#I been nodding emphatically through this whole movie

[noknowshame]

watching face/off (1997) and chanting MIMESIS MIMESIS MIMESIS

[vongosh]

the implication is annoying—that he hasn't been thinking about it all these months. and fair enough.... or you know, it would be if he hadn't thought about it enough to crank out a whole ass song. if he hadn't thought about it enough to decide ignoring her completely was his safest bet. "alright, relax," her cease and desist hand waves his excitement back down with a roll of her eyes. "i've thought about it, i haven't 'been thinkin'' about it," punctuated with emphatic air quotes, because the difference feels important. especially on the receiving end of that wolfish gleam in his eyes, like he's caught her with her pants down, which... a little too close to the truth for comfort, one, and two, edges them right back into the danger zone. that implication's even more annoying—how convenient to be mr. animated all of a sudden when it means smirking his way through loopholes, saying things without saying things. just 'say his name.' god, it'd be so satisfying to throw his own words back at him, a nod to the many tweets centering their other triangle, but max would call her on that bluff in the half a second it'd take to just bite her tongue instead. fortunately, a few tequilas deep, horny will always trump petty.

her chin lowers to look up at him through her lashes with dark, approving eyes despite the low gasp of surprise. it occurs to her that while she knows him, she doesn't know him. she has a decent handle on his mind—can predict some of his reactions, a handful of responses, and is learning to avoid certain comments when she spots the signs of a setup. that all came from their time in the villa, hours and hours of it filled with idle chit chat and vain attempts at keeping their hands to themselves... had he been grafting? it hadn't really felt like it at the time. sometimes it hadn't even felt like flirting, just regular conversation shadowed with the undeniable undercurrent of sexual tension, but he'd never once given the impression of 'trying.' his hand on her ass kind feels like the first gesture she didn't have to wring out of him, but maybe that's because their physical familiarity only extends so far before devolving into fantasy. sure, they've had sex, but is he affectionate like jude or possessive like josh? stoic like nate or indifferent like mason? is he dominant? would she have to make the first move?

her body molds to his hands, soft and pliant and shivering slightly against the whisper that shoots straight through her. the words don't even matter. he could be reciting the phonebook, or speaking in tongues, or talking about mimi—okay, maybe not that—but his warm breath against her ear sets her body on fire. her grip tightens, two fistfuls of hair to guide his mouth to her throat, nice and exposed where she's arching to reach his ear. "all the better to eat you with, my dear," breathless, and skittering along his jaw where her lips drag a feather light path, stopping just shy of his mouth, hovering there, then peeling back. she likes the image of herself as the big, bad wolf. it's not like she should be the only one worried about getting hurt.

"do i want to... what?" she curves a hand around her ear, plugging the other one against the music with a shit-eating grin. "sorry, i couldn't hear you." a massive and completely predictable cop-out, but it buys her a second to come up with a half-decent reply to his non-invitation that isn't 'yes, please.' she leans her weight along the bar top—the one they won't be fucking on—attempting casual but feeling wired with the rest of the night closing in. it's a tossup now whether they're both all in, fast track to hell, hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times or if this is crunch time, make or break, one wrong move and everything will crumble. "and all it took was complimenting your music. how completely original," she volleys carefully, happy to err on the side of caution until her gaze locks on his. a movie-worthy flashback, the same mischievous set of eyes lined with damp lashes, sopping wet hair clinging to his forehead, face lined with ecstasy, or something akin to it. yes. as a matter of fact she does want to go to his room. he must see her plan unfurling the instant she slithers closer, every intention clear as day in her resolve and those too innocent eyes. there's something stripped back about them, though. she drags them away, tosses a glance over her shoulder in the same moment she claims his hand. it's more performance than anything—what does she care if people are looking when she toys with his fingers, focus snapping back to him. "yeah," she says simply, brows poised high like she asked some sort of question, then lowers his hand between them, guides it to the hem of her dress, then just beneath. "yes. i wanna go to your room." feel how badly. her breath hitches, gaze verging on desperate. "is that an invitation?"

both brows pop up on his head while his jaw hangs open, smiling. take a sec for the laugh to catch up, a breathy bark, amused and teasing and decidedly approving. "you been thinkin' about it, huh? all these months?" with jude reads in his sparkling eyes. and maybe that's why the idea stunned him, the thick wooly jude of it all cloaked any potential fantasies for max. couple that with a good old-fashioned grudge and mimi's kool-aid... yeah, maybe max does need to reconsider their grand finale, though he sincerely doubts there'll be anything final about it. that smirk widens to a grin, fixes her with a look. "all right, physicist barbie, keep talking like that and we're gonna have to skip the small talk." pure sarcasm -- as if it's possible for them to engage in small talk together. he tries to keep that same air when he answers her. "only afraid of hurting you." maybe not brilliant or technically ambiguous, but he imagines she'll draw her own conclusions about what he means, if not the face value. maybe the tone will confuse her, airy like there's some hidden meaning for her to draw out.

suddenly he becomes hyper aware of every atom in his body, like he'd walked into a pin impression toy. on total instinct his hand drops to her ass, palm light so he can feel her move beneath the stretched fabric of her dress. for a fleeting moment max is treated to a peek at what a god-honest relationship with jenny would look like... minus the lying, fighting, and cheating probably. "nah, i like a little teeth," he says into her ear, mouth pressed right up against the shell of it, surprising exactly no one. a shot feels less and less necessary, like the very suggestion of it had already unlocked their outrageousness. jenny's demand demonstrates that eloquently and he can't help but tip his head back and laugh. it's so direct and so void of the fluff and bullshit that usually adorns each and every one of their words, that max is rendered essentially speechless, he prefers to keep those words hanging in the air anyway.

the only argument comes in the form of a brief roll of his eyes, but in the end max keeps her gaze when he throws back the shot. he takes his time sucking the juice from his lime, smirking around it with unabashed satisfaction. "mm," he hums in eager agreement, brows furrowed, head nodding. way too serious not to be sarcastic, like he's sure all her typical music isn't like is. he's sure it sucks in comparison. "yeah?" no intention of interrupting her while she's plying him with compliments. it's not 'til she gets suspiciously specific that he snorts. "sorry -- distortion?" reverb? max laughs, tutting her as he shakes his head. "man, you actually do know what a lick is, huh? you whore." teasing, but also noted. it really isn't very shocking to learn she's fucked a musician before. she probably knows random shit about daytrading and steelwork, too. "yeah, it turned out sick actually." naturally jenny magnetizes the conversation back to orbit her and max manages to restrain the roll of his eyes. she's glazed him up enough that he considers her suggestions with an easy smirk and a tilt of his head. "'bar top'?" getting kicked out of the casino for indecent exposure and public fellatio seems a lot more acceptable to him. there's a thoughtful pause and then he asks, "do you wanna go to my room?" it doesn't really sound like an invitation though, more like a curiosity. like he just wants to hear her say it.

[jonroxton]

hi pardon. Can I ask you something? What's your thoughts on Lois Lane played by Amy Adams? About her personality, her decisions, her wit?

i love lois in the dceu. I adore her, actually. she’s fearless, intuitive and extroverted, like all the loises we know and love, but amy!lo is much more reserved and restrained, carrying with her a pathos the other loises don’t often get a chance to show off with such gravity. lois and her decisions, her place at the daily planet and her work ethic, it’s all taken very seriously in the dceu, enough so that her leaving in zsjl is her whole arc. it began with the choice to make her part of the secret. by taking that very old superman trope and just skipping it, we get that trusting great relationship she will eventually have with clark be the beginning of that epic relationship, and doing so opened up many choices for goyer to show off her best traits (integrity, loyalty).  she’s a character who affects the story by action, when usually lois is reactionary. she’s part of the journey and so the film relies on her presence to carry the plot and the emotional core of the story.  i was wrong about her role in zsjl (the arc i envisioned for her would’ve been in jl2+3!), but even there her presence is vital. she emphatically matters and her romance with clark is not just a love story, but THE story. everything happens because of lois and clark, including the knightmare and the eventual restoration (*ahem*). you take her out and all the movies fall apart. her character is made entirely of decisions, so her personality and wit are revealed there. let’s count the ways! this got long!

1. a] in man of steel, lois is introduced going after a story, researching the mysterious object in the ice. when she arrives we learn that she got an injunction from the courts to be there. so right away we learn there was an attempt to stop her and she thwarted it! she’s pursuing this mystery, and she’s willing to go head to head with colonel hardy to be there, unfazed by his stand off demeanor. her wit is straightforward, still abrasive, but like I said above, restrained. she doesn’t have anything to prove, she’s already there. she has a good attitude. she keeps this restrained and thoughtful attitude all the way through zsjl.

b] she follows joe/clark because he’s walking around in a shirt in -60 degree weather and is curious about it. her curiosity leads her to the ship and results in her getting hurt and meeting clark for the first time. 

c] this is a subtle moment, but it’s another choice. clark lets her know that the he has to cautorize the bleeding, because if he doesn’t she’ll continue to bleed internally. she’s doesn’t know how, but she nods in agreement to let him help her. it’s exposing her ability to trust intuitively. here the first core of clark and lois is formed, showing not just that clark is calm and helpful, but that even under stress, lois listens. 

d] lois then begins her search for clark proper and it takes her all over the country. she does this for MONTHS. she follows lead after lead, believing these extraordinary stories about this man, all the way to their source. this is perseverance, this is openness. she’s a believer and more than that she’s a seeker. she’s willing to go out of her way to prove it. her work is not just the thing she does, that she and clark will share. it carries the plot forward. 

e] and it pays off. clark of course had every chance to stop her, but he didn’t. he let her find her father’s grave and follows her there. he exposes his deepest regret, giving her a counter reason for why she shouldn’t expose him. clark doesn’t ask her not to tell the world his secret, he gives her the option. it’s not just clark’s choice anymore! and lois chooses to keep clark’s secret and so keep clark’s father’s wish to wait until the right moment to reveal who he is. this shows trust and integrity and character. lois is sitting on the greatest story in the history of the world. she knows his name. she knows where he lives. she knows what he’s done, what he can do. and she keeps it. not because she’s asked to, but because she respects clark and what he does. 

i don’t think people realize the gravity of the choice here. lois is already a world famous reporter. she’s won pulitzers already. this news would’ve set her name down in permanent stone. and she chooses not to reveal it to maintain clark’s trust, showing him that she takes his choice seriously and his past and his father seriously. her agency here honors clark’s agency, it honors jonathan! it shows clark that she’s someone who can be trusted and relied upon. it proves her word is her bond, and that’s so important because her livelihood is literally words. it’s sublime really and a travesty that ppl don’t understand just how deep and meaningful this moment is.

f] so zod arrives and lois is literally the only person in the world who knows clark is the one he’s looking for. when she’s exposed as knowing who he is, she chooses to flee! that’s another small but important choice, irregardless that she gets caught . then, even more revealing, she refuses to tell them who he is. it’s literally the world or clark, and she chooses clark! she’s under government threat!  

(and it’s constant! clark chooses her. I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO LOIS LANE is ugh it’s perfect. when clark decides to reveal himself to the world it’s to get lois out of prison! IT’S SO COOL. ITS SO ROMANTIC. ITS SO EXPANSIVE. it’s putting to the test that epic history they have. why are lois and clark so loyal to each other? because of this! because lois is loyal to him without gaining anything, and clark is loyal to her and it gets him imprisoned! clark exchanged his secret for her freedom! this is the plot! this is the story the movie wanted to tell. it’s not a subplot romance. the building of their relationship is literally the plot!) 

g] lois is with clark when he gives himself up (choice to stand by him, against all odds) and then she volunteers to go in with him, making the situation much less dire than it could have been. she’s fearless. absolutely fearless. and the story constantly reaffirms this and her loyalty to clark.

h] lois uses the key clark gave her bc her intuition is perfect and with jor-el’s help escapes. the key also allows clark to reverse the atmosphere in the black zero and helps him save all of them. her choices here literally save their lives. it’s also how the last act of the film begins, with jor-el giving lois the information to defeat the kryptonians. without lois there is no plan! take lois out of this and there is no last act of man of steel!

i] this is a smaller choice, but she tells clark the kryptonians looked in her mind, showing him again that she is an honest person

j] she tells the team the plan and she again volunteers. she knows she can die, but the world and helping clark is more important. all those lois traits we know and love, her integrity, her fearlessness, her willingness, it’s all constantly and consistently reaffirmed. 

2. BVS is one huge reaffirmation of lois and clark’s loyalty to each other and their integrity and work ethic. everything about this movie proves why it was right for lois and clark to trust each other all throughout MOS. 

a) it all begins and ends with the bullet, and what that bullet means to her and to clark, why that bullet is there in the first place. confusion abounds. she literally says it, “i want to understand what happened.” she’s confused. so is clark. everyone is confused. there’s too much noise out there. but there’s this bullet. she choose to pursue this bullet, not knowing what it means. her intuition carries all the way through and she’s proven right across the board.

even her being wrong yields results, because swanwyck goes to her after telling her she’s wrong to tell her the truth. so it’s not just clark that trusts her, but swanwyck too. and swanwyck already knows lois is person who can keep her word (nothing he said or threatened in MOS got her to reveal clark’s identity!). now that we know swanwyck is martian manhunter, then we can deduce that he read her mind and concluded she was trustworthy. lois’s work and insistence even when wrong, it shows her character not just to us, but to characters like swanwyck.

b) she chooses not to tell clark because she’s doesn’t know what’s going on. she doesn’t understand what it signifies. she wants more information. and her entire arc is seeking that information. when clark finds out, he’s concerned, but he doesn’t stop her, and she doesn’t stop. thy’re separate for most of the movie, but their respective arcs are about unraveling the truth, understanding the truth. this would’ve been conflict in any other movie, but MOS established a loyal, trusting, confident duo, people who believe what the other says. when lois says, I have a job to do, clark says, go off, be careful. it matters that it’s like this. it matters that their conflict is external, because, again, it reaffirms all of the qualities that makes them work. and it’s all rewarded. ALL OF IT. she figures out it was lex. and it’s her information that helps convict him. all of her work and her confusion and intuition, all of it, is rewarded in the end. 

d) lois CHOOSES to go to the fight. she chooses to step in between bruce’s boot and the spear. she chooses to protect clark. she literally runs to get in between him and bruce. my fearless bb.

e) lois thows the spear in the water to hide it, and ultimately this helps protect it from all the rubble. when she realizes doomsday, a possible kryptonian creature, is let loose, she goes back for it. these are all choices down the line.

f) this one is subtle but so great. one of those things that’s taken for granted in live action, but used to full effect here. lois doesn’t just give up as she drowns. she bangs the hell out of the rubble because she KNOWS clark will hear her. and he does!  and its because of this he finds the spear.

g) finally, after losing clark, she decides to accept his proposal. she’s still loyal to him in the end, wearing his ring. it’s a heartbreaking and human moment. 

3. ZSJL. a) so we know actually very little about lois and her life, but we do have this rounded fully realized character whose actions are integral to the plots of MOS/BVS. her choices matter. and those choices are tied into her job, her integrity and her capacity to see these jobs complete. so it’s absolutely telling that lois stops working at the planet. this choice reveals how important her life with clark was, and what their relationship meant to her. important enough that it eroded her life as a journalist. 

b) instead she chooses to go to the monument. every single day. for weeks. her mourning is taken seriously. her love for clark is taken seriously. her grief is real. she misses him. and it’s not something to make fun of, or a subplot. it matters bc ultimately it’s her coming to the monument that makes it so when clark comes back he is stopped and truly recovered.

c) it’s another subtle way they show character too, when martha/swanwyck goes visit lois and urges her to return to her life. lois here chooses to let clark go, to say goodbye, one last time. it just so happens that this time it’s when the league brings clark back.

d) it’s absolutely stunning seeing lois just run up to clark after he beat teh shit out the most powerful people in the world. her fearlessness once again in full force. this wouldn’t have worked if we didn’t have mos/bvs. this moment works because lois and clark, up to this point, have been trusting, loving, communicative and kind to each other. their love is instinctual and deep, enough so that even without memory of his own name or life, clark recognizes her.��

4. in conclusion

lois is treated honorably and seriously in the dceu, her choices matter to the plot, to the emotion, to the spirit of the story. she’s still funny and sweet, she’s just not loud or so extroverted as her counterparts.i love her a lot for the way the films treat her, how much they care that her actions matter, how intertwined with the plot and so with clark’s development and his journey. lois is of course an integral part of every superman story, but in the dceu it just carries a little more weight because of how seriously they take the situations.

it’s wild because this is the lois we know least about, but she’s definitely the one given most decisions that affect the plot. and that’s story power. that’s important.

it’s also done in such a subtle way. we don’t hear lois is the greatest reporter of our time, we SEE it, twice over. MOS is her chasing the superman story and she figures it out and gains his trust and helps save the world. in BVS she takes a one inch piece of metal and unravels one megalomaniacs entire plan. when the greatest detective couldn’t see it.

she’s just a cool character. a wonderful female character in a movie genre where female character’s choices don’t matter, where their choices usually get them into trouble or they’re admonished for it. 

ultimately, i think the dceu loves lois lane as much as it does clark kent, and I WANT IT BACK. I WANT IT ALL BACK PLEEEEEEEEASE.

[nanayoungishere]

Play It Cool (Part Eight)

TK knew the day was gonna be horrible the moment they came to work and saw that the entire diner was filled with cranky old people.

The fact that you weren’t there and your apparent replacement -- a waitress named Tina who may or may not be banging their boss -- came in forty-five minutes late only confirmed that fact.

But it wasn't until the seniors cleared out and TK got to talking with Tina about where you were that they came to realize just how God-awful the day really was.

“Kidnapped?!”

Tina nodded rapidly, her eyes wide. “Yeah! They passed out and some guy just,” she made a sweeping motion with her arms, “picked them up and ran!”

TK’s head swam as they processed the information, forcing them to lean on the counter to steady themselves. They wanted desperately for it to be a joke, but they knew it wasn’t.

The look on Tina’s face told TK all they needed to know. She was dead serious.

“Picked -- did someone chase after them?! Did you call the police?!” The panic was making TK’s voice rise to tea kettle levels. They ran their shaking hands through their hair, needing to do something to keep their mind off of --

the things they saw on the news the things they saw in scary movies thriller movies crime movies all the horrible horrible horrible things that could be happening to you right now as they just stood there and shook

“I-I don’t -- how did this --”

Tina didn’t seem to be aware of how close TK was to flipping their shit. Instead she went straight into gossip mode, leaning in close like she was telling a juicy secret. “Okay so like, I was waiting tables right?”

TK wanted to shake her. They didn’t need some long winded, dramatic story right now, not when you were fucking kidnapped oh dear God --

“And Y/N walks in and I’m like, what? You know how bad the food is, why would you eat here? But then they order a milkshake and I’m all like, ooooh, that’s why! ‘Cause the milkshakes bring all the customers to the yard --”

“Tina --”

“But then they just keep ordering milkshakes and they look super nervous the entire time, right? Like they’re shaking and muttering and sweating which, ew. But they keep ordering milkshakes, like a dozen of them. And they keep looking super nervous and scared and checking their phone a lot. And then someone came in!”

“Who?”

“I dunno. He was like, super tall? And creepy. And bald which, mega ew. I think he was old or something.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Y/N knocked over their milkshake and went to the bathroom to clean up and when they came back the guy was like, holding out a bunch of flowers which, you know, kinda made up for being bald and old? But after they took the flowers they like, passed out.”

“Passed out?” TK repeated, sounding as though they were being strangled.

“Yeah! I think he like, drugged the flowers? Which was weird ‘cause like, I didn’t even know that was a thing --”

TK wanted to throw up. Preferably over Tina’s shoes because why the fuck was she not taking this seriously and --

Oh God what happened to you.

Oh God what was happening to you right now.

Anything could be happening to you right now! You could be murdered or tortured or ra--

They could feel the bile in their throat. “Oh God…”

“A bunch of the customers ran after them, but the guy was fast. Super fast,” she said emphatically. “He was gone before anyone could catch up and the police, they showed up like ten minutes later asking a buncha questions.”

TK covered their mouth, their face growing paler by the second. “Did -- did they find them or --”

She just shrugged and went back to washing dishes.

Like she didn’t care. Like she couldn’t give any less of a fuck that one of their coworkers was kidnapped by some freak.

Calm down, a distant, more rational part of them said. Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe if you call them right now, they’ll pick up and everything’ll be fine.

TK clung to that shred of hope like a lifeline. They had their phone in hand and your contact on call before they realized what they were doing.

“Hello!”

“Y/N, are you --”

“I can’t come to the phone right now! Leave a message after the --”

TK hung up and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Each time it went straight to voicemail, they could feel their heart rate picking up, dread pooling in their stomach.

They didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to even consider it because these sorta things didn’t happen to them. It happened to other people, people on the news, people in crime shows, not someone they knew.

There had to be another explanation for this. You couldn’t be --

Be…

“I-I’m going on break!”

They threw off their apron and ran to the backroom before Tina could say anything.

Where is it, where is it, where -- there!

A black book, one filled with all the employee contact information. Specifically phone numbers and emergency contact numbers.

TK flipped through it until they got to your information. For your emergency contact you listed your roommate, Lucy. TK wasn’t sure why considering how often you complained about her and her willingness to leave you with all the rent, but whatever. They weren’t complaining.

They called her up, fidgeting at the dial tone. “Come on, come on, pick up…”

It answered. The person on the other line sounded irritated, and oddly breathless. “Yo! Who the hell’s this? I’m kinda --”

In the background TK heard a long, loud moan. It took a second for TK to realize what they were hearing and when they did, they had to resist the urge to immediately hang up.

Jesus Christ.

“-- in the middle of someone, ya know?” she said with absolutely no shame. “It better be important.”

TK grimaced, blushing despite themselves. “Is this Lucy? I’m --”

“Whoa.” The playful tone in her voice dropped, turning into a snarl. “Who the hell told you that name? Who the fuck is --”

“I’m TK, Y/N’s coworker from work,” they cut in. “Are they there? It’s an emergency.”

The phone was muffled for a moment. TK heard Lucy call out to someone in the background. “Nope. Not here.”

“Shit.” Their hands were trembling again. “Did they at least come home last night?”

“I don’t -- hold on.” They heard her yell to someone in the background, followed by a banging sound. The moaning, thank God, came to a stop. “What the fuck is this about? What’s going on?”

TK hesitated before giving her the whole story. She was your emergency contact, she needed to know.

She took it as well as TK did. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“I --”

“I’m coming over there right the fuck now. You stay there, understand?” She hung up.

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

Lucy dressed herself as she walked out the door.

She didn’t even bother to tell her newest “study buddies” to fuck off out of her apartment; she just left.

Halfway down the narrow hall she bumped into the landlord. She didn’t apologize and kept on walking.

“Lucy, your rent is --”

“Y/N got fucking kidnapped at their workplace. I don’t have time for your shit right now, Don.”

Any other time she would’ve fucking cherished the blindsided look on his face. “Wha --”

Lucy jumped down the steps and hit the ground running.

She didn’t have time to waste. Not with you.

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

Left in the hallway, Don briefly considers the idea of just letting it go.

It didn’t have anything to do with him. You were a tenant, nothing more.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Something about you had been catching his eye lately, though maybe that was the lonely divorcee in him grasping at straws.

He scowled down at the phone in his hand before finally biting the bullet and making the call. Fuck he hoped this was an actual emergency, because this was gonna get awkward.

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

Officer Williams -- also known as Roy to his friends and his Dad -- considered the information at hand.

A handle of witnesses, all who said the exact same thing. Tall, bald, hoodie vest, male, creepy looking. Short, baseball cap and hoodie, very nervous, undetermined gender. Short one passed out, tall one took them away. Flowers were involved.

And by the time the officers came to the scene, they were long gone.

Roy and the officers with him combed the area, but there was no sign of them. If he had to guess, the tall one must’ve taken a car along the way. Which meant they could be anywhere, even out of town for all he knew.

No security footage, because the boss of the place was too cheap to fix their broken cameras. Didn’t catch anything on the nearby traffic or store cameras either.

He knew your name, Y/N, and where you worked. But he knew nothing about the man who took you. Or why you were so scared of him, according to the other patrons.

An abusive ex? A thug shaking you for money? Roy had no clue.

He could look through some of the nearby shops, maybe see if they knew anything about it, but that could take some time. And he already had enough on his plate; maybe he should shift this over to someone else --

His phone rang.

“Hello? This is Officer Williams.”

“Roy, it’s me.”

He blinked. “Dad? What --”

“Listen, I’m gonna need a favor…”

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

You briefly woke up, hit with the sudden feeling that you were forgetting something.

But the warmth -- fuck, he’s so fucking warm -- curled around you kept you from fully waking.

His arms were wrapped around you. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek. He was with you, he was yours.

You had never felt more comfortable, more loved in your life.

You snuggled back into your Honey’s arms, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your head. It couldn’t be that important. Not compared to snuggling up with your boyfriend.

(Previous)

(Next)

[spaceorphan18]

99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #48

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

***

Eli C. (The Break Up) 

“You look like shit.”

It’s Friday morning. Eli slides into a chair at his usual table at the coffee shop. His best friend Becca is already there, sipping on her nonfat mocha with extra whipped cream, grinning like an amused fool. He’s glad someone can be so cheery this early in the morning.

“Lay off, I had a long night.” Eli savors the taste of his own black coffee - hoping it’ll kick in so he can at least pay half attention in class.

“Did you now?” Becca’s eyebrow is raised high with interest.

Eli lets out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t want to hear about it.”

Becca leans forward. “No, I think I do. What trashy thing did you do now?”

Eli takes another drink of his coffee, settling in. Fine. It’s not like Becca ever lets these things go. “You know how I’ve been on those show choir message boards for the past year or so?”

“Oh, god, this again?” She’s more delighted than appalled.

“I’m allowed to have my hobbies.”

“Yeah, your totally gay hobbies.”

“Says the woman who has her hand in pussy any chance she can get.”

“Anyway…” Becca pushes on. “Your totally normal obsession with show choirs, continue…”

“About week ago, I get to chatting with this guy named Blaine.”

“Really? His name is Blaine?” Becca lets out a hardy laugh. “Of course this story is going to get gayer.”

“Hey, you wanted to hear it.” Eli pushes back.

“Okay, okay, continue.”

“So we get to chatting, and I’m flirty and he’s flirty back, or at least that’s how I took it. So a couple days ago I looked him up on Facebook. Turns out the guy is totally hot - in that classic movie star kind of way.” Eli thinks about it - how it was really pretty harmless at the beginning. Maybe he misread the situation? Maybe he didn’t. Does he regret it? No, not really.

Becca grins her annoyingly devilish grin. “Did you go weak in the knees?”

“You know what, I did - so shut it,” Eli continues. “So, I asked if he wanted to hook up sometime.”

Becca feigns being impressed. “Wow - and he agreed without even seeing you? I mean - it’s not like your profile picture is telling a whole lot.”

“It’s a metaphor, Becca.”

“It’s overcompensation, Eli.”

“Anyway, yes he came over and we hooked up. And that’s that.” Eli doesn’t think there’s much more to tell - but Becca doesn’t seem satisfied.

“That cannot be the full story.”

“Do you really want the sordid details of my sex life?”

“Hey, you got to hear the comedy and tragedy that was Veronica Stalls, so yeah, I do.”

“Okay it was…” Eli lets out a long breath. The image of Blaine remains seared in his head - the moment he first saw him in person, showing up at his dorm room with a sad kind of beauty about him. He had been captivating - but Eli had always been one for lost causes. “The whole thing ended up being very odd. We agreed to meet at my place at seven, right? Well, he doesn’t show up. And I didn’t think much of it - cause I mean, hooking up with internet people can sometimes be sketchy. But then about quarter after ten, he knocks on my door. So, I let him in, and there’s very little talking. Like, the dude was all over me almost the second he walks in the door.”

“Um, hot.”

“More like very aggressive,” Eli corrects. Had it been hot? Yes, surely. Did something feel utterly wrong? Absolutely. Did he want to give up sex that night? Not even a little bit. “Not that it wasn’t a turn on. I just wasn’t expecting it. Online the guy is so polite and almost demure. I figured I’d have to be the one to push him a little. But nope, we were on the bed making out and grinding in, like, ten minutes.”

“Hey, no-strings-attached sex sounds kinda nice.”

In theory, it had been very nice. “Yeah, still…” Eli tilts his head back and forth as he thinks back on it. “It was like… it was like he wasn’t really there?” He remembers Blaine’s vacancy very clearly. It had been just a hook-up. No reason for Eli to take that personally, but some kind of connection would have been nice. Maybe even acknowledgement of what they were doing. Blaine, however, gave him nothing. “He gave me a handjob, and it was ‘meh’ to be honest with you. No finesse at all. Jerked me off as fast as he could. Then I asked if I could go down on him and, oh boy, that froze him up.”

Becca’s eyes grow wide. She sees people. It’s why they’re friends. “Um, so this already sounds like there’s some issues going on here.”

“Oh, clearly,” Eli nods. “But I mean, we weren’t hooking up to deconstruct whatever messed up feelings he was having. I was pretty clear from the outset that it was just a hookup. At least, I thought I was. Anyway, he finally let me go down on him and…”

“...and?” Becca’s unusually hanging onto his words.

“The dude’s dick was fucking gorgeous.” Eli licks his lips thinking about it again. If there had been one bright spot about last night - it was that dick. “I almost got hard again just looking at it.”

“Oh, I hear ya,” Becca says in a bout of sincerity. “Veronica Stalls’s tits, man. At least I get to keep the image of those in my brain for the rest of my life.”

“Right? Man…” Eli looks around. There are barely any customers there - they’re pretty alone. Still, he feels a little strange being so graphic in public. But Becca’s eyes are hard on him, so he continues. “So, yeah, I start to blow him, but he doesn’t really get into it, you know? Like most guys will pull my hair, or fuck my mouth, or whatever, but he just lay there letting me do it to him. And, I mean, seriously, I have no regrets sucking on a dick that delicious, but it did bum me out that he wasn’t, at least, a little into it. Took him fucking forever to come, too.”

“Yeah, he totally sounds suspect,” Becca agrees. “You were safe, right?”

“Oh, totally,” Eli nods. “So afterwards, we kind of make out a little, or more so, I kiss him a little, but he’s just, like, looking as if he’s going to throw up. So I got up to get some water, and by the time I get back, he’s pretty much dressed and out the door.”

“Oh my god,” Becca says, as if it is all clicking for her. “You were, like, the other guy, Eli. This dude totally has a boyfriend or something.”

“Not gonna lie, the thought crossed my mind,” Eli admits. To be honest, it had been fully on his mind but he hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Was he selfish for that? Was he selfish for just wanting to get off? “He blocked me this morning, so… I guess that was that. I feel a little bad though. Not that he blocked me - I guess I expected that. Just that I took part in whatever bad turn this guy was taking.”

“Don’t,” Becca shakes her head emphatically. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And honestly - sounds like you’re better off not being a part of whatever mess this dude’s life is.”

“True,” Eli gives a shrug. “He was a nice guy, though. I hope he figures his shit out.” He gives one last lingering thought to Blaine, hoping wherever he is today that he isn’t full of regret. Eli isn’t. Ah well. Moving on. “Meanwhile… I have a couple of hits from Grindr I should tell you about.”

“Oh, dear god…”

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Todoroki needs love

Summary: Todoroki finding out that he likes cuddles and assembling his own makeshift family. Aka: I project my being touch startled onto Todoroki, with a side of found family! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2,779

Side note: this is the first actual fanfic that I’m posting, so any thoughts and/or tips you have are always appreciated!!

Thank you, I hope you have a good day!

____________________________________________

Shouto had never really experienced positive touch. But that’s fine, that’s what he was used to: it’s what he expected. He didn’t associate physical contact with anything good. Even now, after his father’s “training sessions,” had ceased, Shouto didn’t understand the hype around hugs or physical contact of any kind. In fact, he made a point to avoid touching his peers outside of class.

He was fine with that. Then Izuku hugged him. It wasn’t long, and he was an awkward mess afterwards. Stuttering over an apology that didn’t need to be there, because, once again; he had shattered Shouto’s world. Why did this boy insist one breaking everything around him? His bones, Iida after Hosu, Stain’s hatred of all hero’s, their teachers sanity, Shouto’s resolve and ideals that he had known and held since early childhood.

So, instead of reacting, or saying, “it’s fine,” like a normal person would; Shouto stood there. Blanking out. Blue screening. Not computing. Shouto exe has stopped working.

Oh wait, Izuku was still talking.

“You’re fine.” Oh, he did it. Good for him. His mother would be proud.

He thinks.

“Ahh, are you sure?” Izuku had asked.

“… yes.” Midoriya had walked away after a while, leaving Shouto to stew in his inner turmoil… Again.

It was warm though. His heart felt,, odd. It hurt once he had pulled away. It felt empty, in a way that felt when his mother had been taken away from him. Which was silly. Midoriya pulling away from a hug shouldn’t feel like losing someone. It was a two-second-long hug. But losing it felt like being shoved in a bucket of ice water after his fathers training.

The second time it happened, it was Uraraka. Shouto had not been paying attention. He had been learning about memes, which he was now fluent in and enjoyed torturing his sperm donor with. It was ‘fire’ to watch his reaction (pun intended).

He had tripped over his own feet, which he thought was very fitting for a hero in training. But Uraraka had been there to help him. Also a concept that he was unuse to. People helping him. Without expecting a favor in return. Interesting. Either way, she had floated him.

“Sorry for using my quirk on you without your permission, but I think it’d be better than landing on your face!” She said, with a laugh, patting him on the back.

Not a hug, but yet another affectionate gesture.

“Todoroki? Are you okay?” She had asked, looking a bit confused he thought. Right, it was probably odd to stop dead after being shown affection. He should find a way to mask that.

“Fine.” He said. Then, “how are you?” She softened then. Yes, another point for Todoroki and the social interactions!

“I’m alright! Thank you for asking, Todoroki!” She smiled. “We should head to class, or Iida is going to be mad!” Yes, Iida was also learning social interaction. He thinks Midoriya is too. And Shinsou. At least he wasn’t alone in that. Maybe he should start a club. Maybe Mina, Kirishima, and Tsu could teach them about social interactions. They seemed fairly well adjusted.

“Todoroki? Are you coming?” Right.

“yes.”

The third time it had happened, Aoyama had gotten glitter all over him.

“Greeting, Monsieur!” He had said, throwing his arm around Todoroki’s shoulder.

Aoyama’s half hug was warm again. Not soft as Izuku’s hug, but not as casual as Uraraka’s pat on the back. He did it smoothly, and naturally. But it still felt so… New, to Shouto.

“Have you had one of Sato’s magnifique cupcakes?” He had asked, pulling away from Shouto and pulling him towards the dorm kitchen.

“No,” Shouto managed to choke out. Physical contact, it just… It stumped him. It was stifling in a way that he wouldn’t have expected. It was nothing like how his father would pat his back after he “succeeded,” after, he “finally realized his future,” or was did something “worthy of his masterpiece.” No, it was meant to be comforting. It wasn’t… Disadvantageous.

“Monsieur!” Aoyama gasped.

“Sorry?” Shouto guessed. Aoyama had laughed then.

“Non,” he said, shoving a cupcake into Shouto’s hand.

“Hey, Todoroki!” Sato said, waving at them. “I see Aoyama has roped you in to trying my cupcakes! I hope ya like ‘em!”

Shouto did indeed like them, and made sure to tell Sato as much.

As time went on, the physical affection continued. Shouto still flinched at it sometimes. And almost always bluescreened. But he had come to look forward to it. Izuku had hugged him a few more times. He had asked Shouto the next few times. Shouto had said yes, he hadn’t known what to expect, but he wasn’t used to saying ‘no.’ and he found that he looked forward to it. He didn’t like when the physical contact ended. So Izuku started to hold his hand. Almost constantly. Aoyama and Momo had also taken this up. Just small touches. Touches that made Shouto feel more grounded and in the moment.

The self-proclaimed, “Izucrew,” had formed towards the end of first year. Slowly adopting more people into it as time went on. First Tokoyami, Shinsou, Momo, Jirou, Mei, Monoma. Their first Christmas as a class, half the class had gotten Shouto piles of stuffed animals. Piles. Mina had insisted that they name them. Shouto had gone along with it readily. He now had a stuffed bear that he referred to as, “dad,” and several other plushies with various names.

He soon realized that the other members of the Izucrew had a lot of plushies as well.

It started one week when Tsu had been feeling homesick. Izuku had suggested gathering all their stuffed animals, and having a, “cuddle pile.” Which turned out to be less violent than Shouto had expected. They were not, in fact brawling, or wrestling, but literally just laying there with each other. It was soft. After a while, Uraraka had suggested that they build a blanket fort. He found out that no other members of the Izucrew, aside from Tsu, Uraraka, Monoma, and Aoyama had had sleepovers before. Izuku said that he had had one when he was three, but he didn’t remember much, so Shouto wasn’t sure if that counted or not.

They had made the blanket fort. Shouto thought it was… soft. And comforting. Like a weighted blanket. Not the stifling heaviness that he dreaded during school breaks. Warm in a way that Uraraka said was like cuddling up with hot chocolate during the winter. Or how Momo said drinking tea after waking up felt. Or how Kaminari said he felt while at the arcade with the self-proclaimed ‘kiricrew.’ Or how Sato said he felt whenever the class complimented his baking.

“Ooo, we should watch a movie!” Mei had exclaimed half way through the night. Iida was already dozing, but Tsu and most of the others had agreed.

“Horror or animated?” Shinsou had asked, from his position half under Monoma, with his head on Aoyama’s lap. Glitter making its way into his hair.

“We could to both!” Izuku suggested, his head resting on Shinsou’s chest, legs tangled with Mei and Shouto’s. “Horror first, then animated?” Momo nodded.

“That would be best! Just incase we get scared from the horror movie!” She said. Shouto agreed. He hadn’t seen many movies, but Kaminari had told him about one that sounded most unpleasant.

As it turned out, they had several horror movie connoisseurs in their group. Izuku, Shinsou, Monoma, Tsu, Jirou, Tokoyami, and Uraraka were the most emphatic about them, but no one seemed to dislike them.

And that’s how Shouto spent his night. Curled up amongst those he trusted. He trusted them. He let his guard down around them. He let them into his personal space. He had known them for hardly over a year. But he trusted them. More than he trusted most people. He would tell them about his past. He would share secrets with them, his aspirations, the real reason why he wanted to be a hero, all of the things he went through as a child. And they did the same with him.

Izuku shared that he got his quirk late, his past with Bakugou, how his father left him and his mother, how his mother never noticed when he came home bruised and burnt, smelling vaguely of caramel and smoke. Shinsou, Mei, and Monoma shared how they were bullied throughout middle school. Iida, Momo, Jirou, and Uraraka told them how much pressure they felt from their parents. Tokoyami and Aoyama admitted to their difficulties accepting their quirks. Tsu relinquished how fast she had to grow up and take care of her siblings. Shouto found that he related to a lot of their struggles.

“Todo and the rest of the Izucrew’ve been getting really close lately!” Mina had said, Watching Aoyama, Mei, and Jirou drag Todoroki and Monoma up to Momo’s room.

She had noticed how close their group seemed to get towards the end of first year. The whole class had gotten together a few times over the summer, and the group chat stayed active most days. She liked how close she was with the rest of her classmates. Apparently that happened after getting attacked by vllains multiple times, and going through severe trauma. She smiled, thinking how far they had all come.

At the beginning of first year, Todoroki hadn’t so much as said a word to any of them. Izuku couldn’t string a sentence together without stumbling over his own words and blushing like crazy. Monoma wouldn’t talk to them without making some sarcastic comment. Now, she had given Todoroki a number of hugs, some of which he had returned! Izuku started a couple conversations with her, and joined her dance club (she still joked with him about his blatant lie that he couldn’t dance. The fool). She had eaten lunch and had a conversation with Monoma, who’s sarcasm slights had turned into playful ribbings.

She was proud of her boys too of course: Ejirou and Sero had really gained some confidence in themselves and their quirks. Kami had gotten a lot more control over his quirk, working with their teachers, the support department, and Midori on ways to channel his quirk so that he didn’t short circuit. And she had also learned how to better use her acid. She, Izuku, Momo, Mei, and Shinsou had convinced Nezu to let them lead an anti-bullying and harassment seminar during the start of this year. So yeah, sufficed to say that she was proud of her class.

Sato had been happy to see how some of their more… troubled classmates had grown in the past few months. He had first noticed it when Aoyama practically shoved one of his cupcakes down Todoroki’s throat. The first time Sato had brought any of his baked goods to share with the class, Todoroki had refused to try any of them. Now, he not only taken one, but he had complimented Sato. He had even been convinced to bake with Sato! He was not good. But he tried, and that was good enough.

Ojirou hadn’t expected to end up being so close to his classmates. Sure, he had hoped to make friends, maybe even find a girlfriend. But he hadn’t thought that he would end up close to all of his peers, or to like all of his teachers. But there he was the week before school, excited to be back. He had never considered himself to be a teacher, or at least, never thougth that people would ask him to teach them anything. But a significant number of his classmates had asked him to work with them on hand-to-hand combat. He and Uraraka especially sparred quite often. Surprisingly enough, Shouto Todoroki had asked him to work on some close combat techniques.

Aizawa Shouta was not going soft. He wasn’t, okay?! He made a point not to get attached to his students, thank you very much. Turns out though, that it’s kind of hard to not get at least a little protective over them after going through so many villain attacks with children.

Something that Shouta still beat himself up over, was not noticing so many problems that his class so clearly faced. He had written off Midoriya and Bakugou’s relationship as a simple childhood rivalry.

After walking in on Midoriya having a panic attack, the boy had accidentally spilled the very important fact that he had only developed his quirk the day of the entrance exam, and that Bakugou had been his bully. He had thought that Kaminari simply, didn’t try very hard in school. After talking to Hisashi though, he had seen how smart Kaminari actually was. He had overlooked how predatory Mineta’s behavior had been. He had chopped up Todoroki’s behavior to simply being anti-social. After Midoriya and Hisashi had dropped a few hints that were about as subtle as a Mac Truck, he had paid closer attention, and oh kami if things didn’t make a lot more sense.

“Todoroki, stay after class.” He had stiffened up. Another mark for the worrisome column.

Midoriya had given him a calculating look. A look that he had only seen when Midoriya was assessing someones quirk. Well damn. He knew the kid was protective over his friends; but he was also incredibly respectful and borderline fearful of teachers (another thing he would need to look into). Shouta had stared back, and Mirodiya had given him a calculated nod. Kami, this kid was going to be another Nezu.

Todoroki had pulled his backpack onto his shoulders, giving Midoriya a short nod.

“We’ll be outside if you need.” Shouta had sighed. These freaking kids.

“Yes?” Todoroki had said tightly. Eyes darting to the exit.

“Todoroki, I’m going to be honest; your behavior is fairly worrisome, and I overlooked a lot of it.” Todoroki stiffened.

“How do you mean, sir?”

They had talked through next period. And most of the problem class was waiting outside the door when they had left. Shouto had sighed.

“I’m not writing all of you late slips.” He said.

“With all due respect, sir; we’re fine with that. We just wanted to be here in case Todoroki needed us.”

He wrote them all late slips.

He wasn’t going soft, dammit!

Shouto never expected to be close to anyone, certainly not during high school. His entire life had had tunnel vison: his hero career. That was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered, or would ever matter. But now, Shouto had a makeshift family. Dysfunctional and no matter how mismatched they all were, they were there for each other. They had each others back, they supported each other. They had game nights, movie nights, baking competitions (Sato judged), cookie decorating competitions, snowball fights, cuddle nights, group hugs, and more. And Shouto found that he enjoyed them. He didn’t at first.

He had been dragged to the first movie night by Momo.

“It’ll be good for you to socialize a little.” She said, after evicting him from the confines of his room.

He hadn’t said anything to that. But after, Kaminari had handed him a hot chocolate, with the explanation that they were going to watch a horror movie, followed of course, by cartoons.

“Can I leave now?” He had asked. Kaminari frowned. Oh no, he hadn’t meant for that to happen.

“Not a fan of horror movies eh? We can find something else to watch if ya want!” That was… Odd. They cared about his feelings?

“I don’t know.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

“I’ve never seen any horror movies.” Kaminari’s eyes widened in shock. Was that bad?

“Well now you have to stay!!!” He exclaimed. “TODO HASN’T SEEN ANY HORROR MOVIES!” Cries rippled through the gaggle of teens.

“Well let’s make this the best horror movie marathon for Todobro then!”

Kirishima was an interesting character, Shouto thought. He was fairly persistent in his stringent interest in what was, “manly.” Shouto wondered if most people had these fixations. Midoriya had analyzing quirks, Jirou had music, Koda had animals, Sato had baking, Ojirou had karate, Ashido had dance, and so on.

Shouto came to realize that he did indeed like horror movies. He also liked the pre-quirk televisions show, “Kim Possible.”

“Shouto, the crew are having another cuddle pile in Iida’s room. Let’s go, yeah?” Shinsou asked, as Todoroki left the locker rooms. Todoroki nodded.

“Yes, do we need to bring snacks?” He asked. Shinsou smirked.

“Hell yeah!”

Shouto liked his class. He liked being able to trust his friends. He liked having friends. And he really liked cuddle piles.

[nerdypanda3126]

A Game of Snake and Mouse – Ch. 2

So... uh... I’m not entirely sure how, but this became a Thing™ 👀 hope you guys are up for four chapters of lukanette make outs, ‘cause... that’s pretty much all this is lol 

Read on Ao3

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

He didn’t hear from or see Marinette again until a week later, when she showed up to help with Kitty Section practice, still wearing her disguised Multimouse pendant. He waved as casually as he could with his heart thudding in his throat and his lips buzzing, the taste of peppermint already on his tongue. She blushed and tripped over her feet, avoiding his eyes. 

When he walked up, he let his arm fall lightly across her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze as he did, and she jumped and made that adorable squeak again as a crimson blush painted her cheeks. 

She had a different chapstick on today that gave her lips a perfect red tint. He couldn’t help but lick his lips. Strawberries today. The scent was wafting off her and making his mouth water. When did she start wearing flavored chapstick? 

He blinked as he realized he had been staring at her lips. He gave her shoulder another squeeze and cleared his throat before he sat down. Juleka was glancing between them with a clear question in her eyes, but Luka steadfastly ignored her as Rose went over the new lyrics and Ivan tapped out the rhythm on his shoe with his drumsticks. 

Marinette stayed the entire time, sketching new costume designs in her notebook. Luka missed several chords when she nibbled on her lip in thought. His head was buzzing with thoughts of those lips on his, of strawberry and peppermint, of gorgeous blue eyes that made him forget his own name, of that adorable squeak she’d made, of pale pink blushes and—

It wasn’t until a balled up piece of paper hit him in the side of the head from Juleka’s direction that he snapped out of it and realized the whole band had stopped to wait for him. Marinette hid a giggle behind her hand before her eyes disappeared behind her bangs and she pretended she was absorbed in her work.

Juleka flicked her eyes from Marinette and back to him before she jerked her head at Marinette, implying that he should go talk to her. He shook his head in answer. They did need to talk about what this was, what they were, if it meant anything had changed. But he didn’t particularly want the audience of the band. 

So instead he just shrugged to apologize and the band picked back up where they’d left off. He kept his eyes on his fingerings and not on the incredibly distracting girl that had his entire heart and attention. 

After practice, he lingered on deck, waiting to see if she would want to stay and talk to him or if she would run away. He hadn’t entirely decided on whether or not he’d follow after her if she chose the latter. But he also didn’t want to push her if talking to him about it would make her nervous without the mask. 

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. She walked right up to him. 

“You sounded great today,” she started. He could hear the nervous tremor in her voice. 

Juleka cleared her throat and grumbled that she was heading below deck and Luka nodded, thankful that his sister had at least a sliver of discretion. Although when Rose started to lead the way, he couldn’t help but smirk. Juleka rolled her eyes and flipped him off before disappearing downstairs. 

“Thanks,” he answered Marinette when they were alone. 

“Although you seemed a little… distracted?” Her eyes were alight with mischief and she giggled when he swallowed visibly. 

“Yeah, we have this mouse problem,” he said, although how he was forming words around his cardboard tongue he had no idea. “I thought I saw one on deck earlier, but I wasn’t sure.” He reached out to adjust her pendant before he met her eyes. “Funny thing is I could’ve sworn I’d caught it before.” 

A squeak escaped her before she seemed to be able to help it and that pale pink blush started to dust the tops of her cheeks. He gave her a warm smile and pulled away, afraid he’d pushed too hard. But she stepped forward, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him down for a fierce kiss. 

And he melted into strawberry bliss. 

Without the fangs, he didn’t have to worry about being too excited, so he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her like he’d never known what strawberry tasted like before it was on her lips. His tongue traced across her bottom lip, simultaneously licking off her chapstick and hoping to deepen the kiss. 

Her face scrunched as she giggled and pulled away to wipe her mouth. His knees were wobbling underneath him and he sat on an amp to avoid falling straight down. He kept a hold on her hand though and tugged her along with him, slotting her in between his knees to hold her close. 

“So I guess maybe we should talk?” he asked breathlessly. She nodded and squeezed his hand, from nerves or excitement he couldn’t tell. He tried to take a calming breath, but it just filled his senses with strawberries and he wanted to pull her into his lap and keep kissing her. 

“I really like kissing you,” he finally managed to admit. “And I’ll take every chance I can get. I just want to make sure we're on the same page before...” His eyes darted to those lips and a lovesick grin spread across his face. "Before I get too carried away." 

Another shy blush sprang up on her cheeks and he felt an urge to kiss her again just to watch it turn crimson. 

“I haven’t told Juleka," he continued, "or anyone, actually, because we hadn’t… I mean we didn’t really…” He gestured between them and she nodded as she caught his meaning. 

“I really like kissing you, too,” she said, which made his heart leap into his throat. “And I…” She bit her lip again as she met his eyes. “I don't care who knows it. If that’s okay with you, too.” 

His head was swimming and his heart was soaring and somewhere in the middle of all that his mouth managed to say “Yes,” so emphatically that she squeaked again before tumbling down into his lap to pull his face back to hers.

As he pressed kiss after kiss into those lips he’d only dreamt about for so long, his dopey grin came back before he could stop it. He tangled his fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss, only vaguely registering that her hands were smoothing along his chest and shoulders before she slid them up to clasp around his neck, holding him to her. 

He didn’t care if he passed out from lack of oxygen, he wasn’t going to relinquish her lips first. 

Finally though, she pulled away to press her forehead against his fondly, brushing her nose against his as they paused. Her strawberry chapstick was long gone, but her lips were an even brighter red than before, flushed from kissing him. He pressed one more chaste kiss to them, chasing after her still, and she giggled as he peppered her cheeks with kisses, too.

“I really, really like kissing you,” he said with a chuckle into her ear. “I’m not actually sure if I can stop.” 

She surprised him by pressing her lips to the side of his neck and sucking lightly. A groan escaped him before he could help it. After a moment, she pulled back to admire her handiwork, tracing the new mark on his skin with the tip of her finger. 

"You did say I could have as many chances as I wanted," she murmured. 

He blinked at her. A foggy memory that they were superheroes swam through his thoughts. He was the Guardian now. She had trusted him with the responsibility. He should probably try to think about their next move on that front, but he found it increasingly difficult to think about anything but Marinette's fingers raking through his hair. He closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure. 

A small squeal made Marinette freeze and he turned his head to follow the noise. Rose had come up for something and she was practically vibrating with repressed romance, her hands pressed to her mouth as she tried to contain herself. Luka chuckled. 

"Let it out, Rose, it's okay." 

Rose's squeal grew in pitch and volume until it made him wince. At the end of it, she sighed dreamily and clasped her hands together. Marinette hid in his shoulder and he rubbed her back before he cleared his throat.

"Uh, did you or Jules need something?" 

"We were going to put a movie on, and Juleka wanted to see if you wanted to join us, but… I'll just… I'll tell her you're fine up here." She waved, grinning, and turned around to go back downstairs. 

"Good thing you didn't care who knew," he said to Marinette, still chuckling as he squeezed her to him. "What do you think, you want to go watch the movie with them?" 

She shook her head against his shoulder and sighed before she pulled away and stood up. "I should be getting home." 

"I'll walk you there."

He stood and laced his fingers through hers. She looked down at their joined hands before she took a deep breath. "I guess I should introduce you to my parents." Her eyes flicked up to meet his from behind her bangs. "As my… boyfriend?" 

It was just a word. But it was a word that made him feel like a plucked guitar string, vibrating with sound and harmony and pure happiness. He brought their joined hands up to his lips to kiss the back of her hand before he managed to nod. 

"Definitely." 

[helaintoloki]

Hi, could you do a Ben request about the reader and Ben spending time together as a couple?

a/n: I love domestic Ben oh my goodness

The night is quiet and still as you stroll through the park with Ben, your hands intertwined and his jacket draped over your shoulders to keep you warm. It was rare for you to have a moment alone like this, so you make sure to savor it for all it‘s worth.

“It’s really pretty out tonight,” you hum quietly.

“You’re really pretty,” Ben counters with a shy smile. You guys have been together for years now, but he still finds himself acting just as shy and nervous around you as he did when he first met you. Your smile sends shockwaves through his heart, and he hopes you don’t notice the fact that his palms are starting to get a little sweaty.

“We really needed this night out,” you giggle, leaning up to press a loving kiss to his cheek. “But we should probably start heading home soon. Wouldn’t want to keep Klaus waiting.”

“I still can’t believe you put him in charge,” Ben sighs with the shake of his head. “You couldn’t have called Allison or Vanya? Or even Five for that matter?”

“C’mon, if we want to be supportive of his recovery we have to start treating him like a responsible adult.”

“But there isn’t a less dangerous way to do that?” Ben counters emphatically.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” you giggle. “But we can start heading home if you want.”

“I think it’s the only way I’ll be able to relax,” he admits with a small smile. “Let’s get going.”

The walk home is just as peaceful as the walk through the park, with Ben making jokes here and there while keeping his arm wrapped securely around your waist. You find that you can have fun with Ben no matter where you go or what you do; it’s his company that always makes date night special, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Carefully opening the front door and peeking your heads through the doorway, Ben is relieved to see the house is not on fire and everything seems to be relatively okay.

“Klaus?” He calls out before ushering you inside and shutting the door behind him. “You there, buddy?”

The two of you walk into the living room to find the man fast asleep on the couch, a tiny little blanket haphazardly draped over his torso and handfuls of glitter coating his hair. An old Disney movie plays on the tv and sitting in front of it is your little three year old daughter. Emily turns to look at you with a smile before quietly shushing you.

“Uncle Kwaus is asweep,” she whispers sweetly, and you and Ben are forced to muffle your amused giggles.

“Is that so?” You coo before scooping her up into your arms. “Did he do a good job of watching over you while we were gone?”

Emily nods happily before reaching for Ben who happily takes her into his arms and immediately peppers her face with kisses. She’s definitely a daddy’s girl one hundred percent, but you don’t really mind it. They’re your two favorite people in the whole world and the fact that they get along like two peas in a pod is enough to have your heart bursting with love.

“I’m gonna put her to bed,” Ben says before giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“I’ll get things settled in here,” you reply as you go to the closet to fetch a better suited blanket for your babysitter.

With Emily already beginning to fall asleep against his chest, Ben watches with a fond smile as you carefully tuck his brother in on the couch. Your touch is gentle and comforting, delicate and loving, something they’d both missed out on in their childhood years. Ben still has a hard time figuring out just how exactly he was lucky enough to end up with someone like you for a wife.

“Hey, y/n?” Ben calls out quietly, causing you to halt your movements.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

A beat passes before a small smile forms on your face.

“I love you too, Ben.”

Yeah, he’s definitely lucky to have you.

[alittlebitgoofy]

if i had my way i would be yours chapter five (taywhora)

fuck ME this chapter kicked my ass but i’m gonna go insane if i go over it any longer so here it is, the long awaited chapter with some smut. it’s the last scene if you want to skip it, the rest is clean

ao3 link

Tayce felt like she was floating on air when A’whora got close to her. Her heart couldn’t handle the cuteness of her roommate in their affectionate moments. She had no idea what she did, innocently cuddling into her as friends did. 

Because they were just friends. Only friends and nothing more. And it totally wasn’t eating Tayce up inside with every moment she realised that. Not at all. 

A’whora herself was just glad to have her friend back, living without Tayce in close proximity was so strange, she loved the way the brunette always kept things interesting in their flat. There was always something going on with her and even when there wasn’t she made something happen. Somehow trying to relax and watch a movie turned into a gossip session, rife with giggles and stories of stupid things no one else would find as funny. But it made them laugh until their faces hurt. Because they were together. 

A’whora took Tayce’s coming out as a chance to bond over something different. She introduced Tayce to small bits of queer culture at a time, though she’d absorbed a lot through being best friends with a lesbian for years and having their whole circle of friends being part of the LGBT. 

“How do I know this will scream I like women?” she’d questioned while A’whora helped her with outfits for a night out. The pair were determined to make sure Tayce had a good first experience at a gay bar while out. She was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, a similarly dark flannel shirt, and a leather jacket. She could not have looked more gay if she tried, though the way the jeans clung to her ass made A’whora rethink agreeing to help her with everything. How was she so hot? She would look so good under her clothes, what A’whora could give to rip that flannel off her and- 

She needed to sort herself out before they left. Her feelings, how hot Tayce was and alcohol was a dangerous combination. She could hold herself together if only Tayce would stop looking so good. 

---

They were late to get there, they always were with Tayce’s lack of time management and A’whora having to spend hours getting ready for anything. It was a bad combination but that didn’t motivate them to fix it, plus people were used to Tayce being late, including A’whora because they were attached at the hip.

They joined Bimini and Asttina once they got inside, Lawrence and Ellie joining soon after. 

“So what actually happened? She was fuming, you were having communication issues and now it’s all fine? You two never cease to amaze me.” Asttina got right to the point, an eyebrow raised as A’whora gave a nervous smile 

-

Tayce felt relaxed by the alcohol in her system, though neither her nor A’whora were particularly drunk; they were a fun level of tipsy, giggling amongst themselves much to their friends' chagrin. A’whora was joking about something, Tayce found it hard to focus on her speech with how cute she was. Her dimples showed as she smiled, laughing at her own joke. 

“Tayce? Are you even listening! That was really funny!” She whined, poking Tayce in the shoulder to get her attention, pouting as she got an eye roll in response. 

“Maybe if it was that funny I would have listened.” Tayce quipped back, holding back a laugh as A’whora whined even more. 

“You’re such a bitch, why are we even friends?”

“Because, someone has to put up with you. Figured I'd give the world a favour.” Tayce smirked, delighting in the huff that the blonde let out before taking another sip of her drink.

“Tayce!” 

“I’m kidding, you’re sweet if not a bit annoying sometimes, it’s what I love about you, you know that, dumbass”

“Yeah, I am pretty loveable.” A’whora bounced back quickly from her annoyance, her chest warming at the compliment. She tried to play it off, flicking her hair in an overdramatic show of confidence. 

“Your ego isn’t” Tayce deadpanned, erupting into laughter as A’whora gasped, hand on her chest in exaggerated shock. 

“You’re cute, don’t let it get to your head though.” Tayce wondered if it was the alcohol giving her the confidence to say what she thought. A’whora could react in any kind of way but she didn’t care. 

“You’re not so bad looking yourself, still a bit of an ass though.”

“You say that like you’re not the biggest cunt I've ever met.” 

“Well, you are what you eat.” The blonde grinned as Tayce shook her head at the comment. She delighted in shocking her and causing reactions, 

“You’re disgusting oh my god.”

“What? You’ll discover how good it is soon enough. I know it’s been a minute but you’ll find a girl to show you soon.”

“Aurora please stop talking about my lack of a sex life.” Tayce shook her head, for all that she loved about her A’whora did not have a way with words. She was open to a fault and found it hilarious how squeamish Tayce would get when she got explicit. She could handle most of it after a while but the way she would switch mid-conversation was something too unpredictable to deal with. 

Despite all that, she was still adorable in the way she burst into giggles at Tayce’s plea, agreeing while trying to compose herself. 

“What are you two laughing about, it must be something hilarious to have her laughing like a diseased seal.” Lawrence interrupted them, though Tayce was thankful that A’hwora couldn’t go further with her comments. She wasn’t drunk enough to deal with it yet. 

“Wouldn’t you lovebirds like to know? You two been shagging in the toilets or something? Haven’t seen you since you came in here.” Tayce looked them up and down, noticing the lipstick slightly smudged. They’d been getting up to something, it was obvious by the way Lawrence stammered trying to respond with a quip and failing. Ellie stood silent, shaken by how perceptive Tayce could be.

A’whora had no such reaction, laughing harder as they stood slack-jawed and hanging onto Tayce in a feeble attempt to calm herself. 

“At least they’re finally doing something about it, watching them fumble around their feelings while ignoring any possibility of mutual feelings was just painful.'' A'whora shook her head, delighting in the way Tayce snickered, nodding emphatically in agreement. She internally sighed in relief that Lawrence was still in shock and didn’t notice the way she looked at Tayce when she laughed. 

She didn’t need them pulling attention to her feelings. 

Not when she could barely hold them in.

“What is it with everyone tonight? Bim and Asttina are all over each other, have a bit of class you hounds!” Tayce exclaimed, shaking her head in mock judgement at the couples. Part of her still didn’t love seeing people in a situation she found almost impossible but it was easier now, as if the weight had finally been lifted when she came out to A’whora. It felt good to be understood, to have someone so attuned to you they knew what was happening and exactly what she needed. Tayce shifted, perhaps it was the alcohol but she couldn’t help but think she didn’t deserve how lovely A’whora was. Though no one did, she was perfect, too good for the world she lived in.

She ached to verbalise it, pull the blonde close, and whisper how much she adored her, though Lawrence and Ellie were still there and they were in public. She just wanted to give affection but it didn’t come easy. Maybe with some time? 

The scots seemed more interested in each other than whatever light conversation had happened between the four of them, something must have been in the air to explain the way their companions split off into pairs, interested in no one else than their partners. 

Tayce wished she could be one of them, hold A’whora close and press soft kisses to her as the alcohol broke down her barriers, leaving her a melted putty in A’whora’s hands. 

“What’s got you thinking so hard? Is everyone pairing off making you have an existential crisis or something?” A’whora jabbed lightly, Tayce letting out a laugh at the comment. She didn’t know how to respond, it wasn’t easy to communicate your feelings to your roommate, the fear it would make things unfixable between them heavy on her heart after their previous spat. It wasn’t worth the risk, not to lose her. 

“I just think it’s funny how they paired up. Lawrence and Ellie used to mope with us about being single while Bims was the only one with any balls to say something to someone they liked. Now it’s just us two.” Tayce mused, feeling a hand take her own and give it a slight squeeze. A’whora stared at her, smiling softly. IT was an innocent gesture that sent her reeling further. She really had no idea the power she had in making Tayce feel like she was floating at any sign of affection. 

“It’ll happen to us eventually, you’ve only just come out there’s no need to rush things, no matter who you date.”

“Thanks, Rory. You’ve been really helpful with all of this.” Tayce’s softer tone told the blonde everything she needed to know. Her words were tender, heartfelt. It was a rarity for Tayce to be so open, it felt good. 

No words had to be exchanged. Maybe something was different, they stayed close, Tayce’s hand stayed held by A’whora’s own. Tayce felt a warmth envelop her body that couldn’t have been the alcohol. The way A’whora looked at her just added to it, something playful in her eyes as she smiled at Tayce as if she’d done anything more than sitting there and melt over her pretty roommate. 

“Shit, I think everyone is going to do their own thing, Tayce, maybe we should go?”

“Yeah, I was getting kind of bored of watching them almost fuck in a bar. Takeaway?” Tayce asked, smirking as A’whora’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. 

“You read my mind.”

---

“You good there, Rory?” Tayce watched her roommate distractedly attempting to put some chips in her mouth and failing, blinking in surprise at Tayce calling her attention. She shrugged, the alcohol had mostly faded and she was too busy trying to distract herself with anything that wasn’t Tayce’s current state of dress. She’d complained of being too hot, stripping into a bra, and still in her jeans. It drove a’whora insane to look at. She couldn’t hold herself in if she looked for too long. Though she turned to Tayce as she spoke, soon coming to regret her decision. 

“You like what you’re seeing?” Tayce felt A’whora’s eyes on her, mouth agape. She wanted to mess with her, winking. Internally she was delighting in the way she blushed at the comment. Was she always this easy to rile up? It was probably the alcohol but they both felt pretty sober now. Something about having the blonde unable to take her eyes off her was enchanting. It made her heart speed up, something fluttering in her chest but something else she wasn’t so used to. Something churning below, a desire for a certain someone she was finding harder to contain by the minute. 

“You should put a shirt on,” A’whora muttered out meekly, unable to verbalise much of anything above a pitiful whine. She couldn’t do this, not with Tayce being so hot and her being so pent up. It had been too long, she just wanted to hold someone and make them scream in pleasure. She wanted to know what Tayce would sound like mid climax, would she squeal? Breathe heavily? A’whora pegged her as a quieter person, letting out low moans and grunts as she was pleasured. She wanted to test it, see what would make her squirm and-

Fuck. 

She was too horny to be dealing with this.

“What if I didn’t? Would it drive you insane if I took this shirt off? You wanna see my tits, don’t you, you absolute hound.” Tayce eyed her up like a predator staring at its prey. The way she licked her lips while maintaining eye contact sent A’whora. She couldn’t handle it anymore. She crawled over, placing Tayce’s box of chips on the side before unhooking her bra. Tayce let out a hum of curiosity, nodding to signal A’whora to keep going. 

This was far too interesting not to watch. The way A’whora’s eyes stayed trained on her chest, flickering up to gauge Tayce’s reaction every time she did something. With another nod she went further, hands cupping Tayce’s breasts, thumb running over her nipples, and delighting in the way Tayce’s breath hitched. She kept at it, Tayce letting out small noises at the action. Something was about to happen, they both knew it. It was the last chance to bail out before they ended up doing it and Tayce just nodded once more, eyes serious as she smiled at the blonde. 

A’whora took the go-ahead, pulling her into a searing kiss. Tayce could feel her lust in the way she grabbed at her hair, lightly pulling it to steer her into where she wanted. Tayce followed her instincts, letting her lips trail down A’whora’s cheek and feeling herself wetten at the noises she let out. 

A’whora was loud, she knew that already but to be causing those noises and seeing her squirm was doing something to Tayce. She couldn’t hold herself back. She had to close the distance between their lips as A’whora let out a soft moan. 

“We should take this to the bedroom,” A’whora spoke quietly, not sure how much she could get out without Tayce getting more noise out of her. 

Tayce nodded, following A’whora as she pulled her into her room and lightly pushed her down onto the bed. She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as she got on top of her, hovering about her body as she pulled her into another lustful kiss. 

Tayce tried to get the same rise out of A’whora, running her hands all over her body. Grasping at her tits as A’whora had before. Something had shifted in her the second they hit that mattress. Her eyes sparkled with something that sent a shiver down Tayce’s spine. She knew exactly what she wanted and wouldn’t focus on anything else. 

She wanted Tayce, and she was going to get her. 

A’whora took the lead, her hands exploring the body beneath her as Tayce groaned in pleasure. The sound encouraged her more, snaking her hands down to where her jeans were still on, unzipping them, and helping Tayce out of them. A few fingers fell to her underwear, rubbing through it to see where she was and delighting in the soft whine Tayce let out. 

A thought crossed her mind about making her beg for it, drawing something out of Tayce that she’d never seen but it wasn’t the right time for that. She just wanted to make her feel good, they could play around next time.

Tayce didn’t know how to deal with the pleasure erupting through her body. She muffled a moan into her hand at how well A’whora seemed to know what she was doing. Every flex of her fingers sent ripples through Tayce. She was helpless against her touch and could only let out low moans begging for more. 

A’whora blessed her, speeding up her fingers. Tayce threw her head back, shamelessly letting out a loud groan at how good it felt. She couldn’t help but melt against her roommate's touch. Something about her was so good, it was better than anything Tayce had ever felt. 

If this was what sex was like, she’d never want to go to anyone else. 

She wanted to pull A’whora into another kiss but her body had made another decision, her mind clouded only able to focus on the building feeling of irrepressible pleasure.

A’whora felt her building up, speeding herself up and pressing kisses to Tayce’s thighs, suppressing a smirk at how she gasped at the feeling. She removed her fingers slowly, pressing her mouth to her slick cunt. Tayce let out an uncharacteristically high whine as her tongue hit all the right spots. She squirmed against 

Tayce let out the sound again, lasting longer as she climaxed, A’whora moved back to her fingers to lull her out of it before crawling up to cuddle Tayce as she laid back, recovering from it all. 

“What about you?” Tayce hummed, her tone thick with tiredness. A’whora wanted to laugh at how easily she was wiped out but thought better of it. She was too cute like this, a dopey grin playing on her features as she was still running off the high from her orgasm.

“I’m alright, I just wanted to make you feel good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” A’whora shrugged, her chest warming as Tayce scooted closer to curl into her arms. 

“Me too.” The dopey smile returned, Tayce’s words warm with affection in a way that made the blonde’s heart soar. 

Tayce didn’t say much more, passing out with her head on A’whora’s chest, held close by her arms. This was it, all she wanted. A’whora savoured the moment before succumbing to her fatigue, smiling as she heard a muffled “gnight Rory” on the brink of consciousness. 

[im-just-a-peach]

In my dream I was out running errands with my SO and we were on our way back to the car when a poster of Hozier outside this entertainment center type place (they sold cd's, video games, movies etc.) catchs my eye and at the same time that I looked over a group of men where heading into the store all joking around with each other and laughing. One of the men was taller than the rest and had big brown poofy hair. I immediately crossed the street calling after my SO to follow. We walked in and I wasn't that certain that I even saw what I thought I saw. Then I saw a guy sitting alone in one of the listening boths by himself, it looked like Hozier but I could tell that it wasn't actually him. My SO suggested that since we were here and they had a place to get some drinks that we just hang around for a bit. So we got a table and he ordered us drinks. I was a bit sad and he was trying to comfort me when suddenly I see *him* across the room.

He was across the room with a group of guys getting settled in to play a video game. I got up immediately and walked over to him but as soon as I was in his presence a huge wave of doubt came over me. What am I doing, why am I here, he won't remember me, who do I think I am right now? My mind races and I am frozen in place just a few feet away from him. Suddenly he turns around and sees me. He smiles and I can feel my skin again, "Hey there, don’t I know you from somewhere?" he is trying his best to recall. He gets up and walks over to where I am still frozen in place. "Oh yes, you are the one who gave me that poetry book." (from a previous dream where I gave him a copy of my poetry book: available here) I can't believe he remembers but I smile and nod. "It's quite good. You should be proud of yourself." he says. I smile more and some strange sound of absolute joy escapes my body "He read my poems!" I shriek inside my head. I immediately turn crab red. "Oh damn, I am sorry I didn't bring it with me. I didn't think you'd be here." he apologizes.

"It's okay." I smile, having I finally found words again.

"Do you have a moment?" he asks me. I am awestruck, I look back at my SO. He has been watching this whole scene play out. He smiles at me and raises his drink to say 'Cheers and good luck, I will be right here when you are done.' I smile at him. I am so grateful he exists. I turn back to Hozier and nod.

He guides me away from his friends to a more quiet corner of this bar/entertainment center. I have so many thoughts running around my head but mostly I want to find space to tell him how I feel about him. "You are a brilliant poet." He tells me. I say thanks "You are a brilliant musician." I state the obvious.

He laughs and orders us each a Guinness. He looks to me for confirmation, the smile on my face is permanent and immovable. I am flying. There is no way this is real. I am having a Guinness in a pub with Hozier!!!!

We talk about art, philosophy, music, poetry, love, our families. He is brilliant and beautiful and so very warm and kind.

One of his guy friends comes over to our table and whispers something to Andrew.

"Oh shit, I forgot about that." he awkwardly laughs. "Can she come too?" He looks over at me. His friend looks at me smiles and nods to Andrew and then leaves.

"I have a fan engagement thing I need to do out front of the store. Will you join me?"

"Um... abso-fucking-lutely I will!" the beer has taken its effect on me. I cringe at what just came out of my mouth. But instead of scolding me or pulling a weird face, he laughs out loud. His laugh is amazing. It's powerful and warm and inviting. I join him as we make our way to the front of the store pub. There is a group of people all huddled together. Cheers erupt as soon as Hozier walks through the door. I find a small corner to insert myself and observe as he works the crowd, interacting with fans and signing autographs.

He is so kind to every one of his fans. They have traveled far and wide to come to his concert this evening. He expresses a sincere gratitude to each person. I am surprised at how he is able to remain sincere through it all. As I watch him I fall even more in love with this man. My head is still reeling but in this moment time stands still. I decide that I must tell him how I feel as soon as we break free from the crowd.

"Andrew are you almost done?" I whisper the quietest whisper into his ear. A small smile forms on his face as he is still signing autographs and exchanging thank yous. He nods in response to my question but never makes eye contact with me. I retreat back to my corner and patiently wait, worried that I may have broken the spell with my impatience.

After a moment, he gets up from the signing table, thanks everyone for coming and tell them he looks forward to seeing them later on this evening at the concert "How did I not know about this concert?" I wonder to myself.

He says his final goodbyes to the crowd, finds me with his eyes standing in my corner and comes over to me. He is so tall he towers over me and if it weren't for his disarming smile it would feel more like a loom. "Shall we?" he asks me looking to head back into the pub shop. "Abso-fucking-loutely. " I smile. He chuckles and we head back into the pub shop.

I am thinking and feeling so many things but I want most of all to tell him how I feel about him but since I am not quite ready and it would feel awkward after watching him interact with fans I ask "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Act so sincere with every single fan."

"Oh that's an easy one." He's surveying the room trying to find us another table to sit at. He finds some very large barstools that are currently unoccupied. He sizes me up and literally picks me up to sit me at one of the stools. I am shocked and a little bit amused. The nervous excitement of this whole event builds in me and I laugh out loud.

He joins in, not entirely certain of the why. Eventually we both come to a silence and he looks at me and says, "I can act sincere with every fan because it's not an act. I am genuinely grateful for every person that listens to my music. It's something special to be an artist, you understand that."

He gently puts his hand on my thigh. I blush but I am also almost about to cry. I do understand that. I know exactly what he is talking about. I look directly into his eyes and I know that now is my time. "Andrew." I am shocked to hear myself calling him this but he responds favorably. I continue. "I know we don't really know each other and all but there is something that I have wanted to tell you for quite some time." He is curious he leans in closer "I am in love with you. Everything about you, your music, your art, your face, your body, your mind. The way you view the world. The sincerity of your art. I have never in my life felt so strongly connected to someone that I never met... I honestly don't know what to do with all this emotion. I am not trying to date you. I understand that you don't feel the same way about me and I am okay with that but I just wanted to tell you that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, heard or known in my entire life."

He looks up at me. His face is unreadable for a very long moment. He takes a sip of his drink. I am having a heart attack waiting for a response from him. Something anything, just show an emotion please, even if it's just get out of here and don't ever come back. He swallows. A smile starts to grow over his face. "Thank you, Elizabeth. I appreciate your kind words and your honesty. I would very much like us to be friends, if that's alright with you." I nod emphatically, all I have ever wanted was to be a room in his house. "I would like to give you something." his smile sharpens and his face glows with a plan I am not yet privy to.

He picks me up off the stool and sets me on the floor. I am actually grateful because I wasn't sure I would have been able to get off that stool. I am pretty sure it's illegal to have stools that high.

He takes my hand and leads me to a vendor's set up inside this pub store. "This is where I got my ring from ages ago."

He shows me the slightly bent ring on his right hand, the same one I have seen in photos. I look up to him still slightly confused. "I would like to buy you a ring. That way you will always remember me and we can always be close to each other, even when we are apart." I am shocked, Hozier wants to buy me a friendship ring? This is absurd. But he is sincere in his insistence and his boyish charm is disarming. We both look at rings together. I mention something stupid about how it can't be a wedding ring because I already have one of them. He looks at me a little confused but then pulls up a ring from the pile that is shaped like a letter L. "Here he says wrapping the ring around my finger. "L for Liz. This is the perfect ring." I look at it on my finger, it's gaudy and bulky and golden. This is not something I would ever choose for myself. But I can't stand to look in his eyes and tell him this. I am afraid it would break his heart if I did. "It's perfect." I respond.

He is so excited. He pays the shop keeper and we exchange phone numbers so we can call each other and talk. I thank him for the ring and I give him a small kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for spending time with me, Andrew." I feel a tear in my eye. "Of course! You are a brilliant woman. Thanks for sharing your art with me. I promise to bring it with me to my next show and share it with the audience." I blush and thank him again. We part ways. I head back to where my SO has been sitting this entire time. "Let's go home." I say. "I will tell you all about it on the way but I am tired now and I want to go home." I put my hands on either side of his face look him in his eyes for a long moment and kiss him deeply. We walk out of the pub store and I wake up, feeling lemon yellow and full of raspberries.

[writefightandflightclub]

Out from the cold (Llewyn Davis x reader)

Summary: Llewyn (precious baby) needs your comfort, and oddly, looking after him comforts you too. Fluff but a lil angst to get to the comfort.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (Dunno how many I can do but gonna try and blitz a few requests out tonight. I’m doing these quickly so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) ALSO THIS IS EXCITING I’VE NEVER WRITTEN LLEWYN BEFORE AND I’M KINDA HAPPY WITH IT! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK? (I love this movie so much, one of my all-time favourites, and one of my fave Oscar performances.)

Warnings: just Llewyn swearing, as per. Alcohol and cigs. No drunkeness. Mentions of homeessness / couch-surfing. Mention of abortion.

GIF by @digginmovies​

It’s late when he shows up at your door. Or rather, it’s late when you find him in your hallway. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there, because he didn’t even knock. Perhaps he was too afraid to, but by the time you eventually stopped pacing your floorboards and threw a scarf around you, you’d come to fear the worst; that he’d been beaten and left in a gutter or some doorway, or perhpas that he was just stubbornly wandering the streets, preferring to freeze to death rather than “bother” you. Or worse than that... perhaps he’d finally struck lucky and you’d never see him again. Now that he no longer needed your couch, maybe he no longer needed you.

Anyway, all of your fears were entirely unfounded, and it was a shock to find him there, leaning up against the wall. The shortest missing person recovery mission ever known.

“Llewyn?” you question, sighing in frustration and unwrapping your suddenly suffocating red scarf.

His whole body is an apology as he turns his head towards you. Eyes apologetic. Shoulders apologetic. That sorry cord jacket is very, very sorry indeed. Hell, even his curls slump over his forehead in a despondent way, as if they’ve given up too.

This precious man. Why doesn’t he know how special he is? Why does he always dwell in the shadows, rather than allowing himself to be welcomed into this warm, light-bathed apartment of yours. Why doesn’t he realise that he is a light himself, and not a burden? That his presence alone can furnish and illuminate any room. Can compel audiences and, certainly, can move you to train your eyes on him as if he is a star under a perpetual spotlight.

Well, you suppose you should just be thankful that he’s here at all, because he always seems an instant away from slipping into shadow and never coming out again. You are thankful. You are always thankful to find him on your doorstep.

“How did it go?” you ask him, and Llewyn pushes himself up from the wall, despondently shaking his head. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and simply stands there as if forgetting any purpose which might cause him to move. You have to shuffle forwards yourself to give him the hug you feel he so desperately needs, even if he doesn’t know he deserves it. You wrap you arms around him, and it’s a little awkward, and he’s stiff, and he feels of wool and cord beneath your fingertips. Smells of frost and cigarette smoke, and like he hasn’t managed to run his clothes through the laundry in a few days. You make a note to do that for him, if you can coax him into a warm bath later.

“Can I please stay with you?” Llewyn asks in a small voice.

You don’t let go of him, willing him to soften against you.

“Llewyn, you dont have to ask me that, you live here.” You say it like it’s obvious, yet this simple fact is something you are endlessly trying to convince him of.

“I sleep on your couch, because I have no fucking money. Because I’m a piece of shit musician who can’t book a gig except for the Gaslight. And that’s only because I knocked-up a chick who gets me a slot out of pity some nights because she aborted my baby.”

“Llewyn!” you say, heartbroken and disbelieving that he could talk about himself in such a way, and looking, in your shock, like you might come for a piece of him too for thinking so little of himself. But, the world keeps kicking this poor man when he’s down, and he’s running out of energy to keep getting back up, so there’s something in you which can’t blame him.

“I’m just tired. I’m just so fuckin’ tired.”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, that thick, soft beard under your fingertips.

“Llewyn,” you say softly, searching his melancholy eyes. You want to tell him how talented he is, how important. How special, like you have a hundred times before, but he won’t beleive you. Never does. So, instead, you try something you never have before. At least, not while sober. You dip forward and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pull away before his lips have time to react, though even if you had lingered, you’re not sure he would have. You swear that man is so touch-starved that he can no longer recognise affection. That he can no longer remember how to move his lips against another’s. You swear he’s too down on himself that he doesn’t remember how to respond to being wanted.

“Come inside. Your lips are like ice,” you say, and it’s true. You only wish you could thaw him.

Llewyn picks up his guitar case and finally follows you inside, taking his familiar spot on the couch and folding his arms around himself, not even taking off his scarf or jacket. Sometimes you worry that his chill goes all the way down to his bones. Just incase it can help with that, you make him some warm tea and wordlessly pass the mug to him.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, leaning forward in his seat as you sit at the other end of  the couch from him, watching him gripping the warm beverage in his fingerless gloves like he’s never known a warm touch like it.

You sit quietly next to him and allow him to thaw a little, watching the steam rising from the mug as he takes careful sips. It has begun to lash with rain outside, the percussive sound and howl of wind muffled against the window pane, and pleasantly soothing. At least, it sounds soothing to you; Llewyn probably thinks it’s that dark cloud following him around again.

“Have you eaten?”

“Waffles. Had some Gaslight money left,” he says in monotone, staring intently at a particular spot on your hardwood floor. He didn’t make nutritionally sound choices, it seems, but at least he’s had something.

“Good,” you nod. “And do you want to talk about the audition?”

“Nope,” Llewyn responds dejectedly, popping the “p” emphatically.

When he’s drained the cup he sets it down, eventually unwinding his scarf from around his neck and shuffling off his gloves and jacket. Without all his layers he looks a little like a lost baby bird without its nest, or like a winter tree without it’s covering of leaves.

You take a risk in an attempt to perk him up and head towards the vinyl player, dropping the needle on a record you know he likes. And then, you reseat yourself on the couch, a little closer to him this time.

Llewyn finally turns to you, elbows resting on his thighs, looking just a little less morose. “Got any wine? And cigarettes?”

Now, that you could do.

You oblige him, and before long you are sipping on a glass of red, and you let Llewyn rant freely about the audition he doesn’t want to talk about at his leisure, a cigarette bobbing in-between his lips as he talks, smoke wafting around his face and his hair like the ghost of his own curls. You let him rant about the cookie-cutter, soulless, talentless musicians who make it, and the blood-sucking label execs, and the tasteless consumers, and the whole damn thing, until his shoulders look a little less heavy. A little less apologetic. Until he forgets himself and picks up his guitar and begins to mindlessly pluck and strum away.

He starts to sing under his breath, because he can’t help but sing. Because it comes naturally to him, and suddenly he is the only light in your living room. He is under his own super trouper, against the backdrop of the rainy window pane. Light shining against melancholy.

As lovely as he is to look at, with the way his left cheek tugs up with his words and his brow creases with feeling, you close your eyes as his voice filters through into your bones, making you warm from within.

“I love it when you sing,” you say sincerely, and you don’t know it, but your simple, honest words are music to Llewyn’s ears. Those words are something he hears startingly seldom for a man with a talent like his.

Your eyes are still closed when you hear the chaotic thrum of strings as Llewyn sets the guitar down. Your eyes are still closed as Llewyn kneels before you and slides his hands along your thighs, palms down. Your eyes open just before he dips his head and presses a chaste, smoky kiss to your lips.

Your lips do not react. If Llewyn was too touch-starved to kiss you back earlier, you suppose you are too surprised that he might want you back. You want to kiss him, and apparently he wants to kiss you, but you are singing different bars of the same song. Your timing is all off. So, your lips do not meld with his, no matter how long you’ve waited for this. Wanted it. This time too, his mouth was even warm against yours. His hands warm against you. Thawing.

You smile at him, softly. Catiously. As if you might scare him off. As if he is a wild animal who has dropped to his knees for you.

Instead, he remains as you bring your hands back to either side of his face, and lose yourself in his dark, turbulent stare. It is you who suddenly feels catious, as if he is a storm which might swallow you. Might paint you in licks of grey if you don’t first heal his pain. His eyes are raw. Broken apart, and his beautiful soul so exposed beneath them. No wonder he is so guarded. Feels so vulnerable. His heart is so open and so wounded beneath the expletives and the apathy and the lucklessness, isn’t it? It would be so easy to break, like a lost bird far from its nest.

But this time, he stays. Llewyn simply looks right back into your eyes, for once. And when he undoubtedly notices your evident desire there, all he does is question why you are looking at him at all.

“Why do you want me?” he asks you, plainly, shaking his head softly. He doesn’t say more, but you swear you could guess his thought. You could have any Tom, Dick, or Harry. Or a Chad. Some rich, muscly dude with a centre part and a Corvette. I’m nothing. Nobody.

Your mouth forms a bashful, thin line, and you shrug your shoulders, placing your hands over his palms. You desperately want to show him he is somebody.

“I dunno. Why do you sing, Llewyn? Why do birds make music? I just do. I want you. My soul tells me I should, and I listen.”

He looks sad. So sad, So tired, and so you do the only thing your soul tells you to in this moment. You comfort him. You reach up and tangle your fingers into that mess of crotchet black curls on his head. You stroke him and soothe him, and he gives in to you, burying his head in your lap and letting you touch him. Letting you smooth your hands and your fingers and thumbs over his hair, his neck, his back, his shoulders. He wraps his arms around your lower legs and curls around them, still sat at your feet like a stray who refuses to be a house cat, despite how many times you try to coax him in from out of the cold.

“Llewyn, come lie with me a while?” you ask gently, and he looks up at you, unsure. Still, he clambers up from his position and is about to recline on the sofa when you grab his hand. “No, Llewyn. Come lie with me in my bed?”

He gulps, as if you might eat him alive, but he follows as you guide him as if it might be a relief to climb into your jaws anyway, and you lead him by the hand along the hallway and into your room.

He watches you with hesitant fascination as you shrug off your layers, down to your underwear. Then, he follows suit, letting his worn trousers and white t-shirt pool on to the floor at his feet, until he’s standing in only his patterned boxers.

You climb under the covers, shivering at the autumn chill in the room, and you hold the tented covers open for Llewyn to climb in after you.

“Y-You want me to... W-what do you wanna do?”

“Nothing you don’t want to, darling. But if you’ll let me, I just want to hold you.”

He hesitates, but he’s cold, and so, so alone, and he’s so tired of never having anything he wants. So tired that he’s willing to forget, just this once, that he can’t give you what you deserve. Or at least to stop consciously reminding himself of it.

He slots his soft, slim body under the covers, and you let the blanket fall over him. Then, you lie on your back and pull him on top of you, until his body covers yours and his head nestles on the cushion of your breasts.

It is quiet enough in the room that you hear him gulp again, but he doesn’t bolt. Once he’s settled, your wrap him in your arms, your fingers twining in his hair, carding through those thick, tangled curls. Your hands smooth up and down his back, until he is humming softly, his face entirely buried in your chest. “Sweet man,” you soothe, and listen to the sound of the rain outside, and the background noise of the record player filtering through. “I know it’s not much, but I love it when you sing. I wish I could give you riches for it, and record deals. But all I have to give in return is a little piece of my heart, and you steal a piece of it every time I hear your voice,” you whisper gently.

Llewyn is silent, and you wonder if you might have scared him off, but he seems quite content exactly where he is. You wish he would stay, but you know he has a cycle of houses, like a traitourous street cat with nowhere he feels deserving to call home.

For now though, he is here, and you begin to sing gently along to the song filtering through from the living room. It’s one of your favourites. One which Llewyn has sung for you many times before.

You look down at the side of his face, his eyes closed, his eyelashes fanned on his cheek, and his beard twitching as his full lips tug up into a faint smile. Finally.

“You have a pretty voice, dove,” he says, and your heart clenches at the pet name. At the fact you have finally found a way to make him happy. You should have realised it would be music.

“No, Llewyn. It’s nothing compared to you.”

“I dunno. You probably have more chance of making it than I do. Maybe you should have gone today instead.” You worry that he has been tugged back into a slump, but you see he is still smiling, and you recognise the humour in his tone, self-deprecating though it is.

By the next chorus, Llewyn begins to softly sing along too, and your heart flutters as his voice vibrates against your bosom.

You tug in a deep, happy breath, and exhale spring into the autumn room.

Llewyn props himself on to his elbows and shuffles up the bed, until his face is level with your own.

You regard him catiously, feeling suddenly as flighty as he usually is.

“What do you want to do?” you ask him, as his lips hover close to yours.

“Nothin’ you don’t want to,” he says, mirroring your words from moments ago.

This time, when your lips meet, softly, neither of you are surprised. This time, your mouths are both warm and moving together, like you sing the words to a shared song, both melding in time.

As Llewyn curls around your body and snuggles into you for warmth, you hope you can get him to stay. You hope you’ve showed him he doesn’t need to wander in the cold any longer.

He has your heart after all, and you need him to bring it indoors; out from the cold.

[justkeeptrekkin]

A gift to all my followers!

This is something I whacked out a couple of weeks ago- just a thank you to all my followers who’ve stuck around, or who have just found me within the Good Omens fandom! It means the world to see you guys enjoy my fics. This is my gift to you guys, now that 2019 is coming to a close!

Enjoy! x

***

It’s hard to keep track of time when they're together on a good day. It’s even harder on the best of days. 

The Ritz is busy. The lunch table is inappropriately large for just the two of them. They’re sat right next to each other. Champagne is bitter-sweet on Crowley’s tongue and he could watch Aziraphale for hours, listen to him talking for hours. He measures the way Aziraphale leans towards him with a hand stretched across the table, sharing a story. Eyes bright, typically taut posture unusually relaxed. Entire aura relaxed. The feeling in his own chest, relaxed.

And so it’s harder than usual to keep track of the time. People leave after tea; people arrive for dinner; people leave after dinner. The waiters stare at them from the kitchen doors, waiting for them to ask for the bill, which they don’t. Crowley barely has it in him to glare at them. 

Their knees touch for almost the entire time. 

For Crowley and Aziraphale, time has only ever been a construct. However, it has also, always, been bound by celestial responsibilities. Now, they have no such responsibilities. And they are no longer being watched. 

The sky is darkening just a little when they finally leave. Green Park remains busy at-

Crowley checks the time on his phone.

-Greek Park remains busy at five thirty on a Tuesday night. People line up at the bus stop, heading home from work. Tourist stands filled with union jacks litter the streets outside the park. The colonnade of The Ritz shelters them from a light bit of drizzle. 

Crowley slides his hands into his negligible pockets and considers what comes next. Dining at The Ritz has always comes with a time limit, and somewhere to go immediately afterwards. Some sort of agenda. He doesn’t know what that is now. 

He looks over at Aziraphale, who hovers. Hovers and fiddles with his hands. Gaze flitting about as if he’s nervous, smile flickering on and off as if he doesn’t want Crowley to notice. He makes a feeble attempt at smiling again and gestures to the rain with a small nod. “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” he says. It’s followed by a shaky half-laugh. 

Crowley frowns at him, the bottom half of his face forming a smile. He feels as if he’s watching the Angel of the Eastern gate, introducing himself at Eden. And something about the sudden awkwardness fills him with intrigue- more than that, anticipation. 

He leans back against a column, hands in pockets, and surveys Aziraphale’s anxious flapping.

“Well, go on, then,” Crowley prompts. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Not on my mind, per se,” Aziraphale concedes. His eyes darting up to the roof of the colonnade, to Heaven- a habit that may take some time to kick. “An idea of sorts.” “You’ve intrigued me,” Crowley drawls. 

“Nothing exciting. Only.” 

The look Aziraphale gives him in the brief moment of hesitation is heart-breaking. It’s filled with hope, and a healthy dollop of apprehension, too. As if Crowley would ever deny him anything. Crowley has experienced these moments of heart-shattering, heart-squashing, heart-pummelling love many times before, and he very much hopes that he’s done an alright job of concealing it from his expression.

He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale and waits. 

Aziraphale sighs, looking uncomfortable and apparently having no intention of expanding. He expects Crowley to make the move. Unsurprising.

“I could…” Crowley starts. Aziraphale looks at him in hope again. Christ on a bike I’m a pushover, he thinks. “I could. Invite you round to mine for a drink. If… you were thus inclined.” A great beaming smile. “Oh, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Crowley huffs an almost-laugh. They look at each other. And they both let the weight of that sink in. Slowly, like the rain that’s currently seeping into the stone pavement beyond the Ritz’s colonnade. 

“Right,” he announces quickly, before thoughts can escalate any further. “Off we go, then?”

“Yes, just so. Tip top.”

Crowley conjures an umbrella. It’s not as if anyone would have noticed, he tells himself, though he sees the doorman at the Ritz recoil a little in shock. They share its shelter until Aziraphale miraculously hails a cab. 

***

“Best idea you’ve had all week, angel- and that includes the body swapping nonsense.”

Aziraphale is sat on Crowley’s sofa. He has been handed a glass of wine. He holds it between cupped hands like he plans to take communion. His legs are hidden behind a tartan blanket. (Crowley will never admit that he conjured such a thing long, long ago, just in case something like this might happen. Something like Aziraphale staying for a movie night, or even, staying for the night. It had always seemed so unlikely. In fact, the moment he’d created said blanket, Crowley had been so infuriated by his blind hope of ‘having Aziraphale round’ that he’d burned it. 

He’d restored the ashes to its original, tartaned form just a couple of hours later.)

“It seemed like the next logical thing,” Aziraphale explains pensively, brows raised and peering down into his Malbec. “If I had a ‘to do’ list, this is what I would put on it. I haven’t sat down and watched a movie all the way through in such a long time.” This may well be true, Crowley considers, as he rifles through his DVD collection, knees against polished concrete and painted nails tapping the spine of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, he’s simply marvelling at the fact that they’ve never sat down and watched a movie all the way through together, the two of them, ever. They’d always had more important things to be getting on with, like saving the world or performing miracles or negotiating the terms of their Agreement. And now. Now they can-

Now they can what?

He looks back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Aziraphale is looking at him. The angel’s gaze flicks away instantly, staring back down into his wine. It hurts something in his chest. A nice kind of hurt, like a dash too much wasabi. 

Crowley takes a moment to recover from this. Then- “You. You still haven’t given me any clues. What you in the mood for, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for the briefest moment as if he’s alarmed by this question, for whatever reason. Then he frowns to himself, purses his lips in thought. Casts his eyes around the room, for inspiration. “Something…” “If you say nice,” Crowley warns, knees hurting a little on the hard floor. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Aziraphale retorts. He pauses. He adds, more quietly, “I was going to say fun.”

Crowley groans. Turns to the DVD cabinet.

“I don’t do fun,” he says slowly, emphatically. 

“Alright, well. Something at least a bit light-hearted. I think saving the world rather calls for it, don’t you?” Crowley tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “It’s a fair point,” he concedes to himself more than Aziraphale. Pouts. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Not sure I’d want to…”

The reason he doesn’t finish his sentence is because he’s just been, unfortunately, reacquainted with the more mushy end of his DVD collection. He’d forgotten that he has several Audrey Heburn films, as well as a couple of Julia Roberts classics. He glares at them. Hidden amongst the arthouse silent movies, they’re betraying just how soft he is. And Aziraphale’s watching.

The DVD boxes quiver under his stare. 

“How about we start with discussing what you have,” Aziraphale tries, reasonably. “Since we can’t reach a consensus. We don’t even have to watch a DVD if you don’t want-”

“Netflix,” Crowley remembers, standing up abruptly and immediately closing the cabinet. Then, “Netflix! That’s a thing. That’s a thing that we can do.” “Oh yes- I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says chirpily. 

“Oh, yes, well done, angel.”

Aziraphale glares. 

And so the Netflix loading screen bongs into life, Crowley collapsing onto the sofa beside Aziraphale. The red wine is jostled; Aziraphale tuts. Crowley props his heels on the coffee table. 

“Do you mind. I almost spilled Malbec on my shirt.” “Lots more choices now,” Crowley ignores him and begins flicking through. “Look, it’s all organised nicely in rows of genre. Love how tidy this is, look. And the search function is so much easier. Have you tried the search function on Amazon Prime, lately? Nightmare.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replies lightly, spinning the wine in his glass like a whirlpool.

“Look, ‘s’got a whole section called ‘light-hearted movies’.” 

“Very helpful.”

They flick through the row. They go through all of them without choosing, and end up at the beginning of the loop again. Crowley growls and hangs his head off the back of the sofa.

“Oh, pass it here,” Aziraphale sighs, putting down his wine with a decisive clink and picking up the remote. He holds it with one hand and presses the directional buttons with his other hand, as if it’s far more complicated and delicate a process than it actually is. Like an octogenarian trying to use an iPhone.  

“How about this lovely looking Christmas film.“

"N- no. Anything but that. It’s October. And more importantly, no.”

“It looks ever so sweet, though. How lovely and romantic-”

“We are not watching The Christmas fucking-well Prince.”

He’d had a hand in inspiring that, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it even to himself. His evil deeds really are shit. 

“No need to snap,” Aziraphale mutters.  

“If you’re determined to watch something romantic and seasonal, I will accept The Holiday. If I must. Jack Black makes it bearable.”

Aziraphale lets the screen rest on the thumbnail of the movie. Then, quite thoughtfully, he says: “I like Kate Winslet. She seems like a nice woman.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s. OK. I’m sure she is, angel.”

In all honesty, the idea of watching a rom-com with Aziraphale is border-line torture. It’s not quite as bad as waterboarding, but it’s close. More on the same level as those nightmares you get where you have to do a maths exam in your underwear, on stage, and all of your exes and crushes point and laugh at you. Not only are rom-coms pretty hit and miss- some influenced by Heaven, some by Hell, you never know what you’re going to get- they’re also a fantastic way of making Crowley feel incredibly exposed. Incredibly hot in the face from second-hand embarrassment. Incredibly aware that he’s meant to be sneering and heckling, when he’s just trying to concentrate on holding himself together. Stop the feelings from spurting out of his heart like water in a dam: feelings that he thinks are, embarrassingly, rather a lot like longing.

And yet, because it is Crowley, and this is what Crowley does, he lets Aziraphale select the movie and they watch The Holiday. They remark on the general cheesiness, the (at times) witty dialogue. The staggering amount of disbelief that has to be suspended for the plot to work. How nice Jude Law looks in glasses. 

Crowley’s only sort of watching. He’s concentrating on Aziraphale. Not outright staring at him (although he does often do that, it’s a wonder he hasn’t noticed and told Crowley to sod off). Rather, letting his brain tick over the knowledge that he is right beside him. Too much of his daft, devil mind is unable to ignore the fact that Aziraphale is there. 

Sometimes, it sends unhelpful thoughts his way. Like, you could touch his hand. Or, imagine feeding him popcorn- wouldn’t that be interesting. Or simply, there he is. He’s here. He’s with you. He’s chosen this. 

About half-way through the film, Aziraphale starts with those sad sighing sounds, making woebegone eyes at the television- which tells Crowley that he’s getting peckish but doesn’t want to bother Crowley with it. So, Crowley casually announces that he’s heard there’s a good new Chinese restaurant around the corner, and Aziraphale brightens up again immediately. And they have to pause the film to choose what to eat, because Crowley reckons he might actually order something for himself this time, and Aziraphale ums and ahs about these things for hours anyway. And once they’ve ordered- over the app, thank God for avoiding human interaction- the food arrives, quite miraculously, three minutes later. 

And once the food is gone, the film is almost finished. And Netflix seems to have decided what they should watch next, because it puts on the first episode of The Crown without asking them. Which they watch, although Crowley’s not really watching. And Aziraphale is complaining about the inaccuracies. 

And at some point they end up sitting very close.

No. That makes it sound as if Crowley has no idea how they ended up that close. He knows exactly when this happened, because he hasn’t taken a breath since. 

It happened like this.

They’re halfway through the first episode of The Crown, and Aziraphale has returned from the kitchen with a new bottle of red- a Pinot, this time- and he pours for both him and Crowley. Aziraphale has been sat on his own side of the sofa, and Crowley has been on his, draping his arms and legs wherever he sees fit. Now, as Aziraphale resettles on the sofa, he sits right beside him. The way Crowley is angled, his legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, means that he’s leaning in Aziraphale’s direction. Very obviously. 

So he’s using all his (very little) core strength to keep himself sitting upright enough not to fall into his lap. Even if it would be very nice to let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap. And even if he’d really like to relax a little bit and lean his shoulder against Aziraphale’s. 

And for Heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be an issue for a couple of six thousand year old beings to sit side-by-side on a sofa, and yet, here’s Crowley, having a crisis about it. It’s not as if he thought twice about pinning him against a wall. 

Although he probably should have. That was a lot.

His eyes follow the way Aziraphale’s legs stretch in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. A little slouched on the sofa, shoes off. It’s about as relaxed as Crowley’s ever seen him. 

“Why do you think they decided to make this TV series now, when the Queen is still alive,” Aziraphale remarks. It almost makes Crowley jump a little, so deep in thought that he’d forgotten time hadn’t stopped entirely.

“Whassat?” “Well, why do you think they’ve made the series now? It seems a bit-”

“Right,” Crowley says brain finally processing the question. “No- dunno, angel.” They both go quiet. Crowley’s hand grips the back of the sofa. The fear that he’s going to slip and lean against Aziraphale is too real. As nice as it would be-

Perfect. Miraculous. Wonderfully human. 

-It would also be mortifying. 

He can hear Aziraphale’s breathing. Slow. Precise and even, like he’s measuring out ingredients for a recipe. It makes Crowley’s mouth go dry with painful self-awareness.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale starts quietly, “when you and I bumped into each other in Camden Town?” He takes a few seconds to pretend to think about this. “Yeah, ‘f course. Nineteen seventy-seven. What made you think of that?��� Aziraphale shifts a little, looking at Crowley. Crowley doesn’t look back, watches the screen. If he turns towards Aziraphale, they’ll be-

“You were wearing that awful t-shirt.” That makes him laugh. A tipping-the-head-back laugh. “Oh yeah- my God Save the Queen t-shirt. Sex Pistols. Yeah, those were the days. Don’t knock ‘em, they were a good band.” “I’m sure they were.” “Don’t use that voice, they were. Anarchic music at its finest.” “I believe you, but bebop is still a little too baffling for me, I’m afraid.”

Crowley doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where it comes from- he thought he knew himself quite well at this point, but apparently not well enough. He feels something take over from out of nowhere. Rather, feels something erase everything else- a whiteboard rubber cleaning all the bullshit away. 

And now he’s turned to Aziraphale without the babbling voice of anxiety in his head. 

“It’s punk music, not bebop. And. I reckon you’d like it.” His voice is a murmur and his eyes are looking at Aziraphale’s lips. Thank Christ for sunglasses. 

When he looks back up and meets Aziraphale’s gaze, he’s watching Crowley. Looking for something. 

He feels his lips part, hears himself take a breath through his mouth. 

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks weakly. A small quirk in one eyebrow. 

“Y-” Fucking Hell. His throat’s all dry and he’s forgotten what words are. And now Aziraphale is definitely looking at his mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fu- “Yeah. You’re a rebel now, after all. Sort of. Breaking all those rules.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies in a whisper. Then, regaining his voice, “I suppose that’s true.”

“S- uh- mm- w- some of the songs, anyway, not all of them. You’d uh- h- some of them are a bit explicit than others and you’d probably not. Not get on with those ones.”

“Crowley…?” That’s all it takes. Thousands of years of keeping his feelings to himself and taking it slow, and all it takes is that little inflection in Aziraphale’s hushed voice. That hesitant request, draped over the sound of his name. Crowley leans in and presses his lips gently against Aziraphale’s. 

There’s that horrible moment when it stops, and everything else seems to stop, too. The what next? hangs in the air and Aziraphale stutters a shaky breath against Crowley’s skin. 

“Too fast?” is what Crowley ends up asking. Just to break the pause. 

And then the most dazzling, drunken smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. Brows knit together. An expression that looks a lot like “To the world.” 

“No,” he half laughs, shaking his head infinitesimally. “For once, no. We… we saved the world, I rather think we deserve this.”

Something in Crowley relaxes, unhinges, collapses. It lets all the feelings free and they flood him till he swears he almost goes blind. And that is how they both end up falling asleep on the sofa, still wearing the days’ clothes and kicking off a tartaned blanket. Wrapped up in each other- starting this new era as they mean to continue.

***

Crowley wakes up and finds his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’s splayed on top of him, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa. He feels Aziraphale’s hand, warm between his shoulder blades. 

“What would you like to do today?” Aziraphale asks with a smile in his voice. 

That is how it starts. They think of the things they were too scared to do together, the things that they never found the time to do together, the things they always liked to do together. 

They go for a walk through Hampstead Heath, just as the weather’s beginning to turn- their breathes steaming in front of their faces as they walk. They haven’t been here since 1815. They both try to avoid the muddy parts and fail spectacularly. They make fun of each other for the mess they’ve made of their shoes. They begin by hooking their fingers together, until they’re brave enough to hold hands completely. 

They go home and cook together. It goes disastrously. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning, when they wake up on Crowley’s sofa again. 

They go to some hipster bar in East London- Tobacco Docks, it’s called. They find that there’s good food, lots of good booze and an ice rink- which Crowley absolutely point-blank refuses to go on until Aziraphale makes that wide-eyed, pleading face. They have a tipsy and very clumsy skate around the rink before returning to their drinks. Crowley’s better at wine than ice rinks. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks, when they’ve woken up in Crowley’s bed. His white hair against his white sheets. A new part of the landscape of his room.

They end up doing very little. They read together on the sofa and make tea.  Crowley introduces Aziraphale to the best music ever created- disco, of course. They dance in the living room in bare feet and laugh till they can’t see through the tears. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks the next. 

They’ve saved the world, and that still seems surreal. But there’s waking up on Crowley’s sofa after a movie marathon, too. A dinner date, or a night in. 

And that feels perfectly real. 

[kalaluchi]

chapter 06: anime

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“Hey, nice wings!”

“Sorry, what?”

Marinette suddenly wanted to bury herself in a hole from embarrassment.

The moment Adrien walked in that morning, she’d noticed the telltale Wings of Freedom keychain hanging from his bag. And, sure, they’d been talking on end for nearly a month now. But still she’d spent the whole day just working up the courage to approach him and mention the keychain, thinking maybe, finally, they’d have something more to talk about other than school work and the occasional small talk, because mostly he talked about things she already knew from stalking him… not like she was going to tell him that, though.

And yet… yet he stood there, obvious confusion in his gorgeous green eyes, with a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised, like he had no idea what in the world she meant. Like the silver item was absolutely not hanging from the strap of his bag. Even though it so was.

Hence-- the want to bury herself in a hole. Ever the brave heroine, Marinette instead swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Hanging on your bag. It’s Wings of Freedom from Attack on Titan. I thought you having it meant you’d watched AOT. I guess not? You should though, it’s one of my favorite shows. Uh, I mean, not that you have to, you know, of course, I mean, who am I to force you to watch something, I just meant--”

Adrien cut her off with a chuckle. “Oh! I forgot I left that hanging there. I actually have watched it though. I remember binging it one summer a few years back.” His smile to himself, probably remembering simpler times.

Marinette relaxed, and grinned. “I know what you mean. My parents used to get mad at me for sneaking down at midnight to watch episodes as soon as they were released. Uh, so are there any other animes you like, or is it just that one…?”

“I used to watch a lot, but that was back when I had a lot of time, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair nonchalantly. (How did he do that so effortlessly…)

“Mhm!” Marinette nodded emphatically, mesmerized. “Me too! Uh, hey! Why don’t we, uh, watch something… together? There’s an anime I’ve been wanting to watch, but I haven’t… had a solid enough reason to. Although, of course, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she added hastily. “I-I just thought it’d be fun, you know, since we both hadn’t watched in a while--”

“Sounds fun!”

“I mean, I don’t expect you to agree, I-- what did you say?”

Adrien chuckled. “I said, ‘sounds fun.’ What did you want to watch?”

“Uh.” Still reeling from the shock that he’d agreed so quickly, Marinette pulled out her phone. “I forgot the name, but I’m pretty sure I had it on a list, lemme check.” She unlocked it and scrolled through her notes.

Once she found it, she grinned triumphantly, feeling lucky that she’d managed to get this far in the conversation. “Here, it’s called, uh… ah.”

Marinette suddenly felt shy, her luck all gone. It seemed like cruel fate that this particular anime was next on her list, for her and Adrien to watch together. She cleared her throat. “It’s, uhm, called Kaguya-sama: Love is War. You might not like the genre, though, so it’s okay if you wanna watch something else…” Please let him want to watch something else. I won’t be able to take this internal torture, Marinette pleaded to the skies silently.

Instead, Adrien’s eyes shone excitedly. “Oh, I’ve heard of that! The one where the guy and the girl like each other, but neither wants to lower their pride and admit it, right? So they come up with situations to force the other one to confess? They’re so funny-- it's adorable!”

“More like relatable,” Marinette coughed to herself.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that…?”

Marinette forced a laugh. “I said, ‘yup! Adorable.’”

“So, when should we start watching? You free Saturday night?”

“Sure,” she said immediately, not one to turn down a possible? date with her crush.

Then her brain caught up with her heart, and she groaned. Saturday nights were movie-night-with-Alya nights… she was sure the brunette would not let a boy overrule movie nights. Even if that boy were radiant… carefree… dreamy… Adrien.

But what if… she merged movie night and anime night? Anyway, it was her turn to host movie night and choose what to watch. She had a feeling Alya would enjoy watching Kaguya-sama, especially knowing its summary… Marinette really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Alya’s schemes yet again, but if it made it possible to watch with Adrien and Alya… she supposed it would be worth it just this once.

“Something wrong?”Adrien’s voice cut in, his brow creased. “If you’re not free Saturday night, it’s cool we can resched.”

“No! We’re good, I’m good, you’re handsome-- I mean, it’s… awesome.” She cringed inwardly. “I can definitely do Sat, no prob-o. But, uh… is it okay if I invite Alya? I mean, the more the merrier, right?”

She almost thought Adrien looked disappointed at this, but if he were, he hid it well. “Cool, I love Alya,” he said easily, grinning. (Marinette chose to ignore the pang that hit her at this. Why just Alya? How about an ‘I love Marinette’ as well? She fought the urge to sigh.) “We can invite Nino as well so it’s… even more fun I guess?”

“Mhm, sounds like a plan. I’ll tell Alya, and you tell Nino?”

“Okay,” he said, waving goodbye and heading to his seat as the bell rang for class.

‘I’ll tell Alya,’ huh? A lot easier said than done, Marinette thought, unsure how to break the news to her best friend.

.

.

.

“Alya,” Marinette started an hour later, after planning out an entire speech and writing down bullet points to rebut any arguments her best friend might have.

It all went out the window when the latter held up a hand, giving the ravenette a knowing smile.

“No need to explain, I know.”

“Wha--”

“Considering we sit beside each other, you pass on information pretty slowly. It’s been, like, 2 periods…”

Marinette spluttered, “I-- how-- who-- what.”

Alya held up her phone and waved it around. “Hello? These exist? Nino texted me the second our break ended… (Though why he didn’t just… tell me outright… I have no idea.) We’ve been texting back and forth, planning.”

Marinette practically sagged in relief. “Oh, thank goodness.” She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Alya, you are absolutely the bestest friend ever, I don’t deserve you--”

“Hold your horses, don’t get all sappy on me yet,” Alya interrupted, holding up a finger. “You’re not cleared yet. One: I never thought you’d be the type of girl to ditch her best friend as soon as she got a boyfriend--”

“He’s not--!”

“--but,” Alya continued, ignoring Marinette’s profuse protests, “I completely forgive you, because I know you, and I know your heart often speaks before your brain can, and I know that you would never ditch me on purpose, especially when our agreement came first.”

Marinette gave the brunette the best puppy-dog eyes she could manage. “Alyaaaaa, you know I love you, right?”

Alya rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, girl, I know. Now put that expression away, it's creeping me out,” she laughed. “And I know you’re going to ask, so yes, there is a way to make it up to me, and that is: you have to invite Adrien to watch with you… like physically. Not over video call like we sometimes do. I want there to be popcorn and blankets and everything. If you two end up cuddling, even better.”

“Cuddling?!” Marinette whisper-shouted, beet red. “Wh-why would we--! I don’t want to--! mean, yes, it would be nice, but we are just friends. Okay?”

The brunette laughed at her best friend’s reaction. “You got it. But do we have a deal? You invite your boy over, I’ll come up with an excuse not to go, you bring me two packs of my favorite candy for our next movie night-- and I do not dwell over the fact that you forgot me, your best friend forever, when making plans with Adrien, the love of your life.”

Marinette wisely opted to ignore that last bit Alya said, and nodded firmly, shaking the latter’s outstretched hand.

“Deal.”

.

.

.

Adrien was packing his bag when Marinette walked up to him at the end of the day.

“Hey, Adrien, about our anime thing on Saturday--”

“Anime?” a voice interrupted snarkily. Marinette turned and found none other than Chloe Bourgeois standing behind her, one hand on her hip. “You seriously still watch that stuff? Isn’t it, like, for kids or something?” She let out a laugh. “Although I don’t know why I expected any different from you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette was about to shoot back a retort when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Chloe,” Adrien said patiently, “we’ve talked about this. Anime isn’t just for kids. Remember how our parents wouldn’t let us watch Attack on Titan when we were 9 because it was scary? Anime can actually have different genres and all, and I think that’s pretty neat. I’m pretty excited actually to start a new one with Marinette.” (Marinette thought she’d faint at this. But she managed to keep her cool.)

“Oh, Adrikins, I totally agree!” Chloe said sweetly, batting her eyelashes. (Marinette fought the urge to throw up.) “I was only joking with Marinette, of course! Ha ha! Like friends do! I love anime! So, about this new show-- maybe I could watch it with you, hmm?”

“That okay with you, Marinette?”

Hell no. “Sure thing!”

This was going to be a disaster.

.

.

.

Adrien and Chloe showed up at her place 7pm that Saturday.

The plan was to binge as many episodes as they could. Marinette had set up her room with tons of pillows, so they could be comfortable watching from the floor. (Well… her and Adrien anyway. She was 99% sure Chloe would get just bored immediately and end up scrolling through social media, but whatever.)

They made their way up to her room after they’d greeted her parents. (Marinette did her best to ignore the raised eyebrows her parents gave her, silently asking about Chloe’s presence. She herself honestly had no idea what to say about it.) Chloe flopped onto the couch in the middle of the room, crossing her legs as she unlocked her phone. Typical. But Marinette really hadn’t expected anything else, so she ignored the blonde.

She set up the TV and brought bowls of popcorn to the piles of pillows where Adrien sat. She shyly took a seat beside him, grinning as she hit the play button.

They both settled in as the first episode began playing, starting with a speech likening love to war, wherein the person who falls in love first loses.

Marinette frowned at that. She wanted to disagree, but she kept her mouth shut when she saw the way Adrien was engrossed in watching. She noted the way his lips turned up at every joke and mouthed the words to the theme song.

She felt her heart squeeze at the sight. The opening speech be damned, she’d never feel like she was on the losing side if she got the chance to fall in love with this precious boy.

Marinette looked at his hand on the floor, and tentatively reached out to put her own on top of his. So close--

She froze when she felt Chloe plop down beside her, ready to hear the blonde call her out on what she was trying to do. Instead, Chloe had her eyes glued to the TV, watching Kaguya and Shirogane’s antics with rapt interest. Marinette nearly jumped when the other girl burst out in laughter at Shirogane’s attempts to give love advice.

She still wanted to figuratively strangle Chloe for ruining her almost-moment, but as she watched both her companions drink in the show she’d put on, Marinette thought that this might not turn out to be so bad, after all.

.

.

.

“So, what did you think, Chloe?” Adrien asked as the three of them stood outside the bakery, waiting for Adrien’s and Chloe’s cars to pick them up.

“It was… okay,” she scoffed, going for a nonchalant tone. “Nothing special, I guess.”

(Chloe actually absolutely loved it, Marinette could tell, but of course the blonde would never for the life of her admit it.)

“But maybe they were kinda cute. I don’t see why people would flock to that kind of thing, though. I mean… where would you even download it, you know?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Not like I really want to know, duh. It was a rhetorical question, of course. Up to you if you want to answer, but I really couldn’t care less.”

Behind her back, Adrien and Marinette shared a smile and a fist bump. Marinette made it a point to loudly mention the name of the site they’d watched on, adding, “I mean, I’m sharing that just as a random fact, of course.”

Chloe typed something on her phone quickly, and huffed as her car pulled into the driveway. “Whatever, loser. Bye, Adrikins!” she said instead, getting in the backseat.

“Sorry about inviting Chloe,” Adrien immediately apologized once it was just the two of them. “I really didn’t know Alya wouldn’t be coming, and Nino only told me right before that he wouldn’t be able to make it. Sorry for ruining your night.”

“No worries,” she said lightly. And surprisingly, she meant it. Not only did she get to spend hours with her crush, she also got to see a different side of Chloe Bourgeois, a side that made her think maybe the blonde was human after all. “It was surprisingly fun even with her around. And I really enjoyed watching Kaguya. I… learned a lot.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Really? What did you learn? Do enlighten me.”

“Your ride’s here,” she only said, pointing behind him.

He laughed. “What perfect timing, gave you an excuse to avoid my question. You must be hiding something.”

“I really don’t know what you mean,” she replied, grinning.

“Good night, Marinette,” he said, turning to leave.

“Good night, Adrien,” she echoed, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets and watching the car drive away.

She looked up at the stars, remembering one of the episodes they’d just watched, and wondered what she’d do if she’d been in Kaguya’s shoes. She wanted to say she’d have been more firm about her feelings… but she had a feeling when the time came, she might find herself frozen in shock as well.

But one thing was for sure. There was no way she was going to deny her feelings any more. She most definitely liked Adrien Agreste as more than a friend, whether or not he liked her back. (Though of course she hoped it was the former.)

She was absolutely determined to make active decisions to get to know this blond-haired green-eyed boy more. No scheming and coming up with mind games to force him to confess. She’d confess if she had to, on her own terms.

And hopefully, hopefully, the day would come when she could say she’d won the war that they call love, and when she could say, without a doubt, that he was hers.

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[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 6: End of the Rope

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Claire was supposed to be looking at charts on the computer in front of her, and she would, of course, right after she finished checking her phone for any messages from Mrs. Lickett.

“Beauchamp!”

Fuck.

“That’s the third time I’ve caught you on your phone. You trying to get fired on your first day?” 

Her supervisor, Doctor Moore, was the most Nurse Ratched type Claire had ever seen in real life: tyrannical and unforgiving. The only difference was the grating nasality of her thick Long Island accent. Claire opened her mouth to defend herself, for the third time, but Ratched cut her off.

“Plenty of other doctors have kids at home, Doctor Beauchamp. Do you see any of the rest of them with their heads buried in their phones like teenagers?”

Claire could feel the tips of her ears growing hot with rage, but she swallowed it down and answered as levelly as possible: “No, Doctor Moore.”

“Get going. Your team is waiting for you.”

Claire exhaled heavily as soon as the tight-faced woman bustled out of the room, clenching her teeth to avoid outwardly groaning.

“The Ratched already on your nerves?”

Claire practically jumped out of her skin. She turned in the swiveling chair to see a kind-faced black man about her age, perhaps a bit older, smiling at her. He was sitting at a computer as well, craning his neck around to look at her. His eyes were dark, but soft.

“Did you read my bloody mind?” Claire stammered, still slightly alarmed.

He gave a short, barking laugh. “Seems I did. Everyone calls her that. Not to her face, mind you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Claire’s eyes widened at the thought of doing so.

“I’m Joe, Joe Abernathy.” He stood and crossed the room to shake her hand.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Claire returned, taking his hand.

He chuckled as he returned his hand to his side.

“What?” Claire said, face scrunching in suspicion.

“Just thinking about you asking if I read your bloody mind,” he said, flashing his teeth in a wide grin. “I heard you were English, but to hear it is another thing.”

Claire rolled her eyes, though she couldn't suppress her own smile as she turned back to the computer to complete her given task.

“Kids at home, huh?” His tone was sympathetic, having heard Doctor Moore’s reaming out of Claire.

“Just one,” Claire said. “I’m quite aware there are other parents here,” she continued hotly, though her anger was not directed at the man standing before her. “But I’d like to know how many of them are single parents of a daughter with special needs.”

Joe nodded in quiet understanding. “That must be tough, leaving her all day.”

Claire nodded, fighting the urge to check her phone again. “I’ve never left her alone with a babysitter this long. When I was in school I was still married, so she wasn’t ever alone for too long even though her father was a professor. After the move and the new schedules…I’m just worried.” All the while, Claire kept her eyes on the screen, scanning over charts and making mental notes. “The woman’s a marvel; I wouldn’t have hired her if she wasn’t. I just can’t help it. She’s nonverbal, my daughter. Autism.”

“Ah.” Joe nodded. “Gotcha.”

“So I just keep waiting for a call that she’s having a meltdown and that even the all-knowing, licensed professional can’t calm her down because she can’t tell her what’s wrong.” Claire shook her head, sighing. “It’s silly, I know.”

“Nah, not at all.” Joe shrugged, keeping his tone casual, but his eyes still shone with sympathy.

“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload my whole life story on you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get it. I’ve never personally known anyone with autism, but you see it come in and out of the hospital often enough. It’s scary as hell when there’s something wrong and they can’t tell you, even the verbal ones sometimes.”

“Right.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry more,” he said quickly. “I’m sure everything is just fine. All I’m saying is I get why you’re worried. And Ratched sure as hell doesn’t. I’d like to tell her to kiss my ass.”

Claire chuckled through her nose, taking note of one more thing on the computer before turning to smile up at him.

“Thanks, Doctor Abernathy.”

“Please, none of that in private.” He waved her off. “Just Joe when there are no patients.”

“Alright, then.” Claire logged off the computer and gathered her things. “Thanks, Joe.”

“No problem. Good luck out there, Lady Jane.”

She paused in the doorway. “What was that?”

He grinned. “One of the other residents called you that. Said your accent sounds like you just had tea with the queen.” He held up his hands, pantomiming holding a teacup and saucer, sticking his pinky out.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.” Claire laughed, rolling her eyes as she wrenched the door open.

“Toodle-pip, my lady!” She heard him call behind her.

Christ, was she doomed to have nicknames thrown at her reminding her of her Englishness for all eternity?

Her heart warmed at the thought of that soft Scottish burr saying Sassenach, and more laughter bubbled in her chest at the thought of her newest title.

She supposed she didn’t mind.

——

Claire was dead on her feet by the time eight o’clock rolled around. She briefly glanced back at the hospital in her rear-view mirror as she pulled away, and despite how her head and feet throbbed, she was thrilled at the prospect of every day being like this one.

When she’d done her research on specialities back in the days before med school, she’d read of the unpredictability of Emergency Medicine, of never knowing what kinds of emergencies would burst through the doors at any given moment. The prospect had thrilled her then, and experiencing it first-hand now was even more thrilling. Today alone, she’d saved a man’s finger after a cooking knife incident, put a shoulder back in place, stopped a head wound from bleeding long enough to see the patient into a successful surgery, and saved a pregnant woman and the baby after trauma-induced labor from a car accident.

It was quite a heady feeling.

Despite the thrill, however, there was nothing Claire craved more than the sight of her little girl’s face, the sound of her happy humming to see that Mummy was home.

The whole day had gone by without a hitch, unless Mrs. Lickett was hiding something from her. The only updates she’d gotten were positive ones, prompted by Claire’s frantic “is everything ok??” texts.

Claire had washed up and changed out of her scrubs at the hospital so that she could spend whatever little time was left before Faith’s bedtime with her on the couch, and then she could fully shower and decompress once Faith was asleep.

Claire turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, but before she could take a single step into the living room, a little body was plastered against her legs, wrapping itself tightly around her.

“Hello, baby!” Claire cried out joyously as a buzz of humming filled her ears. “Oh, Mummy missed you so much!” She pried her daughter off her legs and scooped her into her arms, dropping her bag on the porch. Claire held her close, kissing her cheek.

Faith nuzzled her face into Claire’s, rubbing her mother’s cheeks as their foreheads rested together.

“Hello love,” Claire whispered, rocking her gently in the doorway. “I missed you, too, baby. Yes, hello.”

Claire gradually moved them into the apartment, kicking her bag inside and nudging the door shut with her knee.

“Hello, Mrs. Lickett,” Claire said, struggling to meet her eye around Faith’s pawing of her face.

The older woman was smiling warmly. “Hello, Miss Beauchamp.”

“Everything was alright today, then?”

“Sure was,” Mrs. Lickett said. “Faith was a very good girl, right Faith?”

“Is that right, lovie? Were you a good girl for Mrs. Lickett?” Claire shifted her onto one hip and bounced her, eliciting a few giggles. A glance at the telly told her that Finding Nemo was nearing its end; Mrs. Lickett had paused it upon Claire’s arrival.

“How was the first day at the hospital?” Mrs. Lickett said, gathering her things.

“It was…a lot. But good, very good.” Claire crashed on the couch with Faith, trying to settle her and failing. Faith very firmly insisted on remaining in Claire’s lap. “I did miss her very much, though. It’s been a while since I’ve been away from her for so long.” She wrapped her arms around her and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head.

“I understand. I could tell she missed you, too, but I kept her pretty busy.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We started some basic signs today,” Mrs. Lickett beamed. “Might be a while before it registers, but at least she knows now. The more you start using them around her, the better.”

“Right.” Claire nodded. “I’ve been watching those videos you sent me every night.”

“That’s good.”

Faith made a rather indignant noise, pointing toward the telly.

“Somebody wants to get back to her movie,” Mrs. Lickett said.

“Right.” Claire forced a smile. She wanted to stop her from leaving, to sit down at the table and spend the entire night talking about every minute of the entire day, every little accomplishment, everything Faith was learning. But she supposed if she wanted that much involvement, she’d be home with them herself instead of pursuing a career as a full-time physician.

Jesus, Beauchamp. You sound like Frank.

Shuddering at the thought, Claire adjusted Faith so she could watch Mrs. Lickett go. “I’d see you out, but I’m a bit pinned down at the moment.” She gestured with her head to Faith, sitting in her lap and locking her grip on Claire’s arms around her.

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Say goodnight, Faith,” Claire said, releasing an arm so she could wave to the woman. Faith mimicked her, waving emphatically as Mrs. Lickett shut the door behind her. The second she was gone, Faith groaned again at the telly, and Claire smiled.

“Alright, be patient.” Claire reached for the remote on the coffee table. “I’m quite eager to see if Nemo escapes to the ocean, as well.”

Claire, of course, had the movie memorized, along with the rest of the DVDs in their vast collection. Perhaps it was Faith rubbing off on her, but she didn’t think she’d ever tire of watching them over and over again, especially not if it meant she would always get to spend this time cradling her little girl.

When the movie ended about fifteen minutes later, Faith slipped out of Claire’s lap and waited expectantly by the DVD player. Normally, Faith liked to listen to the music during the ending credits, so Claire didn’t make any moves to take the disc out yet. Only when Faith grunted and started tugging on Claire’s hand did she get the message.

“No music tonight, darling?” she said, puzzled, as she removed the disc and handed the box to Faith to file away. She was buzzing with excitement. Something was up, and Claire was none the wiser. The very second the DVD was away, Faith bolted into her bedroom, leaving Claire bewildered. She’d only just started to get up when Faith returned, holding a pile of colorful paper in her hands.

“What’s this, now?” Claire’s face lit up at the sight of Faith’s toothy grin, holding up the construction paper. Claire could see they were cut into the shape of little fish, and they were plastered with glitter, pompoms, google-eyes, and marker.

“Did you make these, Faith? Did you make these little fishies?” Faith hummed loudly and jumped up and down. “Oh, they’re marvelous, darling! You’re quite the little artist!”

Claire perused every single colorful fish, and she made a note to thank Mrs. Lickett. Arts and crafts were something Claire had never been into as a child herself, and something she didn’t have the time or the creative mind to think of. It was obvious now that Faith adored creating, and Claire wanted to smack herself upside the head for not thinking of it sooner. God bless that Mrs. Lickett.

“No wonder we watched Nemo tonight, hm? Are these Nemo’s little friends, then?” Claire held up a bright pink paper fish and swam it around in the air, much to Faith’s delight. Faith joined in the little game, and though Claire knew that bedtime was rapidly approaching — for both of them — she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

After a few minutes, Claire led Faith into the kitchen so they could use magnets to put the fish on the fridge. Claire let her arrange them to her heart’s content, only leading her into the bathroom when she was satisfied.

Teeth brushed, pajamas donned, Faith tucked in, and nightlight on, Claire finally allowed herself to fully feel the exhaustion of her day. The adrenaline of seeing Faith had kept her wide awake on the drive home, and then actually being with her had chased away any thoughts of sleepiness. Now, she barely had the energy to prepare a shower, and she very well almost crashed into bed, fully dressed. It was sheer willpower that finally got her back into the bathroom. This reminded her that tomorrow was bath night for Faith, and she sent up a brief prayer that she would cooperate for Mrs. Lickett. She’d considered waiting until she got home and just taking her into the shower with her, but that would have interrupted the movie, and God forbid that should happen. But if she’d waited until the movie was over, it would have been too late, and the routine would be disrupted. No, it had to be Mrs. Lickett.

Washed and dressed for bed, Claire was wide awake, despite how weariness was etched into every muscle and bone in her body. She could not stop thinking about all of the silly little things that could go wrong while she was occupied at the hospital, of all the possible triggers for a meltdown that she would not be able to stop. No matter how well today had gone, no matter how wonderful Mrs. Lickett was, she’d never stop worrying. Maybe not never, but it would certainly be a long time. At some point in her fevered, internal ramblings, Claire teetered into oblivion, grateful for whatever sleep she was lucky enough to get before her alarm screamed again.

——

Claire drove home the following Friday, her knuckles white on the steering wheel and her vision blurred with tears. She’d been so damn grateful to clock out at four o’clock, and she’d barely made it out of the locker room without falling apart in front of Joe.

She lost a patient for the first time today. Paul Castano, forty-seven, much too young for the heart attack that killed him.

Claire had been beside herself, and Joe had soothed her, told her there was nothing she could have done.

“Go home and hug your daughter, Lady Jane,” he’d said. “Enjoy the horses. You need it as much as she does right now.”

And, Christ, did she.

Claire hugged Faith just a little too hard for the slightest bit too long when she got home after nearly bursting into tears at Faith’s joy to see her. Faith did not tolerate being held as such for very long, and she squirmed out of Claire’s grasp. Today, not only was Faith happy to see her mother, she was excited: she knew it was horse therapy day.

Seeing Faith so happy to see her and so excited to get to the stables was a welcome distraction from the anguish Claire was feeling. The drive over to the stables was calming as well, though Claire was now paranoid about the change in appointment times. Toni hadn’t called her at all, so she had no reason to believe that the switch hadn’t gone over well. She supposed after the day she’d had, she’d be prone to overthinking just about anything.

Upon arrival, she calmed considerably at seeing Faith’s exuberance, and even laughed when she began tugging on her hand, willing them to get inside faster.

Leave it to you to get me laughing on the worst of days, Faith.

The door to the visitor’s center opened, and Faith began humming loudly.

“There they are, the Beauchamp girls!” Toni greeted warmly.

“Hello, Toni. Say hello to Miss Toni, Faith.”

“Hello, Faith!” Toni called as Faith waved timidly.

Erica was standing by the counter, and she crouched down to greet Faith. “Hello, Princess. I’m so happy to see you again!”

Faith smiled shyly and hid half of her little body behind her mother’s legs.

“I’m gonna take you guys out to the stable today, get her started with the hellos and leading her to the riding hall.” Erica stood up to address Claire. “Jamie will join us when we get there.”

“Alright,” Claire said, exhaling deeply. “Shall we?”

——

Joe had been right. Claire needed that hour at the stables just as much as Faith had. As they were driving home, Claire felt something resembling peace settle in her heart. Faith was humming happily, kicking her legs, waving the newest Minion Happy Meal toy in the air.

She did very well again today. She was gentle with Pippi, she didn’t protest about the helmet, she was attentive to both Erica and Jamie. Claire kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go terribly wrong, but it just never did. Not at the stables, at least.

They arrived home, Faith zipping up the stairs to the front door as usual. Claire was grateful to get to watch an entire movie with Faith tonight, to decompress, to hold her little girl and be soothed by her oblivious, youthful happiness. When they passed through the front door, Claire dumped the contents of her arms onto the couch as usual and started toward the kitchen, but Faith did not follow. 

“Faithie, come on! Don’t you want your chicken?”

Faith didn’t seem to hear her. She lifted Claire’s purse and looked underneath, and then let out a groan.

“What’s the matter darling?”

Faith made a beeline for the front door, and Claire sprinted to lock it, having forgotten to do so upon arriving home.

“No, no, no,” she quickly blocked Faith’s exit. “What are you doing, Faith? What’s wrong?”

Faith began whining and pawing at Claire, hitting her thighs.

“Do not hit, Faith.” Claire crouched down and grabbed her wrists. “What is wrong? Hm? Hungry? Tired? Pain?” She did the signs that she’d learned from the videos Mrs. Lickett had sent. “Can you sign for Mummy? What’s wrong?”

Of course, she couldn’t. It was much too soon for Faith to be carrying out conversation; she’d only just learned any signs at all.

Faith suddenly began wailing.

“Faith, baby, it’s alright, I’m here…” She wrapped her in her arms, but it only lasted for a moment. Faith clawed her way out and began pounding on the door. 

What could possibly be wrong? What was she looking for on the couch…?

Then it dawned on her.

Horsie.

She hadn’t checked to see if Faith was holding the stuffed horse before they left the stables.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Oh, darling, it’s alright!” She stroked her head and tried cupping her cheeks. “Can you look at my eyes, Faith? Faith…it’s alright. We’ll get Horsie back next week. He’ll be alright.”

She was inconsolable.

Claire exhaled heavily and stood up to retrieve the Happy Meal from the coffee table.

“Aren’t you hungry, darling? McDonald’s! Your favorite!” She held the box in front of Faith’s eyes. “Come on, lovie, let’s go eat.”

She reached to grab her hand, but Faith shrieked and pulled back, apparently having no intention of eating a thing until Horsie was returned. She’d be quite hungry by next Friday.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…” Claire threw the Happy Meal back on the coffee table and ran a hand through her hair.

She needs to eat dinner. I have to make this stop. There has to be something…

“Do you want to watch a movie, lovie? How about Frozen?”

Claire scrambled to get the DVD in, holding her breath until the movie started, praying that she’d be drawn to the screen and sit down to watch quietly, and then she could gradually coax her to eat on the couch.

But she just continued wailing.

Claire knew full well once a meltdown was in motion it had to run its course. And this particular meltdown would not run its course until the missing object in question was found.

But she can’t not eat, she can’t not sleep…

Claire didn’t realize she started crying until it was too late.

It was just too much. She’d held a man’s hand today while he died before her eyes, and then hugged his inconsolable wife while she came to terms with having to tell her children their father wasn’t coming home. And then Claire had come home and sought comfort in her own child, and she’d gotten a bit, but of course it didn’t last long.

She knew by the time she drove back, the stable would be closed, so she could not go and pick it up. She tried calling the stable, but no one answered. Apparently, everyone had already gone home.

Faith gave a particularly loud shriek, and Claire felt all her nerves go shot one by one. Hands trembling she scrolled through her phone for something, anything.

Jamie.

Toni had provided her the stable number, her own number, and Jamie’s number in case the main phone was busy. He’d mentioned that he and the other therapists took turns staying after closing to see to the horses. She threw up a quick prayer before clicking on his contact to start a phone call. Even if he wasn’t the one that had stayed today, perhaps he could tell her who had and give her their number?

As the line rang, she felt surges of panic go through her. Was this even appropriate? To be contacting his personal cell number for something that wasn’t really an emergency?

Faith started pounding on the front door again, screaming her head off all the while.

Claire suddenly didn’t given a fuck about what was appropriate.

——

Jamie was sitting at his kitchen table, enjoying the stir fry he’d made for himself and his usual glass of whisky. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he made a note to check his texts later, but then it kept buzzing. Somebody was calling him.

Curious, he pulled out his phone and saw a number he didn’t recognize.

“Bloody telemarketers,” was his first thought, but the area code was local. Eyes narrowing in curiosity, he swiped up to accept the call, setting his fork down.

"Hallo? Who's this?"

"Uh...hi, Jamie. It's Claire. Claire Beauchamp. From the stables.”

Jamie felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

"Oh...Oh! Uh, hello, Claire. What's uh...what's going on?"

Someone on the other end shrieked, and his stomach lurched.

"Is that Faith? Is she alright?"

"Yes, she's perfectly fine. Physically, at least. She left her horse at the stable, the stuffed one. She's absolutely beside herself and she won't stop crying. Nothing is calming her down, none of her other toys, not putting on a movie or music, not even food.”

Jamie felt his chest tighten. Her voice sounded strained, and she seemed completely frazzled. The second he’d laid eyes on her at the stable today he could tell that something was wrong. It wasn’t the usual sadness he saw in her eyes, it was something different, something visceral. Whatever was happening now was certainly not helping.

“She won't eat, and I know she won't sleep either. I called you because no one was picking up at the stable and I was hoping you'd still be there but just not near the phone?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. Just in the stable. Canna hear the phone," he answered without thinking. What the damned hell are ye doing, lad?

"Oh, thank Christ. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"No," he said quickly. "I'll, uh, I'll bring it to ye."

"What...?"

"Wouldna do fer ye to be drivin' wi' Faith as she is now." Though Jamie was making things up to cover the fact that he was already home, he wasn't entirely wrong. Even if he was at the stable, he wouldn't feel comfortable with Claire driving twenty minutes with a screaming bairn. "Wouldna be safe.”

"But...it's...are you sure...? You wouldn't get in trouble?"

"Nah. I'm sure other therapists have done the same fer some o' their kids." 

Keep digging, James.

"But you haven't done it before?"

"No."

"But others have?"

"Aye." Liar.

"Alright...as long as you're sure it's not inappropriate."

"Only inappropriate if we make it so, Sassenach."

Why the bloody fuck did I say that?

Claire cleared her throat. “Right. So…you’ve got my address from Faith’s file?”

“Aye.”

“So...twenty minutes? Half hour?"

"Aye. Just about."

Idiot. Bloody feckin’ idiot.

"Alright. See you soon."

"Bye, then."

Jamie hung up, threw his phone on the table and slapped an exasperated hand over his face.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What is wrong wi’ ye?”

[insomniac-arrest]

When my heart felt volcanic

Have you ever noticed that there’s this trend in book titles that go “The X’s Daughter”? Things like The Clockmaker’s Daughter, The Emperor’s Daughter, The Scavenger’s Daughter, The Madman’s Daughter, so on.

It’s never called “The Clockmaker” and about just the daughter. It’s always her dad that teaches her how to beat up guys in masks or fire a pistol or fly a fighter jet. Sometimes she even has 7 or so brothers who bully her into being tough and stoic, a boys-girl. You know, like a tomboy but hot and you also never have to deal with any feminine interests she might have. It’s always the daughter.

Well I was the daughter of a narcoleptic. It didn’t make me any more likely to wear short-shorts and kick bad-guys in the chest like if I was in a movie. It also didn’t make me any more knowledgeable about sleep besides the obvious bit about human bodies being mysterious and full of vindictive whimsy.

Mostly, it just made me angry.

For as long as I could remember my dad would be reading me a bedtime story, maybe about Mr. Toad and friends or Harry Potter or the Hobbit. I don’t think we ever made it through a single chapter.

His eyes would flutter shut, sometimes there would be some buildup, like tides slowly easing onto the beach, or sometimes it would be like a light being blown out. And he was gone.

We would be eating breakfast and he would slump down in his chair. We would be watching a movie and he would never know the ending. My mom and him would be at my softball game and I would look back over to the bleachers to see my dad fast asleep with a foam finger on his hand. My mom told me to have some compassion, it was a condition.

But all I knew was that other girls didn’t have to kick their fathers to stay awake at their back to school nights.

Of course, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Some people have it a lot worse: drowsy all the time, barely able to hold down a job, chronically nodding off in a space between dreams and reality. My dad only sometimes was lost to us.

The condition wasn’t that bad he said and he was a doctor after all- the serious type. The type for heart disease and lots of charts on the walls and the reason my mom didn’t have to work either.

My aunt once tipsily told me my dad developed it in college. He worked a job and went to medical classes all at once and he messed with his sleep schedule so much he never really recovered. I suppose that softened my heart a little bit, but then I saw him asleep at my 14th birthday and the irritation seized me all over again.

It was 14 and growing in all the wrong directions- a puzzle with the pieces being jammed in their wrong spots. I was yelling that day.

The car was cramped and smelled of hand sanitizer and yogurt I spilled on the front seat months ago. The air felt yellow with spring heat and a dusty country road in front of us. I threw my hands in the air emphatically.

“I need them.” Most of my family’s serious discussions were had in the car going from place to place. “It’s important.”

My father got that “thinking” look on his face where his features paused and his soft chin dimpled. “You’re young.” He said with dust in his words, “I think it’s a little early to think about drugs.”

I rolled my eyes, “Mom says they’re safe.” I sniffed loudly, “And I bet it would make my grades better.”

My dad glanced at me through his wire-frame glasses, “Grades aren’t everything, bumblebee.”

I rolled my eyes, “You always say that, but do you mean it?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I know about the human body. Teenagers sleep schedules can be naturally irregular. It doesn’t help with the school making you get up at god awful hours.” He complained.

My dad was against most systems in a moral sense. He didn’t like school systems or government systems or even the health care system. But he was also neatly soft-spoken and orderly and a contradiction all by himself.

I crossed my arms over my chest, “It’s not normal.” I hissed because I had sleep problems too and my heart felt volcanic for it. Burning. Exploding. I never asked for this. “I just want to go to fucking sleep for once instead of staring at the ceiling for hours.”

“Language,” He said in the same dusty way and I shook my head.

“Listen to me!” I pulled out the stops as I jerked upright in the chair and gestured fiercely. A tree passed and the rolling fields in all directions gave a certain feeling of yawning loneliness around us. “It’s not your decision. It’s mine. I want to try the pills!”

My father just continued to frown. “What about a more regular schedule?”

“That’s always your solution.” I grumbled, “I don’t see yours helping you at all.”

My father wilted slightly, “Brooklyn…” He said my name as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved a hand through the air. “But I don’t want however it is you live your life. It’s like you’re not even trying to not have it.” Maybe I knew it was cruel at the time. I’m not sure if I meant to be cruel. Maybe I wanted to be, needed it, but it happened all the same.

I had barbs at that age.

My father grew quiet as he usually did when he was hurt and we drove in silence to my doctors appointment one city over. It must have been ten or fifteen minutes when I saw the car start to veer to the side of the road.

“Dad…” I said softly as the car gently crossed the center of the road. I twisted toward him and my eyes flew wide open as his chin was nestled on his chest. “Dad!”

His eyes were closed and the car precariously descended toward a ditch. “Wake up!” I shook him violently but not before the nose of the car aimed into the ditch and sent shock waves up my arms.

“Ah,” I yelped as the seat belt tore across my chest and I bounced back against the seat.

My dad jerked the wheel to the side, but it was too late as the car rumbled down into a sudden stop against the ground. We jerked with a painful lurch and I held onto the seat belt with both hands.

We took deep gasping breaths for a long second as the hood of the car was crumpled and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke leaking from it soon.

My father threaded a hand through his thin hair. “Are you okay?” He turned to me and his voice shook. “Are you okay?”

I nodded again and again. “I’m fine, it’s fine.” He looked off into space and seemed to be seeing something I couldn’t.

That was the first time in my whole life I saw my father cry. He nudged at his watery eyes with his hands and I watched as tears fell like meteorites down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He croaked and he put his head and hands on the wheel with limp wrists, “I never thought it would come to this.” More tears made tracks across his face.

I didn’t know what to say, so I reached over and patted his shoulder weakly as he gathered himself up again. I had never seen my father cry before. I wasn’t sure he could.

That was the year my dad gave up driving. And I started a few trials for sleep problems.

And I forgive them now. I forgive people who walk too slowly on the sidewalk and cashiers that count my money out wrong and people who tell me the same joke three or four times. I forgive people for being late to meetings and others for canceling plans. There’s nothing else to do.

I am The Narcoleptic’s Daughter.

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 4

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623116614605357056/the-long-way-around-chapter-3

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2092

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

The next three weeks pass in a now predictable sequence. I spend the majority of my time getting to know my new roommates, for lack of a better word. Esme, who is quickly becoming my favorite, does whatever I want with me. We read books, watch movies, go for runs in the woods. The doctor, Carlisle, isn’t home very often. He and Edward spend a lot of time in town making sure the Cullens are not suspect in my disappearance. They decided it would be best to continue ‘business as usual’ to avoid suspicion, but also so they don’t have to give up the advantageous location in the woods and risk moving with me. Bella tends to keep to herself, though she does occasionally join Esme and I in our book club. Alice and Arthur are quite friendly, and I enjoy spending time with them, even if Alice does treat me like a Barbie doll. I swear, I’ve never owned more clothes in my life! Rosalie is slowly warming up to me. She’s not rude, exactly, but I can tell my presence is hard on her. Her husband, Emmett, is a whole lot of fun. He invites me for races and arm wrestling matches which, obviously, I win. I suspect that won’t continue forever, though. Once my newborn strength fades, he will likely be the strongest in the house. 

Then, of course, there’s my shadow. Jasper doesn't say much, but he is a constant presence. I can tell he doesn’t trust me. The minute I get frustrated or upset he invades my personal space and uses his ability to calm me down. I do resent it slightly, but I understand the need. It’s as he says: I’m dangerous. It amuses me though to know that, as Jasper has taken the task upon himself to never leave my side, he has to do everything I do. So he watches sappy movies with Esme and I, he sits quietly while Emmett and I play board games, he sulks in the corner while I ask Alice endless questions about her psychic ability, and, of course, he hunts with me about four times a week. 

My bloodlust is insatiable. This newfound life and the thirst that accompanies it keeps me in a near constant state of pain. My throat burns badly, and, even when I am drinking animal blood, the burn remains. I have a feeling that, at this stage of life, not even human blood would satisfy my thirst. 

At the thought of human blood, a delicacy so far denied to me, venom pools in my mouth. From across the room, Jasper shifts uncomfortably, feeling my desire. I imagine it must be harder for him than the others, because he not only has to fight his own bloodlust, but everyone else’s. 

He eyes me evenly. “Do you want to hunt?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. We just went yesterday, and I feel like a burden asking people to go with me constantly. I usually have an entourage of three minimum when I hunt, and I can tell it interrupts the daily flow of things. 

Jasper’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Taking you hunting isn’t a burden. Trust me, we would much rather go with you twenty times a day than have you get too thirsty and lose control.” 

I purse my lips at his uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking. I know his emotional radar detector must help, but seriously, sometimes he rivals Edward. 

“It would probably be a good idea,” I acquiesce. “I’ll go see if anyone else wants to go.” I push myself off the kitchen floor-I had been busy reading through one of Esme’s architecture journals-and walk into the living room where Emmett, Rosalie, Carlisle, Esme, and Arthur are gathered around the TV. 

“Hey does anyone wanna-” My words die as I register the news anchor’s words. 

“The search continues for local Y/n, Y/l/n, who was reported missing over three weeks ago.”

It feels like the breath has been knocked out of me. I grip the back of the couch, grief ripping through me. Five vampires turn their wary gazes at me.

“Turn it off.” Jasper’s command comes from behind my shoulder. 

“No,” I breathe, deeply hurt but desperate to know what my friends and family could be seeing.

The anchor continues. “Authorities say they have a man in custody who confessed to stabbing the woman, though claims he can’t remember what he did with the body. Witnesses to the crime seem to suffer the same memory loss. Police have refused to offer further comments, though locals speculate a conspiracy or the presence of illegal drugs. While the two witnesses to the crime, Kaitlyn Myers and Blake Hannigan, have faced backlash surrounding their involvement in the case, police have cleared them as suspects at this time.”

The couch snaps under my grip. I take two quick steps back, shocked by what I just heard and the jarring display of my physical power. 

“Oh, sweetie.” Esme is in front of me instantly, reaching out to envelop me in a hug. Before I can even blink, Jasper is standing between us, acting as a barrier to Esme. 

Hurt pierces through my gut. He only sees me as a threat.

“I’m not going to hurt Esme, Jasper. Back off!” I wish my words didn’t waver. 

His voice is hard when he responds. “You don’t know what you’ll do. Newborns are governed by their emotions more than anyone else. I’m not taking any risks.”

“Well how about getting to know me instead of just generalizing?” I throw my hands up, properly yelling now. “I’m sick of feeling like I’m a prisoner with you. Everyone else is giving me a chance, so why can’t you?” I spit the words out, my hurt growing by the second. 

“We’re hoping it’s all a terrible dream, that we’ll wake up soon and everything will be alright.” 

They hadn’t turned off the TV. On the screen is a video of my parents. Hearing my mom’s tearful voice is like a kick to the stomach. I sink to the floor, gasping for air I don’t need. 

“I just want our little girl to come home.” Mom’s voice breaks, and she stares into the camera. It’s like she’s staring right at me. 

“Jasper, it’s alright, really. I appreciate your concern very much but I promise, it’s alright.” Esme’s soft voice vaguely reaches me through my sobs. 

A pair of arms-Esme’s, likely-envelopes me, but I barely take notice. I only feel the pain. It’s so much worse than the burn in my throat. It almost has me wishing for the fiery torture I felt while becoming a vampire. But wishing very seldom equates to reality, so I’m left to allow the gaping hole in my chest to consume me.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, only that it’s dark when I finally regain control of myself. Esme never left my side, and even Rosalie had come to join us at some point. She says nothing, only rests her head on my shoulder and holds my hand. 

Jasper is noticeably absent. 

“I think I scared him off,” I mumble, guilty. 

“He’ll recover,” Rosalie replies, sounding unconcerned. 

“He’s coming from the right place,” Esme assures. “Jasper is a very passionate person who gives his all in everything. This is no different. I think he sees keeping you and us safe as a chance to redeem himself for his past indiscretions, though those are long-ago forgiven. He’s trying to keep you from making the same mistakes he did.” 

I look at the floor, mulling Esme’s words over. I don’t really know what to say to that.

Thankfully, Rosalie saves me from having to craft a response. “Do you still want to hunt? I can go with you.” 

I smile and shake my head, exhausted from the recent emotional turmoil. “No, it’s okay. I think I’ll just go to bed.” I say the word lightly, knowing I’ll probably just spend the next eight hours reading or something to keep my mind busy. 

I stand, intending to exit the room. On the way out I see the poor couch, broken in two. I grimace. “Sorry about the couch.”

Esme smiles sweetly, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it. It just gives me an excuse to go shopping.” 

I give her a quick hug, grateful for her endless kindness and patience. 

Once upstairs in the room Alice and Esme courteously set up for me, I flop on the bed, grabbing the nearest book. I do my best to let my mind go blank and focus only on the words in front of me. About two hours into this exercise, I hear a soft knock on the door. 

Jasper stands in the frame, looking repentant. “I’m sorry. You were right. I haven’t tried to know you. But I’ve got some time now if you’re free.” It’s then that I realize he means to do this now. Not wanting to smile because I really am still upset with him, I bite it back. 

I decide to play coy instead. “I suppose I could clear my schedule. Though, a little more groveling might help…”

He smiles softly, almost hesitantly. With exaggerated movements, he gets on his knees and clasps his hands together in an excellent show of desperation. “Please do me the magnificent honor...of telling me your favorite color.” 

Now I can’t help but crack a smile. “You may approach, peasant, but remember that my good grace can easily change.” I pat the foot of my bed, and he sits, facing me. “It’s green. Like trees and moss and emeralds.” 

“What’s your favorite thing about this new life?”

“The running. I had asthma as a human but now I can run for as long as I want and be completely fine.” 

He nods, filing the information away. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

I answer without hesitation. “London. The culture, the history, the accents.” He chuckles, teasingly exasperated. “I bet it’s amazing.” 

He smiles, a faraway look in his eyes. “Oh it’s great. I was there back in the ‘90s...I bet it hasn’t changed too much though.” He grins. “Maybe in a couple of years we’ll all be able to take a trip.”

I look down at my fingers. “Maybe a few more years than a ‘couple’. I can’t even think of human blood without…” Venom floods my mouth. I offer a humorless chuckle. “See?”

Jasper shakes his head emphatically. “No, you’re really doing good.” I try to protest, but he shakes it off. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. You are doing remarkably well for three weeks in.” 

I sigh, ready to tease him a bit. “Well I couldn’t do so well without my shadow micromanaging my every move.” 

He smiles sheepishly and looks at his lap. “I’m sorry I seem a bit…,” he sighs deeply, “intense. I will try to ease off.”

I grin, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Thank you. I’ll try to be a little less emotionally hectic. It’s gotta be hard on you.” 

Too quickly, he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going through a lot, it’s okay.” 

I chuckle, feeling much lighter now, either thanks to his ability or the natural resolution of tension between us, I don’t know. “Yeah well I could stay away from the movies that make me feel all the things.” Now he grins, raising his eyebrows. “Next time we’ll try something bland, like High Noon.”

“Hey now.” Jasper raises a hand, a comically disbelieving look on his face. “High Noon is a masterpiece, don’t knock it.” 

I grin broadly, smacking him on the shoulder with a pillow. “I knew you were a Western guy! Gosh, that’s gotta be like, what, forty percent of your personality?”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking the pillow from me. “Mhm, somewhere around there.” 

I like this Jasper, I decide firmly. This new, witty, freer Jasper is so much more fun to be around. I could stand to have this Jasper follow me around all day. 

As if he has come to the same agreement, that Jasper stays at the foot of my bed well past the time the sun rises, talking and joking. We get to know each other. 

And, for a while, I forget about how sad I am and the near constant burning in the back of my throat.

A/n Thanks for reading! I’m having so much fun with this story and I’m glad you guys are enjoying it, too! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623283543296049154/the-long-way-around-chapter-5

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life