#fucking ****** getting new bread every day and making us throw out perfectly good bread every day? NOT REAL

[oomox]

also bro the way my coworker last week said “only we are” after I joked “nothing here is real” (we work at a vegan restaurant) ….. pure poetry

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡  bakugou headcanons that feel like a warm hug ♡

➳wc ;; 1.2k (oh my god. what is wrong w me.) 

➳ a/n ;; or my bakugou brain-rot that never goes away. thanks for being my comfort character, you fucking gremlin. forgive the silly title. 

♡ always makes little adjustments to the environment for you. he’s observant to a fault so if there’s something even a little off and it happens to bother you, he’s trying to work around it. 

♡ good at playing guitar but not good at reading music. he can throw something together if you give him a chance but he’s not good at trying to recreate someone elses memory. he’s not like.. musically gifted either but he likes how guitar sounds 

♡ thinks about getting a lot of piercings in his ear because he thinks they’d look cool but is kind of too nervous? the idea of a needle going through his skin is a ick. when you start dating, he drags you to his appointments lol - won’t admit it but he thinks he looks so hot when he gets them. takes a bunch of selfies <3 

♡ needs to be moving constantly. can’t sit completely still to save his life. when he listens to music, he moves his head. sometimes he just runs his thumb over his fingers. 

♡ really, really bad at talking. not in the sense he can’t communicate (that too) but he just likes listening in conversation. rarely adds his own thing. but when he does - always accidentally says something super meaningful 

♡ enjoys subtle physical touch because it is literally intimate he melts inside. a hand on his forearm or shoulder. your legs over his lap. small things that show how comfortable you are. 

♡ likes being held cause he’s a big ass baby lmfao 

♡ wont admit it but enjoy when you choose pretty or colorful bandages for his cuts he won’t himself but it’s like keeping you in his pocket wherever he goes.  

♡ really needs you to find him attractive dslksjk it’s not that he ever thinks he’s particularly ugly. but he didn’t really assign importance to his appearance at any point in his life, yet now he puts in a scary amount of effort. readjusts his hair so much more, makes sure his clothes fit good. fixes his fuckin’ face lol 

♡ likes chewing gum a lot and always has a pack on him. really proud of how big he can blow bubbles and will be a little sad if you’re unimpressed. 

♡ is overly sentimental about things you’ve made him - especially if it’s something super dumb. you drew him a silly little sketch of him in a frog hat? it’s in his wallet behind his id. freaks out when he thinks he’s lost his wallet 

♡ LOVES phone calls. yes he still hates talking. but the way his face looks when he listens to your voice. eyes half-lidded, shamelessly smiling - it’s so tender and so lovesick. 

♡ terrible first grader hand-writing. he tries to write them for you in the beginning of your relationship (to be romantic or some shit) but they’re so incomprehensible pls. if he focuses on it - it can be legible but most of the time ... yea no. 

♡ doesn’t favor tea or coffee but prefers tea if he has to drink one. 

♡ crazy good at eyeballing measurement. even in baking. once made a perfectly good bread without weighing anything and doesn’t get why that’s so wild. 

♡ has the phone on his text set to be bigger even though his eyes are fine. 

♡ lets you do the layout thing on his iphone and decorate as you please. says he doesn’t care but when he sees you made it hero themed/fit with his aesthetic - he got so red it was so cute. 

♡ hates shopping in store. will still always go with you because the one time you went alone a store clerk hit on you.  

♡ so practical. he started couponing when he was in his early twenties like an old man. checks the news and weather the night before, every night. never misses doctors appointments. 

♡ shit at any form of visual art. drawing, painting etc - cannot do it to save his life. but he tries. his hands shake when he tries to draw hearts for you 

��� blows the eyelashes off your cheek super gently whenever he notices. he’ll like.. take your face in his hands and blow so softly like he’s gonna hurt you. 

♡ used to agree to make pinky promises with you as a joke. now though? automatically holds his pink out for you to take it. straight up pouts if you don’t. 

♡ you two have a song and when it comes on, he’ll sing it back to you. any other time? any other song? he wont. but he always sings your song even without realizing, just mouths it. 

♡ enjoys when you put your hands under his shirt and just leave them there and hug him like that. skin to skin contact is elite but only from you. 

♡ hamsters adore this man. they just do. 

♡ draws frowny faces on your eggs with hot-sauce 

♡ soul leaves his body when you play with his hair and scratch his scalp. the tension in his neck literally disappears and he just sighs that shit relaxes him like crazy 

♡ the first time he says i love you, you’re tying his tie for his first hero event. you’re telling him to that the color looks good on him and you’re smiling. it honestly it just slips. he went on to win an award that night. 

♡ his favorite memory of the two of you was when you were trying to leave the grocery store one afternoon. it was raining heavy as shit. you pulled him in under your clear umbrella and just stood there. he doesn’t know why but that means a lot to him. 

♡ cares a lot about his dads approval on his work specifically. him and his dad have a really specifc bond and he actually admires him quite a bit. 

♡ nothing makes him cry like “im proud of you”. especially when it’s for something small. it’s just something he didn’t hear enough in a sincere way. 

♡ likes fruit flavored sweets over chocolate (generally needs something to do w his mouth cause it helps him think. bad oral fixation) so he keeps little candies on him 

♡ shit at video games. terrible at them with the exception of mario kart? for some reason. 

♡ always loses his keys 

♡ stutters every!single!time! he tries to compliment you. it’s been YEARS. 

♡ takes a melatonin gummy before bed and always drinks a glass of water 

♡ buys you flowers and keeps them too. like does the upkeep on it and replaces them if the wilt. suggests pressing them to keep them for longer. 

♡ lowkey cries really easily. he just gets overwhelmed w his feelings some times and it makes him cry even if he doesn’t want too. you and the bakusquad are sworn to secrecy over it though 

♡ wears his ring around his neck on a chain bc it’s easier to show off. 

♡ naturally good at doing hair! 

♡ likes sneakers but wears dr. scholl's because he walks a lot and is on his feet for most of the day w his job. just being careful. 

♡ loves u a lot <3 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Time Apart

CW: Trauma survivor, referenced noncon and assault, heavy internalized victim-blaming and self-loathing/anti-asexuality (Chris has serious issues from his conditioning around this)

(references events from this small series)

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

When Chris picks up his phone, it's not at all the message from Laken he expected to see. Not the kind of thing they've ever sent before.

He has to read it two times, then three. The letters swim and shake along with a dull pounding inside his head, but no matter how he tries to make them into other words - tell himself he must have misunderstood, must be missing something - they come back together the same in the end.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

Each letter is as crisp and clean as a sterilized blade between each rib, one by one by one by one.

The words are a body blow. They're a hundred blows, beating him into a barely recognizable shattered shell of himself. It wasn't supposed to happen this way - it's been a bad few days, yeah, a bad week really, but until yesterday's fight it had never occurred to him that Laken might give up on him.

The fight was his fault, anyway.

He meant to apologize last night, but then Nova had come into his room, and he'd lost the rest of the night to lying next to Jake, trying to remember how to stop living inside his head again, how to stop being still.

He'd woke up this morning with his stomach doing butterfly flips inside him, nervous, but he'd really wanted to say he was sorry, for the fight, for all the weirdness lately. He'd wanted to apologize for being difficult.

Instead... he'd woken up to find a missed text from the night before, sent after he'd shoved Nova away but before he could stand to look at anything again.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

There it sits.

He hasn't unlocked his phone yet. Instead, he keeps tapping the button to light up the screen, looking at the message preview that has all he needs to see. Lets it go dark again. As if one of these times he'll click and it'll say something else.

But it doesn't,

It just says the same damn thing.

I think you should spend time apart.

Not with me.

He's still staring at it when another one comes in. He feels the soft pulse of his phone in his hand, and the screen lights on its own.

LAKEN - NOW Did you see my message? 

He thinks maybe Kauri had it easier when he was the age Chris is now. Back when Kauri carried on entire conversations in emoji form, letting the nuance and ambiguity take over, the recipient working through the meaning on their own. With this, each letter is merciless, each word is unmistakable. He can’t misunderstand it. 

Can he?

He opens the phone with shaking fingers, types back yes, presses send, and turns his phone off.

Then he throws it at the wall.

He’s grateful for the heavy plastic case that makes it bounce off and drop to the floor without breaking. There's a strip on the back, textured and a soft purple, gray, white, and black. He rubs his fingers over it sometimes in class to keep himself from rocking and being distracting.

Now he just... stares at it.

Laken bought that for him. They bought the shirt he's wearing right now-

He yanks it off his head before he can think, balls up the soft fabric and throws it as well. It just sort of drifts pointlessly to the floor, a single eyeball from the print of a band he likes staring back at him.

Laken has ranted before about people who break up by text message, and Chris has to breathe through a physical ache in his chest that tightens every muscle at how awful he must be that they're not doing this face to face. How awful, how used-up, how shredded apart, how fucking pretty he is.

After all, he and Laken have been together for more than a year, and he still held perfectly still for Nova to touch him before he remembered how to move. After all, he’s a grown man who still cried and fell apart when Jake was hurt. After all, after all, after all...

He scrambles across the floor for his phone again, turns it back on. Part of him hopes he’ll see a new text saying they take it back, they didn’t mean it. Or just asking him to apologize for what he’d said that night before, for how he’d thrown their confusion over his reaction to something back at them, echoing out the way Kauri fights sometimes, talking about himself the way he thinks everyone else might be thinking about him, so he says the insult first and no one else gets to surprise him with it.

But there’s nothing new.

He manages to open the texts again, barely, and breathes in gasps, nearly pants, as he types out, you don’t want me at your place?

Not right now.

Is it because of what I can’t do?

It takes them a minute to answer. Every single second ticks by with a slowness Chris hasn’t felt since his days in the cold white room, tied down to stillness, forced to endure every minute that passed in perfect silence or to the soundtrack of his own tears and pleading for it to stop.

When they do respond, it’s just, it’s because of what you won’t do.

His breath catches in his throat. The ache in his head starts to pound harder, and he has to close his eyes against a sharp stab behind them. 

What he won’t do.

They’ve never cared before. How-... how could they suddenly care now? The fight had only a little bit been about that, it’d really been about something else. About his nightmares, how he’s not sleeping, not seeing his friends, skipping therapy. It hadn’t even been about... that. About what Chris can do and what he can’t, in bed. 

But that was the thing - the fight had started when Chris had flinched back from Laken’s touch to his back, and snapped at them, and accused them of wanting too much, and...

And now this.

It’s like they knew about Nova. Knew that he could be good just fine - better than fine, Handler Petrus said he was one of the best he’d ever worked with once - he just... wouldn’t. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. Never wanted to. 

Can’t do it without tearing himself to pieces all over again. 

It was always a scream inside his mind, but should he have pushed it down and tried harder to be more like everyone else? Is he losing Laken because of it? Did Nova pick up on something Chris himself doesn’t know?

Should he have... tried?

Even if it hurt?

He drops the phone again, then kicks it viciously under his bed, listening to the scrape of it sliding across the floor, the thump as it hits the wall. He hears it vibrate again, but this time he doesn’t care what Laken has to say.

They’ve said enough.

He understands.

Part of him expected this eventually.

He leaves the room, doesn’t bother to pull on his compression shirt, even. He lets his skin prickle bare and exposed to the air. He accepts the discomfort, the uneasy feeling of being too seen, too felt. 

The house is quiet, this early. 

He makes himself toast with butter, wincing at the scrape of the knife against the crisp bread, the sound boring into his ears. But eventually it’s done, and he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, willing himself to cry. Somehow, the tears just... don’t happen.

He can hear Jake snoring softly from the living room. He’d been up with Chris until nearly 4 am, then Chris was awake again at 6:30, looking at that text, looking over and over and over again. Two hours of sleep leave him weirdly euphoric alongside his despair. Like he’s floating in some nightmare place that isn’t awake and isn’t sleeping, either.

He’s probably slept nine hours in three days at this point. He keeps seeing Jake with a knife sticking out of him every time he closes his eyes. Jake, screaming as Antoni pushed cloth into his wound to stop up the bleeding. Jake with a bullet wound, sitting up against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes whispering, It’s okay, Tristan, I love you, it’s okay as he dies. 

He can’t sleep. He can’t leave for long. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Him being what he is, it’s the reason Jake is hurt. If he hadn’t been his brother, he wouldn’t have decided to run a house for Romantics, and he wouldn’t have ended up dealing with all the dangerous bits about them.

Jake said it himself, didn’t he? It’s a mistake, running a house for Romantics. Not his best idea. A mistake.

Chris is a mistake.

Him being weak, and cowardly... it’s hurting Jake, making his life harder.

He makes everyone’s life harder.

There’s a soft sound of footsteps behind him, and he turns to find Nova in the doorway, staring back. She’s in a sleeveless gray dress and has her long dark hair pulled back from her temples, spilling in a waterfall down her back. Her eyes are dark and fathomless, and she gives him a faint, slight smile.

She had smiled like that with one hand down his pants.

Chris turns around, too fast, his head spinning a little, and hunches over his toast. “Good... good, um, good morning,” He mumbles. 

She clears her throat. “Morning. Chris, about-... about last night...”

“Don’t, um, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t worry about it.” He takes a breath. He doesn’t want his toast any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, simply. “I spoke to Sarita about it, and... and she said this happens with us, and I should apologize, but, um. So I am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-... I thought I was helping.”

“I... know you did.” His words are slowing down. Chris can’t hold on to his thoughts, they want to drift away somewhere else, somewhere safer. Somewhere darker. 

“When I was with-... with my Miss, she would always say, if you are sad the best way to fix it is to make your body forget that feeling, replace it with something else. And that was what we replaced my sadness with. So, you were sad and upset, and I thought I could fix it that way.” She pauses, flushing a little, looking down and to the side as she moves with effortless grace to get a glass and fill it with water, take a small sip. 

“Kauri used to... to do that,” Chris says after a pause, thinking about it. Kauri, who would show up in the small hours of the morning reeking of liquor and someone else’s cologne, or just didn’t show up at all. Kauri, who would laugh instead of crying, and laugh with someone’s arms around him, a guy whose name he didn’t know. 

Kauri, who ran and ran and ran and can do things and be things that Chris can’t.

Or... won’t.

What if he’s been hurting Laken this whole time and didn’t know it, because he was already hurt himself?

His foot starts to tap tap tap on the floor until he stops it. 

“Did he? Did it-... work for him?” Nova asks it with genuine curiosity, and her eyes are so pretty. He looks up at her, and then down again, pushing the plate of toast away from himself. 

“I don’t know,” Chris whispers. “I, I don’t know. He’s happy now, but...”

“Was he happy then?”

“No. But, but, but... maybe we aren’t supposed to be. At least... not with, with anyone... who isn’t like us.”

“Jake isn’t like us,” Nova points out. Her presence in the room feels heavy, like a weight pushing down on him. But what does it matter? He’s not with Laken anymore, anyway. If he wanted to, he could stand right up and kiss Nova right now, press her back into the counter, and learn what it’s like to be the one doing things and not just having them done to him.

But his body doesn’t stir at the thought. It never has.

“He is,” Chris answers. “A, a little bit. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, too, Nova. Sorry that I-I can’t.”

“No, I know. You have a partner, and I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t have... I, I, I I don’t have a partner anymore.” Chris stands up, leaving her there with his plate of untouched toast. The sky outside is bright as the sun rises, as if mocking the way he feels like a stormcloud inside. 

Nova watches him leave, and whispers to herself, “No partner?”

Chris goes outside, pulling a sweatshirt that hangs on the coatrack on over his head to protect his skin, curling up on the porch swing and watching cars pulling out of driveways as the neighborhood starts to head to work in ones and twos. 

He doesn’t cry.

He sits very, very still, and he is silent. 

Upstairs, under the bed, his phone vibrates, again and again, unnoticed.

Just go talk to Nat, Chris. That’s all I said. Just go see Nat and get a night or three away from the house. Being there all the time is overwhelming you. Are you even looking at these? Chris you can’t just ignore me every time I say something you don’t like Chris answer me ... ... Oh shit, Chris, my phone autocorrected earlier and I didn’t notice I meant “some time at Nat’s”, not apart Chris? Are you seeing my messages? Baby? Chris, please check your phone and answer me. Please.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[mistaeq]

One scoop of Bucci gang HCs for the first time quiet reader bursts out laughing in front of them please!

Bucciarati Gang: with a Quiet s/o who Bursts out Laughing

TW // none

Thank you for your request! Bucciarati Gang, my favourite dorky compatriots <3 hope you enjoy, I had fun writing these!

Bucciarati Gang with a quiet s/o who bursts out laughing in front of them, neutral!s/o

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

GIORNO GIOVANNA

You first burst out laughing in front of Giorno when nature itself betrays him and he can't stop sneezing because of the pollen coming from a flower he had grown himself. Karma? An unlucky day? You may never know.

Having been with Giorno a lot, you learnt that plant's effect isn't dangerous, so you can look at your boyfriend getting mad over sneezes, and he's absolutely hilarious. You're sorry that this is happening to him, don't get it twisted, but seeing his chill behavior get lost for this mess is priceless.

He's not only pissed off because he keeps on sneezing, but he's also pissed off because he'd totally like to hear that unexpected laughter of yours clearly, without his sneezes covering it every now and then. He doesn't know when this chance might ever come back, and he wants to clearly hear you.

His frantic and clumsy moves while his nose keeps on betraying him cause his perfectly donut shaped hairstyle to ruin, golden locks falling on his forehead and his braid becoming a messy load of fluffy hair covering his neck.

"Y/n... will you..." sneeze. "..w-will you stop staring..." sneeze. "..it's kinda embarrassing... m-mamma mia..." sneeze. "..but no... no, don't stop laughing... p-plea.. a.." s n e e z e.

After he manages to stop sneezing, his shocked look and his red cheeks let a last giggle come from you, as you hold him tight and leave a sweet peck on his nose. You caress his hair, you find him so attractive even without his signature hairstyle, and that's worth some sneezes, isn't it.

LEONE ABBACCHIO

You first burst out laughing in front of Leone when you hear him curse in front of his mirror because his clothes won't fit him anymore. His chest was too broad.

Abbacchio chose not to use curse words in front of you, that's why when you catch him red handed, swearing and cursing at his clothes, you can't help finding him funny. As soon as he hears you laughing, he winces and turns around.

"Fuck... come on... why won't this fit..." he was pulling the irremovable fabric on his shoulder. "Maybe my chest is now too big... what the hell, come on... mamm ro Carmn... [Neapolitan dialect for: Carmine's mom. Not a cute thing to say. It's an angry neapolitan "mamma mia".]" then, he heard you laughing, and winced.

When he sees the big smile on your face when you lovingly laugh at him, he's petrified. He hates hearing this type of laughing, because it's the exact thing Mista and Narancia do all the time. But on you? You sound so happy and relieved, and Leone likes it. For real.

He just stands there, half his chest and a shoulder being naked, looking like a disheveled princess. Too funny. He huffs and ignores you, to make you think he's annoyed. But you know him too well, and know that if he's hiding his face, it's because he's actually smiling, too.

You hug him from behind, looking at your reflection in the mirror still in front of him. Abbacchio looks over his naked shoulder, right where you are, leaving a tender kiss on his skin, before giggling once again. He turns around, and kisses you, leaving his purple lipstick all over your cute mouth. He likes your laughter better, like this.

GUIDO MISTA

You first burst out laughing in front of Guido when you're practising together with cooking. And he just can't believe it, when you laugh so hard just for a pun of his. You are baking some good bread to share it with the gang.

He takes your hand and smiled. "Are you a garden, y/n?" Guido asks you, before throwing a handful of flour on you. "Because I feel like my love for you is FLOURishing!" you burst out laughing, holding onto him, spreading flour on his apron, too.

That genuine, happy laugh really warms his heart, he feels his knees get weaker and his negative thoughts fly away. He could listen to that forever. Mista is just so shocked. It takes for him a couple of seconds to realize what happened, before he finally holds you back.

Seeing you silent all day makes him kinda sad, and one of his dreams was making you laugh like that. He has been putting a lot of effort for that, but manages to do it only when he's his actual self, with a simple pun.

"My love for you is FLOURishing too, Guido..." you manage to answer, your cheeks obtaining a cute, irresistible red color, as you get on tiptoe and peck his beautiful lips. He's totally enamored, he's under your spell and can't believe you answered his pun so well.

When you get back to your work, he sometimes still hears you giggle, thinking of how bad yet cheesy that pun was. But it made you unwillingly burst out laughing, so you guess it's okay just the way it is.

FUGO PANNACOTTA

You first burst out laughing in front of Fugo when you see him getting angry over Narancia not knowing maths. Fugo promised himself and Bruno not to physically hurt Narancia again like what happened with the fork in his cheek.

This being said, the only way for Fugo to express his anger is screeching on his chair. When you hear that sound coming from your boyfriend, you can't hold back your laughter. It was so unexpected and someway unbelievably cute. Narancia is just scared.

Fugo hears the angelic bells of love in his heart, as if God himself came down from the paradise and graced his ears with your laughing voice. It immediately calms him down. But if he calms down, you stop laughing.

"Why isn't 8 ÷2 = 3? If I split an 8 in half I get a three!" after hearing Narancia mumbling those words, Fugo screeches again, and you giggle even louder. But you understand the poor boy can't keep on getting angry just to hear you laugh.

That's why you soon stop, approaching Fugo and resting your magical hands on his shoulders, giving him a massage because he's a great teacher and he's doing his best. His moans while you help him relaxing his shoulders make you shyly giggle too.

"Why does this sound sexual?" Fugo wishes he could kill Narancia. But he's too focused on your hands working on his shoulders to care, and quietly screeches as you giggle again.

NARANCIA GHIRGA

You first burst out laughing in front of Narancia when you see Fugo getting angry over him not knowing maths. Narancia is shook, kinda confused on why what he wrote isn't correct.

Fugo screeches on his chair, he promised not to hurt your boyfriend, who shows you his paper, looking at you with a questioning look, probably asking you why what he wrote is wrong. You burst out laughing as you read. Narancia is a complete mess.

As soon as he hears you, he completely forgets about maths for a second, focusing on the sound of your beautiful laughter. Narancia is baby, if the person he loves the most laughs, he doesn't care what's the reason, he laughs with you. Then, he kinda remembers why you started giggling in first place.

"For real though. Y/n, why isn't 8 ÷ 2 = 3? If I split an 8 in half I get a three!" after hearing Narancia mumbling those words, you laugh even harder, desperate Fugo witnessing your boyfriend throwing away his maths notebook and run into your arms.

You're usually so silent and he may never know when he's gonna hear you again like that. You two laugh together so much that you start panting, your faces red with big smiles and almost sweating.

"Why does this look sexual?" Narancia wishes he could kill Fugo. But he's too focused on your little giggles and your cute smile as you lean on his shoulder and kiss his cheek. He might be not so perfect in maths, but he's perfect in making you so happy.

TRISH UNA

You first burst out laughing in front of Trish after you trip on a piece of furniture and risk falling on the ground. But as soon as your body touches the ground, you feel it jiggly and soft, bouncing a little on it.

Just a moment before you thought you were gonna get a few bruises after falling on the ground, but now you're just there, happily bouncing on Spicy Lady's brand new jiggly floor and laughing out loud, staring at your girlfriend's surprised expression.

You've never laughed like that before, and Trish is pleasantly surprise to see that her stand's work has such a good effect on your mood and on you, in general. She might consider making more objects jiggly, if this is what you like. All she cares about is seeing you happy and amused.

"Tell me, y/n..." she gets closer to your figure jumping and loudly giggling, and stares at you with loving eyes. "Would you mind it, if I jumped with you too? You look like you're having fun..."

You couldn't ask for anything more. You moved a little to let Trish join you, grabbing both your hands and jumping along with you, finally laughing so you can see her beautiful smile, even though she's the one who cares about seeing yours. Your girlfriend would do anything for you... even disobey Bucciarati.

"You... you two had to clean the house while we were away... it was your turn, this morning!" the capo's jaw fell as soon as he saw the mess Spicy Lady had done. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, but what matters is that afterwards, you and her laugh together remembering Bucciarati's expression. Then, she kisses your smile in case it would take a lot for it to come back.

BRUNO BUCCIARATI

You first burst out laughing in front of Bruno when his stand disobeys him and opens a zipper through a wall to reach for your room and cuddle with you.

His shocked face and Sticky Fingers's cute, happy sounds are too hilarious for you to keep a serious expression. You're so used to see Bucciarati as the authoritarian type of person who has everything under his control, but now he doesn't and he's quite panicking.

Even more shocking for Bruno is seeing how you actually let his stand cuddle with you, a warm laughter coming from your sweet lips, he loves so much. Music for his tired capo ears.

He can't help staring at you with a loving smile. Moments like these don't happen that much, and God knows when you're gonna do that beautiful sound again. He secretly thanks Sticky Fingers for doing all of this, but since it's his soul, there's no need to say it out loud.

"Your laugh is one of the best sounds my ears ever witnessed, tesoro. I might want Sticky Fingers to disobey me more, if this is the result..." then, he'd bring a hand of yours to his lips and kiss it, kiss your smile, kiss your precious laughter.

Even if you stop laughing, Bruno enjoys your little giggles while his stand strokes your hair and purrs when you caress its head. As the user feels what the stand feels, your hand caressing Sticky Fingers caresses Bruno too, and he'll eventually giggle with you.

[ohbungeegum]

Oneshot- Derek Hale

Derek Hale x reader fluff

This is extremely fluffy, I nearly puked sorry :)

(A little bit oc like but who cares :)

You and Derek have a nice Day together.

The bright morning light shone through the huge windows in the loft, waking you up softly.

You felt light breathing on your head making you you flutter your eyes oben to see you were cuddled into Dereks naked chest as he had his arms wrapped around you securely. You were clothed in Dereks T-Shirt and a pair of underwear which Derek was wearing too, speaking of lower part of the body, your legs were completely entangled in his, your leg between his and his leg draped around yours.

You enjoyed his soft breathing on your hair making little strands blow away.

You felt your nose was icy cold due to it being winter so you nuzzled more into his chest and warmed you up more, which must have woken him up a bit.

You felt him kiss the top of your head.

,,Good Morning.“

he said with a sexy morning voice.

,,Morning.“ you tried to say but it came out as a ‚mmnng‘ as your lips were muffled with his chest.

,,You’re cold“

,,mhm“

He wrapped his arms around you tightly and rolled you so you were on top of him with him lying on his back, he spread his legs so you’d be comfortable between them, which you totally were.

He pulled the blanket more up so it covered your shoulders, nearly reaching your nose as it only covered half of his chest.

You layed there for at least half an hour with him playing with your hair until your tummy decided to be hungry and ruining the beautiful position, he chuckled:

,,hungry?“

,,no“ You said not wanting to move.

He huffed in amusement, gave you a kiss on the head and sat up with you on his lap, your head on his neck. He then wrapped your legs around his waist and stood up, his hands hold your butt so you don’t Fall, which he loved. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hung your head under his chin, still tired af.

He tried getting you to sit on the stool in the kitchen but you just held on tighter, so he gave up, making you both a sandwich while your still clinging on him like a monkey.

As soon as he was done you jumped off and swooped the plate away, he smiled and joined you on the couch watching Rick&Morty on your new flatscreen TV. The last two months were spent with you decorating the Loft to look more comfortable, Derek loved it and helped you out, even the pack went out of their way to help.

Anyway, you were sat there with a sandwich, Derek knew you were still cold so he took the fluffy blanket and wrapped you both in it.

Once you both were done Derek got some strawberries and ate them with you, then he layed down with his head on your lap, head faced upwards so he could see you grinning down at him ,,what?” He asked smiling at your dopey grin, ,,oh, just that bit of strawberry on your mouth.” You said. He tried licking it away but you couldn’t stop laughing ,,now you really look like a dog.”

He rolled his eyes and went to wipe it off with his hand but you stopped him, gripped his hand, bent down and licked away the bit of strawberry on the upper lip, you went to go back up but Derek cought you in a soft and gentle kiss, resting his now released hands on either side of your face as he caressed your cheek up to to the back of your ear.

Derek broke the kiss for air, you kissed the tip of his nose like he did with you earlier and leans back on your lap.

Derek was never really cuddly with other people around, he kinda has this badass reputation going on but never when he’s with you, he would always make sure your okay, and never leave without a kiss and a ‚i love you‘, which you absolutely adored.

There was comfortable silence of you two watching TV, enjoying each other’s company.

Derek broke the silence: ,,What do you wanna do today?“.

You turned the volume of the TV down so you could hear him better.

,,Hm, let me think about it.“

You thought while caressing Dereks hair, it was very soft, but a still a certain roughness in it.

,,What about a date?” Derek asked as he turned to look at you.

,,Ouh we haven’t had one of those in a while!“ you said excitedly.

He smiled, got up and said:,, 8 o’clock here, wear something warm and comfortable, I’ll organize the rest.” Then he walked off to who knows where.

You were happy to be spending more time with him.

You stood up and started preparing for things not knowing what to bring.

[ 9 hours later]

(In that time you went shopping with Lydia and got some dinner with her, she’s kinda your bestie to go)

You sat on the couch, grey wool jumper, black jeans and a black coat, waiting for your Prince Charming.

Finally a knock was heard from the loft door. You opened it to see Derek in also a gray hoodie and black jeans.

He smiled as he saw you ,,You manage to look perfect In anything” he said as he intertwined his hand In yours, starting to lead you down the loft. You blushed, kissed his cheek ,,well good thing we’re matching, I guess we both were going for perfect.” You said smoothly, he chuckled and led you to his beautiful camaro.

As Derek drove through the streets he intertwined his right hand with your left hand, keeping them on the gear and one hand on the wheel. The radio played a familiar tune as you slightly bounced your leg to the song.

The car ride was silent, not bad silence but peaceful silence.

You were now in a parking lot in the woods. The moonlight shone perfectly around the trees and leaves.

Derek got out of the car and went to open your door before you could. He smirked while you rolled your eyes and laughed ,,always the gentleman.“

,,always“ he replied with a smile while taking your hand once again in his, leading you to the trunk of the car.

,,Is this the scene where the loving maniacal boyfriend kills the girlfriend in cold blood and drags her body in a hole he digged? That would explain why you were preparing for so long.” You gasped loudly for dramatic flaire.

,,The boyfriend might, if he’s tempted enough by his equally loving maniacal girlfriend.“ he sassed back, quirking an eyebrow, tilting his head and looking deep into your eyes. It was a look he often did, kind of his trademark look.

You both chuckled as he resumed taking the stuff out of the trunk.

You couldn’t really guess what you both were going to do because he his the stuff in two black duffel bags, you took one duffel bag and he took the other, he didn’t bother to argue because he knew you would rather stubbornly take the bag than give both to him since he’s more than capable of taking them.

After a little walk in the woods he led you to a clearing right by a lake.

It was beautiful, there was plenty of room to sit on, the Moon reflecting elegantly against the water.

While you were gushing about the prettiness of this place you didn’t seem to notice your boyfriend building up a little tent, there even was a picnic blanket on the floor, a basket and some lights around it.

When Derek was finished building up the tent you walked up to him and threw yourself on him in a big hug throwing him in the blanket with you, he laughed and kissed your cheek.

,,This is the best Derek! Like WOW! I love you so much.” You said while peppering kisses all over his face.

,,Aw I love you so much too, you big softie.” He said with a big smirk.

,,oh shut up I was trying to be nice so fuck off, you did great.” You said getting off and sitting next to him. He laughed ,,There she is.“ .

He brought out the basket and got some bread sticks out, some wine and some fruit. We started talking and eating throughout the night.

He suddenly stood up and held his hand out. You reluctantly took it as you didn’t know what his devious mind was up to.

,,Take your clothes off”

You raised your eyebrows, not understanding what he was up to. He got out a pair of swimming trunks for him and put them on. Normally you’d be uncomfortable undressing in front of a boyfriend because you were insecure, honestly though, who isn’t? Derek knew that and always reassured you that you were the most beautiful woman on earth, that’s why Derek isn’t just any boyfriend, you felt very comfortable in your own skin around him.

,,So you knew we would go swimming but decided against packing my swimsuit?” You asked, eyebrows still raised.

,,Well I thought it would be nicer in underwear?” He said smirking.

,,For whom?”

He chuckled and walked over to you, kissing you.

He pulled your sweater up while you kissed and undid your jeans. You pulled back, stepping out of your jeans.

He led you to the water, picked you up and threw you into the icy cold water.

You gasped as you resurfaced, seeing Derek laughing as you were flailing your arms around. You tried pulling him in but it didn’t work, you splashed him a couple of times. This continued a few times, you trying to get out but that resulted in you being tossed into the water again, again and again. Soon You began to shiver, so he went in the water and held you close. You rested your head on his neck as he did the same, playing with you hair.

You sat there for a bit before you started to shiver again. He held you tight and walked out of the water with you still on him. He layed out two towels as sat you both on them. He even brought a heater!? There was a power supply in the ground, bc this place was made for camping, it was shut down but the power weirdly still works, I suspect Derek bought the property. He said he used to come here for peace and quiet, when he needed to get away. We layed on the towels and wrapped in lots of blankets, stargazing, talking, joking and remeniscing o about the past.

,,You know I love you?“ he said suddenly getting serious and staring into my eyes as he held both my hands.

,,Of course! I love you too.” You smiled and stared back into his eyes.

,,No, you don’t know how much I love you.

Every day I wake up in the morning and see your beautiful face. Every time I see you I just want to hold you and never let go. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you so I try to be with you every day. I want to protect you forever, I never want to imagine letting go of you, never!

So I’m asking you this [Y/N] [L/N], will you marry me?”

He asked as he pulled out a little box, a beautiful ring with a diamond and the Hale Triskelion on It. To say it was gorgeous was an understatement.

You had tears in your eyes. Frantically nodding and breathing out multiple ,Yes’s before you kissed him passionately.

He was had the biggest smile while you kissed, his hands on you waist as you were now between his legs.

The night went on about you both talking about the future, making plans and what not. Derek wanted kids, a lot he said, you didn’t expect that since you never really saw him as a kids person but you can definitely see why, his own little pack.

You wanted to get married with all your closest friends, even Peter should be there.

You wanted to spend the rest of your life with this man. YOUR man.

When you both realized the excitement and the thought of being husband and wife settled in you could feel the temperature of you shared blanket space increase.

You decided to go to the tent since thing were getting a little steamy.

Oh what a wonderful night.

A/N: If you want me to make a continuation of it just tell me :)

2,113 words

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 10)

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(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296 , @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7)

Warnings: adorable jerks.

As the sun finally came up (for what it felt like an eternity, a night with seven nights inside of it), you rubbed your eyes and greeted your teammates, who somehow were both already up and having breakfast.

“I was wondering when would you join us”, said Loki, covering his mouth with the manners of a Prince while eating a piece of something. “Barnes made dessert for breakfast”, pointed out more amazed than reproachful.

“Desert?”, you laughed. “A cake?”.

“Yes”, said Loki, very sure of himself, and Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled, correcting him.

“It’s a pancake, Loki. It’s a normal breakfast in Midgard”.

“Actually, probably just in this country”, you added. “What do you normally have in Asgard?”. As you chattered, you started getting ready and fixing your hair, stealing a piece of pancake from Bucky’s plate. “Wow, I didn’t know you could cook. It’s actually great”, you said, tasting a mouthful.

“Well, as in Midgard’s nordic areas, back home it’s often fruit and bread, or porridge with dried fruits” he recalled distracted, and immediately interrupted himself with “are we not supposed to alert the rest of this?”.

“About Buck knowing how to cook? Yeah, I’m impressed, we should tell everyone”.

“I guess we should’ve told them yesterday, instead of going to sleep”, said Bucky, ignoring you. “Only God knows where that supersoldier is now”.

“I don’t, actually”.

“I didn’t mean... nevermind”, he sighed. “I'm calling Stark and let’s hope we don’t get too yelled at”.

You recalled yesterday’s events. You had so many dreams, you could barely remember being awake at all. First, the bearded man’s nightmare. Then, something about… the compound? Then, you remembered distinctly, Loki speaking Old Norse begging Thor about something. You remembered the phonetic of the words, but they were all gibberish now. Then, a last dream, something about buying rotten apples and being forced to eat them by Thanos. Your imagination surely was active on the nights.

Loki seemed paler than usual as he stared at you, without even blinking.

“What?”, you snapped him out of your head.

“You dreamt with me?”, he muttered, getting up and cleaning his plate with a snap.

"I also dreamt with Thanos".

“Don’t get too attached, I’ll be back to Asgard soon”, he promised, or alerted. Intentions unclear.

“I’m not attached”, you protested. You thought he’d smirk or be the smug idiot he usually was. He didn’t. Instead, he looked unsettled; disturbed even. “I didn’t dream with you on purpose, it was probably because of yesterday’s thing”.

“What thing?”, peeped in Bucky. “Oh no, did you two fuck?”.

“I didn’t let them die, big deal. I was just saving myself the amount of annoyance it would be to have Stank on my neck all week long if your blood was sort of in my hands”.

“Sounds like a lot of deflecting emotions to me, buddy”, said Bucky, and you chuckled.

“He’s just embarrassed he saw himself cry in one of my dreams from last night”, you mocked. He got up and you didn’t get to see his face, but presumed it would hold something near a death threat.

“You two have an intense bonding experience and decide to concentrate on it with more insults? You know, this is why you’re single”, added Bucky.

“It wasn’t a bonding experience”, you said, cutting-glass sharpness in your gaze.

“I’m not single”, corrected Loki at the same time, with an equally whetted voice.

Both Bucky and you looked at him with plate-wide eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Neither of you asked, but surely shared a fair amount of desire to gossip about it. Oh, how much you wished to be able to tell Bucky about Loki re-reading Hamlet to reminisce about his beloved. But there was a line you wouldn’t cross in there; you knew where to stop.

“Mr. Stark”, you called through the earbud, “you there, sir?”.

“Painfully”, he answered. You connected the earbud to your phone and held it on speaker, so the rest of the team could join. “Tell me more about what I’m gonna yell at you three about”.

As you walked him through (almost) every event in the past twenty four hours, you could feel how his hands traveled all the way up to his face, and had to hold in a few sighs of disgust and utter hate towards… Well, you weren’t sure towards what, exactly.

“Are we grounded, dad?”, spat Loki with sarcasm.

“Listen, Rock Of Ages, if I could, I’d have you in a prison cell still to this day. Don’t push any buttons”.

“Come on, it’s been, what, nine years since he last fucked up something in here?” you defended him, not quite sure why. Loki grew nervous as Tony laughed obnoxiously at him.

“Sure. He didn’t keep fucking things up in here after that”.

“I can assure you I didn’t. How Odin manages his deals with Midgard does not concern me”, explained Loki, and you frowned at the mention of that name. Of course, Loki Odinson. That was where that name resonated from. Besides the Mythology. Though you weren't sure until where those stories were true or not; in there, Loki wasn't even Thor's brother.

“Going back to your current screw up, what happened to the civilians you frightened in the process? I imagine they didn’t realize about the new supersoldiers”.

“They should be extremely blind or idiotic to not have noticed, since the soldier jumped out of nine floors and survived”, answered Loki, looked at you up and down, and kept going “so, no. They have probably slept on it”.

“Wait, what?”.

“What?”.

“Nine floors? Pretty sure Capsicle and Barnes wouldn’t survive that either”.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”, you asked, concerned.

“I’m afraid so. Loki and Bucks won’t cut it, especially when we don’t know the number of new super-supersoldiers out there. And you’re coming back to the compound, directing the mission from the distance”.

“Are you kidding? I’m fine here. I’m all levels of mean, you said it yourself”.

“You’re too young and inexperienced in combat for these kinds of things, and they have special genetic advantages in their bodies, you know, the serum”, explained Tony as you rolled your eyes. But you understood exactly what he meant, and in fact, you agreed. “Do you understand?”.

“Yes; supersoldiers and Gods only”.

“Good kid. Now, Teleporting Popsicle, would you mind taking there with you the rest?”.

With an overly dramatic sigh, Loki vanished behind a party of green lights and reappeared in a matter of seconds in the same spot, holding carelessly Thor and Steve’s arms. Thor, for obvious reasons, was unfazed by the trip. Rogers, on the other hand, seemed about to throw up. There wasn’t anything balance would help with when your cells are reconfigurated inside and out in a fraction of a second. How the hell did he do all of that? You knew it was magic, but it still wouldn’t stop you from being absolutely astonished by it.

Loki arranged his hair behind his ears and locked eyes with you, followed by his typical smugly smile and a “thank you”, as if you were praising him in your thoughts. Oh, wait.

“I didn’t say anything”, you retorted, hoping to maintain at least a drop of pride left.

“You thought I was impressive”. You were going to correct him but realized that absolutely astonished was even worse.

“And since when do you offer gratitude?”.

“In case you wonder, yes, they’ve been like this the whole mission. You’ll get used to it”, said Bucky to Steve and Thor.

They started arranging their things and got updated as thoroughly as they could. Meanwhile, you stood exactly where you were the following ten minutes, absorbed in your own thoughts. Once you snapped out of them, Loki was still staring at you, standing in the same place too.

“What?”.

“I hate to break it to you, but…”.

“What?”.

“I’m your best option”.

“You’re my what?”.

“Your best option”.

“You’re not giving much context”.

“You’re going back to the compound. I figured you’d think about the mission or something about it for the past ten minutes you were zoned out, but apparently you only have room to think about how terrified you’re of that quinjet”.

Your palms got sweaty and a shiver ran through your spine by the only thought of remembering how heights felt under your feet, and how a simple machine wouldn’t stop you from landing on water and drowning, or crushing against a building and being burned to the bones until all you become is dust and…

“Hello? You’re spiraling again”, he snapped you back. “It’ll be just a blink. You won’t even notice”.

“Uh-uh. No, I’m not doing that. I’m waiting for whatever Tony sends to come and get me”.

“You’ll feel terrible”, he said, and he was right. For a moment, you considered accepting his offer. “And I’m the best”. His humble offer.

“I’m sure you are, but it’s not my best option”.

He sighed.

“Will you allow me to teleport you or not?”.

“Heavens, no”.

“Alright, you little stubborn human mortal”.

“Long nickname, you better come up with a shorter one”.

“Like what?”.

“I don’t know, something that bothers you. I’m not the one supposed to make your insults towards me”.

“Let me think”, he said, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the still unwashed plate of Bucky’s breakfast. “Pancake”.

“Not... that’s not an insult”.

“Why? They’re too sugary. They rot your teeth”.

“Yeah, but it’s not derogatory”.

“Fucking pancake”.

“It doesn’t cut it”.

“But what’s wrong with my pancake?”.

“It’s actually a pet name. You know, like the ones we said when we were in...”, but apparently that was all a distraction (of course, he was the God of Lies, after all), and when you were already thinking about how to explain to him why he shouldn’t call you pancake, he stood in front of you and held you by both sides of the arms, surrounding you almost completely, holding you still.

And just as he said, a blink later you were in the compound, perfectly fine. Peter and Tony greeted you as he pulled out and you stood there in shock. So, you really just needed some stabilization to not die in the intricate process of teleportation. Just before stepping away from you, he leaned over your shoulder and his whisper made your ear ticklish, saying “you’re welcome” with a grin. You didn’t look at him.

You started to gather all your stuff; papers, maps, laptops, and getting ready for the planning of the following steps of the mission as fast as you could, until you realized Loki was still there, and Tony and Peter were waiting for you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Aren’t you going?”, you asked Loki.

“No, I’m staying, apparently”.

“Why?”.

“That’s what Stark was thinking, I don’t know”.

“Hey, Elsa, don’t read my mind, would you?”, snapped Tony. He was about to explain himself, but you kept talking to Loki, cutting his words.

“What’s wrong with you that you read everyone’s thoughts all the time? You know how unethical that is? It’s invasive”.

“You say that because you think slow”.

“Untrue, I’m actually a very fast thinker”.

“How would you know? You’ve never read anyone’s minds so, how could you possibly…?”.

You stopped dead on your tracks, and didn’t listen to what he was saying. That phrase. That exact phrase you dreamt with. The darkness. It was the exact same voice of the darkness, you remembered. It wasn’t darkness, it was his voice. Were you just imagining things? Too suggestionated? Definitely. How could you dream with something you’ve never heard before?

“Sorry to interrupt, you two seem to be having a long, unnecessary and avoidant conversation that could be resumed in three tiny words, as you did all mission long” interfered Tony, sick of listening to you two. Loki was observing you as heedful as he could; your thoughts had caught his attention. You couldn’t read his face. “So, I’m gonna cut it shortly”.

“What?”, you went back to reality. You needed to actively ignore Loki’s gaze on you to actually pay any mind to Tony’s words.

“The rest of the team has another mission, and both Peter and you are technically still kids…” and as soon as you opened your mouth to argue, he shut it “no, don’t interrupt me. You know I’m right. So, I can’t leave you two alone for the entire week”.

“Oh”, you understood. Peter’s innocent eyes shone at the idea. Yours, not so much. “So, Loki is our babysitter”.

“Yes”, said Loki, while Tony answered “No” at the same time.

"What about Happy?", asked Peter.

“I think we can manage perfectly on our own. Besides, what makes you think he’s more responsible than me?”.

“He’s an adult”.

“He’s seventeen in human years, and fucked a horse”.

“Wow, someone has been stalking my mythology”.

“If you two quarrel too much, Peter will tell me and I’ll be back with Clint Barton in charge of you three. So you better behave. Alright, I’m leaving”.

“Wait! What are the rules?”, asked Peter. You grabbed your face and Loki muttered what a damn nerd.

“Eh, don’t burn down the compound, I don’t know, kid”, said Tony getting inside his bright red suit.

“The bar is on the floor. Let’s play macarena”, you whispered.

[whump-town]

You Dance With Tears In Your Eyes

Summary: a college AU set up in the late 80s/early 90s with football star and quarterback Derek Morgan and his secret boyfriend Hotch-- it's not a happy story but I don't think I really have to warn you guys about that anymore

Also, a little based on a story my grandmother told me about my great uncle and his partner. Never met my great uncle but everyone says I'm a lot like him, I think they just mean gay but don't know how to say it

Warnings: homophobia, violence, racism *I mean it when I say homophobia*

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Aaron Hotchner

@yourlocalheartbreaker

The title is from Frank Ocean's song Self Control

Now and then you miss it, sounds make you cry Some nights you dance with tears in your eyes I came to visit, 'cause you see me like a UFO That's like never, 'cause I made you use your self-control And you made me lose my self-control, my self-control

---------------------

Living shouldn’t be reduced down to what it is, the bare bones of things that don’t even make Derek Morgan who he is. He lives by them anyways, stupid rules. Social norms, Aaron always clarifies because even when those silly rules drown them Aaron needs to be concise. Social norms dictate every inch of life and for once Derek wishes he were the type of person who could be given that inch and take a mile. They’re the reason he can’t hold his boyfriend’s hand in public. Why he can’t kiss Aaron on New Years’ and why he is reduced down to loving his roommate. Why, at this rate, he’ll never marry or adopt children, or why he could lose any career he goes into because some nosy asshole finds out his partner isn’t a woman. And, yes, he knows there are anti-discriminatory laws but he’s a black gay man. The world is stacked against him.

It makes him so angry. He’s blinded by the irrational of it all, why nothing can just be simple for them. Aaron tries to comfort him but Derek’s anger scares him, he doesn’t understand it. Aaron has long lost the ability to decipher the complexity of human emotions. Still flinches at loud noises like he’s expecting each bump to be accompanied by the pain that laced his childhood and has to ask, around every turn, if Derek’s angry with him. He can’t tell. Everything looks like anger. With Derek, it frequently is. They cope in very different ways, Aaron chooses nothing. Shutting down all his emotions until he cracks and that’s worse. It’s worse than Derek’s anger. That doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t hate the way he quakes with fury. If not because it feels childish to be blinded by emotions then because it scares Aaron.

There are a million other things, at twenty there always is. It’s his philosophy class with all this bullshit reading he doesn’t understand. He has to ask Aaron for help and Aaron has to ask him for help with things too but it makes Derek feel stupid. It’s philosophy, it can’t be that hard. That’s the same way Aaron feels about calculus. There’s maintaining rent and going grocery shopping and football (games, practice, gym, and training).

College had been a learning curve. Getting up at four in the morning to go to the gym for football had been the hardest thing in the world without his mother flicking his bedroom lights on and off or Desiréecoming in to smack him in the face with a pillow. There’s no one in the entire world in charge of getting him out of his bed other than him and, in his freshman year, while he had thought sleeping on that impossibly hard mattress would leave much to be desired, and it did, he found himself glued to his every morning. Not wanting to leave the safety of its flimsy comfort.

Sharing an apartment worked wonders, having a workaholic boyfriend was really the best trick. An unexpected answer to his problems but, also, a very cute one. He managed to add one person to the list of people that cared about where he was, that made sure he got up in time to make it to the gym and practice, and asked if he had a bad day or rub at his sore muscles.

Derek rolls over in bed, not as surprised as he should be to find the other half empty. “Aaron?” He still searches, runs his hand over the sheets as if he doesn’t know that if Aaron were in the bed he’d be right there. Hogging the bed and the blankets, pressed up against Derek’s back snoring like there’s no tomorrow. “Aaron?” Derek sits up and squints, grimaces at the light trailing in from the open door.

Aaron’s hunched over the beginnings of an essay, pen ink smeared across his left palm and steadily chugging along. He can write a full essay in the span of a night, five hours for about 3,000 words but if it’s a short synopsis sort of thing then about an hour. Despite this astonishing gift, Aaron still makes himself write all his essays weeks in advance and spends days upon days proofreading and combing through them for the tiniest mistakes. He’s a straight-A student so he’s doing something right but Derek gets mostly As too with far less hastily. Aaron is just extra.

Derek steps up to the desk, doesn’t make a sound as he leans up against the side of the chair. He wraps an around Aaron’s shoulders, leans down to kiss his head. “It’s two,” Derek informs him, “come to bed. Please?” Derek’s exhausted. He feels the regret of being pulled from his warm bed. Each second feels like twenty minutes, the world sluggish and too cold. He leans closer to Aaron, wrapping himself around him. “You always smell so good,” Derek whispers. He presses his face into Aaron’s hair, catching the mix of scents.

“Bakery,” Aaron grunts. His answer as simple and concise as he always is but even more so now that he’s tired. Aaron had worked an on-campus job for the entirety of their freshman year but after he got a scholarship that would roll over each year after that (so long as he kept a certain GPA) he started at a bakery down the street from their apartment. Derek had always liked the way Aaron smelled, gently masculine in a way only Aaron could ever be, and it had mixed with the scents of softly, perfectly made baked goods he works around all day. Cookies and cakes. He’s picked up a few tricks, Aaron can make moist cakes and perfectly round cookies but his bread… It’s the best food Derek has ever eaten.

The first time Aaron made bread Derek got down on one knee and confessed “Aaron Hotchner if I could marry you I’d take you to the damn chapel right now”. To which he was lovingly pushed and told to “shut up” but fresh-baked bread (even if Aaron had taken a single bite and concluded he hadn’t ratioed the sugar right) is heavenly. He’s gotten much better since and it’s really hot when he’s standing there in one of his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up taking his stress out on the dough.

And he can’t tell anyone. Can’t boast about his hot ass boyfriend or the bread he makes from scratch.

Derek crouches down by the chair, knows he’s winning when Aaron breaks from his work just enough to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can’t this wait just a little bit?” he asks. “I want to sleep with my boyfriend and he’s out here writing an essay that isn’t due tomorrow and likely isn’t due for the next month.” Derek reaches up, strokes a strand of hair back behind Aaron’s ear. His fingers graze an open wound and Aaron flinches away, the pain unexpected.

The bare bones of Aaron Hotchner are the along the same in principle to Dereks-- all things that he cannot change. Even as he stands as tall as Derek, their bodies are not the same. Derek is lean from years of football, his arms stretch his shirts. He looks like an athlete, has the benefit of the doubt whenever he’s around men. His teammates walk naked in front of him, no one for even a second thinks anything of it. No one suspects him of the atrocities he commits within his apartment.

Aaron doesn’t have any of that. His hair is a little too long, hangs down in his face when he’s studying or reading. Nothing about him is hulk-ish, he’s delicate with his movements and while it had been something that Derek was immediately drawn to it also draws other’s attention. Bad attention.

The same boys that play around with Derek, snapping towels at him while he walks, terrorize Aaron.

Derek wishes there was something he could do because if this were anyone else- if Aaron were a girl- he could. It wouldn’t be dangerous, not the sort of thing that would cost him his football scholarship or get him stabbed and left to bleed out in an alley or beat within an inch of his life. He would have to out himself to protect Aaron, to stand in front of his teammates that coach keeps calling his family and tell them to keep their fucking hands off his boyfriend. No. No, because something like that would be death. It would be worse than what’s already happening. And Aaron won’t allow it.

All Derek can do now is await the next attack, leave Aaron someplace to come home to. Give him a place to be, without burden, without hesitation. It’s not enough. They’ll kill him. Derek knows they will and it’ll be fun for them, only a matter of time.

“Come to bed with me,” Derek asks one more time. He doesn’t want to sound entirely needy but he really doesn’t want to go to bed without Aaron. The bed is lonely.

With a sigh, Aaron nods and Derek stands up, moves out of the way so Aaron can throw pens in his textbooks to mark his place. He steps away, from the desks, yawning as he makes lazy lurches forward towards their bedroom. “Turn the damn--” Derek rolls his eyes and reaches over and turns off Aaron’s desk lamp.

He passes Aaron in the doorway, places his hand on his hip, and reminds him of their objective. “Bed,” he mumbles and Aaron nods, jerking back to life as he steps further into the bedroom.

Derek lays down on the bed, crawls over to his side, and gets comfortable while he watches Aaron lazily strip down to his underwear. He gets caught in his head again for a moment, standing there just blankly staring at the dresser. Trying to figure out if he should put on pajamas or not. Derek calls his name and opens his arms. “Come here, “ he says and Aaron smiles. Sheepishly he comes, blushing as he crawls into the bed and where Derek instructs him. Humming, pleased, when Derek brings the blankets up over them. His eyes are already closed, head tucked under Derek’s chin when Derek wraps his arms around him. Pulls him close, tight.

He’d read in a book about deep pressure, its effect on the parasympathetic nervous system. He’d studied Development Psychology for some time, thought about all the ways in which it checked every box of his interests. He thinks he might want to be a teacher. That’s where he learned about the importance of the bond between guardian and child. Where he learned a hug sometimes really is a fantastic answer to the most startling problems.

It’s also the fastest way to get Aaron to sleep.

“Tighter,” Aaron whispers. He can’t quite feel Derek’s bones pushing into him, the hammer of his heart still too strong. He groans, choking up a laugh when Derek does just that. Holds him tight, makes him ache with the proximity, his inability to move.

Derek doesn’t mind, he’s got an armful of bakery boy. Couldn’t be more content with anything else.

0000000000000000

All things considered, Derek didn’t actually face that much scrutiny when he told his mother about the stupid twisting and turning feeling in his stomach when Martel Harris put his hand on Derek’s back. Leaned in too close and Derek could smell the cologne he wore and feel his proximity like lightning across his skin. He’d thought it was just nerves but at the end of a football match Martel lifted him up, threw him up in the air, and God that had felt better than flying. Lit him up inside like he was something, someone.

Desiréecried and Sarah wouldn’t speak to him for a week, opposite reactions because of the same fear. Their mother always said the two of them were two halves of the same coin-- too alike to get along and too different to ever get away. They came around, their mother’s gentle hand always the voice of reason. Three stubborn as all hell kids, too much like their father. That’s what she tells the three of them, tears swelling in her eyes as she proclaims that none of it matters. Orders Desiréeto stop crying tells Sarah to get over herself. She loved and married a black man despite the death threats that followed them everywhere they went. Despite the people that called it blasphemous. Called it sin. As if love could be such a thing.

Her mother told her not to come home, not to call. She wouldn’t do that to her son, she knows it won’t change a thing. There’s something about love that makes you blind to the small pains. She never looked back twice, never reached out to her parents. She chose love and Derek will too.

But that doesn’t mean the fear goes away.

It doesn’t actually change a damn thing.

Standing in the tiny bathroom attached to Derek’s friend’s bedroom Aaron leans over the sink, letting Derek rub

shampoo through his beer-drenched hair. “I just don’t understand why they have it out for you,” Derek mumbles, his voice has deepened, his frustration laced confusion evident. They’re in a rather suggestive position, Derek’s body keeping Aaron bent over the sink-- ass to groin. Aaron shoots him a look out of the corner, a pretty clear “look at us right now and take a guess at why”. Derek ignores the look, he’s rather good at ignoring Aaron’s sharp looks. He shakes his head, grumbling some more to himself and gently working the shampoo out of Aaron’s hair. He leans closer, Aaron groaning as the sink bites into his stomach, and smells his hair. Derek groans, unsatisfied with what he finds. “Smells like strawberries with a slight undertone of beer.”

Sounds about as close to a win as they’re getting. “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” Aaron mumbles, grateful when Derek sits back up. While Aaron’s come to terms with the particular hand he’s drawn in the terms of college social lives Derek isn’t as quick to accept. He feels hopeless, a feeling he thought he’d escaped upon leaving Chicago and everything Carl Buford. Aaron can’t stand to see that look, the one he’s grown so used to seeing after events like this.

He pulls a towel down off the rack, starts trying to dry his hair. This isn’t the reason he keeps his hair short but it’s certainly a helpful addition to keep in mind. “Don’t overthink it, it’s not your fault.” Aaron could go blue in the face trying to keep Derek from coming up with a mile-long list of all the reasons why that’s simply not true. The truth is, it’s really not Derek’s fault. No one even knows about them. Their relationship isn’t the reason why Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is poured his cup of cheap, smells like piss, beer over Aaron’s head.

Not that what happened downstairs can just be so beautifully summed up as just that. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is had grabbed Aaron as he was walking in, doing as Derek instructed by coming in the screened-in door at the side of the house. “Who’s dick did you come to suck?” and Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is cupped Aaron’s cheek. Dug his thumb into the wound he created and smiled, grinned happily at the sight of Aaron trying so hard to getaway. Hunter’s grip relaxed and as soon as it did Aaron was blinking the beer out of his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me,” Hunter shoved him, hard. “Faggot.” Aaron hit his hip on the counter but said nothing, he’ll leave the bruise for Derek to find another night.

“I should say something to that pig,” Derek’s distracting himself with putting everything back in the bathroom the way it was before they came in. Straightening out the rug and fixing the other towels. “Let me catch him trying something--”

Aaron can’t take it, all of Derek’s pointless anger, his stupid guilt. He’s just had beer poured down his back. He can’t even accept Derek’s sweatshirt to replace his smelly shirt, can’t walk out of here wearing his boyfriend’s sweatshirt without getting shanked. The beer smells awful but he’s fairly certain getting stabbed is a whole lot worse. Derek doesn’t have to deal with that. No one messes with him because no one thinks to. “It’s because of how I look!” He’s shaking, bangs hanging down in his face still damp but no longer dripping water down his face. “You? You look normal. You get to walk around with all your football buddies, no one bats an eye at the quarterback, Derek. At least you like women too!” He points to himself, digs his finger into his own chest. “Me? I look the part. I can’t even pretend. Everyone knew, the whole world knew before I did!”

Derek just stands there, caught in the headlights trying to figure out what to say.

He wipes his eyes, jerks away from the hand Derek tries to put on his arm. “No. No!” he can’t do touch right now. Not like this, not when his body won’t hold still and his knees keep trying to buckle. It happens, this panicked cornered feeling, and usually Derek would hold him down. They’d sit on the floor and Derek would hold his arms down to his chest and they’d just sit like that until Aaron can breathe again. Bones against bones until Aaron feels the fractures of his humanity coming back together but for now, right now? He can’t do it. He can’t be touched.

“I want to go home,” he manages, lower lip quivering despite how much he wants to hold it together. “Please take me home.”

Derek just stares at him, stands there, and watches Aaron cross his arms over his chest and curl in, trying to squeeze the panic out himself. “Okay,” he caves. “Go on, I’ll follow you down.” It’s degrading, humiliating the fact that they can’t even leave this room together. Aaron’s upset and Derek can’t do anything about that right now. It’s not safe until they’re home.

It’s never safe.

With his hair dripping into his face Aaron stumbles in the dark. His shirt is soaking wet, stuck to his skin, and freezing him as tramples down a thin stretch of grass between houses. He wishes he had Derek’s sweatshirt. Something warm. At least something to cover his arms. It had been a stupid idea coming here right after getting off work. The bakery is so impossibly hot and after getting off his shift all he wanted was to be with Derek. To sit in whatever little room Derek could guarantee was safe and drink whatever cheap crap Derek brings him from downstairs. Just sit and listen to the music filtering in from downstairs.

“Hotchner!”

He freezes-- a deadly mistake.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He knows what happened to Derek. In the hush of the night, laying facing each other in the dark, Derek had told him. Each word a puff of hot air against Aaron’s face, hitting the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. It was supposed to be even, Derek’s intention was to express alikeness. He’d seen the scars, no matter careful Aaron was about the light when he thought things were headed in the direction of nakedness, Derek saw them. He hadn’t said anything that time, run his thumb over the one on Aaron’s chest but kept up his ministrations. Acted as if he didn’t until that moment in bed.

Aaron still hasn’t found the courage to be honest about his own childhood.

Derek comes around the back, half-expecting tonight to go like it always does. Except Aaron hasn’t had any alcohol and he doesn’t come stumbling around the porch to greet Derek from the darkness. There are no stolen kisses or hushed laughter. No Aaron. Derek has half a mind to shout out for him, he couldn’t have gone off far, but then he sees him. Derek sees them. The moonlight shining down casting this awful hue between the houses. He sees Hunter draw his foot back and he can’t hold it back. Won’t let this go on. “Hunter!”

The second that Hunter’s attention is away from him, Aaron slumps to the ground. His blood smeared against the house. He’s still breathing, awful ragged breathes that shoot blood off his lips. He sees Derek in the moonlight, rushing past him. Aaron wishes he wasn’t a coward. Between each blood speckled breathe, he wishes that he wasn’t a coward and had just told Derek. That way he would understand Aaron can take it. He spent his childhood taking beatings for just being alive. At least now it was something coherent. Being beaten for being gay requires at least knowing something about him. His father couldn’t even bother with that.

But Derek doesn’t understand.

Aaron never told him.

He’s pulled down, out of orbit, and back to Earth when Derek squats down beside him, cradles his head in his hands. “Aaron?” he calls out, but Aaron can’t force his eyes to move from the dirt. “Can I--” Derek doesn’t know where to put his hands. If he can put his hands anywhere. “I’m going to-- to lift you, okay?” It’s not a matter of if he’s strong enough. He benches more than his own body weight and that’s significantly more than Aaron’s. He’s just not sure if Aaron’s going to fight him and if Aaron fighting him is good or bad.

“Lean forward,” Derek whispers, cupping the back of Aaron’s head and directing it into his shoulder. He turns, manipulates both their bodies and winces each time, no matter how gentle and calculated his movements are, Aaron still cries out. He still hurts him. “I’m sorry,” becomes his mantra. The only words he can manage out around the tears, the only thing he can get past the thickness in his throat.

Sorry he didn’t stop this sooner.

Sorry that he keeps hurting Aaron.

Sorry they couldn’t be other people. In other places. In another time.

Sorry that it’s all for nothing, that there’s no way this ends well for either of them. They’re going to end up dead or alone but certainly separate.

The second Derek has him in his arms Aaron grips his shirt tightly in one blood-stained hand. He rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth. “Home?” he asks, voice breaking.

“We’re going home.”

Aaron wakes up alone in bed.

He’s completely naked, laying with three blankets pulled up over him. One that he recognizes is from the living room. There’s one of Derek’s homemade sock heating pads digging into his sore ribs where he rolled over onto it, he can feel more of them underneath him. He’s been laying here for a while. None of the socks are warm anymore. He’s on Derek’s side of the bed, facing his nightstand, and watches Derek’s blurry alarm clock change time. 1:36 passing to 1:37 to 1:38 just waiting for the fuzzy fingers in his brain to ease up. To allow him to think.

It’s Saturday.

Derek’s off at a football game, not due back for hours. Not until tonight, long after Aaron’s gone to bed.

For an overwhelming moment, his eyes fill with tears, desperation, and solitude creating an awful twist in his stomach. He doesn’t want to be alone. Protectively he draws his knees up, tries to knot himself up, and create a mangled ball. His heart picks up, anxiety increasing as he lays there. He wants Derek. He doesn’t want to be alone.

On the phone’s first rings he curls in tighter, overwhelmed by his own crying that he presses his face into Derek’s pillow and ignores it. He’ll let the machine catch it-- that’s the whole reason Derek bought it. With a sharp end, muffled by the blanket he pulls up over his head, a voice comes through. The machine catching the voice mail.

“Aaron, sweetheart? This is Fran, Derek’s mom? I’m sorry to keep calling sweetie but Derek’s awake now. He’s worried, says you should have woken up by now. I can send Sarah to come get you, Derek told me what happened last night. Please call me back? I hope you’re okay.”

He lays in confused silence, trying to process why Derek’s mother would call him. She calls all the time and occasionally he answers to tell her she’s just missed Derek-- he’s off with friends, at the gym, or at class. They know of one another Derek talks about him to Fran as much as Derek talks about Fran to him. But Fran call him? That’s never happened.

Then he catches it-- “Derek’s awake now”-- and he sits up. Pushed from his mind is the pain, his ribs scream and the blood he can see he’s left on Derek’s pillow. Derek’s awake now. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is is on the football team. An offensive lineman. A guy whose entire job is to protect Derek but now he knows, he has to know.

Derek’s awake now.

He throws himself out of bed, clipping his already sore hip on the nightstand and staggering for the phone. Tears spilling over his face. What happened while he was sleeping? What did Hunter do?

Fran picks up on the first ring. “Aaron, is that you sweetheart?”

He sniffles, rubbing at his nose with his finger. “Yes, ma’am.” He knows she can hear him crying, his choked sobs as he falls in the direction of the closes chair.

“You had me worried sick,” she says and he can hear that unmistakable fondness in her chastising tone. That must be where Derek gets it from. It makes him smile, even if it’s weak. “How are you feeling, baby? Derek told me what happened. I’m sorry. If I see that boy I’ll wring his neck. Give him a piece of my mind for bothering my boys.”

He just nods, despite the fact that she can’t see that. He knows he should answer her question but he has no idea what he feels. Nothing. He feels nothing as he sits here holding his breath as he waits to ask about Derek. To know what happened because of him. “Is Derek okay? What happened?”

Hunter told a few other team members what he saw. Most brushed him off, Hunters a douchebag, and they like Derek. Others just hate Aaron enough for it to matter to them, enough to what to do something. Or, rather, not do anything. It only took one tackle, a limb bent the wrong way under the weight of three boys.

It was Derek’s knee. A career-ending injury.

A scholarship losing injury.

“Can I--” Aaron chokes. He’s afraid of what happens if Fran says no. “Can I see him?”

“Of course you can.”

Aaron turns away Fran’s offer of a car ride but Desirée still shows up.

He answers the door in a sweatshirt and jeans and knows immediately who it is when he opens it up. Desirée just stares at him for a moment, he can feel all of the seventeen-year-old judgment sizing him up. “You look… awful,” she tells him. She lets herself in, walking past Aaron with one more look. “Mom says I can drive but if you want to do it I have to let you.” She puts the car keys on the counter, sighs as she looks around. “Derek says…” she chews her lip, as she sizes him up again.

He wonders how intimidating he could possibly look to her. Hunched over and wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for him.

“Would you teach me how to make bread?”

He can’t help but smile, nods without any hesitation.

“Really?”

Aaron nods, “it’s not that hard. More of a-- a waiting game. You have to give the yeast time to rise.”

Desirée has no idea what that means but she nods, “cool.”

He lets her drive. Mostly because his vision is swimming but because he tosses the keys back to her, a clear okay that she can drive, and she beams at him. She likes him. That’s so weirdly important to him.

She has to wake him up when they get to the hospital. The first thing she tells Fran is that he let her drive and Fran smiles at him, shakes her head, and says “you must have a death wish.”

Aaron blushes under the attention, eyes falling to the floor. He barely manages, “drives just like Derek.”

Fran laughs, nodding her head, “she does. Too heavy on the brakes.” Her smile fades a little when she sees Aaron’s sweatshirt, recognizes it from home. Knows it’s Dereks. “Will you let someone look at that,” she asks, too many of his wounds look deep. Cuts that need stitches and a nasty black eye that she knows he hasn’t iced. She’s reminded a little too quickly that Aaron and Derek are still very much kids. Tricky kids. Too old to be told what to do but still wanting direction.

Aaron nods, shying away again from the attention, but nods.

They leave him when the nurse steps in, doesn’t need to say a word. Fran sees him hesitate to lift his shirt and knows. Derek had managed to tell her most of what happened but the morphine made his speech slur, made him emotional. He’d sobbed, high and in pain. Told her what he’d seen the night before. Hunter hitting and kicking at Aaron, the way Aaron slumped forward. How he’d carried Aaron home. Washed the blood off him with a rag. She knew what was under Aaron’s shirt wasn’t something for them to see.

Derek wakes sometime in the middle of the night. The drugs from the surgery are wearing off and with it his blissful escape from the pain. Licking his dry lips he looks around the room, spotting his sisters and frowning as he tries to find his mother. She’s leaning over another cot, on the other side of the room. He watches her, hears the familiar chorus of Blackbird, and watches her stroke Aaron’s forehead, following the line of the relaxed brow.

It makes him smile, his mother used to sing Whitney Houston to him and his sisters to sleep. He told her about Aaron’s obsession with The Beatles, how of all the records the two of them own that’s the only one Aaron will play. Desiréebought the album, his mother told him a week later. She saved up to get it and was eager for her moment to speak to Aaron about it. To be able to befriend her brother’s boyfriend. That’s about the same time Fran began to hound him about bringing Aaron home, to Chicago. She wanted to meet him.

Fran kisses Aaron’s forehead, waiting another moment just to make sure Aaron’s truly asleep before she stands. “He was having a bad dream,” she tells Derek. In truth, he’d been crying in his sleep. In pain, she could tell, and restless. He’d settled with her there and it made her sad to think that maybe he’d just grown too used to sleeping beside someone else. She’d pulled his blankets closer and sang, just as she did with the other three when they were little. Even when they’re twenty, it still works like a charm.

Fran smiles, tries to soothe Derek’s nerves so he doesn’t worry about Aaron. He’s fine for now, sleeping soundlessly. She sits down on the edge of Derek’s bed, cups his cheek, and asks “how are you feeling?”

Derek just looks over to Aaron, his pale parted lips parted and the bandages holding him together. “Is he okay?” He’d been so scared last night watching Aaron sleep. No amount of Tylenol was doing a thing for his pain. Several times he’d sat up in the night and searched for a pulse, counted the far too many seconds separating each of his breathes. Derek thought Aaron might die right there beside him but he’d been more afraid of what might have happened if they went to the hospital.

Fran sighs, stupid love. It’s cute, she has to admit, but so senseless. “He’s sleeping, he’s okay.” She tries to redirect him, “how do you feel?”

Derek looks back over to Aaron. He looks. There’s more than just those pale lips and the bandages. It’s Aaron. He’s sleeping under multiples blankets and looks like himself. How he always looks when Derek rolls over to face him. He believes his mother, she never lies. “My leg hurts,” he whispers, voice cracking. It’s like the entire thing is pulsing, a continuous stabbing feeling. He cries but not from the pain. They betrayed him. The people he so stupidly thought of as his friends. They hurt him like they’d been hurting Aaron.

He should have known better.

He shouldn’t have been so stupid.

This is his fault.

“Derek?” Aaron sits up, hesitating under the combined attention of Derek and Fran.

Fran stands up, nods Aaron over. “Sit with him,” she offers. “I’ll go get a nurse.”

Aaron nods, still waiting, still hesitating to be where he wants to be. Derek motions him closer, manages to move his body over in the bed. Just enough room for Aaron to squeeze in beside him.

“I don’t think I”m supposed to--”

“Lay down.” Derek can see all the bruises and cuts up close again. He brushes his fingers through the hair above Aaron’s ear, turning his palm to his cheek. Gently tracing the outline of a bandage. “Runaway with me,” he whispers. He thought about it all night long while he watched Aaron sleep. “There’s only four more weeks left of the semester.” Aaron’s smart, he’ll get in anywhere he applies. “We’ll transfer someplace else, anywhere else.”

Aaron frowns, he doesn’t like the idea of this impulsivity. Mostly the number of uncertainties that it creates and the questions. Where will they go? How will they know it’s safe? Are they dropping out? Where will they transfer to? What Aaron can’t get into the college that Derek does?

“Hey,” Derek hushes, he strokes his thumb across Aaron’s cheekbone. “Hey, whatever you’re thinking stop. I’m not leaving, not going anywhere you don’t. We do this together, alright?” He smiles, leans forward, and softly knocks their foreheads together. “Four weeks and all of summer break, okay? That’s plenty of time for a smarty pants like you to figure out where we can go.” It had taken less time for Aaron to conclude Illinois was close enough to home for him to go if something happened to his mother but too far away for her or his brother to come to him.

They’ll figure it out.

“Runaway with me?” he asks one more time.

“Okay.”

[sortasirius]

Programing The Winter Soldier

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, heavy angst, this is seriously big sad hours

AN: This is so very sad and I definitely cried writing it lmao.  I love Bucky Barnes so much. 

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Words: 3873

Read it on AO3 here

January 23, 1945

General,

Sgt. Barnes has undergone an initial mind wipe.  Dr. Zola has succeeded in attaching the weapon to his shoulder.  He has been put in the cryo-chamber as a test, and after some initial pain it looks as though it has worked.

We will begin reprogramming shortly.

Longing

Bucky wakes up in pain.  His arm hurts.  After a few moments of long, deep breaths where he decides he’s not, in fact, dead, he tries, experimentally, to move his fingers.  To his relief, he finds he can, but something feels different, wrong.  The clicking in his index finger, from where he had broken it when he was twelve defending Steve from some guy he had tried to fight in an alley after the creep had tried to grab at a woman on the street, was gone.  The pain is gone there too, in fact he can’t feel anything below the burning where his shoulder meets something cold, something foreign.

He tries to look around, but it’s pitch black wherever he is.  It’s also brutally fucking cold.  He shivers violently, trying to get away from whatever cold metal is touching his skin, but no matter how far he leans, he can’t seem to get away from it.

Suddenly, without warning, fluorescent lights above him burst into life, and Bucky screws his eyes up against the sudden brightness.  Blinking away the mild pain, he sees a man he vaguely recognizes coming toward him.  He’s a shorter man, wearing round glasses…

Like another switch flipped, Bucky suddenly remembers this man, remembers a saw taken to the shattered remains of his arm, remembers being tied down, with a rag stuffed in his mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue.  He remembers the arm that doesn’t belong to him attached to his left side.  He remembers throwing someone across the room as though he was weightless.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the man looks him up and down, ignoring the way Bucky shied openly away from his gaze, “Let us begin.”

They don’t release Bucky from the restraints while the doctor, Zola, measures him from head to toe, has him flex his new arm, takes his blood pressure and heart rate, checks him for infection.  He only occasionally stops to speak to an assistant, who all keep their distance from Bucky, or say something in German to a soldier watching everything.  He makes Bucky watch a grainy video of ever-changing shapes, and sticks him painfully with a needle whenever he tries to look away.

“Now Sergeant,” Zola addresses him after nearly an hour of poking and prodding, “Can you tell me a memory of yours?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider, just says the first thing that comes into his brain.  Whatever this guy wants, it’s going to be easiest to just give it to him.

“Steve and I were walking along Rockaway beach two years ago.  I remember it was nearly dusk, summer, we were watching the sunset and Steve brought some bread to feed the birds.  I remember they were swarming us, you show them any kind of food and they all come swooping in.  Steve kept laughing because they were trying to land on me.  I remember the smile on his face and his eyes matched the water.  It was the first time he really laughed since his mother had died.  He told me later that he really needed that laugh.”

Zola looks at one of his assistants and gestures to the red book on the table next to him.

“First word: Longing.”

March 10, 1945

General,

We have had limited success reprogramming Barnes so far.  Zola has been working extensively with him, and while we are now seeing less incidents of outward aggression to staff or soldiers, his rate of noncompliance has skyrocketed.

Please advise on any alternate methods we should attempt.

Rusted

Bucky tries not to think about his new normal, but the repetition of each day makes that difficult.

Each morning, he’s awoken by a prison alarm and the instantaneous switching on of all the lights in his cell, followed immediately by his first meal of the day served through a slot in the door.  Steel door, reinforced, at least four feet thick.  Even the new arm doesn’t make much of a dent in it, though he’s tried.  God knows, he’s tried.

After breakfast he’s led to the combat cage where he meets with Zola, before being led through drills that he must comply with.  Noncompliance leads to pain.  Stepping out of line leads to pain.  Not eating leads to pain.  Not answering a question leads to pain.  His whole life revolves around inflicting pain and trying not to get pain inflicted on him.

On bad days, when he’s been too slow or asked one too many questions, they wipe him before lunch.  He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.  There is nothing else to say.  It’s beyond unbearable.

On good days, they’d give him lunch and Zola would run his usual tests.  Ask him about a memory, ask him about his family, his parents, his sister, his friends.  For some reason, it always came back to Steve.  Every time, no matter how Bucky tried to steer his brain away from him, it always came back to Steve.

This time he tells Zola about an old motorcycle they had rescued from the junkyard one summer.  It was more scrap metal than anything, rusted out from the wind and the rain and the New York winter it had suffered through outdoors, but they had scraped together pennies from odd jobs and had gotten it to run again.  It was a blast, to go zipping through the streets of Brooklyn in the dead of night, looking for trouble or whatever they could find, having to stop what felt like every ten minutes to fix some part that had fallen off or sprung a leak.  A total hassle, but totally worth it.

After his tests, Zola would send him back to the unnamed soldier who was responsible for his physical activity, this time to put him against enemies.  In the beginning, Bucky would refuse to fight them, but in his new quest of not putting himself through more pain if he could help it, he had started obeying the commands given to him, even if that meant using the strange attachment to his body that he hated looking at, that was welded to his skin, the burned and tortured flesh above it just a reminder that he used to be fully human.

After his second round of drills, they either send him to bed and give him dinner an hour later, or they put him in cryo.  He longs for the cold metal of the room they keep him in on the nights when he goes to cryo.

It’s the same every single day.

Zola starts saying a new word to him: Rusted.

May 7, 1945

General,

After three weeks, Barnes’ hunger strike has ended.  He can barely stand anymore, let alone lift the arm, but he is willing to eat.  Zola has suggested that we put him back in cryo and get his weight up so he can at least stand.  Your suggestion of a controlled shock each time he refused to eat worked perfectly, we always appreciate your input in the construction of our new weapon.

Seventeen

They let him out of cryo after what they tell him is four weeks.  When he looks down at himself, he can’t see his ribs or the sharp definition of his hipbones anymore.  They make sure he can stand, that he can punch, that he can shoot a gun.  They work on the strength of the punch.  Zola is angry that it’s been weakened.

The hunger strike was a stupid idea, it was too much like what Steve would have done, and Bucky would never be Steve, or be with Steve, no matter how much he would like to.

His body is littered with burn marks from the shocks they gave him when he wouldn’t eat, and Bucky winces at the memory of the pain, the memory of his body seizing up and being outside his control.  He supposes he should be used to the out-of-control thing by now, but he isn’t, he can’t, because then he’d really have lost.

Bucky hates cryo, he hates cryo almost more than he hates the mind wipe, because at least when his mind was wiped he could still dream.  They couldn’t control what he dreamed about, and they didn’t know what he dreamed about.  Rather, they never asked him what he dreamed about, therefore they didn’t know.

Bucky thinks about his last dream, the one where he and Steve were on a beach somewhere.  Not the Northeast, somewhere tropical, maybe California.  They have their toes in the sand and Steve remarks that the sand is so hot here, how do people walk on sand this hot?

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola breaks him out of his thoughts, “Tell me why you stopped eating.”

Bucky looks up at him, he’s so tired.  He doesn’t want to fight anymore but he has to, the skinny little kid from Brooklyn with blue eyes and a blinding smile would want him to.

“When I was seventeen my family couldn’t afford food for the week,” the words pour out of him of their own volition, and he’s too tired to stop them, “Dad was out of work, we were desperate.  Steve and his mom brought over dinner and made us keep the leftovers.  It was a pot roast, best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want to be a weapon.  I don’t want to be your weapon.”

Zola leans back and considers him.  A smile spreads across his face.

“What you want doesn’t matter.  It never did.”

Bucky wants to hit him with the weapon on his left.  He wants it more than anything.  But he can’t.  He’s not allowed.  He really just is a lapdog for them now.

Zola adds a word the next day: Seventeen.

June 15, 1945

General,

It has been noted recently that Barnes is unwilling to lash out or attack any combatants that fit the following profile: blond, blue eyes, male.  Zola has insisted this weakness is an asset in his reprogramming and that it will not last.  We have brought in two soldiers that match this profile at Zola’s request, I will report any findings.

Daybreak

He’s not Steve, Bucky tells himself over and over as the handsome blond solider smiles at him when he brings him his dinner.  They open the door now, just so Bucky can see the man clearly, just so he can see his smile and the slight edge to his light blue eyes.  They’re lighter than Steve’s but something in Bucky simply doesn’t care anymore.  The eyes were wrong but they were something he could cling to.  The hair was just a shade too dark but it reminded him of a different time.  The smile was just a little too wide, but he remembered one that was a little softer, a little more slanted.

“I remember watching the sun rise in Germany during the war,” Bucky tells Zola blankly in their meeting that day, so used to the stab of the needle in his skin that he doesn’t even feel it, “Steve told me his favorite time of day was this early in the morning, right at daybreak.  He told me that before, too, before he was Captain America, but we got to just sit quietly and watch it, watch the colors.  I don’t remember them.”

“Very good,” Zola stands, beckoning to the blond solider to take Bucky to his next assignment.

Bucky walks along silently, head held high as he approaches the cage, where a larger soldier is waiting for him, outfitted head to toe in combat gear.  Shouldn’t be a problem.

“Soldat,” Zola stares through the bars of the combat cage minutes later, where Bucky has paused, fist raised above the quivering man in front of him, “Don’t hesitate, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your audience.”

Bucky looks over to Zola, the blond soldier who smiled at him the night before is watching.

Zola’s right, he can’t disappoint him.

“New word,” Zola mutters as Bucky straightens up, shaking his hand to get rid of the red on the metal knuckles, “Daybreak.”

July 4, 1945

General,

Barnes had an unfortunate breakthrough during today’s training.  He seemed to remember something from prior to his fall and was unable to complete the mission set in front of him.  I am becoming frustrated with Zola, he insists that this is all part of the process, that to break a man down there will be moments of pure weakness, but Barnes is looking less and less like the man we thought he was.

Furnace

Steve is the only thing he thinks of when he has a clear mind anymore.

He doesn’t remember little details of his memory anymore, but he remembers Steve.  He doesn’t remember his birthday, but he knows when Steve’s is.  He doesn’t remember the smell of spring in Central Park, but he remembers the way Steve wore newspapers in his shoes.  No matter what, he knows Steve.

Zola knows this, he uses it against him.  Every day, the talks get longer, the punishments get more painful, and the amount of times he’s wiped go up.

“Tell me a memory,” it feels like Zola’s asked this a thousand times now.

“Steve’s furnace in his building broke last winter.  We had him over for two weeks until the landlord could be bothered to fix it.  Mom loves him so much, she would have him around all the time if he’d let her.  He always thinks he can do everything himself.”

“You speak of him as if he’s here.  Why?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth.

Zola adds Furnace to the list of Bucky’s words.  He can feel himself slipping away every time they’re uttered.

August 12, 1945

General,

Thank you for your visit last week.  Your insight into our project is much appreciated.  I agree that we must continue to press on, we have no put so much man power and energy into the project it would be a shame to shut it down now.  Zola believes that we are close to a breakthrough, despite occasional noncompliance by Barnes.

Nine

It’s starting to get harder and harder to fight against the constant onslaught of change they were forcing on his mind.

He can’t dream anymore, so the cryo chamber at least lets him rest, because the only dreams he has are dark and shadowy.  He’s losing his already tenuous grip on himself, his memories becoming indistinct, with only a few bright spots left to cling to in his mind.

“Tell me a memory.”

It takes him a second to think of one.  He cowers as Zola stands over him.

“When I was nine we went on a field trip to the Met.  Steve made me read all the little cards next to the paintings, even though it made us lag behind everyone else.”

“Do you still think of him?”

Always.

“No.”

“Good.  Add Nine.”

September 1, 1945

General,

Zola chose to move forward with giving Barnes the news of Steve Rogers’ death last week.  So far, it has proven an excellent tactic in breaking his resolve.  After an initial disruption in his usual pattern of behavior (consisting of a violent outburst that left his entire holding cell destroyed followed by a complete emotional collapse), Barnes has been much more compliant in the process.

I believe we may be close to a breakthrough.

Benign

Bucky has been unmade, strand by strand, bit by bit, atom by atom, he has been unmade and put back together for the purposes of following orders, of being a human weapon of mass destruction.  There has been so much pain in his unmaking, so much unrelenting physical and mental pain from being ripped apart and put back together over and over and over again.

And yet, none of that pain was like the pain of knowing that Steve Rogers was dead.

Bucky would take it all over again, spend a thousand lifetimes in this room, in the cell, in the combat cage, in the cryo chamber, having his mind wiped like a problem on a chalkboard just so he could unlearn that Steve was dead.

Zola is the one that tells him.  He shows him a newspaper in English, then Russian, then German, all with the same headline: Captain America Dead!

Bucky feels like a feather caught in a windstorm, torn to shreds by the whipping downdraft of mother nature’s power, by the power of his own grief.

Bucky knows better than to move while Zola is in the room, but the second that he leaves, the rage, red, blind, hot, overtakes him, and he uses the weapon attached to him, which has become a part of him, to destroy everything he can.  The metal table, reinforced with steel, comes apart like wet paper in his hand.  He destroys the sink, leaving nothing but powdered ceramic and plumbing hookups behind.  He gouges marks into the walls with his fingers, he slams his arm onto the floor.  And then?  He collapses in the middle of the cold metal room with his cold metal arm, just a cold metal soldier who’s lost the only reason he wanted to get out of here, to stay who he was.

“Come on Buck, we don’t have to do this.”

“When was the last time we snuck into a Dodgers game?  It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pausing as they waited to cross the street to cough into his jacket.  Bucky, almost subconsciously pats his jacket pockets.  Good, he’s got an extra one of Steve’s inhalers in case it’s a bad night for his asthma.

“Come on Steve,” Bucky nudges his shoulder as they approach the stadium, “I know it’s been hard recently, but hey, at least we have baseball.”

Steve laughs at that, and gives Bucky an almost radiant smile.  Whatever it was, it makes Bucky feel like he has the sun in his chest.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a date,” Steve jokes as they sneak in behind an older couple, heading up to their favorite spot to watch the game.

“Who says it isn’t?” Bucky is glad his face is hidden in shadow as they make their way up the stairs of the stadium to the very back row, “But don’t think I’m gonna buy you a hotdog or anything.”

“Come on, what kind of girl pays for her own hotdog?” Steve winks at him, and Bucky can’t hide his wide smile at the words that settle themselves right in the middle of his beating heart.

“Soldat.  Stand up,” Zola’s voice comes through the speaker, and Bucky can’t comply, he tries, but he’s crushed by the weight of the loss of Steve Rogers, the only person that could pull him out of this, that could undo the work of HYDRA that had been inflicted on his mind and body.

He hears the stomping of boots outside the door, but he still can’t stand, he still can’t make himself be the good lapdog he’s supposed to be.  He’s broken, empty, unusable, unloveable.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, not even thinking about fighting as the soldiers pull him up to standing.

Zola’s voice comes over the little speaker they have in the room, the one that Bucky couldn’t reach to rip to pieces.

“Next word: Benign”

October 29, 1945

General,

Zola had a long conversation with Barnes today.  The loss of Steve Rogers is still affecting him.  Zola tells me he has a plan, that our work is almost finished.

Homecoming

They take him to the combat cage again.  There’s someone waiting for him.

“We have a test for you today,” Zola swings the door open, and he sees that it’s the blond soldier who reminds him of Steve, tied up and bound and already bloody.

Bucky takes a step forward, staring at the terrified man.  He feels something, he can’t identify what it is.

“Tell me a memory.”

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of the soldier as he speaks.

“When Steve brought us back from the HYDRA base, they called it our homecoming.  I wasn’t used to him yet, him being taller than me, being okay with being the center of attention.  I wasn’t used to him being different.  But sometimes I saw flashes of the old Steve, when he looked at me, when he was drawing on a scrap of a napkin, when he made a joke that everyone laughed at.  And then, sometimes I thought he forgot about me.  He didn’t need me anymore.”

He looks down at the soldier.

“Kill him, soldat,” Zola tells him, “You don’t need him.  You never did.”

The cowering blond soldier might as well be Steve, Bucky can’t tell the difference anymore.  He snaps his neck anyway, pretending that he doesn’t feel the shattered remains of his heart split just a little bit more.

“New word: Homecoming.”

December 15, 1945

General,

Only a few more weeks I believe, Barnes has become more and more compliant, completing missions with ease and without hesitation.  We put him in front of a live target yesterday, the man captured at the border three weeks ago.  Barnes did not even seem to hear his pleas, even though we have been assured he can hear and understand them.

One

He kills easily now.  He does it without thinking.

“Tell me a memory.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Good.  Add One.”

January 23, 1946

General,

Congratulations.  The asset is ready to begin service.

Freight Car

The Winter Solider does not hesitate.  He does not disobey orders.  He pulls the trigger as easy as breathing.  He’s a ghost story, a legend, the new fist of HYDRA.

Zola speaks to him, he answers.  A soldier speaks to him, he answers.

“There is one last word to add,” Zola tells him, walking around where he stands, straight, like a steel rod.  He’s more metal than man now, anyway, “Tell me about the day you fell.”

“I ziplined onto a freight car.  I took out the targets.  I fell.  I was found by HYDRA.”

Steve was there.  He tried to save me.  We joked about Coney Island.  I miss him, I wish I was with him.  I wish I had died when I fell.  I wish I could just be Bucky.  I don’t want to be a weapon, I just want to be Bucky.

“Very good, soldat.  Final word: Freight Car.”

As each word is read, Bucky departs his mind, taken over by The Winter Solider.  Each word takes away a layer of memory, a layer of who he was, who he had fought so hard to stay.  Now it doesn’t take weeks of time, or months, to unmake him.  All it takes is ten words, ten words that connect him completely to Bucky Barnes, yet somehow, ten words that remove him altogether.

Zola finishes the list.  Bucky Barnes is long, long gone.

“Ready to comply.”

[ciggylungz]

Positive

Blurb night:

1.4k words

(request: imagine you’re married to harry & you’re pregnant and you meet up with the boys and tell them and it’s just all happy and so cute🥺) + request: what about some morning cuddles? or how they communicate to everyone that they’re having a baby? sorry im soft today i need some good fluffs)

(Sorry if you didn’t want them combined they were similar so I thought it might be repetitive if I did them independently)

 -----

Trying to conceive was always a nerve-wracking trial and error process for those participating in the journey, and Harry and Y/n are no exception to those bumps in the road to starting a family.

The couple had waited till their one-year wedding anniversary to start trying for a child, making sure the marriage was going smoothly and both of them were able to devote as much attention to the child if they were to successfully fall pregnant.

The pair decided to both get exams to make sure they were fertile and another to make sure Y/n was healthy enough to carry a pregnancy, both of their results came back perfect for the two of them so you can imagine the confusion and upset they experienced when months went by without a positive pregnancy test. Harry and Y/n have been doing a lot of condoling each other, cooking comfort foods for dinners and taking their vitamins religiously to give themselves some hope, carbs and cuddles to carry them through this journey of bringing a new person into the world.

You’d think trying was the most fun part of making a baby yet months of constant sex did a number on the two. They were losing their libido, tired and sometimes sore from the constant friction on their most sensitive areas but the duo refused to give up.

__

It was a typical Thursday morning, Harry sending off emails while cramming toast into his mouth and Y/n was brushing her teeth, feeling particularly out of it that day. She was tired and sluggish, a bit queasy and just off.

By now taking a pregnancy test was part of her morning routine. She even had a designated cup next to the toilet she used to collect her first morning wee in to dip the tests in, every morning she took one just to see. She was never very good at controlling her curiosity and when it comes to something this life changing, well she just can’t stop herself.

Y/n swears her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she saw the second line, bright and bold perfectly straight next to the control line. It took a few minutes for her brain to truly comprehend the evidence in front of her, there were two lines.

She was pregnant!

After the initial shock started to fade, excitement flooded through her. A shriek of her husbands name rolled through the house prompting him to jump to his feet and rush towards the noise.

“What?! Are you okay?! Are you hurt baby? What happen-“

“Harry I’m pregnant! Look ! it worked! We’re having a baby!” Y/n held the positive test in the hair, thrusting it towards his wide eyes seeing the man shift from panic to being elated.

“Oh my god! We’re having a baby! My dick works!” Harry wrapped his arms around his wife before hoisting her in the air, spinning the both of them around while they cheered and let out happy tears.

That night the pair celebrated with a nice dinner and excitedly calling y/n’s obgyn to set up her first prenatal visit. The pair decided they’d keep their secret till they were in the clear, the first couple weeks of pregnancy are the most high risk time for miscarriage so they didn’t want to get their hopes up and let everyone know till they were sure this baby was going to make it to term.

___

 Y/n was 18 weeks along when the couple decided they were going to announce the news to their friends and family. Harry was giddy, obsessed with his wife’s tummy that was now starting to get a little curve to the lower part of it. He kept ultrasound pictures in his wallet and spend every evening reading baby books and making a list of names for their growing baby.

The first people they decided to tell was of course their mothers and siblings, it was a great experience lots of hugs, happy tears and celebration sweets. Everyone was over the moon, the couple had full hearts and tummy’s when they left Anne’s home. The couple had never felt happier in their lives.

Of course when it came to telling the news to the boys, Harry decided to whip out one of his dad jokes he’d already been hoarding in his mind. His jokes were always terrible, lets face it, but the boys loved to take the piss out of him and found his jokes entertaining now.

So, Harry invited the group over directing Louis to open the oven for him which inside was a bun- yes Y/n had to refrain from cringing at the horrible dad joke but she let him has his fun- and Louis reacted first with a confused glance to Harry. “Mate, ya’ not the best chef but I thought you’d know that cookin’ one thing at a time is a bit wasteful of the gas innit?” the man plucked the bread off the rack, handing it to Harry who was rolling his eyes since the other man didn’t seem to get the implications.

“Lou, what was in the oven?” he decided to throw him a line, the other guys just watching the interaction confused and waiting for Harry to reveal what the hell he was on about. “A roll Harold” Harry then huffed, “No! it’s a bun!”, Niall was now laughing finding the situation at hand seeing Harry getting mad over the guys not having a clue what he was trying to imply.

When the bickering filled the kitchen between the boys Y/n decided to step in- “Alright! Harry I told you the joke was rubbish, guys ‘bun in the oven’- the reference and horrible execution was a reference to me since I’m pregnant.” – only then did it click in all their heads, a chorus of ‘ohhhh’ and then excited congratulations followed. Louis of course took the chance to pick on Harry who gave him the finger before excepting the celebratory hugs and pats on the back, the boys giving Y/n a good cuddle too congratulating her on the pregnancy and telling her how excited they were to be uncles. A few making jokes to Harry about ‘getting it in’ and all that boyish banter.

The pair couldn’t be more thrilled at all the excitement that surrounded the arrival of their first born, Y/n was also happy she wouldn’t have to wear baggy clothes around them anymore either. Sweaters in august was a bit uncomfortable for a pregnant woman with hot flashes.

____

When the 20 week mark came, the couple decided to keep the gender a surprise till birth when offered the anatomy scan. They really didn’t have a preference as long as their bundle of joy was healthy, they were happy.

They had spent the last few weeks painting the nursery a pale yellow, making an accent wall with a neutral colored floral wallpaper, lots of vines and plants on it in a grey and white color theme. The room was fit for whatever gender their baby turned out to be, and it was now being filled with a crib Harry had put together- which he nearly had a breakdown over how many fucking screws and parts it had- and a nice changing table stocked with diapers, wipes and all the baby essentials.  

The little ones closet was organized by size, all hung neatly on hangers and in organized bins as well. A nice rocking chair with a little nursing station was in one of the corners, stocked with burp cloths and a nursing pillow as well as a few jars of nipple balm since breastfeeding can caused chapped skin on the breasts. They had a little dish with pacifiers sitting on the small table next to the chair, picture books and a few nice soft blankets folded on the small shelf below the drawers.

Everything was slowly but surely coming together, and now they couldn’t wait to welcome their baby into the world.

(Tbh idk if I like this one, but I tried my best.)

[bubbyleh]

cats and weredogs

read this chapter on ao3! check out the rest of this series on tumblr!

cats and weredogs Witches have familiars, right?

†††

Tommy likes hanging out in Darnold’s lab while he works. In fact, he loves it. Slow mornings with a warm cup of coffee in his hands, leaning against Darnold while he thumbs through his new books… it’s gotta be heaven. Silent and gentle, Tommy takes hold of his partner’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. The action draws Darnold away from his reading, and he offers Tommy a smile.

“Hey,” Darnold says. “I think I figured it out.”

“Figured- figured what out?”

“Well, lately my spells have been…” Darnold flicks the paper edges of his book. “Failing. But that’s normal, right? We all have slumps. There were a few accidental transmutations, too, but that still isn’t out of the ordinary. I thought I was just stressed.” He frowns. “Except…”

Tommy squeezes his hand again.

Darnold sighs. “Yesterday, when you were gone, I misfired. Bubby was a frog for an hour.”

“Oh,” Tommy realizes. “Is that why he was mad last night?”

He nods, covering his eyes with his hands as he speaks. “It was a curse, Tommy. I accidentally cursed one of our cryptmates!” He drags his hands down his face. “Luckily it was a true love’s kiss kinda cure, and Coomer was more than willing to help. But that could have gone so much worse.”

“But you fixed it,” Tommy insists. “It- it wasn’t so bad, then?”

“Tommy, I can’t just be out here throwing off curses on accident, especially ones I don’t know the parameters of!” Darnold’s grip on Tommy’s hand tightens. “It’s essentially a randomizer. That’s dangerous.”

Before Tommy can ask any more questions, though, Darnold turns the book, showing off the page he’s been reading. Though it’s accompanied by words, the first thing Tommy notices is a sketch of a cat.

“Luckily, the solution is easy,” Darnold explains. “It’s time I got a familiar.”

Tommy gasps. “We can get another pet!” He glances back at the drawing. “It doesn’t- does it have to be a cat?”

“Well,” Darnold taps his chin as he thinks. “I don’t think there’s an option? I’ve never heard of a familiar not being a cat.” He closes the book, putting it to the side, and frowns. “Is that alright?”

Oh shit. Ohhhhh fuck.

On one hand, Tommy knows it would probably be for the better. If Darnold can no longer control his magic without a familiar, then he really shouldn’t stand in the way of him getting one. Besides, he seems so excited about it! This would be his first time welcoming a pet into the family, since Tommy had Sunkist before he even met Darnold. Gosh, of course he wanted one of his own.

On the other hand. Cat.

“Yeah, it’s just, uh,” Tommy struggles. “I’ve never had a- a cat before.”

Luckily, that seems to convince Darnold. “Oh, don’t worry about it!” he assures them. “They’re honestly not that different from dogs, it’s a common misconception.” He squeezes his arm. “Besides, if it’s my familiar, then I’m sure it’ll love you.”

Tommy’s inclined to believe him.

†††

Unfortunately, Darnold was wrong. The cat fucking hates Tommy.

Her name is Crush, after both the soda and the fact that if she sits on you, she will be your cause of death. Seriously, Tommy might not know many Maine Coons, but he feels like they shouldn’t be anywhere near this big!

Darnold had practically forced Tommy to be present for the summoning ritual, which they were okay with. He had decided that he was going to at least try to get the cat on his side. Hell, he’d gone with Darnold to get all the cat supplies! He did so much research into taking care of cats, like good collars and what they can and can’t eat. Xe wanted to be her friend!

The first thing Crush did with her life was plop herself in Darnold’s lap and start purring as she rubbed her face into his chest. And just like that, he was enamored with her, rubbing her ears and cooing at her.

Then Tommy scooched over, and the second she laid eyes on him, she hissed. The only thing stopping Tommy from growling right back at her was the utter look of adoration in Darnold’s eyes.

At first, Tommy was actually okay with the fact Crush didn’t like him. He had Sunkist to keep him company. Besides, given her reaction to the rest of the cryptmates, it didn’t seem entirely personal.

Seriously, Joshua had been so excited to see a cat that he ran right up to her and ended up getting batted. No harm, considering he’s incorporeal, but it scared him.

Coomer got in her face without warning and he got slapped.

She stole Gordon’s finger.

Slowly, though, they all adjusted. Coomer and Josh started giving Crush space, and after a while of that, she finally came up to them on her own. She really enjoys when Joshua pets her, strangely, since he can’t touch her. Hell, Tommy even walks in on her snuggled up with Bubby, of all people, on the couch.

“You didn’t see this,” Bubby insists, Crush complaining as he shifts to sit up.

“I think I did,” Tommy says.

Crush made her way into all of their hearts. Though Darnold is still clearly her favorite, she lets everyone play with her, give her a few pets in passing… normal cat stuff. She seems to be perfectly content with her new family.

Well. Excluding one member.

Crush does not appreciate Tommy’s proximity to Darnold. If she sees Tommy even standing near his BOYFRIEND, she’s all hisses and screams. She throws a fit every time they try to sleep in the same bed as the partner they’ve had a MILLION times longer than this FELINE BASTARD has been ALIVE and he’s THIS CLOSE TO TEARING A PILLOW APART AND-

Okay. Maybe it’s a little too close to the full moon for him to be handling emotional issues.

†††

It’s a quiet day at the crypt, but the kind of quiet that thrums and buzzes. Everyone’s busy with their own tasks. Darnold’s holed up in his lab, and Gordon and a few others have taken Joshua out for a day on the town now that they can blend in. Gman is… wherever he disappears to, sometimes. Geez, Tommy might be a little too used to xir dad’s vanishing act.

But a little alone time isn’t a bad thing! A little bit of silence as one makes a sandwich is good for thinking, and boy, Tommy feels like xe’s got a lot of thinking to do.

He’s a few bites into what might be the best BLT of his life. Seriously, substituting regular bacon with turkey bacon? Greatest decision ever made. Delicious, fine cuisine, exquisite meal.

And it’s all interrupted by Crush, jumping onto the table. For once, she’s not immediately aggressive towards Tommy. Her tail swishes back and forth as she eyes their sandwich.

It’s an opportunity.

Tommy breaks off a little bit of the bread and places it in front of Crush. She’s confused at first, leaning down and sniffing the food in front of her. Then, her green eyes lock back onto the sandwich, and before Tommy can stop her, she snatches it in her mouth and runs off.

Tommy suddenly remembers the T in BLT. And the fact that small animals shouldn’t eat tomatoes.

He’s also hungry.

“Crush, no!” They chase after her. “Your dad is going to kill me!”

Xe’s gotta do something about this cat.

†††

Tommy gets to bed late. Darnold’s already in bed, Sunkist curled up against his legs. Crush has wedged herself into Darnold’s arms, and she’s awake and hissing the second Tommy tries to slip into bed. He rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Just a bit of a- a break?”

Crush only stands, shrugging Darnold’s arms off her. This is enough to wake him, as he blearily opens his eyes.

Tommy sighs. “Seriously?”

“Crush.” Darnold places a hand on her head, and she turns to look at him. “Give it a rest.” He loops his hands under her forelegs and holds her up. “He likes you, you know.” Gently, he moves her to the bottom of the bed. He’s quick to pull Tommy into bed, pressing a kiss onto xir cheek.

“Can you get a new one?” Tommy jokes, feeling bad.

“She can’t hate you forever,” Darnold mumbles, drifting back to sleep. “At least, I hope.”

Tommy glances towards the foot of the bed. Even in the dark, he can tell Crush is staring right at him.

†††

In the daylight (or rather, the daytime, since they don’t get much natural light underground), Crush seems to be keeping her distance from Tommy. She sticks close to Darnold throughout the day, following him as he walks from one place to another. Whenever she catches sight of Tommy, she looks right at him. He’s not sure what to think about this sudden change.

Around noon, Tommy’s reading a book, sitting with his legs crossed on his bed. He barely notices the door creak open, since, well, he’s used to it. Maybe Sunkist forced her way through, or vibrations around the crypt nudged it open. He only realizes something’s wrong when a large, feline figure jumps onto the other end of the bed.

Tommy closes his book. “Crush,” they greet her.

Crush watches him, almost like she’s seeing him for the first time. There’s a moment where nothing happens, as Tommy begins to consider whether he accidentally entered a staring contest with the cat. Then, slowly, she approaches him and nuzzles into his leg.

“Oh,” Tommy realizes. “You finally, uh… finally like me.” He rubs her ear. “Didn’t like the- the wolf smell, huh?”

Crush only offers a “mrrp!” in response.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 87

Emma

Slow dancing and kissing in the middle of the floor had been as perfect of goodbye as a goodbye could be. Sebastian had updated his playlists. There was nothing sexual. Every song was I love you, I've been waiting for you, I'm happy you're mine. Intense love songs. I felt every one. I stayed in the moment, focusing on how good this felt. We held each other, swaying to the music and alternating between my head laying on his shoulder, gazing in the other's eyes, or kissing. We were in our own little bubble. There was nothing but how his body felt against mine, how he smelled, and the look of his face. All I felt was encapsulated in a swirl of feelings. Love, joy, and a touch of sadness hiding on the edge.

The bubble burst with the knock on the door. Time to go. there was no chance of getting through this without tears. Strong emotions always bring tears. I don't fight them. Letting them out feels better. I don't think emotions are anything to be ashamed of or hide. They're also not something to manipulate others with.

At the car, we were both crying. Not holding onto each other sobbing, just tears.

Saying goodbye was hard. His "I love you. I'll miss you. I'll talk to you Later. Send nudes." broke the sadness enough to get the car door closed. I watched him slide away. I wiped away a few more tears before talking myself down. Six weeks was a long fucking time, but it wasn't forever. It would probably feel like it, however.

My solution was to avail myself of the Air France business class lounge. Two shots of tequila and I switched to wine. It went better with the cheese. I was going to have to hit the gym hard when I got home. And eat better. Not today though I was sad and there was free cheese.

As usual, I was asleep before we reached cruising altitude. I woke up with about five hours to go. Fingers crossed that helped with the jet lag. I put on my favorites playlist and read until we landed.

Emma ~ I’ve landed Sebastian ~ Yay! Emma ~ Go back to sleep. Sebastian ~ XOXO

I knew he had an early call time tomorrow. It was only five pm here in New York. Closer to seven by the time I got back to Sebastian's place. I made it long enough to throw a load of laundry into the washer and the cheese into the fridge before crawling into bed. I took over his side of the bed, sniffing the pillows to find the one that smelled most like him. I curled around it and was out.

Five am was the latest my body was going to let me sleep. That was eleven am in France. So too early for New York and kinda late for France. I grabbed my phone to take a sleepy selfie but was distracted by my text notification. Sebastian had sent me a picture of him reclining on a couch, not in our rooms, with Guiletta asleep on his chest.

Sebastian ~ Found someone new to sleep on my chest.

I continued with my original plan to take an up-close picture of my eyes peeking out over the top of his pillow. My hair was a mess, my eyes look half-asleep, and there was a faint pillow crease on my temple. Perfect.

Emma ~ I miss you too

The sun was up with a bright blue sky. Since it was Saturday the traffic at this time of day would be much less. I had a clean pair of shorts, but not a shirt. No problem. My boyfriend had t-shirts. A little big, but perfectly functional. Runners, earphones, keys and I was out the door for an early morning run.

The city was beautiful. sunlight crept around corners and over the tops of shorter buildings. I ran south past the 9-11 memorial to Battery Park. I'd always been fascinated by the metal world with tears and chunks missing. The first time I'd seen I'd said out loud, "It looks like the world blew up." I guess I wasn't far off. The sculpture had been in the World Trade Center Plaza and been damaged by falling debris. I was only eight and all I remember was my parents being glued to CNN for hours. It would be years later, when I called the city home, before I really understood. As much as a non-native New Yorker could.

The worst thing about running this early was all the stores were closed. The best thing about running this early was all the stores were closed. I admit my shopping had been out of hand. In my defense, it had been a very long time since I'd had someone to dress up for. Don't take that wrong. Beacon dates with a man or friends was an opportunity to dress up. Coming into New York to be with Angie and Eli was a good opportunity. Both opportunities I used well. Still, having a man appreciate what you wear and how you look in it is another level. I know what I look good in. I'm not changing my choices for Sebastian, or any man, but I will take his preferences into account. Shopping right now would be a bad idea. I’m sure I'm packing around a few extra pounds of cheese, bread, and wine. I'm hoping all the walking mitigated some of the damage.

On my way back, a couple of blocks from Sebastian's the city was waking up. More people and sounds. I realized tonight would be the first time I'd been alone in the city in about five years. I made plans to sit in the dark and just listen. I picked up a bagel and a smoothie that I was told would rejuvenate me. I wonder if the barista could tell? I broke into Sebastian's stash of nut butter. Half a bagel with cashew butter the other with almond. Cashew was better.

Being alone in his space is weird. None of my stuff is here. It's like a hotel, but not. I got a little nosey after I'd showered and dressed. Not in a going through his drawers and medicine cabinet nosey. Looking at his DVD and CD collection. Running my fingers down the spines of his books, pulling out ones that caught my interest to thumb through. I made a stack of things I wanted to read. I did go through his kitchen pretty thoroughly. It looks like a single man who travels and eats out a lot lives here. He doesn't have flour. How does one not have flour? He does have quite a condiment collection. I threw out expired things and made a list to replace them. That led me on a short journey to see if there was anything else he was almost out of and added things to the list.

Time to call the best friends. Angie picked up on the third ring, her voice excited to hear from me, "You're home!"

"I’m at Sebastian's. I meet with my advisor Monday."

"I want to see all the pictures and hear all the stories. We're going out tonight. Some friends are playing. You're welcome."

"Can I let you know later? I don't know what the time change is going to do."

"Absolutely. So.... " the paused after dragging out the word, "are you missing him? How was goodbye?"

"Goodbye took forever. Neither of us wanted to let go. At least half a dozen last kisses. Sucked. I miss him, but I'm okay. I'll be fine when I get home and am doing stuff. I've cleaned expired shit out of his kitchen and made a grocery list."

"That's cute. Hope he thinks so."

I hadn't thought about his opinion one way or another. I was just getting rid of shit before it stank up the place. "He won't care."

We talked for a while, deciding we'd do brunch tomorrow.

I was bored. I didn't lack for things to do, but I didn't have a routine here. Especially not without him. It didn't feel like home without him. Once I'd figured that out I was good and went about making myself at home.

I'd changed Sebastian's ringtone from "Dancing Queen" to my favorite part in "Every Time I’m With You." It was near the end after a heavy drumbeat "cause every time I'm with you I feel wanted. We could make believers if we dare. We're just two believers if we dare." It was incredible the first time we'd danced to it and it was incredible now. I heard it about six, midnight in France.

I'd barely registered his face before I heard his voice, "If I put that picture on my laptop and my laptop in the bed, I can pretend it's you."

I felt warm all over and smiled, "Yes, you can. Tell me about the first day of shooting."

"It was good. Long, but good. I'm comfortable with Jess and I like her direction." He told me stories that made me proud and made me laugh. "I did well today. What have you been up to?"

I gave him a quick rundown on my day, leaving the bit about making myself at home until last.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe you restocked my kitchen. Thank you. Do whatever you want to feel at home."

"What if I reorganized your drawers because your way doesn't make sense?"

"Have at it. I'll just think I forget and think I did it."

"And your kitchen so it flows better."

He shook his head, "I don't know what that means. Knock yourself out."

I laughed, "I didn't do either."

I loved the lines that formed at the corners of his eyes when he genuinely smiled. Like now, "I don't care what you do. I just want you to feel at home.”

Now we were where I wanted to be, "Here's the thing... my favorite foods in your kitchen, finding where I'm most comfortable to work on my laptop, and figuring out where has the best view when I want to relax with a book are good, but it's not enough. Doing all that did help me figure what's missing."

"What's missing and where can we get it?"

"It's free and I already found it. You make where ever we are home. You're my home."

"I'm your home." He looked a little dazed.

"When you were in my place I felt at home. At your parents, I felt at home. Being at your place with you I was perfectly at home. Paris too. Now I’m back and I did things to feel at home. Took a while until I realized its missing something. You. When I'm with you, wherever we are, I’m home."

I could tell he was processing, by the way his tongue moved, "I like that."

He kept thinking, squinting his eyes a little, "I don't know if you're my home. Not sure where home is. Sometimes I don't feel at home in my own skin. I like that I’m your home." He cringed, "The next couple of weeks are going to suck for you."

I banred out a laugh, "No, once I knew what the issue was I adjusted. I'm good now."

"You don't miss me anymore?"

"Oh, I miss you a lot." Were transitioned into silly conversation.

"Ok, good."

I gasped, "You want me to suffer?"

"Terribly." His eyes were wide as he nodded his head. "So much so that when you see me again you throw yourself into my arms and hold on so tight I can't breathe."

"Therefore making you suffer."

"Yes, please."

I did end up going out with Angie and Eli. Thankfully it was a jeans sort of bar. My hope was if I stayed moving I'd fall over, get a good night's sleep, and get back on New York time. It was a good fun night.

Sunday I took a run before getting ready for Angie to come over. I'd bribed her with her favorite home-cooked meal. I had her take pictures of me in various outfits around his apartment. At one point Angie rolled her eyes, "I can not believe I'm taking pictures of you rolling around in his bed."

"Six weeks, Angie. I suck at selfies. I need a stockpile to pull from."

"What you need is a class in basic photo editing on an iPhone."

"I know."

We went back to her place, stopping for supplies on the way. A few hours later we were feasting on cilantro lime salmon,  a creamy garlic parmesan orzo, and a greek salad. I've taught Angie to cook this several times, but she tells me it's never quite right. I think she skimps on the butter and that's a big no. And a healthy splash of the Sauvignon blanc lifts the whole thing a little.

Sebastian and I exchanged texts over the course of the day. A comment or question with stretches of time between answers. Mostly from him. I got excited when an unexpected text came through. His response to my dinner picture was a request for the same meal. Maybe with his parents.

Monday was a busier day. I had to dress like a doctoral student, pack my bags, clean up after myself, and plant surprises like the notes I keep finding in my condo. Mine are more fun. The green g- string from concert night is mixed in with his boxers. A couple of dresses parked next to something they matched well. A peach tank top mixed in with his workout gear. I had Angie take a picture in each room. Printed and framed them. My favorite is me sitting on the toilet. It has a lovely frame and is now on the wall across from the throne. I wanted everything ready for me to leave for home straight from my advisory meeting

My advisory meeting lasted a little over three hours. Three good hours. Dr. Kershaw had been appointed my advisor. I'd taken a class with her while working on my Master's and my second winter in Beacon, but at the time I'd been excited to work with students and studying digital classroom technology was something I wasn't wanting to explore. I wanted to be hands-on molding little minds and still wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I'd enjoyed working on our team's website. Google Classroom was functional but limited by design. Three hours later I had it narrowed down.

Sebastian had texted me good luck this morning with a picture of his face, eyes closed and lips puckered. I'd sent back a picture of my legs, crossed at the ankles with my skirt draped to the side, while sitting in his favorite chair. I was more than halfway home when his ringtone came through my vehicle's speaker. I hit the button, "Hey, baby."

I could hear his smile in his voice, "Sounds like your lunch went well."

"It did!" I was still excited from lunch and the phone call with Angie after. "I like my advisor. There's only ten of us in the program with the plan to add ten more each fall."

"Wow!" He interjected. "So being accepted is even more impressive."

"Yeah." I was proud of myself. "Small and first-year makes everything very personalized. All of the potential classes overlap with other programs. Cognitive theory from Psych, advanced reading from Education, some Education Law and leadership, computer tech, and even game design. We spent a lot of time talking about what I’m passionate about. In the and I’m thinking I want to focus on reading intervention and programming for K-3."

"Which is what you're passionate about."

I laughed, "and you."

"And me. Did you just talk about direction or is there a plan? What coursework did they accept."

"The fifteen hours I've taken will apply. We designed a basic timeline. I've taken six hours the last two years. I'm confident I can handle that with work and having a life. If I want to take more I can. I don't want to take classes in the summer. Those are usually compressed and pretty intense, plus I'm not in a hurry. Somewhere in the middle, I write a thesis, which looks at a problem or a hole in what already exists. That will feed into my dissertation. I can either do research and design an experiment like comparing existing programs or create my own product."

"Any idea which way you want to go?"

"None at all. I figure the thesis will help figure that out."

"And when do I have to start calling you Doctor?" The seductive tone in his voice told me "have to" wasn't going to be a hardship.

"Three to four years. No summers and using the last semester for my dissertation is four. If I add a class in a couple of semesters or summer and do my dissertation concurrently then three. I have to be done in ten. I'm thinking I’ll figure out what I want to do the first two then design and implement the last two. A lot will depend on how long that takes." He couldn't see me, but I was waving a hand in the air. "It will work itself out."

"I love you."

"I love you. Enough me, tell me about your day."

We talked the rest of the way home where we had some fun.

I called Seattle and went through it all again with Ed. He was as excited and proud of me as was Seb. I found it a little sadly ironic that my lover was in a time zone six hours ahead, my family was three hours behind, and the ones in the same time zone weren't going to know for a few days. I didn't trust them to not take away from my accomplishment, neither did Ed, which meant they'd have to wait. Hell, they barely knew I'd been in France. They'd get to know once I was finished celebrating with people who would just be happy for me. That pushed a Georgia phone call off to the weekend after the volleyball tournament. Maybe after practice tomorrow if I could get my school lunch bunch to come for drinks, I’d even buy. I had no problem funding my own celebration. I just wanted my friends there. Angie and Eli were coming for the weekend. Maybe I'd call while they were here. Eli could make angry faces while Angie tried to scold him. Then either way it went we could drink our way through. That was a good plan. I texted all involved and they agreed.

I ran back out to the grocery for fresh berries, yogurt, and wine to go with my cheese. I bought other good for detox items and healthy foods. A stopped by a smoothie shop for a raspberry white chocolate protein drink. It was amazing how quickly I slid into my summer schedule. Run to the gym to work out. Run home. Have breakfast and practice guitar. Do whatever until it was warm enough to go lay by the pool and read or float. Have dinner, meet up with friends, volleyball practice, or lay on the couch with Netflix

Sebastian and I would text sporadically throughout the day. About nine my time, so three am for him, I'd send him a picture. One Angie took or something I'd taken during the day. He always woke up to see me. Some days that was more arousing than others. We talked almost every day. Maybe five minutes or an hour. Night shoots were the worst. He was working while I was awake and I was asleep during his time off.

The weekend Angie and Eli came down was fun. Friday night we stayed in watching movies and drinking. Saturday's tournament was going well until storms came through. The radar said there were hours of rain left, so they canceled. Since all our plans had been canceled we decided on a bar crawl. Which meant Sunday was spent recovering. We went to brunch at the riverside restaurant where Sebastian and I had our first date. On the drive back I made plans for calling Georgia. Angie and Eli were my get away plan. We went out on the back patio. I set up my iPad where they would only see me, but I could see my support system.

Dad picked up almost immediately, “Hey, Emma. You’re home. Amy told us you were in France.”

“Sebastian had an event so we made it a short vacation.”

“Sounds fun.” My mom had entered the frame. “I bet you appreciated things you overlooked before.”

I laughed, “I did. All those things I saw pictures of later and wished I’d paid more attention to. We had a good time.”

“That’s great.”

Time to dive in. “I wanted to tell you some good news.”

Amy jumped into frame and interrupted, “Can I hear too?”

I ignored the question and just went on, “I was accepted into a new Doctoral program at NYU. It’s education and digital media. It’s new so we’re building my program as we go.”

“That’s great news, Emma.” Dad looked excited, “Dissertation and everything?”

“Yes, it can be research or designing a project. I’ve got about three years to get that figured out. They accepted the post-grad classes I’ve been taking.”

“Congratulations, sweetheart. We’re proud of you.” Mom’s smile was bright.

“My baby sister is going to be a Doctor. I need to figure out my future.”

I shook my head, “You’ll figure it out. What’s right for you and my beautiful niece. She’s a job and a half.”

“I am not enjoying this age.”

“That’s why I teach first grade and not kindergarten or preschool.”

We talked a bit more about school, what was going on there, and how things were with Amy and Max. Mom asked about Sebastian, where he was, and if things were good between us. Instead of shutting her down, like I had in the car, I talked about him.

Not a minute after we hung up Amy texted, “How’s Sebastian feel about calling you Dr? *wink*wink*”

I sent back, “Exactly, like that.”

I closed my tablet and looked at my friends. I was not comfortable. Sure, the conversation had gone fine, but it didn’t feel fine. “That went better than expected.”

“This time.” Eli grimaced, “Sorry.”

“That’s what makes this so hard. This looks normal, but it’s not. If it was, I wouldn’t have this not in the bit of my stomach and want friends here when I talk to them. That’s not normal.”

Angie came over to kneel beside me, bringing me into a hug, “No, it’s not. You don’t need us when you call Seattle.”

Eli joined us, “I don’t think they know what they’re doing, but it doesn’t change it, Emma.”

I laughed, “I know.” I kissed his cheek. Dealing with my parents was worse for him than it was for me. I hated seeing people I love hurt too. I wasn’t hurt though. It was a weird numb.

“You ok, Em?”

I met Angie’s eyes, “I am. Just weird. The happier I am, the more good things going on, the more distant I feel. The better I’m doing, the less supportive they are.”

“Yep!” Eli didn’t hesitate to agree. “And that’s not alright.”

I mussed his hair, “No, it’s not.”

The next week was more of the same. I registered for my fall classes and my books were delivered by Wednesday. I started reading. Yes, I'm that student. I liked to get a head start. I'd never taken classes in the fall. The first month of teaching was exhausting. It took time and energy to get first graders ready to learn. I wasn't sure how that would work with starting my classes. Getting ahead on reading seemed the safest approach.

Thursday afternoon Sebastian called. Drunk. I guess wrapping in Paris was worthy of a party. The rest of cast and crew were packing up and heading to Rome. Sebastian was flying halfway around the world to San Diego's Comic-Con. He'd spend thirty-two hours of his four day weekend in a plane, which meant he was drunk and a little grumpy. By the time I was done with him he was still drunk, but no longer grumpy. He was naked, smiling, and satisfied. Well, as satisfied as he could be over the phone. Even drunk he was insistent that he not see me masturbating for the first time on video. We should have taken care of this.

I set an alarm for the middle of the night to make sure he was awake and would make his plane. It was worth it to lay in bed together.

[starblazerm31]

Main 6 head canon Valentine’s Day dates 😊 sfw and nsfw

Sorry this is a day late, retail needed me this V Day.  >.>

Main 6 Valentine’s Day Dates, SFW and NSFW

Asra

After you close the shop, you and Asra hit up Selasi for some of that dayum good pumpkin bread.

Afterward, he sends you to another stall to buy some drinks and snacks while he slips off.

When you meet back up with him, he puts all of the food into his bag and the two of you head into the forest.

To the painted cave.

At the edge of the water, the two of you spread out a blanket and have a lovely romantic picnic.

When you’re done, Asra pulls something out of his bag.

It’s a set of matching gold chokers.  He figures that it’s about time the two of you re-collared each other.

He places a choker around your neck and you place the other around his.  Once again, you two own each other.

He pulls out a stick of that special incense and lights it.  He then eagerly sets to touching you all over, watching the colors and lights play across your skin.

You can’t help yourself.  You strip him and take his cock into your mouth and slowly go down on him, watching the colors and light swim up and down his length.

He makes love to you slowly, dragging his hands all over your body, letting his mouth leave glowing circles all over your chest, neck, and fingers.

Each glowing mark on your skin is a promise.  He will always love you, he will always cherish and desire you.  This is just one day dedicated to love.  But for him, every day for the rest of your lives will be Valentine’s Day.

Nadia

You find a beautiful outfit laying on your bed with a note from Nadia.  "It is a special day and such deserves a special outfit.  Meet me outside when you are dressed.“

You do as your Countess commands and don the beautiful ensemble.  As usual, it fits you perfectly and drapes around your body in all the right places.

You go outside to find Nadia waiting by a carriage.  She ushers you inside.

A short while later, you find yourself seated with Nadia in a gondola touring the Center City.

You disembark at the Floating Market, and Nadia sets to buying you many lovely and expensive gifts.

You have a wonderful dinner at Nadia’s favorite restaurant, a newer establishment that actually can make spiced swordfish just the way Nadia likes it.

You return to the palace and Nadia escorts you to her chambers.

Magical fairy lights dance near the ceiling, giving the room a low ambient glow.

She effortlessly strips your new outfit from your body and takes an indulgent moment to gaze over your naked form before she sheds her finery and lays down on the bed.  She pats the mattress, inviting you to join her.

She feeds you delicious candied fruit while you massage her back and shoulders.  Each time you reach a tight spot, she lets out a delicious moan.

Then your touches travel to her sensitive spots.  She lays down amongst her myriad of pillows and you crawl between her legs to let your tongue massage that most intimate place of hers.

This special night, your Countess allows you to top her.  She writhes and moans beneath you, each breath a desperate plea for your love, your touch…yours alone.

The dancing lights play across her face as she comes undone and you swear she has never looked more beautiful.

Julian

Malak flies into the shop, a note attached to his leg.  It’s a letter from Julian.  It’s asking you to go to the spot he first noticed your beautiful eyes.

You go to the hidden garden of deadly starstrand in the South End.  There, you find another note telling you to go to the place where he made the greatest mistake of his life.

You go to the pier where he tried to break up with you.  You find yet another note telling you to look to your left.  A way down the beach, you see tiny lights.

You follow the lights and come upon a makeshift tent.  The ground inside is littered with pillows and a platter of fruits and pastries lay amongst them as well as a bottle of wine.  It looks very similar to the ship the two of you spent the night on in the Magical Realms.

Julian steps out from behind the tent and bows to you.  In his hand is a deadly starstrand.

He puts it in your hair as he kisses you in greeting.

After eating, you spend a long while making out and groping.  You hold his hands above his head and feel something metallic brush your fingers.  Manacles.

Julian looks at you, silently begging you to use them.  You notice that they are nailed into the ground at their center link.

You lay him on his back and lock them around his wrists.  Already he is a blushing mess from his chest to his eyes.

You toy with him for a while, touching him here, biting him there, pinching and twisting his pale flesh until he is whimpering and whining.

Then you reach for his pants.  You see the excitement in his eyes when your fingers slip past his waistband and stroke his hardened length.

You spend a very long time edging him until he's absolutely begging you to fuck him.

And fuck him you do.  He chants your name with each stroke, his lean body twisting and convulsing with the pleasure that only you could ever give him.

His orgasm hits him hard and he can’t help but cry out, his voice mingling with the lush sounds of the surf.

You unshackle him and he curls around you, thanking you for the best Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.

Muriel

He is clearly nervous when you meet him at his hut.

He has his hair tied back, and he smells of hemp soap.  He’s made dinner for the two of you.  The fluffiest, tastiest looking omelets you have ever laid eyes on.

He fidgets all through dinner, and you wonder what is on his mind.  Once the dishes are cleared away, he suddenly says “I have a present for you.”

He leads you out into the forest and into a grassy clearing.  There, sparkling fireflies dance in the air.  In the middle of the clearing, there is a heaping pile of furs.

The two of you lay on it, and you swear you can see the entirety of the night sky.  The two of you lay there for a long while, taking it all in.

Then you’re surprised when he leans over you and starts kissing you.  You can tell by his trembling that he’s really nervous.

He settles himself on top of you, very careful to not crush you under his large form.  His hands touch you gently, reverently.

You moan into his touch and Muriel seems to get a confidence boost from this.  His hands move to your thighs and draw them up around his waist.

He pauses, looking into your eyes.  "I…I want you.  I want to try…“  He turns bright red and can’t seem to finish his sentence.

You touch his face and kiss his lips sweetly.  "Take me, Muriel.”

His hands tremble as he frees you from your clothes.  You do the same for him, gently caressing each rippling muscle, each pink scar that litters his skin.

He is slow and careful when he mounts you again, watching your face as he enters you.

He rocks his hips against yours, each blissful moan that escapes your lips both an encouragement and a plea.

Your orgasm is strong but not overwhelming; just deep and satisfying.  You feel Muriel tense up and groan as his own climax hits him and he spills himself deep inside of you.

The glow on his face is absolutely precious.  He settles next to you and you notice that his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen him.

“Did…did I do well?”  "Yes, Muriel.  You were perfect.“

Portia

Portia wakes you up bright and early.  She got the whole day off to spend with you.

She starts you out with the best breakfast in Vesuvia.  Afterward, she takes you to the Community Theatre where they are showing the Vesuvian version of The Importance of Being Earnest.

After that, it’s down to the Rowdy Raven for drinks.  At one point, a patron starts to invasively flirt with you and Portia threatens them with a fork. "MY Valentine, dammit!!”

You head back to the palace and curl up together in the library to read The Adventures of Detective Robin.

The book finds itself on the floor when Portia kneels in front of your chair and starts to go down on you.

Your knuckles are white from gripping the arms of the chair.  Portia’s mouth works over you with mischevious precision.  She knows just how to get you where she wants you.

Your keening whine as you cum echos off the walls and shelves of the empty library.

Your vision returns from its hazy state and you see Portia sitting in front of you looking very pleased with herself.

“Alright, Portia.  That’s one point for you.  Now let’s see if I can win one.”

New echos fill the room as you have Portia pinned up against one of the bookshelves.  One leg of hers is wrapped around your waist as you pound and grind into her sex mercilessly.

Her arms cling to your neck and your breath huffs into her ears with each movement.

She throws her head back and shouts when she climaxes and you follow soon after.

The two of you stare into each other’s eyes as you catch your breath.

“Alright.  That’s a point for each of us.  Let’s see how many more we can rack up.”

“Of course.  It’s Valentine’s Day.  We need to set a record for ourselves.”

Lucio

He has been planning this day for months.

He insists that the servants allow you to sleep in.  When you finally do awake, you find your room littered with your favorite flowers and a small gift box on the table next to your bed.

Inside is a golden key hanging from a thin gold chain.

You put it around your neck and head to the bath.  When you’re done, a servant is waiting for you to escort you out to the veranda.

There your beloved Count awaits with the most delicious looking breakfast spread you’ve ever seen.  He kisses you deeply and you swear you feel something unusually hard brush against your hip.

He spends the entire day with you, strutting through the streets of his city, proudly showing you off.  He buys you many expensive gifts and keeps sneaking kisses on various chaste parts of you.

Eventually, the two of you end up on one of his boats moored at the docks on his private pier.  The boat is decorated with flowing red fabrics, gold ropes, twinkling lights, and tinkling chimes.  And on deck is a romantic candlelit dinner. (Lucio’s favorite servants are like fucking ninjas.  Go in, set up, poof; they were never there)

The two of you spend a good amount of time feeding each other and listing off all the reasons why you two love each other.  Then Lucio gets a glint in his eye.

“I haven’t given you your real present yet.  Wait here.”

He goes below deck.  After several minutes, a paper bird flies up and lands in front of you.  It unfolds itself and in sloppy gold writing, it says “Come get me.”

You go inside to see Lucio chained to a plush bed, completely naked except for a gilded cock cage.

The key around your neck.  So that’s what it goes to.

He arches his body sensuously.  "Oh no…it looks like I’m at your mercy tonight.“

And you make sure he knows it.  Just the act of you taking off your clothes has him biting his lips in pain from the cock cage constricting his erection.

It doesn’t take long before he’s absolutely sobbing for you to unlock him.

When you feel like you’ve tortured your Count enough, you do release him.  And when you settle your body down on his cock, he is positively singing.

Right before you orgasm, you grip him by the throat.  "You’re mine, Lucio.  Remember that.”

And that’s all he needs to tip him over the edge as well.  He is screaming your name, proclaiming his love for you as if it’s the only thing in the world that’s real to him.

You unchain him from the bed and kiss his raw wrists.  He nuzzles into your chest with a blissful smile.

“I hope you’ve got more of that in you,” he says.  "I want so much more.“

[choupichoups]

Press F (Instagram/College AU) Epilogue

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

Okay so this is the end end, thank you again for reading!!

Lucas turns over, free arm carelessly swiping up the empty space beside him. Warm fingers drum a loose tune over cold sheets, long unoccupied despite the fact that it’s only nine in the morning. So Eliott did manage to drag his ass up for his photoshoot despite all the pouting and complaining from last night.

With a jaw cracking yawn, he pushes himself off their giant, comfy bed, landing on the floor with a soft thump. He conjures up whatever self restraint he’s gathered over the years to keep from nose diving back into the warm sheets. Eliott had left the curtains drawn over the windows, leaving their room bathed in burnt orange light, the air conditioning humming soft whirs of cool air. It’s the perfect recipe for a morning spent lounging in bed doing nothing.

But alas, he pulls his big boy pants up and drags his feet to the bathroom to follow his boyfriend’s itinerary for the day.  

srodulv We’ll be at the west beach behind the big cliff i showed you yesterday Whenever your highness deems it fit to join us Lol nvm we’re inside a cave now Aaand we moved Right at the path when you head down Can’t miss me and my handsome face on a plank

lucallemant why is ur face on a plank less texting more posing

srodulv Being the breadwinnner in this relationship is really a thankless job huh

lucallemant where’s the bread tho???

srodulv THANKLESS

“Lucas, hey!” 

He stumbles past the pathetic lumps of sand from where he and Eliott had attempted a friendly little sand castle competition a few days ago, clumsy on his feet as he holds himself back from rushing towards them. 

“Morning, Jo,” he greets the photographer first before raising both eyebrows at Eliott, who does, in fact, look perfectly handsome lounging on his plank. As if the sand isn’t digging into the skin of his elbows. As if the sun isn’t beating directly over their heads. Ugh, an abomination. 

“Oh hi, Eliott, good morning Eliott!” Eliott says in a mockingly high pitched tone when Lucas fails to say anything else. “How are you doing, Eliott?” he continues in that same annoying voice, prompting Lucas to kick up some sand his way. “I missed you, boyfriend, you’re working so hard, my dear!”

“Ew, shut up.” Lucas laughs, moving to sit beside Eliott when Jo pauses his snapping to adjust some settings on his camera. Despite all the teasing, however, Lucas presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek and throws both legs over one of Eliott’s thighs, hands instinctively searching to intertwine their fingers. “Morning,” he murmurs into the space between their lips, chest fluttering when Eliott brushes their noses together, whipped as the first time. 

“Good sleep?” Eliott mutters back, smile melting sweeter when Lucas drops his head on his shoulder with a nod. “We’re almost done here and then we have the rest of the week to ourselves, okay?” 

“Okay.” Lucas plays with their tangled hands, fingers stroking light across the back of Eliott’s palms. He almost forgets what they’re actually talking about had it not been for the loud click of a camera shutter coming from his right. 

Jo is looking down at his camera when Lucas finally forces himself away from the very optimal cuddle he and Eliott had going on. “You sure you don’t wanna do a joint photoshoot, Lucas?” Jo turns the camera around to show him the photo he’d just taken. “You guys look really good together, it’d be a hit!” 

Yeah, no. Lucas snorts, “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

Jo tuts, “Don’t be like that, this one looks good.”

“Lucky shot, trust me. My face does weird things in front of cameras most of the time,” he prattles out excuses, eyes narrowing when Eliott remains silent as he watches the exchange, laughter clear in his eyes. “Anyway, I’ll be taking a walk while you boys do your thing, alright, don’t have too much fun, drink water often, and I’ll see you,” he clicks his tongue, points to where Eliott is seated, eyes locked on Lucas ever since he arrived, “later. Bye!” 

And he runs off before Jo could convince him to join the shoot. Lucas really isn’t about that life, the amount of followers he’s garnered only from the fact that he’s dating Eliott is already stressing him out as it is. He can’t imagine what a legitimate photoshoot together would do. 

Making his way towards the beach, Lucas slips off his sandals and walks along the path where the waves hit the sand, relishing in the ticklish feel of sand shifting underneath his feet at every pull. His toes curl into the soft surface, wiggling at the cool touch of clear waters before the waves pull back into the ocean. 

It’s nice out here. Lucas had been mighty skeptical when Eliott had mentioned it off-handedly during the giant final party of the school year. Granted, both of them had been pretty drunk at that point and Lucas wasn’t sure whether he was hearing things or if Eliott had really just asked him to go on a two week vacation in South Africa. Like Lucas doesn’t only have two whole dollars in his savings account. 

It’s free, Eliott had cleared up once sober, chuckling at the dubious look on Lucas’ face. My friend wants a shoot there and he’s letting us stay at their private condo as payment. 

Wow, bourgeoisie, and then Lucas proceeded to forget about it in the midst of tear inducing exams.

He digs out his phone and snaps a photo of the sun hitting the ocean’s surface with a pretty gleam. His mom would appreciate the view, maybe it would encourage her to take her own vacation somewhere too. She deserves a few weeks away from the city— maybe a trip with her friends would be nice, maybe with that nice guy she’s trying to pass off as just her friend whenever Lucas visits would be good too. 

Lucas digs his heels in the sand and turns to face the ocean, rolling his sweatpants up to his calves as he steps deeper into the water. 

Eliott’s graduated. He’d done a placement at a studio during his final year and they refused to get rid of him (Lucas can relate), add to that Eliott’s side film projects and this whole internet famous slash instagram model thing and Eliott’s suddenly found himself a lot more occupied that initially expected. 

Lucas has quite a bit of catching up to do. Fuck, he’s not even employed anywhere. He’d left his job at the cafe during that unsavoury mess a year prior and his workload from school picked up at an abhorrent pace. The only reason he’s functioning as a semi normal human being right now is because Eliott has made it his mission to stop him from eating any more of Yann’s cheese bread and his mother has been helping him with rent. 

He stomps his feet into the water, pouting as it earns him a very unsatisfying splash. And then his feet are suddenly off the ground, legs flailing on instinct as he’s grabbed from behind by an obnoxious, giggling giant— 

“Eliott!” he screeches, two seconds before he’s unceremoniously dumped deeper into the water. Sputtering, he stands back up with as much dignity as he can gather and jumps onto Eliott’s back with a holler of curses, trying to keep his own head above water when Eliott’s knees buckle under the attack, laughter helpless as he clutches onto Lucas in their half-hearted tussle. 

They roll around half in and half out the waves, laughter unbridled like giddy little children on a high. Careful steps on the sand turn to careless treading in the deeper waters, drenched clothes stuck on warm skin and playful fingers threaded in ocean darkened locks. Lucas breathes out a chuckle in the tiny space between them, foreheads aligning perfectly when he hauls himself up, arms wrapped tightly around Eliott’s shoulders for balance. This close, Eliott’s smile is more radiant than the sun reflecting diamonds in the water and Lucas can’t look away, not when the oncoming wave roars closer, not when Eliott whispers something reverent that steals the breath right out of his lungs. 

"Eliott,” Lucas starts, blinking salt water off of his eyelashes. “Eliott, I—”

And then the waves claim them with an unmerciful smack, the force of it brings the two boys back to shore and they resurface with a sputter, their moment chased away by a newly triggered round of laughter.

“Oh shit.” Lucas squints as something dawns on him. “Fuck, Eliott!” He removes his soaked shirt and uses it to smack Eliott’s arm. 

“Ow! What?” 

“My shoes! I dropped them!”

“Oh. Oh, crap. I’ll buy— hey stop— stop that! I’ll buy you new ones at the market!”

The evening market is absolutely bustling with tourists. It seems like everyone had the same idea of whiling away the heat at the beach and whiling away at the shops once the sun starts to set. 

“Lucas, come here! Look.” 

Lucas follows the direction where Eliott’s voice is coming from, finding his boyfriend laden with all kinds of trinkets around the neck, around both wrists, and around most of his fingers. He’s such a fool. Lucas loves him so much.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna buy all of that.”

Eliott allows himself an offended look before remembering his excitement. “Course not, but look at this!” He stretches a hand and shows Lucas a handmade, wooden carving of a woman sitting on a piano bench with a dog beside her. “Wouldn’t this be perfect for your mom?” 

Did Lucas say he loves him already?

“Yeah,” he says softly, squeezing the hand holding the figurine before letting go and looking around the stalls himself. He’s done a bit of shopping for their friends already (he’s not actually going to get them only rocks and sand, thank you very much), all he needs now is for some help getting things for Eliott’s parents. “Hey, do you think you dad will like—” He turns around, holding up a trinket, only to find Eliott already off to the stalls on the far right. Oh well, at least he looks like he’s in the process of returning everything he’s got draped all over him. 

They don’t take very long to run into each other again once they’ve done their rounds, and Eliott beams like they haven’t seen each other in days, grabbing Lucas by the wrist with an enthusiastic, “All good to go?” And even if he wasn’t, Lucas would’ve followed him either way. 

Speaking of, they’re not headed to where they parked their rental car.

“Where are we going?” Lucas asks, sneaking a glance around them to see if he can pinpoint familiar places. They haven’t done much exploring for the past week, preferring to laze around the beach area whenever Eliott wasn’t busy with photoshoots, but he imagines Eliott has been around more than him if Jo wanted some changes in scenery. 

And because Eliott is Eliott, he doesn’t utter a word until they’ve passed a small bridge that leads to what looks like a dead end of shrubbery. 

But Lucas knows better by now.

They squeeze through the thick shrubs, pushing branches and leaves aside until they reach a wide clearing. “Tada...” Eliott whispers, as if the sound of his normal volume would disrupt the scene. 

And what a scene it was. A quaint circular area with boulders piled about, a large, ancient tree with drooping arms perfectly frames the view as if planted there years ago to fulfill this present purpose. The waves crash softly against the rocks, forcing pale, wet sand to shift with uneven dips. Over the horizon, blinding in its beauty, perches a moon so clear and bright Lucas would be hard pressed to believe it’s real if he weren’t standing right here.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, shaking excess leaves off his feet as he makes his way forward, entranced. “Holy shit,” he repeats with feeling.

“Yup, holy shit.” Eliott breathes out his laughter, shoulders shrugging up in that endearing way of his. “Thought you’d appreciate this.”

Lucas makes his way to the edge where water and sand meet, bending to pick up a shiny stone reflecting moonlight off its surface. He hears Eliott coming up behind him but doesn’t expect the hand that steals the stone from his grip and Lucas huffs, indulging in his boyfriend’s amusement for a few minutes and jumping up to try and steal it back from Eliott’s raised fist.

“Eli, come on, give it.” He tries for another jump, but Eliott brings his hands behind his back, putting the stone out of sight. “Eliott!” Lucas whines, shaking the plastic bag of trinkets he’s got hanging around one wrist. Eliott has the gall to laugh at his suffering. “Give it.” Lucas holds out his free hand, tapping his feet on the sandy ground. “Now.” 

Eliott raises an eyebrow in turn, smile adorable despite its mischief as he holds out both hands in closed fists. “Okay, choose a hand then.” 

Lucas’ groan is long suffering. 

But unfortunately, undeniably fond.

“What is this now?” Lucas eyes him suspiciously, trying to figure out what Eliott has up in his sleeve this time. 

“What’s what?” Eliott tries for innocent.

“Did you learn some kind of magic trick, is that it?” Lucas grins, looking between the two hands in front of him.

“I don’t know, did I?” Eliott’s eye crinkles when he smiles. It’s infuriating.

“Omygod, you’re literally impossible. This better be a good trick, Demaury.” He slaps a hand over Eliott’s left fist, digging in between his fingers to try and pry them open. Eliott gives in too easily, lifting his fingers open without a struggle, so Lucas expects it to turn up empty.

Except.

Except—

“Is this good enough for you?” His voice is a whisper, quiet enough to get carried away by a strong wind. 

Lucas stares at the hand, mouth gaping dumbly. “That’s a ring.” He hears a chuckle, and then Eliott’s other hand is opening to reveal a matching pair. “That’s two rings,” he says, a necessary and intelligent contribution. 

“I know you’re nervous about what’s going to happen.” Eliott starts, “with my graduation, and work, and all that stuff.” 

“I’m not—”

“Lucas, please, you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lucas shuts his mouth, looks down at the rings again as if they hold the answers to all his doubts. And maybe, maybe they do. Hold them. Some of them, at least. 

“Nobody likes change, you know. I hate it too.” Eliott steps closer, putting both rings inside one hand and using his free hand to grip one of Lucas’. “But for every change that happens there are still constants.” He places one of the rings inside Lucas’ palm. “And you have a lot of that, whether you believe it or not.” With both hands now free, Eliott takes the ring he kept for himself and drops it around his pinky finger. “But if there’s anything I want you to always believe, it’s that I will be your constant, Lucas Lallemant.” 

“Constant?” Lucas chokes, eyes stinging from the force of the tears he’s holding back. God, he’s such a cry baby and Eliott knows it too, the bastard. “Like, always? Like—” Forever. But that’s a scary word. “Whatever happened to minute by minute?” He laughs weakly, hand gripping the ring tight in his hold. 

Eliott leans down to press a kiss atop Lucas’ closed fist. “Okay, what if I tell you that here, in this exact spot, a minute lasts forever?” Because of course Eliott isn’t afraid of forever. Maybe Lucas will learn to be brave too. 

Absently, Lucas mimics Eliott’s earlier movements, sliding the ring around his pinky and staring at it in wonder. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen himself wear a ring in his whole life. It’s a little loose on him but he’ll deal with that later, now’s not the time to worry about tiny details. “That’s absurd.” 

“You’re absurd.”

“No you.” And Lucas launches himself up and into a hard kiss, putting all the brimming feelings he’s too stupefied to vocalize at this moment. “Buying promise rings,” he murmurs in between kisses. “When did you even— you sneaky bastard.” He pulls at Eliott’s shirt, dragging him down as he sags back on his heels. Eliott’s hands are warm cups over his cheeks, touch so soft, ever so gentle in everything he does. Lucas is shifting to fling his arms around Eliott’s shoulders to try and bring them even closer to each other when he feels the newly appointed metal on his finger fly right off his finger and into... well... into the unknown. 

He pulls away so fast he gives both of them whiplash. 

Fuck. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Fuck! 

Eliott is understandably confused. “Uh. What’s wrong?” 

“My ring!” Lucas screeches, throwing his bag of souvenirs over onto dry land before attempting to dive headfirst into the water. Eliott stops him just in time, dragging a protesting Lucas far, far away from the ocean. “But Eliott! My ring!! Your ring?! My— ring!” 

And Eliott is laughing. “It’s okay, Lu.”

“It’s not!” He takes fistfuls of Eliott’s shirt and shakes his boyfriend because in what world is it okay to lose a ring given to you two seconds ago? “I just had it and then it’s gone!” 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Eliott smiles down at him, shaking his head as he removes his own ring from his pinky and slides it onto Lucas’ ring finger. It’s a much better fit this time, but—

“But this is yours,” Lucas insists, “you’ve gotta have one too.”

“Oh, I do?” Eliott raises a teasing eyebrow.

“Of fucking course, that’s the point of a promise ring you dolt.” Wait no. “I’m the dolt. I can’t believe I lost my ring!”

Eliott’s giggles ring clear in the night. “Lucas, it’s okay, really, we’re here for a few more days, we can buy a new one before we leave, hm? Let’s go back now, I think you need some sleep.”

“I don’t need to sleep, I need to find my ring!!” 

[littlespoonevan]

Ik you’re probably a busy person but if you ever wrote a fic about gallavich being soft, domestic husbands I think I’d combust

anon said:Can we pretend i didn’t just said that? Gallavich

anon said: "Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?“ for Gallavich please!

asjksdh okay i have been thinking abt this for weeks. this is disgustingly domestic and i’m so sorry but i legit Could Not help myself lol enjoy

*

Ian bats aimlessly at his alarm clock when it startsringing, curling his arms back around Mickey as soon as he gets it to stop.“S’your turn to make breakfast,” he mutters, words half muffled by Mickey’sshoulder.

Mickey makes a sound somewhere between a groan and agrunt, dragging the covers up tighter around them. “’m supposed to get Frannyup.”

“You did that yesterday,” Ian mumbles, half-heartedlypushing at Mickey’s side only to reel him back in close against him when hemoves an inch.

Mickey grumbles something unintelligible, pullingIan’s arm tight around him like it’s a blanket. “Can’t Carl do it? Earn hisfuckin’ keep here?”

“Carl’s got the early shift this morning,” Ianreplies with a great amount of effort. Fuck he wants to go back to sleep. “He’salready gone.”

Mickey huffs but neither of them make an attempt tomove, the cold January morning seeming far too unappealing when they’re wrappedup so comfortably in each other’s arms. Ian is just on the brink of fallingback to sleep when the tell-tale patter of footsteps make their way into theirroom. Holding back a whimper, Ian lifts his head, squinting over Mickey’sshoulder to where Franny’s standing patiently in front of their bed.

“Franny, who helped you get ready yesterday morning?”he asks.

“Uncle Ian!” she announces proudly, pointing straightat him, and Ian doesn’t need to look down to know Mickey’s grinning smugly evenwith his eyes still closed.

“Have fun making breakfast,” Mickey tells him,finally deigning to get up properly as he sits up and holds his arms out toFranny. “Come on, kid, let’s play naptime before you get dressed.”

Ian lets out a long-suffering sigh, climbing overMickey as he picks Franny up and plonks her on the spot Ian just vacated.“Remember, count to one hundred and then you wake Uncle Mickey up from hisnap,” Mickey tells her, waiting for Franny’s serious nod before he lies backdown, throws Ian one last satisfied smirk and closes his eyes.

Ian flips him off when Franny’s not looking and dragshimself into the bathroom.

*

Mickey makes his way down the stairs with Frannyfifteen minutes later, both of them fully dressed and presentable, and fightsback a grin at the sight of Ian at the stove. As soon as they enter kitchen hedeposits Franny in her chair at the table next to Liam and ambles over to Ian,hugging him from behind and burying his face between Ian’s shoulder blades.

“You already got like ten extra minutes in bed,” Iancomplains, smacking his hand lightly with the spatula. When Mickey doesn’tdignify that with a response he continues with a soft, “You want eggs?”

“Yes please,” Mickey mumbles, taking a second tomarvel at the fact that this is somehow what counts for normality in his lifenow.

“Liam,” Ian calls. “You want toast with your eggs?”

“Yeah,” Liam says as Mickey hears the scraping of thechair on the linoleum floor. “I’ll get the toaster, your husband seemsincapacitated.”

“Hey, I’m doin’ just fine right here,” Mickey retorts,mouth lifting up in satisfaction at the way Ian leans into him a little more.“But throw on a slice for me too, would ya?”

He doesn’t miss the very deliberate eyeroll Liamthrows him as he passes them but Mickey sees him put an extra slice of bread inthe toaster for him so he decides not to bitch about it.

Ian touches his hand then, looking over his shoulderto get Mickey’s attention. “You able to pick up Franny from Kev and V’s later?”he asks. “I’m not gonna be home ‘til after 6.”

“I got it,” Mickey says, leaning up on his toes to presstheir lips together before Ian can go back to focusing on the eggs.

“Thank you,” Ian murmurs, covering Mickey’s hand withhis own for a minute before he shakes him off to start divvying up the eggsonto plates. “Liam, make sure you got everything for school alright? We’releaving straight after breakfast.”

“Got it,” Liam says, sliding past them with aplateful of toast. And it’s weird, Mickey thinks, how much of a routine they’veestablished in such a short time. Hell, Debbie’s only been for a week or two.But this feels so settled, so comfortable, Mickey can’t really remember whatthey used to do in the mornings before this.

*

As soon as Ian steps through the door that evening hedrops his gear bag heavily on the floor, just about managing to hang his coaton the hook and toe off his shoes before he’s diving headfirst onto the couchand into Mickey’s lap. He spends approximately ten seconds rearranging himselfuntil he’s curled on his side with his head on Mickey’s lap before he’s contentthat this is how he’s gonna stay for the rest of the night. “Mm, hey.”

Mickey huffs out a laugh, hand travelling to Ian’shead as his fingers run through Ian’s hair. “Hey. Long day?”

“There was a car accident downtown,” Ian sighs,closing his eyes as Mickey’s ministrations ease the tension in his temples.“Three cars and a van. It was messy.”

Mickey hums in sympathy and Ian is so fucking gladhe’s home with him again. “You eat anything?”

“Not since lunch,” Ian yawns.

“Wanna order a pizza for dinner then?”

Ian feels his mouth lift in a smile, blindly reachingup to pat whatever part of Mickey he can reach. “This is why I married you.”

“Just this, huh?” Mickey asks sceptically. “Nothin’to do with you bein’ obsessed with me since you were fifteen?”

Ian rolls onto his back to stare up at Mickey withshrewd eyes. “Pretty sure it was a mutual obsession.”

“In your dreams, firecrotch,” Mickey scoffs but thesoftness in his eyes betrays him. It always does.

Ian loves it.

“Everything go okay with Liam and Franny?”

“Last I checked Liam was doin’ homework and Frannywas colouring,” Mickey says. “They’re in the kitchen.”

Ian nods, finds Mickey’s hand and gives it gratefulsqueeze. With Lip moved out and renovating the new house and Debbie potentiallygetting locked up, Ian honestly doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Mickeyhadn’t been here to help him deal with all of this.

As if knowing he’s being discussed, Liam comes intothe living room, announcing his presence with a snort – no doubt at theirposition on the couch.

“Hey, little man,” Ian greets, holding an arm out togesture Liam over.

He comes, albeit reluctantly since he’s currently atthat age where he’s pretending he’s too old for affection. It just makes Ianwant to hug him harder, make up for all the ways Liam got left to the waysidethe past few months.

He pulls Liam onto the edge of the couch, holding himin place with an arm around his middle. “You have a good day at school?”

“It was fine,” he says, ever an open book.

“How’d the book report go?”

“Crushed it, obviously.”

Ian grins, reaching up with his free hand to ruffleLiam’s hair. “Hell yeah you did. You want pizza for dinner?”

Liam turns to look between him and Mickey, eyebrowsraised suspiciously like they’re bullshitting him. “Always.”

“Get the takeout menu off the fridge and call it in,”Ian tells him. “Pick whatever you want.”

“No fucking anchovies though,” Mickey warns.

Liam waves him off, standing up when Ian releases himand scuttling back into the kitchen.

Ian relaxes back into the couch then, head stillpillowed on Mickey’s thigh as he closes his eyes once again.

“You plannin’ on staying like this all night?” Mickeyasks bemusedly, even as he reaches his hand up to run over Ian’s arm.

“Nah, I’ll sit up to eat my pizza.”

Mickey lets out a laugh, touch making Ian tingle ashe scratches at the base of Ian’s skull. “Whatever. Don’t come cryin’ to mewhen you get a crick in your neck.”

*

Later on, when they’ve gorged on too much pizza andMickey is slipping pleasantly into a food coma Ian begrudgingly drags himselfaway from Mickey’s side to put Franny to bed. “Come on, munchkin,” he says,swinging her up into his arms and stepping over the toys on the floor to getaround the couch. “Time to brush your teeth.”

Mickey watches him go and feels a fierce kind offondness burn in his stomach. He always thought he was immune to that girlybullshit of finding guys who are good with kids attractive but evidently not.Or maybe he just finds Ian attractive – in every context.

He doesn’t realise he’s being watched until Liamspeaks, making him snap his gaze guiltily away from Ian’s retreating figure upthe stairs.

“Are you and Ian gonna move out?” Liam asks andMickey screws his face up in confusion.

“Why the fu- why would we do that?” he says, clearinghis throat. He’s been trying to swear less in front of the kids. Fat fuckinglot of good it does when Carl curses like a champ. “We got a perfectly goodhouse here.”

Liam shrugs. “Fiona did and now Lip has too. It kindof makes the most sense for you two to move out next since you’re married andall.”

Mickey eyes him for a minute, catches sight of theway Liam’s shoulders hunch slightly under his scrutiny and feels his own oldabandonment issues come to the surface. He’s pretty sure he knows why the kid’sasking. “Nah, man,” he says casually. “Me and Ian are on probation and have nomoney after the wedding. We’re only both just getting back to work – we’re notgoing anywhere for a while.”

Liam nods and he looks way too fucking pensive for aten year old.

“Besides,” Mickey finds himself continuing, feelingawkward and entirely unsure of how to navigate this conversation. He’s stillgetting used to being sincere with people who aren’t Ian. “Even if we did moveout you know your brother’d kill me if we didn’t take you with us.”

And it’s worth it to see the way Liam immediatelyperks up. “Seriously?”

“Hell yeah. Ian’s not gonna leave you alone untilyou’re eighteen. Prepare yourself; you’re gonna be sick of him by then.”

Liam pauses for a moment before saying a quiet, “Thanks,Mickey,” and wearing a genuine smile on his face for once as he pushes himselfout of his chair.

Ian comes back down the stairs as he starts to leavethe room, stalling him with a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Liam nods. “Just gonna read for a while beforebed.”

“Nerd,” Ian teases gently, an affectionate smile onhis face that does things to Mickey’s heart. “See you in the morning.”

Ian locks eyes with him as soon as Liam’s gone andMickey really thought he’d be used to the way his insides go all warm when Ianlooks at him like that but apparently not. Ian takes a seat next to him againand Mickey somehow ends up with his legs half draped over Ian’s as he turns toface him. He’d say it’s part of the honeymoon phase but truth is, as soon as hefinally felt comfortable enough to touch Ian however and whenever he wanted hecouldn’t stop. He can’t now either.

“Thank you,” Ian says when they’re settled, one ofhis arms around Mickey’s shoulders while his fingers dance over the exposedskin there. “For helping out, I mean. I know this isn’t exactly how you plannedfor our first few weeks of married life to go.”

Mickey offers him a self-deprecating shrug. “You knowI don’t mind,” he says softly. “Besides, it’s good practice, right?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he wants totake them back. Not least of all because Ian is suddenly staring at him withwide eyes, mouth dropped open in shock.

“Okay can we pretend I didn’t just say that?” hestarts but Ian cuts him off with a frantic shake of his head.

“Nope!” he declares, looking way too fuckingdelighted as he grabs hold of Mickey’s wrist. “Did you just say you’re enjoyingdomestic life? With kids?”

Mickey rolls his eyes so hard they almost roll rightout of his head, shoving Ian’s chest. “No, I did not say that. Fuck you.”

“Little bit you did though,” Ian grins, wrestling himuntil he’s pulled Mickey beneath him and is leaning up over him on his elbows.“Mickey Milkovich: house husband. Who would’ve thought?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grouses but there’s noheat behind the words.

Ian’s expression softens and he leans down untilthere’s hardly an inch of space between them. “For the record,” he murmurs. “Ididn’t think it was possible to be more attracted to you until I saw youcooking dinner with a toddler on your hip.”

Mickey groans, covering his face with his hands tohide the fact he’s about to start blushing hard. “Jesus christ, Ian.”

Ian attempts to pull his hands away and after a smallsigh of defeat, Mickey lets him. “You need to go steal a car or something? Makeyourself feel like a bad boy again?”

Mickey glares at him and tries desperately hard notto smile. It’s not his fault Ian’s goofy-lookin’ grin is so fucking infectious.“I fucking hate you.”

“Hate you too,” Ian beams, closing the distance betweenthem and drawing Mickey into a languid kiss.

And Mickey’s helpless not to kiss back, helplessagainst the way his toes curl when Ian flicks his tongue against his. Twistinghis hands in Ian’s hair, he pulls him down further and holds him place.

Okay, so maybe he doesn’t hate Ian all that much.

*

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 73: Care and After

Keith and Lance have to wait two movements to take a pregnancy test. In the meantime, Keith recuperates and some actual work gets done.

And I finally stop shitting on Krolia quite so much, bc I'm nice like that 😇

First  Previous  Next

Krolia stops by while Keith is in a deep sleep, offering the excuse that she’s bringing them more food and returning BleepBloop. Once she’s made her excuse plausible, the offerings placed in the cellar beneath the remaining packages she’d given them a movement ago, she admits her true purpose with a question.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Lance murmurs, brushing hair out of Keith's face. He pushes one foot rhythmically against the wall, letting their hanging bed sway gently back and forth. “The night before last, he had some trouble holding his fever. I ended up putting him in a hot bath. Then last night, his fever broke fully.”

“When his fever dropped the first time, was it a false break or just a drop in temperature?”

“No… It was my fault. It got really cold out, and I forgot to feed the fire. He couldn’t keep up. He was still having chills, and was slightly lucid. He suggested I run him a bath. I don’t think he remembers, though.”

“A dip in fever is pretty normal for a first season. Galra are never as strong their first time around. You handled it well.”

“Mhm. I missed him, though.” Lance smiles, gaze soft as it travels over Keith’s face. “He’s my friend. My ‘Person’, y’know? And I’m his ‘Person’... I don’t know. It just- It felt like he wasn’t here anymore. Obviously, I’ll still be here for him every time, however he wants me, but I think I’ll always like it better when he’s being rude and demanding. Or complaining.”

The Altean’s mouth quirks. “I’m sure I’ll get an earful about something or other when he wakes.”

That quirk rises into a grin. He loves it when Keith gives him a hard time. It’s one of his ways of showing his love, and that he’s comfortable with him. It’s one of Lance’s favorite things.

Keith stirs in his sleep, whimpers against Lance’s throat. Long brown fingers slide up to his ear, massaging the base in just the right spot. Practiced. Caring.

When he glances up to the silent woman, she’s watching, expression perfectly neutral. When she speaks, it’s not bitter, only quiet. “Why couldn’t you be what I wanted you to be?”

“Do you know, I think you’re the first person to ask me that to my face? Most people I meet just give underhanded comments about whatever aspect of myself they take issue with.” Keith settles against him once more, sinking deeper into sleep with a sigh. Lance takes a moment to smile at him. “But either way, it doesn’t matter. I am who I am, and what I am, and if there’s one thing I’ll never apologize for, it’s that.”

Lance tips his forehead to rest against Keith’s. “He calls me his ‘good man’. I need to live up to that.”

“You’d fucking better.” The woman sighs. “I need to get back up to the compound. Take good care of him for me.”

“You have my word.”

 “So… My arm is dead. And your hair is in my mouth.”

“That sounds like a You Problem,” Keith mumbles, even as he shifts in a weak attempt to restore blood flow to Lance’s arm.

“The burdens of being the big spoon,” Lance murmurs, kissing the back of Keith’s neck while subtly trying to get fur out of his mouth. “Feeling any better? You’ve been sleeping all day.”

“A little. Guess I’ll sleep some more, take a bath, eat something, and then…”

“Find a way to keep busy for two movements?”

“Yeah.” Keith finds Lance’s hand slung over his waist, grips it tight. “I know I shouldn’t make such a fuss about this. It’s all chance, not a big deal if we’re not pregnant, but-”

“It is a big deal. Either way, this is going to dictate how the next few phoebs will go, or the rest of our lives. It’s an especially big deal for you, I know. All those social pressures and everything. But it’s ten quintants. We’ll get through it together, just like we do everything else, okay?”

“Okay.” A restless quiet stretches between them. “I need a bath.”

“You really, really do. Would you like me to run one for you?”

“Rude. But yes, please and thank you.”

“Trust me, I need one too.” Lance gets up, ignoring Keith’s grumbling when he does. “I’ll go first. You go back to sleep, or get a snack, okay?”

The prince kisses his cheek, sets one of Krolia’s leaf-meals next to him on their bed. Keith groans, not at all in the mood to return the affection. He’s so grumpy when he’s tired…

Ancients, Lance loves him.

When Keith finally emerges from the den, he’s freshly bathed, long, thick hair still dripping, hanging loose down his bare back. He’s a bit self-conscious, having noticed almost immediately that he’s lost a noticeable amount of weight. 

Lance, while (suspiciously) vocal of his appreciation for Krolia giving them food, is cooking them some fresh fish out front, complete with bread and vegetables. Keith notices that there’s definitely extra food there, no doubt in an effort to stuff him full of nutrients.

“Hey.” 

“Hey- Hi. How are you?” Lance searches him earnestly, looking for clues. 

“I feel like shit. But you probably figured that. Also, my head hurts from keeping my hair braided for so long.”

“Yes, I figured that. Do you want me to dry your hair for you?”

“Yes, please. But leave it loose.” Keith hands him a towel, sitting beside him on the ground. “I could swear I almost forgot what the sky looked like.”

“Well, right now it looks gloomy.” It does indeed, overcast and thundering. The world is cast in grey light, leeching the bright reds from the earth. Lance gently squeezes water from Keith’s hair, glancing regularly at their dinner to avoid burning anything. “Apparently, the storm ‘system’ that came over when your season started is still passing over.”

“Yeah, it happens this time of year. We’re nearing the monsoon season.”

“I thought you didn’t have seasons.”

“We do, but not temperature-y seasons. We have rainy seasons, dry seasons, harvest seasons, rutting seasons, lots of different seasons, but we definitely don’t have winter.”

“Rutting seasons?”

“The elk. They start bugling and mating and all that stuff. Then they calve, and the wolves have their pups.” Keith lifts his eyes to the heavy clouds. “It’s good you’re cooking now. It’s going to rain again in just a little bit.”

Lance finishes, leaving Keith’s hair ever so slightly damp, but at least no longer dripping. The Galra disappears back into the den, comes out with their cloaks instead of the towel. Lance sighs with relief, grateful for the warmth as a chilled breeze tumbles over them. Keith snuggles close, rests his head on Lance’s shoulder.

“Thanks for taking care of me. You did a good job.”

“Aw, thanks, beloved. It was my pleasure.” The rain finally starts, and Lance sighs. “I hope our food’s done.” 

“Seriously. I want to eat everything right now.” Keith grabbed the cast iron pan of vegetables while Lance pulled the rolls from the stone oven and grabbed the fish, sliding them off the roasting sticks and into the vegetable pan.

“If not, I’ll make a fire inside and finish it for us. Come on.”

They’re inside just as it starts pouring.

“So… When do we start thinking about names for our kits?” Keith sets their food by the inside fireplace, gets a fire going to keep it warm.

“Uh… I’m not sure.” Lance peels off his wet shirt, dropping it on the floor. “My grandmother dictated my and Allura’s name before my mother was even of legal age. Depending on which characters you use, ‘Lancel’ means ‘paladin’ and ‘providence’, or it can mean ‘bloody ruler’.”

“Well that’s a bit on the nose.” Keith scoops BleepBloop into his arms, scratching his little belly. “Which characters do you use?”

“My grandmother was an extremely unpleasant person. I suspect she wished for ‘bloody ruler’, but she died before I was born. My father chose ‘paladin’ and ‘providence’, most likely to spite her... What does your name mean?” Lance’s head pops out of a fresh shirt.

“No idea. I’d have to go to Earth to find that out, and no one alive knows where it is. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do you want our kits to be like you?” Keith pulls a bread roll from the tray, tearing off half and handing it to Lance. He’ll start out slow, so he doesn’t get nauseous, but Keith’s determined to start gaining weight as quickly as he can. ‘Just in case’, as with most everything he does these days. He’s even dialed back on his training, choosing not to resume his sessions with the Blade following the end of his season.

“I’d rather they be like you. I’m untested, and have little in the way of practical skills. You’ve proven your resilience, and your strength. I want them to have that.” Lance throws himself down in his chair by the table.

“I hope they have your mercy,” Keith whispers. He hops up to sit on the table, planting one of his feet between Lance’s legs. “Your balance. Your ability to learn something new. To listen… You teach them how to be charismatic and leader-y, and I’ll teach them how to kill without remorse and make a shelter and fire starting with two sticks.”

“Oh, Ancients! They’ll be unstoppable!” Lance laughs, scales glowing with humor.

“As long as they’re better than Seran and Renli’s kits, I’ll be happy.”

“That is an incredibly low bar, beloved.” Lance laughs, kissing Keith’s knee. 

“Yeah… They deserve higher expectations. Not the best, because that’s not fair, or our best, because that’s fucking stupid, but I want them to be their best, and always strive to improve. Like you.”

“Like us.” Lance smiles. “And I absolutely agree. The other side of that is that it’s up to us to figure out how our children can use their various strengths and weaknesses to succeed in the high-ranking positions they’ll eventually hold.”

“You’re Alfor-ing,” Keith mutters. “You mean we’ll take an interest in our children and be invested in their lives because we’re their parents. We’ll encourage them to pursue their passions and apply them in a way that befits their status, because we love them and are involved in their lives.”

“Oh. Right…” Lance’s ears droop just a little. He looks sad. Probably because Lance never had a parent do that for him.

“Hey.” Keith nudges the inside of Lance’s thigh with his toe. When those blue-and-pink eyes meet his face, Keith’s mind draws a blank. What does he say to someone who’s just been painfully reminded of the neglect he’s experienced? “I love you.”

Lance cracks a smile. “I love you, too.”

“You’re important to me.”

“You’re important to me, too.” Lance sighs. “Can I have a hug?”

Keith smiles, sliding off the table into Lance’s lap, straddling him as he drapes his arms over the man’s shoulders. “Absolutely.”

Keith kisses his mate, careful to work a smile into it. He forgets sometimes just how desperate Lance is to break his family’s cycle, just how afraid he must be of following in his father’s footsteps (or lack thereof). To Keith, Lance is the man who can’t wait to be a father, who’s champing at the bit to be a king. He’s the man who wants to fix everything, even if he knows it’s not possible.

Tipping forward, Lance rests his head against Keith’s collarbone, and Keith twines fingers in his hair.

“My good man, don’t be sad.” Keith kisses, lays his cheek against his head. “You’re going to be amazing, I just know it.”

“I know.” The Altean draws in a great breath. “I know. I just-”

“Shh…” Keith rubs circles into Lance’s back, somewhat alarmed by his mate’s sudden distress. “We’ll do great, my love. I know it.”

“But why couldn’t he?” Lance whispers, voice trembling dangerously. Keith’s hands freeze. “I wanted it so badly.”

“I don’t know why. But you so deserved it.” Keith’s comforting skills reach their limit. “It’s one of the many reasons I want to punch him in his stupid face.”

Lance laughs, kisses the side of Keith’s neck. “There’s the Keith I know and love.”

“Sorry. I suck at comforting people.”

“It’s okay. You’re amazing at comforting me.” Lance pulls back, smiles up at the man in his lap, eyes rimmed with just a bit of red. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Keith leans down, kisses him deeply, hands cradling his face, thumbs sliding over his scales. Lance’s hands find their way under his thighs, lifting him up as he stands, setting him back on the table.

“Mm, how much do you love me?”

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?”

“Never. Not ever.” 

Keith believes his mate, one hundred percent. Not just because Lance’s hands are still on him, but because he just does. 

That doesn’t at all mean that he can’t mess with the man a little.

“We should confront your daddy issues more often.”

“Rude!”

 Quintants later, Lance and Keith have found something to keep them busy: their duties. After movements of neglect, Lanval reports that the people miss them, finding Alfor and Coran (mostly Alfor), less approachable. As a result, the pair are wandering through the imperial library, researching methods of population control and agricultural sustainability. Growth and capacity are constantly at war.

Krolia is on her own ‘research’ mission: how the fuck do Alteans actually think?

“Gentlemen.” Krolia nods as she approaches Shiro and Adam’s table on the other end of the library. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” Shiro says. Adam doesn’t respond, busy composing a message to an associate, named Lanval. Apparently this ‘Lanval’ serves as a sort of spy for the princes, keeping tabs on the general concerns and opinions of the commonwealth and court. “You?”

Krolia hums, lounging in a free chair. “I learned something quite interesting today.” Shiro hums. Adam momentarily lifts his gaze. “It would seem that Crown Prince Lancel isn’t quite what I imagined.”

“Mnh. sounds about right.” Adam doesn’t seem to care how useless his comment is. “How exactly did you finally come to that conclusion?”

“He said he missed Keith while he was in season.”

“Ah.” Adam finally tears his attention away from his desktop, smile more of a smirk than anything else. “He would. He’s sentimental like that.”

“I assumed he liked it any way he could get it, but it seems otherwise.”

“It’s an Altean thing, I think,” Shiro says. “They’re a reserved species, but generally respectful toward their spouses, despite their promiscuity. They can also be very playful with their mates, particularly in private. I’ve observed Keith engaging in playful banter with Lance on more than one occasion. I imagine Lance values that.”

“Lance values what?” Keith peeks his head around a bookshelf.

“You’re affectionate degradation of his character,” Adam says, smiling at the young prince. “Apparently he missed you during your season.”

Keith snorts. “What a dork.” The prince snatches up a scroll. “Hey, dork!”

“Yes, beloved?!” Lance calls from a different aisle.

“You’re a dork!”

“And you’re stuck with me, so what does that make you?” Lance rounds a corner. “Come help me with this. Apparently one of our mines on Arus is compromised. We need to write an emergency missive to close it, because apparently neither the colony nor the natives have the authority to halt production.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Keith frowns.

“We can revisit native citizens’ rights after we get them and our colonists out of dangerous mines, okay?”

“So long as we revisit it… Guess we’d better get to work. Also, we should bring back some windchimes for Hunk’s new kit. Kits love them.”

Krolia watches the two head off to wherever their desk is, Lance taking Keith’s hand, the two bickering back and forth about which one of them is more of a dork. Keith’s tail curls around the altean prince’s ankle, ultimately preventing his escape as he drives a hand into the man’s white hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions.

The prince’s shrieks carry throughout the quiet room.

Adam props his head on his fist, eyeing Shiro with amusement. “Any other anthropological observations you’d like to share, captain?”

“You’re not as chilly as you want everyone to think.”

“Excuse me?” Adam glares, bristling.

“Settle down.” Shiro sips his tea. “I was speaking of your entire species, not you. Though it is interesting that you-”

“Stop talking, or I will make you.”

Krolia settles back in her chair, watching the pair banter themselves, though not in nearly as boisterous a fashion. But before long, her eyes and ears slide in the direction of her son and his problematic mate.

It’s long been her belief that the best thing someone could be is someone like Akira. Someone who’s equal parts frustrated and optimistic, and not above putting their foot down and digging their heels in like a stubborn child. Able to learn, able to understand, able to reach out and extend themselves to others, no matter how different.

Creeping up to observe the pair, watching Lance pour over documents and old, outdated policy, Krolia can’t help but realize that the young Altean is in many ways quite similar to her own mate, right down to the way he’s always giving Keith at least a modicum of his attention, even if it’s to annoy him.

She hates to admit it, but her son could do much, much worse.

With that in mind, Krolia approaches the boys' table. "Have you investigated inspection and mining maintenance procedures and regulations? Perhaps there is some underlying cause."

Lance leans back in his chair, eyeing her carefully. Finally he nods. "I haven't." There's so much caution in his eyes. "Perhaps you'd like to assist with this? We'd appreciate it."

Krolia nods, waiting for Lance to transfer the appropriate documents. A quick scan reveals the problem. "This is extremely outdated, given our peoples' current understanding of physics and changes in mining practices. Let me pulls some documents and I can help you boys draft something new."

Keith wraps his hands around Lance's arm, whispers something in his ear. Lance smiles, nods. "If you would, we'd be very grateful. If you can do that, then we can come up with a plan to help implement new procedures, and provide any resources needed to transition to more appropriate protocols."

It's an unspoken thing, the way Lance gestures for her to sit at their table upon her return, the way he makes room for her books beside his own. When Keith makes tea, there are three cups. When they call for a servant to bring them food, Lance requests three meals. A simple choice -her simple, agonizing choice- means that once again, Krolia has an open seat at her son's table.

She doesn't miss how Lance nudges Keith, the silent look they share. She doesn't miss Keith's smile as he turns back to his letter.

Worth it.

[aoifeanamadan]

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 3888

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

He really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter One: Spanish? 

Dream was an early riser, he always had been. It was nice to wake up to quiet suburbia, to see the world jostle into life. He witnessed the cellophane peace stretch and tear. The house was quiet before sunrise. It felt delicate, holy. It felt like it was all his. Dream could wander, tiptoe around the soft quiet. It was like he was the only person left on the planet.

Lie-ins felt wrong on a cellular level. They made him feel a dirty kind of guilt, the missed opportunity. Every day since he was a child, he was up before the sun. And every day he watched the sunrise while eating breakfast. It was gorgeous. Watching the sweet pinks and dusted oranges floating up from the horizon assured him he was there, he was human.

It felt right, millions of years of evolution proving him right. Once the sun was up, the house got moving.

He loved the mornings, seeing his family bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one coated in familiarity. It made him certain that they were all there. Real and familiar and the same as always.

On the first morning of his senior year, Dream missed the sunrise. I was nothing ominous or scary, he just overslept. His alarm clock’s batteries had run out the night before and Dream couldn’t wake up without the siren blare. His sister had to knock on his hardwood door as she passed on her way downstairs.

Dream wasn’t superstitious. Witches didn’t scare him, he thought spells were bullshit. But missing the sunrise on the first morning of his last year of school, it scared him a little bit. He didn’t realise it at the time, head stuffed with shitfuckshitshit I’m going to be late , that end of the world feeling that comes with waking up late on a Monday. But the thing that scared him was the uncertainty, the proof that things were changing soon.

Normally, once the house was moving enough, he could take a shower without feeling guilty for shattering the peace of the sunrise. It was always the same, hair first then his body, his teeth.

No matter how many times he washed and changed his bedsheets, the night always made him feel dirty. Seeing the water go down the drain felt like seeing the air rushing into his lungs, his blood pumping. It was certain, it worked. Always the same soap, the same shampoo.

That morning, he had to run to the shower. Dream liked routine, a plan, but he liked efficiency more. Even his shower routine was streamlined to be as time-effective as possible. He’d had the same shower gel since he was 11, fresh and clear.

It was just his luck that his Bubble Cucumber & Aloe Vera Hair & Body Wash would run out the first morning in 7 years that he was running late.

But, he adapted. The family soap felt gritty against his skin. It felt like there was a snail leaving a trail of lime behind it. Dream felt dirty, the night was ground into his skin. But, ‘a positive attitude was his most important accessory’ according to his mother, so he got on with it. He showered, he got dressed and he rushed his way downstairs.

His socks thudded softly against the carpeted stairs as he jogged into the kitchen, wearing shoes in the morning wasn’t right in his brain. He was pulling his jumper on over his head as he walked in, really it was inevitable that he’d walk into the door frame. There was a red mark on his forehead under his hairline. Fuck. His sister’s laughter only added to the heat building in the back of his brain.

Dream was a creature of habit, he knew what worked. And why fix what’s not broken? Two slices of white bread toast (with the dial at setting 2) with blackcurrant jam, butter on both sides and no crusts.  A glass of orange juice without bits. It was an easy breakfast, it worked. He never felt hungry before lunch.

The bits in orange juice were gross, the way they congealed on the side of the glass. Just the sight of gravity dragging them down the inside of the glass, leaving a trail of orange guts and gore, it was enough to make him squirm.

So, naturally, when Dream reached to pour the orange juice that morning, he was met with a stream of obnoxiously bit filled orange juice. Dream took his deep breaths, but the rise and fall of his chest made his skin rub against his t-shirt. The feeling of the shirt sticking to his wet, slimy skin was the final straw. He punched his hand twice, squeezed his eyes shut and stood up.

In hindsight, taking the carton and pouring it down the sink was an overreaction. But at the time, despite the protests from his sisters, it seemed like the only option. There would have been no issue other than a new shortage of orange juice, but Murphy’s Law was at play.

Just as Dream was going to throw the emptied carton in the bin, his mother walked in.

“Oh Clay, for God’s sake. I had just bought that!”

Dream got into Sapnap’s car five minutes late with toast in his mouth, ‘thoroughly sorry for wasting perfectly good orange juice’ but more sorry for being seen throwing it away.

“What took so long dude?” Sapnap was smiling from the driver’s seat. The second Dream got in, he put his head on the dashboard. Sapnap only got an exaggerated groan as a response. Dream didn't lift his head.

“Okay!” Sapnap, still grinning, started them on the journey towards school. His predictions about how their senior year would go were a welcome distraction from Dream’s building stress headache.

It was easy, it always was. Dream and Sapnap, Sapnap and Dream. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. Dream didn’t need to pretend to be excited or upbeat. He just had to be there. And he was. And so was Sapnap. And that morning, that was enough for both of them. To know they had each other, each in the other’s corner.

Sapnap talked the whole journey and Dream loved him for it. They understood each other, knew what the other needed. That morning, Dream needed a distraction while Sapnap needed to get the nerves of a first day back at school out of his system.

By the time they were parked, they were running behind.

Dream was late to his first class, physics. He got into school just as first the bell rang but the receptionist wouldn’t let him past. He tried to protest but was only met with a lecture about time management. They didn’t want to hear about his excuse, his mother’s lecture about food waste.

“Well, how could I ‘manage my time’ if my mother was the one keeping me back? What am I meant to say to my mother? I’m not about to tell my mom to shut up.” Dream was almost pleading by that point. His day had gone from bad to worse, to worse, to worse.

“I’d be careful before taking that tone with a staff member if I were you, Dream.” Dream wanted to hit back, stand up for himself, but he swallowed his words. The receptionist didn’t care what he had to say, they were just happy to get him in trouble. Drunk on power and projecting their highschool experience onto Dream. This wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Dream just nodded, bit back his ‘Fuck you’, apologised and headed to the other office for a late note, appeased only with a muttered whisper of ‘total bullshit’ as he walked away.

Such was the tyranny of high school.

When he finally got into the class, equipped with his note, the teacher barely paid him any attention. He didn’t even want the note. He just told him to sit down in any empty seat, then he went back to his diagram of magnetic fields.

Dream surveyed the classroom and was met with a packed grid of chairs. He could see his friends, all the way at the back of the class. It felt like light-years away. They were all frowning at him in sympathy. Dream didn’t like it at all, he didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. Bad was the only one who wasn’t looking at him like he just told them his puppy died. He was tapping his watch and mouthing ‘Don’t be late’. Dream smiled back sadly and shook his head.

The only empty seat was in the front row next to Weird Sarah. Dream bit the inside of his mouth to keep from getting mad, and sat down next to her.

He turned to her, hoping to make some kind of friendship using the ‘positive attitude’ that his mother so valued, but was only met with the sight of her picking her nose at age 18. She turned to him and glared.

Dream thought that might be the final straw, after everything that had gone wrong. His head felt like a tea kettle, he was surprised other people couldn’t see steam coming out of his ears.

But, he counted his deep breaths and clenched his fists until he could refocus on electromagnetism, or whatever the teacher was talking about.

Dream had been so focused on not letting everything from the morning get to him then and there, and culminate into a public rage, he had forgotten to pay attention. He was completely lost.

The teacher must’ve noticed the look on Dream’s face, because it was then he chose to engage  Dream in the lesson.

“Dream, can you tell me how to label exhibit 6.3?”

The words felt like a death sentence. Dream just stared blankly back at him, turning red. Everyone was quiet, all witnesses to Dream’s public execution by way of embarrassment. He wanted to yell, to tell them all he wasn’t stupid he was just panicking. Instead, he sat there in the silence. Any other day he would have had some cocky, charismatic answer but that Monday he had nothing.

He could feel his classmates’ eyes burning into the back of his head, looking at him expectantly. Dream couldn’t have remembered the answer right then if he had a masters degree in electromagnetism. The silence was starting to become painful. He had to say something.

“No?” It came out as more of a question than an answer. The teacher looked at Dream, disappointed. It was too early for this.

“No Dream, you cannot, because you were too focused on staring at your blank notebook. Pay attention please.”

The teacher, Mr McCarthy, was a nice man. He was old - maybe fifty or sixty - with grey hair and frail shoulders. He had three grandchildren and two kids of his own. His youngest grandchild, Lucy, was the apple of his eye. He liked golf, reading and the Netflix programme ‘Too Hot to Handle’. He was a good teacher.

None of that mattered to Dream, who at that moment felt like his teacher might have actually been the devil.

The embarrassment was burning in his chest, in his hands. And he hated it. He didn’t get embarrassed. Dream did not get embarrassed. He got mad and angry and mean, but not embarrassed. So, he flicked the switch. The blood that was flowing to his cheeks changed course to his ears.

He felt it building up inside him again, the same anger from earlier was rushing back in to suffocate the embarrassment. This whole class was fucking bull, what did Mr McCarthy even know about jackshit?

Dream didn’t even hear him open the question up to the rest of the class. He only heard George’s response.

“It’s particle radiation.”

George said it easily, nearly muttering. He didn’t even have to think about it. The class went silent. Dream heard Bad mutter an “Oh no.”

One thing everyone knew about Dream was that he did not like to lose. Ever since he was a kid, everything was a competition. Who could brush their teeth fastest? Who could finish the storybook first? He once stayed up for 27 hours just to make sure he was better than Sapnap at Call Of Duty. He was competitive to the core. It’s easy to be like that when you’re used to winning. Every time he was the best at something, it fueled him to be the best at something else. It was an easy cycle, the blueprint never failed him.

Dream didn’t lose, but somehow George always found a way to put him in second place. Ever since they were kids. When they were doing races, George was faster. When they were doing rock, paper, scissors George was luckier. When they were doing spelling bees, George was smarter.

Dream still didn’t lose, how could he, but he also didn’t win. And that wasn’t acceptable.

George knowing the answer to Mr McCarthy’s question was his final straw that morning.

“Yeah, of course he would need to answer.” It was a mutter to Sarah, under his breath. Sarah didn’t even glance towards him. But, in the silence of the classroom, it was 1000 decibels. Everyone froze, thankful to have front seats to their own personal soap opera.

“What’d you just say?” George’s head snapped towards Dream, all aggression and thought out anger. He was giving Dream a chance to retreat. Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take it. Dream wasn’t the type to retreat.

“I said of course you would need to prove how smart you are to the whole class.” Dream was looking back at him, matching his anger. Nobody was talking.

“Boys,” Mr McCarthy, bless his soul, tried to intervene. It was a lost cause. No one even noticed him. “Just because you’re mad that you didn’t know the answer. Stop acting like a little bitch.” George was talking as if he was speaking to a younger brother, scowling at Dream. He sounded like he barely cared about what was happening. It looked like he would be cold to the touch, like a statue. It made it look like Dream was throwing a tantrum

“George!” Mr McCarthy had never heard George swear before. Dream had. Everyone in the class had. George had been swearing like a sailor since he was eight.

“I’m a bitch? Coming from you? You fucking weirdo-” Dream’s anger was only building. Seeing George look cool and collected while he felt his face heating up made it worse. He stood up, the clatter of the stool bouncing off the walls.

“Boys!” That was the final straw for Mr McCarthy. He slammed his book down on the desk as he yelled. No one moved. Dream was left standing, breathing heavily. It was like they’d been snapped back to reality, remembering that there was actually a teacher in the room. Even if it was only Mr McCarthy.

He pointed his bony finger at Dream and then at George.

“You two. Outside. Now.”

In life, there were some simple truths. The sky was blue, the sun was hot. And, Dream and George hated each other.

But, in the same was the sky had been red in the beginning and the sun would be nothing in the end, it hadn’t always been that way.

When they were younger, much younger, everything had been different. When they were kids, five years old, maybe six, Dream, George and Sapnap had been real friends, or as real a friendship could be at age nine. Sapnap had been the glue holding them all together. He was a mediator, no matter how hard he tried to start the joking fights he was always the one to end the serious ones.

Sometimes Dream thought that without Sapnap, he and George wouldn’t have made it past the age of 10 without killing each other. They were always fighting, over catch, snap, tip the can, even tic tac toe.

Things changed as they got older though. Where Dream and Sapnap got more confident, bigger, taller, stronger, George went quiet. He wasn’t shy, he just seemed mad. He was all snark and edge and frost. He retreated into himself totally, Dream never had any idea what he was thinking. By the age of ten, Dream was sure George hated him, so he decided to hate George back even harder.  

The more time that passed, the more he believed his story. That George had shut him out, and Dream was only acting in self-defence.

After all, George was weird. Where Dream was loud, the life of every party, the centre of the school community, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was better than everyone else because he didn’t engage with the school.

Everyone wanted to be Dream’s friends, everyone except George.

Bad came into the picture in high school, all kindness and unconditional friendship. He was just what Dream and Sapnap had needed, he kept them human. Bad stopped him from being a bully. Sapnap had always said to be nice because it was the right thing to do. Bad said to be nice because empathy was a virtue, he explained his experience growing up, how just one person being nice to him could’ve changed everything. He made Sapnap and Dream kinder.

Where Dream hated George, all sarcasm and snark, George seemed to have a vague dislike of Dream. It was as if he didn’t even care enough to dislike him. Even if Dream didn’t want to admit it, on some level he knew that he hated George more than George hated him. This only spurred him on to hate George even more.

Sapnap tried to stop him. Him and George were still good friends. He didn’t let them talk about each other and never told them anything about the other. That was Sapnap to a T, as loyal as they come. No matter how many times he started fake fights, Dream knew he’d always be there if he really needed him.

But, standing out in the hall in the middle of what should've been a normal physics class, Sapnap was not there. Mr McCarthy and George, however, were right in front of him, and they were on route to the principal’s office.

A solid telling off later, his third of the day, George and Dream had received their punishment. For swearing and publically fighting during physics, they were sentenced to two months worth of weekend classes together.

It was that or four months of after school detention. Dream didn’t want to admit it, but he had George to thank for negotiating it down to what it was. Dream would never tell a soul, but it was a tiny bit badass to see George debating the principal while she was mid-rant.

Dream was a lot more grateful than he was letting off.

If he wanted to stay on as the first striker on the soccer team, he needed to be at every practice. And practices were after school, exactly when their detention was first scheduled. He couldn’t have Sapnap out on the soccer field without him to pass to, how would he cope with the loneliness?

George had after school commitments as well apparently, considering how hard he fought to get the mandatory attendance to the weekend classes the school ran instead. He argued that him and Dream could improve their schooling and learn to co-exist, instead of sitting in silence and letting their hatred simmer.

They were even allowed to pick the class, as a way to start them on their journey of cooperation.

Once they left the office, miraculously still alive, Dream turned to George. He tried to push down the automatic response of ‘Fuck this guy’ in order to choose the class they would take. Before he could even open his mouth, George was talking.

“We’re doing English.” Before Dream could reply, he was walking away. Asshole.

Dream chased after him down the hall.

“Hey, hey!” George didn’t even turn around until Dream was tapping his shoulder. Asshole.

“Huh?” George had the audacity to look confused. “What do you want now?”

Dream just looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. He was so fucking obnoxious.

“Why would we do English? I wanted to do-” Dream hesitated. He hadn’t actually thought about what he wanted to do, too distracted by what an idiot George was for speaking for the both of them without consulting him. Dream realised his pause for too long. “-Spanish.”

Dream did not want to do Spanish.

“Spanish?” George was looking at him like he was an idiot. It made Dream want to double down even harder.

“Yeah. Spanish.” It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“You don’t do Spanish.” George was getting annoyed. Dream was proving everything that he thought about him right.

“I do!” Dream didn’t know why he was committing so hard to his lie. He didn’t want George to know he was right, God knows how smug it would make him.

“Speak some Spanish right now then.” George was challenging him. It caught Dream off guard. He hadn’t expected the exchange to go further than him saying he wanted to do Spanish, which he did not.

He would’ve spoken some, but never having learned a word of Spanish made that a bit difficult. He hesitated too long for it to be believable.

“No.” Dream’s brain was stuttering. He was trapped in his own lie. This was exactly what his mother always said would happen if you lied, you’d get trapped in it. “No?” George looked at him, smirking like an idiot. Asshole. Of course he would like watching Dream in misery, Sapnap was wrong about him.

“No.” They both stood there in the hall, Dream prayed for the bell to ring and give him an excuse to leave. The bell did not ring.

“Okay then. We’re doing English. For one, we both actually do it. And you need the help.” Before Dream could protest, George walked away. Dream wanted to punch him.

His mother didn’t take the news well. Most parents wouldn’t be over the moon hearing that their child was going to be in weekend detention for two months. Dream tried to spin it as a fun afternoon class but that plan was derailed when his dad came in holding the phone, with the principal on the other end of the line.

In school the next day, after spending twenty minutes complaining to his friends, Dream found George during lunch.

“Hey, I’m going to need your number.” Dream didn’t bother with manners. They were well past that point. He was just following the orders of his mother, who wanted them to co-operate completely. She figured Dream would need George’s number.

George looked up from his friends, eyebrows raised. When he saw Dream, he got up. They walked just a few steps away from the table.

“George, your number?” Dream just wanted to get it over with so he could go back to his friends and complain about the whole situation

“Oh yeah, it’s 08 fuck you 69.” George rolled his eyes, taking the phone from Dream’s hand.

He saved his contact under Gogy <3 and walked away. Dream was left scowling at George’s back.