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goodlucktai · 2 years

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give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter nine: don’t know where we’re going but i’d like to be by your side

rise of the tmnt pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 4k title borrowed from are you bored yet? by wallows post-movie

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The next time Yuichi is invited to the lair, five very significant things happen.

1. Leonardo meets Yuichi’s friends

The first thing Leonardo announces to his family when he tumbles through the portal between Usagi Farm and his own living room is “Kitsune and I are gonna STEAL!”

His siblings take a moment to absorb that and then look behind him at Yuichi, who had all but shoved Leonardo in and then hustled through himself.

Yuichi, feeling harassed, says, “They are not going to steal.”

The last forty-five minutes have felt like a four-day marathon.

Yuichi is spending the day at the lair, on Leonardo’s invitation, with the added assurance that his family would love to have him. When the striped turtle initially offered to portal him there and back, Yuichi leapt on the offer embarrassingly quickly.

He would never admit it on pain of death, but here’s Yuichi’s reasoning: if he doesn’t have to spend nearly an hour driving each way, that’s an additional two hours he gets to spend with his favorite person, so yes. As much as he loves his bike, he’s team portal.

They made these plans a week ago, and Yuichi’s first mistake was mentioning it to Gen. So he wasn’t expecting his friends’ ambush the second Leonardo stepped through the portal into the yard, but he probably should have been.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Chizu said, in a way that made it clear she was not asking. “We’ll get parfaits.”

Leonardo, who had been on the farm for all of three minutes at that point, which was more than enough time for him to have collected two small children and one small dinosaur, said, “Uh, yeah. Okay. Can lizards have dairy?”

Yuichi didn’t even have time to worry about his friends and Leonardo not getting along, because at the very first sign of being left behind by the teenagers, Sonoko and Momiji pitched a fit loud enough that it attracted Jomei and Botan, who were quick to join in.

This is usually when he strong-armed them back into the house, but Leonardo said, ostensibly to Gen but with his voice pitched loud and performative so the children take notice, “What do you think? Should we bring all the well-behaved bunnies back a treat?”

It worked like a charm, because of course it did, because that was the cousins’ angle in the first place. Once they were mollified, Yuichi’s group could escape, and Chizu said, “You shouldn’t let them play you like that, Leo. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.”

“I was gonna get them ice cream anyway,” he replied. “Let them think they won, it’s good for their devious little brains.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Gen rumbled, his tone warm with good humor. “Is this a lesson from the school of ninja?”

“Oh, sure.” Leonardo guided Champion up onto his shoulder, where she curled around his neck like a scaly scarf, so his hands were free to fold in the pose of a wise old master. “Lesson one—strike hard, fade away into the night, and always let the babies in the room think they’re smarter than you. That way they’re never actually smarter than you.”

“And have the funds to buy their loyalty,” Kitsune pointed out.

“That’s the easy part. Donnie’s been seeding funds from untraceable backdoors into Fortune 500 companies for years,” Leonardo said. He turned to walk backwards, leveling them all with a narrow stare. “And I don’t wanna hear any judgment from the Samurai Squad about it, either. My twinnie’s single-handedly kept the lights on by stealing from people so rich they don’t even notice.”

Chizu and Yuichi sighed at the same time. Gen laughed. Because Kitsune bounced up to her full height, shoulders squared, and announced, “I steal, too! I’m basically Robin Hood, without all the murder! Last month I did a casino sweep, baby!”

Leonardo’s eyes brightened. “Tell me everything about that right now.”

So, within minutes, Yuichi went from being really excited that his favorite people were getting along, to being absolutely certain in the knowledge that Kitsune and Leonardo could never be left unsupervised, ever, because they were the exact same level of chaos gremlin.

Gen was easy. He’s a straightforward person, and there are certain qualities he admires that Leonardo has in spades. His battle-scars and the weapons strapped to his shell cut him a dangerous figure. His obnoxious laughter when Yuichi tried to hop over a puddle and landed in mud instead softened him again. So Gen challenged him to an arm-wrestling match, and then best two of three, and then best seven of ten, and then Champion bit Gen’s thumb with her tiny baby teeth for hogging her person. But by then Leonardo had cemented himself as a Cool Guy in Gen’s eyes.

Chizu was more exacting than that, and sometimes her protective nature could turn sharp against people, and Yuichi was worried she might be unkind. But she studied Leonardo’s interactions with Gen, how unfazed he was by Gen’s size and how he didn’t treat the rhino’s simplicity as stupidity.

And she observed the way he and Kitsune matched each other’s energy, both of them a clever trickster learning the ins and outs of the other’s wits. When Kitsune withdrew her cute qiankun bag to show him some of her favorite purloined gems and trinkets, Leonardo responded in kind, pulling his phone out and swiping through a photo album of some of the best things his brother had invented with his stolen means.

And she watched him dither over the ice cream menu, dragging Yuichi over by the sleeve to help him pick out treats for the kids back home, charming the yokai employee behind the stand into making the world’s tiniest strawberry soft serve for Champion. And it seemed to be enough.

On the walk back to the farm, Gen lifted the bags out of Leonardo’s hands so he didn’t have to juggle everything and a lizard, and Leonardo didn’t even notice because Kitsune was distracting him by outlining, in great detail, her dream of successfully pulling off the world’s biggest art heist one day—not even because she likes art, just because—and Chizu looked past the three of them to meet Yuichi’s eyes.

She tipped her head towards Leonardo, raised a brow, and smiled. It very clearly said Okay, he’ll do.

But she wouldn’t be Chizu if she didn’t like to make people sweat, so when they were back at Yuichi’s house and handing off ice cream to greedy little kids, and Leonardo was beginning tense negotiations with Champion, who had decided the inside of his jacket was the perfect place to hide from the injustice of being left behind again, Chizu barked, “Leo!”

He jumped a foot. Dangling from his elbow, Momiji giggled.

“Jesus—what??”

“Next Thursday, we meet in battle,” she said. “Go match. Bring your wits.”

“Good thing I bring those with me everywhere. You’re on,” Leonardo said, all bold, unflinching confidence. Then he opened Google on his phone, frantically typing “how to play Go beginner cheat sheet” into the search bar. Yuichi loved this idiot with his whole chest.

“And don’t forget!” Kitsune shouted. “Art heist! This summer! The Louvre!!”

“Art heist!” Leonardo shouted back, and that was when Yuichi decided it was time to go for real.

And now Leonardo is telling Michelangelo, “We’re so gonna steal.”

“I still have custody of your dinosaur,” Yuichi mentions in a loud voice, which is enough to make Leonardo heave an exaggerated sigh and roll his eyes and move onto something else.

“You’re not gonna be able to hold Champy against him forever,” April points out, sounding amused.

“I know,” Yuichi says woefully. “I’ll figure something else out.”

2. Yuichi meets the Hamato patriarch

Yuichi doesn’t even realize there’s an additional presence in the room until the very last second.

Something goes flying at the back of his head, and he whirls around and deflects it with the flat of his hand, spiking it into the ground like a volleyball.

Only it’s not a volleyball, it’s something delicate and made of what sounds like porcelain? Given the tinkling little noise it makes as it breaks into about a billion pieces?

Yuichi only has about three seconds to be completely mortified before the turtles and April erupt into hysterical laughter. Even Casey is smothering giggles behind his hand.

“Dad, was that your favorite teacup?” Donatello asks, lowering his goggles over his eyes and twisting one of the lenses, as if he’s zooming in with a camera to capture his father’s gobsmacked expression in full detail. “Was it? Dad, was it?”

“Oh my god it’s so broken,” Michelangelo wheezes, hugging his stomach. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“I thought he would catch it!” the rat says, waving his hands above his head. “Why would you just—why would—”

“That’s what you get, pops,” Raphael butts in. “It was rude of you to throw stuff at our friend.”

He pats Yuichi on the back warmly, and it’s an unmistakably friendly gesture, but there’s enough force behind it to send any normal person toppling forward. Yuichi grew up with an affectionate rhinoceros for a best friend and knows when to lock his knees. He doesn’t even sway under the touch and offers Raphael a smile.

“Yeah, you missed the boat, Splints,” April says, wiping the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand, glasses all askew. “Besides, my boy Usagi here is a keeper.”

“Hmph,” Splinter says, shrugging his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “Just because he’s swayed the rest of you to the dark side, I won’t be deceived. Besides, Baby Blue is much too young for—”

“PAPA,” Leonardo all but shrieks. He looks mortified. All of his siblings are glaring daggers at the rat now. Yuichi thinks he missed something, because he has no idea where Splinter was going with that statement. Too young for—? The dark side? Is this a Star Wars thing? Botan loves those movies.

Disgruntled, but unwilling to fight all six of his kids all at once, Splinter says, “He can keep up with Blue, at least. Who was your teacher, little rabbit?”

Yuichi straightens, lifting his chin. He can feel himself brighten, his smile growing into a grin. He’s so proud to be her student, he always loves when he can boast, “Karasu-Tengu-sensei! She��s the best!”

Splinter’s expression changes immediately. The grumpy, displeased look falls away and he somehow manages to look pale through his fur.

“Karasu-Tengu? That terrifying creature is your sensei?”

Yuichi nods cheerfully. She is terrifying. She can quell even the biggest meanest yokai with a single look. He’s seen her do it. It’s amazing. He wants to be just like her when he grows up.

“Oh—well, then,” Splinter says, and reaches up to pat Yuichi on the head clumsily. “Ah, that’s. Wonderful. How lucky we are to have you in our home. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to speak up. And if your—sensei—asks, tell her I said you’re a delightful boy and my son is better off for knowing you.”

Leonardo and his siblings all have a look of slow-dawning delight on their faces. Yuichi wasn’t expecting such a glowing endorsement just minutes after getting a teacup lobbed at his head, but he certainly isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Usagi, listen,” Donatello says suddenly. “This is so important. We have to have your teacher over for dinner.”

“No, like, we have to,” Michelangelo adds, super intense.

“She’s traveling now, but when she gets back, I’ll let her know!” Yuichi says, pleased.

For whatever reason, Splinter looks like he’s going through the five stages of grief.

3. Donatello finishes the electro-yoyo

He comes out of the lab singed and covered in soot, yo-yo in hand. He doesn’t seem to mind that the toy quite literally blew up in his face, and none of his siblings treat this as anything entirely out of the ordinary either.

The armored turtle holds it out to him. Slowly, gingerly, Yuichi stretches his hands out to take it. It doesn’t explode.

“So it looks like your yo-yo has a ghost,” Donatello says unremarkably.

“I’m sorry?” Yuichi says, still holding the toy at arms’ length.

“It’s okay, our ghost is scarier,” he adds, and holds up a hand without looking to fist-bump April, for some reason.

It still needs some testing before Donatello is satisfied enough to call it finished, so they go to the dojo for that, where a very sad-looking training dummy is pushed into the middle of the room.

Although the yo-yo is heavier now, reinforced with metal plating and whatever tiny gizmos Donatello has packed inside, it’s still a familiar shape in Yuichi’s hand. But he’s never used it as a weapon before, and he finds himself at a bit of a loss until Michelangelo helpfully compares it to a kusari-fundo.

“I used to have one,” the smallest turtle says brightly. “It got broken, but I saved the fire spirit that lived inside it. It lives in a camping lantern in my room now.”

“Wait, what?” all three of his brothers say at the same time.

“Anyway,” Michelangelo goes on, “has your sensei ever let you train with rope or chain before? Maybe if you think of it like that you’ll have a better idea how to use it!”

It helps a lot, actually. Within twenty minutes, Yuichi has a pretty good handle on how to use the toy as a flail, and also how to loop it around the dummy’s neck or arm, the weighted disc hooking over the reinforced string and creating a collar that only tightens the more you pull.

And the electroshock function definitely works. After the second small fire they have to put out, the dummy’s materials decidedly not conducive to this area of testing, Donatello marks the yo-yo down as a unilateral success.

4. The hooks come out of Leonardo’s shell

Sometime after lunch, Splinter comes back into the room. He’s holding a cup of tea in hand, steaming and faintly fragrant.

Leonardo makes a face at it, but when April bumps their shoulders together, he takes it without argument.

“Mandrake tea,” he says when he notices Yuichi’s curious look. Ah, that explains both the smell and Leonardo’s distaste. It’s very medicinal, and tastes like how Yuichi imagines drinking perfume out of the bottle might. But its restorative properties are second-to-none. “Barry was basically funneling it down our throats after the invasion. These losers got to stop drinking it weeks ago.”

“I think that would make us winners,” Donatello says mildly.

“Barry?” Yuichi asks.

“Our weird stepdad kind of?” Leonardo explains, his tone raising at the end like he’s not sure. “He threw me off a roof once. Now he works at April’s old high school.”

There’s really not a lot Yuichi can think of to say to that, so he settles for, “Okay then.”

Splinter taps Leonardo’s chin gently. “I’ll still make you drink it, even if you let it get cold,” the rat says, not unkindly. “It certainly won’t taste better out of the microwave.”

Leonardo wrinkles his beak—cute, the unhelpful part of Yuichi’s brain supplies—but keeps sipping. Apparently, it’s his last dose, because as soon as he hands the empty cup off, he’s shrugging out of the jacket of the day—pink, this time, and so big on him that Yuichi knows who it must belong to even before Leonardo bundles it up and shoves it toward his eldest brother.

And then his shell is on full display, for the first time since the invasion. Yuichi has seen his plastron, and he can see that the dramatic cracks there have faded into faint pencil-mark lines, but he’s never so much as glimpsed the damage done to Leonardo’s carapace.

It’s a lot. It’s a roadmap of cruelty. The pretty patterns on the shell are interrupted by jagged dashes, like scarring where the pieces have fused back together after it was crushed. At a glance, Yuichi has no idea how his friend could have survived it in the first place. The mandrake tea and that healing coma—mystic in nature, he’s beginning to suspect—might have saved his life.

Turtle shells are so fundamentally important to their overall health, and infection is a very real fear. So it’s very likely that, in part, Leonardo was keeping it covered up to protect the hooks and bandages that were keeping the broken edges of the keratin together.

But from the way his shoulders hunch up to his jawline the second his back is exposed, Yuichi also gets the sense that he’s ashamed.

Splinter sounds a little choked up when he says, “Oh, Blue. Your shell has healed perfectly. We can take these hooks out now, and sand you down, and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Ooh, sanding, that’ll feel nice,” Michelangelo says enthusiastically. “It’ll be like a spa day!”

He hopped up onto the infirmary bed next to Leonardo the second the jacket came off, and he’s been scooting closer by the second, and now he’s tucking himself under Leonardo’s arm. Yuichi is standing behind Leonardo, so he can’t see what his face is doing, but it’s clearly causing Michelangelo some real distress. The rest of his siblings look grim and miserable, too.

Yuichi remembers the first time he sat in Leonardo’s bedroom, looking at those cracks in his plastron and thinking they were perfect, because those cracks meant his shell did its job and held up to a horrifying enemy and protected the precious life in its care.

He stands by that.

So he puts a hand on Leonardo’s carapace, and smiles a little when Leonardo jolts in surprise and then goes perfectly still. Rabbit behavior.

The pad of his thumb brushes over one of those healed lines, where it cuts through the pale blue pattern, and Yuichi says, “Have you ever heard of kintsukuroi?”

Almost immediately, Donatello’s phone is in his hand. April and Casey lean over his shoulders from each side to watch as he looks it up. Raphael leans over his head.

Leonardo’s breath shudders when he goes to answer, so he clears his throat and tries again.

“Can’t say I have. Fill me in, Cottontail.”

Rolling his eyes, feeling nothing but fondness, Yuichi says, “It means ‘golden repair.’ It’s the art of repairing broken pottery with gold.” Making something more beautiful for having broken in the first place, he thinks, but doesn’t have the courage to say out loud.

Donatello wordlessly turns his phone around so his little brothers can see the Google Image results. Michelangelo says, “Oh, oh wow, Leo! Leo I’m getting so many amazing ideas right now! You have to be my canvas later, okay? Promise?”

Leonardo laughs. It’s a breathless, punched-out sound, and it’s not the bright thing it’s supposed to be, the bright thing it was learning how to be again, but it’s still there. That’s the whole point. That’s the whole miracle.

“More good news,” Donatello says, his eyes trained without blinking on his twin’s down-turned face. “Your cast can come off, too.”

It does the job. Leonardo’s head jerks up, and he says, “Really?”

“Really really,” Donatello replies, smiling slightly. If Yuichi didn’t know him as well as he did now, he might have missed it. “That’s two reallys. To the lab, dum-dum.”

The four youngest Hamatos ramble off together like a very noisy, many-legged creature, hooting and pinballing off the walls and attached at the shoulders. The eldest two stay behind. Their father makes noises about calling someone named Draxum with an update on Leonardo’s progress “so he gets off my tail!” and hobbles from the room.

“You’re a sweetheart,” April says, resting an arm on Yuichi’s shoulder. “Golden repair, huh?”

“I meant it,” he says, lifting his chin.

“Me, too,” she counters evenly.

They watch as Leonardo jumps onto Donatello’s back, nearly causing his purple-banded brother to fall on his face to said brother’s very vocal displeasure, and they disappear from view inside the lab. Casey and Michelangelo are laughing as they pile in after them.

“Yeah, so it’s going to be heckin’ impossible to keep him still after this,” Raphael says off-handedly. He glances down at Yuichi and says, “Wanna stay for a spar?”

Which leads to the fifth, and most significant event of the day:

5. Yuichi and Leonardo spar

Leonardo springs to the center of the mats and turns to face the rest of them with a dramatic twirl. Leonardo is looking right at Yuichi, a devilish grin on his face, bright eyes pinning him in place like a butterfly to corkboard.

“The rematch of the century,” he crows, arms spread out to his sides, as he’s rallying an audience of hundreds, “the tortoise and the hare, a one-night special engagement, here to set the record straight once and for all!”

“We’re not racing, idiot,” Yuichi says, unable to help smiling at him as he slides his jacket off and unbelts Edgewing from his hip. He hands them off to Raphael and steps onto the mats readily. “But I guess I have time to teach you a thing or two.”

“Alexa, play ‘Smooth’ by Santana!” Michelangelo calls out, as eagerly as if he’s just been waiting for this opportunity, and across the room, the speaker system blinks to life.

“Thank you, Michael,” Leonardo says pointedly, like he would use much stronger words if their father wasn’t in the room. And then he dives forward and Yuichi meets him halfway.

Leonardo is clearly holding back, because the dojo is small and because Yuichi isn’t one of the super-powered brothers he’s used to tumbling around with, and maybe also because he’s been out of commission for a little over two months now.

But even with all of that, he’s fast. Fast enough that Yuichi can feel his blood begin to race a shis body prepares itself for the upcoming workout.

It isn’t really kata. It’s definitely not the type of sparring Yuichi would practice under sensei’s disciplined eye.

It’s more of a game, an effortless back-and-forth. And it’s fun. And Yuichi is fast, too.

They trade blows and blocks and dance around each other like they’ve been doing exactly this for years and years. Leonardo moves like a construct of wind and mischief, never pulling the same move twice, zigging when it would make more sense for him to zag, and it costs all of Yuichi’s attention and intuition to keep up with him.

Yuichi is aware of the others filing out of the dojo. Michelangelo and April are all but shoving Splinter out the door ahead of them. But it’s second-hand awareness at best.

All of his focus belongs to the boy in front of him. They’re alone in the room with alternative rock crooning out of the huge speaker system in the corner and the walls are so tall and so close that it creates a reverb, an echo chamber. It’s music and motion and Leonardo’s gold eyes, his flashbang grin, and the blood in Yuichi’s veins is singing. His heart is straining at the seams.

This is a conversation. This is hey, I know you, you’re just like me.

When Leonardo aims a kick at Yuichi’s left shoulder, Yuichi catches his leg and holds it there, and kicks his other leg out from under him in the next second. The turtle goes down with an oof and before he can twist up to his feet again, Yuichi pins him.

He’s straddling Leonardo’s middle, knees planted against the mat on either side of him, forearm pressed to his neck. If it were a real battle, against an actual enemy, he would have a blade pressed there instead. The match is decidedly his.

His chest is heaving with exertion and that giddy runner’s-high feeling and he knows he’s probably grinning wildly.

Leonardo is staring up at him like Yuichi is the first point of light after days in the dark. He looks so cute, all wide-eyed and winded. Yuichi leans in, so that they’re nose-to-nose and all that gold belongs to him, just for this one moment. What a prize.

“I win,” Yuichi says smugly.

“Uh-huh,” Leonardo replies, sort of faint. “You got me.”

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #leoichi #usagi yuichi #hamato leonardo #my writing #tmnt fic #these bright blue city lights

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theveryworstthing · 4 years

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So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class. I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace. I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway. This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

#long post #the addams family #Character Design #au #design challenge #i am incapable of doing a design challenge like a normal person #oh god i forgot the cut lol

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queenshelby · 3 years

Text

My Friend’s Father (Part One of Three)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

Words: 2,528

Notes: Alright, no judgment. This was a dream of mine and I felt like I had to write it down. Everyone in this Fic is over the age of 18 and this Fic is in no way based on Cillian’s real family life. It’s pure filth.

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

You inhaled the calming aroma of your tea as you looked out into the familiar back yard while your friend Denise puttered around in the kitchen as she made you a snack.

Her mother, Laura, had recently moved out of the house and you came to visit her for the first time since, wanting to give her and her parents some time to adjust before intruding.

Denise was the same age as you and had recently started her university degree at Trinity College. You, on the other hand, attended a different university in Galway which is where you had moved to six months ago with your parents.

For a long time, you and your parents lived across the road from Denise and her parents. You both attended high school together and had become best friends.

Now, your old house was occupied by a new family with their two adorable little children and, whilst they seemed nice, Denise felt somewhat lonely not having a friend live nearby.

Denise had a brother named Liam who was 23 and still lived at home as well. He was only two years older than you and Denise and had always liked you quite a lot.

You, on the other hand, were never really interested in him and when, one night, he kissed you, you stayed away from Denise’s house for a few weeks to avoid the awkwardness.

‘He’s been working out’ you observed as you watched Liam mow the lawns outside. The buzz of the lawn mower got louder as he finished the front and methodically mowed his way around back.

‘Yes, he has been ever since he knew that you would be staying with us for the long weekend’ Denise laughed but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

‘Honestly, I would still prefer watching your dad mowing the lawns Denise, especially if he was shirtless and all sweaty’ you teased, knowing that your comment would get under her skin just as much as her comment about her brother got under yours.

‘Oh god, you are disgusting’ Denise said while her face evidentially turned green.

‘What? Your dad is hot’ you said before asking her where he was.

‘In Manchester, filming the last season of Peaky Blinders. He will be back tonight, unfortunately’ Denise said, enjoying to have the house for herself instead.

‘Oh, so he’s got the haircut?’ you asked somewhat excited, causing your friend to roll her eyes.

‘Yes, the infamous haircut’ she chuckled before you told her again that you thought that her father was quite attractive.

‘I know you have been saying that for years. Yet, it’s still weird and grosses me out’ Denise sighed before reminding you that you have boyfriend who would not appreciate you talking about other men like this.

‘We broke up two weeks ago. He was getting a little too possessive’ you explained before you described your two-month relationship to your friend.

‘Well, sounds like you dodged a bullet there’ Denise said, repeating the age-old break-up response and you nodded, thankful that your friend was there to cheer you up, but still feeling wounded by the whole ordeal.

‘Let’s not hit on my dad though, alright?’ she then laughed and you nodded again in agreement before Denise showed you the guestroom in which you would be staying.

***

At around 9 o’clock the front door of the house opened and you watched Denise and Liam get up to greet their father who had just arrived back home after having been away for three weeks’ straight.

‘I am glad to see that you haven’t trashed the house’ he chuckled and you quickly poked your head into the corridor to say hello.

‘Hey Mr Murphy’ you said with a wide smile when you saw him. He looked incredible, as usual.

‘Jesus, Y/N can you please start calling me Cillian’ he reminded you before greeting you and asking you how you liked Galway. You had known him for a while and he had told you on many occasions that the term ‘Mr Murphy’ made him feel rather old.

After some small talk, you and Denise returned to the living room to give him some time to tune down after having been away.

The two of you curled up on the couch in the living room with popcorn and a cheesy movie, just like old times and, at around 11 o’clock, you both decided that it was time for bed.

After getting changed into your somewhat revealing satin pyjamas, you tippy toed across the hallway into the main bathroom in order to brush your teeth when, suddenly, the bathroom door opened and Cillian stood in front of you with nothing but a white towel wrapped around him.

‘Uhm, I am sorry Mr Murphy…uhm Cillian’ you said with embarrassment, realising that you had almost barged into him but he didn’t seem bothered at all.

‘Don’t worry Y/N, it’s alright. Have a good night’ he said, getting out of the way and you stumbled into the bathroom.

Without closing the door, you starred at him walking down the hallway. How on earth could a man his age look so incredibly good you wondered as your eyes took in his toned body.

When he eventually disappeared into his bedroom and you closed the bathroom door behind you, all you could smell was the scent of the soap he had used mixed with a hint of his aftershave.

You know you shouldn’t think about your friend’s father this way, but you also couldn’t help yourself. After all, you knew that you were one of many women who were attracted to him.

***

When you finally went to bed, you felt a familiar tingle between your legs as you thought about Cillian in the shower. The image didn’t leave your mind and you wondered what he would look like without the towel wrapped around him.

With this attractive man on your mind, you slowly slid your fingers down into your panties and began to relieve yourself of the tension that had built up there.

You knew that the master bedroom was right next to yours and the thought of this turned you on even more. You knew he would be lying there, on his bed, possibly half naked.

Both windows were open and he did, indeed, lie there, on his bed, reading a book which is when he heard it, your soft moans and whimpers.

He couldn’t help but swallow harshly, knowing what you were doing right there with only a thin wall between you.

But the thought that he may be able to hear you didn’t stop you as you rubbed little circles around your tingling clit a bit faster until, finally, with one loud moan, you climaxed.

Just as you did, Cillian’s manhood stirred but he wasn’t willing to give in. He had too much self-control and his mind tried hard to focus on the book in his hands rather than the sounds you were making. You were his daughter’s friend and, whilst you were almost 22, this was highly inappropriate.

****

The next morning Cillian jolted awake when the alarm clock on his phone went off and he realised that he had forgotten to turn off the alarm when he returned home after being away filming.

It was only 7 o’clock but, since he was awake now, he climbed out of bed anyway and shuffled his way to his bedroom door. He made his way to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He turned on the light and the shower water in one long movement.

After he got out of the shower and back into his shorts and a t-shirt, he wobbled out of the steamy bathroom into the kitchen where he smelled something burn.

Then, all of a sudden, he froze as he watched you standing there, flipping a pancake with precision on the stove without the use of utensils. You were unaware of his presence and he could even hear the song you were listening to on your phone.

You moved to the beat and Cillian was awestruck. After what he heard you do last night in the guestroom, his jaw dropped a few centimetres every time you rocked with the backbeat of the song.

You were wearing the same night shorts and spaghetti strap shirt you wore the night before but in the light of the sun you noticed your shorts were somewhat see through and your shirt was silk that didn't cover your breasts completely.

Eventually, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. A statue you hadn't noticed before? No, it was Cillian standing in the dining room, his mouth hanging slightly and his eyes glued to the scene before him. You paused and began to turn to the frozen figure that was still in your peripheral vision.

You yanked on the string connected to your ears expertly and one of your earphones popped out of place. Then you smiled at the shock on Cillian’s face but didn't stop moving to the song playing in your head. Cillian forced his mouth closed when he made eye contact.

‘Good morning Cillian’ you said softly. He gulped and nodded quickly before moving to where the coffee machine was standing and turning it on.

‘Good morning’ he then replied before offering you a coffee which you gladly accepted, causing Cillian to move over to the stove to reach for two cups.

You didn't move to make it easier for him to reach above the stove to the cups. Instead, you made him stretch his body over you.

You watched him as he did and you saw him trying not to look at you. He failed miserably.

‘Do you want pancakes?’ you then asked with a warm smile and Cillian nodded.

‘That would be amazing, thanks’ he stammered as he was preparing the coffees.

‘Do you like blueberries?’ you then asked, still swaying to the music on your phone and Cillian nodded again but didn't realise that you were pouring pancake mix in the pan and couldn't see his response. After a moment you looked over to him.

‘Do you like blueberries?’ you asked again quietly and Cillian smiled and nodded again.

‘Yeah, I like ...’ he cleared his throat before adding the word ‘blueberries’.

He rolled his eyes at his response when you turned back around but you simply smiled and walked him over a stack of blueberry pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup.

‘There you go’ you said as you put the plate in front of him and felt his eyes follow you when you turned around and back to the stove.

A few minutes later you dumped one last pancake on a third plate and put the plate in the microwave. You took your plate and cup of coffee and went to sit by Cillian where his food was barely touched.

‘Not hungry?’ you asked as you began to eat.

‘It’s early’ he responded, still trying hard not to stare at your cleavage.

Eventually though, you both ate in silence, a silence you loved and Cillian hated.

He couldn't think of a single joke the entire time you both sat there and you just smirked every time he grunted instead of speaking.

Soon you could hear Denise walk through the living room and this was Cillian hurried up and ate the last bit of his pancakes before excusing himself.

***

‘Wow, you actually got him to eat in the morning. That’s something’ Denise joked as she walked into the kitchen and saw that her father had eaten some of the pancakes you had prepared.

‘Where did he go?’ you then asked, knowing that he had excused himself without any further explanation.

‘Down to the basement, listening to some music I would say’ Denise said as she dug into the pancakes, enjoying them quite a lot.

‘Talking of music, do you have an iPhone charger? My phone is almost out of charge’ you asked, looking at the battery on your phone.

‘No, I’ve got a Samsung. Dad has iPhone though. Go downstairs and ask him’ Denise then suggested and you nodded before making your way down towards the basement.

***

You walked down to the basement and knocked before opening the door slowly as you didn’t hear Cillian answer you.

You didn’t want to intrude on his privacy but, to your surprise, when you did open the door, you saw more than you had bargained for.

Cillian was sitting in front of his computer and it was quite obvious to you what he was watching.

You could see most of the screen from the angle at which you were standing as well as his hardening cock in his hand. He reached over and squirted some lotion onto his palm, lubricating his whole shaft before beginning to stroke with soft squelching sounds.

You wondered whether you should say something or whether you should just turn around and leave. But, you did neither and, instead, you watched as you were getting more and more turned on.

He fast forwarded and jumped around through different videos, his thick cock towering over his fist at the bottom of every stroke. You could feel that you were getting wet, but starting to cramp a little in your unchanged position after so long. There was something deliciously naughty about watching him in secret.

After ten minutes Cillian settled on a video of a young lady who had remarkably familiar features. Her hair was about the same length and colour as yours and her skin tone and build were strikingly similar.

You started breathing more heavily and pressed your legs together to deal with the tingling sensation in your core. You enjoyed watching the porn actress's performance while Cillian’s heavy, throbbing shaft disappeared under his fist faster and faster. His cock was beautiful and you wanted to walk into the room so badly and replace his hand with yours.

Eventually, you could see Cillian’s abs begin to twitch and tighten as he got closer to his high as he continued to stroke his shaft.

‘Fuck’ he groaned as he started to cum, pumping jet after jet of stickiness back towards his chest, causing you to gulp.

But you knew what you had to do. You couldn’t walk in now, it would be too awkward.

Just after you watched Cillian clean himself up, you quickly tippy toed back upstairs which is where Denise was waiting for you.

‘Did you get dad’s charger?’ she asked but you simply shook your head.

‘Uhm, he didn’t have one…left it in Manchester I think’ you said with flushed cheeks.

‘Are you okay Y/N? You look a bit hot?’

‘Uhm…yes…fine…thanks’ you stammered out before telling Denise that you would go and have a shower.

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03@deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-your-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15 @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r @tellingyouastory @captivatedbycillianmurphy @namelesslosers @littlewhiterose @ttzamara @ttzamara @cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon @ysmmsy

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you

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jaeminlore · 4 years

Text

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

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writingsfromhome · 3 years

Text

Crystal Clear

A/N: Here’s some fluff, friends to lovers I’ve had going on while I work on something bigger :))

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“Y/N,” a strange man calls my name. I look him up and down but I don’t think I know him.

“Who’s asking?”

“Y/N, it’s me? Harry.”

“Oh,” I laugh and greet him how I would have if I’d recognized him under all those layers, in a great big hug. “Your disguise is brilliant!”

“It’s not a disguise,” he says into his coat. “It’s bloody cold here.”

“Coldest day so far,” I accept the hot chocolate from the vendor and ask him for another, Harry could use one, poor thing. His plans this week were changed last minute, and since he was in New York City where his best childhood friend lived, he decided to actually hang out with me. Ever since he got famous, it was hard to catch time with him.

“Did the cold freeze all the English out of you? You’re not even wearing mittens,” Harry accepts his own cup from the vendor.

“I’m got them in my pocket,” I point to the bulge on the side of my coat as we step aside and make our way deeper into the winter festival that was at Bryant Park. “Don’t insult me, I can still make a better cup of tea than you ever could.”

“There she is,” I hear the smile in Harry’s voice more than I see it. It truly was ridiculous--not only was he wearing the thickest parka I’d ever seen, he also had on a beanie and a scarf, as well as knit gloves that held tightly to his hot chocolate.

“I’m always here, you’re just too busy to see me.”

“Not this again,” he groans. I was always giving him grief every time he touched down to NYC but didn’t pop by for a visit. I knew he had a hectic schedule, and even though I wasn’t that bothered I still liked to tease him.

“It’s true, you come to the city so often but I see you once a year. And maybe again when I’m in London if I get lucky.”

“I’m busy Y/N, I talk to you all the time!”

“I know,” I elbow him. “I just like to rile you up.”

“Well now that you’ve got that out of your system,” he tugs my hat over my eyes. “Where are we going next?”

I push it back up, “I thought we could just wander the shops, then get on the skating rink if you’re not frozen to death.”

“Alright I’ve got to pick some gifts up anyway let’s see what’s here.”

We make a good team as we visit stands selling ornaments and kitschy decor, handmade gifts, and hot cider. We sift through exactly what we might want, or what the other’s looking for. And with the light dusting of snow coming down, and the bright lights strung around the Park, it was like walking in a Christmas movie.

“Look at this,” I point ahead. We’d nearly visited all the stands and holiday shops but a festive psychic advertises their services in a small glass booth. “Should we?”

“It’s a waste of money,” Harry scoffs. “She’s just going to read your body language.”

“She might be the real deal-”

“You can’t be serious-”

“C’mon!” I tug his gloves hand and it takes a few but he stumbles towards me. It’s slightly warmer inside and I notice the space heater running in the corner. “At least it’s warm” I whisper to Harry.

“You really want to do this?” He asks one last time.

“It’s just $10-”

“$20 for the two,” the woman almost shifts out of the wall and I hide my jump with a laugh. There’s a curtain behind her, I realize, she must have stepped out.

“It’s just me,” I clarify.

She eyes Harry and Harry eyes her back. “You look familiar.”

“Just have that face,” he shrugs, burrowing into his scarf. “I’m just here to watch.”

She stares at him a moment longer before settling at the small table. I flash Harry a smile before sitting down myself, setting my bags onto the floor.

“Palm reading, cards, what will it be dear?” The psychic asks. I remember the sign out front said cards would be more than having my palm read so I opt for the cheaper option.

“Hm,” she says thoughtfully as she traces the lines on my palm. I wriggle my eyebrows at Harry and he rolls his eyes, but he stays watching her like a hawk. It was cute how overprotective he got sometimes. The psychic glances up to catch him watching her, she then glances at me and tilts her head.

“I see longevity, in life and love, a few bumps but you’re a strong persistent woman.”

Harry grumbles behind me and I resist the urge to say something to him.

“I see success after hard, hard work. But a big success that will change the course of your career.”

“Wow, how soon?” I ask.

“Mmm, after a big milestone. Turning 30?” she continues to examine my hand. “I see a second life later in life, with kids...just one no maybe two children.”

“How about her love life?” Harry asks. “Her last love s’not too nice.”

“Seriously Harry?” I turn to glare this time. He’s grinning with flushed cheeks, knowing it was a sore spot he liked to say i told you so to. It was true, he had told me so about my 3 year relationship but I’d ignored him.

“Your love life,’ the woman speaks up. “Shows me two great loves. One cuts short, the other is as long as your life line.”

“Ooh,” I lean in, interested. “I think I know about the one that was cut short. Tell me about the second!”

“This second...” she traces my palm and I feel a tingle. “This second love is very close, a bit rocky but it will last.”

“A bit rocky?”

“Hm,” she chews her bottom lip. “Time, distance...it will make it rocky. But it lasts.”

“So how close is close?” I ask eagerly.

“Close,” she says with a smile that tells me I wasn’t getting anything else out of her.

“That’s a bit vague isn’t it?” Harry pipes up from the back.

“The future isn’t always crystal clear,” she says without looking up at him.

“Lay off,” I scold him.

“It’s okay, I get nonbelievers all the time.” She laughs. “That will be $10 dear.” When I hand her the bill she stops me as she takes it. “A little free advice?”

“Sure.” I pick up the bags I placed on the floor earlier.

"Don’t be so focused on the life you want that you don’t see the life you have around you.”

“I’ve actually told her that before,” Harry decides we want more of his unsolicited opinions. “Maybe there is something true to all of this.”

“Thanks,” I pocket her words for later. Harry was right, he’d said something along those lines to me before, especially when it came to giving up control and going with the flow on trips and events with him. I always declined his offers, we lived a modest life growing up and accepting these gifts from him always felt so excessive. I wanted to make my own way in the world, but Harry always had something to say. “And sorry for his attitude, he’s not always this rude.”

“Yeah,” Harry shifts forward. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m a lot nicer usually.”

“I know,” she smiles.

“She’s psychic,” I remind him.

“I’m also online,” she laughs. “Can I get a picture?”

Harry eyes me, before going in for a selfie with her. I know he usually didn’t mind getting asked in smaller settings but he’d admitted it was something he was still getting used to. It had been a couple years since he became so famous, in such a short amount of time I went from being able to go down to a local pub with my best friend to schedules and security details and a whole other list of complications. Sometimes I hated it, mostly I was happy for him.

“Another day, another fan.” I tell Harry after we walk away from the psychic and he flips me off. “Should we get something to eat and get out of the cold?”

“God yes,” Harry shivers. “Can we just go to yours?”

“Let’s go,” I loop my arm through Harry’s.

Harry wants instant warmth so he hails a cab and we pick up takeout once we reach my neighbourhood. Harry had been here a few times, my roommate had gotten used to the fact that I was best friends with him, and sometimes he preferred to stay here when he wanted to be anonymous. Paparazzi sometimes crowded outside his hotel when word leaked he was there.

We eat ourselves into a food coma and Harry decides to stay the night, not wanting to face the cold again. Since our living room couch sprained his neck the only time he’d slept there, he usually crashed in my bed. His head barely hits the pillow before he’s snoring, I guess the jet lag finally caught up.

***

I jerk out of sleep, a crashing noise followed by swearing catches my attention.

“I think your roommate dropped something,” I hear from beside me. I turn my face to get a facefull of Harry’s thigh tattoos.

“Y’think?” I croak and shift backwards to see his face. He’s sitting up in bed and scrolling through his phone.

“Guess which psychic is officially internet-famous?” Harry asks dryly.

“Hm?” I’m still calming my heart from waking up so suddenly so it takes a moment to register Harry’s words. “What?”

He shoves his phone in my face, the selfie he took with the psychic yesterday is posted on social media with over half a million likes. He swipes away and a lot of his tag is filled with news outlets and fan accounts spamming the picture. He pulls it back to read a heading: “Harry Styles visits Psychic for ideas on his next album. There’s also Harry Styles rumored to be connected to the Occult...I don’t know what that means. Psychic tells all on Harry Styles reading.”

“How did that picture circulate?” I rub my eyes and sit up beside him. “And where is all of this coming from?”

“She has a Twitter, and she posted the picture.” He shows me, it’s there with the caption A handsome face showed up to my booth at the Bryant Park Market tonight. Get your future told, 5pm to 9pm 7 days a week.

I can’t help but laugh, she was a business woman and she really took the opportunity to sell her service.

“It’s not funny Y/N,” Harry looks furious so I cover my mouth and squint at his screen as he scrolls. A ton of people are responding asking about his future or what he came there for. Amongst them, she responds to only one person: His love life was involved.

My jaw drops, “That’s such a lie! She read me my love life, and life lines!”

“I told you she was a fraud,” Harry jerks the phone back to him.

“She lied for sales, but doesn’t mean she didn’t tell the truth yesterday.”

“If she lied about this she lied about it all and you wasted $10. She only talked about your love life, not mine...”

I remember her words, my second love was very close...could she have meant...

I glance at Harry and he seemed to have followed the same train of thought because we lock eyes, his probably just as wide as mine.

“D’you think?” he says just as I say “Was she...?”

We immediately burst out laughing as the tension comes to a head and bubbles over in a safe trickle.

“Is that what she was trying to say?” I say when I’ve finally caught my breath, my stomach hurt from laughing this hard.

“I guess when she said close she meant close,” Harry’s flat on his back from laughing. “Quite literal.”

“And you were calling her out on being so vague.”

“I’ve got to give it to her,” he shuts his phone off and throws it onto the covers between us, releasing the annoyance. “She’s a good businesswoman.”

“I was thinking the same thing but I thought you might kill me if I said that,” I admit.

We lay on the rumpled covers in silence, I think about everything else she said. The potential of it all is tarnished by the idea of Harry being my second love, for life. It was so ridiculous, unless by love she meant the way I love him now. As my best friend. Our lives were so different, there was no way it could ever work. Not to mention...he was my best friend since forever.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Harry asks out of the blue.

“Thought about what?” I prop myself on my elbow.

“Us, like...the way she predicted?”

“Together together?” I can’t help but laugh. “No never, you’re my best friend!” I recognize the flash of hurt so I backtrack a little. “No offense Harry, I love you but could you imagine?”

“I have,” he says it so quietly as I lay back down. “What?” I ask. He shrugs, “I’m surprised you haven’t. We’ve been friends since...we were 7. You’re saying you never thought about it?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Actually I haven’t. When...what did you think about?”

“I dunno,” he fiddles with his rings. “Like for school dances, when I didn’t have a date I thought about asking you as more than a friend...thought about where that could lead. Or every time you had your heart broke. I wanted to take the pain away and just show you what you deserved.”

“Harry I...” it was sweet, what he was saying. But he never gave a single clue about it the entire time we grew up. He was always chasing girls who looked nothing like me, so I always thought that’s what his type was. Never did I think about anything more with him.

“Not-not recently though,” he forces a laugh. “Just when we were kids.”

“That’s sweet Harry. I had no idea.”

He shrugs, and sits up.

“No seriously I...that’s so sweet. But just so you know, you have shown me what a good man can be. Just by being the best friend ever.”

“Aw,” he swipes my cheek as he gets up. “That’s cute. I don’t know if I’ve done such a good job when you’ve only dated knobs.”

I could recognize his defense mechanism--turning it into a big joke. But he leaves the room before I can call him out and I’m left sitting in the mess of what he’d just told me. It’s not that it was awkward or a bad thing, but suddenly it felt tense and the tension triggered an anxious feeling in my chest.

I decide to get out of my room and find my roommate cleaning up the remains of her broken mug. I offer to clean the spill as she dresses to go out for her run. Helping her distracts me, and when I hear Harry leave the bathroom I lock myself in, and try some breathing exercises to clear the anxiety creeping up. When I realize I was trying to avoid Harry, I scold myself. This was ridiculous and funny! Harry wanted to ask me out when we were kids, it was cute, and that was it. The psychic was a fake anyway, nothing she said meant anything.

I head back to my room where Harry’s made the bed. I change into trousers and my favourite fisherman sweater, and find him having coffee at our small kitchen table with his phone on speaker as he talks to someone. His legs barely fit underneath, so they’re sprawled to the side. He’s still shirtless, and my attention snags on his torso.

I shake myself out of my thoughts as I bump into the kitchen island, and glance up to see that although he was talking to the person on the phone, his eyes had been on me...while my eyes were on his abs. Oh god, I cringe. I try to act casual, mouthing if he wanted breakfast but he shakes his head and points to the call he’s having.

I make myself a toast and try to ignore what just happened but it only adds to the tension from this morning. When he gets off his call he brings his cup up to the sink.

“I think I need another cup.”

“Be my guest,” I move aside. “You sure you don’t want breakfast?”

“Are you going to feed me avocado flax seed quinoa toast?” he teases.

“There’s no quinoa.” I correct, crossing my arms. “But...yes.”

“I’ll take this banana,” he holds the lone banana on the counter. “I’ve got to be in East Harlem by noon, that’s what the call was about.”

“Aw,” I hated saying goodbye. “Are you busy the rest of your stay?”

“I can make it back here,” he says.

“Do whatever you need to do,” I say. “I’m used to being discarded after you hang out with me in the city.”

“I don’t do that!” he reaches behind me to slot his cup in and set the machine to grind his beans. I can smell my shampoo on him, he must’ve showered. “If you want me back, you can just say that.”

The morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen window leaves no room for shadows; the shift in the mood is clear as the daylight streaming in. Or maybe I was reading too much into his words.

“I always want you back,” I look up to his height now that he’s standing so close, and the kitchen tightens further.

We’re stuck in a tableau; with my back against the fridge looking up at him as he gazes down with a curious expression. My mind grows blank the longer I stare. No one says a word, the sound of beans grinding the only noise in the kitchen.

My best friend in the whole world looks torn standing in front of me like this, and as my senses slowly rush back I realize that even if my expression doesn’t show it...I was torn. Because out of nowhere, all I can think about are all the questions I ever shoved away in the dark: what would it feel like if I kissed him right now? And what would have happened to us if he had asked me out to our school dance? Would we still be best friends? Would we have cut each other out? How many universes were we still good together like this? How many universes were we good together as more than this?

An urge to touch his face, make sure this was real, takes over me. But as soon as my fingers brush his cheek he snaps out of his trance and stumbles back like I’d burned him.

He forces a laugh. “I really do need that coffee.”

“Right,” I turn to the machine to put the grinds into their slot but I yank too hard and the freshly ground coffee flies out towards me. “Shit!”

“What happ-” Harry takes one look at what’s happened and turns away, his shoulders shaking.

“I can see you right in front of me laughing!” I shout. “Help me!”

“It’s all over you Y/N,” he turns around, tears in his eyes. “Give me this, I’ll put it far away from you.” He takes the remaining grinds and sets it down. I brush away what’s closest to my eyes so I can see and try to shake it off my sweater but they stick to the fibers of the knit.

“Great,” I grumble. “This is dry clean only.”

“It’s in your hair,” he runs his fingers through the strands that hang over my shoulder. I shake my head to dislodge the grinds; his fingers brush my neck away and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Uhm, that should be most of it.”

“It’s not out of this sweater,” I pout. “Screw dry clean, why did I think I could buy dry cleaning clothes?”

“I can drop it off on the way out today?” he offers.

“That means you’re coming back to drop it off to me?!” I ask hopefully.

His expression softens, “Y/N I’m coming back to your flat. I promise.”

“He promises!” I shout. Even though things were a bit awkward this morning, I got to spend more time with my hard-to-catch best friend and for that I was over the moon.

“We could also try to vacuum the sweater?” Harry suggests.

“So you don’t have to come back with dry clean?” I tease. “I’m not letting you get out of your promise, let me give it to you before you change your mind.” I tug my top off and ball it up, shoving it in his hands. It falls to the floor when he doesn’t hold it.

“Hello?” I look up and he’s a deer in the headlights. “Harry...”

“I can’t do this right now,” he takes a step back. I get the sweater from the ground and hold it out to him again.

“Do you want to wipe the kitchen floor with the sweater too? Take it!” I sigh. “Harry are you really acting so chaste about seeing a girl in her bra?”

“It’s-” he decides to stop mid-word. “You’re not just any girl Y/N, I’ve already made it clear.”

Now it’s my turn to stare--he hadn’t made it clear. “You said you only felt something when you were younger...”

“And you believed me?”

I realize I didn’t, but I wanted to believe him so I hadn’t questioned it. “Well it’s not the first time you’ve seen me in a bra. Can you take the damn sweater?”

“Yeah I can I’m just...” he seems to calm down a bit, enough to step towards me and take it. “I didn’t have to face this conflicted feeling in me if I didn’t see you often. I can just be the best friend. But now, with the whole psychic thing and you in--like this in your kitchen and I--I’m remembering how much I just want to...”

“Kiss me,” I say.

“Yeah...” he looks away.

“No, I’m telling you to kiss me.” I clarify. His expression would’ve made me laugh if my heart wasn’t beating so fast. I couldn’t believe I was being this impulsive.

“Really? You’re not just saying that cuz of this morning?”

“Fine,” I step out of his reach and cross my arms to hide my shaking hands. “If you don’t want to kiss me-”

He pulls me back too quickly and I bump into his chest. “I never said that.” He says in a tone I’d never heard from him before, it’s serious and sexy and it sends tingles through my body. I press myself up against him and he finally, finally, kisses me. Every bit of tension and anxiety the day had built up releases in the single moment his lips cover mine.

How had I waited this long?

The kiss is gentle, delicate like he’s still not entirely sure I want the same thing he does. I show him I do by using my tongue to open his mouth slowly and the hesitation disappears immediately. We’re a fighter jet taking off from there; I don’t know where I end and where he begins as he walks me to the kitchen island and lifts me onto it, our limbs tangling together, His hands roam down the side of my body, but he stays in the safe zones until I unclasp my bra.

“Oh hell no,” my roommate’s voice interrupts us from behind. I hold my bra close and turn. She stands at the entryway, shaking her head. “Not here. Not on our kitchen island. You two have a room literally 10 feet away...”

“Oops,” I say quietly which seems to set Harry off. My roommate is still shaking her head but I see the smile on her face. I’d caught her hooking up on multiple occasions so it wasn’t anything new. But I didn’t do this often. I jump down, apologizing to her. “Harry’s going to clean the coffee off the floor...I-I’ll find a shirt.”

“Mhm,” she closes her bedroom door and I look over at Harry who’s crouching on the floor in tears.

“This is all your fault!” I whisper but he tugs me down to where he is and holds my face as he kisses me.

“I know you two aren’t behind the island,” my roommate’s voice comes out again. I stay there as her footsteps move to the bathroom and the door closes behind her.

“I hate you,” I skirt out of his reach, and rush to my room yelling another sorry as I head back and find a top. Harry appears in my room as I put it on.

“I guess that was a good time for her to walk in on before it got too far?” he still has a stupid grin on his face.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” my cheeks were burning and even more so that Harry was elated.

“I’ve actually got to head out now.”

I pout but he kisses my pout instead. He promises he’ll be back in the evening and I let him go with one more kiss, my mind catching up with everything that just happened.

Oh my god.

***

It’s nearly 8 by the time I’m done running all my errands--taking holidays off for work was usually a good decision for me. I had a big family and picking up all the holiday bits before I flew back home was always a big job. I take an Uber home, I couldn’t handle a 40 minutes trip back home carrying everything home on the subway.

I call out to my roommate when I get in but she doesn’t respond. I check her door and it’s open and dark, the bathroom is also empty. She must have evening plans.

I open my door to a surprise. Harry is sprawled on my bed. He jerks awake when I settle my bags down.

“Y/N?” he squints as I turn the light on.

“How did you get in here?” I shrug my coat off.

“Y’roommate let me in before she left,” he rubs his eyes. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep...I had a whole thing planned.”

I’d gone over the whole morning during my errands, surprised and excited and nervous about this new step for us. But I continued to think about what the psychic said, our love lines extended alongside my life line. Even though there wasn’t much comfort or trust in a psychic who used a photo opp as a marketing opp, what she said had come true. And I put my faith in that, calming my nerves about this new step potentially ruining our friendship forever.

“Was that okay?” Harry sits up. “She didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Oh no that’s fine,” I unwrap my scarf and stand at the foot of my bed. “I really wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“Of course I would,” he reaches for my hand. “I wouldn’t leave you after this morning, I’m not that flighty.”

“Well we never really got to talk about it,” I say as I sit down. I’d texted him during the day but it never showed he read it, I wasn’t sure how to read into that; finding him passed out on my room meant he was probably on the go all day.

“Are you okay with this?” he says with such concern, I nearly tear up. This was making me way too emotional.

“I am,” I smile at my best friend in the whole world. “I just don’t want to go too fast.”

“We won’t,” he promises as he holds his arms out. I lean in towards his solid chest and he wraps his arms around me. I feel his breath on my cheek, then his lips in my hair. “I’m yours for eternity Y/N, we can take it as slow or fast as you want.”

It was a good thing to say, and I believe him entirely.

We eventually untangle ourselves to get food in us, and even though things are different, they’re also not. We still pick out the same parts of our food to give the other person, we still talk the same shit and laugh at the same jokes. But his hands grasps mine and his thumb brushes over my knuckles absentmindedly. His eyes stay steady on me as I talk like I’m someone new he’s exploring. We kiss after dinner, but we also load the dishwasher and laugh about the one time I’d managed to burn soup from a can. Eventually we end in my bedroom, where we lay together, our conversation growing quieter by the minute, the space between us growing smaller.

And even though we’d slept like this a hundred times before, it’s different now. I can feel it in every atom of my being, I was his and he was mine. And I don’t know how long it’s been like this for it to feel so easy, but accepting it was a no brainer, like accepting the sky was blue or the sun was hot. I remember the advice the psychic gave, I was following it: living the life I had around me even though it wasn’t the life I thought I would have.

There were a million things Harry and I had to figure out to make this work--I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But I did know that it was right, it was true, and it was going to be forever.

The future may not be crystal clear, but my future with this man was.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #fic #writingsfromhome #friends to lovers #standalone #holiday fic #ignore any grammar or errors pls ty

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well-its-not-human-anymore · 3 years

Note

Ok so like......a little bit ago you did some general headcanons for the TMNT boys in a relationship and I just love to imagine donnie with an s/o who's also a huge star wars fan like......picture sparring but the two of you just start making lightsaber noises and quoting lines as a form of banter.....and sometimes you start little fights about it because it's just fun to be like "you know I think Greedo shot first" and hear him go "whAT" three rooms over and rush to wherever you are......or having marathons every so often and needing pause every 10 minutes because one of you has another rant/theory about what's happening........and like cosplaying together and raising both your confidence and just having fun with it.......and the general shared fan behavior over merchandise and characters.....sorry your headcanons just inspired me and I wanted to share some of my thoughts. Anyway have a great day :)

Hey guys I'm back! Sorry for such a long hiatus, had some life shit I needed to work through. School's out and summer has been pretty okay so far, but if you've got any college tips for me please message me, I'll take all the advice I can get.

Anyways- I'm doing what I can to get back into writing, TMNT was a mild hyperfixation that I had a while ago, I never expected to gain so much traction on here for my writing. I hope you can understand my surprise when I got so much positive feedback and I do feel a little guilty for all of the requests that have sat in my inbox for months.

But no matter- I'm back now with a vengeance and I will be doing my best to push out more content. So thanks for being patient! Now that that's out of the way, let's get this show on the road.

TMNT Headcanons

In which everyone is afraid to ship people in the Star Wars universe in fear that they might be siblings (aka, Donnie's s/o is a huge star wars nerd and everyone else is fucking sick of it)

Donnie was dead on the floor the second you made a Star Wars reference in front of him

dead in all capitals

dead in italic font

dead™

thing was, he'd already thought you were cool before you made the reference, you were Casey's friend and you weren't scared of him or his brothers

he had the very vivid memory of you yanking a crowbar out of a discarded toolbox in an alley when you'd first met and using it to hit a foot soldier over the head

that hadn't surprised him too much, it was the noises you were making with your mouth

"are you-"

"yeah," you shrugged, "making lightsaber noises makes me feel better about rocking his absolute shit with this thing."

Donnie was a little wary of you after that

but it admittedly turned into admiration when you'd started dating

well, most of the time, you jumping at him at 3am screaming "you were the chosen one!" because he'd accidentally eaten your leftovers wasn't what he'd call endearing

it did make him careful not to eat your food however

and god knows you two couldn't get 5 minutes into a movie without pausing it to dissect the plot, much to everyone else's annoyance

the worst times were when you didn't pause it, the others would watch you talk for 15 minutes as the movie went on before you stopped and had to rewind

what should've taken only 3 hours ended up lasting 5 or 6

the others eventually banned you two from watching star wars with them

you were fine with it, more time to talk anyways

sometimes it was extremely helpful, spirit-lifting if you will

you wouldn't, it sounded really cheesy and you were lactose intolerant as fuck

but it did help when the mood was a little sour

you'd walked in on the entire family moping about, you didn't have to ask what happened, you knew they'd had another fight

your eyes landed on Leo first and you decided to roll with it

"I did it."

they noticed how low your voice was first, and when they looked at you your expression was dark

"Uh... did what exactly?" Mikey was the first to respond

"I killed them- I killed them all. Not just the men. But the women and children too."

maybe it was your face, maybe your horrible impression of Anakin, whatever it was it made Raph snort so hard he fell into a coughing fit

Donnie did that near imperceptible giggle he always did whenever he found something funny and hearing that sent Mikey into a fit of laughter

Leo cracked last, not laughing entirely but he gave you that amused side smile and shook his head

yeah, you were pretty good at lifting the mood

sometimes it served very helpfully as a method to get Donnie out of his lab

one day when you were over having lunch with the others you immediately noticed your boyfriend's absence. you didn't comment- usually he came out on his own accord

but he didn't

Raph had sighed and rose to retrieve his younger brother

"hang on a sec Raph," you were mumbling through a mouthful of sandwich and waving at the wall of muscle. it took a moment for you to swallow your food before you winked at the others

then you raised your voice just a little and announced-

"yeah- that's an interesting take on that, but I still say that Greedo shot first"

you counted on your hands, your eyes twinkling with amusement

3-2-1-

"YOU WHAT?!"

"there we go."

all six and a half feet of the purple genius came tumbling down the hall and into the kitchen, gaze landing on you in complete and utter shock

"Works like a charm, hey darling, it's lunchtime and you need to eat."

"But-"

"You can chastise me later, now sit down and put food in your face."

he managed to shut his mouth and sit down at the table and at that moment the rest of the family burst into rambunctious laughter

Donnie was halfway through his second sandwich when he looked up at you again

"you don't actually think that, right?"

You snorted into your apple juice

"Of course not Donnie, I'm a dumbass, not an idiot."

I had SO much fun writing this, forgot how much I missed doing it. I hope you like it! And thanks for being patient with me!

-Mars 🌠

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #ask response #askbox #submission #answered

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misscarolineshelby · 3 years

Text

My Friend’s Father (Part One of Three)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

Words: 2,528

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