#but the next words from her mouth are not a question: they're an explanation

[swan2swan]

Recognition.

[vacayisland]

Id be so happy if u could write some Branch x reader!! I love when he acts apathetic or like he doesn’t care but in the end will always end up helping the people he cares for. And has a weakness for the one he loves. Secretly insecure but loves looking for ways to impress them.

I dont have anything in particular to ask for, just would love to see some more branch x reader content!

@!; Bakin' with Love! Branch / Baker! Reader

"Summary"! In which Branch met Poppy's baker friend at the grand opening of their bakery and has a self realizing moment. "Tags!" Fluff :( I love Branch so much, he deserves so much better.

@!; "Oh come on Branch!" Branch was, reluctantly, following Poppy across Troll Village; Well, in fact, he was being more tugged along than anything, as Poppy was basically trying to sprint while Branch did his best to keep up, despite being unamused at the lack of explanation he has received. It was, usually, never a good thing when Poppy was dragging him off to some unknown direction. Branch has learnt that from experience, "Poppy! Where are we even going?" And that seemed to get Poppy to stop, digging her feet into the ground as she spun around to look at Branch. Which set him off, coiling away a little as he took in the shocked, jaw-dropping, exaggerated look Poppy held. Did he forget a holiday, an anniversary, a birthday? Branch didn't know, nor did he know of anything special happening on this specific day. There wasn't anything in his colander, which spans the next few years. He hasn't heard anything by mouth of other Trolls, which were always excited to word vomit about anything that might be happening the next day. So Branch only shrugged when Poppy asked, waving her arms around to emphasis her question, "Branch! Do you not know what today it?"

Which seemed to make Poppy ever so more shocked, which was slightly amusing. Though Branch also knew in the next 5 seconds Poppy was going to explode and basically word vomit what was happening to him; in an over-the-top way that he had to learn how to listen to. More like how to break down and make sense of, because sometimes Poppy made no sense when she just pukes words. "Branch!! Troll village is finally getting a Bakery and one of my very, very good friends is opening it! It's the same person who usually makes the cupcakes or cakes or baked good for any of the parties we have thrown recently. They're an amazing baker and it's always been their dream to open a bakery! I cannot believe you haven't heard about this, it's all everyone has been talking about." And there Poppy went, right on time, waving her arms and yelling with the most excited tone in her voice. "A bakery?" Though that wasn't the answer Branch had expected, and he couldn't help but cross his arms and cock an eyebrow up at Poppy. "You're dragging me across the village for a bakery?" "Not just ANY bakery Branch! This is the a bakery by the best baker in the village!" Branch snickered a little at Poppy's excitement, the way she bounced on his toes. He rolled his eyes, knowing and expecting, Poppy to grab his wrist again so they could b-line it for the bakery. "And she's opening today and we cannot miss getting her double fudge, triple chocolate, licorice cupcakes! Oh, oh! Oh her glitter ball cupcakes or- OR ANYTHING!" And Branch, again, was right as Poppy grabbed his wrist and began to rush over to the other side of the village; dragging Branch over to a little half-stand and pod-like building on the ground. There was already a crowd formed around the entrance and inside, with other Trolls sitting around and eating baked goods they had gotten. Branch watched the trolls and their desserts, noticing a wide arrange of different pastries. Some on the more simple side and others more complex, such as cupcakes, brownies, cakes, bread, croissants, and even chocolate souffle. Now that made Branch do a double take, not having expected such a high-skilled dessert coming out from a bakery that just opened. "AH! Branch, this is so exciting!" Poppy was basically jumping up and down on her toes, grinning from ear to ear. And she wasn't the only one who shared the excitement. As Viva, who seemed to come out of no where, popped up besides Poppy with the widest grin. Branch had to coil back a bit, scrunching his nose, as Viva squealed along side Poppy, "I KNOW RIGHT!" "Hey, this is different!" Floyd, with Clay in tow, walked over to Branch, Viva, and Poppy; seeming to have been following Viva before she rushed off to her sister. "It's a bakery," Branch couldn't help but shrug as the line moved forward. "So many trolls can bake, or poop out baked goods. I don't really see the fuss about it." "Well, one it's actually the first bakery we have in the village-" Floyd would start, hoping he could get his brother to understand the excitement a little better. Yet Floyd was cut off by Clay, though he didn't mind much, "And I've heard that their baking is like, THE best in all of Pop Troll village! Viva came back with a dozen of their cookies one time, I had to physically restrain myself from eating them all!" "Oh, great." Clay tilted his head at Branch's sarcasm. "You know anything anyone eats here is sweets, right? I mean it can't be that healthy." The group would reach the front of the line as Branch crossed his arms and shook his head, wondering why the village would need another output to feed such an addiction. Yet, he was only met with a hand on his shoulder from Floyd as Clay rushed forward to order alongside Poppy and Viva.

"Just be happy for everyone else, yeah?" And Branch softened a little, seeing Floyd's small smile and sincere eyes. His hard stance broke as Branch relaxed his shoulders for a moment before he shrugged softly and nodded in agreement. "Alright, yeah, okay." Branch mumbled, receiving a pat on the shoulder from Floyd and a slightly bigger smile before he turned to go order. Branch decided to hang back for a bit before he followed, standing next to Floyd as he watched Poppy and Viva basically drool over the confections behind the display case. They chattered and debated which sweets they should get, and whether or not they should just buy one of everything; which Clay was trying to disagree to, claiming it was a waste of money, yet it was obvious he also couldn't choose what to get. Floyd was the first to notice when Branch walked around behind everyone to stand behind Poppy and Viva to look into the display stand. He noticed there was some steam that rose from products, which he guessed where more fresh than others; though he could also deduct that they were all baked between yesterday and today seeing as the scent of everything was so fresh. "I think, for the most bang for your buck, you should get some of the cookies that are slowly crumbling or the ones under steam." Branch pointed out from behind the sister, which caused them to pause and glance over at him. Both confused yet intrigued at his answer. Poppy placed her hands on her hips, giving Branch a challenging look, "Branch! I didn't know you knew sweets!" Branch only shrugged, "Well, the ones still steaming are likely the freshest, and the ones slowly crumbling have a desirable texture of a soft cookie. They're stiff enough on the outside to hold their shape but soft on the inside where they're slowly breaking, a nice balance." "And here I thought you were a crunchy cookie type of man." Viva added, pointing up and down at Branch. Yet they couldn't speak for long, as the back door of the bakery, which separated the kitchen from the front floor, swung open and a Troll carrying a cooling rack of sweets rushed in. They apologized for the wait, not taking a moment to look up, before they opened the display case and slid in the hot batch of cookies. When they finally looked up to greet everyone with a, "Hello! Welcome to Pop's Cookies, my name is (Y/N), how may I help you?" They stopped mid-sentence upon seeing Poppy and Viva, in which the three would share an excited squeal. "Oh my god Poppy! Viva! Hello you two." You exclaimed from behind the counter, moving around the display case and towards the register. Poppy and Viva would follow, "What are you doing here?! I thought I told you two that you didn't have to come!" "Did you really think we wouldn't come to support you?" Poppy quipped as Branch noticed the gleam in your eye. For some reason it made him pause and stare, so much so he didn't realize his brothers coming to stand near him. Floyd softly spoke to Clay about getting a strawberry shortcake brownie slice as Clay tried pitching that he was going to get an almond-cherry explosion cookie. Though they both knew that Clay would much prefer a cherry-lime cheesecake, yet was trying to keep up his 'professional' attituded. "Oh! (Y/N), have you meet Branch?" Poppy's voice pulled Branch out from his thoughts, causing him to blink and shake his head a little. That's when he noticed all eyes being on him. Well this was awkward... and he had to save it. "Hey!" Branch waved his hand once, giving you the only type of smile he could muster on such a short notice. In which, he could tell was a little odd and off, seeing as Poppy and Viva started at him a overly questioning look. While you, you stared at him with a quizzical look; Tilting your head to the side, as you stared at him like you were trying to read the very structure of his being. It was off putting how he felt like you could see right through him and at the same time see him. Branch glanced at Poppy for some sort of help, but she gave him a nervous smile and waved him off.

Branch tried to gulp back his nerves, wondering if he was being tested on his reaction or if you were simply judging him for not being as excited as everyone else about your bakery. It's not like he didn't support it or anything, he just wasn't the overly outward excited type and he hoped someone would explain that. And Branch saw Floyd glance over, seeming ready to say something or hopefully stand up for him. Yet he didn't seem to have to after a big grin grew on your face, "Say, Branch, you look like a soft double chocolate chip cookie with a fudge center type of guy to me! Would you like one? "Oh- uh- sure!" Branch answered with a small smile, somehow feeling rather relaxed despite his earlier anxieties. Though he did notice the shocked look from the others, you didn't seem shocked or disturbed he had agreed. In fact you seemed proud, for whatever reason, as you quickly grabbed a bag, fluffed it open, grabbed a wax paper and opened the case. You mulled over which cookie to select for a moment before taking the one you deemed as 'perfect' and began to bag it. "Braanch!" This is when Poppy spoke up, "You like double chocolate with a fudge center? How come you never told me!" And to that, Branch only shrugged his shoulders once more, "You never asked, Poppy." Branch explained as he walked over to the counter and accepted the bagged cookie. Later, when everyone had ordered and they decided to take a seat inside, Branch took out his cookie and couldn't help but look at it for a moment. Everyone around him was laughing and talking, eating their sweets at the same time, and he couldn't help but feel oddly seen. And by a complete Troll never the less. Usually people assumed he would like hard cookies, or the boring almond and nuts. Usually people assumed a lot about him because he was so different, and despite your slightly unsettling stare you had correctly guessed one of his favorite cookies. One he didn't even realize you had baked every time Poppy brought a dozen over to his bunker. So then that brought up another question in Branch. Did you just correctly guess his favorite cookie or did you remember it from the countless times Poppy (most likely) told you. Either way, why and how? That's probably what confused Branch the most. It's what made him turn around in his seat and look at you, watching as you served another costumer. A chipper smile on your face and an excited gleam in your eye. You weren't doing that guessing game or glare to anyone else. . . was he somehow special? Nah, probably not. But it did make him think as he took a bite into the cookie you had given him. Maybe he should come back tomorrow and talk to you about it. Yeah talk to you about the incident and for nothing else. Just clear up the air and all. Yeah... and maybe get another cookie.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[poeghoul]

hard times iii.

in which they're far too drawn to each other.

word count: 7,852 warnings: mentions of drug usage and abuse, unwanted advances, angst, possessiveness authors note: not proofread. only a few parts left to this series </3 im far too attached to them.

masterlist

part one part two

Y/n made her way out of the diner, the new waiter, Ross, following close behind her. “It’s not too bad, I promise. You’ll get the hang of it soon,” she turned to face him, smiling to try and relieve his anxiety. The poor boy had spilled orange juice all over his black sweater, the thick fabric sticking to his chest, and still slightly damp. “Plus you’ll be taking the night shift and barely anyone comes in.”

He exhaled through his mouth, raising his eyebrows at her, “so that means shit tips, huh?” he joked at her. She pulled her lips into her mouth, hesitant to answer, and when she went to challenge his assumption, he cut her off. “Fuck, really? Shit, I’m fucked,” running a hand through his hair, he shook his head. She pursed her lips at him.

“It’s not awful, I swear. And you’re new, so,” she trailed off, not entirely knowing what to say to the blue eyed boy. “They always start the newbies off at night,” the end of her sentence sounded more like a question, and he just smirked at her and tilted his head to the side. 

“You’re shit at making people feel better, you know that?” he grinned at her, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth, shaking his head at her. She grinned at him, exhaling a laugh through her nose. “Ya need a ride or anything?”

“Mm, no I have a ride already, thank you though,” she gestured to the man standing next to the black SUV behind her. A ‘shit’ coming from the boy in front of her. “Yeah,” she pursed her lips. Ever since the first night Jax had picked her up, everyone who worked at the diner bombarded her with a million questions anytime the ‘mystery’ man stood in front of the building; how’d you score that, who is he, how do you know him, etc. 

“No offense, but how the fuck are you able to drive that? Or have someone drive you in that,” he stared at her, a befuddled look graced his face. 

She tucked her bottom lip in between her teeth for a second, his gaze switching from her eyes to her lips and back once the flesh was released, “um, a friend of mine kinda owes me a favor and this is how he’s paying me back,” she shrugged, her right arm coming up to rub her left, an anxious habit.

A humorless laugh escaped him, “I will never ask for a favor if this is what you’re expecting in return,” he gestured to the car. “I’ll see you in the morning, y/n,” he patted her shoulder before running his hand down her arm, barely even touching the jacket covered skin, and grazed her hand for a moment longer than he should’ve. She blushed from the action, taking in a sharp breath before nodding and bidding him goodbye. 

They parted ways; Ross walking to a beat up ‘99 Honda Civic hatchback, and y/n to her (Harry’s) personal chauffeur’s car. She sent a smile to Jax before wrapping her arms around his torso, squishing her face into his chest (he was significantly taller than her, but not as tall as Harry). 

“Hey, sweetpea,” he greeted her, she felt the vibrations rumble through his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, a hand coming up to caress the back of her head and a gentle kiss was placed on the crown of her head. “Wanna tell me who that was?” he pulled back to wink at her, she just rolled her eyes unwrapping her arms and crossing them over her chest and he opened the door for her, 

“That was Ross, he’s the new waiter I told you about. Not very good though,” she stepped up into the backseat and sat her bag down on the seat next to her. A few weeks ago, she’d be getting in the backseat hoping Harry would greet her with an apology or an explanation. Now, she’d be surprised to even smell Harry’s lingering cologne. He’s been avoiding her since the last time he came to her apartment. No calls, no texts, no interactions whatsoever. 

Jax laughed, closing the door before running around the back of the car and hopping in the front seat. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, “that bad, huh?” Her eyes widened and she nodded, her mouth agape. 

“I’ve never met anyone that uncoordinated, I swear. He’s great with the customers, he really is, he just can’t balance a tray to save his life,” she sighed, “Dan put a lot of faith in me, too, which makes it worse. Like, I can’t just magically make someone a great waiter, especially if this is their first waiting job.”

“That’s rough, sweetpea, I’m sorry.” 

“Is it bad I don’t think he’ll last long?” sympathy laced her tone. 

“Not at all, and from the sounds of it, that seems likely,” he shrugged one shoulder and started the car. Pushing the parking brake down, he shifted into reverse before pulling out of the parking lot and on to the main street leading to her studio. 

“Yeah,” she pulled her lips into her mouth, looking out the window. She had switched to the morning shift, paranoia suffocating her every night making her shifts much harder to get through without choking on her anxiety. And because no one else was willing to take the night shift, they had to hire another waiter. And apparently, for god knows why, they just had to hire one with no experience. And just had to make y/n train him. A form of punishment, she’s sure. “How was your day?” she looked back to him, eyes trained on his side profile. 

“Mm, fine. Uneventful as normal. Just waited around for,” he met her eyes in the rearview, “Mr. Styles,” she looked down at her hands, picking at her over bitten cuticles, dried blood staining her nail beds. “He had another meeting with Mr. Horan,” she nodded slowly. Niall hadn’t even come into the diner. They both had disappeared. 

The drive was short, it always was. Soon enough, she was thanking him, like usual, and running up the stairs to her apartment. Unlocking the door, she could hear the bells she had attached to the door handle on the inside sing loudly. It was annoying, but with where her mind had been the past month, she deemed it necessary. Kicking her shoes off, she plopped on her chair, rolling her neck from side to side trying to alleviate the tension. 

After her third morning shift, she had started to regret asking to be taken off nights, she had no clue what to do in the middle of the afternoon. When she’d get off around ten, she would come home and get ready for bed and watch a show or scroll through tiktok until she’d be half asleep with the phone slipping from her grasp. It was a routine she’d been used to for about eight months, but developing new routines and sticking to them was not her strong suit. 

Getting off this early highlighted how alone she felt. It got dark around 4:30 and winter was creeping in. Her seasonal depression started to settle in, making a home in the cavity of her chest. 

+++

Harry sat across from Niall in his home office, sitting back in his expensive Italian leather chair with his leg crossed over his knee. He rarely ever hosted meetings in his home, never trusting anyone enough to invite them in, but Niall was entirely different. He managed to snake his way into Harry’s life; calling and texting him at all hours of the day, inviting him to attend church with his wife and two daughters or out to play a game of golf. Harry was suspicious about the amount of communication and invitations, but learned that Niall was one of the friendliest men he’d ever come across, and eventually accepted an invitation to a game of golf. That was entirely a bad idea, however, since Niall was practically glued to Harry’s side ever since. 

He had even told him about what happened with y/n, to which Niall prompted him to just come clean to her about how he felt. But of course, it wasn’t that simple. If it was, Harry would’ve done that the moment he saw his sweet girl shed a tear. They never spoke about it after Harry yelled at Niall to stop meddling. 

“Who do you think did it?” Harry asked the blue eyed brunette, referring to a shootout that happened at a Motel 6 twentyseven miles from where they were meeting. Motel 6’s were notorious for drug dealings, though Harry never dared to step foot near one. 

Niall shrugged, “could’ve been anyone, really. But I’m sure it had something to do with Justus. He’s always down there, creepin’ around,” a scowl graced his gentle face. 

Harry brought his fingers to rest on his mouth, tapping a finger on the skin above his lip and raising an eyebrow at the man's theory, “Hm, Justus, aye?” Niall nodded. “ ‘S a possibility, he loves his motels. Who else could’ve been down there, though? Couldn’t have just been a deal gone wrong, he had to have stepped on someone’s toes.”

“Well, it-” Niall cut himself off, perking up as he put the pieces together in his head, “Payne. It was fucking Payne, god that prickhead.”

“Niall, that name holds no significance with me, who is that?” 

“Liam Payne,” Niall answered, leaning forward, “terrible prices, terrible stock, always lacing whatever he’s able to get his hands on to sell for less,” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Laced a batch of coke with fent and killed twelve people but of course, being who he is, no one ever ratted him out. Hells gonna swallow him whole rightfully so.”

“Hm,” Harry hummed out, “let’s hope he makes his way up here,” a grin took over his features. Niall stared at him in confusion. 

“Why’s that? Don’t want him anywhere near me, if ‘m bein honest.”

“Well, you won’t have to deal with him. I’ll happily take care of him.” 

Niall gulped, “I don’t know Harry, he’s shitty but,” he paused, trying to think of the right phrasing, “powerful. Very powerful.”

Harry’s grin widened, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, “and I’m not?” he retorted. Niall shook his head, chuckling, knowing where Harry was headed. “Like I said, I’ll happily take care of him.”

“Devious bastard.”

Niall and Harry said their goodbyes, one of Harry’s men walking him out. Harry sat in his office, alone again. He sat back in his chair, messing with the H and S rings on his left hand, his mind wandering to his little lamb, whom he hadn’t seen in far too long. He wondered if she thought of him, wondered if her thumb ever hovered over the call button under his name in her contacts like he had done with her. She consumed his thoughts daily. He’d ask Jax about how her day went and why she switched to the morning shift, to which Jax couldn’t answer truthfully as he didn’t even know. 

Papers scattered the desk in front of him, numbers, dollar signs and crossed out names on nearly every page. The amount of clutter on the desk made him restless, unable to think straight, but he couldn’t bring himself to organize it in any way. He’d begin to put things away but would quickly get overwhelmed with the amount of shit he had to file away. So, he just stared at the piles, his mind occupied by the girl he didn’t get a chance to know, by his own fault. 

He reached into his jacket pocket, reading the time, 4:37 pm, and his notifications, looking for one in particular. 

Jax D.

She’s home safe, area secured.

A small smile graced his lips, happy she was home safe and unharmed. He wished she would’ve told him instead, however. Wishing to hear the words fall from her pretty pink lips. He tapped at the screen to respond. 

Harry:

Good. Thank you. 

He set his phone down, his heart aching in his chest, missing his sweet little lamb. 

+++

“What are you doing tonight?” Ross asked y/n as she unlocked the front doors for the pair, she looked at him over her shoulder as she pulled the door open.

“Mm, probably nothing, I work tomorrow morning so I don’t really wanna do much,” she let him walk in before her, following him inside before locking the door behind them. “Why, what’s up?” she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Just curious, damn,” he held his hands up in surrender, she rolled her eyes and laughed at him. 

“Well, why are you curious?” The two made their way into the back room, setting their stuff in their designated lockers. She sat down on the bench, retying the shoelace that had come undone. He sat in front of her, legs on either side of the bench. 

“Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to do something cause I’m off tomorrow and I assumed you were too so,” he shrugged, staring at her as she sat across from him.

She looked up at him, mouth slightly agape. “Oh,” she nodded slowly. “What were you thinking?”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at him, “what did you wanna do?”

“Oh, I’m dumb, I thought you meant, like, what are you thinking,” he said in a scolding tone, she laughed. “But whatever you wanna do, we can see a movie or something.”

She nodded her head slowly, contemplating the idea. It wouldn’t be bad, she could get a blue and red icee, but she didn’t want to give up her daily alone time (with working in the service industry, she looked forward to that very much needed time). But with how melancholy she’d been feeling lately, the alone time became very depressing after an hour. 

“I’m down,” she smiled at him, a dimple cutting into her cheek. “What do you wanna see? The new Priscilla movie is out, I really wanna see that but we don’t have to watch that if you don’t want to,” she rambled. 

“That’s Elvis’ wife right?” She nodded, “I love Elvis,” she cringed. She had a deep hatred for him and his stupid voice and stupid hair. She vowed to never step foot in Vegas because of him. “Let’s do it. Check the times, do you wanna go after work so you’re not staying out too late?” 

“Oh yeah that’s actually perfect.”

He grinned back at her, “perfect. It’s a date.”

He got up before she had the chance to correct him; it was absolutely not a date. 

+++

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, buttoning up a crisp white shirt. He had returned home from his morning jog and worked out for a little over two hours before getting in the shower and readying himself for the day. No meetings planned, which he was thankful for. He just had to foresee a shipment coming in from Arizona, some of the finest coke he had ever seen was set to come in today and he didn’t trust anyone enough to not tamper with the sweet white powder. Jax, Daniel and Lee met him in the hallway, ready to take him to the warehouse, while the rest of his men were already on their way. 

“Morning, Mr. Styles,” one of the burly men greeted him, Harry didn’t bother to respond to the greeting, instead looking to Jax to inquire about his angel. 

“She was dropped off at 5:45 this morning, I watched her go inside with the new waiter. She texted me she doesn’t need a ride home but I’ll still check the area out when she’s set to be off,” Harry’s neck almost snapped with the way he turned so quickly.

“What? Did she say why she doesn’t need a ride home?”

Jax shook his head, “She didn’t, sir.”

“Show me the texts,” he stopped in his tracks, his hand reaching out, waiting for the phone to be placed in his palm. Jax hesitated. Harry narrowed his eyes at him becoming impatient. “Show me the texts, now.” Jax reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone and tapped on the screen before handing it over to Harry. 

Y/n 🐇☁️

Ross said he can give me a ride today:) love u see u in the morning

Harry reread the message four times over, his heart caught in his throat. He turned the screen off and gave the phone back to Jax, turning on his heel to walk out to the car. He settled in the backseat, Lee next to him, while Jax and Daniel sat in the front. 

He sat staring out the window, the car not even moving yet. His breathing rapid, his heartbeat similar to one of a rabbit getting caught in the grip of a hawk. 

He broke the uncomfortable silence, “Is Ross the new waiter?” Jax nodded, nonverbal. “He seems interested in her?” Again, the man nodded, not daring to say anything more thinking it would just piss him off further. But Harry wasn’t angry, he was more hurt than anything. He knew he had no right to be upset in any way, afterall he walked out on her, but it still didn’t sit well with him. “What time is she set to be off today?” He turned, looking at the man in the passenger seat. 

“Scheduled off at 2:30, but depends on if she’s finished with her tables. She's still training the new waiter so it could be longer than that. She said he’s not very good,” Jax threw the last bit in there to appease Harry. It worked. 

“You’ll switch cars for the day, you can take the beemer, I want to see her make it home safe.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

+++

Y/n and Ross made their way out of the diner, headed to his beat up little car (he swore it was the coolest “ride” and that the ladies “loved” it). He would take y/n home so she could change and lend him one of her oversized shirts, offering him that after they made the plan to go right after work thinking he’d be uncomfortable in a food stained sweater. He declined the offer at first but after he spilled a copious amount of coffee and syrup on him, he asked if it was still on the table.

Harry and Jax sat in the heavily tinted Beemer watching the pair as they walked out of the double doors and into the piece of shit, as Harry put it. He was fuming, his foot tapping against the carpeted mats of the car as he clenched his jaw, Jax thought he was closing to breaking a few teeth or the mandible all together. The two men followed them as they made their way to y/n’s. 

Harry hadn’t been in this area in a week's time; he had been following Jax in that very car, watching to make sure she was actually making it safe to her little home.

He watched as he parked his car on the street, and watched as they walked up the stairs and stood at the door for him to unlock it. That made him even more angry, how was she so comfortable with a man she barely knew to allow him in her apartment? 

The chiming of bells rang through her apartment as she pushed open the door. 

“Bells?”

She nodded, “I’m a girl living alone, kinda a necessity,” she shrugged, setting her keys down. “Thirsty?” He shook his head. 

“Ya know something’s really gotta be done about that.” She looked at him, a confounded look on her face. 

“What?”

“Like women are scared to live alone, that’s, like, really shitty. And pads and tampons should be free.” She stared at him, her head cocked to the side before shaking her head and approaching her dresser. 

“I have a few sweaters you can borrow too if you’re cold,” she reached into her pajama drawer and pulled out an old Jimi Hendrix shirt she had purchased at a record store from her hometown years ago. The neckline was fraying and the graphic design was barely dark enough to where it was easy to make out.  

“Yeah, I’ll take one if that's alright,” he smiled at her, holding the t-shirt up in front of him. “Do you actually like Hendrix or is this just like a hand-me-down?” 

She rolled her eyes, going through the bin of sweaters she had, trying to find one that would actually fit his lanky, but tall, frame. “Yes, I actually like him, asshat. I have Are You Experienced on vinyl,” she nodded her head to the turntable that sat in the corner, near her bathroom door. A collection of vinyl growing dust sat on the bottom shelf of the stand it sat on. 

“Damn my bad, cupcake.” She hated that. She hated how he called her ‘cupcake’ or ‘sweetie’. She hated how it sounded, hated how it made her feel, hated how degrading it was. She handed him a plain gray sweater, saying nothing, not making eye contact. “Thanks,” he took it from her, his hand grazing hers in an unnecessary manner. Without warning, he pulled his shirt over his head and fumbled with the t-shirt she had handed him. He was just standing in her room basically half naked. 

“Oh,” she said, turning around and facing the opposite of him. He laughed from behind her. She wished she had chosen her alone time. Or at least asked to see the movie later in the day as she was going on nine hours of being with the boy. 

“I’m decent now.” She turned to face her dresser again, filing through her shirt drawer looking for a long sleeve to wear under her sweater. Even with the chilly fall weather, movie theaters cranked their ac all the way up. “I’m gonna change in the bathroom,” she shut the door after getting the last word of her sentence out, thankful to have a moment to herself. 

While she was undressing her upper half, she heard a pounding on the door, the bells clanking against the wood. “Hey are you okay?” she shouted.

“Yeah,” he yelled back to her, “there’s some guy at your door, should I open it?”

Some guy? She couldn’t think of anyone who would drop by randomly on a Tuesday afternoon, other than Jax but he knew she didn’t need a ride so it couldn’t have been him, right? 

“Gimme a sec,” she tugged her long sleeve over her head and opened the bathroom door, pulling her hair out of the neckline. 

She covered the eyehole for a moment before briefly looking into it, but someone was covering the other side of it. She glanced back at Ross, shrugging her shoulders, silently asking what she should do. 

“Here, I got it,” he approached her and she stepped back to give him some space. He cracked the door open slightly, just enough space for his head to be visible from the other side. “Hey can I help you?” 

The door was pushed open, Ross groaning at the force from the man on the other side. Harry stomped his way in the apartment, looking around the space before his eyes landed on her. His gaze softened. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. 

“Dude, you can just fucking come into someones house man,” Ross said from behind him. Harry rolled his eyes, turning to face the significantly smaller boy. 

“Don’t fucking call me dude, who the fuck are you?” Harry yelled as he approached him, towering over him and backing him into the wall.

Ross swallowed, his back hitting the brick wall. “I-uh, who are you?” he retorted, Harry chuckled. 

“What are you doing here?” y/n spoke up, taking a step closer to him. Harry turned, locking eyes with her again. 

He didn’t have an explanation that didn’t make him sound insanely jealous and possessive of someone who wasn’t even his. “I, y/n, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I’m sorry.”

“Can we go outside for a second?” Harry nodded, his hand on the doorknob waiting for her to come with him. He closed the door behind him. She didn’t say anything, a sad look on her face.

Harry’s hand twitched beside him, wanting so desperately to pull her into him to hold her or even to touch her cheek again. She poked at the chipped nail polish on her nails. 

“I still haven’t made any banana bread,” she broke the silence. A smile made a home on Harry's lips. 

“Hmm, that’s exactly why I came, how’d you know?” she smiled up at him, a gleam in her eyes. Harry’s smile wavered. His hands twitched again, his subconscious begging him to run, begging him to stay far away from the sweet angel that stood in front of him. 

“ ‘S just a guess,” her head dipped down again, her arms coming to wrap around her torso as the autumn air nipped away at her. 

They stood in silence for a moment, none of the two knowing what to say after weeks of no contact. Harry felt he couldn’t ask her about the morning shift or about the things Jax has told him about her life recently; he wasn’t invited into that part. Rather, he uninvited himself to that part of her life when he sent he Jaxs information then proceeded to go back and forth with blocking and unblocking her number. 

“We’re going to see Priscilla, it starts pretty soon.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Didn’t know you were an Elvis fan.”

“I’m not,” she was quick to disprove the claim, “it’s not about him, it’s about his child bride.” Harry chuckled. 

“Hm, I’m not too fond of the ‘Viva Las Vegas’ bastard either,” she smiled, wryly. “I’ll head out then, I hope you enjoy your night,” he turned on his heel, she followed behind him, meeting him at the stairs.

“Harry,” he turned, surprised with how close she was. “If you’d like, um, you can come over after I get home.”

“I’d love to,” he grinned at her. 

“Harry?” They were so close to each other. 

“Yes?”

“You promise you’ll come back?” His heart broke, practically shattered at that. He shook his head fervently. 

“Yes. Yes, y/n, I’ll come back once you tell me to.”

“I’ll see you soon, Harry.”

“I’ll see you soon, y/n.”

Harry descended down the stairs, she stayed in her spot, peering over the railing to watch him walk away. She hoped he’d keep his promise. The front door to her apartment creaked, Ross peeking his head out, warily. 

“He gone?” she nodded, heading back into her space. “Who was that? He’s scary as shit, cupcake. How do you know him?” he asked, bewildered by the mysterious man who practically burst into her home. 

“Ya know that friend who owes me a favor?” He nodded. “That’s him. He’s kinda temperamental, I’m sorry,” a pursed smile was sent to him as an apologetic gesture. 

“Kinda is an understatement, sweetheart.” There it was again. A nickname coated in degradation. One she hated coming from him, but if Harry or Jax had said it, it would absolutely be and feel different. 

“Are you ready to go, I’m sure we’re gonna miss all the trailers and you know what’ll happen if I don’t get my blue and red Icee.” she joked. 

“First, I truly doubt something bad is going to happen to the county of Placerville and second its blue raspberry and cherry. Not blue, not red.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. 

“Yeah whatever, let’s go dipshit.” His laugh boomed through the room as she picked her keys off the counter. 

+++

Y/n was sobbing. Her heart caught in her throat as Elvis was forcing Priscilla to pack a bag to take to her parents after she confronted him about finding a love note in his jacket pocket. He was terrifying and the movie just reinforced how poorly she thought of the beloved singer. 

A hand grazed her knee, finding a place on her thigh. She was stunned, not daring to move her leg in any way. The thumb moving from side to side, a reassuring gesture, sure, but coming from someone she didn’t think of in any way other than a coworker; it was unwanted, unjustified. She swallowed back the acid building in her throat and reached for her watered down Icee, sipping on the cool liquid. She still hadn’t moved the hand and she wouldn’t for the remainder of the film, far too scared of potential consequences.  

A flood of relief washed over her when the movie ended and the lights returned. A halo of light above their heads woke the sleeping boy next to her.

He stretched out, “ ‘s over?” she nodded. 

“I take it you weren’t a fan?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think I was the target audience,” he shrugged, “you liked it?”

She nodded, “I loved it.”

They stood from their seats and headed for the exit, she tossed her melted Icee remnants and popcorn before they exited the building entirely. It was completely dark out and pouring. They ran to his car, trying to outrun the downpour embracing them. 

Silence covered them as they sat in the car, the heater spat out cold air before finally heating the space to a more comfortable temperature. He put the car into reverse and sped out of the parking lot. Soft indie music played through the speakers, no artists y/n had particularly liked but she wouldn’t complain as she wasn’t the one driving. 

His hand found a home on her thigh again, higher than the previous unwanted gesture was. She glared down at it for a moment before grabbing his hand in between her thumb and pointer finger, moving it so it sat on the gear shift instead. He chuckled. 

“Sorry, thought it was fine since,” he turned to glance at her before looking back out the windshield, “you didn’t move it earlier.” 

She stared at her hands in her lap, swallowing the saliva building up in her mouth. “I, um,” she pulled her lips into her mouth for a moment, “I’m not really interested in you like that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” he took a sharp breath, before laughing. “I’m really bad at reading people. I’m sorry, I got the wrong idea.” Relief washed over her. 

“No don’t worry, I’m also extremely passive and I can’t really express myself like I should, I don't know.” 

“Well, it's both our faults then,” he smiled at her and she sent one right back. 

Harry watched as he put his car into park, having made it back to her apartment complex before them as his car went much faster than his beat up civic. He watched as y/n reached over the middle console to hug the boy and watched as she got out to ascend the stairs. Now he would simply wait to get a text to invite him up. 

Y/n opened the door, greeted by her bells, and flicked on the lights. She ran around her studio, trying to tidy up quickly, and lit a pumpkin spice candle before running into the bathroom to take a quick shower, desperate to wash the rain scent off her (and Ross’ lingering touch).

Harry sat in his car, his fingers dancing along the dashboard impatiently as he wondered what was taking her so long. Naturally, his mind went to the worst case scenario; someone broke in and is holding her hostage or she fell and twisted her ankle and is screaming on the floor from the debilitating pain or-.

His phone chimed, her message casting a glow onto his face.

Y/n:

i’m home now you can head over whenever:)

His anxiety was alleviated from her text message, a confirmation of her safety and wellbeing. He immediately got out of his car, the warmth from the heated seats almost disappeared instantly with how cold and wet it was. And like her, he ascended the stairs to knock on the door.

On the inside, y/n was confused by the knocking, not realizing it was Harry with how quickly the knocking happened after she sent the text. She peered through the peephole and immediately opened the door, not wanting him to stay in the cold much longer. The bells on the handle sang.

“Bells?” She nodded. “Hm.”

“It’s a safety thing, I guess.”

“You don’t feel safe?” He stepped closed to her as she shut the door behind him.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t feel safe, I just wanted extra precaution,” she shrugged.

“If you don’t feel safe I’ll have Jax stay in the area and have hourly check ins or we can relocate you or-”

“Relocate? Harry, no it’s not that big of a deal I just wanted to be able to hear the door from the shower.” Harry glared at her. 

“Not that big of a deal? Y/n, your safety is a huge deal.” 

“Can we drop it? Please, I don’t want to talk about it,” she approached her bed and sat down, picking up a decorative pillow to mess with the trim. 

Harry sighed and sat next to her on the bed, moving her hair from her face. She looked at him, the glimmer in her eyes returning. The little voice in Harry’s head returned, even louder, shouting at him to leave her alone; to get out of there and never look back.

“We can drop it, but you need to tell me if you ever feel unsafe, little lamb, understood?” She nodded. “Y/n,” he said in a warning tone, “tell me you understand, please. 

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Yes, Harry, I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“How’d you get here so fast?” Harry froze, trying to come up with an excuse but blanking, just staring at her for a minute while his mind went a million miles an hour. “Harry?”

“I, I kinda just stayed in the parking lot while you were gone.”

She laughed. “No way, you waited more than two hours? Just sitting in your car?” he hesitantly nodded, a blatant lie.

He absolutely did not wait in his car outside of her apartment. He followed them to the theater, bought himself a ticket to the same movie, and sat at the very top with his head low, and watched them the entire time. He watched as her shoulders shook from crying, watched as she ate her candy and drank her Icee, watched when the boy she was with, whose name he never bothered learning, placed his hand on her lap. He watched them leave the theater with anger coursing through him. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Harry.” He shrugged, not caring to continue this conversation. 

“Why are you on mornings now?” 

She sighed, “I got scared,” her tongue was thick in her mouth, scared to cry again if it resulted in him leaving once more and ending contact for another month. His hand met her back, lightly rubbing the tender flesh beneath his rough hand. Her hands fumbled with the zipper on the pillow. “The night we met really freaked me out.  Like when you left, I swore someone was still here watching me. It was freaky. And the next morning I was so drained, I think that's why I forgot Jax was coming to get me. And then the time changed and I got even more scared cause I would just basically be working in the dark the entire shift and I don’t know I just psych myself out sometimes,” she ended her tangent, partially forgetting to breathe throughout it. 

Harry’s hand moved to tangle in her hair, slightly gripping the strands between his fingers, before removing his touch from her all together. 

“And you forgot your phone,” he joked, a soft smile on his lips. 

She pulled her lips in her mouth, exhaling a laugh through her nose, “and I forgot my phone.”

Silence dawned on them once more. A comfortable one, neither needing to speak as they basked in each other's presence. 

She scooted closer to Harry, her head making contact with his shoulder. Harry gulped at the contact, unsure of what to do with himself. His hand raised, touching her cheek gently. They sat there, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. A comfortable, blissful eternity. 

She had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breathing became evenly paced and softer. Harry laid her down under her sheets, and saw himself out after kissing her forehead and blowing out her candle. 

+++

Y/n was having an okay day, nothing bad had happened at work, so far. No rude customers, no shitty tips and best of all, no training needed to be done. So, yes her day was going well. Until she received a message from Harry saying they needed to have a talk and that he’ll be picking her up. He was consistent with punctuation, but the period at the end of his sentence horrified her. She was a sweaty, anxious mess her entire shift. 

She reread the message every ten minutes. Time was moving so slow. Her anxiety was eating away at her, like it had been starving for months and had finally found a body to ravage to satiate the hunger. She had four cigarettes during her shift. 

Harry leaned against the passenger door of his car, waiting for y/n’s shift to end. She could feel his eyes on her every time she passed by the window at the front to attend to her last table, she knew he was watching her; he was so attentive. It made her sick. 

When her shift finally ended, after what felt like an eternity and a half, y/n pushed the doors open and made her way to Harry. He looked down at her with a smirk. She hoped he couldn’t see her throat bobbing while she swallowed down the excess saliva building in her mouth. 

“Ya kept me waiting, little lamb.” he opened the car door for her and she could feel her coworkers staring out the window at the pair. 

“‘M sorry.” She sat on the heated seat, placing her bag on the floor between her feet. Harry leaned over her to connect her seatbelt. “Thank you,” she muttered before Harry closed the door. 

“How was your shift?” he asked as he buckled himself in. 

“S’fine.” she mumbled. 

“Angel,” her heart pounded against her sternum, you could practically hear her heartbeat in the silence. “What have I told you about mumbling?”

She bit her lip, gnawing on it before answering. “You don’t understand it.” she practically whispered.

“That’s right, little lamb. Now, why do you keep doing it?”

She could cry, sob and dry heave even. Fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness as if she had angered a god. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.” she fiddled with her fingers. Harry’s hand grabbed her own and pinched the inside of her palm, a squeal escaping her lips. He laughed. 

“Don’t apologize, ‘m just messing with you,” he smiled at her as he parked his car, already at her complex. He was quick to undo his seatbelt and get out, running to her side to open the door for her. “After you.” he gestured to the stairs, allowing her to go in front of him. 

She opened the door, her bells greeting the two. She stood by the door as Harry took a seat in her chair (it finally was free of clean clothing).

“Can you tell me what you want to talk to me about? Please?”

“Eager?” she nodded. 

“More scared than anything.” her breathing was heavy. 

“Oh, my sweet lamb.” remorse covered his face, so sorry and upset he had made a literal angel wait in apprehension. He stood from his spot on the chair and moved to stand before her. Without hesitation, he held her face in the palm of his hand, her nuzzling into the warmth of his touch. “I’m sorry I scared you, didn’t mean to, angel.” 

“S’okay, Harry, I know.” 

“Sit with me,” he removed his hand from her face, instead reaching for her hand to sit with him on the chair. He sat and patted his lap, an invitation for her. 

“There’s not enough space for the both of us.”

He tugged on her arm, “s’fine, just sit.”

“Harry, that chair is 100 years old, I’m not breaking my favorite antique piece.” 

“Y/n,” his tone laced with warning. 

“Harry,” she whined back. “Just sit on the bed with me please.” she pouted. 

And, of course, Harry would give in, standing up with her hand still in his and sitting on the bed to please her. Their thighs were touching with the proximity of their bodies, y/n hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat or feel the sweat coating her palm. 

“Can you tell me now, please.” she rested her head on his shoulder, Harry could hear her pouting as she spoke. 

He sighed, squeezing her hand in his. “I feel very,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts so as to not scare her with how he truly felt. “I feel very protective of you, y/n.” 

“Wow that’s a shocker,” she interrupted, sarcastically. 

“Y/n” he warned, again. 

“Sorry. Go ‘head.” 

“No interruptions, please.” she nodded, “Good girl.” she grinned, “I feel very protective of you and I thought leaving you alone would make it not as intense but it definitely only made it worse, angel. I just, I need to know you’re safe and okay and I have no idea why but I just need to know. Your safety means so much to me, your wellbeing.” he swallowed, taking in a shaky breath. “I need to tell you, or warn you, about what I do.” 

She lifted her head, making eye contact with him, a puzzled look replacing her previously smitten expression. 

“I kinda sell drugs.” Still, she maintained eye contact. He looked at her, waiting for a response. 

“Is that it?” 

“What?” Harry asked, confused. 

“You sell drugs?” he nodded. “Oh okay.”

Still, Harry stared at her, bewildered by her nonchalant response. “You’re okay with that?” 

“Harry, there’s like ten people in this town with nothing to do, literally everyone deals or buys. Not a big deal.” she shrugged a shoulder, her fingers messing with his rings. 

Still, he stared at her, his expression growing concerned. “It’s not just weed, y/n.” She laughed, his eyes were bulging, his jaw slack and a furrow in his brow. 

“I can assume it’s not just weed, you won’t be making much with just weed here.”

“Your casualness with what I’m telling you is concerning.”

Her smile faded, “I'm sorry, what do you want me to say?”

He ran his hand through his hair, dropping his gaze to their hands entwined. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you to be so calm.” 

“I used to do coke,” she shrugged. Harry’s eyes snap to hers, squeezing her hand a little more. “I had really bad issues maybe, like, last September. It was really bad, the withdrawals were insane but one of my friends' brothers had, um,” she swallowed down the acid building in her throat. "He got some laced with fent and he passed. My friend only got worse because of it and the guy who sold him it didn’t even care, he was just like ‘well that happens sometimes’, such a fucking asshole like he had just killed someone and that didnt even spark anything in him! I stopped after that cause I was so scared,” she admitted. “My friend never got better, he had to move in with his parents and they forced him to go to rehab but that didn’t even help.” 

“I’m sorry.” was all Harry could offer. 

She looked up at him through her lashes, “I trust you, Harry. I do. But if you’re selling anything laced,” she shook her head, her breathing picking up. 

“I’m not, angel I promise I’m not, I’d never.” he let go of her hand, placing both hands on the sides of her face, forcing her to look at him.

“If you ever work with Liam Payne I’ll kill you.” He laughed at her threat, the name going over his head at the idea of a girl her size trying to cause harm to a man of his stature. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m being serious, Harry. If you ever work with him I’ll never wanna see you again. Liam is a terrible person. I don’t want you to get involved in that too.” 

He deadpanned, “Liam Payne?” she nodded. “How do you know him?” 

“Who do you think sold the laced batch?” Harry was furious. He removed his hands from her face, standing up and letting out a frustrated groan. “What’s wrong? Do you know him?” 

“No,” he responded immediately. “Never met him, Niall was telling me about him. There was a shootout the other day and we think it was him, probably was that stupid fuck. He could be the reason we fucking get caught! Fuck!” he shouted, the girl flinched, her gaze returning to her hands. 

“I'm sorry I brought it up, I didn't mean to make you mad at me.” 

He stared at her, his breathing heavy. She couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t dare to make eye contact with him out of fear of him taking it out on her. She knew deep down, however, he would never lay a finger on her; never cause any harm to her whatsoever. But the thought was still prevalent. 

“ M'not mad at you, never at you, little one. Look at me,” she looked up at him, her eyes meeting the green ones she adored. He sat back on the bed, taking her face in his hands one more. “not at you at all. Promise.” she nodded, grabbed his hands from her face and nuzzled her face into his neck, her hands gripping his jacket. “I’m sorry for scaring you, won't do it again.” he apologized as he rubbed her back. 

“Thank you.” she kissed the side of his neck, momentarily feeling his pulse with her lips. Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest. 

Harry wished he could stay like that forever, with her warmth against his, her face nestled in his neck. Peace was finally in his grasp, holding onto it so delicately like a fine piece of china, far too scared to drop it and destroy the delicate art, but it was never in his nature to be deft. He’d take what he could get, and if this was all he would be offered, he would accept it with open arms and a half empty heart. He longed to be full again.

and know that one day, you and I could be okay.

tags: @tiaamberxx @jerseygirlinca @n0vaj3an @tpwk-mia @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921 @love-letters-to-uranus @ribbonknives @annesauriol @moneybaby07

if your @ is in red the tag doesn’t work. thanks for reading and supporting ₊˚⊹♡

[swords-of-a-soilder]

“And, what are you Philza?”

Missa had heard from his own son that a deity Name Rose has been watching over them, He then hears from Phil that he was reached out to another God before. That sparks the question "what are you?"

Missa rocked his legs back and forth as he sat on the edge of the tree house, with an anxious face he stared down at the Structure below him.

A kizbo of sorts surrounded by pilers, literal with roses. Mainly he focused on the floating chest in the center, that aperrantly served as a communication route.

He hadn't spoken to the deity yet, he was terrified of accidental offending her, he much rather thought his words out before Putting anything in the chest.

He would soon take note of Phil's approaching footsteps, though he wouldn't turn to meet him; Phil soon seated himself next to Missa, observing the worry look on his partner's face.

"So, this is probably a lot right now." Phil started, "If you have any questions I'd be more than happy to assist!"

Missa keep his gaze on the chest, in regards to questions he had many; he honestly wasn't even sure where to start but feared his silence would worry Phil.

Thus upon hearing Phil let out an patience sigh, he felt compelled to say something. "Who.. Who is she?" He finally asked

"Right, I'm going to simplify this for you." Phill began

"ok?"

"Rose is my Spawn entity, I was reincarnated into that world after I died in my previous one." He leaned forward clasping his hands as he too stared down at the chest. "And I wasn't sure if it was real to be honest; I thought those spaces in-between were just dreams, but her and the um end king found me so.."

"And the End king is another deity?"

"Not a good one."

"oh?!" Phil would regret mention the End kings name, once he noticed the fear in his partners voice.

"But you don't have to worry about that," he clearifided, "Rose will protect us."

"Ok.. and what did you mean by in-between spaces?"

"in-between worlds..the..where I..where Rose spawned me, they were different layers that lead between different worlds and.. how do I break this down.."

Missa finally looked up at Phil, he'd observed him seemingly rock his brain for a quick explanation. Eventually Phil pulled his backpack closer and ramaished through it, he then pulled out a tres leches cake.

"Ok, so." He pointed to the top of the cake, "imagine this is where I spawned, even though I exist up here I can still go," he moved his finger back and forth between the other layers, "between the other layers through void rips and the entities they can go wherever they want basically."

"Mm si.." Missa agreed, "and how did you get there?"

"Missa, Rose spawned me in."

Missa regret his choice in words once he picked up on the slight annoyance in Phil's tone, he didn't mean to make him repeat himself, it was just difficult to find the right words.

"I mean, why, for what reason did Rose put you there?"

"oh," he relaxed his muscle, "well I died in my old world, I guess she wanted to give me a second chance, it wasn't the first time something like that happen." Phil broke of a layer of the tres leches cake then hand it off to Missa, whom appected it grateful.

Phil tilled his head as he thought briefly to himself, "that's not that strange right? We respawn here."

"yes but, you come back as yourself in the same world you died in and they're circumstances where you just won't come back." Missa explained.

He then broke a piece of the cake which he popped in his mouth, "Sólo estoy tratando de entender las reglas". He explained with a full mouth.

Phil shurgged his shoulders, then processed to pick at the remainder of the cake. "It's pretty much the same, just over different worlds."

"you don't even have any childhood memories, Cellbit Y bagi Crecieron en esta isla, ¿Qué pasa contigo?"

"I don't really have any childhood memories." Phil explain, his eyes slowly swing to the opposite direction, it was clear he was uncomfortable with the direction of the questions.

Missa had half a mind to drop the conversation all together, but as much as he loved his husband he knew nothing of him, where he came from, why he came here; If he was allowing questions this would be the best time to ask right?

"Philza, please take no offense to the question I'm going to ask." Missa requested

Phil released a nervous chuckle, "um..ok?"

"What excalty are you?"

"What do you mean..?" He adjusted his position to sit upright, "I'm a bird mate, birdman, crow Father whatever those fuckers." He pointed to the crows seated in the branches about him. "Call me."

Missa stared at the crows briefly before turning his attention back to Phil; annoyance now painted Phil face, yup he was certainly sleeping in the petting zoo this time. "I think what I meant to ask was, Where did you originally come from?"

Phil's face went through a sequences of emotions, from annoyance to curiosity, then to confusion and horror as he became awear of one painful fact.

"You don't have to answer, don't worry about it. Lo siento, fue una pregunta extraña."

"I don't know..." Phil finally answered, "I've just always existed, I've never thought about it.."

'Ay dios mío, I married a God', Missa thought to himself as he processed Phil statement, of course Phil called it reincarnation but to have no memory of a childhood and just existed in different times, then he was more akin to a God than someone who just happened to remember his past lives.

A rather tragic God at that, if he couldn't remember his origins, but no normal being just exist without any memory of where they came from.

"is that unusual?" Phil inquired

"Ah, I just wanted to know." Missa successful dodge the question, "we're married and I don't know anything about you, it's not fair you know haha.."

Phil stared at his partner, it was true he knew very little of him and even after Missa had told him so much about himself, why he frequently went on journeys who he was before that.

Yet the only explaination Phil had for himself was, he always existed; he couldn't help but feel awful for his unsatisfactory answer. He leaned forward letting he arms rest in his lap, he himself then glared at the floating chest below them.

"You should talk to Rose, I want you to meet her." Phil attempted to change the subject.

"ha, I'm really worried I'm gonna offend her." Missa admitted, he couldn't help but feel this was like meeting the parents, and if that's true then he really didn't want to fuck up.

"Nah mate, Rose is really hard to offend, she'll love you.. I'm sure of it." Phil ended with a sad smile.

They sat there a little longer, feeling the cool wind as well as Indulging on the sweet smell of roses; perhaps he'd ask Rose for advice on how to communicate better with his husband.

[hythlodaes]

and then came june - part two

emile/leofard 18.4k words [read on ao3] explicit summary: leofard invites emile to spend the fourth of july with him and his friends, surely everything will stay the same between them <3

Chapter Two - Summer

A year from now, Leofard won't know Emile anymore. 

From strangers to lovers, to something more but never clear, until the end—there isn't a word to define the way they move into each other's lives, or how the edges blur between them. It's something like chemistry, like connection, like the sound of Emile's laugh still ringing in his ears. It will always be the memory of his brown eyes in the morning, the weight of his body on his, each kiss they steal from a relationship that will never be. 

It could be love. It could look a lot like love, but if you asked Leofard right now, all he would say is, He's my friend. 

And someday friend won't be enough, but—

—

"Are you going home this summer?" 

It's the first thing either of them have said in some time—they're in Leofard's bed, and Emile lays on his chest, warm skin against warm skin. They trade idle touches and soft, relaxed breaths while music plays and the afternoon blurs one hour into the next. The light stretches on as the days get longer, and with the semester over and nowhere to be, Leofard loses track of time. 

He's in no rush to get up. 

"I'm not sure yet," Emile says in answer to his question, the words half muffled against him. "I usually try to find time to visit, but I'll be busy with football all summer." 

Leofard hums in response, and Emile tilts his head back, hair tickling his chest in the process. He looks up with those brown eyes and asks, "What about you?" 

Leofard lets out a half-laugh. "This is my home."

It isn't entirely true—Raimille left him her apartment in New York. It's where he lived with her when she adopted him, and for nine years it was the closest thing he’d ever felt to home. He hasn't been back since she passed, but he plans to move there when he graduates and make it his own. 

For now it's still hers, and like everything of hers, it's difficult to face. 

Emile shifts, getting up onto one elbow, and looks down at him with a question in his eyes. Leofard holds his gaze but doesn't offer him an explanation. What could he say? I have no one to go home to. He doesn't feel sorry for himself, so he doesn't want anyone else’s pity—especially not Emile's. 

But whatever Emile sees in him is enough, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips. When he pulls back, he smiles. "So we can keep hanging out this summer?" 

Leofard matches his grin, reaching up to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear. "Yeah, baby. Me and you."

—

Stacia gets an internship at a local HR company, so she stays on campus as well. Leofard doesn't see her as much since she leaves early in the morning and is gone until the evening, but they still have weekends together, and sometimes he'll wake up early enough to catch her at breakfast.

This morning he barely restrains a yawn as he pours himself a cup of coffee. He would sleep all morning if he let himself, so he likes having a reason to get up. They don't even talk at first—he pulls out one of his car magazines while she races to finish her cereal. 

"By the way," she says, mouth full. "Emmanellain asked us if we want to spend the Fourth with them again."

It's something they've done the past couple years—Emmanellain and his boyfriend rent a house on the beach and invite a whole bunch of their friends down for the Fourth of July. Usually it's just a reason to get drunk together, but there's always music and fireworks, and Leofard likes to lay out in the sun. 

"Yeah, definitely," he says. "Will you have the time off?"

She nods. "They said it was okay if we wanted to invite more people, too."

"Who are you inviting?"

"No one," she says. "You are." 

He blinks at her. "What?"

"You should invite Emile," she suggests. "It would be fun."

"No," he says immediately, and to make his point, he looks back down at his article. It's just for show—he can barely focus on the words now that the suggestion is out there, but against his better judgment, he hopes that she'll let it go. 

She doesn't.

"Why not?" 

"Because he's not my boyfriend." He's said it so many times that it's starting to lose all meaning. "I don't know—wouldn't that be weird? Like 'hey everyone, here's the guy I'm sleeping with'!" 

She snorts. "Well you don't have to announce it." 

"He's probably busy with football stuff anyway." 

"There's no harm in asking," she says as she gets up, putting her bowl and mug in the sink. When Leofard doesn't say anything else, she tries: "At least consider it?" 

He crosses his arms as he leans back in his seat, all but pouting at her. "Have fun making coffee at the office today."

She rolls her eyes. “Asshole.”

—

The problem is, he lets himself imagine it—the sun shining down on Emile's bare chest, his long legs in a swimsuit, wet hair curving down his jaw, stray water droplets clinging to his freckled skin—and once that thought enters his mind, it's hard to let it go. 

He just doesn't know how to ask without making it weird. As much as he likes that they're actually friends, they still only hang out to have sex—that one time during finals being the exception. In the month since then, they've mostly gone back to normal. Emile hasn't stayed the night, he never told Leofard what was going on, and it hasn’t come up again. 

The only thing that's changed since they said goodbye that day is that they kiss whenever they want now. They kiss without intent. 

They kiss a lot. 

Leofard tells himself that it's just because it feels good. It's nice to lean over and press his lips to Emile's when he says something cute, when they greet each other at the door, when they say goodbye. Emile is always so warm, his body so inviting, it makes it hard not to touch him as much as he can. That's the point of this whole thing anyway, so why should he question it? 

Unlike Stacia, whose pointed looks only increase in severity. Leofard tries to ignore her. 

June passes faster than he thought it would. Summer means longer days, sunshine late into the evenings, it means freedom, sleeping with the windows open, and late night drives. Football practice and workouts take up a lot of Emile's time, but he comes over after, and they order takeout and they fool around and they stay up late talking, just like usual. 

Leofard keeps his job at the pizza shop, but it's pretty empty when the campus is quiet. They don't need him as much, and even when they do, he'll give his shifts to his coworkers and hang out with Emile instead—he only really likes to work when he has nothing else going on. It's a miracle that he hasn't been fired. 

Most of his days are spent tuning up his car or checking out local thrift stores. His collection of records grows over the weeks, and he finds a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt that instantly becomes a staple of his wardrobe. 

Today he drives across campus with the windows down, the wind blowing at his hair, sunglasses on. The sky is the perfect shade of blue, and big white fluffy clouds drift between the trees. He has his music turned all the way up, so he almost misses Stacia's call. 

"What's up?" he answers, putting her on speaker. 

“It’s like they just wanted someone to do all the shit they don’t want to," she starts. They're always somewhere in the middle of a conversation. "If someone asked me what I learned this summer, it's that I'm the only one in the office that can use these tiny Ikea wrenches."

He laughs. "Are you building something?" 

"New desk chairs," she answers. "They’re replacing all of them. I've been working for like two hours, and there has to be fifty more. I swear, my hands are going to fall off." 

"Do you want me to come help? I just happen to be an engineering student with spare time." 

She sighs. "No, it's okay. I just want to complain."

"Those bastards." 

"Thank you!" she says. "Anyway—distract me. What are you doing?" 

"Um. Well," he says, pulling into a parking lot. He looks up at the enormous building in front of him. "I'm venturing into the sports side of campus. Emile left his phone at the apartment last night." 

"And you're bringing it to him?"

He doesn't love the way her voice goes higher with the question. 

"Yeah," he says, getting out of his car. He glances around. He doesn't actually know where he'll be—as much as Emile talks about what he does during the day, Leofard has only been to the stadium to watch a few games. The whole complex seems so much bigger and more expensive compared to the rest of campus—the sidewalks are actually clean and the landscaping is carefully manicured between lampposts. He can't help but frown. “This school spends too much money on football.”

"Don't distract me from how cute you’re being right now," Stacia says. "Who would've guessed that you make such a sweet boyfriend?" 

"I’m not—," he cuts himself off with a sigh. "I'd do the same for you."

She laughs. "You literally haven't. And you know he'll just be back tonight, you could’ve waited."

"What if he gets a call before then?" he asks. "A very important call that he'll miss because I'm holding his phone hostage." 

"If that makes you feel better."

He catches voices calling somewhere in the distance, then a sharp whistle, and he follows the sound around the corner of the building. There's a track filled with dozens of boys, some running steadily, some sprinting ahead, and as he steps closer, he sees Emile among them. His hair is tied up and he's shirtless, sun shining across his sweat slick skin. He wears gym shorts that ride up with each long stride, and he tears across the track with ease. 

"I got to go, Stace," he says quickly. "I think I'm having a religious experience." 

He hears the echo of her laugh as he shuts his phone and walks up to the chain link fence that surrounds the training fields, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He feels a little out of place—he's never really been interested in sports outside of playing basketball with his friends after school—but he thinks he could get used to a sight like this. 

Emile notices him on the next lap, slowing his pace as his head tilts in question, and he jogs over. A stray piece of hair falls from his ponytail, and he tucks it behind his ear before he stops at the fence and puts his hands on his hips, catching his breath. 

"Now this is just unfair," Leofard says, gaze sticking for too long on the way his chest rises and falls in a rush. 

Emile laughs. "What are you doing here?" 

"You left your phone last night," he says, the excuse even weaker the second time around. "I wanted to drop it off." 

"You didn't have to," Emile says, but his expression softens. "Now I won't have a reason to come back over tonight." 

"Is that what this was?" 

"I can't say."

"You better come over." He gestures to Emile's body. "After seeing this? I’m going to bite you." 

Emile laughs even harder this time, and his chin dips in that shy way of his before he peeks up at him. He takes a step closer, one hand curving around the fence as he leans over it to kiss him. Something in Leofard's chest eases at the warmth of his mouth, the familiar taste of his sweat, the way he can tell he's still holding back a smile as he kisses him, and Leofard makes a quick attempt to deepen it, his hand on the back of his neck pulling him closer. 

Someone whistles behind them, and they break apart as Emile's teammates let out cheers. 

"Ignore them," Emile says, face even more flushed than before. 

Leofard looks over Emile's shoulder. None of them hide the fact that they're watching, and he laughs, almost embarrassed but mostly proud. When he looks back at Emile, he blurts out, "What are you doing for the Fourth of July?" 

Emile’s brows crinkle for a second in thought. “I’m not sure. We have a few days off but I don’t think I have plans yet—why?”

“A few of my friends rent a house on the beach every year,” he says. “You should come with us.” 

“You don’t think they'll mind?”

“Nah, there’s always a bunch of us,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

He smiles. “Okay, I'm in.” 

��

Leofard still hasn't finished packing by the time Emile comes over on the third—he hasn't really started, if he's being honest with himself. Emile comes in with a duffle bag over his shoulder and guitar case in his hand, and Leofard takes one look at him and has to hold back a laugh. 

"Are you going to perform for us?" 

"No," he answers immediately. "I don't know—I thought it could be fun to have around!" 

"If I ask nicely, will you play us Wonderwall?" 

"Depends on how nicely you ask." 

Leofard takes a step closer. "I can be very persuasive."

"Okay, none of that," Stacia cuts in as she enters the room, hauling her giant suitcase behind her. "Hi, Emile." 

"Hi," he returns, but his eyes stay on her bag. "I thought we were just going to be there for a couple of days."

She glances behind her. "Oh, yeah, of course! You just never know, right?"

Leofard raises a brow at her stiff laugh, and immediately turns to Emile. "She needs to overthink her outfits because V'kebbe will be there." 

"Leo, I swear to god." 

Emile's eyes light up. "Who's V'kebbe?"

"Don't answer that," she says, just as Leofard opens his mouth. Her expression pins him in place for a moment before she turns to Emile, "I had a class with her freshman year, and her best friend also happens to be friends with Leo, so we still see each other around. It's not a big deal." 

"And Stacia has a huge crush on her," Leofard adds. "Which everyone can tell is mutual, by the way."

"You don't know that," she says. "We're just friends." 

"Just friends," he repeats. He should give her more credit, it's fun being on this side of the teasing. 

"Yeah, Leo," she says. "Do you really want to go down that road?" 

Her gaze travels meaningfully to Emile, who blinks wide eyes at them in confusion. Leofard feels himself smile at him for a moment before he clears his throat. "I should finish packing."

He leaves them in the living room to fish his backpack out of his closet. They're only staying two full days, so it's not like he needs much, especially since he'll probably be in his swimsuit the whole time, anyway. While he packs, he can hear Emile and Stacia talking, just the sound of their voices carrying through the apartment, fragments of a conversation that warms his chest. He loves that his best friend gets along with the guy he—

The guy he's...well. 

He's happy they get along. 

It only takes him a few minutes to finish packing up, and they finally head out to the driveway, where he and Emile spend too long wedging Stacia's suitcase into his trunk. Emile puts their bags and his guitar in the backseat, and moves to get in beside it when Stacia speaks up.

"Oh no, Emile, take the front."

“I won't make you sit in the back,” he says.

“Do you even fit in the back?”

Leofard snorts. “He sure does." 

Stacia stares at him for a moment before rolling her eyes, while Emile sputters out a laugh, his cheeks burning red. Leofard bites down on a satisfied smirk as they get in his car. Emile does end up in the passenger seat, and the three of them argue over what music to play. It isn't until they reach the highway that they settle on a CD that Leofard burned in high school. 

There's something nostalgic about it, something like the past sitting alongside the present. He's sixteen again, he's twenty two, singing along to the All American Rejects over the roar of his car. All the while the sun shines down, that empty kind of brightness of July, and he reaches over to rest his hand on Emile’s thigh, fingertips brushing along his skin where his shorts run up. After a few minutes, Emile covers his hand with his own, holding it in place.

He keeps his gaze fixed on the road, but the corners of his lips raise. It's a rare thing for him to feel this content. 

They pull into a rest stop about halfway there, and Emile and Stacia head inside while Leofard fills the tank with gas. He follows a moment later, finding the two of them with all the snacks, loading up a basket in Stacia's hand. Emile meets his gaze over his shoulder and immediately smiles, eyes curving into half moons, and Leofard swears he stops breathing whenever he's on the receiving end of that look. 

"Do you want anything?" Emile asks. 

"I'll just share whatever," he says. "I'm going to grab drinks." 

He returns a moment later with three iced teas and a couple packs of beer. Stacia waves him over to a section towards the back, where her and Emile stand in front of brightly colored boxes, odd names all over them. Funky Monkey, Sea Serpent, Dragon's Tears. 

"Fireworks?" he asks, a slow grin spreading across his lips. 

He laughs as Emile holds up one shaped like a sword, eyes wide. "How does this even work?" 

"I think you light this end," Stacia says, pointing to the tip of the sword. "Let's just buy it and see." 

And this is why she's Leofard's best friend. 

They barely have any room left in the car, but they manage to cram everything in before continuing on. Their excitement has settled, so they hardly make a fuss about the music this time, and soon after they're back on the road, Emile dozes against the window while Leofard and Stacia carry on quiet conversation. 

The sun begins to angle a little lower in the sky by the time they get off the highway, warm and golden against the sporadic pine trees. With the windows down, they can smell the salt air of the ocean before they see it, driving through a small town that leads to interwoven gravel roads. 

The house they're staying at is right on the water. It's narrow but has two floors, covered in worn shingles that reflect the sun. The ocean sits bright blue behind it, and Jacke and V'kebbe are on the front steps, shoulder to shoulder. Both of them look over at the sound of Leofard's car approaching. 

V'kebbe gets up first, throwing her arms around Stacia as soon as she gets out of the car. She hugs Leofard next, and he looks over her shoulder at the blush on Stacia's cheeks as she bites down on a grin. He doesn't know how she doesn't see it. 

Jacke comes over a second later, clapping him on the back. "Hey, man, glad you guys could make it.”

"Hey," Leofard returns, and he looks over at Emile, who watches with a small smile on his lips. "This is Emile. Emile, this is Jacke and V'kebbe." 

"Thanks for having me." 

"We’re all just mooching off of Emmanellain," Jacke says. "He and Sicard are out grabbing a few things for dinner tonight, they should be back soon." 

V'kebbe grins. "We can show you around before then!"

"We also have to figure out who's sleeping where," Jacke says. "Someone ripped the air mattress, so we're one bed short. The couch is pretty comfy, but hell if you want to sleep in."

"Oh, Leo and I can share a room," Emile offers, just like that. Like it's easy. 

Leofard blinks at him for a second before he nods. "Yeah, no big deal." 

He catches the hint of Stacia's smile, but V'kebbe cuts in. "Come on, Emile, you should see the back deck." 

The three of them disappear into the house, but Jacke stays behind, turning towards him with a raised brow. 

”I know what you’re going to ask,” Leofard says. 

He turns back to the car to grab their bags, and Jacke helps him unwedge Stacia’s suitcase from the trunk before he says, “Finally settling down, Leo?”

"We're just friends,” he sighs out. He already knows this is a losing battle. 

“Well, Stacia and V’kebbe have the room with separate beds, so you’re about to get a lot closer.”

“I mean, we’ve already slept together,” he explains, grabbing Emile’s guitar and their bags from the back seat. "That's just all it is." 

They head inside, which opens to the kitchen and a hall that extends towards the living room and back deck, where Emile, Stacia, and V’kebbe are talking. It’s bright and clean and modern, with little details that scream, Don’t forget that you’re at the beach. 

“Listen,” Jacke says as they head upstairs. “I’m not judging—you do you. All I'm saying is that I’ve had friends with benefits before, but I can’t say I’d invite any of them on vacation.” 

“Have you seen him?” 

Jacke laughs, setting down Stacia’s suitcase at the door of her and V’kebbe’s room. “What does she think?”

Leofard rolls his eyes. “That we’re dating.”

“You know she’s always right.”

“Not this time,” he murmurs. 

Jacke gives him a look but doesn’t say anything else. He leaves Leofard to settle in at the room down the hall. It’s bright and faces the water, with a wide window across from the queen sized bed. Leofard puts down their bags as he looks around, letting his hand smooth over the soft blanket folded at the end of the bed. 

Emile pops in a moment later. 

"Hey," he says. "I hope that was okay." 

Leofard nods. "It's fine. I think I can handle a few nights next to you." 

He says it, but he has to take a breath at the memory of Emile’s arms around him that one morning. The warmth, the comfort—it’s never far from his mind. Maybe it’s dangerous to tempt that feeling again. 

Emile bites down on a grin. "Still—I don't want to make it weird for you in front of your friends." 

"I don't think they give a shit, baby."  

"Okay," he says. "Well, Stacia said they're going to start grilling soon, but you're not allowed near it." 

"What the hell?"

“I don’t know, she said you ruined dinner last year.”

"So what if the burgers were a little well done?" he grumbles. "I cooked those with love! No one in this damn house appreciates me.”

Emile giggles at him. “Come here.”

Leofard watches him for a moment, narrowing his gaze before he steps closer, and he doesn’t stop until they're a breath apart, chest to chest. Emile cups his face in his hands, tilting Leofard's head back to look up at him. Those big brown eyes crinkle at the corners, steady on him for too long, and Leofard's heart picks up a beat when he bends down to place a single kiss against his lips—there and gone again. 

"I would eat your burnt burgers, Leo,” he murmurs. 

Leofard laughs, pushing him away. "That's not a compliment, you would eat anything." 

"I’m just always hungry!” he exclaims. "Which—if they're going to start grilling, I think we should probably go back downstairs."

“Fine,” he returns. It’s hard to stop smiling. 

They head downstairs, where everyone has gathered on the deck. Emmanellain and Sicard are back, and Emmanellain wears an apron despite sitting on the railing off to the side, decidedly not cooking.

Jacke stands next to the grill, burgers sizzling over the flame, and he points the spatula at Leofard. "Don't even think about it."

"It wasn't that bad!" 

Stacia hands out beers while everyone properly introduces themselves to Emile. There’s a table and chairs but they all stand around eating before they make their way down to the beach, where the sun is just beginning to set, turning the sky pale orange shifting into pink. Jacke has them collect rocks for their makeshift fire pit while he grabs wood, and they set up their beach chairs in a circle around it. 

It's just nice to be with his friends, drinking on the beach until the sky turns dark and the stars spin above them. He sits across from Emile, and he keeps stealing glances at him, at the way the fire's glow hovers over his skin, the way he laughs, so easily getting along with his friends. 

They play truth or dare. It's stupid, and they're all a little tipsy, but it’s funny. Leofard ends up attempting a handstand that's only possible because Jacke and Emile hold his ankles up, Emmanellain tells a particularly compelling story about the time he got into a fistfight, and V'kebbe has to do an interpretive dance in silence, which she does with more flair than expected. 

When it's her turn to ask, she looks to Emile. "Truth or dare."

Emile glances around everyone with wide eyes before he settles on, "Truth." 

"Okay," V'kebbe says, and a long moment passes as she purses her lips in thought. The light reflects across her face, how she blinks a little slowly from the alcohol, but then she glances at Stacia and her lips curve into a grin as she asks Emile, "What’s your favorite thing about Leo?" 

Everyone around the fire makes a low sound. 

“Shit, why is this about me?” Leofard asks.

“Hmm,” Emile starts, and Leofard's stomach flips when he looks over, considering. “Let me think.”

Leofard digs his toes in the sand, cool and damp against his skin, against the fire's warmth, and beat after beat of silence passes. He huffs. “It can’t be that hard!” 

“Well give me a second!”

“Obviously it’s my sexy car, right?”

“Obviously,” Emile echoes, and he shakes his head, turning to V’kebbe. “No—I like how funny he is. He‘s always making me laugh.” 

Leofard has to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling, but he still feels his lips pull at the corners as he tucks his chin down. 

He hears Stacia snort. “He doesn't need to hear that."

"Hey!" He glares at her for a moment before looking back at Emile, who watches him softly. "Can you please make Stacia do something embarrassing?" 

"I have a better idea," she says. "Why doesn’t Emile play his guitar?”

"Oh, no," Emile says immediately. "That's okay. I don't—"

"You brought a guitar?” Emmanellain asks, perking up. “You have to play for us!”

"I only brought it just in case, I'm not trying to perform for you or anything." 

"Don't listen to him, he's literally a music major," Leofard says. 

Everyone’s voices overlap as they all try to convince him to play for them, and Emile glances around the fire with wide eyes, his protests getting weaker and weaker. 

He looks to Leofard. 

Leofard just tilts his head towards the house. "Come on, baby, we want to hear Wonderwall." 

He laughs. "Alright, but feel free to talk over me, please." 

Leofard watches as he carefully gets up and maneuvers around their chairs back towards the house, keeping his eyes on him until his silhouette disappears into the dark. When he looks back, everyone is staring at him.  

"What?" 

"Oh my god, Leofard," V'kebbe starts. "I can't believe you just showed up with a boyfriend without telling any of us. You guys are so cute, I'm going to be sick." 

His brows shoot up, and he tries to laugh it off. "Oh, it’s not like that between us." 

But he should know that this will only raise more questions. 

What does that even mean?

You literally called him baby. 

How long have you been together?

Where did you meet? 

Couldn't you find someone taller? 

Do you love him? 

"Hey!" Stacia's voice cuts in, and everyone quiets down. "Leave him alone. Even though we can all agree he’s being very dumb about the situation, it's my job to annoy him about it.”

Leofard offers her a grateful smile. 

“Okay everyone shut up, he’s coming back,” he says, just loud enough to be heard. The yellow light of the back deck outlines Emile's silhouette as he closes the door behind him, and they're all way too quiet as he makes his way back over. 

Emile doesn't seem to notice, he just smiles nervously at them as he settles back into his chair. His guitar is a darker stain of wood, and its gloss shines in the fire's light. He plucks idly at the strings with his long fingers, the sound clear and bright, and a moment later he forms a chord and begins to strum. 

Leofard laughs when he recognizes the progression. 

Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you.

Emile immediately looks up at him with a wide smile that leaves him breathless. Leofard can’t look away. 

"Okay," Emile says as he lets the sound ring out. "I'll play one song, but then you have to sing along." 

It's a classical piece—one that Leofard doesn't recognize, but it's intricate and pretty. He likes watching Emile's hands move over the strings, the way his brows pinch together as the song grows more intense, the way he relaxes at it softens. The music flows through him, an extension of the guitar, each note felt before it's heard. 

Leofard is too aware of each beat of his own heart, the breath he holds in his chest. Stacia catches his eye across the fire, and she watches him watch. He just shrugs a shoulder at her, keeping his face neutral despite the knowing look in her eyes. 

If he could, he would hide this desire even from himself. 

They clap when the song is over, and Leofard swears Emile’s cheeks burn red as he waves them all off. He plays a few songs after, ones that are easy to sing along to, and they're tipsy enough to get into it. Leofard doesn't really sing, but watching them settles something in his chest—this is his kind of home. 

And after, they put out the fire as they pack up for the night. Leofard's body feels heavy as he moves through the loose sand, stopping at the outdoor shower to rinse off his feet before heading inside. They all murmur soft good nights to each other and slip away to their rooms. 

Emile and Leofard wordlessly get ready for bed. They take turns brushing their teeth, and Leofard watches Emile strip down to his boxers, eyes lingering too long on his bare chest, the stretch of his thighs in the low light. He clears his throat. “Which side of the bed do you want?”

“Either side is fine,” Emile says. “Sorry if I end up in the middle anyway.” 

“As long as you don’t snore.” 

He smiles. “Just kick me if I do.” 

Leofard opens the window, letting in the sound of the ocean with the cool night air, and he gets in bed first, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin as he curls up on his side. Emile turns off the lights before joining him, and his long legs knock into his as he settles in, facing him in the dark. Neither of them shift apart. 

"Hey," Leofard says as his eyes adjust to the dark, blinking until he recognizes the shape of Emile beside him. "If you stretched out, would the blankets cover your feet?" 

"No," he says with an exasperated laugh. "My grandma actually crocheted me an extra long blanket in high school. I thought it was really embarrassing at first, but now it's my favorite." 

Leofard thinks about Emile in his special blanket and bites down on a smile—he’s glad he’s that loved. "That's really fucking cute." 

Emile just turns his face into the pillow for a moment before he says, "You know, I get that question a lot. Or if I have to get an extra long bed. Which I don't, even if it's a little cramped sometimes." 

"To be fair, baby, I can't picture you fitting in those beds at the dorms." 

"Do you picture me in bed a lot?" 

"Yeah, actually," Leofard says. "That's one of my favorite things to do.”

A rush of warmth runs through him at the sound of Emile giggling into the dark. It makes Emile's knee press a little further into his thigh, and the only thought in his mind is, Stay there.

"I like V'kebbe, by the way," Emile says. "I think you were right about her and Stacia." 

"It makes sense, right?" 

Emile nods, quiet for a moment, and then, "You really do care about her." 

"I just want her to be happy," he says, and it's such a small admission, something assumed already, but it still makes him itch. He focuses on Emile's hand resting in the space in front of him instead, and with just the sound of the rolling waves between them, he lets his fingertips trace across his knuckles. "Hey." 

"Yeah?"

“You’re pretty good at the guitar.” 

"Thanks," Emile says, his voice whisper soft. He turns his hand over, letting Leofard's fingers drop to his palm, and Leofard lets them slide up until their hands align. His sits so much smaller against Emile’s, but they fit together just right as their fingers intertwine. Emile looks back up at him. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

“There was something else I wanted to say earlier, when V’kebbe asked me what my favorite thing is about you. I didn’t want to embarrass you, though.”

Leofard raises a brow. "I'm listening." 

Emile’s smile echoes in the dark before he admits, “I love your eyes, Leo. They're so pretty.” 

It isn't often that something catches him so off guard, but Leofard's heart immediately begins to pound in his chest, and for a moment, he doesn't know what to say. In his panic he only has one choice—he laughs. "Too bad they don't work too well." 

“Yeah, well, your glasses are cute, too.” 

He should say thank you. He should just say thank you, roll over, and go to sleep. Instead he squeezes Emile's hand and leans in to kiss him, lips soft against his. It lingers, something warm and comforting, and they stay close after, just breathing against each other as Leofard's heart calms. 

They don’t say anything else. He lets his eyes fall closed, listening to the distant sound of the ocean. Usually it would lull him to sleep, but his stomach flips again and again as he repeats Emile's words in his head, embarrassed only by the way it makes his chest warm, his fingertips warm, his whole body warm all over. 

He can't help it. 

I love your eyes. 

I love—

—

In the morning, Leofard stirs at the touch of a hand on his wrist, and he frowns as he blinks his eyes open to the still dark bedroom. It takes a moment for him to register Emile carefully pulling his arms off of him, not until cool air brushes along his body where he was so warm against him. Their eyes meet. 

“Sorry,” Emile whispers. 

Leofard takes a deep breath, fighting the pull of sleep. His body feels so, so heavy, and everything moves so slow. He reaches towards him without thought. “Where are you going?”

“Just for a run, I’ll be back.”

“Why do you have to have such a hot body,” he mumbles, pulling the blanket over him and rolling into the warm space Emile left behind. He's too sleepy to do anything other than curl up and close his eyes, already beginning to drift off again. 

He doesn't see the way Emile smiles as he leaves.

—

Leofard dozes for a while longer, finally dragging himself out of bed when the room grows too warm. He throws on a swimsuit and t-shirt before he wanders downstairs, where Jacke and V'kebbe are still cooking in the kitchen. He chats with them while he makes a cup of coffee, and he takes it to the back deck to sit beside Stacia overlooking the water. 

“Good morning, how’d you sleep?” he asks. 

“Just fine,” she returns. “How was sharing a bed with your not-boyfriend?”

“Downright platonic,” he says, which is only mostly true. He can’t help but ask, “Where is he?” 

She grins, nodding towards the beach. “Right there.”

There's the distant shape of Emile’s figure jogging along the shore, barefoot and kicking up sand as he effortlessly strides down the beach, hair loose and flowing behind him. He looks like something out of a movie with the morning sun along his skin, and Leofard takes a breath at the familiar thrum of desire that starts in his stomach, hot and wanting. 

It's been too long since he's properly touched him. 

“Leo,” Stacia says, but he can’t turn his attention away. “Word of advice? If you want people to believe that you’re just friends, you have to stop looking at him like that.” 

He finally blinks and glances over at her. “Like what?”

“Like you’re going to fuck him the second he comes back.” 

He just laughs. “Look at him. Can you blame me?” 

Emile stops at the outdoor shower, chest heaving as he pulls the chain. The water runs a river down his body, and he ducks his head under the spray, running his hands through his hair before slicking it back. As he steps out, he stretches his arms into the sun. Leofard has to hold back a moan. 

“You realize you’re allowed to like him, right?”

Stacia's voice is too gentle, too cautious. His attention snaps towards her, because he isn’t allowed to like Emile like that. That isn’t what either of them want.

He shakes his head. “Why are we always talking about this?” 

“Because I want you to be happy, Leo,” she says, and something in him softens as she repeats what he’d said about her last night. “And I think this is the closest you’ve ever been to a real relationship.”

“I don’t want to date anyone,” he says absently, ignoring all the reasons why churning in his stomach. “The real question is when are you going to ask out V’kebbe?” 

She glares at him. “It’s not the same.”

“It is, though,” he says. “Forget the way I look at Emile—you should see the way she looks at you.” 

"Please," she says, but her gaze shifts back towards the house, and Leofard sees the moment her eyes land on V'kebbe. The smallest smile pulls at the corners of her lips and her head tilts to the side, her whole expression open and vulnerable. She sighs. "We stayed up way too late talking last night. I don't even remember saying goodnight—I think we just fell asleep in the middle of our conversation." 

“That’s…” he starts, shaking his head. “You have nothing to worry about, Stace.” 

She doesn't look convinced, but before she can say anything, Jacke walks over and pokes his head outside. “Hey, we’re going to head down to the beach in a few minutes to set up.”

“We’ll be right there.”

As soon as he's out of earshot, she turns back to Leofard. "How about this: I'll ask out V'kebbe when you tell Emile how you feel." 

"There’s nothing to tell." 

"Then I guess we'll both be single forever." 

He laughs. "You'll always have me, babe." 

"God help me." 

She goes upstairs to change into her swimsuit while Leofard heads down to the beach. It's a clear day, the sky bright is blue and completely free of clouds, with only the echo of the half moon on the horizon. Emile is already helping Jacke dig the umbrella into the sand, and they lay out a wide beach blanket and some extra towels around it. Emmanellain and Sicard join soon after, carrying a cooler between the two of them. 

"How was your run?" Leofard asks Emile while the others are distracted. 

"Really good,” he says with a grin. “I forgot how much I love running on the beach."

"Sure looked good."

Emile waves him off. "Did you fall back asleep?" 

"Still waking up, actually." 

"You should go for a swim, the water is nice and cold." 

"I think," he starts, blinking at him, "that would kill me." 

Emile laughs. "It's refreshing!"

"Yeah, I'm not taking outdoors advice from someone from Maine."  

"Hey!" he starts, but he's still laughing. "Actually, I grew up by a lake, and my mom would get so mad at me for swimming in like, March. I promise it's fine as long as you don't stay in for too long." 

"See, I love that for you. However," he says, hand on his chest, "I am a city boy, and I am much happier looking pretty on the beach." 

He punctuates the statement by pulling his shirt off, the sun's warmth already trickling along his skin. He notes with satisfaction the way Emile's eyes cast down along his chest, snapping back up to meet his gaze again. It's only fair, after all. 

Stacia and V'kebbe are the last to come down from the house, and Stacia holds up a football in her hands. "Who wants to play?" Everyone looks at Emile. 

Leofard clears his throat. "Dibs on being on the professional quarterback's team." 

"No, that's not fun," Emile says with a giggle. "I want to be on Stacia's team." 

"Hell yeah."

"You just want to kick my ass," Leofard grumbles. 

Emile has the audacity to smirk. "Maybe." 

They try to split up evenly, and it ends with Emile, Stacia, and Sicard versus Leofard, Jacke, V'kebbe, and Emmanellain. It starts out serious enough—since the beach is still relatively quiet, they mark each end zone far apart in the sand, and spend at least ten minutes deciding on the rules, which essentially narrows down to no tackling or yelling. 

It starts with Emile throwing the ball to Stacia for one point, and then chaos promptly ensues. Leofard quickly forgets who is even on his team, throwing the ball to Sicard, who scores for the other team, but then Emmanellain steals it from V'kebbe, who loses them a point by yelling at him. 

After a while, it just turns into keepaway, and Emmanellain and Sicard start bickering, so no one throws them the ball. They've stopped keeping track of points by the time it makes it back to Leofard. He's taken to standing on the side, but he’s the closest to the end zone and no one’s guarding it, so he runs. Only as he’s kicking up loose sand does he realize someone’s chasing after him. 

"No!" he yells when he realizes it’s Emile. He makes it past the end zone but neither of them stop, and he lets the ball go somewhere behind him as a laugh escapes his throat. He feels like a kid again, silly and free, but Emile is mere inches behind him, so he winces as he prepares himself to be tackled.

Only that isn't what happens. 

One moment he's running, the next, Emile's arms catch him around his waist, and he's hauled into the air with a yelp. Emile throws him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all, strong arms wrapped around his legs, and carries him across the beach. Leofard's too busy admiring Emile's ass from this angle to realize where he's taking him, not until he steps into the water.

"Emile," he warns. "Don't you dare." 

"What do you mean?" he asks innocently, each step slower as he wades further out. 

"I know you want to see me wet and glistening, but this isn't the way." 

He hears him laugh, and then everything goes fuzzy as Emile lets him go. Cool water surrounds him, disorienting him for just a moment before he rights himself and breaks through the surface, catching his breath. 

"You're so dead!" he yells as he throws his arms around Emile to try and drag him down with him. Their bodies crash together with the waves, skin against skin, but Emile catches him and holds him against his chest. Leofard fights a shiver, but he finds that he doesn’t mind, wrapping his legs around Emile's waist, his arms around his neck. They're nose to nose, and Leofard tilts his head to the side to glance at the beach before leaning in to kiss him, tasting the salt water on his lips. 

Emile smiles at him when they part. "You're pretty like this too, you know." 

"Sweet talker," he murmurs, fingers playing at the ends of Emile’s hair. He brushes it aside to press his lips to his shoulder, trailing kisses along wet skin, up the side of his neck, lingering just below his ear. Emile’s grip tightens on him.

"Leo," he breathes out. "We should stop." 

Leofard's lips curl up in a grin. "What—is this turning you on, baby?" 

He pulls back enough to catch the flush on Emile’s face as he looks away. “Shut up.”

Leofard holds back a laugh as he relents, letting go completely and putting a few inches between them. Pride swells in his chest as they swim back to shore, and he drifts along his back, face to the sun with the cool water surrounding him, Emile beside him. Everything, for a moment, is absolutely perfect. 

They have hot dogs for lunch, loading up on potato chips and ice cold beers. The day is hot and sticky and Leofard stretches out on his towel, chatting with the girls while Emile, Jacke, Emmanellain, and Sicard go back in the water to body surf the low waves. 

He ends up dozing, only half awake when Emile comes over and lays next to him. Emile closes his eyes against the afternoon sun, allowing Leofard to steal the smallest pieces of him: the bridge of his nose, the freckles scattered across his cheeks, each little grain of sand clinging to his still damp skin. Leofard watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, and he curls his hands into fists.

He could laugh at himself—at this same recurring thought, which sometimes just sounds like Emile's name. 

Taking a deep breath, the rest of the beach comes back into focus, but when he looks over again, Emile's eyes are open and he's watching him back. His eyes look lighter in this light, golden and warm, and for a long moment all they can do is stare at each other. 

"What are you thinking about?" Emile asks, and this time Leofard does laugh, just the echo of it on an exhale.  

He makes himself look away. "Don't worry about it."

As afternoon stretches into evening, Leofard finds himself a little buzzed. They build another fire as it begins to get dark, and this time Emile sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder. They make s'mores, and Leofard can't even pretend to hide the way he watches Emile lick at his sticky thumb after he pulls his marshmallow off the stick. 

Leofard's promptly falls into the fire. 

And later, fireworks fill the sky, so close that the sound resonates along the beach. Just for a few moments, sharp color cuts through the dark, igniting the area around them. Leofard watches each tiny explosion, and then he looks over to Emile. He is there a moment and then gone the next—Emile in red, Emile in blue, Emile in sparkling white light. 

He turns to meet Leofard’s gaze, a smile spreading across his lips before he leans in to kiss his cheek. Leofard closes his eyes against the feeling, which lingers in his chest even as Emile pulls away to murmur, “I’m really glad you invited me.”

"Me too," he returns, just as quiet, and before he can think better of it, he presses his lips to his, a marshmallow sweet kiss as the fireworks echo around them. 

They're out of beer by the time the fireworks end, and Leofard offers to go back to the house to get some more, having to steady himself against Emile's shoulder as he stands up. He only sways a little as he walks through the dark, giggling to himself as he fumbles through the kitchen. When he looks out the window, he can see the distant shape of his friends gathered around the fire, and a different kind of warmth fill his chest.

When he walks back, he looks at his empty seat for a moment before he looks at Emile. Why shouldn't I? is the only thought on his mind before he plops down in Emile's lap, scooching back along his broad chest. He hears Emile laugh, but then his arms come around Leofard's middle, hands settling against his stomach and resting so close to the waistband of his swimsuit. Everyone just continues to talk around them, but Leofard finds it hard to concentrate as Emile traces tiny patterns into his skin. 

He doesn’t care about the glances his friends give them, doesn’t let anything bother him, drunk enough that when Emile tucks his chin down onto his shoulder, he just turns to press his nose to his hair. Eventually they go back to the house, Emmanellain and Sicard first, then Jacke, V'kebbe, and Stacia, and then it’s just Leofard and Emile left at the dying fire. 

He extracts himself from Emile, slow to stand before he lowers a hand to help him up, and their bodies knock into each other from the momentum. 

"Hi," Emile says as he steadies himself against him, head bent low. 

"Hi baby," he returns, sliding his hands along his arms. He pulls him closer, finally kissing him the way he's wanted to all day, sliding his tongue along his as his fingers dig into his skin.

They part to breathe, too close to do anything other than keep their eyes closed when Emile asks, "What do you want?"  

The words are half hidden against his lips. Leofard’s head spins. 

“I want to touch you,” he mumbles, and he mouths at his jaw, down to his neck. His hands tighten around Emile’s arms. “I want you to suck me off…I want you to pick me up again.” He breaks off with a giggle. “That was so hot.” 

Emile pulls back, and Leofard wishes he could see the way he looks at him in the dark. His thoughts sit above the sound of the ocean waves, and it's always too much, too much, too much, but Emile bends down to pick him up, setting him easily against his chest as Leofard wraps his legs around his waist, his arms around his neck. He pulls at Emile's ponytail until his hair spills loose, and he kisses him again, mouth warm like alcohol, like salt air, like desire. 

Then he's laughing into Emile's neck while he carries him back to the house, and as the door closes behind them, Emile turns and presses him against it. Their lips find each other again, and Leofard sighs into the kiss, hands curling into his hair as Emile parts his mouth against his. 

Someone clears their throat. 

They both look to the kitchen, where Stacia and V’kebbe watch them with wide eyes. Leofard isn’t drunk enough to miss how close they are—V'kebbe sits on the counter while Stacia practically stands between her legs, and they're both holding a spoon for the open tub of ice cream between them.

"Can you maybe not do that right here?" Stacia asks while V'kebbe raises a hand to cover her laugh.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time. Emile lets Leofard down, but his hand finds his as they go upstairs. They leave the lights off in their room, fumbling through the dark for the bed. 

“Sit,” Emile says, his voice soft—not a command, but Leofard still listens, letting his thighs part as Emile kneels between them. 

He cups Emile’s chin with his hand, raising his head to look at him. It’s there—in the small smile Emile gives him before he parts his mouth, eyes wide as he watches him in the echoed light. 

What do you want? he’d asked. 

Leofard touches his thumb to his bottom lip, heart racing in his chest. How could he want anything else?

—

He stirs again while it’s still dark. 

Blinking his eyes open, he tries to squint through the blurry shadows of the room. He can hear Emile’s deep, even breaths across the bed, and he turns towards the sound, only able to make out the bulky shape of him in the dark. They aren’t touching, but something still settles in him just knowing that he’s there as he takes stock of his still fuzzy head, his dry mouth, and he reaches for the nightstand to put his glasses on, glancing at the clock. 

Three in the morning.  

With one more look at Emile, he carefully pulls back the blanket and gets up, tip-toeing to the other side of the room to put on a pair of shorts before heading downstairs. The house is silent save for the distant sound of the ocean, and he moves slowly through the dark while his eyes adjust. It's easier in the kitchen, with moonlight spilling in through the window above the sink, and he takes a moment to fill a glass of water before he slips onto the back deck. 

The crashing waves are so much louder out here, rolling onto the empty beach, everything washed in grey. The wind feels cool against his warm skin, strong enough to push his hair out of his face. He just sips at his water, his mind sleep slow, his body relaxed, and he takes a deep breath. 

He lets his thoughts wander, not really thinking about anything except for the strange, content feeling in his chest. 

Maybe he'll want this for real someday—not only someone to share his bed with, but to share the day to day, someone who will make his friends laugh, who will have their own little life with him. Maybe someday he'll move past all this fear tangled up in his chest and let someone in. Maybe he won't always need a way out. 

The words roll through his mind with the waves. 

Maybe. 

Someday. 

He finishes his water and slips back into the house, easier now in the dark. He moves slowly to stay quiet, but Emile still stirs when he gets back to their room, just the shift of his body beneath the covers—enough for Leofard to know that he's awake. He opens his eyes for only a moment, and once Leofard gets back in bed, he reaches out to pull him into his side. 

Leofard lets him, curling up against him under the weight of his arm. He presses his cheek to his chest and breathes him in, a combination of his flowery body wash and smoke from the campfire. It's more comforting than Leofard would ever admit, just like the steady sound of Emile's heart beating, the way he smooths his thumb against his back, his chin against the top of his head. 

Leofard closes his eyes, and those same words carry in through the window. 

Maybe. 

Someday.

—

In the morning, he’s alone again. 

He only dozes for a little bit before he heads downstairs, where he finds Stacia in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. When she looks over at him, she automatically reaches for a second mug and pours one for him. 

"You're the best," he murmurs. 

"I know." 

He should be nicer to her, but he can't help but say, “You and V’kebbe looked cozy last night.” 

“Please,” she says, waving him off. “I’m still trying to forget what I saw.”

He laughs. "We might have been a little drunk." 

It's the closest he'll get to an apology for it, but if there's one thing he can always trust with Stacia, it's that she understands. As much as she teases him, she's never judged him for any of his antics. So it's with a grin that she hands him the mug. "Will you be okay to go out tonight? We were thinking of going to the bar up the street." 

Leofard is very familiar with that bar. He went last year with a girl he met on the beach, and his hangover was so bad that he could barely move the next day. It sounds like a fun idea, except— "Emile can't. He's only twenty." 

"I love how that was your first thought," she says. "Don't worry, I asked. Your boy has a fake ID." 

"Does he really?" He can't help the grin that follows, glancing over to the back deck, where Emile talks to Jacke. His expression is bright as he explains something, his hands giving him away, but then, as if sensing him watching, Emile looks over. When his gaze lands on Leofard, his lips pull into a smile—something small, secretive, knowing. 

Leofard has butterflies. 

"Oh, you're so done for," Stacia says with a soft laugh. 

He glances at her before he takes a sip of his coffee, but the bitter taste isn't enough to distract him. "Shit." 

—

The day starts the same as yesterday, and as they head down to the beach, Leofard catches up to Emile, walking side by side down the steps behind the rest of the group. They don't say anything at first, not past the initial good morning they pass between each other, but it's nice. Their arms keep brushing as they walk towards their spot on the beach, and that feeling in his stomach doesn't go away. 

Funny how he can have Emile and still want him so much. 

But he doesn't know if it counts, if what they’re doing means that he has him at all. 

They join the others, setting up the umbrella again and laying out their towels. Leofard shakes the sand loose from his and spreads it out next to Emile's. 

"Hey, Leo?" 

He looks up at Emile towering over him, holding a bottle of sunscreen. He doesn't even need to ask, Leofard just reaches for the bottle as he turns around. 

He has to take a deep breath at the sight of Emile's broad back—something has to be wrong with him today. It’s the only explanation for the way he feels his heart in his chest as he spreads the sunscreen into his skin. He works slowly, across his shoulders and then down to the taper of his waist, holding his breath as the thing inside him that feels too soft, too fragile and tender, begs to be let out.

When he finishes, he leans forward to press his lips to Emile's shoulder. "All set." 

"Thank you," he says softly, and Leofard catches the tiny smile on his lips when he turns to take the sunscreen back. "Do you need some?" 

He never really bothers, but he looks at Emile's hands and finds himself nodding. He must be tired, or maybe he's hungover. Why else would he stare at the sand in a daze, keeping his breathing steady as Emile's touch works into his skin? He closes his eyes for a moment, certain that his friends are nearby, that Stacia will probably say something later, but he finds that he just…doesn’t care. 

Something's definitely wrong with him. 

It doesn't get any better when they lay out beside each other on their towels, chatting the morning away. Leofard teases him about his fake ID, and Emile talks about his schedule once they go home tomorrow, how practice starts to pick up in earnest as the season approaches. He's nervous, especially with so many eyes on him after the Heisman rumors last season. 

"Do you ever think about stopping?" Leofard asks. He's on his back beside him, Emile up on one elbow and covering him in his shadow. 

"I don't know what else I would do." 

It isn’t an answer, and the emptiness of the statement hits him so strongly that he almost regrets asking. He offers him a small smile. "You could do something with your music." 

The sunshine lines Emile's face, highlighting along his nose as he considers it. It's an odd expression for him, something not quite settled, but all he says is, "Maybe." 

Someone brought the football out with them, but no one seems interested in playing today. After lunch, Leofard grabs it and holds it out towards Emile. "Show me."

Emile raises a brow. "Show you what?" 

"How to throw a football." 

There's a spark of amusement through his expression as he takes it from him and positions it against his palm. "There's a few ways, but I always hold it like this."

He rotates it slowly to show Leofard, but Leofard just blinks at it. 

"Here," Emile says, and he takes him by the wrist and presses the football into his hand. 

"Ring finger to the second seam," he murmurs, voice soft, and he guides Leofard's fingers, moving them for him as he speaks. "Put your index finger here, then your pinky to the edge here. Leave a little bit of room for your thumb underneath." 

But Leofard stops watching their hands and looks up at Emile, at the focus in his eyes, the thought that he puts into helping him. Emile must feel his gaze, because he lifts his head a moment later. 

Their faces are so close, just a breath apart, and he's reminded of that feeling he had the night they met, that same draw to him. It pulses in his blood, always hungry for him, and he yields first, letting his gaze cast down to his lips. Emile leans in just a little closer, noses nearly touching, and Leofard closes his eyes—

Emile lets go. 

"I think," he says, pausing to take a breath as he pulls back and looks away. "I'm going to shower before we go out tonight." 

"Okay," Leofard returns. "I might do the same when you're done." 

Emile nods, blinking at him a few times before he gets up and heads back to the house. Leofard watches him go, turning to meet Stacia and V'kebbe's gazes. There isn't a hint of teasing in either of their eyes, just something curious. Stacia raises a brow at him, a silent question. Are you good?

He nods absently before he gets up. 

All he wants to do is follow Emile back into the house. He wants to trail after him, step into the shower behind him, and let his hands wander over his slick skin. He wants Emile's touch on him—anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. But instead, he makes himself walk down the beach, focusing on the heat of the sand beneath his feet, picking his way over the rocky shore to the water until he's ankle deep. 

It isn't as distracting as he thought it would be, and he doesn't know how long he walks for, trailing along the water's edge away from the house, but after a while he finally turns back. 

The bathroom is empty at the top of the stairs, and he goes straight in. He lets his thoughts blank out when he steps into the shower, staring at the white tiled wall in front of him. Water pours like a storm down his back, slowly soaking through his hair and dripping along his cheeks, steady down to his chin. Its warmth numbs the heaviness inside him, the burning desire that sometimes doesn't even look like desire—just this aching space that wants to be filled. 

When he's done, he wraps himself up in a big fluffy towel, blinking at his blurry reflection in the mirror. He feels like it should be so obvious, like there should be a neon sign hanging over him, but it's just him on the other side. His eyes look even paler in this light—the eyes that Emile said he loves. 

He looks away. 

Don't be stupid, he tells himself, but he can’t help it, can he? 

He goes back to their room, where Emile lays diagonally across the bed, wearing just a pair of boxers. His eyes are closed but they open at the sound of Leofard closing the door behind him, and he blinks at him before a smile stretches across his lips. 

Leofard crosses the room to kneel on the bed, letting his towel drop as he straddles his waist, bare skin brushing along bare skin. There's a square of reflected sunlight from the window that lays across Emile, and it highlights the gold in his eyes, scattering over the freckles that have only increased with the summer. His damp hair lays spread around him, and he watches Leofard openly, hands idly tracing up his thighs.

Leofard shifts into his touch, breath trembling on an exhale as he settles his hands on Emile's stomach, fingertips ghosting over muscle, up his long torso, brushing across his chest hair. He finds himself smiling, just the edges of it, as he looks back up to meet Emile's gaze.

Brown eyes steady on him. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” Leofard murmurs, watching the blush creep along Emile’s cheeks. He reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, and he lets his touch linger, dropping to his chin as he leans down to kiss him, guiding their mouths together. 

Emile’s hands skim further up his thighs, over his hips and up to his waist, pulling him closer as his body shifts beneath him. Leofard kisses him softly despite the way his heart pounds in his chest, despite the growing heat within him, and he licks at his bottom lip, letting out a soft sound when Emile parts his mouth for him. 

He never wants to get used to this feeling, never wants anything more than Emile’s body against his. Satisfaction grows with each hitch of Emile’s breath, with the way he tightens his grip on Leofard’s waist, their kisses turning messy and desperate. Each little thing is reassurance that he isn't alone in this desire. 

He pulls away just enough to breathe out, “Fuck me." 

“Like this,” Emile groans, and Leofard doesn’t realize it’s a question until he adds, “Please.”

Leofard bites down on the first thing that comes to mind—anything you want—and instead he sits back, grinding down against him as he smirks. “You want to watch me, baby?” 

A sharp feeling jolts through him as Emile lifts his hips in response, and Leofard can't wait anymore, can't take the time to tease him like he usually does. His head is a mess of need and now and that feeling that claws its way up his throat when they're this close—something unrecognizable. 

But when Emile's inside him, nothing else matters. 

The world is only this bedroom, this golden light surrounding them, this boy beneath him, with his brows pushed together, watching him so intently. Neither of them look away, and Emile lets out soft little gasps and groans as Leofard moves over him, rolling his hips slowly at first. 

It’s an impossible pace to keep, not with Emile watching him like that, not with his burning heat, so full inside him. Emile’s fingers press down against his waist, nails digging into his skin, and Leofard can't help the sound that he chokes out as his eyes slam shut. He moves faster, blindly chasing more until Emile sits up and wraps his arms around him, crushing him against his chest as he takes over with a dizzying strength. 

"Emile," he whines, winding his hands into his hair. He tries to breathe through it but he can’t, overwhelmed by the warmth of their bodies in the afternoon sunshine, each moan muffled and hidden into his neck, the drag of his cock against Emile's belly as he rocks up into him again and again. 

A gasp leaves his lips as he spills between them. He swears under his breath—for a moment, there is only the frantic beat of his heart, but then Emile's grip tightens around him as he hurries his pace, and Leofard feels his mouth at his neck, teeth scraping against skin. He finally opens his eyes to blink in and out of the gold room, giving in to the pleasure of it, and he holds back a yelp when Emile bites down on his shoulder, hips falling out of rhythm as he shudders and stills beneath him. 

A breath passes. Then another, and another, slowly evening out. Emile licks across the sensitive spot on his shoulder, pressing his lips to it as Leofard loosens his hands from his hair. When he does, Emile tilts his head back to look at him, eyes half lidded, his face flushed. A hazy smile tugs at the edges of his lips before Leofard bends down to kiss him, sighing at the easiness of it, the sweetness.

Emile lays back, pulling him with him. They part carefully, using Leofard’s towel to clean up, and Emile grabs one of the pillows, shifting over to make room for him. Cuddling is the worst temptation of all, a comfort that removes all distance, but still Leofard curls into his side, laying his head on his chest as Emile wraps an arm around his waist. 

Just for a moment, he tells himself, but he closes his eyes against the afternoon light, and it only takes the span of a couple deep breaths for him to drift off.

—

Someone knocks on the door. 

Leofard stirs. Their room is twilight dark—made up of empty shades of light that takes a few seconds for him to recognize. He swallows hard, then looks over to see that Emile is still wrapped around him, snoring softly against his shoulder. Their legs are intertwined, and they’re both still naked and so, so warm. 

Oh, he's not about to move. 

Another knock comes. 

"Leo, Emile, come on." It's Stacia. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes, with or without you." 

Is it that late already? He lets himself breathe in against Emile's chest for a moment before he sits up, dropping a hand to Emile's shoulder to nudge him awake. Emile shifts slowly, big eyes blinking open and then closed again as the arm slung over Leofard's waist tightens its grip. 

Leofard tries not to laugh. "We need to get up." 

"Why?" Emile groans, voice a little deeper from sleep. "I'm comfy." 

"We're running late," he returns, prying Emile's arm off of him. He ignores the way his body aches when he gets up, stretching out his sore back before fumbling through the shadows of the room for jeans and a t-shirt. When he looks over, he has to laugh at Emile sitting at the edge of the bed. "Your hair, babe." 

Emile's brows raise as reaches up to pat down the nest of his hair, which dried in every which direction. Leofard doesn't even pretend not to watch him get up and dress, not until Emile giggles at himself in the mirror. 

"I look like a mess," he says, brushing his hair back into a ponytail. “They're all going to know what we were doing.” 

Leofard laughs, but he's right. Everyone's waiting for them in the kitchen, knowing looks on their faces as they go downstairs. Still, Leofard raises a brow at the cups strewn across the table. "You started without us?"

"And what," V'kebbe says with a laugh, "were you guys busy doing?" 

He exchanges a look with Emile. 

“Napping,” he says innocently.

The bar is close enough for them to walk there, only taking a few minutes along the sandy sidewalk. Leofard is quiet, still waking up, but he's happy to be beside Emile in the blue dark, listening to the sounds of his friends' voices growing louder as they talk over each other. 

They can hear the music before they see it—a small one storey building made to look like a tiki hut, with a thatched awning over the door and torches lining the walkway. This time of year guarantees a line at the door as a man in a black t-shirt checks everyone's IDs. 

The seven of them join the end of the line, and Leofard leans against Emile's chest, tilting his head back to look at him. "Let me see your fake." 

"Don't say that too loud," Emile hushes. "And no, it's embarrassing." 

“What’s embarrassing about it?” 

He pats Leofard's curls down as he sighs. “My picture is old and I have short hair and I don’t look good at all.” 

Leofard holds back a laugh. It's hard to imagine that Emile has ever looked bad in his life. Much easier to imagine a younger Emile with his big eyes and short hair. He must've been so cute. 

The thought feels traitorous. He shakes his head. “You realize that I already think you’re hot, right?”

“Is that what that was earlier?”

This time Leofard sputters out a laugh, glancing ahead to where the line begins to move. "Come on, just show me." 

“Let me see yours first.”

"You giant child," he mutters, but he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and hands his license over to Emile, who happily takes it. Only as Emile looks it over, a small smile crossing his lips, does Leofard realize how vulnerable of a thing it is. 

New York State.

Raimille’s address. 

"Look at you, you're so cute," Emile says, and Leofard’s stomach flips at the way his expression softens. "How do you pronounce your last name?" 

He clears his throat. “Roulchambord.” 

“Is that French?”

He just shrugs. It’s not mine.  

“Our birthdays are two months apart, by the way,” Emile murmurs. 

“Really?” Leofard asks. “When’s yours?”

“January twenty sixth.”

“No—let me see.” 

"I would, but it’s about to be our turn,” he says, handing him his license back. The guy at the door looks over their IDs quickly, and Leofard watches Emile play it cool, not even blinking an eye when it’s his turn. They’re all waved inside. 

“Alright, everyone gather around,” Jacke says. “We’ll do a round of shots and then you’re all free.”

As they toast, everything feels right. Leofard lets his gaze pass over his friends' faces, committing the moment to memory. This is its own kind of home. He lets his hand linger next to Emile's, winking at him before he throws back his shot.  

Emile is quickly pulled away by Emmanellain and Sicard, and Stacia catches his eye before she nods her head towards the bar. He joins her, and as they wait for their drinks, she knocks her arm into his. 

"What?" he asks. 

"Did you and Emile have fun?" 

He isn't usually embarrassed about this kind of thing, but something in him itches. “You didn't hear anything, did you?” 

"No, don't worry," she says. "You just, um...your shoulder." 

Leofard angles his head to look. A deep red mark spills out from the collar of his shirt, blotchy and bruised. His mind instantly flashes to Emile biting down as he came, and he makes himself breathe in, looking away as he takes a sip of his drink. "We're just very...compatible." 

She snorts. "Meaning?"

"Meaning things are kind of perfect," he says, and he shakes his head at the way her brows raise. "Which is why it works out that we're just friends—there's no risk of ruining this."

"I'll be nice tonight, since you already know what I think. Besides—," she looks over her shoulder at the dance floor, where V'kebbe sways to the music. When she notices them, a giant grin steals across her lips as she waves Stacia over. 

Something in his stomach twists at the softness on Stacia’s face, but he won’t call it jealousy. When she turns back to him, he just shakes his head with a smile. “Go get her.”

Stacia leaves her drink, letting out a laugh as V’kebbe takes both of her hands in hers, and the two of them dance together, free and easy and so, so happy. 

That’s all Leofard wants for her. 

He can’t help the way his gaze travels to the other end of the bar. Emile is waiting on a drink, and there's a woman beside him leaning into his space, talking animatedly as he watches with wide eyes. Leofard just laughs to himself before he joins the others on the dance floor. 

One song, he tells himself, but that turns into another, which turns into another. They take shots in between, and the bar begins to pulse with the music, the lights glancing off the fake palm trees and twinkling in the corners of his vision. He's lost count of how many songs he's danced to, but he finds himself out of breath, and Jacke joins him as he goes to get some water. 

Jacke elbows him in the side, nodding to the other end of the bar. "That doesn't bother you?" 

Emile is still talking to that same woman, only they're joined by another woman who sits on Emile's other side. Shot glasses sit empty on the bar around them, and one of them leans in to murmur something in his ear. Leofard watches the way Emile smiles, and he wants to say that he isn't jealous, because he gets it. 

If he saw Emile for the first time here, he'd be in the same place. If Emile wasn't his already, then he'd be right there at the bar, sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch. He’d graze his hand along his, say whatever he could to make him blush, anything to kiss him, to take him home. 

He isn't yours, a voice in the back of his head says, and he holds his breath at the familiar ache. 

But he thinks about the sun in his brown eyes, the flush of his skin as Leofard moved over him, the way he held him so tightly, teeth digging this mark into his shoulder, and he shakes his head. “Doesn't bother me at all." 

It isn't much later that Emile finds him, bracing himself with a hand on his shoulder as he leans down close to his ear. They've been here before. Emile lets his nose brush against Leofard's temple, moving to press his lips to the shell of his ear, and he murmurs, "Dance with me." 

"I thought you didn't dance." 

“Well I like how you dance.” He wraps his arms around Leofard, letting all of his weight rest against him. "I've been watching you." 

“Damn,” he says, and he has to take a step to support him. “You’re kind of too heavy for me, baby.”

Emile just giggles against his neck. “I’m really—I’m—”

“Drunk?” Leofard offers. He can feel Emile nod, his breath warm against his skin. Something loosens in Leofard’s chest, something like affection, and it feels dangerous. He still smiles even as he nudges Emile back to standing on his own. “Come on, let’s go back to the house.” 

Emile nods again, and Leofard waves Stacia down to let her know that they're leaving. Outside, the cool air clears his head from the crowded bar, and he attempts to guide Emile towards the sidewalk, a hand on his bicep to grab or push him as necessary. Headlights pass over them like waves, and the sound of tires grinding over the sandy road competes with the ocean rolling in the distance. 

And above it all, there's Emile's soft voice asking, "Why don't you ever talk about New York?" 

He resists the urge to shrug. “Not much to say about it.”

“You’re always—,” he starts, voice breaking off. Leofard’s brows push together as Emile leans on him a little more, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Always what?”

“Always so—,” he tries again. “Always Leo.”

Leofard laughs. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” The words kind of slur together, and he reaches over to wind his arm around Leofard’s. Their height difference makes it a bit awkward as they keep bumping into each other, but neither of them let go. “You don’t talk about real stuff.”

He can feel his smile waver. "Of course I do. I talk about my car all the time.”

Emile breathes out a half-laugh. “Is that all that’s important to you?”

“That's all I have left,” he admits. “From New York.” 

”Oh.” 

Emile doesn’t say anything else, and there’s a question in the back of Leofard’s mind that he doesn't give a voice to. They stumble through the dark house when they get back, letting go of each other only for Emile to stop and grip the railing of the stairs. Leofard tries not to laugh at him as he urges him to keep going, and he has to hold his hand to get him to move the rest of the way, only letting go when Emile sits at the edge of the bed. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you some water,” Leofard says, and he hurries back downstairs. When he comes back, Emile is still sitting in the same spot, and he looks up at him with those big eyes, murmuring his thanks when Leofard hands him the glass. 

He drinks the whole thing, and Leofard takes it back from him and sets it on the nightstand. “Lift your arms.”

Emile watches him for a moment before he does, and Leofard pulls his shirt over his head, leaving him swaying in place. 

“You’re taking my clothes off,” Emile mumbles. 

“Just getting you comfy for bed,” he says, his voice soothing. He bends before him to take off his shoes next, and Emile nearly tips to the side before he braces himself against the mattress. Leofard shakes his head, keeping his breath steady as he unbuttons his jeans and has Emile lift his hips, tugging them down. “You should sleep this off, baby.”

“Baby,” he repeats. “You’re always calling me baby.”

Leofard sits on the bed beside him. “Do you like it when I do?”

He nods. “It makes me feel like you actually want me.”

“I want you very much,” he says, raising his hand to brush the hair from Emile’s brow. After everything he’s admitted tonight, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought. “Who wouldn’t?”

A bitter smile crosses Emile's lips before he mutters, “Estinien.”

Leofard pulls his hand back, blinking at him in the dark. 

"What?"

“He never wanted me,” Emile says, and he lays back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with his brows pushed together. "I was so stupid." 

"You're not stupid."

“I am, though. He didn't even come to my concert. He—he knew how much it meant to me, and he still...”

There’s a pain in his voice that Leofard has never heard before, and it makes it so hard to think clearly. Who’s Estinien?, is all he wants to ask, but Emile still just stares at the ceiling with his lips pressed together. 

“Then he’s an asshole,” Leofard offers. 

“No, he’s not,” Emile says, and the defense comes so quickly. “No, he's—I miss him. I just really miss him.” 

Leofard looks away, taking a deep breath. "Let's go to bed, okay? We'll feel better in the morning." 

After a moment, he hears Emile shift over, then the rustle of the blankets. Leofard stays where he is, chest heavy, stomach turning. He glances at the empty glass on the nightstand, wishing he'd gotten one for himself too. 

"Leo," Emile murmurs. "Come cuddle me." 

He looks over at him, at his face squished against the pillow, one arm laying across the bed in an attempt to reach for him. He's just drunk, he doesn't mean any of it. Leofard makes himself let go of his thoughts and crawls across the bed. Emile immediately pulls him close, arms tight around him as he tucks him against his chest. 

It doesn't take long for Emile to fall asleep, but Leofard stays awake, blinking into the dark room as he listens to his heart beat, calm and even. 

Who wouldn't want you?

He pulls the blanket into his fist. He wasn’t expecting Emile to have an answer to that. 

—

The sound of rain wakes him the next morning. 

It beats at the window with its own kind of rhythm, wavering as it comes down harder before it softens again. It almost lulls him back to sleep, but he turns his head to look over at Emile beside him. They aren't touching, but Emile faces him, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Leofard's hand automatically inches towards him, his gaze focused on that piece of hair that always falls in his face, but—

I miss him. 

It's so stupid. Leofard knows there's no attachment between them, he knows that Emile could have feelings for anyone else, and that just because they sleep together doesn't mean he could see this as something more. It's not—that's not what Leofard wants either.

Things are kind of perfect, he’d said to Stacia last night, and nothing has changed since then, so why does it suddenly feel like a lie? 

Emile stirs, stretching out his legs. He opens his eyes, blinking at Leofard for a moment before closing them again, a low groan in the back of his throat.

“Good morning,” Leofard murmurs. He can't help an exhale of a laugh. "How do you feel?" 

"Amazing," Emile answers. He inches closer to Leofard, wrapping an arm around him as he tucks his head into his shoulder. His lips brush against Leofard's neck, just resting there, each exhale ghosting against him. 

Leofard skims his hand between his shoulder blades, running along the smooth skin down his back. “Do you remember last night?”

“Most of it, I think." The words are half muffled against him. “Why? Did I do something embarrassing?”

I miss him. 

Leofard shakes his head. “No, it was just funny dragging your big ass back here.” 

“Hey,” he says, drawing the sound out. He rolls onto Leofard, leaning back so he can look in his eyes. There's a smile playing at his lips. “I happen to know that you like my ass.” 

“Why would you think that?” Leofard asks, but he lets his hand slide lower, just beneath the waistband of his boxers. Emile's hips shift into his touch. 

“Leo,” he breathes out, more of a warning than pleasure. 

“This is why you should sleep in, baby.”

He laughs as he rolls off of him. “You’re so annoying.”

And maybe Leofard wouldn’t have questioned that yesterday, but now he finds himself watching Emile for any truth in his expression. Emile merely closes his eyes again, snuggling back down under the blanket. The morning light washes over him, highlighting his messy hair, the fan of his eyelashes, the tiny bit of stubble along his jaw, and Leofard lets himself stare, gaze lingering the longest on the curve of his lips. 

He supposes nothing can be wrong if he still wants to kiss him this much. 

They doze a while longer, the sound of rain filling the quiet between them, and Emile's thumb wears a small circle into his side, the touch grounding him from his wandering thoughts. 

Eventually they get up to dress and head downstairs. Everyone is quiet after last night, but Leofard’s gaze lingers on Stacia and V’kebbe, who sit shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and speaking softly to each other. 

They pack up after breakfast, and Emile watches with an amused grin as Leofard just shoves everything back into his bag without thought. He helps him load up the car, and then it's hugs all around before they go. 

"We'll do this again next year," Emmanellain says. "Emile, you have to come too." 

Emile just smiles. "Thanks for having me." 

They kick up puddles as they run out to the car, and the three of them are quiet as Leofard puts on music and navigates back to the highway. The world is blurry through the rain, a mess of headlights and taillights blinking through the windshield wipers, and all his mind repeats is next year. 

He won't be doing this, will he? 

He'll be back in New York, so far away from his friends, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do with his life. He'll be starting over again, and he doesn't know what he'll lose this time. The thought is too much, but thankfully Stacia clears her throat, cutting through the quiet car. Leofard glances at her through the rearview mirror, but she keeps her attention on the rain splattered window as she admits, "I asked her out last night." 

He feels himself grin. "And?" 

"We're going to try," she says. She doesn't smile but there's such a soft happiness on her expression that he feels his chest pull at the sight. 

"Happy for you, Stace." 

He glances at Emile beside him. What did she say? I'll ask out V'kebbe when you tell Emile how you feel.

Sometimes it feels like that's all Leofard ever does. 

The rain lets up the closer they get to campus, and they stop at another gas station on the way, getting more coffee and some donuts for the road. Leofard finds himself leaning against Emile's arm while they wait, but he's too tired to move away like he should. 

And when they get back to Emile's dorm, he foolishly gets out of the car to help him with his bags while Stacia moves to the front seat. He ends up just standing by the trunk, watching him with an unexpected heaviness in his chest. 

"I think that's everything," Emile says, and a smile crosses his lips. "I had a lot of fun." 

Leofard matches his smile. "I'm glad you came with us." 

He already knows what's coming before it happens. He should just get in that car and drive home, but he stays rooted where he is, watching as Emile sets his bags down and reaches for him. Leofard stands on his tip toes to hug him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and he closes his eyes as Emile holds him tight against his chest

They kiss, and Leofard lets out a sound as he parts his mouth, soft but always wanting. They kiss for too long, given where they are, but with Emile's hands on his lower back and knowing that he won't see him for a little bit, he can't help it. 

And then he watches him walk back to his dorm, holding his breath until he's gone. 

Thankfully, Stacia doesn't say a word about it when he gets back in the car. 

—

That night, Leofard lays awake. 

He only judges the passing of time by the streetlight echoing through his blinds, shifting over his walls so imperceptibly until it reaches the other side of the room. He rolls over again and again but his mind is too busy and he can't get comfortable. Each point of contact with the blanket makes his skin itch, and his pillow is too—flat? Soft? Too wrong. 

He sighs, reaching out his arm to lay across the empty space beside him, and he glances at his phone on the nightstand. Is he awake too? 

Leofard's fingers twitch towards it, but he closes his hand in a fist and rolls over.

He would rather lay awake all night than admit that he misses him.

—

Four long, restless nights pass before Emile comes over again.

Relief surpasses any doubt, and Leofard is too happy to see him to feel embarrassed about the way he jumps into his arms. They're home alone anyway, and they barely say a word to each other before Emile is carrying him to his room, laying him across the bed and settling in the space between his legs.  

Leofard sighs against his mouth, tugging at Emile’s hair with one hand while his other seeks the touch of his skin beneath his shirt. Emile just kisses him again and again, both of them grinning into it until that hazy kind of pleasure turns into something needy. 

They pause to breathe, and Emile pulls back enough to look up at him. Leofard smooths his thumb across his cheek, pressing his mouth to his one more time. "How are you, baby?" 

Emile's smile is so broad that his eyes squint into half moons. "Happy." 

They finally give in, letting their hips roll against each other, and Leofard curls his hand around the back of Emile's neck, pulling him closer just to breathe him in. It feels so good to have his weight over him, the weight of his desire pressing down on him, covering him so completely. This is all he wants from Emile, he can forget everything else.

He has to forget everything else. 

It's easier when it's like this, when it's simple, when it's just touch, when it's what they've done since they first met. It's more difficult after, when he goes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and he catches his reflection in the mirror. His eyes look darker as he stares back at himself, and he notes the flush of his cheeks, the mess of his hair, the beginning of another hickey at the base of his neck.

Obvious.  

It's even more difficult when he goes back to his room, and Emile has curled up on his side with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in slow, even movements. Leofard cannot avoid what he wants, not when it's right here, not when the pull of temptation is this strong. 

He goes back to the bed and fits himself beside Emile, carefully pulling the blanket over them both. Foolish, he tells himself, but he hasn't slept well in days and he's tired of more than just being tired. He doesn't even sleep, he just lets the afternoon drift beside him, more comfortable than he would ever admit. 

It’s a while before Emile stirs again, the shift between asleep and awake now familiar. He groans softly as he opens his eyes, looking at him in question. 

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Within minutes,” Leofard answers with a laugh. “Did I tire you out that much?”

Emile covers his face with his hand for a moment. “Sorry, I’ve just barely slept the past few nights.”

Do you miss me too?

"Is everything okay?"

“The AC at the dorms isn’t working,” he answers. “It’s literally too hot to sleep. Between that and football practice, I’ve been exhausted.”

Leofard blinks at him for a moment. “You can hang out here, if you want.”

His mouth snaps shut. Raimille always used to tell him that he was too quick, that he could benefit from thinking before speaking. As a teenager, he hated it. At twenty two, he realizes she was kind of right about everything. 

“What do you mean?” Emile asks. 

“Just sleep here until it's fixed,” he offers, too late to take it back. "It's not a big deal." 

Emile doesn't say anything at first, but then, "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" 

"Emile," he says, his name sticking in his mouth. “Of course not.”

They head out to grab dinner once Emile wakes up a little more, then they stop at the dorms so Emile can grab a few things. Somehow in the four months they’ve spent together, Leofard has never been inside his room. He's been to this building before, but it's different in the summer, quiet and empty. 

Emile wasn't lying about the AC—it's stifling, and he feels a drop of sweat trickle down his neck as he follows Emile up the carpeted stairs. They turn down a hall, and Emile pauses at the door, throwing a shy look over his shoulder. "It's kind of messy." 

"Please. You've seen my room," he offers, and Emile smiles before he lets him inside. 

The space is cramped, as all dorm rooms are, with a twin bed on each side and a window inbetween. One half is completely bare and empty—Emile mentioned that his roommate went home for the summer—and the other side is perfectly lived in, perfectly Emile. 

The bed is unmade but that's about the extent of any messiness, and he feels his lips curve up at the corners at the sight of a handmade blanket bunched up at the end. He glances at his desk, at the gym bag on the floor, but his attention is mostly drawn to the wall above his bed, covered in photos. He steps closer to look at them while Emile grabs his duffle bag and begins to pack. 

The first one he sees is a photo of Emile with two girls. He's in the middle, and he looks so much younger. He smiles broadly with his arms around both of the girls, and all three of them have the same brown hair, the same nose, and the one on the left has his brown eyes, while the other's are bright blue. 

"Your sisters?" Leofard asks. 

Emile looks over his shoulder and smiles. "Yeah, that was from Ren's graduation party. The one next to that is me and my mom."

It must've been taken the same day. She barely reaches Emile's chest, her smile more subdued. Her hair is a little darker, her eyes a little lighter, and Leofard wants to ask if he looks more like his dad, but Emile never talks about him despite the way he's gone on about his family. 

"You're not allowed to say you look bad with short hair anymore," Leofard murmurs. "You were so cute." 

“Thank you.” There's a slight blush on his cheeks as he goes back to packing, and Leofard bites his lip before his attention shifts to a magazine cutout pinned to the wall. 

It’s a closeup of two football players, their teammates rushing towards them in the distance. One of them is Emile, his back is to the camera but his last name sits across his shoulders, and he’s in the arms of the other. They’re helmet to helmet, jerseys tight in each other's fists, and the other guy’s face is visible, his smile blinding as he looks up at Emile. 

"Big win?" Leofard asks. 

Emile looks over again, but this time his expression doesn’t change. "Yeah. That was when Estinien threw that hail mary—probably the best game of either of our careers." 

Estinien. 

Leofard breathes in carefully in an attempt to slow his heart—why is it beating so fast? He looks back at the picture. It’s hard to tell what Estinien really looks like with his helmet on, but he has a nice smile, and he must be strong given the way he holds Emile. Leofard clears his throat. "Does he still play?" 

"I don't think so. His injury happened right at the end of the season," Emile answers, and he turns to look at the picture one more time. Something flashes in his eyes. "But I haven't seen him since he graduated, so I don’t know." 

“Oh. Were you guys close?”

Emile just lifts a shoulder, going back to his bag. “Hey, can I borrow your toothpaste or should I bring my own?” 

Leofard stares after him, all too aware of the seconds passing, but Emile just keeps moving, keeps packing. It’s the most he’s ever dismissed him. Leofard presses his lips together. “Yeah, of course you can borrow mine.”

He just lets his gaze travel across the rest of the photos while Emile finishes up. It's the smallest glimpse into his life, faces and stories he'll probably never know about. He's standing at the edge of intimacy but there's nowhere else to go. He's gone, he tells himself, glancing at the photo of Emile and Estinien one more time. He's gone, and he's going home with Leofard. That has to be enough. 

There isn't any lingering strangeness as they go back to the car. The fresh air feels good, and he rolls down the windows for the short drive, playing the CD he burned as soon as he got home from the beach. Stacia's at the apartment when they get back, and she raises a brow at them from her spot on the couch. There's a question in her eyes that he knows she won't ask, but still he offers, "Emile's going to stay with us for a little bit."

"Okay," is all she says. 

Emile shifts beside him. "My AC is broken." 

“Okay,” she repeats. She just looks between the two of them, gaze lingering the longest on Leofard.

He turns to Emile. "Come on." 

They settle into his room, and Leofard tries not to think too hard about Emile unpacking his things. It's just for a few days, he tells himself, but he likes the sight of Emile in his bed, likes the way they curl up around each other as he puts on a movie. He tries to hold back from talking through the whole thing, but Emile doesn't complain when he does, he just answers him, his thumb tracing small circles against his side. 

Leofard is barely awake when it's over, eyes closed and already half asleep when Emile murmurs, "I should warn you that I get up even earlier for football." 

Leofard cracks an eye open. "How early?"

He’s quiet for a moment. “Five?”

“Oh my god, baby,” he says, and he nips at his shoulder. “You really need to work on that.”

“I’ll try not to wake you up," he says with a soft laugh, but Leofard already knows how well that will go. It's just for a few days, he tells himself again, but something in him says that he would gladly deal with Emile slipping from bed early if it means he gets to fall asleep with his arms around him. 

They murmur goodnight to each other, and Emile presses his lips to the top of Leofard's head before snuggling down against him. 

It's the best he’s slept since the beach. 

—

A few days turns into a week, then another. Leofard doesn't ask Emile if his AC is fixed, and Emile never brings it up. Stacia certainly does, whenever Emile is out of the apartment, but Leofard always shrugs it off—who knows how long these things take? 

They find a routine in this. 

Emile does wake him up each morning—it's impossible not to with the way they sleep so close, always jostling him as he extracts himself from the bed. They both know it, but Emile still tries to be careful each time, and Leofard finds the effort cute. He doesn't mind, considering he gets to move into the warm space Emile leaves behind before he falls back asleep, breathing in the smell of him on his pillow. 

It’s just so nice to have someone next to him every night, especially as solid and secure as he is. Leofard would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes he really loves how small Emile makes him feel. The weight of his arm around him is so comforting, and sometimes if he wakes up in the middle of the night, he’ll curl up against Emile’s broad back, his warmth guarding him from his thoughts. 

But Leofard’s favorite mornings are the ones when Emile doesn’t any obligation to get up, and they doze late into the morning and share soft, sleepy touches. 

The funny thing is, they don’t have sex any more often just because they're spending more time together. It starts to feel like something else after a while, when they catch up about their day over supper, when they go on drives at night, when they come home and fall asleep with a movie on. 

If Leofard could tell himself five months ago that this would happen, he’d think something was wrong with him. 

He’d be right, too. 

There's one night where neither of them can sleep, both of them turning over uselessly, fitting themselves together in different ways until Leofard suggests they go on a walk. They don't say anything as they wander the quiet campus, but halfway through, Emile wraps his hand around his, and despite all the ways they've touched, it's the closest Leofard has ever felt to him.

Emile gets home early from practice one afternoon. Leofard hears the front door open but he's comfy where he's sprawled out on his bed, music playing way too loud. Emile just drops his gym bag on the floor and looks at him with an amused grin. 

"What are you doing?" he asks, coming closer. His hair is damp and Leofard can smell his body spray from here. 

"Chilling," he says with half a shrug. "Come join me." 

He sits up to make room on the bed, but Emile just raises a brow. He lets his hip move to one side, then the other, picking up the pace until he matches the beat of the song. His shoulders follow as he begins to dance in earnest, and Leofard can't help the bark of laughter that comes out. Emile laughs too as he turns around to shake his ass. 

"Come here," Leofard manages, breathless. "You're ridiculous—I need you." 

Emile does come closer, stepping around his legs to dance down against his lap, but as soon as Leofard reaches out to touch him, Emile takes his hands in his own. 

"Dance with me," he says, pulling him to his feet. Leofard goes reluctantly, but after a long look at him, he joins in. It's silly and stupid, but he can't stop laughing, He realizes, as he spins and shakes his hips and sings along, that Emile's probably the only person that he would do this with. 

And in that, the freedom from any self-consciousness, that energy that always stirs within him feels a little more settled. 

They dance to a few songs before Emile picks him up, both of them out of breath as they slot their lips together, and they kiss the afternoon away. 

They kiss, and July passes into August. 

—

August is a hard month for Leofard. 

August is a reminder of what it was like three years ago, of Raimille's final days. She'd insisted again and again that he go to school despite her worsening health, but he swore he wouldn't leave her, that he'd take another year off—he'd do anything for her after all that she'd done for him. 

Then she died. 

The anniversary of that awful day finds him with an unshakeable ache in his chest. He sleeps fitfully, but he doesn't say anything to Emile, who slips away early for practice, or Stacia. She knows about Raimille, but this is just something he wants to face alone. 

It's tempting to stay in bed with his grief weighing him in place, but that's not what she would’ve wanted for him. If there's one thing he can count on in his life, even now that she's gone, it's that he will always try to make her proud. 

She's buried on the other side of the country, so there's nowhere he can go, but he still gets in his car and drives, his mind spinning through memories. 

Twelve years ago, he visited her apartment for the first time. As loud and confident as he was in his foster home, he suddenly felt nervous and shy. He'd never been to the city before, and he remembers standing at the window, looking out at the vertical lines of all the surrounding buildings, feeling every bit as small as his ten year old frame, so uncertain about everything in his life. 

But she knew, and she never pushed. That day, she smiled at him warmly and suggested that they go out, walking with him to Central Park, where it was a little easier to breathe. As they navigated the winding paths, she asked him question after question, and actually listened as he began to open up, soon chattering away—asking if she knew anything about skateboarding. 

She bought them each a root beer, and they sat on a bench as the sun began to dip a little lower in the sky, gold light reflecting off all the windows on the buildings.

He knew then, that even though he didn't have a family, he wanted to be part of hers. 

But he is no longer that little boy, or the reckless teenager that she put up with. He is a man with a heart that always aches, who can't let himself want anything because he always loses what he gets. Despite everything, he knows that he'll be okay. 

He drives on and on, the day slipping away with each road he passes, until he stops at a convenience store and picks up a couple of root beers. He goes to a park next, and sets one of the drinks on the other side of a bench while he sips at his and looks up at the cloudless sky. 

She'll always be with him. 

The sun begins to set by the time he returns to the apartment. His brows dip as he kicks his shoes off—there's music coming from his room, but not a song he recognizes. He walks in a daze towards the sound until he realizes it's Emile's guitar. From the doorway, he watches him play at the end of his bed, head bent low as his fingers work across the frets in complicated patterns. 

Emile keeps playing, unaware of his presence for a few heartbeats, but when he looks up, his hands still as a smile crosses his lips. 

Leofard just shakes his head. 

"No, keep playing," he says distantly. "Please."

The smile slips from his expression as he looks at Leofard with a question in his eyes, but he doesn't ask, and as he begins to play another song, something quiet and sweet, he thinks some part of him must understand. 

Leofard lets the sound wash over him as he draws closer, and he lays beside him on the bed, watching his profile in the lamp's light. His hair falls loose around his chin, his brows push together in concentration, and Leofard pays attention to the fan of his lashes as he looks down, the crook of his nose. He's so, so beautiful. 

Years of grief catch in Leofard's throat, but he swallows it back down. The ache lingers, never out of reach, but—

He just keeps his eyes on Emile, and he doesn't feel alone. 

[herefortheblues]

Confusing Words

Recoms(Zdog and Lyle) x Child!Reader

Summary: When Y/n gets a very late start into education she quickly realizes how confusing the English Language is.

Warnings: none

This is my first fic so it is pretty short

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Living practically your whole life on a different plant is pretty cool, but it comes with its flaws. In this case it would be education, specifically Y/n's. Y/n Ardmore, the generals daughter, who despite being 11 barely had any education at all. This was because only the essential people came to Pandora and teachers weren't on that list. Plus, no kids were supposed to be here anyway but being the daughter of the woman that was running the whole operation made Y/n "The special case."

So Y/n was thrown to the scientists. Now these people were smart but they were used to teaching other adults not children but luckily they found some books on a supply shipment.

But Y/n asked the one person she shouldn't have to help her- Lyle.

____________________________________

"So, what's this one?" Y/n asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she examined the odd spelling on the paper.

"That's tomb," Lyle replied, his voice tinged with exasperation. He regretted agreeing to help Y/n with her spelling. Being a marine, he wasn't exactly cut out for educatng children.

They were seated at a canteen table, specifically the recoms table, where the 9-foot blue marines usually gathered. Lyle found himself hunching over just to meet Y/n at eye level. The table had been custom-made to accommodate their size, but it made Y/n appear incredibly small in comparison.

"Tomb," the little girl giggled lightly, her eyes flitting over to the recom. "That's a funny word." Lyle couldn't help but smile slightly at her innocent amusement. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

Y/n's eyes returned to the paper, her gaze fixed on the rows of words. "This one is boom then?" Her face lit up with a big smile, proud of herself for getting one right. However, her smile faded when the recom chimed in.

"No, that's bomb," the recom corrected. Confusion clouded Y/n's face as she pointed to the previous word. "But if this is tomb," she reasoned, moving her finger to the other word, "shouldn't this one be boom? They're spelled almost the same except for the T and the B."

Lyle started to answer, prepared with an explanation, when Zdirnask suddenly plopped down at the table on the opposite side of Y/n. "What are we working on?"

"Words," Y/n replied, moving the paper to show Zdirnask. She pointed to the section they were currently on. "Confusing words."

Zdirnask's smirk grew as she glanced at the paper and saw the words in question,

Tomb

Bomb

Comb

She glanced over at Lyle, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Well, those certainly are some tricky words."

__

By now the whole team was piling into the canteen. Their eyes immediately landing on their two teammates and the child, all hunched over and looking confused and frustrated.

As they neared the table the started to pick up the conversation, "-but if this is not com or coom, what is it?"

"That's comb."

Y/n's mouth hung open, eyes squinted as she looked down at the paper as if it had insulted her, "That doesn't make any sense!"

"What doesn't make any sense?" Brown asked as he took a seat next to Lyle.

"These words! You can't just change the way a word sound just because the letter at the beginning is different."

Her little rant pulled a chuckle from the group.

"It's not funny. If this one is tomb," she started, "Then this one should be boom. Plus, how is this comb? It's stupid."

Mansk, who had sat in the seat directly in front of Y/n, smirk down at her, "What's the next one?"

"Um... Ka-nife" (Knife)

"Oh come on!"

---------------------------------------------

This is my first fic so it's not going to be that great but I will improve as I go forward.

[gooseloverfiction]

Will you be my girlfriend?

Part 2 (for "Do you know what time it is?")

Ken x f!reader

Part 2

(N) SFW? Mention of sex (explanation), anatomy, thirsty feelings, fluff and bit of domestic stuff

Word count: 1968

After almost an hour (you swear, it's time to get through all the boxes in your room and storage and throw away most of the junk) you got back to Ken watching with his mouth open some erotic movie. It wasn't porn nor very explicit but it raised an awfully loud alarm in your head. Just when you were halfway to the couch, the commercials started… 

Hearing your almost silent steps, Ken whipped his head to your direction and asked in the most curious and innocent way, “What is erection?”

You looked at the screen of the TV. Of course it was the hour of adult movies and commercials about libido, aphrodisiacs and erection pills.

You didn't believe yourself, when you started to talk… 

“You know women and men are different, right?” you've started, thinking of how you would answer a kid. But also this was a grown up man.

Ken nodded eagerly, his focus completely on you, your body and lips, waiting for continuation. 

“So a woman has a vagina, a man has a penis…” you continued and your guest rose from his place, his blouse open, bare chest in full glory. Focus! 

“Oh yes, Barbie said something like that to the workers on the street, but she said we don't have them” Ken mumbled, fascinated by things you were saying. 

“Well, yeah, apparently and…”

“Then who has an erection?” Ken interrupted you again and you almost laughed. But you momentarily gulped, getting to the ‘fun’ part. 

“Men do. When they're aroused and ready to have sex and…”

“Sex. Like in that movie? The man said something about them having sex. And he kissed a woman. Can we have sex too?”

You closed your eyes trying to stay composed and not freak out. But it was much harder, when a pair of strong arms caught you in the waist and swung around, dipping you and putting his lips on yours. 

When Ken did nothing else but kept his mouth pressed on yours, you opened eyes, big as saucers and tried to do something, free yourself. But you needed to also regain control of your melting body. God, being so long without anyone made you so vulnerable. 

You circled your arms around his neck, trying to have some support and pull yourself up. Feeling your hands on his nape and shoulder, made Ken open his eyes too, and bring you closer to him, getting you both in more… vertical position. He broke the kiss and you could swear that even in this dim light, his cheeks were pink or slightly red. He licked his lips and smiled happily. 

“Am I good at sex?” His question made you chuckle. He frowned, trying to capture your lips again to make you change your mind if he was bad. 

“This isn't sex, Ken. It's just kissing…”

“I know it's kissing. I also thought it's sex, because the couple on the screen kissed in bed and he said they were having sex.” Ken explained, showing the movie which was back on. You've managed to free yourself and moved away from the man, feeling your body absolutely tingling where you two touched. 

“Sex is more than kissing,” you've started, putting your phone next to a TV, hooking it to a charging cable. 

“And you can't just kiss people around, without their consent. It's… Not polite,” you ended awkwardly. It was so bad of you not minding it, tho… 

Ken nodded his head, keeping it in mind. His eyes suddenly shifted back to the screen, switching your attention. 

You've stopped in a track when there was a scene with a man burying his face in a woman's breasts. He moved fluently, suggesting they actually have sex but Ken didn't know that. Feeling suddenly hot, you jolted when a pair of hands captured you from behind. The blonde held you in your waist, his chin putting on your shoulder. 

“So what are they doing now? Having sex, or not?” he asked, curious but also slightly lost. 

“Yeah, they're having sex. He… Caresses her. Touch her body so she can feel good,” you tried to explain, not thinking about how much you would like to feel those gigantic palms of his, on your own body. No, no, no, you can't think about it… 

“And why does he move like that?” Ken asked, loosening his grip and taking a seat on a couch. You sighed. Someone has to explain it to him, right? 

“Because while having sex, a man puts his penis into a woman's vagina and moves like that,” you ended awkwardly and tried to snatch a TV remote but it meant passing Ken and his quite touchy hands. 

“We need to go to bed, Ken. To sleep,” you've tried to reason. It worked wonders because he switched off the TV instantly and got up to his feet. Seeing his readiness to follow you, it made you think if you had the same thing in mind.

------------------------------------------------------

You moved to the clutter room which was also a spare bedroom. You tried to make a way through a labyrinth of boxes and ended up tripping over and on the bed. Ken pulled you on your feet without effort and started to pat you from the dust. You've tried not to react to his hands, cleared your throat and moved away, finishing his work. With the plastic cover taken from the bed, it was actually ready to use. At least you hoped so. 

“Well, you can sleep here. I'll be in a room that is closest to the apartment door, okay?” while you moved, you heard Ken going after you. 

“We're not sleeping together?” he sounded genuinely surprised. You slowly breathed out and looked at him. 

“No Ken. I mean… I only met you today. I don't know you. I shouldn't even take you home and I really don't know why I did it and…” you had to stop. Or you'll go crazy. 

Man's face dropped and suddenly he looked like a kicked puppy. 

“Can I at least kiss you? Goodnight kiss?” he started and leaned towards you. You knew, you shouldn't but… catching his sad face in your hands, you guided him to you and kissed his lips. In the heat of the moment (and making a huge mistake), you licked his joined lips, making him part them in a gasp. When you moved back, Ken's eyes were positively glowing in the dark. 

“What w-was that?” he asked, trying to chase your mouth again but you've stopped him, with a firm hand on his chest. 

“I'll tell you the other day, okay? Goodnight Ken.”

With that, you left him and Ken watched you go through a short corridor, his focus being caught by the bounce of your hair and your lower body moving in a strangely nice way. 

He moved back to the room and closed the door, taking off his blouse, leaving pants and layed on top of the bed, stretching himself. With arms under his head he hummed to himself, enjoying the softness under his suddenly heavy body. Drifting off, he smiled, remembering his first, real kiss. 

------------------------------------------------------

The old phone didn't work after all and you just paced from the living room to the main door, with Ken walking around the house, watching everything and asking about each thing that caught his attention like, stereo, plants or pigeons. Or kitchen appliances. 

Earlier this morning he woke up first and feeling a familiar sucking in his stomach, he went to the kitchen area and tried to make himself something to eat. He first ate what was left in a pot from spaghetti and ate half a block of cheese and some old bun. 

And when you got up and saw the half open fridge, you felt the urge to tell him what not to do… The fridge is not a wardrobe, he will remember that. Whatever it meant…

So you ended up making scrambled eggs. 

Ken most probably left you a bruise on your shoulder, standing so close and putting his chin on it the entire cooking time. 

When you finished explaining the process and food was ready, he pecked your cheek and helped put the meal on plates. He then spent the whole 10 minutes watching and using a toaster. You didn't know why but you really liked him. He was adorably lost but also a really quick and eager learner. 

------------------------------------------------------

But now you need to think of a really good excuse for bringing a stranger to your flat for your landlord. You had way too nosy neighbors to keep the man as a secret.

And brainstorming on what to do with Ken was another thing. Because you most definitely couldn't take him to a police station. At night, when he went to bed, you went through all of his clothes (and you seriously couldn't understand why he had all of them on himself) and checked the pockets for some documents. He got nothing on him. No documents, no money, only the watch. So how do you explain he was robbed, was bumming around the park and beach to the authorities? They will probably close him up in a jail or mental institution. To be honest, you thought that you should be locked up with him. 

But there was something that didn't give you peace of mind. 

You believed him. 

After a sleep, you woke up and actually believed him. That he was a crotchless doll from Barbieland. 

You weren't THIS naive but you still believed. He had something around him, some kind of an aura that made you think it's all actually the truth. 

You felt dizzy from all the pacing and finally dragged yourself to the couch, dropping on it, old springs biting into your butt. 

Ken disappeared earlier in his room, going through all your boxes. It was like a never ending Christmas for him. You let him roam through those, in hope that away from you, you would focus enough to come up with a plan. 

“Hi,” his soft, low voice brought you back to reality. You took your arm from face and looked at him. He had a small, almost sheepish smile.

“Hi. Did you go through all the boxes?” you asked, looking at the watch. It was just an hour. 

“Not yet. I was just thinking… Since I stayed over. And we slept together. Does it mean you're my girlfriend?”

Your words failed you. Trying to understand the logic behind his thinking made your head spin even more. But then it hit you. He believed he was a doll. And kids playing those don't really care about social conventions. They just hook up those dolls and it is what it is. If life could be so easy… 

Ken jumped with ease above the couch and sat next to you, sensing he would get the answer. It was gnawing at him all morning. 

“No Ken. I'm not your girlfriend. It's not that easy here. There are dates, getting to know each other, meeting with each other, spending some time…” you started to enlist stuff you didn't do for quite some time. 

“So if we do everything from the list, will you be my girlfriend then?” His blue eyes almost sparkled on the thought. You had to suppress the chuckle on his eagerness. 

But you should be realistic here. Not in a million years a man like him would be your boyfriend. That's a big ass opportunity here, looking at you like a puppy waiting for cuddles. 

“It would be nice, sure… but,” he stopped you, kissing your still moving lips, muffling all doubt coming out of them. You caught his denim vest, trying to anchor at least your body, when your thoughts flew over the open window. 

That man was too hazardous for your sanity. But you will worry about it later. Much, much later… 

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 85-86

From this prompt list. If you’ve read this far, I’m not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn’t written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here.

Day 84 here

***

37. “Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?”

122. “Let’s take it back to my place.”

***

Damian didn't come over that night, though he did text to ask how patrol had gone. Sort of. The text message actually read, I see no injuries on the notes for tonight so I assume you are well. But it came down to the same thing. Tim replied with You assume correctly, and even used a period for good measure. Damian liked the message. Tim fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Jason returned to town the following day, exhausted and grumpy from being on the road, if his video message announcing his arrival were anything to judge by. The three of them agreed to meet at Tim's that night.

“Somebody or some group is running them both,” Jason announced before he'd even sat down in the living room. 

Damian and Tim exchanged a glance, but Tim was the one who replied. “We thought the same thing. Do you have any ideas about who it could be?”

Jason shrugged. “If we're just guessing at names, maybe Black Mask? He likes to get his hands filthy. Or Falcone, he's done it before and he might like the irony of getting the Irish Mob and Bratva under the Mafia banner without either side knowing it.” 

Damian’s pensive frown deepened as he clicked through the documents Jason had shared with him and Tim. “I don't care for guessing games. Too inefficient. We need to interrupt a transport between an entry point and a distribution center here in town, or Metropolis, so we can question our way to the higher-ups.”

“In the past, the harbor shipping containers have been a good place to watch,” Tim offered. “We could split up the next time all three of us are unscheduled and keep an eye out.”

Jason nodded. "I'm all for that. Is there a way we could talk to one of the victims who's here in town, though? Without letting the people running the show know we're this close? I'm sure they're getting rumors of shit going bad in the western parts of the operation, but no one's going to be talking about it with the bosses here if they know what's good for them."

Tim sat up straighter as an idea occurred. "There was one woman who I met the night I—" A sudden sensory memory assailed him: Damian's hands warm on his thighs as he lifted Tim against the closet wall, the embroidery on his suit smooth against Tim's palms. He swallowed and fixed his gaze on his screen. "The night I went to the opera, one of the escorts with Waters seemed to know I was there for another reason. She saw me heading to his office but, judging by the lack of follow-up, I'm guessing she didn't say anything to him. And she did something to the bug I planted on her to stop it from working, so she's pretty savvy. If we can arrange a meeting with her, then she might be willing to give us info."

Damian, apparently unaffected by any flashbacks, rubbed his chin, considering it. "So, catch her while she's out during the day?"

Jason shook his head. "Too risky. Someone might see.”

Damian shrugged. “In that case, I believe it will be more effective if we use our civilian personas to make contact. Perhaps one of us might arrange a date with her."

"It can't be me." Tim twisted his mouth in regret. "Me making contact with her again will make her suspicious if she isn't ready to talk."

"And I'm too officially dead to make the date worthwhile to anyone," Jason said.

They turned their gazes to Damian. He only made them wait for a moment before sighing deeply. "All right. Drake, should I use you as my referral when I contact Waters?"

***

Tim sat at home, watching Damian set up his phone as a surveillance camera in the lounge where he was meeting Katarina. There were also actual cameras which they were piggybacking on, of course, but the phone would give the best point of view. Jason had made the drive to Metropolis to provide closer oversight and backup. Tim was up for patrol, so he would have to watch piecemeal from afar.

"This place is too fucking loud," Jason grumbled from the van where he was sitting.

"Indeed," Damian agreed, pretending to be talking on speaker the way a true douchebag would. "It will be difficult to catch audio without a great deal of filtering the background music and conversation. Clearly Waters wants me to be seen with her. This place is . . . popular." He said the last word in the same tone most people would have used for "a garbage heap."

"Well, I'm guessing it makes it easier to blackmail some targets if they've been seen publicly with the sex workers," Tim said.

Jason's tone sharpened. "Target's approaching. Entering through the front door. Must be a regular. The bouncer didn't even give her a second glance when she went past the line."

"We should look into who owns this place, then." Tim called up the superficial information and started following the names.

The angle of the video feed from Damian's phone swooped and settled again as he swiftly put it into a place better suited to capture Katarina's face. He leaned back, arms spread across the leather back of the half-circle booth in the center of the lounge to which the hostess had instantly directed him. Everyone close to Gotham wanted the reclusive Wayne heir to be seen at their place, even in Metropolis. (Never mind that all of them were technically Wayne heirs, as some excruciating conversations with Bruce's attorneys had made clear. The only one the reporters seemed to want to bother without an appointment was Damian, which was a blessing most of the time for the rest of them.)

Katarina's arrival seemed to be heralded by a surge in the volume of the music, which rendered her greeting as she approached Damian inaudible. Tim frowned and adjusted what he could, but the audio would need considerable cleaning up after tonight if they were going to use any of it.

He had to admit to himself that he was impressed by Damian's acting. The kid was good—body relaxed and welcoming, but confident in the entitled way expected of a man who'd never not been rich and indulged. They were talking, faces betraying only idle interest in one another, but their words remained obscured. When Katarina started moving in closer, Damian captured her hand and raised it to his lips, eyes sparkling wickedly over her knuckles. She laughed, clearly charmed, or at least engaged enough to pretend she was.

Abruptly, Tim realized his heart was hammering. Huh.

With a tiny tug, Damian offset Katarina's balance so that she draped gracefully over his lap and torso with a startled exclamation that didn't sound upset. Instead of chastising him playfully the way Tim expected, she snuggled up closer and let one slender arm wind its way around Damian's shoulders. Damian gave her a lazy grin and traced the line of her dress's zipper down her back, to just above her ass. Their mouths never stopped moving, but the angle was too difficult to allow Tim to read their lips.

Tim zeroed in on Damian's fingertips, rubbing tiny circles into the small of her back, and missed when she started kissing him. The sight of their mouths locked together felt like an electric shock to his nerves. Tim frowned and tried to swallow down the instinctive surge of sick fury that wanted to rise into his throat. Damian was only playing along, that was all. Acting. As they'd all been taught.

It was just that Damian had never seemed that interested in pretending, before now.

Katarina kissed Damian's jawline and paused at his ear to whisper something, while she sucked his earlobe between her teeth. A real multi-tasker, this one. Good thing Damian had removed his comms before all this began. Tim realized he was wringing his hands and forced himself to let go.

"Ha! Got it!" Jason crowed, and the audio went crystal clear, just in time to hear Damian say, “Now, why don't we teach you a lesson?”

Tim's alarm to head for the door and start his patrol sounded. He hastily hit "stop" on his phone screen.

On the video feed, Damian's hand slid lower, past Katarina’s waist, to grab just above her ass and pull her even closer. Something in his face reminded Tim of the way Talia's softened when she looked at Bruce.

Katarina giggled and rose to her feet, withdrawing gracefully from his grasp. “You’ll want privacy for that—I’ve been a very, very bad girl. Finish your drink and let’s take it back to my place. It’s just a few blocks east."

Damian tossed back the remainder of his drink and they started making their way through the lounge. Tim yanked his gaze away and stared, unseeing, at the windows, trying to force his breathing into a recognizable pattern. It was fine. This was undercover work. Damian didn't mean any of it. It was just acting.

His teeth clenched so tight the enamel squeaked. Shoving his hands into his gloves, he stalked toward one of his hidden exits, telling himself all the while that he was overreacting.

day 87 here

[asteriaspirit]

Hunter, Hunter

The door to Blue Moon Books and Metaphysical Sundries opens with a bang. Partly from the rain that comes down in sheets of freezing water outside, partly from the wind that screams along with the storm. And partly from the massive individual stepping over the threshold and shaking himself free of the cold droplets that cling to his hoodie.

“Welcome to Blue Moon Books...” comes Asteria's welcoming chirp as she rounds the corner from one of the massive bookcases. “Oh.”

“Are you Asteria?” he asks, his deep baritone skittering across the floor to bury itself in her ears.

Asteria blinks up at him before a frown tugs at the corners of her mouth, her arms crossing over her chest, obscuring the logo of her bookstore scrawled across the navy shirt. “Depends on who's asking,” she tells him. “And what they want with her.”

The man steps forward, further into the warm interior of the store, the door finally closing behind him with a click. Asteria holds her ground even as she tips her head back to look up at him. His massive stature dwarfs her by comparison and if he were to become violent with her, there'd be little she could do to stop him. Especially not this far away from the full moon.

“Heard there was a werewolf in the area,” he grunts and goosebumps flicker across Asteria's exposed arms. “Some of the town's folk seem to think she might be it.”

“Yeah, well, they don't know what they're talking about,” she snaps, her tone too defensive for the conversation they were having.

He notices it, one eyebrow arching up in question. His massive hands go to the zipper of his hoodie and he begins to slowly tug it down. “That so?”

“They're always talking,” she tells him, golden eyes flicking from his face to the descending zipper and then back up again. “Gossip. It has as much currency here in the valley as actual money does.”

“Folks I talked to seem to think it's more than gossip...”

Asteria's arms uncross from her chest and instead hang at her sides while her shoulders jerk upward in a shrug. “Dunno what to tell you. It's not true.”

He snorts and the sound makes the thin hairs on the back of her neck lift. She barely stifles the urge to bare her teeth at him.

“...I think you're lying, little wolf.”

At this, Asteria takes a step back and her nostrils flare unconsciously. He shrugs out of his hoodie and turns to hang it on the coat rack next to the door. His garb is as modern as hers; a brown tee-shirt stretched across his chest and navy jeans contoured to his thick thighs and legs. If there wasn't a werewolf in the valley before, there had to be one now. There was no other explanation for his proportions.

He turns back to her and Asteria swallows with a nervous chuckle and a shake of her head.

“You've...got the wrong girl,” she tells him while holding her hands up, palms facing him. “This my bookstore. That's it.”

“A werewolf owning a bookstore, huh?” he asks while stepping forward, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. It doesn't make him look any less intimidating. “Usually it's a factory or a meat packing plant. Maybe even a butcher's shop. First time one's owned a bookstore...”

“I'm not—”

“Those pretty words sound good to my ears, but you can't fool my nose, Asteria. Your scent is all over this village. Even out to that house at the edge of the woods.”

A chill settles over her as her eyes widen in shock.

“You've...been to my house?”

He shrugs, but the smirk remains on his lips.

“What do you want?” she hisses when she realizes that he won't answer her question.

“Not much,” he tells her while taking another step forward, forcing her to take one step back, always keep distance between them. “Just wanna talk.”

“About what?” she growls at him. “I don't have anything to talk to you about.”

“I find that hard to believe—”

“Well, believe it buddy,” she counters, “I run a book store, I live at the edge of the forest, you can...smell...dogs or some shit, which has nothing to do with me.”

He grins at her and another chill clambers down her spine. Epinephrine begins to flood her system and her brain weighs the option of fighting him versus running from him.

There was no where to go, her bookstore being a small two-story place that was more cozy than commercial. Escaping into the storm outside was asking for misfortune to run her down in the middle of the street. But raising her fists against him, biting into his flesh and tearing out bleeding chunks while in this form?

Laughable.

And completely impossible.

She attempts to exhale the tight band of fear that has begun wrapping itself around her lungs.

“How about you...just buy a book and get the fuck out of here?”

“Without having my chat with you?” He tsks and shakes his head, his long strides eating up more space between them, space which Asteria remains intent on keeping. “I don't think so.”

“Then what—”

“You have these little tables and chairs in the corners of your establishment,” he tells her, his head jutting to one such table to his left. “Sit with me. You got coffee?”

“I have tea and water,” she tells him with a frown even as her eyes dart in the direction he indicated. “For paying customers.”

He chuckles. “I'll pay for your company,” he murmurs and Asteria doesn't miss the double entendre, a blush rising to her cheeks and tinting them pink.

“That's not—I'm not—you can't—”

“And a book,” he continues. “Got anything on shamanism? Specifically, working with animal totems and spirits?”

Asteria blinks, completely caught off guard by his request and he uses that moment to close the distance between them. His shadow stretches over her and he finds that the top of her head barely reaches his shoulders.

“You're so small for one of my kind,” he mutters to himself.

“I do have books on shamanism,” Asteria tells him, either not catching or refusing to acknowledge his words. “And books on working with animal guides.”

“Really?” he asks, also surprised.

“Yeah. And books about achieving the optimal meditative state with specific plants in order to talk and deal with those guides.” This time, Asteria snorts and shakes her head, a little of the tension she carried before leaking out of her. “They're soooo worried about a werewolf being in the valley, but not about a witch in their midst.”

“You're also a witch?”

She glares up at him, the muscle in her jaw bulging as she grits her teeth together.

“I'm not anything,” she tells him, forcefully. “Just a...bookstore owner. That's it.”

“Uh huh,” he says with a nod. He turns and angles toward the table he mentioned. “Tea, talk, one of those books about animal guides, and let's see what you are in about an hour. How's that?”

Rolling her eyes, Asteria lets out a long sigh but still turns to gather what he asked for.

[traegics]

"If she mattered to you then you wouldn't have left a damn letter," Lorelai shot sharply. "If you loved her then you never would've done that. You took the cowards way out and still to this day you continue to do so. I don't care for your explanation. Your explanation means jack shit and doesn't change what you did. There is literally nothing that could excuse the way you left her." There's a laugh, sarcastic, dry, as she shakes her head at the male. "That's cute that you think you'd end up anywhere near wherever Bella is right now," the she-wolf retorts. "The only place you're headed is hell and I promise you Bella is nowhere near hell." And then she scoffs, ocean hues rolling as her frame remains unwavering even after he leans in closer to her. "Sweetheart, your life would be an absolute walk in the park for me," she counters. "I grew up with shit parents, had my brother ostracized from me, I quite literally died and spent two long agonizing years in an eternally dark place all alone only to be brought back here and watch my sister get murdered and put on display only for her to come back and struggle to come to terms with the fact that she was now a hybrid, and now I've lost one of my best friends and have to watch both Gabi and my husband try and get through each day pretending that they're fine when I can hear their hearts breaking. You know what I don't do, Bejo? Complain, bitch. I suck it up and move on with life because I can't change the fucking past. I find ways to deal with the guilt that I'm feeling right now, with the pain and the grief. I don't just think of myself. I have to think of my siblings, of Gabi, of Brooks, of my daughter. Sue me for being completely exhausted and not being able to stand on my own two feet after 5 months of being alive again and getting kidnapped and thrown in to a box. Let's not forget who fucking killed the psycho bitch, yeah?" His final words struck an immediate nerve, rage emanating through her entire frame not only for herself but for Bella and Brooks at his question and before she could even stop herself her hands had risen to grab a hold of the male, slamming him face first into the picnic table. "Let me make a couple of things crystal clear with you," she snaps. "One, the absolute blatant disrespect for both Bella and Brooks that that question alone just had will never ever come out of your mouth again. Two, stay the fuck away from me, Brooks, Gabi, anyone that I love, just stay the hell away. And three, the next time you think about opening your smart mouth, don't, because I won't hesitate to put you down. Do you understand me?"

"She's the only person that matters to me. You think I made that decision lightly. I didn't. But that's between me and Bella. I don't owe fucking shit. I would love to explain, the minute yI do you plug your ears like a child." Bejo snarled back, maybe he should walk away. But as she leaned in he leaned in as well. "If I lose my life I'll be closer to Bella then you'll ever." Bejo retorted. "Yeah yeah I get it I'm a moody guy but at least I can own it. You wouldn't last a fucking day in my life. I didn't ask to be stuck between worlds constantly. You'd go fucking insane." Bejo scoffed. "But who had to save you. Little Miss Independence." Bejo snarked back. There was an eyebrow quirk as she closed the spqce. "So are we going to fight or are we going to make out."

[haitaniapologist]

EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED.

pairings — mitsuya takashi x female!reader.

warnings — a little bit of angst, y/n is a bit insecure too.

word count — 1.9k

notes — d!!! thank you!! you're so sweet, i can't sjahd and thank you for this request, it was so cute to write! i hope you'll like it🤍

tagging — @anotherpretentioushipster / @hurricanelawliet @tooweirdforyou @chronic-claire-universe @aetheriaess @etheralyonn @sincerelyraylene @aqualesha @winterv-black @softbajis

luna and mana were looking at him with a suspicious mischief glint shining on their violet eyes, and takashi wasn't enjoying that.

not at all.

every time his sisters looked at him like that, he knew trouble was coming. most of the time they were angels, but they were still little girls — and little girls could be as bad as having to deal with fearsome delinquents as he used to do.

“taka-nii.” mana was the one who spoke first, and luna was smiling sweetly at him. “do you want to be y/n-nee's boyfriend?”

takashi almost choked on his own spit at the mention of your name.

you were the mitsuyas' neighbor and mana and luna's makeshift babysitter since they were little, and mitsuya takashi's longtime crush — but you didn't know that. he first time met you when you moved to the apartment next to his family's, just you and your mom. he discovered that your father died when you were a child and your older brother was studying in another city, so it was just you, alone, all day — because your mom worked in a full time job just like his own — and mitsuya promptly befriended you. he ignored the way his ten-year-old heart speeded up when you called him to play, or how amazed he was when he saw you helping him to take care of his little sisters.

everything has changed since he met you.

you became luna’s and mana’s babysitter when he founded toman with the boys, watching as how conflicted he was to leave his sisters alone to meet his friends, offering your help as soon as you saw him in the next day — your mother always worked late, and most times you felt lonely without her in your home, and it felt natural to you to babysit them when mitsuya needed. you would do it for free, of course, but takashi always tried to pay you somehow — it could be him helping you with study, or making clothes for you, or taking you to late night's rides when you were too stressed.

and he knew he had fallen for you when he saw you interacting with his sisters.

mana and luna were in love with you — you were their role model, and they always tried to behave and wear clothes similar to yours. mitsuya found that to be extremely adorable, and now that they're pre-teens, he was glad that they have another girl to confine the problems girls their age had.

only draken knew about his infatuation to you, but maybe, just maybe, he wasn't doing a good job in hiding his feelings for you.

“so, taka-nii.” luna's voice took him from his panicked state after the youngest mitsuya question. “do you like y/n-nee? do you want to be her boyfriend?” she was wiggling her eyebrows while questioning him, and takashi repressed the urge to smile because of her cute face.

“of course not, girls.” even though he denied their questions, they aren't looking at him disappointed. “y/n's just a friend.”

mana was the first to speak up. “really? then you're okay with her going on a date with draken?”

….. what?

“what do you mean, mana?” takashi hoped his sisters wouldn't notice how strained his voice became, because that didn't make any sense. ken knew how much he liked you — and he would never betray him like that. “you must be joking.” that was the only explanation. it needed to be the only explanation.

mana let an offended sound out of her mouth. “i’m not joking, taka-nii!” luna joined her young sister, nodding to give support to her. “we heard y/n-nee talking to yuzuha about the date with draken!”

it wasn’t a lie. you and yuzuha became friends by his intervention, and you would never lie to her. takashi felt his heart break, but at first, he needed to talk to draken. he was conflicted — he was heartbroken to know that accepted to go out with his best friend, but he was also angered by draken’s actions. what was he thinking? takashi would always support him in going on dates and moving on with his life after emma’s death, but not with you. that wasn’t fair. mitsuya have liked you since he was ten, for god’s sake.

he felt his sisters' arms hugging him, and he looked down at them.

“you should ask her out, taka-nii!” luna offered her advice. “and when she accepts, she’ll break things with draken!” mana nodded excitedly, happy that their plan was working. “you should do it now! we know she’s home and her date with draken is tomorrow!”

takashi let his sisters drag him to the front door of their apartment, still a bit dumbstruck by the things they said. they were little girls, of course they could be lying to make him confess — but what if they weren’t? what if he would lose you to his best friend, and be miserable seeing you and draken together, hiding his feelings under a happy smile?

before he could think what was the best thing to do, takashi saw himself outside his house, his sisters locking the door. “you are only get inside again when you ask her out!” he heard mana’s voice muffled by the door, and he sighed. it was now or never — and thank god, you were in the playground and not inside your house. it would be awkward if he was going to confess outside it, your mother hearing everything he wanted to tell you.

he leaned over the balcony railing, admiring you. you glowed under the sunset, and takashi’s heart did a flip when you waved at him. he smiled at you, walking to sit besides you in the swing — and mitsuya felt as if that was the walk of his life. he was probably doing a big deal by you going on a date with draken, but it was as if that possibility was a knife piercing his heart a million times.

“hey, takashi.” you greeted the oldest mitsuya, feeling your cheeks heating up, giving him a smile. you noticed him staring at you and you didn’t understand why. did you had something in your hair? or in your clothes? you weren’t complaining about having his attention, no. you absolutely loved it when you found takashi’s eyes glued to your figure, but now, they had a fire you never saw in them. “are you okay?”

it seemed like mitsuya’s resolution fell when he found himself in your presence.

it was selfish of him, it wasn’t? to ask you to go not in a date with someone you liked — well, probably liked, since you accepted draken’s offer — just because he fancied you since he was ten. “hey, y/n.” he smiled at you, and it pained him to see you so happy. was it because of the date? he hoped it was him making you glow with happiness, not his best friend. mitsuya inhale deeply — it was now or never, and he could see mana and luna spying you two from the gaps of the balcony. “why didn’t you tell me?”

you tilted your head, a confused frown on your face. “didn’t tell you what?” you asked confusedly, plagued by the painful expression on his face.

“your date with draken.” mitsuya didn’t want to sound so harsh, but you two were his friends — then why did he know about the date from his sisters?

“w-what?” you asked, dumbfounded. your date with draken? that didn’t make sense. draken was helping you with confessing your feelings for mitsuya. “we are going out, yes, but just as friends.” you almost chuckled at how takashi’s eyes widened and how it seemed that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders — like he was relieved to know you and ken were just friends.

“i like someone else.” “then you want to go to the cinema with me this saturday?”

you two said simultaneously, takashi’s face falling again in a painful expression, while you felt your cheeks heating up again.

“are you asking me out? on a date?” you asked, trying to not get your hopes up. you didn’t know if mitsuya really liked you as draken — or his sisters and even hakkai too — said, but you hoped he did. you’ve liked him since you became his neighbor when you two were ten, but you were always too afraid to say anything. mitsuya was amazing — he was in a gang, he was the president of the sewing club, he was an amazing older brother and had amazing skills in fashion.

you couldn’t compare to him, not in the slightest, but you hoped he saw you with kinder eyes than you did to yourself.

“no.” mitsuya answered promptly, but by seeing your eyes glossing with tears, he added. “i mean... yes, maybe, as… friends?” he didn’t want to make you cry — to be the reason of your tears was takashi’s biggest fear.

you pouted, frustrated with yourself. you left your hopes too high, and they obviously would be crushed. “i don’t want to go out with you as ‘friends’, mitsuya.” you opted to use his last name, as you knew he would reject you and you would lose your oldest friend. “you are the person i like, and i was going out with draken so he could help me confess to you.” you crossed your arms over your chest, not looking at him. of course everyone read the situation wrong. takashi didn’t like you — his first thought when asked if he was asking you on a date was saying no! — and you were a fool to believe what everyone else said. you just wanted to go to your home and cry yourself to sleep.

but before you could get up and run to your room, you felt takashi’s warm hand on your chin, making you look at his face again. you parted your lips at the lovestruck gaze he was giving you. “you like me?” you nodded, confused as to why he was having a hard time believing it.

the smile he gave you was contagious, and you giggled when he started to stroke your cheek with the hand that was on your chin. “since i was ten, actually.”

“no way.” he whispered, and you blinked your eyes at him. “i liked you since i was ten too.”

you two were both fools, the fear of losing your friendship blinding you two of the truth — that mitsuya takashi was in love with y/l/n y/n since he saw her playing with his sisters and treating them kindly, and y/l/n y/n was in love with mitsuya takashi since he defended her from the neighborhood bullies.

takashi’s lips brushed yours and you sighed happily, but before you could deepen the kiss, mana’s and luna’s voices were heard cheering for the both of you.

“i swear.” mitsuya whispered against your lips. “they are menaces. i don’t know how you like them so much.”

you giggled, your hands clutching his shirt and bringing him as close the swing allowed. “be a good boyfriend and kiss me already, taka.” you teased, your lips millimeters from his, his hot breath fanning your face. that was almost like a dream — you two were so close that you could see the different shades of violet that danced in his eyes because of the sunset, or faint reddish shade that adorned his nose.

“as you wish, my love.”

[xxsycamore]

—𝘝𝘈𝘓𝘐𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌

oda nobunaga x fem oc (Asura)

rating: G

tags: Strong Female Character; Light Angst; Feelings Realization; Love Confessions; First Kiss; War Allies to Lovers

wordcount: 1,974

written for Ikemen Sengoku Gift Exchange hosted by @ikemenlibrary and @saeyoungs-sunflower

a/n: My giftee was the wonderful @randonauticrap! Madame L, I was so pleasantly surprised to see that you're my giftee!! Your OC Asura is a great character and I absolutely LOVED writing her in this story! I hope you enjoy! <3

By the time war council is over, Azuchi is wrapped into shades of early night.

Nobunaga takes step after step in the direction of his private chambers, unhurried, devoid of any evident disturbance in his mood whatsoever. A walk of a warlord exiting war council, nothing more and nothing less - steps falling with a weight equal to the one of his word.

The reason must be laying somewhere in that same fearsome demeanor of his as to why the scene is such a tense one, servants' breaths all held in at the sight.

Typically, noone dares to dart after Nobunaga, for whatever reason they might have - more so, to shout at his back.

"I demand an explanation!"

The man doesn't as much as stir at those words - probably having seen it coming already. The only gesture that breaks his steady walk towards the entrance of his chambers is the raising of a hand signaling stop - not to the woman behind him, but rather, to the guard that was about to interfere and hold her back. He wordlessly lets them all know that the woman is allowed to cross the threshold and follow him inside.

And in the next second, they're alone on the other side of the sliding doors.

The candles dye the room in warmness, but Nobunaga finds it early to use artificial lighting as the sky outside is far from pitch black. He blows out the majority of them, continuing to ignore Asura's demands of holding a conversation.

Her temper is fierce as ever, and Nobunaga expects her to go to great lengths to receive her answers. He has always admired the fire inside her - so much, that he almost wants to play with it.

Unable to keep her anger at bay, Asura grabs him by the sleeve - untrusting the power of that move to make him turn around and face her - but he does so, on his own at that.

Nobunaga looks into her eyes with stern glare. Her eyes are stabbing his alike daggers, eyebrows are knit in a frown. She is still holding his sleeve.

"Tell me why! Where did I go wrong? I understand nothing of this. You praise me, you demand that everyone knows the achievements of my men, you call my swordsmanship unmatched - and in the end, what? You throw me away just like that? When we're just a step away from defeating-"

"Asura."

Nobunaga's carnelian eyes catch the sparse candlelight and reflect the flame as his pupils twitch to animate it. It's a hard to figure out gaze, yet Asura stays unwavering on her two feet in front of him.

He lifts his hand slowly, letting her follow its path as he brings it close to her face - then missing it, barely grazing her cheek as he touches her hair instead. They've been at battle for too long, he got used to seeing her long red hair neatly braided and tucked away. He's almost sick of it.

Bringing out the braid to rest over her shoulder and in front of his eyes, Nobunaga carefully monitors her reaction under the mask of utter calmness. He brings his other hand and slowly works the braid undone.

"You should let your hair down every once in awhile, Asura. It's been days."

As if she can afford to think of something like that, he is well-aware, alike to what her gaze is reading. Using his peripheral vision, Nobunaga can see her hands balled into fists, even if they're not twitching with anger anymore. He is far from the thought that he should fear getting a fist in his gut for what he is doing. After all, it's hardly the first time he's touching her hair.

The off-topic advice he threw at her only makes the bitterness in her mouth spike, urging her to spit another repeated question at him, in a quieter voice this time, shorter.

"Why?"

Nobunaga knows she is right to be confused with his decision. His gaze is falling way too close to her face not to take in her expression, drenched in emotion with nothing left hidden underneath. He smirks, much preferring her sarcastic grin to this. When she would bite back at his remarks, Nobunaga entertains the thought that he stares into a mirror. Yet this is where they prove to be their separate person, two stone-set viewpoints that never cross.

She believes to be lacking somewhere. Well, it's not like he didn't expect the thought to cross her mind, of course she would be quick to see the fault in herself prior to anything else.

Nobunaga sighs, suddenly unable to keep with the distracting task of unbraid her hair in the meanwhile. Being direct has always been his way, he is not going to cheat on it now.

"Asura, calm down. It's not because you're not handling orders well. That's the last reason I'd remove you from the frontlines."

Such riddle of an answer only makes her angrier. She grits her teeth, her fisted hand moving before she can think, and she punches Nobunaga's shoulder. Lightly.

He is not impressed, the impact sending him half a step back at most.

"Then why?!"

He lets her punch him again. The strength of her hands weakens with each blow, still delivered with unmistaken fierceness, yet the same hands that are meant to protect this man from all harm. She swore on it. Thus, they naturally cannot harm him.

On the next one, Nobunaga enclosures his arms around her in a hug.

She is taken aback by such deed. The question marks in her head only multiple since the second she set a foot inside this room, but now the confusion is drowning her rational mind whole.

"Asura."

This time, she lets him speak undisrupted, no matter how long it would take. The warmth that spreads from his body is so rare. It must be contagious, too, because her cheeks are burning in an instant.

"It's not because you're lacking skill." he repeats, feeling the need to continue before she can throw another tantrum, so he swallows thickly in a hurry, "It's because I can't afford to lose you."

For a second, the world comes to a complete stop - there is no anger-driven rush of blood, there is no risen temperature across her face to be felt - only white noise that looks for the echo of Nobunaga's words, for confirmation. He picks another set of words to make his mind known better.

"I can't let you be killed. You're too precious to me, Asura. Do you understand?"

She is unable to understand. Precious, as what? As a devoted warrior? What more important wars there might be that he wants her in one piece for?

And how is she to remain by his side if not following him in battle?

Asura's blood runs hot again, the brief calmness disappearing in the favor of a greater storm. This time it's Nobunaga's laugher that drives her mad.

"Judging from your reaction, I'll need to be even more direct with you. It's strange, considering how well you seem to comprehend my orders normally. Maybe I should just give you one, if you're so used to that."

Putting some distance between the two of them, Nobunaga looks right at Asura again. As much as he is serious about his next words, he can't stop the smirk from spreading on his face, nodding his head.

"Be by my side, Asura. As my woman."

The stillness of the world returns to weight down on her at once - it's a lump in her thought that doesn't allow even for the smallest noises of confusion to escape - yet it doesn't hurt. It rather gives way for a whole new set of emotions to wash over her at once, butterflies in her belly being set aflutter for reasons that are beyond her.

"Are you saying that-"

"That I love you? That I want to make you mine? It took you awhile to figure out, Asura."

Oh, she will remember that face - the face of Oda Nobunaga saying that to her, and not just because of how shocking his words are. It’s also for the fact that such rare expression rarely occupies his features, the well-known confidence paired with those iron firm words, yet, the faint traces of pink on his cheeks revealing his embarrassment.

"What are you looking so relieved for, Asura? Could it be that you love me back?"

It would appear that even in the face of an unfamiliar emotion, Nobunaga knows how to be cocky. Yet there is a unsureness in his tone, as if he is placing a risky bet on his guess being true.

But is it really true? The fast fashion in which everything progressed is making Asura's head spin, having just received Oda Nobunaga's love confession. In his typical, demanding way. She is not sure if her face depicts her whirlwind of emotions correctly, but she feels like smiling right now. Of course his confession would be like that, it's so much like him.

"I love you too, Nobunaga."

Ah, she might try to have at least a quarter of his confidence, but in the end, saying those words deal significant damage to her composure. For one, she's never felt her cheeks that hot before.

Harboring such intense and foreign feelings inside her has always driven her to be insecure. Needless to say, expressing them is not her forte. Her love for Nobunaga has been for the longest time unrealized, then later on deeply suppressed. Absurdish, if she had to put a label on it. Unrequited, in case it ever sees the light of day.

Yet he confessed first, always a step ahead of her. She still struggles to accept that her ears didn't lie to her, but there is no other explanation for the gaze he grants her with, now too. Aside from being visibly conflicted by his own embarrassment, Nobunaga strangely appears to be amused, too.

"Of course you strike right back, Fireball. And to think you were so fast to accept that you're lacking in battle in any way…"

He shortens the distance between them, grasping her chin. It all indicates his intentions so clearly - she can escape so easily if so she wishes, he makes sure of that. But she remains on her place - a mess, but one that looks forward to what is coming next.

Nobunaga claims her lips in a kiss. His arm supports her waist, encircling it, just in case her legs start to feel weak. Aside from facing the intense emotions, she must be tired, too.

It could be that he turned out to be right that brought the two of them to the floor. Lips never withdrawing from lips, their first kiss gives way to their second one, their third, and the ones that come after it - starting abruptly, ending for the sake of taking in a breather, and repeating the cycle. Asura gets the hang of it fairly fast - seeing that, unlike words, the usage of her tongue could prove to express how she really feels. There is still so much embarrassment at the back of her head, yet her heart leaps so warmly at this newfound assurance. Nobunaga loves her. She loves Nobunaga. There is no other word for it, not the ones she tried to explain it to herself with - none of the strictly formal loyalty and devotion one might feel for their lord. It's as simple as it comes, love.

By the time their tireless lips withdraw to give their beating hearts a moment of rest, the moon outside had risen on the now pitch-black sky. Its light easily suppressing the sparse one of the candles, it wraps their backs protectively in its silver brilliancy - as if sealing their promise to stay safe for each other.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @thehappycat123 @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @theuwuisunreal @ravenarld @kyokirigiri-22 @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @trishtori @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @fun-ghoul-neela @salty-fed-up-bitch @coornn @cilokgoang @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @tiny-wooden-robot @cilokgoang let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[justlydiasworld]

Hii can I ask for a robin fic?

It's where y/n comes back from a loooong day of not interacting with robin at all and robin gets all nervous and when she does she's/or they're quite injured..(and add anythin' you want)

Talk To Me,Please.

Pairing: Robin Buckley x F!Reader

Warning: angst, fluff at the end, concerned and upset Robin.

Summary: you’ve been ignoring Robin for some time now and you’ve finally arrived in your apartment with a few bruises on your leg. Robin had enough and starts question you.

Authors note: This is my second request and thank you once again for requesting!! I’m sorry if this is not what you quite wanted but I had to add some things. <33 my inbox is still open if anybody else wants to request anything.And this may just be a blurb instead of a fanfic.

“fuck..” you grunted and kept your bicycle by your side. The bruises and scratches that were freshly made were not leaving your body anytime soon. It could possibly even leave a nasty mark.

You bit your bottom lip and made your way into your apartment. You’ve been ignoring Robin for so long,but you didn’t do it on purpose. As soon as you left the bicycle on the ground- you couldn’t help but cry a bit. It stings and hurts and the pain just kept bugging you. The more you took a step- the more unbearable it was for you.

You took your apartment keys and unlocked the door. There she was, your girlfriend sitting on the couch with her eyebrow knitted together and arms crossed close to the sweater you made for her. She’s so adorable.

Robin quickly noticed the bruises and grabbed your body as soon you were about to fall on the ground. “Wh-Whats going on (y/n)! Come on talk to me!” Her voice started to become more faint and all you could mumble out to her were “I’m sorry Rob.”

. . .

You woke up slowly and could see a bright light, it was hard to open your eyes but you did it anyways. You felt something hard underneath your ass-you were sitting on top of the toilet lid.You felt a sting on your burn and it hurt a lot, you couldn’t bare the pain. “Fuck.” You bit your lip and scrunched your face. “You better explain to me what happened.I’ve been worried sick.” Her eyes were glossy and she focused on your bruised and fucked up leg.

“Robin..” you were in a chokehold. The words wouldn’t come out and all you did was cry. Pathetic. You didn’t give your girlfriend an explanation and you know she deserved one. “I was heading home,walking with the bike you bought for me on my birthday. And these jerks-ouch-took it and I fell..don’t worry I got the bike back-“ as you tried to open up your eyes- suddenly you felt a pressure on your mouth, it was robin,she smashed her lips onto yours, tears leaving her blue eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there baby..” she kneeled down in front of you again- trying not to cry as much.

“Rob don’t cry, I didn’t mean to ignore your calls or anything on purpose- and I just wanted to clear the air.” Small tears formed and you grabbed Robin by her neck and held her in your arms. She picked your head up and kissed your lips softly this time. “My sweet girl, I was worried sick. Please just be careful next time- and those jerks? They can burn in hell.” Robin smiled, and what she said made you chuckle too.

“Yup that’s the (y/n) I know.That little smile brings back a lot of memories. Now let’s get you cleaned and we can talk about all of this okay? I’ll spoil you with kisses and cuddles later on. You deserve it baby. “ you nodded and blushed by the sudden affection you got.

Robin was too caring and you just adored her, you truly did love this girl to death.

[opossumconvert]

Oop yeah I should've given more context my bad.

Basically the facts of last week were

The service was specifically called the New Member Shabbat

It celebrated people who became members (donators I think?) and the students of the intro to judaism class

There was also an emphasis on this one teen because his bar mitzvah was going to be the next day

There was food and stuff after the service, all in celebration of the kid

People were very chill and friendly and were fine with my questions

I got friendly with a guy who works in the synagogue's office

A woman who was the first person to approach me was curious about my attendance, genuinely invested in the answers, and showed me the challah board and informed me that you can literally just take a chunk out of the challah. Also when she went to chat with some friends she came back for a second and apologized for being rude :') I told her it wasn't rude and I was perfectly alright and she's nice and then I went to look at some art.

While yesterday was

Service wasn't dedicated to anything specific but a woman there is gonna be 85 soon so there was a lot about that

Lower attendance, which makes sense I was sorta expecting it

The big thing that made me confused and disappointed was that I was brave enough to sit a few rows ahead from the very back, which is brave by my standards. I'm sitting on the edge seat so obviously if people wanted to get through I'd have to stand, which I was perfectly fine with. Two older ladies come in and they're looking around my general area for somewhere to sit, like they're obviously trying to decide, some other people are already going "How many of you will there be? Four? Yeah we might be able to fit four over here--" and so I spoke up and said "I can always move too if you guys would like to come into here" while gesturing at the rest of my row, because it was practically empty. Lady #1 ignores me entirely but Lady #2 gave me this very weirdly judgemental look and didn't say a word.

When it was time to shake hands with people and say shabbat shalom 10 minutes into the service I did it with two people, but in case it wasn't obvious I am NOT a socially confident person so I was very obviously nervous and quiet as a result, and I knew that my awkwardness was making the people around me feel awkward as a direct result.

Another teen was given a shoutout because his bar mitzvah is sometime in the near future and he came up to read a prayer/song I can't remember which one it was.

When the service ended I hovered around for a moment to at least wait for the challah to be brought out, some people dipped immediately but others were hovering around too and talking to each other, but I very much got the vibe that trying to engage would Not Go Well so I just stuffed a small hunk of challah in my mouth and went on my way.

It's one of those things where on paper it's practically nothing, but the massive differences gave me whiplash. Like yeah it won't be as social because there isn't a bar mitzvah the next day, but the fact that a majority of the reactions to me were negative sucked. I did nothing other than offering to move to let those ladies through, trying to be semi-normal while greeting people, and doing all the prayers and songs with everybody else; I really don't know what I could've done.

The only explanation I can come up with is that last week's Shabbat was the one where all the awesome people showed up while this week's Shabbat had some rude older people, a bunch of introverts just as terrified of socialization as I am, and a guy wearing a Trump kippah. If anybody's got any other possible I'd love to hear them.

Quick question what do you do when your first erev shabbat service at a temple is awesome and then the next one is just you vibing until other people start giving you judgemental stares for having the audacity to say words to them??? Like what's the protocol for people doing a 180 in terms of acceptance of strangers

[avenirdelight]

The Gossip

Ben Chilwell

Request: You and Ben picking up your son from school after an argument and a couple of mums noticed the two of you are not in a good mood. On top of this you're not wearing your wedding rings because they're being cleaned so the mums are assuming the two of you aren't together anymore, and are flirting Ben and you're getting all jealous and he's feeling awkward and starts being clingy with you.

"Are you and Ben okay?"

The question Lizzie asked totally caught her off-guard, making her almost choke on her tea. They were waiting for their kids at a café near the school, catching up on school stuff since they hadn't seen each other a lot lately.

"Of course we are, why?"

Lizzie just shrugged and said, "Nothing. I just haven't been seeing you guys together at school, that's all." But Lizzie was being Lizzie; everything in her mind would always be displayed on her face. She was quite easy to read, so it definitely wasn't just nothing.

"Liz, come on. I know you wouldn't ask if there wasn't something," she demanded.

Lizzie looked hesitant at first, but she knew she couldn't get away. She sighed. "You and Ben looked like you were in a mood when you picked up Billy together a couple of weeks ago. The next week you came alone to the parents meeting, then Ben came alone to get Billy a few times. And you haven't been wearing your ring recently. So..."

From Lizzie's worried tone, she knew that what was going to come out from Lizzie's mouth wasn't going to be pretty. "So what, Liz?" she asked impatiently.

"So... There are words going around the mums that Billy's parents are not together anymore."

Her eyes widened listening to the information Lizzie had just given her. The mums were assuming that Billy's parents, she and Ben, had split up? Wow. Couldn't these mums just focus on their kids? Was this normal? Because she swore she never wanted to know about other parents' personal lives.

"First of all, our wedding rings are being cleaned," she began to explain. "And I've started working again. We both have been busy, so we try to manage our time so at least one of us is with Billy."

Those were facts. But the other fact that she couldn't share with Lizzie was that she and Ben had a fight a couple of weeks ago. So it was true that that day when they picked up Billy together, Ben and her were definitely in a mood. As she recalled the scene, they also argued a little bit and it may have caught the attention of some people. But they had sorted everything out so things were good between them now.

Lizzie believed her and looked relieved hearing her explanation. It seemed like she had been holding it in for quite a while.

"Where does this gossip come from, anyway?" she asked Lizzie. She knew the answer before Lizzie even answered.

"Well, Jessica and some other mums..." Lizzie trailed off, semi-whispering as if she was sharing classified information. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, but they have been flirting with your husband!"

As much as it didn't surprise her, she still felt this annoyance sitting at the bottom of her heart. Seeing her husband getting flirted with wasn't something unusual for her. But she really disliked Jessica, who she and Lizzie considered as the last person they wanted to be involved with at school. Jessica is that mum who always wanted to be noticed by the teachers, who tried so hard to be liked by the other parents, acted like she knew the best for all the kids, and most of the time she and Lizzie just didn't agree with her actions. She knew Jessica wouldn't miss the chance to approach her husband, the famous player of Chelsea, whatever the motive was. She made a mental note about telling Ben about Jessica and this rumour she'd made up.

It wasn't about jealousy, she couldn't care less about Jessica flirting with Ben. It was about associating themselves with the right people. If Jessica could spread gossip about her and Ben not being together anymore just because they hadn't been seen together, she thought that it would be best for them to keep their distance from Jessica.

—

There was a sports day today at the school. The parents were expected to come. All the kids and the parents would all be out in the sun to do some competitions. Billy had been very excited about it, he didn't stop reminding Ben that he needed to come and win. Billy said it would be embarrassing if Ben didn't win, "You're a Chelsea player, dad!"

It was an hour past the schedule when she entered the school and headed to the school yard. It seemed like they were taking a break, because the kids were nowhere to be seen, probably back in their classes, and the parents were just hanging out with each other.

As she predicted, there weren't many dads around, less than half of the mums. She noticed Christian's and Poppy's parents who stood side by side, two dads who sat on a bench, and another dad at the back who seemed to be standing alone very awkwardly. Good luck on beating my husband, she thought. She scanned her eyes everywhere, until she caught a view that immediately ignited the fury in her.

There was her husband, talking with no other than Jessica. Some of Jessica's friends were surrounding them, too close for her liking, and they were laughing, making her eyes feel hot for a second.

"I think Ben would know more school gossip than me, at this point. Mind sharing it with me?" She announced her arrival. The surprised look on Jessica's face almost made her burst into laughter.

"Hey, babe," Ben casually said. He showed her a bright smile, as his hand naturally went to her back. She smiled back at Ben and could feel all the eyes were on both of them.

"Oh, hello, Billy's mum! I thought you weren't going to come," Jessica said, obviously trying to cover her surprise.

"And why would you assume that?" she asked.

"Ben told us that you were in an important meeting." 'Ben'. She called her 'Ben'. Wasn't it supposed to be 'Billy's dad' or 'Mr. Chilwell'?

"Yes. Thankfully it ended early. I wouldn't want to miss this. Billy had been excited all week," she shot a glance at Ben, an unpleasant one, and Ben's smile fell a little bit.

"Uhm, Jessica was telling me about the painting class the kids are taking. It would be nice if the kids could go there together, you know," Ben explained. He could feel her being so tense, so he slightly caressed her back.

She simply nodded. "Of course. But, well, Billy has been interested in playing the piano too, we're still trying to see which one he's interested in the most," she offered her fake polite smile to everyone. "And, oh, Ben," looking at Ben, she lowered her voice, but making sure it was still loud enough for Jessica and her friends to hear. "I picked up our rings. They're clean now, like brand new."

She took a glance at Jessica, and felt like she had won all the games today as she saw the utter annoyance in Jessica's face.

—

"Jessica. You called her Jessica. Since when are you guys on a first name basis? You never told me you are close with Jessica and the other mums."

"Uh uh, we're not close," Ben shook his head as he headed to their en-suite, taking off his shirt. "They really insisted that I should just call them by their first names. And babe, like I've said to you, I only spoke to them a few times before," He threw his shirt into the laundry basket.

"But you let them call you Ben?" she trailed behind Ben, stopping at the door to lean on the door frame, hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on Ben who stood by the sink, turning on the faucet.

"What am I supposed to do? I just don't want to be rude." Ben splashed his face with water. The droplets of water fell from the ends of his wet hair. She needed to bite her tongue to compose herself, because that view in front of her right now was quite hard to resist. "Where's my towel?" Ben glanced at the towel rack and couldn't find his towel there.

"I thought it wouldn't be that bad when Lizzie said they like to flirt with you. God, they almost threw themselves at you." She walked to the cupboard, opening it and grabbing a towel. She threw the towel to Ben, almost like wanting to hit him with it, and he caught it before it could hit his chest. Ben shook his head lightly and sighed.

"Are you jealous?"

She glared at him and scoffed, before rolling her eyes as she walked out of the bathroom. "If there's anyone who's jealous in this whole situation, I'm pretty sure it's not me. I'm not the one who's flirting with someone else's husband."

"Babe," Ben called out, but she didn't stop walking. "Hey, are we fighting again? This would be a very ridiculous reason to be fighting over, you know?" Ben grabbed her hand and turned her around.

Her cheeks were red and Ben knew it wasn't because she had stood too long under the sun; it was because she was upset. She felt so irritated, but it melted quickly as soon as she caught the soft look on Ben's pair of eyes who was looking at her with full patience.

She sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. It's just— You could see how surprised everybody looked when I came today. They really believed that we weren't together anymore, maybe even hoped for it. It's ridiculous, and I shouldn't even be mad about it but I am."

"I'm sorry too, okay? I know you've told me to stay away from them. I should've left when they approached me," Ben apologised.

"I just want to protect us, okay, Ben? The rumour might be harmless, but what if it happens again and then it causes problems?" She said with genuine concern all over her voice and her face.

"I understand you, babe. I'll try to hang out with the dads next time, okay? Lizzie said Edward Shelley's dad often comes to school."

Her chuckles were quickly followed by Ben's. He pulled her closer by her waist and she fell into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and it immediately calmed her heart.

"Anyway, you know that it's okay if you're jealous right, babe?" Ben said. She gave Ben's arm a light slap, which made him chuckle again.

Maybe she was jealous. Maybe. Just a tiny bit jealous.

—

Ben wasn't someone who liked to display a lot of affections in public. But he seemed to be showing it as much as he could today.

Billy was having a play today at school, and Ben was able to clear his schedule for the day so they were able to go together. He took her hand as soon as they sent Billy off to his teachers, and hadn't let go since. If he did, it was only to greet the other parents or to rest it on the small of her back.

It felt like all the parents of the whole school were there. There were just so many people and of course a lot of them were noticing Ben Chilwell and his wife. She had gotten used to it, being stared at in public, but now it felt a little bit awkward for her since they were there in such a formal event, as parents, and Ben was practically glued to her. He had never acted like this before.

"What's going on with you today?" she asked eventually, her eyebrows furrowing. Ben put on a confused look on his face. "You haven't been letting go of me," she continued.

Ben's gaze was fixed at her. "Well, we can't let another gossip spread around the mums, can we?"

And she almost burst into a laughter when she realised what Ben was referring to. "We're wearing our rings now, everyone can see it."

Ben shrugged. "Still, I need to guard you. Can't let the dads flirt with my wife."

"You would be super jealous, wouldn't you?" she teased.

"Of course," Ben quickly answered. "But it won't happen. They know I've got you so they can't even try."

She would kiss Ben right now if they weren't here, let him know how amazing of a husband he was. They might fight, sometimes. But Ben would always try to listen to her and understand her feelings, and somehow in the end he always managed to do the right things that pleased her.

"Anyway, babe," he continued as he looked around, before falling his gaze upon her with a smug smile plastered across his face. "Don't you think that we're the hottest parents here?" He winked, with a smug smile that plastered across his face, and she definitely couldn't stop the little butterflies in her stomach.

She knew some people were still staring, well, they better stare. She didn't know how far the gossip about them splitting up had spread, but this whole school needed to know that Billy's parents were definitely together.

—

did little modifications to the original request... sometimes i struggle staying to the little requested details:') i'm not actually taking requests right now, but i got stuck on my drafts so i thought i could do a request first before going back to my own ideas...

please tell me what you think! comments and feedbacks would always be much appreciated! you can leave them here, send asks or dms. thank you!

My Masterlist🤍

[saphirered]

Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.