#I was horrified to learn it was rated as such. not because I hadn’t read anything adult but because my friends had seen it

[23sanguinity]

The worst thing in fanfic is when you ship a poly ship but there’s not enough content for it so you read a fic with just two of the characters and they make another character you ship with both of them an ex? And it’s not the author fault, they weren’t writing for the poly ship but it still ruins what could have been a great fic because you don’t want them to be exs

[xtaketwox]

Summary: Everyone is born with an arrow on their hand that points toward their soulmate on their eighteenth birthday. When Lucien comes to find Elain after the arrow on her hand led Graysen to dump her on her birthday, she tells him to leave and not contact her again. Nine years later, their paths cross once more and Lucien makes it his mission to woo Elain.

Fic Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Chapter Length: 3018 words

Masterlist; Read on AO3

A/N: Many thanks to @itsthedoodle for both the header and for beta reading. 💕 Let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list for the fic. 😊

Chapter 1

“Only three more minutes until we find out you’re mine.”

Elain bit her lip against a smile, her heart beating faster at Graysen’s words. Only three minutes until the arrow on her hand turned towards her soulmate. Graysen had turned eighteen three months ago and the arrow on his hand hadn’t changed. He had assured Elain that it just meant she was for sure his soulmate. 

Elain and Graysen had been dating since the first week of high school. They had attended different elementary and middle schools, but the very first day of freshman year, Graysen had asked her out. Elain had immediately said yes, flattered that someone as popular and hot as Graysen had asked her out, and they had been nearly inseparable ever since. Elain didn’t go anywhere without Graysen coming along. She didn’t have many friends, so it only made sense that she spent all of her time with him. 

He was her first everything. First boyfriend. First kiss. First lover. Plenty of people had been telling her she was too serious with him, that they were too young to be so intertwined, especially with the threat of having a soulmate hanging over their head. Most people held off getting serious with someone until after their eighteenth birthday, just in case a soulmate appeared, but Elain ignored the warnings because she loved spending time with Graysen. He made her feel special, especially since he had chosen her over all the other girls. She knew she was the envy of girls and boys alike, and even though she knew she shouldn’t like that, she did. 

“What if it doesn’t point to you?” Elain asked now, anxiety gnawing at her. Graysen had to be her soulmate. They were too perfect for each other. At least, that’s what Graysen kept telling her every time Elain had brought up the horrifying possibility that the arrow on her hand would point to somewhere—someone—else.

“It’ll point to me.” 

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because we’re too perfect together. It doesn’t make sense for us not to be soulmates.”

Elain bit her lip but didn’t respond, every heartbeat feeling as if it was counting down to her doom, despite Graysen’s assurances. She wished she could stop time from passing. If the arrow on her hand didn’t point to Graysen, if she learned they weren’t meant to be together, she didn’t want to know. He was her whole world and she didn’t want anyone else. 

“Even if it does point somewhere else,” Elain said after another minute passed, sixty seconds closer to the point of no return, “you know I only want you, right?”

Graysen chuckled. “You worry too much. It doesn’t matter because it’s not going to happen. We’re meant to be.”

He reached out, clasping her hand between his two large ones, his own arrow-covered hand pointing down at the floor. “No peeking. We have less than a minute left. We’ll look together and then you’ll see that I was right and you were worried for nothing.”

Despite Graysen’s confidence, Elain couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom as the clock ticked down the last moments of her seventeenth year. She hated this. She didn’t care about the arrow on her hand. She was in charge of her own life, could make her own decisions. She didn’t need an arrow to point to Graysen to know he was who she wanted. 

The grandfather clock in the other room went off, the clanging bells announcing the arrival of midnight, each chime ringing in her ears. “Ready?” Graysen gave her a smile that Elain couldn’t return. She swallowed hard and nodded. They both looked down as Graysen removed his hands.

“No,” Elain breathed.

They both stared in stunned silence at the arrow on Elain’s hand, pointing to the right, away from Graysen. Elain suddenly very grateful she hadn’t let Graysen talk her into having a birthday party like most people did. Normally Elain loved parties, despite rarely having the time for them between work and school, but she had wanted this moment to be just between her and Graysen. Just the two of them celebrating what they had always known: they were meant to be.

Except they weren’t. 

Elain pulled her hand away, hiding it behind her back. “It doesn’t matter.”

Graysen was still staring at the spot her hand had been, silent, and Elain felt dread wash over her at his silence.

“Graysen,” Elain said, not caring that her voice sounded desperate, “it doesn’t matter what some stupid arrow on my hand says. I want you.” Her heart pounded and her breath quickened, spot forming in her eyes as she gasped, as if she wasn’t getting enough oxygen. She sat down as her anxiety finally boiled over. “Please say something.”

Graysen looked at her and she recoiled from the barely contained anger on his face. “What’s there to say? You belong to someone else.”

Shock washed over and Elain quickly stood once again, shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “I belong to no one.” She reached for him, but Graysen quickly stepped back, leaning away from her. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice wavering as tears began building behind her eyes. “I don’t care if the Mother thinks someone else is my soulmate. You’re the only soulmate I want.”

Graysen stared at her a moment and then his eyes hardened. “But I’m not the soulmate you got and I’m not about to spend the rest of my life with someone else’s soulmate.”

Elain inhaled sharply, her chest feeling like it was cracking in two. “What are you saying?”

Elain shrank back at the venom on Graysen’s face as he replied, “I’m saying we’re over.”

The tears that had gathered in her eyes spilled over as Elain shook her head. “No. You don’t mean that.” Her voice broke and she sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly. 

Graysen laughed, his tone sharp. “I definitely mean it. There’s no point in dating anymore. Not when you belong to another man.”

Elain balled her hands into fists. “Stop saying that! I don’t belong to anyone.” She stepped towards him. “We love each other. That’s all that matters.” 

Graysen scoffed and Elain took a step back at the pure venom in his eyes. “Please. Grow up, Elain.”

“What?”

“You think love is enough? You think your soulmate won’t come here and you won’t immediately choose him over me? I’m not going to wait around while you live in some fantasy land.” He pointed to her hand and she barely resisted the urge to hide it behind her back, as if it were evidence to some crime and not simply proof that she had a soulmate that wasn’t Graysen. “That arrow is pointing to some stranger who’s going to come looking for you, and I would be an absolute moron to just sit around waiting for that to happen. Everyone chooses their soulmate. So get your head out of the fucking clouds and realize that there is nothing you can say or do that will change the fact that you and I don’t belong together.”

Elain’s heart felt like it was cracking in her chest. This couldn’t be happening. Graysen had promised her they were meant to be, that nothing could come between them. He’d promised her. “You can’t mean that,” she whispered, tears falling freely down her cheeks. 

“Yeah, well I do.” 

Graysen turned and walked out of her room, slamming the door behind him. 

~~~~~~

Feyre found Elain curled on her side on the couch staring blankly at a wall when she came down for breakfast the next morning.

“Happy Bir—” Feyre halted and then rushed over. “Elain? What happened?”

Elain shook her head, silent tears sliding down her face. She hadn’t slept, had instead been replaying Graysen’s awful words over and over the whole night. 

“Did Graysen do something?” Feyre’s voice was hard. “If he hurt you—”

Elain shook her head. “He didn’t do anything.” Her voice was hoarse, as if the screaming in the back of her head had been real. 

Feyre was silent for a moment, observing Elain before whispering, “You’re scaring me. What happened?”

Elain cupped the back of her hand, hiding the offending arrow from view, but said nothing, unable to speak the words, as if not speaking them would keep them from being true. Feyre’s eyes tracked the movement before she sagged.

“Graysen’s not your soulmate.”

Elain closed her eyes, hugging her hand close, but didn’t respond. After a long moment, Feyre spoke again, her voice not unkind. “I warned you this could happen.” She sighed, and some part of Elain was aware she was being ridiculous as Feyre gently tugged her to her feet. “Lets at least get you to your room.”

Elain followed behind as Feyre pulled her down the hall to the room that had once belonged to Nesta, before she had left them on her own eighteenth birthday the year prior. Feyre pulled back the covers of her bed and she laid down in a daze, not bothering to change out of her clothes from the previous evening before pulling the covers over her head. She heard Feyre leave, closing the door softly behind her. 

Elain stared at the pattern of her bedspread where a sunbeam hit it, trying to will herself to stop being so dramatic, to get out of bed. A voice in the back of her head told her she was ridiculous for being so upset over a boy, but she squashed it. She didn’t care if it made her a bad feminist, didn’t care if it made her pathetic, didn’t care if anyone thought she was overreacting. She loved Graysen, had planned to spend the rest of her life with him, regardless of whether or not he was her soulmate, because she knew they belonged together. The Mother or universe or whoever didn’t know what they were doing when they didn’t pair her with him. She wouldn’t accept that Graysen wasn’t who she was meant to be with. She just had to figure out how to convince him that none of it mattered, that only they mattered. 

~~~~~~

Graysen refused her calls the rest of the weekend and loudly called Elain pathetic for not accepting that they were over when she approached him at school the next day. It was easily the worst day of her life; not only did she have to endure Graysen’s loudly proclaimed rejection, she then had to spend the rest of the day pretending she didn’t see the pity on people’s faces, didn’t hear the whispers and snickers behind her back as she walked alone from class to class. 

She called her job and pretended to be sick after school. She didn’t think she could handle trying to put on a cheerful face with customers. Instead, she went back to her room, fell into bed, and covered her head with her comforter once more. The only time she moved was to find a pair of gloves to pull over her hands so she didn’t have to see the offensive arrow that she knew wasn’t pointing towards Graysen.

Every day followed much the same until before she knew it, a week had passed and Feyre barged in without knocking.

“Listen. I’ve tried to be understanding, and I get that this is difficult Elain, but you can’t just not show up to work for a week straight.” Feyre pulled down the comforter, the worry in her eyes at odds with the harshness of her tone. “I talked to Mrs. Gibson and convinced her you were really sick so she wouldn’t fire you, but I told her you were getting better and would be in tomorrow.” She crossed her arms. “Can I count on you to go to work tomorrow?”

Elain swallowed, guilt flooding her as she realized the added burden she’d put on her sister. As it was, they could barely make ends meet between Elain’s job and Feyre’s, not with the way their father had been so absent since their mother’s death, unable to hold a job of his own. She wondered if he had even noticed she was upset. She blinked when it hit her that she was acting just like him and further shame filled her. She was failing Feyre just like everyone else in their life had, and that was unacceptable. She nodded. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll go to work tomorrow.”

The relief on Feyre’s face was obvious as she sagged a bit. “Good.” She turned to leave, but when she reached the door, she turned back. “Thank you.” She bit her lip. “For what it’s worth, Graysen isn’t worth your time, but…I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”

Elain ducked her head in thanks, worried if she responded her voice would sound watery. After Feyre closed the door, Elain swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded to her dresser, pulling out a change of clothes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had showered, which meant it was definitely time to shower. 

When she emerged from the shower, feeling refreshed, she headed into the kitchen. She also couldn’t recall the last time she had eaten. She passed their father’s bedroom door on her way, saw him sitting and whittling at a piece of wood by his window. She made a vow to herself at that moment that she wouldn’t allow herself to end up like him again. No matter how much it hurt, she wouldn’t let Graysen’s rejection rob her of her joy in life. 

Feeling strangely light at the promise to herself, she continued on to the kitchen, smiling as her stomach growled. 

~~~~~~~~

A couple days later, when Feyre was at work, there was a knock at the door. Elain frowned, wondering who it could be. They rarely ordered packages, choosing to conserve what little money they had for the necessities, nor did either of them have many friends. 

Elain was in the process of kneading bread dough, so she went first to rinse her hands before heading to the door. When she opened it, mouth open in greeting, she froze. Before her, an apologetic look on his face, was the most handsome man she’d seen in real life. A small part of her recoiled at finding anyone more attractive than Graysen, but there was no denying this man was gorgeous. His long, deep red hair was braided away from his face on the sides, falling in a wavy sheet down his back. His golden brown skin complimented the russet brown shade of his eyes, and he was so tall that Elain had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. 

Without glancing to the arrow on her hand, she knew who he was. Only then did she realize he was looking at her with his own mouth open, seeming equally stunned. 

He regained his composure before she did, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry to bother you.” He lifted his hand, showing her the arrow on the back which was pointing directly to her. “I think we’re soulmates.” He winced when Elain just continued to stare at him, at a loss for words.

There was a dull roaring in her ears as she stared at the very attractive man in front of her. He looked to be several years older than herself, and had probably only just noticed that the arrow on his hand was pointing somewhere and come looking for her. 

“I’m Lucien,” he said. “Lucien Van—Day.”

“Lucien Van Day?” Elain parroted back.

He winced again. “Just Day. Lucien Day. It’s…a long story.”

“I’m Elain.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper, her emotions roiling the longer she stared at Lucien. 

She knew it wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t help but feel that Lucien was the reason Graysen had left her, that he was the reason for everything being so awful in her life. Without another word, she turned and started to close the door before Lucien stuck his foot in it.

“Wait.” 

She tensed, not turning around. 

“I—” Lucien didn’t seem to know what to make of her behavior, her refusal of him. “Do you want to talk?”

Elain turned around, hugging her arms to herself, and willed some of Nesta’s steel into her eyes and voice as she said, “No.”

Lucien blinked at her. “No?”

Elain stared hard at him, fingers cutting into her arms as she resisted the urge to apologize for the hurt that flitted behind his eyes. “No.”

“But…” Lucien trailed off before shaking his head. “How can you not want to get to know me?”

Elain narrowed her eyes at him, and when she spoke, the venom in her voice surprised even her. “Why? Because you’re so wonderful?”

“That’s—that’s not what I meant,” Lucien said, his gaze volleying back and forth between her eyes. She swallowed and refused to look away, willing him to see she wanted nothing to do with him. “We’re soulmates though. Aren’t you at least curious?”

Despite her resolve not to, Elain looked away, not answering. This man, regardless of how beautiful he was, was not Graysen. She didn’t wish to harm him intentionally, but neither did she want anything to do with him. Perhaps if she just ignored him, he would get the hint and leave. 

“I don’t understand.”

Elain dropped her gaze to where her fingers were digging into her arms. The silence between them was palpable as Elain refused to look at him, but when he didn’t move, she said softly, “Please leave and don’t contact me again.”

She heard him swallow before he said, “Very well.” She watched his feet turn and start to walk away before he paused at the door. “If you ever change your mind, you only have to contact me.”

Elain didn’t respond, but his name echoed through her mind and she knew it would be branded there the rest of her days. Lucien Day.

Without another word, he walked away, and Elain closed the door and went in search of her gloves.

[orchidsncrake]

lips like angelina

fandom/pairing: you (2018), rhys montrose x joe goldberg

rating: explicit

tags: pwp, blow jobs, oral sex, joe in lipstick, anal sex, top rhys, bottom joe, Valentine's Day

word count: 4,432

summary: Rhys wants to celebrate V-Day with his beloved and proposes something new to spice things up (it works)

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53780056

“You want to do what to me?” Joe asks incredulously, pacing the apartment.

“It’s not a matter of ‘to you,’ Joe,” Rhys responds, rolling his head to the side. “It’s something I’d like to do with you.”

Joe puts his hand on his hip, the other coming up to scrub through his beard. His mouth is slightly agape as he stares at Rhys, showing off the gaps in his teeth. “I get that, Rhys, but you just asked me if you could put lipstick on me like that’s normal.”

Rhys shifts in his spot on the couch, giving up his reclined spot on the arm to sit straighter, though he keeps his arm stretched over the back. He waves a hand, beckoning Joe to him. “Sweetheart, how am I supposed to look at lips like those and not want to paint them red? You’re lucky I’m only suggesting we use lipstick.”

Joe deadpans him in response, looking vaguely horrified. Rhys chuckles, shaking his head, and pats the couch instead. Finally, Joe stops pacing and comes over, sitting next to Rhys with a sigh. Rhys cups the back of Joe’s neck with the hand that was slung over the back of the couch, turning to face Joe. His other comes to rest on Joe’s knee, caressing gently.

“It’s a special occasion, love. I figured you’d like something special,” Rhys says softly, tracing circles on Joe’s nape with his thumb. The other pinches his bridge between his fingers like he’s greatly vexed. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

“I get that, Rhys. And- and I appreciate it, I do,” Joe rushes out, working himself up. Rhys applies more pressure to his neck, and Joe takes a deep breath. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Oh, love, I know that quite well. Up until, well, me,” Rhys chuckles, jostling Joe by the shoulder playfully, “you’ve had a fairly vanilla sex life. Except the whole failed swinging fiasco, of course,” Rhys adds with humor. Joe only groans.

“I’m not saying I’m opposed,” Joe admits, turning to look at Rhys, and for a moment, he’s awed by the other’s eyes, wide and deep brown, pleading. How he’d love to see him cry for him, to watch those eyes well up and glaze over. Joe’s voice forces him out of his fantasy. “You’d just… have to be in charge.” 

Rhys smiles at that, eyes crinkling, and pats Joe’s knee. “Oh, Joe. When aren’t I?”

***

Despite knowing he’d gotten his way, Rhys hadn’t processed what he’d gotten Joe to agree to until he was holding the tube. The trip to the cosmetics store had been interesting, to say the least - Joe had opted not to come, which was just as well, really, because the number of clerks asking Rhys about his lucky lady would’ve sent him into shock. Rhys flips the lipstick in his hand, still capped, and reads the label: “Ruby Woo.” It was from MAC, apparently, not that Rhys knows anything about lipstick or any other kind of cosmetics. He’d only chosen it for the color, figuring the purplish undertone would suit Joe best. It’d stain nicely, too, he hopes. Joe stands in front of him in the bathroom, looking lost in thought as always. Rhys uncaps the lipstick, the popping jerking Joe back to the present.

“I’m actually letting you put makeup on me,” Joe says, disbelieving.

Rhys laughs and takes Joe’s face in his hand, gently angling him down slightly to get a good angle. “I’ll make it worth your time, darling. I promise. Now part your lips just a bit for me, dear - there we are.”

Rhys has, admittedly, never put lipstick on someone before. Still, he considers the staggering amount of time he’s spent tracing and memorizing Joe’s face a good foundation for learning. He has to rub the tip across Joe’s cupid’s bow a few times before the pigment spreads, but once it does, Rhys can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“Oh, it’s just lovely, Joe,” he murmurs, tracing the outline of Joe’s lips. The color suits his skin beautifully. Rhys can’t wait to smear it. “Open a bit wider for me.” Rhys neglects the corners of Joe’s mouth, covering the top and bottom lips and setting the lipstick aside on the vanity. He uses his little finger to smudge the color outwards, neatens the edges, then releases Joe’s face. He caps the lipstick and admires his handiwork. “You know, Joe, if the whole professor thing never works out, you could certainly work a corner.”

Joe’s nose wrinkles at the comment, his thumb instinctively coming up to touch his lips. Rhys tsks and bats his hand away, turning him instead to look at himself in the mirror. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, looking over the other’s shoulder to admire the view together. “Gorgeous.” 

Joe huffs, his face pinkening. “It’s definitely lipstick.” Rhys only laughs and swats him on the ass playfully.

“You’re stunning. Now come on, off to the bedroom.”

Joe follows Rhys the few steps to Joe’s bedroom, socked feet padding across the hardwood. Rhys closes the door behind them and waves for Joe to sit on the bed, but the other only makes it two steps into the room before freezing.

“Rhys… you didn’t.”

Rhys looks up at Joe, grinning broadly, and gazes around the room. He’d prepared in advance, of course. He wasn’t about to let Valentine’s Day with Joe be anything less than unforgettable. Roses sit on the nightstands, and candles on the dresser, already lit. The curtains are drawn closed for privacy, bathing the room in warm light. He’d forgone the whole rose-petals-on-the-bed-bid, always having found it a bit ridiculous. Judging by the look on Joe’s face, the other doesn’t miss it. Rhys approaches Joe from behind, pressing himself flush to his back. He trails kisses from behind Joe’s ear and down his neck, nipping when he gets close to Joe’s collar.

“Of course, I did, darling. Did you really think I wouldn’t spoil you?” Rhys asks, sliding a hand around to rest on Joe’s chest. He can feel his heart hammering against his palm and his stuttering breathing.

“I didn’t consider the possibility.”

“Always consider the possibility with me, Joe. You know that, smart boy that you are.”

Joe turns around in Rhys’ embrace, ruby lips parted. His eyes are wide, dark lashes framing them beautifully. Rhys kisses his cheek, unwilling to ruin his makeup just yet. Joe sighs and tilts his head back, letting Rhys continue kissing down his neck. He cradles Joe’s head, his other hand pulling him in by the waist. Joe’s hands rest on his belt, sliding around to press against the small of his back.

“Get on the bed for me, sweetheart,” Rhys instructs softly, reluctantly releasing Joe. Joe steps back from him and falls back onto the bed more than sits, already working on his belt. “None of that. Let me do it all tonight, alright?” Rhys approaches the bed, thumbs tracing Joe’s cheekbones and gently scratching his beard. Joe gapes up at him with those fucking eyes of his, looking every part an innocent puppy. Rhys presses his thumb into the center of Joe’s lower lip, lifting a bit of makeup and smudging it on his cheek. Joe’s eyelashes brush against the rosiness as his eyes fall shut, leaning into Rhys’ touch. “Fuck, darling. When you look like that, I can’t help but want to break you.”

Joe’s eyes peer up at him again and parts his lips, pink tongue coming out to rest on his plush lower lip. Rhys groans and dips his thumb into Joe’s mouth, eyes fluttering as Joe sucks it in, immersing him in heat. He forces his eyes to stay open, gazing into Joe’s, watching the usual intelligent sharpness dull over. “There’s my good boy,” Rhys praises, petting through Joe’s curls. “You always need something in your mouth, hm, darling? Get so antsy when you’re empty, all snippy. What would the rest think if they found out you just need some fingers in your mouth to dumb you up?”

Joe’s eyes are the ones to flutter this time as he sucks Rhys’ thumb in deeper. His hands come up to hang onto Rhys’ belt loops, asking as best he can with a finger pressing into his tongue. Rhys takes his thumb away, and Joe sucks as it leaves, collecting the drool that had been pooling in his mouth before it can spill over. Rhys drags his thumb down Joe’s chin, smearing his makeup. “You want this, darling?” Rhys asks, unbuckling his belt. 

Joe nods eagerly and clears his throat, batting his eyes. “Please, Rhys.”

“God, you are dangerous, aren’t you?” Rhys groans, palming himself through his boxers. “You know exactly how to get what you want.”

“You’re the one who’ll always give it to me,” Joe responds, resting his cheek on Rhys’ slacked thigh. Rhys chuckles and draws out his cock, smiling at how Joe immediately zeroes in on it.

“I can’t say no to you, beautiful. Now open up.” Joe’s lips part obscenely, that damned tongue poking out again to cover his lower teeth. Rhys feeds his cock into Joe’s mouth, one hand cradling his jaw and the other woven into his curls. He lets his head drop back for a moment, a scratchy groan escaping his throat, before looking back down at Joe, not wanting to miss the sight of him. He’s ethereal like this, lips stretched around his cock. He’s made impossibly more beautiful by the ruby streaking his face, making him look almost as debauched as Rhys feels. Rhys’ breath gets caught in his chest when Joe looks up at him, dark eyes piercing him, and he knows what he said is true. He truly could never say no to Joe. 

“Fucking hell, Joe,” Rhys moans as he bumps the back of Joe’s throat. The other takes it beautifully, his eyes welling up but not spilling over. Rhys holds him there for a long moment, panting shallowly before he lets up. Joe pulls off him and almost moves to wipe his chin, then seems to remember the lipstick and drops his hand. 

“Can we do this without pants?” Joe asks, voice scratchy. Rhys smiles and laughs, a bit hysterical hearing Joe’s humor just after having him speared on his cock.

“How about without anything?” Rhys responds, already shucking his pants. Joe sits still, watching him undress with rapt attention. Rhys leaves his boxers on as he pulls off his sweater, tossing it onto the armchair in the corner, then his undershirt. He removes his socks and, finally, his boxers, collecting his clothes in an unorderly pile. Joe is still staring up at him, leaning back on his elbows with his feet still on the ground. Rhys flashes him a sideways grin and leans down to untuck Joe’s button-down. He rucks it up and kisses the soft skin there, wrinkling his nose at the scratch of Joe’s happy trail. Joe cards his fingers through Rhys’ hair, sending a tremor down Rhys’ spine. Joe lifts his head to watch as Rhys unbuttons his shirt. He sits up to let Rhys shed him of it, then lifts his hips as his pants are tugged off, boxers bunched in them. Now naked, Joe shifts up the bed, laying his head on the pillows. Rhys lets himself be pulled by the hips to bracket Joe’s body, cocks sliding together as they kiss. Joe scratches his blunt nails down his back, and Rhys growls into the kiss, sinking his teeth threatening into Joe’s lip. Their faces are doubtlessly stained with red, and the thought only spurs on Rhys more, rocking his hips down more desperately.

“R-Rhys,” Joe stutters, arching his back into him, “let me get on top.”

Rhys obliges happily, flipping onto his back and manhandling Joe to flip with him. Joe lands on his knees with a soft oof and plants a hand on Rhys’ chest to rise up on his knees. Rhys swears at the sight of him, curls unruly and face smeared with lipstick. His eyes are half-lidded, and it’s somehow more sinful than the wide pleading eyes. 

“You drive me fucking insane, sweetheart,” Rhys pants out as Joe kisses down his chest, then abs, then to his cock. Joe’s peers up at him as he licks a stripe up Rhys’ cock, and his mouth drops open. “Come on, Joe. Be a good boy and take it.”

Joe’s mouth drops open, and his tongue lolls out as he sinks down onto his elbows, back arched. Rhys gawks at the view and tangles his fingers into Joe’s hair. Joe sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, and he has to fight the urge to buck his hips into the slick warmth. Only the stain of lipstick remains on Joe’s lips, but it’s enough to make the situation all the more erotic. Ruby red lips stretched around his cock were something Rhys thought he gave up in pursuing a man - thank the lord he’d been wrong. 

Joe sucks him in deeper, beginning to bob his head. Rhys swears under his breath, forcing his eyes not to roll back so he can watch Joe. His hand closes around what he can’t fit in his mouth, and his eyes flutter closed. Rhys keeps his hand on Joe’s head to steady himself more than anything, simply clinging on as pleasure courses through him.

“Joe, darling, you’re going to need to give that a rest if you want to get fucked tonight,” Rhys huffs out, far too close to finishing far too early. Joe swirls his tongue around the head a few more times, pressing into the frenulum on his way up for good measure, and then pops off completely. Joe swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, collecting the drool that had escaped, and looks up at Rhys for instruction. Fucking gorgeous.

“Come here, Joe,” Rhys orders breathlessly, pulling Joe into a crushing kiss once he’s climbed up his body. He rolls them over once again, trapping Joe beneath him. The other’s dark curls spread across the pillow like oil spilling, cheeks flushed, and Rhys wants nothing more than to make them darker. “Should’ve brought the lipstick in here with us, eh? It’s about gone now,” Rhys says, rubbing his thumb over Joe’s lips. Joe moves to suck his finger in greedily, and Rhys tuts and pulls it away. “Not yet, sweetheart. Just lie still for me.”

Rhys slinks down Joe’s body, spreading his thighs apart and settling comfortably between them. Joe lifts his head to watch him, eyebrows furrowing when he passes over his cock. Rhys smooths his hand over Joe’s stomach, bracing his forearm over his middle and hanging onto his hip, effectively seatbelting him. Maintaining eye contact, Rhys uses his free hand to lift Joe’s left leg, resting it on his shoulder. Joe’s lips part in realization, face flushing deeper. Rhys licks over Joe’s whole broadly, flattening his tongue as wide as it can go. Joe groans, brows drawing together, those lovely little gaps in his teeth showing again. Rhys licks again and again, then flattens his tongue over his hold and presses. Joe’s hips stutter, one hand tangling in his hair and the other in the comforter. 

Rhys moans against him, letting his eyes slide shut as he spears his tongue, fucking into Joe. The answering moan has him rocking into the mattress, pressing his face impossibly further into Joe. He alternates between licks and penetration until his tongue aches. He switches to pressing his nose into Joe’s perineum until he’s able to go back to licking. A burn settles into his jaw, but he can’t stop with how Joe is tugging at his hair and writhing against his face, simultaneously dragging him closer and trying to push him away. He uses the arm across Joe’s stomach to haul him back onto his tongue, moaning into him as Joe finally gives in and starts grinding against his face. Rhys’ own dick is pulsing between his legs now, weeping against the mattress, but he can’t be bothered with how Joe’s moans are starting to pitch up and crack halfway through. He looks up at the other, eyes fluttering at the debauched look on Joe’s face. He’s flushed enough that Rhys can’t tell where the smudged lipstick ends, his mouth hanging open around a near-constant stream of unrestrained cries. He alternates between Rhys’ name and unintelligible begging until he devolves into a constant whining sound, signaling that he’s on the precipice.

Rhys finally pulls off and rests his head on Joe’s thigh, panting. He kisses the inside of Joe’s knee, it having clamped against his head, and caresses his side. Still breathless, he kisses Joe’s stomach, shamelessly sucking and biting marks into his pale skin, soothing the man beneath him. Joe’s clipped breaths are whiny as the leg on Rhys’ shoulder goes limp, leaving Joe splayed open on the bed.

“You are fucking incredible,” Rhys moans, surging up to kiss Joe’s neck and rub his face into his beard, trying to drown himself in the other. Joe clutches at Rhys’ back and swallows, presumably dry-mouthed.

“Fuck me, Rhys, please,” he begs pitifully, voice high and desperate. Rhys nods, kissing Joe as he leans over to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube he’d deliberately left there. Tearing away from Joe’s kisses is an act of will, but he manages by reminding himself that soon he’ll be as close to him as two people can be. Rhys sits back on his haunches, still between Joe’s legs, and gazes lustily down at his prone body. The flush that spreads over his face has crept down his neck to his chest, and even his nipples are hardened and pinkened.

“Relax for me, sweetheart. I have you,” Rhys croons, slicking two fingers and tossing the bottle aside. He presses the pad of his middle finger against Joe’s hole, the other sucking in a breath, and it sinks in easily. Rhys moans at the sight and pumps it slowly, stroking Joe’s insides, almost obsessed with being part of him. He’s quickly able to add his index finger thanks to having tonguefucked the near life out of Joe before, all the while watching them disappear into Joe, who is back to clutching the pillow above his head and moaning around the lip he has trapped in his teeth. Joe’s hips roll down against his hand, drawing his fingers in deeper, and Rhys hooks them up. Joe gasps like he’s dying, hips bucking up and toes curling. Rhys forces him back against the bed, keeping a hand on him as he pumps his fingers into him more ruthlessly, spearing into his prostate to see him trash.

“Jesus, Rhys, just fuck me,” Joe demands, face contorted in shameless pleasure.

Rhys only nods dumbly, too engrossed in the man before him to put him in his place. This, spread out before him dripping, is his place. Rhys pats around on the bed until his hand closes around the lube, and he dribbles it into his palm. He has to bite down on his lip as he coats himself, fucking into his palm desperately. He slicks his fingers and coats Joe’s insides again just in case, never one to dislike messy sex. Rhys taps the sides of Joe’s thighs, and the other takes the hint, lifting his legs and resting them on Rhys’ shoulders. Rhys wraps his palms over the tops of Joe’s thighs, and the other gapes up at him, his chest heaving. Rhys hauls him back into him, dragging him down the bed a bit, and Joe yelps at being manhandled. Rhys doesn’t miss how his dick twitches against his hip.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Rhys asks, taking himself in his hand. He presses the head against Joe’s hole teasingly.

“Jesus fuck, yes, I’m ready,” Joe spits out, reaching his hands out to grip his thighs below Rhys’s hand, contorting himself to get as close to him as he can. 

Rhys nods, a bead of sweat dripping off his nose, and presses forward. Joe’s head drops back, a deep moan reverberating from his chest as he’s filled. Rhys has to pause halfway in to collect himself, dangerously close to blowing. Finally, he sinks to the hilt inside Joe, hips pressed so tightly to Joe’s ass that the slight plushness there cushions out. 

“Good fucking Christ, Joe,” Rhys huffs, voice cracking. He moves his hands to bracket around Joe’s head and drops forward, kissing the whining moans from Joe’s mouth. The shift forces him deeper into Joe, and he must hit something good because Joe bucks against him and grabs for his hair, tugging at it. Rhys moans at the pain, letting it ground him. He wraps a hand under Joe’s head and presses him further into the kiss, their sweat-slicked chests rubbing together. Joe whines at the added stimulation, and Rhys bows away from him the slightest bit. Joe rocks into Joe a couple times, not properly fucking him yet, still letting Joe adjust but too needy to stay still.

Joe, finally, nods, brushing their noses together. Rhys drops his head to rest on Joe’s shoulder as he draws his hips back, pressing back in slowly, both moaning brokenly. He fucks in again and again, rocking his hips into Joe, pace becoming increasingly frantic. Joe’s hands slide down to grip his ass, encouraging his thrusts. His legs fall open around Rhys, going limp under him as he’s fucked into the bed.

“You’re incredible, fucking hell,” Rhys bites out, slowing his thrusts down to slam in harder. It forces clipped, involuntary noises out of Joe, whose eyes are half-lidded but unseeing. Rhys drops to his elbow, cupping Joe’s face and kissing him hotly, pulling back and smiling when he finds Joe’s eyes trained back on him. “I love you.”

Joe’s face screws up, mouth open around desperate moans. “I love you too,” he whines, looking overwhelmed. Rhys rises back onto his knees, resuming the same position as before, using the vantage to fuck impossibly harder into Joe to the point that the other probably won’t be able to walk without a limp tomorrow. Sue him - it’s quite literally the point of the holiday. Joe reaches out and presses his hand to Rhys’ abs, tracing up his chest and gripping the nape of his neck. Rhys lets himself be tugged back down again, both unwilling to have any distance from the other. Joe’s shameless moaning in his ear only spurs Rhys on more as he cradles Joe’s face in his hands, breathing the other’s air. Joe clutches his forearm and back, pulling him into him like if they tried hard enough, they could become one. The heat that’s been pooling in his stomach tightens sharply, threatening to snap and release. Rhys’ thrusts stutter. 

“I’m close,” he bites out, panting hotly against Joe’s neck. Joe nods, his beard scratching Rhys’ cheek, and embraces him closer. It limits his range of movement, so Rhys switches to grinding, making Joe’s legs draw up and trap him between his knees. Joe’s nails scratch down his back like little lines of fire, tearing a groan from Rhys. He reaches a hand between them and takes Joe’s cock into his hand, pumping him in time with his grinds, making Joe convulse beneath him.

“You first, darling,” Rhys pants, swirling his thumb around the head of Joe’s cock, already wet with precum. Joe moans shortly, almost sobs, and throws his head back.

“Fuck, Rhys!” He hiccups, back arching and legs clenching around Rhys’ hips as he tips over the edge. Cum spurts across Joe’s chest, glistening against the rosiness. Rhys pants desperately as he clings onto Joe, ears ringing as he’s clenched around like a vice. In the next moment, Joe sags against the bed, boneless and twitching as the last bits of cum drool from him, smearing across his lower belly.

“Good fucking boy, love. Jesus Christ, you are incredible. I can’t fucking believe I have you, oh my God,” Rhys’ voice cracks as he babbles and then breaks off into silence, his body seizing as he buries himself deep inside Joe. He moans shakily into Joe’s mouth, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure zings up his spine and then oozes through his body. Joe pets his flanks as his hips stutter until coming to a stop. Rhys slumps over Joe and carefully pulls out, shushing him and kissing his cheek when he groans. He lands on his back next to Joe, blinking up at the ceiling as he tries to catch his breath.

“I probably look like I gave a clown CPR,” Joe says suddenly, letting his head roll to face Rhys. It catches him entirely off-guard, not expecting Joe to be verbal yet, let alone have a sense of humor. He starts laughing, almost hysterical, and Joe joins him until they’re both shaking with it, almost delirious with bliss.

“Jesus Christ. A clown, really?” Rhys asks, sucking in breaths as he tries to quell his laughter. 

Joe shrugs, turning over onto his side to face him. Rhys doesn’t miss the slight wince. “I don’t know! Not that I’ve ever done it. I blame you for fucking me stupid.”

Rhys smiles giddily and pulls Joe towards him, the other curling into his side, his head on his chest. “Clearly, I didn’t do it well enough if you’re talking about tonguefucking clowns.”

“I never said anything about tongue,” Joe mumbles against his chest, sounding sleepy. Rhys ruffles his hair.

“You’re right. My sincerest apologies for putting words in your mouth.” He trails his fingers over Joe’s back, tracing mindless patterns. “We do have to clean up, though.”

Joe huffs disagreeably. “Later.”

“It’ll dry, and then you’ll be whining about being caked in cum and lipstick.”

“Caked and dripping, thank you very much.” “Oi!” Rhys exclaims, shocked by his obscenity. “Since when do you talk like that?”

Joe shrugs, yawning. “The English are a bad influence.”

Rhys considers his point. “Probably. You sure you want to sleep and not just clean up?”

“I think the whole ‘covered in makeup and bodily fluids’ is very on point for the holiday.” 

Rhys hums and keeps tracing patterns on Joe’s back, occasionally running his fingers through his hair, his head propped up on his other hand. He leans down to kiss Joe’s forehead, whose breathing has already slowed and evened out. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Joe.”

Joe mumbles and shifts, half-asleep already. He kisses Rhys’s chest. “Happy Valentine’s Day."

[feywildfancypants]

Death by Currently Reading 5/40: March by John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, and Nate Powell

Rating: 10, personal favorite

I finished book three of this trilogy graphic novel. It follows John Lewis from his youth in rural Alabama to the 1965 Voting Rights Act. He was a champion of nonviolent protest, despite all the violence that was levied against African Americans throughout United States History.

This book hit me pretty hard, so I’m about to go on a monologue. If you’re not up for that, feel free to tap out now. Otherwise, buckle in.

It took me several years to get through all three books. When I started I was still in the stage of my life where my bubble was popping. I was just starting to understand how whitewashed the history I was taught had been. Reading about what a nonviolent movement truly meant was deeply unsettling to me. I, of course, had learned about the Civil Rights Movement, about sit ins and marches, and about prominent figures in the fight for African American liberation. What I was often not taught was the amount of violence and vitriol they faced. Like most kids who were taught American Exceptionalism, I didn’t want to believe that this is the history I come from. It was another painful shattering of my worldview, because I knew it was bad but I hadn’t realized it was that bad.

This is history we have to engage with. We have to remember it was that bad. We have to fight to make sure we don’t ever go back.

The third book hit differently as I was finishing it right after the 2024 election. The most shocking thing for me after the election is the gaping chasm between people who voted differently. Not in their political views, but what they consider themselves to have been voting for.

I am among the people who spent the following day in a silent daze, worrying endlessly what this meant for my life and the life of my friends. I am afraid of people losing housing, medical care, jobs, access to education, parental rights, citizenship. I was horrified. I was also surrounded by people who were continuing their life, business as usual. For them it was just another day, just another election, because what does a President honestly change about their day to day lives?

They thought they voted for the chance at a better economy, perhaps more safety. Many of the rest of us thought we were voting for our lives. And now you have to sort of fish for which response you’re going to get. If I mention that I’m scared are you going to go “Oh thank god, me too” or are you going to go “Why the fuck would you be scared?”

And as frustrating as it is to be met with confusion when I’m struggling with grief and fear, few of those people are evil or have ill intentions. They just don’t know. (That doesn't go for everyone. Fuck nazis and klansmen)

For anyone out there banging their head against the wall saying ‘how the fuck could they not know?’ — They truly don’t. It took me 24 years to break out of the comfortable bubble of ignorance, and that was only because I was trans and bisexual and neurodivergent and trying to squeeze myself into their bubble was killing me. It was so painful to exist that I had to leave. For anyone who is comfortable there… it could take a whole life to get out of it. And many never do.

I want to show them this book and remind them that they would have been on the side of the people pouring coffee over the heads of peaceful protestors. And if they aren’t careful now, they are going to be on the side of people banning books, controlling people’s bodies, condemning disabled people, separating families. I want everyone to read this book, but even if they did, I know not everyone will listen.

I haven’t fully figured out the right way to talk to people about all this. I did leave a toxic community, one that I tried to speak up in and not only lost any respect and power I had to create change, but also blew up a lot of people lives in the process. I know that leaving didn’t do shit. They are still there, still toxic, and now with no one to offer a dissenting opinion. I also know that staying wasn’t helping. Those that would listen left with me, and my mental health wasn’t going to hold out under the barrage. So what is the correct answer in that? I don’t know.

Anyway. Keep reading. Stay mad. Get organized. Build your community up anyway you can. Know that this fight isn’t new, it has been carried on by many people before us. We owe it to them to learn their stories, learn from their lives, and carry on the torch in hope of a better tomorrow.

[sirowsky]

The Lonely Castle

Chapter 8 - Heart

Chapter Summary: They may not have a priest or family at hand, but Pero and Ember have chosen each other, and that's enough for them to consider themselves married. Leaving only one thing left to do to seal the deal...

Author's Note: I was a bit horrified at myself when I read this back and realised that it's basically 80% smut. But then I got to the end, and suddenly things returned to normal. (If you've read any of my fics, you know what that means...)

Rating: Explicit 18+ONLY Warnings: cursing, smut, loss of virginity, piv (unprotected), sugary sweetness, monster, historical errors. Word Count: 7824 Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

So. Declarations had been made, in words as well as actions, meaning things had irrevocably changed between Pero and Snow, and on top of all that; monsters were very real and terrifyingly powerful and at least one of them could speak. That is; if the damn thing ever decided to come back. While Snow healed, they had little to do but go about their daily lives as usual, because they had no way of knowing when or where the other demons might show up next.

Ash hadn’t returned after it helped them get back to the castle and then left, which was troubling, since it had clearly stated itself to be in need of assistance. It had been the middle of the night when it took off, and by its own account, the others came under the cover of darkness, so what if they had taken it? If their ally was in trouble, they would have no way of knowing it, nor any hope of aiding the creature. Thus, all they could do was wait. Snow healed well, and after a few days she was more or less back to normal function, if with a slight grimace when she moved her arm in certain angles. She was still terribly sceptical of all things demon, though, and Pero understood why. Her perspective was one of fear, as both creatures they’d met had either seriously frightened, or tried to harm her, and she didn’t have the advantage of being able to communicate with one of them. He’d given her a detailed account of everything he could remember from having been taken, and they’d had plenty of conversations about it, trying to work out just what it might all be about, but repeatedly falling short. Today, though, the discussion took an unexpected turn.

“Please, don’t tell me that you actually trust that thing, Pero.”

“Trust would perhaps be a stretch. I’m willing to listen to it, based on what its already told me, and the fact that it wilfully put itself in danger to help you, at my request. At the very least, I have to consider that it wouldn’t do that only to then try and kill us.”

“It’s a demon, how could we possibly know what it might decide, or even feel compelled to do?”

“Well, what’s the alternative? We can’t fight them, at least not without first learning more about them.”

“Or we could run.”

His eyebrows lifted as he heard that, and he turned from the fire he was tending, to look at her. Ember Fletcher, the woman that never surrendered, never gave up, never allowed herself to be bullied by anyone, was suggesting fleeing from a fight? She read his expression and scowled in return.

“You said it yourself; we can’t fight them.”

“No. But I really don’t think that Ash would’ve done all this if it didn’t truly need us.”

“See, that’s the part I really don’t get. You saw what it did to that wolf-demon. Ash was the one that set it on fire, and yet it claims to need your help to defeat them… Explain that logic to me.”

The thought had occurred to him as well, but he still felt that there was too much they didn’t know, to have any hope of understanding the larger picture.

“I can’t. But remember, we only learned of the mere existence of such beings a month ago, I’m certain that we have a hopelessly inadequate comprehension of these creatures, and that we shouldn’t make any decisions until we at least have a basic grasp of what’s actually happening.”

“Fine. But mark my words; at some point in the near future, I am going to say the words ‘I told you so’.”

“Well, while you await the opportunity, this kettle is the last of it. Your bath is ready, my lady.”

“I’ll try and be quick, so it’ll still be warm for you.”

“No, take your time. I’ll be fine.”

He left the dining room and headed upstairs to give her some privacy. It had now been four days since the fight in the woods, and while they had shared more kisses, and stayed snuggled up together at night, Snow’s injury and the lingering threat of monsters on their doorstep, meant that nothing else had happened yet. Though, not from lack of desire. Snow was formidable in that regard as well as all others. She made no secret of the cravings that stirred within her when they were close, and had she gotten her way, their union would already have been consummated, multiple times. It was he that had held them back, and not just because he wanted her to heal first. But because she wasn’t just some woman he wanted, like the one’s in the past, and he refused to treat her as he had them. For her, he would be clean, beard shaven and trimmed, and the dirt carved from under his nails. For her, no effort was too taxing, and no wait was too long.

The warm water did wonders for Ember’s sore and battered body, and it wasn’t until she felt it’s soothing effects that she truly appreciated how much her form had been made to endure in these past four months. It was as though it didn’t just wash away the sweat and dirt and general grime, but the worries and fears and tension inside of her too. She hadn’t enjoyed a warm bath in several years, only swimming in the river in summertime, and keeping to the normal washing routines in winter, so this felt luxurious and special. She’d been surprised when Pero had suggested it, as she hadn’t seen any trough large enough to be used for it, around the castle. But he’d moved some things in the basement to reveal a good-sized wooden tub, turned upside down and used as a shelf. Dusty and filled with cobwebs, but still intact. Still, it had seemed superfluous, hauling all the snow inside to thaw, not to mention a waste of firewood to heat it all, but once he’d explained that he wanted to be clean for her, she’d found it impossible to argue against him. She was close to catching on fire every night when he curled up to her, and every kiss had her almost unwittingly pressing herself against him, looking for relief, and she’d openly cursed his patience more than once over the past few days, when he had determinedly kept her advances at bay. If this was what it took for him to feel comfortable being with her, she’d oblige him. She scrubbed her skin with a cotton cloth, to make sure she got all the dirt off, and then laid back to let her hair soak in the water for a bit, before combing through it with her fingers a few times. She didn’t hurry, but she didn’t dawdle either, and once she was back in the undershirt she’d borrowed from him, as hers had been destroyed by the wolf-thing, she called to Pero to let him know that she was done. When he came downstairs, he had a small clay-pot in his hands. Rounded at the bottom, and narrowing into a short neck with a wooden cork at the top. It was small enough that his large hands could’ve completely concealed it, had he wanted to, but instead he handed it to her with a careful smile. She took it with a questioning brow, and his smile widened at the now familiar expression.

“It’s oil from the south, made from small fruits called olives. Put a few drops in your hands and rub them together, and then run them through your hair thoroughly. It will help clean it, and keep it from tangling.”

That really surprised her, and she openly gawked at him.

“How did you get oil of such quality? I’ve hardly ever heard of it even passing through here. If you’d sold this in Hallen you could’ve afforded a dozen pelts along with our goods.”

“It was payment for a contract I fulfilled, long ago. I rightly should’ve sold it, there were more than one occasion when doing so would’ve spared me from nearly dying. I just never could bring myself to do it. But no matter how it came to be here, it’s now yours, mi sueño.”

“Thank you so much, my love.”

His smile softened at her words, and she suddenly had to remind herself that she was supposed to leave him alone for his bath then. She went upstairs, as he had done for her, and stepped into the bedroom, stopping once she’d crossed the threshold, because of the sight that met her. Apparently, his hands had not been idle while he was up there. The room was tidied of all littered scrap that had been left in corners to accumulate into piles of rubbish, and he had even cleaned the floors, and the windows. He’d also rearranged the bedding of fir branches, so that there was no dividing line between their beds, and instead just one large pit for them both to lay in. He really was adamant about making certain this union would be as perfect as their circumstances would allow. With neither of them having any family to provide dowry, home or income, they were going to have to forge their own marriage. Which they largely already had, with their vows already spoken and their promises for the future of their relationship, well and truly determined. The land they occupied had been long since abandoned, so barring any far removed relative showing up to stake a claim, their home was their own, and as for income… Well, they were both highly skilled at their chosen crafts, so should they find themselves in dire need of coin, there were ways for them to procure it. Whether or not they’d be safe doing so, was a different matter. She tended to the fire before she sat down on the edge of the bed, and opened the cork of the little pot of oil, letting a small amount drip onto her fingertips. It felt so smooth and rich against her skin, and when she did as Pero had suggested, even though there was so little of it on her hands, she could feel how it spread through her damp hair, giving it a softness unlike anything she’d felt before. Pero took a considerable amount of time with his bath, though. Perhaps it was only her excited anticipation that made her perceive time to pass so unbearably slowly, but when the room had gone dark, and she’d had to refuel the fire twice, she began to wonder if he could’ve possibly changed his mind. She had just gotten up, thinking she’d go to the stairs and listen for him, when the doorhandle suddenly moved, and a moment later, the door slowly swung open, before he hesitantly stepped inside, closing it behind him while meeting her eyes with trepidation. She actually gasped at the sight of him. He’d trimmed the unruly curls on his head, surprisingly well considering he’d done it unaided, but then, he’d probably had to do that many times before. And the beard that had been long enough to obscure his throat, though not long enough to reach his chest, had now been almost completely removed, save for a moustache adorning his upper lip, and a little scruff left on his chin. This change, coupled with the dirt scrubbed off of his face, meant that he now looked so much younger, and even the brown of his eyes seemed brighter. He was beautiful. But her lack of response to his entrance seemed to make him insecure, and his gaze darted about the room when he spoke next.

“You don’t like it?”

The sadness in his voice made her wake up from her shocked but reverent stare, and she approached him, not stopping until his face was mere inches from her own, and she could study him intently, learning his features all over again.

“I’m merely stunned into silence by your beauty, sir. Why ever have you hidden from me until now?”

His eyes virtually snapped back to find hers, and it was pure incredulity that stared back at her when she met them. Instead of speaking, his mouth took to explaining his feelings by touch, connecting first to her cheek with gratitude, and then her lips, with a searing heat which she eagerly reciprocated, pushing herself flush against him and relishing in the warmth of his arms as his broad frame enveloped her. He’d been so careful not to provoke her obvious reactions to him any further, until that moment, and when he allowed his own restraint to fall away, she could feel a passion from him that was unmatched, even by her own. Finally, she could allow her heat to blossom, and cave to her desires, knowing he wouldn’t reject her or find her behaviour inappropriate, and it was as though something came alive inside of her, set free by the knowledge that she was wanted. Any thoughts of embarrassment were suddenly nowhere to be found, and all she wanted was just to be with him. To be his. His hands were warm and somehow both gentle and firm as they explored her back, and then travelled down to the swell of her bottom, tugging her forwards to let her feel how he hardened for her. How he desired her. No longer holding anything back. He felt so good against her pulsing sex, craving attention like never before, making her hips jut forwards in search of more, and being utterly pleased when he started grinding himself against her. Stars appeared behind her eyes with the explosion of sensations from her core, and lewd sounds erupted from her throat with the sudden pounding of her heart causing her blood to boil. His mouth moved to kiss her neck and allow them both to breathe a little easier, while his arms tightened around her waist to hold her in place as he backed her towards the bed. When she felt the edge of it against her calves, he stopped, and pulled back to look at her, while his hands grabbed fistfuls of his borrowed shirt that hung loosely over her form.

“May I?”

She just nodded breathlessly, and lifted her arms as he pulled the garment up and off of her in one fluid movement. She stood there, completely bare to his scrutiny, as his eyes drank her in, and if she’d had any doubts concerning whether he’d like what he’d see, they vanished in a single heartbeat. Because his desire appeared to have doubled when he found her eyes once more. He grabbed the front of his own shirt, and held it out to her, wanting her to be the one that exposed him. He was half a head taller than her, so he had to help her with the last bit, but once he too was bare, she schooled herself to look first at his broad shoulders and chest, mapping his scars and briefly wondering how he’d come to have so many, before moving down to look upon his rigid manhood, the first she’d ever seen. She gulped involuntarily. How was all that supposed to fit inside of her? No wonder the women of his past had screamed… His hand came under her chin, lifting her head so that she’d meet his eyes, and there was concern in his brow, making her realise that her own expression had shifted from pleasure to fear.

“Listen to me now, mi sueño. I am not going to impale you. I regret ever using such a crude expression at all. I’m going to prepare your body for this, so that none of it will be unpleasant, because I want you to keep wanting me after tonight, and I want you to feel only pleasure from my touch and my body. So please, trust me. And don’t be afraid to speak. Tell me if you’re uncertain, or if something doesn’t feel right. I will listen, you have my word.”

She hesitated. On the one hand, she did believe him, but on the other, she still couldn’t fathom how her body could possibly accommodate his size. But he’d asked her to voice her concerns, so there was no reason she shouldn’t.

“I believe you, it’s just… are all men like that? In size, I mean.”

“No. It varies from man to man, in both size and shape. But I am by no means the largest one can be.”

“It can be even bigger?!”

“Yes.”

“Fuck…”

He didn’t speak again, instead he just gave her a moment to absorb this information, which she greatly appreciated. She took a deep breath, shaking her head a little, mostly at herself, because women had done this for ages, so naturally, it should be possible.

“Okay. Okay, so… how do you prepare me?”

His face broke into an adoring smile at that, and he stepped closer again, letting one hand stroke her abdomen, before travelling down to her core, and gently caressing her most sensitive spot, instantly making the heat inside of her flare back to roaring life. She inhaled sharply, and then her head fell forwards against his shoulder as the rapture surged through her, at his skilful manipulation of her senses.

“By giving you more pleasure than you ever believed possible.”

His hand disappeared, but was almost instantly replaced by his thick shaft, dragging against the entirety of her sex, undoubtedly poking out behind her as his hips connected with hers, before he pulled back again, now coated in her wetness. He repeated the motion several times, and every movement made her legs tremble with how good it felt, not just against her wet flesh, but against the insides of her thighs as well, as though there were parts of her core that rippled out into those limbs too. His warm, calloused hands, came up to squeeze and fondle her breasts, sending even more tendrils of pleasure through her, and suddenly she felt the pressure inside that meant that she was about to finish.

“Oh… wait… I…”

But he didn’t stop. He pushed her over the edge, and then held her steady as her legs quivered precariously with her release.

“Don’t worry. I’m only warming you up, there’s more to come.”

Her body had gone limp, and she couldn’t have answered even if she’d felt the need to, which she didn’t, because what could she possibly reply to that? How could there be more? He guided her down to the bed and stood over her on all fours, while he watched her breathing calm, appearing to admire seeing her body react to the sensations he was lavishing her with. Then his mouth was suddenly on her left breast, licking and kissing his way around the nipple, nudging the hardened bud with his nose before taking it in his mouth and letting his tongue play with it. His hands never left her skin, squeezing and massaging her sides, hips, thighs, moving up behind her shoulders to lift her chest up into his mouth. By the time he’d given the same attention to her right breast as well, she was panting again, already craving more. How was that possible? For a moment, she got disoriented when he suddenly disappeared, and no part of his body was in contact with hers anymore, so she lifted her head to find out where he’d gone, and then had to stifle another gasp when she saw his head drop down between her legs. She couldn’t, however, hold back her reaction when his mouth connected to her core. She moaned, loudly, and felt her hands close around fistfuls of hair on the pelt underneath her, as her back arched off of the bed and her hips seemed to move of their own accord, wanting more of him. And he quickly obliged, pushing one thick finger into her opening, and then after a while, another one. She felt herself stretch to accommodate him, and finally began to understand what he’d meant about preparing her. Her juices soaked his fingers as he let them slide in and out slowly, all while continuing to lick and suck on her sensitive little bud, nestled into her flesh, until she unravelled for him a second time. It was quite extraordinary, how different it felt when his fingers were inside her while she coiled and writhed at his ministrations, and it took her mind forward in time, wondering how the real thing would feel. She had barely even begun to come back down, when he added a third finger, making her growl with the sensory overload.

“Ember… are you alright?”

“I don’t know… how I could possibly take any more…”

He slipped his fingers out of her, and came back to standing on all fours over her, his head right above hers.

“If you want me to stop, I will.”

She looked at his face, his mouth wet with her juices, and his eyes alight with his passion. But, despite how obvious his desire was for her, there was nothing forceful or demanding about his expression. He would forgo his own pleasure, if she asked him, and that knowledge nearly brought tears to her eyes. Because she’d always had the impression of men as being quite savage in their love-making, even her mother had hinted as much about her kind and gentle father, and that was a prospect which had always frightened her. Pero himself had proclaimed his own practice as a lover to be of the rougher sort, and yet here he was, treating her like a precious jewel, more important to him than even his own satisfaction.

“No. I trust you. If you tell me that my body can do this, then I believe you.”

Her voice held no trace of doubt, and a warm smile made his eyes wrinkle as he lowered himself down on top of her. His lips found hers once more, while his hips once again familiarised themselves with hers, and his hard length pushed against her mound in delicious slow circles. Her hands found his lower back and made a home for themselves there, holding him to her while he rocked into her, building that rapture up within her for a third time, even though she couldn’t understand how it was possible. When he pulled back, and reached down to manoeuvre himself against her folds, in order to better coat his cock with her gushing wetness, she kept holding on to him, as though she feared she might float away. But then his tip nudged her entrance, and she unintentionally tensed, making him pause.

“Relax, mi sueño. You’re ready, but I’ll proceed slowly, and allow you to adjust, however you will need to let me in.”

She wanted to, but the fear of pain instinctively made her attempt to keep him out. To help her body along, he massaged her breasts and abdomen, while tickling her neck and jaw with kisses, licks and nibbles, distracting her from the fact that his impressive manhood was inching further and further into her core. He pulled back between every tiny push in, so that her cunt was gradually opened to him, and he did it so perfectly that she didn’t feel any discomfort at all. She felt the stretch, but it happened so slowly that it only managed to further increase the sensation of pleasure, especially with the knowledge that she was connecting to the man she loved above all else, in the deepest and most intimate way a person could. Once he was seated inside her, he stopped moving, and kissed her thoroughly, before leaning his forehead against hers, and just breathing with her for a moment. She could feel her core adjust to him, pulsing with heat and the strain of the unfamiliar experience, but also the tremendously satisfying sensation of being filled with him. Her desire only rose the longer he waited, until her walls were trembling against him, begging him to move. He could feel it, and eagerly gave her what she needed. Despite how careful he’d been, she still couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to fit inside of her, but when he pulled back and gently plunged back in the first time, she abruptly decided that he actually fit her quite perfectly. He felt amazing. Every movement tickled or pleasured some part of her, and before long she was lost in the purity of the feeling, seeing only stars before her eyes and existing only in what her body was experiencing, in each infinitesimal second. But she was finally also joined in her experience, by his rapture. She could feel it in every inch of his body that connected to hers. How he wanted nothing more than to keep diving into her wet and welcoming softness, keep driving her to her peak, and live in this land of absolute pleasure for as long as possible. But it was also so much more than physical. Things passed between them, in their every touch, that she couldn’t have found words for even if she’d had the strength of mind to attempt it. She wanted so dearly to repay him for his delectable treatment of her body, not to mention the reverence with which he’d taken her virginity, but she was just too overwhelmed, and much too ignorant of these matters, to know how.

Pero was in heaven. There was no other explanation that could possibly come close to describing what this Amazon of a woman was doing to him. He was by no means inexperienced, which he was certain his treatment of her had made clear, and yet, he felt as though every sensation was new. Every touch seemed to hold more power and pleasure than he’d known before, as though her body serenaded his with pure seduction, in return for the ecstasy he gave to her. Her eyes remained closed, her head tilted back with her deep and forceful breaths, and her hands seemed to move on their own, exploring his body and looking for the spots that would generate reactions of pleasure from him. He didn’t want it to end, but he also desperately wanted to spill his seed into her womb, already dreaming of the possibilities for their shared future, completely forgetting about the dangers that lurked around them, now that his mind was filled with only her. Her scent, her taste, her touch… Fuck, she really was intoxicating. And there was something truly special about knowing that he was the only one that had or ever would get to know this delightful secret of hers. This fantastical ability she possessed, to make his heart break open and leak its sappy and adorable, and most vulnerable contents, into the surrounding world. He had never taken anyone’s virginity before, but he doubted that anyone else could’ve reached the parts of him that his Snow now had. Parts he’d hidden and locked away, thinking no one would ever see. Things not even William had known. And he wanted her to see and hear and know all of it, every dirty secret, every terrifying fear, every unfulfilled wish and broken dream. How was it possible that simply being wanted and loved, could make him so soft and breakable all of a sudden? Had he actually always been, but just never known it? He felt her body begin to coil with that special kind of tension that only sexual satisfaction could draw from any creature, as she neared her peak, and he stopped holding himself back, so that he could follow her into that soaring cloud of absolute bliss. Their rhythm faltered, and he had to rise onto his hands by her head, to weigh down his hips enough to keep her from expelling him from her quivering core with how strongly her climax made her squirm and writhe underneath him. Meanwhile, his own peak found heights he’d never even dreamt of before, and he couldn’t stop himself from jutting into her, again and again, as his seed filled her until there simply wasn’t room for more, causing it to trickle out past his softening length, each time he rolled his hips into hers. Her breathless gasps turned into mewls of delight and satisfaction, and once she stilled, she reached for him to settle down on top of her again, wrapping her arms around him as he did. And suddenly, he understood why he’d taken to being so rough with the women he’d paid to endure his quests for relief, in the past. It was because he hadn’t loved them. Because in the absence of emotion, his body had needed convincing to get to that release. And even though he’d never harmed or degraded them, the fact that he’d needed to basically spear them on his cock in order to coax even minimal amounts of pleasure out of himself, now shamed him. In the beginning, when corporal pleasures where still new to him, he’d allowed the experienced older women of the trade to teach him, and he’d been so easily seduced and excited by them back then, that he hadn’t needed more than their undivided attention in order to fulfil his desires, and he’d revelled in the knowledge of how to make them squirm for him. But with time, and the hardening of his soul from the scars that both it, and his body had endured, that boyish excitement had faded into dark pits. Places from which he had never thought it could return. Ever since he was a boy, running from his home and everything he’d ever known, he’d quickly learned to cling to anger and forcefulness, in order to survive the harshness of the world, and had he not; he’d

likely been dead long ago. But if, somewhere in the midst of it all, he’d just allowed himself to feel more than that, if he’d attempted to do more than just survive from one day to the next, he might’ve known the empowering effect of softness and true intimacy, before this moment. Before Snow. He still couldn’t decide which name he liked better, as they both suited her so well. She always seemed to burn, somewhere inside, but not in a raging inferno. More like a pot of oil, kept simmering at all times, needing only a single ember to land in that heat, to set it ablaze with a fury. But she was also like a cool, calming blanket to his own fire. Like a fresh coat of snow over the landscape of his being, she could dampen his temper, weigh down his defences until they crumbled, and grind him to a halt with stunning beauty and a remarkable capacity to make even the darkest and ugliest of things look bright and wondrous. Each other’s opposites, the two names reflected the opposing sides of her person, both so impressive, and equally needed for her to be the woman that she was, making it impossible for him to decide between them. She had nearly fallen asleep when he shifted on top of her, turning his head to the side so that he could kiss her cheek, while letting his arms tighten along her sides.

“Thank you.”

She slowly returned to the waking world, drawn through her blissful exhaustion by the sound of his voice. But once her eyes fell open, and sought his, she looked puzzled.

“What?”

It sounded as though she hadn’t perceived his words, so he tried again, now that she was more awake.

“Thank you.”

She blinked a few times, looking utterly confused.

“You’re thanking me? Whatever for? All I did was lay here… Surely any and all gratitude should be mine to give to you.”

“Certainly not. As I’ve mentioned; I’m not very fluid with words, but I scarcely believe I could find any to do justice to what I feel in this moment, even if I were a poet. Just know that I will never be able to thank you enough.”

“But… I’ve done nothing.”

“You’ve given me your heart, and now every other part of you as well, which is already far more than a man like me could ever ask for. But there’s so much more happening to me right now, because of you… I just don’t have the words… I feel as though I’ve been reborn, into the man I was always meant to be. And I owe that to you, Snow.”

She studied him closely, examining his words and trying to understand his reasoning. But then she seemed to decide that it no longer mattered.

“If I’ve made you happy, my beloved, then the reasons are inconsequential. My gratitude to you is equally indescribable, for the care you’ve taken with my body, and the tenderness with which you’ve claimed my innocence. So, if neither of us have adequate words at hand, then let’s just leave the subject with the knowledge that we are evenly matched in our ignorance, as well as our affection.”

He smiled at her, and nodded in agreement, before slipping free of her constricting core, and settling on his side next to her, tugging her snugly into his chest and feeling another burst of warmth in his heart, when she reached for him, wanting to hold him every bit as much as he did her.

Ember woke the following morning to gentle kisses, and a moustache, tickling her forehead and nose, and even before she was fully aware of it, she smiled, for no reason other than that she was too happy not to. Her body was heavy, and her eyelids too, so she let them remain closed while she coaxed her limbs awake enough to snuggle closer to her Pero, searching for his lips with her own, and mumbling unintelligibly in her delight at finding them. She felt him smile into the kiss, and calloused hands stroked her back.

“Are you actually speaking, sueño? Because if so, I think your mouth is broken.”

“I’m making happy sounds, so shut up before they become unhappy.”

He chuckled softly, and kissed her again.

“Understood.”

For a while, they just laid there, drifting between dream and reality, content to forget everything else and simply relish in each other, and what they now shared.

“How do you feel, Snow? Your body, I mean.”

She had to move a little in order to find out, tensing her muscles to test their functionality.

“Kind of… rigid. Like after a long run, or full day chopping wood. I wouldn’t have thought love-making would equal something so strenuous.”

“It engages every limb and every muscle, in a very unique way, so I would expect you to feel the effects of that. I was more concerned with your cunt.”

“Oh. Um…”

“If you’re not sore I’ll be most astonished. I just hope you’re not in any serious pain.”

She remembered his words from the night before, about wanting her to feel only pleasure from him, so that she’d keep wanting his touch and his body. She looked up at his face, to find his eyes closed and a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t feel any pain, don’t worry. I absolutely still want you.”

“But you are sore, yes?”

“Yes.”

Strangely, her admitting that seemed to ease his concerns, and he shifted his head forwards, blindly looking for something to kiss and finding her forehead again.

“I love you so much, Snow. I’ll never understand how you can love me in return, but I will always be grateful to you. And I’ll always do my best to give you anything you want or need; I promise you that.”

“I make the same promise to you, my love.”

He finally opened his eyes and looked at her, and there was still so much incredulity behind his enormous affection, but there was also a warm smile in his eyes.

“Well, even without asking I know what you need in this particular moment. And while it might not be what either of us want, I do need it too.”

“Let me guess; breakfast?”

“Indeed.”

Without pause, she threw the blankets off of herself, shivering slightly as the cold air washed over her, but relishing in the way his eyes widened and his nostrils flared at the sight of her naked form in the bright morning light, when she rose from the bed and reached for her shirt. He smiled in earnest while he sat up to unabashedly let his eyes roam over her as she got dressed, and then handed him his clothes. Downstairs, she headed for the fireplace first, while he went to the basement for food. They worked together without need for words to be spoken, as a kind of familiarity had now settled into the space between them, with their physical union having removed all forms of barriers from their shared lives. And once the meal was ready, they sat in front of the fire to eat, rather than move to the table, because on the pelt on the floor they could sit close, lean on each other and continue to steal touches as they pleased. Ember was amazed at how dissimilar her own body suddenly felt. It was no different that morning than it had been in the more than thirty years she’d come to know it, and yet, it behaved and felt unlike what she was used to. It was a subtle change, noticeable only in the periphery of her senses, but it was unmistakeable all the same. She had never felt better. Pero finished before her, and got up to return to the kitchen. She assumed that he was getting more bread, or perhaps refilling his cup of water, but he returned without either, instead holding a parcel. It was the same one that she’d brought in from the carrier that terrible day, when the black demon revealed itself to have followed them home after its initial attack. She’d forgotten all about it in the chaos that had ensued, leaving it on the floor in the kitchen thinking she’d ask him about it if and when opportunity arose, only to have it completely slip her mind. He sat down, and then handed it to her.

“When we were in Hallen, I saw this at a tradesman’s desk, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect it seemed for you. So, once I had everything else, and knew that my coin would suffice, I went back and bought it. I felt silly afterwards, because I knew that I’d bought it thinking it would make a good wedding-gift, even though I didn’t believe I’d ever have the privilege. But now, here we are.”

Stunned into silence by his confession, she merely held the parcel as she listened, feeling her heart swell with affection at the knowledge that even back then, when they were scarcely even friends, he’d dreamed of marrying her. She untied the string which held the package together, and carefully opened up the hemp covering, sucking in a surprised breath when the item was revealed. It was a cloak. But unlike any she’d seen or could ever hope to fabricate herself. The body of it was made of wool for warmth, but covered with a layer of silk on the outside, all of which had been dyed a deep green, lighter than the needles of a fir, but darker than grass. But it was also littered in embroidered flowers and feathers, made with a thin white silk thread, while the neck of it was covered with rare white reindeer fur, sewn down over the shoulders and upper back for added warmth. And into the fur, actual white feathers, the likes of which she’d never seen, had been attached, creating something of a mild plume fanning out from around the bearer’s neck, with smaller feathers closest to the skin, but getting progressively larger over the shoulders. They had to come from swans, as the largest ones were the length of her entire forearm. A steel clasp had been made to secure the garment at the front, polished to shine like the stars themselves.

“Pero… You could give this to a queen without fear of its inadequacy. You can’t possibly mean to give me this?”

“You are the only Queen to which I swear my allegiance, so actually, it would seem no more than proper.”

“But it’s too much. How could you even afford this; just how much coin do you have?”

“Not much now. Not that it matters, we’re both skilled enough to lend our services should the need for coin become dire, but with your masterful hunting abilities, I doubt we shall ever go hungry regardless.”

“But I have nothing for y-…”

He cut her off with a hand on her chin, pulling her mouth to his for a soft kiss, and then holding her face close while he spoke in a mere whisper against her lips.

“It’s yours. For no greater reason than that I want it to be. Not because I feel I need to buy you, as so many men do with the arrangements made between parents, giving the betrothed no choice of their own. I want you to have this only because it suits you, and perhaps because it would make me proud to see you in something so befitting your status, as I see it. Please, accept it.”

Entirely intoxicated by his closeness, and the deep timbre of his voice, all she could do was nod, before seeking his lips once more, but hungrier than he had sought hers. Heat was pooling in her center, building quickly into a fire that already rivalled the one beside them, and before she was aware she’d made the choice to, she was suddenly on his lap, seeking that sweet hardness against her core, even through her trousers. But his response, while warm and inviting, was less than she’d hoped for.

“Calm yourself, mi sueño, you are not yet ready to take me again.”

“Shouldn’t I get to decide that?”

“Not when I very much can hurt you, if we’re not careful. And I will never let that happen, no matter how strong your desire.”

She pulled back, and slumped a little in his lap, but his arms tightened around her in response.

“But if you’re truly craving, I can help give you some relief.”

She considered that. But his hands or mouth, skilled and pleasant as they were, wasn’t what she truly wanted. Not now when she’d felt what his cock could do for her.

“No, I’ll rather wait for all of you.”

He smiled, a little brazenly.

“I must’ve done truly well, then, if you’ve already come to prefer my sword to every other part of me.”

She smirked in return.

“Yes, well, perhaps there isn’t that much else desirable about your grumpy old self.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his mockingly shocked expression, as he identified her playful undertone, and promptly decided to play along.

“I’ll just have to show you how wrong you are, then.”

But before he could, the front door burst open and Ash practically flooded the room with its dark mass, as it squeezed through the narrow opening in less time than what seemed possible for such a large creature. She flinched with fear and shock, grasping at Pero and scrambling to move away from the intruder. But beyond quickly helping her to get off of his lap, he didn’t move at all. He just met the demon’s eyes, until something seemed to overwhelm him, and he slumped where he sat.

Ash flooded Pero’s system the moment it entered the room, filling the air with its vibrations, and he could instantly feel how stressed the beast was. His heart was being pounded by the forcefulness of its strange communication, to such an extent that he doubled over and had to close his eyes against the pulsing waves. It was clearly driven to such increased intensity by a dire threat of some sort, meaning that something bad must be going on.

“Mmuuussst… leeeeave.”

“What’s happening?”

“Thheeeyy… aaarre cooommminnng.”

Its urgency increased even more, making the vibrations truly painful to endure, and he had to force his words out in strained huffs.

“Wh-y would… they… c-come here?”

Concerned by the way he sounded, Snow pulled him into her arms, undoubtedly trying to shield him, and he felt her flinch as the vibrations suddenly carried over to her. He doubted that she could hear the creature through him, but her skin was sensitive enough to perceive what was happening to him, and it only made her grip on him tighten.

“Fooor… yyoooouu.”

What? That made no sense, why would the others be coming for him? What was it that made him important to their war, or whatever this was? The vibrations were abruptly cut off when Ash broke eye-contact with him, and Pero looked up to see what it was doing, only to freeze in fear when he saw its mouth break open, revealing its impossibly sharp teeth, as black as the rest of it, before it came at him, closing its jaws over the same shoulder it had bitten him in before. He felt the teeth sink into his skin and flesh, but then something more was cutting through him, in almost the same places, but not quite. He screamed with the agonising pain, even as he remembered that his scars held a double set of teeth, while he’d only seen one set in the demon’s mouth before it bit down. Somehow, the second row must be concealed in the roof and bottom of its mouth, coming out only after it closed its jaws around its prey, or perhaps simply at will. He couldn’t remember if he’d felt any secondary pain when Ash had bitten him the first time, but those had been vastly different circumstances, and he likely wouldn’t have noticed such a detail among the many other sensations which had plagued him in that incident. Whatever the case might be, he was certain that both rows now remained seated in his body, as he felt something being pumped into his blood, and with each passing moment, he felt heavier and heavier, until he fell to the floor, and the surrounding world faded away. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that Snow was screaming and fighting for him, and the last thought which passed through his poisoned mind, was the hope that Ash wouldn’t harm her for trying to protect him. That he had been right to place a modicum of trust in the beast, and that it understood that he would never help it, if he woke up to find his wife in anything but her normal perfect state.

His wife.

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

Link to Chapter 9

Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

@sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @hounding-around @tobealostwanderer @deadhumourist @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @nolanell @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @dihra-vesa @feminist-violinist @lowlights

[lexosaurus]

Tutoring Phantom Ch 1

Characters: Danny, Dash, Kwan Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Word Count: 4036 Summary: It was funny. A year ago Dash was all but praying for Fenton to shut up, but now he would do anything to hear him speak.

This is my very belated gift for @kinglazrus! It has ended up becoming a twoshot. Here’s chapter one!

Read on: [ao3] [ffn]

---

The revelation shook Amity Park to its core.

Fenton? Really? That Fenton? 

The scrawny one? 

The kid of those nut-job parents?

The one that got picked on?

I heard he’s a loner. Super quiet. 

It was always the quiet ones…

Isn’t he failing school? Maybe that’s why. Maybe it’s because he’s a ghost. Aren’t ghosts less intelligent than humans?

Teresa told me he ditches class all the time. Probably because of his Obsession.

That’s so creepy.

Fenton was...Phantom. Danny was Phantom. It was simply indisputable. Of course some conspiracy theorists were probably screaming about photoshop and CGI, but when Dash saw the transformation happen on television, there was no other way he could make sense of it.

Fenton was Phantom. 

The Guys in White had figured it out, evidently. According to their spokesperson, they had been analyzing Phantom’s ectoplasm samples left from a ghost fight when they found human DNA infused into the ectoplasm. Scans showed that it belonged to Danny Fenton.

When the GiW collected more samples from various ghost fights, all the results were the same. 

Fenton was Phantom.

So they developed a gun. And when Phantom was distracted with a ghost fight they denied planting (but they must have, there was no possible way they could have captured him otherwise), they hit him with it.

And he transformed right there in front of everyone. 

Fenton was Phantom.

And Dash had spent years ruining his life.

Dash collapsed on his couch, his glassy eyes fixated on the still image of Fenton’s horrified face. His hair was wild, his eyes even more so. In the background, he was surrounded by men in white suits, all armed to the teeth with guns. Above him, helicopters soared. 

Fenton was trapped.

There was no way out of it.

Dash had spent the better part of his life bullying the boy who would become his hero, and now he would never be able to apologize.

---

Well, maybe Dash spoke too soon.

By some miracle, Fenton was released from the government’s clutches. 

Eventually. 

Dash didn’t understand the science behind it, but apparently Fenton wasn’t dead. He was...almost dead? But not quite. He was just alive enough to have a pulse, just alive enough to have a heartbeat, just alive enough to be considered human in the eyes of the law.

Dash didn’t want to acknowledge just how relieved he was at this revelation. And if he were a good person, his relief would have come from the part where that meant his classmate was actually alive.

But he wasn’t a good person. What good person spends their downtime picking on the weak kids at school? What good person takes out their aggression on those who don’t fight back?

Dash wasn’t kind, he wasn’t nice, he wasn’t selfless. And that’s why he was relieved.

Because all of his relief came from the fact that if Fenton was alive, then Dash didn’t have to live with the guilt that he’d tormented a dead person. He didn’t have to lie awake at night wondering if he was the one to push Fenton past his breaking point, if he were responsible for Fenton’s death.

Because Fenton wasn’t dead. So what if he was almost dead? So what if he probably did die—if only for a moment—before his body was kickstarted back to life? Fenton wasn’t dead, so Dash didn’t have to think about it.

Dash could get away with it all scot free.

Just like always.

---

Fenton was allowed to come to school.

If Dash were honest, he was surprised by this. He didn’t think the PTA would have caved to the students, who had demanded that Fenton be allowed to return to school. But apparently they relented.

Under certain conditions.

Conditions which the government was more than happy to collaborate with.

It was Fenton’s first day back, and yet he didn’t look all there. He was pale, sickly, his hair too long and voice nonexistent.

But his eyes, those scared Dash the most.

His eyes were dead. 

It was as if someone had taken all the light that was Danny and replaced it with a puppet. There was nothing in there. Nothing inside of his skin. It was...dead.

What did they do to him?

The teachers didn’t try to make him engage with their lessons. They only looked at Danny with pity in their eyes when they would walk by. And Danny wouldn’t acknowledge them because he was just empty. 

Dash wanted to approach him. Talk to him. He had a whole speech prepared, and he knew Kwan did too. But the speech had all but died on his lips when he saw Fenton that morning. He knew—he knew—that nothing was going to get through to him.

Fenton was Phantom, but Fenton wasn’t even there.

And in his place was nothing but bones wrapped in skin held together by metal contraptions on his wrists, ankles, and neck.

Dash shivered. The one on his neck was blinking. It was a warning, Dash realized. A warning that Danny was dangerous. He was inhuman. He was Phantom. 

The students avoided him. Even the ones who had advocated for his safe return. Dash didn’t blame them, either. No one could have predicted that this would be coming back to their class.

Even so, Manson and Foley stuck by him. Dash watched them guide him to each class, carrying his books and trying their best to include him in the conversation. Sometimes he would even lock eyes with them, sometimes his lips would twitch upward and his eyes would brighten as if he were following along with Manson and Foley’s antics. 

Those moments were rare though. Fleeting.

Because in the end, the modicum of emotion would always vaporize from Fenton’s face and they’d be left with the blank, faraway glazed expression that he always seemed to wear now. The duo would be left talking between themselves, and Dash was left looking at them from the sidelines waiting for Fenton to open his mouth and just respond.

Gone were the days of the snarky comments and muttered undertones. Gone were Fenton’s stupid comments that Dash spent years beating him up over. 

It was funny. A year ago Dash was all but praying for Fenton to shut up, but now he would do anything to hear him speak.

No one knew what happened to Fenton during his stay with the government. No one knew what they did to him. Because, as far as Dash knew, Fenton hadn’t said a word since he returned home. Dash wasn’t sure if it was because Danny couldn’t respond, or if he just wouldn’t. 

He didn’t know which one was worse.

---

It had been one month since Fenton returned to school. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that he wasn’t doing well.

He drifted from class to class like he was in a dream, often not even bothering to put his notebook on his desk as he sat in each class staring at the wall with the same dead expression.

Fenton didn’t take his tests or quizzes with the class anymore. He was in the same math class as Dash and only lasted one exam before Mr. Falluca started proctoring his exams separately. Rumor had it they were trying to get him extra help, but the PTA didn’t want him integrated with Casper High’s most vulnerable students.

Dash thought that was a load of crap, personally. Dash had a few teammates who got extra help from the school’s learning center and they could handle themselves just fine.

Regardless, at this rate, Fenton was going to fail out of school.

Which was why it was of no surprise to Dash when he and Kwan were called down to Mr. Lancer’s office one day with a request to tutor Fenton.

“I know this is a lot of responsibility, and I know you haven’t always seen ways with Mr. Fenton in the past,” Mr. Lancer said, his fingers steepled in front of his chin. “But I can’t ask just anyone to do this. You two are leaders in your class, and you have some high marks to boot. Mr. Lee, you have consistently scored in the top ten percent of the class in your English and history courses, and Mr. Baxter, this past year you’ve done remarkably well in your math course.”

Dash had been regarded as many different things. Athletic, social, hotheaded, cocky, brave—but never smart. He was always known as the high school jock stereotype, he never did well in school.

But Mr. Lancer always knew he was more than just a stereotype, and when he called Dash and his parents after school one day with the recommendation that Dash get tested for ADD, suddenly everything clicked. 

It was amazing how a small pill each morning could turn Dash from a C student to a rising A student in the matter of a few months.

“And because I know how much I’m asking of you two, I have spoken to your teachers and they are willing to give you extra credit on your final exams as compensation.”

Dash cleared his throat. “Mr, Lancer,” he started, his voice scratchy. “With all due respect, why have us tutor him? Why not have the teachers do it?”

“I have been working with Mr. Fenton, and I’ll continue to through the school year. But he needs that peer to peer connection, he needs the support of those around him. I’m sure you’ve noticed the shift in your class, the growing uneasiness of those around you?”

Dash nodded. He would have had to have been blind to not see how everyone seemed to skirt around Fenton in the hallways, how nobody except Manson and Foley said so much as a “hello” to him.

“I understand,” said Dash. 

“The...ghost inhibitor thing isn’t helping, either,” Kwan added. “I’ve never seen that kind of technology used on any ghost. And you have to admit, Danny’s been acting really strange lately. Like he’s not even here. Mr. Lancer, if you don’t mind me asking, is it...are they…?”

The unsaid question hung in the air, and Mr. Lancer’s eyes darkened. “There’s only so much I’m allowed to say on this matter. But I would say your suspicions about the devices are likely to be true. Although, it’s hard for me to pinpoint exactly how much they’re affecting Mr. Fenton. He’s been through a lot.”

Dash felt lightheaded. So the rumors about the devices were true. At least, somewhat true.

If there was one thing both Fenton and Phantom were, it was resilient. Sure, the Guys in White could knock him down, but to change him this much? To give him so much baggage he couldn’t even speak?

It screamed foul play.

“That’s terrible,” Kwan said. “It’s sick knowing that they’d do that to him.”

“Indeed. Which is why I’m asking you both to step up as leaders of your class and help your fellow peer through this difficult time. If we can help Mr. Fenton become more integrated with his classmates, we may have a case to allow him to remove the inhibitors and get him real help.”

Dash could feel Kwan’s eyes on him, and he knew why. Dash and Fenton had history, and that made this complicated. There was so much unfinished business between the two. 

Was Dash ready to take this step? Was he really ready to be the selfless, altruistic hero like Phantom instead of the bully he had always been?

“Again, I know the school is asking so much of you both, and I am willing to personally help if need be. If, for whatever reason, you feel as though you can’t do it, there will be no judgement from me or any of your other teachers. This is entirely up to you.”

If Dash said no, Kwan would follow. If Dash wasn’t ready, Kwan wouldn’t force him into that position. It was exactly why Dash and Kwan were such good friends: Dash got his way, and he always knew Kwan would have his back.

But that wasn’t healthy. And it didn’t lead to good outcomes in the long term.

Now was the time for Dash to take that step. 

He needed to be the leader instead of the coward he always was.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

---

If Fenton was confused as to why his two former childhood bullies were now his after school homework buddies all of the sudden, he didn’t say it.

In fact, he didn’t say anything at all.

But Dash knew this would happen going into it. He knew it would be difficult to tell if Fenton’s head was in the clouds or if he was truly in the present. And he knew Fenton would just go along with whatever they threw at him anyway.

Because he was Fenton. He could never let Dash have the last metaphorical word, even if he was being suppressed by the physical manifestation of the United States government on his wrist, ankles, and neck.

He was annoying like that.

“See, this is what goes into the equation. F of x has its own definition, and g of x has its own definition. So in this problem we’re just replacing f of x and g of x with what’s written here. You see?” Dash asked, circling the functions and drawing arrows with his multicolored pens.

Fenton just stared down at his paper.

“Here, we can do it together,” Dash said. He took Fenton’s paper and wrote out the equation, going through the problem step by step with his neatest handwriting. Following Kwan’s lead from earlier, he talked through every minute detail about the equation, pausing in between lines to allow the information to sink in, and to give Fenton the opportunity to interrupt if he was lost.

Even though it was obvious that Fenton wasn’t going to interrupt.

And he didn’t. He sat there, staring dully at the paper like he was watching cement dry. And at the end, once Dash put his pencil down, Fenton just ran his finger across the problem, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t figure out how Dash’s writing had ended up on his paper.

And maybe he truly couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he didn’t understand what was happening. Maybe he had no idea that Dash was tutoring him.

Dash wasn’t a mind reader. He didn’t know what was going on in Fenton’s head.

“That makes sense, Dash!” Kwan supplied from across them, his voice bright and cheery. 

Even though they were technically just tutoring Fenton, framing the group as a small, informal study group seemed more appropriate in Dash’s eyes. 

“I think I understand this a little better now. What do you think, Danny?”

Fenton blinked slowly, his head raising to face Kwan.

“Do you think you get the first problem?” Dash asked.

Fenton’s gaze flickered over to Dash, and the confused expression on his face deepened. He cocked his head slightly, as if he was just seeing Dash for the first time.

A beat of silence stretched around the table, and Dash held his breath, waiting for something to happen. But after a moment too long, Fenton just turned his attention back to the paper, staring at it motionless.

Dash couldn’t help but send a quick ‘help’ glance over at Kwan. He had never tutored anyone in his life, much less a teen who was seemingly incapable of responding. 

Maybe...maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he was wrong to think he could do this.

But fortunately, before he could get too deep in his own insecurities, Kwan came to the rescue. “Dash, can we do one more together before trying a problem on our own? Number two looks a little different than number one, and I don’t really understand how to set up the equation!”

Dash sent a mental thank you Kwan’s way before plucking a purple pen off the table. “Sure!” He turned to Danny’s paper. “Okay, this is f of x. Looking at the equation, we know that it goes here. And this—” He swapped to a green pen “—is g of x. Where do you think this one goes?”

He sat patiently, as if he were waiting for Fenton to respond.

But Dash knew that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was wasting his time with this pause, even if he was only doing it to be polite.

Truth be told, he didn’t even think Fenton was listening to him. Fenton probably was incapable of that. Hell, he probably didn’t even remember where he was or how he got here.

But, just as Dash was about to go ahead and answer his own question for Fenton, the small teen shifted beside him. Dash’s eyes snapped onto Fenton, watching as the boy lifted his arm off his lap and pointed to the paper.

Dash’s eyes trailed down to the worksheet, down to Fenton’s hand, and froze. 

Fenton was pointing to the correct part of the equation.

He had been listening to Dash. He, somehow, was able to understand Dash.

Dash looked over to Kwan, who too was resembling a fish with his open mouth stare at the duo. His eyes met Dash’s, and a smile overtook his expression. He shot Dash a thumbs up, a clear encouragement to continue on.

“Yeah,” Dash breathed, turning his attention back to Fenton. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Fenton’s hand dropped back to his lap.

“Good, now let’s solve this together.”

---

As the days turned to weeks, slowly tutoring Fenton got a little easier. Though it was still impossible for Dash and Kwan to know just how much Fenton was absorbing with their sessions, they were starting to be able to decipher small behavioral quirks in Fenton’s body language to help guide them through the haze.

An eyebrow twitch here, a tiny jerk of his pupils there. His movements were small, but telling. And when he was truly spaced out, when their questions would yield not even the faintest twitch from him, a gentle tap on his arm seemed to pull him back to reality.

Tutoring Fenton could be difficult—some days it felt like nothing they said was committing to his fleeting memory—but it wasn’t impossible. Because under that dense fog clouding his mind was still the annoying, snarky teen they had grown up with.

And some days, they could still see glimpses of that snarky teen in him.

“Yeah so the coach is having us an extra gym routine tomorrow,” Dash said, closing his notebook and leaning back in his chair. “So I’ll probably be a half hour late picking you up. Sound good?”

Fenton didn’t respond.

Not that Dash was expecting him to.

“I hear we’re gonna have a wall-sit contest,” Kwan said. “Dale crushed us all last time, but I’ll have my revenge this time around!”

Fenton’s eyes flickered up to Dash. He tapped his thigh, the corner of his lips twitching up.

“What?”

Fenton paused, seemingly mulling something over, before loosely pointing to Dash’s legs with a subtle smirk.

Dash sat up, realization dawning on him. “Are you…are you calling my legs weak?”

Judging by the ghost of an impish grin on Fenton’s features, Dash was right.

“Really? You too?”

Fenton grinned and tapped his legs again.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk!” Dash crossed his arms. “I could kick your scrawny ass to next year if I wanted to!”

Fenton raised his brows ever so slightly.

“What, you think just because you’re Phantom that means you’re stronger than me?” Dash jammed his thumb to his chest. “Don’t forget who your gym buddy was Freshman year! Once those inhibitors come off, it’s you and me at the gym! I’d like to see you try to keep up with me, Fenton!”

Dash heard a snort from the other side of the table. His head whipped around to see Kwan with his hands cupping his mouth.

“What are you laughing at?”

With that, Kwan bursted out laughing and leaned back in his chair. “Dude!” He exclaimed, seemingly catching a breath. “You really think you can bench more than Phantom? Oh my god—I can’t breathe—that’s the funniest fucking thing!”

“Hey, have my back here!” Dash snapped. He glanced over to Danny, whose face had broken out into a full grin. “Yeah, laugh it up why don’t you!”

Danny just tapped his legs as a response.

Kwan roared in laughter and all but fell off of his chair.

“Oh, shut up!”

---

“We want in,” a voice said from above him.

Dash stuffed his notebook into his backpack, not even bothering to glance up at the speaker. “What are you talking about?”

“We know you’ve been doing homework with Danny after school, and we want to join.”

Dash sighed and threw his bag over his shoulder. He stood, facing Manson in all her glory. Though her outfit didn’t scream quite as goth as it had when they were Freshmen, she still had the same self-righteous stance that had always irritated Dash.

“Okay?” Dash responded. “And who is ‘we’?”

“Tucker and I. You know, Danny’s best friends? Have been since elementary school? The two people who have actually been there for him this whole time? Ring a bell?”

Dash rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m leaving. Study with him on your own time.”

He turned to walk away, but she grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Wait. Sorry, just—” She paused, dropping her arm back to her side, and Dash watched as a myriad of emotions flickered through her expression. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and cracks of insecurity seeped through her features. “Sorry. Let me start over.”

He straightened back up. “I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath. When she started, her voice was quiet but steady. “I get why Lancer asked you and Kwan to work with him. I do, I get it. But Tucker and I are his best friends. And you know how he is right now. Those devices are...they’re messing with his head. I know they are.” Her gaze flickered up at Dash, and she looked scared. “It hurts seeing him like this, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Dash said. “But I don’t see what this has to do with our study sessions.”

“He just seems happier now since he started. He seems better.”

Dash blinked. Whatever he was expecting her to say, that definitely wasn’t it.

Manson hugged herself, her shoulders hunching. She looked...small. Fragile. As if the slightest breeze would topple her over. 

This wasn’t like her.

“Whatever you guys have been doing, it’s working. He’s getting better. I don’t know, he just seems more present now. And...it hurts that I haven’t been there during this. You know, it’s been months since I’ve heard his voice. Not since before he got captured, since before those evil devices were forced on him. I know they’re preparing for a court case to get them removed, and I know there’s a chance he’ll get better again, but I just…”

“You miss him,” Dash said, surprising himself. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Dash sighed. “I don’t know how I can help with this.”

“Just give us a chance? Please. Just let us tag along, even if it’s only for a few days a week. We won’t interfere with the tutoring, we just want to be there.”

He stared at her silently, studying her face under her bangs. 

The past year had been hard on her, that much was obvious. And Dash, as unobservant and bullheaded as he was, could see the dark circles under her eyes, her blotchy skin, her chapped lips.

The way she stood there before him, a person who she would never have been caught dead being friendly with, defeated and all but begging for help.

Dash wasn’t selfless. He wasn’t altruistic.

He was just a dumb jock.

But in that moment, as he scrutinized the way her hands fidgeted and her lower lip wobbled, he couldn’t help but feel her sadness, her regret.

It was painful to watch.

“Okay.” He turned away. “We meet at Kwan’s at four. I’ll see you both there.”

---

chapter two> 

[starryeyedrookie]

Soulmates (Ethan x MC) Part 2

Book: Set after Open Heart book 3 with topic mentions from previous books.

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Evelyn Long)

Word count: 1,072

Rating: Teen

Category: Mostly fluff with some suggestive dialogue

Summary: Evelyn’s POV with continuation from Part 1 and elaboration on her story featured in The Newlywed Game.

Author’s note: I didn’t for this part to be so long, but I got a little carried away lol. Translation is in brackets on the side, and I hope you enjoy reading!❤️

The morning breeze was warm, with the smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries flooding Evelyn’s senses as she and Ethan walked to Dolce Vita.

She never imagined that they would get to this point. Holding hands, walking down the surprisingly quiet streets, now a married couple.

Still feeling a sense of disbelief, she smiled and shook her head, glancing down at her hand, her ring glittering in the sunlight confirming that yes, they had vowed to stay by each other's side for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

“What’s got you so giddy?” Ethan asked, catching her smiling to herself.

“I was just thinking about how far we've come together. We’re married! I guess it just doesn’t feel real yet.”

“I can understand that. Are you having any doubts?”

“Dr. Ramsey! I’m horrified that you would even ask such a thing!” Evelyn exclaimed, placing a hand over her heart faking distress. “No, I’m not having any doubts. You’re stuck with me until the day I die Mr. Chief of Medicine.”

“Good, because I don't intend on ever letting you get away. Oh, here we are.” Ethan announced as they approached the little café. “After you madame,” he said, holding the door open for her.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

Entering the store, they’re both overwhelmed by all the options.

As they waited in line, Evelyn began thinking back to those Duolingo lessons that she tried taking months prior. She never liked going anywhere that she couldn’t understand the language.

Reaching the front of the line, a new drink on the menu caught her eye.

“Buongiorno. Cosa posso offrirti oggi?” the barista asked. (Good morning. What can I get for you today?)

“Buongiorno, che sapore ha tua Madre?” she asked, pointing to the item on the menu behind the barista. (Good morning. What does your mother taste like?)

“Excuse me? Did you mean to ask, che sapore ha quella bevanda?” he inquired, pointing to the same spot on the menu. (What does that drink taste like?)

Quickly trying to think back to what she said, her face dropped in horror.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I got mixed up, and I didn’t realize-”

“She was trying to learn Italian before we came, so she can order in it,” Ethan added, trying to not make her feel worse.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded laughing, “I know how it is to try to learn a new language. I moved here three years ago and trust me, I’ve had my fair share of mishaps. The drink that you’re asking about is caffè d’un parrinu. It’s coffee with flavours of clove, cinnamon, and cocoa powder.”

“That sounds amazing.” she managed to replay still blushing furiously, hoping no one had heard her mistake.

“We’ll take two of those and two tiramisu-filled croissants please,” Ethan glanced at the barista’s name tag, “Oliver.”

“Coming right up!”

After paying, Oliver handed them a bag with their croissants and their coffees. “Here you go, have a nice day!”

“Thank you, you too,” Evelyn replied, taking Ethan’s hand and heading out.

The walk back to the hotel was quiet, neither one wanting to bring up what had just happened.

Upon entering their room, Evelyn placed her coffee on the small table and collapsed on the bed, screaming into her pillow.

“Dammit dammit dammiiittt!

Placing their bag and his coffee down, Ethan sat down on the bed next to her and rubbed her back soothingly.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re embarrassed, but please, if the other guests are going to file a noise complaint against us, let’s be wise about what we use the opportunity for.”

Sitting up and laughing through tears she wrapped her arms around him.

“I know what would cheer you up.”

“What?”

“Here,” he said, handing her his credit card, “take this and go get whatever you want.”

“I can't do that.” she protested.

“Yes, you can. Consider it your wedding gift.”

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, pushing him down on the bed and showering him with kisses. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“Surprise me,” he responded, giving her one last lingering kiss.

- - - - - -

About an hour later, Evelyn returned with two bags in hand.

“Thank you!” she exclaims, handing Ethan his card back.

“Of course, darling. Did you get everything you wanted?”

“I did.”

“Excellent, I slipped my mind to mention it to you earlier, but tonight, after dinner, we’ll be going on a gondola ride.”

“Booyah!” she squealed, pumping her fist in the air and dancing.

“If you do that on the boat, trust that I will push you off.”

She smiled and kissed him, “No you won’t. I think you’re all talk Dr. Ramsey.”

- - - - - -

That evening, after dinner, the newlyweds boarded the gondola and began floating along The Grand Canal, the setting sun shining a glorious golden light upon the water.

Evelyn sat across from Ethan, admiring how bright his blue eyes looked in the light, his face a look of calm peacefulness. She didn’t think that she’d ever seen him so relaxed.

Before she met Ethan, she thought she knew what love was. She had only loved one boy from the age of eight until eighteen. Her first and only boyfriend. When she left home for school, they tried to make long distance work, but slowly fell out of touch. It made her sad, but it didn’t break her.

Then she thought of when Ethan left for two months to go to the Amazon. She had felt more hurt at that moment than she did in her entire life. Hurt that Ethan hadn’t contacted her or even mentioned to her that he was leaving. Hurt that he had tried to erase all the progress that they had made in the previous year.

But they overcame it all. They stayed and fought together through everything that was thrown at them. From working tirelessly to find a cure for Naveen, to the attack on the Senator and the deaths of their friends. Leland Bloom had even tried to overthrow the hospital, but they took him down together.

Now here they were, Chief of Medicine and Head of the Diagnostics Team. They made each other stronger and pushed each to always be their best.

He was the love of her life and she was the love of his, and together they would be unstoppable.

Catching her staring, Ethan smiled and took her hands in his, “I love you Evelyn.”

“I love you too Ethan.”

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

Tag list: @mercury84choices , @a-crepusculo, @emmasumbrella , @quixoticdreamer16 , @headoverheelsforramsey, @mm2305

@choicesficwriterscreations

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed❤️

[awanderingdeal]

Hello there, Lucy! I really enjoyed the injury aspect of the O'darwin fic, I thought it felt very maturely handled to me. I was wondering if you'd perhaps write a continuation based on the last sentence where he stays busy healing in Gryffindor by spending time with Finn? I respect that you don't take hurt/comfort prompts so I'm very sorry if this is too much angst for you but I was hoping we could see Finn helping his brother through his recovery, please. Thank you!

Hi! Sorry this took so long to do 🙈 This isn't 100% what you asked for, but I hope it is satisfying!

You can read the prequel to this fic here which will provide context.

CW: healing from an injury

Rating: T

Let me know if you think I missed any content warnings or need to change the rating.

All characters and the sweater weather universe belong to @lumosinlove

Alex watched mournfully as the bright yellow ball soared past him again, the muscles in his thighs twitching with desire to chase it. Not even a year ago, he'd have met Natalie's serve easily. “Alright, that’s me out," he sighed, pride swelling in his chest. It was still difficult to temper his competitiveness like, but he’d learned his lesson the last time he’d over - done it. Besides, the berating he’d received off his physio hadn’t been worth the slight smoothing of the dent of his ego. 

"You good?" Finn spun the racket in his hands, hair plastered with sweat against his forehead. By this point Alex had gotten used to his brother's boring stare searching for any hidden ribbons of pain in his face. 

"You know the doc said I’m good to play again as long as I listen to my body. I’m listening. Do you want me to bring you a signed permission slip?” Alex bit back a comment about how Finn was only so concerned, because overstepping his limits was well within his own remit of personality flaws too. 

“Sorry for caring, dickface.” Finn stuck his tongue out and picked up a slow jog across the court to grab the ball. He tapped the edge of his racket appeasingly against Alex’s shoulder as he passed. “Blizz, Nat. You two play. Winner stays on?”

“Sir,” Kasey drawled, knocking the tips of his fingers on his temple in a lazy salute. 

Alex met Natalie's eyes across the net just briefly before their mouths split with a loud laughter. Next to her, Kasey blinked slowly at the two of them, his expression clearly indicating he thought they’d lost their minds. It only served to make them laugh harder until air forced itself out of Alex’s nose in a snort. He clutched his side, the muscles there beginning to complain about the lack of oxygen they were receiving. “Did Finn just possess you?” Alex finally managed to gasp out. 

“You become more of an amalgamation of your team each day, Sugar,” Natalie said, a smile still settled on her lips as she pressed them to Kasey’s cheek. “Now go -" she pushed him away playfully, "- onto the other side. I have a game to win.” 

“I’m influential," Finn grinned.

“You’re something, but influential isn’t the word I would choose." Kasey raised an eyebrow. The ball was thrown in his direction at speed, but he plucked it from the air with ease, Kasey's expression smug as he curled long fingers around it. "Do you want another attempt at that, Harzy."

"Just watch your back, Winter," Finn laughed lightly, showing Kasey his middle finger. 

Kasey snorted. "Well, alright. While Finn perfects his supervillain act, Nat, are you good to play first to ten points?" 

"Sure thing," Natalie nodded, her ponytail bobbing. She snaked her tongue over her lips to wet them and smirked. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, babe."

"No you won't," Kasey deadpanned. 

"You're right, I won't, Natalie laughed. Alex loved that laugh; it was almost childlike, loud and unapologetic but warm and inviting, just like the rest of her personality. It made Alex want to laugh when he heard it.

"I get ripped into when I look at my boys like that," Finn said, nudging Alex’s shoulder as they sat on the bench, metal warm against the back of their legs under the unseasonably warm early afternoon sun. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re falling in love all over again.” Finn had flung his towel over his shoulder, head tipped back slightly, gulping water from the bottle pressed to his lips. He looked far too nonchalant for the sentence that had just left them. 

“You really should have been a brooding artist," Alex teased. Brooklyn would welcome you with open arms." Finn wasn’t wrong though. Alex seemed to find a new way to fall for Natalie and Kasey every day. 

“And deny the world the joy that is Finn O’Hara on the ice? I think not.” 

“So modest.” Alex nudged Finn this time, taking the opportunity to swipe Finn’s water bottle from his hands. He had his own, but he’d dumped his backpack on the other side of the court. Finn made a weak protest, huffing as he hauled his bag onto his lap, grumbling something unintelligible whilst he dug through it. After a lifetime of living with Finn, Alex had learned not to try to decipher the conversations his brother had with himself, instead drumming a beat against the bench until eventually Finn pulled out a silver pouch, grinning triumphantly.  It looked like the sort of thing you would take on a long hike. Alex peered closer at it. “Is that tuna? Just plain tuna.”

“I’m gonna put hot sauce in it,” Finn said, setting the pouch carefully to the side. He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his bag, seeking out a fork and the aforementioned hot sauce. Alex watched in horrified silence as Finn tore the top of the pouch open to release a waft of fish and dumped an obscene amount of the sauce in there. 

“I -” Alex had so many questions he wanted to ask, except he knew asking them would probably only result in having more questions. “That is so gross.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” 

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Finn shovelled a forkful into his mouth, smacking his lips together noisy. “More for me.”

Alex was too distracted to respond. Kasey had just won his first point; Natalie having taken the first, and he took the lull in play as an opportunity to remove the thin headband keeping his hair out of his face. He shook out the brunette strands, neck exposed as he stretched to comb his fingers through it. 

"Didn't he do a shampoo commercial like this once?" 

Alex hummed, glancing briefly at Finn before setting his eyes firmly back on the view in front of him. "A while back...think I'd just left for Florida. I watched that thing more times than I care to admit."

He didn't have to look to feel the eyeball directed at him. Alex expected some teasing quip, but Finn's voice came at him concerned. "How are you-”

“My knee is fine, Finn," Alex sighed, a little irritated. He just wanted to enjoy watching Natalie and Kasey play. "Stop fussing, will you? I'm still the big brother here.”

“You know you can be a real bitch sometimes. I was going to ask how you were feeling about everything." Finn leaned forward, hand outstretched and precariously close to Alex's eye. He laughed as Alex leaned back to avoid the digits. 

"Do not put your tuna fingers near my face.” 

"Stop changing the subject," Finn admonished. "Where's your head at? You said last week you were struggling to find stuff to fill your time?"

Alex scratched at the stubble sprouting along his jawline. "God, when did you get so mature? You were knee high last time I checked."

"Alright, old man. 30's really hitting you hard, huh?" Finn dug his fork back into the foil pouch, pouting when it came out empty. "I've got water balloons in my backpack if that makes you feel better. Not full of water, of course."

"Of course," Alex laughed. "Why do you have water balloons in your bag?"

"Harry is coming over tomorrow afternoon and since the weather is a little nicer now -" Finn paused, halfway through crumpling the pouch into a tight ball. "-Hey, I see what you did there. Stop trying to distract me." He finished compressing the ball, cocking his head slightly to look at Alex properly. "You really don't want to talk about it?"

Alex breathed out heavily, slouching back against the bench. "Not today, Finn. Today I just want to enjoy," he gestured vaguely at the court. "But, I promise we'll go for breakfast sometime next week and we can talk."

"I just don't want," Finn started, the opening and closing of his mouth resembling his nickname. "No, you're right. You're a big boy. If you say you're okay then I'm going to believe you. Just...I'm here if you need me, alright?"

Alex sat up pulling Finn into a hug, his brother's arms wrapping tight around him. "I know. I know. I really am doing better, sometimes I just don't want to have the conversation, y'know? Love you, kiddo."

"Don't call me that," Finn grumbled, squeezing Alex tighter one last time before he pulled away. "Love you too."

[thatringboy]

Xiaoven idol au? 👀 (no angst please ahah)

okay it may seem a tiny bit angsty at the beginning but i prommy it turns into kisses and cuteness as it goes on

We're Doing It Together

Warnings: Xiao being dumb as rocks and oblivious as hell to everything

Characters: Xiao, Venti

Ships: Xiaoven

Word Count: 1,774

Summary: Idol!Xiao finds out that his close friend Venti wants to join a new troupe after the two of them being solo for a while

The cold night air bit at the young man’s nose as he pulled his forest green hood down over his eyes. He could see his breath float away in the air as he sighed and checked his watch.

He’s late.

The sound of sneakers smacking the pavement got louder in his ears until someone ran up to him out of breath. “Xiao! I’m so sorry! Practice ran long and then Kaeya started an argument with Lisa and then--”

Xiao put a hand to silence him and returned his gaze to the frozen river under the bridge. “It’s fine. Must be nice to have a group like that.”

The new arrival laughed lightly and nudged him. “You make it sound like I’m on stage preforming with them!”

“It’s not like Jean won’t let you.”

He put his hands behind his head, his teal braids blowing gently in the wind. “Eh, my time has come and gone for this business.”

Xiao glared at him. “You make us sound old!”

It was true, the two young men no longer preformed with their original groups. Xiao’s group “Yaksha 5” had disbanded as the other four members all left the idol business and his new band “Adepti” only met once a month to write songs. No more live performances. The other young man, Venti, used to preform under the stagename “Barbatos” with the famous idol group “Celestia”, but he and the other remaining senior member - a tall man who went by the stagename “Morax” - had left a while ago. Now, Morax went by Zhongli and occasionally wrote songs with Adepti while Venti became a choreographer with a popular rookie troupe named “Favonius”.

The two stood there in silence watching the lights of streetlamps dance off of falling snowflakes before them. Venti tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and sighed. “I got an offer from a new group of guys who want me on stage with them. They say they want me on soprano.”

Xiao gave him a sideways look. “And? I thought you swore off preforming or something when you left Celestia.”

Venti balled his hands into fists inside his pocket and didn’t meet his eyes. “I think… I met the center of this group; he’s a really nice guy. They’ve got a manager already and apparently have done some music with Jean. She’s the one who got me in contact with them.”

“So you’re gonna join them?” His voice sounded distant, lonely. There weren’t many solo performers in the idol world. Xiao and Venti had been riding their residual fame from their past groups for years and hadn’t really signed contracts with a single troupe from how sourly they left their past groups. Xiao thought they were special in that way… but Venti was the one still getting new offers for shows while Xiao had to almost beg to be an opening.

Venti looked him in the eyes. “I haven’t agreed to yet.”

“Really?” Xiao scoffed. “And here I thought you would be all over the chance to start a new group.”

The shorter man squinted his eyes. “I told them I’m only joining up if my conditions are met!”

Xiao’s eyebrows shot up. “You have standards?”

“Of course! And very high ones at that!” Venti pouted. “How else do you think I put up with you?”

Xiao felt warm in the face at that remark, he only prayed that the darkness of the night hid this from Venti.

Suddenly, Venti’s volume dropped to a whisper and he began to fidget with his fingers. “My conditions were that you had to join the group as well. They want to call the group ‘4NEMO’ and they were still searching for a fourth guy so I figured…”

He trailed off as he caught Xiao staring at him with a bewildered expression. Venti began to panic. Did he just hurt Xiao’s pride? He knew that the taller man didn’t like to accept help from others, but for some reason he thought this time would be different.

Venti was yanked from his thoughts as Xiao closed the distance between them and engulfed him in a hug. “My my, what a sudden show of affection!”

Xiao had did it to keep Venti from seeing the red on his cheek. Truth be told, he was deeply touched by Venti turning down a chance to play more shows if he couldn’t be by his side, but he was too inexperienced at returning kindness. A hug seemed to suffice, right?

“Thank you, Venti, that means the world to me.”

“Does it really?” The words spilled from his mouth before he even finished thinking them. He didn’t want Xiao to agree to something as serious as starting a new idol group with strangers just to appease him.

Xiao pulled away just to lean down and press the softest of kisses to Venti’s lips. The shorter of the two thought his heart was going to explode. Sure, the two had danced around each other for as long as they knew each other and Venti would have been a fool to not notice Xiao’s attractiveness during that time. But they had never been more than friends-who-flirt-with-each-other.

The taller pulled away with a red face as he searched Venti’s eyes. “Does that convince you?”

Venti nodded briskly, his brain not exactly processing what had just happened. It seemed Xiao’s brain was only just then catching up to his actions because he suddenly stepped back and covered his mouth with his hands, his eyes widening to a horrified expression.

“I didn’t--I mean--I--Sorry!” He blurted out from behind his hands.

Venti touched his own lips and blinked a few times before thinking of what to say. “So you really want to be in a group with me, huh?”

Xiao pulled his hands down and while his face was contorted into a snarl, his cheeks still burned red. “And? So what?! Don’t let it go to your head, I just need the money!”

The shorter man giggled and grabbed Xiao’s hand, lacing their fingers together without any resistance. “Sure, whatever you say~”

Despite his harsh tone, Xiao pressed the side of his body next to Venti’s to b closer to him. “So, who are the guys in this group?”

Venti hummed. “Well, the center is this blonde guy named Aether who’s new in town. I heard he’s done some work for Favonius in the past and that he’s friends with the girls in Qixing. The other guy is named Kazuha. He ran with Beidou’s crew for a bit to get away from the whole Tenryou Doxxing drama and now he’s teaming up with Aether to form 4NEMO. I think the manager is Sucrose. You know, Albedo’s manager? She’s picking up the job for this group too.”

“Hmm, impressive. Sounds like a good group. I think I’ll like it.” Xiao looked out to the distance.

Venti beamed. “Wait, you mean it?”

Xiao felt himself turning red again. “Ah, yeah, sure. I know Aether, we did so collab work once, I trust him.”

Venti reached up and poked his cheek. “And because you’ll be dancing with me?”

Xiao grabbed his hand and leaned down again. “I wouldn’t mind getting back into the idol drama if you were by my side. Maybe I just want you.”

The shorter man went red in the face and tried to laugh that last statement off. “Wow, that’s some confession, huh? It’s a good thing I feel the same way, otherwise I’d tease you to death over this.”

Xiao let go and his face dropped into a shocked expression. “You’re serious? You feel the same?”

Venti laughed out loud, hugging his sides. “Yes, dummy! Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered with all of this! I thought all of that was clear when you kissed me! Gods you are slow!”

Xiao frowned and crossed him arms. “I was just… you’re very hard to read!”

Venti stopped laughing and grabbed the sides of Xiao’s hood, pulling him down to eye level. “And you are like an open book. It’s funny to watch you, Xiao. You can be very suave and smooth with your words, but other times you get all flustered and you close up. It’s cute!”

“I’m not cute.” He didn’t pull away, just adverted his eyes.

Venti made a disagreeing noise and closed the distance between them. This time the kiss was softer, smoother and had much more passion behind it. Venti made a happy noise when he felt Xiao wrap his arms around his back and moved to place his own arms around Xiao’s neck.

Xiao found himself sinking more and more into Venti’s embrace. The taste of cheap wine on his breath, the way his mouth molded to hold him and the way his hands gently caressed the back of his head was all too much for him to handle. His anxieties melted away as he pulled Venti’s smaller frame flush against his own. For just how long had he been waiting to do this? Ever since they met, Venti had always been flirty and open about his emotions, but Xiao had quickly deduced that it was all a mask he put on to keep himself from being hurt by those around him. Xiao was similar in that sense, always acting aloof and angry to keep people from getting too close to him. But when he was with Venti… none of that mattered. When he was with Venti, he didn’t care how badly things ended with Yaksha 5, he didn’t notice the way his ratings dropped, he didn’t pay attention to the social media slandering.

Venti was like some sort of wind spirit: always floating from one place to the other without a concern. Xiao wanted to learn more, to be more like him. And to him, joining this new 4NEMO group was the fastest way to do that.

When they pulled away, Venti did not fail to notice the glimmer of love in Xiao’s gaze. He brought his hands down to Xiao’s waist and hugged him close with a giggle. “You are cute.”

“No I’m not.” Xiao hugged him back with a pout.”

“Yes you are~”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes-s-s-s you are Gao-Xiao!” Venti bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Xiao let go and tried to push him away. “I am going to throw you over the side of this bridge if you call me cute one more time.”

Venti let him go with a smile, a hand fishing into his pocket for his phone. “Then I’ll call Aether and tell him you’re in?”

Xiao’s face went back to the loving smile from before. “Sure thing.”

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 2)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationship: Male Part Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Anthropology, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Infertility, Birth, Oviposition, Egg-Laying Words:

Commissioned by @ivymemnoch​! The reader and Dr. Halvorg discuss his lingering infertility problem. Amai lays her final clutch of eggs. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Good morning, class!” You said on the first day.

“Good morning!” Fourteen bright voices responded.

All of the children except for baby Yenu were sitting on their tails behind desks in a room that had been set up as a classroom by the staff.

“So, every day each week we’re going to work on a different subject,” You began. “Mondays are reading and language comprehension, Tuesdays are maths and sciences, Wednesdays are social studies and economics, Thursdays are geography and history, Fridays are fun days with arts, crafting, music, and educational games. Today is Monday, so we’re going to start with reading. You should each have a workbook appropriate to your developmental level in your desks, so please take out your reading workbooks.”

As the children shuffled and searched for the right book, Dr. Halvorg stepped inside the classroom with a clipboard. You raised an eyebrow.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I’m observing the children in a school setting to see how they adapt,” He replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And I’m also assuming how I teach, correct?”

He dipped his head sheepishly. “I was curious. And it’s for my research.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Mm.” You turned back to your students and fell into your teacher’s voice. “Keenai, if you would begin reading the first sentence, please?”

Keenai picked up his workbook and started reading. “The small dog lives in a red house.”

“Can you tell me which of these words are verbs?”

“Um…” He looked at the sentence, frowning.

“To remind you, a verb is an action word, something someone does.”

“Uh… lived?” He replied slowly.

“Very good.” You said, and he smiled in relief. “Tani, you’re next. Read the next sentence in your book.”

“The red house was built on a wed… wedeness…”

“Wednesday,” You said. “That’s a hard word, I know. Can you tell me what the noun is in that sentence?”

“House?”

“Good! A noun is a person, a place, or a thing. I’m a noun, you’re a noun, the room we’re in is a noun.”

“Is Nenish a noun?” Jinsa asked.

“Yes.”

“Ha ha, you’re a noun!” Jinsa said, pointing at Nenish.

“So are you!” Nenish interjected.

“Hey, hey! Settle down, please!” You called over them, sitting on the edge of your desk. “Fuma, you next.”

Fuma read from his book, and then Amaia. Next, you went down the line of the four-year-olds, having them read a sentence and find colors, shapes, numbers, or sounds in the sentences. The three-year-olds were next, and they simply read small sentences. You then had the one-year-olds spell and say three-letter words.

Their quick development was normal for nagas, as they tended to age quickly until they hit puberty, when their aging progress slowed to accommodate for yearly hibernation, but it was also startling in conjunction with the developmental levels of similar creatures. You had never studied the advancements of a species’ young so closely before, and you had to admit, it was fascinating. You could see why Dr. Halvorg found it so interesting.

You set the children writing tasks appropriate to their learning level and took a moment to talk to Dr. Halvorg, who was scribbling quickly in a notebook.

“They have computers now that you can write on, you know,” You told him, amused.

He looked up over his glasses at you and quirked an eyebrow. “I am aware of that, thank you. I’m not quite so old-fashioned as I seem, regardless of what Amai might tell you.” He looked back down and continued scribbling. “I’m a chronic note-taker. A bad habit I can’t seem to break, though with my profession, it’s often a strength rather than a weakness.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “And what do your notes say about my teaching?”

“Adequate,” He replied, still scribbling. “Don’t misunderstand, that’s not a criticism. I hold everyone to an extremely high standard. If you hadn’t met expectations, I would have dismissed you.”

“So I meet your expectations?” You asked sardonically.

“At the moment,” He said, snapping his book closed and standing up. “I still want to observe your other classes before I’m completely satisfied.”

“Hmm,” You said again.

True to his word, Halvorg attended every class that week, observing you interacting with the children. Other than a question or two about your future curriculum, he stayed quiet. At the end of the week, he asked that you submit a weekly progress report until you either found a replacement or were dismissed.

It seemed excessive to you, and you were beginning to wonder if he still saw the children as an experiment. He seemed to care about them, but how much of that was genuine and how much of it was his own self-interest? You were starting to feel leery of and disconcerted by him.

Perhaps he picked up on this, because he seemed to go out of his way to avoid you. He had you direct all of your questions and reports to his assistant and rarely picked up his phone. Any conversations were brief and succinct. He did send you notes on your curriculum, making suggestions for each child. If you weren’t already suspicious of his motives, you might almost have though it sweet.

“I think Halvorg is avoiding me,” You told Amai when the two of you went to lunch together. Now that the two of you could hang out after all the years, you made it a point to set time aside for each other and had lunch at least once a week.

“What makes you say that?” Amai asked, drizzling dressing over her starter salad.

“Ever since he watched me teach classes, he’s barely spoken to me. He seemed excited to exchange research notes when I first arrived, but now he seems to have no interest in speaking to me since he finished observing class.”

“He could just be busy,” Amai suggested. “The four year old’s birthdays are coming up. He always does something special for the kids on their birthdays.”

“Are you concerned that he only sees your children as test subjects?” You asked her. “He seems obsessed with them.”

Amai laughed. “I thought that way in the early days, but he genuinely loves kids. If anything ever happened to me or Yenuno, I’m confident Halvorg would take care of them.” She took a sip of her mineral water. “Are you coming to the kids party? You’re invited, obviously.”

“Will there be clowns? I hate clowns.”

She snorted. “Nothing so gauche. I think Halvorg set up a treasure hunt. The kids always love whatever he plans. Honestly, I know I complain about him, but he does make it easy for me sometimes. I haven’t had to plan any major events since the kids hatched.”

“Hmm… I don’t know. It’s strange to me how involved he is.”

Amai sat back in her seat and eyed you shrewdly. “Did he ever tell you about his son?”

You looked up in surprise. “Son? I thought you said he had no children.”

“He doesn’t… technically.” Amai set her fork down. “You didn’t hear this from me so don’t repeat it, but he had a wife nearly a hundred years ago who cheated on him. He raised a boy, thinking he was his son, but the child was actually fathered by the other man. His wife left him and took the boy with her and he never saw him again. I don’t think he ever got over that.”

“Oh, god,” You replied, horrified. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“He’s spend the last several decades saving dying races from the brink of extinction. In a way, he thinks of those children he helped bring into the world as his children, too. And every time he has to let them go, it’s like losing his son all over again. I think the fact that he gets to help raise our babies is something of a gift for him. Trust me, it’s not something he takes for granted.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that,” You said in dismay.

“Halvorg is stuffy, strict, and a stickler for protocols, so he can be difficult to read, but I assure you, he loves my children as if they were his own. It may have started as research, but he has a family now and I think that’s what he wanted all along. Try not to judge him to harshly.”

You conceded with a nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The following Saturday, you attended the kids birthday party as requested. The kids were excited and zooming around the receiving area, shrieking and laughing, all of them wearing party hats and nothing else. Amaia was piggy-backing on Dr. Halvorg, her tail wrapped around his waist for stability and her arms hugged around his neck. Dr. Halvorg walked around completely normally, as if this was a typical action and he was used to it. He watched the children playing with a wide, fond grin on his face.

You walked over to Amai and Yenuno, who were watching from the refreshments table with Yenu, feeding her crackers.

“Nothing like a little bit of chaos in the morning,” You said.

They laughed.

“You’ve never seen them after a group kill,” Yenuno said. “They’re uncontrollable after they’ve taken down an elk together. It’s pretty incredible to watch for me, personally. Nagas in the wild typically don’t work together and they especially don’t hunt together, not even siblings.”

“They are very close and friendly, for nagas,” You remarked. “Markedly different to most snake-related species I’ve met.”

“It’s Amai’s blood and influence that’s doing it, I’m sure,” Yenuno said, kissing his wife’s cheek. “She’s the most friendly and cheerful person I’ve ever met.”

“To be fair, sweetie, you haven’t met all that many people,” Amai said, laughing.

“That is fair,” Yenuno conceded. “My point stands, though.”

“Alright children, gather ‘round!” Halvorg called, and they flocked to him, swirling around him like a whirlpool. “Now, you guys are going to split up into teams to help Nenish, Tahara, and Sadji find their gifts. Nenish will have Tani, Jinsa, and Keenai on his team. Tahara will have Amaia, Osan, Ishni, and Dashu on his team. And Khuzho, Chidil, Fuma, and Itheti will be on Sadji’s team.” He handed a small leaflet to each team. “Follow the clues to find the treasures! Go!”

The kids scattered, giggling madly.

“Come get something to drink and rest for a minute, Halvorg!” Yenuno called. “I think you’ve earned it.”

Halvorg grinned boyishly, an expression that brightened his face and made him look… well… rather handsome. He jogged over to the table and had a ginger ale. Elves have hypermobile ears, and his ears were high and wiggling slightly, a normal indication in elvish peoples of happiness and excitement.

“I think they’ll really enjoy their gifts this year,” Halvorg said, taking sips of his soda. “And the treasure hunt is half the fun. It’s challenging, but not too difficult. If they work together, it should be no trouble at all.”

“You didn’t get them history books like last year, did you?” Amai asked with her eyes narrowed. “You might as well have burned the money you spent on those for all the use they got out of them.”

“No, I learned my lesson,” He said defensively. “I bought toys.”

“Educational toys?” Amaia asked shrewdly.

He stopped mid-sip and looked at Amaia with an eyebrow raised. “…maybe,” He said into his cup.

Amaia rolled her eyes. “At least Yenuno and I ordered some stuff the kids will like.”

“You don’t know that they won’t like them,” I said. “I loved educational toys.”

“Yeah, but you’re a nerd,” Amaia said, poking you playfully.

“So what? Your kids could be nerds, too. I’m pretty sure Osan is going to be a Star Wars fan. He’s been talking my ear off about the Mandalorian.”

“It’s so strange,” Amaia said, ignoring your response and looking off in the distance. “I thought that because the kids were hatched in clutches, they would be like twins or triples or the like and have similar interests and personalities, but they’re all so different. Different likes, different traits, different styles. It’s amazing.”

“It amazes me, too,” Yenuno said, staring into his drink with a wistful expression. “My siblings and I separated when we were young, so I don’t know what they were like or if we had similar interests. Honestly, until recently, I never gave them a thought. Watching my children work together… it makes me wonder what my own siblings were like, and if they’d still be alive today if we had helped each other.”

There was a contemplative silence for a few minutes, broken by excited voices reentering the receiving area.

“We found it!” Tahara said, holding up a wrapped gift. The other four were carrying smaller treat bags that had their names written on them. “Uncle Maël, look!”

“Excellent! Well done!” Halvorg said, bending to give Tahara a hug. “Now, let’s wait until your brothers return with their gifts before we open them, okay? How about you five play tag until then?”

“Okay!” Tahara said.

“I’ll play with you,” Yenuno said. “I’m starting to get fat, preparing for the incubation period.” He patted Amai’s belly, which carried his three eggs, likely to be the last clutch they’d have together.

“How soon?” You asked Amai as Yenuno took off to chase with his children.

“Any day,” Amai said with a weary sigh. “And I’m ready for it. These little guys are heavy.”

“Boys or girls?”

“We won’t know until they hatch. It’s too hard to get a clear picture with the ultrasound, and besides, even if it could, both the male and female genitalia are internal, so it’s nearly impossible to tell.” She took a sip of ginger ale. “We’re really hoping for at least one girl. Don’t get me wrong, we love the boys more than anything, but we’d like Amaia and Yenu to have some sisters.”

“I’d like to be present for the laying, if that’s okay,” You said.

“For your research?” She asked.

Your head rocked back. “No, because you’re my friend and I want to be there for you.”

Amai smiled fondly. “Oh. Of course, thank you.”

Dr. Halvorg had not added anything to the conversation with you and Amai, and instead went to the table and made a plate of snacks. You gave Amai a look and a cocked eyebrow, and she nodded understanding, slipping away from her spot to watch her husband and children play.

“Dr. Halvorg?”

He flinched and looked up, glancing around furtively and noticing that the two of you were alone. “Yes?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again before responding, “I’m doing no such thing.”

“I’ve requested at least three meetings with you this past month, and you’re always too busy,” You said dryly.

“Well, I am,” He said, turning. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Are you avoiding me because I asked you out?” You asked bluntly.

He missed a step in his stride and stopped.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I should have realized from your professional demeanor that you wouldn’t be open to interoffice dating. I apologize.”

Halvorg sighed and turned to face you. “It’s not that. Not exactly, I mean.” He set his plate on the table and looked you full in the face for the first time in weeks. “I haven’t given a thought to dating in…” He rubbed his forehead. “Gods… decades. The question took me off guard, of course, and I actually had to sit down and give it some thought. I’ve been wrapped up in my work, of course, but I think I was just distracting myself.”

“From what?”

He sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “It’s hard to talk about. I don’t even really talk about it with Yenuno, and I would consider him my closest friend.” He sighed heavily and avoided your eye. “I’ve ignored my personal life in favor of spending my career and fortune in this century helping races achieve something I want for myself.”

“Children?” You guessed.

He nodded a little morosely. “Not just that, but that is a significant part of it. I’ve been following the reproduction rates of Celtic fae since the fae were originally integrated and it’s decreasing year by year. I live in constant fear that my own race will be extinct in my lifetime.” He quirked his head at you. “Your race still seems to be fairly prolific, is that correct?”

“Oh yeah, I have a bunch of brothers and a truckload of cousins. No problems there.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what the problem with my race is. I’ve studied genetic traits, magical impediments, marriage and divorce rates, and ratio of coupling to conceptions.The numbers are terrible and I don’t know why. That’s what drives me crazy. I hate not having an answer.”

“Have there been miscarriages?”

“No, that’s the crazy thing, the rate of conception is extraordinarily low. I think there have only been three live births of Celtic fae blood in the last year.”

“Oh, jeez,” You said, sitting against the table next to him. “I didn’t realize the problem was that severe. Have you considered whether it might be a physical problem?”

“How do you mean?”

“Have you ever done a sperm count? Or had an MRI of the area to see if there’s a blockage? That kind of thing can be genetic and men tend to be shy about stuff like that.”

He tilted his head and frowned. “No, I haven’t. It actually hadn’t occurred to me. Honestly, I’ve been so focused on my work to distract myself, it may have worked too well and I ignored such things.” He looked at you and smiled. “You’ve given me something to think about.”

You smiled back. “Good. I wonder if the females of the race have a similar issue. It may have been something bred into the people over time, over centuries.”

“That’s possible,” He said. “There’s certainly a precedent; some creatures have been bred to extinction. Remember the pug?”

“That tiny dog breed with the squashed face?” You said. “Yeah, they died out a while ago, didn’t they?”

He nodded. “That was human interference, though. Yenuno’s people were dying out due to antisocialism; too reclusive to even propagate their own species. Yenuno was the only one of his kind to take up this project, and even he was reluctant.”

“He seems happy now,” You remarked.

“Yeah,” Halvorg said softly, watching Yenuno laughing and chasing his kids with a sad kind of jealousy. “He does.”

You watched his face, the deep, deep sadness creasing his face and making him look older than he was.

“Follow up, Halvorg, see a specialist. This may have a fix that didn’t exist the last time you tried.”

He nodded, smiling at you, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I will.”

As you stood up, you bumped his shoulder lightly. “Thank you for talking to me. I appreciate that you trusted me enough to discuss such a sensitive subject. I get the feeling that you don’t share yourself with many people.”

He laughed. “No, not really.” He looked up with a smile that seemed more sincere. “Thank you for listening.”

Amai went into labor three days later. She was taken to the laying room, where both Yenuno and Dr. Halvorg were present in addition to the interspecies OBGYN. You were suited up in scrubs and the paper gowns that surgeons wear, as was everyone else in the room besides Amai, who was completely naked, and Yenuno, who never wore clothing. There were natal heart monitors on her belly and an EKG hooked up to her chest.

Amai was sitting on a specially designed chair that would allow her to pass the eggs through her birth canal and into the waiting arms of the doctor. She was already sweating and panting by the time you arrived. The OBGYN and Dr. Halvorg were having a quiet conversation. You went to the other side of Amai and took her hand, trying not to wince when she nearly crushed your fingers.

“Is she okay?” You asked in alarm.

“She’s not fully dilated yet,” Halvorg said, pulling his braid into a surgical cap. “The eggs are getting impatient, it seems.”

“Yeah, well, so am I, so they can settle the fuck down!” Amai shrieked at him.

He bore the abuse with no reaction other than a wry smile. Yenuno wisely said nothing and simply wiped Amai’s forehead with a cloth.

“It won’t be long,” the OBGYN said. “She’s almost there.”

“Just saw me open and get them out,” Amai moaned. “It would hurt less.”

Yenuno tried to kiss her cheek, but she swatted him away weakly.

“No,” She said peevishly. “No touching ever again.”

“You said that last time,” He said, smiling fondly.

“Yeah, but I mean it this time,” She said sulkily.

“Of course you do, darling.” He patted her head. She scrunched her face up at him in annoyance. She was always adorable when she was miffed.

“I’ll make you into shoes,” She said sourly. “And a matching purse.”

It took a while for Amai to dilate fully, and by then she was very tired. Yenuno was looking worried; she’d laid several eggs over the years and never struggled this much before. Perhaps this being their last clutch was a good idea.

“Okay, I think we can start pushing now,” The doctor said, getting ready to catch the eggs. “Amai, when you feel the next contract, hold your breath, bear down, and push.”

“Okay,” She breathed. “One’s coming.”

We all braced for the push. Amai took several quick deep breaths and held it, her face pulled tight in pain and effort, doubling over in the chair as she did. You and Yenuno held her hands and patted her back and murmured encouragement. Halvorg was waiting with a soft cloth to take the eggs for cleaning, after which they would be laid in a specialized incubating carrier to be taken to Yenuno’s cottage.

The first egg came slowly and with much screaming. The doctor caught it and handed it off to Halvorg. The shell of the egg was soft and needed extremely delicate care, but Halvorg was well practiced by now and got the egg washed and into the carrier under ninety seconds and returned for the next.

The second egg came more quickly, but Amai screamed the whole time. By the time the third and final egg was laid, her voice was raw and she was too exhausted to scream.

But it was over. She fell back into the recline of the chair as if boneless and breathed in shallowly, her eyes barely open.

“You were amazing, darling,” Yenuno said gently, kissing Amai’s face. “Rest. I’m taking the eggs to the cottage. The children will visit you when you’ve slept.”

She turned her head slowly to look at him and touched her fingertips to his face, tracing down his cheek, chin, neck and chest before letting her hand fall back to her side, and her eyes closed. Nurses came to whisk her away to a recovery room, the OBGYN following behind. Yenuno and Halvorg left to take the eggs to the cottage for the incubation, and you were left alone in the laying room.

As you were shedding the paper gown and surgical cap, you noticed a small book lying on the ground. It looked to be one of Halvorg’s research journals, though it was smaller than his usual ones. He must have dropped it out of his back pocket when he was disrobing. You picked it up and took it with you with the intent on returning it to him in the morning.

And of course, you’d completely forgotten by the time you woke up.

Amai recovered enough in a few days to be up and walking around. She and the children took turns keeping Yenuno company, as he grew morose if he was left alone too long. You had declared half days until the new babies hatched so that they could have more time with their dad.

One afternoon, after the children had left class for the day, Dr. Halvorg came in and sat on the edge of your desk.

“Hello,” You said pleasantly, closing the folder with their latest work for grading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I wanted to let you know I took you up on your advice,” He said, looking a little bashful. “I went and saw a specialist. They’re going to be doing some tests soon. Sperm count, blood tests, an MRI. Any test that can be done will be done.”

“Good!” You said, swinging your chair around. “I’m glad. Maybe you’ll finally get an answer.”

He sighed, looking pensive and anxious. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I still wanted to thank you for pushing me to do it.”

“I didn’t push you to do it, Maël,” You said. His eyes narrowed at your use of his first name, but he didn’t say anything. “I just brought the subject up. It was your decision to do it.”

“Well, thank you all the same,” He replied. “I admit, I’m nervous about it. I could either get wonderful news or have my worst fears confirmed. I don’t know how I’ll react to either option.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” You asked him.

He looked at you in surprise. “You… you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t,” You replied. “But this is the kind of thing you need friends for. And since Yenuno is tied up with the eggs, I could be a good substitute. You don’t even have to think of me as a friend, if you don’t want to, just an emotional support associate.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I think of you as a friend.”

“Well, thank you. I was hoping we’d get there eventually. So? What do you think? Want some support for this?”

“Not for the tests, I can do those by myself perfectly well,” He said, adjusting his tie nervously. “But… for the results… perhaps… a friend would be nice.”

“I’ll be there for you, then,” You said, standing and patting his arm. “Does Yenuno know about this? Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” He replied. “I didn’t want to tell him while he’s dealing with his own new babies. Besides, if the news is not good, I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. If the news comes back positive… I don’t know… I think this is one thing I’d rather keep to myself.”

“Except for me, you mean,” You said.

He nodded concedingly. “Besides you.”

“Let me know when the results come back and I’ll go with you. We’ll make a day of it, go to a spa, get a bikini wax together, eat some overpriced salads, buy something ridiculous we want but don’t need. It’ll be a blast.”

He actually laughed a little. “Sounds like a plan.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[unmaskedagain]

Rate this (Trust is Hard to Come By)

Its six am here and I just got to work. And am now writing a drabble at my desk. Again tweaked prompt a bit. Oh and I just realized that based on this and my last few “drabble” that are long that some picture books… I don’t know what a drabble. Or least I know it doesn’t apply to what I usually write.

No one would who or what had caused the akuma this time. However, when a thirteen-year-old superfan of Ladybug got Akumatized, everyone knew it.

A loud voice boomed in the ears of all the citizens in Paris, “Beware Paris, I am the Gardener, protector of the Loveliness. Those who have failed our Queen Ladybug will be revealed. A number you shall be given on a scale to 100; the higher the number, the more trust the Queen has in you. Low numbers have failed our Queen, betrayed our queen, betrayed the loveliness, and will be punished!”

“Loveliness,” Adrien asked, already preparing to make a break for it to transform.

           Unaware that Marinette decided to wait for a bit. Some lessons needed to be learned the hard way.  All the kids were at lunch and seemed to be enjoying the day until the alert happened.

           Max pushed his glasses up, “A group of ladybugs is called a ‘loveliness of ladybugs.’. Gardeners love Ladybugs because Ladybugs protect their gardens.”

“Cool!” Kim grinned. “We get to see how much Ladybug digs us.”

           Alya preened, “I’m at least a 90.” She pulled out her phone. “I’m so going to live stream this.”

“I think I’m like an 80, dude,” Nino smirked.

           All the kids gave their guess; most figuring they were at least in the 70s. It was Alya who joked, that Marinette probably had a ten.

           The others agreed; thinking the girl had been such a bully lately, and so mean to Lila.

           Marinette overheard them from where she, Chloe, Kagami and their new friends sat. A smirked spread across her face. This would be good.

           A blindingly flash filled the cafeteria. When it was gone, all the kids had numbers above their heads.

           One by one the excited grins on the students of Bustier’s class faded.

“A two,” Alya paled. “How can I be a two?” A dark ugly red 2 floated above her head. She touched the number and words appeared next to it: Warning: Disloyal. False friend. Bully. Anger control problems. Easily swayed. Bad journalist… etc.

           Nino frowned, “I got a four.” How could he have a four? He was carapace. Ladybug had chosen him herself. Or at least she had. He hadn’t gone Super in over a year. Was that when Ladybug lost her trust in him?

           He touched the number. His warning said: bad friend. Disloyal. Bully. He touched it again before he could read any more.

           Kim had a five. Alix had a three. Mylene had a seven. Rose and Juleka had 10s. Ivan had an eight. Nathanial had an eleven. Max had a six.  All were in the red. All had similar warning signs.

           Adrien had frozen in his seat when he saw his number. A 14. How could he be a 14? Why did Ladybug barely trust him? They were partners, friends, maybe more one day. But how could they be any of that she didn’t trust him.

           He touched his number. His warning sign read: Naïve, Spineless, pushy, Bad friend, and, in bold letter, COWARD.

“We should go,” Max whispered. “People are staring.”

           And sure enough they were. Most of the student body had numbers in the 30s or 40s, it was respectable seeing as they barely dealt with the hero. However, this meant it was easy to find the kids who ranked so much lower.

           Slowly suspicious eyes fell on Bustier’s class. What had they done, most wondered. Whatever, it was they knew it was bad. Somehow the students of Bustier’s class had hurt Ladybug. And as far as the rest of the school was concerned, and those watching from Alya’s livestream, if Ladybug couldn’t trust them, they couldn’t either.

           Marinette watched with cold eyes as her classmates and ex-friends scrambled to rush out of the cafeteria. Still she kept a smile on her face as one by one student came up to thank her for whatever she had done for Ladybug; for being such a good friend to the hero.

           A glowing, bright beautiful emerald green 92 floated above her. It was the highest number anyone had seen so far. Her words attached were less of a warning and more of brag: Loyal, Honest, Good. Trustworthy. Caring. A great friend. Hardworker. Heroic. Brave. Then her warning was: A bit too insecure but working on it.

           Aurore beamed at her friend, livestreaming from her own phone to her new Bugout. She had a neon green 70 above her head. Her words: Honest, Hardworker, loyal, good friend, amazing journalist. “Everyone post a pic of themselves with the number above their heads; it’s blowing up Twitter.”

           Chloe gave everyone smug grins, as she had the second 86 above hers. Her words: Brave, strong, loyal, good. A great hero. A great friend.

Kagami had a 72. Her words: loyal, confident, headstrong, good, good friend.  Marc a 67. Ondine a 66. Claude a 71. They all had similar ones to Kagami.

“You’re in Bustier’s class, right, Marinette?” A girl who had come to thank Marinette had asked. Her question drew attention from everyone. “Are you going to be safe there? With them?”

           Claude frowned, “Maybe you shouldn’t go back there.”

           It took a lot of reassurance to get her friends and even quite a few of the other students who had been in the cafeteria to allow her to go back to her class. Even then, Marinette found Ms. Mendeleiev, who had a solid forest green 71 above her head and had a bit more pep in her step that usual, escorting her and Chloe to class.

           Students in the hall moved out of Marinette way as soon as they saw her coming, a look of awe on their faces. The bluenette couldn’t find the pink blush that crept on to her face.

           They knew they had gotten to Bustier’s class when they saw the red glow emerging from the room

           Alya couldn’t believe it. How couldn’t Ladybug trust her? She was Rena Rouge. Or least she had been. There had been a new Fox running around with Ladybug, lately. Rena hadn’t been seen in over a year. Still, Alya ran the Ladyblog. Alya thought they were friends. But how could that be true with a 2 above her head. And she wasn’t a bully or disloyal.

           The rest of the class had a similar mindset. Even Bustier, who had a three, had a sorrowful look on her face. She didn’t understand what she had done wrong.

           When green glows entered the room, they all noticed. Mouths dropped.

           Ms. Mendeleiev with a 71, they could understand. She was a great teacher, no one could deny it. The beautiful blond Chloe they could sort of understand. She had an 86; maybe she had done more good as Queen Bee than they knew about. Marinette though? Their minds just couldn’t compute.

           How could Marinette have a 92?

           They read the words attached to her and Chloe’s numbers with disbelief.

           Said girl thanked Mendeleiev who had taken to blatantly staring at Bustier with distrust. It occurred to Mendeleiev, that the younger teacher did have an absurdly high number of Akuma transformation from her students. When Mendeleiev and told everyone what she had seen and realized; most of the other faculty would begin to keep a close eye on Bustier and her class. Something just wasn’t right with that lot.

           Marinette and Chloe made their way to the seats in back. The green above their heads looked a halo.

           Alya wanted to scream. “Why does Ladybug trust you?” She asked the girls.

“She’s Queen Bee,” Marinette pointed at Chloe. “A loyal ally of Ladybug.”

           Chloe smirked, “Don’t you remember that it was Marinette who first got you that interview with Ladybug; the reason your blog became as popular as it did?” She asked reporter. “Marinette’s Ladybug’s friend.”

           Any scathing thing the students had been thinking to sneer at the girls died on their lips. Marinette was Ladybug’s friend. They knew Marinette knew the hero but never thought about how close they were.

“Why do think Ladybug stopped giving you interviews?” Chloe leaned back in her seat. A euphoric feeling filling her. “She only started working with you in the first place because she knew you were Marinette’s bestie. Once that changed, well… Ladybug just didn’t want to work with you anymore. Something about Journalistic Professionalism. How is your website doing by the way? I haven’t checked in a while. I normally use Aurore’s Bugout blog. Ladybug endorses it, you know?”

           Marinette could have kissed the blond. The devastation on Alya’s face was finally karma for all the nasty texts she had sent to Marinette before she change her number.

           Nino pulled his girlfriend into a hug.

“She read those texts you sent me by the way.” Marinette sent them a cold smirk as horrified looks overcame their faces. “Every last one. She was so disappointed.”

“You showed her?” Rose whispered. “How could you show her?”

“Why not?” Marinette shrugged. Rose hadn’t sent as many mean texts as the others in class and weren’t all that mean; just accusatory and claiming that she refused to be friends with a Bully. “I trust her. She trusts me. I even sent her videos of what a day in our class has been like lately. Ladybug got to see and hear everything personally. She has so many concerns about the goings on in this. She’ll be going to the school board with the videos.”

           Bustier paled. She knew the students had gotten a bit out of hand but surely they weren’t that bad. They were just kids after all. (The teacher would get her answer a week later, along with a pink slip.)

           Alya sobbed as she remembered everything she sent Marinette. How could she know Ladybug would read them? No wonder Alya got a 2. Ladybug probably hated her. “I only sent that because you were being such a bully.”

“Yeah,” Alix hissed. “It’s not fair. You were being such a freak about Lila!” There were nods.

           And as the old saying goes, speak of the devil, and the devil…

           Lila had taken her sweet time getting to school that day. She had lied to her mother that it was closed for the morning because an Akuma. And it was just her luck that one would appear. She had stayed in bed all day, earphones blasting music in her ear, wondering just how she’ll amazing her classmates that day. It felt great to be adored.

           When Lila got up to leave for school, she looked in the mirror and saw a dark, blood red glowing Negative 51 above her head. She shrugged and left her apartment. Earphones still in her ears. A happy smile on her face.

           She didn’t notice the shocked and disgusted looks on people’s faces as she passed them. Or why a mother picked up her a child and ran in the other direction. Lila didn’t see the brave man who reached out, with shaky hands, and touched her number as she passed by. Nor she see the People taking pictures of her and her warning signs. The photos went viral almost instantly, everyone wanted to know just who was the girl with the only negative number in all of Paris… As far they knew.

           When Gabriel Agreste saw Lila’s image on the web, he ordered Nathalie to sever all connections to the teen girl and release a statement making it clear the company had no idea just what Lila Rossi had been capable of. Afterwards, Gabriel wondered what Lila had done to earn such a dramatically low number.

           Gabriel himself was at a respectable and average 30. While Nathalie was at solid 34. Decent not too green numbers. Though as Hawkmoth, they were both an Ugly negative -2. He knew he was a Supervillian; Ladybug regarded him as a bad guy. But she seemed to regard Lila Rossi as pure evil.

           …Maybe Hawkmoth should sever his connection to the Italian girl as well.

           Lila arrived at school, just at the end of lunch, students had just started to leave the cafeteria for lunch. She didn’t notice that students stopped in their tracks to stare at her. Or the teachers with horrifying and calculating looks on their faces. She didn’t seem Damocles’ pale and rush off to call her mother.

           She didn’t notice anything. Lila just smiled pleasantly; having decided to go with a Prince Ali story that day. Maybe that he asked her to marry him. She’d be the envy of all the girls in class.

           However, when Lila got to the class she did notice the shocked looks she got from her classmates. But not the cold smirk on Marinette’s face.

“What?” Lila asked looking around. “Did something happened? Oh, no is the Akuma still around? How awful!”  She said fighting the smile off her face. Hopefully Ladybug was getting her ass kicked, she thought.

           Alya dropped her phone. Negative? How could Lila be negative? How could she have such a low negative number at that?

           Everyone in class read the giant warning label attached to Lila Rossi’s number: Liar, backstabber, nasty, bully, untrustworthy, manipulative, rotten, villain, horrible person; the list went on and on. However, it was that shook them to their cores: Evil. Not bad. Not awful. Evil.

           Alya collapsed against her boyfriend, “No. No. I didn’t know. I swear.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Nino comforted her. “None of us knew.” There were nods from the other students.

           Marinette and Chloe looked at them with narrowed eyes because: What the hell.

“Except I told you she was a liar,” Marinette glared at them. “You didn’t listen. You turned against me… for her.”

“You turned against Marinette,” Chloe said slowly. “The girl who did everything for you. And for what? A few glittery stories and false promises?”

           Adrien closed his eyes. Was this why Ladybug distrusted him? Because he didn’t side with Marinette like he knew he should’ve. Plagg had warned him he was wrong. But he just didn’t want to risk losing all his friends like Marinette seemed to be losing hers.

Marinette looked at Rose, “Now I want you think again about every text you all sent me because of Lila Rossi.” Once again the students turned pale. They had been so mean, so harsh, so unbelievable cruel to the girl that had been so dear to their hearts. “Now I want you to remember again that Ladybug saw them.”

           Rose was the first to break out in tears. “I’m-I’m sorry!” She sobbed and struggled to find her words. She had disowned one of her closest friends for a villain. “I’m so sorry!”

           Other students were in the same boat she was. The fiery Alix was had been contemplating going on another tirade against Marinette when Lila walked in, felt her anger be snuffed out a like a campfire in a thunderstorm. The pink haired girl remembered helping lead the charge in showing Marinette what it was like to be bullied; tripping her, ripping of her homework, shoving her. What she done? Kim had been crushing on Lila hard felt crushed. Marinette had been since friend since pre-k, and he just… left her.

           Lila looked honestly confused. She had missed something, and it was big. “What’s going on?”

           Nino glared at the girl; his eyes red, tear streaks his face. “Those numbers tell the world how much Ladybug trusts you. Or how much she doesn’t,” He said darkly, thinking about his own number and his actions against the girl he once called his best friend. “And why.”

“The lower the number,” Adrien added. “The less she trust you.”

           Chloe leaned forward in her seat and sent vicious smirk to the Italian girl, “And guess who has the only negative number in Paris.” She teased. “Besides Hawkmoth, but at least he was smart enough to hide. You’re trending by the way.”

“No!” Lila said, looking around desperately, but all she saw was cold stares. “No!” She pulled out her phone, and sure enough the name Lila Rossi was trending. Her picture with the giant negative number above her head seem to be everywhere. “This can’t be happening! How can this be happening!”

           Marinette stood up, “Because you’re a bad person. You’re mean and you’re cruel. And worst yet, you dragged everyone down with you.” She said. Her voice was righteous or angry. It was like she was stating a fact from a history book. Marinette looked over every single one of her ex-friends, “Ladybug will never trust you again.”

           The bell rang.

“Time for class,” Chloe sang. “Maybe you guys will finally learn something.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 32)

Quinn plucks her off of the ground, he does so with much more care than she’d anticipated.

“Goodness, how long have you been walking for?” His to ne is so much gentler now, amazingly so.

She doesn’t know, she can’t remember. Everything hurts. She manages only another choked cry.

“Why didn’t you just show me your fire to begin with, princess?”

She doesn’t know exactly, she thinks that it is because she is so broken. Her mind is so fragmented and out of sorts…  

"You should know your princess." Azula managed. Though she can barely recognize herself anymore not it appearance nor by personality. She can hardly call her self a princess. But he is beginning to treat her like one again.

He ushers her into the palace. It doesn't feel right to be here anymore. It feels daunting. It makes her feel a looming sense of inferiority. To a degree, the palace always has--it is so grand and what is she? She has never achieved the perfect ion that she sought. And for a brief era of her life it didn't matter. For a brief era of her life her she was perfectly content in her imperfections. She supposes that she still is, at least in the physical sense.

She catches a glimpse of Zuko and Sokka as Quinn escorts her to her room. She thinks that it is Sokka anyhow; he looks older, more muscular. He has...is that facial hair? But it is most definitely Sokka. They are so much taller...

She feels like she is going to topple at any moment and she supposes that that's what Quinn is there for. Quinn and a horde of servants and doctors. And she does stumble, she pitches forward, she might have hit the floor if Sokka hadn’t stepped forward to catch her. He and a gaggle of guards.

It is quite amazing, really, how everyone is suddenly so nice to her. So concerned for her wellbeing. More concerned then they would have ever been for Rikka. And Rikka the good part of her, the woman worth caring for.

“Zuko, guess whose home!” She hears Sokka declare as her vision goes fuzzy. She thinks that he stays behind to make sure that Zuko is following.

The servants and guards help her into bed and, by Agni, does the soft mattress feel divine. She wishes that they would have given her a bath before laying her upon it, she hated to think that she is soiling the immaculate bedding. She voices her concerns between greedy sips of water.

"Don't worry about the sheets princess, we'll have them washed for you before you get out of your bath. Just rest up, you look exhausted, dear." The servants assure her.

They will bring her fresh sheets. People are going to do things for her. After months of walking and laboring, she won't have to lift a finger. Somehow, the thought horrifies her. Laundry days had been quite pleasant with Hajime…

"Try to sleep." Says a different servant.

Even if she didn't want to, she can't resist the numbness of oncoming sleep. Despite all efforts, the fog of it grips her and her head sinks deeper into the pillow. Sokka enters the room as her consciousness leaves it.

That day she learns that she quite enjoys the simpler life. That it feels like home to do her own day to day chores.

.oOo.

Ursa stares at the journal in her lap and then to Azula and then back to the journal. Azula thinks that she might be tearing up and her stomach tangles itself into uncomfortable knots.

She doesn’t want to have an awkward conversation with mother. Doesn’t want anymore pitying looks, she has seen too many of those and they always leave her feeling weak and ridiculous.

“Have you finished reading it?”

Ursa reaches out and with only the simplest squeezing of her hand she knows that she has. “I can’t imagine…” Her hand hovers over Azula’s tummy and she shifts with discomfort. “I don’t think that I would have been able to handle it if I lost you or Zuko.”

Azula is still inclined to speculate that it wouldn’t have bothered the woman all too much of she had died early on. She had been a problem child in the woman’s eyes. A handful. Azula crosses one leg over the other.

“Are you going to be alright?”

“I am managing, mother.” Some days better than others.

“Can I?” She opens her arms for a hug.

Azula shakes her head. She isn’t ready for that. She isn’t ready for a lot of things. She sees the hurt in Ursa’s eyes but the woman nods and gives a soft smile. “My arms will be open when you are ready. The woman is mighty optimistic for someone who had ran off and neglected her. There are several people who are waiting for her with open arms, Ursa is near the bottom of the queue.

.oOo.

There is so much hurt in her daughter’s eyes and she longs to take it away. It lets her know that she has failed as a mother--has failed to protect her girl from the jaws of a cruel world that has now gnashed its teeth at her. Has chewed and gnawed until she had bled and scarred. That woman has seen so much evil and hatred in her life. Even when she tottered around on stubby little legs, when her eyes were still wide and innocent she had been exposed alarmingly to the cruelties of the world. The savage mercilessness of it. It is no wonder she has seen so much strife.

And, spirits, the woman is still so young. She is still just a girl in Ursa’s eyes. A girl and yet grown and traveled. Unprotected and, for too long, unloved. Ursa grits her teeth, she should have loved her when she still had those squishy cheeks and those tiny hands that could only produce little candlewick flames.

She should have cared for and cherished her baby. Maybe if she had… She watches Azula get to her feet, “I have to check on Caihong.”

The child isn’t even Azula’s and yet the woman cares for her as though she is. Ursa knows it from the pages, that Azula has plenty of love in her abused and broken heart, but it is another thing entirely to see that love in action.

“Can I help you?”

“With what?”

“I don’t know, maybe I could dress Caihong while you make her something to eat.”

“She’s old enough to dress herself and we have staff to do our cooking.”

“I can read to her.” Ursa offers.

“I read to her. She only needs one story.” Azula presses her lips into a thin line, seeming to mull something over. “But I suppose you can tell her one. There is this Earth Kingdom children’s tale that I find particularly foolish. But she loves it. You can tell her that one.”

“You’ll have to tell it to me first.”

Azula shakes her head. “Somehow, Caihong managed to cling to the scroll that it was written on. Just ask her to let you read from it.”  

Ursa nods, “I will.”

“Follow me then, I’ll show you where Caihong sleeps.

Azula doesn’t say a word as she leads her down the hall. The silence is quite thick and quite uncomfortable. When Ursa can bare it no more she has to fill it, “you’re a good mother, I can tell.”

“I believe that you’ve mentioned as much already.”

Ursa wishes that the girl would just take a compliment. “I think that you’re a good woman.” She elaborates. “I’m proud to have you as my daughter.”

This stops Azula in her tracks. She hears a very sharp inhale.

“I should have said so more often.”

Azula swallows.

“I should have told you that I loved you. It’s just that…”

“I don’t want excuses.” She cuts in coldly.

Ursa doesn’t think that there are any anyhow. “I do love you Azula.”

“Don’t do this to me, mother.” It is a harsh hiss but beneath is a hint of desperation. “I have enough to deal with.”

Ursa nods. Though it is eating away at her to have only her daughter’s scorn she replies, “alright, another time.”

Azula pushes the door to Caihong’s room open. “Good morning, Caihong. I would like you to--well actually it isn’t preferable--but today you are spending time with your grandmother.”

“Gran’ma Ursa!” The girl bolts to her feet. At least someone’s daughter is happy to see her.

.oOo.

Azula sits at the other end of the room listening to Caihong’s happy chatter as she scans over a few scrolls. Details of Fire Nation History occasionally blend with the child’s nonsensical babble.

She doesn’t think that mother is even halfway through the story. She supposes that she should have warned her that Caihong is an interrupter. It is a habit that she hasn’t been able to curb yet.

At this rate she won’t be reading to Caihong for herself. Perhaps she should just leave her to bond with her grandmother and check up on her garden or take a stroll with Sokka. She could use the chance to decompress. With a small yawn, Azula gets to her feet. “Watch Caihong for me, mother, Sokka and I are going for a walk.” He doesn’t know it yet, but that is what she has decided. “You can handle her, right?”

“I think that I can manage.” Ursa smiles.

“Good.” She thinks that mother is just happy to know that she has found a lover and one that has no political motivations behind the affections. She spares the woman one last look before seeking Sokka out. When she finds him he is at a pottery wheel making the most hideously lopsided bowl she has ever seen.

He looks up and grins, “well, whadd’ya think!?”

“Sokka, that’s the most atrocious bowl I have ever seen.”

He brings the wheel to an abrupt stop and for a moment, she thinks that the clay will sling across the room. “You think you can do better.”

“I certainly can. My bowl will have symmetry.”

He takes his slab of clay and fashions it back into a shapeless blob, “do it then.”

She looks at her perfectly manicured nails, “I don’t fancy the prospect of clay under my nails.

“You don’t fancy the prospect of me being better at ceramics than you.”

She scoffs, “you absolutely aren’t…”

He quirks a brow. “Prove…” he leans in “...it.”

She doesn’t think that they will be going for a walk after all.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

 Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

[youare-mysonshine]

pobre diabla || oscar diaz

(gif is not mine. credit to owner♥️)

Summary: Reader gets scared of Oscar and reveals that she had a bad past relationship.

Requested: yes!

request for a fic on how spooky would react if reader got scared of him like maybe she had a bad past relationship and like he didn’t know about it but like he scared her, not on purpose and instantly regretted everything, apologizing and backing away like i never meant to scare you

Pairing: Oscar Diaz x Reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of an abusive relationship, angst, fluff at the end.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: hello all. this is a request I’ve had for a long ass time. To whoever requested, I’m sorry it took this long. Something short, angsty and then sweet. Enjoy. like with part 6 of que malo, please take caution when reading!

—————

“He’s your brother, Oscar! He’s your brother and you’re not even gonna let him come back? This gang means more to you than him? Your flesh and blood?”

What a great way to ring in the new year, huh? Having a fight with your boyfriend over the fact that he’d kicked his little brother out and refused to let him back in.

You and Oscar had been dating for a few months. You’d met shortly after he’d gotten out of prison and you had instantly hit it off with him. Initially, you had been skeptical about starting a relationship with Oscar because your previous relationship hadn’t been the.. best. It had been scarring. Physically, emotionally, mentally. So when you and Oscar started hanging out and talking, part of you was afraid of opening yourself up to someone like that again only to be hurt. Especially given the fact that he was in a gang.

But over the course of your relationship, he’d never given you a reason to be afraid of him. He always kept the gang stuff away from you, making sure you were never involved. Oscar knew the dangers of being with someone like him and he always made sure to keep you protected and safe. And besides that, you’d learned things about him that many people didn’t know. You saw a side of him that he didn’t let most people see. That goofy, funny side.

The Oscar that would make fun of you for burning the food. The Oscar that would sometimes sing in the shower (which you loved because he really did have a nice singing voice). The Oscar that would always make sure his little brother was good, putting his needs before his own.

Which is why you couldn’t understand why when Cesar had shown up at the house begging Oscar to take him back, he refused. He kicked him to the curb, turned him away.

You’d heard about what happened at Olivia’s quince - her death, Ruby being shot. Oscar and the other Santos beating Cesar bloody, Oscar kicking him out. That was really when your relationship had become strained. Maybe you were naive when it came to the gang, but you couldn’t wrap your head around it. You’d been inside the house when you heard Oscar’s loud, deep voice yell. And when you peeked out from behind the curtain, you saw Oscar pushing his little brother. The look on Cesar’s face absolutely broke your heart. Then hearing and seeing all the other Santos bark at the young Diaz as he walked away fueled your anger. As soon as Oscar had come in the house, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Which led to you heatedly staring each other down in the living room.

“You don’t understand, Y/N. I didn’t have a choice. Cuchillos didn’t give me a choice-“

“Fuck Cuchillos! He’s your little brother, Oscar. He has nowhere to go. Those Prophets are still after him. What happens if they find him? They’re gonna kill him. All this because he couldn’t kill someone?”

“And look what happened! Olivia died, Ruby got shot! All because of his mistake! He knew what he had to do and he didn’t do it. That’s on him!”

“Bullshit, Oscar! That’s bullshit. You put that on him. He is a fourteen year old boy! Did you really expect him to just go and kill Latrelle? He’s not you, Oscar!” You spat, your heart rate beating rapidly in your chest from sheer anger. Oscar felt similarly, lips pulled back in a snarl, brows furrowed. This was probably the worst fight that the two of you had ever gotten into. You’d gotten into little arguments here and there before, but it was never anything like this. Never full blown yelling or glaring at each other so hard that both of you would’ve been six feet under if looks could kill.

“You know what? I don’t need this shit.” Oscar had turned around, going to leave but you kept going.

“Does the gang mean that much more to you than your baby brother? The baby brother that you raised? What are you gonna if one day a cop shows up and tells you that he’s dead because a Prophet got to hi-“

“I said enough!” In the blink of an eye, Oscar had spun around. “I don’t have a choice, and if you can’t understand that, then you can pack your shit and get out-“ His lifted his arm and you flinched, cowering away. In that moment, you weren’t looking at Oscar. It wasn’t your boyfriend that was standing in front of you. No.. it was your past abuser. The man that had swore he loved you but then turned around and smacked you around, talked down to you like you were nothing but a piece of garbage.

In that moment, panic filled you and all you could see were flashbacks, images of your ex-boyfriend. The look in his eyes, the anger on his face, before he’d mistreat you. All you could think of and hear in your head were the sounds of his hand making contact with your skin, the sounds of his harsh words and insults being thrown your way.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry..” Was all you could say as you screwed your eyes shut, almost as if you were bracing, expecting, the impact of his palm against your cheek.

Oscar was stunned. Frozen in place. The anger he felt had dissipated in him. Vanished quicker than lightening and all that was left in it’s wake was hurt. His face faltered.. You’d flinched away from him. You thought he was going to hit you. When all he’d done was lift his hand to motion over to the hallway where your shared bedroom was.

“Y/N.. I.. I wasn’t gonna hit you..” Regret filled his entire body. The anger that was once taken hold of that room had gone right out the window, all that was was two horrified lovers. You opened your eyes, tears wetting your bottom lash line, and you were met with the sight of Oscar looking at you with hurt and regret all over his face. “Bebe.. I’m.. I’m sorry, I.. I wasn’t going to hit you. Tu sabes que nunca haria eso..” Oscar backed away from you, and the look on his face absolutely brushed your entire soul. You hadn’t meant to flinch. It was almost like an involuntary reaction. Oscar had never given you a reason to be scared of him, but in that moment, your mind had flashed back to your ex-boyfriend and you felt that same fear you always felt when you were with him.

“Oscar.. I’m sorry. I.. I know, I know that you’d never hit me.. I just..” You paused, taking in a deep breath, hoping to calm your erratic heart. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You walked over to the couch and took a seat, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just.. I don’t know why, when you raised your hand like that I.. it was like I was looking at my ex-boyfriend. I had like this flashback.”

“What?”

“I’ve never told you before because I kinda always wanted to put it past me. And I just don’t like talking about it because it’s not easy to talk about..” You lifted your head, wiping away the tear that had fallen down your cheek. “Before I met you, I was dating this guy. He was great, funny, charming. It was enough for me to overlook the red flags. He’d always make little rude comments to me, he’d tell me what to wear, who I could and couldn’t hang out with. He’d look through my phone. That was just the start. Then it got physical. It started with little things - he’d push me, grab me hard enough to leave bruises.. and then he actually hit me. It started with a slap and escalated to something more.. I finally left him when I had to go to the hospital for injuries he caused.”

Oscar was once more stunned in silence. You were undoubtedly once of the strongest women he’s ever met and know he knew why. But he couldn’t deny the anger and the horror bubbling beneath his skin. But beside that, the hurt he felt was also there. The fact that he’d reminded you of your abuser, the fact that you’d been scared of him for even a brief moment, that you were scared he’d hit you - it killed him. It crushed his heart into a thousand pieces. “Mamas..” The Santo walked over hesitantly, kneeling down in front of you. He lifted a hesitant hand to you, touching your face, cradling your cheek softly as if he were handling a fragile china doll. To his relief, you didn’t flinch away from him. No, you leaned into his touch because his touch was familiar and it was good and you craved it.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft. Deep but soft. Calmness washed over you. “I’m fuckin’ sorry that happened to you.” The images of someone who you loved and trusted hurting you in such a horrific way flashed through his mind and you could make out that barely concealed anger in his eyes. “I’d kill the puto with my bare hands if I ever saw him.” He spoke. “But you need to know that I’d never hurt you like that. Nunca. Tu eres mi vida. Me moriría para ti.” His words caused a flurry of butterflies in your stomach to go wild. “I’d die before I hurt you like that, before I let anyone hurt you like that again. I’m sorry for scaring you, baby. I never meant to. We may fight and argue but I never want you to be afraid of me. Never me.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for not telling you about this before. And I’m sorry for what I said to you about Cesar-“ Oscar leaned forward and silenced you with a deep, kiss. You immediately melted into it, you hands coming to rest upon his shoulders, fiddling the fabric of the flannel that he wore. If his words hadn’t reassured that you had no reason to be afraid of him, than it was his kiss that sure had. The way he kissed you so softly, yet so deeply. So sweetly yet so passionately. It was everything.

“I know. I’m sorry for what I said too . For yelling.” He muttered as he pulled away, resting his forehead upon your own. “I’ll figure something out, okay? I know he’s my baby brother and I hate that he’s out there too.”

You leaned forward and pressed another, short, kiss to his lips.

“We’ll figure something out. Me and you.”

—————

tagging: @spookysmujer @ugh-jalynn @lovleyajoitee @curly-haired-holland @babienay @harringtoncastle @spookysnena @eggshaustedd @firebenderwolf @clemmingstylins0n @xiomarlyn @lana-loves-stuff @dolanackles @briskiiat420 @lossantosprincesa @princesstiffxoxo @xbrujababyx @juul4jesus @audreydiane96 @angelreyesgirl100 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @poppaxannie @deviilbby @mrs-spookyd1az @eriksjournal @socialistavocado @pananegra @demure-doll @skathan-omaha @kingbouji3 @animesstuffsposts @moanlightbaby @thenameishayley248 @cheshirecat107 @bellaguarneri @liaari @cedricheart @amethyst09 @flamingweasley @littlxmiss @mellisophilia @fairygardenss @sadeyesbabymama

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Mission of Mercy: Eight

Joe watched Bucky help you to a chair and nodded to himself. He knew, watching the quiet worry on the man’s face that this wasn’t performative. 

“I should get you home,” Bucky said anxiously. You don’t look much better rested. And you sound like you’re having trouble breathing. 

You lean against his side and exhale slowly. You feel fuzzy-headed and it’s really hard to think, regardless of the lack of pain medication. 

“And I got better things to do than entertain you two all day,” Joe groused, reaching over and patting your hand. 

You snort and squeeze the hand that’s patting yours, “I do miss my bed.”

Bucky smiled a little. Your bed was comfortable, it was true. He’d spent a lot of time there with you, lounging around and reading books. Watching TV. Whatever it was in between stolen kisses. He hadn’t been lying when he stammered out that he hadn’t had sex with you. There had been some discussions. Bucky having to tell you why he was reticent. 

That he was worried he’d hurt you. That it wasn’t a lack of interest in you, it was a need to take things slow. To remember he wasn’t who he had been programmed to be. Because sometimes, in the heat of the moment when he can feel the heat of your skin under him and you’re looking up at him with big doe eyes; in the half-light, anticipation can look like terror. A heart rate raised in arousal doesn’t sound any different from anxiety. And Bucky. Sometimes he remembers. Girls that Hydra volunteered to… reward him. Or entertain him. Or test him. He was never sure. But. He hated it. He hated that they came in and started touching him. That if he refused his treatment in that dark, dank cell got worse. He knew now, that it was about control. About them controlling every little aspect of his life. 

He wanted you. Desperately. But. He was horrified at the thought that he would hurt you accidentally or otherwise. Still, even with the amount of masturbating that he’d done, he wouldn’t trade his nights in your room for anything. He felt like himself. Not who he was before the war. Not the Winter Soldier. He was who he was now. He was Bucky again. A Bucky that could work a smartphone. That existed in a world he never in a million years thought he would see. One where he could go to space if he wanted. One where he had a girl that swore and blew straw wrappers at him across tables. 

“So,” Bucky said gently, “Let’s get you home, Beautiful.”

You nod slowly and take a deep breath. Joe smiles and gets to his feet slowly and bent to kiss the top of your head, “I love you, punk.”

“Love you too,” you tell him. “Let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” he said. “And I’ll make sure to tell your mom you banged yourself up in a car wreck.” Joe glanced towards the photo album on the table. The one he hadn’t put away yet and Bucky winced. You were looking towards it. Though neither of them could really read the look on your face. 

“Alright,” you say finally. Bucky stoops down so you can put an arm around his shoulders and you let him ease you to your feet, thankful, not for the first time that he was really strong. Because your knees feel like jello and you feel sick. You always feel sick when you think of Clay. You remember empty coffins and the constant burning in your throat. 

If Bucky notices how much support you need to stand, he doesn’t say anything. But when you hug Joe goodbye he hovers nearby, ready to grab you if you wavered. But you didn’t. 

Bucky helps you down the steps carefully, “You okay, doll?” he asked quietly as you half turn to wave goodbye to Joe again. The rain had stopped, leaving the block smelling of wet pavement and summer just around the corner. 

“I’m okay,” you answer. Your lips feel bloodless and everything sounds like it’s coming from underwater. But as you breathe through it, focused on the smell of the air and the warmth coming from Bucky, you can feel your heart rate slow just slightly. 

Bucky puts you in the passenger seat and reaches over the buckle you in, stealing a soft kiss. “I love you, you know that don’t you.”

“I know,” you murmur, “I love you too.”

Your eyes are over bright and Bucky feels his chest constrict. He isn’t sure what pain is making it happen but he kissed you again as he reached up and wiped tears away, “I know it hurts,” he said, trying to soothe you. 

“I- just,” you stop and swallow hard. “Can you take me home?”

“I’d take you anywhere, baby girl,” he said handing you the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. 

“I just want to go home,” you plead softly. 

“Okay,” he soothed, kissing your forehead. Tears were starting to fall a little faster and he can see the strain on your face from the effort it was taking to try and hold yourself together. To keep from jostling your ribs. “Let’s get you home and into some jammies.”

He shuts the car door for you and takes a deep breath as he walks around the car. The pain, he knows, is not all your ribs. You had a very visceral reaction to that photo album. To whatever it was in there that reminded you of your brother. 

“You know?” Bucky said, “I figured Joe was gonna be busting out a car battery or something.”

You snort in spite of yourself and Bucky takes that as a good sign. So he keeps talking. “He told me to behave myself,” Bucky said, “I’m assuming that means he expects me to marry you.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” you chuckle. “Nobody should have to put up with me that long.”

“Put up with you?” Bucky scoffed. “Sweetheart, you’re stuck with me. There’s no putting up with you.” He stopped at the light and turned to look at you. “For 70 years I was a ghost. And you brought me back to life.”

“I didn’t-” you start to protest. 

“You did,” Bucky insisted. “Shuri, my doctors- The fixed my brain. You brought me back to the world.” He reached over and took your hand, lacing metal fingers through yours. “You are everything I never knew I needed… And I can’t believe I have Sam Wilson of all people to thank for it. The fucker.”

When you laugh he kisses your hand, “I’m not stuck with you,” he said. “I’m lucky to have you.”

For a long time, neither of you says anything, but you don’t let go of the hand you’re holding. And Bucky doesn’t pull away. The tears that had been falling steadily were slowing down again. 

“Becky would have liked you,” He said after a long time. He knew it was a risk. But he didn’t want you to feel alone. 

“I think I would have liked her too,” you tell him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Bucky had hoped you would tell him something about Clay. About when you were young. But. He’ll take being able to tell you about Becky. And his Ma without feeling like he’s going to hurt you. 

“When we were kids,” Bucky said, “She followed me everywhere. Wanted to do everything I did. Ma used to have fits when Becky used to try and play baseball. Or go fishin’.” Bucky reclaimed his hand for a moment to back into the parking spot he pulled up to and you looked around. 

“This isn’t home,” you remind him.

“I know,” he said grinning, “But… If I learned anything from Becky, I learned that ice cream can fix anything.”

You smile a little, “I think that’s a little sister thing.”

“Oh?” Bucky said, pulling his wallet out of the center console and watching your face carefully. Preparing to tread lightly. 

“I tried to convince Clay of the same thing,” you explain. 

“Tried?” Bucky chuckled. 

“Clay was a devotee of tacos,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Salsa Verde and street tacos were food the way god intended.”

“Philistine,” Bucky scoffed, teasingly. 

“I know,” you sigh, “But there’s no accounting for taste.”

And Bucky doesn’t press further. “Sit tight, Princess,” he teases stealing a kiss, “I’ll be back.”

“Can I have sprinkles?” you ask.

“What do you think I am? An amateur? Sprinkles and whipped cream. And a cherry on top.” He grins and kisses you again, “I promised Joe I was gonna take care of his best girl. And I really don’t want him to shoot me in the crotch.”

[klutzyzombie]

Image Impaired

Summary: From a young age, Bakugou Katsuki is told his hearing will continue to fade with use of his explosive quirk. He's given hearing aids to help when he reaches high school but refuses to wear them because what pro hero wears those? It takes some red-headed courage to convince him otherwise.  Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Eijirou Kirishima, Ashido Mina, Denki Kaminari, Sero Hanta Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki & Kirishima Eijirou (KiriBaku) Rating: General Warnings: N/A Words: 6,701 Notes: So this is my first official fic for this fandom and I don't exactly have anyone to proofread this so I sincerely apologize if it's out of character and for the errors! This was written from my own experiences with going deaf and requiring hearing aids and how I felt about it when I was first told. It seemed like something Bakugou may have also felt so you'll have to excuse me projecting~

**Please note that when a character is signing, it will be italicized.

Ao3: [click here!]

He started losing his hearing in grade school. He had been about eight when his family took him to get his ears checked when his grades slipped and he continued to miss things said at home. From there he was bounced from doctor to doctor but the general consensus was the same; his quirk was causing him to go deaf. It made sense really; continued exposure to loud constant boom’s. Like playing a rock concert next to the amp turned up all the way. It was bound to happen the second his quirk manifested and the decision to be a pro hero was made.

They recommended easing down on use of his quirk unless the situation called for it to try and put off the inevitable, but that wasn’t about to happen. Pro heroes in training needed to have master over their own quirks! So they also suggested hearing aids which Katsuki was against. What pro hero wore those tacky things?! For now, his hearing loss was manageable, but if Katsuki was keen on becoming a hero (and he was; even eight year old Katsuki knew this) then the doctors expected his hearing to be practically gone by the time he was in his late teens.

So the Bakugou family learned sign language as a safety net and as he grew, his hearing faded more and more as expected. It became Katsuki’s new normal for things to be a little jumbled and almost like people were talking underwater if they weren’t close enough or if they soft spoken. Maybe that was why as got older he had a tendency to yell constantly, his voice growing a little more gruff with age as well. He’d also picked up on lip reading which was immensely helpful in middle school as he refused to tell a teacher he couldn’t hear them or ask to sit in the front. It wasn’t going to be the future he imagined when he was a kid, but hey, he was Bakugou fucking Katsuki! He wasn’t about to let something like hearing loss stop him from becoming the next number one hero! He was nothing but goal driven from a young age, refusing to tell anyone about what he deemed to be his biggest weakness, preferring to make due with his lip reading. When his acceptance into U.A. was announced, his parents made a decision and while he fought tooth and nail – literally – he was fitted for a pair of hearing aids.

U.A. was everything he had hoped it would be as a child (though he could have done without the damn nerd also getting in and sitting right behind him) and much to his utter chagrin, he even made a few friends despite the fact that he’d never refer to them as such. They were more like a few idiots who wouldn't know how to fuck off if their lives depended on it. One such of these idiots and the biggest offender was Kirishima who, from day one, seemed to latch on to Katsuki. It was annoying at first; sure he had ‘friends’ in middle school but they were more afraid of him and only followed him as some sort of leader or popularity magnet. Kirishima just- liked him. For him! There wasn’t any fear and he damn sure wasn’t getting popular by hanging around Katsuki. If anything that was reversed since the stupid idiot seemed to be friends with just about everyone to varying degrees.

And Katsuki wanted to hate it- hate HIM because he didn’t need friends let alone overly enthusiastic idiot friends and with Kirishima deeming him ‘friendly’, the rest of the idiot brigade followed suit. Before Katsuki knew what had happened, Kaminari had wormed his way into his and Kirishima’s study sessions, Ashido had started tugging on his arm in her bubbly excitement at something or another, and Sero had taken too confining in him about whatever trouble had been on his mind. Bakugou Katsuki had actual honest to god friends and it was Kirishima’s fault. It hit him one night after moving into the dorms after he’d been dragged to watch a movie in Kirishima’s room. Like, forcefully dragged and as they sat there, watching as Iron Man and Captain America did some epic team up move on some aliens, he realized he was actually enjoying himself around these idiots.

He wasn’t supposed to be fond of the dunces. He didn’t need anyone and after the hero exam he and Todoroki failed, he tried to go back to how things were. Katsuki didn’t need friends and Kirishima and Kaminari passing while he failed was proof of that. So he separated himself from them. Well, he tried to at least. It wasn’t easy to do since the clingy idiots couldn’t take a hint if he stapled it to their faces. It was exhausting and when he did finally manage it, about a week into his granted alone time he was miserable and angry and ended up back on Kirishima’s bed while he and Kaminari played some game on Kaminari’s Switch.

He couldn’t shake the idiots he unwillingly befriended and he whole heartedly blamed Kirishima for all of it. On a rare weekend home, he was bitching to his mom about the annoyances who kept blowing up his phone with their stupid ‘Bakusquad’ group text. Mitsuki was sitting at the kitchen table with designs and fabrics spread out while Katsuki ranted on. She hadn’t known her comment about him being popular due to his phone’s continued dinging would lead to this, but now it was hard to stop the small smile building as he went on and on about them. Something he pointed out to her with annoyance.

‘Sorry, it’s just nice to know you have actual friends! Finally.’

“I can fuckin’ hear you, hag!” Katsuki snapped.

‘Are you sure? I don’t see your hearing aids in.’

His response to that was to simply flip her off as he marched out of the room. “I’m not going to wear those fuckin’ things.”

“Katsuki!” They had this argument so many times now he could almost recite it word for word. It was what she always said since the moment they picked up the stupid devices. 'Wear them!' 'Are you wearing them?' 'How is training with the hearing aids working out?' Every damn time she called it was the same song and dance and it was getting more and more irritating every time she brought the damn things up! He could picture her pushing away from the table and marching after him so it wasn’t a surprise when her raised voice shouted after him. “We spent good money-“

“’-on those things so the least I could do is wear them’! Get a new speech! I don't fuckin' need them because I can still hear just fine!” There was an uncharacteristic pause after that and he wheeled around to glare at her, to see what she was trying to prove, only to see Mitsuki giving him a pointed look. “What?!”

‘I said if that was true, then you would be able to hear me.’ She signed while speaking. Well, he assumed she was. Her lips were moving and he could hear a faint sound that was in teh same tone as her voice, but couldn't quite make out the words. Katsuki stood there, red eyes narrowed at her which was a look she was mirroring back at him for all of a few seconds before she sighed, expression softening. ‘Katsuki, it’s gotten worse since you started high school. I’ve been practically yelling at you just so you’d hear me since you got home.’ The look on his face must have been horrified because his mom’s melted from fond annoyance to one of almost-pity. She lifted her hands to sign something else but he quickly turned and marched back up to his room to finish getting ready to head back to the dorms. He hated that look on her. Hated that look on anyone and he didn't need her to see that she was right. That his hearing really had gotten worse. It would make sense that it had, he guessed. He went from only training with his quirk a few times a week to preserve his hearing to using it about daily for hours on end.

So then why hadn’t he noticed it?

He guessed the whole ‘it’s a gradual process’ thing could be a factor and if he thought about it, he was having a harder time hearing Aizawa now. Deku’s muttering had also seemed to bother him less as of late and it damn sure wasn’t because the nerd had suddenly stopped the habit he’d had since they were kids. His hearing really had faded drastically in just under a year and that was a reality check.

One he also apparently wasn’t great at hiding because a few days back in school had Kirishima draping an arm across his shoulders in the locker room. He had a habit of doing that no matter what murderous look was on Katsuki's face and today when he went to shoot a glare at the red head - one he knew would just be ignored- he was met with a concerned look on Kirishima's face. “Yo man, you good? You’ve seemed kinda…”

“Extra murder-y.” Kaminari supplied.

Katsuki and Kirishima shot him a look, Katsuki’s much more threatening, but he went on. “Is everything alright? You know you can always talk to me!”

“Fuck off, I’m fine.” Was his eloquent reply and he knew Kirishima wasn’t convinced, but the red head knew enough about him to know to drop it. The look that now shifted across his face was proof he knew something was up, but he turned back to talking about some new show with Kaminari and Sero to make sure nobody else tried to take the opportunity to ask Katsuki about his oh so chipper mood. Kirishima was good at reading him like that. He seemed to always know what Katsuki meant or needed in the moment. It would be endearing if it wasn’t also equal parts annoying. Sometimes he wished the idiot would remember how damn powerful Katsuki was! But then again, Kirishima was also the perfect foil to him.

He watched as said boy grinned and laughed at something Kaminari had said, head tilting back slightly from the force of it. He was so stupidly friendly and he seemed to really want to be Katsuki’s friend if not his best one. He liked to proclaim as such at least and he guessed it was true to a degree. Kirishima knew him better than anyone else probably did and just how that happened should be concering. Just when had he allowed the idiot to figure him out so well?

Katsuki looked back at his locker with a huff, not about to give Kirishima another reason to ask about his mood again. He looked at his mask and the orange and black wing tips behind it. Looked at the orange X crossing the otherwise all black uniform. Looked at the matching heavy-duty boots and belt that housed mini versions of his quirk. Looked at how the entire ensemble represented everything he wanted to become and how his stupid hearing was likely to take all of that away.

He slammed the locker shut with more force than needed, meeting Kirishima’s gaze as he glanced over at the sound. “Meet me after dinner.” He said simply, walking off before he could see or hear the red head’s reaction.

---

Katsuki was a proud person and that was a fact that was well know. He never needed and never asked for help. He was self-sufficient and refused to lean on others to get to where he wanted to be. So reaching out to Kirishima about this was going to be a challenge. Said teen had been in his room for going on ten minutes, silently watching and waiting, sitting in his deskchair backwards as Katsuki glared daggers at the ground. It would be unnerving to have the talkative bastard so quiet if it wasn’t once again proof how well Kirishimia knew him; knew whatever was on his mind was heavy enough to make him clearly agitated and extra moody. This fact had him glance up so red eyes could meet red and at Kirishima’s concerned but patient face, he sighed and looked away.

“I can barely fuckin’ hear.” He admitted like it was the biggest secret he’d ever be forced to admit because to him, it was.

“Yeah?” Kirishima sounded confused but not in the way he had been anticipating. He was confused like you had just told him Ashido’s favorite color was pink. Like what Katsuki had just said was common knowledge.

This had Katsuki whipping his head back to look at him. “’Yeah’?! The fuck does that mean?!”

Kirishima tilted his head like he did when he could tell Katsuki was upset with him but didn’t know why. “It means yeah? Like, yeah I know?”

It was Katsuki’s turn to be confused now. “You know?”

“Dude, if it was supposed to be a secret, your awful at hiding it!” Kirishima laughed and he glared at him for it. This was supposed to be his close kept secret! His weakness nobody, except for maybe Deku, knew! Kirishima seemed to understand his inner turmoil (because of course he would) and gave the teen a small smile, moving to rub the back of his neck. “Well, maybe it just was to me? I dunno, man. I noticed from the quirk assessment we had on the first day.”

“How?!” His voice sounded more confused than annoyed.

Kirishima shrugged and moved his toe against the floor a bit to slightly spin the chair he was sitting on. A nervous habit he’d get when he was the center of attention, Katsuki noted. “You just weren’t responding to anyone. First I thought you were just kinda an asshole and ignoring people, ya know?” He looked back up at him with a grin. “But then when Aizawa-Sensei would repeat something louder and you’d respond and I saw your quirk in action, I guess I just put two-and-two together. I didn’t know it was some big secret though.”

“It’s not!” Katsuki was quick to snap but that wasn’t really true. It clearly was or his heart wouldn’t have dropped when he realized Kirishima had figured it out within hours of meeting him. He huffed to himself, not wanting to snap at Kirishima over his own overlook and looked away again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Does anyone else know?”

Kirishima hummed in thought, looking up at the ceiling. “I think all of us kinda know somethings up to varying degrees.” He must have heard the speed at which Katsuki whipped his head around because Kirishima quickly clarified, “I mean those of us in the squad. Kaminari talks louder when he’s around us. Ashido and Sero started too as well after they hung out with us for a while. I suppose it also helps that the four of us are naturally loud anyway, but they definatley talk up and more clear when they're with us.”

Katsuki just looked at him stunned. They had all figured it out? And they hadn’t ever commented on it? Made it a point to make a joke about it? Tease him about it like they endlessly teased him about everything else? They had just started to talk louder for his sake?! Here he thought they were just obnoxious assholes…

Kirishima seemed to notice his lack of anger and response and crossed his arms over the back of the chair he was sitting on, resting his head on them as he studied Katsuki carefully. “Is this what’s been bothering you?”

Katsuki shot him a glare before huffing and looking away again. A nonverbal yes before he sighed, eyes closing. His mind was still reeling from the knowledge that not only did the other idiots figure it out, but that they had all apparently silently just decided to not talk about it and simply speak up and clearer so he could hear them all better. He had a plan going into this. He was going to tell Kirishima he was hard of hearing, tell him he’d known it was coming, and how he was supposed to wear hearing aids. He had planned for questions and for almost snapping at Kirishima for giving him a pitying look before quickly covering it up because Kirishima knew he hated pity. He had expected this conversation to go the opposite direction it had gone and now he was at a loss.

“They…" How was he supposed to proceed now?! "I’m supposed to wear hearing aids.” He blurted out quietly, almost hoping Kirishima didn’t hear him.

But of course he did. “So why don’t you?”

“Are you stupid?!” Kirishima frowned. It wasn’t pity on his face but almost like disappointment? That look was somehow worse and Katsuki quickly looked away from him again. “I can’t be number one like that.”

“So you’d rather just not be at your best then?”

Wellp. Anger was back. Least that was familiar over the weird sensation knowing his friends never brought up his hearing had left him with. He jerked back to face Kirishima, on his feet before he even registered he’d moved. Kirishima just looked at him with same look he had on earlier. “What?!”

“You can’t be your best if you aren’t even going to work with something that improves your skills.” Kirishima repeated, apparently oblivious to the absolute inferno of anger his words had lit. “Dude, you can’t stand there and tell me with a straight face you’d be at your absolute best going into situations as you are when you could be going in with your senses heightened. That would be like fighting with one hand tied behind you back all the time! It doesn’t make any sense, man!”

Katsuki stood where he was, keeping Kirishima’s gaze which had narrowed. It wasn’t anger, but the look he got when determination had set in and he wasn’t about to even think about budging on something. Katsuki liked to imagine it was the look he had when he tried to convince their classmates to come to Kamino Ward. What made it worse this go around was that, well, Katsuki knew he was right. “Tch.” He turned and stalked back to his bed before slumping down on it, glaring up at the ceiling as if it had personally wronged him. “What pro hero do you know wears hearing aids, shitty hair?”

“You?” That answer had Katsuki turn to shoot him a ‘stop bullshitting’ look but Kirishima’s face was so purely earnest the words died on his tongue. “Sure none of the current pros do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be the first! I bet they’ll even make some with little orange X’s on them! That would be so cool!” He gave Katsuki one of those toothy grins that rivaled the sun in brightness and it took all Katsuki had not to smile at him in return.

He scoffed and looked away instead. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe, but I’m right about this!” Kirishima stood up and moved to sit beside his feet on the bed. “You always are the first and best at everything. Wouldn't it be super manly to be the representation to little kids you want now?” Katsuki didn’t say anything, afraid speaking might betray how hot his face was starting to feel at Kirishima’s unbridled admiration. “Besides think of all the cool ways you could make them look! I bet you could get them like, orange to match your uniform or-!”

“They’re already orange.” Kirishima turned to look at him and Katsuki rolled his eyes at the awe on the red heads face. He knew what was coming without Kirishima even asking so he sat up to pull a small box from the far corner of his nightstand. He tossed it to Kirishima who caught and opened it, eyes growing wide.

“Dude, these look so cool!”

“No they fuckin’ don’t. Don’t lie to me-“

“I’m not, man! Dude, picture this.” He picked one of them up and held it so Katsuki could see before splaying his other fingers out behind it. “You could have them as part of you mask! I bet support could even make some super badass ones that could have another dual factor! Maybe even like Mic’s speaker thing? No, I guess that wouldn’t make sense. But maybe they can block out certain things? Like Shinsou’s quirk! Oh man, you’re an even better match for him now! Just turn them off and you can’t even hear him!” Kirishima went into a rant about all the things he thought the stupid device in his hand could be used for and honestly Katsuki wasn’t hearing any of it but not because of the hearing loss. He just watched the idiot talk, watched his lips move and hands gesture. Watched as he’d occasionally laugh at something he’d thought of and how his smile reached his eyes when he did. How he was so excited just to sit here and come up with dumb ideas and how happy he was that Katsuki was potentially going to be an even better hero.

That thought alone made Katsuki’s heart jump again. Kirishima had really meant it about being an example. He really did think wearing the stupid devices would make him a better hero. Didn’t think it would make him any less of a person or any less of a pro. Kirishima genuinely didn’t think less or pity him for it and it actually seemed like he was furious that Katsuki would risk throwing his own dream of being a hero away just because of two tiny devices that would help him.

It was almost too much for him.

“You’re an idiot.” He repeated. Kirishima stopped talking and looked at him. He was still smiling and Katsuki was willing to bet that he was too if the slight tug at his lips was any indicator. “Fuckin’-! Fine, you rambling moron. I’ll wear the damn things tomorrow.”

The grin he got in return had to rival the brightest light in the galaxy and before he could open his mouth to warn against it, Kirishima tackled him back on the bed. The curses and explosions he sent in return were simply laughed off and otherwise ignored.

---

True to his word, Katsuki stood in front of his mirror with the small devices in his hand. He looked at his reflection without them, took in the way he looked one last time as if he could never go back to this look before sliding them in and turning them on as he remembered the doctor demonstrating. He winced at the resistance he was met with as they flickered to life but looked back at his reflection once they were snugly in and properly adjusted. His hair hid them for the most part, ash blond strands hanging low enough that unless he really looked, he couldn’t see them. Maybe that meant nobody else would since he was actually looking for them. He let out a sigh and turned to grab his bag. He doubted that severely. He swore quietly to himself, ignoring how it actually wasn't as quiet as he thought, and started the trek to class.

The walk out of the dorms and into the school was… different? He could hear things he hadn’t otherwise heard before. He could hear birds chirping in the trees he walked under, bits and pieces of conversations of the people he passed, that one weirdo from 1-B saying something and even the faint smack that followed as that orange haired chick apologized for him. It was almost like he’d been listening to the TV volume only turned up to 2 and now suddenly it was changed to 10. It would be overwhelming if he were anyone else, he guessed. Katsuki imagined this is what those videos of colorblind people wearing those special glasses was like. To experience the world with a sense that was dulled for so long only to be informed that said sense could be much better.

He’d spent so much time glaring at the stupid things and then fiddling with them to get them adjusted that he’d been beaten to class by the self proclaimed ‘Bakusquad’. Kirishima was sitting on Sero's desk facing the door and when he spotted Katsuki, broke back out into that same grin he did that rivaled the light flickering in from the windows. “Hey, Bakugou!” He raised an arm in greeting, grabbing the attention of the other idiots who all turned to greet him though not as enthusiastically as Kirishima. Not much of a surprise considering the red head was very clearly the only morning person among them.

Katsuki tsk'ed in greeting but Kirishima seemed to be studying him harder than usual and it was pretty clear what he was searching for. So with a roll of his eyes, Katsuki turned his head slightly so Kirishima could see the small bit of orange poking out from under his hair and if the smile he was greeted with was bright, this one was blinding. He didn’t say anything much to Katsuki's relief, just looked back at Kaminari despite his grin not fading as Katsuki walked over to his desk and tossed his bag down. Such a stupid little thing and Kirishima was grinning like he'd won the lottery.

Class was almost night and day.

He could hear Aizawa’s lazy tone easily, better than he had ever remembered being able to. He didn't need to rely on his handouts and the board to take notes. It was considerably easier to understand Ectoplasm now too and, much to his sheer and utter annoyance, he could hear Deku muttering to himself again. It was annoying, sure, and he almost considered taking the stupid things out to prevent it, but the fact that he actually could stopped him. Even Deku's muttering couldn't quite distract from the almost wonder he had. He could also pick up on Kaminari and Kirishima whispering though he coldn't make out what. (Probably about the math problem Ectoplasm just wrote down.)

The lunchroom was another experience. He hadn’t ever heard it this loud and he muttered to Sero if something special was happening because of the noise before Sero eyed him confused and said it was always this loud. Huh. He knew it should be considering the amount of teenagers cramed into it, but the thought hadn't really ever crossed his mind just how loud it should be. It was almost painful. Their usual table was at least a little quieter since it was in the far back. Katsuki was actually able to hear Kaminari approaching without relying on the slight ting of electricity in the air that usually was his give away. He looked up and watched as he and Kirishima stepped over towards them, caught up in some conversation about something, only stopping when Kirishima moved away and took his usual spot beside Katsuki while Kaminari went to sit in front of him.

“Hey, Bakubro! You look-“

Katsuki winced. “Fuck, can you maybe not talk so damn loud?!” He brought his hands up to his ears, wincing as they gave off feedback which he assumed was due to the mentioned static Kaminari gave off. Maybe he really should speak to support about upgrading them if he was going to start using them more. Wait, was that going to be a thing? He'd told Kirishima he'd wear them today; not from then on. When had he decided this was going to be a permanent thing?

He was lost in his own thoughts about if this so he missed the way Sero, Ashido, and Kaminari looked at each other, then at him, then back to one another. “Uh? He’s talking like he usually does. Which yeah, it’s loud, but it’s his usual volume.” Sero defended, looking all the world like Katsuki had just started sprouting a second head.

Shit.

Katsuki huffed and looked down pointedly at his lunch, taking a bite of rice to further avoid meeting their gaze. “Well tone it the fuck down, dunce-face.”

Kirishima was pointedly quiet while the three others sat in silence for a joyous and nerve wracking moment. He wondered briefly if they would just drop it, but no, he was never that lucky. He heard a gasp, knew it was Ashido, and jerked his gaze back up just as she leaned across the table and reached over to move his hair aside. “You got hearing aids!”

“Fuckin’-! Don’t touch me!” He swatted her hand away but the damage was done.

She was grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh my gosh, they look so good! That color is going to match your uniform perfectly!”

“Nice, dude! When did you get those?”

“Does this mean you’ll answer when I ask you for help now?”

“I think he was just always ignoring you, Kami.”

"What? No! Why would he do that?"

"Because you ask him for answers on every problem rather than how to solve it?"

Bakugou watched the three teens in front of him suddenly turn on Kaminari, laughing at the other blond’s expense. They hadn’t even flinched at him wearing them! No jokes, no sympathetic looks, nothing! They just took it in stride as if he’d said the weather outside was cool. He looked over at Kirishima to get confirmation that he wasn’t insane and they had really found out what he deemed his weakness. Kirishima met his gaze with a knowing grin and a shrug of his shoulders, a silent ‘I-told-you-it-wasn’t-a-big-deal’ look on his face. Katsuki shot him a glare but turned back to his meal to try and hide the smile he knew would betray any small amount of anger it may have had.

They didn't seem to care. He'd spent so much of his life dreading the day he'd have to wear these stupid things. Dreading the way people would look at or perceive him. He was Bakugou Katsuki and the only way he should be looked at was with admiration or fear; not pity or sympathy, and he whole heartedly believed that was going to be the outcome wearing these would bring. He expected the three idiots in front of him to make a huge ordeal about it, but they just seemed relieved and excited. Just like Kirishima had been.

Maybe having friends wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

---

After that, Katsuki wore them daily. They became second nature from then on and he wanted to be surprised that nobody seemed to even flinch at them, but after seeing his friend’s reactions, he really wasn't. What was supposed to be a weakness was nothing more than another area he could work with. Something Katsuki could train and hone like his quirk. He’d even followed Kirishima’s idea and got a pair that would work with his mask. They got upgraded to protect his remaining hearing from his explosions while enhancing it. His regular ones got an upgrade as well so they’d stop sending him feedback every time Kaminari got within a foot of him which spared Kaminari getting threatened and snapped at so it was a win for him as well. (Both pairs were returned black with an orange X printed on them and Kirishima swore he knew nothing about it.)

Months passed and it was hard to imagine he’d ever put up such a fight to wear the stupid things. They really did make a difference and it was even better knowing nobody felt the need to shout at him. Part of him wondered just how many people did but also didn’t think his pride could risk asking. It was like nothing had changed and while he wouldn’t ever admit it, it was apparent he had worried and put this off for absolutely no reason. His friends rolled with it like nothing had happened and that alone, while he refused to admit it, was the real reason he continued to keep it up after the first day. The idiots seemed to be full of surprises, especially Kirishima.

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise what happened one night during the middle of their second year. The pair were up late in Bakugou’s room going over the latest math homework they’d been given. Well, more like Katsuki was going over Kirishima’s since his was already finished. At some point he’d taken his hearing aids out figuring he wouldn’t really need them in the quiet of his room.

He marked one last problem Kirishima needed to look over and handed the paper back. The red head took it then asked ‘Do you want to go get something to eat?’

“Yeah sure.”

He pushed himself up and brought an arm back behind his head to stretch it out and then it dawned on him. Kirishima hadn’t spoken. His lips hadn’t moved.

“What?!”

Kirishima startled at his yelling. “I asked-“

“I know what you asked!” Katsuki was pretty sure he must look strange because Kirishima was looking at him with sheer, utter confusion. “It’s- it’s how you asked it!”

The red head blinked at him in confusion, clearly not understanding why Katsuki was suddenly so upset. “What about it?”

“You signed!”

“Yeah?” He held the ‘ea’ sound out as if the pause would help him figure out what had happened. Katsuki could feel his face heating up. “Dude, I’m so confused right now. What’s wrong?”

“You-! You fuckin’ signed to me!”

“Yeah, you covered that part. What about it?”

“When the fuck did you learn it?!”

Kirishima still looked at him baffled. “Dude, I’ve known for years. My mom is hard of hearing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I didn’t think I’d need to? I sign to you all the time, man!” Now it was Katsuki’s turn to look lost. He looked at the red head for a few minutes as if he’d just told him some world altering view, which he kinda did. “You good, bro?”

“No I’m not ‘good’! When the fuck have you ever signed to me?!” Though as the question left his lips, memories started replaying in his head. One’s of Kirishima casually signing ‘lunch?’ while verbally saying they should head to grab a bite to eat. Memories of Kirishima signing ‘that was awesome!’ after Katsuki did some impressive move in training. Of Kirishima’s fingers moving to ask him to pass his notes back over. Vision after vision of Kirishima slipping it into such casual setting from the first weeks he knew him and wow, okay that did something to his heart.

Why hadn’t he ever noticed it before? When the hell had Kirishima become such a casual part of his life that him speaking in a language hardly anyone knew became second nature? How had he learned so much about Katsuki without him ever knowing the red head was close enough to figure him out? Why did he decide to dedicate so much of his energy and time to be around him?!

“Dude?” He looked over at Kirishima who was now looking at him worried. “I was kinda kidding when I asked if you were good but now I’m actually worried. Are you alright? You look, like, sick."

Katsuki dropped to his knees in front of the red head who was looking even more concerned now. He opened his mouth, probably to once again ask if Katsuki was okay, when Katsuki put his hands on either side of his head and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t anything spectacular on the outside, just a chaste kiss, but it was an awakening for Katsuki who avoided feelings and distractions. Katsuki who had mentioned romance was the furthest thing on his mind when Ashido asked him back in first year if he was interested in anyone. So yeah, it wasn’t the most romantic of kisses as Katsuki hadn’t exactly kissed anyone aside from one or two people back in middle school and Kirishima hadn’t exactly moved or leaned into it let alone reacted.

Wait, shit. Kirishima hadn’t reacted.

That thought had him pulling back immediately, apology already forming but going unspoken as Kirishima mirrored the gesture of grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. Now it was Katsuki’s turn to be shocked but it faded in seconds, eyes closing on instinct as he moved to rest his hands on Kirishima’s hips. Kirishima in turn gently cupped the side of his face, guiding Katsuki’s head to tilt to the side slightly so he could deepen it. Alright, this one was much better than the pitiful one Katsuki had just done. Kirishima’s lips slid against his like they were meant to be connected and his hands lit Katsuki’s skin on fire. The feeling was like wearing his hearing aids for the first time. Like reawakening a sense that had been muted for years. He didn’t want it to end but after one last slow kiss, Kirishima pulled back, lips parted as he breathed.

Katsuki opened his eyes and blinked down at him, no doubt looking as kiss-drunk as the red head. Kirishima beamed back up at him, cheeks tinted red which Katsuki could feel his own face mimicking. He glanced away as if that would hide it, ignoring the way his heart rate picked up when Kirishima’s arms moved to wrap around his waist, head resting against his chest. He had about a billion things he wanted to say, knew Kirishima had about a billion he probably wanted to ask, but of course the red head knew him well enough to know he needed a minute before he spoke. Kirishima knew him so well. How did he not ever connect these dots and do this sooner?!

“So you like me.”

Alright, maybe not the elegant response he wanted but he earned a laugh from Kirishima. He shrugged and looked up at him so Katsuki could see his lips, smile still present. “What finally gave that away?”

Katsuki could feel his face flush anew. “’Finally’?”

“I haven’t exactly been trying to hide it from you.”

“You never fuckin’ said anything!”

“Again, never thought I’d need to.”

And alright, that was fair if he thought about it. He frowned but it was more at himself than at Kirishima and he ducked his head down to rest against the red head’s shoulder, the red head pulling him close. “You have awful taste.” He muttered to which Kirishima just hummed, lightly resting his head against the side of Katsuki’s.

They stayed like that for a while longer before Kirishima’s stomach made them remember what had started this whole ordeal in the first place. As they stood up and started to head out, Katsuki paused and turned grabbing his hearing aids and sliding them into place, ignoring the way Kirishima’s face lit up at the simple motion. He didn’t comment on it though, only taking Katsuki’s hand for a whole second before dropping it. Katsuki arched a brow, about to ask what was wrong.

‘I really, really like you, Katsuki.’

Katsuki was pretty sure his face was currently redder than the idiot in front of him’s hair and mumbled a quiet “Fuck you” as he lightly punched his shoulder. Kirishima laughed and caught Katsuki’s hand before it fell away. He went to lace their fingers together and tug him down the hall but Katsuki stayed rooted to the spot. Kirishima looked back at him, head tilting in the ‘whats-up’ way he did before Katsuki pulled his hand back.

‘You are an idiot, but I like you too.’

It shouldn’t be a surprise the way Kirishima’s eyes lit up. It shouldn’t be breath taking the blinding smile such a simple statement was met with. It shouldn’t make his heart skip when he was rewarded with another kiss. None of it should be but here Katsuki was, arms wrapped around this dumb, red headed ray of sunshine who managed to do the impossible.