#are we all collectively laying in bed in the dark staring at the ceiling together?

[glitterghost]

feeling called out because same.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 15

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Dr. Miller had been right. It’s amazing laying in bed watching the snow fall down at you from above. I stared up through the oversized skylight, if that’s what it was, and stared as the collection of snowflakes coated the glass. An outdoor light illuminated the area making it all the more enchanting.

My body ached and my heart was full. Dr. Miller kissed across the tops of my breasts in the darkness and I secured him there with an arm around the top of his back.

“I could just stay up here watching the snow fall for days,” I said quietly. “I could be like your own.. Rapunzel.”

He laughed against my skin and then cradled himself behind me, letting his fingers dance in circles around my bellybutton. I curled my knees up toward my chest and a chill ran down my back. I didn’t think my body could handle it if he touched me again. I didn’t think I’d had a limit, but my body was tastefully sexed out.

“Someone came to the house today,” Dr. Miller said into my ear.

My weary eyes flickered open and I smiled smally to myself in the darkness, pleased that he told me.

“When?”

“When my phone went off earlier and I left for a bit.” He brushed the hair away from my neck and left a single kiss there. “It was something for work.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure if I should press for details or simply let him say whatever he wanted to say about it.

Dr. Miller held me closer, securing my back against his chest. Our fingers linked on the mattress. “I have to leave for a couple of hours.”

I turned my head part way and then managed to flip my body around so we were face-to-face on the pillow. “Why?”

He pulled me on top of him. “There’s just something I have to do.” Dr. Miller looked away for a moment and his hand slid across the small of my back. “I know that’s vague..” It took a few seconds but he looked back to me. The apologetic puppy eyes had me locked in place and I managed to crack a smile.

“Another woman?” I joked, though I wanted to see his reaction.

Dr. Miller’s eyebrows pressed together and he grew serious, but I silenced him before he could speak with a kiss.

“I’m kidding,” I whispered.

“You’re all I’ve been able to think about since I’ve met you,” he confessed, not smiling back. Dr. Miller's hand found my face again and then moved to my hair. I could tell he had a thing about playing with my hair and I loved it. “Besides, I don’t think I could get my dick up right now if I tried.”

When I giggled he finally smirked and leaned up to plant a hard, closed-mouth kiss on my already aching lips.

“You have successfully worn me out,” Dr. Miller added, wrapping both arms around me as we continued a sensual, little makeout session.

“I know the feeling.” I smiled at him and then left a breath against his lips. “Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here.”

“I’m sorry.”

Don’t be.” I told him, “You have a life.”

“And I’m glad you’ve become a part of it.”

“Me, too.”

We kissed again and Dr. Miller stayed close for a few extra seconds before reluctantly slinking out of bed. I couldn't help but stare at him in his purest, most vulnerable form.

He clicked on a light beside the bed and handed over a remote for the television on the wall across the room. “You don't have to stay up here, but if you're comfortable and want to get some sleep, I'll be back soon.”

The oversized clock on the wall read ten forty-five. I sighed and hugged one of the pillows, rolling onto my side.

“I'll probably just stay in here and go to sleep soon.” My eyes drifted up toward the ceiling. The snow had picked up again. “Please be careful driving.”

“I'm taking the truck.” Dr. Miller put both hands on the bed and leaned back down to touch his lips to mine. “Get some rest.”

“Hurry back.” I half-smiled and we kissed another time. He gripped my fingers between his own before slinking out of the room and down the stairs.

When Dr. Miller physically left the room, I realized how badly I didn't want him to go. I suddenly realized that I was in too deep. I was too wrapped up in this; in him. Being away from him after such an emotionally driven, sexually charged morning and afternoon left my chest cavity feeling empty.

Why do I want to cry? Nothing was wrong. Dr. Miller would be back soon, but there would be a time sooner than later when I would have to leave his mansion to go back to real life. I didn't want to. I was wrapped up, caught up and already longing for his company ninety seconds after he left the room.

When I heard the alarm system click on, I rose to my feet and felt a chill as I wandered toward the window to look out. A few minutes passed before the oversized black pickup truck rolled through the driveway, kicking up snow, and drove down toward the main gates. And then he was gone. Gone to parts unknown. Parts he couldn't talk about.

I need a reality check. I need to chill out.

I took a deep breath and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers all the way up. Deep down I knew something was off. This wasn't normal - at all. No part of this was normal. But I wanted it. I wanted Dr. Miller and the way he looked at me; the way he spoke to me and pampered me and touched me.

I tried to go to sleep, because I knew if I did that I would wake to him being there - beside me. My stomach was in knots and I kept trying to ignore it. I was happy but I needed some kind of emotional release. Still, I talked myself off the crying ledge and managed to get myself together with a series of deep breaths.

What is wrong with me? I took a final exhale and ordered my mind to turn off, but the collection of scenarios is made up in my head of what Dr. Miller was doing out in the middle of the night made that impossible.

I didn't know when I had fallen asleep. It had to have been hours before I finally dozed off. I only realized I had fallen asleep when a noise from down the staircase woke me up.

I immediately sprung up in bed, looking around the dark room. “Hello?” It was three-thirty. Dr. Miller wasn't back yet. My hand fell to the empty part of the bed beside me.

My heart rate picked up and I took a breath before climbing out of bed. I searched around for my clothes but I realized I'd left them down in the living room all of those hours before.

“Shit.” I whispered to myself as I tiptoed around the room. When my eyes landed on a white bathrobe hanging in front of a closet it felt like a small victory.

I threw on the robe and then headed to the staircase, leaving little creaks behind me as I descended down. I wanted to call out for Dr. Miller. Why wasn't he home yet? Or maybe he was and he just hadn't come back upstairs.

The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed and when I finally felt for the doorknob in the darkness it didn't turn. I twisted it left and right, slowly at first and then with more urgency.

“Dr. Miller?” I twisted the handle back and forth, back and forth. More frantically now. I smacked a hand on the center of it with three loud bangs. “Dr. Miller?” I shouted a little louder.

I twisted and turned. I pounded. I shouted. The door wouldn't budge. And like my clothes, I hadn't bothered to bring my phone back upstairs. It was still in the living room. I had no way of even getting in touch with him.

“Dr. Miller!” I shouted his name again. Was he even home, or was I shouting to no one. My hand turned the knob again, back and forth, back and forth.

I looked around the darkness, my body spun in a complete circle and I felt the walls hoping there was another secret room or trap door or something. There wasn't.

I banged on the door one last time with both fists. When it flung open I stumbled forward and nearly screamed, falling into Dr. Miller's chest.

“Hey,” he breathed heavily and caught me. “Are you okay?”

“I couldn't get out.” My voice was still choppy and panicked.

“The door handle gets stuck sometimes.” He pulled me into his arms and I closed my eyes when I felt the warmth radiating off his chest. I could tell from his scent and the slick nature of his hair that he had just showered.

I couldn't control my breathing after the short panic attack I'd just had. My eyes closed and I tried to calm myself in his embrace.

“It's okay.” Dr. Miller stroked down the back of my hair and held me close in the hallway. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have closed it. I didn't mean to scare you.”

When he left a kiss on the top of my head I felt my body relax a bit.

“I'm sorry. I just heard a noise and woke up, and you weren't there.” I pulled back a little to glance up at him but Dr. Miller still held me close.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault.” I shook my head and stared at him. Something was wrong. I could see it on his face and he couldn't hide it. And so I decided to just ask him. “What's wrong?”

Dr. Miller's eyes moved back and forth as he studied me for a moment and then he pulled me back against him. His arms engulfed my smaller frame and I hugged him back.

“You can talk to me,” I assured him in a little whisper.

His hand danced up and down my back and then he held me a little harder. Something was up. I could tell from his body language.

“Tell me what's wrong.”

Dr. Miller let out a deep exhale and whispered back. “Come to bed with me.”

“Okay.” I looked back up and I pushed up onto my toes to leave a kiss on his lips. When his stoic expression didn't change, I touched his face. “Are you okay?”

He reached for my hand without answering and pulled me with him toward the open door of his bedroom. When he slunk into bed, he pulled me with him and I let the robe slink of my shoulders to the floor.

Dr. Miller laid down with his head against my bare chest just below my breasts and wrapped an arm around my midsection.

I didn't ask him again if something was wrong. I just held him there against me in the darkness. We didn't speak, but neither of us fell asleep until the early morning hours.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17

[chishiyaisasnack]

A little Chishiya & friend (future romance?) moment I wanted to write down. Minor mentions of blood and wounds. It’s set in the borderlands. A bit angsty but not really. I can’t get the spacing right and I’m on mobile so sorry about that. I hope you like it.

—————————

”You scare me y/n.”

The morning sun was seeping in through the large window, partially covered with soft, white curtains, giving you a perfect view over the sunrise over a park in central Tokyo from the hotel you and Chishiya had broken into after last nights game. It had been the Jack of hearts game and both of you made it out alive by getting others killed. Again.

You opened your eyes and looked at him laying there beside you on the bed, staring at the ceiling while he talked. His words were as soft as the covers you had draped around you but his dark eyes were vulnerable. None of you had gotten any sleep yet, too tired to think but too overwhelmed by the game to sleep.

”In the beginning I was just planning on using you” he continued. ”You were interresting to me. You were close with both the Hatter and Aguni but none of them ever even touched you. Everyone knew that you were Agunis and that if anyone did anything to you they’d end up in the ocean. You were one of the top executives but you never went to a meeting and refused to participate in voting. When you told me that you didn’t even care about the cards and that you thought the whole collecting all the cards thing had to be wrong I knew that you had something I needed. You didn’t think about how to outplay the players. You thought about how to do what the game makers wanted you to do. You didn’t just see the game from a players perspective, you saw it from the creators one too. You were, and are, so much smarter than me.”

The corners of Chishiyas lips turned up into the smallest smile he could produce but his eyes stayed dark as he kept staring at the ceiling. The rays of sun made his hair sparkle and you could see the traces of a stubble along his jawline. You wished that you could trace it with your finger. A though you’d had more and more often lately. But you kept your hands under the cover and kept quiet to hear him out.

”What made no sense to me was how open you were about everything. About how you couldn’t care less about the cards and the executives. How you thought that we’d all be dead before we could gather all the cards enough times for more than one or two people to leave - if that really was how to beat this world and return to the old one. How you didn’t care if people knew that you, Aguni and the Hatter knew eachother in the real world before all this started. You were just getting their protection, wether you wanted it or not. You gave away your secrets and tactics and I didn’t even have to pressure or manipulate you for them. When I arrived at the table and you sat there with the 10 of hearts card in your hand I thought that you were going to throw it in the flames. But you gave it to me and asked if you could join me and Kuina, even though you didn’t care about the cards or our plan at all. I had no idea what was going on in your head and I was so excited by it. Finally, someone that I could actually have proper use from. Kuina is smart and strong but you are on another level.”

He took a deep breath before he continued.

”Not that I could manipulate you anyway. You saw right through it every time. From the very beginning you called bullshit whenever I tried to do anything. And for some reason you still stuck with me. When we got lost from Kuina and the rest by Shibuya I truly thought that you must be insane to still stay with me. You were nothing like me. You knew what I was trying to do. But you never left me.”

You did everything you could to not make a sound. He never talked like this. You had never heard him talk about his feelings and thoughts like he was doing right now. You wanted to answer, you wanted to explain and say so much but you pressed your lips together and held it back. It felt like even a breath could break him.

”The moment I realized that something changed was after the spades game you went to alone. Waiting for you to finish made me feel… uneasy. Anxious. I couldn’t understand the feeling and I blamed it on that if you didn’t make it out it would be harder for me to win. Which wasn’t the truth but it was what I told myself. When you came out the door with the big cut on your leg and blood running down your arms I…”

His mouth tensed like he was re-living that exact moment. You wanted to make it go away, make him smile with that annoying little smirk again.

”I was scared of loosing you and it was not because of my own ego. The feeling was new to me and I don’t think I realized it until tonight. I’ve been feeling a lot because of you and I still don’t really understand it all. What I do know is that I’m scared. Of you. Of you getting hurt. Of losing you. Of turning you into me.”

The last one came as a suprise to you. Why would he be worried of that? He finally moved a little to look at you and was met with a confused and concerned face.

”I manipulate everyone around me. I use people. I don’t care who lives or dies, about what’s right and what’s wrong. I barely even have feelings. You are so caring. So honest. You’ve been hurt so many times in the past but you’re still trying to save everyone, even if you don’t know them. You don’t hold back your feelings. You are so free. I don’t ever want to take that away.”

You could feel tears threatening behind your eyes as you continued to watch him. He turned his eyes back to the ceiling.

”You are changing me. You are making me feel things that I didn’t know I could feel. I can’t control myself and I can’t control you. I care about you. And that scares me.”

You stayed silent but unable to stop the tears from running down your face. Chishiya closed his eyes and let the warm rays from the sun dance over him. He looked relaxed. Content. Beautiful. The chirping of birds mixed with your breaths were the only sounds in the room. You could feel your eyes slowly shutting, sleep overtaking you. And your last thought before you let it was ”you scare me too”.

[ashbrat488]

Flower In The Desert - Chapter 5

Captain Syverson Fanfic

Syverson growled against her mouth when he finally released her lips. "What are you doing to me?" He asks, his hands still on her body, roaming as his heart beat hard against his ribcage.

"I haven't done anything."

"It's dangerous for you to be here." He stated, groaning at the feeling of her hands on his bare chest. "Vi..."

"Why? Dangerous here in the desert? Or dangerous here, in your room?"

He chuckles softly at her assessment, pressing his forehead against hers as she rubbed his cock through the thin fabric of his shorts. It was already hard, aching to be enveloped by her warm pussy. "We can't."

"You want to," she states sweetly, moving her hand down to cup his balls, rubbing them gently as he hissed.

"I didn't say I didn't want to. I said we can't."

"Then make me leave." She nibbles his bottom lip playfully before slowly slipping her tongue into his mouth, taking her time exploring all its depths.

"If word got out about us, we'd both be in serious trouble, Vi."

"Please, Eddie..." she begs, as he slides his hand down from her waist, slipping it into her shorts as groans, reaching her pussy coated in arousal. "I can be quiet," she promises, pulling his cock from his shorts, wrapping her hand around it, and stroking slowly. "I promise..."

He inhales sharply as she runs her thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting the bead of precum. She brings it to her lips, licking her thumb clean. "Fuck..." He growls, pulling her shorts and panties down slightly, keeping her legs pressed together.

"What..." She whimpers as he presses his cock between her thighs, rubbing against her pussy and clit, coating his cock in her arousal. "Eddie."

"What did I say about calling me Eddie?" He hisses as she giggles softly and he continues to stroke his cock against her pussy, using her thighs as friction.

"No one else is around," she teases, wrapping her arms around his neck as his cock hit her clit over and over. "I want you inside me, Eddie, please," she whines as he shakes his head, sealing his mouth over hers.

"No," he spits as she moaned against his mouth as his beard scratched her face and he continued to stroke his cock between her thighs. "Your pussy is so hot," he groans, panting as he feels the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "Come on my cock, Vi."

Her moans build as she whines and he presses his hand over her mouth, stifling her before she wakes up the entire camp of men. He felt her body tense just before he felt a gush of her arousal drenching his cock with a groan. It was enough to spur his own orgasm as he pulled back slightly, stroking his cock as he shot cum onto her panties as she gasped.

He chuckled, pulling her panties up with her shorts. "Now, my sweet flower, you will go back to sleep with my cum in your panties and you'll be reminded that you're now mine."

She swallowed hard, watching him pull up his shorts in the darkness. "Yes, sir."

He growls, grabbing her arm to kiss her hard once more. "Don't come in here again. We can't be doing this."

"Sure," she offers as he groans, knowing she had no intention of obeying his order.

Once she is gone, he lays back on his bed, his heart still racing at their encounter as he silently reprimands himself for giving in. It was going to be a long deployment with Violet here with him now. As he rolled onto his side though, he couldn't help but imagine the possibility of a life back home with her. Settling down was always something he pushed to the back of his mind, never meeting a woman he would want to settle down or leave the military for before now.

Violet slipped back into the room she shared with the other men, climbing up to her bunk as quietly as possible, laying on her back for the longest time as she stared up at the dark ceiling. She had been in love with Eddie Syverson for a decade. She never imagined working under him or the possibility of him ever reciprocating them. She shook her head with a sigh. No, it was just sex to him. It had to be. They could never be more. At least not here...

***

Violet sensed the tension as the engineer asked where the workers Harper promised him were. "We offered them money, I don't know why there were no takers." Harper sighed, looking at the engineer.

"Because they're fucking lazy." She heard one of the other men spit as they all laughed and she shook her head.

"Or maybe, we are the ones that fucked up the pump and they don't trust the white men with guns," she countered angrily, kicking the sand at her feet.

Sy sighed, patting her shoulder to calm her down as he looked at Harper. "I'll take you to the sheikh this afternoon and introduce you. Maybe he can help." He glances back at Violet and the rest of the men. "And you guys will continue to distribute water like you have been for now."

Matt watches Sy's gaze linger on Violet's longer than anyone else's as she stared back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He dropped his gaze to the ground with a sigh, not yet knowing how the implications of her sneaking into Sy's room the night before would have on the rest of the crew.

"Be careful," Vi whispered just loud enough for Sy to hear as he nodded to her before turning away.

He had wanted to squeeze her hand, to offer her some sort of small comfort, but he knew that it was ill-advised as he walked away, leaving them to do their daily routine of distributing water. 

Chapter 6

[maria021015]

Reaching out through the darkness and feeling along the wall in the entry hallway, Zaida’s fingers found the light switch and flicked it on and off a few times before letting out a disappointed sigh. “Power’s still out,” She muttered and ventured further into the apartment slowly, feeling out with the toes of her boots so as to not bump into anything along her way.

“It’ll probably be out for a while,” Stiles informed her, having far more knowledge on the subject than she did. He closed and locked the front door behind them, following after her.

Moving into the living room, Zaida dropped the shock blanket onto the couch, continuing onwards to her bedroom. Her body sagged with exhaustion and all she wanted to do was strip out of her clothes and into something comfortable. Crossing her room, she made a beeline for her chest of drawers, pulling out a set of pyjamas and dumping them on the end of her bed. Instead of getting changed straight away, she flopped down on her mattress and the structure bounced beneath her slightly as her back hit the duvet. Turning her head to see Stiles standing apprehensively in the doorway, she patted the space beside her to signal that it was okay for him to enter. In all of the times he’d been over at the apartment, he’d never been in her bedroom.

Instead of taking her up on her invitation for him to lay beside her, his eyes roamed languidly around the contents of her room. Scanning from the dresser and the bottles of perfume and displayed make-up upon it, past her walk-in closet and the chest of drawers beside it, he stepped further into the space. Drinking every last detail in, Stiles noticed the various jewellery holders and the frames of artworks he could only assume had been done by Zaida. Her room wasn’t messy by any means, but almost every surface was crowded with various trinkets and each told a story that he was eager to uncover.

“Is this an actual typewriter?” His eyes widened in wonder as he spotted the item on the bookshelf in the back corner of the room.

“Yeah, I convinced Mom and Dad that writing on a typewriter would somehow make me a better author,” Zaida laughed softly at herself. “Really, I was chasing a certain aesthetic which was just incredibly pretentious of me, and as it turned out, actually writing with the thing was a bitch.”

“You wanted to be an author?” He prompted her, fingers trailing over the spines of her many books. There were some titles he recognised but more that he didn’t.

“Yeah, it was one of my many phases,” She nodded with a faint smile as fond memories rose to the surface.

“I’m guessing artist was one,” Stiles raised a brow at an oil on canvas sunset hanging on her wall, then shifted to the many collectibles dispersed across the bookshelf. His heart beat just that little bit faster against his ribs when his eyes landed on the shell he had pulled from the waves at the beach house and slipped into her bag.

“Artist, author, marine biologist…” Zaida listed the dream professions of her past. “Now I have no idea what I wanna do.”

“I always knew what I wanted to be,” He reminisced as he finally took a seat at the end of her bed, dropping backwards to lie beside her. Both of them stared at the ceiling as he continued. “A detective - from the moment I learned I couldn’t be a superhero, or a drummer, or a skateboarder - that was all I could ever see myself doing.”

“Well duh, that’s like, what you were born to do,” She chuckled, a smile in her voice. “I could see you starting your own private detective business after training with the FBI, and then taking on supernatural cases. You could be the first detective for the supernatural realm.”

“That’s the dream,” He let out a sigh of longing at the very thought of it. “You know, we could always do it together. We make a pretty great team already.”

“‘Callis and Stilinski Private Investigations’,” She outlined the words in mid-air. “Our tagline can be ‘Snooping of the super and the natural’.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. “Nevermind, I rescind my offer. You can work for me instead, at ‘Stilinski and Associates Detective Agency ’, ‘Where every case meets resolution’.”

“That’s so…boring.” Zaida wrinkled her nose at him in jest.

“Boring? You think people looking for someone to find out what happened to their murdered or missing friends and family would want a more exciting brand? Something a little more fun?” He shifted onto his side to face her with an exaggerated incredulous expression, eyebrows raised and mouth dropping open. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She repeated insistently, mirth glinting in her bright hazel eyes as she kept pushing for the sole purpose of pissing him off.

“You know what, I think you need to stop talking,” He fought hard to keep the grin of amusement off his face, but he failed when his lips tugged slightly upwards as he gazed at the girl beside him. Her hair was fanned out over the mattress behind her and her dimples were pronounced with the broad width of her smile. It was like staring straight into the sun.

“Oh, and how are you gonna make me do that, Detective Stilinski,” She teased mockingly, swiftly shutting up when he rolled over to prop himself up on top of her. Her eyes widened and her mouth went dry, her lips clamping shut as her heart was jolted into a thunderous pace.

“Hallelujah, she’s quiet!” Stiles smirked triumphantly at the reaction he had drawn forth from her. Zaida pouted darkly, her face flushed as her eyes flickered away from his, squirming under the intensity of his stare.

“You know what, if you’re gonna play dirty,” She muttered, a plan forming in her mind as she brought her arms around his neck, dropping his jaw. She plastered a false bravado to shield her inner reaction from him, not wanting to allow him the satisfaction. “I can play dirty too. Very dirty.”

Slowly dragging her knee up his body as a ruse, she planted her heel against the mattress and slid one hand down to press firmly against his chest. He shuddered and gaped at her, eyes half-lidded in a way that made her blood thrum from the power she clearly held over him. In a split second, she was flipping them over. Before he knew it, his back was pressed against the mattress and her thighs straddled his own. A choked sound escaped him at the sight of her on top of him, her hair falling in a dark waterfall of cascading tresses as her hazel eyes narrowed at him almost seductively. With a salacious smile, she bent down lower towards his face, her body pressing into his in a way that set him alight.

“I think that means I win,” She whispered, but he was barely listening, instead focusing on the slightly pink hue of her lips and struggling to remember why it was a bad idea to bridge the gap and kiss her. Why were they holding back again? Space, that was right, she’d asked for space. So why was there barely any?

The loud slam of the front door closing and heavy work boots thudding across floorboards sent spikes of panic into both of their chests. “Zay! Where are you?” Xander called out into the dark apartment. “Is Stiles still here?”

In his frazzled state, all the boy could think about was the incriminating position they were about to be discovered in, and the fastest way to get out of it. Gripping Zaida’s hips frantically, he tried to push her off him, only unfortunately for both of them, the bed had run out of mattress room. Zaida yelped lightly as she fell through thin air, landing with a heavy thunk on the ground.

“Zay? You okay?” Xander’s voice echoes through the apartment, his footfalls getting louder and louder as they got closer.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed and launched himself off the bed and onto his feet, crossing the room to sit on the small ottoman stool in front of Zaida’s vanity. When he turned back she was climbing onto the bed, smoothing her hair and leaning on her hands casually as if nothing had happened.

“What’s going on?” Xander pushed the ajar door further open, his brows furrowing and eyes narrowing, flickering between the two teens on opposite sides of the room.

“Oh, nothing! Nothing! We were just hanging out…nothing going on,” Stiles spluttered awkwardly with a nervous smile, nodding up and down awkwardly as he fidgeted on the stool.

“I was just watching Stiles do his make-up,” Zaida chuckled lightheartedly, trying to joke to distract her brother from the very clear tension in the room.

“Right,” Xander stared with analytical eyes and Stiles gulped, feeling as if the man was staring straight through to his soul. “I think it’s time for you to go home, Stiles.”

“Yeah, right, totally,” He nodded, jumping straight to his feet and heading towards the door without so much as glancing in Zaida’s direction. Xander’s hand shot out to bar him from exiting and Stiles’ stomach churned anxiously. “Wha…? Don’t let me catch you in my sister’s room again. Okay?”

“Yeah,” The word was barely audible among the deep shaky breath Stiles let out as Xander dropped his arm. The boy scrambled towards the entrance of the apartment, Leaving Zaida glaring at her brother.

“Did you really have to try scare him? Nothing was happening,” She turned the situation around onto Xander.

“I don’t like you having boys in your room, especially when no one else is home and the power is out.” He stated definitively, indicating that he wouldn’t be budging on this particular matter.

“Stiles isn’t just any boy!” Zaida called after him as he turned his back on her, moving into the hallway and out of her sight.

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” He murmured to himself, worry rising within him. Sometimes it was hard to look at his sister and see the young woman she was when all that came to his mind's eye was that little girl clutching him and crying as their parents' bodies lay on the other side of a door.

“Ooh, bold, “ Lydia commented on Zaida’s makeup with an approving smirk as the brunette approached her at her locker in the darkened hallway. The sunlight streaming through windows wasn’t nearly enough to illuminate the whole school building. “I love it! But a repeat hairstyle? Never gonna love it as much as I did yesterday.”

“Noted,” Zaida rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the girl, glancing towards Allison. “Have you told her yet?”

“Told me what?” The huntress arched a brow at them inquisitively.

“Barrow was actually at the school, performing minor surgery in a chemical closet - which was why we couldn’t find him. It was masking his smell.” The redhead explained. “Someone left a coded message on the blackboard instructing Barrow to go after Kira - the new girl.”

“Barrow attacked Scott and Kira at her house and, well the flies Lydia was hearing weren’t actually flies, it was electricity. So Stiles figured out he was taking Kira to a power substation.” Zaida added but with quickly interrupted by a scowling Allison.

“Wait, what was Scott doing at Kira’s house?” The girl questioned with an unmistakable bitter tone.

“Her dad invited him over for dinner as a thank you for saving her from getting eaten by Malia.” The redhead explained.

“Yeah, and when we got to the power station Barrow was trying to kill her and live electricity was just going crazy everywhere but then Kira absorbed it, and her skin was glowing and everything. It was crazy!” Zaida recounted the surreal events of the night before.

“Right,” Allison nodded, trying to remain impartial and failing miserably.

“Okay, you look like we’ve just wafted a log of shit under your nose,” The shorter brunette snorted. “What’s going on? Are you…jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Allison wrinkled her nose, shaking her head as if she was brushing something off.

“Oh my God, you totally are!” Lydia’s lips spread into a wide smile of amusement.

“Why should I be jealous? I’m the one who ended things with him.” The huntress bristled stiffly, becoming defensive. “So he’s moving on - so what? I could move on too if I wanted to.”

“Key words there being ‘if I wanted to’.” Lydia pointed out with a smug expression plastered to her face.

“What was that you were lecturing me about? Denying my emotions?” Zaida sent the girl an incisive look. “Just be honest Allison, we all know you still care about him and it’s okay to feel jealous, but you really don’t need to be. Scott’s still totally in love with you and Kira having a crush on him doesn’t change that.”

“Can we talk about something else please?” Allison sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall of lockers. “Like whose place are we getting ready for Danny’s party at?"

“Oh yeah, about that. Danny texted me and the party’s off. The venue he booked doesn’t have a backup generator, so no power. Bummer,” Lydia shook her head dissapointedly.

“That sucks, I had an outfit picked out and everything,” Zaida grumbled, flinching when Coach Finstock waltzed down the corridor, pointing his megaphone right at her.

“Class starts in five minutes! Just because there's no power, don't expect there to be no school!” He was screaming despite the device already amplifying his volume. He was loud enough on his own - whoever had given him the thing must really hate them all.

“That was a triple negative,” Stiles called out over his shoulder at the man with a wink as he pulled his books out of his own locker further down the hall. “Very impressive, Coach.”

“Copy that.” Finstokc nodded appreciatively, still talking through the speakers.

“I swear, they’re like best friends,” Zaida snorted at the interaction, having never seen Coach tolerate anyone as much as he did Stiles.

“What’s your mom doing here?” Zaida asked the redhead beside her as they walked into the classroom, spotting the woman at the front desk organising a pile of papers.

“She’s started casual teaching here. You know, since supernatural beings seem to be picking off our teachers one by one,” The girl answered sassily, slipping into a seat at one of the desks. Zaida moved to sit in the empty chair beside her, but Aiden slid in before she could take it, earning him a dangerous glower.

“If you don’t move, I swear I’m gonna-” Zaida began, narrowing her eyes threateningly until someone hooked their arm through hers, tugging her away.

“Hey, Zaida! Let’s not provoke the angry one, yeah?” He flashed her a grin, leading her to sit at the table behind Lydia and the ex-alpha twin.

“I could take him,” She insisted, staring daggers into the back of the boy’s head.

“I have no doubts about that, but if we want the supernatural to stay a secret maybe we should refrain from starting fights in the public eye,” He whispered under his breath, pulling his books out of his backpack. Zaida grumbled an indecipherable complaint under her breath but otherwise accepted his reasoning. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Sweetheart, since this is my first class, I just want to remind you of one thing…” Natalie Martin looked down at her daughter sweetly, walking through the centre aisle as the students prepared themselves. “Try not to embarrass me.”

“You should have thought of that before wearing those shoes,” Lydia shot back, her stuck-up expression melting into a soft smile. “Love you!”

“Love you, too.” Mrs Martin said sweetly before moving on, causing Aiden to lean towards Lydia.

“Why's your mom teaching biology?” He asked her - as if he hadn’t heard Lydia answer the exact same question for Zaida. The brunette’s ears perked up from the table behind, listening to the entire conversation with laser-like focus.

“Because Mr. Harris used to teach biology...until his new occupation,” The girl answered with a pointed glare. “Human sacrifice.”

“What? I didn't kill him.” Aiden scoffed, and only afterwards did he read the redhead’s hostile emotions. “Lydia, what?”

“The other day, I helped save someone's life. That felt really good. And I look at you, and all I can think is that you helped kill Boyd.” Lydia finally yielded with an explanation in a low voice. “You're not just a bad boy, Aiden - you're a bad guy. And I don't want to be with bad guys anymore.”

“Yes!” Zaida hissed a cheer from behind the two and Aiden shot her a scowl from over his shoulder before he got up and moved to a different table. She shot Stiles an apologetic smile before moving to take the werewolf’s spot beside Lydia. “I am so proud of you! That was awesome!”

“It did feel pretty good,” The redhead admitted with a shy smile, her disposition brightening at Zaida’s reaction. She was turning a new chapter - one that wasn’t going to involve any toxic relationships with shitty men. She deserved better, and now she knew better.

“Hey!” Zaida chirped as she plonked her bag by the individual desk in front of Stiles, dropping down onto the seat and swivelling to face him. “I’m sorry about last night - that whole thing with Xander.”

“Pfft, that’s alright. What’s one more frightening conversation with your brother,” He brushed it off. “...Who owns a gun .”

“Actually he owns several guns, among other things,” Zaida shrugged with an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

“That’s so much better,” Stiles muttered with a warry glint behind his amber eyes.

“Anyway, did you hear Danny’s Halloween blacklight party got un-cancelled?” She brought up the subject in what she hoped was a casual manner, butterflies fluttering about her stomach anxiously.

“It did?” His eyebrows ticked upwards at the information.

“Yeah, and guess where it’s been moved to?” She asked with a mischievous tone. He shrugged as in indication for her to go on. “Derek’s loft.”

“Who volunteered Derek’s place?” Stiles gaped at her. As far as they knew Derek and Peter still weren’t back in town, so it should all be fine. Right?

“I have no clue, but I was wondering if you were going?” Zaida asked, tucking her loose strands of hair behind her ears to expel some of her nervous energy.

“Yeah, probably. If nothing supernatural decides to ruin our plans. Again.” He snickered, tapping his pencil across his open history book.

“Great, so you’ll pick me up at eight?” She bit her lip slightly, waiting for his reaction.

“Yeah, sure, you need a ride?” He nodded, the meaning behind her request going right over his head.

“A ride, a dance partner…a date?” The girl trailed off, her hazel eyes locking onto his in a wide and hopeful expression.

“A da-” Stiles swallowed thickly, his heart leaping into his throat. “Yeah, ab- absolutely!”

“Great,” She smiled and turned back around to face the front of the classroom to hide the redness dusting her cheeks as her insides felt as though they might burst with excitement.

“Oh, uh, wait,” He tapped on her shoulder, leaning forward over his desk to recapture her attention. She hummed to confirm that she was indeed listening as Mr Yukimura started the lesson. “How about I pick you up at seven? I’ve gotta help Kira and Scott break into the Sheriff’s station to steal her phone back from evidence.”

“Why do they need to steal Kira’s phone back? I mean, I totally get needing your phone, but it seems a little…extreme.” Her brows drew together into a furrowed line.

“Uh, naked pictures. She doesn’t want anyone to see ‘em.” Stiles mumbled in a quiet voice.

“Oh,” Zaida blinked, having been caught off guard. “Right, yeah, that makes sense. Okay, seven it is then.”

“Great, can’t wait!” Stiles pulled away and settled back into his chair, his foot tapping as his mind reeled with giddy anticipation. Zaida had asked him out. Zaida Callis had asked him out on a date!

Zaida wasted no time in climbing into the passenger seat of the Jeep as soon as Stiles pulled up outside the apartment building. She clicked her seatbelt into place and situated herself before glancing at the boy, only to find Stiles staring at her with his jaw wide open. “What?” She frowned at him, her mind immediately going to her outfit. Was it too short? Too tight? Had her make-up smudged?

“You look amazing - gorgeous! You…you look gorgeous,” He stumbled over his words as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear the fog from his head.

Clearing his throat he forced his attention back onto the road as she grinned with pride growing within her at being able to elicit such a reaction from him. Her heart warmed and the heat that had sparked between them remained as they sped through Downtown. Within fifteen minutes they were pulling into the back parking lot behind the Sheriff Station, lights turned off to avoid being seen. Zaida leaned forward, peering into the darkness until the movement of two figures caught her eye.

“There they are,” She pointed them out to the boy beside her and he slowed as they approached. Stiles rolled his window down as Scott and Kira approached, turning the car off and pulling his extensive collection of keys out of the ignition.

“Okay, this one will get you into all of the perimeter doors…” The boy got straight down to business, flashing Scott the keys he’d need to use to get to where they needed to go. “This one into the evidence room...And this one's for my father's office.”

“You didn't steal these, did you?” Scott asked anxiously as he took the set of clanging metal.

“No, I cloned them using the RFID emulator,” Stiles answered casually as Zaida shook her head at him. The boy was prepared, she’d give him that much.

“...Is that worse than stealing?” The werewolf’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline in astonishment.

“It's smarter…” Stiles shot back awkwardly, though it was not devoid of his usual sassy disposition.

“Scott, can I ask you something?” The nervous girl beside him shifted from foot to foot, and Scott nodded and led her a few paces away from them to speak privately.

“Okay, I'll just…” Stiles sat back in his seat somewhat bitterly, watching the interaction with laser-like focus.

“What are you up to?” Zaida narrowed her eyes at him, having a feeling that he had some deeper plan or ulterior motive going on.

“With what?” He questioned innocently but she wasn’t buying it.

“You encouraging Scott and Kira - I thought we were all rooting for Scallison reuniting,” She explained.

“Sometimes people just need a little…push to figure out what they really want,” Stiles shrugged admittedly. “But Scott and Allison need someone to shove them off a cliff .”

“It’s funny, I think they’d all say the same thing about us,” She hummed and a soft puff of laughter escaped his lips and they both shut up as Scott and Kira turned back towards the open car window.

“Okay. So, now almost everybody's out dealing with the blackout, but there's always somebody at the front desk - there's dispatch and usually a night-shifter or two. You guys are gonna use the service entrance by the dumpster, all right? Nobody uses it.” Stiles slipped right back into informant mode. “Now, I'll text you if anyone comes out, but Scott, if you get caught, I can't help you. My dad's under investigation for impeachment because of your dad, so...if anything happens, I will run and leave you both for dead.”

Kira grimaced nervously at the boy’s harsh statement, but Scott nodded in understanding. “Got it. Thanks.” He spoke with a sincerity that made Zaida smile. “Seriously, dude.”

“I'd ask my dad, but you know…” Stiles trailed off apologetically, his tone deepening at the mere thought of the precarious position his father was currently in.

“No, I know. I get it.” His best friend assured him gratefully.

“All right. Just, uh…” Stiles sighed. “Hurry up.”

“So…what do we do while they’re in there doing our job?” Zaida huffed in quiet boredom as the duo disappeared inside the building, leaving her alone with Stiles. “You know, snooping and breaking the law.”

“Well, we can stop using the word ‘snooping’ for starters,” He smirked at her with a mischievous glint behind his eyes. In this lighting, they looked to be a rich coffee brown with a swirling depth to them that drew Zaida in.

“Oh come on, you love it,” She shook her head at him admonishingly with a cheeky grin. “Admit it, you just like to argue with me.”

“I think you’re the one who likes to argue,” He pointed out with a fondly arched eyebrow.

“Hmm, well it is intellectually stimulating,” The brunette hummed and flipped her long hair over her shoulder with a shrug, leaning in towards him. “Or maybe it’s just my way of flirting, but maybe I should try and speak your language.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Stiles’ gaze darkened, his eyes flickering downwards as she inched closer and closer. Would this be it? Would she do it?

“Did you know wolves actually communicate within the pack through facial expressions?” She whispered in a comically seductive voice, waiting a moment to see the realisation cross Stiles’ face before she pulled back in a fit of laughter.

“That- okay, that’s a low blow, Callis,” The boy shook his head, his face burning bright red with embarrassment. He knew exactly what unfortunate incident she’d been referring to, and whilst it had ended well it wasn’t something he was proud of.

“But hey, you’re improving. You managed to tell me I look pretty tonight without some obscure fact. That’s progress for sure,” She teased him with a bright smile and he shook his head at her, turning to look out the window to hide his flushed complexion.

“Aw, hell,” he grumbled under his breath and his posture stiffened, causing Zaida to reach over the centre console to squeeze his hand.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. It’s not that bad,” She reassured him only for him to grip her chin and turn her face towards the same thing he was looking at. Agent McCall was just driving into a space further down the car park. Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Aww, hell.”

[theresawritesstuff]

Two

For Now - Kina Grannis

I heard that someday when they look up at the night

They'll see nothing, but a black and starless sky

And they'll tell stories of some old and callow time

Claiming spectacles of brilliant burning lights

Maybe it's enough that I have laid here

Maybe it's enough that I have known inside my head, and

Maybe it's enough to know that we were here together

And that we are the ones

We are the ones

We are the ones for now

Midge lay awake staring at the ceiling in their little bungalow bedroom at Steiner, a feeling itching at the back of her mind that she couldn't shake.

It was Lenny and Kitty's first summer at Steiner. She'd insisted that they all go as a family now that she and Lenny were engaged.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

But they'd been there for three days now and no matter how many fun Steiner-y activities for the kids Midge had nudged her towards (or pushed her to join…) Kitty still didn't seem to be having fun.

Her children were always fine running off to do their own thing, she'd just assumed Kitty would too. 

She wanted so badly to prove that they could easily blend their two families into one. That Lenny and Kitty would fit right in to the Weissman summer tradition just fine.

She'd told herself it was just an adjustment period. That it always takes a little time to find your rhythm here.

But now she was starting to wonder if it had all been too much.

Or not enough…

She exhaled out a sigh, considering all she knew about Kitty. 

What she liked. 

What she'd been through…

And in that instant, Midge realized where she'd went wrong.

And felt like an absolute idiot for not seeing it before.

In a fit of determination to fix it, she got out of bed, shedding her nightgown and pulling on a pair of shorts and a button up shirt she found in the dark.

The shorts were hers. The shirt was Lenny's but she didn't have it in her to look for one her size. 

She left her curlers in.

Once her shoes were on she tiptoed into the kid's room.

"Hey. Kitty…" she whispered, nudging her soon to be step daughter.

"Midge?" Kitty squinted at her bleary-eyed. "What time is it?"

"Mama?" Esther sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"I told Tommy that fire needed another pail of water on it" Ethan grumbled from his bunk.

Kitty blinked, slowly taking in her odd attire. "What's going on?"

"Come on. Grab your flashlights and get your shoes."

"What for?" came Ethan's muffled reply from somewhere against his pillow.

"You'll find out," Midge insisted, pulling his pillow out from under him, nearly landing him on the floor in the process.

Her son glared up at her. "Did you get into Grandpa's tomato juice or something?"

"Just get your shoes," Midge told them with a smile. "And some bug spray. We're gonna need to go through the woods for this."

"Midge?" Lenny appeared in the doorway, looking only half as awake as Ethan.

"Just the man I was going to get next." She smiled, pecking his lips. "Get your shoes. I want to show you guys something."

Lenny blinked as he watched her dash off somewhere else in the house to gather…something.

"Any of you know what this is about?" he asked.

"Not a clue," Esther replied, pulling on her shoes.

The sleep addled crew appeared outside a few minutes later where they found Midge with a bundle of lawn blankets tucked in a bag on her shoulder.

"Let's go!"

They followed as she led them through a wooded trail that wound around the lake, their flashlights dancing with the fireflies over the darkened landscape.

"You going to clue us in on where we're going?" Lenny asked.

"You'll see," she insisted. 

Finally they reached a clearing in the trees that formed a scenic outlook over the lake.

"We're here."

The tired band turned to each other then back to Midge, confusion still written all over their faces.

"...What are we looking at?" Kitty asked finally.

"Just wait. It should be starting any minute now."

"What's start–Whoah!" 

A collective gasp erupted from the kids as a meteor streaked the sky. Followed by another.

And another.

"I realized I've been so caught up with sharing our old traditions with you that I forgot about making some new ones of our own," Midge explained, hugging a blanket around Kitty's shoulders. "So what do you think?"

Kitty looked up at the night sky, completely awestruck. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah I figured they didn't have stars quite like these in LA. You can't exactly get their autograph, but they put on a pretty good show all the same."

Kitty nodded, resting her head against Midge's shoulder. "Thank you."

"Anytime, sweetie."

"Can…can I make a wish?"

"Absolutely."

They laid out watching the sky, counting the stars and swatting away the occasional interloping insect, soaking up the magic of a summer night.

Forget all the counselor curtated camp outs and Steinerific spectacles.

Being here together was more than enough.

It's all they really ever needed.

Lenny sat down beside her as the kids marveled and chattered amongst themselves, pulling her in close to his side as he kissed her hair.

"I can't wait to marry you."

"Even when I look like this?" Midge chuckled.

Lenny smirked, taking her in with her mismatched clothing and curler bound hair.

An absolute madwoman look for the sake of making something memorable for them to share as part of the new chapter in their lives.

"Especially when you look like this."

[rocketcherry]

Rewrite of this lovely post for summer seasonal depression besties:

it’s my fault. it’s just that when we met it was spring; his rainbow flowering hair and crackling laughter. there’s a little sun in him, a lot of play. and what a better time for blooming?

i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the summer makes us all arid, the winter makes us all a little cozied together. i just loved him, because he was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.

it’s just that i realized that fall came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that winter frequently settled with soft snow blizzarding from his lips. it’s just that summer was the worst of all, his eyes dead. it’s just that spring loves me different; throws himself into it without the chilling ice of winter. i used to love that winter boy, you know? i loved how collected he was, the way in winter he took every step calm and collected that he could. but i carried him home tired one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes he made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of community. and summer was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how he became distant, a desert, caught up in his own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.

he comes home, his hair buzzed off. a dark smile on his lips. the shadowy parts of him are back. they loom like the sun overhead. he kisses me with his body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an burn. he makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching. 

it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. Summer is fire. Summer is known for the burning of things. when i look at him, i see the boy i fell for, inhabited by an alien. he was the first man i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake him up with my crying, he tells me to shush and go back to sleep. he’s different like this, quiet, doesn't eat. 

three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and he doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. he looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions. 

somewhere in july i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell him i feel he doesn’t love me, he says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. He sleeps on the couch.

i wake up when i hear him crying, missing hair around him all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my summer boy. my heart is breaking. he looks up at me like i’m his anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” he says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but he just shakes his head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”

i hold his burning hand. he stares at the blankets. “i am different in summer,” he whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” he looks at me. “why do you think i cut my hair? Buzz it off? get rid of the old me?”

i tell him it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then he whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”

we lay there like that, his head on my chest. he falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way he sounded when he was crying. how i helped put him in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.

the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.

he comes home to his favorite dinner and we kiss and he’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day he finds little love notes in his pockets. i love his quiet, the way summer demands, understand his sex drive is racing; spend more time cuddling. we drink beer and we kiss and some part of him starts relaxing. 

the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.

and i learn. i remember the rebirth of fall, when he starts cooling. we kiss and go on walks in cozy sweaters. i remember his joy at little birds and his rain dancing. i fall in love with the colours in his cheeks and the little bursts of organizing. i fall in love with winter’s slow walks and coffee and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with his dancing, with the jackfrost energy. and when summer comes; i am ready. i remember that plains used to look pretty. i fall in love with the sunfire of him, with the beaches, with the blazing smile that spreads across his face so shyly. i fall in love with how he looks in patterned shirts and shorts and every day i find another reason to love him the way he deserves - the way i always should have.

he comes home with his buzzed hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s sun screen packed in with medication. he looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful summer blush. “i’m trying to get better,” he whispers, “i promise.”

recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny boy’s strength gives me another reason. i love him. i love him while he tames the roller coaster of fall; i love him for reigning in the winter blizzards; i love him for taking his summer and trying to be cool. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. he spreads out his spring flowers; mixes the best parts of him into everything. learns to take summer’s silence for a moment before yelling in winter. learns to take spring’s rain and give it to autumn. we are both learning.

one day he comes home and his hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell him that he’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that he’s mine. every part of him. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but he’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.

this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the fire. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.

this is what love looks like in an spring boy: it is summer and he glows.

Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.

[jotunheimsaga]

Sigyn Chapter 5

"This is a serious accusation, Jess," her father said over speakerphone. "Besides, we already questioned Ms. Ransdotter."

"And you found nothing suspicious?"

A pause gave Jess a glimmer of hope, but it didn't last. "She is strange, but that's not enough to convict somebody."

Jess huffed, pacing the room.

"She's adamant it's her," Elizabeth added. "Says she gave her a 'certain feeling'."

Jess glanced over, wishing her sister hadn't said that to her father. "It's like a déjà vu feeling."

"But you never saw the shooter's face, so you can't recognize her."

"No, but I felt her stare." Jess sat on the other end of the bed. "Her presence. It almost....didn't feel human."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "So what? You think she's an alien?"

Reclining on the mattress, Jessica searched for a speck of logic to satisfy her family, but she may as well have searched for a unicorn.

"I don't want you going out alone, Jess. Understood?" her father said.

Her lungs deflated as she answered: "Fine."

Elizabeth hung up the phone and joined her friends in the other room. All night, they were giggling together while Jess failed to sleep. Behind her eyes awaited Sigyn's uncanny stare.

Why should she wait for her father and sister to believe her? It was up to her alone.

The office was spotless. A dark, den-like atmosphere matching the rest of the lodge. In front of windows overlooking the mountain scenery was a polished wood desk and leather rolling chair. On the shelves were books, knick-knacks, and animal parts. Wrinkling her nose at the antlers, skulls, and pelts, she photographed them in case they were the product of more poaching.

Aside from that, she had no further evidence. Her last chance lay behind a lone door in the corner. She flipped on the switch. Light shined off the metal surfaces of a small arsenal.

All four walls, floor to ceiling, displayed various weapons. Appropriate for a military base, or museum collection, but not a ski resort. Lining a shelf was a row of pistols. Leaning on floor racks and nestled on wall hooks were rifles and shotguns. Some looked like they belonged in a western or a top-secret army facility.

While the guns were worrisome, the wall of blades dealt the final nail in the coffin. From short hunting knives to medieval longswords, each one was different. Straight, traditional blades and ones curved with teeth. A few even twisted or had gaps designed to ensure enemies bled out. Jess turned her camera to video and panned the room.

Voices approached from the hallway. Trapped, Jess turned off the closet light, closed the door, and prayed Sigyn didn't need to grab a sword.

As Sigyn and Kark entered the office, Jess held her phone up to the door and continued recording on the chance of capturing a confession.

The conversation was far more strange.

"Guess what I found last night." Sigyn turned on her computer and protector, illuminating the wall behind Kark with news articles, pictures, and videos. She clicked an article about pesticides in produce. "No wonder we're sick all the time. And look-" Another article appeared about sugar and preservatives. "All this junk they're cramming in their food!"

"Is that why it tastes good?"

Sigyn reclined in her chair, rubbing her temple. "It's probably why I've been feeling like shit for weeks. How's your stomach, by the way?"

"Better!" Kark chirped. "I've kept food down consistently."

"Good. To be safe, no more box food, okay?"

Kark hung his head. "Grandiosa too?"

"Absolutely not. Wild harvested food only. Although, honestly, the deer also taste funny, but that might be me being picky. One more thing -"

She switched to a documentary video. Images of weather maps, ocean currents, and natural disasters flashed on the screen. "It's a bigger problem for me than you. They're setting their own planet on fire."

"Huh," Kark rubbed his chin. "So, their machines are changing the weather?"

"It's more about what they're burning to power the machines, which is raising the global temperature. I couldn't understand it all, but it's clear I'm fucked."

"There are other options, my lady. Alfheim!"

Sigyn scoffed. "I can't stand elves. Way too self-important and they never leave you alone. But there's still time. This planet's not completely on fire. Maybe my father will spontaneously keel over and we can return home, but since when am I that lucky?"

The conversation continued a little longer, and eventually, they both left to carry out lodge business. When she was sure the coast was clear, Jess exited the closet and checked her phone's recording.

[w-sincerity]

I'm still trying to figure you out and its bothering me. I'll be honest, you're bothering me right now and i don't know to pretend your not. its not as simple as you tell me it is, or maybe I'm just wrong about everything. my heart is being stretched in ways i didn't know it could be, for you of all people, i truly don't understand how i am having this conversation with you and no one else in the universe. why is it that when i see you close to someone else my body turns hot just as it was when i first met you. I'm questioning myself right now, you're doing something to my hormones, my body, mind and soul. something is stirring within my soul when i look at you a little to long, for a man who has experienced lifetimes who still has stars in his eyes, you don't sit right with me. how foolish i am, to think i could have figured you out in a couple of months. i don't know you at all, i know how you comfort me when i am broken, how your embrace has began to linger a little to long when i am collapsed in your arms, how you started talking to me quieter when we are in a loud room, how our gaze lingered. I know what you would say in those moments or how you would react but what I'm interested in is how your mind works. i want to hear your stories, not the same ones you told me when we were young but the ones you are too scared to tell anyone. Because what i have learned is that you are frightened, thrown into the maw when you were to young to know what that meant. everything you have faced, the brutality i cannot protect you from, it isn't my job to shield you from his fate that was chosen for you--all i want is for to you to reach out your hand and grab mine--I see you in your faults, flaws, mistakes, imperfections, and regrets I see you.

wI find myself laying awake in bed in the deepest hours of the nigh staring at the ceiling, wondering where you are, how you are doing, if you are well, worrying about every little thing. I see our lives walking paralelly. A tired you, your growing out black hair tucked back into a hat to conceal your identify as you walk through the frigid midnight streets. Scattered snowflakes like winters fall around you, collecting on the shoulders of your black jacket before falling to the ground in your footsteps on the sidewalk. The skyscrapers of that familiar but ominous skyline glow behind your silhouette consumingly. still, the snow falls as you venture closer to the river banks. The dark waters of the river contain the mystery, fame, agony, and pleasure trapped in the windows of the skyscrapers. The waves of the river rushing against the river banks as you habitually turn your playlist on only for your eardrums to be consumed with white noise. I hear your worriedly heart beat in the white noise, my heart pulls me to run to you to go without reason. this intensity--pulling me from my bed until it consumes me entirely, my chest filled with anxiety and hopelessness i rollover. My trusted friend, the realities we watched burn together. Trapped in the moment, i close my eyes. I hear a frantic knock on a door in an unfamiliar apartment, my eyes locked on the wide river out the window. Close to 4:00am, I lock over my shoulder through the small apartment to the black door shaking slightly around the frame. The anxiety i held in my chest tingles in my fingers, i hadn't been watching him. he ignores my texts--sometimes calls too. i fear the hell would put me through as i am beginning to watch the walls disappear around me for only him to remain. The knocking at the door continues --'Ah, it's me, i promise, no one else knows this address. Let me in, please...I know it's early...' i ignored his voice filled with explanations, i didn't care.i was relieved to hear his voice, uneasiness but still relieved. History cannot be erased nor can it be defined within us. He was speaking in short sentences, i doubted he was drinking, just delirious. I opened the door quickly to see his arm pressed against the door frame, his left hand clutching his chest. his breath was heavy, almost out of breath and his brow furrowed with worry. the tip of his nose was red from the cold but his cheeks were surprisingly pale. His eyes flicked up to mine, meeting my gaze with an air of certainty and sensuality. He smiled with ambiguity in the dim light glowing from the window behind me before stepping inside the door and closing it quickly behind him. He exhaled heavily and tilted his head to the side causing his neck to tighten with the muscles he had been developing. he paced into my kitchen, his snow-covered combat thudding heavily on the dark wood floor. he wiped his black bucket off of his head with a single quick movement causing his long black hair to fall forwards over his forehead and ears. His hair was slightly kinked from his ponytail as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek before I paced into the kitchen after him. "Are you okay...?" I murmured hesitantly out of formality, already knowing the answer before he quickly turned to face me pulling his black hair out of his face with his left tattooed hand. His starry eyes glistened with worry and a growing sense of lack of control. "No...I'm not okay at all right now." He said with confidence looking into my eyes as he grabbed my chin with his left hand followed by his right hand tightening around the front of my blouse and pulling my body into his. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes quickly flicking in the direction of the window as he pushed his lips into mine with a quickly rising heat. The metal of his sliver lip ring stung against my tongue and lips as I tilted my head to the side to push my lips back into his without hesitation. I had been waiting for this moment, fearfully maybe but with anticipation. I caressed the back of his shoulders allowing my hands to tighten around the

back of his jacket as his grip on the front of his blouse had loosed and shifted to my lower waist above my left hip. He tilted his chin forwards causing his lips to knock into mine with further intense pressure, the sweet bitterness of his saliva lingered on my tongue as his slightly curlier black hair gathered in front of his forehead. I stepped forwards towards him allowing my hips to push into the front of his along with my bare feet stepping his combat boots. He winces with the heat and pressure of my teeth sinking into his bottom lip causing his lip ring to clink against my teeth. My stomach filled with butterflies and anxiety with the lack of hesitation in his kiss, my head tilting back up to him further with my lips pushing into his automatically. He suddenly pulled away from me, allowing his breath to become heavier with his lips glistening from his saliva as he looks down at me with heightening arousal and internal sensitivity. I rub my lips together in disbelief from the passion in his heavy kiss, I shift my gaze up from my eyes fixated on his lips to meet his charged gaze unwaveringly.

Heat begins to burn in my chest, not a spark of desire nor lust but of hopelessness and growing desperation. i was afraid, so afraid of losing him to the shining lights that filled the streets beneath us--

to a fast life that would become faded and disappear before it started, a life where i couldn't remain by his side on the stormiest nights.

i pause for a moment, admiring his clouded dark eyes looking into mine as I squeeze my hand against his left forearm pressed against the side of my waist with brief dismissal of his touch despite longing for his body to collapse into mine. my eyebrows furrow with doubt.

"Show yourself to me, all of it, reveal it, whatever it is that hands behind your eyes every time we speak-- and don't deny it this time."

- he grabs her wrist and pushes ivt into her chest, unbuttoning his shirt in the frontng smoothly causing his chin to hang down in his chest before he cocks his head to the side, his dark eyes flicking down to meet my gaze and down to my lips. He ignores my words and leans down towards me with desire, his slightly heavier and soft breath on my lips. I lean back away from him, my chin tilting up to his. My nose a mere inch away from his with the tension growing between us with each of his breathes. His eyes flick down my face before I take my hand off of his forearm and push it into the centre of his chest between the leather of his jacket into his grey dress jacket. My touch slightly soothed the look of distress clearly painted on his cheeks as he let out a relieved sigh, the heat of his breath burning not only on my lips but in my chest.

"Express yourself to me, I don't give a fuck how you do it, undress your truth to me, I don't care how ugly it gets, I want to see it--to feel it." I demanded sincerely, my voice trembling subtly with his breath on my lips as I clenched my fingers into the grey fabric of his dress shirt before his eyes flashed with an abrupt realization, his lips slamming into mine with a burning passion. I wince at the pressure of his lips, the tip of his tongue softly slipping in between my lips as he presses the palm of his hand against my lower back causing my lower back to arch with his touch. He abruptly sinks his fingers into the back of my hair, my hair quickly spreading across his fingers as his hand tightens in my hair painfully causing my lips to separate from his, he pulls my hair causing my chin to slit up to his.

His eyes more completely cloud with intoxication, his eyebrows beginning to push together with frustration in his typical way of a fever as he steps closer to him causing his lower torso to push into mine firmly.

"Don't you think I'd tell you, baby? If I wasn't so fucking afraid of letting you down--I won't be the one who breaks your heart tonight." His voice hardening with vulnerability and shaking slightly with the pressure of his hand gripped strongly in my ears as he tilts his chin downwards towards the center of his chest followed by his longer black heavy hair falling over his eyebrows from beneath his black bucket hat. His grip released from my hair with relief with him pushing his hand into the center of his chest and unbuttoning his dark grey dress shirt sensually with purpose. He unbuttons his shirt down to a couple inches above his belly button with his hands tightening with thick veins and the black and dark blue ink of his tattoo soaked into his darker skin. His chest was surprisingly bare from the familiar ink of tattoos and light black chest hair spread across his chest as he leans forwards to collapsec into her quickly followed by his lips pushing against mine with heavy desire causing my lips to separate to allow his tongue to caress mine. His chest presses into my breasts, my back arching with the intense pressure of his hand pressed against my lower back causing me to stand up on my tiptoes gently. He pushes his right hand into my shoulder with experience, his fingertips dragging down my collar down to the front of my neck causing the palm of his hand to push cement against the front of my neck with playful sinister intention.

My eyes roll back in my head with his touch, my lips separating from his eyes as i tilt my head back aeau from himes, wanting him to--internal struggle of wanting to give into the pull of her heart or remain as friends, whatever that meant to her anymore, a boaderline, a fine line that was walked across nearly everytime the two souls met. tiering on the edge of falling into oblivion, just friends that can't stay away from each other.

i never imagined i would fear a future without you I want to know you deeper.

[dream-a-little-longer-1]

Alone i break :

From the {And Sadness will sear} collection

Warnings : angst, spoilers for manga, hopeful(?) Ending

Sometimes everything and nothing is too much to bear. sometimes,you need to close your eyes,and imagine your deepest dreams,be your reality.

✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.

The orange and yellow rays of the setting sun,shone through the open window; lightening up the small, cramped space.

The room didnt have much,save for the single chair and a small desk by the window,and a wooden bed; covered by a thin blanket that would do nothing against the harsh cold of the winter breeze through the night.

But none of these would be able to faze the man that lost way too much.

That lost everything in a fire that started by his own two hands.

"dont you feel cold,Albert?

He doesnt raise his head;he knows you're not real.

But he allows himself to be lulled into this dance;to talk and talk with the ghost of your memories, because he knows if he stops, he'll lost whats left of his sanity.

So he smiles;dull and dry, and continues to write on the wrinkled paper with the last of his ink.

"mn. Its not that cold. Nothing to be concerned about."

He can hear you rolling your eyes at him.

"why act so tough? If you're cold,then say you're cold. There's no need to act like it doesnt bother you."

The sound of the tip of the pen moving along the rough surface of the paper fills the silence between you.

"is that so?" He hums

"it is so." You argue back.

Albert smiles;not brighter than before,and looks up through the curls covering his forehead and half of his eyes.

You're sitting on the edge of the windowsill;your face adorned by a small frown and pout while you cross your arms around your chest.

Its sad,how a memory can feel so alive .

"i always tell you to stop masking it all. Share your problems with the people around you. let them in;let them help you. But i guess old habits die hard,no?"

You're right,like always .

After all,its been three years since he started talking with the memories of the person he loved the most,and cant seem to stop.

He doesnt want to stop. Not even if that means he'll loose his mind talking with an illusion that resembles you.

He doesnt answer though; choosing to stare down and continue on with his writing.

There's silence between you again;one so long that Albert thinks you might've left for the night.

You always do. You never stay till morning comes.

But the sound of light footsteps,one he remembers from three years ago,makes him glance over his shoulder from the corner of his eyes.

You're standing behind him; leaning to peek at his writing.

"what're you writing anyways?"

"remember the first night we went out together?"

"yeah?"

He smiles, "im writing about that."

You lean over more, resting your chin on his shoulder.

If he close his eyes and take a deep breath,maybe he can feel your soft breathing against his cheek too.

He stares firmly at the paper in front of him.

"why?"

"why about that night?"

"why do you write?"

He can see the ink begining to dry on the pen;he starts writing again.

"because...im afraid."

Your voice sounds genuinely curious when you speak next

"afraid of what??"

"of forgetting you. Of forgetting us."

His heart beats louder in his chest;an old pain resurfacing again. He brings a hand up to it and rubs at it,eyes closing momentarily.

When your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders,Albert doesn't move or flinch away.

The touch isnt warm;its not there.

"hey,Albert."

"hm?"

He doesnt turn;he knows what'll you ask next.

"why dont you ever look at me?"

He slowly raises up from his seat;body aching from sitting in the stiff chair for so long. The sky has turned dark at some point;not a single star twinkling above

He doesnt even feel your arms falling away from his shoulders.

"because i know you're not here."

He moves toward his bed, shuffling around before laying down on top.

The ceiling has few cracks in it. He knows them all by heart.

"then why bother?why bother talking to me when im not here. When you know im not real."

"because..."

He doesnt say thinking about you Is all he has left.

He doesnt say that he misses your warmth;your touch. He doesnt say that he's scared if he doesnt talk to you,he soon forget the sound of your voice.

He doesnt say that even if you're not really there,the mere thought of you brings him solace.

He doesnt say anything,and only closes his eyes.

After all, he has had this conversation many times already. He knows that you know the answer.

Because he himself knows it all

He knows when he wakes up tomorrow,the sky will probably be dull again;gray and lifeless.

He knows when he open his eyes tomorrow, he'll see the same ceiling,the same small room.

He knows when he wakes up tomorrow ,you wont be in his arms.

That he wont feel your warmth in the cold winter day.

But as he closes his eyes,he thinks that he hears noises downstairs. But it all might be just his imaginations.

He thinks it's his sleep hazed mind playing tricks on him;making him hear footsteps,hushed whispers.

And when the sleep finally overtakes him,he dreams of your soft hand against his cheek,and the gentle sound of your voice calling his name.

-

Dedicated to @rinnesy 💕

[softiem]

you used to paint his skies (pt. 2)

pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x GN!Reader

overview: The one in which Bokuto is still swearing up and down that he loves you, but the nagging feeling in your chest is too strong to ignore.

word count: ~4.3k

content warnings: mentions of cheating, swearing, MSBY!Bokuto, mildly suggestive scene at the end (no nsfw), our baby Bokuto kind of loses it at the end, don’t let the fluffy interludes deceive you again

notes: I’M SO SORRY FOR LITERALLY BEING DEAD FOR 6 MONTHS,,, Here’s the second part to “you used to paint his skies” :D (I think this is better than part one — at least I hope so). Some people asked to be tagged for this second part, so those will be below. Thank you for reading, darlings ʕ ´•̥̥̥ ᴥ•̥̥̥`ʔ <333

part one.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“Baby?”

Faint sniffles came from Bokuto, whose head was currently nestled on your lap, the two of you strewn across the sofa. His arms were wrapped tight around your waist, as if he were afraid that holding you any looser would cause you to disappear from his arms. His voice was quiet, meek — nothing like the loud, boisterous ball of energy you’d grown to adore, to cherish.

To fall in love with.

Now, here the both of you were, a pile of cracked and fragmented pieces of the love you once shared, desperately grasping at whatever you could salvage from the mess.

You hummed a response.

“Are we gonna be okay?” Bokuto turned his head, his eyes staring up at you — wide, teary, and filled with a broken sense of hope.

In an attempt to avoid breaking down a third time, you cleared your throat. You still couldn’t look down at him, into his eyes that seemed to praise your very existence, even after the pain you caused.

“Please.” His voice cracked.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Kou-Bokuto.”

He bit his lip roughly, enough to bite into the skin and draw a slight trace of blood. Choking on a weak sob, he nestled his head into your stomach once more. He couldn’t stop you from calling him that name anymore; he’d lost that privilege.

What could he have been asking for? For you to simply just call him your Koutarou again? For you not to leave him and stay in his arms? For you to kiss him and wipe those tears running from his pretty eyes as you tell him you’ll love him forever, no matter what?

Quite honestly, Bokuto didn’t know what he was asking of you; he didn’t know what he wanted from you.

The only thing running through his mind was the fact that he’d just ruined the best thing to ever happen to him.

You.

You, the love of his life. He knew you like the back of his hand.

He knew how, despite your small tendency to be romantically constipated, you tried your best to love him — even to the point of using stupidly cheesy pet names for each other.

– – – – –

“Please, baby!” Bokuto had your hands tightly grasped in his. “I swear, if you do this for me, I won’t ever ask you for anything else for the rest of my life — okay, that’s a lie because I really want ice cream after this, but you know what I mean!”

“Kou.” You drew in a breath. “I’m saying yes to the ice cream later, but those are the cheesiest pet names I have ever heard of.”

You saw the way Bokuto visibly deflated as he heard your soft rejection of his idea.

For the rest of the night (after stopping by the store and getting yourselves two tubs of ice cream, of course), the two of you sat cuddled up on the sofa half-paying attention to whatever B-list movie was recommended to you. Occasionally, you would hear Bokuto let out a deep sigh, most likely to try and guilt trip you into doing what he asked of you earlier.

Turning your head to face him, you grinned at the little pout on his lips as his eyes bore holes into the TV screen.

“Hey, Kou.”

Nothing. His attention stayed glued to the TV. The only sign that showed he’d heard you was the deepening of his pout.

“Koutaro, pretty boy. I’m talking to you,” you giggled.

Still nothing. You racked your brain for all of the possible ways this could end — every one of them resulted in the same thing.

Sighing, you brought up a finger to poke at his cheek. “Hey, dovey.”

If Bokuto were a dog, his ears would have stood straight up and his tail would have started wagging as he whipped his head around to look at you.

“Say that again,” he demanded, his eyes wide and sparkling and the corner of his lips twitching, just barely restraining a smile.

When you didn’t reply, his fingers prodded at your side — a promise to tickle you if you didn’t humour him right now.

“Say it again! Who am I?”

“You’re my dovey.”

“And who are you?”

You struggled to fight the urge to curl up into yourself as you answered him, “I’m your lovey.”

“And what are we together?” Bokuto brought his face closer to yours, his eyes going back and forth between your eyes and lips.

“We’re lovey dovey.” You completed it with a pair of awkward jazz hands.

With that, Bokuto’s face split into a blinding smile as his laughter rang through the living room. He brought you tight into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“Yes! I knew you could do it, lovey!” Your cheeks grew warm as you were subjected to his rain of kisses on your face. 

Pulling him in for one last kiss to your lips, you whispered, “I love you so much, Kou.”

– – – – –

He knew how he was always the first thing on your mind; you’d put him as your first priority without fail, no matter how busy you were, even when he hadn’t put you as his.

– – – – –

Bokuto stared up at the crisp, white ceiling — hospitals were never a fun place to be in. He was broken from his thoughts when the door to his room burst open, revealing you in your ever-ethereal work clothes rushing toward him.

“Babe! Are you alright?” Stopping at the side of his bed, you brought his hand up to place a kiss on his knuckles.

Bokuto let out a light laugh as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Yeah, it’s just a sprained ankle. Nothing to worry about, honey.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing to worry about’? Your coach said that you’d have to be out for two weeks!”

“That’s not too much! It’s not like I’ll be missing the whole season, angel.”

“But, Kou, you also have to–”

Bokuto stopped your worried rambling as he pulled you down, giving you a soft kiss on your lips and cheeks. He gave you a smile.

“Stop worrying, baby! Everything will be fine because I have the cutest, smartest, and kindest nurse to help me recover, right?”

“And who’s that?” You sent him a teasing look as your hands shuffled through your pockets looking for your phone.

“You, silly!” He paused before staring up at you in concern. “You are going to take care of me, right, baby?”

“I don’t know about that, Kou. Work has been hectic lately.” You pulled out your phone.

“But I’m injured! And I’m your boyfriend too! You can’t just leave your injured boyfriend alone to fend for himself! Baby!” Walking away from his bed, you exited the hospital room, tapping away on your phone.

A few minutes passed before you returned, seeing Bokuto sulking in the hospital bed, a familiar pout on his lips.

Your eyes softened as you gave him a smile. “Guess who just got two weeks off?”

– – – – –

The foundation of your relationship was built upon the fact that the two of you knew each other like no other; you loved each other like no other.

So how had everything culminated into such a mess?

“Bokuto.” You felt the way his body stiffened as you called his name.

“Yes,” he hesitated, “honey?”

“Do you remember what I told you a couple years ago? About what I thought of love?”

Feeling a prickling sensation in his nose, Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut, forcing out a few tears that had collected on his eyelashes.

His voice came out hoarse and weak as he whispered, “I could never forget.”

– – – – –

The sky was enveloped in a cloak of darkness, but not even the onslaught of exhaustion could prevent the two of you from leaning back on the picnic blanket to stare up at the shimmering stars.

“Baby?” Bokuto turned his head to where you lay beside him. You hummed in response, half of your attention taken by the stars.

“What do you think about love?”

You raised an eyebrow, rolling onto your side to fully look at your boyfriend.

The moonlight casted harsh shadows on his face, but the way he looked at you — eyes sparkling with curiosity and the corners of his lips curled into a light smile — softened the darkness surrounding the two of you.

“Where did that question come from?” You raised a hand to lightly trace over the curves and slopes of his face; your thumb caressed his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“Answer my question first, and then I’ll tell you.” His eyes turned into little crescent moons as he smiled at you. “Deal?”

You pretended to think about it for a few seconds. “Hm, three kisses please,” you said, wiggling three of your fingers.

Bokuto laughed, indulging you with a kiss to both of your cheeks and a final kiss to your lips.

“Okay, okay,” you giggled. “You asked me what I think about love?”

He nodded.

“Well,” you sighed, turning back to face the midnight sky above you, “I think that love is like the sky — the sun, to be specific. It’s always changing, and everything is so unpredictable about it. There’s so much potential for destruction in what the sky holds. But, there’s always one constant. Do you know what it is, Kou?” You looked at him.

“What is it, angel?” His golden eyes glimmered, as if they were holding stars themselves.

Adjusting your position on the picnic blanket (you curled closer into Bokuto, who wrapped an arm around your shoulders), you continued, “It’s the sun. No matter how much it rains or snows or whatever weather catastrophe is happening, the sun is always going to be there. Sure, you can have multiple suns like those Star Wars planets, but…” you trailed off, looking into his eyes. “... I think I’m happy with my one sunshine.”

Bokuto, ever the romantic, pulled you into a nearly-bone-crushing hug as he laughed into your shoulder. After peppering kisses to your neck and jaw, he pulled away to look at you. He sported the brightest smile, but something sparkled behind those eyes of his.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re getting cheesier than me.”

You groaned, leaning away from him, “Shut up, Kou!”

He giggled before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Now let’s get home before these mosquitoes eat us alive, honey.”

“And then you’ll tell me where you got that question from?”

“Of course, honey! I never break a deal!”

– – – – –

How could he forget what you said? Every word you’ve ever spoken to him, he’s grasped onto like a lifeline, as if they would be your last. He was so close to bursting — so close to pulling himself off of your lap, looking into your pretty eyes, grasping your shoulders, and yelling at you, screaming at you, asking why you would think he could ever forget anything about you. How dare you think he could ever forget anything about you?

But he couldn’t do that. Not to you. Not anymore.

He didn’t realise that you’d gone silent — his world had gone silent — until your sniffles broke his reverie. His arms tightened around your waist as his head nuzzled into your stomach once again; it was a broken act of comfort.

“Honey,” the edges of his voice cracked as he called out for you. “Talk to me. Please. Don’t… don’t stay quiet.”

Being met with another bout of silence was almost excruciating. Bokuto was struggling to keep himself together, to keep his head above the water before he drowned in his thoughts of losing you.

He launched himself up from your lap, grabbing your face with shaky hands. He had tears running down his face once again. His face was blotchy, and his hair was a mess. He was a mess.

“Please, lovey,” he whispered. If you stayed silent just one minute longer, he’d collapse. He was sure of it. Fighting the urge to just sit himself in your lap, pull you tight against him, and beg you not to leave, Bokuto settled with caressing the skin under your shirt.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I forgot to tell you one thing that night.” You moved your hand from where it was resting in his hair back to your side; he tensed at the loss of your touch.

He swallowed, his anxiety began to pile up once again. “What’d you forget, baby?”

“Even though the sun” — your voice cracked — “is a constant, sometimes it can be too much. Burn too bright and dry up everything underneath the sky. Sometimes...” you paused to take a deep breath, trying to swallow back the lump that was growing in your throat. “Sometimes the sun can do even worse harm than anything the sky could do.”

Bokuto could feel the gradual increase of his heartbeat. He shook his head, his fingers involuntarily digging into your skin. No, no, you didn’t mean that. You couldn’t mean that. If you did he… he didn’t know what he would do.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto,” you murmured, “I can’t stay here any longer.”

You tried to pry yourself out of his grip, but he wouldn’t relent. His arms were shaking as he pulled you even closer into him. He was whispering something to himself.

“Bokuto, I’m being serious.” You tried to keep your voice stable but failed miserably — it all came out shaky, your tone uneven. “Let me go.”

His whispers grew louder until you could finally understand what he was saying.

“No, no. This isn’t real. I love you. I love you. No, don’t leave. Please don’t leave. I love you.”

You called his name. Once, twice, thrice. As you called for him, his whispers grew to full-blown cries.

“Bokuto!”

“I’M SORRY DON’T LEAVE ME!”

But the only thing your eyes chose to focus on was the trail of red and purple leading down his neck.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes, a feeling that had grown familiar to you in the past few hours.

Bokuto caught the wandering of your eyes down his neck, a faraway mist muddled the irises he loved gazing into; he realised what you were staring at, forcing down a choked sob. He clenched his jaw, violently cursing himself for making you feel like you weren’t enough, like you weren’t the one keeping him standing straight.

Like you weren’t his sun, moon, stars, and whatever else you filled the fucking sky with.

He gently moved your head, trying to get you to look back into his eyes and away from the bruised mistake that marred his skin. His thoughts only filled with one thing — “Come back to me, baby.”

Waves of relief crashed against him once you met his eyes.

“Baby– Angel– I’m so– I don’t– Please–” Bokuto struggled to keep his thoughts straight. Not when you stared at him with an iciness that pierced his heart every time he looked back into your eyes, hoping to find even the smallest trace of love left for him.

He let out a rough sigh, frustrated with his inability to speak through the racing of his heart. His hands, still cupping your face, lightly squeezed your cheeks to ground himself. He looked back to you, his eyes swimming with even more tears, trying to send a message to you that he couldn’t put into words.

You looked away from him, focusing on the ticking clock on the wall as you gnawed your lip. A question had been running through your mind ever since he cracked into your resolve to leave and pulled you to the sofa, laying his head in your lap.

Your eyes turned back to him.

“Can you tell me something, Bokuto?”

“Yes, yes, baby, of course. I’ll do anything you want.” He eagerly nodded, a small spark of hope sparkled within him.

“Why’d you lie?”

He felt as though you just dumped him into one of Atsumu’s god-awful ice baths.

“What’re you saying, angel?” His eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Earlier,” you croaked. “I asked you earlier how long you’ve been” — you couldn’t say that word; it’d hurt too much — “messing around.”

A glint of recognition passed his eyes.

Continuing, you forced your voice out, even though it grew weaker the more you tried to hide your pain, “You said that it was just this once. That wasn’t the whole truth, was it?”

Fuck. Bokuto took his hands away from your face, opting to grasp one of your hands in his. He gave your knuckles a kiss before looking back at you, his eyes teeming with unadulterated guilt and desperation.

“I-I knew them before this ever happened. We met at one of the team parties, but you weren’t there because you were at work.” He saw a glimpse of darkness shadow over your face, and his heartbeat picked up again (not that it ever really settled). “But we never did anything! Not until last night, at least.” His voice grew quiet at the end.

“And never once did it occur to you to tell them that you were taken?”

Bokuto’s lips started trembling — no doubt he’d begin crying again. He looked down, trying to avoid your glare, but his grip on your hand never loosened.

“Please, baby. I’m so sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up in the worst way possible. But I promise you, I never did anything with them before. We just talked at that one party. I promise you that. I promise, honey.”

The look in your eyes became even colder, even more distant; something akin to hatred was present as well. No, this couldn’t be happening. His worst nightmare was coming true. You’d finally learned the truth and were going to leave him. You might have called him your sunshine that one night two years ago, but, to him, you were his oxygen — without you, he was truly nothing. Just a corpse of a man, not worth wasting a breath on.

He was losing you. Again.

“I’m leaving, Bokuto.” You roughly pulled your hand from his grasp, ignoring his cries for you to please stop, to listen for just a minute longer. “Don’t you dare try to look for me.”

Bokuto whimpered, following you to where you were trying to pick up your bags in your haste of anger. Once again, he tugged at the straps, trying to steal them away from you, but his arms grew weak at the scowl pointed his way.

His breath quickened, and his heart raced. He was panicking, grasping at straws to have to rethink your choice and stay with him so he could apologise for the rest of both of your lives. He’d spend the remainder of eternity begging for your forgiveness if only you’d just stay with him.

But he couldn’t say a word. Not with his blinded panic, and definitely not with the terrible, agonising look you were giving him as you stared back at him.

Was this how you felt when he’d walked out on you last night? Hopeless. Defenseless. As if you weren’t even worth a grain of sand underneath the other’s shoe.

“Lovey, I’m sorry!” Bokuto cried out one more time, hoping that he’d reach out to whatever small piece of love you still held for him. “I said I’m sorry! Please just forgive me, don’t leave me. Please! I’m begging you! Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it a million times over. Just, please,” he quieted to a whisper, just barely reaching your ears, “stay with me, and we can get through this together.”

His face crumpled as he heard your responding scoff.

“There’s no more ‘together’ for us, Bokuto.”

Your words stung — well, they stung as much as a gunshot or a knife to the heart would sting. He pressed on, desperate to get you to hear him out.

“I’m your sunshine, right? Your dovey. Your babe. Your pretty boy. Your Koutarou. Right?” He gripped onto the hem of his shirt, balling his hands into fists. “No matter what you call me, I’m yours. And I always will be. Even if you leave me right now, I’ll never stop looking for you. You know why?”

You stayed silent.

“Because I am just as much your sun as you are mine.”

His words echoed in your mind — that twisted, gnawing feeling came back in your gut. You knew that if you stayed for one more minute, it’d be over for you, and you’d go running back into his arms that always held you so tightly. Into his arms that smelt like home. Into his arms that made you feel like you were on top of the world as long as he was by your side. Into his arms that held onto another once the two of you reached a rough patch.

You made your decision.

“Koutarou…” His head snapped up to look at you, his eyes wide and glittering with a false sense of hope. “I’m sorry. I have to leave.”

There was another feeling growing within Bokuto. It was ugly, festering in the deepest parts of his mind — coming from a place that refused to acknowledge his faults. This feeling, it blamed

you. Why would you hurt him like this? How could you hurt him like this? You said he was your sunshine, your dovey, your Koutarou! How cruel could you be to lead him on, calling him ‘Koutarou’ again? You said you loved him!

“Don’t leave me!” He raised his voice. This feeling was taking over him, and it was angry. “If you leave, I’ll-I’ll…” His voice trailed off as he tried to regain control of himself.

Your brows furrowed. He still had the energy to yell, huh?

“You’ll what?” You took a step toward him. He looked away from you, trying to avoid your burning gaze. “Tell me, Koutarou. What will you do if I leave?”

He shook his head; you knew what that meant — “I won’t say it.”

“You’ll go back to them, won’t you?” you scoffed. “Have fun, Koutarou.”

Adjusting the straps of your bags, you gave him one last glare before moving toward the door once more.

That feeling came back in Bokuto’s mind, and it was stronger than ever. Pounding against the walls he built up, it roared, telling him to make you regret hurting him, make you think twice about leaving him. Bokuto was panicking, his will to beg you to stay was growing weaker as the feeling inside him became increasingly angry at you for causing him so much pain.

He knew he’d regret the next words he’d say to you, but that realisation came a second too late.

“I’ll never forgive you!”

You froze. Turning back around to face him, your eyes narrowed. “What?”

“If you leave me, I’ll never forgive you!”

His eyes were burning into you, a raging fire behind them.

“You’ll never forgive me?” you spat.

As quickly as the fire grew, it was extinguished as Bokuto’s expression morphed into one of shock.

“Wait, baby, I didn’t mean it! I promi–”

Dropping your bags by the door, you strided toward his figure. Pushing him against the wall, you pulled him in by the collar, melding his lips with yours.

The kiss was rough, angry, desperate — an amalgamation of everything you’ve felt in the past few hours going back and forth with Bokuto.

You pushed yourself into the space between his legs as he finally recovered from his shock and tried to match your tempo, his hands pulling you close into his body. Your teeth clashed together, and you had half the mind to bite his tongue in your mouth, but you held back.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you pulled his head back, ignoring his small, pained whine. The offensive mess of red and purple blotches still covered the expanse of his neck. A scowl grew on your face.

Bokuto yelped as he felt your lips latch onto his neck, sucking your own bruises over the ones already existing from his escapade. You were rough, unrelenting in your nearly-primal way of claiming him.

Trying to ignore your satisfaction from hearing his whimpers of your name, you pulled away, looking at your series of marks covering the ones from his other lover. The two of you were left panting — him trying to meet your eyes and you trying to avoid looking at him at all costs.

Leaning into his ear, you placed a gentle bite on his lobe. He tensed ever-so-slightly.

“You’ll never forgive me if I leave?” you hummed.

His hands that were under your shirt, roaming across your back, froze.

“B-Baby, wait, I didn’t–” He tried to plead with you until your next words completely shattered what was left of his broken, battered heart.

“I think I can live with that.”

You quickly backed away from him, evading his attempts to grab at your waist to stop you from leaving, and picked up your bags by the door. Looking back at him one last time, you nearly broke your facade.

After all he’s done, you still loved your Koutarou — no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise — and seeing him on his knees, sobbing, begging you not to leave for the umpteenth time, your will was wearing thin.

“Goodbye, Koutarou.”

The slam of the front door echoed across the remnants of his shattered heart and all he had the strength to do was cry. Pulling at the strands of his hair, he sobbed, begging into the air, weeping with no one to listen to him.

Without you, his world had no sky; everything was bathed in the shadow of your absence.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

tags: @katelyns-stuff @random-fandom-girl-24

[somethingqueerisgoingonhere]

“Come on, your little campaign has gone on long enough, I have to be somewhere later tonight,” Steve said grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his arm.

“Yeah Eddie’s,” Dustin crooned.

Steve grabbed Dustin by the collar and yanked him up from his seat, “come on chuckle heads your chaperone is leaving in 1, 2...”

“Fine!” Dustin shouted, shaking Steve off of him and starting to collect his stuff.

Lucas and Will began to follow suit but Mike leaned over towards Will.

“Hey,” he said and watched in pure agony as those long lashes flicked up so his eyes could meet Mike’s.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to stay over? It’s been like an eternity and I have this new campaign I’m working on and I was wondering-”

“What we’re not invited?” Dustin said feigning hurt. 

“Of course not,” Lucas said, getting up from his seat, “they’ve always been like this.”

Mike frowned, “Like what?”

Lucas rolled his eyes and grabbed Dustin by his backpack, dragging him along.

“Tick tock Byers, if you want that ride home,” Steve called as he began ascending the staircase.

“Uh, thanks Steve but I think I’ll stay,” Will called back and Mike smiled.

-

Mike tried to pay attention, he really did, as Will sat next to him going over his next campaign with him, but it was not easy.

They’d already showered and Will’s hair was curling slightly from being damp. He also got this cute look on his face when he was focusing. And to add insult to injury, he was wearing Mike’s pj’s. That’s weird right? To think that’s attractive? But it was. And he looked so small in his T-shirt, and for some reason-

“Mike?” Will brought him out of his staring.

“Yeah?” 

“You’re not even paying attention,” he was frowning.

Mike shrugged, “probably just tired.”

Will nodded and began shuffling papers together, “let’s go to bed then.”

Let’s go to bed then.

Were there any more torturous words in the english language than let’s go to bed then?

Mike got up from the table and began laying out Will’s sleeping bag. And if he placed it right up against the couch where he’d be sleeping well no one had to know.

Mike climbed onto the couch while Will got situated in his sleeping bag. There was a lot of shuffling as he got comfortable but once he did, he let out a sigh. And no that sigh did not do things to Mike.

Mike stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about Will laying right next to him. 

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to come down here?”

“What?” Mike asked in shock, sitting up embarrassingly fast.

“I-nothing, it was stupid-”

“No, no, no, not at all. It’s just like when we used to have sleepovers as kids.” And Mike rushed to grab a blanket, lying it down next to Will’s sleeping bag and chucking a pillow down.

He laid down and tired not to move an inch. Was he too close? He felt like there were miles between them. But he didn’t want to make Will uncomfortable, god that would be the worst thing in the world. And if he- What?

Mike looked down at his fingers where they rested at his side, where Will’s met his tentatively. Mike didn’t need another sign from the universe, he slid his hand over Will’s.

Will sighed. And again it did nothing to Mike, no not at all.

“I didn’t think you-”

“Are you kidding?” Mike asked incredulously, turning his head to look over at Will in the darkness. Big mistake. Will was looking at him with those big eyes, they looked nervous and hopeful and there were a thousand emotions swirling in them and Mike could get lost in them forever. 

Will shrugged, making their hands jostle, Mike took the opportunity to thread their fingers together. Speaking of threads he was hanging on by one. 

“It’s totally reasonable for me to assume that.”

“It’s really not, have you looked at yourself?”

Will rolled his eyes, “have you looked at yourself?”

Mike frowned, “I’m nothing special.”

Will rolled his eyes again and Mike fought a smile.

Will sounded genuinely annoyed, “You do realize what you look like right?”

Mike’s smile grew, “What are you saying exactly Byers?”

Will turned over towards Mike, “you’re insufferable.”

They shared a smile. Will’s small hand squeezed Mike’s gently. And it said everything Mike needed to know.

[bubblyhoney]

buncha kisses

warnings: mature language, Good music mention, slight suggestive content, lotta name calling!, basically just fluff

tags: sapnap x fem!reader (a continuation of [renamed from “a collection of moments at the beginning of your relationship”] win for me, basically, with college!au)

words: 1447

A/N: a very sweet anon requested a continuation of college!au with sappy and had some great ideas for me! i love when you guys interact and talk with me pls continue to do so! been receiving a lot of really encouraging attention from some of my favorite people (ahem, for example @strawberrymilkgeorge [among others] <3) so i just wanted to say thanks for that :)

-

It’s a sticky day in May.

It’s that kind of hot that irritates under the skin and works its way through the hair on your arms. Makes you want to either rip your skin off or sink into a pool full of ice.

May is a month that Florida doesn’t take very well; it’s either raining like it’s the Great Flood, or hot as a mosquito’s ball sack.

And to make matters worse, it’s the due date of a huge calculus project. Like— weighted heavier than the final kind of huge.

You’d gotten up three hours before your final at 9 just to cram. Your desk was littered with folders, chapter notes, and highlighters dull with use. A half-eaten bagel was off to the side, staling by the second.

That was before your AC broke. Yup. Broke. Ka-put. Just full on died—it was almost audible. Your roommate had stumbled into your room, face creased with sleep, and cursed for thirty seconds straight.

Completely understandable, actually.

But you didn’t have time to fret about the damn temperature. You just took your shirt off, kicked the box fan near your bed into the highest gear, and breathed hot anger down into your notes.

The only relief you would find would be lunch with Sapnap after your final. His apartment had air conditioning, and he was surprisingly deft with a knife and cutting board. Dude didn’t know how to figure the mechanics for emailing his film class project to you that one time last semester but could whip up a Greek salad and broiled chicken like no other. Your own little Gordon Ramsey.

He was yours now, officially. As of last month he was yours. A month full of drive-in movies, failed study dates, and an absurd amount of McFlurry’s.

And that’s what is waiting for you in Sapnap’s cup holder when you swing your way into his car with an exasperated look on your face. You just melt, eyes flicking up to his gratefully and silently taking it.

“How was the final?” He lays a hand on the gear shifter and nudges the AC up one more tick. The door closes behind you and you shuffle your legs apart, leg hair tingling in this heat.

“It was fucking brutal. I think I developed an ulcer just looking at the reference page,” you huff and he just shakes his head, laugh hot on his lips. “Absolutely not worth the studying—think I got a good grade, though.”

“Well, that’s cool. I’m proud of you.” The engine chugs to life when he shifts into drive and starts for the side street.

“Thanks.” Your cheeks blush ever so lightly but you pass it off to the heat. A moment passes. “So.” The straw makes a choking noise as it nudges at the bottom of an empty cup. Jesus, you finished that fast. “What’s on the menu for today?” Brandy’s Sunny Day lilts softly into the blasting air as you settle into a comfortable conversation, schoolwork at the back of your mind.

“Thinking of making banana chocolate chip muffins and pigging on those. Thoughts?” Flicking on his left turn signal with his left hand, the right slides onto your knee.

It’s never too hot for that.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, voice small in a sudden bout of shyness. He double-takes with a smile, squeezing once at your leg.

Pigging is a perfect term for what you two do the second those muffins are out of the oven; it is too easy to shove three of those in a matter of seconds. Bellies full and in a sugar coma, you two lay under the whirring of his living room’s fan and stare up at the ceiling.

“This feels so good,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded. Reaching a hand out, he pats his way to your hand and takes it, immediately squeezing it. “Wish you were kissing me right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” You taunt and hike a leg up onto his hips, swinging onto his lap and leaning to get your lips near his.

And that’s that.

The night is perfect.

Sapnap ushered you into his car at midnight and within four minutes you were on a US freeway with your head out the window. Like a dog.

A lone bird flies past in the dark air and you watch it swing into a patch of trees. You just close your eyes and breathe.

The stress literally melts. Melts into a puddle and drips out of you, falling onto the black pavement whipping past at a moment’s notice. School is a bitch already, much less an American college education. Grades and tests and professors and GPA’s and all that.

You swear Logan Lerman’s character knew what he was talking about when he said “we were infinite” in The Perks of Being A Wallflower. That’s what this feels like: infinity. Going 70 in a car driven by your hunk of a boyfriend, feeling the wind in your hair and the taste of midnight in between your teeth.

The inside of the car feels sweet when you duck your head back in, smile wide and hair crazy and a content look in your eyes. Sapnap gives you a glance before looking back at the road nonchalantly and lifting to curl and twitch two fingers at you. You instinctively move forward, eyebrows drawn together in curiosity. Three fingers grip your jaw tight, and then his mouth is on yours as the chorus of The King swells through the speakers. You only get two seconds to hum in happiness and slide a hand up his chest before he’s pulling away and has those beautiful eyes back on the road.

“You’re mean to me,” you sigh, and settle back into your seat with a ‘hmph’. He just looks smug. Bastard.

The nights Sapnap plays video games with his friends are—hm. Definitely something. You like to let him have those nights with no distractions most of the time; and you’re categorized as a distraction by the amount of times he “lags” when giving you a kiss or getting you on his lap.

Tonight, he got off work early and on the drive home called and asked if you’d come over and sit with him while he Robloxes with his friends. (“It’s like you can’t go one day without your hands on me,” you’d teased, but he couldn’t say a thing in response. You were right, needless to say.) “You can bring your paints!” he’d even added, knowing you like to watercolor as a hobby. You weren’t necessarily Etsy-worthy but it was fun and a stress-reliever.

And so here you were. Legs crossed, sketch pad in your lap, watching your adult boyfriend yell so loud that his voice cracks and breaks with every change of tone. You really had to remember to apologize to his neighbors…

“Baby—,” Sapnap starts, swinging around in his chair to hit you with a look so pouty his lip was in danger of falling off. “My dear girlfriend. My lovely woman.” His question doesn’t even need to be asked— he wants you to go get him a drink.

“You’re a misogynist. I’m calling NOW on you.” But you’re already heaving yourself off of his mattress and heading into the hallway, faux-annoyed look on your face. It melts into a smile upon seeing that little canvas mounted on the wall next to the door to his bathroom. It was a haphazard portrait of his parent’s dog Bowser that you’d drawn the few days his step-mom forced him to bring you home over spring break.

When you return to his room a few minutes later with a Bang and a couple of snacks for yourself, Sapnap has his headphones off and is swinging his feet in his chair like a child waiting for their parents to pick them up from school. You approach him, apprehensive smile on your face, and hand his drink over.

“Thank you,” he drawls, mid-yawn, and sets it down on the desk. Snaking an arm around your waist, he drags you between his legs and stuffs his face into your shirt. He inhales deeply but pulls away after a pause, hands tight on your abdomen. You press a thumb into his cheek and rub fondly at his facial hair, watching the way his eyes close calmly and relax.

“You’re so cute it causes me physical pain,” is all you get out before leaning and pressing a kiss square on his pink lips. They move against yours like they were meant to, one hand sliding up the material of your shirt and onto your warm skin.

“You smell like Subway,” he murmurs, and then the moment’s over.

Typical.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!

[nepenthendline]

BREAKDOWN - TSUKISHIMA KEI

A/N: i cried writing this multiple times, but here’s some sad tsukki crying, I’m not proof-reading this bc if I do i’ll cry again ty

TW: mentions of depression, breakdowns/panic attacks, a crying tsukki and a crying reader

Can we cancel tonight?

Read the text that lit up your phone from Tsukishima. To be honest you’d been expecting it, but it still sent a pang of worry to your heart. You’d planned to meet up and go for dinner since you hadn’t had much time together due to assignments and classes, not to mention his training, but he had been a little off for a while now so it didn’t surprise you. 

The past week or so he’d been more distant than usual: short responses whenever you spoke to him, rushing home whenever he had to leave the house and you knew he hadn’t been taking the best care of himself due to the dark circles under his eyes. It was like he’d reverted back to the Tsukishima you first met at the start of highschool - detached and guarded. A lot of people just thought he was an ass or that he had a shitty personality, and while that may have been the case at times, you knew why he acted that way. He was protecting himself. It took a while for him to open up to you, but you learned about his struggles, his depression and his worries. Even so, he still tended to bottle his emotions up for as long as possible, but he did improve. Over the years you’d known him you were lucky to watch him bloom; he became more open, more accepting of talking about how he was doing. He’d even come to you first on occasion when he felt himself slipping, and he smiled more. It was a beautiful sight to watch him have fun and be happy for a change, and you couldn’t be more proud. But progress also came with stepbacks, and he wasn’t safe from them. 

What’s on your mind? You replied. You knew what was going on, but if he wanted to tell you himself then that was for the best. The three dots signalled his typing, then disappeared, then reappeared moments later. It was a minute or two before the message came through. 

Don’t feel good 

You stared at your phone for a few seconds, wondering what to do. Part of you wanted to leave him be and see if he could shake this by himself since that’s what he preferred, but you knew this had been going on too long. 

Can I come over? You asked, since the last thing you wanted to do was turn up unannounced and make matters worse. You didn’t expect him to accept your proposal but it was worth a try, so when an ‘ok’ showed up underneath your message you were taken back a little. Things must be bad if he agreed. 

In a rush you grabbed a jacket and your keys, before sliding your shoes on and heading out the door. His apartment wasn’t too far from yours luckily, however even the small journey made your heartbeat thud in your chest. ‘Hang in there’ you thought to yourself like a mantra in your mind, hoping the message would get through to him in some way. 

After climbing various flights of stairs you were faced with his door. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second, before knocking softly and unlocking the door with your copy of the key. It was eerily quiet when you walked in and the only light that filtered through was the street lamps from the road below. Shutting the door behind you, you called out his name but received no reply. You took slow steps through the hallway, peering your head around each corner in aid to find him. His apartment wasn’t particularly messy, although there were some dishes and clothes laying around that usually had no place there. As the living room and kitchen were empty, you made your way over to his bedroom. 

Your knuckles tapped on the wood as your other hand turned the handle to open the door; the room was just as dark as the rest of the apartment, however this shadow contained your boyfriend sat on his bed that lived in the corner of the room. His knees were bent up close to his chest as his arms rested on top of his knees. One hand was fiddling with his bottom lip as he stared emptily at the wall in front. You walked closer, slowly as not to startle him, and sat next to him on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge. 

Even after the bed dipped under the added weight he didn’t once move or look away. His eyes remained locked on the wall and yours stayed firmly on him. His hair was messier than usual, and his eyes lacked the usual golden glow they radiated behind his glasses. For a man over 6ft tall and that trained almost every day, he looked so small and fragile curled up like this. You had never once thought of Tsukishima as weak, but there was a dull look of fear that was spread across his face that made him look like a lost, lonely child. 

“Hey,” you whispered. His eyes snapped away from the wall and settled on you for a moment, where he nodded briefly and looked away once more. His breathing sped up from before; his shoulders and chest rising faster and harsher than usual. He was trying so hard to keep things together and you were surprised he even could for this long. 

You shuffled forward on the bed to get closer and lifted one hand to brush away the hair that stuck to his slightly damp forehead. Even in the darkness you saw him swallow hard, his throat shaking in response. You gently slid the glasses off his nose, folding them up and placing them on the bedside table. As you turned back to him your eyes locked with his; they were wide, worried, yet so vacant. Your fingers brushed over his cold cheek before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders pulling him close to you; his head instantly found its way into your warm neck. 

There were few seconds of complete still and silence, until a sob broke out from his throat. His whole body shook as you held him, with one hand combing through his hair in an attempt to soothe him somewhat. The room was filled with strangled breaths and whines as he cried, and your neck was already soaked with salty tears. You rocked your joined bodies back and forth a little, going with the motions of his own tremble, and turned your head slightly to press light kisses to his temple. 

Tsukishima was not a crier, at all, but he was human and there was only so long he could bottle things up for. Even so, you couldn’t help but tear up as well at the sound of his anguish. It was heartbreaking to see him like this since he usually seemed so strong, so self-assured. There wasn’t much you could do for him at this point, but just being there to pick up the pieces as he broke was enough. 

It was a while before he began to come down and the only reason he did was probably from exhaustion. His arms had found their way around your waist as he cried, clinging and tugging at your jacket as if to find support, and yours had not left their tight grip around him once. His breathing was still erratic, but his tears had muted down to occasional sniffles. 

You pulled back a little, enough to see his face, and pulled the edge of your sleeve over your hand to wipe away the dampness on his cheeks. A red hue covered his entire swollen face and his eyes were raw with irritation yet, despite the current event, he still managed to look beautiful. The moisture glimmered in his eyes, but it wasn’t the shine you were used to. You dropped your hold on your sleeve and instead cupped his cheek in your hand. Instantly, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into the heat of your skin. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, still hushed as you spoke however he shook his head and sniffled, raising a hand to wipe at the tear that fell from his eye. You nodded slowly in response, looking down to think for a moment. 

“You can get through this, I know you can,” you started as he stared at you with fluttering eyes and pursed lips, “we’ll do it together, ok? We’ve done it before and we can do it again.” He hesitated for a moment then nodded vigorously as a whimper sounded from his mouth. 

“It’s just… it’s so hard,” his voice broke as he spoke, looking away from you towards the wall. You had to swallow away the lump in your throat as it burned with tears brimming in your own eyes; you had to be the strong one for him, he needed you now. Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, collecting each tear as it fell and nodded. 

“I know, baby, but you’re doing so well. I’ve got you.” He replied with a ‘thank you’, yet the sound was masked by choked breaths. You pulled him close to your body once again, pressing your cheek firmly against the side of his head and dragged a hand up and down his back. “We’ll figure things out tomorrow. We can look into things to help you, but for now let’s focus on your breathing and getting settled, ok?” He nodded once more against your neck, taking a deep breath after you demonstrated. 

It took a few minutes but he got there eventually. You could feel his heartbeat through the hand on his back, and it had slowed to a somewhat regular speed, and his shoulders drooped from their tense hold. You pulled away, telling him that you’d be back in a moment to get some water and headed to the kitchen. 

Not bothering to turn any lights on, you shuffled through the cabinet to get a glass and held it under the running tap. The rippling of the water filled your eyes, and a few tears rolled down your cheeks as you gasped, quickly reaching up to wipe them away. You sat the glass down on the counter and stared up at the ceiling, clenching your eyes shut as you took one deep breath in. You wiggled your hands by your sides as you let out the air in a huff, trying to distract yourself for a moment. With a sniffle, your hands raised to swiftly rub at your face and let out a small, distressed groan. ‘Not now’, you thought as you picked up the glass again, ‘we can do this later.’ 

You took a final deep breath, mustering up the last bit of strength you had and walked back into the bedroom. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but accepted the glass with a hum of a thanks. He took a few sips as his eyes darted back and forth between you and the darkness of the room. The glass was almost empty as he held it in his hands, brushing his thumb over the rim in thought. 

“You’re just as bad as me sometimes, you know that?” He spoke, looking up at you through his wet lashes. Your brows knitted together for a moment, but it wasn’t long before you understood. You let out a weak laugh, wiping your damp cheek with your hand. You saw the tryings of a smile for the first time on his lips. 

“I said we’d do this together, so I’m just getting in the spirit,” you mused as the odd tear fell, and he chuckled somewhat. One had left the bottom of the glass and seeked out yours, taking it in its grasp and squeezing. 

“It’s gonna be ok,” you whispered, although you’re not too sure if it was to him or yourself. He brought your joint hands and pressed a light kiss on the back, letting his lips linger for a second. 

“It’s gonna be ok.”

[lordabovehelpme]

The Proposal- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: Din proposing to Reader like in the movie The Proposal 😆- @along-the-lines-of-space

A/n: Wait! This is such a cute idea. I kinda strayed from the movie plot and made my own, so hopefully, you like it! I love you, darling!!! 

Summary: You and the Mandalorian have to play husband and wife to capture your next bounty. But major things start to show and come to light.

Warnings: some foul language. But that’s it. :) 

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

“Don’t you walk all menacingly like! I had no other option!” You storm after the broody Mandalorian, your hands waving in the air as they try to demonstrate your thoughts.

He just growls as he continues walking to the ship.

“Did you have a better idea?” You give him a minute to respond and when he says nothing, you lift your head a little higher. “No, just what I thought. All I care about is the fact that we are going to get this bounty thanks to me!”

He twirls around suddenly and stalks towards you. Instinctively, you want to shy away and you have to bite down a squeak. But you keep your ground and glare right into his visor, hoping his stupid eyes will feel your hatred.

The abyss of his visor stares hard and cold into your soul. And you stare back. Hard.

But he just sighs and turns away. For whatever reason, this just makes you even madder.

“No, you don’t get to walk away! Come back here!”

Then he speaks for the first time in the past hour.

“Get on your knee.”

Your face recoils in confusion, “What?”

He turns around and looks at you with a hidden smirk. “If you want to marry me, then ask. Get. On. Your. Knee.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock at the audacity of him.

“No.”

“Looks like we’re out two thousand credits then.”

Cursing, you hate that he’s right. You both need this money. Greef had said that if you wanted this high of a bounty then the two of you would have to somehow get to the bounty's wedding. In a sudden burst of creativity, you declared that the two of you would play a newlywed couple. You’ve never seen his helmet turn so quickly.

You seethe as you fall to your knee. “I hate you.”

“That’s not the right word, dear.” He stands smugly as he puts emphasis on the pet name. His arms cross over his chest and he leans his weight onto one leg.

You mentally stab him about five times before sighing. “Mando…”

He hums, amusement laced in his voice.

“Will you,” a smirk works its way onto your face, “the love of my life, my sweet sweet puppy. I will never be able to live without you.”

His weight shifts back to be centered.

“I cannot go another day without asking you this.” Your hands clutch over your heart as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Get on with it.” The amusement is no longer there.

“Will you make me the happiest person in the world and…” You intentionally stop, seeing just how long you can draw this out before he snaps.

“Ask the god damn question.”

Ah, not as long as you thought. But alas, the show must go on. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, now get up and walk faster. Maybe if you run you can keep up.”

***

All those couples you see smiling at each other make marriage look like a dream come true.

But these past few days have been hell. Literal hell.

Clinging to his arm and smiling as people talk to you. Having to hold his gloved hand that is way too large to be anatomically correct. Making up scenarios of how you both met, of your first kiss, of your own wedding day.

If the ground opened up and swallowed you, you’d probably say thank you.

As for now, you’re sitting next to him at the large table you’re all having the rehearsal dinner at. Surprisingly, the bounty seems to be a nice guy. You can tell he loves his soon-to-be husband, and that he loves him as well. You’d never think that he used to be an imperial spy.

“Oh, you two are so cute!” An older lady from across the table smiles at you.

You smile back and thank her, squeezing the Mandalorian’s arm. His visor turns to look at where you did, then rises up to meet your gaze. His hand moves over and squeezes your thigh.

Grabbing his wrist, you bring his hand back above the table and offer the lady another smile.

She giggles and leans forward, “You have as much fun as you want, I won’t tell.”

It takes everything in you not to cringe as you slowly nod your head and turn back to the Mandalorian.

His shoulders slightly shake and you just know he’s softly laughing under that helmet.

“Don’t laugh.” You whisper at him.

“But honey, why don’t we go back and have some fun.”

You glare at him, but then you get his idea. “Shhh, don’t say it so loud.” You both rise from the table and slide outside the restaurant, but not without the older lady sending you another wink.

As soon as the fresh air nips at your skin, you lean over in loud laughter. “Oh my goodness, I can’t.”

His vocoder cracks as his own laughs filter through. It’s a strong handsome laugh, one that is contagious and makes you stare at him with awe. In all honesty, you weren’t sure he knew how to laugh.

***

A knock sounds on your door and you rise up immediately. Crap! Mando is on the floor, that won’t look good to anyone. Grabbing anything you can, you throw it at the sleeping warrior.

Thump!

The first pillow does nothing.

Thump!

The second heavier one makes a louder sound but still draws no response from him.

The knocks sound again.

“Coming, just one second!”

You grab whatever you can and…

Clank!

You cringe as the water bottle hits him directly on the helmet.

He instantly rises and then the knocks sound again. Catching onto the problem, he stands up and starts throwing everything back on the bed.

You mean to help, but those strong golden thighs distract you. What you would give to be able to run your hand over those muscles and feel them ripple beneath your touch.

What you would give?

Nothing! You hate him! He’s annoying and snores loudly.

Shaking your head, you make the bed presentable and pretend to have just woken up as he opens the door.

“Hi!” The bounty’s fiancé peaks his head in. “Just wanted to let you all know that my mom made cinnamon rolls, I would get down there before they are gone. He offers a smile to you before walking back out into the hall.

You have no idea why, but the fiancé has taken a liking to the two of you. It almost makes you sad to collect his husband.

The Mandalorian turns to you and starts to grab his clothes and armor, dressing himself.

Suddenly you realize that if you both go down he’ll be unable to eat the cinnamon rolls. You play with the end of your shirt, the edges fraying from many years of you sleeping in it. “You know…” his visor looks up to you, “I can go get a couple and bring them back. That way you can try one and I’ll take a shower.”

Why did you say that? He’s not going to care. He’ll probably just laugh at you. In fact, why do you care?

He slowly nods his head after a minute. “That’d be nice.”

***

The hot water pours down onto your back and yet you can’t help but to ponder about the man outside the door. He’s out there, with his helmet off.

You’ve never cared about this before, but you start to wonder what he looks like. Does he have a soft boyish face or one of a hardened warrior? Is his hair a dark black or a light blond? What about his skin, is it light and fair, or deep and brown?

Thoughts run through your mind as you wrap the fluffy towel around yourself. Then you catch your reflection in the mirror. Since when have you had a small smile on your face?

Shaking your head, you slide your clothes on and open the door. You’re met with the back of a head, brown hair curly and shaggy rested atop a strong golden neck. Before you can even process what you’re seeing, you slam the door shut and lock yourself in the bathroom.

A soft knock sounds on the door. You slowly open it and keep your eyes trained on the floor. “I-, I only saw the back of your head, sorry.” Your body deflates as your shoulders drop in shame.

“It’s okay, but I need to pee.”

“Oh.” You shuffle out of the room and as soon as the door shuts you fling yourself onto the bed. Grabbing a pillow you press it against your face and scream. Why do these things always happen to you? 

Why does his hair have to look so perfect to run your fingers through? Why does his neck have to be that perfect golden brown that you want to kiss? Why does he have to be so handsome?

***

As the wedding approaches, you have started to see the fierce warrior in a new light. He offers to help old ladies up stairs and jokes with the other young men. When asked about you, he speaks with so much adoration you have started to forget that he doesn’t actually love you.

Maybe you’re just being hyperaware, but he seems to always be watching you. When you turn your head to him, he already has his visor trained on you. Even when you’re across the room conversing with others he always has an eye on you.

His voice has become softer, losing the gruff edge it once held. The underlying anger having melted into a warm glow that surprised you both. A small smile seems to have made its home on both your faces, only leaving when one another isn’t around.

As the two of you lay awake, you on the bed, and the Mandalorian on the floor, you break the silence.

“I can’t do it.”

The Mandalorian makes no response, so you continue.

“I can’t take him. You’ve seen how happy they are together. How big they smile for one another and how their eyes soften. Sure he may have once been a spy but he’s changed. I mean since then his record is nearly perfect. I don’t want to be the one who tears his happiness away.”

Again, your companion says nothing.

“I know we need the money, so I can pull some strings and we can work stuff out. You won’t have to do anything, but I can’t let either of us come between them. I know it may be cheesy but what they have is a pure and true love.”

You fade back to silence, staring up at the dark ceiling and contemplating everything you just said.

“Okay.”

***

The wedding is big and bright. Garlands of beautiful flowers hang everywhere, matching the candles and lights perfectly.

And as the two men say their vows, you can’t help but entangle your arm around the Mandalorians. A single tear falls from your eye as you notice the way they look at one another. With so much passion and devotion, it’s the kind of love people wish for.

You don’t know it, but the Mandalorian's eyes don’t watch the two lovers, they instead watch you.

It’s in this moment that he finally understands why his heart swells when you’re around. He understands why he always needs to make sure you’re safe and sound. He understands why everything in him screams to wipe away your tears and hold you close.

Because he loves you.

***

You sit in silence, the Mandalorian piloting the Crest and you to his right. As the Crest falls into autopilot he turns to look at you.

When you meet his visor, you offer him a smile. “That was beautiful. I mean did you see how amazing the decor team did.”

He only nods heart heavy with anxiety.

You continue talking about all the aspects you loved, from the color scheme to the cake. But you stop when his hand rests on your own.

Tension lays thick between the two of you, suffocating and intense. You don't miss the way his adam apple bobs as he clears his throat.

“I- last week I was so furious at you. I loathed you. But, as we had to pretend things started to change. But…” his hand squeezes your own as you look up at him with wide eyes, “I didn’t realize any of this until I saw you on the wedding day. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. And as you shed your tears I wanted nothing more than to be able to wipe them away and promise you comfort.”

He slides off the chair to rest on his knees before you.

“So, please… marry me. Because I want to be able to make you as happy as that bounty, I want to stand before you and say my vows with the pretty lights and amazing garlands. I want you.”

Your jaw hangs open as you draw on hand to cover it. Water wells up at the corner of your eyes as you replay his words over in your head.

Nodding your head frantically, you fall into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. “Yes… yes yes yes.”

One of his hands cups the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist. He chuckles as all his anxieties fade away.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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

So yeah I hope you liked it! 

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment. I love hearing what you all have to say. 

Love, Lordy :) 

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[confused-as-all-hell]

"i know we broke up, i know we don't talk anymore, but I still miss you"

@wesper-week i'm sincerely sorry for this chaos

Jesper Fahey's trade was humor.

His clothes were the colour of too much attention, his laugh limned in shimmering gold. He drew gazes and wistful stares like a lighthouse beacon called for drifting ships. The lines of his body were sharp, elegant, sprawling. When the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin, stars gleamed in his eyes.

He was so achingly beautiful, all tousled dark hair and broad shoulders and warm hands.

Girls and boys fell over themselves for one kiss, one little smile, one whispered word in their ear. How could they not?

Jesper was young and handsome and heady as a cup of evening wine, clever with his graceful fingers, wicked with his soft lips. His GPA was polished, his manners immaculate.

They hung on to his words, the cadence of them, the amused lilt that drenched every sentence.

Jesper had fallen in love with so many, men with rough laughs and kind smiles, women with curling hair and bright eyes. He had taken them over the world, to parks and monuments and cafes, kissed them in the shadow of history.

For every one of his lovers, he bought a ring.

Amethyst for the young lady who carried the scent of lavender.

Gold for the pretty girl whose lips tasted of joy.

Sapphire for the boy who kissed like a fucking god.

Ruby for the trickster woman who loved to laugh.

Copper for the handsome man who had a smile like late summer.

Jesper had cared for each of them in turn. He gifted flowers and jewelry and handwritten letters in his untidy scrawl. He had told them stupid jokes and held their hands and read to them in his unmade bed.

But one by one, they left him, and soon all that was left of their love were those glinting rings.

"Is there something wrong with me?" he whispered once, face shining with tears, head thrown back against the wall.

Nina rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him awkwardly. "Of course not, darling."

He patted her cheek clumsily. "Then why does everyone keep leaving, Nina? Why does nobody stay?"

"Wylan—" she began, but shut her mouth instantly.

"Wylan is different."

And he was.

Beautiful, quiet, sweet Wylan Van Eck with his slender hands and paint-splattered face. He was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, sketching the stars as they lay intertwined in bed, smiling over his cup of morning tea, dressed in his oversized shirts and plaid trousers.

His kisses were soft and tentative and tasted of tea leaves. His grins were slow and mischievous and bright as the damned sun. When he sprinted along the rim of a fountain, laughing and arms aloft, Jesper thought love might kill him.

He still dreamt about that day, Wylan leaping across the broad rim, his face upturned, sunlight brightening his hair to flame and gold. Wylan, paint smudged across his lower lip, hands stained with red acrylic. Wylan, pretty blue eyes bright with mirth, his panicked yelp as he nearly toppled sideways.

Wylan, Wylan, Wylan.

Sometimes, when Jesper was laying on the floor of someone else's bathroom, watching the ceiling spin and spin, he could still hear Wylan whispering, "And if I said I am yours, and there is no greater honor, what then Jesper?"

They had been so fucking happy, happier than Jesper deserved, all sticky orange juice kisses and skinny dipping in the ocean and opulent restaurants of ivory and gold.

And then Wylan had mentioned the gambling.

They had argued for days and weeks and then months, furious and bitter. Jesper used to live for the clink of coins and soft rush of the wheel and the elation that flooded into his eyes, ears, mouth, fingers. He loved the hum and chaos of the nightclubs, the frenzy of congratulations and drunken kisses and the retreat into those shadowed alcoves.

The scent of alcohol, the sounds of triumph, the press of hands on his body, the pleasure and ecstasy and joy.

But on their hundredth argument, tears were running down Wylan's face, distorting his freckles and widening those fucking blue eyes. He'd whispered he wouldn't stand for it, and Jesper had woken alone the next morning.

His bed was too empty, his kitchen was too quiet, the room where Wylan painted was too fucking much. All that remained was the hole in Jesper's heart and a sketch of the water fountain Wylan had drawn so lovingly, each detail of the scene preserved forever within charcoal. The ice cream parlor. The sunlight. Wylan, laughing and trying to keep his balance, eyes bright bright bright. Jesper, staring at Wylan as if he had never seen another quite so magical.

The memory of those eyes haunted him, every damn day.

He found himself writing essays on Wylan's long, copper lashes. His eyes, the blue of tranquil oceans, of the clear winter sky, of salvation. The glints of silver shining within, a quiet intelligence that so few had glimpsed. The way he would shyly glance away whenever Jesper grinned at him.

How many times had he stared into those eyes, while the two of them lay bare and exhausted among his own silk sheets?

How many times had he looked up after a kiss to find Wylan smiling back at him?

How many times had he nearly drowned within Wylan's gaze, steady and thoughtful and really fucking hot?

But slowly, agonizingly, bitterly, he grew used to the silence.

He stopped texting Wylan in the middle of the day, face damp with tears, hands shaking with misery.

He stopped accidently brewing a second cup of coffee at breakfast.

He stopped glancing to his left, searching for a glint of red hair in crowded spaces.

He stopped seeing Wylan when another was beneath him.

But sometimes Jesper wondered if anything could make him stop loving the boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

And if sometimes he glimpsed Wylan in the halls, or at a nightclub, or sketching with those fucking charcoal pencils, he could wave. Smile. Pretend he wasn't going to take another home just to ease the day's pain.

'Why won't you go back to him?" Kaz asked once, barely glancing up from his phone.

"He doesn't want me," Jesper said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Jes, I have it on good authority that Wylan Van Eck hasn't dated a single soul after your breakup."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody," Kaz said airily.

"Nina?"

"Nina."

Jesper attempted a loose smile, but it drifted aside easily as a gauzy veil twitching in the wind.

Wylan Van Eck, kind and brave and good.

Wylan, with his inquisitive eyes and thoughtful conversation.

Wylan, lonely and miserable because one stupid fucking boy had broken his heart.

He could barely stand it.

In some hidden chamber of his mind, he had locked away Wylan’s laughter, the tide of his amusement, inexplicably bright and wondrous. It felt like gazing at one of his softest paintings, a lush blend of ivory and blue and gold, like glimpsing something raw and beautiful and secret.

A burning star.

A miracle, spinning through the galaxy, leaving nothing but light in its wake.

A memory, and no more.

Wylan had once laughed so freely, snickering over an amusing quip, or stifling his smile when Jesper read to him late at night.

That sound of joy and delight. . . it was the brightest damn thing in the world.

And Jesper wanted to know that somewhere, in some other softly lit room with a man looking up at Wy like he was the sun, that laugh was sounding again.

He wanted to know that even if Wylan didn’t shine for him, he shone nevertheless.

The next morning dawned piercing and cold, a bright jewel in the crown of winter. Jesper chose his clothes with unusual care, knotting the laces of his boots twice, cleaning his dozens of rings before slipping them on.

Once he had hoped Wylan would give him the last of the collection—the wedding ring.

Now, as he finished with the last of them, he left his fourth finger bare, a final shrine to the ghosts of their past.

The cafe where he had asked, begged, pleaded for Wylan to meet him was nearly empty, but for a handful of people. His gaze lingered on a young woman with curling brown hair who might have been Nina in a hat, and a man with his leg propped up that was almost certainly Kaz.

Even though he made a mental note to strangle them later, the gesture eased the pressure within his chest ever so slightly.

And there was Wylan, a cup of tea clutched between his slender hands, huddled in a soft brown sweater. He was staring out of the window, those damned blue eyes vague and empty.

Jesper slid soundlessly into the booth, holding his breath as if he could force the longing from his lungs. “Hello, Wylan,” he said softly.

When he glanced up, something in his gaze shifted.

A blossoming flower.

An easing rainfall.

Something wonderful and exquisite and otherworldly.

Hope, hope, hope.

“Jes,” he returned with a little smile.

And Jesper leaned forwards. He couldn’t help it, not when Wylan was there before him and his lips were curved so slightly and his fingers were wrapped around his mug like—

“Wy,” he said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to talk.”

He straightened slightly, that quiet peace dissolving. “Had I not wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have answered your text.”

They stared at each other silently, waiting; it felt like sitting in the living room together, huddled over a game of chess, Jesper grinning as he slid the first pawn two squares up.

But he was not nearly so confident about his play now.

“I’ve been talking to Kaz,” he began awkwardly, the words clumsy in his mouth. “He told me you haven’t been seeing anyone.”

“And I’ve been speaking with Inej,” returned Wylan, utterly refined and elegant in his simplicity. “She tells me you’ve been seeing everyone.”

Jesper felt like a child again, clutching a rifle in his inexperienced hands, brows drawn together in concentration as he replayed his mother’s instruction in his mind. His father was playing target again, brown eyes gentle with encouragement. He didn’t know what to do, he was going to shoot his father, he was going to harm harm harm.

The words in his hands, his throat, were constricted and awful and stumbling. He didn’t know how to shoot without hurting anyone he loved.

Wylan was still gazing at him, blue eyes dark, for the first time in memory. “Jes,” he said, “was I so easy to forget?”

“Forget?” Jesper croaked. “Like a stupid song or piece of information on the study guide? Like you didn’t shine brighter than the damned sun? Like there were days when I didn’t wish to capture the stars and give them to you?”

There was a strange, crackling rush in Jesper’s ears, as if the ocean had swelled too high and now he was drowning, drowning, drowned.

If Wylan wanted him back, if Wylan loved him still—

He could wake up every morning with soft limbs tangled in his own. He could kiss Wylan again, taste tea and sugar cookies and mint. He could marry him, live out a life with him, die on the bed beside his own, fingers interlocked tight.

The future was there, tangled and messy and uncertain, but there all the same.

But Wylan was shifting in his seat, almost anxiously. “Jes,” he said softly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His eyes, his lovely blue eyes, were beginning to shine. “I know that look,” he said, almost bitterly. “I know that look damn well.”

Jesper’s giddy excitement was beginning to wither, and he clung to it desperately, a final shield against the darkness. “What look?”

Wylan reached out, fingertips stained blue with paint, hands still slim and delicate, a work of art. “If you think I want to… to get back together, I don’t. You and I, it was so much fun, and sometimes I wonder if everything was more than a college romance.”

He retracted his shaking hands, and ran them through his copper hair. “I wonder if another Jesper, who loved himself as much as his friends love him, and another Wylan, who was just a little bit of a better boyfriend, might have had their future together.”

Jesper could only stare

Wylan whispered, “Don’t you see it, Jes? We were stupid fucking collage kids who fell in love, but it was never supposed to carry on. I told you, that night in the club, I just wanted sex.”

He remembered.

Just sex, do you understand? No more, Jes.

But then, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you just once.

And it kept going, spiraling, until one morning they were laying in bed and Wylan was wearing Jesper’s shirt, and Jesper was stroking Wylan’s hair, and it was much more than just sex.

One date, Wy. Give me a chance.

I love you, I love you, I love you, dumbass.

I want you to move in with me. I want you in my bed, my kitchen, my clothes. I want to see you tired and angry and miserable and I want to tell you you’re still the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Jesper had imagined their wedding, every so often, a blazing pillar of hope lighting the path to the future. He had dreamt tailored suits and blue eyes and the final ring. He had planned every detail of his speech, his vows, his oath to live and die with Wylan Van Eck.

“Just sex,” he said at last. “We fucked it up, didn’t we, Wy?”

Wylan extended his hand once more. “I loved you, Jes, I won’t pretend. But I’m with someone else now, and I care for him, and I promised I would sort out the ghosts of my past.”

Jesper slid his palm over his, reveling in the soft skin, the gentle touch he would never feel again. “You’re happy?” he said softly. “He makes you laugh?”

He smiled, a secret, lovely smile. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me laugh.”

And the sudden truth of it, the fact Wylan was someone else’s now, and he was laughing in another’s arms, hit Jesper. It sent ice through his veins, his mind, the final shattered shard of his heart, tearing through memories.

Wylan, brave and wonderful, laying on his bed. His hands were aloft, describing a particularly clear night sky, the shapes he traced in the stars. He had named one for Jesper, and he said it was shaped like love.

Jesper, doubled up in laughter as he flipped a pancake, listening to yet another one of Wylan’s rambling stories. He never tired of them. Those recollections, the happy lilt to his voice, the giddy, “There’s more, though!” were treasured beyond gold.

Wylan, working on some assignment or another, sprawled on the grass of a dewy meadow. His head was pillowed on Jesper’s hoodie as he wrote, filling the page with his elegant script. Every so often, he would glance over and point out a butterfly or shaped cloud with a smile.

Jesper, watching as Wylan leapt across the fountain. His copper head was upturned, sunlight streaming down onto the angles of his face, joy etched in his brilliant grin. He looked like a god for that one moment, frozen forever in a snapshot of peace.

“I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me not to,” Jesper had whispered once. “I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me to. I will love you, because I am yours, and there has never been such an honor.”

When the years whiled past, when the bone-deep sorrow lightened at last, did Jesper still love him?

That was the question he asked himself every morning over a cup of bitter coffee.

Twenty-four years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Thirty-one years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Forty-five years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Fifty-seven years old, and Jesper still loved him.

An old man, dying in his bed, and the laugh ringing through his head belonged to a boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

A dead man, and Jesper loved him from the grave.

Love bowed to no one, and least of all death.

A collage romance was theirs, but their love was not that of two foolish young men, out for a kiss and in for a good fuck. It was carefree, happy, bright as the sun. It was etched in the stars, and it was doomed from the start.

Love bowed to no one, but perhaps it inclined its head towards Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck.