#I have normal feelings about Elliot and I want to wrap him in a blanket

[thatfaerieprincess]

So I finally got around to watching Leverage.... And I knew I was going to love them and here I am,,,, oh no I love them..... I already loved Elliot and I hadn't even WATCHED the show and now I am going to be sooo normal

[hford0311]

My Dearest Bucky (Pt. 5)

*Hey guys, sorry about possible confusion between Pt. 4 and the Final! I totally forgot to post this part!*

2017

You gave the same to your son. Elliot. The child was taken away from you when you gave birth. To this day, you didn't know if you wanted to see your son or not. Some days, you didn't even if you wanted to or not. They hardly did anything with you now. They couldn't afford to set you free or kill you either. They mostly kept you locked up in the room they conceived your son in. Constant reminders. Constant pain. They wanted that for you.

It was another silent day until it wasn't. Your ears pricked at the ruckus in the hallway. The sound of shots, punches, and bodies hitting the walls. Then, your door was knocked to the ground. Who walked in made your mouth drop, and your mind unconsciously deciding to scream. No. Not again. I'd rather be trapped away. Bucky stood frozen. He wanted to save you. Get you out of this hell.

Steve walked in and saw what the matter was. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" You scream, struggling against the chains. Then, you saw a familiar face. A 1940s face. "Steve?" Your voice was hushed. He used his shield to smash your chains. "What happened to you? I thought you were dead." You stated. "A lot of things have happened, but we want to get you out of here." He responded. Then, he looked at Bucky over his shoulder, then back at your hesitation to leave. "Y/n, it wasn't him. They were the ones that brainwashed him. They did this to you." Steve explained. "Come with us. We know people that can help." He added. You nodded and then thought of the son. "I have a child. He's seven. I don't know where he is or what he looks like. I just know he's here. The guards don't know how to keep their mouths shut." You explained, looking at Bucky the whole time. You never saw your child, but at that moment, you wanted to see him, to save him. Steve nodded. We'll find him and get him out."

You found him. Your breath was taken. You didn't know how your knee the boy was yours. You just knew. "Elliot," you exhaled and hugged the child. The child was confused by your actions but hugged you back. He looked healthy. Healthy. Oh, he looked like his father with soft black hair and steel blue eyes. He had your nose and lips. "I'm your mother and we're getting you out of here. We're going to live a happy life out of here. I'll explain more after we get out of here." You quickly said, your arms still wrapped around him. "Mother?" The small boy's voice questioned. You sobbed. "Yes, my dear. I'm your mother." You deeply breathed in his scent. You never thought about meeting him, but even if you did, it wouldn't be like this.

You scooped up your child and ran, following Steve and Bucky out of the house. It was raining. Washing away all your life in hell. Steve led you to an SUV and never looked back. In the car, you couldn't bear looking at Bucky. You kept looking at Steve and Elliot. The silence filled the car. "Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Steve mentioned under his breath. You ignored his comment and continued to stroke Elliot's hair, trying to keep the both of you calm. Bucky didn't say anything either. "I guess we are then." Steve responded to himself in a gruff tone.

Your son's voice gave the most life to the table during dinner. You could hardly keep your eyes off him. He just seemed so perfect to you, and you didn't want it to end. Then the words, "Who is my dad?" Everyone paused their movements. You glance at James, then back at your plate. Bucky cleared his throat, "I-I am." He said. Then, the silence continued. Elliot looked at the adults' reactions. "Why is everyone quiet?" His voice innocently asked. Your eyes continued to stare at the plate. "How about we go find some blankets for you tonight, Elliot." Steve changed the subject and got up from his chair.

As Elliot started walking up the stairs, Steve looked back and forth between the two of you. "Normally, I wouldn't care about you two not talking, but you have a kid together. At least look at each other." He stated before following your son. You looked up at Bucky. Eye contact. How you wanted to tear away from it. "He seems like a good kid." Bucky said. You nodded, "He's beautiful." Bucky took another bite of his food. "It almost makes you wonder if they actually did something right with this world." You said. He nodded then said, "I wonder if he has the serum in him." You dropped your fork. You didn't want to think of that serum, let alone of it running through your son's veins. Not today, not the day you finally met him again and got him in your life.

You tried to get your composure. You wiped your face and grabbed your plate. "I'm going to go shower and say goodnight to my son." You stated as you walked away from the table. At the sink, you could hear Bucky mumble, "He's my son too."

***

You sighed and shook your head at your feet. "I can't believe I'm doing this," you whispered before looking back at the door and knocked on it. He opened the door. Even just seeing you made you defensive and hesitant. "Can I come in?" You quietly asked, hardly making eye contact with him. "Yeah," he responded and opened the door to let you pass. You sat in the chair in the corner, him on the bed. The tense silence was filling up the room. You both gave each other glances, but neither of you spoke.

Then, the bubble was popped. "I'm so-" "Stop. I know it wasn't actually you." You cut James off. "We've both been under their control, you more than me. Let-Let's not talk about them." You stated before sighing. "It is horrible irony. I used to dream of having children and a life with you. Now, we have a son, and well to be frank, it wasn't as anyone would want to have a child. Even if it was with the person you planned on marrying. Then, you thought he was dead for years, then you were tortured and frozen over for decades because you met a man at the gravesite of the man you loved, and-" You started hyperventilating and crying, unable to speak. He was cautious as he stood and walked over to you. He ran his hand up and down your back like the way he knew you liked, at least you in the 1940s did. You took deep breathes, the sensation sending you back to being twenty years old while trying to calm yourself.

You didn't realize you did it, but you wrapped your arms tightly around Bucky and hid your face in his neck and shoulder. "Why did we have to live such horrid experiences?" You shuddered out in a whisper. "I don't know, doll." He whispered back and continued to slide his hand up and down your back. The connection slowly came back to you. All those years ago, you could still feel the love for him. "I spent so many days missing you and would sit and talk to your grave, James. I just-" "Shh, it's over now. I'm here." The trauma between the both of you was drastic.

"Remember when we said would say that we would spend nights together in that apartment?" You muttered. He hummed in agreement. "What would you say if we tried sleeping together once again?" You questioned and felt yourself move closer to him as if it was possible. "Would you be okay with that?" He gently asked you, and his hand stopped moving on your back, resting on the small of your back. You lean back, now realizing you were on his lap facing him and nodded. "I think I would, especially if I don't have any nightmares." You rested your forehead on his. James took a deep breath, "And if I don't have any." You gently stroked his hair behind out of his face. "We can find comfort in each other then." You whispered as if you were speaking of horrible sin. "I'd like that." Bucky said with a small smile. It was the best one you have noticed since the day he and Steve stole you away. In the next part, you don't know what came over you.

Your lips were gentle against his. You felt each of your bodies relax more when he kissed you back. You gasped after realizing what you did. His blue eyes wondered your face with concern. "Is there something wrong?" He questioned, eyes still inquisitive. You thought. "Is it scary that there isn't anything wrong? I-I guess I just forgot how nice it was to kiss the real you." You softly said, followed by a bit of giggle. "I must sound ridiculous, a couple of hundred-year-olds, sounding like children." His smile returned, and he gently kissed you again. "You don't sound ridiculous." Your pair of lips met again. Soft, sweet, tender, all of the things the pair of you need.

"Mommy? Daddy?" Elliot's small voice entered the room. The pair of you broke away and synchronously looked at your son. His son was cocked, which made you laugh at his curious look. "What are you doing?" His footsteps padding across the floor to the chair you and Bucky were sharing. "Kissing, my dear." You answered, trying to not laugh. His eyebrows furrowed. "You don't kiss, Daddy!" He exclaimed. You and Bucky shared a glance and laughed slightly. "What's so funny!" Your son declared, his arms now crossed. Bucky ruffled Elliot's hair, "Get over here, kiddo," he said and helped your son up the chair between the two of you. "You two are being weird." He mentioned and looked between the two of you. Steve appeared in the doorframe, also inquisitive about the image he was seeing. "They're being weird, Uncle Steve!" Elliot exclaimed and squirmed, climbing out from the two of you and back onto the floor. "How?" Steve questioned. "They kissed!" Your son angrily answered. Steve was shocked to hear the news and looked at the pair of you. "Well, sometimes adults do that buddy." Steve replied.

"I don't like it; it's gross!" Elliot stated. You hid your laugh at the strong reaction of your son. "How about you go pick out a movie with Uncle Steve, El, and we'll be down shortly." Bucky suggested. He gave a determined nod and stomped down to the living room, dragging Steve with him. "He's such a character." You laughed. "I wonder who gets that fun." Bucky smirked at you. You rolled your eyes before kissing him again. "Let's go get to that movie before we're told we're gross and weird again." You laughed.

***

Bucky carried Elliot to bed at the movie the boy fell asleep during. You followed his steps, deciding the two of you would tuck him in bed together. You pulled back the sheets to the twin bed as Bucky laid Elliot down, which woke at the new surface. "Goodnight, buddy." Bucky said. "Goodnight, our prince." You added and kissed his forehead. The two of you were about to leave when Elliot sat up. "Will," he paused while trying to find the words, "you two love each other?" He questioned with such innocence. Both of you looked at each other. then back at your son. "One day, we will again." You softly answered.

[sword-of-summer]

All of them answer every question fuck you

ahahaha no i respectfully deny your "fuck you" and i accept the ask and so-

i am 5'10", and i don't wish to be taller or shorter- i am the perfect height for hugs and messy hair, and yep, i like it here-

dream pet would be a mix of golden retriver and a husky called Holly and a chonky cat called Loki- yes ofcourse my future kids have names everyone should name their future pets-

ripped jeans/black pants with a Darth Vader tshirt or a Ethnic Fusion Kurta with black sneakers/artificial leather slip-ons, and if it's cold, a black jacket open obviously- and a black wristwatch i love my black wristwatch.

favourite video game was Clash of Clans and going even back, GTA Vice City and, the og- MARIIOOOO

three things/people are Oreos, Nutella and Pizza. The Holy Trinity-

"Beware me my fingers are smeared with chicken popcorn grease"

you didn't mention an opinion, @chunkybirb, so imma give my opinion on Vanilla ice cream and Nutella- ANYONE WHO HADN'T COMBINED THESE TWO COMBINE THESE TWO THEY ARE FUCKING AWESOME

im either phlegmatic or melancholic bruh idk maybe ik or maybe not

im v v v v ticklish

not an allergy, but an intense hatred for ketchup- i vomit if it gets too close to me fuck you ketchup

im heterosexual

any between tea and coffee but full milk coffee (ik, kill me), never had cocoa- but i love a chocolate or nutella milkshake

both. both is good. (cat and dog)

i would be an elf cause hell yeah, knowledge and wisdom

favourite youtuber is Samay Raina, a stand up comedian turned youtuber who is just awesome-

as i mentioned in 1., i am 5'10"

i would not change my name cause it's the coolest fucking name ever, i am Tanay, and Tanay in Hindi means Son, and my parents literally named their son Son, and hell yeah i like it

i forgot how much i weigh- last i checked it was 75 kilos, but ive gained weight since 2019 so yep, gotta walk in the mornings

yes i believe in metaphysicality cause one- it seems cool- second- me and @theclassyghost discussed a metaphysical life theory that i really really like and metaphysicality gives preservation of knowledge so i believe in spirits

SPACE. SPACE. SPACE.

im not that religious, no

pet peeves no well nah not really

nocturnal def nocturnal i sleep at 4.50 anyway hehehehe

fav constellation is Cassiopeia

fav star is Sirius tho

what the fuck are ball jointed dolls

i do have a fear of losing people that's just anxiety i guess

yep, global warming is real

never thought that much about reincarnation tbh but maybe, i do

fav movie is Spider Man : Into The SpiderVerse and Inception and The Dark Knight Rises and Revenge of The Sith and yes, for my indian gang, 3 Idiots and Gully Boy

yep i get scared v v v easily

i have had no pets but i plan to once i grow up

@chunkybirb 's blog is fucking cool awesome and *chef's kiss* a masterpiece

blue calms me. i love blue.

live in Norway cause pretty lights, snow, and less people than this overpopulated country i am in

born in Mumbai, India

v v v dark brown like it's almost black but no it's dark brown

introvert

horoscopes and zodiacs, i do read them, never believed that much tbh-

HUGS I LOVE HUGS

i really wanna visit my brother i haven't met him in a long time i really wanna play cricket w him just like old times

my sister- she's annoying but well i care for her

nah

tattoos idk bruh im okay idk may get one or may not get one

nope, smoking is ewwww *vomits*

ah my crush- she's cool [ if she exists

when the chalk doesn't write on the board but goes iiiiiieeee I HATE THAT

a sound i love is rain pitter pattering i just hhhhhh sends me into happiness

nope fatass here

nope fatass here

favourite actors have to be eddie redmayne, oscar issac and pedro pascal- and margot robbie and winona ryder in the actresses section also yes, elliot page

bruh already answered in 30.

im okayish!! spotify and tumblr, cool combo-

my hair are okay being black for me

yesterday, monday, from 6.40 to 6.50

music

uhhh naah not that i know of

well in Rick Riordan's Magnus Chase books, the sword of Frey aka Sumarbrander TALKS and demands to be called Jack, so here i am

bakwaas, music and comfy

yep, i believe in evolution

unfollow on hate and when they dm me sending nsfw pics ugh why are people like that

follow, well, i like people and they seem cool, so i follow them

fav kind of person is the one who'll sit with me for hours not even talking and just vibing to music

fav animals are beavers, doggos and cats

three fav blogs are @chunkybirb, @theclassyghost, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @aredhel-of-gondolin, @sue-me-imbadass, @alleenkaas, @my-ackerman, @brrrrrrrrrrzone

fav emoticon has to be ☹ this me seeing my stupidity outrank others

fav meme has to be Butternut is a master of psychological manipulation

INTP

Libraaa let's go

no dog, i have

black darth vader tshirt, black pants, black sneakers and black wrist watch

i have no selfies my phone has no cameras i live in eternal darkness

what the fuck are platform shoes

i, uhhh, i remember weird things like what i drew in class in 3rd while i was supposed to be doing english

lazy ass here, no front flips possible

i like birds they fly

nope i don't Iike swimming i like blankets

wrapped up in blankets reading books sounds better than both

ketchup

hyperspace travel

nope none

reading writing eating sleeping

my friend

tumblr seems cool

i have around 60-70 idk

yes i can run but why

yes they do but what's the fun in that

nope I'd fall over

sapphire let's go

koala bear or panda

sunflower or the one on a lemon tree

ketchup store

one cup of coffee is enough, tysm

read minds that sounds cool cool yeaaahh

nope never wore it a black clothes guy here BatMan

winter winter all year long

i don't know and i don't wanna try

i don't know and i don't wanna know

everyone cause they are better than me

bookstores cause bookstores any bookstores

sneakers, black onez

apparently some gas bitches mixed up to form a planet

non vegetarian but i partake meat just twice or thrice in two weeks

i don't know they don't seem like liking

naaaaaaaah

bugs ew

spiders ew

about the fact that i come off as arrogant and overconfident while in reality it's just that my communication skills suck

i can draw averagely whenever im in a mood

this thing im answering but i like answering it

uhhhhhhh brain freeze- idk bruh questions are good they give knowledge

yep, while sleeping

ahh yes calming, they are

cloudy days cause fucking cool vibes

hehehe wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy

CumuloNimbus i really like it's name yknow nimBUS

dark blue, dark blue always or black

naaaah no freckles

fav thing is when they laugh and it's just happy and we're both laughing like shitheads but who cares we're rebelling against depressing life and we laugh

both. both is good [ fruits and vegetables

sleep but i have to answer 170 questions cause @chunkybirb

sky sky sky it's my blog's header duh uh sKy

sweet and sour candy. SWEET AND SOUR CANDY.

dim lights it makes me feel cool

ahhh so here we go- Mooncalfs, Thunderbirds, Phoenixes, Sphinxes, Dragons that seem to be Space Nebulae, and more and more and more

i really feel like a boomer sometimes

i love everything about this site/app it makes me feel happy cause i like the people and the posts

uhhhhh i think too much about everything cause i just do. i like thinking

"He's dead, guys. For the sake of The Force, please watch Star Wars now he wanted to discuss it with you" actually no i would just say "A big shoutout to Garlic Bread he loved Garlic Bread"

myself cause i should be sleeping but sleep is for the weak and i am the weak and the strong i am a paradox-

that i obsess too much on things and try involving people it never works out

nope. had braces for 4 years, that beat out teeth showing smiles

i prefer computer-tv ahahahahaha

never tried them, so IDK

naaaaah not motion sickness- never travelled by sea so idk seasickness

lobed ears

yep i believe that deeds do count in life and beyond

idk bruh i don't believe in physical attraction too much- bodies are fake- mentally/metaphysically tho, im a 7

ahhhhh many many Stupid Genius, Tani, Tanu, Tanya

i still do-

i really want to talk to a therapist. converse. and discover.

im both, i am both.

10:1 is the ratio- giving 10, receiving 1

uhhh nothing just when i am right and people use the old "disrespect" argument

3, Hindi, Marathi, English

girls

uhh no i am not

my hair i love them everyone says things about my hair but i love them

knowledge vibes i give, someone tells me- and that's all i ever wanted

anyone i know tbh, my mutuals, my friends, my discord friends

ahhh no i wouldn't but i wish i was born 20 years earlier

bleh bloo, neither like nor dislike

i don't know if i have one

i don't know, haven't had physical contact in a long long long time in a galaxy far far away

the above point stands but i would like to ig

anything i write, 3 hours later, i instantly hate just idk why

anything i write

that i am normal no i am not and i am not okay hahahahaha

65-70 ish people

somewhere around-

many many many don't ask please but okay if you do ask

somewhat

uhhhhh idr exactly but i won't tell in public duh uh

mediummm hairrrr

last year lockdown i became harry potter

i don't know buddy i seriously don't know

yep i do cause knowledge i like knowledge

naaah never tried

no i definitely cannot stand on my hands or my head for more than 30 seconds

yep, im pretty sure i answered most of them correctly-

og link-

[jeromevalseka]

coming back from my hiatus to inflict a fic i wrote 2 years ago on all of you :) i found it while sorting through old wips and was like...huh, i may have been on to something..........

Jonathan was at Bruce's house because apparently that was something they were doing now. He didn't mind, not really, but—and he would never admit this, even on pain of death—he wasn't the best at making friends. Or keeping them. He usually just hung around with Jerome or Jervis, hiding out under the bleachers to smoke stolen Camels, perpetually trapped in a play-act of high school delinquency. Which was—whatever. He was beyond caring about things like that. 

Bruce Wayne, though—

Bruce Wayne wasn't the type of person that Jonathan would have ever imagined himself becoming friends with. Study partners. Co-dependent acquaintances. 

Jonathan was not the usual type of person to be swept into his orbit. They were not—and he could not emphasize this point enough—in similar social groups. On every level, except physical, they did not even exist in the same world. 

And that was fine.

Bruce surrounded himself with the Tommy Elliot’s and Silver St. Cloud’s of the world. Pretty, vapid things that probably considered visiting a trap house an adventure and drove to school in Tesla’s. (There was no probably about it, actually. Jonathan knew Silver St. Cloud drove a Tesla because earlier in the year she ran over his bike with her shitty, energy-efficient, crime against humanity of a car.)

Bruce got along with his teachers. He had a special handshake with Principal Essen. He was inevitably going to end up being Prom King when the time came. He was an honor-roll student with enough extracurriculars to make Jonathan's head spin and, as far as he could tell, he had enough admirers at his beck-and-call that there was no reason he had to stoop to inviting Jonathan over to his mega-mcmansion to watch a movie.

It wasn't like they hung out. They were partners on a chemistry project once, and their study session had quickly been derailed by an impromptu lesson in shotgunning—which was a completely normal and natural thing to happen. Like, sure. Maybe Jonathan had been a teensy bit curious as to whether straight-laced golden boy Bruce Wayne would actually smoke with him, and maybe he was in over his head before he’d even grabbed his zippo, but, c’mon. He was only human. 

It wasn’t like anything world-shaking had happened.

(He tried, valiantly, not to think about how cold Bruce’s hands had been or the weight of him sitting on his legs or the way he looked, breathing out smoke: eyes lidded, pupils blown. He tried, most of all, not to think about how soft his mouth was. It was a losing battle.) 

So, they'd been partners once. Months ago. And then, again, in Leob's English class when they had to write a paper together a few weeks after the chemistry project. And, okay, maybe Bruce had started smiling at him in the hallways as if that was something he was allowed to do. And, maybe, Bruce had started spending a few days out of each week hanging around in Jonathan's threadbare bedroom pretending like he was charmed; pretending like he couldn’t buy everything to Jonathan’s name three-times over with just his lunch money. 

They were friendly. That was all. 

(Only that didn't really feel right to him. Something about the idea of it—of them—being nothing but a series of stomach-twisting accidents make his mouth go dry and ashy. He wasn't superstitious. He’d long given up the urge to want things; long resigned himself to the kind of disappointment that blooms ugly and rotten, and sinks like a stone in a stomach; disappointment that clings and chafes and oozes open like a burst blister with each little hurt—but every moment he spent with Bruce—every eye roll and bumped knee and shared song—made his chest well up with—with wanting. Bruce Wayne made Jonathan want. He made him burn-up. He made him dream. It was terrible—pinpricks beneath his nails—it ate away at him. He hated it. He hated it, and—)

He broke out of his thoughts, then. Bruce had a way of catching his attention.

Case in point:

A throw pillow worth more than his college savings slammed into his cheek.

It lacked Bruce’s usual subtlety. When he turned, instinctively, towards the direction of the throw, he found Bruce already wrapped tightly in a garish orange-and-blue quilt, lounging on his sofa with the air of a world-weary prince. He was too much—Bruce was—in ever conceivable way, by every possible count. Looking at him set his teeth on edge. His fingers twitched, hidden by ratty sleeves. Little prince, little prince...

Jonathan moved to sit beside him. He swung the throw pillow at his head in retribution. He felt like he was having a sugar rush. 

Jonathan was never a fan of sweet things. He elbowed Bruce in the side: sharp, straight to the ribs. Jonathan was never a sweet thing, himself. 

Neither was Bruce. He reached out and yanked down on a clump of Jonathan’s hair. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t pull my hair,” Jonathan said, twisting away, aiming for Bruce’s ribs once again. Bruce let go, only to pinch at his cheek instead, pressing the skin hard between his thumb and forefinger. He hissed, “What are you? Five?”

“You’re such a baby,” Bruce said, letting go of his cheek, smoothing his thumb over the space he’d pinched. “An asshole baby.”

"Can't help what I am," Jonathan said, barely resisting the urge pass his thumb over the spot Bruce had just touched. "What’s the problem? You want me to change? Be nicer? That’s a slippery slope, you know. First, it’s don’t be an asshole, Jonny, then it’s cut your hair, Jonny; donate to the orphans, Jonny. Where does it end?”

Bruce kicked at his shin. “I’d hate to speak for every orphan, but I think most of us could care less about your charity.”

“You say that now—”

“And I’d never ask you to cut your hair. It suits you.”

They suddenly felt too close, sitting on the couch as they were. “Spend a lot of time thinking about what suits me, baby?”

"Ha,” Bruce said, his expression odd. ”I spend more time thinking about what doesn't, hotshot.” 

That wasn’t a denial. That was, probably, as close to the opposite of a denial as Bruce would give. Something rabbited nervously in his chest. "Well you can’t leave me hanging, now. You gotta tell me what else you like about me or I’ll think your just making shit up." 

"I like,” Bruce stressed the word, “to think back to when you were too nervous to be this annoying.” There wasn’t any real bite to it, but whatever strange, tenuous thing hung between them fizzled away. Jonathan couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not. "Tommy's half-convinced that you're secretly mute, you know? You just—loom around without saying anything. And Ivy thinks that you’re the brains behind all the shit that Jerome stirs."

Jonathan hadn't known that Bruce and Ivy Pepper were close enough to warrant them gossiping about him. Though, to be fair, he also hadn’t known that Bruce was talking to people about him, at all. Which. Huh. Bruce was talking to people about him. His sugar rush came back, full force. He felt dizzy with it. 

"As if I could convince Jerome to do anything.” His mouth felt very dry. "Remember when he filled all of Strange's desk drawers with fish?"

Bruce made a face, but laughed anyways. "The lab room smelled like something died in it for weeks. You're telling me that wasn't your idea?"

"Disappointed?"

"Mm," he hummed, eyes crinkled up at the sides, looking cozy and warm and a world away. "Any chance you’ll give me Jerome’s number? Want to put a good word in for me?"

And there it was. So it went. Give and take. Push and pull. Push until the air fissured, pull until Bruce drew his line in the proverbial sand. Every time. 

Speech seemed to have suddenly fled him. He elbowed Bruce instead, hard enough for Bruce to roll his eyes and nudge his thigh with his foot, a lazy smile settling on his face.

"I'm kidding." He said, and his voice was warm. He shifted a bit in his cocoon of blankets so that his legs were suddenly in Jonathan’s lap and their shoulder’s were pressed against each other; Bruce a solid, warm line against him. His hair brushed over Jonathan’s cheek while he settled down, and if Jonathan moved his arm just so he could feel his heartbeat. This was the reason Jonathan kept wanting. This was the reason Bruce was too much—as a concept, as a person, as the sliver of whatever that he cast off to jab into Jonathan— 

 He felt as if he’d touched a live-wire, though he imagined that might have hurt less. Bruce was still talking, “I already have his number, anyways.”

“You want to date Jerome?” Jonathan asked, stomach turning inexplicably. 

Bruce choked, coughed, and then, in a hoarse, panicked voice, asked, “What? Date Jerome? No. What the—No. Just—no.” 

His teeth still hurt. His hands were shaking, hidden in his sleeves. He wished he was back home, wrapped in his own ratty comforter. He wished...Well. It didn’t matter what he wished, in the end. “Sorry for asking.”

He could feel Bruce staring at him, something doe-soft about the look his eyes, but he couldn’t face him—could only bear to keep him in his peripherals. “I don’t want to date Jerome,” he said, after a long moment, steady and firm. “I want...” He could see him wet his lips, take a breath, and continue, “I want to watch this movie. With you.”

"Good thing I'm here then," Jonathan said, something ugly welling up in his chest. He held it. He let it go. 

"Yeah," Bruce said, grabbing the remote with a frown. "Good thing." 

[stacispratt]

unnatural as it feels

okay i do not feel like this is a good piece of writing at all BUT it’s the first thing i’ve finished in over a month so i’m gonna try n cut myself a little slack. so here’s a john/wes/ell thing i’ve been writing for way too long!!! thank you to @consumedkings for letting me write with your girl, i love her <3 also tagging @oorah22 @lilwritingraven @ohfaiths !!

“Okay, close your eyes.”

“I’m not closing my eyes.”

“Come on," John drawls, "be a good sport now, dearest.” He squeezes her hip, all while he has a shit-eating grin on his face. Every inch of him screams pleased beyond belief, which almost, almost makes Elliot smile back at him. She feels a caveat coming, though, so she just gives him a very, very dry look.

“John.”

“Fine, spoil all the fun," John huffs and squeezes her waist affectionately once more. She smacks at his arm. "The present will still be a nice surprise," he says, and takes her over the threshold to the dining room. He gestures wide, both hands extended toward her present, fingers spread wide.

Ell stops short, a foot past the doorway. “... You’re not serious." She looks from the dining table to John, face blank, gone flat with disbelief at her husband. "You’re fucking shitting me.”

Wesley Beltran is chained to one of their fucking dining room chairs. Literally, actually chained. Bound all over, across his shoulders, around his midsection, all the way around his forearms, his calves. Like John is unwilling to allow any possibility of a repeat of Wes's escape from his Confession.

“No," John says, grin barely contained, so near bursting onto his lips that Elliot can hear it in his damn voice. "Not kidding. I got him. Presenting, Deputy Wesley Beltran, over for dinner.”

Elliot stares at Wes, then cuts her eyes to John. “He’s fucking unconscious, you moron.”

“Yeah, and?" John huffs, arms crossed over his chest. Elliot levels a capital-L Look at him. "The point is that he’s here, and you got what you wanted. What’s the problem?” he snipes. "You wanted Wes over for dinner, you've got him."

"Are you fucking deranged?" Elliot snaps. "I said I wanted Wes to accept our invitation to dinner, not for a second attempt at his Confession in our dining room!"

"It's not a Confession! He's just— you know, here! Like you wanted!"

"You're insufferable," Ell hisses, but she tugs him in by the shirt collar for a kiss anyway. "You idiot," she mutters against his lips. "Sit the fuck down."

                                                            /

Wes wakes up to see a plate set before him on a dining table.

He blinks. Maybe it's a hallucination from the Bliss. His vision is a little sparkly, but nothing bad— nothing like when he's with Faith, when he normally hallucinates. His vision's not cloudy, not tainted green, and normally that means he couldn’t be hallucinating, but there's a plate with a– a stupid fucking steak on his plate, so he has to be hallucinating.

"There, he's awake," someone says, with a kind of are you happy now? tone of voice.

Wes blinks, slow and sticky, then, as delicate as he can so his head doesn't pound, raises his eyes.

John and Elliot.

He's– sitting at a table with John Seed and Elliot Honeysett.

"Oh," he mumbles. He tries to move his hands, but metal digs into him from his elbow to his wrist. He glances down. Chains are pretty much… everywhere. "Oh," he says again, then shakes his head a little. "Are we– dinner?"

"See?" John says, gesturing to Wes as he looks to Ell. "Even Wes gets what's going on. He's fine with it."

Fine with it. Wes lets out a clipped, hysterical laugh. "My– m'hands are bound. I can't eat dinner."

John scoffs. "We're not going to fucking eat," he snaps. Then he settles on the arm of Wes's chair, grabs his jaw in one hand, and kisses him.

Wes grunts but leans into it anyway, shoulders flexing against the chain. John purrs and slips his hand up to cup Wes's cheek. "Yeah, there you are, my good boy. Our good boy."

Elliot scoffs as a chair scratches back against the floor. "He's not good. He's terribly behaved, just like you."

"Mm." John doesn't pull from Wes to hum, just keeps their lips pressed together. Coasts his hand up into Wes's hair to slowly curl his fingers into it, closes his fist and tugs gently to make Wes whimper. John leans away with an inhale. Smiles as he watches Wes list toward him and pull against John's fist in his hair. 

John turns his smug smile onto Ell. "See? He can behave."

"He can speak for himself," Wes mumbles.

"Yeah, but you can't," Ell huffs from somewhere behind Wes, completely ignoring him. "Get off our houseguest."

John huffs but crawls off Wes all the same and stands just to his right, while Ell settles at his left. She smooths her hand through Wes's hair, eases John's fist to relax and slip away. "John's so indelicate," she murmurs, as if in apology. "I tell him I'd like you to accept my dinner invitation and he drugs you. Dumbass." She sighs. "I am the one who married him."

Wes nods listlessly. "Would've loved to have steaks with you," he mumbles. "Wanna—" he pauses to cough, then picks up again, "Wanna let me, uh– simmer off the Bliss and we can… continue like civilized people?"

Ell sighs and strokes her hand through his hair again. "God, you are just like John," she mutters.

Wes's eyebrows scrunch together. "You take that back," he slurs. 

"Watch it," John growls. "You're lying anyways. The only reason I had to drug you is because you refused to come over in the first place, after my wife and I invited you over kindly. Three times."

"I hate to break this to you," Wes mutters, eyes lidded and fixed on Ell's face while she continues to pet his hair— trails her fingers down from his curls to his jaw, then up and back down again. She smiles at him, sugar-sweet. Wes shakes his head a little to focus back up. "But– but the two of you keep… keep me pretty busy. I don't… have time."

"Hm." Ell rubs her knuckles into his cheek. "You have time now. Why don't you sleep it off, huh? We can eat when you wake up." Her eyes cut away toward John. "Isn't that right, dearest."

Wes eyes her cautiously. "If you drug me again I'm going to be so fucking pissed," he mutters.

"We're helping you get sober," John informs him, and curls his palm over the back of Wes's neck— over the angel wings he has tattooed there. "Try to keep up."

                                                            /

Once Wes is unbound from all the fucking chains, John handcuffs his hands in front of him, and he and Ell guide Wes into bed, sandwiched between the two of them. John presses his chest to Wes's back and braces a hand over his tummy. Ell pets his eyebrow with her thumb methodically. "Comfy?" she taunts, somehow affectionate even while she does.

"You're using me," Wes murmurs, because apparently he still has no filter, even as he's starting to come down from the Bliss. "It's… not like you want me."

John huffs against the back of his neck, then leaves a kiss at the notch of his spine. "What gave you that impression, Deputy?" Wes feels him grin against his skin. "Is it because we're sharing a bed with you? Cuddling up?"

"You don't want me," Wes insists, bleary, eyes heavy with Elliot's petting, but still determined to get his point across. "I'm just a p– a pawn. You don't care about… about me."

"Well, I'm embarrassed now, Wes," Ell coos. She looks much softer like this, blonde hair half spread over the pillow and half over her shoulder. It's pretty. She's pretty.

If Wes was less sober, he’d tell her so. 

"Were John and I the only ones affected by that night?" Wes locks up. Fuck, he'd hoped they'd forgotten about that— they'd never mentioned it, and Wes figured they'd rub that kinda thing in his face if they remembered. "Don’t you remember?" she cajoles.

Wes whines and cringes back from her, eyes squeezed shut, but he can't get more than an inch away. Elliot only smiles. "You do remember," she drawls. She slips her fingers from his face to his hair. Wraps one of his curls around her finger and tugs gently. "Behind the Spread Eagle. You were havin' a smoke out back when John and I stepped out… I thought we all felt a little something. Hm?"

Felt a little something. Wes had been damn close to going home with them when Staci stepped out, looking for him, and whisked him away.

Ell smirks and taps her finger on Wes's cheek. "Yeah. We've wanted you since then. The rest of this has just been… complications." She sighs affectedly. "You're not a pawn, honey."

"Fuck," Wes breathes, eyes still shut. "Fuck."

"Get some sleep, Wes" John purrs. "We'll talk more when you're sober."

                                                             /

When Wes wakes up, they're both asleep.

I could escape, is his first thought. If I can sneak out of bed, I'm home free.

Hard, but not impossible. Wes has a feeling they’re both light sleepers. Wrangling himself out of bed, from between the two of them, from under the blankets, and levering himself up in bed, all with his hands cuffed together… it wouldn't be easy. He would almost definitely be noticed, which either means a hasty escape, handcuffed with no backup, or recapture with more precautions that time.

But it would be easy to kill one of them, is his second thought. His hands are bound in front of him— strangling one of them would be easiest, but finding a weapon isn't out of the question either. It would— in theory— be quick work to damage either John or Elliot beyond repair, before the other was awake enough to do anything about it.

And finally, very small and very quiet, in the back of his head, exists, or I could stay.

Wes could stay.

He could pretend to be asleep until one of them wakes up, or even… let his eyes shut and genuinely drift back to sleep, warm and comfortable in Seed Ranch, fucking spooning with Holland Valley's most dangerous couple. With his fucking back to John Seed.

Christ.

He'll blame it on the drugs, if it comes up, but he closes his eyes. He studies Elliot's face (remarkably, painfully peaceful in her sleep) and shuts his eyes, forces his muscles to go loose, and measures his breathing. Wills sleep to come.

God help him, Wes decides to stay.

[gingerwritess]

Do you have any hcs about the first time Loki gets into a fight with Elliot and/or Frigg? Because let's face it, no matter how much parents and children might love each other, they're bound to have a serious fight at some point.

quarantine, please be good to us.

this includes mentions of bullying (jotun/colour related), lil bit of yummy angst all wrapped up in familial love and understanding

Elliot is a precious little thing.

Pure, innocent, unmolded clay. He looks like his father, talks like his father, has the brains of his father…and is starting to gain the height of his father, too.

Your little boy is growing up.

He came home with a cut on his cheek one day when he was around ten years old. “There was a snake at the park,” he explained as you held ice to the bump, watching your baby turn blue again as the coolness hits his skin.

“It bit your face?” You made a mental note to have a discussion with Loki about how friendly he is in regards to the rather dangerous creatures.

“Nah…” Elliot looked ashamed, you remember that clearly. “Some older kids were pokin’ it. Said they wanted to stab it and-and squish it’s guts out.”

He shuddered on the kitchen counter, feet dangling.

“The snake wasn’t hurtin’ anyone, and all I could think of was how much dad likes snakes, and I didn’t want to see them hurt it. I didn’t mean to start a fight, mom, I swear it was an accident–”

You hugged him tight, tucking his head under your chin. “I know you didn’t,” you assured him, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, mom.” Patches of his blue skin had started to return to normal and he hopped off the counter, running off to his room before you could say another word.

You weren’t too worried when he began to come home with scraped up knees and blood running down from scrapes in his arm, because Elliot swore up and down that he had just fallen off his bike, run too fast and fell, tripped going down the porch steps…but by the fourth “clumsy” excuse you didn’t believe him and called in the professional.

“I think Elliot is lying to me.”

Loki just laughs, actually, not the response you were hoping for. “And you’re surprised, my love?”

“Well, he’s always been an honest kid!” You give his waist a squeeze. “But today he said he fell off the swingset, and I just…that doesn’t seem right.”

He’s silent as he thinks, holding your head closer against his chest.

“I’m just worried about him,” you whisper, reaching for the blanket. “I know you don’t like to get in his head, but…”

“I will,” Loki sighs, and he presses his lips to your forehead. “Just to see if he is telling the truth. Then as the biggest hypocrite of the milenia, I’ll tell him not to lie.”

“I love you, my god of lies.”

“…precisely.”

Sure enough, two days later your son sneaks through the back door with a swollen eye. He doesn’t make it far on tiptoe and whirls around when you clear your throat, clapping a hand over his eye with a guilty grin.

“H-hey mom…”

“What happened to your eye?” You tug his hand away, inspecting the puffy lid and cut through his eyebrow. “Tell me the truth.”

He pauses when you say that, mouth partially open as he struggles to decide what to say. “I fell off my bike again,” he answers firmly, but you can tell in his eyes he doesn’t mean it. “I was riding near a—”

His face twists and the kid recoils, some unseen force making him shrivel up and he clutches his ears, shaking his head as his back slams into the wall.

A coldness settles in the air when Loki stands up from the table, walking over to his son and crossing his arms. “That’s a lie, Elliot.”

“No, you promised, dad,” your son pleads, grabbing Loki’s arm. “You promised to stay out of my head, you promised not to read my—”

“—and you promised to tell the truth.” Loki’s voice is gentle but stern, icy and you almost feel bad for Elliot having to be on the receiving end of this scolding. “You promised me I wouldn’t have to.”

Tears are already welling in the boy’s eyes, and he sinks to the floor before the two of you, shoulders trembling.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobs, hiding his face in his hands, and you notice his fingertips starting to turn blue. “I didn’t want to lie but they know, dad, they know about me ‘n you and-and today they called mom a really bad word and I told them to stop—

Not expecting that, Loki quickly crouches next to his son, a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Elliot, it’s alright…we’ll listen to you, of course. Come here.”

He catches your eye, wide and worried; you know Elliot can be a bit…sensitive, but that was enough of a reaction to shake you to your core.

What in the world?

The two of you lead him to the couch, and he angrily swipes at his eyes and tries to pull himself together.

“There’s…there’s these kids,” he sniffs, not looking either of you in the eye. “They’re huge, dad, huge and beefy and-and muscles like Thor’s, really, and they always yell at me when I’m outside and—”

Your heart sinks.

“It’s alright,” Loki promises, pulling Elliot under his arm. “Just breathe, you’re alright. Do you have any idea why they are picking on you?”

The kid sniffs again, dropping his head to his hands. “They say I’m tiny. Call me wimpy. Guess…guess that makes me an easy t-target.”

“Elliot…” you run a hand through his curls, scooting closer and hugging him too. “That doesn’t matter, they can’t—”

“But I am!” He lifts his head and his eyes burn red. “I’m tiny, mom, I’m a runt and I’m little and I’ve got no muscle and one day I’m gonna-gonna snap like a twig.”

“Did those other kids tell you that?”

He nods, wiping his nose. “They know I’m blue, too, they like to sneak up ‘n drop ice cubes down the back of my shirt just to make me…make me…y’know.”

His voice cracks and dissolves into silent sobs.

“Oh, Elliot.” Heart aching, you pull him into your arms.

“That shouldn’t matter,” Loki gently tells him, holding out an open hand to his son that’s turning blue as well. “Yes, we’re different, Elliot, but that doesn’t make us any less worthy of—”

“I hate it.”

Loki’s blue hand drops to his thigh, empty.

“Elliot,” you quickly cut in, “don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

“Why not? It’s true,” he spits, hands furiously shaking and, much to everyone’s chagrin, slowly splotching with blue. “I’m a monster, I’m a mutant and I hate it.”

“We aren’t anything more than a different colour, that doesn’t—”

“Stop saying we, dad!” Elliot shoots to his feet, a finger in Loki’s face. “It was ‘we’ when I was a baby, and you could just–just show me off, but this isn’t we. This is me, and people hurting me, and I’m too freaking weak to even learn how to fight back, and–and I didn’t ask for this.”

“None of us did, Elliot.”

“No,” your son chokes, “you did ask for this. You asked for a kid, and well, you got me. This is it. Me, the animal, the runt, your mutant blue baby who can’t find an ounce of control over anything in his life, but it’s okay, it’s cute.”

“Elliot…”

He shakes his head, eyes clenched shut to fight back the tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, then turns and runs to his room, slamming the door behind him.

The silence in the room sits heavy.

“Loki?”

You break it with a gentle question, turning to your husband to find tears silently streaking his face.

“Oh, my love, my Loki.”

You pull him into an embrace, one he doesn’t return, slowly pushing you away to look at you.

“I knew he was a mistake,” he quietly confesses. “We shouldn’t have had children.”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“But look what I’ve done to him—”

“Shut up.”

You stand abruptly, holding out a firm hand to pull Loki to his feet with you. “We’re going to go talk to him,” you decide, “until he can see how much he’s loved.”

Not giving your husband a moment to respond, you pull him along behind you straight to Elliot’s room.

Elliot is still crying, crying quietly into his pillow with the rest of his body curled as tightly as possible, leaving you and Loki plenty of space to lay on either side of him and curl just as tightly around him.

The contact does seem to help, you note, and he takes a great shuddering breath when you smooth a hand through his curls.

“My sweet boy,” you murmur, and press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t let the light inside you die.”

“I don’t think–I don’t think there’s any light in me,” he thickly replies between sniffles.

“That’s bullshit.”

A wet, teary laugh leaves his lips for a split second.

“I’m serious,” you smile, “that’s complete bullshit, and your father will one hundred percent back me up on that.”

Loki nods and takes Elliot’s hand. “It’s bullshit.”

“You are…a beacon of light,” you promise him, holding him tighter. “I’ve never known someone with as pure a heart as yours, and to see these bullies trying to rip it from you breaks my heart.”

Loki lays down beside his son, turning to face him and bring his hand to his heart. “And you are right. We asked for you and we were gifted with you, our beautiful, sweet, incredible child, so please don’t push us away.”

Elliot sniffs, blinking away tears as you smooth a hand over his hair, and Loki presses his forehead to his son’s.

“Please let us help you.”

More sniffles, his thin body trembling, and your son slowly nods.

“I need to learn to control it,” he mutters, eyes squeezed shut. “I have no power over myself.”

Loki nods, giving his delicate hands a squeeze. “I’ll double my efforts. We can figure this out, alright?”

Another tiny nod.

Sandwiched between the two of you, Elliot sneaks an arm around Loki’s chest, hugging him close against him while his other arm holds tightly to yours, the one around him.

“Don’t let go,” he whispers. “Please.”

―   ―   ―   ―

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

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@toozmanykids @brooklyn-times @nonsensicalobsessions

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Hi! Would you mind doing something with Elliot, smutty moment while the reader is trying to work from home from his apartment borrows his sweatshirt but things just get carried away? Thank you in advance!!

Elliot’s eyes flicked to the clock on his computer screen for the hundredth time.

When you had shown up last night, close to tears because the power was going to be out all morning in your neighborhood and you had a career defining Skype meeting at exactly 8:15 am, Elliot listened carefully before pulling the most normal response he could from his repertoire.

“Uh, you can spend the night and just work from my place. If you want.”

Your exclamation was difficult to interpret until you looked into Elliot’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you! I was hoping you would say that. Well, that or that you would hack the city’s electric grid just for me!” you teased, not at all paying attention to the way Elliot balked at your response.

“That’s illegal,” he replied in his typical monotone.

You giggled and lightly smacked his upper arm.

“I’m teasing! You’re good with your computers, but I don’t think anyone is that good,” you said, your face still full of laughter. “Otherwise, you would have hacked the lottery already and at least moved uptown.”

Elliot smiled nervously, which wasn’t all that different from the way he usually smiled.

“You know I don’t care about money.”

“I do—otherwise I wouldn’t be here, panicking about missing this meeting tomorrow. If it goes well, I’ll shoot to the top of the list for a promotion.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re already doing more than enough. I appreciate this. Just leave some room in your calendar for a celebratory dinner. I’ll let ya get gussied up, darlin’ and I’ll take ya somewheres fancy,” you said in a silly accent, making Elliot smile his sweet, three-point grin.

When it was time for bed, he insisted on taking the couch. You equally insisted there was room for two in his bed until you saw the look of horror on his face, then backed off.

“You’re a great friend, El,” you called softly through the dark apartment before you snuggled deep into his bedding, enjoying being all wrapped up in his scent.

Elliot fell asleep with a soft smile on his face, no more than a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth.

* * * * *

When you woke up to an Elliot with a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets sliding from his wet hair down the muscles of his back, digging through his closet, you bit your lip to stifle a gasp. It was clear he thought you were asleep and as he padded back into the bathroom to get dressed, you had to fight to ignore the tingling sensation between your thighs.

Elliot was attractive, and it was impossible not to wonder if there would ever be more to your relationship. With guys less complicated than him, there would have already been something more. But Elliot had only ever made it clear he was interested in your friendship. Never had he indicated there was anything more he wanted.

Ignoring the desire to slide your fingers discreetly between your legs, knowing it would be very, very wrong to get yourself off in your friend’s bed after he was kind enough to sacrifice his privacy for you, you looked at your phone and shot up, not realizing you had already hit the snooze button . . . twice.

You were so busy getting yourself presentable from the waist up in record time that you barely heard Elliot say goodbye as he left for work. Your eyes flicked in the direction of his voice and you gave him a nanosecond of a wave goodbye.

Elliot shook his head as he shut the door, then smiled as he locked you in.

All day, he thought about you sitting in his bed, the contents of your makeup bag everywhere, your hair pulled into a presentable ballerina bun, your bare legs that looked so soft and shiny in the dim light of his apartment poking out as you braced yourself on the floor, and he wondered what it would be like to touch you, to feel his fingertips ghost over your shin before sliding up—

“Night, Elliot,” Angela called before Ollie ushered her out of the door.

Elliot blinked and looked at the clock again.

5:04 pm.

He gathered up his things and scrambled out the door to catch the train home, deep in thought.  

Meanwhile, your meeting had gone perfectly, and you had gotten a lot of work done. The only hitch in your whole day was the fact that it was freezing in Elliot’s apartment. You fiddled with the thermostat and kicked at the radiator like you had seem him do, but nothing happened.

Eyeing his favorite piece of clothing warily, you figured that as long as you didn’t get it dirty or manage to tear a hole in it, he wouldn’t mind. You laughed a little as you nestled into it, realizing it was snug across the chest.

You thought back to Elliot’s towel-clad body and realized his lean muscles were deceiving; he really was a skinny thing.

Snuggled back under the covers, you had switched to working on your laptop and were just about to go through your last round of emails for the day when the keys sounded in Elliot’s door.

His eyes found you instantly, and you couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment that crossed his features.

That was until he took a few steps into the apartment and his brow furrowed.

“Is . . . is that my hoodie?”

“I hope you don’t mind. It’s absolutely freezing in here.”

Instead of moving toward the radiator, Elliot stepped closer to the bed where you were situated, giving no inclination that he had even heard you.

His eyes seemed to be memorizing you as they scanned over every inch of your existence until you cleared your throat and sat up, reaching for the zipper at the base of your throat.

“I’ll just, uh, put this back—”

“No,” Elliot growled in a tone you had never heard before and one that made you go completely still.

He blinked and stepped back, realizing he had done something wrong.

“Leave it on . . . I mean.”

Slowly, your hands fell away from the zipper. You shut your laptop without looking away from his intense gaze and moved it to a spot on the floor beside his mattress.

“Is there . . . anything . . . else you’d like me to do?” you said slowly, figuring now was as good of a time as any to test the new way Elliot was looking at you.

He licked his lips, and shrugged out of his backpack, letting it fall to the floor with a clunk.

“Stand up.”

You took a breath and pushed the blankets from your hips, giving you enough room to step out of the bed. You hadn’t changed out of your sleep shorts, not really seeing a reason to since your meeting was only from the waist up.

Elliot’s eyes ran slowly over your body, once. Twice.

You felt self-conscious and reached up to smooth your hair, then for lack of anything else to do with them, you slid your hands into the pockets of his hoodie, your right hand connecting with his lighter.

You watched as Elliot swallowed before taking a few more steps toward you, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Take . . . will you, I mean,” he said shaking his head and starting again. “Will you take off your shorts?”

Ohhh, your mind and body thought at the same time.  

“Uh huh,” you answered, pulling your hands from his hoodie pockets and working to untie the drawstring on your shorts before hooking your thumbs in at the hips and pulling them down. It hadn’t occurred to you to care what kind of underwear you were wearing, so now all you could do was pray they were cute.

Elliot’s hoodie stopped right below your hips and the slightest movement would let him know what they looked like, so you stayed still, waiting to see what he would do next.

He cocked his head to the side, slightly, as his eyes swept over your bare legs. When he looked up at you, he smirked.

“Looks good on you.”

Christ.

You crossed the room and grabbed him by the Allsafe badge he hadn’t even taken off yet and pulled him in for a kiss. He chuckled against your lips, probably from nerves, but that didn’t stop you and eventually he got the point, bringing his hands up to pull your hips against his.

You licked at his lower lip, and he parted his mouth in a sigh, letting you stick your tongue in before he started kissing you back. He was so warm, and everything about him felt so good.

When you felt his hands clutch at your ass, you made a noise of appreciation before closing the kiss to look him in the eye. It took him a moment to open his lids, and when he did, you admired the way the undiscernible color of his irises darkened.

“Does this mean you wanna be more than friends? I’m not really a one-off kinda gal.”

Elliot’s lips twitched up in a quick, shy smile.

“I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”

“My panties are soaked, El. From a fucking kiss. I think you’re pretty good at it.”

Elliot laughed and pressed his forehead to yours.

“No . . . I can do that part pretty okay. I mean the more than friends part.”

“Like a relationship?”

“Yeah. That’s not, uh, my forte.”

“No, shit,” you said laughing and moving back to look at him.

His eyes were the happiest you had ever seen them, so you pressed on.

“We can take this very, very slow.”

Elliot nodded, then his brows contracted.

“Uh, how slow . . . because . . .” he said, as he adjusted himself under his dress pants.

You narrowed your eyes and thought for a moment.

“What brought on this . . . shift?” you asked, reaching out to lightly run your fingers over his bulge.

Elliot swallowed, then explained, “Seeing you in my bed this morning. You’re pretty when you’re chaotic,” he said with a slight smile, and you laughed.

“Is that all?”

“I couldn’t stop . . . couldn’t stop thinking about your legs in those little shorts. I kept thinking about what it would feel like to touch them. They look so soft.”

“Let’s start with that, then,” you said, pulling him toward the bed. “Sit.”

He sat with a little bounce, then looked expectantly up at you.

Moving so that you were standing between his legs, you looked down and softly said, “Touch me.”

Elliot’s lips parted as his eyes immediately turned to your bare legs.

He reached both hands out and placed them on top of your thighs before moving them slightly up, then circling them around to the back. His fingertips were just below the cheeks of your ass, but he slid his hands back down—past your knees and down your calves before he shifted to the front and ran his hands all the way up to where he had begun.

You reached out to steady yourself on his shoulders, shocked that such a simple touch was leaving you literally weak in the knees.

“Is, uh . . . this okay,” Elliot asked, his fingertips flexing up and down on your thighs as he paused to check your facial expression.

“I think I need to lie down,” you said with a smile.

He smiled back, and for the first time today, you felt warm, despite the loss of your shorts and his blankets.

Maneuvering onto the bed, you laid back against his pillows, bent your knees for a little leverage, and parted your legs, inviting him to get close enough to keep touching you.

Elliot kicked off his shoes and climbed onto his knees, sitting back on his haunches as he wiggled into a position between your feet.

This time, he started there, stroking the tops of your feet before sliding up and down your legs, gently kneading your calf muscles and your thigh muscles when he felt inclined to change up the pressure of his touch.

“Elliot,” you breathed, your eyes closed and your body’s heat continuing to climb.

Elliot removed his hands from your legs and shifted his position so he could lay on top of you. He kissed you this time, his lips moving slowly, occasionally pressing harder or softer, in a perfect echo of the way he had been touching your legs. When his tongue dipped into your mouth, you bucked up into his hips, your center connecting with his hard cock.

He groaned, and it was the hottest sound you had ever heard.

“Can—” you panted from under his kiss. “Can I touch you?”

Elliot moved your hand directly to his dick and pressed hard, and normally, you would have laughed at his eagerness, but you were a mess beneath him.

Making quick work of his trouser fastenings, you pushed open his pants and slid your hand into his boxer-briefs and grasped his hard cock.

He groaned again, making you shiver with need.

“Can you touch me, too?” you all but begged.

Elliot immediately reached between your legs and pushed your panties to the side, fumbling through your wetness, clearly not expecting that you really meant it when you said you were soaked from that first kiss.

He did chuckle against your mouth this time, and you joined him.

“Toldja,” you said with a smirk as you started jerking him off.

Elliot’s hips were pushing into your hand, and yours were pushing into his. He slid around your pussy for a few seconds before making a beeline for your clit, your need to get off too evident to entertain any exploration tonight.

Elliot’s fingers were skilled, and he quickly brought you to an orgasm by rubbing sharp, consistent circles over your aching clit with his thumb. Your pumps of his cock faltered as you let yourself go, but then you quickly doubled your efforts, wanting nothing more than to watch his face while he came.

“Y/N,” Elliot hissed, as he bucked into your hand, his cum spilling over your palm and coating it quickly as you continued to stroke him through his orgasm.

His elbows shook and he rolled off of you, onto his back. He was breathing heavy and his cheeks were tinged pink, his lips still glossy and swollen from all of your kissing.

“Wow,” he breathed out.

“I agree.”

Elliot looked over at you and smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes.

“I’m glad your power went out. And glad my heat broke today, too”

You turned your head up to the ceiling and laughed, tugging the zipper down on Elliot’s hoodie to let your too-hot body cool down.

“What a series of fortunate events,” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.

[undeadsnorlax]

Cumbersome and Heavy

Archive of our Own link

@badthingshappenbingo​

Prompt: Big Brother Instinct

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, nightmare sequence (involving temporary character death and blood+gore), referenced self-harm and child abuse

Wordcount: 2514

Big Brother Instinct - where a character has an instinctive desire to act as protector for a younger or smaller siblings. Luther feels he's failed this aspect of his personality too many times over. He's scared of it happening again. And the subconscious sure loves playing with those fears.

Luther was aware, the moment his eyes opened, that he was dreaming. Of course he was – he was back in the Umbrella Academy, the one he remembers, stood in the hallway near their childhood bedrooms, in the same dumb uniform he wore every day until he was eighteen and grew too tall to logically wear it. Except he’s…

He flexed a hand in front of his face. Not the mottled grey skin he’d grown to know, but tan and calloused palms instead. He strokes his face, feeling a scar over one brow and across a cheek, soft long hair…

“What the fuck?” Diego’s voice came out as he spoke.

Yeah. Definitely a dream. Right?

Luther looked around the corridor, a shiver running down his spine. It was…practically demolished. The doors of the rooms either shattered into splinters or hanging off the hinges. Peering in, he saw only wreckage. Toppled bookshelves and desks shattered in half…large sticky red smears on the walls and floor.

His nostrils flared. Blood.

“Shit.”

Luther kept moving, every step feeling as heavy as it did in his normal body, despite now possessing Diego’s. The whole house was dark, not even the faintest of light coming through the windows. It reminded him too much of the days he spent alone here. Every so often he’d recognise something belonging to his siblings, tossed about with disregard on the ground. Dog tags, a ripped up uniform, a snapped bowstring, shreds of a leather jacket.

Now he was in the entrance hall, how it was last time in their timeline – the chandelier that had fell on him smashed in the middle of the room, torn fabric stuck to it.

“Such a disappointment, isn’t he?”

A lump caught in Luther’s throat.

Just a dream he reminded himself, turning his head slowly to see Reginald stood at the top of the stairs.

“Perhaps you would have been the better Number One.”

No more numbers, Luther thought, clenching his fists shakily. But right now, he felt like a child again, like he had back at the supper in the 60s, unable to speak up. How many times had he let the threat of being demoted motivate him growing up? Had Diego heard similar? How he’d never be leader, never be held in the same regard Luther was, but maybe, just maybe if he pushed himself more, he could be?

His attention was drawn towards the living room. Grunts and growls and horrible snaps that made something deep in his stomach churn. Looking up towards the staircase again, Reginald had vanished.

He didn’t want to, but slowly Luther opened the living room door. There was some light in here, a flickering bulb swinging back and forth.

The smell of blood was strong.

And in the corner was…him. His actual body. He wasn’t wearing his shirt, his fur was thick and creating the most unsettling silhouette as he hunched over…something.

Luther felt that churning in his gut again, as if on some reflex as a knife flicked out into his palm.

Allison’s head was limp, staring up at him from the ground with glassy eyes. Vanya was a crushed pile, Klaus and Five’s mangled bodies tossed on top of each other.

His actual self turned his head, tilting it slightly. His eyes were black, his face smeared with blood…he stood, towering.

Luther gulped, taking a step back. Was this what his siblings saw every time he was near them? This hulking form that could block the light, muscles twitching and tensed with even the slightest movement.

His body smirked, showing blood in his teeth. Twitched stained fingers.

And suddenly he was that body, looking down at Diego in the stupid fucking uniform, pointing a single dagger in his direction.

“Luther. This isn’t you,” his brother said, voice shaking.

Luther licked his lips, letting out a soft growl. Inside he was screaming, stop, stop it, he’s right, it isn’t.

Stop being the monster you think you are.

He looked back at the shattered forms of his other four siblings. No, five siblings, because now leaned up against the smashed remains of the bar was Ben, head slumped to his chest and a gaping wound in his stomach.

Oh, all his life he’d been worried about this, wondering just how far his strength could go.

No, he didn’t need to wonder. Because he already knew, with the scars along his skin where he’d tried to carve himself back to normal after his accident, how it started as simple scratches but turned into chunks of gore that stuck under his nails. As long as he kept that damage to himself…

Watching Diego stand his ground, he knew he could tear him apart if he wanted. Snap his neck and rip his arms from his body. Crush his skull with the pressure of one hand, easily. Bite into his shoulder and come back with a mouthful of raw flesh. All manner of horrific acts with barely any effort.

As much as he tried to force himself to stay back, it was like Luther was in the passenger seat and this…beast was driving. He lunged forward, fingers wrapping around Diego’s throat and pinning him several feet above the ground as his knife fell to the floor with a clatter.

Diego struggled, gripping at Luther’s arm and kicking his legs out but he barely felt it.

Stop it, stop it, you’re not-

They were eleven years old and holding this same position. Luther wasn’t as big and Diego didn’t have his scars, and he could hear Ben’s voice yelling near him to calm down, Diego hadn’t meant whatever comment he’d said.

It’s how they found out Diego could hold his breath for so long. He ended up having a hand shaped bruise on his neck for two weeks straight.

Because that’s all Luther could do. He just hurt those he loved. And when he didn’t hurt them, he couldn’t protect them, so they still got hurt, like Ben and Elliot.

“Useless, Number One.”

Back to their adult bodies. Reginald stood in the doorway, shaking his head as Luther strangled his brother.

“You know you’re able to. Why hold back?”

“Because…I…” Luther took a laboured breath, every word being said through gritted teeth as he watched Diego’s eyes dim slightly. His grip loosened. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Yet here we are.” Reginald scoffed, shaking his head in the way that had made Luther’s heart sink for twenty-nine years. “If you truly don’t, you’d let go.”

He wanted to let go, he wanted this scene to shift and his siblings not be dead in a pile at his own hand and for this taunting form of his father to go away, he wanted to wake up-

Luther?

His grip tensed again.

Luther, what’s wrong? Wake up!

Diego looked at him, and it seemed like understanding on his face.

Is he okay?

I don’t know. Hey, hey, Luther, please, wake up. It’s fine.

Sn-a-p.

Christ, hang on.

What are you-

Diego fell limp.

The scene went dark.

…

Luther woke with a gasp as he felt water splash over his face, spluttering as he flailed about.

“Diego!” Vanya’s voice hissed, and in the gloom there was a gentle slap.

“Hey!” Diego whispered back, “Sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do!”

Luther’s eyes adjusted a little, feeling the dull ache in his chest from whatever kind of attack he’d been having whilst he slept.

Back in the motel room, where the springs of the bed dug into his spine. Back in the world the six of them didn’t quite belong in with no Umbrella Academy, a world where their father had formed the Sparrow Academy instead, with brand new children.

Safe. Everyone was alive. Even Ben, even if he wasn’t their Ben.

“Hey. Luther.”

Vanya gently took Luther’s hand, just about visible as she gestured her head towards the bathroom. Luther gulped and let her guide him to his feet, taking him there. The gentle padding of feet just behind told him Diego was following, but he wasn’t sure quite yet if he could look him in the eye.

He shut the door as they crammed into the small bathroom, Vanya sitting on the side of the bathtub as Diego jumped up on the counter. Luther, unsure of where else to put himself, just sat himself down on the floor with his head between his legs. He wanted to feel small.

“You were whimpering in your sleep bro,” Diego said, letting his voice carry a little louder now they were out of the main room, “Thrashing about like crazy.”

“Nearly kicked me out of bed,” Vanya said with a light-hearted smile, getting a towel to rub dry the parts of Luther’s face and hair that had been hit in the water throwing, “Thought I was through with that after Five forced me off the pull-out.”

“Would not have had him down for such a blanket hog,” Diego chuckled, tilting his head to see if that got any response, “…Luther?”

Luther gulped, allowing himself to flop back against the wall, looking up at them. He could feel his hands shaking, his chest starting to tighten once more. “Just a dream,” he said, his voice strained. He paused, swallowed, and corrected himself. “A nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vanya asked, now sitting down next to him, reaching out a hand that he flinched away from.

Luther tightened his own hand into a fist, feeling his nails dig into his palm. “I…I hurt you. All of you. Badly.”

“…how badly?” Diego joined them, keeping in a crouched position as his usually scowling face softened.

Luther felt like he could still smell blood when he flared his nostrils. “I’d…I’d killed you all. Torn you to shreds, crushed you up.” He gulped heavily. “I might’ve…I think I ate some of you? There was just…a lot going on. Like a horror movie. And Dad was there, taunting me into finishing you off.”

A moment of silence as Diego and Vanya gave each other a look. It was surprise, Luther was sure of that, but he didn’t know if it was a good way or a bad way.

“But you wouldn’t do that,” Diego said firmly, “You wouldn’t hurt us like that, you know you wouldn’t.”

“But I could.” Luther winced, unfurling his fingers and looking at his palm, though hiding it from view. He hadn’t broken the skin enough to draw blood, thankfully, but enough to leave several red crescent moon shapes. “I-I always manage to hurt you guys. What I did to you, Vanya. What I did to Klaus, and I still don’t remember it happening properly. Ben-“

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for that,” Diego growled, shifting to sit on his knees, “We all messed up there, but even then, there’s nothing we could have done to prevent it. It just happened.”

“But Ben’s alive here. A world without me as leader, and Ben lived.”

“Yeah, and guess what? He’s also a colossal dickhead.”

Vanya reached out and took Luther’s hand again, forcing the palm upwards and showing the marks there. Her expression made him cringe, look in the other direction. Most of his siblings had pieced together his self-destructive tendencies by now, but Vanya had been the one to bare witness to some of them, like that fight he threw back in ’63. “Diego’s right, you know,” she said, turning his hand back over to rub his knuckles, “It wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault.”

“It was Dad’s fault for pushing Ben against his will,” Diego added, getting a smug little glow from being told he was right for once.

“Easy to blame him for everything,” Luther mumbled, staring at the strands of fur poking out from the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt, “What did he not fuck us over with?”

“I know we’re having a serious heart-to-heart right now, but I love this bitter Luther who hates Dad.”

He glanced up at Diego then scoffed, shrugging a shoulder. “I love it too. I’m jealous of you guys for realising it sooner.”

His brother and sister both gave him a smile, glad he was calming down. Still, Luther rested his head back against the wall, staring at the flickering light until he saw shapes.

“I wasn’t me at the start of the dream. I was…I was in your body, Diego. And I saw me from your point of view.” He swallowed heavily, turning his fingers so he could give Vanya’s hand the softest squeeze. “I’m…terrifying.”

“Remember when we were kids?” Vanya asked, squeezing his hand back with all her might, “Whenever I found a spider in my bedroom. I’d come to you for help. You know why?”

Luther’s face contorted as he gave it genuine thought but gave up with a huff. “No.”

“Because you were always the gentlest. Klaus and Diego always managed to kill it and Allison and Ben hated them, and Five never managed to catch it properly, but you would get a cup and a piece of paper and release it out your window without hurting it.”

Luther just huffed again, wrinkling his nose. “It’s not like it’s hard…”

“You always made those model kits with all those little bits that snap super easy,” Diego added, sliding up to lean against the wall next to him, “And I’ve never seen a record collection in such perfect condition. Face it, for a guy with super strength, you’re very delicate.”

“…I hate you guys.” It came out dry and sarcastic, through a shy grin. “Okay, I know. I wouldn’t hurt anyone to that extent on purpose, but I still could.”

“And hopefully when you do, it’ll be on the old bastard himself,” Diego said, punching his arm, which got another scoff of laughter.

“I wasn’t the only one whose powers he was holding back,” Vanya said. She reached over to get some toilet paper, not letting go of Luther’s hand as she did, before handing the wad to him. “If he’d just…bothered a little more, you wouldn’t have to be so worried about hurting people.”

“To be fair, that’s all we were taught to do.” Luther blew his nose into the tissue, sighing slowly. “…thanks you guys. For hearing me out.”

Diego threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling his head in close to bump their foreheads together. “Hey. Don’t mention it Lu, okay? We got your back, like we know you got ours.”

“Let’s get back to bed now, huh?” Vanya added softly, awkwardly wiggling closer to give Luther a hug, arms barely reaching around his chest, “Then in the morning, we could…go to that diner on the next block! The one with all those different juice machines?”

Luther closed his eyes, wanting to savour this moment for a little longer as he placed one hand on Vanya’s side and the other at the back of Diego’s head. He was far away from that nightmare now, and that’s all it had been, and all it would ever be. A bad dream.

[imnottiredofgettingoveryou]

What about number 20 drinking hot cocoa and cuddling together on a cold night with Elliot that leads to smut? ❤️

Stop 1 on my apology tour! Sorry again that this took so long but I hope you enjoy :) This takes place around Decemberish.

Warnings: I listen to my requests: here, there be smut. Back to the Future/Donnie Darko discourse (that’s almost more offensive)

Word Count: about 2300 

Elliot was needier around the holidays.

He tried to pretend that all the Hallmark-style movies and Christmas ads showing smiling families filled with warmth didn't get to him. He knew it was the time of year when billionaires beefed up their coffers by exploiting those warm fuzzy feelings for profit, and he tried to focus on that- the rage.

Often, though, it was the loneliness at the forefront of his mind, his alienation stark against endless images of supposed normalcy.

You had snuck past his normal defenses and become a steady presence in his life over the last few months. Something about you made him feel comfortable, like he could talk to you about anything.

And Elliot had guts to spill, no doubt about it. But he rarely did so. He was still treading lightly with you, not wanting you to learn anything about him that would make you think of him as broken.

But some things were harder for him to resist. And once that unforgiving chill had settled over the city, it just felt way too natural for him to seek out your warmth.

Even on days when you don't see each other, you feel connected. You text here and there, or sometimes Elliot will just send you a picture of some nearby scenery he thinks is pretty, or whatever he's doing at the moment. Just to say "hey, it's me, I'm okay." Maybe a little bit of "I'm thinking about you." And sometimes, usually hidden a bit more deeply between the lines, "I'm not okay."

Like today, for example. It was a picturesque winter day outside, straight out of a painting. It was snowing but not too cold, the snowflakes on your face feeling more like heaven than hypothermia. Couples interlinked their bemittened hands, the approving 'beep' of credit card scanners echoed out across the city, and you knew - you just fucking knew - that somewhere, Elliot was curled up like a burned spider, depressed as shit.

It was only confirmation, really, when he texted you a picture of a single packet of Swiss Miss slumped against a styrofoam cup that looked like it had been stolen from an AA meeting. The text under the picture stated simply:

fEsTiVe

Oof. Yeah, he knew how you felt about that. He was fishing for a response, which meant he needed some company. You couldn't help but smile a little as you texted him back.

You: Don't tell me...

Elliot: im gonna make it with water : )

You: ASKLDJLKDFJ

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, that just wouldn't do.

You: I'm coming over & we're making hot chocolate like grownups

You headed in the direction to do just that, and thankfully he didn't leave you in limbo for very long before your phone lit up with an 'okay : )'

└[∵┌]└[ ∵ ]┘[┐∵]┘

When you got to his apartment, he opened his door just enough to look you up and down with one eye and scrutinize the contents of your shopping bag.

"You really bought hot chocolate mix in a mason jar?"

"Mhmmmm," you confirmed, raising an eyebrow at him.

"How much was it? Fifty bucks or something?"

"Don't worry about it, smartass."

He smiled and opened his door all the way for you, and you gleefully stepped in, took your coat off, and sat your supplies down in his kitchen.

You dug around the chaotic mess of his cupboards and found a lone saucepan, pouring in a mixture of cream and milk and setting it over low heat. You criss-crossed your body with your arms and tried to rub some heat into them. You were dressed appropriately in a sweater and thick leggings, but could still feel the chill in his apartment.

Behind you, Elliot sat on the couch queueing up the torrent player on his laptop. He looked up as you were trying to warm yourself up.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Yeah - good thing I brought hot chocolate to this fucking igloo and not popsicles." You gave the milk a quick stir, making sure it didn't boil, and unscrewed the jar of cocoa mix. You had started adding it little by little to the warm milk, watching the little pieces of chocolate melt, when Elliot approached you from behind and reached around your waist. Careful not to interrupt what you were doing, he drug his fingers lightly across the fabric that covered your belly and nuzzled into your hair.

"Is this okay?" he purred into your ear. "Are you gonna get distracted if I..."

"No," you breathed, continuing to stir.

At that, Elliot's hands splayed out on your stomach and he pulled you against him, his warm embrace smoothing your goosebumps as his chest pressed into your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and let his eyes fall closed.

You stayed like that for a few moments, just enjoying the closeness, before his hands slipped under your shirt. His fingertips teased the soft skin around your navel, and he trailed one finger slowly along the waistband of your leggings. When it dipped just underneath to graze your hip bone, you gasped and reached for his wrist.

"Okay, that's getting distracting babe."

Shit. You didn't mean to call him that, but when you turned your head and met the warm gleam of his luminous eyes, you thought he had probably been caught up in the moment too. Pretending to be normal.

The cocoa was well-mixed now, and you hoped it would taste as good as it looked. Elliot backed up and gave you some room to maneuver around the kitchen. You found two mismatched mugs and carefully filled them up over the sink.

"Better wait a few minutes unless we wanna scald our tastebuds off," you said as you added mini marshmallows to the mugs. "What do you want to do while we partake?"

"You wanna watch Donnie Darko?" he asked.

"Why? So I get scared and cuddle up to you? You're gonna have to try harder than that."

"No," he said, rolling his eyes. "Because it's Back to the Future fanfiction."

You stared at him, blinking twice before saying anything. "Excuse me?"

"I didn't stutter."

You lifted your eyebrows slightly, a little surpised that he was already teasing you back so early in the evening. "Okay, I'll bite. Let's watch it."

You grabbed the mugs and headed toward his couch, and Elliot went to pull the blanket off his bed. Then he stopped and turned to look at you.

"Do you just want to sit over here?"

You nodded and sat the mugs on the floor at the foot of his bed, then laid down on your stomach and got comfortable while he retrieved the laptop. Once all was situated, he laid next to you, matching your position, and pulled his blanket up over your backs.

"So tell me how this is BTTF fanfiction, exactly?" You scooted just barely closer to him, your body almost subconsciously seeking out his warmth.

"Well, there's a fan theory that Doc convinced Marty to sacrifice himself in the time jump so he could save the world. Sound familiar?"

"Elliot, I know downers are your poison, but you sound like a real crackhead right now."

"Then there's the Delorean reference..." You could see his little smirk in your periphery as he rested his hand on your lower back beneath the blanket.

"That's reaching."

"No such thing as coincidence."

You reached out and felt around the edges of your mug, testing the temperature. "I think we can drink these now." You handed Elliot his hot chocolate and brought your own to your lips carefully.

You were right, it was just hot enough and sweet and rich and-

"Good," Elliot confirmed.

"What can I say? Call me Gordon Ramsay." After you had both sat your mugs back down, letting your palettes recover from the rich taste, Elliot discarded his hoodie and laid down on his side, then pulled you against him so that his chest was pressed against your back. Your legs slotted together and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, making you melt into him as you settled in to finish the movie.

Between the hot drinks and your shared body heat, the temperature underneath Elliot's blanket warmed up quickly, and clothes slipped off until you were down to your leggings and undershirt and he was in his black t-shirt and boxer briefs. Once all unnecessary layers were shed, he resumed his position spooned snugly behind you, and it was only a matter of time before you grew comfortable enough to fall asleep.

You passed out for a spell, waking up to face a closed laptop and feel Elliot's steady breathing in your ear, his arms still wrapped securely around you.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, just relaxing against him, before his hands started to roam over your body in his sleep. You smiled as his fingers clumsily traced along your curves, until you felt them dig into your hips to pull you flush against him. Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden roughness; his hands didn't hesitate as they traveled back up your body, and you yelped when they found your breasts and squeezed hard.

Elliot rustled behind you at the noise and suddenly his hands were gone. "Fuck, sorry."

You reached around to find his hand and squeezed reassuringly. "It's okay. Good dream?" You couldn't resist grinding back against him a little, the answer to your question becoming quickly apparent.

Elliot's hand was back on your hip, his grip on you tightening as you rubbed against his arousal. "Yeah."

"Tell me about it."

"No," he stated simply. His lips grazed the outside of your ear, and when you shivered, he caught the lobe between his teeth. "I could... show you."

A pang of arousal shot through you at his words, vivid snapshots flashing in your mind of what he might want to do to you that had made him so hard.

You answered him by pulling off the rest of your clothes; he swallowed hard enough that you could hear it, then followed suit. His blankets rustled as the two of you scrambled to discard your clothing.

Elliot didn't miss a beat, pulling you back against his chest as soon as the two of you were naked, and he was still so warm from having been cocooned up with you that you couldn't help but relax into him. You pulled your hair to the side so he could suck on your neck while his hands roamed over your breasts, stomach, hips.

There must not have been much foreplay in his dream, you thought as he pulled your leg up your body for access. Not that you minded; the ache you felt for him was becoming hard to ignore, at any rate.

Elliot wrapped a hand around himself and rubbed the head of his cock against you until it was coated with your wetness. He teased the tip through your folds, grinding against you once he found your clit, but the stimulation quickly became too much for you and for him. He couldn't deny your pleas to fucking do something already and you felt him start to push in.

He was so much more patient than you when it came to this, and he never got tired of using it to his advantage.

He took his time working his cock into you, and once every inch of him was seated inside you, he didn’t move; he wasn't giving in to you completely just yet. You whined and squirmed and dug your fingers into the arm that he had wrapped around your waist, but he held fast. You had no control with him behind you - couldn't wrap your legs around him, couldn't pull him closer, pull him deeper - and you knew he liked it that way.

The thought made you clench around him hard. That got him moving.

You sighed in relief at finally feeling that sweet push and pull of him inside you. Closing your eyes, you relaxed and relinquished control to him, trusting him to take care of you. You were trying to be quiet, trying to tamp down your responses to the ripples of pleasure that washed over you each time he filled you; you wanted to hear him. Your efforts were rewarded as his little huffs and sighs against your shoulder escalated into soft moans.

Volume control became futile once Elliot adjusted his angle to hit your g-spot, your mouth falling open enough for broken moans to spill from your throat. Elliot lifted a hand up to your face to trace his middle and index fingers over your parted lips, then pushed them into your mouth. You sucked his digits hard, and he groaned in appreciation before he removed them and began a wet trail down the front of your body. Upon reaching his destination, he massaged your clit between his still-warm, still-wet fingers until your toes were curling against his calf.

"Elliot," you whined, "I'm--"

Coherence fell away as easily as quiet had as your orgasm overtook you, but you managed to cry out Elliot's name a few more times as you shook in his arms.

When he came, he bit your shoulder hard, and you were still too high on endorphins to notice it hurt before he was peppering the spot with sweet, soft kisses of apology.

Elliot gingerly removed himself from you, flinching at the lingering sensitivity from his orgasm. You gave each other space to breathe and cool down, and as your chest heaved you realized you hadn't even kissed him properly yet tonight.

Intent on remedying this, you rolled over and crawled towards him as soon as you were physically able, pressing your lips against his and not caring that he tasted like over-priced chocolate.

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Five: Regrets

WC: 7.9k

Previous Chapter

Songs for this chapter

Extra piece in Harry’s POV (I suggest reading this first)

I have to say my intuition is pretty decent. The only time it’s failed me, is when I’ve chosen to ignore it. There’s a fine line though, between me wanting to listen to myself, and the nagging feeling in my gut. I’m an easy person to dismiss. 

So when I spent all of last week brushing off the insistent aura of regret from my shoulders, I didn’t expect it to manifest itself in such a tame manner. My life is the embodiment of ‘when it rains, it pours,’ and I’m constantly trying to find a place to feel good within my own existence. 

And right now, I really regret being such a pushover. If there’s one moment I could do over again, it would be earlier today when I turned down the overtime my boss offered. Because Jessie is sick. She isn’t, but she says she is; I’ve known her for too long now. We’ve survived a lot together:

That’s three drunken nights, five catcallers, one early morning jog right after the New Year when we said we’d get healthy. Two fake Instagram accounts to spot a cheater, six tampons thrown over bathroom stalls, eight missed calls—then a hurried drive down Park Street to find yours truly in the midst of a panic attack. And now, nine minutes for me to figure out that she’s not ill. That’s like, 75 in women years. No wonder we’re so tired all the time.

I’d put money on a phone call from Anthony. She says she’s never had phone sex, but she does so with a smile, and I’m not an idiot. She’s not ashamed; I don’t think Jessie could ever feel embarrassed with the confidence she has. This only twists the ropes surrounding my organs, pulling tighter and tighter until… 

I hope to have secrets with someone one day, and then I can tell Jessie a sweet lie about how I’ve never gone skinny dipping, or Russian kissed, and she’d be content with my fib and cherry smile, because she’s my best friend. 

And because I’m her best friend, I’m zipping up the back of my black dress with a hanger, praying it doesn’t pop when I exhale.

“I promise, I’ll owe you,” Jessie whines. 

“No you don’t. Just tell me I don’t look terrible.”

“You’re gorgeous as always, babe.”

She’s curled up in her bed, such an actress, with a heating blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a phony stuffed nose that makes her words gel together in a tight knot. I thank her anyway.

“Don’t forget the book.”

“I know, I know.” I push off the threshold of her room to gather my things: a winter coat that looks somewhat classy, my purse, and Beowulf. I button up to my neck and yell my goodbye as I cross the apartment.

We have a small mirror that hangs against a brick wall when you first enter our home. I’ve watched Jessie nudge at her lashes and scrape tiny bits of strawberry lipstick off her teeth before we leave, dozens of times.  I usually pass by her while she’s doing her last touch-ups, but now I’m alone, and I have to make the quick decision to look or not. I hope Jessie’s right, that I don’t look terrible, because I close my eyes until I’m locking the door. 

***

The theater is frigid, and nearly empty when I arrive. I guess the majority of Jessie’s class isn’t as desperate to watch a reenactment of a book for extra points as she is. Tickets are five dollars, and the water I bought is warm. I am overdressed, and take out my diamond earrings after a girl in sweatpants sits at the end of my row.

At intermission I debate whether or not I should leave. I can hide in my room all night and finish Jessie’s assignment, in my pajamas, with a glass of gas station wine in hand. But I guess Jessie is in love, so instead, I wobble up to the concession in her borrowed heels to buy more junk food that can promise me a breakout by morning. 

“Y/n?”

Like an eruption; his voice triggers more physiological responses in my body than a lab rat. My senses have never crossed borders with each other, and yet I stand here, hunger clawing its way up my ribs, past my larynx, banging on the back of my eyes so I’ll open them. 

“Hey.” My voice is filled with saliva, and I pray he doesn’t notice. 

“Are you here for the extra credit, or to watch a bunch of middle aged call-backs try their hand at acting?”

My laugh is airy and sore. “Uh, Jessie. It’s her class. She’s sick, so I’m saving her.”

“Ah,” he nods. “I’m a life jacket too, tonight. Elliot’s visiting his cousin or something.”

The lights flicker above us, and he blushes like a cherry. “I uh, I guess we’d better head back.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you, would you like to sit together?” He holds up his copy of the book. “Compare notes?”

I nod. I respond, but I’m not exactly sure what comes out of my mouth. All I know is that he has me lead the way, and deciding where to sit becomes an insurmountable task, as if my seating choice is the determinate in how he will see me in the forthcoming days, weeks. Does he like to sit in the front? The back? Close to the aisle? Where had he been this whole time? Had he noticed me when I had my mouth stuffed with gummy bears?

“If you don’t mind,” he answers the questions in my head, “I don’t care for sitting close to the front.”

“The middle then? I think I read that, two-thirds back was the best seating or something.”

“Perfect.”

We settle into our seats, the theater now nearly vacant other than the two of us, and a few people tucked away in the back. 

It’s a bizarre group of words to use—the two of us—in reference to Harry and I. Technically, it’s sound. There are two in a pairing. I think it’s the us that plays my heartstrings like a violin. The vibrating in my chest escalates, echoing off the hollow of my bones, wrapping around the fibers of my muscles, weakening my nervous system like a dying light bulb. 

He flips through my copy of the book where I haven’t made as many notes as I should have, nodding along to my scribbles which outline the differences between the original story and this live adaptation. “We’ve got a lot of the same.” He’s smiling big when he hands my book back. “Guess we’re doing something right then.”

I feel his energy for the rest of the play. Every move he makes is somehow worthy of interest. The grip he holds on his knee, the tilt of his head, roll of his lips, bounce of his foot. He clears his throat at one point, and I turn back towards the actors as if they are the disturbance. Each time he flips through the book to scribble a note, the pages brush against his thumb, sometimes catching on his ring. When he pricks his skin on the edge of a page, he drives it straight into his mouth. I have to remind my heart to keep beating. 

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me? Do you need a ride home?”

When had we walked outside? When did the sun disappear? When did his hair become such a mess?

“Um, no. That’s alright. Thank you though.”

“How did you get here?” His lenses are a pink champagne color, and I hope the filter makes me aesthetically appealing, as I never have been before. 

“The bus.”

“The b—you’re going to take this bus? But it’s late?”

I study his face, his eyes through the tinted glass, the lines across his forehead with his brows pushing them up towards his hairline. My intelligence is working overtime.

“I’ve taken the bus at night before. I’ll be fine.” I shrug and he frowns.

“But, I—if I give you my number, will you text me when you get home? Just, I mean, I just need to know you make it back. It’s nearly eleven. And it’s the bus.”

I stand there too long, contemplating the actions he wishes to pursue. His number, in my phone. He says my name.

“Uh, yeah, I can do that I guess.”

Vertigo and an imposture buzz seize my nerves. My hands shake; I always spend so much time waiting for things to end, so I can just live in the memory. Things are easier that way. 

And I’m more vulnerable under moonlight, so I hand him my phone. 

“You won’t forget?”

“No. no. I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” He passes my phone back, clearing his throat. “Um, I enjoyed this. Tonight I mean. Was pretty pissed at Elliot when he asked me to go for him, but...guess things worked out okay after all.”

“Yeah, not bad.”

“You um, you look...you look very pretty.”

“Oh,” I’m caught off guard, and have to take a second to scrape the word liar off my tongue. “Thanks. Thank you. You, so do you.”

He snickers, but it’s lighthearted, like a feather was tickling his chin. “Thank you, love.”

“Yeah…”

“So um, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“O—okay.”

His lashes flutter against his glasses, and his tongue darts out to swipe over his lips. “Uh, I—do you—are you sure you don’t need a ride home?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he sighs like he’s relieved, but there’s pent up nervous energy leaking out, that contradicts the lax drop of his shoulders and the fidgety hand scratching the back of his neck. “Well I’ll see you later then?”

“Okay.”

His lips are twitching when we say goodbye. He goes one way and I the other. He goes to his car, and I go towards the bus stop. My phone weighs heavy in my bag. How did I end up looking forward to admiring a sequence of numbers? I run through my options of what exactly I will text when I get home. What punctuation I will use, if I am warranted in picking an emoji, what he might respond with.

The bus driver gives me a funny look when the doors close behind me. I can’t find anything inside me to care enough though, as I normally would, and find a seat in the back. I’d give me a funny look too, if I was smiling so big at nothing in particular. 

***

I almost forget to lock our door when I hurry into the apartment. I’m out of my coat and shoes by the time I reach my room, flopping down on my bed with my phone in hand. 

Seeing Harry’s name at the top of the screen slows down my movements, making the moment more serious. My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I’m stifled on picking how I want to word my text. 

I made it back alive

I’m home, no need to worry

I’m here:)

I consider not texting him at all, but brush the intrusive thought that he was just being nice for show, as far away into the corner of my mind as I can manage. 

I’m home now

My teeth sink further and further into my lip, the skin stretching and pulling with the corners of my mouth playing tug of war. The three little dots of his incoming text seems to last forever. 

How many stops did you have to make? You know how to make a man worry. I’m happy you’re home safe xx

Without much thought, because I know I’d change my mind, I send a smiley face and lock my phone, then quickly make my way to Jessie’s room. Part of me wants to gush to her about tonight, about how he asked to sit together, and how he gave me his number. 

But I also have no reason to be so...giddy. His actions are easily explained if you look at them from a different angle. He didn’t want to sit by himself, that’s all. I’m a familiar face. And any decent person would offer a ride home to their...student. 

I freeze in the space between our rooms, trying to pick a lane for my mind to travel down. I know myself well enough to know that my first reaction is to dismiss the entire evening, and my brain is pulling on the reins in that direction. But a selfish part of me just wants to relish in tonight’s events. He didn’t have to sit by me, and no one made him give me his number. I need to stop assuming that my presence is so revolting 

When I knock on Jessie’s door she hacks a dramatic cough, and mumbles for me to come in. 

“How are you feelin’?”

“Oh I’m better, yeah, so uh, how was your night? Did you like it? Did you have fun?” The covers are pulled up to her nose, her big eyes wide and shining right above them. “You look happy? Why’s that?”

“It was good,” I sigh, leaning against the door frame. “I’ll type up your notes in the morning.”

“I’ll probably feel up to it tomorrow,” she nods and I roll my eyes. “So uh, what did you like about it?”

“Oh...just...it was a good play. Really good.”

“Yeah? That’s it?”

I shrug. “What were you expecting?”

“Nothing, you just came in here with a big smile on your face, thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, sighing. “Nothin’, nothin’.”

“Alright, well, m’gonna go to bed then.”

“Okay...thanks for saving me tonight. Glad you enjoyed it.”

My lips twitch, but I manage to reign in a smile. “Yeah, I did.”

***

I’ll be at the Library this afternoon, so you can stop by. 4-ish. 

I read over his text and check the time again. It’s four o’clock now, but I feel early. Fashionably late, that’s a thing, right…that I should have done? He said ish. Does ish mean early or late? My poor brain.

I slip the continuing rewrite of my report from my bag, as if to say when I walk in: I’m here for help with school, that’s all, no assumptions, please. It’s cool outside, and when I walk in there is no relief, and yet my hands sweat. I swipe them over the back pockets of my jeans.

“Hi!” Harry’s not in his work clothes, not in his school clothes either. Faded, light-washed jeans are not something I like, but this day is starting to feel weird, so I might as well throw that out the window too. They’re nice. The t-shirt is nice too. How is he not cold? “You made it.”

“Are you sure this is a good time?”

“I’m free all afternoon,” he chirps. 

“Okay.”

He’s at the same table we worked at last time. When I sit down, he adjusts his glasses, and I notice his nails are painted black again. It’s just a color. Black. And yet he makes it look brand new, like he discovered it. 

“So what questions did you have?”

How do you always look so good? “Um, I don’t like Henry Miller.”

He chuckles. Everything about me is porous, and I absorb him. I can count his teeth, brow hairs, the depth of his dimple; weird how the lines deepening around his eyes are so divinely explicit. He laughs again. “Me too, love.”

When you laugh like that I wanna pass out. “But I don’t know how to write about him like that. Everything I come up with sounds...childish.”

“I think one of the best things you can do is provide examples. Scour the text—believe me, there’s plenty to choose from—that display his character. The whole book is his autobiography with a fictional twist.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I stay in my head, and he waits for me to speak. I feel like he is always waiting for me to talk. “Um, and then the issue of feminism.” I pause and he nods. “One of the things I kept seeing online is that, um, well people were saying that the book upheld women because the man, Henry, he uh…um...”

“Couldn’t get it up?”

It’s not cold in here anymore, oh God. “Uh, yeah...that part.”

“Okay then. Tell me why.”

“What!?”

“How does that make you feel when you read it?”

I shake my head. What I feel? “It’s...shit. A man not, um, performing, does not and should never, be attributed to the value of a woman. Um, some people think this scene gives her...some kind of power or hierarchy. Or that she is this automatic winner. He doesn’t get to...y’know...and all of a sudden there’s a shift. He fails as a man, so by default she wins as a woman. And that’s how she earns her value. That’s gross.”

“Write that down,” Harry says.

“What?”

“That’s very well put. You took reference of the source, gathered your feelings, and produced a well thought-out conclusion. You can clean it up later, but go ahead and write that down before you forget it.”

***

Our conversation veers off the path once the questions I came with are answered, my report pushed aside. I’m much more calm now, and at times forget that we’ve only known each other for a couple months. 

We talk about high school and then books and food. And he’s easy to talk to, I’m reminded. He laughs a lot and blushes a lot. 

At one point he jumps up like a child on Christmas morning, urging me to follow him through the aisles so he can show me a book he just finished reading. There’s something very boy-like about him...very cute and sweet and cuddly. I consider making up questions about my report just to see this again...see him again. 

Soon the sun starts dipping down, casting globes of shadows over the first floor. Ms. Bortnick flicks the lamps on and the room lights up, although there’s still a dark glow of evening around us. I’m busy flipping through Dickenson, looking for a poem I read years ago to show Harry. Once I find it and peer up, I’m frozen. 

He’s standing right below a window, weight leaning on one leg, while he slowly turns the pages of a book. It rests in his open palm, fingers splayed out across the spine and both covers. I gulp. His hands are huge. There’s peace in his reddened cheeks, an artistic contrast to the crease between his brows. Lips are in a content line, and I’m buzzed with the thought that I now know the different looks of his lips. How to others he may appear annoyed or disturbed, but I can tell he’s quite happy. 

He is serene, golden; a lighthouse beckoning me towards him. He picks up stray beams of light and swallows them whole, right before my eyes, without moving a muscle. Strikingly bizarre, his features. He’s one of those you don’t want to stop looking at. So I don’t, until he notices me and smiles, nodding back to our table. 

I keep my finger in place of the page I’m on, but close the book when I sit down. He follows suit after me. 

“D’you find it?”

“Mhmm.” I flip the cover open and spin the book around to face him. 

“Read it.”

It’s a gentle request, soft, with the hint of a question mark at the end. I clear my throat as quietly as possible. 

““Hope” is the thing with feathers 

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the Gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm 

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land 

And on the strangest Sea;

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I have to take a moment before looking up at him. He stayed foggy in my peripheral while I recited, mouthing along with his hand lazily hung over his lips, pretending not to know the words. 

“I love that one,” he croons, “haven’t heard it in a while.” He slides the book across the table and starts flipping through the pages. 

I watch his nails dance, and after a minute I have to clear my throat and look away, like I’m watching something I’m not supposed to, and don’t wanna get caught. 

“Ah, here.” His face grows serious, lips sewn together. 

My heart somersaults, because I know I’m about to be gifted with strings of moments filled with his voice. I straighten in my seat and hold my breath. 

“Remorse is a memory awake,

Her companies astir, —

A presence of departed acts

At window and at door. 

It’s past set down before the soul,

And lighted with a match,

Perusal to facilitate 

Of its condensed dispatch. 

Remorse is cureless, — the disease

Not even God can heal;

For ‘t is his institution, —

The complement of hell.”

“I remember that one,” I whisper. There’s something about myself that I suddenly don’t like, and it’s how attractive I find sadness dripping off his tongue. In a much different way than his nails. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, lost in his head. I can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “How about something more...upbeat?”

***

We share more poems, and get back to a place where we’re smiling. Although, with each passing moment, Harry grows more and more fidgety. His hands can’t seem to stay still, traveling from his mouth to his neck to his rings. He’s the one who keeps starting new conversation topics, in between finding books, but I’m scared it’s me that’s got him anxious. 

“I uh,” he starts, after he closes one of Edward Lear's books of limericks. His voice has softened like butter. Smooth like whiskey when it’s 2 am. I forget what time it actually is when he looks at me, his eyes watery, and suddenly, I wish I was drunk. “Um. Can I—is it alright if we—” he shakes his head, eyes tired, tongue-tied. “I—”

“There you are!” 

We both jump when a tall, thin guy runs up to our table, out of breath and frantic, he starts tugging on Harry’s arm. 

“C’mon, we’ve got a gig. Last minute. Been tryin’ to call you for an hour. Let’s go.”

Harry’s stuttering, looking between me and who I assume is a friend of some sorts, while he eventually complies with the man’s actions and rises from his seat. 

“I uh, I’m so sorry...turned my phone off…” I can’t tell who he’s talking to, all I know is that he looks devastated for some reason. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” I urge, gathering my things. “We were finished anyway. Thank you for helping me. Again.”

The friend, now standing by the front door, calls Harry’s name repeatedly. Harry’s clearly reluctant in moving towards him, offering up more apologies. 

“It’s fine, really.” I push down the disappointment filling me up, and force a smile on my lips. “Go...do whatever you’ve got to do.”

“Right, right, uh—”

“Let’s go!”

“Well, if you need any more help, just let me know. Just text me whenever. Whenever you want.”

“Harold!”

“I will.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you then?”

“You’d better go,” I laugh, “he’s about to pop.”

“So am I,” Harry mumbles, and trudges off towards his impatient friend. 

***

Pickles. Pickles are everywhere. All over our counters, in the sink, the table, the chairs. Jars of pickles. On the couch, the floor, the window sill. 

Jessie broke up with Anthony. 

When she broke up with Charles, it was sour kraut. Devin was jello. Kaiden was black licorice. Brian was pomegranate. She should make a scrapbook. 

“One to ten?” I ask, opening a jar of kosher dill. My mouth waters when the salt hits my nose. 

“Five.”

“That’s better than yesterday.” The corners of my jaw tingle unnecessarily when I bite into the green spear. I twitch and wait for it to pass. 

She didn’t go into detail about what happened, or even who broke up with who. I came home from my evening with Harry at the library, to find her amongst a storm of soiled tissues on our couch. 

There isn’t much to a Jessie breakup. She cries, swallows her feelings emotionally, and whatever random food—physically, calls the guy on the phone to tell him he’s a bastard, and then starts looking for someone new.

In the meantime, I pretty much steer clear of her. With Anthony living so far away, I never had to worry about coming home to them undressing in the living room, or shoving my head under the pillow while I tried to fall asleep. But I’m sure it won’t be long until she’s gushing about someone again, so I need to enjoy my boy-free apartment while I can. 

“Y’know, he really pisses me off,” Jessie thinks aloud. She’s sprawled out in the armchair—my chair by the window, where I haven’t sat in a week—with her legs dangling over the side. She bites a pickle in half, and speaks through her chewing. “I mean, here I am, basically just waiting on him every day to call or text or send me a picture...like I really thought he was happy. He got a relationship without all the bells and whistles. Guys dream of that, right?”

I shrug. How the hell should I know?

“Bastard. I’m gonna call him.”

She caps the jar and springs from the chair, slamming the door to her room behind her. 

I just hope the next guy has his own place. 

***

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. New York, I mean. Sometimes it feels like forever, but then I remember my childhood existed elsewhere, high school sucked, and traffic had nothing to do with it. I’m pretty sure each time I leave and go back home, I’ve aged an extra ten years, like I’ve traveled to space and back. I keep finding traces of this city, in every nook and cranny of my life. 

Mom was worried about me when I left. But moms worry about everything. I worry about everything, too. So her not so restrained fears, that she kind of pushed out of her mouth with a hiss, like she wasn’t sure if I was capable of absorbing the truth, didn’t really help me. 

It’s a biiiig city. You’re not used to that. I just don’t want you to get swallowed up. 

She was right. Sort of. Because you don’t move to New York. New York moves into you. It has its own heart and bones and skin, separate from the rest of the country. And soon your own body starts to wrap around this. Your heart becomes more tolerable to grease-soaked dinners at three in the morning. Your bones strengthen like cement so you can stand still through a harsh stop by a train. Your skin grows so thick, any number of insults bounce right off until they hit the pavement. 

What New York hasn’t prepared me for, in the however long I’ve been here time-frame, is Harry Styles in my home. Using the words Harry and home in the same sentence makes me feel like I’ve jumped right into one of the chalk drawings from Mary Poppins. 

Right now he’s standing at the big window, in the exact spot where I like to stand, running his hand over his stubble. He adjusts his glasses, and then I think he sees me in the reflection of the glass because he smirks. I duck my head back down and continue on the dishes. 

It’s an odd string of events that places him here. Odd for other people—not so much me. Jessie apparently badgered Elliot while they were in class, complaining about her breakup, to the point where she convinced him to go out drinking. And then because Elliot doesn’t drink, and Jessie found that reason enough to drink more, I was awoken at midnight to Elliot banging on our door and Jessie singing her own version of The Way You Make Me Feel. And standing behind the two of them, after I swung the door open in my pajamas, while taking my retainer out, and swiping acne cream off my chin, stood Harry. 

Harry was not in his pajamas, and he didn’t have a string of spit connecting his mouth to a piece of plastic, and he didn’t have a giant volcano ready to erupt on his face. 

After Elliot dragged Jessie inside, he was left standing there, a quirky smile on his face while he did a kind of half-wave, short and dry in front of his body, and whispered out a soft hey.

Now it’s one am. I’m doing dishes because I’m nervous with this man in my space. Nervous that he’s going to pick up on details about me that I haven’t given permission to be leant out just yet. We can hear Jessie’s drinks making their way into the toilet, and Elliot encouraging her like she’s in a race. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or my mouth, so I filled the silence and busied my limbs with everything that had piled up in the sink the past few days. If they don’t leave soon, I may have to start washing clean forks and knives. 

“This is a nice view.”

“Yeah,” the word drifts off, mixing and popping with the bubbles in front of my face. 

“I like your apartment.”

“Thanks...most of it’s Jessie’s stuff.”

He nods. “Here, let me…” His face is stern, like he’s preparing to start working on a car engine, and not sliding the dish towel off the counter. He tosses it over his shoulder and starts rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. I forget where I’m at and what I’m doing and even my name. 

“Oh you don’t have to…” Dear God his nails are still painted. 

“No, no, it’s the least I can do.”

The tendons in his hands pulse, rippling, like when you skip a stone into a calm pond as he dries the first plate. His fingers are long, and there’s generous space between his thumb and the rest of his digits that, for whatever absurd reason, I find attractive. 

We work in relative silence, only the slight sloshing of water and the clinks of his rings on the dishes. I regret not turning the tv on at least, and I can feel us both sorting out conversation topics in our heads. 

“Is that your report?” 

When I look at him, he’s pinching his glasses in his hand, and using a free finger to swipe a few suds that had found their way to the side of his nose. He nods to the coffee table where all of my school works lays in a mess. 

“Yeah, among other things.”

“Mind if I have a look? Have you worked on it since we last talked?”

“I haven’t done much...but go ahead. You may have to dig a little to find it.”

He dries his hands and strides around the counter, sitting on the edge of the couch. His sleeves are still rolled up—a blood orange sweater, and charcoal slacks that rise up to reveal matching socks. He picks through piles of paper and folders and flash cards until he finds what he’s looking for. A few of his curls fall and I can only see the bottom half of his face. 

I finish washing before he’s done reading. And on a random act of impulse—there’s that New York in me—I dry my hands and make my way over to Harry. 

“The quote you added, on the third page,” he sweeps his hair off his forehead when I sit down in the chair beside the couch, “brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you did an excellent job. And honestly, the entire thing, it’s incredible. It’s easy to talk about your opinion, but it’s difficult to actually back it up. You make it look easy.”

“I can assure you it’s not.”

He laughs without looking up. When he finishes and sets my paper down, he starts sifting through all the other work laid out before him. “How’s your chemistry class going? Didn’t you say you were having trouble?”

“Oh that was at the beginning of the semester. I think I was just overwhelmed.” I swallow and push my brows together. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Well, yeah,” he laughs bashfully. His elbow rests on his knee, cradling his face in his hand with his mouth hidden by the heel of his palm. He blinks slowly, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “How about the homework for our class, the analysis on Slaughterhouse Five?”

“I finished that this morning, uh, I squint down at the table until I remember, “oh it’s in my bag.” I point to the space beside him where my school bag lays on the floor. “It’s right in there. You can look over it if you want.”

He slides my bag over and props it up on his lap, and I keep a hurdle of curses from leaving my mouth when my phone ringing beside the sink startles me. I hurry over to the kitchen only to see it’s just a voicemail from school, reminding me to register for next semester. On my way back, Harry’s face is set into a frown. 

“Are you—did you find it? I thought I put it in there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he holds up a piece of paper, “I got it.”

When I sit back down it takes him a moment to drag his eyes off me, clearing his throat and straightening his glasses, then reading over the one page we were supposed to write. 

“Very good, well thought out,” he nods along to his comments, “I like your comparison to Ubick...you made really insightful connections.”

“So...I’ll get an A, right?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, slipping the page back into my bag. After he zips it up, we’re sitting in silence again, but not for long. “So, I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Harry clears his throat, and shifts on the couch to better face me, “would you—”

“Oh my God, don’t ever let me drink again.” Jessie hobbles through the bathroom door, Elliot right behind her as he helps her to her room. 

“What were you saying?” I ask once they’re gone. 

“I—”

“That was intense. Horrific, actually.” Elliot bounds into the living room, plopping down beside Harry with a dramatic sigh. “And she only had like, four drinks!”

“Yeah she’s a lightweight. She doesn’t think she is, but I’ve spent many long nights holding her hair back for hours because of a shot or two.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Elliot asks. 

“No I’ve got her from here. Thank you for getting her home, Elliot.”

“Anytime,” he chirps. “Okay, well,” he pats Harry’s thigh, “we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry adds, pushing up from the couch with his friend. “I’ll see you in class Monday, y/n. 

“I’m sorry you spent your night drying dishes.”

“What are you talking about? It’s basically a hobby of mine.” The words are cool when they slip out, but it takes me a second to register the joke before I laugh. 

“Thanks again,” I say while opening the front door. 

“No problem,” Elliot assures me. “Hey, tell Jessie I like her tattoo.”

“She showed you her tattoo?”

“She showed the whole bar her tattoo.”

All I can do is shake my head and laugh. 

“I’ll see you.” Harry’s movements are much more collected than Elliot’s. When I look past the threshold of the apartment, to the pair of them standing there, I have to hold back a smile that I don’t want to have to explain. It seems like Harry and Elliot are just...altered versions of me and Jessie. A bit opposite—Harry’s hands are stuffed in his pockets while he rocks on his feet, and Elliot pulls a miniature Rubik’s cube from his jacket. 

“Bye, Harry.”

When he nods his dimple grows, and I know he’s fighting a smile. 

***

The bell over the door jingles, and I force my eyes to stay focused on the menu hanging over the counter, and not acknowledge the attention I’ve drawn to myself. In a few strides, I’m across the room and waiting behind a short, bald man to order a sandwich. 

My foot taps impatiently on the sticky floor, and I second guess my decision in coming here. It’s a little everything shop on the street corner by my dentist. And by everything, I’m including the line of ants crawling up the wall. It’s one of those places where layers of paint and wallpaper disguise the previous month’s investor. A seafood diner, an El Salvadoran bakery, pawn shop, and most recently—and with a wash of baker-miller pink slapped on—Don’s Place. 

It’s eerie and unnerving inside, but cheap, and I didn’t want to eat all day before my teeth cleaning, so I’m kind of desperate at the moment. Light chatter fills the space, until someone starts coughing, and the strident atmosphere this place held disappears. When it’s ready, my order is nearly tossed to me over the counter. I grab the once frozen sandwich and fries before they hit the floor, and find a cramped two-seater booth in the corner of this place. I’m right below an air vent, so I keep my jacket on. 

I pick the lettuce, that I asked not to have, off before taking a bite, and it doesn’t take long, now that I’m settled and still, for my mind to drift to Harry. He’s really set up camp in my brain—but I’m not complaining. My daydreams are stirring, a little less innocent than I’m used to, and at times I have to catch myself from drifting too far off. Even when he’s right in front of me in class, I wander, practically drowning in my own imagination, getting washed away in him. And I think he notices...I’m not sure if he knows what I’m thinking about, but judging by the smirk he gives when he calls my name, I think he might

Jessie keeps teasing me too, and it’s getting harder to keep my composure. All she has to do is stare at me for a few seconds after I come back from class, and I break. I’ll tell her what he was wearing, what words sounded particularly better from his accent, what questions he asks me in class. I don’t ever answer, just mumble out a come back to me, which spares me until the next class. 

I’m rapidly finding a reason for addiction in every minuscule movement he makes. How domestication and carnal activity fuse together under his touch. Pushing his glasses up his nose is both endearing and erotic. The way his tongue hovers over his teeth when deciding his words is hypnotic and wholesome Quickly, he is turning into an adoration. He’s really almost too good to be true, and not the arrogant son of a bitch I pegged him as when we first met. 

“Hey.”

I jump. This time his voice is not in my head. I force the bite down my throat and smile. “H—hi.”

“I uh,” Harry starts, eyes glistening, “saw you come in. Just thought I’d say hi.”

“Oh—yeah, hi, um—”

“Can I sit?”

“Yeah, sure,” I squeak.

He sits himself across from me, and I notice the flush creeping up his chest. His fingers dance all around each other, and his energy alone makes me nervous. 

He gulps in a breath and smiles awkwardly. “How are you?” He asks. 

“I’m good, just,” I nudge my half-eaten sandwich, “stopped for lunch.”

“That’s good, uh, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Okay…”

“You—I mean I—” he clears his throat. “Would you like to go out sometime? Just...nothing fancy, the two of us? Not school related? Is that something you would like?”

If I’m being honest, I have many regrets in life. Too many to count. Most too personal to share. If there’s one moment I could do over again, it is this one. I don’t know it yet, though. 

I don’t know it as I scramble out of the booth, as I blurt out something about how I have to go, as I weave through this disgusting place, my feet sticking to the floor, plowing through the door. 

I run all the way home. He only calls me twice, and when a third never shows up on my phone, I start to cry. 

It’s such a weird place to be in. When you know you’re right in the middle of a mistake. 

If there’s one moment I could do over again, it would be the night he came into the bookstore. 

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

Thank you for beta reading for me!!! @cosmospy @aileenacoustic @afterstylesmadeit

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[idkwhatimdoinghere89]

Snow Day

Elliot Alderson x Female reader 2,125 words Warnings: Marijuana use, Alcohol use, Mostly fluff, mild to moderate suggestive sexual situations. ***** Sunday, December 1 My phone buzzed.

"Im on my way"

Elliot lived about 10 mins from my apartment, so it normally wasnt a bad walk except tonight the snow was expected to total about 14" within the city. Snow wasnt my cup of tea but its one of those few things that made Elliot happy. Like a school boy who just learned he didnt have to go to school and would run outside to build a snowman or flop down and make snow angels and just rejoice in the cold flurries that floated around him, the flakes softly landing on the tip of his nose and quickly melting away.

"Okay, see you soon" I quickly typed before setting my phone down on the kitchen counter

I had just gotten home from work and all I could think about was cracking open a bottle of red and snuggling with my boyfriend on the couch under a big fluffy blanket, watching old movies as the snow came down, tommorow being a guaranteed snow day for us and all.

I changed into a warm, ribbed henley shirt and bulky grey sweatpants that im pretty sure belonged to Elliot that I had aquired.

'So much better' I thought to myself. I opened the linen closet in the hallway to retreive the blanket and tossed it into the dryer on high just to fluff and warm it up a little. I went to the bathroom to quickly brush my teeth and check my hair and face. A few minutes later I came out and grabbed a bottle of red from the wine rack on the counter when my phone buzzed.

"Hey, Im here." I grew slightly confused.

"Okay, come on up!" I responded.

"Will you come down and take a walk with me?"

My heart skipped a beat. Elliot was in a rough patch with his mental state, I knew this weather made him happy.. so I obliged. I loved him more than myself so, naturally, I would do anything to make him happy. Just to keep him like this. This was my Elliot.

"Sure just give me a minute, Ill be right down."

I ran to my room and grabbed a pair of jeans and a bulky hoodie and threw them on. I got to the front door and slipped on my boots as I grabbed my beanie and slipped my coat over the hoodie. I despised the cold and snow, but like I said before.. anything for him. I grabbed my keys and headed out to the elevator.

I walked out of the small lobby and saw Elliot standing right on the sidewalk near the edge of the street, hoodie off, face torwards the sky. It was unusual, normally he tries to blend into the concrete or the side of the buildings in this city but tonight his demeanor was so childlike, it made my heart melt. I opened the door and was met with a blast of arctic air that immediatley sent chills thru me. I shivered as I approached him. He turned just as I got to him.

"Hey" he smiled, that warm, happy, content smile that damn near took my breath away.

"What are ya doin out here? Having fun?" I teased with a smile as I leaned in to give him just a quick kiss, PDA not being his favorite thing.

As our lips pressed, he lingered a little bit longer by putting both his hands on my head, cradling my jaw lightly. We kissed lightly for another few seconds before he pulled back, my jaw still cradled, and he smiled once again. I could feel the pure bliss radiating off of him.

This is my Elliot.

He softly grabs my hand as he smiles down at me. And off we go.

We chatted about our weekend, I hadnt seen him in a couple days so I was really looking forward to seeing him tonight and just relaxing together. The snowfall was that very quiet, relaxing, almost eerie snowfall. It was bizzare for the city to be this quiet. Him and I just strolled hand in hand for a few blocks, taking our time, chatting and what not. That was when a gust blew by, stinging my skin. I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut in response.

"Jesus it got 20 degrees colder!" I laughed while in pain

"Aw, come on, lets head back." he said.

By the time we got back to the entrance to the apartment complex it really did feel like it dropped a substantial amount in temperature. We finally got to the front door to my apartment as I entered the code to unlock the door. I audibly shook the cold air from my body and dramatically shivered as we stood by the entryway, flopping our boots off. I headed to the thermostat to up the temperature.

"You are such a baby" Elliot teased me.

"Im sorry, you know I love being warm!" I immediatley responded.

I walked over to the fireplace in the living room, turning it on. It was a fake but it certainly was nice ambiance.

Elliot shrugged off his hoodie and hung it by my coat near the front door. He then promtly took his seat at his spot on the couch. Giving a light stretch, he extended his arms and folded them behind his head, leaning back, just staring blankly at the dark tv. I yanked the hoodie off the threw it over a barstool next to the counter.

"Hmm." I said loud enough to grab his attention.

He looks over at me, snapping out of whatever day dream he was in with the powered down tv.

"Whats wrong?" he asked curiously.

"I know how we can get a little warmer.." I said with a grin.

"Oh yeah? Hows that?" he asked with a slightly devilish grin.

I smiled and headed down the hallway torwards the bathroom. Pulling the shower curtain out of the way I began to run hot water in the tub. I grabbed some lavender bath melts from a glass jar on a shelf, plopping them into the steaming water. I grabbed a lighter from a drawer and lit some candles, illuminating the bathroom.

Before I knew it the tub was nearly full. I turned it off and dimmed the lights and I headed out to the living room where Elliot had seemingly resumed his daydreaming until he heard me and glanced over at me with a content smile on his face, fully knowing my intentions. I said nothing but extended out my hand to him. He softly grabbed it and followed me to the bathroom.

"Go ahead, Ill grab some towels." I said.

He obliged and pulled his shirt off, followed by his pants, and boxer breifs, tossing them in a pile. I grabbed them and threw them in the washer, starting a small express load immediatley. I came back into the bathroom a minute later where he was fully submerged with just his little head poking out from the bubbles.

"Youre too good to me." he said with the same smile that melted me.

"Well its pointless to get clean then put on dirty clothes again, babe." I lightly teased.

"Oh wait!" I said while running to my room. I returned a few seconds later with a freshly packed bowl I had prepped that morning, anticipating Elliots arrival. He hummed in approval at the sight of me holding the bowl. I handed it to him as he reached up, shaking any excess water from his hands. Taking a huge hit, slowly blowing the smoke outward. Setting the bowl on a nearby shelf.

His eyes began to scan my body. Clearly it was my turn to hop in.

I smiled lightly and pulled my shirt from my body, tossing it to the floor. I unhooked my bra and slowly slid it off, exposing my chest. I made eye contact with him as my hands went to my button on my jeans, I tilted my head down a little and my long, dark, tousled hair flopped delicatley just past my cheek, past my collarbone landing on my breast in the worlds most perfect timing. I smiled to him an innocent little grin as I pulled my jeans down along with my underwear. Standing fully and dragging my jeans with my foot to its designated pile. His eyes blinked softly, matching his sweet smile. He never once stared at any particular part of my body, just my face.

"Youre so beautiful." he nearly whispered. I shyly smiled back and slowly eased into the hot water.

A little time goes by as we laugh and joke around, taking turns taking a few hits off the bowl, talking to eachother about absolutley whatever as we faced eachother from opposite ends of the tub. My foot in his hand, as he rubbed it lightly.

"Thank you" he said after a solid minute of blissful silence.

"For what?" I asked curiously.

"For taking a walk with me. I know you dont exactly love the snow." he said.

"I dont mind as long as im with you, El." I said flashing a content smile. "..thanks for warming up with me." I continued.

He responded with another smile. A few minutes later, we decided pruning wasnt a cute look. We both got out and wrapped up immediatley in a couple huge fluffy towels.

"Im gonna throw your stuff in the dryer, in my top drawer theres a pair of breifs you left here a few weeks ago..." He nodded and went to my room.

I dried off completley before wrapping the towel around my body and walked over to switch his clothes. I threw the fluffy blanket on the couch, it was still nice and warm from being in the dryer. He emerged a minute later wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer breifs. I tried but failed miserably to hide my eyes as they scanned his toned chest and stomach. He practically frolicked by me and laid down on the couch, exhaling lightly as his body plopped down.

'Im gonna cuddle that so good tonight.' I thought to myself.

I went to my room and put on what I originally had on before I met him earlier in the tundra that was outside. Along with some thick fuzzy socks.

I came out and stopped to grab a couple glasses from the cabinet, using a corkscrew to open the bottle of wine I had selected earlier.

"You want some, baby?" I glanced over to him as he was staring out the huge window, watching the snow fall. TV still off. He looked so peaceful.

"Sure." he said, barely audible.

I smiled to myself and poured.

I set both glasses down on the coffee table and headed over to the window to get a glance outside. A very noticable amount of snow had fallen since we came up. I was snapped out of my observation when I heard his voice crack ever so subtly.. "come here.."

I looked over to him and was met with bright blue/green eyes. The flicker from the fireplace cast a beautiful reflection. I got lost in them as they were the most blissful Ive ever seen him look. I slowly walked to the couch and laid next to him and snuggled in, pulling the blanket over us. I positioned myself half on top, half off of him inward torwards the back of the couch with my hand resting on his bare chest, and my head nuzzled just under his shoulder. We decided on an old black and white movie.

About half way thru my eyes became heavy from the marijuana/red wine haze when I suddenly felt the heat that was his hand running up and down my back, under my shirt. As he ran his hand back down, it hugged my torso, running along my hip bone.

"Mmm.." I exhaled with a closed mouth. I nudged my head into him, lightly kissing the skin around his pec. I could tell he was awake by his breathing. His right hand gently covered mine that was resting on his chest, squeezing it lightly. I looked up to him to be met with half hooded eyes, as If he was already watching me. I reached over and pressed my lips against his. Reminicent of our kiss earlier, just.. way heavier. Way deeper. It was certainly getting warmer. His hand began to trail up my back once more, only on the downward stroke he reached in a little further. My hand now matching his movements as I softly stroked down his chest, then his stomach...

Our breathing slowed down, but I certainly began to wake up.

[stardew-imagines-me]

How would the Bachelors (except Harvey, sorry !🙃) react to getting into a big fight with the people they live with and after needing about the farmer?

I’m going to exclude Elliot too because baby boy lives in a cabin by himself

Sam

• Fighting with his mom isn’t a normal thing - but that’s not to say it isn’t unheard of. He misses his dad, they all do, but he can’t handle feeling all the pressure Jodi puts on him at times to be just like his father

- whenever he’d fight with her, he would leave the house in a hurry; skateboard tucked under his arm as he used the other to wipe away frustrated tears

• Instead of going to Abigail or Sebastian’s, he would just walk and think. Choosing to waste time around the lake or huddle against a tree and cry until nightfall

- but ever since you came to town, his feet led not to the dock or beach, but towards the newly restored farm; thriving with life

• he expected to be turned away, showing up at your door with a sniffling red nose and puffy eyes - nearly bursting into tears all over again when you opened the door wider and engulfed him in a hug

- he cuddled against you, sobbing like the world was about to end. Even despite how cold the autum afternoon was, he felt warmer in your embrace

• for once the the whole inside his chest his mom had dug over the years had been filled with something he couldn’t describe.. he just felt safe again

Sebastian

• When Sebastian slams the door behind him, nearly muting the yelling from Demetrius, he uses all the energy left inside him not to collapse and lay on the dirt path beneath him

• it’s 9pm on a late autum night, nearly shivering as he walks, just walks and tries his best to forget the last few hours of verbal harassment Demetrius put him through once again

- he didn’t feel angry anymore, just numb. After tonight, he’d spend another day wondering around until much like his brain, his fingertips would also go numb and the harsh bite of winter around the corner would drive him back to that godforsaken house

• Jodi and Caroline would make it all a big deal like his mom does, and he couldn’t stand the pity glances they would give him; Sam and Abigail were out of the question

- but he needed someone, he couldn’t stand another night alone. He had been abandoned by a place he was forced to call home by a person he was supposed to call dad - he just needed someone to sit in silence with just knowing they were there

• “Sebastian?” You called softly, the orange glow from the inside of your house illuminating Sebastian pale features. By the down turn of his head, you could tell he was not in a good place

- when he glanced up to speak, you hushed him quickly and pulled him inside. You sat him down on the couch, helping him take off his shoes, turning on the radio and wrapping him up in a nearby blanket

• “I’m going to make some hot chocolate, I’ll be right back, okay?” And as fast as you could, you made up two cups of your finest hot chocolate and sat down next to him

- you didn’t miss the silent tears that fell from Sebastian’s eyes, you just wiped them away with your thumb and offered another cup of coca

Shane

• Shane was trying. He was trying so hard, and it felt like nobody could see it, it felt like Marnie just glanced over his progress and only caught him when he tripped

- Shane was doing his best for Jas, he was doing his best for himself but Marnie wouldn’t stop bringing the constant nagging and ‘bad influence’ talk

• Another one of those stupid talks would drive him mad, and he knew by the way Marnie told Jas to go to her room, she was getting ready to tear him a new one

- Just once he needed someone to tell him he was doing so well, that they were proud of him and eventually he would recover completely

- “Shane,” Marnie had started, but Shane only shook his head, he wouldn’t force himself to sit through another degrading session, not again

- and just like that, he was gone, already walking up towards the farm despite the bubble of disappointment, embarrassment and nervousness that simmered in his chest

• Shane had finally made it to your front door, standing with his hand raised to knock lightly, fear gripping around his throat, threatening to choke the sob out of him

- he didn’t want you to see him in such a vulnerable state, not after all you’ve done for him, but he couldn’t stop the itch of at least a hug

• “Shane, I missed you,” You say warmly, noticing his tears and how the corners of his mouth arched down in a frown. Your warm gaze unwavered though, as you wrapped your hand around his gently and pulled him in

- “I just heated up some pizza if you want to help me eat it, I always end up with leftovers,” and just like that, something so insignificant cracked a relieved sob out of him

- you held onto his hands as he wrapped himself around you from behind, forehead resting against the back of your shoulder as sobs wracked his body

Alex

• Alex had always had trouble dealing with his past; whether it was coping with eating disorders or abandonment issues, he had never been able to be alone when he cried

- fighting with his grandparents was a once every other month thing. They were never big fights, just the accidental “why was it your mom instead” or “you really are your dad’s son” from George that left him feeling utterly empty and sick

• even when Evelyn would try and comfort Alex, he knew deep down inside she thought the same things at times. Imagine having to take care of your daughters kid after her deadbeat husband abandoned you both and she died just a few years after

- Alex knew that they put up with him, he just wished he was able to see his mother one last time

• Alex left in a hurry, instead of listening to George’s berating he decided that crying alone would’ve been better than having to feel guilty for surviving

- there was one place that he knew he could always go to though, and as he buried himself in his jacket, sipped all the way to his nose, he made his way to the farm house

- he did everything in his power not to breakdown on his way over, opting to clench his eyes shut at times to steady his breathing

• “Alex,” when he opened his eyes again, he was saw your saddened expression. He sucked in a breath as you reached towards him, wrapped your arms around his shoulders and gently placing his head in the crook of your neck

- “oh Alex..” you hushed lightly, letting him cling to you desperately. He was finally able to cry openly for what felt like forever, and knowing that you wouldn’t judge him only made him sob harder

[ridiculousyoungicarus]

Self Para 001: If I Could Grant You Peace Of Mind

TWs: HIV, Self-Harm, Drugs (Heroin & Cocaine - not done but mentioned briefly), Eating Disorders (Balo’s intervention is mentioned), Abuse

Word Count:  2,716

Setting: Luxor’s Orleans, France Campus. Monday, September 21st, 2020. Early morning (about 1am - 4am-ish).

Everything going on with Balo was a mess, and no matter what anyone said, Zander still couldn’t fail to see how it wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t that supposed to be his job? Protecting her. It was the only thing he needed to be good at, and he failed at it. She’d be fine if Ivan was here; he’d always been better at taking care of her. It was a thought that grew more and more persistent as the days went by. He’d have never let her in a situation that resulted in something like this. If he’s been the biological son, Balo would be okay.  

And right now, she was far from being okay. Her behavior had become concerning since movie night, and he wasn’t sure if he should ask Ivan for help. He’d been entirely unhelpful the last time he’d reached out concerned about their sister. Maybe if Zander could just-

“You’re actually starting to turn a little blue, holy shit.” Ches’s voice interrupts him from his thoughts. When did she get back? He doesn’t fight as she wraps a blanket around his shoulders and settles in next to him, glancing over to her as she rests her head on his shoulder. “Did you really miss me this much? Oh, my sweet baby boy, whatever will I do with you?”

While the nickname was always affectionate, the lack of teasing in her voice sends his thoughts for another loop. Usually, she used it to pick on him. Did she think he was overreacting?

“Welcome home, I didn’t realize you were back yet.” Although he supposed it made sense, she hadn’t taken time off of school for the funeral. She probably wouldn’t have gotten it excused given the situation.

“Well, it’d be kinda hard to attend classes from Virginia. But enough about me. How are you doing? Other than trying to get hypothermia, of course.” He wants to groan that he would not get hypothermia, that it wasn’t that cold, and her dramatics weren’t helpful. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate just how normal it was.

He’d missed normalcy.

“Well, I’m stuck with Jack, my parents disowned Balo, and she’s really scaring me. Nothing’s changed over the span of a weekend. You know how I feel.” It wasn’t the same as the last several times she had poked her head in, though. He’d had a lot more time to think since he’d last saw her.

“Is it the HIV or her mental health?”

Zander quickly tries to sort through their conversations in their mind. Had he let Balo’s diagnosis slip? But he’s yanked from his thoughts as the redhead beside him lifts her head and steals the corner of his blanket to wrap around herself. “You’re cold?”

“I’m still daydreaming about the 17° weather in Virginia, I know 6° isn’t bad, but yeah, I’m cold.” It takes him a few seconds to realize she’s on about Celsius, and he just lifts his arm to let sneak right in under it. “You didn’t answer my question, Zan. Is it her HIV diagnosis or her mental health scaring you?”

“You should really lower your voice; someone is going to overhear you if you don’t start whispering. Balo doesn’t want the entire school to know...”

“The only people awake at 1 am in this school are the insomniacs who are holed up in their rooms and the coke addicts who are way too busy snorting it off of Axel’s dick to care about what you and I are doing outside. Nobody is eavesdropping, and if they were, the rumors would be bullshit like ‘Ches and Zander are entirely too close, I caught them cuddling - they must be fucking.’ We go to school with shallow people who only care about themselves, remember? Nobody cares what we’re doing.” Ches rolls her eyes, “But, seriously I’m gonna keep asking you to tell me what’s on your mind. I know that look, something’s wrong. Please talk to me.”

“Oh, come on, nobody would buy that shit.” Zander knew it wasn’t the point, that he was just grasping at the little outs she was accidentally leaving in her words. “Even Jack would know to laugh that one out of the room.”

“Alekzander, please.”

“Do you nag everyone who doesn’t want to talk, or am I just special? I’m fine. I can handle what’s going on with Balo. I don’t need you mothering me, Hailey.” Still, when the redhead pulls away from him, it takes everything in his power to keep himself from reaching out to pull her back in. Was she mad at him? She didn’t seem angry, although the sudden removal of her body heat wasn’t a good sign.

Before he can start thinking of the words to amend the situation, Ches is standing up. “You’re right, I’m sorry. If you need me, I’ve got to do some studying in the library. Try to get some sleep at some point, the bags under your eyes are really starting to reduce you down to a solid 8.”

She leaves him the blanket when she walks away, and as he tugs it around tighter himself, he’s not sure if it’s a good thing. It was going to continually remind him he needed to take care of himself, that he was sitting outside in the middle of the night alone because he managed to scare off the one person who always seemed to notice he wasn’t okay.

Ivan probably wouldn’t have run Ches off, and Balo wouldn’t be in nearly as bad shape as she was if he was here. For a brief second, Zander reaches for his phone to text the man, but he pauses, stopping himself. He had enough on his plate with Balo without Zander contributing to it. So instead, he settles himself in, allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts.

—

Chessie ☀️:  I’m still in the library. Don’t wake the guy at the desk, though; the poor thing just fell asleep. 😕

Zander’s hands are shaking as he reads the text through tears, already heading in the direction of the library. He tries to be quiet as he enters the room, passing the snoring man at the desk as he tries to find Ches. She always chose the back right corner when they were in Lake George, and sure enough, she was quietly pouring over her textbooks with a flashlight when he rounded the corner.

“No wine? Who are you, and what did you do with my Ches?” He cringes at the effect his tears had on his voice. It was bad enough that he was crying without his body making it evident to everyone around him he was trembling even if they weren’t looking.

“I’m testing the waters, thinking about cutting the wine out. A bit more productive, don’t you think?” For a moment, he thinks she might make a comment about the state he’s in, but she just pats the seat next to her as she shuts her textbooks. He’s silent as he sits down; the only sounds filling the room is the chronic snoring from the library’s front and his chair as it grazes across the floor. “But you’re not here for the wine.”

“I’m not.” He confirms, taking a deep breath as he finally removes the blanket she’d left him two hours prior and sets it on the table. “I came to talk if that’s okay.” No matter how many times he’d found himself at her door when he didn’t want to be alone, he still couldn’t suppress the concern that maybe this was going to be the time she turned him away. But she just nods, setting her flashlight onto the table.

“The floor is yours.”

“My parents disowned Balo, and I’ve never seen her like this. She’s always been so bright and cheerful and right now...  Chessie, she gave me her sewing kit because she doesn’t trust herself not to misuse her rotary blade. And these things aren’t sudden; how much has been building up that I’ve missed? She won’t really talk to me, and given everything going on with Jack again, I’m pretty sure she’s not talking to anyone. It’s not like she’ll tell our brother. She was upset with me when I talked to him about Jack because I could have worried him.” He explains, “and that’s only the start of it- okay, what’s with the face?”

There was something about Ches’s pensive expression in the lowlight that distracted him, the way she pursed her lips as she listened to him talk. “I was just thinking that I’ve never heard you call Ivan your brother before. Balo’s brother, asshole, my parents disowned him, Ches you’re not allowed to follow him on Instagram to thirst over him that’s weird. Please carry on, I’m listening.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’m not making it a habit.” Still, Zander’s tears slow as a small chuckle briefly escapes from his body. “I can’t stop thinking that if he was here, Balo would be fine. Whatever caused this wouldn’t have happened. I just wish she’d tell me how this happened...”

“She doesn’t know, Zan. I know Jack’s clean, we were fucking - he’d have mentioned it if he wasn’t. Barton would have told her, she hasn’t been anywhere near the Keller boy in a year, and we’d know if she was doing heroin. I thought maybe that night when we took her to the ER, there were hours we can’t account for, but... if your parents disowned her.”

“I wouldn’t write off my father yet.” Zander hadn’t even considered him as a suspect, but he wouldn’t put it past the man to cover his track for the sake of appearances. Maybe there’d been blood on blood contact during the struggle? Balo had a pretty nasty gash on her forehead, and he had avoided his father afterward. “Or medical malpractice, for that matter. It’s happened with healthcare workers before, right? Fuck, Ivan really would have been able to stop this.”

“Zander, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t give Balo HIV, and your brother couldn’t have done more than you did. I know it’s hard, but this isn’t because of anything you did. You couldn’t have stopped this, just like I couldn’t have stopped my maman’s murder, and Fane couldn’t have prevented his parents’ car accident.” Ches’s nose doesn’t crinkle as she speaks; the telltale signs of her being dishonest were nowhere to be seen. Which likely meant she thought she was telling the truth, and while he didn’t believe her, his guilt could wait.

It was the least important thing going on; he knew that.

“I was a dick to Elliot.” He knows the words are sudden. That may be at the moment telling her he’d been mean to her boyfriend would rapidly make the situation worse.

Her green eyes blink, her head tilts to the slide slightly, almost like a puppy’s as she processes his words. Had Elliot not told her anything? “Why would you be a dick to Elli? Fuck. Que vais-je faire de vous?”

“Yell at me? Look, I know I shouldn’t have been so hard on your boyfriend. But he breathed near me and-”

“He breathed near you?” The concern in her voice makes Zander feel even worse than he would have if she’d just yelled at him. “That’s not like you. When did this happen?”

“Before movie night, after we got here.”

“After you learned about Balo.” For a brief moment, the snoring stops, and the panic on Ches’s expression leaves him questioning if they’re allowed to be in the corner they were occupying as they wait. Soon enough, the snoring resumes, and she speaks again, “I’m not mad at you. I want you to get along with him, and I expect you to apologize, but you’re not scaring me off that easily. We left off at you feeling inferior to your brother, please continue.”

“I don’t feel like I’m inferior to Ivan.” He protests, although as he tries to think of examples of how she was entirely off base, he realizes she might have a point. “But I can’t stop running through what if’s. What if he’d be able to stop it? What if he’d know how to help Balo right now? I didn’t ask him for help with her intervention and look at how well that went. She resents me for it now. What if I fuck this up, and she gets hurt because of it?”

“That’s not going to happen because you have me, you have Lucy and Avery, and as much as you hate it - we have Jack and Cait. They’d never let anything happen to her; if she tries something, one of us will grab her. She went to you about her sewing kit. Do you have it?” He nods yes in response to her question, and the girl in front of him relaxes, “from experience, people don’t ask for help unless they want to be stopped. Her coming to you was a good sign.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I was right about your inferiority complex and that you were stressing Balo’s mental health.”

“I hate you so much sometimes, you know that.” And yet he can’t help the fond smile as he says the words, the way the tension in his shoulders eases when she smiles back at him.

“I know. I’m just the worst sometimes, aren’t I?” She winks at him, “so what’s next on the list? If it’s money, you know she’s got two sugar mommies already, and I’m pretty sure we could convince Jack to be a sugar daddy if we can’t pull enough funds together to take care of her.”

“Two?”

“Barton? Carnifex families are loaded, I have no doubt in my mind if there’re issues affording her medication abroad if I can’t cover it completely, she’d lend me the money temporarily for B.” Ches shrugs, “so that should also ease the healthcare concerns. Correct? There’s no way in hell we’re not going to be able to manage this. She’s been taking her meds, and as long as they’re working medications have gotten to the point she’ll probably outlive you by a couple decades still.”

And as much as Zander hated the thought of asking anyone for money, the thought that maybe people would be willing to help if it became an issue was reassuring. “And here I thought you said you weren’t taking mind reading classes.”

“You’re just predictable. The day you aren’t stressing about money, we’re going to see pigs fly, and lotus storms consume the earth.” Ches jokes, “did we happen to cover everything? Wait, we haven’t discussed Jack being in your classes yet. Shit, maybe we needed the wine...”

“We don’t need wine. There’s not that much to say, he’s annoying, we’re getting stuck together, and I’m just going to have to deal with it.” He shrugs, “probably the most normal thing going on in our lives, come to think of it.”

“You ever realize it’s a bit fucked up Jackaboy acting up is considered normal at this school. I’m not complaining but...”

“If you ever tell him I actually appreciate him being Balo’s pet demon right now, I’ll never talk to you again.” He warns her. Jack would never let him live it down, and he was well aware it was fucked up. But Ches just smiles, shaking her head.

“Your secret’s safe with me. So, what else do you want to discuss?”

He thinks about it for a minute. Was there anything else he felt like he needed to get off his chest? There were the things he couldn’t find the words to say and the things that weren’t worth the effort left, but he couldn’t think of anything he needed to talk to her about. “What were you working on before I interrupted?”

“Well, you see...” Ches starts to open her textbook again as she starts to ramble about what she was working on, and he listens as she gushes eagerly. He doesn’t even realize just how tired he was until his eyes become too heavy to keep open. The last thing he notices before he falls asleep is a blanket being tucked around him as she continues to explain her literature homework.

[spellbound-banshee]

See You In 5 (Part 3) - Elliot Alderson

Summary: You and Elliot have been hanging out for a while now, but what happens when you need a little help from him?

Warnings: none really, just fluff

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x Reader

A/N: there’s quite a big time skip but just pretend you and Elliot have had lots of small talk together, i’ll explain below

Finally. Elliot thinks as he clocks out for work, quickly picking up his bag and giving one last friendly wave goodbye. Lunch wasn’t super often between you two, now that you were “needed” more by the boss your lunch breaks were cut shorter and shorter. But yesterday, yesterday was different.

--

“Hey.” The exclamation took him by surprise. It seemed stressed, like it just needed to get away for a while; his consciousness felt the same.

He turned to meet your eyes, being as though you hadn’t spoken in a bit he was surprised by your sudden greeting. “Hey.”

“Wanna get out of here?” With two quick glances to the side, he barely hesitated before grabbing his jacket and hopping towards the elevators. It was the same as before, you making most of the conversation and he gave you his jacket as you were walking. But something was off. Today you seemed just a bit quieter than normal, and he noticed.

You absentmindedly played with the ring of your water cup, the ice gradually melting and transferring as a wet ring around it. Your face was aimed at the floor, blinking methodically as your eyes seemed to count the dust mites on the ground. “Hey,” Elliot leaned forward, growing concerned, “what are you thinking about?”

You looked up at his soft voice, typically he didn’t talk too much if you were together, but this was a surprise. “I...” You weren’t sure what to say, there was so much on your mind yet so little to say. “I just really hate this boss, man.” The words you spoke were casual, but Elliot felt a hidden meaning behind them. 

-

Elliot shook off the memory, he needed to get home quickly so he could contact Darlene about the next phase of their plan. He knew she’d be waiting for his call or response, his phone had been off all day. Swiftly, he put on his hoodie and pulled up the hood, feeling a little foolish wearing it over a work shirt but it was freezing outside and he didn’t want to be recognizable to the potential co-worker on the street.

He walked by the E-Corp logo and the little circle in the middle of the outside workplace, noticing how his shoes sunk into the imperfections in the metal. There was a bench right next to the circle, he would always graze his fingers across the chipped wood. It felt like he was making his mark and one day, he would burn this monopoly to the ground. And they’d still be looking for the fingerprints.

As he approached the usually empty bench, he noticed there was a body lying across it. Normally he would brush it off and touch it anyway, but there was something unusual about this body. Not the fact that it was lying straight across the bench, but the fact that the high heeled shoes hung off the end of it, legs exposed even though it was below freezing. Wait.

“(Y/n)?” He asked, his voice raising a bit higher in panic. Sure enough, your head popped up, and even though the circle was dimly lit and the sky was black, he could see your face. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, you expected everybody had gone home already so you wouldn’t have to see anyone you knew.

“Elliot?” Your voice paralleled his surprise, and you tried to laugh off the initial embarrassment. “Hi...” Your voice trailed off, not really knowing how to cover up the fact that you were literally sleeping on a bench in your work clothes. 

“What are you doing here?” He came off more crass than he intended - almost as if you were sleeping on his turf - but you’d already messed with his head enough to make him fall out of his planned path.

“Well uh...” You decided coming up with an excuse was stupid - you were a shit liar - and Elliot was pretty smart from what you’d deduced so it wouldn’t work on multiple levels. “E-Coin messed up everyone’s shit so the public transportation is unavailable until the brown-outs stop. My apartment is quite a long way so I decided I should... stay... on this bench.” It was downright embarrassing, but then again, where else would you go? You had no friends in the city and your place was too far to walk. You’d just spray yourself with some perfume in the morning and pretend like nothing happened.

Elliot was at a loss for words, someone as beautiful as you didn’t have a partner’s place to stay? Or friends you could call? “That sucks.” Was all he could say, but the bluntness of the phrase made you chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” You nodded your head before shrugging and laying your purse down to use as a pillow. You’d accepted your fate, there was little else you could do about it.“Well, I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure it’s a long walk to your apartment and it’s cold so I’ll see you-”

“No.” Elliot interrupted your thoughts, and you tiled your head in mild annoyance at him - you swore you’d never understand how his mind worked. “No, um... just... you could come stay with me... if you want.”

“Oh Elliot, that’s so nice, but I wouldn’t want to-”

“You wouldn’t.” Elliot seemed to read your mind, his hands still deep in his hoodie pockets. “I insist, it’s the least I could do.” He pressed, his voice still low as he anticipated your reaction - you didn’t know him super well, only the surfac-y stuff, and now he was asking you to stay at his apartment. You might get murdered, but at least it was warm - you’re assuming.

“Are you sure?” You asked for the last time, and he nodded his head. “Okay, thank you. Lead the way, El.”

-

He shut the door softly behind you as you walked into his small apartment. The walk there was freezing and it felt good to have some indoor air warm your body. “I don’t have people over... very often.” He said as he brushed past you to clean a couple of things off of his coffee table. You just smiled at his thought process and began to look around the apartment, your high-heeled shoes clicking across the hardwood floor. The sound was deafening, the silence and tension in the room was so thick you could almost see it - it strangled you like a weighted blanket.

He seemed to analyze your body movements and facial expressions as you took in the sights around you. Analytical, there was something less surfac-y you could think about. His apartment had minimal decoration, he had a couple of (what you assumed to be) family photos up, a small kitchen-ish area, a couch with a small tv and his bedroom with a huge monitor set up by the window. “I like your place.” You finally said, causing him to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You were temped to go into the “bedroom” area and further analyze the family photos, but you weren’t sure if that was inappropriate. From a distance, they looked happy, and you wondered why he never walked about them.

After he felt satisfied with the way he’d straightened up and brushed off the couch, he gestured for you to sit. Smiling warmly, you sat on the couch and found yourself sinking into it - you adjusted yourself with a small giggle and flailing arms.

“You... must be super uncomfortable.” He broke the silence with his soft voice and you tiled your head in confusion. Without another word he began to take long strides to his bedroom, then to his closet. He pulled out a pair of seemingly old sweatpants from a box and a t-shirt - stuff he wears to bed during the winter. The heater was fucked up so it wasn’t as warm as he’d like it, but he figured you were freezing after being out on that bench for god knows how long.

You smiled out of gratitude as he handed you the clothing. “Bathroom is,” he pointed behind him, “that way.” Again, you smiled and hoisted yourself up from the couch, awkwardly sauntering into the bathroom, your feet throbbing from the skinny heels.

-

“Do you uh... do you need anything else?” Elliot asked as he handed you a glass of water. You’d just walked out of the bathroom in his clothes and were a bit surprised by the sudden glass in your face but you gladly took it. You noticed he stripped off his hoodie but hadn’t changed out of his slacks yet, leaving him in his work shirt.

“I think you’ve done enough.” You said with a small chuckle, but continued so he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “You’re too sweet, Elliot. This means a lot to me.” You plopped back down on the couch and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the dusty couch and dim apartment. The couch smelled faintly of weed and cheap cologne, you imagined Elliot smelled something like that.

“You cool sleeping on the couch?” 

“Yeah, of course!” You confirmed, placing your water down on the table after a few big gulps and feeling yourself becoming tired. “I really can’t thank you enough, I owe you one, El.”

You noticed he smiled a bit when you said that. “El?”

“Yeah, it’s... shorter.” Once again, you were met with that coy smile and a brief nod to confirm that he liked it. 

“Shit,” he whispered suddenly, “you need...” He quickly turned around and grabbed one of the un-used pillows off his bed and dragged a blanket out of his closet. Subtly, he sniffed the sheets just to make sure he wasn’t giving you dirty stuff, and you had to stifle a giggle to make him feel better.

You smiled warmly, “thank you.” He handed you the items and you got yourself comfy - it wasn’t the best couch to sleep on but you were eternally grateful that you’d be sleeping on a squeaky couch and not a wooden bench. You placed the pillow under your neck and wrapped yourself in the cover, it wasn’t itchy but it wasn’t particularly soft either.

There was a moment or two of awkward silence, you didn’t want to thank him again as you felt like 3 or 4 times was enough. You tucked yourself under the blanket and smiled, nuzzling into the cushions. 

“Uh... goodnight...” He shifted uncomfortably, obviously not used to company in his house - let alone someone who liked him and didn’t try to break in. He also didn’t think either of you were in a place to be “friends” and talk until 3 in the morning.

“Yeah... goodnight.” You weren’t sure what to say back, so you just nuzzled back into the couch and pretended like you were tired enough to fall asleep right there. “Wake me up in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, wringing his hands together before turning on his heel and heading to his bed. He took one last look at you before stepping behind a wall in attempt to shield his half-nakedness - he didn’t want to sleep in his hoodie but he also didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.

After he got changed, he settled into bed and stared up at the ceiling, attempting to calm his breathing. He counted the number of times he heard you shift on the couch, wondering if you were asleep or restless. He counted the number of times he forced himself to stay still in his attempt for rest, not wanting to wake you if you were a light sleeper. 

He also counted the number of times he asked himself why he cared.

-

A/N: if you like my work, consider supporting me on my ko-fi! have a great day lovelies!

TAGLIST:  @breakawayfromeveryday​ @anincurablefangirl

[aerascreamer]

Only if I’m with you

A Miragehound fic

Fandom: Apex Legends 

Genre: Slice of life (?)

Word count: 1343

Warnings:  A little bit of angst but mostly cuteness and comfort!

Additional note: My first fanfic for the Apex Fandom !! I hope you’ll like and maybe consider checking my ao3 and wattpad (@ aerascreamer) (I didn’t post this fic on these accounts but if you want, I’ll be glad to do it!)

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

The dropship landed on the small spaceport next to the Legends' dormitory.

Octane burst out of the exit without waiting, followed a few meters behind by Gibraltar and Wraith.

Everyone joined the building by groups of three or four, Crypto being the usual exception.

When he finally got out, Mirage stretched his arm to greet the bright sun and the clear azure sky.

"Oh, sweet home! Good to see you again! Talos's not bad but-"

He didn't even finish his sentence that Artur smashed on his face.

"What the- HOUND!!!"

A powerful whistle echoed in the air, forcing the crow to perch on Bloodhound's forearm, cawing.

"He's glad to see you, they translated with a serious tone

-How can you deal with him so easily? The trickster asked as he rubbed his scratched nose.

-Artur likes nobody except me, the hunter chuckled. And he can be very territorial.

-More like jealous of my perfect face!" he joked.

Bloodhound approached him and gently took Mirage's chin to examine the tiny cuts.

"It's nothing, your wounds already started to heal, they declared.

-So... Can a kiss speed up the process?" the trickster begged with puppy eyes.

The tracker let go of an amused growl and stepped towards the dormitory.

"Only if you catch me inside mo mhuirnín, they teased as they sprang.

-Come on !"

~~~

The night fell quickly and spread its darkness on the landscape.

Despite the late hour, some rooms still shined through the windows, with silhouette moving behind.

Scrolling down on his phone Elliott read some "juicy" pieces of information (as the journalists claimed) about the competitors, with ninety percent being speculations and false rumors.

Like on this page, some people said about Bloodhound that they are "fabulously wealthy" " a bloodthirsty murderer", "a Goliath whisperer", "a former slave", "half-bat"... Seriously? Half bat? Why not half-dog or half-Leviathan? Wait did that guy misgender them? And Hound never killed someone, just animals.

The trickster looks down to see his partner sleeping peacefully on his lap, inoffensive as a cat. No, the definition he would give to "bloodthirsty murderer".

He couldn't believe he was in a relationship again, especially after how the last one ended.

Even more incredible, he dated a competitor from the Apex Game while playing in this game where you basically shoot freely at each other throat.

And that competitor is none other than BLOODHOUND. Or the one who became Champion FOUR times and killed a Goliath with ONE KNIFE. HOLY F***** BALLS

But the hunter always listened to him, spend time in his company and took care of him so gently, with such patience while being the most humble person he ever met.

Elliot would often ask himself if he deserved someone like them as well as wondering how to give back the generosity Bloodhound offered to him.

But that kiss... The first one... The one where they took off their mask and pressed their soft lips on his...it brushed away all his doubts and strengthen even more his love.

"Hey birdie, wake up! I have to go now."

Bloodhound slowly sat on the couch, half-asleep, and curled back in when Elliott stepped away.

"You don't want to go to your room? he asked.

-I'm good here."

The trickster chuckled as he couldn't help but compare again his love one to a cat.

~~~

Silence.

An absolute silence ruled on the room.

And the temperature fell to the ground.

Only disturbed by the few little lights on the holo-tech devices, the darkness filled the narrow space in each of its corners.

Elliott couldn't sleep, lying on his bed eyes wide open.

Folding between his hands a corner of the blanket, his thoughts pushed each other in his mind without giving him any rest.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

A weight and a hole growing in his chest.

The world felt cold without the consent chatting of the Legends or all these sounds everyone is so used to that they fade into the background...

The TV, the people's walk, the glasses on the table, the clicks of a phone keyboard, the floor cracks, the seat movements, the kitchen growls...

Elliot felt the need to see someone... Not necessarily to talk to. Just having another person in the same room as him would be enough.

But everyone is sleeping and seemed so far from here... as if they were in another reality.

Maybe calling Mom? No, she's asleep too. Knock at Hound's door? They need to rest from the previous match... Same for Gibby, Bang, Ajay, Nat... Everyone!

H*ck, he would have spent the whole night awake with Pathy if this one didn't turn off to charge his batteries or the kid if he wasn't such a d*ck when woken up in the middle of the night.

Hesitant hits brought him back to earth.

He walked to the door, unlocked it and found Bloodhound in front of him.

Without their mask, Elliot could see the panicked expression painted on their pale face, their messy hair covering their right eye.

They nervously rubbed their finger, the short sleeves of the shirt letting their irregular scars on their arm exposed to everyone's view.

"You... You alright?" He stammered, shocked to his partner losing their composure.

They opened their mouth but couldn't say anything.

"Come in, everything is OK birdie."

Legs shaking, Bloodhound entered the bedroom, climbed on the bed and hide their face in their arm crossed over their knees.

Their chest moved up and down quickly.

"Can you breathe? Do you need your mask?" Elliott asked with worries.

One day, the hunter nearly blacked out in the middle of a gunfight because their breathing device shut down all of a sudden... He felt horrible at this moment, totally useless, only able to see his love one suffering.

Bloodhound shook their head, tightening their grip on their pant's fabric.

Elliot sat next to them, a hand on their shoulder, waiting for them (and him) to calm down.

Their breathing went back to normal slowly, the trickster's company reassuring them.

And when Bloodhound finally looked at him, he whipped out a tear holding on their eyelid.

"Feeling better?

-I guess..." Their low voice cracked "Thank you, Elli.

-No prob! I'm always here for you."

A weak smile appeared on their lips...

a smile so rare and so precious that Elliott always felt his heart melting when they appear.

This one making no exception, he wrapped his arms around their chest and pulled them closer.

Bloodhound closed their eyes and started counting the strong beats of Elliott's heart while this one brushed their silky smooth hair.

Comforted in each other's warm, the two back went back to sleep.

~~~

Elliott woke up next to Bloodhound nested against his chest.

It took him some time to first remember the event of the previous night and then calm down after seeing his partner's lovely face under the morning sunlight.

"How did I end up with someone so beautiful they seem to have been literally sent by the Gods?" he thought while rubbing their cheek.

Eyes half-closed, the hunter grabbed the trickster's wrist and intertwined their fingers.

Both remained silent and simply listened to the other breath while the outside birds began their songs.

Then Bloodhound noticed the worries that tinted their partner's eye.

"You seem troubled, they whispered.

-Well... I'm just concerned about what happened last night, he answered.

And especially what made you so upset...

But if you don't want to talk about it that's totally fine I understand!

-It was a very bad nightmare." Their eyes darkened.

"So confusing to explain... And to even remember in detail. I... I just want to forget it."

The hunter shook their head as if a bug landed on top of it, feeling again tension in their belly.

Elliott approached them and kissed his partner on the forehead.

Bloodhound purred with relief and pressed their lips against his.

"Maybe a walk around the woods would help you?

-Only if I'm with you."

[unknownauthor]

Domesticated

Pairing: Elliot x Reader

The keys jingle softly as Elliot unlocks the door to his home. It had been a long day at Allsafe and he was happy to be home. The warm aroma of something good cooking and Flipper bounding to him made him feel safe and content. He smiled and knelt down to pet the dog behind her ears.

“I like you Flipper. You’re cool.” he grumbled, the dog yipped her agreement. “Where’s your mom?” he asks, standing back up.

Rounding the corner he looked into the kitchen. She stood at the stove, glass of wine in hand, stirring something in a pot. Elliot set his book bag down and walked up behind her, kissing her on the cheek. He wasn’t one for affection, not most of the time. But she had grown on him and he couldn’t help it. Home wasn’t home without her anymore.

“Hey babe,” she pushed her cheek against his as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing into her from behind. He buried his face in her neck and sighed. “Long day?” she asked. He nodded and she kissed the shaved side of his head.

“Can I help?” he asks her with a tired smile, he loves the way her face lights up as she takes a step back away from the stove.

“You can take the bread out of the oven and slice it. We’re having spaghetti with garlic bread. I’m too lazy to cook anything more extravagant.” he presses his lips to hers, finally. Her lips are soft and warm and mold against his as if they were made for him.

“Okay,” his eyes are half closed, a small smile on his face as he pulls away. He grabs an oven mit and opens the oven, heat hitting him in the face as he carefully pulls the tray of bread out and sets it on the counter. He grabs a small kitchen knife and begins to slice the bread.

Elliot never thought he’d have a steady relationship, let alone a live in partner. But here he was, with the most beautiful and intelligent girl he had ever met, in their kitchen, helping with dinner. He hadn’t had a semblance of normality in his life in a long time, maybe never. But he loved it. He loved her and he wasn’t going to ever give this up. Not without one hell of a fight.

“So how was your day?” she asked as they sat down for dinner. She had another glass of wine, Elliot just had a glass of water. They sat across from each other, Flipper’s plate on the floor between them. She ate hungrilly.

“It was long. We had another hack and corporate came in. I think Angela is mad at me….I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it.” she smiles with understanding and sympathy.

“Okay. Are you doing any work tonight?” she knew he was a vigilante hacker, she knew about FSociety. He couldn’t hide it from her for long. But she hadn’t been to bothered by it either. He was beyond grateful and lucky to have her.

“Yeah. I got a couple things to do,” she takes another bite of her food, not responding. “I’m sorry.” he offers. She waves his apology away.

“Don’t do that Elliot. You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay.” they eat the rest of their dinner in a comfortable silence and wash and put away the dishes side by side.

Elliot looks up from his laptop and over into the living room. Trash reality tv is playing quietly, she lays on the couch, Flipper curled up in her arms. She’s reading a book, The Count of Monte Cristo, eyes and face completely focused. Flipper watches the tv, barking occasionally as people start to yell, it’s as though she hears none of it though, completely wrapped up in the novel she’s reading. He smiles adoringly and turns back to the computer.

Several hours later he shuts the computer off and rubs his eyes. It’s after midnight now, he hasn’t showered, but all he wants is to crawl into bed. With her.

He looks back over at the couch. Her book is on the floor, her hand dangling off the couch, her face buried in Flipper’s fur as the two of them sleep soundly. He walks over and picks up Flipper first, settling her in her bed just beside theirs. When he comes back to get her she doesn’t stir. He lifts her into his arms, her breath warm against the side of his neck as he carries her towards the bed. He lays her down and tucks her in, she curls up onto her side, sighing contentedly. Elliot pulls his shirt over his head and shimmies out of his pants, before lifting the covers on the other side and sliding in beside her.

She rolls over instinctively, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. She sticks one of her legs between both of his and presses as close to him as possible. Elliot wraps his arms around her and buries his face in the top of her head. They nuzzle together beneath the blankets, cuddling close.

This is the safest he has ever felt. This is the happiest he has ever been.

“I love you.” he whispers before drifting off.

This is home.