#but i have never worn it a day in my life

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter 1

Preview: And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty frozen pizza in the oven, this will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days food brings you little if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your work uniform. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of TV static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been, and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your TV, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all fucking places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the TV on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet, if that. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shaky as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him did. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during both your pregnancy and his infancy, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed, despite his size he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost curl into the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice cracking. And then in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

Tears roll freely down your cheeks and land in Jason's hair. You sniffle, extra hard to keep from getting snot on him too. It's one thing to cry on the poor boy, the last thing you want is to use him as a human tissue.

“My baby,” you sob, and your sons hold on you tightens. You think (hope, selfishly) that he has missed you as much as you've missed him.

He's crying too, you realize- not as hard as you are (which is a little embarrassing, get it together girl, you're the adult here) but with his face tucked into your neck you can feel every tear. When you begin to pull back he's quick to wipe the tears away, scrubbing at his flushed cheeks with the heel of his palm. You remove your hand from his hair to gently thumb away an errant tear, and he sniffles before giving you a wobbly smile.

���Hi,” you say softly, your hand lingering on his face. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, mom.” He parrots, closed-lip smile melting into the sweetest toothy grin you've ever seen. You try to sear the image of him into your memory, imprint this moment into the front of your mind. You're half convinced you'll wake up any moment, TV still playing Jeopardy, pizza burning in the oven.

“How did you- I mean, what are… I just-” you cut yourself off with a breathless laugh. “I don't even know where to start. How… How did you find me?” Why did you come? Do you have any idea how much danger you've put yourself in just by being here?

Jason pulls back from you fully, stepping back out into the hallway. The feeling of loss is immediate and gut wrenching. He's only a foot away from you and already you feel like you're losing him all over again. You're tempted to just pull him back in, to refuse to let go. But you refrain.

Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out a postcard.

Oh shit.

“I went back to our old neighborhood,” Jason starts, and your stomach sinks. You hope to God he means the neighborhood you left him in and not the one you'd lived in together. You loathe to imagine him running into- no, you refuse to even entertain the idea. Clearly he meant Willis’ neighborhood and not your own. You don't know that he'd be here at all if he'd found the folks you ran with all those years ago. The same people you've spent the last decade running from.

“I got a bunch of old stuff- Mrs. Walker saved it all, and I found, well I found a lot of stuff, but y'know the important stuff was all-”

“Jason, honey, breathe.” He’s talking a mile a minute, where your brain seems to have stalled completely, his is working overtime. He pauses and takes a deep, purposeful breath. It's dramatic, childish almost, how his whole body tenses on the inhale and releases on the exhale. Tentatively, you reach out to take his wrist.

“Why don't you come sit down and we can… we can talk about everything, okay?” You keep your voice soft and low, as if trying to coax a frightened animal. You're afraid he might bolt at the first hint of danger. You wouldn't blame him in the slightest if he did.

Jason doesn't run nor does he shy away from the hold you have on his wrist. He allows you to lead him inside, setting his backpack on the floor next to the door.

Before you close it, you glance around the hall. No one is out there, no one has bore witness to your little reunion. You're not sure what you'd do if anyone had. You shut the door, locking your remaining two locks. You're aware of the concept of ‘mom strength,’ that adrenaline spike that mothers get when their children are in danger, that allows them the ability to do insane shit like lift up whole cars. You don't think snapping the chain off a cheap door lock is quite comparable, but shit. If that's what you can do just seeing him alive and well, you can't help wondering what you'd be capable of if he were in danger.

You know. You know full well what you're capable of doing when you think it will keep him safe. You know. You know. You know.

Jason's presence in your apartment makes you suddenly very aware of how… lacking your home is. Traveling often meant taking no more than what you could carry on your back. All of the furniture in your apartment is second-hand. The TV had been left behind by the previous tenant (whom you're fairly certain is still being billed for the cable- God knows you haven't been the one paying it), the futon and recliner picked up off street corners, the single TV tray you use as a dinner table and matching pair of folding chairs had been an impulse purchase at a thrift store when you first started working again.

You've passed through dozens of cities, only taking jobs that pay in cash. You'd never had a bank account, even before you started running. Too young and too female to open one on your own, and by the time you were old enough you couldn't get one anyway. Too traceable, too much risk attached to putting your name into the world like that. So you worked for cash, which meant your options were limited and often unpleasant. You've been a waitress, a hairdresser, a bartender (though you weren't exceptionally good at that- you learned the hard way that an aching heart and easy access to alcohol do not mix well), a housekeeper, and a- well, you won't list every occupation you've taken up. Some of them you'd really rather not recall.

The transient nature of your lifestyle makes it hard for you to see your living conditions for what they really are: fucking bad. You've got no decor, the whole apartment reeks of cigarettes and it's freezing cold to boot. You've got a space heater to remedy that last issue, but if you run it while the TV is on then you'll lose power in the whole unit and have to walk all five floors (your building has elevators, but they've been broken the entire time you've lived here. The slip on the doors that says ‘out of order - management’ is yellowed with age and tattered around the edges) just to get to the circuit breaker.

It's certainly not fit for hosting guests of any kind, let alone your long lost son.

“Sorry it's uh… like this,” you gesture broadly to the apartment. “I wasn't exactly expecting company.”

“‘S fine,” Jason says, leaning against your wall. You take care to study his expression as he looks around what you're sure must be the most depressing studio apartment this side of the Mississippi. To his credit (and your great relief) he genuinely doesn't seem perturbed by your place.

He's been with you in worse places, you think. Though you doubt he recalls even a moment of your time together. Less than two years you had him. Nowhere near enough time.

There's time now. He's here. He's here, he's here, he's here. The Greek chorus in your head continues to remind you. He's here, and he's real, and you still don't know what the hell he's here for. It can't be just for you, you'd left Willis with very strong instructions to not ever let Jason search for you. Though you suppose it probably would have helped drive home the message if you'd actually said it to him instead of leaving it in a letter, like a coward.

Coward is one of the words you associate most with yourself. Coward, idiot, whore, failed matriarch- that's what it'll say on your tombstone. You shake the thoughts from your head. Now is not the time to spiral into self loathing.

“Here, let's sit.” You guide him to your makeshift dinner table. At the time, you'd thought buying two folding chairs instead of one was a waste of money- who the hell were you expecting to have over? Now though, you're glad you did.

Jason's still got the postcard clutched in one hand. You can almost make out your own handwriting from this angle, but most of what you can see of it is just the scenic wintery landscape and the ‘Seasons Greetings From Michigan!’ printed in red cursive on the other side.

The postcards were, admittedly, an unwise decision. The one that Jason holds now was never supposed to reach him in the first place. It should be gathering dust in your bag with the rest of them. But you're as sentimental as you are stupid.

For the last 13 years, every city you've stopped in you've picked up a postcard. You've written the date and a note to Jason on it, filled out the addresses of Willis’ apartment, and (on the rare occasion when you've had a physical address of your own to write down) wherever it was that you were staying. Some part of you has to have anticipated this- that someday, somehow, one of these cards would find its way to its intended recipient. Maybe that's why you always wrote in the addresses, in spite of how completely and utterly stupid it was of you.

The both of you take your seats at the table.

“Can I…?” You point at the card in Jason's hand.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, of course,” he hands the card to you. It's frayed in the corners, the edges of the cardstock now softer than the middle. Like he's been holding onto it constantly, like he's been running his fingers along the outline of it. Like he's been rereading it.

Dec. 25th, 1989

My sweet Jason,

I hope your having a good christmas. I hope you get a thousand presents and all the cookies you can eat (without getting sick!)

Im thinking of you, always.

I miss you more than words can say.

All of my love, all of the time

-Mom

Short and sweet, full of grammatical errors and hardly legible due to how absolutely shitfaced you were when writing it. You don't drink often, not anymore anyways. The first couple of years after you'd had to leave Jason were… tough, to say the least. You found yourself drawn to anything you could use to make yourself stop thinking about it, about him. These days you've learned how to just shut your brain off completely, how to operate on autopilot, how to not think about anything at all. You only drink on holidays now. And birthdays. Times when you can't help but think I should be with my baby. Thanksgiving, Christmas, your own birthday, mother's day, and especially Jason's birthday.

This was actually the second Michigan card you'd written him. The first one you'd written to him last May, when you first settled into the new state. That card is no doubt still buried in your bag with the others.

You had picked this card up on your way home from work, Christmas day. Why the pub you work in is open on Christmas is beyond you- the place had gotten maybe two patrons the entire day, and one of them was you. The bartender poured drinks for you your entire shift, topping you off every time your glass reached the halfway point. At the end of your shift he offered you a ride home, to which you declined. In retrospect you think he was coming onto you. Which would certainly explain why he's been so curt with you ever since. Oh well, it's no loss for you. In fact, maybe you ought to thank him.

Because if you had taken him up on his offer, you never would have stumbled home drunk, trudging your way through a foot of snow in your work uniform. You never would have stopped to rest at a closed news stand. Never would have picked up that stray postcard. Never would have taken the pen from your apron and scrawled out a quick message to your son, uninhibited and loving. Never would have drunkenly failed to slip it into your pocket as intended, instead letting it fall to the ground, where the next day some good Samaritan will slap a stamp on it and drop it in the post box. Never would have found yourself sitting across the table from your son.

You try to push down the lingering anxiety of it all, force yourself to feel hope. Maybe this can be good. Maybe no one will bother you two. Maybe you don't have to be afraid anymore. Maybe it's over.

“I'm sorry,” Jason is the one to break the silence. You set the card back down on the table.

“What for?” You've never done anything wrong, not once in your life, you think. What could you ever have to apologize for?

“I would have come sooner, but this went to our old place, and I don't live there anymore, so I didn't get it until a few days ago.” Jason gestures to the postcard. So they did make it out of the alley. Good. Your baby deserves to live someplace where people don't piss on your stoop every night and threaten you with violence every morning.

“Oh Jason,” you sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I never expected you to come anyways.”

This is obviously not the correct thing to say, because he visibly deflates at your words. Your heart breaks a little bit- God, you're a terrible mother.

“Not that I'm not happy you're here now!” You correct yourself quickly. “I am happy, Jason. I'm so, so happy you're here.” You reach across the TV tray, palms up and open. Jason doesn't hesitate to place his hands in yours. They're calloused, which you didn't expect. It's not bothersome, you'd hold his hands even if they were too mangled to hold yours back. But it does make you wonder what he's done to make them like that. What kind of a life must he have led without you?

He smiles a little at that, soft and sweet and warmed by your affection. This is how he should always look, you think. Content and cared for.

“I'm a little concerned that you came all the way from Gotham by yourself though…” You say, squeezing his hands. You may have gotten up to some pretty crazy things at his age, but even you didn't start traveling cross country until you were nearly 22. At 15 your son shouldn't even be driving yet, let alone journeying from New Jersey to Michigan on his own.

“Aw, don't worry about that, ma!” Jason grins, looking awfully proud of himself. There's another expression you'd like to see on him more. And that word- ‘ma,’ he calls you. A much more casual title than you would have given yourself. Not that you’d expect him to call you ‘mother,’ or God forbid ‘ma’am’ like your mother had insisted you’d called her. No, you were prepared for ‘mom’, or maybe even just your name. You wouldn’t have been particularly pleased to have your only child call you by name, but you’d have understood if he felt more comfortable calling you that. There’s a certain familiarity in ‘ma,’ though. A kind of casual affection that you think would have taken years to develop, that in spite of your absence in his life, Jason gives freely.

“I'm your mother, it's my job to worry about you.” You say softly, and Jason's proud smile melts into something a little softer and more pensive.

“Going from Gotham to here was nothin'!” He insists. “I went to Lebanon first- here, hold on a sec.” He rises from his seat, pulling his hands from yours. Though you desperately want to keep your hold on him and shout ‘Lebanon?! By yourself?! You went to fucking Lebanon?!’ You refrain from that as well. He dashes to where he’s left his backpack at the door, picking it up and rushing back to his seat. He throws himself into the folding chair with such force that it rocks to the side, nearly tipping over with him in it. Without thinking you stick your leg out under the table, catching his chair and slamming your knee against the TV tray simultaneously.

“Sorry,” Jason says sheepishly.

“Don't worry about it birdie.”

The nickname makes Jason freeze in place, eyes wide and body tense.

“Birdie?” He asks.

“Sorry, it's- old habits die hard, y'know? That's what I called you when you were a baby.”

Jason's wide eyes relax a little, but his posture is still rigid.

“Why?”

“There was… you had this mobile, with doves on it. Until you were about a year old it was the only thing that would get you to sleep.” That and the sound of you singing, more often than not it had to be both. You force away the memory of that mobile, tangled and broken, lying in your bed many years ago. You force away the memory of how it was broken in the first place. It's not a night you'd like to recall.

This answer seems to placate Jason, but only momentarily.

“Wait, a year old? I thought… I mean, I figured you gave me up right away.”

And oh, oh, if that doesn’t break your heart, what will? It's by design that he doesn't know much about you- an intentional but unfortunate side effect of your leaving. It's safer for him this way. Or at least it was safer for him… or maybe it was never safe at all, considering he's found his way to you regardless of your attempts to shield him from the horrors you carry.

“You were about a year and nine months when I had to,” you pause to take a shuddering breath, lump in your throat threatening to choke the words right out of you. “When I had to leave you with Will.”

Neither of you says anything for a torturously long moment. You scrape at your cuticles, and Jason plays with a loose string on his sweatshirt. Jason looks like he wants to say something, his brow furrowed in concentration or perhaps concern- you struggle to read people sometimes. In the silence you recall an overlooked detail from earlier in the conversation.

“I'm sorry, just- just to circle back real quick, you went to Lebanon?”

“Oh, right!” The sullen expression leaves Jason's face, replaced instead by boyish pride. He reaches into his bag and digs around, procuring a few sheets of paper of varying sizes. The first one he presents to you is his birth certificate.

Your eyes follow the familiar text, the ink long dried though you could almost swear you've still got smudges of it on the side of your hand. It feels so terribly long ago and so recent at the same time.

Your eyes follow his name, written in sloppy print, Jason Peter Todd.

Along the line for the father’s name is your handwriting, spelling out in all lowercase letters ‘willis todd.’ You had been a little delirious still when they’d asked you to sign the certificate- frankly it’s a miracle you managed to even spell the names right- Jason’s, Willis’, and your own. The box for the mother's name however is almost entirely whited out, save for a single letter. That was not your doing.

“I went back to the old place,” Jason says, picking up his story from where he'd left off in the hall. “Mrs. Walker, I dunno if you knew her,” (you didn't) “but she was our neighbor. She saved a bunch of our old stuff for me after I left, including this.” He taps on the certificate.

“Which is how I found out that mom- my… my other mom wasn't my real mom.”

The thought of Jason calling another woman mom makes you sick to your stomach. But you suppose you forfeited the right to be his only mother when you left. That must be why he’d defaulted to ‘ma’ after your initial embrace- to distinguish you from the mother who raised him. The mother whom you are certainly not jealous of, no, not one bit. A blatant lie, you must admit to yourself. You are terribly jealous of the woman who got to watch your son grow up. You’re sure she’s lovely, and you’re infinitely grateful to her for watching over your boy, for loving him as if he were her own child, but you kind of hate her.

“So I looked in dads address book to try and match up the names in there to the letter on my birth certificate!” He presents you with the other two slips of paper, no doubt torn straight from Will's address book. Sharmin Rosen and Sandra Woosan. You don't recognize either name, but that doesn't surprise you. For all his faults, you've always known Willis to be popular, and awfully charming when he wants to be.

You examine both slips of paper, not sure what you hope to achieve by reading the names and addresses of these unfamiliar women.

“I didn't find the postcard until I was on the plane back to Gotham. Kinda jumped the gun on that one.” He says, a little sheepishly.

“You went all the way to Lebanon just to look for me…” You whisper, reverently. God, what an incredible kid. He's brilliant. You never would have thought to match the names in Will's address book to the singular uncovered letter on his birth certificate, had you been in his place. He's a clever kid- he gets it from you, you’re certain. And boy oh boy, isn’t that quite the thought? In your youth you had an ego the size of Texas, though a series of failures and hardships had tamed it somewhat, it appears as though some of that confidence remained, lying dormant, waiting to be impressed upon your greatest creation to date.

“And, Will was just fine with this?” You ask, suddenly realizing what Jason's solo presence means. “He just let you go to fucking Lebanon by yourself?”

Jason's proud expression fades fast and your stomach sinks.

“Dad's not…” he clenches and unclenches his fist, the loose thread he'd been twirling between his fingers snaps. “Dad is dead.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. Because really, what else is there to be said? You were never in love with Willis Todd- you liked him plenty, thought he was funny, and charming, and handsome in his own way. But you were not in love with him, and your mourning of him extends only so far as to mourn the loss of something that means a great deal to someone you love.

Despite a lack of love for Will, you do hold a deep affection for the man. After all, he gave you a son and a handful of very memorable evenings. When your eyes begin to water, you think you’re sad more for Jason than for yourself. To lose a lover is one thing, to lose a father is another beast entirely.

“I'm sorry, ma,” Jason says, and this time he's the one reaching across the tray to hold your hands, to comfort you.

“I told you earlier, you have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You say. With his hands in yours you can't wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Jason sniffles and shrugs, trying very hard to seem unaffected.

“It was a while ago,” he tells you.

“How long ago is ‘a while ago?’” You ask. You wonder who has taken care of him in Willis’ absence. Though you have no doubt your boy could hold his own, you certainly hope he hasn’t had to. You hope he’s always had a warm bed to crawl into at the end of the day. A hot meal waiting for him, prepared by loving hands.

“Dunno when exactly but, I only found out he was dead a couple years ago.” Jason answers. “I thought he was just in jail but…” His face hardens, turns serious in a way that makes him look much older and (though it shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does) quite a bit like his father.

“Two-Face killed him.” Jason says, his hands tightening around yours.

Christ almighty, what is wrong with you two?! Poor Jason, never stood a chance, both his parents victims of Gotham’s famed rogues. You force those thoughts out of your head, push them deep, deep, deep down. You’ll have to tell him eventually, you owe him the full truth of his childhood. But for the moment, you don’t think he needs honesty, he needs empathy.

“Oh, birdie, I’m so sorry.” You squeeze his hands, which are still holding yours perhaps a little too tightly for comfort. You make no mention of your discomfort to Jason though- if he needs to have a vice grip on your hands to feel better then you’ll let him crush every bone in them. Not that you think he would- he’s a good kid, you’re certain of it.

“Can I ask…” you start and then hesitate, thinking for a moment that maybe it’s a little callous to interrogate him on the matter only moments after he revealed to you that his father had died. You soldier on anyway. “Who’s been taking care of you, honey?”

Finally Jason’s grip on your hands loosens, until he’s pulling his hands away entirely to return to playing with the loose thread on his sleeve.

“It was just me and mom- my… my stepmom,” he hesitates on the word, as if he’s not sure he said it right. Really, he’s just unused to referring to her as such. It makes sense of course, that he’d assumed the woman who raised him to be his true mother- no one had ever suggested anything to the contrary. “For a while there. But she got sick and…” He sniffles hard- he does that when he’s trying not to cry, you note. “She’s gone too.”

You presume by ‘gone’ he means deceased as well, not well, performing the same disappearing act you had.

“And now…? Oh, God, have you been all on your own?” It makes you absolutely nauseated to think of him alone, frightened and cold in the cruel streets of Gotham. If that were the case you’d never forgive yourself for abandoning him. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? An abandonment. You can dress it up however you like, insist to yourself that he was better off far, far away from you but… In comes the nagging thought that you fucked up. You made the wrong choice and your son has suffered for it. The only person on this earth that you care about has suffered for the choices you made.

“Not anymore!” Jason exclaims, some of his enthusiasm returning to him. You’re grateful for it, and you think he is too- relieved to find a small reprieve from the heavy conversation. Though you note that ‘not anymore’ is technically an answer in the affirmative. He had at some point or another, for a duration of time he didn’t seem too keen on sharing, been left entirely to his own devices. Your stomach turns.

“Bet you’ll never guess who adopted me,” he says, regaining some of the youthful energy that he’d displayed upon first arrival.

“I bet I won’t,” you confirm. “I’m no good at guessing games.”

He leans forward over the makeshift table, head swiveling as if checking to ensure that no one else is in your apartment. It’s supposed to be a playful motion, a commitment to the bit that normally you would find quite endearing, but you’re paranoid. His joking reminds you that there are in fact, people or a singular person, commanding those beneath him who would like to see you dead, or worse. You’re so distracted by the sudden onset of anxiety that you almost miss when Jason tells you who his mysterious benefactor is.

“Bruce Wayne,” Jason whispers conspiratorially, as if it were some grand secret.

“Bruce Wayne?!” Jason was correct, you would not have guessed that. “No shit?”

“No shit,” he confirms, satisfied by your surprise.

“That’s gotta be one Hell of a story,” you are honestly a little thrown by the revelation. You kept up as well as you could with the goings on of Gotham, though admittedly you paid much less attention to the kinds of gossip columns that Bruce Wayne was a frequent feature in. Your focus was much more… villainous, in nature. Waiting and watching and hoping and praying for when He gets put away for good. Not just stuffed into Arkham for a brief stay before the inevitable breakouts that plague the storied institution, but well and truly gone. Then and only then would it have been safe to return to your hometown, and to the baby you’d left behind in it. Not that he’s much of a baby anymore.

“It’s kind of a long one,” Jason warns.

“I’ve got time,” you reply.

“Actually, could I ask you some stuff first?” It’s a blatant redirect, but you won’t press him. Not yet anyway, you’ll get that particular story out of him sooner or later. But you’ve never had the heart to deny him anything, and as you thought earlier, he deserves honesty.

“I’m an open book, hon,” you tell him, though it comes out sounding unconfident. You hope he doesn’t pick up on it, but if he’s half as perceptive as he is clever, you’re certain he does. Regardless, he doesn’t call you on your bluff, opting instead to begin asking his own questions.

“Why Michigan?” It surprises you that that’s the first question he asks, and not ‘why did you abandon me?’ God knows that’s what you would have asked, and in much less kind words.

“Why not?” Is your answer. “I’ve actually only been here for, hm, I think it’ll be a year next month. I ah, I’ve traveled a lot since…” You trail off and let him assume the rest.

“Where else?”

“Oh, lots of places- I never stay anywhere for very long. I’ve been all over the place.Chicago for a few weeks, Austin for a month or two, a very poorly timed trip to Metropolis kind of turned me off to big cities for a while. Until now I never stayed anywhere for more than a couple months.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he begins to piece together an idea of the life you’ve led in his absence.

“Why stop here?” He asks.

“I guess I just… got tired of running.” You answer honestly. You’re not as young as you used to be, and living by your charms is less and less viable every day.

“What are you running from, ma?” To his credit, he seems to have put together the pieces quite quickly. Rapidly coming to the understanding that you aren’t traveling just for the fun of it, but that you are traveling to escape. He’s a smart kid, brilliant even. You couldn’t be prouder.

Unfortunately, his cleverness is to your detriment. You’d hoped not to reveal this aspect of your history (your shared history) for a little while longer- long enough to establish a rapport with him. Long enough that he won’t immediately turn his nose up at you in disgust when he sees your true nature.

“I've done a lot of stuff I regret, Jason.” You say softly, instead of offering a real explanation. Just a moment longer, you think. Please let me keep this from him, let him continue to love me for just one more moment. You see the unasked question written all over his face.

‘Am I something you regret?’

“But please, please know that I wanted you. From the second I knew you existed I wanted nothing more than to be your mom, okay?”

“Why'd you leave?” Jason finally asks, his voice just above a whisper, and your heart seizes in your chest. He sounds so sad. You're a monster, a terrible mother, and a despicable human being.

“Oh, Jason…” That lump in your throat hasn't gotten any smaller. Your eyes sting with unshed tears. You want to hold him, but honestly you don't think you have the right.

“I didn't- I was just trying to- fuck, I'm sorry.” You sniffle, struggling to find the words.

For a second Jason looks like he's going to say something, and your stomach twists in knots as you try to predict what exactly is going to come out of his mouth. I hate you? You're a terrible mom? I wish I'd stayed in Gotham? All strong contenders, all things you wouldn't blame him in the slightest for feeling.

Instead, he pauses, face twisting up in confusion before he sniffs the air.

“Is something burning?”

It's only after he mentions it that you too begin to smell the smoke.

“Son of a bitch, my pizza!” You scramble from your seat, releasing Jason's hands to go open the oven. Jason follows you up, hovering only two steps behind you the whole time.

As soon as you open the oven a cloud of thick black smoke wafts into your face, making you cough.

“Shit, shit, shit, motherfucker!” You curse. And of course, to make an already wretched situation worse, your fire alarm begins to blare. Almost instantaneously one of your neighbors begins to pound on the wall, calling out a muffled ‘shut the fuck up!’

“Open the window for me, please!” You call to Jason as you rush to drag a folding chair up to the wall so you can reach the fire alarm. Jason does as he's told, quickly unlatching and opening the kitchen window, cool spring air rushing in. He even goes the extra mile and grabs the cardboard pizza box off the counter to fan the smoke outside. For some reason that makes your heart ache.

He's a good kid, you think. In spite of everything, he's a good kid.

You clamber up onto the chair and shut off the alarm, quickly hopping down to grab your singular oven mitt and precariously pull your burnt pizza from the oven. You plop it right down on the counter, uncaring of any mess or burns on the vinyl that you might be leaving. You slam the oven door shut, and finally the billowing smoke seems to dissipate. Jason's fanning slows to a stop and you reach around him to close the window.

What should have been your dinner is now a pitch black disk of inedible garbage.

For a minute you just stand there, with your hands clutching the window sill, adrenaline still flowing through you. You're shaking again- or maybe you never stopped. You try to steady your breathing, repeating to yourself over and over again don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Beside you, Jason gingerly sets the cardboard box back on the counter.

“You okay, ma?” He asks softly, and the dam bursts.

You let out a sob, pitching forward against the counter before sliding down to your knees, collapsing to the floor. Jason follows you down, kneeling next to you.

“It's okay! It's just a pizza! We can- I could get you another one!” He attempts to soothe you, but you can hear a nervous edge to his voice. You'd be nervous too if your mom started wailing over burnt pepperonis. But it's not about the food, not really.

“I'm sorry!” You sob, burying your face in your hands. It's humiliating enough for him to hear you cry, you don’t want him to see it too.

“It's fine, really mom, I wasn't even hungry, I ate on the way here,” Jason insists, and his hands find your wrists to gently pry them away from your face. You don't want him to see you like this, but you don't have the heart to deny him anything.

“I don't mean about the pizza, Jason!” You cry. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I left, I never wanted to leave you birdie, please believe me!” It takes all of your strength to lift your head and meet his gaze. “I'm sorry for everything. I'm so, so sorry. I'm an awful mother, please forgive-” you're cut off by Jason pulling you into another crushing hug.

This isn't fair, you think. He shouldn't be the one comforting you. But you just can't seem to push him away, instead clinging to him with renewed vigor and sobbing apologies into his shoulder.

You’re pathetic, weeping like a child, in front of your actual child. Have some dignity, woman. Your internal dialogue has taken a particularly cruel tone. Your mind does this sometimes- turns on you in the worst way. It didn’t used to do that. Once upon a time you’d been so certain of yourself, so confident in every action you took that even your enemies struggled to doubt you. But now, after many years of continued misery, spurned by His interference in your life and your mind, you’re reduced to a sniveling self conscious mess of a woman with nothing to her name.

After a long moment you manage to sort of collect yourself, at least enough to stop blubbering and making a fool of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat for at least the tenth time. “I shouldn’t have- I’m just- I’m sorry, Jason.”

You pull away from him and he lets you, releasing you from his grasp. But his hands hover next to your arms, as if he’s waiting to catch you again.

“It’s okay, ma.” He says, though you know he doesn’t understand what you’re apologizing for, not really.

“It’s not,” you tell him. “But thank you. I’m… I’m sorry you had to see me like that. It’s just been…”

“A long day?” Jason finishes for you, and you can’t help the manic little laugh that bubbles out of you.

“Try a long life.” You say, and though your smile is rueful and bitter, all that seems to matter to Jason is that he’s gotten you smiling again. Which in turn makes him smile too, and really that’s the perfect balm to all your aching wounds. You’d do anything to keep that smile on his face, anything at all. “But yes, a long day too. What time is it?”

Jason pulls up his sleeve to check his watch- it’s a nice one, one of the fancy digital ones. A gift from Bruce Wayne, if you had to guess. That still perplexes you a little bit, but you’re in no state to be asking anything more of Jason, certainly not the emotional labor required to continue that particular conversation.

“Half past midnight,” Jason answers.

“Shit, it’s past my bedtime,” you mumble, realizing suddenly how utterly exhausted you are. You worked a double today, that alone is enough to tire you out. Combined with the whirlwind of emotions that the last hour has brought you, you’re absolutely drained. Slowly, you rise once more, joints cracking as you do. Damn, getting old sucks. Jason springs to his feet in less than half the time it took for you to stand up.

“What do you say we put a pin in this and continue in the morning, yeah?” You ask, though it’s really more of a plea than a suggestion. “I think this will be a much more productive conversation when we’ve had a full eight hours.”

Jason nods, though you can see it on his face that he’s disappointed.

You’ll tell him everything tomorrow, you swear you will. You owe him that much.

You shuffle your way back into the living room (which is also your bedroom, because you live in the world's grimiest studio apartment), and get to work fully laying the futon down. Rarely do you ever bother to do so for yourself, but you’re not about to make a growing boy scrunch up on a couch to sleep. Jason may be small for his age but he’s not that small, it would still be an awfully cramped place for him to sleep.

You’ve only got the one blanket, currently thrown over the back of your ratty old recliner, a ‘gift’ from the previous tenant. You unfold it and lay it down on the futon. You have no pillow for him, but you think he’ll manage. Just for good measure, you turn the TV off and turn your space heater on, aiming it at the futon.

“Do you need to borrow pajamas, or did you bring your own?” You ask, turning back to Jason who has been quietly observing as you prepare his bed.

“I can sleep in this!” He says. That simply won’t do- you know from experience that sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable. You put your hands on your hips, doing your best to appear stern but not angry- motherly instead of… whatever it is that you really are.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you need pajamas, or did you bring your own?” You repeat, and bite back a laugh when Jason huffs indignantly. It’s cute that he thinks he can get away with avoiding your doting! You’ve missed out on so much, now that he’s here you are going to mother the crap out of this kid.

“Ma, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.”

“Y’know, I hate to pull this card, but I didn’t spend nineteen hours giving birth to you just to be told not to worry about you.” You say. “Now, I’m gonna ask one more time, do you need pajamas, or did you bring your own?”

“I didn’t bring any,” Jason replies, crossing his arms across his chest. Though his brow furrows like he’s annoyed, you can see how he’s fighting against a smile. You suspect that secretly, he’s going to enjoy being loved as much as you are going to enjoy loving him.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to go dig through your closet and your sparse collection of clothing. You don’t have much to wear, even less that will fit him, but eventually you settle on a pair of well worn sweatpants and your only surviving possession from before Jason’s birth: a ratty old GSU t-shirt. You fold them, stack them one on top of the other, and hand them off to Jason. “Bathroom’s right there. Did you bring a toothbrush, or do you-”

“Ma, please,” Jason cuts you off, putting on a show of being much more exasperated than he really is.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I swear. Go get dressed.” You ruffle his hair as he passes by you, mussing up the loose curls.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re digging through your purse for a cigarette. A bad habit, you know, but one that you’ve never quite been able to kick. You open up the living room window, grabbing your lighter from where you keep it on the kitchen counter. You do your best to smoke fast, you want to finish it before Jason returns. You’re a bad enough influence on him already without the added issue of secondhand smoke. Unfortunately for you, Jason is quick and you’ve only smoked half your cig by the time he’s exiting the bathroom, holding the hem of your t-shirt, examining the faded lettering.

“You went to GSU?” He asks, not looking up. You take a final quick drag, before stubbing the cigarette out on the window sill. You’re definitely not getting your meager security deposit back.

“Mhm,” you hum, exhaling through your nose. The smoke burns your nasal cavity, stinging even as you inhale fresh air.

“What did you study?”

“I majored in mechanical engineering and minored in biochemical engineering. Never finished my degree though,” you shut the window. Your college days aren’t something you think of often anymore. God, you’d had so much potential. You still had that potential, even after getting pregnant and dropping out. Even as a struggling single mother you know you’d been brilliant. It’s what you did with that brilliance that really fucked you over.

“Why not?”

“I got pregnant,” that’s the simple answer. Though, now that you’ve said it, it sort of sounds like you’re blaming him for your own failure to thrive. You’re quick to amend your statement. “I don’t like to half-ass things, especially not important things. I wanted to be able to focus on you.”

“You wanted to whole-ass it,” Jason nods sagely. You snort.

“Yes, exactly. I wanted to whole-ass motherhood.” You chuckle and look out the window at the quiet street below. “I did a pretty piss poor job though. Put my whole ass into it and still couldn’t see it through.” A street light flickers down below. You can see Jason’s reflection in the glass, the details of him warped and blurred by your view of the road down below- not willing to turn around and face him directly. You don’t want to subject him to your shame, your regret. He will see it eventually, most likely sooner rather than later. You steel yourself, school your expression, and turn.

“Time for bed now.” You say, and cross the room to put the recliner in position for you to sleep in. You’ll have no pillow or blanket, and the heater will be hitting Jason more than you, but it’s fine, you’ll manage, you’ve slept in much worse conditions. With the sleeping arrangements all settled, you turn back to Jason.

“All yours hon,” you nod in the direction of your rickety futon. Jason nods and rubs his eyes. Poor thing, he must be exhausted too. You can only imagine the kind of whirlwind day (week, month, year, life) he’s had. As he slips into bed you’re tempted to tuck him in, kiss his forehead, hell, you’d read him a story or sing him to sleep if he wanted you to. But no, you push this motherly instinct deep down inside of yourself. Jason’s 15, you doubt he wants to be treated like a child. But still, as you watch him relax, settling into your bed, your home, your life, you can’t help but to-

“I love you,” it comes out in a harsh whisper, your voice threatening to break. Your eyes are suddenly misty with tears that you swear weren’t there a second ago. You sniffle hard and blink them back. Despite visibly fighting sleep just moments before, now Jason is looking up at you with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you tell him. “I just needed to say it.”

You can’t bear to face him for his reply (or lack thereof) so you turn away from him to shut off the lamp, bathing you both in darkness.

“I’m gonna-” you pause to clear your throat of any lingering emotion. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth. Goodnight, birdie.”

And just before the bathroom door shuts behind you, you think you hear, “goodnight, ma.”

The second you feel the latch click, you’re turning the tap on to full blast.You sink down to the floor, bury your face in your hands, and do your very best to cry quietly. Hopefully the running water will muffle the sounds of your sobbing. The last thing you want is for Jason to hear you having a meltdown again. Once was one time too many.

Tomorrow you will do better. Tomorrow you and Jason will sit down and have a real conversation. Tomorrow you will tell him the truth.

AN: well howdy strangers!! it took me entirely too long to finish chapter one, and even longer to actually post it on Tumblr proper. For those of y'all who have been tagged this is just chapter one again but posted directly to Tumblr instead of being linked to ao3! Chapter two hopefully won't take as long but don't hold your breath lol. I plan on posting a preview of it in the next week or two! Anyways, thanks so much for reading! Taglist:@leirobles @qardasngan @amphiroxx

[kaiyunsim]

20 —

pairing : childhood friend!woonhak x reader

genre : bittersweet angst / comfort (no romance)

summary : the feeling of adulthood constantly looms over you as you search through the remnants of your childhood spent with another boy all your life. you send a message to him and go down a train of memories.

a/n : i actually started tearing up while making this... this song is literally my favorite because of how relatable it is :( THIS IS MY FAVORITE FIC.

queueing : 20 - boynextdoor, heirloom pain - niki, split - niki, everything stays - adventure time

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 4.3k — not proof read —

you don’t know when everything started feeling so heavy.

maybe it was sometime between your first real failure and your hundredth sleepless night, when responsibilities stacked like bricks on your chest and never let up. maybe it was today, when your test came back covered in red ink in the shape of many 'x's, when nothing seemed to go the way you wanted.

either way, it’s here now. this weight, this quiet, creeping exhaustion that settles deep in your bones.

you shut your door behind you, kicking off your shoes with a sigh. your room is the same as always, but it feels different somehow, like it belongs to someone younger. the walls are lined with old posters, trinkets scattered on shelves, little pieces of a version of you that felt so certain about everything.

you drop your bag onto the floor and fall onto your bed, face buried in your pillow. you should study, should do something productive, but all you want is to close your eyes and make time stop, just for a little while.

but time doesn’t stop. it never does.

your gaze drifts across the room until it lands on a dusty, handmade photo album shoved between your books.

you freeze.

you haven’t seen that thing in years.

hesitantly, you reach for it, your fingers brushing against the worn-out cover. the edges are frayed, the spine barely holding together, but the moment you open it, memories spill out like they were never gone.

the first picture is a blurry shot of you and and a boy, kim woonhak, grinning so wide your cheeks almost split, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. you must have been ten, maybe eleven. it’s taken from the roof. your roof, your little world tucked away just outside your window.

you flip the page.

there’s one of your hideout, blankets draped over chairs, flashlights glowing underneath like a secret universe. another of woonhak, mid-laugh, his hair sticking up in every direction because of his bed-hair.

then there are the notes. messy handwriting on scrap paper, stuck between photos like little time capsules.

"note's to self (y/n, the coolest person ever)"

get through school >:(

marry a handsome man

always be best friends!!!

you let out a quiet breath, tracing the words with your fingertips.

but that last one... it stings a little.

you and woonhak were best friends. for as long as you can remember, he was there, by your side, at your house, in your life.

but then, like a teen drama, high school happened.

he went to one school, you went to another. at first, it didn’t seem like a big deal. you still texted, still made plans to meet up on weekends. but slowly, without either of you meaning to, life got in the way. school got busier, schedules stopped matching up, and the messages you once sent daily turned into every few days, then every few weeks, then—

you swallow hard, shutting the album for a moment.

you still saw him, here and there. passing by in town, at mutual friends’ gatherings, in the rare moments where your paths crossed. he never changed much, always loud, always full of energy, always him. but with each meeting, the conversations grew shorter, more distant.

until eventually, there just wasn’t enough time left at all.

you exhale shakily, reopening the album and flipping to the last few pages.

the summer before high school, you and woonhak spent nearly every night on the roof, watching the sky turn from pink to navy. you made forts out of old blankets, whispered about the future like it was some grand adventure waiting for you. back then, growing up sounded exciting. back then, you thought nothing could really change.

you glance toward your window, toward the rooftop just beyond the glass.

you haven’t been up there in a while.

not since everything got complicated.

not since you started feeling like maybe you had to leave all of this behind.

but right now, sitting here with the weight of the world pressing against your chest, you can’t help but wonder—

if you climbed out there again, would it still feel the same?

you stare at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

the chat with woonhak hasn’t been touched in weeks. before that, it was months. messages sent here and there, “we should hang out soon”—but never followed up on. nothing past a few jokes, some reactions to each other’s posts, things that made it seem like you were still close even though you weren’t.

but tonight, with the weight of everything pressing down on your chest, you just want something familiar.

you: hey

you don’t expect an immediate response, but the read receipt pops up within seconds.

woonhak: huh?? you texting me first?? no way

you: shut up

woonhak: ur alive?? 😨

you: unfortunately

a pause. then—

woonhak: u good?

the question makes your throat feel tight. you could lie, could brush it off with a joke, but for some reason, you don’t.

you: idk just a bad day.

you: kinda wanna get out of my head for a bit.

you wonder if it sounds weird, reaching out like this after so long, ranting to him after not keeping in touch for a while. but woonhak’s response comes almost immediately.

woonhak: stay there.

you: ???

woonhak: window unlocked?

your heart stutters.

you: what.

woonhak: u better not have started locking it on me 😐

your hands tighten around your phone as you lay down on your bed. you never responded to his message and it's been 10 minutes. you make a short glance at your window, half expecting to see nothing.

but then—

a knock.

soft at first, then more insistent.

your breath catches in your throat.

slowly, you get up and push the curtains aside. and there he is.

kim woonhak, standing outside your window like he’s done a thousand times before, grinning like he never left.

he looks the same, but different. taller, maybe. a little older in the way he carries himself, but his eyes still shine with that same playful energy.

you unlock the window without thinking.

“you’re insane,” you whisper as you push it open. “you actually came?”

woonhak raises an eyebrow. “you texted me like you were summoning a demon. what was i supposed to do? ignore you?”

he climbs in effortlessly, like muscle memory, and suddenly, he’s in your room, something that hasn’t happened in years. it’s surreal, watching him take it all in, his eyes flicking over the same posters and shelves he used to see every day.

but he doesn’t say anything about the time that’s passed.

instead, he grabs your hand and tugs you toward the window. “c’mon.”

you hesitate. “what?”

“the roof,” he says, like it’s obvious. like it hasn’t been ages since you last went out there together.

your stomach twists, but you don’t argue. something about the way he says it makes you feel like a kid again, like nothing has changed at all.

you follow him out, stepping onto the cool surface of the roof. the night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of summer.

the spot you built as kids is still there.

a small roof your dad built after you and woonhak wouldn't stop for one. few scattered blankets. an old lantern. the carvings in the wooden panels, where you both etched your initials like you owned this place.

you lower yourself onto one of the blankets, crossing your legs. woonhak plops down beside you, stretching his arms behind his head.

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

the silence isn’t awkward, though. it never was with him.

the stars overhead twinkle faintly, and the city hums in the distance. it’s almost like nothing has changed. almost.

woonhak breaks the silence first.

“so.” he tilts his head, watching you. “what happened?”

you let out a breath. “just… everything, i guess.”

he doesn’t push, just nods like he understands. “yeah. it kinda sucks, huh?”

you huff out a laugh. “understatement.”

he grins but doesn’t say anything more. just lies there, staring up at the sky like he could read answers in the constellations.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye. he really came without hesitation. just like that. no questions, no complaints.

“why’d you stop talking to me?”

the words slip out before you can stop them.

woonhak doesn’t react right away. he just blinks up at the sky, then exhales.

“i didn’t mean to,” he says quietly. “i guess… we just got busy. and then it felt kinda awkward to randomly text after a while.”

you nod slowly. “yeah. same.”

he turns his head to look at you. “but i missed you.”

the confession is simple, said without hesitation.

you swallow, fingers curling in the fabric of the blanket.

“i missed you too.”

the wind is soft against your skin, carrying the familiar scent of summer. the kind that used to mean long nights spent laughing until your stomach hurt, whispering about the future under the stars.

you and woonhak lay side by side on the roof, the silence between you stretching comfortably. above, the night sky flickers with distant constellations, the same ones you used to trace with your fingers when you were younger, naming them after whatever nonsense came to mind.

you shift slightly, reaching out to run your fingers over the wooden panels beneath you. the carvings are still there, etched into the surface with the careful, clumsy hands of your childhood selves.

stick figures, one labeled with your name, one labeled with woonhak’s.

a badly drawn cat.

your initials, scratched deep into the wood as if that would keep them there forever.

and then there are the words written in marker.

"dreams for the future"

get super rich

become superheroes

never grow up

always be best friends!!!

you let out a quiet breath.

“wow,” woonhak mutters beside you, tilting his head to look at the same words. “we were ambitious.”

you huff out a laugh. “yeah. too bad none of it happened.”

“hey,” he nudges your arm. “speak for yourself. i’m still working on the super rich part.”

you giggle. “and the superhero thing?”

“okay, maybe that one’s taking a little longer.” he grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

a breeze passes through, rustling the old blankets still sprawled across the roof, tugging at the edges of the memories you’ve tucked away for years.

you hesitate for a second before shifting, reaching for the photo album you brought with you. the cover is old and worn, the pages slightly curled from years of flipping through them.

“i found this earlier,” you say quietly, placing it between you.

woonhak blinks, sitting up slightly. “holy—” he picks it up carefully, like it might fall apart in his hands. “i forgot we even made this.”

he opens it, and just like before, the past spills out between you.

the first page is a mess, stickers plastered haphazardly, a cutout of a superhero comic you were both obsessed with, and a note in woonhak’s familiar handwriting:

"this book belongs to y/n & woonhak! if you steal it, you have no taste. >:("

he laughs under his breath. “wow. we were really mean.”

“nah, we were right,” you say, nudging him. “this thing is priceless.”

he flips through the pages slowly, stopping every so often to grin at a picture, to shake his head at the ridiculous things you wrote down.

“oh my god.” he suddenly bursts out laughing, pointing at a photo of you both covered head to toe in dirt, grinning like maniacs. “do you remember this?”

you do. vividly.

“we thought digging a tunnel would let us escape school,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“it was a good idea!” he insists, still laughing. “we just… underestimated how deep we had to dig.”

“we got grounded for a week.”

“worth it,” he says without hesitation, and for a second, it feels like you’re ten years old again, back when the biggest problem in your life was sneaking past your parents without tracking mud into the house.

but then he turns the page, and the laughter fades.

it’s a collection of notes. scraps of paper you both stuffed into the album over time.

“let’s move in together when we’re older so we can play video games all night.”

“if we ever fight, let’s promise to fix it before the day ends.”

“what if we made a secret handshake? oh wait we already did nvm.”

“we’ll always be best friends, right?”

woonhak’s fingers linger over that last one.

the silence feels heavier now.

you know what he’s thinking.

neither of you ever meant to drift apart. neither of you wanted to. but somewhere along the way, life happened. time slipped through your fingers like sand, and before you knew it, the person who was once your closest friend became someone you only saw in passing.

woonhak exhales, leaning back onto his elbows. “sometimes i wish we could go back, y’know?”

you don’t respond right away. you just stare at the sky, the stars blurring slightly as your chest tightens.

“yeah,” you finally whisper. “me too.”

he turns his head toward you. “when did everything get so serious?”

you swallow.

“i don’t know.”

you really don’t.

back then, the future felt exciting. you wanted to grow up, to do everything, to be someone. but now, standing on the edge of it, all it feels like is a series of responsibilities waiting to drown you.

and no matter how much you want to, you can’t go back.

but even so—

“it’s kind of nice,” you murmur, “that we had those dreams.”

woonhak tilts his head, watching you.

“i mean… even if none of it happened. even if we grew up and got busy and lost touch for a while. at least we got to have that, right? all those moments where we thought we’d never change.”

he’s quiet for a second. then he smiles. small, but real.

“yeah,” he says softly. “i guess that’s true.”

the photo album rests between you, filled with pieces of a time you can never return to.

but tonight, sitting here under the same stars, next to the same person who still understands you without needing words.

it almost feels like you never left.

the night air is cool against your skin, carrying the faint scent of grass and asphalt. the roof creaks softly as you shift, stretching your legs out in front of you. beside you, woonhak leans back on his elbows, staring at the sky.

“so,” he says, exhaling. “how’s life?”

you let out a dry laugh. “oh, you know. amazing. totally thriving.”

woonhak snorts. “that bad, huh?”

“it’s just—” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “i don’t know. school sucks. i barely have time for anything, and when i do, it’s just more studying. i signed up for all these stupid AP classes thinking they’d help me in the future, but i can barely keep up.”

you glance at him. “seriously. i think i’m failing at least two of them.”

woonhak winces. “yikes.”

“yeah.” you tug at a loose thread on your sleeve. “and my parents keep telling me that i need to try harder, but i am trying. it just… never feels like enough.”

he’s quiet for a moment before he leans back fully, resting his head on his arms. “i get it.”

you blink. “yeah?”

“yeah.” he sighs, staring up at the sky. “i mean, my classes aren’t as bad as yours, but it’s still a lot. and then there’s…” he trails off, making a vague gesture with his hand.

“there’s what?”

he hesitates, then groans, covering his face with his hands. “my friends.”

you frown. “what about them?”

woonhak sighs, dropping his hands. “they’re great. really, they are. but sometimes it’s exhausting, y’know? like. i love sungho, but he never stops worrying about everything. taesan and riwoo keep dragging me into whatever dumb plan they come up with. leehan’s always disappearing and then randomly showing up like nothing happened. and woonhak—”

you blink. “you?”

“sorry, i meant jaehyun. he calls me woonagi.” he rolls his eyes. “he’s literally the loudest person i’ve ever met. and i swear he has no concept of personal space.”

you snort. “sounds like a handful.”

“they are.” he groans, rubbing his face. “but they’re also my best friends, so i can’t really complain.”

you tilt your head. “except you just did.”

he shoots you a glare. “shut up.”

you grin, nudging him with your elbow. but then your smile fades as you glance back up at the sky.

“…it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you murmur.

woonhak turns his head toward you. “what wasn’t?”

“growing up.” you exhale, resting your chin on your knees. “when we were kids, we thought being older meant getting to do whatever we wanted. no rules, no parents telling us what to do. just freedom.”

woonhak hums. “yeah. i remember.”

“but now that we’re actually here?” you shake your head. “it’s just more stress. more responsibilities. it’s not fun at all.”

he laughs quietly. “yeah. kinda sucks, doesn’t it?”

you nod. “biggest scam ever.”

woonhak shifts beside you, stretching his arms above his head. “remember when we used to make plans for when we got older?”

you smile faintly. “yeah.”

“we really thought we were gonna live together, huh?”

“i mean, we could’ve.”

“yeah,” he says softly. “we could’ve.”

but life got in the way.

you fell out of touch, got caught up in your own separate worlds. and now you’re here, sitting side by side like no time has passed at all, even though everything is different.

you let out a slow breath. “it’s weird.”

woonhak turns his head toward you. “what is?”

“this.” you gesture vaguely at the space around you. “being here with you again. it’s like… i feel like a kid, but i also feel so much older.”

woonhak nods. “yeah. i know what you mean.”

you both sit in silence for a while, the weight of reality settling between you.

finally, woonhak sighs. “well, if it makes you feel any better, i think we’d be terrible adults.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“i’m just saying.” he smirks. “if we actually had our own place, we’d probably forget to pay rent and get evicted.”

you huff. “speak for yourself. i’d be responsible.”

“yeah, right.” he snorts. “you can barely remember your own homework.”

you scowl, shoving his arm. “shut up.”

he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. and for a moment, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

because yeah, maybe growing up isn’t what you thought it would be. maybe it’s harder, messier, lonelier than you ever expected.

but at least you’re not going through it alone.

the night has stretched long, and the air has cooled down, transitioning from a deep navy into a soft purple as dawn inches closer. it’s almost like time itself is slow and measured tonight. the stars blink lazily above you, the cool breeze tousling your hair, carrying the scent of the earth below you.

you sit still for a while, your body growing tired from both the weight of the day and the endless thoughts that have been gnawing at you. everything feels heavy, life, school, your responsibilities, and even the breeze, once a source of comfort, now feels too sharp.

woonhak, beside you, doesn’t seem to notice the shift in mood. after a long, quiet stretch, he stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “alright, should we head inside before we both freeze to death?”

you look out over the roof, the world below you a distant blur. the window, which was once a gateway to a carefree childhood, is now a reminder of time passing, of a world that doesn’t stop moving, even when you wish it would.

but the roof... this place.

if you go inside now, it’ll mean this moment is over.

that childhood is gone, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

you look at the spot where you and woonhak spent hours as kids, where you built forts and told stories, and you can’t help but feel a pang of loss, a fear that this may be the last time you’re here.

“…let’s stay out a little longer.”

woonhak raises an eyebrow, surprised. “we’ve been out here for hours.”

“one last time,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. but you feel a firmness in your words. a certainty. this moment, this feeling, you don’t want to let it go just yet.

woonhak looks at you, his gaze softening as he processes your words. then, with a deep sigh, he smiles, though it’s tinged with something wistful. “this better not be the last time,” he says, his voice laced with a gentle teasing. “we are doing this forever, alright?”

his words make you smile too, even if a small part of you feels a lump in your throat.

“promise,” you reply, holding his gaze, your heart flickering with a strange mix of nostalgia and hope.

without another word, you both stand, stretching the stiffness out of your limbs. there’s no need for instructions or discussions, you both just get to work, the way you always used to.

you drag out the newly washed old blankets you used to use, the ones that were never quite warm enough in the winter but still held memories of late-night talks and laughter. the same old blankets that used to be your world, the fortress against everything.

woonhak pulls out an old set of fairy lights that were tucked away in a forgotten box near the corner of the roof. they’re a little tangled, the wires in knots, but that doesn’t matter. with a few quick tugs and a soft chuckle, he untangles them, plugging them into a portable battery. they flicker for a second, then glow warmly, casting a soft golden hue over the roof.

“think these still work?” he asks, holding them up to you.

“only one way to find out.” you grin, feeling that familiar spark of excitement you’d had as a kid whenever you did something rebellious, something just for the fun of it.

the lights, despite their age, shine beautifully, and you both begin the process of setting up your little roof fort again. you drape the blankets over the wooden railing, pinning them down with the same random objects you used, an old book, a lantern, a spare jacket. it’s almost like nothing has changed at all, except the years between then and now.

there’s a certain peace in the process. no rushing, no stressing, just the shared understanding that this is something you both needed. something you both wanted.

once the fort is built, you crawl under it, lying side by side just like you used to. the smell of the blankets, the coolness of the night air, and the soft flicker of the fairy lights above, all of it feels like a thread connecting the past to the present.

for a while, neither of you speaks. the silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s just... right. you don’t need to say anything. just being here is enough.

eventually, woonhak shifts beside you, stretching his arms above his head. “you know…” he says, his voice a little softer than usual. “i think we’ll always end up here. no matter how much things change.”

his words settle in the air between you, heavy but comforting. you turn your head toward him, your eyes catching the faint light of the fairy lights, tracing the lines of his face.

“yeah,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible above the breeze. “i think so too.”

there’s a certain gravity in the words. the weight of time passing, of growing up. things are different now. the world is no longer just the two of you, running through the streets, carefree and invincible. now, there are responsibilities, pressures, expectations. it’s not easy, and sometimes it feels like the weight of it all is too much.

but in this moment, here on the roof, with woonhak beside you, it’s like nothing else matters. the outside world doesn’t exist. the deadlines, the classes, the constant ache of growing up. it all fades into the background.

you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, steady and calming, as you close your eyes, letting the world fall away.

the wind brushes across your face, the chill a reminder that the night is drawing closer to the morning. the blanket between you feels like a barrier, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s just a safe distance, something familiar, comforting.

after a while, you feel him shift again. this time, instead of pulling away, he scoots just a bit closer, as though subconsciously bridging the distance between you. without even thinking, you shift as well, turning so that your heads are closer, both of you now lying on your sides, facing each other.

a wave of sudden comfort washes over you. it feels almost automatic, this closeness. and though the thought of cuddling as a grown-up feels strange, this moment. this quiet, simple connection, isn’t awkward.

woonhak’s arm ends up draped over your shoulder, just like it did when you were kids. you don’t think, you just let it happen. it’s natural, like slipping into an old, worn sweater that you thought you had lost.

he’s warm, and for a brief moment, you let yourself forget everything else. the worries, the responsibilities, the things you couldn’t control. here, with woonhak beside you, it’s just you, in the moment, safe and whole.

he exhales quietly. “this is nice,” he says, almost as though to himself.

“yeah,” you murmur in agreement, your own eyes slipping shut. “it is.”

you both lie there in silence for a while longer. neither of you speaks, but the weight of the night, of the conversation, the memories, all of it settles into a gentle lull.

the air is still cool, but the warmth of the blanket, the comfort of each other’s presence, makes it feel like the most perfect place in the world.

and despite everything, the growing pains, the uncertainty about the future, you feel at peace. even if it’s just for a moment, even if it’s just under a blanket on the roof, it’s enough.

—

tysm for reading :>

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver

[itstheghostofmypast]

Baby Steps

Domestic AU Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: He wanted to be better- no- the best man you had ever seen.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5 K

Est. Read Time: 12 min

Warnings: Toxic Father, Abandonment Issues

Rating: PG-17

Type: One-shot

Networks: @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK!?

“I like it.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, staring at your husband who was standing there in all his suited glory, all tired and exhausted from a hard day's work, his not so narrow shoulders barely fitting in the small doorframe of your even smaller washroom as he sighed at your persistent banter.

“It's the disco ball isn't it.”

“Of course it's the disco ball!”

That confession and a little pout was all it had taken for the two of you to move from your extremely cramped studio apartment to a slightly better and bigger studio apartment, with more sunlight and surface area- taking with you, your mismatched furniture, potted plants and your LED monitor screen the two of you used as a TV. The two or you had spent your entire Saturday morning moving into and unpacking, setting things where they belonged in your new little home.

“See.” You huffed, landing on your back with a light thump on the mattress next to your worn out mountainous man, staring up at the ceiling, smiling when you felt him lace his fingers with yours.

“All I see is that we finally have a decent sized fridge.”

You smiled at his statement and sat on your elbows, staring at the monitor screen, “Oh~ it'll rain tomorrow!” You exclaimed, ignoring the way he groaned in response, turning to the other side, holding his ground when you pulled on his shoulder to face you, “Shall we have some soup tomorrow!? I'll bring the ingredients on my way back! OooooOo we could make this noodle soup recipe I found!”

San closed his eyes and stood his ground, resisting against your will for him to lay on your back, he just needed a 15 minute nap to recharge, but he had a feeling he was not going to blessed with it, not because of your constant yapping, no he liked your yapping, it rang like the little bells you'd here when Tinkerbell spoke, it was the bubbling guilt within him that had kept him up all night, had him sigh in defeat when you had rested you head against his chest, wrapping your limbs around him, had him frowning while packing, had him zoning out while he drove the two of you to your new home. To be fair, he should have told you but- SMACK

He winced at the smack, his shoulder aching, as the skin of his exposed shoulder stung because of the impact, causing him to sigh in defeat as he closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes. He felt the bed shake as you stood up, your grumbling voice tickling his ears as he rubbed his bare shoulder, wondering if you were upset with him for it too. You had to be, right? Any sane person would be mad at spending their biggest bonus on a rent deposit, something a man usually takes care of, it's not that you had said this to him, no, you'd never say anything like this, but it was true, it was a man’s job to provide, that's what he had promised when he had gotten down on one knee, to protect you, cherish you and give you a perfect life, comfortable life that you had always deserved. It's something he had promised you to make sure you didn't have to live the same life your mother did.

All your life you had seen your mother working, at least that's what you remembered. The memory of your father was a blur, and if you had a say yourself, you'd say your brain had deleted the file. There was no need to remember a man who had chosen his mistress over his wife, especially because his mistress was having a son. So, since that unfortunate night, you had seen your mother work tirelessly, to give you a good life, now, that did not involve luxuries, but she strongly endorsed a good education, healthy meals and a roof over your head.

There were moments in your life where you'd barely see that poor woman, who was busy doing odd jobs after her shift would end at her day job, from bagging groceries to baby sitting to making lunch meals for offices to even working in your school cafeteria part time- did you get bullied for that? Yes, you did, though all that had done was push you to study harder, work harder, and to end up earning a life that would allow your mother to quit all her jobs and then you'd be the one providing for her, giving her a comfortable life.

The moment you had confessed that to Choi San he was whipped, on the floor, down right rolling on the ground for you- the only problem was, that you had told him this as soon as you had rejected his offer on a date, ensuring that you respect him as a colleague and telling him how you do believe that he is a great person, but that you had no time or interest in men, given the lack of existence of a male figure in your and the dire need to give your honest, hardworking and loving mother the life she deserved. Fortunately for you, fate had sent your way a God sent blessing, one who effortlessly had worked day and night to gain your approval, from showing you how your father was not what a “true man” was supposed to be, to lending you a hand once and a while- and let's not talk about how he had to earn your mother's approval.

Whether you'd like to admit it or not, gaining her approval was not as difficult as you had believed it to be, as you had wanted it to be. In fact, the moment Choi San had brought you home, all soaked to the bone and shivering- your bus had broken down and you had to run home, ironically he lived in the same direction- holding you close as the two of you waited for your mother to open the apartment door, you had begun to realise how you had lost this battle, especially when you noticed the way your mother had invited him into your place of residence, urging that he too should stay for warm soup- and even though you had tried to protest, something that had San almost leaping out the window (mind you, only because he wanted to do nothing but make you feel comfortable, and if his absence did so, then he would disappear like Houdini). That night, as you lay next to your mother in your shared bed in your cramped small studio, she had nagged you for the first time, and for the first time you were jealous, especially when she had said, “He's a good boy, no, a good man.” How dare she pay more attention to him than you? She had even ended up giving her portion of rice for him, because he was a “big man”- the hell did that mean?

At the end though, two years in, when you were ever so close to giving up, the people in your team burdening you with their work had you wondering if this was your fate because you were poor, you met the warm embrace of a sun-kissed, mountainous being, one who held you close, letting you silently cry as he whispered in your hair, ever so gently, enough to have you gripping onto him tighter than you could ever imagine, “Let me help you…we can do this together.” Since then, the two of you had been an unbreakable force, especially at work, and let's just say when your mother came to know about him wanting to marry you a year ago, she had urged him to “DO IT TONIGHT!” The poor lad had to convince the potential future version of his wife, “Mother, please, I can't force her yet, after the project.” True to his word, after the project, the man had gotten down on one knee and slipped that ring on your finger faster than you could say yes.

Six months, it had been six months and here he was, having you spend your bonus on your new apartment. If only he had worked harder, done more over time work, maybe taken up another job, where he could work a few hours in the night, he could've done this himself, he could have let you save the money, or spend it on something you like or spend it on your mother, he could have set a better example-

“San?”

He flinched at the closeness of your voice, sighing when felt the tip of your finger gently push between his brows, “Why is my big man frowning in his sleep?”

Huh?

Slowly yawning he sat up, stretching his arms over his head, not noticing how you were smiling at him, he looked just like a cat sometimes. Turning his head to face you, he saw you walk back into the open kitchen, picking up a pot and placing it on the small dining table, “Come on, I made soup, even made side dishes, replenish your strength my little soldier!” Your cherry like voice calming his nerves as he quietly nodded and sat down, staring at the food before blinking up at you, “How…long was I asleep for?”

“Hmmm…I think an hour or so…but you were knocked out cold!” You exclaimed, “I dropped a pan and you didn't wake up.” Your smile faltered when you didn't get a reaction out of him, only to look at him staring at the plate in front of him, was he upset? He had seemed a bit down since yesterday, maybe he was tired, but then again, he'd been agitated ever since you had convinced him to move. Maybe he didn't want to move? Maybe he thought you were taking charge? Maybe he didn't like that- no man likes a woman taking decisions, so why would he-

“I'm sorry.”

Your thought halted at his words, eyes meeting his guilt ridden ones, what was he guilty of? He slowly reached over for your hand, having you sit on the stool that was closer to his chair, as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb before bringing it to his lips, pressing his warm lips against your skin, whispering, “You do so much for me…I can't thank you enough,” you felt something warm blossom within you at his words as you whispered his name, only for him to continue. San reached for your other hand, now holding your smaller hands in his, though he still chose not to make eye contact, “I'm sorry you had to…pay the deposit with your bonus…it's my job, I promised to give you a comfortable life, to give you everything, and not only are you still working but you had to invest in our move. I know,” taking a deep breath he finally looked at you with a sombre expression, one that had your heart break, you never wanted him to feel this way, “I know, you say you don't mind but, I would rather have you save, or spend on your mother- I'm going to apply at the store nearby for a night shift, I can go there after work, and a morning shift for the weekends, an extra cash flow will-”

“You will do no such thing!” You snatched your hands out of his and frowned, ignoring his gasp as you scoffed, “You think I'd rather have a few extra dimes than be able to spend time with you? What are you stupid or dumb?”

“Both of those words usually mean the same thing, love.”

“That's what you got from what I just said!?” You huffed, gripping him by the front of his vest as you leaned closer to frown at him, “I don't like men, I really don't, you on the other hand just piss me off and I still love you for some ungodly reason! Do you realise I spent my bonus here because I wanted to? Because I wanted to start a happy life with you? Didn't you say we're in this together?”

His hands gently gripped your shoulders before pushing you to sit straight, not letting go of you even when you let go of him, he felt his heart leap with joy at your words, ���I just…don't you think you could have spent it on yourself or your mom? I know I said we're in this together…we really are but I-”

“You're not my father, Choi San.”

His breath hitched at your statement, fingers digging into your shoulders by reflex, unsure of what to say at the confession.

“You're not like the man who abandoned me because he wanted a son, you're not like the man who was too busy living another life to even turn to look at the one he had left halfway through…each day I wake up in your arms, grateful to have found someone who puts me before himself, someone who cares about my mother, someone who wants to keep me happy, someone who treats me like an equal.”

You felt his hold on you relax at that, smiling softly at him as you leaned closer, cupping his face to have him look at you before gently brushing your lips against his, “My mother wanted to move back to the countryside, she's happy there, she knows I'm happy with you, I send her enough each month to know she's living the life she deserves…we visit her on weekends, don't we?” he nodded in your hold, his own hands now gripping your waist like you were a piece of him- which you were.

“I spent my money knowing it was a good investment, I did the math Sannie,” You smiled before leaning even closer, “You.Can.Spend.On.A.New.Mattress.” Punctuating each word with a kiss you pulled back, and moved to the chair, leaving your husband sitting there a blushing mess as you began to eat, “Let's get rid of the old thing. Need a new one…” you said before taking a bite nodding towards his food as you swallowed, “Can't give her grandkids with a busted mattress.”

From the tip of his toes to the top of his head the man felt like he was on fire. Did he know that you two were not going to have kids anytime soon? Yes, he did. Did the thought of having a family with you excite him? Yes, it brought him pure joy, enough to have him smiling like an idiot, as he started to eat like the hungry boy he was, not before putting his extra serving of rice on your side, “Eat up, love, gotta keep you strong and healthy for the future baby Chois.”

“Calm down big boy, we aren't having them anytime soon.” You snorted, as you smiled at the thought of your own little family, wondering if your kids would be as hyper as him, or as calm as you- either way, that was for later, for now, you needed to work harder, get a bigger apartment, save up and so much more, and just the thought of it had you frowning for a moment only to lock your eyes with your husband who gave you that boyish smile calming your nerves,

“I know, baby steps, baby steps, one day we change the mattress, get a bigger apartment and then before ya know it, we get our own dozen babies.”

“Sure Mr.Choi, whatever makes you sleep at night.”

[chimckenns]

Angel is fiercely independent. This was especially reinforced during their early adult life when they first started living alone, and even more so when they started dating Michael.

One time they caught a cold when they had made plans to go on a date with Michael. They decided to tough it out and go anyway, taking some medicine before making their way out the door. The date went fine, but the whole time Angel was a little out of it. They felt hot and cold at the same time, and each step they took felt wobbly. It got to a point where they tripped a little, and collapsed onto the nearby bench.

Michael stopped in his tracks and stomped over to them. “What are you doing? Hurry up or we’ll be late for the train.”

Angel could feel sweat building on their brow, and their hands were shaking. The medicine must’ve worn out. “I just need a second… I’m sorry.”

Michael only let out a sigh. “Great. Now we won’t make it to the last train. You know I have to get home by midnight today for the game, right?” He tapped his foot impatiently. “Actually, you know what? You can get yourself a taxi. I’ll text you later. I have to go.” Angel could hear him mutter “So annoying” under his breath, and they felt their heart stop. They cursed at themself for not pushing on just a little more. A voice in the back of their mind repeated the same words over and over - “You’re just a burden. He’s going to leave you sooner or later.”

They steeled themself, and vowed not to drag anyone down again from that day on.

Even after they broke up and Angel became aware of the toxic nature of their relationship, these habits still remained. Angel was hesitant when it comes to accepting help, and they’ll never proactively be the one to ask for it either. It was easier to handle everything by themself than to risk putting a burden on someone else.

And then they met David. Someone who was so inherently caring and observant. He could always tell when something was off, even when Angel desperately tried to hide it.

They initially panicked, afraid that David would pick up on Angel’s weaknesses and decide to leave them. After all, who would want to stay with someone that they have to take care of too? They hid away when their insomnia hit, tried to hide their exhaustion when coming back from a long day, and tried to calm themself down when a bad storm hit. But somehow David always caught onto them first.

“Talk to me.” He’d say. “You’re my mate. You’re not a burden.”

Each time he’d chip away at Angel’s walls, and Angel could feel themself falter. Eventually, they cracked, and David was right there to hold them.

They’ll never forget how warm his embrace felt.

Angel gradually unlearned their habits and started leaning on David more. And David was more than happy to support their weight.

Although sometimes they’d still be a little hesitant when it came to telling him their real feelings, he’d always accept it.

“You’re allowed to be tired. Just tell me when you are. So I can take on some of the weight too. It doesn’t matter if I’ve already got weight of my own. We’re a team. We’ve got each other.” He’d say, and he’ll follow it up with a soft kiss.

This is what love is meant to be.

[strungnews]

TO ME YOU'RE ACTING LIKE YOU'RE TWINS, THIS IS A MESS. IS THIS A TEST?

a 'small' continuation + names of this since some wanted to see more, and I agree. not beta read i just want this gone from my drafts!!

A scoff, hand waving dismissively in the air like a snobby royal. "Don't be stupid, he gives off 'daddy issues' more than the other ones." "You're mistaken, they all have daddy issues. And mommy issues, but that's besides the point. We can't name him 'daddy issues' because that'd be like--I dunno, saying this piece of sand is better than the other grains of sand!"

You scrunch your nose and roll your eyes at William.The two of you have been at it all afternoon renaming the 'Mark Variants' as he had dubbed, to more notable and memorable ones. Since you and William can't for the life of you remember whose who, there's 17 of them! Sue you for not knowing.

It's a weird thing you and William have as an inside joke to one another, having even made a whole game out of it. It was like a harder version of 'Wheres Waldo' but you had to guess if it was mark or one of his 'variants' on the screen.

But you and him weren't playing today, right now you were organizing, real serious stuff. Since a certain someone slipped up and called one of them Jeremy, but he was obviously Mateo. Obviously.

"Ugh, I can't with this! Im running out of braincells trying to give creative nicknames to remember their actual names. God we couldn't have befriended a normal guy? We had to take one that had 17 other versions of him?" William is at his wits end. And you are no help to saving him.

"Hey, you talked to him first, not me." You noisily sipped at your straw, the cup almost empty as you salvage whats left of it.

"And I regret it everyday,"

"No you don't." "Yes I do. "No you don't." "Yes I do," "Nuh uh."

"Yuh uh," "Nuh uh. Remember how 'Nestle-cock' saved your ass by giving the best gift that one time, and your mom still wont stop bringing it up?" William groans disgustedly at the name, and tiredly at the thought. "We're definitely changing that one. Especially that one." You laugh. "Not my fault you took my suggestion. The internet is filled with so much wonders these days." You recall looking up another term for the word 'mama's boy', and as demeaning as it is, you couldn't help but jokingly suggest it. "Remind me to not take them anymore. But that's besides the point! We might as well try and remember their names the normal way."

"It's more fun this way," You shuffle on about your bed to place your empty cup down, lying on your stomach as you watch William visibly age through the monitor of your laptop screen.

"For you, not for me." He points an accusatory finger at you and sighs. "I gotta go, we've been at this since 1:30, I gotta eat." William rubs at his stomach hungrily at the prospect of food, and stretches that you can hear the crack and creak of his body and worn chair.

"Can I come with?" It's cold out today, a much needed change and reprieve from the now oncoming summer heat. Small instances of rain, but never pouring continuously.

William only tuts at you, as if his answer was obvious. "Hell no. If you come, Mark comes. And if Mark comes, your whole dang harem will too!" You snicker, hah, come. He starts picking up his long discarded clothes across his room, coming out of frame the more he collects, and coming back with a shirt in hand.

"What? They are not my harem!" William scoffs and drapes it on his chair. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Anyways I gotta go, see you and real Mark." Before you could protest his words, he ends the call with a wave.

Your face falls onto one of your pillows and you look up to the end call screen, before clicking off the tab and muttering ‘Gross.’ Because who would want a harem of people that consists of your very good looking best friend that you're totally not crushing on? Not you, pfft.

You hear your phone chime with a notif, and you drag your hand blindly to where it might be, hitting a hard piece of plastic and snatching at it.

William sent a link of his location, a change of heart on his end, offering to let you come with like you were a beggar. You were in his head, but he loved you nonetheless.

You pump your fists in the air in silent victory as you cheer, before you jump and yelp out when at the tapping on your window. A normal occurrence to happen, but it doesn't stop you from clutching your chest and walking over to it.

"Hey..?" Mark says guiltily, probably overheard your surprise from outside.

"What is it this time Grayson?" You scold playfully while watching him step inside your room one leg at a time. You've told him to just knock at your front door instead of acting like a thief in the night, sliding your window open. But Mark says no, thinks he looks cooler this way. Feels even cooler with the impending doom of a fall just one slip up away.

"Well, I just. . . It is a crime to visit my best friend?" He says through a forced smile and walks over to the side of your bed, plopping down on the beanbag where it resides.

"You have William," You offer, knowing full well he probably told Mark that he was probably busy or something, not wanting to have to sneak around in order for Mark to have fun without the weight of his annoying siblings.

"He said he was busy," He says defeated, and deflates on the comfort of your beanbag, practically having his body imprinted on it with how often he sat there.

"So annoying me was the second best option?" "You know it."

Hang outs with Mark feels like trying to screw on a lightbulb while ten other people pushed their way through on a race to do it first.

He never comes to the party alone, having to at least bring one, two, three, maybe even five other family members with him, in order for them to have some semblance of enrichment whenever he so plans to go out with his already very small group of friends. A rule set by his amazing mother.

She just wants everyone to feel included, at the cost of humiliation that is.

And being the good son and mama's boy he is they all are, he obliges with a small kick to the dirt, a mumbled out 'fine, while he puts his hands in his pockets like he was digging for gold. Accompanied by the million dollar pout on his face.

It wasn't ideal to always drag someone with him when he just wanted alone time with his friends, so on occasion he'd offer you to do it at his house.

As if that was any better.

So when things got too overwhelming, he'd sneak into yours or Williams place to cool down. A nice contrast to the loud and bustling house, to a quiet room with him and friends. Not a concern to worry about.

Think of it as his personal bunker that he goes to hide at from his life.

"Anything on your mind?" You break the ice, having to say goodbye to the free food you had been in favor of being there for Mark. You know, like the good friend you are.

He stirs, crossing his arms in thought while he thinks it over. "I dunno. Not much in my head today," "When does it ever?" You counter back without thinking, and he sticks his tongue out at you childishly.

"But I did get caught by Finn earlier. And he told me he wouldn't tell mom if I covered his shift on saturday." Mark takes one of the many stray plushies you have on your bed, and hugs it to close and tight till the seams were threatening to rip apart..

Coincidentally, it was the oldest one you had. Which was the first time Mark had won you a prize at the carnival as kids. Since then he likes to surprise you with new ones each time you guys went out to the arcade. Or when he’d go overseas with his dad.

So much little trinkets and doodads you have lying around your room are a courtesy from Mark.

But with the way he held onto this particular one, you can tell he's also grown fond of it at the memory. Attached even. The feeling was mutual, the plush being the one you favored the most to hug to sleep. Something about it was a lot more personal, a lot more special.

You watch in your peripheral while he buries his face in it in comfort. Inhaling like it was some sort of drug to him, it probably smells like you. You shake your head.

"Oh, Finn. Yeah, right." You repeat, nodding along with him. You’ve heard of the name in passing whenever you’d go to Grayson household, but never really got to put a face on said name. They were all just photocopies of Mark with different attitudes and mannerisms. Plus, so many names were given around the place, you were surprised to even hear the attempt at keeping up with the M lettered names before sticking to normal ones.

"You don't know who i'm talking about, do you?" He raises a brow at you, all smiling and smirking cockily like he caught you in the act.

"What? Pfft, of course I do. It's the uh, he's the one where you know," You start to sweat, before reaching out for your phone and redirecting the conversation.

"William said he went out for food." You suddenly blurt. Way to throw him under the bus.

"I know, he told me."

"Great! Well, I was just about to join him till you came knocking. Wanna come with?" Scrolling through your phone to appear busy, Mark starts to sit up straighter and lean on the edge of your bed to take a closer look at you.

"Heyy, who's Finn?" His elbows dig and dip into your soft mattress, now poking at your vulnerable side, and you swat him away like a fly.

“Your brother??” It’s as if he had forgotten he had multiple copies of himself in his house.

“Yeah, well which one?” Mark’s on his knees by the time you look up, and now climbs up fully to sit next to you. The bed moves with his newly added weight, and he casually slings his arm around your shoulder. Plush now resting on his lap.

“God, do you want me to name all of em or something? Im being quizzed now?” You’re starting to get flustered, evident with how defensive you’re turning.

He’s too close, and you’re sure he can feel your heart racing. His arm feels like it’s suffocating you the more he lingers, his hand draped dangerously close to your racing heart, toying at a loose thread he brushed up on.

As a kid Mark’s always been so touchy, always invading your bubble and needing to be physically close at some extent. It never gets easier as time goes on.

"Yeah sure, I'd like to see that.

“Oh, you jackass,” The heat of your palm on his chest as you push away feels like it’s burning at him inside and out. He wants to chase that feeling and let it eat him alive.

“Cmon, just admit it. You don’t remember who Finn is.”

He pokes at you again, enjoying the way you tense and glare, or the way you suck in a breath and close your eyes, calming yourself down.

“Fine. I don’t know who this infamous Finn is, okay? Now do you wanna go and eat with William?” Speak of the devil and he will come. Your phone chimes again, several messages come in like a flood, which you snicker at.

William sent a candid photo of Mark and the variants, a behind the scenes of a family photo, posed awkwardly. Another one showed two very similar sulking kids with a very exasperated Nolan at the back, forcing them to wear an oversized shirt with sharpie drawn on it. ‘This is our get along shirt.’

“Cute.” You accidentally said out loud, and type back at William. Now ignoring Mark in favor of something more compelling.

“What is?” He peers and nudges you closer to him, ever the nosy guy.

“What are you even doing?” He urges on again, feeling left out. The bed dips further, the more you move away from him and the more he chases after you. Ending up trapped under his weight with a plush wedged between the two of you.

Pressing your phone to your chest and clicking at the power button, you push his too close face away from you. “It’s none of your business,” He smells like the generic 3 in one mens shampoo you would usually smell while walking by a product isle. And the smell only intensifies the more his hair gets ruffled by your hand.

The sudden shift in attitude and secrecy makes Mark perk. If he had ears like a dog, they’d definitely stand tall and proud, with a tail to most likely accompany it.

“You’re hiding something from me, what is it?” Now he’s crowding you in like a damn police dog. Smelling and searching for any explosives or substances that might be on your person. He watches you curl in on yourself, as a sort of barrier to keep from his prying eyes, but this only leaves you vulnerable. Sides wide open to harass.

“Stop—dont-dont touch me!” You laugh and struggle when he tickles you, you have half a mind to kick him in the face the more breathless you’re starting to feel.

“Mark, cut it out!”

“Not until you tell me!” Your arm’s raised up in an attempt to keep your phone away, but Mark only snatches it in his hands and opens up your phone, already knowing your password by heart.

“Fuck. I knew you remembered it, you said you didn’t! Liar.” He only sticks his tongue out at you, and skitters away when you try to lunge back at him.

“Nuh uh,” He catches you when you turn to look at him, vision going thanks to your low iron.

And suddenly Mark has you positioned in a tight chokehold. His fleshly limb imprisonment on you doesn’t relent when he feels you thrashing while he casually looks through your phone.

“This is an invasion of privacy, im telling your mom!”

“Save it for the judge,” he mumbles, wincing slightly when you jabbed at his stomach, but only tightened his arms around you before tapping out.

“Fine-fine, jesus,” you wheeze out and his hold relents. But he keeps you in place like an owner holding its unruly dog. Ironic.

Mark mumbles out a small ‘let’s see here,’ like a grandpa while you blow away stray piece of hair. Hands wrapped around his strangely strong arms, tugging at it as a demand for freedom.

“Why are you looking through photos of me?” The question makes you go still, and he goes further and further into your album of your photos. The proximity suddenly feeling too much as you try to pry his arms off again.

“I didn’t even post some of these! Where are you getting them from?”

“Facebook,” you mumble, his muscle bulging and moving with each swipe, earning the bright idea to bite at him.

“Ow!”

You take this as ample opportunity to take what was rightfully yours, and smack him with the long discarded and well loved but lumpy plush, right in his face.

“What gives?”

“You almost choked me out you idiot, what do you mean ‘what gives?’ ??” You swing again, in an attempt to smother him with it.

“Stop, stop! Why do you and William even have these?”

He quickly moves to take the descending pillow and pushes you backwards, your arms swinging and scrambling around as if you were out in the beach swimming on a hot day, before falling on the bed with a springy bounce.

Mark hovers over you, a stupid grin on his face, you wanted so badly to smother it off of him.

“Well?” His head is tilted like a puppy, and you look away from him while crossing your arms.

“Its just a game me and Will like to play, okay? It’s ‘guess who’s Mark, the most guesses wins a milkshake’ or whatever.” You say through gritted teeth, and Mark plops right down beside you.

“Really? You guys make bets on us? Can I join?”

“Seriously?” You prop your phone up so the two of you can see, and the text bubbles on William are starting up, seeing as your scuffle with Mark had accidentally given him shakespearean words.

“Ghas” “Al0" “&@f”

William: what the hell are you saying

Truly poetic.

“You two were already starting before I came here?” His hair tickles your cheek, and you swipe it away.

“No, we were doing something else. But he already owes me three milkshakes if need be.” You say, smug and proud like you had just won something award worthy. But Mark only quirks a brow, putting a hand on your phone to scroll up on your messages.

“Bit obsessed with me, no?” He sounds so cocky, full of himself the more he reads through the chat. And you slap his forehead.

“Shut up. If you had to hang out with yourself for like, all your life, you’d know who’s you by now.”

Mark stops at one message, and his face scrunches.

“‘Bald on the sides Mark’?” He reads out loud you and William’s message, and you couldn’t help but snort. He moves his thumb a bit further up, his elbow lightly digging onto your chest and you let out a small ‘ow’, which he movies to fully take your phone from your grasp.

“This is-are you talking about Marco?” Mark says, baffled at your description of his sibling, albeit very amused. Bald at the sides. How . . . Creative. He adjusts his hold on your phone, his pinky playing at the charm you had attached to it.

“Yeah, Marco, Polo, whatever.” You grumble at him, smooshing your face on his shoulder while you watch Mark read through your messages with William like a hawk. Ensuring any unwanted and unsavory conversations you had with William would be safe from Mark’s nosy eyes.

You hear him snort, his chest moving quickly as you feel him laugh while his shoulders shake.

“ ‘The shining twins’??” Mark is full on belly laughing when he sees a picture of Noah and Marcel horribly edited together with the nickname William picked out for them. He has to put your phone down to calm himself before he’s hitting your shoulder weakly with a wheeze.

“God, you guys are great at naming things. Just remind me not to ask you two when someone asks for baby names.”

“It’s not that bad,” you try to argue, plucking your phone from his weight of laying on it.

“It so is. This could be considered bullying you know?”

“We are not bullying anyone. They don’t even know!”

“Yeah, for now.” He threatens, and takes a screenshot of your chat and opens up your photo album.

“Don’t you dare-“ Your hand squeezes at his wrist, and it weakens. Causing your phone to fall and plant on his face with a ‘thud’. You’re surprised it didn’t echo with how empty his head usually is.

Mark lets our a pained groan, your brick of a phone hitting his nose and teeth. You peel it off of him slowly, arm now propping yourself to look down at him, assessing the damage.

“God, I was bluffing,” He says remorsefully. He really shouldn’t have tested you.

You scoff when you see he’s fine, and pinch his cheek. “Now you know better than that. Can we please go out and eat with William now?”

Your puppy eyes aren’t anywhere comparable to Mark’s, but it was enough for him to give in and drop it. But only because your hand rested on his sternum, and he doesn’t know how much he can take you looking down at him with those eyes.

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender and sits up. Hair now disheveled and clothes a lot more crinkled than when he had arrived.

“You’re paying for my order though. I didn’t bring extra money with me.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

The walk to the cafe William was in wasn't too far. But long enough for you and Mark to continue on talking.

You spill your guts out on the streets for Mark to see and know, all about the small secrets you've had about him and his variants. He's amused, and sad. Not having been in on the joke even though it'd ruin the whole attraction of it.

The conversation drifts back to Marco, or bald on the sides as you had endearingly said.

He had a rebellious streak in comparison to the rest of them, but honestly they were all unruly in their own way. Marco just liked to express himself a lot more outwardly appearance wise.

"Man, I wish I could get some piercings too. An eyebrow would be cool, don't you think?" You say to Mark, and he only shakes his head.

"Dude, he did his piercings himself. The trips to the hospital because of his infections were not cool." "Hey, he did it himself. Of course i'd go to a professional." You cross your arms defiantly at his dismissive tone.

"Whatever, im just saying. You know?" "Are you suggesting I would look bad with it?"

"What? No! Im just trying to--ugh. What im trying to say, he's a bad influence, almost all of them are. And you wanting a piercing is just further proof of that." Mark said with a pout on his face, kicking a nearby rock.

"Mark," you nudge, pushing him slightly off balance. "They’re your family. Are you trying to say you're better than them?"

He’d grumble at your words, always grumbling when it came to you. He simply turns to look at you and pushed you with a force of a quarterback. Stupid jock.

“Hey!”

"Hey," You say back to William, who was gleefully sipping on his usual  frappuccino.

His smile instantly drops when he sees Mark following closely behind you, and his eyes quickly darts around for any familiar faces.

"No harem?" "Excuse me?" "Nope," You interrupt Mark, not sparing him a glance when he eyes you curiously.

William eyes you up and down, like a robot scanning for assessment, before he quickly sips at his drink.

"So," He starts, before Mark excuses himself for a moment. "So," You say along, eyes now watching him order the usuals you and he had, before meeting William's.

"You so told him, didn't you?" "Ugh, I did!" You exclaim, like a dramatic movie scene being acted out. And he only shakes his head in disapproval.

"Can't say im surprised, but I am disappointed." He takes another sip and offers you as a comfort, which you take with much thanks.

"I had to wrestle him for my phone, so don't say I didn't try." "Is that what those messages were? Are you sure you didn't do more than wrestling?" You take a hefty sip with a glare, and slide it back to him. He lets out an 'awe man' at the amount you had taken from his drink. "Don't be gross."

"Who's being gross?" Mark comes back with your caffeinated drinks in hand, and places yours just beside. He opens his hand and closes it repeatedly, before you groan and fish out some money from your wallet.

"Thank yew," He says, and does that quick yet awkward jog to the cashier and back to your table, before finally sitting back down.

"William's talking about having a fat crush on one of your variants." At that, he and Mark almost blow their drinks into splattering all over the table. "What? I do not!" He coughs.

"Yeah? What about Lover bo-" He smacks a hand to your mouth and Mark has still yet to properly recover.

"God I love inside jokes." You say, muffled from William's clammy hands.

a/n: ugh finally im done with this. i can finally work on the other variants of this au heh.. totally dont have a bias, looks over at mohawk mark. yea totally

[bruthaewwwww]

Alina! change

As the sun began to set, casting soft pink and orange hues across the sky, Paige and Azzi found themselves back at home, settling into the familiar rhythm of their evening. Alina had drifted off to sleep not long after they returned, worn out from her adventures with Zoe at the park.

The kitchen was quiet except for the occasional clink of utensils and the bubbling sound of something simmering on the stove. Azzi was chopping vegetables for their dinner, her movements smooth and practiced, while Paige set the table. It was a simple meal tonight—roasted chicken, a salad, and mashed potatoes, nothing too extravagant, but they were both looking forward to a peaceful evening together.

Paige glanced over at Azzi, who was focused on the cutting board, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

“You know, I can never quite get the potatoes as creamy as you do,” Paige said, turning her attention back to the plates she was setting out.

Azzi looked up, her lips curving into a small smile. “That’s because I have a secret weapon,” she teased, holding up the butter dish like it was a prized possession. “It’s all about the right amount of butter and cream. You can’t skip it.”

Paige laughed. “I figured. You always make everything taste amazing, even when it’s something simple.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she walked over to where Paige was standing, her hand briefly brushing against her wife’s arm. “I love cooking for you. It’s one of my favorite things to do. And honestly, I love these quiet moments. Just us. No pressure.”

Paige smiled, setting the last plate down on the table. “Me too. It feels... peaceful, you know? I never realized how much we needed these moments until now.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You’ve always loved time at home.”

“I know, but now, with everything going on—games, traveling, the press—it’s so easy to lose sight of how good it feels to just be here. No distractions, no expectations. Just us. And Alina, of course,” Paige added with a soft laugh. “But you get what I mean.”

Azzi nodded, her hand resting on the back of Paige’s chair as she leaned in. “Yeah, I get it. Sometimes I feel like we’re running on autopilot, and it’s easy to forget what really matters. But days like today... they remind me of why we’re doing all of this. Why we work so hard. For moments like this.”

Paige reached up and gently squeezed Azzi’s hand. “I’m glad we’re in this together. I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

Azzi’s smile grew, and she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Paige’s head. “I feel the same way. And I know Alina does, too. She’s so lucky to have both of us.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Paige corrected gently, her voice soft with admiration. “You’re amazing with her. The way you just... get her. It’s like you two speak the same language.”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed a little at the compliment, but she shrugged it off with a grin. “She’s easy to understand. She’s just like you—so full of life and love, and so determined. I can’t wait to see how she grows up. I just want to be there for every part of it.”

Paige’s heart swelled as she turned to face Azzi fully. “You’re going to be there, babe. You always are. You’ve always been so supportive, no matter what. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, her hand moving to cup Paige’s cheek. “You know I’m always here for you, right? No matter what happens, no matter how crazy things get, I’ve got you.”

Paige leaned into her touch, closing her eyes for a moment. “I know. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Azzi smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “Well, the feeling is mutual. Now, how about we sit down and enjoy this dinner? It’s been a long day.”

Paige chuckled softly. “Yeah, I think that’s a great idea.” She looked over at the stove, noticing the chicken was nearly done. “Smells like it’s almost ready, too. Perfect timing.”

Azzi laughed, grabbing the oven mitts and pulling the roasting pan out of the oven. “You’re not the only one who can cook, you know,” she teased as she set the chicken on the counter, the crispy skin glistening.

“I never doubted you for a second,” Paige said, leaning in to steal a small piece of the roasted chicken skin. “See? This is why we’re so good together. You can cook, and I can... sneak bites.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled as she began to carve the chicken. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Paige leaned against the counter, watching her wife work. “I love you, too. You know, we should do this more often. Just... cook together. I love how we’re able to share even the simplest of moments.”

“I think that sounds perfect,” Azzi said, glancing over her shoulder at Paige with a smile. “Maybe we could have a ‘family dinner night’ once a week. Just the three of us. Alina can help too, of course. I think she’d love that.”

Paige’s eyes brightened at the thought. “That would be amazing. I think she’d really enjoy that. And it’d be a good way to spend more time as a family, without distractions. I love the idea.”

The sound of Alina stirring in her room interrupted their conversation. “Is dinner ready?” she called from down the hallway, her little voice laced with excitement.

Azzi smiled, glancing at Paige. “It’s almost ready, sweetie. Why don’t you come set the table for us?”

A few moments later, Alina appeared at the kitchen door, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Mommy, I’m hungry!”

“Dinner’s almost done, baby. You can sit at the table, and we’ll bring everything over in just a sec,” Paige said, smiling as she motioned for Alina to sit down.

Alina climbed up onto her chair, her eyes lighting up as she saw the food being brought to the table. “Wow! It looks so yummy!”

Azzi slid into her seat beside her, reaching over to help Alina with her napkin. “It’s going to taste just as good as it looks, I promise.”

Paige took her seat next to Azzi, their fingers brushing under the table. As they all dug into their meal, the conversation shifted easily to stories from the day—Alina’s new friend Zoe, the adventure at the park, and the ice cream they promised her afterward.

But even as the conversation flowed, Paige couldn’t help but notice how right this felt—this simple, beautiful moment of sharing dinner as a family. It wasn’t about the grand gestures or the press conferences or the games. It was about this. Just being here. Together.

She looked across the table at Azzi, who caught her gaze with a soft, knowing smile. Without a word, they both knew. This—this—was everything.

As the evening wore on and Alina settled into the familiar comfort of her pajamas, Paige couldn’t help but notice the way her daughter had been unusually quiet all night. The excitement of the park and dinner had faded, and now, sitting on the couch with her daughter curled up beside her, Paige could sense that something was on her mind.

“Alina,” Paige said softly, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s face, “is everything okay, sweetie?”

Alina looked up at her mom, her big brown eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern. She seemed deep in thought, which was unusual for her. After a few moments, she sighed softly. “Mommy, do you think things will be different when the baby comes?”

Paige’s heart swelled, both from the wisdom in her little girl’s words and the love she felt for her. She had known this conversation was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. Alina had always been so intuitive, and for months now, Paige and Azzi had been talking about how things would change when the baby arrived. They’d kept it a secret for a little while, but now, both Paige and Alina knew. And it was time to have the conversation.

“I think things will be different, honey,” Paige said gently, her voice soft but reassuring. “But different doesn’t always mean bad. It just means... we’ll have to adjust to a new little person in our lives, and that’s a really special thing.”

Alina nodded, her face pensive. “But will you still have time for me? Will I still be your special girl?” Her voice wavered, just a hint of concern slipping through.

Paige smiled and pulled Alina closer, wrapping her arms around her tight. “Of course, you will always be my special girl. Nothing, not even a new baby, will ever change how much I love you.”

“I know,” Alina said, her small voice steady now. “I just... I don’t know how to help with a baby. I’m really good at helping with things now, like making sure the dog is fed and playing with my toys, but a baby is different. What if I don’t know what to do?”

Paige’s heart softened as she gently cupped Alina’s face, lifting it so their eyes met. “You know what? You’ll be amazing. You’re already such a big helper, and when the baby comes, you’re going to be such a good big sister. You’ll be there to help with the little things—maybe helping me pick out the baby’s clothes, or bringing me the diapers, or even just being there to make the baby laugh when they’re older.”

Alina smiled, her worry melting a little at the thought. “I can do that,” she said with a small nod. “But it’s still going to be different. Like, the baby will need a lot of time, right?”

Paige’s smile softened, her heart full of love for the little girl who was growing so much before her eyes. “Yes, the baby will need a lot of care at first. But that doesn’t mean I won’t have time for you. We’re going to make sure that we still spend special time together, just you and me. You’ll get to help with so many things, and I’ll make sure we have time for our own little adventures, just the two of us.”

Alina looked up at her mom, her expression still serious but full of understanding. “So, even though I’m going to have a baby brother or sister, you’ll still be my mommy, right?”

Paige’s heart clenched with emotion, and she nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to Alina’s forehead. “I’ll always be your mommy, sweet girl. That will never change.”

Alina took a deep breath and smiled, though a small hint of worry still lingered in her eyes. “I guess it’s okay if things change a little. I’ll still be your girl, and I’ll still be the best big sister ever. And... we’ll all take care of the baby together, right?”

Paige smiled, her chest full of pride and love for her daughter. “Exactly. We’ll do it together, as a family. It might be a little different at first, but we’ll make it work. And just think of all the fun things we’ll get to do as a family of four.”

Alina’s eyes sparkled at the thought, her worries beginning to fade. “Yeah! And I can teach the baby how to play with my toys and swing on the swings just like I do.”

“You sure can,” Paige said, her voice full of warmth. “You’re going to be the best big sister. And I know the baby is going to be lucky to have you.”

The room grew quiet for a moment, the soft hum of the evening settling around them as Alina leaned into Paige’s side. The weight of the conversation was behind them now, and Paige could feel the peace settling back into their home.

Alina’s small voice broke the silence. “Do you think the baby will like my drawing of the park?”

Paige chuckled softly, brushing Alina’s hair back from her face. “I’m sure the baby will love it. You’re such a great artist, sweetheart. And the baby will love all the things you do. It’s going to be so exciting for all of us.”

Alina grinned, her excitement returning. “I can’t wait! I’m going to be the best big sister, and I’m going to show the baby all the fun things we can do together.”

Paige smiled, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “I know you will, sweetie. I have no doubt.”

As Alina settled into her mother’s arms, her eyelids fluttering as sleep began to take over, Paige let herself relax, taking a deep breath. She knew the changes ahead wouldn’t always be easy. There would be moments of adjustment, moments when it would feel like too much. But she also knew that with Azzi by her side, with Alina’s love, and the new little one on the way, they’d figure it all out—together.

And with that thought, Paige closed her eyes, her heart full of gratitude for the family they were, and the family they were about to become.

After the conversation about the changes ahead, Paige and Alina made their way down the hallway to Alina’s bedroom. The soft glow of the nightlight illuminated the room, casting a gentle warmth over the pink walls adorned with drawings, stuffed animals, and little trinkets Alina had collected over the years.

Alina climbed into her bed, the familiar softness of her sheets welcoming her, and snuggled under the covers. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, her hand gently smoothing Alina’s hair away from her face.

"Alright, sweet girl," Paige said, her voice calm and soothing, "ready for a bedtime story?"

Alina nodded, her big brown eyes still wide with curiosity. “Can you read me the one about the little bunny and the stars, Mommy? The one where the bunny goes on an adventure in the sky?”

Paige smiled, reaching for the small book that Alina had asked for so many nights before. It was worn at the edges, the pages soft from repeated reading, but it still held the same magic it always had. She opened to the first page, and Alina shifted a little closer, curling up with her stuffed bunny in her arms.

As Paige began to read, her voice low and steady, she could feel the weight of the day starting to lift. “Once upon a time, in a meadow full of soft, green grass, there was a little bunny who loved to gaze up at the stars. Every night, the bunny would sit by the big oak tree and dream of flying high into the sky, where the stars twinkled and danced like tiny, glowing diamonds.”

Alina’s eyes grew heavy, and Paige noticed the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her daughter’s chest. She continued to read, her voice a soft melody in the quiet room.

“The bunny wished upon the brightest star, and to its surprise, the star whispered back. ‘I’ll take you on an adventure,’ the star said, ‘and show you the wonders of the night sky.’ And with that, the little bunny was lifted high into the air, floating up into the sky like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze.”

Paige’s voice barely wavered as she read the story, her words like a lullaby, meant to comfort and calm. Alina, who had been so lively earlier, now seemed completely relaxed, her breathing deep and even.

The room grew quieter as Paige reached the end of the story. “And so, the little bunny flew across the sky, visiting all the stars, making new friends, and discovering the magic of the night. And when the adventure was over, the bunny returned to the meadow, safe and sound, with a heart full of wonder.”

Paige closed the book slowly, taking a moment to look at Alina’s peaceful face. She was sound asleep, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in her little arms. A soft smile played at Paige’s lips as she leaned down to kiss her daughter’s forehead.

“You’re going to be such a great big sister,” Paige whispered, her words meant only for Alina’s ears, though she knew the little one was already lost in the dream world.

Paige tucked the covers around her daughter, smoothing the edges with gentle care. She stood up quietly, taking one last look at her before she reached the door. Just as her hand touched the light switch, she hesitated.

The house was quiet, and though the evening had been full of talk and change, there was peace in this moment. She knew the next few months would be filled with new challenges, new routines, and plenty of adjustments. But right now, in this small corner of the world, everything felt perfect.

With one final glance at her sleeping daughter, Paige whispered to herself, "We’ve got this."

She turned off the light and quietly shut the door behind her, the soft click of the latch almost like a promise to herself. Slowly, she made her way down the hallway and toward her own room, where Azzi was already finishing up a few things before bed.

Azzi looked up as Paige entered, a tired but loving smile on her face. “How’s she doing?”

Paige sat down beside her on the bed, her heart full. “She’s asleep. I think... I think she’s going to be okay with all of this. She’s worried, but she’s ready.”

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, her hand automatically reaching for Paige’s. “She’s so strong. And she’s lucky to have you. I know we’ll get through all of this together.”

Paige leaned her head on Azzi’s shoulder, feeling the tension of the day finally slip away. "I hope so. I want to make sure she knows she’s still the center of our world. Even with the baby on the way."

Azzi’s fingers traced gentle circles on Paige’s hand, her voice soft. “You will. We both will. We’ll balance it all. And I know Alina will be an incredible big sister.”

Paige closed her eyes for a moment, the warmth of Azzi’s presence calming her. "I can’t wait to see her with the baby. But... I also know it’ll be a big adjustment. For all of us."

Azzi nodded, squeezing her hand. “It will be. But we’ll make it work, one day at a time. We’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again. Together.”

Paige smiled softly, knowing that despite the unknowns ahead, they were in this together. “Together,” she repeated, letting the word settle in her heart.

As the night deepened, the house quiet except for the soft rhythm of their breathing, Paige allowed herself to drift off, feeling at peace. It had been a day full of change, but also full of love. AThe sun was barely rising the next day, casting soft rays through the curtains, and the house was still quiet. Azzi was in the kitchen, making breakfast, the smell of pancakes wafting through the air, and Paige was already up, tying her sneakers as she prepared for a long day of practice. She was excited to get back to the court after the press conference yesterday, but there was something else on her mind—something that made her smile as she thought about it.

Alina had asked her, over breakfast, if she could come watch Paige’s basketball practice that afternoon. It had been a long time since Alina had seen her mom play in action, and Paige couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of excitement. She was looking forward to showing Alina what her world looked like, and she knew it would mean a lot to her daughter.

“Are you sure you’re ready for all that running around?” Azzi teased as she placed the plate of pancakes in front of Paige, a grin on her face. “I mean, you’re getting pretty good at the whole ‘mom life’ thing—don’t overdo it.”

Paige laughed, feeling the warmth of Azzi’s teasing in her heart. “I think I can handle a couple of hours on the court. It’s not like I’m planning on doing an entire scrimmage today.” She picked up her fork and took a bite of the pancakes, savoring the sweetness. “But I’m looking forward to having Alina there. She’s been asking to see me practice for a while.”

“Alina’s really looking up to you, Paige,” Azzi said, her voice soft as she leaned against the counter. “It’s beautiful to watch, you know? You’re her role model in so many ways.”

Paige smiled, a rush of affection filling her chest. “I just want to make sure she knows that even with everything changing, she’s still so important to me. I think seeing me play today will help.”

With breakfast finished, Paige grabbed her gym bag, kissed Azzi goodbye, and headed out the door with Alina in tow. The little girl was bouncing with excitement, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny in one hand and wearing her new sneakers, a mini version of her mom’s.

"Are you ready, Mommy?" Alina asked, her face lit up with enthusiasm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” Paige replied with a smile, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Let’s go show you how it's done.”

The drive to the gym was filled with light conversation, Alina chatting about how excited she was to watch her mom play. She kept asking Paige all sorts of questions about the game, the team, and even the ball itself—what it felt like to dribble and shoot. Paige answered as best as she could, relishing in how curious and eager Alina was to learn about her world.

When they arrived at the gym, Alina's eyes went wide as they entered the court. The gym was buzzing with energy as players stretched and warmed up, the sound of basketballs bouncing echoing through the space.

"Wow, Mommy! Look at all those people!" Alina exclaimed, her little voice filled with awe.

Paige chuckled and bent down to her daughter’s level. “That’s just part of the team warming up. You’ll get to see everyone in action soon.”

The assistant coach waved them over, and Paige leaned down to Alina again. “You ready for a front-row seat to the action?”

Alina nodded vigorously. “I can’t wait!”

They sat on the bleachers, right next to the court. Alina was practically bouncing in her seat as Paige warmed up with the rest of the team. She caught sight of her daughter every few minutes, making sure she was okay and had a good view. Every time their eyes met, Alina’s face lit up with pride.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of practice, and Paige immediately fell into the rhythm of the drills. She was focused, her body moving with the fluidity that came with years of training. But no matter how fast-paced the practice got, her thoughts kept drifting to Alina, sitting there on the bleachers, watching intently. It made her feel like everything was right in the world. The energy of the court, the sweat on her brow, and the knowledge that her little girl was there—it all felt like a perfect moment.

As practice went on, Alina’s eyes never strayed from Paige. She was so engrossed in watching her mom that she barely noticed when one of the team’s players tossed her a basketball.

"Here you go, little one," the player said, giving Alina a friendly wink.

Alina’s eyes widened in surprise as she caught the ball, and her hands instinctively gripped it. She looked up at Paige, her face full of wonder. “Look, Mommy! I got the ball!”

Paige laughed and waved at her, clearly amused and proud. “Nice catch, Alina! You’re going to be an awesome basketball player one day.”

Alina’s face lit up with joy at the compliment. She turned to the player who had thrown the ball and said, “I want to play just like my mommy one day!”

The player chuckled. “Well, if you keep practicing, I’m sure you’ll be as good as her in no time. You’ve got the spirit for it!”

As the practice continued, Paige couldn’t help but watch her daughter more than the drills she was running. There was something magical about seeing Alina so excited and proud. It reminded her of how much she loved what she did—how much it meant to her to be able to share it with Alina.

After an hour of intense practice, the team finally took a break. Paige jogged over to the bleachers to join Alina, who was still holding the basketball and grinning from ear to ear.

“How’d I do?” Paige asked, sitting down beside her.

“You were amazing, Mommy!” Alina exclaimed. “I loved watching you run and shoot. You’re like a superhero!”

Paige chuckled and wrapped her arm around Alina’s shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’m glad you liked it. I’m proud of you for watching so carefully.”

Alina looked up at her with wide, earnest eyes. “Do you think I could play in a game like you one day?”

Paige’s heart swelled. “Absolutely. I think you could do anything you set your mind to. But don’t rush it—just have fun, okay?”

“I will!” Alina replied, nodding seriously before her face broke into a smile. “And I’ll always cheer for you, Mommy. You’re the best player in the whole world. Besides mommy.”

Paige felt a lump form in her throat, her heart overflowing with love. “You’re the best cheerleader, Alina. I can’t wait to see what you do with that basketball when you’re ready.”

With that, Alina threw her arms around Paige in a big hug, and Paige held her tight, feeling the bond between them grow even stronger.

As practice wrapped up and they headed home, Paige couldn’t help but feel that, despite the changes ahead, everything was falling into place. There was love, there was family, and there was basketball—everything she cared about in one beautiful moment. And as she looked down at Alina, still carrying the basketball proudly, she knew this was just the beginning of many more moments like this one.

nd in the quiet of their home, surrounded by her family, she knew everything would be okay.

[vechter]

every once in a while i remember that the outsiders called their jet the pequod and lose my mind. herman melville didn't write moby dick for me to ignore the delicious allusions.

this old Peleg, during the term of his chief-mateship, had built upon her original grotesqueness, and inlaid it, all over, with a quaintness both of material and device, unmatched by anything [...]

the original parts have been replaced and rewritten because the team has a history separate from that of this particular iteration. dick chooses to call them the outsiders... it's both homage and symptom-of-devotion to bruce but most importantly, dick reasons that he's tired of watching people die and get hurt; he wants to be the hunter instead of waiting for the threat to come to him... he wants to be the predator, just like the pequod has been hunting whales all these years.

But to all these her old antiquities, were added new and marvellous features, pertaining to the wild business that for more than half a century she had followed.

here's this ship that has sustained years of damage... just like the heart of the outsiders. roy asks dick to join a team he creates for the sole purpose of saving dick from the grief of donna's death and hey, if he can give some rookies a shot at learning how to fight? well, roy harper is in the business of saving. doesn't matter how big the shipwreck, he won't let anyone drown. also, the shift and rex of it all... a part of you that has become his own person... only for the harsh realities of the world to cause suicide-by-absorption. old and new... all of intersecting in something grotesque (shift's grief and heartbreak becomes a part of rex's).

Her ancient decks were worn and wrinkled, like the pilgrim-worshipped flag-stone in Canterbury Cathedral where Becket bled.

where becket bled... where donna died. and to drive it all home, roy has indigo join. she wants to make amends, she doesn't remember how she was directly involved in donna's death. and it blows up in their faces but for a brief period, shift gets to experience genuine happiness with indigo.

“They didn’t tell much of anything about him; only I’ve heard that he’s a good whale-hunter, and a good captain to his crew.” “That’s true, that’s true—yes, both true enough. But you must jump when he gives an order. Step and growl; growl and go—that’s the word with Captain Ahab. But nothing about that thing that happened to him off Cape Horn, long ago, when he lay like dead for three days and nights...”

it's captained by ahab, who's single-minded in his pursuit of moby dick. the ship itself is synonymous with failure... it's covered and furnished with whale teeth and bones; it's an omen of doom. no matter how far dick goes, donna's ghost will stay. he tries to lead the outsiders with no emotionality and it gets people hurt; they emerge with small victories but the bigger picture is always falling short... so much so that they end up having to fake their deaths midway through the comic.

Upon each side of the Pequod’s quarter deck, and pretty close to the mizzen shrouds, there was an auger hole, bored about half an inch or so, into the plank. His bone leg steadied in that hole; one arm elevated, and holding by a shroud...

ahab outfits his ship with holes and machinations for his peg leg... roy outfits the team with contingencies and plans so that he and dick never have to deal with something like teammates dying on their watch again. there's so much more to lose your mind over, especially with queepeg's coffin becoming a symbol of life for ishmael when the pequod eventually sinks... i love a good allegory <3

[auren-zagarra]

Hello! I love your other NSFW fics, your writing is amazing! I'm not sure if you know about the Stitch's Tropical Turbulance event, but I'd like to request Lilia x female reader where they sneak off to have sex in the tropical forest away while from everyone? If you don't know the event, at Ramshackle is fine instead.

If your okay with it, pls include cream pie.

Thank you!

nimium calidum

Content Warning: Lilia x F!Reader, public sex, cream pie, MDNI

Characters Count: 4350

Author notes: I typically refrain from engaging directly with readers due reasons of privacy, but I want to sincerely thank you for your kindness. I paused working in my other projects just because you were so sweet. Thanks a lot for the support and respect, I’m grateful. I hope you enjoy such work, anon.

The feeling of the sand beneath your feet and the cool embrace of the ocean as it kissed your skin were the sensations you came to the beach for, the ones that everyone cherished. Some found joy in the laughter and energy of friends, engaging in volleyball matches until the heat left them drenched in sweat, prompting a collective retreat to the ocean's refreshing waters. Others sought solace in the shade, a book in hand, lost in the quiet serenity of the breeze brushing against their face. No matter your preference - whether savoring popsicles in the sun or riding the wild waves - one thing remained certain: sharing these moments with your boyfriend during such a festival felt like the perfect escape, a balm for the weight of everything that had transpired at NRC. Even with that strange, bluish creature from another world lurking in the back of your mind, it was this time with him you truly needed to yourselves. But what you hadn’t expected was for Lilia to lead you somewhere... more private. The tropical florest far from everyone, being more specific.

You had expected he would want some time alone with you - those sweet, quiet moments to share a kiss or two, perhaps enjoy each other’s company in peace and take a few bites from your neck… you knew him well enough to anticipate that. But you hadn’t quite expected him to grow so bold, his hands wandering a little farther than you were used to, touching places that would never be appropriate in public. Still, despite the unexpected turn of events, you weren’t surprised. Lilia had always been the kind of man who wanted to experience all that life had to offer, always seeking new moments, even if they were a little unexpected. You embraced this side of him, holding his semi nude body against yours as you drank every drop of that adorable smirk he gave you.

The minimal attire worn by both of you only served to heighten the illicit nature of your thirst for this man. Lilia's fingers gently caressed your intimate depths, his passionate kisses left you breathless, your nails dug into his back in fervent response… Everything was just perfect. Your muffled moans were swallowed by his lips, though, even if they hadn't been, you would do your best to keep them hushed – after all, you were not alone on that secluded beach. The scary thought of discovery hung heavy in the air, yet instead of dampening your ardor, the thrill of being caught added an exhilarating edge to your pleasure. The adrenaline and fear mingled with desire, amplifying each sensation until every touch felt electrifying.

The heat of the day was nothing in comparison to the passion igniting between you. Lilia's eager hands drew you near, removing the cloth barrier concealing your breasts. His attention swiftly shifted to lavishing worship upon your newly exposed flesh, red ruby eyes locked with yours, brimming with unbridled adoration. Without a moment's hesitation, he claimed you fully, his hardness sheathing itself deep within your welcoming core - which gently embraced him in lust. Waves of exquisite bliss crashed over you as he explored the heavenly sensations you offered him… and for a moment, you were so grateful to have such a man by your side who absolutely worshiped you like that.

Your legs trembled and weakened with each powerful thrust, threatening to give out entirely. Yet Lilia's strength, honed through years of loyal service to the Draconian crown, held you firmly in place. He effortlessly supported your weight, allowing him to continue his relentless pace without interruption. Each time your cries of ecstasy threatened to escape - drawing smiles of delight from your lover - he redoubled his efforts. The sight of your tears, born of overwhelming pleasure, only fueled his desire.

As the crescendo of your shared passion reached its peak, Lilia poured his essence deep within you, flooding your spasming depths with his warm release. Overwhelmed by the intensity of your mutual climax, you collapsed against him, your body melting into his embrace as wave after wave of euphoria crashed over you. He carefully withdrew, admiring the exquisite sight of his seed nearly spilling from your well-used entrance. However, the peaceful moment was short-lived - the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the tranquil moment, signaling an imminent threat to your privacy.

[ichordreamed]

IT'S THE BLOSSOMING OF A MEMORY, phantom touches on his skin, that's reminiscent of another life. It's the ghost in the corner of his vision again, a blooming hibiscus that haunts him no matter where he goes, wrapping her arms around them as words drift on cosmic winds. Perhaps it's a lullaby drifting on solar winds that keep him standing still, or perhaps he's just making up for everything time has failed to accommodate by keeping those two arms wrapped around his little one.

There remains a part of him that wished all of his daughters were here, that his actions were faced with smiles, scowls and soft laughter and yet... he's content, more content than he has been in twenty long years as he just stands there with his darling girl in his embrace.

Siegfried lets her pull back, watches as the ruffles in creased clothes are smoothed out in a way that he knows has been inherited from him, as a woman's melodic voice echoes with playful scolding at his continuous misshaping of a worn and aged shirt.

He doesn't comment as hands reach to dry wet eyes, as phantom shudders chase along a form, reaching upwards to rub a thumb against the wetness. "Kaslana's... we were never the most adept at showing emotions, were we?" Soft, coarse laughter, knowing if his fingers were to reach for his own face the tears would threaten to fall like rain.

He cannot deny he hasn't been the perfect father, always skirting through shadows. Always watching from a distance rather than risk endangering her with his presence when she needed him most. Even his association with Anti-Entropy was born from necessity, a desire to keep her away from Otto as long as he could, even when it meant losing everything in the process to do so.

"You don't need to say anything..." She never has, nor has he ever needed thanks for protecting her like her father should. A reach forward with gloved fingers, pulling her forward in the same way her mother had once done for him all those years ago. "You, Bianka, Sirin, I would always, always, do anything in my power to keep you safe, even if it meant being labelled a traitor in the process."

Emotions have never come easy for him since the Second Eruption, everyday wondering what the next would bring, every shackle broken and replaced by another and yet here, and now he declares no more. He remembers the lines of the oath sworn before, remembers the line that he adopted the day his precious daughter was born, 'Thou Shalt Constitute Thyself As A Shield For The Weak And Innocent' and who was more innocent than her.

"Ich liebe dich." Three words, Cecilia's favourites, and yet nothing can encase the wellspring of emotions more than that.

FLY ME TO THE MOON

Happy Birthday Kiana, (2024) - w/ @voidrifter

[heroicallynude]

Actually the most obvious proof that my mother in law has never really taken the time to get to know me as a person, is the fact that they were just on a vacation to Italy, and the souvenir they got me as a bucket hat and a salad bowl

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i also like your krakoa charles and rivals erik drawing… a lot… keep going back and looking at it….. yearning…………….need it to be real………………you fed us well thank you ^_^

thank you so much my friend im glad people really enjoy it from what ive seen !!!!!! rivals cherik's just gonna be so special i know it..... i need them together NOW...

[brb-on-a-quest]

Me, *sees I got paid* “oh I deserve a lil treat”

*gets blasted by the knowledge of paying for school and upcoming travel plans plus future car stuffs*

[addriblack]

After 5 years of not touching this website, I was bludgeoned with the Bungou Stray Dogs hyperfixation bat, and as a result am dusting off the ancient account to reimmerse myself in fandom hell. This series has already permanently altered my brain chemistry and it has only been a month and a half. Asagiri what the hell did you put in this story

[elegyofthemoon]

shaking excitedly and tiredly

[pentanguine]

The next time I’m tempted to have a robust social life, someone remind me: DON’T

[allisonreader]

I'm in a mood, so below are some more personal ramblings.

This hasn't come up recently, but I find that in this particular moment that I am thinking about it. And that is most people's perception of me, both in person and online. I find it so interesting that the general perception of me is this bright, bubbly personality that can lighten the mood with my smile. (Obviously this is extremely a generic description but it is apt. As I have been told it in some variation throughout my life.)

But quite literally since at least kindergarten, the two most common comments on my report cards throughout my school career were about how I was a delight to have in class and my smile always lit up the classroom with my particular knack for procrastination mentioned shortly after.

I've always been the one with a smile to the point where more than once in high school when I had a more neutral expression on my face, I had people ask me out of concern if something was wrong, when nothing was.

So anyways I do think that it's interesting that this perception of me even bleeds into how I come across online. That this "sunshine and rainbows" sort of positive personality shines through what I write and post, even though I feel like it doesn't always. But I've had more than one person make comments that say exactly that to some degree. Bright is often used.

And I guess why I'm thinking about this right now is because at the moment I certainly don't feel bright or bubbly. Right now I feel a touch lonely. Which aches across the chest.

A big problem I have though is that I like to bury and ignore that feeling sometimes. I will sometimes reach out to people, but will I admit to why I'm trying to contact anyone, no. Because why admit to loneliness or anything else? Not when you can bury them down deep. I'm not looking for any advice, because I know what the solution is. It's getting out there, reaching out to people whether I want to or not and going and doing something. (Here enters procrastination once again.)

Anyways I just needed to write that out currently. And now this can get lost in the void. Though I am up for a chat.