#and he’s just a kid too i’m actually getting a heart ache from my son’s character

[ociels]

his brother died and one of his first thoughts were that it should’ve been him instead because now people are going to be disappointed…

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 next: Part 7

Hey I’m back! starting to change the POVs around a bit - plot is kicking ^-^

After she strings the last line of Christmas lights on the wall, Joyce starts painting the alphabet letters underneath each bulb with determination.

This might not work, but she knows her son can do it. He’s already brilliant to use the lights and this will be much easier for him. For her.

Satisfied with her work, Joyce steps back down on the floor. The lights are off, but she knows they’ll turn bright anyways.

“Okay, Will, sweetie?” She calls out. She imagines that Will is pressed against her leg just like he does when he’s shy and alone. Her heart aches at the thought. “I’ve done something that it’ll be- well, I hope it’ll be better than the ‘yes’ or ‘no’s. But, uh, if you can see this, you can actually spell out what you need to say.”

She waits for a few seconds. Then, the light for Y flickers.

“We can practice if you want!” Oh, she hopes it works. But Will can do it. “Can you- ah, what to do.. Oh! Your name! Can you spell your name on this?”

Will’s response takes another few seconds, almost too long. But lights flicker individually before Joyce’s eyes.

W-I-L-L

Joyce can’t stop herself from clapping excitedly. “Oh my god, Will! You did it! I knew you can do it!”

One of the lamps next to the couch flicker repeatedly. Is this Will’s way of clapping and cheering with her? Her heart fills up, almost as painful as the past few days had been. Then the lights on the wall start spelling again.

A-N-D-E-D-D-I-E

“And.. Eddie?” Joyce frowns. Is her son not alone? Wherever he is that she can’t reach? Shit, is he safe? “I’m sorry, sweetie, are you- tell me you are safe. Are you alone?”

S-A-F-E-N-O-T-A-L-O-N-E

”I-I’m sorry, Will.” Joyce shakes her head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. “I don’t really understand right now, but can we stick to short answers for now? Can you tell me where exactly are you?”

H-E-R-E

“Here? Here, where? Will, where is here? I- I can’t see you!”

Several lightbulbs seems to combat with each other one in blues and reds. Then they stop. And then-

R-U-N

Every light in the house flickers maniacally and Joyce runs outside as something in the wall starts tearing out again.

—

Eddie slams his back against one of the largest trees, clenching Will and their spears close to his chest. His lungs are collapsing in themselves so hard that he won’t be surprised if they turn into a new galaxy system or whatever.

The demogorgon roars, the sound echoing closer by the second.

His breathing is sharp as needles as he tries to get it under control. It only sends him into a coughing fit. Will kicks him in the ankle, hissing, “It’ll hear us!”

Eddie tells him, “Do you think I’m doing this on purpose?” Or at least he tries to when he starts coughing again. He slides down to his ass, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. It almost overlaps with the even louder branches snapping from behind.

Will’s hands fly to Eddie’s mouth and clamp down hard on his cloth mask. He forces to swallow down the coughs despite his throat tickling uncomfortably.

He hears the demogorgon stomping around, roaring in frustration. Eddie’s chest constricts from lack of air and he’s seeing black spots again.

Please go away, you Venus Fly-Trap face fuck.

It does not go away. Instead, the demogorgon comes out right next to them.

Eddie would’ve screamed.

So by the laws of natural order, it’s Will who screams at the demogorgon and makes it worse by thrusting one of the fucking spears at it.

What happens next is a literal blur.

Eddie does still remember the demogorgon screeching before it grabs Will and throws him across the forest floor. He remembers somehow standing up and somehow getting the demogorgon’s attention on Eddie. He remembers darting to the side at the last second so the monster crashes right into the tree.

He remembers running, Will’s hand gripped tightly in his.

They crash into another block of houses that Eddie doesn’t really recognize at first glance. He only laser-focuses on running into one of the open garages where the doors to the occupant’s living are wide open for him to drop into without a risk of messing with the vines.

Well, he still steps over the vines and barely checks for a wide enough space to collapse onto, but not really the point.

Eddie wheezes, his back on the floor and gaze to the dark-stained ceiling. His lungs rattle uncontrollably as he coughs and coughs until he feels a glass bottle in his hand. He��s careful not to drink it down fast, but it soothes his throat enough to subside the coughing.

He hears Will give out a whoosh of air, “I think the demogorgon won’t find us for a while.”

Eddie doesn’t stop snapping his head towards the boy’s direction. Or the newborn wrath in his voice as he questions, “You think?”

Will immediately shrinks down, his body retracting into his vest like a baby turtle.

“You think the demogorgon can’t get us because you think it was great to stab it?”

Anger shimmers off Eddie as he stands up, albeit with shaking legs. “What the fuck were you thinking?! Whatever happen to hiding so it doesn’t, oh god I don’t know, kill us?”

“I-I know it wasn’t a good idea…” Will’s voice is small. Eddie’s brain is telling himself to shut the hell up, but Eddie doesn’t listen to his brain most of his time so he continues the triad.

“What was supposed to be your plan, Little Byers? Huh? Stab the demogorgon? Just like that? Without a goddamn second thought of ‘hey, maybe this will get me and my new best friend killed and I would never go home at all!’ Jesus Christ… you’re a goddamn lucky charm not to lose that spear. And it had to be right after you finally talked to your mom who was so fucking happy to even hear-”

A gut wrenching sob breaks through his words.

Eddie stops himself and looks down at Will, curled up to himself as his body violently shudder with every sob.

Munson, you fucking idiot.

“Oh shit,” Eddie is already on his knees, facing Will. His hands hover uselessly over the boy. “Will, hey, hey. I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry. I never meant-”

Will flinches away from him, burying his face deeper into his arms.

And if that didn’t already break Eddie’s heart, he doesn’t know what else would. And he knows firsthand what yelling and incessantly blaming a child for a mistake does wonders. He knows what it’s like to live constantly on eggshells because the person you love can hurt you at a moment’s notice.

Even for something life threatening as being chased by man-eating monsters in an alternate dimension, Will Byers doesn’t deserve that. And Eddie just ruined it.

“Will-” He reaches out again. This time, Will kicks and hits him, snot and tears pouring out of him. This time, Eddie keeps his arms around Will and holds him tight as close as he can.

“Let me go!” Will cries. “I just wanna go home! Let me see my mom by myself! I want to go home!”

“I know, I know.” Eddie shushes him, gently rocking him back and forth. A far cry mimic from what his mom and Wayne used to do, but he hopes it’s good enough. Please let it be good enough. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I made you feel more hurt. I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry-”

Will eventually goes limp but moves his arms around Eddie’s neck. Eddie keeps rocking him even when his apologies are done. Will’s tears stain his shirt even when the kid starts singing The Clash song with broken breaths. Eddie keeps holding him as he joins in.

They’re the only ones in hell after all.

—

There’s a knocking on the front door and it makes Wayne dash faster than he ever did in ‘Nam. He already sees Eddie on the steps, dirty and tired but safe-

But it’s only Jim Hopper, holding a small brown bag.

“Hey, Wayne.” The chief smiles thinly in exhaustion. Wayne doesn’t smile back. “Thought I would bring a bit of breakfast.”

“Why are you here, Jim?” He cuts through the pleasantries, hoping, hoping that it’s not any bad news.

Hopper says nothing. Just gestures to the picnic table near the trailer. Wayne thinks about shutting the door instead, about assuming the worst and let the grief come in.

But he only goes inside to grab his cup of coffee and cigarettes. Then he follows Hopper outside.

They sit down, neither of them reaching for the bag. Wayne doesn’t have much of an appetite recently and he doesn’t take good cop food. Though he allows Hopper to take one of his cigarettes.

Finally, just as the morning air continues to weigh on them, Hopper sighs heavily and says, “Will Byers was found last night.”

“Where?”

“The quarry.”

Christ.

Wayne closes his eyes. He doesn’t ask about how the boy was found because he and his brother grew up next to a wetland back home and when too many boys went there to swim, it was guaranteed that one of them would be as still as the water’s surface by sunset. And he could count on both hands how many boys met that fate.

He hopes that Joyce Byers and her eldest weren’t there to find him.

“We haven’t found any leads on Eddie so far.”

“Thought the hit and run theory was the only one.” Wayne doesn’t hide the disdain in his voice. He takes a drag, hearing Hopper’s frustrated huff.

“If it makes you feel better, I fired Powell’s ass.”

Wayne takes another drag of his cigarette. He clicks his tongue before saying, “I appreciate the act of kindness. But I’ll feel better when Eddie comes home.”

“I know you want your nephew back safe but…” He shoots Hopper a look, watching the chief fumble the words before he continues, “I’m not gonna sugarcoat this, Wayne, but there’s a couple new cases that popped up. The state is getting involved too.”

“The state.” Wayne feels a dry twinge in his mouth.

“Yeah.” Hopper shakes his head. “It’s a little fishy, if you ask. But if they are going to at least help out-”

Wayne doesn’t hear what he says next because he’s standing up and walking back to the trailer. He’s only inside for a second just to swipe his leather-bound notebook off the kitchen counter. He comes back and throws it on the wooden table in front of Hopper with a thick slam.

The chief gets startled by that, looks up at Wayne, and back to the notebook when Wayne gives him nothing else. He watches Hopper flip through the pages and then read one. “What-”

“This-” Wayne points at the book he’d filled in the past few hours when sleeping was hopeless, “is everything I’ve done so far about Eddie’s whereabouts. I’ve asked everyone in town. I’ve checked every godforsaken place both in and out of Hawkins, even the ones that are dangerous lookin’. Nobody even has a clue he’s missing. Some of ‘em even said I worried too much for a boy who ran off to a silly city concert. As if worrying for my boy has been my livelihood since he first came to my front door.”

He stares hard at Hopper. The chief just looks down at the book, his face unreadable.

“Even if you were busy with the Byers boy, you should’ve gone looking for Eddie too. But none of ya did so I did. Now I’m running out of leads, chief. I don’t know where to find him next.”

Wayne is always a calm person. But anger always finds a way to crawl out like a maggot.

He takes a deep breath, blinking his eyes hard. “How long it’ll take for you to even care out what happened to my nephew before his body turns up next?”

It feels horribly wrong to assume Eddie’s already dead. It breaks his heart to say it aloud. But Wayne knows from the bottom of his soul and his great-aunt’s crockpot that Eddie’s alive. Missing but somehow here in the world and breathing.

Hopper closes his eyes. After taking a breath, he stands up, leaving the notebook on the table.

“Take it.” Wayne orders. Hopper looks at him uncertainly. “Might as well share it with the state if they’re that cooperative.”

Hopper sighs again and takes the notebook in hand, walking back to his car. He leaves the brown bag on the table though. Before he gets in, Hopper turns and calls out, “Some lab results came back. The stain on the van’s front is just animal blood.”

Wayne just crosses his arms and says nothing back.

As he watches him leave, he realizes his cigarette is still burning. He drops it on bench where Hopper had sat and crushes it under his boot.

—

“You said that Will was alive and we could find him! But now he’s dead!” Mike scrubs his hands over his wet face again as he paces fiercely in the basement. El’s sitting in the tent, watching him with sad eyes. She’s been doing this since-

Another bottle of tears well up in him. Mike shuts his eyes, hoping not to burst. He’s already been a crying mess since he got home last night and had to tell his mom about Will-

“Why did you lie to us? Why did you lie to me? Why?” He doesn’t look at El because if he does, her eyes will still be sad and he’s going to cry again. “Friends don’t lie! Why did you have to hide he was dead? Why couldn’t-”

His walkie turns on with static. He whirls around, almost ready to throw it at the wall if it was from Dustin or Lucas asking if he’s okay. But he sees it on El’s hands. Her eyes are closed, concentrating.

“Hey, don’t-!” He starts forward but freezes when a familiar voice comes through.

“-I stay or should I go? Darling, you got to let me know?”

It’s Will. Clear as day. Alive.

“C’mon, you have to know the next lines by now. Can you sing them?”

Mike’s wide eyes are on the radio. Tears are prickling but for a different reason.

There’s an aggravated sigh and then, “Little Byers, I have to admit that your song is giving me a massive ear worm. I’m sorry but I will not sing The Clash from my own tongue.”

That’s… not Will.

“This can be the last time, I swear! Then you can sing Bowie-”

“I thought I told you I don’t listen to David Bowie!?” The second person squawks.

“You said not to tell anyone you listen to Bowie. And there’s nobody here… so-”

Mike grabs his walkie from El’s hands and yells, “Will! I’m here! I can hear you! Can you read me?! Over!”

“God, this.. how… crafted image dies...”

“What’s… -ur deal… Bowie… -t ba-…”

The static comes back and soon takes away Will’s sound. Mike tries to radio again but nothing happens. He whirls back to El with an open mouth. “Was that…?”

El smiles softly, her nose bleeding. “Will. Eddie.”

Many questions run through Mike’s head. The first one out of his mouth is, “Who the heck is Eddie?”

— —

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @demolitionjetstar @hbyrde36@princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @wuttttttttttt @bookbinderbitch@gutterflower77 @tentativeghost @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber

[sleptwithinthesun]

hello so welcome to myself and @themiseryandcompany being insane for 4.9K words. basically we went "LMAO what if d/c c/omics" and well here we are. enjoy a lil sickfic :)

note that some characters will use diminutizing nicknames but! everyone is 18+

second part of this fic, posted by kovu, is here !

Jason was planning on making this a quick trip to the Manor. Really. 

He came for a bite to eat—nothing even close to a family dinner, since that wasn’t really his style anymore—but rather to raid Bruce Wayne’s pantry, just to make the old man’s day a little bit worse. What he finds instead is not Bruce, stewing in his inevitable misery as he realizes Jason’s only come home to mooch off of him, but rather Dick, standing in front of the open door to the fridge. He’s gazing vacantly at the nutrition facts label on a gallon of almond milk and swaying slightly, as if he can’t quite keep himself steady. 

“Dickface, what the fuck are you doing?” 

He barely reacts to the insult, slowly turning his head toward the sound of Jason’s voice, and Jason winces. His brother looks like death warmed over, eyes hollow with dark circles underneath them. His nose is pink, too, lips chapped and slightly parted like he’s breathing almost exclusively through his mouth. Which, Jason realizes, he probably is. 

Concern quickly gives way to amusement. Jason’s often seen Dick in a bad way, but today, he’s looking particularly shitty. He snickers under his breath at the sight, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh, you look fantastic,” Jason hums wryly. Dick blinks, then blinks again like he’s finally registered the fact that Jason is standing right in front of him. 

“Sick.” 

He arches an eyebrow in a single, fluid motion. “Sick?” 

Dick shuffles toward him, not even bothering to shut the fridge. Jason reaches past him to give it a helpful push, then starts with surprise as his older brother practically collapses into his arms. “’M sick,” he whines, and if he didn’t look so damn pathetic, Jason would honestly shove the guy off of him right now. It’s not like Jason is especially keen to join in on the party. “I’m pretty sure I’m dying, actually.” 

“You’re not dying,” he huffs. “What is it, a cold? The flu?” 

“Don’t know. It’s bad though: chills, aches, and my stomach—” 

“Spare me the gory details.” Jason interrupts, grimacing. Dick sniffles noisily, as if attempting to fill the silence. Jason grimaces harder. “Where’s B?” 

“Away. With Damian.” He sniffles harder, and Jason’s tempted to punch him with a tissue. Anything to get him to blow his damn nose. “Something to do with father-son bonding. Why didn’t he do that with us?” 

“He did. You got a concussion and he was too scared to do anything else until Timmers came along. Speaking of,” Jason says, glancing around, “where is the kid? Hiding away from your germs?” 

Dick shakes his head. Why is he still burying his face in Jason’s chest? He lifts Dick by the shoulders and pushes his stupid, sick brother upright as Dick explains, “Already shared ’em. Timmy’s in his room.” 

Jason runs a hand down his face. He came by to raid the pantry, not to play nursemaid. He can make a sandwich and leave and no one can make him feel guilty for it. 

“Damn, that sucks.” He sidesteps Dick, heading for the fridge. He’s making his goddamn sandwich and leaving. 

“It’ll be only the two of us until Saturday.” 

Again, Jason says, “Damn, that sucks.”

He keeps his eyes trained on the fridge. He knows if he looks at Dick, even for a moment he will fall victim to those sad blue eyes and he’ll spend his evening tending to Dumb and Dumber (with Dick being Dumber, of course. He wouldn’t do Tim that badly). He’s going to eat and then he’s going to leave. He reaches for the handle…

“hH’ATSSH’h!”

Jason feels a tug at his heart strings. Damn it. 

“Okay, you? To bed. Now.” 

Dick’s expression is surprised when he lifts his face from his elbow, sniffling yet again. God, how is he a detective in Blüdhaven? The idiot can’t even figure out that he’ll give himself a sinus infection if he keeps going on like this. “What? Jason, I’m fine—” 

“You just told me you were dying,” he counters. 

Dick tosses his hands up, stumbling back a step as he somehow manages to throw himself off-balance with the action. “In jest!” 

“Dickhead. Go to bed or I’ll carry your ass up there myself.” Jason starts heading off in the opposite direction, already knowing that Dick is a lost cause. He’s likely to still be here when Jason gets back, and if by some miracle he actually listens, then Jason will at least know where he is. “Now, I’ve got a Timberella to find.” 

Naturally, Jason doesn’t go to Tim’s room first. He doesn’t even go upstairs. If he knows anything at all about his little brother, it’s that he likes to isolate when he’s under the weather, so his bedroom is probably the last place he’s hiding. No, Jason  starts with the library, the massive oak doors creaking open in front of him. Rows of books stare back, but there is no sign of life. He moves quickly toward their family den next. The various couches and seats were empty and the TV was off. 

“Timberly?” His voice reverberates against the walls, designed for the strategic amplification and absorption of sound for movie nights. Nothing. Perhaps the bathroom next. 

Jason’s frustration grows as he takes the stairs two at a time. He heads for the bathroom on the main floor when something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention—the door to the broom closet at the beginning of the hall sits slightly ajar. 

“He wouldn’t…” 

He fucking would. 

Jason genuinely has to search the closet to find him, though, which is almost impressive. Most broom closets aren’t very big to begin with, and this one is even smaller than usual, since the bedrooms are on the third floor, where Alfred keeps most of his supplies. There’s a bucket of cleaning supplies, a dust rag and one of those old feather dusters, an old vacuum cleaner with the bellows and everything, a socked foot poking out from behind it— 

Tim. 

The kid’s curled up behind the vacuum, legs tucked up to his chin, arms wrapped around his knees like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Jason can’t help the frown that crosses his face at the sight; it’s been a good four years since Bruce officially adopted Tim, and still, the kid retreats like this whenever he’s even remotely unwell. Still tries to be as unobtrusive as possible, even when his breath is rasping in his chest the way it is now and his cheeks are bright with the flush Jason’s come to associate with fever. 

“Aw, kid…” Something close to sympathy rushes up into his throat, and Jason crouches in the doorway. “Timmy, hey.” 

Tim doesn’t rouse the first time he calls his name, nor the second. He doesn’t stir until Jason wraps his hand around his notably warm heel and digs his thumb into the ball of his foot. When he finally cracks open his eyes, he looks almost as confused about his whereabouts as Jason is. 

“Jay?” 

Jason grunts noncommittally. “Yeah, yeah, I’m your guardian angel. It’s your lucky day. Come on, let’s get you out of the closet.” His lips quirk up at the corners. “Again.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jason waves the comment off. Tim scoots around the vacuum and then pushes himself into a sitting position. It looks almost painful, the way Tim winces and digs the heel of his palm into his temple. “How was your nap?” 

“Mmph.” 

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He doesn’t even bother trying to get Tim to stand up, just scoops the kid into his arms, bridal style. It’s telling that Tim doesn’t even try to protest, burying his face into Jason’s chest—what is it with his brothers and doing that today, seriously—and whining softly. “You doing okay?” 

Tim winces against him, like even the sound of Jason’s voice is too much. “Fine. Just… the lights.” 

Oh, Jason forgot about that. Tim’s weird with some of the sensory things already, and being sick makes everything that much more overwhelming for him. 

“We’ll be in Dick’s room soon, it’ll be dark there,” he reassures. Barbara had the nerve to comment on it once, quite a while ago, the difference in his attitude toward Dick and Tim. Jason chalks his gentleness with Tim up to how rocky their relationship was when Tim was first being fostered by Bruce. He doesn’t have the heart to put the kid through that again. 

(Seriously, fuck his siblings and their ability to make him feel things.) 

Tim hums in acknowledgement and goes about getting himself settled. Jason barely makes it to the stairs before Tim shudders in his arms, once, twice, three times with a set of stifled sneezes. 

“hpt’shh! h’tshh’h! hih… hp’TSH’uhh!” 

Jason manages to bite back his laughter. Barely. 

“Stop laughing.” 

“‘M not laughing,” Jason protests. He’s not, at least, not in any way that matters. 

Tim gives him a sleepy, one-eyed glare and only makes his shoulders tremble with more contained laughter. Jason takes the stairs a little slower so he doesn’t jostle his brother too much on their journey towards Dick’s room. Even through his own black t-shirt and Tim’s hoodie, he can feel the heat radiating from his thin frame. There’s no way he doesn’t have a fever, which means Dick is probably running one too. 

Surprisingly, he actually is in his room, though he’s not in bed. Instead, he’s rummaging around under it, and Jason barely pauses as he sweeps into the room and gently deposits Tim on the mattress, watching as the kid (yes, Jason’s aware Tim is nineteen. No, he will not stop thinking of his younger brother as the wide-eyed kid who arrived at the Manor six years ago) immediately curls into a ball, grabbing onto one of Dick’s pillows and squeezing it to his body. The habit is one Bruce frowns at, since he’s pretty sure Tim does it to stimulate the feeling of someone lying next to him, but it’s innocent enough and honestly quite cute. 

“Dick,” he says, a hint of warning in his voice. 

“I know! Just—” There’s more rummaging, things being moved around and something that sounds metallic falling and rolling around before Dick shouts “AHA!” and makes Tim wince, curl in on himself even more, and Jason glare harder. 

“Come on, get in bed and cuddle with the kid. You know he fucking needs it.” 

Dick just pops up with a loopy smile, a plush in his hand. “I had to get Zitka first, Jay.” 

Jason steps closer. “Did you take any medication?” 

“No!” Dick scoffs, then breaks into a splitting smile. “Yes. Just a little. I took—”

“Nyquil, yeah, I can tell.” 

What on earth possessed Dickwad to take Nyquil when doxylamine in any medicine makes him hyper, Jason doesn’t know. 

Dick tucks Zitka under his arm protectively. “In my defense, I was dying, but I feel much better now. I mean, half of the squad was out sick last week with the flu, so it was really only a matter of time before I caught it too.” 

“And then you hand delivered it to Timmy, wrapped in a bow and everything. How sweet of you, Dick.” Jason jerks his chin towards the bed again. “Bed. Cuddle the kid. I’m going to find a thermometer.” 

“Not the ear one, please,” Tim croaks hoarsely from where he’s still tucked into a ball. 

“I’ll do my best, but no promises.” Jason snaps his fingers to grab Dick’s attention where it’s shifted to Zitka and smoothing the matted fuzz of the stuffed elephant. “You. Bed.” 

The search, thankfully, is more normal than the one for Tim. He literally just ducks into the bathroom, grabs a thermometer—one of the tongue ones, since he doesn’t trust the reader on the forehead thermometers—and goes back to Dick’s room. He’s finally in bed, albeit keeping his distance from Tim, who looks absolutely crushed. Glassy eyes, quivering lip, the works. Dick is desperately trying to reassure him, but there’s a panicked look on his face that gives away just how much it isn’t working. 

“What did you do now?” Jason sighs, uncapping the thermometer. He truly doesn’t have the energy to deal with Dick’s Nyquil-fueled hyper-freakout; he’s still hungry and very much in need of his nonexistent sandwich that he didn’t get to make because someone had to be gross and sick and utterly pathetic in his proximity. 

The shit he does for his brothers, really. 

“He’s too hot to cuddle,” Dick complains. 

“You sound like Goldilocks. Fitting for the Golden Boy,” Jason mutters in return. Tim huffs a weak laugh, opening his mouth obediently for the thermometer. He’s really not looking good, face gaining heat by the minute and eyes getting more and more hazy. It’s anyone’s guess as to whether he’ll fall asleep first or start rambling about the acoustic properties of the room or something like that. 

The thermometer beeps after a bit of stillness, and Jason pulls it from between Tim’s lips to glance at the screen. “One-oh-one point one,” he mutters, reading the information aloud. While it isn’t good, he honestly expected worse from him. He wipes the tip of the thermometer on the hem of his T-shirt and then points it at Dick like a weapon. “Your turn.” 

“Ew, you didn’t even go wash it off!” Bruce and Alfred really do a bad job of keeping Grayson humble. He desperately needs to be weaned off of his silver spoon attitude. 

“They’re your germs!” 

Dick doesn’t bother arguing with that logic, and although he doesn’t look happy, he does open his mouth and accept the thermometer under his tongue. For a blissful moment, they wait in silence for the thermometer to beep. It never comes. 

Dick takes one sharp inhale. Jason can tell what it means by the way it’s written all over his face. 

“Don’t—”

“Hz’ATSCHhh!”

The thermometer slips out of his mouth and lands on his lap, face up. 100.4 flashes across the screen in little black letters. 

“Hello? I sneezed!” Dick whines loudly. Nevermind that it’s been three seconds. 

Tim reacts slowly, eyebrows furrowed. He wets his lips in preparation to speak, and manages a soft, “Bless you.” 

Jason narrows his eyes at Dick. “Whatever.”

“You’re rude,” Dick grumbles. 

“Better than being sick,” he snipes back. “Now, go the fuck to sleep.” 

Tim sighs, repositioning himself to shift a tiny bit closer to Dick. “Sleepytime.” 

“First in your life,” Jason agrees, stroking the kid’s hair and pushing the greasy locks out of his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make myself a sandwich.” 

It’s nearing dinnertime—not that it means anything, Jason’s sure their eating schedules have been absolutely fucked over the past couple of days—when Tim shuffles downstairs, wrapped in a blanket and looking miserable. Jason’s been working on a chicken noodle soup, because he’s not a heathen and refuses to use Progresso. The flush on his face is spreading, migrating out from Tim’s cheeks to his cheekbones and down to his neck, which isn’t quite pink, but instead radiating with heat when Jason presses a hand to the back of it. 

“Jesus, Timmers,” Jason murmurs, gentle now that it’s just him and the kid. “Did you take your temperature again?” 

Tim nods sluggishly. His eyes are half-lidded, and what of them Jason can see are glazed with fever. Christ, how bad could he have gotten in the three hours since Jason left him and Dick alone? 

“What did it say?” 

“One-oh-two point one, I think.” 

Jason curses sharply under his breath. Tim sways in the space before him. 

“I feel really sick.” Tim’s voice cracks down the center of his sentence and splits Jason’s heart right alongside it. He imagines that this is how Dick was feeling a day or two ago which compelled him to rush home for comfort, only to return to an empty house aside from Tim. Luckily, he’s on the mend and no longer dealing with this alone. Tim, however, seems to be directly in the thick of it, and with his track record it could go either way. He could wake up in the morning feeling much better or his fever could keep spiking and they’d have to take a fun detour to the doctor’s office. 

Jason isn’t going to let it get any higher. Not if he can help it. 

“That’s a full degree,” he notes. That’s definitely not concern in his voice. “No wonder you’re feeling like shit.” 

Tim just hums softly, and then sits down in one of the chairs on the island, though not without difficulty. His coordination’s been so shot to hell by the fever that it takes him a solid fifteen seconds to pull the seat out, and then another thirty to actually climb onto it. “You makin’ dinner?” he asks, once he’s figured himself out and gotten settled as best he can. 

“Chicken and dumplings,” responds Jason. “Got out the stock and everything.” 

Tim nods tiredly. The blanket is slipping off his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his gaze is slipping idly around the room, seeing things without really taking them in. “Sorry.” 

Jason nearly drops the scooper he’s been using to put the dough for the dumplings into the broth. “For what?” It’s a strategy—walk Tim through what he’s apologizing for to make sure it’s not just reflexive, and then counter him. 

Tim shrugs nonchalantly, but his hands pick at a loose thread at the corner of his blanket. He stares at a water stain on the granite countertop. 

“Dunno. For being sick, I guess.” Tim chances a peek up at Jason, who does his best to school his features into something casual and not open-mouthed gaping at Tim. “I assume you didn’t come here just to play nurse, right?” 

No, he came to make a sandwich. 

Tim definitely doesn’t need to know that. 

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop in and see what’s up. It’s just dumb luck that the two of you are sick as dogs.” He shoots Tim a softer glance. “I’m glad I came.” 

Tim twists a thread around his fingertip, dropping his gaze to the countertop once again. “Still, I’m sorry.”

Jason watches him for a long moment. This is not his area of expertise in the slightest. This is what Dick is good at. He is all heart and mushy, soft, feel-good phrases. He gives the best hugs. Jason will offer a beer and move on with his day. Tim does not need a beer right now. 

Jason opens the fridge and grabs a plastic water bottle off of the door. He uncaps it and sets it in front of Tim. “Drink this.”

“Throat hurts.”

“C’mon, don’t make me fight you.”

A ghost of a smile flashes across Tim’s face. He holds the cool plastic bottle to his warm cheek. It must feel good because he slumps forward in his chair. “I could take you.”

“Please.” It’s the only tactic he hasn’t really tried. Begging. “Just a little.” 

It’s quiet as Tim takes a slow sip. It buys Jason just enough time to think of a proper response. Finally, he says, “I’m not mad at you for getting sick. Nobody is.” 

Tim’s body gives a little shudder, like he’s actively fighting not to protest Jason’s words. “I… know,” he says haltingly. Trying to convince himself. “I can’t—my brain won’t stop telling me that I’m… you know. Doing something wrong.” 

Jason nods in understanding. He gets it, to an extent. He spent his first couple of months with B pushing his buttons, riling him up, seeing how far he could go before the old man got tired of trying and booted him. The difference was, Bruce never gave up on him, and Jason actually had the chance to see that. Tim was raised where any mistake he made was a threat, and thirteen years of that isn’t unlearned overnight. 

“You’re not,” he says. “I promise. And I’ll prove it to you.” 

Tim perks up a bit. “Oh?” 

“Stay here and keep an eye on the soup for me, alright? Nothing should happen to it, we’re just letting the dumplings cook. I’ll get the dick. And keep drinking your water.” 

It’ll keep him busy, make Tim feel useful while Jason goes up the stairs to drag his older brother out of bed and to the kitchen for an actual meal. He’s almost positive he’s been subsisting off of shitty cereal and tea, neither of which make for a good sick person diet. Hence, the chicken and dumplings; Tim has some textural issues with the way chicken is cooked in soups and Dick can’t stand the noodles, since they get soggy, so Jason’s made one of the dishes Alfred made him the first time he was sick in the Manor. It’s not quite a broth, almost like a gumbo in thickness, with cooked carrots and celery and slices of chicken dumped in among Southern-style dumplings, which are pretty much just puffed dough. It’s a substantial meal that should, at the very least, satisfy his siblings without overwhelming them. 

Tim gives him a small nod and takes a small sip of water. Content that Tim is taken care of, Jason heads back up the stairs for Dick’s room. He nudges the door open with his hip and is surprised to find his brother still asleep. Dick is asleep on his stomach, Zitka tucked safely beneath his chin and his chapped lips are parted in stuffed up snores. 

It’s almost cute. 

Jason sits on the edge of the bed, hand settling on Dick’s back. His back rises and falls with each steady breath. 

“Dick,” Jason whispers. He receives no response.

“Dick,” he tries again a little louder. 

Jason sighs. He should just snatch his pillow and smack him with it, but all these years with these losers and he’s gone soft. He reaches up, hand carding through Dick’s sweaty bangs. “C’mon big guy, time to wake up. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Dick sniffles and then groans as he comes to. He yawns, and Jason stands up before Dick realizes that he was getting a crumb of kindness and asks for more. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“Three hours, give or take. You needed it. How’re you feeling?” 

Dick rolls onto his back while he takes inventory of his symptoms. He snuffles consideringly, then finally settles on a frown. “Gross.” 

“Yeah, you look gross. Get up so I can feed you.” 

“You made food?” Dick asks, completely ignoring the insult. 

Jason snorts. “I’m the only functional cook out of the three of us, of course I made food.” 

Dick shoots him a grateful look that immediately morphs into a nose scrunch, followed by his face twisting up, a sharp gasp, and him bending forward into his blanket. “h’AZT’shu!” 

“How’s your fever?” 

“You tell me, I’ve been asleep.” 

Fair enough, Jason concedes mentally. “Hang on.” 

The thermometer isn’t lying on the bedside table where he left it. Tim must have taken it to the bathroom and washed it off, which. Well, Jason wouldn’t want more of Dickface’s germs either, and with Tim’s whole… internal situation—Jason still hasn’t gotten the full story on how Tim lost his spleen—washing it off before Tim uses it is probably for the better. Jason snatches it and heads back into Dick’s room, only to find his brother with his face in his elbow again. 

“hiHH’ATSH’h!” 

“Is that the last one?” 

“Probably.” Dick sniffles, and Jason looks around the room for a tissue box. He was tempted to throw one at him earlier, but now, he’s really going to go through with it. Of course, Dick lets himself get smacked by it, but perks up when he registers what he’s been hit with. “Ooh!” 

“Seriously? That’s your reaction?” 

He just shrugs, completely unbothered as he plucks a couple out of the box and presses them to his face. “I forgot they existed.” 

“You sound like Tim when he’s talking about sleep.” 

“You’ve got a terrible bedside manner.” Dick mutters into the folds of the tissue. Luckily for Dick, and everyone else, he does not have the life calling to be a nurse so he’s not really worried about his bedside manner. 

“Stop complaining and come eat,” he sighs. Dick makes a show of getting out of bed, tossing his sheets aside and gripping his head as he sits up and then with a heaving sigh, clambers to his feet. Jason isn’t impressed by his act. At least that’s what he tells himself, even though he holds out a protective hand in case Dickface decides to princess-swoon and faint into his arms, but Dick steadies himself. Finally. 

The walk down the stairs is normal, which is concerning. A healthy Dick (and a sick one, too, given that one time he had a concussion and decided being upside down was somehow less painful than lying down) will at the very least slide down the banister, if not walk down it on his hands. But now, he’s just plodding along in front of Jason, clearly wiped out. 

“Jay,” Tim calls from his seat at the kitchen island, twisting his entire body to see his and Dick’s slow approach. There’s a hint of panic in his gaze, although he’s mostly calm. His tone, when he speaks again, is matter-of-fact. “I fucked it up.” 

“What do you mean, you fucked it up?” 

“I fucked up the chicken and dumplings.” 

“I figured, kid,” he says, rounding the corner. Nothing seems off to his first glance around the room, but at the same time, it’s Tim. “I’m asking how you fucked it up. You literally haven’t moved from your seat.” 

Tim frowns. “Yeah, I did.” 

“Pretty sure you didn’t. You haven’t even changed position.” Dick walks away from Jason and pulls out the stool next to Tim, sitting down next to him and rubbing an absent hand over Tim’s back in an effort to calm him down. His breathing is growing more erratic, and he’s blinking rapidly, like he’s trying to clear his vision. Like he’s going to— 

His face crumples. 

“Shit, don’t cry—” 

“t’zsch! Tshh! iH’SHh!”

“Ah,” he nods sagely, like he’s uncovered some great secret. “Bless you.” 

“Bless you, Timmy.” Dick croaks from Jason’s other side. 

“issch! –t’SCHhu! h’ksSH! hh’TSHh–!” He cuts off with a breathy gasp, shoulders twitching upward as he builds up yet again, only to lose the oncoming sneeze. Jason and Dick patiently watch Tim, waiting for him to lift his face from his elbow. 

“Ble—”

Jason holds up a hand to pause Dick. “Wait.”

“ih’sCHH! ih’tZSCH! Ow.”

Jason nods in finality. He’s done. “Bless.” 

Dick winces, having the heart to look a little guilty. This is his fault after all. “Yeah, fuck, man. Bless you. Like, ten times.” 

Tim sniffles, wiping at his nose with his shirt sleeve and looking miserable. “Id was ondly ndide,” he corrects stuffily, and Jason immediately searches the vicinity for tissues. Of course, they’re nowhere to be found, and he gives Dick a glare his older brother doesn’t notice, too busy staring after Tim. To be fair, the fit was a lot, especially for Tim. Kid doesn’t usually sneeze that many times in those kinds of fits, where there are pauses between sneezes and everything. 

“It’s an extra blessing for the future,” Dick says, and Tim rolls his eyes. 

“Cand I trade?” he deadpans. 

Dick splutters. “What do you mean, can you trade? For what?” 

“I’ll give you all your germbs bagk.” 

“That’s not a trade, you’re not getting anything out of it.” 

“I gedd to nodt be sigk.” 

“He’s got a point,” Jason says, turning back to the stove. “Tim, you didn’t fuck this up. Like, at all. What are you talking about?” 

“I didd’t…” Tim frowns, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “I thought mbaybe I…I dod’t know.” 

Jason’s flicker of amusement ignites and extinguishes in the same breath. He watches Tim for a moment, the unfocused look in his eyes and then turns to the pot. “No, buddy. You did great. It’s fine.”

He pulls three bowls from the cabinet and generously spoons chicken and dumplings into each. When they’re full, he grabs utensils for the group and moves their food to the island. He slides a bowl in front of Tim and then one in front of Dick. 

“Don’t piss me off. Eat.” 

The loving gesture is wrapped in a thinly veiled threat, because Jason is allergic to love. Or, at least, he pretends to be, for the sake of his sanity. If he had to come to family dinners and do all that bonding shit and listen to Bruce yammer on about how it’d be so nice to have Jason home from college more often, then he’d— 

Well, there’s a reason he acts the way he does. Especially with Bruce. 

He does love his brothers, though. He can’t deny that, not even to himself. Sure, Dickface is annoying every second of the day and Timbalina can’t tell fault from fiction, but they’re both… easy to be around. In the most abstract sense of the word easy, of course. They’re absolute nightmares, but they’re not trying to forge a connection that just isn’t there while refusing to put any of the work in themselves. Jason’s always found that his relationships with the two of them are mutualistic. They reach just as much as he does. 

And looking at them now, he’s glad he stopped by.

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Victor’s Sea-circle Event (Chapter 4)

⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for content yet to be released on the global server! ⌚

✧ mum’s smile || little gentleman || art and love || mum’s companionship || endearing thoughts

【Mum’s Companionship】

A journal recording Victor’s growth during the study tour program in France.

What she hid in here is not only memories but also her regrets for not being able to be there to constantly care for him and nag him during the time he was growing up.

[Note: Victor’s mum used to call him “Yan Yan,” which as always, I’ve translated as Vic-Vic~]

—

✧ DATE: 05/21

He safely arrived in France at noon today. Following the teacher’s instructions, I was waiting at the designated meeting point when I saw him getting off the bus with a big bouquet of carnations in his hands. The teacher said that when they were passing by a florist, Vic-Vic requested to stop briefly and wait for him; he then especially picked out those flowers for me. This adorable little gentleman… did he watch some French romantic movies!

—

✧ DATE: 05/21

Vic-Vic’s dad said he packed his luggage all by himself for this trip. And sure enough, Vic-Vic immediately opened his suitcase in the living room after we returned home today. Although this little grown-up didn’t say anything, I knew he was probably trying to attract my attention. So, I thought of teasing him a little and deliberately pretended to not see, going about my business as usual.

But to my surprise, Vic–Vic was extremely patient. He just sat there on the sofa and waited quietly. Before long, I couldn’t resist anymore and succumbed in my heart, promptly making up for it by rewarding him with the recognition he deserved. Vic-Vic took out a certificate from his suitcase and presented it to me, saying that he would bring an even better trophy next time. I knew he was trying to tell me through this gesture that he was studying diligently and growing up well. So I hugged him and told him he was truly amazing. But what I didn’t tell him was– “Actually, you are already outstanding in your mum’s heart, and you don’t need these awards as validation.”

—

✧ DATE: 05/25

We visited a vinyl record store, and I initially thought that at Vic-Vic’s age, he might find this type of music medium too old-fashioned. But he listened attentively to the teacher’s explanations throughout the visit. I asked him if he wanted to buy a vinyl record as a souvenir for himself, and he quickly nodded. Eventually, with the curator’s recommendation, we selected a collection of Miles Davis’ famous tracks.

Sticky Note:

As soon as we got home in the evening, Vic-Vic couldn’t wait to play the vinyl record. I was curious about why he was so interested, and he explained that the unique sound of vinyl records made him feel like he was traveling through time.

—

✧ DATE: 05/31

To my surprise, Vic-Vic helped me secure the tickets to the music concert that I had missed out on earlier through a knowledge quiz.

My son is truly amazing~

—

✧ DATE: 06/05

I still remember the first time I made pudding for Vic-Vic. With a frown on his little face, he peered at the kitchen countertop and asked me in an earnest tone if we needed to hire a professional cleaner to tidy it up? Just the thought of his deadly serious expression makes me somewhat unable to contain my laughter. I wonder if he will ask the same question again when he sees the kitchen in its current state after waking up?

—

✧ DATE: 06/05

…in the blink of an eye, you are already leaving for home today. There are many things Mum doesn’t know how to say to you face-to-face, so I’ll just write them down here silently.

As the person dearest to you, I’m truly sorry that Mum can’t always be by your side and witness you growing up. Seeing how sensible you are, Mum feels gratified, but my heart also aches at the same time. If I had been by your side all the time, perhaps you would have been able to be like the other kids, often acting coquettishly and being stubborn with Mum, wouldn’t you…

Regardless of anything, I hope that one day you will understand that no matter where you are, I will always be blessing you, watching over you, and loving you. And also, remember to smile a lot more. Mum absolutely loves the way that smile lights up your face~

P.S. The teacher said that this record needs to be submitted to the school, but Mum is really unwilling to part with these precious memories and give them to someone else. So I lied to the teacher and told them that I accidentally lost the journal…

After you leave, I’ll secretly hide it away. You can revisit these memories at your own pace when you grow up.

—

✧ next stop: endearing thoughts

—

[capricornmuffins]

Majorly in need of Kendall’s improved and sweet birthday please!! 👀🎂❤️

Anything for you, lovely!! Thank you for the inspo as always! ❤️❤️ this is fluffy and also a little angsty because ken and Rava are separated at this point in the timeline and I have no self control. I’m sorry this got so long!

Summary: A happier birthday for Kendall. Set a few months before the pilot.

Some smuttiness under the cut also!

Anyway, Don’t Be a Stranger

“Hey!” Her warm smile greets him when he answers the FaceTime. “Happy birthday, grandpa.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, unfastening the tie he put on. Too stuffy. “Thanks. 39–fucking prehistoric.”

“Did you get your AARP brochure yet? Or is that the big 4-0?”

“Uh huh. Laugh it up. You’re next.”

“Hey, I still have 4 months to go, so. You’ll always be old first.”

“Oh, that’s nice. You uh—you better have a great present for me. To make up for this fucking harassment on my birthday.”

“Who said I’m getting you a present?” She asks, brow raised.

He huffs a laugh. It’s too easy to fall back into their usual banter—he never knows quite where to draw a line.

“What are the kids doing?”

“Getting ready for school, but they want to say hi—hey, guys? Daddy’s on the phone.”

“Happy birthday daddy!” Sophie practically screeches on the other end. Her crooked smile makes Kendall’s heart constrict. She grows every time he sees her—which is admittedly less these days. He’s burning the candle at both ends, getting ready to take up the mantle at Waystar.

Only a few more months to go til Dad’s 80th. The final countdown.

“Thanks, baby girl. You pick your dress out today?”

“Yes! It’s my new one from Auntie Shiv.” She hands the phone back to Rava so she can do a twirl.

“Wow, look at you! Auntie Shiv picked out a beauty. You look great, sweetie. What’s Ivey doing?”

“He’s here—he wants to say hi,” Sophie passes the phone to Iverson.

His baby boy. His son. His legacy.

“Hey buddy!”

“Hi daddy,” Iverson waves, pushing his too-big glasses up the bridge of his nose. Kendall aches.

“You all ready for school?”

“Uh huh.”

He hears Rava whisper to him offscreen.

“Happy birthday,” he recites dutifully.

“Thanks, bud. Hey—I got a new Lego set for us. It’s that Spider-Man one you wanted.”

“Cool!” He nods enthusiastically, a genuine smile lighting up his little face. “Will you help me build it? Like last time?”

“Sure will. I think you’re gonna like this one even better.”

“Hey, Ken—we have to run—“

“Oh, sure—have a good day at school guys. I love you.”

“Bye daddy,” The answer in unison.

“Hey—one sec,” Rava comes back on.

“What’s up?”

“I know you have them this weekend, so I haven’t asked. But—do you have any plans tonight? For your birthday?”

“Um—“ He wishes he could say he was throwing a cool party, or even just having dinner at Dad and Marcia’s. He should just lie, because his actual plan of working as late as humanly possible and passing out is pathetic even to him.

“I’m sure you probably do—“ she goes on, almost nervously.

“I um—yeah, I don’t, actually. Been a lot going on at work, you know, with everything. So—I was just gonna work late.”

There’s an almost pitying look in her eyes that makes him feel even worse.

“Well, if you don’t feel like being at the office for 14 hours, I was wondering if um—maybe you’d want to come over for dinner? With the kids?”

“I—wait—really?”

“Yeah—I would have asked sooner, but um—I don’t know. I figured you’d have plans.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I’m uh—I’m in really high demand.”

She laughs a little. “You usually are.”

“Yeah—I don’t know about that. But um—sure, that sounds great. Really great.”

“Yeah?” She looks relieved. As if he’d say no to her. “You wouldn’t rather be out with the guys?”

“Come on, no way.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “Okay, good. You think you can get here for 6:30? They usually eat at 6, but I know it’s not easy getting out early around there.”

His mind flashes to the nights he wasn’t home until 9 or later, too coked up to eat the food she’d leave out for him. He screws his eyes shut and lets it pass. Bad, bad times.

“Yeah, no, that’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“I think they can let the birthday boy out early. I’ll be there.”

“Great. I’m glad we’re doing this. It’s been a little while since the four of us had dinner together…” she trails off.

“Uh huh. Yeah, this is good. And hey—thanks, Rav.”

“Yeah, of course. See you tonight.”

It’s his second birthday since they’ve been separated. Last year was spent in a black hole of depression after she left with the kids. She took them to her parents, brought him to rehab, and left him with the promise that this whole thing was temporary. Just so he could completely focus on his sobriety.

They’d get through it, she said, but she needed time. How much more fucking time did she need?

This time last year, he hoped he wouldn’t see 39. The sky fell and fell and fell. He’s better now — rehab and therapy have stuck. He’s learned to live with the pain, like some incurable disease. But the hole in his heart is still there, it scabs over and the slightest misstep reopens the wound. He’s all scar tissue. She still hasn’t come back to him fully, only in late night phone calls and the occasional dinner hand-offs that feel like explicit trysts.

But now, she’s finally throwing him the life vest. He’s fucking taking it.

————

He spends the last hour of the work day anxiously checking his watch. He needs to be en route to Rava’s by 6 and he’s determined to get there on time. He’s going to prove to her that his head is clear, that he can be the man she needs again. To prove what a good father he is.

“Hey, dad—“ he sticks his head in to Logan’s office. “I’m heading out.”

“Bankers hours today?”

“I’m uh—I’m having dinner with Rava and the kids.”

Logan’s face is stony.

“For my—for my birthday.”

“Uh huh,” he looks like he wants to say more, but remains impassive. “Well. Good. That’s fine.”

“So I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Well, when you’re done there, if you want to come by for a drink—you know, for your birthday. Marcy and I will be home.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Good. Give the kids my love, won’t you?”

He’s no longer looking at him, attention back on his screen. Dismissed.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll bring them by soon.”

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” he says, still not looking up.

“Thanks.”

He feels light as he gets into the idling Mercedes.

“‘Sup, Fikret.”

“Evening, Mr. Roy. To Rava’s as planned?”

“Please.”

He puts on his headphones to decompress from the day, stomach fluttering in anticipation of seeing Rava and the kids. Their absence has taken up permanent residency in his ribcage and he can’t shake it loose. It’s ever-present, the weight of his fractured family. His failure. Loneliness.

But today he feels hope, because he knows they’re getting back together. She’ll see that everything will work out. They’re just going through a rough patch right now. He has to pay the toll for his sins.

“Thanks Fikret,” he nods as he steps out of the car. Rava’s new building feels tall and looming and unfamiliar.

She buzzes him up and opens the door herself instead of her usual housekeeper. His heart almost leaps out of his chest at the sight of her. She’s casual in faded jeans that hug her perfectly, and a fashionably slouchy white sweater. She’s done her hair and makeup though — he tries not to feel too good about it.

“Hey,” she greets him with an easy smile, the one that sucks the air out of him.

“Hey,” he tries to sound chill, but he feels like he just ran the fucking New York Marathon.

He clocks her taking in his Brioni suit with a flicker of satisfaction.

“You look nice,” she says.

He leans in to embrace her, his confidence growing. Her sweater is soft, tangible against his fingers, grounding him. But the scent of her Jo Malone is still a gut punch, so he’s careful not to inhale too deeply.

She rubs his back, almost absentmindedly, before pulling away.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Oh, thanks. I’ve been running around,” she waves him off. “The kids are so happy you’re coming.”

“Really?” He smiles, daring to let himself be cheered at the thought.

“Mhmm,” she gives him a funny look. “Did you think they wouldn’t be?”

“I mean—I dunno. We FaceTime almost every day. I’m not that exciting.”

“You’re their dad, Ken,” she reminds him gently. “They always want to see you.”

He nods, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Hey, guys? Dad’s here!” Rava calls out up the stairs. The sound of barreling footsteps echoes from the second floor.

“Don’t run down the stairs, please,” she adds. “This spiral staircase is a fucker,” she says to him.

“Architectural Digest’s wet dream, though,” he notes.

“Hi daddy!” Sophie appears at the top of the stairs, consciously making an effort to walk slowly.

“Hey, there’s my best girl,” he opens his arms to her. She hits the last step and launches herself into him.

Iverson follows behind, nudging himself into Kendall’s side.

“Hey, slugger,” he ruffles his hair, pulling him in for a hug.

Sophie wraps her little arms around his neck and looks at him earnestly, the way she has since she was a toddler.

“Daddy, we’re making you a present. Me and Ivey have to finish it. Okay?”

She reminds him so much of Rava, all soft eyes and self-assurance and abundant affection.

“Whatever you say, wild honey-pie.”

She kisses his cheek, making him want to sink to the floor and weep.

Iverson stays quiet, looking at the ground. His boy, a piece of his soul, who’s so much like him in every way he almost wants to shake it out of him, like a fucking genetics Etch-A-Sketch.

“How was school today, guys?”

“Good. We learned about presidents. I said that you know the President in real life,” Sophie informs him.

“Oh yeah? You remember meeting him a few years ago? When you were like—“ he puts his hand down by his knee. “Yay high?”

“Uh huh,” Sophie nods. “He was weird.”

He and Rava both snort.

“Yeah, uh—he is kinda weird, huh?”

“Grandpa likes him,” Iverson comments.

“Yeah—Grandpa likes everyone.” He means it as a joke. Rava raises an eyebrow, and he shoots her a look.

“Hey,” she intercedes. “You wanna guess what’s for dinner?”

“Uh—how about….” He looks between Sophie and Iverson. “Spaghetti worms?”

“No!” T hey giggle.

“No?” He smiles. “Huh, okay. Dirt cake?”

“Daddy,” Sophie rolls her eyes fondly.

“Okay, okay. Tell me.”

They both look at Rava and shrug.

“I had Margareta make your favorite filet. You know I’m hopeless with a steak.”

“You—you did?” He prickles with pleasant surprise.

“Well yeah! You have to have your favorite meal on your birthday,” she smiles.

Fuck, he loves her. This feels like how it used to be. He wants to say fuck the dinner and lay her down on the countertop—

He exhales heavily, expelling the pent up emotion from his lungs.

“You are fucking hopeless with a steak.”

“Little ears,” she nods to the kids, but there’s a glint of humor in her eyes.

“That’s a bad word,” Iverson informs him.

“I know, I’m sorry buddy. That doesn’t mean you get to say it, okay?”

Iverson nods.

They spend the next hour at the dining room table. His appetite has returned more recently, particularly now that he’s clean. It’s been a long time since he’s tasted a homemade meal, usually preferring takeout sushi if he isn’t at a business dinner.

“No steak for you, Soph?” He asks.

“Her friend Avery Bancroft is a vegetarian, so…” Rava offers.

“Oh, right. That Bancroft?”

“Uh huh.”

“Red meat is gross. It’s all bloody,” Sophie wrinkles her nose.

Iverson picks at his plain pasta.

“How’s your pasta, Ive?” He asks.

“Good. I put butter on it now.”

“Awesome, bud.” He thinks that’s the right answer.

“Mom, Ivey and I need to go finish daddy’s present.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Can’t wait,” he calls after them.

She clears their plates, and he helps stack the dishwasher, despite Margareta hovering nearby.

“You want some coffee?” She asks.

“Uh…yeah. Sounds good,” he smiles.

He sits down at the island as she sets to making them coffee. She doesn’t ask him how he takes it, but still makes it perfectly.

“You remembered,” he notes.

“I’ve been making your coffee for like, 15 years. Have you figured out how to use your machine yet?” She teases.

“Fuck off,” he laughs. “And no. Carla handles that…”

“Helpless,” she rolls her eyes. He tosses a sugar packet at her.

“What’s new with you? How’s work?” He asks, trying to keep things on neutral ground.

“It’s good—you know, the usual. Taking on more projects lately than I normally would.”

“What, you strapped for cash?” He jokes, trying to keep the bitterness out of it.

“Ha ha. No, I just…need to throw myself into things right now.”

“I uh—I get it.”

“But hey, I got you something.”

“You—you got me something?”

“It’s um—it’s nothing crazy. Just a card.”

She procures an envelope from the basket on the granite counter, simply reading Ken.

The card is simple, almost generic. Not much like the Husband birthday cards she used to thoughtfully pick out for him, making sure the words aligned with her feelings perfectly.

But he opens it, and lottery tickets fall out. He chuckles, remembering the year she started adding them to his birthday gifts as an inside joke. They were engaged at the time.

Happy birthday, Ken. I’m so proud of all the work you’ve put in this year. I hope 39 is happy and healthy! Love, Rav

Love.

He’s touched. He holds the lottery tickets in his hand. If you win, you have to leave Waystar and start a rival company, she used to say. They’d spend all night coming up with names and business plans.

“Never did win any of these.”

“Maybe this’ll be your year,” she smiles sadly.

“Thank you, Rav. You didn’t have to.”

She shrugs. “It’s still your birthday.”

“Dadddy!” Comes Sophie’s voice from the top of the stairs. “Close your eyes!”

“Okay,” he plays along, covering his eyes. He can’t see the smile on Rava’s face, but he knows it’s there.

He hears their footsteps come into the kitchen.

“Okay, open!”

Sophie is proudly holding up what looks like an art project, a poster with all kinds of construction paper shapes glued to it. There are 7 or 8 pictures of him and the kids, and a couple of the 4 of them, glued haphazardly around the construction paper. Stickers dot the borders.

At the bottom, I LOVE MY DAD is written in Sophie’s messy handwriting. They’ve both signed their names.

Kendall can’t speak. He feels like he’s been broken in half.

“Do you like it?” Iverson asks, proud of his handiwork.

“Guys—“ he chokes out. “I love it. This is so great, thank you. Wow. Come here.”

He scoops them both into each arm and hugs them against him. They nuzzle into him and he tries desperately not to let his eyes well up. He might be failing.

Rava unexpectedly joins the hug, wrapping her arms around all of them.

“We saved the best for last,” she says.

“There’s more?”

“Cake!” Sophie and Iverson chorus.

———

After they eat cake, and the kids have showered and gone to bed (Ken even got to tuck them in), he and Rava are sitting on her couch.

“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a while,” he says. “Last couple of years have been—“ he doesn’t need to finish the sentence. She knows. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad we could do it.”

“And, hey, this place looks great,” he looks around the vast living room. His unofficial, non-legally-mandated child support is clearly doing it’s job.

It’s surreal that she has a whole

new home, with new furniture and art on the walls and sculptures on the coffee tables. But he still sees traces of their life before—there are scattered pictures of him with the kids, of his arms around a radiantly pregnant Rava, of him holding Iverson in the hospital when he was born.

He thinks of his own home, their home, that still carries her ghost. He can still smell her on his sheets, hear her stilettos on the marble entryway, feel the indent on her side of the bed.

“Oh, thanks! Yeah—I actually brought in a decorator this time around.”

“What? Given up your interior design side hustle?” She’d always insisted on decorating their previous homes herself, filling them with familiar touches.

“Yeah, I just—I didn’t have it in me for this one,” she shrugs. There’s sadness behind her nonchalance, and he feels it in his bones. He can fix this.

“Rava—it doesn’t—it doesn’t have to be like this,” he looks at her earnestly, trying to reach her the way he used to.

“Ken,” she sighs.

“Seriously—hasn’t this little trial separation gone on long enough? I mean, come on.”

“You’re doing so well. You’re sober and getting ready for the big job—I just—I think you should stay focused,” she puts a hand on his knee.

“I am—I’ve turned things around. I’m good. I’m in a really fucking good headspace.”

“I know,” she pats his knee. “I meant it—I’m really proud of you. I want you to be happy.”

“But I’m not—I’m not like— happy happy. Not without you. Or them.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them, they’re glassy.

“You still have them, Ken. They adore you.“

It’s a small comfort.

“I know, but I mean—are—are you happy? That they have to FaceTime me every night instead of us all being together? Do you like going to sleep alone every night?”

“Well it’s not ideal, obviously, but—“

“Because I fucking hate it, Rav. It’s been awful without you.”

She looks pained. “I’m sorry. I am. Believe me—this hasn’t been easy for me either.”

He wants to dispute that, but then he remembers the first few months of their separation. When she’d call him at 2 am. They’d stay on the phone in silence until she fell asleep. Sometimes he’d hear her crying quietly.

“I can do both, now. I can focus on being the big boss and you guys. That’s all that matters to me.”

She brings a hand gently to his face, cupping his cheek. He leans in to her touch.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she protests, but it’s half-hearted.

He leans in closer, eyeing her lips. He wants to suck her in until she’s absorbed into his bloodstream.

“Do you—do you still love me?” He asks tentatively. He’s both confident in and terrified of her answer.

She pulls back a little, removing her hand.

“That’s not fair.”

“No—I’m sorry. I know.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Okay, sure. But it is. I mean, do you still love me or not?”

She bites her lip, nodding imperceptibly. He catches it nonetheless. His heart leaps. She still loves him. He feels that pesky glimmer of hope again.

“That’s—that’s never been the issue.”

“Then what the fuck are we doing?”

“We’re doing the right thing.”

“How? That doesn’t—that doesn’t even make any sense? How can us not being together be the right thing?”

“You know why.”

“I’ve done everything you asked. I went to rehab. I’m sober. I’m in therapy.”

“Ken,” she clutches at his hand. “I’ve already gone through one devastating breakup here, okay? I can’t do it again.”

“But we wouldn’t break up again. I’m better now. We’re still not—I mean, we’re not like, really broken up. We’re just taking a break.”

“Okay Ross,” she laughs a little.

“Hey,” he leans back in, close to her face. He looks into her eyes. “I still love you. Okay? I love you.”

“You can’t just say that,” her voice wobbles.

“It’s the truth, baby.”

He can see the walls crumbling within her. He leans in even closer, forehead resting against hers. His lips a millimeter away from brushing hers.

“Ken, please,” she whispers. “Don’t.”

He pulls back, stinging like she’s slapped him.

“Okay, fine. I won’t—if you don’t want me to. I’ll stop. I’m—I’m sorry.”

She searches his eyes and he feels heat rising in his cheeks. She always makes him feel raw and exposed.

To his surprise, she grabs his face and brings her lips to his.

He hungrily grabs at her and she climbs clumsily into his lap. Her hands run through his hair while his travel up and down her back. He can feel her smile into the kiss, making him do the same.

This feels good, this feels right. He can feel himself coming back to life.

He skims his fingers under her sweater, making her shiver. She begins to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt as he moves to the button of her jeans. He’s already hard as a fucking rock as she wiggles out of her jeans, grinding against him. The feel of her wet cotton panties makes him moan in her ear.

“Rav,” he growls, fingers threaded in her hair, gripping at her scalp.

She pulls off his shirt, running her hands over the planes of his chest, down his stomach, like she’s reacquainting herself with the feel of him.

“Touch me,” she whispers, nibbling his earlobe, the spot she knows drives him crazy.

He indulges her command.

They end up on the floor of the living room (the couch was nowhere near big enough) while the kids still sleep peacefully upstairs.

They’re spent, panting and sweaty. Her hair is stuck to her forehead, and he brushes it aside. She shoots him an almost-nervous smile. He squeezes her into him.

“That was—“

“Yeah—wow.”

“That was fucking interstellar sex. Holy shit.”

“Yeah—what was that new move? Have you been using it lately?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had a lot of dates to practice it on.”

She narrows her eyes, and he basks in her hint of jealousy.

“With uh—with Pornhub. And my right hand. Or your nudes.”

She laughs, whacking him in the stomach. He grunts exaggeratedly, curling in on himself. “You should delete those.”

“Easy, killer. You know I’m fragile right after I cum.”

“Mhmm,” she grins.

“You think they heard us?” He nods at the stairs.

“Nah. They’re hard sleepers.”

“They get that from you. A fucking freight train crashing into the bedroom couldn’t wake you up,” he recalls, making her snort.

“Iverson is like you though,” she says. “He has trouble falling asleep sometimes. Gets jumpy. He needs to be woken up gently.”

“Yeah, there’s no waking you up gently. I used to have to practically toss you onto the floor. Dump water on your head and shit.”

“Shut up,” she laughs again, resting her head against his shoulder. “You never did that.”

“How would you know? You fuckin’ slept through it.”

He grins at her laughter. It’s the kind he used to be able to pull from her easily. He wants to drink it up, snort it like powder.

“Okay, stop. We’re actually gonna wake them,” she’s wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

“Should we—“

Before he can say should we go to bed, his phone vibrates from the pile of their clothes. Her smile fades a bit.

“Sorry, one sec—“ he rummages for his pants, pulling his iPhone out of the pocket.

“Fuck. It’s Dad. Just—just let me get rid of him,” he promises, pleading with his eyes. Her smile is gone, replaced with a resigned look on her face.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Are you still coming?”

“Oh—shit, sorry. I forgot. I’m still at Rava’s.”

“Uh huh. Marcy and I are going to bed. So don’t bother.”

“Fuck. Sorry dad. I’ve been spending time with the kids—“

“Right, sure, sure. Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. You have a good night, kiddo.”

“Uh—thanks, Dad. Hey, um—“

Logan’s already hung up.

“Well, fuck. Whoops.”

“What’s up?” Rava asks, covering herself with a blanket from the couch.

“I told Dad I’d stop by tonight, after this. But—“

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah it’s—it’s fine. Whatever. I’d rather be here, obviously. I just didn’t think we’d—“

“Yeah, I—me either. Maybe we shouldn’t have—“

“Hey, no no. I wanted to. You have no idea—“

He reaches for her before she can slip out of his grasp again. She looks hurt.

“It’s just—it would have been nice to—I don’t know. Not make plans with your dad overlapping dinner with us. That’s all.”

“Hey, come on. It wasn’t like that. I told him maybe I would, if I wasn’t—if you didn’t want me to stay long.”

Her eyes soften. But she picks up her clothes and starts to get dressed.

“Rav,” he can feel the magic of the last hour fading away, and he clings to her arm. “Please. Let’s just—let’s go to bed.”

She rubs a hand over her face. “I don’t want the kids getting the wrong idea—“

He feels the air deflate from his lungs, crushed.

“Right,” he scoffs.

“No—Ken, not like that—“

“Uh huh. No, sure. Sure.”

“I just—I don’t want to rush into things. I’m trying to set boundaries.”

“Oh, yeah, well. I’d argue that me being inside you is not a great fucking boundary?” He spits.

“I know, I know. I just—when I’m with you—you know? When I’m with you—“ she trails off, looking anguished, grabbing at his hand.

He sighs, anger releasing.

“I know.”

“It’s been so hard,” she wipes at her eyes. “It’s not fair. It fucking sucks.”

He’s caught off guard and a little indignant. She thinks it’s been hard? His anger flares up again, withdrawing his hand.

“This whole fucking thing was your idea. You wanted this.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t—want this. This wasn’t in the fucking vows, you know?” she sighs, defeated. “I can’t rehash this all again.”

“Uh huh—maybe pass it off to your therapist. I’m gonna go.”

“Kendall,” she puts a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to ruin this—tonight felt like we were a family again.”

“Yeah, it did.” He feels cagey, like he needs to pace.

“Can we not—can we not leave this angrily? Please?”

She looks down at the ground, still wrapped in the blanket. She chews a nail nervously—an old habit. He feels a pang of guilt, and his anger deflates.

“I’m sorry. I’m working on not reacting emotionally,” he parrots his therapist calmly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I’m gonna—I am gonna go, actually. I’m sorry. I just—I’m sorry, Rava.”

“I know,” she placates. “You’re okay.”

He nods, willing it to be true. He takes her card and the kids present.

“I’ll um—I’ll see you Friday. For pickup.”

“Yes—let me know what time works.”

“Yeah, will do.”

She cautiously wraps her arms around him, rubbing his back. He sighs, returning the hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Happy birthday.”

Late that night, he’s laying in bed. He feels shitty. He’s hovering over their text thread, wishing he was in bed with her. He fucking hates all of this.

He clutches the kids gift close to him, like if he holds it tight enough, their belief in him will rub off.

As he debates calling her, because he’s desperate for her comforting words, he sees that she’s calling him.

“Hey,” he answers in surprise. “I was—I was thinking about you.”

“Me too. I um—can we—“

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Okay,” she sounds relieved.

He closes his eyes and lays the phone down next to his head, each of them falling asleep to the sound of their breathing.

[one-strugling-bean]

DSMP Fanfic Rec List because I’m bored - part 1

(IF YOU READ ANY OF THESE, DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT - even a simple "great work" or "this was a lot of fun" suffices, just  comment)

Manburg vs Pogtopia Era (lots of Manburg cabinet, Pumpkin Duo, and Schlatt studies)

depressing final moments for an equally depressing man by cottageaddict

Your chest aches, a twinge you can’t quite place shooting through your ribs, and all you can do is sigh and lift the bottle to your lips once again.

“Are you- Are you drinking?!”

-

I’m a big fan of 2nd person narration and this particular work delivers it beautifully. I also adore the way they wrote Schlatt - the fear of death, the understanding and semi-acceptance of all the wrongs he’s done to everybody, and his response to it all being just Well fuck *proceeds to drink more* - he’s so very much in character.

That very specific, and honestly pretty fucking sad implication at the end hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting too, actually-

___

I Will Sing No Requiem by Rjeealdleyr 

"Fundy wouldn't cry for Wilbur."

-

#cfundydeservesbetter

I second the author by saying we don’t have enough Fundy fics in this fandom, so here is one. Be prepared for angsty angst!!

___

Exorcise My Fat Old Heart by orojiratsu

On the day you die the sun is beaming.

OR: The death of a villain.

-

More of Schlatt’s POV for November 16th and more 2nd person. This one is written so tragically and in such short sentences, it feels like a poem. Needless to say, I like it a lot.

___

Welcome Home, Theseus. by orojiratsu 

Schlatt is their president, and they will stay by his side. 

-

Aka, an AU where Schlatt tries to get over his alcoholism with the help of those around him and the Manburg Cabinet actually works out. Sooooooo, basically S1 heaven for me.

You get it all: functional pumpkin duo, dadschlatt with Tubbo and Fundy, Tommy getting away from Pogtopia!Wilbur, a happy, hopeful ending- 

When I say that in the DSMP, Schlatt is the character that could have had it all and changed the course of the the story towards a much brighter future, this fic is what I mean.

That last chapter always gets me, i swear-

___

The Nation That Got Better by lb1412 (WIP)

In one world, L’Manberg is no more, its citizens are divided and its enemies reign supreme.

In another world, however, there is still hope.

In another world, a traveller comes with a message, a warning, an omen.

In another world, everything depends on Schlatt.

And maybe, just maybe, there is hope left for him too.

Come, gather around, everyone, for I am about to tell you the tale of the nation that got better.

-

OR, Schlatt gets a visit from a certain time traveller the night before the election and that changes a few things in the lore’s future.

Basically, it's just more Manburg Cabinet working out, although slightly differently and taking longer. I love the broship that Pumpkin Duo has in this.

The lack of heavy angst in here is a real breath of fresh air for me, btw.

ALSO, kids are treated as kids! I repeat, kids are treated as kids!

___

Swagtopia AU by PrincessLunaLover 

It was supposed to just be a secret rescue mission. Tubbo was going to get his father free from prison and let him run into the wilderness, voter fraud charges be damned. But then Fundy found out about the fake charges, and went to Quackity for legal advice.

It wasn't supposed to end with Wilbur publicly executing his own son.

-

Ahhhhhhh Swagtopia AU, my beloved :,)

The title speaks for itself no? An AU where Wilbur cheats to win the elections and it’s all dandy and good until Fundy finds out and decides that justice should prevail.

Schlatt and Wilbur basically switch roles and with them, lots of other things change. (I love this idea so much.)

Dad!Schlatt is a thing and the Pumpkin Duo dynamic reminds me a bit of an edgier Happy Duo - that married couple who can't stop bickering. They’re great.

Fundy gets a lot of spotlight, Quackity is really intelligent and gets to show it, Techno and Schlatt are old friends, and Sweater Duo angst is a thing, so really, what else could you want??

(Also, this fic is finished, I'm not sure why it’s marked as WIP, but it might have to do with the hints to a possible sequel that just never came to be.)

Think thats it for now - happy readings :>>>

[tooearlyforthis]

The Social Hour

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Synopsis: (4.5k wc) Steve always hated his parents holiday parties. Long events dragged on with boring people. But this time, someone catches his eye.

Warnings: fluff, that's basically it lol

masterlist || steve harrington taglist

Not gonna lie I did forget this in my drafts last night. Anyways here it is!

If one more person asked Steve if he was going to college, he would strangle them. 

Yes he’d made peace with not getting into any schools. And yes he felt somewhat content with the life he built for himself. But that didn’t stop the ache in his heart of what might have been. 

Dwelling on the past, however, wouldn’t do him any good. So instead, he focused on the present. He clutched his glass tight against his chest and nodded along to the man in front of him. The room was packed, as it was every time his parents hosted a holiday party. People gathered from all over Loch Nora, including some from the city, who he assumed were his fathers work friends. 

Why he had to go to these parties, he didn’t know. He had begged and pleaded throughout his high school years to be dismissed. To go to a friend's house or hide in his room until the festivities were over. But every attempt ended in complete and utter failure. 

So instead of going to see a movie with Robin or the kids, he bit the side of his mouth as the fifth person tonight asked:

“So what are your plans for college next year?”

That was it, he wanted to reach forward, to wrap his hands around the man’s neck and yell, “My future doesn’t concern you! Mind your own business!”

But he knew that was wrong. Even in a world where alternate dimensions existed, a world where DnD-like characters hunted them down, strangling this man would be considered improper. He took a sharp inhale and forced a smile, ready to recite the same sentence he had practiced in the mirror earlier. 

“I’m actually working full time. I find real life experience more valuable than what I could learn in a classroom.” 

The man’s brow raised before quickly relaxing in an attempt to look intrigued. It was clear he didn’t agree but didn’t want to upset the son of the hosts. The man nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Well that’s, progressive…”

Steve tried not to scoff. Progressive. He couldn’t take these people any more. The language they used, the way they looked down on almost everyone. He did not see why his parents enjoyed the company of such dull minded people. Then again, he guessed his parents were just as boring as their companions. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go check on something,” Steve excused himself. 

Before the man could protest, he was moving away through the crowd of people and up the stairs. Just a moment in his room, that was what he needed. His parents wouldn’t even notice he was gone. Hell, he could probably stay upstairs all night if he wanted to. 

Steve let his back hit the wood of the door, it softly closing behind him. His head thudded against the back as the sounds of the party slowly drifted away to a distant muffle. For a moment, he felt peace. Tomorrow his parents would leave for their real holiday break. Some cruise he couldn’t care to remember. He’d finally be back to hanging out with Robin and the kids, and pretended like everything was okay. 

But not all of the noises faded away.

“Umm, hi?”

Without thinking, Steve’s eyes shot open, his hand reaching for the nail-poked bat leaning against his dresser. He could never be too careful since his last encounter with the supernatural. It was better to keep the weapon in his room than face a demogorgon alone and vulnerable. 

It wasn’t until he was armed in a defensive stance did he realize that there was no threat. In fact a very pretty stranger was sitting at the edge of his bed. Her hands were in front of her face, using the book she was holding to block from the suspecting blow. 

“Holy shit, you scared me,” Steve said exasperated. He let the bat fall to his side as he slumped down against the floor. The rush of unneeded adrenaline made him feel light headed. His tie wrinkled as it folded into his chest. 

“Sorry,” the stranger said, lowering the book and fixing her hair. “I didn’t think anyone would come in here. If I knew you had a bat-”

“No it’s alright, just… muscle memory,” he told her, still out of breath. He looked up at the book she was holding. It was one of his, plucked from his shelf next to his desk. “You came in here to read?”

She looked down at the book. “Not initially, no, but it looked interesting.”

“You can keep it. I only have it because it was required reading in school.”

The stranger’s eyes widened, her mouth forming an “o” with shock. 

“This is your room,” she said, the realization of her intrusion settling in. Steve only nodded, picking himself off the ground. The stranger stood up too, placing the book back on the shelf. “I’m so sorry I just wandered in here-“

“It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal. He truly didn’t care that she had stumbled into his room. The night was so exhausting all he wanted to do was sit. The bed creased at his weight as he did so. 

The stranger remained standing, shifting her balance between each foot as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze darted between him and the door, like she was pondering running away from the encounter entirely. 

“I uh, didn’t know anyone else my age would be here,” he told her, unsure of what else to say. “Usually it’s just me and all the couples.”

“Yeah, I guess our dad’s work together,” She said, though it came out more like a question. “We just moved to town, so I don’t really know anyone here.”

“To Hawkins?” He asked, making sure he heard her right. She nodded. 

“This town was just so great we had to move here,” she said, looking down at her feet. It was clearly a sore spot for her and he didn’t want to press any further. 

“Yeah usually I hear about more people moving away every year… it’s not all bad though.” She rolled her eyes. “No really it’s not!”

“Okay how? Ever since I got here it’s been nothing but stuck up middle aged people complaining that their pools aren’t clean.”

Steve chuckled. “Okay I’ll admit there are a lot of people like that. But just inside Loch Nora. This is kind of the more well off community ya know?”

“So,” the girl began, sitting down in the bed next to him. “There are other parts of this town not full of old rich people?”

“Well I can’t promise that,” he paused, watching her giggle. “Though I can say there will be much less of them. Just stay away from the community pool.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, “And how do you know that isn’t where I wanna be? I could be a gold digger for all you know.”

“Oh well in that case you’re in the perfect place!” She giggled again and Steve couldn’t help the smile forming on his face. Hearing her make that sound? He never wanted it to stop. “I could show you, ya know? Around town?”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he replied a little too quickly. She was so damn pretty it was like every thought had left his head. 

After his break up with Nancy, and Robin came out to him, Steve had done some serious rethinking in his life. Gone were the days of fooling around with the first girl he saw. Instead he decided to focus on more serious pursuits. People he could see being “the one.”

But with this girl, it was like he wanted to throw every single one of his rules out the window. He wanted to let himself get infatuated by her. Let her consume his only waking thoughts for however long this holiday party was supposed to last. He hoped she would let him.

The girl extended her hand. “I’m Y/n.”

Steve placed his hand in hers, giving it a firm shake. “Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve. Now, how are we gonna make this party more interesting?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Trust me, they won’t even know it’s gone.”

Y/n felt like a kid again. It had been a long time since a boy made her feel giddy inside. Someone she felt comfortable being around, not having to question any ulterior motives. 

The boy grasped her hand tightly, pulling her through the large groups of people in the living room of his house. She giggled as he did so, watching as he turned back every now and then to make sure he hadn't lost her. 

As they crossed the threshold into the kitchen, his hand slipped out of hers - she was surprised to find she missed his embrace. There hadn’t been many opportunities to socialize with people her age since moving to Hawkins so part of her was relieved when he barged into the room just minutes before. Yes, he had almost attacked her with a nail-covered bat, but he didn’t so that’s all that mattered. 

She watched as Steve stepped around a group of businessmen talking by the open bar, taking a towel and draping it over his forearm like a server. He gestured for her to step forward. She did so, walking up to rest her arms on the counter. The businessman next to them didn’t pay any attention, despite seeing the two underage kids about to serve themselves drinks. 

“What’s your poison?” Steve asked, putting on his most polite tone. 

She smiled coyly, feeling her cheeks warm up. “Is it boring if I say beer?”

“Oh, this overpriced wine is too good for you?” She laughed again. “I mean, how dare you have a different taste than these snobs.”

“I like my beer, what can I say?”

Leaning down below the bar, Steve grabbed two bottles from the mini-fridge and an opener.  “Well good thing I like it too.”

Handing the open drink to her, she relished the small moment their fingers touched, the way they twitched slightly on contact. She looked back up at him. Into the chocolate brown eyes that made her want to lean forward and kiss him. 

She never thought she’d feel that way after meeting someone for such a brief amount of time. But Steve radiated this kind and welcoming energy that was so unlike other people she had been attracted to in the past. 

Pushing the thought from her mind, she cleared her throat. “Where to now?”

Over the course of his life in the big Harrington house, Steve found his fair share of secret places. They were not secret passageways, much to his dismay as a child, but nooks and crannies he could escape to for hours at a time. With the house full of people, most of those places were blocked and unusable. But there was one, he knew would go unseen.

“Are you being serious?” Y/n asked him, her hand gripping the window sill. 

Steve balanced himself on the tiles of the roof, extending an arm back toward the open window of his bedroom. “I used to do this all the time,” he told her. “Do you trust me?”

Y/n let out a weak laugh, looking down. It was a weird question to ask someone you just met but in Steve’s mind, he could already trust her with his life. Thankfully, she felt the same way.

“For some reason, I do,” she said. 

Leaning forward, he made sure to grasp her hand, having no plans of letting go anytime soon. She climbed through the window, bumping into him slightly as her feet hit the uneven tiles. Instinctively, he wrapped his other arm around her back to steady her. The fuzzy texture of her sweater itched on his fingers, but he’d rather feel uncomfortable than let her fall off the roof.

Balancing on her own, he released his hand, now somewhat missing the feeling of her sweater. He looked up at her, giving a nod to ask if she was okay. When she nodded back, he slowly began to move forward. They carefully maneuvered around the brick roof, sitting down on the edge of another window sill. 

Y/n’s shoulders brushed against his as they sat down and Steve felt like a giddy teenager again. He had never taken a girl up here, but this felt like the type of sight she would wanna see. 

“This is the attic window,” he told her, “It doesn’t open from the inside.”

“Duly noted,” she replied, interlancing her fingers atop her lap. “So, what’s so special about this spot?”

Steve let out a long breath, a much needed one after sucking up to his dad’s business partners all night. This was a spot that he never came to with anyone else. Partly because it was on the roof and partly because he liked keeping it hidden. It was a place he could go to to unwind, to ignore all the problems he had with his homelife. 

Instead of baring his soul to this new girl, despite a part of him desperately wanting to, he went with a more simple explanation. “It has a good view of the neighborhood. When it starts to get dark, you can see the sun set over the houses.”

Y/n looked out in front of them. The sun had set a long time ago, but the sight was still beautiful. She told him so. “The stars are nice. You couldn’t see them in my old town.”

“No?”

She shook her head before turning to look at him. “Thank you for bringing me up here. This is just what I needed after the nightmare of moving here this week.” 

He didn’t know how to respond, afraid that somehow he would fuck everything up. As he tried to think of something interesting to say, she leaned her body toward him. He felt her head rested on his shoulder and found himself infatuated with her smell.

It was a mix of different citrus scents he couldn’t quite place. No matter, it started to consume him anyway.  She was sinking under his skin and he had no intention of letting it go. 

“O-of course,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “Glad to be of service.”

Y/n picked up her head from his shoulder, their faces barely inches away from each other. Steve thought she might kiss him from how she kept darting her eyes between his and his lips. He had barely known this girl for two hours. But he knew deep down that if she leaned in to kiss him, he would let her.

He let out a breath as she backed up slightly. A move that clarified there would be no making out to end the night. He wasn’t mad or upset, part of him actually was thankful. He didn’t wanna fuck up this relationship. Didn’t want his old self to seep into his new life with a person who didn’t know his past. 

“You and I are going to be great friends, Steve,” she said, her voice softly floating between them. “I just know it.”

The thought of kissing Y/n still hadn’t left Steve’s mind. She had left with her parents and being the stupid, stupid boy he was, he didn’t ask for her information. He had looked for her everywhere he went. At work, at the grocery store; sometimes he would even aimlessly drive around Loch Nora hoping to catch her outside her home. 

But a month later, he still hadn’t found her. Steve was starting to think that he made her up. That she was a beautiful figment of his imagination he conjured to pass the time at another boring holiday party. He wouldn’t put it past himself. After the battle with Vecna, he found himself daydreaming more and more, wanting to escape from the hellish reality he was placed in.

He had been daydreaming so much that Robin began to scold him. “Dingus, would at least try to act busy?”

Her words pulled him out of his thoughts of the mysterious Y/n. Back to the present, back to shelving tapes at Family Video. “Sorry,” he mumbled to his companion, not feeling like picking a fight with her.

Leaning on the shelf next to him, Robin could tell something was off. “You okay dingus? You were really gone there for a second.”

“I said sorry,” he told her, placing down another tape. “I was just…lost in thought.”

“Oh don’t tell me you were thinking of your mysterious party girl again. Steve glared at her, not engaging in her games. “Gosh you’re like a modern prince charming!”

“Am not!” he protested. 

“Really?” she said sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest. “Cause from here it looks like you're searching for your princess, except this time she didn’t leave a glass slipper.”

Steve sighed, moving to the shelf across from them, picking up another set of tapes for that genre. “Is it wrong to want to find her? I promised her I’d show her around, ya know? Be a friendly face in town.”

Robin moved over with him, leaning against another shelf. “You can’t go searching around Loch Nora again tonight.”

“And why not?”

“Argh you don’t remember anything! We’re going to Eddie’s gig tonight? At the Hideout?” Shit, he did forget. It was hard to keep track of anything with all the activities the kids had. “You better not back out, you're my ride!”

“I'm not gonna back out!” he protested, knowing full well he would’ve canceled if she didn’t say something. He loved Eddie but metal music was not his thing. The head pounding, the sharp drum beats - it made his head hurt.

Ring!

The front door sounded out, making Steve and Robin poke their heads out from the isle they were in. Thankfully it was just Dustin, a lollipop in his mouth from winning a game at the arcade next door.

“Can one of you take me home?” he asked.

Steve groaned. When he said “can one of you,” it really meant him. Robin, being a year out of high school, had yet to get her driver’s license. 

Sighing, he said, “Sure, my shift ends in five.”

The Hideout was more crowded than Steve remembered. People were bumping his shoulders on either side, the ground somewhat sticky from spilled drinks. The walls were covered in band posters, some of them local, most of which Steve had never heard of. Robin was plastered to his side, talking to Nancy and Jonathan who had just arrived. 

“Do you think they’re gonna play LaunchPad McQuack?” Jonathan asks, somewhat shouting over the music.

“I have no idea,” Robin yelled back. “I think they’re playing new stuff.”

They saw Jonathan nod, trying to hide his disappointment. He was always Eddie’s big supporter when it came to music. Being the only one of them who could actually studied music in his off time. 

“As long as -” Steve began to speak, being cut off by the uproar of the crowd. He looked over to see Corroded Coffin walking across the stage, Eddie walking up to take the mic.

He was already nursing a drink, placing it on a conveniently placed stool as the other members began tinkering with their instruments. Taking the mic in his hands he shouted, “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The crowd roared as he scanned it, his eyes quickly falling on all of his friends. Eddie winked at them with a smirk. In unison, the four friends picked up their hands to flip him off. To outsiders it seemed like an awful thing to do, but for them, it was a fun gesture to let the others know that they’re there, they’re present, and they’re supporting one another. 

Eddie chuckled as he saw the gesture, the crowd dying down enough that he could speak again. “Now I know you’re excited to hear our new stuff, but unfortunately our bassist Jeff is sick.” The crowd booed, Steve and Robin among them. “Fear not! For we have a newcomer here to join us! Everyone, make some noise for the lovely, the wonderful, Y/n Y/L!”

The crowd began cheering as Y/n walked out, her bass already strapped around her. Steve, on the other hand, felt himself melt into shock. There she was, in all her beautiful glory. The girl he hadn’t stopped thinking about who was very much real and not his imagination. 

Y/n. Her name felt like butter on his tongue. The way she dressed left very little to his imagination - it was making him go insane.

She waved to the crowd, her eyes washing over them before they found him. She stuttered for a second and chuckled, her too not sure if he was really in front of her. But then, she smiled. She truly smiled. 

After going to so many of his parents’ holiday parties, he began to get pretty good at reading people. The amount of fake smiles that people had given him were enough to kick him down and stay there for good. But as he looked up at Y/n on that stage and saw that grin, he could tell that it was real.

“Steve?” His name pulled him out of his own thoughts. Robin had been talking to him. He hummed a yes. “Is that her?”

He had only told Robin her name one or twice over the course of the month and it was still hazy in memory.

“Y-yeah,” Steve managed to get out, just as the band began its first track. “Yeah it is.”

The band played most of their new stuff, people in the crowd jumping and jamming along to the songs. Most of it went over Steve’s head, everything around him becoming muffled as he watched Y/n in awe.

She was gorgeous, he knew that before. But watching her play the bass? It was so hot. The way her fingers plucked at the strings, her shoulders swaying back and forth to keep in time with the drums. Even down to the bead of sweat trickling down her forehead, she seemed perfect. 

The set was over before he registered it beginning. Applause ruptured from the crowd as the band made their way off stage. Steve felt a pang in his chest as he watched her disappear, like if he ever lost sight of her again she would be gone from his life for good. 

No. Not this time. He found her and he had no intention of letting her go.

The band had to have a meeting with their newly appointed manager so instead of meeting backstage, the four friends waited in the parking lot. Steve found it hard to stand still. He paced back and forth in front of Eddie’s van as he bit on his nails, anxiously waiting to see Y/n again.

Jonathan nudged Robin’s shoulder. “What’s got him so nervous?” he asked.

“That girl on bass?” Robin began, watching her two friends nod knowingly. “Apparently she moved to town a month ago. Steve met her at a party his parents were holding and like an idiot didn’t ask for her number.”

“You know I can hear you, Rob,” Steve told her, stopping his pacing in front of them.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it. You were stupid for not asking!”

He wanted to bicker with her, but in the end he knew she was right. It was stupid to let her leave that night without even knowing her address. 

Before he could even utter a word, Nancy said, “Oh look they’re coming!”

Steve turned around to see the band walking up to the van. Eddie was in front, his arms stretched out on either side of him as he dangled his guitar case. “Was that so metal or what?!”

Jonathan was the first to step forward. “Super metal man, congrats on the EP.”

Robin and Nancy began to congratulate him as well but Steve’s eyes were drawn on Y/n, her arm wrapped around Gareth’s shoulders. It dropped when she looked up at him. 

Gareth kept walking like nothing happened, everyone moving around each other in congratulations but Steve and Y/n stood still. His eyes were stuck on her, stuck in her beautiful eyes he never thought he’d see again. And then, she smiled. Gosh, he loved that smile.

Eddie was the first from the group to notice their staring. “You two look like deer caught in headlights,” he said with a chuckle. “You two know each other or something?”

Steve was still unable to get a word out, thankful Y/n spoke for them. “Yes we do,” she told Eddie, finally breaking her gaze to look at him. “In fact, we have plans tonight. Don’t we, Steve?”

They both knew that wasn’t true. But if she wanted to get away, he would follow her at the drop of a hat. 

“Uh y-yes. Yes we do,” he stuttered out. 

Nancy tilted her head in confusion. “Wait, I thought we were all heading to the diner?”

Steve could barely process he was being pulled away as Y/n’s hand wrapped around his, gently guiding him toward her own car parked a couple spots away. 

“Uh maybe next time?”

Y/n was giggling into his side as she loaded her bass into the trunk of her car. “You were my ride, dingus!” Robin shouted back as he opened the side of her car door.

“John will take you, right?” Steve asked, a pleading look on his face. 

Jonathan, confused as what had just happened stuttered out, “Y-yeah, sure. I can take you home.”

Shouting a thanks, Steve felt Y/n pull him into the car, the door shutting hastily behind him. Turning on the car, she turned to look at him, her smile stretching across her face. “So, I think you promised me a tour of Hawkins.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. “I did, didn’t I?” Reaching forward, he interlaced his hand with hers. “Looks like you already found Eddie, that covers the dangerous side of town.”

Y/n laughed, her head dropping forward. “Yeah, no need to show me the crack house.”

“Well, we could go to Lover’s Lake.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Lover’s Lake? You think you’re gonna get lucky tonight, Steve?” 

Her tone was more playful than condescending and it made Steve feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Shrugging he said, “Maybe?”

Laughing again, she put the car in drive, her hand leaving his to prop against the wheel. They pulled to the edge of the Hideout’s parking lot. She turned to look at him one more time.

“Lucky for you, Harrington, I think you’re right.”

Steve Harrington Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @halflifejess @nix-rose @palmtreesx3 @cilliansnostalgia @sweetdazequeen

[rezzyromance]

Idk if this is how you request things or if it's just asking, BUT-

How would the Lords react to an S/O that's usually the chillest person that you will ever meet (not to be confused with a pushover because they are not), they've never seen them even mildly annoyed when something bad happens. But then something happens and, turns out, the S/O is utterly TERRIFYING when they're mad.

Hope this makes sense!

Aw man I'm gonna feel awful scaring Moreau and Donna :(

Alcina

You're relaxing on a beautiful morning. The sun is shining through the window just enough to warm the room but not hurt your eyes. You hadn't even changed out of your sleep wear. "How are you feeling, my dear?", a sweet voice rang from the doorway. You were sitting in your favorite chair near the window. You turn and smile at her. She walks over and rubs your face in her large hand before leaning down and giving you a soft kiss. "I'm feeling amazing. And you?", you grab her hand before she pulls it away and you place a kiss on her knuckles. "I'm feeling alright. There's a new maid here. She's a bit slow. I'm giving her until tonight to finish dusting the entire castle or else she won't see another sunrise." It was almost comedic how dark her words were as you both stared out the window and gazed at the beautiful scenery. "Come on Alcina.", you stand up and place your hands on hers, trying to hold them despite the size difference. "Give the girl a break. It's a huge castle AND it's her first day.", you knew your words would probably change nothing. Alcina was rather cruel, but you looked past it. You tried your best to make the nervous maids comfortable whenever they arrive.

"We'll see how she does." She gives you one more kiss before leaving the room. You sit back down in your chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun for a little while longer. You lose track of time, minutes maybe even hours go by. Suddenly, there's a crash not far from the door. You jump and stand up, no longer comfortable after being startled. "What in the name of Mother Miranda?!", you leave the room and look down the hallway. The new maid stood there with a terrified look on her face. In front of her was one of the paintings Alcina had on her walls, now with a broken frame and a hole punctured. Your blood began to boil. It was a painting of you, her, and the girls all together. It was your favorite. "How in the hell did you manage to do that?!", you begin to stomp towards her. She cowers and struggles to find her words. "I-I-I was just dusting! It fell and I-I didn't mean t-", you cut her off. "How the fuck did you knock such a large painting over just by dusting?! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ALLOWED TO MAKE SUCH STUPID MISTAKES HERE?!", you unravel. "I-I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!", she almost begins to weep. "SORRY ISN'T GONNA SAVE YOUR ASS!"

"MISS DIMITRESCU PLEASE HELP!", she cries out. You freeze, realizing that the lady herself is right behind you. You turn to face her. Her eyes are wide with shock. She has never seen you like this before and never even knew you had this type of side to you. She was impressed as much as she was terrified. "(Y/N)? Are you alright my love?" She had no idea what to do as your seething slowed down. "Why don't you go back to the room, yes? Settle down a little and deal with her later.", she places a hand on your back helps walk with you back to the room. Once you're there, she bends down to whisper in your ear. "I don't know where this side of you has been this whole time, but I am so amazed by you. And also a little frightened."

Donna

The Beneviento house was usually a calm place despite its creepy aura. You and Donna are both quiet and chill people. Never once have you fought or even raised your voices at each other. It was pleasant.

You had planned a nice dinner for the both of you. You wanted to try out a new recipe and surprise her, so you made your way to the kitchen to get started. "Okay, what first? I guess I'll need a pot.", you go rummaging through the kitchen and you find the pots stacked within each other inside one of the top cabinets. You groan and stand up on your toes, grazing the pots with your fingers. It didn't take much to cause them to tumble down, crashing on top of you with a loud sound that followed. "Aw shit.", you sighed and picked up the knocked over pots. A small but annoying pain began to throb in your head from where it made contact with a pot. What you didn't notice was you forgot to pick one of the pots up. It remained unnoticed. "It's fine.", you say to yourself as you maintain your composure. Next, a cutting board and knife. You turn around and begin to walk forward to find the cutting board, but you slam your toe into counter. You wince in pain and grab your foot. "SON OF A BITCH!", you yell.

You calm yourself, still wanting to have a pleasant meal with Donna. "Alright. Everything's fine." You step forward and kick the pot that you had forgotten to pick up. It caused your freshly kicked toe to ache even more. "OH COME ON! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!", you scream and swear as you throw your arms up in pure rage and shock.

"...(Y/N)?", a gentle voice whispered from the doorway, causing you to whip your head in that direction. It was Donna. She looked absolutely horrified and almost looked like she could cry. "Is.. is everything... are you alright?", she worried. "Yes. I'm sorry. Just got a little pissed off.", you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, feeling bad for scaring the poor girl.

Moreau

You were sitting on the dock together, looking into the water as your feet swung back and forth above it. It was a sunny day and you two decided to spend it outside. Your hand slowly made its way over to his. His feet stopped swinging for a second as you entangled your fingers. "I don't know what I'd do without you, (Y/N)." his words were bitter sweet as a gentle smile formed from his lips. "Oh, Sal. You don't have to think like that. I'll always be here for you.", you kiss his cheek and continue to relax as you sway your legs.

"There it is! There's the beast!", a voice yelled from not so far away. You both look in the direction of the voice and see a few young village boys. Possibly between the ages of 13 and 16. Moreau had become some what of a scary story for the villagers. A tale that kids spread on school court yard and bring up during dares. But, you've never seen a kid brave enough to actually make it far enough into the reservoir to actually see Moreau. Now, there were about 3. All of them stood and pointed, shocked and terrified.

"Hey beast! Come get me!", one kid teases. You glare at the kids as a newfound rage begins to boil inside you. "Let's go back inside.", Moreau says before standing up from the doc. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, one of the children gathers the guts to pick up a rock and throw it as hard as he could. His aim was off, but not by much. It slammed into the wood near Moreau's feet, startling him. "Take that you devil!", he laughs. "THAT'S IT YOU LITTLE SHIT!", you begin sprinting in the direction of the immature brats. Two of them run from the direction they came from while the one who threw the rock was frozen in fear. You took the opportunity to grab him by the collar of his shirt. "Listen here you little waste of space. I'm gonna give you 3 seconds to turn around and run for your goddamn life. If you or any of your little snot-nosed friends come around here again, they'll be goddamn fish food. Do you understand?" The kid was too scared to speak and instead began to nod rapidly. You let him go and watched as he ran as fast as he could, screaming the whole way.

You walk back to the shack and find Moreau standing in the same place he was when you took off. His mouth was agape and he looked almost as scared as the kids. "You alright Sal? I made sure those little shits won't be coming around here anymore." "Yeah... I didn't know you could be so... scary", he says. "I'm sorry. But those kids were being cruel. I had to do something.", you say. "Well... it was awesome!", he smiled. "But also very scary!" You laugh which helps sooth him a little.

Heisenberg

"Screw driver.", is all Karl said with an outstretched palm. He was working on some type of mechanical heart for his experiments. He wanted you to lend a "helping hand" even though he could easily do it all by himself. He did this because he wanted to be around you, he was just too stubborn with too big of an ego to simply say it. So here you were, handing him every little tool he asks for.

"Do you want the big one or the little one?", you say with a hint of boredom in your tone. "Aw c'mon don't sound like that! Isn't this exciting? It's like you're working on it with me! Also, hand me the big one.", you do as he says and hand him the big screw driver. "I just don't get it. You literally have powers. You can easily do this by yourself and have been for so long. Why do you need me to help?" He pauses for a second and looks over towards you, his brow slightly furrowed. "I don't NEED you to help. I just thought it would be nice for you to help out. Plus, you're the one always bitching about me constantly working. Well, here you are! Helping me work! So, either suck it up or you can leave." His harshness had no real ill will in it. He was just confused and a bit too ignorant to consider his words. But, he was testing your patience. He continued to use the screwdriver until handing it to you without saying a word.

"Hand me a screw.", he demanded with his hand facing palm up again. "Which size?" "They're all the same sizes, dumbass." You feel your blood begin to boil. "They're different fucking sizes! This one is smaller than this one!", you hold up two screws that are obviously different sizes. This makes Karl angry. Not because you were right, but because you seemed upset over something that seemed so insignificant.

"If you came here just to yap in my ear, then I don't think I need your assistance.", he huffed. You put the selection of tools and supplies he was making you hold on the table he is working on and ball your fists. "You're the one who told me to do this in the first place!", you yell. "Yeah, because you won't stop bitching! Non-stop you're always compla-" you cut him off before he can finish. "SHUT UP!", you yell. The room goes silent. "YOU SAY I'M BITCHING? HAVE YOU HEARD YOURSELF? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KARL YOU BITCH AND MOAN ALL THE TIME! I'M DONE TAKING SHIT FROM YOU!" He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He felt something much more overwhelming. Was he.. intimidated? He didn't move from his seat. All he could do was look up at you with a confused expression. What now? What is there to do? If he pushes you further, what would happen? He was actually too scared to find out.

You take a deep breath to calm down before speaking. "Now, if you want me to help with your shit, I'll stay as long as you keep your mouth shut. Can you possibly manage to do that?" He gulps nervously. "Yes ma'am."

[whump-town]

Blind Rage

Warnings? I don't know. Jack punches a kid in the mouth and Hotch has a concussion but honestly it's nothing compared to my normal stuff

3,338 words so not very long but I wrote this down in one sitting. redbull is a powerful drug

I don't know if it's like the best thing I've ever written but I did write it so...

Jack didn’t know any better than to just assume his dad was the patent normal. He didn’t imagine a factory but he certainly assumed his father, like all fathers, had simply always been forty-years-old with tricky aches – dents from the rough travel of getting here to Jack. How else would a dad be other than how his is?

“Shit.” Milk splashes onto the table, missing Jack’s glass. Hotch’s own explicative and the milk on the table startle him, he is unable to think past the hammering of his own heart. The milk jug in his hands starts to ache with weight, his muscles straining, tense. “S-Sorry,” Hotch blinks and shakes his head, moving awkwardly forward before realizing he  needs to put the milk in the fridge. Each step comes back to him a little too slow – put milk away, grab paper towel, clean mess. 

Shit, the milk’s lid

He turns back for the table, cursing himself for being so out of it. “Sorry, buddy.” Hotch apologizes again, reaching out with his unoccupied hand to cup Jack's head, giving his hair a rustle. “I’m just all over the place this morning. Aunt Jess tell you I hit my head?” He knows she did, nearly immediately after he’d told  Jessica, she had found a way to relay it to Jack. A reasonable enough lie, Jess told him that Hotch smacked his head on a low entry way. Jack had seen Hotch do this before, Jess had sent Hotch down to her basement to get a mousetrap and Jack stood on the stairs eager to be near but not actually inside the basement. Hotch had found the poor thing and held it out from himself, turning to come back and nearly knocked himself out, bouncing his head off of a low plank. “Yeah,” Hotch agrees as Jack giggles. Smiling at the pleasant sound. 

Jack had thought it was funny to watch his aunt dump his father on the couch with an ice pack, his vision hadn’t cleared yet and it’d taken a very dramatic and careful fight to get him back up the stairs. Jessica had told him to stop moaning about his head and he’d realized that Jessica felt worse for the poor dead mouse than him. 

Jack had remembered this too when Jessica told him Hotch got hurt. Of course, Hotch hadn’t run into another low beam. The floor gave out beneath them in the middle of a scene and Hotch (and Emily quickly after) had fallen through the floor down into the basement. Earned them both a concussion, a few cracked ribs, and one broken wrist. Emily had chosen to make her cast black.

Normally, he wouldn’t bring this sort of thing up again. Jack knows to be careful of his aches but they’re safe for the most part, Jack isn’t all that excitable and even when he is he’s mindful. But the contentious pounding in his head, tells him this foggy film over his thoughts doesn’t have any plans of leaving soon. 

“There, all good.” Hotch finally slumps into his kitchen chair, his coffee splashing over the rim, his eyes find the spot but he’s beyond any reaction above a forfeiting grunt. He takes a bite of his toast, corner soggy with butter. It’s a white bread toast and coffee sort of morning and all he can do is pray his son is catching that same vibe from the heavy rain clouds outside. When he looks up he’s not met with a mischievous little grin, Jack’s brain conjuring up the idea of a fort he thinks he’ll have to beg to build, Hotch is met with something knowing. “What?” he asks, caught between alarmed and amused. 

Jack giggles and tilts his cereal bowl for Hotch to see inside, “you’re silly daddy.”

Hotch leans forward, not sure what he’s seeing. Jack’s got his fruity pebbles, orange juice, and milk. It’s been his kick lately and Hotch is really having the sort of week where he’s taking Jack’s interest in something with the name fruit as a success. “What?” he asks again, eyes darting around the bowl quicker now as Jack keeps giggling. “I don’t–” fruity pebbles, orange juice, and milk. His face falls  immediately as what he’s done clicks. His toast falls out his hands and he pulls in a big breath, the end catching on the tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he rushes out. Voice and hands shaking. “I’m just –” he shakes his head and shuts his mouth. He swallows down against the swollen knot in his throat, blinks his tears away. “Dad’s just, yeah, I’m just losing it this morning, huh?”

He reaches out for the bowl, hoping Jack just gives it to him without a fight, and he finds a moment later to cry about it later. But Jack just giggles and scoops a spoonful into his mouth. “It’s okay,” he chirps, nodding his little head along. He uses his sleeve to wipe his mouth but Hotch doesn’t comment. 

“Are you sure?” Tears are threatening to fall. His head couldn’t possibly hurt more than it does now. “You don’t have to eat it, buddy. I’ll make you a new bowl.” He’s not even sure his knees will lift him up to do that. 

Jack shrugs and takes another bite, “it’s good.” He eats the entire bowl which isn’t normal for him. He always leaves just enough cereal to cover the top of the milk so that when Hotch washes the bowl he has to touch soggy cereal. And because he’s Jack and he always knows how to drive that last nail in the coffin, he looks up at Hotch with the biggest smile (a fruity pebble stuck to his tooth) and says, “you did the bestest job. This is the bestest thing you’ve ever did made.”

He cries and Jack sits there swinging his little legs and eating his orange juice and fruity pebbles breakfast. His head hurts and he hasn’t slept well which will be the official downplay if anyone asks about his puffy red eyes but he really cries because Jack’s growing up too quickly. And because he’s terrified he isn’t doing this right. That he’ll fuck up everything that Haley did. That Jack won’t be this sweet kid in five years – when Hotch has had as many years doing the single parent thing as Haley. 

Derek shows up before lunch and gives Hotch a much needed break. He almost hopes a blood vessel pops in his head when he answers the door and Derek kisses him very sweetly in the greeting. The kiss is nice, even if they’re still too much in the hall for Hotch’s liking and within eyesight of anyone who comes out into the hall.  Jack comes running, stands at Hotch’s heels and impatiently sticks his head between Hotch’s knees so he can talk to Derek. Impatient that his fathe is in the way of Jack talking to his best friend. He huffs a dramatic sigh, fills his chest with a lungful of air and shakes his head. Rolls his eyes like he’s seen them do a thousand times before as he informs Derek, “he’s being a handful”. 

Derek chuckles and smirks up at Hotch. 

Hotch groans, “Jack please–”

Jack gives Derek a look, a see what I’m saying? 

Derek’s smile doesn’t waver, “you think he needs a N-A-P?”

Jack frowns, trying to work out those letters in his head. Then his face hardens and he nods his head solemnly. 

Hotch does need a nap but it’s not nearly as rewarding when a five-year-old says you’re being moody and need to go to sleep. It’s both patronizing and sweet that they lead him back to his room. “You can go watch your movie,” he grumbles, grouchy now that Derek’s here and pulling back the covers for him. “I’m fine.” He can pull down the parent-guard. Derek’s got things for a few hours. 

Derek smirks but says nothing. 

“I’ll tuck him in,” Jack says, “I know how to do it.” Hotch always packs the blankets around Jack’s legs extra tight and it makes him giggle because it jostles him around. Jack mimics the motions with a serious scowl that mimics Hotch’s, all his attention on this task. 

“Alright,” Derek chuckles, plucking Jack up from the bed. 

“Wait!” Jack demands, “he can sleep without a g’night kiss!” 

Hotch clenches his jaw, holds his breath as Derek holds Jack over him. It’s a strange feeling. It’s unfamiliar but not unwanted, he’s just not sure how to deal with these moments of vulnerability. He has to suck it up, he has to let Jack be sweet and gentle. He has to mimic that himself. It’s just not what he’s been shown most of his life. His father didn’t tuck him into bed. Or read him bedtime stories. So to have someone else meet his weakness with kindness and love… 

“I’ll be right back,” Derek promises. He kisses the top of Hotch’s head. 

He just doesn't know what to do with that.

Derek comes in only ten minutes later. He bickers with Jack in the living room about which movie they should watch. Jack sticks with Toy Story but Derek’s going to lose his mind if he has to watch that fucking cartoon Sheriff one more time. They settle with Monsters Inc. and Derek makes them popcorn. 

Hotch is already asleep by the time he gets back there with water and a Tyenol. He’s too out of it to fight the medication. It’s Derek sitting on the edge of his bed. Derek is tipping the glass so he drinks more water. His guard is too low with Derek. He trusts him more than he wants to and less than he does at the same time. He’s torn in half between the way he thinks they should be and what he’s capable of. He wants to tell Derek everything – the good things and the bad things, all together like there isn’t a difference. He wants to give him everything but he still holds back. He pulls himself away because he can’t be that reckless. That’s not fair. Jack loves Derek and he won’t spoil that with everything that’s dogshit in his life. 

He’s fitfully napping when he hears the front door slam shut, Derek and Jack’s voices loud but not in the excited way they typically speak. Not in the way that means Hotch will pull himself out of bed and find the two of them splitting a carton of ice cream or smiling over a box of pizza. They’re loud and angry. 

“Why would you do that?” Derek demands.

Hotch’s heart feels like it’s coming out of his chest. He’s afraid and he can’t really say why. His hands shake and his knees feel weak, his entire body pulsing with the hard beats of his heart. His vision is unsteady, he stands too quickly and pushes through it. 

“You can’t hit other people, Jack.”

There are tears in Jack’s eyes. That’s the first thing that Hotch sees. It’s not Jack’s first time being scolded and not even the first time he’s been yelled at. Hotch tries his best. He tries to be mindful of the fact that he’s dangerously large. And that the only thing he fears nearly as much as becoming his father is other people thinking he’s like his father. But he loses it sometimes. 

There are tears in Jack’s eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks away from Derek. “He said something bad.” Two tears fall down his cheeks but Jack remains stoic. Unwaveringly certain that he’s done anything wrong. 

“It doesn’t matter–”

“It does!” Jack never raises his voice. He rarely pitches a fit about much. He had tantrums as a toddler but that just comes with the complications of that age. The language barrier. Not now, though. He’s a calm kid. A normal kid. 

“Jack–” Derek suddenly remembers Hotch sleeping and his goal switches from scolding to calming Jack down. They’re quickly approaching something bad, he can tell. Aaron’s not in the state to be dealing with this right  now and Jack’s getting too emotional to handle it. The last thing they need is to wake him up on top of this. Let him sleep. Have dinner. Bring it up again. 

Jack holds back a sob, sucking in quickly in a way that Derek knows means the waterworks are about to come hard. “They say mean things…” his lower lip trembles. “About – About you and about Daddy. And – And about–” he rubs angrily at his face with his fist. Getting too agitated to speak now, crying too hard to get his words out.

Derek can’t stand those tears, the kids gonna make him cry. “Alright, alright,” he caves, sinks down to his knees and Jack goes right to him. “Come here,” he holds Jack to him. “You can’t hit other people, alright?” He’s never sure where he’s allowed to be in these instances. His placement in this house is becoming more permanent and Hotch has started giving him the side-eye. Making him be the bad guy, a dad who scolds as much as he plays. This isn’t the fun part of the job for sure. He’s in the dark. 

Hotch comes from down the hall and finds them on the couch. It takes him ten minutes to compose himself enough to be able to stand and get down the hall, to be in the mindset to have  a conversation. “Wha’ happened?” His head is pounding, enough to start to make his stomach cramp up. But he sinks down on the couch beside them, a smile trying to tug at his lips at the way Jack sleeps against Derek’s chest. Derek’s got him nearly swaddled, a blanket tucked up around him. 

Derek pulls in a deep breath, shakes his head. “It stopped raining so I sent him outside.” There’s only a little bit of yard for the kids to play in but it’s better than staying cooped up inside. Derek only left him for a second, just to run in and get him some water. And when he came back two of the mother’s had Jack and another little boy. The other boy’s lip was busted up pretty good. Jack had socked him right in the mouth. “He was–” Derek’s not sure how to say it. 

Hotch is very aware that everyone in the building knows what happened in this apartment. The little kids whisper about it. People avoid him and the kids always act a little more stiffly in line when Hotch is outside watching them. They’re afraid of him. They talk about Hotch the same way they talked about the masked man. Like both are ghosts that phase through the walls. Both walk through the complex, watching and waiting to jump out from the shadows. Either could snatch you from your bed. Hotch suspects some of the mother’s tell their children just that, use him as a boogey man to make their children behave. 

“Foyet again.” 

Derek nods. He can’t even voice how much that enrages him. Let him hear them saying that shit… but maybe that’s why Jack did what he did… “And one of the boys,” Derek adds softly, “said something about us.” 

Hotch already knows what that something is. He shouldn’t have to explain to his five-year-old the bigorty of grown adults. Grown men shouldn’t talk to children the way that they do. One of the boys has already said something to Jack about Hotch and Derek. Taunted and teased. Used words he’d heard his father say, repeated his father’s opinion about them. 

“He’s got your left-hook,” Derek offers, tries to be humorous but it falls short.

Hotch just stares ahead. He couldn’t speak if he even knew what to say. 

“He was protecting you.”

He knows and that’s the thing. Tears gather against his will. His head hurts too much to be thinking this hard and this fast about all the things that hurt him. All the wrong things to dwell on. His voice is thick when he does manage to speak, his tears hardly held off. “That’s not his job, Derek.” 

Derek wants to reach out and pull Hotch down against him. He wants to be squished in the middle of his Hotchners but he’s not certain that Hotch needs physical comfort yet. So he keeps his distance. He resists the urge to touch him. Hold his hand or hug him. “No,” Derek agrees. “But you protect him. And he worries about you. He wants to be big and strong like his dad.” Derek knows what that’s like. Those feelings flood him too everytime he has to watch another UNSUB get the drop on Hotch. Everytime he walks away with even just a bruise, a scratch. The fury and pain that floods him more intensely than he knows what to do with. The blind rage. 

Hotch chuckles? He makes a sound Derek can’t quiet make out, he smiles but it’s more of a scoff than anything. When he looks to Derek his eyes are red and he looks physically pained.

“Come here,” Derek finally caves. He stand this any longer. He pulls Hotch down against him, his head down on his chest. 

“What am I gonna do with him?” 

Derke shrugs, “I think it’s probably too late to return him.” The joke words this time and Hotch lets out that scoff sounding chuckle. There are tears coming down his face but he’s smiling. “Besides,” Derek says, “this one’s already potty-trained and when you get a new one you have to run through all that old stuff again.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes and moves himself around a little more, gets his head placed on Derek’s chest somewhere that hurts the least. He sniffles, wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. 

Derek moves his head to rest his chin atop Hotch’s head, squeezes his shoulders. “He’s a good kid,” Derek whispers. “We’ll figure this out and one day we might laugh about it.” Hell his mom laughs now about the first kid who’s mouth he bloodied. Some stupid little prick that said something about one of his siters. Derek can’t even remember. His mother had thought the world was coming apart. His father had just died and Derek was acting out.

Hotch hums. He doubts this could ever be something that won’t be devastating. That isn’t proof that he’s unfit for parenthood. 

“It’s not like he punched a saint,” Derek goes on. He knows exactly which kid it was. He’s seen that kid do all kinds of shit. “It’ll be fine,” Derek’s certain. “He’s too much like you, that's all. Thinks he’s got to protect everyone.” 

Hotch doesn’t know about that. The rage that it must have taken Jack to act like that, yeah that’s him. He knows exactly what that is. 

“We should order pizza,” Derek hums. He’s already moving on. They’ll talk about this again later but Derek knows it’s still too fresh and harsh for either Hotch or Jack to talk about. Hotch’s concussion needs to clear up a bit. That’s making everything worse. “Are you up for take-out?” Then he hums again but not the pleased hum from a second ago. “Or is this one of those things where it’s like if we get pizza we reward the behavior?” Parenting stresses Derek out. “I don’t understand this stuff.”

Hotch sits up. Maybe it’s not the most sensitive thing but he likes to see Derek squirm. He’s so calm and collected all the time, but he’s terrified of messing things up with Jack. It’s different than he fears messing things up with Jack. It’s lighter and pleasant. Hotch wishes he could be like that but he settles for seeing it with Derek. It makes him smile. “We can get pizza.”

Derek narrows his eyes, “you’re sure?”

Hotch manages a real laugh. Not that strangled, harsh scoff. A laugh. “Pizza is fine, Derek.” 

[scuttling]

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

[thesleepy1]

The Fighter And The Bard In Training

A/N: @shit-i-say-shit-i-think requested a fic where Eskel brings a mother of two back to the keep. Again, repeating theme we have here. A theme that I am completely ready to embrace because it is so damn soft. I just can’t with the wholesomeness. This fic right here? The one you’re about to read? Pure fluff. You’re welcome. Unbeta’d because we die like my heart after reading fluffy fics. 

Pairings: Eskel x Reader, slight Jaskier x Geralt

Summary: After years together, Eskel finally decides it is time for you and your children to meet his side of the family. You two had only put it off until your youngest was old enough to handle the travel but since arriving at the keep, you didn’t know why you didn’t bring them along sooner. They loved it. 

Or, “Can I please request an Eskel x reader where he brings his lady back to Kaer Mohren with her two kids?”

Word count: 3,047

Warnings: none that I know of

Astry was getting too big to be held in your arms but you had yet to complain. You wanted to cherish these moments for as long as you could because just the week before you had been nursing her. It still did not connect in your head how seven years had passed since you had to breast her. These few moments where she allowed you to carry her were memories that you would hold dear for years to come. 

Your son, Stokrotka, was a different story entirely. The boy would be thirteen by the end of winter and he, unlike his younger sister, always sought out your physical attention. No matter if it had been a long day out running chores for the neighbors or a simple ache in his skin, he turned to you for a hug. You thought he would grow out of it but years passed and yet he returned time and time again. 

Once more, no complaints here. 

As you stood in the front halls of Kaer Morhen, Stokrotka to your left, Astry in your arms, and Eskel to your right; you could not feel more grateful for the family you had built. You and Eskel had been together for years but merely decided to hold off the trip until Astry was older. Now that she was old enough to make the trek up the mountain path, she and Stokrotka could finally meet their Pa’s family. 

Vesemir was the first to greet you. You had only spoken with him through letters, his scratchy quill marks so unlike his voice when he said, “For such a dirty mouth through letters, I thought you would be taller.” ‘

You chuckled at him, already in love with the father of your husband. “Surprisingly enough, I get that one quite a bit.” You gave him a knowing wink, “Though I try to keep it down around the little ones.” 

Vesemir smiled and although he and Eskel were not related by blood, you could see the resemblance in the spark in their eyes. He turned to peer at Stokrotka and Astry, the two unusually quiet. They knew they had nothing to be afraid of in witchers. However, it could be Vesemir’s natural aura which made people want to please him that kept the children silent.

“I’ve heard much about you two through the letters,” he spoke in a tone matching his grin. “This little one must be Stokrotka and the lad, Astry?” 

“I’m Stokrotka and that’s Astry, actually,” Stokrotka’s matter of fact reply broke the tension. Astry erupted into a fit of giggles at Vesemir’s mistake. She wriggled free from your arms, your reflexes the only thing that prevented her from being dropped as her quick feet hit the cobblestone floors. She ran the short distance from Vesemir and bounced up and down as if she had not spent most of the day trekking up a mountain. 

“You raised my Pa, right?” she asked with an infectious smirk. Eskel stood back with you to watch the interaction. A fond expression was on his face as Vesemir nodded and Astry beamed. “That makes you my Grandpa, yeah?” 

“If you’d have me, I'd be happy to take up the job.” 

*****

The next two people who had greeted you were Coen and Lambert. Two men that clearly had never interacted with children. When they first saw Stokrotka and Astry, they had greeted your children politely and returned to their game of gwent. Astry, who had never seen the game before, quickly took to watching their game to try to understand its rules. 

She was seven and still struggled to read so she didn’t get very far. 

Coen took pity on her and tried his best to explain to her the rules. Stokrotka nodded to himself as if making sure that Coen was correct even though the witcher had been alive and playing the game long before he was born. The boy had only ever played with you and Eskel when he woke up from nightmares. The game was a distraction from his thoughts. Eskel always let Stokrotka win and your son had never once beat you in a fair game. You were just too good. And you knew the boy could use a challenge to keep his mind off of things. 

Despite Stokrotka’s nodding approval and Coen’s friendly demeanor, nothing seemed to have stuck with Astry. You saw that she was far too interested in the pictures on the cards then any game mechanics. 

“You know I learned the game after a good pint or two of white gull,” Lambert took a large gulp of his drink just to prove his point. 

“Can I have some?” 

You laughed at Astry’s innocent inquiry but the smile quickly left your face as Lambert shrugged and handed her the tankard. Coen did nothing to stop her. All he did was jokingly request her to save Lambert some. 

Before your daughter could be possibly poisoned by such strong alcohol you snatched the tankard right from her hands. “Alright, I think that’s enough with playing with Uncle Coen and Uncle Lambert.” You set the tankard down far from the edge of the table and turned to stir your children away. Eskel led them away with a stern look to his brothers. You whipped back around and pointed to the two witchers. “Your babysitting privileges are revoked until I feel like you can keep my children safe.” 

“I had white gull when I was your boy’s age and I turned out fine,” Lambert brushed you off nonchalantly. 

“You thinking that just proves her point.”

***** 

Yennefer and Ciri were also wintering at the keep as well. The two were in the courtyard when you and Eskel went off to train. Astry sat on Eskel’s shoulders, her little hands gripped tightly on his hair to steer him one way or the other. Eskel did not seem to mind the stings of pain. His hand merely held onto Astry’s ankles to prevent her from falling. 

Stokrotka had opted to stay in the library as per his fashion. Whether he had hid away in the large hall to read or to practice on his oud without anyone to hear, you weren’t quite sure. Either way, you had allowed him to run from the prospect of running drills without complaint. The boy had different interests than you and his sister and that was alright. 

Ciri was training as well. Only she didn’t play with wooden swords like you and Astry. She held a heavy silver sword in her hand, slashing and tearing through the straw dummies like they had personally offended her. Astry stood to the side, as per your request, and watched in awe. She had seen Eskel train before but Ciri had a very different fighting style. One that had Astry gasping and oohing out loud. 

“I want to try!” Astry exclaimed, watching as Ciri chopped off a dummy’s head in one clean swipe. 

“Perhaps when you’re older,” Yennefer replied with a smile that lacked any condescension. She, unlike Lambert and Coen, had some common sense in her. “I think it's best to start out with those wooden swords. That’s what your father began with.” 

“Really?” Astry was clearly skeptical. She peered up at Eskel as if daring him to lie to her. You chuckled into your hand at the sight, the witcher’s heightened senses hearing without comment. Eskel let go of your hand and kneeled down to Astry’s level.

“Ciri began with training weapons as well,” Eskel explained to his daughter. “But with practice and patience, she managed to hone her skills to be able to use a real sword without harming herself.” Eskel laid a gentle hand on Astry’s shoulder. “If you want to, you’ll get there someday.” 

Astry’s dark eyes lit up like fireworks. She looked at Eskel as if he were the bright sparks of colors himself. “I could be a witcher?!” 

Everyone laughed at her excitement. Astry bounced on the tip of her toes, her smile taking up most of the space on her face. Ciri paused in her training to walk over to Astry. Amusement was evident on the face of Geralt’s daughter. The two silver haired witchers had the same smug smile that you were tempted to wipe off if you had been on the end of it. 

“Yennefer here is teaching me how to be a mage as well.” 

Somehow, Astry’s eyes grew twice as large. 

*****

By nightfall of the third night, the children had explored the whole keep. Some of the rooms were restricted for their safety but they were allowed to peer in to know the reason why. Some of them lacked stable foundations while others had gaping holes in the walls that led straight off the cliff’s edge. Other safer rooms were left with their doors open for the children’s enjoyment. 

On occasion when Ciri had finished her training early, she would join them. Although she had been in the keep much longer, she enjoyed the adventure with your children. You could spot them running through the stone hallway from time to time. Eskel would talk of how he caught them riding down staircases on discarded mattresses. The three of them quickly grew as friends and as partners in crime. 

“I’m going to kill them,” you told Eskel flatly one night as the two of you were getting ready for bed. He poked his head out behind the divider and looked at you with affection. “Don’t give me that look. I really am going to kill those three.” 

“What did the children do now?” 

“They found a way to sneak in Lil’ Bleater and her…special surprises.” 

Eskel stalked closer to you. His chest was bare due to the interruption while he was undressing. Scars littered his tone chests, his muscles rippling with his calm breath. You tried to keep your eyes on his but failed. The sheer size of his torso momentarily made you forget your troubles with the children. 

Eskel coughed in disgust which drew you back to the conversation at hand. “I understand your sudden murderous intent.” Eskel pinched his nose shut, a playful smile at the edge of his cleft lips. “Lil’ Bleater’s surprises are known for their…potency. Perhaps you should venture down to the hot springs.” 

“You have no sympathy for me, do you, Eskel?” 

Eskel kissed you briefly with a teasing smile, “Not an ounce my dear.” 

*****

Besides the children’s antics, there was another stable in Kaer Morhen. Every afternoon Stokrotka would shut the library doors tight and play his oud. No one was allowed in without his explicit permission and even then, he would refuse to play in front of anyone. If questioned, he would merely answer, “It’s not quite finished yet. I still need to practice. Perhaps later.” Later typically meant never with the boy. 

But if one happened to be a witcher and a supportive father, one may or may not be able to catch chords and lyrics while passing the closed library. 

And specifically, who those lyrics address. 

It was not news to you that Stokrotka was a fan of all the famous bards: Drogodar of Cintra, Essi Daven of Cidaris, Le Papillon of Toussaintois, Callonetta of Kovir, and Valdo Marx of Cidaris. You knew far too much of them despite not being a bard yourself. Stokrotka spoke of them whenever someone had gained his trust. 

Eskel knew of them as well but Stokrotka’s favorite bard must have slipped his mind because he only realized then he knew the man. The way Stokrotka spoke of the bard was a tad idealized but Eskel was not going to stop the boy from having a harmless crush. Stokrotka could sing of cornflower blue eyes, brunette locks, and rugged jaw all he wanted. Eskel was a good father and all good fathers want only happiness for their children. 

Though, at times a little embarrassment never hurt no anyone. 

****** 

Geralt arrived usually late this year. He told the keep he had been caught up in some far off lord’s affair. For a man who complained of not wanting to get involved in human affairs, he tended to gravitate towards them. At the end of the day, all he had to show of them was a bad repudiation to some and a couple new scars. The coin was rarely ever good when stingy lords were involved. 

No matter Geralt’s poor choice in contracts, you and Eskel greeted him with kindness. Eskel with the hug of brothers and you with the embrace of close friends. The children were no longer hesitant about new guests among the keep. If one could make up the mountain trails with a smile on their face then they must be a friend of the wolf witchers. 

Astry gave Geralt a running hug much to the amusement and slight jealousy of the other witchers. She did not see any of the witchers as scary monster hunters. In the span of several weeks, the men had become her uncles. Uncle Geralt was just a late addition. 

“You look just like my Pa,” Astry exclaimed with excitement at the discovery. “You two look just alike. Are you twins?” 

Geralt laughed at Astry’s expression. He thought fondly of how Ciri used to look at him the same way when she was Astry’s age. “We trained at the same time but we aren’t twins,” Geralt explained to the now defeated looking Astry. 

“But you look just like twins, Uncle Geralt.” 

“The pretty boys act just alike,” Lambert exclaimed, “They’re the only two that got tied down by marriage.” 

Eskel approached his younger brother, clenching and relaxing his fists as he did so. “I wouldn’t call it being tied down, Lambert. I like to refer to it as finding someone that can put up with me. Someone that loves me for who I really am.” Eskel smiled at Lambert but it was not one of his brotherly ones. “Have you found someone like that?” 

“I prefer the freedom of prostitutes, personally.”  

“What’s a prostitute?” Astry asked and Stokrotka had taken that as his cue to leave for the library for the night. On any other occasion, Eskel would allow him to sneak off but tonight he had a surprise in store. 

“Something that I will explain to you once you’re older,” Eskel avoided the question, guiding Stokrotka back into the room. “Why don’t you go and meet Uncle Geralt?” Eskel addressed his son. 

“We met in the courtyard. He seems like a very nice man.” Stokrotka tried to push past Eskel but the older witcher was not budging to the boy who played with ouds as opposed to swords. “Please Pa, I did my niceties. May I please go?” 

“Don’t you want to show Uncle Geralt’s husband your new songs?” 

Before Stokrotka even knew who Eskel was citing, the lad was shaking his head in a firm no. Your boy did not like to share his work with anyone, whether that be his own mother or his uncle’s husband. It seemed like truly no one was allowed to hear his songs. 

“You’re a bard?” Geralt asked curiously with an expression that Stokrotka could not read. 

“In training, yes,” Stokrotka stated with his usual practical tone. 

“Why don’t you share your lyrics with me? I may know a thing or two about poetry. I traveled with a bard for decades.” 

Stokrotka looked at Geralt with skepticism. He peered up at the silver haired witcher and both you and Eskel knew what was about to happen. You could practically see Stokrotka’s mouth quiver with his need. “I mean this in the lowest form of offense but I don’t think just any traveling bard is able to compare to the teachings of the greatest bard on the continent. Ma gifted me with a print of Jaskier’s book years ago and his genius is simply unmatched. I know my songs need work just as nothing is truly perfect, however, I prefer to work alone as opposed to in pairs. Thank you for your offer, dear uncle, but I must politely decline.”

Stokrotka turned to address you and Eskel. You knew you hid your laughter poorly but the boy did not comment on your red faces. The others in the room were faring only marginally better. Yennefer had to silently threaten to ban Ciri from the room if she did not at least try to hide her crackle. Stokrotka ignored everyone and spoke in the voice of a begrudging diplomat. “If my parents deem it acceptable I will like to retire to the library where I will hopefully be uninterrupted. Is this arrangement agreeable with everyone?” 

“You’re retiring already?” came a voice from behind Stokrotka. “I would have liked to at least read your song book if you were not ready to perform them. I love seeing the work of budding new artisans.” 

Stokrotka shifted on his heel once more to reiterate his statement to the newcomer but for once, he was rendered speechless. The man in front of Stokrotka was the spitting image of the sketch of the continent's most famous bard, a sketch that Stokrotka kept in his oud case among his most prized possessions. His cornflower blue eyes, brunette locks, and rugged jaw were just as the sketch and tales had told of. They were perhaps more beautiful in person. 

Stokrotka stood with his mouth agape. 

“May I have the honor of seeing your work?” Jaskier asked the boy kindly. 

“Y-yes, of course, Jask—I mean sir. Yes, sir. Wait right here. Let me bring you my book and my oud.” With that Stokrotka rushed off to the library and the hall erupted into howls. The whole room shook with the combined laughter of witchers, mage, and man. Only Jaskier stood without a lively roar.  

“Laugh all you may want but that boy is among the politer of the bards in training that I have met.” Jaskier pulled you and Eskel into a warm embrace. He greeted you and you greeted him properly in turn. Astry wanted in on the affection and he honored her request in kind. Jaskier looked to you and Eskel and said, “You two have raised good children.” You knew he meant every word of it too. 

[angelkurenai]

Oh baby dear - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Oh baby dear

Pairing: Chris Evans x Surrogate!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After a trip that gives the chance to Chris to take a long-overdue break from his job, he comes back home with his mind made up to change his life. And even if it weren’t for the trip itself or meeting you, even though he had no idea if he’d ever see you again, he was determined to not wait any longer. Feeling ready to become a father he starts looking for a surrogate mother, only to end up finding you of all people.

“Son of a guy. You meant it.” brown eyes were wide, and for the first couple seconds no other sound could be heard in the room. It almost felt like the words could echo in the room.

“You're really doing this.” the man's voice was filled with just as much shock as was painted all over his face. At least the woman behind him was more calm, sipping on her drink with an ease that would have been troubling, especially in such a case, if it wasn't known that she had long ago heard the news.

“I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if I wasn't seriously considering it.” the other man in the room couldn't take his eyes off his friend, trying to gauge his reaction the second it came through. It was bound to be the most honest one, no second thoughts, and he only needed his friends' honest thoughts. Not that, and he was sure of it, the other man would intentionally tell him anything but the truth.

“You- wow.” the shocked expression was still there but there was no mistaking the smile that was slowly but surely appearing on his face “Seems like Evans is finally joining the club, who'd have thought? That's what I call one heck of a year, quickly Scarlett note the date down! It's going to go down in the history books, I tell you. Oh you're in for one hell of a ride, buddy! Wait you knew about this, didn't you?” he turned to the woman but shook his head soon enough “Never mind. You're gonna have to look for a godmother but I do get to be the godfather, right? I really need to start making preparations, nine months are not even remotely enough. I gotta-”

“Take a deep breath and calm down, Robert. That's what you gotta do. Otherwise this kid won't get to meet its one-of-a-kind godfather. And we would never want that to happen, would we?” the woman interrupted his rambling, a teasing smile on her own lips as she noticed Chris himself chuckle.

“Oh goodness forbid that could ever happen.” Chris laughed some more, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past couple days “And besides that, there has not been a surrogate found just yet. Papers got approved only a day ago, it will take more time than that.”

“You say that as if the second every woman finds out you're on that kind of market, won't volunteer to have your baby. Heck, I know most of them would gladly volunteer to do it the old-fashioned way! You'll see, you will be getting news very soon.” Robert brushed his friend off and got up from his seat, making his way to the mini bar to grab a drink for himself “Which means, I really gotta start preparing everything because a) this is Evans' kid and b) I'm the godfather and it'll get only the best!”

Scarlett couldn't help but laugh, while Chris shook his head with a chuckle, before she added “As you can see, he is going to be more trouble than the kid.” she ignored the look that was shot at her from Robert and kept going “But, speaking of it, I never asked: Did you never really consider adoption?”

“For most of the time that's what I had in mind, yes, but-” he sighed, easing back in his seat “I asked about it and my chances were sadly very low, given my job and everything, not to mention how lengthy of a process it all was. Sebastian was actually the one to suggest it and you know I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. Granted, it is just as hard to find a surrogate who is also willing to be the biological mother but I feel like I have more to hope for this way.”

“You have every reason to be hopeful, I'm sure this will work out just fine. Besides-” she offered her friend a warm smile “There is no other man that I can think of that could be a better father than you. This child will be very lucky.”

“...The part of Robert being the godfather excluded?” Chris added with a smirk, eyeing his friend who narrowed his eyes at him, before both Chris and Scarlett burst into laughter.

“Life isn't perfect, what can you do?” she grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

“I'll try to be the better man, as always, and not comment on any spiteful comments against me. You're just jealous I am going to be the world's best godfather. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to comment on.” he plopped back on his seat and gave the blue-eyed man a sly smile “Sebastian you say but I'm wondering: was it him or that summer trip to Italy that really prompted you to become a dad? Maybe a certain someone you met there? What was her name...”

“Don't-” it was all he had time to get out, his eyes wide and voice very warning; but there was never any stopping the man when he wanted to speak his mind.

“Ah yes.” Robert grinned widely “(Y/n).”

“What- Who?” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head to the side “How come I haven't heard of her before? I thought you told me everything about Italy.”

“She's nobod-”

“Probably the love of his life. Something like his soulmate. One he talks about a lot in his sleep, hence why I should hold more parties and have you guys over. The info I get is golden. Anyway, think of it as the star-crossed lovers but one where he isn't the Lana Del Rey young and beautiful, you know? Heard she's something like a med or psych graduate or something. So come to think of it all, Italy, soulmates and age difference, this is like another version of Call me by your-”

“And that's it for you. Enough words spoken for one day.” Scarlett said, not hesitating a second to place a hand over the man's mouth who admittedly didn't give up even if his words were only an incoherent mumble after that.

Chris' eyes were wide and there was no mistaking the way he wanted to not talk about it, as if there was some unparalleled sadness that came with the mention of your name, a deep ache and at the same time yearning perhaps because he missed you, just like there was no mistaking the tint of pink that was on his cheeks.

“That's-” he cleared his throat, avoiding looking at his friends in the eyes because he knew how easy it would be to tell that even so many months later the feelings were fresh as much as the day he had to leave, the day he left a part of himself on the airport with you – a part he knew real well he wouldn't get back again, certainly not from any other woman he got to meet. That missing part of him, even if the rest held all the beautiful memories dearly to itself and felt truly blessed, he knew was obvious. It was all on his face that he was missing something, even if he'd gotten so much. And he knew she would see it, it all became so obvious when he thought of you.

He shook his head when he realized he had taken longer than needed to reply “It was way too long ago, I can hardly remember it now. Hell, as if barely anything happened to begin with. She was just-” a lump in his throat, too painful “I made a good friend, a really good friend yes, who helped me see my life in a different way. Helped me make my choice and see the things that really matter. Couldn't keep in contact and yes that's a bit sad but- That's all there is to it, nothing more nothing less.”

Scarlett regarded him for a couple seconds, even as he tried to keep himself busy with getting another drink, before she finally spoke “If you say so.” she nodded her head “At least we now know who we owe this to and who to thank for our family growing, don't we?”

“Then-” Robert's smile was softer, yet also sad, as he raised his glass a bit “Let's drink to that, if not your baby just yet. To (Y/n)?”

“To (Y/n).” Scarlett nodded her head “For helping you make the best decision of your life, wherever she may be now.”

Chris hesitated, the unspoken truth of you not only being the one to help him make the decision but also be part of that decision, part of the family he wanted to build, was ready to break free from his lips but he held it back “Wherever she may be.” he said in a low hoarse voice, raising his glass as well “To (Y/n).”

He had not allowed himself to say your name in a long time and thinking back to it, the effect had been evident not only in his chest, in his heartbeat, but also in his lips, how painfully strange it felt when all he had been doing was think about it for months to no end, down to his throat that closed up with emotion. And he had allowed himself to say it not only so that he would make sure his friends would drop the subject but also because it had been a long time, he felt the need to and he knew that he wouldn't get the chance to do so, not anytime soon for sure.

And yet, only seconds ago, the name had left his lips for the second time in barely a couple days.

His brain could barely keep up with the fact, all the information he had to currently process seemed to make things even harder. Saying your name this time certainly had the same effect, his throat closed up and his heart leaped to his throat, but it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. He blinked several times, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was also true, to make sure that it wasn't wishful thinking and that him holding his breath had not reduced the levels of oxygen to a point where he couldn't even see straight. Truth be told, he felt pretty lightheaded.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” he repeated your name for the third time, the third time in only a couple days his mind nearly screamed at him, but it didn't feel the same this time.

“Yes, I would say she seems like one of the most, if not the most, suitable candidate for you case.” the woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile but his brain was still currently stuck on the word 'candidate'.

“I'm sorry. There seems to be some misunderstanding here and I- I don't know whose part it is on, but-” he licked his lips, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat “When you say- What you're trying to say- I'm sorry.” he shook his head and let a couple seconds to pass in silence; he knew she wouldn't ask before him.

Taking a deep breath he decided to speak, even if his voice was hoarse he hoped she could make out the words “Candidate for what?”

The woman frowned a bit but it was gone faster than it could register, as she spoke in a calm voice “Your case. To be not only the surrogate you are looking for. See, her current, and according to her permanent from now on, residence is in New York City and very close to the residence you have listed as your permanent one. It is important, you understand, if we take into consideration that she will be the biological mother of the child. You might want the child to be able to stay in touch with her, and vice versa, so the close proximity does help. Of course that is always up to you, but in most cases we've seen it hap-”

“When did she sign up for this?” he asked, barely able to keep himself to wait for her to finish her sentence.

“Pardon?” she blinked and only then he realized how he might have sounded.

“You're right. I apologize, that came out as wrong.” he cleared his throat again “What I mean is... does she know who I am? That she- she's signing up to be a surrogate for my child.”

“Every surrogate must be informed, of course, of you as you are informed of her. She too must know whose child she will carry, don't you think it's fitting? But if you are uhm-” she hesitated “Concerned about other children, then, you need not worry. It's not my place to say this but it seems like-” she smiled a bit, almost knowingly “That you have already chosen, so I believe it wouldn't really be against any rule to say this. Consider it an extra bit of information.”

'Seems like you have already chosen.' would be a vast understatement. It was like every cell in his body was screaming 'Yes', chanting it over and over again that he was seriously worried he might have projected it somehow. He could barely control the words that came out of his lips anyway. If anything, the second he had come across the file with your name he had been glued to it, his eyes and all of his attention orbiting around the single file as if he was Earth and you were his Sun. Not far from the truth either.

But it also must have shown- No scratch that. He was sure it had shown because he had done no effort to hide it, too stunned and happy and eager and giddy and blessed and so many other things, to try to hide it. And she had clearly noticed.

“So, no, she has not mothered another child. As a matter of fact, Miss (Y/l/n) is doing this for the first time.” the woman leaned back in her chair “She came to us with the belief that there was too much sadness out there and, amongst other things, she decided to do this little one thing to help someone out. To make someone happy. I believe she didn't really have any further expectations out of this, no further plans, other than wanting to do some good. We only informed her of your case and she said she'd like to help, nothing else.” she shrugged softly “For any further reasons behind her choice you could ask her, I suppose. If you do think she could be the right choice to be the mother of your child, then-”

“She is.” he said, maybe a little too fast, but he didn't care. He didn't find a single part of him that cared for how eager he looked at the prospect of you being the mother of his child. Granted, it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it but it was so much more than he ever thought he'd get, of what he thought he deserved, when he had told you goodbye that summer.

He cleared his throat again, trying to straighten his back and look as formal as he should in the suit he was wearing. He offered her a small smile “She is the right one. I think I've decided. I-” he paused, glancing at the pile of files and therefore other candidates which he had absolutely not even taken a glimpse at and he hoped she wouldn't comment on it “I've thought things through, yes.” because no man could make such a decision so hastily, he knew, and yet he looked like he just had “I'm glad for all the candidates it means a lot but uhm Miss (Y/l/n) seems to be indeed the right one. I think she will do just fine yes.”

“Wonderful.” she smiled more, nodding her head “If it means anything, she seemed happy when she was presented with your case.” oh if only she knew just how much it really meant to him, ask his wildly-beating heart and everyone would know just how much “Now, you understand that while you seem pretty sure and confident with your choice, you will have to give it some more time, more than anything to get in touch with the surrogate herself and discuss through any specific terms you might have. We will be the ones to set a meeting. Of course there are legal issues that need to be taken care of, but you're a lawyer yourself so you probably know that better than anybody else already.”

“Y-yes uh of course, yes, legal terms. Mr Wilson will represent me on the matter of course. But you said-” he folded his hands over his lap and threaded his fingers and it was either that or let his nerves show “Meeting her? Will I get to meet her in person soon or...?”

“That, Mr Evans, is completely up to you, how ready and sure you are, how much time you need and how fast you want things to progress.” she said as if she'd had this conversation many times over and she probably had “It could be within a week, a month, or, if you have no doubts, within three days the soonest possible. So, do you need time to think over-”

“The soonest possible. I'd like-” he nodded his head, straightening his suit's jacket “I think it would be best if I could meet with her the soonest possible. She's just what I was looking for.”

[rahleeyah]

Hey Leah,

Long post here, kind of a rant but also asking for your thoughts on all of this:

As much as I am - have been - dying, like everyone else, to watch EO finally happen on our screens in all of the beauty and glory it deserves after so many damn obstacles and emotions and angsty moments and years, I just cannot help but ruminate on the fact that even after everything that’s happened to get us here, Elliot never truly chose Olivia.

Just hear me out:

Elliot came back to New York married, right? He had no intention to not be married. He even said to Olivia’s face, “we were happy” in Rome.

And yeah, Olivia is single, and Elliot is single now, has been for a while, and there’s nothing stopping them. But why is Elliot single? Not because he chose to be. Because his wife was murdered. Because that choice was taken out of his hands — was made for him. Not because he wanted it.

His wife of 40+ years died, and who was there to pick up the pieces? Olivia. We watched him go through so much — grief, anger, flashbacks, trauma, anxiety, guilt, so much guilt — and it’s understandable, obviously. Expected. And he’s finally come through it all. But who was there for his family, his kids, when they asked for her help? Who was there to make sure he didn’t get himself killed, time and time again? Olivia.

Elliot left her, alone. He fell off the face of the earth, disappeared into thin air after being her best friend, her rock, her whole entire family, for 13 YEARS, and let’s be real, she never thought she would ever see him again. And honestly, when I think about it too much, my heart literally physically aches in my chest for just how deep that must have hurt her. Like it actually hurts me. A fictional character’s feelings hurt me that much.

And now he is back, has made it very clear to Olivia that he wants her — to get to know her, and her son, and to be in her life romantically. Yes, we all know that they have been in love with each other since, like, Gitano, probably before that. Yes, he knows that he hurt her when he left, and he’s respecting her boundaries, and he is trying.

But.

We don’t know what would’ve happened if Kathy hadn’t been killed. From what’s been said/what we’ve seen in canon, Elliot would’ve gone to Olivia’s ceremony, given her that letter, and flown back to Italy with Kathy to continue raising Eli and working as a liaison with the force, leaving Olivia to believe that he thinks she’s better off without him around, that it was all in her head, and what they had was never real. And it seems like the only reason he didn’t is because Kathy died. The only reason he stayed in New York was to find Kathy’s killer. Right?

Even though EO is meant to happen, and we all wanna see it happen, and Elliot is the one pursuing a romantic relationship and has made is intentions plain to Olivia, I just. I don’t know.

Her whole life, no one’s ever chosen Olivia — no one’s ever stayed for her. And I gotta be honest, Leah, I feel like she feels like she’s second best to Elliot, given the circumstances.

Because the simple fact is: Elliot did not really, purely, wholly, independently, intentionally, purposely choose Olivia. And I just really wish that he had, because she deserves it. They deserve it.

Am I crazy to feel like this?

I’m sorry if this is overwhelming, and I hope that it makes sense, that you kinda get what I’m trying to say here, but I just had to let it out. Thanks for reading, and as always I would love your thoughts if you agree or feel differently. 💓

this is something that I think a lot of people are feeling, and I think it's worth talking about!

we don't know what would have happened if Kathy hadn't died and that is imo one of the biggest failings of the reunion. what exactly the fuck was his plan? was he really going to see Olivia once, give her a letter he knew would break her heart, and slink back to Rome? now at the time rotps was written the letter was not, so that's a bit of retconning; the letter was supposed to be what Elliot wrote instead of giving a speech and it was enough to make liv show up at his door (again, before they even knew what the letter said, but WOW in context what a fucken moment that is; this son of a bitch told her what they had was never real and she goes to see him late at night bc she just has to talk about it??? what was THAT convo gonna be like??) and if they'd known then what the letter said (why the FUCK did they not know then what the letter said what kinda half assed writer would think an audience wouldn't care about that??) maybe they would have handled it differently. maybe if the letter had been kind I could buy him being willing to just hand it to her and then leave.

then again maybe not; maybe it was his punishment, you know? drawing a line under the past and his regrets by burning that bridge, for good. hurting himself, as much as her, bc he thinks she deserves closure. I don't know.

and I do think we can take certain actions of his into account; he didn't have to tell her that he wrote it will always be you and i. yes he was drugged but that just means when his inhibitions were down, when doubt was not standing in his way, at his core, old boy was DESPERATE for liv to know the truth. aching for her to know the truth. he had to fight to get to her in the state he was in. much easier to stay where he was or stumble back to the RV, but instead he uses all of his strength to drag himself to her door bc she is the one thing he needs most.

he didn't have to listen to her when she called him out for not asking about her life, he didn't have to try to open that door, but he did. yes he wouldn't have had a chance to do it while Kathy was alive, but would he have been the man Olivia loves if he did? does she not love him in part for his duty, his care for others, his exalted status as THE family man? would she have let him choose her if Kathy was still alive? and now that Kathy isn't, doesn't he keep coming back to her?

here's the thing. show's not over til the fat lady sings. we have seen Elliot reach for liv - as you said, now that Kathy is gone - but we don't know what the rest of their story is gonna look like. we don't know what other choices he's gonna be presented with. we don't know what other choices he is going to make. so I am holding out hope that he will earn this, by the end. a feeble hope, maybe, but that's all we have.

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[fireflykaizoku]

Heya! I know you’ve done 3 soulmate fics now, but with the sort of angsty feel with Mimi-ya’s request I was wondering if a Katakuri x reader, in regards to the age difference he had given up hope that it was even possible for him to have happiness outside of his family, would make for a good read and also possibly dangerous for reader to come face to face with Big Mom and all those siblings! Thank you x

Hii! i'm sorry i took long to finish it, but i kept watching OP and reading more about Katakuri, since it's my first time writing for him. Since i'm still on episode 850, i was afraid it'd be a bit ooc. If it is, i'm so sorry! my writing for Katakuri will improve as i finish the arc. I hope you like it anyway, it was fun to write it ❤

Your family was rich and well-known around the Grand Line. Being the only daughter, they were trying to find a husband for you, a political marriage that could be good for both families, especially yours. They had a list of potential husbands, but you didn’t bother checking it since you were too focused on your birthday party. It was a small party, just with close friends and family, but you wanted everything to be perfect.

And it was. You had so much fun around people you loved, it was hard to fall asleep after that; you were genuinely happy.

Before opening your eyes, you could already feel the sweet smell, something like candy, donuts or cake. Thinking it was maybe a belated birthday breakfast, you opened your eyes and was ready to jump out of the bed when you realized the bedroom was completely different from yours. And as soon as you looked down, you realized that body definitely wasn’t yours. The toned chest, tattoos and the scarf around your neck weren’t yours.

You could only feel happiness and relief, you were glad you already switched bodies with your soulmate. Who knew it’d be that fast? But you wanted to see more of him, so you got up and started looking for a mirror in his room. The reflection surprised you at first, not being the kind of soulmate you expected to have. He had tattoos, crimson hair, and apparently was very tall. In fact, he was huge. When you put the scarf down a little, you noticed he had scars, and you assumed that’s why he covered his mouth. He also had fangs, which you thought were extremely charming. He wasn’t ugly, in fact, he was far from that. He was very handsome. Intimidating, of course. But very handsome.

Looking around, you found a vest, and on the back, you noticed “Charlotte” written on it.

— Charlotte? — you whispered to yourself, thinking you’ve seen that name somewhere until you finally realized after a couple of minutes.

— He’s one of Big Mom’s son!

You remember when your parents were trying to find a husband for you, his name came up a couple of times. It was probably Charlotte Katakuri. You’ve never seen any pictures of him, but you knew he was a very strong and powerful man.

After a couple of minutes just looking at his figure in the mirror, admiring his traits, a knock on the door brought you back to reality.

— Katakuri-sama, it’s almost time for Big Mom’s tea party. — someone said, outside the room before leaving right away.

You heard about the famous Tea Parties, but you didn’t even know how to behave. You knew there would be so many people, powerful people, and some probably well known as well, so you couldn’t take the risk of things going wrong.

You couldn’t describe the relief you felt when you noticed a den den mushi in the corner of the room. Perfect! You’d call him, explain everything and hopefully he’d be there just in time for the party.

It took a couple of minutes, but finally someone answered. You got quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say.

— Charlotte Katakuri? — you asked, a bit nervous.

— It’s me. I assume you’re (L/N) (F/N)? — you hummed in response. — I see you’re my soulmate and we switched bodies.

— Yes, and you have a Tea Party to attend today. Do you think we can switch back before then?

— Unfortunately, no. Your island is quite far from the Whole Cake Island. Can you go instead? You’ll just have to sit without saying anything. It won’t last too long, and when it’s over you go straight to your room.

— But what if… I need to fight? I don’t know how to… — he interrupted you.

— Don’t worry, it shouldn’t have an attack. But if anything happens, look for Brûlée and explain everything. I’ll be there before the sunrise, and we’ll be able to switch back, hopefully.

He seemed so calm even in a situation like this. But following his advice, you went to the party. It was fun and there was delicious food everywhere, but you couldn’t disrespect your soulmate and remove the scarf off. Maybe when you switch back you can ask Katakuri to let you eat a few.

You started sweating whenever Big Mom or any of his kids got near you, trying to talk. So to avoid raising any suspicions, you just nodded the whole time. And whenever you heard a fuss, your soul felt like it’d leave your body, worried it’d be a confront. If you had to fight today, acting like Katakuri, you wouldn’t know what to do.

You were hungry, but too shy to ask for anything. As if someone heard your thoughts, a few small men knocked on your door, bringing donuts. Not just two or three, but many donuts. They bowed and left quickly.

After eating half of it, you fell asleep. You were very anxious since you’d meet your soulmate in a few hours, but your eyelids got heavier and you couldn’t fight the sleep anymore. You woke up a few hours later with someone gently tapping your arm. When you opened your eyes, you realized Katakuri had arrived.

You were still sleepy, and sat on the bed, rubbing your eyes until you actually felt awake. The height difference was quite a lot, and it was funny. You had to sit on the floor so the two of you would be face to face.

— Hello, Katakuri. — you felt incredibly shy now.

— Good morning. — he tried to hide the fact he was embarrassed, and was hoping you couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

— This… Is it the time when we kiss?— you suggested, looking away. Would he think you were being too straightforward?

— Yes… We should… Kiss.

You pulled the scarf down slowly with your now cold hands. You closed your eyes, feeling very nervous. You kissed a few times before, but it still felt like something new. Especially now that it wasn’t just a random person, it was your soulmate.

Noticing you were waiting for him to make a move, he moved closer, sealing your lips together. Just a peck at first, until you gave him permission to deepen the kiss. Both of you were shy, and the kiss was a bit clumsy. Maybe he haven’t had many kisses too.

You didn’t have to open your eyes to realize you two had switched back, his big and strong hands holding your face was a sign that it worked. You rested your head on his hand, looking at him with eyes full of admiration and a soft smile on your lips.

— Aren’t you… Scared or disgusted? — he asked, feeling insecure now that his face was exposed to you.

— Why would I be? — you genuinely asked, smiling softly.

— Because… Of my mouth. I’m not how you probably wanted your soulmate to look like, and I don’t want you to think you have to put up with me because we’re soulmates. Now that we switched back, you can go if you want to. — his voice didn’t seem angry, as if he was demanding you to leave. It sounded sad, as if he had been through a lot.

You heart ached just to think that someone had the courage to hurt your soulmate.

Little did you know that many people treated him differently, not wanting to be around him or making fun of him because of his appearance; little did you know that while most of his siblings found their soulmates already, and he spent most of his life thinking he didn’t deserve his other half. Little did you know that he gave up on finding someone and started to deal with the fact that only his family would be able to love him.

But now, after meeting you, he threw his rational self out of the window. He felt like he could love someone; marry someone for a reason other than just a political marriage. But would you want him just like he wants you?

— We switched back, right? — you caressed his face softly. He wasn’t expecting it, no one has ever been this gentle with him before. — That means we’re in love.

— I don’t want you to be with someone like me, you’d only be in danger. — he turned his face not to see you. — You wouldn’t be able to deal with my siblings. It won’t be like playing house, and it won’t be like the marriage you might be expecting.

You got quiet, taking a deep breath. He wouldn’t push you away easily. Katakuri noticed your silence, and was expecting you to leave the room, agreeing that life with him wouldn’t be the perfect calm life you probably wanted. Instead, before he could even use his haki to have a glimpse of the future, you turned his face and pecked his lips.

— I won’t give up so easily. — you crossed your arms. — You’re my soulmate and I won’t leave you just because you think I can’t deal with a dangerous lifestyle. I want you, and if you want me too… We can make this work.

Looking at your face that was looking at him with love in your eyes, how could he say “no”? Maybe Big Mom would be willing to accept this relationship and give her blessing, and his siblings would be happy for him. He could even pretend it was all because of your family and their power at first.

His stomach started growling before he could say anything.

— I’m sorry, I only ate a few donuts while I was in your body. — you felt a little embarrassed about what you were about to ask. — But I wanted to eat some of the sweets yesterday. Do you think… — he didn’t let you finish the question.

— You can have the sweets, I’ll ask to get them delivered for breakfast. — he covered his face with the scarf again. — For now, you should sleep. We’ll have a long day meeting my family tomorrow.

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 1: Just Keep Swimming // Ch. 4

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 2,000+

Masterlist

————————

It is early in the morning by the time you wake up. So early that the sun hasn’t even risen over the horizon. Over the ancient city of Athens.

Even Triton is still in bed at this time. Cocooned in a thick fluffy blanket on top of Alexander The Great—The righteous name for the Stuffed King Turtle—with pillows surrounding him like a nest. It was at times like these that you wondered if Triton was part bird, perhaps the son of a harpy, rather than aquatic.

However, that was the last thing on your mind right now. Your eyes flickered down to your phone, staring at the text messages Bella had sent you last night.

—Heyyy (y/n)💕💕! Long time no see! Thanks again for helping out with the festival again ur the best. —

—Btw I heard from the rumor mill that u have a son. Why don’t u bring him along for the festival tomorrow? We can watch him quickly during ur shift and then you can have fun with him after. —

—There is also going to be cotton candy and fireworks! It will be lots of fun for the kiddo 😉😙.—

Letting out a sigh, you rub your aching temples, already feeling a headache coming on. You knew Bella meant no harm, she really is just a playful airhead at heart after all. But, it didn’t reassure the fact that it sounded like the whole school by now has found out you have a kid. Which didn’t please you in the slightest.

Especially since some of your classmates can be as toxic as snakes. You didn’t want to bring Triton anywhere around people like them.

Then again, it wasn’t like Triton couldn’t handle himself, he was more than capable after all. You found this out the hard way after he picked up a Boulder twice his size yesterday like it was nothing.

It would also be nice for the boy to have some fun for once instead of staying inside all day. Today was going to be sunny and nice out. A perfect day to play and go outside.

Decisions. Decisions.

“…Mom?”

At the call, You peel your eyes away from the screen to look over. Triton had already scurried out of his nest like bed in the corner of the living room by the time you looked up. His hair was tousled in every which way direction as he rubbed his eyes with sleepiness. A cute yawn left his lips before he finally opened his eyes. Their pale Ocean blue glory looking up at you.

“Good morning Triton.” You cooed at the young boy as he stumbled his way over to you on the couch. He practically collapses onto you, rubbing his face into your stomach for a couple of seconds before relaxing.

You chuckle as he mumbles a good morning in return, at least what you guessed to be, though it is hardly hearable.

It is silent after that for a few as you two take in the quiet morning atmosphere. The birds chirped from the window and you could even hear the soft sounds of footsteps from your neighbors above. The world was slowly waking up.

However, as much as you wanted to stay there for longer and relax, the alarm on your phone dings. A painful reminder that you should start getting ready for the festival.

Groaning, you attempt to peel Triton off of you so you could get up but the boy doesn’t budge. You attempt a couple of more times but after hearing a small giggle from said boy, you give up.

Shuffling up from your spot, you stand up but still Triton doesn’t budge. His knees drag on the ground slightly as he falls off the couch but he recovers quite quickly by using some of his powers. Making himself float effortlessly in the air as he stays latched onto you.

You let out a small sigh but don’t care to stop the boy. Instead making your way to your room so you could finally get ready.

As soon as you enter your room however, the peace doesn’t last long as after you tell him how he has to get out so you could get changed, Triton is forcibly thrown out of your room with a pout on his face.

“Mommmm!”

Triton leans against your door with a whine. Already missing your presence even though he knows it hasn’t been that long. He stares at the door handle in temptation but frowns as he knows he shouldn’t. That he should respect your privacy as you get ready.

“Mommmmmmm!”

“Triton, please! I’ll be out in a few!”

—.—.—.—.—

You wondered if you should have asked Zeus more about aquatic gods. Especially in a time like this.

“Triton… Sweetheart? I need you to let go of my leg so I can walk.”

“B-but—“ Triton stutters out, his grip on your leg tightening as the bus begins to screech to a halting stop. You weren’t sure what was up with him but he was very clingy today. He wouldn’t take no for an answer when you told him to stay home today. Forcing you to bring him along.

You seriously wondered if today was something special that was making him act so strange. Perhaps something that pertains to gods. Aquatic gods especially.

“You can hold my hand instead. I just can’t walk with you holding onto me in this long dress and sandals.”

Hesitantly, Triton lets go of your leg and grasps your hand. He seems content with this type of contact for now but you don’t know how long it could last. Especially when you start waiting tables. The last thing you need is Triton using his powers to spill hot tea onto customers.

“(Y/n)!”

“Oh, Bella.” You announce as said girl spots you in the crowd as you enter the festival.

“So nice to— Oh my, This must be your son!” Bella coos out, squatting down slightly to look at Triton who quickly hides behind you. “Such an adorable boy and… Oooo~ Look at how nice you are dressed up.”

Startled by Bella’s comment, you take a step backwards, “Huh?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. You are like the bell of the ball. The—“ As you and Bella bicker back and forth, you miss how Triton puffs his chest out at Bella’s previous words. He knew how beautiful you—His precious mother—looked right now.

You were wearing a white and blue thin silk-like dress, one that flowed as effortlessly as the waves of the sea. Bracelets, Choker, earrings, all of it was shining gold. Not even Apollo, god of the sun, glimmered with as much gold as you. Your makeup was flawless with your cheeks and lips dusted in a light red to add color to your face.

Honestly, in Triton’s opinion you were even more gorgeous than Aphrodite herself. Though, he would never say that out loud… you would be in trouble with the goddess if he did.

“Woah… Dude look…”

At the sudden voice, Triton looked over. A group of males were looking at you from afar. Clearly, mentally agreeing with Triton on how pretty you were. Though, it seemed as if they couldn’t bring up the courage to make their way over to greet you. Chickening out whenever you happen to even accidentally glance their way.

“You can look but you can never touch…” Triton snickered to himself, humming a small tune in content as you finally wave Bella goodbye and go on your way.

After a while of mingling in and around the crowded area, you finally make it to your section. It was thankfully easily spotted with all the decorations of colorful fish and blue fabrics that flowed throughout the air.

“Woah! It’s like we are underwater!” Triton awed as he looked up. “Mom, this is—“

“Ahhh! Is that your son (y/n)?”

“Wait, he's here?”

“Oh my!”

Startled, you two look over to your right as three of your classmates walk over. It seemed that you were correct when you thought that the rumor must have spread about the whole school by now.

“His name is Triton.” You explain to the girls as they looked down at said boy. Triton once again hid behind you but that didn’t do much as they still cooed and asked questions to him. Feeling bad for the poor boy, you decided at that moment it would be best to leave him in the back where more of the male staff was located so he would stop being ogled at. Though it would also sadly leave him out of your sight for a while. “Well, we have to get going for my shift. I will see you three later.”

“Of course!”

The girls smiled kindly at you before all at once cooing, “Bye Triton!”

“B-bye…” Triton stutters out, looking at them from around your leg quickly before hiding again.

“Ahhh so cute!”

“I know right!”

“My. I’m so jealous of—“

As you walk away, you wait a little for the girls to be enough ways away before looking down at Triton, “You're really shy today, Triton.”

Triton lets a smile whine out in detest and clutches onto your leg more, “You can’t blame me, mom. I’m not used to girls and affection from them. My old mom scared all the women away from the palace, remember?”

“True. True.”

Finally, after many obstacles—too many in yours and Triton’s opinion—you had made it to the tent. By the time you had got there, it was already bustling full of customers and you knew you had to hurry.

“Now this way, Triton.” You tell the young boy as you bring him to a seperate tent. Being careful not to bump into the other waiters or chefs as you lead Triton to an area in the corner with the supplies. “Mom has to wait tables for now so I need you to stay right here alright. I’ll be back soon, if you get hungry you can ask Jeremy or Paul for food.”

At the sound of their names, two of the chefs look over and wave.

“But mom…” Triton whines, upset that he has to let you go, “…Can’t you stay.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t. It will just be an hour until the actual waitress I’m covering for arrives. Then you have me for the rest of the day alright?”

Triton’s face looks unsure. Still not completely content with letting you go just yet.

“Don’t worry little man.” Triton jumps a little as Paul pats the top of his head, “Your mom won’t be gone for long. In the meantime, I know how to pass the time real fast. I can teach you how to make a mean sundae.”

“R-Really?” Triton questions out, looking worriedly back and forth between you and the male. Seeming to be struggling to fight against taking the bargain the man has given him.

“Of course, you won’t even notice time has even passed by the time mom picks you up. Now, what do you like in your sundaes?”

As Paul takes Triton away, you mouth a small thank you to your classmate before giving Triton a wave goodbye. Just as you are about to turn to walk a way, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry (y/n). I’ll make sure to watch your son while you are gone.” Jeremy says, shaking his head in discontent as he remembers, “I saw how those girls were harassing the poor boy earlier.”

“Thank you so much. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Of course don’t worry about it.”

As you leave the tent, you give Triton one last look goodbye. He wasn’t looking at you at the time as he was much to busy scooping huge chunks of oreo ice cream into his bowl. Concentrating to make sure they were stacked perfectly on top of each other.

You felt a sting of worry and doubt bubble up in your stomach as you continued to stare at Triton. Unsure if it was okay to leave him like that. But, you quickly push it away, once you see Paul right behind him. Close by to help him if needed.

Triton will be okay.

Triton will be okay.

Okay.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But, little did you know,…

…that wasn’t the case.

Author Note: I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I’m sorry I left it on a cliffhanger though lol. I didn’t mean to, it just worked to break up chapter 4 and chapter 5 at this point. Anyways, other things. I’m going on vacation with my extended family next week 🎉. But don’t worry, I am going to spend tomorrow and Friday writings so you will stay have chapter 5 and 6 for next week, don’t worry :)). It’s also fitting since I’m going to the beach, Poseidon I’ll see you there 🤣🤣.

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea