#he’s who I really wanted to go and smoosh with a hug yesterday

[stokesy55]

Ey, just if you thought Jimmy’s retirement fic would be a bit sad cause Jimmy and emotions, just be known Joel’s sad lost puppy face has made it worse

[echoing--stars]

ok picture this: Wars is an absolute MENACE. He goes to bake and Rowan just so happens to check the expiration date on let's say his baking powder which may be 20 plus years old....

just pulling ideas outta thin air ya know not targeted at all

Totally not going out of order to post this one today while it's fresh nope not at all

This was supposed to be crack, but it's mostly just very sweet! It is also based on a true story of a beloved friend using baking powder that is older than they are. I will be kind and not call them out though XD

This one also got long. It's longer than some of my fics on ao3 I'm pretty sure! And I remembered to use a read more line break this time!

(If you read this and would like to request a supposedly short snippet, see this post!)

Link thought that Rowan would be proud of him. He’d read the recipe twice — twice! — before starting. He’d taken out all the ingredients and all the equipment he needed. He’d only had to dig for a few things, but he’d bought the chocolate and butter that he knew they were out of yesterday.  If he’d misread the recipe yesterday and thought he’d needed baking soda instead of baking powder, well, no one had to know except himself. They’d use the extra baking soda someday. He assumed. And he’d found some baking powder anyways so what did it matter? He cracked the eggs in a bowl and made sure no pieces of shells were left in them. He measured out the sugars and dumped them in the mixing bowl along with the sticks of butter (and yes, he had remembered to take them out of the fridge that morning) and added two teaspoons of vanilla.

Link put the eggs and the sugar canisters away and then wiped the sugar residue out of the measuring cups he’d used. Rowan had talked about the importance of cleaning as you go and keeping a tidy workspace, after all. Next was measuring the dry ingredients. He started with the smaller measurements, putting them in a small ramekin for now. If he put them on the bottom of the bigger bowl, they wouldn’t mix well.  Another thing that Rowan had taught him was how to properly measure flour for baking. If you couldn’t weigh it, then you should spoon it into the cup and then level it. But was it really that important? Link thought for a moment, then shook his head. This was a simple cookie recipe, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He dunked the measuring cup into the bag of flour and scooped some up. He smooshed it against the side of the bag to even out the flour and — Knock knock! Link dropped the measuring cup into the bag of flour and grabbed his phone. Had one of his roommates forgotten their keys? It was too early for Rowan to be here, he wasn’t supposed to be off work for another hour. There was another knock and Link wiped his hands on a paper towel before heading to the door. He unlocked it but left the chain on, opening it just enough to see who was on the other side. “Rowan?” His boyfriend smiled sheepishly, and Link shut the door to undo the chain before letting Rowan in. “There’s a peephole for a reason, you know.” “That’s less dramatic.” “Whatever you say, Link.” Rowan pulled him into a brief hug, and when they pulled away, Link pressed a kiss against his lips. Rowan smiled into the kiss, and Link laughed as they pulled apart again. He turned to head back into the kitchen. “Why are you here so early? I thought you were at work until seven.” “It was slow today, so I left early.” Rowan dropped onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “What are you making?” Link blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to make you cookies. I’m sure they won’t be anything fancy, not what you make, but—” “They’ll be perfect, Link.” Link’s cheeks heated even more, and he turned back to the bag of flour. Now was not the time to flirt. Not even if Rowan looked extra cute with his hair coming undone from the bun he normally kept it in and the soft sweater and… He shook his head. No time for distractions. Now that Rowan was watching, Link measured the flour right. He took the spoon he’d left out and scooped the flour into the cup and leveled it with a spatula. He dumped it into the mixing bowl and started on the next cup.

Rowan was fidgeting in his seat while Link worked. Link tried to ignore him, to concentrate on what he was doing. But it wasn’t exactly easy. He’d just dumped the second cup of flour into the bowl when Rowan stood and walked around to Link’s side of the counter. He stood behind Link and wrapped his arms around Link’s waist, leaning down until he could tuck his chin over Link’s shoulder. “Rowan, you’re going to distract me.” “But I missed you!” Link hummed and tilted his head to the side until their cheeks were touching. The position was a bit awkward, but Link wouldn’t trade it for the world. After a few moments, Link got back to work. He grabbed the whisk and stirred the flour briefly. Rowan’s arms tensed around him briefly, making Link pause. Rowan pressed against his back as he reached towards the canister of baking powder still on the counter. Link took a small step forward to make it easier for Rowan to reach it and grabbed the ramekin of salt and baking powder he’d measured out earlier.

“Why are you using baking powder?” Link paused and let his hand fall to the counter. “That’s what the recipe says?” “Where’s the recipe?” Link gestured to the bag of chocolate chips. “The one on the back.” Rowan stepped away from Link’s back and grabbed the bag. He scanned the recipe before looking back at Link. “It says soda, hon. Most recipes like this use baking soda.” Link grabbed the bag from Rowan’s hands and squinted at the label. Had he been correct yesterday after all? “I swear I read this like three times!” Rowan laughed — the audacity — and shook his head. “You guys have baking soda right?” “I bought some yesterday.” Rowan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. Link dumped out the ramekin into the trash while Rowan grabbed the can of baking powder to put it away. “Link, where did you get this baking powder?” “Huh? I found it in the cupboard. Why?” “Link. Link, this is expired.” Link turned around. Rowan was holding the can upside down and frowning down at it. “Oh. Stuff is usually okay to use past the expiration date. And besides, Time used it a few months ago I’m pretty sure.” Not that the whatever he’d been attempting to make had turned out well. But Time had never been good in the kitchen, at least not without his girlfriend to supervise. Link couldn’t reasonably blame the baking powder for that. “No, Link.” Rowan shook his head. “This expired over 20 years ago.” “That’s not possible.” Rowan held out the can for Link to take. And just as he’d said, the date on the bottom read Nov 97. “What in the fuck?” Rowan burst into laughter. “You were a toddler when this was purchased!” Link dropped the can on the counter. “Stop laughing! It’s not my fault!” “Was it here when you moved?” “How am I supposed to know? I assumed Time or Twilight bought it.” “They’ve only lived here, what? A few years? Did one of them inherit this can from their parents?”  Link sunk to the floor, head in his hands. That only made Rowan laugh harder, until he was nearly wheezing. Link could feel how red he was, his cheeks flushed from the embarrassment. “Rowan, how I supposed to know?” Link flopped onto the floor, hands still on his cheeks. He was glad that he’d mopped earlier before this whole fiasco. “This can looks like it’s from the 90s, Link. It’s all yellow and faded.” “Maybe that’s just what baking powder looks like. You’re the baker here, not me.” Okay, now he knew he was just whining. It’s not like he’d already made the cookies. Rowan knelt down next to him, his laughter finally fading. His cheeks were as red as Link’s felt. “I know, and it was very sweet of you to try. Do you want to finish?”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (10) || atz

How did you end up in this situation?

Cobblestone under your feet, smoke in your eyes and sandwiched uncomfortably between two men. When you look to your left, the purple haired gunner grins easily and the arm slung over your shoulder tightens, sending you into some form of secret-to-hide panic. When you turn to the right, Jongho merely looks away, your mind coming up with a hundred and one reasons why he hates you.

After treating Jongho’s wound, the quartermaster, Mingi, had announced that the ship had finally arrived in the pirate town of Tortuga. San had brought you up to the forecastle deck, where you watched civilized land come into sight for the first time since your awakening.

The ship had docked in one of the empty piers, much to the excitement of the crew. You knew many of them loved the ocean, it was their home, but you had to admit that seeing the same thing for weeks had to get boring after a while. It was also difficult to bring fresh food onto ship as it spoilt fast, so most of the ship had been buzzing excitedly about all the delicacies they would eat once they had the chance to explore the town.

But you had a different mission.

After Mingi had gone to the docks to settle the toll, San had pulled you to the side. You frowned at him as he produced a long list from his pocket.

“Uh, Master, what is that?”

“I need you to go shopping in town for me.” The healer had told you, pressing the list into your hands. You immediately started to panic.

“Me? Master, I can’t! I barely know my way around the ship, let alone a new town I’ve never been to!”

Your reasoning fell on deaf ears.

“It’ll be fine! I’ll have Jongho follow you, he’s going into town as well for some shopping.” San chirped happily as he pulled a coin pouch from the inner folds of his shirt. You stared at him in abject horror as the coins clinked in your hand.

“Master! You can’t send me with… with Jongho-hyung! Why don’t you send Seonghwa-hyung or Yeosang-hyung instead?”

No way. No way in hell were you going to be with the young battlemaster for long, extended periods of time. He’d probably “accidentally” lose you in town somewhere as revenge for shooting him on accident and you had no wish to die a terrible death in some dank, dirty alley.

San had cocked his head at you curiously. “Seonghwa-hyung is busy fixing the ship as the head carpenter on board. Yeosangie is helping Mingi negotiate for a lower price to pay for the toll. I need to stay here to treat the wounded and Jongho can’t tell a marigold poultice from marmalade.” Then the corners of his eyes crinkled a little and he gave you a sly grin. “Or is there any reason why you don’t want to be alone with Jongho?”

You glared at him. Your master must have felt the tension in the room between you and the young battlemaster earlier, and now he was just milking it for all it was worth instead of helping you out.

San had laughed at the sour look on your face and relented a little. “Alright, alright. How about this? I’ll send Wooyoungie with you and Jongho.”

“Send who with me now?” You were utterly confused. The healer sighed.

“The head gunner?” He tried to jog your memory, gesturing wildly with his hands as if that would aid you in remembering anything. “The one with the dolphin laugh? The purple haired one?”

“Him?” You were sent into a moment of panic, flailing your arms desperately. “But I don’t know him either!”

San clapped, the sounds starting to get annoyingly loud. “All the better! You can finally get to know more of your crew mates!” He steered you by the shoulders towards the gangplank, which had been lowered for the crew to disembark the ship, all while ignoring your cries of protest. “Just wait there for Jongho and Wooyoung!”

And that was how you had ended up in this terrible situation.

“So, you’re our little stowaway, aren’t you?” Wooyoung beams at you, arm around your shoulder. His hand is hanging alarmingly close to your chest, but you can’t push it away without garnering suspicion. You try to give him a smile, but it comes out more like a painful grimace.

“Yes?” Your answer sounds more like a question.

“Aigoo, you’re so cute!” Wooyoung smooshes your cheeks together much to your complete embarrassment. Then you hear a muffled snort from your right and you really want to crawl into a hole and die. The purple haired gunner is way too close, way too touchy feely, way too physical. Honestly, you’ve just met the man!

You give him an awkward chuckle through your squished cheeks and pull his hands from your face. The shackles around his wrists jingle as his hands fall back to his sides.

“So, where are we going?” You try to distract the man before he tries to hug you again. You don’t think your heart can take any more surprise embraces before it gives you a heart attack.

Wooyoung stops in the middle of the street you’re in, glancing around. The place is bustling with people, vendors peddling their wares, women in colourful dresses picking out accessories and hairpins.

Your fingers reach up to brush the short, messy braid your own hair is in and for a lingering moment, a feeling of yearning rushes through you.

“Do you want a hairpin, stowaway?” Wooyoung’s head rests on your shoulder and you leap into the air in fright. The gunner miraculously twirls out of the way with insane reflexes, barely saving his jaw from being crushed by you.

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak, horrified, but Wooyoung merely waves you off with a grin.

“Aww, it’s no problem.” He smiles merrily at you and you’re starting to get a little scared from how he doesn’t seem to stop grinning. Then he looks over your shoulder, his eyes crinkling to adorable half moons as his smile somehow grows even wider.

You turn to see what he’s looking at.

A gorgeous woman stands there, dolled up beautifully with a fair face and red slicked lips. Her dark hair is done in a shower of ringlets, pinned on top of her head with an intricate silver butterfly hairpin. Dressed in a tight leather corset and a ruffled lace skirt that barely comes to midthigh, she and her group of friends draw eyes from everywhere.

Wooyoung beams and waves at her.

The woman looks shocked for a moment before her lips curve up in a sultry smile, her finger beckoning him forward in a come hither motion. The head gunner grins at the two of you.

“Well, I’ll be going now!” Wooyoung squeezes you and Jongho into a tight hug, much to your panic. The maknae stares at him in mounting shock and fury. “Remember to take care of our baby stowaway, Jongho-ah!”

“Hyung, you can’t just leave me alone with him, you shameless basta-”

But then Wooyung is gone with the mysterious woman before the two of you can blink.

Jongho practically has steam pouring from his ears. “I’m going to kill that little son of a bitch the next time I see him. Ditching me to babysit while he sleeps around-”

A frown pulls on your lips as Jongho rants on to nobody.

“Why doesn’t Wooyoung-hyung just sleep on the ship?” You pipe up timidly, and Jongho whirls around to stare at you in shock with a hand pressed against his mouth.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

Then Jongho starts rambling with the most unnatural smile you’ve seen plastered on his face. “I can explain-”. He pauses for a long moment, then shakes his head furiously. “No, scratch that, I actually can’t explain. Well… Wooyoung-hyung doesn’t like the hammocks on board, so he prefers sleeping on land-”

“So is the woman his friend?” You ask, glancing back at where the two had left, a lavishly decorated building of marble and stone, the letters above it spelling “The House Of Pleasure” in crimson red.

Jongho’s smile turns rather strained and his eyes flit around desperately as if looking for something. “Yes?” He finally chokes out, not quite meeting your gaze as he steers you away from the building and down the dusty street.

“Their skirts are really short.” You muse to yourself quietly. You wonder if that’s practical and turn to the silent maknae to ask, but his face is as dark as a thundercloud and you’re immediately wary of his temper. Swallowing your question, you follow him as he stomps down the alleys and winding streets, meek and silent as a mouse.

Eventually the two of you end up outside a small, dingy shop, the windows dark with grime as if they haven’t seen a clean rag for centuries. A wooden sign hanging from the doorway depicts a picture of a snake curled around a short staff.

“This is an apothecary.” Jongho jerks his thumb at the shop. “Get whatever the hell you need fast so we can get back to the ship.”

You jump a little at his curt tone, but you can tell he’s still simmering with rage at how Wooyoung just up and left the two of you alone with each other. Your head droops. He must really dislike you after the little stunt you pulled with the musket yesterday. And now he’s stuck with you, forced to take care of you and stay with you.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble quietly under your breath, but Jongho hears it anyway and whirls around to stare at you.

“What?”

The two of you stare at each other for another awkward moment. Well, shit, you hadn’t meant for him to hear that, but since he had, you might as well tell him what you had wanted to.

You repeat the words a little more clearly this time. “I’m. Sorry.”

Jongho waves off your second apology impatiently. “Yes, yes, I heard you the first time. Why are you apologizing, though?”

You look down at the ground, your booted feet kicking back and forth at the cobblestones. “I’m sorry for being such a burden to you, Jongho-hyung.” Your voice comes out smaller than you thought it would be.

The young battlemaster remains silent for a moment. Then he grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you towards the shop, much to your surprise.

“Get your stuff.” His voice is a little softer, gentler, kinder now. You’re a little confused by his sudden change in attitude, but you do as he says and enter the apothecary.

“Marigold poultice, green tea leaves, honey…” You move past the shelves, studying the handwritten labels as Jongho trails behind you. The maknae looks utterly lost in the small shop, his shoulders brushing the glass jars on the shelves dangerously as he glances around curiously at the dried herbs hanging from the rafters.

“That’ll be twelve silvers, child.” You whip around in shock to see a wizened old man standing there. The bottles and herbs almost tumble to the ground, but Jongho scoops them up before they can shatter into pieces.

“Don’t scare him, old man.” The young battlemaster shoots the shopkeeper a dirty look as you thank Jongho profusely. The elder simply smiles expectantly. His silvery eyes are almost unblinking and you’re a little creeped out for a moment.

Then you remember you’re supposed to be paying him and rummage around in your shirt pocket for the coin pouch. Carefully counting out twelve small silver coins, you press them into the old man’s hands. They feel rough, like sand, against your fingertips.

“Your first time in Tortuga, huh?” The shopkeeper’s laughter sounds more like a dying wheeze. You and Jongho both stiffen at the words. Then the young battlemaster’s eyes narrow as his fists tighten.

“What’s your deal, you old geezer?”

The man merely lets out a derisive snort, pointing at your chest. For a moment, dread grips you as you fear he may somehow figured out that you’re a woman, but then you realise that he’s pointing to the silver necklace dangling from your neck, the clear cut crystal resting against the rough fabric of your shirt, strangely out of place.

“No smart person would leave such a pretty piece for the taking in a pirate town. I’m doin’ you a favour, kid.”

You rush to shove the necklace back underneath your shirt, heart thumping wildly in your chest. It must have slipped out somehow when you had been walking through town. A bead of sweat clings to the curve of your jaw. “Thank you for your help.”

The old man snorts, turning away as he shoos the two of you away. “Don’t expect to meet another kind soul like me here. Get lost before someone tries to steal it from you and I’m caught in the crossfire.”

The pair of you exit the shop, and you hurriedly shove all the things you’ve bought into a cloth bag. Jongho looks a little on edge from the man’s warning, grabbing the bag from your hand and taking you by the wrist.

“Let’s go.”

[dankmemes-of-dantooine]

Shoulder Your Burden (part three)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Alright you saucy b*stards it’s time for part 3. Yes, there’s more angst. Yes, there’s more fluff. Yes- I’m leaving you wanting more (I hope) in part four (where most of the really saucy sauce will be.) buckle up kiddos, it’s gonna be an angsty ride.

He stalked quickly to the meditation garden, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone he passed in the hall. He’d just come from the shower, but he felt sort of dirty, and it seemed as though he had “dear Maker, unfortunately, I’d like to

fuck Obi-Wan, I think,” tattooed on his forehead.

“Skywalker,” Mace greeted him darkly as he passed him in the hall and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Mace grinned, always happy to haze the young spitfire.

“Master Windu,” he managed in a high,thin voice, hurrying out the door into the garden.

He quickly found a warm spot in the garden and composed himself, set to meditate and focus and get this feeling out of his head. The garden was filled with fragrant flowers and beautiful statues paying homage to the masters who had passed on, so he tried to focus on those things instead.

Everytime he closed his eyes though, he saw one of two things that petrified him in two entirely separate ways.

He saw either the shattered corpses of his men decorating the ruined battlefield, or he saw Obi-Wan, looking warmly up at him from between his thighs, his kind, knowing eyes melting him into a puddle.

He huffed, trying desperately to push those thoughts out of his head. His mind was so loud and it seemed like the only time he got any reprieve at all was when he was being held, kissed, something that disrupted the electrical storm of thought that constantly raged in his overworked mind.

He had always been affectionate as a child, and he remembered back to sharing hugs with the other slave children his age.

He clung to his mother’s legs constantly and she’d have to peel him off from time to time just so she could get her work done. Though he was an adventurous and very independent child, he thrived on touch and little caresses.

He remembered sharing his first kiss with a little Twi’lek girl in his youngling class. He had been the fascination of many of his young classmates, with rumors of him being the chosen one swirling around the temple.

He had to rush to play catch up, seeing as how he was much older than most initiates. He was placed in a class with other youngling his age, but most of them had several years of training by that point.

One afternoon after saber practice, the little Twi’lek (her name was Gida, and she was beautiful. Still was, Anakin thought with a chuckle. She was hoping to be promoted to knight very soon.) had run up to him, grabbed him by the face and placed a smooshed, chaste kiss right on his lips.

He had reddened as she smiled and ran off, but for a singular moment, his mind had stilled. He had been about thirteen then.

“Hello there, padawan of mine,”

Anakin was ripped from his meditative reverie by the cheerful voice of his master chirping in his ears.

His eyes flew open and he was immediately grounded in reality, heart thumping wildly.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Obi-Wan said quietly, taking a seat next to Anakin.

Anakin swallowed thickly.

“Quite alright, Master,” he said quietly, willing his heartbeat to slow, “I trust you had a pleasant morning?”

He inhaled deeply.

Obi-Wan smiled, closing his eyes.

“I did. I met with the council to see if they know anything more about our informant. They don’t,” his voice was tinged with a mild distaste he reserved only for Anakin’s benefit. Secretly, Obi-Wan wasn't overly fond of the council either, but he kept that to himself except on the rare occasion he let it slip merely for the entertainment of his friend.

“And then I met with Ahsoka, for saber practice,”

“I thought she had the week off,” Anakin murmured, shaking his head, eyes still closed.

“You know she doesn’t take days off,” Obi-Wan grinned.

Anakin let the corner of his mouth curl into a smile.

“She comes by it honest.”

“Anyhow I trust you had a pleasant morning? You smell clean.”

Anakin nearly choked.

“I er-um yes. I slept rather late. And then showered. And then I ca-ame here,” he staggered over the words, hoping Obi-Wan didn’t notice.

“Very well. I should think you needed the rest.”

Anakin’s breath caught.

“I uh- yes. Thank you, by the way. For-“

“Not a problem,” Obi-Wan hummed, “happy to help. Sleep is important.”

Images from the night previous flashed into Anakin's mind, the warmth, the closeness, and then a sleepy memory, Obi-Wan untangling himself from Anakin’s sleepy grip early this morning.

They flashed across their bond into his mind in quick succession, before he had an opportunity to throw up a mental wall.

“ Oh. I’m s-sorry,” he squeaked, embarrassment clawing at his gut.

He wanted to crawl into a hole. He had wrapped himself around Obi-Wan like a vine this morning, and his master had be kind a polite enough to not make a fuss about it at all. And he wouldn’t have even known if not for that lax moment of carelessness on Obi-Wan’s part. Did he show him that on purpose? He would’ve had to.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly, placing a reassuring hand on his knee,

“I’m happy to help.”

Cold sparks shot up from the place where Obi-Wan’s hand rested on his knee, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He recoiled, shrinking back from the touch. Did he know what he was doing?

“Are you feeling unwell?” Obi-Wan said with concern, finally opening his eyes.

“No, Master, I’m fine. I’m- I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Anakin rose to his feet, shivering as his Master’s hand fell from his knee.

———————-

He paced the floor of his apartment, completely lost for ideas about what to do.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Obi-Wan. About him holding him, about him pulling him onto the transport. His eyes, his voice, everything.

And he was set to come over to spend the night again, because Anakin had asked him to yesterday.

Kriff.

They were falling into a routine that was becoming too comfortable. At best- the floor would be ripped out from under him again in a few weeks when their units were deployed again. Worst case- something...happened… between the two of them.

No. He couldn’t even entertain that thought. Anakin’s thoughts became ideas, and ideas were so ready to become plans.

And Anakin was adroit at executing plans.

This couldn’t become a plan.

His thoughts were interrupted by three short knocks.

He swallowed hard, hesitating before swishing the door open with a flick of his wrist.

“Inappropriate-“

“Yeah,” he said hurriedly, swallowing thickly, stalking back to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

He heard Obi-Wan follow him.

“Are you feeling alright? You seem...agitated.”

Anakin’s jaw worked in nervous frustration as he poured himself a glass of water. His mental walls were durasteel , a panicked effort to shut Obi-Wan out of the intrusive arousal churning in his mind.

“I’m fine, Master,” he grit.

“You’re very closed off in the force,” Obi Wan remarked with some concern, “are you in pain?”

“No Obi-Wan, I’m fine.”

He felt Obi-Wans featherlight signature brush against his mind.

Anakin, please.

“Is it your hand?”

Anakin glanced down at his injured hand, which was beginning to heal rather nicely, he noticed. He flexed it a few times.

Frankly, he’d forgotten he hurt it.

Obi-Wan was just guessing at this point, and Anakin could feel the mild discomfort and confusion Obi-Wan was letting curl into their bond. He was hurt. Obi-Wan thought he was mad at him. He sort of was.

“No, my hand is fine,” Anakin nearly growled, swallowing large mouthfuls of water, any attempt to cool himself off.

Obi-Wan was beginning to get irritated.

“I wish you wouldn’t have me guess. If you’re going to be so obviously irritated with me, you should at least afford me the decency to tell me why.”

“Oh you can’t be serious,” Anakin spat, exasperated.

Anakin’s jaw worked with irritation, and he spun to face him.

“I’m always so obvious about how I feel Obi-Wan? I’m sorry not all of us can be stone walls like you.”

His voice dripped with venom as he stalked past his Master, heart hammering in his ears.

“Anakin-“

“ Spare me, Obi-Wan. You’ve spent all week dancing around the fact that you think I’m reckless and dangerous because I can’t control my feelings,” he was trying so desperately not to raise his voice at his master, but the force flowed through him so strongly, especially when he was upset.

“Anakin, I never lie to you! If I thought you ought to be reprimanded, don’t you think I would’ve done it?”

Obi-Wan strode after him, determined to face him if he was going to argue with him.

“I don’t know, Master , I would’ve thought you would’ve wept when your master died too, but you didn’t even care. I thought you would’ve told me you were proud of me when I was knighted but you didn’t care.”

Anakin was taking no prisoners, and he knew what he’d said would cut Obi-Wan. It was an accusation, but it was true, it was like Obi-Wan couldn’t be bothered to care enough about anyone to be upset or proud about anything. Not in a way that anyone could see, anyways.

Anakin’s lower lip folded and quivered and he swallowed back the urge to cry, turning his face away from his former master.

Obi-Wan shook his head incredulously, swallowing the flare of anger and hurt that surged in his chest, but not before Anakin felt the fiery glow sear across their bond.

“I did cry Anakin. I did. Just not in front of you.”

His voice was soft and broken.

“I am proud of you. I thought you knew that.”

The several feet separating the men suddenly felt like a light year.

The tight coiled spring of temper within Anakin unwound instantly. He felt cold, hollow, guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan offered softly, taking a small step towards closing the gap between them,

“I didn’t want you to see me grieve. It was wrong, a bad example. I’d been a knight for a day, I was so young and foolish, Anakin, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Anakin swallowed against the heavy guilty tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

“Master-“

He didn’t turn around, because he could imagine how Obi-Wan looked just then, and he was afraid seeing him like that would have him crying again.

“I wasn’t ready to train you, but I did my best. I made mistakes. Please don’t hate me for what I didn’t know.”

Obi-Wans voice was thin, and quiet, with none of the strong warmth Anakin had come to expect from it. He was begging. Obi-Wan didn’t beg.

He still didn’t face him, eyes trained on a far place on the horizon that he gazed at out the window.

“Won’t you at least look at me?” Obi-Wan pleaded, his voice breaking on the last word.

Ani. Please.

The affectionate nickname tugged at the walls in his mind, begging entrance. It made Anakin’s heart thud hard , and he swallowed against the knot in his throat as he turned to finally look his former master in the eye.

Obi-Wan looked ruined. His eyes were dark, tired from not sleeping the last several nights he’d been up with Anakin. They were red rimmed too, and a single tear spilled down his cheek, that the older man quickly wiped away.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply, closing his eyes slowly.

“I cared about Dozer, too. I care about you. I was frightened when I saw you surrounded by droids on the battlefield. I’m frightened everytime I see you like that. I’m not devoid of feelings, I just have more practice than you at addressing them.”

Anakin had not seen Obi-Wan this wrung out in years. It throttled him. He felt so selfish and greedy for expecting so much of him.

Anakin didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“I wish I had the words you needed. I know you need them. I’ve failed you. I was not ready to teach when I still had so much left to learn.”

Those words crashed over Anakin and swirled around him, stripping him raw. He felt like he was in a sand storm back home, getting absolutely sandblasted by the words he said. But he wasn’t, he was in his apartment in the temple, standing in front of Obi-Wan with his mouth hanging open like some dumb bantha.

Anakin closed the space between them as Obi-Wan took an unsteady breath.

Anakin pulled him into a tight embrace, and Obi-Wan let the younger, taller man, awkwardly tuck his head under his chin.

Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet.

“I do care about you, dear one. I do.”

They stayed like that for a moment, before Anakin pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Anakin chewed his cheek.

“I shouldn’t have said those things-“

“I understand why you did.”

Anakin looked at the floor, shaking his head. Their guilt vied for dominance over their force bond. It felt a little like

I’m sorry

No, I’m sorry

No, I’M sorry

No I’m-

A constant feedback loop of apology, humming across their minds.

“Why are you so patient with me?”

Obi-Wan paused. “I care for you.”

Anakin looked up at him, eyes burning deep, feeling his hands shake.

“Do you?” Anakin was looking at the floor again.

Obi-Wan was exhausted.

“Anakin, of course I do, you ridiculous-“

“Why did you kiss me?” Anakin’s voice had more edge to it than he intended. He hadn’t even meant to say it.

“ What ?”

“Why did you kiss me the other night?”

“You asked me to!” Obi-Wan threw his hands up in exasperation, and Anakin reached out and caught his left wrist.

Obi-Wan looked at him for a moment, confusion, exasperation, and exhaustion cycling through his features.

Anakin just kept his eyes trained on Obi-Wans as he brought Obi-Wan’s hand up to his own cheek and nuzzled into it.

“Anakin-“ Obi-Wan had started to roll his eyes.

Anakin turned and placed a soft kiss onto his master’s palm.

Obi-Wan’s breath caught and he seemed frozen to the spot. Anakin wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him so still.

———————————————

Sorry to leave off on a cliffhanger again. This is literally all that tumblr will let me paste in 😅 I’ll try to update again this evening or tomorrow. Or, you can read the full update here on Ao3.

Stay tuned, I’ll update again this week. <3 fic is actually finished, it just needs to be formatted and posted. :)

Tagging: @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haydens-moles @fistmebuckyskywalker @sofiakenobi

[rosesisupposes]

sweet tea in the summer

in what is definitely a shock to all, i really love folklore.

read on ao3

characters: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Brief Logan, Brief Remy

pairings: platonic to romantic royality; paternal prinxiety; paternal moxiety

word count: 3,980

tags: trans Patton, parental transphobia (including deadnaming, misgendering), parental homophobia, gender euphoria, childhood friends to lovers, heavily closeted trans boy, coming out, endless fluff

a/n:  inspired by both “seven” off folklore and "It's Nice To Have A Friend" from Lover

⁂

Part 1: seven

They grow up as neighbors, just a street away, enough that Ro passes Pat's house going to and from school, and they walk together sometimes.

Roman may not be the smartest, book-wise, but well. Some things he just gets. And it does not take much for him, even as a seven-year-old, to pick up on the way Pat tenses up going home, to connect that with the distant yelling he hears some nights.

He finds Pat one afternoon, hiding in a little group of trees. The pink frilly dress is a mess- and Pat's hair is dramatically shorter than it was yesterday.

Pat's also crying in a way that Roman can tell has been going on for a while.

"You're Pat, right?" Roman says, plopping down by the same tree.

Pat looks shocked and surprised but nods.

"I'm Roman! We should play!"

"You want to play with me?" Pat asks.

"Yeah! You seem fun! C'mon, we can go over my house, Papa won't mind!"

Pat flinches. "Are you sure?"

"Yup! Let's go!"

And Pat would question it more but Roman is ebullient and it seems easier to just go along with it. It can't be worse than crying alone.

Roman's Papa is not surprised that Roman's acquired a friend somewhat by force. Virgil just smiles wearily and asks if Pat would like some crackers with banana and cinnamon, too?

Pat nods, and Roman's delighted, already talking a mile a minute about ideas he had for playing pretend!

Virgil eventually cuts into the flow and reminds Roman that he hasn't actually introduced his friend yet.

"Oh! Sorry! Papa, this is Pat!"

"What's Pat short for?" Virgil asks, smile gently at the wary look on Pat's face. "Is it cause he's only got little legs?"

Pat's face splits into an enormous grin at the pun. "It's short for- um. Actually, I don't think I like it very much?  It feels icky. I like the Pat part though."

"Can I give you a nickname?!" Roman asks, starry-eyed. "I think, um. Pat pat. Pipat. Patton!"

"Patton?" Pat tries out. "I like that. Patton. Hi, I'm Patton!"

Virgil smiles. "Nice to meet you, Patton. Now, that dress looks very messy, and not easy to play in, would you like to borrow some shorts?"

Patton smiles, eyes tearing up just a bit. "I would love that, are you sure it's okay?"

"Yes! Yes it is!" Roman interjects. "Here, you can come pick out something of mine! They'll probably fit!!"

"Slow down, my dashing little princey," Virgil says, grabbing the back of Roman's tee with the ease of long practice. "You need to finish eating your snack. Patton can come with me and we'll pick something while you finish. Okay?"

"Yes, Papa," Roman says, pouting. He sighs dramatically as he eats his crackers with exaggerated effort.

Patton walks behind Virgil down a hallway covered in dozens of drawings. Many are half-finished, but all clearly show enthusiasm and more than a little glitter.

Virgil grabs a couple of options, taking some of the clothes Roman's just starting to grow out of. Patton is just a bit on the smaller side still. He gives the boy a stack of clothes and shows him the bathroom, where he can change in private.

But, some sixth sense of Dad Instincts tells him he should wait in the hall right by the bathroom door. Just in case. (In case of what, he's not quite sure yet, but-)

Fuck, yup, that is definitely the sound of a little boy trying to cry as quietly as possible.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?"

Patton sniffles and replies, "I'm fine!"

Virgil frowns. "Can I come in, buddy?"

A pause.

"Oh-okay."

Patton has put on khaki shorts and a blue polo, but his hands are shaking as he looks at his discarded dress.

"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" Virgil asks in his softest Papa Voice.

"I'm being bad," Patton whispers. "I ruined my dress and I'm not wearing it and I cut my hair myself and I wasn't s'posed to and-"

Virgil hesitates, then sits on the tiled floor, pulling the sniffling boy into his lap.

"Hey, Pat, it's okay. It's just clothes and hair, okay, kiddo? Do you like how it looks?"

"Yes, but-"

"That's all that matters, buddy. And if you don't like it, hair grows back, clothes can get cleaned. I can clean your dress while you play, so you don't have to bring it home dirty, if you want?"

"I don't want him to be angry," Patton says in a tiny voice. "He scares me when he's angry."

Virgil tries very hard to be level-headed for his son, who really needs a solid presence. Which means he's had seven years of practice to be able to not swear loudly at the fear in Patton's voice, to not go off on a rampage to the Corwan house and give Mr. Corwan a piece of his mind. Instead, he hugs Patton into his chest, shushing quietly, rubbing the little boy's back as he sniffles into Virgil's hoodie.

"You know what we're gonna do, Pat? I'm gonna make sure your dress is all cleaned up, and when we're all done playing, we'll walk you home, okay?" He suppresses the fury from his voice as he adds, "And I'll tell your dad that it was all your idea to make sure you got cleaned up, and that it wasn't your fault it got dirty. How's that sound, kiddo?"

Patton nods, face still buried in the soft material of the black hoodie.

"Let's go, okay? Roman should be done with his snack by now."

Patton holds Virgil's hand on the walk back to the kitchen. Virgil has already half-committed to adopting this boy into their household if Mr. Corwan makes him cry again.

Roman is still in his seat, but barely. One of the crackers is just a pile of crumbs, and there's banana smooshed on his cheek. The minute he sees Patton, he's leaping out of his seat.

"Let's go play! I think we should be pirates! Or knights! Or-"

"Hey, what do we say about playing with guests?"

Roman catches himself. "I should let him have ideas too?"

"That's right, princey. C'mere."

Virgil has to let go of Patton's hand to wipe up Roman's face, because getting him to stand still is a two hand job.

He stands them shoulder-to-shoulder. "Okay, boys, you have a quest today!"

Roman's eyes are shining with excitement already.

Patton looks more concerned. "A quest?"

"Yes," Virgil says solemnly. "Your quest is to make sure your friend is having fun the whole time, and to listen to each other. Okay?"

Roman bounces in place. "Yes! I'm gonna be the best quester ever! Promise, Pat, you're gonna have so much fun!"

Roman grabs Pat's hand and they run out together to the back yard. Virgil sets himself up to clean the dress right by the big window to keep an eye on them, one ear always open for the cries of skinned knees or a-little-too-roughhousing

Patton smiles, face glowing as he listens to Roman's idea of how they can be pirate-witch-knight-ninjas.

It's nice to have a friend.

⁂

Part 2: thirteen

"Psstt!!! Patty!"

Patton turns to see Roman grinning hugely from his locker across the hallway. He waves frantically to get him to come over.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"It's here! Papa texted me, it just arrived!"

Patton freezes, eyes wide. "Already? Really? You mean it?!"

Roman nods, grinning hugely. "So you're coming over today. We'll say it's for that bio project if we have to, kay?"

Patton brushes at his eyes, making sure he's not tearing up visibly. He surprises Roman with a fierce hug. "Thank you, Roro."

Roman hugs back just as tightly, but he responds in a whisper so quiet that only his friend can hear. "You deserve it, Patton."

Patton can't stop smiling, even as his eyes feel like they're getting misty. "Oh gosh, how am I supposed to focus on algebra now? Can we just skip the last two periods?"

"Pat Corwan, 8th Grade Class President, wants to skip classes?" Roman replies with a mock gasp. "I'm shocked and appalled. And no, I have long-block scene study, there's no way I'm skipping."

"I know, I know. I'll see you soon!" Grinning, Patton walks away to his class, practically floating.

His desk-mate takes one look as he sits down and arches a brow. "So, Corwan, did he finally ask you out or what?"

"What?" Patton asks, barely aware he'd spoken.

Logan Williams sighs. "Sanders. Did he ask you out? You're smiling even more than normal. If I sunburned easy, I'd be concerned right now."

"Um, no? Ro and I are just best friends," Patton replies.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Best friends? You go to his house half the time after school, everyone's been waiting for you two to officially start dating."

"I-"

"Actually, if you were waiting for an excuse, you should run for Homecoming King & Queen together, I have a bet on that being the timing."

Patton frowns. "I have no plans to run for homecoming anything. I'm on the selection committee, that would be favoritism."

Logan shrugs. "Suit yourself. My only interest is in getting to finally hear a different topic of speculation during the lunchtime gossip mill. But you should probably know-"

Patton looks apprehensive. "Know what?"

Logan adjusts his glasses. "Half the grade already calls you The Future Mrs. Sanders."

Patton swallows a lump in his throat, fingers fidgeting with the material of his skirt. "I don't care what they all call me. He's my friend."

Patton turns his focus back to the lesson, but he keeps spacing out and missing parts, thinking about Logan's comments. But soon enough he's through algebra, and history passes without incident, and he's on his way to the Sanders house on Roman's bus.

As they walk through the door, Roman trills loudly, "Paaapaaaa!!!!!!! We're hoooOOOmmmeee!"

"I think I missed the part where I raised a rooster instead of a Roman," Virgil grumbles, emerging from his home office. "Heya, Patton!"

"Hi, Virgil," Patton says, grinning happily as Virgil immediately opens his arms for a hug. It's been years since he's even tried to call Roman's dad 'Mr. Sanders', because Virgil objects that it makes him sound like some corporate square.

"You wanna see it now or do you need to decompress first?" Virgil asks.

"Now please!" Patton says, and Roman claps and runs to the entrance hall to find the package waiting there.

Practically bouncing, Roman hands the package to Patton as he goes into the spare bedroom that's practically become his. His hands shake a little as he tears open the packaging.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?" Virgil asks through the door.

Patton emerges, tears leaking down his cheeks. He's changed into some of the clothes he keeps here, plus his new addition - pants, a polo, and his brand-new binder.

Roman bursts into applause, wolf-whistling and cheering. Virgil just smiles. "How's it feel, kiddo?"

Patton smiles at them, eyes damp. "It feels perfect. Thank you so much for letting me get it sent here."

"Anytime you need, Patton," Virgil says. "You know you're an honorary Sanders. Now, do you remember the safety tips we talked about?"

"No sleeping in it, or wearing for too many hours at a time, and try not to exercise in it?"

"That's right, kiddo. And you can keep it here until you feel comfortable wearing it out and about."

Roman hugs Patton carefully, not squeezing as tight as he normally does. "You look very handsome, Pat."

Patton just blushes and hugs back, amazed by the new feeling of the less-squish-in-the-front of the hug.

"Also I know it's our excuse but can you actually help with me bio, I can't get the hang of the cycles."

"Anytime, Roro."

Much later that evening, after a spaghetti dinner and several hours of 'homework' that actually accomplished one half hour's worth, Patton leans back against the bedspread with a happy sigh.

Roman looks up, eyes glowing in contentment. "Hey, you. You good?"

Patton looks down at his flatter chest and smiles. "Yeah, it's- I'm so happy, Ro. Thank you again."

"It's what you deserve, Pat," Roman says earnestly. "You deserve to have your family fully embrace and accept you, too, but until then you've got us."

Patton makes grabby hands, and Roman scoots over to hug him tightly. They don't always need words.

"Ro-" Pat says quietly, a thought suddenly popping into his head and out his mouth. "Did you know that half the grade calls me The Future Mrs. Sanders?"

Roman stiffens, not making eye contact. "I've, uh. Heard that once or twice, yeah. I know it sucks, Pat, but I don't know how to discourage it without outing you."

Patton takes a breath. "That part- I mean, I'm used to it. But-"

Roman sits back, looking concerned. "You know you deserve to have people use your pronouns and honorifics, right? It's not too much to ask. It won't be an imposition, I promise, it's just courtesy-"

"I know, Roro, thank you. No, I um. Yeah, that Mrs. part is still an unyeah, but-"

Roman waits, a little confused.

Patton closes his eyes. "Does the other part bother you? The part where they're implying that we- that we'd get, you know."

"Married?" Roman squeaks out.

"Yeah, that."

"I- I mean, you'll be my best friend no matter what but um, maybe, occasionally, Ithinkaboutthattooyeah?" Roman says all in a rush, blushing furiously.

Patton opens his eyes to see Roman's red face, then reaches out and takes Roman's hand. "Oh thank goodness."

Roman stares at their interlocked hands for a long moment, face growing steadily redder. "Really?" he manages to squawk out. "You- you really- me?"

"Who could I possibly like more than you, Roro?" Patton replies, and he's blushing too, now. "I- I love you, Roman. As much as I know how."

Roman makes a strangled sound of delight, only able to smile and nod. He swallows, trying to compose himself, and whispers, "Patton - will you be my boyfriend?"

Patton is fairly sure he could never contain more warm fuzzies than he does right now, hearing "boyfriend" applied to himself, from this wonderful, wonderful boy that has been his best friend for 6 years.

"Only if you're be mine too, buttercup," he whispers, happy tears sparkling in his eyes for the second time today.

⁂

Part 3: twenty-one

Roman watches Patton moving around their dorm room as he paces.  In his head Roman counts how many minutes have elapsed and decides it’s time to interfere.

“Honeycake, you can always decide not to, you know that, right?”

Patton flashes him a distracted smile. “I know, sweetheart, but that’s the problem. I want to, I’m just-“ He twists his hands nervously. “I’m nervous, Ro.”

“Would it help to talk over why you’re nervous, or do you want to not think about it?”

Patton paces again, back and forth, then sighs. “I’m going to do this eventually, so I might as well do it now. I want to remember tomorrow without regret.”

Roman stands and grabs Patton’s fidgeting hands, holding them in his and looking directly into Patton’s eyes. “Let’s do this, Pat. I’m here for you, always.”

Patton smiles weakly. “Can you dial, I’m going to chicken out.”

Roman nods, and unlocks Patton’s phone. In just a couple buttons, it’s ringing on speaker.

“You’ve reached the Corwan residence.”

Patton takes a breath, and says, “Hi, Dad.”

“Ah, good, we were beginning to worry we’d miss the ceremony tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” Patton says, a little shaky. “Well, I’ve asked, and there will be tickets for you and Mom at the box office.”

“Thank you. You know how excited we are to watch you graduate! We are so proud of you, Patricia.”

Patton flinches, and Roman immediately grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Um, yeah. I- I don’t know if we’ll have time to go out after, there’s a lot of stuff for the program and student leadership-“

”If you think we’re not going to take our daughter out to dinner on her big day, you’ve got another thing coming!” he replies in a jovial tone. Patton flinches again.

“Oh- okay then, Dad. I’ll see if there’s time. Um. See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait!”

Patton hangs up, head bowed. Roman immediately starts to peppering his face in kisses.

“My sweet, dear man, you are so brave and wonderful and also I will absolutely make those tickets disappear if you’d like them not to come after all.”

Patton leans into Roman’s chest with a shaky chuckle. “No, I think it’s time, love. I don’t want to keep hiding.”

The next day, the campus is a zoo, filled with families and balloons and people trying to find an open spot for photoshoots in their caps and gowns.

Roman and Virgil have teamed up to convince Patton to be subjected to full model treatment, Roman earnestly whispering “Make it fashion!” from behind Virgil’s clicking camera. Patton’s laughing as he tries to balance on the hippo statue that is their school’s mascot.

Then, though, it’s time, and Roman and Patton wave to Virgil as they file into the huge staging area with their classmates. They’re a sea of maroon robes, brightened by cords and stoles in various colors for all the school’s affinity groups and activities. Patton’s got so many, he looks like he’s wearing a rainbow. He fidgets with his colored stole. “Ro-“ he says, grabbing for his boyfriend’s hand.

“Patton, my light, you look amazing,” Roman says, leaning in close so only Patton can hear his murmur. “You are so, so strong, and so brave, and I love you to the moon and to Saturn.”

Patton smiles into Roman's shoulder, and manages to relax. They share a quick, chaste kiss, then separate to their halves of the alphabet.

Luckily, as they file in, their seats end up just across the aisle from each other, and Roman keeps turning to blow kisses.

The good thing about being in the Cs is that Patton doesn’t have too long to sit and let his nervousness fester. He walks up to the stage in procession, seeing Roman mouth “You’ve got this!” from the crowd of graduates.

“Cosgrave, Alicia” walks across the stage to the cheers of her family and accepts her diploma. Patton takes a deep breath.

“Corwan, Patton!”

He pushes his various cords out of the way to reveal his stole’s colors: stripes of light blue, pink, and white. He squares his shoulders, and walks across the stage. He’s not looking at the crowd, but he recognizes Virgil’s whooping.

He accepts his diploma, shakes the university president’s hand, and poses for the staged picture all before allowing himself to look up into the bleachers.

He can immediately see the Corwans. They don’t look mad, just- confused. His dad seems to be studying the program intently. He turns back to his seat, to see Roman’s smile glowing from across the aisle.

“I’m so proud of you,” he mouths, eyes shining, and Patton lets out a relieved sigh. He did it. And Roman’s here. It will be okay, no matter what happens next.

The rest of the ceremony melts away, and all Patton really remembers is Roman pulling faces at him as the speakers drag on, and him having to muffle his giggles.

The minute they’re standing to proceed out, Roman leaves his place in line to sneak over and slip his hand into Patton‘s. He sticks by his side until they’re out in the meeting area.  Patton has a deathgrip on Roman’s hand with nervousness as he looks around the crowd.

Virgil finds them first, and Roman’s very flamboyant uncle Remy is there, too, stealing Roman’s mortarboard to pose dramatically.

Then Patton hears the polite cough behind him that he knows is his mom. He turns, Roman’s hand in his still, with the Sanders brothers at his back.

“Why did they say your name like that?” his dad asks bluntly.

Patton straightens. “Because that’s the name on my diploma.”

“Patricia, what’s the meaning of this-“

“It’s Patton, dad. I changed it legally.”

“Patty, what are you saying?” his mom asks, frowning.

Patton plucks at his stole. “I’m trans, mum. I’m a boy. And I was always meant to be one, no matter how many dresses I wore.”

His heart is in his throat, beating like mad, but Roman’s squeezing his hand in pride and Virgil and Remy are behind him. He can practically hear Remy sliding his glasses down his nose to glare at the Corwans.

”And you’re okay with this- this delusion?!” Mr. Corwan demands, turning to glare at Roman.

“Absolutely,” Roman replies immediately. “He’s been my boyfriend for 7 years, and I love him as he is and exactly as he is.”

”This- no, that’s ridiculous, Patricia,” his dad spits out. “No daughter of mine is going to be part of this trender nonsense. I thought that was clear.”

“You made your position clear he was seven and scared to go home,” Virgil cuts in acidly. His hand is warm and comforting on Patton’s shoulder. “You made it clear that he’d have to hide himself from his own parents because they couldn’t find a way to love their child as a son.”

Mr. Corwan sputters, turning purple, as Mrs. Corwan turns white.

“Well- you can say goodbye to any help from us-"

“What help?” Remy drawls. “Ya boy’s graduated, been hired, and signed a lease without you. He doesn’t need your assistance even if you wanted to give it.”

Mrs. Corwan purses her lips. “Well, I hope that he,” she says tightly, exaggerating the pronoun in what is clearly intended as mockery, “is prepared to go through life without a family.”

Roman takes a step in front of Patton at that. “You’re not ashamed to say that to your only kid? Really? I’ve got news for you, ma’am. He’ll always have a family.”

“What, you mean that?” she asks with a derisive sniff at Virgil and Remy still holding Patton’s shoulders.

“No,” Roman says, suddenly calm. “I mean this."

He turns, smoothly sinking to one knee as he smiles up into Patton’s shocked-into-smiling face.

“Patton Corwan, my gorgeous man, love of my life, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

All the heaviness in his chest melts away and the knots in his stomach dissolve as Patton smiles down into Roman’s adoring gaze. “Oh Roman,” Patton says. “I would love nothing more.”

“I will not stand for-“ Mr. Corwan gets out, but Patton’s gaze locks onto his.

“Congrats. You don’t need to. You already said no daughter of yours will be like me, and you were right. You’ve made it clear I’m not your family. And as long as that’s how you feel, I don’t want to be.” Before he can sputter out an answer, Patton adds, “Plus, it’s way too late to object. Should’ve been there over Christmas if you wanted to, now you’re gonna have to forever hold your peace.”

“I’m- what?”

“Can I tell them?” Roman says, standing with a huge grin. Patton nods, starting to laugh.

“Patton asked me to marry him way back in December, the minute he got his early job offer. It was a beautiful ceremony. It even had the kind of dress I’m sure you were picturing, and I wore it particularly well, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, rough luck babes, looks like your invites got lost,” Remy drawls. “Well, maybe you’ll get to get to your other kid’s wedding. Oh wait.”

Virgil grins. “You two spouses want to go get graduation lunch now? My treat. I think they’re gonna need a minute.”

“Or a couple thousand,” Remy mutters.

Patton turns away from his parents, beaming at his family. “That would be wonderful, Papa.”

⁂

[miracleboiz]

Making a Home Ch. 16

Kita Shinsuke had experienced a lot in life. He had been raised with his grandmother, a loving foster parent and for some time he followed in her foot steps before finding his own path. He thought his foster care license had expired before getting a call at three am with two small boys thrust into his arms. Miya Osamu and Atsumu, from broken homes but still fighting. Thirty days before his license expires. Thirty days to make a choice, keep the boys or let them be separated into different homes. Thirty days to fall in love with them.

Words: 4k

Relationships: Gen

Warnings: Mention of past child abuse, non-graphic abuse

Not from Kita, but it is mentioned. I will post any warnings before any panic attacks or vague descriptions of abuse.

Read below or on AO3

This week is Rintaro, Hitoshi, and Akagi’s POV:

Suna Rintaro wasn’t the biggest fan of people. He didn’t really have a lot of experience with them as it was, and when he did they tended to just rub him the wrong way.

If he went with his parents to events he had to deal with countless adults asking if he was as smart as his parents, if he was going to be doctors like them, could he even read? If he said yes he was as smart as them, no he wasn’t going to be a doctor because they never seemed happy, and ‘I’m six not three, do you know how to read?’ Then he had to deal with two hours of admonishments about pride instead of leaving him alone.

On the other hand, the other kids at school felt like screaming babies. Rintaro already knew how to write his name in Katakana, Kanji, and Hiragana, and yet they just went over it every single day. The other kids were still scratching out the characters slowly as if they’d never read anything before and Rintaro was bored.

Not to mention how often he had to deal with laughter when he used bigger words and the teachers would ask if he actually knew what they meant. Why would he use it if he didn’t know what it meant?

Hitoshi, atleast, seemed to catch on quickly to what Rintaro was saying. He could actually talk and didn’t care if Rintaro said too many big words. Plus he didn’t seem to care if Rintaro wanted to drag him around town trying new things.

Hitoshi did have a strange crush on Matsukawa Shinji that Rintaro just couldn’t understand. Shinji was nice but… boring. Shigeru was much more interesting, he could not only keep up with Rintaro in class but also wouldn’t cry if Rintaro punched him. What more could someone want in a rival?

Overall, Rintaro didn’t like people and liked having a single friend and a single enemy and not having to worry about anything else.

Then he met the Miya twins.

He wasn’t sure about Atsumu, he seemed angry and Rintaro didn’t really think that was worth dealing with. He was nice enough when talking though, and he was nice to Hitoshi so Rintaro couldn’t write him off just yet. If he was good enough for Hitoshi to like then Rintaro could put up with some anger issues.

Osamu though, was interesting. He seemed quiet like Hitoshi at first, until Rintaro started poking and prodding with a few quick words about his brother. Instantly he’d started to puff up like an angry bird before Rintaro had added that they could be friends. The bewilderment in his eyes was well worth risking getting punched, in Rintaro’s opinion.

Osamu had settled a lot faster into ‘friendship’ then Rintaro had expected. Most of the other kids still wanted to punch him even after nine months of school, but Osamu genuinely seemed to want to be friends. Even after Rintaro had scared him by fighting with Shigeru.

Secretly, guilt rolled in his stomach about that. He still didn’t understand why Osamu had looked so shaken when Ito-sensei came over to yell at them, it wasn’t like adults didn’t yell all the time. Yet Osamu looked seconds away from tears even after lunch ended and he’d held onto his brother the entire way, only cheering up a little when Shinji started talking to him quietly.

“Hey… Don’t be mean to Osamu or Atsumu…” Rintaro was shaken from his thoughts by Shigeru’s voice, so much softer than he’d ever heard. His rival’s eyes were pointed directly at his brother, looking almost sad.

“Why the hell would-” Rintaro started, anger filling his chest. He wasn’t like his parents, he didn’t just bully people for being sad.

A hand smacked his chest, narrowly avoiding Hitoshi who squeaked quietly before trying to square his shoulders in case another fist fight broke out.

“I’m serious! He’s not like you, okay?” Shigeru hissed, finally turning to look at him. “He’s like me… He’s a foster kid, the other kids are going to find out soon and they’re gonna be mean, real mean. Remember my first week? Me and Shinji didn’t tell anyone but they found out and kept pickin’ on him until I punched ‘em. They’re gonna find out, and I don’t care how long we’ve been friends. If you bully them I’ll punch you too.”

Rintaro froze, glancing over at the two twins talking with Shinji and then back to the silver haired one who had him stuck in the middle of the hall. How long had he and Shigeru been friends? Were they seriously adopted?

After a second, Rintaro realized he was an idiot for not noticing sooner, but it wasn’t like he listened to the other kids and their gossip anyways.

“I’m not going to say anything… I don’t care about that.” Rintaro insisted, glaring back at Shigeru until the other kid finally dropped his hand. “Who cares if they’re adopted? Atleast that means their parents want them.”

“... Sorry, Rin.” Shigeru muttered, gently punching his shoulder with a half smile. Rintaro punched him back and the smile immediately brightened, seconds before an actual blow bounced off his arm and the silver haired rat took off.

Hitoshi immediately wrapped his arms around Rintaro’s left arm, keeping him from running after Shigeru.

“Why’dya always gotta fight with him?” Hitoshi whined, blinking up at him when Rintaro glowered at him. Hitoshi had long since learned that while Rintaro would fight Shigeru any day of the week, he wouldn’t hit anyone else. Which sucked, because now he didn’t care about putting himself between them and Rintaro couldn’t do anything.

“He punched me?” Rintaro whined right back, letting himself be dragged towards the classroom again. “Besides, he likes it.”

“.... Just… Don’t hurt him.” Hitoshi said, squeaking when Rintaro stopped and looked at him with a scrunched up face.

“Ew, don’t tell me you… like Shigeru? Atleast Shinji's pretty, Shigeru’s like… like… a ungly mean creampuff.” 

“Wha- No!” Hitoshi shook his head, looking embarrassed. “I just… Rin-kun… I… Papa hit mama and she left. And if Shigeru leaves then you’re going to be really upset and I’m going to be upset and then I’m going to cry and then Neesan will tell me to shut up and then you’re going to be angry and then I’m going to cry again and-”

“Hitoshi, breathe.” Rintaro reached forward in a panic, smooshing Hitoshi’s cheeks together and the smaller child sucked in a loud breath and let it out again. Directly into Rintaro’s face.

“Ewww, you’re gross… And you didn’t brush your teeth this morning. I can smell nachos from yesterday.” Rintaro pressed his cheeks again. “I won’t hurt Shigeru. Pinky promise.”

He held out his hand and Hitoshi watched him, face still red from his momentary panic before he nodded, reaching and curling their pinkies together.

“Hey! Slowpokes, are ya comin’?” Shigeru’s face came from the class, glancing up at the clock across the room. “You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t close the door!” Hitoshi and Rintaro yelled, running at the room as the bell rang.

“Hey, Osamu,” Rintaro said quietly, offering Shigeru the scissors.

They were separated into groups and Atsumu, Hitoshi, and Shinji had been banished to the other side of the room after Shinji and Shigeru had started to giggle together too loudly. Thankfully both Atsumu and Hitoshi seemed fine with it, beyond a few eyerolls from Atsumu. Rintaro was worried Atsumu or Osamu were going to start crying at being separated again but whatever Shinji had said to them after lunch had apparently helped.

“Mm?” Osamu looked up from his paper, a shredded piece of paper stuck to his cheek. His face was rather blank when his brother wasn’t around, which Rintaro found strangely comforting. Finally he wasn’t the only one with a ‘dead face’ as his mother called it.

“What’s it like bein’ wanted? Y’know by your parents? My parents don’t want me at all, but if you’re adopted, they chose ya right- Ow!” Rintaro spun to glower at Shigeru, whose foot was still against his leg. Shigeru’s face was scrunched up in anger as he glared back, opening his mouth probably to tell Rintaro off.

“I wouldn’t know.” Osamu said, and Rintaro turned back to see him staring at his paper. “No ones ever wanted me. Well, ‘cept ‘Tsumu.”

Rintaro froze, terrified to press for more. He thought Shigeru said Osamu was like him, which would mean that he was adopted right? Or were his parents like Rin’s?

Another kick to his knee was followed by a hissed “Say you’re sorry, jerk! He’s doesn’t have parents yet.”

“S-sorry… I thought you were adopted already.” Rintaro tried to explain, trying to fix the guilt that was crushing his chest. 

“Oh…” Osamu brightened a little at the new information before shaking his head. “No, no, Shinsuke-san is just fostering us, cuz no one wants us…. I do hope he decides to let us stay though… He’s a lot nicer than the other foster parents.”

Rintaro wasn’t sure what to say to that. Though… His parents probably wouldn’t notice a new kid in the house and he knew how to write their signatures…

“I really like Shinsuke-san,” Osamu continued, his voice soft as he glued together two shapes. “He’s really nice and I think he likes us too… And I like going to the shop, ‘cuz it’s pretty and it’s fun to make things with all the ribbons. And I don’t want to lose my friends again when I have to leave.”

Rintaro blinked twice at him before reaching over and hugging him as tightly as he could.

“If anyone tries to send you away, me ‘n Shigeru’ll fight ‘em and you can stay with us.” Rintaro promised. “Pinky promise… Or you can stay with Hitoshi-kun, his Okaasan is super super nice, you just have to watch out for his neesan because she likes to bully people who are shorter than her, but I’ll fight her for you and you can just hang out with his Okaasan.”

Shigeru collapses onto Osamu’s other side, squeezing him between his two new friends.

“And if she can’t take you, I’ll ask Tatay and you can be my new baby brother and Atsumu too and you can be Akira’s big brothers and he’ll hug you for hours and be grumpy about it.” Shigeru laughed, holding tighter and Osamu giggled.

Rintaro watched Osamu melt between them, trying to hug both of them at the same time while laughing. Three more shaped pieces of paper had been glued to his cheeks and a few shreds were on his fingers, transferring themselves to Rintaro. He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

He had two brand new friends now and he was going to protect them just like Hitoshi.

Hitoshi wasn’t a big fan of fighting. It had always scared him, even just watching cartoons on tv when he was a toddler would quickly send him into a crying fit. He remained the same through the first few months of school, crying at any minor argument between the other kids until the school bullies realized he was the easiest to pick on.

It continued until he heard them laughing at Rintaro for using ‘condescending’ towards their history teacher. In a flash of bravery he never saw coming, he’d spun around and told them to shut up.

“You’re dumb, and you’re condescending.” Hitoshi had shouted, bringing everything to a standstill as the awful realization washed over him that he’d yelled at someone who could hit him. He’d been sent to the office for the remainder of class and by the time he’d returned he’d found himself with his first school friend.

He didn’t mind only having one friend. Rintaro was always really nice to him and liked to teach him new words just like Hitoshi’s mom had done before she had to get a second job. He never left Hitoshi alone or ran off with other people and forgot about him and he even got his neesan to stop calling him a baby.

Hitoshi didn’t think Shigeru counted as his friend because he was always messing around with Rintaro but he was nice so Hitoshi didn’t mind it when he came over to play during recess or spent the classes talking with Rintaro. After all, Shigeru might decide Hitoshi was interesting too and then he’d have two friends.

He’d tried to become friends with Shinji, after all the Matsukawa brothers were known as the friendliest in the entire school and the least scary. However, twenty seconds into being handed a fresh muffin from a smiling Shinji for saying hello, Hitoshi had decided he would never talk to him again. The hot face and nervous stomach was not worth a muffin, even if he did think Shinji was very nice. Very very nice.

Rintaro thought his ‘crush’ was funny but Hitoshi honestly just wanted to give Shinji something cool back. Since he didn’t have anything as nice as a fresh muffin, Hitoshi was just going to never talk to Shinji again.

It was foolproof.

Until the new kid, who was also nice but didn’t have muffins, immediately started a conversation with Shinji with absolutely no hesitation or worry. Hitoshi didn’t know what he was more jealous of, the fact that the new kid could make friends so quickly or that he didn’t get super nervous just by looking at Shinji.

Now, he was squished between Shinji and Atsumu in the back corner of the room trying to glue together a bunch of paper shapes to make cards. Part of Hitoshi wondered if this was payback for every time he didn’t stop Rintaro from eating Shigeru’s lunch. 

The gods must have been laughing because as soon as Shinji sat down he was pulling out two slightly squashed cupcakes.

Internally Hitoshi swore he was going straight home today and giving the gods anything they wanted if they stopped torturing him. Instead of saying any of that, he just inclined his head gratefully to Shinji and shoved the cupcake in his mouth before the teacher noticed and told them to put it away.

Atsumu was carefully peeling his and nibbling at the rich pink and white frosting, a giant cat cut out from paper in front of him. Hitoshi took a moment to watch him, curious.

Everyone in school knew Shinji and Shigeru weren’t the Matsukawa’s real kids, but it wasn’t the same thing. They were already adopted, but the Miya twins were actual foster kids and Hitoshi had never met one of them before.

Atsumu didn’t look any different then the other kids, other than the black bruises down the side of his face but Hitoshi barely noticed them. His mom was really clumsy too and used to have bruises all the time too.

He was a little grumpier then Hitoshi thought especially since Shigeru and Shinji were always so happy. Then he thought about it. If he was taken away from his mom he’d be upset and angry too and Atsumu didn’t even have a mom or dad to go home too. 

“What’re you starin’ at me for?” Atsumu grumbled and Hitoshi jumped, squeaking out an apology and shrinking down when he was glared at.

“Atsumu,” Shinji intervened with the talent of someone used to keeping Shigeru from fighting other kids, “he was just looking at you. Hitoshi-kun doesn’t talk much, he was probably just trying to think of something to say… right Hitoshi-kun?”

The urge to run screaming to hide behind Rintaro built in his chest as Hitoshi nodded, trying not to look Shinji in the eye in case he turned into a tomato. That didn’t stop Shinji from smiling as widely as he could at him before turning to Atsumu.

“See? You don’t have to be mean to your friends, Atsumu… and yes, being grumpy at them is mean.” Shinji giggled, endlessly cheerful as Atsumu seemed to sulk slightly in his chair. Hitoshi couldn’t help but be fascinated by him.

He had been so nice at first even if he was really protective of his brother, and now he was grumpy again. Was it because Osamu was having fun without him? Hitoshi’s neesan always had fun without him so he didn’t really see the problem.

“Atsumu-kun,” Hitoshi started, only to squeak as a paper ball struck the back of his head.

Sniggers erupted behind him and Hitoshi sighed, shrinking down slightly. This was why he always tried to group up with Rintaro and Shigeru. No one was going to fight those two just to make him cry.

“Hitoshi-kun?” Atsumu looked confused at his squeak, head tilted almost completely to his shoulder. Shinji on the other hand, already had his eyes narrowed on the group of laughing kids behind them.

“It’s okay, really… Really Shinji-kun, it’s okay.” Hitoshi tried to insist without letting his voice pitch too high. Shinji glanced at him before sighing and offering him the glue stick.

“You know, you should just tell Shigeru,” Shinji said, silver eyes glowing with a surprising amount of hostility, “He’d take care of any bullies.”

“Shigeru-kun would get in trouble for it and it’s not worth getting in trouble for me. I can handle it-” Two more balls smacked against his back, tearing out a small shriek before Hitoshi clamped his hands over his mouth.

The sounds of two chairs being thrown back made the room go silent as both Atsumu and Shinji stood up. There was a moment of silence as everyone else tried to understand what was going on and Hitoshi had to wave his hand frantically to stop Rintaro and Shigeru from rising up.

“Atsumu-kun! Shinji-kun! What are you two doing? Sit back down.” The teacher called from the front, lips twisted in a frown. “Don’t make me have to call your parents, especially you Shinji-kun. You haven’t been listening at all today, its not like you.”

Slowly, they lowered themselves back into their seats. Shinji looked only a little annoyed but Atsumu looked genuinely upset and Hitoshi immediately scooted closer.

“It’s okay, really.” Hitoshi whispered over to him, trying to offer him a crayon. “I’m used to it, don’t get in trouble with the teacher.”

“I don’t care about the teacher, but Shinsuke-san…” Atsumu cut himself off, looking close to tears.

“Shinsuke-san?” Hitoshi prompted, glancing up when Shinji stood up and started making his way to the teacher.

“Shinsuke-san… is my… foster parent.” Atsumu looked away, voice getting softer and softer as if he was embarrassed by what he was saying.

“Is he… mean?” Hitoshi said after a moment of confusion. Atsumu looked up immediately, shaking his head panickedly.

“No! No, Shinsuke-san is really really nice… He’s… He’s the nicest parent I’ve ever had… but foster parents don’t like it when you get into trouble… they say you make them look bad and then they don’t want you anymore… and if… If we do really good then… Shinsuke-san might keep Osamu so… Osamu will have a dad.”

Hitoshi hesitated, trying to think it all over. How could a child make their parents look bad? His mother loved him no matter how bad Hitoshi did in school or if he got in trouble. She’d be upset but she always wanted him, always loved him. 

Suddenly Hitoshi felt terrible for anytime he’d thought about wanting parents like the other kids. At least he had his mom and she’d do anything for him. Osamu and Atsumu didn’t have anyone at all.

“What about you? Why don’t you get to be adopted?” Hitoshi forced the question out, certain he didn’t want to hear the answer. Atsumu looked confused at Hitoshi’s question, like he couldn’t understand why Hitoshi didn’t already know.

“No one wants me, Hitoshi-kun. I’m a bad kid. Kids like me… we just get kicked around until we’re adults then we take care of ourselves. Nobody willingly adopts trouble-makers. But Osamu is a good kid, he listens to all of his elders and eats his vegetables and he’s good at cleaning. He never talks too much and doesn’t trip and get hurt or make too much noise. If he gets adopted then he won’t have to leave, and he can be happy.” Atsumu didn’t seem to see anything wrong with what he said but Hitoshi felt sick.

His mother always told him that there was no such thing as a bad kid, just a misunderstood one. How could anyone tell Atsumu he was bad? He was nice, even if he was grumpy, he just wanted to protect his brother.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell Atsumu that he and his brother could move in when a pencil smacked against his cheek.

He yelped, immediately shielding his eye as his cheek twinged with pain. Atsumu was standing up again, hand closing around Hitoshi’s shirt like he was going to throw Hitoshi behind him.

“No, what about, what about Shinsuke-san?” Hitoshi squeaked and Atsumu froze. Guilt and panic flooded Atsumu’s eyes.

“Sensei, they’re…” Atsumu said, barely catching her attention from Shinji who immediately stopped talking, looking worried. “They’re throwing things at Hitoshi-kun.”

Atsumu seemed to be shaking even as the teacher glanced over at the other group of tables. She sighed, shaking her head at them.

“You and Shinji both today, stop it with the tattling.” The teacher sighed, shaking her head and pointing back at their table. “Finish your cards, I don’t want to hear anything else about this. They’re just paper balls.”

Atsumu looked as sick as Hitoshi felt, watching Shinji walk towards them with stiff shoulders. The sniggers were grating on Hitoshi’s ears as Shinji took his seat, all of their faces bright red after the teacher’s words.

“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi whimpered, tears already starting to leak out of his eyes.

“No, Hitoshi-kun. It’s not your fault.” Shinji reached out, trying to wipe them away but it did nothing to stop the stream. Instead he just hiccuped and sobbed, nodding his head. 

His new friend was getting in trouble because of him and Atsumu looked scared and it was Hitoshi’s fault. Hitoshi got him in trouble and he might get in trouble at home too. Hitoshi just messed up everything, every time, he couldn’t do anything right.

Atsumu reached over, trying to nudge his new friend to break him out of his panic when he hit someone else. He looked up to see the kid sitting behind them that had thrown the pencil. Already Atsumu wanted to smack him to get him away from Hitoshi.

“What are you two doing with this baby? I know your brother likes to hang out with them but I thought you were better than that Shinji-kun.” The other kid said, sneering down at Hitoshi’s choked sobs. “He’s just a baby, he shouldn’t even be in school.”

“Shut up.” Shinji snapped, turning to Hitoshi and dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s okay Hitosh-kuni, don’t listen to him. It’s okay.”

“Seriously? He can’t even stop crying.” The kid looked disgusted, turning and shoving Hitoshi out of the chair. “Look he’s just a-”

Whatever he was, he didn’t get to share because Shinji launched himself out of his chair with a string of words that didn’t sound like Japanese. In seconds the other boy was on the ground, the full weight of the older student on him and holding him down.

Atsumu didn’t even think, moving to Hitoshi’s side and pulling him up to his feet before standing in front of him, arms out in case anyone else tried to hit him.

“Shinji! Atsumu! What are you two doing?” The teacher yelled and Atsumu’s heart sank.

Shinsuke was going to be so upset with him.

Akagi had known Kita Shinsuke since their first year of middle school. Since the moment the kid had taken the watch Akagi had stolen from the middle school bully and put it back in the bully’s bag and sat by passively as the teacher admonished the bully for lying about thieves.

“You shouldn’t have stolen it… But he shouldn’t have broken Yuna-chan’s nose.” Shinsuke had said and Akagi had refused to leave his side ever since.

He’d met Ojiro Aran on the first day of highschool with a spike to the face and he’d never made a friend faster.

He’d grown up with them and watched his team spread apart.

Akagi never worried for Aran. Aran knew where he was going and absolutely no one would ever stop him. Until he basically dropped off the map three years ago.

Sure, Akagi knew he was actually just in France and he was still playing at the top. Yet, even Akagi who spent his days travelling over the entire world freelance saw their friends more than he did. For three years Akagi only saw him once a year, still happy, still healthy, but so far away.

Oomimi, of course, was never someone anyone had to worry about. He was the only one Akagi knew should actually be trusted to be an adult, because even after having the title for ten years Akagi knew he wasn’t an adult. He’d chosen to become a social worker, helping children and trying to battle against the system to protect them.

He always left a key for Akagi and never minded a visit. He always checked up on Shinsuke and kept updates on Aran as best as he could between the man’s erratic texting skills.

Shinsuke, however, Shinsuke always worried Akagi.

Not because he wasn’t mature, no, no, he was the most emotionally aware and probably the strongest person Akagi had ever met. Sometimes, though, Shinsuke would get trapped in his own mind without realizing it. 

He always had his routines, the way he’d clean the bathrooms at exactly 2:58 until 3:13 then move to the locker rooms and change in precisely three minutes. He’d stretch for ten minutes, run four laps and stretch for another three. Then serves, then blocking, then receives. Everything was planned and ordered and any deviation would scratch at him like an itch until he either broke or fixed his schedule.

Shinsuke’d become more tolerant of mishaps in his routine as he got older, no longer completely breaking down when not able to finish something properly. He’d insisted that he learn how to handle it, refusing to lose even a second of his life to panic.

He was doing well, Akagi knew it. He adapted to the changing schedules of his employees, making his own routine in little things. Getting up, cleaning the house, visiting the shop, leaving for the gym, evening reading. The foster kids helped, keeping him on his toes and away from a routine set in stone while he still got to encourage and help them.

Shinsuke always loved kids after all, and he’d been so excited to take after not only his Grandmother but his late parents’ old wedding shop. Then he’d quit being assigned foster kids, not through any fault of his but there just wasn’t as many in their area and the government wasn’t in the habit of shipping kids across prefectures over and over again.

Shinsuke had fallen into old habits. Every part of his day was perfectly planned out, even to the point of letting him craft a ‘plan’ for the next few years that panicked him to deviate from. Though he adjusted better than Akagi thought he would with the twins, he could still see the way it picked at him not being able to follow his routine.

He could see it in the way Shinsuke twitched toward the door before he’d remember he had promised to show Osamu how to make pancakes. The way his breath would catch when he saw the time and would shift to look away. Even the constant tapping of his fingers gave him away, the itch that burrowed in his mind and was driving him subtly insane.

The adoration for the twins was holding back the worst of the reactions but Akagi knew Shinsuke would start to crack soon if he couldn’t get it out. If he didn’t face it head on and start adjusting his ‘plan’ accordingly.

Akagi knew his best friend far too well. He saw the way Shinsuke had grown too attached to the boys, his endless pride for each tiny step in the right direction, the way he shifted his routine to try and welcome them regardless of the internal consequences. Yet Shinsuke insisted he was going to let them go and find them a ‘proper’ home as if they couldn’t all see how much Shinsuke loved them. He would hold to that ‘plan’ until he was torn apart.

Which was why Akagi had harassed Tooru into helping him. Tooru hadn’t been the most willing, as loyal to their boss as everyone else in the shop but he also was the most stubborn. Once he heard about Shinsuke refusing to take a day off, he’d immediately jumped on board and promised to keep Shinsuke out of the shop. Then Akagi told a white lie to Oomimi and waited until he knew Shinsuke was going stir crazy after a too long set routine of constant mental and physical stimulation and told Oomimi to call him and ask him where he was.

Akagi hadn’t planned on Aran taking such advantage of the chance to hold Shinsuke, much less straight up hold his hand, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Even now, as he skated toward the rink wall, he could see them sitting together with Shinsuke’s head on his shoulder as they talked.

“If they find out you’re trying to set them up, you’ll be in trouble.” Oomimi hummed, offering him a water bottle. The tall social worker didn’t seem bothered by Akagi’s tricks, but he’d also known Akagi was going to try and shove Aran and Shinsuke together from the moment Aran was back in town.

“It’s okay, Oomimi-kun will protect me.” Akagi laughed, fluttering his eyes at the bored look in Oomimi’s eyes. “Besides, they’re so busy just starin’ at each other they wouldn’t notice if I stripped naked.”

Oomimi froze, eyes narrowed before he relaxed again when he realized Akagi meant it only as a joke.

“Why do you care anyways? You don’t even believe in romance.” Oomimi sighed, taking back the water bottle and putting it on the bench behind him. He glanced back at the two, watching their lips curve up in identical smiles neither party aware of it. Much more and Oomimi was going to have to interrupt to tell them to either kiss or stop looking at each other like that.

“I don’t not believe in romance,” Akagi said, flicking his hand dismissively, “I just think most people chase after it thinking it’s this great feeling. Then they give up as soon as it goes away. I find it shallow and honestly boring, makes me glad I don’t have to deal with it. But…”

His eyes traveled to the two talking, the light pink on Shinsuke’s cheeks and the laughter coming from Aran. In over fourteen years, he’d never seen them look at anyone else like they looked at each other. They just molded together perfectly, enhancing every moment and supporting each other endlessly. Theirs was the only romantic story that could ever make Akagi wonder what it would be like if he felt the same romantic feelings they did.

“They make each other happy. Even just being friends, they’re really happy. They know each other even after being apart, ‘Mimi. They know how to keep each other stable and they deserve to have that. They’re just both dumb. Aran’s stuck in his own world of ‘someone like Shinsuke could never love me, because I’m a big dumb gay baby’ and Shinsuke’s stuck in this world of ‘If I didn’t put it in the plan it’s not happening and I will fight the gods for my right to fuck up my own life.’ I love them so much.”

Oomimi snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Michinari. Stop bullying them.”

“Ren, make me.” Akagi stuck out his tongue and Oomimi rolled his eyes, reaching out to flick his nose.

“They’ll figure it out. You don’t have to push them together, they’re adults now.” Oomimi looked rather amused, leaning against the skating wall. “Trust me. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“... You sound a little bit too certain of that.” Akagi narrowed his eyes at his best friend, gasping at the curve of his mouth moving up. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know what you mean… But I will tell you that you should buy a house if Shinsuke doesn’t decide to adopt the boys in two weeks because Aran still lives in an apartment and I’ve got so many paperwork packets that just need signatures.”

“So… If Shinsuke doesn’t adopt the boys… I get to adopt them.” Akagi gasped, amusement flooding through him as Oomimi seemed to immediately regret what he’d said.

“On the other hand, I can buy a house and just give it to Aran, it’s fine.”

“What! No, no I want the boys. Give me the twins, I pinky promise I’ll only teach them a few bad words.” Akagi whined, squawking when another voice cut in.

“You will not be teaching the boys any bad words.” Shinsuke was half wrapped around Aran’s arm, still slipping even on the rubber mats. He looked only mildly annoyed in the turn of his lips, his gaze bright with amusement and Akagi cackled softly.

Aran looked as soft as ever, easily carrying Shinsuke’s weight and looking at his two other friends. He still had a tinge of dark blush over his cheeks and Akagi had to admit he was cute, no wonder so many people had confessed to him senior year.

“Hey, Aran, marry me and we’ll steal Kita’s kids.” Akagi chirped, laughing even louder when Aran face palmed.

“I’m not marrying you to adopt the twins, I’ll just adopt them on my own.” Aran said, ignoring Akagi’s dramatic gasp.

“Don’t touch my kids… Don’t let him touch my kids. Osamu doesn’t need to know any bad words, he’d like them far too much.” Shinsuke said, looking at Oomimi before stepping towards the ice carefully.

Akagi held his breath, hoping to hear him squeak or yelp but he got nothing. How boring, his friends were so inconsiderate to not help him out and give him something to laugh at them for.

Aran held him carefully until he was sure Shinsuke wouldn’t fall, then stepped after him. Akagi yowled as an arm wrapped around his neck and tucked him into a firm chest, then he relaxed, sticking his tongue up at Aran.

“C’mon Ren. You can watch me fall.” Shinsuke teased, holding his hand out to Oomimi who sighed dramatically before skating over to Shinsuke’s side and taking his hand.

“If we go down, we’re taking them with us.” Oomimi told Shinsuke who nodded and tightened his hold on Aran.

“Oh I plan too.”

Aran’s complaint made them all laugh and Akagi relaxed into his friend's hold. Aran shook his head at Shinsuke, eyes gentle and adoring as he looked down at his best friend. Akagi took the first step forward, dragging them all forward. Oomimi was right, they would be just fine. All of them.

[yeetingmyfeeling]

Run, Run, Run

Chapter Ten

The bell rang throughout the school, signalling the first class of the day. A few people had already come in, but Amelia was helping Brian around while another girl dealt with all the parents and children. 

Now, was Brian’s time to shine. He was placed at the front, Amelia by his side. Some kids had come in late, mostly high school students. So, Brian had to give the students late slips to take to their teachers. Easy enough. Most of the students didn’t really care there was a new office person, though one young girl tried to strike up a conversation.

Next Brian had to sort through some notes. They were notes for an excursion. For year six, going to the zoo. There were two different classes, so he had to sort the papers into which class. Then he had to sort those two piles into piles of who had paid, who paid online, and who hadn’t paid. It was a little tedious, but he got the job done. 

After that, he had to deal with the school newsletter. Today was Tuesday, and they usually go out on Mondays. Apparently, they were very busy yesterday and didn’t have time. So, Brian was given class roles for every class in the school. He groaned, there was a lot. Fourteen middle school classes which included kindergarten, then only six different groups for high school. High school was smaller because they would just get together as a year group. This however made the group much larger. 

After Brian had very tiredly sorted through all of that, not complaining once, it was Recess. Amelia gave him a delivery job, then told him to go have lunch with Brock and Jon. So Brian went and dropped off the stack of papers to a very polite teacher, then found Brock and Jon’s staffroom.

His friends were excited to see him. They sat him down and asked about how his day was going so far. He told them everything, saying the other staff members were nice, and the students he met as well.

After recess, he went back to the front office. Andy found him, and took him to the canteen. The canteen had two sides, one for the middle school and one for the high school. There was a huge kitchen though, that Brian admired.

There were four workers for each side, making eight in total. Brian would make the ninth, if he got the job. He would be switching between both sides, which he didn’t mind. He was working on the middle school side, and he started talking to one of the male workers. 

Adam, was his name. He was incredibly nice Brian thought. Apparently, he was dating Andy. Brian wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. During the time before lunch, they prepared food. They started making food, then set up everything, making sure everything was stocked. Adam showed Brian how to do everything.

Brian wasn’t allowed to do much of the cooking yet, which he didn’t mind. He enjoyed standing back, watching and learning. He helped the girls with setting everything up. Finally, the bell rang saying it was lunch time. Adam pulled open the shutters as students started trailing out of class.

Brian struggled a little, but coped pretty alright. He mostly just grabbed people's lunch orders, as they were already paid for. He preferred the less people office job, but this wasn’t too bad. Plus, a lot of the kids were funny. 

The lunch rush died down, and it was slowly thinning out. The bell rang once again, signalling the last class of the day. Adam shut the shutters. Then the canteen crew, including Brian, started packing everything up. This included putting stuff away, putting stuff in fridges. Getting some stuff ready for food tomorrow, then wiping everything down.

Brian was lucky enough to be able to take some food with himself, and he thought that was a big win. There was still half an hour before the day ended, so Brian made his way to the office, and then to the staff room. He sat down and ate his food while he waited for Jon and Brock.

~~~~~

They were making their way home, Brian excitedly telling them about his day the whole time. Andy had found him just before the day finished and talked to him.

Brian got the job.

The deal was, he would work Mondays, Wednesday’s and Friday’s. He would do exactly the same routine he did today, except some days he would finish up in the office. He didn’t mind at all. He had a job!

Brock and Jon happily listened to what Brian had to say, they were excited for the younger omega. They eventually got home, and Brian practically skipped inside. Only to be attacked by his two partners.

First Tyler was there, hugging Brian. He went to start talking, but a David on his lanky legs made his way over. Attempted to anyway, he tripped, fell into the two, and the three were currently sprawled on the ground.

Brock took a photo, laughing. Jon and him stepped over the three and made their way further into the house. Jon to tell Evan the great news, Brock to shower.

Tyler grumbled, smooshed between the two other men. He manages to roll out from underneath David, bringing Brian with him. Brian giggled as he ended up now stradling Tyler. Tyler grinned, much more pleased with this position. Until David threw himself over the alphas chest.

“So, how was your day?” Tyler asked in a soft tone. He started petting David’s hair, the lanky irishman refusing to move. His other hand moved to stroke Brian’s knee.

“It was good!” Brian grinned. “I did it! I got the job! Andy, the principal, was so impressed with me, and so were the others, that they hired me! I start tomorrow!

“That’s great Bri!” David flipped over, making Tyler grunt. “I’m so proud of you, I knew you could do it.”

“I’m glad I let you go,” Tyler nodded with a smile. “You seem like you had lots of fun.”

“I did!” Brian nodded with a smile. He leaned down, pressing his lips to Tyler’s. Tyler leaned up, sliding a hand through Brian’s hair. Their lips moved slowly, Brian just enjoying the feeling. He hummed quietly, letting out a soft moan.

“Hey!” David thrusted his head between the pair. He connected his lips with Brian, and the younger Irishman made a noise of happiness.

“Can you all stop making out on the floor,” Evan spoke from behind them. “Congratulations on the job Brian.”

“Thanks Evan,” Brian grinned when he pulled away from David. Evan gave him a smile then walked away.

~~~~~

Brian was working his second day, and he liked it even more than his first. Plus, he was also getting paid for this day. So that made it significantly better. David was picking him up today, because he didn’t have work. Tyler, unfortunately, had to stay late at  work.

David sent Brian a quick text saying he was there, so Brian finished up his conversation with Amelia and rushed out. He spotted the beta and jumped into the car. He threw his bag in the backseat and David drove off.

David moved a hand over, placing it on Brian’s thigh. Brain smiled from the touch. “How was work today?”

“Good,” Brian nodded. “Much the same as yesterday, and I met a few more people.”

“That’s great Bri,” David smiled at the omega. He loved seeing the younger so happy. “How do you feel about helping me cook dessert tonight? We’ll have to go to the shops first.”

Brian’s smile grew into a grin. “I’d love to! What are we making?”

“I was thinking of sticky date pudding?” David bit his lip. 

“Sounds delicious!”

David drove them to the supermarket. They walked in, their hands clasped tightly together. David led them through the isles, taking them to where they needed to go. He held one of the green baskets in his hand, despite Brian begging to push a trolley.

The basket was quickly filled up, but not without Brian whining for a treat. David rolled his eyes and got a small toblerone bar for himself, Brian and Tyler. They went to the checkout, and the lady serving them gave a weird look.

“A male omega?” She asked. David stood in front of Brian. “That’s rare, and he’s unmarked. Are you his boyfriend?”

“One of them,” David answered bluntly. He gestured for her to hurry up, and she did with a frown. In no time, they were back in the car. “I hate people,” He grumbled.

Brian leaned over the console, kissing David’s cheek. The beta blushed. He soon drove them home, not wanting to waste any more time. Some people were there, but they just went straight to the kitchen. David went about setting up their cooking area.

“Preheat the oven please Brian,” David gave the omega an award winning smile. Brain rolled his eyes and, upon being told what temperature, turned the oven on. As he did, David greased a baking pan then put baking paper on it. “Boil some water?” Brain nodded and went over to the kettle, making sure it was full then flicking it on. As he did, David grabbed a bowl and put in dates and bicarb soda. Once the water boiled, David grabbed it from Brian and poured it into the bowl.

They moved over to the electric mixer. Brain grabbed the ingredients and put in butter and sugar per David’s orders. He put down the mixer and turned it on. The ingredients mixed together. David cracked two eggs into the mixture, using the mixer to put it all together between each egg. After it had been mixed, David grabbed the date mixture and poured it into the mixer bowl. Brain grabbed a large metal spoon and started to stir it all together.

David grabbed the pan he had previously greased and lined, and Brian poured the mixture into it. He slid it into the oven and set the timer on his phone. Once that was done, David went over to the stovetop. He grabbed a pot, putting the temperature on medium heat. He poured in sugar, cream and butter. He stirred the sauce until it was cooked then let it rest on low heat.

As they waited for the pudding to cook, they talked together in the kitchen. Brian sat on the counter, David between his legs. The beta had his arms around the omegas waist, his face buried in his shoulder. They weren’t talking about anything in particular, just random things that came to mind.

David’s hands kept inching down to Brian’s ass, making the smaller giggle and slap his hands away. David would whine and shake his head, making Brian get a mouthful of hair. David lifted his head up, pouting at Brian. “Briii,” He whined.

“Daithiiii,” Brain whined back with a grin. “What?”

David didn’t respond, just stared into the eyes of his partner. A light blush dusted Brian’s cheeks. Before he could question the beta again, lips were on his. He suppressed a noise of surprise and was quick to kiss back.

Brian’s hands came up, threading into David’s hair. The betas hands were on Brian’s ass again, and this time he let them stay there. Their lips moved together in sync, in a slow and meaningful kiss. Until David sucked on the plump lower lip, making Brian gasp quietly.

Sliding his tongue in, David immediately claimed dominance. His tongue searched around the warm cavern of Brian’s mouth. Brian reciprocated by sucking on David’s tongue, making the beta moan. He went to pull back, only to have his bottom lip captured by Brian.

It would have gone further, if there wasn’t sugar dumped over their heads. Brian let out a squeal, and David whined in annoyance. Looking over, it was Tyler with a grin on his face. “Making out in the kitchen? Where people can see, and without me?”

Brain giggled sheepishly. “You said you were staying late at work.”

Tyler nodded. He came to stand behind David, wrapping his arms around him. He started to brush the sugar out of the betas hair. “I was going to, but then some other things came up so I go to go home early.”

Brian leaned over David’s shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to Tyler’s cheek. David laughed when he heard Tyler huff. A ringing shot through the kitchen, catching their attention. It was Brian’s phone, telling him the pudding was ready.

He quickly turned off the alarm and jumped off the counter. He grabbed the oven mits and leaned down, grabbing the putting out of the oven. He placed it on the counter. David grabbed the pot with the sauce and poured it over the pudding.

“That smells so good!” Tyler commented. He stuck his finger in the sauce, wincing from the heat. David swatted at him, and Tyler stuck his finger in his mouth. He hummed. “Tastes good.” His two partners rolled their eyes at them. 

Brian felt happy, he felt content. He had friends, he had a house, he felt safe. He even got a job despite his little education, and two of his friends were going to help him get that education. This is only something the omega could have dreamed of. Yet, he had it. He even had two wonderful boyfriends that he wouldn’t trade for the world.

Often, it all just felt like a lie. 

https://my.w.tt/QDqe8WU4Dbb

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 3: Chapter 1

Sign of the Times release weekend: 7th-9th April 2017

Word count: 3.7k

And we’re back at it again. Really excited to delve into married life with these two and see what Harry’s solo career will be like for them.

Please reblog and share your thoughts :)

Catch up on Part 1: The First 5 Years and Part 2: The Indefinite Hiatus

>Instagram posts

Aurora tried to stifle her yawn as the conversations flowed around her. She was sitting in the Golden Stag, surrounded by friends and colleagues celebrating the release of Harry’s first single. It had been a long day and it was getting rather late into the evening but she didn’t have the heart to pull Harry away from his friends given how much fun he was having, so she plastered a smile on her face and sipped at her coffee, hoping the caffeine would keep her going a little while longer.

They’d woken up bright and early to cross the river and head to the BBC radio studios in Marylebone. The first interview of the day was thankfully with Harry’s long-time friend Nick Grimshaw and Aurora was happy to be greeted with a hug and steaming hot coffee as soon as the stepped into the studio.

“You’re a legend,” she told him as she took a sip. “Although I think I’d love you more if you could get a better timeslot.”

“But I like morning radio,” Nick pouted.

“And that’s great for you,” Rori chuckled, “but just know that I’m not coming with him for the next one.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here for this one,” Nick replied, gesturing for Rori and Jeff to take the seats waiting for them over against the wall and out of the way while Harry sat across the desk from Nick, settling headphones over his ears as they got ready.

“Ready Harold?” Nick asked with a cheeky grin.

“Ready Nicholas,” Harry replied, a matching smirk on his face.

“Good morning!” Nick said into the microphone after he was signalled back on air.

“Good morning,” Harry echoed, a slight chuckle in his voice at the energy Nick suddenly had as soon as he was on.

“I feel a bit sick about this,” Grimmy began. “You are no longer - we would say the sentence; Harry Styles from One Direction - you are now Harry Styles, Solo Artist. How does that feel and how does it feel knowing that this is like day 1 of a really important, you know, new chapter in your life?”

“It’s a bit weird…” Harry answered, and Aurora smiled softly at her new husband as he talked to Nick excitedly about the new single and the writing process.

“Now of course I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention something pretty exciting happened 2 weeks ago,” Nick said after a while, throwing a smile to Rori, who returned it with a slight chuckle.

“Ah yeah,” Harry mumbled, blushing as he also glanced over at Rori. “Yeah, I got married.”

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you.”

“It was a lovely day,” Nick said. “We’re joined by the lovely Mrs Styles in the studio this morning and I’ve got to say, it was a wonderful day.”

“It was a pretty great day wasn’t it?” Harry laughed, his gaze flicking between Nick and Aurora. “Glad you had a good time.”

“What’s married life like?”

“So far it just feels like being on holidays,” Harry replied. “We only just got back from our honeymoon yesterday so married life is just laying on a beach so far.”

“Gosh it must be such a hard life to be you Harry.”

“It’s pretty good most of the time,” Harry said. “But sometimes I have to get up ridiculously early for a breakfast radio interview.”

“Well that’s rude.” Harry let out a loud laugh, his noise scrunching up adorably. “That’s alright Harry, we both know the only one mad about how early it is, is your missus over there.”

“Yeah, she’s never been a morning person,” Harry chuckled, mouthing an apology as Rori flipped him off. She sipped on the remainder of her coffee as the topic of conversation moved away from her and back onto Harry with the two men recounting stories from their nights out drinking together until Grimmy finally started to wrap up the interview after about an hour and half.

xXx

After saying goodbye to Nick, the day had been one interview after another and by the end of the day both Aurora and Harry were exhausted and were very much regretting agreeing to a celebratory dinner at the pub. All the usual suspects were present; Anne, Robin and Gemma, Jeff’s wife Glenne, as well as the album’s production team, with Louis and Ella rounding out the group there to celebrate the beginning of Harry’s solo era.  

Helen and Greg were happy to host the event and ensured that everyone had a wonderful time, closing the pub to the public and ensuring that everyone, including Harry, were able to drink and party without worrying about prying eyes. Leaving Harry to spend time with his friends, Aurora sat next to Glenne on her left, and Ella on her right. The three women chatted happily as they ate, discussing Ella’s new job she had recently been offered as a sixth form teacher at nearby Wimbledon College for the next school year. She had recently completed her master’s degree and was excited to be starting teaching after summer in the school’s humanities department. Aurora was excited for her friend, knowing that Ella had wanted to be a teacher since the two girls were 8 years old. Glenne was interested to hear more about the British school system and Rori, having experienced both the British and American systems, was always happy to discuss the differences between the two.  

Sometime after the meal was finished and everyone was milling around, drinking, laughing and dancing, Aurora looked down the table to where Anne and Robin were chatting with Grimmy. She noted that Robin was looking rather tired and figured that her in-laws would probably be looking to leave well before Harry was finished partying with his friends. She excused herself from her conversation with Ella and Glenne and headed over to her husband, inserting herself into the circle of friends throwing back shots with him beside the bar.

“Can I have your keys please baby?” she asked him once she gained his attention.

“Ya don’t have t’ take m’keys love,” Harry slurred out drunkenly. “I know better than to drive after ‘ve been drinkin.”

“And while I appreciate that, that’s not why I need your keys,” Rori smirked, running her fingers through his hair as he leant his head against her shoulder and clung to her like a koala. “I want to give mum a set of keys to get into the apartment since they’ll be ready to go well before we are.”

“M’kay,” Harry replied, kissing her neck as he fumbled, trying to slip his hand into the right pocket of his checkered trousers.

“Here, let me,” Rori chuckled, swatting his hand away and slipping her own into the pocket to fish out his keys. Once she had them in hand, she attempted to untangle herself from her clingy partner. “Gotta let me go so I can give them the keys, H.”

“No,” he pouted. “Stay here with me.”

“I’ll come right back.”

“Fine,” he huffed, standing back up to his full height and letting go of her waist.

Aurora laughed at his puppy dog eyes and placed a quick kiss to his pouted lips before heading over to Anne and Robin.

Anne and Nick are deep in conversation when she sunk into the empty seat beside Robin, neither noticing her arrival.

“He seems to be having fun,” Robin said, nodding towards Harry.

“I’m glad,” Rori replied, smiling proudly. “He deserves to have everyone celebrate him.”

“He does,” Robin agreed.

“You doing ok?” Rori asked, taking in his exhausted expression.

“Just getting a bit old to party all night,” he joked, attempting to alleviate the concern he could see on his daughter-in-law’s face. “I’ll be alright darling.”

“Well I figured you guys probably wouldn’t want to stay out as late as the party boy,” she said, allowing him to steer the conversation away from the depressing topic of his health and handed him Harry’s keys. “The fob will get you into the garage and then the lift. Green key’s for the front door and both guest rooms have fresh sheets on the beds and towels in the bathrooms so make yourself at home in whichever one you like. I’ll try to keep him quiet when we get home so that he doesn’t wake you up.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, leaning forward to place a quick kiss to her temple. They both broke into giggles as Harry called across the room to her, his voice slurred and a little whiny. “Think you’re needed elsewhere,” Robin chuckled. Rori rolled her eyes with a grin before heading back over to her husbands’ side and allowing him to wrap his arms around her like an octopus.

xXx

Aurora woke up the next morning, her face smooshed into the pillow and Harry’s  warm, heavy body pressed along the length of her back, weighing her down into the mattress. She was a little confused at first, given that usually it was Harry’s insistent kisses that would wake her in the morning, but quickly the memory of his drunken state the previous evening popped into the forefront of her head and she remembered why he was currently snoring in her ear. Given that she had half dragged him into the apartment in the early hours of the morning, she wasn’t at all surprised that the usual early bird was still out like a light and she supressed a chuckle as she rolled out from under him and threw on some clothes before making her way out into the kitchen.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Anne greeted in her usual perkiness. Aurora grimaced, squinting against the bright sunshine streaming in from the large windows looking out over the Thames. “Tea?” Anne asked.

“Please,” Rori replied as she collapsed into the seat beside Robin at her dining table. She let out an almighty yawn and then dropped her head down on to her folded arms against the tabletop.

“We didn’t hear you come in,” Robin said. “What time did you finally get him home?”

“I think it was a little after 3,” Rori mumbled, her face still hidden in her arms.

Anne looked her watch, noting that the younger woman had only had about 5 hours sleep. “Here’s your cuppa, love,” she said, placing the mug on the table and rubbing a hand along her back.

“Thank you, Anne,” Rori said, finally sitting back up to take a sip of the steaming drink. “God, I needed this. I’ve got a writing session this afternoon and I’m already regretting scheduling anything for today.”

“How about some bacon and eggs?” Anne offered, smiling warmly at Aurora’s quick nod and pleading eyes. “We were thinking about staying until tomorrow to spend a bit more time with Harry once he’s up but if you’ve got people coming over to work, we can head home.”

“No, No,” Rori replied, shaking her head and yawning again. “We’ll be down the hall in the studio all afternoon so you should stay. I know Harry will want to spend some more time with you both before we kick off the promo tour.”

“As long as you’re sure we won’t be in your way,” Anne said, already returning to the table with Rori’s breakfast.

“Oh god this is good,” Rori moaned around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “You’re a saint Anne. An honest to god, saint.”

Aurora was happy to spend some time with her in-laws as they all sat around the dining table waiting for Harry to finally surface. When he eventually did make his way into the kitchen, Aurora couldn’t help but laugh.

“You look like shit baby,” she chuckled, showing absolutely no sympathy for Harry’s awful state.

“S’not nice,” he mumbled, his knuckles rubbing at one of his eyes, his hair sticking out in every direction and a pair of sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.  He places a kiss on the top of his wife’s head before falling into the chair next to her. “You should be nicer to me when I’m not feeling well.”

“That rule only applies when you’re feeling poorly,” Rori grinned. “You don’t get any sympathy when you’re hungover because you went too hard last night. This is karma, my love.”

“Can’t believe I married such a bully,” he mumbled, pouting at his wife.

“If I was really so mean I wouldn’t have carried your butt to bed in the early hours of this morning, now would I?” Rori asked. “But how about I make you a coffee? Would that make me a good wife?”

“Make you the best wife,” Harry replied.

Aurora offered him a soft smile as she headed over the island bench and popped a capsule into their coffee machine for him. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I think if I eat anything, I’ll be sick,” he admitted.

“Just a black coffee it is then,” she chuckled. “Don’t forget Tom’s coming over to write this afternoon. Anne and Robin said they’re staying till tomorrow so maybe if you can pull yourself together, the three of you could spend some time together.”

“I thought you were working with him tomorrow before we leave,” Harry said, frowning as she handed him his coffee.

“Doing both hon,” Rori replied, kissing his temple. “We’ve got a busy few months ahead of us so I’m gonna have to squeeze things in around the schedule.” Harry nodded in understanding, still too hungover to enter into a discussion surrounding the hectic schedule on the horizon for them both, instead letting it go and watching as Aurora left the room, heading back towards their bedroom to change.

xXx

Tom arrived a little after 2pm, the doorman letting him into the elevator so that Aurora didn’t need to head down to the lobby to let him in. Aurora hugged him once she let him through the front door. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said as he gave her smaller body a gentle squeeze. “Congrats on the wedding.”

“Thank you,” Rori replied as she stepped back from the hug and gestured for Tom to follow her into the dinning room where Harry and his parents were still milling around the dinning table, however the breakfast dishes had since been cleared and Harry was starting to feel a little bit more human and less like death warmed up. “Tom, my husband Harry,” Aurora said, unable to help the smile at introducing Harry as her husband.

“Great to finally meet you Harry,” Tom said as the two men shook hands. “Congrats on the wedding and the new single mate, it’s an absolute banger.”

“Thank you.” Harry replied with a genuine smile. “These are my parents, Anne and Robin.”

Tom shook Robins hand and kissed Anne on the cheek and then Aurora lead him from the room and down the hall towards the studio.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about You and I,” Tom said as they settled into the studio. “I’ve been messing around with the mix if you wanna hear it.”

“Absolutely,” Rori said with an excited grin.

Tom matched her smile, pulling out his phone and queueing up the rough track. Aurora found herself bopping along as the song played, pleasantly surprised by the drum beat and the drop leading into the chorus. She enjoyed the way that Tom had taken what had begun as an emotional ballad and turned into a something more like a pop-dance track.

“I feel like I can already hear that on the radio,” she said when the song ended.

“I still want to tweak it a bit,” Tom admitted, returning his phone to his jacket pocket.

“Want some advice?” Rori asked, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “Don’t overproduce it. Sometimes you just have to leave it be before you over complicate the track and take away from what makes it great. You’ve got a story here and your voice is what sells it. The synth and the beat bring something to it that I never would have thought of and I honestly think it’s ready now.”

“Really?” Tom asked.

“Really,” she smiled. “I’ve been doing this for a while now and you wouldn’t believe how many songs I’ve seen sabotaged by an artist or their producing getting caught up in the process.”

“You really understand all of this,” Tom said. “You could be dominating the charts if you started holding on to some of this stuff for yourself. Why don’t you?”

“I’m not really interested in chasing the spotlight,” she replied. “I’ve got a big enough one on me already just because of who I am, and I enjoy the collaboration more than being the one centre stage. Besides if I decided to go solo, I wouldn’t be able to tour with Harry and I feel like the pressure to write would stifle me.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Tom agreed. “I appreciate the advice honestly.”

“Anytime, Tom,” Rori said. “You release that track as it is and you’re going to have a hit on your hands. I’ve got friends in breakfast radio that I can probably convince to give it some airtime too.”

“That would be incredible,” Tom smiled brightly. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. But you didn’t come over for advice, let’s get writing and see if we can’t pull another banger out of our arses.”

They spent the afternoon throwing around lyrics and melodies, playing around with anything that came to mind, seeing what would stick until the sun began to set and Tom headed out for the evening. He said farewell to Harry, Anne and Robin on his way out, and  he and Rori, reconfirmed their plans for Tom to come back mid-morning the following day to continue working before she and Harry left for New York.

xXx

Sunday was far more productive, with the pair picking up on an idea they had tentatively thrown together the previous afternoon. Slowly the song began to take shape and as the afternoon progressed Aurora hooked up the microphones. They started to record sections of the song, with the piano forming the core, while Tom laid a drum track over the top using his beat pad. They discussed adding a guitar into some of the sections and Tom tried out a few different options before they settled on something that seemed to fit in with the sound they were aiming for. Eventually the progressed to recorded Tom’s vocal track and then sat around playing it back a few times, both with pinched expressions.

“Somethings missing,” Tom pointed out after their third listen.

“I know,” Rori agreed, “but I have no idea what it is.” After a while of moving elements around and trying to add instruments, she huffed in frustration before walking over to the door and yelling out down the hall. “Harry can you come down here a minute please?”

It turned out that she didn’t need to shout however, when Harry’s head popped out of the door to their home office right across the hall.

“What’s up?” He asked

“Oh, sorry. Thought you were at the other end of the house.”

“Nah, came down here after Mum and Robin headed off.”

“Can you come listen to a track and help us work out what’s wrong with it?”

Harry happily agreed and silently listened as they played the track, his thumb and forefinger pinching his bottom lip and his eyebrows creased together as he thought.

“Play it again for me?” he asked when the track ended and Tom hit play, seeming less frustrated by his lack of comment than Aurora was. She shuffled from one foot to the other impatiently as they all listened to the song again in complete silence. “You got the lyrics written down?” he finally asked when the song ended. Tom passed over Aurora’s handwritten lyrics and he scanned across the words, his eyes falling on the pre-chorus. “Try doing a call and response with this section,” Harry suggested after a few minutes. “Rori take the first line and alternate lines and then when you repeat the chorus, Tom take the first one, Rors you sing the second one.”

Aurora looked at Tom questioningly, shrugging as if to say, ‘why not?’ and then watched as he scrubbed through the instrumental track to a bar before the pre-chorus cut in. “Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s go,” Rori replied before clearing her throat.

Tom hit play and a beat later Aurora started singing, Harry smiling and nodding his head as the pair followed his suggestion.

Everything we've been criticizing Well, I don't wanna live like that Overthinking and analysing Never gonna take it back I thought I was winning, but I was dying Everything we never had Losing you is what I want fighting Of all the battles that I've won They don't matter now you're gone Nothing matters now you're gone Of all the battles that I've won They don't matter now you're gone Nothing matters now you're gone

“That’s what you were missing,” Harry said when they finished. “Have fun,” he added, kissing her softly before leaving the studio.

“He’s not wrong,” Tom said with an excited grin. “That sounded great.”

“It does seem to work well as a duet,” Rori agreed. “Guess you’ll have to figure out who to feature on it with you.”

“Think I already did,” Tom replied with a pointed look at her.

“You sure?

“Never been surer,” he said. “You said you like the collaborative aspect of music and there’s nothing more collaborative than a duet now is there?”

“You’ve got a point,” Rori admitted with a blush. “Better start looking at how to split the song up then.”

They both put their heads together, divvying up the verses and trialling out different arrangements over the course of the afternoon, only stopping when Harry returned a few hours later to remind Rori that they needed to leave soon to make their flight.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[captain-mcdavid]

word count: 3.3k

smut: yes | no

warnings: drinking, swearing, yelling, angst

You panicked as soon as you read the message, and then you calmed down a little when you realized what time it came in. His last message was sent forty five minutes ago. If he left when he said he did, he would have gotten here before you.

You pointlessly look out the window and down at the street, you can make out most of the cars and none of them look like his. And, if he was actually here, he’d need to get buzzed in.

The second that thought crosses your mind your stomach drops. If he left when he said he did, he would have gotten here when Lindsay was here. What if she talked to him? What if she spun some other web of twisted lies and that’s why he left?

You’re taking off out the door before you can stop yourself, she’s still waiting by the elevators, and you’re shouting down the hall like a maniac before she can leave, “Was Josh here?”

“Huh?” She responds, and you roll your eyes, your psycho bitch making an appearance when you find yourself laughing.

“Was Josh here? He texted me to say he was coming over, did he? And don’t even think about lying, I’ve had enough with your mind games.” You’re speaking a mile a minute, and Lindsay looks stunned at all the words coming out of your mouth.

“No,” She spits out. “He wasn’t here.”

You study her face, waiting to see if there’s any indication of her being untruthful but she looks serious, so you turn around and start back to your place.

“Oh and by the way,” You’ve barely even gotten a foot away when her ratchet voice stops you again, “If I’m never gonna see you again then you could use some advice, so listen carefully.”

You turn to look back and you feel like you’re in high school, getting publicly harassed by a mean girl. You should ignore her and leave cause there’s no where you’re walking out of this without crying, or getting arrested, but you can’t seem to be able to move. “I’m not the only person that’s fucked you over. Josh played you just as much as I did, and yeah we might be in the wrong, but so are you. You did nothing to help yourself. You’re naive as hell and that’s why shitty things keep happening to you.” The elevator doors open as if on queue and she steps in, and you pray to god that that’s the last time you’ll ever have to see her.

As much as you know you shouldn’t listen to her sociopathic rambling, you can’t help but replay her words in your head, and they sting. You’d never considered yourself naive before, but you were beginning to realize, as much as you hated to admit it, that Lindsay was kind of right.

When you tried to convince her that Josh felt the same way about you she had said, “I’m just trying to guard your heart since you don’t seem to be.” Those words had no true emotion besides vengeance behind them, but they were still true. You weren’t guarding your heart, you had no defences.

You went into the relationship the second time with an agenda, but as soon as you felt the slightest bit of reciprocation from Josh you went all in with no reservations, the exact same way that you did the first time. You had to admit you were setting yourself up for hurt, you knew what Josh was capable of, you should have gone in with more guard.

You’re so overwhelmed with emotions that it’s exhausting. You’re sad, and angry, and you’re feeling pretty stupid too, but you’re also just as confused. Where is Josh?

He should be here by now...

As mad as you are it’s hard not to be a little worried, what if something happened?

Against your better judgement you send a quick text, a simple question mark that after a half hour receives no reply.

The ice cream you’re eating isn’t doing much to take your mind off of the current situation. You shouldn’t do it, but your actions are purely based off of worry, so you press the little phone button by his contact. It rings through, then goes to voicemail, and you’re left yet again wondering what’s going on.

After more ice cream and countless episodes of friends, it’s four forty five in the morning, and you’ve convinced yourself that if something bad happened to Josh, you would have heard from someone by now, and you fall asleep.

The next days proceedings include work, and then most of yesterday’s activities, eating ice cream and watching reruns of old shows. Its bittersweet to see all of Lindsay’s things gone, the apartment looks empty and for the first time since she left, you actually take a minute to mourn the loss of a friend.

Sitting on the undressed bed in her empty room brings tears to your eyes, and for about a half hour you just sit and cry. Before you knew about her backstabbing ways you considered her your best friend. She was the person you turned to for everything, and now she was gone. Who are you supposed to lean on now?

Your pity party doesn’t stop there either. It’s not a good idea. Really, it’s not even remotely smart but you do it anyway. The ice cream isn’t making a dent in your feelings but maybe vodka will.

Drinking alone is a new low for you, but in your messed up mind what you’re feeling warrants it.

You’ve lost count of the amount of alcohol you’ve had at about six pm. And because drinking alone isn’t bad enough you might as well add day drunk to the mix too right?

You’re drunk dialing someone, but your mind doesn’t catch up to your actions until the phone is lifted to your ear, and when her sweet voice sounds on the other end, you break down in tears almost right away. “Mom,”

“Y/N?” She says, “Y/N, honey are you crying?”

You nod, even though she can’t hear, and she still keeps rambling. “Y/N talk to me, tell me what’s wrong,”

In one big long run on sentence you tell her everything that’s happened in the last two days leaving out the last two months, and she’s silent for about a minute once you finish,

“Oh honey,” She sighs finally, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Mom, I love him.” The words come out fast and you’re just as surprised to hear them as she is. Did you really just say that?

“Aw baby,” She says, and you just wish that she was here in person to hold you. “I think you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel, maybe there’s something you don’t know.”

“Do you think?” You choke, hiccuping in between words. “I thought you’d tell me to move on,”

“Sweetie, I can’t do that. Believe me I’m not this guys biggest fan at the moment but everyone deserves a chance to explain themselves. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems.”

You hiccup over the phone, biting your nails while you murmur out, “You think?”

“I hope.” She reiterates, “You never know unless you try.”

You breathe out a little chuckle at the end, biting the inside of your cheek before you whisper out, “Yeah I guess.”

“I wish I could give you a hug,” She says, and you smile at the thought. “Do you want me to come over?”

Yes is your first thought but there’s something you need to do, so with a small smile you say, “No ma, that’s okay. Thank you though. I love you,”

“I love you too sweetheart,” She says, and then you’re hanging up the phone, getting to your feet while you down the rest of the mixed drink in your hand. Moms always give the best advice so this was obviously the best decision.

You must look like an absolute train wreck to other people, stumbling out of your building and into an Uber, so obviously drunk on a Wednesday evening. As if you hadn’t already stacked up enough lows for the day, you’re adding another. Not only are you piss drunk by yourself, you’re piss drunk by yourself on a weekday. You probably couldn’t look any worse right now.

You can’t even imagine what your uber driver is thinking...

The ride is long and awkward but when you finally make it to Josh’s building, you step out of the car feeling like a million bucks. His car is in the parking lot, so he’s home, the sour feeling in your stomach that comes from drinking too much has settled and you’re just tanked enough to not give a shit that you look like a complete mess.

Your mood disintegrates almost immediately though because for the second time you forgot that you needed to be rung up. You stand blankly, staring at the door while you try to decide if you should actually do this.

You release a big puff of air before straightening your posture and dialling Josh’s apartment. It rings three times and then the message button sounds and words are fluttering out of your mouth before you can even stop them.

“Okay look I know you’re mad at me and I’m mad at you, both of us are mad and we both have every right to be. I did a shitty thing and so did you, but as mad as I am, and I am. I’m like seriously mad, I know because now when I picture your stupid cute face I don’t wanna smoosh it, I want to slap it, but despite all that, I want to fix things because I accidentally told my mom I loved you. So can you please just let me up?”

When you finish you’re out of breath, and there’s no response. You sigh deeply and then turn around, jumping when you see a very confused looking man behind you.

He has keys for the building in his hand, and judging by the look on his face, he heard absolutely everything you just told Josh’s ringer.

His eyes flick to the sign plastered on the door, in big letters it reads, “Do they live here? Holding the door for strangers: Its not polite, it’s dangerous. Help keep our building safe.”

You smile sheepishly, and he cautiously walks towards the building.

You watch as he opens the door, studying you from head to toe while you look back with a hopeful glance.

He sighs and then rolls his eyes, “You’re not a serial killer?”

You shake your head with a sweet smile and saunter in, quickening your step once you’re in the building. “Thank you so much. I promise you won’t have any trouble from me!” You opt for the stairs instead of taking the elevator with him, hopping two steps at a time to get up to Josh’s as soon as possible, only to stop at the top to catch your breathe before knocking on his door.

You tap gingerly at first, talking quietly through the barrier. “Josh, I know you’re in there. Please open the door I just wanna talk.”

This goes on for about two minutes before you give in and bang louder, nearly yelling. “Josh! Open the damn door. You said you wanted this solved and I’m trying but I can’t do that if I’m out here!”

When there’s once again, no response, you take to slamming your fist against the wood repeatedly. Someone is probably gonna yell at you for this but you really don’t care.

You’re just about to open your mouth again when someone yells your name from a few doors down. You look to your right, and Seth is standing in his doorway, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. And you pretty well have. “What the hell are you doing?” He asks, walking towards you.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You fire back. Raising your hand to knock again, but Seth is quicker, grabbing your wrist before it can make contact.

“Are you drunk?” Seth asks, and you groan at how condescending he sounds.

“Yes,” You admit, “But I don’t need a lecture, okay? It’s been a shitty day, I just needed to take the edge off.”

“Looks like you’ve taken off a lot more than just the edge.” Seth observes, and you shrug.

“I might have drank half a bottle of vodka, but that’s none of your business.” You stab a finger at his chest.

“I’m not even gonna ask how big the bottle was.” Seth whispers, and you almost laugh.

“That’s probably a good idea,” You say, lifting your hand to knock again. “Josh!” You yell, and Seth shushes you.

“He’s not here.” Seth says, and you look up at him with an eye roll.

“Well then where is he-“ You’re in the middle of your sentence when you actually look at him, and when you see his eye, your stomach drops. His entire eye socket is coloured a dark purple, and you actually feel sick. That looks to you like an angry right hook from Josh.

“Seth, holy shit, what happened to your face?” You’re praying to god that his answer is not what you know it will be.

He looks at you with grave eyes, and shakes his head. “Do you really have to ask?”

You can see it vividly in your head, and it hurts to even think about it. “I don’t-,” You start, your voice coming out shaky. “I don’t get it. How?”

“He saw your purse by the door when he came in.”

“Seth,” You reach out to touch his arm but he calmly steps back, avoiding your gaze. “I’m so sorry. I should never have come last night,”

He just shrugs and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I can fix this Seth. I just need to talk to him. Where is he?”

“Y/N, he left.”

“Yeah,” You say dumbly, “But where did he go? I’ll just wait until he’s back or something-“

“He left, as in he went home. He’s gone for the summer.”

You nearly choke on Seth’s words, you can’t even process what you’re feeling but tears are brimming your eyes already. “He...” You suck in a staggered breath and swipe away the tear that falls, “H-he left?”

“It’s for the best.” Seth says, and you cover your mouth to at least attempt to control your emotions. “He needs some time to cool down.”

You stand in silence for a moment before Seth touches your arm gently. “Do you need a ride home?”

You shake your head immediately, and he looks like he’s about to press further, so you cut him off, “I just need to be alone I think.” Seth gives you a semblance of a smile before heading back down to his place, and once the door shuts behind him the tears flow freely.

You’re holding back sobs the whole walk down, trying to focus on anything but what Seth just told you.

It’s inevitable though, and as soon as you’re outside, everything comes out all at once, and you’re collapsing onto the curb bawling your eyes out.

None of this makes sense to you anymore. You’re so utterly confused with everything that has happened that you can barely focus on one event at a time. All the lines are blurred and you have no idea how to clear them.

In a last ditch effort you pull out your phone, opening your conversation with Josh. You type the words fast, sending them before you have time to second guess it.

Nothing happened between me and Seth.

You don’t know why you stare at the screen, waiting for something you’re sure is not gonna happen.

But then you wipe your tears and look back, and instead of seeing the dreadful “delivered” note under your message, you see a read receipt. Your breath hitches in your throat and you watch as the text bubble appears and disappears numerous times. He’s debating what to say, and you wish he’d just let it all out, but the message never comes. It disappears for about a minute, and you’re close to giving up, when your phone vibrates in your hand, Josh’s name lighting up the screen.

You answer it without hesitation, but freeze as soon as you lift it to your ear.

You sit there holding your breath, taking in the silence, unable to form words, and then he speaks.

“Y/N?”

You suck in a breath, finally pushing out a word, “...Yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything on the other end, and once again you’re left in silence. About a minute goes by and you’re worried that you won’t be able to hide the sounds of your sobbing anymore, so you whisper, “You punched Seth,”

He sighs, but doesn’t say anything, so you continue, “Josh, he’s your friend. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Josh laughs bitterly and immediately you know this isn’t going to go well. “Yeah well you probably shouldn’t have slept with him to get back at me.”

“I just told you nothing happened,” You defend yourself, and almost stop there but his comment is unwarranted and hypocritical, so you call him out, “But even if I did you did the exact same thing to me so don’t go getting all moral here,”

You really didn’t want to have a screaming match with him but how can you help it? He gets so angry so quickly and tries to pin everything on you. It’s impossible to have an actual mature conversation with him.

“It is not the same thing,” He backs, and you find yourself rolling your eyes.

“Are you really trying to deny the fact that you cheated on me with my best friend?”

You’re unable to catch it, it just slips out, but when it does you know he’s gonna use it against you.

“Oh get over yourself, we were never together. I didn’t cheat on you, stop trying to make this worse than it is.”

You knew his response would be harsh but you didn’t expect that. That was worse than you thought. Every word has more and more venom and you actually start to feel physical pain.

“I am not the one making things worse here, Josh. You are the one that fled the fucking country to avoid talking this out!” Every word comes out louder than the last until you’re yelling right back, finishing your rant with fire.

“Cause maybe I didn’t want to!” He shouts back, and you swear you feel your heart stop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask quietly, petrified for his answer.

“Why are we acting like there’s feelings here?” He starts, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to continue. “All we were doing was fucking so why are we acting like it was more?”

Cause it was. And you know it.

Those words don’t actually come out of your mouth though. Nothing does.

“I left because I couldn’t care less if we fix this or not.”

You really don’t believe what he’s saying right now. There was more. You both felt it, he’s just hurt.

That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“You don’t care? Is that why you punched Seth? Cause you don’t care?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore, Y/N.” Josh sighs, and you have to pull the phone away from you momentarily because if you don’t, you think he might actually be able to hear your heart breaking.

“Fine.” You say, but it’s not. “We won’t. This is done. Have a nice life Josh.”

And then you cut the line.

THE END

i’m kidding it’s not done. pls don’t come for me.

[maaaaaatryoshka0325]

Why you? (Pt9) Bang Chan series

Description: You save a very important mans life and he decides to repay you to the fullest. But is this a little too much?

“Who pissed in his cheerios?” Felix asked.

You just stared out into the hallway where Chan had walked off too.

“I don’t know, maybe he wasn’t hungry.” Jeongin said.

“Yea, ‘not hungry.’” Minho said.

After dinner, you started to wash the dishes, and Woojin stood beside you, helping you. He didn’t say much and you enjoyed the silence. When you had first met the members, you were actually quite intimidated by Woojin and Minho. Neither of them talked much to you at first, but then you all became friends. Woojin was a silent listener and could usually tell if something was bothering you. None of the members have ever seen you cry, as you were too awkward to show too much negative emotion in front of them, so none of them knew if something was ever hurting you. Except Woojin. He could usually tell if something was upsetting you or on your mind and would silently sit near you or start a small conversation and make you laugh. He gave you warm hugs here and there, knowing if you needed them.

“I wonder if Chan’s upset.” You said, breaking the silence.

“I think so.” He responded.

“Is he stressed about the comeback?” You asked.

He shrugged as he dried the last plate and put it up on the shelf.

“Not sure, I’ll talk to him and make sure he’s okay though.” He said.

You nodded and walked towards the living room, almost bumping into Chan as he walked towards the stairs.

“Oh- sorry.” You said.

“It’s okay.” He said.

“Chan, are you okay?” You asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry, I’m just a little tired so I’m gonna head upstairs and lay down.” He said, giving you smile.

“Okay, goodnight.” You said, smiling back.

He walked up the stairs and you sat in the living room alone with a book. You were reading a horror book that hooked you right away. You yawned as you picked up your cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. The weather was a little chilly, as it was only spring, and the warm drink, warm blanket, and light rainfall outside made you sleepy. You closed your eyes and fell asleep.

You jolted awake as you gasped for breath. Another nightmare. You felt yourself tremble and choke for air. This had been the realest feeling one yet.

You felt the couch dip where your head had been and jumped when you felt a warm hand touch you.

“Y/N, are you okay?” 

You turned your head and saw Chan looking at you, worry across his face.

“Y-Yeah, just a bad dream.” You said, looking away from him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked.

You shook your head and you both fell silent. Rain still pattered on the windows and your half drunken drink still filled the room with a chocolate smell.

“You should go to your room and go back to sleep.” He said.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll be better in my bed.” You said as your body still trembled. 

You felt his warm hand on your shoulder as he sat closer to you. Your back hit the side of his chest as he rubbed your arm.

“It was only a dream, it’s gonna be okay.” He said. You both sat like that until your body stopped trembling. He rubbed soft circles into your arm with his thumb and you looked back at him and smiled.

“I’m okay now, thank you. You should probably go to sleep too.” You said.

He nodded as he stood up and got up right after, grabbing your cup and bringing it into the kitchen to wash. You heard the stairs creek as he walked up the stairs and you sighed in relief. Now your heart can return back to normal. Between Chan and the nightmare, your heart was beating out of your chest. You made your way into your room and washed your face. Before you climbed into bed, you heard a soft knock at the door. You opened it and saw a sleepy looking Jeongin. He walked past you and into your room, laying on your bed and getting under the covers. You followed after, laying down and feeling him hug you. You felt better, feeling someone laying next to you. 

You groggily got out of bed the next morning, the spot next to you empty as the boys had an early schedule that day. You washed up and cleaned the dorm up. Dusting, sweeping, and vacuuming. Although cleaning got boring, you had a lot of time to do what you wanted after. And JYP paid you BIG MONEY to do such an easy job. But cleaning up after 9 boys while also doing their shopping and errands can sometimes be a hassle. You were just glad they weren’t messy like most men. 

You finished around three and decided to visit the boys and bring them some food. You grabbed some of their favorite take outs and drove over to the JYP building. You walked down the hallway when you heard a familiar voice.

“Y/N?” 

You turned around and saw Hyungsuk standing there, he had makeup on and his hair was parted.

“Hyungsuk?” You asked in surprise.

“It IS you!” He said with a smile, walking over and hugging you.

He hugged you so shamelessly despite the fact you two have only known each other for twenty four hours-tops. But you didn’t mind, he was genuine and sweet.

“I didn’t know you were a trainee.” You said, realizing why he was all done up.

“Yeah, we did a performance cover. Do you need help with those bags?” He asked.

“Nah, they’re not heavy.” You said.

“You seem like the type that’s strong enough to throw a grown man.” He said with a laugh.

“Yah!” You yelled, laughing with him.

Just then, you heard someone clear their throat. When you turned around, Felix and Chan were standing behind the both of you.

“Oh, hey guys. I brought you food.” You said.

“You know them?!” Hyungsuk gasped.

You nodded and laughed as Felix gave Hyungsuk a friendly smile.

“You were the guy she hung out with yesterday?” He asked.

“Awe, did you talk about me Y/N?” Hyungsuk asked.

“Pshh, yeah. In your dreams.” You laughed.

Hyungsuk looked at Chan and bowed deeply.

“You’re Bang Chan! I’m a huge fan!.” He said, grabbing Chan’s hand and shaking it.

Chan smiled and thanked him before walking down the hallway towards the practice rooms. You turned to Felix who shrugged.

“He’s been grouchy all day.” He said.

“Why? Is he okay?” You asked.

“I don’t know. I tried talking to him but he kept brushing it off.” He said.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Hyungsuk said suddenly, “But I have to get going. It was nice meeting you Felix.” He said bowing to Felix before turning towards you and giving you another hug.

“I hope we can see each other more often Y/N!” He said, letting go and waving at you before heading down the hall. 

You waved then turned towards Felix.

“He’s super nice.” He said.

“Yeah he is.” You said as you and Felix and walked towards the practice rooms.

When you walked in, the members turned towards you.

“Finally! I’m starving.” Jisung said.

“Sorry, Y/N’s boyfriend happens to be a trainee and we ran into him.” Felix said.

“WHAT?” Minho said, cracking up.

“Shut up, he isn’t my boyfriend.” You said.

All the boys took their food, besides Chan. You handed him his and he took it without looking at you.

“Chan, are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah, just thinking.” He said with a smile.

You nodded and sat down to eat with them. They were all talking and laughing about stuff, but you kept looking at Chan. He was pretty quiet and not eating too much. Worry began to fill your stomach. You knew Chan was dedicated, but you didn’t want him over working himself. His eye bags weren’t extremely bad, but they were noticeable.

“So Y/N, when are we going to meet this boyfriend of yours?” Hyunjin teased.

You threw a piece of chicken from Woojin’s platter at him and he started laughing.

“MY CHICKEN!” Woojin yelled, the loudest you’ve ever heard him yell.

You all started laughing as Woojin stared at the small piece of chicken.

“THAT’S DISRESPECT!” He shrieked.

At this point, everyone was laughing now and you started to choke. Jisung patted your back as you wiped tears from your eyes from laughing so hard.

“No but seriously, when are we gonna meet him?” Hyunjin asked again.

“He really isn’t my boyfriend.” You said.

“Hmmmm I dunno, he hugged you pretty tight.” Felix laughed.

You rolled your eyes as the other boys laughed and continued to eat your food. You saw Chan close his food that he barely touched and get up to walk to the recording studio.

“Changbin, Jisung, I’ll be in the recording studio.” He said as he walked out.

“I don’t know what his problem is but he’s been like that all day.” Jisung said.

After they finished eating, Changbin and Jisung walked to the recording studio and you stayed to watch the other boys. You wanted to go with them, but you didn’t know how Chan would feel since he was in a bad mood. You watched the boys’ new choreo and smiled at Jeongin who had mastered a part he kept messing up.

“You’re doing great!” You said with a big smile.

His eyes brightened and smiled sheepishly.

“Thank you noona.” He said.

After a little bit of them practicing, it was almost time for them to head home. You were about to walk out and start the car to heat it up a little bit when you bumped into someone. The last time that happened in that building, things ended BADLY. You slowly looked up and saw Hungsuk’s happy face close to yours.

“Hey Y/N!” He said, squashing you into a hug.

“H-Hi Hyungsuk.” You wheezed out as he smooshed you.

“How was practice?” You asked.

“It was good. I don’t have to be in til late tomorrow, do you wanna hangout beforehand?” He asked.

“Sure, I don’t have to run the members dinner until around six tomorrow.” You said.

“Perfect, I have to be here by six.” He said happily.

He hugged you again and you laughed. You stopped laughing when you saw Chan standing there, his phone in his hand but his eyes on you. Jisung laughed as he saw you and Hyungsuk.

“Wow Y/N, you two really are dating.” He said.

“We are NOT.” You said, huffing.

Hyungsuk laughed and ruffled your hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He walked away and when you turned towards Jisung and Chan, Chan walked right by you without saying anything.

“Sheesh, he’s still grumpy.” Jisung said.

When you all arrived back at the dorms, you all sat down to finish your leftovers. You saw Chan picking at his food still and you worry prickle at you.

“Hyung what’s wrong?” Felix asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Chan said, giving a small smile as usual. 

He ate a little bit more before putting his food in the fridge and walking into the living room. You finished your food and walked into the living room, sitting on the couch. Chan was staring out the window, his chin on his hand.

“Chan? Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He said, getting up and leaving the room.

You looked down at your hands. Maybe he was uncomfortable after hearing you say you liked him. But he had comforted you yesterday, so was that even a possibility? 

Jisung walked into the room and sat next to you and played a movie while the other members sat down to watch.

“Where’s hyung?’ Jeongin asked.

“He said he has stuff to work on.” Changbin said.

As you all watched the movie, you couldn’t help but think about Chan. He was acting weird. He wasn’t talking or eating much and he never missed movie night. Jisung pulled you into him and you cuddled into his side.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, just distracted.” You said.

“Are you worried about Chan?” He asked.

You nodded and he ruffled your hair.

“He’ll be okay, he’s probably just stressed.” He said.

After the movie you headed to your room. Chan came around the corner and walked right by you without saying anything. He didn’t even glance at you. As you laid in bed you tried to think if you did something wrong, or if any of the other members pissed him off, but you couldn’t think of anything. You couldn’t think of anything and fell into a restless slumber.

[alitheamateur]

Birthday Boy Bob

This one is for my dear friend, @torialeysha who requested some smutty Bob Saginowski action. (Who could blame her?) This guy, this guy, this guy. Let me tell ya’! Bobby boy here, has by far been my toughest encounter! I hope it’s up to your standards, you genius!

Characters: Bob Saginowski/Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Explicit Sexual Content. Language. A bit of angst. A touch of fluff.

Word Count: 4,742 

“You really did not have to do alla this, Y/N. But, I truly appreciate it.”

“You deserve some fun, Bobby boy. So, you can thank me by having a drink. Or ten.” You winked, bopping the end of his nose with your fingertip.

Bob Saginowski had been your boss for going on two years now. You, being the barmaid at his local treasure in the heart of Brooklyn, had developed quite the mysterious relationship with him. There was no figuring Bob out, though. He was an impossible enigma that Sherlock himself couldn’t crack open with his most impressive skills, so there was no way you’d get him down pat. He was frustratingly literal, unobvious with his dangerous intelligence, and the holy grail of secrets. But as of late, your subtle glances had been reciprocated, and his claiming accidental skims of your skin when he’d squeeze close to you behind the bar were becoming much more recurrent.

He worked himself day and night, and you wondered concerningly if he ever even slept at night. He had paid his debts, and was now sole owner of “Bob’s Bar” which lengthened his daily ‘to-do’ list, that also consisted of tending to his loyal companion, Rocco. In your eyes, he deserved a hefty dose of fun and unwinding (as much as a person like Bob could unwind), and his 37th birthday opened the door to help you make that very goal achievable. So, your plan was set into action, and had unfolded without a hitch. So you thought, at least…

“Cheers, ol’ boy! This ones for you, Bob!” One of the most frequent stool warmers at the bar stuttered between drunken hiccups, raising up the third tequila past his limit.

The usual present pondering lines of Bob’s forehead seemed even more troubled suddenly, as the two of you stood chatting behind the bar top. You tossed your ashy blonde hair over your shoulder to turn and investigate the ringing bell that notified an entry. The eyes you looked into made you instantly squeamish, and all hopeful opportunities you’d envisioned ensuing with the object of your secret affections fizzled out. Nadia, the only ex you were ever aware of from Bob’s relationship endeavors, just had to show her unwelcomed face tonight, of all nights.

“Hey, birthday boy!” She screeched, waving the deflating ‘happy birthday’ balloon she had tied to her finger.

Nadia had tossed him into the trash, leaving him in the condition much like he had found Rocco inside her trash can a few years ago. No rhyme, or reason behind her flighty exit had been heard on the streets, and she hadn’t been seen since last fall. Her unexplained bow out had granted you a job, and a confused and wounded Bob to look after, so you were thankful in all honesty for her disappearance. It was her reappearance however, that had you squirming and insecure. 

“Uhh, yeah. Hel… Hi, Nadia,” Bob apprehensively greeted the ghost of his past, and leaned on the chipping wood of the counter to steady his shaken balance. “Where um.. where you been?”

The subdued tenor of his answer angered you to dangerous heights, and your conscious nagged you to spit venomous curses and toss her out on her smug ass since Bob obviously didn’t have the stomach to do it himself. But, it wasn’t your place to do so, and if you were being truthful, you saw her unforeseen return as a chance to decipher whether Bob was truly over what they had shared.

“You know, just here and there.”

Here and there?! That’s all she had for him? The utterly heartless and ignorance of her explanation had your head swimming, and your spiteful tongue could no longer be controlled.

“Bob! Let’s open your gifts, okay? Rocco keeps sniffing the bags in the corner. He’s trying to hurry you up!”

You couldn’t stand idly and twiddle your anxious fingers as she entranced him deeper into her silky web of manipulation and pitiful lies.

You brashly grabbed his hand into yours, and the heavy clogging of his worn boots echoed behind you careful not to stomp on a following Rocco yipping at your feet. Nadia cornered herself in a booth near the cake you had bought with your own earnings, and you smiled despicably to yourself when none of the party guests fawned over her homecoming. These were your customers as much as Bobs’, and they had whispered teasing remarks about seeing how the two of you were always blushing and flirting as you danced around each other behind the bar on a hectic night of business. Nadia’s departure had granted her top rank on the blacklist, and the attendees of Bob’s Bar had made their stance obvious.

 You held the growing pup in your arms, and smiled admiringly at the gawky excitements Bob attempted to show to his company. A party full of guests, all in one room to celebrate and dote over Bob was probably the closest thing to a nightmare in real time for him, and you began to wonder if the whole gesture was a colossal, incurable mistake. But, the quirky, barely perceptible half-smiles he snuck between gifts warmed you with reassurance. When he lifted the last perfectly creased corners of a package, tucked purposely by you behind all the others, he looked instantly to you when it was missing the gift-tag he examined it for.

“That one’s from Rocco and me. He even wrapped it himself.” Bobs’ endearing, single wonky tooth appeared suddenly, as your playful, pitiful excuse for a joke made him almost audibly laugh. It could’ve been construed as honest laughter, or a result of the flow of alcohol you’d insisted he intake, and let loose.

The protruding line of a vein tensed and shifted in his forearm from beneath the rolled sleeves of his flannel as he tore the paper casually in front of the room.  It was a photo taken on New Year’s Eve night at the bar several months ago that you had printed from your phone, of the pair of you decked in stupid ‘happy new year’ sequined tiaras, and silly Rocco smooshed between your heads with his panting tongue hanging out. That particular night had been the nearest Bob had come to finally biting the bullet and kissing you when the new year struck on the clock. You giggled recollecting how all eyes in the room immediately shifted to the two of you when the ball dropped to see if either of you would make the much-anticipated move. When his lips never moved, you instead settled on pecking him lingeringly to his scruffy cheek.

 “Look at that. That’s real nice! Thank you, really. Rocco, you too, buddy. But, I think imma give Y/N all the credit. No hard feelings.”

“You’re welco-“

“Oh my God, do you remember our first New Year’s Eve with Rocco?! He was snoring under the bar all night, then when everyone yelled at midnight, he got so scared and nearly jumped up your leg, Bob.”

Apparently, your particular birthday gift to the man in question had struck the attention of one unwelcome, obnoxious party guest who just had to jump in rudely with her pointless two-cents. You weren’t born yesterday, and neither was the interrupting ex-girlfriend of his who could see the flirtatious manner bouncing back and forth between yourself, and the man Nadia had clearly come back into town for.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do rememba that. He uh, he still ain’t a fan of real loud noises either. You know, like sirens and stuff.”

Bob swiveled in his chair to actually civilly converse with her, literally and figuratively turning his back on you. Maybe friends would be a line never crossed between you and Bob Saginowski as long as Nadia’s chilly presence loomed close by. But besides the hopes of a relationship between the two of you squandered, you feared your position as bartender would be dismissed as well if she swindled her way back into his life, and his bed successfully.

You turned the pup loose from your arms to roam the room, and drug your feet back behind the counter to refill drinks, and maybe sneak a swig or two of your own liquid courage. Closing time and last call would be arriving shortly, so you combed your hair back into a high ponytail, and pulled off your olive-green utility jacket to prepare for clean-up. No one had cut that cake, but since Nadia wanted to be the center of attention tonight, she could handle it. You were checked out, and ready to crash into bed with too many glasses of wine.

As you reached for the damp rag to wipe the counter of sticky remnants of spilled drinks, Johnny, a devoted customer and a bit of a watchful eye over the place if Bob ever had to leave you to handle things so he could run errands, snapped you from your thoughts.

“Hey, don’t chu throw in the towel. Alla us are countin’ on you to keep Bobby boy away from that little she-devil.” He whispered and nodded his head in the direction of the female snake petting on Rocco after rattling the ice cubes in his empty tumbler of bourbon.

“Seems no one can replace her, John. You saw it! It’s like I just left the room once she started to talk to him. They have history, I guess. I can’t compete. And I won’t either.”

“Nobody said it was a competition, Y/N. But, this is Brooklyn, honey. You gotta fight for whatcha want sometimes.”

……��………..

“Alright, alright! Take the cake and get out of here, you goon!” You kindly teased with the last guest who wouldn’t take the order of leaving until you sent him home with the last two slices of the chocolate cake.

Rocco was snoozing under the pool table, avoiding the drunk hugs, and repetitive loop of a horrendous ‘happy birthday’ song being sung as the party goers lined out the door to head home for the evening. Bob ushered them out one by one, calling cabs for the few who he knew would wind up passing out on the sidewalk before they reached their own doorstep 5 blocks from the bar. It appeared only him, and yourself were left to lock up, and you were building up a bubble of nerve to confront him about Nadia, when you heard the gentle thud of a bathroom door closing down the hall.

She had already showed up like an unannounced gypsy to crash the party you had thrown for him, but that wasn’t enough to suffice. She had hung around, probably listening from the stall of the toilet, to wait for the room to clear so she could have some alone time to seal the deal. Bob looked to her, as did you, as she sheepishly approached the exit. Her ‘poor pitiful me’ charade was far from authentic, and you prayed silently and fervently that silly Bob would see right through her acting.

“I guess I’ll head out then…”

She looked to Bob, who then looked to you, who stared intently at Nadia.

“You could walk me home.. If it’s not too much trouble?”

That was it. The nail in your coffin. When he didn’t deny her instantly, you accepted you’d never hold the title of Bob’s girl, or Rocco’s dog-mom, and Nadia still compelled him beyond any way that you had.

“Go head, Bob. I’ll lock up.” You plastered on a brave, quite unconvincing smile as you rinsed and dried the last few glasses to shelf before you could head out.

“Are you sure? You already done so much tonight, I hate to ask.” Bob’s shifty eyes examined you seeking whether you were truly okay with him leaving you to handle the close up.

“She’s got it, Bob. I’m sure she’s closed alone before, right? It is your birthday, after all.”

Before you even had a second to object, Nadia interjected to make sure you didn’t. She had already awoken Rocco who was yawning and dazed in the cradle of her arms, and all but shoving Bob out into the night air with her. He turned to wave goodbye, and mouthed a ‘thank you’, to which you chose not to acknowledge much. The silence of the room, aside from the humming of the ice machine made you paranoid with confusion, and shame. You assured yourself that you had taken your shot, it just wasn’t meant to be. But, had you really? Was the man completely uninterested in you, or had he just in typical Bob fashion, been too bashful and timid to show you he really did have desirable feelings for you? You couldn’t place all fault on him, when you had done little to reveal how you felt towards him.

The unwavering, worrisome flow of ‘what ifs’ clouding your thoughts had passed the time substantially as you finished off the final items on your closing to-do list. Reaching down to unplug the stringy cord of the last neon sign glowing in the dingy store-front glass, you heard the chattering metal of a door handle being opened. Your body stiffened in paralyzing fright, and you ceased breathing to remain as still, and undetected as possible.

Thankfully, it was the familiar Bob and Rocco who swept inside the now dark shadows of the empty building, missing the third party they had left with short of a half hour ago.

“You scared the hell outta me, Bob!” You cupped your hands over your mouth and the sweaty palms stuck to your lips.

“I’m uh… yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I was gonna call but…”

“What’d you forget? I’m all done here. I was heading out in a sec, actually. Where’s uh… Where’s Nadia?”

Walking towards to the stool to gather up the purse and jacket you had sat there moments ago, you felt a masculine hand fall onto your shoulder.

“I called her a cab…”

Turning yourself in a half circle so you could meet him face to face, and tip-toe into whatever waters the conversation was leading next, you gulped a heavy knot of surprise seeing him remove the scratchy wool-lined vest he always wore when the seasonal temperatures started steadily declining into winter. Your own coat was draped over your wrist, but looking silently into your eyes, Bob removed it. Tossing it, along with your purse, and his own discarded outer-layer back onto the seat you once had placed it.

“I told her not to be comin’ around here again. And that this wasn’t her place anymore.”

Intently, your watchful stares followed him as he shooed Rocco into the storage room he was usually kept on busy nights, next traveling over to the large glass window that looked into the street and easing down the plastic shade. Like a dimmer, it eliminated the entering glow from the luminescent streetlight near your parked car, and only the lit-up handles of the beer taps, and mini-fridge tucked under the stock shelves allowed you minimal vision of Bob’s eerily calm features. Working with him nearly every calendar day for countless months now, you had grown naturally enamored by the anomaly of his disposition. But his calculated steps, sure actions, and silent planning were a far cry from his usually peculiar behavior. Should you be afraid? Leary or standoffish? Probably. But you were only allured, and aroused to say the least.

The lack of conversation made your ears squeal. Should you say something? Shouldn’t he? What’s happening here? A plethora of scenarios all played out one-by-one in your head, but you were clueless at the thoughts crossing through his. He was the farthest thing from an open-book, and he wasn’t exactly dropping red flags. That is, until he raised one thick finger to brush the line of your glowing, alabaster skin peeking from the hem of your tank top. You closed your eyes, and sharply inhaled between gritted teeth savoring the unmistakable insinuation of his actions now, and the ones to follow.

One by one, each plastic button that fastened your black, plaid flannel was tauntingly opening at the cautious, yet purposeful hands of Bob. He seemed to stare laser beams of tantric desires straight through your pupils, and you couldn’t turn your focus from the slow-growing bulge between his legs.

“Take if off for me, Y/N. I’d like to watch you if tha’s alright.” He petted down the side of your arm, and as his spoke the wind of his heated exhales blew the stray hairs from your face. You couldn’t tell by the slithering octave of his words whether he was requesting, or darkly demanding you to remove your unlined, lace bra. But you obliged keenly, and Bob grunted sexually as your breasts toppled free.

You then saw Bob Saginowski move more abruptly, and scattered than he ever had shedding his own shirt, and unlatching this jeans. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t overthink the matter, he just threw his usual caution to the wind. And for the first time, your eyes beheld the uncovered treasure that lie beneath the clothed surface. He was so broad, and uncannily built like a sturdy wall that was graffitied with an array of black markings across the span of his torso. The heated desire you’d built up for him in the last year crawled like a paranormal, starving demon from somewhere deep in your core, and you sprung at him with a lustful kiss.

Expecting him to politely protest, or pump the proverbial breaks on your fierce attack on his mouth, you were pleasantly surprised when he began to fiddle with the zipper on your light-shaded jeans. His tongue danced carelessly and gracefully like a practiced waltz with your own, and you let your hands wander over his tight chest sprinkled with hair. Once he pulled your pants, along with your silky underwear over your ankles, you gasped when he palmed your exposed cheeks with both of his masculine, worked fingers. He was dominating you in the most elusive, and well-mannered way and your body ached for more. Quickly, your feet separated from the recently mopped floor, and you were planted on top of the chilly countertop where you served drinks every day. Bob positioned himself slightly between your legs, and his fingers danced friskily near your uncovered center.  You’d never look at Lucky Larry’s stool the same way again.

“Spread your legs, Y/N. Lemme see if you taste as good as you always smell when you’re behind the bar with me every night.”

You couldn’t control the subconscious pink that painted your cheeks at the provocative, explicit way he had spoken to you. The heat in the room, of his breaths, and of your own temperature climbed unsubstantially with each passing second, and there was no telling what heights your explosive orgasm would reach tonight as he knelt eye-to-eye with your sex. He pulled your legs possessively forward, dangling them over the hump of his shoulder and nipping skin sporadically between his teeth along his journey up to your swelling bud. There was an intangible exhilaration at the sight of Bob abandoning his submissive mantra and passionately taking you. Your manicured toes curled in exotic elation due to the audaciously close proximity his mouth came to you, and the almost villainous demeanor of that shadowy smile floating across his face as he kissed your lowest lips. You found irony in the fact that you’d only seen Bob smile a very few amount of times in your presence, but now his teeth were gleaming upon the introduction with your sexually tamed flower. Your partner body count was a mild number, but you didn’t feel pressured or an inexperienced fear in his hands. Something in your brain concluded that Bob hadn’t allowed many women in his bed considering his sealed off personality, so you wouldn’t be just another notch.

The gruff friction of his beard chaffing the sensitive crook of your thighs, only added a heightened level of pleasure to the simple, generous lashings of his tongue. The sounds of sucklings, and humming, along with the drooping of his pleasure filled eyes tortured you with euphoria. Your mind told you to cry out like a mangy wolf to the hazy moon as Bob pleaded forth your release, but you couldn’t help but succumb to the irresistible need to watch his heart-shaped lips feasting down below.

“I’m almost there… Just… just a little more.”

“Beg, Y/N. Tell me you need me to finish you off. Tell me you need me to make you come.”

He had been hiding this marvelous, politely dominating, sexual prowess somewhere deep in the valley of his complex mind, and apparently it needed a gasping breath of the light of day. The compiled list of scripts in your mind hadn’t prepared for you a turn of events like this. Expecting to take the reins, and lead his doe-eyes where to go next had been how most of the set-ups played out, but you were more than happy to obey under his commands.

“I need you, Bob. I need you to… I just need you. Please!”

You felt any second you’d spill out into his cavernous mouth and stain the bar underneath your now numbing bum, but upon your groveling admissions of want, the bull-necked man indulging in his own private dine-in ceased instantly. His rearranging of your bodies came swift and smooth as you found yourself straddling his generously sized lap. His finger trialed down the soft line of your nose, then in slow motion grazed the inside of your wet bottom lip, and moved to admire the locket you wore dangling just above the cavity between your breasts. You were thankful for the recognizable tenderness you found waiting in his eyes amongst the welcomed, new traits of boldness you’d discovered as well. He seemed now to be even more perfectly rounded and suited to be the man you longed to be next to.

“Is this okay wi’ you? You’re sure? ‘Cause you know, I don’t wanna do anythin’ you ain’t-“

“Bob, shhh. It’s more than okay. I want this so much.”

“Good, ‘cause I do too. Very much, actually. You uh.. you stay just like that and let me take care a’ you.” He nodded insistently while fondling your rosy nipple.

“You’re the boss, handsome?”

“Whatwas ‘at?” Bob froze, and a cool wind seemed to course through your veins at the light, dangerous manner of his question.

“I said… I said, you’re the boss,” you gulped.

“Oh I, I uh… I heard you, baby. I just like hearing it roll off those pretty little lips. You wanna see the boss, do ya’?” He chirped salaciously and pulled down the hair band tying back your wavy locks, and fisted it around his knuckles.

“I think so. It’s of dire importance that I speak with him. You see, I’ve been having these terribly hot, inappropriate dreams about him, and I think we should discuss it.”

“Wow… Uh.. well, you’re right. We might have to do something about that, because I believe he may be having those same dirty, dirty thoughts about you, too.”

As a exclamation to this stemming role play the two of you had going, Bob heartily thrusted his strong hips upward to attack your insides with his manly member. The feel of him pumping inside of you tingled your organs with electricity, and heat. You grabbed the nape of his neck as he held tightly onto yours, and rode the seated man in the creaking barstool like a bucking mare. There was a build up of the last years worth of attraction stored inside you, and now there was no reasonable excuse to hide that flaming passion for Bob Saginowski. You clawed at his chest, yanking the crucifix chain clumsily right off his neck to fall to the floor inside his discarded, muddy boot. The sloppy bites he was staining around your throat would raise eyebrows tomorrow, but you’d wear them like a medal of honor if need be. He hissed, and drew blood from his own lip as he bit down in uncontrollable eagerness at wetness that coated his thighs.

The particular cushion Bob had chosen left his back vulnerable to the door, and the glass center of it. The interior switches had been flipped off earlier from your attempts to close the place properly, so you didn’t give any thought of being exposed to the passing of nighttime traffic. But, when you happen to catch the wiggling of the turning knob as your eyes turned upward from the earlobe belonging to Bob you were chewing on. You cringed horrifically realizing he had left the door unlocked when he returned with Rocco, as it opened hesitantly. The clinking bell triggered the man to wrap you tightly between his strong arms equipped for defense, and swivel around to meet the intruder.

When none other than the dismissed, scorned ex-girlfriend stepped inside to escape the misting rain of the midnight hour, your heart leaped and whistled like a songbird. Normally, you would’ve crawled under the bar to hide your naked body in shame. But, due to the crass and snarky behavior she had shown to you just mere hours ago, you immaturely decided she may very well deserve the X-rated vision of yourself and a very pleased Bob underneath the bouncing cheeks of your ass.

She disturbingly turned away and shielded her eyes the minute she concluded what she had indeed interrupted.

“What the hell, Bob?! You threw me in a cab for.. for this?!!”

Your necked sank into your shoulders like a frightened turtle when his hands loosened their clasp around your shivering body courtesy of the puff of breeze she carried in upon opening the door. Was he going to just shove you away, leaving you unsatisfied, and lacking a single shred of dignity to your name, so he could chase after her?

“She is exactly why I tossed you into a cab, yeah. She didn’t leave me to run off doing who the hell knows what, with God knows who. So yes, Nadia. She is who belongs here wi’ me and Rocco.”

He combed a chunk of sweat dampened hair behind your pixie ear, and gazed approvingly, and lovingly over meek features.

“Now, I believe I made it clear that you ain’t welcome here. Ever. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Before she processed the clear, and justifiable dismissal from Bob, he met your mouth to his, and began a romantic rhythm of in and out motions with his hips. An inkling of your conservative side wanted to protest, but you wouldn’t deny the reciprocation of his craving for you. He closed his eyes in bliss, resting his forehead on the dip of your collarbone, and you took the opportunity to wink over his shoulder at an exiting Nadia. The dramatic rolling of her overly-lined eyes tickled your satisfaction.

You could sense he was terribly sorry for his irresponsible move of leaving the door unlatched, and having Nadia intrude on this long-awaited night. He shifted, and situated you strategically so he could reach tingling depths inside of you to stimulate that sweet spot you didn’t even know you had. A wafting aroma of his woodsy, raw sweat blended with your dipping arousal and hints of candy-like perfume followed behind the wave of your orgasm.

You accidentally closed off his air with your boa-constrictor like grip around his core as he shook loose the stress of the long overdue release. Bob’s hands clung fitfully to your lower back, careful not to crush you, and seeped himself inside of you with an airy moan of your name.

When the two of you drank every sense of the other in, and had imploded with a feverish unwinding, you heard Rocco’s begging whines, and clipped nails pawing at the stockroom door. He even howled three times and attempted to poke his nose from under the doorframe. Bob smiled at you slightly, and nudged your nose with his own before draping his unbuttoned shirt over your miniscule shoulders.

“I told ya’. He hates loud noises, so you’re just gonna have to learn to keep those little screams to a whisper, Y/N.” Bob winked at you, and offered you a cool drink of the lager he retrieved from the cooler.

“So, there’s a next time then? Boss…”

“Give me 5 minutes, and find out.”

 TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[maybieawriter]

Night Off | Shawn Mendes Fluff

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Y/N 

Word Count: 3,200+ Warnings: summarized smut at the end Summary: Dad! Shawn and pregnant! y/n need a night to themselves ( Hi everyone, I apologize for the horrible ending! I couldn’t seem to write anything worth posting so I put a bit of summarized smut. I am not confident in my smut-writing-skills at all, so I kind of jumped around it. The ACE Family inspired me for this in the beginning too. Hope you enjoy this, even though I kept skipping things. 

Y/N woke up from the rain hitting the bedroom windows. The alarm clock on her nightstand reads “3:17 am.” She rubs her 30 week bump as she listens to the sound of rain in the drainage pipe along the roof. She thinks back to when her and Shawn used to cuddle on the couch and fall asleep to the pouring rain. His old apartment had the best view of the CN Tower and the Toronto skyline. She almost wishes that they still lived in that apartment just to watch the rain from the giant living room windows. However, after her and Shawn had been married for a few months, they both decided it was time to move to and live in a family sized home. So now, here they are 4 years later, in a suburban section of Toronto, not too far from his parents in Pickering.

As the rain continues to pour, Y/N feels the need to curl into Shawn’s arms. The baby in her belly was not kicking her at the moment so she was thankful for that. However, even if the baby started to kick, the feeling of Shawn’s hand on her belly calmed the baby. She turns to reach for him, but his side of the bed is empty. She quickly remembers that their 18 month old daughter, Ella, had woken them up earlier that same night. Shawn got up to calm her down and Y/N had fallen back asleep before he returned to bed. She honestly wondered if he ever made it back into your shared bedroom.

Slowly getting up, her hands instantly cradle her stomach. The bump was very prominent now, and getting up took a bit more effort. Yesterday was her 30 weeks mark, so she only has about 10 more weeks until number baby 2. Y/N started towards the hallway and went directly to Ella’s room. Her bedroom door was open half way, probably from when Shawn came in. She pushed the door open slightly as she walked in. The room was only lit up by a small unicorn night light plugged into the wall. Needless to say it was rather dark in the room, but Y/N could see just what she needed to. It was hard for Y/N to contain her laughter as she approaches Ella’s crib, due to the fact that Shawn was laying in the crib with Ella with his feet in the air, resting against the railing.

Y/N wanted to go back to her and Shawn’s room to grab her phone to take a picture. But, she stayed right next to the crib, gently leaning on the railing, watching her husband and daughter sleep in the crib.

She began to think of all the conversations she had with Shawn before Ella was born. Shawn always said that he would take time off from his music and touring to stay home with Y/N and raise their kids. And, it didn’t take long for Y/N to realize that he was being serious. Shawn hasn’t been on tour since before the first pregnancy was announced. Obviously the fans were upset, but he promised them that he was still making music while raising his family.

Ella stirred in her sleep and moved further away from her dad. Y/N took this opportunity to wake up Shawn, but she didn’t want to startle him. Her hand moves through his long brown curls, slightly scratchy his scalp to wake him. It didn’t take much of that before Shawn’s eyes opened only to see his wife staring at him inside of their daughters crib. Clearly he didn’t realize that he fell asleep after laying with her. He looks over at Ella and then back at Y/N, and motions for her to move away from the crib so he can get out. Slowly and carefully, he makes it out of the crib and sighs. Y/N pulls him into a hug and doesn’t move, she just holds him until he is ready to leave Ella’s room. She could tell that he didn’t mind staying in her crib, but Y/N knew that his back would be hurting the next day. She takes his hand to lead him back to the bedroom, quietly shutting Ella’s door on their way out. Once the couple makes it back to their bed, Shawn is more awake and wants to cuddle with his wife. He pulls her against his chest and places a hand on her stomach, his thumb moving across her skin.

He buries his head into her neck and mumbles, “she wouldn’t stop crying. I think she had a bad dream. Climbing in her crib felt like the only option.” She knows that Shawn is trying to reason with her.

“I would have done the same thing,” Y/N whispers to him softly.

“How’s the other little one doing?” He asks while rubbing your belly a bit more than before.

“Quiet, which is okay because that means he’s not kicking.”

Shawn immediately perks up, leaning on his elbow, “He? What makes you think it’s a boy?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N chuckles. “I just have a feeling.”

At this point, Shawn has already started thinking all of the possible things he can do with his son. Teaching him how to play guitar or how to play soccer or hockey. Ella hasn’t yet started her guitar lessons with Shawn yet, but he gets more excited the older she gets, so he can finally teach her. Shawn was the best father to Ella. He sings to her almost every night, reads to her as much as possible and is almost always on diaper duty.

“You have a feeling, huh? Well what if I think it’s another girl?” Shawn says back to his wife.

“I wouldn’t mind having another girl. I just think this one is a boy. We only have 10 more weeks to go. Hopefully he or she will come early, give me a break.” Y/N says. When she was pregnant with Ella, she was 8 days late. They are both hoping that this baby won’t take as long to arrive.

“I kind of hope it’s a boy too. Just to even it out I guess,” Shawn laughs.

“Oh don’t lie, you want another girl,” Y/N smirks at him.

Shawn looks at her, knowing she’s right and he doesn’t want to admit it. As his head falls into his pillow, he mumbles “ughhhhhhh why are you always right.”

“I’m your wife, I’m always right.” She starts to comb through Shawn’s hair, it messy and needs a wash, but it’s hard to shower with an 18 month old on the loose.

With his face still in the pillow he asks, “can we bring Ella to my parents for a night or two? I really want you to myself before the baby comes. And, to be honest, Ella is kind of a cock blocker.”

It takes everything in Y/N not to laugh out loud, knowing if she does she will wake up Ella down the hall. “Sure babe, I’ll call Mom in the morning. We should get some sleep though, Ella will be up in a few hours.”

He turns onto his back again, lifting his arm to allow her to curl against his side, her leg wrapping over him. “Well then we better get to sleep,” he says looking down at her, his curls still a wild mess. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/N says back to him, staring right into his eyes. She rests her head back on his chest, letting sleep consume them both.

In the morning, Shawn wakes up before Y/N and Ella. Shawn turns his head and sees Y/N still sleeping soundly, the baby in her belly most likely sleeping too. He glances at the clock, reading 7:09 am, and knows it’s only a matter of time before Ella wakes up. As much as he wants to stay in bed with Y/N all day, he gets up slowly and carefully not wanting to wake his wife up.

Shawn moves slowly to the bedroom door, avoiding the areas of the floor where is gets creaky when someone walks on it. He opens it, quickly slides out of the room, and gently shuts it behind him. He makes his way down the short hallway do his daughters bedroom, pressing his ear against the door to hear her if she is awake. He can hear her fussing a bit, so he knows she is about to cry or shout soon. He enters her room with a smile and sees that she is just waking up. Her brown curly hair a complete mess after her slumber, and her cheeks pink as ever. Leaning over her crib, Ella’s eyes immediately go to her dad. Instantly her arms dart up with the cutest chubby graby-hand motion. He chuckles down at her and reaches in to pull her out. Wanting her to remain quiet, he uses a very quiet voice, “good morning sweet pea, how did you sleep?”

Ella, who can only babble, replies with a soft “ahhhhhhh” to her dad.

“Oh really, that well huh?” He questions her jokingly, placing her down on the changing table. “I think you only slept so good because daddy got in your crib with you. Isn’t that right?”

She only makes small squeaks to respond to him while he changes her diaper.

After Shawn changers Ella, he carries her downstairs into the kitchen and sets her in the highchair. The whole time Shawn tries to buckle her into the seat, Ella keeps squeezing Shawn’s fingers, not wanting to let him go yet.

“Ella, you gotta let go of daddy now,” Shawn begins to say in his best baby voice. “I need to make you and mommy some breakfast.”

Of course Ella has no idea what her dad is saying, but she smiles and lets go of his fingers, giggling in the process. While Shawn is busy making breakfast, he talks to Ella about the new song he’s been writing about Y/N. He knows that she can’t understand, but her responsive baby cheers make it seem like she does. One of Ella’s cheers is loud enough to wake up Y/N upstairs, Shawn quickly shushing her.

Y/N sits up in bed instantly wondering why her daughter was squealing so loudly, and then she noticed her husband is missing from their bed. She raises from the bed slowly, and walks into the bathroom. Now that she’s awake that means the baby in her belly will be awake. After freshening up, Y/N heads downstairs making her way to the kitchen. Stepping into the bright room, she sees her husband sitting on the stool next to their daughters highchair. Ella hands are covered in smooshed banana, cheerios are all over the floor, and her face is slightly red from the strawberries Shawn cut up for her.

Ella notices her mother walk into the room, her arms immediately reach for her as she lets out more squeals. “Good morning honey,” Y/N giggles at Ella as she walks over to them. Shawn hands instinctively go to Y/N’s belly gently caressing it. Ella laughs in response to her mother. Y/N turns to Shawn, leaning on him a bit, “and good morning to you, handsome.”

Shawn blushes a bit before kissing her. “Good morning, beautiful” he gushes to Y/N. “I made you breakfast too,” he admits pointing at the countertop to her toast, eggs and glass of orange juice.

“Thank you,” she smiles at him, leaning down for another quick kiss. Ella lets out a small yell to announce that she is done with her breakfast.

Shawn nods to Y/N, “I’ll keep Ella occupied while you have breakfast.” He removes Ella’s highchair tray and sets it near the sink, then picks her up. The parents laugh and a few cheerios fall off of Ella as she is lifted from the seat, causing her to let out a few giggles too.

“I’ll call mom once I’m done. What time should I tell her?”

“4:30,” Shawn responds. “I’m taking you to dinner, we’ll go after we drop Ella off.”

Y/N’s call with Shawn’s mother is mostly filled with Karen being excited to see her granddaughter. Y/N laughs at Karen a bit because she saw Ella 5 days ago. “So we will drop her off around 4:30 pm and pick her up around 11:00 am tomorrow morning, is that alright?”

“Anytime, you can take as long as you’d like. I’ll let Manny know. See you soon hun.” Karen rushes to get the already clean house prepared for Ella, quickly hanging up on Y/N.

The day went by fast as Ella was excited to see her grandparents again. They always spoiled her a little too much, but isn’t that what grandparents are for? Before they knew it, it was time to leave. Shawn puts Ella in the carseat and jumps into the driver’s seat, seeing Y/N already settled in the passenger’s seat next to him, silently rubbing her belly. The drive to Manny and Karen’s house is only about 25 minutes so they managed to sing along with a few songs on the radio. Ella of course screaming the lyrics that she really doesn’t know. As they pull up the driveway, Shawn noticeably perks up in his seat, making Y/N laugh.

“What’s got you all excited?”

“We are about to drop off Ella and actually have a night to ourselves again. I think I’m more than a little excited,” Shawn replies as he parks the car.

“Well you’re gonna have to contain your excitement until we get home, love. I don’t think that your parents would appreciate us using their driveway to have car sex. Plus I can barely move in here,” Y/N smirks at him, unbuckling herself.

Shawn stops all movement to look at his wife, “don’t tempt me.” Her eyes widen and he gives her a quick kiss by leaning over the center console. Shawn grabs Ella from her carseat while Y/N grabs her overnight bag. The second that Manny opens the door Ella screams in joy and reaches out for him. Manny quickly takes Ella from Shawn before she inadvertently jumps out of his arms.

Karen, Manny, Y/N and Shawn make small talk about Ella for a few minutes before Karen says, “alright you two, we’ve got it from here. Go and enjoy a night out and we will see you tomorrow morning.” Of course the young parents listen to her, but not before smothering Ella in kisses and hugs.

Shawn gives his daughter another sloppy kiss on the cheek, using his baby voice, “mommy and daddy will see you tomorrow okay, lovebug.”

Ella giggles and says, “bye daddy. Bye mommy.”

As much as Y/N and Shawn want a night out, they know they will miss Ella. Making their way back to the bar, Shawn lifts Y/N up in a bridal pose and carries her the rest of the way to the car. Y/N takes the small opportunity to kiss his neck, as he places her in the passenger seat.

“Baby, you shouldn’t do that right now, because I will take you right here in my parents driveway if I have to,” Shawn whimpers to Y/N.

-   skipping dinner    -

Back at home Shawn and Y/N decide on a movie to watch. The house is quiet without Ella’s giggles bouncing off the walls. Shawn and Y/N curl up on the couch, her legs on-top of his, and his arm around her, and opposite hand on her belly. Shawn had picked the movie “Baywatch” which has plenty of humor in it. However, half-way through Y/N notices the lead actresses are very pretty, and very thin. Before Y/N was pregnant with both Ella and baby number 2, she wasn’t skinny. Her realistic body type is what lured Shawn to her, but now she wonders if Shawn would want her to slim down after the baby is born. Shawn notices after a few minutes that Y/N is quieter than normal, he pauses the movie, causing her attention to go to him.

“Why’d you pause it?” Y/N worries.

“Why are you so quiet? You are never this quiet during a movie,” Shawn ponders while moving closer to her, even those she’s basically on-top of him already.

Y/N sighs knowing Shawn won’t stop pestering her until she answers his question. “I just….I just feel like I’m not attractive anymore,” Y/N lets out. She starts to get teary eyed, “having another baby is going to be great, but I feel like you’re not going to think i’m hot or sexy after I give birth.”

Shawn’s sadness immediately shows, he’s upset that his wife is self-conscious. His arms wrap around her tighter as tears start to fall, letting her bury her face into his neck. “Baby,” Shawn whispers. “I would never in my life think that you are unattractive. You are the most beautiful and sexy woman in the world to me. I never want you to think that I don’t completely adore you.” He pauses for a minute, getting a little choked up. Y/N pulls her face out of Shawn’s neck, leaving it wet with tears, and rests her forehead against his. “You are carrying our second child, of course your body is going to change, but my love for you isn’t going to. I will never think your body isn’t sexy because you’ve had my children. You are -”

Before he can finish, Y/N cuts him off with a steamy kiss. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and moving so she is straddling him. Shawn’s massive hands run over her butt, gently squeezing them to make her moan.

Y/N pulls away slightly whimpering, “I love you.” “I love you so much Shawn, thank you.” She doesn’t even let her breathless husband speak before pulling him in for another kiss. A mini-makeout session starts and within a few moments, both Shawn and Y/N are without shirts.

Shawn pulls back for a moment to catch his breath, “I love you too, and I plan on showing you how much I love you tonight and everyday for the rest of our lives.” Y/N’s face turns a deep red, her hands moving to pull his face to meet hers again. Things move quickly as Shawn carries Y/N to the bedroom, laying her down on their king-size bed. Clothes are removed and thrown across the room. Shawn hadn’t recently seen Y/N’s chest, which is slightly larger than usual due to the pregnancy. “Oh baby,” Shawn moans lips against her chest within an instant. Let’s just say that Y/N and Shawn’s whimpers, moans, and groans were heard by the neighbors until they both past out around 1:00 am from exhausting each other out.

Waking up to a quiet house is rare, so sleeping in was no issue for Shawn and Y/N. Around 9:30 am, Shawn woke up to soft snores coming from his wife, who was practically on top of him. Their intertwined legs meant he couldn’t move, but he didn't care. Being this close to his wife, without a raging 18-month old in the house felt amazing. He stares at her while she remains asleep, wondering how he got so lucky.

[marlettwrites]

Day 17: Early Morning Cuddling

Kind of a continuation of yesterday’s prompt.

Jude curled into the warmth beside him, relishing the feeling of the loving arms he found himself cocooned within. One of Kul’s hands reached up and tangled into Jude’s hair.

“Mmm… wha’ time izit?” Kul asked, his face smooshed against the top of Jude’s head.

“Sleepy time,” Jude mumbled into his collarbone.

Kul hummed happily.

“Sounds good t’me.”

They lay together that way for a few hours. Jude drifted in and out of consciousness while Kul toyed with his hair. Every so often, Jude would turn to look out the window at the rising sun. He vaguely recalled falling asleep somewhere between reading Kul the part where the hero discovers his godly heritage and the story’s climax.

His throat felt a little sore from all the talking, but Jude decided every second was worth it, especially for moments like this.

Quiet moments together, where nothing needed to be said or done. They could just sit together in comfortable silence.

Even in the comfort of his lover’s arms, Jude couldn’t help but wonder why Kul had chosen him. Of all the boys in the world, why him? Often, he thought perhaps Kul was only with him because he was the only person available. The idea tore him up inside even on his best days.

Of course, he never once admitted these doubts to Kul.

Partly because he worried Kul would feel betrayed. Partly because he feared the possibility of being proven correct.

Jude buried his face in Kul’s neck, allowing his melancholy thoughts to drift away. Kul pulled him closer and kissed his forehead.

“Is something wrong?”

Jude froze and dug into his pocket, rooting around for his rock. He worked his fingers around it slowly, feeling his anxiety subside.

“No,” he lied, “nothing.”

“I can feel your anxiety, plus you’ve got your rock.” Kul reminded him. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s fine. Just- please don’t shut me out like that.”

Jude’s chest constricted at the sound of his voice, how hurt he sounded. He clutched at the back of Kul’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Jude let his regret seep through the link so Kul knew he meant it. The other boy massaged his scalp, and Jude slowly relaxed.

“It’s okay, I get it. There are things I’m not ready to talk about either,” he admitted. “But I’d like it if we could be more honest about it. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me when you’re hurting.”

Jude nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I- I’ll let you know next time. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Kul breathed.

Jude leaned into him. He gripped his stone tight and tried to steady his breathing. Kul was right. They needed to be more honest with each other. If the relationship itself was a lie, how could they go on living it?

“Kul?”

“Yes?”

Jude steeled himself and prepared for the worst possible outcome.

“W-why are you with me?”

Kul stiffened, clearly caught off guard. Oh gods, Jude thought. His breath caught in his throat as he awaited Kul’s answer. The room felt uncomfortably hot. His robe clung to his skin, making him claustrophobic.

“That’s what you’re worried about, huh?”

“It’s because I’m the only boy you know who’s in your age range, isn’t it?” Jude accused.

Kul shifted, propping himself up on one elbow.

“I can promise you, that isn’t the reason,” Kul told him flatly. “If I just decided to date the first guy who came along, I think I’d be very unhappy.”

“Then why? I’m not smart, or rich, or brave, or handsome. I don’t have any talents. I don’t even know what I want to do in life!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “There are a million people out there who are better at everything than me, so why not wait for one of them?”

Kul remained silent for several minutes. Just as Jude prepared to resign to his fate, Kul spoke.

“Because none of them are you,” he said softly. “I could never find another man who understands me as well as you do. Certainly, I’d never come across one who’s quite so curious or sweet. I love that you want to know everything there is to know about everything there is to know about, and I love that you’re so willing to help anyone in need. I love listening to you talk about your favorite stories, or some new thing you learned about, I don’t know, starfish?” Kul laughed. “No one else sees the world quite like you do. I love that about you. And I don’t want anyone else, okay? Just you.”

Jude sat, frozen. That wasn’t anywhere near what he expected. He’d given Kul an out, and he’d stuck right by Jude anyway. Though Jude knew the doubts would return eventually, in that moment, he knew for sure that Kul loved him. Kul really loved him. The thought sent his head spinning.

“Oh,” he said weakly.

Kul sat up fully now, looking amused.

“Hug?” he offered.

“Gods, yes.”

Jude claimed a seat in Kul’s lap as the boy peppered his skin with feathery kisses. He sent waves of gratitude and adoration through the mind link whenever he managed to sneak a kiss of his own in.

“Now that that’s settled, ‘s’too early to be awake,” Kul yawned. He leaned backwards, and they landed in a heap in a pile of pillows.

Jude resumed his earlier position, curled into his boyfriend’s side. Kul wrapped his arms around Jude’s waist, and soon the soft breathing beside his left ear evened out as Kul drifted back to sleep. Jude himself fought back drooping eyelids for a few more minutes before succumbing to the darkness.

Thank you for reading!

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@kai-writesstuff @runningonrain @imaghostwriter @writingnosefreak @planets-and-prose @marvel-and-writing

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[thedistantstorm]

The Fledgling Diaries: A collection of stories about Marc, Devrim, and Suraya. A bit more angst this time around, because parenting isn’t easy.

Previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

They had thought she wouldn't know. She's pretty sure, at least. She isn't stupid though. She knows Dev put on that good smelling cologne-stuff he wears when they go out somewhere nice. She can smell it when he tucks her in and holds her close. That's her favorite part of going to bed, and tonight it's been ruined by the questions of where and why.

She hears the front door open and close, and the sound of a woman's voice downstairs. It reminds her of the volunteers who would come and spend time with the kids in the orphanage. They were always miserable about having to waste their time with a bunch of little brats, so she's sure this lady can't be very happy about it.

Of course, it's at that moment that she realizes Dev and Marc are actually leaving. They're going to go and not be there and she's going to be ALONE with this lady for who knows how long. What if this lady is just as mean as the volunteers? Or what if she's meaner? What if she's as mean as the lady who brought her into the orphanage and made her do all sorts of tests and examined her? And more importantly, where are they going? Are they coming back? What if something bad happens? Will she be alone forever?

Terror and dread creep up her spine, make her shake and breath come in great pants. She holds Bird - her stuffed bird - as close to her chest as she can, and waits for her lungs to feel less like someone is stepping on them. Tears stream down her face, but she doesn't want to make a fuss. They think she's sleeping, so she's going to pretend she's sleeping so they don’t get mad. She rolls over, facing away from the door and toward the wall, stays quiet when she hears footsteps outside her room. Three sets. She's good at listening for things.

“It'll be fine,” the woman says. Her voice is scar-scratchy. Her voice is scratchy, Suraya corrects herself.

Someone sighs. It sounds like Devrim.

“She’ll never know,” Marc’s voice comes. The door cracks open a teensy bit, a sliver of pale light cast against the wall. She holds still, doesn’t breathe. Don’t let them know, she thinks. She’s tough. She’s been alone before. This is nothing to worry about. “See? She's out like a light, Dev. It’s fine.” Her door clicks shut.

People always say it will be fine, and it never, ever is.

When the front door opens and closes again, and the sound of some late night drama can be heard from downstairs at a volume that's louder than she's used to, Suraya lets out a shaky breath, sits up, and pulls her knees up to her chest. Bird is smooshed between her chest and legs. She does her best to control her breathing. She'd learned to do that before, after bad dreams when she'd wake up alone in her bunk. Used to it, she tells herself. She's used to being alone.

It's not okay, though, she thinks. Doesn't stop the staccato race of her heart, or the tears that well up in her eyes, or the thoughts that even if Dev and Marc do mean what they say when they say she's theirs and she isn't going back and it's forever that what if they don't come home? What if something bad happens and they can’t?

Then she'd have to go back to the orphanage, and the only people who have ever said they'd wanted her (not a perfect baby or a better behaved child) would be dead.

-/

Devrim is absolutely furious. At Marc for telling him it would be fine, at the sitter for not once checking on Suraya, and at himself for not trusting his gut and staying home. Their meal was adequate at best, certainly nothing to write home about.

They get home at half past midnight, and yes, certainly it was lovely spending time alone with his dear husband. He'd missed their dates, soft candlelight, fond gazes, tenderly stroking each other's hand across the table. Admittedly, it was nice to get a break, to not worry about little eyes or ears, even if those little eyes and ears were all they talked about. And fine, the food was actually rather tasty.

He just felt horrifically guilty about enjoying himself, worrying about if she would wake to them gone. How she’d feel that they didn’t tell her first and left her with a stranger. Even if they’d made sure to plan things around what times she’d be sleeping as to not disturb her routine, he still worried. Marc assured him he had similar concerns, but that it would be alright.

The mood killer was coming home and thinking everything was just fine - “She didn't make a peep the whole time, such a good girl you have.” - only to realize that it isn't. He'd gone up to check on her because his gut was churning. He heard the flutter of blankets as he came up the stairs. Knew something was awry. He opened the door and stepped in quietly, lingering for a few moments. Notices the too tense posture. She's clearly awake. He takes another two steps and slides a hand down her back. She flinches and whimpers, but does not open her eyes.

He forces himself not to jerk his hand despite himself. Too soon, he thinks. It was too soon. Of course she knew. She probably heard an unfamiliar voice or the opening and closing of doors. She hears seemingly everything.

“Suraya, love, are you awake?” He croons, fully aware of the answer as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes squeeze shut tighter. Had she not been caught at the onset, he might have believed her asleep, but it's clear she's played possum before. He sighs, rising off the bed and stepping to the door. He is careful to take two extra steps and shut the door while standing directly inside of it. The sniper holds his breath and waits.

She rolls onto her back, a little flop, and her eyes blink up toward the ceiling. He dares not move, watching silently as she drops Bird onto her chest and hugs him tightly while sniffling and almost gasping to breathe. It’s a moment or two before she whimpers again, and her hands cover her mouth, eyes squeezing shut.

It’s only been barely a month, he berates himself. They could have - they should have waited. She’s still on edge for the slightest things, says she understands they won’t send her back, but he sees how she looks when one of them gets frustrated with something that has nothing to do with her. She doesn’t trust them. This has only set them back. Telling her they were leaving and reassuring her they were coming back would have been better. Anything would have been better than this, really.

“Suraya,” He whispers. Her head snaps over toward him, and she all but stuffs her fist into her mouth to stifle the surprised gasp before rolling away from him. “Sweetheart.”

She shakes her head into the pillow, openly crying now as she curls up facing the wall.

Marc is opening the door around the time he attempts to pick her up. She shakes her head as he speaks, “Dev-”

“Not now.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes,” Devrim says, all ice. “We never should have gone out without telling her,” He says as she shuffles away from him. “We should have known. Look what we’ve done.”

Marc comes around the other side of the bed, looking at her. She squeezes her eyes shut. “Baby, it’s okay,” He says. “Everything is fine.”

“No.” Her voice is soft. “‘S not.”

When Marc reaches for her, she recoils. His dark eyes flick over to Devrim’s. He’s shaking his head, looking morose, disappointed in them both, Marc’s sure. Suraya squeezes Bird tightly and buries her head into the top of his and cries herself to sleep, her parents looking on helplessly. Any attempts to touch her only make her cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” Marc says, looking over at him. “I really didn’t think she’d wake up,” He whispers when her sobs have subsided into little snores a small eternity later. “We’ve had her on such a consistent schedule-”

“We should have talked to her,” Dev replies. “We are just going to have to work harder to fix this. I don’t know when we’ll be able to go out again, just the two of us.”

“We’ll be fine. We’ve had enough dates, don’t you think? Besides, I cook better than that chef did tonight.” It's an attempt to lighten the mood. Marc is not the chef among them.

Devrim snorts quietly. “Right you are,” He agrees, despite very much doubting it. Changing the subject back, he says, “So, my dear, where do we even start?”

“Baby steps. Reinforcement. We’ll make it right.”

-/

She thinks she wakes somewhere different than she fell asleep, coming to with a violent jolt. She's tucked against something - someone? Did she get up on her own? That doesn't seem like something she would do…

There's a hand rubbing her back, in a big circle. It's warm and heavy, but not too heavy. It feels nice. She sighs, and all the yucky, sad, scary feelings come rushing back over her. With a start, she realizes she can smell Dev's good-smelling cologne. It's what upset her so much in the first place.

She opens her eyes a crack. She's still on her bed, but Devrim is on top of the covers beside her. Judging by his breathing - it's never this loud - he's asleep. Her head is tucked against his shirt - it's the same nice plaid one he had on yesterday. She sniffles a little and attempts to wiggle herself around to put her back against his chest. His arm relaxes just a touch, but once she's settled, he seeks out her hand. It's rather uncoordinated for him, being a man of impressive precision, but he squeezes her tiny hand with his much larger one and rubs the top of her palm with his thumb.

Marc hums when she opens her eyes again, a few moments after Dev's sluggish movements come to a halt.

“We made a mistake,” Marc whispers to her, when she's laid awake for a while. Her eyes find his. They look red and puffy, like something is wrong. She looks away, frightened. “I never should have convinced Dev to go out without talking to you about it first.” She blinks, wide awake now. “We didn't want to worry you, and yet we've managed to do far worse.”

She chances another blink in his direction. Devrim sleeps on. His hand twitches over hers and it makes her flinch.

“We're very new at this,” Marc says quietly. His whisper is rough around the edges, like a stormy sea. “And we didn't think. We hurt you, and we are so very, very sorry.”

That makes her pause, eyes widening as she stares at him. “S'ok,” Suraya whispers.

“It isn't,” Marc tells her. His knuckles brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hurting the people we love - whether we mean well or not - is not okay.”

She reaches her free hand up to grab his own. “S'ok,” She whispers again, squeezing. “Didn't hurt me.”

He shakes his head. “Suraya, hurts aren't just physical. They're in here, too,” He taps his chest, where his heart is. “If we hurt your feelings or make you feel scared or sad or upset, that's hurting you, too. A different kind of hurting, but it still hurts, yes?”

Wide brown eyes blink more, looking a bit confused. “I dunno,” She says finally.

“How did you feel last night?” Marc asks.

“I dunno.” Angry, she thinks. Betrayed. Scared. But they would be mad. She doesn't want to make them mad. They might not want her, if she's mad at them.

Marc sighs. “You don't trust us, do you?” She looks down at her small hand dwarfed by Dev's, sucks her lower lip between her teeth. “And why should you?” She looks back at Marc in surprise. “We left you alone with a stranger. She's a nice lady, but you would never know that,” he says. “You're used to people leaving, aren't you?”

A tiny nod. A big concession.

He reaches his other hand out, scooping her up from under Dev's arm. The sleeping man frowns at the loss, brows furrowing as his eyelids flutter. Instead of balancing her on his hip, he cradles her to his chest. “Dev and I won't leave you. Not by choice. Not ever. We might go out again-” she looks up at him in wide-eyed anxiety “-But that will be something we talk about, all of us. And we will tell you when we'll be back, so there will be no surprises. Does that sound fair?”

She nods immediately, and Marc tries not to sigh. She's lying. Her heart is racing, and she’s shaking. He knows it. She doesn't think her opinion matters and it's woefully obvious. He hugs her close, waits her out, and eventually, she yawns.

“Still tired?”

She shrugs in his arms.

He hums a quiet little ditty, and sways her gently. She looks insulted at first, as though she's being treated like a baby, but her eyelids droop against her will, and her head drops to his shoulder. It wakes her with a jolt, but Marc doesn't falter.

“I’ve got you,” He promises, when she lets her eyes close again. She presses her nose against his neck, inhales with a deep sigh. “We love you. We would do anything for you. Don't be afraid to tell us what you need.” His last word barely makes it into the room. “Please.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him, but starts shaking again. It makes him wonder who is trying to comfort who.

[fluffyllamas-23]

Guilt (Chase, OCs)

Among some of my more terrible decisions is finishing this and posting it instead of going to bed.  This is for @emeraldthread because she’s had an exceptionally shitty couple of weeks/months and nobody is a bigger fan of Chason than her XD

“Look,” Mason says, slapping a flyer down on the table next to Chase’s laptop.

“What is it?” He asks, glancing at it.

“From Under The Rocket is playing tomorrow night. We should go.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“I know.”

“I have work Monday morning.”

“I know, but I really want to go.”

Chase frowns, “you realize that if I go, I’m going to be tired all week, right?”

“I’ll buy you coffee every day.  Please?” Mason asks, poking his bottom lip out and shooting him the puppy dog eyes.

Chase narrows his eyes, shoving his finger in Mason’s direction, “stop it.  Don’t you do that-“

Mason comes up behind Chase and wraps his arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, “please? They’re my favorite band....they never have shows out here.”

“Mason,” Chase groans, “what about Sean?”

“I asked him, but he hates me and said he never wants to go anywhere with me ever again.”

Chase laughs, “I don’t blame him.”

“Why is everyone being so mean to me today?” He whines, burying his face in Chase’s neck. “Please go with me? Please, please, please, please, please, pl-”  

“-I’ll go with you on one condition.”

Mason’s head pops up, “yes, what?”

“We leave by eleven.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to be out all night, I have to be up early.”

“I promise.”

Chase looks at him skeptically, “uh-huh...just so you know, I’m going to be pissed if we end up staying longer than that.”

“We won’t! I promise.”

Chase spends the rest of the night frantically trying to get his lesson plans for the next three weeks all done and out of the way.  He knows that he’s not going to have much time to work on them on Sunday, and he doesn’t want to have to worry about doing them after they get back from the concert. Mason does his best to help, letting Chase bounce ideas off of him in the hopes that he’ll be done faster. By the time Chase finishes later that night, they’re both tired and more than ready to go to bed.

Chase is strangely exhausted the next day, and spends most of it napping off and on.

“Hey, Chase?” Mason says softly, placing his hand on Chase’s back.

“Mmm?” He mumbles, nuzzling his face in the pillow.

“Are you alright? You’ve been sleeping all day.”

“Just tired...m’fine.”

“Those lesson plans really took it out of you, huh?” He asks, stroking Chase’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Chase nuzzles into his touch,“mmm…it was a long week, too.”

“Still up for the concert?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Time to get up then, we still need to grab dinner.”

When Mason leaves the room, Chase struggles into a sitting position, head throbbing as he rubs at his aching eyes. He’s half tempted to wear his contacts, but if how much his eyes hurt is anything to go by, his glasses are a better idea.

Mason volunteers to drive, and the moment that Chase gets in the car, he slumps against the window in exhaustion.

“Chase...are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles tiredly, “I’m just tired...long week.”

“I know, you said that...you’re not usually this wiped out.”

“I need coffee.”

“Want to stop for it?”

“I want to say no...because then I’ll be up all night...but I’m exhausted.”

“Maybe we should just skip the concert.”

His eyes fly open, “what? No.  This is all you’ve been talking about since I agreed to come with you.”

“I know, but I want you to have fun, too.  You’re not going to have fun if you can’t stay awake.”

“Just get me some coffee and put a lot of espresso in it,” he grunts, eyelids drooping.

Mason stops at a starbucks, casts Chase one final concerned glance, and then gets out and disappears into the building. When he comes back, Chase is dozing off against the window and Mason is tempted to just drive them home.

“Here,” he says, nudging Chase, “wake up, honey.”

Chase wishes that he would have told Mason to just bail on the idea of going, because even with the coffee, he’s still exhausted, and standing there feels miserable.

Eleven finally rolls around, and Chase tugs on Mason’s shirt, “can we go?”

Mason shoots him a pleading look, “can we stay for one more song?”

“Mase-”

“-Just one more? This is my favorite song of theirs.  Please?”

“I’m exhausted.  I want to go home.”

Mason shoots him his puppy dog eyes, “please? Just one more, I promise.”

“You promised we’d leave at eleven,” Chase shoots back.

“I know...but that was before they decided to play my favorite song.”

He sighs in defeat, “fine.”

One song turns to two, then three, then four, and then before Mason knows it, the concert is over, and Chase is pissed.

They get to the car at twelve forty five.  Mason tries to apologize, but Chase just shoots him a glare that effectively shuts him up.  

Traffic is a nightmare, and they sit there for almost an hour (a very, very long hour)  before they can even start moving, The ride home is tense, the silence is deafening, and Mason can feel Chase’s frustration mounting with each passing moment.

The moment they get home, he explodes, which is something that hardly ever happens and is terrifying to witness.

“Dammit, Mason. I TOLD you! I told you I have to be up early!” Chase snaps, storming into the apartment. “It’s two in the fucking morning! I have a meeting at six!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Mason cries, following him inside and shutting the door.

“I’m going to bed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’d really appreciate it if you would stick to what you promise, because now I’m fucking screwed all week.”

Mason bites his bottom lip, “I know I messed up...I’m really sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, but saying sorry doesn’t magically make everything better. I’m just...I’m too tired to deal with this right now,” he snaps, hands shaking as he tangles his fingers in his hair and tugs on it in frustration.  

Mason waits a full five minutes after Chase disappears into their room before creeping in. Chase is under the blankets, face smooshed into his pillow and half asleep, and Mason smiles softly, because what did he do to deserve such a cute boyfriend?

He doesn’t though, and the happiness is replaced with the irrational fear that Chase is going to leave him after tonight. He changes out of his clothes and into his pajamas before returning to where Chase is lying.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

“I don’t care.  Do what you want.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mason whispers, getting into bed next to him.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.  Just leave me alone and let me sleep, you owe me that much.”

Mason bites down on his bottom lip, “okay...want me to wake you up in the morning?”

“Mmm...maybe...yeah.”

Mason sets an alarm for five fifteen before he rolls over and hugs his pillow, “goodnight...I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Chase mumbles, eyelids sliding shut as he finally falls asleep.

Mason’s alarm goes off way too soon, and after groaning into his pillow for a solid minute, he reaches over and pats Chase’s shoulder.  

“Wake up, you need to get ready.”

“Noooooo,” Chase whines, burying his face in his pillow, “it’s too early.”

“I know, I know.  You gotta, though.”

“Easy for you to say,” he gripes, his voice nothing more than a hoarse croak,  “you have the day off...you get to go back to sleep.”

Mason frowns, “you sound horrible.  Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah...I think it’s from the concert.”

“I don’t know...you weren’t even yelling that much.” Mason frowns.

“Then it’s because I’m tired,” he says, shooting Mason a pointed look.

Mason winces, “sorry.”

*

As the day progresses, it becomes abundantly clear that the reason he sounded so crappy this morning, and why he was so tired yesterday is because he was starting to come down with something, not because of the concert.  

His throat started bothering him when he stepped into his classroom, and although he hoped that it was just a weird fluke, it got worse and worse, until he’s forced to take some of the ibuprofen he has in his desk.  He sounded mildly congested in the morning, but that got worse too, and he ended up having to clutch a tissue in his hand and swipe at his nose every so often.  With the congestion, came a headache that started in his forehead, moved to his temples and base of his neck, and settled behind his eyes and in his sinuses.  

Lunch can’t come soon enough, and as soon as all the kids are out of the room, Chase sits at his desk and slumps over. He holds his throbbing head in his hands and fights the urge to grimace each time he swallows.  

The door to his classroom opens, and he looks up to see Mason standing in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee.  

“Hey,” he rasps, wincing as the words scrape against his sore throat, “what are you doing here?”

“I felt bad for keeping you out so late and figured you’d be tired and would need coffee...you sound like shit, Chase.”

“You can’t cuss at school-” he breaks off in a coughing fit, “there are kids around.”

“I don’t see any,” Mason says, crossing the room to get to Chase.  He palms Chase’s forehead, “fuck-”

“-Language,” Chase snaps, glowering at him.

“Sorry. You’re burning up...who do you talk to about getting a sub? You look miserable”

“I don’t need a sub,” he croaks, coughing again.

“You do if you’re coughing like that,” he grimaces, rubbing Chase’s back.

“It’s fine,” he rasps, rubbing his forehead.  

“No it isn’t.  You weren’t even coughing this morning, and now you sound like hell.”

“Language,” Chase says weakly.  

“‘Hell’ isn’t even a bad word.”

“It is when you’re nine.”

“Whatever.”

Chase groans, “I don’t need to leave...I’d like to...but it’s fine.  I only have a couple of hours left.”  

“Show them a movie.  You’re losing your voice and I don’t think it’ll stick around for much longer.”

“Can I just have the coffee, now?”

“Is it going to hurt your throat?”

He makes grabby hands for it, “I don’t care...it already hurts, but coffee is warm.”

Mason hands it to him before kissing his cheek, “okay, I’ve gotta get going.  Text me if you need anything.”

“We still need to talk...don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re all cute and brought me coffee.”

He chuckles, “we can talk when you get home.”

*

Mason is sitting on the couch with a blanket when Chase opens the front door, coughing.  

“Shit, you’re worse,” Mason panics, standing up quickly so that he can get to him, “are you okay? How do you feel? Do you feel worse?”

“I feel awful,” he croaks, breaking off in another coughing fit.  

“Chase...oh, I’m so sorry,” Mason says quickly, putting a hand between his shoulder blades, “I’m so, so sorry.  This is all my fault.”

Chase forces himself to walk to the couch, which is too much of an effort, and leaves him in a coughing fit that makes his chest burn and throat ache.

Mason grimaces, heart dropping as he drapes the blanket over him.  

“S’not your fault,” Chase mumbles.

“Yes it is...I’m so sorry….what do you need? Can I get you anything? You still have a fever.  Are you calling out of work tomorrow? Please tell me you are.”

“Slow down,” Chase grins weakly, “I’m not mad at you anymore, it’s fine.”

“Do you need your inhaler? Is your chest tight?”

“A little bit,” he winces, rubbing at it, “it’s okay though.”

“I’m going to get it anyways. And the thermometer...and some medicine. Want me to go grab you a smoothie? Or a milkshake?”

“Mason, relax,” Chase croaks, “just give me some medicine and let me sleep.”

“Okay. Yeah, sleep is good, sleep will help. Do you want to fall asleep to a movie?”

“Dunno,” he mutters weakly, closing his eyes.

Chase isn’t entirely sure how he made it the rest of the day, because he’s pretty sure his fever spiked even higher after Mason left.  Standing up to teach the kids for the remaining three hours was absolutely out of the question, because doing anything other than sitting down was enough to make him lightheaded and dizzy and feel like he was about to pass out.  So instead, he decided to give them free time while he sat at his desk and tried not to cough all over everything.

When Mason comes back with the thermometer, some medicine and water, Chase is half asleep, coughing weakly into the pillow.

“Chase,” he says softly, crouching down in front of him, “I need you to wake up for a second.”

Chase looks at him tiredly, “I feel terrible.”

“I know,” Mason sighs, cupping his burning cheek, “shit, you’re really pale…are you going to pass out?”

“No…maybe…probably not.”

“The medicine should help.”

He sticks the thermometer in Chase’s ear, chewing on his bottom lip.  

“I hope,” he mumbles as the thermometer beeps.

“One oh two.  You’re not going to work tomorrow.”

“I’m not planning on it...I already told my boss.”

“Oh good,” Mason breathes, putting a hand on his back, “I have some medicine for you.”

“You’re the greatest,” he mumbles.

Almost as soon as Chase takes the medicine, he falls asleep, and Mason sits at his feet, staring at his boyfriend’s sleeping form.  Chase didn’t even want to go in the first place, and he had told him he wanted to leave by eleven...he kept telling him he wanted to leave, but Mason hadn’t listened, even though he knew how tired Chase was.  

He’s an awful boyfriend who doesn’t deserve someone as wonderful as Chase.  

A couple of hours later, Mason rubs Chase’s shoulder, and then cups his burning cheek, “hey, honey.  Time to wake up.”

“Mmmmf,” Chase groans, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter before forcing them open.  “Wha’d’youwant?”

“Bed time.  You’ll be more comfy there than on the couch.”

He coughs into the pillows a few times before he pushes himself into a sitting position.  He waits for the black dots to clear from his vision before he stands up, and Mason follows behind him closely, afraid he’ll topple over.

*

“We need more cold meds,” Mason says, rifling through the medicine cabinet late the next afternoon “I’m going to CVS.”

“Can I come?” Chase asks, coughing lightly into a fist.  

“You’re sick,” he says flatly, “and it’s my fault.”

“I know I am, but I feel better. And it’s not your fault.”

“You feel better for now. Your fever just broke, you should be resting.”

“I don’t want to be alone, I want to come with you,” he says weakly, looking at Mason with huge, tragic glassy eyes (that let Mason know he’s feeling much worse than he’s letting on).  “Besides, I want to get up and move in case it gets worse again.”

Mason sighs, “alright.  We’ll make it quick, then. In, out, and then you come back and go right to bed.”

Chase stands up, huddling into himself, “yes, mom.”

Mason puts a hand on his lower back, rolling his eyes as he cups his cheek,  “you good?”

He nods, coughing into the crook of his elbow, “yeah...let’s go.”

The ride to the store is as quiet as it was on the way home from the concert, but nowhere near as tense or awkward. Mason can’t help feeling the overwhelming guilt that Chase is sick because of him.  No matter how many times Chase tells him it isn’t his fault, Mason knows he’s lying.

“Okay, we’re here,” Mason says, pulling into the parking spot closest to the store.  “Ready?”

Chase nods, unbuckling his seatbelt with shaky hands.  Mason raises a brow, but says nothing; instead, he gets out of the car and walks around to his side.

“Let’s get this over with,” Chase mumbles, rubbing at his forehead.  

“Are you feeling worse?” Mason asks softly, zipping Chase’s jacket up all the way.  He wraps the scarf tighter around his neck, and then tugs down his beanie and feels his cheek, “you don’t feel warmer.”

“I’m fine, Mase,” he rasps, pushing his hand away, “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, and really fucking sick.  This was a terrible idea.”

“It’s fine,” he says, swallowing a cough, “really.  Let’s just go.”

Mason takes his hand and leads him inside and straight to the medicine aisle.  Chase follows behind him, tripping over his feet as he struggles to keep up.  He had felt fine up until they got out of the car, and now he’s longing to lie down, because everything is aching and he feels like walking is too much of an effort.

“Can we slow down?” He asks weakly, head spinning.  

“Sorry.”

Chase stands behind Mason as he crouches down to look at the different boxes of cold and flu meds, and he wishes that he would just hurry up.  It doesn’t matter what kind he gets, as long as it puts him in a fucking coma long enough to get over whatever hell-virus he’d picked up.  

He’s suddenly hit with a dizzying wall of heat that makes the back of his neck, back and under his arms prickle, and he has the overwhelming urge to throw up, pass out or both.

“S’hot,” he croaks, struggling with the zipper of his jacket.  

“What?” Mason asks, turning to look at him.  

“S’hot...don’t...m’gonna pass out,” Chase coughs, sounding far away and tired.

“Fuck,” Mason hisses, lunging to steady him.  He grabs Chase by the shoulders, keeping him upright as his knees buckle.  “Okay, you’re okay.  Let’s just sit down, yeah?”

“I made a mistake.”

“Yeah, I’d say you did, too,” Mason says softly, lowering him to the ground.  “Are you okay now?”

Chase shakes his head, “dizzy.”

“Alright.  Okay, we’ll wait a bit, and then I’ll buy the meds and we’ll go home. How’s that sound?” He nods, too tired to form words as he focuses on just trying to stay conscious. “Put your head between your knees.  It’ll help.”

It seems like it does, and Chase looks up at him a couple of minutes later, looking much less pale and out of it than before.  His cheeks are flushed from the fever, and he still has very little color to his face besides that, but he looks better.  

“Okay…I’m ready to leave.”

“Me too,” Mason says, helping Chase to his feet slowly.  Chase blinks away more black dots as the pounding in his head increases, but they both let out a sigh of relief when doesn’t nearly pass out again.  

“Now?”

Mason grabs a few boxes of cold meds, and then looks at Chase, “yeah.  Let’s get you home.”

[timmyrx2000]

Dipper Steps Up: Chapter 11

Chapter Index: (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13)

Chapter 11

Wendy tiptoed downstairs early the next morning and woke Dipper. "Hey, dude," she said, sitting on the sofa next to where he lay huddled in a blanket. "Wanna go for a walk and show me your nabe?"

"Uh—what?" Dipper asked, holding onto the blanket a little more tightly.

"Your neighborhood, man!" Wendy said, grinning. "See, I've only ever been to California like three times before this, and we never got anywhere near as far south as the Bay area. I wanna see where you live."

"S-sure," Dipper said. "Where are my, uh, jeans?"

"Here ya go."

He took them. "Th-thanks. If, uh, you know, you might want to step into the hall—"

"C'mon, man! I got three brothers! I gotta take you campin' so you can get over some of these hang-ups! Or—hey, don't tell me you sleep raw?" She playfully grabbed the blanket, and he held on to make sure she couldn't yank it down.

She flipped it up instead. "Yup," she said. "I kinda figured you for a tighty-whitey guy. Get your jeans and shoes on. We don't have a whole lot of time."

She had changed to her normal outfit of green plaid flannel shirt over a white undershirt, jeans, her logging boots—and Dipper's pine-tree hat. He donned her trapper hat, and she chuckled. "Remember, dude, we have a date in June to meet in the Shack and exchange headgear again!"

They sauntered along the rows of houses, Dipper stammering out an excuse that it was only suburbia, after all. "Yeah," she said, "but it's interesting to me! I mean, my whole life we've lived away out in the woods, like five miles from our closest neighbor. This looks friendlier."

He had the inspiration to take her to Piedmont Park, which meandered for a good many acres and featured hills, a small stream (complete with waterfall), a fountain—normal park stuff, as Soos might say. And on the trail, she—she reached out and took his hand. "You were real brave," Wendy said. "Mabel told me all about it."

Dipper shrugged. "Chuck's a good friend. Couldn't let a ghost get him."

"Yeah, but Ford says old Nathaniel always held a grudge in life. You watch your butt from now on, hear? And if you see any sign of him, you get on the horn to me right away. Don't wait until he shows up dragging a chain through your bedroom or some junk."

A couple of fit-looking women in headbands and leotards, out jogging on this early Sunday morning, ran toward them, chatting. They waved and smiled.

When they had pounded past, Dipper said miserably. "Now they'll talk about how I'm way too short for you. And too young. They'll make fun of us."

She squeezed his hand. "So what? Let 'em giggle. And you know, you've grown like four inches since last summer. I think I finally leveled off, so you're catchin' up a little." They stopped in the middle of a wooden bridge, and Wendy added, "Mm, we could almost be out in the woods here. This is nice, man. Hey, let me see if you're really too short for me."

Dipper wasn't prepared. She leaned—just a little—and kissed him quickly on the lips. Then, ruffling his hair and smiling, she whispered, "Mm, dude, not too short at all."

For the rest of the way, he walked on air.

Ford insisted that Mabel and Dipper accompany him and Wendy to the hospital. They arrived a little ahead of time. Though Chuck was sleeping, Mrs. Taylor was already awake, and they found an empty waiting room for a quick conversation. "I keep hearing what a wonderful doctor you are," she said.

Ford shrugged. "Mostly based on a few papers I did for medical journals. I'm not in practice. However, this is—a special case, as you know. Tell me: How much does Chuck remember?"

She shook her head. "Not very much at all. From the time he blacked out, he says he just has flashes, like pieces of a dream that he's almost forgotten. He sort of remembers jumping out the window, but then nothing until Dipper and Mabel pushed him down in the labyrinth."

"That's when the spirit of Nathaniel Northwest was forced out of him," Ford said.

"He—he says he felt—not angry at them, but—but sad, because it was like he'd lost something."

"His own spirit was dormant within him," Ford said. "Believe me, if the kids had been just a minute late, Chuck would have been thrust completely out of his body, fully aware—but invisible. He would have become the ghost, and Nathaniel would have taken over his body completely."

"And that's a terrible feeling," Dipper said. When Mrs. Taylor stared at him, he added, "I know. Don't ask me how, but I do."

A few minutes later, Chuck woke up still feeling a little groggy, and his left arm obviously hurt him. He acted embarrassed when Mabel kissed his cheek. "I, uh—was I talking crazy yesterday, Mabel?"

"Meh," she said, shrugging. "Nothing so cray-cray that I hated it!" She glanced around and lowered her voice. "So—you still want to hang out with me?"

"Yeah!" he said, and immediately blushed.

"You got it," Mabel said happily.

Ford, Dipper, and his mom explained to him exactly what had happened, and he grew pale. But then Ford handed Mabel a thin chain with a tiny gem. "Give it to him," he said. When Chuck took it from her, Ford said seriously, "Chuck, this will protect you. We can't destroy a ghost, but we've dealt him a blow that he'll have to recover from before he can be a threat. As long as you wear this, you're safe. Now, when you're twenty-one, the threat is over. You can take it off the day after your twenty-first birthday—but hang on to it. When you marry, and if you have children, pass it along to your first son."

Now Chuck blushed again. He looked sideways at Mabel. "Uh—what if it's twins?"

Dipper had to turn away to keep from laughing where Chuck could see him. But Ford very seriously said, "One will still be the first-born son, and he's the one you have to protect. Remember that."

Dipper recovered his poise and said, "Until then, tell the guys on the team that a girl—"

"Your girl," Wendy corrected. Mabel giggled.

"Your girl," Dipper continued, "gave it to you and it's your lucky charm."

Chuck sighed. "I—won't be on the team," he said. "Broken arm will put me out for the rest of the season."

"Next year, then!" Mabel said. "'Cause you're no quitter!"

Chuck reached for her hand. "Next year," he said, making it sound like a promise.

All too soon, Ford and Wendy had to leave for the Oakland airport—"Second time I've been in a plane, guys!" Wendy said. "Stanley told me it would be awful, but I like it!"

Practice started again Monday afternoon. The team heard the news and practice went—well, terrible, to be honest. As Coach Waylund patiently pointed out the many errors and problems, Dipper said, "Uh, Coach? Chuck will come back to school on Wednesday or Thursday. Is it OK if he comes to practice? To, you know, watch and advise us?"

"I'll be disappointed if he doesn't," Waylund said. "Tell him that. By the way, Pines, where's your cap?"

"Uh, it, uh, blew off," Dipper said. "I couldn't find it."

"Well, pick up a replacement before Saturday's game," Waylund said. "That fur thing is an interesting fashion statement, but it won't do for playing baseball. Did you go back and look for the cap?"

"I couldn't find it," Dipper said. That was a white lie. A team of horses chained to him couldn't drag him back to that labyrinth.

Chuck made it to Thursday practice, not dressed out, but wearing his own cap. He watched the guys practice fielding, and during a break he called Dipper over. "Take off your trapper hat," he said. Then he clapped his own baseball cap onto Dipper's head. "Here, use mine. I won't need it for the rest of the season."

Dipper touched the brim. "Aw—thanks, man. Up high!"

Mabel had started coming to every single practice—in fact now she sat in the dugout—and she said, "Don't worry, Chuck, I'll buy you a new one myself! And Brobro, don't you ever get rid of that one! That's your lucky charm!"

The Saturday game was against the Palo Alto Pirates—not a game that the team would dread, ordinarily, since the Panthers and Pirates were on a roughly equal footing and had very similar win-loss records.

However, without Chuck . . ..

In the locker room, guys got dressed out and sat in gloom on the benches, muttering to each other and pounding their fists in their gloves. Dipper felt edgy and couldn't stop pacing, his cleats clicking on the tile floor. He had a sinking feeling that everything was about to go wrong—and it would be mostly his fault. He'd been lousy in the last three practices.

He kept adjusting Chuck's cap on his head and telling himself, "Calm down, calm down, calm down!" That only made him more nervous.

Then he heard a couple of guys yell, and he turned to see Chuck grinning, wearing his jersey—except only one button was buttoned, so it could hang over his cast like a cloak. He was high-fiving everyone, Barb, Bobby, Petey, Kenk. "So, who died?" he yelled. "C'mon, you guys, show a little life! The Pirates are pushovers!"

He scooped up Dipper's batting helmet and smooshed it into Hi-Ho's face. "Smells like victory!" Chuck yelled.

"Foo! Victory stinks, man!" Hi-Ho shot back, shoving the smelly helmet away. He hugged Chuck, carefully, avoiding the cast, which now sported dozens of autographs, including the whole team, plus a great big red heart with MABEL in squooshy-looking balloon letters. "Seriously, dude, good to have you here. You gonna sit in the dugout?"

"Duh!" Chuck said. "I'm gonna keep notes, too, so you guys play good, or you'll have to answer to me."

Well, that was a positive send-off. Too bad it didn't last.

The game didn't begin badly. The Pirates won the toss and chose to bat first—always their preference, because their coach believed getting on the board early was a key to shaking up an opposing team. They did score one run, but in the bottom of the second Piedmont not only tied, but got one up when Mike crossed the plate. Unfortunately, the next batter popped out and the Panthers took the field again.

Dipper couldn't shake his attack of nerves. He kept pounding his glove and scraping his cleats as he played second, but he had the panicky feeling that if he went for a line drive he'd miss it. Or fumble the ball when trying to tag out a runner. Do something stupid.

Mabel, who had become a crowd favorite, was working extra hard, boogying, turning cartwheels, leaping, leading enthusiastic cheers. That day, she seemed more a distraction than a morale booster to Dipper. He felt bad that Chuck was watching his lackluster performance and kept thinking how much better it would be if Chuck could stand on the mound.

By the time the fifth inning ended, each team had upped its score, and the teams were locked in a 3-3 tie. And as the sixth started, everything just fell apart.

The first Pirate up to bat hit a clean single, and he led off first base so far that Dipper kept trying to send telepathic messages to Jon-J on the mound: Throw to first!

It didn't work. The next man up smacked a long fly past Petey, the right fielder, who finally backpedaled and misjudged it, catching it on the bounce. He threw to Dipper, but wide, and though Dipper managed—barely—to get to the throw and catch it, the runner was already standing on second base. Dipper threw the ball to the pitcher and watched Jon-J shaking his head and smacking the ball hard into his glove. Bobby, catching, sent him two signals that he shook off.

Jon-J had a good fastball, and he tried it. The batter swung, missing by a mile. That seemed to give Jon-J heart, and he threw a deliberate ball, then sizzled another fastball past the batter for a called strike. He risked one more fastball—and the batter fanned it. The next man up, though, the biggest player for the Pirates, hit another single, sending a man home and putting the Pirates up by one run. And the next Pirate virtually copied the previous one, batting in another runner.

Maybe Jon-J had strained his arm. He walked the next man, loading the bases. And the next batter smacked a weak flyball that Dipper backed up and easily caught, firing it to Bobby for a double play.

The Panthers went in to bat with the score five to three, Pirates leading. Kenk got a single—barely running out the throw to first—but then Mike, who seemed as worried as Dipper felt, misjudged every pitch and went down swinging. Petey popped out. JD and Barb both got singles, loading the bases—and then Jon-J, who looked exhausted, struck out on four pitches, just managing a weak foul tip on one.

At the top of the seventh, Jon-J put his heart into pitching, but he was obviously tired and shaken up. The first Pirate up hit a fly straight into the center fielder's glove. The next one got a single on Jon-J's first pitch. The next hit to right field, where Petey DeFoy, maybe trying to compensate for his weak performance earlier in the game, bobbled the catch, temporarily lost the ball, and then hesitated before deciding where to throw it. The error stretched a single into a double and brought in another Pirate run. Even worse, Jon-J, now badly shaken, walked the next batter, again loading the bases.

To Dipper's surprise, the coach called a time out and motioned him to come in as he walked to the mound. He got there in time to hear Waylund say, "Your call, son."

Miserably, Jon-J said, "I can't concentrate, Coach. And my arm's gone. Pull me out."

"You got it. Good try, though. Pines—take the mound."

"Wh-what?" Dipper stammered. "Coach, no, I can't—"

"Taylor says you can."

Dipper looked over at the dugout. Chuck stood waving at him, and he gave Dipper a thumbs-up.

"Take the mound, son," Waylund said kindly. "Keep your mind in the game and do your best. That's all we're asking."

Dipper warmed up, but he wasn't used to pitching. Bobby helpfully offered suggestions by means of signals from behind home plate. Dipper took them all.

Oddly, his inexperience seemed an advantage at first. He could hit the strike zone, but his pitches were erratic enough to baffle the first man up, who popped a little looper right to first base, where it was caught and fired home before the Pirates could try for another run. The next batter swung at two of Dipper's pitches—not fastballs, exactly, and not curves, but, well, dippers—but then connected for a single. And another run crossed the plate, putting the Pirates up 7-3, with the bases still loaded.

As if from a great distance, he heard Mabel off in front of the grandstand: "Dipper! Dipper! Put him out! That's what pitching's all about!"

Do it for sis.

He took a deep breath and pitched. Swung on for strike one. He considered the second and went for the outside corner, just missing it. Ball one. Strike zone again, but a little high—and the batter got a piece of it, sending a skipping grounder off to Dipper's left. Dipper lunged for it, fielded it, and whipped it to Bobby, who got the runner out as he started a desperate slide.

Then as they came to bat, it was do-or-die time for the Panthers. X-man, who looked exhausted, struck out and plodded back to the dugout. Hi-Ho got a respectable double—though he barely beat the throw to second. Bobby, who acted a little fresher than the rest of the team, hit what first looked like a home run, but it lost altitude going into the slot between left and center field, and the center fielder was just a little too slow and the hit ran out of steam and bounced off the chain-link fence. Still, Bobby, too, made it to second, and Hi-Ho scored.

And there the rally ended. Dub popped out. Dipper stepped to the plate tense and shaking, his hands soaked with sweat inside the batting gloves. He couldn't control his breathing or his pounding heart.

He was just as bad at bat as he had been back in the fall at the first practice. With the sweat of anxiety stinging his eyes, he couldn't judge the pitches and struck out one, two, three, even going after an impossible outside ball.

The Panthers lost seven to four.

And Dipper dragged into the dugout thinking It's all my fault.

He had no option. For the good of the team—

He'd have to quit.

To be continued

Note from the Authors: This was just an idea I had but the one who really worked his magic and wrote almost all of this is none other than BillEase. He’s an amazing author who usually hangs out at fanfiction.net. Don’t pass up on a chance to check out his stuff. This guy is AMAZING. He wrote the story, I just gave the plot.