princess27violet

[hellshire-harlot]

If my Xbox is done for I think I will kill myself

[gretavanlace]

Sun and Moon

Josh/Jake Kiszka x reader blurbs

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings for Josh blurb: graphic sexual content, language, dirty talk, praise, degradation, pet names, digital penetration, etc.

Warnings for Jake blurb: graphic sexual content, language, dirty talk, illusions to impact play, slight dom/sub dynamic, etc.

As ever, loosely edited, apologies in advance. Josh’s blurb was inspired by that damn video of them at the arena bar…he lays his hands down so pretty and I want them. Jake’s was inspired by this delectable ask. Thank you, anon..sending love ❤️

Josh

“Look at these panties,” Josh tugs on the rosey-pink lace, snapping the elastic against your hip with a pop. “Very sweet, pussycat. Did you dress this pretty pussy up just for me?”

His fingers are at your clit now, sweeping over the wet, swollen bud as it peeks out from behind soaked-thin fabric. “Take me to bed.”

Maybe you should care about how whiny you sound, like a spoiled, insolent child, ready to stomp her feet and pout for what she wants. Ready to throw herself down on the floor to fall into a wailing, kicking, tantrum if she doesn’t get her coddled way. But you don’t - care, that is. The only concern alive in your blurry mind is your need to be fucked. To be fucked by Josh. Only Josh. Always Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh.

But, you’ve seen the devilish glint in his eye tonight, and you know it well. Maybe plans to deny you, maybe he plans to taunt you, maybe he plans to make you beg, maybe even cry. He’ll tease you over that, too. He’ll call you a crybaby and mock you gently, if only to make you cunt ache even more desperately for him, and it will work.

Maybe he has all these things in store for you, maybe none of them…you never can tell with Joshua.

He has stepped onto his favorite stage tonight, and, make no mistake, he will have his moment in the spotlight.

“Take you to bed?” He tilts his head as though confused as to why you’re asking for a change in venue. “No no no, I think we’re fine right here, don’t you? Since you wanted to bother me while I was trying to write. Since you wanted to whine and crawl into my lap like the kitten in heat that you are, while I was working, you can take it right here. Right up against the wall. Only angels get taken to bed, and it seems you’ve misplaced your halo.”

“But, baby,” you protest sweetly, trying your best to tug at his heart-strings, “I want you to—“

His finger taps your lips closed as he clicks his tongue at your insubordination.

“I didn’t ask about what you want, though, did I, pussycat?” He offers you a tiny smile with a cruel wink, “I said, you can take what I give you right here or I can sit down and get back to work, hm? Leave this gorgeous,” his fingers slip into your panties and slide inside you deftly, “wet, little cunt to ache for me all night long? Which sounds best to you?”

“Here,” you breathe, arching away from the wall into his pumping touch. Your mouth finds the corner of his lips where they turn up so pretty and soft, and then move to the perfectly round scar on his cheek - your favorite place to kiss.

“You’re so wet.” He leans into your searching kiss as your tongue laps lightly over his warm, silken skin. “Sloppy little girl, making such a mess of my hand already. Are you gonna soak me when you cum, like the best little kitten?”

You nod urgently, nails digging wanton crescent moons into his shoulders through the tshirt you couldn’t fight off of him. He’s working that heavenly spot deep inside you now, sweeping massaging circles into it while his thumb, wide and warm, flickers across your clit rapid fire, like a frenzied tongue.

“Yeah? My pussycat’s gonna cum real pretty for me? Gonna make a dirty mess all over my hand so I can smell this tight, perfect cunt all night?” His free hand loops around your throat as he leans back to watch your face. A glutton for drinking in the evidence of what he can reduce you to.

“Yeah.” It hisses out of you through clenched teeth as your nostrils flare slightly. You look feral, like you’ve just wandered out of the woods, muddy feet and twigs crowned into your hair, and he loves it, adores it, fuck, how he loves it.

“Yeah? All because I asked? You’re my filthy, bad fucking girl aren’t you? All tears on your cheeks and my name on your tongue.”

“I’m not…” your protest falls short, less than a whimper as his long, insistent fingers carry you closer and closer to where you so hungrily want to, need to, go. “I’m a good girl. I’m you’re good girl. Tell me. Please, tell me.”

“I’ll tell you that you’re my good girl when you’ve given me a reason to pet you sweet. Now, c’mon pretty kitty, relax, you’re too tense.”

He’s right, your body is taught, muscles seized up and bracing for impact.

“Come on, baby…” he soothes, nuzzling your ear as he finger fucks you into a daze. “Breathe. In and out. Shhh…let go.”

You soften in his arms, but you’ve drifted so far out into choppy waters, you can’t find your calm. He shakes his head, sucking a hot trail along your jugular, “More, baby. Clear your head. I’ve got you…I’m gonna take care of you, you just breathe, just let it happen. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His lips have made their way to brush over the shell of your ear. “Listen, pussycat, you just listen to me. Shhh.”

He begins panting slowly into your ear, muddling your thoughts into undulating colors as he effortlessly guides your breathing, praising you with his touch rather than his words, lest he pull you out of the fog.

When it hits you, it hits just as hard as he’d hoped. You’re practically vibrating in his arms as you tremble and gush through it. Raining down around him, pouring into his palm, down his wrist, your release rivering in ticklish, hot streams over his skin.

“There she is,” he hushes, strained and greedy for it to never end. “There’s my good girl. That’s it pussycat, give it to me, give it to me.”

His name crawls, ragged and hitching, up out of your heaving chest like an invocation, your way of falling to his feet in worshipful praise while still caught in his arms.

At last, it drains from your body, taking your strength with it, and you fall limp in his embrace. He laughs softly, stroking your hair with the hand that isn’t dripping in you.

When you finally find your footing, you’re left watching, wide-eyed and breathless, as he sucks and licks your clear, slick release from his skin…dragging the pink tip of his tongue in a spiral around his wrist to chase a droplet.

Just as you're settling into the show, he stuns you by dragging his hand over the soft hairs on his lip and chin…wearing you as he turns back to his notebook.

He points at the couch, and, obediently, you curl up on it, falling into a dreamless slumber while he works, lulled by the sound of his pen scratching against paper.

~

Jake

“Jacob,” you sigh, tapping away at your keyboard as if unbothered. “Stop staring at me and go find something useful to do with yourself.”

“But, I want to be with you, princess.” He sounds despondent, afraid you’ll order him out. “Don’t make me go.”

He was right to worry over that, you had been considering banishing him behind a locked door and your AirPods to drown out any complaining. But now, with him looking and sounding so pitiful, you haven’t the heart.

“Jake, I have work to do. Sit quietly, without staring at me like a lost puppy, and you can stay.” Mean? Not so much. Firm? Definitely. That’s exactly the thing, though, if you aren’t firm with Jake he won’t listen. He’s spoiled, and that’s nobody’s fault but your own.

The real truth of it all is this - he doesn’t usually listen even when you’re firm, either…but you both enjoy the game.

You ignore him, scanning over monotonous reports and making ever the mundane notations until you see it out of the corner of your eye…a subtle, consistent movement. A rhythmic drag of his hand as he caters to himself gently, eyes omnivorous on you. Coveting. Thirsting. Yearning.

“Jakey babe,” you lend a questioning, unassuming lilt to your tone. “Are you touching yourself?”

His movement stills as he sits gorgeous and statuesque, like he’s never done anything wrong even once in all his days. “No, princess…just like to look at you.”

“And now you’re lying on top of it all?” Your chair swivels around, leaving you eye to eye with this angelically needy man of yours.

“It was just…” his face has flushed hot pink under your accusatory stare. “It was just over my pants. I’m just so hard…it hurts.”

You decide to take pity on him. Lucky boy. “Come here.” You order with quiet authority as you cast your deadline aside in favor of playing with your very favorite toy.

He rises to his feet, and you follow suit…eyes locked in on the outline of his deliciously hard cock.

“Someone’s already halfway there, Jakey.” You tease, pompous smile flitting over your lips, there and gone in an instant.

“I don’t mean to interrupt you,” he promises, bridging the space between your bodies. “I’ll do it myself. I’ll be so quick…just let me touch you. Anywhere.”

“My pussy whipped little mouse.” Now you’re being mean.

“Yeah,” he nods imperceptibly, burrowing his renaissance painting face into the palm of your hand.

“Good boy.” You’re cooing, sing-songing softly to quell his need for attention. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m pussy whipped, princess.” He breathes without an ounce of hesitation “I’m a slave to your beautiful cunt. To your mouth, to your hands…your heart, your mind. Please. Can I have something?”

“May I have something,” you guide, leading him over to the chair you’ve just vacated.

He settles down into it under your supervision and watches you intently as he finds comfortability where he knows he shouldn’t. This is your office, your workspace, and he is simply an intruder to swallow up your time.

Take your fill, Jacob.

When you your seat on his lap, straddling him so that you’re hovering right above his twitching erection, he begins to whine…grip ironclad on the armrests until his knuckles are ghost white, to save from grabbing at you and earning a swat.

Without warning, your hips swivel down until you can feel the throbbing length of his pretty cock, and then you set into an unforgiving pace…thrusting and rocking while he whines like the greediest baby beneath you.

“Look,” you snap his face to the side, chin pinched within your grasp, until his eyes are devouring his reflection in the antique mirror propped against the wall. “You see how pretty my baby is? Look how fucking beautiful you are, so grateful for any tiny treat.”

“You’re the beautiful one, princess.” His devotional praise is clipped, he’s nearly gone already.

“No need to stroke my ego, mouse..” you taunt, fucking against his still hidden cock a hint faster, “You won’t be sinking into this snug little cunt tonight, not until I’m good and ready.”

He’s thrusting up to meet you now, squeezing feverishly at your hips as he pulls you down against him over and over and over.

“Don’t stop, princess…” He sounds like tears are holding onto his pleas, the way they rasp and shake, fuck. “Please, keep going, my sweet sweet girl, you’re so good to me…so fucking good. Don’t stop, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop…”

“Say it,” you demand, a harsh edge catching the light of your words as you watch him watch himself in the mirror.

He knows, and he doesn’t fight it. “I’m pussy whipped, and I’m pretty. I’m your pretty pussy whipped mouse…thank you for your cunt, princess, even if you won’t let me touch it. I’m gonna cum. Fuck, please say I can, please, please let me cum.

With the softest kiss upon his succulent mouth, you give him silent permission and lose yourself in the sound of his orgasm. He is sinful Ave Maria when he cums and if heaven is real, this is the song you will hear at its gates.

Ushered by your reverent praise, he releases in his pants, expression twisted in pleasure, as well as the embarrassment of losing it like his cock has never kissed a cunt before…but you love it.

You love the way he looks, you love the way he sounds, you love the way he feels and tastes. You love the way he can’t tear his gaze away from himself in the mirror. You love the way he clings to you like you’re the only thing that’s real to him…

You love him.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @gretasmokerising

[tt0bu]

Periwinkles

Originally posted at AO3

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: GiyuuTan

*

The first time Kamado Tanjirou met Tomioka Giyuu, he was eight years old.

His Ma and Pa came out of the back door, away from their old oven where the last batch of the shokupan was left to sit, maybe to burn, since little Tanjirou thought something must be wrong. There was haste in his father’s steps, hurried and careful. His mother’s strides were stiff, nervous, unsure. Nezuko, his little sister, was pulling on the grass where she sat, streaks of bright sunlight bouncing off her giggling face.

Tanjirou watched his parents trek up to the end of the street on that little hill in the middle of a city they call home.

He saw every adult from the neighborhood walk the same path, disappearing behind the gates of Nishida-san’s house.

Except for one unfamiliar uncle.

The said uncle, who looked too western, who looked like those uncles from foreigner spy movies his father loved watching, stood unmoving under the waiting shed just across the Kamados’ home. He was looking towards the end of the street too, where all the adults had disappeared, but made no move to follow. He was holding a black book close to his chest, and little Tanjirou couldn’t see anything aside from three blue lines on the cover of it.

New neighbor? “Uncle!” he called out to the man, jumping on his feet and waving his little palm enthusiastically. His young mind wouldn’t have noticed, but whenever Tanjirou would look back to this moment, he finds it weird how everything just disappeared – no adult to reprimand him because he was talking to a stranger, no chirping of the sparrows perched on the wisteria tree behind their fence, no sound from the nearby train station.

Maybe he dislikes being called uncle? The unfamiliar man with raven black hair and pale skin didn’t heed his call, not sparing a glance at the curious boy trying to catch his attention. Tanjirou took the man’s cold demeanor as a sign of discomfort, probably because he may be new to the neighbourhood. But it did not stop him from crossing the street, diligently looking to his left and right, twice to be absolutely sure, just like how his Pa taught him.

“Uncle,” his tiny hands pulled at the hem of the coat the pale man wore.

Tanjirou saw how the most beautiful pair of eyes, blue like the noon skies and the periwinkles he picks behind the hill where the Hashibiras live, looked down on his little self with disbelief. The man continued to gawk on him, gaping and frozen in his place. He clutched the thick book closer to his chest, tightening his grasp on its spine. The blue lines seemed to shimmer, a quick flash of shine running through the three lines, but Tanjirou thought nothing of it. After all, it’s almost naptime, his eyes may be playing tricks on him at the moment.

“You-“ the pale man with the clothes of a spy and the eyes of the sky swallowed, eyeing little Tanjirou with hesitation. “-you can see me?”

“Uhhh,” Tanjirou looked around, but neither his parents nor the neighbor uncles and aunts were in sight. “Am I not supposed to? Are you hiding from anyone?”

“How, how is this possible?” the boy heard the pale man whispered, his own burgundy eyes examining the leather shoes he wore. Those are pretty shoes, but he never saw his father wear one. Maybe, when he gets a little bigger, he will get the same pair for his Pa. “You never saw me before. Not even once, not even when you d-“ the man with blue eyes bit his bottom lips and stopped muttering to himself. “What’s the difference this time?”

“Uh-oh, no,” Tanjirou shook his head, the hanafuda card earrings swaying along his movement. “Are you new here, Uncle? Are you lost? My Ma and Pa went to Nishida-san’s house but if you’re hungry I can get you these anpans my Pa made! They sell out really, really fast and I’m lucky Ma keeps some for me and my little sister before taking them to the store-“

By the time Tanjirou realised the lost uncle was never really listening to him in the first place, he could already hear the faint wailing and sobbing from the house at the end of the street. However, before he could ask, he heard the lost uncle take a shaky breath, pinching the base of his nose in annoyance, Tanjirou wasn’t sure, before carefully opening his book to a certain page. The pale uncle traced what the little burgundy-haired boy could only imagine were words, before softly uttering the name he knew very well.

“Nishida Sora. 58. Lung disease.”

“Oh!” Tanjirou bounced on his feet at the idea. “You know Nishida-san? Are you here for him? If you don’t know where he lives, just walk to the end of the street. You’ll see a really huge wooden gate with crow carvings. That’s where he lives!”

The pale, blue-eyed uncle didn’t even acknowledge his words.

“If you want, I can walk with you. I just need to take Nezuko with-“

The lost uncle gently tugged on his collar to stop him from running back to their home. “I know where it is, tiny human.”

“Owwkay, big human!” The man visibly grimaced at his words, yet Tanjirou beamed. “Are you his doctor?”

The big human seemed to be ignoring him again.

“Sensei?”

“Uncle?”

“Sir?”

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa? Do I look that old?” Blue eyes met tiny burgundy ones again, offended, making Tanjirou giggle on the back of his hand. The little boy just shrugged, rocking back and forth on the heel of his feet. He saw the uncle sighed once more before shaking his head. “Cheeky tiny human.”

Tanjirou pretended to know what cheeky meant, tilting his head to the side to get a proper look at the man who was ignoring him a minute ago. “Are you Nishidan-san’s relative? I can introduce you if you want?”

“No. I am here to collect.”

“Collect? Collect what? Stones? Bugs? Ohhh! I know a great spot to catch emperor beetles! Inosuke-chan always catches the biggest ones though and Zenitsu-chan’s just a scaredy cat so we don’t have to worry-“

“No, not that. Not beetles. Look-” This time, the man crouched to the little boy’s eye level, and with the close up view of his blue eyes, Tanjirou thought he was staring at the sky itself. “You shouldn’t be seeing me. You shouldn’t be talking to me.”

“I can see you though. I have eyes, Uncle. Ma said they’re very pretty.”

“That’s true – uhum.” The big human coughed to his fist, hiding his face. Tanjirou wanted to ask if he was alright and should he fetch this uncle a glass of water? But the man faced him again, gone was his coughing fit. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“They did.”

“And?”

Little Tanjirou tapped his finger against his chin, pursing his lips, deep in his childish thoughts. “You seem lonely, and Ma said if one of my classmates smelled lonely, I should do something to cheer them up!” He tugged on the hand of the pale uncle, jumping slightly at how cold his palm felt. “What’s your name? I’m Tanjirou!”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Boo! Don’t be silly!” Tanjirou giggled like a child on a swing flying into the air. “Everybody has a name!”

“Not me.”

“But I told you mine!” Tanjirou stomped his little feet on the concrete pavement of the empty street, throwing a tantrum. His father would give him a good scolding, maybe a little spanking, should he see the burgundy-haired boy giving others troubles. Remembering his father’s words, Tanjirou decided to attack from a different angle.

“Hey, hey – hey, oh, come on.” The blue-eyed man crouched again, meeting teary, burgundy orbs and blushing cheeks. “What now? Why are you crying?”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me your name!” Tanjirou wailed louder, acting like a spoiled little kid which is nothing like him, all because he wanted to befriend this uncle who has the bluest eyes, who looked like a spy.

The big human exhaled, evidently troubled, while Tanjirou beamed. “Fine. You can call me Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Not Yuu-chan. Yuu. Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Why am I even trying,” Yuu-chan whispered mostly to himself, and Tanjirou’s grin grew wider. “I need to go. Nishida Sora will be here any moment. Is that your house?”

Tanjirou followed where his Yuu-chan was pointing. Red, wooden gates, unlit house lanterns, an old service truck with Kamado Bakery hand painted on its back. Yep. That’s their house. “Yes, Yuu-chan! I live there!”

“Come.” The little burgundy-haired boy tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. Uncle Yuu-chan seemed to understand his unspoken question. “I’ll walk you back to your home.”

Years later, when Tanjirou would look back to that moment, he would laugh at the memory of what he would always fondly call as his first brush with death. But his little self wouldn’t realize that, enjoying the coldness of Yuzu-chan’s palm against his own, celebrating his newfound friendship. He wouldn’t catch how Nezuko, as young as she was, got confused about him laughing on his own, hand raised in the air like he was holding something invisible.

Later that night, delirious from a high fever, Tanjirou dreamt of blue skies and periwinkles and spies invading Japan in crisp suits.

-

“I heard you spoke to humans today, Giyuu.”

“Human. A tiny human, Shinobu. So what of it?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

“He has the gift of Sight!”

“Just be careful, Giyuu. They may let this slip up pass, but we both know consequences are harsh. There’s a reason we never interact with living, breathing humans.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you do.”

-

Tanjirou would always look out of his room’s window, ceremoniously, watching each and every adult passing on their street. He was lucky enough to have his room on the upper floor, albeit slightly hating the room during summertime when the sun would burn through the roof. But it was the perfect place, for he can spot Yuu-chan from the crossing.

He mentioned Yuu-chan one evening at dinner, and even when his Ma and Pa was glad he made the new neighbor feel welcomed, they expressed their interest in getting to know the blue-eyed man. He even overheard them talking about it when he went for a pee and his parents were in the living room watching old spy movies again.

“Tanjirou said he’s a new neighbor. But we didn’t hear anyone moving here.”

His father’s kind voice cut through his mother’s worried one. “I’m sure he’s just a passerby.”

“But what if...”

“Don’t worry, if anything, he may be talking about an imaginary friend. Yuu-chan seemed harmless.”

Imaginary? He’s pretty sure Yuu-chan is real! But even if he wanted to defend his ‘not-imaginary’ friend, he would hear his Ma’s voice reminding him to never eavesdrop at adult conversations, Tanjirou. So he let them be, did his business, and went back to sleep. He decided between dreams that he would invite Yuu-chan to his home one day.

But Yuu-chan never showed up at his street again for a long time.

It was snowing when Tanjirou saw him once more. Not the harsh, unpleasant winter, but enough to color the world white. He was clothed from head to toe, layers over layers of protective shirts, mittens and socks. His Ma had always been careful, reminding him that it would be awful to catch a cold during Christmastime.

He was permitted to accompany his Ma on her trip to the local hospital to drop their freshly baked breads and pastries, a Kamado tradition during the holidays. His parents would wake up really early to prepare for it, kneading doughs and cooking fillings because it would mean the world for the health workers if they can get savoury curry pans or their bestselling anpans in between shifts.

Tanjirou watched as his mother dropped the box on the counter, the hospital guard behind her bringing the second one. From the corner of his eyes, on the far-end of the long, white, empty corridor, stood a man who seemed too familiar to him. Before he could even think, Tanjirou let go of his mother’s dress, walking hastily to catch up, sprinting into a full run when the figure headed for the door.

Yuu-chan?

Tanjirou really did his best to catch up, but his tiny legs could only do so much, the stranger who bore resemblance to Yuu-chan got further away even when he pushed against the floor with all his strength. He did not hear his mother’s faint cry, calling his name, wondering where on earth would his first born go and who he was chasing after. But Tanjirou only had one thing in his mind.

“Yuu-chan!” He pushed the heavy glass door open with his little hands, no guard to hold it for him since the man helped his Ma haul the box of pastries inside. But the stranger, with the same black hair cascading below his shoulders in a loose bun, the same crisp gray suit, the same lonely, closed off scent, didn’t acknowledge the pet name. So he tried, hoping to get a reaction, his young heart clenching in sadness because why wouldn’t Yuu-chan want to talk to him? How did his collection go? Would he know if Nishida-san was really gone? “Yuu!”

The man continued walking, past the gates, leaving no chance for the boy to catch up. Tanjirou watched as Yuu-chan turned right to the sidewalk, disappearing behind the brick wall. He wanted to run and give chase even when his lungs felt like it was shrinking in exhaustion, his legs numb from the sprint, his head aching from the lack of oxygen. But  before he could move, a gentle yet firm hand grabbed him by his left shoulder, spun him around and before he even realized, his Ma’s comforting and worried scent enveloped him.

“Don’t you dare do that again, my boy.” His Ma whispered in his hair, running her palm up and down Tanjirou’s back to let him know he wasn’t in trouble. “You scared me Tanjirou. What was that about?”

“Sorry Ma,” he was suddenly sobbing, partly because Yuu-chan ignored him like he was a stranger, but mainly because his Ma’s scent was so distressed, anguished, and he never wanted to make his Ma feel that way again. “I-“ a hiccup. “I saw Yuu-chan and I wanted to say hi but-“ another hiccup, and he reached up to wipe the snot dribbling from his nose with the back of his hand. “-but maybe he didn’t like to be my friend anymore.”

“Oh Tanjirou,” his Ma cooed, embracing him tightly against her chest, occasionally wiping his son’s face with her handkerchief. If she noticed that there were no fresh footprints on the snow, no signs of another human being around, she never said a word. Even when she saw his son calling out Yuu-chan to an empty corridor, running after a formless person, she never mentioned a thing. His son doesn’t need anymore heartbreaks on Christmastime, and doesn’t need to hear about how this Yuu-chan is only a fragment of his imagination.

-

Year: 1945

Month: April

Day: 26

Battle of Okinawa

Giyuu stood in the middle of the dense foliage, on the isolated island of Okinawa, as he watched soldier after soldier fall to their death at the hand of the enemy. Bombs would go off in the distance, their detonation shaking the earth. But he stood unmoving, completely in displeased awe, because this was a scene he had witnessed numerous times before.

“I will never understand humans and their obsession with war.” Makomo stepped quietly to the ground beside Giyuu, and he knew his fellow collector shared his facial expression. They were tired of humans killing each other, hurting each other, to satisfy their greed and hunger. “It hurts Them, these pointless endeavour of humans to best each other.”

“How many have you got?” He chose to ask instead, because even if they wanted to do something, they’re merely collectors. Humans and their dumb ways of dying were out of their duty; they were just sent to collect their due.

“Considering the numbers of soldiers on this island and the guarantee that not even a fourth will come out alive?” Makomo opened her book, flipping several pages. “A lot. You?”

“Thinking about the cups of tea I have to prepare for Choosing already wore me out.”

“Don’t worry, Giyuu. Kyojurou, Mitsuri, and Tengen are here too. Who knows, maybe the numbers are off and we won’t have to collect these much considering the collectors present?”

“When was the book ever wrong, Makomo?”

“Don’t ruin my optimism!”

Their little banter to pass time came to an end when a young, bleeding soldier ran towards their way, a group of foreign forces hot on his trail. He hid behind the trunk of a fallen tree, crying and clutching his jammed rifle to his chest. Giyuu only saw a part of his hair, black like his own, peeking under the helmet he wore on his head. Soot and mud dirtied his young face, but what caught the blue-eyed collector’s interest was his fierce, burgundy eye.

Eye, because his right was shut close, blood covering the half of his face.

“This is what I hate the most.” Makomo opened her book again, tracing the names under her watch. Once she located what she needed, she clicked her tongue in frustration. “Beautiful, innocent souls like him who get dragged to a war he did not wish for. Do you think he cries because he knows he’ll never see his family again? Or perhaps, because he killed another human even when he didn’t even want to fight this war?”

“I think he’s praying.”

“Should we listen to his words?”

“What? No, that’s private.” Giyuu looked at his companion with slight horror in his expression. “He prays to Them, and we can’t disrespect this young soldier’s last minute on this land.”

“I’m just kidding!” Makomo poked him on his cheek, but immediately turned when footstep grew nearer. When they saw the group of soldiers who gave chase surround the praying man, Makomo tucked her book in her arms and whispered. “It’s almost time, little soldier. I’m sorry your family will never see your beautiful eyes again.”

Giyuu decided to leave and do his part of the job too. He gave one last glance at the praying soldier, only to see one of the enemy hammer the heel of his rifle down to the wounded soldier’s forehead. Said soldier slumped against the trunk, but Giyuu thought he saw enough and turned around in haste.

A blunt force like that would likely scar, and he hoped it won’t seep through the soul. But it had been a traumatic experience for the young soldier with burgundy eyes, spending his last minutes alive surrounded by unfriendly faces. That wound would be a birthmark in most cases, but Giyuu hoped this soldier wouldn’t carry the wound to his next life should he choose to be reborn.

-

Tanjirou reached for the towel as he straightened his back, wiping away the droplets of water on his face. He absentmindedly traced the birth mark on his forehead as he brushed his teeth, his mind going over his plans for the day. He will meet Inosuke and Zenitsu at the latter’s grandpa’s house for a group study in preparation for their high school entrance exam. On his way back, he has to buy cough drops for his Pa who refused to see a doctor and will always counter their arguments with all I need is a good night sleep and plenty of water.

There’s nothing much to do for the day but to study, he figured, so he stuffed all his textbooks and notes into his bag and rode his bike to the Hashibiras to collect his friend. Inosuke thrashed like a bug lying on its back, complaining about why he always gets to sit and not pedal. He said he bets he’s a much better rider than Gonpachiro.

“It’s my bike, Inosuke. That’s why.”

“You’re just afraid I’m better at bikes than you, Monjirou.”

Zenitsu once told him, back when they were young, that Inosuke would actually get their name right after seven tries. I counted, his blond friend would say, because he kept yelling at me and shoving worms and beetles and acorn nuts in my face. Tanjirou tried to keep track the first few months after knowing the dumb fact, but eventually grew tired counting the wrong names before he could hear the right one.

The burgundy-haired teenager squeezed on the breaks, the rubber tires squeaking against the asphalt. He then got off, and gestured for Inosuke to take the handlebar grip. “Pedal away, Inosuke-sama.”

“Ha!” His loud friend thumped his back, with the aggressiveness that would match his excessive energy. Tanjirou had to step a foot forward to stop himself from toppling over. “I knew choosing you as my favorite friend was the right decision!”

Tanjirou shook his head with a little laugh. “Oh, what an honor!”

“Stop daydreaming and get on already! I can’t wait to run Monitsu over!”

“Don’t do that Inosuke.” Tanjirou transferred his backpack to his front, facing the opposite direction, watching the hills roll as his friend pedalled vigorously downhill. He only realised his mistake when they zoomed past the gate of Zenitsu’s home. “Inosuke, stop! Don’t go too fast –“ Tanjirou looked back to see his blond friend getting smaller and smaller until he was just a tiny dot of yellow. “ – we’ve passed by Zenitsu’s house! Turned around!” He shouted over his shoulder, closer to his friend’s ear. “Inosuke! TURN AROUND!”

Without a warning, Inosuke swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees, not knowing he had almost threw Tanjirou off. The burgundy-haired miserable back rider yelped in surprise and fear for his life. But before he could complain, Inosuke started pedalling again with the same intensity, Tanjirou thought he would die on the ride back to where Zenitsu’s home is. Good thing his friend waved and jumped, catching Inosuke’s attention, and the boy squeezed on the break so hard they almost did a cartwheel with the bike.

Never again, Tanjirou thought, as he combed back his hair. I refuse to ride a bike with Inosuke ever again.

“Wow,” Zenitsu stared at the two of them from head to toe. “I’m surprised you didn’t get into an accident.”

“He’s a walking accident.” Tanjirou pointed at his friend who wore his favorite boar shirt. “I am not getting on a bike with you again.”

“Just admit I’m better than you!”

Zenitsu pushed the two of them inside before their pointless discussion lengthened, the three greeting grandpa Jigoro along the way. Soon they fell into a series of question and answer, index cards and flashcards flying across the room. Inosuke would constantly complain about math and why did he have to learn such useless things. Zenitsu would also complain about Inosuke’s complaints, but would snatch away the problem, solve it for the boy, and explain how he got 12 as the value of X.

“Uhhhh,” Tanjirou stretched his arms, arching his back to pop the joints as he stood from their table. “I’m going for a quick konbini run. Anything you guys want?”

“Didn’t you bring any snacks from the bakery?”

“We didn’t open today. Pa’s sick.”

“Onigiri and Nissin for me, Tontaro!”

“Same, but I want tamago sando instead of onigiri.”

“Then it’s not the same, stupid butter head!”

“Bold of you to call me stupid when you’re the walking definition of the word!”

Tanjirou didn’t want to witness the inevitable wrestling match to which Inosuke would mercilessly hug Zenitsu from the back to squeeze out his oxygen, so he excused himself without saying a word. He checked for his wallet before mounting his bike. He didn’t spot any konbini on the way, so he decided to try the opposite street so see if there’s a nearby store. To his luck, he saw the green and red signboard a couple of streets away.

He parked his bike on the sidewalk as he repeated his friends’ choice of snack over and over again to make sure he wouldn’t forget. He opted for a katsu sando and a bag of potato chips, carrying all the food he picked to the counter. Just as the girl behind the register dropped the change to his open hands, he caught a hauntingly familiar figure, through the glass walls of the konbini, with the identical black book held against his chest.

No way.

Yuu-chan?

He quickly grabbed the brown paper bag after throwing a hurried sankyu to the cashier , pushing the doors with his shoulder. He then left the bag on the basket of his bike, before taking off to run after his Yuu-chan. Why didn’t he take the bike instead, Tanjirou could no longer think rationally because he couldn’t believe he’s about to see Yuu’s after all these years.

Was his eyes playing tricks on him again?

Because there’s just no way the person he was made to believe wasn’t real and was just a part of his childhood imagination was actually there. He looked exactly the same; charcoal gray three piece suit, light blue dress shirt, and a navy blue necktie. Just like the spies from his Pa’s old movies he often dreamt about.

“Yuu-chan!” He could no longer contain his excitement, jumping on the back of the man when he was an arm length away. But Yuu quickly turned around, reached for his wrist, effortlessly twisting it in a quick, practiced movement. Tanjirou didn’t manage to introduce himself because his wrist hurt and was twisted in a very awkward way, he thought he might snap it any second. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! It’s me, Yuu-chan! It’s me! Ow!”

As quick as Yuu grabbed him, the man immediately let him go once recognition dawned on his face. “Tiny human?”

“Wow, you remembered me!” Tanjirou beamed, the same wide smile he wore the first time he met Yuu. He almost forgot about those periwinkle eyes and snow white skin as he tried to bury the memory of the day when Nishida-san succumbed to lung cancer. “I almost thought you weren’t real, like a story of make believe I came up with in a desperate attempt to make friends.” Yuu-chan looked away, and Tanjirou wished he could read whatever was on the man’s mind. “It’s been seven years, Yuu-chan.”

“I owe you no explanation, tiny human.” Yuu-chan continued to look away, his blue eyes never meeting Tanjirou’s burgundy ones. “I never agreed to being friends.”

“But you remembered me, big human.”

Yuu-chan flinched. “My work involves a lot of names, and a mistake would result in grave consequences.” The man tucked his book in his arm again, turning around to walk away. “Go home and stop following me.”

“You sound like you’re just making excuses!” Tanjirou continued to annoy the man, hoping to make him talk more because his voice was somehow calming. He didn’t know where the boldness came from, but before he could think, he reached for Yuu’s hands, cold as ever, and pulled him towards the empty bus stop across the street. It should have been strange, with the absence of people on the street and the silence in the air, but Tanjirou didn’t notice. “Come with me! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What are you doing?” Yuu-chan gently freed his arm from Tanjirou, keeping it inside the pockets of his pants this time. “This is dangerous. Please keep your distance.”

“Why do you talk so formally, Yuu-chan? Come sit beside me!”

Tanjirou watched as the man glared at the innocent bench, burning holes in it as he considered his options. All the while Tanjirou’s wide grin never wavered, choosing to observe quietly as Yuu-chan argues with himself. The man looked like he never aged at all, like the past seven years were merely a week for him.

“You won’t stop until I indulge you, would you?”

“Nope!” Tanjirou bounced in his seat, grinning triumphantly.

“Fine.” Yuu-chan finally took a seat, a meter away from him. “But you shall not cross this distance.”

“What? Why? I’m not sick!” Tanjirou whined but immediately shut his mouth when Yuu glared at him. There was no hostility, but Yuu-chan has the ability to disappear from his sight, like how he did the past years, so Tanjirou chose not to push his luck further and truly anger the man. “Alright, no need to kill me with you eyes. Very pretty eyes I must say.”

Tanjirou’s throat tightened, and if he was standing, his knees would have buckled from the intensity of Yuu’s eyes. At first he thought the man didn’t like praises, didn’t like talking to him, but he continued staring. Tanjirou, unsure on what to do, chose not to meet Yuu’s eyes as he tried his best not to crumble because the weight of his stare makes the burgundy-haired boy melt.

To his surprise, Yuu, who was so adamant to observe distance, pushed against the metal bench and stood in front of him. Tanjirou raised his head to look at him, but Yuu-chan’s cold fingers brushed against his forehead. Chilly wind blew past them, causing strands of burgundy hairs to fall, but the cold fingers were there to brush them back up. Tanjirou couldn’t help but shiver, due to the wind or the cold skin, he couldn’t tell.

“Is there something wrong?” He managed to ask even when the chill he felt crept up from his lungs to his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“This,” Yuu ran the pad of his thumb over the mark, twice, before tracing the outlines. “Was this always here? I didn’t – “ He stammered, as if he couldn’t make a sentence out of his train of thought. “ – seven years ago – “

“Oh, this?” Tanjirou instinctively reached up, not expecting a cold hand meeting his own where his sturdy forehead should be. “It had been there as far as I can remember. It just got bigger as I grew older. Seven years ago, it was just this tiiiiiiny thing, you could have mistaken it for a scar.”

He heard the blue-eyed man, who was acting so strange that day, mumbled something under his breath. It was so soft, Tanjirou could have heard three different languages, because even when there were no cars, no people around, he still didn’t understand the incoherence mumbling. Tough luck, for he has lost his gift of keen nose after turning ten, so he has absolutely no idea what this strangeness was all about.

“Does it hurt?” he heard Yuu-chan ask as he pulled his cold fingers away. But he didn’t step back to create a meter of distance again, much to Tanjirou’s delight. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really, no,” he bit his lip, recalling a stupid myth Zenitsu recounted once when they were nine. “They said birthmarks were signs of how a person died in his past life, but that just sounds silly to me.”

Tanjirou looked up, hoping to see Yuu share his opinion about the absurdity of the myth. But he only saw anxious eyes which couldn’t meet his, lips flattened into a straight line, brows furrowed. “Sometimes, old stories passed down with words of mouth would hide a truth or two.”

“Are you telling me - ” Tanjirou’s voice climbed a pitch higher, trying to suppress his laughter after considering that he had a life before this. “ – that I died from a blunt force trauma to the head in my past life? Was I murdered?”

“Don’t be silly,” Tanjirou wanted to scoff because Yuu-chan dared call him silly when he was just spouting nonsense about old stories and hidden truths a minute ago. “Besides, is that your only birthmark?”

Immediately Tanjirou crossed arms over his chest, balling the shirt he wore with his hidden palms. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t spooked at Yuu-chan’s question, because he sounded like an honestly curious man, but his instinct pushed him to cross his arms over his chest where a different set of marks hide. “How did you know about that?”

“Know about what?” Yuu asked back, and Tanjirou couldn’t determine if he was feigning ignorance. “I was just asking.”

Tanjirou gulped the knot on his throat, suddenly feeling stupid about his fascination with his own birthmarks. Science has explanations for these, there must be, so he shouldn’t be bothered by Yuu-chan’s vagueness or Zenitsu’s old stories. He was about to ask the man where he went and why he didn’t see him again, but Yuu was suddenly flipping a page of the book he was carrying over and over again. “What are you doing, Yuu-chan? Looking for something?” Tanjirou tried to peek at the pages, but Yuu-chan pivoted his body around to keep the book out of his sight. “I can help?”

“This is strange.” Yuu flipped the page again like he was trying to see if flipping back and forth would make a change to what was already written in the book. Tanjirou wanted to laugh at Yuu-chan’s endless turning of the page, but the man seemed troubled. “How did this happen?”

“How did what happen?” He was never proud of his nosiness, but it was harmless, he thought. He just wanted to help and stop Yuu-chan from tearing the poor page out of the book. The same book, with three blue lines spreading out horizontally, he was carrying back then.

“I was here to collect, ” Yuu shut the book close, tucking it under his arm once again. “But it seemed I was mistaken. I need to go.”

Collect? Like Nishida-san? Tanjirou wanted to ask, but such things weren’t easy to explain, and he wasn’t even sure he was ready to accept Yuu-chan’s secret, if there is one. He chose not to define who Yuu is, all that matters is that he was there again, talking to him, no longer ignoring him.

Tanjirou knew Yuu was going to disappear again. To where, he had no idea, but at least now, he was sure Yuu wasn’t just a part of his imagination. He felt him, his cold touch, his intense stare. Yet he couldn’t help but feel lonely for no reason at all. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps,” was Yuu-chan’s answer which offered no comfort to the boy. Perhaps could mean another seven years, or never again. Perhaps isn’t a guaranteed yes, sounding more like a gentle no. “These meetings wouldn’t benefit the both of us, and could put you in danger. Think of it as breaking the law, tiny human.”

Because more spies will be watching. This he knew, after seeing crisps suits blending in the crowds, peach hair and platinum, purple and aqua eyes. Yet he pulled Yuu to an embrace, burying his face on the folds of his three piece suit. “I stopped dreaming about you. For reasons unknown to me, I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever. But when you disappeared, the dreams went away too.”

Yuu removed his arms around his waist, Tanjirou already missing the coldness that seemed to come from every part of Yuu’s skin. He couldn’t read his expression again, but he didn’t expect anything more from the strange man. He speaks vaguely, dresses the same, never aged, so his expressionless face was the least of Tanjirou’s concerns.

“Stay healthy, tiny human.”

Tanjirou snorted at Yuu’s choice of response, turning back to where he left his bike at the konbini. He didn’t want to say goodbye, even when he knew that perhaps he wouldn’t see Yuu-chan again. So he continued walking even when he didn’t hear the man move from his place, because he has his hungry friends waiting for him.

He looked back, hoping to see Yuu watching him leave and walk away.

But like how he disappeared seven years ago, the man was suddenly gone, like he wasn’t even there a minute ago.

He rode his bike back to Zenitsu’s home in a bleary state. Thanks to the numerous trips he made to his blond friend’s house, he found his way even when he didn’t even remember pedalling. He couldn’t feel his legs, his head buzzed, his fingers numb. He recalled grandpa Jigoro asking him what’s wrong and why he looked so pale, before seeing Inosuke’s worried face rushing to him as he slumped against the nearest wall.

He black out a moment after that.

-

I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever.

“That’s not it,” Giyuu sighed, finding it hard to breathe as he watched Tanjirou stumble out of his bike, pushing the gate of his friend’s house with all his strength. That was his fault, for he couldn’t help himself, even when he promised not to bring harm to the beautiful soul again. “It was the other way around. You get fevers because of your dreams.”

“Who are you talking to?” came a voice behind him, but Giyuu didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Instead, he walked towards the gate of Kuwajima Jigoro’s humble home. He pushed it open, stepping into the other side where his office was. Sabito came in after him, shutting the metal door. “You were supposed to collect a soul today, Giyuu.”

“Who are you, my assistant? So what’s my next schedule?” Giyuu dragged a chair to the table in the middle of the wide room, the only furniture present. His office, much like the others in his line of work, was a high-ceiling room, with a tiled countertop where he prepares teas, coffees, sometimes even sodas, for the souls he brings to the Choosing.

Sabito hauled a tea bag at him, hitting Giyuu on his head, flakes of the dried leaves scattering in his suit. “I wish your brain was sharper than your tongue!”

Giyuu clicked said tongue, wanting to agree because he admits his earlier actions were not well thought out. How could he let a human touch him? How could he not say no, only because those burgundy eyes kept haunting him?

“Kuwajima Jigoro should have died today.” Giyuu pressed his fingers between his eyes, already feeling the early signs of migraine, still wondering what and how it happened because he wasn’t mistaken; he never made mistakes in his job. “I saw his name. It was cardiac arrest.”

“Were you on time?”

He shouldn’t be answering such silly questions. “You know I was never late, Sabito.”

“Were you,” His peach-haired friend sipped on the tea he brewed, holding Giyuu’s periwinkle eyes in an intense stare. “on time, Giyuu?”

Okay, so there was no use lying, and he sincerely believed the slight delay couldn’t hinder death that was already written in the book. He would be guilty if Kuwajima Jigoro’s name was there and that death had simply taken a detour due to his tardiness, but the name was completely gone. Erased, with no sign that it was there before Giyuu left his office, which it definitely was. “I may have been late by a couple of minutes. But it shouldn’t matter because the time of death is absolute even when no collector is present to – “

Sudden realization dawned on Sabito’s face that he was momentarily stuck with his jaw dropping to the floor, and a look of complete disbelief in his eyes. “You talked to a human again, did you? What were you thinking? Were you even using your head like you’re supposed to?”

“He jumped on me from behind! He recognized me-“

“Oh no,” Sabito took the chair opposite him, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He catches his head in his hand, murmuring curses at Giyuu’s stupidity. “It was the same human back then. The human with the gift of Sight. Oh no.”

Giyuu nodded, feeling incredibly frustrated with his inability to follow the rules. “Seven years ago.”

“That was already seven years ago? Yet he still remembered you?”

Giyuu nodded once again, not finding the words to defend himself from Sabito’s unabashed judgment. He couldn’t blame his friend and fellow collector for reacting the way he did, because they weren’t Divines with blessed holiness, nor humans with free will. They were just reapers, tasked to guide souls to the afterlife where they could exercise their freedom to choose one last time and help them decide what they want their fate to be.

He wasn’t human, therefore he doesn’t have the same freedom.

Even if he wanted to see Burgundy Eyes again, not only on the times he was dying, he simply couldn’t choose to do what he wanted.

The clanking of the Sabito’s teacup on the saucer shook Giyuu out of his silent dilemma. His peach-haired friend frowned, the scar on his face more prominent as he pursed his lips in frustration. He once asked the man about his facial scar, which they both agreed seemed to be a birthmark, but Sabito couldn’t recall how and when he acquired it.

“You can’t keep doing this, Giyuu.” Sabito sighed, tracing the patterned yellow and green lines of his own book sitting on the table. “We didn’t know, we may never know, how our presence affects living souls. I’m sure you’ve heard of the myths.”

“I have, but they’re just myths.” Like those about birthmarks, and Giyuu suddenly found himself with the realization that if the myths of men were real, then there’s a chance the myths of the reapers of the old were real too. “No,” he hunched over the table, burying his face in his folded arms. “I messed up. What if – “ Giyuu raised his head, the frantic look in those periwinkle eyes making Sabito flinched. “What if Kuwajima Jigoro’s death took a turn and – “

Sabito reached for his head, shaking it vigorously in an attempt to rattle his brain. Giyuu groaned at the harshness, but was thankful for the distraction. “Don’t think too much of it, Giyuu. If something was indeed wrong, you should have heard from Yorichii-san by now.”

“I swear the name was there!” Giyuu flipped his book open again, trying so hard to prove he was simply mistaken so he could step out of his door to collect the soul. But he couldn’t find the name, couldn’t find the reason why it would just disappear when death was something no one could hinder. Not even the Divines could defy death if They deemed it to be the right time to take back the gift of life They bestowed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tan – “

“Don’t speak of his name!” Sabito abruptly stood, his chair tripping over. His booming shriek effectively stopped Giyuu’s string of apologies. “Don’t make another mistake, Giyuu. Remember who we are, and what we bring. Don’t.”

Giyuu understood, for there is a reason souls should only see them after passing.

There is a reason he should never let Tanjirou see him again.

For he brings nothing but death.

-

Tanjirou should have known.

He tried to whisper, sometimes in his pillow before he sleeps, a wish to see Yuu in his dreams again. But he never had bad fevers again, never got the chance to see the man turn his nightmares into sweet stupor.

He tried to whisper, against the glass pane of the train as it whirred and swayed, words of intercession and petition, begging for a chance to see Yuu once again.

He tried to whisper his name, trying to call for him to come and explain, to let him know that he doesn’t care what he is, to finally understand why he can’t get Yuu out of his system, even after trying to make himself believe the man with the sky in his eyes isn’t real. He wanted to ask him why it felt like Yuu knew him longer than he should have, the same way he felt strangely familiar even when he only met him twice.

Tanjirou should have known that perhaps meant an empty promise, a parting word disguised as an assurance that he will see Yuu again.

For after he touched him with his cold fingers and reached for the scars he was born with, he never saw Yuu again.

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 7: Daisychain

***

“Mr. Harrington? Who’s your favorite student?”

The question came about at least once every year without fail, and he’d always answer in the same, textbook way.

“I don’t have favorites. I love all my kids equally.”

And, deservedly so, the whole class would grunt and moan because they knew just as well as he did that it was a load of bullshit. Steve loved every one of his kids, that part wasn’t a lie, but… he also definitely had his favorites.

For the graduating class of ‘90 when he was only a teaching assistant his name was Daniel. He was the youngest in his class because he started early, and he was incredibly bright. He could count higher, he could read quicker, and his mind just worked in ways that no adult could possibly understand. But it wasn’t the textbook intelligence that made Steve fall for this kid. It was his emotional intelligence. He was funny and he was kind and five year olds were cruel, but he never let that get to him. He had an outlook on life that Steve was jealous of, so when the other kids would turn him down for a game of checkers, Steve would happily join him, because Steve saw it as his job to keep that kid kind.

For the class of ‘91 it was Christopher. He was nothing like Daniel. He was held back and was repeating kindergarten, and that was evident in the way he walked through life. He was quiet and would voluntarily remove himself from the rest of the class. He’d sit by himself and read a book and get frustrated when he didn’t understand one of the words, he would swing by himself and he always tried to sneak off with the first graders when it was time to line up. And Steve perfectly resonated with that feeling of watching all of your friends move on without you. He was left in the dust too. When all his classmates moved on to college or hightailed it out of Hawkins, Steve was left there by himself, working at Family Video with his only friend in the grade below him, and it took her leaving him as well for Steve to finally get his shit together, haul his ass west of the Mississippi, and enroll in a community college and work towards his teaching degree.

And he did it, against all odds and obstacles in his way, he did it. It took extra work and the support of his best friend who he followed, and he did it. He saw himself in Christopher, and he wasn’t going to make that kid wait as long as he did to realize that setbacks don’t define his future.

Steve usually took a liking to the quiet kids, and that only changed in ‘93 with the girl named Amy and the familiar last name. She was loud, vibrant, and everyone loved her. Her smile was contagious and she could be the sweetest little girl at times, but she also wore her heart on her sleeve. She cried quite a bit, just the littlest thing could set her off. A boy accidentally knocking over her blocks, not knowing how to spell a certain word, accidentally coloring outside the lines. She didn’t throw tantrums like he saw in the other kids. She would just bow her head and cry and it would break Steve’s heart every time.

But other than those few moments, she was bright and charismatic and with the last name, the blonde curly hair, and the big personality, Steve really should have put it all together much sooner than he did.

He didn’t put it all together until he saw Billy Hargrove in the soup aisle at the local grocery store wearing a chain of little daisies on his head like a crown, and he knew exactly where it was from.

It was from the little girl named Amy Hargrove who frolicked in the field instead of playing on the playground, collecting flowers that she meticulously made into bracelets and crowns and anything else she put her mind to. She gave them to friends, she even gave one to Steve, and of course she would give one to her dad too.

He looked so different, and yet exactly the same. He still had the damn mullet, just dragging the eighties with him as far as he could, he was a little more cleaned up but still had a similar style to what it was in highschool. Still with the same denim jacket, denim jeans, Canadian tuxedo type deal. In a side by side picture situation you wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference. It wasn’t his dress or his hair or anything physical about him that made him look so different, it was the way that he carried himself. It was the relaxation and the eyes that didn’t droop and the smile lines that didn’t used to be there that made him almost entirely unrecognizable from the Billy Hargrove who pushed freshman against lockers and drove his car too loud and too fast and had cigarettes for three meals a day. Not the kid who ran off to California as soon as the hospital released him with only his Camaro and a small suitcase and a large sum of money the government used to keep his mouth shut, leaving just a note for Max on the fridge that didn’t get any more specific than that about where he was going, not even leaving a phone number for her to contact him with. He also didn’t look like the kid they all pictured in their heads after basically the whole town found out about exactly what Neil Hargrove did to his son behind closed doors.

Steve wanted to go up to him in the store, but he stopped himself. Because Billy left. Without a trace or a word, and who was Steve to think that Billy having to be reminded of something he voluntarily abandoned without a second thought would have any sort of positive outcome?

So he turned down the aisle and kept his distance from the man in the flower crown because he was scared. He wasn’t scared that Billy would see him and turn back to his old ways and hurt him again, he was scared that he’d turn back to his old ways and hurt himself again.

Because he’d been hurt enough already.

Steve successfully avoided Billy until parent teacher conferences had rolled around, and instead of seeing Amy’s mom on the list of names he’d be seeing that day, it was Billy’s.

Steve would be lying if he didn’t think about calling in sick and sending his TA in his place. But he still had to be her teacher for another six months, he just had to get the interaction over with.

Many of the parents that came before Billy had to have known he was on edge about something considering he excessively tapped the table with the eraser of his pencil and stuttered his way through conversations. His organized folders and notes of talking points had been entirely thrown out the window and he was an absolute nervous wreck. And he could only anticipate it being ten times worse when the cause of said anxiety walked through his door with the long hair and the leather jacket. It was only with the help of the little girl in the sunflower dress and daisies in her hair skipping from the entrance to the chair in front of him that calmed his nerves just a bit.

But Billy had just stayed at the door, no movement, and any hope that Steve had that perhaps his new haircut and the glasses on his face would be enough to keep Billy from noticing the obvious vanished when Billy snapped his fingers like the lightbulb in his head finally flickered on.

“I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

Steve just held out his hand to shake like he did with any other parent, unsure how to gage the situation because Billy’s words could go either way and his facial expressions didn’t give him anything to go off of. It would be weird to introduce himself, he didn’t know what to say.

“Hi, I’m Amy’s teacher. Should we start?”

Billy looked a little confused, but he sat down in the little kindergartener chairs anyway. This meeting was almost more organized than the ones prior, likely because he was trying to go as quickly as possible and get it over with. Steve showed Billy some of her artwork and commented on how her reading comprehension was great but she could work on her spelling a little more. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he brought up the crying and it hurt to see how him bringing it up set her off again. The same bowing of the head and quiet sniffles into her sleeve.

But Steve thinks he just fell in love a little watching Billy comfort her. With one hand rubbing circles into her back and the other holding her small hand. Steve feels like shit watching her cry because of him and is also semi-fearful for his life because he already knows he can’t take Billy in a fight.

“Baby, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with crying. It’s okay.”

“You’re dad’s right Amy. I think it’s very healthy. Crying is good for you.”

She looks up at Steve with those big blue eyes and tear stained cheeks when he says that.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah! I’d say it even makes you more mature. Even some adults I know don’t let themselves cry and it’s not good.”

“My daddy cries a lot too.”

Steve looks at Billy who’s eyes widen when she says it, then tries to laugh it off like she didn’t just say that.

“Hey Amy, you wanna go and play while your daddy and I talk for a minute?”

She just nods her head and wipes away her remaining tears and quickly hauls the bucket of Lincoln Logs off the shelf.

“So. It’s been a while. Hasn’t it?” Steve starts.

“Yeah it has. So, you’re a teacher now.”

“And you’re a father. That’s crazy.” Steve was fiddling with his hands, trying to make the conversation less awkward. “She’s wonderful by the way.”

“Yeah. She doesn’t get it from me.”

Steve just shakes his head. “No. I don’t think that’s true. She has your charisma, and it appears you found a better way of channeling your emotions since last we saw each other. She’s a lot like you.”

“Thanks.” Billy blushed. He actually blushed. “I don’t know if this is allowed considering you’re her teacher, but would you want to catch up sometime? Maybe dinner or something?”

There it was. That was the olive branch. And Steve would be an absolute fool not to take it.

“I’d love to.”

Before they could come up with a time or a place, Amy was running over to the table with loudly stomping feet.

“I almost forgot! Daddy! show Mr. Harrington what I brought him!”

Billy reached into his pocket upon her demand and pulled out a little bracelet made out of little daisies and honeysuckle and handed it over to Steve.

“Thank you Amy! It’s lovely.”

“Daddy show him yours!”

Steve looked to Billy’s wrist where he slowly lifted his sleeve to reveal an almost exact replica to the bracelet in his hand.

“Looks like we’re matching.”

[muffindaddystyles]

Okay but vamp!harry x reader where the reader goes for a late night walk alone because she’s feeling anxious (Harry tries to insist on coming with but she says no) but soon he can sense somethings wrong and goes to look for her and finds her in a dangerous situation! I need protective vampire Harry 🥺

Disclaimer: Reader with ADHD, Vampire!H x fem!reader, cock warming.

Harry's been doing humanly things. Moreso trying for his little human whom he doesn't want to dissapoint when she's making ećlairs or pop tarts for him and all he knows is to eat them despite of being a helping hand. His fingers are magical —--- they relax her in the most livid way while he's feeding from her. Honestly, it's all she wants. Her making sweets for him and him pleasuring her in the most bizarre way.

But. Sometimes she get's emotionally exhausted that the physical activities looks like breaking a mountain for her and all she does is snuggle under the snoozy layers of her childhood blankets cuddling her cat to calm her down.

Now her tranquility is Harry.

It's one of those days. She's been feeling like a failure. An utter dimwit for not getting what's happening in her sociology class, why her neighbours are always grumpy with her and why she isn't able to study anything. It's depressing her.

Harry never left her side. She's like a honey gooed all over him not even letting him bring the pizzas he ordered for them, "Don't!" She squeaks in a weak voice catching his wrists and he sits back cupping the nape of her neck looking straight in her eyes to assure her with his whole existence, "'ey baby . . my sweet girl 'm not goin' anywhere. Delivery boy's been waiting outside -- just a mo', yeah?" He sponges a gentle kiss at her temple stroking her cheek to calm her down.

They've rented a VR receiver and alot of silver movies watching them while eating pizza. She giggles and Harry smiles goofily when he had to hit the receiver twice to make it work, "c'mon you should know how all of this work old man." He strides towards her pulling her up with armpits into his embrace and tickling hard.

"Old man huh!? Ol' ma —" He pretends to eat her whole and she squeals between her laughs, "'m sorry you're my man!" Huffs smugly giving her a breather and pecks her not twice but thrice. If he could kiss her all day. He would. She's his human. It surprises him sometimes when he's alone with his thoughts. He loves her to fucking bits and pieces.

When she's like this everyone and everything feels outta her reach. As if they're miles away from her and she's standing in barren cold. In the amidst of sappy movie she shrinks closer to him stuffing her face into his ribs wounding her leg around his abdomen and he makes her feel warm wrapping his arms around her to push her up on his thigh. Snapping his gaze down at her when the lil sniffs of her reached his ears, "What's wrong kitten . . . hurts to see ya like this baby. Love you so much." He never fails to promise that he loves her to core.

"'M jus . . . thinking tha –-- that when I'll die you'll be still here 'n . . . 'n y'would get so lonely." She hiccups without a break, "Dunno. Can't stop crying 'm sorry." She gives out an ugly sob into his chest. It's breaking his already feeble heart. God he could scream the affection to the moon he have for this girl. In such a tragic moment all she is thinking is about him.

He cups squishes both her cheeks with his calloused palms telling her to breath with slow gestures then when she's way better speaks in his softest voice, "My baby listen to me hmm? We're never thinking of future don't wan'ye to wreck ye'r beautiful brain for stupid deaths --- secondly too bad miss Y/N 'm gonna cling to ye like leech of your nightmares." He wipes her tears away ever so caringly and gives her eskimo kisses while she giggles snorting at the end when Harry brought his big goldfish orbs in the middle to make her laugh.

"'M glad to have you." She whispers smudging her wet lips softly against his's into a heart melting blood warming kiss and Harry shushes her when she whines clutching the hem of his sweater, "bite me? She asks politely rather than being batty as for she was being within past days rilling him upto extreme to get her neck and skin sprinkled with hickeys that turns into bites.

"Don't wanna hurt ye', lovie." He pushes her hair away peering down at her with pleading worried eyes, "you wouldn't. promise." He nods flushing her against his chest positioning her head into the crook of his neck. Making her hug him like a koala bear.

Rubs her back. Pats her hair. Sways her along him rather than the seductive warnings he used to give her. He's afraid. She's too fragile at the moment. He'd never forgive himself if something will happen to her, "'m gonna bite. Stop me if ye' don't want it o' hurts." He runs his palms at her sides making her all squirmy.

He pushes her fangs ever so gently to her sweet spot. If she's made of glass making her moan and tight her grip around him warming up his cock in his trousers. It's not always about you dumber. He scolds himself. Suckling lightly and pulling back in a pinch of moment. It's the first time he has almost pretended to drink from her. She's all sleepy in his hold. He carries her to bed and when tries to untangle himself so he could turn the telly off she whines not letting him.

Despite of these much blankets she's still feeling cold. From inside. It feels empty and she isn't liking it at all. Writhes and squirms causing Harry to ask, "ye okay there lovie'?" When she shakes her head with glassy eyes and a pout he understands.

"Cold." Is all she had to say and he's guessing the next, "in ye'r tummy?" When she bobs her head confirming he sighs softly pulling the elastic of his trousers down to free his dick getting rid of the item woving his calves with her, thighs between thighs and places a firm hand on her back moving his thumb into circles non-stop.

"Oh me lil dovlin' c'mere . . want me cock to warm ye up baby? 'S okay s' okay darlin'." He murmurs against her lips tugging at his foreskin hissing when the head of his thick cock gets pushed between their bellys due to approximty. Precome oozes from his strokes and he takes her panties off swiping his crown over her hole to lubricate her. Wounds his arm around the nape of her neck to lap at her mouth swallowing her whines and cries while sliding inside her compact walls twisting his stomach awfully, "shhh. shhh baby love. I got ya. Gonna take care of ye ---- try to sleep. I'll be waiting fo' ye in the morning." Once, situating himself deep and snug inside her. He keeps on embracing her like a little baby.

Next morning though she woke up happy. Harry made her brekkie. Special smiley pancakes with heart shaped eyes from the little strawberry toppings. He really took advantage of his time while she was snoring her ass off. A peach smoothie and cashewnuts. Fed Meowsie. Gave her his morning lovin'. They had the meal together.

He helped her learn some of her course. Then in afternoon made lunch together egg fried rice and stirred vegetables Y/N went to give some of it to their neighbours. Lady Nat asked her if she's okay cause she has stopped stomping in her flat and it made her feel good, weirdly.

//

Maybe it's seasonal sadness that she couldn't get out of it. Harry's in the kitchen cleaning up shelves when he hears the rustle of carpet. He peeks from the wall to find her pooling into a big hoodie and slipping into her shoes. He frowns throwing the rag away to walk towards her immediately, "where ye' goin' lovie? Ye' okay what happened?" He runs his hands over her shoulders to her hair making her meet his eyes.

She nods squeezing his wrists, "don't worry just wanna . . . take a walk — clear my head." Hearing this he quickly moves to wear his jacket.

"'M goin' with you." He declares and she knows if that'll happen she wouldn't be able to, "No. Alone." She fumbles with the strings of her hoodie. He sighs not fond of the idea brows knighting together thumbing at her jaw with concern screaming in his eyes.

"Can I mark you then?" He asks knowing what hides in the shadows of outside; creatures evil than his entire existence. He doesn't want to make her feel like she owes him explanations for her each and every movement but gosh does it scare him to his bones. She's the only person who could make him weak into knees and a mesh of puddle at the thought of even the thorn pricking her, "okie." She cranes her neck and it still amuses him she's exactly how she was when he first met her. That gentle rose under the moon meant for Harry to care and water with love.

After adorning her with a crimson mark and little peck he tugs her closer hooking his nose to her hair taking a good sniff of her cocoa scent, "keep your phone in ye' hand and don't walk through the cherry street." There's nothing there but stray dogs that she's afraid of. It's better he advises her.

"Ai. Ai captain!" She salutes him stomping her feet and he chuckles kissing her cheek wet-ly, "Go before I change me mind."

//

He wanted it not to creep it to his mind but it's not helping AT ALL. He's been restless and it's been fifteen minutes since she has left. He's sitting sunk into sofa with Meowsie snuggled under his chin while he shakes his knees, cracks his knuckles, combs his hair and groans into his palms. In short throwing tantrum like a toddler missing her already and constantly worrying about her. Something doesn't feel right at all. That gut wrenching horror of losing her biting him alive.

He mutters a fuck it going to look for her and bring her back home. He was right. He has always been. Good at instincts. For fuck's sake. He's a vampire!

Y/N was walking along the path which's the lead way to a park when a dark vibe gloomed over her head. The next she knows is she's being pinned to a wall with demonic eyes snatching at her soul: it takes her breath away outta horror.

"No wonder why Harry kisses the earth you walk on." He chuckles darkly accent an old Scottish and she gulps eyes stinging with tears, "I would to . . if I get to drink such sweet ripe blood." Her eyes widens when his fangs pokes out from his gums glistening under the lamp light.

She tries to kick him in balls to get rid of his painful grip when an angry growl echoes towards them loudly and the person who had her trapped wooshes from her sight in a bolt to ground making her shriek.

"She's not a fuckin' feeder stay the fuck away from her!!" Harry grits spitting venom. Choking the person under him, "tol' ya she's my girl and I'll shred everyone alive if they'll even breath in her direction." She has never seen him this furious. Tone harsh and snappy she never heard coming from him it makes her cry.

He had warned his fellows when the news of him spread that he has bonded to human. But well they've thick skulls.

The man under him just smirks pushing him away and coughing into his elbow standing up. "Whatever thought sharing is caring, Styles." Harry glares him resentfully. Fisting a punch at his side but stables himself when a dainty hand wraps around his fingers clutching tight.

He turns ducking down to her level cupping her cheeks and tries to examine her for any kind of injury, "ye' okay? Did he hurt you? Tell me and — " she rubs her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie shaking her head vigorously.

"No. 'M fine sorry should've listened to you." He puffs out a breath of guilt letting his forehead fall against her's, "don't be sorry -- it's none of ye'r fault baby."

"Glad you're safe." He whispers hugging her with the sway of bodies, "I love you." She tells him honestly tip-toeing to kiss him and it unfortunately reaches his silky jaw only.

"And all the things you do for me." He grins down at her. He lives on praises. The cheeky bastard.

"How about eatin' ice-cream while taking swings in the park?" He intertwines their hands warmly kissing her knuckles and she quips excitedly, "sounds great!"

.

AN: idk why read more button isn't working sorry for the bug.

[roberttchase]

Manner minded or double trouble? Both SO matty? Maybe Christie looking after him?

double trouble: [character] is sick and injured.

I will be writing the manner minded one separately :) I hope you enjoy this (somewhat more detailed than I'd originally planned) ficlet.

Send prompts to my inbox.

+ + +

If you were to ask Matt Casey if he thought he was lucky, for the most part he would answer with 'no'. Yes, he's lucky enough to have Sylvie Brett as a girlfriend, lucky to have gone to the fire academy, lucky to have been promoted to a lieutenant and then captain. But he also had an emotionally abusive father as a teenager, a murderer for a mother, his girlfriend of eight years was killed, his wife left him. For every good thing, it feels like there are three bad things in his life.

So he can't even really say it's a surprise when, while on scene helping squad rescue two victims in a car that's balancing precariously close to the frozen Chicago River, Matt loses his balance, slips from the hood of the car, and falls almost twelve feet onto the ice that then suddenly cracks underneath him, submerging him in below forty degree water. Nothing in his life is ever easy. Intense pain radiates from his chest, his body feels like it's on fire, and then nothing.

From there, the scene is absolute chaos. Sylvie and Violet are both off shift, spending the entire week in Joliet helping teach at a conference. The two paramedics that are on scene are instantly calling for backup, while both Severide and Tony frantically suit up in scuba gear for precaution. Boden's yelling orders, but the three other members of truck are all frozen, staring at the large hole in the ice, from which their Captain is currently very much not getting out of.

+ + +

"Christie, you really don't have to do this, Severi-"

"I know what Severide said, but I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed with me." Christie Casey frowns, looking at her younger brother. He's at least four shades paler than he should be, cheeks flushed and eyes dull. Stubble consumes the lower half of his face, and the firefighter looks exhausted. She can't say that she blames him, not with the hell that he's gone through the past thirty six hours.

She'd gotten the call from Stella Kidd yesterday, a kind but shaky voice telling her that Casey, Matt, had fallen into an icy river, and was at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center being treated for two broken ribs and mild hypothermia. Arriving half an hour later, she'd been taken into Matt's room, where they had him on enough pain medication he was basically incoherent. One of the doctors had explained to her that the next few hours were important for any person who'd almost drowned- inhalation of the river water had occurred, and aspiration pneumonia was a large possibility. For a naive moment, Christie was certain that Matt would be fine.

Matt's never that lucky.

It's how she finds herself now, half glaring at her brother, who's been given instructions to stay with someone for the next forty eight hours, while his body wars with itself. The red haired doctor had explained that unless the mans fever reaches over 102, or his breathing deteriorates, he's allowed to stay out of the hospital. Severide's offered to let him stay at the loft, to take next shift off and watch over his best friend, but she tells her brothers best friend no. She needs to be able to watch over her little brother, if his paramedic girlfriend can't.

She's already talked to Sylvie, had called her only an hour after getting the call herself. They'd come to the conclusion that as long as someone was there to watch Matt, she needed to finish up the week for the CFD and CEMS.

"You ready to leave? I'm bringing you back to my place. Violet's got the guest room all ready for you."

Matt blinks and then nods, shoulders curved in slightly, one arm wrapped around his side. He looks a little woozy, though that could be from the pain pills being pumped through his body. That, or the fever he's sporting. April wheels him to the front of the hospital while Christie grabs her car and pulls it up to the curb.

Half an hour later, Matt's being helped into the guest room, where, sure enough, the bed has fresh sheets and a few extra pillows have been added for the man who isn't supposed to lay flat on his back. She gets him under the covers, thankful he's cooperating, and by the time she's back with the meds in a little plastic cup, as well as a glass of water, Matt's asleep.

"Matt, hey, you have to wake up and take your medicine, then you can go back to sleep, okay?" She shakes him as gently as possible, not wanting to hurt his ribs any more than they already are. She must knock something loose though, because not a second later he starts coughing, low and harsh, and his eyes flutter open. Gasping for air, they wait for his chest to stop spasming. His arm is cradling his side and she feels terrible, wishing she could help.

"I just need you to take this medicine, then you can sleep again," she promises, holding the cup out for him. When he nods, the woman lets the small pills tumble onto his open palm, and soon he's swallowing them tiredly.

"C-Can you stay?" The words are quiet and hang in the air as she turns to leave. Pausing, Christie turns back and is struck by just how young Matt looks, laying there with fever flushed cheeks and sallow skin.

Moving slowly, the woman gets into the other side of the bed, carefully shifting to get comfortable.

"Just like old times huh?"

She knows he's referring to their childhood. Christie can't help but smirk a little at the memories.

"Are you talking about when you would come crying to me because you were afraid of the dark?" Her tone is teasing, and instinctively she lets her fingers find his hair, running them through it just like she did when they were young teens and their father had been yelling at them.

A laugh bubbles out of Matt's throat, but it quickly changes to coughing, and it takes a moment for Matt to calm down, sipping water before replying.

"I was actually talking about when I was eight and caught whatever that punk across the street had after he coughed on me. I remember I was out of school for a week, and you stayed with me as much as you could."

She remembers it well.

+ + +

Matt never gets sick, not when he was a baby, and not now. She's always been the one to come down with colds or strep throat, and Matt always manages to avoid germs. He had been sick once when he was a toddler, once, but other than that, she can't remember him ever even getting a runny nose. And then Michael Jeffries goes and coughs all over him on the bus when she's in fifth grade and he's in third, and Matt's record of not getting sick goes down the drain.

It had been on a Monday. That following Thursday afternoon, Christie's waiting for Matt to get on the bus when their bus driver tells her that her brother has apparently gone home early. The whole ride home, the eleven year old is upset, not for her brother, but at the fact she wasn't taken out early either. Why did Matt get to go home and play when she didn't? By the time she's walking into their small home, the blonde is stomping her feet and slamming the door behind her, ready to ask why her stupid brother gets such special treatment.

Instantly though, she realizes something is wrong. Mommy isn't downstairs like she normally is, but instead of being worried, the girl let sher anger build. Running up the stairs, her ponytail swaying behind her, Christie's ready to yell and throw a tantrum, but she freezes when she sees her mom sitting on Matt's small twin bed. She's holding their big blue bowl that she always gets out when Christie's stomach is sick, and Matt is throwing up, coughing and spluttering after, while she rubs his back. Cautiously, Christie walks into the doorway.

"Mommy...what wrong with Matt?"

Nancy and Matt look up, the older woman rubbing her sons back.

"Matt's just not feeling well honey, he'll be alright."

Christie frowns and looks at her brother, whose cheeks are a startling bright pink, his skin pale.

"He looks really sick..." Suddenly she's not mad at all anymore, instead she's worried, no, scared. Matt doesn't get sick. That's his superpower, just like hers is liking vegetables.

Before any more words are spoken, Matt coughs and lets out a strangled little whine. "M-Mommy..."

Christie turns her face away as Matt gets sick this time, not wanting to watch anyone throw up. Instead, she goes and busies herself with finding paper and her crayons. Sitting down on her bedroom floor, the eleven year old goes to town with making her brother a get well soon card, the only thing she knows she can do in this moment.

That night, while she and mommy eat downstairs, Christie can hear Matt crying with Daddy. The second she finishes her food and washes her plate off, the blonde runs upstairs, wanting to make sure the younger boy is okay. She stops in front of his room, but no one's there, the twin sized bed with dark green sheets is empty, even his beloved stuffed bear is gone. Walking further down the hall, she sees the two she's been looking for in her parents king sized bed.

Matt's laying against Daddy, Bear clutched in his hand, his ear against the boys lip. Daddy smiles at her and puts a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. Nodding, Christie tiptoes in and peers at them both, before climbing in putting a delicate hand on Matt's shoulder, hoping he'll be ok.

+ + +

Brought back to the present, Christie feels Matt's forehead and sighs. "just try and sleep okay? I'll be here if you need me, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you Matt."

It's as if it's all he's been waiting to hear. It takes him all of two minutes to fall back asleep, head resting against his sisters shoulder. She supposes that this can be the start of all the years she'd missed taking care of him after she'd left for college. He deserves it.

[kpop-cakepops]

So... We Love Each Other? // Vernon Chwe

Friends to Lovers au. 

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,878

Warnings: None.

"The rule to remember is that opposites attract. Every magnet has both a north and a south pole. When you place the north pole of one magnet near the south pole of another magnet, they are attracted to one anothe-"

You switched the television off whatever kid's show had been on. It was an early Friday morning and you had accidentally fallen asleep with the TV on the night before.

The night before.

If only you could you would erase the entire night from your memory and just live your life as if it had never happened. Too bad you didn't have the power to do that, nor did you know anyone that could.

With a distraught sigh, you push yourself from your bed and drag your feet in the direction of your kitchen only to be startled by your best friend and roommate Vernon, who was standing with his back pressed against the counter.

"Holy crap. You scared me!" You exclaimed holding at your chest to alleviate the rapid beating of your heart.

"You're one to talk. Mingyu is now officially terrified of you and wants you to pretend not to know him. He stated, and I quote, 'I've never seen someone get so upset over turtles.' He is also making me pay him back for the date." The younger boy glares at you and chugs down the rest of his chocolate milk. "Care to explain how you managed to ruin a blind date with Mingyu? Kim Mingyu?! The epitome of tolerance and acceptance?!"

You winced at every word he spoke until you finally broke and dropped to the floor. "Animal life preservation" you mumbled. "He brought up my favorite books and then he started talking about animals and I got excited, and may have spoken a little too much about saving the turtles"

"Y/N, I'm running out of friends to set you up with. Seungcheol joined the army as an excuse to not see you, Jeonghan moved to the dormitories on the other side of the campus, Soonyoung said he'll never date again... are you cursed? Should we see a shaman?"

You grunted from your spot on the ground before standing. "Just stop setting me up with people. I don't think I'm cut out for this dating thing... maybe I should join a convent and become a nun?” You asked him as you grabbed a bowl to pour cereal into it. “Maybe it’s a  sign from the heavens, I should learn the ways of God and become the next Mother Teresa."

Vernon’s face softened slightly at the sight of you defeatedly picking at your fingernails but instead rolled his eyes and moved you out of his way when you turned to face him. "Move. You're hopeless and I have class. I swear if I come back to find out you've called the local church I will send Seungcheol all your embarrassing love letters, and before you ask, yes, they are under my custody."

"Excuse me?! Hey come back here! You little- I'm older than you!”

“It’s just a year” he retorted.

"Yeah?! Well, blackmailing is illegal you know!”

He was gone.

Seeing that you had already missed your first class of the day, you decided to take the entire day off as a day to self reflect and find your zen. (You also didn't want to see Kim Mingyu again, so staying home would probably be the best option for you.) Promptly you grabbed your favorite book and flopped onto the only couch in the apartment throwing your legs up against the wall and pretending to read when in reality you were contemplating dropping out of your ethics class to entirely avoid Mingyu... and Jeonghan...

After about 2 hours the front door of your apartment swung open and in walked Vernon’s girlfriend Minji. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you, her already red face became even redder as she muffled a scream into her hands and stomped in direction of your roommate’s bedroom.

“Uhhhh...” You rolled yourself off the couch and instantly scattered for your phone, dialing Vernon’s number quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um just a real quick question. By any chance did you and Minji fight again?” you asked as you heard things tumbling around inside Vernon’s room.

“Damn it. I told her not to show up at the apartment. I’ll be there in 5 minutes. Please protect my shoe collection with your life, Y/N. It’s all I ask of you.”

The line was cut before you could muster up a response. A loud crash rumbled down the hall and you found yourself sighing. It was time for you to step in as usual, which was probably the thing you most hated to do, especially since your best friend’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly fond of you.

With careful steps, you moved in direction of Vernon’s bedroom and knocked lightly. “Hey, Minji... you in there?” After a few seconds of receiving no response you called out again, “Minji? I’m gonna come in okay?” slowly you opened the door only for your mouth to fall agape.

A crying Minji was sitting on the floor surrounded by Vernon’s clothes, his drawers pulled open and emptied while his closet doors remained open with yet another mess made up of his clothes, some with hangers still in. “Jesus Christ, Minji, what is this mess?! You haven’t even been here 5 minutes!” you exclaimed walking further inside to try and salvage the room.

“What do you care?! These aren’t your things, Vernon isn’t your boyfriend! So what do you care?!” She yelled standing up from her spot on the ground.

“I care because this is my house, and these are Vernon’s things. Being his pissed off girlfriend does not give you the right to just storm in here and start ripping his bedroom apart! We’re hoping to get the deposit for this apartment back when we move out!” you fought back as you picked up your friend’s clothes off the floor and placed them on the bed.

“... stop referring to Vernon as part of your ‘we.’ Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you are? Do you have any idea how much I hate you?!”

You stopped in your tracks and looked over at her in disbelief. “Don’t you think you’re being unfair right now? I’m having as much a rough day as you are and you break into my house to make a ruckus? Do you really think I like you? All you’ve done since you started dating Vernon is push me away from him as his friend, it was like you decided I was the enemy before you even met me. You’ve been nothing but a bitch to me, so do you think I like you?!” You didn’t know where all the resentment was coming from, maybe the words had a cutting edge on them because of the amount of stress you were under what with the failed Mingyu date and your upcoming exams... whatever the reason, you wanted to hurt her feelings.

She looked shocked by your words. Understandably so, you hadn’t ever really talked back to her when she threw a tantrum, usually Vernon would take her away before anything could escalate.

“You must be really happy. Look at you getting brave, you must be really happy to be the reason Vernon won’t marry me. You must be really happy to know he wants to break up with me over you. You’re dead wrong if you think I’m going to allow you both to date peacefully. I’d rather DIE than see you both together, you hear me?! I’ll make both your lives a living hell” Her erratic words felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on you.

"Minji... what do think you’re doing?” Vernon was finally home. You looked over at him to find that his eyes were trained on you as he walked up. “Are you okay?” he asked grabbing you by the shoulders and looking for any signs of a fight.

You nodded your head and pushed the shirt that was in your hand into his chest. “Get her the hell out of this house before I have an aneurism,” you told him quietly before walking out of his room and straight into yours.

With your back pressed to your bedroom door, you heard Minji go into another yelling fit while your best friend calmly tried to deescalate the situation. You rolled your eyes at the sound of him being the nicest while Minji continued to vociferate. It was always like that, you wondered why he always put up with her when she obviously only ever used him as a trophy boyfriend.

You plopped down on your bed putting in your earbuds in an attempt to drown out the outside noise. Only then were you able to process what had just happened. You knew you’d been wrong to vent your frustrations out on Minji who wasn’t really at fault for your failed love life... but it’s not like you were at fault for her failed love life either, right?

“ you must be really happy to know he wants to break up with me over you.”

What had she even meant by that? Was Vernon really thinking about breaking up with her? Even if he were thinking about doing it, how would that be your fault? Everything was starting to become too much for you, the gold medalist of the overthinking Olympics, so you decided to block everything out and do the one thing you were best at: sleep.

---

It had been 2 weeks since your disaster Mingyu date and the epic Minji and Vernon showdown. Minji had not stepped foot in your apartment since and Vernon, who had kept quiet about the entire situation, was rarely home. The number of times you’d seen him in the last 2 weeks were so small that you could probably count them in one hand.

Truth be told, you hadn’t exactly made an effort to talk to him either. You knew if you talked to him you’d ask about Minji and that would lead to a conversation about his fight, which would lead to you asking why Minji blamed you for it. God forbid he say something like ‘I like you’ right? Or were you more worried about him saying he didn’t?

A soft groan left your lips as you allowed your head to drop onto your desk. You were overthinking again. You were almost sure your head was going to burst suddenly.

“Y/N?”

You looked up to find Mingyu standing next to your table with his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?” you asked as you grabbed your bag and shoved your laptop inside.

Mingyu looked at you with raised eyebrows and handed you a shopping bag with what looked like clothes. “These are Vernon’s can you give them to him?” he asked.

You took the bag from him and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll get it to him.” With that, you walked around him and started to leave the lecture hall not really having anything else to say.

“Um... hey, wait.” his hand was around your arm and you looked at him expectantly. He dropped his grip embarrassed before he scratched at the back of his neck. “Aren’t you gonna... ask why I didn’t call you?”

You frowned a little, “Call me? why would you...oh! The date!” you chuckled. Funny how only 2 weeks ago avoiding Mingyu was all you could think about.

The tall boy blinked confused, “Y-you forgot we went on a date?”

“What? no... kind of... but it’s okay! I understand you’re not about that ‘SAVE THE TURTLES’ life”

“Save the turtles?” He questioned.

“Vernon told me what you said, and I’ll be the first to admit that I can get pretty scary when I talk about animal life conservation. You can act like I don’t exist if I make you uncomfortable, I regret my actions, but it’s not that important.”

“it’s not?” he asked.

You hummed in response. “By the way, has Vernon been staying at your place? Truth is he hasn’t been coming home for the past 2 weeks. I heard him and Minji broke up...and I guess I was a little worried”

Mingyu smiled to himself, “Hold on, do you seriously think I didn’t call you because you got excited over saving the turtles?” the tall boy couldn’t help but laugh. “You guys are seriously so stupid.”

“Excuse me?” you queried unsure as to why you were suddenly being called stupid.

He patted your head, “You’re a beautiful and smart girl, Y/N. Getting excited over the turtles was actually kind of hot. Jeonghan thinks so too...”

You couldn’t help but choke out a soft “He does?”

“Of course he does. It’s the Vernon part that pushes a man away.” Mingyu told you. “He was staying at my place after Minji dumped him for not wanting to get more serious about her... but I kicked him out last night. His wallet is in the bag and so are his keys to your place... you should probably go check on him”

You couldn’t help but stare at Mingyu as he left. “It’s the Vernon part that pushes a man away? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” there was a part of you that was offended for your friend. He had been nothing but sweet and caring...

Before he could leave, you ran after Mingyu and cut him off by stomping your foot in front of him. “You... I take back what I said. I don’t regret my actions on that night. In fact, I’m glad you didn’t call me back because I would never date a man that doesn’t like Vernon. Do you have any idea how much he has helped me? He listens to me, he takes care of me when I feel down, he makes me laugh even though he’s possibly the least funny person I have ever met, he left a comfortable dorm life with his best friends so that I could afford living close campus, he pretends to not care that I use his body wash when mine runs out even though I know he hates it, he puts up with my crazy ideas even if they fail... which they do 90% of the time-”

“Only 90%?” asks Mingyu with a raised eyebrow.

“OKAY MAYBE 99%, but that’s not the point! Vernon is the best friend anyone could ask for and if the guy I’m dating doesn’t like him, then I don’t want it. ALSO, YOU’RE A FAKE FRIEND. BAD MOUTHING HIM BEHIND HIS BACK. You ought to be embarrassed!” You could feel your face redden as you ranted away only for Mingyu’s face to light up in a soft smile.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked. “It’s not that the men in your life don’t like Vernon... it’s that none of us can compete with him.”

“What?”

“It was pretty intimidating to sit through my first date with you and hear you say all these wonderful things about Vernon... it made me realize you are both idiots that don’t realize what’s right in front of you even if it hits you in the face...” you opened your mouth to speak but were stopped by Mingyu’s large hand pressing over your lips. “...so let me help you out a little. You’re in love with Vernon and that Idiot is very much in love with you too. All you ever talk about is Vernon and all Vernon does is date dumb stuck up girls because apparently, that is easier than telling you how he really feels. So how about you do all of us a favor and go back home and talk your feelings out? You know, like two grown adults.”

Your face went slack unable to say anything back to that. You weren’t sure if you were in agreeance or absolutely baffled by everything Mingyu had just said, but you had the whole walk back home to figure it all judging by the fact that Mingyu had already walked away from you.  

After what seemed like an eternity you decided to take the 15-minute walk home and face your best friend... or crush... or possibly the love of your life, as you had eventually concluded after sitting in your empty lecture hall for 30 minutes. You were ready...

Or so you thought.

The moment the elevator doors slid open to reveal your floor, your eyes landed on Vernon’s slumped form against the door of your apartment dressed in his favorite pink pajama pants. That sight alone was enough for you to freeze in your spot with your finger deeply pressing the ‘door open’ button, but your feet unable to take the ONE step needed to get out of the elevator.

“Y/N?”

There it was, the little push you needed. Vernon was staring at you from his spot on the ground, hair tousled and dark circles framing his pretty eyes.

“Hey” you mustered raising the shopping bag in your hand. “I have your stuff,” you told him as you watched him stand up.

“Cool... why are you standing inside the elevator?” he questioned nodding over at you.

You looked around you realizing then that you had not left the safety of the elevator. With a forced out cough, you stepped out and over to him. “You want to come in?” You asked gesturing to the door of your apartment only to wish you could melt into the ground below you.

“Yeah, I live here” he stated the obvious.

You stopped yourself from saying anything else and simply opened the door for both of you. Vernon, as expected, beelined for his bedroom leaving you behind with his things. Things were very obviously awkward... maybe subconsciously you’d known it’d be like this if you ever faced your feelings for Vernon... but it seemed there was no turning back anymore.

You knocked on Vernon’s bedroom door but were greeted by the sound of the shower running instead. With a small sigh, you walked back to your own room to wait for him to finish up before finally starting the conversation you’d been preparing yourself for since your talk with Mingyu.

After minutes of sitting on your bed feeling antsy and nervous, you decided to go check on Vernon again. With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock on his bedroom door, but before you could react, his door had swung open and instead of the door, you knocked him on the face. “Oh shit!”

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Vernon, I am so sorry!” you scrambled over to his doubled over form and grabbed at his arms trying to get a better view of his face. “I didn’t mean to hit you!”

“It’s fine, don’t worry, you still can’t pack a punch, I’m fine,” he assured you as he grabbed at your shoulders, a soft smile gracing his lips as he looked into your eyes for the first time since you had left the elevator.

Unknowingly, tears began to fill your eyes. Not only had you missed him for the past two weeks, but now being face to face, looking at him as he smiled at you, made you realize how right Mingyu was.

“Are you crying?” he asked, the smile dropping from his face.

“Vernon...” you looked straight at him as you spoke, you had to get it done now or never. “why did you break up with Minji?”

Almost instantly, Vernon moved his eyes away from yours. “Don’t worry about it. Whatever she said, don’t let it bother you.”

You slowly trailed behind him as he made his way to the kitchen. “So it wasn’t because of me?”

He stopped and turned around, “Because of you? Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty about my failed love life.” he teased as he ruffled your hair.

You grabbed his hand and shook your head, “I’m not. I’m trying to figure out if I’m in love with my best friend all by myself or if he’s in love with me too.”

Vernon’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to find words to your very sudden confession. “In- in love?”

Oh god... You were starting to hyperventilate. Was Mingyu an idiot? Did Vernon not like you like you liked him?

“Oh my god...” heat was starting to crawl up your neck. “Did I read it all wrong? Oh my god... Oh my god, I’m going to actually kill him. Why did I let him talk me into saying this?”

“I do.”

“What?”

“Love you.” He said. His face was as red as you imagined yours to be. The room became silent suddenly. You had been so adamant on finally confessing your feelings to Vernon that you hadn’t managed to think what would happen after that.

“So... we love each other?” you asked like an idiot still avoiding his eyes.

“I mean, I guess so.” he chuckled nervously, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so used to going on blind dates and never getting past the first date that like... what now?” You asked.

Vernon cleared his throat and took a step forward, his hip bumping against yours. “Well, for starters... can I kiss you?”

You squealed. “Why did you ask me, now I’m embarrassed!” you smacked his arm making him laugh.

“Fine, we don’t have to” he shrugged his shoulders and started for the kitchen once again.

Before you could help it your hand grabbed at the end of his t-shirt stopping him, “Wait... I said I’m embarrassed, not that you shouldn’t kiss me.” You mumbled.

“Well shit... now I’m embarrassed” He laughed.

With a surge of bravery, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips against his. You could feel his breath catch in his throat as you did which made you internally panic. Did he not like it? Yet almost as if he’d read your mind he wrapped his arms around your waist almost as if holding you in place, reassuring you that it was fine.

It was more than fine, really. Your heart was racing and tummy fluttering like it’d never done before. You never would have imagined Vernon’s lips were that soft and sweet... or maybe you had, you’d just never admit it to yourself.

Not wanting to, but rather having to, you pulled away from the kiss. “If I’d know you were this good a kisser, I probably would’ve admitted my feelings a long time ago” you joked.

“Is it normal that I’m so happy I could cry?” he asked as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I wouldn’t say normal, but judging by the fact that I could also cry, I’d say it’s understandable”

“Does this mean I can start sleeping in the master bedroom with you now?” he asked.

“Wine and dine me first, sweetheart. I’m a woman of dignity.”

“If I wine and dine you tonight, do I get to sleep on your king-sized bed?” he walked you towards the kitchen counter until he had you trapped.

“Maybe... If you agree to be my boyfriend, I would positively consider it.”

[suspiciouslypinkrosegarden]

Chapters 3-5 of The Passed Out Princess

Pairing: My CMC (Uyu, Dan Byeol) x Suit Saeran See all chapters

Description: On days 7-9 of Ray’s route, the player is denied food as “Saeran” makes his presence first known. But, what if MC fell very ill under this method of torture due to a medical condition? Sadly, my custom MC, Uyu (full name Dan Byeol), would deal with exactly this dilemma.

Warnings and notes found in chapter 1-2

Without taking a second to assess the situation, he began his tantrum, entering the room without even a knock out of courtesy.

“Finally getting what you wanted and you’re laying down on the bed as if nothing matters! You should be grateful I even thought to check up on you!”

The door shut behind him with a slam.

“Well then? Up. Get up, toy. I didn’t come all the way out here to watch you sleep!”

Saeran made his way over to the bed, almost in a stomping manner.

Uyu let out a small groan, attempting to pick herself up to look him in the eyes, disobeying one of his direct orders on purpose even now. With some shifts, she made her way to sitting up at the edge of the bed close to him with a slouch in her posture. Moving about to face him signaled her forehead to throb again, causing her to instinctively lift her hand to touch it beneath her bangs, a wince escaping her mouth.

“Is that all you’ve got to show me how much I’m making you suffer? Tch. Pathetic! You suck. Take more lessons from Zen while you’re chatting with him so damn much. Maybe he can at least teach you to cry on command for me. Didn’t you take theater classes before or something?”

The tall man in black towered over her as he spoke, icy eyes glaring at her through marshmallow colored fringe which fell over them in his lean forward. His lips curled into a wicked grin before he broke the awkward silence again.

“Well then...what would you like to refer to this issue as? Tell me. You must have weaved quite the story in preparation for my arrival. Out with it!”

Uyu mustered up some strength to mutter out a little of what he needed to know, embarrassed having to explain herself and call for his help when he appeared to be nothing but cruel to her.

He had shouted at her. He had shoved her a little. He had pinned her against a wall and trapped her like a wolf hunting a small, doe eyed rabbit.

And now, here she was teaching him about one of her medical conditions. Needless to say, she wished it possible to pretend it all wasn’t happening.

“..I have chronic low blood sugar. If...my hunger goes unchecked…..it just drops...my blood sugar I mean... and I get sick….it’s undocumented as there’s not much else doctors can do other than tell me to eat..”

Oh the shame.

“Pfft-”

Saeran cackled, loudly, higher in pitch, his voice reaching a part of his lungs that made it almost wheezy.

“Seriously? I hate how your list of problems is so long a fool might have believed you. You’re so damn weak. Say... I wonder...should today’s playtime be me dangling food in front of your face, then? Come on. Let’s get you to stand first, hmm? Then I’ll fetch you something sucky...like raw carrots...and you’ll hop for me like a pet bunny in desperation. I’ll even be so kind as to help you to your feet. What do you say, princess? Would you like that? A gentlemanly hand extended to you from your master?”

He reached down, pulling her hand away from her forehead and clasping it in his right, intertwining her small fingers with his long and slender ones. She shivered at his touch, him being so much colder than she was, as if his hand had been resting in a freezer while apart from her.

“...No...Saeran I might throw up again-”

“Sure you will~”, he cooed, bringing his face to hers.

“Where is that vomit, by the way? Did you oh so conveniently make it to the toilet so it’s all flushed away and gone? Haha...it’s hard to play with a toy who won’t even stand…so up! I’ll help you now, giving you that sweetness you oh so crave. On the count of three! One...two…”

Uyu shook her head as she attempted to pull back away from him, but her hand was still trapped in his firm grip, growing stronger as she attempted to resist.

“Three!”

Saeran gave her a jerk forward, the pull almost sending her to hit the ground before she caught herself on his arm.

“Wow! She did it! She stands! See that wasn’t so har-”

Dan felt the blood seem to rush out of her brain and downwards in a waterfall motion as that hot and cold chill returned. Her legs teetered as she lost balance, falling before grasping at him, ending up in his arms entirely, Saeran trying to avoid being knocked over himself. She let out a “brrr” noise as she shuttered, so dizzy the room felt as if it were doing somersaults and tumbles as it tossed her limp body around.

“Toy? Toy! What the hell kind of a stunt...”

Saeran pulled her away from him to get a better look at her as her head rolled to the side feebly. He held the woman out by her shoulders in front of him as if she were a little rag doll he wanted to shake back and forth to somehow bring life back into her.

“Start speaking to me! It’s not funny! You can quit the act now…stop doing that…”

His tone grew softer as the sound of a stiffness in the back of his throat made itself known, gulping as if swallowing a ball. He spoke again through gritted teeth.

“Not funny….I’m getting angrier….pull yourself together, toy…”

And with a little jostle from him, her guts felt a sudden whirl before a solid drop as did her head, the color black with spirals seizing her sight as she could no longer sort of keep herself upright. Saeran let go of her shoulders, feeling her whole weight lean in on him, catching her before she could fall.

Dan had finally blacked out cold exactly at noon, leaving Saeran alone, drowning in a sea of his own panic.

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

Saeran held her close to him for a minute out of shock, his captivating eyes wide, stunned and not wanting to witness what he was responsible for. With Uyu completely slumped into him, he maneuvered his arms around her to allow her frail unconscious body to lean backwards. He didn’t want to believe he caused her to actually pass out, supporting her with his left arm and gently caressing her soft cheek with the back of his right hand.

A part of him feared he had caused the unthinkable.

He spoke in a strained whisper.

“Princess…?”

Not to his surprise, he received no reply, not even the slightest sign that she was faking. He huffed gently as his bottom lip began to quiver...his underlying worry that she wasn’t indeed fooling him appeared now true. He pulled her close to his chest again, his heart hammering against her as he cursed under his breath, thoughts racing so fast he felt a headache of his own coming on.

“Shit….”

Saeran went down onto his knees, still cradling her as her head rested in the crook of his neck, scooching her so she was sitting on his lap. His heart hurt...it physically hurt...a crushing squeezing pain that made him want to rip it from his chest entirely. It felt as if a rose bush had wrapped its way around it, winding an elaborate cage of thorns which pierced through like a million needles; the prettiest rose wilted in his hands because he couldn’t give it basic sunlight and water. The rose which bloomed within Ray’s heart...unlike Ray, Saeran wasn’t a nurturing gardener. Screaming at a flower for not growing into what you wished it to become will do nothing. Or...was it that the flower had already blossomed as he tried to force it closed, back into becoming a bud? Either way, he could now feel the dryness of its shriveled petals as his first tear spilled down his hot cheek.

“You don’t seem so tough now…..aren’t you supposed to be able to handle what I throw at you?”

He pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her floral conditioner he once insulted overwhelming his senses.

With heavy shame and panic, the built up water in his tear ducts came trickling down in little glistening, frequent streams upon his pale face. He shook like a leaf in the wind.

“...I did it. I defeated you. Damn you. This was supposed to be better….feel better. I was promised this was what I wanted...but you made it too easy. I hate a lack of challenge...”

He lifted his head before scooping her up bridal style, carrying her to the princess bed to lay her down somewhere comfortable. Upon her back with her hair partially sprawled out behind her, her position resembled that of sleeping beauty, the one who cursed her to sleep as well as the one who could save her life sharing the same body. Saeran’s kiss could not wake her as the one who made her prick her finger on that spinning wheel, and her prince charming was gone, banished away as he could not stand the cruelties of the dark castle’s dungeons. Or at least, that’s how he felt; that he was acting as the Maleficent of this long tale.

He stared at her for a while, breathing rapidly as his chest puffed up and down, bewildered, seething and puzzled as to why this all hurt him so. His savior promised knocking Dan down was the way to go...after all, she corrupted Ray, disobeyed the savior and caused Ray to do the same, made Ray have to be cleansed...she was no good for him; a liar and a manipulator. That’s what his savior told him, and she was never wrong, was she?

He tried to take her state in again as he watched her, drinking up her lifelessness, pushing himself to feel positive about it. It was a good thing. This was a good thing. The savior might even congratulate him for this. He might even receive praise for doing the opposite as Ray had done, feeding her well put together meals despite not even having the time to sleep. Or, would the savior scold him for besting her too early? After all, she was still essential to bringing down the RFA, as useless as he made her seem to be.

“Yes, that’s it,” he thought. He HAS to make sure she’s ok so she can carry out her job. But why did it seem like so much more than that as he felt a soreness seeing her hurt? He put his hands in his hair, tugging at the white messy tufts by the roots as he audibly panted, feeling himself being sent into a frenzy of angry and confused alarm. He gasped and shook as his eyes glazed over and color drained from his complexion, internally feeling a tug a war between his yearnings and what he had been told. A few broken “ahs” and whimpers left his open mouth as Saeran stumbled backwards, bumping his heel on the bedside table with a thunk. His tears would not cease.

It felt as if no matter how he rationalized what had just happened, matching it to his savior’s wishes and words she whispered into his ears, he couldn’t find it within himself to feel successful or triumphant in any manner. He whipped himself around to avoid looking at the passed out princess, his gaze meeting a vase with fresh flowers left by Ray which she slept beside every night. This room was so full of her...so full of him...so full of them and their time spent together. With a loud crash, he knocked it over, the smashed bits aligning the floor as the water lay in a puddle, the flowers undamaged, surrounded by the mess.

He chewed skin off his lip, leaving it pinker and salty in taste. To avoid his savior’s disapproval, for acting so weak and for making Dan so ill, Saeran decided it was best to handle the entirety of the situation on his own. He licked away the bead of red hot blood, brimming from where he bit off skin before collecting himself to a degree to clean up what he had done.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror for a while, analyzing his features and making certain his emotions were concealed. He needed to hide his trembles and sobs if he were to re-enter the halls, wearing the iron mask of the strongest believer.

—————————————————————————————————-

Locking the door to keep Dan alone and safe, Saeran made his way around until he reached the place’s kitchen, keeping his head low to avoid the need to strike conversations or bark orders. The believers knew by now that his brisk walking and low hanging head meant no one was to disturb him, as he was probably doing something of importance for the savior. Same went for Ray, even. This made his trip rather quick and easy, even with the glances and stares he received in the halls. He paid no attention to the whispers which followed them.

“I’m hungry. Whip up something and make it fast. Doesn’t matter what as long as it’s got all the food groups and doesn’t taste like utter garbage.”

After Saeran commanded the Mint Eye chefs to get to work on a dish specially “for himself”, he pulled out his android phone to do a quick Google search on what might help with Uyu’s condition. From that he was able to piece together that candy and sugar can help provide immediate relief, for just a moment, as it would spike her blood sugars.

“Do we still have any candies around here? I want a few of those.”

“Yes Mr. Saeran sir...there are some mint candies and chocolates in the cabinet by your head…to the right. We got them recent-”

“No need to point it out and ramble. I know my way around the kitchen. Next time, just a simple yes unless I ask you to say more.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mint Eye was rather used to not seeing Saeran or Ray at meal times unless the savior requested him to attend and sit by her side, so to them, him taking his dinner to go was more normal.

He opened the white cupboard door, seeing numerous clear jars they’d set out on display during meal times. He shoved his hand into the chocolates first, taking it out empty then deciding to go for the mints, remembering “the little thing can’t have dairy.” Grabbing a solid handful of the sweet safe for her to eat, he shoved it all into the pockets of his dark suit, then leaning against the wall, eyeing the chefs at work.

As Saeran himself requested a meal, it was going to be elaborate and made by a whole team in an effort to please him, worry that a mistake could send them to be cleansed acting as a great motivator. Two people off to the right made small garlic potatoes while another two prepared a red wine sauce, to go with the steak a different believer was making. This did not include the last pair, which made stir fried vegetables, one cooking and one cutting.

The kitchen was quiet apart from the sounds of the sizzling, chopping, and stirring; Saeran swallowing saliva as his adam’s apple rolled up and then down, feeling the weight of the fear the room felt towards him. Many times, he saw that kitchens were depicted as being so loud and fun, full of life and chatter unlike this one. Saeran commanded authority and respect, yes, but none of these people would even dare say more than a yes sir no sir to him, let alone smile and act friendly. Would they even smile and talk if he wasn’t there? Or, was joy something this place had always lacked, him just now noticing because of the horribly confusing pit in his stomach at the moment? For the most part, he was on his own, the kindness he received from the savior being all he had to look forward to. And it was always enough for him, as the anxiety he provoked just being in the same room as the believers usually filled him with glee. But then...Ray found someone else who’d show him sweetness. A different kind of sweetness. One that would make his face hot to the touch and heart glow, as if he were under the bright blue sky getting a sunburn, sugary treats melting and dancing on his tongue with new flavors he just wasn’t used to. It was nerve racking and yet so energizing at the same time, something to look forward to as he snuck around to see Dan for so long. Saeran at least could say he found her words to be rather interesting, keeping him on his toes the brief time that they properly spoke together. And by brief...he meant three times. That dork passed out after they had only talked to each other three times.

He was used to the feeling of people trying to tear up his body and soul with their nails from the inside out...but not in the way she did. She at least spoke such honeyed words and phrases, sugar coated in such an unlike recipe as did the glaze which covered his savior’s. Even when telling him something harsh, Dan clarified that his best interest was always in her mind. Ray wished for more of this as he asked her to wreck his head outright. A foolish thing really. Or so Saeran was told.

“Umm...Mr. Saeran...your dish is ready.”

He picked up his stare from the floor to the believer now speaking to him as his train of thoughts were broken off. No matter how much of a display he tried to put on, his mind was somewhere else, somewhere it shouldn’t be. Thinking about someone it shouldn’t be.

“Yes, good. I’ll take the plate to my room as I’m very busy with my important work. Bring me some silverware and a napkin. And a water bottle. And cover the food so it stays warm.”

“Yes sir. For eternal paradise.”

“For eternal paradise..”

The kitchen staff said nothing to his face about the redness which surrounded his mint eyes and the tip of his nose, but behind his back was a different story.

Next chapters All chapters

[mister-fleck]

blue heart: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: All of my Arthur/Male Reader requests combined into one.

Standing here, neck stiff and blood cold in Hoyt’s office, Arthur daydreamed about what his life would be like if he hadn’t been born into poverty.

Would he still have the same morals, the same gentle mentality if he had been raised like Thomas Wayne? If he had been taught arithmetic at a private school, instead of half-heartedly lectured on his mother’s couch? If he had the luxury of showering with shampoo rather than discounted bar soap? If he had been able to celebrate his birthday as a child, rather than wistfully wonder how old he even was?

“Why would I keep a sign?” Arthur heard himself defend, barely audible, hardly there. It was beyond him why somebody would think that he would lie about being jumped. By children. How mortifying. If it hadn’t been work related, Arthur would have easily kept it to himself.

And yet, his boss brushed it off, scoffing and rolling his eyes as he continued to go down the list as to why Arthur was an inadequate human being. Normally, Arthur would reach into his pocket and take out his rolodex of coping mechanisms for this exact occasion, but there was something in the way Hoyt dipped his chin, looked at him as if to say really?

As his pulse reached his ears like the drums of war, Arthur knew that if he didn’t get out of there soon he would be leaving with blood on his hands. So he smiled, he smiled, he smiled all the way through the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the alleyway. 

But once he was alone in the shadows, Arthur snapped. He felt himself fly out of his body, abruptly disassociating, and watched himself werewolf. It frightened him, what years of rage looked like, of how he was capable of muting the pain in his shoulder and ribs as he drove his foot into the nearest dumpster. 

He imagined Hoyt lying there, blood pouring out of his nose, begging for mercy as Arthur stomped his face in. How blissful it would be to finally shut him up. Arthur transcribed his violence into music — the low notes of sin, the high falsettos of redemption. 

Arthur’s lungs burned, each inhale ragged and unfaithful as he continued to plow the imaginary corpse of his boss. Eventually his body gave out, not cut out for such brutality — it had been days since he had eaten a solid meal — and he found himself collapsing within the heaps of trash. 

But as he did so, the heel of his shoe skidded across something slick and Arthur didn’t land as he had hoped — no, he was forced to put his hands out behind him to stop himself from ramming his head into the dumpster, which in turn led to —

“Fuck, ow!”

Seething in an agonized breath through his teeth, Arthur forced himself into a sitting position and cradled his right hand in alarm. Pain shot through the tendons of his wrist, white-hot and throbbing, and Arthur found himself blinking away tears. It was just his luck. The one time he had allowed himself to vent, he wound up injured. Nothing surprised him anymore. 

Now back at home, Arthur rolled up his sleeve and sat down at the kitchen table to examine the damage. There wasn’t anything gruesome, thankfully — no bones sticking out or deep gashes — but it was still spasming and tender to the touch. 

“What the hell did I do?” He mumbled to himself, thick brows furrowing as he turned on the lamp nearby to take a closer look.  His hand was starting to swell. Wanting to test just how hurt he was, Arthur attempted to clench his hand up into a fist but cried out at the unexpected, blinding pain that coursed through his wrist and up his arm.

“Happy? What’s going on?”

Arthur’s head shot up. He had forgotten about his mother trying to sleep down the hall. “Sorry, Ma!” He hesitated, grasping at excuses with a vague hand gesture. “Just, uh, banged my knee!” 

“Don’t do that,” his mother called out wearily, as if Arthur needed to be instructed. “It’s bad for you.” 

Rolling his eyes fondly, Arthur pushed himself up onto his feet and padded his way over to the kitchen cabinets. His body ached all over and he cursed his poor behavior. Why would he throw such an irresponsible tantrum after being beaten the day before? It made Arthur feel like a child, this new situation, and he felt his eyes burn again. Would a day go by where Arthur didn’t feel like crying?

On the top shelf of the furthest cabinet sat a paper bag, the contents within something of a first aid kit. It wasn’t anything grand, just some bandages and disinfectant that Arthur had gathered over the years due to, well — life. Thankfully there was still half a roll of gauze left. He figured he could put together some sort of makeshift brace. How hard could it be?

The following morning, Arthur trembled with frustration as his bandages came loose once again. He was back at work, midway through opening his tray of face paints when he felt the gauze begin to unravel for the third time that day. Thankfully, he was the first one in and consequently alone, so Arthur didn’t feel too self-conscious when he let out a gruff:

“God damn it.” 

“Are you okay?”

A little spooked, Arthur gasped and whipped around, a few of his paint brushes rolling off of the vanity counter in the process. He could have sworn that he was all by himself. 

An embarrassed flush painted Arthur’s chest and neck upon noticing an unfamiliar young man standing at the top of the staircase. Was this a client? A lawyer? His heart seized as he remembered the gun tucked away in his locker. Would he get in trouble for that?

The man raised his eyebrows apologetically and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. But you sounded like you were in pain,” he explained, his voice smooth and sweet. He made his way over to Arthur, kneeling immediately to pick up the fallen brushes. Gazing up at him beneath long lashes, the man threw him a smile so charming that Arthur could have collapsed. “Here you go.”

Arthur shyly accepted them with a smile of his own, though he doubted it was anything nearly as arresting as what this man had gifted him. “Thank you. Yeah, I — uh, fell yesterday,” he managed to stammer, glancing down at his stupid, stupid hand. 

“Can I take a look?” The stranger almost perked up at the news. “I know first aid, I might be able to help.”

Really out of his element here, Arthur sat back a little and tilted his head. “Who are you?”

The man laughed softly and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I’m Hoyt’s nephew. I’ll be working here as his new assistant.” He remained kneeling, seemingly completely comfortable with their close proximity, and held out his hand. “May I see?”

A little guarded but hopeful, Arthur gave him a short nod and extended his bandaged wrist, face pinched with pain as he held his breath. “I think it might be sprained. I don’t know.”

Hoyt’s nephew frowned, gingerly turning over Arthur’s hand. “You should definitely get this wrapped. Properly.” He shifted, preparing to unwind the gauze, but something caught his eye.

The bruises on his shoulder. The damage to his ribs. Arthur had forgotten that he had been shirtless this entire time.

“Yeah, I really took a spill,” Arthur spoke up awkwardly, definitely not prepared to admit to this kind stranger that a handful of kids had beaten him up. “Fell down the stairs.”

The man winced sympathetically, beginning to cautiously wind the bandage up and over the dip of his thumb. “I’m sorry to hear that, Arthur.” 

All of this positive attention was starting to make Arthur nervous. He knew that it never lasted very long. “How do you know my name?”

With a quirk of his lips, the stranger playfully tilted his head toward the plastic tray of paint on the counter. Upon its lid in permanent marker was a smudged Arthur F.

“Oh,” Arthur let out a sheepish laugh. “Right.”

—

To Arthur’s bewilderment, the kindness didn’t stop there. It seemed as though they tended to arrive at the same time, a few minutes earlier than everybody else. They bonded over cheap coffee and cigarettes, even gossiping about the other workers, how they performed and what gimmicks they used. He was so delighted — for the first time in his entire career as a clown, Arthur was excited to wake up in the morning. To see him. 

It took a while for his wrist to heal and as much as Arthur tried to hide his exasperation, the young man caught onto it. 

“Hey, maybe I could help?” He had offered one morning after watching Arthur struggle to apply the blue paint near his eyes. “I’ve practically memorized your routine.”

Arthur dipped his chin bashfully and lifted one of his shoulders. “No, I could never ask you to do that.”

“You weren’t the one that asked,” he replied easily, and before Arthur could react the younger man had lowered himself onto his lap. “C’mon. Give me the brush.” 

He smelled like vanilla and coffee and aftershave and Arthur felt himself fall in love. “Oh.” 

“You do that a lot,” the man teased, carefully dipping the brush into blue. He lifted his voice to match the pitch of Arthur’s. “Oh.”

Blushing wildly, Arthur gripped at the sides of the chair, knuckles white. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A gentle swipe near the swell of his cheek. “It’s cute.”

Arthur was beside himself with pride when a laughing attack never came. 

—

Having his make up done became the newest addition to his routine. You’re a star, Arthur, the man would admonish upon each protest. You’ll have to get used to having a make-up artist. Might as well start now. 

Those here-and-there compliments were the highlights of Arthur’s day. Not because he was a narcissist — far from it. Because they were genuine. And warm. Arthur was finally starting to understand what it felt like to be noticed. 

It was a Wednesday when Arthur mustered up the courage to touch him. They were alone again, the sun barely having risen, cigarettes long forgotten as they sat close together. His new friend had openly fancied sitting in his lap each morning, flippantly defending that it was the best angle to do his work. Arthur would never complain. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” Arthur questioned, feeling like a child again. His voice wavered. “I don’t understand.”

The man smiled his Arthur smile. “Because I like you, silly boy.” Confident as always, he reached out and tucked away some of Arthur’s hair — but didn’t stop there. It turned into a bit of an affectionate stroke, twirling brown locks between his fingers. “How could I not be nice to you, Arthur? You’re such a sweetie.” 

Arthur was very rarely bold, but there was something about that smile that inspired him to reach forward and mimic, twirl his own fingers around the man’s hair. He soon pulled away, though, not quite that bold. Arthur swallowed hard, counted the freckles on the man’s nose. They were sitting so close. “I like you, too.” 

The heavy, familiar slam of the employee entrance echoed its way up the stairs and the two wordlessly separated. They had a mutual, silent understanding that their behavior was a little too friendly for the workplace. But Arthur didn’t mind it. He found something romantic in keeping their moments a secret. They didn’t need to be shared. He’d rather keep them protected.

With a small squeeze to Arthur’s shoulder and a smile, the man slipped away, passing Randall as he descended the stairs. His gaze lingered there, already missing his company.

“What’s with the face?” Randall barked at him, moseying his way over to the lockers. “Are you high?”

Turning back around to face the mirror, Arthur let out a quiet, painless laugh upon seeing a tiny blue heart painted on his cheek bone. “No,” he murmured, fuzzy all over. “Just happy.” 

—

Arthur dreamt of him that night. It was a simple dream — just the two of them, cuddled up on a love seat, watching an old film. The house was foreign to him, but nice and clean. They were holding hands. Dinner was warming in the oven. They had matching slippers. It felt like home.

Even Arthur’s mother, despite how far, far away she always was, started to notice the change in him. 

“You seem lighter, Happy,” she commented one morning, watching as he pranced his way over to the coffee maker, freshly-shaven and whistling. “Are you on new medication?”

Arthur had to laugh. He laughed often now, freely. “No, Ma. Just excited for work.” 

“Be careful, smiling that much,” she looked at him pointedly before sitting down in her arm chair. “Somebody might take advantage of you.” 

Shaking his head, Arthur twirled his spoon between his fingers. His wrist was healed now, though he’d continue to fake it. He’d never want to give his only friend, the only man who ever showed him affection, reason to slip away. Checking his watch, Arthur jumped a little and made his way to the door.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” his mother added, “There’s a message for you on the machine.” 

Knowing that he was running a little late, Arthur brushed it off. It was probably a telemarketer trying to sell him another vacuum. He hastily slipped on his jacket, his coffee long forgotten on the counter. It wasn’t the same drinking alone, anyway.  “I’ll listen to it later, Ma, I’ve got to go.” 

“But, Happy — “

— 

Arthur wasn’t proud to admit that he virtually ran to the subway station and then off of it to work, but if looking foolish meant arriving on time — he could care less. He was a clown, after all. Looking foolish was his profession. 

He ascended the stairs two steps at a time, a little sweaty and out of breath once he reached the top, but let out a heavy sigh of relief upon finding it empty. If Randall or any of the other’s spontaneously decided to show up before him, it would ruin everything. 

Taking off his shoes and swapping them out for a pair three sizes too big, Arthur whistled to himself and retrieved his makeup and wig from the top shelf of his locker. He shook his head with a chuckle at the paper bag shoved towards the back. Carrying a gun sounded appealing, once upon a time. But he was more alert now, present and secure. It didn’t seem necessary. 

The butterflies in his stomach forced him to take a deep breath to steady himself. Arthur always had to give himself a bit of a pep-talk each morning. Be normal, Arthur. Sitting down in front of the mirror, he looked himself in the eye. Don’t scare him away. 

Knees bouncing in anticipation, Arthur set out his makeup just so and waited for him to arrive. It should be any moment now. The sun was beginning to spread over Gotham, painting the sky orange and yellow. He smiled. If he could compare his friend to anything, it would be a sunrise. Warm, full of hope, beautiful.

A few minutes passed. Arthur turned in his seat, green eyes glued to the top of the stairs. He thought back on that first day, on how unprepared he had been for joy to enter his life. The happy memory helped soothe his nerves, but only just. The sun was up high in the sky, now. 

Once the clock struck eight, Arthur knew something was wrong. In the two months they had known each other, he had never been late. Maybe by a minute or two, but never half an hour. Tormented by the idea that something terrible may have happened, that he might be harmed in some way, Arthur smoothed back his hair and hastily made his way down the hall to Hoyt’s office. 

He knocked twice, waited. 

“Yeah, what is it?”

Arthur poked his head into the room with an apprehensive smile. “Hi, Hoyt. Sorry if I’m interrupting.” 

Looking unimpressed and bored, Hoyt leaned forward, silently begging him to spit it out.

Wringing his hands together, Arthur briefly cleared his throat. “I was wondering if your nephew was coming in today? It’s past eight now — “

Hoyt made a face, scratched at the back of his head with his pen. “Nephew?”

Arthur frowned, frustrated that his boss wasn’t showing the same level of concern. “Yes, him. He’s late, which isn’t like him at all — “

Rolling his eyes, Hoyt looked back down at the paperwork he had been working on. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m busy, Arthur.”

“C’mon, now,” Arthur pleaded, taking a step forward, “You’re his uncle, shouldn’t you be worried, too? I know you may see him as only an assistant, but he’s your family — ”

“I’m not an uncle, Fleck. I’m an only child.” Hoyt looked disturbed, pissed. “Stop spouting bull shit. Get out of my office.”

Arthur didn’t move. He blinked rapidly, the flurry of excitement that he had woken up with dwindling down into nothing. “I don’t understand. He comes in every day. He — He helps you with your accounting. That’s what he told me.”

“Listen, if you’re going to come to work high, you can forget about having a job here.”

“I’m not on anything!” Arthur snapped at him, feeling hot in the face. “Why does everybody think that I have to get high to feel something, huh? Why can’t I just — can’t I just find happiness the normal way? Through people? Am I that detached to you? Am I that pathetic?” His throat began to seize. Arthur let out a strangled little noise, not wanting to have to deal with that right now.  “Just tell me where he is!” 

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Hoyt spat at him. “Whoever you’ve been imagining, whoever you’ve been talking to, he doesn’t exist.”

Arthur shook his head weakly, brought his hands up to cover his ears like a little boy. He didn’t want to listen to this. 

“I haven’t hired anybody new in the last two years, alright? Get the fuck out of here. Come back when you’ve stopped being such a freak.”

Blurry-eyed and wheezing, Arthur pushed himself through the door and stumbled his way through the hallway. He grasped at his throat, choking on the first terrible ripple of laughter. The first laughs were always the worst. They hurt the most.

By the time he entered the locker room, most of his coworkers had arrived. They were huddled together at the center table, whispering to themselves and all seemed to collectively turn towards Arthur upon his arrival.

“You okay there, pal?” Randall was the first to speak, his mouth twitching. He had a terrible poker face. 

Arthur couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. He stood hunched over in front of his locker, hand pressed to his gut as if he were vomiting, sweat making his shirt cling to his chest. 

“What, did you finally get fired?” One of the other clowns jabbed, a different kind of laughter hidden in his throat. “Figures.”

He waved him off, trying his best to tell them to stop, but their laughter started to gather into something ugly and cold. It had been Arthur’s goal to change his shoes, but he couldn’t spend one minute more in this building. This locker room only mattered when — when he was here. A fresh bout of sharp laughter clawed at his throat and rattled his brain. Covering his ears again, Arthur bolted down the stairs, tripping on the last one — which of course fueled the laughter above. He had to leave. He had to leave. He had to leave. 

—

Blowing your nose for what felt like the one hundredth time, you sighed and sunk back into the couch. You hated being sick, it threw your entire day off. You weren’t ashamed of your morning routine — meditation, smoothie, positive affirmations — and not being able to indulge in this simple necessity put you in a foul mood. 

You had slept most of the day away, curled up pathetically on your uncle’s sofa. You didn’t care if you got your germs all over his living room — the man was an ass anyway. If it wasn’t for your complete lack of income due to the recent move, you’d be living on your own. Anything was better than tiny cowtown Ohio, you supposed. Even if it meant listening to your uncle drunkenly rant about his political and religious beliefs every evening. As if anybody would ever sign up for that. 

Around half past nine, Uncle Hoyt came strolling into the loft. Strolled. He never had such a bouncy gait. Wiping at your nose, you massaged absently at your sore throat and spoke up. “You seem happy.”

Hoyt promptly burst into a fit of throaty giggles, wheezing in an ugly fashion, as if being tickled on the spot. “You should have seen his face, buddy. God, you really missed out, there.”

Wrinkling your nose in confusion, you frowned, tissue balled up in your fist. “What are you talking about?”

“Fleck. You know, the skinny one with the weird smile?”

Your heart jolted to a stop. “Arthur?” Sitting upright, you set your jaw. “What happened with Arthur?”

Tossing his keys and jacket onto the kitchen counter, your uncle covered his face and continued to snort obnoxiously. “I can’t get over how priceless — guy looked like he was losing his damn mind.”

You felt yourself beginning to tremble. Throwing the blanket off of your lap, you stood and stalked over to him, voice very low. “What are you talking about? What did you say to him?” 

Hoyt needed a moment to catch his breath. “Told him — Told him you didn’t exist — “ He was wiping tears out of his eyes now. “Made him think that he dreamed you up. What a fucking idiot—“ 

You had never punched anybody before and immediately realized that you weren’t good at it — the ache in your knuckles after connecting with his jaw almost pulled you out of the moment, but even your uncle’s bloody nose wasn’t enough to quell your rage. 

“You told him that I didn’t exist?” You shrieked, your voice reaching the high pitch that it normally did when you were stressed. It didn’t help that your throat was on fire due to whatever virus had been holding you hostage. “Are you sick? Why the hell would you do that!” 

But you didn’t give Hoyt the chance to reply or defend. You had pushed him into the wall, kneed him in the stomach, sent another punch to his face — any and all energy left in you was directed at your uncle until he was nearly gasping for breath on the kitchen floor. 

Red in the face, Hoyt tried to push himself up but stumbled back down, the wind having been knocked out of him. 

You paced and paced and paced, shaking hard, forced to imagine poor Arthur’s face upon being lied to so horrendously. Your sweet, silly, green-eyed boy.

Not being able to take it anymore, you stumbled towards your room and slipped on some shoes and a sweatshirt before booking it out of the loft with a hard, “Fuck you, Hoyt.”

—

Arthur wished he had his own room. God, did he, because it was only upon arriving home that he realized that there was nowhere to go, no where to hide and scream and process. He heard his mother question him, sounding half-asleep, but Arthur knew that he wouldn’t be able to put it into words.

How could he explain to his mother that he had gone insane? That he had fallen in love with a hallucination? That the hallucination had been a man?

He ended up locking himself up in the bathroom. His mother gave up trying to connect with him fairly quickly, this was hardly his first emotional break down. She was notoriously lazy when it came to anything maternal.

Knees pushed up to his chest and arms curled around them, Arthur sat in the middle of the tub, wet face pressed into the fabric of his pants. His stupid clown shoes had been tossed to the side of the room, along with his shirt. He cried and laughed and cried and laughed until he felt physically sickened — but the sun setting in the window behind him brought on another devastating wave of grief.

Was it even possible to grieve over something that was never truly there? 

It was only when Arthur heard his mother close the door to her bedroom that he managed to get up out of the tub. He had to catch himself from falling, both of his legs asleep from lack of movement, but eventually found enough balance to exit the bathroom. 

His eyes fell straight away to the couch, the cushions and quilt so inviting after hours of weeping against cold, hard tile. Arthur’s entire face was sore from crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel. 

He had been lying down barely ten minutes before a series of impatient knocks fell against his front door. The rate of the pounding told Arthur that whomever it was wasn’t going to leave any time soon, so he grabbed a shirt out of the laundry basket nearby and pulled it over his head. 

Arthur’s footing wasn’t quite there yet, but with shaking limbs he managed to reach the door and peer through the peephole. He instantly stumbled backwards with a horrified grimace, desperately distancing himself from the entrance.

“Stop it!” Arthur demanded, voice thick with tears all over again, “Go away! Get out of my head!”

The knocking ceased, and Arthur thought that he had won until he heard a voice — your voice. 

“Please open the door, Arthur, please.”

“No!” Arthur took a few more steps away, wrapping his arms around himself to find some semblance of comfort. “You aren’t there! I know that now!” He hiccuped around a cry, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been a fool.” 

—

Pressing both hands flat against the door, you let your head fall forward to rest there as well. 

“He’s a liar, Arthur,” you pleaded, beginning to seethe with anger all over again at the thought of him. “It was some sort of sick prank. He’s —” You gritted your teeth. “He’s an awful man.”

You heard a soft sob on the other side of the door, breaking your heart.

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur replied after a long moment, but his voice was louder now. He had moved closer. “I’m just a freak, that’s what they all say. Because they’re right. I dream up love because a part of me knows that I’ll never have it.” 

Your chin began to tremble. You had never heard Arthur talk about himself like this. Fighting back your own tears, you shook your head. “Arthur. You have it.” You shut your eyes tight. “Of course you have it.”

You were met with silence and as the moments passed by, your stomach twisted. Had he left the room? Was he doing something to harm himself? Frightened, you began to knock again, much harder now. 

“Where are you?” More silence. Your itchy throat grew tight. “I’m so sorry for what he did, Arthur. I was hoping you would have gotten the message I left last night. I shouldn’t have called so late.” You didn’t want to cry. You hadn’t been the one abused. “Please come back.”

There was shuffling on the other side of the door and you pressed your ear to it, straining to hear what was happening. Just as you were about to speak up again, you heard your own voice play throughout his apartment.

Hey, Arthur. It’s me. Sorry if my call woke you up, but I just — I wanted to let you know as soon as I could that I’ve come down with a cold. A beat. That sounded weird, what I meant was that I won’t be at work tomorrow and… well, you know. Another pause.  I’ll miss you. Hope to see you soon.

A slow beep followed the recording and you held your breath. God, did you sound lame. You winced and looked down to your shoes, only just now realizing that you were wearing two different pairs. What a mess. You wouldn’t blame him if he lost interest. If he told you to leave anyway. If he — 

The door ripped open and you promptly fell forward into Arthur’s arms. 

He caught you easily — you always loved that he was taller than you — and helped you back up onto your feet, his eyes wide and searching. Your heart sank into your stomach at the sight of him, at how exhausted he looked. At how puffy and red his eyes were. 

You reached out without thinking, brushing the pad of your thumb below his eye. “You poor thing.” 

Arthur sniffled abruptly, still not looking stable. He leaned into your hand and closed his eyes, breathing out brokenly, “I want you to be real.”

“Arthur,” you heard yourself whispering, “I’m right here.” 

You kissed him. You wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck, took a step closer, and poured your heart into a kiss so adamant that you’d surely die if he pushed you away.

It took him a moment, but soon the hands holding you steady slackened and smoothed over your back, pulling you closer. Arthur kissed you back so sweetly, held you so dearly, but his breath hitched audibly midway. He was crying. 

You pulled back — but only an inch, just so you could press your lips to his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. 

“You’re really here?” Arthur croaked, fingers tightening in your sweatshirt as you smothered his face in affection. “I’m not dreaming?”

“My silly boy,” you murmured, leaning back to take his face in your hands, wanting to catch his gaze. You smiled up at him. “You’re wide awake.”

Slowly, beautifully, Arthur smiled back.

--

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird @jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader @aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester​

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody!)

[ghostboybabies]

Just a Little Bratty || [JATP Agere/CGLRE Oneshot]

Julie Molina wasn't a bratty little. At least, that's what she'd say if you asked. But if you asked anyone else, everyone would tell you the same thing: She was simply a toddler who didn't like rules. Or cleaning up messes. Or bedtime. Or veggies. Luke Patterson was the only person in the world that could get her to behave. Just a few words in a certain tone and she knew that she was pushing it. Every time Julie refused to follow a rule, or threw her little temper tantrums, he was always the one left in responsible of dealing with it. But, she was still his princess. And he loved her.

A/N:I'm currently experimenting with writing the JATP characters as littles and caregivers, so I hope you guys like my first Little!Julie Molina fic. It's also *the* first Little!Julie Molina fic in existence, but y'know...

anyways, I hope y'all like this! Julie cries but I PROMISE that everything turns out fine in the end. Lmk what you think in the comments!

{Ao3 Link}

--

Everyone else was gone. It was just Julie and Luke.

Just how she liked it.

When everyone else was there, Julie felt like it was crowded, and being openly little felt so much harder. But Luke always made her feel safe and small,without making her feel uncomfortable in any way. Luke was almost perfect.

Except for one thing.

Rules.

He said that they were there to keep her happy and healthy, but following them wasn't very enjoyable. And there was just so many of them! There was bedtime, and 'no sweets before dinner', and even a rule against making messes and leaving them!

Crazy, right? Who likes cleaning up messes? Definitely not Julie.

This specific instance of rule breaking started with Arts and Crafts in the studio. Supplies were neatly organized on the coffee table, set out by Luke for Julie's entertainment. 'What'cha working on, Jules?" Luke looked over her shoulder, trying to see whatever she was creating. She sat up, allowing his to see her page. On it, was a doodle of a flower, which she was working on coloring in. "It's so cute, princess! I'm sure it'll look perfect on the fridge once it's done."

Age regression is something that Julie started doing after her mother passed away, recommended by Dr. Turner himself. So of course, Ray and Carlos knew about it. And they were completely okay with anything that helped her heal in a healthy way. So things like hanging up her coloring pages or carrying around a stuffed animal were pretty normal in the Molina house.

Though, Ray had been pretty freaked out to learn that Julie's caregiver was a ghost boy that had been living in his house for months. But that's a story for another time.

"Really?" Julie asked curiously, adjusting herself so that she was looking back (and up) at Luke. Luke nodded, smiling at her softly. Julie took the comment as praise, letting the pride and happiness bubble up in her chest as she returned to working on the childish artwork. She hummed songs as she decorated the page, switching out her markers for another color every here and there.

After a while, Julie capped a dark pink marker and set it with the others, picking up the paper and handing it to Luke. "Lukeee," she whined, pushing at the table it front of her. She had been sitting on the ground, so that she was at level with the coffee table. Luke sighed, putting the paper down on the couch next to him and holding out his hands above her.

She reached up, letting Luke pull her up from behind, laughing a bit as she came to stand on her feet. "Can I go play outside now?" she asked, twirling around so that she was facing him.

"Of course. You just have to help me clean up this-" Luke stopped talking once he saw Julie trying to run off to leave the studio. "Hey! Come back here." he shouted, causing her to stop in her tracks and face him. "You know the rules. I set up the craft stuff, and you help me put it away when you're done. You can't just leave this all here." Luke crossed his arms, giving her a look that said 'don't push this'.

"Yes I can," Julie tilted her head. "And I will. Bye bye!" she turned around quickly, making it almost all the way out of the door before Luke's voice sounded again.

"Julie."

Julie liked to pretend that Luke being strict with her didn't faze her in the slightest, but really, that tone of disappointment coming from Luke felt terrible. She turned around quickly, rocking on her feet again. She had a light pout on her face. In a soft, small, and childish voice she said..

"But I don't wanna clean! I wanna play."

"I know, kitten. But if we play and just leave everything out, then everything would become a mess!" Luke explained, making a motion that instructed Julie to come back over to him. She hesitantly did so, stopping on the other side of the coffee table. "And, cleaning won't take to long! Will you be a good girl for me and do this?" he spoke softly, giving her a hopeful look. Julie thought for a moment, debating her choices. Right now, Luke seemed a little upset with her. If she did this, maybe he'd be proud!

He had said that she'd be a "good girl" if she listened to him. But she didn't wanna!

"No!" she crossed her arms, stomping her foot harshly on the ground with a huff. Luke's eyes went wide. Even thought she did stuff like this often, he was never prepared for it in the moment.

"Julie, calm down. Come sit," he instructed, trying to prevent anything more then a little temper tantrum from happening. Maybe it was all the conflicting emotions, maybe it was just stubbornness, but Julie did not calm down.

"No, no, no!" she shouted, using her arm to swipe some of the art supplies off of the table, as if the bratty act would prove that she wouldn't take his orders. She didn't even know why she had gotten worked up so quickly, but she did know that what she just did was gonna land her in trouble. She stepped back, hugging herself and glancing nervously between the mess she just made and her caregivers shocked face.

She was ready to cry before he even said a word, feeling a familiar drop in her chest as the childish anger faded from her demeanor. The 'drop' was a mix of guilt and anxiety, pooling in her stomach. "Why did you do that?" Luke spoke up after a moment of shock, giving her a strict look, speaking in a confused, but obviously not-happy tone.

"Don't know." Julie looked down, avoiding his eyes.

Luke realized that yelling wasn't going to get him anywhere with the little, her emotions had changed quickly and he could tell that she felt bad enough at the moment. Yelling and being to harsh would only scare her. He took a deep breath, patting the spot next to him on the couch. Julie obeyed immediately, sitting close to Luke.

She wanted to reach out for comfort, but she didn't know if she deserved it. She knew that she was in trouble. She hadn't been a good girl. Only good girls got cuddles and praise from their caregivers, right?

"Baby, you know you can't do things like that. I understand that you don't like cleaning but throwing a fit and making a mess doesn't solve anything." he adjusted himself so that his whole body faces her, and she did the same thing to him, nervously looking up at him with glossy eyes.

"I know...m' sorry." her words were reduced to mumble as her eyes casted downwards. She blinked hard, tears running down her face.

She hated crying! Her face got sticky and uncomfortable, and she had all these icky emotions. She just wanted to play, and be a little girl for as long as she could. Why did she have to be sad?

"Why're you crying, princess? I'm sorry that I shouted at you, I shouldn't of done that," Luke apologized, cupping the side of her face and forcing her to look up. Julie sniffled.

"Don't be mad at me, please. m' sorry!" she repeated herself, choking on her her words and pulling her face away from his hand.

"I'm not mad at you, kitten. I never was, okay?"

Julie didn't reply in any way, only blinking blankly up at him. Luke sighed, continuing to speak in his soft voice. "I'm just trying to get you to listen to me, alright? I promise, I'm not upset."

Julie looked at him, trying to determine if he was lying, or hiding something. She decided to believe him when he opened his arms. She might have been hesitant to believe that she deserved the affection, but right now, she needed the comfort. She began to babble apologizes into his chest, cuddling close to him as her tears dried up. "I love you, princess. You know that, right?"

Luke didn't speak again until Julie pulled away from the hug, wiping at her eyes. Her tears had left wet spots on his shirt, but Luke didn't say anything. Julie nodded a bit. That reassurance, along with the hug, made her feel a lot better. "Love you too." she replied, trying to rub the stickiness off of her face.

Luke went quiet, trying to work out an internal conflict. Usually, when stuff like this happened, after comfort came the punishment. A short timeout usually did the trick in teaching Julie a lesson about whatever she had done. But she usually didn't break down as badly as she just did there. Luke had to remind himself that she was only apologizing because she thought he was mad at her, she probably didn't understand what she had done wrong. And, if he just let her get away with that, she might just go back and do it again. He knew what he should do, but he really didn't want to.

"I feel better now," Julie admitted, looking at Luke in a way she did a lot. With her innocent eyes, blinking up at him.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"Felt bad. But now I feel better." She spoke as if her words explained everything, leaving Luke to remain confused. It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that she must of felt guilty about the whole situation, and that he had helped her feel better. He smiled lightly, nodding a bit. Julie's facial expression dropped into a sad one once again. "Am I still in trouble?"

Luke hummed, hoping he wouldn't regret his next words. "Well, I can't just let you get away with this. How about you go sit on the loft steps for a few minutes, and when your punishment is over, you can help me clean all this up?" Luke motioned to the table, and the mess that still sat there. His statement wasn't really a question, but rather an instruction.

"B-but I don't want timeout!" Julie pouted, crossing her arms. Luke chuckled, rolling his eyes.

He was secretly glad to know that she was back to her usual bratty self. He preferred a bratty baby over a sad one, any day. "You know the rules, baby. Go sit." he instructed again.

She huffed, but she stood up and make her way over to the ladder. Instead of sitting on of of the steps facing away from Luke, like intended, she climbed up a bit and poked her legs through the other way carefully. She rested her head on her arms on the step closest to her head level, swinging her legs a bit (as she was off of the ground) and looking around. Luke didn't bother with telling her to face the other way, even though that was usually a requirement of a timeout.

Luke watched as Julie pulled many pouty faces. Not the guilty kind, the kind that were meant to convince him to end the punishment early. Maybe it worked, but that wasn't the point.

Luke could only handle the pouting for a few minutes, before giving in and telling her that her time was up. She got out of her position on the ladder as fast as she could without hurting herself, jumping up and running over to the side of the coffee table. "Can I go play now?" she asked, bouncing on her feet.

"No yet, darling. We still have a mess to clean up." Luke reminded, getting off of the couch and pulling a few colored totes from under the coffee table. Julie huffed, seemingly annoyed, but she complied. Luke had given up a while ago on getting her attitude in check. She was going to complain and pout and whine about everything, he only really cared if she actually ended up doing the thing.

While they picked everything up, Luke noticed that Julie was a little tense. She was also over exaggerating the 'I'm mad at you because you put me in timeout' thing, acting a lot more upset about it then she'd usually be. Almost like...

Almost like she was trying to mask another emotion. Like guilt.

It was possible that Julie still felt like Luke was mad at her after he punished her. Luke didn't know if he was correct in this conclusion, deciding to look into it farther before doing anything. He didn't really have to, though, because the evidence presented it itself.

When they were done, and Julie helped put the totes away, she looked at him hopefully. Like she was waiting for something that would help reassure her that she was okay. Luke realized what she was probably waiting for.

"Good job, princess. I'm proud of you." he smiled lightly, deciding to offer another hug. He opened his arms, and she filled them quickly. She seemed a lot less nervous, and tense. Like his simple words of praise had managed to wipe away any worry in her mind.

"Really?" She asked, just to be sure. Just to hear it again.

"Mhm. You did such a good job helping me, baby!" he swayed in place, squeezing her tight. She giggled, before speaking in a confused voice.

"But...I didn't listen?"

"I know, but you did eventually, right? You learned your lesson and everything is okay now. I promise," He spoke softly, kissing her head. Julie hummed, snuggling into his embrace.

Everything really did feel better when she was wrapped up in Luke's arms. Everything was okay again when the caring ghost held her close. Luke cared about her, and being reminded of that always made her day better.

Luke loved his princess, even if she was a little bit bratty.

--

A/N: Please leave feedback in the reblogs/replies/my askbox, whether that be something you liked, something that could be improved, or maybe even a request (I can't guarantee that I'll write it, but I'd still love to hear ideas!)! And please, if you write for JATP, maybe try/consider writing agere content! People seem to really like it but there's not much of it yet, and I really wanna see what people come up with!

Reblogs especially would be VERY appreciated, so that more people can discover this!

[thirsty-for-hq]

fell too hard

pairing: tsukishima kei x cheerleader!fem!reader

au: colorblind soulmate au

warnings: a tiny lil bit of angst but that doesn't even count

prompt: (y/n) and his boyfriend broke up, resulting in tsukishima and (y/n) to get closer than before. when karasuno and (y/n)’s school have a practice match, the two first years finally touch for the first time. (the cheerleader factor doesn’t really make a difference in this one)

word count: 2.7K

a/n: hi hi!!! so, i wrote this quite some time ago and thought i'd post it here <(￣︶￣)> lowercase intended! (it’s for the aesthetic forgive me)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

my mom always talked about how blue the sky was, the beautiful colors of the flowers in our garden, or trying to explain the colors to me with feelings. i never understood, because obviously, i never met my soulmate. or maybe i did, i just never touched them.

here comes the scary part - i had a boyfriend.

i had a boyfriend, until the day he realized his best friend was his soulmate. we knew we weren't soulmates, obviously - we touched each other countless times, and still all we saw were shades of grey.

so he broke up with me. the biggest problem was that we were in the same friend group. i hid my pain from them, i didn't want them to worry. even though we weren't together anymore, akaashi still worried about me, which was very obvious to bokuto - his soulmate. it took some time for me, but i opened up more and more towards one particular person in that friend group.

tsukishima kei.

strange, huh? kuroo, kenma, bokuto - then him, of all people? but weirdly enough, we got along well. we teased each other, but it was all just playful banter. and since we lived so far away, we eventually got to the point of face timing every day. despite how cynical and - quite honestly - an asshole he can be, he actually is a very good friend. if he tries, he cares and can be kind. sounds impossible, i know.

and we arrive to present day, karasuno's and fukurodani's practice match. which i wanted to watch, since then i got a chance to meet tsukishima. that's why i'm here, close to the gates, bouncing around with bokuto, while akaashi tried to calm us down. our relationship was more chill now - we could actually talk to each other without me being a childish idiot.

anyway, when i saw the crows walk trough the gates, i yelled out in excitement.

"tsukishima!"

he whole team heard my voice and looked towards us. i saw tsukishima's face pale and he whispered out a small 'oh no'. by the time he realized he should probably run, i was already sprinting towards him. in his last efforts, he tried to brace himself for the impact, but he still fell backwards when i crashed into his chest, hugging his torso. he groaned in pain, leaning on his hands. i scraped my knees on the pavement, but at that moment, i couldn't care less.

and that's because as soon as the contact was made, a warm feeling enveloped my body. it was subtle so i barely noticed it. my head was buried in his chest for a few moments. when i looked up and he finally opened his eyes, i could not believe what i saw.

all i could see was the shining caramel color of his orbs. then his ash-blonde curly hair, the red tint on his cheeks and his milky pale skin. the sky was so bright and blue, the grass so green, it brought tears into my eyes. i couldn't get enough of the way his eyes sparkled.

i sat back on my knees, staring at my hands, then back at him. his face got redder by the second, his glasses sitting kind of crooked on his nose. he fixed them quickly, trying to keep his composure. he turned his face away from me, attempting to cover the very obvious blush on his cheeks.

"never thought you'd make me cry and i wouldn't feel miserable." i wiped my eyes, chuckling at his reaction. he scoffed, standing up and dusting himself off.

"the fact that you're saying that the second time kind of worries me at this point." i pouted, then accepted his extended hand and he pulled me up.

"whose fault is that, exactly?" he clicked his tongue and i couldn't help but giggle. he crossed his arms, his all time stoic expression back at it again.

"why'd you jump at me like that?" i tilted my head to the right with a teasing smile.

"why didn't you catch me?" he clicked his tongue again, clearly annoyed.

"because you're heavy!" i huffed, pointing at him accusingly.

"you're just not strong enough to lift me up, no need to pin it on me. i was just happy to see you!" i stuck out my tongue playfully and he fixed his glasses again.

"we face time every day." i puffed my cheeks out at his answer and he grinned at me.

"that's not the same!" he laughed at my desperate attempt to argue back to him. then i heard familiar voices from behind me.

"tsukishima, you okay? sorry, she can be intense." akaashi flicked my forehead and i whined in pain. i pouted again, not very happy with his action. then bokuto arrived and slapped tsukishima's back very hard. his glasses almost flew off.

"tsukki, my good friend! how ya doin'?" bokuto wrapped his arm around tsukishima's shoulders and he just... stared. he was probably trying not to throw the owl off of him. not that he actually could.

"i'm fine, thank you." his voice was dripping from fake politeness, but i guess bokuto didn't pick up on it. or he just didn't care.

"wow, tsukishima has friends. ...why does that sound so weird?" sugawara wondered, and kageyama answered him.

"that's 'cause it is." he sipped on his milk, his expression unphased. i was distracted by their conversation, so i didn't notice nishinoya and tanaka creep up on me. i jumped when i heard the smaller boy's loud voice.

"are you tsukishima's girlfriend?" i felt my cheeks heat up, suddenly flustered and not knowing what to say.

"i- i uh- i'm no-"

"yes, she is. please stop drooling over her." before i could finish my sentence, tsukishima butted into the conversation and stepped in front of me protectively. i just stared at the back of his head, utterly confused. we may be soulmates, but he didn't even ask me out!

"aw man, how the hell did stingyshima get a girlfriend before me?! this is not fair!" the bald guy yelled, throwing a small tantrum. when my lamppost of a best friend turned around, i immediately questioned his actions.

"why in the seven depths of hell did you say that?!" i whisper-shouted at him, crossing my arms.

"they would've ran around you like lovesick puppies the whole day if i didn't. besides, you looked quite pathetic." he grinned at me teasingly, and my cheeks flared up once again out of embarrassment and anger.

"s-still! we may be soulmates, but you never asked me out!" i managed to keep my voice down so just the two of us hear it, even though i was quite agitated. he raised his brows curiously.

"it's just a title. do you care that much about it?" i opened my mouth to answer, but closed it just as fast, not knowing what to say anymore. he smirked, knowing very well that he won one of our arguments- again. just because i can't get my shit together doesn't mean he's right! i huffed at him, then i stomped over to akaashi with puffed out cheeks and my arms still crossed. there were a few seconds of silence between us before he started talking.

"are you guys really together? you look quite angry." i knew he was going to ask, but it still caught me off-guard. i rubbed my arms awkwardly, staring at my feet.

"not officially, no... and he just told me it's just a title, so i don't know what to think anymore..." it felt weird to talk about my newfound romantic interest with my ex but, at that point, my brain was fried from overload. he hummed in response, and i thought the conversation ended there. guess not.

"you found your soulmate, huh?" his face was peaceful, watching bokuto mess around with hinata. a small, serene smile took over my features- even though they were really loud.

"i guess i did." he turned towards me slightly as his lips tugged upwards in a genuine gesture, making my heart flutter even though i was already over my feelings for him.

"i'm happy for you, (l/n)." that took me by surprise, but i looked up at the vibrant blue sky, instantly calming my nerves, and closed my eyes.

"thanks, kaashi."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"you guys did great!" i stood in front of the gym door, with a big smile on my face. the fukurodani team thanked me, with bokuto jumping right at me. i reacted too slow, and i screeched as he crashed right into me.

"bokuto-san, no!" akaashi yelled, and ran to us to get the tower of meat off of me. i can't say i could breathe, but i tried.

"that was a nasty fall. do you think she's okay?" sugawara asked.

"she's probably dead." tsukishima commented, and hinata freaked out at him.

"shouldn't you be more concerned?! she's your girlfriend!" the blonde giant just clicked his tongue and jogged over to my dead body. even though akaashi already got bokuto off of me, i was just laying still, not moving an inch. i was like a starfish, mostly. then i saw tsukishima's face right above mine - he was bent down, supporting himself on his knees.

"you okay?" his caramel eyes sparkled in the lights if the gym, and it made my breath hitch and my heart pick up. i felt my cheeks getting warmer, which i didn't like one bit. i stood up quickly, looking anywhere that wasn't him. i answered him, cursing myself for stumbling over my words.

"i'm fin- fine!" he snorted at my behavior, and my face turned even redder than before. i dared to glance up at him, and his arrogant smirk made the butterflies in my stomach start flopping around violently. he put his left hand on his hip, teasing me relentlessly.

"can you be any more obvious than that? you fell a little too hard this time, didn't you?" my whole face was beet red at this point, and i felt the blush creep down my neck as well. the meaning behind his words was obvious- to me at least. i had to fan my face with my hands to try and calm down my embarrassment. i yelled at him, desperate to try and stop him.

"i- i didn't, shut up! stop teasing meee!" he flinched at my volume, and i pouted, still fanning my face. he clicked his tongue, despite being quite pleased with my reactions.

"you're so loud. shut up." i huffed angrily, reasoning against him.

"i'm a cheerleader, i'm supposed to be loud!" he flicked my forehead, and i groaned in pain once again.

"well, you're not cheering right now, so there's no reason for you to be." we weren't far from his team, so i heard nishinoya's excited yelling.

"you're a cheerleader?! woah, that's so cool! do you do flips and stuff?!" he hopped over to us, and i felt flustered once again, being put on the spot like that.

"ah- no, i'm a base, i'm the one who catches the ones doing the flips in the air and such... and our uniform is quite tight, i don't think i could, anyway..." i explained, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly. then i saw Nishinoya's face get redder by the second, and his eyes wonder downer and downer, down my whole body.

"cheerleader... uniform... tight..." he mumbled, then passed out, with his nose bleeding. i shrieked, not knowing what to do.

"noya-san!" i kneeled down next to him and put his head on my lap carefully. the whole team looked towards us at my panicked tone. as soon as nishinoya's head hit my thighs, his expression turned peaceful and happy, with blood still flowing from his nose. tsukishima scoffed.

"get his head off your lap, will you. you're making it worse." i furrowed my brows as tanaka and hinata dragged him away, trying to wake him up. i stood up again, very confused.

"what the hell was that about?" tsukishima grabbed my forearm gently and pulled me closer to himself protectively. he bent down and placed a tiny kiss right behind my ear, then let me go and walked away like nothing happened. and i just stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the number on his back with a very obvious blush on my face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i was walking out of the school, gripping the strap of my bag on my shoulder. then i saw our team's manager and coach seeing off karasuno, as they were about to get on the bus.

it was really late, almost completely dark- the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. i sighed, knowing that i wouldn't be seeing tsukishima anytime soon. i shook my head dismissively, trying not to think about it too much.

the sunset was so beautiful though, with all the oranges, pinks and reds, as the darkness of the night and the stars were already visible at the other side of the sky. i stared upwards, enjoying the gentle breeze and taking in all the color around me. little white specks in the darkness - still shining with the same light as before, if not brighter. i closed my eyes and took a deep breath, tranquility overcoming my senses.

"(l/n)?"

yep, there goes the calm (y/n). far, far away from me.

i opened my eyes quickly, looking to my right, only to see akaashi standing there awkwardly. i smiled at him to let him know his presence was welcome. he walked closer to me, looking up at the sky along with me.

"you're not going to say goodbye to tsukishima?" i hummed at his question, taking my sweet time with the answer.

"should i?" he shrugged, trying to influence my decision in more subtle ways than just straight up saying yes.

"he'd probably appreciate it. you're not going to see each other in person for a while, i assume." i stayed silent for a while. the more i thought about it the more sense it made, but my insecurities still wouldn't let me.

"well, despite him teasing me to death and being really weird today, we're not a couple. i don't think he needs me there." he shook his head disapprovingly, and i bit my lip to stop my eyes from watering.

"no one said you have to make a show. a simple goodbye can feel just as good. especially for someone like tsukishima- he doesn't like flashiness."

i gripped the straps of my bag tightly, and started running towards the exit of the school. the bus was still there, thankfully. he was about to get on the bus, but the loud yell of his name stopped him from doing so. he was the last one there- they were probably waiting for him. i stopped in front of him, panting just the slightest bit. i stumbled over my words, but nonetheless, i yelled once again, with really small tears rolling down my cheeks.

"g-goodbye!" he stared at me blankly for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. i swear to god, my whole life flashed before my eyes. before i could say anything else, he cupped my face and wiped my tears away with his thumb. my brain couldn't decode what was happening, i just felt something soft and warm on my lips, but it disappeared just as fast. he pat my head with a genuine smile, which made my heart do backflips.

"see you, *chiisai-chan." then he got on the bus like nothing happened, loud yelling coming from inside the vehicle.

i just stood there, probably a blushing mess, my stomach turned into an elevator apparently, and i felt like my heart was going to pop out any second. the bus then started driving away, leaving me behind. my legs felt like jello, i thought i might collapse right then and there.

i touched my lips faintly- he kissed me! i was such a mess, and this was just a peck on the lips. what will i do if he actually kisses me?

"you okay there? what happened?" i heard akaashi's voice from beside me and i jumped a little. he raised a brow, quite confused at that point.

"i'm fine... i guess? i seriously have no idea anymore." i buried my face into my hands, sighing with all hope lost. he chuckled, shaking his head once again.

"come on, let's get you home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*chiisai=small

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

Love in the Time of Tantrums

Human AU in which Logan and Patton are married and have fostered and/or adopted Virgil (3 then & 17 now), Remy (2 then & 14 now), and twins Roman and Remus (5 then & almost 7 now). Logan works for NASA, and Patton owns and manages a doggy day care/boarding facility.

Story: Remus is having a d a y, and he and Patton have some healing to do. (Family slice of life with paternal Hurt/Comfort; probably angst, too lol sorry)

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️: blood, classmate bullying, crying, sibling bullying, hitting, angry/tense speech, yelling/arguing, implied past abuse, mention of The Exorcist ((Please let me know if I missed anything!!))

A/N: I didn’t feel like doing the whole stutter/cry/talk thing, so use your imagination at those parts. There’s a lot. ALSO HUGE sorry if this feels OOC; I went a little wild. I saw some parenting post on Facebook and got emotional.

BEFORE READING: If you don’t know what a five star slap is: it’s when someone hits someone’s bare skin so hard that it leaves a clear five finger handprint red mark.

It’s 3:47pm on a Thursday, which means two things. 1) It’s Patton’s day off, so he’s gotten a lot done at home. 2) The peace of the house is about to be shattered by four of Patton’s five favorite people. This actually means three things if Patton’s excitement to see his children counts, but his building elation is flattened when the car doors are thrown open.

“Oh my GOD, Remus!”

The chaos erupts before Patton can even see the cause, and just as he reaches the door between the kitchen and garage, it’s flung open, nearly hitting Patton in the process. Virgil stumbles through with a whimpering Roman curled in his arms.

“Oh, sh-sorry, Dad.” Virgil stops abruptly, and Roman turns in his brother’s arms, reaching blindly for his father as tears pour from his eyes.

“Oooh, baby.” Patton coos as he takes Roman into his arms. “What’s wrong, my Little Prince?”

“Remus.” Remy trudges in, dragging a violently wriggling Remus in his arms. “We tried to stop him, but nothing we do scares him!” Remy suddenly releases his brother, and the six-year-old falls to the floor giggling maniacally. “You nasty little son of a-“

“Remy.”

“Dad! He licked me!!”

“Remus, what have we said about licking your brothers?”

“Do it all the time! It keeps them clean!” The twin darts back and forth behind his older brothers’ legs, dodging an unseen enemy.

“No, Re...The opposite, actually.” Roman trembles in Patton’s arms as he tries to rein in his cries, and Patton hugs him tightly. “So who’s going to fill me in on how Re made Ro cry?”

Virgil sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Looks like Remus learned a new trick at school today and tried it out on Roman. Multiple. Times.”

“It’s called a five star slap!” Remus announces proudly, squirming out from behind his brothers to pose in front of his father. “You wind up real good like this, and then-”

“Remus. Enough.”

Remus flinches but quiets, still bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Virgil, please get Roman some ice for his back and take him upstairs. I need to talk to Remus alone.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Virgil quietly retrieves a baggy and fills it with ice; he smiles softly as he opens his arms and coaxes Roman toward him. The younger brother whines when Patton’s grip loosens, clinging to his father’s shirt with tears threatening to spill again. “Come on, Ro. We can watch whatever movie you want in the bonus room, okay? Dad needs to talk to Remus. Please?”

Roman sniffs but reluctantly relents, instantly hugging his brother around his neck as they turn and head to the second floor. Roman waves good bye to his father with a sad frown before they disappear up the stairs.

“Remus.” Patton’s voice is ice; his normally soft eyes are hard as stone as he gestures with his pointer finger. “Come here. Now.”

Remy attempts to grab his brother by the arm and drag him over, but Patton puts his hand up and knocks him back with a glare.

“Just Remus. On his own.”

Remus shuffles forward inch by inch with a dark scowl on his tiny features, all traces of the energy from before channeled to frustration.

Some of the kids on the playground tell Remus that he’s a freak for having two dads, and others think he’s lucky. Remus disagrees with both, believing that two dads just means two different types of punishment. To Remus, Papa Logan is more reasonable; he says Remus needs to let his “natural exuberance” and “niche interests” out to maintain his mental health, though sometimes even Papa gets frustrated with him. Daddy Patton is the one who silences and punishes him for being himself but praises and supports Roman for being himself. Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but Roman clearly ranks above Remus with Patton, and that makes him livid.

So when he finally reaches Patton, Remus stops just inches away from him in an over exaggerated show of obedience; he looks up and straight into Patton’s eyes, his own set to a spine chilling glare paired with his signature wicked grin. “What?!” The little one suddenly yells out in a manic half laugh half cry.

“Why did you hurt your brother, Remus?” Patton’s tone is firm and level.

“He hurt me first!”

“Oh my GOD; he did not, Remus!”

Patton looks up sharply. “Rem, you wanna go get the mail and help Papa bring his stuff in? I just heard his car door.”

“Not really.”

“Remy, please go.” Patton’s tone takes on a slightly sweet lilt, and Remy sighs before turning to retrace his path through the garage, clearly disappointed that he didn’t get to see his brother get punished.

“Hi, Pop.” Remy calls, giving a single wave. “Dad is about to chew Remus out.”

“What?” Logan’s tired voice filters into the kitchen, and Patton sighs.

“I’m not going to ‘chew your brother out,’ Remy.”

“You really are.”

“Rem.”

“Sorry.”

“Help your Dad.”

“Too late.” Logan enters the kitchen with a laptop bag on one arm, the mail in one hand, and his lunchbox in the other. “I grabbed it as I drove in.”

Remy scoots in behind Logan. “Sorry, Popsquared.” He shrugs and sidesteps past the trio. “I’ll go....Do my homework?”

“Great idea.” Logan smiles stiffly and nods his son up the stairs; he exhales as sets his bags on the bench by the garage door, hanging his keys. “Hello, Dear, Remus. We’ve had quite a day, haven’t we?”

Patton sighs and rubs his eyes. “Father’s intuition?”

“Virgil’s cell phone.”

“Remus hit his brother, and I’m handling it. Why don’t you rest, Love?”

Logan eyes the pair warily, looking ready to protest, but he thinks better of it and nods. “I’ll be in our room if you need me.” The couple exchanges a brief kiss as Logan passes by, and he throws back a quick glance as he goes up the stairs.

“Finally.” Patton breathes, figuring Remus has had plenty of time to stew, simmer, and cool down with the interruptions. “Now that we have some privacy-”

“Just get it over with!”

Patton’s breath hitches a bit, and he looks down to find Remus with the same wide eyes and grin as before, staring at him intently. “Get what over with?”

“My punishment! Just ground me or spank me or make me go without dinner! Just get it over with! Do it! I know you want to!” Remus throws his arms to his sides and stomps, gaze still transfixed on Patton.

“Remus, why are you saying that? Papa and I never hit you or keep food from you.”

“That’s what the other kids said bad kids like me get for punishments!” Remus is still yelling, his body taking on a slight tremble. “They said I deserve to be so skinny you can see my bones! They said I should sit in the corner for hours without a potty break! They said-“

“Whoa, whoa, kiddo.” Patton tries to put a hand on his son’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off. “Who is saying all that mean stuff to you?”

“Kids on the playground. No one you know. It doesn’t matter because it’s not your business!”

“Why isn’t it my business?”

“Because you hate me! You love Roman and Remy and Virgil, but not me! You don’t care about me, and I don’t care about you, so you don’t get to know!”

“Why do you think I hate and don’t care about you?”

“Because you only yell at me and not Roman when something bad happens! When Roman takes my stuff, you just tell him to give it back, but when I take his stuff, you get mad at me and take mine away!”

“That’s because-“ Patton clamps his mouth shut on his retort when Remus’s eyes fill with tears; Patton realizes that his little one is reaching an overload, and he knows that means Remus is not open to discussion right now. He just needs to keep asking questions and let Remus air out his frustrations. Patton lowers his voice so that the boy has to listen, keeping his tone even while adding a soothing overtone. “Do I do that a lot?”

“Not that much...but it feels like it because it’s always me who gets in the most trouble!”

“How does that make you feel?”

“It makes me mad!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not fair!”

“How else do you feel?”

“Angry!”

“What about sad?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“.....I don’t know.” Remus’s lower lip trembles, and his hands are in fists at his sides.

“You don’t know? If you don’t care about me, why does it make you sad? You have to care to be sad.”

“I don’t know! But I don’t care! Because....because I’m not sad right now! I’m...angry!” Tears slip out of the corners of Remus’s eyes, and he rubs at them roughly, making himself whimper with the force.

Patton notices how dark his son’s fingernails are for the first time, and his breath catches in his throat. He takes Remus’s hand. “Is that blood?”

“Maybe.”

“Where’d it come from?”

“No where.” Remus rips his hand from Patton’s and crosses his arms, staring stubbornly at Patton’s shirt now.

“Did you hit someone, Remus?”

“No!”

“Did someone hit you?”

Remus goes stiff, staring straight ahead before he stomps his feet and shrieks, “No! Of course not why would someone hit me I’m not weak like Roman no one can hurt me! Even if that mean ugly teacher doesn’t believe it!” Remus grits his teeth, his little face scrunching up as though in pain. His whole body trembles as he suddenly erupts into loud, whining cries.

“Oh, no...Come here, Remus.” Patton drops to sit on the floor a few feet from Remus, opening his arms for a hug but giving him the choice.

Remus turns away and hugs himself tightly, sobbing into the open air.

Patton lets his arms fall into his lap, but he subtly scoots a bit closer to the crying boy.

“Remus, please talk to me. Who hurt you?”

“No one! I hurt myself!”

“Why did you hurt yourself?” Patton tries to keep the alarm out of his voice.

“I didn’t do it on purpose! I ran into a tree and made my nose bleed!”

“Why did you run into a tree?” Patton scoots closer.

“Some boys were throwing a frisbee and I tried to catch it but it went too high and I didn’t see the tree and I hit it and they all laughed at me and called me a weirdo! They said I’m so stupid I couldn’t see a tree right in front of me! It hurt and I was scared but the playground eacher just said to wipe my nose and stop bothering other people I don’t know!”

Patton’s heart shatters, and he scoots closer again. “Did you tell your teacher?”

“Yeah but she said I was fine and didn’t need to go to the nurse! She said I was being dram-dramo-“

“Dramatic?”

“Yeah! And after school I was waiting for Virgil and one of the boys did the five star on my back and it hurt really bad but he ran away when I told the teacher and she didn’t believe me because he was gone!”

Patton scoots closer, and Remus is within arm’s reach. “So the boys were mean to you a lot, and you needed help, but the teachers didn’t listen? They didn’t help you, and that made you sad?”

“Yeah! They never listen!”

Patton scoots forward one last time, closing the distance between himself and his son. He whispers near Remus’s ear. “Why did you hit your brother, Remus?”

“I don’t know!” Remus wails. “I was mad and I just wanted to!”

“Because the boy hit you and the teacher didn’t care? It made you mad and sad that no one cared about what happened to you? And Roman wasn’t sad or mad, so you hit Roman?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m gonna pick you up now, okay?” Patton reaches forward and scoops Remus into his arms before he can escape or refuse, pulling the boy to his chest. Remus thrashes wildly in Patton’s hold, eyes wide and cries like a wild animal trapped in a cage. “Remus, Remus, Remus.” Patton pulls him closer. “Remus, I’m just hugging you; you’re not in trou-“ Patton groans after Remus’s head flies back and connects with his nose. “Ouch-“

Remus freezes and looks up, eyes wide and horrified when he sees the tiny trail of blood start to trickle from Patton’s nose. Patton grabs the dish towel hanging from the nearby stove before Remus can process what he’s done.

“D-Daddy?”

“Remus-“

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Remus is crying and thrashing again, trying to escape Patton’s hold, but Patton tents his legs on either side of the boy and holds on as tight as he can with an arm and an elbow. “I didn’t mean to hurt you! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Shhh shh shh, Remus.” Patton inhales deeply to stave off his own breakdown, too harshly reminded that Remus still has so far to run from his life before this family. “I’m just hugging you; it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m safe. You’re okay. You’re safe, Remus.” Patton mutters the words over and over as he tries to hold Remus close, subtly trying to keep his nose clean. “Please, Remus, just let me hold you. Let me hug you to help you feel better. I’m not mad at you. You’re not in trouble. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re not going to get hurt.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me?” Remus has stopped resisting and is staring up at Patton.

Patton takes a deep breath and silently curses the twins’ first (and second-to-last) foster home. “No, baby. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let those boys or those teachers hurt you again. I will come to your school tomorrow morning and talk to the principal and those teachers, okay? They won’t be mean to you anymore.”

“But you have work tomorrow.”

“That’s okay. I can go late.”

“Why?”

“Because I own the place!” Patton laughs a bit.

“No, why are you coming?”

“Oh, Remus, because I love you, baby. I love you so much, and I don’t want you to get hurt again. That would make me cry.” Patton’s eyes fill with the pressure of this whole dam of emotions building within him, and he gives Remus a wet smile. “I don’t hate you, Remus. I love you so, so much. Just as much as Virgil, and Roman, and Remy, and I’m so sorry I don’t tell you that enough. I’ll do it a lot more. I promise. I love you. I love you. I love you.” Patton accentuates each “I love you” with a kiss to Remus’s head, and the child only pulls back the first time.

Remus sits back against Patton’s thigh and stares at his father, as if searching for something, some “gotcha,” some trick or hint of betrayal in his father’s eyes, but he finds none.

Patton runs a hand over Remus’s hair and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “I promise. I love you forever and ever, my little sunshine.”

Something in Remus finally clicks into place, an understanding dawning on his face, and he slowly relaxes in Patton’s hold, letting himself be embraced. Patton pulls Remus toward him with no resistance, and the boy sobs openly into his father’s chest, the pain and relief mixing together in an overwhelming maelstrom in his little chest that he can’t fully understand or articulate. He just sits limply in Patton’s arms and cries himself out, crying every tear he refused to let his classmates or his teachers or his brothers see him cry.

“It’s okay, baby. Cry all you need to. You’re gonna be okay. Daddy and Papa and Virgil and Remy and Roman will keep you safe. We love you so, so much.” Patton rocks him slightly and rubs Remus’s back, periodically pressing kisses to his hair.

Patton keeps uttering reassurances as he carefully scoots backward and grabs a napkin from the holder on the kitchen table; he sets down the dishcloth and carefully stuffs the napkin into his nose with one hand as he keeps holding on to Remus with the other, the boy having calmed down to watch the whole process. “See? It’s okay. Daddy’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”

Remus shudders as he breathes, his little body still trembling with emotion as he stares up at Patton, eyes wide and wet and cheeks flushed.

Patton leans over and looks Remus in the eyes. “You okay?” Patton asks quietly, placing a quick peck on Remus’s nose that makes the boy go cross-eyed.

The little one considers for a moment. “N-no.” Remus stutters out, gripping on to Patton’s polo like a lifeline.

“That’s okay. Thank you for being honest with me. What do you want to do now?”

Remus shrugs mutely, unusual for the boy, but...most of this scenario is new for Remus. Honesty and vulnerability are something they’re still working on with the twins, particularly Remus, just one of a handful of carry overs from their first foster home.

Patton taps his chin thoughtfully. “We can...go find Roman and say we’re sorry?”

Remus wrinkles his nose at that; his eyes water again.

“Mmm maybe too soon. We can...go help Remy with his homework?”

Remus quirks a brow at him, perplexed. “I can’t do 9th grade homework.”

“Mmm me either. I’m too old. We can...go see Papa in Daddy and Papa’s room? Papa can hug you, too, if you want.”

Remus considers for a moment, and then he nods.

“Okay, let’s go.” Patton helps push Remus up and then stands himself, moving to go up the stairs when a little hand pulls on the back of his shirt; Remus is staring at him shyly from beneath his bangs. “What’s up?”

“Can you carry me?”

“Carry you?” Patton smiles and turns, bending to Remus’s eye level. “You’ve never wanted me to carry you before.”

“But you carry Roman all the time.”

“Because he asks to be carried all the time.” Patton laughs and holds out his arms. “I never said I wouldn’t carry you, buddy; I’m just a little surprised.” Remus immediately wraps his arms around his father’s neck, and Patton presses a kiss to his head as he straightens, adjusting his hold to this unfamiliar body.

Remus mumbles something as they move toward the stairs.

“What’s that, bud?”

“You never called me ‘buddy’ or ‘bud’ or ‘baby’ or any of those names, either, like you do with Virgil and Roman and Remy.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to. I called you ‘baby’ once, and you got mad and said you weren’t a baby.”

“Because I’m not!....But you’re not really calling me a baby, right?”

“Right, I’m saying you’re my baby. That I want to love you and protect you and carry you.”

“Oh. That’s okay, then, I guess.”

“I’m glad, but don’t be afraid to tell me when you don’t like something, okay? Remember how we talked about being honest a little while ago?

“Yeah.”

“I want you to be honest with me.” Patton pushes open the door to his bedroom, revealing Logan lounging on their bed with a book on his lap. “And you were very honest today, and I’m very proud of you for that. You did a good job of telling me how you were sad and mad and angry.” Patton sits on the bed and looks to Logan with tears brimming, his husband returning a loving if not confused gaze. “You can always tell me and Papa about however you feel, okay?”

“Yes, Remus.” Remus looks over at Logan shyly, seeming to realize his emotional state for the first time. “You can always tell Daddy or me. We love you, Little Nova.” Logan sets aside his book, and Remus takes the invitation, wiggling out of Patton’s hold to sit on his Papa’s lap.

A tear spills over, and Patton quickly swipes it away. Logan meets his gaze, sympathy burning in his eyes, and he opens his arm for Patton to settle in with them. Remus settles easily against Logan’s chest, instantly limp and calm in Logan’s steady presence, and Patton feels a sharp pang in his heart knowing now that he had missed out on growing with his son, that Remus felt so rejected by him. He breathes deeply, trying to stave off a breakdown, and Logan rubs his arm soothingly which only makes him want to cry more.

“I love you, Remus.” Patton whispers.

“I know, Daddy. You said that already.” Remus whispers back, his voice light and airy as exhaustion takes hold of him.

Patton settles back just as their door quietly swings inward. Remy stands in the doorway with Roman in his arms, Virgil lurking quietly in the hall behind them.

“Roman wanted to see you. And Papa.”

The aforementioned boy rubs at his swollen eyes, and Patton’s heart aches. If only he could comfort all of his babies when and how and where they needed to be. Patton sits up and pats the empty space on their bed, gesturing for all of their boys to join in the family cuddle pile. Remy hands Roman over to Patton, and the boy snuggles into his father’s hold, resting his head on Patton’s shoulder as Patton runs a hand up and down his son’s spine. Remy stretches and settles himself at the foot of the bed, his head resting in a crooked elbow as he feigns casualty, but his gaze constantly shifts between his Dad, Papa, and younger brothers.

“Rem, it’s okay, baby.” Patton’s brow creases at the moisture in Remy’s eyes, but that’s a conversation for later, without the prying eyes and ears of his brothers. “Take off the thinking cap for now. Virge,” Patton smiles gently at his oldest son, sulking in the doorway and clearly exhausted from playing baby wrangler after a full day of school. “Touch or no touch?”

“...Some is okay.” Virgil pushes off of the doorframe and crosses to Patton’s side of the bed; Patton sits up with Roman and crosses his legs, and Virgil curls up with his head resting near Patton’s knee. Patton runs a hand through his hair, keeping Roman close with the other.

“Look at us. Like a sitcom family. We’re basically the Brady Bunch,” Remy quips, discreetly slipping on his signature sunglasses.

Patton would definitely talk to him later.

“Something like that.” Virgil sighs and closes his eyes, just letting himself breathe and trying to slow his pounding heart.

“I love it. I love this.” Patton smiles at each of his boys in turn. “I love each and every one of you.” Patton catches Remus’s half-lidded backward glance and gives him a smile and a wink. Seeming satisfied, Remus settles back against Logan, discreetly eyeing Roman in Patton’s arms.

“Hey, so not to ruin the moment.” Remy speaks up from his spot. “But why do you have a napkin stuck up your nose, Dad?”

“I was wondering the same thing.” Virgil pipes up.

“I was, too.” Logan mumbles from his chin’s resting place atop Remus’s head.

“What happened, Daddy?” Roman whispers against his neck, eyes fluttering closed as Patton rubs small circles between his shoulder blades.

“Daddy got a nasty bloody nose.” Remus declares with a yawn, traces of his typical self slowly returning. “There was blood just gushing everywhere.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to meet him incredulously, begging him to continue the story where Remus left off, but Patton just laughs quietly.

“....It’s a long story for another time.” Patton shrugs, meeting each curious gaze in turn. “It was worth it, though.” He meets Remus’s last, holding on for a few moments to let his words sink in. “I had to lose a little blood for a little healing to start, but I’m gonna be okay. We are gonna be okay.”

“Dramatic, but okay. Nosebleeds suck.” Remy cuts in, and Virgil pushes a weak kick in his direction. “And speaking of, no bullshitting, how did you get it?”

“Language, young man!” Remus lectures with a comically lowered voice, wagging a weak finger in his older brother’s general direction before turning onto his side and snuggling into his father for a pre-dinner nap.

“I’m following Remus’s lead.” Patton chuckles softly and carefully lays back with Roman, adjusting both of them before closing his eyes. A couple of snorts sound off when Virgil lets out an indignant grunt at having lost Patton’s hand in his hair, but Patton smiles when he feels his oldest shift and rest his head on his father’s thigh. “All of my heart in one bed.” Patton murmurs with a contented sigh.

“I sure hope so, otherwise you’d die.”

“Remus.” Three sighs and one breathy laugh usher the room into silence as the family relishes in a rare moment of peace, squabbles quietly forgiven and tensions quietly forgotten as they relax and heal together.

For the time being.

20 minutes later, Remus hears the mail truck approach and hurls himself off of the bed, nearly tripping as he runs down the stairs to show the mail carrier his impression of Reagan in The Exorcist. (No one knows how he found out about it; they all hate horror movies. Except for Remus, of course.)

[starfaring-princelotor]

Up

*

Summary: Celeste searches for her father.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: Blood mention.

*

Part One___Part Two___Part Three

Extinction (Bad Ending)___ The Giving Tree___Moonlight Path___Up

Evolution (Good Ending)___Breaking the Ice___For My Family___  Priorities

*

“Come to me, child.”

The space caterpillar doll in her chubby arms acted like a barrier, a shield to protect her when scary monsters were around. And she was no fool. Celeste knew at the bare minimum that the squirmy feeling in her gut was something more than just an upset tummy. It was the same feeling she vaguely remembers when her mother ushered her tiny body behind her for safety.

Just as her nanny was doing now, standing between her smaller form and that...that lady.

She kind of smelled like Papa. Kinda looked like her, too, but she wasn’t purple. She had the same white hair. Though, that alone wasn’t enough for Celeste to automatically assume she was a safe person to be around. No, it was her eyes. She called herself “rightful family” a lot. But...Dayak was grandma. Dayak was family. That lady didn’t have soft eyes.

Not like Dayak. Not like Papa. But definitely like...trouble.

Celeste shied behind Dayak’s leg more, hiding herself barely out of view from the creepy lady’s gaze. The adults were talking too much. About...something she didn’t quite understand yet. But she trusted her nanny. It wasn’t until she heard the lady with the facial marks mention her Papa’s name did her little ears perk up in recognition.

“Papa?”

Sharp, yellow eyes snapped to Celeste.

“Where’s Papa?”

Dayak’s steely glare bore into Honerva with no mercy. Yes. Why don’t you tell us where Lotor is?

“Where’s my Papa? I want my Papa.”

They weren’t at home. Not on his ship. This place made her feel unwelcome. Strange. That’s why she wanted her father with her. He was always able to make her feel safe, regardless of where they explored. Yet, here? And seeing Honerva bend down to her knees with arms open in welcome? Celeste didn’t like it. Something inside her heart was warning her to stay away from that lady.

“Come to me, my child. I am your family.”

Celeste denied her without a second thought. She completely hid herself out of sight with a pouty huff, not at all dissimilar to a child who was being admonished. She wanted Papa! Not her! Where was he? She missed him! She wants to eat candy with him! She wants to go nap-nap with him! They were supposed to go see the mermaids! He said so, so why wasn’t he here?

Honerva’s stoic expression turned sour as she was, once again, rejected by the only family she knows. The only family she swears, on her life, that she loves.

“Take her away.”

*

Now, Dayak was gone, too. She said she was going to get them food and that Celeste should “stay hidden and do not come out.” But that felt like so many days ago. She didn’t come back and it was frustrating the little child to the max. There was a wee pout on her lips every time some stranger came in the room and left a hot meal on the table. She didn’t just want food. She wanted to be fed, for Papa to feed her.

That lady came in a couple times, too. She would just sit on the bed and look directly at Celeste’s hiding spot behind the bookshelf. Not once did she let go of her stuffed dolly. In fact, whenever that “family” lady came in, her arms only squeezed tighter around the aged toy. A few times, that adult would tell her to come out. Or say “come to me” again and again. Sometimes, she would say “please.”

But Celeste never budged. Not even when Honerva’s hand reached for her and she shrieked out the loudest “NO!” to frighten her off. But now? It was quiet. And dark. She didn’t mind the dark as long as her Papa was here with her. Those mornings she would wake up without him always made her cry in panic. She didn’t like being alone. No, not at all.

That’s why he gave her this doll. It glowed at the cheeks, just like Papa did at night when he would purr and snore in deep sleep.

She misses his hugs. Misses how he would tuck her in the middle of his bed or let her cuddle up on his broad chest. When was the last time she got to use his soft hair as a warm blankie in the night? Far too long. When was the last time she woke up to him looking down at her with all the love spoiling her tiny soul? Far. Too. Long.

So when that guy came in the room again to drop off food, Celeste decided she didn’t want anymore “last times.” She slipped through the crack in the door quickly using the stealth she playfully practiced with Papa. She was sneaky, as he said plenty of times with a proud smile on his lips. And she was small. “And oh so beautiful!” he would say with wet kisses smothering her face.

The soft sounds of her feet going pap pap pap down the empty hallway went unnoticed. She was an explorer and she was good at finding things. Celeste was going to find her Papa because this glowing doll was not going to be enough to soothe her stubborn tears. Biting into the toy, she held onto it while using her claws to scale up the wall then squirmed her way into a small vent.

If they weren’t going to bring her to her Papa, then so be it. He was here, she felt it in her heart, and she was more than dedicated to look for him on her own.

*

Dayak was going to be so upset she torn the scarf up again. It was gift Papa gave her for comfort, knowing that his scent would calm her down when he left for his duties. Now it was dirty and ripped, almost making her cry out of frustration, but it was all worth it when she peeked through the vent hole. There, face hanging down, on his knees, wounded, and shackled at the wrist by chains, was her father.

“Papa!” she exclaimed eagerly, her legs already wiggling in excitement, “Papa! Papa, Papa!”

And yet, he did not respond. Celeste huffed at being ignored, just about ready to pap his face for being so rude to her! She carefully climbed down the wall, but clumsily lost her grip and tumbled the last few feet. With an “oof!” and a whiny complaint, she quickly used her hands to push herself back up on her feet. She wobbled then, once she was sure she could start walking again with proper leverage, she quickly gathered her doll and trotted up to her father.

“Papa, up!”

No response. Why did he look dirty? Papa was never dirty. Did worms get on him? Maybe he wants her to clean him up? But...no, she wanted his attention. She deserved it, she was his little star! Where were her well-earned cheek kisses? Where were his smiles and deep voice telling her “I love you, little one”?

Did...did she do something bad? Is it because she disobeyed Dayak and was supposed to stay in the room? Is that why Papa wasn’t waking up? Oh, she didn’t like it when she got in trouble. Now, she was both sad and upset. And yet, still very much vying for his doting affection. Celeste’s bottom lip jutted out, her hand tangling on the tips of her father’s hair curtaining down his front. Then, she gave a tug. A small shake. Anything for a smidgen of attention.

Yet...nothing.

“...Papa, wake up!”

Now, she was a bit rougher. She kept slapping his chest with her tiny hands, ignoring the way there were some deeply scorched burns on his shoulder and stomach. Celeste was getting desperate. Usually by now, her father would be peeking at her with one eye open and pull her into a crushing hug. Usually by now, he would be tickling her with his “little fingies” with no mercy. Usually by now, he would at the very least...be breathing.

She wanted to selfishly be with her Papa again. She wanted to so bad, Celeste even started to throw a tantrum.

She stomped her foot on the ground, small hands now closed in a fist, then with all her might, she screeched another demand.

“UP! Papa, UP!”

Lotor heard something, he heard a faint, familiar voice deep within the corners of his trapped mind. How long has he been...here? He tried opening his eyes, but was only met with pure darkness. That voice...Celeste’s voice. She was calling him and his body, his soul, would always meet his daughter’s demands. It was rejuvenating hearing her, hear the way her pitch went up whenever she called him Papa.  

It was breathing life back into him, but also breaking his hardened heart into unfixable pieces. She was crying. Sobbing with those quick sniffles reminding him exactly who he was. Remind him that he was a father, a dad, a protector, a papa, and those careful titles came with the heaviest responsibilities to his child. His daughter. Lotor accepted his role long ago, understood what came with it, and knows within his very being that, under no circumstances, can he never cease being her father.

Celeste deserves him. She deserves her Papa and nothing would pull him away from the role he readily, wholeheartedly, and lovingly accepted so long ago.

“PAPA!”

Lotor’s will was strong, even with the Rift creatures clawing at his very soul and trying to keep him on the brink of death. He was a father first before anything else. Everything he did, he did to ensure a safe and secure future for Celeste. These creatures mentally tearing apart his psyche? They were nothing in the face of his dedication to return to his family. His only family that mattered.

He felt...small hands and feet begin to climb up his body. The nerves underneath firing back to life, charging up everything that had been devastated by Voltron’s final attack. Lotor could feel his daughter’s sharp claws. He could smell that combined scent of himself and his deceased lover right in front of him. A scent that was special just for Celeste. And once he forced his eyes to open, the view of his daughter’s tear-streaked, pouty, distressed face greeted him in the dark and cold cell.

Those wide, doe eyes, wet and shimmering with tears. Her chubby cheeks that she has yet to outgrow. Hair and ears much too similar to his beloved soulmate. She found him, stars, Celeste found her way home.

No more tears, little star. Papa is here now. Papa will always be here.

Poor Celeste didn’t know how to handle all the mix of emotions overwhelming her body. She was upset, rightfully so. Scared. Sad. Alone. Anxious. Annoyed. She didn’t like these feelings, so she was utterly glad to finally let happiness wash over her the second Lotor’s soft eyes revealed themselves. They were...different. Glowy, now, with purple sparkles floating around them. Her hands opened up and slowly cupped his cheeks, making sure to keep him staring at her and only her.

Some say she was spoiled, but in reality, she was spoiling him.

Papa is sorry, Celeste. I am so, so sorry.

For leaving her suddenly. For making her cry out of fear. For giving that worthless excuse of a mother a chance to harm his only daughter.

No. No, Honerva will not dig her claws in Celeste. He told that treacherous woman that Celeste was not her granddaughter and she will never be her grandmother. That wretched being had no right to utter his child’s name. She had no right at all to even lay eyes on her. How dare she even bring her into this mess! He -

“Papa…”

His anger quelled with every second Celeste held his face in her palms. Lotor’s heated gaze hooded as he leaned into her caring touch, soaking in the unconditional love she offered him so freely. Free? No, it was not free. Celeste had one demand and only one since she found him in this yucky cell. And, with all the stars and moon in the universe as his witness, he would fulfill his daughter’s wish.

Lotor broke out of his restraints, his energy now renewed with vigor stronger than the blood of the Empire. Stronger than Altea, than Voltron, than any foe who tried to kill him. His strength came for Celeste, no one else, and when his arms screamed in pain, he ignored it for her sake. This hurt was nothing compared to the very idea of his only child living without both a mother and father.

He was not going to let that happen. The burns would heal. The joints will heal. These physical aches? Eventually, they will mean little in the future. Right now, Lotor wound his arms around his child’s smaller frame, keeping her close and cozy and safe. He pushed himself up to his feet, finally, finally giving the one thing she desperately needed in the midst of her confused tantrum.

Celeste, now appeased with the outcome of her hard work, snuggled her glowing face into the crook of his neck. Her tears smeared on his skin, reminding Lotor that he will always be a shoulder for her to cry on. Always. He made a lot of mistakes in his past, but if he were to rectify any of them, it would ultimately be for his daughter’s sake. And right now, he knew who he had to stop.

Lotor hardened his lethal, icy glare to the doll abandoned on the ground. With one hand, he dug his nails into the cushion to rip open a hole and pull out the illuminating dagger hidden inside. The quintessence thrumming through his body responded to the weapon and, with a blinding flash, it transformed into a threatening broadsword, ready to be drenched in warm blood.

Voltron could wait. He had broken family matters to attend to.

[the-quiet-winds]

So Much More than Royal (part one)

alright, lads, we have reached the final installment (for now). @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts has admitted this is her favorite part, and i have to say it is really good.

this is part one of five, with another dark story coming your way. trigger warnings for the whole story: death, ransom, violence... that’s all i can think of for now.

[Part 1: Still So Young, Desperate for Attention]

nine years had flown by in the blink of an eye for jane.

edward had grown into a charming, mischievous boy, inquisitive and silly, and katherine, meanwhile, had absolutely blossomed. she had grown like a weed, physically, but jane was much more impressed with her intellect. she was now fluent in latin, french, spanish, and italian, and was working on russian with parr. the ice between her and henry had cooled. they were in no way close, but they could at least be civil now.

jane couldn’t be prouder or happier.

much to jane’s joy, her children got on wonderfully and were as close as siblings could be. they had small arguments, of course, but nothing that ever lasted for longer than a few hours. that is, until one day.

it started out much like any other. edward had lessons with his tutor in another part of the palace, and katherine and parr spent the morning engrossed in the russian language. katherine’s own relationship with parr had also changed as katherine grew into a young woman, becoming more like friends than tutor and student, and their lessons tended to be based around discussion rather than parr teaching. by the time parr left katherine was in great spirits, triumphant at finally managing to master a piece of grammar that had been bothering her for weeks. edward, on the other hand, was not so happy when he traipsed in. unlike his sister, edward struggled with languages, and several hours of latin felt like torture to the young boy. he slams the door as he enters the room, a sulk plastered on his usually happy face.

katherine turns at hearing the sudden loud noise. she frowns when she sees edward’s less-than-great mood.

“what’s wrong, eddie?” she asks.

“stupid latin,” he grumbles. “i keep messing up my translations and i don’t know what to do.”

“can i see?”

edward hands her the paper and she skims it over a few times. “you’re mixing up your ‘t’ endings and your ‘nt’ endings,” she states. “it’s okay, i did the same thing a lot at the beginning.”

edward huffs and crosses his arms.

“what, eddie?” katherine asks gently. “it’s an easy fix.”

he throws his arms out, “look at me!” he mocks in a high falsetto, “i’m katherine and i know everything about languages because i’m soooooo perfect!”

katherine raises an eyebrow, folding her arms in front of her. “come on, eddie, don’t be like that,” she says, gentle but firm. edward scowls.

“you think you’re so perfect,” he challenges. katherine frowns.

“i don’t think i’m perfect.”

“good, because you’re not. you’re mean and ugly and horrible.” edward stomps his foot and katherine rolls her eyes. she’s not particularly affected by edward’s immature insults, and she wasn’t interested in watching him have a tantrum because he was frustrated about his latin work.

“is this really what you’re going to get upset over?” katherine asks, a bit sarcastically.

eddie scowls, the best a nine year old could do. “you’re always so mean to me!”

“who’s mean to who?” a gentle voice calls. jane enters the room, looking confusedly at her children.

“katherine is always mean to me!” edward declares fiercely. “she always thinks she’s so much better than me!” he whips his head back towards katherine. “guess what! someday i’ll be king!”

katherine gives a shrug. “and i’ll be there helping out.”

“i don’t need your help!” edward seethes. “i never do!”

“eddie,” jane attempts to soothe, “calm down now, love. katherine didn’t mean to upset you. she’s just trying to be a good big sister-“

it’s then when edward explodes. “why do you always treat her like she’s perfect?! she’s not even related to you! i’m your son! she’s not even your real daughter!”

there’s a moment of absolute silence, katherine frozen where she stands. then, jane speaks, voice quiet and slightly shaking.

“edward, don’t ever say that about your sister-”

“but it’s true, though!” edward huffs. “dad told me! he says that she’s not your real daughter, and she’s not my real sister either. he said a piece of paper saying she’s yours can’t ever measure up to blood.”

katherine suddenly turns around and leaves the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

jane watches her leave, and for just a moment considers chasing after her. she knows what that brought back in katherine’s mind: all the fears she harbored for the first year she was with jane, that she’d be kicked out, she was illegitimate. there was even one point where some less-than-friendly members of staff referred to her as ‘the queen’s bastard’.

but she also knows katherine needs space and time. she’ll be back.

jane turns to edward, possibly more angry than she had ever been towards him. “how dare you say those things about your sister?” she asks, voice so dangerously low.

edward shrugs, not seeming to understand the gravity of his words; and in a sense, he didn’t. he was parroting what his father had told him during one of the rare moments they spent time together.

“you always side with her,” he grumbles. “it’s not fair.”

“edward,” jane continues, barely restraining the anger in her voice. “no matter what your father may have said, katherine is your sister, and she loves you and looks out for you. you have no right to say those kinds of things about her, do you understand me, young man?”

edward rolls his eyes. “sure, whatever.” he turns away.

“don’t you walk away from me, edward,” jane challenges.

he turns back around, sits down in a chair at the table, and looks up at her expectantly. “well?” he asks.

jane quirks an eyebrow.

“i’m ready,” he says plainly.

jane still doesn’t understand.

“i’m ready to hear ‘the speech’.”

“what speech?” jane asks, genuinely confused.

“‘the speech’,” edward reiterates, “the one where you tell me ‘katherine has had more hardships in her life than you know,’ and ‘you really should be nicer to her in the future’,” he quotes, pushing his voice up to sound like jane.

jane stares at him, practically unable to believe that her sweet, mischievous little boy was coming out with such cruel things.

“where did all this come from?” she asks. “you know she’s your real sister. you love her.”

“you love her, more than you love me,” edward says, crossing his arms and frowning.

“i do not!” jane protests, and edward scoffs.

“do too!” he shifts his voice up again to mimic jane. “be nice to katherine, katherine’s so perfect, never say anything bad about her ever or she’ll cry herself to sleep again, katherine’s my favourite even though she’s only the queen’s bastard.”

jane’s face transforms into one of shock and rage. “where did you hear that?” the phrasing was too specific, edward had to have heard it from someone, and she didn’t know anybody still referred to katherine as that.

something seems to click in edward’s mind at hearing jane’s reaction to what he said. he shrugs. “i heard dad saying it to one of his...” he struggles to remember the word. “courtiers! one of his courtiers. thomas, i think.” his voice is smaller, less sure than it was before. then he looks at jane curiously. “what does it mean?”

jane looks very, very pale. “it’s a very mean and very rude thing to say about your sister,” she says faintly, before turning back to edward. her voice is dangerous, serious, and somewhat cold. “and i hope to never hear you say it again. no matter how mad or upset you are. do you understand me, edward?”

it finally seems to sink in that edward has said something he really shouldn’t have, and his defiant tantrum starts to fade. he gives a somewhat subdued nod.

“yes, mum.”

“good.” jane takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “now, you listen to me. katherine is your sister, and i love you both equally. i don’t want to hear any more fighting about it, because i love you both more than life itself. do you understand?”

“yes, mum,” edward says again in a quiet voice, looking at his hands.

jane gives a tiny nod. she crosses the room to give edward a kiss on his head. “and don���t you think that your sister doesn’t feel the same way,” she says quietly. “she’d give her life for you in a second.”

he nods ashamedly. “i know,” he whispers.

“good,” jane says with a nod. “are you alright now?”

edward shrugs. “i’ll go find dad,” he says, standing up. “or maybe thomas.” he avoids jane’s eyes as he leaves the room.

jane watches him as he leaves. she knows edward has a good heart, and he’s got a lot to think about at the moment, so she lets him leave. she’s certain he’ll apologise to katherine later without jane telling him to. for now, however, jane wants to make sure katherine’s alright.

it doesn’t take long for jane to find her. years on, and katherine’s favourite place to be alone is still by the lakeside in the forest, and sure enough jane spots her perched on a rock at the water’s edge.

“kat,” she calls softly as she approaches.

katherine stiffens. she was really hoping that this would be the one time jane didn’t follow her. but her mum is too sweet, too kind to ever let katherine wallow alone.

“leave me alone,” she calls back, surprisingly firmly.

“kat, i think we both know that won’t happen.”

katherine turns halfway, looking at jane through the corner of her eye.

there are no tears on her face, jane is surprised to see. no tears, no evidence of emotion whatsoever.

jane comes to a stop a few feet away from katherine.

“i had a talk with eddie,” she says softly. “i helped him realise why what he said was completely wrong and i don’t think he’ll ever be saying it again.”

katherine turns properly to face jane now, and her expression is almost eerily calm. it’s strangely unnerving; tears, jane would expect, maybe even anger and frustration. but this odd calm puts jane on edge.

“kat?” jane asks. she twists her fingers around each other, looking at katherine nervously. she feels like she is staring at a tiger without a cage, a bomb waiting to explode. anything.

katherine doesn’t look at her. “alright,” she says quietly, then turns back to face the water.

“kat, love, what is it?” jane asks. she closes the distance between them, laying a hand on katherine’s shoulder. she runs her thumb up and down over the raised patch of skin beneath the dress - the awful shoulder injury she had sustained from henry had left behind a nasty mark.

katherine moves subtly, pulling away from jane’s hand. “nothing. i’m fine, really.”

“kat,” jane sighs softly. “i’m your mum, i know what he said hurt you.”

“it’s not his fault,” katherine says, voice even. “he’s only repeating what other people say. honestly, it’s a wonder this didn’t happen sooner.”

jane blinks, slightly confused. “what do you mean, love?” katherine lets out a dry laugh.

“i mean, i’m sure henry has some things to say about me, and i don’t think he’d be the type to care if edward heard him. henry made it pretty clear he’d never consider me part of your family long ago. perhaps somewhere after the time he broke my shoulder and threatened to send me to a brothel, that’s when I realised he’d never accept me. can’t think why I finally got the hint.” she laughs again, although her voice is without humour. “so yes, it’s surprising it took this long for edward to resent me. and i’m fine. i’ve had a long time to think about it.”

those words strike jane. she, too, knew that henry would never accept katherine, even though they had warmed to each other enough to hold stifled conversation over the nine years katherine lived with them. “edward doesn’t resent you,” jane protests. “he was just mad and took his anger out on you. he realized what he said was wrong, and i’m sure he’ll apologize soon enough.”

katherine drops her head with another quiet, mirthless laugh. she turns around. “that’s not the problem.” she looks at jane calmly.

jane, admittedly, had been expecting one of katherine’s pleading looks, which always was answered with hugs and long spills of quiet sentiments.

but katherine was calm, steely, even.

“maybe...” katherine sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “maybe it’s time for me to move on from court life.”

jane’s heart drops like a stone. “no,” she says quietly, “no, love, you don’t mean that.”

“it’s okay,” katherine gives her a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “i’ve been thinking about it for a little while. parr has some family up north, i was thinking i could call in one last favour as the queen’s ward and ask to be housed there. there’s a community of scholars there who i could get in contact with, and i suppose i’d be happy enough.” she didn’t sound happy to jane; no, she sounded empty.

“but-” jane chokes out, eyes rapidly filling with tears. “but don’t you want to stay here? with me and eddie? with your family?”

“a long time ago,” katherine speaks slowly and evenly, not looking properly at jane, “you promised me that you’d support me whatever i chose to do. well, this is what i choose.”

jane remembers that moment vividly. standing on the riverbank ten feet behind her, promising that katherine would never be forced to leave, and jane had promised to support her in her future endeavors. a bit selfishly, jane supposes, that had meant more towards katherine never wanting to leave court, which made logical sense at the time.

“but love,” jane protests weakly, “i can’t bring myself to support it if it isn’t what will make you happy.”

“it will,” katherine insists quietly. “i’ll get to learn from experts, from other intellectuals. help spread parr’s message about women getting an education.” there is a faint conviction in her voice, but it still isn’t enough to convince jane that it’s what katherine truly wants. “it would be fulfilling work.”

“but... it’s so far away, love,” jane’s voice is close to pleading, trembling slightly. “several days by carriage. only seeing each other on the rare occasion, barely seeing your brother. is... is that really what you want?”

katherine doesn’t answer, instead staring out at the water. “it’s what’s best,” she says finally. they both know that wasn’t the question jane asked, but the silence stretches out between them for several moments longer.

“i can’t just let you go like that, love,” jane says.

katherine straightens her back slightly. “i don’t need your permission,” she answers. her tone was biting at all, just matter-of-fact, but it hurt all the same.

“i’m still your mother, though.” jane hates how weak and pathetic to she sounds, but she can’t just let katherine leave.

“you always will be,” katherine states. she turns to face jane again. “i just need to do this.”

[how-manygalileos]

Beautiful Tragedy

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: smoking, cheating mention, more smoking, angsttttttt, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of sex, angsty goodness.

Word count: 2770

Summary: People meet in odd circumstances that sometimes feel perfect, Y/N and Roger were two of those people. (I don’t really want to give too much away lol). Based on the song Beautiful Tragedy by Mike Dignam, it’s a good song, it makes me feel things. Set c. 1978/1979.

We didn't meet, we collided From the speed I was driving Brakes won't work, this is happening now Speed of light in slow motion

Wiping tears from her cheeks, she closes her eyes and take a deep breath before lighting a cigarette. Y/N places the lit cigarette to her mouth and takes a drag, trying to stop herself from crying again. She could feel the bassline of the music playing from inside the house that she had just stormed out of, as her head rests against a wall. Her free hand brushes over the locket hanging around her neck, feelings of anger, pain and betrayal wash over her. She rips it from around her neck and throws it to the ground, taking another drag of her cigarette. Suddenly an angry woman pushes through the door followed by a guy calling after her.

“Dominique! Wait, you don’t understand, you’re not hearing me!” the guy shouts reaching out to grab the woman’s hand.

“No Roger! You’re not hearing me!” she yells back at him, “you’re always at the studio, or on tour, or out partying – I never see you!”. Y/N considered going back inside to stay out of the couple’s way but then remembered who was inside, deciding that being a bystander to a domestic argument was preferable.

“It’s my fucking job, babe”, the guy, Roger, retorted “I try to spend as much time as I can with you, you know this!” he pauses, “and besides, you don’t see me throw a tantrum every bloody time you flirt with other guys at bars, or cancel plans last minute, or make excuses that you can’t see me!”. There was a deafening silence for a moment. Y/N takes a final drag from her cigarette before dropping it and stamping it out, trying not to draw attention to herself, really just wanting to disappear.

“You know what? I’ve had enough, I can’t do this.” The woman, Dominique, says, “I can’t be with you right now, stay with Freddie tonight.” She says before storming off, not looking back.

“Dominique! Wait!” Roger called out again, more helpless this time.

Not looking where he was going, Roger backs up towards the wall of the building, watching his on-again-off-again girlfriend walk towards the road. Before he hits the wall, he turns; finding himself face to face with a young woman who had mascara streaks running down her cheeks.

“Shit! I’m sorry – I didn’t see you standing there – I just – sorry – are you alright?” he rambles, noticing her mildly startled expression.

“Not really to be honest with you, but I guess you could probably tell that.” she responds with a sad chuckle, “Although it doesn’t seem like your night is exactly going as planned either.” Y/N takes the pack of cigarettes out of her purse, puts one between her lips before offering one to the man standing next to her, he accepts.

My engine roared Forced me to your side Foot stuck to the floor Brace yourself for the impact

After lighting the two cigarettes, she takes a few steps forward, looking off into the distance, as Roger leans against the wall. A few moments later she walks back to the wall to where she had previously been lent.

“Y/N”, she finally introduces herself, holding her hand out but continuing to look into the distance.

“It’s a pleasure, Y/N”, he takes her hand “I’m Roger”

“Yeah, I know” she says, monotone “you’re the drummer from Queen”. There’s a silence between the two, both smoking, both wallowing in their own sadness.

“How do you know Elton then?”, Roger breaks the silence.

“I don’t” Y/N replies, looking him in the eye for the first time in their conversation “I came as a plus one, though I’m not sure if that applies anymore”

“What do you mean?” Roger asks, curiosity and slight concern in his voice.

“My boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – is one of Elton’s roadies,” she says, “I came here with him, unfortunately he’s decided he’s leaving with someone else” she bitterly takes a long drag from her cigarette trying desperately to erase the image of what she had seen earlier that night; her now ex and some woman, in one of the many bedrooms in Elton John’s mansion, fucking.

Y/N takes one final drag from her cigarette before dropping it and stomping it out with the heel of her boot.

“I should be going” she says, “it was good to meet you Roger, drummer from queen.” She begins to walk away.

“Hey!” Roger calls out to her, “maybe I could walk you home?”

“Um… sure, I wouldn’t mind the company, don’t feel you have to, I wouldn’t want to go inconveniencing a rock star now, would I?” she says smiling slightly,

“Inconvenience? Nonsense, my good lady” Roger says, offering his arm, she accepts, linking her arm with his.

The two acquaintances walk arm in arm to Y/N’s small flat. They talked and laughed and it was good, it felt comfortable, it felt like they fit each other.

“We were meant to move in together when he got back from the last tour” she says as they reach the door, “thank god we didn’t” she continues as the door clicks open. Roger smiles at her as she turns to face him, the two then notice just how close they are stood together.

“You could – er – come in for a bit – if you want” she whispers, their faces just inches apart, she looked deep into his pale blue eyes, spellbound. She then pressed her lips to his before pulling him through the door.

Beautiful tragedy Was it meant to be, we'd meet like this Beautiful tragedy I just can't believe this is how you were sent to me

Weeks passed and, more often and not, Y/N and Roger were spending their time together. They weren’t a couple but they may as well have been. Y/N would go to work, Roger would go to the studio or stay at home writing songs. After, they’d get dinner, then Y/N would accompany Roger to gigs, they’d get home, screw and then fall asleep in each other’s arms. For both of them, things were starting to feel perfect.

“So, this girl you’re seeing, Rog” Brian asks looking up from the Red Special, “Are you guys together together or just hooking up together?”

“What do you mean by that?” Roger asks in response,

“Like are there feelings there?” Brian says, “feelings other than lust”. Roger stops to think; did he have feelings for Y/N? Was he getting feelings too fast? To start with, it was an unspoken agreement, this was just rebound for both of them but part of him wanted it to be more.

“I don’t know” Roger finally says, getting up from behind his drum kit, pacing around a bit, trying to organise his thoughts.

“Well she seems like a nice girl, I’m happy for you either way, mate” Brian says going back to playing the riff he had been trying out earlier that afternoon.

“I’m going out for a smoke” Roger muttered before quickly leaving the rehearsal space to get some air. Breathing out the smoke from his cigarette, Roger was reminded of that night around a month and a half before; the night that he had first met Y/N. He smiles slightly just thinking about her, he wanted to be with her properly. He wanted to call her his girlfriend and introduce her to his family, he wanted to cook her dinner when she got back from work. He just wanted her.

Roger began to walk back to his place, a smile on his face and thoughts of Y/N in his head.

“Roger!” a familiar voice called out, he stops dead in his tracks.

“What do you want, Dominique?” he says, facing her, she was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

“I was just walking to yours to find you” she starts, sounding nervous, “I need to tell you something – it’s important, you need to not freak out and you need to just listen t–

“What? What is it? I’ve got places I need to be” Roger interrupts. Dominique looks at her feet, the air between them is tense.

“Dominique, what is it?” Roger repeats, softer this time. She looks like she might burst into tears at any moment.

“Roger, I’m pregnant.”

We gotta be careful now Petrol soaking the ground One spark and we'll both burn in flames But we've already ignited

Those three words shook him to his core. Pregnant. Dominique was pregnant. His hands were clammy and his mouth was dry, how was he meant to respond to that? Roger couldn’t focus on anything; his head was racing. He stands there in shock for a few seconds.

“Oh…” he finally says, “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know” she says, looking back down at her feet “I just know I don’t want to do this alone” she says a tear rolling down her cheek. Roger is stunned once more.

“…I’m sorry, I have to be somewhere – I’ll call, I promise” he rambles, avoiding eye contact, before turning his back to continue walking home.

“Roger!” Dominique calls out, he ignores her and keeps walking, he needed to think it all through. He wanted to ignore it and just be with Y/N. He knew he couldn’t do that, not forever at least.

He arrived at his flat and immediately got a beer from the fridge. Roger new that he couldn’t drink this problem away, this wasn’t pre-album-release anxiety or an argument with Freddie, but for now, he needed a distraction.

Bzzzzzzzzzz

Roger walks over to the intercom.

“Hello?” he says, still in his daze.

“Hey, Rog it’s freezing out here, want to let me in?” Y/N giggles from the other end, the sound of her voice makes him smile slightly.

“Right – sorry – yes, I’ll buzz you in” he says back, trying to sound happier. He pressed the buzzer and then waited by the door to let her in. He opened the door when she knocked, just laying eyes on her made him smile.

“Starting early, are we?” Y/N says, gesturing to the bottle in his hand.

“Erm – yeah, just bit of a tough rehearsal, Brian was being a self-righteous twat and Fred took his side” he lies, “just sort of rubbed me the wrong way”. He knew he’d have to tell her, he just didn’t want to, he didn’t want to ruin what they had.

The two carried out what had become their normal routine, dinner, (in the absence of a show) cuddling and watching TV, sex, and then more cuddling. But this time, something was off, Y/N could tell. Roger seemed distant and distracted by something.

“What is with you tonight?” she finally asked, as the two lay in each other’s arms.

“I told you” he says, lighting a cigarette “I got into a spat with Brian during rehearsal”. Y/N grows slightly apprehensive, she knew that that couldn’t be the reason. He passes her the cigarette.

“But you’ve had arguments with the guys before, and it never gets you like this” she says between drags. When he’d argue with his band mates, Roger would show his infamous temper, Y/N knew this had to be something different. Passing the cigarette back to him, she snuggles closer into him.

“Well, what is it then?” she practically whispers. Roger swallows lightly and looks up at the ceiling.

“Dominique’s pregnant” he says, biting the inside of his cheek then taking a final drag from the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash tray on his bedside table. Y/N rolled away from him slightly.

“Oh” was the only sound she could make leave her lips.

And as I hold you in my arms You're shaking but don't close your eyes I feel your heart beat with mine I hope we survive

Roger eventually nodded off but Y/N couldn’t sleep. She knew she’d have to do something, this wouldn’t just go away if ignored. She slipped out of the bed. Picking up her underwear and Rogers shirt, she wanders to the kitchen, putting the kettle on. Y/N starts to think, the last thing she wants is for anyone to get hurt because of her. Whatever choice she makes she knows that it’ll hurt someone.

Her mind goes to Dominique, she must be so afraid, thinking she might have to raise a child by herself. It wasn’t right for her to inadvertently be the cause of that, she thinks to herself. She certainly wouldn’t want to be alone in Dominique’s position. But on the other hand, she was happy with Roger, she could see herself being with him for a long time. It often felt like fate the way they had met; their lives had collided at just the right moment. She had comforted him and he had comforted her, together they had started to build something. Y/N makes herself a cup of tea before sitting down at the table with a pen and a note pad, she knew what she had to do.

Y/N silently crept back into the bedroom after she was finished writing. She looks at Roger, peaceful and asleep. She feels a few hot tears fall from her eyes, her heart is heavy. She collects her belongings together, still silently crying. Y/N walks to the bed side, she places the note on the pillow where she had previously rested her head on. Roger stirs slightly, she watches as he settles, hot tears still rolling down her cheeks causing the remanence of the previous day’s mascara to run down her face also. It reminds her of the night they first met. She’s in pain but she reminds herself that she’s doing the right thing. She leans down and lightly places a final kiss on Roger’s lips, before grabbing her bag and walking out.

“Goodbye” she whispers, taking a final moment to glance back at the person who has meant so much to her over the past several weeks.

I now believe that fate exists We had to hit and not miss To share with you this moment of fighting to stay alive If we don't please know I kissed your shaking lips goodnight I said goodbye

Roger awoke to an empty bed and a cold flat. Y/N missing from his bed, where she should be, in his arms. Sitting up, he sees a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. His name written on it in her handwriting. He gently picks it up, opens it and starts to read.

Roger,

We have before us somewhat of a predicament. I want you to know that I care very deeply about you, I may even be starting to fall in love. The last 6 weeks have made me so very happy, and I sincerely hope you feel the same way. That’s why it’s so painful for me to do what I know I must. I don’t want to make this decision but I fear if I don’t do anything, nothing will change and it will end with everyone getting hurt.

Dominique needs you. You may have not parted on good terms, but now she does need support. She’s pregnant with your child, regardless of what happens, you should be there for her. I couldn’t live with myself if Dominique were to suffer because of me, she must feel so alone and scared right now. This is why I’ve decided that I need to end whatever it is that we have, not just for her sake but for mine and yours as well.

Maybe we just weren’t meant to be, even though this feels so right. My heart hurts for both of us, but your priorities need to be placed elsewhere right now. What we had, while short, was beautiful and special. I just wish it could have been something more. I’m so sorry.

We shared a fleeting moment in the universe and it was beautiful.

You’ll always have a place in my heart, Roger Taylor: drummer from Queen.

Y/N x

He reads the letter again, and then for a third time. She was gone. The brightest star in the night sky that was his life, extinguished. He puts the letter down, the words she had written going around and around in his head. He places his head in his hands and begins to cry. He’d call Dominique later. He new that something would feel missing for a long time.

Beautiful tragedy Was it meant to be, we'd meet like this Beautiful tragedy, I just can't believe it ends like this

[diningpageantry]

Avoidant

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/45299905

Chapter 7/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2153

Chapter Summary: Winter breaks comes up all too soon, and Simon has to decide whether or not to speak up or let their brief interaction die with time.

xxxxxxxxxx

These past seven days have been, perhaps, the worst sevens days I’ve ever experienced.

Emotionally draining doesn’t even begin to describe them. Emptied rooms, the sound of doors at dawn, and quick turning heads to avoid eye contact during breaks. I’m getting desperate. I stare, until Penny notices, and then I have to act like I hadn’t meant to look at him. I try to catch his hand, or grab his shirt--grab his attention. Something, somehow, to get him to see me. To get him to care.

I want to know why we can’t talk it through like the adults we are. It’s like playing cat and mouse with a grown man.

I kissed him. I know I kissed him, and I kissed him twice. No matter how he feels about it, we should at least talk about it and not live our lives like avoidant ghosts of what we were.

We were nearly friends (or, at least, anytime we drank). It was bearable. It was life.

It was what I wanted. Maybe I even wanted a little bit more.

Might’ve been my downfall that I never stopped to think what else I could’ve wanted. I just kissed him, and wished all the pieces would fall into place the moment his lips brushed mine, but it set us off like a time=bomb. I can’t even look at him for longer than a minute before it all blows up again.

There’s something deeper that I’m aching for--something that swells deep in my gut. A gnawing, hungry feeling, craving his hands on my skin, and I can’t figure it out that missing piece without him.

It’s been seven days since he’s been home when I could see him, and it could be another 20 before I get to again, if he doesn’t stop packing his bags.

A few moments ago, I was letting myself in. Unlocking the door, tossing aside my bag, hanging my jacket. Exhaling, at last, for it’s finally the start of a proper break.

But now I’m here, trying not to creak the wood as I step down the hallway, socked feet and empty hearted. I can hear him. The soft rustling sound of his suitcase, the occasional step against the floorboards below him. Only the basement lies beneath us, echoing into nothingness. He’s outlined, figure entirely darkened by the quickly falling light of late December. I stop there, outside the bathroom and adjacently his bedroom, mindlessly watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he folds a shirt to fit with the others.

I stay silent. Observant. Borderline obsessive. I know he doesn’t want me here, but I can’t help it. It’s the first time I’ve really seen him, in full, in days.

My chest tugs, and that feeling swells back up at full force. Is it abandonment?

That one’s not an unfamiliar feeling. A childhood waiting for my parents (or any parents) to show. Crying at 2 in the morning after my first family dinner at the Wellbeloves. The craving of permanent attention. The acknowledgement that what’s done is done, and sometimes you can’t quite grasp onto what’s standing so close.

I need to know how to work my hands. My fingers--curl them into opposable knuckles and grip what I want.

My arms hang, breathing restricting as it washes back. He’s leaving me. Purposefully. Deliberately. Leaving the conversation, leaving the possibility. Abandoning it.

I want to dare myself to reach out and touch him. Lock him in, keep him there. Ask him to put down those clothes he’s meticulously folding and keep here until we sort this out--until we sort us out.

He catches me, head lifting and turning towards me before quickly snapping back. He’s acting as if he hadn’t seen me (something that’s grown quite regular over the week).

I won’t take it this time.

“What?” I start, bitterly crossing my arms over my chest. I’m really in for it now. He’s looking right at me, blinking with that all critical, no-care type of expression. “Not going to tell me off again?”

“I’m just trying to leave, Snow.” It’s a bit shocking how defeated he sounds despite his collected expression. He just comes off as exhausted, ready to wave me away not because he wants to, but because I’m not worth his effort.

“Oh, okay. Just going to leave an even longer space to not talk about it then, hm?”

He goes flat, leveling his eyes with mine and emotionlessly spitting out, “I don’t want to argue with you when you’re angry.” As if there was a time to do this when I’m not.

I will myself closer, stepping over the threshold into his bedroom as he stands his ground, chin tipping down towards me. I have to lift mine, shakily clenching both fists as I laugh right at him. He takes it, shocking me as he makes no effort to give one of his usual disgusted looks back.

“Well you sure wanted to argue when I was drunk and latched to you,” I spit, arms flying out before I frustratedly pull them back in. “So I don’t really see the harm in starting now.”

His jaw sets, skin tightening around his face. I catch the bobbing of his throat, followed by the more continuous downturn of his lips as he settles on the slow bow of his head. Eyes darkening and lips parting, he hits me with a sharp, disorienting blow. “Don’t lead me on, Snow. It’s not very fitting for you to play with someone else’s emotions.”

All I want now is to throw a tantrum. A full on, screaming match. It used to work often enough when I was little, so why can’t it work now?

“Who said I was playing with your emotions?!” I practically shout, feeling myself go a bit red in the cheeks. “I was clearly into you and you pushed me away like the absolute prick you are, and now you have the nerve to tell me that I’m playing with your emotions?”

He downright huffs at me, his arms crossing as he starts rambling. “You were drunk, Simon! I can’t trust feelings while drunk, and you’re an idiot if you do. Doesn’t even surprise me, given you’re an idiot already to start with.”

Everything’s fuzzy. The room’s warping, he’s spinning, and the edges are all going numb. My head goes everywhere but into a clearing, and I have no thoughts besides making him shut up and listen to me for a second.

So I stop, stomp over until there’s no space between us, and grab his face to pull it down to me. I don’t give myself (or him) any time to really react, pressing our mouths together to shut us both up.

He flails at first--hands flying up, then grabbing onto my shirt collar. I don’t know if he was speaking for me or himself earlier, because he’s starting to play tug of war with his own responses. He first jolts me away, far enough that I break the kiss and pant for him for a split second before making up his mind and yanking me back. He closes his mouth around mine, knuckles tightening around the fabric of my shirt.

I start grabbing too. Grabbing everything, everywhere. Hair, hips, shirt, arms, wrists. Anything I can hold onto for long enough to make it last.

I feel him start to nudge me one way, and I follow. All the way back onto his bed, feeling it hit the back of my knees and letting it send me tumbling back. He follows, pressing a hand down onto the bed to keep himself above me as he practically growls into my mouth. Occasionally, he breaks to say “Should’ve said something”, or “Fucking imbecile”, to which I get to the point where I can’t take it anymore and grab him by the shirt, and pushing him off.

“I tried,” I pant, glaring at him and watching him panic for a split second before grabbing him back and pulling him down. He relaxes slightly, hand slipping under my shirt as I shuffle back onto the bed. He follows suit, half-ignoring the pile of clothes we’re knocking over (and by half-ignoring, I mean stopping for a second to push them aside properly before kissing me again). He tastes sober, and smells like so, too. He’s how he should be--right against me.

I break us apart, carefully moving further down and tucking my face into his neck. I lift the collar of his shirt to give a proper love bite to his clavicle. He squirms a bit, making my heart race.

I finally lose it at the tug of my hair, his fingers winding around various loose curls and giving them a proper pull. “Stay here,” I plead breathlessly. “Don’t leave. Stay.”

He goes suddenly still, making me raise my head and stare at him dead on as I mutter a soft “I want to work this out. Us. I want to work us out.”

He still fiddles with my hair, gaze forcing anywhere but my face as he clears out his throat. “This could just be adrenaline speaking, and we’ll go back to mutual hatred in an hour.”

I scoff, not thinking to really fight back from his response while clearing the hair from his forehead. “Oh, shut up, you bloody bastard, and kiss me.”

For a second, he just pouts, lips drawn tight together and refusing to move an inch before he tugs me back up for a slow, careful kiss. I take it, sweetly tasting the movements of his mouth. We both give in, melting onto one another and just kissing for what feels like forever.

It all fits into place. Moving parts start turning in the right direction, and my mind stops and starts all at once. I don’t particularly think about anything but what’s going on. The movement of his jaw, the flow of his hands, holding my body so tightly to his. The private, new sounds he makes when I hold him like this, or kiss him like that. We let the sky sink around us, falling into the inky blackness of winter. Only the glow of the moon and the far off shadow of the living room light illuminates us.

For the first time, I realize how warm his room is. He’s even got a space heater, tucked over near the corner.

For the longest pause in what feels like hours, we stop, pressing our chests to one another and echoing each other’s heart beats. I think of letting myself speak, but I feel him fighting off words, so I let him say them first.

“I have to go,” he whispers, out into the dark. “I’m aware that it’s the absolute worst time, but my family, and--”

“I know,” I exhale, eyes closing. It doesn’t make much of a difference in light. I can still see his face, burned into my mind. Sharp, sloping angles. I can map out his lips in detail now. How they curve, how they feel. I trace him out in my mind. His deep eyes and those thick, dark lashes that fall against his marble-smooth skin.

His hand settles onto my cheek, and I trace that too. It’s bigger than mine, and a little rougher on the inside palm. Mine’s all scarred up on the outside.

He pauses, then strokes his thumb over my right cheek. It takes me a moment to think over my face, and realize he’s tracing over my moles. Voice ringing quiet over the room, he murmurs out a few soft words meant just for me. “If you don’t want this to be over, then it isn’t. I just can’t stay.”

We stay silent for moments after, and I nod a slow, careful nod before speaking. “At least stay until tonight, then leave in the morning?” I whisper, letting myself be the weak one here. Not weak enough, though, to tell him that I just really miss sharing a bed with someone.

As my eyes open, I catch the sight of him watching me. It’s hard to tell in this light, but it’s clear as day when I see it. For that, I smile. A soft, private smile. Almost a knowing one.

He seems to know, too.

He doesn’t give me an answer immediately, settling a hand onto my chest, right between my lungs, and sprawls it out. Breathing out slowly, I focus on the flowy outliers running out the sides of his hair. They stand in contrast to the moon’s glow, giving him a bluish halo.

“One night,” he promises. I still watch his shadow of a body, glowing cyan in the night.

I settle my hand on top of his, finding right where my fingers fit between his, and close my eyes again. “Good.”

As per his promise, he’s gone by the time I’m up.