#I have a few annoyances with some parts but id rather not stress out over it any longer

[randomartsideblog]

To be sleepy 💖

[taetaespeaches]

“It’s everything to lose.”

taehyung x reader/oc  (but also jimin x platonic reader/oc) genre: angst word count: 6K

a/n: well, this was a process to write lol. Basically, Peaches/reader and Tae are experiencing a mix of feelings due to their best friends’ (Jimin and Dear) break up. Fears of a possible relationship with each other are worsened, plus, Tae and Peaches are just sad because their closest friends are sad. Also, Peaches finally talks to Jimin for the first time after he broke up with Dear, so that’s a big part of this as well. And we get a brief moment between Peaches and Dear, our ride or die duo. Ok, that’s really it. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

Grasping the back of your neck, you massaged your muscles as you yawned, your eyes set on the coffee percolating into the pot. You loved your best friend, and of course you wanted to be there for her, but her post-break up antics were beginning to wear on you as you failed to get accustomed to running on five or less hours of sleep night after night.

Leaning over the countertop, you looked through your most recent texts with your other best friend, Taehyung. The conversation, which started with him bragging about an amazing waffle he had just eaten, had turned a bit sour as you both defended opposing friends in their recent breakup.

It was hard to find common ground with the man these days, as he was on tour with the antagonist of your friends’ little drama, and you were in a constant state of being the shoulder to cry on for the dear protagonist. A sigh slipped from your lips as you scanned through the messages, the grumbling of the coffee pot sounding in the otherwise silent apartment.

You: He dumped her through text while he was away on tour. That’s fucking ridiculous and it’s cowardly.

Tae: You don’t know what’s going through his mind though.

You: There’s obviously not much going through his mind.

Tae: He’s your friend too.

You: And he broke my best friend’s heart.

Tae: I know that. I’m sorry, I hate this whole situation.

You: Me too. I’m sorry and I hate it too.

Tae: Is she at your place again?

You: No, I’m sure she will be but right now she’s out drinking with those stupid friends she has.

Tae: Oh….

You: Yeah. I’m anxious as fuck. I wanted to keep her from going out but you know, I can’t do that. She has to do what she’s gonna do.

Tae: I’m sorry to add to your stress.

Tae: She’ll be ok, Peaches.

You: No, it’s ok, you could never truly add to my stress. You’re my comfort, Tae, you know that.

Tae: I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle like this.

You: I’m sorry you are too. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, have a good night, Dearest.

Tae: Sweet dreams, Peaches.

Craving for two seconds away from the ongoing story of your friends’ turbulent romance, you scrolled up on your text conversation with Tae, a faint smile appearing on your lips at the photo of a waffle the size of the plate it sat upon, followed by a photo of Taehyung shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

Tae: It’s definitely big enough for the both of us but since you’re not here I guess I’ll have to manage it alone.

Tae: I miss sharing breakfast foods with you.

Tae: Never mind, this is so good, I’m glad you’re not here to eat it all.

Your brief moment of relief was broken when your screen changed to display a caller you were not prepared to speak to. Guilt and anxiety settled into your stomach as your breathing hitched slightly at the image of his name and photo. The contact ID reminded you of simpler times, the man pulling a silly expression with his chin tucked into his neck to give himself two of them. He had called you a few times the past couple days, but you’d consistently ignored them, trying to avoid hearing the voice of the man you considered one of your closest friends.

You almost didn’t answer again. Looking to the room your best friend slept in, a serious hangover awaiting her on the other side of slumber, your thumb pressed on the green circular button on the right side of the screen.  

Pausing a moment, you shook your head before raising the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice hushed as to not wake up the girl a few rooms away. A rush of air sounded through the phone, as if the man was sighing in relief, but that was the only response you received. “Jimin,” you sighed.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, defeat coating his tone. He must not have had the strength to pretend to be ok.  

Another awkward pause ensued, both of you waiting for the other to break the silence first. With another sigh, you stood up straight, turning your back to the counter as you leaned against it. “Can you say something?” You asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted lamely, you licking your lips which became quite dry suddenly.  

“You called me,” you pointed out, annoyance in your words that wasn’t intentional but was true to your current mood. “You’ve been calling me for days, but you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he said shakily, and you were sure there were tears bubbling up in his eyes.

Hearing the sadness in his tone, you chewed on your bottom lip, trying to conceal your own emotions in response to his tone. You weren’t sure your feelings even mattered right then. “Well I answered,” you told him, in a sort of assurance. Assurance of what, neither of you were sure, but it allowed Jimin a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the man whispered, causing you to clench your teeth to hold back your pity and consideration for him as you turned back around to the coffee machine.

“Don’t thank me,” you told him, a slight anger behind your tone. “What do you want to say? I have errands I need to run.”  

As Jimin prepared his words, going through his mind to figure out exactly why he was calling you, you patiently waited, halting your movements as your hand sat on the handle of the coffee pot. You knew he needed time to gather his thoughts, and though you were angry with him, you cared for him enough to give him that. “I just miss you,” he admitted, a crack in his voice indicating the earnest admission.

Taking in a shaky breath, you let it out in a wobbly exhale. “Of course I miss you too,” you said honestly. You refused to lie to him about that. “But I don’t want to talk to you, Jimin.”

His words tumbled out of him bitterly, but it was shrouded in frustration, which you believed to be with himself. “You were my friend first,” he said, uncertain whether he regretted the comment or not.

“I’m still your friend,” you told him adamantly, though your voice was still quiet.  

“Then please talk to me,” he begged, almost desperate for the affection you normally showed him. Well, that you showed him before he broke your best friend’s heart.

“I can’t,” you told him trying to sound stern, but your exhausted state ruining your feeble attempt to put up a front.

A sniffle sounded through the phone, adding to the heaviness in your heart. “Why not?”

Holding the phone to your ear with one hand, you moved your other from the coffee pot to the top of your head as you scratched your roots in frustration and distress. “I can’t risk saying something awful to you,” you confessed through an unsteady voice. And that was it. You were angry with him, but you didn’t want to hurt him. “I love you, you’re one of my favorite people on this entire planet, Jimin,” you cried, your sniffling giving away your emotion to the man on the other side of the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he told you in a rush as you wiped away a tear.

“I see her every day,” you told Jimin in a whisper, ensuring your voice was too low for your friend to hear you if she suddenly awoke. However, you were sure the quietness of your voice was giving away that the woman he still loved was just feet away from you; just feet away from the conversation currently taking place, asleep in your spare bedroom. “I’m so mad at you, Jimin, god I’m mad at you,” your voice suddenly broke, no longer able to hold back the pent-up emotions. If Jimin’s thoughts had strayed to the girl nearby, the sound of your distressed voice surely brought him back to the present conversation; the present state of your friendship. “I need to process all of this before I talk to you because I love you and I can’t say something I’ll regret or something I don’t mean,” you explained as tears spilled over your lash line.

“I understand,” he said roughly, clearing his voice right after as if he was trying to pull himself together for your sake.

“I just-” You paused, holding your breath as you attempted to swallow more tears. “I need time so I can forgive you,” you told him sadly, clenching your fist together as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’m sorry,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper.

“Please don’t apologize,” he begged, choking back a sob. “I get it, take your time,” he assured you. “I’m really sorry for doing this,” he admitted sadly. The man sounded regretful and broken, your pity for him swirling around in the whirlwind of emotions you were currently experiencing. “All of it.”

You knew that was true. You knew he still loved her. And you knew he felt immense guilt for what he did to her, you, Taehyung, your whole friend unit, but mostly her. That much was obvious.  

“I do miss you,” you assured him through a small whimper, choosing to give him the reassurance rather than responding to his apology. “I won’t be mad forever.”

“I miss you too,” he told you sorrowfully. “I’ll be here whenever your feelings change.”

With that, you ended the call, leaving Jimin alone in his hotel room. Setting the phone to the counter, you wiped your face once more before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot, pouring some into the mug you had taken out earlier.

Thinking upon your conversation with Jimin, you wanted nothing more than to scream at him; tell him what an idiot he was. But you also wanted to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that he would be ok. You were my friend first. You scoffed, thinking of his remark, though a tear slid down your cheek. You wanted to be there for your friend, but how could you be when your other friend was just down the hallway, passed out after a night of trying to numb her heartache through the use of alcohol? He caused that pain. You were right to be mad at him… weren’t you?

It was almost astonishing how things, seemingly meant to be, could fall apart right before your eyes. Things weren’t always easy for Jimin and your friend, but they loved each other. One would think that love would be enough to get them through. But maybe love isn’t enough. Maybe fate isn’t enough.

Fate. Soulmates. They’re interesting concepts. Souls destined to find each other. But the rhetoric surrounding these notions don’t suggest that you’ll end up together.

But maybe if Jimin and your friend could see past everything that went wrong, they would find something worth fighting for still. It wasn’t simple, but it could be simpler for them.  

Something also simple but not simple at all was you and Taehyung. More and more recently, you had been realizing how much you love him. Maybe you both were meant to be together too. Tied together by the fate of your souls. But seeing how things can fall apart, perhaps it’s more risk than it’s worth. Wasn’t it better to have Tae in your life in the role of your best friend than it was to complicate things and lose him? You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t let yourself.

You sniveled as you brought the coffee to your lips, making an attempt at a deep breath before taking a sip. Your emotions needed to be locked down by the time your friend awoke. However, that concern came too late as two arms wrapped around your middle, the surprise affection causing you to jump in start.

The presence of her limbs were tentative as he she carefully rested the side of her face against your back. Breathing out in a huff, you relaxed a bit. “Jesus,” you spoke softly, but your friend gave you no response. Alarm bells went off in your head as her body trembled just slightly against yours. “You ok?” You asked, setting the mug down carefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against you, and as your mind went into high alert, your heart plummeted into your gut. Immediately, you turned in her arms, wrapping your own around the back of her head, holding her impossibly close to you. Sorry?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you assured her, leaving a kiss to the side of her head on the top of her hair. “Absolutely nothing.”

“My behavior last night could use an apology,” she admitted, causing you to smile slightly though she couldn’t see it with her face buried against your neck.

“Well, maybe that,” you teasingly agreed, thinking back to the few hours earlier in which you had to drive to the club she was at because she had broken down on the dance floor. All anger, if there was any to begin with, however, had completely dissolved when you pulled up outside the establishment to find her sitting against the wall in the cold, mascara stains down her cheeks as she sobbed about how much her heart hurt. “But are you even apologizing for that?” You asked her, realizing she must have heard you on the phone with her ex.

“Partially,” she cried harder. She knew the strain the breakup had put on all four of you, and though it wasn’t her fault, she still felt guilty. You knew she did. Her heart was too soft for her to not take some sort of blame.

Allowing her to cry in your arms, you moved your hand to the back of her head as you tried to make her feel safe. “You’re gonna be ok,” you whispered to her repeatedly in a gentle tone.

After a few moments, she pulled away to look at you, your thumbs moving to her cheeks to wipe the tears away, though more continued to fall, quickly replacing them.

“How is he?” She suddenly asked you, her lip trembling as she held back a sob.

Scanning her features carefully, you debated your answer. If you told her he was ok, it would make her feel pitiful for not being ok, plus it would be a lie. If you told her he wasn’t ok, it could possibly hurt her even more. Locking your eyes on her pleading ones, you sighed. “About as good as you,” you told her simply, holding back your own tears as she broke down, your arms wrapping around her shoulders to bring her close once again.

Placing a hand back against her head, you held her to you tightly. “Why does that make me feel worse?” She asked against your shoulder, her voice muffled from your sweatshirt.

“Oh babe,” you spoke softly near her ear, a tear slipping from the inner corner of your eye. “Because you still love him.”

You weren’t sure if you should have said that, but it was true. And maybe if she heard it from you, she would face those feelings. As she cried against you, your mind raced over everything that had happened that morning already. Everyone was so broken, and suddenly your mind found its way to Taehyung. Because he was the only one you wanted to talk to in that moment. He was your comfort.

But what if you didn’t have him anymore? Two people as meant to be as Jimin and the girl in your arms couldn’t even make it work. Add in your fickleness in love, and where did that leave your odds at success with Tae? You refused to break him, and you couldn’t lose him. You just couldn’t.

Hauling your groceries through your apartment, your phone started ringing in your pocket. Rushing to the kitchen, you set the bags on the floor before grabbing the device, finding Tae on the other side of the video call.

Accepting it, you waited for his face to appear on the screen before greeting him. “Hi,” you answered in a huff, Tae immediately chuckling at your hectic state.

“Hey,” he greeted, “Are you busy?”

“No,” you shook your head, dropping the phone to the counter just after speaking the word, causing the man to giggle further. “Just got home from grocery shopping,” you told him as you discarded your bag off your shoulder and onto the countertop. Taehyung hummed in response just as you propped the phone up against the side of your bag, situating it so he could see you as you stood in your kitchen.

“Did you get anything fun?” He asked, as you scanned the bags on the floor.

“Um,” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I got those cookies you like,” you spoke through your exhale, looking at him through the screen to take in his appearance. “You look handsome,” you told him, the man smiling slightly at you as you stared at his still damp hair atop his head, giving away that he had showered recently.

“You tired?” He asked suddenly, being met with your groan as you stared down at the groceries without moving. “What happened last night?”

“Well, she went out with those friends and of course it was too soon for her to be out partying and I had to pick her up at 2 am outside of the club because she had a break down,” you ranted to him as you knelt down to begin taking items out of the grocery bags.

“Jesus,” he sighed, your eyebrows raising at his response.

“What?” You questioned defensively, piling items onto the floor as you emptied all the bags.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tried to evade your anger. “I’m assuming she’s not there right now?”

“No, she went back to her place for a bit,” you told him. “What was with the judgmental tone just now?” You pressed.

Looking up at the phone, you watched as shook his hair out with his hand. “It’s just, that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

Scoffing at him, you stood, not bothering to look at the phone as you brought some juice and a few other items to the refrigerator.

“I just mean, you deserve some rest,” he added. “A break maybe.”  

“Well I don’t get a break because your best friend broke up with mine and she’s devastated,” you said coldly, shutting the fridge door and turning back to face the device.

“He’s your friend too,” he reminded you, his eyebrows raised, causing you roll your eyes.

“I know that,” you said in annoyance. “But you don’t see what she’s going through every day,” you pointed out, feeling protective over your friend and her broken heart.

Reaching to grab a box of crackers off the floor, you headed toward the cupboard as Taehyung told you, “You really should talk to him.”

Letting out a dry laugh, you nodded to yourself. “Tae, she’s my best friend,” you reminded him once more.

“I get that, but he’s your friend too,” he repeated, causing you to sigh. “He’s going through stuff too,” he added. You wanted to scoff, but if you were being honest with yourself, your anger towards Jimin had diminished significantly since speaking to him briefly that morning.

“Well,” you thought out loud, facing the man once more. Folding your arms over your ribcage, you shrugged. “I’m sure he is but he did this,” you said, trying to remain firm in your coldness.

You were met with the sound of Taehyung breathing out slowly as his eyes stayed locked on you. “That’s not really fair, he’s hurting too,” Taehyung defended his friend.

“I love Jimin,” you clarified. “But I don’t have time to think about him when she’s at my place all the time because she can’t handle being alone in her own apartment for a single night,” you told him, staring at him as you waited for him to respond. Taehyung ran his tongue over his bottom lip as you sighed. “I know Jimin is hurting, but she is too. And it’s bad, Tae,” you told him sadly.

Taehyung sighed as you stared at him through the phone, waiting for his next words. “I know, I don’t mean to be insensitive to her. I know he hurt her, I get that. I’m just here with him and he’s a fucking mess,” Tae huffed. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted sadly, giving you a defeated shrug.

Stepping closer to the phone, you shook your head slowly. “I don’t either,” you admitted. You both sat in silence for a moment, watching each other through opposite sides of the phone, your remaining groceries still waiting on the floor.

Taehyung was the first to break the silence, asking, “What are you thinking?”

Sighing, you ran your hands over your face. “I don’t even know, I’m just-” you stopped yourself, not sure if you should speak your next words; because of the implication to you and Tae.

“What is it?” He pressed, resituating himself on the bed as he sat laid across a pillow, his head supported by his hand. “Peaches,” he said gently, causing you to relent.

“Maybe they shouldn’t have ever gone from friends to more,” you thought aloud, Tae’s silence feeling heavy on your heart as he tried his best to keep his face from giving away any emotion.

“You think?” He asked simply, his feigned indifference covering up the hurt you knew was there.

“It’s just a hard leap to make,” you explained, leaning against the counter on your elbows, holding your chin in your hands. “If it doesn’t work, this is where it leaves you.” Your eyes were glued to the phone as you watched him carefully. Suddenly, you felt angry at these fucking phone companies who couldn’t make a better camera or give you a better connection to be able to read the emotions flashing through his eyes and features more closely.

“Sometimes it works though,” he told you quietly, his voice nearly shaking, almost as if he was meekly defending himself.

A lump formed in your throat that you didn’t believe you’d be able to ever swallow, knowing you were the cause of the sadness he was feeling. “But if it doesn’t, that’s a lot to lose,” you argued, your voice faint as the emotions sat in your vocal chords.

“But it can work,” he said a bit louder than his last comment, his voice more assured as he licked his lips.

“Tae,” you sighed, cocking your head to the side just slightly. You both knew you were no longer talking about your friends’ experience with moving from friends to lovers. There had never been any confirmation from either you or Taehyung, but sometimes it seemed as though there was an unspoken understanding of how you both thought of each other.

“Look at Jin,” Taehyung countered, pointing to the fact that Jin and his old friend had successfully added romance to their relationship over a year earlier. “They’re doing really well, they’re happy.”

“Tae,” you called out to him gently, attempting to swallow as your eyes shined with emotion. When he responded with his silence, his sad eyes scanning over your features carefully, you chewed on your bottom lip as you attempted to hold in your emotion. “It’s a lot to lose,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “It’s everything to lose,” you added, blinking a few times as Taehyung looked down to the bed and began picking at the comforter. A few seconds of silence went by and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you suddenly exhaled, feeling breathless and tired. “Dearest,” you addressed him softly.

“No, you’re right,” he said half-heartedly, keeping his eyes directed downward. “It is everything to lose,” he agreed with a small nod, looking up to you.

“Everything, Tae,” you emphasized, hoping he would recognize that he was everything to you.

“You really should talk to Jimin,” he changed the topic, his tone stronger as he seemed to easily move on from your unspoken confessions. Inhaling deeply, you nodded slowly, standing up straight before moving back to the groceries. Trying to shake yourself out of the conversation that just took place, you spotted the cookies sitting on the floor.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied before reaching for the package. “I’m not gonna save you any of these,” you teased, holding them up for him to see as his lips spread into a mildly amused grin.

“Well I didn’t save you any of the waffle so it’s only fair,” he played along, both of you pushing aside the tension between you both once more.

You would think about talking to Jimin, you meant that. But it would be hard to think of anything but Taehyung.  

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you sighed deeply as you tried to muster up some courage. Lowering your digit to the phone screen before you could change your mind, you nervously raised the device to your ear.

The rings were deafeningly loud as you awaited the answer, running your hand through your hair and chewing on your bottom lip; nervous gestures.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted suddenly, his voice appearing breathless as if he rushed to the phone.

“Why’d you do it?” You asked him, skipping greetings and pleasantries. A moment of silence encased the phone call before Jimin sighed.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore,” he said, a sob following the words as if he had been sitting on the edge of a break down for days; weeks. The confusion and heartbreak in his tone shattered your heart, filling you with guilt for evading his calls and texts for so long. “I don’t know if there was even a valid reason and I regret it so much.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” you admitted, thinking back upon their relationship and what they had revealed to you.

“Me either,” he barely spoke through his cracked voice. “I don’t know, it’s like, as secure as we made each other feel, it was like we could never fully rid ourselves of our own insecurities,” he explained through his cries. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” He asked as he held back tears.

“Oh Jimin,” you sighed, realizing what drove them apart. And suddenly, you had the urge to wrap them both up in hugs because in an instant, there was nowhere to place the blame you were previously placing on Jimin. It was both their faults, and also no one’s fault. Jimin had made the wrong move, your best friend didn’t make enough moves, and yet they were both just victims to their own intrusive perceptions of themselves.

“Our own shit just got in the way and-” he let out a harsh breath. “When I sent the text I immediately regretted it and I was just trying to convince myself that it was for the best,” he sniffled. “And I was about to take it all back and beg for forgiveness, fuck, I was thinking about leaving tour and coming back to her so we could fix whatever the fuck was causing all of this shit between us,” he paused as his cries took over.

“Why didn’t you take it all back?” You asked him.

You collected up the patience as you gave him time the time to think back on the breakup. “All of a sudden, she just stopped fighting,” he said sadly. “We were always fighting for each other, and she finally stopped. And I don’t know, I think it kind of cemented the idea that I did the right thing. It hurt, and it felt wrong, but she accepted the breakup and gave up.”

“Fuck, Jimin,” you held back your tears at the defeat in his voice. “She didn’t stop fighting for you, she just didn’t have enough fight left in her to take on your insecurities any longer,” you told him.  

“What’s even the difference?” He asked. “Whether she stopped fighting willfully, or whether I took the fight out of her,” he scoffed, “I became too much for her.”

“I don’t think you could ever be too much for her,” you assured him. “Look, do you want me to speak to you compassionately or truthfully?” You asked, the question being met with a dry laugh.

“You’re always compassionate, but I want the truth,” he told you, you nodding though he couldn’t see it.

“You fucked up,” you told him, “but also I don’t think this is entirely your fault,” you quickly added. With a sigh, you thought out loud. “How do I word this?” you pondered. “You two are two of the most incredible people I’ve ever known and yet, you guys can’t fucking see it.”

Jimin scoffed, making you roll your eyes. “I said I was speaking truthfully, so just listen to me and try to actually hear what I’m saying for once,” you told him, the man agreeing to listen by giving you his silence. “You see how incredible she is and that makes you insecure because you don’t see yourself living up to what she deserves. And it’s the same for her, she doesn’t think she can be what you need and what you want, despite you assuring her constantly that she’s everything to you. And that holds you both back from being exactly what the other person wants,” you paused for a moment, letting the words permeate Jimin’s brain. “If you two could just be who you are and give each other that version of yourselves, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” you explained to him. “She fell in love with you, she just wants you.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the pained understanding echoing in his single expression. “But I fucked it up, I hurt her and I don’t think we can fix it this time.”

“I truly do not understand how you can be so wrong about this all the fucking time,” you groaned. “She is in love with you,” you told him, enunciating the words carefully. “You hurt her, and you hurt her bad, but she hasn’t given up on you,” you told him. “Whether she admits it or not, she’s waiting for you to fix it,” you informed the man. “So fucking fix it. Stop holding yourself back and just be happy, Jimin.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Be happy,” you interrupted him. “Stop being so idiotic and just fight for your happiness. Fight for hers,” you begged him, frustration over both of your friends’ moronic actions getting the best of your patience. “You both deserve each other because you’re both the best,” you went on, trying to convey to the man how strongly you felt he and the girl you both adored belonged with each other.

“She still loves me?” He asked, being met with another one of your groans. “Sorry, I just, she does?”

“Do you still love her?” You asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to speak it out loud so maybe he could truly hear it.

“With all of me,” he admitted sadly, a sniffle following the words, allowing you to visualize the tears running down his cheeks in that moment.  

“Do you really think that’s one sided?” You asked him.  

“I really don’t know,” he admitted, a small sigh leaving your lips.  

“It’s so simple but you guys make it so complicated,” you complained, the man giving you the slightest chuckle in the form of a single exhale. “You both lost the fight, but you didn’t lose the fight for each other, you lost it to yourselves. Does that make sense?” You asked.

“I think so?” He said, thought it came out as a question.

“You guys were defeated by your own insecurities. It’s not like you chose to give up on her, just like she didn’t choose to give up on you. You both just feel hopeless right now, that’s-”

“It’s not hopeless?” He asked, and despite the negative comment, there was a renewed optimism in his tone that lifted your lips into a faint smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s not hopeless.” You both sat in silence, nothing but your breaths sounding into the phone receivers. “I’ll talk to her,” you assured him. “If I get any sense that she doesn’t want you anymore, I’ll let you know and I’ll be full of apologies and you can hate me forever,” you told him.

“I could never hate you,” he scoffed.

“But if I’m right, which I know I am, Jimin, I know it,” you assured him, “then you need to find that hope and bring it back to her.”

With a sigh, Jimin agreed with a simple, “ok.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Fix it.”

“I hope I can,” he spoke softly, his voice still sad, but much less defeated than the start of the conversation.

“Hope is enough right now,” you told him.

“Thank you for finally talking to me,” he said, a hint of a smile evident in his voice.

“Thank Tae,” you corrected. “He talked me into it.”

“He really is the only one who can cut through your stubbornness, huh?” He asked teasingly, you chuckling lightly in response.

“I guess he is,” you agreed.

“Speaking of simple but making it complicated though,” Jimin noted, drawing upon your earlier words, and reflecting them back on you and your relationship with Taehyung.

“Tae and I aren’t complicated,” you negated Jimin’s observation, only to be met with a disbelieving laugh. “We aren’t,” you remained firm. “I know it seems complicated but, when it comes down to it, it’s the simplest thing ever.”

“Ok, break it down for me then,” Jimin asked for your elaboration. “How is it simple?”

“Because at the end of the day, we just love each other. So much so, that we’ll do anything to keep one another in each other’s lives,” you explained. “And that makes my relationship the simplest, easiest relationship I’ve ever had.”

Jimin hummed in return, thinking over your words. “That does sound simple, I guess,” he agreed. “But are you happy?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the question. Were you? Were you fulfilled with Tae’s role in your life as you went and dated other people, finishing each escapade craving for more, anxious for the night to be over so you could call Taehyung and hear his voice as he expressed whatever was on his mind? The truth was, no one was or ever would be Taehyung. No matter how great they were, no matter how smart, kind, funny, genuine they were, they would never be him. But Taehyung was in your life, and maybe that was enough. So, were you happy? Turns out that’s the most complicated question you could have been asked.

“This isn’t about me,” you told Jimin with a small smile.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you happy?”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said assuredly. That was true, for sure.

“But is that happy?” Jimin pressed, causing you to sigh in annoyance.

“It’s happy enough,” you told him. “But one of us has to be happy, right?” You turned it back on him.

Jimin breathed out your name, but you dismissed him. “This is about you right now,” you told him. “If you fix things on your end, then we can entertain a discussion about my happiness, ok?” You asked him, though it wasn’t really a topic up for debate which he understood.

“Deal,” he agreed with a light chuckle.

Happiness, you thought. What was it? You were sure it was different for everyone. Just as you were sure it comes from many different sources. For you, though, your main source of happiness was seeing Taehyung smile. His happiness mattered most in terms of your relationship. And if he was happy being your friend and having you as his, then you were happy. Happy enough.

If he wasn’t happy… well, something would have to be done about that.

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[sokkabeifong]

Can you write some tokka angst 🙏

ofc I can anon and IM SORRY THIS IS SO LATE but better late than never I guess. this is set in modern times because modern times are fun to write for tokka okay? a bit longer than usual but the more angst the better am I right

Toph had promised Sokka that she’d go to the hospital when it happened, so that’s exactly what she’d done. She hadn’t promised that she’d actually get anyone’s attention. Or check in. Or ask for help.

Although… the contractions were getting more insistent, and she doubted the medical staff would leave her alone if she stripped off the stupid maternity pants and just squatted down right there on the lobby floor.

With a heavy sigh, she waddled her way over to the nearest front desk. Spirits, she hadn’t been in a hospital in years. She wasn’t even sure what the different branches and buildings and desks were all for. But there was no way that she was giving birth at home. Katara was in medical school, sure, but she wasn’t done. And Toph wasn’t about to risk her life and her child’s life for a “practice trial.”

Still, there was something unnerving about the hospital, with its stuffy feeling and too-squeaky floor. It feels clean, clean in a way that you can just sense. She didn’t need sight to tell her just how antibacterial this place was.

A pinging, traitorous part of her wishes that someone was here with her, that she didn’t have to do this alone. But it was her own stupid pride that had taken a cab all alone in a Wednesday night, and the only person she truly wanted present was somewhere she could never get him back from. She’d promised him before he died that she would go to the hospital if she felt even the slightest change. He wanted her to be safe, he said.

And now, of course, Sokka was dead and gone while she was here, swollen belly stretching out her sweater and maternity pants. As much of an annoyance as labor would be, getting the thing out of her was going to be a blessing. She’d spent too long unbalanced and vulnerable to attack.

“Can I help you?”

Toph was broken out of her musings by the question from someone sitting at the closest desk. She turned her head to where she hoped the person, a woman by the sound of it, would be.

“I hope so,” she smiled, falling back into a generic cover ID face. “I should probably see a doctor.”

“All right,” said the woman. She heard the clicking of nails on a keyboard, then something sliding across the desk. “Why don’t you take one of these forms, fill it out, and bring it back here?”

“Can’t ,” she said shortly. “I’m blind.”

“No worries.” The woman clicked her pen open like she had blind pregnant ladies come into the ER every day. Who knew - maybe she did. “I’ll ask you the questions and you answer, okay?”

“Okay.” Toph winced as another contraction hit her. At least the protruding baby bump gave her something to lean against. She made sure to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as the woman began questioning her, just as Katara had instructed her to do. I’m a few hours, the whole thing would be over and then - she bit her lip and redirected her thoughts.

She wished Sokka was -

She redirected that thought, too.

“Reason for your visit?” the woman asked, yapping the pen against the clipboard.

Toph waited a moment before she turned around yet again, because she was in the middle of another contraction and couldn’t decide whether she’d rather scream or just go ahead and kill the lady.

“My contractions are about eight minutes apart,” she said.

The lady blinked once and then repeated, “They’re eight minutes apart from each other? So you’re in labor. Are you in active labor?”

Toph smiled sweetly. “Are you asking me to stick my fingers down and see whether or not I’m dilated to seven centimeters?”

To the woman's credit, the crudity didn't seem to faze her, and she plowed ahead with, “Ma’am, this is the ER. We’re not equipped for a birth. I’ll call you a wheelchair immediately, and we’ll get you up to Labor and Delivery. Trust me, it’ll be faster than checking in here and waiting for a transfer.”

“Where’s Labor and Delivery?”

“Fourth floor, and I -”

“I’ll just walk over there. It’s fine.”

“Ma’am, I really must insist. You’ve technically checked in—” she waved the yellow paper “—and you’re our responsibility now.”

Toph leaned heavily against the counter and deftly snatched the page out of the woman’s hand. At least her coordination was still functional.

“There. Now I didn’t check in, and I’m my own problem.”

“Ma’am, please. You’re in no condition to go wandering the hospital, whether you take that against your pregnancy or your eyesight. Let me just call someone to wheel you over.”

Luckily for the woman, another contraction rendered her unable to give a snappy retort. She waited for it to pass, quietly, quickly, then faced the lady once more.

“Fine,” she said tightly. “Fine. Fine.”

“Thank you,” the lady said, obviously relieved. Apparently she did not deal with stubborn blind pregnant women on the daily.

By the time she had been put in a wheelchair and taken through the long halls and winding corridors to Labor and Delivery, Toph had managed to calm herself down. Not because the situation was in any way calming, but because she’d stressed her body and mind out enough that she’d fallen into full-blown mission mode.

Which was fine. It’d probably be easier to give birth with that attitude.

“Well, you seem pretty together, Toph,” the nurse gushed as she checked in yet again at the front desk. “We’ll get you back as soon as possible. For now, if you can just take a seat in one of those chairs, and listen for your name.”

Toph let her real self fade into the background, giving over control to the five other women sitting in the waiting room, and promptly closed her eyes. If she was going to be in pain, she might as well rest while she could.

-

The calm blind girl out in the lobby was already a topic of discussion.

It wasn’t completely unheard of for someone to come in alone. Life was weird and sometimes people gave birth without anyone they knew to help them through the experience. But this girl? The calm young girl with ebony in her hair and in her eyes wasn’t any of the typical stories. She was clean and put together. She was calm and young and looked like the kind of person who would have a dozen friends by her side, even if the father of the child was no longer in the picture.

And yet, there she sat. First in the waiting room and then in her hospital room.

Alone.

Moreover, Miss Toph Beifong had claimed on her paperwork that her contractions were now five minutes apart. However, she was sitting too calmly for that. In fact, the nurse had sat with phone in hand and timed out more than ten minutes, and the girl hadn’t moved once. She’d sat there calmly. No wincing, no cursing, no crying.

It wasn’t until the nurse pulled the woman back and got down to take a look that anyone believe the claim at all.

"Shit,” the nurse murmured.

The doctor startled and glanced up to see if Toph had been offended by the curse. Fortunately, the girl seemed more concerned with how many fingers she had, and didn’t seem to have heard.

“What?” the doctormurmured, more quietly.

“Her cervix is nine centimeters,” the nurse answered.

“Shit,” the doctor echoed.

-

By the end of it all, Toph had decided she did not like labor. She’d made that decision before she began crowning, and nothing that followed did anything to change that. While she had experienced worse pain in her life, she had never experienced that kind of pain.

She had once spent four straight hours being absolutely crushed by a girl at the gym and, at the peak of labor, she was pretty sure she’d trade out that experience for her current one.

Nevertheless, she didn’t scream. She screwed up her eyes and doubled her body up and flexed her fingers. Tears leaked from her eyes from the sheer stress of it all. But her lips remained tightly closed. The skin around them grew white from where she bit them between her teeth, and the nurses were afraid she’d draw blood.

One well-intentioned nurse had advised that she just give in and cry out.

Toph had rolled her eyes, widened her legs, and pushed again.

In the end, nature was inevitable. Toph had always had someone to remind her to take good care of her body, so the whole experience was over in a few hours. She collapsed back against the wet bedding. There was sweat and blood and who-knew-what all over her, and she’d probably never feel clean again.

There was screaming in the background, and her eyes finally focused on the small infant being washed by the hospital staff.

Then her view was cut off by the ring of congratulating nurses.

“It’s a beautiful girl. Do you have the name ready for her?”

“Call it Toph, for all I fucking care,” Toph murmured, too quietly for anyone to make out. She turned over on her side, away from the child, and shut her eyes tight.

-

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in her sleep, Toph was awoken by the small mewing sound coming from her bedside. She sighed. She’d tried to have the baby whisked away to some far-off nursery where she wouldn’t have to ignore its presence, but apparently the hospital didn’t “do that anymore.”

Spirits, she felt so empty. Tired and empty and drained.

Deciding she could avoid it no further, Toph feels her way to the other side of the bed. The hospital is quiet, and she can’t even guess what time it is. Probably late at night. She waddled over to the bassinet, and the mewing became a full-fledged scream.

She jumped. The baby continued screaming, but less so, as if it hadn’t realized anyone was there. She found herself reaching down, feeling the child, the blankets, so afraid she would drop it or break it or… worse. For a moment she hesitated.

This is your baby, she thinks. You’re allowed to pick it up. It’s yours. And his. You can pick it up.

Her. She could almost hear Sokka’s voice echo through the room, reminding her that their child wasn’t an it. The thought made her smile.

Slowly, carefully, as though her life depended on it, Toph lowered her arms around the tiny, tiny baby and lifted her up. The baby stopped bawling and snuggled against her mother’s chest.

“Hello,” she said stupidly, like the kid could respond. But her mouth kept moving. “Um. Uh, my name’s Toph. I’m your - Spirits, I guess I’m your mom now, huh?”

The baby gurgled, her lips curled like she might cry again. Toph hurried to keep talking.

“Oh, God, um. What else, what else… uh, you have a bunch of aunts and uncles,” she said. “They’re all gonna help raise you. They’re annoying sometimes, but they mean well. You’re our first baby, you know.”

Our. The word made Toph close her eyes for a second. Try as she might, there would be no more “our.” There was only “she.” The “our” in her partnership was long gone. How was she supposed to tell her child that?

She decided to start with the basics.

“Your daddy was so brave,” she whispered. It hurt to talk about Sokka in the past tense, but she kept going. “He was so, so strong and brave and I just know he would have loved to meet you. He already loved you, you know. He wanted to meet you so bad, kid. He just never got the chance.”

The baby blinked, her eyelids heavy like hearing about the father she would never meet was too much for one night. Toph wholeheartedly agreed and set her down in the bassinet once more, making sure she was secure before plodding back to her own bed and face-planting on the blankets.

The nurse had told her the baby’s eyes were blue. She let that thought sink into her heart before drifting off to sleep.

[kikilefangirl]

New Light

Barry Allen x Reader

(Quick Note: Happy Inauguration Day! After all the craziness and stress four years in the making, I wanted to write someone as kindhearted and sweet as Barry Allen.)

(Word Count: 1837)

“I’m on my way, Felicity, my train was running late—“

A hard shoulder slamming into your chest cut you off mid sentence and knocked you all the way to the hard ground.

Between the roar of trains coming in and out of the platform, shuffling footsteps, and your friend’s worried yelling through the phone, disoriented was a nice way of putting it. Your still head was spinning as you stumbled to your feet.

“Oh my, oh my god, I am so sorry—let me, uh— and you’re...already...up.” He rambled.

So it was a man who ran into you. And he was going on and on nervously as he picked up your fallen items. He had a thin build and dark hair, but you could only focus on his clumsy hands and apologetic eyes.

“It’s totally fine, just be careful next time.” You joked and pushed your braids away from your face.

The man rose to his feet and held your phone and purse out towards you. As you took them and gave him your best smile. There was something about his absentmindedness that was kind of charming and intriguing.

“I, uh, um...Barry Allen. I’m Barry Allen....Barry is my name.” He said.

You held in your laugh for fear of flustering him more and settled on a curious gaze. Barry wiped a hand on his back pocket and offered it to you.

“Nice to meet you, Barry. I’m Y/N.” You replied as you shook his hand.

You decided to omit the Queen part of your name, for now. Barry seemed sweet and genuinely interested in you. Having a dead father, a brother back from the dead, an out of control sister, and a mother on trial for mass murder tended to scare away any potential partners. You shifted your weight.

You had to get going sooner rather than later, but not wanting to let Barry go just yet, you took out a pen out of your purse and wrote your number on his palm.

“Try not to mow anyone else down today, and maybe give me a call if you're still in town, Barry.” You told him.

He stuttered through a response and turned a bright pink. You nodded with a smile and promptly walked off to your awaiting car.

“Barry Allen.” You repeated his name out loud once inside and heat built up in your cheeks. You hoped he’d call.

...

Oliver was waiting in his office for you when you walked up to the entrance of Queen Consolidated.

Pushing through the glass doors, you didn’t spare a second thought on the curious stares people sent you, you had spent your whole life getting them. A ping on your phone made you smile as soon as you saw it.

Sorry I ran you over earlier...I don’t really know places to go out here, but I could find somewhere if you still wanted to go out with me?—Barry Allen (from the train station, sorry again!)

A warm, bubbly feeling took over your whole body. Barry gave you a feeling you had rarely experienced: he was genuinely good. You needed some positivity in the midst of your chaotic life.

Before you could reply back, a woman’s voice and body stood in your way. You had only made it to the front desk.

“Excuse me—“

“No unauthorized personnel, here.” She explained.

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you looked up from your phone. Tons of other people were free and clear to pass by, but of course you, the black girl was stopped. Clicking your tongue, you tried to move past her.

“Do you have an ID for Queen Consolidated? If you don’t I’m going to have to ask you to leave before I call the police.” She said.

Bullshit.

“My name is Y/N Queen. Move.” You sniped. You were already running late as it was, but today of all days a white girl just had to try you.

“I’ve never heard of you. I’m calling the police.” She threatened. Her hand was already on the buttons. You huffed. What had started as an annoyance had escalated into full blown danger.

You quickly dialed your brother’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“You’re late, Y/N.” Oliver chastised from the other end.

“Actually, I’m downstairs being blocked from the elevator, in a building we own, and a company we have shares in. Get down here, now.”

For a few tortuous minutes, you stood there waiting at a stalemate. The security was bounding down the steps; they were big men in dark suits and earpieces.

You ran your tongue on the roof of your mouth, a mix of anger and fear and shame. Oliver wasn’t supposed to bail you out. You were just as much a Queen as he was and should’ve had the same access as he did. You ground your teeth and folded your arms.

You were relieved when the elevator dinged and Oliver stepped out of it.

His eyes widened in surprise for a split second, before the realization of what was happening sunk in. To anyone that didn’t know him, Oliver might have looked calm. But the clenched jaw, pulled back lip corners and the way he furled and unfurled his hands as he adjusted his suit said otherwise.

“Who told you that you could physically block and try to remove my sister from the area?” He said with a straight face, staring directly at the woman.

You smirked as she stumbled through a range of bullshit excuses and ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Queen’ over and over again to no avail.

Oliver protectively ushered you into the elevator, but before the doors could close you yelled, “Might wanna see who’s hiring!”

On the way up, you brushed off Oliver’s questions and concerns. You had lived your entire life black, this was nothing new to you. But after five years away, it probably was to him. You weren’t a teenager standing by his or your dad’s side anymore.

“I’m fine, Ollie. Drop it, please.” You pleaded.

“That woman was going to call the police on you, Y/N.” He continued, still bewildered.

“I get that being on that island wasn’t your fault, but I’ve held my own as a black woman for five years without you or dad. Things like that are just a part of the package.” You explained.

As the two of you stepped off the elevator, you softened when he gave you a long hug. It was his apology, and you leaned in, accepting it. Five years was a long time away.

“I only came by to check in on you. With the break in and all, plus Mom’s party tonight...” You trailed off.

Oliver offered a small smile as the two of you rounded the corner. You blinked in surprise when you saw none other than Barry Allen talking to Felicity. Your mood instantly brightened.

“Barry!” You called out. At the sound of his name, he saw you and fell flat on his face. Clumsiness was becoming a theme between you two. You hurried over and helped him up.

“I’m so sorry!” You exclaimed, but Barry stared at you, confused. You held Barry’s full attention as if no one else was in the room. It was refreshing, really.

“Hi-hi again, Y/N...What are you doing h-here?” He asked. You held Barry’s full attention as if no one else was in the room. It was refreshing, really. Too bad Oliver had to ruin it.

“Barry, how do you know my little sister?” He said it, more than asked it.

Oliver gave Barry an icy glare. The threat in his voice may have had an effect on everyone else, but it made you roll your eyes in annoyance. He just had to add the little sister part. Barry straightened up and swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the process.

Damn it, Oliver. You two were very hot and cold lately and it bothered you to no end.

“I met him this morning, Ollie, mind your business.” You snapped. You turned back to Barry and smiled.

“There’s a party at our house tonight, you should drop by if my idiot brother doesn’t kill you first. Text me for the address.” You declared. Your eyes burned with defiance as you stormed off, matching Oliver’s mood. You guessed you really were siblings.

As you left, you hoped Barry would show.

...

The annual Queen family Christmas party was honestly, the most awkward two hours of your life.

You, Moira, Thea, and Oliver stood in an almost empty living room. The only guests seemed to be the caterers. Barry hadn’t texted you, either.

“Maybe...people got lost on the way.” You offered. Moira smiled at you and patted your shoulder.

“Thank you, dear, but we all know the real reason. Nobody wants to be seen with the likes of me.” She said. She was right. You shot her an apologetic look and handed her another drink.

Oliver took the opportunity to whisk you away from your mother and sister, “Y/N, help me with the drinks, please.”

You obliged without protest. You had already been stood up by half the city and Barry. Family really was all you had.

“What, Ollie?” You asked in an exasperated tone.

“I know that you took on a lot, while I was on the island. And I know that being the oldest wasn’t easy, especially for you in the public eye. I read the tabloids.”

Oliver’s admission made you a little teary eyed. He was the first person in the family to truly consider you family. He was your big brother. He caught up on all of the horrible headlines and rumors that swirled about you after the news broke about the Queen’s Gambit.

“Which is why I invited someone special, tonight. For you.” Oliver said. You raised a brow in confusion.

“I’m not that great over text.” You turned around and your mouth dropped open a little. It was Barry, in a really nice suit looking finer than ever. You gave him a hug and he took your hand.

“I’m also not a great dancer, I’ll try not to step on your toes.” He admitted. You led him to the dance floor and nodded to the musicians.

“Don’t worry about it. There isn’t much of a crowd to judge you.” You joked.

You and Barry swayed to the music, talking and laughing the whole way through. Barry Allen, you found, really was the ray of light you needed in the moment. The past few months were some of the hardest in your life, filled with dark moments and uncertainty.

As Barry held you and told you corny science jokes and yes, stepped on your toes once or twice, you realized you had never met anyone as sweet and as kind as him.

When the night was over, you couldn’t help but look forward to the next time you saw him.

[mtherhino]

One side, two lives

Chapter twelve

You should be thanking me

First Previous Next

Warnings: talk of anorexia, self hatred, lot of swearing, swords, a bit of blood and general angst

Virgil yawned as he walked out of his room. He had finished beating Remus in super Mario carts a while ago and had decided to take a nap. As soon as he left his room his anxiety shot up. The former dark sidegriped his chest and leaned against the hallway wall to keep from falling down. He didn’t know why but he suddenly felt like he was on the verge of having a panic attack. He took a few deep breaths to try to calm himself down and not hyperventilate.  

Once he calmed himself down enough to actually stand he started walking to the living room. He saw Patton sitting on the couch looking upset and Logan sitting at the dining table with annoyance written all over his face. Virgil didn’t know what to do. He had never been that great at comforting people and he didn’t even know what happened in the first place.

The former dark side looked back over at Patton again who was mumbling to himself and had a fairway look as he stared at the floor.  Virgil couldn’t make out what he was saying but he heard the words “right “ and “wrong” a few times. In the end Virgil decided it would be better to try to talk to Logan rather than Patton, at least that way he couldn’t  figure out what happened to make everyone upset and Thomas’s anxiety spike so suddenly.

The  anxious side walked over the table and sat down. Logan looked up and Virgil gave him a confused look, the meaning was pretty clear, ‘what the hell happened?’ The logical side sighed and put down his book. He explained everything that happened during and after the wedding, making sure to keep his voice down the whole time. Although he tried to tell the story without any biases a bit of annoyance and anger slipped into his voice when he told Virgil about the others skipping over what he had to say.

When he finished his explanation Virgil didn’t know how to feel. He knew it was wrong what Roman had said to Deceit, even if he does hate the despicable snake, and he defiantly needs to apologies, but that doesn’t excuse the others behavior. Roman was trying to do what he thought was right, though his decisions may have been pretty bad he wasn’t trying to make all this shit happen, plus’s all of them had decided that Thomas would go to the wedding. Not only that but they all should have listened to Logan sooner, maybe they couldn’t have avoided some of this.

Not being able to think of anything to really say the purple clad side sighed tiredly. Logan nodded in agreement.

“That’s, that’s defiantly not good, any of it. I’m sorry you were talked over, I should have been there –“. Before he could finish his sentence Virgil was cut off.

“I mean no offense by this but I think it was a good thing you weren’t there. There was enough chaos as it was having anyone more there would have just added to it.”

           Virgil went to argue but stoped himself. He knew deep down that Logan was right but that didn’t make the feeling of guilt and fear that was rooted in his mind go away.

“Thanks Logan. Now that I have all the fact I think I’ll go talk to Patton about all this. This was really helpful.” Logan smiled a little at the praise as Virgil went to talk to the father figure of the mind scape.

           Virgil sat down on the other side of the couch from Patton who still had a faraway look in his eyes. The anxious side’s eyes softened, the description of Pattons panic attack didn’t sound good, and he wasn’t even there for it to see how bad it really was.

“Hey Pat.” The moral side looked up when he heard his name and seemed to be surprised to see Virgil next to him. Once he realizes it though he quickly put on a clearly strained d smile and sat up a bit more, putting on his “cheery” attitude.

“Oh hey kiddo! I didn’t hear you come in! What’s up?” Patton said with a smile. Virgil continued to look at the fatherly side with a sad expression.

“I heard about what happened today.”  Patton’s smile faded into a look that wasn’t quite readable until it was replaced with a much sadder smile.

“I see. I’m sorry if we caused you any stress kiddo. Me and the others just had a…. disagreement on what was the right thing to do.” Patton tried to explain.

           Virgil hummed and offered Patton a side hug. The moral side leaned into the hug and Virgil tried to comfort him. Just as the anxious side was about to say something all three light sides heard running coming from the hallway. The yellow clad dark side stoped in the entrance of the hallway, distress written on his face. Patton stood up and quickly walked over to deceit Janus.

“Janus whats wrong?”

“I most certainly wouldn’t like to know if any of you have seen Remus. I definitely “can” find him in the dark side of the mindscape.” The lying side said, worry dripping form his words.

           Logan’s head shot up when he heard that, finally putting down his book and walking over to Janus, a concerned look on his face. It slightly surprised Virgil how worried the logical side looked, usually he showed as little emotion as he could.

“No I haven’t even seen him today, which is odd.” The logical side mumbled out the last part, confusing the others in the room. “Are you sure he isn’t in the imagination?” Logan said with a concerned frown.

           The deceitful side shook his head.

“He “wouldn’t” have told me if he was going.” Janus said with sad and slightly guilty eyes. Virgil wasn’t sure why they held guilt in them but he decided it was about time he joined the conversation.

“I was playing Mario cart with him earlier today but that was at least two hours ago.” The anxious side said as he stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets, not liking the fact that the others where now looking at him. “He was acting like his normal Remus self at the time so I don’t know what could be wrong.”

The sides took a minute to ponder what could have happened. Out of know where a dark and ominous aura took over the room. Janus summoned his cane as soon as he felt it and the other prepared themselves for whatever was too come. Virgil watched in awe and horror as the room changed around them.

The warm tan colors on the wall shifted into a dark grey that had bits of gold speckling the color. The curtains became long and changed into a blood red velvet fabric. Almost everything in the room took on sharp twisting edges that looked like they could belong in a castle. Lastly a throne materialize from the ground at the back wall of the  room, the perfect place to survey everything. The throne was a dark black that seems to soak up any light that touched it. The back and seat had some maroon red cushioning, gold tipped the edges of every spike, as well as right above where the head would be if someone where to sit down in the mighty chair. The room finally settled and it looked a lot more like a throne room then a living room. The sides took a minute to take in the now slightly unsettling features to the mindscape before a voice spoke up from behind them.

“Much better. The whole room was so bland, not at all befitting of a king.” An oddly familiar voice said. All the sides turned quickly to where the voice was coming form and saw a figure emerge from a cloud of mist. The figure, the side, had his head bowed so that they couldn’t see his face. Janus stepped in front with his cane in a defensive position ready to protect the others. Virgil tried to focus more on the new side and saw that had he had a golden cape trailing behind him as well as a glowing sword that he held in front of him like a cane, ready to be used if the need arises.

Virgil gasped a little and took a step back, making the others even more nervous then they already where. The reasons for the anxious sides actions where because he recognized this person in front of him. It’s him. The one I saw in my dreams, the one that kil-, Virgil shook his head trying not to think about that part of his dream. But how is this guy here? How is he even real?!

Janus was the first to say something as he raised his cane at the stranger.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” The snake like side hissed out, sounding a lot braver than he actually felt. The royal side laughed, a cruel and cold sound that made the other sides, light and dark,  stiffened. The figure raised his head and the group group gasp lightly. Because there staring right at them with the most evil look any of them had ever seen, was their friend and prince, Roman.

           Virgil was the first to speak this time.

“Roman? It that you?” The anxious side said with tears in his eyes as he took a small step forward, only for Janus to hold out an arm stopping him. Although the sides where all just aspects of Thomas, they each had little differences about there faces that made it easier to distinguish who was who, no one side could look exactly like another, not even Janus. However there stood someone that looked exactly like the creative side they all knew and cared for, all except for the side’s red and golden eyes. The side also had a black streak in his otherwise brown hair. The Roman- look-alike side barked a harsh laugh at the smaller side’s words.

           “You think I’m that pathetic excuse for a side? Your idiotic prince? Well thankfully for all of you, I’m not.” The side said with a smile. Virgil growled and was about to speak up in Roman’s defense before Logan covered his mouth. The now angry purple side turned to the logical one of the group and glared. The taller side shook his head and mouthed the words ‘just wait’, his eyes giving away that he was more than a little weary about the situation. It took a minute but Virgil eventually nodded and Logan let him go hesitantly, both turning back to the new side.

           “If I may, if your not Roman as you say, who are you?” Logan spoke up boldly. A smirk formed on the red eyed side’s farce.

“Well, Logan, I’m something a thousand times better than that stupid prince.” The side took a step forward, his word dragging behind him, while the others stepped back. “Im the most powerful side you’ll ever meet,” another step, “the true king of the imagination,” another step, the others backs hit the wall.

“And most importantly of all,” the side swung the sword forward so that it was now at Janus’s throat.

           “The new king of the mindscape.” His smile was wide and his eyes glowed a dangerous gold.

                                   “I am Pride.”

           Janus glared at the person in front of him.

“That’s impossible, Roman holds the roll of pride. He’s literally Thomas’s Ego.” The dark side said. Pride growled in anger and Janus had to admit, he was tempted to take a step back. Still the yellow clad side had to hold his ground, besides, there was nowhere to go.

“Maybe he was at one point, but for quite a while now, even while imprisoned, the roll of pride has belonged to me.” The side smiled. “Roman hasn’t done a great job of filling in for my job so I decided to come back. That fool could never do anything right, don’t you agree?” When pride said does words he looked directly at both Patton and Janus. Janus only glared at the side more, but Patton wrapped his arms around himself, lowering his head in shame and guilt. The king’s smile only grew as he saw the effect his words had on the sides.

“What do you mean it was his roll?” Virgil said while he tried to stop himself from punching the man, though he wasn’t able to stop his glare.

“Why its quite simple really.” Pride said with what would be called a charming smile if it wasn’t so sinister. “You see when creativity was split into Roman and Remus, it wasn’t quite the clean cut everyone hoped for.” Patton only cowered more as the king spoke. “Remus wasn’t pure evil and Roman wasn’t pure good. Remus not only represents intrusive thoughts but also embodies self confrontation, which can help Thomas, where as Roman is not only Thomas’s hopes and dreams, but his pride and ego which where always considered as bad things.” Pride was frowning as he spoke about what he represented being something evil.  

“That’s what Thomas and Roman where always told. That being prideful lead to selfishness and only thinking about yourself. It wasn’t long before Roman, who was still a child, started to hate this side of himself and kept thinking that if one part about him was wrong then he must be a bad person. I honestly don’t know where he could have gotten such black and white thinking from.” As Pride said this he glared at Patton, making the moral side tremble. Janus stepped between his gaze and glared right back at him. Pried rolled his eyes and continued, his sword now lowered.

“As Roman grew up his self hatred never stopped, and slowly but surely, he started to break.” The others eyes widened as they started to catch on to what pride was getting at. Pride smiled at the fear that was present in all there faces.

“Remus had tried to help his brother but to no avail, and one day, Roman couldn’t have been more than 13 years old, the young prince ran as far as he could into the imagination as voices screamed at him in his head, Remus chafed after him. The  brothers ran all the way to the tallest mountain in the imagination, the land had shifted around them to make it easier for them. When Remus had finally caught up to his brother he found Roman crying in pain and with cracks of gold littering his skin. And before he knew it, Remus wasn’t looking at just his brother, but another entirely knew side.”Pride grinned as horror made its way onto all the sides faces. This is what he wanted, for them to see what their actions cost him.

“Roman had willingly tried to split himself again to make all of you happy, except this split didn’t turn out as well as the first. There just wasn’t enough to make two whole sides from an already split creativity. Since I was only a fraction of what he represented Roman stayed himself while I became something, new. So me and Roman where still connected afterwards, the only thing was that only one of us could exist in the mindscape.” Pride frowned at the floor as his memories darkened.

“I was the first to realize it, so of course I tried to kill him. If only one of us could exist, then it was going to be me.” The king’s frowned turned into a glare and his voice became harsher. “Roman caught on quick and started to fight me, Remus was still on the sidelines not knowing what to do and who to help. I’ll admit I wasn’t the brightest back then. While we fought I yelled at Roman about how everyone was going to pay for what they did to me.” The king shrugged, but the movement held much more anger then he thought it would.

“I would say I was right to be angry. I mean I was only created to be thrown away. Unlike Remus there wasn’t anything good that I represented. I was just the thing that everyone hated and wanted to get rid of, the thing everyone despised.” Pride turned his glare to the sides, all of them looking regretful as they found out about what their actions had caused. Good, Pride thought, they deserve to feel like shit after what they’ve done.

“ I would have won the fight if Roman and Remus hadn’t cheated. After hearing what I had said Remus had decided to help out Roman. After a while they finally beat me and my form started to disappear. They both that I was just too unstable, that I died and Roman just got his flaws back. And that’s how it stayed until recently.” The sides took a minute to take in the information.

“Wh-what happened that, that made you come back?” Patton asked, still not being able to look at Pride. Pride grinned, a mixture of joy, anger and satisfaction in his eyes.

“Well when Roman sacrificed what could have been Thomas’s big break his confidence was shattered, and since he became weaker, I finally grew strong enough to speak to him.” Patton’s eyes grew wide. Im the one that said we should go to the wedding. I’m the reason pride came back? I’m the reason where in this mess? Patton thought to himself.

“After that I helped to lower his ego and pride bit by bit, though it wasn’t very hard. I only told him things he already thought about himself. Plus Thomas was feeling so disheartened that Roman literally got sick! Ha! Honestly even if I never said a word to him I’m certain that his depression and self loathing would have done my job for me.” Pride said, chuckling a little at how simple it had all been.

Virgil felt nothing but white hot anger and sadness for his prince. This scumbag had been making Roman feel worse about himself than he already did and he took joy in it?! What kind of selfish bastard does that?! This time it took both Logan and Janus acting quickly to stop Virgil from charging and punching the royal side in the face.Pride turned to the enraged side and smiled.

“And that’s not even the worst of it. Before I even came back Roman was already suffering. He had horrible insomnia because he was worried about disappointing others by not getting his work done. And not to mention his eating disorder.” The other sides turned to Pride in confusing, except or Virgil, he simply looked broken as Pride confirmed his suspicions.

“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t know? Roman had terrible anorexia, he could barely stomach eating half the time, if he could get away with it he would skip put on eating for days. He hated how he looked and even shape shifted in front of others to make himself look skinnier.” The king smiled at the horror and sadness that was painted on the sides faces. “Once he even said to me that he only ate because he didn’t want to pass out and not finish his work. He didn’t want to dissappoint everyone.”

Pride laughed distracting the others from their thoughts.

“Today just turned out to be the last straw for him. After trying his whole life to be good and be what other people wanted him to be, being called the evil twin broke him. His only purpose in life was to be Thomas’s hero and now he wasn’t even that.” Janus dropped his cane when he heard that. He knew after the video ended that he went too far and that he needed to apologize to Roman but… he hadn’t meant to hurt him like that. A thud was heard form behind him and when the dark side turned he saw that Patton had fallen to his knees, tears pouring down his face.

           Pride ignored the fallen side and kept talking, wanting the other sides to hurt as much as possible.

“Once again Roman ran away into the imagination, except this time no one followed him. On accident he found himself right where it all began. He felt horrible for what he said to Janus and didn’t think anyone would ever forgive him. In the end Roman wished that he could disappear, spare everyone from his mistakes, so I helped make that wish come true. Your prince gave up, so I came back.”

The others let the words sink in. They had broken the prince so much he had wanted to just go away so that they would be ok. All of them had tears in there eyes at this point. Virgil did his best to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

“Where is he then. Where’s Roman, and Remus too for that matter.” Pride smiled and the room seemed to grow colder. “Honestly you should be thanking me that I got rid of those idiotic twins for you.” For a moment it seemed like time stoped. There was only silence. Then Virgil let out a cry of rage and charged at Pride. Logan didn’t hold him back this time, instead he charged with him, both of their eyes overflowing with tears.  

           Pride seemed unconcerned with the two enraged sides charging at him. He simply swept his hand to left and the whole room rotated, sending the two light sides crashing into the wall. Virgil groaned as he turned around and leaned against the wall. His noes was bleeding and he was fairly sure that he broke it. He looked over at Logan to see the logical side rubbing his head and with his glasses on the floor next to him, now broken in two. Before they could stand up a glowing sword was pointed at their faces.

“Just give up. Your friends are gone, and there never coming back.”

Wow it’s been a while. Sorry iv been gone for so long guys, school just started up again and it been hard trying to find time to just sit down and write. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this slightly longer than average chapter, I tried to put all the angst in it I could. I hope that your all on the edge of your seat waiting to find out what happens next. Well I’m going to go die now, have a good week humans, bye!

Tag list:

@lovelivingmydreams

[barricadebops]

Combeferre's mom once came home to find her son and his two best friends, tangled, sleeping in the couch, she has that picture framed next to Ferre's high school diploma.

Hi anon! I’m so sorry this took so long! Forgive me? I really loved this prompt and I wanted to do it justice.

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

Despite everything, Christmas and the holiday break surrounding the winter season had never really been stressful for Enjolras. Every year held the same routine: first Combeferre’s mother would sprint to the elementary school which soon gave way to the middle school which soon gave way to the high school he, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac would attend, and, gasping for breath, ask Enjolras if he would like to spend holiday break with their family. Right as Enjolras would open his mouth to answer the question, Courfeyrac’s mom would materialize out of the air and tug him to their side and ask him if he would like to spend holiday break at their house. Then each of the mother’s would demand to know how dare the other have the audacity to ask Enjolras to spend holiday break at her house when she knows that it’s her turn, and the fathers would passive aggressively try to nab the same parking spot to pick their son up from, and in the end, Enjolras would head home after having promised each family that he would think on it. Then, the next day, the cycle would start over again when both Combeferre and Courfeyrac latched onto either of his arms and tug, demanding he spend holiday break with him, and while he would scowl and pretend it’s an annoyance, he was never really able to tamp down the beam that would eventually make its way onto his face during the whole argument, and he knew that Combeferre and Courfeyrac too knew how much he loved it—loved feeling wanted, loved feeling like he’s part of a family even if he didn’t necessarily hold the blood relations within it, because God knew that what little he had of his family--his father--never welcomed him.

Usually, Enjolras alternated houses each holiday break, but it never stopped the arguments from occurring. 

This year would have been the same. He was gearing up for the arguments even though he knew that this year he would be spending his time at Combeferre’s house. 

But there were none. No one had to argue. There were no laughs or smiles or pretenses at being mad at each family as if they were the Montagues and the Capulets. 

This year, Enjolras spent the first day of his junior year holiday break curled up in Combeferre’s bed while his two best friends and each of their parents all stood downstairs in the living room, speaking in hushed tones about the only person who wasn’t present in the room. 

Beside the bed on the nightstand stood the few barebone possessions Enjolras had stored in his pocket when his father had finally thrown him out of the house. There laid his wallet, filled only with a few measly dollars and his ID and license, among a few other things, his phone, a pack of gum, and a granola bar wrapper. 

He doesn’t think sleep will come to him tonight. Not while the sight of the little he has left to his name stares at him, a reminder of the fact that his father believes he’s only valuable to be allowed a pack of gum as edibles when he locked the door in his face. 

Enjolras knows his father is no fool; he knows that as soon as he uttered the words “get out,” that his son would appear on the doorstep of either the Combeferres or the de Courferyacs, that they would plunge their household into an emergency situation and get him in the shower, into new clothes, into a new bed, after having some warm food—but he also knows that if they hadn’t been there for him, he wouldn’t care either way where his son ended up. 

And then Courfeyrac and his family had been called over, and here he was, shaking in bed, a nuisance, rather than be out there, discussing the logistics of the situation with everyone. 

He doesn’t think motion will come easy to him either for a while. 

The door creaks open, spilling streams of light from the bright hallway into the dark room, and he finds he has to squint to make out the distinct figure of Courfeyrac gently padding into the room and gingerly seating himself at his bedside, right beside his face. His best friend cards a gentle hand through his hair. 

“Combeferre?” he mumbles unintelligibly, wondering where he was. His mouth feels dry—like no amount of water will get rid of that sharp feeling when he swallows and his throat cries out for nourishment. 

Courfeyrac gives him a small smile. “He’s gone over to your house with his father. He’s getting your stuff.” 

Enjolras coughs. When had he been coming down with a cold? “He’s probably thrown it all away by now,” he responds, shutting his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the little he has on the nightstand. Courfeyrac cards his hand through his hair once more, and Enjolras leans in a little closer. This touch, at least, is gentle. He hasn’t felt such a thing in a while. 

“That fast?” Courfeyrac asks quietly. He nods with another cough. His friend gives him a pained look, and Enjolras knows how it must pain him not to portray his comfort through some form of touch—it’s how Courfeyrac expresses love and care, and Enjolras doesn’t want to see that look on his face, and truth be told he too wants it, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it, not like this, not in this situation—

But then, Courfeyrac comes through, like he always does, because he’s always there, he’s always been there just as Combeferre has, since they each met each other in kindergarten and decided through means of their friendship bracelets that they would always be there for each other, like the first time Courfeyrac’s heart had been broken, or the first time Combeferre failed a biology exam and started to doubt his potential to pursue his dreams of becoming a doctor, or the first time Enjolras had the courage to tell his friends about the verbal abuses his father would throw him, and Courfeyrac is there, real and solid, he’s not just an apparition, or a friend his father says simply “tolerates him,” and he’s asking him, “Can I hug you?” 

And Enjolras is nodding, nodding because he needs this, he lets Courfeyrac wrap his arms around him tight, he caves in and fists his friend’s shirt, and reality is crashing down on him, but as real as his father’s words to never come back, as real as the uncertainty of his future is, so too is the reality of his friends’ love for him. 

And if they both fall asleep like that, and Combeferre gently opens the door to the sight of his two friends curled around each other, as if the past few hours never occurred, if he joins them on the bed, then that just serves as further proof that even if the world comes crumbling down around them, at least they’ll be together, salvaging what little they can and rebuilding their own, better world.

_________________________________________

They managed to retrieve most of his possessions, actually. 

Well. His father would argue that they’re really his possessions because they were bought with his money, but Combeferre and his father wouldn’t hear of it. The important thing is they retrieved the legal documents necessary, and quite a few of Enjolras’ clothes and books, amongst various other things. 

When they finish raiding the house, Enjolras’ father asks with a sneer to leave him alone from then on. 

How ridiculous, thinks Combeferre. If Enjolras was going to start living with his family now, he does realize there’s going to have to be some legal discussion on the transference of possession of a minor, doesn’t he?

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

They’re sitting on the couch, bundled underneath a blanket while Combeferre’s parents are out dealing with the legalities of the situation, and they are watching, of all shows, Maury, and Enjolras can’t stop complaining, but Courfeyrac won’t change it, even if he loathes the show (honestly just loathes daytime television—who actually enjoys this stuff?) because there—there—there’s that relaxed, unstressed attitude he’s been trying for so hard to coax from Enjolras in the past few weeks that Courfeyrac has been staying with Combeferre’s family, trying to ease Enjolras into this new transition with as much support as he can give. 

“You… are… the… FATHER!!!” Maury screams on tv, pointing to the man everyone already knew would have been. From his position—head in Enjolras’ lap, he can see the way Enjolras’ expressions contort to one of exasperation and irritation at having to watch something so unbelievably garbage. 

“Okay, you know who the father is, now can we please watch something else?” he asks for the hundredth time. 

Reaching up, he pokes a finger in Enjolras’ cheek. “But, Enjolras! There’s a new episode starting up right after this! Don’t you want to know about…” he casts his arm around for the remote, reading the description for the next episode, “...Garth cheating on Cheryl with her friend… Helen?” 

Enjolras looks down at him, incredulous. “Courfeyrac, please.” 

“Yes, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says as he drops down on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his hands, “change the channel. There’s only so much of Kathy accusing Abigail of carrying her husband’s child that I can take.” Setting it aside on the coffee table in front of them all, he drapes an arm around Enjolras, a silent invitation. 

And when Enjolras leans in, settling his head on Combeferre’s chest without flinching or tensing up for the first time in so many days, Courfeyrac smiles.

Pouting, he pretends to be upset at the way Enjolras and Combeferre gang up on him. “Fine, then what do you say we watch—and no, Ferre, we’re not watching a Nat Geo documentary. This isn’t the time for Nat Geo documentaries.”

Combeferre looks affronted. “Fine. But that means we’re not watching Bridget Jones’ Diary again.” 

He gasps, outraged. “Excuse you! Bridget Jones’ Diary is a cult classic.” He glances back up at Enjolras. “Back me up here, Enj.” 

Enjolras snorts. “Why would I waste my time watching Bridget Jones get together with knock off Mr. Darcy when I can instead watch Elizabeth Bennet get together with real-deal Mr. Darcy? After some due insults, that is,” he ends, smiling a little. 

Sighing dramatically, he reached up to twist one of Enjolras’ curls around his finger. “All this talk of Lizzy Bennet and Mr. Darcy from you Enjolras, and yet I still don’t see you looking for your own Mr. Darcy. You’ve roasted the shit out of plenty of people. When are we going to find someone who tells you that you’ve bewitched them body and soul?”

Enjolras scrunches his nose as Combeferre shakes his head. “Enjolras ‘roasts the shit’ out of bigots in school. I doubt he’d want to go out with racist Randy from history class.”

“I thought we were deciding what movie we were going to watch, not my love life,” complains Enjolras. 

“And I’m just trying to find you a love life!” he shoots back. 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “If I’m Elizabeth Bennet, and you’re unjustly interfering in my love life, wouldn’t that make you Mrs. Bennet, then?” 

He gasps. “You take that back!” 

Enjolras smiles smugly, resuming carding his fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair. “I can think very well of another bookworm who Mr. Bennet would be,” he says with an air of superiority. Courfeyrac blushes and glares up at him, just as Combeferre breaks from looking through Netflix and goes hm? 

“Let’s get back to looking for a movie,” he mutters. 

And then—

Then—

Courfeyrac would risk his crush being exposed hundreds of times if it meant he could hear Enjolras laugh again like that, laugh after so long, after so many weeks of being so tense, so much more tense than boys their age should be. He beams as he watches Enjolras try and recover himself from his fit of laughter, and under the blanket, he squeezes Combeferre’s hand, and he smiles even brighter when as he watches Combeferre watch their best friend softly, some of the past few days’ tension dissipate, though they all know it’s not gone completely. 

But here in this moment, as Enjolras laughs, which makes Courfeyrac laugh, and in turn makes Combeferre furrow his eyebrows trying to figure out what he missed, it exists as something outside their reality. 

“You know what we should watch?” Enjolras finally manages to say when he’s caught his breath. Combeferre sees the look in Enjolras’ eyes and sighs. 

“But it’ll be the second time this month.”

Courfeyrac catches on quickly. “As if you haven’t watched the same Nat Geo documentary four times in the same month.” He casts his eyes back up to Enjolras and gives him a small salute. “I second the motion, dear leader!” 

As Enjolras bursts out into laughter once more, Combeferre heaves another sigh and begins to look through Netflix, resigned to his fate. Though, he admits it’s a rather good fate. Honestly, who doesn’t love this movie? 

Enjolras snuggles closer into Combeferre’s chest. Combeferre tightens his arm around Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras continues to card his fingers through Courfeyrac’s curls. Courfeyrac has his feet thrown up on Combeferre’s lap. All three of them burrow under the blankets as, on screen, Grandpa begins to recite the tale of Westley and Buttercup’s love story. 

_________________________________________

Unsurprisingly, it is Enjolras who falls asleep first, head heavy on Combeferre’s chest. Courfeyrac would have smiled at the sight, if he wasn’t also on the verge of falling asleep. Combeferre considers making two trips and carrying his two friends up the stairs and two his room, but his own eyes are drooping closed, and the blankets were warm, and so were his friends. 

He figures they’ll all wake up later anyways. 

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

They don’t wake up for a while. 

The movie is over and something absurd Netflix has suggested is playing, but dimly, as her son, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac all sleep on, bundled together.

Can anyone blame her, really, when Mme. Combeferre cannot resist and snap a picture?

Right now, the entire world seemed to be crashing down on those three, and on her family and the de Courfeyracs. 

But here is a moment in which they reside in this little space of bliss they have—carefree, the weight of the world off their shoulders, the weight of problems they shouldn’t have to deal with—and it is a moment worth capturing, a reminder that maybe, hopefully, soon enough, things will be okay. 

Two years later, as her son and his two best friends—one of which she had considered another one of her sons the moment she had seen him when the three were all in kindergarten—leave for university, she breathes out, looks back, and nods. 

Yes, things had turned out okay. 

Next to her son’s and Enjolras’ high school diplomas hangs that same picture—the three all snuggled on the couch. At the de Courfeyrac’s the same hangs in the living room, and as the three boys—the triumvirate, she thinks with a fond roll of her eyes—head off to their new residence at university where they’ll stay together, as they had always meant to, she knows that the framed copy she sent with her son will hang there too. 

Things turned out okay. 

[nose-bandaid]

stud.hui.o fanatic

hello!! i see that your requests are open so,,, could i request a non-romantic gender-neutral reader & hui scenario where the reader brings food to the studio late at night and convinces hui to eat and get some rest bc everyone is worried abt him? maybe with some platonic hand-holding.........? thank u so much 😖

Hui (Hwitaek) x (gender neutral) Reader - platonic fluff:D | 2.1k words

synopsis: late night phone calls weren’t uncommon when you’re lee hwitaek’s best friend, because more often than not, the man is sucked into the void known as his studio, and it’s your responsibility to drag him out of there.

a/n: hey there anon!! gosh when i say that i loved this prompt i really do mean it, so i hope that you enjoy this fic and that it’s what you were looking for:) apologies for the multitude of italicized words they just felt necessary.

=====

Your phone had to buzz endlessly for a second time to bring you to your senses. It was far too early in the morning for a phone call, and typically, you would’ve just ignored it and gone back to bed. But when you read the caller ID, you begrudgingly hit the answer button.

“Wooseok?” His name came out slurred as you tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Hi y/n, sorry to call you at this time, but Hui’s been in the studio literally all day, plus for like, half of yesterday, and we can’t get him to go home and rest. Practice ended like an hour ago, but he’s still in there.” His reply came out in a tired rush, and his voice was hushed as if he was trying to hide from someone. That someone probably being Hwitaek himself.

You caught onto what Wooseok was asking of you. This wasn’t the first time you had to drag him out of the studio. Being his best friend had many perks, way more perks that outweighed the few downsides that came along with it, and one of them was that you now carried the responsibility of kicking some sense into his overworking butt when he fell into this overloaded phase.

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” You answered without asking for any more details and bid your brief goodbyes before hanging up. Then, you got changed into some comfier clothes to match the chillier weather outside and grabbed your car keys.

It was late, and the only restaurant still open on your way to the studio was a small shop next to a karaoke bar, and you stopped by to pick up some fried rice. It wasn’t the most exciting meal out there, but for a 2am dinner run — or rather, breakfast-lunch-dinner run, if you were Hwitaek — it seemed pretty fitting.

When you arrived at the building and made your way to the studio floor, you saw the tall boy sitting on one of the benches in the hallways. He was hunched over, scrolling mindlessly on his phone and you could tell he was trying his hardest to stay awake for his leader’s sake.

You said a soft greeting as you approached him and he sent you a smile before letting a worried expression wash over him again. The door to the studio slightly ajar and Wooseok gestured for you to take a peek into the small gap, placing a warm hand on your back as he stood behind you.

“Just look at him.” He whispered, and you stared at your best friend working away on his computer, seemingly without any breaks to even think about what to do next. He simply clicked a few times, played something, shook his head, and then repeated the process all over again.

You turned back to Wooseok and began ushering him away from the door. “I’ll take care of this. I’m also guessing he hasn’t eaten much—” He nodded in agreement when you said that. “—so I brought some food with me. Go home and get some rest, I know you’re tired, just tell the others that I’ll bring him home... eventually.” You smiled reassuringly, but had to add in that “eventually” because deep down, you knew how just stubborn Hwitaek could be, and getting him out of the studio was a hefty task. Add in the upcoming planned promotions, then you get an even more stubborn version of him to work with — one that doesn’t understand the boundaries between work and self care.

Wooseok nodded slowly and your heart melted at the exhausted expression on his face. They’ve all been working so hard recently, heck, their packed schedules were a constant these days, and you could sense that it was taking a toll on them. Though no matter how tired they were, they always made sure to look out for each other, and you wanted to do your best to help ease at least some of the stress off the group. With a little more convincing, you finally got Wooseok to leave, giving him a hug before he did, and then you turned towards the task at hand. Even though the door was already opened, you knocked once to grab Hwitaek’s attention.

No answer.

You knocked again, this time calling out his name a couple times.

When he still didn’t answer, you gently opened the door all the way and let out a sigh when you fully took in his appearance.

“Hey, Hui.”

Still no answer.

You walked closer to him and leaned over to get a better look at his face. His eyes looked like they were seconds away from slumber, and his head rested on his hand like a makeshift pillow. “Hui? Hwitaek? Hui? Pentagon of Leader? Huiiiiiii?”

You placed the takeout gently next to his keyboard and then slowly nudged it so that it touched his arms resting on the table. When he didn’t respond to that either  — and opted to mess around with the dynamics of the percussion in his composition instead — you stood straight up and let out a huff.

“Lee Hwitaek!” You called boldly and for the first time that day, he took notice of your presence.

“Oh, hey y/n. Could you check if this sounds okay?” He greeted you nonchalantly as if you hadn’t travelled all this way in the middle of the night to see him, and proceeded to play an excerpt of what he had splayed out on the screen. You stood there speechless until the music finished blasting from the speakers and then just stared at his expectant face.

“Hui you need to snap out of it! I know this comeback means a lot to you and you want to get the work done but you can’t do it like this.” You told him exasperatedly.

“What do you mean I can’t do it like this? I’ve always been doing it like this, and it works every time.” He defended, and he replayed the section for you to hear, but you still refused to pay attention to it.

“You do this every time only to have one of us literally drag you out of the studio! And then you face the consequences days later ‘cause your body’s exhausted, your mind’s exhausted — don’t you think you’ll work better if you were refreshed?” You moved his hand away from the mouse when he tried to go back to work and ignore you.

“I just have a little bit left to do and I’ll finish up soon, I promise.” He muttered. It was almost as if he was entranced by the idea of never ending work hours, and Lee Hwitaek was being sucked into the void of his monitor right before your eyes.

“I’ll finish it up soon, my ass. We’ve been best friends for what? 12 years now? I know you’re lying when you say that, and I know that you’ll be sick by the time you ‘finish’ this and then you’ll regret it later. It’s the same cycle over and over again and you need to stop, please I’m begging you, we’ve been through this so many times already.” You tried to calm yourself down. Getting frustrated over his stubbornness wasn’t going to do any good, if anything, it’ll only make the problem worse. He finally gave you his full attention when he noticed that you took a deep breath to collect yourself. Taking a deep breath has always been a sign that you meant business.

And yet he still replied to you blatantly. “If I don’t finish it up all at once, I’m going to forget about it later.”

You rubbed your forehead, trying to get rid of the annoyance that was building up within you. “And then you’re going to finish that part, only to think of another idea to work on right after that. Like I said, it’s a cycle and you need to realize that. Please, I’ll give you 30 minutes to finish what you’re doing and write your notes down, and then we’re going to take a walk, no matter what you say.”

He nodded at your firm tone and quietly got back to work after muttering a small “okay”. You spent the next 20 or so minutes watching him work, occasionally feeding him spoonfuls of the rice you brought, until he finally shut everything down and turned to you to scarf down what was left in the foam container. 

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He pointed out the obvious when there was no rice left, and he stretched before getting up from his seat. You giggled when you heard his joints crack at the sudden movement.

“Geez, you really are getting old, huh? And that’s what happens when you get stuck in sitting in this chair for more than 24 hours.” You lightly smacked his head to get some sense into him. “You don’t take care of yourself and don’t realize that your body needs food.”

He rolled his eyes, giving in to your light scolding. “Okay, okay, you’re right.” 

“Sir, I am always right.”

-----

Not too long later, you were both taking a walk outside the building, entering the quiet night life of the city.

The winter air had a chill to it and you shivered a little, taking Hwitaek’s free hand into yours. He responded by squeezing it gently. 

Small physical affirmations like these have always got you through your friendships. As people who both relied on them as a source of comfort, it’s what allowed you to be as close as you were now. Though there were times where you’d have your disagreements — take the little argument you had earlier — holding hands especially, has always been what you used to remind yourselves that in the end, you still loved each other. That you were still best friends.

“I’m so proud of you, you know that?” You told him quietly.

He laughed. “What? Am I getting a pep talk now?”

Your cheeks heated at his words and you stopped walking, pulling him into a stop as well. “I’m being serious here!”

He gave you a teasing look. “I know you are, and I appreciate you always coming to take care of me. Even though I’m not in your shoes, I do know how stubborn I can get and how frustrating it must be for you guys to watch me make the same mistakes over and over again.” He let out a sigh and scratched the back of his head. “But some habits are hard to break, yeah?”

You let out a small hum in agreement. It was true, everyone had their own habits — some good, some bad — and while Hwitaek had a fair share of endearing habits, between you and the rest of the boys, his were also the most concerning. You’d all rather have him stay healthy than have him work his soul away on some songs that can ultimately, only do the group so much. And getting him to realize that was a challenge, but it was a challenge you were all willing to take.

Your walk didn’t have a set destination, and you crossed streets and changed directions on a whim, adding more thrill to your little adventure. At one point, you even stopped at one of the convenience stores still open so that he could buy himself a drink. Which ended up simply being a carton of milk after you insisted that no, coffee at 3 am is not going to help him rest at all. You allowed him to at least get chocolate milk though. And you spent your time talking about anything unrelated to his work, sharing stories that you’ve missed during your time apart.

The two of you pretended like it wasn’t the middle of the night and that you weren’t freezing in the cold because neither of you were responsible enough to have prepared layers for the weather. Because so what if it was pitch dark and the only sign of life were the lonely taxis that drove by? If the only sound joining the chirps of the crickets were your laughter and you couldn’t feel the tips of your ears anymore? Your best friend finally had the chance to rest and be himself once again, and you’d be there for him no matter what time of day it was. As long as you got to see his shoulders relax a little and his smile genuinely reach his eyes again. As long as you knew that he’d listen to you, as his best friend, and that he’d let you take care of him when you needed to. It didn’t matter how often that had to happen.

When you turned the corner back to the entrance of the entertainment building, you looked at Hwitaek and nodded your head towards the floors upon floors towering above. “You wanna go back to the studio and work for a little while longer to let me hear what you’ve got so far?”

Getting him to take a break was already a miracle, and as much as you wished he would at least spend the night resting, you felt bad for dragging him out like this. You understood that he probably worked best if he was allowed to follow his train of thoughts without disruption, as bad as that habit was.

Thinking that he would agree to your offer, you were already making your way towards the entrance. But to your surprise, he grabbed your wrist to stop you and instead gave you a relaxed smile.

“Nah.” He pulled you closer to him and slung an arm around your shoulder, leaning into it a little bit. His body was pleasantly warm against yours.

“Let’s just go home, work can wait.”

[beyoncesdragon]

title: tongue tip trip

➳ pairing: harry styles x reader, best friends to lovers trope but a bit different. 

➳ summary: Harry eats edibles and you come to the rescue...despite almost four months of no talking and zero communication. 

➳ warnings: Harry eats edibles, swearing and some fluff, it’s also fan fiction so its ✨unrealistic✨ okay, also its 1AM I wanna sleep 

➳ a/n: I love this one tbh. but please don’t do drugs children 

Jeff hardly ever called you. Even when Harry and you had still be close, him calling you was a rarity. But when he then did, you couldn't help but feel a bit worried at the sign of his user ID flashing up on your phone. This time was no exception, but besides worry there was also surprise and a whole bunch of uncomfortable memories and unsaid words. You hadn't heard from him (or Harry) in weeks. Sure, Jeff and you still sometimes texted a bit, you also were still in good contact with Claire and especially Mitch and you still got along. Harry and you...well, that was a different and longer story.

Harry and you used to be very close friends. Means, helping him what socks to choose before performing-close friends. You had met a year in Harry going solo, you a simple assistant engineer and him the highly praised Popstar. The two of you had quickly bonded over a few glasses of chilled white wine in the humid air of Jamaica and soon your friendship blossomed in the most beautiful ways. Well it did until you, obviously, started to feel a bit more for the singer. Now, that alone wasn't a problem itself, the fact that Harry knew (you had told him after a few weeks of awkward suffering) wasn't either. The problem was that Harry acted like a dick to anyone you brought around, up to the point where you seemingly couldn't ever date again. Of course Harry wasn't a straight up asshole to them, he still had a reputation to maintain, but he knew how to get under their skin. Just toying with their self-confidence and subtly making them feel like the biggest losers. Oh and, the absolute worst part, all whilst having a girlfriend himself. Which eliminated the possibility of him having feeling for you as a reason why he acted like a jerk. And that angered you more and more and it all escalated in a big, nasty and hurtful fight, around four - five months ago. Since then you hadn't talked, texted or seen each other.

It had been a big change of habit not to get up and first check the phone for messages of him, or simply FaceTime him to check up on his schedule. No spending time at cafes or at the studios with him and the rest of the team. Lucky thing you had other jobs running, on other albums and in other studios around Malibu than his.

He was currently recording music at the Shangri-La studios in Malibu, maybe ten minutes from your flat by car. Which had been described as a "lucky and obviously unplanned extra" by Harry himself, followed by a cheeky grin. You had just rolled your eyes, but secretly happy that he had cared about you being near during his writing process. But now it only left a sour aftertaste in your mouth.

With a sigh you pulled the key out of the ignition and picked up the phone. You figured you could also wait in the parking lot for a few more minutes.

"Hello?"

"Sweetheart? Jeff's here..." you hummed softly, leaning back. 

"Hello there Jeff. Everything alright?" you could hear him cough slightly, before he answered with a weird lilt to his tone. He sounded somewhat stressed out. "Yeah, everything's fine...how have you been?" you shrugged lightly, inspecting your nails. 

"Fine. Working and stuff. I guess same for you?" he was quick to agree, again with that weird cough. 

"Everything okay Jeff? Something happened?" you finally asked, tired of his obvious tip toeing around the real issue. He knew that you weren't so stupid to believe that Jeff had just called you to check up on you at five in the afternoon.

"Well not...quite. I - uh...it's because of Harry. Now, listen, I know the two of you did not part in like, the best ways but..." you couldn't help but close your eyes with a slight wince, "...but you've got to believe me, it's an emergency, kinda." You just sighed. 

"Kinda?" he hummed, saying nothing for a few seconds. "Do I need to talk to him?" you asked into the silence. Jeff was quick to say no however. "Uh...rather not, actually." You blinked surprised. 

"Rather not? Is he drunk?" not that this would be a first, Harry being drunk caller by nature. If he was lucky he then would find himself calling someone like Paul, his old bodyguard, few months ago maybe you, just not one of his exes or someone else you probably shouldn't call anyways – especially not drunk. But this time it didn't seemed to be like that, since Jeff answered hesitantly. "Not exactly, no." your frown deepened at his words, feeling slight annoyance creeping up. "Jeffrey! What's the matter? Is he hurt? In an accident? Called his ex? Called Zayn? What is it? Just tell me already!"

Jeff sighed deeply. "He's high." A relieved huff left your lips. That wasn't half as bad, wasn't it? "That's it? Little weed hurts no body, besides I would've been more concerned if he would've drank. Besides, he almost never does weed..." Jeff interrupted you quickly. "Not exactly weed sweetheart. You remember the uh, edibles I told you about, the ones we stored in the fridge..." A deep groan escaped your lips.

"Are you kidding me?" you groaned, shaking your head. "Well no. However, he accidentally bit of his tongue tip, few minutes ago." Your hand dropped from the steering wheel and smashed down and you accidentally honked, immediately getting confused and outraged looks from the cars passing by.

"He did WHAT?" you meant to hear a smile in Jeff's voice, underneath all the layers of just mild concern. "Yeah's a little unfortunate." you just huffed. A little unfortunate, if that's what they decided to call it, then fine. Nonetheless, Harry should probably visit a doctor. "Can he still sing?" you asked, somewhat defeated. The noise behind Jeff increased, you assumed that he was entering the studio again. "Hold on a sec...can you hear him?" And oh how you could hear him.

He was singing, no yelling on top of his voice, trying to outmatch the speakers that were thumping Paul McCartney's "Too Many People", though unmistakably mumbling a little. Just the sound of his voice made your heart clench in pain a little.

"Yeah I can." You mumbled, wishing for Jeff to talk over Harry's voice again. "So his career isn't in danger right? Means I can just..." Jeff sighed deeply, pleadingly. 

"Y/N, please...he needs medical care." You pouted displeased, spinning the car keys in your fingers. "And you cant drive him because...?" this time he definitely laughed. "What do you think? Harry being the only one on drugs?" you shrugged. "You don't sound like you would bite your tongue off..." he just huffed. "That's because I only had a glass of white wine, but never drink and drive..." you let out a loud laugh, starting your car. "Oh sure! And don't mix drugs with alcohol, right?" he chuckled softly. "Course not. We're that responsible, you know." you just hummed unconvinced, sighing again.

"Okay fine. I'll pick him up." Jeff released a long breath before thanking you warmly. "Thank you so much, angel...how long will you take, you think?" your eyes darted from the rear-view mirror to the road behind the parking lot, before you shifted the reverse gear again to leave the parking.

"About 10 minutes? Maybe?" you guessed, eyeing the traffic suspiciously. It wasn't rush-hour just yet, but there were still plenty of cars on the road. "Okay...oh hi Harry." You immediately tensed up, swallowing hard when you heard Harrys deep voice again.

"Who y'takin to?" Harry spoke as if he had a full mouth, trying not spit out its content. "Oh just...Y/N." Jeff answered truthfully. Harry then said something you couldn't quite understand before Jeff ushered him to go away again with the words; "She'll come in a few minutes anyways." It made you swallow heavily; had Harry asked to talk to you? You stopped the thoughts and focused on the road again. "I'll see you in five." And with that you hung up.

❦

Harry and Jeff were already waiting in front of the studio when you pulled up, Harry having a bloody cloth pressed to his mouth. They looked like father and son, right off the principal's office for starting a fight on campus. It almost made you laugh. Then your eyes met and the amusement left your body as quickly as it came. You were not ready to face him again, even after all those months.

"Thank you so much Y/N, I owe you...you good H?" Jeff asked as he opened the passenger door. "Yeh, m'fine, fanks." Harry mumbled, eyes darting up to meet yours, just to look away immediately. "We'll be back soon." You sighed, not yet ready to properly greet Harry. Or look at him, for starters. To be fair, he wasn't doing any better. "Sure. I hope he doesn't bleed on your seats." Jeff joked, well aware of the weird tension. You just shrugged, waving him goodbye. "See you in a few Jeff." Or not, but you didn't know that yet.

The ride was almost completely silent expect for the time where you asked if he was okay and he mumbled a "yeh". The radio was filling the silence and you were glad for it. The songs weren't that good at the moment, you just wanted something to be loud and talking, even if it was just the obnoxious radio host who kept cutting off the songs. That was until "Change" by RM and Wale started to play and you perked up immediately. A happy smile crept on your face as you recognised the tune. You yourself had helped with the song and you proudly acknowledged the credit they gave you. You hadn't expected it to be played over here in America, but you were happy it was. Harry had obviously noticed your change of behaviour and carefully peaked over.

"Y'know tha'shong?" you nodded, momentarily forgetting that Harry and you hadn't interacted the last ten minutes. "Helped write it. With Namjoon, aka. RM and Wale." Harry nodded slowly. "Ish Namjhoon f'om...?" he tried and you nodded. "BTS? Yeah." He just nodded again. The next second Wale already mentioned BTS in his verse and Harry huffed. "Oh."

"I've sheen - seen the pictures of you n'him." you quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, he was nice." Harry nodded again, another stolen glance into your direction. "Lishten..." he started but you cut him off. You already knew what he was about to say anyways.

"Let's not have this conversation now Harry. Please. Let's talk when there isn't blood gushing from your mouth." He nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. After all, he was glad you were up to talk, even if it wasn't just right now, but a bit later on. He had time anyways. He peaked over again, taking in the sight of you. Your hair was now longer than last time and your face somehow sharper – maybe you had lost weight. Also, there was a soft frown etched in between your brows, and there wasn't this soft glow you've always carried in your eyes. Long story short: You looked worn out and stressed, and Harry couldn't really tell if it was because you were sat in the same car as he was, or if it had to do with something else that was going on.

"How're ya?" it slowly got painful to speak, the edible was definitely wearing off now, but Harry still tried. He had missed your voice after all, it didn't matter how cold your tone had become. Just at the mentioning of that Namjoon you had sounded more like the Y/N he knew.

"I've been okay. Had lots of work...different countries and continents. S'been a busy few months." You felt unsure as how to talk to him, of you were fully honest. Should you say that you had absolutely hated working in Malibu since the fight? Should you say that you hadn't slept properly because you hated having fights with friends? Especially close friends? He probably knew anyways. Harry always knew somehow.

"I wont ask you about yourself until your tongue is patched up again, though. So you better shut up Styles." He chuckled softly, and the hint of the old Harry and Y/N relationship seemed to spark up again. The last five or so minutes were spent in silence again, but comfortable this time.

❦

Luckily Harry did not go recognised by anyone else than the Doctor. And the doctor probably only realised fully, because she asked for the name. Harry, still not fully functionable, had then looked over to you, expecting you to do the talking. Which made sense, of course, but truth behold, he had just forgotten his middle and last name. And the address of the place he was staying at (the studios) was completely wiped from his memory. He was lucky you were with him. It also turned out that he had completely bit off a few millimetres of tongue, a clean bite. You had almost gaged at those words and Harry had supressed a grin. It meant that Harry needed no stitches (apparently it was sort of possible to stitch a tongue back together), but daily check-ups and cleaning or cleansing of the mouth was mandatory.

"Check the injurie daily for changes in appearance or feel. Wounds in the mouth that are clean and healthy may appear light pink to white." She had started to almost exclusively talk to you, aware of Harry's partly delirious state, giving you all the information you needed to patch him up a bit. You nodded slowly.

"Alright. Just...how do you cleanse the mouth?" The Doctor gave you a kind smile. "Very easy. Rinse the mouth with a saltwater solution after eating to ease pain and keep the wound clean. That is very important, so the wound doesn't infect. The saltwater solution is just one teaspoon of non-iodized salt mixed in one cup of warm water." You nodded slowly. "One last thing: if the colour of the wound changes, starts bleeding again, swells up or you notice a visible deformity, immediately come back. Also, if the pain intensifies and does not improve within two hours of taking over-the-counter pain medication, such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen, have somebody call us, or better come around. That is all we can do right now."

You were almost happy when you could leave the hospital with him, especially because Harry now grew tired and needy. You weren't sure if the disappearing edible had that effect or if you had just forgotten how clingy Harry could get, but you had troubles getting him to let go of your arm and sit into the car. And your deeply hidden and buried feelings for him slowly made an unwanted comeback, and you were not quite excited for that. You should've known that they would come again, after all, you never really got over him in the first place.

Harry insisted on you staying the night. He blabbed something about risk of getting kidnapped and abused at night alone (not entirely wrong, sadly) and him not letting his friend leave at hours that late and also he apparently needed you if something happened again. He just wouldn't admit that he couldn't let you walk out the door because he feared you wouldn't come back. as if you could just do that after today. But whatever it was, you did stay. In one of the three bedrooms of the Studio you had claimed a bed, and even got some spare clothes for sleep from Claire herself. You had called her, asking for them, as they had all already left.

Just when you thought you were done for the day, teeth brushed and dressed in Claires 1975 shirt size XL, you hear a knock on your door. "Come in?" You knew it was Harry, that wasn't the part that surprised you. the part that surprised you, was that it was Harry with a tray and on that tray were cups and kettle and it smelled like camomile tea and honey. And cookies, with chocolate chips even and some grapes.

"Hi." He just whispered, embarrassment written all over his face. "Hi?" you weren't sure how to react to this but quickly patted on the bed next to you. "Wanna sit down? Or wait, sHit down, as you would say it." He giggled softly, before he nodded and carefully sat down opposite of you, balancing the tray carefully between the two of you.

"I figured it would be better to talk now in peace? If you're up to, f'course." You couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face. "Shure." You mocked his lisp and he huffed at that, swatting his hand into your direction. "Shtop it really hurt." You just rolled your eyes at him, motioning towards the tray between the two of you. "That's very cute by the way. I love camomile tea with honey." He grinned smugly. "I know." The tea steamed softly when he poured it into the cups, his brows furrowed in concentration to not spill it on the sheets. You watched him with a fond look in your eyes. You hadn't been fully aware of how much you had really missed him in all these months. Right now it felt like the feeling was overwhelming and would crush you out of a sudden.

"Everything a'ight?" Harry's concerned voice ripped you from your thoughts and you blinked quickly. Your eyes had started to water and you looked away embarrassed. "Yeah...guess I just missed you." his eyes immediately went soft, and he set the cups down on the tray. 

"I missed ye too." He said, sounding a bit helpless. You cleared your throat, shaking your head quickly. 

"Okay so what happened that day; Harry I want to sincerely apologise. What I said went too far." He just smiled softly. "I should've went first. S'my fault after all, let's not beat around the bushes. I am sh-sorry. I shouldn't've said all those things, it was truly horrible. You're not clingy, you don't ever bothered me and also, the men you brought around weren't all dicks. And yes I did ruin it purposely." He couldn't even look at you anymore, shame so obvious in his face and voice and body language. "It's fine...I could've dated anyone anyways that time." You tried softly, swallowing down the "Still can't, believe me, I tried." He just shook his head. "No, really Y/N, that was extremely hurtful and inappropriate and I was the biggest...dick to do all that. I am so sorry. You had all right on earth to walk out like that. and to call me a heartless, self-absorbed douche, I guess I deserved that...that and all the other things you called me." that did make you laugh a bit.

"Arrogant son of a bitch? That one?" he grinned softly. "Exactly that one. I uh, used that, by the way. In a song, I hope you don't mind." Your eyebrows shot up at that. "You called yourself an arrogant son of a bitch?" He nodded sheepishly. "An arrogant shon of a bitch who can't admit that he is shorry, and I quoted that." you laughed now, loudly. "Bit harsh, innit?" he shrugged, coquettishly raising the tea cup to his lips. "Heard it from shomewhere." You just hummed softly, lifting your cup as well.

A deep sigh rose your chest as you looked at him again, that bright flicker in his eyes again, that lopsided smirk he wore so well. You knew that your crush was back on fully, but right now you didn't even minded it. Harry gave you a small smile, the mischief slowly draining from his green eyes. he seemed to catch on to that shift of your emotions and carefully placed his cup down on the tray, before then carefully placing the tray on the floor and opening his arms. 

"C'mere?" you did, immediately.

And for the first time in months you could fully relax. Surrounded by Harry's scent in Harry's arm and listening to Harry's heartbeat. Completely absorbed and surrounded by everything you loved. "Sorry." You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, feeling how his arms tightened around you. "Me too. I fucking misshed you." you chuckled softly. "Misshed you too, shon of a bitch." His laughter sent vibrations through your body.

"About that Korean dude..." Harry suddenly asked, making your peak up to him. "Namjoon? What about him?" he cleared his throat. "Just...did you like, date or something?" you grinned softly. 

"Pretty sure he had something going on with a girl the time I was over there. Maybe he still has. Why? You wanna scare him off again?" he just laughed. "I don't do that anymore. I was just...curious you know. You've always had a thing for these Korean men." You grinned softly.

"Are you now talking Stray Kids or Bangtan or EXO or GOT7..." Harry groaned, "so what. You got something to say about that?" he shook his head. "Course not." You hummed. "And what do you mean, I don't do that anymore? Why did you even do it, like in the first place?" Harry sighed very deeply at that.

"I guess because...okay, promise you listen to the end and don't get upset with me too much, yeah?" you frowned, a bit mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to follow. 

"Okay? Promised."

"Alright, now...I think I couldn't just...let you be and date who you want because I am a very selfish person? I know I know, you probably think: but selfish about what and I can only confess...probably you? No, not probably, I am sure." The words were bubbling out of him as if someone flipped a switch and now he couldn't stop anymore. "I couldn't see you date someone else and...give them all of your attention. And I know, I myself was in a relationship during that time, I know, but I just...I can't describe it." Your eyes grew wider and wider with every hasty rambled sentence and your lips were slightly parted. "It was as if was...jealous, which is weird because I wasn't into you then, no offense please, I mean I had a girlfriend..." 

"Hold on, what do you mean, wasn't into you then?" you cut him off and Harry literally froze. His eyes went wide with realisation and his mouth opened, as if he would try to reply something; but there was no sound. All he could think of, was one word, all in capital letters and blinking red: fuck.

"I uh, did I say then?" you clicked with your tongue, an amused grin flitting over your face. 

"You did." A blush now covered his cheeks and he cleared his throat eagerly. You moved away from his embrace to get a better look at the man sitting in front of you. 

"You did say then. Something changed?" your tone was joking but hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm there was a flicker of something else...hope.

"I...I mean I don't...would it be like...do you still feel the same?" you didn't immediately answered, trying to process what you were hearing. After weeks of pinning and then months of not talking at all, he was confessing – or somewhat confessing – that there was a chance that he now actually liked you back? How was that even possible?

Harry however read your silence as something else than confusion and being overwhelmed with the situation. His face fell from nervous to disappointed and hurt, though he tried to mask those emotions quickly. "Which is of course fine and like, obviously you don't, I mean..." he spoke, and it wasn't entirely clear if he was talking to you or himself.

"I didn't even answer H." you mumbled, tilting your head. "Of course you di- wait what do you mean?" there was this same spark of hope in his voice as there had been in your voice. "If I told you, that nothing changed, what would that mean?" you breathed after a second of hesitation and staring into his wide eyes, filled with fear, nervousness, hope and...vulnerability. At your words there was a small smile that started to tug on his lips, like a light igniting his eyes. 

"It would mean that I...uhm, I would then shoot my shot?" you couldn't help it.

"Was that hard to say?" he blinked confused. "Shoot your shot..." you teased and he groaned loudly. "Oh hush, you are unbearable." You giggled, winking obnoxiously. "You decided to eat those edibles. Also, I am worth a shot, no?" he huffed, leaping forwards to pull you back into his arms. "Oh definitely..." you grinned up at him before your breath hitched in your throat at the realisation of his sudden closeness. Eyes flickering to his lips you just waited. But when he leaned in you cleared you throat softly, making him halt. "Before you do that...just please tell me why now." He never moved back just pressed his lips together for a second, thinking of the right choice of words. "In those month where we didn't talk, I had a lot, and I mean a lot of time to think and reflect about the whole situation. About you, about how I felt about you and your partners, how your confession had changed the way I saw or felt certain things...also, Jeff's talked a lot with me about it. The fight and stuff. And then when I saw you again I just...knew? I don't know..." you cut him off with a short nod. 

"Okay that's good, now kiss me please." He just laughed before finally, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

And your lips on his made him feel better, lighter and higher than any fucking edible could've ever made him feel.

here are flowers for u, if u rly read this ily 💐💐💐

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[blossattic]

Muak!

✦ Ignis Scientia x Carmen Mirabile . : Word count: 2507 . : Warnings: Slightly No-SFW. Romance. Spicy Fluff. Established relationship. Canon x Original Character.

Summary: Ignis and Carmen share some kisses. The special thing that differenciates each display of affection is marked by what lip product the lady is wearing, or not.

.   . . . .   . . .

✤ Bare, in the bedroom.

It was still too early.

Somedays, it would happen like that. They would wake up when the sun had not even deemed it the time to rise, the sky and indoors painted in the lightest of palettes.

It would all begin with a murmur or the hiss of shifting blankets. The sound of a smooch, a sigh or a giggle. Rustling of hair that would call upon caressing noses, before a peck came. One and other and other. It would become a competition of stealing kisses. 

The phone was ringing…

A groan would cut through the noise of their kissing. Carmen would stop him, cupping his cheek with the only intention of continuing a second longer, time that would grow as he complied…

They would roll in bed with a hint of a giggle being heard in the process. The caller ID would pronounce in monotone a name they both recognize.

“I have to answer…”, Ignis would interrupt with a raspy tone before he kissed her once more. His hand would already be moving to grab the protesting phone, making her smile in the kiss and surrender his lips in favor of a cheek.

“Carmen-”, he’ll protest kindly, amused by her intentions, so similar to his own.

“Only one.”, she calls, pressing her lips one last time before letting him go.

Ignis catches the movement of her finger coming to caress her own lips, all while she watches him move away to answer the call. The polite and even tone in his voice betrays all the rushing passion in his veins.

.   . . . .   . . . 

✤ Chapstick, for a chocobo ride.

The day is hot and the breeze, when it comes, it’s refreshing. They’ve been crossing the valleys, mounting happy and eager to run chocobos. It’s quite the exhilarating date, chasing each other, competing and flying from top hills or rocks. It’s all laughter and kwehs most of the time.

They stop for a while, intending to eat a few snacks and rest. The chocobos gourge happily the beans and drink plentiful of water. They pet their feathery heads to thank them for their never ending kindness.

The shade of a tree is the perfect spot to extend a blanket and set the basket down. They sit, and mid bites, Carmen points at the corner of his mouth were sauce has stained him. He tries to clean himself with a napkin, to no avail. He tries once more and huffs in annoyance when the white napkin comes clean in his hands.

Carmen moves closer, shaking her head with a smile on her lips, and carefully wipes the small dollop with the path of her finger, taking it to her mouth instead of the clean napkin.

Ignis scolds her out of embarrassment, only to end up rolling his eyes with a chuckle as she shows no remorse. She is a little too happy with her little stunt to fluster him.

He decides to get her back.

As soon as her hand moves back to wipe itself clean to grab a sandwich, Ignis’ eyes follow her every movement. The bite she takes in is small and she is very careful with the sauces, but that won’t stop him. He waits a second until she has already swallowed before diving in to steal a kiss. Her whole body tenses and she grows some inches taller as her back straightens. He is positive she would have shrieked with how sudden he attacted but only a whine comes out.

Ignis pulls back with the hint of his tongue licking at his own lips. Carmen’s face flares and they both know it’s not from sunburn.

“Tasty”, he declares.

Carmen’s lips are parted but no words are encouraged to leave and defend her. She is stunned into silence.

Her strawberry chapstick left a sweet taste in his mouth.

.   . . . .   . . .

✤ Gloss, at camp.

Cooking at camp is both relaxing and stressful. For every time he chops a veggetable, seasons meat or mixes the stew, there's a lovely mosquito or more practicing their singing by his ear or they're hungry for his blood.

However, he gets to enjoy some time alone to focus on more mundane things, read a magazine while he cooks and let his mind drift away from worries for a moment.

He hears the chatter of the lady bunch around the chocobos resting by the campfire. They discuss beauty products and while they talk, his eyes come to look at the way Carmen pays attention. She has been fond of skincare and cosmetic products since forever, so her eyes have a special gleam to them when they search and rumage in their own make up pouches to show a tube of mascara, a bullet of lipstick or a cushion foundation.

Ignis is quite delighted with the fact that Carmen gets to bond with others that share her passion in the lonesome times that the journey had thrusted upon them.

It isn't until he hears laughter from the girls, overpowering Noct and Prompto's own battle cries over Kings Knight, that he stops and glance at them. A blonde mass of curls stops his gaze from reaching Carmen, but he more or less understands that Iris and Honey are putting some kind of product on her.

Shaking his head, Ignis focuses on the meal at hand only to pause a few minutes into it when he hears giggles anew. He turns to look at them, only to notice that only Iris and Honey are seated and leaning on Aloe's green feathered body to look almost directly at him.

His ears easily pick up the noise of Carmen's boots on the rocky ground, coming from behind him. He sets the spoon besides the pot and the magazine on the table as her hand comes in touch with the expanse of his back. He turns in time to see her blushing face, enveloped in the orange light of the lamp hanging by his cooking station, making her skin glow and highlighting the very prominent way her lips look. Plumper, redder and shiny with lipgloss. Carmen looks bothered by the texture of the product, because it certainly makes her lips juicy and eye catching, but the stickyness is a hideous feeling.

"Ignis, dear. Do you need any help with supper?"

The man stands transfixed, caught in the spell of her lips moving and shining so delectably even when she seems notably flustered. Her position is the best to keep the lamp light on her face in a very flattering way and Ignis can't help but think of maraschino cherries, but snaps of his reverie rather quickly when she presses her lips together and hides them for a moment.

Now they are both dwelling on their shyness.

They spend a good ten minutes randomly chatting, not really colaborating together on the meal. Ignis is quite capable of managing the cooking on his own and he is well aware that while Carmen's kindness is always there, she hasn’t exactly come to help but to attempt something. Ignis can't quite place what it is yet. They sneak glances from time to time and it's maddening.

Carmen palates the stew with a graceful move that inclines the small plate to her lips. Her tongue comes out to swiftly cleanse the inner side of her lips and when they stretch in the curve of a smile Ignis has to breath in and control himself.

It isn't until Ignis requires a plate that Carmen moves, swiftly manifesting she could get it. Being a gentleman, the least he wants is to see the lady croaching to get them from the lower compartment of the station, yet no one moves away, meeting halfway instead.

Hiding behind the bulk of the portable cooking aparatus, Carmen takes the opportunity to rest a hand by the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the longer locks of hair there, to pull him in firmly onto herself to kiss him. Ignis makes a noise but doesn't pull back, and he can remotely hear the booing that comes from the girls at camp.

When Carmen pulls back and her lips show some resistance to let go of his due to the nature of the lipgloss' formula, Ignis' thumb moves to wipe it off her lips, enjoying the ignited light and gratefulness on her eyes.

.   . . . .   . . .

✤ Tint, before a meeting.

Ignis had called Carmen to his office with the intention of reviewing a document that had to be presented for the next council meeting. He had prepared himself accordingly to receive her, knowing full well she didn't have too much time to spare on her schedule. He thought that a nice plate with cookies and some coffee would serve as a nice gesture for her visit and time.

He conceals his excitement quite well as she is announced and he moves to open the door soon after as to not make her wait. She greets him with polite words and straight posture, walking elegantly into the room and leaving behind the nice clicking of heels over the polished floor. She takes a seat and waits patiently for him to start the review, ever so professional.

At one point, Ignis can only focus on the soft, feathery look of her plump lips as she bites into one of the chocolate crinkled cookies he had served. The contrast of textures is sharp. The airbrushed coral tint of her lips against the rawness of the cookie makes him stare for a touch longer than it is polite.

"Darling, please. Let us finish the task at hand.", she murmurs after chewing, certainly amused by his distracted state. She leans in a little to whisper purposefully. "I'll indulge you with one kiss once time comes and I have to take my leave."

A pink blush blooms on Ignis' cheeks but he nods, somehow managing to smile while being flustered.

The meeting ends shortly after that, with marked lines within the paragraphs, comments on the margins, the plate empty besides a few crumbs and their gentle gazes connecting with the promises of a kiss lingering in their minds.

Carmen rises from her seat in one fluid movement, taking the folder with both hands to hold it softly to her chest. They walk to the door and before Ignis can open it, Carmen turns to look at him.

"Thank you for your time. I'll make the corrections accordingly."

Ignis nods and with the twist of the doorknob, comes a gentle press of lips against his cheek. The door remains closed as they share the brief romantic moment. He closes his eyes as her fingers caress his jaw, Carmen standing on tip toes and with one leg raised to match his height. A hand of his moved to steady her by the waist.

The kiss was as soft as the powdered sugar atop the cookies. Velvety, gentle, and as she pulls back, Ignis notes the color and softness remained everlasting on her lips. Their eyes meet for a few seconds, lovingly and easy as the display of affection.

"See you later..."

Ignis bids her goodbye with a smile and a fleeting touch on his own face when he closes the door of his office.

.   . . . .   . . .

✤ Rouge, for a date.

The night is lovely, the event even more so. The food was delicious and the red wine served was rich in texture. Ignis couldn't avoid comparing it to the smooth and vibrant shade of lipstick Carmen had decided to wear that evening. It had his eyes straying to her lips more often than not.

She took each sip with delight, savoring the liquid with interest while listening to the table engaging in pleasant conversation. As she spoke, Ignis' eyes did his best to not blatantly stare at the meticulously lined lips, so plump and noticeable now that the color made them pop up more than usual. Carmen was quite delighted with the reactions it produced.

Later, the dancefloor invited them to engage in the music and dance.

They sway, gently, to the compass of the ambient music being played by the live band. The lights are low and everything seems ethereal, bathed as it is by fairy lights and the candles on the tables.

The couples dance all around them, moving as slow as them. It's quite the romantic setting and neither Ignis or Carmen can't stop the need to look into each other's eyes. It's mesmerizing.

"It's a lovely night. Don't you think?", Ignis whispers into her ear. His hands moving carefully. He is feeling brave enough to ghost finger pads over the exposed skin of her back or the soft fabric that covers her hip.

Carmen chuckles, cheeks tinted a beautiful light pink as she hums in agreement.

"It is. Now, don't distract me. Let us enjoy this moment a touch longer.", Carmen teases, her voice just as low in tone as his when he spoke before her. Is Ignis' turn to chuckle, nodding in agreement.

Being part of a mass of dancers on the barely lit ballroom had it perks, and neither of them are going to let the chance of discreetly showing just a bit of their love then, in their gestures, in their closeness, in their actions. They stay focused.

Carmen squeezes at his shoulders at one point. Their face leaving all smiles to focus seductively on one another. Their foreheads touch, as do their noses, and it's a coordinated movement when her arms circle his shoulders, his close around her waist, and their heads tilt and they meet halfway, all as smoothly as they dance.

Ignis and Carmen kiss without rush as the backup singers’ voices come together for a beautiful harmony. It takes a lot of concentration to keep moving with the crowd while they still on their own personal moment, but they manage, albeit a bit slower in pace.

A few seconds or minutes later they part, and Carmen is the first to smile at him, hand gently cradling his chin. It's an image that burns into Ignis' mind with the strength and finesse of a forging fire, yet it is as brief as a dream, because Carmen's soft expression melts into one of surprise soon after. Her body vibrates with barely concealed amusement and she at least takes it to herself to laugh onto his shoulder, muffling the noise for others to miss.

"What is it?", Ignis asks in a hurried but hushed tone.

They keep dancing, but the song will endsoon, Carmen can tell. That's why she pulls back, his pocket handkerchief fetched from its place on his coat and ready in her hand to clean his lips of the rouge stain, so obvious and scandalous.

"I made quite the mess on you. Forgive me."

Ignis understands then, blushing profusely as she diligently cleans the lipstick from him. Hers looks as impeccable as always, maybe a tad muted, no doubt the result of being transferred to his own lips with their kissing.

They bask in that still foreign and yet so familiar feeling of complicity, of team work.

The music shifts and so do the lights.

"Once more?", Ignis asks.

"Yes, of course.", Carmen concedes.

* :· ✧ ·: *     * :· ✧ ·: *     * :· ✧ ·: * 

[phantasticworks]

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter Eight

Hi everyone!! Thank you so much for all the love and support on these last few chapters, it means the world! I hope you all are staying safe and I hope this story gives you just a little bit of entertainment during these scary times!

read on ao3

Words: 10k

Summary: Dan and Phil begin to encounter some unforeseen issues with their foster situation.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, some angst

Something Dan hadn’t originally anticipated about fostering children during the summer months was the fact that he’d be responsible for them for every hour of every day. Without school to keep them occupied for at least a few hours of the day, Dan was left to be on standby. It wasn’t like he minded or anything; this is what he’d wanted, after all. Some days were just rough, is all, especially considering he still had to work a few days every week.

Working in education did have its perks, and in some ways summer break was a perfect example of one of those perks. However, he didn’t get the full break off like students. He, and the rest of the staff, still had to come in and work through logistical things and tidy up the school and prepare for the upcoming school year. Dan had prepared pretty well for the most part and had managed to get the majority of the work for the upcoming school year out of the way before the twins even moved in. Still, he did have to pop in a few days a week and help Louise with some things, and that’s where a few of the issues came up.

Dan really didn’t mind taking the kids with him on the days he went to work, and they assured him they didn’t mind playing quietly in his office or sometimes going into the teacher’s lounge with Louise’s daughter Darcy and playing games. But, some days he did wish that Phil had a more flexible schedule so that he wasn’t left with the kids on his own for such long lengths of time.

And eventually, when summer melted into autumn and he found himself spending more days at the school, he realized he was feeling like he was running on empty. Every day just bled into the other, and it felt like an endless routine of wake up, get the kids ready, take the kids to work, entertain the kids while working, and then take the kids home for their evening routine. As much as he was loving the decision he made, he felt a little like he might explode with all the stress of being their sole guardian most of the time.

His issue with this reached its breaking point on a Thursday.

He had gotten up early and trudged through making a quick breakfast for himself and the twins before going to wake them up, making sure they were quiet enough not to wake Phil, who didn’t have to be up for work for another two hours. Dan, wonderful housemate he figured he was, left Phil a coffee cup out with the kettle still on. In his flurry to get the kids ready and make sure that everything was set out for Phil, however, Dan completely forgot to make himself any coffee, a fact which he didn’t even realize until he’d already gotten to the school with the twins. They were trying their best to be quiet and play in the corner, but he caught himself asking them to be quiet more than once, more annoyed with himself every time for how horrible he acted without caffeine this early in the day.

Not only that, but the school WiFi glitched at some point, erasing all the progress Dan had made on the file he’d been working on. He’d come ridiculously close to swearing very loudly, and only just caught himself when he noticed the twins watching. Rather than risk them seeing his slight meltdown, he gave them some money and sent them to the teacher’s lounge to fetch some snacks.

As soon as they were out of his office, he reached for his phone and dialed the only number he even considered as someone who he could shamelessly rant to.

“Hey, love,” Phil says when he answers the phone. Dan can hear muted voices in the background, and he can tell that Phil is likely in a room with his coworkers.

“I’m about to fucking die,” Dan announces in lieu of a hello. He lays his head down on his desk, balancing his phone on his ear that way.

There’s only a brief pause before Phil responds, his voice a little hesitant. “What’s happened? Are the kids okay?”

Bless him for thinking of the children first. It makes Dan’s heart do a weird flippy thing, but then he’s back to being annoyed about his shit day. “They’re fine. Bored out of their goddamn minds, I’m sure, but they’re okay. My day is just sucking.”

“Are they in there with you? You need to watch your language around them, Dan.” The reprimand isn’t harsh or said with any anger, but immediately, Dan feels a prickle of annoyance under his skin.

“No, they’re not in here with me right now. And I do watch my fucking language around them, thank you very much,” he snaps, sitting up and glaring down at his desk as if it’s personally offended him.

After a brief flash of silence, Phil sighs deeply. “You’re being really rude to me right now,” he informs Dan, trying to keep his voice level.

Dan is a little surprised that he’s so bluntly addressed it, but some sick part of him is thrilled that he’s being given a legitimate reason to be mad now. Arguing with Phil is definitely an excuse to be mad. “I’m not ‘being rude’,” at this point, Dan puts Phil on speaker just so that he can make air quotes at him, “I’m just having a bad day, and I thought I could call and talk to you about it, considering you’re not the one parenting right now.” His words are scathing, but he doesn’t even stop to consider that Phil will likely take them to heart.

Phil’s quiet for a moment, and Dan can just imagine him sitting there, closing his eyes and trying his hardest not to get visibly upset since his coworkers are around. Even in his fit of annoyance, the image almost makes Dan smile. “Seriously?” His voice sounds full of disbelief.

“Yes seriously. I’ve been basically full-time parenting and you’re only ever around in the evenings.” He knows he should keep his mouth shut. He knows Phil is at work and so is he. But he still says it because he also knows that that’s exactly what’s on his mind and he feels like he needs to say it at some point.

Phil makes a huffing sound before speaking. “Look, I’m not arguing with you right now. We’re both at work. If you want to rant about your bad day you can but I’m not going to fight with you. We can have that conversation at home, Dan.”

Dan wants to push him just because he’s feeling contrary, but he knows that Phil is right and they need to postpone it until later. He’s just not ready to verbally admit it, and his hands are shaking for some reason, behaving strangely, and then they- hang up the phone. Of their own accord. Shit.

Dan hadn’t even realized that the door was open, the twins standing there staring at him curiously. He swallows hard, trying to swallow the anxiety crawling up his throat and making it hard for him to breathe. They never- seriously, never- ended their calls so abrupt. And he knew he was at fault, and the guilt was settling heavy in his chest, his fingers twitching with the need to call him back, fix this. Instead, he forces himself to smile at the kids, asking them what they’d gotten from the vending machines.

They’re sitting on the chairs in front of him, munching their crisps as Dan tries to work on retrieving the file, and the silence only gives Dan more time to think about how rude he’d been to Phil. He really was feeling the part of a housewife raising the kids on his own, but he really hadn’t meant to unload his anger about it right there on the phone. He knew he’d likely regret doing it later, and his stomach twists anxiously as he thinks about how hurt Phil probably was.

He’s tapping his fingers anxiously against the wood of his desk when he hears Amelia ask him a question. “Sorry?” He says, cringing at how his voice cracks. He clears his throat and raises his eyebrows at her questioningly.

Amelia points to his phone. “Was that Phil?” She asks curiously.

Dan nods, brushing his fingers over his screen. “Yeah.”

“Were you guys fighting?” She asks, all the innocence of a six-year-old wrapped up in such a loaded question.

“Not exactly,” Dan says with a shrug. “We had a… Disagreement, I guess. And I think I hurt his feelings.” He stares at his screen, wishing it would light up with a text from Phil, saying that everything was okay and just erasing all of this.

“Oh,” Amelia says, glancing up at him from her bag of crisps. “So, are you going to tell him you’re sorry?”

“What?” Dan asks, as if he hadn’t already thought of that.

Amelia shrugs, but before she can speak, Jaiden beats her to it. “We always have to apologize to each other when we hurt each other. Don’t adults have to do that too? Or are there different rules?” He asks, tilting his head curiously.

Dan swallows hard. So, this was apparently now a teaching moment, as well as an actual serious issue in his personal life. Great. “No, the rules are the same. Adults should say they’re sorry when they know they’re… not right.”

“When they’re wrong,” Amelia supplies helpfully.

Dan’s lips quirk up into a smirk. “Yes, when they’re wrong.”

“When you’re wrong,” She specifies pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Okay, okay, I get it, I’m going,” Dan grumbles, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. He honestly can’t believe he’s just been told off by a six-year-old but it honestly wasn’t that much of a surprise.

Waiting for Phil to pick up is honestly a little nerve wracking, but when the ringing stops, Dan almost wishes it hadn’t. “Philip Lester,” the voice answers formally.

Dan pauses. Phil never answered his personal calls like that, and Dan was pretty sure he had more than enough time to check the caller ID. “Hey, um… I wanted to tell you…” He trails off, unsure of how to say it. He catches Amelia’s gaze on him and his face flushes with embarrassment. He unsubtly spins his chair around to the side, dropping his voice to a whisper so the twins can’t hear him. “I’m sorry, for being an ass.”

“Oh, Miss Gellar, that’s really generous of you to call us personally, but trust me, no apology is necessary.” Phil’s voice is still professional, and Dan wonders if he’s on another call at the same time or something.

“Erm- Phil?”

“Yes?”

“Just- this is Dan. Not Sarah Michelle Gellar.” He’s still whispering, but he shoots a confused look over to the twins, who are trying and failing not to look like they’ve been caught eavesdropping. He lowers his voice even more and sinks further into his chair.

“Right. My apologies about the confusion,” Phil says, his voice deeper than it usually is when he talks to Dan.

Dan still thinks this is a little odd, and Phil’s response definitely didn’t make any sense, but he decides to just try and say what he needed to say. “Oh, uh, okay. Well, I just wanted to say I’m, um, sorry. I shouldn’t have been rude to you.”

“Well, Miss Gellar, like I said, no apology is necessary. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you- as a producer at the BBC you know, since that’s my responsibility. To, you know. Make sure that you and your- your team are taken care of.”

“Um…” Dan suddenly realizes Phil is not alone, and even though he is the producer, his coworkers are probably not thrilled at their boss getting two personal calls on the job in one day. Dan nearly laughs at the idea that Phil’s pretending to have a phone call with the Buffy actress he fancies so much, but he manages to hold it in. “Right, well… I guess we need to just talk about this at home?”

“Yes, we can discuss this at a later date, of course. And if you’d prefer, we could continue this conversation via text- I mean email, if that would be easier for you?”

Dan nearly snorts. Subtly wasn’t Phil’s strong suit. “Sure, I’ll… I can text you.”

“Great! It’s always a pleasure to speak with you, b- Miss Gellar. Drive home safe, er- I mean, if you’re driving. Just, you know, be careful. As a general rule.”

There’s a small grin on Dan’s face as he plucks at the string unravelling on the arm of his chair. “I will. I’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Right. I love you- your work. I love your work. I’ll speak with you soon!” Dan is trying his hardest not to laugh: if he laughs, Phil will laugh and that would ruin this whole thing. He just hopes his coworkers don’t give him too much shit about this call.

“Bye, Phil,” Dan says softly as he hangs up the call.

~~~

By the time they actually leave the school, Dan is more than ready to just curl up in bed and go to sleep. But he knew that Phil likely wouldn’t be home yet, so he resigned himself to making dinner and watching the kids on his own for a couple more hours, at least until Phil gets home. It’s not like he hasn’t already done it a few times, because he definitely has been, all summer, but after their brief argument earlier he still feels a little more bitter about it than usual.

“A little more bitter” doesn’t even cover his anger when he walks into the flat and hears the tv playing upstairs in the lounge, however. Dan is grinding his teeth as he sends the twins off to play and goes to drop his things off in the kitchen. The very idea that Phil was home and hadn’t bothered to let Dan know that he’d be home early absolutely pisses him off, and his blood is boiling as he makes his way upstairs to confront him about it.

Phil is sat on the sofa when Dan stomps up the stairs, his eyes trained on his laptop instead of the tv, which is playing Buffy in the background. He’s wearing his glasses for once, and Dan notes that he’s still wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which is likely what he wore to work. He doesn’t seem to notice Dan at first, but when he does, he sends him a small smile, seemingly not realizing the anger that’s bubbling up in him. “Hey,” he says quietly, shifting to fully face Dan.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Dan seethes, crossing his arms. He doesn’t step any closer to the couch, instead choosing to keep his distance.

Phil frowns, moving his laptop to the coffee table. ���What?” He asks, dumbly.

Dan rolls his eyes. He has the worst feeling, like he wants to just hit Phil for being so stupid and making him feel so angry over something that really isn’t even that big of a deal. “Nice for you to call and let me know you’d be home,” he says bitingly.

The only way he can really describe Phil’s expression is completely confused. “Well, I live here, so.” He shrugs, stupidly. “I didn’t think I needed to call and tell you my every move.” His tone is joking but Dan doesn’t feel like laughing right now.

Instead, he apparently feels like fighting. “How long have you even been home?”

“I don’t know, like, an hour or so? What does it matter, Dan?” Phil moves to stand then, and that just fuels Dan’s desire to fight.

Dan laughs without humor. “Nice,” he mutters. Shaking his head, he turns to head back downstairs.

“Okay, what’s going on? What did I do?” Phil asks, following him downstairs.

Of course he doesn’t know. Dan’s subconscious reminds him. And sure, he probably has next to no idea what exactly has set Dan off this time, but surely, he remembers enough of their earlier conversation to have some idea as to what it is.

“Do you seriously see nothing wrong with this?” Dan snaps as he makes his way to the kitchen. “With me working and taking the kids with me, and basically being the full-time parent?”

Phil stumbles into the kitchen after him, looking more surprised than he has any right to. “Wait, are you, like, serious about that? That wasn’t just something you were annoyed about because you were having a bad day earlier?”

Dan scoffs at this. “Yes, I was serious about it.” He walks to the cupboard and pulls out a box of rice, setting it down on the counter a little too harshly.

“Okay,” Phil says slowly, watching Dan move around the kitchen with a cautious look on his face. “Well what we aren’t going to do is throw a fit and stomp around the kitchen like a five-year-old, Daniel.”

Hearing his full name sends a flood of heat to his cheeks, fueled by the annoyance he feels at Phil for acting like the perfect adult in the situation. “I’m not acting like a five-year-old,” he snaps, shooting a glare at his best friend.

Phil crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, his eyes following Dan as he sets a pot out on the stove after pouring the water in. “Do you want to talk about it? Or would you like for me to give you some more time to pout about it first?” There’s a smile tugging at his lips, and Dan loathes it.

“I’d rather you not just blatantly make fun of me right now.” He pretends not to notice when Phil steps closer to him, instead waiting impatiently for the water to simmer. He feels like it should already be boiling, based on how hot his eyes feel looking at it.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says quietly. “I didn’t mean to be unkind.” Dan feels him bring his hands up to his back, and he tries very hard not to sigh when Phil begins pressing his fingers in, lightly massaging. “Talk to me, Dan. I can’t read your mind, you know.”

Stirring the water gives him something to do that isn’t thinking about Phil’s hands on his back, so he stares down at the ripples of water instead of answering straight away. Phil’s persistent, though, and doesn’t just drop his hands when Dan doesn’t answer immediately. “I watch the kids more than you do,” he eventually says, his voice quiet.

Phil pauses his movements, but hums and resumes them, bringing his hands up higher and closer to Dan’s shoulder blades. “You do,” he agrees. “But Dan… This was your idea, you know. I’m not saying it’s fair that you watch them more, but you can’t… you shouldn’t just get pissed at me. I can take them to work with me if you want? Like we can swap days on who takes them to work or something?”

Although his offer is genuine, and honestly a pretty good idea, something about Phil’s words make Dan’s skin prickle with annoyance. Maybe it’s something akin to guilt over the reminder that this whole fostering thing was his idea, maybe it’s something else. Either way, he finds himself leaning away from Phil’s hands, although the older man doesn’t seem to take the hint, his hands just trailing down to press against the small of Dan’s back.

Dan twists away, trying his hardest to get his point across. “Can you-“

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Phil’s hands fall away, and he sounds embarrassed.

“Don’t apologize,” Dan snaps, reaching for the rice and pouring it into the pot of boiling water.

They’re both silent for several minutes, and Dan’s starting to think that Phil is probably just going to leave him to his thoughts when he finally speaks again. “Do you want me to take them to work with me? At least on the days that you’re working?” He asks, moving to lean against the counter beside Dan.

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but the sarcastic huff falls from his lips before he gets the chance to stop it. “Could you even handle that? Watching two kids on your own?”

He regrets it immediately, but Phil quips back, just as fast, “I reckon I could. It’s not like you’re an expert in the area yourself, Dan.”

Dan almost feels hurt by that, but he knows that’s completely unfair, considering what he’d just said. He shrugs, not meeting Phil’s eyes. He’s already started, might as well just keep throwing himself into this black hole of regret. “I may not be, but so far I’ve had a hell of a lot more practice than you. You’re barely ever even around them.”

“Huh,” Phil clicks his tongue thoughtfully, but Dan knows he’s only humoring him. He’s mad now, Dan can tell. He braces himself for whatever argument is likely to come. “Thanks a lot. It’s great to feel so appreciated, Dan. Thought you couldn’t do this without me?” Dan’s head snaps up at the choked sound of Phil’s voice, guilt immediately flooding him when he sees Phil staring determinedly at the wall on the other side of the kitchen, his jaw set differently than it had been five minutes before.

“Phil-“

Phil doesn’t let him finish. “It’s whatever.” He pushes away from the counter and makes his way to the office.

“I didn’t-“ Dan stops himself with a sigh. They needed time to cool off, and Dan knew that he couldn’t help things right now, especially since he knew he wasn’t feeling any less annoyed. He watches Phil leave the room, cringing when he closes the sliding door to the office slightly harder than was necessary.

With a groan, Dan slumps against the counter, forgetting the rice for now to just take a minute to feel like complete shit for his behavior. It was completely unnecessary, and he knew it. Maybe he should check in with his therapist soon. It had been a few months since he’d seen her, with everything that was going on, so maybe it was time for a visit to sort out all the nonsense in his head.

He’s mid-crisis when he hears the twins’ voices as they walk into the kitchen. He has just enough time to sit up and plaster a fake smile on his face before they step in, engaged in a conversation. Mia looks a little perplexed as she walks over to the table, glancing around as if she’s looking for something.

“Where’s Phil?” She asks innocently.

Dan cringes at the question. He didn’t want to be that parent that made the kids think that their parents were fighting, especially since he wasn’t even sure he could define their spat as that. Even though he and Phil weren’t their biological parents, it still hurt him to think that the kids were likely going to assume the worst from them if they weren’t on good terms, and that’s not the kind of impression he wanted them to have.

“He’s in the office,” he answers her question with a nonchalant shrug.

“Oh. Why?” She asks, curious as only kids are. He glances over at her, rolling his eyes when he sees that she’s pulled her feet up on the chair underneath her. He considers chastising her, but figures there’s no real point since they’re not even eating dinner yet.

“He’s got some work to do, I guess.”

“Oh.” Mia shifts around in her seat for several moments before she eventually seems to get settled. Dan braces himself for whatever question she’s about to ask next, already assuming the worst. “What’s for dinner?”

Dan can’t help but laugh at this, turning around to show her the pot of rice. “We’re having rice tonight.”

The twins seem content with this and sit at the table chattering aimlessly as Dan moves around the kitchen preparing their dinner. He wants to go talk to Phil and resolve the issue they were having, but ultimately, he decides it was best to just finish preparing dinner and maybe go talk to him then. So, he listens to the twins chat at the table as he cooks, occasionally chiming in with a comment or two. Eventually he’s done cooking and prepares the kids a plate each and fetches them each a drink.

“I’m going to go see if Phil’s joining us for dinner, but you guys go ahead and eat. I’ll be right back.” The twins barely pay him any attention, still chattering as they begin eating their dinner. He smiles at them before turning to go check on Phil, his stomach fluttering with nerves. He usually hated conflict and if that’s what was waiting for him on the other side of that door, he didn’t want it.

But, he has to own up to his actions and the consequences they had, so he knocks on the door lightly before sliding it open. “Hey,” he calls softly, leaning against the door frame, a little uncertain about whether he should enter or not.

Phil glances up at him from the computer, his lips held in a thin line. “Hi.”

His eyes seem to be avoiding Phil’s completely of their own accord. If shame was a laser, he would be shooting two holes in the wall above Phil’s left ear.

Dan gestures to the red chair they kept in the office at the end of the desk, silently asking if he can come in. Phil’s jaw shifts noticeably but he nods anyway. Closing the door quietly behind him, Dan takes a seat on the edge of the chair, staring down at his hands and fiddling with the engagement band nervously. “I’m sorry. For what I said earlier.” Dan takes a deep breath before shifting to look straight at Phil. “I was tired and upset, but I shouldn’t have said that to you. And I’m sorry I did.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Phil just studies Dan, looking on the verge of anger. Without even hearing a response, Dan can already feel his eyes aching with hurt. He blinks quickly, shifting his gaze away to try and cover up his emotion. But of course, Phil notices. He always notices.

“I’m not mad anymore,” he says quietly. “It was a dick move and you shouldn’t have said it, but I understand why you did. And you were right, so...” Phil trails off then, and Dan can only stare at him in surprise. Of course, he still thought he was right and the whole thing had been unfair up until that point, but he didn’t expect Phil to actually agree with him.

Something about this tips Dan over the edge and he drops his head to his hands when he feels the tears falling from his eyes. He felt completely ridiculous to cry about it, but since when was it a surprise that he couldn’t keep a handle on his emotions? His arm swipes at the wetness under his eyes as a watery Phil stands up in his hazy peripheral vision.

Phil takes a seat on the edge of the desk and before Dan even has a chance to apologize for crying, Phil’s wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into his chest. Dan releases a shaky breath as Phil’s hand comes up to card through his hair. “I’m sorry. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, but I don’t want to fight with you,” he whispers, bringing his own arms up around Phil’s waist.

There’s a low rumble in Phil’s chest as if he’s laughing. Dan can’t say he finds the situation funny, but he was going to give Phil the benefit of the doubt here, considering Phil’s not the one who’s currently having a breakdown. “I know. I don’t want to fight with you either.” He’s speaking directly into Dan’s hair, but the words are just barely muffled.

Dan shifts so that he can press his eyes into the sleeve of his own shirt, rather than ruin Phil’s with his crying. “I’m sorry I’m kind of a mess,” he says softly.

Phil laughs out loud at this, pushing Dan’s curls off his forehead and pushing his head back to gain eye contact at the same time. His eyes are bright, and Dan feels that the worst of their arguing is likely over. “Kind of?” He teases.

Rolling his eyes and disentangling his limbs from Phil, Dan sits back, smiling a little. “Kind of. Maybe a lot.”

A soft smile is etched on Phil’s lips, and he shifts a bit closer to Dan. “We still need to talk about this, don’t we?” He asks, sounding resigned to it.

“I think so, yeah. We should probably have dinner first, because I don’t think I have the energy to fight anymore without food.” He says it as a joke, but Phil’s mouth twists into a frown.

“Are we going to fight more?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Dan sighs and runs a hand down Phil’s thigh to squeeze his knee gently. “I don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean we won’t.”

Phil glances down at Dan’s hand on his knee and lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a huff. “I’m done fighting with you, if I’m being honest. We need to figure some things out with the parenting thing, but I won’t fight with you about it.” His fingers come up to trace along the band on Dan’s left hand, his eyes following the movement.

He feels a smile tugging at his lips and he splays his fingers out across Phil’s knee so the older man can lace his fingers through his. “Okay. So, no more fighting. We’ll talk about it like adults.”

“Like proper adults,” Phil agrees, biting his tongue in a small smile.

“But first, food.” Dan shoves at him gently to get off the chair and out of his way, and Phil rolls his eyes playfully at this.

“Since we’re not fighting anymore, remind me to show you a meme later,” Phil comments as Dan pulls the door to the office shut behind him.

Dan huffs out a quiet laugh at this, shaking his head fondly when Phil quirks an eyebrow in question. “Okay. You can show me your memes after dinner.” He rolls his eyes dramatically before handing Phil a bowl from the cupboard.

“Don’t mock me,” Phil pouts, moving to fill it up with rice. “I don’t actually have to share my memes with you, you know. I can keep them to myself.”

With a shrug, Dan steps around Phil to grab two spoons, dropping one into Phil’s bowl before he moves to sit at the table where he’d left his own bowl earlier. “Suit yourself,” he says, glancing at the twins, who are both almost done with their food at this point.

“Do you guys want to see my memes? I found some good animal ones,” Phil asks the kids, and both of them nod enthusiastically.

Phil reaches for his phone, but Dan clears his throat, stopping his movement. “Not at the table, please?” He asks rather than demands, imploring Phil to put the phone away with a quirk of his eyebrow.

An apologetic smile is on Phil’s lips, but he nods and tucks his phone away. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He turns to the twins then. “We don’t eat with our phones out, but I forgot,” he says with a shrug before launching into questions about how their day was.

Something warm flutters inside him at the fact that Phil respected the phone thing without argument or even really a conversation at all. He’d have to thank him for it later. But for now, he joins in the conversation, trying to keep the panicked thoughts of the conversation they’d be having later out of his mind.

The kids talk about their day and the snacks they had gotten from the vending machines at the school, and Phil listens raptly, conversing with them easily. It makes the guilt in Dan’s gut rear its ugly head; clearly Phil did know what he was doing, and it wasn’t fair to say that he didn’t just because Dan had taken the task of watching the kids for the full day upon himself. It wasn’t like they’d discussed it beforehand, but he’d just assumed he’d be the one to take them to work with him and Phil hadn’t argued. Now Dan is starting to understand how important that communication would have been for them if they’d just thought to actually talk about everything in the first place.

He doesn’t have long to stress over it, though, as everyone finishes their dinner and it’s time to send the kids off to take their baths and get to bed. Dan allows Phil to take over the process of making sure the kids have brushed their teeth after they’ve each taken a bath, which Phil seems more than happy to do. Taking advantage of the time he has alone, Dan cleans up the kitchen and makes sure the door to the patio is locked before heading to his bedroom. He’d go tell the kids goodnight whenever Phil came back. Which definitely wasn’t another way to avoid him and put off the conversation they needed to have. Of course it wasn’t.

“Kids are tucked in and waiting for you to tell them goodnight,” Phil says when he walks into their room a bit later. Dan is laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling contemplatively.

“Okay,” he mumbles before shoving his way off the bed. Phil settles himself on his own side, watching Dan as he leaves the room.

One good thing about the fact that the twins were now sharing a room was the fact that Dan only had to make one trip to say goodnight to them. When he walks in, they’re whispering across the room to each other, giggles piercing the silence. Dan just takes a moment to pause at the door, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning at the kids. “What’s so funny in here?” His voice is full of poorly-concealed laughter, but the twins both jump in surprise at the sound of his voice.

“Dan!” Amelia yells.

It’s almost 9pm. The neighbors might think he’s killing his children if they scream at this hour of the night.

It’s almost strange how quickly they’ve come to feel like “his children”. Or it would be, if it didn’t feel so objectively right to be with them day in day out. Everything with Phil aside, he can’t seem to remember what his life was like before.

He presses a finger to his lips. “You could deafen a fish right now, never mind our neighbors. Remember what we said about quiet time?”

“Sorry,” she says hastily, not looking particularly chastised. Then, innocently, “Did you come to tell us a story?”

Dan laughs softly, but shrugs, trying his best to brush off the moment they just had. “Sure, if you guys want one.” They didn’t always, but over the few weeks they’d been there, Dan had taken to offering a story every night when he tucked them in, usually after Phil had already gone to bed.

Jaiden sits up in his bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Can you tell us one about pirates?” He asks excitedly.

“Sure, bub.” Dan smiles as he moves over to sit on the edge of Jaiden’s bed. “Wanna come over here, Mia?”

The girl nods, scrambling out of her bed and over to Dan’s lap enthusiastically. Dan’s heart swells when she flops herself across his legs, waiting patiently for the story to begin. He hides his glee as he clears his throat, starting to spin a tale of pirates and magic and mermaids and horrible mocking parrots. The kids hang onto his every word, and Dan is almost as invested in the story as they are by the time he finishes it up.

“And that’s how Captain Susan saved the entire crew and all of the mermaids in the sea.”

Amelia yawns into his chest. “Good story,” she mumbles. Moments slide languidly past, and Dan feels as her breathing shifts from drifting to dreaming. He smiles down at her before he glances over at Jaiden, whose eyes are just barely open.

“You still awake, bub?” Dan whispers.

Jaiden tries to nod, but it’s clearly forced. “Mhm. ‘Nother story?”

Dan laughs quietly before shaking his head and moving to stand carefully, cradling Amelia’s tiny body to his chest as he carries her over to her bed. He tucks her in neatly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he moves back over to Jaiden. “I think it’s time for sleep, actually. I can tell you another story tomorrow, okay?”

“M’kay,” Jaiden mumbles, his eyes drifting shut. “Night.”

“Love you.” He looked asleep, but Dan could swear that he sees Jaiden’s lips twitch into a small smile.

After tucking the blanket up to cover his tiny arms, Dan leans down and presses a kiss to the child’s forehead. He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut against the feeling of tears that are currently welling up, and he curses himself for being so sensitive and emotional.

He’s just stood up when he hears a voice from the door. “That was sweet. You’re sweet with them.”

Dan spins around, his heart beating rapidly until he realizes it’s just Phil. “Jesus, you scared me,” he mutters as he steps towards the door, to where Phil is stood casually leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. Dan slips past him, gently pulling the door closed behind him after checking that the nightlight is shining.

Phil levels him with a soft look. “Sorry,” he murmurs. His eyes take on a different shade of blue in the shadows, and something about the color just seems to make him more approachable, warmer than Dan’s seen him in so long.

“I’m sorry,” Dan blurts out, unable to stop himself.

Phil spares a glance to the door to the twins’ bedroom, looking a little nervous that they might hear. “C’mon, we should go to bed,” he speaks quietly, gripping Dan’s elbow gently as he begins guiding him down the hall to their room.

Dan gently tugs his arm out of his grip. “No, I’d like to talk about what happened earlier.”

“We can, Dan, but we can do it in our room, yeah? C’mon.”

With a sheepish smile, Dan nods slowly before allowing Phil to guide him back into their room, his hand slipping from Dan’s wrist, only to fall to the small of his back. They’re silent as they enter the bedroom and crawl under the covers. Phil pauses before he lays down, tugging the band off his left hand and placing it onto his nightstand, along with his glasses. Dan flushes when he catches Phil’s gaze dropping to his own ring, quickly tugging it off and sliding it onto the tabletop beside him.

“So,” Phil sighs out, leaning back against the headboard rather than laying down. “Where should we start?”

Dan chews on his lip as he copies Phil’s position, pulling his knees close to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I almost wish we didn’t have to start anywhere,” he mutters bitterly, staring at the duvet cover with disdain.

Phil shrugs. “There’s a problem here, and we need to do something about that. So.” He leaves the word hanging in the air, clearly waiting for Dan to make some sort of decision.

With a sigh, Dan begins speaking quietly and quickly, trying to rush all his thoughts out at once. “I’m sorry I was an asshole. I don’t know why the hell I thought that would help, or why I thought it was okay. You’re doing your best, and I get that. I just…” he trails off, feeling at a loss for words.

They sit in tense silence for a moment, but then Dan feels a pressure on his leg. He glances down, seeing Phil’s hand gently stroking along his calf in a comforting motion. A few months ago, he might’ve been embarrassed at the affectionate gesture, or even just laughed it off, but tonight he’s not laughing. Tonight, he wishes there were more touches to lean into.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling unless you try to describe it to me, Dan. And I… I want to understand what you’re feeling, and why you say and do the things you do. But, I can’t read your mind, Bear.” Phil speaks so softly, with such understanding and patience, that Dan feels a bit sick, dizzy and nauseous with guilt for ever accusing Phil of not being a good parental figure.

Without any thought to the consequence for the action, Dan twists to the side, pressing himself to Phil. He scoots down so that he can wrap his arms around Phil’s torso, burying his face in his chest. He needed the comfort of his best friend, and he needed to feel like he hadn’t completely fucked everything up already. “I’m sorry,” he breathes shakily, his head spinning.

“Shh, Dan. Dan, listen to me. It’s okay. Yeah? We’re fine, we just need to figure out what to do to make this easier for us. I’m not angry.” As Phil speaks, he pets Dan’s hair gently, the motion just as soothing as his words, if not more so.

Dan tries for a laugh, to assert that he’s being silly, overreacting, and is abjectly horrified when all that comes out are a few traitorous tears and half a sob. “Sorry, sorry,” he flounders, still trying to shrug it off. “I don’t know why- “

Phil regards him fondly. “Stop apologizing for everything.” Dan’s not sure when Phil’s hands came to cradle his head, but he falls into the steady, warm touch, trying to refocus. The only thing he seems to be able to refocus on, however, is Phil’s mouth.

‘Stop that,’ He chides himself sternly. ‘Now’s really not the moment. Tell him the important stuff, please.’

“So-“ Dan pauses himself when Phil sends him a look. With a sheepish shrug, Dan turns his eyes to look down at Phil’s shirt, which, upon inspection, Dan realizes is his own space cat t-shirt. He can’t help a tiny smile at the fact that Phil has, once again, stolen his clothes, so he just rolls his eyes. “I felt like a single parent,” Dan mutters finally, after several moments of silence have passed.

“Sorry?” Phil responds, as if he hadn’t heard.

Dan clears his throat. “The past few weeks. I um… I’ve gotten used to sort of being on my own with the twins, and I… It sort of feels like I’m doing it alone.” The admission burns his throat, and he can tell it takes Phil by surprise.

“Oh,” the older man says eloquently. “So, like… You were well serious about most of what you said, then, huh?” He sounds offended.

“No, no, not most of it. Just… That, really. I said things I didn’t mean, but it was because I was stressed about that in particular.” Dan shifts so that he’s no longer resting his head against Phil’s chest, instead looking up at him. “I didn’t mean any of the other stuff I said to you,” he says firmly, holding Phil’s gaze as he says it, “And I’m really, really sorry.”

Phil hums at this, seeming to consider it. “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way,” he says, crushing Dan with sincerity. “I didn’t realize that was what it was like for you, to be the one here with them full time.”

Dan shrugs. “It’s not like I said anything about it sooner.”

“You should have.” Phil’s voice has a bit of an edge to it now, and suddenly Dan isn’t so sure that he’s as calm as he’d seemed.

“I’m sorry,” Dan says again, so softly. “But in my head, I just thought it was easier on both of us if I just kept doing it. I thought…” He inhales sharply as it really hits him why he’d been so reluctant to tell Phil. “I wanted to be able to say that I could do it without you. If, you know, you do change your mind or whatever… I wanna be able to say that I didn’t just completely fail, you know?”

Phil leans away from him then, a hurt expression on his face. “Do you want to do this on your own? Is that… Please tell me that’s not what you’re saying, Dan.” His voice wavers, and Dan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“No! God, no. Fuck, no. Okay, no, I completely didn’t say that right. No, Phil. I don’t want to do this alone. I-“ his voice cracks, embarrassingly, and he quickly ducks his head down, pressing his face against Phil’s chest. He feels Phil stiffen underneath him, and it occurs to him that Phil probably would appreciate an explanation rather than cuddles right now. With a deep breath, Dan sits up, putting space between them.

“Care to elaborate, then?” Phil deadpans, looking confused, and a little annoyed.

Dan nods quickly. “I don’t want you to change your mind. I’d… I don’t know what I’d do if you did, but I’d really rather that you didn’t, okay? I just want to be prepared if you do, and I guess I felt like taking the majority of the responsibilities with the kids would just give me more practice. But, I don’t know, I guess since it’s been a couple months since they came to live with us, I’ve just realized that maybe… Maybe you’re not going to change your mind,” he breathes, struggling not to sound too hopeful.

He knows he’s failed just by the shift in Phil’s expression, emotion flooding over his face. “Come here, idiot,” he mumbles affectionately. Dan complies easily, scooting closer and allowing Phil to wrap his arms around his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. So, you can loosen the reigns a little, and give me some credit. I may not be around them as much as you are, but,” Phil shrugs then, as if he isn’t sure he wants to elaborate. “I’m good at things too, you know. Not always the same things you’re good at, especially with the kids, but I’m not entirely useless.”

“I know-“ Dan begins to protest, but Phil just shakes his head.

“I wasn’t finished,” he reprimands gently. Dan immediately shuts his mouth. They’d been seriously lacking communication recently, he’d let Phil talk as much as he damn well pleased now. “I know I can’t take over everything that you do, but I can do things to help out, you know. Like, there are things I can do to make the load a little more even between us. We just need to figure out how to even it out. Together.”

Dan nods slowly, his cheeks heating up at the phrasing. Unfortunately, this circumstance was not anything like the dreams he’d once had about he and Phil’s future, so that little part of Dan needed to take a seat.

“I have a suggestion, as a starting point,” Dan whispers into Phil’s shirt a few moments later, when the silence has become too much for him to bear.

“Yeah?” Phil asks, petting Dan’s curls.

Dan chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tilting his head to the side to do so, allowing his cheek to press to Phil’s chest instead. Before he speaks, he feels a swipe of a finger against his lips. He glances up at Phil with wide eyes, having parted his lips at the feeling.

Phil’s face is closer than he’d realized, and his gaze is trained on Dan’s lips, a frown stretching across Phil’s own. “Quit chewing on your lips, you’re ruining them,” he chastises.

His face burning with embarrassment, Dan mutters something about it not mattering since he wasn’t using them for anything anyway. Phil dutifully ignores this. “My suggestion,” Dan diverts the conversation back to that, causing Phil to raise his eyebrows patiently. “I’d like it if you got up with us in the mornings. So, you know… We can have like breakfast together and stuff. You know. All of us.” He didn’t want to come right out and say it, but ever since he’d found out they’d be fostering two children right at the start, he’d imagined lots of family meals, and his heart just thrummed every time he thought about it.

“Sure,” Phil agrees easily, his hand coming up to brush Dan’s hair up off his forehead. Phil had a certain penchant for touching Dan’s hair, and tonight it seemed especially prominent. “I’m usually awake anyway, so that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Then, Dan’s definitely confused, because he knows that Phil is never up before he is. “No, you aren’t. You’re always still in bed when I leave with the kids.” Dan wouldn’t push the issue, but he’s almost certain he’s right about this. And if he’s not, Phil is certainly getting better at acting like he’s asleep.

“Well, I mean maybe not every morning,” Phil concedes. Dan smiles triumphantly, but his victory is short-lived. “But typically, most mornings, I’m awake after you start getting ready. I can hear you singing in the shower almost every morning, so I usually stay awake until you’re out of our room entirely, then I sleep until my alarm goes off,” Phil admits sheepishly, looking a little embarrassed to admit it.

Dan’s surprised, and also a little mortified that Phil hears his horrible attempts at singing in the mornings. Rather than apologize or try to joke about it, Dan immediately denies it. “I don’t… I do not sing in the shower!”

Phil grins at him. “Yes, you do,” he says gleefully. “You were singing Celine Dion this morning. It was actually kind of lovely, you’re getting much better.”

Now Dan’s positive his face is flaming. Huffing, he rolls over, turning away from Phil. “Shut up!” He whines, inexplicably embarrassed. Phil had heard him sing a thousand times, but something about the fact that he’d just admitted to actively listening made Dan’s stomach churn nervously.

Without warning, Dan feels a warm body pressed against his back. He squeaks, but that doesn’t stop Phil from tossing his arm over Dan’s waist. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Bear. I won’t say anything else about your concerts anymore.”

Dan groans, hearing the smile in Phil’s voice. “Actually shut up, unless you want to sleep on the couch.”

Phil’s arms wind tighter around Dan, his breath coming out as a laugh against the back of Dan’s neck. “No!” He protests through his giggles. “I wanna sleep in here with you. I’ll behave, I promise.”

Dan ignores how coupley this feels in favor for elbowing Phil. “You’re crushing- my lungs,” he gasps, exaggerating his plight.

Another soft laugh, but Phil eventually gets settled so that they’re both comfortable in their cuddling position. It’d been occurring more often lately, this intertwined sleeping thing, but they typically weren’t so obvious about how they ended up in that position. Tonight, Phil didn’t seem to care to show affection, or to show that he wanted it, either.

Not that Dan minded, of course. He was perfectly fine with this. Cool as a cucumber.

“So, wake me up in the morning, yeah? If I don’t wake up on my own. I’ll make breakfast if you want, or help the kids get ready, or whatever you want me to do.” Phil promises from behind him, his voice low in their close proximity.

Dan tries to nod but stops himself in fear of smacking Phil in the face with his head. “Alright,” he says instead. “That’d be lovely, thank you.” He’s already slightly drifting off, but he’s almost positive he feels a pair of lips press to the base of his neck.

“Okay. We’ll sort out the rest tomorrow. Night, Bear.” Phil sounds just on the verge of sleep himself, unsurprisingly. They’d had quite a busy day, after all.

“Night,” Dan echoes before falling into a dreamless sleep.

~~~

School starts back mid-September, and by then, Dan and Phil had gotten into a routine with the kids. Dan still took them to work with him on the days that he worked, which increased the closer they got to the beginning of the academic year, but Phil had been consistently waking up to be with them in the mornings. Sometimes, he’d even silence Dan’s alarm and allow him to sleep in some while he got up and made breakfast and started getting the kids ready for the day. Dan especially enjoyed those days.

But now the beginning of school was on the horizon, and the house was a flurry of buying school supplies and sorting out schedules. With the kids in school, it would be much easier to take care of them, as they’d only have to watch them before and after school, as opposed to watching them while trying to work. He was beyond relieved for this, but also a little nervous, on the twins’ behalf. Starting at a new school was always scary, no matter how old you were, so he was more than a little worried about how they might adjust.

So, in an effort to minimize the grievances they might have about starting at a new school, Dan had spoiled them a bit when it came to buying their school supplies. Phil had been a little less than amused.

“Daniel,” Phil had called from the kitchen, sounding confused but also annoyed.

Cringing, Dan stood and opened the door to the office, leaning out the door and looking across their lounge to where Phil stood, staring at the array of shopping bags in bewilderment. “Oh, hi. Welcome home, babe.” The pet name slipped out without his conscious permission, but Phil didn’t seem phased by that.

No, his focus was still on the shopping bags. “What are these?” He asked, gesturing at them with a quirked eyebrow.

Dan pursed his lips, staring at the bags contemplatively. “They look like shopping bags,” he said, shrugging innocently.

Phil settled him with a deadpan look. “Clearly. But what do they contain? You went school shopping, yeah?”

Dan pretended to be surprised. “Oh, yeah! Yes, we did. That’s school supplies.” He nodded, as if that answers Phil’s question completely.

As he starts to pull the office door closed, Phil protested. “Dan! What-“ he rifled through the bag nearest to him, pulling out a pencil box with a look of confusion on his face. “What is this?”

Biting his lip, Dan shrugged. “A dinosaur pencil case?” he offered.

Phil stared at him. “A dinosaur pencil case,” he repeated. Dan nodded, and Phil returned to rifling through the bags. He huffed and pulled out several different things. “Crayons, colored pencils, and markers? What the hell do they need all three for?” He demanded.

“For art class! They need different mediums to choose from to cultivate their artistic side!” Dan had explained hurriedly. He just hoped Phil stopped looking or else he’d find- oh no.

Out of one of the smallest bags on the table, Phil had pulled out Dan’s proudest purchase from the day’s shopping. He had known that it was a little silly, and that Phil would likely be a little annoyed, but he couldn’t help himself. They were just so cute!

Evidently, Phil doesn’t share this sentiment. He had stared at the boxes closely, his eyes not leaving them as he spoke. “Dan,” he’d said carefully. “What the hell are these?”

Dan chewed on his lip, contemplating not answering at all. “Mini first aid kits?” He finally responded when Phil’s gaze met his.

Phil let out a deep sigh through his nose. “And why the hell,” he paused. “Would our six-year-olds,” another pause. “Need them?”

After a brief pause, Dan answered. “They might, um… need a plaster?”

Sighing, Phil had put them back on the table and turned to face Dan with an unamused stare, crossing his arms. Dan couldn’t help but walk over to him, holding up the first aid kit so he could look at the back.

“Look, Phil,” he’d said in a sweet voice. “They have Trolls plasters. Trolls. I couldn’t just not get them.”

Phil had stared at him, his lips in a straight line. “You could have bought them a single pack of Trolls plasters,” he deadpanned.

Dan had shaken his head, holding them closer. “But not these Trolls plasters.”

After a brief stare-off, Phil had rolled his eyes and raised his hands in defeat. “Whatever, I don’t care. I said I’d let you do the school shopping. You did the school shopping.” He shrugged, tugging the box out of Dan’s hand and tossing it to the table before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around his waist. Dan had been a little surprised, but he’d hugged him back, resting his chin against Phil’s shoulder. Phil sighed, squeezing gently before pulling away a bit. “Wait, I gave you my card to go shopping.”

Panicked, Dan tugged himself closer to Phil, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah, you know, it’s fine, they have everything they need for school now, so-“

Phil twisted around to look at the bags on the table. “How much did you spend, Dan?”

“Let’s not- what do you want to do for dinner?”

~~~

A few days later, Phil had a day off work, and it just so happened that it was on a day that Dan really needed to go into work and help Louise with some administrative things. Despite the fact that they’d been sharing the load a whole lot more lately, Dan hadn’t left the twins alone with Phil for more than an hour or two. He was looking at probably a span of six hours that he’d be at work, leaving Phil to keep the children alive all by himself. To say that he was nervous was an understatement.

“And they have their snacks and everything downstairs, but make sure you don’t let them have too many before dinner. The first aid kit should be in the bathroom, under the sink. Oh, and make sure you-” Dan’s instructions are interrupted by a heavy sigh from beside him.

He glares at Phil, who’s giving him a bored look from where he’s sat on the sofa. “Dan, honestly, you need to just relax. Everything is fine, I promise. I’ve got this.” He smiles then, clearly trying to be reassuring.

Dan wrings his hands anxiously. “Are you sure? I can- I can take them with me if you’re not sure. I don’t mind, and actually yeah, let’s-”

“Daniel, if you finish that sentence with anything other than a cheerful goodbye, I might have to smother you with a bath towel.”

A little startled, Dan glances at Phil, chewing his lip contemplatively. “Goodbye?” He says, although it comes out as a question.

Phil rolls his eyes before standing up, moving over to gently push Dan in the direction of the stairs. “Yes, goodbye, see you later. Be safe driving, I promise you we’ll be perfectly fine here. I’ll text you every hour and let you know how things are going, but if you don’t leave now, Louise might actually murder you when you get there.”

Dan allows himself to be guided to the stairs, sighing deeply in defeat. “Every half hour?” He suggests hopefully.

Phil settles him with a clearly unamused look. “Every hour,” he reiterates.

“Fine,” Dan huffs. “But you better not kill my kids,” he says playfully, stopping and turning just enough to grin at Phil.

The older man rolls his eyes. “Our kids,” he shoots back before leaning in and pecking Dan’s cheek. “Go, goodbye, you’ve got things to do, I have children to spoil.”

“Do not fill them with sugar, Philip Lester.”

Phil sticks his tongue out at him as Dan starts down the stairs. “You’re not the boss of me, Howell. You’re just a co-manager.”

“I’ll co-manage your mum,” Dan calls, grinning when he can hear Phil sputter, clearly offended. “Bye, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t give me very many options, Dan!”

“Shut up!”

[decandantfics]

When You Need Me - Part 4

                                                 Talk to Him

16 June 2019. It was an odd day, alternating between hot sun and cool clouds, unable to make up its mind which it preferred. Nearly midday now, the sun was beating down mercilessly, occasionally sliding behind some puffy clouds for a few moments, offering an overheated Declan Donnelly some brief respite before frying him again with its blinding rays. Dec was out running a few errands for Ali, who was resting on the living room sofa at home, her feet up and a cool lemonade in her hand as she watched Keeping Up with the Kardashians, her favorite guilty pleasure TV show. Dec had already made a run to the post office, and was now headed to the chemist on his way back from their local Sainsbury's, having needed a single jar of sauce for the pasta he was going to (try to) make later that day. He had been running himself ragged ever since coming home a week ago, caring for Ali and trying to do as much of the normal housework as he could. She had been diagnosed with gestational hypertension, and had been advised to not exert herself – rest as much as possible, keep her feet up, and take the medications which had been prescribed. Her condition had improved, but her blood pressure was still high, and Dec was worried.

Hurrying along the mostly empty streets, he was annoyed when a paparazzo suddenly popped up from behind a nearby hedgerow, camera shutter flashing repeatedly as they snapped photos of him and his can of sauce. Quickening his pace, Dec soon left the tabloid pest behind, eventually bounding up his front steps and into the relative safety of his home. Calling out to Ali that he was back, Dec stepped into the kitchen to leave the pasta sauce on the counter for later. Feeling his phone vibrating in his jeans pocket, Dec fished it out and raised a weary eyebrow when he saw the caller ID: Georgia Hawkins. Now what, he groaned inwardly, accepting the call with a swipe of his thumb.

As soon as he answered the phone with an unimpressed, "Yeah?" a torrent of words assaulted his ear. Georgia's sentences were so rushed he could only make out a few words here and there, but those few – "Ant," "Anne-Marie," "The Sun," "exclusive" – were enough for him to get the picture: The Sun had finally gotten proof of the rumours that had been circulating for a while now. They were going to out Ant and Anne-Marie's budding relationship. He couldn't deal with this right now. He was already stressed enough as it was, not even having recovered yet from BGT, and now with the angst over Ali's health...This was the last thing he needed. His body acting on instinct, self-preservation kicking in, he cut the call and threw his phone onto the kitchen table with a clatter.

Sinking down into a chair at the table, Dec buried his aching head in his hands, letting out a long, deep sigh. His head felt like it was going to explode, his already high blood pressure skyrocketing further, testing the limits of the ACE inhibitor, enalapril, which had been prescribed for him two months ago to manage his out of control stress-induced hypertension. Worry for his best friend crowded everything else out of his mind, taking hold of him and shaking him to his core. What if this was the beginning of the end again? Would Ant survive this? What if Anne-Marie couldn't take the pressure and broke up with him? What then? Mind going in endless panicked circles, Dec faintly became aware of Ali's raised voice in the living room. Georgia must have called her, then. Great. Just what Ali needed in her delicate state.

Preparing to storm into the living room and grab the phone to give Georgia a piece of his mind for potentially raising his wife's blood pressure further, Dec was surprised when his own phone buzzed once again, skittering across the table as it vibrated. It was Georgia again. He still couldn't deal with this. Declining the call, Dec let it go to voicemail. He'd listen to his telling off later. Right now, he had a wife to check on....Although come to think of it, she was probably going to tell him off, too.

And that she did.

                                                        ~~~

The sun had now long since hidden behind a solid wall of clouds, and the temperature had chilled considerably. Dec needed a walk to clear his head. Ali had ripped into him for hanging up on Georgia – twice – calling him unprofessional and saying his lack of respect for others was shocking. She evidently had no sympathy for him and what he was going through, so he figured he might as well just go out. No one would miss him if he disappeared, clearly. Ali would be fine on her own with the baby, and Ant had Anne-Marie now - he obviously didn't need him anymore. His family could cope with his loss – there were plenty enough of them to go around to make up for the small matter of his absence. Come to think of it, everyone would be better off without him here. He wasn't much of a catch at the best of times, but these days he was downright miserable to be around. He couldn't blame everyone for becoming sick of him and abandoning him. He'd leave himself, too, if he had the choice.

The ringing of his phone rudely interrupted his increasingly morbid train of thought. Sighing, he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Georgia. Again. Casting his eyes to the heavens in a silent plea for a lightning bolt to fork out its tongue and just kill him now, he accepted the call.

Surprisingly enough, Georgia didn't even mention the fact he'd hung up on her earlier, launching straight into details of the exposé The Sun were planning on running the following day. Dec couldn't say a word, just listened dumbly as Georgia quoted bits and pieces of the article, saying they had no way of stopping it going out. Barbed wire wrapped tighter around his heart as she repeated the words of an unnamed source claiming to be a "friend" who seemed to be his own insecurities incarnate: "...she has put a smile back on his face. She has been his rock. They have been living in each other's pockets, day in, day out." That should be him – he should be Ant's rock, they had been living in each other's pockets for years. But now he'd been replaced. Ant had found someone better, and pitiful little Declan had been left in the dust. That hurt.

Oh, and here came another paparazzo. Fan-bloody-tastic. Sucking his lips in, Dec cast a baleful glare in the pap's direction, continuing his swift pace. The end goal of his walk remained unknown – he was just aimlessly wandering around town, to be honest, wishing he weren't alive – but it looked purposeful enough, his impassionate gaze directed at some undetermined point in the distance.

"I've already spoken to Ant," Georgia continued, "and he's completely fine with everything they want to print. There was just one bit that he got angry about, but we managed to negotiate with all of the tabloids to ensure they omitted it."

Curiousity now getting the better of him, Dec spoke for the first time since he'd answered the phone minutes earlier. "What bit did he want cut out?" His voice was choked, almost sort of fearful. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling whatever it was had to do with him.

Georgia hesitated for a moment, obviously torn. "You know, Dec, I really think you ought to ask Ant. You'll just get upset if I tell you."

Despite repeated exasperated attempts at getting Georgia to reveal what had been removed from the article, Dec finally had to admit defeat. "So Ant's fine with this? He doesn't seem upset?" It bothered Dec that Ant was seemingly unperturbed by his private life being exposed like this. If it were him, he would be furious about his privacy being invaded.

"He's not pleased, no, but he's not too upset. Said he knew it would come out sooner rather than later. He actually seems a bit relieved that they don't have to hide anymore." Georgia sounded puzzled, like she couldn't quite understand why Dec was asking her about this instead of just talking to Ant himself. "Haven't you talked to Ant yet, Dec? I figured you would have spoken by now. Ant said he was going to call you."

"Yeah, well, he hasn't has he," Dec muttered crossly. "He's got someone else now, doesn't need me." His words were clipped, hurt evident in his voice.

Sounding shocked but somehow sorrowful, Georgia exclaimed, "Oh, Dec, is that what you think? You need to talk to him, you really do..."

"Yeah, that's what everyone says. Thanks for the info, Georgia, I've gotta go."

"Bye, Dec, and please talk to him."

Ending the call with a vicious stab of his index finger, Dec pocketed his phone....Only for it to start ringing again. Cursing under his breath, he pulled it out and glared at the screen. To anyone watching – and thankfully the paparazzi were nowhere in sight for this photo opportunity – Dec's next reaction would have seemed odd. A kaleidoscope of emotions passed over his features as he stared at his phone – passing from his initial annoyance to surprise, intense vulnerability, sadness, and then a hint of hope, before returning to sadness. Finally swiping up just before the call went to voicemail, Dec answered.

"Ant?"

[distant-rose]

Playing Off Foul (1/2)

Notes: I’ve been working off this idea for awhile. I just needed to get it off my chest. I have so much baseball!Killian crap in my WIP drawer and it needs to see the light of day. A special thank you to @welllpthisishappening​ and @katie-dub​ for being my support system and for encouraging me to write this nonsense. My apologies to fans of the Arizona Diamondbacks and Carmelo Anthony. My shade is nothing personal. Summary: Emma Swan doesn’t know anything about baseball, only that her son Henry is obsessed and works as a ballboy for the New York Yankees. She has no interest in it, that is until her son gets whacked with a foul ball and she comes face-to-face with the player that hit it - Killian Jones. Rating: T+ Word Count: 4,600+

When it came down to it, Emma blamed David.

Though it had been Neal who had introduced Henry to baseball, it had been David’s fault that he became a Yankees fan. Since the moment he learned that Henry was interest in the sport dubbed “America’s Favorite Pastime,” Emma’s brother had taken to bringing her son to every baseball game he could afford and spending the rest of his money on more merchandise than their tiny two bedroom apartment could afford. 

It was David who had told Henry about the ballboy job opening at Yankee Stadium and like a fool, Emma had allowed her teenager to apply. She didn’t think he would get past the application review but two weeks later, Henry had gotten the call in for an interview which was followed by an official job offer and a celebratory dinner at Fazio’s. She wasn’t been sure how was more excited about it - Henry for having an opportunity to meet his heroes and get paid for it or David who now had an inside man on what was really going on in the Yankees’ locker room. Emma had been less enthused about it.

Though the team that spent half of its games on the road, the stadium seemed to have constant need of Henry and it wasn’t uncommon for him to come stumbling back into the apartment at one or two in the morning on a school night. Furthermore, the players had an habit of giving him more money in tips than Henry knew what to do with on top of earning an whopping $21.50 an hour. Emma nearly blew a gasket when she find out one of the players had given her son a thousand dollars to keep quiet about some girls coming into the locker room for a “private tour.” She didn’t want their boorish behaviour and outrageous spending habits rubbing off on her son. She already had Neal to contend with, she didn’t need to add a bunch of immature rich assholes to the mix. However, there were silver linings to Henry working at the ballpark. Being a ballboy required him to be on top of his grades and it kept him out of trouble for the most part. More often than not, his Saturday nights were spent cleaning bases and polishing cleats rather than going to parties. She also no longer had to worry about Henry asking for money to hang out with his friends since he made more than enough to fend for himself. Another added cherry was that nothing pissed off her Diamondbacks loving ex more than knowing their son was working for “the Evil Empire.” Still, Emma didn’t like it.

She especially didn’t like it when she saw “Yankee Stadium” on her caller ID when she was in the middle of a honey-trap operation to catch a guy who had been charged with credit card fraud.

“Hello? Is this Mrs. Swan?” It was a voice she didn’t recognise but he sounded vaguely nervous.

She bristled slightly at bit at the misnomer. “It’s Miss Swan and yes, this is.”

“Right, sorry, Miss Swan, my name is William Smee and I’m a clubhouse assistant manager over at Yankee Stadium. I’m calling in regard to your son-“ “What happened?” Emma cut him off in a clipped tone.

“There was an accident. A foul ball caught him unaware and he was knocked unconscious. An ambulance was called and he’s on his way to Bronx New Lebanon.”

Fear spiked up her spine as he spoke but she tapped it down, immediately going into crisis mode. She couldn’t afford to get hysterical. Henry needed to keep her cool. Before Mr. Smee even finished his last sentence, she had picked up her purse and was shrugging her coat back on.

“How long ago was this?”

“Twenty minutes ago. We wanted to make sure Henry got immediate attention and was looked after before we did anything else. His health is our top priority and rest assured, Miss Swan, the organisation is willing to pay any medical bills or anything-” “I literally do not care,” Emma cut him off again. “Just give me the address.”

“It’s on Tiffany Street, I believe, ma’am.”

Emma got up, so focused on the situation with Henry that she had forgotten all about her “date.” She turned to leave, he reached out and grabbed her arm. Emma hissed when his grip was a little more forceful than necessary, fingers digging into her skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked rudely.

“My son is in the hospital. I need to go.”

“You have a son?”

“Yes. He’s fourteen and was just in an accident at Yankee Stadium. Now, let me go.”

“Look, Emma, I don’t know what your malfunction is but I know a lie when I see one. You’re wearing an old ass dress and false stones after all. How about you sit down and actually give me a chance. I’m a really nice guy with some cash to burn.”

“Listen, dude, let me go and I will forget about this.”

“Or what? What are you gonna do me, sweetheart?”

Emma let out a short humourless laugh. This guy didn’t realize how lenient she was planning on being. When she heard Henry was in the hospital, she had decided that she would let this skip go and focus on her son. Now, she wasn’t going to be so generous. On top of being a massive credit scam artist, he was also an asshole and she wasn’t going to let that fly.

She pulled out her cuffs and attached one to his wrist faster than he could blink. He stared at his wrist dumbfounded while she attached the other end to his seat. When he tried to take off, Emma tripped him. She watched in smug satisfaction as the chair landed on top of him. She placed a heeled foot on top of it to keep him in place as she took out her phone once more and called her brother. He picked up after the second ring.

“Is Henry okay?” He asked immediately, not even bothering with pleasantries.

Emma blinked in surprise. “You know about that already?”

“Yeah. It was just on ESPN.”

“Shit.”

“Where is he? I saw him get pulled off. He okay?”

“I’m heading to Bronx New Lebanon now,” Emma replied, applying more pressure on the man beneath her foot. “I need a big favor though. I need you to pick up a Mr. James Graves from Piccola Cucina.”

“On it.”

“Fuck you, bitch!” The skip growled.

“Hey! You had your chance!” She snapped back. “You should have just let me go and see my son!”

The maitre d’hotel came over with a cautious expression, holding his hands up in front of him as if he was approaching a wild and dangerous animal. Emma flashed him a smile in hopes of defusing some of the tension. He gave a tentative one back.

“Is everything okay here, Miss?” He asked nervously.

“Hi. My name is Emma Swan. I work for Nationalwide Bail Bonds Agency. This gentleman, and I use that term loosely, missed his court date and there’s a warrant out for his arrest. There’s an officer on the way. I needed to leave like twenty minutes ago because my kid is in the hospital. So, no. It’s not okay.”

The maitre d’hotel’s eyes went wide and he glanced between her and the man underneath her boot a few times, looking entirely unsure on how to handle the situation. Emma sympathised. This wasn’t the type of joint that was used to rough clientele and this wasn’t normally the sort of spot that Emma would bring her skips but James Graves had insisted on this spot, probably in an attempt to impress her into sleeping with him.

“I’ll going to talk to someone...I will be right back…”

“I’ll be here,” Emma muttered bitterly, taking out her phone and glancing at the time. She didn’t want to leave Henry alone in the hospital.

“You could still let me go...and see your kid...and I will be willing to forget all about this…” James Graves wheezed from under her.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You had your shot, buddy. You blew it. Now, you’re going to hang tight until Officer Nolan comes.”

The maitre d’hotel returned four minutes later, two large stocky men flanking him. Both were wearing black shirts and white aprons that were covered in grime;  the customary mark of someone who works in the back of a restaurant. Neither of them looked happy, both eying Emma’s skip with disdain.

“Miss, I know you need to leave so I talked to some of the boys in the back who are willing to babysit your friend until the authorities arrive so you can get to your son.”

It was the nicest thing a stranger had ever done for her. She gave them her first genuine smile of the night.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an eye on him. Go see your boy… and perhaps come back for some eggplant parm when you’re able.”

With her skip issue settled, Emma raced to where she had parked her car.  Her eyes nearly bulged when she saw a parking ticket tacked to her windshield but it was nothing she couldn’t sort out with David later. It was just another annoyance and one that she needed to set aside until she saw to Henry.

The drive to the Bronx was as painful. It was as if the some unmerciful god knew how stressed she was and decided to add to it. FDR Drive was backed to hell with bumper-to-bumper traffic. She watched in frustration as the ETA on her Waze app crept up minute by minute, screaming against her steering wheel. If only she had gotten a Hummer instead of a Volkswagen Bug, then she could just crush everything in her path and be with her son already.

It took her nearly an hour and twenty minutes to get to Tiffany Street and then another ten minutes to find parking before resigning to put her car in an overpriced garage that only took cash. The men at the lot were unsympathetic to her plight. They rolled their eyes at her explanations, telling her to that the local convenience across the street had an ATM and to come back when she could actually pay them.

Needless to say by the time she finally got into the hospital, Emma was in a foul mood and was ready to go to war with anyone who got in her path. Her anger must have been plastered all over her face because anyone who saw her gave her a wide berth and the nursing staff seemed to shrink under her gaze when she demanded to know where her son was. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She just wanted to know her kid was okay.

She was led down the hall by a harassed looking nurse who was trying very hard to make small talk with her but Emma was having none of it. The nurse stopped towards the end of the hall and gestured to the last room, mumbling something about seeing to other people. She paid the woman no mind though.

She was surprised to hear laughter coming from her son’s hospital room. It wasn’t the laughter of a teenager but rather a grown man, one she didn’t recognise. Frowning to herself, she entered the room to find her son sitting up in bed and playing cards with a stranger.

Henry’s face brightened when he saw her.

“Mom! You made it! Did you get your guy?”

Emma didn’t acknowledge the question. Her attention was focused on the man sitting at her son’s bedside. He appeared to be the same age as her and dressed in the most expensive pair of sweats that she had ever seen. The New York Yankees logo was emblazoned across his chest and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing muscled forearms. He had messy dark hair and well-manicured stubble that seemed to enhance the line of his jaw. He was giving her a tentative smile and brushing his hands against his knees nervously. In the back of her head, Emma acknowledged he was incredibly attractive but she was more concerned with who the hell he was and why he was in her son’s hospital room.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Mom!” Henry sounded scandalized.

“Ermmm…” The man ran one of his hands through his hair. Emma noted the massive scarring that seemed to encompass webbing between his thumb and index finger and seemed to radiate in angry lines across his knuckles. He stood up and held out his other hand for her shake. “Killian Jones.”

She didn’t take it. Instead she crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised her eyebrows at him. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Henry let out a loud groan and looked like he was about have a fit.

“Mom! Are you kidding? He’s the best second baseman in the league! He has the highest on-base percentage and leads the AL in stolen bases! He’s, like, one of the top twenty best hitters! How do you not know who he is!”

Emma glanced back at the proclaimed baseball superstar and squinted a bit. Now that Henry had mentioned it, he did look a little familiar. She was pretty certain that he had seen his profile on her son’s bedroom wall. Though, he looked more intense on the poster than he did in real life. If anything, he now looked awkward and embarrassed. Killian’s face flushed under the praise and he took back the hand he had held out in order to scratch behind his ear.

“I’m pretty sure Jose Altuve would disagree with you on the best second baseman thing.”

“Okay, maybe not the best second baseman but you’re up there. You have an insane record in double plays and you play for the best team in baseball,” Henry conceded, picking up the deck of cards that had been scattered across his rollaway table.

“I appreciate the show of team spirit, Henry.”

“Okay, I get it,”she said, cutting into the bizarre display of male bonding that was happening in front of her. “What is he doing here?”

Both Henry and Killian looked uncomfortable at the question, the two of them exchanging glances. Emma felt her stomach tying itself in knots. She had a feeling she was not going to like what they had to say.

“I just wanted to make sure your boy was okay…” Killian replied slowly, as if he was trying to choose his words carefully. “...and you know, make sure that there was no hard feelings or anything…”

“Excuse me?” Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Killian. It was a foul ball. I should have been paying attention more.”

“Perhaps but still, I would never forgive myself if anything bad had happened to you.”

“You’re the one who hit my kid?!” She hissed, looking at him with murder in her eyes. She was five seconds away from decking him in the face.

Killian seemed to sense her aggression because he put his hands out in front of him in surrender. “Not intentionally! I promise!”

“Right,” she replied in a clipped tone before turning to her son. “Do you mind if I borrow Mr. Baseball here for a moment so we can have a...chat?”

Emma wasn’t certain who looked more nervous, her son or the professional baseball player who was shifting in place like a guilty toddler.

“As long as you promise not to kill him… if he dies, we, for sure, won’t make the playoffs this year.”

“Glad to know that’s all my life is worth to you, Henry.”

“Just being honest.”

She gestured for Killian to follow her out into the hallway. He followed her but she could see the clear reluctance that embodied his stride. He reminded her of the children who sat in front of the principal’s office, waiting to be screamed at. She closed the door behind them, so Henry wouldn't listen in on their conversation. She leaned against it, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glaring at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He looked startled by the question. “I already told you. I’m here for your boy, Mrs. Swan.”

“You say that but I know how you assholes work. Everything with you is image. Henry keeps a tight lip on what happens in that locker room but I know that you and some of your buddies pay him to keep quiet about the nasty shit that goes on in that.”

“Pardon?” His lips formed a thin line. His nerves were giving way to irritation but Emma didn’t care.

“You heard? I’m not an idiot. You‘ really not here out of any concern for my son. You’re here to cover your ass and keep up your good guy image. I will not have you use my son as a publicity stunt.”

“Publicity stunt?” He repeated. He looked positively offended by her words. “Listen, Mrs. Swan-”

“It’s Emma. Not Miss Swan, especially not Mrs. Swan,” she cut him off. “I’m not married. Everyone at that fucking stadium always assumes I am. It’s annoying.”

“Alright, alright, fine, Emma,” he conceded, looking more frustrated. “I’m not here for a publicity stunt. Do you see cameras? Reporters? Any media specialists?”

“No,” she admitted.

“That’s because no one knows I’m here. Especially not any reporter. If anything, I’m in big trouble because I skipped media. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here except one of the base coaches and only because he asked where I was going.”

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for that?”

“Most definitely,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Then why are you here?” she whispered again.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say it to you but I genuinely like your son, Mis-Emma. He’s a nice kid. He’s always got a smile on his face and never complains or asks for anything except what else he can do...some of the ballboys after a while try to cut corners or try to go out partying with the team but not Henry… he’s been with us just for this season and it feels like he’s always been there…If he had been seriously hurt…” Killian paused, rubbing his hand over his jaw and looking distressed by the very idea. “...I was serious when I said I would never forgive myself.”

Emma studied him for a moment, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. She felt slightly guilty about accusing him of using Henry in such a way when he seemed so earnest in his attachment to her son.

“I didn’t want him to take the job,” she admitted. “He’s got enough going on… And now this...”

“I know.”

She looked up at him, slightly startled. “What?”

“Henry told me you were apprehensive about letting him work in the clubhouse… he thinks you only allowed it to piss off your ex.”

“Henry told you that?”

“I don’t think you understand how closely your son works with the team, love. Like I said, he’s a good kid so I tend to gravitate towards him instead of the others...we talk a lot about things...from freshman baseball tryouts to his writing...”

“You know about Henry’s writing? Henry doesn’t talk to anyone about his writing, not David, not his father.”

“Well, I think he’s more open with me about it because I’m admittedly a Babylon Five and Stargate Atlantis junkie so he’s more comfortable sharing things with a fellow nerd… from what I understand your ex was quite disparaging of his Doctor Who obsession...not that he has much taste, considering he’s a Diamondbacks fan.”

“You’re a sci fi nerd AND a professional baseball player?”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive,” he teased. “What? What did you think we only watched ESPN or Fox Sports or something?”

“Honestly, yes.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and smiling at her. Her breath caught a little and her stomach did annoyingly flips that it hadn’t done since high school. She was stunned how she went from wanting to murder him for hurting her kid to literally squirming at the sight of his face. She needed to get a hold of herself.

“We should probably go back in,” she replied. “You know, so he doesn’t think I murdered you and the team’s playoff chances…”

“Probably a good idea.”

Henry looked anxious as they opened the door, craning his neck to see past Emma. His shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw Killian, alive and well, behind her. She couldn’t help her snort of amusement.

“Did you honestly think I was going to kill him?”

“With you anything is possible, Mom. You did almost run over Carmelo Anthony that one time..”

Killian’s eyebrows rose as he regarded her with a look that was equals concerned and amused. “You almost ran over Carmelo Anthony?”

“That’s not my fault! He was on his phone and walked in front of my car!” Emma defended. “He’s lucky that I have amazing reflexes and was able to stop in time or else he would have been out for all of 2016.”

“I think at that point Knicks fans would have thanked you. I’m pretty they were trying to get rid of him by then. He was a cancer to the team,” Killian responded with a smirk.

“You follow basketball too?”

“I follow most major sports, love. Except maybe golf. But that’s because I firmly believe if you can drink and smoke while playing it, then it isn’t a sport,” Killian remarked.

“Babe Ruth used to eat, drink and smoke between innings,” Henry teased.

“That’s because Babe Ruth was a baseball god and could do whatever he wanted.”

“If you say so.”

Killian gave Henry a light shove in response. He sat down in his original seat and picked up the neatly stack cards that Henry had been fiddling with.

“Do you want to play another hand?”

“Only if Mom deals in,” Henry smiled.

“I can play,” Emma responded, taking another chair and sitting next Killian. She miscalculated the distance between them, causing her knee bump against his. Emma was vaguely surprised when neither of them pulled away from the accidental contact. “As long as I get the official story of what happened.”

Henry’s face turned red and ducked his head down, focusing on the cards Killian was dealing.

“Okay….so with foul balls, we’re supposed to give them away to fans. And when we say fans, they mean to give them away to the little kids. You know? The four to ten-year olds. Anyway, there was this family and they had two kids and the older kid really really really wanted a ball....so I gave him one and the other kid who was maybe three, I think? I’m guessing he was three, anyway, he threw a big tantrum and I just wanted him to be happy and have a good time so I decided to give him the next ball that came our way...So that’s what I did. And this kid, I don’t think he understood that you’re supposed to keep it because he threw it back on the field...The long and short of it is that I was supposed to be paying attention to the batter. You’re not supposed to do anything but watch when someone is in the box because of safety reasons but the kid threw the ball and I went to pick it up...and the next thing I knew I was on the ground... So really, it’s not Killian’s fault, Mom. It’s mine. And I’m probably going to lose my job over it.”

“You’re not going to lose your job over that, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Things like this happen. You’re not the first and you probably won’t be the last ballboy to get hit.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely,” he responded, picking up his cards.

Emma was more focused on her son than on the card game, looking at him in concern.

“What did the doctor say?”

“That I have a mild concussion. They did tests and say I should be okay, but they want to keep me overnight for observation,” Henry shrugged.

“They did tests!?”

Tests and an overnight in the hospital? She could only imagine what the hospital bill was going to look like. She highly doubted her crap ass insurance plan would do much to cover the costs. She was going to be paying this off all year. She could feel it.

Killian seemed to sense her distress and played a hand on her arm. She jumped slightly at the contact.

“I’m pretty sure the organization is going to foot the bill, love. And if they don’t, I will. You don’t need to worry.”

“We’re not a charity case,” she snapped.

“I didn’t say you were. It’s just the right there to do.”

They didn’t talk much after that, instead focusing on the card game that they had started. Henry was pretty much sweeping them both but Emma had a sneaking suspicion that Killian was losing on purpose, trying to make Henry smile and laugh. It was strange to see someone interact with her son like this outside David and Neal. It did funny things to her insides.

Killian stayed with them past visiting hours, using his charm and clout as a professional baseball player to keep the nurses from kicking them out. It wasn’t until his agent, an imposing woman in a well-tailored pantsuit, came and pulled on the back of his sweatshirt, did Killian leave. Emma didn’t know who was more upset, she or Henry, that he was going.

“You’ll see me sooner than you think,” he told Henry, ruffling his hair a bit and causing the teenager to scowl at him. “You’ll be working at the clubhouse again before you know it and we still have to work on your swing. If you’re not a starting baseman by next year, I will eat my shoe.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Henry replied smartly.

Killian’s eyes cut to Emma, smile softening. “Will I be seeing you around?”

“I don’t know, do you plan on whacking my son in the head again?”

“Hopefully not,” he chuckled, ducking his head a bit.

“Then maybe…”

“Just maybe?”

“It’s better than no.”

“Too true,” he chuckled. “Well, I look forward to maybe seeing you around.”

Henry hit her in the shoulder as soon as Killian was out the door, smirking at her. “You were flirting with Killian Jones!”

“What? I was not!”

“You were too! And he was flirting back! I saw you!” he crowed. “Wait until Uncle David hears this!”

“You’re not telling Uncle David anything because nothing happened!”

“Suuuuureeeeee Mom.”

“Shut up,” she said, giving him a light shove back. “And you should be resting.”

“And you should have gotten his number.”

“Henry. Sleep.”

It turned out that Emma didn’t have to ask. Next afternoon there was a large package outside their apartment, containing a large display of flowers, a personalized New York Yankees jersey with ‘Swan’ on the back, a pack of baseball cards and an index phone with a handwritten message: Just in case, you want to make that maybe a certainty, give me call: 212-921-2012 - KJ

[readerimagines]

Stiches ( Lion x Fem!Reader pt. 1/3)

It was her first day as an official paramedic at the camp, her training was finally over after just a month of getting chosen and she felt so proud of herself… she finally was part of something. Her life was filled with new plans and will to live it at her best. It wasn’t easy and it has never been, but finally she felt like she was doing the right thing, no matter what.

She was walking out the office after helping Gustave with the archive and a quick tour of the nursery where she started to work with him, when her eyes landed on a particularly crouded spot. Shouts, moans and groans of pain filled the air, alarming the young paramedic. An argument badly ended, she immediately thought while reaching that point, only to see Lion, Olivier, on the ground while Twitch and Rook were trying to stop other GIGN soldiers from going after the SAS ones, ready to fight. The reason of the dispute? Apparently Lion said something that really got on Thatcher’s nerves, seeing how they were looking at each other.

She sighed and, overcoming her shyness, since she was even kind of new in the group and didn’t still knew anyone too well because of her introvert personality, she coughed and got into the crowd.

“What happened here? “ She asked while noticing Olivier’s wounded face and reaching out with a hand to gently brush his forhead, careful not to touch any open wound, in the attempt of making him raise his head and get a better view of the situation.

“Ask his filthy mouth. Learn Respect, you cunt! “ The older man spitted out while looking at the French, still.

“Hey, don’t add fuel to the fire, okay? You already punched him, what else do you want to do? It’s not like you can kill him, anyway. “ The girl replied with a sudden security in her voice. She couldn’t stand violence, above all just for words. Yes, Olivier could be really annoying and seem absolutely careless when he spoke sometimes, but for her wasn’t enough to punch him that way. She didn’t know him that well anyway, so she still tried not to take any parts.

“ What did you do to make him so angry? “

“This is between me and him, move away, I don’t want you to get hurt-“ Olivier said cleaning the right corner of his mouth with his hand, trying to not involve anyone else in that fight.

“Yes, move away, he clearly needs to learn how to shut his mouth and get down his imaginary pedestal. “ Mike added when finally Emmanuelle got between the two, helped by Gilles, that with his firm voice stopped both of the men.

“Olivier, follow her in the nursery. Mike, I called your Sergeant, if I was You I’d stop it right now. “

Both Lion and Thatcher looked at each other for a second and Lion, not wanting to fuel the situation, just stood up grunting, while turning toward the paramedic.

“Go ahead, I’ll follow you. “ He simply murmured and the young woman nodded rapidly, sighing slightly because of the tension that that moment was spreading.

_

“So Six has decided to keep you in the unit?” The man asked sitting on the bed, while she kept cleaning the few cuts on his face with a piece of cotton full of sanitizer and his gaze glued on her concentrated expression.

“Yes… she said that my first aid abilities could be useful in the field… So I’ll be more of a paramedic than a tent medic like Doc is forced to do sometimes. I mean… I am here to replace him in some situations where they need him at the base, so… “ She tried to explain, fully concentrated, but quite relaxed, with a shyly proud smile on her lips. She still didn’t believe the place her life was about to put her in.

“Unless you don’t decide to leave her behind for the ‘safety of the group ‘, Olivier, am I right? “ Gustave entered the room with that teasing sentence that clearly irritated the taller man, that glanced apologizingly at the smaller figure of the girl, then grunted looking away. Doc surely had the worst timing to say such things.

“You know I had to do it, Doc. I don’t care if you don’t forgive me, it was necessary and it’s already a heavy burden to carry. “

Gustave shook his head and prepared the stitches for his face, then got closer to Lion to sew the injuries, when Lion himself stopped him.

“I don’t want you to touch me. Let her do it. “ He said evidently annoyes by the Doctor’s teasing and the younger woman, already confused from the situation, got flustered by his words. “M-Me? I-I don’t think it’s a good ide-“

“Please? “ He asked glueing his big light eyes on hers, making her gulp and Doc enjoy the scene, placing the tools on her hands. “Practice. “ Doc encouraged her and in that moment Olivier smiled extremely slightly, thanking Doc with his mind, while gesturing him to leave.

She sighed and looked at the tools in her hands before getting closer and starting to sew his cheekbone, biting her lower lip in full concentration. Olivier, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop looking at her for some reason. He just looked away after while, cursing under his breath in pain when a new stitch was sewn into the bruised skin. She tried her best not to make it too painful, but luckily it was the only spot to close up, so when she finished, she looked at her finished work with a proud smile on her lips.

“It came out pretty well, you are so lucky! “

The older man looked in a mirror next to the bed and smiled nodding, before the girl took his face to place a little band aid on the closed wound, to secure it even more.

“There you go. Anyway… don’t you think you should talk with Doc…? I mean… Those are things that can influence both of your works… you should trust each others, instead you almost seem like two foreigners… “ She said while taking off her gloves and washing her hands, while the other stood up stretching his back slightly.

“I don’t think it will work… I can actually see his position, as I think he can see mine… but it’s hard to accept each other’s idea of it. So… “

Lion sighed rubbing his face, evidently tired and stressed, but then smiled when his glance landed back on her.

“Are you busy? Do you want to go out a bit? In half an hour they will call everyone to bed, so… We can smoke or just enjoy the chill air. “ He really looked like he needed it and noticing his visible discomfort she nodded, walking behind him while closing the door behind them. They got on the entrance of the building and she pointed for a good sit, so he patiently nodded.

They were finally sitting under the night sky that wasn’t too clear and kept silence for some minutes, until Lion, too weirded out by the silence, spoke first.

“I’m actually happy you’ll be in the field, I mean… Being patched up by Doc would be such a pain. “ He joked making the younger laugh a bit and nod. “Yeah, maybe you both will stop annoying each other so badly for once… “

“Well, you seem to be the only person that really could get along with anyone. I mean, yeah, you may look so calm and shy, but not everyone would have made what you did before, when Thatcher was beating the shit out of my face. That’s brave. “ He sincerely told her with a smile, sighing. Yes, it was his way to silently thank her for dragging him out of that situation.

The girl, in response, couldn’t help it but slightly blush and raise her shoulders laughing silently.

“There were the others too… I just hate fights. They are so stupid… I think one of the reasons I joined special forces is to avoid violence when is possible, too… just because you don’t like someone, doesn’t mean you should break their bones. “

Lion listened carefully and nodded, biting some skin from his bottom lip as if he was thinking about something rather important.

“Only that or you have other reasons too? “ He asked moving his eyes to her, sincerely curious and… anxious.

“Well… That’s a long story. I think that I could say that I didn’t have too many purposes in life? Every work I did was unbearable to me. Not that I don’t like working or anything… it just didn’t feel right. Not for me. I needed something that could give me something back that wasn’t only money, but… I don’t know, maybe just a result? I needed to see that my place in this world could change things, even little ones. I don’t care about notoriety or pride, I just want to see that my intervention can change someone’s day or even just a moment. I feel like I needed to give a sense to my actions, I don’t know if I’ve explained myself well. “

Olivier listened and a little smile curved his lips as he just shook his head. “I can totally understand that… I kind of joined for the same reason. Isn’t it weird, though? “ He asked her and she tilted her head. “What? “

“We joined for almost the same reasons, but our pasts are different, the events that made us into this weren’t the same, but here we are. “ He shrugged and she nodded smiling. “I didn’t think of that. I heard you we’re quite a hurricane when you were younger, weren’t you? “

“That’s actually a nice way to out it… “ He sighed and at that moment Montagne came out to call them in. “Get on your rooms, tomorrow will be our first mission as a team, we need you to be fully operational. “ The older said and both of the others stood up and nodded, getting inside. After the goodnight, they retreated in their dormitories, until the next morning.

“FUCK, LION’S DOWN, WE NEED THE MEDIC, FAST! “

It was supposed to be a simple terrorists neutralization, but apparently they knew of their arrival at it all got more difficult. The girl ran across the area and reached the tall French that was cursing while holding his leg.

“Hey, I know I’m extremely beautiful, but you can just ask for a hug if you want me to touch you, instead of attracting bullets! “ She joked to distract him from his pain, while focusing on stabilizing the wound rapidly, but efficiently.

“Are we at that point of our relation already? “ He asked jokingly back, before hissing in pain as she applied pressure on that part.

“Yeah, but now we need to take cover, backup is in its way and you can’t walk alone. Come on. “ She passed his arm around her own shoulders and helped him walking to the site, when Finka bursted on their backs, shooting. “Stay down! “ She warned them as she cleared the area behind them. “Go now! “ They both nodded and tried to walk faster, finally getting on the van.

“Doc will take care of this, I already stabilized it, but he needs to properly treat it… Good luck. “ She said waving her hand before running back on the field, leaving Lion more worried than ever.

In the van he had some time to think. How many people did actually treat him as a friend? Not many for sure, but that girl didn’t seem to give an absolute damn about what he did and who he was. It was like they got along for real and it felt so strange… From when he grew to care so much about the time they spent together? Wasn’t it just because of how lonely he was?

He rubbed his face. He really hoped she was okay.

“So you are the new recruit? “ Marius asked. Curious as he was, he HAD to know who was he working with, just for the joy of being updated on his mates.

“She is our paramedic, not a recruit. “ Olivier spoke as he got on the table sitting next to the girl with a plate walking funny, but still well.

“Olivier! Are you healing well?” The young paramedic asked excitedly, smiling at him before taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Oui, Mademoiselle. Doc said that without your help he could have many more difficulties in treating the wound, but this time with a few stitches he could pull out a good job. “ He said patting her back, making her giggle. Jager, on the other side of the table, raised a brow. It wasn’t so common to see Lion in such a good mood and the fact that he was wounded made it all even weirder.

“Well, I look forward to work with you then.

Actually, IQ and Valkirye asked of you, they want to invite you to train with them and Finka apparently, but, between me and you, they kind of go overboard with it so don’t exhaust yourself, okay?“ The German winked finishing his sandwich just in time for Twitch to reach him. “Jager? I need a second opinion on the updates we made on Gilles' shield, can you please come a minute?” He, of course, nodded and murmured a little “excuse me” before leaving the table and leaving Lion with the girl.

“So it was our last mission at least for this month… Do you plan to go on vacations? With that leg it would be a nice Idea, at least you can rest properly… “

“I don’t think so. I don’t know who to bring with me and it’s not a nice idea anyway… I’ll probably just stay at home. What about you?”

And so they kept speaking in that friendly and relaxed manner, something fairly uncommon for Lion, but… pleasant for sure.

[withthewerewolves]

A deaged Gansey fic, because EtoileGarden is killing me with her Gansey-centric fic and he needs a hug

Ronan nearly didn’t pick up the phone. An entire confluence of events led to him even being in the house when the call came in, and he was only close enough to see Gansey’s name on the caller ID because he’d left it on top of the fridge after Opal tried chewing on it and he happened to be getting a glass of water when it rang. Even knowing who was calling he might have ignored it, but Adam had just left for college and Blue, Gansey, and Henry had been gone long enough for him to start feeling lonely for the company of people who hadn’t come from his head.

“Dick,” he said, picking it up. Chainsaw and Opal were having a screaming contest nearby, but he made no attempt to move somewhere quieter.

“Hello, Old MacDonald,” said Henry, because he thought he was funny.

“Cheng,” Ronan replied, his tone shifting from friendly annoyance to something less welcoming.

“Now that the introductions have been made, on to the reason for my call,” Henry said. There was something happening in the background, but Ronan couldn’t hear it over his own cacophony.

“You have to have a reason to ruin my day?”

“I will ruin your day for free. However, in this case I do have a reason.” Henry’s usual cheerful voice was intact, but there was a hint of strain that set a pit of worry in Ronan’s stomach on to boil. Ronan waited, but he didn’t continue.

“Get on with it. Some of us have more to do than galivant around the country taking selfies.”

“I don’t know whether to be more impressed that you know the word ‘galivant’ or ‘selfie’.”

“Yes, my education was a waste. I’m hanging up on you.”

“Wait!” The spark of real panic in Henry’s voice stopped Ronan.

“You have two seconds,” Ronan growled.

“Gansey has – oh Blue Lily what do you call it in English? He has shrunk. No, he is young. No, that isn’t right either.” There was some muttering, Ronan couldn’t make out words but he recognized Blue’s voice. “That is a silly thing to call it. The Korean is much more elegant. He has gone prat.” The silence after the statement told Ronan that Henry was done, but it made no sense.

“He’s…being rude? Of course he is. Duct tape his mouth shut.” Ronan only recognized the British word at all from reading the Harry Potter books when he was young. Declan had disapproved, which was why he’d finished all seven. Something else niggled in his memory, but it escaped him.

“Gansey’s manners are second only to the quality of his hair. I thought you said it was a common term?” The second part was directed at Blue.

“I can’t believe I let you make the call. Give me the phone.” This was clearly unnecessary because, based on the clarity of her words, Blue had already taken the phone.

“For fuck’s sake. Cheng and the Maggot in the same day?” Ronan said, but he knew he didn’t sound irritated.

“Gansey is a child,” Blue said. “He looks maybe eight. We should have considered this might happen, he’s probably been under constant stress since the thing with the bees.” There was a noise on the other side of the line and she said, “Don’t worry, we know about your allergy. We won’t let any bees get you, and even if they did, I carry medicine for you. See? Don’t touch the orange side, there’s something sharp in it.” Her voice was a mix of gentle and bossy that he hadn’t heard from her since the first time he’d left her alone with Opal.

It was the voice that told him what had happened. It was a common enough condition to be taught in schools, common enough that most families developed procedures in case it happened in the future, but not common enough that anyone expected it would. It was called going prat, just as Blue had told Henry. Prat stood for Physiological Response to Acute Trauma, but that was neither descriptive nor did it roll off the tongue. Really, it was age regression, an attempt by a brain to heal after a traumatic event. The theory was that the mind and body reverted to an age before the trauma in order to rewrite the connections in the brain to better process it. His Health teacher said it was a positive sign, that the brain considered the trauma to be over and that healing could begin. He had wondered if he would ever wake up with eyes that hadn’t seen the shattered skull of his father.

“He’s how old?” Ronan knew he sounded strangled, but most people lost a few years at most. The kind of regression Blue was talking about mostly only happened to kids who’d been abused, a sustained trauma. Of everyone he knew, he’d thought only Adam –

There was more talking that he couldn’t make out. “He says he’s ten. It’s cool, I was a short kid too,” Blue said.

“You’re a short kid now,” Ronan muttered. Ten. It probably was the bees, then. Better than the alternative.

“We’re coming back,” Blue said. “We’ll drive though the night and be at the Barns around noon tomorrow.” She was quiet for a moment, but it was a heavy silence. “We aren’t taking him to his parents.”

“Fuck no,” Ronan snapped.

Blue breathed out hard.

“How long will he be like this?” Ronan said. He didn’t really expect Blue to know, but maybe she’d paid more attention to Health class than he had.

“It could be weeks,” she said. “We’ll stop at Fox Way and see if anyone can tell anything.”

Ronan thought this was a case for therapy rather than magic, but as he wasn’t a fan of either, he deferred to her judgement.

“Tell him – tell him there’s a new stag in my deer herd,” he said. “And that if he eats his vegetables he might get tall enough to pet it.”

“Vegetables?” he heard Blue say incredulously as he hung up. He needed to call Adam. If anything could get him to make a weekend visit, this might.

[alo-piss-trancy]

ohmygod you’re like the only piss blog I’ve seen that likes dangan/ronpa skskskkssksks this makes me so fuckin happy hhhhh could you possibly do headcanons for some of the dr1 cast? id prefer all of them - but if you want to choose your favourites that’s fine 💗💗 i fuckin love u and ur blog already daawwww

Ahh thank you, I’m glad you like my blog! 💛 And yeah there isn’t much omo for DR which surprised me! I’ll do most of them, sparing a few I don’t know well (Leon, Sayaka, that spoilery girl from the beginning) or didn’t like (Hifumi and fortune guy)! :

Naegi: I’m not a huge fan of bedwetting, but I agree he definitely would in times of stress. Also he has a kinda weak bladder in general. Soda and stuff goes right through him. For the most part he can manage during trials (even if he tends to rush off as soon as the execution is over), but investigations run even longer so he usually ends up having to take breaks (to the possible annoyance of anyone he’s sleuthing with). When he’s desperate he thinks he’s subtle but absolutely isn’t, constantly squirming and bouncing/rocking on his heels, shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket like he isn’t actually grabbing his crotch, tends to whimper and groan under his breath. Often tries to hold longer around composed/strong ppl like Kirigiri, Byakuya, Sakura and Mondo, but often with embarrassing results. Not too shy to speak up around friends or more casual people if nothing’s going on, but the often serious situations they find themselves in make it more difficult (darting off to pee right after you find out a friend died is both in poor taste AND suspicious). Probably doesn’t have a piss kink. Willing to go in odd places if necessary.

Celeste: Ever poised, she’s the type who wouldn’t want to say anything and just holds it until she can slip away to maintain her dignity. For the most part she knows her limits and doesn’t get desperate often, but during times when she’s heavily invested in a task or just really doesn’t want to leave, she may overestimate her abilities, since she’s convinced she can ‘simply adapt’ to the increased pressure and ignore it until a more convenient time. Since she has a great poker face she usually manages to avoid letting on that anything’s wrong even if she’s absolutely dying, but once she gets close to or actually is wetting herself, the act falls apart and she gets really panicked and flustered. Around ppl that annoy her (like Hifumi or Byakuya) though, her temper will flare instead and she’ll lash out, converting all of her embarrassment into rage at them for somehow causing/witnessing the event (even if they had nothing to do with it). She’s extremely embarrassed when wetting herself (and also disgusted), but will try her best to play it off afterwards like it isn’t a big deal (again, with a speech about adapting and going with the flow), but her voice is noticeably shaky and she probably cries as soon as she’s alone. Would rather die/wet herself than go in odd places.

Also I kinda like the idea of her teasing other ppl when they’re desperate if they’re alone together (maybe a slight omo kink, or just bc she likes controlling ppl). Preferably Byakuya or Kirigiri (idk why those are just my two fav pairings for casual fun times with her).

Kirigiri: Always composed, aims to stay that way. Usually slips off without a word because it’s private business anyways. If asked when it isn’t a big deal, she’s fine with saying where she’s headed, but once she gets desperate enough she’ll feel self-conscious of ppl knowing how bad it is and makes up a lie instead. If a restroom isn’t available or it’s a serious situation, she would rather die than breathe a word, and will do her absolute best to avoid giving off any signs of her issue until she’s literally on the verge of wetting herself. Might work up the trust to tell Naegi if they’re close enough by that point, maybe Celeste, Sakura or Aoi if Naegi isn’t around and she knows it’s Ask For Help or Wet Yourself, but she’s just as likely to stay quiet if her proper nature gets the best of her. Refuses to hold herself under any circumstances, tends to just use her legs to help stave off the urge. Due to her resourceful nature, she will consider using odd things/places as a last resort, although she also has a chance of freezing up when attempting to actually go, since she’s nervous and isn’t used to it (personally, I LIVE for the idea of Naegi helping her with this and trying to relax her while she’s like, actually whimpering and showing vulnerability for the 1st time).

Might have a piss kink bc I do like the idea of her being attracted to something that’s the opposite of what she is (messy, juvenile, vulnerable). Also consider her genuinely wanting to help Naegi when he’s desperate but at the same time she’s really tuned on and praying it doesn’t show.

Chihiro: So shy oof, will never breathe a word and is really good at not giving any signs until he’s suddenly pissing himself. Would definitely cry and be mortified, needs lots of comfort afterwards (luckily p much everyone gives it to him). Practiced at holding for LONG stretches of time thanks to his secret making things inconvenient, and also because programming takes a ton of time in single sittings and he doesn’t want to get up and wreck his train of thought. I think he actually would be the type who has a huge closet kink, gets turned on by desperation and holds, fantasizes about wetting in public a lot, but would actually die and hate if it happened for real.

Mondo: Bladder of steel actually, takes great pride in this. He’ll often tease others for being weaker. When he does get desperate, he won’t whine pathetically or hold himself, but he will get snippy and make a few complaints about it. Has no qualms about pissing outside or in anything else, even if there are people around. If he did wet himself, it would be a blow to his pride, but he’d eventually get over it (it helps that ppl are too afraid to tease him unless they want a beating). I could see him having a piss kink for both sides, and also being into 'marking’ his lover.

Taka: Will ask as soon as he needs to go bc there’s no point putting it off, but if someone tells him no then that’s it. The answer is no and he’ll hold it without protest until he’s literally leaking, then maybe he’ll work up the nerve to choke out a plea. If denied again he’ll hold on as long as physically possible, only to finally lose control and be mortified. Thinks he’s good at hiding desperation but is even more obvious than Naegi. Has a decent enough bladder capacity, but once he has to go, he has to GO. Like right then. He can’t stand bothering ppl or being disrespectful, so he would refuse to use anything but a toilet (maybe he’d go outside if there was enough cover and he was coaxed into it). No piss kink at all, would be baffled by the concept.

Sakura: Bladder of Steel (stronger than Mondo). Shows no real sign of desperation, even up to the end. When it gets bad she’ll start sweating though, and her posture is even stiffer than usual. Is actually pretty shy about bringing up her need (both bc of how strong she’s supposed to be and just bc she’s bashful), but she will if she knows she’s at risk of wetting herself. More likely to tell Aoi than anyone else, or maybe Naegi. Will never hold herself bc tbh those thighs can already crush together enough to hold it. Might go outside or in odd places if no one is around and she absolutely can’t wait, altho she is embarrassed af (and it’s kinda hard to hide when you’re that big o o f). Has no piss kink and is actually a bit disdainful of it, altho she would never shame a partner if they confessed. Might do it once in a while for them if asked.

Aoi: Will be the first to tell you the blue pool dye thing is just an urban legend. She’s the girl who whines for all of her friends to come with her when she has to pee, makes a lot of jokes the whole time. Not super weak bc she has to hold it on jogs and stuff, but she tends to drink a lot and doesn’t really like to hold past a certain point. Not shy at all about mentioning her need unless it’s a very grim situation, and if prevented from going she will dance around a bit, cross her legs, maybe a quick crotch grab, while still whining the whole time bc it helps distract her. Will use anything and go anywhere if it’s bad enough, too chill to care as long as ppl promise to keep their backs turned. Might have a mild omo kink.

Byakuya: Doesn’t go out of his way to admit his need, but will walk off and say so if it’s a fairly casual situation. Has a harder time hiding it than Kirigiri and Celeste despite also being uptight, bc his temper flares up and he gets extra snippy if he has to go, which usually clues ppl in. Also he taps his foot/jiggles his leg CONSTANTLY. Wouldn’t touch his crotch unless he was literally wetting himself, but will cross his legs/bend at the waist. Refuses to go anywhere but a proper restroom. Wetting himself is humiliating and he would brush off any comfort and storm off to be by himself. Probably takes his anger out on Touko. Has zero piss kink to speak of, will spit on you if you suggest it.

Touko Fukawa: Can’t stand ppl knowing she has to go, would probably kill over if anyone mentioned it. She fidgets a lot when desperate, but ppl actually don’t notice bc she already acts pretty weird and fidgety and is so closed off anyways. Wouldn’t dare leave if she was supposed to be with a group of ppl, but the second she’s alone she’s making a dash for it. She’s used to holding for a pretty long time (too anxious to leave during class, long writing sessions at home, etc.), and even then if she’s determined enough to avoid embarrassing herself, she can hold longer. Probably the only one who can (and does) let out tiny leaks in order to hold longer, and has exceptional control. During moments of terror though, she fear wets, which mortifies her. Does not have a kink in the slightest, it grosses her out.

Genocider Sho: Urine doesn’t bother her at all, which is good since sometimes she wakes up only to find Touko pissed herself. Has the same capacity, but is much more outspoken when she needs to go. Complains a lot, exaggerates her body language and cracks jokes, might get cranky if it’s inconvenient for her. However, she doesn’t care if she loses control, and might do it on purpose just to piss somebody off. She has a HUGE piss kink. Be it herself as the victim for her own pleasure, or her getting to dom somebody else and force them to hold (BYAKUYA). She’s also a big slut for watersports. Sometimes she does this to have fun and get filthy, then makes herself sneeze and switch afterwards just for the sake of fucking with Touko.

Junko: Absolutely has a piss kink, loves to tie ppl up and watch them squirm and blush until they soak themselves. When she has to go she’s very vocal, bouncing around and groaning, whining, playing it up and holding herself to put on a show. Would be fine to go anywhere tbh, but pretends she only accepts proper bathrooms so that she has an excuse to hold it longer. Doesn’t care if she wets, but insists she gets cleaned up and in new clothes right away bc she also cares about looking pretty.