#anyways heres my new son. (lifts him up by the collar)

[ravcnism]

HEY uhm.. i've been having this idea.. like imagine kenji sato x m!reader athlete as well? help, i just thought the dynamic would be cute. it could be a rival team on the baseball league or another sports. I just thought it would be cool!

STRIKEOUT. — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: The Hiroshima Toyo Carp may have a new player in town, but his name is nowhere near unheard of. The prized star pitcher of The States takes the country by storm when he spontaneously shows up against the Yomiuri Giants. Ken Sato’s career is given a run for its money.

# # TAGS: Longform, Enemies to Lovers but like Still Enemies as Lovers, A LOT of Tension, Sports Anime-Level of Ridiculous, Star-Athlete!Male Reader, Author Doesn't Actually Know Anything About Baseball, Sort of a Slow Burn? No Beta We Die Like Onda

# # WARNINGS: Mild Violence, Mature Language, Eventual Smut if I’m Brave Enough, English is not My First Language, Around 2000 Words, Part One of ??

Night fell promptly upon the Sato residence. The sun had tucked itself into the sea and left a trail of gold in its warm, glistening wake. From afar, the ever-lively city of New Tokyo lit up street by street.

Beneath the water, in the basement, a newly-bathed Emi waddled towards her corner of the house; smelling of fresh sakura petals, and cuddling a half-crushed Nissan Skyline GT-R. Full from dinner, and satisfied by her shower, she felt the gentle arms of sleep coaxing her to a nap. With a squeaky yawn, and a stretch of her arm, she succumbed to its calls and laid on her spot on the ground. A very amused Hayao Sato came walking after her. “Silly girl. The bath and snack combo never fails to knock you out, huh?”

Kenji Sato, well-dressed for a night out, entered after. He was preoccupied by his sleeves, fingers fumbling to button them shut. “Remember, Dad. No videos after 10 pm. We can’t ruin her sleep schedule again.”

“Of course, Kenji.” His father waved him off with his cane. “You act as if I don’t know her routine like the back of my hand.”

“I’m just making sure.” He was fixing his hair, then, gelling it into place. His eyes narrowed at his own reflection, trying to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “And of course you’ve got Mina to help.”

“Definitely, Ken.” As if on cue, the round hovering bot came floating in. “We have everything under control. You needn’t worry about us here.”

Professor Sato chuckled at his son, leaning on his good foot. “You seem to have a lot of nervous energy in you, Kenji.”

The batter sighed, tugging on his collar one last time. “I’m always nervous when I’m not playing.” Deciding he looked alright, Ken left his reflection alone. “No idea why. Might have something to do with my dislike towards things that I can’t control, but I’m not gonna get into that right now–” He shuffled about, searching frantically for his jacket. “Mina, where did I put my–?” An extended robot arm appeared from the floor and handed it to him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Try to enjoy yourself anyway, Kenji.” Professor Sato had walked over to Emi, who was fast asleep, snoring slightly. He lifted a hand and rubbed her head. “I think it’s good that you go to these games even when you’re not scheduled. I can tell it lifts your team’s spirits.”

“Yeah, well, honestly I’m still trying to get used to it. The whole sportsmanship thing.” Ken sprayed his cologne on. He made a quick jog towards Emi and kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight, Sweetie.” He looked at his dad. With his motorcycle keys now in hand, he walked backwards to their glass elevator. “If anything happens, call me. You know the drill.”

“Yes, Ken,” replied Mina. “We do. Rest assured, there will not be a repeat of last time.”

“Right, right. Last time.” Kenji forced out a laugh. “Look, if she wakes up and I’m not home yet, try to get her to tire herself out. Load up a park. Throw some balls. But no flying outside, please? You know she gets carried away.”

“Understood.”

With a final glance, and a reluctant sigh, he stepped into the lift. “I’ll be back soon.” Leaving her 20-foot Kaiju-of-a-daughter never got any easier — no matter how many times he had gone and done it. He waved his family a quick goodbye, before disappearing from their line of sight.

His dad was right. It was good that he was going. The Giants had a game to win.

"Good evening sports fans! Ladies and gentlefolk, we welcome you to the highly anticipated matchup between the Hiroshima Toyo Carp and your Yomiuri Giants.”

The stadium was bright and buzzing with excitement. Ken was used to the energy, but he never grew tired of it. There was something almost magical about having this many people in a stadium together. Something electrifying about hearing their collective voices. Whether or not he was set to play, the crowd was what grounded him into focus. He adored their cheers, regardless of who it was directed to.

“We’ve got an intense start to the game so far, the home crowd doesn’t look too happy with Tateoka’s second strikeout.”

“How's it looking?” Ken appeared beside his teammate, Yuki, who was watching the game by the barriers.

“Bad. We're dying out there, Sato. Tateoka's our second batter. We're down one strikeout.”

Ken's brows knitted together, intrigued. He had gotten here a little late and missed a good chunk of the first inning. He had missed most of the commentary, too, so he was pretty much left in the dark. All he knew was that the home crowd didn't look too cheerful. And neither did Coach Shimura. ( Though technically, he couldn't remember a time when Shimura looked anything less than disappointed. ) Ken settled into his spot, nursing a canned soda.

The pitcher’s back was against him, his jersey name too far for him to read. He couldn't see who it was. Ken took notice of their form. Their figure. “Wait, who's throwing again?”

His teammate dropped a name so familiar it sent Ken choking on his drink.

“Fucking, who?” He dropped the name of a famous star-athlete. A name he saw on billboards, news reports, articles. A name so expensive it put his vintage cars to shame. A name with a strikeout rate so disgustingly high it had the best teams falling to their knees. A staggering 1.75 ERA. Almost zero walks. Your name, sent a shiver down Ken Sato’s spine. You, the Mets’ notorious Bullet, now a surprise player of the Toyo Carp.

He watched as you turned around. Your face came into view. You were frighteningly calm. The Giants’ batter was one strike away from an out. Kenji swallowed thickly. “When the hell did he get here?”

“Yeah. Apparently they traded him to Carp a week ago. Didn't get much buzz for some reason.” Yuki scoffed. “Think they covered it up? Element of surprise? It was a pretty big move.”

The fact that Kenji had never been put up against you before was sheer dumb luck. That's what he thought, anyway. Despite the fact that the both of you had been celebrities in The States, the seasons just never aligned well enough to get the both of you to play at the same park. But he hadn't dreamed of it. Who in their right mind would? Like a bullet from a gun, your pitches were unstoppable. You had a mutant-like control over the ball. There were studies on the physics of your technique. Even the best batters would miss your throws. And at that moment, as he watched his teammate strike himself out, Kenji wondered if he'd miss, too.

He wouldn't have to keep wondering. Understanding the weight of your presence, the Yomiuri Giants opted to bring in the calvary.

“Sato.” Ken flinched at Shimura’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, facing him. “Locker room. Get dressed — I'm calling you up.”

He laughed, nervously. “You sure that's legal, coach?” He wasn't scheduled to play today, and spontaneously entering a non-player into the field was only allowed upon certain circumstances. Like an injury, for example.

“Of course it is.” Shimura grumbled. “Tokuda just broke his arm.”

The mentioned Tokuda stood behind him, sipping on some soda, with his obviously not-broken arm. “You heard the man, Ken. I just broke my arm.”

Ken grimaced, heading for the door. “The press is going to love this…” Japan's finest batter, versus The States’ fastest pitcher. Oh, this would make the headlines for sure.

Kenji did as he was told. He walked into the locker room, then walked out in full-attire. The speakers crackled to life. There was a steady rise in the crowd’s demeanor. People were slowly piecing the situation together. The announcers were losing their minds. “And It looks like — oh my goodness, folks. I don't believe this. Ken Sato has been called up into the field!”

The stadium went alight. Ken walked into the park and wondered if the lights were a little brighter than usual. He was doing his stretches, rolling his shoulders. His bat was handed to him and he flipped it in his hand. He allowed the cheers to boost his energy, and perhaps a bit of his ego.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we might be witnessing baseball history tonight! Two of the opposing team’s star players have come face to face for the first time ever. And it's happening right here, right now.”

You met his eyes. Ken’s breath hitched. You were so… intense. He couldn't properly describe it. You watched him move into position like a lion stalking its prey.

“Will Sato stop the Toyo Carp’s brand new Bullet? Or will he walk out of this game bleeding?”

The trick was to look them in the eye. A pitcher was no different from a batter when it came to a game. They shared the same weight of responsibility. The only time a stadium is silent is when they're standing face to face. Like a duel. One of Ken’s techniques was staring them down and reminding them that he was a force to be reckoned with. He was Ken Sato, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately for him, you were unshaken. Which he would’ve been offended by, if he were younger and more immature. No matter, he had other things to look for. Like the cues. Each pitcher had their own cue; a sort of tell that told Ken what kind of throw they’d be going for. He didn’t hit those pitches out of pure luck. Contrary to popular belief, he was actually thinking these games through. There were a plethora of things to look at. A pitcher’s stance, their position, which hand they were using. In an easier game, Ken would be able to read these pitchers like an open book.

But if you were a book, then you would've been written in a different language. He could find no such cues. He didn’t really have anything to calculate. You were as unpredictable as you were quick. None of his usual techniques seemed to be working on you.

The last resort: keep your eye on the damn ball, and freakin’ swing.

You held your hand outward, fingers pointed at him. There was a kind of hunger in your eyes, an expression that made Ken’s heart skip a beat. Your focused glare made him feel as if a red dot had appeared on his forehead. Like you had marked him for prey. It felt… personal. Like it wasn’t a part of the game, and you were only pointing at him. A threat. A dare.

You pulled your pitching arm back. He swore he heard a gun cock. The stadium went quiet. The crowd held its breath. So did Ken. He tightened his grip on his bat. He waited, eagerly, for you to make your move. He was counting the milliseconds, watching you, anticipating your throw, waiting for you to shoot.

And you did.

Ken blinked, and the ball was gone from your hands. He released the breath he was holding through a disbelieved scoff. He turned, and the catcher had stumbled slightly, holding your ball. The crowd grew into disarray, a rising cacophony of cheers and boos. They just couldn’t believe it. Ken Sato not only missed your pitch, but wasn’t able to move at all. He couldn’t even swing. You were too fast. Too abrupt.The ball was a white blur, there a moment, then gone the next. It wasn’t an issue of the curve, nor the direction. It was just too fucking fast.

His teammates couldn’t believe their eyes. And neither did his coach. Ken craned his head to look at you. You stared back at him, stone-faced.

He took a breath to regain his composure, resuming his earlier stance. He would never admit it, but he was rattled. He was trying to understand how that throw was humanly possible. How he had somehow forgotten to move. He could do nothing more but stand haunted as he heard the resounding “strike one!” from the umpire. This wasn’t the first time he’d missed, but it was the first time he froze. It was a spectacle to all, and a moment of horror for his fans. Did the Unstoppable Ken Sato finally meet his match? Even if he did, he was determined not to lose a second time.

“Okay,” he whispered. He took a deep, focused breath, slightly shifting his stance. He kept his feet firm on the ground, bat at the ready. “Okay, Hotshot. Bring it on.”

You kept your eyes on him and him alone. You stared at him as if you were the only two people in the stadium. The crowd went silent once again. The Giants fans were desperate to give Sato the focus he so-terribly needed, but the Carp fans were just curious to see how the second pitch would go. The air was thick and heavy with tension.

Like before, you threw your hand out, fingers pointed at Ken. You drew your pitching arm back, like an archer, and there was that sound in his mind again. The cock of a gun. Ken waited. He counted you down. He was a hunter dressed in camo, waiting for a deer to move.

Then, for the first time since he’d seen you, your expression changed. You grinned at him.

Then you winked.

Shit.

You threw the ball. Ken swung.

But he missed.

The crowd erupted into chaos. There was an indistinguishable pandemonium of disdain and celebration. People screamed and jumped and waved their banners as high as they possibly could. A number of them had already entered a state of acceptance — the Giants would lose to a perfect game. No batter would ever get through the wall that was you. But a lot of them kept their faith in the ever-notorious Sato. He could hit the last shot. He could pull this off. He might have been struggling to match your speed, but he would figure it out. They believed in him like he was a god.

And at that moment, as Kenji heard the echoing “strike two!” he certainly felt the anger of one.

Did you just fucking wink? Did you seriously have the audacity to wink at him? Kenji took it personally. Who did you think you were? Though his lips spoke nothing of the foul words he wished so eagerly to shout, it was clear on his face that he wanted you gone. It was one thing to embarrass him with a fastball, but another to rub it in. He wouldn’t let that slide. He wouldn’t allow you to strike him out.

Yoshimura was gripping the barrier so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.“Eyes up, Sato!”

Kenji breathed. Through his nose, this time. He drew a long breath into his entire body and blew it out through his lips. He wouldn’t miss. He couldn’t miss. While he might have already taught himself the humility that came with losing, he hadn’t taught himself jackshit about losing to you.

“If looks could kill,” whispered Ami Wakita, the reporter who watched the game from the press booth. Typing into her laptop, she wrote: “There seems to be obvious tension on the field. Nothing new for Ken Sato, yet, significantly different. Japan’s star player has finally met his match. This game has been a long time coming.”

This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Kenji raised his bat, and narrowed his eyes. You weren’t blind to his added efforts, and smirked at him again. Oh, how it made his blood boil.

Point.

Pull.

Throw.

Swing.

This time, the ball made contact.

The crowd blew up once more, exhausting their lungs as they watched the ball fly across the field. Kenji had hit it. Kenji had managed to catch your bullet-of-a-pitch. He dropped his bat to the ground and ran for his life. Base to base, corner to corner. Kenji leapt across the field and jumped for home.

“Safe!”

The crowd went wild. He had heard stadiums cheer for him before, but he didn't think he had ever heard anything this loud. With a relieved laugh, Kenji got up from the ground, and finally caught his breath. His teammates ran to greet him, though they had only passed the first inning. With a round as intense as that one, they felt it was only right to celebrate a little early.

And then he looked at you. Your eyes met. You were smiling at him again. He didn't like the lack of concern on your face. He didn't like that you didn't seem challenged. And he especially didn't like the fact that he was out there playing for his life, while you seemed to have played for a weekend game at the park.

Kenji was glaring at you, as if he was burning holes into your head. You lifted a hand and threw him a casual salute, flicking two fingers towards his direction. Dammit, he thought. That wink really threw him off. Which it shouldn't have.

Unfortunately for him, the game was nowhere near the last time you'd interact.

And there'd be the after-party to boot.

[writtenjewels]

School Dance

Salim didn't think he would ever attend an American high school dance, but when the school called him asking for chaperons, he volunteered. Zain was not happy about it—he griped that it was too embarrassing, his friends would make fun of him, how could he enjoy himself knowing his father was right there? It made Salim waver, but then he met the other parents who assured him their teenagers had the same complaints.

[You may be embarrassed,] Salim told Zain, [but you won't be the only one.]

He at least did his son the favor of letting Zain come to the dance separately. Salim needed to arrive early anyway to get instructions from the principal. He was given a short tour of the gymnasium, the hallways, the bathrooms, and the closest exits. He would mostly stay in the gym, but every ten minutes or so he would need to do a lap and make sure the students were all where they should be.

Once the students entered the gym, the night fell into a rhythm. Salim decided to do his lap right away so Zain could enjoy his friends without worrying about his father watching his every move. He came back and made his way over to the refreshment table. A few of the students were hovering, along with one of the chaperons. It was a man maybe ten years younger than Salim, wearing a simple outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. Salim knew this wasn't a formal dance, but the casual ensemble still looked a little strange. Or maybe his own collared shirt and slacks was a bit too much.

“Hey,” the other man greeted him with a wave. He had brown hair, though most of it was tucked under a baseball hat. If he wasn't wearing the chaperon tag on his shirt, Salim would think he had accidentally wandered in here. He had a nice smile, though, and Salim smiled back.

“Hello,” he returned. His eyes dropped to the lines of soda cans and cups. There were also wrapped packages of trail mix, crackers, and other small snacks.

“It's easier than a fuckin' punch bowl,” the other man said. Salim lifted his gaze. “When I was their age,” the man continued, gesturing to indicate the kids, “somebody always spiked the fuckin' punch.”

“I see.” Salim probably should have been shocked that the man was using such coarse language within earshot of teenagers, but he found it strangely endearing. Maybe it was the accent. Salim had a soft spot for that Southern drawl that made him think of cowboy movies. “My name is Salim,” he introduced.

“Jason,” the other man returned, reaching to shake his hand. “I'm the school counselor.”

“Nice to meet you.” He took in the other man's appearance. Given his occupation, maybe the casual look was a deliberate choice. It was certainly disarming, and made him look more approachable than the other adults in the room.

“Which one's yours?” Jason asked.

“Oh, I shouldn't say. He didn't want me to be here.”

“Fair enough.” Jason stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. One of the students approached the table, glanced nervously between the adults, and grabbed a bag of trail mix. “So,” Jason spoke up when the kid left, “can I get you a drink?”

“Sure. Thank you. Something without caffeine, please?” Jason nodded and handed over a can, taking one for himself. The two sipped their drinks, Salim's eyes drifting from his new acquaintance to the dance floor. He couldn't see Zain, which would at least please his son. “I've never been to one of these before,” he remarked, turning back to Jason.

“They didn't have dances at your high school?” Jason asked with raised eyebrows. Salim wasn't sure how to explain his schooling experience, so he just shrugged. Jason set his soda can down on the table and grabbed Salim's hand. “C'mon.”

“What?”

“We're dancing,” Jason told him, taking his soda and sitting it beside Jason's. “The snacks can mind themselves for five minutes.”

Salim was being pulled onto the dance floor before he could form a response. He caught Jason's eye, and the younger man gave him a reassuring smile. He took Salim's hands and directed them to Jason's shoulders. His own hands did the same. Salim caught the black ink of a tattoo on Jason's left arm.

“The students must love that,” he remarked, nodding to the ink.

“Yep,” Jason confirmed. “The tattoo's what got me the job.” Salim stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes widened and he let out a breathless laugh.

“Ah. You were making a joke.” Jason confirmed with another smile, and Salim smiled back at him. His heart gave a pleasant little flutter in his chest. “How long have you worked at the school?” he wondered.

“Few years. I like it, helped a lot of kids. Can't go into specifics, but a lot of them just need someone to be in their corner.”

“It's admirable work. Right now, I'm sort of freelance. I do translation work for museums and a few universities. It isn't the most exciting thing.”

“I donno,” Jason argued. “I've seen some of the shit the kids here scribble in their textbooks. That can get pretty exciting.” That made Salim laugh. “Not everyone's got the patience for that,” Jason went on. “I think it's cool.”

“Thank you.”

“Guess I've always had a thing for nerds,” Jason said. Heat flashed through Salim's face. Did he just flirt with me? The song ended and Jason's hands dropped away from Salim's shoulders. “I gotta do a lap, check the bathrooms,” Jason said.

“Okay,” Salim nodded. He watched the younger man go, still a little dazed. Maybe Jason was just joking, like he was about his tattoo. Salim headed back to the table and retrieved his drink. He took slow sips, hoping Jason would come back.

He was understanding the appeal of these dances.

[shadowqueenjude]

Tamlin closed his eyes, taking in the news from one of the few sentries who stuck with him. Rage thrummed in his veins, calling to the beast within him. The name of that male alone had often been enough to bring rage to his veins in the years prior, but now, when they needed him to stand against Hybern and he had refused… Beron. Beron. Beron. Beron. He winnowed into the Autumn Court, shoving past the guards who wouldn’t dare stop a High Lord anyway. He found Beron Vanserra exactly where he’d expected him to be: idling on his throne, lording over his servants like the uncivilized imperialist cur that he was. Eris Vanserra stood nearby, talking to some courtiers of Autumn. The other brothers were scattered across the room. Tamlin gained savage satisfaction in seeing Beron’s face pale as Tamlin stalked towards him. Nothing- there was nothing of Lucien’s kind face, his charm and beauty, in this cruel male. As Tamlin finally reached his throne, glaring down at him, he snapped, “You’re needed for the war against Hybern.” Eris looked back, his pale face bored. Tamlin ignored him and continued to glare down at Beron. Beron inspected his tan hand for a moment before answering idly, “I never agreed to fight, nor shall I choose now to fight alongside brutes who dare insult a High Lord.” Of course, the male was that petty, to put his own pride above saving lives. Above saving Prythian. Tamlin let loose an unearthly snarl that reminded everyone of the beast that crawled within. His claws punched out of his knuckles, and he grabbed Beron by the scuff of his collar, lifting him into the air. Beron’s eyes widened, his scent of fear shoving itself up Tamlin’s nose. Monster. Tamlin suppressed a smile at seeing the male so weak and helpless in his arms. He was so small compared to Tamlin. Easy; it would be so easy to kill him now and punish Beron for everything he’d done to his sons and wife. For everything he’d done to Lucien.                But no. They needed him today. The war was more important than revenge. “Here’s the deal, Beron Vanserra,” he growled. “You fight beside us today, and I don’t rip you to shreds for what you did to Lucien. Deal?” While most of the room was quavering in fear, the Vanserras looked as if the Solstice had come early, none more delighted than Eris himself. Tamlin once again recalled that emergency tip-off that Eris had sent that allowed Tamlin to save Lucien’s life that day. Yet Eris managed to master himself enough to say, “Father, would you rather Hybern come in and take everything we hold dear? Let’s set aside our squabble to defend our land and get back to the revenge plan against the Cursebreaker and Night later.” Beron stared at his eldest incredulously, and Tamlin tensed. But Beron merely turned back to Tamlin and said, “Fine. Let me get my armor.” Tamlin smiled ferally. “Oh, I’m not giving you the chance to winnow away from me. Eris can find your armor and bring it with us, can’t you?” Eris pressed his lips together, fighting back his smile. But once again he regained his composure and replied smoothly, “Of course, High Lord.” Beron’s face reddened in anger & humiliation. “I’ll never forget this,” Beron hissed at Tamlin. Tamlin merely gave him that feral smile again, a brute through and through. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to, Beron Vanserra.”              And when Eris came back donned in armor and holding another set in his arms, Tamlin grabbed his arm too, and together they winnowed to the battle against Hybern.

When Tamlin dragged Beron's ass into the battle, I just know he felt so much savage pleasure in kicking the ass of the male who'd caused Lucien so much torment.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi don't mean to bother you but I wish to know if you were going to continue the yandere kny cat.

Last Post

You’d been so antsy lately you almost forgot to actually meet your new landlord

Apparently due to some unfortunate circumstances your old landlord had died was murdered

And his son has come to run the place instead rather than having the whole system shut down and everyone evicted

You were anxious because your baby Magenta was nowhere to be found

He didn’t even come home when you left catnip on your doorstep

Despite all that you made or bought some cookies for the new guy

And aren’t you surprised when you come face to face with those eyes

“M-magenta?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh uh sorry! It's just your eyes…they’re very pretty.”

“Well, thank you. Care to come inside?”

He’s trying to act normally like his heart isn’t pumping with such intensity

To think you’d recognize him so quickly 

Even in his experience going undercover as a human not too many spoke about his eyes 

At least not in a positive light

When he finally waves goodbye he’s reeling with intensity 

There is something so much more exciting about experiencing you like this

Your shorter than him 

So much smaller than him 

So fragile compared to him

Demon or not you’re so weak 

He can’t have you out here unprotected 

With that in mind he waits until you’re out 

Before letting himself in to see the stern-faced cat of Giyuu Tomioka waiting near the door:

“I was waiting for you to trespass. I wonder can you even understand me now.//”

“I can.” 

At his words he lifted his hat letting his cat ears and lengthy tail out. Flicking, agitated he moved to let himself further into your home only to be stopped by the black cat hopping from his post on the counter to stalk in front of him. He glared into the deep blue eyes of the black tomcat before gliding him away with his foot. 

“Where are the kittens?”

“Why?//”

He growled, further letting himself into the house making a beeline towards your room. Ignoring the resounding hisses he let himself into your room. Expecting to see the kittens curled up on your bed and pillows, a position he typically ushered them to, only to find a completely different scene.  

“Oh Master! I’m happy to find you so close to your true form!//”

A blonde turkish angora with rainbow eyes was currently dangling a burgundy kitten off the bed by his collar. Nezuko was swatting at the bigger cat while Rui seemed to have awoken at his entrance immediately mewing positively at him.

“Doma put him down.”

“Yes sir!”

Unceremoniously dropping him, the cat proceeded to fully turn and stand at attention towards Muzan. Thankfully Tanjiro’s descent was halted by Giyuu dashing in to catch him by scruff. With a growl and bristled tail he carried him out the room immediately being followed by Nezuko who shot him a glare of her own. 

“Why are you here Doma?”

“One of (Y/n)’s friends have decided to go on a trip for work, so she left me here in the meantime.”

“I see.”

Doma stood at the foot of the bed, waiting for Muzan to give him orders or something only to find that the demon king was quite occupied. Holding the pillow to his face he aggressively sniffed letting his imagination run wild as he recalled smelling it on you during your last visit. Moving on, he used his enhanced sense of smell to guide him to your wardrobe. Folded with clothes and underwear he wasted no time rubbing them on himself specifically on his sweatglands-near his neck face. Completely focused he missed the increasing meowing his subordinates were doing. 

“M-master w-what are you doing?!//”

“I-I spent all morning scenting those Master? Can’t I have a little bit, since I am going to be leaving soon anyway.//”

Muzan didn’t stop what he was doing, only turning his head to deliver his aggressive glare making Rui and Doma bow their heads in submission. 

“Don’t be bold. When I’m here I’m the only one allowed to imprint my presence.”

“But you left!//” 

The accusatory remark came from Tanjiro who was barging back into the room with Nezuko right behind. Giyuu also peeked around the corner, seeming to have tried to stop him. Muzan seemed annoyed at the statement, turning wholly to look at the burgundy kitten. 

“You left (Y/n) and us all alone, how can we even trust you?//” 

“Tanjiro!//” 

Giyuu scolded him as he watched Muzan’s face remorph into one of anger; he moved to stand beside his junior only to be stopped by Doma who was standing on guard with his own way of smirking. 

“You’re such a kitten! Don’t you realize what I’ve done?”

He abandoned his scenting, looking down at the kitten who was continuing to glare at him completely unphased. 

“I got rid of that cockroach that kept sneaking in here! Do you think I should have just let him be when I could have gotten rid of him?!”

“No, but we could have gone about things another way!//” 

“Like what?! And what do you know! I’m hundreds of years older than you!”

“Well I’m not a monster that just kills all their problems!//”

“You say that but aren’t you the one that promised to ki-”

“ENOUGH!//” 

Giyuu meowed, bringing Tanjiro’s and Muzan’s fight to a halt. Both still seemed plenty worked up so Giyuu spoke again.

“Didn’t we agree that we leave all of that for home!? Just leave it. The only thing we focus on is protecting (Y/n)!//” 

The air between them seemed to calm as both Muzan and Tanjiro closed up on themselves. Giyuu shot the kitten a look and if that wasn’t enough Rui who was no longer on the bed swatted at Tanjiro who huffed before turning back to the cat-human. 

“I’m…sorry for misunderstanding you.//”

“And I forget that you're a kitten sometimes, must be the human side of this body.”

Everyone grimaced at the not-so-much apology before collectively breathing in a sigh of relief when Muzan began to smile at him.

“I have no intention of staying away from (Y/n) after all. So it’s best you get used to me.”

“Oh babies I’m home!”

Both dread and excitement ran through everyone as they realized that you were in fact home from work. Doma wanted to dart off toward you only to be held back by Giyuu who motioned towards Muzan who was very much still a cat-human who was digging through your drawers. Running around frantically Rui was raving about how they were supposed to hide him, Nezuko was getting worked up and proceeded to run around just as wildly leaving Tanjiro to chase her and try and stop them. All the while your steps increase as your sweet voice calls out for them as it was strange that they hadn’t greeted you at the door. 

“Babies, where are you guys? Are you guys all hanging out in the bedroom?”

Your steps grew louder as Giyuu tried to rationalize what to do. You finally stepped into the room watching the kittens run around on the floor with your black, blue eyed tomcat trying to ignore the rainbow eyed cat. A drawer in your wardrobe was open and came to find someone familiar digging through it.

“Magenta!? Where have you been, sweet baby!? Awww did you get bigger?!”

You scooped up the shorthair cuddling into him as he nuzzled into you. Turning right out the room you too focused on showering your returned cat you missed the prideful look he sent towards the stunned looking cats. 

“Did you know he could do that?//”

“...No…But I wish I did.//”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

OH ANTONI 🥺🥺🥺 my poor baby. I hope he will find it within himself to come clean to Jake or SOMEONE about this :((((

(((ALSO CANT WAIT FOR MORR))))

One Two Three Four Five Six

CW: Wound cleaning, burns, touch aversion, aftermath of torture, BBU, conditioned fucky headspace

"Lift your chin for me," she commands, and he doesn't really remember that he could choose not to obey.

Antoni dutifully shifts, his eyes moving to roam over a line of framed photographs along the wall behind her. A wedding photo, faded with time, a much, much younger version of the woman currently dabbing a cotton ball dipped in something cold and stinging to the fresh burn on his throat with a man he's never seen. The two of them are smiling, holding hands, looking right into the camera.

Bright white wedding dress turned cream with yellowing paper, with time, covered in lace. Powder-blue tuxedo. Brilliant smiles.

She touches the cotton ball to his skin and he hisses, hands tightening where they grip the edges of the chair he's sitting on. The sting rockets through him, only a pale echo of the original pain, but it's enough.

It's enough.

Fuck, that's hot.

He catches the sob before it can leave his throat, forces the burn behind his eyes to stay there and not turn into tears. He will not cry over this again.

Not now.

"There we go, just a bit more," She says, her voice gruffly compassionate. She presses a small rounded bandage against his throat, her fingertips are warm against his neck.

His skin crawls at even this slight, indirect touch, but he doesn't protest.

He wouldn't dare.

"All done. That's not s'bad, I think with a good bandaging it won't scar half so bad as all its little friends down south," She mutters, more to herself than him, really.

Where her fingers touch, he feels the echoes of other hands around his throat. Thicker fingers, heavy with rings. Smiling down at him.

Beg for me, love.

"Please-" It's automatic. He's drifting, in and out of this old kitchen that still looks like it must have looked thirty years ago, when the man in the wedding photo would still be here maybe cooking or cleaning or chatting up a storm to anyone who popped by for a visit.

"Hm? You say something, sweetheart?" Miss Ruth looks at him, and those dark eyes are shrewd. They know more than anyone is supposed to, they know things Nat hasn't told her. Hasn't had to.

"Ah, no," He whispers. "Just. I am very tired."

"No doubt. I'll finish these up and you can get back to your own bed and no doubt you'll be glad to get there." She looks him over, and his eyes dance to hers and away again. Back to the photos.

He sees a family photo, the two people from before and a daughter and son. Everyone is smiling, looking carefully just off to the side. They wear matching outfits.

"Get a look at 'em?"

There's a 35th wedding anniversary picture with a big banner behind the happy couple. The two people, much older, stand in front a cake nearly as tall as they are, surrounded by others. Everyone in the photo smiles in sort of the same way.

The next photo is a birthday, he thinks. There's a boy and a young baby in the photo, and the man from wedding and anniversary photo isn't there. Miss Ruth, holding her grandbaby he thinks, is wearing all black. The photo was taken in a church, and there's a spray of white lilies just visible at the edge of the picture.

Another, with Jaden, who Chris plays basketball with. The kid who more or less effortlessly opened his life for Chris when Chris badly needed a friend his own age, or closer to it, to remember what being a kid was like.

He is reading, in images, the story of this woman's adult life. Marriage, and death, and birth. Children. Life going on.

A life he won't have, that he gave up every possibility of having, because of... of whatever is inside him that Mr. Davies knew about, that the people who just hurt him could see in him even though he cannot see it himself.

He must look like someone who deserves to be hurt.

"Young man." She taps on the back of his hand and he flinches, blinking at her, struggling to pull himself out of his reverie. Her words filter through his mind, shift into the language all his thoughts are moving in, come back out in hers. He swallows, feeling a lump in his throat that refuses to move.

"I'm... sorry," He says softly, with difficulty. "I did not hear."

"I can tell. I asked did you get a good look at whoever did this to you." Her eyes roam over his chest, his stomach. The circle of new burns, placed so carefully compared to the haphazard placement Mr. Davies had favored, no pattern at all. "Looks like they took their damn time, anyway, to get you so much."

"N-... no." Antoni's eyebrows furrow, and he tries to think, but all he can remember is their hands holding the lit cigarettes, the quiet one touching his face, ruffling his hair. He can't... he can't remember their faces at all. "I am sorry."

You're fucking gorgeous, buddy, you know that?

"Hm." If she's disappointed in him, nothing changes about her expression, still held in a kind of skeptical compassion as she wets a new cotton ball in liquid from a small frosted plastic bottle and touches it to each burn, one by one, in the circle. It's like a ritual, the sting, washing away a bit of sin with each hint of pain. He clothes his eyes and breathes carefully through it.

When he is done, each circle covered with a bandage that is shades darker than his skin, she steps back to look him over, critically. She steps away and he takes in deep breaths free of her air, the powdery scent of her. He breathes in her absence, no one nearby.

She returns with a washcloth and he takes it, scrubs at his face until his cheeks are red but clean, until you can't tell anymore that he cried while they burned him.

Good boy.

"You can stay here," She says, voice low now. "Sleep it off for a while. I've got a guest room."

"No. No, I will go home. Thank you. I will... I want to go home." He looks out the kitchen window right at Nat's house next door. No lights are on... yet. But there isn't much time before they will be.

"Fair enough. You plan to tell 'em what happened to you?"

He looks back at her, searches for the judgement, finds none.

"No," He says. Confesses, really, his sin. "I will not."

I will lie to them.

"That's your choice to make, I suppose." She lays a hand on his arm. He doesn't pull away from her. He wants to unzip himself from his skin and step out of it, let them all have what they seem to want to touch so much.

Instead, he holds himself perfectly still, until she pats him a few times and steps away again.

"I've done what I can do. You come back over here tomorrow or the day after and we'll look 'em over again and make sure they're healing up nice, you got me?"

"Yes," He says. He is good. He can be good.

"Right. Off you go, then, before your people wake up and you get to come up with a story about why you're in an old widow's house at 4:30 in the morning, hm? You're pretty enough, but you're no Wilbur." She laughs to herself, a dry and crackly sound, and he thinks that her laugh was the sort that could set a whole crowd to laughing, when she was young.

It still is.

The corners of his mouth twitch in an answering smile.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and pushes himself off the edge, standing up again. No one has seen his scars, no one but this old neighbor woman who looks at them like they are simply part of living, not something to be pitied. "I go. S-... thank you."

"Paugh." She scoffs, waves a hand in dismissal. "Go on, now. You've thrown off my morning coffee time. Tell your young man that Jaden will be over this afternoon."

She all but shoos him out the door, and the air is clear and clean and quiet. The only dirty thing is Antoni himself, smudged and mussed, still feeling in his scalp the prickles of Quiet One's hands, still feeling on his arms the sharp pressure of the shirt tied around his wrists.

Still aware of every single burn under the slight pull of the bandages pressed over them, the gentle sting that feels like a return to how he was always meant to be.

Even the walk from one yard to another feels like too much. Antoni's eyes move over the empty darkened windows of the houses all around him. How obvious he must be, if three people saw him in the darkness and knew him for a pet pretending to be human.

He shouldn't have left, shouldn't have gone on those walks. He'd left himself open and vulnerable, hadn't he? His scars are deeper than skin, and they must shine like the streetlights to anyone who knows what to look for.

Antoni stops at the porch, where he carefully lifts a loose bit of board from the porch railing, finds the small box hidden inside. The slightest scrape of metal on metal as he pulls off the lid makes him freeze, but no one is awake to hear it. He takes the contents of the box, moves it quickly back to its hiding place, replaces the board.

Like nothing ever happened.

Everything can be made as good as new, as long as it isn't him.

He slips inside the safehouse, where everything is still quiet, in the silent inhale that comes before the exhalation of morning. The clock in the kitchen reads 4:45, fifteen minutes until Jake's alarm will go off, until he - and likely Chris - will stir.

Fifteen minutes for Antoni get upstairs and look so deeply asleep that no one will realize he was ever gone.

No time to shower.

He will have to sleep with the grime of their hands still ground deep into every single pore. He will sleep with Deep Voice's we know what you are in his ears, with Quiet One's fingers tangled in his hair, running over his skin. He will sleep with Lookout's eyes locked on his chest as he presses the cigarette in.

Antoni hasn't worn a collar in years now, but he buckles it on, just one notch too tight like Mr. Davies would have, and climbs under the covers, pulling them over his head.

He breathes in as deep as he can, to feel the constriction. Breathes out, and runs his hand up over his chest, over the bandages that cover his burns.

They knew what he was.

Everyone always will.

Good boy.

The ashtray falls asleep humming a lullaby, afraid that if he pulls the blankets back down he will see bars on the windows.

[bau-baby]

Hey😊Firstly, I just wanted to say that I loved the first part of ‘The Ultimate Loss’ so much!💞I’m so excited for the next part to come out (I really needed a new Hotch x reader series to read lol) Secondly, I noticed you’re request are open and I was wondering if you could do a Hotch x reader where the reader is Jack’s babysitter and her and Aaron eventually get together? Thank you so much🥰💕

home.

word count: 1048

warnings: big age gap (around 20-ish years),

A/N: I’m so glad you enjoyed ‘the ultimate loss’!!

It was another day when you saw the familiar contact show up on your phone, an impending call flashing at you. You click the answer button, already fumbling to get some clothes packed as you hear Aaron start talking.

“Sorry for the short notice, Y/N. Can you watch Jack for the next few days? I understand if you can’t-”

“Aaron, it’s fine. I’m already on my way over, don’t worry,” You grab your keys from the dish beside your door and open the door to your apartment, leaving swiftly.

You had been Jack’s babysitter for just under a year now, and you quickly made it into the heart of the Hotchner home. You became a rock in Jack’s life, just behind Aaron and his aunt Jess. 

You were making your way through grad school, taking odd jobs here and there. But, one fateful babysitting job would earn you your steadiest income as well as a wonderful friend with the best son. It was definitely a match of the century.

As you made your way to the familiar apartment building, you smiled to yourself. You took the key that Aaron recently gave to you, which was his way of demonstrating his overall trust he has with you with not only his son, but his home.

You opened the door to find to see Aaron and Jack on the other side. Jack wriggles himself off the couch, the biggest, toothiest smile gracing his face as he pummels into your waiting arms.

“Hey, buddy! Ready to hang out with me again?” You ask, hoisting him up onto your hip. That pulls a giggle from him as he nods his little head. You place him back on the ground, and he runs off to play in his room.

“He really enjoys having you. So do I,” Aaron says, and you see his lips quirk up and his eyes shine with something you’ve only seen when he looks at his son or the pictures of Haley sprinkled throughout the house. You choose to ignore it as well as the pull in your chest.

“Well he’s the sweetest kid, and I always love taking care of him. And I’d hope that you’d like me, you did give me a key to your apartment.” You try to play off the confusion you have towards what Aaron said, what it could mean.

You swear you see his expression fall entirely, his head tipping down slightly. You ignore that too.

-----

As the months pass by, you and Aaron both have instances of words that go ignored. You both choose to keep your heads down, merely citing the lack of professionality that would come of anything happening between you two. 

He’s much older

She’s much younger

It won’t work.

So, both of you continue business as usual. Or at least, you try to.

“Do you love my dad?” Jack asks one day while you play LEGO’s with him. You sputter at his words, wondering what this kid saw.

“Uh, well, why do you ask, buddy?” You ask him, trying to mask your apprehension towards his answer.

“’Cause my dad always talks about you the way he talks about my mom or Uncle Rossi or Miss Emily or Miss JJ or Uncle Spencer or Uncle Derek or Miss Penelope,” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You change the subject, your realization hitting you full force in the moment.

You’re in love with Aaron Hotchner.

-----

That same realization takes a lot longer for it to hit Aaron. He’s a damn good profiler, but acknowledging and distinguishing between different feelings wasn’t always his strong suit.

Who’s he kidding? It was never his strong suit.

A picture of you and Jack sits on his desk, next to one of him and Jack. He smiles at it often, many a memory connected to the photo. 

Dave raps his knuckles against the door and walks in anyway, to see Aaron smiling fondly down at the picture of you. 

“You should really do something about that,” Dave says nonchalantly, a little smirk on his face. 

Aaron’s eyebrows lift up, a question riddled within them.

“What do you mean?” His confusion makes Dave just shake his head.

“You’ll figure it out Aaron, you always do,”

-----

Aaron realizes when he comes home early from a case, finding you napping with Jack on the couch. 

He doesn’t realize it as quick as he would’ve liked, the pull in his chest confusing him. He smiles softly and leaves you two to sleep.

The realization finally dawns on him as he walks down to his room, the air of familiarity while having you here jolting him to the thought.

He’s in love with you.

You wake a little while later, taking Jack to his room and putting him to bed. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you walk out of his room, coming face to face with Aaron.

You jump, scared by his sudden presence.

“Sorry to scare you,” His small laugh and smile tell you exactly how sorry he is.

You smile too, shaking your head, “Sure you are.”

“I have some coffee brewing if you’d like any,” He tells you, already turning to the kitchen.

You follow him, grabbing some mugs from the cabinet once in the kitchen.

“You know me better than you let on, Hotchner,”

“You’re a grad student working through midterms. You aren’t as mysterious as you let on,” He counters, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

You look at him, the domesticity weaving it’s way through the moment like a warmth. You straighten yourself as you angle your body towards him, while he dips his head towards yours, and your lips meet.

You turn towards him, framing his jaw with your hands as your thumbs swipe back and forth over his cheekbones. His hands come and rest lightly on your hips.

You break apart, and you immediately keep your eyes trained on the collar of his shirt, afraid he’ll see just how much you’ve truly waited for this.

He takes your chin in his hand, bringing your eyes to level with his. The next kiss is just as sweet as the first, the warmth radiating through the apartment as you realize your truly home now. 

[fandomlovingfreak]

Incidentally In Love (7/?)

Charlie Weasley/Reader

Rating: T & Up ( Triggers: Pregnancy )

Word Count: 1845

MasterList Link I AO3 Link

Summary: Sleeping with Charlie Weasley was easy. He was charming, and handsome, and was quite talented in bed... Finding out you're pregnant with your casual fuck buddies baby was not easy.

Reader's journey through co-parenting, an overbearing Molly Weasley who wants reader to marry her son to give the baby a "real family", and maybe falling a tiny bit in love with her baby daddy.

Enjoy!

I only fight Molly a little bit in helping with dinner.

"Nonsense. Go enjoy yourself with the rest of the family in the living room."

"No, really! I can do something--"

"No, no. You're a guest (y/n). Besides, if you're on your feet too much, you're bound to give Charlie an aneurysm."

I try to bite back the bark of laughter over this. I'm not insane then; Charlie is being over the top and dramatic about my ability to be fatigued. "I can do something at the table then." I compromise because I want to be useful.

Molly Weasley taps her foot on the ground, looking like she's trying to think of something I can do. "Fine. You can shell these peas for lunch tomorrow. Next year I'll show you how to make my famous stuffing. It's Charlie's favorite." I'm not sure why the last bit matters much, but the early invitation for next Christmas excites me nonetheless.

"Okay," I sit down at the table, and she sets down a large bowl on the table. This is nice being in the kitchen with Molly. Not only is it much quieter than the living room, where Fred and George are showing off some new trickster item involving small, non-flammable fireworks, but also I enjoy being around Molly. She makes me miss but also remember all the wonderful qualities and memories with my mother. 

I begin to shell the peas, and we fall into a quiet routine. The sounds of the living room and the little muggle radio playing Christmas music is soothing. 

Charlie walks in, holding a cup of eggnog, a goofy grin on his lips. I look at Molly, understanding suddenly the contents of the eggnog were adult. His nose and cheeks are stained a dusky red from the alcohol. He looks cute in his navy blue sweater and dark corduroy pants, his hair tousled in a way that seems effortless. Setting down the cup, he glances at me and then the bowl of peas.

"Why are you in here, darling?" Darling? I glance wide-eyed at Molly. She pretends to be looking at something on the countertop, but I see a slight smile on her lips.

"Helping your mother with the food," I give him a look, "I think you should eat something Charlie, or you'll regret it in the morning."

He waves his hand at me, "'m fine." 

I roll my eyes, "Fine. It's your hangover."

Charlie plops down in the chair next to me, "You should be out there in the living room."

"Someone should help your mum." I continue my work.

"Did you put her up to this?" Charlie asks his mum.

"Nope," she sets down a glass of water in front of him "(y/n) wanted to help." Molly smiles at me.

Charlie huffs, slouching against the chair's back, "Come out to the party."

I shake my head, "I'll tell you what. Finish your entire glass of water and let me finish this up, and I'll come out to the party."

He weighs his options for a moment before picking up the water "deal." A bit of the water dribbles down his chin as he slams back the water.

I can't help but giggle as he wipes his chin off with the sleeve of his sweater.

"Charles," Molly frowns at her son, "manners."

Charlie ignores the comment, turning back to me, "when you're done, you'll come?"

"Yes, I promise."

He grins, "Brilliant." He stands, but not before he leans slightly down and presses a kiss directly to my lips. What the hell is he doing?

He escapes the room without another word leaving me with a very inquisitive looking Molly Weasley. I smile sheepishly at her, hoping that little slip up from Charlie wouldn't put her on some crazy ideas. Honestly, where did that even come from? Charlie never kisses me outside of our bed.

"So--" She starts.

"He's drunk--"

"He is," she agrees. Yet, she doesn't seem convinced.

"I promise nothing is going on." This is a half-truth; something is going on. It's just not romantic and won't lead to a relationship, or marriage, how Molly probably wants.

"I believe you," she turns her back to me. Fuck. She is convinced else wise; it doesn't matter how much I deny it.

***

I sit on the couch, George to my left, Hermione to my right, and Charlie at my feet. He's leaning casually against my knees, his red mop of hair my central focal point in the room. 

"So, (y/n)," I look over at Hermione.

"Yes?"

"How have you been?" I've always liked Hermione Granger. I only knew her a little while at Hogwarts, but at that time, she proved to be beyond her years in wisdom and held herself at such a high level. She was brilliant. There was no other way to explain her. I definitely felt like she would be married to Ron in the next few years, and I would be incredibly happy to have her as my child's aunt.

"I've been good." I place my hand on my stomach as if it wasn't obvious that I am six-months pregnant. 

"You look really good! I was honestly surprised to find out you and Charlie Weasley of all people were dating."

"Oh," I want to set this straight, but it's so weird everyone just assumes I'm dating Charlie, "We're not dating."

Hermione flushes, "Oh! I'm sorry! I just assumed--"

"It's fine, really." I smile at her, "Lots of people have assumed it. You're not the first."

"Are--I mean, I'm sorry for prying...but are you not living together?"

Oh. I see how literally everything in this situation would lead to so many understandings.

"We--We are... But we're not dating. Nope. No relationship at all besides co-parents and... I guess roommates?" Hermione tilts her head. Geez. Does no one believe me? And why does no one believe that nothing is going on between Charlie and me?

"Oh, well, it's actually pretty cool that you're not falling to society's expectation of family life." I glance over at the back of Charlie's head. Yeah, pretty cool of me.

***

"C'mon," Fred's got Charlie's hand in his, trying to drag his drunk ass off the floor.

"'m fine--" Charlie stumbles to his feet. He turns towards me. "Gotta help (y/n) up." He holds out his hand for me.

I laugh, "Thank you, but I think you're a bit too drunk to help me up, Charlie."

"Nonsense. I do it all the time."

George claps him on the shoulder, "That's a bad idea, mate."

"I can help her up just fine." Charlie frowns at his brother.

George shakes his head and offers me his hand, which I take. Charlie glowers at the two of us as George helps me up from the couch.

Somehow they get Charlie and me up the staircase and into our room.

"I could've helped you," he mumbles from where he's sitting on the bed.

I have a sudden urge to cup his face in my hands. His sweet, freckled face that I lo--

Nope. I was tired, delusional even. 

"Come on. Let's get to bed." I try to help him take his sweater off. It proves harder than it sounds. I've barely got the sweater over his head, and Charlie thinks it's hilarious. "Merlin's beard. Charles, you have to help me here." I sigh in frustration, resting my hand on his shoulder.

"Why're you trying to get my sweater off anyways, (y/n)? What do you have planned?" I'm assuming this is supposed to be flirty, but it's borderline ridiculous with the collar of the sweater sitting above his nose, one sleeve off, and the other on.

"I'm planning on getting your clothes off--"

"Oh? Going to give me an early Christmas gift?" He's got that stupid grin of his plastered on his face from under the sweater.

Nevertheless, I giggle, "You're not that lucky, Charlie Weasley. We have an early morning tomorrow, and you, sir, are going to regret getting plastered in just a few hours." I help pull his sweater fully over his head. His hands find their way to my hips. Charlie pulls me closer to him, my protruding stomach right in his face.

"You're so sexy..." his words slur together.

"Yeah?" I grin down at him, moving a ginger curl out of his eyes.

He hums, "Yes. So sexy. Love to watch your body change as my baby grows inside of you. Fuck, it's so hot (y/n)."

This is definitely unexpected from him. I raise my eyebrows, "What?"

He lifts my sweater, bunching it up at the top of the bump,  "You are so sexy like this."

I giggle, "Only like this?"

"No. No, you're always sexy. So sexy. The moment I saw you in the Ministry, I wanted you to be mine."

"Be yours?" I lean a tiny bit away from him.

"Mhm. Mine." He stands on shaky legs, "Merlin, I want you to be mine." He leans down, connecting our lips. I taste the Oakey flavor of brandy on his lips, and against my better judgment, I kiss him back. Unfortunately, I'm a sucker for Charlie Weasley in more than one way.

"No--" I gently push him away from me, "You're drunk."

"Drunk or not, I know what I want." He hand rests gently on my neck, pressing another searing kiss to my lips. Our bodies meld together as closely as possible.

"Charlie--" I try to pull away again from his kiss.

"Let me kiss you," he mumbles against my lips, "You never let me just kiss you." There was a reason for that, and this moment was a prime example of why I never let it happen.

"I can't--" I put a tiny bit of distance between us, "Charlie, we can't."

He exhales, "Why? We're having a baby, and I live with you. Why can't we?" Charlie leans his forehead against mine.

"Because--What if it didn't work out? And then we couldn't give the baby parent's who could properly co-parent--"

"But what if it did work out? We could be a family."

I smile at him, cupping his jaw, "Hey, I'm already family. You said so yourself."

"You know what I mean--" He leans in again, but I stop him.

"Let's get some sleep, and we can talk when you're sober." Charlie sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay." He helps remove my sweater, scooching around me to get to the closet to grab my sleep shirt.

"I should be taking care of you," I whisper as he pulls the shirt over my head.

"I like to take care of you." He has a little frustrated crease between his eyebrows. He peels his pants off, leaving him in his black briefs. 

We lay down on the bed, Charlie snuggling up to my back like usual. A few minutes pass by, and Charlie's soft snores fill the room. 

I don't know what to think. Did Charlie want something more than, well, what we had established? And why did the thought give me butterflies?

[capsironunderoos]

Cold

DINCEMBER - December 14 - Cold

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: This really doesn’t have a plot, it’s more so just a snippet of life with Din in the small cabin you share with him and Grogu. Din returns from the marketplace one morning to find that you have a cold, and he makes it his job to take care of you.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of sickness, but nothing besides a temperature and a headache

Author’s Note: I AM SO BEHIND ON DINCEMBER! It’s literally over and here I am, still posting... Anyways! I had to finish up my first semester of student teaching, and then Christmas hit, and I’ve been trying to write in-between those things, but I’ve also been really sad lately, so there’s that. Regardless, I think I have five more posts for Dincember after this one (?) and I plan to have them all posted within the next few days. Also, this one is short, and as stated earlier, doesn’t really have a plot, it’s just kind of a glimpse into a domestic life with Din in a cabin with your small green kiddo on a planet where you’ll always be safe... I hope you enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt: Dincember - December 11 - Please, Come Home

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Cyare? Are you here?” 

At the sound of Din’s voice echoing throughout the cabin you try your best to sit up on the couch, but the sudden movement further spurs the headache you’ve woken up with. 

You can’t even bring yourself to let Din know you’re currently laid out on the couch, fighting possibly one of the worst colds of your life. 

You hear a noise beside you and your attention turns from the sound of Din placing his armor on the counter to the small coo beside you, so you glance to the floor to see Grogu staring up at you, his sweet little ears perked up as if he’s trying to sense what’s wrong. 

You smile at him as best you can, slowly shaking your head to let him know there’s nothing he can do for you. 

He seems to sense the distress the movement sends throughout your body, and you watch as he begins to slowly lift his hand. 

“Alright kid, I think it’s time you played in your room for a bit.” 

At the sound of Din’s voice so suddenly close, you and the child both snap your focus in his direction. 

He’s standing just beside the couch looking down at the pair of you. His beskar has already been removed, and he’s standing in a dark green sweater and deep gray shorts, his arms crossed over his chest as he glances over you with concern. 

“Go on,” you mumble out, and with your blessing the small child waddles to the hallway to return to his room. 

Once you and Din have watched him turn the corner, you return your gazes to each other. 

“Cyare, what’s wrong?” He asks as he moves around the couch so that he can squat just in front of your face. 

“It’s just a really bad cold, Din. It’ll go away in a few days.” 

Din can’t remember the last time he’d been really sick, but he knows what to do when you fall ill. 

He slowly moves his left hand to brush a few stray pieces of hair away from your face before allowing it to rest against your forehead. 

“You definitely have a fever,” he states, and you smile. 

“It’ll break. I just need to stay here for a little while.” 

He nods, agreeing with you, before his eyebrows furrow in the same way they always do before he asks a question. 

“How did you get here?” 

You laugh as best you can, but the movement brings on another pang of ache in your temple. 

“Very slowly,” you mumble out and he smiles. 

“How about some soup?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Has the kid had anything to eat yet?” 

A look of guilt flashes across your face and Din is quick to answer his own question. 

“Okay, I’ll fix some for us too then,” he responds with a soft smile and you nod in agreement as you burrow further into the couch and under one of the many blankets you keep in the cabin. 

Din makes the soup quickly, thankful that he decided to make a trip to the small marketplace down the road this morning, which reminds him of something as he places three bowls of soup on the small wooden table in front of the couch. 

“I meant to tell you,” he starts, and you look up at him as you slowly move to a seated position. 

“Waye asked where you were this morning, and that booth, the one you like to buy clothes for the kid from, got a new shipment in. The owner stopped me and told me that so that I would tell you specifically.” 

Waye had quickly become one of your closest friends on this small planet. She ran a small food cart and always had the best ronto wraps, which always came with a side of pleasant conversation. 

As for the owner of the clothing booth, he only knew that you were one of his best customers, as you and Grogu loved to spend hours perusing his stock while Din completed the actual grocery shopping. 

You laughed at Din as he told you of the clothing booth owner. 

“I think you’re his favorite customer,” Din responded, and you laughed again, nodding slowly this time. 

“I ought to be, me and Grogu spend enough credits there that they should just start shipping the new outfits here.” 

Din smiles at that as you both turn to see said child waddling into the room, clad in one of the outfits from the booth. It’s a deep blue sweater material that encompasses his small body like a romper. 

He must feel the stares of his parents, as his eyes quickly dart up to look at you and Din. When he does, he lets out a gurgle of laughter before running, as best he can, it’s more like a fast wobble, to latch onto Din’s leg. 

Din bends down to pick him up before setting him in front of his bowl of soup on the small wooden table. Grogu wastes no time and immediately digs into his lunch. 

You smile at the sight as the couch shifts beside you with Din’s weight. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, and you move to sit with him, resting perfectly between his legs as you lay against his chest. 

“I really don’t want you to get sick,” you mutter before looking up at him. 

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead before leaning up to grab your bowls of soup. 

“I’ll be fine, cyare, don’t worry about me,” he responds, handing you your bowl. 

You smile and lift the bowl to your lips, taking a small sip of the warm liquid. It warms your throat as you swallow, and a sigh of relief escapes your lips as you nestle further into Din’s chest. 

He chuckles at your actions, slowly sipping on his own bowl of soup. 

Once the three of you have finished, Din doesn’t worry over cleaning up, opting to sit the bowls to the side to pick up later. 

He lays down further on the couch, pulling you with him. You turn to lay on top of his chest, your right arm wrapping around him as the left rests just below his neck. 

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and Din makes sure to keep your blanket in place as you do so. 

He watches Grogu as he plays with some blocks in the floor in front of the couch, the fireplace illuminating his creations. 

Din suddenly notes a feeling of contentment settling into his chest. 

He had never considered his life to be one that would grant him such wonderful things, but here he is, his riduur asleep on his chest, and his son playing in the floor with blocks he had been gifted during a past Life Day celebration. 

“You think so loudly,” he hears you whisper, feeling you shift so that you can turn and see Grogu playing. 

He chuckles, and the deep rumbles of his laugh shake you ever so slightly. 

“Are you feeling better?” He questions, and you nod. 

“I think my fever broke, and my headache has gone away.” 

It’s silent for a few moments, save for the small sounds of Grogu’s wooden blocks knocking into one another. 

“What were you thinking about Din?” You ask, and he sighs as he begins carding his hands through your hair. 

“You. Grogu. Our cabin, our lives. The way everything has so perfectly entwined.” 

Your fingers fiddle with the collar of his sweater. 

“You deserve this and so much more, riduur.” 

Din hugs you tighter to his chest at your words. 

“I could never do anything to deserve you, or the kid, or this life, but whatever I’ve done to earn my place here, to create this life with you… I would do it again. I would do it over and over and over if it meant that I could have this, with you, forever.” 

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember: DINCEMBER - December 16 - Blankets

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

just full on bodies you with a semi NEW FIC JUST DROPPED BABES

we are leaving cute high school world and entering pain town. this story will have mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourselves and don't engage if that sort of content is triggering to you. (be nice to yourselves, i love you)

The worst year of his life starts out the same as so many good days, it almost makes him dizzy to think back on. He feels, later, that a start to this much torment, this painful, should have begun completely fucking miserable, but it had been just any other day. It starts the same way so many days before it starts. His eyes open. He’s in his bedroom, in his bed, like normal. He’s staring up at his black ceiling, wrapped up in his bedspread. His phone buzzes, and he groans, reaches for it, scans messages. A good morning from Barbara, an unread goodnight from Adam, a text from that talent agency that there was something they could use his voice for. He throws back his blankets, rubs sleep from his eyes, and dresses.

In high school his uniform had been an oversized striped hoodie, but for his birthday a few years ago, Charles had bought him several nice dress pants, suit jackets, and collared shirts, and he’d sort of settled into that as his new everyday. He likes how he looks, because this shit is expensive, custom, made to fit his more generous frame, and both his partners always say he looks handsome in a jacket and tie. (Sometimes Barbara yanks him around by the tie. Sometimes Adam snaps his suspenders.) And besides, his dad had taken his preferences into consideration, because all the pieces he’d been gifted had that pattern he was drawn to, thick black and white stripes that absolutely stand out in a crowd. He dresses quickly, throws on his suit jacket over his pinstriped shirt. He adjusts his tie, and gives a grin. Too many teeth, too sharp, and he waves a hand in front of his mouth, and tries again. Human teeth. There we go, B-Man. He lifts his legs, not especially in the mood to walk, and begins to make his way downstairs, for breakfast. He passes by Lydia’s room, and considers harassing his sister, but he remembers how bad he needed his Saturday sleep-ins at fifteen, and takes pity on her, floating past her door silently.

His father, always an early riser, is already in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and Betelgeuse lets his feet hit the floor, so that his heeled boots clack against the kitchen tile.

Charles knows the sound, doesn’t even turn around. “Morning, BJ. Any plans for today?”

His relaxed, not exactly actively working lifestyle is not his dad’s favorite, but he’s got a long time, a lot longer than any other person, to work a job. He's just enjoying the time he gets with all his favorite breathers, before he doesn’t have it anymore. At least, that’s always been his excuse. It's not that he can't find work, or that he’s unhirable to a normal job, it’s that he’s trying to enjoy life. Obviously.

But there's good news this morning.

“Got a text from th’ agency. Some voice work,” he grunts. His insanely gravely voice is not always in high demand, but it's been getting some attention lately, mostly because the last commercial he did voice over for, he had to sing, and the request for more of that has been promising. The big goal is some acting gig, on stage, preferably, but he’d take TV, too. He loves the attention, he loves the rush, he loves entertaining. Unfortunately he’s got a demonic aura that makes breathers nervous on principle. He knows if he could just get a break, he’d have a lot to give… but he’s maybe not working on getting that break as hard as he could be.

“Very nice,” Charles finally turns, and smiles, clearly approving. He sets a cup of coffee in front of his son, and BJ glances at it. “Be a pal and wake your mother up?” “This early? On a Saturday?” He squints. “You tryna take me out via Emily attack?” “We’ve got that check up to go to,” Charles says. “I don’t want to be late.”

He shrugs, takes the cup, and vanishes from sight, appearing upstairs, next to his mother. Emily is still wrapped in the bedsheets, snoring lightly, but he knows the trick to rousing her. The coffee cup is waved around her nose, allowing the aroma to hit her senses, and, eyes still closed, she reaches for it. He pulls the cup back.

“Come on, ma,” he scratches gently at her scalp. “Time to get up.” “Coffeeeee,” she groans, reaching at it blindly again, and he grins, and walks backwards, setting the coffee on the dresser, across the room. “Coffee’s over here, Deetzy,” he tells her, and she finally cracks an eye open, and groans. “Evil. Evil son.” “Yup,” he agrees, easily. “Come on. Chuck says you got some appointments to keep.” His mother groans, and kicks back the sheets, before standing.

He’d been twelve, and herself only about thirty when she’d found him, and now, ten years later, at 40, her age is showing, a little. She’s been growing in gray hair for the past few years, and it hasn’t taken over her natural sunshine yellow, but it’s becoming a bit more noticeable, and the slight lines forming around her mouth and eyes are a new addition to her features. Chuck’s aging in much the same way, but with fewer laugh lines. The hair at his father’s temples is going gray, and if he really looks, he can see the beginnings of salt and pepper in his father’s beard. He doesn’t like looking for it, though, and doesn't like the feeling gnawing in his guts at seeing his parents age. If he had his way, they’d stay frozen in time, the way he probably will. Demons don’t age, past a certain point, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be hitting it, soon enough.

He watches his mother shuffle across the floor, and claim her prize of coffee. She takes a long sip, and then groans. “I don’t want to go to the doctor,” she complains to him, and he pats her shoulder. “I know, ma,” he gives her a very sympathetic smile. “But you gotta. Or Chuckles will throw a fit. It’s just a check up, right? No biggie.” She rubs at her temple, and winces. “Getting old sucks,” she tells him. “I’ve been having the worst headaches, recently.”

When they make it back downstairs, Chuck's got breakfast going, and Lydia is sipping her own coffee. Black, like her heart, she always says. He passes her by and ruffles that mop of long blonde hair. “Beetle breath,” she greets him, as he takes a plate from Charles, and sits to eat.

The voice over work isn't as big a deal as he was hoping. He adjusts his tie, fiddles with the collar of his pinstripe dress shirt, and steps out of the booth. “Fuckin’ peanuts,” he complains, and his agent just shrugs. “Gotta start small, BJ. We need someone to do some crooning for this other comercial, some car sale, or something. You feel like playing Sinatra for a bit?”

Not especially, but he does it anyway, and then meets Adam and Barbara for lunch. Adam’s taking classes for business management, and he’s just about done. He wants to take over his grandpa’s hardware store, outside of the city. Way outside, actually, in some little town in Connecticut. They’ve got shared plans, shared dreams, and all of it hinges on this little store in this little town. BJ isn’t too worried. His boyfriend’s hobbies come and go, but Adam really, really enjoys woodworking, and getting to own a place like that sounds like getting to own his own playground.

Barbara, meanwhile, is stuck in clerical work, which she finds mind numbingly dull, but it's a steady paycheck, and it’s afforded her a ticket out of her dad’s place, so that’s something. She and Adam share a tiny studio apartment in Queens, and for all the time Betelgeuse spends there, he might as well live there, too. But three people in a studio isn’t any of their idea of a good time. Speaking of…

“I was on zillow, today,” Adam starts, and he and Barbara lean over with varying degrees of interest, as Adam shows them his phone. It’s a house, predictably, but a nice one. Old fashioned, and a little creeping looking. He likes it.

“She’s a bit of a fixer upper,” he says, admiring the house. “But the price is right, and look at all this character. Classic Queen Anne, with the original crown molding! Tons of space, lots of room for the three of us.” “Maybe a forth,” Barbara smiles brightly, and he matches her enthusiasm. She’s wanted to be a mom since he’s known her, six pretty amazing years, and while a lot has changed in that time, her maternal desire is as strong as ever.

“Maybe a fifth,” BJ grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she flushes. “One from each of my boys.” She agrees, and she reaches across the table, for his hand, which he gives her. Adam takes her other hand, and they’re lost in that fantasy for a moment. He’s not actually sure he can give her what she wants, since he’s not exactly human, but Adam can, at least. And he gets to be part of it. Goddamn, he’s lucky.

“So? Tell us about this commercial you just did!” Adam smiles at him.

“S’not a big deal, just some radio ad,” He tells them, but he’s flattered that they’re always overly enthusiastic about his bit parts. “I heard you on the radio in the office, a few days ago!” Barbara remembers. “My coworkers couldn’t believe that was your real voice! You make such a good villain.” Of course he does. He keeps the smile on, because he knows Babs, knows that she means it in the sweetest, most lovey dovey way possible, but he’s never going to play the hero, because no hero sounds like a demon. He can’t get in his head about this, not right now. Not when the weather’s so nice, and he’s sitting across from the people he loves the most.

“I am the villain, babes,” he grins at her, and stands, leaning over to kiss and rub his stubble into her neck, until laughing, she pushes him away.

“Maybe you should come to the office with me, tomorrow,” Chuck says, over dinner. BJ resists the urge to stab himself through the eye with his fork. “M’not that into real estate, pop,” he tells him, and Emily smiles. “You know BJ’s an artist.” “I just think if he gave it a try,” Charles says, looking to his wife. “That he’d excel at it. I mean, good lord, all real estate is, is making deals and fast talking. He’s built for that sort of thing.” Betelgeuse grimaces. “But then I’d have to spend any amount of time around your coworkers, an’ those other big money creeps.” “Those big money creeps write the checks that paid for this house, BJ,” Chuck reminds him.

“I’ll be sure to send Maxie Dean a fruit basket.”

“Skip the fruit, just send that freak ass a basket of snakes,” Lydia says, and he grins. “Do not do that.” “Psh. Whatever, dad,” he pitches his voice into a teenage whine, and his father gives a dry smile in return. “So, that doctor appointment?” Lydia looks to Emily, and their mother smiles. “Got some scans done, no biggie. Checkups just suck. I’ve been having those migraines, recently, but the doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

He’s staring down at his mother, in hospice, and those words echo around his mind. No big deal. The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Just a couple migraines. Just some dizziness. Just some nausea. Just a tumor. Just another breather’s life, coming to an end.

Her bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn. He’s sitting to her left, Lydia dozing to her right, and Emily is sleeping, dozing lightly. Chuck’s talking to the nurse in the hall. The last twelve months are a blur. He can’t remember individual days, can only remember when those test results came back. He remembers, vaguely, holding her hand during treatments. But there’s nothing any breather alive can do about the tumor, about the placement of it. At least she’s at home, at least she’s laying in her own bed. At least she’s not stuck in the hospital. Her sun colored hair is gone. Her smile is gone. That mischievous glint in her eyes is gone. All Emily does is sleep. All they can do is wait. read the rest of this chapter, plus the second one i couldn't help but post, over here, on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/32243065/chapters/79911316

[akampana]

Prompt n.24 sounds very interesting. Arturia is a king, but also a knight. And the one thing a knight has by their side, is their trusted weapon...

But we know that sometimes, a weapon is not just a weapon. Sometimes its much more...

Right, Cu Alter?

24. “You will never lose me. I will always be right here beside you.”

Cu Alter x Arturia

One-shot, set in a world where Cú Chulainn and King Arthur exist in the same time period. Enjoy! Thanks for the ask!

___

A loud clang resounded within the stone confines of the throne room, and yet it was quiet compared to the storm raging hell outside, and quieter still to the turmoil that wracked King Arthur’s mind.

Tristan’s desertion was followed by those of a number of knights. The first crack in the glass foundation that kept Camelot’s flag flying high. The exposure of Lancelot’s affair, however, was the hammer that finally smashed it to smithereens. Now here she was left amongst the rubble, with an aggrieved Gawain, a conflicted Bedivere and the cold, dead body of poor Agravain, who fell victim to her excommunicated First Knight. Arturia did not know where Merlin was. Kay had left months ago with all his fortune. She needn’t be a genius to know he wasn’t coming back.

What the people demanded was revenge for King Arthur’s cuckolding: the hunt and execution of the treacherous French knight that fled to his homeland, to whom Arturia held no grudge. Her logic demanded she carry out the farce, but what remained of her sealed-up heart did not.

From this derived her conflict, which she wrestled in solitude, here at the glaringly empty Round Table that used to seat her comrades.

Pursue the man she’s forgiven or stay her hand? Give the people what they want or stand by her own beliefs?

Arturia flinched as cool metal brushed against her fingertips, her startled eyes climbing to meet orbs the color of the wine she just spilled.

“King—!” the glare he sent her stilled her tongue at once, his inhuman crimson eyes glowing in the dim candlelight.

“Cú,” she corrected herself, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Her thinner night garbs did little to hide the secret of her sex. In the dead of night, she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Especially not at the Round Table, which was devoid of all life at this hour.

“Has your fire gone out for the night?” she said, twisting her father’s silver ring around her thumb as she spoke, “I will arrange for a servant to assist you at once—”

“Forget it,” interrupted the brutal warrior, reclining himself into Lancelot’s former seat as he poured his own goblet. “Can’t sleep in all this racket.”

She knew instinctively he didn’t mean the storm. Regretful green eyes inspected the mess in the corner, wasted wine that was a victim to her ire. Briefly, she wondered how the foreign king could hear her from all the way in the east wing, but it was hardly important. Cú was already a man of few words. He wouldn’t waste any on small talk.

“Yer gonna chase the bastard, aren’t ya? It’s what yer subjects want,” came his raspy declaration, cutting in through the silence just before a crack of lightning illuminated the room. Their eyes clashed in the glaring white light, blood orbs against evergreen.

“I can...I cannot deny them the justice they expect of me,” she answered, grief lacing the small voice that barely carried itself through the thunder.

“So you deny yerself. Just like you’ve done all yer life. Ain’t that right, Arturia?”

It took King Arthur a moment to fully grasp what had come out of his lips. Her breath began to labor as she wracked her brain for an excuse. Panic settled into her bones faster than the snow outside seeped into the grass. Before she could formulate anything, however, she felt Cú’s fingers encircle her wrist.

“Relax. I ain’t telling no one. Weapons don’t talk, remember?” he soothed, as much as an emotionless killing machine could, anyway.

“You are not just a weapon. We have been over this.” Arturia shot back, momentarily forgetting the source of her stress.

As her frantic breaths began to still, she managed a small question. “How long have you known?”

His claws released their grip, lamenting the small indents they left on her skin. “Since ya wasted yer fourteenth seat on a foreign king that once would have torn yer land asunder.”

Cú reached past her arms, lifting the wool cloak from the short king’s chest. Sure enough, he now had his confirmation, a modest chest that was so cleverly hidden behind her armor plates.

“‘Tis of little consequence to me,” he voiced, replacing the garment she pulled so closely around herself. She watched him as he gave her another glass of wine, trying to discern if he spoke the truth.

“I don’t bloody care about what’s between yer legs, the same way you never cared for this fucking tail that trails behind me. All I need to hear are yer orders,” her allied king continued, flicking away a loose strand of hair with the scaly appendage.

“If ya wanna kill Lancelot, Arturia, I’m with ya. Point me in the way of France. But if not, then gimme some other fucking command. I don’t give a shit, as long as it’s what ya want.”

The King of Knights pursed her lip, still unaccustomed to hearing her real name from one who wasn’t supposed to know her secret. Especially when the one who used it was someone she did not expect: the displaced King of Connacht, who was more frequently an envoy serving at her court as an allied Warrior of the Round Table than the ruler of his late queen’s territory. The latter job, Cú had delegated to Fergus, as the “Mad” King had chosen to dedicate his freedom to the one that liberated him.

Arturia shook off his crass manner of speech. After nearly a decade of having him by her side, she’d grown accustomed to his language, even if he was frequently scoffed at by Agravain and Gaheris when the siblings still lived.

The reminder of her knights’ deaths led her gaze back to her table and its empty seats. There were so few that still belonged to the living. Some of them were never to be filled again. Arturia turned to her right, to where Lancelot once sat, meeting ruby eyes instead of onyx ones.

“Then how about this,” she suggested, imprinting the Irish King’s face into her memory the same way she’d done for the rest of her knights. Slowly, she slipped off the silver ring she’d been fiddling with and slid it onto his pinky.

“Return to your homeland with as much gold as you can carry and my eternal gratitude. Take a fourth of the cattle. Reward each of those in your service with one and keep the rest to enrich Connacht.”

Thunder raged on outside the castle walls, but it was the silence of the king before her that unnerved Arturia to a ridiculous extent. For while neither were as talkative as her remaining nephew, the quiet had never been quite so tense.

“The hell?” Cú finally asked, glaring at the Pendragon ring with disgust instead of honor. “You’d have me run? Do ya think me a coward—”

“—I think you are a king that should not die for the flag of a kingdom that is not his,” she cut him off, grasping his hand before he could tear her father’s ring off. “You asked for an order. This is it.”

Cú Chulainn’s claws dug into the collar of her cloak, as he pulled her to his face, a menacing look upon his countenance.

“An order?” he grunted harshly, “Or a feeble attempt at driving me away before I can leave you?”

Arturia’s struggles suddenly ceased, her limbs going limp before the foreign king finally let go of her clothes. The chairs screeched as each ruler fell back onto them, the older one far more irate than the younger.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Cú murmured, his voice soft as his fist thudded onto the circular table. “Ya’ve been an absolute tool since that depressing redhead turned in his rank, and some thoughtless fools followed. Then ya let Lancelot leave, don’t even bloody try to tell me he got away.”

Arturia turned her head, hiding her eyes behind her hay-colored hair. It mattered not how her charisma could sway crowds, her tongue knew not how to lie. Green eyes searched the empty room, counting the few chairs that would be occupied tomorrow. Her sister’s remaining sons’, Bedivere’s and...oh, how very few.

Arturia rested her hand on his fist, urging him to keep the heirloom as proof of the great service he gave Camelot.

“Go home, Cú. I cannot...I cannot lose you, too.” the British king sighed, getting used to the chill of solitude. She’d always known that a life as king was a life alone. At least with Cú, she could choose the day he left, instead of spending her time counting the days till he made his exit, just like her knights, her wizard, her brother.

“Don’t ask something so fucking stupid then go looking so damn pitiful,” he responded, flipping their hands and dragging her into his space till her lips touched his.

There was a reason Cú had stayed, pawning off Connacht to someone else that deserved it more and joining Camelot’s court instead. Not only had Arturia broken the geis that kept him tied to Medb, but she also gave him purpose.

Cú never spoke of it, but he remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday.

It was on the battlefield, back when he was still bound by geis to serve another mistress. Medb, the sly vixen, had tricked him into her service, forcing him into the frontlines till he’d slain every single one of his former comrades.

Bathed in the blood of his friends, the red clouding his vision, the man who was once Ulster’s proudest warrior was no more. His valiant face was replaced by a monstrous visage, his armaments were stained black. Upon his head sat a crown of thorns, forced onto his head by a queen who knew nothing but chaos.

Before long, the name he was proud to take up had been given new meaning. He was no longer Ulster’s guard dog, but Medb’s rabid hound, who sunk his teeth into anything and everything that so much as irked the devilish queen. Cú Alter, she called him, now that she’d bent him to her tastes. Cú Alter, a fitting name to a warrior forced to tarnish his own title.

As the bodies piled up around him, no rhyme nor reason for their slaughter, Cú began to see himself in a darker light, grasping at straws for some sort of purpose behind all the mindless killing.

He must have been a monster. A monster that massacred all that stood in his way regardless of honor and glory. Yes, that must have been it, he convinced himself, finally submitting to the dark cage that his hated loathsome queen had put him under.

As the black chains dragged him deeper and deeper into his own personal hell, he took up his spear once again. It lashed out whenever he touched it, staining itself dark till the vibrant red he used to wield was nowhere to be found. Once more, to the battlefield, said Medb. Once more, he tore across it with a godlike ease.

Then suddenly the cursed spear collided with its match, a sword of shining light that glowed as bright as its wielder. He remembered the moment so clearly, his breath hitching at his throat as his strikes were pushed back, the wind pressure whipping his hood out of his face. His heart pounded with adrenaline as his gaze fell down to his opponent: a tiny little thing, so small they should have fallen to his last strike, but there they still stood, defiant green eyes staring up at him with no fear.

Rage overtook his figure, fueling his strikes as he tried to cast the small warrior back, but all his efforts were met with equal force.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” a small voice, too fragile to have been a man’s, rung out across the battlefield. Spear met sword once again, pausing in their dance.

“Your name, knight.”

Even though he stayed on his feet, it was like the king had pulled the rug from under him. Their eyes locked once more, and he saw himself within the green irises, staring mouth agape at his opponent.

His name? His name? How long had it been since he’d been asked for his name? How many foes had he slain since then? How many nameless faces had he sent to the grave? How could this person, this puny king, take one look at his monstrous form and face him like a knight regardless?

“Cú Chulainn,” came his raspy voice, which too often had been used to roar like a beast. It felt foreign on his lips, which had ‘til then spoke nothing but bitter resentment.

That day, Arturia saw more than the monster. More than the weapon he’d disillusioned himself into being. Cú followed the king after Medb’s defeat, intending to find some proof that it was all a fluke, but it never happened. Arturia never treated him or her knights like a weapon or a tool. Arturia treated him like an equal.

And now, years spent the line, she was robbing him of that feeling, sending him away with glory and riches. If he were younger, he’d have jumped at the prize of heroic fame, but that was no longer what he wanted. What he wanted was to be right here, right next to the person that made him feel human again.

As their lips parted, Cú sent a glare through the empty seats of each of the deserters. He’d never understand how they could leave their king behind. He’d met his fair share of monarchs— hell, he technically was one—and even as belligerent a person he was, he wouldn’t wield his spear for any other.

“You will never lose me,” Cú declared in between rough kisses. “I will always be right here beside you. Understand?”

The Irishman returned her ring as she nodded, breathless, into his shoulder. She had one. Even if the world were to turn on Arturia, she still had one. One that would stay forever beside her.

Beside her...

Beyond Cú, the shorter king saw the backrest of Lancelot’s former seat, and finally, she knew just what to do to settle the people and follow her heart at the same time.

“Disregard my previous orders. Heed this instead…”

As the words left his king’s lips, Cú Chulainn proudly grinned.

[the-gay-prometheus]

Frankenstein AU Segment - “A Time to Mourn” Part 1

Uh- hi - I couldn’t figure out a better title for this one so. We’re stuck with this for now until I think of something better.

Anyways.

This one takes place quite a while after the segment called 'Try.' There's a bit of context missing because of this but... Hopefully it's not too confusing.

A bit of background on this. I knew for a while that I wanted to introduce Ernest and Elizabeth into the main story by having Victor, Henry, and Agape visit William’s grave and be found entirely by accident, but I wasn’t really sure how I wanted to make that happen. And then, in my brain’s infinite wisdom, I came up with.... whatever the hell this is.

Fun fact - part of the writing process for this legitimately had me physically sobbing. Which is kind of sad considering... this isn’t even close to the most painful part of the AU as a whole. Point is though, it took me way longer to write because how in the world do you put into words something that there are no words to describe? I know for sure I still wasn’t able to do it justice despite spending weeks thinking it over and writing and rewriting it, but I think I got it as close as I could possibly get.

Now on to the somewhat disappointing part: this segment is technically going to be posted in two parts. I didn’t intend for it to end up being another two-parter, but what ended up happening was that I suddenly realized I had five pages of content written for it already despite still having more to write and, if I had ended up introducing Ernest the way I originally wanted to, that would have taken up another page or two at least. That would have ended up being a nine to ten page segment - which is waaaay too long if you ask me. This does unfortunately mean that Ernest’s true introduction is going to be delayed, but....

There is a bright side to this, though! I have a new idea for the full introduction of Ernest, and this means that Ernest will actually be getting a segment that is primarily focused on himself way sooner than I originally anticipated. I think he deserves as much, to be honest. 

...All of that out of the way, on to the story.

A few warnings for this one: Mentions of blood, death of a child, and breaking bones (if you catch any I missed, please let me know asap!)

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are highly appreciated!

It was before the sun rose that Victor awoke, somehow feeling entirely alert despite having only slept a few hours. He sat up in bed, staring at the wall in silence as he prepared himself for the day and the journey ahead. Henry stirred beside him, and though Victor hushed him quietly, his hazel eyes shuttered open. Still half asleep, he yawned and wriggled slightly, pulling the blanket over himself more before slowly starting to half sit upright. “Mm… it’s not already time for you to leave yet, is it?” he grumbled, voice raspy from sleep.

“If I want to make this as quick a trip as possible, yes,” Victor sighed in return, reaching over and taking Henry’s hand.

“And you promise you’ll be back in two days at most?”

“I promise,” Victor answered quietly, lifting his hand and gingerly kissing the back of it. Henry smiled slightly, shifting his grip and returning the kiss with one of his own on the back of Victor’s hand. Victor smiled back, but the expression soon faded into a more solemn one. “Do you promise you’ll keep him here until I come back?” Henry nodded.

“I promise. We’ll… probably go climbing or something,” he replied, sitting more upright and leaning his head on Victor’s shoulder. Victor rested his head against Henry’s, staring ahead once again.

“You should probably talk to him today, while you’re at it,” he suggested. Henry glanced up at him.

“Only if he brings it up. I don’t think he’d take it well if I was the one to bring it up.” Victor was silent, but nodded after a moment. With great effort, he pried himself away from Henry and slipped out of bed to prepare himself for the journey ahead. As he dressed himself, Henry stretched and pulled himself out of bed, walking over and wrapping his arms around Victor from behind once he was fully dressed in his traveling clothes. Victor leaned back into him as Henry placed his chin on his shoulder, raising one hand and placing his palm on Henry’s cheek. “I wish I could come with you,” Henry murmured quietly.

“I know,” Victor replied, “but someone needs to stay and make sure Agape doesn’t leave.” He sighed softly. “In a perfect world you could come with me and I could trust he wouldn’t follow but… we both know him. He’d follow even if he promised not to.” Henry nodded.

“You’re right. But I’ll still miss you.” Victor smiled, pulling back and turning to face him. He stood on his toes and rested his arms on Henry’s shoulders before kissing him softly, Henry reciprocating as he wrapped his arms back around him.

“I know,” Victor answered as he pulled back again. “I’ll miss you too.” Despite Henry’s reluctance to let him go, Victor moved to grab his black coat from the hook by the bedroom door.

“Please take care of yourself while you’re gone,” Henry requested, walking over and helping him to put the coat on. Victor nodded, popping the collar up.

“I will, as best as I’m able.” Just as he opened the door, Henry took hold of his arm and pulled him in for one last kiss, which Victor certainly didn’t protest to. After a moment, he gently tapped Henry’s shoulder, and Henry begrudgingly broke away, a sort of pouting expression in his eyes that made Victor smile. He walked out of the room, silently opening the front door and stepping outside. Henry followed him to the door, standing in the doorway as Victor took a moment to look up at the starry morning sky, admiring how the black of night had begun to lighten around the horizon with the coming sunrise.

“Victor?” Henry called as he watched his husband begin to make his way toward the trail that would lead down the mountain. Victor paused and turned.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” Victor smiled.

“I love you too. I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, he turned again, and disappeared into the trees.

---

“Agape?” Henry called out, worry in his voice as he trudged through the forest, frantically searching in every direction. “Agape?!” After Victor left, he had crawled back into bed and - despite intending to only sleep until just after the sun fully rose, he had managed to sleep in until noon. When he awoke, he realized that his son was nowhere to be found. Though he tried to keep calm, he was terrified. After all, he promised Victor that he wouldn’t let him leave, but now he couldn’t even find him. He searched each of Agape’s usual favorite thinking spots - the pool in the mossy clearing, the circle of stones that looked like they had been intentionally placed in the middle of a stand of silver fir, the grove of collapsed larches from some long-past avalanche, the massive waterfall that dropped from the edge of a cliff and left the forest around it coated in mist - he was still nowhere to be found. The final place he could think to check was the alpine meadow on the other end of the forest, and as he passed through the final tangle of branches, he breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of the one he was looking for. Agape stood very still, his long black hair and dark cloak gently billowing in the mountain breeze as he overlooked the peaks on the horizon. Henry approached him slowly and solemnly, standing at his side and staring off in the same direction. “Agape I… I was hoping you would have come and talked to me this morning.”

“You were still asleep when I awoke,” Agape replied after a moment’s silence. “I did not wish to wake you.”

“Instead you worried me half sick,” Henry pointed out, turning his eyes to him.

“That was not my intention.” As he stared out over the distant heights, Henry searched his expression for how he was feeling. “I needed some time to… think.”

“About?” Henry asked, sitting on the grass and motioning for him to sit as well. Agape looked down at him, and hesitated for a moment before sitting beside him.

“I required time to think about what I should do,” he concluded, looking down as he brushed his fingers through the grass around him. He turned, his eyes settling on a patch of wildflowers further down the slope. “I… wish to pay my respects.” Henry tensed.

“That’s… that’s a wonderful idea Agape but, well-” He paused, unsure of how to word it and worried he might take it the wrong way. “Well… Victor- he… See, that’s- that’s where Victor is off to at the moment. And he specifically requested to be-” He cut himself off as Agape suddenly stood, and began walking over to the patch of wildflowers. “Agape?” The tall figure bent down, and began plucking a few of the flowers. Curious, Henry stood and walked over to him. As he walked over, Agape straightened himself upright, and held out a small handful of the flowers for Henry to see.

“As I recall, flowers are a customary gift for the dead, correct?” he asked. Henry was about to reply, when he caught sight of the flowers that Agape held. They were small, pale blue, and grew in clusters on long, vibrant green stems. “Myosotis alpestris,” he recited, recalling the scientific name from one of his and Victor’s many excursions to this spot. “Commonly known as-”

“Forget-me-nots,” Henry breathed, looking up at him. Agape nodded.

“Indeed. They seem… most appropriate.” Suddenly Henry was conflicted. On one hand, he knew Victor needed time to grieve alone. After all, it had been two years, and all that time, he never really had a moment to spend truly grieving. But on the other hand… there was Agape. Clearly seeking something, likely closure or forgiveness, and who was he to deny him that?  “If I wish to arrive there in a timely fashion I should leave presently,” Agape continued, breaking him from his thoughts.

“I’m coming with you,” Henry blurted out before he could consider trying to change his son’s mind. Agape gave him an odd, yet comforted look.

“I would much appreciate your accompaniment, Henry, but if that is the case then we truly must leave right away unless you intend for me to carry you.” Henry shook his head.

“That won’t be necessary,” he answered. “Though I may take you up on that offer on the way back.” Agape nodded.

“I understand. In which case, let us be on our way.”

---

By the time Victor arrived at his family’s cemetery, it was well into the night and the full moon coated the land in an eerie pale gleam. Throughout his journey he had felt strangely numb, as though the reality of it all still hadn’t set in yet - which was especially strange, considering it had been two years now. Still, as he stepped beyond the gate, it seemed as though the weight of every body that lay beneath was piled on top of him and for a moment he struggled to breathe. Memories flooded back of his time in Ingolstadt, digging through graves in the middle of the night, sorting through corpses, picking and choosing which parts he would take and which he would leave behind. Although he knew he had nothing to fear, a chill ran down his spine as he felt like a hundred spirits had gathered around him to judge him for his actions. He shook the thought away, gripping at the collar of his coat and pulling it to cover his face as he walked onward. Searching through the names he once played amongst as a child, he finally came across the headstone he was looking for, and upon seeing it he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Resting serenely beneath a willow was a small granite stone that read ‘William Frankenstein ~ Tragically murdered on May 7th aged 8 years.’ It felt like a nightmare. It felt like it shouldn’t be real. Even after all this time, he couldn’t picture it. The last time he had seen his brother, he was no more than an infant, and he couldn’t fathom what the body six feet beneath where he stood might have looked like. Though his throat was suddenly dry, he shuddered and swallowed hard as he reached out and placed a hand on the cold stone.

“I-” His voice cracked as he began to speak. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you. I… I don’t have the words.” He hesitated, clenching his eyes shut. “How, William- how have I continued on knowing that your innocent blood is on my hands? I’m... I never should have-” He sucked in a shaky breath, then suddenly recoiled as a horrible vision swam in his mind. He could see it clearly: his creation’s horrible hand upon the throat of a child, yellow eyes burning with fury as he squeezed the life out of his infant brother. A squeak of disgust escaped his throat at the thought, and he trembled. “I never should have done it. I never should have created it. I- If I hadn’t you would still be alive and- and-” His trembling worsened and he broke into a cold sweat. “Good god William, what the hell am I doing? That thing, that demon, he slaughtered you with his bare hand, and here I am playing the father figure. You, my own brother, perished from his malice and I have been treating him with dignity he most certainly doesn’t deserve!” he exclaimed, his voice hoarse. “How blinded by my own fear of what he might do have I been? How insulting it must be to see me treat your murderer with such care.” He nearly fell as his trembling worsened, and he caught his fall upon the edge of the headstone with a gasp. Slowly, he recovered and stood. “How-” he was cut off by the sound of footsteps, and for a moment fear gripped him until he turned. Walking into the cemetery were two familiar shapes, and though in other circumstances he might have been glad to see them, in this particular moment he felt his blood boil with rage. “You’ve got an awful lot of nerve to follow me here,” he seethed as they approached, his eyes narrowed as he glared at them. Henry sighed, glancing away as he stopped just a few feet from where Victor stood.

“I know- I’m sorry but-”

“No, Henry,’” Victor snapped, clenching his fists. “You. Promised.”

“Yes, I did, and I shouldn’t have. This isn’t about me and it isn’t about you either. He-” Agape slowly walked forward, his expression seemingly blank as his yellow eyes stared down at the headstone. Victor felt rage coursing through him at the sight, his mind still reeling from the dreadful vision he had witnessed only moments ago.

“Get the hell out of my sight,” Victor snarled at the creature, his hand shaking as he forcefully pointed toward the exit. Agape didn’t respond, instead simply taking another silent step. Henry wanted to speak up, but kept his mouth shut, knowing nothing he would say could possibly help. “How dare you come here! After what you did to him you-” He cut himself off as the creature took another step. “Are you listening to me? Get. Out!” he cried, pointing once again toward the exit. Another step. “I swear if you take one more step I will not be responsible for my actions,” he hissed. Another step, suddenly more unsteady this time. Victor felt fury swell within him and he suddenly lunged toward his creation. Henry grabbed him before he could lay so much as a finger on Agape, and Victor in turn was about to push him away to make another attempt at striking the creature, when his eyes caught sight of pale blue clutched between his creation’s boney hands. He hesitated suddenly, his vision focusing to realize that Agape held a small bouquet of various wildflowers he had plucked along the journey to the cemetery, though most numerous in the assortment was forget-me-nots. His eyes widened and he felt some of his rage dissipate as Agape took another faltering step. Henry, seeing that Agape was struggling, instinctively moved to help him, but Victor raised an arm and stopped him. “Agape?” Victor managed to hoarsely call out. The creature did not answer, and simply took another step, now standing directly over the grave. All seemed unnaturally silent, no rustling of branches in the breeze or calls of nocturnal creatures, just silence. Victor felt his heart sink as he beheld his creation suddenly tense hard. “...Agape-”

There was a war suddenly raging within the creature’s heart. Such was his anguish at the thought of his crimes that he felt as though every stitch was tearing out of its seam. His memory flooded with dreaded images he had tried so hard to suppress, and it overwhelmed him. As he tried to keep his composure, his grasp on the flowers tightened. Terror gripped him as the soft crumpling of the stems sounded more like sickening cracks in his ears and the damp feeling of now crushed stalks felt more like blood covering his hands. Though they were only wilted flowers, in the vision of his troubled mind, he held the broken neck of a young boy, and in horror he released his grip. He stared down at his hands, shaking violently, before suddenly collapsing to his knees. An indescribably banshee-like scream of pure agony escaped him as he threaded his fingers through his long black hair and gripped the locks tightly as though he were ready to rip them from his own skull. Both Victor and Henry flinched at the dreadful noise, Henry turning away and Victor struggling to hold back a sob of his own. Tears gushed from Agape’s eyes, falling heavy into the grass below, and he struggled to breathe between the cries of despair that escaped him.

As Victor took in a shaky breath, he felt himself tremble as his thoughts flooded with everything he had just said. After all this time, he had never really considered how Agape might have been reflecting on his own actions, or how he too might have been hiding just how much emotional pain he was in regarding that fateful event. And, if this was still the cold hearted murderer he had considered his creation might be, then why would he be in such clearly torturous distress over the death over the one he himself had killed? Worse yet, he knew better - he had seen just how far Agape had come in coping with his emotions and relating to others. He had seen the amount of care and sympathy this miraculous creature showed toward Henry and himself, how selfless he had always been. After all, even though Victor wished that perhaps he had stayed dead, it was out of a deep familial love that Agape had used the very elixir and device that was meant to create an everlasting companion for himself to instead restore his creator - his father - to life. And, in a very real sense, Agape was still a child. For a child to spend two years silently coping with a trauma so intense, though it may have been a trauma the child himself caused, was a burden that Victor could barely comprehend. All at once, whatever malice he still held for his creation within him melted away, and, making the first move, he walked toward his son and shakily placed a hand on his shoulder.

Agape had finally begun to quiet himself while Victor had been hesitating to make any movement, but as soon as he felt the hand of his father placed gently upon him, he felt a sudden swell of heartbreaking pain and he lurched with a sob. In his mind, he deserved no sympathy, and feeling that this man who had just moments prior hurled threats at him was moved so deeply by his grief that he might entirely change his own damaged perspective, shattered his already guilt ridden soul. Victor himself could no longer hold back his emotions, breaking into tears of his own. He flinched slightly as he suddenly felt a hand placed on his shoulder, and exhaled a shaky breath as he recognized the gentle touch as his husband’s. Henry lingered there behind him for a moment, but slowly moved to his son’s other side, kneeling beside him and resting a hand gently upon his back. Though he opened his mouth to speak, he was shocked into silence as Victor spoke instead.

“I am so-” He hesitated, tensing and shuddering before inhaling sharply and continuing. “So sorry.” The words hurt to say, there was no denying that. The moment they left his lips it felt like a dagger cutting into his chest and a fire burning in his throat. Agape’s still tear-filled eyes widened as he heard them, but he stayed silent, not daring to speak in fear of even the slightest chance that his words may only serve to condemn himself more. Once he regained his composure, Victor went on. “I may be cursed with the knowledge of what happened, with knowing that what I did played a part in sealing his fate, but you…” He swallowed hard, and knelt down beside him, reaching out and turning Agape’s face toward him though his son’s yellow eyes averted from his gaze. “You who have changed and grown, who I have watched make such strides of progress toward returning to the kind and gentle soul you once possessed-” Agape winced at his words, strands of his long black hair falling over his face and hiding his eyes. Victor gently pushed the locks away, tucking them behind his ear. “To be forever stained with vivid memories of what you once did, and to hide the pain it must have caused you as you came to realize that action was such a grievous atrocity for the sake of keeping peace - I can only imagine what a living hell it must have been for all that time.” Picking up one of the flowers, though damaged, he held it up and inspected the pale blue of its tiny petals. “I thought maybe you had simply… forgotten. That maybe to you it had been such an inconsequential action, that maybe all it was, was a means to an end.” He placed the flower down in front of the headstone, and gazed upon the engraving. “It doesn’t make logical sense, though, to think that you might have forgotten, given your… impeccable memory. So maybe that was a lie I told myself - to make blaming you and resenting you justifiable.” He glanced over at Henry, who was staring at him from Agape’s other side with a kind, compassionate smile despite the tears still rolling down his freckled cheeks, and in an instant his guilt and regret melted away into a gentle warmth that seeped through him and turned his pained expression into a similarly soft smile. Agape’s immense frame trembled with a long, labored exhale.

“I am undeserving of your sympathy, Victor. The crime I committed was unforgivable.”

“He never said that your crime was forgiven,” Henry pointed out gently. Agape gave him a pained glance. “Killing a child for the sake of gaining compassion by force is unforgivable, it’s true. But no matter how unforgivable an action may be, no man is born or created innately knowing what is forgivable and what is not. It’s what he chooses to do with the knowledge of his actions that determines whether he himself is worthy of forgiveness or not.” There was a long pause as Agape considered what Henry said.

“Given all I have done and everything I am, would I be considered worthy? Was his murder not so damning that I should be forever condemned? Is there any stride I could make that could in some way restore my dignity of one worth the forgiveness of those he so grievously harmed?” He struggled to steady his voice between each still labored breath, each pulse within him carrying a dull ache of still ever-growing guilt and shame.

“Well,” Victor began, reaching out to him and wiping the tears from his eyes. “All things considered, I would say-” He cut himself off as he perceived in his peripheral vision a gleaming light that seemed to be quickly approaching. He looked to Henry, who seemed to be staring out at the glow with squinted eyes. “Henry,” he whispered somewhat harshly. Henry turned his gaze back down to him. “What is it?”

“Someone is coming,” Henry whispered back. Agape flinched at his words and made a quiet noise almost like a yelp, suddenly clutching at the edges of his cloak and pulling it tighter around himself. Both Victor and Henry hushed him softly, though they looked to each other with concern.

“What do we do?” Footsteps could be heard approaching through the grass beyond - two steps and a gentle tap with each stride. Henry lifted his eyes back up toward the approaching figure.

“...I’ll handle it,” he muttered. “Besides, we can’t risk… you know,” he added, gesturing toward Agape. Victor nodded silently, dropping his eyes to the ground and placing a hand back up onto Agape’s shoulder and squeezing tightly - half to reassure him, and half to give himself something to hold on to as he tried not to imagine the worst. Gently pulling the hood of Agape’s cloak over his head, Henry stood, turning toward the figure and trying to determine who it might be. The voice that called out from beyond sent a sudden chill through Victor’s veins and a new fear gripped at his heart. He wasn’t ready for this. Not here. Not now.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

[timelordthirteen]

Desperate Souls 2/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn’t long before they both realize they’ve made a deal they didn’t understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: A deal is made.

Notes: DON'T HATE ME. I'm not sure anyone thought that this was where this is going, but this is where it's going. Gold is a bastard, and he knows it. This is peak S1 Gold and Skin Deep-esque Belle, I hope that comes through. If there are any tags or warnings anyone thinks needs to be added to this, please let me know. I am always trying to be conscious of consent issues.

[AO3]

Alastair Gold sat in the back of his shop, scowling at the ledger on his desk.

His pen trailed along the edge of the paper, the tip guiding his eyes as he mentally added up the numbers. He wrote the total at the bottom of the column, -$450, and then, before he could contemplate what he was going to do about the debt he was owed, the bell over the shop door clanged loudly. Using his cane, he pushed to his feet and moved to the doorway between the backroom he used as an office and extra storage and the front of the shop to find a peculiar sight.

Belle French stood in the middle of the room in her red wool coat, her arms full of what appeared to be clothing. Her purse had fallen and was hanging from her elbow, and her hair was messier than usual. She looked harried and tired, and even at this distance he could see the redness in her eyes. One of his more responsible and courteous tenants, she was always ready with a smile and a kind word, even for someone like him. He didn’t understand why she went out of her way to speak to him whenever they were in the same location, or why she treated him like he wasn’t the complete bastard everyone knew he was, but the fact that she did secretly delighted and tormented him in equal measure. He might even admit to himself that he harbored the smallest bit of affection for her, a tiny crush that he buried down deep and never entertained as anything other than a fantasy.

“Miss French?” he said, folding his hands over the handle of his cane. “How can I help you?”

She took a breath and seemed to square her shoulders before she came up to the counter and dumped the contents of her arms across it. “I want to sell these.” Then she rummaged in her purse for a few seconds, and pulled out a small, black velvet box which she set down on top of the clothes. “And this.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he surveyed the items. She appeared to have brought in a collection of...undergarments, and he felt a tinge of heat creep up his neck. He cleared his throat. “I see.”

He moved behind the counter and leaned his cane against it before picking up the jewelry box. Flipping it open revealed a surprise, and his eyes darted quickly to her left hand and then back to the ring.

“I presume this means you are no longer the future Mrs. Gaston?” he asked, eyes fixed on the sparkling diamonds.

“Yeah, he, uh, he left,” she replied, looking to the side at the old gramophone that sat at the end of the counter. Then she turned back to Gold, her expression hardening. “And he took our shared bank account with him.”

Gold glanced up in surprise. Though he couldn’t say he was shocked that her engagement to Garrett Gaston had ended, given that the man was an idiot and frequently a chauvinistic jerk, he was taken aback by the fact that Gaston had also stolen money from his fiance in the process. It certainly explained why Miss French had come to his shop, and it also started to form a very shameful idea in his mind that nearly distracted him from the matter at hand.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he managed.

She gave a short nod. “That’s why I’m here. I, uh, I need money.”

He smiled crookedly. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”

He took the ring out of the box and set it down on a square of padded velvet before retrieving a jeweler’s glass from behind the counter. She watched silently as he took his time examining the ring, which he made a bit of a show about, considering he had assessed the value of it the first time he saw it on her finger. It was a touch too gaudy for his taste, and he suspected it might be so for her as well, based on how she usually dressed. It was big, showy, and fake, not unlike Gaston himself, and Gold knew he would never see a return on it. He had suspected the stones weren’t real the first time he saw it, but he was willing to give Gaston the benefit of the doubt and not say anything. It was the kind of ring that would probably sit in his shop for years, and he considered that he might be better off to remove the stones and set them in something more suitable.

“Three hundred,” he said matter of factly, and set the ring back in its box.

Belle frowned. “For the ring?”

He nodded and her frown deepened.

“What? No!” She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “That ring cost over three thousand dollars, and you’re going to give me a tenth of its value?”

Gold sighed. “Look, Miss French,” he began, “the value of a thing is only what someone is willing to pay. It’s devoid of the sentimental attachments we may have to the object, or the -”

“I do not,” she snapped, “have any sentimental attachment to anything that asshole gave me. I just want what is fair.”

“And I am telling you that what was originally paid for this ring is nowhere near three thousand dollars.” She continued to regard him with anger and confusion, and he sighed again. “Given the type of gold it’s made of, which of course is an alloy, and the fact that the stones are lab created white sapphires, albeit very high quality, that is the best I can offer you.”

Belle looked like she wanted to cry, and her loud sniffle told Gold she almost had, but she once again squared her shoulders. “So Garrett got me coming and going then.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “It would appear so.”

“What about this stuff?” she asked, lifting what appeared to be some kind of chemise from the stack of undergarments.

Gold stared at her hand and what it was holding for a long moment, and then met her eyes. “Nothing. I don’t want it.”

She dropped the silky nightgown, letting it spill across the counter. “But...it’s all new. Half of it still has the tags on. I haven’t even worn any of it yet!”

He flashed his teeth. “A pity indeed, but clothing rarely sells in my shop, even the cast off designer items from Mayor Mills, and I can hardly put anything like that,” - he nodded towards the puddle of black silk - “on display for the public.”

Her mouth hung open as she stared at him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, forcing his eyes away from the lingerie and curling his right hand into a fist to keep from touching it.

He wanted to feel the cool softness of it with his fingertips as it slid over his skin. It was a shame no one would see her in it, but since the only option for that had been that lummox Gaston, he considered it only a small loss.

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Gold exhaled and closed the ring box. “You could take the ring to another shop, or go back to the original retailer. Perhaps they would give you a better price, but I would be surprised if he paid more than three hundred for it.”

She let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “I don’t have the receipt, nor do I have the money for the gas to get me there, and it wouldn’t be worth it anyway. The rent is due next week, I need to buy food, and I promised my father I’d give him some money...” She sniffed again. “You don’t need to hear this, sorry.”

“You’re giving your father money?” he asked, curious, and she nodded.

“Yeah, it’s just for him to buy extra stock for Valentine’s Day. The shop always does well that week, and he’ll pay me back, he always does, but I have literally thirty-seven dollars to my name right now."

She gave him a flat smile and shrugged with her arms out to either side, and then let them slap sadly against her sides as she sighed. Gold regarded her for a moment. Moe French borrowing money from his daughter was not exactly a surprise. The man borrowed from anyone who would lend to him, and in fact the four hundred and fifty dollar debt in the ledger still open on his desk was from Mr. French. Moe had even used the same reason with him, that he needed to purchase more stock for the upcoming Valentine’s Day orders. Gold suspected that the loan Belle would give her father would be used to pay the debt to him. It was robbing from Peter to pay Paul.

Her hands went to her collar and she pulled out the short necklace she was always wearing. It was gold with a teardrop shaped pearl, a simple but beautifully elegant thing, that he had always thought suited her perfectly.

“How - how much for this?” she asked, her voice shaking as she pulled the pearl up and away from her neck.

His eyes narrowed. The fact that she wore the necklace everyday had to mean it was important to her, and the waver in her voice gave it away. “Are you sure you want to sell it?”

She let the necklace drop and it settled out of sight behind the wide, thick collar of her coat. “No,” she sighed. Then she ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath as she tried to keep herself calm. “Look, I know you don’t give extensions, but, maybe I could - I could get a loan from you to cover it? I get paid again in two weeks, and I could pay you back half out of that, or - or - shit, I don’t know. Help me out here? Mr. Gold?”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he met her pleading gaze. He knew what it was like to be down to your last dollar, the desperation and anxiety that came with it, and he knew what people might be willing to do in that situation. He had done things he wasn’t proud of, and he had failings as a parent that had left him with a more distant relationship with his son than he wanted, but unlike Moe French he had never lied to borrow money from his own child.

His eyes trailed down to the pile of lingerie still sitting on the counter. It was a shame that it wouldn’t sell in his shop. He might enjoy seeing it everyday, imagining what Belle might have looked like if she’d gotten a chance to wear it, knowing that each piece was something she liked, something she wanted to wear for her lover.

The sensation of the chemise against his palm when he finally touched it was a shock, and he blinked as a terrible idea formed in his mind. “Perhaps...” he started, drawing his gaze from the fabric to settle on her face again, “Perhaps we could come to an...arrangement.”

Belle swallowed and shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting from where his fingers were running back and forth over the black silk to meet his eyes. “What - what do you mean?”

He glanced down at the undergarments again and then up. “You said you’d never worn any of it?” She shook her head. “Would you want to?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you mean?”

Gold licked his lips. Something about the fear in her voice pulled at the darkest parts of him, the spread of silk and lace in front of him like a siren call to his deepest thoughts and desires. He was exactly as beastly and terrible as everyone said, and no amount of Belle French’s sweet conversation could change that. If she agreed to what he was asking then afterwards there would be no more of that, not for him, but for a little while, perhaps, he could indulge his baser notions.

“Would you want to,” he repeated, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles, “for a price?”

She took a step backwards and eyed him. “What? Just like - like modeling?”

He braced both hands on the counter to either side, and leaned towards her. His shaggy hair slipped forward, shadowing his face and darkening his sharp features. “Of a sort, yes.”

Her chest rose and fell steadily, her gaze scrutinizing. “For you?”

His lips twitched. “Yes.”

“For - money?”

He smiled briefly, a flash of teeth in the low light as he spoke that had her hand tightening on the strap of her purse. “Yes.”

Her face seemed to go through several expressions in a matter of seconds, from surprise to confusion to disgust.

“No!” She took another step back and frowned. “Why - what? No. No.”

“I assure you it would be quite worth your while,” he said, finding himself oddly entertained by her reaction. She was seeing the side of him that others saw, the facade she had constructed of him possibly being a good man, the one that allowed her to talk to him so sweetly when they met, falling away. “You could make up everything you’ve lost, and more.”

Belle hesitated at that, and he could see that her mind was warring with itself in spite of her immediate rejection of the idea.

“What would - how would -?” She stopped and pressed her lips together before shaking her head. “No.”

Then, abruptly, she lunged forward and snatched the ring box off the counter, followed by the lingerie, her hands gathering it up without regard for how creased it might get and tucking it into the crook of her arm. Spinning on her heel, she stalked out of the shop, leaving Gold staring after her with a bemused grin.

Belle stalked through the door of the pawn shop, trying to hold her coat closed, her purse on her shoulder, and keep the lingerie against her chest where no one would see what she was carrying.

She had never expected Mr. Gold to proposition her, not like that. His reputation varied by person, but most were in some agreement that he was a bastard through and through, ruthless and hard, inconsiderate and merciless. She had always felt they were exaggerating, that their bad experiences of late rent and unpaid loans clouded their judgement. After all, it wasn’t Gold’s fault if someone couldn’t keep to their contract, was it? She had been prepared for him to protest an extension, to threaten her with a late fee or even eviction if it came to it, and he would have been legally within his rights, even if it made him a little heartless, but to suggest that she - that she would -

Her heels skidded in a patch of slushy snow on the sidewalk, and she reached out to catch herself against the pole of a streetlight. The cold air was making her nose run and she sniffed loudly as she straightened.

She was halfway across the street when she stopped and looked up at the lights from her apartment over the library, glowing through the window in the little galley kitchen. It wouldn’t be her apartment for long at this rate. She’d have to move in with her father again or sleep in her car, neither of which were attractive options.

You could make up everything you’ve lost and more.

Everything and more. It was exactly what she needed, but the thought of parading around for him in her underwear seemed beyond the pale. What had made him even suggest it? Was it out of cruelty or some streak of perverted amusement? She couldn’t begin to understand his motivation, but now that she was standing in the cold, her bare knees battered by the wind and her arms full of what amounted to useless trinkets, she considered that perhaps she didn’t care.

Mr. Gold had always been very exacting in his words, his agreements legally iron clad and always leaning a bit in his favor. He had said he wanted her to wear them, for him, nothing else. She’d asked if he meant modeling, and he’d said ‘of a sort.’ Modeling she could do, she thought, particularly for money, especially since most of the lingerie she was holding was fairly basic catalog stuff, nothing too risque or weird. There were a couple of items that she’d considered special, but those could be easily stowed away somewhere or shoved in the bottom of the trash before she agreed.

Belle closed her eyes and turned around. The shop glowed bright in the darkness as she slowly made her way towards it. She couldn’t believe she was considering this, but her alternatives were few, and consisted almost entirely of being homeless or hawking everything she owned. Unfortunately, what she owned was barely worth anything. Her engagement ring, such as it was, might as well have come out of one of the vending machines at the Dark Star Pharmacy. Garrett could have gotten a cheap ring and a temporary tattoo in a tribal pattern for fifty cents.

The thought, sad as it was, made her laugh, but her smile faded as soon as she came to the door of Gold’s shop. This was it, a moment of truth. She was either going to accept his deal and humiliate herself, or take the two hundred dollars for the ring and starve for the next month. She reached up with her free hand and touched the pearl at her throat, her mother’s necklace which she’d actually considered selling just a few minutes ago, and exhaled.

Do the brave thing, she thought, and pushed open the door.

Gold was still behind the counter, and he looked up as the bell rang out. “Miss French.”

His voice was as smooth and even as it always was, with no tinge of surprise at her return. She regarded him for a moment and then closed the distance, her arms tightening around the undergarments she was still holding.

“How much?” she asked quickly.

His eyes widened, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. “For each time or in total?”

“Each time?”

He smiled slightly. “One item, one night, each week until it’s all been worn.”

She swallowed and took another step forward. “Each time then. In - in case -”

“In case you want to stop?” he asked, and she nodded.

Then he took a pen from inside his suit jacket, tore off one of the pawn tickets from the pad beside the cash register, and wrote something on the back of it before setting it on the counter, facing her.

“I will pay you two hundred for the ring as well,” he added. “If you still wish to sell it.”

She inched closer until she could read it, and gasped when she saw the amount he’d written. It was more than enough to cover all her expenses for a month, and if he intended to pay her for each piece of lingerie, then in all it was definitely everything she’d lost and much more.

“Is that sufficient?”

She looked up and met his eyes, his mouth curving gently as he smirked, and for a second the sickening dip in her stomach made her feel as though she was about to sell her soul. “W-where? When?”

Gold pulled the scrap of paper back and took the time to fold it neatly before tucking it away in his pocket along with the pen. “My house, say, next Thursday evening?”

Belle pressed her lips together and then nodded. “Okay, um, do I need to sign something or -?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not necessary. Unlike some people in this town, I know I can take you at your word.”

She frowned at that and took another step forward, holding out her hand towards him. He glanced down at it, and then extended his as well. They shook hands briefly, and then she turned to leave, wanting to hurry home before she got sick or started crying again.

“Miss French,” he called out before she’d made it more than two steps. She turned back to face him, and he nodded towards the bundle in her arms. “You can leave those with me.”

“Oh...” She looked down at the now rather mangled and creased underthings as she moved back to the counter. “Uh, sure.”

She relaxed her arms and let the garments fall from her arms, in a messier pile than when she’d first brought them in. Somehow their disarray and the cramping in her arms made her feel even worse. Then she fished the ring box out of her purse again and set it down.

“If you wait a moment,” he said, taking up his cane, “I’ll get the money for the ring from the safe.”

“No no,” she replied. “I, um, I need to get home. Can I - can I get it on Monday?”

Gold inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Belle turned on her heel and hurried out of the shop, her shoes loud on the old wood floor. She heard Gold’s voice bid her a good evening as she pulled the door open, but she didn’t look back or return the sentiment. She had done the brave thing, and now she could only hope that it didn’t backfire.

[heademptynothoughts]

My Heart’s Always Yours

A Willex Princess Bride AU

ch. 1

Chapter 2: New Beginnings

Five years later…

Alex was numb. He was betrothed to the Prince of Florin and he couldn’t care less. How could he bring himself to care about anything when his true love was gone? It didn’t matter how much time had passed, he would always be numb, always be yearning for the love he lost. It’s not like he could’ve said no to the Prince anyways. When His Highness Prince Caleb Covington picks you out of a crowd and proposes, what other answer is there but yes?

While his parents still didn’t approve of two men together, they were exceedingly happy with their family’s new found status and as such only occasionally muttered about the wrongness of it. But their son was soon to be a prince and so they kept the worst of their comments to themselves.

Caleb (His Highness had insisted that Alex just call him Caleb) had moved him into the castle shortly after their betrothal. He believed it would be best that Alex begin to learn the ins and outs of being royalty right away and also admitted to wanting to keep him close. When Alex told Caleb that his heart would never truly be his, that he would never love him, Caleb nodded in understanding and said that he hoped in time he would at least come to care for him, but that he didn’t expect anything of him.

As Alex prepared for his official introduction to the Florian people, his thoughts couldn’t help but drift to Willie and he prayed that he would be forgiven for this betrayal. Enough time had passed that to most it would have seemed fine, but Alex’s heart ached at the idea of being with anyone but Willie. His name was announced and Alex took a shaky breath before stepping through the doors and walking out onto the carpet laid for him in the crowd. The faces around him were blurry as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Everyone was bowing to him but Alex couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stand there frozen, all the while wishing he was back on the farm with Willie in his arms. An impossible wish.

Afterwards, Alex decided to go for a ride. Being on horseback was the only time that some of the numbness disappeared and he was able to clear his mind. A sort of serenity fell over him as he rode further away from the castle, but his peace was soon disturbed by a small group of travellers. They were in the middle of the trail and as he got closer Alex saw that the group was made up of a pretty blonde woman, a sleeveless man with a lute strapped to his back and rapier sheathed at his side, and a smiling giant.

The blonde seemed to be the leader of the group. As he stopped in front of them, she told him that they were circus performers on their way to the castle for the Prince’s wedding, but they’d gotten lost and were in need of directions. Before Alex could respond though, the world went black.

———

Alex regained consciousness to the sound of strange voices and it took him a moment to realize what had happened. He tried to keep his breathing even and himself as still as possible so his captors would think he was still knocked out.

“What are you doing over there?” a deep voice called out. Alex assumed it belonged to the giant.

“Putting the plan in motion, moron,” the woman responded, “This is the Guilder crest, sworn enemy of Florin, remember? When the Prince’s husband-to-be’s horse returns to the castle, they’ll assume that Guilder took him, and when his body is found on the Florin-Guilder border those suspicions will be confirmed. I hired you to help me start a war and this is how we do it.”

Alex tensed, his breathing starting to become shallow. He had thought that maybe he would just be held for ransom, but this? His death as the catalyst for war? He willed himself to be still once more and hoped no one had noticed the clues to his being awake.

“I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent boy,” the giant said.

The woman scoffed, “Well it’s a good thing I didn’t hire you for your brains then, isn’t it?”

The third member of the party spoke up, “I agree with Reggie.”

The woman’s voice drew nearer, “I’m sorry, did I ask for your opinion? Don’t you worry your pretty little heads about it, I’ll be the one to kill him,” there was a pause, “Oh, and boys? Never forget that I’m the one who raised you from the filth you’d been living in, I’m the one who gave you purpose when you had none, and I’m the one who’s kept your pockets lined and your bellies full. Do you really want to go back to your old lives? Hmm… didn’t think so.”

Alex heard the two men grumble to themselves as the ground beneath him began to sway. The sound of waves crashing filled his ears and Alex realized that he was on a boat.

———

Alex learned that the woman’s name was Carrie, the giant was Reggie, and the other man was Luke. After he had feigned waking up, Reggie had sat him up and bound his hands. It was late at night now, the sky dark but full of stars; if Alex had been out here under different circumstances he would have marvelled at the beauty of it.

Carrie sat across from him smirking. “We should be at the cliffs by dawn,” she said as she glanced at Luke who kept looking behind them, “What? What is it?” Carrie asked him.

“I think we’re being followed.”

“Well that’s completely inconceivable,” Carrie laughed, “There’s no way anyone from Florin could’ve caught up to us so quickly.” She leaned back, relaxing more against the boat.

Alex gulped, trying to put on a brave face, “This plan of yours will never work, you know. Caleb will find me and when he does you’ll be sorry you ever tried something like this.”

Carrie flicked her hair, “Whatever you say, little prince.”

Luke was still looking behind them worriedly though. Rolling her eyes at his paranoia, Carrie asked him what he kept looking at.

“We’re being followed,” Luke stated, “There’s a boat behind us.”

Reggie turned around to look and Carrie got up as well, “I already told you that would be inconceiv— oh.”

With his kidnappers distracted by the boat in the distance, Alex took the opportunity to attempt an escape, jumping off into the water. He wasn’t the strongest swimmer, but he hoped it would be enough to get away safely. The splash he made going into the water was rather loud though, which immediately alerted the group to his actions.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Carrie called out, “The water’s full of shrieking eels!”

And just like that, Alex heard them. His heartbeat sped up as he realized what a grave mistake he’d just made. The eels were so loud his ears began to ring. There was movement in the water around him, but he couldn’t see anything. Alex knew the eels had started circling and it was only a matter of time before one of them got him. He started thrashing, too panicked to swim properly. He hoped that his death would be quick, that he would soon be reunited with his lost love. An eel launched itself at him, jaws open, and Alex screamed. But the pain he was expecting never came. Reggie had grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back into the boat.

———

Dawn was breaking as the boat neared the Cliffs of Insanity, the other ship following close behind. There was a rope hanging off the cliffside. Luke put a harness onto Reggie, strapping Alex on Reggie’s back before strapping himself on his side. Reggie lifted Carrie to strap her to his front and started climbing.

A masked man dressed all in black began to climb as well, quickly gaining on them. Carrie yelled obscenities, urging Reggie to go faster. When Reggie pulled them all onto the top of the cliff, Carrie quickly got out of the harness and ran to cut the rope. Alex had been set on the ground, Reggie keeping an eye on him. As the rope fell off the cliff, they all looked down to see if the man following them had fallen. Somehow the man was still holding on, fingers gripping tightly to a small ledge in the cliffside.

“Inconceivable!” Carrie stomped her foot.

Luke glanced at her, “You keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Carrie shot Luke a dirty look and began walking away, dragging Alex with her. She called out to Luke, “Stay behind. If he doesn’t fall to his death before making it to the top, use that blade of yours to stop him in his tracks. Meet back up with us when it’s done.”

“I’m really more of a musician than I am a fighter.”

Carrie and Luke exchanged a meaningful look. “We both know that’s not true,” she said and continued to walk away.

Reggie put a hand on Luke’s shoulder before turning to follow Carrie, “Be careful.”

Being pulled away, Alex looked back to see Luke fidgeting with the sword at his side. He wondered what would be the better outcome for him: Luke or the mystery man. Whatever the case, he hoped it would all be over soon.

tag list: @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @julieandthequeers @flamingfawkes @sunset-sweeerve @williexmercer @thedeathdeelers @evilittlecrow

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 9

Stoneheart opened his eyes to darkness.

It took him a moment to understand where he was, and when he figured it out, he knew he was dreaming – he'd fallen asleep in a bush in a Twoleg’s yard, not in a forest, and especially not in this forest, with its thin, leafless trees and musty odors.

He wondered where he was, as he didn’t recognize these woods. The trees were nothing like the tall pines of ShadowClan territory, or even the thick oaks of ThunderClan’s forests. The ground beneath his paws felt like it was a drop of moisture away from behind too soggy, and the air felt still and stagnant. He looked up and, startlingly, found that the tree branches were locked together so tightly that he couldn’t see the sky beyond them.

A chill settled in Stoneheart’s pelt, and he couldn’t shake it away. He decided that moving was better than staying put, putting his paws onto the only real trail he could see through the thin wall of trees.

Was this a dream from StarClan, he wondered? As Stoneheart walked on, he thought back to his dreams of Mosspaw, his sister who had pulled him into the journey to the lake. His meetings with her had certainly not been in a place like this – the stars, for one, had always been shining. For another, he’d never felt unwelcome in those dreams.

Perhaps it was the chicken, he thought. It had been delicious, no doubt about it; but there was always a strangeness to eating Twoleg food. It just wasn’t made for cats.

A scent crossed his nose, one that tickled at his memory and set his heart pounding in his ears. His paws turned, following the smell, whether he wanted them to or not, as if it were pulling him along, pulling him towards...

The trees opened up, but the sky was still clogged with branches. In the clearing ahead sat a lean-bodied blue-gray she-cat, her pelt like the sky before stars began to appear. Her chin held high, she turned to lock eyes with Stoneheart, a cool, dark blue meeting his paler, sky-blue gaze.

Stoneheart’s mouth went dry. “Bluestar,” he murmured.

There was a spark in his mother’s eye, a flash of emotion that Stoneheart could not bear to read. “Stoneheart,” she called back. “It’s good to see you.”

The sound of her voice made Stoneheart’s fur rise. He wasn’t sure whether to lunge at her, claws unsheathed, or flee from her, his tail tucked between his legs. Bluestar had been the terror of the forest, nearly bringing down the Clans with the force of her ambition, and her dark legacy had never left Stoneheart or Mistyfoot.

Bluestar got to her paws and crossed the clearing to meet Stoneheart where he stood, unable to move. She touched her nose to his forehead, and her scent wreathed around Stoneheart, comforting in some ways and in others feeling like a blanket of claws.

“I am so proud of you,” she meowed.

Suddenly, he felt like he had the strength to move. Stoneheart stepped back, tail lashing.  “What do you want?” he demanded. His eyes darted around their surroundings, wary. “You’re here – that means that this can’t be StarClan.”

Bluestar was unphased. “You’re correct,” she confirmed. “You’ve always been perceptive, my son.”

Stoneheart’s pelt crawled. He recalled his battle with Poppy, and realized that it was Bluestar’s voice he had heard. His pelt crawled – had his mother really been encouraging him to kill that rogue?

“I don’t want whatever it is you’re offering,” he hissed, baring his teeth at his mother.

“I am offering you nothing,” Bluestar meowed evenly, “but my pride, and my condolences, and my assurance that I have been watching over you.”

Stoneheart felt like retching. “I want none of it,” he spat. “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done to the Clans, or how you treated me – no one has. Leave me alone.”

Bluestar only blinked, her dark blue eyes like brilliant stones. “I see great strength in you, Stoneheart. You are the leader that ShadowClan needs, now more than ever.”

She got to her paws, and somehow, though she was smaller than him, Bluestar managed to loom over Stoneheart. Fog gathered at her paws, and the world around them seemed to shift and change and twist, until only she and Stoneheart remained sure and solid.

Bluestar meowed, her voice low and serious, “Don’t ever forget where that strength came from.”

Before Stoneheart could retort, it was all gone – the forest, the fog, the strange land... and his mother. He was lost in blackness, clawing at the dream until finally, he succumbed, falling into darkness.

———————————————————

Stoneheart woke with a start, gasping, his claws digging into the soil. He felt low-hanging branches touch the tips of his ears, and he lowered his head to keep from hitting them. Pinkish-yellow light filtered in through the branches of the bush, and Stoneheart took a deep breath, recalling where he was – some yard in Twolegplace, not whatever horrid forest had invaded his dreams.

He shivered. Never again would he eat Twoleg food, not if it meant seeing Bluestar in his dreams! He thought he was done dreaming of his mother by now.

Wolftooth and Pinewhisker were gone, but that wasn’t what concerned Stoneheart as he got his bearings – his nose seemed to have finally adjusted to the cluster of smells that lingered in a Twolegplace, and now it was telling him that there was a stranger just outside his temporary den.

Stoneheart pulled himself out of the bush slowly, his muscles tense and ready to pounce – but he soon relaxed. It wasn’t an IceClan cat that awaited him, nor was it some other rogue or loner; it was a kittypet, her tabby pelt soft and her belly round, and she was chatting easily with Wolftooth and Pinewhisker, the little bell tied around her neck tinkling softly.

“Who’s this?” Stoneheart asked, approaching.

“I’m Cody,” the kittypet meowed, dipping her head congenially. “I live here! You must be Stoneheart?”

Stoneheart nodded, glancing warily at Wolftooth and Pinewhisker. Wolftooth shrugged in response, meowing, “She’s just a kittypet, I don’t think she means any harm.”

Cody didn’t seem offended by Wolftooth’s frankness. She drew a paw over her ear, and mewed, “We were just chatting about how you ended up in my garden. You say IceClan cats chased you off?”

“They did,” Pinewhisker admitted grudgingly. He shifted, trying to hide the scratches on his pelt. “Can’t say we were expecting them.”

Cody blinked sympathetically at the ShadowClan patrol. Stoneheart fought the urge to roll his eyes – they were ShadowClan, they didn’t need a kittypet’s sympathy! The tabby, oblivious to Clan pride, meowed, “Well, you’re obviously not from around here – IceClan thinks the city is their territory.”

“Good to know,” Wolftooth grunted. “Anything else you can tell us?”

Cody curled her tail around her paws. “Well, if you’re going to be wandering around here much longer...”

“Believe us, we don’t want to stay any longer than we have to,” Pinewhisker cut in.

Cody swept on, “... you ought to know that SnakeClan has the suburbs around here – they fight with IceClan over the yards they share all the time, and it’s so annoying...”

“There’s another Clan?” Stoneheart blinked, shocked.

Cody nodded. “There’s FuryClan, too; they hold the junkyards and the outskirts of the town. IceClan and SnakeClan are annoying enough, but they mostly just fight with each other. FuryClan, though... they’re horrible. I’m glad I don’t live anywhere near their territory...” The kittypet shuddered.

Wolftooth curled his lip. “Three of these rogue Clans? Great.”

Cody licked her chest fur to cover her worry. “I think they splintered off from that one Clan that was running around here a bunch of seasons ago – BloodClan? Is that right?” When Wolftooth nodded, Cody went on, “Yeah, they’re all bad news. You three were lucky!”

Pinewhisker’s whiskers twitched. “Lucky? We’re warriors - we could fight circles around those rogues!”

“Well, there’s more of them than there are you,” Cody pointed out brusquely. More firmly, she repeated, “You got lucky this time; next time, you might not make it home in one piece.”

“You’re right about that,” Wolftooth admitted.

Cody looked the three of them over, her head tilted curiously. “So... what are you three doing here, anyway? You said you were from ShadowClan, right? One of those forest Clans? Don’t tell me you’re coming to Twolegplace, too! We’ve got enough trouble as it is!”

“Certainly not,” Stoneheart grunted, and the kittypet sighed with relief. “We’re not here looking for a home, but we are here for a reason...”

Cody blinked, her eyes owlishly wide as she listened to Stoneheart recount the reason the three Clan cats had come to Twolegplace: “... so that’s why we’re here, but... we have no idea where to look, now, and we’re all turned around.”

“I see,” Cody murmured. She lowered her chin, clearly thinking. “Well, I haven’t heard anything about forest cats in Twolegplace, other than you three – I'm sorry. Most of us aren’t allowed in the forest right now, with all the workfolk walking around there. They’re not as nice as housefolk, and their monsters are very dangerous!”

Stoneheart’s heart sank, and Pinewhisker groaned. Wolftooth sighed. “Well, thanks anyways...”

Cody lifted her head, the bell on her collar jingling. “But I do know a cat who might be able to help!” she insisted. “He’s not far – come with me.”

Pinewhisker looked uncertain. “Follow... a kittypet?”

Cody tossed her head, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Oh, like you’d know where you were going?”

“Fair,” Pinewhisker conceded. “Put your fur down!”

Cody smiled, looking satisfied. She got to her paws, flicking her tail for the ShadowClan cats to follow. “It’s not far, come on.”

The round tabby led the way to the far fence, leaping up with surprising ease. She waited patiently for Wolftooth, Pinewhisker, and Stoneheart, and she didn’t begin to move until all three had their paws firmly planted.

“Tucker lives a few yards away,” Cody explained, leading the way down her fence. “I know the way around Twolegplace better than him, but I can’t stay out for too long today. He’ll definitely help you, though – he loves the forest, and talks about forest cats all the time!”

“And this... Tucker... knows where the missing cats are?” Stoneheart asked.

“Well, I don’t think he does,” Cody admitted, looking a little guilty. “But he can take you to someone who can definitely help.”

“Great,” Pinewhisker grumbled. “And I’m sure that cat knows someone, too...”

“Don’t look too hard at a gift mouse,” Wolftooth advised, his voice low. “We’ll see where this takes us. What do we have to lose at this point?”

Stoneheart kept his jaws shut, but some part of him wanted to say, Only our lives, or the hopes of the Clans, or Rowanclaw and the others... He knew it wouldn’t help. Cody was being kind, leading them to someone that might aid them, and if she heard their remarks, she didn’t say.

After a few corners and some fence-hopping, Cody stopped, gesturing to a Twoleg den that looked to be made with cobbled-together stones. The yard was small, with a little stone path leading through a few gardens full of flowers and around an aging willow that had lost its leaves.  

“This is Tucker’s nest,” Cody mewed. She glanced up at the sun and added, “He should have eaten by now.”

Stoneheart didn’t want to think about it, but his stomach growled at the mere thought of food as he and the others leaped down off of the fence. The grass here was thicker than some of the other yards they’d seen, more like the grass that grew in the forest.

Cody flopped down and rolled herself in the green, purring. “Tucker’s housefolk are older – they take such good care of their yard!”

Stoneheart stifled a mrrow of amusement when Pinewhisker rubbed his own cheeks in the grass, his striped tail twitching. “What?” the young warrior wondered, lifting his head. “It feels like the marsh-grass in greenleaf... Who knows when we might feel that again?”

At that, Stoneheart himself was almost tempted to roll around in the dirt. His heart hurt anew at the thought of the forest’s destruction, at how real it was. Running through the Twolegplace like a few startled sparrows had put that certainty out of his mind for a time, and now it was back, fresh and raw.

The grass at the lake will be better, he told himself. He glanced at Wolftooth, seeing the senior warrior look just as uncomfortable. Why else would StarClan send us there?

Cody was oblivious to the Clan cat’s emotions – she had sauntered her way up to the back door of the stone den, planting herself on a large slab of stone that lay just outside it. There was a curious square of something shiny just at her level, and she batted at it with her paw. It flexed beneath her prodding in a way that reminded Stoneheart of a leaf bending in the wind.

“Tucker?” she called through the hole. “Tucker, are you there?”

It took a moment before another kittypet appeared, pushing through the shiny square and stretching as he did so, the white patches on his tabby pelt glowing in the sunshine. He greeted Cody with a purr, touching his nose to hers.

“Hey, Cody,” he mewled, his voice as soft as his face. “What brings you here?”

Cody nodded to the three ShadowClan cats, and meowed, “They’re looking for someone, but I’m too busy today. Can you take them to Branch?”

Tucker jumped at the sight of the forest cats in his gardens, but there wasn’t any fear-scent clouding around the little tom. Instead, he looked excited, and he lifted his tail. “Of course I can!” he purred to Cody. “Right away!”

“Thanks,” Cody sighed, looking grateful. “But be careful, okay? They’ve riled up IceClan already.”

Tucker’s whiskers twitched in amusement, and he looked over the three ShadowClan cats. “Welcome to Twolegplace, then,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, we shouldn’t be seeing any IceClan cats on our way.”

“I’m sorry, but who’s Branch?” Pinewhisker wondered.

“I’d like to know that, too,” muttered Wolftooth.

Tucker flicked his tail. “I’ll explain on the way.” He stretched his legs again, offering to Cody, “I’ve got some leftover food inside, if you’re interested.”

Cody shook her head. “You know I don’t like that dry stuff!” she sighed.

“But it’s the good dry stuff!” Tucker insisted. “Give it a try?”

Cody rolled her eyes, and she decided, “Fine...” She flicked her tail at the ShadowClan cats, and meowed, “Good luck!” before she pushed her way through the square in the door.

Tucker’s gaze lingered on the space where Cody had been, until Stoneheart meowed, “Are we leaving?” and the soft kittypet jumped back to attention.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go!” he mewed chipperly. He headed for the fence, then turned and asked, “Uh... what’re your names, again?”

“I’m Wolftooth,” growled Wolftooth, prowling towards the fence. “That’s Pinewhisker and Stoneheart – we're from ShadowClan.”

Tucker’s eyes went round. “ShadowClan? I’ve heard about you guys! You live in the marsh, right?”

“We do,” Stoneheart answered.

Pinewhisker leaped up onto the fence, his tail-tip flicking impatiently. “And we want to get back there, as soon as possible,” he said curtly. “So, can we get going, already? We can chit-chat on the way.”

“Right, sorry!” Tucker bunched his muscles and leaped, landing on the fence with ease.

Stoneheart followed, jumping ahead of Pinewhisker. By now, it seemed an easy thing to keep his balance on the thin wooden planks. Tucker waited until Wolftooth was on the fence as well before he headed off, tail up.

“So... if you guys are from the marsh, that means the workfolk are on your territory, right?” Tucker meowed as he walked. “That sucks.”

“It does,” Stoneheart admitted. “They’re destroying our homes.”

Tucker’s expression was hard to see in single-file, but Stoneheart thought he looked guilty. “Well... Twolegs need homes, too,” he meowed. “I doubt they even know you’re there. They have a hard time seeing what’s below them, trust me – it gets worse as they get older!”

They crossed from Tucker’s fence to a new one, which was slightly taller. Tucker waited patiently for every cat to make the switch before he moved on. “I’m sure if they did know, they’d stop,” the kittypet went on. “They’d probably make sure you forest cats had a good home before they kept working.”

“Pfft,” Pinewhisker scoffed. “They’d make us into kittypets in a heartbeat!”

Tucker’s whiskers twitched. “Probably! But any home is better than no home, right?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Wolftooth grunted. “I’ve no desire to live in a Twolegplace again, and I’m going to guess every other Clan cat feels the same way.”

“Twolegs aren’t so bad!” Tucker insisted, leading them over another yard. “But I guess if you’re a wildcat, you’re a wildcat – not everyone can handle being a kittypet.”

Stoneheart bit back a comment. A kittypet’s life was so different from a Clan cat’s that Stoneheart had a hard time wrapping his head around it – surely there was a benefit that these cats saw in living this way. There wasn’t any time to debate who lived a better life.

Tucker turned a corner, leading them along a long stretch of wooden fence. Stoneheart, looking over Tucker’s head, had no idea how the kittypet was navigating so confidently. A dog barked in the distance, but Tucker paid it no mind, and he seemed to ignore all the noise and bustle like it was nothing.

I guess, in a way, it’s like a forest, Stoneheart thought. He’d had similar thoughts about Purdy’s Twolegplace. Just... different looking.

“So, how do you know Cody?” Stoneheart asked.

Tucker’s ears pricked. “Cody? Oh, I’ve known her for a while. She likes to roam around her block and explore, so it was only a matter of time before we met. She’s such a sweet cat!”

“Sounds like you’re smitten,” Wolftooth chuckled.

“Me? Oh, no!” Tucker paused, looking back at the ShadowClan cats. His eyes were wide at the thought. “Cody’s a really good friend, for one, and for another, she’s more interested in she-cats. I like her, but she’s only a friend.”

Stoneheart purred in amusement. “Well, it seems she has a good friend in you, as well,” he offered. “You were the first cat she thought of to help us.”

Tucker’s tail curled, and he looked pleased. He started walking again, his steps springy like a kitten’s. Stoneheart’s heart warmed. He does love her, he thought. Even if it might never be.

When the fence ended, Tucker warned them of the Thunderpaths they’d have to cross: “Branch lives at the vet,” he explained, “and it’s across a few roads.” Stoneheart looked ahead. All he could see were Twoleg nests. Behind him, Pinewhisker wondered, “Isn’t there any way to avoid the Thunderpaths?”

“Not really,” Tucker sighed. “I wish there were, too; believe me!”

“We just need to be careful,” Wolftooth grunted. “We’re no strangers to Thunderpaths – lead on, Tucker.”

Tucker nodded, doing just that, and soon enough they encountered their first Thunderpath. It was small, and the four cats managed to cross easily. Tucker called the dens that the Thunderpaths enclosed “blocks”, and as he led them along another series of fences, he explained that Twolegs tried to cram as many dens into a block as they could.

“It takes a long time to build Twoleg nests, and roads, too, you see,” Tucker meowed. “I knew a cat who waited four whole seasons before his home was built. Twolegs are big, so their homes need to be, too!”

Stoneheart felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Midnight had said that Twolegs were invading and destroying the forest to make more dens – and the ravaging had only just begun. The thought of trying to wait four whole seasons for the Twolegs to leave made Stoneheart feel sick.

Soon enough there was another Thunderpath, no busier than the last. Tucker led the way confidently, block after block, while the sun made its way through the sky. By sunhigh, Stoneheart had thoroughly lost his sense of direction, and the only hint of where they might be – the forest that peeked over the tops of the lower dens – was all but gone behind them.

Branch had better be worth it, he thought, nerves firing in his limbs. We don’t have time to search for the others and try to find our way back!

Finally, though, Tucker led them to what he called the last Thunderpath – this one was busier, but like Purdy’s Twolegplace there were paths made especially for crossing. Tucker led them along one of these special trails, confident despite the monsters being so close Stoneheart felt they might rip his pelt off. He scurried along, conscious of their growling and the heat they radiated.

On the other side was a block unlike the ones before – the buildings had no yards, and the grass was covered in a blanket of stone. The buildings here weren’t built like Twoleg dens – they were boxy and much, much larger, with bigger windows and strange colors. Tucker pointed out the vet’s den, the smaller of the buildings, with a large expanse of blank green grass nearby that felt oily and stank of hundreds of different animals. There was a little patch of woodland just behind it.

“We’ll wait in the woods for Branch,” Tucker promised, leading the way along the grass. “Lots of animals and their Twolegs come and go from the vet, so we’ll be out of sight back there.”

“And you’re sure this Branch cat can help us?” Wolftooth asked, trotting ahead. Now that they weren’t forced to walk single-file, the ShadowClan cats fanned out like a normal patrol. Stoneheart found he could ignore the strange way the grass felt – he was grateful his pads weren’t being pinched by wooden fences anymore.

Tucker seemed confident. “Listen, you’ll never find a cat like Branch anywhere in Twolegplace – he might seem weird, but he’s really smart. Once, a little Twoleg girl went missing and her kittypet went to Branch to help find her... and he did it! He found exactly where she was. He’ll find your cats too.”

“I hope so,” Pinewhisker sighed, glancing at Stoneheart.

Stoneheart looked away. He was already trying so hard not to think of never finding Rowanclaw again, he didn’t need the others looking at him like he was a kit that lost their favorite feather.

The cats reached the small patch of trees without incident. Stoneheart’s heart was pounding in his ears as he watched Twolegs come and go from the vet’s den, leading dogs by leashes or carrying their pets within what looked like too-small dens.

Tucker found them a spot beside the stump of a tree, stretching his legs and laying on his side in the dirt. “Branch usually comes out around dinnertime,” he meowed. “You guys should relax – if you’re hungry, birds like hanging out here. Don’t worry about the town Clans, either – they don’t bother Branch. No one hurts an animal that lives with a vet!”

“Huh, so there’s some honor among them!” huffed Wolftooth, looking surprised.

“Thank StarClan for that,” Pinewhisker complained, “I’m starving.”

“I’ll stay here with Tucker,” Stoneheart offered. He was conscious that Wolftooth was technically leading this patrol, but Stoneheart just didn’t have the appetite to hunt right now, not with this Branch – his only hope of finding Rowanclaw – showing up at any time.

Wolftooth seemed to understand. “Stay safe,” he meowed. “We’ll be back.”

Pinewhisker and Wolftooth left, heading deeper into the trees. Stoneheart turned away from them, focusing his eyes on the vet’s den. He spotted a door in the back, with another square-shaped opening like Tucker’s den had. If Branch was coming, he’d likely come out that way.

The goal was so close. Stoneheart hadn’t felt so nervous since the night before leaving for the journey, and he didn’t have Rowanclaw’s presence to soothe him now like he’d had then. Instead, he laid himself out beside Tucker, resting his chin on his paws, trying to ignore the way his heart was thudding in his ears.

StarClan, he thought. Please... let Branch have the answers we... that I... need!

[katrinawritesthings]

jonghyun / taemin; runaway; PG

close your thoughts and open your heart // hey love let's run away or you know that part in runaway after the bridge where jonghyun starts hitting in with the ad libs. I felt that in my heart @rollercoasterwrite hi again : )

After a while, a bouncy song worms its way into his head, has his heel tapping on the wooden slat of the train tracks. Taemin is holding his wrist in one hand, poking and pinching at the veins in his hand with the other. Jonghyun twists his hand so he can hold Taemin's instead, lacing their fingers together.

“Hey love, let's run away,” he sings softly. Taemin snorts quietly, the sound followed by a slow sigh.

“Sometimes I really want to,” he mumbles. He tilts his head away, but only until Jonghyun’s head falls to rest on his shoulder. Then he rests his head back on top of Jonghyun. “Just…” he says. “Pack some shit and... leave.”

Crickets chirp at Jonghyun’s feet as he walks along the dirt side of the road. The sidewalk dropped off about a block ago as he got towards the back of the neighborhood, where all of the big older houses are, the ones that are framed on this corner by the train tracks ahead of him and the creek to his left across the street.

 He can hear the creek now, barely; it's summer so it's pretty low, but there's still a very faint trickle of water running through the rocks at the very bottom. He follows it, hands in his jeans pockets, leather jacket over his shoulders, collar popped for style and gay, and alternates between watching where his feet are going in the darkness and gazing up at the starry sky through the trees grown tall and wide by the house on his right.

  Soon he comes to the end of the houses, the corner of this block, and faces the train tracks just on the other side of the road. He turns right and starts making his way that way, walking with the tracks to his left now, and keeps going until he hops back up onto the sidewalk in front of the blue apartments that line the road here. There he counts doors, passes one, two, three, four, Taemin’s, comes to a stop, turns left.

 There, across the street, sitting lazily on the metal rail of the train tracks, softly illuminated by a street lamp a couple of yards away, Taemin lifts a hand and waves at him.

 Jonghyun smiles even though he knows it's too dark for Taemin to see and waves back. He knew he would find Taemin here tonight. Taemin is always out here when he starts posting his emo lonely shit on his blog at 2 in the morning. Looking both ways, hopping off of the sidewalk yet again, Jonghyun jogs across the street and joins Taemin, sitting on the rail opposite him with their feet purposefully close together so that when he gets bored of sitting still they can play footy. 

 “Hey,” he says.

 “Hey,” Taemin says back.

 “How are you feeling?”

 “Mmh. Buh. You?”

 “Yeah. Same.”

 “Nice.” Taemin reaches one hand out over the tracks and Jonghyun takes it, a handhold of solidarity over their shitty mental health. They grin at each other in the lamp light, Jonghyun taking in Taemin’s tired eyes and mussed dirty blond hair under his hood and blotchy skin, knowing that Taemin is looking him over as well.

  A moment passes like that, and then another where Jonghyun appreciates that moment, appreciates Taemin, appreciates the gay little nut that he always harbors inside of himself for his friend. Then, before he even gets bored of sitting still, he gets bored of not sitting next to Taemin.

 So he stands up, just for a second, and moves to sit on the opposite train track, next to Taemin so their sides are pressed together. Swinging his arm around Taemin’s shoulders with enough force that they sway backward and forward a little bit, he smirks when Taemin rolls his eyes at him and leans their heads together. This is good.

 “How's work?” Taemin asks him then. 

 “Oh, awful,” Jonghyun says cheerfully. Taemin snorts, but not in a surprised way; Jonghyun knows that he already knew what the answer was before he asked. He elaborates more anyway: “Hours suck, mr. manager can't decide whether or not he wants to give me none or all of them,” he says, lifting one finger on the hand around Taemin’s shoulders. “Ever since summer started we get way less cool broke college kids and way more entitled Karens, management spent a whole month hyping up a super big raise that turned out to be a whole $0.50, one of the other stockers quit and I got stuck with training the new kid, except the new kid is just the managers son and he refuses to learn how to do jack shit because he knows he won't get fired, and Sekyung transferred to a different store last week before I could even get up the courage to tell her I liked her.”

 “Oh, dude,” Taemin says, a disappointed sigh accompanying his words. He turns to Jonghyun with a look that's half exasperated, half sympathetic. “I told you to get on that before you lost your chance.”

 “I know,” Jonghyun whines. He knows. Everyone has been telling him to confess to her for like 5 months. “I'm shy around femmes,” he pouts, turning to smush his face into Taemin’s shoulder. They make him all flustered and shaky. It's always been so much easier for him to flirt with everyone else. Taemin’s hand comes up to ruffle through his hair sympathetically, which Jonghyun appreciates.

 “How’s school?” he asks into Taemin’s hoodie. He knows the answer to this just like Taemin did when he asked his question, and just like he expected, Taemin groans rough in the back of his throat. 

 “It sucks,” Taemin says, probably too loudly for how close they are to a line of apartments at 3 in the morning. “It sucks and I hate it. I have too many classes because I need to take so many classes and fucking rich boy mc asshole that always sits next to me in bio always goes," Why don't you just take fewer classes and stay for more years?" and it's like, because I'm not fucking made out of money, asshole, and also, I don't even know why the fuck I'm taking bio, I don't know why I'm majoring in biochem, I hate it, I still can't believe I let my parents bully me into it, and I can't even join the dance club because the fucking dance club got cancelled somehow, and it's like, how the fuck do you--? It’s just a dance club? It's like one of the least problematic clubs in the school? How does that even happen? And all my teachers talk so much big shit about how woke and accommodating they are but they never even let me have one extension on anything, and--” 

 He stops talking in favor of just curling up his knees and pushing his forehead into them, and then tapping his forehead on them, harder and harder, almost to an alarming intensity. Almost because Jonghyun, knowing to expect it, quickly curls his arm even further around his shoulders and lifts his other arm to push on his chest, keeping him away.

 “Hey! Hey... Hey,” he says quietly, close to Taemin’s ear. He drops a tiny little smooch to his temple as well, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Be gentle with yourself,” he chides. He can't keep banging himself up every time he gets all worked up because of all of everyone else's bullshit. Taemin sighs through his nose, whole body sagging into Jonghyun’s.

 “Yeah, yeah,” he says. He sounds a mix of tired of how often Jonghyun says that to him and tired of how often he needs to be told that. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

 Jonghyun hums back and then lets it be quiet between them for a little bit. That's what always helps Taemin. Just sitting with someone that supports him and thinking through his brain stuff on his own. Jonghyun likes the comfort of quiet snuggling as well. He didn't walk four blocks in the middle of the night just because he was worried about his friend getting lost on the train tracks 10 yards in front of his own apartment. He was feeling emo and lonely and couldn't sleep, too. And Taemin has to know that, because he shifts closer to him and takes his hand to hold in both of his, rubbing warmth into his skin.

 Taemin looks into their laps, at their hands, scuffs the pebbley ground with his foot. Jonghun looks up, to the sky, at the moon and all the stars that twinkle down at him. Both of them are getting lost in the same way, lost in their thoughts, lost in their surroundings, lost in each other's comfort. It's a familiar and easy escape to settle into and Jonghyun rests their heads together gently again.

 After a while, a bouncy song worms its way into his head, has his heel tapping on the wooden slat of the train tracks. Taemin is holding his wrist in one hand, poking and pinching at the veins in his hand with the other. Jonghyun twists his hand so he can hold Taemin's instead, lacing their fingers together.

 “Hey love, let's run away,” he sings softly. Taemin snorts quietly, the sound followed by a slow sigh.

 “Sometimes I really want to,” he mumbles. He tilts his head away, but only until Jonghyun’s head falls to rest on his shoulder. Then he rests his head back on top of Jonghyun. “Just…” he says. “Pack some shit and... leave.”

 “Same,” Jonghyun says. The allure of it is so strong that sometimes he only has his executive dysfunction to blame for not actually doing it.

 “Yeah?” Taemin asks, turning to him with a raised eyebrow, so close that Jonghyun can see up his nose. He fights down his giggle in favor of nodding simply. Yeah. “Where would you go?” Taemin asks. Jonghyun grins. This at least is a question he can answer easily. 

 “Ideally?” he says, and then points a finger straight up at the stars. “Infiltrate NASA, steal a spaceship, blast off, explore the cosmos and find a universe where everything doesn't suck.” He lets his hand fall back down into Taemin’s. “Realistically?” he asks quieter, and then he shrugs. He's never really done more than daydream and he doesn't really have any actual plans. “SHINee is doing that free little concert on the beach this weekend,” he says. That would be fun to go to.

 “Fuck, I forgot about that,” Taemin hisses. “I was going to say Japan, but, fuck, I love SHINee.” Jonghyun chuckles. Japan sounds fun too, but, yeah, a chill acoustic beach concert a couple of hours away sounds much more doable. “One time, in high school,” Taemin says. “When I didn't feel guilty about asking for shit like concert tickets or whatever, I went to go see them. And this was, like, before they were popular, so I got front row seats, and Taeyeon did one of her spins, you know?”

  He looks at Jonghyun like he expects Jonghyun to know what he means; Jonghyun does. The kind of spins that Taeyeon does when she's dancing, where she winds herself up and then nuts herself around like a top.

 “And some of her sweat dripped on me,” Taemin continues dreamily. He taps a spot high on his cheek, next to his nose. “Right here. It was so great.”

 “Lucky,” Jonghyun sighs wistfully. “2 years ago I got Junghee to sign a guitar pick for me,” he says. He blushes just thinking about her crescent eye smile, her sharp teeth, her buff babely arms as she handed him back the pick. He still has it in a tiny little glass frame on his headboard. “Do you think she would sign my bass for me, if I took it to the concert?” He asks. 

 “Probably, if we got up close to the front,” Taemin says. Jonghyun feels his shoulder shrug under his cheek. Then he feels it shift and move more, and sits up a little bit so Taemin is free to dig in his hoodie pocket for his phone. “How far away is that concert, even?” he asks, pulling up a map app and entering in two addresses. Jonghyun snorts as the directions and distance pop up. It's even further away than he thought; about four hours drive. Taemin doesn't snort, but he does sigh in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes and stuffing his phone into his pocket again. “Fucking. Hundred fifty bucks worth of gas,” he mutters.

 “I forgot how awful your car is,” Jonghyun says, the words coming out as half of a laugh. He knows he can't talk because he doesn't have a car, but Taemin’s car is a piece of shit. He loves that rusty little bug. Taemin laughs too, embarrassed, probably a little offended. Then he sighs again.

 “Plus hotel costs,” he mumbles. “You know I can't drive at night. It's scary.”

 “Sure,” Jonghyun says. He can't relate, but he understands. “Train tickets are only like, eight bucks each,” he says. “$30 round trip, that's not bad. Still would have to find a hotel, though.” The trains stop running too early around here.

 “Does it even have to be a round trip, though?” Taemin says absently. “I thought we were running away.”

 “Oh yeah,” Jonghyun says. He yawns into his popped collar, and then smiles as a wild thought appears in his brain. Leaning back on his hands so the pebbles skittered all over the ground dig into his palms, he says, “What if when we get there and I get Junghee to sign my guitar, I show her some of the songs I've written and she's so impressed she hires me to be like, her roadie slash groupie slash songwriter?”

  “Dude, yeah,” Taemin grins. “and Gwiboon wouldn't be able to resist my super cute face,” he says, poking his own cheek proudly. Jonghyun snorts, giggling into his shoulder.

 “Please, she has standards,” he says, elbowing Taemin in the side. Taemin just shrugs lazily.

 “Not high ones, you've seen how soft she is for Taeyeon.” and Jonghyun can't argue with that, so he doesn't. He just shakes his head fondly as he thinks about his 5 favorite ladies. Looking up at the stars, he finds his favorite one and smiles at it while Taemin yawns into the back of his hand. “We could pick up jobs with them, if we tried,” he says quietly. “You know they've talked about needing more help on their tours. We could just... Go. right now. Just us two. We could do it.” 

 “Yeah,” Jonghyun says, just as quietly. It really could happen. If they went. If they tried. He turns his head to his left to look at Taemin, to say something, but before he can, something behind Taemin catches his attention. Further down the track, way further, down on the main road, red lights blink slowly back and forth. And one big bright yellow light in the middle of the track slowly approaches. Faint dinging from the train crossing reaches his ears now as well.

 “Shit,” he mumbles, and stands up. When Taemin blinks at him in question, he reaches both hands out to help him stand. “Train’s coming,” he says, nodding down the track. 

 “Oh,” Taemin says, looking down there himself. He pulls Jonghyun off of the track, to the little metal fence on the other side of it that separates them from the ditch between the track and the high soundproof walls that encase the fancy rich people apartments. 

  They hoist themselves up and sit on top of the fence, Jonghyun slipping his arm behind Taemin to hold on to the railing on his other side, keeping him safe. Together they watch the train slowly draw near, chugging it's way along steadily, thick clouds of smoke puffing from the front. It moves slowly; it's one of the usual supply trains that runs on this track, not one of the fast public transportation trains. Jonghyun watches the line of cars on the main street pile up behind it, amused.

 It takes at least five minutes for the train to actually come near them, the scent of metal and grease and rust and smoke thick in the air. As it draws near, Taemin raises a hand in a lazy wave. Jonghyun smiles, then is filled with a sudden impulse.

 Slowly, hesitantly, with all of the same hope in his heart that he had when he was 8 years old, he lifts his hand next to his head and pumps it up and down twice. Then he waits, other hand gripping tight to the railing in anticipation. He can't see the conductor in there; it's too dark, and the headlight makes it too bright in all of the wrong places. The train chugs ever closer, almost passing them, and Jonghyun starts to lose hope, but then--

 The train whistle sounds, 2 long notes, just as the front cabin passes them.

 The sound blasts through the night air, no doubt annoying everyone except Jonghyun, who does his biggest and loudest woohoo!, both hands raised high in the air, fists pumping back and forth triumphantly, and Taemin, who has one hand on the fence and one hand on Jonghyun’s thigh as he doubles over laughing. 

 It's exhilarating; Jonghyun feels ecstatic, rejuvenated, alive. His heart beats against his ribs, his lungs expand with huge breaths of air, his cheeks almost hurt from how wide and hard he's smiling, his body tingles, the warm summer breeze feels extra sharp against his skin. He watches the train go, gratitude and excitement in his soul, feeling so light and so bright from that small favor from a friendly stranger that he feels like he'll burst into a million elated pieces. 

  It's overwhelming, almost. How happy he is right now, in this isolated moment, how intense the emotion is. He never gets emotions this intense anymore. He loves it, loves feeling so much so suddenly, so hard, so positive. It fills him up all the way, starts in his chest and expands to every single part of his body, and Taemin’s continued laughter next to him only makes him feel better.

 He turns around, takes in Taemin’s wide open mouth and round red cheeks and scrunched up eyes and feels like with him, he could feel this happy all the time. His heart, already so full and so happy, beats even faster, feels so good, so good that he reaches up and cups Taemin’s face in both hands and presses a kiss firm to his mouth.

  Taemin makes a noise into his mouth, not surprised, just a little muffled exclamation. Jonghyun keeps kissing him, shallow, simple, just to feel their mouths together, to prolong this moment of happiness, to share it with his friend. Taemin, after a moment, kisses him back, a breath of a laugh puffing over Jonghyun’s upper lip. His hands come up and cover Jonghyun’s, not to move them away, but to hold. 

 “Yeah?” he asks between two kisses. His voice is a little incredulous, but mostly resigned, and a little enamored. Jonghyun nods, moving their hands down together to rest gently around Taemin’s neck and angle him better into the kiss.

 “Yeah,” he smiles. He loves this, loves kissing, loves kissing Taemin, loves feeling this good. He wants to feel this good all the time. He wants to be with Taemin, to go with him, run away with him, he wants to--

 He pulls away for just a moment, and in that moment, looking at Taemin’s closed eyelids, his chapped skin, his softly parted lips, Jongyun’s elation fades away. Reality creeps back in, slowly, a trickle of disappointment. A thought comes to him. A real thought, not an emotion. A thought of responsibility. He sighs, sliding his arms down to hug Taemin around the arms instead, pulling him close and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

 “We should... Call someone to be our voice of reason and not let us run away,” he mumbles sadly. If he's feeling impulsive enough to want to kiss Taemin and be with him forever, and Taemin is feeling desperate enough to drive to the coast and never come back, then the two of them together really shouldn't be left alone. In his arms, Taemin expands and deflates in his own heavy sigh. 

 “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I guess you're right.” It's awkward when they're sitting next to each other like this on the fence, but he slips his arms around Jonghyun’s waist and hugs him back. “Jinki?” he asks. And despite how little and sad Jonghyun is suddenly feeling, he snorts and giggles a little bit. 

 “Are you kidding, his Sagittarius ass?” he asks. “He'd drive all the way over here right now and pick us up. Minho too.” he wouldn't trust either of them to stop a runaway impulse if his life depended on it, and that's him speaking as an Aries. Taemin scoffs quietly next to his ear.

 “Astrology hoe,” he teases. Then, before Jonghyun can grump at him, says, “Key would murder us if we woke him up this late.” Jonghyun chuckles a little more. That also is true.

  “That's the Libra in him,” he says slyly.

 “Excuse me? He's a Virgo.”

 “He's a cusp.”

 “What the fuck is a cusp?”

 “If you were an astrology hoe, you would know.”

 “God. Shut up.”

 Taemin shoves him away, but he's smiling when Jonghyun leans back and smirks, smiling and shaking his head. He pulls down his hood, runs his hands through his messy dirty blond bangs a few times, and pulls his hood back up. Jonghyun elbows his side gently, wiggling his eyebrows when Taemin glances at him just to make him shake his head again. Then he just grips the railing on either side of his hips, looking back up at the stars. Taemin holds onto the fence too, his right hand so close to Jonghyun’s left that their pinkies overlap, and looks down at the earth. 

 “I guess if we can't call anyone to stop us then we have to find some shred of responsibility between the two of us and do it ourselves,” Jonghyun says to the sky. He’s sure that between the both of them they can find one small nugget of good mental health and adult skills to keep them from making a bad decision at 3 in the morning. Jonghyun rolls his head to the side to nudge Taemin’s shoulder. “Want to go back to my place and just sleep?” he asks. Taemin breathes out a laugh, feet kicking against a lower rail of the fence so Jonghyun can feel every hit of contact under his thighs.

 “I don't want to fucking.” he lifts one hand to rub over his face tiredly, smile still wide behind it, then gestures it vaguely over the neighborhood. “Walk, like, over a mile in the dark, that's so much work,” he says. He nudges Jonghyun back. “You just come sleep with me in my place.” he nods his head forward, over the track, across the street, at his apartment door. Jonghyun raises his eyebrows, surprised.

 “I thought I wasn't allowed in your house?” he says. “Because your parents hate me, because I'm a bad influence and I turned you gay and I filled your head with awful horrible thoughts like, free healthcare is a human right and capitalism is inherently evil and no one should have to work for a living.”

  Taemin snorts into laughter, ugly adorable little giggles that crinkle his eyes, then shakes his head. Shrugging, he says, “I convinced them that it was actually college that did all of that, and you couldn't have done it because you didn't go to college, so now they just hate you because you didn't go to college.”

 “Oh, well, that's so much better,” Jonghyun says sarcastically. Taemin just shrugs back again, looking completely unbothered.

 “They're both asleep right now and they'll both be gone in the morning anyway,” he says. “Besides, I bought myself a lock for my door and pulled the I'm a 24 year old adult and I deserve privacy excuse for it. It'll be the easiest thing in the world to sneak you into my bed. Come on.” He hops off the fence, straightens his hoodie around his hips, and then holds out his hand. 

 Jonghyun looks at it, his weird little fingers, his bony wrist peeking out of the sleeve. Then he looks up at Taemin’s face. Acne on his cheeks, bags under his eyes. He feels nice in his heart, the way he did earlier, but less intense, more familiar. Taking Taemin’s hand, he resists the pull in favor of tugging Taemin close to him instead, pulling him to stand between his legs. Even from here he has to tilt his head up a little bit to look into Taemin’s eyes. He cups Taemin’s face again, rubbing his thumb over his bumpy cheek, and smiles, leaning in to softly peck his lips. 

 Taemin makes the same kind of not surprised but just amused noise as he did before. His hands slide up to rest on Jonghyun’s thighs. Jonghyun appreciates that Taemin lets him just do this a whole lot.

 “Hey, not to be impulsive emotional gay and also genuine soft gay in the same ten minutes, but,” Jonghyun says, resting their foreheads together, letting their lips brush as he speaks. “Thanks for being my friend,” he says. Then he kisses the little humming noise that Taemin makes in response to that.

 “Don't mention it,” Taemin says. “Come on.” He gets his hands around Jonghyun’s waist and tugs him off of the fence. Jonghyun pretends to stumble and leans all of his weight on Taemin, clinging to him, smiling against his ear when he staggers for real and makes a surprised, disgruntled little noise. Then, before Taemin can get mad at him, he just swings his arm around his shoulders, steadies him on his feet, and bumps him gently to start walking back to his apartment. 

 Taemin bumps him back even harder, but he also slips his arm around his waist, so Jonghyun doesn't mind.

 Their shoes crunch over the gravel around the train tracks, clink against the metal of the rail, thud against the planks. Jonghyun tilts his head to look up at the stars, thinks that would make a good picture, pauses as that thought stirs something in his memory. Tightening his hold on Taemin so he stops too, Jonghyun puts his hand into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone.

 Opening up Instagram, he leans back and snaps a picture of the sky. Then he takes another with the moon in it, his favorite lesbian, and then he lowers his phone and takes a picture of the train tracks disappearing into the darkness. Then he flips it to the front camera and smushes his cheek against Taemin’s, smiling pretty and watching him roll his eyes on the screen.

 “Why?” Taemin asks, even as he lifts a hand to mess with his bangs and make them look nicer.

 “It's this thing I read online one time,” Jonghyun says, waiting for Taemin to close his eyes and smile tiredly for the camera. He takes the picture and then continues, “to help with, you know, not being so mean to myself all the time. I'm documenting all the times that I feel like it's pretty okay to be me.”

  As Taemin hums quietly in approval, Jonghyun raises his phone and tilts it to give them one of those funny face selfie angles. Taemin catches on very quickly, raising both hands in little v signs and pushing up his cheeks. Jonghyun giggles, muffling them in Taemin’s shoulder, before popping back up and tilting his head and opening his eyes super wide so they look gigantic in the picture.

 Once he takes it, he pulls his phone back close so he can look at all of the filters and everything. He lets Taemin pull him across the street and up onto the sidewalk as he does. He plays with it, putting filters on all of the pictures except the selfies while Taemin quietly jiggles his key into the lock and sneaks him through the apartment and to his bedroom.

 When they get there, Jonghyun snorts at the fact that Taemin purchased a whole ass electronic fingerprint lock instead of a key or combination one. That must have been one hell of a conversation with his parents. Taemin opens his bedroom door and gestures Jonghyun inside with a silent flourish and a huge grin, one Jonghyun returns as he curtsies gratefully and flounces inside like a delicate princess.

 Then he tosses his phone onto Taemin’s bed and shrugs out of his jacket and jeans, doing his best not to stumble around and curse when his foot gets stuck. Taemin isn't doing much better; Jonghyun hears more than sees him bang his knee on his dresser as he makes his way to the bed. 

 Still, they manage to fall into bed together without making too much noise, and Jonghyun gets comfortable with his right arm under Taemin’s head. He picks up his phone and goes back to his Instagram post, typing out a summary of his night so he'll be able to look back on it another time when he isn't feeling as good. Taemin grumbles at the brightness and turns his face into Jonghyun’s shoulder, pulling his blankies up high over them.

  Ruffling Taemin’s hair gently, dropping a tiny kiss to the top of his head, Jonghyun finishes his post, sends it, and then puts his phone on power save mode so it doesn't die during their little snooze. Then he curls up on his side, wrapping his other arm around Taemin’s waist and tangling their legs together. He always likes sleeping with Taemin. It's so easy for them to be comfortable next to each other.

 “I hope you dream about playing guitar with Junghee on the pier at sunset,” Taemin whispers to him. It takes a moment for that sentence to process in Jonghyun’s brain, but when it does, his heart swells and he squeezes Taemin that much closer, that much tighter. That's so sweet.

 “Thanks,” he whispers back. “I hope you dream about dancing with Taeyeon and then you both have the sweatiest hug imaginable.”

 “Hell yeah,” Taemin giggles. “Nighty-night.”

  “Nighty-night.” And Jonghyun isn't feeling particularly sleepy, actually, but here, with Taemin, he can still close his eyes and let his brain turn off for a little bit, maybe doze for a little while, and that's more than he gets with anyone else.

[neerasrealm]

Christmas with poly!Slenjack, Slendra, and Y/N’s kid from slenjack x single parent!reader (and Jasmine and Juliette if it’s not too much)? Love your writing btw!

I LOVE THIS ASK AND I AM SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO. I kind of fell out of doing requests and writing except for lore stuff so I apologise. I’m getting back on track now and I’m going to clear out my inbox and get to the requests that have been rotting away in here for so long. I’m sorry for all of this yall :( I just needed a break I guess. Edit: forgot to tag @queenofmandy bc she basically fleshed out the twins and made them developed characters and ik she’ll wanna see this HSDGDSJ

Anyway enjoy!

Your conventional christmas would be spent with family, surely. Dinner with your parents and exchanging gifts with your little boy, Sam. But this year is a little different. You took Sam to see his grandparents that morning. He seems very happy with his gift, and all the extra candy that's probably going to keep both of you on a sugar rush till January. Now though, it's afternoon, and you're headed for another place. Your boyfriends house. Not boyfriend's, boyfriends. Plural. 

"Y'know I don't know HOW Slender keeps managing to get the minivan through to the house," you murmur as you lead Sam through the forest. He giggles and you adjust the big plastic bag in your free hand. "You excited to see em sweetie?"

"Yeah!" He chirps. "Are Jasmine and Juliette gonna be there?"

You laugh a bit. "Sweetheart, it's christmas. They're not going anywhere."

"Juliette doesn't have a date?"

You snort. "For once, no." You chuckle a bit as you walk over the line of mushrooms and into the spacious front yard of the house. Typically, it'll be full of colour from the bushes and flowerbeds, and the large tree in the yard would be bearing lots of fruit, but now it's all covered in snow. You trudge through it, noticing a few snow angels in the ground as you pass, before reaching the front door. You knock a couple times before opening it. They always leave it unlocked for you. "C'mon sweetie." You call gently as you step inside.

You help Sam take off his coat, hat and scarf before doing the same with yourself. He's dressed in a brand new outfit you got him. Denim overalls and a rainbow striped shirt. It's probably obvious where he got that outfit idea from. In the other room up the hall you can hear laughter and yelling. You grab your bag again and walk up the hall, Sam following at your heels.

"Can ye reach luv?"

"Pff- yeh da, I can-"

"Or do ye need ta go higher?!"

"DA! PU' ME DOWN-" Juliette squeals as LJ stretches his arms, lifting her higher up into the air. She kicks her legs and laughs along with him.  You grin as you enter the living room. LJ is holding one of his twin daughters up to the gigantic christmas tree, cackling in amusement. Sam stares up in amazement. 

"Sammy!!" Jasmine, the second twin, squeals as she spots you. She dashes over and sweeps Sam up off the ground, holding him up. ‘’There ye are ye li’le bin lid!’’ she coos. You chuckle a bit. Jasmine adores Sam, and Sam adores Jasmine. She grins.

‘’Hi!’’ Sam chirps quietly. He kicks his legs and giggles at her.

Jasmine puts him down with a grunt. ‘’Ye’re ge’in big, ain’tcha?’’ she says with a wide smile. ‘’No’ g’nna be able ta pick ye up much longer.’’ Sam whines in response and she pats his head. ‘’Don’ worry, da can still lif’ ye up,’’ she looks over at Jasmine. ‘’Righ’ Jules?’’

LJ turns to look at you. His bright blue eyes widen in surprise as he spots you. He puts Juliette down and turns to you, grinning wide. He’s wearing a thick lavender sweater, rather than his usual monochrome outfit. ‘’y/n!’’ he chirps before rushing over to you. He hugs you tight and sweeps you up off the ground. You cry out in surprise and he leans up and pecks a kiss onto your lips. He giggles. ‘’I’s good ta see ya luv!’’

You laugh a bit. ‘’You too, sweetie.’’ you reply fondly before kissing him again. He blushes a soft pink and giggles some more.

“'Ow are ye, me dear?" He asks softly, looking up at you with big blue eyes. You smile gently at him.

"Good. Saw my parents. Sam is really happy," you glance over at your son and smile. He's excitedly talking with the twins, probably about the gifts he got earlier. You look back at LJ. "How about you, birthday boy?" 

He grins and giggles. "Pre'y good," he gently sets you down again and toys with the sleeves of his sweater. "Th' kiddos 'ave been 'avin' a grea' time." He glances at the girls. Juliette notices and pauses for a moment, giving a gap-toothed grin and waving before going back to playing with Sam.

The kitchen door suddenly swings open behind him. "Jasmine dear can you-" Slender leans out of the kitchen before suddenly noticing you. "Y/n!" He steps out into the living room, having seemingly forgotten about Jasmine. You smile softly as he walks over to you. He’s wearing a red apron with a fluffy white trim. He leans down and you peck a kiss onto where his mouth would be. He stands up again. ‘’You’re early.’’

His stern tone surprises you. ‘’I am?’’

‘’Yes! You said you’d be here by three, it’s half past two!’’ he glares at you and you laugh nervously.

‘’Oh. Oops.’’ you murmur. He stands up and sighs, moving quickly back to the kitchen.

‘’It’s fine, it’s fine- you’ll just have to wait a little for lunch.’’ he mutters. 

Sam’s head perks up, noticing Slender. He grins.‘’Slendy!’’ he squeaks. Slender stops for a moment and looks at him. A tendril reaches over and pats his head of messy curls. Sam giggles and Slender disappears into the kitchen again. 

‘’’E’s comple’ly run off ‘is fee’, th’ poor bugger…’’ Jack murmurs behind you. You glance at him and he shakes his head, sighing. ‘’Ev’ry year ‘e does this, worries abou’ makin’ th’ day perfec’...wish ‘e’d jus’ relax fer once, ye know?’’ he looks down at you and shrugs, as if to say there isn’t really much to be done about it. 

‘’y/n!’’ you turn around at the sound of your name being called. Standing in front of the kitchen door is Slendra, LJ and Slender’s third daughter. She’s short, but also taller than her older sisters. Her hair is fiery, turning from blonde to red at the tips, and she has small horns that curl toward her face. Her skin is a reddish-brown, with golden eyes and freckles across her face. She’s wearing a small red dress with a white collar and trim. She smiles at you, hands clasped together politely. ‘’Happy christmas!’’

You smile and step toward her. She runs over and hugs you. ‘’Happy christmas, sweetheart.’’ you murmur softly. She steps away and looks at the bag in your hand.

‘’Want me to take that?’’ she asks, polite as ever. You chuckle and pull it away.

‘’No, no. Those are the presents.’’ you wink at her. She looks surprised for a second before breaking into a grin. You can feel LJ’s eyes gazing intently at your back. He definitely heard that. You walk past Slendra and crouch down at the gigantic christmas tree. A bonus of having a big house with high ceilings. You take your gifts out, one by one, and set them under the tree. You glance up and see LJ is standing next to the tree, watching you intently. You giggle. ‘’You’ll get yours later, sweetie. Promise.’’ you chide. He smiles and laughs a bit before moving over to you. You let out a noise of surprise as he suddenly picks you up and carries you past the kids to the couch. You laugh a bit as he sets you down. 

‘’Ya want anyfink, luv?’’ he asks. You think for a moment.

‘’A drink would be nice.’’ you say before glancing at Sam. ‘’Sweetie, do you want anything?’’

He looks over his shoulder at you. ‘’Do you have batteries?’’ he asks. Jack arches a brow and looks at you.

‘’He got a car from his grandma. It needs batteries.’’ you murmur. He smiles in understanding and nods before reaching into his sleeve. 

‘’Sure, kiddo.’’ he pads over to him and pulls out a package of batteries. ‘’Le’ th’ girls pu’ ‘em in, okay? Don’ want’cha ge’in ‘urt.’’ 

Sam grins and nods, taking the batteries. ‘’Thanks Jackie!’’ he chirps before handing them off to Jasmine. Slendra walks past them as LJ disappears into the kitchen, sitting down beside you with a sigh. You tilt your head at her and smile. 

‘’I like the dress.’’ you say simply. She looks at you and smiles. ‘’You been working in the kitchen?’’ 

She nods. ‘’Yeah. Mum needs ‘elp, and th’ twins are lazy soooo…’’

‘’I ‘eard tha’!’’ Juliette calls, glaring at you both. The two of you laugh. You listen to Slendra talk about her morning so far. She got some notebooks, a new dress from her uncle and a couple stuffed toys. You listen to her ramble about the lunch she’s been helping Slender make. Apparently she’s supposed to get more gifts, later, after everyone’s eaten. Slender and LJ must be saving some for when you and Sam came over. Considerate, you wouldn’t expect anything less.

"Ere luv," LJ's voice makes you look up from your conversation. He's holding a glass of champagne in one hand. He smiles at you and holds it out. "Budge up, will ya?" He moves over and takes a seat on the couch, putting himself in between you and Slendra. Definitely on purpose, as he ruffles the girl's hair affectionately. 

"Pops! Be careful! If ye mess up me 'air mum will be mad!" She squeals, pouting. LJ laughs and looks at you.

"Kids, eh?"

You roll your eyes. "Tell me about it." You reply with a grin. You sip your champagne and look over at Sam and the twins. The car is up and running, and it's spinning around the floor in donuts. You smile a bit, watching Sam play with the twins (if by playing you mean listening to them talk his ears off).

The kitchen door swings open and you glance aside. Slender seems to smile. ‘’Lunch is ready, my dears.’’ he calls softly. You smile and get up. Jack takes your hand in his and tugs you into the kitchen. You can hear the twins behind you, still talking to Sam. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s probably happy to be included in a conversation, especially with much older kids. The second you enter the kitchen you’re hit with the heavenly smell of fresh-baked pastry and roasting meat. You glance around, admiring the decorations before your eyes fall on the table. It’s practically a banquet, with plates of pastries, bowls of vegetables, a roasted ham and what you assume to be a casserole? You stare in wonder at the pigs-in-blankets before the sound of a cork popping makes you look up and over at Slender, who’s holding a bottle of wine. ‘’Do you want a drink, dears?’’

‘’I’ll ‘ave one!’’ Juliette calls with a grin as she sits down at the table. She ushers Sam to come over and sit between her and Jasmine. 

Slender shakes his head. ‘’I know you do, Juliette.’’ he murmurs. ‘’You too Jasmine?’’ he asks. The girl nods. He doesn’t even need to ask Jack, he already knows it’s a yes. He looks over at you as he walks over to the table. ‘’y/n? Wine?’’

You smile and nod as you sit down beside Jack, across from Juliette. ‘’Sure.’’ Sam watches Slender pour out the wine and glances at you.

‘’Can I have some too?’’ he asks innocently. Your eyes widen with surprise and Jack wheezes beside you. The twins both cock a brow, looking at him in bemusement. Slendra watches him from her own seat, seemingly impressed by his brave ask. 

‘’No, wine isn’t-’’

‘’Sure, sweetie,’’ you interrupt Slender, catching LJ’s eye and grinning slyly. ‘’One of the girls can give you a sip, can’t they?’’ you look over at Jasmine. Her eyes narrow at you for a moment, seemingly debating if she wants to go along with you or not. Eventually she gives in, holding her glass to Sam.

‘’Aight.’’

‘’Jasmine!’’ Slender practically shrieks, making LJ snicker. Slendra has to slap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Sam takes the glass from Jasmine and takes a small sip. 

His nose scrunches up in disgust and he shakes his head. ‘’That’s icky!’’ he declares. Juliette wheezes beside him, leaning her hand on the table for support. You can’t help it- you start laughing too. LJ is the same, cackling with that infectious laugh that has Slendra giggling beside him. Slender folds his arms.

‘’You’re all ruining christmas.’’ he mutters before sighing. ‘’Slendra, Sam, do you want juice?’’

‘’Yes please.’’ they both chirp. The rest of you start eating, passing around plates and bowls. The food is delicious. The roast potatoes are cooked to a perfect crisp, the meat is juicy and flavorful and the casserole is apparently potato, cheese and chicken. The pastries too are perfect. Fluffy and crispy, filled with delicious vegetables and meat. This is supposed to be just lunch?

‘’I think I did the ham wrong.’’ Slender murmurs, breaking the silence. You didn’t even realise nobody was talking, you were all too busy eating. You glance at him in surprise. ‘’It’s a bit too sweet.’’

Jack rolls his eyes. ‘’Slen, ye did i’ grand. ‘Ones’ly, this is amazin’. This is good enough fer th’ bluddy queen.’’ he gives Slender a firm look and you nod in agreement.

‘’Yeah,’’ you pause to swallow the bite of casserole in your mouth. ‘’This is delicious, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve ever had something this good! Definitely better than I can do, right Sam?’’ 

The boy nods. ‘’Yeah! You could never make something as good as Slendy’s cooking!’’ he chirps. Your smile drops.

‘’Gee, thanks.’’

The twins giggle on either side of him. You roll your eyes playfully and get back to eating. The food is amazing, as you expected, and the meal is fun. LJ and Slender’s family are always fun to be around. The twins poke fun at each other, LJ makes bad jokes and Slender always has a blunt comment to add that makes you and Slendra laugh in unison. By the time you’re finished eating, you’re stuffed, and dinner feels like an impossible task. Slender shoo’s everyone out of the kitchen, and LJ leads you by the hand to the living room and onto the couch. He pulls you onto his lap, nuzzling against your neck lovingly. He feels soft, like a giant pillow, which makes you giggle. Jasmine shoots you a dirty look, but it disappears when Slender walks into the room. 

‘’Are we ready for gifts?’’ he asks. Sam and LJ’s heads snap up, looking at him. You laugh a bit.

‘’Think so.’’ you reply. You wriggle out of LJ’s arms and move over to the tree, crouching down. ‘’You guys mind if I go first? I uh- put a lot of effort into my gifts and wanted to make them really special…’’ you look over your shoulder and smile a bit. LJ grins and Slender nods. You smile and sit back on your knees, pulling out two of the presents. ‘’Uhh...these are for Slendra and Juliette.’’ you turn around, holding out the gifts. The two girls walk over, taking their gifts. Juliette shakes hers, since her gift is bigger, while Slendra kneels down and carefully unwraps the paper on her gift. She gasps and holds it up.

‘’No way!’’ she grins at you. In her hands is a small box, with transparent plastic on the front, showing off the bow-tie inside. In the centre is a bright blue gem, and on either side, several peacock feathers. She grins and looks down at it. ‘’This is so fancy!’’

You chuckle. ‘’Yeah! I saw it and- well I remembered that time we went to the zoo.’’ you smile at her. She chuckles.

Juliette suddenly squeals and you turn to look at her. She’s grinning wide. ‘’Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!’’ she squeals, picking up the box. 

LJ tilts his head from the couch. ‘’Wo’ is i’, luv?’’ he asks, smiling in amusement. 

‘’A nail kit!’’ she squeaks. ‘’L-Like in th’ salons! ‘Cept I can do i’ a’ ‘ome now!’’ she grins, turning the box over to look at the information on the back. You chuckle.

‘’I remember coming over here and hearing you complain about how expensive getting your nails done is so…’’

She looks up at you and smiles in surprise. ‘’Ye were listenin’ t’ all’a’?’’ she asks, her voice soft and taken aback. You nod and tilt your head.

‘’Of course I was.’’ you reply. She looks down at the box again and smiles wider. She looks genuinely happy. You grab the other gifts and stand up. One large, flat triangle and an elegant black bag. You walk over to the couch and hold out the triangular gift to Jasmine. Jasmine has always been a little...wary of you. You don’t blame her. You’re dating her parents so it makes sense. She takes the gift, unwrapping it curiously. 

Her eyes widen and she gasps. It’s a large, heart-shaped eyeshadow palette. ‘’I’ve been savin’ up fer this!’’ she yelps. You catch LJ’s eye and he winks at you. Jasmine looks up at you and smiles, pressing the palette to her chest. ‘’...Thanks y/n. I luv i’.’’

‘’Ye be’er plan on sharin’ tha’!’’ Juliette calls. Jasmine purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

‘’...only if ye do me nails fer me.’’

‘’Deal.’’ 

You laugh and turn to LJ and Slender. You smile nervously and reach into the bag. ‘’I hope you guys don’t mind...I combined your gifts into one.’’ they both tilt their heads curiously as you pull out two small white boxes. You hand one to each of them. ‘’You guys are...really open about yourselves. I mean- the matching wedding rings, eheh- and I know I’ve only been dating you guys a couple months but...I wanted to get something that represents all three of us.’’

LJ opens his box and pulls out a small, gold necklace. He gasps. ‘’Oooh!’’ he grins, eyes sparkling excitedly. 

Slender is more delicate as he lifts up his own necklace, examining it. ‘’Oh- oh! Oh, dear you shouldn’t have…’’ you can tell he’s really happy. His head turns, looking at LJ. ‘’Dear do you- know what the symbol on it is…?’’

LJ looks up. ‘’Eh?’’ he looks down at the necklace. ‘’I’s er- well i’s a ‘eart, and one ‘f em uh- infini’y symbols!’’ he looks up, smiling, seemingly proud of himself for getting it right. You laugh a bit.

‘’I mean you’re half right,’’ you murmur. He looks at you as you tug out the gold chain around your neck, revealing that you yourself have a necklace to match them. ‘’It’s an infinity heart...it’s a symbol for polyamory. It represents us.’’ you explain softly. LJ looks at you in surprise, then smiles. 

‘’Awe...luv…’’ he grins and reaches over, pulling you onto his lap. You giggle and grab his necklace, fastening it on for him. He smiles proudly and pecks a kiss onto your forehead. You laugh again, blushing hard. Slender suddenly taps your shoulder, catching your attention. You look up at him.

He’s holding a small gift, wrapped in festive red paper. Curious, you take it and pull off the paper. Inside are two things. A picture frame, and a piece of paper. You flip over the picture and your face lights up. It’s a picture of yourself, Slender and LJ from one of your first dates. You smile. ‘’Awe...Slender…’’ you don’t even have to ask if it was his idea. This has his name written all over it. He pats your head, pleased that you like it. Your attention turns to the slip of paper. You grab it, flipping it over. Your eyes widen and you look up at Slender. ‘’A- a spa weekend…?’’

‘’Tha’ wuz my idea.’’ Jack says above you, sounding proud. You look up at him in surprise and he smiles. ‘’Ye work real ‘ard, y/n...fer Sam, fer me an’ Slen...ye deserve a break. Ta trea’ yerself.’’ he leans in close and kisses your cheek. His clawed hand runs through your hair.

‘’We can look after Sam while you take the weekend to yourself.’’ Slender adds. You look up at him, then back at LJ. You smile softly. ‘’We really care about you, my dear…’’

‘’Yeh!’’ LJ smiles at you gently and caresses your cheek. His expression softens. ‘’...ye are g’nna look after yerself, righ’ luv?’’ he asks. ‘’Cuz we care abou’ ye...a lo’.’’ he tilts his head, cupping your face in his hand. Slender’s hand rests on your shoulder, reminding you he’s there, and that he loves you. You smile gently and give a meagre nod.

‘’Yeah...I will. promise.’’