#but then i wear socks because i feel like ill get cold and also its unprofessional if people can see my toes

[jumpyasslibra]

Decided to finally do this since la squadra is my favorite group, lol. Im willfully ignoring canon heights because i do not believe that pesci is only 5'5 now to hcs! PESCI: -his family adopted proscuitto when he was only 10, so they arent blood related at all. -has an entire tank of fishes, all of which have names. Its one of the only things he gets scary about. -despite the others attempts to mock her for her appearance, Pesci really enjoys pineapple scented things. -Goes by Pesci, Alvaro, Allie, Varo, etc. Really likes when the other switch up the name they use for her PROSCUITTO: -Greek/italian -Adopted by Pesci's family when he was 13 -Love-hate relationship with formaggio (exes) -tries to hide his relationship with pesci so that she isnt as aggressively compared to him -carries a spare lipstick for Pesci in his suit pocket -also carries hand warmers for ghiaccio SORBET: -Birthname doesnt matter, Anyone looking for it tends to regret it -white streak is from gelato using his stand on him so often -likes to preserve bugs, has an assortment of pinned and wet specimens -he works out alot so that his chest is more pectoral then natural breast tissue, thusly he hasnt gotten top surgery and likely never will -Mentored ghiaccio due to his own stand being a good counter to the mans explosive emotions GELATO: -German/italian - his ears are naturally pointier than others -has a wing earring for Sorbet since vasco means crow -his stand allows him to talk to people via psuedo telepathy so he uses it on sorbet alot -prosthetic eye from a job gone wrong long before he joined passione -has a knife collection GHIACCIO: -He used to compete in ice skating which is what led to his unfortunate life when his coach started to effectively sell "private" time to pay off his own gambling debts -Ghiaccio killed the guy who was trying to creep on him by brutally beating him with his skates, obviously he was arrested at only 14. This is where risotto found him and decided to take a chance on him -white album has caused his natural internal temperature to drop to facilitate its abilities without killing him outright, so he is always cold -vision is worse than pre-stand due to his tears freezing before they can leave the eye area most times MELONE: -Shockingly, he's the one who was born into the mafia lifestyle due to his mother. She was a medic for the mafia that existed pre diavalo and swore herself to him after he rose to power -effectively the medic of the team with sorbet being a pseudo anesthetic provider. -for those unaware, his sexuality effectively boils down to desiring another until they desire you too. He likes the idea of having relationships where he isn't actually desired by his partner. -blind in his covered eye -one of the first to take polpo's test FORMAGGIO: -Knows all of pesci's fish by their names -wears a compression sleeve on his left arm due to a childhood injury that messed up his elbow -his head scars come from his stand test and, like ghiaccio and risotto, he fell ill after his stand was awakened -came from an abusive house life which is what effected his stands ability. He gets upset when it's mocked because it feels like a direct attack against him as a child, who wanted to just disappear from view -dated proscuitto when they were both fresh faced in the mafia -pet name abuser, he loves using them for anyone and everyone. Likes to make unique ones for everyone (ex: proscuitto is Ranuncolo or buttercup) ILLUSO: -deceptively sweet looking -his parents wanted a daughter and tried for years to raise him as one, they only stopped once he hit puberty and they couldn't really hide the effects it had on his body -very firm in his masculinity regardless of his appearance, he'll often sick one of the others on anyone who dares question his sex -gives everyone a unique mirror to put in their room so that he can move around the whole base and alert them without interfering with their personal aesthetic -best gift giver -sock stealer, hides them in mirror world

RISOTTO: -Mostly recruits on vibes when people aren't assigned to him specifically -directly involved in both ghiaccio and illuso joining -always cold and likely anemic -he actually really hates the taste of blood, its one of the few things that just naturally break his cool facade -allergic to lavender but tries to keep it a secret because like, how is a big scary man like him losing a fight against a flower -carries eyedrops for proscuitto and ghiaccio -demands they all eat together when everyone is actually home -has a small photo of his cousin tucked on his person whenever hes on a job, quietly turning to it to dissuade any possible guilt he may feel about his work

[bluravenite]

Wonderful @cirrus-ghoulette made this post about chronically ill Dew headcanons so I COME BEARING MY OWN/MORE!!

headcanons about post-(fire element)transition Dewdrop as well as some bonus ghouls with chronic pain and disabilities!!

you'd think his hands would run warm because he's a fire-ghoul... but it's quite the opposite!! because all the heat and blood rests at his core, Dew usually has temperature dysregulation which gives him cold fingers and he has to wear fluffy or thick socks on his feet :> (however he can easily channel his magic through his hands if needed, it's just not constantly emanating warmth)

DEW HAS several breathing problems, seasonal asthma outbursts, and shortness of breath. During the colder months, his asthma gets really bad and the ghouls just have a stash of inhalers, mountain, and Aeth usually carry some with them, as well as mountain growing and making eucalyptus and peppermint coffee (hot)(also yeah its a thing, and surprisingly helps with asthma) to help him breathe. All around the year though he tends to have shortness of breath any time he does anything mildly energy-consuming (picture that one mommy dust gif where he's heavy breathing)

this one is also about breathing but it's entirely psychological, cw: mild angst <3. Dewdrop's breathing problems give him panic attacks. If he starts breathing too heavily or his throat starts closing up he begins panicking and freaking out, gets dizzy and clammy, and will likely start crying if its too bad, the ghouls usually try to keep him grounded and calm if he's having an asthma attack while he uses the inhaler or settles down, but all-year-round he wakes up at night sweating cold, coughing and choking on air, usually also crying from PTSD and nightmares.

continuing that ^ think about it like standing in a room that's lit on fire, the black smoke hurting your airways from the inside out, it burns. That's how Dew feels. His lungs were clearly made for working with water, and with his gills closed up the muscles around them practically become useless, they only react to being touched or triggered occasionally by muscle spasms. His body is not used to the fire magic and breathing air burns his throat.

which on a lighter note, is why I think he sucks at smoking, lmao... at least smoking too much without something to drink, if he hits too fast or too slow he WILL cough, and he demands that swiss give him cherry-flavored drinks to wash out the taste, because apparently, swiss' rolls taste like shit (mountain's don't, mountain's usually have a sort of bittery pomegranate berry kind of herbal taste, swiss' just taste... like swiss...??/don't quote me on that)

Cumulus has endometriosis, mountain, and dew are usually the ones who help her most, aether and Popia also look into rituals and magick to help her and how to safely do it (cries a little)

Mountain has really bad knees... yet really strong leg muscles, he can usually be seen wearing his knee braces and compression sleeves, however, if it gets too bad he will occasionally use crutches.

He also has back pain pretty often both from carrying heavy equipment and working hunched over the greenhouse or at his kit when they tour, he doesn't need a brace or a lot of support because his pain is mainly from soreness and exertion but he usually gets dewdrop to both lay on his back and also walk on it, Zephyr will also give him lower back massages when he's been in the greenhouse for a while, and in return, mountain helps zephyr CRACK his bones like a glowstick LMAO

mountain often gets wrist pain :) it's not quite carpal, but he also uses wrist braces and compression gloves as well as ice and heats his wrists from time to time, he mainly gets tendinitis though if he's been doing too much work.

RAIN has pots, or pots adjacent water ghoul shit... here's my reasoning: pressure underwater is different than above the surface, so underwater rain's blood pressure regulates, but out on earth for extended periods of time it just does NOT flow properly. Imagine kind of like that feeling of HEAVINESS you get after you've been swimming in the pool for several hours? Yeah kinda like that but less perceptible, sitting up or laying down without moving for too long will make him dizzy and nauseous, but standing up for too long will also make him clammy, dizzy, and very weak. He doesn't faint too often, usually because the ghouls tend to have his back and watch out for him, but he might faint a couple times a month from fatigue or a sudden drop in blood pressure.

Rain, as we know, also has hypermobile joints, there are already a lot of headcanons about that but I still wanted to make sure I mentioned it. He mainly uses a cane for support but otherwise, he also uses braces, compression sleeves and socks, and other such aids that I'm sure others have mentioned!

I really loved what @cirrus-ghoulette mentioned in their post about the ghoulettes sunshine and cirrus so I'm not really going to repeat much aside from!!!! I absolutely think Sunny is a little ball of autism and adhd, you cannot tell me you LOOK INTO HER BIG AUTISTIC EYEs and tell me she doesn't have a slight touch of le tism, also? auditory processing disorder, because I do not believe she understands a fucking thing you say. people just think she's silly and clueless, but little do they fucking know (laughs IN PAIN) that in her little pea brain, she's overthinking the mechanics of the SIMPLEST task, just because she needs to figure out the exact conditions in which to solve the task, like its a puzzle. (she just like me fr /lhj)

Swiss and sunny are also not allowed to drive, mainly bc sunny just CANNOT understand behavioral cues so driving with her is like a rollercoaster ride where every curve is a step closer towards totaling the car... and swiss... because he understands the behavioral cues BUT CHOOSES TO DELIBERATELY IGNORE THEM, red light? that's just a suggestion... car has its blinkers on to turn right? not if HE TURNS FIRST... it's danger out there with swiss...

Also I believe swiss IS in fact AND OLD MAN, and he hates to agree that he constantly also has joint and muscle pain until its literally impairing, and the ghoulettes force him to LAY DOWN.

aether... babyboy aefer... heavy booby... give back pain... someone please hold them /lhj... no but, aether has tummy issues :(

He has mild hyperglycemia which causes his blood sugar to be a little higher than it should be if he doesn't keep it regulated, one wrong food and it's trouble.

he's also a VERY light drinker because he is prone to seizures due to the alcohol spiking his blood sugar, if he does drink it's usually low-alcohol beer and he prepares his diet a day in advance to make sure he doesn't eat anything that will spike it, as well as only having a couple drinks. (I don't see him having diabetes, but certainly struggles with food and blood sugar levels from time to time, especially if while on tour for too long and such)

and that is the end of a VERY LONG FUCKING POST.... these are some of my headcanons I've gathered both from personal experiences and people close to me, so they may not be entirely correct!!

PLEASE!!! and I beg!! If you see any misinformation or misrepresentation (outside of the ghoul elemental anatomy differences headcanons) DO shoot me a direct message or comment correcting me or explaining what you think should be discussed, changed, edited, etc!!

As I said, this is based mostly on my personal knowledge and experiences of those close to me, so it may not be 100% correct or accurate!!

that being said, I hope you enjoyed <3 MWAH!!

[forestryfae]

one really fun thing about having a mom and a dad like mine is that i literally cant enjoy anything if it isnt neccessary and i have to keep reminding myself that it doesnt have to be useful or a neccessity to be ok to have and that just because i CAN go without something for a while doesnt mean i should have to

like. okay maybe i CAN go the whole day without eating, or i CAN go the whole day with only one meal. but i dont HAVE to and im not lazy and fat for getting dinner even if i "havent done" anything that day. i dont have to do a million chores that day just to be justified in eating. i dont need to be completely out of pants or tshirts or socks or underwear or whatever to justify wanting a couple extra pairs of socks so i dont run out so quick, or simply not enjoying some of my clothes cus theyre uncomfortable to wear. i shouldnt have to justify that, it is what it is and i shouldnt have to feel like i NEED someone to tell me its ok for me to buy extra socks or more tshirts or whatever. and they dont HAVE to be uncomfortable or pretty. they can just be comfortable and i can just enjoy wearing them.

similarly i shouldnt have to justify having fucking needs and emotions. i simply hate living in my house, thats just somethign that is, and it makes sense, i shouldnt need to literally beg people to justify it for me cus i dont feel that what im saying is good enough. i shouldnt have to feel embarrassed and like i have to overexplain why i hate the house and why its miserable living in there. yes it "technically" has a kitchen that works and a bathroom that works and ive got a bedroom and livingroom and washingmachine, so it "should tcehnically" be fine but it isnt. its fucking old, theres a piece of the wall where the insides are missing, cold air is leaking in in more than one place, the bathroom fucking sucks and the kitchen is gross, its lonely, the backyard is a mess, the garage is literally too dangerous to be inside due to shit engineering and a big fucking cement block in the roof, and its gonna cost me more to fic all of it than i can ever afford, plus its in the middle of fucking nowhere and i have to take the train to get to the nearest city just to buy groceries and i cant go in the summer at all. i shouldnt have to indirectly beg people to validate me when i try to justify why i dont like living there. just because mom and dad doesnt fucking care when i say i hate it there

i shouldnt have to justify or explain why something upsets me eitehr, it upsets me and that should be it. i should be allowed to be upset. i should be allowed to say i dont want to be treated a certain way and immediately being yelled at and told im not that special and i should get off my high horse and have literally every tiny thing ive ever done be thrown in my face to justify why i dont deserve to be treated nicely.

also similarly, i should be allowed to just. like things. just because i like them. instead of trying to force myself to like stuff i feel like i "should" like or i want to want to like. instead of thinking "i dont need that" because thats what my shit mom keeps telling me any time i even look at something nice. i cant even point at a nice dress and say "i like the pattern" without hearing my little sister or brother parrot it back to me cus they learned it from mom. also, just because i CAN go a whole day without eating and be fine, just like i did involuntarily due to shitty parenting, doesnt mean i should have to. i can just eat when im hungry instead of continuously telling myself at 10 am that dinners at 3 and i can wait. generally after 4 hours i can eat a second meal of the day, its fine, i dont need to be literally starving to be able to eat something. i dont need to justify not showering with "ill shower tomorrow morning cus work or whatever" no shut up i want a shower now and i need a shower now and its the only thing i can think of so lets shower now. its fine. literally doesnt hurt to shower just because i want to. doesnt hurt to eat just cus im hungry or i want to. its fine if i wanna do laundry even if its late in the day and its fine if i wanna skip an activity cus im tired or sad. idk why exactly im like this but i feel like my mom and dad constantly belittling me or brushing me off or just straight up ignoring me and not bothering to do their job as a parent cus "i should just do it myself" and "well why didnt you just eat a sandwich for dinner" and "well why didnt you just do this differently" for every little thing plus me not being allowed to want attention or need anything cus i "already have" something else or im "nagging" them might have something to do with it

"why didnt you just do this" well for starters i was scared to cut my own nails until i was like 11 or 12 or something cus i thought mom or dad was gonna scream at me at the top of their lungs and curse me out for doing something wrong. i wasnt allowed to do SHIT and i was never told when those limitations and rules didnt count anymore. there was no "youre old enough to cut your own nails just be careful" for literally anything. there was just screaming because i wasnt allowed to do something OR there was "you have to do this now" literally overnight with NO prior warning or explanation. i had to start going to school and waking up on my own overnight cus dad just told me the day before school after summer vacation that i had to. like. my brother way 6, i was 9 and id never done any of it alone, i wasnt even allowed to cut bread on my own, and if we didnt manage to do it on our own we had to call him and get screamed and cursed at for the whole ride to school cus he was "going to get fired" and "going to jail" and we were "helpless" and shit. like okay thanks for that, YOU raised me to be scared of doing literally anything on my own and never taught me anything, he literally treated me like i just knew everything he knew. wtf was i supposed to do.

anyways shoutout to my parents for making me scared of fuckign liking or wanting stuff. or even trying stuff. i see people who willingly buy shit just because they wanted it and not because they needed it just for fun and it drives me up the fucking wall. other people can just. buy stuff. and they dont need to justify it, they can just want it. meanwhile i have the most deranged way or approaching how to decide if i want to buy something or not and its so fucking unhealthy and i dont know why i do it, i just do and its part of why i hate shopping with other people, i like the peace of just quietly shopping on my own and working on it, instead of trying to get second opinions from people or feeling like i Have To Buy Something cus thats how quality time w my grandparents and cousin was like when i was a kid aunt uncle and cousin visit grandparents for the weekend, dad and us come along to visit and hang out, we spend a large amount of the time either shopping for new clothes or toys or candy, quality time w family then quickly becomes Shopping Is Love, dad doesnt give a shit about me but will buy me a soda after ive been talking to my therapist at 13, now giving people stuff and money is how youre supposed to show people you care. fucking deranged

in other words, i am not a bad person for struggling, im also not a shitty awful person for not being good at money, and im not a bad person for wanting to sell the majority of my furniture and other shit so ill have less to worry about and ill have less shit i dont use or want or need. im not a bad person for wanting to have some order in my life.

but yeah im also not a bad person for wanting stuff or wanting to actually enjoy my sorroundings and how life works for me and so on

[wickedw3asleys]

JUST LIKE HEAVEN (Pt.3)

George x female reader (mentions of Fred)

AN: I've had to write this one in a rush so sorry if some of the details are confusing 😔 but i hope you'll like it anyways, and once again, thank you SO SO MUCH for all the positive feedback i'm getting for this serie 🥰

WARNINGS: SMUT SMUT AND MORE SMUT... Cussing and unprotected sex

Fred never let it show once that something had been happening between you two. It wasn't a secret, but after all, it was private business, and surely he would keep teasing you and flirting with you as he had always done, but no one was asking questions. And to your surprise, you never felt uncomfortable with him about what happened in that bathroom a few days ago. And you loved that it was that way, you wouldn't be able to have to deal with losing him as a friend, and you hoped it also would be that way with George. They never seemed to be jealous of the other either, and during a conversation about the topic the day before, they made you very clear that rivalry would never get between them, also making it better. You wouldn't want to be in the middle of these two and be the motive of a fight between twins.

"Y/N, we absolutely love you, you're our best friend and you've always have been. And we've talked about it...", Fred starts.

"We obviously didn't want this to fail and separate us as friends, or Fred and I as brothers..."

"So that should be the last of your concerns..."

"We just think that you're terribly beautiful and nice, and like you trust us for this, we trust you too!"

And for now, it was totally working. The only thing was that you've haven't had the chance to "win" George as you previously won Fred. But you were working on it, slowly but surely. And apparently Fred had been talking to his brother about your private stuff, which only made him grow eager to fuck you too, and it started to show.

"So, Y/N... How are you today?", George asks casually during breakfast.

"I'm... fine...", you answered, clearly seeing that he had an idea on his mind, "What about you, Georgie?"

"Well, not that good, actually...", he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And why is that, George?", Fred asks. You could hear the fake in his voice, only making you more curious about what they've had planned.

"I don't know... I feel like... Ugh...", George fake acting was so bad but yet so entertaining it made you laugh, "I feel like need to go to bed..."

"Oh, no! You won't be able to come with me to the Hogsmeade trip!", his brother exclaimed.

"What are you talking about, you wanker? You're completely fine...", Ginny says, putting the back of her hand on George's forehead.

"I said I feel ill!", he exclaimed back.

"If you say so...", she sighs, already done with her brothers' bullshit, making everybody laugh at that.

"Come on, George. It can be that bad!", you say.

"I think you should check on me, though...", he says, directing you a discreet wink.

"Why me? I have a trio to go to...", you smile, "I'm going with Hermione and Luna, right?"

"Huh?", Hermione asks, very confused, looking back and forth between you and Ron, "B-but I was going with Ro- Ouch!", she squeaks as you elbow her, "Oh, yes! Right!"

"Well, what a pity, then... I suppose I'll have to ask someone else to check on me...", George says, leaning on the table towards you.

You exchange a few looks before he finally gets up, "Well, if someone needs me I'll be in my dorm, waiting..."

He winks at you one last time and starts leaving the Great Hall, leaving Fred behind.

"He's such an idiot, he's so bizarre...", Ginny says.

"Hey! Respect, young lady!", Fred scolds her.

"Why does he need to have someone checking on him? Isn't he grown enough?", Ron says, showing an entire sandwich in his mouth.

"Well, sometimes the ones you see as big boys are the biggest babies... Right, Fred?", you say, looking at him up and down.

"As you would know...", he says back.

"What is wrong with you?", Ginny exclaims, throwing her fork on the table, "Y/N! You're becoming like them! Please, tell me you're not going to end up like them! I'm not sacrificing our friendship like that!"

"Wow...", you say, "Don't worry, Ginny. I'm not letting them get into me like that... No worries about it"

"We're totally getting into you, though...", Fred says, earning a slap on the forehead by his little sister, "Alright! Sorry!"

All of you continued breakfast as nothing happened, talking and laughing about random things.

"Well, I think it's time to go now...", says Hermione, looking at her watch.

"Yeah, we should get going before McGonagall leaves without us...", Ron starts standing up.

"Since when are you worried about what McGonagall-", Fred starts asking.

"WELL, since I have a wonderful girlfriend that takes the time to do things properly!", he says, taking Hermione by the waist.

All of you started making your way to the court of the castle, waiting for Harry and Luna to join you there.

"Damn it! I forgot something!", you say, looking in your bag, "Go without me! I'll catch you there!"

"Have fun", Fred whispers to your ear as you pass by him.

"I'll do...", you wink back at him, making him bite his lip.

You start running upstairs to the Gryffindor common room, crossing paths with the last students that were heading outside the castle.

The common room was completely empty now, not even George was there. So you decided to head up to his dorm, see if he actually was there.

"Well, took you long enough...", he says from his bed, looking up from his book.

"Sorry, I was hungry...", you say, making your way towards him, "Anyways, I wanted to check on you before I left", you teased him.

"Oh... So you're actually going...", he says, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah... I can't leave Ginny alone between Ron and Hermione and... Fred...", slowly, you started placing you between his legs.

"I thought Harry and Luna were going too...", he starts grabbing the back of your legs, making you come closer to him, "I think she'll be alright..."

His touch on your legs made your whole body shiver, him noticing it, "Are you cold, darling?"

"A little..."

"Well, come here then...", he took you by the hand and helped you straddle him. He brushed a strand of hair away of your face while you placed your hands on the back of his neck, and without any other words, he gently pressed his lips on yours.

You'd expect him to be as eager as his brother, but he completely took his time with you, slowly kissing you. You felt his tongue pressing on your lower lip, making you open your mouth and following his lead.

He put his arms around your back and started caressing you, slowly and sensually, to what you responded by gently grinding on him.

"Eager, are we?", he asked, still against your mouth.

"Always..."

He put his hand on the back of your head and pushed you towards him, deepening the kiss. As you were too focused on his lips, you didn't even notice his free hand starting to lift your sweater.

You lifted up your arms, interrupting the kiss for a second, and when your sweater touched the floor, you went back to George's soft lips.

You moved back a little on his lap, freeing the spot that was covering his dick, and started to massage it through his pajama pants, surprised by the fact that he wasn't wearing boxers.

You could feel his already hard cock hardening even more at your touch, making you the eager one to taste him. So without warnings, you got on your knees between his legs and helped him take off his pants.

He wasn't as big as his brother, but he surely was a little bit longer, and that sight made it hard for you to imagine to make it fit entirely in your mouth.

You never stopped looking at him in the eye, not even when licking the first straps of his dick, which made he loudly breathe. You took it as a sign to go more on him, so you took a deep breath and directly deepthroating him, fitting your hand around his base.

"Oh, fuck...", he moaned, throwing his head back.

That made you smile with his dick in your mouth and encouraged you to keep going, pushing it a little bit further in your throat. You could feel the discomfort of his tip brushing against the back of your throat, but the sounds that were escaping his lips and the grip he had on your hair made ir all worth it.

You released him for a second, only to go back and bob your head up and down at sensual pace, sometimes leaving licks here and there.

"Fuck, Y/N... You're so good...", he moans.

The fact that he was rather a moaner than a groaner only made your wetness grow. You've always thought a moaning men was hotter.

After a few more movements, you got back up and went back to his lips, allowing him to taste himself too. Without breaking the kiss, he guided you on the bed, where he got on top of you. His hands started roaming all over your stomach, sides and torso, enjoying every single bit of your skin. Enjoying this intimate moment. George liked to take his time, enjoy the moment and make sure you're enjoying it as much as him...

He slowly started to take off your annoying skirt, followed by your panties, only leaving you in your thigh highs socks.

"What's with the socks?", you asked him, crooking an eyebrow.

"Be a good girl and don't ask...", he says, attacking your lips again.

You smile to your insides; you've always knew George had a thing for the high school uniforms... including high thighs socks...

He took away his t-shirt and as you were both naked, he leaned on you a put a single sheet over your bodies.

His hand made its way to your core, where he took the time to take your wetness and spread it all over it with his fingers.

"Look at how wet you already are... All that because of me?", he smirked.

"No, it's because of your lovely daddy", you said, mocking him.

"Ah, ah... Lower you tone with me, sweetheart...", he tsked, and suddenly he introduced two fingers in your pussy, "otherwise it won't end up good for you..."

He started to pump in a out of you as his mouth made it's way back to you neck and jaw, where he never stopped kissing.

"Fuck, George... Yes...", you whispered.

"You like that, darling?", he whispered back in your ear.

"Yesssss...", you slowly started to arch your back and his fingers started to curl inside you.

George took that as a signal to add a third finger. Your face contorted at the discomfort but it soon disappeared, only leaving an extreme pleasure.

He never pulled back from your ear, whispering sweet and nasty things in it while he ferociously pumped in and out of your pussy with his fingers.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!", you moaned loudly.

His hand accelerated its pace, making you hear your own wetness, and you could feel your walls start to tighten around his fingers.

"Are you going to cum, sweetheart? Huh?"

"Yes! FUCK!", once again your back arched and your hand met your clit, quickly rubbing it, but George slapped your fingers, replacing them with his.

"That's my job...", he says, fingers knuckles deep inside you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! George! FUCK! I'm cumming!", you screamed, bringing your hands to your hair, pulling it roughly.

While he rocked you orgasm with his fingers inside you, he made sure to leave a few new marks on your neck, as to say "George was here".

You regained your breath and when you opened your eyes again, you met the gaze of a lustful George towering over you. You took him by the neck and made him sit down against his headboard, you sitting on his lap. You started kissing him again, passionately and full of hunger. You took his dick in your hand and pumped it a few times before rubbing it against your wet pussy, spreading your wetness all over him, making him groan in your mouth.

Without notice, you got up on your knees and slowly sunk down his shaft, letting you a few seconds to adjust to his length. You looked at his face; lower lip between his teeth, pupils dilated and messy hair all over his forehead, it was the most beautiful image of George you've ever had. Seeing all the lust in his eyes, you decided to not waste more time and started to slowly bounce together on his bed, and moving your pelvis to meet his. Both you and him were a moaning mess, only hearing your voices and your wetness in the room. Lucky you were that no one would be back for a while to his dorm, so you could take all the time you wanted.

George's back was against his headboard, and small moans were escaping his mouth as he embraced you and helped you bouncing and getting back and forth on his dick. Both of you grabbing on each other hard, you bouncing on his cock and him thrusting upwards.

"Fuck, George... You feel so so good... Oh my god...", you moaned, throwing your head back and finding support on his shoulders. Once again, feeling your walls clench around him.

"Turn around, darling...", he commanded you.

You did as he pleaded without asking, pulling him out of your pussy and turning your body around, still sitting on his lap. He slowly raised your body so you were on your knees, your back against his chest. This new position making his cock curve in the perfect spots.

"SHIT!", you moaned.

"Come on, I've got you...", he says, sliding he arm around your stomach, giving you support and enough stability for him to roughly thrust upwards.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming!!", you quickly managed to moan.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the amazing feeling that was rushing through your body. You expected George to stop his relentless pace, but he didn't, fully overstimulating you, making your orgasm last forever.

"Shit... I can't stop cumming... FUCK!", you difficulty breathed out, making George smirk. "Is that so, darling?", he asked, bringing his hand down to your clit and starting to massage it quickly.

You froze in place while he was attacking you with his fingers and let out a silent scream.

"Oh god... Oh god... FUCK, GEORGE!", you moaned as you felt your walls starting to clench around his dick.

"Are you going to cum again for me?", he smirked.

"Yes! Fuck, yes!", you nearly screamed, feeling something explode inside you and making you see the stars. George started thrusting upwards into your pussy again, helping you chase your orgasm. The overstimulation was so good you couldn't even stop yourself from riding him and taking more of him every time.

"More?", he asked, speaking against your temple, "You want more, sweetheart? You're insaciable, I love it..."

You could even think straight. The intimacy you and him were sharing and the many times you had come by now where making it impossible to even think about what you were doing, you were too focused on how good George was making you feel.

He took advantage of your fucked up state and decided to spice things up a little bit; he took you by the waist and slowly laid you down on the mattress, putting you under him, facing him so he could admire you in your perfect messed up state. He never pulled out of you. He adjusted your hips to be at the perfect angle, and put his arms around your thighs.

"Say you can't stop cumming? Let's see how this feels...", he says before slamming inside you again.

You loudly moaned at the new angle and the feeling of him being balls deep inside you. He was railing the shit out of you in this new position and you could hear his bed slamming against the wall, following his rhythm.

George smirked between his uneven breaths as he felt you clench again around him, knowing how good he was making you feel. He adjusted again his angle, tightening his grip on your thighs and slowing his thrusts, but he never stopping his hard pace, always hitting the correct spots.

You unconsciously took your hand to your clit and started rubbing it hard. You couldn't stop cumming and you didn't want to stop. George was making you feel way too good for that, so you wanted to enjoy every single crumb he would give you of him.

"Yes, like that, sweetheart...", he groaned, "Another one for me..."

His moans and groans were like music in your ears, and hearing him groan louder when he felt your release only made your orgasm a hundred times more powerful for you.

"Come here...", George said, laying back against his headboard again with you on his lap, "You're doing it so good, darling... So good..."

You put your head in the crook of his neck, not having enough strength to even hold your head up. The boy put his hand on the back of your neck, thrusting hard in you.

"Fuuuuuucccckkkkkk...", you let out a long moan.

George embraced you again, this time tighter than before, and you knew he was close.

Your pussy was so sensitive by now that you couldn't even prepare for the new orgasm that washed over your body. George heard you quietly cry of pleasure and that brung him to his end. He swore to himself you were going to be the death of him as he chased his own release. He let out the sweetest moans and you knew he had finished.

He put a gently kiss on your forehead and slowly lifted you off his dick, sitting you again on his lap, feeling his now soft cock under your swollen pussy.

"Are you okay?", he asks, brushing your hair with his fingers.

You hummed, not able to form words yet. He slowly chuckled at that, "Do you need a minute?"

"Yeah...", you answered quietly.

He let you stay still on his lap until you were able to correctly breathe and think again, now not believing how good the sex was.

"Wow...", you chuckled.

"No exaggeration, that was the best sex I've ever had", George says.

You look at him dead in the eye, "Are you and your brother even real?", you ask, completely outraged, "It's not fair!"

George laughed, "What is not fair?"

"THIS! Are you a sort of sex demons or something like that?!", he laughed again.

"Unfortunately no... We just wanted to rail the shit out of you for ages, I suppose."

"Oh, Merlin...", you felt dizzy again, and the thought of them fucking you this hard again only made you more excited for the future. Now was the time when you swore this was the best idea they could ever have had. "I'm so glad you guys asked mento do this, you have no idea..."

You left a quick kiss on George's lips and got up to get dressed, but your legs terribly failed you and almost made you fall ass flat on the floor.

"Oh, wow...", George chuckled, admiring you from his bed.

"You shut up. It's your fault!"

"Yeah, I know...", he winks at you.

You rolled your eyes in fake annoyance and supporting you on his dresser, you could manage to get your skirt on. You made your way to the nearest mirror, watching your body as you adjusted your sweater and your hair. You could see the hickeys Fred had left a few days prior to this encounter with his brother, and next to them almost identical fresh hickeys where now starting to form, making you smile for yourself.

"I have to go, it seems like we've stayed here long enough for Hermione to start asking where I am...", you say, putting on your shoes.

"Okay, I'll see you at lunch, darling."

You flew him a kiss from the door and rushed out of his room, directly going outside the castle; and once again, smiling to yourself at the thought of what you've had done. Hoping this would keep going for a little while...

[cherry-glade]

only ever pain (until you)

pairing: jason todd x reader

summary: it’s been a while since this has happened—jason’s been having a good run—but life is always out to get him, and soon enough, he's curled up into a ball of nothing but pain, aching muscle and brittle bone. luckily, like the last few times, he has you now to help him get through it.

warnings: some angst, jason being mostly touch-averse in this, jason also being quite self-deprecating, sensory overload, hurt/comfort, ptsd and hallucinations, chronic illness (fibromyalgia).

w/c: 4786 words

Jason doesn't know why it happens—maybe it's a side effect of either the Lazarus Pit, or of living in a world that he doesn’t belong in, where he should technically be dead, or perhaps it's just the trauma from the Joker's beating coming back to haunt him—but some days, it's as though all Jason is capable of feeling is pure, unadulterated pain.

He knows that it’s going to be one of those days from the minute he wakes up, wincing and turning away as the sun peeks through the window and makes his eyes sting, even though they’re still closed. He tries to roll over onto his stomach, not realising that the sheets are tangled up around his legs, and ends up falling off the bed with a dull thud, knee bashing into the floor.

Shoving the sheets away, Jason pushes himself up into a sitting position, stretching his leg out and noticing the faint redness to his skin, but he doesn’t take much note of it as he rubs at his surprisingly sore knee, preoccupied by the sudden throbbing pain in his head and behind his right eye, a sure sign of an incoming migraine.

Groaning, he stands up, damn near clinging onto the bedside table for support as he picks up his phone up and taps on the screen to check the time. It’s nearly noon, so you must already be at work. Jason usually wakes up on time though for you to kiss him goodbye, and the fact that he didn’t today is just another sign that things are probably going to end up going to shit.

Jason’s legs feel weak as he walks to the bathroom. He swears he can feel each individual fibre in the carpeting, rough against his feet. Jason pushes on and relieves himself before washing his hands and splashing cold water onto his face, nearly collapsing into a heap on the floor, but he manages to catch himself before he cracks his head open on the sink.

”You look like a piece of shit that got turned into roadkill, and are very lucky that Y/N isn’t here right now to witness this,” Jason says to his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he leans forward, noting his bloodshot eyes and the bags underneath them, skin paler than usual.

He blinks hard at the mirror and then stumbles out towards your kitchen, regretting not putting any socks on first as his bare feet come into the contact with the tiled floor, cold and leeching any remaining heat from his body. Jason fills the kettle up with water and switches it on, studying the darkening bruise on his knee as he waits for it to come to a boil.

Surprisingly enough, the bruise is already reddish in colour, almost verging on purple and tender to the touch as Jason prods at it with his fingers like a curious child, hissing at the pain radiating from it. He tries his best to ignore the dull ache as he makes himself a quick cup of jasmine tea, specially bought for him by Alfred, fingers trembling all the while.

Jason has to pick up his mug with both hands, taking a moment to let the warmth of the tea seep through his body, and then makes the mistake of taking a step back towards the bedroom. He vaguely recalls having a conversation with Tim and Damian, a while ago now, about if he would rather walk on heated coals or a trail of Legos. Remembers Damian absentmindedly mentioning that he’d already done the former as part of his training in the League of Assassins.

Remembers chiming in himself and saying that he’d done the same, then having to squirm away from Dick when he’d gotten that oddly sad look on his face as soon as Damian mentioned it—that look that said Jason was going to get a hug whether he liked it or not. Jason had barely escaped by pushing Damian into Dick’s arms instead, and Dick had apparently been appeased by that as he curled around Damian like an octopus, still giving Jason puppy eyes.

This, right now? Taking this single step? It feels infinitely worse than both options combined.

Jason grits his teeth and forces himself through walking the few paces to your shared bedroom, feeling like he’s about to collapse onto the floor the whole way. He has to take a break when he reaches the doorway, clinging to the doorframe with one hand, and tries to keep his other hand to stay as still as physically possible so it doesn’t spill, even as the handle of the mug feels bruising against his palm.

Jason takes a moment to breathe in deep, resisting the urge to claw at his own neck and chest as his pulse quickens and his heart beats harder against his ribs, as the insistent buzz under his skin grows even more insistent, like it’s trying to seek his attention over the throb of his migraine, over the ever-growing pain in his knee and his trembling hands and his dry throat and chapped lips and the keen desire to have you by his side.

Jason isn’t even exaggerating when he says it feels like it’s been years when he finally reaches the bed, practically falling down onto it. With shaky hands, he brings the mug to his mouth, breathing in the subtle sweetness through his nose before taking a sip of the tea, regretting it immediately when it feels as though molten lava is being poured down his throat, clogging it up to the point that Jason’s nose burns when he tries to force down the urge to choke.

Instead of being stupid and trying to drink any more of it, Jason decides to set the mug down on the bedside table so he can wait for it to cool down, his hand jerking when he sees something other than tea in it. Jason stares helplessly, frozen in place as liquid spills over the rim of the mug and trickles down its side, leaving a faint stain on it, the colour reminiscent of dried blood. He blinks when his eyes start to water, and the tea is its usual colour again, a rich, golden caramel.

Jason stares for a little while longer and then decides to get back into bed so he can wait, for both his tea and you. Curling up into a ball is easier said than done, especially when he can feel every single hair on his body rubbing against the sheets when he pulls them close to his chest, then yanks the covers over his head like he’s trying to smother the pain as he squeezes his eyes shut.

His last thought before unknowingly succumbing to the darkness of sleep, selfish as it might be, is that though he hates being so reliant upon you, though it makes him feel weak and not so different from a leech, asking for everything from you and giving nothing in return, he wants to hear your voice telling him that he will get through this, and that you’ll be with him every step of the way.

***

Jason awakes from his restless slumber to the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door, even though he remembers leaving it open. He knows it’s you though, because you’re the only one who ever bothers knocking anymore, even if the door is open, in an attempt to give him the space he sometimes needs. He tries his best to focus through the pain and realises that you’re knocking in a pattern, the same pattern you established with each other a while ago to ask if he was okay.

Jason nearly bites through his lip to stop himself from crying out as he reaches an arm out from under the covers to knock on the wood of the bedside table thrice, the nauseatingly coppery taste of blood lingering on his tongue. He wants you to tell him everything is going to be okay, even though he knows it isn’t going to be that way for a while, if only to delude himself into thinking so.

“Jay? Are you having a day?” You call out softly, and the ringing in his ears doesn’t stop him from hearing you shuffle your feet. Jason ignores the sound of his teeth grinding together as he summons the energy to peek out at you, squinting at how you’re stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob with both feet firmly outside of the room. Somewhere deep inside him, past all the parts that scream with pain and hurt and anger, it warms him to see that you’ll still respect his boundaries.

He nods at you, regretting it when his migraine comes back with a vengeance. It feels like someone’s hammering at the inside of his head, trying to break out of it. “You okay with touching?” You whisper, finally stepping into the room.

He isn’t sure. Touching his thumb to his chin makes his skin burst into a flurry of sensation, and Jason only refrains from scratching at his face because he knows that you know he wants to do it, going by the stern look on your face. “Can try, but… not skin,” he rasps out, wincing at the way his voice sounds. It’s hoarse and raspy, like he’s been screaming for hours. He could’ve been, in his sleep.

You come closer, casually tugging a pair of gloves out of your pocket and sliding them on. Other than the fact that they’re very soft, the gloves aren’t anything special. When you first found out about the pain, it had been Jason wearing them so he wouldn’t scratch himself, but both of you quickly found out that the material was far too itchy against his sensitive skin, and now it’s you who wears them so that you can help him without accidentally touching his skin and sending him into a frenzy.

Jason watches you as you step in front of the bedside table and curl your hand around a mug that he hadn’t noticed until then. “Jasmine tea?” You ask him, and Jason holds his shaking hands out to take it, but you move it away and put the mug back down, shaking your head. “It’s gone cold. You must have made it before you went to sleep.”

“I—don’t remember,” Jason murmurs, suddenly feeling very lost. He thought you had made it for him. Your mouth twitches into a small frown as you study his face, and your hand rises like you’re about to touch him, faltering midway before falling back down to your side.

“I’m going to get you some water,” you say, waiting for Jason’s nod before leaving to do just that, and Jason knows you’re coming right back, but he somehow misses you even more now than he did when you were at work. His shoulders are tense until you return to his side with a small glass, half-full of water.

“Do you want me to hold it for you—”

“Can do it myself,” Jason interrupts you, insistent on doing at least this without having to be so dependent on you. But once the glass is in his hands, water keeps sloshing over the sides, his teeth clacking into it because of how much his hands are shaking. Your gloved hands come up to support his, holding the glass steady, and he does his best to shoot you a thankful look as he takes a careful sip. He’s sure it’s lukewarm, but it feels like shards of ice scraping against his throat, almost making Jason choke.

Once the glass is empty, you set it down with a clink and crouch down next to the bed, facing him. “Have you eaten?” You ask, and Jason just about manages to shake his head, feeling sick. Your frown deepens momentarily before smoothing out entirely as you stand up again, taking a few steps back so that you’re not looming over him.

His skin is itchy. He feels dirty. Jason doesn’t realise that he’s scratching until you say his name sternly, startling him when you place a gentle hand on top of his. Your eyes scan over his face, and you must see something on it because you straighten up, a somewhat determined look in your eyes as you slowly peel the covers off him, baring Jason’s body to the cold darkness of the bedroom.

“Bath time,” you tell him, a small smile on your face. Jason shivers violently.

“Dirty? Am I dirty?” He asks, vaguely aware of the fact that he’s slurring his words, focussing more on how hot his face feels. Your smile wavers and it feels like his blood is boiling inside him as you shake your head, muttering something to yourself about him getting worse.

“But—”

Jason looks down at his hands, which only shake even more when he sees crimson pooling in the crooks between his fingers, staining his cuticles red and drying into the lines of his cracked palms. Red drips from his fingertips, staining the sheets beneath him. He doesn’t want to touch you, to dirty you with his red hands.

“They’re dirty,” Jason says, showing you his hands, and you shake your head again.

“You’re not dirty,” you say out loud this time, looking Jason in the eye. “You’re having a bath because it’ll help with the pain,” you explain to him like he’s a child, but Jason can’t find it in himself to get annoyed. He shivers again, but this time it’s because of the sudden cold he feels, because of the goosebumps rising along the surface of his bare arms as the buzz under his skin roars for his attention.

“I’m not?” Jason asks, still hesitant, and you repeat yourself as your eyes flicker over his face, telling him that he isn’t dirty.

“Come on,” you gently coax him until Jason eventually pulls himself out of the safety of the bed, a whimper escaping from between his clenched teeth when his feet touch the floor and pain shoots through his body. Your eyes are glued to him, concern clearly written all over your face as Jason battles his way to the bathroom and then starts to undress as you fill the bathtub, resisting the urge to scratch as the fabric of his clothes drags uncomfortably over his skin.

He studies his trembling hands as you pour some odd-looking powder into the water, dipping your hand in and swirling it all together until you’re left with a slimy mixture. You turn to him with an expectant look on your face like you’re waiting for him to do something, and then it clicks, and Jason’s nose wrinkles as he presses his lips together in a thin line.

“Sweetheart, you need to actually get in for it to have any effect,” you remind him, a teasing undertone to your voice. Jason pulls a face and steps up to the tub, wincing as the muscles in his legs sprain when he tries to swing his leg over the edge to do as he’s been told. But you come up next to him, holding one of his hands as lightly as you can to support him as he manages to climb into the tub, slowly sinking down until he’s sat down and almost fully submerged.

For a moment, it’s almost too overwhelming for him, and then the continuous sensations of hot and cold and pain and numbness, of all too much and nowhere near enough, they all slowly ease. Jason sinks a little lower into the water, hands shooting out of the water to grip onto the sides of the bathtub so he can ground himself as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, slowly breathing out through his nose.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s relieved or terrified by how easy it was to get his body to just shut up, but doesn’t ponder on it, revelling instead at how he can now simply feel without hurting so much.

He must zone out for quite some time though because he ends up tuning back in to the sound of your voice, smooth and familiar as you tell him about your day at work. You aren’t holding his hand anymore, but are still sat on the rug next to the bathtub, watching him with sharp eyes.

Once again, Jason is reminded of the fact that you’re too good for him, too good for someone with blood on his hands and vengeance on his mind, for someone who is capable of feeling nothing but anger in his heart. Once again, he wonders why you choose to stay, why you keep choosing him even though everyone else in his life does the opposite.

There’s an odd look on your face when Jason turns to look at you. You don’t say anything, not pushing him, but wait for him to speak in his own time. He’s fiercely reminded of how much he loves you and swallows down the lump in his throat which threatens to choke him.

“They’re red,” he finally croaks out, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. “My hands are red, and they’re always gonna be red with people’s fucking blood, because that’s all I’m good at. That’s all I can do.”

“Jay—” you start, frowning, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head which makes him feel like he’s about to throw up.

His bloody hands shake. “I’m never going to be clean,” Jason whispers, but even that is too loud for his overly sensitive ears. “When people look at Red Hood, at me, that’s all they are ever going to see. Blood on my hands.”

“Jason, baby,” you murmur, and Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard your voice so soft before. He turns his head to look down when your gloved fingers graze the tips of his, even though it makes him feel like his brain is pounding violently against the inside of his skull.

You’re asking if you can hold his hand, and Jason takes in a deep breath as he slowly uncurls his fingers from the death grip they previously had around the edge of the bathtub, then flips his hand over so his palm is facing upwards.

You don’t cover it with your own like he’s expecting, but manage to slide yours underneath Jason’s so that you’re cradling his hand. He has to fight hard against the instinct to snatch it back.

“You wanna know what I see?” You ask as your eyes fall to his hand, but it isn’t really a question, and if it is, it’s clearly rhetorical. Your gloved fingertip traces over the lines in his palm, and it doesn’t hurt as much as Jason had thought it would. Instead of thousands of tiny needles piercing through the surface of his skin, it just feels like sharp little pinpricks of sensation.

He looks up at you, and you look right back at him with soft eyes and a softer smile. Jason’s pretty sure his heart skips a beat in the same way it always does when you smile at him. “I see strength, and I see kindness, and I see good.”

Your eyes lower to look at his hand again. “I see scars and callouses and bruised knuckles, and fingers that haven’t healed right after being broken. I see the hands of a man who has worked hard every single day of his life, who doesn’t stop working even though it hurts sometimes, because he’s just like that.”

Your eyes meet, and Jason has to take in deep breaths after seeing the fierce look in your eyes, even though his chest is painfully tight. “I see hands that disarm bombs and shoot guns and break assholes’ noses. Hands that help and protect and love, so, so much.”

Jason exhales shakily through his nose, eyes stinging. He doesn’t deserve this, he knows that. He’s known that he doesn’t deserve you since the moment he met you, since the first time he dared to utter your name with his unworthy tongue, to touch you with his undeserving hands.

But you make him sound like this wonderful person, somebody who actually deserves to have you and love you, and Jason doesn’t know how you can see him like that. He’s killed and tortured and hurt people, both physically and emotionally, he’s not good at all, but he couldn’t bear to lose you if you ever came to the realisation that you’ve been wrong about him all along.

Loving you is the best thing he’s ever done, the greatest choice he’s ever made, and the closest he can get to being good is being good to you. If that’s taken away from him, he’s doomed to an eternity of making the wrong choices.

“When I look at you, I see someone who is brave and gentle and strong. So strong,” you emphasise with the gentlest squeeze to his hand, almost like you think if you put too much pressure on it, his bones will cave in and shatter beneath your touch into dozens of tiny pieces, just like Jason’s heart does whenever you say things like this to him, like you actually mean it.

“I see a man who has been hurt by the world around him so many times, but he’s come out fighting every time.” Jason flinches at that, turning away so he can watch the condensation slowly forming on the tap, a single water droplet threatening to spill from it.

“Jay,” you whisper shakily, and he can hear the swell of emotion in your voice. But Jason knows that you’re not asking him to turn back and face you again, though he feels like he should so he can lean in and kiss any revealing traces of wetness off your face, even if it makes his lips feel like they’re being seared right off his face as he touches them to your soft skin.

“I wish you could see what I do when I look at you,” you admit, eyes no longer burning into the side of his face as you steady your voice again, sounding like you’re determined to prove it to him, that he’s worthy of your love and time.

“You deserve every good thing in this cursed world that we live in, and I wish I could give you that, but I can’t,” you say, voice cracking halfway through your sentence, and you sound truly heartbroken about it, about the fact that—that Jason deserves more, and he’s not getting it.

The water droplet leaks from the tap and lands on the bottom of the tub with a faint splat. Jason doesn’t hear it because he’s too busy staring at your glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill over the delicate tips of your eyelashes and down your face.

You blink and a tear runs down your cheek, just one, leaving a faint streak on your face as you breathe in deeply through your nose, trying to pull yourself together before you speak again. “All I can give you is my love and my time, and hope that that’s enough for you.”

You look back down at his hand cradled in yours again and there’s a faint smile on your face, like you know something he doesn’t. “These hands which you think are red? The same hands which you think will only ever ruin everything they touch? They’ve never hurt me.”

“These hands right here?” You say, shaking his ever so slightly, but not so much that it hurts. “They hold me when I’m happy and when I’m sad, when I’m angry and when I need to feel safe.” Your eyes meet his again, bright with warmth and determination. “My heart is in these hands, Jason, and you’ve never done it wrong. Ever.” Jason briefly considers arguing with you but he really doesn’t have the energy to—this bath is making him strangely sleepy.

But you must see the intent in his eyes because you shake your head and continue, just as stubborn as he is. That isn’t a bad thing, not at all. It’s why you work so well together.

“When I got into a relationship with you, I trusted you to take care of my heart, and that’s exactly what you’ve done,” you explain. “So all I’m asking is that you trust me to take care of you, because I know you deserve it, whether you agree with me or not.”

Jason stares at you and you stare right back, your smile growing ever wider as Jason’s eyes dart away and his cheeks warm slightly. He loves you so much.

“I think you ought to know,” Jason starts, meeting your eyes as water trails slowly down the back of his neck, making him want to claw at his skin, to press his nails into it and drag them along the surface until it’s raw and itchy and as red as his bleeding heart. “If it weren’t for the fact that the thought of touching someone’s skin makes me want to peel the fucking flesh right off my bones, I’d be kissing the shit out of you right now.”

Your wet eyes go soft again, as does your trembling smile. “I appreciate the sentiment,” you laugh, undeniably fond, and even after all this time, it makes Jason want to squirm a little. He refrains, but just barely.

You stare at each other for a little while longer until you speak up again, asking if you can wash his hair. It’s not that he needs to have his hair washed, but he enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, adores the sound of your voice as you tell him a story or sing to him to replace the silence or distract him from the thoughts racing around his mind.

So naturally, he agrees, and soon enough, he’s facing the wall with you balanced on the edge of the bathtub, warning him before you scoop up a handful of clean water and pour it over his hair. You start to hum a simple song, briefly pausing to tell that you’re going to shampoo his hair before continuing.

He tenses up, trying to prepare himself for the feeling of being overstimulated when your hands land in his hair, but warmth tingles through him instead in the same way that it does whenever you touch him with no plans other than to love him, and really, Jason was a fool to expect anything else, seeing as you’ve only ever touched him with the best intentions in mind.

“I love you,” Jason murmurs quietly, and you don’t tease him by telling him you know that like you sometimes do. Like Jason himself did when he finally became comfortable with the fact that he loves you and you love him too.

In fact, you don’t say anything at all, still humming that same song as you gently massage your fingers through his thick hair, paying particular attention to his white streak. It occurs to Jason that maybe you didn’t hear him.

Or maybe you just somehow know like you always do that this was something he needed to say, that it was something he needed to learn for himself without finding out that you knew how he felt before he did, something that he needed to come to terms with so he could finally put a name to the way you make his heart try to punch out of his rib cage and right into your hands whenever you smile at him or say his name or praise him, or kiss his tears away and take him into your arms after he’s had a nightmare without a word of complaint.

“I love you,” he repeats anyway, hoping for you to understand, and you try your best, leaning in to press your mouth to the wet skin on the back of his neck, mouthing words against it that Jason can’t quite make out, but he’s pretty sure he can have a good guess. It makes him shiver again, but in a good way this time.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and now you get it. Now you hear what he’s really saying.

I love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for always choosing me. Thank you for helping me through this.

Your mouth curls into a smile against his skin. “I love you too, Jason,” you whisper, voice tender. And Jason hears what you’re saying too.

I love you. Thank you for letting me.

[lettersformiah]

9:12am, 20 june

hi bubba! in english atm. ive had a morning and a half. late to school hehe. had to sign in at the office bc i saw maia with the little attendance slip that relievers have. signed in and rocked up. the reliever is nice, he is chill. nice enough yk? youre at your first placement rn! so shit you had to wake up so early for it. n you have to do it the next two days as well. like eek. but youre amazing so i trust youll be fine. or even better than fine. i believe in you. just shit that i cant text you hehe. but its okay cause i have the letters and music and fifty internals to focus on. did i tell you french was also spoken? im terrible at french pronunciation. what can you do i guess. my kiwi mouth cant get around the fact that french is just gurgling. hopefully ill be fine.

wearing your hoodie at school ^-^ its nice and big and warm. i love it so much. im wearing so many layers bc its so cold. or not even that cold. so windy. and wind makes everything cold. got my stockings on, your hoodie, the big fleece jacket, and socks >:) which i dont think you are meant to wear with stockings, but fuck it, im cold and my shoes are thin. the wind is fucking up my hair too. so dog of mother nature fr.

what else? oh! friday is matariki. or maybe its not? i dont know. friday is the public holiday for matariki, so thats good enough for me. thursday is a half day bc they are doing the celebration at school from 1-5. (however it means p3 on thursday is like a full school assembly) i think im meant to go to the celebration? i think i will from like 3-5 maybe. if you dont miss me too much. but youd probably be asleep knowing you. will see i guess heh. i just know my friends were interested in going. i still have dance though, so maybe i go and then leave at like 4:40? thats when the bus is and itll take me straight to dance. just gotta be sneakily wearing my dance clothes or take a bag. we will see! sounds like a good plan though, if i do say so myself.

i really can keep writing forever hehe! apparently always having something to say translates well into letters too! id be so good with a diary. but i think one entry would be like 40 pages long. so maybe its for the best this is online. saves me some hand cramps.

i love you! and im excited for drama! having our war piece kinda finished is good. but getting the guys to work its kinda very hard when they arent feeling it. but we definitely need to perform soon. the original plan was to have it be done at the end of term 1. its almost been like 3 months since that? thats some shit timing. but tbf im glad we have the time to work on it, i want it to look good. but i dont mind not getting an excellence, but i know leo wants it. which is fair. hoping all goes well and the boys focus up. ill let you know.

it was nice waking up to you this morning :*] wish it could be like that irl and every day yk? i dont think i was very good at conversation, i barely remember it but i remember definitely slurring my words a teeny bit. sleepy maddi things.

ive been writing this letter for like thirty minutes. crazy how the time flies when i just talk. tbf whenever i talk just about my day it takes about 3 hours to get through! and i didnt even get to tell you about yesterday and the full on day i had! and havent even mentioned watching the end of the summer i turned pretty with rem and hos and jazz or playing dnd! gosh theres so much to talk about i could go on forever. im happy you love that about me. im very lucky. youre a great listener which is perfect because im a great talker. love you bubba.

i should go i think. got other posts to make and some english to pretend i did. i love you, hope the placement is going okay and you havent fallen asleep injecting someone yet.

talk soon,

-mads<3

[tomdiddlyumptious]

Hey! Ive been feeling a bit in the muds so could you do like and old type of fanfic...like a mob!tom on a retro phone just sweet talking the reader?

Only if your requests are open tho. I dont wanna be a burden

Aw baby you could never EVER be a burdon. Dont ever be shy to talk to me because im always here babe.

T.H| What a Sweetheart

Summary: 👺👺👺

Warnings: ah just some fluff- i went overboard i hope your okay with that-

A/n: I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER- HERE ILL POST A WEIRD VIDEO FOR YOU

There you sat. The baby pink everywhere as you laid on your stomach rocking your feet and reading a book, sucking on your lolipop

Ring Ring, Ring Ring

A smile and a giggle brought to your lips, sitting up and crawling to the old pink retro phone you answered, curling the wire around your fingers with the other hand holding the pop.

“Hey babyface” “hi tommy” he also laid there, in the darkness as he starred at the empty wall, shirtless and pantless, just in his boxers and in his socks rubbing his stomach and wanting to listen to your voice.

“I missed you” you laughed at his words “i missed ya to tommy” “i miss your voice...that pretty face of yours” “well i cant come see you, daddy stays at home now and he needs my help” “i dont need your help princess” you giggled at his joke “not youuuu, my real daddy”

“Mhmm princess, well what are you wearing?” You looked down at yourself then squealed “well i just got this fuzzy pink robe! Its so cute!” He chuckles and shifted in his spot. “Are you tired dollface?” Your lips go to the side for a moment, thinking before speaking.

“Kind of” “well, can i talk you to sleep” he desperately asked, biting his lip waiting for an answer. “Yeah let me go turn off the lights” you muttered, putting the phone down before getting up and walking to your door to switch the light off.

When you came back to your large bed you cleaned everything up and tom waited patiently, humming some songs to himself before you came back.

“Alright, what dya’ got for me” you asked, laying down on your side and holding onto the phone. “I just wanted to praise you bunny. Tell you how beautiful you are and how much i love you. How you speak and walk....your just everything for me ya know?”

“Really?” You said, your voice shrinking. “Of course baby, you deserve the whole wide world, do you know that? I feel like you should just sit on a cloud because your too good for this earth”

You sighed “thank you, but whats going on with you?” He bit his lip before answering, sitting up against the headboard “uhm, this job has been so stressful lately, i havent seen my family at all. I havent seen you- i just feel alone...”

“Oh...well i can ask my daddy to drop me off” you suggested. “No you dont have to, i only wanted to hear that sweet sweet voice” he chuckled, his head hanging low as he thought about what to buy you next.

“Im still listening!” You perked up making him laugh “i know you are princess, just lay down yeah? All ears for me?” “Got it tommy” “you ready?” “Mhm”

“I wanna buy you everything and more because your such a good girl for me, i wanna pleasure you in any and every way possible because you deserve it” “really? Give me some examples” “i dont know....rub your feet?” You both shared a small laugh “i know youve been wanting that fox fur coat..”

“I would fucking kill for that coat” “your daddy hasnt bought it for you yet?” He asked, a smirk on his face. “No, i havent asked at all” “whys that baby girl?”

You sighed before answering “because hes been so hard on me...hes getting old and-“ “you dont have to finish baby i know, i just wish we could all get together and be happy” “why cant we?” You asked rather innocently.

“Well...your daddy doesnt like my dad, and my dad doesnt like yours so we just continue to clash and fued” he wiped his eye. “Thats no fun, maybe i can talk to him” “what are you gonna say? That we are in love together and we wanna get married?” He sarcastically chuckled and your eyebrows furrowed.

“Well do you?” You asked. “Yeah doll...i do. Why dont we just run away and kill everyone in our path”

He didnt know why he was suggesting it. He in one of the biggest mobs and hes held responsible as one of the main people in the family, aside from you and yours. He really isnt the one for violence but he just wants at least a break of peace.

“Daddy wouldn’t like that” you shook your head. “I know, i just really miss you pretty girl” “i miss you to tom- thats why i wanna see you-“ “no itll just put you in danger! Stay home y/n” “what if i dont want to!”

“Then you cant come here. Im sorry!” “I dont care, bye-“ “wait-��� before he could finish you hung up the phone, dropping it back on its place before getting up and putting on your slippers and walking to the kitchen, finding your father eating.

“Daddy no carbs!” “Honey its 9 o’clock, give me a break” he glared at you, eating the piece of buttered bread. “Well i have a questionnnn” you distanced off, the slippers making a noise while you walked to the counter where your father was at. “Hm?” He groaned looking at you. “Dont get mad at me! Promise!” You said, holding up your hand and tilting your head at him.

“Spit it out y/n” “okay okay- can you pretty please talk to the hollands-“ he choked on the piece of bread “daddy!” You run up to him, aggressively patting his back. “Okay okay- im done! But you said what?” He looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

“The....hollands” you muttered looking away from him. “We have been against each othet for generations! And what makes you want to speak and collaborate with them” “daddy...theres this-“ “oh fuck off! Please dont tell me-“ you only nodded. “A white man?” “Daddy!” “What? Im being honest!”

“Whens the next meeting!” You asked. “In a week”

This is your first time ever coming to one of the meetings, and you were afraid. Your mob color is a dark brown so you wore it...daddy refused to let you wear anything too revealing because these men are dirty.

“Cover yourself!” “What are you talking about!” “Y/n.” “Finnneeee!” You stomped back to your room and your dad gifted you a tuxedo, so you wore it...

“Seeeeee you look great! Your grandfather would be so proud of you” news flash. All the women in the family ran away or whatever, they didnt know what they were getting their sleves into.

“Can we just leave”

Clank clank clank clank

You walked behind your dad and his close partners followed behind you, protecting you from toms family.

“You do not speak. You hear me y/n. Just sit down and listen” “yeah” you were nervous, ver nervous. So when you stepped in and seen absolutely no women at the tables you panicked. But when you made eye contact with tom you almost shit yourself.

He eyed you from afar, wondering why you were here. Why are you putting yourself in danger.

As everyone talked you sat there bored until someone made a comment about you. “Why is she here? Shes a beaut” he snickers, others laughing to.

Your dad stood “talk about my daughter again and i will kill you, understood?” He snapped, shrinking the man down to size. “Honey get out of here” he smiled at you and you stood, one of his friends pat coming with you outside.

“Why did you come here?” He asked, offering a cigarette but you declined. “I just wanted to see what its like” “no dont lie to me dollface, i know you were eyeing that boy” you side eyed him before groaning “is it obvious!” He laughed and took out his lighter.

“Very” “i dont like him” “well he likes you” he took a puff and put the lighter back in his front pocket. “How can you tell” you leaned up against the wall and crossed your arms. “He was only looking at you” he smiled, you smacked your lips. “You have em wrapped on your finger, you should take advantage of that”

“Well i dont wanna hurt people like you!” You whisper yelled. “Its business baby, has been for years” he shrugged. “Well maybe i can change it” “eh, it’s possible” he shrugged “but it aint easy”

You both heard the door get pushed open aggressively and turned around, seeing tom walking up to you. “Woah woah woah, slow your roll” pat said, stepping infront of you. “Can i just talk to her- give me like 20 minutes” “why should i do that” pat dropped the cigarette and stepped on it.

“Because i want to talk to her- if i dont make it back it twenty minutes i swear ill give you everything i have” “i dont want anything, y/n do you wanna go” pat looked back at you. You harshly swallowed before nodding your head, pat stepped aside and tom smiled, pulling your hand and tugging you to run with him.

“Baby” he said out of breath, both of you ran to the trunk of his car. “Y-yes tommy?” “I got you a gift” “what is it!” You perked up and he giggled “something youll never forget” he pulled out his key and opened the trunk, a large gift box with a pink bow on it. “Do you love me y/n?” He asked, looking at you.

“Yeah...i really do” you smiled and bit your lip nodding. “Open it” he muttered, you nervously took the bow out, slowly opening the top of the box “tommy i dont know...” “dont be scared! Open it!!” He edged you on.

Suddenly it started to sprinkle, soon turning into some heavy rain. “Y/n hurry up before you get a cold!” He said sternly and you did, a gasp left your lips as you raised the coat. “You bought it for me” you whispered and he nodded, he took the coat to put it on you, when you were finished your pressed your lips on his roughly, his hands hooking behind your knees to lift you up and put yout legs around his hips.

“I. Love. You. So. Much” you said between kisses. “I know princess, just know id kill for you if i had to” “i would too tommy, i would too” he smiled and pressed his forehead against yours, the rain coming down making your hair frizzy but he could care less, he loved you. “I wish we could be like this forever” you whispered against his lips before kissing him again. “We can baby, I promise” “how tommy?” You rubbed your nose against his “running away” “tommy i cant, you know this-“ “but arent you tired doll, it would just be me and you” he muttered, pinching your legs some.

You bit your lip before pressing a kiss on his lips. “Okay” “really?!” He smiled “yeah yeah lets go!” He carefully dropped you and slammed the trunk closed, he unlocked the car and you both hopped in, on the road you both go.

“I dont have any clothes!” “I can buy you everything you want and more princess, dont worry. Andddd letters. You always write your father some letters pretty girl” he smiled at you.

“Love you” “love you too”

[goodlucksnez]

a sky full of stars

Hello everyone so I wrote a er//aserm//ic fiction and it’s 5513 words I know right what the fuck I just kept writing and I didn’t want the story to end but it came to a lovely end

TW WARNING it deals with sui//cide depression,anxiety,panic attacks as well as medical surgery

TO NOTE In the story endeavor is not a hero and is a local tea maker and his wife is the surgeon which I just think it’s cute it comes together in the story it will make sense don’t worry

This is using my original AU with the Quirk flu

And lastly I hope you enjoy it I had a lot of fun riding and it has definitely improved since my last fic enjoy

you can read it on A03 or down below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33360760

How Shouta got here was anyone's guess. Sitting on the edge of the roof of UA looking at the shifting colors as night began to fall around him. As the shades of reds mixed with the blues and yellows, how they washed over the buildings and trees with a gentle golden glow, Shouta closed his eyes and smiled. The tear-stained face of the Pro was hidden from view under foundation and tired eyes. With the still night air, he heard the roof entrance unlock and movement behind him.

“Hello, old friend,” Shouta said not even turning to look at him.

“What the hell are you thinking, step away from the edge now.” Mic's voice boomed over the concrete and echoed in the tranquil night air. “Please, people need you…. I need you.”

Shouta took a deep breath and stood to face his old friend. Mic’s face was panicked and he could see the crumpled note in his hand. Shouta was glad to see his friend one last time. He shook with adrenaline as he spoke in a quiet voice barely louder than a whisper. Years down the road Shouta in the confession of therapy would say he said it this way because whispers make people listen while shouting just falls upon deaf ears.

“All my life, I have been in love with the sky. Even when everything was falling apart around me, the sky was always there for me. I’m glad to see it hasn’t changed. Goodbye old friend.” And he stepped off the roof Mic’s voice echoed in the night sky as Shouta plummeted down and down until darkness.

---

That was five years ago. Shouta had been getting better about talking about his depression and the struggles but the one thing he could not do was hurt Mic again. Hizashi also died that day, his cheery disposition of the world changed, and he hasn’t been the same since. He had improved but Shouta still had guilt deep down but would never admit it. Hizashi's confidence was always so fragile, like a child’s, it took him years to return to radio and music. He once in a foggy drunken state told Shouta that music died the day he fell and all the sounds of the world that created such unique and beautiful different melodies, fused into one agonizing wave of sound that made Hizashi hate music and his Quirk. He had gotten better they both had recovered from that day but if they were both being honest, they were still those scared little Pros inside.

When winter came the vows of in sickness and in health were tested. Hizashi got sick first and Shouta played the role of nursemaid and helped him get better therefore it was no wonder Shouta got sick. When he was a child Shouta would hide under his bed to avoid being seen as sick, he had enough of name-calling at school he did not need it at home too. This continued into his adult life even after the accident 5 years ago.

The next time he had woken up he almost suffered acute heart failure from the number of stress hormones that were immediately pumped through his system as long-term best friend and husband Hizashi better known as Present Mic had busted through the bedroom door with a shout of “Shouta” with his remarkably deafening voice. “Wow were you sleeping?”

As if it would be a shock that he was. He has been up most of the night coughing and generally feeling ill. Shouta was having trouble getting out of bed today as a dull pain racked through his body pulsing through every limb. He merely grunted in response and the strawberry blonde-haired man sat down and rubbed his back.

“Shouta,” he asked his voice worried with concern and suddenly Shouta was back on that roof. He shut his eyes and winced at that memory and shook his head. The movement of his head caused the room to spin and he reached out to grab onto something stable the only thing near him being his husband.

The pressure in his cranium had built itself up to the point where he knew he had to get away to get checked out. Somehow, he had to take a trip to get medicine, the question was how would he succeed with such a mission when Hizashi worried about his every movement.

Mic continued to rub his husband's back. After receiving no answer, his usual jovial expression continued morphing into one of pure concern. “Hey, Shouta are you okay?”

The tired pro sighed but when he went to open his mouth the tickle which had been prominent in his sinuses flared to life and he quickly turned his head to the side gripping the side of the bed as the sneezes ripped through his body.

“Heh-R'SSHH! Hh-Hih-AET’SCHHH! ESCCH!”

Hizashi jumped in surprise. “Woah, many blesses,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up some meds, okay?”

Shouta grabbed his arm and said, “no you barely over being sick, I can get some.”

As he went to put on his shoes, he sniffed back the congestion that was threatening to flow. Hizashi watched him gathering his wallet and keys before hugging him tightly and whispered in his ear.

“I know how you get with these things; I call you in a few hours and you better pick up or you’re in trouble. I love you Sky.”

Shouta hugged him back and said, “I love you to songbird.” And he left the house with the sound of thunder in the sky boomed over him.

---

His feet hurt.

It was a stupid thing to focus on. Stupid because Shouta was still heavily limping his way through darkened alleyways and shuffling through crumpled up newspapers and puddles of...something. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the medicine still clutched close to the chest. Shouta had no idea where he was going. He just kept moving- one hand drifting along chipped brick walls and graffiti-stained cement, something to keep him steady. Focused. Home was the mission but it wasn’t the goal. The goal was-

Freedom from the pain.

His knees buckled and Shouta couldn’t stop himself from tumbling forward. He smacked into a dumpster; the weak thump of a body against rusted metal ringing in his ears. The stench of rotten food clawed its way into his nose; the pain now liquid fire in his veins. Get up Shouta told himself even as his eyes started to flutter close. You have to get up. His fingers twitched; they landed in a puddle of something gross. “Please,” Shouta whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please~” Thunder rolled off in the distance- a heavy, almost shuffling sound. Maybe- maybe he could get clean in the rain? Maybe-----

“Ah, your awake!”

Fuck! Shouta started, brain a sluggish mess. He- the last thing he remembered with solid clarity was collapsing against a dumpster. Rain pattered against the rooftop- a strange melody that did nothing to put the Pro at ease as he stared at the old man before him. He was heavyset, a long red beard neatly trimmed and a topknot giving him off an old school look. Shouta glanced around the room, just a little more awake now. He still felt like shit, wet from the clothes he had when-

“My shoes,” Shouta rasped, gaze falling to his feet. They were bare, his socks neatly placed on the floor with his shoes beside this...futon. A sad, threadbare thing on the floor. It took all he had not to run his hands over himself-no. No injuries. The only thing Shouta wasn’t wearing was his shoes. Shouta inhaled congestion thick and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. An oven mitt was sitting on the floor between them, a teapot gently clutched in the old man’s hands. “You put band-aids on my heels?”

“I did,” came the quiet hum. “You’ve traveled quite a way. Those blisters are impressive.”

Shouta’s gaze flicked to the two clay cups- one by his feet, the other next to the old man’s knees. Steam started to curl out of the teapot; a fire Quirk perhaps? “...You’ve got a fire Quirk.”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very observant. Yes, I do. Would you like some tea? I have some delicious Herbal Spring at the moment it might help with that cold you got.”

Shouta eyed the teapot in question- the steam was barely more than a little trickle of a cloud. Could he have poisoned it while I was out? He shrugged, looking away.

“Ah good!” The old man leaned forward to pour tea- Shouta first, then himself. “Herbal Spring is a very fragile tea, you know. Raise the temperature too much and you’ll ruin it. Keep the water too cold, and it loses its flavor.”

Shouta didn’t reach for his cup. He heard the soft clink of China being set down on the oven mitt. He- he saw the near-empty room he was in. “Where am I?”

“My tea shop! Aaah well,” the old man smiled again as he reached for his cup. “Soon to be my tea shop. This is a storeroom of sorts.”

Shouta watched the old man drink first. A happy hum, a deep sip that made the Pro finally reach for his cup. He brought it to his lips, taking a tentative sniff. Even with his blocked nose, it smelled sweet. Shouta took the tiniest of sips; the warm liquid sliding down his parched throat with ease. It had a soft note to it; sweet and almost fruity, enough to make Shouta …breathe. “Who are you?”

“Just a simple tea maker.” Another calm sip, the old man closing his eyes for a moment. “Who are you?”

It...it lacked the same venom that Shouta’s question had. The same cautiousness, an almost feral edge to it. The old man’s question was simple. Calm and steady; Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he took another tentative sip. “No one.”

“It is an honor to meet you, No One.” The teapot was held out like a porcelain olive branch. “More tea?”

Was this...a joke? Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he held out his cup. There was still plenty of tea left in the small cup and it took all the Pro had not to wince at how hands were still shaking. Hot liquid sloshing about, threatening to go right over the dull rim. Yet...if the old man was going to say anything, he didn’t. He merely poured Shouta more tea, careful to keep the liquid from the rim.

Shouta brought it up to his lips, taking a bigger sip. “You’re,” this time he winced. His throat was still a raspy mess. “You’re not going to ask me why I was outside?”

“Mmm, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Shouta watched the teapot be set gently on the oven mitt, the old teamaker once more quietly enjoying his cup. The two sipped their drinks in relative silence- only broken by the steady drumming of the rain overheard and Shouta sniffling. An odd sort of silence, almost peaceful; Shouta wasn’t bombarded with questions. The old tea maker was content to drink his tea; he’d already downed three cups by the time Shouta had managed to finish one. He sneezed 3 harsh sneezes and drank more tea hoping to soothe the throat. The teapot seemed to rise without being asked; a second cup poured, a second cup that Shouta found himself willingly drinking. “Aizawa,” he whispered, staring down at the amber liquid. The Pro’s voice was painfully loud in the quiet. “My name is Aizawa Shouta.”

The old man gently smiled; callused hands curled around his cup. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aizawa Shouta.”

“What-” Shouta shifted on his futon; the tremors had finally left his hands. “Who are you?”

“Just an old man with wisdom and regrets,” came the happy reply. “You can call me Enji if you wish.”

Enji? It was a familiar way to address someone he’d just met. Right. “...I’m not calling you Enji.”

“Fair enough,” the old man chuckled and there was something warm in his voice that begged the Pro to relax. Maybe he has another Quirk? Can someone have two Quirks?

Shouta glanced down at his cup, his thumbs brushing the rim. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights~”

That...was not what Shouta was expecting. He frowned; was it too late to make a run for it? He was pretty sure he had strength in his legs now, even if he still felt awful. “That’s some bullshit,” the dark hair huffed, settling on something solid. Something he could trust. He attempted to rise to his feet and he wobbled for a moment. Pain that rolled through Shouta, begging for him to plop his ass back down. “You’re crazy, old man.”

The old man didn’t move from his spot on the floor. He merely hummed, a red eyebrow rising at the uptick of rain against the roof. “You will need a proper raincoat then. You’ll be soaked if you leave now.”

“...You’re not going to stop me?”

“I cannot stop you from your long journey, Shouta. Just as we cannot stop the fire from burning the log or ice freezing a pond.” Shouta watched the old man set his cup down; empty. “But please,” he groaned as he lumbered to his feet and Shouta was pretty sure he heard joints pop. “Let me get you an umbrella at least.”

His chest hurt. Shouta’s throat was stupidly tight. Painfully tight as he stood there, watching Enji dig around in the storeroom for an umbrella. “...You,” Shouta tried to clear his throat. To stop himself from crying like the idiot he was. “You don’t have-”

He shouldn’t have wasted his breath.

The umbrella was pressed into his hands with care. It was an old thing that had seen better days- a raggedy blue thing with a few frayed strands and a scuffed handle. It was old and worn and the most precious thing Shouta had ever held in his life. “Thank you,” the Pro whispered, clutching it close to his chest.

“Of course,” Enji hummed, bowing in return. “Please stay dry.”

---

Shouta descended the step of the tea shop, his body aching with every step. The medicine still clutched to his chest. The words still echoed in his mind. “You tell me when you’re ready.” He found himself walking the feeling of cool water running down his wet body was quite unpleasant. The wind blustered and the rain pattered on the antique umbrella and the way home seemed twice as long as usual. His mind raced, how could a stranger see so clearly into his mind was it that transparent to everyone that he was broken. As his feet hit the sidewalk a single thought crossed his mind. Hizashi. His songbird. His love. He was probably worried sick. As he pulled out his phone, he saw the screen was broken and as the light lit up his face, he could see 54 unread messages. Fuck. He ran, he didn’t even notice the tightening of his chest and the pain in his limbs, as he rounded the corner almost slipping on the wet pavement. He saw the lightly tan building of his home; the outside light was still on. As he unbolted the door and took a step inside, his heartbeat deafening in his ears, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him inside.

As Shouta panted, Hizashi's grip gets getting tighter and tighter. No words were said but the silence spoke volumes. Shouta felt tears spring to his eyes and choked back a sob as Hizashi guided him to the living room sofa and sat him down. Wordlessly Hizashi began to take Shouta's shoes off, gently searching his dark eyes for some kind of answer of where he was. Shouta could not meet his gaze, and just shook from the wet clothes and clutched the sofa tighter. Hizashi nodded and went off down the hall. He returned a moment later with fluffy towels and the first words were spoken.

“Out of those clothes.” Shouta blushed but did as he was told and as each soaked article of clothing was removed from his body it was replaced with a warm fluffy towel. However, it didn’t stop his shivering and Hizashi started rubbing the frozen skin of his lover. After a few minutes, Hizashi suddenly stopped and stood up, turning his back from Shouta.

Suddenly the blond jolted forward. “heh… ehh…. heh'ISSShooo!" and went into the kitchen to grab a box of tissues.

As he sheepishly returned and met the gaze of his husband, he muttered an apology. “Sorry.”

Shouta was at a loss for words. Why was he sorry? It was not his fault Shouta got sick, not his fault he was broken. He had done everything right, Shouta was wrong. He blinked in rapid succession before finding his voice. The voice of Enji filled his head ‘When you’re ready. He spoke with a voice broken and small.

“The day that the rain smelled like ice cream, my cat went to heaven in front of my eyes. The day that the copper pipes in the old building smelled like burnt food, my best friend... went to heaven in front of my eyes. I couldn't save them. It's sad. Neither one had the chance to become an adult. They should have become adults. They should have had children of their own and loved those children. And I want to make that possible for other people. So don’t be sorry. You saved me. I love you.”

He had never expressed that amount of raw emotion in his whole life, not even to his therapist but it felt right. The nerves he felt flowed out of him as his tears decorated his face. As he sat covered in the towel he sobbed, all the emotions he had been holding released like the steam from that teapot that brought him warmth not a few hours before.

Hizashi cradled him, as his body racked with sobs, gently like how a mother would cradle a baby, pausing to kiss him and repeat gentle nothings. As Shouta began to wind down, all the strength he had been pretending he had disappeared and he slumped against Mic and closed his eyes and soon unconsciousness took him.

--

Shouta slept for hours it seemed like. Each dream he had was confusing and odd as if he had two brains competing for the dream. His tired muscles ached and the dull pain between his eyes had increased to a dull migraine. Truth be told he felt awful. But soon his body had had enough and he felt the being of a sneeze. He tried to hold back for a while longer but found it futile. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the tickle reached its climax.

“Eschht, Eschht eh ugh sniff heh hhh AET’SCHHH!”

The last sneeze ripped through him with such force all the blankets and towel that had kept him warm fell off of him and he was left sniffling chest exposed to the room and his husband who look just as surprised as himself.

“Goodness bless you Sho, you have caught my cold.”

The tired man just groaned and said with a voice still raspy and strained “Not a cold, it's probably the flu, I should have told you sooner, I just- ugh sniff again heh hhh Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

With the last sneeze, he felt his Quirk go haywire and soon his hair was floating above him and his eyes had turned a red hue. Luckily for him, no one was in the radius but he still felt awful. A hero could only depend on two things in this world, their Quirk and the one they loved. If Shouta could take one of those away without realizing it, it could mean trouble.

Mic had knelt in front of the laying down Pro and gently cupped a tissue around his husband's nose. “Bless your hon, come on blow for me.”

Shouta did a wet gurgling blow and groaned as the Quirk deactivated his dry eyes yearning for water. Mic dabbed at Shouta slowly being red nose and stood. He made his way over to the linen closet and grabbed the warmest winter sweater and returned to his sick husband.

“Arms up you know the drill.” As Mic helped the Pro get dressed, he called out to Siri.

“Hey, Siri, text Doctor Green we are coming in an hour.” As Shouta's head came through the sweater hole he simply frowned. This Doctor had treated him after the accident but was a close friend of theirs. As Siri confirmed the appointment Mic sensed Shouta's discomfort and replied to him. “I know sweetie you don’t like the doctor but you know he can help better than over-the-counter drugs. He continued and I will be there the whole time.”

Shouta shook his head. “Together,” he said in a small voice

Mic helped the sickly Pro stand and guided him to the mirror next to the door and kissed him on his flushed skin. “Forever Together.”

--

The train ride for the first leg of the journey was uneventful. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the moving subway train was distracting enough to distract other passengers from Shouta's constant sniffling. Mic was stood holding on to the overhead bar while Shouta was sitting with his head in his hands. Mic was constantly asking if Shouta needed anything even though he would not be able to provide much relief besides encouraging words. As the overhead speakers announced their stop Mic helped Shouta stand as the train came to a hard stop be cursed in English as Shouta stumbled forward again him.

The misty afternoon after the rainstorm was heavy in the air but still, Shouta shivered a clear sign of a fever and the couple picked up the pace to the doctors. As they rounded a corner a few blocks away they were met with the flashing blue and red of a line of police cars. As heroes, they knew a situation was happening. Mic half dragging Shouta went to them who seemed to be in charge of the crowd of citizens and asked what was happening. The short man with light brown hair replied with the normal answer for any citizen. “Nothing to worry about Sir heroes will handle it.” Mic frowned and dug in his pocket and grabbed his Hero license and flashed it at the man. Taken aback the man quickly responded. “Oh, um sorry, a Jewelry store has been taken hostage, he paused before continuing “my chief might need an extra few hand…he paused and looked at the struggling man Mic was holding up “is he also able to help.” Mic didn’t have time for this and he ducked below the police tape and began walking to the line of cop cars. Shouta followed but sluggishly. As he neared the chief of the police, he quickly scanned the street. He could see the jewelry store in question had a broken window and was heavily surrounded by local heroes as well as other members of the police task force. As Shouta caught up his eyes were half-closed and looked like he was going to pass out any second. Before Mic could attend to Shouta a round of gunshots filled the air and out of instinct he grabbed both of them and they hit the pavement hard. After a few moments, he helped Shouta lean against a cop car tire and checked over his body. ‘No wounds’ Mic thought ‘I don’t have time for this we need to get through this street.’

Mic looked at the task force and saw the numbers had decreased whoever was in the store had an amble firearm. As a local hero approached the car Mic asked what the status was and what they know. The local hero stating that the man inside the store had a bullet-type quirk and could shoot many rounds of ammo and was demanding everyone to leave and no one would get hurt.

Mic thought ‘a bullet type quirk, like Pro hero Edgeshot’ Mic continued to question. Did they have any other people with them? The local hero shook his head no they are alone. Mic could work with this. He waved over the chief, a man he had worked with a few other times.

If they could stop the man quirk do, they have enough to help the hostages and defeat the villain. The chief simply nodded his head and Mic set to work.

He gently shook the arm of Shouta who barely raised his head. “Hey love I know you are exhausted but we need you Quirk right now can you aim your Quirk over to the storefront.

Shouta tried Mic had to give him credit for that, but as soon his hair started to rise it quickly fell. Shouta mumbled a response thick with congestion. “I. Can’t…tired”

Mic rubbed his arms in understanding and replied “What about if we use your illness as an advantage, you can’t control when it happens right, what if we use that.”

Shouta turned to look at Mic. “What are you suggesting?”

Before he could reply another round of gunshot shot at them and he quickly covered Shouta's body with his. He immediately felt the sharp pain as a bullet entered him under his ribs, and he could feel the blood start to spill. With an adrenaline-filled body, he quickly pulled Shouta into a somewhat kneeling position and aimed his head toward the storefront. “I’m sorry about this love this isn’t going to be big on dignity.”

He grabbed the end of his ponytail and brought the split ends to the underside of Shouta's nose. The already irritated organ began to twitch as the strands of hair slowly twisted around.  

Shouta tried to ignore the incessant prodding of the frizzy hair against his sensitive nose, but with each swipe, the tiny hairs that shook loose were soon sucked up into his twitching and quivering nostrils.  He shuddered and froze in place a tear slowly trailed down from his eye to his cheek as his nose began scrunching and wriggling from the irritation.

“Come on Shouta you can do it,” Mic said. Shouta’s chest heaved and he couldn't help but give in to the itchy and tickly urge to expel those irritants from his nostrils.

“H...hhih...” The beginnings of a sneeze showed as his eyes began to droop. His chest expanded further “Haaahhh! Aaahhhh!”  His eyes fully closed, head tilting back and signaling the oncoming release.  Mic aimed his face toward the storefront and sent a silent prayer that this would work.

“Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

As Shouta sneezed his hair lifted with ease and soon the storefront was temperately Quick free. Mic activated his Quirk and told the task force to go. Shouta was still panting from sneezing but his eyes were open however Mic didn’t know how long he could keep them open. As the task force ran in the subject found his Quirk would not activate and soon found himself being put in handcuffs and a medical device being placed that would stop his Quirk without the help of Erasure.

As Mic received the thumbs up, he spoke to his shaking husband who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Bless your hon you did it, you can relax now.” As Shouta did all the energy slipped from him and he lost consciousness and slumped over on the wet pavement. Mic grabbed the fragile man and began to walk to the nearest ambulance, as he stepped into the back of the ambulance the medic and himself helped Shouta into the gurney, and soon the siren wailed and they were finally off to their destination.

--

As they entered the hospital fast lane and the medic was ready to receive both of the ProS, Mic was insistent to be placed near Shouta as he wasn’t comfortable around hospitals. The medic nodded and escorted them to their joined room. Shouta was seen to first. They took blood and gave him fluids; they also provide pain medicine and sadly they had to wait until he woke up.

Mic surgery was quickly scheduled. He met with the surgeon while sitting next to Shouta and rubbing his arm. The female was fairly tall and had blue tint to her eyes and white hair. She explained the surgery before Mic consented.

“Upon examination, we identified 1 cm diameter entry wound at the left lower abdominal wall, Sir. The images we took showed the bullet in the peritoneal cavity but no injured intraperitoneal and retroperitoneal viscera. We decided to remove the bullet laparoscopically.” Mic nodded. She noticed the band around his finger and smiled. “How long have you two been together?”

Mic smiled and replied “4-year next month, but I have known since we were 14 that this is what we both needed.” He paused before swallowing hard “We've been through a lot but I can’t imagine life without him. He is my whole life, my Sky. He bent down and kissed the sleeping man's hand.  The surgeon smiled and spoke “I see, well that must be hard with both of you rushing into battle all the time,” she looked down at her clipboard before continue “I have treated a lot of patients in my day but never have I seen a love quite like your, it’s very special.”  A monitor beeped and the surgeon motioned him to follow. “Well, shall we take care of the bullet Mr. Hizashi. Mic kissed Shouta’s hand before leaving the room.

--

Shouta was hot. It was too bright wherever he was. His mind was foggy. He groaned as he sat up, he immediately recognized the smell of a hospital. What happened. The last thing he remembers is the sound of gunshots and Hizashi…Shit Hizashi he jerked into a sit-up position and looked around. The nurse that had been changing his fluid jumped back. “Calm down you’re okay! Just relax.”

“Where is he…what happened?” He asked rage filling his croaky voice. The nurse replied, “Sir he is in surgery he will be out soon don’t worry he is okay.” She laid him back against the pillows before continuing “We need to make sure you’re okay Sir make sure you don’t have a concussion. He pulled out a light and shown it in his eye without much warning. The tickle flared to life and he turned his head.

“Issh’iIEWW!....hhh..heh… “TSCHTIEW” Thankfully his Quirk did not activate he wiped his nose on the back of his arm as the nurse apologized.

“Sorry Sir, but the good news is you don’t have a concussion so you will be out of here as soon as we can get some medicine and your husband is awake.”

Shouta relaxed slightly and closed his eyes and tried to keep the panic from getting too much to handle. Within the next 2 hours, Shouta tried to not be a bother to any of the staff but his flu had proven a little too much for him to handle.

As a nurse with a gravity-type quirk was walking down the hall with floating plates of dinner, he groaned as another tickle forced him to sneeze and he felt his quirk activate and he heard the crash as the dinner plates fell and crashed on the floor. Many of the nurses were understanding but he still felt awful. When his husband was wheeled into his room Shouta's eyes began to water and he had to fight back tears. The surgeon explained the surgery was a success and he would be discharged later today. She told Aizawa in a voice soft and comforting. “He loves you so much, you are a very lucky man.” She sat on the edge of his bed and looked into his eyes. “I know you feel broken but he is trying so hard to make sure you are taken care of. The world is a cruel place and I know you have suffered more than most. But know this, he loves you and has sworn to protect you. You might be a Hero to the public but he is your Hero, let him save you. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned to leave. Before leaving the room, she said “Oh and you have a gift make sure to grab it before leaving.” And placed a small box on the counter next to the door before leaving him.

When Hizashi woke and passed all the discharge tests and Shouta had his medicine they left the hospital holding each other’s hand and holding a box of tea that they would use for the rest of their life.

The end.

[m-y-fandoms]

Korekiyo Shinguuji x reader fluff

Request: Hello!! ✨ Can i request something fluffy with Korekiyo (it would be nice if it would be with his pregame version (but original is okay, too))? Maybe he's having a sleepover with reader? Thank you in advance ✨ I really like your writing. Your oneshots and imagines make my day!!

Okay I’m gonna de pregame Korekiyo like you asked! So just a tall, lanky, beautiful man with a face mask. No incest and lipstick or killing game lmao. Also I’ll make him interested in anthropology but not the Ultimate/SHSL - Admin Kokichi

     “Are you sure? I really don’t want to impose…” your best friend, Korekiyo Shinguuji, stares at you from behind his black dust mask with a concerned gaze. His brows are furrowed deeply in the center.

     Korekiyo had gotten into a fight last night with his legal guardian, his older sister. Apparently, it had been a nasty one, unlike anything that’s happened between them before. It gotten so bad that she kicked him out of the house, with no word of when he would be allowed back in.

     “Yeah, of course, Kiyo! We are buds right? You’re my bestie! I can’t let my bestie just spend the. night alone in some hotel or sleep out in the street, now can I?”

     “But Y/N-”

     “Would you let me go sleep in the street if it were me?”

     “No, I suppose not, but-”

     “Then any argument you have in invalid. Case closed!” You closed your notebook on your desk haughtily as if to signify the end of the conversation. Korekiyo sighed, a slight blush on his cheeks as he placed his head down on his desk with anxiety.

     “You’re sure your parents are okay with it?” He mumbled, his black hair cascading down his back and shoulders and splaying out around his desk.

     “Well…”

     “Y/N…” he warned, scolding you like a mad mother.

     “They will be out of town this entire week. My dad always travels for work and my bitch of a stepmother has to stay attached to his hip like a leech at all times so-”

     “Then me staying over seems highly inappropriate. I’m sure your father would-”

      “Don’t make me guilt you into coming over. You’re my friend. You’re in need, and I love spending time with you! Please?” You reached over and pulled on the sleeve of his exorbitantly-priced sweater with eyes wide like a puppy dog.

     “You win this time, Y/N, but if your father finds out and becomes hostile toward me, I’m going to blame you…” he joked breathily, shaking his head at his stubborn best friend. He couldn’t help but give into your every want and desire, and you often pulled him into your schemes and plans. Well...he called them schemes, but he was just a goody-two-shoes, so anything not morally immaculate or life-enriching was considered foolish to him.

     “Then it’s settled.” You nearly squealed. You’d been waiting forever to have him over to your house, but he’d always declined. You’d known him for about a year, and still your humble abode had remained a mystery to him. He lived with his older sister who took care of him after their parents died, and she was extremely strict with him. He was never allowed to come over after school. You’d been to his place once or twice, but always with supervision and strictly for studying or some other educational activity. If you wanted to spend time after school, he had to lie to her about where he was going and why. Finally, you’d have your crush, your best friend over to your home.

     You had to admit to yourself, you did feel a little guilty about the whole situation. You were inviting him over for mainly selfish reasons. Yes, he was your best friend and you’d never let him go without a place to stay, but there was a large part of you that just wanted the boy you liked alone and to yourself for a night or...maybe two, if this first sleepover went well. Unfortunately though, your crush on him weighed heavily on you. You felt horrible for keeping this secret of your feelings from him, because he trusted you with everything. You were so scared that letting him know that you wanted to be more than friends would ruin the close bond you two had. Yeah...it would be way too awkward to remain friends afterward if he rejected your feelings.

~

     You both were let out after the last class of the day. Korekiyo walked you back home every single day since you’d become friends. At first, you found it a bit embarrassing, seeing as he was one of the kids from the rich neighborhoods around your school and you lived in a middle-class suburb a bit further away. Your fears about your class-difference with your best friend quickly faded as you got to know him. It became clear within weeks of hanging out that he would never judge you based on financial status, whether you lived in a trailer or a palace. That was just one of the many things you loved about him. And boy could you list a bunch…

     He was intelligent, a straight-A student and teacher’s pet. He had endless wisdom and knowledge of both practical things and useless trivia. He gave the best advice, and was so passionate about both his hobbies and yours. You could talk with him forever without the topic getting dry.

     His looks only enamored you to him further. He was tall and slender, with a perfectly built frame. Unlike your peers, he never got acne, and his complexion was pore-less and smooth like marble. He was pale, and his eyes stood out like flecks of gold against an ivory surface. His hair was healthier and more majestic than any female you knew. It was long, all the way down his back, and was the deepest, darkest shade of black with delicate bangs that fell across his forehead. He was absolutely gorgeous, but for some reason he still had self-esteem issues. For this reason, he always wore a dust mask over his mouth and nose that concealed his entire lower face. You could never understand why. Everyone at school either liked him or was jealous of him, and he had nothing to hide from anyone.

     He tried to lie to you at first, stating that he had a weaker constitution and because of frequent illness and hospital visits, his sister made him wear it, but once you got closer, he admitted he liked hiding his face and it made him feel comfortable. He customized his masks, or commissioned them to be specially made, having embroidery on them or patchwork and sometimes shelling out for the more expensive leather or designer masks...which you didn’t even know existed until you met him.

     You’d tried to convince him multiple times that he was beautiful and had nothing worth covering up, but he insisted upon wearing the masks in public at least. After knowing him for a few months, he let you see his bare face, but only at his house. And man...were you blown away. He almost...looked like a woman without the mask. But not? It was hard to explain. He was like some kind of gender-less, androgynous deity. He certainly had a strong, masculine brow and jaw, but then his lips were pert and plump and soft...soft-looking at least. They were gentle and the cupid’s bow dipped down low and rounded out. He had a wide, manly chest and slender waist, but long eyelashes. Large, veiny hands, but delicate skin and hair. He was absolutely heavenly to look at. That first time, when you’d seen him without his mask, you knew you were falling hard, and it made you sweat and your heart speed up. You were always so scared that you’d go too far or flirt by accident and he’d catch on and pull away from your friendship. It hadn’t happened yet, thankfully.

     It was raining, pouring down actually, and you two rushed down the street side by side, backpacks over your heads for protection from the downpour.

     “I apologize. As you know, I would usually have an umbrella but after she kicked me out last night, Miyadera has refused to let me go in and get anything that I didn’t have on my person at the time.” He was right, he was always prepared for any possibility, and his sister had now made that impossible.

     “It’s fine. I read the forecast this morning. I should’ve brought one as well,” you yelled, the rain pelting you both loudly. “We really should get a car or something. We’re seniors for fuck’s sake.” We? You didn’t know why you’d said that. He was his own person and probably could afford to buy you both cars with his own pocket money.

     Why did you even say that?

     “Ah, but walking is better exercise! It’s good for us! Besides...Miya won’t let me buy one... you know that. She practically controls all of my funds.”

     “Kiyo, you’re 18 now, get your damn money back!”

     “I’m scared…” he chuckled, only half-joking. It was true, you both had turned 18 recently and were about to graduate, but his sister still treated him like a little kid. Pretty ironic, as you wouldn’t kick a little kid out onto the street on their own.

     You passed his neighborhood, and he looked up at it longingly, raindrops substituting tears dripping down his cheeks. You could tell this was weighing on him. He loved his home, it was where he felt safe, and he hated fighting with his sister. She was a tough guardian, yes, but she gave up her life as a young woman in her prime to raise him.

     You were approaching your street now, both of you soaked down to your socks and hoping your bags didn’t also soak through. You both had many folders of homework and electronics inside that would all be ruined if so. You reached the curb, waiting to cross into your neighborhood, when an unruly teen in his beaten-up sedan screeched by, speeding past you two carelessly. You grabbed Korekiyo’s pale, cold hand, startled by the sudden volume of the law-breaking vehicle, and you both gasped as its wheels dug into the puddle in front of you just below the curb, and splashed onto you both like a tidal wave.

     “Fuckin’ asshole!” You yelled, charging forward after the car until a hand landed firmly on your shoulder, holding you back. You swore the rain would begin to evaporate and steam up into the air with how hot your skin was right now. You were royally pissed off.

     “Y/N if he’s the type of man to do that, what do you think talking to him would accomplish? Also, do you really think it’s possible to catch up to a speeding vehicle on foot?” Always the voice of reason. Always so calm and mature. You usually admired that in him, but right now you were seeing red, and his dismissal of your mood made you a bit ticked off at him as well.

     “But! I-gah! Aren’t you pissed? He just-”

     “Got us wet? We were already wet.”

     “But he did that on purpose!”

     “I know. Being irate changes nothing. Come on, once we are inside I’m sure we can get warm and dry off. I’ll keep you warm,” he smiled gently behind his mask, his eyes crinkling. Your cheeks would’ve heated up had your body not already been aflame from rage. You didn’t know why you were always so flustered when he was caring toward you or touched you or even mentioned touching you. You felt gross reveling in his platonic intimacy so much. It felt like you were taking advantage of his kindness. Yes, he could keep you warm once you got home. That was normal. You two always cuddled or held hands or leaned on each other. You were just that close. But it was all just casual, as friends...right?

     “Y-yeah. You can shower and I have some baggier, more comfortable clothes you can wear to hang out and sleep in. I think those should fit.” Korekiyo was taller than you and awfully skinny but you had some general sweatpants and oversized t-shirts that you were sure would fit anyone comfortably. You knew Korekiyo was used to the best and most expensive textiles and fashion, but for just hanging out at your house? It should be fine.

     “That’s very kind of you, thanks.” You were sure he was thinking: how could you put me in peasant-wear, but he would never say that aloud to you. “Why do you have that awful look on your face? Did I say something to offend you, Y/N?” He took your hand in his as you reached your front door and rummaged through your bag for your house keys, Korekiyo holding his phone’s flashlight over your bag to assist you.

     “No, I’m fine, Kiyo, why?” The keys jingled in the lock and you opened the door.

     “You know you can’t lie to me, Y/N,” his voice dropped into a low rumble, and you got chills down your spine. He was just so...sexy without even trying.

     “I just...sometimes I feel bad that you spend so much time with me or like I’m not enough, like the rest of our classmates who live in that bougie housing plan of yours...like with the clothes I’m giving you tonight. I feel like you deserve better or like...like what if those kids start to judge you one day because you’re hanging out with people that are beneath you.”

     “Y/N,” he stopped you, rolling his eyes as you both dropped your soaking bags and overcoats on the floor on your living room, “You’re my ‘bestie’ as you always say,” he chuckled dryly. “Do you really think I care what clothes I’m wearing when we are alone or what any of our peers think of my friendship with you? I know you know me far better than that… where is this all coming from? You’re unusually… emotional today,” he took your hand once again, leading you to the couch, but pausing before sitting down with you. “I do not wish to soak your couch. That shower would be nice about now,” you could see the pallor of his skin, coated like wet porcelain as he shook slightly.

     “Y-yes! Well okay, we have a bathroom in my parent’s master bedroom and one just in the hallway for guests and myself. You can take the master bedroom one, it’s much nicer,” you stuttered.

     “Why do you insist on babying me and always thinking I need pampered or require only the finer things in life? I was born wealthy, I don’t need all of those things. I think your house is wonderful,” he gestured around him, “just like you!” He encouraged you before letting you lead him upstairs. You ran to the bathroom closet then to your room, leaving him in the dark hallway alone for just a moment. He observed the photos on your wall, the paint, the carpet. Why would he judge you for any of this?

     You returned with the sleep-wear you promised and a fresh towel.

     “You can go ahead and use anything in there. My dad won’t even notice. B-but... if you don’t like his soaps and shampoos let me know. I have quite the skincare and bathing collection!” You were a little proud of that fact, and he smiled at the happiness finally leaking back into your attitude.

     “I’m sure it will all be fine. Thank you, Y/N.” He nodded, taking the towel and clothes from you before heading into your father’s room. You turned on your heel, fetching what you needed before taking a shower of your own in the hallway’s smaller bathroom.

~

     You sighed, but not in relief or relaxation, letting the hot water fall over you and loosen your tense muscles. You felt just so...fucked up. Conflicted. Confused. Guilty...love-struck. You didn’t know what to do and felt extremely overwhelmed.

     Tonight would be the best opportunity to tell him how you feel: alone, private, cozy and warm, cuddling up together? Yes, that was perfect...but at the same time, if he rejects you, then what? He leaves immediately and has nowhere to go? Or maybe he stays the night to be polite and there’s an awkward silence between you for the rest of your lives...what if he avoids you after school and no longer wants to go to the same university as you?! Your head was spinning.

     Why am I such a coward...you thought to yourself, tears mingling with the shower water.

~

     When you finally dried off and got dressed, Korekiyo was already waiting for you in your room, having turned on your electric blanket on your bed and sitting patiently waiting for you underneath it. His hair was damp and his mask was on your night stand. He acknowledged your entrance with a warm grin and patted the bed next to him.

     “Why are you in bed? It’s only like five, I was thinking we would go downstairs and cuddle on the couch and eat something-” you approached him slowly and he cut you off.

     “Goodness, Y/N, what’s wrong?” He stood to meet you, inches away and towering over you.

      “Huh?” He took your chin in his hands and tilted it upwards to meet his dandelion-colored eyes.

     “Your eyes are all puffed up. You’ve been crying? Why?” Wow…

     “You never miss a thing, huh, Kiyo?” You tried to change the subject or lighten the mood or...anything!

     “Only when it comes to you~” he hummed before leading you down the stairs and onto your couch. You dragged along behind him like a child being forced to the dentist. “Now, what’s upsetting you? You can tell me anything, you know that…” his eyes were full of concern and he but his lower lip, apprehensive.

     “Kiyo, I- well….it’s just...nothing’s wrong. Let’s go get some snacks. I know you love soup dumplings with white rice~” You smiled weakly.

     “First of all, that’s more of a meal than a snack, but anyway, you know you can’t lie to me, Y/N.”

     “I just...I just want...this is so hard.” You sighed, voice faltering.

     “What’s so hard? Me sleeping over, or your dad being gone? The rain earlier?”

     “No no.... I want you here and you know I don’t miss my dad...a-and I feel much better after washing up…” your voice trailed off. He took your hand one final time that night.

     And then...

     “May I kiss you?” Kiyo spoke so gently, so scared and soft, like he couldn’t even believe his own words. Your eyes widened in shock.

     “W-what?!” You pulled away from him, incredulous.

     “I want to kiss you, Y/N. Will you allow me?” You paused for a moment, your mind reeling, but then you nodded slowly, your brain taking over and deciding it knew what was best for you.

     Korekiyo leaned in, the couch squeaking a bit at the shift of weight. He clasped your chin with one hand, and guided you to him. His lips pressed gently into yours, as if he thought he might break you if he went any further. His lips were plush, surging with warmth, exactly how you’d always imagined them. After pecking you, he pulled back, looking for consent, looking for a sign that you enjoyed that, too. You nodded, getting the hint, and he pressed back onto you, a bit more liberal with his affection this time around.

     “Mmm…” you moaned into the kiss as you both tilted your heads at an angle to reach deeper, and his mouth slid open. His tongue trailed against your bottom lip and you opened up without hesitation, your heart going a mile a minute. His tongue massaged yours carefully for a long moment that seemed frozen in time, and then he pulled back. You both sat staring at each other, panting a bit, until a smirk teased across the corner of his lips, and a blush appeared on his normally-concealed face. “H-how...how did you know?”

     “I’ve always known…” you felt a wave of embarrassment and shame wash over you. “You’re not good at hiding it.”

     “Kiyo...I’m so sorry. I know we are just friends and I shouldn’t feel this way. I just- you are...I can’t stop feeling this way.”

     “Y/N...did you think I asked to kiss you out of pity…?” He saw something like realization register in your expression, and he reached out, pulling you into his chest.

     “You...you feel the same?”

     “Exactly the same.” You didn’t feel so guilty anymore. “And I suppose we both were just too afraid of rejection to say anything. But knowing you, I knew I would have to make the first move if I ever wanted you to myself…” he hugged you tighter with those words.

     “Y-yeah, I’m sorry about that...Kiyo, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you.”

     “And I should’ve told you, but there’s no use feeling guilty. We both want this.”

     “Kiyo, will you...be my boyfriend…?” You now knew his true feelings, but still felt a lump in your throat. What if he didn’t want a committed, serious relationship right now, or his sister wouldn’t allow it...?

     “I want that more than anything.”

     You spent the rest of the night cooking soup dumplings, then shoving your faces with the greasiest snacks money could buy and watching documentaries while snuggled into his lap on the couch. He pointed out little facts and trivia along with each documentary, his obsession for culture and anthropology unabashedly taking over.

[randomoranges]

so this is the 3rd lyric from the song, but i’m trying to keep up with the fic-thing-whatever and ill get to the other parts later. the momentum is going and im trying to match it and such

lamao this reminds me of 2010 and when i wrote a chapter of a fic to match all of canadas medals. good times. that was - hard and a rush

also i made this into snippets of moments in the same day. to - make it shorter. even though it turned into an 8 page tiny monster lamao. 

ANYWAYS

DO YOU LIKE SPORTS. DO YOU LIKE FEELS. DO YOU LIKE NEUROTIC SPORTS SUPERSTITIONS

well, you will be served

Rouge comme le sang qui nous coule à travers

 July 5th 2021

 When Edward woke up that morning, he expected to find Étienne curled up by his side and to splurge and indulge in some good morning cuddles. Instead, the spot besides him was empty and cold. He sighed to himself and after waiting for a bit, in case his boyfriend made a reappearance, he shuffled his way to the kitchen, where he might find him.

 Truth to form, Étienne was there, already more or less dressed, drinking what couldn’t possibly be his first cup of coffee in the morning out of one of many Habs cups Edward had spotted in the last twenty or so hours.

 “Morning!” Étienne sounded a tad too cheerful, but Edward ignored it and made his way to his boyfriend where he could properly snuggle and feel that blessed beard against his skin for a moment. Thankfully, Étienne was never one to deny any sort of physical touch and wrapped his arms around him, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 There was a reason as to why Edward had chosen this particular time to visit. For starters, he absolutely did not want to miss out on the beard and with the playoffs wrapping up shortly, he knew that his time was counted. On top of that, Edward knew how the people of Montréal took to the Habs losing this far into the playoff run and the down Étienne would feel if that happened.

 It wasn’t that Étienne’s mood solely depended and fluctuated because of the hockey, but with so many people being emotionally vested in the team, their winning or losing would ultimately have an impact on Étienne. Now if they won, well, Edward wanted to live vicariously through it. Plus, there was something quite wonderful in an Étienne who was that jubilant and ecstatic. However, if the Habs lost, Edward wanted to be there for emotional support and also to make sure that the slump wouldn’t eventually tie in with one of Étienne’s own spectacular, unrelated to hockey, depressive episodes.

 “Plans for the day?” He asked, perfectly comfortable in the crook of Étienne’s neck.

 “Well, funny you should ask,” Étienne started and Edward had visions of intense biking up the mountain in the oppressive humidity or something as ridiculously insane, “I – have an errand to run, but I don’t want to impose on you.” For some reason, Étienne sounded a little nervous about this errand and Edward didn’t understand why.

 “So? Go run your errand. I can come with you if you need help.” So long as it didn’t involve standing in the scorching heat, he was fine.

 “No, no it’s fine! I appreciate you wanting to help – but, I don’t want to bother you, really.”

 Edward stepped back and took a good look at his boyfriend’s face. Something was up.

 It took him a moment, but then it clicked.

 It had to be one of his ridiculous pre-game rituals he had completely forgotten about. He almost groaned. Étienne was anal about his rituals to bring the Habs good luck. Downright neurotic, really and Edward had been victim to many séances of Étienne doing the most ridiculous of things that he swore would help his team win. (To be honest, Edward did wonder, deep down, if maybe Étienne wasn’t on to something, considering the fact that the Habs had won 24 cups in their history, but he wasn’t about to say any of that out loud.)

 “Do I want to know what crazy task you’re going to do?” He asked.

 Étienne gave him another nervous smile and tugged on his beard, “It’s not that crazy, really...” He murmured and Edward feared for the worst.

 “What is it this time? Putting your left sock on before you’re right one? Talking to your posters? Building a puck pyramid? Prepare a specific meal?”

 “Please, that was last night and this morning. I need to go to the Oratory.”

 Edward’s face blanched. Of course Étienne would go to the Oratory. He had forgotten all about it.

 “You’re kidding.”

 Étienne scoffed, “I am not kidding, Édouard. This is very serious. I need to make my pilgrimage to the Oratory, climb the steps on my knees and then light up a candle for the Habs’ victory tonight.”

 Edward remained silent. He knew better than to argue or say anything about it. Étienne took his rituals very seriously.

 “My issue is that you flew all the way to spend time with me and I don’t want you to think I’m just abandoning you.”

 “Don’t worry about me,” Edward said with a chuckle, as he finally decided to grab a mug that didn’t have a Habs banner, a players number or Youppi’s face on it, and poured himself some coffee, “You go do whatever it is you need to do and I’ll acquaint myself with your glorious pool.”

 “Are you sure?” Étienne twirled the hem of his shirt around his thumb and followed after Edward when he headed for the table.

 “More than sure. I don’t want to be held responsible for your team losing if you don’t complete your set of rituals. Plus, I’ll be fine here and I can spend more time with Mercury.”

 “Sure?” Étienne asked again.

 “Yes. I promise.” It wasn’t as if Étienne would be out for the entire day anyways.

 “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” Étienne was careful not to topple the coffee out of his hands, but still wrapped Edward in a tight hug.

 --

 In all honesty, Edward was a little overwhelmed to be sitting in the Bell Centre. There were so many people and so many lights that it was quite dizzying. After over a year of leading a quiet life at home, this felt like too much too soon, but at the same time, the energy was electrifying.

 “Can you believe that the last time I was here for a final, you were also here?” Étienne said excitedly as they settled into their seats. It was crazy to think that Étienne looked tame in comparison to some other fans in the arena, even if he was wearing one of his many Habs jerseys, his Habs pants, his Habs shoes and most likely other articles of clothing he couldn’t see.

 “Really?” Edward thought about it for a moment, “Shit, you’re right – so does that make me a lucky charm?” He joked, “Do you need to rub my head for good luck?” He laughed, but then when he saw the serious look on his boyfriend’s face he stopped. Étienne looked at him and seemed to be debating this for a moment. He had definitely shot himself in the foot with that idea.

 “Better off not taking any chances,” Étienne said as he rubbed Edward’s head for good measure, much to Edward’s chagrin.

 “Are you happy now?” He asked, when Étienne was done.

 “Maybe. I would’ve been happier if you would have let me dress you for the occasion. You’ve got to be the only person here who’s not wearing something Habs on them.” He pouted.

 Étienne had offered to lend him anything from a tank top to a signed jersey, with everything in between, but Edward had refused. For as much as he enjoyed being at the arena, there were still team loyalties he had to respect and that would be going too far.

 “No I’m not, look, there’s a few people wearing Tampa jerseys.” He pointed out.

 Étienne didn’t seem to think he was very funny, “That’s not the point, Édouard!”

 “Fine, but look, I wore a white shirt – this is as far as I’ll go.” It was a neutral colour and – well, both of their teams had white somewhere in their jerseys.

 “Tampa is playing in white.”

 There was no winning this one.

 “My jeans are blue and my blood is red?” He tried and he only got a death glare in response.

 --

 The one thing Edward had always loved about watching a game with Étienne, regardless of whether it was a season or playoff game, was that Étienne knew a lot about hockey – more precisely the Habs and he loved to share his knowledge – especially when he was stressed. (Not that Étienne ever admitted to being stressed about a game.) It was endearing the way he would blabber on and all Edward had to do was listen.

 “This has been such a crazy playoff run,” He started, “Like – no one expected them to come this far and it’s been such a boost to the morale of the city. For as much as hockey has its issues, it also brings people together, and I wish there was more of that. Walking around the city these past few weeks has been something else. You meet people and hear their stories – about how they got into the game – where they’re coming from, who they’re here with. It’s beautiful. Kids who are living their first real playoff run. Older people who remember 93, 86 and the runs in the 60s and 70s. It’s been surreal! I’m just – I love these people – my people and the way they’ve just run with this as well. Hoisting orange cones as Cups and living the magic.”

 “I know it might end tonight, but whatever happens – it’s been such a great run. I mean, obviously, it would be really great not to get swept. That would just – no. Do you know that the last time the Habs were swept in the final was in 1952? I don’t think the people would be able to handle that. You don’t make it to the final to get swept. Tampa can go and win at home, but to be swept?! No thanks.”

 Edward knew all too well about being swept. At least the Habs had – avenged the Oilers. He supposed.

 “And, also, on that note, do you know that the Habs only ever lost the cup once at home?”

 “Did they now?” Out of their twenty-four that was quite the feat, really.

 “Yes! And you’ll never believe what team did it!”

 For some reason, Edward felt like he did know, yet the answer escaped him at the moment.

 “The friggin Flames! I had to sit and watch Calvin’s stupid face light up like a goddamned Christmas tree when they won. I never thought I was going to live that one down!”

 Now he remembered.

 To be honest, he’d tried to forget.

 It had been the most awkward of times, really.

 For starters, Étienne had invited him to come watch the game with him. He’d agreed. If it meant spending more time with Étienne, he would’ve gone anywhere. Had gone to many places.

 He’d just – forgotten one minor detail.

 Calvin.

 This was the second time, really, that the Habs and the Flames had met for the final. The first time had been awkward as well. In its own way. It wasn’t even with the fact that he was – involved with Étienne and Calvin was his friend and could not know about his involvement with Étienne.

 It had – more to do with the fact that – the Flames had – impeded Gretzky and the Oilers from getting their third cup. He’d been – resentful to say the least.

 Yet, Étienne had hesitated going out to Calgary to see them team, but then Calvin had asked him to convince Étienne to go. As a power move? To show off? He’d never bothered finding out. But, Edward had spun the idea to Étienne, telling him that wouldn’t it be nice to see the Habs extinguish the insufferable Flames at home?

 Étienne had agreed.

 They’d gone.

 The Habs had won.

 And Calvin – hadn’t even really cared.

 His victory had been in beating the Oilers.

 The bastard.

 1989, however...

 Shortly after Étienne had invited him, Calvin had reached out, saying that wouldn’t it be nice to go out and watch the game in Montreal. He had seats with the execs in their special section and they could make a whole trip out of it! Heck, the Flames might even win the cup! And – wouldn’t that be something! The Cup back in Alberta!

 It had been very hard for Edward to tell Calvin that he already had Other Plans. Yet, without missing a beat, Calvin had told him that he should totally tell Étienne to come watch with them and that Edward didn’t need to worry about lodging, as they could share the hotel suite together.

 He forgot exactly what he’d ended up telling both Calvin and Étienne, but somehow or other, the three of them had found themselves sitting in Calvin’s section, while Étienne had grumbled all along about having better seats than whatever this garbage was.

 It only went from bad to worse as the Flames won and Calvin all but gloated, while Étienne threatened to set the city on fire. It wasn’t that Étienne had accused him of throwing him off, but Étienne had reminded him, more than once, that clearly, because he hadn’t been able to sit at his usual seat, the Habs had lost.

 (Again, Étienne was anal about his superstitions and rituals.)

 “Well, here’s hoping they don’t lose at home and get swept. Good vibes only,” Edward told his boyfriend before Étienne could get in a tizzy.

 “Yes, you’re right. Anyways, it’s sort of thanks to the before last game against the Oilers we’re here anyways. Habs needed one point to assure their spot and that tie brought them to the playoffs, even if they lost in overtime. It made sure the Flames couldn’t sneak in, so, thanks? I guess?”

 Edward chuckled remembering that particular video call.

 “See, I told you, good luck charm.”

 For good measure, Étienne rubbed his head again.

 --

 It was hard not to get wrapped up in the game, regardless of who was playing, even if it wasn’t his team. This was a playoff final game and both teams were trying their best to win. Even though the first ten minutes or so made it seem as though Tampa was going to finish this off without mercy, the Habs, somehow, managed to take the lead twice. Étienne kept on saying that some of the ghosts had clearly finally arrived and that some miracle had been cast on them by the three legends watching from the box.

 Regardless of what it was that had brought the score to 2-2 with few minutes left, Étienne was clutching his arm like a lifeline and Edward was convinced there would be marks there when his boyfriend would let go.

 “Please, please, please, please, PLEASE,” He chanted as the puck went one way and then the other. He clutched Edward’s arm even tighter whenever Tampa got close to scoring and whenever the Habs missed a shot.

 It finally seemed as though the Cinderella run would come to the end with that last double penalty, which continued in over-time, yet somehow or other, the Habs managed to kill it and then, by another miracle, or maybe a clever game of pass-the-puck, managed to score in over-time.

 Considering the fact that there were only three-thousand-five-hundred people in the Bell Centre, the resulting collective scream made it feel as though the place was packed to the brims.

 Edward got swept up in the momentum of it all and found himself standing with all the other Habs fanatics, yelling and screaming.

 When he turned to look at Étienne, his boyfriend looked jubilant and ecstatic. It was such a good look on him and it made Edward’s insides warm at the sight. Étienne deserved to feel this happy all the time, really. If there were a few tears at the corner of Étienne’s eyes, it only made him look lovelier and Edward did his best to school his face in the most platonic of smiles.

 “They live!” Étienne yelled over the continued shouting, “They did it!” He said, even giddier as he kept on jumping up and down, waving his playoff flag with all the other people in the Bell Centre.

 It was magical, really – living a playoff run like this one. He was glad he could be part of it – somehow, even if it was only for the last stretch of it.

 --

 “You know, no matter what happens next, I’m at peace. They fought and they’ve kept fighting from day one and – of course I want them to win. God, I want it so bad, but I’m just – really glad they brought it to game 5. And – I like to believe that – that they’ll be back. For game six. I’m just – I’m happy.” Étienne said, voice thick with emotions as they finally managed to step out of the Bell Centre. Some of the earlier euphoria and adrenaline had tempered down and Étienne was a little calmer by now.

 “If any team can do it at this point, it’s certainly yours.”

 Étienne beamed at him as they walked down the street, away from the crowds still chanting and yelling and celebrating, off the beaten path for a longer way home, if only for some fresh air and a quieter moment to re-center themselves.

 “Yeah – you’re right,” He trailed off with a small smile. Étienne made to grab his hand, but knowing that there were still so many people out, he let their fingers brush against each other instead. “Everyone’s so happy – so proud of the city... I hope the feeling lasts.”

 Edward made a quick grab for his hand and gave it a squeeze, before letting go. He wanted to tell him that the hockey didn’t matter. That this city was more than just a glorious hockey history. That he was proud of him. Of what he’d done. Everything he’d worked for outside of hockey. For himself. For the city as well. And that he had more worth than he realised. To him. To others. But – that was a talk for later. Right now, it was time to enjoy the moment – bask in it. Celebrate the victory.

 “Let’s go home, yeah? I want to celebrate with you.”

 Edward nodded and kept step with him as they made their way back to Étienne’s place, where once safely behind closed doors, they could properly celebrate together.

 FIN

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Addiction (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is addicted to affection. Addicted to touch. But being an addict, he can't seem to manage to find a healthy relationship, nor make any relationship last. After his latest break up, he decides to forgo the emotion and go straight for physical satisfaction.

... He just wants to find someone who needs his body. He's not particularly picky as to who - or what - that entails. (5792 words)

Notes: A major re-working of another piece I wrote. If you guys like this one, I will complete the scene that should come after it ;) Let me know. Vampire Crowley. Warnings for mention of blood and blood sucking. Sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Aziraphale walks slowly around the perimeter of his bed, eyeballing the outfits he’d laid out earlier, scathingly critical of every item he chose even though, had you asked him two hours ago, he would have claimed each as tied for favorite. He’s 90% dressed already - cream colored trousers and a matching long-sleeved button down, a pale blue waistcoat (one he’s been told matches his eyes perfectly), tartan socks, and his best cocoa brown Derbys. All he needs now is a bowtie.

Does he need a bowtie? He doesn’t know exactly what the protocol is regarding neckwear where he’s going. He definitely prefers to wear a bowtie. Would not wearing one send some sort of message? Aziraphale assumes forgoing a bowtie might make him appear more casual. At ease. But in the context of the place he’s headed, might it also mean that he’s easy?

He sighs. He’s thinking too hard about this. This place he’s going - he’s paying to be there! What the Hell does the possible hidden innuendo of wearing or not wearing a bowtie matter under those circumstances? He hasn’t left the house without a bowtie on in over four decades!

He’s wearing the bowtie.

His gaze slides over his bed, the ties in the running lined up side by side on his comforter. He reaches for one, fingers hovering just above before he changes his mind and goes for the one beside it, picking it up between pinched fingers and holding it to his neck. He turns to his full length mirror and takes a peek.

“This one?” he asks no one, appraising the plain, gray fabric. “No. No, that won’t do.” He tosses it back on the bed and grabs another one - a tartan tie that matches his socks.

Heaven’s Dress Tartan. His family’s tartan. It’s pretty much the tie he wears for every occasion.

Naively, it makes him feel protected.

“This one?” he muses, already nodding his head. “Yes, this one.” Aziraphale slips the narrow strip of fabric about his neck and ties it. He looks himself over in the mirror, chest puffed with pride, but it doesn’t last long.

What is he doing?

He’s too old for this.

Maybe he should pack it in, wrap up his libido and call it quits. He’s had a good run, hasn’t he? He doesn’t need the physical. No more hugs, no more kisses, no more sex - that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Aziraphale’s eyes drop from his smart outfit to his feet.

Except it would.

It would for Aziraphale.

He can’t give up touch. He’s never done well without some speck of it in his life.

Deep down inside, he knows he can’t survive without it.

It’s not as simple as feeling lonely or unfulfilled. His need for affection goes beyond that. And it’s stronger - so much stronger - than him.

Being an addict is no small burden. Aziraphale knows that firsthand. He’s seen what addiction can do to people. He’s seen how it can devastate families.

He sat around for years and watched, powerless, as it destroyed his own.

Addiction tore his father apart – his need for money, a lust for more, more, more that he valued over his wife and child, turning him from parental figure into perfect stranger well before Aziraphale’s formative years, then into an enemy when Aziraphale decided against going into medicine, law, or business (the big three that would ensure the family fortune would multiply and thrive long after his father was gone) and instead majored in linguistics and literature.

His father’s addiction led to his mother’s. She’d hit the bottle to numb the pain of watching her husband, the man she’d loved since secondary school, drift away, drinking herself stupid until she couldn’t remember what day it was, where she lived … or that she had a son.

But addiction isn’t only cause and effect. It can be hereditary. It spread through the Fell family like wildfire, jumping from generation to generation. It started with Aziraphale’s great-great-great-great-grandfather on his father’s side and trickled down. Since Aziraphale is the last living Fell, his family’s vices have caught up to him, pooled around his ankles with nowhere else to flow to.

Threatening to drag him under.

Aziraphale has an addiction, too. Anyone who talks to him for about five minutes would say that his drug of choice is books, and indeed there are a good many reasons to believe that. Aziraphale loves books. He’s amassed such a collection that he even became an antique book dealer, but mostly as an excuse to find a place big enough to house his vast collection.

No, Aziraphale gets addicted to people. To affection. To whatever feels like love at the time. And he can’t live without it. He’ll take it from anyone willing to give even a smidgen of it, usually finding himself in relationships that dry up before they fully blossom with people who weren’t worth his time to begin with. Not that these relationships would have gone anywhere if given the chance. That’s part of the problem. Aziraphale tries so hard to find the tenderness stolen from him at too early an age, he doesn’t necessarily look for substance. He plants the seeds of his affection in ground long wrung out, spots where rain won’t ever find them, away from the sun’s nurturing rays.

Tonight, walking alone through the city streets at a truly ill-advised hour, he’s suffering the aftershocks of one such break-up. But this time, Aziraphale was prepared … somewhat. Which is to say he saw the signs. He knew the end was coming, even if he couldn’t stop it. But instead of doing the adult thing and cutting ties painlessly, he let it play itself out, sucking from it every drop he could. And afterwards, when he’d brought home his obligatory box of random stuff from his ex’s apartment – toothbrush, shaving cream, CDs, a few shirts, underwear, the possessions that he’d used to stake his claim - he knew where he would go.

He arrives at the obscure establishment before ten o’clock, having fooled himself that he’s ready to move on even before his ex’s side of the bed is cold. He’s doing right by himself. No more leaping into empty relationships just to have his mind messed with and his heart broken.

He’s skipping straight to the physical.

This is the way to go.

But there is also the chance that he’s being phenomenally stupid.

Aziraphale has paid money for questionable things before, things that he’s looked back on and regretted, shoving them as far behind him as he could so as not to think about them ever again.

But paying to feed his addiction - he’s never done that.

The place he’s gone to, with its ornate wooden door set into the face of an everyday brick wall, looks like a day spa if anything – a rather foreboding day spa. In a way, Aziraphale had expected it to look that way. That or a bar. Where else did these kinds of transactions take place? A bordello, perhaps? He’d heard about one that operates out of a hotel downtown, but this one got far better reviews from people in the know.

Let it never be said that Aziraphale didn’t do his research.

From what he’d heard, this place isn’t only the most exclusive of its kind in London, it’s the most discreet.

Silent as the grave, he’d been told.

There is no buzzer, no knocker, not even a door knob. No indication at all that anyone is allowed in but Aziraphale knows better. He sends a text to a number he paid a hefty sum for, along with a selfie that takes longer than he’d care to admit to take, but that’s not entirely his fault. There are strict requirements for this photograph - angle, background, head tilt, etc. The phone number is one-time use. After he hits send, he won’t be able to follow up with another message, so his picture needs to be up to spec.

Each selfie he takes, he despises immediately. The first one … well, the first one always bites, doesn’t it? In the second one, his face is too fat. Chubby chipmunk cheeks and puckered lips? He looks like a frickin’ cherub! The third one … ugh! Where was he even looking? The fourth one - definite serial killer with that awkward, thin-lipped grin.

He can’t keep doing this. He has to pick one! He’s running out of time! Ten o’clock sharp the message had said! If he’s going to do this, he can’t afford to be even a minute late!

He decides that his next picture will be his absolute last. Whatever comes out of this shot, he can’t take another one. He holds his phone up at the pre-determined angle, holds his breath, plasters on his most sincere smile … and prays to God.

Just then, the unthinkable happens.

He fumbles his phone.

He’d been holding so hard to it and his smile that his fingers had begun to sweat. He loses traction, the traitorous thing sliding out of his grasp. The shutter clicks, the flash fires, and his phone makes a lyrical trill of affirmation.

Aziraphale’s stomach drops like a lead balloon straight to his feet.

That noise - that skipping of high-pitched notes that he chose at random because they reminded him of Rites of Spring - indicates that the picture sent without Aziraphale having a chance to double check it first.

“Oh … Hell!” he curses. He should have taken the damned thing at home! The glow from his reading lantern would have given his skin a soft, golden cast; made him look younger; mysterious; but he forgot that a picture would be required. In every photo he’s taken in this doorway, illuminated only by a chemical bulb above his head, he looks anemic, harsh shadows thrown by the overly bright flash elongating his nose, hollowing his cheeks, sinking his eyes into their sockets. But this one, snapped off while his phone was negotiating gravity, is likely to be the worst one yet! Instead of a solid face, he’ll look like a blur.

A middle-aged blur with absolutely no relationship prospects. Not even a cat.

Aziraphale scrolls frantically through his gallery to try and find the picture, see what disaster he’s unleashed, but he can’t locate it.

“Where are you, you little …?” he mumbles, heart thrumming so hard it’s beginning to make him nauseous. The picture isn’t in his saved file. Not on his SD card. It’s not in his sent messages. So where the frick is it!? Aziraphale has to see it, has to know what he’s done, has to know if he’s failed. Has to know if it’s worth waiting out here, or if he should turn tail and head for his bookshop. Somewhere in between bribing his phone and threatening to smash the screen to bits, the door pops open with a click.

Aziraphale’s blood runs cold, his head shooting up like a prairie dog’s on its guard.

The door.

The door is open.

He mustn’t have sent a horrifying photograph after all!

But it may not stay open for long so he’d better move his arse!

He pushes the door further and steps inside. It closes behind him the moment he’s through. He turns quickly to see who shut it since he didn’t notice a doorman when he entered.

But there’s no one.

He’s in the foyer of this large, imposing place completely alone.

As far as he can tell.

He has the distinct feeling he’s being watched.

Of course he’s being watched! he scolds himself. They probably have security cameras everywhere in a place like this! There’s nothing sinister about that! Why, he went to a thrift store not too long ago that had a security camera installed over every aisle, and the most notable item they had for sale was a velvet painting of Margaret Thatcher! Pull yourself together, Aziraphale, for Heaven’s sake!

Now that he’s inside, the place reminds him more of a bank than a spa: long stretches of empty hallway decorated in shows of old school wealth - leather chairs, ornate mirrors, glossy wood drawing tables, a long Persian runner leading him to his destination with chandeliers marking the path every ten feet or so. There’s been more money invested in this one hall than Aziraphale’s father could afford to put into their entire house, even with his lofty inheritance.

He can’t help thinking it would make the old man pea green with envy if he were alive to see it.

Little does Aziraphale know that there are two other hallways ahead of him just like this one.

Aziraphale walks through a total of three locked doors to get to what could be deemed ‘the main lobby’. He’s not escorted, but he does need to be buzzed through, the same melancholy voice asking him to repeat his name through an intercom at every checkpoint. Aziraphale marvels at the embassy-level security but he can’t help but wonder: is this a common practice at these places? No one mentioned anything about this.

What sort of trouble are they trying to prevent?

Aziraphale imagines most people might turn around at this point, go back the way they came and forget all about this place, but not him. As he approaches the final door there is no going back for him now. Not when he’s so close to what he wants.

He goes through the procedure one last time – name and then buzz. But this door is heavier, takes a bit more strength to push open. Black lighting overhead engulfs the room, creates a void that makes everything within indefinable. A few feet in, a wraparound counter fluoresces purple. Aziraphale sees only a single occupant in this room - a man sitting behind the counter who looks, from the outset, like a regular human being.

Of course, Aziraphale has never met a vampire before. He has no idea what one should look like.

He walks up to the counter, the door behind him swinging close and shutting with the same poignant click as the rest. But once this door seals, it takes the light with it, plunging Aziraphale momentarily into near complete black.

The man doesn’t look up at Aziraphale’s arrival. Aziraphale clears his throat to get his attention.

“E-excuse me?” he says nervously, his stomach flipping somersaults from his pelvis up to his neck. His voice sounds thin and disappointing to his own ears. Then again, he barely speaks to anyone from day to day. Maybe it sounds exactly the way it should.

The man sitting behind the counter – dark-skinned but with an ashy paler - blatantly ignores Aziraphale, who’d be standing practically on top of him if not for the counter between them. He flips exaggeratedly through the pages of his magazine (Aziraphale can’t tell which one in the unhelpful light), but doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale repeats, louder but still weak.

The man sniffs the air. He shifts only his eyes to address Aziraphale, looks him over, then returns to his magazine. “Wot do you want?”

“I … uh … I have an appointment. F-for a session.” Session. Is that the right word for it? No one Aziraphale talked to about this gave him the in on the lingo. “With a man by the name of Crowley.”

The disinterested man flips another page. “An appointment, huh?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes dart around, looking for anyone else who might be willing to help him. For as popular as this place sounded, it’s surprisingly deserted. Aziraphale can’t see a single other soul anywhere. Of course, aside from the glowing furniture, it’s so dark in there – a darkness his eyes refuse to get accustomed to – someone could be standing right beside him and he might not know it. “I’m … uh … sort of new at this.” His statement is met with a silence as thick as a brick wall. He chuckles, anxiety starting to get the better of him.

He feels vaguely like he might be in danger.

If he backed out now, walked out the door, would the man behind the counter even notice?

Then Aziraphale realizes fuck! He’d probably need to be buzzed out the same way he was buzzed in. And the man behind the counter might have to be the one to do it. He has the same dry, unenthusiastic tone in his voice as the one that greeted Aziraphale at every door.

The man glances Aziraphale’s way, then blows out a breath, obviously annoyed he’s still there. “I’ll tell him you’re here Mr. …”

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Aziraphale Fell,” the man repeats but doesn’t reach for a phone or make a move to inform anyone that Aziraphale has arrived. He gives the air another disdainful sniff and scrunches his nose, raising his magazine to cover it. “Did you have sushi for lunch, Mr. Fell?”

“Uh …” Aziraphale clamps his lips together tight, self-conscious of what he must smell like to a creature with super-sensitive olfactory organs. He did have sushi, but that was days ago. There’s no way he could still smell like it, especially with the amount of Listermint he uses daily.

“Was it refrigerated properly? Or do you buy your food from the day-old section of your local market?”

Aziraphale’s hackles rise. He disregards the feeling that he’s in danger in defense of his favorite restaurant. “I really don’t think that Hot Stone would stoop to selling day-old sushi!”

“Did you even remember where you were going when you left your house today?” the man scolds without listening to him. “I mean, have some respect, for Satan’s sake!”

“That’s enough, Ligur.” A new voice, amused but stern, says from the shadows. “If you don’t stop badgering the customers, we won’t have any, and then how will you afford your flat? Hmm?”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir,” Ligur replies, barely bringing himself to care.

Inconceivably quick, their new guest goes from standing in the light to standing before Aziraphale. Ligur snickers at the move, like he’s seen it too many times before, but Aziraphale doesn’t pay him any mind. Ligur might not be impressed, but Aziraphale can’t. stop. staring.

Aziraphale has never seen such a man.

He’s never imagined a man like him could exist. He’s sure he could spend his entire life trying to think him up and still never come up with him. He captivates Aziraphale in a matter of seconds, mystifies him without lifting a finger. He’s tall, slim, and fair. He reminds Aziraphale of a prince from an old world fairy tale. In fact, Aziraphale knows just the book he’d find it in. He intends on searching for it the moment he returns to his shop (he thinks hopefully). The man’s eyes, even in the absence of light, are piercing, simmering in their depths with a light all their own.

The man doesn’t walk up to Aziraphale. He stalks. And the way he carries himself leads Aziraphale to believe he can take anything he wants with a snap of his fingers. At the moment, he’s stolen Aziraphale’s voice, his breath, practically every thought in his head.

Aziraphale’s entire focus becomes this man.

The man moves a step forward. Aziraphale takes a subconscious step back.

“I believe that you are my ten o’clock,” the man says.

Aziraphale nods, not sure if he’s expected to speak ... or if he’s allowed. “Are … are you … Mr. Crowley?”

“In the flesh. And you must be Aziraphale.” Crowley’s tongue curls around his words, the hint of an accent making an appearance. Several accents, actually. At his root, the man sounds English, but not born. But his accent is acquired, not practiced, bred from immersion. There are other touches here and there - a dash of Birmingham, a little cockney perhaps, an Irish brogue, peppered upon a foundation that sounds firmly Scottish. Lilts and rolls add flavor to Aziraphale’s name so that he feels he’s hearing it spoken out loud for the first time. Even lost in that dialect soup, Aziraphale doesn’t think it’ll ever sound more perfect than it does rolling off Crowley’s tongue. It tickles his eardrums, silently begs Crowley to say it again.

“I am,” Aziraphale says. “Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It will be soon.” Crowley winks. “Follow me, Mr. Fell.” He smiles, teeth impeccably straight and disarmingly white. It could be a trick of the black lights, but those teeth … that smile … make him look predatory, and Aziraphale considers again if coming here was the smartest idea, especially since he did so impulsively, took no precautions. He was so distracted by his break-up, so wrapped up in shoulds and shouldn’ts, what people would think of him if they ever found out, that he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

What if he simply disappears?

No one in his life would dream of looking for him here, and he left absolutely no clues to point them in this direction.

Regardless of the warning bells tolling in his head, new ones firing off with each pound of his heart, Aziraphale follows Crowley down several vacant hallways. The place was dark to begin with, but this section is nearly pitch black with the exception of a red light bulb here, a green light bulb there, their faint illuminations doing nothing more than throwing shadows on the walls – shadows deep enough to disappear in. Crowley walks swiftly. Aziraphale almost loses him twice, but he slows in a hall lined on both sides with doors. Aziraphale hears moans come from behind several of the doors and his heart speeds in his chest.

It slams to a stop when he hears a man scream – strained and blood curdling.

Aziraphale can’t tell if the man is screaming in pleasure or in pain.

Aziraphale points to the door. “Um … is he going to be alri---?”

“Right this way, Mr. Fell,” Crowley interrupts, opening the last door on the left. “This is my private office. No one will dare disturb us in here.” Aziraphale hesitates but decides to go inside, not because he feels any more comfortable with this than he did a moment ago, but because if he doesn’t, he might run the other way. Crowley waits patiently till Aziraphale steps in, then shuts, and locks, the door. “Now … what can I help you with today?”

Aziraphale paces the room, examining its violet walls with their black-and-white photographs mounted in minimalist glass frames. It isn’t much brighter in here than in the lobby, but it’s more inviting - the sort of space created specifically for people to spend time in together, get to know one another. A round, wooden table in the center of the room holds a pair of crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. Candles cover every level surface - some thick white pillars, some long white tapers, in holders of brushed gold, and scent the air with the sweet fragrance of vanilla. Their dancing flames reflect off the glass, the constant flickering making the room appear to sway. It’s disorienting. It gets Aziraphale’s adrenaline pumping and his heart racing, which Aziraphale assumes is the desired effect.

He’d heard that a speeding human heart can be a powerful aphrodisiac for a vampire.

They apparently get off on it.

Against a far wall sits a plush, red sofa, and against another, a four-poster bed.

Aziraphale bypasses the bed (it isn’t his gut decision, just the safest seeming one) and heads for the sofa. “I … I have a problem. An addiction.”

“Go on.” Crowley strolls over to join him, each step he takes deliberate, noiseless, as if his feet don’t make contact with the ground at all, gliding on the air right above. Aziraphale watches Crowley settle onto the far end of the sofa, sitting catty-corner to keep his amber eyes on him. That predatory expression he wears moves from his smile to his eyes, which track Aziraphale’s movements with unnerving precision. “Well, I … I’m addicted to affection, a-and everything that comes with it - touching, holding, kissing, sex, from anyone who wants me, really. And I fall irrationally in love with the wrong people over and over because of it.”

“A-ha.” Crowley crosses his legs. He draws it out, diverting Aziraphale’s attention purposefully to them. “So tell me why you think I can help you.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, mesmerized by the way Crowley moves, the fluidity of limbs that would look spindly on a human but not on him. Not in the slightest. “Because even though I need companionship, nobody seems to need me. But from the things I hear, you gentlemen … do.”

“We’re not desperate, Mr. Fell,” Crowley groans, rolling his head back on his neck, his eyes following along.

“Oh, no! No, no, no! That’s not what I …!”

“We service a distinguished clientele. We have certain expectations.”

“I understand that.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a thorough once over with eyes that burn through him, every move Aziraphale makes telling Crowley more than his words.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Fell?” Something about the way Crowley repeatedly calls Aziraphale ‘Mr. Fell’ shoots right to his stomach and lower, twisting everything up inside him, making him feel compliant, confused ...

“I’m an antique book dealer,” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley chuckles. “Ah. So you hawk old, worn-out romance novels to elderly women wanting a tingle in their lady gardens?”

“Uh … no,” Aziraphale says with a chuckle himself because, he has to admit, he’s gotten one or two of those in his lifetime. “Mostly literature, first editions, rare texts, misprinted Bibles, that sort of thing.”

“And you make a living from that?”

“I do,” Aziraphale says, a tad uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Not that I need to. I live mainly off the interest of a generous inheritance. I get to do whatever I want mostly.”

“I see.” Crowley’s tone shifts, as if Aziraphale passed some sort of test. “And where do you currently live?” With a flick of Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale’s hand crawls up his own shirt, reaching for his bowtie. He grabs a tail and pulls it, unties it, then goes after the top button. He toys with it, undoes it, feeling constricted, uncomfortable while it’s fastened.

“I live over my store front in Soho.”

Crowley slides an inch closer. “With a roommate or …?”

“A-alone.” Aziraphale moves on to the second button. “I live … I live alone.”

“Impressive. And your blood type is AB negative?”

“As far as I know.”

“Interesting.” Crowley moves another inch closer. “Alright. Let’s give you a shot.”

“A-and how do you do that … exactly?”

“Give me your arm so I can take a taste. Then I’ll know if we can use you.”

Crowley holds out his hand, long fingers with black painted nails motioning for Aziraphale’s, but Aziraphale doesn’t take it. He has a second of doubt, of Are you nuts!? that stays him. But it’s been so long since Aziraphale has felt truly wanted. And this man … or this creature … wants what he has to offer. Aziraphale can see it in his eyes. It’s cut and dry. No muss, no fuss, no emotions involved. Giving in should be easy. This is what he came for.

“If you’re nervous, I could always …” Crowley makes a gesture toward Aziraphale’s neck and smiles an alluring, toothy grin – charismatic, hard to resist. But Aziraphale might not be ready for what Crowley’s proposing. It seems a little too intimate.

“O-oh no.” Aziraphale rolls up his sleeve. “It’s not that. I was just … uh … thinking.”

“Oh.” That single syllable sounds tragically disappointed. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, of course. But just so you know, it’s always an option.”

Aziraphale gets a sudden image in his head of Crowley lying on top of him, licking down his neck, his fingers undoing the rest of his buttons and reaching beneath his shirt, nails scratching lightly down his skin. He envisions Crowley removing his clothes one piece at a time, marking his flesh with kisses, with bites, taking small sips as he paves a trail to his trousers. Sharp fangs slice through the threads that keep the button sewn on and he pulls down the zip with his teeth. There’s a mouth on Aziraphale’s cock, sucking, hands massaging his chest, the gentle brush of silky hair against his thighs, the occasional sting of a cut opening, a tongue collecting, and Aziraphale writhing with the sweet agony of it. He doesn’t picture himself cumming quickly, but sees himself sliding along the beveled edge, getting to that point, hanging from the crest of it, just to be sent back to the beginning, to start the process over again.

It feels planted, a suggestion. Aziraphale isn’t sure how. He’s not savvy to the abilities of vampires beside the blood sucking thing. It’s not real. Aziraphale knows he’s still dressed, can feel the fabric of his shirt sleeve balled in his fist, but he starts to sweat at the thought of it. His cock aches because of it. That’s what he wants – the give and the take.  

It changes his mind, stops him rolling up his sleeve.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, gaze fixed to Crowley’s seductive eyes, “that does sound like it could be … nice.”

Crowley grins. It’s almost too easy. “Oh, it will be,” he purrs. “I promise.”

Aziraphale scoots closer until they’re sitting beside one another, knees touching. Crowley wastes no time kissing Aziraphale’s neck, cool lips pressing against hot, sensitive skin. Aziraphale moans. God, it’s been so long. And whatever Crowley is doing with his tongue, circling the same spot, nibbling with just enough pressure to make it tingle, feels so intense, it overshadows the hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, creeping up steadily to his crotch, squeezing along the way as the excitement of kissing builds.

As Aziraphale’s heart beats faster and faster, until individual thumps are no longer distinguishable from the whole.

Crowley wraps an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, fangs lengthening as he searches for a place to sink in and drink. He finds the perfect spot and bites. Aziraphale’s eyes go wide.

“Oh … God.” He becomes rigid as the sensation of smooth and sharp assails his skin, but he succumbs to the sublime numbness and melts into Crowley’s arms. “Oh … oh God …”

Crowley retracts his fangs, licking them clean. “This isn’t really the place to be praying,” he says, inhaling Aziraphale’s scent – fresh, rich, healthy, untainted blood. The blood all vampires crave - not from unconscious drunks in the alley behind a night club or filled with preservatives like the bagged gunge they have the option to buy down at NHS Blood and Transport. But whole, pure, and willingly given.

Oh, yes – Aziraphale is an exquisite delight. A rare treat. He’ll make Crowley rich … if he can bear to share him.

Crowley might just decide to keep Aziraphale to himself.

It’s not just Aziraphale’s blood that tempts him. There’s something else, something sizzling beneath his skin that Crowley suspects Aziraphale doesn’t even know about himself. But it sends sparks through Crowley’s skin with every touch, a white light that nearly burns too hot to hold but fuck it all! The second Crowley moves his hand away and it’s gone, it makes Crowley want him more.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbles, following Crowley’s mouth, whining like a kicked puppy when it seems he won’t be returning to the task of biting his neck. But it’s not that. Crowley has every intention of taking his time with Aziraphale. Savoring him. He wants to hear Aziraphale beg for it, beg for Crowley’s teeth buried deep into his neck, beg for the euphoria that comes with being fed upon.

“Do you like that, angel?” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s skin. He punctuates his question with a nip around Aziraphale’s jugular, carefully so as not to prick it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing Crowley’s knee and squeezing. “Yes, please.”

Crowley hums, lips pressed to Aziraphale’s neck so the vibrations travel down his skin. He licks over the pinprick marks, exploring with his tongue for a spot to take another bite. “You know, I think we might be able to help each other out.”

“You … you do?” Aziraphale rises from the sofa in a trance, following Crowley when he moves their soiree to the bed, preparing to make Aziraphale his own private nightcap.

“Oh yes.” Crowley lays Aziraphale out on the mattress and crawls over him, like in the vision. His fingertips creep up Aziraphale’s neck, up his cheeks, the pads coming to rest against his temples. A blue spark, an arc of static electricity, and Aziraphale’s brain fills with images that cloud his vision over so that Crowley’s eyes disappear, replaced by what promises to be a long night in this room, and all the methods of pleasure Crowley plans on using to distract him while he feeds. Skin against skin, Crowley’s hands covering his as Crowley enters him, his body possessing his. Aziraphale can already feel how hard Crowley would claim him, how sore he would be after, and Aziraphale wants it. Wants it more than life itself.

And he’s willing to pay with every drop to have it.

The vision rolls on. With every fantasized thrust of Crowley’s hips, it monopolizes all five of Aziraphale’s senses - his own moans in his ears with Crowley’s voice dripping honey underneath, the pungent smell of sweat and sex around them, the coppery taste of Crowley’s mouth, the slide of a flesh against his so smooth it feels like marble, and Crowley’s eyes - those snake-like eyes with pupils razor blade thin - watching unblinkingly as Aziraphale comes apart beneath him.

Trapped beneath Crowley’s body on the bed with Crowley’s fingertips rubbing circles against his skin, Aziraphale watches this fantasy in awe - open-mouthed and without an inch of fear. He shudders when he sees himself coming, the memory of similar sensations igniting every nerve in his body, turning fantasy into reality. Crowley absorbs every tremor, the way Aziraphale thrums beneath him, his hips bucking up in search of friction. Crowley smiles, reaches between them to start unbuttoning his own uncomfortable trousers.

And let the feasting begin.

“Oh yes,” he whispers, nose nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck, following the pounding rhythm of his heart for a place to tuck in. “I could become very addicted to you, Aziraphale Fell. Very addicted.”

[law-3131]

Vicks Product Review

by Lawrence Laceda GED106-A1

The majority of filipinos use Vicks VapoRub inside and outside of their household. There is a saying that your mom is a Filipino if every illness you experienced as a child was cured with Vicks. With that said, I remember when I had a fever, and my mom came up to me with a sock and Vicks in her hand. She gently rubs Vicks at the bottom of my feet then let me wear the socks. As far as I remember, I took a nap then when I woke up my fever was mostly gone, and I felt so much better. Even today I use Vicks whenever I get a fever or any ache in my body because my parents taught me where to apply and what to massage to ease my discomfort. Discomfort like headaches, muscle aches, coughs, colds, and fever. There is this one time when I was writing my papers and I felt that I’m having a headache. I immediately applied Vicks on to my forehead then massage it and took a break from what I am doing. Then minutes pass by my headache was not that much painful and I resume into doing my papers. I can say that it is helpful to me even in a time of need.  

 Vicks is an ointment that has menthol to soothe a person’s cough and help to unclogged airways so that people can breathe smoother. Vicks’ main purpose is to relieve the symptoms of coughs and colds. It can also be used to soothe muscle aches, headaches, and sore throats. It gives you a relaxing feeling to help ease the pain you are experiencing. A cool menthol scent and feeling may be expected when you applied Vicks to any part of your body. People with muscle aches, coughs, and colds. It can be applied to babies and even the elderly that experienced symptoms.

 The active ingredients to make Vicks are 4.8% Camphor, 1.2% Eucalyptus oil, and 2.6% menthol that most purpose is for cough suppressant. Its color is white with an oily jelly wax feature. It is for external use only that can be applied to chest, throat, and muscles. When using the product do not heat, consume, or apply internally in any kind of way. The function of Vicks is to cool the area of skin that the ointment covers to give your body distraction in having a painful feeling to a relaxing feeling.

Vicks VapoRub is beneficial to those that has muscle aches, headache, coughs and colds. It can also be a remedy for treating toenail fungus and even treating rough and dry skins. However, it is also the cause in having allergic reactions, skin rash and other severe diseases. According to Stanborough (2020), applying Vicks in and even around your nose may cause production of mucus and an inflammation of airways especially to children younger than 2 years old. Vicks can also be a treatment for acne, but it may also be the cause of having severe acne breakout due to some ingredients of it.  

Vicks VapoRub can be used with a lot of things so that people that is experiencing discomfort can soothe their pain with the product. With that said, aches outside the body such as muscle aches, sore throat, coughs and colds can be applied with Vicks. Apart from that, Vicks may also be the cause of mucus formation that protects the airways because of irritation. In my experience, Vicks helped me a lot to get rid of headaches, muscle aches and to breath smoother. I can say that even though there are studies that prove Vicks have flaws there are also benefits using it and it is effective. I recommend using Vicks for muscle aches, headaches, coughs, colds and sore throat only due to its effectiveness that I have experience through time.

[ajokeformur-ray]

I watched Joker tonight and typed out my thoughts as they occurred to me. Unedited; typos are guaranteed. I did this a few months ago and really enjoyed looking back at my thought process and I wanted to do it again so that I can look back and know that what I feel is real and true in my darkest times.

You're welcome to skip this; it's under a cut for ease of doing so. Warnings for occasional sexual comment lmao. There’s no self shipping in this, I don’t think.

word count: 2, 575.

I’M SOBBING and I’ve only just pressed play.

Heart squeeze Chest much ow

THERE HE IS

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nooooo baby omg don’t pretend - let yourself hurt if it hurts. Don’t pretend. 

Carnival Carnival Carnivalllllllll 😍😍😍😍😍

I am a Simp for one clown and his name is Carnival

Someone help him, I????

That sign hit Arthur as hard as my love for him did ksksksk

MY EYES BE LEAKIN💔💔💔💔💔

bb nooooo

Oh honey let me kiss those bruises and replace the marks of violence with love, hm? You’re safe with me.

Breathe, my love. Don’t fight the laughter. Let it out, let yourself go. 

Screams into a pillow because????? much sad must kiss

“have you been keeping up with your journal?” LIKE HE HAS TIME

oHHHHH boi’s close to losing his shit

Do it, Artie. Give ‘em hell.

“I think I did” YOU TELL HER!!💖💖💖

I want to be his cigarette. Where’s Satan??? I got a new deal for my blackened soul which he took at half price😂😂😂😂

I’d have my hand between the door and his head so fuckin fast I swear

“I just don’t wanna feel so bad anymore” yep SAME

ohhhh peekaboo🥺🥺🥺

this makes me giggle ksksksk i watch this scene when i feel sad bc it always makes me happy for the time it’s on

he’s so good with kids; he doesn’t have to try and think about what’s funny, he just does it, he’s himself and it works

FUCK OFF LADY CAN’T YOU SEE HE’S STRUGGLING????

give

him

back

his

card

casually wrinkling my nose against tears lmao

ohhh the way he looks up at those stairs from the bottom

i can feel his exhaustion

me too, my love

step step step step

god i wanna get him the fuck outta gotham

and into my arms and a soft, warm blanket

“eat. you need to eat” LITERALLY WHAT I TELL MYSELF EVERY DAY IN HIS VOICE BC OTHERWISE I JUST WOULDNT EAT???? I’m losing so much weight asdfghjk its not enough tho

SUPAH RATS

Did Arthur come up w that joke or was it actually a Murray joke????

HIS VOICE IS SO SOFT IM CRY??🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I WAS PUT HERE TO SPREAD JOY AND LAUGHTER”

YOU DO BABY, YOU DO!!!! EVERY FUCKING DAY!!!!

go deepthroat a cactus randall - youre already a bit of a prick so🙃🙃🙃

“THE GUYS THINNK YOU’RE A FREAK BUT I LIKE YOU”

HOYT. YOU CAN GO SIT ON A CACTUS TOO

FUCK OFF

😡😡😡😡

“WHY WOULD ANYONE STEAL A SIGN”//”WHY DOES ANYONE DO ANYTIHNG?” HOYT YOU’RE SO FUCKING ILLOGICAL HERE IM????? ERIKA DOES NOT (ALSO WILL NOT LMAO IM A STUBBORN BIITCH) COMPUTE

Can arthur fuck me like he pounds the trash/????🥵🥵👀

those dark curls.... that crooked tooth... must kiss.🥺🥺🥺

pennys casual cruelty makes me so fucking angry

foreshadowingggggg ~  *JAZZ HANDS*

ugh the way he dances with that gun im👀🥵🥵🥵

he enjoys the power of it and his breathing gets deeper asdfghjk

clumsy baby omggggg i just COOED 🥺🥺🥺🥺

okay maybe im stupid but i genuinely dont understand this “senior who needs to graduate” skit i’m??? how is being an intro to western civ student funny im???? someone explain???

but also dont bc fuck that guy lmao arthur’s hilarious

true millenial humour (and brit humour lmao we’re dark asf)

THE WAY ARTIE TWIRLS HIS FINGERS AROUND HIS HAIR AND DANCES IN HIS SEAT IM???🥺🥺🥺

wanna curl up on his lap at night when hes writing and go to sleep with a 

blanket around our bodies🥺🥺🥺🥺

when arthur wears a shirt at home you KNOW it’s a daydream

THAT CROOKED TOOTH IM WANT KISS.

WAIT IS IT CALLED STAND UP COMEDY BC YOU STAND UP... AND ITS COMEDY???

23 FUCKING YEARS, PEOPLE... TO REALISE THAT🙄

WHEN CARNIVAL CAME ON SCREEN I NTHE HOSPITAL I MADE A PORNOGRAPHIC NOISE LMAO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

IF YOURE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW IT, SHOOT MURRAY

WOOPS WRONG LYRICS

😂

“doctor of laughter”🥺🥺🥺🥺

doctor i have a case of the Big Sad can you... do an exam? 😉😏

NO BB DONT BEAT YOUR HEAD UP THERES PRECIOUS CARGO IN THERE

in what world does chucking cold greasy chips in a girls hair being “nice”???

lmao fuck these guys

ohhh honey breathe. dont fight it, my love, just breathe.

my heart’s breaking for you, you sweet thing🥺🥺🥺

i love you so so so so so so so much ugh you’re an actual fucking angel

just breathe darling

i need to get you a cup of tea with honey in it, your throat must be so sore

ohhhh baby im so sorry

i’d take every single punch if i could

i’d die for you

i wish i could protect you

i wish i could look after you

and take all those hits

and kill those guys for you

im so sorry

sobbingggg

YES GOOD MAN THANK YOUUU

KILL THOSE ASSHOLES LMAO DESERVED IT

yeah i have a grey morality... im similar to deadpool in that way tbh

carnival comin’ to kill your insecurities

8 bullets in a 6 chamber???? mm-hm

DONT FORGET YOUR BAG THATS EVIDENCE

AND THE WIG

RUN BABY RUNNNNNNN

GO GO GO GOOOOOOOOOOOO

RUN LIKE THE WIND BULLSEYE

THE SOUND OF HIS FEET SLAPPING THE PAVEMENT IM👀

OOOOOH JOKER’S WAKIN’ UUUUUUP

fuck he’s so hypnotic

the way he runs his hand down his lower stomach asdfghj🥵

must kiss the inner tendons on his wrists and lick the blood off his face 

must kiss

he moves like water

fuck hes so fluid

bathroom scene = the scene in which my heart and vagina clench at the same time

im WANT

T POSEEEEEEEE

“i still owe you for that, dont i?”

PUNCH OUT IS MY FAVOURITE THING E  V  E  R

D O N T S M I LE

UGH I FUCKING HATE being told to smile if i don’t fucking want to so BIG mood

PLEASE SHUSH ME THE WAY YOU JUST SHUSHED PENNY IM???

but also dont lmao bc i’ll think you’re mad at me and i’ll hide in the bedroom for the rest of the day lmao i’m sensitive✨✨✨

i wanna sit on his lap and still his bouncing knees

“thats not funny”

fuck off penny yes it is

I JUST CHOKED ON MY COFFEE IM???

“but i do” god the  P O W E R

ugh that fucking sexist piece of shit comedian can choke “women look at sex like buying a car” 🤢🤮🤢🤢🤮

chauvinistic pigs can die thanks

his lil trip upstage im cry🥺🥺🥺

ohhh baby. just breathe, darling. it’s okay to be scared. dont fight it. just breathe. 

he and i both cover our mouths when we laugh/smile in the exact same way and it makes me feel closer to him

how can they think hes laughing at himself when hes literally gagging????

people only see what they wanna

the Penny imitation is👌👌👌

s m i l e

i remember when i came home from seeing this for the first time, i got home and dropped to my knees to cry in the bathroom. it was such an emotional release and so much love and i played smile to try to make myself smile but i only made myself cry harder lmaooooo ~ 

smile and thats life are my go-to songs if i gotta cheer tf up

danger sign = neither works

he looks so soft after his “date”🥺🥺🥺

“thats life” yeah but murray you dont even leave the studio so how do you know????

ngl arthur’s anger scares me.

anyone so much as raise their voice at me and i’ll cry really bad and i will shut myself away for the rest of the day and quiet anger terrifies me so his banging abt in the kitchen would freak me tf out😲

angry bb😭

he controls his anger so fast though omgggg ~ 

that soft please sends me

idk where it sends me lmao

down below probably

BARE FACED CARNIVAL OMG THIS SCENE IS SO CUTE

I LOVE THE MATCHING COLOURS ON ARTHUR AND BRUCE TOO ???

okay but the implication that arthur always carries a clown nose on him is🥺🥺🥺

hes such a good clown im?????

lmao im enjoying the show more than bruce is skskskk

arthur’s lil chuckle makes me🥺

his HUMMING im??? soft?????

his brows are so strong and dark omggg ~ he’s so beautiful

OKAY i’ll be honest i’ve seen this alfred/bruce scene and the thomas bathroom scene later on and the penny flashback scene a 100 times and i still dont fucking understand what did or didnt happen regarding arthur’s parentage im????

 ive seen interpretations to say he is thomas’ son and some to say he isnt and i still cant decide so? im stupid i guess 🙃

“a clown thing?” the  s a s s

“it’s exit only” yeah so’s my ass🙃

if i was there in the hospital room i woulda turned that tv off as soon as i realised what clip was gonna play

murray’s cruelty is d i s g u s t i n g

lmao hes an asshole

arthurs lil clap from joyyyyy ~ 🥺🥺🥺

did i say murray???

i meant  m u r r a t

🙃🙃🙃

sneaky baby

wayne hall either has super bad security or arthurs v quick on his feet

🤔🤔🤔🤔

he looks so good in red omggg ~ 

f o r e s h a d o w i n g

arthurs smile when hes watching chaplin is how he smiles when we all gush to each other abt him and ourselves!!!

hes so cuuuuuute🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰

“told me what” 

ohhhh honey🥺🥺 im so sorry. “crazy” is a trigger word for arthur; it made him start laughing in the bathroom with thomas

“touch my son again ill fucking kill you” yeah?? touch my arthur again and i’ll fucking kill you🙃🙃🙃🙃

^^^ that ones a joke do not come at me

the clerk in arkham was nice to arthur - he, gary and sophie are the good gothamites.

none of it was enough to stop his descent into joker, though, and i’d even say it was too late right at the beginning of the film, too... 

his sock puppet thingy “they cut all those” is such a Joker thing to doooo ~ 

the way arthur’s laughing in the hall at arkham turns into sobbing is gut-wrenching omg the poor thing😭

i wanna hug him and protect him and help him to process this in a healthy way

sweetheart, if i could take all of your pain and put it onto me... i so would. i’d do it in a heartbeat.

i wanna get you into a hot shower, make you some food and sit and listen to you. we can either sit in silence or you can talk to me, my love, and you will be heard and understood and loved.

“i had a bad day”

IT’S OKAY I DIDNT NEED MY HEART ANYWAY OMG YOU POOR SWEET INNOCENT THING IM LOVE YOU🥺💔

THAT ENTIRE LATE NIGHT SCENE LAUGH/SOBBING GOT ME -

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

i just wanna hold you and protect you and help you and love you

I’m so fucking sorry, darling. i wish i could take it all away from you

“i havent been happy one minute of my entire fucking life”

NO ONE SHOULD LOOK THAT ANGELIC AFTER COMMITING MATRICIDE IM????

get

that

fucking

gun

away

from

your

face

boi dont test me ill fucking go feral or - no, tell you what, i’ll point the gun at me and see how you like it

im looking respectfully at the green speckled undies scene....👀👀👀

“coming” 😏😏😏

“my mum died im celebrating” and “i stopped taking my medication” and you STILL stayed in the apartment with Arthur????? dudes those are 🚨🚨🚨 signs

woe betide anyone who underestimates arthur fleck lmaoooo

randalls death scene makes me laugh every time omg i feel so vindictive

get WRECKED

i wanna lick the blood off his face. i really want to

ngl i think i have a blood kink... 

“dont look just go” ME WITH MY ACNE WHEN I SEE IT IN THE MIRROR 😂😂😂😂

JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKER 

ASDFGHJKL

J

O

K

E

R

ERIKA.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING

JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERRRRRR

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 MY BABY MY MAN OMG THERE HE IS IM CRY???????😭🥺😭🥺😭🥺

my mind is literally blank rn im just staring and crying and smiling so hard my face hurts????? im love him so so so so much

sweet thing’s so used to pain he gets HIT BY A CAR AND KEEPS GOING????

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

hghhhhhhhhhhhhhh

euirrrrrrgkjbgkfbirsghigrbugr

*incoherent keyboardsmash to portray utter love*

ohhh baby no dont cry. oh honey😭 i wanna sit on your lap and kiss your tears away

“i love dr sally”

you have a WIFE at home

“DO YOU REMEMBER?” THAT WAS YOUR CUE TO APOLOGISE LMAO GET FUCKED MURRAT

he’s so CUTE

omgggg ~ 

my hearts gonna give out its SQUEEZING SO HARD IT HURTS

YOU MOCK THEM, BABY!!! THEY GOT IT COMING

“i wanna get it right” hes so passionate

my comments have deceased in number bc im just too starstruck and in love to even think clearly lmao

jokers all i know rn and this is the most peaceful ive felt in WEEKS

im sobbing

ugh fuck this hurts so BAD

youre speaking the truth, darling. im so so proud of you and i love you so much

“THEY COULDNT CARRY A TUNE TO SAVE THEIR LIVES” LMAO INSIDE JOKESSS

literally sobbing right now ugh what the fuck youre in so much pain and in the middle of a breakdown and no one saw you

ugh baby im so sorry, you deserve so much better

you tried so hard and you were gonna fall no matter what

IN THE WHITE ROOM

“hi” baby they cant hear you but im COOING 🥺🥺🥺🥺

you’re so fucking cute

say the word and ill burn gotham to the fucking ground for you

i wanna sit atop that car and cradle your head in my lap and wipe the blood off your face and help you stand up and be there for you and and and😭😭😭😭😭😭 i love you so so so much. 

i’d be so much worse off without you in my life. you brought a splash of colour which has never dimmed or faded. it never will. 

b l o o d    s m i l e

=

im wearing my inside on the outside now and it still hurts

angel💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

i see you and your pain. i love you.

i see you, angel. 

his genuine laughter is🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

that cute lil “ksksks” he does im🥺🥺🥺

i always laugh with him omg the two of us are laughing together ugh its the closest i will ever get to sharing in his joy

 t h a t ‘s    l i f e

i love the hallway daaaaaaaaaaaaaance ~ 

them hips dont lie😉😉😉

i love you i love you i love you i love you omg the sun’s like a halo ugh i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you im singing along to thats life while i type out how much i love you at 220am lmaooooo ~ 

i   l o v e    y o u

[ashtheshortstack]

take my scars & make them stars - epilogue

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna epilogue

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sick Fic, Cancer Fic, Chronic Illness, Chemotherapy, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Mentions of Character Death

Read on Ao3

Previous Chapter

Anna never thought there’d be a day that she’d see Kristoff in pink, but it wasn’t a bad look on him at all. She really appreciated him coming to the Breast Cancer 5k Run to support her. Of course, Elsa and Gerda had accompanied them too. 

While Elsa and Kristoff only wore their matching t-shirts and running gear (which were Anna’s idea--Gerda wasn’t running so she didn’t need one, but she did wear her own pink top in support), Anna wore a pink tutu, pink socks, and a bright pink bow in her curly, bobbed auburn strands. She was quite proud of her decked out pink ensemble. Kristoff also called her cute, so that was even more of a win in Anna’s book. 

Anna wanted pictures before the three of them got super gross and sweaty from running, and Gerda happily obliged her when she hooked arms with her sister and boyfriend and forced them to pose with her. Neither seemed to complain, though, which she was thankful for. When Gerda handed her the phone back, Anna was thrilled to see how well the photo turned out. In fact, she was even tempted to post it. She hadn’t posted on any social media in ages, aside from private stories on Snapchat. But she figured… maybe it was time. Maybe, it was finally time to come out with everything she’d been through. The photo itself was very telling. Each shirt had its own message: Elsa’s read “I run for my sister,” Kristoff’s: “I run for my girlfriend” (which Anna loved ) and Anna’s read: “I run for ME.” And damn, she meant it. 

She hadn’t been very vocal about her break up with Hans… but better late than never, right? Besides, maybe it was time to show off her new man. Her shiny, new upgrade, she mused to herself. 

Kristoff hadn’t posted anything about their relationship either. He told her he’d wait until she was ready to make the information public. Even telling her he wouldn’t tell his family either, but Anna didn’t feel that was fair and encouraged him to be honest with his parents. Including the cancer. 

Apparently, Bulda was very insistent on meeting her soon. Her boyfriend explained that his parents had moved out of Arendelle to Rock Valley right after he graduated, but he opted to stay in the area. She could understand that considering what the family had been through. So, they’d decided they’d make a weekend out of it soon and drive up to his parents’ house in the next few weeks. Anna would be lying if she wasn’t nervous--but also extremely excited. Meeting the Bjorgmans would be a wonderful experience, she was sure. But at the same time, she didn’t want to bring up anything she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to be a reminder of what they’d lost… Kristoff had assured her that wouldn’t be the case. But… she still had her doubts. 

After smiling down at the photo on her phone, she held it up for her boyfriend and sister to view. Elsa gasped and grinned. “Anna! I love it! Please, send that to me. We need it framed.” 

Anna snorted at that. “Is… Is it okay if I post it?” 

Her companions all looked surprised at the question. Kristoff tilted his head. “You sure?” 

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I think it’s time to stop hiding from the world.” 

Elsa wasn’t one to be super emotional. Not since their parents closed her off from the world and forced her to be cold. But when her eyes became glassy, Anna worried she’d said the wrong thing. Quickly, her sister grabbed her hand. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” 

Smiling, Anna nodded and logged in for the first time in forever. She decided that going through and deleting pictures of her and Hans would be the next thing she did. Like the picture of their proposal… yeah, that’d need to go.  

But, that was not the time to think of that. The run would start any moment. 

Anna walked with race--with an occasional jog her and there--since her endurance still wasn’t quite built back up. She encouraged Elsa to really go for it (her sister had a bit of competitive spirit), and while the flaxen blonde originally seemed hesitant, eventually she decided to go for it in a full out sprint. Kristoff stayed by Anna’s side, holding her hand through most of it. 

Elsa and Gerda were waiting for them at the finish line. 

  o~o~o~o

  Meeting Bulda and Cliff went better than Anna expected. It was like meeting the parents she’d never had. Doting, kind parents that truly cared every bit for their children. Anna couldn’t help but imagine how different her life could’ve been if her parents had been the same. But she knew it’d be wasting time to dwell on such things. Her parents were gone, and she couldn’t change that. Couldn’t change them… or who they were. 

“Oh, hun… Kristoff obviously isn’t cooking enough for you. You’re so skinny.” 

Kristoff hissed at her. “Ma, she hasn’t even been done with chemo a year yet. Chill out.” 

Anna felt an inward of panic at the mention of chemotherapy. Would that be an upsetting topic for them? She didn’t want to remind them of their traumatic experiences. She didn’t know what it was like to lose a child to cancer, but she did know that she’d lost her parents. And how that felt…

But Bulda brushed off Kristoff’s comment. “You better be taking care of her!” 

“Mom!” 

Giggling behind her hand, she watched the exchange of Kristoff bickering with his mother. At one point, Bulda smacked his hand with a spatula when he commented on the amount of spices she put in the dinner she was making. Anna had never seen her burly boyfriend yelp and cower like that, but it amused her more than she’d let him know. 

Apparently, she needed to invest in a spatula. 

When they sat at the small table for four, Anna couldn’t help but wonder if the seat she sat in had once been meant for Pepper. Swallowing thickly, she picked at the spaghetti before her. There was a ridiculous amount of food on the plate in front of her. It seemed maybe there was more on her plate than the rest… it seemed Bulda was serious about fattening her up. If this is how Kristoff grew up eating, it’s no wonder he ended up being so thick. 

He glanced at her, brows pinching in a silent question. Bulda and Cliff were chatting about their work days, not seeming to notice their son paying them no attention. But Anna just smiled to reassure him and scarfed some noodles into her mouth so as to not worry him further. 

Dinner wasn’t awkward by any means. Bulda made conversation rather easily. She asked about her family, mainly Elsa, seeming to evade the topic of her parents. That was probably Kristoff’s doing. 

Eventually, Bulda smiled at her. “Anna, would you care to help me with the dishes?” 

Blinking, she nodded. “Oh, yes ma’am, of course.” 

Kristoff gaped at her. “Mom, she’s a guest she shouldn’t--” 

Bulda gave him a look , and the blond’s mouth snapped shut. 

Cliff and his son ended up on the back porch, despite how worried Kristoff looked leaving her behind. But Bulda just shooed him, apparently eager to have Anna to herself. As his mother began placing the dishes in one side of the sink, she shook her head with sigh before giving Anna a smile. 

“That boy is so protective of you, I swear. You’ll have to tell him you’re a big girl,” she said with a chuckle. 

Anna smiled. She wouldn’t admit aloud that she really did enjoy how Kristoff could be overbearing at times. At first, she was a bit weirded out, but as time went on… she realized how much she craved that attention. It was something she hadn’t gotten from her parents, or even Hans for that matter, so a little bit of overprotection wasn’t too bad. Kristoff wasn’t overly possessive or anything, just a healthy enough amount to fret over her. 

When Anna didn’t speak, Bulda continued on. “He was the same way with his sister. It’s just instinct for him,” she explained as she ran the water. “Could you dry these for me? If it hurts, just say so.” 

Nodding, she agreed. “I can do it.” She was mostly telling the truth. The feeling in her fingers had returned. It was only sometimes when she did really tedious tasks would the painful tingles return to her joints and fingertips. 

“I want you to know that you don’t have to be ashamed around us. Or feel like you need to walk on eggshells for us. We lost our daughter, but we can talk about it. It’s alright.” 

As Anna dried a dish, she pursed her lips and looked away. “A-Are you sure?” 

“Of course, dear. If we don’t talk about her, she’ll fade away. It’s okay to talk about the good and the bad. Acceptance is how you heal. We can’t avoid what happened.” 

Chest tight, she nodded. “You’re right. F-From what Kristoff had told me, she was a really sweet girl.” 

“Oh, she was a good girl. Could be a little devious sometimes, but it was just cause she wanted his attention. Kristoff was so much older than her, sometimes I worried they wouldn’t be close. They were definitely siblings… picking on each other all the time. But she adored him, and he adored her.” 

Anna hummed. “I feel the same about my sister. We didn’t really get to grow up together, but now that we’ve become close, it’s a bond I wish I’d gotten to experience sooner.” 

Bulda handed her another dish. “Kristoff told me a little about your family. Not much, though. But I won’t pry. I’m sorry to hear that you and your sister have gone through a lot.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Let me be honest with you, dear… Never feel guilty for surviving. Just because others didn’t, doesn’t mean you should be ashamed that you did. Always remember that. You deserve to love and live life. Kristoff has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.” 

Anna took those words to heart, filing them away to hold onto forever. Bulda was right… 

It was okay to live. 

  o~o~o~o

  Anna sat in his lap, her lips on his as they pressed their bare chests together. Kristoff’s fingers twined into her auburn locks with a gentle tug. She had no idea that hair pulling was a thing she liked, but since her hair had grown out they both discovered something new about her. Kristoff seemed to enjoy it… he’d give her hair a small yank at random times just to fluster her, and it often worked. 

But she stopped him, pulling her mouth away from his. Anna glanced down between them, gazing over her body. The marks and scars, the many freckles and bumps… 

“Anna?” 

Her eyes met his. “There’s something we need to talk about.” 

Blinking, his brows furrowed. “Okay…?” 

She didn’t want to worry him. Not really. But this was something she’d been avoiding since they’d started dating. And, especially now that they were intimate, it needed to be discussed. 

“I-I don’t know if we need condoms or not.” 

“...Huh?” 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Anna wanted to smack herself. What a stupid thing to say. A horrible way to go about this. Damn, she was an idiot. 

“I mean… I don’t know if I can have kids.” 

“Oh.” 

Fidgeting with her thumbs, she vaguely realized that this was a really uncomfortable position to be in while bringing this up. They were both topless, his cheeks were flushed with kiss swollen lips, there was a very clear bulge pressing against her through his jeans. But she couldn’t let this go on. Not without telling him. 

“Dr. Mattias said there was a chance that the chemo could make me infertile. I-I haven’t exactly asked him about checking up with that. So, I don’t know if I can even get pregnant naturally.” 

Kristoff nodded. “Anna… I want a family someday,” her heart dropped, “but only if it’s with you.” 

Jaw dropping, she couldn’t help but feel stunned at his admission. “W-Wait, really?” 

“I love you. There’s no one else I’d rather have a family with. Look, I was adopted, so I don’t have any qualms with doing the same.” 

“I-I mean, we may not have to. But I’m glad you’re open to the idea. A-After Dr. Mattias told me about the risks, I did have some of my eggs frozen. B-But there’s no guarantee that it could work, a-and I don’t have boobs and that might cause problems, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up or anything or--”

Kristoff pressed his lips to hers, effectively shutting up her. “I want you , Anna Anderson. No matter what that entails. Whether we have children of our own or not someday, I don’t care. As long as you’re the one with me.” 

A girlish giggle bubbled past her lips. 

“But uh--” he cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t mind finding out if condoms are a necessity or not because, ya know, I wouldn’t mind… going without?” 

Smirking, she simply pushed him down on the mattress. 

  When Anna woke, bare aside from the sheets covering her skin, she was alone. Kristoff had to be at the jobsite at 6:00AM where he’d work a few hours before heading to the coffee shop. It was nice that both bosses were accommodating him as he adjusted. It was strange thinking about the fact that Kristoff would no longer be the first face she saw when she entered Arendelle Roasts. Oaken was kind enough to allow Kristoff to make his own schedule for his last two weeks. Ama was proud that he would be turning to construction full time after working so hard to learn the ropes. 

It did suck to know he would rarely be beside her in the mornings, but when she started her classes at AU then maybe they could share a breakfast since she had to be up anyway. 

Rolling over to check the time, Anna laughed at the sight of a chocolate chip muffin sitting on the nightstand waiting for her. 

  o~o~o~o

  The bell chimed as someone entered the door. Anna glanced up from her spot behind the counter, smiling when she saw Kristoff walking towards her. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer,” she cooed. 

The blond snorted at her. “Pretty sure you stole my line.” 

Anna hummed, a mused tone in her voice. “Nope. Can’t be your line if I’m the one working here now.” 

“Because you stole my job.” 

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. “I was hired here, thank you. Now, do you want a Maple Harvest or not?” 

Beaming, he leaned on the counter. She was thankful it was closing time and there were only two other customers finishing up their cups, so Kristoff heckling her at the counter wouldn’t get her in very much trouble. “Already got my coffee memorized?” he teased.

“Don’t act like you didn’t memorize Elsa’s drink.” 

“That’s because you always ordered it as an excuse to talk to me.” 

“Lies,” she snapped while biting back a smile. Yeah, he was right. But oh, she would never give him the satisfaction. 

Anna went to the machine to begin his order. Ryder peaked around and smirked at her. “You know, I thought you two would get tired of flirting eventually.” 

Laughing, she shook her head. “You should know both of us better by now.” 

“Touche.” 

When Anna returned to the counter, Kristoff was ready with money in hand. She looked between him and the cash before tilting her head with a knowing smile. “It’s on the house.” 

“Anna…” 

“It’s on the house,” she repeated as she wrote on the cup.

After she handed it over, Kristoff gave her a flat look when he saw that she’d written “Christopher” on his drink. “Why do you torture me?” he grumbled. 

“Because I love you.” 

She really did.

[ikesengoficss]

tehehe i certainly can. As someone who is kinda like this, I should take my own advice I write, lol!! also, I do incorporate some French in this— my french is not very good, and I admit to using translator for some of it, if I’m not using what is said in the game. So please, if I say something wrong, whether it be spelling or m/f, please inform me!! <3

My favorite’s are Mozart, Theo and Jean. I can’t really chose one — I love that trio so much. But because Mozart was my first route (partially because the others do not have one) he has a very special place in my heart!~

I hope you enjoy!!! Please tell me your favorite!

Leonardo, Theo and St. Germain taking care of an MC who pretended to not be sick, but faints in front of them

Leonardo Da Vinci

He’s probably most likely to be convinced by your pretending. Not completely, but if you’re good at hiding it, he’ll probably believe it.

He doesn’t actually see you faint. Though you’ve been pretending to not be sick, successfully hiding that fact that as the days went on, keeping yourself upright was proving to be more and more difficult,

and your head pounded from the horrible headache, and throat throbbed, body on fire;

you let the facade you were holding crack just a little, so the moment he saw you clutching your head, he was swiftly going to the kitchen to get you water.

But he hears a thump, and Vincent happened to be in the room too was calling his name, and suddenly he feels sicks at just the sight of your crumpled body on the floor.

He’s rushing you back to his room and immediately has a doctor called. You have the flu, and he is incredibly frustrated that you tried to hide it from him,

and he’s incredibly frustrated with himself for not noticing sooner you were quite ill. However, he doesn’t let that frustration really show— he probably lets out his anger in his room, alone, kicking around the stuff on the ground.

He wants to help nurse you back to health. He’s very attentive to you, making sure you take the medicine given,

making sure you do not leave the bed. You need to rest your body, rest your mind. He may read you a story to help you fall asleep.

He loves you so much, so he won’t leave your side, even once you’ve fallen asleep, he’ll just be watching over you to make sure your condition doesn’t worsen and you’re alright.

Theodorus Van Gogh

There is really no hiding anything from Theo. It’s pretty obvious you are sick by how pale you are, the dark circles under your eyes and how croaky your voice is.

However, it’s up to you on whether you want to take care of yourself or not. If you want to continue to work, if anything, he will admire your resilience and determination to keep at your duties.

Even if deep down, he thinks its a little reckless, and even if deep down, he’s having to stop himself from flinging you over his shoulder and carrying you to bed himself.

Although, as a couple days pass and he notices just how terrible you look, he’s saying fuck it, he has to step in now.

Across the hall, he sees you and bellows, “Hondje, come here,” he commands, crooking his finger a little. Obediently, you walk towards him, but his heart drops when you suddenly sway, and he isn’t at your side fast enough to catch you before you collapse,

the sound of your head smacking against the ground seemingly echoing throughout the hall. He’s really kicking himself now.

He carries you back to his room, shushing you as you slur a bit trying to ask him what's going on; he has you tucked under the covers and dragging Arthur back to the room to look at you. He’s caressing your shoulder the entirety Arthur’s examining you.

Theo never leaves your side during your recovery as he helps to nurse you back to health. He’s incredibly grumpy and a little snide, but it’s because he cares.

“Reckless girl.”

“Don’t be so foolish next time. If you’re sick, don’t pretend to not be, that’s incredibly foolish.”

“Do you realize what it did to me when I saw you fall? I—hmph.”

You frown, weekly reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry, Theo. I really am.”

He sighs, holding your hand against his cheek, nestling into your warm touch. “No… don’t apologize. This is partially my fault, just— just please, take better care of yourself. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” he sort of mumbles that last part. lol

Comte de St. Germain

Like Theo, there is really no hiding anything — you can pretend all you want, but he knows you are sick. The only difference is he will put you to bed, and he won’t allow you to argue with him.

You are the love of his life, and in this era, a simple cold has claimed the lives of many, and there is no way he will allow sickness to take you from him. So please, do as your told and stay in bed.

However, if you were already going to pretend to not be sick, it’s no surprise, you’ll be a little stubborn and disobey him, getting out of bed.

“Don’t make me punish you, ma douce fille”

He’s about to scold you for getting out of bed but suddenly your face becomes more flushed, and your lids flicker before finally shutting,

and your body goes limp as he catches you just in time. He’s clutching you to his chest and shaking his head, his silly girl, what were you thinking, and heaves you up to bring you back to your room.

“W-what happened?”

“My dear, I’m afraid you are sicker than you realize. You collapsed out in the hall.”

You may feel a little bit embarrassed afterward, yet he assures you not to be, but just to please, please listen to him next time and stay in bed. “Please rest, ma plus chère.”

Le Comte is making sure you are as comfortable as possible. He dabs at your forehead with a cool cloth in hopes to bring down your fever. He helps you into your nightwear— if you want, he’ll let you even wear a shirt of his.

He emphasizes how important it is for you to wear socks to keep your body warm. he says if your feet are warm, your entire body will be.

He’s feeding you soup and helping you to take little sips of water to soothe your throat. He may not be able to be with you the entire time, so he’ll have someone check in on you every once in a while.

He is obviously not concerned about getting sick from you. He holds you extra tight at night, stroking your hair and pressing feather-light kisses to your (burning) forehead

~~~~~~~~

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