like it could crush you. Your eyes left his, traveling over his scared skin. Your finger tips buzzed, a desire so deep in your soul to reach out. Too feel him beneath your hand, beneath you.

A sudden giggling shout broke what spell had been cast on you. Adar too stiffened his face turning to the baby as his nails dug into your skirts. Your face burned as you stooped to him, lifting him up to your chest.

"I must go." Adar rasped, rushing out before you could speak a word.

...

There was much at hand. The last of the Southlanders gathered in the Eleven watch tower. The hilt among them, the key to his Uruk's home. Adar couldn't let his mind wander, couldn't imagine her flushed face, the heat of her skin on his fingers.

He gripped the pommel of his sword tighter in his hand. Even through his gauntlet he could feel the spiked end digging in. The sharp bite to his skin grounded him in the moment.

He laid out the plan ahead to his most fearsome warriors. Glüg had been disappointment not to be amongst them. Adar hadn't thought less of him as a fighter, he merely wished he would stay to look after the others. He was sure at least his mate would be appreciative of his task and there were few others he trusted his Andúnë to.

He wished to see her. To ensure she was well, to see if he was truly forgiven for his trespass. Adar cursed himself. It was a foolish act, a bold move he'd intended as playful fueled by a fear she was actually injured.

Adar also wished to look upon her just in case. If he were to fall this night, he wished to do so with her face in his minds eye. He was so certain she held no real fondness for him but he swore he saw something. Just a glimpse when their eyes met. A flicker that could be fanned if it weren't for his ruined form. Her eyes had moved to his scars and he'd bit back hope.

Instead Adar dug his fist into the dirt. Softly planting seeds and covering them with care. Tomorrow his children would have a home.

...

You waited with the children, with the pregnant. You felt an anger rising in you, burning behind your eyes. How could he leave without saying anything? Without giving you a chance to raise a sword. You didn't relish the idea of taking the villages lives but to protect what you had?

"You named him yet?" Glüg spoke from your side. He sat on the hill with you, looking towards the tower.

"Gurbaur. Though it feels wrong for it to be my choice." You spoke softly. He rested in your arms, his scars paler and pinker than the ashy complexion of his skin. They'd shift with age, maybe it wouldn't cover so much of his face then.

"He's yours now. Far as any are concerned. Gurbaur? Vusha give you that one?" Glüg asked.

"She's been teaching me yes and she said it meant stone son. Thought he deserved a strong one after all he's survived." You smiled despite yourself.

"You see far too right?" Glüg asked again.

"Beyond the horizon if I like." You answered. Elven eyes were keen and yours were focused on the village now.

"Do you see him." Glüg said, leaning forward to try and look himself.

"The fire in the village there..." You pointed, sure he could see the glow at least. "Lord Adar is there, he walks towards a large building at the center."

You watched still as the sun began to rise. Glüg wordlessly took the your Gurbaur before the sun could reach him. You watched still as a shadow of a fear began to grow in your mind. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

...

Adar sat in the barn, bloodied but alive. The chains kept him to the post, kept his wrists together. Outside his children huddled under cover, guarded by the men from the sea.

If that man was true to his oath, if he wouldn't be discovered, it wouldn't be long now. He was far closer than he'd imagined, not nearly in a safe path. From what he'd read the mountain's peak would explode. Rock and fire would rain upon the land and a great smoke would blot the sun for millenniums to come. He closed his eyes, Adar could rest. His work was almost done now.

He didn't do so for long. There was a creak on the boards above him, the hayloft. Some man to slit his throat no doubt, taking a hidden entrance to do the deed. He prepared to counter, to kick out their legs. He would see his children's new home, this would not be robbed by the likes of them.

"Adar...?" A soft voice called. Sweet and filled with a fear that cut through him.

He opened his eyes. Past the rays of sun and dust floating in the air. She was here, his heart, Andúnë. Perhaps his wounds had been worse than he'd thought. That something beyond had taken pity on him and sent this vision to guide him into the darkness beyond. His eyes slipped closed, ready for her to take him away.

"Adar... zo zemar. Come back to me." Her voice grew closer, a soft warmth encompassing his cheek.

"My heart, I am with you." Adar rasped in return to her black speech. The apparition was so real, so soft. Even past the horse he could smell her, her scent so close it had him dizzy.

Adar opened his eyes again. She was knelt between his legs, her face close and tight in concern. Against his chains Adar lifted his hand to her, brushing his knuckles against her temple and down her cheek. Her face broke into an uneven smile, real and more beautiful than any sunset. Tears like stars glistening on her lashes.

"How are you here?" Adar breathed. She was real, solid in his vision. She wore a soldiers cloak, stolen and pulled over her ears and an had a hatchet in hand.

"I saw from the hill. I cannot leave you here. Oh what have they done to you." She fretted over him. Her hand came away from his cheek to run across the river patterns on his armor.

"Nothing that cannot be mended but..." Adar paused. Your face turned to the sound, a great cracking and rumble. He saw your face pale, fear setting in as the rumbling grew near. You took your hatchet to the metal, swinging down at the chain that bound him. Adar didn't think you had it in you but your strike was strong and true. It hit a weak point and broke away.

"Lay with me, listen." Adar sighed. He shifted to the wooden boards, ear pressed and hearing the water rush bellow. You followed, facing him as you did so. He saw your brow furrow at the sound, laying so close to him. He felt your breath against his cheek and smiled.

"Come, we must move." He said. Again you followed him, hands at his elbows to brace him as he stood. He didn't need your support but he let your hands grasp him. Let an arm wind around his middle and take his injured hand in your own.

Adar let you guide him to the doors, you moved ahead pulling with a grunt to open them for him. Chaos sounded, a clamor of soldiers rushing past not even paying either of you any mind. Adar pulled you back to him, a hand wrapping around your arm.

Your eyes were far, fixed on the mountain. A great clap sounded out, louder than any thunder. A bright light erupted with it and a force rushed out. Adar turned then, taking the blast to his back with you pressed now against his chest. You yelped but covered your mouth quickly, looking up to him through your eyelashes.

Adar kept his arms around you, turning back to the great mountain as it spewed ash and rock into the sky. His children cheered and yelled, breaking free and running to him. Great rocks, flaming and bigger than houses soared through the skies.

"What... what is this." You whispered.

"Home." Adar answered.

[itriedwritingandhereiam]

I love the duality of Adrien and Marinette.

She grew up with freedom, the Ladybug mantle shackled her.

We see that the position stresses her constantly. She's more worried about failure in the mask than out because the consequences of losing are devastating and the price is too steep.

She can't quit though, with a strong moral compass, an attachment to the role and there being nobody who can do what she does the way she does it means she can't give it up.

He grew up shackled, living by a structured schedule, Chat Noir brought him freedom.

His life is planned down to the hour for him. What he wants holds little weight unless he fights for it. (example, going to public school) Receiving the ring gave him an outlet and an out from the rigidity of his daily life.

He enjoys his role as a protector, he has a title, a purpose and he can be who he wants without having to fear the repercussions of his actions and the associated blames being attached to his name. He's practically untouchable in this state of freedom.

.

She has two loving parents who support and care for her.

Tom and Sabine worry for her, they are intuitive and supportive. Often times they're able to get a read of whether to give her space or encase her in a comforting hug. They're always there for her.

Both of his parents are absent from his life, one way or another.

Canon suggests that even when his mother was alive, he was hidden away in the mansion and yet he clearly grieves for her. He often makes remarks about missing her and her love. The three, parents and child might've been close when she was around but her absence affects the husband and son in concerningly similar ways.

They miss her and can't overcome the grief. Adrien wants a loving father and Gabriel wants his wife back.

.

She's a natural born leader and has a good idea of what she wants for herself and future.

Marinette has a passion. She's a creative soul, reflective of her miraculous. She has her interests and a clear plan of her goals. She wants to be a fashion designer, designing is something she's good at, enjoys and it comfortable making a living off of.

As a person, she is charismatic and easily empathizes with people. It's shown time and time again that when she tries, she can be open minded and still hold her ground.

She excels in leading others. Both in her position as class president and (despite being equals/partners with Chat) a leader to the miraculous team. She's a shot caller and a strategist and everyone knows it. When Marinette tells you to do something you do it. Yeah she gets some shit for her hair-brained schemes at times but it just goes to show, she has a brilliant mind. (have you seen her lucky charms?)

She takes all her roles seriously, a student, a designer, a student council member, a hero. Juggling is hard, and it takes a toll on her but she still perseveres because she knows her roles are all important.

He lacks direction, spending his life by the commands of another leaving him unable to decide what he wants for himself. He's a follower, and it's by design.

Being told what to do your whole life has its downsides. If you've never been given the chance to think for yourself, how are you supposed to know what you want in life? That episode where he's hit by the Akuma and decides he wants to be "whatever his parents want him to be" just goes to show how fucked up his childhood was.

Adrien is good at things. He's evidently spent a large portion of his life learning skills like fencing, piano and Mandarin. We see that he's grown to like them, especially as they are useful skills, but, does he have a passion?

He doesn't know. Sure, he's great at a lot of things and enjoys doing them, but that's not the same as having a passion.

He has a job, but he hates it. He has hobbies, but he didn't really choose them. Even the position as hero of Paris is evidently a source of confliction for him. He's renounced that title multiple times and sure, there were some other extenuating circumstances but ultimately, you can tell that the job isn't a serious position for him as it is for his partner.

He doesn't know what he wants, maybe he just wants a purpose.

.

[depravity-n-savagery]

Sunshine's Sinners

Ch - 4 : Backseat Baggage

[Ch - 3]

🌅Pairings: Billy Hargrove x (fem)Reader / Eddie Munson x (fem)Reader / Mungrove x (fem)Reader

🌅Summary: You have a talk with your mother, and another late-night smoke sesh with Billy.

🌅CW: Abusive parent, absent father, weed smoking, grinding

🛑 18+ MINORS DNI 🛑

🌅Word Count: 3.3k

🌅A/N: It's been years 😭 but I never gave up on this fic. ♡ If you stuck around, I hope you enjoy it. ♡

"Mom?"

The large recliner in the sitting room was extended fully, with a lump of thick tangled blankets on it. Somewhere in there was your mother. Hibernating as she often did whenever she had a day off. The recliner was her sanctuary. Sometimes she slept there more than her own bed. "I see why all those lazy husbands love these things." She said, the day she first brought it home. "Whenever I find one, he's gonna have to buy his own. I'm not sharing." Wishful thinking. The both of you knew that your mother didn't plan on settling down with a man anytime soon. She never moped about being lonely, or having no one to fix things around the house. Honestly, it seemed like she enjoyed the single life. She didn't look her age, and she always taught herself how to fix whatever needs fixing. If not she'd put on a pair of tight jeans, leave the house, then come back with some love-struck man and point him in the appropriate direction. Just to send them away with nothing more than a glass of lemonade and a 'thank you' kiss on the cheek. Why didn't I inherit that? Your mother's power over men was always something you both marveled at and envied.

"Hmm? Y'need something pumpkin?" Her head peeked out from underneath her favorite comforter. All frizzy hair and smudged eyeliner that she probably forgot to wash off last night. The first thing she looked at was the watch on her wrist. "How'd you get home so fast? It's a long walk here from school."

You walked over and sat on the couch, trying hard not to sigh. You already knew what was coming. "Billy. He uh, drove me home."

The silence had you rolling your eyes. You knew your mother. Without seeing it, you could feel the grin spread across her face. "Oh?" She said with mock innocence. She was fully invested in the conversation now. "Well I'm happy you two talked it out. I knew that boy was nice. Got a good feeling about him." You didn't have the heart to tell her about the reckless driving or the screaming match with his sister. Let Billy keep his soft image in your mother's eyes. It felt…nice. To have her see him that way.

"You're just saying that because he complimented your cooking."

Your mother stuck out her tongue, blowing a raspberry in your direction. "The boy's got good taste! Obviously. He decided to drive you home instead of some cheerleader in a short skirt."

"Yeah, yeah." A lighthearted chuckle loosened you up a bit. "Save the 'I-told-you-so'. That's not why I wanted to talk."

One by one the layers of fluffy and soft material peeled back until your mother was fully visible in her fuzzy pajamas. She patted the warm sliver of space beside her on the recliner. "Well, step into my office." With a warm smile like that, she always made you feel comfortable. So, you hopped up from your spot on the couch and joined her. Snuggled beside her on the recliner with what felt like five pounds of blanket cocooning you in.

How would you even start this? You couldn't mention getting high and making out with Billy in his car past curfew. "Something happened last night." Your mother gave you her full attention, waiting for you to continue. "I was up in the middle of the night getting some water, and someone knocked on the door." Yeah. Let's go with that.

"Really?" Her eyebrows furrowed, searching her memory for any strange noises she may have heard. "I didn't hear anything."

"I didn't want them to wake you up. So I answered it. It was some guy looking for dad… claimed he owes him money. Again."

The reclined blanket cocoon didn't feel so cozy anymore. Your mother's eyes didn't hold the same warmth. She was sitting up now. A little spaced out, and it had you worried. Neither of you spoke much about your father when he disappeared like this. It was a pattern for him. He'd come home full of apologies and arms full of gifts. Begging on his knees at your mother's feet to come home. 'I learned my lesson.' 'I miss my two favorite ladies.' 'I've been getting help. Don't I look better? I left all that stuff alone. I just need my family'. His words would turn your mom into a reflection of her teenage self again. Giving heart eyes to the rumored 'stud' your father used to be. Her high-school sweetheart. Then maybe a month or so later, he'd be gone. Taking off into the night with stolen valuables and all the cash and cards in your mom's wallet. So far this was the longest he's been gone.

"Did he- God, he didn't do anything to you did he?" Tears were beginning to fill her eyes, looking you over frantically for any signs of damage. Lord knows, if a single hair on your head was harmed, she would raise hell.

You reassured her with a palm on her shoulder. "No, no he didn't do anything. Just threatened me a little. And sent a threat for you too…"

"Son of a bitch." She hissed under her breath. "Got enough to worry about, without Brock showing up on my front door. Scaring my baby? He's out of line bringing this shit here."

"Brock?" It was a weird as shit name, but it seemed fitting. The tall, stocky man deserved a name similar to some kind of boulder or a mountain. Hard and immovable.

The recliner began to rock as your mom bounced her knee. Probably itching for a cigarette. She's been on a good streak. Cut the habit a year ago, after seeing your grandfather with a hole in his neck. "His real name's Antonio, but everyone calls him Brock. He- wait, I shouldn't be telling you this. Any of it."

After your father started straying away, it's always been you and your mom against the world. Never, has she made you feel like she was cutting you out of something. Keeping something from you. So what the hell is this? You've never heard the name Brock (or Antonio) before in your household. Sure, you purposely avoided knowing too much about your father's wrongdoings, but the information was always available.

"What do you mean? He threatened me! I have every right to know what's going on!"

It felt a little bratty, but it also felt right. This shit was something out of film noir. It didn't belong in the comfortable bubble you've made for yourself.

Your mother's expression softened, drawing her closer to you. Her lips pressed into your forehead, then she rested her cheek there. "I'll handle it. Just trust me… Okay?"

With nothing left to argue - at the risk of exposing yourself - there was only one option. Let her do just that. Let her be the parent, and make the monsters go away.

"...Okay."

There was a bitter, spicy taste lingering on your tongue. It even stained your gums. It was only a small sip of the dark-colored liquid, offered to you from your father's glass. Your immediate grimace made him roar with laughter. His solid chest spasmed against your shoulder, like his strong bent legs beneath your bottom. There was always a spot for you on his lap in those days. Always time to pay attention to his baby girl.

"Yuck! Why would grown-ups drink that stuff?? It's spicy!"

"It makes us feel happy." His voice was a rich baritone, aged around the edges. The slight slur in his speech made him sound like he had a dying battery.

He must've needed a lot of happiness lately.

"Alright, kiddo. Time to go. Daddy's got somewhere to be."

Again? He's been leaving late almost every day this week. Stumbling out into the darkness after placing a soft and wet kiss to your forehead. Waiting until your mother was sound asleep.

Not again…

It's been a month or so since the last time you dreamed about him. This time, thankfully, the dream didn't send you flying into an upright position. Drenched in sweat. Heart pounding, like meaty fists trying to break down your front door. Tonight, the happy little memory gave way to a sinking that left your mouth tasting like sulfur. Wherever he is… I hope he got the happiness he was looking for, at the bottom of that bottle. Maybe then all this would at least be worth it. Instead of being left behind for nothing but more emptiness.

As you swallowed back the bitterness, along with a building urge to cry, you remembered your own bit of packaged happiness. Stuffed away in a drawer behind your socks and delicates. You even took the time to pre-roll a little pick-me-up before you went to bed. Didn't expect it to be of use at two o'clock in the morning, but hey - you've been full of surprises lately. So with the free hand that wasn't rubbing your eyes, you felt around until you felt the tiny tin case you kept hidden. Next, the lighter was slipped out from underneath your bookbag. One step after the other, so you wouldn't dwell too long on what it all meant.

Don't think about your dad… Don't think about that Brock guy… Don't think about what all this meant for you and your family… Above all, don't think about what Billy might think… That's what the smoke was for. That, and the cool air from your open bedroom window. The silence and stars made it feel like the night could go on forever. Made you pause and breathe before lighting the joint pinched between your fingers.

“Y'know what?! Get the fuck out! You wanna be a disrespectful little bitch, then you can sleep somewhere else tonight!”

It shouldn't have been that clear. You were able to make out every single word, despite there being sturdy walls and more than a few feet between the two houses. Walls that, from the sounds of shuffling and spaced out thuds, were probably being punched. The voice of Billy's father that was coming from his house sounded nothing like the man that sat at your dinner table. Neither did the second voice that raised against him for the first time since the yelling started. Billy. You've heard him be loud at school. Intimidating and antagonizing. Screaming at Max in the car. “I didn't ASK to come here anyway!” It was undeniably his voice. Cracked and strained. Followed by stomps and the slamming of their front door. He didn't look dressed for the early autumn breeze, and wrapped his bare arms around himself. His sleeveless gray shirt was a little ripped down the front. Exposing more skin that was probably covered in goosebumps. It tugged at your chest.

Why should I care? As if he didn't save your ass when your own drama was exposed. Bad boy or not, he didn't deserve what his father was doing. He didn't deserve to wander the streets cold and alone. Curled up in his car.

So you whistled; quick but loud. Sharp enough to make him turn his head in your direction. Even his usually sculpted curls looked a bit more disheveled and pulled forward onto his face. He had to squint his eyes to see you clearly through them. Once he did, his frown deepened.

Well, until you lifted your hand and waved the unlit joint in the air.

It took a second or two to process, but soon a tiny smirk took its rightful place on Billy's mouth. He scoffed and raised his hand, motioning for you to come down after wiping the back of it across his nose. From this distance it was hard to tell…but is that blood?

Looks like another night of breaking the rules and sneaking out. Maybe he really is a bad influence. Even though I'm the one offering him drugs.

Hawkins was calmer than it's ever been. At least that's how it felt. No wind blowing the trees, or pushing the leaves along. No cars. Not even a cricket or some stray animal roaming the darkness. It was nothing like the first time. Not even the location. Not wanting to linger anywhere near his (or your) home drama, Billy drove out to a nearby park. His mouth never left its tight scowl.

Not until his lighter came out. A high fire, flickering long enough to draw your attention to his face. The drying blood on his nose. Some light swelling on his cheek. He inhaled deeply, letting his shoulders finally fall as he exhaled the smoke. Once again fogging up the inside of his car. Ah, now this part is familiar.

The smoking in silence only lasted five or so minutes before you couldn't take it anymore. Of course, don't mention the fight you heard from his house. Nor the damage to his face. There were more than enough thoughts to pull from. “What's up with you and Max?” It was the best you could do.

“She was the reason we had to leave California.” Billy's voice was monotone, but it was better than anger. If it weren't for the weed you'd probably be back to tense silence.

“But Max said-”

“Max-” He sat up a bit in the driver's seat. Adjusting himself so he could actually meet you eye to eye. “-is full of shit. We wouldn't have had to move if Max would've minded her business and kept her mouth shut.”

Looks like I found a sore spot. If Billy's episode in the car earlier hadn't already revealed that. There was something there. Undeniable. You blew smoke, then handed the joint back to him. If there was any hope of you getting information out of him, he needed to stay…relaxed.

There was nowhere else to look but his direction. Watching him handle your lopsided creation, putting his lips over the burning paper that you licked only minutes ago. Did he taste you on it? Did it remind him of the other night? It was reminding you more than you expected it to. Building that warmth that was starting to become a regular occurrence around Billy.

“How about this,” With nothing left of the joint but a burnt stub neither of you could grasp, he put it out and turned to you. “I’ll tell you the story. Since you’re so damn nosey.” There was a pregnant pause that allowed him to lick over his lips. Here you were with cotton mouth, staring at the moisture coating them. Thirst wouldn’t do it justice. “But, I'm gonna need another kiss.”

Another kiss. Neither of you made a move to lean in yet, but he kept his heavy eyes on you. Patient, until you gave a very slow nod. “Yes.” You whispered. “I-I think that’s a perfect deal.” The words that left you felt smoother than the ones bouncing around in your head. The tug between longing for those lips again, and something else. It was too much to focus on all at once. Minding your tongue. Forcing your lungs to expand and take in air, then letting it all flow out through your mouth in a shaky breath. Think less - was really all the thought it took.

He sat back this time. Watching you go through your thoughts before, unexpectedly, you just lunged at him. If it didn't feel so good to kiss you he would've made a joke or two. You swallowed the snark and made your way into his mouth. This time around, you knew exactly what you wanted. Your body welcomed him home and didn't bother being shy about it.

“Come here.” Billy growled against your lips, already moving his hands to your waist. It took some work (especially in such a small space), but he guided you into his lap. Reclaiming your lips while he lifted his hips into you. Hard and straining against the zipper of his jeans. Every raise of his hips dragged the material across your panties just right. Part of you knew what you were doing, choosing to wear this skirt tonight. Hoped, at least. Having his rough hands trace, caress, and grope the soft swells of your body was keeping you alive. Keeping your mind in this moment so you couldn't fly away to unwelcoming dark corners. You're safe here. You're wanted here.

Besides, Billy wasn't ready to let go. Not when you felt so good grinding against his hard on. Maybe the weed made him sensitive. It doesn't usually feel like this. This build up that had him curling his toes in his boots. If you carried on like this he just might bust in his jeans. What the fuck is she doing to me? Translated through his lips as a muffled moan.

“Billy…” Breathlessly whispered into his ear. He had to dig his fingers into the meat of your hips to keep from exploding. ��Look out the window. I think the sun is coming up.” Hesitation kept his eyelids shit for an extra moment, letting him soak up the last of this. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end eventually. The orange and red hues behind the tall trees put an end to this one. A frustratingly beautiful contrast to his blue balls.

“Fuck. What time is it?” Billy said, squinting his eyes to see the sunrise.

“Time to go, that's what.” Like a magic wand, those words made your high disappear. In slightly awkward silence, you swung your leg back over to the passenger seat and sat down. “My mom had the day off, so she'll notice if I'm not there in the morning.”

He didn't reply, but he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Blowing smoke out before turning on the car and starting the journey back. Hands tense on the wheel. The orange sunlight rose enough to start blanketing everything in color. Giving warmth and attention to Billy's raw knuckles and swollen cheek. There was no music, but his fingers tapped in speedy rhythms. No sound at all besides the birds starting to chirp and the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves.

When he finally parked his car (slower than usual) he took his first look at you since things cooled down. Did he realize how captivating his eyes were? Once the car was off his hand rested on your thigh. Eyes giving you all his attention. “Better get inside, flower child. Probably get a nap in before I pick you up.” So I guess the ride is non-negotiable now, huh?

It wasn't worth the protest. Not when your eyelids felt like they were carrying bricks. “You need it more than I do. Can't have you falling asleep behind the wheel.” You put one leg out in the cool air, then looked over your shoulder. “Don't forget, you still owe me that story.”

“Yeah, I got you.” He waved you off, but he made sure to give you a genuine nod. “You earned it.” Not a sarcastic one-liner or a slap on the ass. Is he okay? From the car to the tip-toe through your front door - Billy's eyes never left you. The sunlight hadn't reached the inside of your house yet, giving you a helpfully shadowed path to your bedroom. You allowed yourself to exhale only when your bedroom door was quietly closed behind you. The silence in the house remained undisturbed. Yes!! I'm getting way too good at this.

Back where the night began. A breeze through the window reminded you of the last bit of evidence left. You shuffled over to the orange beams that made lines across your bed. Just before you closed the window you caught a glimpse of Billy's car in its parked spot. In the backseat was what appeared to be a ball of jeans and grey material. Focus long enough and you could notice the golden curls and arms wrapped around his folded frame. You pulled the window closed and rested your forehead on the cool glass with a sigh.

“Good night, Billy.”

Masterlist , Series Masterlist , Ao3 ☆

Taglist: @sidthedollface2 , @bontensbabygirl , @killing-gremlin , @prettylittlepsycho03 , @moonofthedevil

[helikesyou]

Daylight (Buck/Eddie +s7)

(based on the “you deserve to be kissed often, by someone who knows what they’re doing” prompt)

or, After Buck and Tommy break up, Buck suggests an experiment. Eddie thinks he's a rebound, and clown-to-clown communication ensues.

[read on ao3]

“So, you broke up because…?”

Eddie was trying to go easy on Buck, but he’d been wondering all night, and the four drinks they’d both had didn't seem to make Buck’s tongue any looser. Considering his best friend had shown up at his door with a six-pack, a weak smile, and said he was ready to talk about it, he hadn’t done a lot of talking about it.

Eddie had asked, Buck had shrugged it off and asked if Christopher was home, Eddie had said no, and Buck had planted himself on the couch.

He came, as Christopher would say, “dressed for a slumber party,” in old gray sweats and a worn black t-shirt. Eddie had changed out of his uniform, into black sweats and the gray tee he wore to bed, and settled in for a long night. Four drinks later, sinking increasingly deeper into the couch, Buck had yet to mention Tommy. He figured maybe Buck was waiting for him to ask about it. So he did.

Buck absently rolled the beer bottle between his palms, looking down at it. “I…I’m not sure what happened, to be honest. We got into this argument which I’m not even sure was about us in the first place, and––"

“What do you mean ‘not about us in the first place?’”

“Well, he’d been acting kind of strange since last week––distant, you know––and when I brought it up last night he said he wasn’t so sure about us anymore. I asked what he meant, and he said he’s felt like I’ve had one foot out the door since the beginning.” Once Buck started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I didn’t know what the hell that meant. And it started this whole thing. He was nice about it, calm, but it sounded like he had his mind already made up.”

“And you didn’t…I don’t know…fight for it?” Eddie knew he was treading dangerous ground, and he shrugged when Buck met his gaze. He rephrased. “What’d you say to him, Evan?”

Buck’s lips twitched. He used to hate it when people called him Evan, hearing in it an echo of his parents' disapproval, but the fondness in Eddie’s voice had changed that. Still, he didn't use it often; every time he did, it sparked something warm and embarrassingly soft behind Buck's ribcage. For a moment, Buck met Eddie’s gaze straight on, studying the shades of bronze and copper and gold his eyes became in the setting sun slanting in through the window. Then he sighed, looking down at his hands again.

“I didn’t know what to say. Honestly, I couldn’t argue too hard against it, because I have been distant lately. I––" Buck closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath before continuing, "I just keep remembering how exciting it was, how freeing, at the beginning. And I think I was so caught up in that that I didn't notice when we stopped...making sense together. I don’t know what changed, or when, but...something did.” Something bitter lodged in Buck’s chest at the admission. He knew it was him—something in him—that always seemed to ruin things before they started.

Eddie hummed, considering his response. It was one of Buck's favorite things about Eddie: how he carefully considered his words, turning them over in his head before he spoke. He watched as Eddie peeled back the sticker on his beer, then restuck it. “Could you––I’m not saying this is it, I’m just putting it out there––be second guessing the dating-a-guy part? Because it’s so new?” For some reason, Eddie felt exposed as Buck watched him; relief washed through him when Buck laughed softly. He hadn’t been sure how he would respond. 

"No, that part––that part always felt right. I think…maybe because of that, I wanted to think that we had more in common than we actually did. The physical part was…” He looked at Eddie, a rakish glint in his eye and a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure you don’t want details, but,” he blew out a breath, letting his head fall back against the couch and tilting his face towards Eddie, “man, it was incredible.”

There was something in Buck’s slightly dazed, flushed expression that made Eddie straighten and look away. He shifted, reaching over to pat Buck’s leg. “Yeah, you rarely had trouble with that.” Buck swatted at Eddie with the back of his hand in response, grinning as he leaned forward to set his empty bottle on the coffee table.

“Hey, judgy. ‘Intimacy is a significant part of a healthy relationship’, remember?”

“Don’t quote your therapist at me. And I was married, you idiot. Of course I know that.”

“I’m just saying…I like kissing.” Buck grinned at Eddie. “And I’m good at it.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, drinking the last of his beer before grabbing the empty bottles from the counter. “Sure, Buck.”

He walked to the kitchen, so he didn’t see Buck’s eyes widen in indignation, but he smiled when he heard it in his voice. Buck had twisted around on the couch. “Whoa, whoa, wait up. You don’t believe me? I have years worth of evidence from women—and now even men—” Buck smacked the couch to emphasize his point, “to back that up.”

Eddie shook his head, smiling, and flipped the faucet on to rinse out the bottles. “Okay, man.” He set them in the sink to dry and snagged the dish towel, turning to face Buck. He leaned back against the oven, drying his hands and watching in amusement as Buck became more adamant. Sometimes Eddie felt like a kid on a playground, poking at Buck just to see what he'd do. 

"No, no, no, don’t ’okay, man’ me.” Eddie bit back a grin at Buck’s accusing tone.

“You know that you look like a stunned fish right now?” He dropped the dish towel on the counter and returned to the couch, tapping a finger underneath Buck’s chin to close his mouth. Buck turned to fully face him, pulling a leg up onto the cushion. His sweats were worn, slightly faded in the knees. A wave of fondness warmed Eddie’s chest; Buck never wore them outside the house.

“Nope. We’re not letting this one go—we’re settling it.��� There was a glint in Buck’s eyes that often preceded some bad idea that Eddie would egg on—usually, the consequences were limited to a headache the next day.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Eddie closed his eyes briefly and let his head fall back against the couch, exasperated. “And how on Earth would we do that?”

Buck clapped his hands. “Easy. I’m going to show you.”

Eddie choked, suddenly glad he wasn’t drinking anything. He jerked up to face Buck on the couch.

“What?”

Buck’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “Yes. You’re straight, right?” Eddie sputtered, and Buck cut him off, barreling forward into his point. “No...secret feelings you’re holding for me?”

“Shut up, Buckley.” Eddie laughed, shoving at him. Despite himself, he knew his face was red; he could feel the heat as it climbed up his neck.

Buck sat forward, feeling like Buck 1.0 was taking the wheel and letting him, loosening up. “No, hear me out. If both of those things are true, you should be completely impartial. You have no ulterior motive to tell me I’m good…” Buck spread his hands. “If I’m not.”

Eddie smacked Buck’s hands back into his lap, ignoring the flare of heat under his skin. “I believe you’re a good kisser, you smug bastard. Your track record tells me that much. I just don’t believe you’re as good as you think you are.”

Buck knew that the drinks they’d had weren't helping his conviction, but there was a momentum in his blood that he couldn’t quiet. One that drowned out the voice in the back of his head saying bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. “Fine. Then, I kiss you. If you feel anything, anything at all, then it’s proof that I’m just as good as I think I am.”

Eddie pointed a finger at Buck, just for something to do with his hands. There was a nervous energy underneath his skin—an off-kilter feeling he experienced on calls sometimes. “I’m tempted to take you on.”

Buck’s grin only widened. Eddie laughed, then sobered slightly. He narrowed his eyes. “Why are we really doing this, Buck?”

Buck shrugged. “Because I like to win, and you like to win, and now I feel like I have something to prove.” Surprisingly, there was a defensive edge buried in his playful tone. Eddie felt it lodge between his ribs. He wasn’t sure when his heart had started racing.

Buck knew he was being ridiculous, and no part of him expected Eddie to agree, so he wasn’t sure why he was pushing so hard. Maybe it was remembering the rush of kissing Tommy for the first time. Maybe it was curiosity. How would it feel to kiss someone he’d known for years, someone he knew as well as he knew himself?

They were teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and the part of Buck that propelled him into burning buildings wanted to rush headlong over it.

Still, his stomach dropped when Eddie said: “You know what? Fine.”

Buck drew back in surprise. “Wait––what?”

Now Eddie had that dangerous look in his eyes; the same one he had before they’d broken down the hotel room door at Chim's bachelor party. He seemed to be savoring Buck’s shock, gaze flicking across his face, the corners of his lips lifting. “Yeah. Let’s do it. But the bet goes both ways, and loser buys dinner.” Eddie sounded far more decisive than he felt. He bounced his knee, the only outward sign of the restless energy running through him.

Buck laughed, a slight rasp to it. “But I am attracted to men.” There was a shift in the way Buck was looking at Eddie now, a heavy-lidded, thinly veiled desire that made Eddie's mouth go dry. He'd never seen this side of Buck.

“But you’re not attracted to me, right?” Eddie fired back. “So the same rules can apply.”

There was a beat of charged silence. Buck swallowed hard; Eddie’s gaze flicked down to follow the movement, then back up. Buck fisted his hands. “Mmhm. Ground rules?”

Eddie shook his head slowly, his teeth snagging the edge of his bottom lip, and the sight dropped Buck, fast, into the familiar and exhilarating rush of anticipation. Warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach as he lowered his gaze, heavy, to Eddie’s mouth; studying the way his white teeth held back the delicate bow-shape of his bottom lip. He suddenly wanted to run his thumb over it. 

“You sure you want to do this?” Buck muttered, voice rough. Eddie’s lip slid from his teeth when he grinned.

“This is what you do every time, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Buck asked distractedly, gaze still fixed on Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie huffed out a soft laugh. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. There was a tingling in his hands.

“You do have a lot of practice at this, you dog.” Buck’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he slowly raised his hands to rest on Eddie’s shoulders, thumb drawing over Eddie’s collarbone. Buck's fingers were trembling; it made Eddie's bones ache. “This alright?” Buck’s voice was quiet, reverent. 

Eddie’s voice was caught in his throat, so he simply nodded. He’d leaned forward without realizing it, and allowed his head to fall the rest of the way until their foreheads touched. In response, Buck drew his hands up, around the sides of Eddie’s neck and into his hair, nails scraping gently at the base of his skull. A tremor ran through Eddie: down his spine and across his shoulders. Buck felt it under his hands, and smiled.

“You’re not playing fair,” Eddie said lowly, pushing his forehead briefly, teasingly, harder into Buck’s. “You know I can’t help that.”

Buck tilted his chin up until their lips were a breadth from touching. His voice was husky when he whispered: “I never play fair.”

Eddie’s chest expanded in a quick breath before he surged forward, grabbing a fistful of Buck’s shirt to drag him into the kiss. Buck gasped against his lips; Eddie’s mouth was hot and blissfully soft. For a moment, Buck’s mind short circuited. His hands slid from Eddie’s neck, falling limply into his lap while his brain caught up with his body. His friend—his best friend—was kissing him…

And it was going to ruin him.

He knew that as surely as he knew that things had shifted between them on a seismic scale.

And if that was true, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make it worth something.

So when Eddie released Buck’s shirt to slide his hands up his chest, when he grasped the back of his neck to deepen the kiss, Buck groaned and grabbed Eddie’s hips to pull him in closer. His thumbs slid along, then under, the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt, and Eddie drew in sharp breath as a bolt of desire shot down his spine.

Buck broke the kiss to nudge Eddie’s head to the side, and Eddie made a weak sound of protest until he felt Buck’s lips trailing across his jaw and down the column of his throat. Buck focused his attention on the spot underneath Eddie’s jaw that they’d joked about being his weakness with girls, and Eddie’s hand tightened in Buck’s hair.

“Fuck, Evan.” The words were a gasp––it made Buck crazy. Crazy enough to grab Eddie by the jaw and drag their mouths back together. Crazy enough to fan the flames of the irrepressible heat underneath his skin; to move impossibly closer, to––

Eddie suddenly, almost violently, yanked himself out of the kiss. Buck’s head spun; his weight carried him forward and he fell into the space on the couch that Eddie had vacated. Disorientingly fast, Eddie was up and out, hands pushing through his hair as he walked away. There was a stunned beat of silence; no sound in the room other than their labored breathing.

When Eddie spoke, his voice was strangled. “Buck. We can’t do this. I can’t––I can’t do this.”

Buck didn’t have time to gather a coherent sentence, his head still wrapped in the fog of Eddie’s mouth on his, before Eddie was gone, slamming his bedroom door behind him with enough force to rattle the picture frames on the wall.

Reality came crashing back in; Buck’s blood went cold.

“Eddie!––Eddie, wait––” Buck shook the clouds from his mind and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet, rushing over to pound on Eddie’s door as the sickening weight of consequence settled in.

Abruptly, the fight drained out of him; he let his head fall against the door with a soft thump. “Eddie, please,” Buck didn’t even try to mask the pleading in his voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t––I don’t know what I was thinking. Come out and we can talk about it, or––or not talk about it.” He pressed a fist to the door hard enough for the ridges to dig into his skin. He waited, heart in his throat. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Silence. A beat of stillness from the other side of the door.

Then: “Go home, Buck. I don’t want––,” there was a brief silence, “I can’t have you here right now.”

Something in Buck’s chest cracked open at the finality in the words. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him.

Some sickened, reckless part of him wanted to beg. Wanted to knock the door down.

Wanted to do anything to reverse the ruin of the most significant relationship in his life.

Instead, he dragged in a deep breath. He rasped “Okay.”

He pushed himself away from Eddie’s door.

Buck grabbed his keys from the counter with shaking hands and stumbled blindly to the front door, the world a haze around him. He’d been drunk often enough to know these weren’t the effects of alcohol: this was the dizzying aftershock of adrenaline.

The call gone wrong. The catastrophe that could have been avoided.

The pressure on his chest wasn’t intoxication—it was grief.

Buck didn’t sleep that night. He tossed, turned, and texted Eddie—his messages became increasingly pathetic as his agitation compounded his sleeplessness. Eventually, he tossed his phone onto the chair across the room to keep himself from checking it every two minutes. Eddie wasn’t going to text him back. He dreaded going into work. 

The next morning, Buck and Eddie managed to avoid each other completely…for about five minutes.

Eddie’s stomach dropped when Buck walked into the locker room. Of course, of course, Chimney had just left, the rest of the 118 already in the kitchen for breakfast.

Buck seemed to have the same reaction, his eyes closing briefly as he paused in the doorway. He sighed, walking to his locker and pointedly not looking at Eddie. Eddie spun his combination in, missing the right number twice. Anger made his chest tight.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Buck shut his own locker and leaned a shoulder against it, turning to face Eddie. His arms were crossed protectively over his chest. “Eddie. We have to talk about this,” he said.

“Do we?” Eddie bit out, jaw tight. He clipped his belt, still not looking at Buck.

“I was there too,” Buck said with a weak smile, trying at levity. “There’s no way the kiss was that bad.”

It was meant to lighten the situation; in the past, it would have worked. Eddie would have scoffed, then smiled, and they would have moved past it.

Now, it just pissed him off.

Eddie slammed his locker door and turned to face him. His voice came out sharp. “Buck, I didn’t leave because the kiss was bad.” He looked directly at Buck for the first time. “I left because it was really, really good.”

Buck rocked back a little in shock, his lips parting slightly. He stilled, eyes wide. “Oh.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Eddie started to turn away, but Buck grabbed his arm.

“Wait. Why are you so mad, then?”

Eddie yanked his arm out of Buck’s grasp, voice rigid. “Why do you think, Evan? You just broke up with Tommy—”

Buck’s eyes widened in indignation, and he started to cut Eddie off when the call bell rang, startling them both.

Hen jogged past, looking at them curiously, and it pulled Eddie back down to earth. “Saved by the bell,” he said, and left Buck in the locker room, not looking back as he let the door slam shut behind him.

It was a day of constant calls.

Buck and Eddie were professionals—as they always did, they locked their personal issues away to focus on the people who needed their help. But little things slipped through—the two of them had always worked in an effortless tandem, moving around each other and communicating wordlessly what they needed.

Today, their flow was off.

When they moved through a crawlspace to rescue a trapped child, Buck dropped the flashlight that Eddie tried to hand him. When they wheeled out a heart attack victim, Buck had to repeat himself twice when he read Eddie the blood pressure reading.

The other members of the 118 noticed. Hen raised an eyebrow at Buck when he and Eddie bumped into each other climbing into the firetruck. Chimney and Bobby exchanged a confused look when Eddie called for Chimney to help him with a stuck window, though Buck was standing right there.

In a lull between emergencies, en route to the next call, Hen leaned over to Buck and muttered: “You two okay?” Buck just shook his head tightly, gaze fixed out the window. “Trouble in paradise, hm.” She said, sitting back and patting Buck’s leg reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out.”

Buck wasn’t so sure.

It was the end of the shift before they were alone again. It was the early hours of the morning, dark, and everyone was packing up to head home; only Bobby, Eddie, and Buck remained in the locker room. Despite Buck’s pleading look for Bobby to stay, Bobby grabbed his bag and left, with a pointed look at Buck that said “sort it out.”

Buck sighed, tossing his bag onto the bench and walking over to Eddie. He stepped in front of Eddie’s open locker, shutting it, and Eddie stepped back, rolling his eyes.

“Get out of my way, Buck.” Eddie sounded weary.

“I will. When you talk to me.” Buck knew there was a raw, desperate edge to his voice, but he couldn’t mask it. It softened Eddie slightly—he sighed.

“All this,” Eddie waved a hand between them, “after all these years…and now I’m… I don’t know…” He tried again, frustrated. “I didn’t even know I was into guys and then you come along and— ” he dragged a hand down his face, “And mess with my head.” Eddie rubbed his jaw, a bitter twist to his grin. “And for what, right? For you to forget about your breakup for five seconds?”

Realization crossed Buck’s face, closely tailed by a flash of anger. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up.”

Buck’s face flushed. His voice was sharper than Eddie had ever heard it. He dropped his volume, though no one else was in the room. “You think I was just fucking around? That you’re some kind of rebound?”

Eddie was struck silent by the vehemence—the hurt—in Buck’s voice. He blinked. “What else am I supposed to think, Buck?”

Buck barked out a bitter laugh. “Jesus—give me more credit than that. You really think that poorly of me, that I would risk ruining our friendship for some meaningless kiss?”

“But…Tommy—”

“And why do you think he broke up with me?” Eddie stilled, brow furrowing at the drastic shift in conversation.

“What?”

Buck’s voice was low. “Why do you think he said that I had one foot out the door the whole time?” He tilted his head and gave Eddie a meaningful look, waiting. After a beat of silence, Eddie’s face cleared in realization, then disbelief.

“Oh.” He breathed.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Now Buck couldn’t meet his eyes.

Eddie felt as if the ground had shifted underneath him. “Why—why didn’t you—”

“Tell you? Because I didn’t want to fuck everything up. I didn’t want this,” he waved a hand between them, “to happen.”

Eddie’s heart pressed against his ribcage. He couldn’t seem to draw enough air into his lungs. “How long?” He managed.

Buck scoffed. “That I knew, and acknowledged it? Probably since you started hanging out with Tommy and I had to face this crazy jealousy—I guess not for him, in hindsight.” Buck took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Misplaced that energy, I guess.” He tugged nervously on a stray thread on the sleeve of his shirt—anything to keep from looking at Eddie. He couldn’t bear to see pity in his friend’s expression. “How long did I know, and not acknowledge it?” Buck was silent for a long moment. “Probably since my leg injury, when you came over to tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself.” He let out a huff of laughter, looking down at his hands. “And you let me watch Chris, and I saw so much of you in that kid during the tsunami.” Eddie made a soft sound, but Buck still couldn’t look at him. His throat ached. “Both of you have made me a better man.”

“That’s…Buck...” Eddie’s voice was rough.

“Yeah.” Buck’s voice gained strength even as it strained with emotion. “So. Be angry if you need to be. I’m sorry if I messed everything up. But don’t you—don’t you dare claim that the kiss meant nothing to me. It meant—” Buck couldn’t catch his breath. He swallowed hard, and said, “you mean—you’re…Eddie, you’re everything.”

And almost before he could finish his sentence, Eddie was kissing him.

Buck made a soft sound of surprise as Eddie walked him back against the lockers, pressing him firmly against the cold metal, his mouth hot and insistent. Like before, it took a second for his body to catch up with his head—Buck’s hands twitched at his sides before coming up to grasp Eddie’s waist, fisting in the starched fabric of his uniform. Eddie’s hands cupped Buck’s jaw, fingers behind his ears. He pulled back, just a little, and Buck chased, recapturing his lips as Eddie smiled against his. Buck couldn’t help smiling as well, and it broke them off softly, though they still held to each other.

Buck’s gaze was soft, shining like sea glass. Eddie’s lips remained slightly parted.

“So,” Buck drew in a soft breath, “we’re good?”

Eddie let out a real laugh, a smile spreading across his face. He ran a thumb across Buck’s cheekbone. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

“Oh, thank God.” Buck dropped his head to Eddie’s shoulder in relief and Eddie’s arms shifted to come up around him. He rubbed a hand between Buck’s shoulder blades, feeling him shaking. Eddie remembered another time, Buck holding him like this, when Buck broke down Eddie’s door to find a destroyed room and Eddie on the floor with a splintered baseball bat. He’d held him together, and waited for the waves to subside. He’d pressed Eddie’s hands, underneath his own, to his chest and told him to breathe with him. Eddie had, until the slow rise and fall of his friend’s chest settled his own. It was a kind of touch that he’d never had with anyone else, a collapsing into vulnerability that he’d never allowed himself, not even with Shannon.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into Buck’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere now.”

[bakerstreethound]

Single Dad Corinthian - New Beginnings | Chapter 2: Simple Joys

Chapter 1: A Walk in the Park

Relationship: Single Father!Corinthian x OC Aspen Reeves

Warnings: brief mention of losing a child, absent parents, flirty Corinthian, pining, sensual undertones, mentions of past abusive relationship for Aspen, and supportive Corinthian

Summary: A week after Aspen meets the mysterious Corinthian and his son Levi at the park, they take a chance and start talking to Corinthian. Soon enough a kinship and something more unfolds. How will it go and can Aspen tread through the waters of flirting all while tending to some still fresh wounds of loss from their younger years? How will they possibly get through a first date? Corinthian has his doubts and he finds himself falling for Aspen, been if he's not actively trying. How can he not? What happens if Aspen sees him for who he truly is? A monster on the inside and out?

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 4.4k+

A/N: It has been months, but I am so excited to present chapter 2 of this little snapshot mosaic series of single dad Corinthian and my OC Aspen Reeves. Both of them deserve a hug and Levi is adorable. Many thanks to @novaracer for beta reading and cheering me on as I wrote. I hope you enjoy! Graphic by @firefly-graphics Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

It had been a week since your run-in with the man who called himself Corinthian, but you shortened his name to Cori in your contacts (you would be lying if it didn’t make you smile). The park meeting had been one of the most unexpected adventures in your life the past year. 

You fiddled with the card he left you on the bench that fateful afternoon and it pestered you for days until you gave in and said hello. You felt so stupid reaching out. Would he think you were a creep? A lonely creep was not much harm unless you became a stalker. You blanched at the thought. 

When you did text him, you realized the appointments you had to keep and he had the same, with his work and needing to take care of Levi. You did not mind waiting, but you found yourself looking forward to life, looking forward to seeing him and Levi sometime. If a week had to pass for the outcome to be that way, you would take it.

Having someone to talk to was nice and you were eager each time you heard the ping of your phone, instead of the dreaded pit of worry and anxiety that accompanied them. 

Ever since your child Sam had been admitted to the hospital two years prior in the months before his passing, the messages, texts, and emails had caused nothing but sickness and heartbreak for you and your partner.

You cringed at the thought of your partner Kai, who had all but abandoned you, leaving Sam’s care and bills up to you. You loved your child, you did, you missed going to the parks, and taking him to school. You often wondered what he would have become if he decided to go to college or learn a trade. 

You wondered a lot of things, then, but now you grasped at the possibility of wanting to be with someone new, at least entertaining the company. Your heart was not perfectly mended, albeit bruised after the divorce, but it did not matter in the slightest. You had left the apartment and donated a majority of Kai and Sam’s things except for the minimal keepsakes.

Your new place faired better for you with large windows to filter in the sun and wash your darkness away on those days when it felt nigh impossible to get out of bed, bundled in copious amounts of blankets. 

Regardless, you found solace these days between texting Corinthian through errands and hobbies like cooking, writing, and your art. The easel in your studio apartment held a blank canvas, and your cart was full of acrylics and watercolors stashed away in your art box.

Looking at them brought up memories of Kai and Sam, making your heart twinge. The passion, though, that did not fade, but your irrationality had overridden it. That was months ago, but you felt ready enough for it, but it would wait for another day. 

Your phone pings, the smile crossing your face of its own accord. 

Found this new shiny beauty at the pawn shop today, though it is not as bright as your smile. He sends accompanied by the attachment of a shiny knife. Though dull, it’ll be quite the beauty when sharpened and polished.  

I don’t have many reasons to smile, you know. 

Well, perhaps I might have to be one of them. 

You roll your eyes . Perhaps you might. I have been debating trying that new pizza shop down the street. Have you had it, yet? You breathe a sigh of relief, having dodged the flirt. You are still new to it all.

Oh, darling, I have not had enough of you. But I would like more

Is that so?

I’d kill to see that smile again, the one you flashed to Levi in the park before we officially met.

Your heart thumps faster as you send another text. Would you now?

Only if you asked nicely. 

What, do I have to be nice about it?

There are ways I could make you behave if you prefer. 

You pause. Are you certain about that? I might bite.

I like it when they bite (: 

******

The remaining weeks fly by at a steady pace, much of your interactions with Corinthian brief and flirty, with debates about the best restaurants in between. You bickered about the best brick oven pizza, thin or stuffed crust, iced or hot coffee and tea, and the most random nonsense.

You voted for the regular homestyle crust while he vies for the thin crust when it comes to a Margherita pizza. Regular crust he likes for pepperoni or meat lovers, you find out. 

This easy back and forth becomes the normal and your darker more dreary days turn brighter with the chime of a text and call. Those sounds that once spelled doom now ring with a brighter tune. 

The tune of hope. 

You do not want it to disappear but approach it with caution.

That is the day he asks you out on a date, your first official date together. You remember the confidence he exuded on the phone. 

“Aspen, darling, he drawled. “Would you like to join me on a picnic at the park? It would be me and you only, under that nice shade tree.” 

Your name on his lips sounded utterly delightful and you did not hesitate to tell him yes. 

******

You have not made a trip to the park in some time, but the memories of meeting Levi instantly hit you on the stroll over. The clouds in the sky accentuate the sun and you feel a warmth spread inside you.

Yes, you can be happy and not dread every moment of your existence wondering if you were an awful parent, if you could have done more to save Sam, could have given Kai a reason to stay.  

You shake those thoughts from your mind. Shush, Aspen. You’re here to meet Corinthian on your first date.  

First date. 

The word feels foreign on your tongue and in your mind. You barely remember your first date with Kai, but it was likely a rushed one at a cheap ramen bar, the only thing starving artist college kids could afford.

The rest of your relationship flew by in a blur and suddenly Sam was born, your pride and joy, then he vanished too soon. Five years was not long, a life cut too soon. Such is the unfairness of the world. 

Yet, the world in all its cruelty has given you a new gift, a fresh start, hope. Hope you scarcely allow yourself to feel anymore, 

It’s the feeling that flutters in your chest when you recognize him there under the old oak tree, one you admire countless times from your park bench picnics, a sandwich in hand, your satchel next to you, filled with your wallet, books, and other essentials. 

He looks impossibly heartbreaking and more devastatingly gorgeous than you remember. When you first met him, he wore white suit pants and a simple T-shirt.

Now, he is dressed in navy blue slacks, a pale blue shirt, with a simple gray sweater over it, the collar edges peaking out from it. His signature sunglasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose. His brow rose in greeting. 

Shit, you have been staring too long, more like gawking and you snapped your jaw tighter, determined not to let him get to you. 

You can do this. 

It’s a picnic another normal day. 

Who are you kidding? This is more than you could fathom or deserve. 

“Hello, darling,” He rumbles, the breeze softly swirling around you. A few leaves tumbled around you, crunching beneath your sneakers as you met him, standing fully in front of him, appreciating the view a while longer. 

He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before leading you to a place beneath the tree. 

You gasp, a giggle bursting from your lips. “You didn’t Cori.” 

He smiles. “Of course I did. It is all for you.” 

Before you are a simple picnic blanket, a simple wicker basket filled to the brim with drinks, snacks, and an assortment of fruit. In addition, there is a charcuterie board of cheeses, ham, and two loaves of bread, meticulously laid out on a simple wooden board. 

It is more than you could have hoped for. You eagerly sit on the blanket and Corinthian joins you, carefully brushing his fingers along your arm and handing you a plate. He chuckles when your hands brush as you reach for some cheese and meat and he carefully slices up some bread for you, which you gratefully accept.

The flavors burst on your tongue in a delightful manner, a low moan passing along your lips. Corinthian stiffens next to you his slice of cheese close to his mouth, jaw slack.

Hell, he loves the noise you made, and he briefly finds his mind wondering to what other noises he could possibly get you to make. He shakes these thoughts from his head as he asks, “Enjoying yourself?” 

“This is probably the best meal I have had all week.” 

He cocks a brow, his signature move. “Really?” That surprises him. What the heck have you been eating then?

“Yeah. The best I can do for myself sometimes is cereal, some taco meat on occasion, and sandwiches when I am in a pinch. It’s not the worst thing.” 

The way you shrug this off nonchalantly rubs Corinthian, prying an itch from his skin. He wants to make you good warm meals, that is the least you deserve. He wants to hold you against the cruel world, and kill those who harm you, bother you, or stand in your way. 

He reaches out to you to stroke your face with his hand, thumb dragging along your lip. “You had a bit of something there.” 

Your face warms at his touch, and you lean into him more, your gaze transfixed on him beyond the sunglasses. You wonder what emotion he conveys behind his eyes. Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach out to his glasses, but he veers out of your way. 

“Not here, darling,” he snaps, sending you shrinking. What did you do? You didn’t mean it. Panic and worry crawl along your skin. So you have been too foreward and he hates you now. 

Great, Aspen, look what you have done, ruined your once chance of something exciting in your life. Get it together you can make this work. 

“I’m sorry,” you eventually find yourself saying after an agonizing ten minutes, as you and Corinthian continue your meal, the park filling with more people. Children are playing on the playground, a group of teens starts a pickup soccer game, parents run with their children, a couple walks with a stroller built for twins from the look of it. 

You find yourself smiling as Corinthian reaches out for your hand, squeezing it gently. 

“I am sorry for snapping at you, Aspen. My eyes are sensitive and I don’t like exposing to the sun more than necessary, hence why I wear these. Should have explained sooner.”

“Oh.” 

Corinthian swallows, watching you intently. Shit he scared you off, you hate him for his outburst. He understands if you want to get up and leave, but…you don't, you stare at him longer then reach for the bottle opener, picking up the bottle of wine and champagne he bought.

He was not sure which you preferred, but champagne is usually in style, especially for a celebration and wasn’t this a celebration? 

A celebration of a colossal win or a massive failure. 

He had found you and wanted to know you more. What little part of his heart however misshapen by his creator beat stronger in your presence, filling him with a curious warmth, a warmth different beyond his bloodlust for killing.

He cared, that is what he feels when he watches you pilfer through the wicker basket, your face brightening when you produce a Honeycrisp apple. 

Without a word, Corinthian reaches out to take it from you, sliding a knife out from his holster and cutting it up in an expert fashion. Your eyes remain glued on him in morbid fascination, perusing his biceps, down to his forearms, then focusing on his hands. 

You wonder how they would feel on your sides, squeezing you gently, holding you close to his chest where you can hear the thrumming of his heart.

“Something on your mind, darling?” 

 You shrug, swallowing another bite of cheese before replying. “Not really. I was considering going to the bookstore later. I need something else to stimulate my mind while at work.

“Ah I see, work can get slow?” 

“Being a receptionist has its ups and downs throughout the week, but my boss gives us enough downtime to sneak in reading time throughout the day. It is good for our productivity.” 

“Ah, so I see,” Corinthian hums thoughtfully, interrupted by the ping of his phone. “Shit.” He glances down at his phone, mouth pulled into a thin line. 

“What’s wrong?” You take a sip of your champagne. 

“The sitter texted me saying their plans fell through so they can’t watch Levi for the following two hours. I told Matthew I needed him for longer so Levi wouldn’t disturb us.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, would it be that bad if Levi joined us?” 

“I had planned for us to go bowling.”

“He can join us.”

“Wait, you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you smile. 

“I wanted this to be a pleasant experience for the both of us with no distraction and people are hesitant when I mention I have a child-”

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand. “There’s no need to explain yourself. I understand how it can be, the unsurety of how people treat you being a single parent.” 

“It is not easy.”

“It never is, but we love our children regardless.” 

Corinthian at least wanted to continue pleading his case so he hurriedly explained his sitter Matthew had to rush off on an extended errand for his demanding boss, and his bosses’ assistant Lucienne who was Corinthain’s fallback was overwhelmed with administrative duties it was not feasible and Merv, well Corinthian wanted Levi to not be surrounded by dangerous equipment - equipment Merv was certain to allow Levi try out all in good fun.

“Say we skip bowling and get ice cream as a treat for Levi. Would he like that?” 

“Darling, you are wonderful. I am sure he will be delighted.” 

******

With a bowling date falling through, Corinthian set his apprehensions aside when he saw Levi running to you for a hug after opening the apartment door. “Pretty person is back. Look dad!”

“Yes Levi, I can see you’re having fun. Hopefully, you were not too much trouble to Matthew. Also, that pretty person is Aspen. Can you give them a proper hello?” 

Levi beams at you as you twirl him in your arms, giggling hysterically. “H-hii Aspen!” 

“Hey bud, you have a good day today?” He giggles when you set him back on the floor, chuckling in amusement as he steadies himself on his legs. He quickly makes a beeline for the kitchen where he climbs up on the table to watch Corinthian. 

You join him and Corinthian sets down a glass before you from which you take a sip, thanking him all the while. 

“I have a few more things to pack then we can go get ice cream.”

“Wait, we’re getting ice cream?” Levi’s eyes widen and he almost falls out of his chair with excitement. 

“Woah buddy hold your horses. We will get some after we run a few errands. You can be patient, right?” Corinthian raises an incredulous brow. 

Levi giggles, nodding furiously. “Yes, Dad!” 

“Wonderful, buddy. How about you run along and show Aspen some of the books you got from the library this week.” 

“Yeahh!!” 

******

A few hours later, you find yourself back in the ice cream parlor you eyeballed weeks ago, one you thought of going to before settling on your park bench. It was the decision that changed the course of you life, leading you to meet Levi and his father. You find yourself enjoying their company their laughter, their conversation and warmth.

You forgot that is how a family could be, how humanity could be. Laughter, joy, the simplicity of running errands. Levi is surprisingly well-behaved and jovial, staying close to Corinthian and holding your hand to not lose you in the slew of people in the aisles and sidewalks. 

Soon enough you’re laughing, full from the ice cream at the parlor, and head back to the park after dropping off the groceries. Corinthian insisted all the while that he is making you dinner sometime after hearing you adore a good spaghetti and meatballs and a variety of American cuisine like cheeseburgers and BBQ. 

*******

He can’t stop watching you, your smile as you guide Levi down the sidewalk, turning your head to be on the lookout for any strangers or creeps who would follow you back to his apartment. He likes your smile, the way laughter flows through your entire being. It lights you up from the inside out and it is a beautiful sight.

You are beautiful, he realizes, has known it since the moment he met you in the park, a well-worn book next to you on the bench, the half-eaten sandwich you likely saved for dinner or lunch the following day. 

His heart seizes at this realization, the grocery bag almost slipping from his shoulder and he almost freaking trips- trips on the sidewalk barely avoiding a yipping dog whose owner rolled their eyes at him. 

You and Levi couldn’t contain your laughter and you were even more stunning then. He wants to reach out and hold your hand, hold Levi’s hand too. He can picture the life you could have together in his simple two bedroom apartment, the one he was lucky enough to find in a pinch soon after he rescued Levi, desperate to escape the confines of the dreaming world. 

Levi who changed his world in an instant and vowed to protect and would riot if Morpheus ever found him and tried to separate them. He needs Levi as much as Levi needs him. He cares for him so much more than he can express and he does not want to lose you either. If he could pull himself into some semblance of a better person for the good of his son, he can do it for you.

He wants to be by your side for as long as you will have him. He says none of this as your walk into the library, his grocery bag full of library books to return. Levi had insisted on another outing to one of the few places he felt save, practically begged Aspen on the phone to join him and his dad again. 

Aspen complied, falling under his spell but Cornthian hopes it is because you want to see him as much as he wants to see you. The weeks have slipped away in the blink of an eye when your both near each other and he can’t explain how much more time he wants in your presence.

The late night killing sprees he completes do not hold a candle to the shine of your smile, the thrill of it all. Hell, he loves to make you smile, the easeful way your hair falls, warm and streaked with sunlight, makes you all the more alluring and he wants your smile to fall upon his face longer. 

******

The time at the park passes in a blur and you're on the way back to Corinthian’s apartment, Levi in tow, sitting atop his father’s shoulders, eyes bleary in exhaustion. The long day had certainly caught up to him between the grocery shopping, ice cream parlor, and additional park time.

You can’t blame him as you stifled back another yawn, yearning for the comfort of your bed. You almost sigh in relief when the apartment door opened, Levi murmuring sleepily that he wanted a popsicle, and Corinthian chuckled good-naturedly. 

You collapse onto the couch after taking your shoes off, relief sinking into you when the soft cushions meet your back. 

“Now this is nice.” You sigh and stretch. 

Cori smirked, Levi yawning on his shoulders as he pulled him down. 

“Time to get ready for bed, little buddy.” 

“Dad…” 

“Now, now Levi we’ve talked about this.” 

“But dad…” 

“Now now son, you know right and well you need to go to bed early tonight.” 

You smiled, continuing to listen in to their back and forth, soothed by the steady rhythm of their nightly routine, and your mind drifted, falling into thoughts you kept tightly concealed, ones that you hoped would never surface, let alone in the house of the person you have come to enjoy the company of for the past week, no month.

How time flew when you were together with him and Levi. You felt a certain kinship to Levi, healing the broken parts of your soul. You shifted adjusting yourself unconsciously, bumping up against something, or rather, someone next to you. 

Your heart raced. You try not to panic. Your heart is thrumming faster, certain you are in a dream until your eyes fly open, greeted with a room with soft light akin to a candle. 

Something, or someone stirs next to you and your first instinct is to get the hell out of there but your mind screams at you to take it slow so you do. 

Breathe. Kai isn’t here. You are safe. 

The mantra steadied you, and now that your eyes adjust to the light you can see you are in a large bedroom with a view overlooking the city, a gentle breeze blew through the room ruffling your hair. A soft sigh and groan followed from the figure next to you. Blonde, no almost platinum hair upon the bedsheets, and a nightmask around his eyes. 

Corinthian had tucked you in bed, his bed, and had fallen asleep next to you. You’re uncertain how you feel, then, but find the comfort of a warm body nice.

You liked that it was Corinthian there protecting you, watching over you, caring for you enough to let you stay. Though you had a panic about it you still find the gesture kind. In fact he was so kind you decided to return the favor and trailed your arm along his sleeping form, grasping onto his bicep. 

“What is it now, Morpheus. I have been good! Please.” 

“Corinthian? It’s me, Aspen.” 

You jostle him and still nothing. Nothing in the room made a sound, the breeze frozen on its journey through, almost stealing the breath from your lips.

Your bones felt cold, yet you can’t break away from Corinthian, his Adam's apple bobbling, lips pleading, forming words that don’t fall from his lips, until he croaks softly, “No…please don’t. Not him. Not Levi.” 

Dread falls into the pit of your stomach, awakening your irrational fears, but you shove them down, focusing on the man beside you. You nudge him again. 

“Cori? Wake up. I’m here. It’s me, Aspen,” You speak into the silence of the room, darkness convalescing down the walls, shadows playing on the cracks of the walls.

They laugh at you forming faces of your failures; you can’t save them, but you are the one who has to be saved. Can’t you do anything right? They taunt. You scream at them to leave you alone, just as Corinthian’s form jolts upright, breathing hard, a cold sweat chilling him to the bone. 

“Aspen?” Your name is a whisper on his tongue, tentative, unsure. 

You reach for his hand, squeezing tight in reassurance. “Yes, it’s me.” 

A few moments of silence pass, frozen in the low light of the room, moonlight streaming in. 

“Could you still care for me, even knowing I am a monster, an abomination?” 

“Cori we’ve known each other, have been talking for two months, now even if we only recently had our first date. You haven’t scared me off, yet. I do not think that will happen.” 

He gaffes before a bitter laugh follows. “Yet. So you will leave eventually, they all do.” 

Will you at least let me look at you? You do not sound okay” You reach for his eyemask and he turns his face from you. You’re not sure from fear, shame, or something worse. 

“I can’t let you or Levi see me this way.”

“Levi is fine, you put him to bed four hours ago, see?” You check the clock on the nightstand which chimes midnight, signaling a new day. “What’s really going on Cori? I know I have no right to prod into any more of your business. We haven’t known each other long, but would it help to talk about it?” 

He huffs, shifting before curling up. Why did you care? He is a monster, and doesn’t want you to see the true horrors he encapsulates.

Sure, he has done some things in the past that weren’t befitting of his station, but he had to claim his right. Surely Morpheus didn’t dare to track him down, yet the fear was always present, the thought of Levi being abandoned, left for dead, forgotten. 

Corinthian does not want to face that shame, so he pulls you close, taking a deep breath before replying. “Can you turn the light off, please?” 

You oblige, turning back the sheets, holding back a chill running down your spine. You hate to admit your fear of the dark but you can do this for him. A soft rustling comes from the bed and you hear the clicking of teeth, faint and rhythmic.

Your stomach turns in knots, thinking you stepped on something but eases as Corinthian feels for you, his mouth pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your hand, then your palm, and the inside of your wrist. 

“Would you stay the night with me? I know you fell asleep earlier so I couldn’t ask and I want you to be alright.” He ignores the lump that forms in his throat as he speaks, hoping you will agree and keep his racing thoughts at bay. 

You smile, despite the pitch-black darkness as you whisper, “Of course,” all the while falling into his hopeful, waiting embrace

******

[daintyshu]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

xiii. the fun day out (1.2k written)

warnings. mentions of absent parents

"remember how we used to do this a lot back in the states?" jongseong speaks through a bite of his homemade kimbap. you were mid sip of your bubble tea when he speaks up so he waits for you to finish chewing on the pearls.

jongseong had planned a picnic for your 'fun day out' and it brought you back to the good old days before adulthood hit you like a truck.

"yeah, i miss it. eomma used to take us almost every weekend," you smile, thinking back on the memory of jongseong's mother taking you guys out for picnics when you were younger.

that's how close you and jongseong's family are. his mother would take care of you and your brother when your parents would so very often travel for work.

even on weekends where they were home, you'd much rather be at your best friend's place. his house felt more home than yours ever did.

on days where your brother couldn't play with you, you would take it upon yourself to walk the three houses down to your best friend's house, ring the doorbell that you could barely reach at the age of 9, and wait patiently for anyone to open up the big gates to let you in.

any normal adult would've been concerned at how often you and your brother were left alone at home. just because your brother was already a teenager, doesn't mean he was capable of taking care of the both of you by himself.

maybe that's why mrs. park took it upon herself to constantly check up on you two. maybe it's why she'd gotten so attached, treating you both like her children when your very own parents couldn't. it's why you two were more comfortable calling her 'eomma' rather than your own biological mother.

so maybe that's why when jongseong had come knocking on your door one fine day in 2015, you were apprehensive.

there was never a reason for him to do so. it's not like he ever willingly wanted to go over nor was he ever welcomed. your parents were never fond of him or his family. they didn't like how mrs. park would hover around as if they weren't doing a good enough job in taking care of you and your brother. (they weren't.)

ignoring the pointed look your mother sent the boy, you allowed him to pull you out before closing the door behind you two. "what's wrong, jay? you never come over," you had asked him after seeing the broken expression on the then 13 year old boy's face.

"we're moving back to korea," he breathed out but all you could hear was the sound of your heart smashing into pieces.

"moving back? jay, what are you talking about?" it wasn't a hard statement to comprehend but being in denial of your best friend leaving you made it seem like it was the most complicated thing you've ever heard in your 12 years of living.

maybe it's because of how young you two were but looking back on it, you couldn't help but laugh at how dramatic you were.

"eomma and appa wants to move back. my grandmother is sick and they want to be closer in case anything happens," he explained, trying to keep his emotions in check. you were on the brink of crying already and he couldn't let himself do the same. he had always been the tougher one between you two.

"y/n, please don't cry. i promise i'll keep in touch," he pulled you close as your body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears. "i promise we'll still be friends. i'll even download twitter for you like you've always wanted me to. we'll keep in touch there, okay?"

he then pulled away, keeping both hands on your shoulders to observe your tear-stained face. he chuckled at how adorable you looked, all pouty and sniffling. "now come, let's hang out. let's hang out every day until i have to leave," he then slung an arm around your shoulder and walked you both in the direction of his house.

"eomma misses you, by the way. she told me when i called her last night," jongseong says as he steals your bubble tea and takes a sip. he doesn't tell you that the reason he called her was to ask for her kimbap recipe that you loved so much.

"i miss her too! we really have to go back someday and visit her," you told him. he smiles at this. he loves how close you and his mother are. nothing else mattered to him as long as the two most important women in his life got along.

"i still remember how happy she was when i brought you back home after your first day here," he laughs as he settles down with his head on your lap. you lean back against the tree bark, thankful that your best friend had picked the perfect spot to lay your picnic mat.

"she really was! never felt a hug as comforting as the one she gave me that day," you run your hand through jongseong's soft hair. he looked really good blonde. you didn't think he would actually dye it that colour when you made a passing comment about it. but you guessed your opinion meant a lot to him.

"hey! i give comforting hugs too!" he pouted and you couldn't help chuckling at how cute he looked. he only ever showed this side of him when you two were alone. "you do, jjongie. runs in the family, i guess." you ruffle his hair and he playfully pushes your hand away.

"i just can't believe you didn't tell me you moved. like, we talked every week but you didn't even tell me the most important thing," he says as he brings your hand back to his hair, wordlessly asking you to continue playing with it.

this feels strangely intimate and you can't lie and say you weren't affected at all. but it's just your best friend. this was normal between you two. but it never fails to make you nervous every time.

"to be fair, we only ever talk at the end of the week to catch up. moving back was a sudden decision my parents made and i was still gonna tell you at the end of that week. i didn't think i'd see you at the school i was enrolled in," you laugh at the memory.

how crazy is that? you two lost each other just to find each other again. the universe somehow brought you two back together once again.

"i'm glad you did. i would've missed you like crazy. i don't know how i survived three years only talking to you at the end of every week," jongseong jokes, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth.

"yeah, now you can't go three hours without texting me. you do know i don't need an update whenever you need to go pee, right?" you tease.

it's true that he does text you way too much, but not once has it ever bothered you. you love how comfortable he is with you and you love having someone to be comfortable with, too.

he was and has always been your comfort person. and you're glad to know you were his too.

"yeah and i don't need mingyu edits sent to me every three hours but we don't always get what we want so suck it," he sticks a tongue out at you before sitting up. "now let's pack up. i heard there's nice trail to walk on around here somewhere,"

prev | m.list | next

synopsis. in which you work at odd atelier cafe and can only make hearts in your lattes, causing a certain boy to misunderstand your intentions..... then he brings his friends and chaos ensues.

taglist (open): @semisemirin1i82 @txtmetonight @ilyjxdz @miniature-tragedy @n1k1mura @t00miee @manooffline @aerivrs @saranghaohoshi @woninluv @moony-mari @nctsshoes2 @sunghoonnsupremacy @mnxnii @lisaswifey @enhy4me2 (strike through means unable to tag!)

[cheese-ducks]

TWRP ORIGINS

Chapter 7: I Can't Believe This Is My Life

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(Warnings: descriptions of anxiety)

Jack woke up feeling well rested, something he hadn't done in a while. Stan on the other hand was slightly hungover from the party last night.

"Hey, brah." Stan opened the door, his voice sounding slightly groggy. "Feeling better about the show?"

Oh right, the show. Guilt swirled into Jack's stomach at the mere mention of the concert. "I guess a little, again, I'm super sorry about missing it."

"Dude, it's no prob. Get that through your nerdy little head!" His insistence didn't make the guilt completely disappear, but Jack quietly laughed at the phrasing. 

"Thanks." He replied sarcastically. 

Jack checked the status of the house as Stan drifted to his bedroom. His parents' cars were absent from the driveway and his brother was definitely out of commission. The coast was clear. 

"So how did enrichment time go?" Jack's hushed voice barely breaking a whisper.

"It was incredibly enlightening!" Sung's voice was crystal clear in his head. It didn't feel as weird as he thought it would. "I have never felt more ascendant in my life!"

"To be honest I'm feeling pretty ascended myself, it's nice to know we both had a good night." 

He could vaguely recall Sung's night. Sung handed out the gifts, his mini fridge got destroyed by the robot from the parking lot, and they just had a good time. He remembered the feeling more clearly than the event itself, that was the part that felt weird. 

"And it's also good to know I am not crazy." His eyes darted around the room as he reconsidered his statement. "Well," he laughed awkwardly thinking about the last week and a half. "Uh, I wasn't wrong. I won't say that I'm not crazy, but I wasn't missing anything the other day. So yeah, that makes sense." 

Day one of sharing a vessel had officially started. 

.........................................................................

It was a pretty uneventful day, which was probably good for the first one. Jack mostly hung around the house doing various chores that Stan was supposed to be doing, if not for his currently hungover state. He figured it was the least he could do after missing the show. Sung was actually good company during the mundane activities, often asking questions about anything and everything. It brought a sense of wonder Jack didn't think was possible while washing dishes and vacuuming the floors. 

"Y'know, normally chores are super boring but it's actually been kind of fun with you around." Jack said as he finished sweeping the kitchen.

"Annihilating boredom is what I do best." Sung gloated for a bit. "Wait, these tasks usually inflict boredom?" His tone was much more concerned now. 

"Uh, yeah. It's chores." Jack replied with confusion.

"How often do you have to complete them?"

"Probably once a week, at least." His casual tone had Sung reeling. 

"Fascinating. Perhaps humans have a higher tolerance for boredom than most beings." 

"Maybe," He shrugged as he put the broom away and sat on the couch. "Because I probably should have taken a break an hour ago but I just wanna get this over with."

"Well it's very heroic of you to protect your brother from the forces of boredom while he recovers." 

"I guess boredom is a little bit different on Earth. It isn't some evil force to be destroyed, it just kinda happens sometimes." 

Sung's silence spoke volumes like he hadn't considered that before, or he was afraid to tell his band mates. Feeling his emotions was still weird, but Jack continued.

"And I mean you're not gonna kill boredom by staying hidden all the time. Why not do some busking or something?"

"What is that?"

"Oh, it's when you play music on the street, sometimes for money, the idea of it makes me nervous as hell." 

Sung considered it for a while before he answered. 

"Bringing amusement and joy to the masses in guerilla style warfare against boredom, it's brilliant! I will tell my band mates at once!"

.........................................................................

The first show on Earth, the first time these humans would be saved from the clutches of boredom! Everything was set up and poised to dominate. Havve's drum machine and the few amps they could bring were in place, Phobos' guitar case was set just in front so that people could give them money. It was all ready, and yet Sung was terrified. It was incredibly strange. He was sweating, his stomach hurt, he wanted to bite his hands; the most confusing of the symptoms. Being in front of the small crowd that had gathered out of curiosity felt wrong somehow. The strangest part was the all-encompassing force begging him not to play. Music was the one thing that brought him joy, how could he be scared to do it? He'd never felt like this before. Regardless he had a world to save so the boys began to play. Sung could feel the crowd's reactions. There was an initial state of bewilderment but most people who saw them began to dance and have fun. There was about 15 people in the crowd but all 15 minds were blown. As the show went on Sung's nerves still persisted. It slightly dissipated as the set progressed but it was still overwhelmingly present. Seeing how much fun his band mates were having helped it dissipate. Meouch was feeling the happiest he'd been since they crash landed, every riff and lick filled with passion and joy. Phobos was nervous at first due to the oxygen levels and general atmosphere, so he wore his helmet outside the ship as a precaution, but even through his metallic silicone mask Sung knew he was having a blast. Havve was executing each beat perfectly but there was an energy to his playing he hadn't seen in a while. It's as if the crowd was supplying him with the resolve to keep playing, as if he liked entertaining them. It was the most fun they'd ever had on this planet. This was truly special. 

The energy slowly faded as the night went on. Coming down from the high of performing was never an issue for Sung, but today he felt a massive weight off his shoulders. He was playing music with his friends all night, something that never scared him before. Why was he scared  now?

"Are you gonna help us, fearless leader?" 

Meouch's sarcastic remark snapped him out of his daze. 

"Of course I will, I'm just lost in thought I guess." He still wasn't completely focused on the task at hand. The question was a dark presence in his mind over the otherwise cheerful cleanup. He racked his brain for what could've caused the unprecedented negative emotions, until suddenly he remembered what the human had said.

"the idea of it makes me nervous as hell." 

It was him. 

.........................................................................

Jack came to in his bedroom. It sucked but at least he knew why he was blacked out at all. His bedroom window was open all the way, letting in the cool summer air. 

"Please remember close my window, man." Jack complained, assuming Sung was back in his head. 

"Who are you talking to?" 

He jumped at the sound of Stan's voice, he looked significantly better than this morning. Jack forgot that he was essentially talking to himself.

"Oh, um..." It was best to be at least semi honest, right? "I'm just mumbling to myself, so I don't forget anything." 

Stan looked a bit confused but overall he didn't suspect a thing.

"Well if it works, bud." He did a double take as he was about to leave the room. "Speaking of forgetting stuff where's your fridge?" Stan asked.

"I finally threw it out." There was a pride to his semi lie. It was kind of thrilling living this weird double life. 

"Good for you. Night, brah." 

"Night, brah."

He climbed into bed feeling completely normal for a change. Day one of sharing a vessel went off without a hitch, so far Jack was able to live his life and Sung was able to live his. There was still the blacking out part that he didn't care for at all, but he could talk to Sung about that in the morning. For right now he was optimistic about his secret double life and content to sleep thinking about what could be in store. He couldn't sleep however because Sung was right next to his face, glaring at him with deadly serious eyes. Jack flinched so hard he nearly fell out of bed. 

"What the fuck, man!" Though frightened at Sung's unmasked form, Jack still kept a hushed tone. 

"In the nicest way possible, what have you done to me, human?"

[sunderedazem]

“whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. what is it?”

For Corr plz

(Odessen, following the assault on Voss, and Arcann's early defection to the Alliance)

It's...very strange, having a brother again. Especially after losing Thexan to his own blind rage and jealousy. Especially when that new brother is, by right of birth order and raw strength in the Force, the rightful heir to the throne of Zakuul, even if he had been dismissive of his claim to the throne the one time Arcann had brought it up. Especially when that new brother is a half-brother, older made younger through the preservation of Carbonite, and the parent they share brought horror and pain to both of them in such different ways.

He didn't think Corrain would find it in his heart to forgive him, after he'd nearly killed the now-younger man on Asylum, impaling him clean through on a furious lightsaber. Not after he'd ravaged the galaxy Corrain so loved, glassed planets and terrorized billions simply because he could, because he was angry at the world and couldn't take it out on Valkorion. But then Corrain had found him on Voss, had quietly confirmed their shared father - and had stretched out a hand and said "...I cannot forgive you for anyone but myself, but if you want atonement...I can help you start somewhere, Arcann."

And now here he is, standing at Corrain's side as the tiny man paces around the holotable with the Alliance's latest reports, his long white hair tied back in a neat plait. He's rubbing at the base of his neck again, a habit Arcann has slowly noticed that occurs whenever he's particularly anxious about something. But before he can say anything, can ask any questions- Lana catches the offending hand in hers, pulling the slight Jedi to a halt, and plants a soft kiss on the nape of Corrain's neck.

"Relax, my sweet Jedi," she murmurs softly. Arcann turns away, feeling like he's intruded on something precious in spite of how they're standing in the command suite, in plain view of everyone. He's not the only one to do so either - he can see Eiri rolling his eyes pointedly, and the Togruta smuggler who's been such an impressively disruptive force for his supply lines, Kessin, also makes a face and looks away. It's not unusual for Lana or Theron to need to drag Corrain into a moment of calm, he's come to learn. Nor is it unusual for them to clearly display their affection for each other, with the odd side-effect of often quieting his brother's more passionate moments - as if he can only find peace within their presence.

But as Theron wanders over to help Lana corral their agitated Commander out of his nervous pacing, he can't help but wonder about the odd tic here - one that warrants simultaneous attention from both of his brother's partners. He bites his lip on the question, trying not to allow it to cross his tongue. The answer can come in due time, he's sure. When the memory of Valkorion's bitter ache on their pasts rings less clear.

And then Kessin clears their throat, absently flipping one of their lekku around their throat like a violet scarf.

"Oi, ex-tyrant, c'mere for a second," they call.

It stings - but he sighs heavily, turns away from where his brother is leaning into Lana's shoulder, a cold distance in those thunderstorm eyes, and follows them. He's led only a short distance away, just out of earshot of everyone clustered around the holotable - and then Kessin growls at him a little. Belatedly, he remembers that Togruta are carnivores.

"Okay, listen," they snap, but there's an unusual gravity to their voice and he can't help but straighten up somewhat at the tone. "You're about to ask about the reason why Cor's got both the Sith lady and spyboy on him right now, yeah? I can see you watching him when he paces like that."

Arcann doesn't have the heart to lie, so he nods once and then tucks his hands behind his back.

"Well...more precisely, I wanted to ask about the thing he's doing with his hands - where he rubs at the back of his neck," he confesses. "He...does it often, it seems, when he's anxious or stressed, and it's unusual. I wasn't about to ask NOW though, I'm not quite that foolish. Lana has already threatened my life at least four times."

Kessin appears only slightly appeased by that, and they lean back against the stone wall with an eye roll. They're taller than him, Arcann notices idly, though that's mostly due to their arcing montrals.

"Tactful choice," they comment lightly. Then they're quiet for a minute before their expression softens marginally. "Look. You're one of the few people in the galaxy I hate as much as Sith, but Cor's decided you're worth the effort somehow, and he's right about ninety percent of the time. So lemme give you some advice. If you ask about the neck tic - have a few bottles of alcohol with you, and put Lana or Theron on standby. I was there for part of uh...his particular incident. It's a hell of a story, and he's still shattered by it, in a lot of ways."

Arcann stares, a little flabbergasted.

"You- aren't trying to warn me away?" He asks, stunned. Kessin's expression hardens again.

"...no. Not when...well. This involves your father. His father. Ugh. The karking piece of shit Sith Emperor. You already know the little Commander hates your dad. This is related to why."

Arcann can feel his blood boil at the mention of Valkorion's other incarnation - and suddenly the way Lana and Theron are tag-teaming his younger- older?- brother into a semblance of calm makes far more sense.

"Then thank you for your guidance, Captain Meyka," he says, tone low. "I'm grateful."

They snort, but there's no bite in it.

"It's not for you, jackass."

-

He manages to catch Corrain alone later that evening, after carefully approaching Lana - suicidal, probably, but she'd just raised an eyebrow at him and nodded curtly, then shot off to find Theron - and the location is ideal. Arcann almost wonders if either the Sith lord or former Republic spy that his brother loves so much had suggested the young commander come out here.

The Odessen wilds are beautiful, after all. Calming but cold, steady but melancholic- a strange, delicate tightrope between pain and peace. And Corrain sits calmly in the grass, meditating. Arcann can feel him in the Force, like the warmth of a summer thunderstorm, clean ozone and soft rain and muggy heat, and dangerous potential. Storms can build, he knows - and Corrain feels like he's been waiting for the sky to break for years.

"You, uh...noticed my little habit, did you?" Corrain asks as he approaches. Arcann reaches for him without speaking, brushing the edge of his awareness against his brother's as carefully as he can, hesitantly projecting both worry and curiosity and the ache that wishes he knew this new sibling better- and Corrain turns to look at him and smiles wryly.

"I'm not going to break anytime soon, Arcann, you don't have to just tap me like that," he says- and then he sees the bag in Arcann's hand, a bottle of Alderaanian wine and a couple cups peeking out- and he laughs. There's a rueful twist to it.

"I was...warned this may help make the conversation smoother," Arcann explains with a sheepish frown, and pauses next to a patch of grass next to the Jedi. "Ah, may I-"

"Sit your ass down," Corrain laughs again, and there's no bitterness in the sound anymore. Arcann does as invited. "And alright, I might crack a bit. Who told you to bring wine?"

Arcann hesitates, then shrugs.

"Captain Meyka."

Corrain groans, a little exasperated, but fond.

"Classic Kess," he sighs. "Alright then. Ask."

Arcann pauses, regarding Corrain for a long moment. This close, his relation to Valkorion is distinct, but not obvious - there's a similarity in their faces that eludes definition- and then of course, there are those stormy grey-blue eyes. Valkorion had that eye color, once.

Corrain just watches him, white eyebrows hiding behind his bangs.

"My original question was going to be to ask why you rubbed at your neck when you were anxious...but I was informed it was related to our father, so-"

He doesn't miss the way Corrain's entire expression curls into a snarl at the mention of Valkorion, nor the way his thunderstorm aura crackles into static electricity and howling anger, a cyclone of hatred forming in the blink of an eye- and Arcann can almost taste the satisfaction of his own answering fury on his tongue. After all - it was this hate, it's intensity and passion which had convinced him to join his younger brother.

"...Darth Vitiate held me captive for almost two years," Corrain says finally, and reaches for the collar of his shirt, tugging it open and pushing the fabric down to bare the upper part of his back and neck. And Arcann freezes at the sight of raised, ropy scars striping over pale skin, at the jagged lines of stark white cut into the nape of the Jedi's neck. There's so many, he realizes. And some are layered over each other, as if to rip open old injuries for added pain.

When he lifts his head to meet his brother's gaze again, he can swear those grey eyes flash acid gold.

"He implanted a shock collar." The quiet voice is like ice. "Wired it directly into my spinal column while I was awake to feel the agony. Used it to punish me when I wouldn't kill for him, then forced me to kill anyway."

Ah. Arcann's expression sours, like a flame forced to smolder, and Corrain grins in answer. It's not a nice smile- there's a feral bloodlust in it, and the promise of vengeance. Arcann knows from his knowledge of the Jedi that it's not something they'd encourage. But it's what convinced him to follow - the genuine pain, the rage, the kinship it creates between them. The sure knowledge that this young storm - his brother, his younger sibling, found in the worst of ways - is his best chance at truly seeing Valkorion fall.

And yet- he can't shake the guilt, the sorrow for what he's done. For the suffering that must be having their father's spirit rattling around inside Corrain's subconscious. There's too much of Thexan's strength of heart in Corrain to see it lost to Tyth's fire and Izax's desolation.

So he reaches out, steadier this time, and lets his youngest sibling feel the weight of his promise.

"I will see his hold on you broken, little brother," Arcann swears, and it tastes a little like hope. "I will see you free again."

And Corrain softens back into kindness and summer rain and the smell of the earth after a nourishing rainstorm, and his smile turns true.

"And I, you, Arcann. And I, you."

[hartshorn-and-isinglass]

(Kinda heavy personal history blather, totally optional. CW: abuse, mental health, complex grief)

I should get this out of the way and off of your dash before the weekend, but inevitably this time of year I do end up thinking about my mother. She's been gone for ten years now, and I never had a good relationship with her, ever. When I was five I was already convinced she would kill me if I couldn't prove myself to be useful. I don't think she would have directly murdered me, but in subsequent years it became clear that she didn't exactly have a solid concept of being concerned for my safety or well-being. And it wasn't for complete lack of trying, either, which is the really heartbreaking thing. She read a lot of parenting and child psychology books and sometimes tried applying what she learned from them, but it would be frustrating and triggering for her and she would give up. I ended up reading all those books myself as a child and understood that she had gradually shifted to doing the opposite of what the books advised. (What she needed was therapy, not just books. But I think she was afraid of what she would discover if she went.)

There's a long history of generational trauma on that side of the family. My mother had difficulty with family bonds and just... like, the very concept of love generally. She could be a sweet person and a guiding light for other people who weren't as close, but she had real trouble dealing with having a husband and kids, and especially, especially had trouble with how to treat the kid she saw as her eldest daughter, the person who was supposed to be a clone of her and also her helpmeet in place of her emotionally absent husband, but who was failing miserably at both those things. I think that marked difference in how she treated other people versus how she treated me heavily contributed to my sense that something was fundamentally wrong with me. And, if you've been here for a hot minute, you are aware that even with over a decade of therapy under my belt it's been hard to shake that.

And that has also made it hard to talk about this to anyone else who knew her. Because either they're entrenched in the dysfunctional family system that shaped her into who she was, or they only know the side of her that was a force for good. And she did a lot of good things. She just wasn't good to me.

I thought I had already understood all this by the time she got sick, but when she passed I was surprised by how much grief I still had for what never was. There had been some small part of me that still hoped things could have been at least a little better, given enough time. But her last act of unkindness, shortly before she died, had been to gather all of the family around her for one final big dinner together--and not invite me. I found this out as she lay in a coma in the hospital and my aunt demanded to know why I hadn't been at the dinner a few days before. I didn't know there was a dinner, I said. She let it go after that. No one brought it up to me again. A pretty clear sign that there was never any hope for a real relationship between us. She'd been rejecting me the whole time, in a million ways, and I now had to grapple with that as the whole picture of our relationship from start to finish. It took something like a year and a half to come to grips with all of it.

My dad used to have real problem with me not visiting her grave more often but now I live on the other side of the continent so I have an excuse. It really shits me up that since her death he's been hard at work rewriting her story to fit the idealized version of his life, trying to drill it into people's heads that she was a selfless, devoted wife and mother who gladly gave up her career to become a stay-at-home mom (that was NOT the initial plan; she wanted to keep working but felt pressured to quit, and she was so happy about going back to work when Sibling and I were old enough to not need childcare). He doesn't know that when she got sicker she confessed to me that she wished she'd dated and married a specific other man she'd known, wondering if her life would have been easier if she had. I know things about her that no one else in this family is willing to touch with a ten-foot pole, and it's because so much of her is in me. She put it there, after all. I am the embodiment of her fears and desires; I understand her in a way that no one else could have. I am not her clone, but her monster; not her spousified helpmeet, but the child who bears the burden of her story, written in scars.

So now you know why I have Somewhat Complicated Feelings about Mother's Day.

I should go to bed.

[livingmybestlove]

Finding My Soul In You

Prologue:

The sun's rays punctured through the clouds as I drove up the interstate in my dads old, rusted RAV4. I could almost imagine the sky above being what heaven looks like, if that sort of thing existed after this life. There was a permanent tremble in my hands, constantly on edge about the slightest things. But as I looked back in the rear view mirror and into the back seat, the anxiety turned the trembles to slight quivers. My thoughts often drifted to unbidden memories or fears of the future, even in our current circumstances. As it turns out, when you live in a dingy, old apartment above a corner store with drug addicts for parents, those are the afflictions you are forced to live with. 

There has been an uncertainty of survival since I could walk, having an absent mother and a mostly absent father, who unintentionally, fell into her lifestyle. Leaving me to my own devices. I was the product of a drug fueled bender that resulted in an accidental pregnancy. For as long as I can remember, they ensured those thoughts remained branded into me.

 "How are you feeling, Bran?" I asked, meeting my brothers deep, brown eyes in the mirror.

We'd been on the road for hours, I was anticipating the drive being much more chaotic but he had his head stuck in a book so the only sound that filled the car was the radio playing our favorite playlist. We'd made it together one day years ago when we were bored with nothing else to do. Every time our parents would leave the house after that, we would blare it as loud as we could. Regardless of whether it was an act of rebellion, or just simply something that brought us joy. We sang as loud as we could. I'd like to think we were drowning out the anger, the loneliness, and the resentment.

"I'm good, may want to stop in a bit for a snack though," he said with a wide grin.

"How do chicken nuggets sound?" I asked, lifting my brows.

"McDonald's?" his face lit up, it was his favorite. We'd been so used to snacks from the corner store that any time we ate a warm meal, it felt like a special occasion.

"Of course," I chuckled, receiving a laugh in return, "We can eat out as much as you want after next week."

"So I get to choose what we eat from now on?" There was a hint of a smirk in his tone, but his childlike eyes always gave his true thoughts away. He was too smart for his own good.

"You know, that is not how this works," I shook my head in amusement. I couldn't help but smile at him as I gathered my bag with my right hand, ready to stop at the next exit.

"Always worth a shot. Your loss," I could almost see him shrugging and turning his head back to his book while I kept my eyes on the road.

Brandon was highly abnormal for his age, his IQ shooting sky high. He preferred books or puzzles to video games and watching TV, even downloading cognitive training apps on his phone to use in his free time. He always said he liked to keep his brain moving, which made homework a walk in the park. I found myself wondering now and again whether he kept so busy as a distraction from our life outside of school.

"How's our Ryder?" I asked toward the back seat, immediately feeling a wet nose against my ear at his name. He gave a huge lick, signaling that he was clearly a happy boy. He tried to nuzzle into my shoulder under the seatbelt and I returned the sentiment, resting my head against his snout, the sensation of shaggy hair tickling the back of my neck.

We stopped at the nearest exit to commandeer the chicken nuggets for both Brandon and Ryder, then were off to our destination, only an hour and a half away. The town was small as far as I could see from Apple Maps, a very welcome change from our life in Boston. There seemed to be a myriad of trees surrounding the Turnman house, thankfully secluded from the outside. Brandon and I were both exhilarated at the thought of never living in the city again, as grateful as we were for the convenience of the corner store under our apartment, we needed a space for ourselves. Especially now that we had some semblance of stability in a home that had the capacity to comfort us more than our previous life ever did. 

After finishing off their meals, I looked back thirty or so minutes later to see Bran with his head on top of Ryder and his arm draped across his stomach. They were both clearly exhausted from the drive. It was one of those moments where I wished so badly that my eyes could capture the moment in a photo. 

In this instant, I took a moment to send thoughts of gratitude to whatever entity had control over our fate, which included our grandfather. Lancing Turnman had lived until the comfortable age of 68, passing just one month prior from a heart attack. I received a summons just days after his death and immediately visited the law office handling his affairs. During that meeting, his will was read aloud to me alone. 

When I had first heard of his death, I was unaffected. He held no place in our lives, never stepping in to care or provide for us, even when Brandon was born. There was a certain feeling of resentment toward him. He could've saved us from so much, yet he remained holed up in his fortress of a home, alone. It showed proof in the notion that family isn't connected by blood, those bonds are forged with acts of pure concern for the needs of others over your own, expecting nothing in return. 

In the meeting at his lawyers office, I discovered, among other things, he had left every single asset to me, including his home in Michigan. During the 15 hour car drive back to Boston, I cried more than I had in months. Never in my life had I felt this much relief or gratitude toward anyone. 

Beginning next week, when I receive the remaining funds from his various accounts, we would have more security than we could have ever dreamed on top of finally having a genuine home. With only an hour left in our journey, not only were we approaching stability, we were approaching an entirely new life. 

No longer would we have to live just to survive, we could live to experience...and what a beautiful fantasy that was. 

[tsukiakurotori]

I might be a little late but...if I may... *carefully presents my two current wolships, then hides* 🥺

Tsukia and Haurchefant-

They enjoy cuddling, once Tsukia is comfortable and used to the physical contact. She comes to feel safe with him, so will often be trying to have her activities such as reading be near him. Sometimes her tail will even subconsciously curl around him when they are together without her noticing. 🤭

Bonus (a future little snippet of them):

Morning had dawned. But Tsukia was still sleeping. And he… He didn’t have the heart to wake her. The paperwork could wait. As she snuggled closer, seeking warmth, he brought her into his arms, wrapping the blankets tighter around them. She gave a contented sigh, relaxing deeper into slumber. The smile that appeared on his face couldn’t be contained as he gazed at her fondly.  Gently nuzzling the top of her head, Haurchefant decided that he would sleep in this morning as well. Taiki gave a quiet huff as he stared at the two from his bed on the floor. The hoarhound pup settled back down as well, curled into a ball. All was quiet in the Commander’s quarters, though all others were already bustling through their morning routines.  It wasn’t long before some started wondering where Lord Haurchefant was, unused to him being absent at this hour. There were a few who could only give each other knowing looks before going about their business. 

Safianne and Estinien-

These two are still pretty new to me as a ship, but... Currently, I would have to say that they enjoy training and adventuring together. 🤔 Safianne may be a Sage, but she trained as a Lancer in Gridania when she was young before then, so Estinien ends up teaching her the ways of a Dragoon while they are getting closer and learning about each other. Though initially baffled by it, I think Estinien also enjoys when she randomly falls asleep against him, feeling safe enough to let her guard down, and when she shares her travel snacks with him or specially makes some for him. 🤭💕 I think they both enjoy the playfulness that comes out during a good sparring match between the two however.

Considering one of the things she did during their initial interactions was kicking a lance up off the ground to single-handedly point it at him... This moody Sage is undaunted by his grump. 🤣

I love them a lot with just the few snippets I have so far. 😭💕 She's so willing to do anything to protect him, even at great cost to herself, as she is unwilling to stand by and lose him like she did her parents. Not when she has the power to change things this time.

For the sake of protecting anyone she gets into a relationship with, Saf wasn’t one to make obvious displays of affection, such as kissing or holding hands in front of others. It was to save them from being targeted by anyone after her. But it becomes different with Estinien.🥺

*realizes how much ranting I've been doing* ...Oops. Apologies for the length. I shall make myself scarce now. Hopefully, this brought you even just a tiny bit of enjoyment. 😅🥺💕

Throwing this out there as a wolqotd -

Could I get some wolships in here and what’s their favorite activity together? 🫣

[night-garden-fic]

Epilogue: At Last, Spring!

(Read on AO3)

"What do we do now?"

Epilogue: At Last, Spring!

     Edward stood on the Library's front step, lugging a heavy picnic basket in one hand and knocking at the door briskly with the other.  Inside, there was silence, then a sort of shuffling.  Finally, the door creaked open.

     "...Yes?  Oh!  Hey, Ed."

     Russell looked well, if a bit preoccupied.  Probably, he had been in the middle of a good book, and Edward almost felt guilty for tearing him away from it.

     Almost.

     "Hey yourself, Russell!"

     Opening the door a bit wider and leaning against the frame, Russell let his posture relax a bit.

     "What have you been up to?"

     Edward held up the basket.

     "Eat lunch yet?"

     Russell shook his head.

     "I was about to, actually."

     Just what Edward had been wanting to hear.

     "Well, how about we have lunch together today?  Hike up Mount Clemens, enjoy the view...  It really is gorgeous outside.  You shouldn't miss it!"

     Russell peered out into the sunny blue-green day, assessing these claims thoughtfully.  He broke into a shy, approving smile.

     "So it is...  All right!"

     Edward beamed.

     "Excellent!  Shall we?"

     Russell nodded distractedly, then leaned back into the gloom of the Library.

     "One second here...  Hey, Cecilia!  I'm taking a walk with Ed!  Go see Sabrina and Nicky if you're hungry or bored, okay?"

     A small, cheery voice came from somewhere in the dark.  Edward laughed.

     "...Parent of the year."

     Russell tried to glare, but was having trouble keeping a stiff upper lip.

     "Shut up, Ed."

     Both men laughed as Cecilia bolted between them, charging into the warmth of the day with a friendly wave.  Edward and Russell—though a good deal slower, and in the opposite direction—did the same.

     Spring had come to Kardia.

     And it brought with it, as it always did, a fresh start.  Pink and white flowers on the trees, falling like nectar-scented snow.  Days filled with slanted golden sun, heavy blue-violet clouds, and all the rainbows in between.  Edward's own garden; already bursting with cabbages and radishes, vibrant with the Moondrop flowers he'd decided to plant on a whim.  The warm air was restless with fresh, fragrant breezes, heavy with sea spray and new greenery.

     All, it seemed, was full of life.

     Including Russell, who sparkled with a lusty, bittersweet sort of vitality that only emphasized just how not-himself he'd really been that winter.  It made Edward feel strangely protective; made him want to scoop up the cheerful, curious soul who walked beside him on this fine day and take him home, to hold him forever and shield him from all pain.

     You know that's impossible.

     It was impossible, yes.  And, if Edward was honest with himself, it wasn't even desirable.  Russell didn't exist to be carefully safeguarded.  He existed to absent-mindedly dawdle down this wooded path, naming every plant he knew from a field guide he'd memorized, and occasionally tripping over an exposed root or his own feet.

     (I love all of him.)

     He did indeed, and he loved that freewheeling exuberance most of all.

     Russell was rather quiet and awkward, and usually struck people who didn't know him well as a bit stuffy.  Once you got used to him, however, it became clear that his personality was rooted in an earnest, inquisitive zest for life.

     But then...

     ...Then, if you were lucky enough, you really got to know him.  And your heart would break to realize just how hard Russell worked to hold onto that joy, and how terribly lost he was when it slipped free from his grasp.

     All too often, it did slip.  Would slip, no doubt.

     There would be no last time.

     Both men knew, deep down, that winter would eventually come again.

     For now, they were content not to think about all that.

     It was spring, wonderful spring, and Russell was bright-eyed and easygoing, uncurling in the sun like a new shoot.  He was still weaving along and examining every vine and leaf he saw; though he'd since moved on from naming them, in favor of telling some long, rambling story.  It was mostly about how he'd ordered some rose bushes from a botanical catalog that Tabatha lent him, and it was honestly quite the dull little tale.  But Russell, somehow, managed to make it seem interesting.

     He always does.

     Everything from a mundane anecdote, to a drunken evening, to a walk in the woods.  The light of Russell's sharp, overfilled mind colored everything, and his many-sided thoughts split every experience like a sharply-hewn prism.

     That, over almost everything else, was why Edward loved him.

     I want to tell him.

     (No.  Don't disturb this.)

     Sometimes, Edward knew, it was best to just be grateful for what you had.

     Right now, they had the dappled sunlight, the warm spring breeze, and the winding path ahead.

     And, of course, each other.  If not in totality.

     It was, every bit of it, good enough.

     (He'd be disappointed in you for that one.)

     He's also not a mind-reader.

     Edward figured that what Russell didn't know wouldn't hurt him.  As clever and curious as he was, Russell didn't seem to have any extra-sensory abilities, and was in fact a sight more oblivious to what went on around him than most people.  Just another one of those eccentric, slightly poignant charms that Edward held so dear.

     The afternoon rolled out before them like a plush green carpet, and all was going quite well—truly, much better than good-enough—until they began ascending the mountain in earnest.

     At first, Russell only began to slow down a bit, his manner gradually changing from cheerfully distracted to grimly determined.  As they made their way upward, Edward listened warily as Russell's breathing grew painfully labored, and by the time they'd climbed about a quarter of the way, he was wheezing; face still set in determination even as his body faltered, clearly drawing on his long-ago marching years.

     Edward began suggesting that they turn around and come back another time, but Russell wouldn't hear of it.  He stubbornly pressed on until, near the halfway mark, he suddenly fell to his knees.

     "Russell...!"

     Edward crouched next to his friend, who didn't seem to have the breath to respond.  Thinking quickly, he took the blanket from his basket, spreading it on the ground so Russell could lie down more comfortably.

     "There you are...  Do you think this is going to pass, or...?"

     The unvoiced second half of Edward's question being, "or will I have to carry you?"

     Russell collapsed on the blanket and rolled onto his back, clearly exhausted and still unable to speak.  For a moment, it looked as though Edward might have to carry him, and it was a somewhat daunting prospect.  Weedy and compact as Russell was, he was still a full-grown man, and they had strayed quite a ways from home.

     You've carried him before.  It'll be all right.

     He had, and it would be.  Edward knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would carry Russell to the ends of the Earth without question, tired bones be damned.  He was fully ready to prove it, too, but it seemed that would have to wait.  Russell quickly began to come around after a few moments' rest; still breathing hard, but at least able to talk.

     "...Okay, that was a little embarrassing."

     Edward sighed.

     "No...  I just pushed you too hard.  I'm sorry."

     Russell had been so lively and active of late that it was easy to forget just how ill he'd been over the winter, and the ways that it affected him still.  He frequently went for long walks without issue, and hadn't had much trouble with stairs in some time, but it seemed he wasn't quite up to mountains yet.

     "Don't...  Blame yourself...  You're the one who told me not to...  I'm dumb, Ed."

     Edward winced; noting that Russell kept having to pause mid-sentence, and that his lips had taken on a faint tinge of wintery blue.

     No, not up to mountains at all.

     "...Nonsense.  You're incredibly brilliant and determined, and that's why you never listen to a damn word I say.  Now, seriously...  Do you need to go home?"

     Russell shook his head.

     "No.  Just need to catch my breath."

     Edward knew Russell was one to downplay physical discomfort, so he kept one worried eye on him, but it really did seem like his breath was easing.

     "Okay...  You hungry?"

     Russell turned his head to let out a miserable resonant cough, then sat up cheerily.

     "Yeah.  I'm actually a little lightheaded."

     That statement struck Edward as terribly ironic, and he had to remind himself that hypoxia was no laughing matter.

     "Well, all right...  Let's dig in, shall we?"

     Edward sat the basket between them, opening it to reveal a stack of manju buns.  Russell nodded approvingly.

     "Those look pretty great.  Did you..."

     As he passed Russell a bun, Edward nodded in return.

     "...I indeed did!  Sabrina showed me how."

     Russell took a bite, chewing contentedly.

     "I could have guessed!  She's the best at these things."

     Edward paused before biting into his manju.

     "...Better than me?"

     Russell smirked.

     "Well, it's your first try.  You have to keep at it."

     Having finally bitten into the still-warm bun, Edward paused for a bit to savor it, finding it more than satisfactory.

     "Your purely selfless interest in my cooking skills inspires me."

     Russell plucked another manju from the basket.

     "Good to know."

     Edward, too, reached back into the basket, unearthing a cold, sea-green bottle of white wine from its depths.

     "Care for something to wash those down?"

     Russell nodded hesitantly.

     "Oh...  Sure."

     Edward rummaged around in the basket again, this time retrieving a corkscrew.  He wrenched the bottle open, brought it to his lips, and took a long pull.

     "...Sorry, I didn't bring any glasses.  I just thought the bottle itself was enough fragile glass to drag up a mountain for one day.  I'm not contagious or anything."

     With a smile, he passed the bottle to Russell, who took it rather awkwardly.

     Suddenly, Edward realized how this must have looked.  The invitation to drink after him, perhaps even the presence of the wine itself...  It all seemed like a blatantly romantic move, and a silly and contrived one at that; like something a sixteen-year-old would try to pull.  But the truth was, a little wine just seemed appropriate to the jubilant spirit of things, and he really had thought better of dragging glassware along.

     Maybe you should have thought better of all of this.

     After a moment's trepidation, Russell tipped the bottle for a hearty swallow, passing it back to Edward and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

     "I don't mind...  I'm just kind of surprised you still trust me to drink."

     Edward shrugged, taking the bottle and throwing back a terse sip.

     "Russell...  You're the most obstinate man I've ever met.  I know that if you want to drink, you're going to drink.  And the way I figure it, you can either drink alone and miserable, or you can knock back a few with me and maybe have a good experience.  That make sense?"

     Russell had returned to his manju bun, chewing slowly.

     "Makes a lot of sense, actually."

     Edward grinned.

     "...And besides, it's not like you can drink the whole bottle and lose your wits when you're sharing with me."

     He passed the bottle back to Russell, who accepted it cheerfully.

     "Quite true."

     Edward playfully nudged Russell's shoulder.

     "Hey...  Sharing, remember?"

     Russell passed the bottle back to Edward, who took an even more impressive gulp.

     "Sorry."

     Edward dabbed his mouth with his sleeve.

     "Don't worry about it."

     They went on like this for a while, passing the bottle back and forth as they picked at their manju and admired the view, which really was lovely.  Edward had originally planned for that view to include the whole town and the flat blue expanse of marine horizon, but the world seen from halfway up had its own unique charms.  They were sitting just above the treetops, seemingly lost in a sea of pink and white and green.

     It was as though they were the only two people left in all the world.

     Russell took a long sip, sighing contentedly as he passed the bottle.

     "It really is nice up here."

     Edward saw that there was only one good gulp left, and made short work of it before sliding the empty bottle back into the basket.

     "It's like you read my mind."

     They sat quietly for several minutes, the wine and the high sun warming their bodies.  There was actually a faint sheen of sweat glistening at Russell's hairline, and he was fiddling with a zipper as he began to speak again.

     "You know...  Sorry to bring this up, but back when things were going so badly this winter...  Well, it seemed like the world would never bloom like this again.  I felt dead, you know?  But now everything is alive, and new, and..."

     The memories were sad, but Russell clearly wasn't.  He sounded hopeful, almost over-eager for what this new spring might hold.  Edward smiled as he shrugged off his own white coat, remembering one of the reasons for this impromptu little celebration.

     "...And speaking of new life, I actually have some good news."

     Russell wriggled out of his overshirts, tilting his head inquisitively.

     "Hmm?"

     For some reason, Edward wanted to laugh.

     "Tori's expecting."

     Russell's jaw dropped.

     "Oh...  Oh wow.  That makes so much sense.  No wonder the poor girl's been so tired."

     Edward smiled, the stifled laugh in his throat lightening his voice.

     "I'll say...  She's been working so hard, and she didn't even know it until yesterday."

     Russell was still shocked and scatterbrained, grinning and shaking his head.

     "Gods...  I've known her since she was twelve, and she practically lives with me, so that must make her kid my...  I don't know.  What does that make me?"

     Edward patted Russell on the back.

     "Really lucky that a lot of people love you?"

     That brought a few tears to Russell's eyes.

     "Yeah.  I guess so."

     And then they fell silent again, gazing out over the blooming trees.

     Though really, it was only Russell who gazed out over the trees.

     Edward was too busy trying not to gaze at Russell.

     This proved a losing battle.  All he could think about was how perfectly Russell scattered and refracted the abundant sunlight; as though his body—much like his mind—was one big gorgeous prism.  The light played exquisitely upon the silver in his hair and the rims of his glasses, the down on his bare arms and the luminously pale face gone slightly pink from the sun and the wine.  Every precious inch of him seemed lit up from within, glowing and haloed spectacularly.

     And it was almost funny, because he didn't even seem to notice.

     Ever-oblivious, Russell simply sat there, cross-legged and blithely gleaming.  His head was propped thoughtfully in his hands, and his undershirt flapped loose in the breeze; alternately revealing a strip of his silky, phosphorescent back and draping suggestively over the arch of that delicate, knobby spine.

     Edward turned away with a sigh.

     This was just one more thing he'd have to learn to endure, if they were to continue being friends.

     Russell's heavy drinking.  Russell's damaged mind.  Russell's strange, inviting, understated beauty.

     It was all a lot to deal with.

     And yet, what else?

     There was nothing else, or at least nothing Edward could seriously entertain.

     Russell, still glowing, emitted a vague annoyed sound from the back of his throat, then sprawled out on the blanket, staring at the sky.  Edward—wanting to stay on his friend's level—leaned back casually on his elbows.

     "...Something wrong?"

     Now Russell was awkwardly twisting his lower body, wincing slightly.

     "I'm okay.  My back is just bothering me."

     Edward sat up.

     "Let me see if I can help."

     Russell braced his hands under his spine, hissing slightly through his teeth.

     "I don't know if you-"

     Edward smirked.

     "...Well, it's not like I have medical training or anything!  Come on.  Let me do my job."

     Russell sighed, rolling grouchily onto his stomach.

     "Fine.  Have at me."

     (Believe me, I'd want nothing more.)

     Suddenly nervous, Edward tentatively placed his hands on the small of Russell's back.  His skin was so warm under his thin shirt, and his waist was lissome and yielding.  Edward reminded himself not to get distracted, calling up his old clinical mindset.

     He's just a patient.  You're just trying to help.

     (It feels so good to touch him.)

     It stopped feeling good once Edward realized he'd never, in his entire career, felt muscles so tense.  It shouldn't even have been possible.

     "Russell...  You're all in knots.  No wonder you hurt.  Just try to relax, and we'll go from there."

     Russell shifted slightly, with an exasperated grunt.

     "...Okay.  That better?"

     Edward could feel no difference.

     "Just try to go limp, okay?"

     Another slight shift.

     "Like that?"

     Edward sighed as he realized the likely explanation.

     "...You don't know how, do you?"

     Russell shrugged.

     "What's to know?"

     Edward pressed his thumbs into the hard snarls of Russell's back.

     "Clearly, something you don't.  It makes my own back hurt just thinking about it...  Russell, how do you even walk around?"

     Russell mumbled into his folded arms.

     "I don't know...  I guess I'm used to it?"

     Edward pulled his hands back, dusting them off as though he'd just been handling something horrid.

     "Well, you shouldn't be...  You're really hurting yourself."

     Russell turned to face the sky again, his movements slow and his teeth gritted.

     "It's not like it's all the time.  It's...  There are days when everything just aches, and I...  I don't know.  I guess I do sometimes worry that something might be really wrong with me.  You think it's all just tension, then?"

     The way Russell stared into and past the great blue yonder reminded Edward of the first time he'd ever seen him; floating in the bath all those years ago, back before they'd ever spoken.

     Back before they knew everything they knew.

     Oh, Russell.

     I finally know who you are.

     Edward knew that Russell was every bit the beautiful dreamer he'd seemed through the otherworldly haze of steam on that long-ago day.

     But by now, he also knew that he was so, so much more.

     Bright and curious, generous and quiet.  Subtly hilarious, by turns on accident and on purpose.  Infuriatingly stubborn and sharp at times.  Heartrendingly well-intentioned, even at his worst.  Surprisingly full of contradictions.  Confused, frightened, and terribly brave.  Often in an amount of pain that was difficult for even Edward to fathom.

     Most of all, he was simply Russell, and all Edward wanted was to be by his side.

     (I love all of him.)

     Edward gently placed a hand on Russell's shoulder.  That, too, was drawn painfully tight.

     "I think it's pretty likely, yes.  Don't underestimate how the mind affects the body."

     Russell looked defeated.

     "...Well, that makes me feel a little hopeless."

     Edward could see that hopelessness on his face, and it tugged painfully at his heartstrings.  Before he really knew what he was doing, he had stretched out beside Russell on the blanket, gathering him protectively in his arms.

     "Okay...  Come on."

     Russell seemed a bit taken aback, but he melted gratefully into the embrace, some of that awful stiffness dissolving.

     "...What's this for?"

     Edward shrugged.  What was that for, indeed?

     "You just looked like you needed it."

    Russell bowed his head into Edward's chest, then lazily draped an arm over his waist.

     "Well, you always seem like you might need it, too, so here."

     Edward felt Russell's grip tighten, pulling him even closer.  It dawned on him that he'd actually forgotten how it felt to be held.

     "You may be right."

     They lay like that for a while; Edward embracing Russell's coiled-spring frame, Russell holding on tight as he breathed shallowly and tried to keep very still, as though he thought that was what resting meant.  The sun beat down on their skin, and the petal-laden wind stirred in their hair.  Head still tucked into Edward's chest, Russell broke their silence with a wry, quiet voice.

     "...We're just a couple of lonely bastards, aren't we?"

     Edward laughed.

     "I guess we are.  I don't feel so lonely right now, though."

     Russell sighed contentedly.

     "No, I suppose I don't either."

     And why would he?  They were truly together, in a way they'd never really been before.  All Edward could think was that, if Russell could only relax, this would be perfect.

     This would be all I ever wanted.

     (Most of it, at least.)

     It was then that something unexpected happened.

     As Edward readjusted himself around Russell's body, his hand accidentally brushed the small of his back in a way that, had it been intentional, could only be interpreted as slightly boundary-crossing.

     He was just about to apologize, when he realized that Russell had shivered and sighed slightly, but made no attempt to pull away.  Cautiously, he allowed his hand to retrace that dangerous path, and was met with the same response.  He swore he even felt some of Russell's tension dissolve.

     What does that mean?

     (You know what it means.)

     What should I do?

     (Risk everything.)

     Shaky and tentative, Edward slipped his hand under the hem of Russell's shirt, meeting no resistance.  Heart pounding, half convinced that he was on the edge of waking up from a beautiful dream, he allowed his palm to make full contact with Russell's back and waist.

     (Is this what you imagined?)

     It wasn't, not quite.  Russell's soft skin was slightly dry, and there was a vague awkwardness to his bones that Edward hadn't really anticipated.  But he supposed that was all right, because as soon as he felt that spare, tense body soften and unwind in his hands, he understood exactly why it wasn't what he'd imagined.

     It was because he never, on his cleverest days or his loneliest nights, could have imagined something so wonderful.

     Please don't wake up.

     (I'd rather die in my sleep.)

     Edward, of course, didn't wake up.  Not even when a cold, nervous hand slipped up his bare back.

     This was real.

     Everything was changing.

     Russell pulled back slightly, but only enough to look Edward square in the eye.  Russell's own eyes were red-rimmed and glistening, but so piercing and lucid that Edward felt his heart skip a beat.  That gaze held a perfect, wordless sort of understanding.

     It seemed to say, "I know who you are, too."

~*~

     Russell had already figured it out, but the feel of Edward's warm hand on his skin only confirmed it: this was what he'd been waiting for, through all those long, restless, half-drunk nights.  In those uneasy hours when he longed for the distance between them to dissolve, this must have been at least part of what he meant.

     This wonderful tangle of limbs, their synchronized breath, the silken-warm breeze blowing Edward's glossy hair over both their faces; all their intricate and considerable defenses lowered at last, finally together in the truest sense.  And then there was Edward's cautious hand on Russell's bare back, a gesture so loving and tender that it moved him to tears.

     Somehow, it was at once a statement and a question: "I love you." "Will you love me?"

     The only answer Russell could think of was an echo, his own shy hand seeking Edward's skin:  "Me too."  "I will."

     (If you'll have me.)

     Slowly sliding his hand up Edward's spine, over sturdy bones and well-padded muscle, Russell rolled back just far enough to meet his beloved friend's eyes.  Deep, fathomless blue; hectic with love and astonishment.

     For what felt like a small eternity, they spoke without speaking; neither body saying anything more than yes, yes, yes.

     What else, indeed, was there to say?

     Then Edward, glacially slow, began moving in closer, and Russell knew what must come next.

     You'll get to find out.

     (Haven't you been so curious?)

     He knew what came next.  And he also knew that he was tired of living such a cringing, skittish existence.  Of sitting frozen in place, bracing for the worst so long and hard that he was throwing out his own back.

     As though it were the cue he'd been waiting for all along, Edward's touch signaled to Russell that those days were over.

     It was time to let go.

     Time to act.

     Time to live.

     Before he had the chance to start thinking and ruin everything, Russell grabbed hold of Edward's face in one swift motion; palms cupping his fine sharp jaw, fingers tangled in the long hair at the nape of his neck.

     Don't think about it!

     Moving at the command of a numinous, unthinking passion, Russell roughly dragged Edward into a kiss so intense that it bordered on violence.  After a moment's stunned pause, Edward quickly adjusted to the frenetic new pace that Russell had set, returning the kiss with the same half-starved vigor.

     It wasn't a perfect kiss, by any means.

     In fact, it was objectively rather awkward.  Edward's hair was all over the place, and their glasses slid down and clinked together.  Russell had to learn, on the spot, the mechanics of kissing someone with a mustache.  Most of all, they both wanted it a little too much, dissolving into an exuberant mess of tongues and teeth.

     No, it wasn't perfect.

     It was just the most wonderful kiss Russell had ever experienced.

     Neither of them seemed to want it to end; drawing it out until the last possible moment, diving until they ran out of air.  Russell's head spun, and he started seeing stars.  When they finally forced themselves apart, all they could do was lie there panting, still holding each other.  Edward's hand was moving absent-mindedly up and down Russell's ribs, steady and soothing.

     As soon as his breath returned, Russell inhaled deeply, gearing up for a contented sigh.

     On the exhale, however, he found that all he could do was laugh; a laugh of elation and love-of-life, and a laugh at the fact that, when it came down to it, it really had been that easy.  And that very ease, after all that fretting and heartache, struck Russell as patently hilarious.

     But, when he turned to Edward, he saw that he was crying.  Not tears of sorrow, but perhaps tears of pure emotion; streaming down his temples in two neat streams as he smiled up at the blue, blue sky.  Russell took Edward's face in his hands again, gently this time, and carefully wiped them away.

     "Ed...  You're too sentimental for your own good."

     Edward softly cupped Russell's face with his palm.

     "...I'm too sentimental?  Gods, look at yourself."

     Russell realized that he, too, had begun cheerfully weeping.

     "Good point...  Maybe that's not such a bad thing, though?"

     Edward's other hand curled around Russell's waist, pulling him closer.

     "I don't think so, no."

     They stayed like that for quite some time; laughing, crying, holding each other tight.  Then they leaned in for another kiss, slow and closed-mouthed this time around.

     The kiss of two lovers who had all the time in the world.

     Russell wondered, with some anxiety, where all that time would take them.

     What do we do now?

     The simplest answer, he supposed, was no more or less than what they'd already been doing: they'd just keep figuring out how best to love each other.

     They would try, and they would occasionally stumble, and they might even get hurt from time to time.

     Still, they would keep on trying.

     They would have each other.  And they would have each other's love, in whatever shape that took.

     Russell tenderly kissed Edward's high, cool forehead.  Then he disentangled himself from his grasp, sitting up and taking in the wide, still world.  The sea of trees, the boundless blue sky, the peak cresting up behind them.  He felt almost painfully alive, heart swelling with daring and potential.

     Edward slowly sat up, laying an arm across Russell's shoulders.

     "Ready to head back?"

     The steady weight of that embrace.  The blue sky, the peak.  The world at their feet.

     Russell's eyes followed the path to the summit, realizing that it no longer looked quite so far.

     "...Actually, would it be all right if we went up the rest of the way?"

     Edward glanced up at the peak and then back at Russell, looking worried and skeptical.

     "It would...  But are you sure you're up to it?"

     Russell heaved himself up onto his knees.  Edward quickly stood beside him, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.  Russell met him with an unwavering gaze and an easy, slightly challenging smile.

     "I won't know until I try."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾THE END☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

[early20sfailingplenty]

All alone I break // upset!reader x Sinclairs // choose your own dynamic (platonic or romantic).

Summary: you're having a really bad day and none of the Sinclairs are around to comfort you. You wander the town, lonely and upset and tired, and just as you break, all alone in the middle of the main street, you're found and brought home emotionally and physically.

Got pissed off at my parents again for multiple reasons so wrote this to calm myself down. Hopefully it provides someone some comfort! I wrote this as a 'you're dating/are very close to all the Sinclairs' dynamic, but it could also be read as platonic; I've left it up to individual interpretation. Take what you need from this fic.🥺

AS ALWAYS, GENDER NEUTRAL READER, NO CODED LANGUAGE, Y/N AND "YOU" USED.

TW; canon typical darkness, murder, crying (reader), fic's built around being and feeling alone (you're having a bad day and want some cuddles/comfort but no one's around🥺😭💔), reader is morally just as bad as the Sinclairs (I can't see you being in Ambrose permanently and NOT having at least a grey morality), possessive language ("your Sinclairs"), irresponsible driving (Lester is on the phone with you while he drives) but nothing bad happens, swearing, mentions of alcohol, this could be read as containing toxic relationship elements, but just like always, I wrote this to be a genuine love and connection between you and the brothers so if it does come across to contain toxic elements, please know it was unintentional!!! It just occurred to me that it could come across that way so I'm mentioning it here.

Word count: 4, 097 (why can I never write a short thing, I😩)

The town was quiet and you knew not where anyone was. The last you had heard, Bo was in the garage working on his truck after some fucker had thrown a beer bottle at the headlight and subsequently broken it (and, oh, how Bo had ripped the man to shreds in retaliation), Vincent was in the basement turning said man into one of his latest art works (the location of which was to be in some barely used, dusty room because Vincent was a petty man when he wanted to be), and Lester was, well... you never really knew where Lester was.

That was the last you had heard.

But that had been hours ago.

The garage lights weren't on and there was no music blaring out from the main room which was used to maintain the illusion of a quaint, bustling town. There were no sounds to alert you of Bo's presence, and the metal grate just off the often walked curb only emitted darkness and silence. Bo wasn't there. You took comfort in the sight of his truck, thinking that that meant he was still in Ambrose, until you remembered that there were many other vehicles on the roads (to give the illusion of others living in the town) which he could have used as his transport.

The basement had been filled with nothing but thunderous silence; the engines switched off because the main part of Vincent's work (the wax application which always turned your stomach just a little) was done. The statue was there in the middle of the room, almost finished, but Vincent was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Jonesy for that matter, which led you to believe that Vincent, too, had left Ambrose. Both human and dog being absent typically meant a trip out.

And Lester was presumably safe and well somewhere else, far from Ambrose. His house was on the outskirts of the neighbouring town; too far a distance for you to walk by yourself at this time of night... if the others had left Ambrose, then you were better off staying. Ambrose could never be left unattended, lest its many many secrets be discovered by someone it shouldn't be.

As for you, you were walking the street which led into Ambrose off the curve from the washed out road which shielded the town from people who didn't know where to look through the foliage to find the path. The church was up ahead of you, its lights on but nobody home, the garage station was dark and silent, and behind you was the pet shop, but that was quiet, too. Nobody was around. It was just you.

Just you...

You had previously been searching quietly, checking every building which was unlocked (of which there weren't many; just enough to maintain the illusion even with the lack of visitors to the town this night) and carrying out your searches with curiosity and a need which was climbing quickly from the pit of your stomach, up, up your oesophagus to get lodged in your chest. It had wrapped around your heart and with each empty room and with each Sinclair nowhere to be seen, it constricted and made you feel breathless. You knew not where your Sinclairs were, and it only made your emotional needs all the heavier, the lump in your throat increasingly apparent.

With everywhere checked and none of the Sinclairs found, you resorted to phoning Lester as you stood between the church and the gas station, having completed a full circuit of the town just by following the roads.The twins hadn't been in the house, where you had started the search, so you were well and truly out of options. Where the hell were they? You were beginning to not only miss them with such a strong need to know where they were, if only to know that they were safe and okay and alive, but you were also beginning to worry. Had something happened to them? Lester picked up after the fifth ring. It wasn't terribly late in the evening but you wondered if perhaps you had disturbed him in something somehow.

"Hey, Y/N!"

Oh, his voice... it sounded heavenly to you, especially after the rough day you had had prior to this, and you gripped your phone tighter. You wanted to climb inside Lester's voice, to be safe within him. It was the first bit of company you had had for hours. His voice caused the lump in your throat and the need wrapped around your heart to tighten and you felt the telltale sting of tears in the backs of your eyes and in the back of your nose. You swallowed thickly, "Hi, Lester." You took the phone away from your ear so you could compose yourself, but it was too late. Lester knew you far too well, and he heard your tears in your voice.

"S'matter, sweetpea? Bo bein' mean t'ya again?" Lester's voice hardened somewhat as he realised that something was wrong, but his tone was soft. It was a duality only the Sinclairs could manage, to be cold yet so feeling at the same time.

You huffed a watery laugh, your eyes wet and your tear ducts heavy with that which hadn't fallen yet. "No... at least if Bo was being mean to me, I'd know where he was... I don't know where Vinny is, either. They weren't in the house when I was so I thought they were in the garage and basement respectively, but... they're not there and neither are you and I don't know where you all are and I'm alone and - " Talking to Lester had tipped you over the edge from which you had been clinging to all day. You had woken up not feeling good, and the day's inconveniences on top of your responsibilities, duties and your already bad mood had collectively gotten the best of you. Not having the Sinclairs with you had made everything that much worse - you had only wanted to know where they were because the knowledge of their existences alone comforted you - and a sob ripped from your throat so strongly that your body gave out and you dropped to your knees. Right there, alone in the middle of the dark street, did you begin to cry in earnest, your anguish and distress so loud that it almost drowned out the low, soothing shushing which Lester was doing as he tried to comfort you as best as he could from miles away.

"Y're all right', darlin'. We'll find 'em," Lester was startled by your tears and confused; why had you phoned him and not one of his brothers? But he was also touched to realise that he had been your first thought when you hadn't known what else to do. You needed him as much as you needed his brothers, and it only made Lester love you more than he already did. "S'okay, Y/N, y're okay." He continued to murmur sweet nothings to you, his tone soft. You missed the tinkling of metal on metal as Lester grabbed his truck keys, the noise of boots crunching on gravel. "Did ya' check the sugar mill, darlin'?"

Everything stopped for just a moment as your weary mind raced to catch up. "... The where?"

Lester chuckled quietly, though there was little funny about the situation. You wondered if it was a stress or a panic response, or even just an awkward way to fill the silence, but the thought left your mind as quickly as it occurred to you. You were just too tired to think; the world had pushed you too far today and you just wanted the Sinclairs. "M'brothers keep cars there from folks needin' fan-belts so they c'n strip 'em for parts." There was a muffled thud as Lester shut the truck door with the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, but you weren't paying much attention to anything other than Lester's voice, so you barely put the pieces together. He was coming for you.

"Is it in Ambrose?" Hope bloomed in your chest, as did the feeling of having overreacted and feeling silly, but you were in such a bad mood and so needy for the brothers that you barely cared. Bo would probably grumble, but even he couldn't find it in him to turn you down when you were in tears. If you were crying, it was somethin' serious and the brothers would walk through hell just to make you smile again. You would do the same for them in a heartbeat, so close were the three of you.

Lester didn't answer you directly. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if it was in Ambrose or just outside of the town, and he didn't much care, either. He had as little as possible to do with what went on in the family business and that was the way that it was going to stay. You were so much more important to him. "Where y'at, darlin'?"

You sniffled, your tears beginning to slow now, and on shaky legs did you stand. You didn't bother wiping them away, your eyes red-rimmed and sore but the tears continued to crash around you. "M' on the road where the church is. Gas station to my left and pet store just behind me. I checked everywhere but the sugar mill because I didn't even know - " Tears poured hot and heavy down your cheeks, but you were too worn down to do anything about it. You let them fall and your body once more followed until you found yourself on your knees again. You were physically and emotionally exhausted and you wanted the Sinclairs more than anything. You loved Lester, you did, but his voice just wasn't enough.

You needed more.

"Stay right there, sweetpea, don't you move." Lester's tone was reassuring but you knew that there was also a demand. He was a lot like his brothers and he didn't even bother to phrase it as a question. Lester was telling you to stay rooted to the spot, where you had told him you were. You normally did things out of spite, you did things you were told not to do... but when it was an emergency or when one of the brothers adopted a very specific tone - the one Lester had just used on you - it was a code which they had taught you. It told you to not defy them, to listen, and it was the one time, when there were no other options, you would do as you were told. It wasn't used often, only when it had to be, and it only made your worry for the brothers increase because Lester had never used it on you before. The twins had (Vincent's hand gestures had a particular feel, or vibe, to them when he was using it on you), but never Lester. It was times like this that you were forced to remember just how dark all of the brothers were. None of them were gentler than the others; they were all dark, dangerous, but you only loved them more for it. "I gotta hang up, darlin'. Jus' sit tight for me."

"No, Lester, please - "

The dial tone sounded before you could finish your sentence and you bowed your head, the phone tightly held in your grasp. You were so done with the day and your exhausting and emotional upheaval only made it even more so. It was obvious that Lester was on his way to you, for there was no other reason he would have told you to stay put, but what about the twins? Where were they? You looked up and around at the town, naming the 'shops' and places as you did as a way of distracting yourself and giving your mind something to do other than rip itself to shreds. You weren't to move from the spot, but even if Lester hadn't used that tone on you, you weren't sure that you would have moved. You only wanted to be picked up and cradled into someone's chest, so tired were you that you didn't even want to move. Gravel was biting into your skin and the sting of it kept you grounded in the moment, even as you cried all over again. Oh, but today had hurt you so much and you just wanted the world to go away so that you could spend time with the Sinclairs and just forget about everyone and everything except for them.

You didn't know how long you had been sat on the ground talking to Lester, but the sky had darkened from a bruised collection of purples and reds into a pitch black, punctuated only by stars long since dead. It was a quiet, tranquil evening, perfectly juxtaposed by the torment and anguish which had physically brought you to your knees, your shoulders bowed inwards as they shook with the weight of all that had been placed upon them. The Sinclairs were your reprieve from such cruelty in the world, but there was little they could do about the demons within.

Your phone rang and you jumped. A hand flew to your throat as you fumbled to pick up the call, your voice breathless and your need stronger than ever. "Hello?"

"M'sorry I had ta' hang up, sweetpea," You could almost picture Lester's mouth turning downwards as he shook his head, "Had ta' sort sumthin' out." He was being deliberately vague about something and a suspicion pinged in your mind but you didn't say anything about it. The only thing in your mind right now was getting what you wanted - the brothers. You just wanted the Sinclairs and, help you, but it only made you want to cry anew with every passing moment marked only by their absences. "M' comin', darlin', ain't far now."

You could hear his voice in the distance and you could just detect the rapid crunch on gravel and you smiled. You smiled for the first time all day and it made the ache in your chest and in Lester's ease somewhat to hear it in your voice as you said, "I hear you." You cut the call and looked around to see which direction he was coming from - a pointless endeavour because there was only one road which curved into Ambrose, but it kept you occupied for the few seconds it took Lester to stalk up the road to you.

When he spotted you illuminated by the street lights, he quickened his pace until he was almost at a jog and raised a hand by way of greeting. His happy smile dropped like a stone when he took in your tear-stained cheeks, your obviously sore eyes, your body language. "Oh, darlin'," Lester sighed, "That bad, huh?" Oh, but the sound of his voice... you stood on shaky, dead legs (numb were they from a lack of circulation due to your position on the floor) and threw yourself at Lester. He caught you, he caught you, and he held you tightly as his hands rubbed up and down your back in fluid, strong motions. "I got'cha, darlin', s'all righ'." You melted into him and Lester shifted his weight to accommodate you. "Y'seen 'em?"

"No," you sniffled and Lester pulled away to wipe your tears away with calloused, slightly dirty hands. He had washed up in the time since you had seen him last, but his truck was never cleaned and so it always rubbed off on him. "Only you. I checked everywhere apart from the mill. I didn't even think..." The rest of your sentence was drowned out by tyres screeching around a corner, gravel going flying and leaving a dust cloud as a bright yellow vehicle - Vincent's truck - came screaming up the road towards you and Lester. It barely came to a stop before both driver and passenger doors flew open and like a synchronised dance did Bo and Vincent climb out, slamming their doors shut in near perfect harmony - Vincent pausing to make sure Jonesy was secured in the backseat - as they rushed over to you and Lester.

"What the fuck happened, Y/N?" Bo got to you first as he grabbed you and pulled you into his body. Oh, but your tears fell anew for the third or fourth time - you had lost count of how many crying sessions you had had during the shittiest day you had had in a long time - and you clung to Bo, sobbing into his black shirt. He shushed you and you felt Vincent's grip on your waist, his wax mouth rested on the back of your head. You picked up a muffled 'mmf' noise from behind you as it vibrated against your body and your tried and tired mind registered it as a sound of worry and concern. You knew that his eye would be checking you over clinically to make sure that you weren't hurt, but when he ascertained that you were physically all right, his eye turned to Lester, demanding an explanation for your state. None of them had ever seen you this upset, this needy for them, and it was as confusing for them as it was for you. Clearly, this had been building within you for a long time and you had broken, first alone and worried, but now surrounded by love and protected. Safe.

"I - " You couldn't speak, your throat closed up with all the tears left to shed and just as many soaked into Bo's clothes, and Lester's dark eyes met your own, a look on his face so tender that it made your tears fall faster, and he understood what you were asking him to do. You couldn't speak, and you were asking him to do it for you. You trusted him with your words and emotions, you had come to him first so many times this night, and Lester only felt his heart break for you. He longed to take it away from you, to make it all better, but he couldn't, and neither could his brothers. They could only be there for you to help you ride it out, just as you did for the three of them when times called for it.

Vincent made another noise, this time one of impatience, and Bo sighed as he stepped back just enough for Vincent to come in, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. You melted into Vincent like the art medium he so favoured, your fingers in his hair (the tips crunchy with wax and the roots greasy, but that was a problem for tomorrow) and your face burrowed in his chest, and Bo stayed at your back, his chin resting on your shoulder with his head turned slightly as his beautiful blues eyed up Lester, still waiting. He would only ever ask once and if you couldn't give him and Vincent what they wanted, awkwardly sandwiched were you between the twins (and, oh, it was right where you had wanted to be ever since you had left the house this evening), then Lester would.

"I ain't never seen 'em like this. Phoned me up cryin' and sayin' they couldn't find ya', and it got worse the more I was speakin' to 'em. Di'nt know what ta' do 'cept come up here and ya' know I phoned ya' up after I finished on the phone with Y/N. Bad day, I s'pose. Real fuckin' bad day." Bo and Vincent both seemed to physically deflate with worry (neither of them had said it, but they had clearly broken more than a few traffic laws to get to you and Lester so their actions spoke louder than verbal words ever could) and they gripped you tighter. You looked up from Vincent's chest, trying to find Lester, and he smiled and stepped forward some more so that his upper arm was brushing against Bo's. "M'here, darlin'. We ain't leavin' ya'."

"Like hell," Bo growled, agreeing with Lester, "Get 'em in the truck, Vincent. An' you," He nodded at his youngest brother. "Goin' up to th' house. Can't stand out here all night." To you, Bo then said, "M'sorry, darlin'. We only stepped out to get some supplies an' I needed Vincent to help me load it up and carry shit in to the house. Didn't mean to scare ya'." Within that last sentence did you hear a promise to not do that to you again, to leave a note for you next time so that you didn't have to worry. They were more than capable of looking after themselves, you knew it well, but one stray bullet, one flick of a blade, and they could be lost to you forever. It was enough to make you want to cry even when you were in a good mood, this the brothers knew well. They worried for you as much as you worried for them, such was the immeasurable depths of emotion between the four of you.

Bo's apology made you freeze but you swiped a hand over your face. "No, I'm sorry, it's... been a horrible day and I've just had enough." You wanted to ask if they had gotten everything they need, but you knew that there was nothing in the world to stop the twins when they wanted something, truly so ruthless were they. They would have hurried through their supply run, but they wouldn't have stopped. You gestured vaguely towards the truck and went to walk off, but Vincent's grip became reminiscent of a boa constrictor and he shook his head at you. You understood and stayed still so that he could scoop you up effortlessly. He brought you into his chest and you wrapped your arms around his neck as he nuzzled his masked face into the side of your head as he carried you to the truck. Bo got into the driver's side and Lester climbed into the passenger seat, which meant that you and Vincent could sit quite comfortably tangled up together in the backseat.

It was a short journey, with the house only being two blocks away, but between Bo and Lester talking in the front seats, Vincent's lap being your wax throne upon, your general exhaustion, Jonesy's head under your hands as you found comfort in her soft fur and the safety and protection which had descended upon you like a thick, warm blanket with the arrival of the twins, you were quickly lulled to your threshold consciousness. You wanted to curl up on the sofa with your family and watch some crappy television and just forget the world and now, after a day in which everything could have gone wrong did go wrong, that was exactly what you were going to get.

When the truck pulled to a slow stop, you reluctantly slid off Vincent's lap, your back and lower body cold with the ghost of his touch (and how you ached to get back to where you wanted to be) and helped Bo to get everything in; between the four of you, the supplies were quickly off loaded and put away. You were jittery now, on edge and getting ready for bed was a process you rushed just so you could get what you wanted faster. Despite your anticipation, your body felt heavy and sluggish, but you were too tired to cry anymore and everything hurt. Bo had everything ready for you when you finally joined the brothers downstairs; there were beers on the table if you wanted to imbibe, snacks scattered around as if Bo had just grabbed them from the cupboards and thrown them over his shoulder into the living room (he had), blankets in a neat pile on one of the sofa arms, and all three brothers sat on the sofa, so closely that their shoulders were touching and Jonesy spread down at their feet.

You lowered yourself down onto the sofa with them, with your head in Bo's lap and your body stretched across Vincent's and Lester's, too, and your body took a naturally deep, deep breath. Finally, finally, you were home. You were all home, safe and sound and protected, and that was all that mattered. You had broken alone, but you would be supported and surrounded with love until you felt better. But even when you did, the Sinclairs would be there. They would always be, for Ambrose was your home and so were they.

None of you were goin' nowhere, and that was just how you all wanted it.

[robininthelabyrinth]

We’ve heard Jiang Fengmian as WWX’s bio father, now it’s time for Lan Qiren as secretly his father. (Please no Wangxian for this one!)

ao3

“You want me to what,” Lan Qiren said.

“Be the father of my child,” Cangse Sanren said. Simply and straightforwardly, as if that were just a thing people said.

Casually.

To their friends.

To their – as far as he knew – platonic friends!

“You’re married,” he stressed.

“Yes, Qiren-xiong, I’m aware,” Cangse Sanren said, her eyes bright with mirth. “I was even there through some of the festivities. Though not all, of course, since the bride gets sent away far too early at these things, and of course then there was all the liquor –”

“Cangse Sanren,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth, wishing not for the first time that his friend had an actual name rather than merely a title – something he could use or not use to emphasize his feelings on the subject.

She laughed at him, because of course she did.

“Let me explain,” she said, probably because she sensed that he was considering stabbing her if she didn't. “Lao Wei and I –”

“Aren’t you older than he is?” Lan Qiren asked, dubious. “Possibly by several centuries?”

“Humans call their husbands that,” Cangse Sanren said, waving her hands at him. “Don’t bother me with details.”

“…you’re human, right?”

“Of course! This is the fourth time you’ve asked, and the answer hasn’t changed. Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“The way that you continuously refer to – no, I’m not letting you distract me this time. Explain yourself!”

Cangse Sanren giggled into her sleeve. “We want children,” she said. “But he can’t, you see. Wrong parts. So we need someone else to be the sire, and I want it to be you.”

“Why?”

More giggling. “Because I like you. And why not?”

“And Wei Changze agreed to this?” Lan Qiren asked, slightly appalled. He knew Cangse Sanren well enough to assume that the answer had to be yes, and yet still...

“Yes, he did, but you’re welcome to talk with him directly. In fact, I encourage it.”

“Perhaps I will,” Lan Qiren said.

Wei Changze was a pleasant person, even if he and Lan Qiren weren’t direct friends – Lan Qiren was a bit too inflexible and serious, Wei Changze a little too free-spirited and light-hearted, so they’d never entirely bonded, but they were both very fond of Cangse Sanren in all her strangeness, each in their own way, and that was enough of a basis for a decent relationship.

“I’d be honored if you would agree,” Wei Changze said when Lan Qiren asked. “You’re my wife’s favorite person besides me – why not you?”

Lan Qiren could think of many, many reasons why not.

“I don’t want to impact your relationship with her,” he said cautiously, and Wei Changze blinked at him as if to say how would it do that? “If jealousy were to arise…”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Wei Changze said.

“…you understand that if I agree to your proposal, I would be sleeping with your wife.”

“Oh yes,” Wei Changze said. “Several times, I hope. We've got to make sure it takes, after all. On that note, can I watch?”

Lan Qiren was a man aware of his dignity. It was beneath his dignity to flail around like a teenager.

He flailed regardless.

“You don’t have to let me if you don’t want to,” Wei Changze said, but he was pouting. “I guess. I just think it’d be hot, that’s all.”

Lan Qiren put his head in his hands.

“You’re bright red,” Wei Changze observed. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“I don’t even like Cangse Sanren that way,” Lan Qiren said, voice muffled by his palms. “I mean, I like her, but I don’t – like her. Romantically. At all.”

“And I’m very happy about that,” Wei Changze said soothingly. “As is she, being as she married me and not you. You don’t need to have romantic or even sexual feelings about her, you just need to platonically bang her a few times.”

“…I will do it provided you never refer to it that way ever again.”

“Deal,” Wei Changze said, and grinned, waving his wife in through the door; she bounded in like a lion on the hunt, smelling blood.

“Additionally, we should be clear about what we expect regarding the child,” Lan Qiren said, even though he was already being carted along to the bed by Cangse Sanren’s excessive momentum and Wei Changze’s entirely unnecessary assistance in removing his clothing. “Obviously any child will be yours in every respect, legally and emotionally and otherwise, both of you, but if possible I would still like to see him –”

“Of course,” Cangse Sanren said agreeably, removing his pants. “Whenever you like.”

-

“Something is wrong,” Lan Qiren said firmly.

Yu Ziyuan scowled at him, even as her husband frowned thoughtfully. “Cangse Sanren is a rogue cultivator,” she said acidly. “It is not unusual for rogue cultivators to go a few months without contacting their friends in the cultivation world.”

“We have an agreement that she would come by once every season or else send word. She has not missed a single instance, and yet now she does.”

“Why would she agree to meet so regularly with you? We barely see her once a year, if that,” Yu Ziyuan asked, and Lan Qiren knew her issues with Cangse Sanren were actually issues with Jiang Fengmian, but it still irritated him to be used as a pawn in their troubled marriage.

“If you do not intend to help me search, then just say so,” he said heavily. “I fear that something has happened to her, and I intend to find her; I would like your help, but will proceed without it if need be. If all is well and she just decided not to come, and also not to send word or any other sign, then I will apologize for the inconvenience and repay you any monies expended. But if not…”

“I will help,” Jiang Fengmian said, and Yu Ziyuan looked on the verge of exploding.

“I’ll leave you to sort that out,” Lan Qiren said, shaking out his sleeves and leaving at once. As per their agreement, Cangse Sanren brought Wei Ying to the Cloud Recesses once every season or else sent word explaining her absence – the lack of any word this time was deeply troubling. After all, in the end, despite Cangse Sanren’s relatively humble goals and low-key life, there was always that doom said to be associated with those who left the immortal mountain…

He worried.

He’d planned to tell Cangse Sanren about He Kexin’s death during her present visit, had hoped that Wei Ying’s presence might help lift Lan Zhan’s mood after the loss of his mother and give him some comfort – Wei Ying was Lan Zhan’s favorite person in all the world, bar none, and he had waited so anxiously, if wordlessly, for him to arrive during the month that they expected Cangse Sanren and her family to come. And yet the days ticked by and he didn’t arrive at all…

Lan Qiren worried.

Still, with Jiang Fengmian’s help, and of course the Nie sect’s – Lao Nie hadn’t hesitated to agree, even though unlike Jiang Fengmian he did not have a personal connection to either Cangse Sanren or Wei Changze and was acting wholly on account of his friendship with Lan Qiren – they would be able to cover a great deal of the cultivation world, especially given that Cangse Sanren disliked both Lanling Jin and Qishan Wen and was unlikely to venture into either of their territories.

They would find her.

He hoped that they would find her.

-

“Well, that was a meeting full of revelations,” Lao Nie said, eyes curved into crescents of mirth. “The only thing that would have made it better is if you’d ended your sentence with ‘so fuck off’. You know, so that it would’ve been ‘Because he’s my biological son, so fuck off’.”

“It isn’t anyone else’s business,” Lan Qiren said querulously. “I don’t consider him my son – he’s Wei Changze’s son! His surname is Wei for a reason! The exact mechanics of his conception are private-”

“Are they? Too bad, I’d have liked to hear about it.”

“Lao Nie!”

“What? It’d be hot.”

“Wei Changze said the same thing,” Lan Qiren grumbled. “What is wrong with all you people? Anyway, that was not my point; we can discuss your sexual titillation later. My point is that Wei Ying should not have a shadow cast over his parentage – I should not have had to reveal that fact at any point.”

“You had no choice,” Lao Nie said, not without sympathy. “Given that Wei Changze was a former disciple of the Lotus Pier, Jiang Fengmian had the better claim to custody absent that fact. Never mind that you were Cangse Sanren’s close friend, or that they came to visit you more often; never mind that Yu Ziyuan is to this day only barely able to restrain her jealousy and hatred of the pair of them and would be made miserable by the boy’s presence on the Lotus Pier, and possibly make his life miserable in return; never mind that Jiang Fengmian already grossly favors the boy over his own children, a surefire recipe for disaster…you had to say what you said, Qiren. Wei Ying will be better off at the Cloud Recesses.”

“He’ll be a disaster at the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his temples. “He’s as free-spirited as his parents were. That’s the only hesitation I have…if it weren’t for all the other things you mentioned, Yu Ziyuan’s jealousy and the favoritism and all that, I would think he’d be better off among the Jiang.”

“He will make a very unique Lan,” Lao Nie acknowledged. “But he’ll be an adopted cousin to your nephews, and they’ll grow up as brothers. A-Zhan will be delighted.”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, acknowledging the point. At least there was that. “Yes, he will.”

“Maybe I’ll have a talk with Jiang Fengmian,” Lao Nie said, more to himself than Lan Qiren. “That poor Jiang boy, no one deserves to grow up with a real-life person being ‘another person’s child’. Perhaps I’ll see about inviting the boy over to the Unclean Realm more often. A-Sang could use a playmate…”

-

“You’re weird for a Lan,” Jiang Cheng said.

“That’s because I’m not a Lan,” Wei Wuxian laughed. “I’m a Wei! Lan Zhan’s a Lan, Xichen-da-ge is a Lan, but I’m not. Don’t let the white robes mislead you.”

Jiang Cheng coughed. “That’s not – what I meant.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly looking extremely awkward. “Your father’s a Lan, isn’t he? Teacher Lan.”

“Oh, that! No, he’s not. Easy mistake to make,” Wei Wuxian assured him. “Lots of people think that, what with me knowing the Lan sect rules backwards and forwards and upside down – mostly so that I can haggle my punishments down when I break them, that's how I learn them best – but actually I’m Wei Changze’s son.”

Jiang Cheng’s face was red. “But…my dad said…”

“He helped,” Wei Wuxian conceded, tapping his nose meaningfully. “That’s why I’m so pretty! But Wei Changze was the one that wanted me, Wei Changze’s the one who gave me his surname; it’s his grave I sweep during Qingming. If you like, you can think of me as having been adopted into the Wei family; that’s common enough, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Jiang Cheng said, blinking. And then he said, sounding doubtful, “Do you really know all those rules?”

“All of them! You have no idea how much trouble you can make with a good set of rules.” Wei Wuxian grinned. “Want to see?”

“I – can we?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, stepping into the room. He looked tired, as always, but Wei Wuxian thought that there was never a time when he didn’t, certainly ever since he became sect leader too early. Lan Xichen was always worrying about him, and Lan Qiren, too, and since they were worried, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had figured they might as well get in on the action. “Not in the Unclean Realm you can’t. Save it for the Lotus Pier, since the Cloud Recesses are too wise to you now.”

“No one is truly wise to my wicked ways,” Wei Wuxian boasted, and Nie Huaisang poked his head out from behind Nie Mingjue’s back and waved – he’d been dragged away to saber training, leaving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng to try to make friends without him. Without Lan Wangji, too, which was even more unfair; how was Wei Wuxian supposed to represent the gentle snow and wild wind without his other half?

Stupid seclusion. Wei Wuxian was with his uncle in disliking it even when it was necessary.

Though Jiang Cheng was kind of cool…

-

“This is,” Lan Qiren informed Cangse Sanren’s memorial tablet, “entirely your fault.”

Despite her son’s newfound demonic cultivation skills – or his taste for revenge: he had taken the burning of the Cloud Recesses very personally, and the attack on the Lotus Pier, and so on his best friend Jiang Cheng, very nearly as badly, and that, somehow, had inspired him in new and even more uncontrolled ways – there was no response from the grave.

And yet, somehow, Lan Qiren suspected that he could hear her laughing at him.

[bakerstreethound]

Single Dad Corinthian - New Beginnings | Chapter 2: Simple Joys (Repost)

Chapter 1: A Walk in the Park

Relationship: Single Father!Corinthian x OC Aspen Reeves

Warnings: brief mention of losing a child, absent parents, flirty Corinthian, pining, sensual undertones, mentions of past abusive relationship for Aspen, and supportive Corinthian

Summary: A week after Aspen meets the mysterious Corinthian and his son Levi at the park, they take a chance and start talking to Corinthian. Soon enough a kinship and something more unfolds. How will it go and can Aspen tread through the waters of flirting all while tending to some still fresh wounds of loss from their younger years? How will they possibly get through a first date? Corinthian has his doubts and he finds himself falling for Aspen, been if he's not actively trying. How can he not? What happens if Aspen sees him for who he truly is? A monster on the inside and out?

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 4.4k+

A/N: It has been months, but I am so excited to present chapter 2 of this little snapshot mosaic series of single dad Corinthian and my OC Aspen Reeves. Both of them deserve a hug and Levi is adorable. Many thanks to @novaracer for beta reading and cheering me on as I wrote. I hope you enjoy! Graphic by @firefly-graphics Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

It had been a week since your run-in with the man who called himself Corinthian, but you shortened his name to Cori in your contacts (you would be lying if it didn’t make you smile). The park meeting had been one of the most unexpected adventures in your life the past year. 

You fiddled with the card he left you on the bench that fateful afternoon and it pestered you for days until you gave in and said hello. You felt so stupid reaching out. Would he think you were a creep? A lonely creep was not much harm unless you became a stalker. You blanched at the thought. 

When you did text him, you realized the appointments you had to keep and he had the same, with his work and needing to take care of Levi. You did not mind waiting, but you found yourself looking forward to life, looking forward to seeing him and Levi sometime. If a week had to pass for the outcome to be that way, you would take it.

Having someone to talk to was nice and you were eager each time you heard the ping of your phone, instead of the dreaded pit of worry and anxiety that accompanied them. 

Ever since your child Sam had been admitted to the hospital two years prior in the months before his passing, the messages, texts, and emails had caused nothing but sickness and heartbreak for you and your partner.

You cringed at the thought of your partner Kai, who had all but abandoned you, leaving Sam’s care and bills up to you. You loved your child, you did, you missed going to the parks, and taking him to school. You often wondered what he would have become if he decided to go to college or learn a trade. 

You wondered a lot of things, then, but now you grasped at the possibility of wanting to be with someone new, at least entertaining the company. Your heart was not perfectly mended, albeit bruised after the divorce, but it did not matter in the slightest. You had left the apartment and donated a majority of Kai and Sam’s things except for the minimal keepsakes.

Your new place faired better for you with large windows to filter in the sun and wash your darkness away on those days when it felt nigh impossible to get out of bed, bundled in copious amounts of blankets. 

Regardless, you found solace these days between texting Corinthian through errands and hobbies like cooking, writing, and your art. The easel in your studio apartment held a blank canvas, and your cart was full of acrylics and watercolors stashed away in your art box.

Looking at them brought up memories of Kai and Sam, making your heart twinge. The passion, though, that did not fade, but your irrationality had overridden it. That was months ago, but you felt ready enough for it, but it would wait for another day. 

Your phone pings, the smile crossing your face of its own accord. 

Found this new shiny beauty at the pawn shop today, though it is not as bright as your smile. He sends accompanied by the attachment of a shiny knife. Though dull, it’ll be quite the beauty when sharpened and polished.  

I don’t have many reasons to smile, you know. 

Well, perhaps I might have to be one of them. 

You roll your eyes . Perhaps you might. I have been debating trying that new pizza shop down the street. Have you had it, yet? You breathe a sigh of relief, having dodged the flirt. You are still new to it all.

Oh, darling, I have not had enough of you. But I would like more

Is that so?

I’d kill to see that smile again, the one you flashed to Levi in the park before we officially met.

Your heart thumps faster as you send another text. Would you now?

Only if you asked nicely. 

What, do I have to be nice about it?

There are ways I could make you behave if you prefer. 

You pause. Are you certain about that? I might bite.

I like it when they bite (: 

******

The remaining weeks fly by at a steady pace, much of your interactions with Corinthian brief and flirty, with debates about the best restaurants in between. You bickered about the best brick oven pizza, thin or stuffed crust, iced or hot coffee and tea, and the most random nonsense.

You voted for the regular homestyle crust while he vies for the thin crust when it comes to a Margherita pizza. Regular crust he likes for pepperoni or meat lovers, you find out. 

This easy back and forth becomes the normal and your darker more dreary days turn brighter with the chime of a text and call. Those sounds that once spelled doom now ring with a brighter tune. 

The tune of hope. 

You do not want it to disappear but approach it with caution.

That is the day he asks you out on a date, your first official date together. You remember the confidence he exuded on the phone. 

“Aspen, darling, he drawled. “Would you like to join me on a picnic at the park? It would be me and you only, under that nice shade tree.” 

Your name on his lips sounded utterly delightful and you did not hesitate to tell him yes. 

******

You have not made a trip to the park in some time, but the memories of meeting Levi instantly hit you on the stroll over. The clouds in the sky accentuate the sun and you feel a warmth spread inside you.

Yes, you can be happy and not dread every moment of your existence wondering if you were an awful parent, if you could have done more to save Sam, could have given Kai a reason to stay.  

You shake those thoughts from your mind. Shush, Aspen. You’re here to meet Corinthian on your first date.  

First date. 

The word feels foreign on your tongue and in your mind. You barely remember your first date with Kai, but it was likely a rushed one at a cheap ramen bar, the only thing starving artist college kids could afford.

The rest of your relationship flew by in a blur and suddenly Sam was born, your pride and joy, then he vanished too soon. Five years was not long, a life cut too soon. Such is the unfairness of the world. 

Yet, the world in all its cruelty has given you a new gift, a fresh start, hope. Hope you scarcely allow yourself to feel anymore, 

It’s the feeling that flutters in your chest when you recognize him there under the old oak tree, one you admire countless times from your park bench picnics, a sandwich in hand, your satchel next to you, filled with your wallet, books, and other essentials. 

He looks impossibly heartbreaking and more devastatingly gorgeous than you remember. When you first met him, he wore white suit pants and a simple T-shirt.

Now, he is dressed in navy blue slacks, a pale blue shirt, with a simple gray sweater over it, the collar edges peaking out from it. His signature sunglasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose. His brow rose in greeting. 

Shit, you have been staring too long, more like gawking and you snapped your jaw tighter, determined not to let him get to you. 

You can do this. 

It’s a picnic another normal day. 

Who are you kidding? This is more than you could fathom or deserve. 

“Hello, darling,” He rumbles, the breeze softly swirling around you. A few leaves tumbled around you, crunching beneath your sneakers as you met him, standing fully in front of him, appreciating the view a while longer. 

He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before leading you to a place beneath the tree. 

You gasp, a giggle bursting from your lips. “You didn’t Cori.” 

He smiles. “Of course I did. It is all for you.” 

Before you are a simple picnic blanket, a simple wicker basket filled to the brim with drinks, snacks, and an assortment of fruit. In addition, there is a charcuterie board of cheeses, ham, and two loaves of bread, meticulously laid out on a simple wooden board. 

It is more than you could have hoped for. You eagerly sit on the blanket and Corinthian joins you, carefully brushing his fingers along your arm and handing you a plate. He chuckles when your hands brush as you reach for some cheese and meat and he carefully slices up some bread for you, which you gratefully accept.

The flavors burst on your tongue in a delightful manner, a low moan passing along your lips. Corinthian stiffens next to you his slice of cheese close to his mouth, jaw slack.

Hell, he loves the noise you made, and he briefly finds his mind wondering to what other noises he could possibly get you to make. He shakes these thoughts from his head as he asks, “Enjoying yourself?” 

“This is probably the best meal I have had all week.” 

He cocks a brow, his signature move. “Really?” That surprises him. What the heck have you been eating then?

“Yeah. The best I can do for myself sometimes is cereal, some taco meat on occasion, and sandwiches when I am in a pinch. It’s not the worst thing.” 

The way you shrug this off nonchalantly rubs Corinthian, prying an itch from his skin. He wants to make you good warm meals, that is the least you deserve. He wants to hold you against the cruel world, and kill those who harm you, bother you, or stand in your way. 

He reaches out to you to stroke your face with his hand, thumb dragging along your lip. “You had a bit of something there.” 

Your face warms at his touch, and you lean into him more, your gaze transfixed on him beyond the sunglasses. You wonder what emotion he conveys behind his eyes. Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach out to his glasses, but he veers out of your way. 

“Not here, darling,” he snaps, sending you shrinking. What did you do? You didn’t mean it. Panic and worry crawl along your skin. So you have been too foreward and he hates you now. 

Great, Aspen, look what you have done, ruined your once chance of something exciting in your life. Get it together you can make this work. 

“I’m sorry,” you eventually find yourself saying after an agonizing ten minutes, as you and Corinthian continue your meal, the park filling with more people. Children are playing on the playground, a group of teens starts a pickup soccer game, parents run with their children, a couple walks with a stroller built for twins from the look of it. 

You find yourself smiling as Corinthian reaches out for your hand, squeezing it gently. 

“I am sorry for snapping at you, Aspen. My eyes are sensitive and I don’t like exposing to the sun more than necessary, hence why I wear these. Should have explained sooner.”

“Oh.” 

Corinthian swallows, watching you intently. Shit he scared you off, you hate him for his outburst. He understands if you want to get up and leave, but…you don't, you stare at him longer then reach for the bottle opener, picking up the bottle of wine and champagne he bought.

He was not sure which you preferred, but champagne is usually in style, especially for a celebration and wasn’t this a celebration? 

A celebration of a colossal win or a massive failure. 

He had found you and wanted to know you more. What little part of his heart however misshapen by his creator beat stronger in your presence, filling him with a curious warmth, a warmth different beyond his bloodlust for killing.

He cared, that is what he feels when he watches you pilfer through the wicker basket, your face brightening when you produce a Honeycrisp apple. 

Without a word, Corinthian reaches out to take it from you, sliding a knife out from his holster and cutting it up in an expert fashion. Your eyes remain glued on him in morbid fascination, perusing his biceps, down to his forearms, then focusing on his hands. 

You wonder how they would feel on your sides, squeezing you gently, holding you close to his chest where you can hear the thrumming of his heart.

“Something on your mind, darling?” 

 You shrug, swallowing another bite of cheese before replying. “Not really. I was considering going to the bookstore later. I need something else to stimulate my mind while at work.

“Ah I see, work can get slow?” 

“Being a receptionist has its ups and downs throughout the week, but my boss gives us enough downtime to sneak in reading time throughout the day. It is good for our productivity.” 

“Ah, so I see,” Corinthian hums thoughtfully, interrupted by the ping of his phone. “Shit.” He glances down at his phone, mouth pulled into a thin line. 

“What’s wrong?” You take a sip of your champagne. 

“The sitter texted me saying their plans fell through so they can’t watch Levi for the following two hours. I told Matthew I needed him for longer so Levi wouldn’t disturb us.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, would it be that bad if Levi joined us?” 

“I had planned for us to go bowling.”

“He can join us.”

“Wait, you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you smile. 

“I wanted this to be a pleasant experience for the both of us with no distraction and people are hesitant when I mention I have a child-”

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand. “There’s no need to explain yourself. I understand how it can be, the unsurety of how people treat you being a single parent.” 

“It is not easy.”

“It never is, but we love our children regardless.” 

Corinthian at least wanted to continue pleading his case so he hurriedly explained his sitter Matthew had to rush off on an extended errand for his demanding boss, and his bosses’ assistant Lucienne who was Corinthain’s fallback was overwhelmed with administrative duties it was not feasible and Merv, well Corinthian wanted Levi to not be surrounded by dangerous equipment - equipment Merv was certain to allow Levi try out all in good fun.

“Say we skip bowling and get ice cream as a treat for Levi. Would he like that?” 

“Darling, you are wonderful. I am sure he will be delighted.” 

******

With a bowling date falling through, Corinthian set his apprehensions aside when he saw Levi running to you for a hug after opening the apartment door. “Pretty person is back. Look dad!”

“Yes Levi, I can see you’re having fun. Hopefully, you were not too much trouble to Matthew. Also, that pretty person is Aspen. Can you give them a proper hello?” 

Levi beams at you as you twirl him in your arms, giggling hysterically. “H-hii Aspen!” 

“Hey bud, you have a good day today?” He giggles when you set him back on the floor, chuckling in amusement as he steadies himself on his legs. He quickly makes a beeline for the kitchen where he climbs up on the table to watch Corinthian. 

You join him and Corinthian sets down a glass before you from which you take a sip, thanking him all the while. 

“I have a few more things to pack then we can go get ice cream.”

“Wait, we’re getting ice cream?” Levi’s eyes widen and he almost falls out of his chair with excitement. 

“Woah buddy hold your horses. We will get some after we run a few errands. You can be patient, right?” Corinthian raises an incredulous brow. 

Levi giggles, nodding furiously. “Yes, Dad!” 

“Wonderful, buddy. How about you run along and show Aspen some of the books you got from the library this week.” 

“Yeahh!!” 

******

A few hours later, you find yourself back in the ice cream parlor you eyeballed weeks ago, one you thought of going to before settling on your park bench. It was the decision that changed the course of you life, leading you to meet Levi and his father. You find yourself enjoying their company their laughter, their conversation and warmth.

You forgot that is how a family could be, how humanity could be. Laughter, joy, the simplicity of running errands. Levi is surprisingly well-behaved and jovial, staying close to Corinthian and holding your hand to not lose you in the slew of people in the aisles and sidewalks. 

Soon enough you’re laughing, full from the ice cream at the parlor, and head back to the park after dropping off the groceries. Corinthian insisted all the while that he is making you dinner sometime after hearing you adore a good spaghetti and meatballs and a variety of American cuisine like cheeseburgers and BBQ. 

*******

He can’t stop watching you, your smile as you guide Levi down the sidewalk, turning your head to be on the lookout for any strangers or creeps who would follow you back to his apartment. He likes your smile, the way laughter flows through your entire being. It lights you up from the inside out and it is a beautiful sight.

You are beautiful, he realizes, has known it since the moment he met you in the park, a well-worn book next to you on the bench, the half-eaten sandwich you likely saved for dinner or lunch the following day. 

His heart seizes at this realization, the grocery bag almost slipping from his shoulder and he almost freaking trips- trips on the sidewalk barely avoiding a yipping dog whose owner rolled their eyes at him. 

You and Levi couldn’t contain your laughter and you were even more stunning then. He wants to reach out and hold your hand, hold Levi’s hand too. He can picture the life you could have together in his simple two bedroom apartment, the one he was lucky enough to find in a pinch soon after he rescued Levi, desperate to escape the confines of the dreaming world. 

Levi who changed his world in an instant and vowed to protect and would riot if Morpheus ever found him and tried to separate them. He needs Levi as much as Levi needs him. He cares for him so much more than he can express and he does not want to lose you either. If he could pull himself into some semblance of a better person for the good of his son, he can do it for you.

He wants to be by your side for as long as you will have him. He says none of this as your walk into the library, his grocery bag full of library books to return. Levi had insisted on another outing to one of the few places he felt save, practically begged Aspen on the phone to join him and his dad again. 

Aspen complied, falling under his spell but Cornthian hopes it is because you want to see him as much as he wants to see you. The weeks have slipped away in the blink of an eye when your both near each other and he can’t explain how much more time he wants in your presence.

The late night killing sprees he completes do not hold a candle to the shine of your smile, the thrill of it all. Hell, he loves to make you smile, the easeful way your hair falls, warm and streaked with sunlight, makes you all the more alluring and he wants your smile to fall upon his face longer. 

******

The time at the park passes in a blur and you're on the way back to Corinthian’s apartment, Levi in tow, sitting atop his father’s shoulders, eyes bleary in exhaustion. The long day had certainly caught up to him between the grocery shopping, ice cream parlor, and additional park time.

You can’t blame him as you stifled back another yawn, yearning for the comfort of your bed. You almost sigh in relief when the apartment door opened, Levi murmuring sleepily that he wanted a popsicle, and Corinthian chuckled good-naturedly. 

You collapse onto the couch after taking your shoes off, relief sinking into you when the soft cushions meet your back. 

“Now this is nice.” You sigh and stretch. 

Cori smirked, Levi yawning on his shoulders as he pulled him down. 

“Time to get ready for bed, little buddy.” 

“Dad…” 

“Now, now Levi we’ve talked about this.” 

“But dad…” 

“Now now son, you know right and well you need to go to bed early tonight.” 

You smiled, continuing to listen in to their back and forth, soothed by the steady rhythm of their nightly routine, and your mind drifted, falling into thoughts you kept tightly concealed, ones that you hoped would never surface, let alone in the house of the person you have come to enjoy the company of for the past week, no month.

How time flew when you were together with him and Levi. You felt a certain kinship to Levi, healing the broken parts of your soul. You shifted adjusting yourself unconsciously, bumping up against something, or rather, someone next to you. 

Your heart raced. You try not to panic. Your heart is thrumming faster, certain you are in a dream until your eyes fly open, greeted with a room with soft light akin to a candle. 

Something, or someone stirs next to you and your first instinct is to get the hell out of there but your mind screams at you to take it slow so you do. 

Breathe. Kai isn’t here. You are safe. 

The mantra steadied you, and now that your eyes adjust to the light you can see you are in a large bedroom with a view overlooking the city, a gentle breeze blew through the room ruffling your hair. A soft sigh and groan followed from the figure next to you. Blonde, no almost platinum hair upon the bedsheets, and a nightmask around his eyes. 

Corinthian had tucked you in bed, his bed, and had fallen asleep next to you. You’re uncertain how you feel, then, but find the comfort of a warm body nice.

You liked that it was Corinthian there protecting you, watching over you, caring for you enough to let you stay. Though you had a panic about it you still find the gesture kind. In fact he was so kind you decided to return the favor and trailed your arm along his sleeping form, grasping onto his bicep. 

“What is it now, Morpheus. I have been good! Please.” 

“Corinthian? It’s me, Aspen.” 

You jostle him and still nothing. Nothing in the room made a sound, the breeze frozen on its journey through, almost stealing the breath from your lips.

Your bones felt cold, yet you can’t break away from Corinthian, his Adam's apple bobbling, lips pleading, forming words that don’t fall from his lips, until he croaks softly, “No…please don’t. Not him. Not Levi.” 

Dread falls into the pit of your stomach, awakening your irrational fears, but you shove them down, focusing on the man beside you. You nudge him again. 

“Cori? Wake up. I’m here. It’s me, Aspen,” You speak into the silence of the room, darkness convalescing down the walls, shadows playing on the cracks of the walls.

They laugh at you forming faces of your failures; you can’t save them, but you are the one who has to be saved. Can’t you do anything right? They taunt. You scream at them to leave you alone, just as Corinthian’s form jolts upright, breathing hard, a cold sweat chilling him to the bone. 

“Aspen?” Your name is a whisper on his tongue, tentative, unsure. 

You reach for his hand, squeezing tight in reassurance. “Yes, it’s me.” 

A few moments of silence pass, frozen in the low light of the room, moonlight streaming in. 

“Could you still care for me, even knowing I am a monster, an abomination?” 

“Cori we’ve known each other, have been talking for two months, now even if we only recently had our first date. You haven’t scared me off, yet. I do not think that will happen.” 

He gaffes before a bitter laugh follows. “Yet. So you will leave eventually, they all do.” 

Will you at least let me look at you? You do not sound okay” You reach for his eyemask and he turns his face from you. You’re not sure from fear, shame, or something worse. 

“I can’t let you or Levi see me this way.”

“Levi is fine, you put him to bed four hours ago, see?” You check the clock on the nightstand which chimes midnight, signaling a new day. “What’s really going on Cori? I know I have no right to prod into any more of your business. We haven’t known each other long, but would it help to talk about it?” 

He huffs, shifting before curling up. Why did you care? He is a monster, and doesn’t want you to see the true horrors he encapsulates.

Sure, he has done some things in the past that weren’t befitting of his station, but he had to claim his right. Surely Morpheus didn’t dare to track him down, yet the fear was always present, the thought of Levi being abandoned, left for dead, forgotten. 

Corinthian does not want to face that shame, so he pulls you close, taking a deep breath before replying. “Can you turn the light off, please?” 

You oblige, turning back the sheets, holding back a chill running down your spine. You hate to admit your fear of the dark but you can do this for him. A soft rustling comes from the bed and you hear the clicking of teeth, faint and rhythmic.

Your stomach turns in knots, thinking you stepped on something but eases as Corinthian feels for you, his mouth pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your hand, then your palm, and the inside of your wrist. 

“Would you stay the night with me? I know you fell asleep earlier so I couldn’t ask and I want you to be alright.” He ignores the lump that forms in his throat as he speaks, hoping you will agree and keep his racing thoughts at bay. 

You smile, despite the pitch-black darkness as you whisper, “Of course,” all the while falling into his hopeful, waiting embrace.

******