#brief distraction from sick cat anxiety

[life-is-rutile]

I, too, am not immune to the make number go up effect.

Boop.

[reidingandwriting]

coming out > shouta aizawa (mha)

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairing: Aizawa & Daughter!Reader, Reader x Momo (not official,,, yet), mentions of EraserMic

Warnings: Like one or two curse words, anxiety about coming out, probably a little OOC characters but oh wellll. Mostly fluff, I love writing Dadzawa

A/N: This was a request from @wi-2006 I hope you enjoy it!

you fell to the ground with a pained thud, and you scowled as you stared up at the sky. “damn it,” you huffed as you sat up, and you rested on your knees.

“i’m so sorry! are you okay?” izuku held out a hand to you and you allowed him to pull you up before you dusted off the knees of your costume.

“‘m fine,” you brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from your ponytail before you got back into position. “i’m ready now.”

“need to focus, kid,” your dad’s voice called from a few yards away where he was helping hitoshi with his capture weapon. to anyone else, he appeared bored, bored of correcting your mistakes and calling out your lack of attention, but you recognized the concern in his voice. you knew he’d be talking to you later and you briefly considered faking sick to avoid the inevitable conversation. “try again, then take a break.”

you nodded as you turned towards izuku again, eyes narrowing as you focused. you had been sparring for what felt like hours at this point, and you wanted to perfect this new takedown. your close combat skills were usually your strength, but you couldn’t focus today.

izuku nodded briefly at you before he was off, and you quickly countered his first attack. the two of you continued to spar, each getting a fair amount of blows in before you finally saw the opening you needed. you jumped into action and when izuku was finally pinned, you leaned back against the ground and let out an ‘oof’ as your back hit the grass, your eyes screwed shut from the sun. you enjoyed the feeling of the sun for a minute, and a moment later, you heard shifting beside you. you squinted your eyes open and reached over, shoving at izuku’s arm as he sat beside you.

“you did good today,” you said and izuku smiled at you.

“thank you! you did, too.” a brief pause. “i asked mr. aizawa if we could go off campus and grab dinner for everyone, i think it’s shoto’s night to cook.” you shuddered at the thought and nodded.

“good idea.” you sat up. “let me get my gym bag and say bye and we can go.” izuku nodded and you stood up, and you walked over to grab your things. hitoshi was finishing his cooldown stretches, your dad watching from a few feet away. you walked up to him and butted your head against the back of his arm. you smiled as your dad’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and his hand ruffled your hair.

“good takedown,” your dad commented before he looked at you. “still coming home tonight?” you nodded, gnawing at your lip. you switched between your dorm with your class and your room in the teacher’s dorms; you loved your classmates but sometimes you needed a break from them. and your dad’s was the best place to get that break. you missed your old house, but you still have the cats and hizashi and your aunt nemuri are close, so it was still pretty nice.

“gonna do dinner, watch a movie, then head over,” you let your eyes flutter closed for a moment, enjoying the rare moment of peace with your dad. he briefly rested his head against your own before he patted your shoulder.

“should shower first, too. don’t need you stinking up the house,” a subtle smirk made its way to his face and you glared up at him.

“just for that, i’m not going to.” you stuck your tongue out at him, narrowly ducking from the stray edge of capture weapon that shot out at you. “rude!”

you exchanged goodbyes with your dad, called out a goodbye to shinsou, then jogged over to izuku. you and izuku walked off campus and you talked about classes, upcoming exams. you were texting the class groupchat about dinner orders when he asked a question that made you pause.

“you seemed really distracted today. is everything okay?” you and izuku were close, you and him quickly becoming friends, and you had the same friend group.

“i’m a little worried about my weekend with my dad,” you admitted after a minute, and izuku stayed quiet, having learned when to let you rant. “he knows something is bothering me and i’m worried about him asking me. i can’t lie to him, he’s my dad. but i’m also terrified of how he’ll react.” izuku stayed quiet for another moment, and you sighed. “i’m thinking about telling him.”

you could practically hear the gears turning in izuku’s head until it clicked. your crush on momo wasn’t glaringly obvious, but you had let it slip to some of your friends (izuku, hitoshi, and ochako). your entire friend group knew you were bisexual, hell you’re pretty sure your entire class did, but your dad didn’t know. and you didn’t know what was worse- telling him about it or him realizing you’ve been hiding it from him for so long. and you were scared. scared of how he’d react, scared if things would change.

“do you want to tell him?”

“yes. no. i don’t know? he can tell something is up and today just confirmed it. it never should’ve taken me that long to knock you on your ass. he’s gonna ask what’s bothering me and i just… i can’t lie to him if he asks me.” your phone vibrated and a quick glance left you smiling once you saw the text. “he’s bound to find out soon, and it would only be worse if he found out from someone else.”

izuku nodded, a sympathetic smile on his lips. “it’ll be scary, but i know you can do it. if you want any of us there with you, we’d all be happy to.”

“thanks, zuku. this is something i need to do myself, though. but if it goes bad, i may hide in your room after.” izuku wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, and you wrap your arm around him. “thank you.” no other words were said as you walked into the restaurant and the nervous pit in your stomach started to fade away a little.

-

dinner came and went, and now your class had spread out across the common room to watch some pre-quirk era movie about this hero that resembled a spider.

“sero! do you think you could-“ denki started and without looking away from the screen, you spoke.

“don’t even think about it,” you said and denki’s friends started laughing.

“okay, sensei,” denki huffed and you instinctively shot a glare at the blonde. denki yelped and hid behind hitoshi, who wrapped an arm around him.

“dude, she’s not actually aizawa, you don’t have to hide from her.” you rolled your eyes, an amused smirk on your lips.

“she looks just like him! look at that,” denki whined. living with aizawa, naturally you adopted his facial expressions and even his ‘teacher voice’ at times. denki would forever be haunted by the resemblance you had to your father when he had accidentally woken you up, your eyes might as well have been glowing with the glare you had given him.

“well he is my father,” you drawled and momo giggled from beside you, and you willed yourself to keep your expression calm.

the rest of the movie played out and you had started to fall asleep on the couch. you froze as you felt a blanket drape over you and someone lean down.

“goodnight,” momo whispered, her lips brushing against your cheek before she excused herself to bed. a minute later, you peeked an eye open and were grateful to see you were the last one in the common area. what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-

“coming to bed?” your dad’s voice startled you and you jumped off the couch. he raised an eyebrow at you and you nodded.

“sorry, yeah. just started falling asleep,” your dad’s gaze was disbelieving but he dropped it for now.

“have everything you need?” you felt for the phone in your pocket and nodded, and you tucked yourself into your dad’s side as you yawned. “let’s go.”

you woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and the faint hum of the television. you stretched and yawned as you sat up before you stood and walked to the living room. you were greeted by the sight of your dad, coffee mug in one hand and pen in the other as he graded papers.

“morning,” you greeted as you walked to the coffee maker and you poured yourself a mug. you took a seat beside your dad a minute later, and you looked down at the papers as you leaned against him. “how’d i do?”

“good as usual,” your dad turned to kiss your temple, and you smiled. a comfortable silence filled the room as you watched your dad grade, occasionally looking up at the TV screen. it was quiet, it was peaceful. and then your dad spoke again.

“i’ve noticed you’ve been a little in your head lately. distracted easily, not as focused as usual.” a brief pause. “is everything okay?” you swore your heart stopped and you set your mug down with a shaky breath. your dad set his pen down and turned to face you, his focus fully on you. “kid?”

“i’ve wanted to tell you, i-i was just worried you’d get mad.” you whispered and he frowned.

“well, you’re sitting here now so you haven’t been arrested.” the blunt statement shocked you and you couldn’t help but smile a bit. “i’m your teacher, so i’d know if you were expelled, suspended, or failing anything. none of your classmates ever come to me with any complaints about how you treat them. i don’t see what you could’ve done that would make me upset with you.”

“it’s nothing i did. it’s just… i don’t know how to explain it. just something i… discovered?” you could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“is it about school?” you shook your head.

“do you remember the crush i had on hitoshi?” you decided to finally get to it and your stomach twisted and turned. he didn’t have his capture weapon on, you could realistically make it out the door before he could get it. you wouldn’t make it far, but you could make it to nemuri’s or hizashi’s. no, you needed to tell him. you could run away after.

your dad nodded. “didn’t that end a while ago? when he started liking someone else?” you nodded.

“i had never had a crush on anyone before hitoshi and when he told me he liked someone else, i was upset. i had my friends to help me through it, and i got close with one of them. i think i really like them, but…”

your dad stayed quiet, waiting to see if you’d continue talking or if he could talk. you took a deep breath before you looked your dad in the eyes. “i like momo.” you whispered. “i, i never liked another girl before and i didn’t know i could. then denki talked to me about it and said i could be bisexual? and i am. bi.”

the silence was deafening and you felt your hands start to shake. you wanted your dad to say something, anything, but you were scared of what he would say.

“have you asked her out yet?”

“i’m sorry, i’ll go back to the- wait, what?”

“why are you apologizing?” your dad asked and suddenly, his expression softening. “did you think i would react badly?” your vision immediately became blurry and your eyes began to burn. seconds later, you were pulled into your dad’s chest and you latched onto him. you sobbed against him, tears soaking through his shirt as he rubbed your back. “you’re happy, you’re healthy, you’re not hurting anyone. that’s all i could ever ask for,” another sob left you at his words and you shifted to look up at him.

one hand combed through your hair and the other cupped your cheek, thumbs wiping away stray tears. “i-i don’t know why, but i thought you’d be mad at me,” you whimpered and your dad shook his head.

“never. you can’t control who you love, it would be illogical to get mad over something you had no control over.” your dad leaned back against the couch, and you curled into his side. “besides, would be extremely irrational of me to get upset over you being bi since i’ve been dating hizashi for the last two months.” it took you a minute to process his words and you sat up.

“what?! you and hizashi?” your dad nodded, amused smile on his face and you stood up. “come on, get up. i need to go talk to him if you thought you two could date without telling me!” laughter filled the dorm and as you walked down the hall a minute later with your dad trailing behind, you couldn’t be happier. maybe now you could finally ask momo on a date.

[girlwiththereapertattoo]

begin again - part three

Jax Teller x female!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Jax grow closer... I don't know what else to say without revealing spoilers haha

Word count: 4k words

Warnings: very bad language, mentions of blood, physical & verbal abuse, angsty & some fluff

Author's note: I appreciate all the positive feedback I've received this far! It's much appreciated :) also, I'm bad at writing these summaries

If you’re in an abusive relationship or you suspect that someone you know is being abused, speak up and reach out to the correct people!

Beta read by @crucifixedbitch

PART ONE | PART TWO

💀💀💀💀💀

He’s late. The thought brings about a familiar uneasiness and your mind conjures images of a bloodied Jax lying unconscious in some dingy ditch. Jesus Christ.

“Mommy, why did you stop reading?”

S/N’s soft voice draws you back to reality. You look over to his bed where he’s laying beside Abel. “Did I stop reading?”

He giggles, “Yep.”

Oh. You look down at the book in your hand then back up at the boys. “I’m sorry, ace. I guess Mommy’s a bit tired.” And apparently, she’s distracted. You look back down at the book, willing yourself to remember your place.

“Cooper the Cat was stuck in the tree,” he reminds you.

“Right, Cooper the Cat!” your eyes hastily skim through the short paragraphs until you land at the right sentence. “Got it. ‘Help!’ cried Cooper from the tree…”

And just like that, all thoughts of Jax and his safety are shoved to the back of your mind to deal with at a later time. It’s your lucky day today, the boys have had a long day and they’re out before you reach the end of the book.

“I love you, ace,” you whisper to your son after you’ve kissed him goodnight.

It’s because of your love for S/N that you left Jax and the endless bullshit that comes with him. Anxiety-filled nights like this one are a thing of your past and you know you can’t allow yourself to be consumed by thoughts of him. Once you start, there’s no stopping you. You know this, very well, so why is there a sick feeling twisting in your gut? Because a small part of you is still in love with your ex.

Hope blooms when your phone vibrates in your pocket but it’s only B/N. It’s not that you’re not happy to see your boyfriend’s name on your phone screen, but the anxiety’s gnawing at your mind, and you’re desperate for it to be put to sleep. Fortunately for you, B/N’s in high spirits. He’s been frustrated with you lately, and wants you back in Charlotte — his insecurities about Jax are beginning to show.

It’s for that reason that you don’t tell him about S/N’s friendship with Abel.

“This time next week, you and S/N will be back home,” he muses.

“Yeah, we both can’t wait.” You feel disappointed at the realization, “It feels like forever, doesn’t it?”

And S/N has been asking about B/N more and more these days but you don’t tell that to him, afraid that he’ll catch the earliest flight to California. Truthfully, you’re not exactly ready to let Jax out of your life which you’ll be forced to do if B/N’s in Charming. You see, he’s… protective and doesn’t like the idea of you hanging around men. Especially Jax. Hell, he almost stopped you from attending your own mother’s funeral.

Of course, it was under the guise of being the protective boyfriend. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to be in the same town as your violent biker ex?” He said all the right things and did everything in his power to talk you out of the decision but in the end, he failed to convince you to stay away.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

You hang up just in time to hear Jax’s motorcycle pull up out front. The relief is quickly overshadowed by concern when you open the door and are greeted by a bloody-faced Jax.

“I’m late.”

“I’m more concerned about that gash on your brow. Come in.” You open the door wider, “If you’re here to get Abel, he’s asleep. You can fetch him in the morning.”

“Shit.” You step aside to allow him access into the house, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I got caught up in Oakland.”

“It’s fine. S/N was happy to have Abel stay the night.”

He smiles, “Thank you.”

You return his smile, “We should clean that before it gets infected.” Before you can process your actions, you’re leaning closer to take a better look at the cut. “I can’t see much, you should rinse it with water. I’ll go grab the first aid kit.”

“It’s late, I’ll have Chibs take care of the cut.”

“Meet me in the kitchen,” you start for the bathroom, “rinse the cut.”

You grab the first aid kit from the bathroom and find Jax sitting at the breakfast table, pensively staring into space, a half-drunk bottle of water sitting in front of him.

“Here.”

Your voice pulls him from his reverie. His eyes drop to the pill container in your hand and he arches a brow.

“It’s for the pain.”

“Thanks.” He accepts the pills and pops the cap open, “I should’ve called.”

“It’s fine.” You do your best to keep a casualness in your voice when you ask, “What was happening in Oakland? Is everyone okay?”

He gazes at you for a long while before he responds, gauging where your head is at. “Yeah, we’re all fine.”

“Should I be worried?”

He slowly shakes his head, “No.”

You watch him take the pain medication, there are so many questions to ask, questions only Jax has answers to.

“Is it safe for you to be here?”

He swallows the pills and smiles, “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t safe. Don’t worry, you and S/N are safe.”

Hesitantly, you nod as you pull a chair from the table. In a bid to lighten the mood, you tell him, “No offense, Jackie, but you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” he chuckles.

You take your seat in front of him and suppress the urge to smile, “Who punched your handsome mug?”

“I was pistol-whipped.”

“Ouch.” Scooting forward in your chair, you lean towards Jax to get a better look at the rinsed cut, and for a very brief moment, your eyes lock with his before they dart up to his cut. “It’s like the good ol’ days, isn’t it?”

“You playin’ nurse?”

“Yeah.”

Back in the day, nights like these were common. Jax would sit at this very table, at the very chair he’s sat on, whilst you tended to his cuts and bruises. Mother would be sitting in the living room, hurling insults at both you and Jax. She would take any chance to remind you that you were making a mistake you would regret for the rest of your life.

“Your mom hated me.”

Your eyes lock with his, “In her defense, you would always be finding ways to antagonize her.”

And in return, your mother would call Jax all kinds of names but even that wouldn’t keep him away. Nothing ever could keep him from you. Memories of Jax sneaking into your room late at night come to mind. “I had to come kiss my girl goodnight,” he’d tell you.

“We were pretty wild back then,” you reminisce.

And you were madly in love with each other, however, you keep that part to yourself. The situation’s complicated enough without the added layer. You’ve barely mustered the courage to mention B/N’s existence to Jax because, in all honesty, you’re not quite sure how he might react to another man raising his son. The thought of his reaction fills you with dread. Heaven knows he’ll give you a hard time about leaving next week.

Gah, it’s all too much! With a shake of your head, you dismiss all thoughts and grab the ointment from the kit. “Shall we?”

He nods and shuts his eye for you to apply it on the cut. A silence descends upon the kitchen and neither of you makes an effort to fill it.

“You’re good to go,” you announce once you’re done.

“Thanks.”

“I couldn’t risk it getting infected.”

More than anything, you don’t want S/N to see Mommy’s friend sporting cuts on his face. He’ll ask questions, probably mention it to B/N, and you’re not looking to have that drama in your life.

“Are you hungry? I’m assuming you haven’t had your dinner…”

“Nah, but I should get going.”

Your mood deflates at his announcement. The truth is you don’t want him to leave but how do you stop him without giving him the wrong idea? Why are you even stopping him from leaving?

“Stay,” you blurt out.

“Stay?”

“Yeah, there’s the guest bedroom. It’s late and you’re medicated and you shouldn’t be driving and–”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Sure you do.” You take a breath to compose yourself, “I was cleaning out the closets the other day and I found some of your old stuff. They’re clean, I uh, washed them. Everything is oversized, they should still fit you.”

You had intended to take them to Goodwill and you will but right now, Jax needs them.

“Look, I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

It isn’t a lie but it isn’t the full truth. Honestly? You just want him near you. It’s wrong, and you understand the implications and know that B/N won’t be happy should he find out, but one night wouldn’t be harmful to anyone, right? Besides, he’ll be sleeping in the guest bedroom.

He thoughtfully considers your proposition. After a stretched silence, he reluctantly accepts your offer.

“Great,” you perk up, “I’ll warm up your dinner.”

You make some conversation over dinner, none of the heavy shit, mostly catching up on all you’ve missed in the four years you’ve been away. He tells you about the club, and that Opie met someone and they’re now married.

“And how about you? Is there anyone special in your life?”

He doesn’t answer your question, not that you expect him to. You just can’t help but be curious. After dinner, he heads over to the bathroom to take his shower whilst you load the dishwasher and dig through the laundry to look for Jax’s old t-shirts and sweats. The guilt sets in and you fight the urge to call B/N to tell him about Jax.

You’re dialing his number when you stop yourself. “Geez, Y/N!” you toss your phone into the laundry basket and step back to create distance between you and the device. Think about this. The last thing you need is B/N bulldozing into Charming and starting shit with Jax and the M.C. — that could be fatal. No, Jax staying the night is you helping out an old friend, there’s nothing more to it.

Grabbing the folded pile of clothing, you make your way down the hall to the guest bedroom and find Jax waiting patiently on the bed for you. Nothing but a towel tied around his waist.

“I should’ve knocked, I’m sorry.”

He rises off the bed and that’s when you get a clear view of his torso, and the tattoo inscribed on his ribcage.

“You’ve proved your point, Jax, now let’s go.” “No, why?” You look over your shoulder to the big, tattooed man standing over by the counter, laughing at whatever joke he’s just been told. You’re at some grimy tattoo parlor, somewhere in Reno, and Jax’s about to get your name tattooed on his body. His ribcage to be exact. The sentiment is sweet, you admit, but it’s a permanent decision, and you’re only 17. You look back at Jax who’s now laying shirtless on the tattoo chair, “Do you realize how insane this is?” He smiles brightly as he shakes his head. “Do you have a death wish? Gemma’ll kill us both when she sees this.” Part of her rage will be due to the fact that it’s your name on his ribcage instead of hers. “And what if they find out we’ve lied about our age?” “Babe, will you relax? They won’t, this place is a dump.” Which is exactly why he shouldn’t get his first-ever tattoo done here. “There’s no talking you out of this, huh?” “No.” He laces his fingers with yours and raises your hand to press a kiss to its back, “This is what I want to do. I don’t care what my mom thinks.” “And the pain? You don’t care about that either?” He shakes his head, “No.” You glance at the stencil transfer on his ribcage and sigh. “I know you don’t have to do this–” “I want to do this.” “And there’s clearly no talking you out of this.” “Yeah.” You squeeze his hand and flash him a reassuring smile, “Do you want me to hold your hand?” His smile returns, brighter than ever, “I’d appreciate it, darlin’.” “You’re insane, you know that, right?” He nods. “Only because I love you.” You lean over to lock your lips in a kiss — you don’t doubt it for a second.

You pry your eyes from his torso, forcing yourself to face the now smirking Jax. Right, his clothes!

You hold out the pile to him, “Did you put your clothes in the hamper?”

He accepts them and murmurs ‘thanks’ before he responds to your question. “Yeah, just like you said.”

“Okay,” you fight off the urge to look down at his ribcage. He kept it. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight Jax.”

Spinning on your heels, you scurry out the room before you do something you’ll regret later.

💀💀💀💀💀

“Mommy! Come see!”

S/N and Abel’s laughter sounds from the living room. Saturday mornings have always been your favorite. Sleeping in is always a winner in your books, a vital part of any Saturday routine, and once you’re up, B/N takes S/N out of the house whilst you prepare breakfast. Last weekend was S/N’s first Saturday away from B/N and he was miserable. This Saturday is different.

“Mommy?” More laughter sounds, “You will miss it!”

Lowering the heat, you abandon your cooking and make your way over to the living room. A slouched Jax is taking up most of the three-seater with S/N and Abel on either side of him, all three pairs of eyes fixed on the television screen.

“What’s got you laughing so much, ace?” You take a seat on the armrest and press a kiss to the top of your son’s head. “Beaky Buzzard?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at you, “Are you coming to sit with us?”

“No, Mommy’s got to make breakfast.”

You’d like nothing more than to stick around and watch cartoons with them but there’s breakfast to prepare. When you walk back into the kitchen, you discover your phone vibrating on the counter and you just know it’s B/N. It’s his fifth attempt in the last half-hour, probably looking to speak to S/N, but that just isn’t a good idea. Not when Jax is in the house. You’re being deceitful to both parties, but the timing just isn’t right.

B/N would lose it if he found out about Jax’s regular visits, and you don’t know how Jax would react to B/N’s existence in your life and the role he plays in your son’s life. It would ruin a perfectly good morning. The day got off to a good start with the news of the sale of your childhood home, and your son’s mood is the best it’s been all week. Why would you even think to ruin it by starting trouble with B/N?

It’s not worth it. You’ll just have to come up with a story to tell him later.

“Breakfast is served!”

The boys come barreling in and take their places at the breakfast table. You assist the two youngest boys to plate up their food before you plate up for yourself. Everyone digs into the food, and the compliments you receive are a definite boost for the ego. You listen intently as S/N and Abel excitedly recount the Looney Tune episode they’d watched earlier and S/N’s beside himself with laughter.

The happy moment is disrupted by the unwelcomed vibration of your phone on the counter.

“Is that Daddy calling?”

Shit! You wince at the name ‘Daddy’. It’s what S/N always calls B/N but somehow, it doesn’t feel right when Jax’s sitting across the table from him.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, ace?” you look over to him, very aware of Jax’s eyes burning into the back of your head.

“Is that Daddy calling?”

“No, it’s probably the estate agent.” It’s not a convincing lie, but you’re caught off guard and can’t come up with something better. “She’s calling about the house.”

“When is Daddy calling?”

“Probably later.” You hate that you’re being so dismissive. “We’ll call him after Abel and Jax leave, okay?”

He looks like he might ask another question, maybe press for a better answer, but he resumes eating his food. You avoid Jax’s eyes for the remainder of breakfast. He helps you clear the table and load the dishwasher in painful silence. Once Jax has helped you load the dishes, he leaves you alone in the kitchen. Can the morning get any worse? Apparently, it can. You unlock your phone to find multiple texts from an irate B/N.

He didn’t take kindly to you ignoring all ten of his calls. Shit. You’re on the verge of tears when Jax saunters into the kitchen.

“Abel and I are leaving.”

You nod, unsure of how to respond. “You’ll ride on your bike with Abel?”

“No. Ratboy’s waiting out front with the van.”

“Ratboy?”

“The new prospect.”

“And will we see Abel tomorrow?”

His impassive expression says it all. Your gut twists with anxiety at the thought of not seeing Jax again before you leave Charming. How do you make this right?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He slowly shakes his head. Just then S/N and Abel sprint into the kitchen, bustling with energy. Abel hugs you goodbye before the boys run back out of the kitchen and out of the house onto the front yard.

“I’m leaving my bike here. I’ll come by to get it later.”

“Cool. Yeah, that’s fine.”

You walk Jax out, and just like he’d said, Ratboy is waiting out front in a black van. Together with S/N, you watch Jax and Abel climb into the van and drive off.

“Can we call Daddy now?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” you lift him up and carry him towards the house. “Did you have a good time with Abel?”

He nods his little human head, a bright grin plastered on his perfect face. Once inside the house, you dial B/N’s number but he doesn’t pick up, in fact, it seems his phone’s off. Strange.

“I think his phone’s off, ace.”

His face falls. In an effort to brighten his mood, you suggest driving over to the playground.

“When is Abel coming back to play?”

You inwardly sigh. It looks like today’ll be one long ass day.

💀💀💀💀💀

The last person you expect to find standing on the other side of your front door is B/N and yet here he is, and he looks anything but pleased with you. Oh, shit. Your heart sinks at the sight of him, the chill of fear coursing through your body, and your mouth dries.

“B/N?”

His unsettling smile causes the hairs on the back of your neck to raise. “Hi, Toots. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Your movement’s robot-like as you step away from the door to make way for him. He walks past you, and once inside, his eyes search around the small space.

“Are you home alone?”

You seem to have forgotten how to speak.

“Toots?”

“S/N… He’s, uh… He’s asleep.”

He murmurs a soft ‘good’ before he turns around to pull you into an embrace. For a moment, you stand frozen, your brain seized up and you feel like a foreigner in your own body.

“What’s the matter, Toots? You don’t look too happy to see me. Were you expecting someone else?”

Yes. “No.” Moving one arm at a time, you return B/N’s embrace and do your best to calm your nerves. You’ve done nothing wrong, he’s not going to hurt you, you repeat over and over until he releases you from his hold. “I just wasn’t expecting you to come all this way.”

“It’s only a five-hour flight.”

Why the fuck are you here?

As if he read your mind, he tells you. “I missed you guys so much, I thought I’d surprise you,” with a tight smile, he adds, “You’re not very good at answering my calls.”

“I’m sorry.”

B/N hauls his luggage from the porch and dumps it onto the floor before he makes his way over to the living room. You follow slowly behind him, watching as he settles onto the couch and searches for the television remote.

“C-can I get you anything?”

“Join me,” it’s an order.

You drag your feet over to the couch and take your place next to him. Casually, he slings an arm over your shoulder and forcefully pulls you into his side.

“There. Now you’re close.”

You can’t bring yourself to fake a smile. Too petrified. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and whispers into your ear to relax.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’s told you that lie far too many times in the past.

“Are you enjoying being back in Charming?”

You nod, the words caught in your throat.

“What are you? Mute? Use your fucking words, Toots.”

“It’s good to be back.” Your voice is shaky, barely recognizable. “I missed it here”

His fingers start stroking up and down your upper arm. “Good.”

Your eyes fix on the blank television screen in front of you.

“Is he here? Is he hiding in one of the rooms?”

“Who?”

“Your white trash biker ex!”

You jump up, surprised by him raising his voice so suddenly. “Jax? No! Why would he be here?”

“You lying piece of shit,” he spits out, shoving you away from him, the force sending you to the ground. “I saw his bike parked out front. I’ll ask you again, is he here?”

“No, B/N,” tears fill your eyes, you know exactly what’s to follow but still, you plead, “Don’t do this here. Not now, please, baby.”

“Shut up!” He raises to his feet, towering over you, and kicks at your trembling frame. “No one’s touched you, why the fuck are you crying?”

“I’m sorry.” You swipe the tears from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t… I don’t know whose bike that is.”

“Are you cheating on me, you whore?”

Frantically, you shake your head.

“I said use your fucking words.”

You bring a trembling hand to your mouth to muffle your sobs.

“I asked you a question, you dumb bitch!”

“No. No. No.” You crawl over to him, closing the distance between you. “I’d never, baby. Never ever.”

“That doesn’t explain why a bike’s parked outside your house.”

“B/N, please,” you plead softly. “S/N’s asleep, we can do this another–”

The words are lost when he harshly grabs your face and shoves you onto your back. Both hands cover your mouth to muffle your pained cries. He’s vicious, and tonight, he’s out for blood.

“Get up, you–”

Knock, knock, knock! You’ve never been more relieved in your life. B/N shoots you a warning glare, daring you to make a move. A few moments later, the knocks sound again, a little louder this time around.

“Y/N?”

It’s Jax. You are faced with two decisions: do you call for Jax to help you or do you take your deserved punishment?

“Y/N?” he knocks louder. “Are you in there?”

You’re sobbing so much, your body’s trembling. B/N kneels beside you, placing two additional hands over the ones already covering your mouth. His additional weight pushes your head further into the hard ground, causing your head to hurt. It’s sure to leave a bruise. With a final knock, Jax gives up and some moments later, you hear his motorcycle ride off. Once he’s certain Jax’s left, B/N removes his hands.

“Why is he here at this hour?”

“I don’t know.” You gasp when he wraps his hand around your neck and applies pressure, making it difficult for you to breathe. “B/N, please…”

“You’ll regret cheating on me,” he murmurs softly before his hand connects with your cheek in a hard slap.

💀💀💀💀💀

PART FOUR

tag list:

@princesssterek @derangedcupcake @furiouscopshepherduniversity @crucifixedbitch @holl2712 @sweet--catrastrophe @marvelsmylife @brittjulianne97

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝙹𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚘

Disclaimer: In no way am I trying to condone, justify, encourage, promote nor romanticize Yandere behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationships, possessive/obsessive behavior, stalking, kidnapping, physical aggression, sexual harassment (not from reader/member's side), domestic violence, sexual scenes, brief mention of contemplated abortion, hints of post-partum depression, attempted murder, actual murder, death.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝙹𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚘

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟸𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟶

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟼 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟿 𝙵𝚃

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■□80%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■□90%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■□80%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢.

𝚁𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍.

𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were such a small and fragile thing....of course it was his duty to protect you.

From the very day he watched you walk down the stairs from the university.

You were carrying so many books and folders, you failed to notice the skateboard some idiot left there.

Jongho was there just in time to prevent you from falling and hitting your head.

As he looked into your eyes, he felt a strange feeling rising in his chest.

"Are you ok?" He looked you all over, making sure you weren't hurt.

Your face was no doubt red, both at being flustered by Jongho's handsome face and his strong arms holding you.

And from embarrassment cause you're a clumsy fool.

"Yeah... thanks."

Jongho was sweet enough to gather all of your things, handing them back to you with the most adorable gummy smile that had you melting.

"See you around." He sent you a wink and picked up the skateboard, knowing fully well who it belonged to.

He came in class and made his way over to his desk, but not before bonking the person next to him with the skateboard.

"What the fuck man?!" The guy took off his beanie and soothed the hurt spot.

"Stop leaving your trash at random places Yeosang."

He grumbled as he took his seat, but for the rest of the day, he couldn't concentrate on anything that wasn't you.

And it was like that for the rest of the semester .

Jongho was constantly checking up on you whenever he could.

Making sure you were ok and not getting hurt.

Of course.....you never knew about this.

Never noticed him lurking around in the shadows whenever you went home nor when you were doing the most ordinary things in life.

You just kept going on with your daily routine, not noticing the pair of eyes following you, or as he liked to call it:

Watch over you.

Jongho made it his personal mission to protect you, and he did that in several ways.

Whenever someone would trip you in the hallways, he'd end up slamming them onto their lockers.

If any guy decided to try and cat call you or flirt with you, they were met with a punch to their gut.

But the worse? The worse came during the middle of the year.

One of your professors started creeping you out.

He would often pat your back, telling you how well you did on your test or presentations.

But his hand would be too low than what you felt comfortable with.

You often just shimmied out of his touch and just smiled awkwardly, while walking out of there as fast as you could.

Or he'd often leave notes on your returned homework and offer you candy, which you adamantly refused.

It all culminated when your professors overstepped all boundaries when he asked to speak to you one day after class.

You were of course already nervous.

Jongho on the other hand, was clenching his fist so tightly, blood was slightly drawn from his nails digging into his palm.

He had to watch as the professor practically pressed you up against the wall.

You shoved him away and got out of there as fast as you could, with all intention of telling the school board what happened.

Until the professor threatened to purposefully fail you if you didn't accept his advances.

Jongho merely scoffed.

He stayed long enough to make sure you made it home safely.

Then he decided to go hunting for a certain bastard.

Taking advantage of the dark of night, he covered his face with a mask and wore dark clothing.

Easily breaking into the man's house, he took him by surprise before proceeding to use his bare fists to beat the shit out of him.

Jongho really wanted to kill him at the moment, but held himself back.

He wanted to get his point across and he was going to get it.

Leaving him bleeding profusely, his breathing raspy, Jongho gave him one warning:

"Y/N is mine. Stay the fuck away from her or I'll really kill you next time."

It worked because the professor soon left his resignation letter, not wanting to face of whoever it was that was watching over you.

Jongho felt proud of himself for getting him away from you.

But then guilt started to eat him alive.

If only he'd taken better care of you, this would have never happened.

Out there, all alone in the world........you were so vulnerable and defenseless.

He had to do something about it.

One night while you were fast asleep, he came inside your house.

He thank the heavens you were a heavy sleeper, otherwise he'd have a lot of trouble.

But he managed to transport you back to his house.

He gently laid you down on the bed, admiring your sleeping figure.

He felt giddy at the thought of finally having you all to himself that he hardly got any sleep.

You on the other hand woke up terrified when you found yourself in a strange room.

Jongho came inside, completely calm, fully expecting you to freak out at first.

"Shh. It's ok love. You're safe now."

He tried to caress your face, but it just startled you more and it annoyed him.

"Baby....I'm not going to hurt you." He said, his voice had a stern tone to it underneath.

You tried to make a dash for the door, but he quickly got ahold of you.

He trapped you in his large arms but still you tried to get away.

"Let me go! Let go of me!" You tried kicking your feet.

But Jongho was not budging at all.

"No! You can't go back out there again! You'll be hurt by other people."

He turned you so you were now facing him.

"I'm here to protect you..." He slowly leaned in, trying to kiss you.

Instead he was met with you kneeing him on his crotch. He doubled over in pain, but managed to compose himself quickly.

He rushed over to you before you reached the front door, pulling you by the hair and shoving you against the wall.

You hit your head pretty hard and felt something trickling down.

"Oh no babygirl." Jongho suddenly turned all loving again, like he wasn't just going ballistic seconds ago.

"See? This is what I mean. Out there.....you could get hurt even more."

You couldn't understand his reasoning.

And you couldn't understand why he wouldn't let you go out at all.

"You don't need to go out. You're safe here with me."

He kept trying to be affectionate with you, but you always refused, not wanting him near you.

He tried being nice to you all the time, but more often than not, you lashed out at him, absolutely despising him.

Jongho would usually have patience with you, but when you crossed the line and tested his patience......

You ended up with a bruise on your face or a bloody nose.

Of course, he'd always seem shocked with himself, immediately attending to your wounds and apologizing over and over again.

You were getting so sick of it. You actually felt like you were going insane.

You missed your parents, family, your friends, you were craving warmth and affection so badly you started freaking out and nearly had an anxiety attack.

You felt so out of mind you actually let Jongho hold you, caress you, comfort you while you sobbed in his chest.

"Baby. It's ok. I'm here. You're safe."

You don't know what came over you, you just knew you wanted to feel something, anything other than the emptiness and pain you were feeling.

Even Jongho was surprised when you kissed him desperately, but he didn't mind. He finally got to kiss you.

He had enough conscience to pull away though when you began getting more handsy and straddling him.

"Are you sure about this?"

When you simply whined and pulled him on top of you, he got the hint.

You didn't care if it was wrong, you just let Jongho take your pain away and replace it with immense pleasure.

You loved how strong he was, loved the way his thick cock kept pushing inside of you and enjoyed those blissful moments his body offered you.

Jongho was in heaven as well. He had waiting for the day to finally make love to you and it came.

Jongho swore it was love, you just thought of it as a distraction.

A distraction you needed to stop when you skipped not 1, but 2 months, which you were scared of.

Jongho however was happy. "You mean we're going to have a baby?"

The color drained from your face as you sternly said. "No! We're not having a baby Jongho! We can't! We have to get rid of it!

He wasn't having it though. Jongho couldn't let you get rid of the product of your guys' love.

So as cruel as it was, he kept you chained to the bed, refusing to let you get out in fear of you harming yourself or the baby, his baby.

Your pregnancy months were hell to you and during childbirth you were almost dying.

It was the only time Jongho got you out of the house in over a year but you had no strength to say anything about your situation.

You were in too much pain and fear at the thought of getting a c-section because the baby came 2 months earlier than expected.

You woke up and still felt weak, had no will to do anything but allow the nurses to take care of you and have Jongho by your side, praising you and your guys' baby, which you honestly did not really care for.

You felt so detached from your own child, even though you knew it wasn't her fault.

You two went home after the doctors deemed your baby healthy enough.

Jongho was ecstatic about starting a family life with you and was even more attentive to you and the baby.

You on the other hand came to resent her crying at night, hated having to feed her and detested hearing Jongho speak so fondly of her.

There were times you did feel bad, and you actually held her, feeling something warm for the tiny girl.

But then it would all vanish when you saw Jongho hovering over you and fixing what he deemed was your 'bad way of holding her.'

He was still as overprotective as ever and you were reaching your breaking point.

One day, while he was gone for a minute, the baby started crying.

You covered your head with the pillow, trying to muffle out her sounds but you couldn't.

You snapped and had no control over yourself as you went to the bathroom and began filling the tub with water.

Once it was filled, you mindlessly brought the baby over and held her over it, but before you could drop her:

"Y/N what are you doing?!"

Jongho took the baby away from you, calming her down and putting her back in her crib.

When he turned his attention back to you, you were nowhere to be found and he started panicking.

He was walking down the hallway when you lunged at you, finally hitting your breaking point as you stabbed his arm with a knife, that although stunned him, didn't really cause much damage.

"Y/N! Have you gone insane?!" He tried to calm you down, but it was in vain.

You looked at him with such wrath and resentment as you stated "I hate you!"

It hurt Jongho so much to hear you say that, but nonetheless he wasn't going to back down even if you were currently clawing at him and trying to end him.

Jongho tried not to use much of his strength but you were going to far, he had to subdue you somehow and he was already angry that you tried to murder your own child.

His hands ended up griping your neck very harshly, forcing you to let go off him as you now struggled to pry his hands off you.

Jongho didn't mean to take things too far, he just wanted to control you for a brief moment......

But it did go too far and now he was a sobbing and heartbroken mess.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I just killed my soulmate... ....."

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[writing-in-april]

Russian Roulette

Spencer Reid x Female Unsub Reader

Thanks to my beta readers! @definitelynotkatesblog and @clean-bands-dirty-stories

WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT, MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING

Includes: Suicide, Attempted Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Gun kink, Angsty smut -There is no specific dominant person in the smut-

A/N: Please do not read if you are easily triggered or under the age of 18. This was really difficult to write but I am really happy the way it came out! I have a playlist I made for writing this if anyone is wanting it just ask! My requests are open for basically any character you can think of, I want to branch out and write lots of characters!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

——

The warehouse that I had found myself masking my location in was in no doubt the most ghastly place I had chosen yet. I wasn’t sure what drew me to the abandoned depository, maybe I had subtly acknowledged to myself that I was at the end of my rope-I knew I couldn’t run forever. The smoke colored walls matched the ashes dropping from the cigarette I had lit to alleviate my anxiety. The cat and mouse game I had been playing with the team that was on my trail was coming to an end. They had an extra vendetta set out against me since I cruelly betrayed the trust built between us. Polluted air swirled around me as I dug my nose in a book, trying to distract myself from my impending doom.

A noise drew my thoughts away from Catcher in the Rye that I had been reading while sat on a shitty mattress, practically the only furniture in this hole in the wall. My manicured nails snuffed out the cigarette into the bed and discarded the paperback, knowing that this was the start of the end. The double doors swung open as the recognizable silhouette Dr. Reid, his shadow was tall and lanky, with noticeable wild curls that looked as if he had rolled out of bed. He finally graced my eyes with the details of his figure, every step he took had lingering hesitation. It had been weeks since I had last seen him, he looked considerably more tired since he had last graced me with his presence, purple dark rings sat under his eyes, his hair even more disheveled then normal, and his clothes lacked the crisp ironing that he usually sported. I hated that I was the one that had caused his disheveled state, I had found a kindred spirit in Dr. Reid. It seemed like we were made for one another, our interests were exactly aligned, the only major thing that separated us was my penchant for murdering people. He was the first person I had felt connected to since my mother and it pained me to see that my betrayal had obviously weighed heavy on his mind.

“I see you finally found me.” I stated nonchalantly as I stood up, he was standing as far away as he could, from my observation it was evident he was disgusted with me but he was still drawn to me like a moth to a flame. He nodded solemnly, the words that he wanted to speak seemed caught in his throat, so instead his eyes bored into my soul. We stood in contemplation just staring at each other, we were only a few feet away from each other but it felt as if we were worlds apart.

“Was it ever real?” He finally spoke up in a shaky voice, his lip quivering in either anger or sadness. “Did you feel what I felt?”

“I hadn’t been real to anyone in a long time until I met you.” I spoke honestly, though I wasn’t sure if he believed me.

I felt the memory of our first meeting flash before my eyes, a murderer had crashed into my hometown, killing important people with checkered pasts. Politicians, lawyers, and police officers- no one was safe. My job as a therapist put me straight into the cesspit of what I viewed as the worst of humanity, slimy high ranking fixtures of the community. I often felt my skin crawling as sick human beings put on a facade of perfection hiding their nefarious deeds behind closed doors, so I began taking care of them by slitting their throats in the dead of night.

When the BAU rolled into our city they immediately put everyone connected with the victims into protective custody. There wasn’t an immediately obvious motive so the team had collected anyone with an important role putting each person with a specific team member. I had been put with the genius of the team Dr. Reid. The stay in the safe house with him made our relationship blossom, we shared interests, hobbies, and even our backstories (I had edited mine a bit so they wouldn’t catch on). Usually I viewed the world as black and white good or evil and until I met Dr. Reid I hadn’t felt grey before just a dark cesspool of no emotion.

I had never even spoken his first name, I had told him that- “Someone who earned 3 PHDs should have their achievements recognized all the time.” I still couldn’t deny these strange feelings that welled up inside of me, no matter how hard I tried to distance myself.

When I had been spotted by the doctor running from the scene of a crime I could practically hear his heart break and to be honest mine did too. I never wanted him to see this side of me that I kept buried, I had wanted to stop for a while even after that first kill but what had first started out as vigilantism turned into a compulsion to kill.

His screams broke me out of my reminiscing my eyes snapped up to see the doctor holding his gun, pointing it straight at my heart.

“WHY?! Why you?” He broke out of his previous calm facade, letting me in on the anger I had stirred underneath.

“You know the profile Doctor you tell me” I asked, though no answer was given.

The gun was shaking in his hands, his fury boiling over, steam was practically coming out of his ears.

“Pull the trigger Dr. Reid. It’s what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it? Let’s skip the reminiscing. So go on. Pull the trigger.” His grip faltered, he wasn’t sure where to go from here, should he take you in? Or completely screw regulation and take out his unbridled rage on the woman who had cruelly stolen his heart by shooting her.

The weapon was lowered, his hands still shook in fury as he put it back snugly in its place. I already knew he had called his team, no matter what he felt for me before there was no way he would risk his career to let me go. Even though I had accepted the cards that had been dealt I wasn’t going to let them take me alive. Tentatively I stepped forward, wanting to gain a semblance of closeness between us before I sacrificed myself, his body was rigid in its place as our chests touched.

I pulled the gun from his his side holster, it was an odd gun for an FBI agent to carry, a revolver to be exact. My fingers gripped the curved cedar handle, dragging it across Dr. Reid’s clothed collarbones, his arms were stiff at his sides unmoving. He was unsure of my intentions with the weapon. He knew logically that I was cornered in this abandoned warehouse with no escape, and obviously I couldn’t do much with a single revolver, that’s why he had only put one round in, reserved only for my heart if the trigger was needed to be pulled. Then I softly, with uncharacteristic tenderness, grabbed the good doctor’s hand with my free hand to guide his large palms to envelope my hand over the gun. He seemed flustered, which was odd to me, his resolve of hatred had never weakened around me until now. Our hands were clasping the gun in unison, the clammy palms of Dr. Reid cradled my own as I reached over and spun the chamber to land on a random spot.

I prided myself on the ability to read people but I couldn’t ascertain the reason behind the evident hesitation in his eyes as I encouraged him to carefully set the revolver snug against my jaw. Was it possible he had developed a care for me or did this just boil down to fear of having an unsub handle his gun. His breathe was mixed with mine, I held my pattern evenly while his had become ragged, strong enough to whisp my hair away from my face. With a flick I unlocked the safety and a genuine smile graced my face, if these were my final moment I was glad I got to spend it with Dr. Reid, he brought me a strange sense of comfort that I had never known before. His whole body was shaking as my forefinger moved to the trigger- he almost looked as if he was going to cry. A resounding click echoed off the dull gray walls of my hiding place, I had momentarily escaped my fate.

Dr. Reid suddenly smashed his lips onto mine breaking me out of the brief relief. My body had grown rigid against his movements, I wasn’t used to emotional connections with anyone and they certainly were never romantic. Just the delicate touch of his hand on my hip was more care then I had ever been shone before.

My cold exterior that I had carefully constructed was now in ruins because of Doctor reid. He was the only one who truly saw who I was, past my trauma and the trauma I caused. I melted into his forceful kiss, the unspoken tension that we had created finally was boiling over. It was full of tongue and teeth, our noses bumping as we poured our feelings into the kiss, speaking without ever making a sound. My back collided with the nearest wall, dust flying off to coat our bodies, his knee parted my legs and rested between my thighs. His spare hand left my hip to cradle my cheek practically engulfing my face with his large palm, raking the soft pads of his fingertips across my skin.

The silver barrel still rested under my chin being held precariously by our joined grip, Dr. Reid’s hand left my cheek, snaking its way down to the waistband of my pants. The tips of his fingers danced at the edge building anticipation in my veins.

He suddenly pulled the gun out from under my chin and set it under his own, my eyes widened in confusion my desire vanishing by the second. I tried to pull our unified hold away from his jawline but unfortunately he was stronger then me.

“I don’t know if I can live without you” he choked out, he had used his profiling skills deducing that I was going to sacrifice myself. He spun the wheel setting the bullet in another indiscriminate position, resetting the stakes all over again.

“It’ll be ok.” I begged desperately trying to talk him away from the ledge, just because I had wasted my life didn’t mean he had to as well. I brought my available appendage and covered the outside of his hand continuing my efforts to pull the gun away from his grasp. He shook his head, tears were freely falling from the both of us, mixing together to form a salty pool. His fingers slipping underneath my encased hand finding the trigger with ease, he pulled it quickly a sickening click resounded through the stale atmosphere. Once I was satisfied that he had survived air quickly left my body releasing the breath that I had held tightly in my lungs.

Mimicking his reaction from earlier I submerged us into another kiss, this one was tinged with my anger from his reckless move. I voiced my displeasure surrounding his actions by biting into his lip, bruising the plush tender skin. A groan escaped from him, the salacious kiss was now tainted with blood from his lips mixing together in gory harmony.

Undulating my hips onto the thigh that still sat between my legs, desire snuck itself back inside of me, rebuilding what had been banished. I suddenly had the urge to remove every cloth barrier that remained between us, I needed him now. Dr. Reid clearly shared the sentiment as he started pulling on the clothing covering my body. I did my best to shuck off his plum colored blazer with my available phalanges while he attempted to snap open the front of my pants. Our hands still were glued the wooden hilt of the gun that was rooted in its spot at the edge of the doctor’s jaw. The buttons of his dress shirt popped around us as my painted nails dug into the cotton, tearing the offensive fabric from his body. With frantic inelegant movement our outer clothing was ripped off our forms, the only barrier that lingered was our undergarments. His nimble fingertips wound around to the clasp of my bra tugging forcefully the clasp broke, freeing me from its confinement.

The lace was discarded in hast revealing my breasts to him he surged forward capturing my nipple in his mouth as my hips ground into his thigh. Circling my bud he glanced upwards, taking in the sight of my flushed cheeks, hair slicked with sweat, and the gun that I had swiftly moved to my temple removing it from his mandible. Excitement prickled in my core as he meandered down to where I craved him the most, he fisted the mesh- the last remaining remnant of clothing covering my body. A tearing noise filled the space, reverberating around us as the mesh separating us was torn away from me, revealing my full form.

His deft fingers gathered the building excitement between my folds, then he brought them to make contact with my clit. He rubbed slow harsh figure 8s against my pearl, I could feel myself getting wetter- which I didn’t think was possible. The ministrations continued for a while, but I was antsy to get his fingers inside of me. A beg almost fell from my mouth when all of a sudden with no warning his fingers plunged into my heat making my body convulse around him. He curled them expertly, nudging them perfectly at my g spot making the pit in my stomach grow and spread throughout my entire body.

Our hold had started to loosen on the gun so I clutched around the revolver tighter tugging our entangled fingers to rest the metal shaft perfectly against my temple. Upping the stakes further I rapidly clicked the trigger, the gun still had not administered its bullet into my brain, making the obscene act even better then before. His eyes held fear for a moment but couldn’t help his reaction to the clicks, a deep seated groan from deep in his chest. The sensations flowing through my body almost became too much to bear as he moved his thumb to my clit. My back arched against the wall as he sunk the blunt edges of his teeth into my collarbone while flicking against my clit with his thumb, sending me closer to bliss. He must have discerned that I was close to the edge and pulled his fingers away, his knuckles bumping against my g spot one last time which pulled a pathetic whimper from my throat while screwing my eyes shut.

I heard the tell tale sign of a belt buckle clinking causing my eyes to snap open, his full body was finally on display for me. My eyes drank in the sight before me, the doctor was just as I had imagined in my dreams, not too thick but long enough that I thought it might not fit. I reached forward to pump his length spitting into my palm as I jerked him off.

“Jump.” He whispered desperately into the shell of my ear, with careful precision my legs wrapped around his naked torso as I locked him in. The gun was the only barrier that remained between us as he lined himself up to my entrance and thrusted in one swift motion, breaching my walls for the first time.

“Fuck.” The soft expletive fell from his rose hued lips on the column of my throat making my toes curl.

His hips snapped into mine starting a pace with deliberate deep thrusts, my free arm wrapped around his neck trying to pull him in as close as possible. My fingers then wound through his messy curls yanking back so I could pepper kisses along the nape of his neck earning a sharp grunt from Dr. Reid as he picked up the pace. I bit the inside of my cheek in concern as he moved the gun to be placed under his jaw again. Tears started to fall again from my eyes as I silently pleaded for him not to pull the trigger, he ignored my pleas and reset the bullet to a random position once more. His rhythm faltered as the gun clicked for the fifth time, I knew we were testing fate too much at this point and that our luck was running out.

He kept the gun in its position while he picked up his momentum resuming his previous pace. My blood red nails dug into any part of him that I could grab onto leaving red streaks down his chest, back, and biceps as he reached parts of me that I didn’t even think existed. Our eyes locked together as his cock brushed against my g spot causing me to clench around him, we both moaned at the sensation hurtling us both closer to release.

I reached my hand down to rub harshly on my clit as I felt my climax coming just around the corner, my eyes rolling back in response to the added titillation. I then dragged our encapsulated hands away from Spencer pulling the barrel inside my mouth, his fingers flexed around mine anxiously as he soft whispers into my ear attempting to save me from myself. We both had somehow sensed that it was the end, I thought it was very fitting to end my life in the arms of the only person in the world I could find myself caring about. He didn’t stop his thrusts but they were now at a slow languid pace trying to savor every last moment he had with me.

“Spencer” I moaned in bittersweet symphony as I let myself kiss his bruised lips for the last time, our tears were falling giving our kiss a salty taste. A feeling of bliss suddenly overtook my body as I came in glorious crescendo. I rode out my high before I accepted my fate, my blood pounding in my ears for the final time. The wall was painted with blood as I pulled the trigger, ending my life with a bang.

*****

The shot rang in Spencer’s ears, it took him a minute to realize what had happened and that the object of his desire was gone. He was still holding the gun as the body of his unattainable love slumped onto him in death, his face speckled with scarlet. Finally the offending object slipped through his fingers clattering on the floor as he cradled her body.

His sobs echoed the empty rooms bouncing off the the walls mixing with the police sirens in the distance.

“He loved and he loved and he lost her, and it hurts like hell”-Fleurie

Tag list for Russian Roulette:

@zhuzhubii​ 

[heartofether]

Episode 13 - Dog with a Bone TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[INCREASINGLY SLOWLY] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. AGENTS MAY AND JUNES’ COMPANY VEHICLE, DRIVING INTO DAUGHTLER, WASHINGTON, MIDDAY.]

[THE TWO ARE HEARD DRIVING THROUGH THE TOWN.]

AGENT MAY

This is the audio log of Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Investigation taking place in Daughtler, Washington, 2019. Set to last for two months minimum. This is day one. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are legal property of the Harper Foundation. Any unauthorized access to these recordings will result in—

AGENT JUNE

[OVERLAPPING] Does Daughtler know no God? That church is crumbling like a communion wafer!

AGENT MAY

Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

I’m just saying! You’d think for a place of worship, they’d take better care of it. Basic maintenance, maybe a new paint job.

AGENT MAY

Well, I guess the people of Daughtler aren’t particularly religious.

AGENT JUNE

Oh, not that I care. I’m an atheist. Raised in a Catholic household, which went about as well as—

AGENT MAY

Look, in the future, could you please avoid speaking over me when we’re recording important information?

AGENT JUNE

What important information? We just got here.

AGENT MAY

Well, if we’re going to be constantly on the record, I would like to maintain some level of professionalism.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh. Hate to break it to you, bud, but if you expect me to shut up for this whole mission, I think you will be greatly disappointed. I am, you see, constantly burdened by great ideas—trust me, it’s exhausting.

AGENT MAY

[SARCASTIC] I’m sure it is.

AGENT JUNE

[AFTER A BRIEF PAUSE, HE SNORTS A LAUGH.] DVD rentals? Dude, who’s renting DVDs in the digital era of pirating—I mean, uh, legally buying and streaming everything online?

AGENT MAY

[DEADPAN] Nice catch.

AGENT JUNE

Anyways, where are we heading first? I’m guessing the motel?

AGENT MAY

Actually, we’re going to make a quick detour. Stop somewhere for a quick interview.

AGENT JUNE

[HE GROANS.] Seriously, dude? We have so much time to do that kind of stuff. Can’t we just, you know, relax for our first day? Settle into Weird Town, USA?

AGENT MAY

I’d like to start this mission off on a good foot. It would be valuable to meet some of the residents, see what they’re like. Besides, this particular individual is important enough that by establishing a relationship early on, it may be beneficial in the long run.

AGENT JUNE

Ugh, fine. Who is our person of the hour, then?

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s less about the person and more about where they’re living.

[A BEAT.]

AGENT JUNE

Yeah, dude. Obviously. They’re living in Daughtler, Washington. You know, the place we’re investigating?

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING] I mean their house.

Agent June, please, please tell me you know who Bernard Kelly Valencia is.

AGENT JUNE

Obviously, dude! That’s like asking a chemistry student if they know what an electron is. [THEN, UNDER HIS BREATH] Actually, I failed chemistry, so maybe that isn’t the best analogy.

But yeah. Bernard Kelly Valencia. Super weird dude that the entire town was kinda freaked by. Supposedly was well-known among the Ether community for his vast range of research conducted with Dorothy Wood. Nobody actually knows where all that work went after he and Dorothy died, though.

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s possible some of it was left behind in his own house.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, seriously? Didn’t all of his belongings go to his son afterwards?

AGENT MAY

According to the original house plans, there’s an attic. His son, after leaving the house once and for all, never mentioned there being anything in the attic. This could mean it was just empty, but that fact would have to have been noted at some point. His son was thorough in his complaints about clearing his father’s house, from what we could find. It’s possible nobody ever even bothered to look up there.

AGENT JUNE

So you think he had something in his attic that just never got found?

AGENT MAY

That’s what the Foundation believes.

AGENT JUNE

Alrighty, then. That’s not too bad. We just break into a dead guy’s house and pillage through his attic. I mean, how hard can that be?

AGENT MAY

It’s not that simple. There’s a new tenant living there.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh, I see. Do you think they know?

AGENT MAY

Perhaps. There was a recent missing person report linked to the house—an inspector who the landlord sent out to investigate a supposed mold problem.

AGENT JUNE

Classic.

AGENT MAY

Which leads us to believe that the new tenant is at least familiar with Ether—assuming the mold problem was of supernatural origin, which is probable due to the house’s location and the report filed by the landlord describing the mold: yellow, with an odd scent.

AGENT JUNE

So, what’s our plan? Are we just going to go and ask to search the house?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, the Foundation couldn’t acquire a formal search warrant. We’ll have to convince the new tenant to let us in of their own free will.

AGENT JUNE

Who is this person, anyways?

AGENT MAY

Her name is Irene Gray. She’s twenty-one years old. Works as forestry aid.

AGENT JUNE

Do we know anything else about her?

AGENT MAY

Let’s just say the mold inspector isn’t the only missing persons case she’s connected to. Four years ago, an 18-year-old girl named Rosemary Quinn went missing. Officials think it’s likely she ran away. Irene Gray was Rosemary’s girlfriend. The police’s interview with Irene states that the two of them had planned on running away together not long after the date Rosemary had gone missing.

AGENT JUNE

Way to rat your girlfriend out like that.

AGENT MAY

She could have been desperate for any sort of lead, even if that meant getting herself and Rosemary in trouble. And she did get in trouble, I believe, though not with the law, per say. Irene couldn’t have known where Rosemary had gone, though. She was so emotionally devastated after the event, there was little chance she was faking it or lying to cover for Rosemary. She actually started therapy not long after.

AGENT JUNE

So, why does it matter? Did they ever find Rosemary?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, no. The official record states that the last place she was potentially seen was a local animal shelter, where she dropped off her cat, whose name she said was Sage. This, however, does not sync up with reports from her family claiming the cat’s name was Sir Griffin the Third, which led to some uncertainty. They had a difficult time tracking her after that, though. All they had to go off of was one potential gas station siting, but all that resulted in was another dead end.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, you still haven’t explained why any of this matters.

AGENT MAY

[FRUSTRATED] Could you just be patient for one— [HE HUFFS A SIGH.]

Look, it’s important because it’s unlikely Irene Gray will let us explore her house if we just ask nicely.

AGENT JUNE

So, we have to use bait?

AGENT MAY

It could be a mutually beneficial relationship, is what I’m saying. We both have something the other wants.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, does the Foundation, like, know what happened to that girl?

AGENT MAY

Not quite, but, potentially. I’ll show you what we have once we stop the car.

AGENT JUNE

Great! This should be interesting.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] I’m sure it will be.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE GRAY’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

[IRENE IS ON A PHONE CALL WITH ADEN. ON HIS END OF THE LINE, THERE IS THE LOOPING SOUND OF A BROKEN FAX MACHINE ATTEMPTING, BUT FAILING, TO PROCESS PAPER.]

IRENE

It’s a fax machine. How do you not know how to use a fax machine? I’ve literally watched you do it before.

ADEN

Well, I thought I knew! And I mean, come on, how come you get to judge me when you can’t even use your phone properly?

IRENE

Oh, my god—Aden, it’s my day off. Can’t you just look it up?

ADEN

I don’t know how to describe the problem in a way a search engine will understand. It’s too—you know—specific.

IRENE

Ask someone there, then. Carol and Julia probably know better than I do.

ADEN

Julia’s sick, and Carol’s on some important phone call. Look, I just—if we have to replace this thing and it’s my fault, I’m going to freak out—

IRENE

Okay, wait until Carol gets off the phone and then—

ADEN

[WORRIED] What if it sets on fire or something?

IRENE

[FRUSTRATED] It won’t! It’s probably just jammed.

ADEN

But what if it does?

IRENE

[SNAPPING] Jeez, dude, just go find the manual! Why are you calling me?

ADEN

[PANICKED, STUTTERING] Because I’m panicking, alright? Look, ever, ever since the mold incident, I’ve been so scared constantly of everything. Every tiny thing that happens feels like it’s the end of the world, especially because that dude’s van went missing and it’s like you guys are just constantly waiting for the police to just show up at your door—

IRENE

[HER TONE SOFTENS, GROWING SYMPATHETIC] Oh, Aden—

ADEN

[CONT.] —and you and Carol almost died, and I did nothing. Okay? I sat in my office and talked to the knitted cat on my desk while I had a panic attack and did nothing.

I just want to find some way to, to do good, to fix something, but instead I think I ruined the fax machine and now I’m just failing you and Carol, again.

IRENE

[CHOOSING HER WORDS CAREFULLY] Hey. Look, I—I’m sorry I snapped. It’s not…it’s not that big of a deal.

ADEN

[COMING DOWN, GUILTILY] No, no, you’re right. I shouldn’t have called you on your day off.

IRENE

It’s fine. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Do you need me to go down there and look at it?

ADEN

No, don’t. I’m kinda starting to calm down, and I think if I can’t find the manual, I’ll just wait until Carol gets off the phone.

IRENE

That’s a good idea.

[A BEAT.] Um, if you need a distraction or anything, we can still talk for a bit. I know how anxiety can be.

ADEN

[SINCERE] That means a lot, Irene. Thank you.

IRENE

Of course.

Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?

ADEN

[A BEAT, THEN, HESITANT] I actually have a question. I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, but if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.

IRENE

I mean, I think you’ve already seen me at some pretty low points, so…

ADEN

[HE CHUCKLES.] Alright.

[CAREFULLY] You said you had a girlfriend who went missing.

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yup.

ADEN

What was her name?

IRENE

[A HESITANT BEAT.] Rose. Er, you may have seen the name Rosemary Quinn at some point, but it was years ago.

ADEN

Yeah, I don’t remember. Sorry.

IRENE

It’s fine.

ADEN

What happened to her?

[THERE’S A PAUSE.]

IRENE

[GRIM] We never found out.

For a long time, I’ve thought that she just decided she was sick of her life as it was. Ran away to start a new one without telling anyone where she went. It would have made sense—she had planned on doing it for a while. Even took cash from her savings out in chunks so nobody would be able to track her card when she did. Her mother simply wrote this off as poorly thought-out impulse purchases.

We had planned our entire future together, though, and for her to just throw it out didn’t make sense, it—well… [SHE TRAILS OFF.]

ADEN

I’m sorry.

IRENE

I thought it was her mom at first, though. Grace Quinn. [SHE SAYS THE NAME WITH VENOM.]

They investigated Grace for domestic abuse. Believed Rose ran away to escape a dangerous situation. Upon Rose not answering her bedroom door, Grace, well…broke it down. Rose had locked it before she went out the window, and her mother just—decimated the doorknob to get in. At least, that’s what the police report says.

ADEN

Jeez.

IRENE

Without the child there, however, it was difficult to prove any abuse. I had some texts. Her aunts had a couple of anecdotes. That was all, though. Grace refused to admit to anything, of course.

ADEN

[HESITANT] Was there? Um, was there abuse?

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yeah.

ADEN

I’m so sorry.

IRENE

It was rarely ever physical, but it definitely happened.

ADEN

I mean, if Rose was trying to escape something, I hope she was safe in the end.

IRENE

[PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY, ALMOST SAD] I do, too.

[A BEAT.] That wasn’t all, though. Grace acted really strange afterwards. When police asked what had happened the night before, she said she couldn’t remember. Seriously, she didn’t have any concrete details. She said she had just woken up that morning and Rose was gone, but her story kept changing in little ways. It was disorienting.

She seemed…paranoid. Jumpy. Confused, even. Angry, but her anger wasn’t directed anywhere. I might have felt bad for her if just the thought of her hadn’t made my blood boil. I mean, I imagine your daughter going missing has gotta have some sort of effect on you, even if you’re not on good terms with her.

Grace wasn’t entirely there, though. Looking back, it’s a lot more clear. I…know some things, I didn’t know back then. I just, I wonder what was really wrong with her. I haven’t talked to her in years. Certainly not about to start now.

ADEN

I mean, I kinda sympathize with her, but also, she doesn’t sound like a great person.

IRENE

Oh no, she’s horrible. I know I should feel some remorse for all the awful things I’ve said about her, but I don’t. Not really.

When Rose first went missing, I became blinded by rage. I screamed at Grace when I saw her. Cursed in her face. Said it was all her fault, because I was—well, I was scared, and I had no other explanation. My dad had to drag me away before I attacked her.

ADEN

Jeez, Irene.

IRENE

I’m obviously better about my anger management now. Therapy at least did that for me.

ADEN

I mean, I get it. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.

IRENE

Yeah. Um, yeah. [IT SOUNDS LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE SHE WANTS TO SAY.]

Thanks, Aden.

ADEN

Of course. If you…I mean, I know it’s been a while, but you can always talk to me about it. I’ve said that before, but, y’know.

IRENE

I appreciate it.

[A PAUSE.]

ADEN

I think Carol’s call ended.

IRENE

[TEASING] And did the fax machine catch on fire?

ADEN

[HE LAUGHS.] No. No, it did not.

[IRENE LAUGHS. ANOTHER PAUSE.]

IRENE

[MORE SERIOUS] Aden?

ADEN

Yeah?

IRENE

I’m…I’m working on something. It’s a personal project.

ADEN

[CAUGHT OFF GUARD] Oh. Okay.

IRENE

I don’t think I can tell you what it’s about, but…just so you know. I mean, I trust you, so.

ADEN

That’s—um, that’s fine. Uh, let me know if I can help at all?

IRENE

Sure. I’ll talk to you later.

[AS THEY SPEAK, THERE’S APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS ON ADEN’S END OF THE LINE.]

ADEN

You, too. Thank you again for talking.

IRENE

Not a problem. Bye.

ADEN

Talk to you soon!

CAROL

[IN THE DISTANCE] What did you do to the damn—?

[PHONE BEEP AS ADEN HANGS UP. IRENE SIGHS.]

IRENE

[CONFUSED] Oh, uh. Didn’t realize my phone was recording. [MUTTERS] When did that start? Guess I turned it on at some point.

[A BEAT.] Well, Rose. I’m talking to you now. Not just some figment of you in my head, but, you.

I know you’re going to hear these. I don’t know when, but you will. Of course you will.

[A BEAT.] Only problem is, I’m kind of at a dead end. My only lead so far is a mysterious recording that popped up on my laptop with no explanation. I have no idea how any of those files got there. Do I just have to wait until whatever weird force that gives them to me decides to throw one my way?

It’s like gambling at that point. I don’t know when I’ll get something or if what I find will be helpful or not. I mean, hell, I could get a new file on my computer and it’ll just be some voicemail I sent you sophomore year about baking brownies. Who knows what I’ll find or when I’ll find it?

I have to figure out something more reliable. Maybe figure out where the recordings are coming from, and if I can use whatever it is to my advantage. Or, I don’t know, Phoebe is coming over at some point to look in my attic. Maybe I should just—

[THERE’S A KNOCK AT THE FRONT DOOR.]

IRENE

…huh. Wasn’t expecting anyone.

[IRENE IS HEARD GETTING UP AND WALKING TOWARDS THE DOOR. AS SHE APPROACHES, THE AGENT'S MUFFLED ARGUING IS HEARD, GROWING LOUDER AS SHE GROWS NEAR.]

AGENT JUNE

[MUFFLED] I'm just saying, it could be pretty cool, you know? I'm all like, "Ooh, ahh, no, tell us what we wanna know, and you're like—"

AGENT MAY

[MUFFLED, OVERLAPPING ] June, you're too impressionable by all of these movies that you watch.

[IRENE OPENS THE DOOR, BUT THEY CONTINUE AS IF SHE ISN'T THERE.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] No, no, listen. It could be great, it could be great! We could like, stand back to back, and like, ooh, finger guns—

AGENT MAY

No, I'm not doing finger guns!

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING] Um, can I help you?

AGENT JUNE

[TO AGENT MAY] Okay, but just try it—

AGENT MAY

[HARSHLY CUTTING HIM OFF.] Yes, actually. Is this the residence of Irene Gray?

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] Who’s asking?

[AGENT MAY IS HEARD FLASHING HIS BADGE.]

AGENT MAY

We’re Agents May and June of The Harper Foundation. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.

IRENE

The hell is that?

AGENT JUNE

Ah, see, that’s the point: you’re not supposed to know. [A BEAT.] I mean, well, we do leave kind of cryptic ads in the local paper sometimes, but, still.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

What? I don’t choose to put those weird ads there!

IRENE

[UNIMPRESSED] …so, what, you’re secret agents?

AGENT MAY

If you’d like to call us that. May we come in?

IRENE

Why?

AGENT MAY

We just need to ask you about a few things. I promise it won’t be long.

IRENE

…are you going to, what, search my house?

AGENT JUNE

You got something to hide?

IRENE

[DEFENSIVE] No! I’m sorry that I value my privacy.

AGENT MAY

We’re not searching your house right now. This will be much easier for all of us if you comply, Ms. Gray.

IRENE

[SHE THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN, DISGRUNTLED] Fine.

AGENT MAY

Thank you.

[IRENE IS HEARD LEADING THE AGENTS INTO HER HOUSE, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND THEM. THEIR FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD AS THEY ENTER.]

AGENT JUNE

It’s a nice place you got here. Oh, wow, did you paint that yourself?

IRENE

It was a gift.

AGENT JUNE

Ah, gotcha, gotcha.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY STOP WALKING.]

IRENE

Well? Take a seat. Be my guest.

[AGENTS MAY AND JUNE ARE HEARD SITTING AT THE TABLE. THERE ARE TWO LOUD THUNKING NOISES, AS IF SOMEONE IS HITTING THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

Agent June, take your feet off the table.

AGENT JUNE

Sorry, sorry.

[SHUFFLING NOISES AS AGENT JUNE MOVES HIS FEET.]

IRENE

Can I get you both anything to drink?

AGENT JUNE

There are your manners!

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] You’re one to talk.

AGENT JUNE

Whatcha got?

IRENE

Um, water? I could make coffee? I also have lemonade in the fridge, but that’s for emergencies.

[A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

I think I’m in the mood for an emergency lemonade. You, Agent May?

AGENT MAY

I’m fine, thanks.

[AS THEY CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION, IRENE IS HEARD GRABBING THE LEMONADE OUT OF THE FRIDGE, TAKING A GLASS FROM THE CUPBOARD, AND POURING JUNE'S DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

How long have you lived here, Ms. Gray?

IRENE

Not long. I moved here for work.

AGENT MAY

And what do you do?

IRENE

[HASTILY] I’m an engineer.

AGENT JUNE

Mm! Enjoying the area so far?

IRENE

It’s nice. The people are friendly.

[SHE SETS AGENT JUNE’S LEMONADE DOWN ON THE TABLE.]

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged.

[HE TAKES A DRINK LOUDLY. IRENE SITS DOWN ACROSS FROM THE TWO OF THEM.]

IRENE

…well? You said you had questions.

AGENT MAY

We’re here to ask you about a missing person.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

IRENE

Which one?

AGENT MAY

Which one are you thinking of?

IRENE

[SHE PAUSES.] Are you talking about Rosemary Quinn?

AGENT MAY

[A TENTATIVE PAUSE.] You and Rosemary were close, correct?

IRENE

Why do you care?

AGENT MAY

I’m asking a question. An answer would be nice.

IRENE

[HESITANT] I knew Rose, yeah.

AGENT MAY

When was the last time you saw her?

IRENE

Um, it was two days before her disappearance, I believe?

Look, this should all be on her file. I don’t see the need to recount this all to you unless they’ve opened the case again. Hell, you’re not even cops, are you?

AGENT JUNE

Oh, don’t be that way, Irene. I know this case isn’t as recent as the other one you’re involved with, but you should be able to remember, right?

IRENE

The—

[THERE'S A LOW, EERIE INSTRUMENTAL AS IRENE'S BLOOD RUNS COLD.]

IRENE

[BLUFFING] What other case?

[AGENT MAY SLIDES A PIECE OF PAPER ACROSS THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

You were the last person to see this man, correct?

IRENE

I, um, I don’t know him, no.

AGENT JUNE

You’re not as good at lying as you think you are, you know.

[HE'S HEARD FLIPPING OVER A PIECE OF PAPER TO EXAMINE IT.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] I mean, why lie to us about your job, anyways? There’s no shame in being a forestry aid. I’m sure it’s a lovely profession.

IRENE

Who the hell are you people?

AGENT MAY

Relax, Irene. The Harper Foundation has already taken care of his vehicle and rerouted the case so it doesn’t trace back to you. Investigators will come up with a dead-end soon enough, and nobody will know what you did.

AGENT JUNE

You’re welcome for that.

IRENE

I— [THEN, GUILTILY] I didn’t kill him.

AGENT MAY

I’m sure you didn’t. That’s not important right now. We’re just trying to give you a nudge in the right direction so maybe then you’ll be inclined to tell us the truth.

IRENE

Why? What do you want from me?

AGENT MAY

If you’d give me a moment to speak, then I can explain.

[IRENE HUFFS A SIGH, BUT LETS AGENT MAY SPEAK. HE FLIPS OPEN A FOLDER.]

AGENT MAY

Are you aware of this house’s previous tenant?

IRENE

You mean Bernard Kelly Valencia? His reputation precedes him, but I never knew the guy.

AGENT MAY

That’s correct. We believe he left something behind after he died, however. Something that could be incredibly beneficial for the Foundation. Have you found anything like that?

[IRENE STAYS SILENT.]

AGENT JUNE

[WHISPERS TO AGENT MAY] I think she’s trying to plead the fifth.

AGENT MAY

We expected such stubbornness. We’re not asking you for this for free, you know. We believe we may also have something that would be beneficial for you.

IRENE

And, what is that, exactly?

AGENT MAY

I’m glad you asked.

[HE'S HEARD HANDING A PAPER TO IRENE. MYSTERIOUS MUSIC BEGINS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

AGENT MAY

Sometime in July, the same year Rosemary Quinn disappeared, a dusty yellow bicycle was found in the middle of nowhere in Oregon. It appeared to have had a broken piece in the front where a basket was supposed to be attached. It was never brought to the police, so unfortunately, it could never be examined as possible evidence.

AGENT JUNE

Hiker who found it posted about it on Twitter, though. The guy didn’t have many followers, so it never got traction.

AGENT MAY

This photo was taken not too far from Bent. If this is Rosemary’s bicycle, it could mean that we have a possible travel path for her after her disappearance.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, that was quite the shift in your expression, Irene. Have we struck a nerve? [MELODRAMATIC] I guess young love tends to leave such sore, open wounds, doesn’t it?

AGENT MAY

If you let us look at whatever it is Mr. Valencia left behind, we can help you find Rosemary Quinn. It may take some time, but we believe we can determine what happened to her. We just need your help.

[THE MUSIC STOPS. THERE'S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

Get out.

[SHE'S HEARD GETTING OUT OF HER CHAIR.]

AGENT JUNE

Wh—hey!

IRENE

[GROWING MORE UPSET] Get out, I said. Get out!

[AS SHE SPEAKS, SHE'S HEARD PHYSICALLY GRABBING THE AGENTS AND PUSHING THEM OUT OF HER HOUSE. WHILE SHE'S AT IT, SHE GRABS THEIR FOLDERS AS WELL, THOUGH ONE PAPER STAYS BEHIND.]

AGENT JUNE

Hey, no, stop! You can't just grab our things like that! Please.

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING, STUTTERING] Hey—!

[BOTH AGENTS STUMBLE OUTSIDE. IRENE IS HEARD THROWING THEIR PAPERS OUT THE DOOR.]

AGENT JUNE

Woah!

AGENT MAY

That's confidential information, you can't keep that in your house—

[SHE CUTS HIM OFF BY SLAMMING THE DOOR. THERE'S A PAUSE AS SHE BEGINS PACING THE FLOOR.]

IRENE

Who the hell do they think they are? Do they think I’m just some sort of—some sort of tool for them to use? Do they think they can dangle Rose over my head like I’m a dog with a bone, all over some—

[SHE PICKS THE PICTURE UP OFF THE TABLE, STOPPING HER PACING]

IRENE

Some picture of a bicycle?

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS IRENE STARES AT THE PHOTO, BEGINNING TO CALM DOWN.]

IRENE

[CAUTIOUS HOPE.] Is this really your bike, Rose? Why would you tear the basket off? You loved that basket. [WANDERING INTO DAYDREAM TERRITORY] You’d put flowers I got you in it and then ride around your block. Said it made you feel like you were in a painting.

[A BEAT.] Maybe I shouldn’t have kicked them—

[THERE’S ANOTHER KNOCK AT THE DOOR. IRENE STORMS BACK OVER TO IT.]

IRENE

[YELLING] I told you to get out! I’m not some stupid—

[SHE OPENS THE DOOR, AND REALIZES IT'S NOT THE AGENTS.]

IRENE

[EMBARRASSED] …dog.

TEEN

Well, I sure hope you’re not.

IRENE

[AWKWARDLY] Um, hi. Sorry, it’s just, someone else was just over and—

TEEN

Those two dudes? Yeah, they didn’t look very happy. That one guy, the one who had his tie undone for some reason, he had to chase one of the papers down the street. It was really funny.

IRENE

You were watching?

TEEN

Well, I didn’t realize you had a line going out your door of people waiting to talk to you.

IRENE

[DEADPAN] I’m new to the famous life.

TEEN

You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.

IRENE

Well, are you here to interview me and talk about my darkest secrets?

TEEN

That would be cool, wouldn’t it?

IRENE

[DISGRUNTLED] Not after the day I’ve had.

TEEN

Well, you see, I’ve actually been dying to meet you. My mom told me about you, said she met you at the store. I don’t know if you remember her, but from what she told me, it sounds like maybe you could use a bit of help.

IRENE

Your m— [IN SHOCKED AWE] Oh my god, are you the meat lady’s kid?

AVERY

Actually, my name is Avery.

Wanna grab lunch sometime?

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: "Most of the people are homesick anyway, and a little lonely, and they hide themselves in their hair and are turned into flowers."

Tove Jansson in Sculptor's Daughter, 1968.

[A PAUSE AS A HOLLOW NOISE BEGINS TO GROW IN THE BACKGROUND, FOLLOWED BY STATIC.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[SLOWLY, AS IF STRAINED] Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel it—

[THE VOICE IS CUT OFF BY STATIC.]

[OUTRO MUSIC & CREDITS PLAY.]

[AN EXTENDED PIANO VERSION OF THE NIGHT POST’S OPENING THEME PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND.]

NIGHT POST PROMO

Hello there, citizen. You’ve lived in Gilt City for a while now. Maybe you’ve wondered, when you wake in the morning and retrieve the letters tucked neatly into your postbox, just where your mail comes from. It comes from the Night Post, of course. Those faithful couriers deliver it while you’re sleeping--all the better that they stay out of sight, and keep the unseemly strangeness that follows them out of our city, in the Skelter, where it belongs.

Ahem. If, for some reason, you’d like to know more about Gilt City’s conscripted couriers and the burden that chose them, their secret hopes and fears, the ancient, untamed threats that hound them on their nocturnal journeys--you have only to listen. The Night Post is a supernatural audio drama by an all-LGBT team, delivered weekly, in dead of night, to wherever you listen to podcasts.

Find answers at nightpostpod.com.

[bibliocratic]

For @babtest, who asked for the prompt: Martin showing normal, genuine human anger.

Jon/Martin, set in a nebulous post-160 AU. Cws in the tags. 

“And if you want me to call – ”

“I know, I'll send a message.”

“And if you don't feel safe, or you want out of there, there doesn't have to be a reason – ”

“Jon.”

“I'll have the phone on me in case – ”

“Jon,” Martin snaps, and his voice is saw-toothed, edged with an irritation that serves as a defensive carapace to his nerves. “It's – it's fine, he's probably not going to be there anyway, this whole thing is going to be a waste, s-so would you please stop fussing, for – ” He releases a grunt of annoyance but tries to muster some calm, breathing with heavy huffing sounds. “I just need... this bloody Christ, this tie – ”

Martin's made a knot-eyed strangle-hold mess of it in his rush, and he tugs angrily at it, making it worse.

“Do you want me to – ?”

“No, I don't! Would you just let me do it! God forbid I be able to do it myself.”

Martin's voice raises to a shout that dips into a hollow of passive aggressive sniping. Jon stills, steps back from where he's been moving into Martin's space and crowding him, and tries not too feel too hurt, pushes down the knee-jerk cutting responses that will neither be helpful or deserved.

Martin tussles with the tie for a few more vicious seconds, his smart shirt having been tucked, untucked and re-tucked again and taking on a rumpled, disturbed pattern. He finally breathes out again, a heavy, weighted breath, closing his eyes. He takes a few calculated, noticeably deeper inhales and exhales that Jon recognises as the deep breathing his therapist taught him. Jon lets him tide through it.

“I'm sorry for snapping,” Martin says lowly, roughly. “I didn't mean – I'm not handling this very well. That's no reason to take it out on you.”

“Considering how many times I was short with you, you probably still have a surplus until we're even close to equal,” Jon replies, trying for levity. Martin wrings the abused tie miserably in his hands, and Jon wishes that this was easier, that this wasn't drawing out all of Martin's embedded poisons, his anxieties he's long laboured to conquer.

“Can you – Will you help? With the tie?” Martin says in a smaller voice, and Jon takes a step into Martin's unhappy orbit, and removes it gently from his hands.

“Of course,” he replies. “If you want to wear it. But you – Martin, you look good without it. And you hate ties.”

The last time he'd worn one was at his mum's funeral, Jon both knows and Knows. He hadn't been able to tie it then either.

“I want – ” Martin says, looking frustrated when the words don't come as easily as he desires. “It looks professional, yeah? Smart? I don't want to look – do I look like I'm, I dunno, trying too hard? It's – huh – it's only a cafe, right, not the bloody Ritz or something – will it, do you think it'll look too desperate?”

Jon touches Martin's arm with his hand. Martin's fidgeting with his shirt sleeves, the buttons at the cuffs, keeps tugging them down like he's worried they're not long enough. He twists and twists and twists his wedding ring and bleeds out nerves like a weather front stagnating in fog, and Jon selfishly wants him to cancel.

“You'll look fine,” he replies. “Smart, and put-together. And I'll think you look handsome, but that's by the by.” That coaxes Martin's lips to twitch. “But you don't... you don't have to wear it, if it's going to... if you're uncomfortable in it. Especially if you think not wearing it will make him disapprove or some nonsense.”

Martin huffs a sound that's the verbal equivalent of a long-suffering eye-roll.

“Spooky mind-reader strikes again, huh.”

“Fear my psychic powers,” Jon dead-pans, and Martin chuffs another one of those aborted half-laughs. Then, quieter, softer. “Want me to help with it?”

“I – I think I'll leave it,” Martin responds finally, with a nod to himself. “It's a Costa anyway, I'm just going to look like a hipster anyway in this shirt.”

“It's that and the beard,” Jon agrees, rubbing his hand at the thick scratchy weave of it until Martin bats his hand away with a 'get off you'. “Do you need your umbrella?”

“ 's only ten minutes down the road, should be alright.”

“You get caught in a downpour, it's your own fault.”

Martin's lips do actually quirk in a smile then, finding the grooves of their light-hearted bickering as a comforting oft-replayed melody.

“Your compassion  never ceases to astound me.”

“You didn't have to marry me.”

“Not like any one else was going to do the job.”

“How noble and public-spirited of you.”

Jon kisses Martin's lips briefly, raising himself up on socked tip-toes. Martin's hand slots into his, faintly trembling.

“Whatever you decide, I'll support your decision,” he says in the tight woven space of their bodies. “Even if this isn't what you want, or even if it is.”

Martin nods, and returns a dry, bristly kiss in return before he heads out.

It starts spitting with rain not a minute later.

-

Jon has not been blessed with an abundance of patience. Martin's meeting is at half two, but he checks his phone at obsessive intervals, watching the screen lighten and the clock on analogue mode work through the grinding seconds. In case Martin's changed his mind. In case he wants out, doesn't want to do this. In case he was stood up, or is sat alone because there was some problem with traffic, or, or, or.

Jon, half-heartedly, tries a great number of things to distract himself, and to avoid any instances of Knowing. After an hour, he's given channel-hopping a go – watching five minutes of a mid-afternoon western, and then ten minutes of a reality show about buying houses on the coast and renovating them. (Martin loves these types of programmes, and in the spirit of them is trying to doggedly renovate the front hall. Meaning that any time Jon wants to go to the front door, he has to pick his way over old blankets thrown down to protect the flooring from paint drips, Martin's small forest of tester pots and paint pots and drying brushes).

Martin's got a window seat – the window misted with condenseness, some child has imprinted a pudgy hand as a calling card – has ordered a mocha – over-sugared, tacky in his mouth, he regrets the choice immediately –

SHUT UP, Jon fumes at himself, and tries to read, manages a few pages before he's struck with the frisson of Martin's spiking anxiety every time the ding of the cafe door pipes up, and stomps into the kitchen to occupy his mind by making himself an unappetizing lunch that he doesn't even want to eat.

His phone remains silent. Jon fights the powerful urge to send a brief check-up message, a little everything going ok? but stops himself. Martin's going to have enough on his plate.

Jon frets and waits for him to come home.

–

There's the plaintive squeak of the front gate (Martin will need to oil it again), and Jon sits up from where he's been petting the cat and poorly playing one of Martin's hand-held console games. He's been on the same level for about an hour now, and stubbornness is preventing him from giving it up as a lost cause.

The pad of two footsteps.

“You've – the flowers are nice. That you've got growing.”

“Thanks. It's not really – it's more Jon than me.  He's pretty green-fingered.” The footsteps peter out. “So – er, well, this is me, heh. Close by.”

“Time really flew, huh.”

“Yeah. T-thanks for the, thanks for the coffee – ”

“Don't mention – ”

“ – and for the walk back – ”

“ – You can keep the umbrella, if you  – ”

“N-no, it's, it's fine.”

The conversation stalls and splutters like an engine with the wrong fuel. Jon's moved out into the hallway, the cat restless but demanding in his arms, and sees the blurred bulk of Martin's stiff shoulders in the frosted glass pane of their front door, set high like he's shoved his hands into his pockets.

Jon skirts around the paint pots to get nearer.

“So,” the other voice – and it's so similar, strikes the same gulleys and furrows, the stop-and-start of thoughts eking their way out into expression, and it wrong-foots Jon to hear it, the ill-matching echo of it. “I – I'll see you again? If you, that is – I really liked... It was good. To catch up, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, and he sounds wrung out, straining on some mental rack he's internalised. “It was. Yeah. It was good to see you.”

“You want to do coffee again, sometime?”

“I – er. Maybe. Maybe.”

The first fuzz of hurt creeps to moss over the over-eager nervousness of the other voice. “Oh. Er, yeah. S-sure. That's... it's not a problem. Why, why maybe?”

Martin's hackles go up defensively. “I'm not sure, alright?”

“Was everything ok?”

“I guess relatively?”

“What's that mean?”

“Relatively as in, it's been thirty years, there's a few things to iron out after all that. Hence the, y'know, the maybe.”

“Right,” comes the response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin's voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

There's a punch of silence. The cat buts against Jon's chin. Through the vague blurring of the glass, Martin shifts in that way of his, when he says something he wishes he hasn't, but he makes no move to take it back.

Half beseeching, half reproachful: “That's not fair, Marty.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“It's Martin,” Martin replies, blistering with something bubbling to the forefront. “It's Martin, not Marty. I'm not – I'm not a child any more, so you can just – just drop that.” He scoffs a breath, and it's hard and hurt and deliberate. “And no, it wasn't fair. But neither was you leaving. So guess we're equal.”

“I – I tried to explain,” the other man starts, a heat of his own starting to shade indignant.

“And it was bollocks – ”

“It's the truth!”

“It wasn't good enough!”

“Your mother, she was – ”

“She was ill! She was sick and you knew, you knew she was just going to get sicker, and so you cut your losses and you legged it.”

“It wasn't like that – ”

“I was eight!” Martin snarls, and there's no pausing in his words any more, no careful consideration, it's a scatter-gun of words he's had secured in his chest for a long time now. “What the fuck sort of parent leaves an eight year old in that sort of house, with that sort of responsibility? What the hell kind of a life did you think I'd have?!”

“She had – you had aunts and uncles! They were, nearby, they were always cluttering up the house, popping round. I thought – I thought if, when she got really bad, they'd take you in!”

“She cut everyone out! What a stupid – you knew her! She hated anything that felt like pity, she was proud and she didn't want anyone to see her as she got worse. You think she'd have accepted someone implying she couldn't care for her son? No.  And eventually it was – it was only us, and you know what, she hated me for it. Because I looked so much like you! Because everything I did, everything I ever did was just a reminder of how much she hated you for leaving.”

“I didn't – ” The response is regret-mired, apologetic, but Martin doesn't want to hear it. “I couldn't have known that...”

“No,” Martin replies, his voice all venom and hurt. “But it's not like you checked, did you? Pop in, see how I was doing.  A visit o-or a letter in the post, o-or something! Christ, you didn't even come to the bloody funeral!”

“I.. No one told me! I found out she'd... she'd passed about a month back. I swear, Marty – Martin, sorry. I swear, I didn't know.”

“And now here you are.”

“I wanted to – I wanted to make amends! To be a better, a better father to you.”

“I'm nearly forty, dad,” Martin snipes unkindly, his throat thick. “What makes you think I need you now?” He sniffs, his words damper than he'd like. “Thirty years is a long time to wait to try and play happy families again.”

“Martin, I. Look, I had a lot of problems. Back then. For a long time. I'm not saying them as an excuse – ”

“Then don't say them,” Martin cuts him off. “I don't – I don't want to hear them. I... just. Don't.”

The conversation dies abruptly. There's a horrible, terminal sort of quiet to it.

“I'm going to go,” Martin says, his tone sanded down to quiet exhaustion. “I've got – Jon'll be waiting and I – I can't do this any more.”

“Right,” Kenneth Blackwood replies with an equal tone. “I'm staying, I'm nearby if you want to – I hope to see you again, Martin.”

Martin doesn't reply. Jon has enough warning of the looming shadow in the door to skitter back as Martin uses his key to twist the lock open.

His face is ruddy, splotchy with patches of red. His eyes wet.

“Guess you heard some of that, yeah?” he bites out bitterly on seeing Jon, tugging off his coat.

“Some,” Jon admits honestly, and Martin shakes his head like he's trying to knock something loose, throws his coat over the banister head, pulling off his scarf and balling it up and chucking it in the corner by the door like it's wronged him.

“What a fucking – It was a mistake, I knew I knew it was a bad idea, me and my stupid bloody – playing the bleeding heart idiot again as per fucking usual.”

“Did it, did go badly?” Jon asks, putting the cat down and skirting the edges of Martin's return, watching him pull off his shoes unlaced and slam them into the shoe pile into the corner.

“Absolutely fabulous!” he responds with a false bitter cheer that tinges yellowed and sick. He's not calming down. His hand threading through his hair, his face continuing to redden with an angry heat, eyes welling up. “He's so bloody sincere and apologetic and what the – what am I supposed to do with that now? Where were all his sorries then, where was he when I wanted to hear them?”

Martin plows on, clearly not wanting answers.

“A-and he was so interested, wanted to see our wedding pictures, and kept asking so so many questions like it was a job interview or something – what are you doing? What do you like doing? What are your hobbies? How long have you and Jon been together? – a-and, like, I couldn't help thinking that it's none of his – he wasn't there, he doesn't get to be all friendly like he didn't just walk out. And! And then!” Martin's voice rises to a furious damp crest, throwing his hands about. “Then he wants to share! He had pictures on him and his new wife and new kids – a-and mum, she always, she always said he hadn't wanted a family, hadn't wanted to be a dad, didn't want the responsibility that'd fall on him when she got sick. But he was so happy! So I don't – what am I meant to think of that? I don't know, I mean, was it lies she told me, how much was the truth, and how much did she twist like she did everything else?”

 Martin sniffs loudly. “He got married a year after he left mum, and they're still together. His other kids are finishing uni or they've got cushy jobs in the financial district, and h-he was showing me and he sounded so... god, he was so proud of them.” Martin wipes at his eyes. “S-so that's, that's just great.”

“Martin...” Jon starts, despairing, listening to the croak in his voice, the way it keeps catching, the hitching jagged rise of his breathing.

“No. No, don't you get it, it's clear as fucking crystal. Because he wanted a family, yeah, he wanted kids he could dote on and take to the park and play football with. He just didn't want me, did he? And what the hell was s-so wrong with me?! I wasn't – I wasn't a bad kid, I was quiet and I kept out of trouble, and there's no, no reason he couldn't have taken me with him when he left. S-so what was so wrong with me?” Martin's shoulders are starting to shake. “Why – why wasn't I enough for him?”

Jon surges in as Martin bursts into angry bitter tears. Sobbing into Jon's jumper, fisting his hands into the hem of it, repeating snatches of recrimination and confusion over and over. Jon tries to tell him that he's enough, that he's always been enough, that he's so so loved, but Martin can't hear over his own hitching breaths, the sea swell of his grief.

Jon just holds him and waits for the tide to go out.

–

The doorbell rings around nine o'clock, and Jon Knows who's at the door.

Martin stirs under the twisted covers with a questioning noise, but Jon shushes him.

“It's the postman,” he lies. “I'll get it.”

Martin hums.

“Put the kettle on?” he asks sleepily, as though he won't be back snoring in a minute. Jon promises he will regardless, manoeuvring himself out of the heat-packed bed and Martin's loose grip, slipping on his slippers and a shirt.

He opens the door with his most imperious of gazes already set on his face.

Martin is there. Or, a man uncanny in resemblance. He shifts his weight from foot to foot like Martin does, has the same nervous twitch in the flutter of his hands. His skin is more weathered, maybe, has built up a collection of lines Martin hasn't sourced out just yet, a further progression to the receding hairline that's beginning to retreat back at Martin's temples.

“I – um, is Martin in?”

“Yes.”

“Can – would I be able to – ?”

“No,” Jon replies. “He's still asleep.”

It's taken for the denial it's meant to be. Kenneth Blackwood makes an 'oh, right' with the same ringing nervous cast to his movements that Martin had when he first came to the Archives.

“It's...” he starts tentatively, and politely does not have his gaze stray too long on the scars on his hand, his face, his throat.  “It's Jon, isn't it?”

“Jonathan Blackwood,” he responds, feeling the odd need to stake the territory here. “I'm Martin's husband.”

“Oh!” Kenneth replies, a little surprised “That's... that's good. I didn't know you took his name when you got.... That's... that's great.”

“It's a good name,” Jon responds, and his father gives a sad, crooked look.

“Not sure Martin would agree with you.”

“It's not my place to comment,” Jon counters, and Kenneth nods and replies with a: “Yeah. No, no, you're right.”

The cat has come up to the door out of curiosity and nudges at the back of his legs before deciding to stay indoors. Jon clears his throat, feeling the nip of early morning under the thin cotton of his nightwear.

“I wanted to – ” Kenneth Blackwood starts. “I wanted to apologise. I didn't keep a cool head yesterday, and he – he deserved my honesty, not my defensiveness.”

Jon gives nothing else, and Kenneth Blackwood continues, clearly grateful for the conversational opening.

“Look, I'm – I have to head back today. I live up near Preston these days. But I hoped – Can I leave my number? I know I shouldn't have pushed so hard. It was a lot to expect. He doesn't...” He makes a half-sigh. “Martin doesn't have to call. I won't contact him again, if that's what he wants. I just – I'm there. If he wants to give me the chance to get to know him again. But if he doesn't.... I understand.”

Jon takes the piece of card offered.

“I'll give it to him,” he says, firmly but not unkindly, and then gives a nod. “Drive back safe, Mr Blackwood.”

He takes it for the dismissal it is meant to be, and he returns the nod. Shoves his hands in his pockets to stave off the chill of the morning as he leaves.

Jon closes the front door with an unobtrusive click, pockets the card he was given. Pauses for a moment, listening to the lull of the house, the rumble of snoring upstairs. Then he makes his way past pots and paintbrushes into the kitchen to make Martin a cup of tea.

[sweetlangdon]

And Baby Makes Four (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: Roommates ‘verse domestic fluff! There’s also a hint about a future Roommates fic in this one (future as in it’s yet to be written, but in the ‘verse timeline, it already happened). 

Word Count: 3.2k+

Warnings: Brief mention of vomiting. 

 A cloud of dust blossoms in the sunbeams on the floor when Michael drops another cardboard box at his feet. It immediately triggers a sneezing fit. You look up from where you’re unpacking a box of bathroom towels and laugh as Michael loses his composure. He’s indignant when it’s over, a little red-faced, a deep frown forming creases between his eyebrows. It makes you laugh harder, bent-double over your folded legs, your stomach aching. You can’t help it—the move has you running on a sleep schedule that isn’t worth mentioning, and it’s so rare to see Michael like this. He’s gotten as much sleep as you have and yet, frustratingly, it doesn’t affect him in the same way. You think it’s got to be the damn Antichrist thing.

He grumbles something you can’t quite make out, but you’re sure it’s full of swearing and mild grievances.

You sneeze when the dust drifts over to you. “You’re human,” you tell him. “I know you only hate it when it’s an inconvenience.”  

Like when his appendix almost burst. Or when he sliced his hand open on a broken glass. (Though that one didn’t require a trip to the ER, just some Antichrist magic.) You’ve been with Michael long enough to know he doesn’t get sick. And although it’s easier to forget he’s not completely human these days, there’s always something inane to remind you.

“We can clean this place up once I find the broom and dust pan,” you say, rising to your feet. It’s precarious, maneuvering around the piles of boxes that have taken over your new living room. But you aren’t used to all the space. “You know, this would go a lot faster if I helped carry in the boxes.”

Michael holds up a hand. “No.”

You notice the dust and lint that’s speckled his usual all-black attire. It’s more casual than what he normally wears—jeans and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up—but you’re baffled by how it still makes him the most ethereal person you’ve ever met.

You’ve been married for a couple years and he still has that effect.

“We have…a lot of shit, Langdon,” you answer. Married and you can’t help the affectionate use of his last name. Even though it’s yours now. It’s a habit you’re not looking to break. “Who knew? All this shit crammed into that tiny ass apartment. I mean, half of it is your wardrobe, but…”

A smirk, barely there, finds its way through Michael’s fading annoyance. “I’ve got it,” he insists.

“I’m perfectly capable,” you reply. You kick lightly at a box labeled Kitchen. “I did pack them and load them into the truck.”

“Well, then, you can unpack them,” he says. And you know it’s because he’s shoving the chore on you, because you both really hate the whole packing and unpacking part of this whole exhausting deal.

“Sure.” You exhale and cross your arms. “Give me the fun job.”

“You say that like you think I’m having fun.”

“Aren’t you?” You arch an eyebrow.

You know you both really, really hate the actual moving. You just want to mess with him.

Michael brandishes his arms at his sides, all sarcasm and mischief. It’s hilarious, you think, because Michael looks practically regal since he’s grown his hair out. Like he belongs anywhere but here, standing in the middle of your spacious, albeit dusty living room, beads of sweat trickling down his temples from the exertion. Unloading boxes off the U-Haul truck while looking like a fucking GQ model. It’s really fucking unfair. The hair that now brushes his shoulders, like gold silk, makes him even more attractive and otherworldly. It’s distracting. And you think the neighbors have already started eyeballing him.

But he’s the one who chose this. Who chose you and this life. He chose it.

There isn’t a day that goes by that you’re not a little stunned by it all.

Michael closes the distance separating the two of you and leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. You turn up your face to catch him before he tries to move away, a soft press of your lips to his, a grin shared between you.

“I hate it,” he says, slightly breathless as the words are whispered against your lips, mischief still flashing in the bright blue of his eyes. You don’t believe him, not completely; you know he’s playing the same game you are. He nudges your nose with his. “But I can handle it. You should rest.”

“I’m fine.” You roll your eyes when Michael pulls away. “I’m feeling better already. This move is just stressing me out.”

But he stares at you a little too long, and you think that he doesn’t exactly buy it. “Take a break and find the cat,” he suggests, voice drifting in before he shuts the front door behind him.

“He doesn’t want to be found,” you shout back. “He’s mad at us.”

And it was true. You set the little hell beast free in the house—probably against your better judgment, in hindsight—so he could settle into his new home. The two of you are sure he isn’t pissed off enough to run away, and you’ve been keeping close watch on the only door that’s been opened and shut all afternoon. But you haven’t seen him for hours, not even when you shook the pouch of cat treats and the rattle of them echoed through the empty rooms. He’s hidden himself somewhere good in a show of protest. For uprooting him from the comfortable, quaint city apartment he’s known all this life to this massive old Victorian in the suburbs.

He’ll come around. Eventually.

You were the first to fall in love with the house. Right before you realized it bore a passing resemblance to the house Michael was born in, the house that had caused him so many night terrors. And you let go of it because you didn’t want to do that to him. You couldn’t. It didn’t seem right, to have him try and make a place like this home. But then he surprised you, assured you that the past was firmly behind him and this house was nothing like that wretched Hellmouth. That there was nothing evil to be found here except a few repairs that the realtor warned you about. No bones buried in the backyard. No vengeful ghosts roaming its halls. Not even a death on the property. It was all sunlight streaming through windowpanes and dusty hardwood floors and stained glass and vintage charm. It was, in a word, perfect.

The cat would think otherwise.

Standing in the middle of your living room, hands planted on your hips, you consider the overwhelming task ahead of you. There’s brief moments where you miss the cramped apartment, if only because you’re sick of unpacking. New furniture sits in the boxes they were shipped in. The few pieces you took with you from the apartment have been draped in old sheets. Michael refused to part with the couch—his couch, but he claimed the cat wanted it more—so you’ve agreed to put it in the den at the back of the house. There’s boxes on top of more boxes and you’ve been sorting them for a fucking eternity.

Maybe it is time for a break. You’ve been assuring Michael that you’re fine since yesterday morning when you started moving things into the house. He worries about you endlessly (and, given your shared history, you think he has every right to) but you don’t want him to be anxious over nothing. Moving house is stressful enough. It’s worn you down, made you anxious and restless and tired. A little fatigue and a queasy stomach isn’t something that’s worth obsessing over.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you’re uselessly shaking the cat treats throughout the house and calling your cat every terrible nickname you’ve collected for him over the years. You wind through the kitchen to the den, then backtrack upstairs, down a hallway lined with vacant bedrooms. You don’t get a response, not even a half-assed, angry meow from a closet. The nausea you’ve been fighting off for the past few days rears its ugly head again. It’s happened in waves, at random, disrupting your busy schedule. You know stress makes your stomach unsettled, makes you feel like absolute shit, so you haven’t thought much of it except irritation.

This time, it hits you like a goddamn truck, sends you running for the upstairs bathroom. You make it—barely—and you’re left feeling more like shit once you’ve lost the contents of your stomach in the toilet. The antique tiles under your knees are cold. You lean over the toilet bowl until you’re sure it’s passed, until you don’t have anything left in your stomach. Catching your breath, listening to the loud flush of water, you sit on the chilled floor with your back against the wall.

You tilt your head back to lean on cold, outdated tile. And you’re left with a few scattered thoughts. You haven’t thrown up like that, aside from the occasional hangover, since you caught the flu a few years ago. But this doesn’t feel like the flu. Panic rising, you start going over dates in your head. Counting. The move has thrown everything off; you haven’t even realized that your period is late. Absurdly late. Uncharacteristically late.

“Shit,” you mutter to the empty room. Your voice echoes. “Am I that oblivious?”

You dumbass, you think to yourself. How could you not notice?

Things have been so hectic lately. You try not to blame yourself too much. But you can’t help the rush of anxiety that seizes you on your way back downstairs. You forget the cat treats in the hallway and decide to leave it, hoping it will lure him out. Michael passes you in the doorway, arms laden with a couple of boxes labeled Clothes. You’ve already grabbed your purse, and you kind of hate how you dash past him without meeting his eyes, your cheeks flushed.

“Did you find the cat?”

“Nope,” you answer. Quick, short, and completely suspicious.

Michael stops in the threshold. “Going somewhere? What did we forget?”

You turn around, halfway down the path that winds up to the front porch. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I’m grabbing lunch. Any requests?”

You try so hard to appear calm and nonchalant about the shitty excuse you’re giving your husband, who definitely knows when you aren’t being honest. It’s that preternatural intuition he has, sniffing out lies. You realize before you say it that he’s not going to believe you, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t question it.

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs one shoulder and disappears inside the house.

You’re shaking the whole way, hoping that you don’t have to throw up again. It’s not that you dread the news, exactly; the two of you have talked about it. You want kids. It just seems like it would be horrible timing—two huge life changes within a span of months.

The trip to the nearest convenience store is an adventure. No one knows you here, yet you look over your shoulder as you’re contemplating pregnancy test brands like you’re a teenager being caught by their nosy parents. It’s ridiculous. But the paranoia’s already set in and there’s not much you can do to stop it. Michael still has enemies lurking. There’s a reason beyond the myriad of other reasons why you carry around pepper spray and took some self-defense classes.

Even though they’re miles away in New Orleans, the witches still freak you out. Actually, after the last encounter you had with them, you fucking hate them. What if they wanted to take all of this away from you before you even had it? They’ve tried before. What’s stopping them now?

It’s not fucking easy being the wife of the ex-Antichrist.

You sigh and push four different tests into the plastic basket. You’re jittery the whole time you’re waiting in line, steal glances around you as the cashier rings them up. You’re so damn preoccupied with your own frantic thoughts that you almost forget about lunch entirely. And by the time you get back to the house with takeout and the bag from the store shoved into your purse, you’re not even hungry. Michael notices you wandering into the kitchen in a daze and pokes his head around the corner before he leans against the doorframe.

His eyebrows pull together. “Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. “Just tired. I’m…not really hungry. Think I’ll take a nap before I start unpacking the kitchen stuff.”

Michael takes your hand when you meet him in the threshold of the kitchen. His long fingers lace between yours for a moment, then his fingertips brush across your knuckles, skipping over the sapphire on your wedding band. His gaze flickers from your hands to your eyes, and you try to avoid his look of concern.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deep and quiet. At your nod, Michael is reluctant to let go. “I’ll unpack them—get some sleep. Take care of yourself.”

He kisses the top of your head and you lean into him for a few seconds longer; he’s all warmth and rich cologne and soap, a balm for your unsteady nerves.

Whatever happens, you know you’ll be fine.

***

The wait is unbearable. You pace around the upstairs bathroom—which is about twice the size of the one in your old apartment—with enough nervous energy to power the whole house for at least a year. It’s so quiet up here, even with the door cracked open slightly, that you can hear your own pulse rushing in your ears.

Still no sign of the cat, though.

The timer you set on your phone makes you jump out of your skin. Once you’ve eased yourself down on the edge of the bathtub—one of those vintage claw foot ones, peak luxury in your opinion—you have to remind yourself to exhale. It takes a minute to calm your racing heart and another two or three to summon the courage to actually look at the results.

And when you do, the test is positive.

It’s all right there, clear as day, spelled out for you in bold, black letters. Positive.

“Okay,” you whisper to the empty bathroom. Your stomach lurches and you’re surprised it’s not nausea. It’s excitement and joy and fear and love all at once, so overwhelming that your hands start to shake. Blinking away a few tears, your palm settles on your stomach. A reflex. Maybe some instinct. “So, there’s that. Let’s just make sure…”

Three tests later, you line them up on the counter and study the four positives staring back at you. You’re sure, at this point, that they’re right. There’s no mistake. You can feel it, even—you know it’s true, now, once you’ve had time to process everything you’ve overlooked. You’re pregnant. Everything is still and quiet, except for distant chirping of birds somewhere outside, as you stand there gawking at your future. It terrifies you, but the fierce, protective love that’s suddenly surging through you is so much more powerful.

Fuck it, you’re going to be okay.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your scattered thoughts, the immense quiet. You feel Michael step into the bathroom before you turn around to face him; everything is always so much warmer with him nearby. And when you look at him, you’ve got silent, overwhelming tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I came up to check on you.” He moves closer, fingertips grazing your elbows lightly. You uncross your arms to trail a hand down his arm until your fingers stop at his wrist, your fingers finding their way between his. You don’t even have to look. “What is it?” His words are a low, rumbling whisper and you’re so close that you feel it in your ribs.

“I’m…sorry for getting all weird on you earlier,” you reply. “I guess now I have an explanation for that.”

He reaches out, eyes narrowed a little, and brushes your cheek. There’s a grin somewhere on his lips but he’s holding back. “And that would be…?”

“Well, four tests later, and,” you’re crying still but there’s a smile on your lips, “I’m pregnant.”

You watch the slow, radiant grin that illuminates Michael’s face, the tears that make his eyes shine in the dim overhead lights. And it takes you all of twenty seconds to understand that it was there all along, he was just waiting for you to finally break the news. For you to catch up.

You laugh. “You knew.”

Michael’s head tilts to one side, golden hair spilling over one shoulder. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him. “For about a week and a half.”

“Fucking hell, Langdon.” You brace your hands against his chest. Not so much an accusation as it is a surprise. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he says. “I wanted you to find out yourself, tell me when you were ready.”

“How in the…how did you know?”

He stares at you. Pointedly. But that grin is there. “You should know by now not to ask.” He holds you, forehead resting against yours, and his gaze wanders down to your stomach. “I felt it—sensed something that was barely there. But I knew it then. It was sudden, one day while we were still packing up the apartment.”

“I can’t believe you kept it a secret,” you tell him. “That must’ve killed you.”

Michael presses his lips to your temple, leaves a soft kiss. “Every day.”

“And that’s why you insisted on moving the boxes yourself,” you realize. “Which is ridiculous.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

This time you kiss him, untangling your fingers to loop your arms around his neck. He’s gentle with you, maybe too much, but you can’t fault him for it. You notice how light his touch his, how he holds you against him like he doesn’t want to hurt you, like he won’t let anyone else harm you or the baby. But the kiss isn’t exactly gentle—it’s fierce and simmering and then blazing hot, just like his skin. You can feel every single fucking thing in it; Michael’s intense love for you, the love he has for your child, the fear and excitement thrumming through his veins, all of it fighting against whatever this world told him he was supposed to be. Whatever he was born for, whatever fucked up purpose he was going to serve, that’s all in the past now.

It’s only you and him and your baby.

And the cat.

The kiss is only broken, the heat tempered when something soft and furry winds in between your legs. Michael groans, all dramatic, as you’re left to catch your breath. He glares down at the pitch black lump rubbing against his pant leg, electric green eyes upturned to you both.

“Well, there’s the fucking cat.”

You snort a laugh. “Figures.” Sighing, you comb your fingers through Michael’s slightly disheveled hair. “Hey there, you little shit. Guess what? You’re going to have to share us in about nine months, and you’re probably going to hate it.”

The little hell beast blinks at you slowly and offers an indignant meow.

Michael’s laugh reverberates in your chest. You feel warm and loved when his hands settle on your stomach, when his nose bumps yours. “He hates us.”

You put a hand on top of his. “Oh, yeah. He’s pissed.”

***

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo  @batgirlbride  @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition  @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon  @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle​ @wroteclassicaly​ @monsucre @ritualmichael  @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies  @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton​ @kaetastic

[chapitre7]

The heart at the tip of a brush

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

College / Drama Club AU

Read on AO3

Mo Xuanyu had always been their make-up artist. Lan Zhan had always been in charge of the costumes, ever since Wei Ying found the sketchbook where he kept the designs he came up with in the hours between sleep and homework, when he allowed himself to flounder the wings of his imagination. Embarrassed as he was of his hobby, he didn’t even know why he had carried the sketchbook with him that day (maybe confused it with his regular notebooks?), but after the initial shock of being discovered, he had relented to Wei Ying’s cries and pleadings and had agreed to be the last member in his brand new drama club. What set them apart, Wei Ying had told him with exaggerated gallantry, was that they’d write their own plays and enact them, instead of somebody else’s. Pretty big talk for someone who wouldn’t actually do the writing, Jiang Cheng barked, but he still joined the club anyway, the flair for the dramatic flowing in his veins as much as it did in Wei Ying’s; truly brothers, no matter the blood ties and several other differences between them.

 So the club started then, each one of them being responsible for too many things and also not much at all, in those early days of chaotic planning, until they gathered more members and set a clear goal in mind: the school festival. It was an embarrassment, as school projects often were, but Wei Ying’s joy at seeing all of their work fulfilled in an hour of glory (“What glory? MianMian forgot her lines and ruined my impeccable script, Brother Wei! It won’t do, it really won’t do!”) somehow emboldened them to try harder and strive higher. So, at Wen Ning’s suggestion, on their second year, they started enacting plays at the local orphanage. The reward of the kids’ starstruck faces fed them better than any feast, and so they continued, every year, sometimes twice a year, all the way till college.

 With such responsibility on their shoulders, it was natural for everyone to get pumped up, even going so far as to enlist some of their family members to lend their hands. Such as Lan Zhan sewing all of their costumes with his brother’s help, who had an eye for subtle details that Lan Zhan treasured, as he always did with all of his brother’s inputs throughout his life. Along with elder brother Lan came Meng Yao, who enriched Nie Huaisang’s scripts with twists and turns that made the fan-wielding boy think up even wilder twists and turns that Wei Ying’s creative mind ate up like his favorite spicy pumpkin-flavored cookies from the local coffee shop (that literally nobody but him liked). Jiang Cheng was their lead actor, Luo Qingyang, stage name MianMian, their lead actress, and everybody did a little bit of acting, even if they had no lines, as was often the case with Lan Zhan (at Wei Ying’s request).

 And Mo Xuanyu was in charge of their make-up.

 Not Lan Zhan.

 Never Lan Zhan.

 Yet there he is, covering for the sick man, standing in front of a smiling Wei Ying, who looks every bit like the evil sorcerer that they had perfected through the years, while Nie Huaisang, the second-best make-up artist of their little rogue troupe, frenzies over MianMian.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, the gentle tone of his voice coloring his name, holding the familiar hint of apology that he often uses when he drags Lan Zhan to adventures his friend doesn’t appreciate as much as Wei Ying had anticipated. “It’s really not that difficult. It’s not too different from coloring your designs, and you’ve seen the end results. This is nothing your brilliant, talented hands can’t handle!”

 Flattery could get him anywhere as long as Lan Zhan was involved, but the young man still swallows down around the anxiety that has installed itself at his stomach like acid, not having much to do with being able to pull off a decent make-up job and everything to do with leaning over Wei Ying and painting on him like a canvas.

 Unaware of the not-so-honorable battle that Lan Zhan fights against himself, Wei Ying places the eyeshadow palette in Lan Zhan’s palm and leans against the back of the chair, tilting his face up. It’s so innocent, so trusting and professional, and Lan Zhan leans over him for a brief second before remembering he’s not holding any brushes. How surprised would everyone be if Lan Zhan simply bolted out of the modest, well-lit bedroom that they used as a dressing room and screamed in the backyard full of children waiting for the play to begin? He can’t even process the mental image, but knowing that it’s impossible seems to ground him.

 Firmly holding a brush in his hand, Lan Zhan swallows again — doesn’t scream —, inhales, and sets himself to work.

 It really isn’t so difficult once he begins. He knows exactly what color Mo Xuanyu uses on Wei Ying, so accustomed he is to seeing his friend play the fearsome Yiling Patriarch. It’s a highlight of red on the crease of his eyes, to give him a sharper look, scheming and compelling at the same time. Lan Zhan uses his own thumb to smudge the same red on his eyelids, just a tiny bit, just a brush of color, a gradient of red that matches up with the color scheme that Lan Zhan set up for his character a long time ago, which was really just a fantasy take on Wei Ying’s own style.

 With a thin brush, he sets to draw a perfect black contour on Wei Ying’s lash line, for when he opens his eyes, he needs him to look as if he could transmutate into a cat at any given moment, so round and marble-like those brown eyes look then, mesmerizing the audience.

 Satisfied with his job on his eyes, Lan Zhan sparkles a peach color on his cheeks so he looks healthy and ready to gobble up misbehaving children. And then his lips...

 He curses Mo Xuanyu and his food poisoning, and then he mentally apologizes. All those years in high school trying to ignore just how pretty Wei Ying is as he tried to get Lan Zhan’s attention, how pretty he even was when he was asleep and drooling on Lan Zhan’s dinner table where they were supposed to brainstorm the theme of their next play. Years of trying not to betray the honesty of their friendship, because he could spend forever watching the endless capability Wei Ying’s ideas, and he liked being included in his group, doing something that he had been curious about but ignoring for the sake of his academic success, until Wei Ying taught him that he could have both the success and the fun of doing something you like. All of it, and also the dreams where Wei Ying kissed him (because he was never the one to initiate it), touched him, pinned him to the floor from where he fell in endless loops — all of his inappropriate desire falls upon a single, tiny brush of red.

 Holding Wei Ying’s chin, he glides the brush, shiny and glossy, over the center of Wei Ying’s lower lip and then out to the sides. Then he draws the heart shape of his upper lip, careful not to color outside the natural lines of Wei Ying’s mouth, slowly, slowly covering every corner with calculated precision. He’s mindful not to use too much product, knowing by its consistence that it can smear unsightly, but it still accumulates in the corners, and he wipes it away with his digit, using the tip of his nail to draw the proper line again.

 His gaze moves up and the eyes he framed are looking straight at him. How long had he been staring at him? How long had Lan Zhan even been working? And why can’t he hear the others getting ready around them?

 His breathing, that had been steady — and he had, by all accounts, been touching Wei Ying’s face as he hovered over him, trying to make him even more beautiful than the memory of their past plays — fails him as the tip of Wei Ying’s tongue peaks through, just the tip, before he touches his lips together. His teeth look whiter with that red framing them, and Lan Zhan can’t look away, he’s mesmerized by that mouth that loves to talk to him, pouring out considerations from topics Lan Zhan had never even considered but that he understands when Wei Ying talks about them. But now he’s not talking, his lips are just perfect and unmoving and parted, and Wei Ying still has his chin tilted up at him, and he’s so near. Why isn’t Wei Ying saying anything? Where is everyone? Why is he gripping the arms of Wei Ying’s chair—

 “Are you done there yet?!”

 Jiang Cheng’s call is very clear and very near, and Lan Zhan is aware that he has made an undignified jump away from his position in 0.1 seconds flat. He expects Wei Ying to laugh at him, as he does in almost every situation, but when Lan Zhan dares to raise his eyes back at his friend, he’s also standing and adjusting his cuffs before checking his reflection on a nearby mirror.

 “Wow,” is all that he says about Lan Zhan’s work, and Lan Zhan is surprised that, despite the panicked drumming of his heart against his chest that spells out all of his secret infatuation, he’s still glad that Wei Ying seems pleased about the results.

 “I... I kept it simple,” he says, and it’s true. Xuanyu uses a plethora of products that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite begin to understand the purpose of, and he still wouldn’t have taken as long as Lan Zhan did given his expertise.

 Wei Ying, however, just shakes his head and gives him an honest (and painfully distracting) smile.

 “These kids are in for an especially striking Yiling Patriarch today,” he says and smirks, and Lan Zhan wants to kiss him and die, and those ideas don’t feel as isolated as he originally thought they’d be. “Let’s go, Lan Zhan.”

 Lan Zhan is terribly relieved that they had decided to write him out for today, because he’s not confident he’d remember to say any of his lines, even if they were just mostly hums, with Wei Ying playing his flute in a particularly intense tempo, eyes glued on him, as if he was the one he wanted to enchant.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan, create my new character with me.”

 That is the sole reason why Wei Ying arrives early to one of the few classes they have together, the very next week after their performance. Their professor is never late, but that doesn’t keep Wei Ying from throwing his notebook at him, an old thing, full of scribbles that date to a place in time when they didn’t even know each other. Wei Ying makes a list of attributes, sitting in his own space but leaning over Lan Zhan’s desk with inspiration at the tip of his tongue. He looks up at Lan Zhan with eyes that might as well sparkle like in the comics he once convinced Lan Zhan to read.

 “I want to be a hero,” Wei Ying says, voice brimming with an emotion Lan Zhan can’t quite place, and they’re only forced out of their own world when the professor clears his throat loudly, quite pointedly looking in their direction.

 Although he takes his notes dutifully, Wei Ying keeps throwing him glances with barely contained excitement, and in the back of Lan Zhan’s mind, in-between the professor’s pauses, he’s already working on the design.

 ***

 The troupe doesn’t have to meet for some time, given they all also have to focus on their own assignments and upcoming exams. When they do, after New Year celebrations, it’ll be time to brainstorm, and Wei Ying, diligent for all the wrong things at the wrong times, plans to pitch his brand new concept.

 “He’s going to be one of two prides,” he says, sprawled on Lan Zhan’s couch, his hands raised high, as far as he can reach, palms splayed, as if he can already see the scenes playing out on the ceiling.

 “Prideful?” Lan Zhan questions from his place on the floor, leaning against the couch and looking at Wei Ying, his sketchbook on the low table before him, waiting.

 “Hmm, not his definitive trait. His brother is though — that’s Jiang Cheng, of course —, as the rightful heir to the kingdom. I’ll be...”

 “A general?”

 “A loyal servant and prized adviser? You know, sort of like Merlin. But I don’t wanna be a sorcerer this time, I wanna wield a sword. I love brother Mingjue’s props.”

 Lan Zhan huffs, and whether it’s about Nie Mingjue’s props or the idea of Wei Ying being an adviser, he doesn’t say.

 “Lan Zhan, close your eyes and imagine it.”

 He leans his head back, more against Wei Ying than the couch, and does so. One of Wei Ying’s hands sets over his eyes, for unnecessary effect, and Lan Zhan can’t help but allow himself to smile.

 “A prince and his right hand, the twin prides. One is the rightful heir, the other is... adopted, yes. Together they defend Lotus Pier against invaders, and their rising success brings them notoriety among the other kingdoms. What do you think?”

 “Purple.”

 “Hmm?”

 “The royal color of Lotus Pier should be purple. Pink is too light, purple is better. Like Yunmeng’s sky in the summer.”

 “You still remember that?”

 Wei Ying lifts his hand from his eyes, resting it on his hair as Lan Zhan turns his head around to look at Wei Ying, acquiescing with a hum. The last time he went to Yunmeng for the summer, he sent Lan Zhan dozens of pictures, including one from the beach at sunset, when the sky was a gradient of orange and purple, like a painting. Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan would love that one, and he did, making sure he told Wei Ying that instead of keeping it to himself.

 (Although he loved and saved all of them to his phone anyway, but he kept that to himself.)

 “Isn’t that what you were thinking about? Lotus. Yunmeng.”

 Wei Ying smiles and hums an agreement of his own, his fingers brushing Lan Zhan’s bangs away from his face. And because they’re both so easy to read to each other, and Wei Ying’s gaze is so unmistakably fond, and because he feels himself too open, Lan Zhan lifts his head from the couch and leans forward, fingers hurriedly taking up his mechanic pencil to scribble down a few keywords. Purple. Twins. Adopted. Adviser.

 “I haven’t figured out how to go about it yet,” Wei Ying says as he moves from the couch to sit beside Lan Zhan on the floor, “but I wanted to create a different kind of hero than we’ve worked with before.”

 “The adoption part will be important for the children,” Lan Zhan points out with a nod. “It’s good, Wei Ying.”

 Wei Ying lets out a strangled noise and takes hold of Lan Zhan’s left arm, rubbing his face on his upper arm before looking back at Lan Zhan. His cheeks and nose are red, but he has the same excited glint in his eyes that he had when he approached Lan Zhan in class the day before, and Lan Zhan thinks it simply belongs there. This is his favorite Wei Ying, creative and free, and though he’s bound by his academic responsibilities, as long as Lan Zhan is with him, he’ll make sure he succeeds in everything he does. Everything for that crescent moon smile, full of stars.

 “So, what else?”

 Lan Zhan’s mechanic pencil hovers over the paper as they think, scribbling down more keywords, until it becomes so late in the evening that Wei Ying misses his dormitory’s curfew and has to sleep at Lan Zhan’s flat, in a guest bedroom that holds more of Wei Ying’s forgotten possessions than those of Lan Zhan’s brother, who was supposedly the person he kept the room for.

 ***

 “Why did you keep the red ribbon?”

 Lan Zhan sets his red pencil down, lifting his sketchbook so both of them can think about it together.

 “Both Wanyin and Wuxian use the same clothes and hairstyle, as twins and members of the royal family. Wanyin, as the heir, wears the crown’s jewelry in his hair. Wuxian is a main character too, so he can’t look any less striking, so, the red ribbon.”

 It’s your color goes unsaid. His hair is long, past his shoulders, though Jiang Cheng keeps telling him to get it cut like a normal person, and he always ties it with a red velvet scrunchie. As the Yiling Patriarch, he wore a red ribbon in his hair, and when he played the dizi and a gust of wind blew by him, he was mesmerizing, the red unforgettable against Wen Ning’s hand-drawn background. There was always something red about Wei Ying; a red backpack, red converse, and that red lipstick... Lan Zhan still dreams about it.

 It should be there. Yet Wei Ying keeps his brows furrowed at the drawing.

 “But isn’t it too striking? I don’t think Jiang Cheng is going to like it.”

 “Wei Ying.”

 He takes Wei Ying’s wrist, bringing it away from his face, where he was chewing on his nailbeds. Sitting side by side without a space between them, he lowered their hands to their laps and his hold moved to keep his palm against Wei Ying’s. It’s a lax hold, unambitious, just sharing warmth.

 “You can be a hero too.”

 His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He holds Lan Zhan’s gaze for long seconds (maybe two) before he bites his lip, huffs a repressed laughter, and lets his head fall on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “Lan Zhan,” he says it like a whine, like a plea, and he feels his fingers intertwine with his, the connection still comfortable, still known, still familiar.

 “This whole project is yours,” Lan Zhan speaks into his hair. “You should be able to do what you want.”

 Wei Ying snorts.

 “Isn’t that vain?”

 “...You’re not exactly humble.”

 He lifts his head from his shoulder and bumps into him with a pointed, “Hey.” Lan Zhan chuckles, almost without sound, and pats the hand that’s still holding his.

 They look back at the design. Lan Zhan can already envision the fabrics he’s going to use, the details that he wants to add, and he already regrets saying that both Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s characters are going to dress the same.

 Wei Ying sighs. “You spoil me with your designs, Lan Zhan.”

 And he can’t really deny that.

 ***

 It’s as difficult to keep Wei Ying focused on his studies as it is for Lan Zhan to not drop his books and go to his workshop to sew Wei Ying’s costume. Even though exams are merely weeks away, Lan Zhan still finds some time to secretly buy all of the material he needs while Wei Ying tries to keep up with his own study group. And it proves to be a wise decision because Wei Ying doesn’t last two days with his classmates before he shows up at Lan Zhan’s flat with thick books recently checked out from the library and teary eyes.

 “I hate studying,” he dramatically announces as he flops down face-first on the couch. Lan Zhan knows it’s true as much as he knows that Wei Ying actually really enjoys being practical.

 He opens Wei Ying’s bag and puts his books on the low table. “Why are you even taking classic literature?”

 “It’s inspiring,” Wei Ying says, eyes closed and voice muffled by the leather of the couch. “It’s food for the soul. It’s pretty like you.”

 Lan Zhan halts his movements, not daring to turn or do anything else; one hand lies atop Wei Ying’s bag and another on the advanced physics book he last set down.

 Wei Ying is by his side before he blinks twice, putting his bag away and apparently trying to choose which of the books he wants to open, but too rushed and flushed to be doing much thinking at all.

 “You,” Lan Zhan begins, swallows, inhales and tries again. “Do you want me to help?”

 Wei Ying’s head snaps in his direction. With big eyes and his lower lip hidden under his upper lip, he just nods, and Lan Zhan either saves or dooms them both as he sets all books aside and puts the Advanced Physics book in front of them.

 “Explain.”

 Flipping the pages to the subject that would be covered in his exams, Wei Ying takes out his notebook, and he explains.

 ***

 The end of the year is marked by heavy snowfall, the kind that has Wei Ying’s teeth clattering together outside, even if he’s covered in layers that are short from hindering his mobility and wearing a scarf so wound around his head that only his eyes peak out between the wool. It’s the only time of the year that Lan Zhan feels bad for his staying in Gusu, as if the city is like a stern parent testing the object of his affections and Wei Ying barely passes, or maybe bypasses it, by sticking close to Lan Zhan even when they’re indoors. He indulges in their practiced proximity, and if his body yearns for more, he sternly shuts it down, unable to sacrifice all the years of accumulated mutual trust for the gamble of a confession.

 As always, however, he’s saved from the trap of his feelings by Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s end of the year trip to Yunmeng. And on cue, he leaves his own flat to spend the turn of the year with his uncle and brother at the Lan estate, set in the part of the city where the hills are high enough to almost sit among the clouds.

 Between hot tea brewed to perfection by his brother, television cooking programs that his uncle has become oddly fond of in the past year, and the occasional reading (both required and unrequired for his studies), Lan Zhans works on Wei Ying’s costume in the studio his brother arranged for him when he first enrolled in Wei Ying’s drama club.

 “Did you make this jinbu, A-Zhan?” Brother Huan asks when he brings him tea and biscuits, picking up the accessory with a purple tassel, light and dark purple beads and a white lotus that could pass as jade. At his younger brother’s nod, Lan Huan’s smile is so delighted that Lan Zhan has to look away. “It’s beautiful work, A-Zhan. You could really make a profession out of it.”

 “Brother, it’s just...”

 He trails off as his brother chuckles and gently places the jinbu back down.

 “I know. It’s just for Wei Ying, isn’t it?”

 Lan Zhan leans even further down into the fabric he’s working on, pretending to check something in the sewing machine.

 “It’s just a hobby,” he admits instead. Lan Huan doesn’t discredit him, patting his head like he’s still a child, and Lan Zhan doesn’t have it in him to dislike the touch.

 “Just remember that if you ever question the serious profession you’re seeking, A-Zhan, the answer always lies closer than you think.”

 The older Lan Sibling tilts his head, taking in all of his little brother’s work laid out in the space of his studio. He looks at the design Lan Zhan is trying to bring to life and then at all the materials on the station, and an imperceptible frown touches his face, like a ripple on calm waters.

 “This fabric...”

 Lan Zhan sighs, knowing exactly what fabric he’s questioning, without even having to try and see it in his brother’s hands.

 “I know. I couldn’t find the one I wanted in time.”

 He works the machine to keep the frustration away, so he doesn’t notice his brother leaving with the offending fabric, only to return, hours later, with such a fine material that Lan Zhan breaks into a bright, grateful smile. During dinner, even uncle, so often taciturn, makes the table inviting with an amicable mood, the three of them enjoying a meal that their caretaker made with his own hands, the elder rambling on and on about every detail of the cooking process while his nephews pay dutiful attention and encourage the little passion that seemed to burn quietly in the heart of every Lan.

 ***

 Wei Ying’s praise for Lan Zhan’s work was ever grandiose, and any other man could let it get to his head like an invincibility potion. Lan Zhan, however, is a simple man, and only his heart swells with contentment at every exaggerated compliment that falls out of that beloved mouth.

 When Lan Zhan shows him the finished the prototype costume for his twin pride character, however, Wei Ying seems to be, maybe for the first time since they started collaborating, at a loss for words.

 “It’s so...” He starts, touching the rich purple fabric with hesitant fingertips. Lan Zhan knows it’s more than their budget, and that they don’t even have a proper story yet, just the core concepts that they came up with together. But Wei Ying had been so engaged, so inspired, and though he’s usually that way when he’s working with Nie Huaisang, it’s the first time he asks Lan Zhan to create a character with him. So he was impulsive. It’s not a crime. “Lan Zhan, it’s...”

 Wei Ying brings the costume to his face, rubbing it against his cheek, and the pleased hum he lets out makes Lan Zhan’s breath cease for a couple of seconds.

 “Make-up test?” Lan Zhan offers, a little weakly, a little shy, but Wei Ying practically jumps in place at the thought, electrified with excitement.

 “Make-up test!” He announces before he runs to the guest bedroom in wide steps and Lan Zhan, left with unwelcome nerves, nervously puts Wei Ying’s backpack away on the couch from where he had unceremoniously dropped it on the floor.

 When Wei Ying comes out of the bedroom, Lan Zhan was thinking about making tea after he had paced from the living room to his own bedroom, then to the kitchen to drink some water, to the window to check the weather, until he finally stopped to sit on the couch, where Wei Ying finds him. His best friend comes out of the bedroom in the costume Lan Zhan designed for him (just for him, he decides right there, he’ll simply have to rethink how to proceed with Jiang Cheng), sets a hairbrush, a red ribbon, and a big pouch on the low table, before twirling around himself.

 “So? What do you think?”

 Wei Ying had always favored black and red. They weren’t the sole colors he used, and Lan Zhan particularly liked when he wore white, the color brightening up his features like a beacon, but Lan Zhan is sure he had never worn something like the bright purple of the robes Lan Zhan made for him. When he twirls, the light plays tricks on the fabric, like a multi-colored bouquet of hydrangeas glistening after a rainshower. The inner robes are a simple black, but the outer jacket is more fascinating still, of a dark purple, almost black, iridescent, see-through fabric that he knows his brother bought from someplace outside of Gusu. Lanling, he believes. On the back, he embroidered a lotus motif with nine petals, the symbol of Wei Ying’s royalty.

 “I love it so much,” Wei Ying says, without waiting for his response, unknowingly almost sending Lan Zhan into cardiac arrest. His hands keep petting down on the costume, and he giggles when he touches the jinbu that jingles with a small bell that Lan Zhan added as a last-minute detail. “Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you made this. We haven’t even finished creating Wuxian, and it’s really...” He laughs, somewhat strained, covering his face with his hands, before dropping on the couch beside Lan Zhan. “How am I supposed to kill him now?”

 Lan Zhan immediately snaps out of his reverie, blinking rapidly.

 “Kill?”

 Wei Ying sighs, letting his hands drop and leaning his head against the couch backrest.

 “Yeah. I was thinking that Wuxian would sacrifice himself to save Jiang Cheng and the kingdom. Like, he runs out of good ideas in a crisis but the kingdom and his family are bigger than he is, so he makes his decision. The kingdom sings songs about him after he dies, and he’s widely recognized as an important member of the royal family.”

 Lan Zhan can read too much between the lines of that script, and the fact that Wei Ying has come to the conclusion that his death, however metaphorical, is the answer, sits heavy on his stomach.

 “Wei Ying,” he calls, a bit too sternly, perhaps, as Wei Ying looks up from fiddling with his jinbu like a child ready to be scolded. “Wei Ying, you can’t kill him,” he says, more softly. “You can’t kill the adopted son in front of an audience of foster kids. What kind of message would we be sending them?”

 “I know,” he whines. “But isn’t it heroic?”

 “Death is just death.” He takes Wei Ying’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Even in fiction. The ones that stay behind are never happy to part with a loved one.” Wei Ying turns his hand in Lan Zhan’s grasp so they’re palm to palm again, puzzle pieces fitting together. Lan Zhan inches closer, brings their clasped hands to his chest, and firmly says, “We’re not killing Wuxian.”

 Wei Ying’s laugh is just a huff of air, and he can’t hide his tears when he wipes them away from the corners of his eyes.

 “Okay. Wuxian lives in the end.”

 Lan Zhan nods, letting their hands fall between them, but not letting go. The silence that follows Wei Ying’s sniffles is not uncomfortable, but there’s something in the space between them, in the way Wei Ying is wearing that beautiful purple that Lan Zhan made for him, in the way Wei Ying keeps looking at his face, that Lan Zhan feels is both thick and fragile like glass. Or maybe he’s a coward, just a coward in the end, consumed by his desire to hold that man and touch him and kiss him, but ultimately defeated by the overbearing affection that wants him to make sure he never leaves Wei Ying, never lets him think he has to sacrifice himself for anyone, when he’s the brightest star in everyone’s lives.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, and he seems to be closer than he was just a moment ago, the tears gone, leaving only a shine in his eyes in their wake. “Aren’t you going to finish our make-up test?”

 At Lan Zhan’s nod, Wei Ying smiles his wide, crescent moon smile and hops to the floor, handing Lan Zhan the hairbrush from over his shoulder. Lan Zhan, who has experience at both being a younger brother who played with his elder brother and a long-time drama club member, brushes Wei Ying’s hair without hesitation or clumsiness. Given the sheer volume of hair that Wei Ying possesses, there’s no way that the bun can be secured for long with just the ribbon, but Lan Zhan doesn’t want to get up to get any pins, so he just works with what he’s given, tying a pretty bow near Wei Ying’s nape, the ends of the ribbon still falling long, down his back. He had been right. The red looks almost mystical against the purple.

 “So, since the royal color is purple, should my make-up be purple too?”

 Lan Zhan climbs down from the couch, kneeling beside the other, and shakes his head. He takes the pouch from Wei Ying (that he’s sure is Mo Xuanyu’s, when did Wei Ying even take it?) and pulls a neutral-colored palette and a brush.

 “The clothes are already flashy enough, so we’re only framing your face,” Lan Zhan explains, although he’s more versed in colors than in make-up specifically, but it’s a test. If Mo Xuanyu has any better ideas once the story is pitched to the group, then he’s free to use them. Right then, Lan Zhan stands on his knees for a better angle to paint Wei Ying’s eyeshadow an earthy, reddish brown. With a thin, black pencil, he traces the line along his lashes in a much finer touch than the one he used for the Yiling Patriarch, just so the audience knows that his eyes are just as important as his clothes, that his person is just as big as his position.

 For his lips, he chooses a similarly neutral, peachy shade, just so he doesn’t look pale under the stage light, so his smiles can reach even the chairs in the furthest rows. The traditional lipstick makes less of a mess than the glossy, liquid red one he used before, but still the corners... No matter how careful Lan Zhan is, he still misses his mark when he gets to the corners. So he reaches out, just as he did then, to wipe the excess at the corner of Wei Ying’s lips with his thumb, and it’s so much easier this time.

 So much easier, and still... He runs his thumb along the lines of Wei Ying’s lower lip, as if there’s something there to correct, but there’s nothing, just his lips, parted and colored and waiting. Just his lips and that birthmark underneath, distracting, beckoning, a natural wonder that Lan Zhan can’t ignore, he looks, and he touches, and he’s lost, dazed again.

 Those lips open, form the syllables of his name.

 He looks up, wide-eyed, at a Wei Ying that is closely watching him. Eyes as round and attentive as they always were.

 “Lan Zhan. Do you want to kiss me?”

 He swallows and tries to look down, but Wei Ying takes his face between both of his hands and doesn’t let him.

 “Do you?” He repeats, and because he cannot lie, because he especially cannot lie to Wei Ying, he nods, and he closes his eyes, and he waits for his best friend’s judgment.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls again, and Lan Zhan can hear him shift his position. “Lan Zhan, look at me.”

 He opens his eyes and he does. Wei Ying is at his eye level, standing on his knees as well. Wei Ying, always so expressive, doesn’t look anything like Lan Zhan had feared; he looks kind and patient and good. Lan Zhan’s hands, without him even noticing it, have moved to hold Wei Ying’s wrists.

 “Lan Zhan,” he calls, and in Lan Zhan’s mind, it could be the last time. But it sounds just as melodious, just as full of Wei Ying’s sincerity as it always did. “Can I kiss you?”

 All of his thought processes, all of his observations trail off then. Wei Ying looks a little flushed, though Lan Zhan didn’t apply any make-up to his cheeks. And his mouth, his beautiful, glistening mouth, displays a half-smile. Expectant. A little scared.

 Once Lan Zhan nods, everything seems to resume at a much faster pace, as if they stepped too hard on the gas pedal and their car flew off the road with a loud screech. Wei Ying exhales before their lips meet, as if meeting two necessities at once. He throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and pulls, his lips opening and closing around the other’s as many times as he can before he needs to breathe again. And then breaks away just to catch his breath before he’s lounging forward again, forcing Lan Zhan into a sitting position so he can climb on his lap and rob him of all coherent thought. Lan Zhan circles his arms around his middle, underneath the outer jacket, securing Wei Ying flush against him. The kiss is messy, wet, open-mouthed and inexperienced, Lan Zhan just following Wei Ying’s lead, which isn’t much of a lead, as Wei Ying whimpers between touches. The sound is enough to make Lan Zhan lose the last grasp he had on control, and that sends him to fall backwards, all the way back where he has no support, and they only have a second to disconnect their mouths before Lan Zhan’s head hits the hard floor.

 “Oh my God, are you okay?!”

 Lan Zhan winces, seeing stars in front of his eyes, and Wei Ying is quick to pull him back to an upright position, helping him lean his back against the couch before climbing back on his lap.

 “Lan Zhan, does it hurt too bad? Is it bleeding? Do you have a concussion? We should go to the—”

 “I’m all right,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. Wei Ying touches the back of his head and he winces, but he reassures him again. “It’s okay. It’s just a bump.”

 Wei Ying pats his hair into place after the mess that his hands made.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be.”

 Wei Ying’s lipstick is smeared all around his plump mouth (from kissing; from kissing him), and Lan Zhan be damned, he didn’t think Wei Ying could look more attractive and then he looks like that. It’d be unfair if Wei Ying wasn’t following a similar train of thought, thumbs touching around Lan Zhan’s mouth in a weak effort to wipe away the lipstick there. And because he wasn’t really trying, he just kisses him again, slow, unhurried, almost chaste, a kiss that lasts long, a whole time unit in its own.

 His hair is down, red ribbon lying somewhere on the floor. Lan Zhan pushes it away from his face so he can take a good look at him, his best friend, brilliant and full of life and beautiful around him, in his embrace, his cheeks flushing darker the longer he observes him, until Wei Ying throws his arms around him again and hides his face on his neck.

 “I have a confession to make.”

 Lan Zhan hums, his hand moving up and down Wei Ying’s back.

 “I didn’t really plan on writing a play with Wuxian... I created him as a way to spend time with you.”

 When Wei Ying takes a deep breath, Lan Zhan can feel it, against his chest, on his neck, the exhale making him shiver.

 “After our last performance, I— well, we never really...”

 Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan’s hand moves to his hair, petting, fond. He barely ever allowed himself to think of touching Wei Ying, yet it feels like the right thing to do, a natural step from all the hand holding and working in each other’s personal spaces. And it’s just what he can do to tell Wei Ying to go on, that he’s there, listening, although he’s not done collecting all of the fragments of his own confession, shattered in the car crash of a kiss long suffered.

 “I’ve always really admired you, Lan Zhan. Your talent, your imagination, everything you do is so good. I wanted to make something with you, to spend all of my time with you, to create something out of nothing that was ours.”

 Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying raising his head, his chin resting on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “You see, Lan Zhan, I’m really selfish. I’ve had a crush on you since I first laid eyes on you when we were fifteen but now I really wanted all of your attention. The way you looked at me that day, I... You don’t have any idea what you do to me.”

 Wei Ying tries to hide again, but Lan Zhan holds his shoulders, pulls him back to look at him. His mouth is still a mess of lipstick, but his eyes are wide, exposed. Lan Zhan tries to wipe the lipstick away, just to save Wei Ying some grace, because the weight of his their attraction pulling them together was nothing compared to the weight of the heart against one’s palms.

 “I’ve always admired you.” Lan Zhan echoes, eyes still focused on those lips, still trying to clean up their mess.  “Your talent, your imagination, and everything you do. I want to spend all my time with you, and create things with you, things that everybody will look and know it’s ours.”

 His hand, on Wei Ying’s face, moves to cup his cheek; his gaze moves up, without hesitation, because being there with Wei Ying when he falls is all he’s ever done, when people laughed at their plays, when their plans were foiled, when their ideas went nowhere. They’d come together, the two of them, and rise the whole group back up, one more time.

 “I really like you, Wei Ying. I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

 How could he be pretty even when he cries?

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 “You’re my best friend. The only one in this lifetime.”

 It’s only when Wei Ying touches his cheeks that he realizes he’s crying too.

 “You’re my best friend too, Lan Zhan. And I really, really like you back.”

 The kiss they share then is somewhere in-between the other two. It’s tender like a first kiss between their teenage selves, pecks that follow one after the other and another again, followed by kisses on each other’s cheeks, on noses and foreheads, marked with promise and lipstick. And when they finally regain their breath from their confessions, from their laughter, it’s open-mouthed and eager, ready to discover each other’s taste, and the best angles for their tongues to come together, to elicit delicious sounds from their throats.

 Wei Ying finds as much delight in delicately peeling the clothes Lan Zhan made for him open as he did in putting them on. And the view is almost too much for the designer, who both marvels and suffers at all the layers of his creation, sprawled underneath Wei Ying, still so beautiful against his skin, but ultimately forgotten.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan.”

 It’s a snowy night. Cold and white and long, sure to trap them inside when the morning comes.

 The answer to Wei Ying’s sensibilities, in the end, turned out to be simple; cuddle up as close as he can to his boyfriend, underneath thick and fluffy blankets.

 “Mn?”

 “I thought up a nicer end for Wuxian.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to open his eyes in the dark. He just turns his head to touch Wei Ying’s, his nose cold on the other’s forehead.

 “In the end he sacrifices himself for the kingdom but he doesn’t die. He ends up powerless but he meets someone who takes care of him regardless of the fact that he’s a royal.”

 Wei Ying plays with the collar of his pajamas and Lan Zhan could burst with contentment, but he only smiles against Wei Ying’s skin.

 “So when Wanyin finally finds Wuxian again, a long time later, Wuxian has become wiser because he realizes true strength doesn’t come from battles or sacrifices, but human connection. So he promises to be Wanyin’s adviser because he loves and supports him, but he’s not going back to the palace, he’s staying with Wangji.”

 “Wangji?”

 Wei Ying hums. Lan Zhan likes that ending. It’s a good message for the kids, to follow your heart rather than a life mission.

 It takes his sleepy mind a few seconds to remember his brother’s words. He’s going to like Wei Ying’s play, very much so.

 “Lan Zhan?”

 “Mn?”

 “Will you be my Wangji?”

 He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and places his hand against the hand that lies on his chest, next to his heart.

 “Mn. I will be Wei Ying’s commoner wife.”

 Wei Ying snorts before nuzzling his shoulder.

 “I haven’t decided if he’s going to be a commoner yet. But you’re going to wear blue. Blue and white, like Gusu’s clear skies.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t comment on how Wei Ying didn’t deny being his partner in the play, even if they had just confessed to liking each other. There’s still so much more to be said, and Lan Zhan loves the anticipation, will dream about them with Wei Ying in his arms all night, and all of the next day, too.

 “I thought you didn’t like Gusu that much.”

 “Of course I like Gusu. All of my memories with you are here.”

 Lan Zhan turns to his side, hugs Wei Ying tight against his chest, making him laugh. He kisses him all over his face before meeting his lips, then covers him up to his chin to protect him from the cold, and together, they fall asleep, the future holding a different shape in their creative, clasped hands.

[miracleboiz]

Sakusa Doesn’t Need Friends, But They Don’t Care

Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn't have "friends". There are four groups of people in his life. He has Komori, people he plays volleyball with, people he knows through volleyball, and everyone else.

What he hasn't been counting on is being locked in a perpetual game of single braincell hot potato with three of his teammates. For Miya, Bokuto, and Hinata, they're pretty sure that makes them friends. And tonight? Sorry Sakusa, mom said it's their turn with the braincell, and it's being used to hatch a diabolical plan... to make Sakusa feel better with the power of friendship, obviously.

Words: 9.5k

Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Komori Motoya, Miya Atsumu/Watari Shinji, Mentioned Bokuto Kotaro/Akaashi Keiji, Mentioned Kageyama Tobio/Hinata Shoyo

Warnings: Brief mention of sensory overload and skin sensitivity

Read below or on AO3

Sakusa felt his anxiety skyrocket the moment Bokuto brushed against him in the locker room. It wasn’t on purpose, it was barely even noticeable. Yet his skin crawled, spine cracking and shuddering like the old myth of someone walking over your grave.

He gasped against his will, shoulders pinching as he tried to force the air back out through his nose. His fingers twitched and spasmed and he stepped further away, ignoring the harsh pain of hitting the locker. He bared his teeth when the other man turned at the noise, feeling his chest tighten.

“Don’t touch me.” For once he hadn’t meant to snap, but it escaped him anyways. Bokuto blinked at him curiously, not having even realized he’d touched him. His streaked gray and black hair seemed to wilt but he smiled softly at him.

“Sorry Sakusa.” Bokuto apologized and turmoil growled in Sakusa’s stomach. Bokuto wasn’t an asshole and he probably didn’t even realize he was too close sometimes, but… The way his skin twisted kept him from apologizing, tugging at his mind and keeping him from thinking about anything else.

“Hey, Tsumtsum, c’mere.” Bokuto bounced towards the setter, quickly wrapping his arm around him and pulling him close. The blonde struggled but he couldn’t do anything against the larger man as he started to whisper in his ear. After a moment Atsumu finally relaxed, peering over at Sakusa for a moment before he twisted and grabbed Hinata as he jogged by.

They wouldn’t harass him about it right? They knew how he was, especially on bad days- Wait, why did he even care how they acted? 

It’s because you like them. Kiyoomi-kun has friends~Sakusa scowled at the cheerful voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Komori.

He did not have friends. He had a friend. He had a Komori and that was all he needed.

You bought Atsumu a birthday gift, without me asking. His inner-Komori reminded him. You took Bokuto out for dinner and actually let Hinata into our house.

In his defense it had been raining and Sakusa still had things to do and didn’t want to deal with a sick teammate, not because he felt bad leaving him in the rain… Okay. So maybe he had felt a little bad leaving the orange man outside. It didn’t mean he had friends it just meant he wasn’t an asshole.

He shoved the inner-Komori away as he started to think of other things he’d done recently that he hadn’t before. That didn’t change that he was not friends with these people and his skin still felt like it was covered in a thousand ants.

He barely made it to the showers before he was stripping his clothes and stepping into a harsh stream of boiling water. He couldn’t remember if his clothes had actually landed on the bench or not, but he was too relieved by the water pressure killing the crawling of his skin to care.

He slipped out of the shower half an hour later, skin smarting from harsh scrubbing and heated water but he was clean. He glanced around for his training clothes only to find them neatly folded in a plastic bag and placed beside his locker. He glanced around, noting the only remaining members of his team. The three idiots. Bokuto, Atsumu, Hinata.

I remember you trying to arm wrestle Barnes last week over a meatbun. All four of you share a brain cell. Inner-Komori hummed and Sakusa told it to shut up.

“Hey! Omi-kun.” Atsumu purred, arm wrapped around Hinata’s neck and leaning his weight on the excitable kid, ignoring Sakusa’s glare at the nickname. “Call Motoya-kun and see if he’s here. It’s raining cats and dogs out there and traffic is hella backed up man.”

Sakusa shuddered at the idea of walking out into the rain. Just thinking about the way the clothes would cling to him made him nauseous, sticking and becoming tighter and tighter. Holding itself against his skin until he couldn’t breathe, trapping him-

“Omi-kun.” Atsumu called again, voice pitched in what Hinata called his captain voice. Deep and made to travel across a loud gym, it made Sakusa jump but cleared his mind enough he could open his locker and pull out his clean clothes.

He tugged on his shirt, before snagging his phone and dialing Komori. It only rang twice, in time with Sakusa’s still calming heartbeat. He shoved his curly black hair out of his face, grateful that it dried quickly.

“Kiyoomi!” Komori chirped into the phone, sounding a thousand times more alive than Sakusa himself felt. “Babe, I’m sorry but I am trapped in traffic, it’s going to be atleast another hour before I can get to you.”

Sakusa grunted into the microphone, pulling up his boxers and pants. They scraped against his skin and he wondered if he’d get in trouble for sitting around naked for an hour. Probably.

“Yeah… Okay whatever, just get here when you can.” Sakusa said shortly, biting his tongue at the harsh tone. Komori didn’t take offense to it though, knowing him for far too long.

“How bad is it?” Komori asked after a moment, voice soft, gentle. If Sakusa closed his eyes he could imagine him right next to him, careful not to touch but close enough to give comfort.

“A six?... maybe a four if I remembered to pack my other workout shirt.”

“Left pocket of your gym bag, folded up for you love.”

Sakusa dug through the bag, feeling some relief as he pulled out the tighter shirt. He moved to tug his looser one off when he heard a footstep and then his name. Atsumu was a few feet away but his hand was held out.

“Can I talk to Motoya-kun? Just for a sec.” Atsumu said and Sakusa debated on telling him to go away.

“Is that Atsumu-kun? Pass me over while you change!” Komori chirped in his ear and Sakusa sighed but held the phone out, neatly dropping it into Atsumu’s palm. Atsumu bounced away, happily chirping nonsense into Komori’s ear as Sakusa stripped off his shirt.

He zoned out as he pulled the other on, careful not to trap himself or his mind would panic. It slid on slowly, tight against his skin and dragging slightly before he finally got it in place. Without long sleeves it wouldn’t trap his arms and the constant pressure would soothe his skin compared to the dragging feeling of loose clothing.

He made a mental note to buy Komori his favorite pastry on the way home… Unless he was doing something stupid with the over excited blonde and red-head in the corner. Bokuto held up two thumbs up when Sakusa glanced at them accusingly and Sakusa had a bad feeling he was about to be dragged into something stupid that he would regret.

Or be grateful for. Inner-Komori hummed and Sakusa told him to shut up.

Atsumu bounced over a minute later, holding the phone out carefully for Sakusa to snag. He held it up to his ear after wiping off the screen on his other shirt, stuffing it in the bag as he pinned the phone between his head and shoulder.

“No.”

“Kiyoomi-kun! You didn’t even hear what I have to say you meanie.” Komori said cheerfully which meant Sakusa was about to be harassed into obeying. No matter what anyone said, Komori was the biggest shit Sakusa knew and the happier he was the more Sakusa was screwed.

“I don’t want to hear it, I don’t like you anymore. I’m breaking up with you.”

“Uhuh, sure love. Anyways, Atsumu-kun was already going to bring Kotaro-kun and Sho-kun to his house for dinner. Why don’t you go with them so you’re not trapped at the gym? Besides, if I can get off on this next exit I’ll be able to get to Atsumu-kun’s house a lot faster then trying to get to the gym and back out. Traffic is heading away from his house not towards it. If you still feel bad then it’s no problem Kiyoomi-kun, but I don’t want you sitting all alone and depressed in the locker rooms waiting for me.”

“I am not depressed.” Sakusa said blandly, ignoring the snicker on the other end of the line. Just because his boyfriend was cute did not mean he got to say stuff like this-

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t feel a lot worse trapped in a small room, unable to communicate or play games or be distracted?” Well. He might have a small point.

“I don’t like them.” Sakusa said instead, looking over at the trio. They all gave him a thumbs up and Sakusa resisted the urge to flick them off in return. Hinata didn’t deserve it and it would make him upset….

Okay maybe he did like one of them. Hinata was special though. Like a pocket sized Komori, that’s all that mattered.

“You’re so full of shit.” Komori snorted.

“Motoya!” Sakusa admonished but it did nothing against the laughter coming through the phone. “Why do you do this to me?”

“I’m also your PR manager, and this will be great for photos to send to the old team. Go on, decide. You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever.”

Sakusa glared the locker then over at the dogs- teammates.

“Whose… car are we going in?” He finally forced out and Bokuto clapped his hands together excitedly, and Sakusa felt regret flood through him.

“Mine! It’s got the big seats and also Tsum-tsum broke his car.” Bokuto said happily, ignoring the wrathful setter behind him. Sakusa had to admit defeat, Bokuto's car did have huge seats so he wouldn’t have to worry about touching anyone and despite his obnoxious personality his driving was probably the safest.

“‘Samu broke my car. I haven’t even seen my car in like three months because of him. I’ve had to walk with peasants!” Atsumu complained, ruffling Hinata’s head and kicking Bokuto in the knee in one move.

“... I’ll be at Miya’s house.” Sakusa drawled into the phone. His lips twitched up into a small smile as Komori chuckled softly, voice warm and soft in his ear.

“I’ll go as fast as I can. I love you, Kiyoomi.” Komori murmured and Sakusa felt like he’d slipped from a four to a two instantly as his body relaxed.

“I love you too, Motoya. I will see you soon.”

He turned off the phone a moment later, turning and grabbing his bag as his locker shut. He pulled it onto his shoulder, glaring at the smiling group. 

“Bro, you know you don’t have to go right?” Atsumu hummed, not even looking at him as he ruffled Hinata’s hair. “You can stay here.”

Sakusa looked around the locker room. It was cold and not properly lit, his phone was only at thirteen percent, and the sound of rain was already starting to thrum out a rhythm that Sakusa knew would set his nerves on fire. If he didn’t break into a panic attack at the idea of feeling the rain on his skin and clothes. He’d much rather suffer their existence than a room made to drive him insane.

“Just don’t get me wet.” Was all he said, and they grinned wider and stepped aside to let him through.

Bokuto led the way to the underground parking lot, careful to not bump into Sakusa, while Hinata and Atsumu brought up the back. They were arguing playfully about some ‘Kodzuken’ and a charity game play Hinata wanted Atsumu to help out with. Which wouldn’t happen because everyone knew Atsumu sucked at every video game ever created. He’d even lost at Sims on creative and Sakusa still wasn’t sure how.

“Alright! This is my baby! Sakusa in the front buddy, you two in the back… next to the windows I am not pulling over so you two better not start kicking each other.” Bokuto said, the glare on his face only lasting a millisecond before his goofy grin was back in place and he clapped Atsumu on the shoulder before unlocking the car and sliding in.

“Who let Bokuto-san have the braincell? I thought Atsumu-kun claimed it.” Hinata said innocently, eyes blinking up at the pursed lips and scowl on Atsumu’s face. Perhaps Hinata really was a miniature Komori.

“I hate this family.” Atsumu muttered, climbing in his own side.

Sakusa opened his door, wondering if there would be a point to wearing a facemask when he was already running low. Probably not. Still, he pulled one out and snapped it on, blinking when Bokuto pulled out a container of wipes.

“It’s already been wiped down because Keiji cleaned it last night, but feel free to go over it again,” Bokuto said and Sakusa felt touched. Perhaps they weren’t complete idiots.

Sakusa slid into the car, tuning into the argument in the back seat as he wiped off the seatbelt and buckled in.

“Sakusa-san! Where is the Leaning Tower of Pisa?” Hinata finally snapped and Atsumu groaned, shaking his head. “Atsumu-san! I’ve left the country, I know what I’m talking about!”

“You went to Brazil, that’s not Italy.” Atsumu countered. “But please, if you trust his opinion more than mine then go ahead. Answer Sakusa, where is the damn Leaning Tower of Pisa?”

“.... Rome?” Sakusa said after a minute of debating whether or not it was worth responding too. He heard Atsumu’s sharp intake of breath and knew his eye was twitching.

“I… that’s it. I’m jumping off a bridge.” Atsumu said softly, eyes raised to heaven as the car started to pull out into the rain. The thunderous noise made Sakusa jump but it was drowned out a moment later as Bokuto turned on his radio.

“Nah man, I’m pretty sure it’s in Vienna.” Bokuto said and Atsumu let out a small screech.

“Vienna is in Austria.”

“Wha? Ohhh, the place with the Sydney Opera House right?”

“What? No! That’s Australia! The Leaning Tower of Pisa is in fucking Pisa.” Atsumu insisted but Hinata just shook his head looking thoughtful.

“No no, I think Sakusa-san’s right. It’s in Rome.”

“Bokuto, pull over, I’m walking into traffic.” Atsumu said, tugging on the handle as Bokuto happily locked the doors with a resounding click.

“No can do! Keiji says I shouldn’t feed into your self destructive habits.”

“And yet, you come to harass me every day.” Atsumu groaned, head hitting the back of the seat.

Sakusa leaned back into the leather, turning his head to look at Atsumu behind Bokuto. He waited until he caught the setter’s eyes then muttered.

“I can encourage your self destruction.”

“Nah, you’d enjoy that too much and it’s my job to keep you from ever having fun.” Atsumu said, not even a hint of concern in his voice and Sakusa wondered if he’d been around them for too long. They didn’t even care about his threats anymore.

Hinata’s head popped up in the corner of his eye, making Sakusa jump but Hinata didn’t move any closer. Instead his hand was crawling across the seat, sneaking towards the part of Atsumu’s shirt that had ridden up. Hinata smiled just as innocently as he had the day he joined them.

“Sakusa-san, how’s it like living with Komori-san? I mean, Tobio’s all the way in Tokyo so I’m used to living on my own now, I don’t think I could handle living with another person, I can barely do my own dishes. And you guys only get to see each other sometimes right?” Hinata said jovially and Sakusa gave him a look, was he really going to use him to distract Atsumu?

“Motoya enjoys the simplicity of laundry and mopping and I enjoy ensuring our dishes are clean. We work together…. But yes it is nice to have someone to go home too, or talk to on bad days. I miss him during the week but we get our days off together at home, which is a blessing. Something Atsumu could never understand.” Sakusa purred and Atsumu’s attention was instantly on him, eyes narrowed and completely distracted. Maybe Sakusa was playing along for the fun of it, but he still didn’t like these people.

“How would you know? For all you know I have a boyfriend waiting at home with a hot meal for me, and I’m not going to share it with any of you!”

“You don’t even know how to be polite to your own teammates, you rabid fox, much less treat someone as a partner.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you, ya blunt weasel! Unlike you, I know how to be romantic and sweet and- Holy shit your hands are cold.” Atsumu squealed with laughter as Hinata’s hand dug into his side and up his shirt. Sakusa flinched back from the loud noise but snickered as Atsumu yelled for mercy, raising his foot up and kicking Hinata in an attempt to save himself.

“Atsumu stop kicking Hinata, if I get in a crash I will let Keiji rip you a new one.” Bokuto sighed, but Sakusa could see the grin on his face as he tried to hide his own laughter. His shoulders shook too hard to be anything else and Atsumu yowled at the betrayal.

“Me? What about Shoyo-kun?”

“Shoyo hasn’t done anything wrong in his life.” Bokuto said evenly, ignoring that Hinata had managed to get both hands in Atsumu’s shirt now as the setter flailed.

Sakusa debated on pulling them apart before they did in fact get into an accident. As soon as the thought crossed his mind his hands curled towards his chest, already feeling grimy and he rubbed his thumb over his first finger trying to dispel the feeling.

It wasn’t that he thought they were dirty, they could be but they usually took care of themselves. Unlike everyone else, he knew they kept up to date on their shots and cleaned themselves properly, however, on bad days Sakusa couldn’t even touch Komori. When his skin would be so sensitive to touch he struggled to breathe with flowing clothing and jumped at every brush against him, his nerves ramped up so high that every touch felt like pain. On those days he could only handle tight and smooth pressure like a skin tight T-shirt or a tank top, something that would hold to his skin without feeling like an extra layer.

“Don’t be idiots.” Sakusa finally said, wiggling his fingers in and out of the curled position. Both players turned to look at him, and he swore they glanced at his fingers, before obediently moving away from each other. Which was weird, because neither of those two listened to anyone, no matter what it was about or who said it.

The rest of the drive faded into soft rock from Bokuto's radio and a rather embarrassing conversation of all the times Atsumu had died in video games and how much money Hinata thought he could make from his failures. Apparently Hinata didn’t just know a strange amount of pro-volleyball players, but also a famous CEO and Youtuber and his boyfriends who were both well known in their own communities.

Sakusa couldn’t help but glance at Bokuto when Hinata was talking about the chemical engineer because the white haired man was nodding along like he actually knew what Hinata was saying. Maybe they were just both nuts? That would make a lot of sense actually.

It was almost a relief to arrive at Atsumu’s house, pulling into the parking lot and quickly escaping from the madness that had started to build in the car. How anyone could know so many people and actually remember their names was blowing Sakusa’s mind. Hinata had already named off twenty other people he knew and what they did. Sakusa wasn’t even sure what Izuna-san was doing with his life and he talked to the guy twice a week.

Atsumu was first out of the car, leaping around to open Hinata’s door for him and shove him further into the vehicle. He slapped the locking mechanism and slammed the door, looking pleased as he turned and started up the stone path.

Sakusa waited until Hinata had finished laughing and escaped the car before climbing out himself, blinking when he saw Bokuto was waiting for him. Together they followed the two happily bickering children up the steps and waited for Atsumu to finish wrestling with the lock.

“Shinji! I’m home,” Atsumu called, carefully pushing his shoes against the wall and stepping into slippers.

All three of the remaining players turned to each other, mouthing the name confusedly.

“Bokuto, who the fuck is Shinji?” Sakusa whispered and the wing spiker shrugged, looking to Hinata. Hinata was just staring blankly at them though and they all looked up as someone entered the room.

“Ah! Atsu, finally, I was worried you got stuck behind an accident on the highway.” The man said, carefully peeling off gloves and dropping them into the trash can.

“Atsu?” The three whispered at each other again, watching the setter move across the floor and press a kiss on the other man’s forehead as he wound an arm around his waist and turned to look at his teammates.

“This is Watari Shinji, my boyfriend. Watari Shinji, these are the reasons for my night terrors.” Atsumu said simply as if he hadn’t just cracked Sakusa’s view on the world. For his part, Shinji gave Atsumu half a glare, pinching his side for the comment.

“Who would date you?” Sakusa managed to get out after a moment of staring.

“How’d you get someone attractive?” Bokuto asked, head tilted to the side like a dog.

“Setter-libero! From Seijoh! It’s me!” Hinata shouted, hand waving happily in the air as he shoved his feet into slippers and bounded across the room.

“Shoyo-kun is the only one who loves me.” Atsumu sighed dramatically, wiping away a false tear only to get a gentle slap to the back of his head.

“I remember you Hinata-san. It’s been a very long time, I’m surprised you even remember me.” Shinji admitted, a blush creeping up against his dark skin and a hand moving to rub against the shaved head self-consciously.

Sakusa took a moment to take in the other man, moving to let Bokuto go past and meet him as well. The tall wing spiker immediately drew the smaller man into a hug but Watari didn’t seem to mind, only blushing harder when Bokuto crooned about Atsumu finally being an adult. Watari pulled back after a moment, turning give a polite bow to Sakusa.

“Sakusa-san, it’s nice to meet you. I do hope Atsumu isn’t giving you too much trouble.” The man said, his voice softer than Komori’s but with a familiar Miyagi accent Sakusa knew from Hinata. His gaze was gentle, more so than Sakusa thought Atsumu would ever be interested in, but he was mostly muscle and built like a smaller Ojiro Aran. Maybe they had met on the court, Sakusa definitely wouldn’t put it past Atsumu to date an enemy player.

Sakusa you’re dating me, Inner-Komori said unhelpfully. Sakusa ignored him.

“He gives everyone trouble, but he’s a good setter.” Sakusa said in response to Watari’s eyebrow raise. His silver eyes glowed like steel at his words, softening again at the complement and Sakusa had to admit he almost looked dangerous which was definitely Atsumu’s type.

“I do not give everyone trouble, you take that back-” Atsumu paused as he looked around the room curiously, something suspicious in his gaze. Sakusa followed his gaze around the room and couldn’t find anything out of order. It was a nice set up, a low coffee table between a large couch and a TV, a leather armchair beside part of the entertainment center that was stacked with books, the carpet was soft  and clean, shelves covered the walls before the kitchen with small anime merchandise and a few medals and a single volleyball. Then he realized what was wrong. He’s seen Atsumu’s locker, he didn’t even know Atsumu knew what the word clean meant.

“Shinji, did you clean the house?” Atsumu blinked at the pristine wood floors and dusted shelves. His voice was pitched strangely, however and both Bokuto and Hinata glanced at him as he purposely avoided their gazes. Sakusa wondered if he was allowed to beat the truth out of him in front of his own boyfriend or if that was considered rude

“Well all you said was some important people were coming over.” Watari said, moving his hands to his hips, his lips were pursed as he tried not to smile and failed. “I didn’t know if it was your team manager or Kita-san, or your mother…. I panicked.”

Atsumu cooed, a sound that Sakusa thought he would literally never hear from a mouth that was usually screaming from suffering. Bokuto and Hinata both took wary steps back, eyes widening slightly as Atsumu raised his hands up to squish the cheeks of his boyfriend as he cooed again.

“Shinji, that’s so sweet. Thank you… though that begs the question-“

“No it doesn’t.” Shinji said, poking Atsumu in the forehead.

“Because I know for a fact they were here this morning… Where’s my stuff?”

“Look at the shelves.” Shinji sighed, tilting his head until his cheek was cradled in Atsumu’s hand. Atsumu turned his head, his teammates following his gaze to the shelves on the other wall now decorated in different memorabilia.

“Oh, that’s what those are for. I just figured it was for like, fancy plates or something.”

“Love, you can do whatever you want with it, it’s your house.”

“.... Oh yeah.”

“Remind me again how you survived on your own before me?” Watari’s voice was fond as he pulled his boyfriend’s hands away from his face and gave him a gentle push towards the couch.

“I didn’t, you’re a gift from the Heavens.” Atsumu tried his sweetest voice but it didn’t seem to work against Watari’s eye roll. “Gift that keeps on giving? Prettiest...Second prettiest boy around?”

“Okay, go sit down before you dig yourself a hole you can’t get out of. And let Sakusa-san sit in the armchair, he doesn’t need your cooties all over him.” Watari said, annoyed, but his face was soft as he patted Atsumu’s cheek and pushed him into the back of the couch. “I have to finish cooking, do not ruin anything or I will call Kita-san.”

Atsumu gave a visible shudder before hopping over the back of the couch and patting out a rhythm on the cushion next to him. Hinata bounced after Watari for a minute, saying something too soft to hear before he was moving to sit opposite Atsumu, turning and patting with him while staring Bokuto down.

Bokuto laughed, reaching over to ruffle Hinata’s hair before moving to sit between them. Leaving the leather armchair for Sakusa.

He eyed it warily. He liked leather products, they didn’t hold allergens or hair or scents in them like other textiles. Still, when was the last time it was cleaned? This was still Atsumu’s house and Sakusa had seen the inside of his locker.

“It’s been wiped down properly.” Sakusa jumped when the voice muttered past him, quiet enough that the three others couldn’t hear but Watari just smiled at him when he glared over at the passing man. He was holding three beer bottles and moving to the back of the couch.

Sakusa slipped behind him as Watari passed the bottles to Hinata and Bokuto, teasingly waving the other above Atsumu’s head. Atsumu didn’t even attempt to steal it, tilting his head back and pouting dramatically. He let out a low whine as Shinji put the cold bottle against his forehead and held it there for a moment before finally passing it over. Atsumu took it but didn’t open it, twisting around to wrap long fingers around Watari’s wrist and pulled him back. Watari moved easily like it was a game they were used to playing, leaning down with a smile so fond Sakusa wanted to call Komori and tell him to hurry up because he missed him. The kiss was brief, almost quick enough to be missed but Atsumu still had the dumbest look on his face as Watari pulled away.

It was such a different aspect of Atsumu’s personality that Sakusa couldn’t help but stare at him and try to configure this Atsumu with the wild child he knew from Youth Camp and the slightly mature yet more insane adult Atsumu from his team. He glanced at Hinata, intelligent brown eyes looking over Atsumu and then meeting his in the middle. Hinata shrugged, taking the offered bottle opener and tossing the cap to Atsumu who immediately tried to get it in the trash.

“How long have you and Watari-san been together?” Hinata asked, watching the bottlecap land in the trash can easily. Bokuto tried to copy Atsumu only for it to bounce off the wall instead, Atsumu laughed and stood up to grab the small pointy lid. He twisted and tossed it over his shoulder, landing in the trash with a smug smile.

“Hmm… Two years? Give or take a few months. He used to live in Miyazaki so we didn’t get to see each other much, but he moved to be closer to his publisher and me.”

“So you managed to keep a secret boyfriend for two years?” Bokuto blinked, Sakusa shifting to get comfortable in the chair before finally just standing and trying to get rid of the restless energy.

“Bokuto, you literally never shut up about Keiji-kun, I’m surprised you even know my name sometimes.” Atsumu snickered at the offended look on Bokuto's face. “Shinji likes to keep things on the downlow, but he wanted to meet all of you. Not even the coach knows, only Kita-san and my brother and really only because ‘Samu doesn’t tell me when he visits.”

Hinata cooed, bouncing in place as falling against Bokuto to look over his shoulder at his setter. The two wing spikers looked like excitable dogs and Sakusa stepped a little further away from them in case they decided a group hug was necessary.

“Aww, Atsumu-san do you talk about us?” Hinata gasped, looking even more excited.

“I think that means…” Bokuto started, moving to his feet.

“No it does not, it does not mean whatever crap is about to come out of your mouth.” Atsumu said warily, taking a step away from the couch. For once, Sakusa felt for him.

“It means Tsum-tsum likes us!” Bokuto shouted, dashing around the couch and Hinata moved from the other side, squishing the setter between them in one giant hug. Behind them the trash can fell as Bokuto's leg bumped it and Hinata’s head shifted a picture frame.

“No… I.. Don’t.” Atsumu wheezed out of the stranglehold they had on him. Sakusa blinked at the soft look that settled on Atsumu’s face even as he tried to gently shove them off. Bokuto was right, Atsumu did like them.

Sakusa couldn’t say why is was such a revelation, sure he knew Atsumu didn’t actually hate them. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep a pack of face masks and wipes in his backpack, or have Akaashi and Komori on speed dial, or keep snacks for Hinata’s blood sugar or-

Sakusa stared blankly at the cuddling group as it hit him that Atsumu really liked them. He probably thought they were friends, all of them. He even brought them over to meet his boyfriend that he kept hidden from everyone, even the coach. He hadn’t even blinked at bringing Sakusa over. Had he planned this? Had he been planning a devilish way to get Sakusa to his house to be friendly for a while? Is that why Watari hadn’t brought Sakusa a beer, had Atsumu already warned him Sakusa didn’t drink?

“Disgusting.” Sakusa curled his lip as the two wing spikers both planted slobbery kisses on Atsumu’s unwilling cheeks. The three just laughed, Atsumu’s tongue sticking out at him.

“Calm down you wolverine, we won’t hug you.” And Sakusa knew they wouldn’t. Because. They. Were. His. Friends. He needed to quit this team, immediately.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped in Komori’s number.

Me: I swear if you’re sitting around drinking a mimosa while I am SUFFERING, I will break up with you

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: Can I even drink mimosas?

Kiyoomi pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why he’d decided to fall in love with someone so… Komori.

Me: Komori, please.

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: I’m really stuck in traffic love 

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: It can’t be that bad, the boys like you a lot and they know you pretty well

Me: Don’t remind me

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: Come on, Atsumu’s letting you meet his boyfriend you should be grateful

Me: how do you know about him??

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: How do you think Atsumu convinced me to convince you to go over? I knew you’d feel touched that he was sharing such a big secret with you, I just didn’t think you’d die if you knew they liked you for you

Me: They’re… not the worst

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: So you ARE just grumpy they love you

Me: shut up

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: I Love you so much sometimes

Me: Shut Up

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: I love you soooo much

Me: SHUT Up

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: Hey, Kiyoomi

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: I love you

Me: ….

Me: Love you too

The Love of Your GODDAMN Life: GREAT NOW HAVE FUN WITH YOUR F R I E N D S

Me: I take back my love

Me: … No I don’t, but please rescue me soon I miss you

Sakusa sighed, mentally able to hear the cackling of his boyfriend. He was ridiculous. He turned back towards the snuggle pile when his eye caught on the book shelf. His first instinct was that he was surprised Atsumu could even read anything other than volleyball manuals. His second was that the entire thing was dusted. Sakusa level dusting. Under the books, between them, under the bookshelf in the small corners of the slab of wood.

He turned as Watari exited the kitchen, looking at the two wing spikers harassing his boyfriends. In one hand he had a tray of snacks, actual vegetables and fruits splayed out.

“Alright boys, let Tsum-tsum go before you knock something over.” Watari laughed, shaking his head at them 

“Shinji, don’t start with that name.” Atsumu whined, trying to reach for orange slices that were maneuvered away from him.

“Sorry, snacks are only for volleyball players who don’t make a mess of my living room.” Watari said easily, turning away and laying the platter on the coffee table before offering Sakusa wrapped chopsticks. Behind him, the boys immediately untangled themselves and grabbed the trashcan and picture frame in a panicked moment before Atsumu tackled his boyfriend.

For his part, Watari barely swayed with the movement, still smiling angelically with his soft round eyes that seemed to be burning with revenge once Atsumu let go. Akaashi would like him, Komori would really like him.

Sakusa took the chopsticks, retreating to the safety of the chair while Bokuto and Hinata squabbled over the couch. He leaned forward and snagged a slice of strawberry with the chopsticks, pulling down his mask and popping it in his mouth, grateful he wouldn’t have to get the juice all over his hands.

“Babe, you said your living room.” Atsumu said, finally releasing Watari from his unnecessary hold. Watari turned and pushed him away with a finger a few steps.

“I did. Because I cleaned it, therefore it’s mine.”

“Bah, that’s not how it works. I’ve done your laundry more times than I can count and I don’t claim your clothes.” Atsumu waved the remark off.

“I dare you to, I would love to see you try and fit into my pants.” Watari smirked at the idea, before sighing and looking up at his taller boyfriend. “I basically live here, I might as well call it mine. Though if it’s going to cause an aneurysm I can take it back.”

“No!” Atsumu shook his head, pinching his lips shut and mimicking throwing away the key. “I’m sitting down now, how much longer on dinner?”

“It’s simmering, give it ten minutes or so? Should be done.” Watari said, snorting when both Bokuto and Hinata’s heads shot up.

“Dinner?” They said together, eyes widening and the strawberry piece in Hinata’s mouth nearly falling out.

“I already told you that you were staying for dinner, it was like two hours ago, how did you two forget?” Atsumu blinked confusedly at them as he leaned forward and pulled Watari backwards onto his lap and rested his chin on his shoulder. “You’re eating it too Omi-kun. No choice.”

Sakusa glowered at him, holding up a middle finger. Dinner did actually sound good, it was a little early but he had an hours drive back to his house and he was starving after practice. He leaned back further into the cushion, just barely noticing the pinpricks against his skin from contact.

“What are we having?” He finally asked.

“Oyakodon over rice.” Watari hummed, fingers sliding over Atsumu’s hair and pushing it back into small spikes. “Komori-san can have some as well when he arrives, I made sure. I used Tamari instead of soy sauce.”

Sakusa blinked. Then glanced at Hinata who suddenly whistled and looked away and Atsumu who moved his head to bury his face in Watari’s shoulder instead. He opened his mouth to interrogate but a timer went off in the kitchen and Watari pushed his boyfriend’s face into Bokuto's arm as he stood, making his way to the kitchen.

Sakusa glared at his teammates, only Bokuto looking particularly innocent as he shoved a piece of raw broccoli in his mouth. He stood, following the other man into the kitchen. He almost whipped around to smack their heads as they exploded into whispers.

Instead, he stepped into the kitchen, barely getting a glance at himself as Watari pulled the pan off the stove and started dishing up bowls of rice.

“What did they tell you?” Sakusa asked after it became clear Watari wasn’t going to make the first move. Watari turned and smiled, a blinding sweet and innocent smile that Sakusa knew meant trouble. It was Komori’s favorite grin right before he bullied Sakusa into doing something he didn't want to.

“What do you mean?” He hummed, tilting his head in a way designed to throw off all but the harshest of people but Sakusa hadn’t known Komori for six years to fall for something so simple.

“Hinata and Miya, they said something to you.”

“I would hope my boyfriend and his friend have said things to me, otherwise something’s wrong.”

“What did they say?” Sakusa glowered at him, teeth almost bared. Watari eyed him, probably wondering if he could out stubborn him.

“.... They both warned me about Komori-san’s diet because Atsumu plans on making him stay for dinner as well.” Watari said after a minute and a shrug. He turned and held out a bowl for him as Sakusa’s mouth opened. “And if you think of saying no for any reason other than not being okay, I don’t want to hear it. If it’s just because you don’t want to be friendly then you can sit your butt on that chair and glare at dinner until it’s time to leave. Atsumu put a lot of work into cleaning this house this morning and asking me to clean the rest hoping to bring not just Hinata-kun and Bokuto-san over but you as well. He might act the fool, and he might even bring me in on it to pretend he doesn’t care about you so he can keep his pride but I think you know him more than enough to know just how much this means to him to have all of you here. So. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Sakusa slowly closed his mouth, accepting the bowl with a quiet thanks. Watari didn’t move, eyes narrowed like silver arrows and waiting for his response. For such a soft looking man, he was as dangerous looking as a wolf on the hunt.

Sakusa shifted, unnerved for once in his life. It wasn’t often that people could tell when he just didn’t want to be nice versus not feeling well, but he also had relaxed more than he expected in the little time they’d been here. Perhaps it would be okay to stay a little longer…

“I…  What are you doing?” Sakusa turned as his eyes caught the reflection of movement on the microwave. In the doorway, Hinata, Atsumu, and Bokuto were all trying to lean on each other and listen in. Then a second head popped around beside Atsumu’s. Komori.

“I dunno, what’re you doin?” Komori purred, grinning ear to ear.

“.... How long have you been here?” Sakusa finally asked Bokuto, ignoring his boyfriend who let out a squawk.

“The last twelve seconds, we only got to hear Shin-chan ask what you wanted to do. We had to let Toya-kun in.” Bokuto admitted, his lips twisting downwards and hair deflating for a moment before he perked back up. “So? Whatcha gonna do?”

“Why does Shinji get Shin-chan and I’m fucking Tsum-tsum?” Atsumu asked, elbowing Bokuto off of him and into Komori. Komori grabbed Hinata to steady himself only to drag him down with him, leaving only Atsumu standing. At least, until Hinata managed to twist and grab his ankle to pull him down on top of them.

“My entire life I thought I’d be the Oikawa of the relationship, turns out I’m the Iwaizumi.” Watari muttered and Sakusa tilted his head curiously before moving to step over the struggling pile. They froze until his foot hit the ground on the other side in the clear, then they were wrestling again, Komori more than happy to join into the impromptu session.

A moment later Sakusa could hear the patter of feet as Watari maneuvered around the pile and took Atsumu’s spot on the couch. Behind them the four were still squabbling, Hinata almost making it out before Bokuto leaped and pinned him back down, squeals of laughter erupting from the small man as Atsumu started to tickle him mercilessly.

“I’m partial to action but Atsumu prefers the documentary movies. What about you?” Watari asked smoothly, completely at peace with the squabbling going on behind him. He didn’t even flinch as a foot smacked the back of the couch, instead he just hummed and grabbed the remote, flipping through the channels.

“I like dramas, but action are good too.” Sakusa said, glancing over at the pile as he noticed Bokuto trying to make an escape. “Miya, three o’clock.”

Atsumu twisted and dug his hands into Bokuto's pants, yanking him down as Komori pounced on his back and pinned both under his weight. He held up his fists in victory only to get knocked backwards as Hinata shoved his shoulders and stood, bowing dramatically. Komori swung his legs to knock Hinata free from his throne and leapt to lay down on him. Hinata let out a feral screech, and Atsumu and Bokuto immediately set to trying to free their trapped teammate.

“Motoya’s extremely ticklish on his hips.” Sakusa said, popping a piece of rice and chicken in his mouth.

“Kiyoomi-kun!” Komori yelled, looking betrayed before two sets of hands descended on his hips and he was squealing and fighting to break free.

“Atsumu’s legs are ticklish as well,” Watari said just as boredly, settling on a crime show.

“Shinji! No. No, no, no, no, no Bokuto you get away from me!” Bokuto's eyes lit on his new prey, one hand going to tickle both of them as Hinata wiggled free and stood behind him safely.

Sakusa glanced at Watari, sitting peacefully on his couch as everything went to hell behind him. It almost reminded him of their captain Meian-san when Bokuto would invariably act out or Hinata would drag Sakusa into their scuffles between practice matches.

Sakusa jumped as his chair shook, looking over the armrest at Komori. He had one hand on the arm of the seat, the other flailing wildly as Hinata tugged on both of his legs to keep him from escaping. Sakusa watched apathetically, carefully pushing his chopsticks into his rice. He held up a single finger and shoved it under the hand Komori had on the chair, flicking it off.

Komori flopped onto the ground, finally admitting defeat. Hinata crowed his winnings until Bokuto grabbed him from behind, squeezing him until Hinata finally gave in. Both of them looked around for the last remaining fool, only to find him already crawling on the couch, curled against his boyfriend.

Atsumu stuck his tongue out at them, one arm wrapping around his boyfriend and tucking them closer together.

“If either of you touch Shinji, he will bite you and I will not take you to get a rabies shot.” Atsumu said cheerfully, squeaking when Shinji jabbed him lightly with the chopsticks.

“Go get your own bowl, and bring one for Komori-san as well. Bokuto-kun, Hinata-kun, your bowls are in the kitchen.” Watari said, shooing his boyfriend off.

Komori finally picked himself up, sitting against the bottom of the chair. As close to Sakusa as he could be without brushing against him.

“That’s not really necessary, Watari-kun! But thank you.. Oh and thank you for taking care of Kiyoomi-kun! And for the Oyakodon, it smells delicious!” Komori chirped, gratefully taking the bowl and chopsticks from Atsumu. Sakusa leaned his hand down, gently fluffing it through Komori’s hair for a second before pulling away as the texture got to be too much. He hadn’t been wrong earlier, somehow being with these idiots had actually relaxed him in a way usually only being alone or with Komori could do.

“Shinji-kun, do you like Motoya-kun more than me?” Atsumu asked, voice pitched dramatically. Sakusa glanced up at Watari’s noncommittal grunt and blinked at the light blush that dappled Watari’s skin. Komori put down the piece of chicken in his chopsticks, looking both amused and concerned for Watari.

“Watari-kun?” Komori hummed, getting an almost gleeful look on his face as Watari stared dead into the TV as if they couldn't see the dark blush now rising up further and pursed lips of embarrassment.

“Shinji, oh my gods.” Atsumu snickered, completely unconcerned about Watari’s reactions. Atsumu slid his arms around him, shaking him gently with a whine.

“Shut up! I’m sitting next to the best libero from high school, and one of the most renowned in this generation of varsity players, what am I supposed to do? Ignore him?” Watari hissed, covering his face with one hand as Atsumu burst into laughter.

“Babe, I’m the number one setter from high school, and I got just as many offers as Tobio-kun.”

“Eh, not as cool.” Watari waved him off.

Sakusa settled back in the chair to watch the mess unfold. Atsumu’s gaze flickered through multiple emotions like a fast forwarding of a video, before he finally just tilted his head like a pouty dog. He blinked rapidly at his boyfriend.

“Not as… How is that not as cool? I got signed on before Komori did! I went to the Olympics! Granted, I didn’t play because Tobio-kun got my spot, but I was brought along as the backup. I got more offers than him, I arm wrestled Ushijima!” Atsumu said, voice hysterical and whiny.

“Atsu, I played with Oikawa for two years and I’ve known him for seven. I’ve met Kageyama-kun multiple times, Shigeru is my best friend and he’s introduced me to both Semi-san and Shirabu-kun. I met Oikawa’s idol, I’ve met hundreds of setters who were good. But the only other famous libero I’ve ever actually gotten to meet is Noya-kun and he’s… adorable but not the same as meeting Komori Motoya.”

“.... I have to break up with you. I... am I not more adorable than Motoya-kun? Am I not enough?” Atsumu’s hysterical voice dropped into his fakest voice, one Sakusa had only heard when Atsumu wanted to get a snack out of Hinata. Watari didn’t seem fazed regardless, rolling his eyes at his dramatic boyfriend. Behind them, Hinata and Bokuto were watching it like a tennis match, occasionally shoveling food into their mouths.

“One, no. You are not more adorable than Komori-san. It’s not your fault, it’s a libero thing, we’re all just absolutely perfect.” Watari crooned, pitching his voice to match his boyfriend’s dramatic state mockingly. “And two, you’re more than enough for me to spend the rest of my life with. But not enough for me to beg a signed picture from.”

“Well I didn’t want to sign anything anyways.” Atsumu humphed, turning his head away as if his arms weren’t still wrapped possesively around Watari. Watari just rolled his eyes, more than used to the behavior.

“Hey, Komori-san.”

“Toya-kun.”

Hinata and Bokuto's heads appeared on either side of the couple, both gleaming with amusement and malice. Komori blinked in surprise at both of them, guessing they were going to ask for a signature for Watari but not really sure why they looked like… well, jackals.

“What? You two back off, if anyones getting his signature for my boyfriend it’s going to be me.” Atsumu insisted, letting go of Watari to shove his hands in their faces and push them away.

“Nope! You were being mean to Watari-san, as a friend of Oikawa-san I must defend him.” Hinata said, hand over his heart only to yelp as his bowl nearly tipped over and he had to drive down to grab it.

“And as a friend of Shoyo, who is a friend of whoever this Oikawa guy is, I must also defend Shin-chan!” Bokuto said, sticking his tongue onto the hand in front of him and grinning when Atsumu squealed.

“Funny, how you two think Motoya’s just going to give you his signature. He has some pride you know.” Sakusa cut in, glaring back as three pairs of eyes landed on him. Predatory eyes made to find weaknesses. An owl, a crow, and a fox, all hungry for the next fight.

Watari leaned back slightly as the argument started, maneuvering around Atsumu’s arms until he could turn his back to him to keep him from knocking over his food. He swiped Atsumu and Hinata’s bowls and laid them on the coffee table, not surprised that Bokuto had already finished.

“I am so sorry about them… Particularly my idiot.” Watari said, inclining his head to Komori. The libero just laughed, shaking his head fondly.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Sakusa likes to talk a lot of crap about always being mature but he is usually the one who starts the arguments over anything. He just enjoys chaos but doesn’t like it to be pointed out to him.” Komori looked up at his boyfriend, already leaning forward, chopsticks jabbing the air as he argued. His eyes lit up, glowing with passion as he ‘defended’ Komori’s honor.

No matter how many times Sakusa had insisted he wasn’t friends with his teammates, Komori could always tell he was lying. From the way his voice softened when he complained, to the small gifts and momentos he would come back from Tokyo with each chosen specifically for one of the three. If he truly didn’t like them, he wouldn’t even talk about them, wouldn’t acknowledge their presence except on court. Instead he’d taken each one of them through a Sakusa Certified Cleaning and General Health course, hidden as an argument, so he would be safe to highfive, bump shoulders, and even give into the occasional shoving match.

“Were you a libero?” Komori asked, changing the subject before they got drawn into the argument with the four idiots. Watching them counter each other’s points and switch sides left and right was more amusing from the sidelines, Komori knew they only had one brain cell but he didn’t realize they were playing volleyball with it in every conversation.

“Mm? Yes, I used to play for Aoba Johsai. I played a little in college but I was never any good.” Watari admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now I’m a writer, but I still play every now and then.”

“I mean you can’t have been terrible, I don’t think Atsumu would be able to live with himself if he dated someone terrible at volleyball.”

“That is true,” Watari nodded, holding up a hand to ward off one of Atsumu’s swinging arms. “I remember when he found out Hinata-kun only started playing in highschool, I thought he was going to pass out because he’d told a ‘noob’ he was going to set for him one day.”

“Wait… Is that true Atsumu-san?” Hinata’s voice pitched and suddenly Atsumu was defending against all three of his teammates. He gave his boyfriend a helpless look before turning to Sakusa.

“I remember you saying that you didn’t think Bokuto was worth the oxygen he uses to shout.”

“And I stand by it.” Sakusa shrugged, looking unperturbed by Bokuto's new argument against him.

“Ah… Perhaps Sakusa isn’t the only one who enjoys chaos.” Komori hummed, only getting a happy eyes pinched shut smile from Watari. 

It was nice. A nice meal, surrounded by friends, a fun argument that was more for saying more words than the other person than an actual fight, safe and warm with the TV playing in the background.

Sakusa wasn’t sure when he became aware of his fingers slowly sliding through Komori’s hair. Sometime between Hinata insisting Oikawa could arm wrestle Bokuto and Bokuto's claims that he could actually read books longer than fifteen pages. Komori’s body had shifted until he was between his legs, head resting on Sakusa’s knee as he stroked through the soft strands.

Komori himself was quietly talking to Watari about a novel they had both read. Watari had been moved back onto Atsumu’s lap, half a shield from Hinata’s bouncing and poking hands and half keeping Atsumu from pulling Bokuto into another head rub. More beers littered the table, and Bokuto was doing his best to keep up with the argument and text his boyfriend Akaashi.

Komori looked up as Sakusa’s fingers stilled, nuzzling at them curiously. Sakusa looked back down at him, wondering how long he’d actually been petting him. How long ago had he managed to relax so completely around all of them that he’d managed to calm himself down into actually being able to touch someone again.

“Ready to go home?” Komori asked, curious but drowsy and Sakusa immediately felt guilty. He’d driven four hours to get down from Matsumoto, got stuck in traffic and still had to drive an hour home.

“Yeah, I think it’s time. You need rest.” Sakusa said softly, leaning down until he could press a kiss against his forehead.

“I need rest? I can go for the next sixty years,” Komori insisted past a yawn.

“Oh are you guys leavin’?” Atsumu asked, blinking in surprise before his eyes landed on Komori. “Ah, yeah, you should get goin… Want any Oyakodon for home?”

“I don’t want to be a bother-” Komori started but Atsumu just waved him off, gently moving out from under Watari and heading into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it, less leftovers means less my brother can rob from me when he visits. Just make sure you bring back the containers eventually.”

“Aww, well, it’s been fun.” Bokuto sighed, finishing his text and smiling brightly over at Sakusa. “We should hang out more, you’re a lot of fun when you relax. It’s great to hang out with you, Kiyoomi-kun!”

Sakusa blinked twice. Fun? Him?

Komori lifted a hand and covered his mouth before he could say anything scathing, pointing to the half-asleep Hinata on Bokuto's lap. Hinata was curled up, one arm wrapped around Bokuto's arm and face pressed against it. The other hand was making grabby hands at Bokuto's phone, trying to take it from the other Wing spiker to send a photo to Akaashi.

Hinata glanced up as Atsumu brought in the food container, then smiled brightly at Komori and Sakusa.

“We should do this again! We used to do this all the time at Karasuno, it feels just like we’re a family!” He chirped before smashing his cheek back onto Bokuto's arm. “I’m glad you feel better Sakusa-san… If you tell us you don’t feel good… We’ll help ya out, no problem.” 

“He’s not wrong.” Atsumu said, offering his hand to pull Komori to his feet. “You don’t have to fight every battle on your own.”

Sakusa grunted but inclined his head at both Atsumu and Bokuto, a silent thanks without needing to make this even more gushy than it was. They were sweet, and perhaps in a way, they were truly becoming family. 

Atsumu had hidden his boyfriend away for two years and yet he’d brought them to meet him without hesitation. He’d cleaned up so Sakusa would be comfortable and shifted the meal plan gluten-free for Komori’s gluten allergy. Hinata had also checked to make sure Watari knew about the allergy. All three of them had purposefully avoided contact because they knew it had been a rough day, yet hadn’t shoved him out of any conversations and left it clear he was welcome to join in at any moment.

He needed to leave before he felt the urge to thank them or worse, admit to being their friend.

Sakusa stood up, bowing his head a little further for Watari before following Komori on his way out. Komori waved excitedly at the others, keys jingling in his hands.

“See you guys later! We should all go out for ramen or something soon, bye Shinji-kun!” He chirped happily, grinning wider when Watari’s cheeks started to grow dark again and he had the audacity to say Sakusa enjoyed chaos. Atsumu stuck out his tongue at both of them before grinning and bouncing onto the couch next to Hinata and Bokuto.

Hinata was probably going to be asleep by the time Sakusa made it to the car, but Bokuto atleast looked awake enough to distract Atsumu from sending Sakusa memes all night.

Sakusa paused in the doorway, shoes already pulled on, and glanced over the three idiots- no. His teammates. His…. friends.

“Lets go. Have a good night.” He called behind him, pulling on his mask against the cold air.

“So, how was dinner with friends? Better than sitting in a dark locker room?” Komori hummed, unlocking the car and leaning on it. Sakusa glared at him before relaxing and glancing fondly up at the house as he slid into the vehicle.

“It wouldn’t kill me if I had to do it again.”

[hamilton-one-shots]

I don't think I'll be able to catch up with the High school AU (frickin school). Where do you advice me to start from that isn't the beginning? Basically I don't have time but I wanna read this as you upload xD

Hmm… I think where you start depends on you. I’ll summarize the whole thing for you and you can choose where to start and I’ll give you that chapter number. 

Alexander has intermittent explosive disorder, which is never really specified, and moved to this school because he got kicked out of another one. He meets John, whose painting a mural on the school and wants to fight. John doesn’t and only responds when he ruins his painting, pushing him before ignoring him again. Alexander goes inside and to class, jerk tries to fight him and John stops it because it’s stupid. Alexander gets attached and follows him around until he helps him draw. Same jerk (TJeff) makes fun of John and fights him. Laf (Alexander’s brother, who just wants Alexander to not hate him) joins and they make him leave. Laf and John are friends, John comes over and Alex draws with him. Next day, John tells Alexander that he lives alone (bc its not my writing if John’s dad isn’t a homophobic, abusive, asshole) and nobody else knows. Brief cut to TJeff creeping on Laf, then back to Lams. Alex kisses John. They go to a pet store with Laf (he has a car) and get two turtles (Alex got kicked out bc he got angry bc worker said little ones don’t live, John got that one and one that he liked) and Laf gets a kitten. John joins them for dinner, Alex has trouble eating a full meal. Next morning (Sat) he makes breakfast for him and John and they shop bc John’s taking him to an art gallery. Herc has an appointment at his family’s shop with TJeff and Laf joins for support. TJeff pays to see Laf modelling his suit (Laf had the final say), then to model dresses. Herc knocks him out bc a few creepy comments, Laf takes the blame, TJeff doesn’t do anything about it. John takes Alex to art gallery, introduces him to Mads (business partner) and lets him walk around. Alex harasses auctioneer bc jealous of Mads, then is basically put in time out with John. John saves a pigeon (Alex stans birds). They go to Herc’s place and get drunk, Mullette does the do and John hates the idea. The next morning, they go to the gym and John and Herc lift while Laf and Alex watch, then they get in a boxing ring (John boxed to help with anger issues years before and is undefeated) Alex wants a try and Herc jokes, telling him to picture Jefferson, so Alex punches John in the face and they go home. Alex shows John his secret rat named Pip and makes him lunch. Smaller turtle dies and they have a mini funeral. They go to Alex’s room and talk a bit about John’s hatred of sex (not elaborated on until later) and make out, they eat dinner and sleep. Laf and Herc are on a date (Herc made Laf a dress for it)(dinner and making out in the back of an empty movie before going to Herc’s place). At night, there’s a fox and John feeds it while Alex watches in awe. At school, Jefferson helps Alex answer a question he wasn’t listening to and acts nice, but weird. John has to not be there the next day bc his triplet’s siblings bday, so Alex worries. TJeff tricks Alex into signing up for school play, Laf takes his place. Next class, TJeff tells Laf he wants Alex, Laf roasts him, TJeff calls him a whore for wearing a skirt, Laf takes it to heart and cries in the bathroom. John finds him and makes him feel better, they go eat. Herc tries to make Laf feel better, Alex gets angry because Herc should fight for him, they argue, John and Laf shut them down, Herc takes it well, Alex runs off, John chases him. Alex makes him leave (a difficult task) so he won’t accidentally hurt his feelings. His journal is missing. John finds it. TJeff read it before and tells Alex about it, saying he should have sex and that John learned how to kiss from him. Alex asks John about it. Thaurens was a thing a year ago until TJeff tried to take things too far, his dad found out and kicked him out, John cries over it and unconsciously digs his nails in his arm, leaves. Alex goes with Herc and Laf to talk, accidentally reveals that something happened and tells more so they won’t talk to John about it (it doesn’t work). Alex sneaks to John’s apartment, afraid he’ll hate him for telling everything, and spends the night cuddling with him. Next morning, Laf’s cat kills Pip, he feels awful and tells him before school (John is gone). Alex throws a fit and his phone, goes inside and has a breakdown in class. Laf has his breakdown then, before class, and Hercules comforts him before they go to class. John shows up bc Maria (his side bff) told him about Alex’s breakdown and Alex goes home bc fever. John goes with him and Martha and George, they ask him about what happened and Alex asks for John. He goes and says he was visiting a tree planted in his mom’s honor, leaves to visit his siblings after a while. Laf goes to afterschool drama and TJeff wants to do BMC and be the SQUIP, Laf suggests a vote to get on his nerves, Heathers wins. They’re paired to practice lines before auditions and TJeff threatens his relationship with Herc. They perform Blue (Laf=Veronica, TJeff=Ram and Kurt). Laf goes home and tells his parents what happened w/ Pip when they ask, they let him go to his room. He talks to Herc and goes to the gym with him. He’s bummed bc TJeff and Herc cheers him up, then takes him to McD’s for ice cream. Herc tells Laf how he had sex before he was ready with a girl in Ireland bc past Thaurens made him think about it and Laf tells him about Veronica and JD (TJeff, obviously). Herc pushes his jealousy away and takes Laf home with him, stopping by TJeffs house and honking as loud as possible before driving off as fast as possible. TJeff looks like shit in the morning and John walks with Mullette, all enjoying his misery. Alex is home sick. Laf deals with him in class alone and TJeff complains about how they made his sister stay up all night and Laf almost feels bad. He asks about Alex and messages him himself. Alex gets emotional support and Laf’s old phone from Martha, lowkey thinks TJeff is mean bc he’s like him and asks him to not be mean to Laf. TJeff kind of does and stays flirting with Alex. He makes a deal to be nice to Laf, Herc, + John if he’s “nice” back to him or else he’ll mess with John, Alex agrees to keep him safe. TJeff makes him promise to go over, Alex panics and agrees, keeping it from everyone. He cuddles John more than before, more afraid than before. In drama, they perform Dead Girl Walking and Herc accidentally sees it, keeping his jealousy to himself. They have a talk with John about his mental health and he insists he’s fine, convincing them both. Alex freaks out and goes to his room to message TJeff, John tries to help him, but Alex screams him into an anxiety attack and he has to sit in Laf’s room with Herc and Laf’s cat (Rosie). Laf gets the secret out of Alex and takes his phone, messaging TJeff, who threatens him in return. Alex freaks out and tries to get his phone back to fix it, accidentally hitting Laf in the face. Herc pulls him off and they go back to Laf’s room once he calms down, making Alex explain to John. They assure him it’ll be okay and separate. Lams talks about John’s family and makes out, John show him a drawing of him that makes him cry, and they sleep, and Mullette goes to Herc’s house bc his mom came home from Ireland. She embarrasses him as her son and Laf thinks it’s adorable. TJeff schedules an appointment at Herc’s shop for the next afternoon, they tell John and agree to keep it from Alex. They go to school and TJeff gives Alex a chance to change his mind about breaking the promise, he doesn’t and TJeff assaults John, Laf hurts him before he can hit again and he gives up, going away. Alex panics and admits what TJeff did to a teacher. TJeff asks John to make Alex come back, forcefully, then seductively, admitting that he only did everything to win him back. John goes to the office with the others and they talk to the teachers. Laf and Alex go home, George is fuming bc Alex almost let it happen, Martha calms him down, Alex tells them everything at home. Herc and John go to lunch and John says he wants to try talking to TJeff bc he apparently liked him, so he thought he’d let him off easy. TJeff sits with them bc full cafeteria and Herc goes away when John says. He offers to leave him alone if he and John get together, but John refuses. Alex talks to A. Burr bc he’s in the political society and he wants to make an art program to surprise John. He and Laf watch musicals. John goes with Herc to his shop to support him while TJeff and John Jay (his pleasant friend) look for prom tuxes. Herc tries to distract him from John, but he ignores him and asks John to model for him, same price as he paid for Laf. John agreed and tried on a few things, then Herc and JJ made TJeff leave. Herc and John have a cool bro moment, then John leaves to babysit Maria’s daughter, Susan. Alex and Laf get slushies and go to the park, Lams trading cute selfies for a bit, and John asks Alex over. They go to the car and Rosie escapes to chase a squirrel. Alex chases her up a tree and gets her. Laf calls her and she jumps back down. Alex climbs down and the tree stabs him with a branch. They go home and Laf fixes his meg before taking him and letting him hang out with John. He and Susan get along, then she goes to bed. Lams talks about their families and cry about their dead moms, then make out until Maria comes for Susan, then they go to sleep. Alex finishes his food for the first time in the morning, distracted by the excitement of meeting w/ Aaron and John’s family later. John secretly follows TJeff’s orders, wearing skinny jeans and giving Alex the cold shoulder after class. They meet in the bathroom and TJeff says John can’t say he loves Alex and he has to draw him a portrait and he’ll leave them alone for the day. John claims he didn’t hear Alex and apologizes, then turns off his phone so he doesn’t have to deal w/ TJeff. Herc finds out and makes John promise to tell Alex. Alex and Aaron meet at lunch and bring in JJ, who flirts w/ Alex bc TJeff said so. John meets with TJeff in the bathroom again and tells him his phone’s “dead”, TJeff says that he can only call Laf bitch for the day. Last period, John gets his phone and texts Alex, apologizing for acting weird, then tells TJeff to meet him to get his drawing. Alex is relieved and TJeff gets angry bc John ignored him on purpose. Lams texts cute messages and TJeff comes in, making John meet him in the bathroom. John lies to Alex and Alex finds where he is on Snapchat, planning to find and surprise him with a kiss (something John had done to him multiple times). TJeff says he’ll leave them alone if John admits he loves him and kisses him, Alex walks in and gets angry, bodyslamming TJeff to the ground. TJeff gets up and kicks him hard in the face, forgetting that John was there and being terrified when he remembered. John shoved him against the wall and held him above ground, making him promise to apologize to everyone and leave them all alone. Herc and Laf get there and TJeff apologizes, then John breaks his nose (like he did when they broke up) and they leave. John takes Alex (still dizzy from the kick) to his house and goes to TJeff’s house to tell his parents what he did. Lucy (TJeff’s sis) tells John how he actually loves him and John gets over his anger, promising to see Lucy more often before going home. His siblings are there, making friends with Alex and they watch movies and eat. Mary (youngest, cutest sis) and Alex have a cute off and Alex gets upset when Mary wins, fighting an anger spell in John’s room. He joins and makes him feel better, then they get messages from Laf and Herc, talking about a partyat his place for his mom the next night. They go back downstairs and eat and play video games, then go to bed. In the morning, rev squad texts about party and make fun of each other, Alex makes Lams breakfast and John makes everyone else breakfast, then Alex goes with Burr and JJ to a cafe to talk about art program plan (holding a freshman dance to raise money) while Laurens 1-5 go to Herc’s shop and John and Laf try on dresses. JJ invites TJeff bc he’s popular and can help. Turns out, JJ drugged Alex to get rid of him (TJeff had nothing to do w/ it), and John was furious, getting Alex and taking him to his apartment to calm down. Alex is high as hell, Burr helps clear TJeff of suspicion. Alex eventually gets to sleep and wakes up sober, goes w/ John to Herc’s for party once he makes sure Laurens 2-5 are home safe. They play a drinking game and John gets wasted, Herc does, but gets sober in shock when his mom says she’s pregnant. They sleep. John is first awake and hungover, makes breakfast and is devastated that he can’t eat bc he shovels down food and his stomach said no. Alex helps him eat and eats his breakfast, they schedule a date for that day and John wears a dress bc why not. They go to the zoo, John feeds cute animals and Alex freaks out when he takes him to the bird house (basically a huge indoor jungle w/ birds everywhere). Theodosia is talking about birds to a crowd, a homophobe makes a scene and Lams are the only ones left when it’s broken up. Theo (reveals she’s an artist) lets Alex hold her bird and he’s frozen in awe, then the bird (Peep) flies into John’s hair, then into Theo’s hair and they thank her before leaving to a pizza place, eating before heading to John’s apartment. Theo accidentally messages Burr for a ride bc Alex told him about her and they talked a bit before, he takes her home and she thanks him w/ cupcakes and showing him her art, which is great. Her asshole bf (Mark) comes home and makes Burr leave. John tells Alex about a great art show during Spring Break in SC and Alex says they can make happy new memories, just like when he was a kid. Lams watches a movie and Alex gives John a massage, then tickles him and John slips it on him, then gets up and they make dinner together, then eat and sleep. Burr, Theo, and her friends (Martha and Francis) talk about the art thing, then about how awful Mark is when Theo leaves, Burr finds out that he’s blackmailing her into staying. He messages Theo on FB with the alias “Sammie B” and they talk about meeting for the art thing, then Martha tells Burr that Mark’s blackmailing Theo with nudes she sent while drunk. Burr promises that he won’t do anything bad and talks to TJeff (he got him in contact with Theo) about everything, keeping it vague, he promises not to say a thing either. Theo messages “Sammie” in the middle of the night, afraid of being alone at home and they’re just cute. in the morning, TJeff says he got a venue for the dance, only available next Friday. Burr tells Alex and they agree that a costume party is best. At school, TJeff finds Mary wandering and tells John, who dragged JJ to the bathroom and broke his nose, only leaving bc Mary, and John takes her home. In class, the three freshman ask Laf to get them a part in Heathers and he agrees to help after hearing a sample of their voices. Theo invites Burr to watch. In the library, the girls shut down TJeff’s flirting and they all agree to a Disney theme. Alex calls John, worried bc he hasn’t answered any texts and thinks he’s hiding something, so he ditches the rest of the day and goes over, learning that John’s father was at the house and hurt him badly. He’s angry, but doesn’t do anything bc John begged him not to. Tjeff, Laf, and Burr watch the girls practice Candy Store before their audition, both performances being amazing, and they get the part. Alex is angry bc what happened and tries to hide it by making dinner while John takes a cold bath, then can’t help it and leaves w/o saying anything, leaving his cellphone. John has a panic attack when he finds out that Alex left, not being able to handle being left alone when he said he just wanted and needed him to stay, and messages Laf to come help, accidentally messaging TJeff. He comes and calls Laf when he finds out that John called him on accident, both staying. TJeff knows just how to make John feel better since he helped him when they were dating, so he lowkey implies that he should leave Alex. They stay with him until Laf accidentally brings up Alex’s phone and John panics, so he leaves to find Alex to help him feel better. He runs into Herc and they both go looking for Alex. TJeff takes John to his house ,at his request, to hang out with his sister Lucy. Laf gives up and gets Rosie to spend the night with Herc, she smells Alex and they find out he got a bus and went to the Schuyler estate, writing a detailed description of what John’s father did to him and publishing it on Facebook. They pick him up and yell at him for what he did, then take him home. Herc stays with John, nobody wanting him to stay alone, and Laf takes Alex home, taking pity on him when he starts having a panic attack. In the morning, Alex confronts John and they talk, then argue. TJeff tries to act like the hero, but John isn’t having it and has him stay out while he and Alex argue, telling him that he only forgave TJeff bc he didn’t assault him, John freaked out the second he touched him and broke his nose and he only forgave him and freaked out bc he was previously repeatedly assaulted. They kee arguing until Alex says he can just date TJeff and runs off, John chases him and they make up, skipping school. Aaron got proof that Mark was abusive and got him arrested. Theo thanks him and they admit feelings for each other, so they’re together, but no labels bc Mark scared her about it. Alex and John go grocery shopping with Susan and are very cute and eat dinner together, then they take Susan home and the day ends. The next day, they go to school and John is taken to the local police station for questioning. He lies and says nothing happens that Alex just panicked and wrote that and is let free (his friends have mixed opinions, but John has a reason). Meanwhile, Theo and Burr go to Jefferson Hall (the dance venue) to get an idea of how they’ll decorate and it’s fancy AF, then they go to Mulligan’s and pick their costumes (Theo looks like a queen). They go to Burr’s and his grandma comes and embarrasses him until they leave to take Theo to drama, where they’re getting fitted and Laf and TJeff are having a stupid (friendly) argument over wine. TJeff makes a period joke and Francis almost kicks his ass, but Laf saves him and drags him onstage for DGW Reprise. After, the girls + Laf + Burr have a sleepover at Theo’s, talking about how Martha and Francis think Herc is cute and Theo and Burr make cupcakes and Herc sends Laf sexy (not explicit) pics to embarrass him (it works) and Laf finds out he might be nonbinary. In the morning, Francis (a trans girl) cries bc she has stubble, but Laf helps her shave. That day goes by fast. Laf almost kills Herc telling him he’s his datemate now, not bf. That night, TJeff goes to John’s apartment so he and Alex can work on the dance details. He brings Lucy (who’s kind of spoiled) and she makes friends with Susan. Late at night, Alex + TJeff are lowkey cuddling in their sleep and John takes pictures, using them to make them not fight. The next morning (V day) TJeff takes Lucy to school and takes John to Mulligan’s, paying for his costume for the dance. He takes him home and John gives Alex his present (photorealistic, colored drawings) Then they make out and more. Later, TJeff comes bc John left his wallet in his car and John says he doesn’t have feelings for him, Alex knows its a lie and offers to start Jamilams. They agree and set boundaries and TJeff takes John out to Lucy’s school, he teaches an art class, then they go to TJeffs place and watch a movie, TJeff telling him about why he was so awful and desparate to get John back. They go to pick up Lucy and TJeffs moms bf talks trash about John as they leave, getting Lucy, then taking John to the apartment w/ Alex. Burrdosia has a cute date and Theo gets used to dating a decent person. Everyone working on the dance goes and decorates the hall that weekend, John hanging out w/ Laf, Lucy, Susan, and Maria. Alex is a little jealous of Thomas, but not too much. Thomas and John go on a date the next day, going to a nice restaurant, then to a movie, where John gets drunk. TJeff takes him home, does not kiss him or touch him much bc hes drunk. TJeff brings Lucy home, then goes to John, who shows him his broken rib from his father and makes him swear not to tell. They go to sleep and go to school. Laf takes the girls to get costumes after school and practice, Alex and TJeff get theirs on Wednesday. John offers to get Alexander’s costume tailored bc its too big, but TJeff stops him and does it himself. The next day, John and Laf try on their dresses (queens) and John hangs out with Thomas. At the dance, it’s great and John cries when he finds out about the surprise. He leaves to fix hsi makeup and is taken away by James Reynolds, unable to fight bc JJ spiked his drinks when he wasn’t watching. He almost raped him, but Thomas found them and stopped it, then called the police. John goes to the hospital bc drugs, not wanting anyone but TJeff there, even in the morning, when they went to the gym. Alex eventually came over and hung out with them once John was okay w/ it. Alex gets an anger spell and leaves, jealous of TJeff and sure that John would pick him over him anyday. John tries to chase him and feels heartbroken, unsure of what he did wrong, but sure that he did wrong. TJeff helps him feel better. Alex knows he fucked up, Martha helps him feel better. John doesn’t want to talk to Alex and ignores him, fighting intrusive thoughts that tried to make him hate him and staying home sick the next day, making Thomas go to school. Alex goes home and tries to make it up. Laf seeks wisdom from the kind gay (John) and finds out they’re genderflux, from agender to boy. John calls Alex over and they talk their problems out and have a movie day, Alex wrote John a long ass love letter. They have a cute night and go to school the next day, all talking about their relationship again, then go on w/ life. They watch the school do Heathers on Friday and it’s great, Next day, TJeff’s moms bf hurts Lucy and he takes her away, agreeing with his mom that he should get sole custody of her and takes her away. They go to John’s apartment and Lucy goes w/ Maria during show and during night. John gives Thomas a back massage and they do the do. Next morning, Thomas moves into the apartment next to John’s w/ Lucy, then goes to his last show. They all (Jamilams + Lucy and Susan) go grocery shopping after and deal with a homophobe, then go home and the boys eat and hang out while Maria watches the girls. That Friday, they have a threesome, then go on the trip to SC. On Sunday, John visits his moms grave. The rest of the week, John goes to his art show and has a lot of success. Then they go back. Burr got top surgery over break and Theo was worried bc she didn't know.

[guiltraumarelocated-blog]

* — remembrance.    /      drabble. 

            SILENCE  ..  there house lies dormant.   car doors slam before engine roars to life signaling parental departure.   standing,  bill examines simple aspects relenting reality.   stepping forward,  sorrow divot memory hone in and he begins remembering details.   simple details   ..   to some.   but to him   :   everything he’s become. 

                LIVING ROOM. 

          WELCOMING  ..   isn’t is supposed to be   ?     ..     saturday morning cartoons often offered tradition.   MIGHTY MOUSE PLAYHOUSE   !    reruns capturing little one’s attention.   canopy fort still lies untouched from friday evening disney movies   ..   their latest was peter pan   !     eagerly awaiting,  nine fifty five does the clock count down.          ❛           —— hurry up,  billy   !     you’re gonna miss it   !          ❜          calls from beneath blanketed canvas.   unbeknownst to georgie,  the elder denbrough is already creeping around the side of their fort.   steady breaths and he pops out  tackling  his little brother.   descending, screams and squeals omit from lips.   delicate fingertips casually ruffle   (   tickling   )   each side.   few moments pass before   ..   mister trouble never hangs around when he hears this mighty sound.  ‘here i come to save the day.’   that means that mighty mouse is on his way  !     there’s a gasp and their quickly seated and singing along.          ❛           —— y  ..  yes sir,  when there is a w  ..  wrong to right mighty mouse will join the fight   !          ❜        /      ..   decorative pillows lie untouched.   unforgiving.   unrelenting.   blankets folded up and discarded.   he sighs   ..   before footsteps carry. 

                             KITCHEN. 

            WARMTH   ..   teetering upon wooden stools and countertops  :  eagerness  . carefully,  georgie holds ceramic bowl steady as bill steers.   sunlight emanates beyond curtain wake.   summertime songbirds chorus beyond window’s crack.   speckles of flour dot freckle dusted facades.   giggling and hushed simpers welcoming anyone passing the threshold.            ❛           —— there  ..  i th  ..  th  ..  think it’s all ready   ?             ❜            comforting smell of freshly baked cookies accompany.   glancing around,  lips curve into a mischievous smile.          ❛           —— hey   ..  i know m  ..  mom says not to have cookie dough raw b  ..  b  ..  but   ?            ❜           petite fingertips casually canvas and dish out the tiniest lump of cookie dough before popping it.   sweet taste.   soft texture.   bill laughs.   watching,  georgie tenderly fishes out his own piece before   ..   GEORGE ELMER   !     ..   ceramic bowl almost clatters downward as mother makes her appearance.   swiftly,  he’s popped his own ball of dough and their laughing combines.   /     ..   now,  moonlight scampers across counter surfaces.   kissing cleanly surfaces where flour and debris sheltered.   swallowing thickly   ..    bill turns and walks upstairs. 

                                  BILL’S ROOM. 

             FAMILIARITY  ..   covers pulled across himself,  lightning flickers.   flashlight illuminates pages as he reads.   cat in the ha t  ..   the sun did not shine.   it was too wet to play.   for a moment,  door’s subtle creaking capture attention.   if his parents found out he was up   ?     ..     casually,  flashlight diminishes and he’s pulling sheet free.   georgie’s face appears beside him   ..   anxiety riddled his poor self.            ❛           ——  d  ..   did the storm wake you   ?           ❜          softly mumbles and he’s greeted with a nod.   scooting himself back,  headboard offers himself steady prop up and he beckons.           ❛           ——  c’mere   ..          ❜            just in time,  simple frame hops upon bedding and nestles against bill’s chest.   leaning back,  bill lowers the book between the two.   once again,  lightning illuminates shadowing darkness and thunder rumbles.   smaller frame begins quaking beneath and bill is quick for distraction.          ❛           —— so all we could do was to sit  !   ..   sit  !    ..   sit  !   ..   sit  ! and we did not like it.   not one little bit.    and then s  ..  something went bump  !   ..          ❜            looping arms protectively around his brother,  stuffed turtle is pulled closer.          ❛           —— how that b  ..  b  ..  bump made us jump  !  we looked  !    then we saw him step in on the mat  !     w  ..  we looked  !      and we saw him  !      the cat in the hat  !                  ❜      /     ..   empty.   hollow.   foreign.   lost puzzle piece jagged against the grooves   ..   attention shifts over his shoulder.   pivoting,  hallway’s floorboards whine underneath his weight.   reaching the closed door,  knob turns and slowly  ..  achingly gradual  ..  heartbreak creeps. 

             GEORGIE’S ROOM. 

             SORROW   ..   every memory shrouding georgie’s room seemed muddled away by melancholia and depression.   nights,  their mother’s wailing echoes beyond hallway’s reach.   subtle sobs of their father’s grieving and even his own.   creeping beyond threshold,  slender frame lowers against bed frame.   he recollects darker memories now shrouding.   /    ..   fingertips rise and hacking cough shivers frame.   having offered his sibling somber goodbye.   he’d watched georgie’s shadow disappear  :  chasing.   one hour  ..  two.   fingertips wrap against walkie talkie’s button.             ❛           ——  h  ..  how’s she floatin’,  cap   ?  ..   over.             ❜            waiting with baited breath   ..   nothing comes through.   perhaps,  he’s still chasing down his toy.            ❛           ——  come in,  captain.              ❜              ..    nothing.             ❛           ——  georgie.   come in,  over.              ❜                static.   radio silence.   deafening quiet.   knotting stomach cramp sinks lower and lower.   something’s wrong   ?       ..       he’s always responded immediately.   tossing off covers,  nauseous hits but focus recovers as bill bolts passed doorway.   something’s wrong.   something’s happened.   where was georgie   ..   /   it’s your fault. 

               SICKNESS  slowly qualms as bile creeps.   perhaps,   if you’d gone out with him  ..  you could have saved him  ..  suddenly,  headlights dance across bedroom walls and he’s heart drops.   if your parents found you here  ..  you’d scold you.   they’d scream at you.   swiftly moving,  palms smooth out wrinkles and folds within bed’s quilt.   dashing toward the door,  there’s one brief check before closing the door  ..  everything remains intact. 

                                                        AS IF  ..  nothing has ever happened. 

[charles195]

(Late) OtaYuri Week: Day 2 - Social Media/Celebrations

Word Count: 1.6k+

Rating: T+ 

Summary: In the off-season, bad habits arise for the skaters who can only pull themselves together when the world is watching them. 

A/N: Loose use of the prompt. I haven’t slept all night. It is currently almost 7 A.M. for me. Can be read as a continuation of Day 1 or as its own piece. 

Yuri heard a noise nearby, like some kind of thumping. He didn’t mind it until he noticed it and once he noticed it, he couldn’t ignore it. He hated becoming conscious of undeniable facts out of his control: his own breathing, blinking, the short shelf life of his body, the inevitability of death… That was what social media was for--to be a distraction from unresolvable tensions about the human condition. So, he checked Instagram since Otabek didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk to him after flying out just to see him. That was fine. Besides, he was curious about how many likes his most recent post was getting.

Any picture that featured Otabek in it seemed to be a hit with Yuri’s Angels, sure, but add in the skating world’s power couple “Victuuri”, and suddenly ten more people felt like following Yuri. Eight of them were also Otabek’s followers, even though he rarely posted. Yuri curiously tuned into Victor’s livestream from the kitchen. Yuuri and Victor were pretending like they were on a cook show while they prepared their famous dish and inspiration for Eros, the katsudon bowl. Yuri suspected that that was the only dish they actually knew how to prepare. He commented, stop fooling around, i’m hungry.

“Ten more minutes, Yurio!” Victor promised.

Yuri commented again, stop calling me that, i knew you before katsudon did.

“Ah, Yurio is jealous!” Victor whispered to Yuuri in the video.

I’M STILL WATCHING, YOU STUPID OLD MAN.

“That’s strange. When I met first met Yurio, I was the one who was jealous of how comfortable he was with you,” Yuuri mused. “He even slept in the same bed as you when you accidentally got him sick by sending him to the waterfall too many times! Oh, I think I still have pictures...”

Yuri checked Otabek’s expression for the millionth time that hour. It was stoic and unreadable, like usual, and that irritating thumping noise was still continuing. Yuuri’s anecdote about Yuri’s sick day in Japan was playing on the livestream on Yuri’s phone, definitely within Otabek’s hearing range, yet Otabek did not even acknowledge it. Yuri sighed loudly, loud enough to cue Otabek to ask him what was wrong, closed the livestream, and laid his head on the edge of the table.

He discovered the source of the thumping noise. Otabek was shaking his leg.

Yuri rose his head. “What’s wrong with you? You’re like an addict anxious about when his next dose will be.”

“SorryIneedfreshair,” Otabek mumbled hurriedly before he stepped out of the front door.

Yuri just let it happen. He wasn’t in the mood to argue with the only friend he had in the brief time they had together, not that the time was being put to any good use.

Victor and Yuuri emerged from the kitchen as soon as Otabek was gone. Yuuri immediately noticed the empty seat, where Otabek previously was. It wasn’t even pushed in--what savagery. “Did you two have a fight?” he asked. It was a natural assumption, given the angry looks both Otabek and Yuri had been wearing before, but it was hard to tell since they both had a bad case of resting bitch face.

“I wish,” Yuri admitted. “He’s a mystery.”

Yuuri locked hands with Victor. “Victor was a mystery to me, too, when he first came to coach me…”

Victor frowned and released Yuuri’s hand. “‘Was’? Do I not surprise you anymore?”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “N-N-No, th-that’s not what I mean…”

Yuri rolled his eyes--he was amazed that someone as impulsive Victor managed to sustain a relationship with someone with as much anxiety as Yuuri. “Victor is just stupid. Otabek is a real mystery. I know nothing about him. I have no idea what we have in common besides skating and a time we met that I don’t remember.”

Yuuri could almost relate, except for the fact that he knew every trivia fact there was to know about Victor Nikiforov from his favorite conditioner to his most common order at Starbucks before Victor even knew Yuuri existed. Yuri was right--the few social media accounts that Otabek did have revealed nothing about his personal life, other than he lived in Almaty and that he hated long escalators.

“Where is he?” Victor asked. “Bathroom?”

Yuri shrugged. “He said he needed fresh air. He has been shaking his leg a lot. I know I should’ve gone after him, but I don’t want him to snap at me.”

“He won’t be offended if you just show that you care,” Yuuri assured him.

“That won’t stop him from snapping. It’s a toxic masculinity thing.”

Victor nodded sympathetically. “I’d be mad if I was scared of my only friend snapping at me, too…”

Yuri immediately got up and went after Otabek. “Fuck you, I’m not scared! I’ll talk to him!” he declared.

Yuuri’s phone alarm rang. The katsudon was ready.

The only reasons Yuri could of for why someone would ask to get fresh air was because they were overwhelmed with anxiety or because they desperately needed a smoke break. It was rather biased, but Yuri assumed that Otabek was a smoker since he also wore leather jackets and rode motorcycles. Yuri opened the front door wide to find Otabek with a lighter in his hand and a cigarette in between his lips. “Oh.” He didn’t expect his prejudiced assumption to be correct. “Smoke doesn’t count as ‘fresh air’ unless it’s pollution, you know.”

Otabek ripped the cigarette away from him and grabbed the collar of Yuri’s shirt. “I work three jobs in the off-season and I’m still months behind my coaching fees.”

From inside the house, Makkachin barked and growled.

“Be quiet, dog!” Otabek yelled. “Not all of us can rely on wealthy men!”

It seemed that the dog had a good grasp of Russian. Makkachin understood that it was best if he returned to his owners’ side without protest. For once, Yuri was inwardly praising a dog for its intelligence.

Yuri pried Otabek’s fingers from his shirt and took a step back. “I wasn’t going to lecture you. I can’t control you.”

Otabek’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Yuri, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m sorry, I’m really sorry--”

Yuri shoved his hands in his pockets. “I heard you first time. Just go smoke, I don’t care.”

Otabek flicked his lighter on and off. “I’ve been trying to quit for you.”

“For me?” Yuri scoffed. It wasn’t that the thought didn’t flatter him. He just didn’t understand why he was worthy of such dedication, or at least the remnants of dedication that were hanging on by a thread. “I wouldn’t even delete my Facebook account for you.”

It took everything in Otabek’s body to not give into his nicotine craving or the sudden urge to light himself on fire. Both were strong. “I’m sorry, Yura. I always quit before competitive season starts, but in the off-season, there’s nothing to stop me from letting my lungs rot. Or at least, there was… I wanted to celebrate your presence in my life by finally quitting.”

“Quit, then,” Yuri told Otabek firmly, as if it was as simple as that. In Yuri’s naive mind, it was.

Otabek gave his cigarette to Yuri, along with the rest of the pack. Yuri looked at it in disgust before taking Otabek’s lighter and crushing that below his foot. The crunch was satisfying.

“There. Can’t make smoke without fire,” Yuri said smugly. He left Otabek on the front steps while he retreated back inside for warmth and to throw away the cigarettes.

The smell of katsudon entices Otabek into following.

“Do you drink, Otabek?” Yuuri asked after opening a bottle of sake.

Otabek could feel the judgement from Makkachin--those shiny eyes, that tongue hanging out, the wagging tail.... He couldn’t believe the dog had his own seat at the dining table--at the head of the table, too. He was, to Yuri’s satisfaction, definitely a cat person. “I try not to.”

Makkachin barked sharply at his response. Otabek slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “I said that I try!”

Yuri took the bottle of sake and poured himself a cup while everyone else was frozen in silence. Otabek ashamedly sat back down when he regained his composure.

“I take it the off-season is stressful for you?” Victor guessed. He has been in the skating world long enough to know what withdrawal looked like, whether it was from the adrenaline from a competition or steroids or a tasty bowl of katsudon.

Otabek nodded. “I don’t understand how you all afford competition season.”

“I’m the type of fame that comes with fortune,” Victor admitted bluntly.

Yuri crossed his arms. “The Angels,” he spat out.

Yuuri enviously glared at the two. “I understand how you feel, Otabek. The only reason why I’m more relaxed this time around is because my coaching fees were no problem for me to pay off.” He patted Otabek’s hand to comfort him, “unintentionally” giving Otabek a perfect view of his golden ring. “It was a nightmare when I was in America for college and skating competitively.”

Otabek appreciated that Yuuri was familiar with the “stressed” part, but he was talking about the “poorer than dirt” part. “Did you work?”

Yuuri’s face suddenly heated up at least twenty degrees hotter.

Victor whipped out his phone and started another livestream. “Hello, viewers! This is Victor soon-to-be Katsuki-Nikiforov and Yuuri soon-to-be Katsuki-Nikiforov with the Ice Kitten of Russia and the Anti-Hero of Kazakh. This just in, a fascinating new story has been revealed about Yuuri’s off-season job while he was in America! Yuuri, do tell!”

Victor tried to encourage Yuuri by pouring him a cup of sake. He was disappointed when Yuuri shyly pushed away the cup…

… only to take a swig from the bottle itself.

[but-its-only-the-beginning]

I often wonder to myself, when he says ‘Wake me up before you Go Go’ does he mean – wake me up before you leave leave, or wake me up before you leave for your job as a go go dancer?

Five most played songs on my iTunes

I had originally planned to make ‘Ten most played songs of 2016”, but weirdly enough iTunes doesn’t show me that information. There is a theme in this list, majority of the songs are quite slow. I enjoy music that allows me to think, but is powerful enough that it distracts me, because I’m obviously a fucking music guru. I have decided to listen to each song as I write about it, y’know raw emotion and all that shit, which is ruining Ru Paul’s drag race for me just by the way. Some of these songs mean quite a lot to me, some of them are just awesome. 

1.     Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins.

Play count: 590

Date added to iTunes: 02/06/2013

Let me just begin by saying, this song is honestly just a two minute and fifty-two second instrumental.

I play this song on repeat for a few reasons. It helps to calm me when my anxiety attacks become just a little too real, it really helps me concentrate if I need to study, and it put kids right the fuck to sleep. There is nothing I don’t love about this song. The piano is strong and the focus of the song. For me, it perfectly replaces lyrics. I don’t personally hear a story as I listen, but it does take me to a very calm place. If I could learn any song on the piano, this would be it. The strings in the background definitely add to the calming tone, but I really feel like the piano on it’s own is enough.

2.     Make You Feel My Love – Adele

Play count: 128 (huge number difference!)

Date added to iTunes: 29/10/2013

I am a huge Bob Dylan fan, but Adele’s rendition of this song is absolutely perfect. I generally prefer originals, I love older music, but I would absolutely dance to this at my wedding. Hell, I would even serenade the lucky bastard! This song is, again, very piano heavy, but obviously the focus is Adele’s angel voice. Is there anything this woman can’t do?! Fuck Beyoncé! When I die, I want to come back as Adele. I love strong singing voices, they give me chills. I will literally listen to a song on repeat 20 times if the voice is good enough. It of course helps that I love the original.

3.     America – Simon & Garfunkel

Play count: 105

Date added to iTunes: 14/06/2014

I’m surprised there isn’t more Simon & Garfunkel in this list; I listen to them every time I feel anxious.

This is one of my favourite Simon & Garfunkel songs. I can listen to it in any situation.

I get very real chills in two parts of this song.

- ‘It took me four days to hitch-hike from Saginaw’ I just like the way this part is sung. There is no other way to put it. C-H-I-L-L-S!

- “Kathy, I’m lost” I said,  though I knew she was sleeping. “I’m empty and Aching and I don’t know why.” I have always felt like this specific lyric stood out to me more than any other lyric I have ever heard. When I hear it, I feel like I wrote it. That’s the best way for me to explain it. I have written and re-written a hundred different ways to explain how that lyric makes me feel, but nothing else feels more right.

4.     A Million Love Songs – Take That

Play count: also 105

Date added to iTunes: 26/09/2013

I’m not even embarrassed. Gary Barlow is an angel. Back at it again with the piano strong songs, this one is a classic. It’s definitely another wedding song. I don’t really have much in depth stuff to say about this song, I just like singing it to be honest. You’re welcome neighbours. I’m disappointed in myself for this one, but the only person who can get deep about a Take That song, is Gary Barlow.

5.     Freedom – Wham!

Play count: 92

Date added to iTunes: 08/11/2015

Hands down, the best Wham! song ever. I’ve listened to this song at least 4000000 times in my lifetime. George Michael’s voice does things to me. The man is an absolute treasure. I could dance completely sober to this song, anytime! It is another one of those songs that I can’t really get too deep about, it’s freakin’ Wham!. It’s honestly just one of my all time favourite songs. R.I.P. George.

6.     Ha Ha You’re Dead – Green Day

Play Count: 83

Date added to iTunes: 26/01/15

Believe it or not, I can get pretty deep with this one. It’s basically a punk rock song written by a bunch of twenty-something’s, so it’s as mature as you’d think. The final chorus of this song goes as follows;

Ha ha you’re dead

The joke is over.

You were an asshole, and now you’re gone.

As your ship is going down, I’ll stand by and watch you drown.

Ha ha you’re dead.

Ha ha you’re dead.

Ha ha you’re dead.

I remember absolutely screaming this chorus on the way to work after being dumped. Good times. I belt this song out anytime anyone fucks me over, actually. I’ve used this song as anger management since I was about 13, it works wonders.

I accidentally did six, you’re welcome. 

Mood Playlists.

I have like three moods so don’t get too excited. I’ll give a brief description on the reason each song is in these playlists, but over all you’re welcome because these are some of the best songs the world has to offer.

Ten songs’ I listen to when I’m super anxious.

Landslide – The Smashing Pumpkins

The first version I heard of this was by The Dixie Chicks and I know it’s a Fleetwood Mac song, but Billy Corgan’s voice speaks to me on another level when I’m all fucked up.

Candle in the Wind – Elton John

Elton John could bring me down from just about anything. What a voice! What a man! What a song!

One Crowded Hour – Augie March

I could listen to this song thousands of times over, and I genuinely would not get sick of it. It is music genius. MUSIC GENIUS I SAY!!!!!!

Dear God – Avenged Sevenfold

M Shadow’s voice is fucking beautiful. It is only his voice that calms me, but I like to listen to slow music when I’m anxious, heavy metal would just work me up.

Tangled Up In Blue – Bob Dylan

The first time I heard this song was a cover by The Whitlams, so I was actually surprised to learn that it was a Bob song. Bob Dylan is definitely one of those artists that I could probably listen to his discography in its entirety when I’m anxious, but this one is a favourite.

Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth – David Bowie & Bing Crosby

I don’t even give a fuck that this is meant to me a Christmas song. Also, fuck Bing. This choice is honestly all about David Bowie’s voice. This is the first song I have ever heard David Bowie sing that gave me butterflies in my stomach. It’s so beautiful.

My Way – Frank Sinatra

I discovered this song after heard Sid Vicious’ version, which is obviously equally as calming.

Be Calm – Fun.

I read this information years ago, so if it’s wrong… well I don’t give a fuck. This song was actually written by the lead singer during a panic attack, and speaks to me so personally. It basically talks me down. “I know you feel like you are breaking down. Oh I know that it gets so hard sometimes. Be calm.” You got it, buddy. Obviously not a cure for anxiety, but it sure as fuck helps.

Yer Spring – Hey Rosetta!

This is just a very slow and peaceful song. I actually discovered when I saw The Living End Once.

Last Hope – Paramore

I think this is another song that really speaks to me when I’m down or anxious. It’s definitely about overcoming obstacles and coming out stronger. There is one part of the song that I usually play over and over. “It’s not that I don’t feel the paint it’s just I’m not afraid of hurting anymore.” I wish I were that deep sometimes.

Ten song’s I listen to when I’m feeling nostalgic.

You Sound Like Louis Burdett – The Whitlams

I remember being maybe 7 years old, and begging my Mum to let me say the F word in the song. She always said no, but I mouthed it anyway because I don’t play by the fucking rules.

Another Saturday Night – Cat Stevens

I know for a fact that this was not the song that my Dad likes most by Cat Steven’s but I just have memories of it being played A LOT.

Real Men – Joe Jackson

Another song my Dad played to death. I heard it for the first time in about 5 years on the radio a few months back, and instantly had ‘nam like flashbacks to my childhood.

I Feel Possessed – Crowded House

Again, a song my Mum wouldn’t have played the most when it comes to Crowded House, but it’s just one of those songs that takes me back whenever I heard the chorus.

The entire Bad album - Michael Jackson

Let me tell you a story! I can’t remember exactly which birthday, but I feel like it was my tenth. I had just heard of this little Indi artist called Michael Jackson. I’d gotten the HIStory album that I played to death. You’re welcome Mum and Dad. My grandparents came over for dinner, and brought a large box for me to open. Inside this box were several things, but most importantly Michael Jackson’s 1987 album Bad. I have memories of literally picking up the album and not giving a shit about anything else. I chucked that sucker into my discman and the rest is history.

Keep On Movin’ – Five

Every time I hear this song, I remember having my CD player sitting up on the window with that song blasting, while bathing. Good times.

Whatsername – Green Day

There are hundreds of Green Day song’s I could’ve chosen. This one specifically, I remember listening to on my MP3 player on the bus to and from school on repeat. I would stare out the window, just to make sure I looked as depressed as my music made me seems.

Dead! – My Chemical Romance

I used to have a dance to this song. Actually, there’s a video of me on YouTube somewhere dancing to this song. I used to act like a psycho teenager when listening to this song.

English Army – The Living End

Besides the fact that this is actually my favourite one of their songs, I used to have this DVD which had several videos of live performances on it. I used to listen to the live version of English Army all the time. Also, I’ve seen The Living End like 14 times, and they have not played it once!!!

Last Beautiful Girl – Matchbox Twenty

Honestly just another song my Mum played to death.

Songs that just generally give me some goddamn chills right down my spine.

I’m just going to write the lyric that gives me chill’s. Although, its actually the way the lyric is sung that gets me.

One Crowded Hour – Augie March (Yes, I’m mentioning it again because it’s that good.)

I completely relax when they sing “What is this six-stringed instrument but an adolescent loom

Let Her Cry – Hootie & The Blowfish

“Last night I tried to leave, cried so much I could not believe she was the same girl I fell in love with long ago. She went in the back to get high, I sat down on my couch and cried. Yellin’, “Oh, mama, please help me””

Somewhere Only We Know – Keane

I like all of these lyrics. What a good fucking song!

So Far Away – Avenged Sevenfold

“I love you, you were ready, the pain is strong and urges rise. But I’ll see you when He lets me, your paint is gone, your hands untied” insert cry emoji

Under Pressure – Queen ft. David Bowie

Like I need to just choose one fucking lyric.

Run To The Water – Live

“A million mile fall from grace, thank god we missed the ground.”

The Deepest Blues Are Black – Foo Fighters

The whole chorus is sung so well!!!

You Are Not Alone – Michael Jackson

I do the best version of this song. THE BEST. I used to jam to this with my karaoke microphone in my bedroom when I was younger.

I Walk Away – Split Enz

“Your life, slave to ambition”

Fin.

[katesattic]

My Experience with Anxiety and Depression [and How Supernatural and Thomas Sanders (Unknowingly) Helped] #BellLetsTalk

I wanted to do something completely out of my comfort zone; I wanted to make a video about it. But then I kind of got sick and lost my voice. So that option’s kind of out. And with only two days until the event there is no way I would be giving myself enough time to learn how to edit, so even with my voice now coming back, there still wouldn’t be enough time. So, maybe I’ll try to make a video for next year. So here we are. Back to my usual format: writing.  And that’s OK. I can probably better articulate my thoughts this way anyway.

So, where do I start? Death anxiety? Social anxiety? Generalised anxiety? Depression? I guess with the death anxiety? I view it as my longest anxiety, though I could have possibly had the social anxiety longer, it was the death anxiety that was more difficult to cope with. Why don’t I just split it up into four parts so this way I’m not going back and forth on which I had when. We can focus on the chronology of each individually.

DEATH ANXIETY

So this one arose, as you could image, as the result of a loved one passing away. My grandmother specifically, though I called her Nanny, and to make things easier on myself, that’s what I’ll continue to call her.

I was no stranger to death. My younger sister, my baby brother’s twin, died at nine days old. At the time, I was three.  I definitely knew my parents were sad and that our family would be different yet again (nine days ago we went from a family of four to a family of six, now we were down to five). I knew things were going to be different, but I don’t think I understood the gravity of the situation. I don’t think I knew how finite death actually was.

Seven years later, I was ten, and my cat had been put down. I did not know this at the time, and my mum managed to convince the vet into releasing the body. So my mum brought our dead cat home and told us that she found the cat dead in the basement. For years, I swore I saw the cat’s ghost around the spot where my mum claimed she died. Now, I understand why the cat was put down, her health was deteriorating. But at that time, there was a void. She was my childhood pet and she “suddenly” passed away. I remember being legitimately sick after her passing, not just grieving but cough and fever, that whole deal. But not much else. It was twelve years ago after all.

 Two years after my cat died, so did my Nanny. To this day we still don’t know the exact cause. My dad suspects some things, but we have no definitive answer on what was his mother’s cause of death. I think I took this death the hardest. She was my favourite grandparent, and she was the first of them to die. How was that fair? Again, it was ten years ago, I was twelve, I don’t remember specifics. But I do remember a few years later when the family went to see the film UP, and I just couldn’t enjoy it. You know that beginning? Carl and Ellie’s whole life story is told in like five minutes? Yeah, well, I was kind of triggered by that. I didn’t know that was a term, but in hindsight, I was definitely triggered. Ellie reminded me of Nanny, and I just couldn’t get happy after the movie ended.

I also remember the death anxiety coming up randomly in class in grade eight, and thinking life’s so short and fearing what would happen to me after I died. I’ve had panic attacks about that. My most recent one was a really bad one in 2014. But now I don’t let myself go that deep. I don’t let myself go down that rabbit hole. I take a deep breath, tell myself “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it” and find something entertaining to distract me from my thoughts. And that’s been working well so far.

SOCIAL ANXIETY

OK, this one doesn’t really have an exact start date. I can’t pinpoint any one event. I’ve kind of just always had it. And I just shrugged it off as shyness and introversion. But it’s more than that. I am definitely shy and introverted, but I also have social anxiety. When I was formally diagnosed, my mum wasn’t remotely surprised about this one. The depression was a surprise but this one she always suspected.

If anything, university made it worse. I mean, it was always an issue, but being in an entirely different province where I literally knew absolutely no one.  That didn’t help. I couldn’t even stand the thought of going to orientation. And I assumed that was because of my extreme shyness, though now I know it’s my near-crippling social anxiety. Hindsight is 20/20 after all.

I think it was during this time that I became much more active on the internet. Tumblr specifically, I love this website. But I began bingeing more on shows and would only really leave my dorm to go to the meal hall or class. I was just so terrified of social interaction. And I still am. But now I’m taking baby steps towards meeting people. Right now, all I can do is talk to people online, but if people don’t rush me and let me do it when I’m ready, I’d be fine meeting people in a comfortable and safe public place.

This is the one I think I have to work on the most. I know where I want to be and don’t know entirely how to get there, but I am taking small steps. I’m even telling people I suffer from social anxiety to let them know I’m not just being a bitch but that I am actually struggling and terrified to make social connections for fear of rejection.

The other real problem with this anxiety, for me specifically, is that I come off as bitchy and standoffish. Maybe I have bitchy resting face? I don’t know. But that’s what my mum thinks anyway. Whether I seem bitchy or snobby, or whatever is just what you see on the outside. Inside my mind, down that deep rabbit hole of suck, I am freaking the fuck out. Apparently, I mask that panic by looking snobby, who knew? But I assure you, if I’m actually being a bitch, you’d know about it. I don’t really keep that side of me quiet. But just standing alone in a crowd or in a corner? Yeah, I’m probably not plotting some bithcy scheme. I’m most likely terrified and seeking sanctuary in the very place that is so often cruel to me: my mind.

Meeting people scares the crap out of me. It really does. But I yearn for those social relationships. I am human after all. But going out into the world and actually seeking out people with whom to form those relationships? I’m not quite there yet. For now, I’m focusing on making friends online, but also people who live near me, so when I am comfortable, I will be ready to take that next step and meet them.

GENERAL ANXIETY

This asshole. This one was definitely brought on by university life. Seriously, I don’t think this would have affected me to the degree which it has, had it not been for university.  In some ways, university is better than secondary school, in others, it is exponentially worse. Procrastination only exacerbates the anxiety monster, but it definitely is not the cause. Deadlines. Terrifying deadlines, the weight of an assignment, and the fear of failure – the intense fear of failure – is the cause.

This one was kind of brought on hand-in-hand with my depression. I mean, I still stressed about marks before, but this really hit me hard when my depression stepped onto the scene. So both this beast, and depression entered into my brain after an event which I just call “the Academic Fiasco”. It is not an event I am comfortable discussing not because I am ashamed or embarrassed (though I am a bit) but because I don’t feel entirely out of the woods yet. And until I the woods are safely behind me (in other words: after I graduate) I won’t really be elaborating upon it. So the Academic Fiasco is a story for next year’s Let’s Talk Day.

Anyway, after the Academic Fiasco, I did enter into a depression. For several months. And ever since then I was never truly able to shake it. And it would come in waves. Sometimes I would be fine and my usual self but often the depression got in the way. So after the actual ordeal of the Fiasco was over with, and the depression had more or less subsided, I was then left with this anxiety. This dread that surrounded my marks in academia and my potential future career after obtaining my degree. This feeling just wouldn’t go away. And in November 2016, my friend started to notice that I was acting differently. She’s been my friend going on seventeen years now (we’ll both be 23 later this year), so she’s known me most of my life. And she could tell, through the virtual world, several provinces away, and through text not video chat, that something wasn’t right. My parents didn’t even know. Apparently, I hide my depression well. But my friend instantly suspected depression as she’s had it in the past and was medicated for it. She told me to seek help. So I booked an appointment at the Counselling Centre on campus and had a Brief Initial Consultation (where they would listen to me for thirty minutes to decide if my issues were serious enough to be waitlisted for therapy). It was during this time that the therapist believed I had anxiety, the death anxiety for sure, but also general anxiety. She didn’t really think I had depression, but she was certain I had anxiety. She suggested I seriously consider medication.

The thought had occurred to me once or twice. But until my friend expressed concern I hadn’t really thought about medication in a while. So, when the appointment was done, I went to the Health Clinic on campus and booked an appointment for the following Tuesday (I saw the therapist on Saturday).  And then I went home with nothing but the knowledge that I wasn’t crazy for thinking I wasn’t OK. And that was a relief.

It was over the next few days that I started to watch Thomas Sanders videos. Now, I know he’s been on Vine since 2013, but I really had no idea who he was up until that point. I didn’t have Vine, so I didn’t know him from there. But his vines would sometimes make their way on to my dashboard on Tumblr, so I knew of him. I knew he was that funny, relatable guy that I would occasionally see on my dashboard which could always bring a smile to my face in seven seconds or less. But I really had no idea who he was beyond that. I don’t really remember how I stumbled upon his vines on YouTube, but I did. It was there where I found an hour-and-forty-minute-long compilation of his vines – it definitely wasn’t all his Vines, but it was a significant amount of them. From there I started watching his YouTube videos. And I quite literally watched them all (check my watch history. I’m not lying) and have re-watched them many times since. For quite some time Supernatural – an oddly dark show – was the only thing that could completely distract me from my mind. Other shows and films could only do so for a time, but Supernatural and Thomas Sanders have consistently kept me distracted from the darkest areas of my mind. And this guy, this king amongst men, this angel without wings, not only did he distract me, but he brought genuine joy to my life during a time when I thought that to be impossible. Thomas Sanders wasn’t just a distraction from that horrible rabbit hole in my brain, he was genuinely uplifting. And for that, I will forever be thankful.

That following Tuesday, the twenty-seventh of November 2016, I was officially diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Together, my doctor and I agreed that it was best if I start medication.

DEPRESSION

Oy, this thing. Depression, my greatest foe. Honestly, depression is King Douchebag. Depression is that demonic Hobgoblin thing that likes to run about inside my mind and cause mayhem wherever it goes. It is the king of a shit-tastic court. This royal dickhead of a mental disorder is the reason I felt worthless after that Fiasco, this monstrosity of an illness was the reason I felt hopeless and joyless. Depression was the dementor, and my life was wasting away.

As I said above, in November I went to the therapist on campus where the therapist believed me to have anxiety but wasn’t convinced that I had depression. My friend, conversely, was certain I had depression. So that following Tuesday, after four days of bingeing Supernatural again, and watching copious amounts of Thomas Sanders videos, I went to the Health Clinic, and I talked about how I felt, and the doctor made me fill out two questionnaires. I was told to evaluate my last two weeks, rate how I felt from 0-4, and tick a little yes/no box on the depression sheet. Then she evaluated me. And she determined that I, indeed, had both depression and anxiety.

We decided together that medical intervention was best. I had been definitely suffering on-and-off since 2015. So I got the prescription and went straight to the closest pharmacy to my apartment to get it filled because I was not waiting another day. I knew the meds would take several weeks to start taking effect, so I didn’t want to waste any time. Why feel crappy any longer right? We decided on Cipralex because it’s a brand I knew (two friends of mine have taken it) and she said it had low side-effects. Now, it’s January 2017, and I definitely feel better. The meds definitely help, and I am in no way afraid to admit that.

COPING

So, I’m taking SSRIs but overall, how am I coping? Much better actually. When attacks strike, I do some breathing techniques and some light meditation. I’m also learning to face the problem instead of just hoping it goes away. Distractions might seem like nothing more than avoiding the issue but, honestly, they help. They help get you outside of your mind. And believe you me, I know how vicious the mind can be. So distractions are nice, even if they aren’t permanent. The other big thing is having someone to talk to, whether that is a friend, a family member, a teammate, a therapist, or some random stranger willing to lend you their ear. It makes a world of difference. To know that you are not alone is another big one. On days like today, it’s easy to see that. Social media is abuzz about Bell Let’s Talk. But throughout the rest of the year, it might not seem that way. And please know that if you feel alone and you need someone to talk to, you can always talk to me. You can contact me in various ways on social media or by email. I’ve been through the bad, and now I’m starting to see the light, and you will too. Just don’t be afraid to ask for help.

I started coping by escaping into shows. That’s the magic of a Netflix account. You can just binge. It doesn’t judge (except on some devices where it asks if you’re still there. Like, geez, I am just let me binge in peace!). CraveTV and the wonder that is Letterkenny also helped. It’s the best Canadian show I’ve seen in years and can’t wait for the St. Paddy’s special and season three. But the show that’s helped me the most has been Supernatural. I found the show on Netflix (I heard of it before and actually tried watching the pilot once before, but Mary on the roof scared the crap out of me, so I stopped) and binged all ten seasons. This was during my summer slump. I wasn’t truly depressed then, but there was just a gloomy air about me. After watching all ten seasons in under two weeks, I looked for other shows. I started watching Stranger Things but stopped at episode four after experiencing a panic attack (which was unrelated to the show or my usual triggers), and I have not picked up the show since. After being talked out of panic by my dad over the phone, I was calm enough to hang up. But I didn’t feel entirely at peace, so I went back to re-watching Supernatural. It was after that attack that I also watched season eleven through less conventional means (because it wasn’t on Netflix yet). And I started to feel better again. For several months, I just re-binged the show, albeit at a slower pace than I first watched it. It was the one thing that made me feel good. My worries melted away when that show was on, and I was enthralled in the narrative.

The other thing that helped me cope was Thomas Sanders. As I mentioned above, in the days leading up to my diagnoses, I stumbled upon a compilation of his Vines, and I was hooked. I found he made YouTube videos and I watched them all. I got Snapchat just so I could see his snaps. I followed him on Instagram and Twitter and liked him on Facebook. Then I found out he has a Tumblr (@thatsthat24)!  And it was magical. My favourite site and my new favourite internet personality, together! So I follow him there too. But unlike the others, I get notifications when he posts to Tumblr, and seeing those notifications are the best part of my day. It’s always something positive, or funny, or relatable, and it’s always certain to bring a smile to my face. I know that Thomas Sanders is only human and that he’s not happy every second of every day (if he were, he would be a game show host), but I really appreciate that everything he puts online is positive. I have no idea what goes on in his life, what anxieties he might face, but if he reads this, I want to thank him for brightening my day and making it suck a little less.  Because right now, he’s the thing that makes me happiest and I hope we, his fans, make him just as happy.

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Holy! That was 3150-ish words (or 5 12pt Garamond single-spaced pages). If you stuck through it all, thank you. I hope #BellLetsTalk 2017 was everything you hoped it would be. And sorry for the length, but I needed to make sure I said everything. -KNC

P.S. I'm sitting here thinking about the family gossip that might ensue (because, before today, only my immediate family knew) and honestly, I don't care. I don't care if it makes them uncomfortable, because this isn't about them. My illness doesn't affect them, so I really don't care what they think or how they’ll react.

[arthur36domingo]

Can You Truly Focus When Current Events Distract You?

Once upon a time, the news media was like a stream—a steady flow of information pouring forth from journalists dedicated to publishing carefully verified facts. We relied on the network news to give us our once- or twice-daily briefings (with occasional breaking news) and on newspapers and magazines to give us more in-depth insights.

Then came new media, and that stream of information became a deluge. Cable news channels blast out stories and analysis around the clock. When we check social media, open a web browser, or even just look at our phones, we’re likely to be swept away by notifications reminding us that there’s lots and lots of news, and all of it’s bad.

The flood of negativity can have detrimental effects on our mental health, creating anxiety, worry, and fear. A 2002 study following the events of 9/11 discovered that exposure to violent images can even cause PTSD-like symptoms. At times, it can be too much to take.

What to do when bad news affects your focus at work

Coping with negative news not only leaves us emotionally drained but also affects our ability to concentrate. At home, we can hide away from the world for a while. But at work we’re expected to stay on task and be productive regardless of current events. Unfortunately, we have to use more brain power to accomplish tasks when we’re anxious. Struggling to meet workplace demands can create stress, which research has shown to be as detrimental to our health as secondhand smoke.

Fortunately, there are ways to mitigate the strain world events put on your working life. Here are a few tips to help you cope with the day-to-day struggle.

Work!

Believe it or not, the Anxiety and Depression Association of America recommends work as a way to relieve workplace stress. Work not only helps you stay financially solvent but also gives you a sense of purpose and identity, which helps bolster your self-esteem. So, think twice before you call in sick to spend a day wallowing in the misery of bad news—working may be just the thing to get you back on track.

Tune out social media for a while

Oxford Dictionaries made recommends work its Word of the Year in late 2016. Australia’s MacQuarie Dictionary chose fake news. Slate picked alternative facts as an early frontrunner for 2017. These new buzzwords make it clear that facts are harder to come by in modern times. While fake news may not have been as influential in the 2016 U.S. election as some thought, the spread of misinformation through social channels is still a problem.

Unless it’s essential to your job, tuning out social media while you’re at work may help alleviate some of the strain. (At the very least, it’ll help prevent you from becoming distracted by the need to drop a Snopes-size truth bomb on your weird aunt Lucy’s latest sketchy social share.) If you simply can’t keep yourself from navigating to Facebook and Twitter throughout the day, apps like Cold Turkey (Windows, MacOS, Android) and Self Control (MacOS) may help.

Be straightforward with your coworkers

When you’re at the office, overhearing coworkers talking about current events is probably inevitable. The trick is to not engage. Getting into a debate can ramp up anxiety levels. But what if a colleague challenges you to jump into the fray? Try a simple “No, thanks.” If that doesn’t work, be direct and let your coworker know that talking about politically charged topics or stressful events is distracting to you, and you don’t want to break your focus.

Remember that we’re naturally drawn to bad news

Because having finely tuned danger sensors worked for us millennia ago when a saber-toothed cat might have been lurking behind every bush, the human brain is wired to focus on bad events. This phenomenon is called negativity bias. We pay more attention to the horrific things happening in our world, so it’s easy for us to draw the conclusion that everything going on around us is consistently awful. To make matters worse, when we develop these preconceived notions, a thing called confirmation bias kicks in, which makes us automatically pay more heed to information that seems to substantiate what we already believe.

The news media has always been well aware that bad news gets more attention. That’s why lead stories usually involve tragedy or scandal, while heartwarming human-interest stories serve as filler. When all the bad stuff gets you down, try tuning in to some good news for a change to remind yourself that things aren’t as bleak as they seem. You might start by checking out GoodNewsNetwork.

Take it easy on yourself

Although work may give us a sense of purpose, there’s nothing inherently noble about working ourselves to the point of exhaustion. When news of the world is already getting you down, taking on more work in hopes of distracting yourself is likely to do more harm than good. Being overloaded simply creates more anxiety and makes us less capable of managing our emotional response when world events take a stressful turn.

Instead of loading up on projects, be realistic about what you can manage. Remember that it’s okay to admit that you just don’t have the bandwidth to tackle another task.

Get involved

Much of what happens in the news is beyond our control, and that’s often what’s so stressful about it. Consider what’s distressing you most about current events, and then think about how you might contribute to making a difference. Are there things in your community you could participate in that could help effect change? Volunteering, getting involved in local government, or donating to causes can help you feel as though you’re part of the solution.

We don’t have to let current events weigh us down. The strength to cope with them comes from knowing how and why they affect us and then taking steps to keep our lives in balance.

The post Can You Truly Focus When Current Events Distract You? appeared first on Grammarly Blog.

from Grammarly Blog https://www.grammarly.com/blog/productivity-world-event-distractions/