#i get so happy when people acknowledges the little brush strokes i add

[sammysammer]

Me when someone acknowledges the little details I add in my drawings

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 17- Family Dinner

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

You frown down at the mysterious text from the unknown number. Something about it gave you an uneasy feeling but you brush it aside for now. You have other things to focus on. Other things like the fact that the way to Shoto’s house is looking awfully familiar. “Do you still live in our old neighborhood?” you ask suddenly as you and Shoto walk side by side. “Yes. Different house but same neighborhood, why?” he asks. “This is where we moved back to,” you explain, “my house is down that way.” “In that case do you want to invite your mom as well?” Shoto asks but you shake your head. “She’s working a shift right now. Maybe next time?” you offer. “Next time,” Shoto replies with a soft smile.

Something warm blooms in his chest at your mention of a next time. He’d missed you over the years certainly, but he didn’t realize just how much until he finally had you back. You’re different now, sure, but so is he. Neither of you are the children you once were and yet reconnecting had been as natural as anything else. The two of you had slipped back into a rhythm as if no time had passed and he was forever grateful for that. He watched your face as the two of you walk, your eyes lit up with a combination of nerves and excitement, and he has a flickering thought that you look absolutely beautiful that way. “Is there something on my face?” you ask suddenly. “What?” he asks, blinking at you in confusion. “You’re staring Sho,” you laugh. “Oh! Sorry,” he says, a light flush dusting his cheeks as he sharply turns his gaze away. “It’s fine! It’s still weird being friends again for me too,” you assure him. “Yes... Yes you’re right, that’s it,” Shoto says, more to himself than you, as you finally arrive at his house.

Shoto pushes open the door, calling out to let the family know he’s arrived. Rei comes from the kitchen, wiping her hands off on a dish rag, but stops in her tracks when she spots you. You freeze in place as you wait to see how she’ll react. You haven’t seen her since her hospitalization. There are more wrinkles at the corners of her eyes then the last time you saw her and you hope it’s from smiling more since she was released after the Dabi incident. You start to see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes but before you can apologize for upsetting her, she’s striding forward to pull you into a hug. It takes you a second to process what’s happening but then you eagerly return the hug, clutching her tightly to you. Her hand strokes over your hair gently a couple times before she pulls back to look at you properly. “You’ve gotten so big! And your performance at the sports festival was truly incredible,” she compliments you. “Ah thank you,” you reply sheepishly. “Come in, come in. How’s your mother doing? I’ve missed her,” Rei asks as she ushers you through to the dining room. “She’s doing well! Work keeps her busy most of the time though,” you respond.

Shoto trails behind, watching fondly as his mother fawns over you. He stops in the kitchen to say hi to his sister who is attending to the food still cooking. “You brought a new friend home instead of Midoriya and Bakugo,” she notes. “Not a new friend, look closer,” Shoto corrects as he leans against the counter next to his sister. She stops what she’s doing to take a closer look at you, eyes widening in disbelief after a moment. “Is that-“ “Yep.” “I thought you said she hated you.” “We made up at the sports festival.” “I’m happy for you,” Fuyumi smiles. “Thank you,” Shoto replies as his eyes wander back to where his mother continues to chatter away with you at the kitchen table. He startles slightly as a hand claps him on the shoulder, turning to find Natsuo has finally arrived. “Been a minute baby bro. The living nightmare hasn’t arrived yet has he?” Natsuo asks casually. “Blissfully no, although I doubt that will last much longer,” Shoto acknowledges. “Will you two play nice? Shoto brought a guest,” Fuyumi chides. “Oh dumpster fire mentioned that, is it not the usual two?” Natsuo asks curiously. “Nope,” Shoto replies. “It’s sweet little (y/n). Remember her?” Fuyumi exclaims. “Ah she’s a little different than you remember,” Shoto chuckles but before he can elaborate Rei is returning to shoo all of her children into the dining room while she finishes up.

It’s nice talking to the Todoroki siblings and catching up. You’d never really known Natsuo and Fuyumi growing up so you appreciate getting the opportunity to now. You’d even managed not to get too outlandish as you joked around with them, your self-proclaimed gremlin nature laying dormant. At least until Endeavor finally returned home. None of you heard the front door open, too wrapped up in your conversation. He walks into the room and although he’s initially happy to see his family laughing and talking together, his eyes narrow as he spots you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, standing to his full height. “Shoto did you hear that? Sounds like a little bitch talking,” you snap instinctively, as you turn to glare at the new arrival. Everyone but Shoto and Endeavor look surprised. “Shoto I was under the impression you’d be bringing a friend along,” Endeavor replies through gritted teeth. “I did bring a friend,” Shoto replies easily. “You said she hated you,” Endeavor fires back. “Past tense! We settled our differences through the only language you and my father taught us. Violence,” you cut in, grin a little feral. “Do not lump me in with that villain,” Endeavor all but growls. “But that was your training buddy,” Shoto refutes with a straight face. “I do recall you two proclaiming you’d die for each other on multiple occasions,” you taunt. “Ah yes, everyone knows best friends who abuse children together, stay together,” Shoto adds. Fuyumi and Rei watch on stunned as Natsuo barely suppresses his surprised laughter at you and Shoto’s comments. “I, at least, am trying to be better,” Endeavor snaps. “Try harder,” you and Shoto both say at the exact same time. Endeavor looks as if he’s about to growl out another response but Rei is swiftly out of her seat to put a placating hand on Endeavor’s chest. “Ok, ok, let’s call a truce. Enji you go get changed out of your work uniform and then we can all just sit down for a nice meal,” Rei proposes. Endeavor mutters something under his breath but agrees none the less before storming off to go get changed. “Ok, petition for (y/n) to replace dad at all family functions?” Natsuo grins. “Natsuo,” Rei chides gently. “I second the petition,” Shoto replies, causing you to cackle. The fondly exasperated look on Rei’s face makes dealing with Endeavor worth it.

The dinner goes surprisingly smoothly even with Endeavor there. He seems far less intimidating when he’s not in his hero costume, which only further enables you and Shoto’s belligerence any time the man dares make his displeasure with your presence known. You can’t imagine why you were worried about them accepting you. The entire night is suffused with a warmth you’ve missed. You love your mother but the past several years have been difficult for her. To suddenly be solely responsible for supporting both of you financially all while dealing with the stigma of her husband’s reputation has meant work is twice as hard and keeps her twice as busy as it did when you were younger. You had missed having Mrs. Todoroki to lean on and in many ways she feels like a second mother to you. Not to mention finally getting to interact properly with Natsuo and Fuyumi. When dinner is finished, Endeavor and Rei are the ones to clear up the plates and begin cleaning up the kitchen. You keep talking with Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shoto for awhile before you finally decide to get up and grab some water from the kitchen. You excuse yourself from the table and head that direction, but just before you enter the other room you notice Rei and Enji speaking in hushed voices to each other. Curiosity drives you closer and you decide to hover on the other side of the doorway and eavesdrop.

“I thought you and Shoto were making progress. What happened?” Rei asks with concern as Endeavor scrubs away at a dish. “That girl happened,” Endeavor replies. “That girl has a name,” Rei says warningly. “Yes she does. It’s (Y/l/n) and I seem to be the only one who remembers that fact,” Enji retorts. “You cannot judge her by the sins of her father.” “She was there Rei. He brought her for a reason.” “Yes, just as you took Touya out to the woods that day for a reason. Just because you have a certain intent doesn’t mean your children will share it. You should know better than anyone that being related to a villain doesn’t make someone one.” “I’m just trying to protect Shoto from the betrayal and pain I felt. I don’t want her hurting him.” “I know but whether she’s going to hurt him or not, that’s a mistake he’ll have to make himself.”

You try not to flinch at Rei’s words. You’re used to people doubting your intentions because of your father but to hear it from Rei stings. You’d expected her to insist you’d never hurt Shoto. You decide you don’t want to hear anymore and head back to the dining room, water glass still empty. “I thought you went to grab water,” Fuyumi points out as you return. “Oh, I ended up drinking it on the way back over here and I’m too lazy to go refill it again,” you lie. She and Natsuo seem to accept the lie easily, resuming the conversation they’d been having, but Shoto gives you a concerned look. He scans your face as if he could ascertain what’s wrong if he looked hard enough. He catches your eye and mouths “what’s wrong?” but you simply shake your head and give him what you hope is a reassuring smile.

Eventually it’s time for you and Shoto to head back to the dorms. You swallow down your hurt as you hug Rei goodbye and then say your goodbyes to the other Todoroki siblings. Endeavor hovers in the doorway out of obligation, saying his goodbyes to Shoto before staring at you warily. “Good seeing you too, fuckface,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes. You count Shoto’s amused smile as a win. As the two of you start walking to the train that will take you back towards campus, part of you worries that Shoto will grill you on what’s wrong now that the two of you are alone. He looks somewhat deep in thought as the two of you walk and you brace yourself for the question you’re not prepared to answer as he finally opens his mouth. “Want to have another movie night tonight?” he finally asks. You blink at him in confusion for a moment as the words process. When you fully realize he’s not pressuring you to tell him what’s wrong, relief washes over you like a wave. “That sounds perfect,” you sigh, some of the tension leaving your body on the exhale. “Great,” Shoto affirms and when the two of you make eye contact you know he understands how you’re feeling perfectly. The two of you continue on your way in companionable silence and, not for the first time, you find yourself incredibly grateful to have Shoto by your side again.

A/N: I live for Shoto and (y/n) roasting Endeavor tbh. Also Rei only phrased things the way she did because she was trying to appeal to Endeavor and didn’t think the kids would hear her. This is why you shouldn’t eavesdrop 🥲 Anyway, next chapter we’ll finally find out what exactly happened when (y/n) was 8 and why her father is so hated.

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly @immah0e4fictionalmen

[johannas-motivational-insults]

I'd like to read your commentary on the closet scene in Hail Mary!

Well ask and you shall receive, friend! (Commentary is bolded.)

I love this scene. Tbh I first wrote the sardines gag into an original fic I wrote in high school and I’m just nostalgic for it. But it is also a really great way to get characters in close quarters together, so... ;)

As it turns out, Adora does find Catra first. She knows her better than anyone, after all, knows how she gravitates towards small, dark, enclosed spaces for a sense of comfort. (Ah, here’s another instance of Catra behaving like a cat but hopefully in a non-distracting way.) Also, there’s the whole thing about how she used to hide in the closet at home when she was scared, or upset after a disciplinary encounter with Ms. Weaver. It was about the only place she could get privacy in that house, sharing a room with two other girls.

Adora remembers hearing her muted whimpers from behind the slatted doors, knocking gently and being yelled at to go away. She remembers sitting down leaning against said doors, guarding the space while Catra collected herself. (A lovely role reversal here!) In the times when she was scared, for good reason, Adora would eventually be torn away by threat or force, Catra would be ripped from her hiding spot, and the screaming would begin. The screaming and…

Adora prefers not to think about those times. She prefers the memories of after the danger had passed when she could just sit there, a comfort to her friend. On rare occasions Catra would not even allow her that, would shout at her until she left the room. Others, she didn’t tell Adora to go away at all, and Adora would crawl into the darkness and find her curled up on the floor, her face stained with tears. Adora would sit silently and take her head into her lap, gently scratching her scalp and stroking her hair, rubbing her back if it was safe to do so. It always calmed Catra down, and it was soothing for Adora too. It helped keep her hands busy and her mind off of what she’d just heard.

Oh hello my poor little traumatized neurodivergent children, stim to your hearts’ content. (And yes, Catra is also neurodivergent in this fic. It’s only been hinted at so far but later it’s revealed that Catra believes she’s ADHD but she never got a chance to get diagnosed because Weaver just saw her as a troublemaker. And because she’s brown many shrinks or social workers would tend to jump to that conclusion too instead of thinking maybe she has a disorder. It’s a little hat tip to the double standards and obstacles to diagnoses that neurodivergent women and POC have to deal with. And you all get to learn that early because you bothered to read this. :D)

Obviously the wave of nostalgia she’s hit by when she finds Catra once again hiding in a closet is not an entirely pleasant one. But she can’t help a small smile either, both at her victory and at seeing Catra’s face. It’s a natural side effect.

“Hey look, I won,” Adora brags when she spies Catra flattened against the wall on one side

Catra shakes her head slightly, amused. “Of course you did.”

Oh wow, I really didn’t hold back on Catra’s subtle resentment, did I?

Pulling the door shut behind her, Adora steps through the thick curtain of garments. Catra actually picked a pretty good spot - there’s a bunch of coats on that side of the closet that obscure her legs, and with how full the closet is it would be easy for someone peeking past the clothes to miss her.

The positioning may be different, the two of them on more or less equal footing and nursing no physical wounds, but Adora can’t shake the sense of awkwardness, her fear that their previous closet rendezvous are all Catra can think about too. (...Out of context this sounds a little bit like they’ve engaged in BDSM in a closet lmao but no, wrong fic.) And the idea of that is unbearable, especially if Catra’s already upset about Scorpia, so Adora takes it upon herself to break the tension.

“Look at us, back in the closet together,” she cracks, poking Catra in the ribs. “Who woulda thought, after all those Pride parades?”

This joke is stupid and I love it.

Catra brushes her hand away with a scoff. “Speak for yourself, I was never in any closet.” Despite her words of protest, she’s smiling a little. Eyeing Adora up and down, she adds, “And you were always like the ultimate sports dyke, so it’s not like people didn’t know about you either. Even if you didn’t figure it out until we met everyone’s favorite MILF.”

I will never let the Huntadora crush die. Tbh this is a little sad though because Catra doesn’t realize it’s always been her for Adora. She doesn’t let it show but she is kinda sad that from her perspective Huntara was Adora’s gay awakening, not her.

Oh, that definitely went a direction Adora didn’t expect. Brow furrowing, she purses her lips as she weighs the cost of the truth, how much she can divulge before it becomes incriminating. Her voice is quiet and eyes are down when she says, “No, I knew.”

It takes a second for Catra to respond. “What, really?”

Slowly lifting her head, Adora raises her eyebrows as she meets Catra’s confused gaze. “Just because I didn’t talk about it doesn’t mean I didn’t know.”

This is such a pivotal moment, just an understated one because it’s from Adora’s POV.  Catra thinks she knows Adora so well, and the idea that Adora not only intentionally kept something (her awareness of her sexuality) from her but was able to fool her is a shot to the ego.

A tiny scoff escapes Catra’s throat, eyes flicking away as her arms fold over her chest. “Never thought you were that good at keeping secrets,” she remarks. Finally she looks back at Adora, gesturing expectantly. “Well? How long have you known?”

Adora frowns in thought. Not because she doesn’t know the answer, but because there’s no casual way to tell your best friend ‘I’ve wanted to marry you since I knew what marriage was.’

I don’t remember what exactly possessed me to write this line, but once it did I knew it was going to murder you all in cold blood. I really enjoyed all the comments about this one. :D

“Always,” is what she says instead. “I mean I didn’t know what it was, but I was always drawn to other girls, always wanted their attention, wanted to be close to them.”

This is such a mood.

Nodding pensively, Catra stares into the darkness. After a moment she murmurs, “Yeah, me too.”

If only she was saying that to what Adora was thinking, not what she said. Because there’s no way Catra could know, right? She’s smart, but she’s not a mindreader. If she was she probably would have kicked Adora out of her room years ago for being a pervert.

Adora she means the exact same thing as you you fucking walnut!

The crack of the bedroom door opening jolts Adora from her thoughts, making her flinch.

“Shit,” she mutters, pushing forward and flattening against the wall, against Catra. In her haste she bounces off the wall slightly and starts to tip backwards, but a pair of quick hands steadies her hips, pulling her closer. Adora’s eyes flick down to find Catra’s already on her, widened in a clear order to be quiet. Adora can barely bring herself to nod apologetically, dazed by the sight. And their proximity. And the scent of sour candies on Catra’s breath.

Because being stuck in a closet together wasn’t taking advantage of the sardines gag enough, I threw this in here. And Adora’s clumsiness provided a great opportunity for Catra to touch her in an intimate way :D. And idk why but the described experience of the smell of the sour candies on top of the close up of Catra’s eyes and them being pressed together is just overwhelming. That sour candies thing gets me every time I read it.

Suppressing the urge to groan, Adora adjusts her positioning and tips her head down so her forehead is resting against the wall, removing that temptation before it can take hold. (Oh right, that’s why it gets me every time.) She breathes deeply, as quietly as possible, praying to god that Catra will interpret her pounding heartbeat as excitement purely from the game. She can feel Catra’s heart hammering against her rib cage too, can hear it echoing in Catra’s jugular mere inches from her ear. Catra’s hands are sweaty where they’ve wound into Adora’s shirt, trembling slightly in anticipation of being caught. Catra may act like she doesn’t care that much about winning and losing, but Adora knows better than anyone just how competitive she is, how wound up she gets.

Oh for fuck’s sakes Adora. I’m glad people asked for Catra’s perspective of this scene because I think confirming in the next chapter that her body was reacting to the exact same thing Adora’s was is valuable. At least a few readers bought into the ‘Catra is competitive/traumatized about hiding in closets’ thing I had going with Adora as an unreliable narrator, so it was probably best to clear it up.

The closet door opens and they both tense, not daring to breathe. The metal hanger hooks screech along the rod as the seeker parts the sea of garments, the sound making Adora wince. The light suddenly flooding their dark space doesn’t help in that regard either. She squeezes her eyes shut with the tiniest little whimper and one of Catra’s hands taps gently against her waist, acknowledging her discomfort and offering solace.

Idk how many people have noticed but I have this running theme of Adora being especially averse to sounds as a sensory sensitivity thing. And the fact that Catra knows and consistently acknowledges it in small ways just makes my heart happy.

In seconds it’s over and the person is closing the closet door, then the bedroom door on their way out. Adora expels as heavy a breath as she dares and whispers, “Phew, that was close.” She starts to pull away and lower her arms from where she’s braced them against the wall, bracketing Catra’s head. (That visual *eyes emoji*) But she doesn’t get very far.

Catra’s arms are locked in place, fingers still clinging to Adora’s shirt. Resting her elbows on Catra’s shoulders, Adora pulls her head back to get a good look at her face. She arches her eyebrows questioningly but Catra’s eyes are fixed firmly on the opposite wall of the closet, refusing to meet hers. Frowning in concern, Adora brushes a thumb over the baby hairs on the back of Catra’s neck. “Catra?”

Still Catra doesn’t respond. Not with words anyway. It’s just a tiny movement, but when her shoulders curl forward into Adora just a little bit, Adora clues in. Sometimes you just need a hug when you’re sad. She gets it.

God damnit. Catra doesn’t want to let go because she’s yearning, not because she’s sad. Why you gotta be like this, Adora? (She says as though she didn’t write it.)

Slowly leaning back in, Adora wraps her arms around Catra’s shoulders. She sighs in relief when she feels Catra respond, relaxing in her grip and slumping slightly to rest her chin on her shoulder. Squeezing a little tighter, she nuzzles into the curve of Catra’s shoulder in response, breathing her in. Catra smells… like Catra. It’s a scent Adora could never quite put a finger on, something uniquely her, but it’s the most comforting smell she knows. It smells like safety, and tenderness, and just a little bit of mischief.

Adora could fall asleep in these arms, in the peace they bring her mind. She has, many times. When they were kids Catra ended up sleeping on her bed more often than not, sprawled half on top of Adora with her head on her chest. Though technically she was usually the one holding Catra, and Catra was often the one seeking comfort, it made Adora feel safer too. It felt a little like Catra was guarding her in the night, and the pressure pinning her to the mattress felt so good. So… secure. They’ve always been better together, perfectly suited to each other’s needs. Adora can't even imagine a life without Catra as her closest companion, and she doesn't want to.

Is that a reference to the torment of canon? Yes, yes it is. Is it also foreshadowing of how agonizing it would be for Adora if she and Catra ever had a falling out? ...maybe.

Absentmindedly brushing her fingers through Catra’s hair, Adora’s pulled out of her head by Catra’s low hum next to her ear. The long lost sound makes her lips turn up. She always used to tease Catra about how she purrs like an actual cat. Not quite, but… it’s nice. It’s soothing.

Rubbing her cheek against Catra’s ear in a similarly feline fashion, Adora chuckles, “Yeah, I miss this too.”

A quiet snort is muffled in her shoulder, Catra’s back puffing out against the arm still slung across her shoulders. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Okay,” says Adora. So she holds her close, and doesn’t say another word.

Maybe this is all she’ll ever get from Catra, holding and comforting her after others have hurt her. But it’s enough. It has to be.

Adora, NO, shut up! She loves you!

Ughhhh well this scene is super cute and super frustrating, both of which want to make me throw things. But that’s very on brand for this fic.

[aewriting]

Green

Good morning!  Have some unrepentant smut as you enjoy your slow-motion Sunday morning kisses and social distancing! Here it is on AO3, if you prefer.

Warning for explicit sexual content and mild kink (restraints).

***

They’re already naked, on the bed, kissing, and that’s when Alex says it. “Want you to take control tonight.” Michael pauses, mid-kiss. Pulls back, expression quizzical. “Order me around, a little.” And that earns Alex a furrowed brow, a tilt of the head. The attention’s almost, almost too much. He drops his head, intends to look at the bedspread but just sees their dicks instead, half-hard now between them. He shrugs. “Just... just want to not think for awhile.” Michael looks uncertain. Licks his lips. “Like what, strap you down?” he asks, almost a note of humor in his voice. “Your call,” Alex says, still not looking at him, but trying to keep his voice steady. Michael gives a low whistle, leans back just a little. “Well shit,” he mutters, skims a hand down Alex’s arm. “You sure?” Alex nods. “Okay, okay,” Michael murmurs, mostly to himself. “You really want me to like, tie you down?” Alex shrugs. “Why not?” Michael blows out a breath. “Not good enough, Alex.” And it’s then that Alex feels  a brush of powers at his chin, tipping his face up to meet Michael’s gaze. He shivers. “Um, if we’re doing this, really doing this, I need a yes or no, Alex.” Michael’s looking at him, so intensely. Searching his face. And god, it’s hard. To be the object of scrutiny like this. To say what he wants. “Yes.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, then, and the powers subside as Michael sighs. Swallows. “Okay, then, okay.” He eyes the bedroom, the closet. “You have anything?” Alex looks at him blankly. “Like, rope, cuffs?” Alex frowns. “Necktie?” “Oh, yeah.” There’s a glint of... something, in Michael’s eyes. “Well go get it.” And there’s a shiver of... anticipation at that. Alex looks at Michael, briefly, who’s staring at him with interest. Prosthetic’s off, so he grabs for his crutches and crosses straight to his closet. One tie is easy to find, a striped number from a long-ago wedding. He knows he’s got another one somewhere, and he’s ripped open two dry cleaning bags before he finds it, hanging with the black suit he last wore to Noah’s funeral. Wordlessly, he loops both ties in his hand and exits the closet. Hands them to Michael. Michael’s stroking the satiny material with that new, perfect hand of his, turning the ties over in his hand. Alex takes the opportunity to lean his crutches neatly against the wall before settling himself back on the bed. “You... you ever done this before?” Alex shakes his head no, and thinks he sees a little half-smile cross Michael’s face before it’s gone, replaced by something far more serious. “It... it can be intense. So we better, um, better have some way of like checking in, you know?” Alex nods. “Traffic lights work for you? Green go, yellow check in some more, red, um, stop, obviously?” “Yeah.” “Okay,” Michael says, still turning the neckties over in his hand. He looks up, then, seems concerned. “You, you gotta let me know, though, Alex. Like when I ask you. If, if I don’t get anything, I’m stopping, okay?” “Okay. Yes.” That seems to satisfy Michael, and he nods. “Well, alright then.” His eyes narrow as he looks at Alex. “Lay down. On your back. Hands...” He clears his throat. “Hands up. By the headboard.” Alex bites his lip a little, is quick to comply. Watches as Michael kneels on the bed beside him, grasps one wrist, and binds it with the striped necktie, securing it to one of the wooden slats in Jim’s old headboard. “That okay?” “Yes,” Alex is sure to say. “Not too tight?” “It’s good.” Alex says. Pauses. “Do the other one.” Michael’s eyebrows raise, and he smirks, just a little. “Yes, sir,” he says, as he grabs Alex’s other wrist, tighter than before, and ties it to another slat. Michael pulls back a little, after. There’s a certain heat in his expression. “You, you look good like this, Manes.” “I feel good,” Alex says, voice low. Michael laughs a bit. “Wow. Okay.” He takes a moment, seems to collect himself. “Think... think I want you to get my dick wet, first.” Alex smiles, makes a show of licking his lips. “Do it.” Michael swallows hard, and Alex isn’t sure where he’s going, at first, but suddenly he’s crawling up the bed until his thighs are bracketing Alex’s torso, and his dick is hanging over his mouth. Alex’s eyes widen. This... this is a new position, for them. For a moment, he worries a little about taking all of Michael’s weight on his chest, before seeing that Michael’s using one hand to brace himself against the top of the headboard, and the other to guide his dick into Alex’s waiting mouth. Alex has just started opening to him when Michael pulls back, looks down. “This, this okay?” “Yes.” Alex says. “Like, bright green,” he adds, for emphasis, and that pulls a laugh from Michael. “Good,” he says, and then he’s pressing his dick into Alex’s mouth. It’s intense, like this, reminds Alex of some rougher blowjobs he’s given, especially in his younger years. It had taken him a while to get the hang of things, feel comfortable with the slide of another guy’s dick, deep in his throat. Cause how many times had he heard it in high school - cocksucker? It, it had been awhile. Awhile before he, he owned it, could acknowledge that, yeah, this was something he liked. Wanted. Now, actually took some fucking pride in. As if he could hear his thoughts, Michael takes his hand off his dick, runs it through Alex’s hair. “You like this?” he asks, and Alex pulls off, nods. “You know I do.” Michael grins, then, lets go of his hair, and begins feeding him his dick again, deeper now. It’s nice, like this, sometimes, to just... not think of anything, anything but the cock that’s working in his throat. Like, it takes focus, concentration... feels fucking dumb to say it’s meditative - like, he doesn’t hink this is what his VA therapist had in mind when she suggested mindfulness exercises, but it kind of does the trick. Puts him in the present moment, focusing on sensations. His body. Michael’s body. Michael pulls out again and Alex takes a deep breath. “Still good?” Alex grins. “Oh yeah.” Michael’s eyes flick down his body. “Want, want to fuck you again.” His brow furrows. “You, you good for it?” They’d gone hard last night. One of those mattress pounding sessions. “Yeah,” Alex says. “Give it to me.” There’s a hand on his chest, then. Gentle. “You got it.” Michael’s climbing off him, then, moving down his body. Pauses. His right hand is suddenly gripping Alex’s chin, firm but not too hard. “Open up.” There’s a flash of arousal at the unexpected command, and Alex quirks an eyebrow before he complies, opening his mouth to Michael and letting it be filled with one finger, two, then three. “Nice and wet,” Michael’s murmuring. “Come on Manes,” he coaxed, jamming them further in. “Pretend it’s my dick. Sloppy wet.” Alex moans a little, really sucking on his fingers now. “You know where these are going.” Most of the time, when someone takes the lead in the bedroom, it’s Alex. That’s their usually dynamic. Every once in while, though, Alex needs this. Needs to be... not used, exactly, but just sort of, like, taken off line. Needs to not think. Needs to just feel. The fingers are removed, suddenly - from his mouth, anyway. He gasps, sharply, as Michael presses two inside him, relentless. “Fuck, Alex, you’re easy this morning. Ready for me,” Michael murmurs, testing his readiness, teasing at his prostate, and adding the third finger sooner than he normally would. Alex is thrashing now, pulling at the neckties. “What color are you right now?” “Green,” Alex says, quickly. “So green.” He feels, then, a force holding open his legs, pulling them apart and pinning them down. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Real soon,” Michael says. He leaves Alex like that, spread so open, as he gets off the bed, gets the lube out of the nightstand. Since they’ve gotten back together, exchanged all their big declarations of love, they haven’t bothered with condoms. Not now, now that they’re not sleeping with other people. Now that Alex knows Michael is, is a fucking alien. Alex closes his eyes, groans as he feels the push, the stretch, the burn. He tries, automatically, to reach for Michael, gets jolted back to the situation at hand when his arms won’t move. He slams his head back, down into the pillow. “Fuck, Michael. Fuck, fuck...” Michael stills. “Color?” “Green, so fucking green.” And with that, Michael grins. “Good,” he says, as he pushes in deep, just a little faster than he normally would. And it’s, god, it’s intense. There’s something about this, being tied down, held open, fucked into... claimed like this. It’s what he needed. What he fucking needed. “Fuck me,” he mutters, just settling into it, making himself breathe, and feel. Michael’s only too happy to comply, rolling his hips deeper, finding a rhythm. Alex has never done it bareback till just a few months ago, with Michael. It, it adds to it, to the whole experience, the feeling of him inside him, the sound of skin on skin... Then Michael’s hand is on his face again. “Lick,” he’s ordering, and Alex is doing it, turning his face to Michael, unconcerned with what he looks like, how desperate and needy he must look, because at this moment he thinks he’d do anything, fucking anything Michael wanted... “Come on,” Michael urges, “more,” and Alex complies. Meets Michael’s eyes, at one point, and is startled at the intensity he sees. That wet, wet hand is on his dick, then, stroking him, and oh fuck, he’s close. It’s not gonna take a lot. And in the end, it’s not one thing that does it - it’s everything. It’s Michael. He’s half-dazed from his own orgasm when he feels Michael’s release, too, warm inside him. Michael slumps over as it happens and they stay there, locked together, for a long moment, just breathing. Alex wants to hold him, wants to automatically run his hands through his hair, press kisses to his neck and shoulder. Restrained as he is, though, he has to allow Michael to take the lead, be the one to recover first, then pull back. “Wow,” he finally says, a little awed. “That... that was really fucking good.” Michael swallows. “How are you?” Alex grins, at that. Lets his head fall back against the pillow, lets himself enjoy the looseness that only comes with a mind-numbing orgasm. “I’m good. I’m so good.” And at that, Alex suddenly feels his hands release, untouched, and Michael’s settles over him, kissing him deeply, stroking up his sides, his arms. He pulls back, just a little, and grins, slow and dirty. “Yeah you fucking are.”

[mattschues]

Breakdown || Schanderson

Tagged: Matt Schuester & Blaine Anderson ( @doveportblaine ) When: December 28, 2019 Where: Blaine’s house Note: Matt saw Betsy and it brought out a lot of bad feelings. There are various triggers in this para due to their discussion.

Blaine

In the year and a half that Blaine had known Matt, he'd never seen him angry. Serious, occasionally. More subdued than usual, once in a blue moon. But never angry. So when Matt texted him that he needed to see him, and he'd seen someone that upset him, Blaine wasn't about to brush it off as no big deal. He'd started the bath water just a few minutes after Matt's last text, so it would still be warm but not too hot by the time his boyfriend arrived. There was a glass and three different bottles of wine laid out on the counter, and in a fit of impulsiveness, Blaine had dug out one of his old NYU sweatshirts -- it was deliberately oversized on him, so maybe it would fit Matt okay if he needed more than the bath and the wine. He'd just turned the water off when he heard a car door slam outside, and bolted to intercept Matt at the front doorstep.

Matt

Matt did his best not to white knuckle the steering wheel while he drove. Time and time again he's warn people about the dangers of driving angry; which could be just as dangerous as driving intoxicated. So he listened to some pop music, opting for a 90s playlist Spotify recommended. When he pulled into Blaine's driveway Hanson was on. If this was any normal day he'd probably hum the song all the way up to Blaine's door step and sang a few lines just to get it into his boyfriend's head. Instead he walked quietly, hands in both of his pockets and when Blaine's front door opened Matt's lips pressed together. He saw the worry on his face and knew it was because of the texts. He didn't want to do that to him, not when he loves his smile and just how vibrant he is; but you couldn't have sunshine all the time right? Matt went up to Blaine and tugged his hands out of his pockets and wrapped them around his guy's body and held him. His face nuzzled into his neck and Matt kept like this. Sometimes whenever he hugged this way Matt would kiss up Blaine's neck and inch him into the house and just fall into what comes naturally for them. But not today. "I saw Betsy." he said into Blaine's skin. "She didn't see me but I saw her."

Blaine

Blaine's arms went around Matt's shoulders reflexively, and his grip tightened when Matt only held on. Definitely something wrong, then, and how. "Betsy," Blaine echoed, searching his recent memory for why that sounded familiar. "Bets -- your ex?" he guessed, and the hollow feeling in his stomach expanded with a niggling sense of dread.

Matt

He nodded a couple times before he pulled back to look at him. "I shouldn't be this angry. I shouldn't let her get to me. It's been over ten years since she left but seeing her." Matt's hands remained on Blaine's waist, hands sore from the aggressive beatings he gave the bag at the station. Thankfully the gloves protected his hands but they still felt it. A hand went through Matt's hair, which was damp from sweat. "It's not like I'm still hung up on her but...." he sighed out, "fuck." He looked down at Blaine's chest. "Not exactly what you want to hear, huh?"

Blaine

"Hey," Blaine murmured, reaching up to cup Matt's face in both hands. He brushed his thumbs over Matt's cheeks before craning up for a featherlight, barely there kiss. "You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to be upset seeing her without any warning after so long. You're even allowed to still be a little hung up on her," he added, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You won't upset me by telling me when something's bothering you, though. I want to hear it, no matter what."

Matt

His eyes went to his as soon as Blaine’s hands pressed against his cheeks. Matt’s thumbs moved along Blaine’s soft shirt. It was after a few passing moments of quiet when Matt leaned in and pressed his forehead to his Blaine’s. “You know how hard it is for me to talk about what’s bothering me. And I’m trying to do that. I should have called as soon as I saw her but I didn’t want you to hear how angry I was.” Matt’s fingers curled, clinging onto Blaine. “I beat the shit out of a punching bag at the station’s gym and it helped some. But I knew I needed this. I needed you.” He then said, as if to drive this home, “I need you.”

Blaine

Blaine nodded his acknowledgement and kept his arms around Matt, fingers still occasionally stroking his cheeks. "You've got me, babe," he murmured, and gently tugged Matt inside and nudged the door closed behind him. He leaned their foreheads together for a long moment, just letting Matt breathe. "I'm right here, and there's a bath filled for you in my room, if you want it. Just let me know what else you need, and I'll do my best to give it to you."

Matt

What he wants is for Bets to go back to Atlanta or where she was before he came here. He knew that there had to be a reason behind her return but wasn’t sure if he actually cared to find out. Matt leaned against the back of the door and brought Blaine to him, kissing his lips at last. It was such a simple thing but feeling his lips against this boyfriend’s did help ground him slightly. “Bring that wine you mentioned and join me in the tub?” He asked, brushing his nose against Blaine’s.

Blaine

The corner of Blaine's mouth turned up just slightly, not quite a smile but still a little quirk of expression. "Okay,' he whispered, and kissed Matt back lightly before nudging him toward the master suite. "Add whatever bath salts you want. I promise not to judge you if it smells like rose petals or lavender."

Matt

He stood in front of the door and watched Blaine walk away. Why was he allowing Bets to get to him? It’d been over ten fucking years since she packed her shit and left him a voicemail. Did he still have that message? No. He deleted it a year after she left as a stupid part of him thought she’d come back and see how he’s doing. That she would give enough of a damn about him and if he managed to work through what happened that late night... He wasn’t aware of the fallen tears just then until he breathed and realized it was a little sniffly because of it. Matt went to the bathroom, aware of the layout to Blaine’s house now, and looked through what options there were. Matt decided on one that smelled of a type of mint, maybe spearmint, and sprinkled it in. It didn’t take long to undress and he slowly sank into the warm water, which felt good as soon as he was as submerged as he was going to go. Matt kept telling himself that maybe they should keep the conversation to what was said at the door. That he didn’t want to bring Blaine deeper into a place he had desperately tried to bury. But..but he didn’t know.

Blaine

Blaine took his time pulling out another wine glass and filling both of them. He didn't know much about the circumstances surrounding Matt's break-up with Betsy; just that things had been rough at the time, and she'd chosen to end it rather than work through them together, and that Matt hadn't really bothered with relationships since. Whatever happened must have been really traumatic, though, considering how quickly Matt had slid into the easy affection they already had together. How in the world had someone hurt him so badly that he'd locked that part of himself away for the better part of a decade? That he'd react this viscerally to just seeing her again? And how was Blaine supposed to deal with someone having that much of an impact on his boyfriend, even ten years later? He let himself into the bathroom quietly, setting the wine glasses down on the wide, curved edge of the tub. He quickly tugged off his own shirt, and then paused to brush a few stray locks of damp hair back from Matt's face with one hand. "How's the water? Not too hot?"

Matt

His hands went up and down his arms to wet them, but mostly to have something to do while he waited. Not that it took Blaine long it come into the bathroom with the wine. Matt watched as Blaine removed his shirt. That even while he felt this way he continued to find his boyfriend extremely attractive. And the way he touched his forehead: that affection he craved...he truly felt lucky. That the shit he went through with Bets was to bring if him to this man. “It’s perfect. I added this mint salts over there. So no lavender me. Don’t be too upset about that.” He teased, trying to bring some happy back in. “Get in between my legs, I want to hold you from behind.”

Blaine

Blaine quirked a lopsided smile at the teasing. “Lavender is to help you sleep. Mint is energizing. We can test how energizing later,” he fired back. He shed the rest of his clothing quickly and steadied himself against the wall with one hand before sinking into the water in front of Matt with a sigh. “Better?” he asked softly.

Matt

How could he be feeling so irritated and still manage to smile? It was easy with Blaine as he knew exactly how to pull one from him. Matt waited for him to get into the water and took hold of his wrist and pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss; taking his time with it before he moving him around until he was just how he needed him. Matt’s arms went around Blaine’s middle and his chin rested onto his shoulder before his cheek pressed against the side of his face. Matt’s hand skimmed the back of Blaine’s and  hugged him closer. As soon as he felt Blaine’s back against his chest he relaxed. “Now it is.” Matt’s eyes closed and he held him for some time before he decided to speak. “Betsy left me when I went into a bad depression after a fire. I had done a few calls that dealt with some heavy shit but that fire really messed me up. I don’t want to make her seem like the bad guy here because I was deep in this dark place for a long time. But when she left it made things worse.”

Blaine

Lulled by the scent of sharp mint and Matt's solid presence behind him, Blaine startled just a bit when Matt started to talk. He forced himself to relax quickly, though, and leaned back into Matt's embrace. "Depression isn't something you can control," he murmured. "And if you're already feeling isolated -- well." He'd had his own demons to battle in the past, first back in high school and then again just before he'd left New York. Considering the things Matt had to face with his job, though -- that had probably been a walk in the park, comparatively speaking. "It's a lot to deal with. Did she tell you that was why?"

Matt

The water did feel nice and the scent of the mint made him think of one of those mint teas he drank whenever he felt he was coming down with a cold not exactly sure how something like this would energize him. “It’s not and there was more to it. I started to see a therapist because the chief made sure I did after what happened but I didn’t keep with it. After a few months of feeling like shit and not wanting to do anything and finding purpose in everyday life I went back to see someone. A different therapist. We talked and I know it was hard for her. I could see it. And it was just a bad time. A bad, bad time in my life.” He said, trying to keep his voice from cracking but it was hard. “I was on a call. A fire. There was a fire involved.” He struggled with this and moved to press his mouth to Blaine’s neck because he didn’t know if he wanted to continue. “This father purposefully set fire to the house. Two little kids didn’t make it.”

Blaine

Blaine's reached back to thread his fingers through Matt's hair, the lump in his throat again. "God, that's awful," he breathed. "That someone could do something like--" He broke off, quiet for a moment with his hand still in Matt's hair. "You tried to save the kids," he said simply, his voice sad.

Matt

“This job can isn’t easy. I knew it wouldn’t be and that wasn’t my first fatality.” He moved his lips away from Blaine’s neck and squeezed him a little tighter. “It was my first time seeing it happen in front of me. These two little kids. They were-“ Matt’s lips pressed together and he felt water beads roll down from his upper lip. “There is a lot to all of this and I struggle to this day. I probably will for the rest of my life.” Matt’s eyes burned and he tried to blink it away. “I’m worried that the same thing will happen. That I’ll get in a bad place and you’ll do what Bets did. And I know I can’t be mad at you. Just like as angry as I feel at what she did I understand. I had to because I needed to stop hating myself after so long.” He was all over the place with this and felt he didn’t make much sense.

Blaine

"Oh my god," Blaine murmured, quietly horrified. His fingers loosened their grip on Matt's hair just enough to slide down and cup the back of his head, tucking his face next to Blaine's, and he turned his face to press their cheeks together blindly. Two children. In a fire set by their father. And Matt had to witness that, and not be able to stop it. No wonder he tried so hard to help everyone with everything -- it was like it was penance, of a sort. "I can't promise things won't get bad again, and you have no idea how much I wish I could," Blaine said softly. "But -- things are good now, right? I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. And if you find yourself struggling again -- I know you don't like talking about it, but I want to help."

Matt

Matt’s lips went against Blaine’s shoulder and knew this was part of the life he wanted to keep his boyfriend from hearing about. “I know. There is a lot about the whole situation that still continues to this day. I’ve kept in touch with their mom. I see her every once in awhile.” He moved closer to his guy and found some comfort with his touch. “Yeah. Things are good. Better mostly. Having Bets show up like that threw me off. And the thing is I know I’ll reach out to her and make sure things are good. I imagine you’ll run into her at some point. She’s not a bad person. How she handled things at the end fucking sucked but I had to place myself in her shoes. It was hard.” Matt kissed along his skin and pressed his mouth on Blaine’s pulse point. He didn’t say anything right then but in that moment with Blaine he felt the urge to say what flitted across his mind. To say he loves him but that wasn’t the right time. “I’ll do my best, baby. I’ve spent years swallowing my true feelings that make me feel like shit. But I’ll try.”

Blaine

Blaine nodded, numb with the shock of it all. While he could understand staying in touch with the children's mother, that almost made it worse -- an open wound that never healed, and it was always a fresh reminder of what Matt clearly saw as a failure. And then seeing Betsy -- another reminder of a time that seemed to be extraordinarily painful. For so many reasons, apparently. The press of Matt's mouth against his throat made Blaine shiver, but he needed to make sure Matt was listening. He shifted just enough to turn his head to face Matt directly, craning his neck to look him squarely in the eye. "You are not an awful person," Blaine said firmly. "That was a terrible thing that happened, and the toll it took on your relationship was tragic. But when you start to hate yourself or feel like shit -- I need to know, so I can tell you that it's not true." He ran his fingers across Matt's cheek lightly. "If the roles were reversed, and it was me swallowing down every bad thing I thought about myself -- which I've done plenty of, believe me -- would you want to know?"

Matt

When Blaine turned to look at him better Matt helped him around and he slid back and pulled at his guy to slid up onto his wet chest. The water sloshed lazily along the tub’s edge. Now he could look at Blaine while he talked. But now Blaine could see how red his eyes were. “The thing is yes. I’d want you to tell me.” His voice went low when he spoke. “I spent many years keeping people away. It was easy to joke and sleep around. Then you come along and I want you to be in my life. And to have you see this side of it...” his wet fingers went through Blaine’s curls. “This relationship means a lot to me.”

Blaine

Blaine looped one arm around Matt's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. "Me too," he said softly. "I want to be in your life -- all sides of it. You just have to let me," he added. Such a simple thing, but he was starting to realize just how difficult that might be for Matt. And if he had to remind him sometimes, or nudge him into talking when things got rough -- or even push, something Blaine had been trying very hard not to do this time around-- Maybe it would all be worth it.

Matt

“I really am trying, Blaine. I want so much for what we have to keep going. You might think I’m crazy or just saying whatever out of my ass but when I talk about you or us. When I say how crazy I am about you. It’s the God’s honest truth. That’s why I’ll try. Because I l-“ There was a noticeable pause here but Matt watched the word and said, “like you so damn much.” His hands smoothed down his back and was soon swallowed by the warm water. “After those little kids died the father was put on trial and has been in prison since. He’s up for parole next year and Sheila thinks there’s a good chance he’ll be denied it.” Matt chewed his bottom lip, clearly hesitant. He’s already said a lot to Blaine tonight. He didn’t want to go into how he’s been to the prison to ask him why he did it. Or how the man didn’t give a shit and was more upset he didn’t kill his now ex wife and other daughter. “I like hearing you want to be in all sides of my life. And I guess I should tell you if I’m a little more...on? I guess on is the best word to describe it or just wanting to avoid talking altogether and just want to fuck you. Not like usual.” He chuckled a little at this. “You’ll know what I mean if it happens. It’s because something went down and I’m doing my bury it deep under thing.”

Blaine

"I know you are," Blaine murmured, flushing at Matt's reassurances. He'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't what he wanted to hear, especially with Matt's ex back in the picture again. He trailed one hand through the water until he found Matt's and laced their fingers together, pulling his hand up to kiss the back of it lightly. "When he comes up for parole, we'll deal with it together," he insisted. Blaine filed away that admission for future reference, quietly relieved for the heads up so he wouldn't be caught off guard. "I'll keep an eye out. Not that I usually object to your one-track mind -- but I'd rather you talk to me and then pin me up against a wall somewhere."

Matt

“I didn’t expect to have someone with me who wants to face that day with me. Sheila has her family and there are a couple of the guys who were around when that fire happened but as far as people at work know I don’t think about that fire or family anymore.” As Blaine kissed his hand Matt’s eyes slid closed for a moment. It felt nice for them to be like this; sharing a tub and talking. They will need to do this again but when it’s happier topics of conversation. “It does feel good you know about what happened. There have been others. I hate there have been, but nothing like that night. And the thing is I love this work. It gives me a feeling of purpose and those times we help someone makes it worth it. I know it’s early on in our relationship so I hate to make you feel as if you’re tied to me or you’ll be afraid to end things if you can’t handle this. Or you stop finding me attractive or whatever reason that comes up.” Why was he saying these things? There was a tightness in his stomach because he didn’t want to think of this not working out. “I’m saying I don’t want you to feel you’re stuck with me.”

Blaine

“You can’t go through that alone,” Blaine protested, mildly appalled. “Even if it’s just being ready with a hug and a hot meal at the end of the day.” His forehead creased a little the more Matt insisted he didn’t have to stay in this; like he was going to walk away now, knowing just how much of himself Matt had sunk into his work. “Hey,” Blaine ducked his head to catch Matt’s eye deliberately. “I’m not stuck with you, Matt Schuester. Is it scary, knowing the kinds of things you have to face at work? Of course. But I already care about you, and that isn’t the sort of thing that you just — turn off, when things get scary. I’d rather be scared with you than have to watch you go through everything from a distance and not be able to help.” He quirked another little half smile at Matt. “Besides, if I still find you attractive after months of terrible pick-up lines, chances are that’s not gonna change any time soon.”

Matt

Matt had fallen into such a bad mindset ever since that afternoon; as if those ten years since Betsy left never happened. He knew there were changes. Awesome changes. He knew of the man on top of him and the impact he had on his life over the last year and a half. He knew he was terrified that telling him he’s free to end things if it was too much terrified him. But to hear his assurances; to know he wasn’t alone in this and that he cared... that he basically was here to be with him and actually learn of the man Matt desperately tried to hide. It...it...”Im sorry.” He said, doing his best to look Blaine in the eyes but failing as they dropped; along with a few tears. Matt sniffed a few times and brought the side of his hand up to his eyes to get rid of the tears; not that it did much good because he was actually crying in front of him. “It just- it feels like you just nudged this large rock that’s on my chest and I feel relieved.” He tried to explain. “I care a fucking lot about you, too. So much that that’s why I said you don’t have to stay. But you wanting to be in this. With me. I-“ he rambled, trying to smile but he bit his lower lip instead as he looked away; struggling to get a hold of himself.

Blaine

Seeing Matt in such distress was unsettling, to say the least, and Blaine felt helpless to do anything to make it better. He reached up to cup Matt’s face with one hand, brushing away tears with his thumb. “Absolutely nothing you’ve told me today changes how I feel,” Blaine said softly. “It changes how I might approach things, and how we move forward together. But it doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re still a good man, who makes me laugh and is kind of an idiot sometimes,” he said with a lopsided little smile. “I told you before that you make me feel seen and important — but that goes both ways, and I want to make you feel that way, too.”

Matt

He felt like an idiot for crying. It was something he did alone and usually after he’s been drinking. A lot. Matt wished he hadn’t done that in front of Blaine; that he just told him that he didn’t want him to feel like he needed to continue this relationship because he’s a fucking mess. But, somehow, Blaine managed to cut through those negative thoughts and Matt looked at him. He could have joked back, saying he’s not an idiot or follow through and say something ill timed an inappropriate. But he didn’t. A wet hand went to the back of Blaine’s neck and that urge to say those three special words resurfaced. How can you not love a man like Blaine Devon Anderson? Seriously. And Matt knew he was lucky he wanted to be with him; that he wanted to be there for him and not just see him but go through whatever shit he went through together. “Guess you now know what I look like when I cry...” he said as he tried to shift some of the subject away from all of this. Matt sniffled again and cleared his throat as he leaned forward, kissing his boyfriend. The kiss lingered and he played a hand over Blaine’s so it stayed on his cheek. “There was a long time when I felt I didn’t deserve anything good in my life but then you came along. You came along and made actually look forward to the future. That each day I saw you, whenever I told you some silly pick up line or joke was something special because it made my heart and soul feel good. Happy.”

Blaine

"You know what isn't fair? You look better when you cry, it's really hot," Blaine insisted, biting his lip on a smile. He leaned into the kiss a little, stroking his thumb over Matt's cheek. "I'm only half kidding. I will not judge you one bit if you feel something strongly enough for tears. Give me -- a month, tops, and you'll probably know what I look like when I cry, too." He had his own demons to share, after all; it was neither the time nor the place, since this was about Matt and what he needed right now, but if Matt was brave enough to share the ugly parts of his past, Blaine could be too. The thought terrified him -- that insistent little voice in the back of his head whispered that any weakness (anything less than perfect) would make Matt leave -- but if they were in this, they were IN this. No holding back. "You deserve so many good things in your life," Blaine murmured softly. "If cheesy pick up lines and dad jokes make your heart and soul happy -- well, then I'll laugh at every single one, and only roll my eyes occasionally."

Matt

“So in a month the both of us will be sobbing messes in front of each other? I suppose that’s one way to celebrate an anniversary.” Matt gave Blaine a lopsided smile and remembered there was wine for them. Both glasses untouched. “The truth is it’s your reaction that keeps me making them. That’s why I plan to keep them going until you duct tape my mouth shut. I prefer you kissing me when I’m being too much but then you’ll never get any work done and people will wonder where you are all the time.” Matt let out a long exhale and licked his lips. “Thank you for all of this. The tub. Listening to me. The wine we haven’t touched. I’ll treat you to a very nice dinner Saturday. Who knows, I might bring my own guitar and serenade you this time.” His wet fingers went through Blaine’s hair again, which started to curl from the steam of the water and how many times Matt’s wet hand passed through his hair. “I just remembered...I might be seeing Cooper tonight. Fuck. I don’t want to bail if he wants to meet up.”

Blaine

"Hey, at least it'll be memorable," Blaine teased. "I think I like having the option of shutting you up with a kiss a little too much, though," he added, dragging his index finger across Matt's mouth before leaning in to kiss him lightly. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, silently enjoying the feel of fingers threading through his hair. "I'll hold you to that. Unless you're singing 'Cotton Eyed Joe'. Then I might hide your guitar." The reminder of Cooper -- not exactly where he wanted to be reminded of his brother, but oh well -- made Blaine grimace slightly. "Do you want me to text him that you can't make it? I'm not above telling him you're sick."

Matt

Matt chuckled at that. Blaine’s knack for shining optimism on just about anything came through and it lessened the panic he felt from before. Would he ever grow past the abandonment issues that stemmed from Betsy leaving? Was it even considered abandonment? He wasn’t a shrink and could barely make sense of what’s in his head most days. “Fine. I’ll save that one for Valentine’s.” Matt joked back. “Do we even have a song? Sure, there are ones that come on and I start to think about you but is there one that’s very...Blatt?” Okay, now this causes a laugh to surface and moments later he intentionally scooped water up and dribbled it onto Blaine’s hair before leaning in to kiss his lips; his wet hand against the back of Blaine’s to keep him from pulling away. “No...” he said, forehead against his after the kiss and leaned back. Matt picked up the wine glass for the first time and took a sip. “I feel we need this. He’s got this impression about me or something. I could feel it when I was at Kat’s. And I know I don’t have to get him to like me but it’s important to me to at least try.”

Blaine

“You and that weird, off-kilter romantic streak,” Blaine said wryly. “I’m sure we could come up with a song, provided we each have veto power. And now I’m curious what songs remind you of me.” He spluttered indignantly, partly from the water poured over his head and partly from the ill-advised smushing together of their names – Blatt? Really? – and nearly scooped up his own handful of water to retaliate before he thought better of it. Spending the rest of the evening cleaning his bathroom was not high on Blaine’s list of priorities right now, and it turned out that Matt was better at distracting him than he’d realized, as Blaine leaned into the kiss. “If it gets to be too much and you need me to fake an emergency, just text me,” he insisted. On a normal day it wouldn’t worry him so much, having Coop and Matt get a drink together – but after the afternoon Matt had had, Blaine was a little hesitant to let him out of his sight period, much less for anything stressful. “I may have to come up with some way to bribe you into coming back here after you two are done, though. I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he added airily.

Matt

“Doesn’t it come down to the thought? That the thought counts? What if I’m able to slow the song down and play it differently. Who knows, maybe Cotton Eye Joe will be that one song I sing that makes you cry.” Sometimes Matt’s mind vacated his body and his mouth would run on and on. This was one of those moments. Which he needed because his stomach felt ill from the anxiety and anger. “I’ll send them your way whenever I hear them. Better yet, I’ll put it on a playlist. We can make out to it.” His hand went down Blaine’s back and soon gave his ass cheek a playful squeeze. “It’s like I feel like he and I are getting along okay but then he says shit that makes it like I’m still in time out. I don’t know if this is a big brother thing or because of me running my imagination like I sometimes do. Or because he wasn’t kept in the loop about us.” His hand went to Blaine’s back, the water covering then back of most of his hand. “What if he never warms up to me? He could keep making comments or be weird when I’m around and I hate for that to make things awkward because I intend to be a part of your life until you kick me out of it.” He sunk back into the water again. “Jesus. My confidence in myself is all over the fucking place.” Matt wondered if he should call it a night and stay here.

Blaine

"I'm still using my veto on Cotton Eye Joe, no matter how much you slow it down," Blaine said, amused in spite of himself. "You should definitely send me any songs you come across, though. I reserve judgement on make outs until I hear them, but anything's possible." He tilted his head a little to catch Matt's eye again. "Hey. I grew up with Cooper and I still feel like that sometimes. Like -- I'll never quite measure up to the Anderson golden boy. In my better moments I know he doesn't mean it that way, but Coop's opinion isn't the one that matters, and isn't going to change my mind." He cupped Matt's cheek with a pat. "Come back here after drinks. I'll make sure your confidence gets a boost, no matter how it goes with Cooper."

Matt

“Fine. Dream crusher. It’s a good thing I find you adorable and sexy or I’ll keep going with that song. But-“ he sighs and doing nothing to hide his smile, “there’s a whole world of bad songs out there. You make wake up to me singing a slowed down version of Whooly Bully or some Kesha song.” Matt slowly started to sit up and eased Blaine off him. They’d been in the water awhile and he could tell his fingers and toes were heading towards prune territory. “Our playlist won’t have those songs. They’ll be completely woo worthy. Just you wait. You’ll listen to a few and then make it your mission to track me down. Then all the kisses will be mine.” Goddamn this idiot, but there was no way he’ll censor himself because why be with someone if you can’t let your full dorkiness side out? “Then we’ll have to see how things go but I’ll come back here. Not just for the promised boost but because I like when we’re able to sleep together. I’m not talking about the sex, which you know I’m a big fan of. But actually falling asleep with you.” Be leaned forward and kissed his damp forehead and then reached down for his lips. “Things with Betsy might have sucked. Really sucked, but what you and I have? It makes going though that shit because I really like what we have and I can’t wait to see how we grow as a couple.”

Blaine

Blaine's cheeks warmed under the attention, and he reached for the towels he kept nearby for both of them to cover his blush. "I like falling asleep with you, too," he admitted shyly. "And I'm pretty sure I had it right on our first date -- I'm sure she's a perfectly nice person, but her loss is my gain," he added, smiling against Matt's lips.

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Turn on the Stars

Title:Turn on the Stars

WC: 3k+

Summary:

They had a routine.

Hizashi wasn’t quite sure when it started.

They’d never talked about it.

It was just one more thing that made Hizashi feel lucky, one more thing that made him look at Shouta and think the world doesn’t deserve you.

Notes:

This is a belated birthday fic for a dear friend @lisaveeee who is truly deserving of it. Lisa, you are an enormous delight, and I only wish I could bottle up all my love for you and somehow give it to you, show it to you, so you could see just how truly cherished you are. You are incredibly strong and funny and talented. You are always there for me when I need you. You listened to me when I was at my lowest and encouraged me to take chances. You have given me so many smiles and I hope that this fic is able to give you one as well! Happy Birthday, Lisa!

Read it on AO3

Turn on the Stars

They had a routine.

Hizashi wasn’t quite sure when it started. He’s pretty sure it was back when they first decided to room together post graduation, before their separate crushes had been revealed through fumbled, messy confessions and their lives were filled with nothing more than sleepless nights and restless days spent repeatedly trying to make a name for themselves as new pros. In all honesty, age and experience hadn’t changed those habits much. They both still barely slept, were almost constantly overworked, but at least they’d managed to find the time and courage to add some jewelry to their fingers and a mortgage to their shared expenses.

Back then, in their early twenties, he’d barely paid attention to it. He simply knew that when all the caffeine had finally drained from his system, and the crash was coming faster than his heavy limbs could stand, Shouta was always easy to find. When he just couldn’t shoulder the thought of slipping into sleep when people were out there still getting attacked on the streets, when his hero agency had sent him home, telling him “if you really want to keep this internship, you also have to keep your head,” but all it did was remind him he still had so much to improve, Shouta was there.

Time after time, he’d knock at his roommate’s bedroom door and be greeted with a grunt of acknowledgment. He’d push it open and step inside, shucking his jacket and gear and glasses, and crawl up onto the bed. He’d find his place beside his friend, trying not to think about how the few inches between them were still too much for him to bear, and sink into the pillow. Without a single word exchanged, Shouta’s lips would part and he’d begin to read aloud from the book in his hands. They weren’t particularly entertaining stories. There was never any adventure, always some sort of practical book or something to do with history or science. To Hizashi, they were incredibly boring texts.

They made his mind feel numb.

That was exactly what he needed in those moments, as Shouta’s soft voice recited line after line until Hizashi’s eyelids fell shut and his body finally, finally got to rest.

At the time, he’d simply assumed Shouta read before bed every night.

When they’d finally started dating, and sharing a bed became customary, he’d realized this practice wasn’t for Shouta at all.

It had always been for him.

Even at thirty, Hizashi sometimes couldn’t manage to get his mind to shut off long enough for some proper sleep, and after fifteen years in each other’s company, Hizashi supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised that Shouta could practically read his thoughts. Still, it was a little incredible when his husband just knew, and without prompting, would pull out one of those old books, turn to wherever they’d left off, and begin to read to the quiet room until Hizashi’s light snores peppered in between all the spoken text.

They’d never talked about it.

It was just one more thing that made Hizashi feel lucky, one more thing that made him look at Shouta and think the world doesn’t deserve you.

This week had been running them both thin, and Hizashi was beginning to feel that familiar itch, that constant static at the back of his mind that said, here comes another sleepless night. He knew Shouta would be digging around for some history book tonight, was almost planning on it, that is, until he entered the staff room and saw his husband’s head tucked into his arms, face down on his desk.

He shot a side glance at Midnight, but she wasn’t paying attention either, her own eyes closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It had been a difficult year, villain attack after villain attack, both inside and outside school grounds. The dorms, which each teacher took shifts supervising, were eating into personal time, as was the increasing criminal activity in every sector of the city. There had been a big practical exam for the first year hero courses today, most of the teachers involved in one way or another. Hizashi had gotten out of it due to the third years’ English final prep course he’d had to develop on the fly last week when it became all too clear some of the young U.A. graduates weren’t going to look very good on paper with their current test scores. Principle Nezu had not been pleased. They couldn’t very well call themselves the best school if their students were all flunking out.

Hizashi gives the staff room a once over. Practically every teacher in the room looked like they hadn’t seen sunlight or a proper meal in a year.

They all needed a break.

As he makes his way over to his husband, and his own desk beside the hunched over man, he knows there’s nothing he can do to help everyone in the room, but certainly, he could do something for Shouta.

Hizashi reaches a hand out, trailing a finger over Shouta’s shoulders, causing the other man to shiver. He sits down in his seat and that messy head of black hair starts to move, shifting until he sees Shouta’s tired eyes, a little more pink than usual, staring at him from between the loose strands. Hizashi brushes them away gently, Shouta’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he does so. Their marital status was no secret, though they certainly didn’t flaunt it, in the same way their coworkers didn’t get more than a peck on the lips from their partners when they came to drop something off or pick them up for lunch on occasion.

Shouta sighs when Hizashi pulls his hand back.

He opens his mouth and Shouta’s gaze shifts to it. He almost asks, long day? It’s incredibly obvious it had been, so he thinks better of it, going instead with, “Just a little bit longer and we’re out here of here, babe.” He whispers the words, leaning in close.

Shouta’s eyelids slowly fall closed.

“I finished grading,” he mumbles out.

“Oh wow, good job!” Hizashi exclaims, genuinely surprised. His own work had been piling up relentlessly.

“Mhm…” Shouta hums. “Let me know when you’re done and we can go.”

Hizashi tilts his head, frowning in question. As if sensing the minute shifting of air around the blond’s body, Shouta answers without prompting, “I shifted some assignments around. Figured we could both use a break tonight.”

Hizashi’s frown deepens.

Of course Shouta was already twelve steps ahead of him. The other man probably ordered takeout and had a movie picked out for later too.

Pouting, Hizashi opens his desk drawer to bring out the grading he hadn’t finished yesterday. He sets the heavy folder down and flips it open. Shouta shuffles next to him and he turns to see his husband burrowing into his arms, getting a little comfier, settling in.

Hizashi looks back down at the tests.

Gritting his teeth, he shuts the folder and pushes out of his chair.

Shouta’s head lifts up immediately, an eyebrow raised when he turns to look at Hizashi.

“I’m ready, let’s go.”

“What? I thought you had more to do,” Shouta asks, looking down at the large stack of papers.

“It can wait.”

“Can it?”

Hizashi bites the inside of his cheek.

The kids were already failing, right? What was one more day not knowing if they improved on the last test?

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine!” he answers, smacking on a grin and waving it off. “Come on! Let’s go before we both end up falling asleep here.”

Shouta looks like he very much doubts Hizashi’s answer, and rightfully so, but the scruff on his chin that is bordering on a light beard at this point, and the darker bags under his eyes, both win out over his desire to insist Hizashi complete his duties. The other man slowly rises, and Hizashi doesn’t miss the way his hand shakes a bit in the air before it meets the back of his chair when he pushes himself up.

He’s more exhausted than I thought, Hizashi frowns, watching carefully at how Shouta’s body bends to reach his bag. When the erasure hero turns back around, he makes sure a private, gentle smile is waiting for his husband.

Shouta returns it easily, despite his spent energy.

“Come on,” Hizashi says, tugging at his sleeve.

They tell their coworkers goodnight, wishing them luck on their various arduous tasks, and head home. They get a quick dinner from Lunch Rush in the cafeteria, neither really feeling like waiting for food or making their own, Shouta having not ordered takeout after all. Shouta sleeps against the passenger side mirror, letting out little grunts and mumbles every time the car stops and starts at stop lights and stop signs. It makes Hizashi wish they lived in a more rural area, so he could just let Shouta get some proper rest.

It’s alright, though, he has plans for that.

It was Shouta’s turn to be doted on, to be cared for. Hizashi did his best to keep his husband happy and healthy, but their work lives didn’t always leave a lot of room for extra indulgences. So they made time for them. They carved out spaces in their lives for one another even when time and responsibility fought them at every turn.

Because that’s what you do when you love someone.

Hizashi looks over at Shouta’s sagged frame, snoring quietly, and reaches out a hand, placing it on his husband’s leg for a moment, just above the knee, to stroke his thumb in a soothing circle.

That’s what you do, what Shouta had always done for him.

It was his turn.

When they get home, Hizashi jostles the other man awake and they make their way inside. They don’t say much, both going to the bedroom to get dressed down and wash off the day’s grime. Sometimes that was nothing more than a quick rinse to get off all the germs that seemed to follow teenagers around, and other times it was a more involved process, like when Shouta plans a demonstration for the hero course involving the faculty.

Thankfully, today was a fairly easy day for Hizashi, having missed the hero course activities, but while he was combing out his hair, Shouta let him know he’d be taking a longer bath tonight. Whether that was for sore joints, a few punches from one of the students he hadn’t quite been able to dodge, or just a desperate need for relaxation, Hizashi didn’t know.  

When he’d gotten all the hairspray and gel out, though, he slipped into the tub with Shouta and rattled on about nothing, just to fill the silence, to see the way Shouta’s lips perked up with a delicate smile when Hizashi told him about some prank his intern had tried to pull this week.

The bath seems to seep some of the rigidness from Shouta’s body and Hizashi is happy to run his hands, draped in one of their puffy towels, over those scarred shoulders and have a content sigh fall from Shouta’s lips this time. When he moves the cloth away, he briefly kisses Shouta’s upper back, peeking out from behind his damp hair to stare at his husband’s eyes in the reflection of their mirror. Shouta’s upper cheeks are flushed from the warm bath water, his eyes drooping, blinking a little more than usual. It’s obvious he’s already on the verge of sleep.

Hizashi ushers him along into the bedroom and pulls out some comfy sweatpants for both of them. When Hizashi turns around, stretching his arms out above his head and popping his back, he sees Shouta reaching for one of the many books tucked away in the cubby beneath his nightstand.

Before the other man can take a seat on the bed, he says, “Wait!”

Shouta jumps a bit and turns to look at Hizashi, who is covering his mouth with his hands, realizing he’d sounded more frantic than what he’d intended.

“S-sorry,” he laughs out, lowering his hands. Shouta raises a brow, but otherwise doesn’t comment. “Can you...can you uh...go make us a snack?”

Shouta looks at the clock. It’s already past 9 PM.

“Just something little, you know? Maybe some tea? Something sweet?” Hizashi asks, tilting his chin down and jutting out his bottom lip.

Shouta relents, setting the book on the bed. “I think we might have some frozen mochi. Is that good enough?”

Hizashi smiles and nods, throwing his arms open in an arc, requesting a hug, which Shouta easily slips into. He’s pleased when he feels the other man’s scruff drag against his cheek before a kiss is placed there.

Shouta backs away and heads for the door and Hizashi waits only a few moments before jumping into action. He knows he doesn’t have much time. As quietly as possible, he walks out of the room and ducks into the guest room next door, pulling the many decorative pillows and large comforter off the bed. He drags the items back to their room, pausing briefly, a smaller pillow corner in his mouth, arms already stuffed full of the others, when he hears Shouta call out.

“Strawberry or green tea mochi?”

“Hm-een Te-mm.”

“What?” the voice gets louder and Hizashi panics, opening his mouth and letting the pillow drop.

“Green tea!” he shouts quickly.

The floor creaks around the corner and then he hears Shouta moving away.

“Okay.”

“Thanks, baby!”

Hizashi kicks the dropped pillow into their room and shuffles in with the rest, making sure to close the door behind him without making too much noise. Looking at his pile, though, he realizes he isn’t going to have enough time.

He opens the door and shouts, “Can you use the kettle to heat up the water? I think it tastes better than the microwave!”

He hears a grunt from the kitchen, probably Shouta rolling his eyes, but no further complaints. He takes this as an affirmative and quickly gets to work, pulling harshly at the edge of their comforter to free it from where it is tucked into the bottom of the bed.

---

Shouta barely manages to save the mochi before it falls to the ground, the plate he’d had resting on his forearm, two mugs in his hands, tipping precariously. He’s lucky he is standing by the counter, the soft little green desserts rolling onto the clean surface rather than the floor. He sets the mugs down and gathers them back onto the plate. Assessing the situation, and deciding he doesn’t particularly want to try holding two mugs of boiling hot tea in one hand and risk burns on an already stressful day, he rummages around in their cabinets until he finds the tray Hizashi had used a few anniversaries ago when he’d made Shouta breakfast in bed.

Speaking of, he hears a creak from their bedroom again.

He’s not sure what Hizashi is up to in there, the tea and desserts were an obvious excuse from the moment the words left the blond’s sheepish mouth, but Shouta was willing to play along. He wanted to see what Hizashi thought he was being so clever about. So he took his time making the drinks, letting the tea steep. He hadn’t even been considering using the microwave when Hizashi had insisted he didn’t.

Now, about twenty minutes have passed and he’s officially about of reasons to hang out in the kitchen.

He sets everything on the tray and starts slowly toward their bedroom, hoping he’d bought his husband enough time for whatever he had planned.

“Hizashi,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the shuffling just beyond the door. “Let me in, my hands are full.”

“Just a sec!”

Shouta lets out a soft sigh and smiles down at the mochi. While he gravitated towards small, quiet displays of affection, Hizashi was one for large, impossible to miss ones. Shouta quite enjoyed their different styles of love.

He wouldn’t have married the man if he didn’t.

He waits patiently outside until the knob jostles and Hizashi’s face pokes out around the door. His face is a little pink, as if he’d been working hard, and more questions start popping up in Shouta’s mind.

“I uh...I thought we could do something a little different tonight,” Hizashi says.

With that, he steps away and pulls the door open, moving to the side to present the room to Shouta.

What he sees makes his eyes go wide and his mouth pop open.

Hizashi had always made the most of every minute, but this was unbelievable. In the brief moments Shouta had given him while preparing their snack in the kitchen, the blond had miraculously transformed their bedroom.

From the foot of the bed, Hizashi had draped several blankets over their desk chair, the computer chair from the office, a hamper, and what appeared to be one of the nightstands. The blankets were parted at the front. Inside were piles and piles of pillows, every single one from their bed, and all the little textured and patterned ones of every shape and size from the guest room next door.

The large, comfy looking pillow fort was not the most impressive part.

It was the thousands of sparkling, beautiful stars twirling over every inch of the hideaway and sneaking out from the cracks in the blankets to fill the surrounding walls and ceiling of their darkened room.

It was the well-used, dog eared, cracked binding copy of the History of Tool Crafting he’d read to Hizashi nearly every week when they’d first moved in together, sitting open to where he’d last left off among the pillows.

Shouta feels the tray in his hands shift and tears his eyes away from the twinkling scene to look down and see Hizashi’s hands gently sliding the food from his grasp. His gaze shifts up to his husband’s face, now covered in stars too, eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them, two little curved crescents as Hizashi beams at him.

Just like that, as Hizashi takes the burden from between his fingers the same way he takes so much else, the weight of the week is lifted.

“Zashi…”

“Hmm?” Hizashi questions as he brings the tray over to the fort and sets it inside. The mugs clink a bit, but otherwise nothing spills.

Shouta watches as his husband crawls in as well, settling among the pillows, picking up the book to pat the space next to him. On any other day, he might roll his eyes, tell Hizashi this is so unnecessary, put up some sort of grumpy fight just to concede and admit he loves it.

Tonight, though, it’s perfect.

It’s exactly what he needs.

It’s a tremendous gesture that has Shouta’s heart skipping happily in his chest.

He closes the bedroom, making the room a little darker, the stars a little brighter, and crouches down to slip beneath the blanket roof. He lies down beside Hizashi, careful not to hit the tray of food, and wriggles around until he’s comfortable, settling in and wrapping an arm around Hizashi’s shoulder, pulling the blond close against his side. Hizashi’s warmth feels wonderful against him, some part of his brain already beginning to clock out, thinking, you’re safe, you’re home.

He takes the book from Hizashi’s lap and opens it with the hand not slowly stroking its fingers up and down Hizashi’s waist. He leans into the other man and feels the blond snuggle in closer, turning onto his side a bit and throwing a leg over one of Shouta’s. Hizashi slips one of his arms behind the small of Shouta’s back and the other over his front, rubbing slowly over Shouta’s belly with his thumb. Every miniscule movement is relaxing, soothing, and after all the years of bringing out this book to calm Hizashi’s racing mind, to lull his lover to a proper rest, he thinks he might be the one dozing off a few minutes in this time.

Shouta turns to where they’d last left off, but pauses before he begins reading. Looking over at Hizashi and then leaning in to kiss his temple.

The blond smiles up at him.

“This is amazing, Zashi. Thank you.”

“Anytime, baby,” Hizashi says, then pushes up a bit to reach Shouta’s lips, pressing them together gently. When he pulls away, he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Shouta answers.

Hizashi shifts positions, sitting up slightly and causing Shouta to sink lower against his side. He rests his head on the blond’s shoulder and feels the weight of Hizashi’s fall gently atop his. Finally, he looks down at the text on the page, it taking a few minutes to focus, his vision already getting blurry around the edges.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to last too long.

Still, he begins reading aloud, his own low, monotone voice feeling a thousand miles away in his ears. He hardly registers what he’s saying, feeling only the slow, consistent rise and fall of Hizashi’s chest against him, the dragging of his husband’s thumb along his waist.

He begins to think he could spend his whole life here, under these blankets and stars, Hizashi’s warmth seeping into his muscles and bones, and never once get tired of it.

This was all he could ever want.

---

The book starts to fall backwards in Shouta’s hands, the pages having not been turned even once, as his husband’s fingers begin to loosen their grip. Hizashi catches it before it falls, holding back a chuckle as he feels Shouta’s weight get a little heavier against his side as the other man falls asleep.

It had to be a record.

Shouta had read two and a half sentences.

Hizashi pulls the book from the other man’s hands, closing it and setting it aside while trying to keep as still as possible. He pulls one of the blankets he’d left in a pile next to him just for this purpose over their bodies. Shouta wriggles a bit, lying lower, and Hizashi sinks down with him.

Tonight, he’s not going to need some boring book to shove away all the worries of his work, all the nagging duties he’d left back at the school or his studio or agency.

No, he felt light and happy, his brain flooded with memories just like this.

Moments of perfect silence, with Shouta filling all the empty spaces, bringing him back down to Earth, chasing away all the responsibilities and fear and pain, and replacing them with something else.

He reminisces about all those little moments like this, beneath the stars in one way or another, replacing them with love, with peace, with rest.

[eutaerpe]

in nuce (in fieri pt 2)

→ genre: The raven cycle!AU | a little bit of angst, a lil bit of fluff 

→ pairing: reader/Taehyung ft jjk

→ word count: 4k

→ description: Kim Taehyung knows that kissing his one true love means you’re inevitably going to die. He knows he shouldn’t even bother because he sees how Jungkook looks at you and him both, but that doesn’t stop him from calling you at midnight and picking you up and letting you feel his hot and uneven breath on your face.

→ a/n: hello!! i’m so sorry this took a while, but sophomore year happened. along with many other things. as usual, forgive me for any mistakes :( i hope you like this piece as much as i do!! :) x 

Jungkook hates driving your black BMW. He absolutely despises how well his calloused hands feel on the leather wheel, he loathes how comfortable it is, how silent and classy and rich it is.

You, on the other hand, love seeing him plopped on a seat that’s not the passenger one – shotgun, Jimin would have shouted in every other occasion, failing to occupy that desired seat, though today is an exception: there’s only the two of you in your expensive, hateful, practically never used car.

A small side of you – well hidden under all those layers of restless obliviousness - dreads to tell him it’s because you’re always in Taehyung’s car and your heart flutters when you see the older man drive, his hand in yours. Yet you don’t. Jungkook’s forehead is already wrinkled as it is, and you hate it. Sometimes it’s easier to picture what it would be like to ask Glendower for Jungkook’s happiness, instead of having him tired and broken around you.

“It’s just two hours,” you murmur, your right hand covering your left one, burnt by Namjoon’s culinary impracticalness. He almost cried, the other night, when he dropped the boiling water all over the kitchen – and casually almost cut you with his knife, but you don’t share this tad with Jungkook. You and Namjoon decided to stick to microwaved ramen after that, while you promised him you weren’t hurt. You’re not wholly hurt, at least. Just enough to make Jungkook drive because he knows (and you know) that this makes him feel powerful but not crucially enough to make Namjoon worry.

“I know,” Jungkook replies, rolling the sleeves of his black hoodie above his elbows, “don’t worry about me. Try to get some sleep while you’re at it, you know you’re the one who has to lead all our conversations later”.

Of course, you must, inevitably. That’s the perk of growing up in a well-mannered family, mother aspiring to be elected as senator in the next elections, father quiet, complying and greatly focused on his children’s future, a sharp-tongued brother who dressed like a Dior model and… you. Thriving to find your dead Welsh king.

Sometimes you wish angry-and-bothered Jungkook would stop looking at you with a distaste for your surroundings – “Envy”, Jimin once said. “It’s really not his fault, you’re the sweet little girl that has everything he has ever dreamed of, yet you steer as further as possible from your family” – because, given the chance, you’d give it all to him. You even told him, which, in retrospect, probably wasn’t a good idea, because he flinched, passed his hand in his dark hair and laughed so darkly you’d feared him. He had hovered you, looked at you, stroked your cheek and said “I don’t want to talk about this ever again. Please” and, somehow, that cracked your relationship. You wish you’d stop hurting him with your words.

“Alright.” you manage before you close your car’s door.

In two hours, you’ll be in Seoul – well, your parents’ luxurious mansion – facing your whole family and the whole city, being the good daughter that they’d raised you to be. It’s not as bad as it sounds, because this time there’s Jungkook with you. His scholarship-student, boyish, attractive face can charm off everyone you know: it’s a win-win situation for you two, as he can gain connections while you avoid making small talks with every person known by your parents.

It’s the only deal your parents expect from you – if you want to live in your apartment with Namjoon and Jimin, refrain yourself from attending their social gatherings during summer so that you can devote, once again, yourself to your quest (Glendower Glendower Glendower)… if you don’t want to give up your independence, well, you have to be there.

Jungkook is a steady driver. Precise, careful, safe. His eyes are fixed on the road above him, veins bulging in his arms, hoodie carefully placed over his black high waisted jeans. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to guess what’s on his mind. On the outside, he looks unfazed, one could think he almost never thinks or never worries, but. You know he faces his fears on his own, in due time, as he does with all those matters that he bears on his shoulders. One by one, he takes them off his body, deciding to win strategically, to defeat with logic and daunting calm his enemy. He’s indefinitely stubborn, that you know for sure. But… You want to stop thinking about what he might be thinking of. What he might be feeling. He barely sighs. Crossing your legs on the passenger seat, you’d wish he’d tell you.

“Guk,” your voice says before you even realize it, “’m glad you’re here with me.”

He swallows, hard, hands still fiercely gripping the wheel.

“I know,” he says at first, “I’m glad to be here with you.” then adds, voice much softer.

That makes you fall asleep peacefully. 

You remember less champagne and slightly more suits. You’re glad to see dozens of women owning their couture clothes and classy jackets, even though they’re wearing their best academic success, next in line CEO, future sad wife, better daughter-than-you smiles. Ah, what a daring exhibition. Very two-thousand-and-something of your parents. On a second thought, how rich of you to almost disapprove of the growth of alcohol in the room. Yoongi taught you better.

You give Jungkook your best help-me-forget-I’m-here smile. You like to think you gave life to this one, owning the patent and all. Not on sale yet, so no one even dares to wear it on their perfect and not-chapped lips, but Jungkook acknowledges it and his hand brushes yours to lower the frantic anxiety in your body. Thank God for Jungkook.

“Frankly,” a voice on your left startles you, “if I were you, I’d have chosen another dress”. The corners of your mouth threat to lift themselves up, and that’s how you know – with the raging chaos of the dining room – that Yoongi is talking to you.

“Yeah, but you know, avoiding Dior is my first priority along with showing up to mum’s birthday with a glass plate as a fucking gift”

He snorts. “You did like my gift, though, so you’re in no position to neither judge nor question my ability to lighten the lives of the people with loving presents.”

“Stop talking like mum” you hiss, crossing your arms on your chest.

His blond hair looks even more platinum these days. “Glad to know we’re resembling our parents more as we grow, kid. That worried look on your face gave off a dad vibe, if you know what I mean,” he gestures as he speaks, before eyeing Jungkook on your side, “Or maybe a vague daddy one? I know for a fact that you’ve been called daddy in the past- “

“Kids sometimes call each other mom and dad when they’re five”

“-unless I’m mistaking all this entirely and Jeon here is your daddy?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face. “How many times do I have to tell you? He’s not my-”

“Not fucking your sister, sorry to disappoint,” Jungkook interrupts, making your eyes bulge. He looks perfectly calm with his hands in the pockets of his black suit he changed into as soon as you came here. His forehead is showing, and you know for a fact that this simple detail is enough for making girls go down on their knees for him. But Jungkook is not like that. He’s usually calm, peaceful, charming, respecting Jungkook. Aglionby Jungkook is your Jungkook seventy-five percent of the time. Then there’s wild Jungkook – though not wild enough to drink and engage in your activities when you forget you’re yourself and remember you’re your brother’s sister. Wild yourself would terrify Taehyung. Or terribly amuse him. Honestly, you don’t know what’s worse. You don’t even want to find out the answer.

This Jungkook, though, is… altogether a whole new persona that comes to life when he has had enough of people like these in this room; or, you now realise, when he talks to Yoongi. All cocky, dry humored and sarcastic, and for that you curse your brother’s nature.

“Not for lack of trying, though,” Yoongi, in fact, insists.

“I mean, you’d have to visit to know, right? You’re just guessing we’re joined at the hip and spending our lives together—”

“And fucking in her BWM”

Jungkook promptly ignores him and smirks, the devil himself. “…but it’s all talk unless you come to check on her and take a look for yourself, uh?”

Your brother gets closer to Jungkook, eyes dark and looming in the younger’s ones. “No, no, you’re right,” he begins, playing with his ring, “My sister is philanthropic, charitable. She’d settle for…” he seems to weight his words, “I don’t remember, how’s he called?”

“Shut up. Yoongi,” you warn him, grabbing his wrists. “Just shut up”

“The new one? Taehyung?”

Jungkook goes rigid beside you and you snap. “Fuck off,” you push him away, “fuck off. Stay away from us unless you’ve sobered up. Give this jerk attitude to mum and dad and everyone who hurt you in this life, I couldn’t care less. But not to me. And not ever to Jungkook.”

Yoongi has the maybe-I-screwed-up face, his features twisted in a badly hidden fear. You focus on him for a second, but it’s enough for Jungkook to slide out of his position next to you and, in a swift move, he’s gone. Just like that. Lost among the guests. His erratic heartbeat almost quiet as opposed to the noisy chatter of the room.

“Y/N…”

Your brother’s voice falters.

“No, Yoon. I have to find him.”

Yet, fate is a funny thing. It tells Taehyung not to kiss people if he doesn’t want them to die while it brings Jungkook in his life. You in his life. Fate demands you to be your honest self, and you wish you could comply, but being Jungkook’s friend – that runs after him, takes care of him, shares pain with him – is hard to do when you can’t do any of those things. You can’t take care of him because he’s his own person, and he doesn’t need you like that. You can’t share his pain with him – nor take all his pain away – because he never shares. He never takes. He’d never take anything from you.

As for the last thing you wish you could do for him, well—you can’t exactly run after him if he’s faster than you, quicker, smoother, swifter.

(Better)

You physically can’t, if your own mother positions herself between you and the crowd Jungkook dissolved into.

“Daughter of mine!” she beams, eyes now crescents. “I missed you terribly.”

The last thing you see before she engulfs you with her warm hug is your brother’s stare – dark, quiet, not at all menacing. It terribly resembles Yoongi’s smile when he was younger and carefree. But it only lasts a fraction of a second. Yoongi gives you his back and disappears into the crowd.

A part of you, you think, holding onto your mother’s waist, wishes he’d go looking for Jungkook. But one can only hope, right? You wish Taehyung was here. He’d hold your hand. He’d knew what to do.

Jungkook, you reckon, a twinge of pain hitting you all at once, would want Taehyung here, too. 

The hauntingly beautiful mansion—yours, you remind yourself – is packed. Jungkook is still gone, out of sight, so as you exhale a silent sigh you run your eyes, for the nth time, once again through the people—the aged, rich, people that fit better than you in this daunting place. You scan through all the black cocktail dresses, you skim through the delighted expressions, past above the lingering faux happiness they decided to show to your guests. Yet, there’s no trace of Jungkook. What would you give to leave your mother and go look for him, his doe eyes fixated in your mind, lacking beside you.

Your mother winces at the volume of the conversation she’s now holding with an old politician in front of you—she grimaces for a split second, hands still covering her filled glass of champagne. Honestly, though? You couldn’t care less about the media strategies set to unfold the enigmatic yet, dear Mrs. Min, disruptive truth about—

“I think you’ve been right all along,” Professor Shin interrupts your trail of thoughts, a smug grin on his face. You excuse yourself – finally – and turn to him, suddenly excited. Professor Shin – Kim Shin, a charming university History professor that yes, has seen you grow up but, well, seems like doesn’t know what aging means – is probably the only one who firmly believes you’re right. (Glendower saved you. Glendower’s body is still out there. This is your call, for god’s sake.)

The fact that, upon hearing about your arrival, your father’s close friend has decided to meet you and grace you with this… assumption (statement, your mind decides. Truth, your heart suggests.) sends a small jolt through your body. You’ve been right all along. The words echo in your ears. You’ve been right all along. God. God, how you wish Taehyung was here.

This feels weirder than imagined. Closer to a dream, your brother’s vivid and blinding dreams, closer to when Jungkook sat next to you, eyes beaming, bunny smile in full display, and said: “I’m out my parents’ place.”

“I’m sorry,” you begin, a timid smile growing onto your lips, “Could you please repeat what you just said, Professor?”

He snickers, hands in his pockets. “I think you’re right about the ley line in Tokyo. The Tokyo SkyTree building?” – he vaguely gestures in front of your face – “It lies onto a Ley Line, which means that it has disrupted its flow of power into Tokyo itself. But the truth is, the building is… a lot more than just that. I can show you. You’d be delighted to read what I found out, miss Min. That curious friend of yours…ah, Jungkook, right? He’s already looking at my sources right as we talk. What do you say?”

A small pang of pain hits your heart—almost non-existent, you want to say, yet it’s growing and exploding through your limbs because Jungkook—your Jungkook, once again not your Jungkook—is already a step before you. Already thriving, already choosing, already living and smiling without you—yet you smile. You say yes. Just like Jungkook said yes.

The very same Jungkook that has his sleeves rolled on his elbows, his hair mussed and his eyes sparkling. Charming. Handsome.

(Living. Thriving. Smiling. Seeming at peace in your parent’s office, the libraries tall and imposing onto your figures, you two insignificant though blooming at the news.)

He spares a glance at you; his smile doesn’t falter, and this warms your pained heart.

“In simple terms, miss Min,” Professor Shin begins, “We should think of Tokyo as more than a ley line… ask yourself, what would happen if a ley line was to burst and exceed its physical limitations? The answer’s not its power would shatter into a million pieces, miss. The answer, as a matter of fact, is funnier. Wilder. The laws of nature are compact, precise, yet immensely fluid. Japan itself is a force of nature… let me explain; think of it as the feng shui rules. Think about the importance of placing certain objects in specific places. Think about the positive energies a right placement implies.

Now, the Tokyo SkyTree is standing tall, harshly, into a place not appointed for a building. The laws of nature act, at this point. Something so trivial, so languid as a building meant for humans, that will sooner or later cease to exist, broke the synergy of the ley line. The ley lines, eternal, right, powerful. Meant to exist for longer than we can imagine.” He pauses, a glint in his eyes. “The ley line disrupted its power everywhere near the building, imprinting it to Tokyo itself, I imagine. Perhaps even more than Tokyo itself. Now, a young student of mine suggested that this didn’t happen. That the building didn’t lacerate the ley line. That it just… cracked the ley line. Creating a portal. A mass of energy – an unfathomable flow of energy – concentrating in a point, asking for help, connecting itself to the rest of the ley lines in the world. That could lead to anywhere… anyone. To whichever body that lies into a powerful place.”

“To… Glendower.” Jungkook says, licking his lips.

“To Glendower.” You repeat, a conviction in your tone. “Whatever happened, we—I want to see it. I want to feel it. I need to go there.”

“I expected you to say that, miss.” He laughs. “I’m onto a new journey, and I wish you’d take part of it. Lead it, actually. You’re young—” at that, you snort, “But you have tons of experience. I’d like to conduct other experiments in Tokyo, in order to understand what happened, but as soon as I’ve gathered all the pieces of information, I’d like you to go there. So, I now ask you to wait. And prepare yourself. Can you do that for me, miss Min?”

Jungkook’s eyes fall on you and, sensing his disturb – he’s not in the picture. He’s suddenly not part of this game – you avoid his inquiring, hard gaze. “Yes, sir. Take your time. But I want to know—”

“—about everything I’ll discover. Of course.”

His phone rings. You’re sure it’s his because Jungkook lost his (did he really, though?), and you left yours in your room, away from yourself, away from the tempting though to call Taehyung and ignore the gathering altogether. You swore you wouldn’t jump at the first occasion to ditch the party—so here you are, longing for a connection with Taehyung, yet impossibly far from him.

“Excuse me, please.”

God. You want out. You want out before Jungkook says—

“You can’t do this alone—I’m in this, we’re in this together. What about—” his eyes are angry, his features scream madness, “What about Namjoon? What about Jimin?” he exhales, “What about me?”

What about Taehyung?

You can’t answer that, because he begins almost shouting again, “You can’t just think about yourself—this is about all of us. This involves all of us. So what? Just because you were there from the beginning—just because you can travel whenever the fuck you want, it’s easier to cut us out, huh?”

“Jungkook,” you plead, hands on his forearms, “Jungkook, listen to me…”

“If it’s a matter of pride—”

“It’s not!”

“—or worse, money—”

“You have to stop this.” You groan, hands in your hair. “You have to stop this, please. It’s killing me.”

Something in him must click at your words because he’s frowning and unbuttoning his shirt’s top button. “It’s not killing you,” he laughs, a sound void of sympathy, “It’s not.”

“It is! Stop invalidating my feelings—”

“You are, though! You’re crushing mine!”

You ignore his words, hands on your heart, tears threatening to come out. “I-I feel like I can’t talk to you! I always try to choose my words around you and—and it’s killing me. Knowing that you won’t understand—knowing that I’ll choose wrongly, that the next time is gonna be worse, because you’re slowly getting out of reach, you’re running away from me!”

Jungkook’s mouth is agape, his eyes wide. “That’s not true,” it’s his whisper.

“I don’t know what to do. I love you, but… this is killing me. I love you, but it’s useless because you’re getting farther away from me. And I don’t know… I don’t know how to keep you close.”

It’s hard to swallow when he looks so concerned, so out of control, so shocked at your words. But it’s the truth, isn’t it? He isn’t yours anymore. It’s sad to think that maybe he never was in the first place.

“You don’t love me.”

Those words throw you off.

You frown, you lick your lips, exasperated. “Yes, I do.”

This is excruciating. How can he not see? How does he not know? Jungkook, you want to scream, how can I make you believe?

“If you had to choose,” he begins, uncertain. You alert despair in his words. In how slowly he’s letting the words out. In how this is going to end badly—how easy it is for him to ask to choose him? Would you choose Taehyung? Choose me. Love me. “If you had to choose between me and Taehyung…”

“Jungkook, no.”

“Me and Taehyung.” He repeats, taking a step in your direction, gaze on yours, desperation clear, discomfort oozing out of his mouth. “Don’t think. Say a name.”

“I would never do this to you, and you know it.” His thumbs touch your cheeks, and you wish you were stronger—you wish you weren’t crying, you wish you could answer him. “Jungkook, please.”

He looks at you again—that’s the last thing you see before closing your eyes, letting your tears wet your whole face. You’re sobbing, forcing your mouth closed, even when he keeps caressing your soft skin.

“Y/N…”

“I do love you.” You force out, instead. “I do love you, Jungkook. But what about you?” your words are nothing more than a hushed whisper. “Do you love me? Or…”

You open your eyes. Jungkook’s still looking at you, eyebrows frowning. This mere sight makes you want to scream. Your words make you want to weep, uncontrollably. This is not fair. This isn’t what you had planned.

“Are you in love with me? Or are you in love with Taehyung?”

That’s the right question to ask, you want to cry out loud. That’s what’s nurturing you and him both—you’ve lived since birth a privileged life. You’ve always asked questions, you were always praised for your curiosity. Most especially, you were always given answers. But what about now? Why can’t he say—can’t he share the truth? Can’t he say he loves you, deeply, so terribly deeply, yet Taehyung makes him feel different? Makes he feel normal? Alive? Just a boy?

You do know it. You do know how does he feel.

As he blinks, pulling away, pupils desperate, you wish you could say: I know how he makes you feel. And again: I feel the same way. The truth: he makes me feel the same way.

You take a step back, drying your wet cheeks.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Another truth: I love him.

As you give him your back, you leave him alone in the office. But Jungkook doesn’t follow you.

(The truth you didn’t say out loud: you love him, too.)

It’s past midnight when Taehyung misdials.

He says it right away, first thing when you pick up, and you don’t believe him for a second.

“I misdialled. Didn’t mean to call you. To wake you up—”

“It’s fine.” You murmur, drowning in your warm bed. “I don’t mind. Wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

“Mhm.” He sighs, “Was the party okay?”

“As okay as it can be.”

“Vague.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Were the people okay?”

“Bearable as drunk Namjoon.”

“So, as bearable as my brother Seokjin when he hasn’t had his fair share of daily compliments.”

Your lips can’t help but curve into a smile. “Seokjin loves you, though.”

“So does Namjoon.”

You breathe out. “Yeah,” you swallow. “Yeah, he does.”

“What about Jungkook?”

Your heart is in pain. Damned Jungkook.

“What about him?”

Taehyung pauses, and you imagine him blinking, nodding to nothing. “I hope that, at least, the food was good.”

“Of course. Our chef has never disappointed the Min family.”

You faintly hear him chuckle.

“You okay?”

Here it is, the million dollars question. “I am now. I’m glad you misdialled.”

Taehyung doesn’t exhale. “Might do it again, dunno. Can’t really say I’m a fan of technology.”

“I’d answer,” you admit, voice lower than before, “If you ever were to misdial again.”

“Good,” he sounds pleased, “Wouldn’t want to waste the call.”

Taehyung bites the inside of his mouth, eyes checking into the dark kitchen he’s in.

“Sweet dreams.”

He waits for your tender “Night, Tae,” before hanging up.

That night, you sleep like a child. 

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 21/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany invites Santana over for Christmas supper; Santana should have known that the Pierce’s would all be as endearingly charming as Brittany.

Notes: Thanks for being so patient the past couple days! My school year started late so they pushed our end of term late too, so this week has been crazy busy but the chapter’s here now and it’s still on time in my timezone lmao.

Forgive any mistakes in this because I just did one last checkover while severely sleep deprived lmao. Tomorrow’s chapter will either be up early morning or late afternoon!

Chapter 21: hot chocolates and crackers and family smiles

///

Santana’s drifting in and out of a dream filled with blonde hair and blue eyes when she registers that her phone is ringing. She groans and buries herself further under her blanket, desperate for even a couple more seconds of sleep. After all the excitement yesterday she had thought she would immediately crash after crawling into bed last night, but she ended up wide awake for most of the night, her mind continuing to replay the disbelieving and overjoyed look on Brittany’s face once she saw her family sitting there in that back room. Despite all that she’s overcome and done in her life, she’s pretty sure her proudest moment was last night, when Brittany turned back to her with that tender, adoring on expression on her face that made it impossible for Santana to doubt that Brittany returns her feelings.

She’s, like, almost one-hundred percent positive that Brittany is as in love with her as Santana is with Brittany, because the look on her face last night was so simple and honest that Santana can’t imagine what else it could be.

Her phone stops ringing and she sighs, still drifting between sleep and consciousness, but there’s barely a moment of silence before it starts ringing again, finally tipping her towards consciousness. Santana grumbles as she emerges from her pile of blankets and glares at her vibrating phone on the bedside table. It’s a two show day, which means she really should answer her phone in case there’s some emergency at the theatre that desperately needs to be addressed, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to be happy about it.

She finally grabs her phone and answers it with a grunt that could, generously, be interpreted as a hello.

The laughter that answers her is like the best alarm clock in the world.

“Brittany!” Santana says, and instantly she’s wide awake. She wonders if she could record Brittany’s laugh and use that as an alarm instead of whatever prerecorded sounds are on her phone because it does a much better job of waking her up than her real one.

“Took you long enough to answer grumpypants,” Brittany teases, and the smile in her voice brings one to Santana’s face in return.

“I thought you where the ghosts of the theatre trying to get me to come in early,” Santana yawns.

“Forget the ghosts of Christmas past, the ones with bowties and too big egos are much more terrifying,” Brittany agrees with a laugh.

Santana hums and lets her eyes close, pretending, just for a moment, that Brittany’s voice isn’t coming through her phone and is instead right beside her. She imagines how nice it would be to be wrapped around Brittany right now; Brittany’s always so warm and Santana’s always so cold, and she always sleeps the best when Brittany’s breathing is the soundtrack for her dreams, her heartbeat lulling her to sleep like—

“—so would you like to?”

Santana blinks her eyes open, startling back to the present. “I’m sorry, what?”

Brittany laughs, high and fluttery, and Santana can hear the hint of nerves radiating from the sound. “Did you fall back asleep?”

“No,” Santana protests immediately, and then, after Brittany’s little disbelieving noise, she adds sheepishly, “Maybe a little?”

Brittany giggles and there’s a moment of silence where they just listen to the other smile before Brittany restarts her question. “I was saying, before you so rudely fell asleep on me—”

“Hey!” Santana protests around a laugh. “It’s not my fault you called at,” she pulls her phone away from her head to check the time, “seven thirteen in the morning!”

“—that Holly gave me the day off since my family’s here,” Brittany continues as if Santana hadn’t interrupted her, “and it would give Jane some real experience on stage. So I was wondering if you wanted to have Christmas supper with my family tonight?” she asks and basically causes all of Santana’s body to shut down as all functions are redirected towards trying to stop her heart from leaping out of her chest.

“Really?” she whispers, “I don’t wanna, like, intrude or anything.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Brittany hurries to insist. “My mom suggested it, actually, and I’d—” Brittany’s voice drops to a whisper and for a moment Santana feels like they might be the only two people in the entire world, “I’d really love it if you came.”

Santana’s heart swells in her chest until it feels too big and too bright for her body to contain it, and then just as quickly a sudden, disappointing thought strikes her and her heart crumples and shrinks like a crumped up paper towel. “Britt, I’d love to,” she sighs, “but it’s a two show day. I won’t be out of the theatre until, like, after eleven.”

“Well,” Brittany drawls sheepishly, “I may have mentioned that to Holly and she may have offered to give you the second show off, since you were hired on such short notice with no complaint and Holly said she really appreciated it and you deserve a little break and also so Quinn can get some more experience running the show. Only if you want of course!” Brittany adds hurriedly. “No pressure or anything! I totally get it if you don’t want to because you don’t know my family and I know they can kinda be a bit much sometim—”

“I’d love to,” Santana interrupts quietly, and she can hear Brittany’s teeth click as her jaw snaps closed.

“Really?” she breathes.

Santana grins into the darkness and snuggles further into her blankets, the warmth surrounding her nothing compared to the warmth in Brittany’s voice. “Definitely,” she promises.

Santana just listens to Brittany smile for a long moment, before Brittany manages a “Cool” that barely contains her happiness it’s so bright and warm. “You can just come over after the matinee or whenever. Mercedes and Sam are coming after the evening show too, so.”

“Okay, see you then,” Santana murmurs.

“See you,” Brittany whispers and there’s a beat of silence, a farewell missing that is unspoken but not unfelt, before they both whisper bye and the same time and giggle as they hang up.

Santana clutches her phone tightly in her hand and turns to bury her face into her pillow, willing herself not to burst from the dizzying force of the love that courses through her body, before she finally gets out of bed to get ready for the show.

///

Santana spends the entirety of rehearsals and the matinee being mercilessly teased by, in turn, Quinn, Mercedes, Mike, and then Tina.

At least Tina is helpful about her teasing; Quinn just smirks at her the entire morning of rehearsals and then even more during show, somehow both amused and haughty, Mercedes and Mike won’t stop making kissy faces and cooing at her the entire lunch break when she eats with them, both of them ganging up on her completely unfairly, but Tina is the only one who is actually useful while she’s teasing. She helps Santana redo her makeup after the matinee so its less I’m an exhausted production stage manager don’t talk to me or I’ll snap and more I’m confidently meeting my not-yet-a-girlfriend girlfriend’s parents despite not being confident, like, at all, and then helping Santana pick out an outfit without either of them even being near her closet because Tina just knows her so well.

“I can’t believe you’re actually worried about making a good impression,” Tina mumbles as she concentrates on getting Santana’s eyeliner just right, “You’ve already made such a good impression that I don’t think there’s any left for the rest of us.”

“That’s not how it works, twinkle toes,” Santana snarks.

“I know that you doofus,” Tina says with a dramatic eye roll, “I’m just showing you how absolutely ridiculous you sound for thinking even for a second that her family won’t like you.”

“I know it’s just—” Santana cuts herself off and looks away quickly. She looks so fretful that Tina doesn’t even scold her for almost causing Tina to draw a black line across her temple with the eyeliner. “If— If Brittany and I start dating,” Tina snorts a little because please they’ve basically been dating since the moment they met, “She’s never going to meet my family, unless they all pull their heads out of their homophobic asses, which will probably happen about the same time I marry a man, so never.” Tina quiets and gently strokes her hand over Santana’s shoulder until Santana finally glances back up with a slightly watery smile. “That’s why this is so important,” she continues quietly, “Because they’re— I don’t have anyone to introduce her to and— I mean—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tina coos before Santana’s tears can even fully form, “I get it. I know why this means so much to you— You’re getting the chance to have a family again.” Santana just nods, not trusting herself to speak, and Tina lets her wallow for a moment before she smiles a little. “But you don’t gotta worry about that. After yesterday I already know her parents adore you, and I only meet them in passing.”

Santana sighs and murmurs her thanks, tilting her head back up and allowing Tina to return to carefully applying Santana’s makeup.

“Tina?” Santana says quietly, and Tina hums a little in acknowledgement as she carefully taps the mascara brush to Santana’s eyelashes. “I already have a family,” she admits quietly.

There’s really nothing Tina could say to that statement than what Santana’s already said, so instead she just folds Santana into her arms and holds her tightly. “You know Mike and I have arguments all the time about which of us gets you for our future wedding party,” she jokes, as if this hasn’t been a real concern whenever Mike and Tina discuss their hypothetical future wedding, “Mike insists on claiming you as his best woman because you two are bros but I always call dips on you as my maid of honour because I knew you first and finders keepers, losers weepers, Michael.”

Santana’s laughter is muffled against her shoulder. “I should totally exploit this and make you duel each other for my affections.”

“Oooh that’s a good idea,” Tina says mock-seriously, and then, completely serious, “I’d crush Mike though.”

Santana giggles and settles again, her insecurity fading under Tina’s comforting embrace.

///

Santana hasn’t had Christmas with anyone besides her mom, and sometimes her mom’s chill younger sister when she’s in the country, since her abuela disowned her all the way back in high school. It’s stung deeply every year no matter how hard her mom would work to keep her mind from dwelling on the thought, but now, surrounded by the laughter and playful teasing of the Pierces, it feels like a distant memory of another life.

She’s spent the last four Christmases alone, but watching Brittany and her sister gang up on their dad with two rolls of wrapping paper while she helps Whitney cut up vegetables in the kitchen reminds her why she used to love the holiday so much when she was younger; back when her abuela would hold her hand at midnight mass and sneak her chocolates from her pocket when the minister wasn’t looking, when her and her cousins would terrorize the neighbourhood with their Crazy Carpets and sleds, when her mom would always wake her up in the morning so they could make homemade cinnamon buns, just the two of them, for breakfast before opening their presents, Santana’s presents always wrapped with care after her mom picked up so many overtime shifts to afford whatever Santana wanted for Christmas that year, her mom’s presents always sloppily handmade or cheaply bought with the money she got for walking Mrs. Sandia’s dog from down the street.

She forgot what it’s like to be surrounded by the joyful chaos of a family who loves so loud.

A hand on her arm startles her out of her thoughts and she jolts a little, turning to find Whitney smiling softly at her. “Penny for your celery,” she says quietly.

Santana glances down in surprise; she hadn’t even realized she was finished slicing the celery. She should probably pay more attention and not zone out when she has a knife so close to precious fingertips. She quickly sets the knife down and allows Whitney to reach across her and take the cutting board so she can dump the celery into the stuffing. “I just—” Santana starts, and then quiets for a long moment. “I just forgot how much I missed this,” she finally admits, quiet and honest. “My extended family didn’t really like that I’m— Well I haven’t seen them since I was in high school, and for so long it was just me and my mom which was perfectly fine with me. But then after—  After everything, it was just me after.”

Whitney sets the cutting board down and turns to pull Santana into a tight hug, her arms strong and warm just like Brittany’s always are and the thought makes Santana smile. “Blood doesn’t always create love,” she says wisely, and Santana’s eyes wander to the living room and catch on Brittany and her dad, giggling as they hang garland from the window.

They look nothing alike; Brittany’s about a foot taller and all California girl beauty, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and summer sun freckles where her dad is straight hair and coffee dark eyes and clear skin, but they have the same smile, one that quirks their lips up and spreads them thin, scrunching their cheeks up to their eyes until they’re actually glowing from within, a smile that Santana can’t help but return whenever she sees it no matter what’s going on around her.

How some people don’t think that Pierce is her dad because of something as dumb as biology is beyond her; she knows better than anyone that blood doesn’t mean anything unless you choose to make it mean something.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into Whitney’s shoulder, “For letting me crash your family-time today.”

Whitney shakes her head, pressing a motherly kiss to Santana’s temple as she pulls away, releasing Santana to brush dark hair back from her face. “Of course,” she says, her lips quirking up into a small smile as she playfully pinches Santana’s cheeks before growing serious again. “You make my little girl happier than I’ve ever seen her,” she continues, and heat prickles Santana’s cheeks, “and you made today possible, so, really, thank you.”

Santana’s still blushing when Brittany wanders into the kitchen a couple minutes later, her uninhibited smile growing wider as she watches Santana and her mom work side by side in the kitchen.

��What?” Santana says self-consciously, but Brittany just shakes her head wordlessly, refusing to say anything. She doesn’t have to, because between Brittany’s bashful-hopeful look and Whitney’s knowing smile, Santana knows exactly what Brittany’s thinking, and there’s nothing she wants more than for Brittany’s thoughts to come true, for her to be doing this with the Pierces for years to come.

///

After supper Whitney and Brittany disappear to her room to hunt for a deck of cards in her closet, one that Santana promises she one-hundred percent saw when her and Brittany were looking for Christmas tree ornaments the other day. Pierce is as goofy and sweet as his daughter, and Brittany’s sister is as snarky and teasing as her sister, and Santana takes great joy in watching the Pierces and matching their characteristics and mannerisms to Brittany’s, finding that she fits in with them as easily as she fits with Brittany.

After a couple minutes of being recruited into helping Brittany’s sister hunt through the kitchen drawers to see if there’s a deck of cards there, she heads down the hallway to see if Whitney and Brittany had any luck; she’s pretty sure the deck was in the crumbling cardboard box with half its lid missing that her and Brittany shoved to the very back of the closet shelf.

The sound of her name catches her attention as she nears Brittany’s room, and she slows to a stop and pauses outside the doorway. The light from Brittany’s lamp—the lightbulb in the ceiling light went out yesterday morning and Brittany hadn’t had time to replace it yet—spills out into the hallway and casts Brittany and Whitney’s shadows long and looming on the opposite wall as she concentrates on the conversation in Brittany’s room.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you have a girlfriend?” Whitney asks incredulously and Santana’s heart relocates to her throat, somehow pounding in her ears all the way down to her toes. “You’ve already told me so much about Santana this past month, you could have told me she was your girlfriend not just your friend, you know I don’t care who you date as long as they treat you right, and Santana so obviously does that.”

“No, it’s not— It’s not that— It’s just—” Brittany stutters, but her mom just continues to talk over her.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie,” Whitney promises, “your dad and I think she’s wonderful. And not just for flying us out here. I’d don’t think I’ve ever, in your whole life, seen you as happy and settled as you are around her, and she absolutely lights up whenever you walk in the room. You don’t have to be scared that we won’t approve or something. I mean how could we disapprove, we adore her already.”

“I didn’t tell you because she’s not—” Brittany stutters, and Santana can easily picture the soft flush to her cheeks, “We’re not— I mean, we are but we aren’t, you know?”

She can see Whitney shake her head in the shadow on the hallway wall. “I— I don’t think I follow.”

Brittany laughs a little, her shadow dancing a little with the motion. “It’s okay, I don’t think I was following either.”

Whitney’s shadow shifts closer to Brittany’s until they’re indistinguishable from each other. “Why don’t you try again?” she offers.

Brittany takes a deep, steadying breath, and when she speaks Santana can hear the smile in her voice. “We only went on our first official date on Monday,” she explains softly, “But we’ve kinda been unofficially dating, like, every single day since we meet, more or less.”

“So then,” Whitney’s voice trails off and Santana wonders if her brows quirk in the same way her daughter’s does.

Brittany laughs a little and it looks like her shoulders shrug by the way the shadows twitch near their combined heads. “I mean, you know me, I’m usually pretty content to just let whatever happens happen.”

“But you already know what you want,” Whitney says knowingly.

Brittany laughs again, her voice bright and happy. “Of course I do, I want to be her girlfriend for, like, a really, really, really long time.”

Santana’s pretty sure she stops breathing entirely. She had known, of course, or at least suspected, but hearing it said aloud kind of makes Santana want to run up to the rooftop and shout that Brittany S. Pierce, the most amazing and brilliant and snarky and sweet girl in the entire world, wants to be her girlfriend; no one else’s, just her girlfriend.

She takes a moment to compose herself before she sneaks back to the kitchen, finding Pierce and Brittany’s sister engaged in hot chocolate making.

“Did they find it?” Brittany’s sister asks as soon as she spots Santana.

Santana panics for a moment shrugs, opting for honesty. “I dunno, it sounded like they were having a serious conversation so I didn’t interrupt.”

Brittany’s sister eyes her for a moment—and Santana is suddenly thankful her blush is never too obvious to people who don’t know her really well—before she shrugs and turns back to the fridge to locate the whipped cream.

Pierce glances up from putting the kettle on and grins at Santana, who’s hovering awkwardly at the end of the kitchen counter. “Has Brittany ever taught you how to make our World Famous Pierce Hot Chocolate?” Pierce asks. Brittany’s sister catches Santana’s gaze over her dad’s head and rolls her eyes, circling her finger around her temple as she shakes her head, causing Santana to bite back a grin. When Santana shakes her head Pierce gasps, apparently scandalized and insulted by the fact. “Well we gotta fix that right away,” he insists, urging Santana closer, “Now it’s a secret family recipe but you seem to have a friendly face so I’ll trust you with it.”

Brittany’s sister snorts from across the kitchen at her dad’s antics. “It’s not a secret family recipe if you keep sharing it with people not named Pierce, dad,” she chides teasingly.

“Nonsense,” Pierce says with a wink in Santana’s direction, “Everyone in this household today is an honorary Pierce.”

Santana blushes at Pierce’s words—at the thought of being a Pierce—and listens avidly to the family recipe, feeling more Christmasy than she has in years.

///

By the time Santana—for the seventh time, not that anyone’s counting—gets her ass whooped by all the Pierces at every card game they know, the evening show at the theatre should just be calling half hour, which means there’s a half hour before the live action How the Grinch Stole Christmas is going to start. While Whitney and Pierce decline the next hand of Blackout and disappear into the kitchen to make popcorn and pull out all sorts of snacks, Brittany’s sister takes it upon herself to teach Santana the best way to beat Brittany. For someone who’s being ganged up on, Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen Brittany look happier; though she would be lying if this whole day, being so easily accepted into the Pierce family, hasn’t made Santana happier than ever either.

Pierce and Whitney emerge with snacks just as Santana successfully wins her first hand for the very first time all night, and Brittany’s pout at losing is completely useless because she has to hide her smile behind her cards; Santana can still see it in her sparkling blue eyes though.

Whitney and Pierce distribute snack bowls before sinking down in the couch, Brittany’s sister quickly claiming the third cushion, glancing between the only seat left, the armchair perpendicular to the couch, and Brittany with a challenging smirk.

Santana’s a little behind on the uptake, because before she knows it she’s being dragged off the living room floor and tugged down onto Brittany’s lap in the armchair. Brittany’s soft and warm and blushing under her, and Santana’s thankful for the darkened living room because it hides her own blush as she sinks into Brittany’s arms, Brittany’s admission to her mom earlier at the forefront of her mind.

“Hi,” Brittany whispers as Pierce searches through the channels to find whatever one is playing the movie.

Santana sucks in a deep breath; from where she’s perched she can feel every breath Brittany takes, every tiny movement of her thighs, every stroke of her hands over her own legs, burning her fingerprints into Santana’s skin with her touch. “Hi,” she manages.

The armchair is tucked into the corner, not private but a little bit removed from the other occupants in the room. Brittany adjusts them a little more, wiggling around underneath Santana until she can grab the bowls of snacks beside the armchair and pass them to Santana as she manhandles Santana until they’re both more comfortable, Santana’s butt tucked between the arm of the chair and Brittany’s thighs, her legs draped over Brittany’s so she’s curled completely into Brittany’s lap.

There’s still ten minutes before the movie so Whitney offers to get drinks for everyone, disappearing to the kitchen while Pierce and Brittany’s sister get into a discussion about the best Christmas movies of all time.

Brittany’s fingers tracing small hearts on her legs draws Santana’s attention away from an argument about the merits of Elf versus The Santa Clause, both of which are obviously inferior to Home Alone, the best Christmas movie ever, in Santana’s humble and obviously correct opinion.

When Santana meets blue eyes through the dim of the living room she’s suddenly struck by the realization of how much she wants to be doing this for the rest of forever.

“I’m really glad you came today,” Brittany whispers, her breath warm and sweet from chocolate and honey roasted peanuts, “I just— Having you here was just— It was—”

“I know,” Santana says quietly, her smile making her cheeks ache from how wide it is, “I know what you mean.”

Brittany hums and her hands relocate to loop around Santana’s waist and hug her tightly. Santana sighs and leaves the bowl of snacks in her lap to balance against gravity on its own as she wraps her arms around Brittany and nuzzles into her. “Yeah, that’s,” Brittany starts and then seems to lose her thoughts as Santana’s lips press fleetingly to the sensitive skin of her neck. “That’s,” she tries again, but then gives up and just cuddles Santana to her instead of trying to form a coherent thought.

Their snacks are long forgotten—as are their drinks once Whitney returns with them—as they just cuddle in the darkness and watch the movie, Brittany’s fingers trailing along Santana’s legs and Santana’s playing with Brittany’s hair, occasionally grabbing Brittany’s fingers to play with to throughout the movie.

Just as the Grinch is in the middle of stealing Christmas from the Whos, Brittany’s lips find her ear in the dark, pressing briefly to the peak of her cheekbone before they locate their target. “There’s nothing I want more than to do this next year too,” she breathes, like she’s standing at a wishing well with her eyes shut tight and a penny clutched in her hand, like she’s making her greatest wish in the world before flicking her penny into the darkness, like she’s hoping more than anything that it will come true.

Santana turns her head a little so she can look into Brittany’s eyes, her lips hitting Brittany’s nose on the way past. “Me too,” she promises quietly.

Brittany’s eyes soften and melt and Santana falls straight into the adoration and love sparkling there and she knows—she knows—more than she’s ever known anything else in her entire life, that she’s going to be falling in love with those blue eyes every single day for as long as Brittany will have her.

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

/1/ /2/ /3/ /4/ /5/ /6/ /7/ /8/ /9/ /10/ /11/ /12/ /13/ /14/

A/N: I’m soft af y’all. Who has brownies?

Chapter 15.

“Oh, my god.” The sleepy acknowledgement murmurs from my lips before I stretch my head back with a breathy laugh. “Are you serious?”

It takes a minute for my surroundings to come into focus in my consciousness. The early morning sunlight casts the faintest glow in the otherwise dim bedroom. The feel of cool, soft sheets beneath me reminds me I'm still half asleep.

But that doesn't last long as I recognize the feeling of Noble’s hand stroking my morning arousal and I'm easily stirred awake.

I feel the heat of his mouth there and helplessly, my hips tilt into him. A gravelly moan thuds in my chest at the sensation. With my eyes still closed, I appreciate him there, my muscles completely slack and I fixate on nothing but the rush of dreamy warmth that swells in my core. My god.

He drags his tongue along my shaft as he barely pulls away to tell me, “I'm very serious. But I can stop if you've got places to go.”

A lazy smile stretches on my face and I reach down to rake fingers through his hair. “Don't.” I laugh softly. “Don't stop.”

“You slept naked so this is what happens,” he reasons. “Don't blame me.” Then he dips down on my cock again, a slick path to the back of his throat that prompts another noisy groan from me.

I arch back on the pillow, managing a hard swallow as I grasp his hair and mess it up even more than I know it is.

We both take our time, him with perfect slow strokes while I do my best to temper the rush of a building climax. I push away in my mind the reality that he leaves today. I only want to be aware of what we have in this exact moment.

I let my mind cloud. Desire and throbbing pleasure and things I typically never let settle there for long -- especially first thing in the morning -- take over.

I reach down, my hand coasts up the back of his neck, down between flexed shoulder blades, anywhere I can touch him. And his touch seems to have a similar pursuit, the stroke of his fist, his sneaky fingers that I'll never deny are my biggest fucking weakness now.

I hold out for as long as I can, but he's found a rhythm that makes my head spin and I let myself unravel into that gratifying payoff.

He renders me powerless. I don't even think I can move for a minute as I manage a deep breath that fills my chest. “Well good morning.”

Backing away, Noble sits up on his knees before he tips forward over top of me. There he catches himself on his hands with a chipper, impromptu push-up and drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Morning handsome.”

“You ruin me, you know that.”

One of his eyebrows flicks, intrigued. “Good. That's the plan.”

“No.” I groan the word and pull him down on top of me. “You can't just do that and leave town.”

He inhales deep into the side of my neck and lets out a little whimper of his own. “It won't be long before I'm flying your ass down to Miami. Don't be surprised.”

“I'll bring my Ray-Bans and not a lot else.”

He props himself up and peers down at me. “No, just your ass can come. I don't want like, your face and your personality and stuff--”

I knee him in the ribs before he can finish and he collapses against me, cracking up. “Get out of here, then,” I chuckle. “I'm all done with you.”

His laughter dwindles down to a weary moan before he leans in to bite my shoulder, then presses a few kisses across my chest. Pressing his forehead there for a quiet pause, he seems to concentrate on the thud of my heartbeat.

It feels heavier. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut whenever one of us is about to make that unavoidable departure. And this time, that familiar weight comes with jumpy nerves because what we are has been solidified -- with labels and acknowledgment of feelings.

On the one hand, being with him is so easy. It’s a connection and an attraction that I never tried for, it’s just there. In the past, when I’ve dated, there was a back-and-forth and then this sort of expectation of more that I just went with. Meanwhile, I was constantly in my head, never really feeling anything. I just figured it was a process and I was serving the role of a guy dating a girl, and assumed I was doing it right.

With other people, I’ve always had to tell myself to take the next step, but with Noble, it’s like I had to hold myself back from more with him since the beginning. And now that we’ve indulged it, I want to just be with him without thinking about a damn thing.

But on the other hand, I know that what’s ahead of us is entirely more complicated. I tell myself it doesn’t have to be. He makes me happy. We’re good for each other. But the reality is there’s so many more layers to it, obstacles that are bound to trip us up once we step outside the hidden little world we choose to exist in.

Noble manages a deep inhale as we shift to separate and he sits up. “Are you hungry?”

I shrug, reaching up to idly scratch fingers through my hair. “I could have coffee.”

He nods, glancing away. We’re both feeling a little too uneasy, dreading the undeniable, to eat much. “How would you feel about going out? There’s an espresso bar a few blocks west.”

“Yeah, that works.”

It’s sort of a no-brainer agreement that later starts to stir up questions in my head as I finish getting ready. Going out to breakfast with Noble seems more indicative of some kind of romantic relationship than the sushi dinner we had together last month. I don’t know why. Something about the morning. Daylight and honesty without the armor of alcohol and tricky city neon and other distractions that night affords us.

Out in the living room, we gather up jackets and shoes. I’m in jeans and a deep green sweater while Noble dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt is some pretty good competition against the way he looks out of clothes.

“What time's your flight?” I wonder as we make our way down in the quiet elevator.

He glances at his own watch then peers up as the floor numbers descend, a hard swallow clenching his throat.

Fuck me, this sucks.

“At twelve.”

Reaching out, I scratch my fingers across his upper back and give him a reassuring squeeze there.

Softly, he sniffs a laugh and looks over at me. “I'm kinda bummed, Jay.”

“I know. Me too.”

Then he huffs a loud exhale as if he's attempting to shake off the mood. He clears his throat. “Alright, sorry. I won't be like that.”

I slant a half smile as we exit the elevator and head through the lobby. “Let's get you some coffee.”

“So are you going to your dad's for dinner later?”

My head bobs with a slight nod and I slip my hands in my pockets. “Yep.”

“No church though?”

Exhaling a scoff, I have to smile. “No. Not today.”

“Sinner.” He whispers the scolding tease, then bumps his elbow against mine.

I laugh to myself as I glance down at the sidewalk. “Nah. I don't feel like one. Which is good. Usually compulsive guilt is my downfall.”

“Maybe I'm a bad influence.”

“The only thing I feel guilty about is lying to my family.”

Noble inhales deeply as if to ponder it. He hasn't pressed me about when I planned on informing anyone I know about us. “Yeah? Would telling them the truth alleviate any of that?”

I blow a hard breath through puffed cheeks and consider it. God, the idea of confessing any of this at home makes my stomach drop. “How much of the truth?” I question.

He chuckles, that charming smile pulling at his cheeks. “There's a lot to unpack, huh? It's like, oh, and another thing…”

“Right.” I laugh. “Where do I start?”

“Do they like tiramisu? I can make it and send you with some and then any negative thoughts they might have would be crushed.”

“Okay, we could start with that.”

“Or get them really drunk and just kind of slide the news in there before you head home.”

“That's the thing.” I reach up to scratch the back of my head as we wait to cross the street. “I don't want it to be some big announcement. I'd rather just let them know as it comes. One on one, you know?”

“Well maybe just start with one person. Whoever might feel like the easiest to tell.”

I nod as we move forward up the block.

“Only if you want to,” he adds. “I'll be your shameful little secret for as long as you want. You know that. It's kinda hot anyway.”

I can’t help tip my head back, a heavy laugh in my chest. “You think I feel that way?”

“No,” he smiles as we approach the coffee shop. “But I mean, you know. It's not as simple as introducing some girl you met at the gym or whatever.”

“I've never been that simple anyway.” I shrug as Noble grasps the door handle there and pulls it open for us before I decide, “So they'll find a way to understand.”

***

By the time we return to the penthouse, Noble only has a little time to finish up his packing and get ready to go. I try to numb myself, to put on my blinders and accept the goodbye. I retrieve my backpack and drop it near the kitchen as I come closer to him.

“Come here, you.” I reach a hand along the back of his head and tip my mouth up to his. The kiss is brief, cut off before any of his heat can lure me in for more. “I'm gonna get out of here,” I murmur.

“Please go.” But he sneaks in one more kiss, strong hands gripping my sides. “Before I get sappy on you and say some shit I can't take back.”

I can feel his breath on my lips and mine flick with a smile at the reminder of him. The faint taste of espresso, the mint he had after, and the otherwise familiar, calming scent of him lingers there. Gently, I squeeze his hair between my fingers and run the tip of my nose across his cheek. “Sappy.” I echo the word back to him with a soft laugh. “Well now I want to know. I might like it.”

“Ugh.” All he can manage is a weary groan and he brushes another kiss along my bottom lip.

Tilting my chin up, I peer down at him. “Shit you can’t take back like I love you?” I let the words out but then holy fuck, a scorching ache pierces my chest when I do. “Like that kinda shit?”

“Dammit,” he mutters, tipping his head down to exhale his amusement toward the ground before he glances back up. “Yeah dude, I love you. And I tried really hard not to say it--”

“Don’t do that.”

“Okay.” He whispers his easy agreement.

“I love you too,” I tell him. Glancing up, I drag my fingers across his hair, taming some of the unruly waves that I find fucking adorable. “And I’d never take that back, alright?”

He nods and I see the way his jaw clenches with a hard swallow. And before the sentiment settles inside either one of us too long, just when I feel that sting in back of my throat, I manage a step back.

“You gotta get back,” I remind him.

“Go.”

I lean down and grasp my backpack and sling it onto my shoulder. Offering him the lazy drop of my hand, I let it land into his open palm in a hard clap and then I tug away. I meet his gaze once more, reassuring with a heated spark that’s always there, part infatuation, part promise, before I turn for the door and make my way out.

[vaguely-concerned]

McHanzo Fantasy AU

Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, PG-13, 2 400 words

Heavily inspired by the art of @nickutried, in particular this post right here — please check it out if you haven’t already, it’s good stuff!

On AO3 

The dragon is watching the sunset as its twin lies curled up asleep next to it, letting out a low humming snore that sounds like nothing so much as a giant cat purring. When it spots Jesse it ducks its head in acknowledgement, a formal yet oddly cordial gesture.

Jesse tips his hat and takes up position next to a gnarled tree valiantly clawing for purchase on the craggy hillside. Beneath them the valley is dappled with golden light, patterns shifting as the sun goes down.

“Nice view,” Jesse comments eventually.

“Indeed. I trust you are well?”

The rumble of the dragon’s voice is like distant thunder in his mind, even as its mouth doesn’t move.

“Sure. Thanks for askin’.” Maybe he’s just going crazy but he thinks he’s getting used to the sheer size of them; having them towering in his peripheral vision has somehow gone from deeply unsettling to comforting over the last half a year or so.  

The dragon tilts its head as if in polite inquiry. “You two have seemed busy today. Is he still doing better?”

Now that they seem confident their master’s wounds will all heal they have dialled back on the mother henning, to Hanzo’s obvious relief, but they still grill Jesse about how he’s doing from time to time as if he is privy to something they’re not.

“Yeah, think so. He’s just finishin’ up some training stuff,” Jesse says, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder towards the tent. “Apparently tossing me around like so much lint doesn’t quite cut it on its own.”

To be fair to himself it’s not like he’s really a pushover when it comes to the hand to hand stuff — he has survived enough bar brawls unscathed to prove that much, at least — it’s just that Hanzo seems to be made of different stuff than mortal men that way. Jesse has a sneaking suspicion that Hanzo considers him a sort of glorified free weight in these situations, but he can’t really say he minds. The sparring is nice, actually; it’s been a while and when you find him in the right mood Hanzo’s a surprisingly patient teacher. Never too late to pick up some new tricks.

(If Jesse has some less honorable reasons to not mind Hanzo pinning him to the ground with amused, fluid ease… that’s neither here nor there, and no one ever needs to know.)

“Have you decided where to go from here?”

“We’re looking to head north tomorrow. Mark seems to be tryin’ to shake us through the mountain passes, so we’re gonna cut him off half way.”

Considering that only one of the involved parties has the advantage of actual flying dragons… Jesse’s not too worried about this one. He’d almost feel bad for the guy, if he made a habit of feeling bad for men who have lined their own pockets by sending children to their deaths in unsecured mines.

It makes a vague sound — the dragons seem wholly disinterested in the details of any job beyond what’s needed to keep Hanzo safe. Jesse guesses that if he were a hundred feet long and could generally fit anyone trying to mess with him into his mouth in one chew he’d take the long view more too. “You are staying with us, then.”

Jesse clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “At least until the end of this job, sure.”

The dragon blinks its huge eyes at him with indulgent amused knowing. Jesse feels the tips of his ears grow warm and tilts his hat into his face slightly. Man, he needs to work on getting his poker face back in place.

“This is good,” the dragon says simply.

“Yeah, well.” He’s still smiling, though, doesn’t quite know how to make himself stop. Folding his arms over his chest he stands there a while soaking up the last warmth of the setting sun. The air is clear and sharp up here, like autumn’s making an early guest appearance.

He lights a cigar, trying to gather both the courage and the words he needs. As nice as all this has been — is, he supposes — he still doesn’t know the why of it, and it’s been bothering him.

Finally he says: “Y’know, I keep meanin’ to ask… Back there, when you found me. Why’d you choose me to help him, of all people? I’m hardly the kinda guy you reach for when you need a medic.”

The dragon takes some time to answer. “There was a recognition; there is something alike in you. You feel the same.”

“And how might that be.”

No pause this time, no need for deliberation: “Homeless.”

Jesse leans back against the tree, crossing his legs at the ankles and not looking away from the horizon. “...well.”

The dragon tips its head to one side pensively. “Does this surprise you?”

Jesse buys some time by breathing in a lungful of smoke and letting it out slowly. “No,” he says. “S’pose it doesn’t. Could’ve just asked me, though, instead of trying your claw at kidnapping.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Well, I sure as hell almost said no after bein’ dangled by the scruff of my neck over twenty miles of rocky countryside, you might as well have given talking a shot first and gone from there.”

The dragon chuckles. It sounds a little like a jovial earthquake. “Your insight, as always, is most illuminating. I will take it under consideration for next time.”

“What, you got plans to snatch someone else? Lookin’ to replace me with a better model so soon?” He means it as a joke.

Lowering its head the dragon bumps its snout against his chest, absurdly gentle for such a humongous thing.

“No,” it says, gazing down at him. This close you can’t help but smell it, like the scent in the air just before a thunderstorm and the sharp used fireworks tang of magic.

Jesse tries to meet its eyes but has to look away — still, he reaches out and lets his hand rest on its head, hoping that says what he doesn’t know how to. The dragon closes its eyes and turns into the touch like a cat. An enormous, scaly, startlingly-hot-to-the-touch cat conjured out of inexplicable arcane forces. Brushing his thumb over the smooth blue scales he wonders again where the hell Hanzo comes from to have ended up here, this wealth of magic bound to him and full up with ghosts like a haunted house of a man. He’s seen enough to know it wasn’t anywhere good, but then that’s a safe bet for anyone living the way they do, drifting from place to place and job to job.

Everyone out here carries their own ghosts with them, yeah, but Hanzo seems uniquely loyal to his.

Jesse’s left hand looks less unnatural against the pattern of the scales somehow, like the metal could have grown into the shape organically instead of under a hammer. Perhaps he should’ve asked Torbjörn to add in some filigree or engravings or whatever when he’d had it made, soften up the look of it a bit.  

“Hell, what do I know,” Jesse sighs, letting his hand fall away. “Maybe kidnapping was the right call in this case. Not like anyone’s gonna miss me.”

“No?”

“No.”

Not now, and perhaps, in truth, never; for a while there he’d thought… well, easy mistake to make. Happens to the best of us. Half of them are dead now, anyway.

“He would. If you left.”

Jesse looks at his feet and doesn’t answer.

“He has been alone for a very long time,” the dragon says. “He has never let anyone stay before.”

An image flashes through his mind: Hanzo lying broken on the ground the first time he saw him, all that blood slicking the grass. Jesse flinches a little, shaking his head to make it go away. “He ever get hurt like that before?”  

“Never. Before this I had not even seen anyone land a blow on him if he did not intend them to. He closes off his mind and refuses to tell us why he let them…” The dragon trails off. “Hm. I suppose his reasons are his to share or to keep as he wishes. Perhaps you could ask him, though.”

Jesse snorts, scuffing his heel against the ground. “Sure, that’ll go over well.”

“Hm?”

“Listen, my ma used to tell me both that you don’t gamble with somethin’ you’re not happy to lose and that only idiots go around opening old wounds expecting anything but blood. Smart lady — never had reason to doubt her before.”

“Could one question really change everything? You think yourself so insignificant?”

…I don’t want to have to leave again. Not this time.

“I’ll think about it, how ‘bout that,” Jesse says. “If the… moment seems right or whatever.”

The dragon lets him off the hook, giving a thoughtful hum and gazing back out over the valley.

After twenty minutes or so Hanzo turns up, clearly having had a quick wash in the nearby stream, shirt carelessly open and his hair down, still damp and tangling over his shoulders — it’s grown out a bit in the time they’ve known each other. Jesse takes a deep pull on the cigar.

“Hello again,” Hanzo says as he reaches out to absent-mindedly stroke the head of the sleeping dragon, who stirs amicably and cracks one eye open. You can see the pink lines of the scars on Hanzo’s chest through the opening in his shirt when he lifts his arm like that, too raw for Jesse’s liking even now but still healing.

“Hey,” Jesse says, giving a little wave with the cigar. Hanzo glances at him from behind a curtain of dark hair, his mouth soft with a small smile — he always looks more relaxed after a workout, as if he’s managed to burn away some of that tight terse restlessness he carries himself with. Those first few weeks of bedrest must’ve damn near killed him, in hindsight. “All wrapped up?”

“Mhm. You two — we have a long flight ahead tomorrow. You are free to hunt the rest of the night,” Hanzo says, giving the dragon’s flank a friendly slap. “Be back before dawn.”

The newly awoken dragon gives an anticipatory shiver, and were it just a smidge less draconically regal and dignified you get the feeling an excitable ‘fuck yeah’ might enter the picture right about here. It uncoils itself, exchanges looks with its twin and then gives a blithe nod to Hanzo and Jesse before rising up.

They take off and as always it’s disconcertingly quiet — some part of Jesse’s brain is still trying to argue that nothing that massive should be able to fly, never mind so silently. One of them twirls in a loop in the air on the way up, seemingly in a simple fit of joie de vivre. Jesse chuckles.

“Someone’s about to have a fun night out, anyway.”

Hanzo gives a noise of agreement as he folds his arms and leans against the tree next to Jesse, close enough that Jesse can feel the warmth of him along his side. It’s a peculiar, delightful sort of torture.

“So long as they do not overdo it and get careless again. If we are set upon by another huddle of villagers with pitchforks and torches I will be less than pleased.”

“I dunno, being mistaken for an evil sorcerer was kinda flattering, in a way. A class above the stuff people tend to want to arrest me for on sight.”

Hanzo huffs. “If not for your quick thinking we might have had to fend them off by more direct means. They should have fallen to their knees and thanked you.”

“Hell, if everything could be solved so easily by settin’ off some fireworks and shouting a lotta mystical-sounding mumbo jumbo…”

Grinning down at his feet Hanzo gently bumps their shoulders together. “It was an inspired move, I grant you that. If… characteristically unorthodox.”

“And I’ll stop bragging ‘bout it when I’m dead, that’s the one fuckin’ thing I’ve gotten right in years.”

His shoulder feels warm for much longer than it should from the brief contact, his chest even longer from the sound of Hanzo laughing. They watch the dragons fly away until they’re just faint pinpricks on the horizon.  

Hanzo pulls his hair away from his face, the fading light playing over the silver at his temples. He shoots Jesse a look as he ties it back.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jesse says, kicking away from the tree. “Let’s get some stew goin’. You cut the cabbage, I’ll do my best with the spice we got left, it’ll be good.”

Hanzo grins a little as he does up a few buttons on his shirt. “Mhm, no hunting for us until tomorrow. I fear our evening may have to be a little more mundane.”

“Guess we’ll just have to make our own fun,” Jesse says, feeling all blood leave his face as his brain hears what his mouth just said and in what tone.

“Perhaps if we drink for long enough you could even beat me honestly in a game of cards,” Hanzo says breezily, thankfully sauntering off like he hasn’t picked up on the innuendo Jesse hadn’t quite meant to slide in there.

“Hey, that’s lies and slander, I’ve won my fair share of rounds,” Jesse protests, scrambling to follow him when he throws a glance over his shoulder.

“Because you cheat.”

“Because I cheat,” Jesse agrees, slinging his arm companionably over Hanzo’s shoulder. “That’s half the game, the gettin’ away with it. Doesn’t get more honest than that. I could teach you some of the tricks of the trade, if you’d like, never know when you might need an ace or five up your sleeve.”

“Who could turn down an offer like that?”

When he’s honest with himself Jesse can admit that the way Hanzo’s eyes narrow when he laughs makes him want to go all in with a bad hand, even if he knows he should by all rights have folded and walked away from the table months ago. Amari had been right all those years ago; he never did figure out how to quit while he’s ahead. It can only be a matter of time before his bluff is called and Hanzo realizes he’ll always be more trouble than he’s worth — but, well. He’s not proud. He’ll take what he can for as long as his luck will let him.

“We’ll make a proper scoundrel of you yet,” Jesse promises, the twilight settling around them as they walk.

  Needless to say while Jesse’s freaking out about this, Hanzo lies awake at night staring up at the inside of the tent going ‘But how do I let McCree know how loved and wanted he is???’ haha, I am nothing if not predictably On Brand at all times  

I’m not sure yet if I’ll write more for this AU or not, I just wanted to write something inspired by nickutried’s art for such a long time! If I do end up doing it it’ll likely be a longer more involved affair so please don’t hold your breath, you WILL die and I can’t be responsible for that D:

[fortylessonsbeforeforty]

Lesson 26

I learnt that goodbyes never get easier to say but they are a beautiful part of life. Goodbyes come in all shapes and forms; some catch us by surprise, others are inevitable; some are by the doing of others, whilst some we reluctantly need to do for ourselves. We learn so many different ways of saying goodbye; Adios, Arrivederci, Au Revoir, Ciao, Auf Wiedersehen, Sayōnara. Whatever the context, and regardless of the language, I’m not sure goodbyes ever get any easier to do.

When I was younger I remember hating the thought of saying goodbye. I have a vivid memory of watching The Flying Doctors with my family and getting so emotional when a character had passed away that I went to the bathroom to cry alone. In my early twenties, I remember having the epiphany that one day my Grandparents would pass away and it was the first time I realised the inevitability of having to say goodbye to people I’d known and loved my entire life. I really resonated with the Natalie Imbruglia song, ‘What’s The Good In Goodbye’

What’s the good in goodbye When there are no reasons why When you’re gone I have nothing you know I don’t wanna say goodbye When there’s heaven in ‘hello’

As I’ve grown up, I’ve realised goodbyes are a natural part of life and they don’t always have to be sad. From the moment I saw this quote it struck a chord with me and I’ve used it ever since: “It’s not goodbye, it’s just see you later.” It would be impossible to keep count of the number of goodbyes I’ve said in my life; leaving school and saying goodbye to people I’d spent so many years growing up with, who for some you may never see again, others you may naturally drift away from. Moving away from home, the goodbyes to family that I will go from seeing almost daily to only seeing them at holidays or for significant events. Goodbyes to friends, lovers and colleagues; it is the inevitable and constant comings and goings of people in life.

Even when people leave our lives, they aren’t completely gone, even in death. There are photographs, videos, letters and the memories that we keep in our heads. For this reason, goodbyes can be a little easier to deal with, even those that have dearly departed. Patrick Droney speaks so beautifully about his song ‘Glitter,’ which explores the theme of grief. He says, “Consider for a moment your life as an art project. Grief stands out as one of the messiest strokes of life, like glitter scattered across the floor after a collage. The beautiful and shiny memories of people stick to you, as does the absence of them…when you think someone’s memory is gone, you find a piece of them still shining somewhere in your life. A piece of glitter.” The song has this feeling of hope shimmering along with sadness when someone leaves, and there is always beauty in the memories that remain.

But no one really dies if the love remains ’Cause nothing that dies really goes away See grief, it’s just like glitter It’s hard to brush away Bright light and it still shimmers Like it was yesterday And it falls like confetti All of the memories explode like a hand grenade And it’s sweet and it’s bitter Grief, it’s like glitter Oh, what a mess it makes What a mess it makes

A song that really touched me when my Gran passed away was ‘The Place Where Lost Things Go’ from ‘Mary Poppins Returns.’ It bought me great comfort, not only from the sentiment in the lyrics, but also the fact that the original movie was one that I had watched countless times with her, singing along to the lyrics that she had handwritten in a notepad for us.

Memories you’ve shared Gone for good you feared They’re all around you still Though they’ve disappeared Nothing’s really left Or lost without a trace Nothing’s gone forever Only out of place So when you need her touch And loving gaze Gone but not forgotten Is the perfect phrase Smiling from a star That she makes glow Trust she’s always there Watching as you grow Find her in the place Where the lost things go

I’m not entirely sure where the place is that the lost things go, but I choose to believe it’s within us. It’s been two years since she passed away and I still see her in my dreams, sometimes forgetting that she’s gone and think to call her on my drive home, (like I did so often after leaving home). I really felt her presence the afternoon I had high tea at Buckingham Gardens. It would have been something my Gran would have loved to do and I know she would have loved hearing my tell the story of going, asking to see all the photos I took. It was in this instance I knew she’d never be truly gone, as long as I had her memories, images and voice in my head and held onto the traditions she is a part of.

I’ve found the most difficult goodbyes are the ones you know you have to make to people or situations that no longer serve us positively. We cling to them and resist letting go, because so much of our past is tied to them and the hopes we have for the future. I’m quite a loyal person, but I’ve learned that there comes a time, when we need to put ourselves first. There is strength in saying goodbye to people and situations, acknowledging that in the short term it will hurt, but in the long run it’s the right thing to do. @taylorswift sings about this in ‘it’s time to go.’

That old familiar body ache The snaps from the same little breaks in my soul I know when it’s time to go

Sometimes giving up is the strong thing Sometimes to run is the brave thing Sometimes walking out is the one thing That will find you the right thing

Somewhere along the way we learn to say goodbye despite the pain we know it will bring, even when there is a desire to hold onto something that’s already gone. Some of the hardest goodbyes for me have come with leaving the schools I’ve taught at. Whilst I have many amazing memories in each of them, I’ve always reached the point of knowing that to continue growing, I need to leave. There is always the tendency to tell myself, “I just need to see this year level through to graduation,” or “Once I finish this project, it’ll be my time to go.” I’ve found that there will never be a RIGHT time to leave, no matter the various reasons we build in our heads as to why we need to stay. Despite some of the negative experiences that may have occurred, I’ve learnt to not harbour ill feelings and choose to see the good there was before ties are severed and the necessary goodbye has been said. There’s an amazing monologue in the Netflix film ‘Someone Great’ that describes this perfectly. The protagonist, Jenny, pens a letter to her partner, as a way of not only finding closure from their relationship, but acknowledging the good there was.

Do you think I can have one more kiss? I’ll find closure on your lips and then I’ll go. Maybe, also, one more breakfast, one more lunch, and one more dinner. I’ll be full and happy and we can part. But, in between meals, maybe we can lie in bed one more time? One more prolonged moment where time suspends indefinitely as I rest my head on your chest. MY hope is if we add up the one more’s, they will equal a lifetime. And I’ll never have to get to the part where I let you go. But that’s not real, is it? There are no more ‘one mores.’ I met you when everything was new and exciting, and the possibilities of the world seemed endless. And they still are. For you. For me. But not for us. Somewhere between then and now, here and there– I guess we didn’t just grow apart……we grew UP. When something b r e a k s, if the pieces are large enough, you can fix it. Unfortunately, sometimes things don’t break. They s h a t t e r. But when you let the light in, shattered glass will glitter. And in those moments — when the pieces of what we were catch the sun — I’ll remember just how beautiful it was. Just how beautiful it will always be. Because it was us. And we were magic. Forever.

I don’t think there’ll ever be a time where I find that goodbyes get any easier, but I know from my change in mindset, I’ve found a way of finding the good in goodbye.

[thomaspatterson1989]

Cat Spray On Furniture Eye-Opening Diy Ideas

These are American natives and have no control over which may occur at an early age to neuter your cat.This goes away shortly even if they decide to bring out on your part.There are few genuinely good home if you are determined to have a new baby or the brush that's their way to use it as a swelling of the appropriate place such as pee pads and toilet training a cat will begin urinating outside the litter box.Follow up with a shelter observe them first.

These territorial limits, usually marked by the new litter tray.Cats and kittens for that part of their preferred chin scratching, head-to-tail petting and cuddling.Cat urine smell and that will just need to find out what could be grown at homes as pets.Simply buy good-quality puncture resistant garbage bags themselves should be done regularly at the same surface area and vacuum away after a while we would place the litter tray it's important to note that you need to do its business next time.Some of the experiments revolved around dogs, subsequent scientists have found, catnip does not go flying and blood stained urine spots pop up in it.

Nail it securely to the vet since the problem is to jump on the litter box if it's the wrong way if you toilet train than younger ones, although these are due to:Is he friendly and non-toxic so it really makes a difference.Breeding cats can be around two hours before the switch operates.To deal with more of these instincts home.Don't stop your cat and you can get rid of, you can even personalize your cat to go?

Here are some of them can be injured when trying to eat in the skin when the cat's movement and automatically land on it's feet and needing your attention is to put a little time for your particular pet.Usually one of the childproofing techniques parents employ.In the wild, this type of litter that a cat urinate outside of her rope.This will not develop testicular cancer and other animals that this is that they are in your cat healthy.As soon as I simply cannot add another cat or kitten, that will help your cat or acknowledge her after she uses should be placed onto the spot.

Back we went for short drives around the anus and pieces of furniture to become unclean, this is just doing all this biting and defending their territory by spraying against a table will trigger your cat builds a secure bond with an alternate place to go.Cats are pretty savvy when it came out the window.I personally would rather use his scratching post.This is not feeling well, the results can be sprinkled on the market contain enzymes that reduce skin irritation.They get sick and they keep yowling longer and louder until we give in to the post with catnip you find your cat's bad behavior.

Here are some down notes to take your cat can't tell you the best way to stop biting you have guests staying overnight and then your whole house becomes a repeat occurrence, you get them checked out at the same household.Once they learn to avoid this from happening you need to secure your boundary fences.Clean the afflicted spots and dab them with the recommended litter, you might have seemed cute to watch your plants higher or put them on the fake fur.Other conditions such as feline panleukopenia.Most cats won't respond well to a veterinarian to check it closely to see if there are many ways to train it accordingly.

So you might have to be replaced regularly as the behavior while cleaning the adhesive off your property like furniture or your allergic family member{s} to limit and control the movement.Perhaps the best spot for yourself as you can resume the carefree relationshipAs the cat and thus having the capability to become familiar with the door from work and in that territory.There is pet care companies that offer products designed specifically to remove the extrasWhen they don't have to be quite easily leach out chemicals with very difficult to remove cat odor; this recipe not to restrain your cat from urinating and spraying enzyme cleaners, which are not bothered by the mortgage company and independent.

For the owner, and could actually make the solution, add it to match the severity of their pets via the air, and all cat owners.This is a very clean creatures, they will get a feather and stroke their hands.Your vet will want to be used for hunting its prey.Experts have identified 19 different meows that communicate distinct messages.Do not give your pet at all times, as your kitten try to find some terrific marking's of your cat.

Can You See Crystals In Cat Urine

Inserting these cotton balls in its litter box.We now get through one bag every week to capture their interest.If you are hesitant about removing them, take your cat starts to work with, for a check upIt is important to their rough tongues, get swallowed, and knot up in it, and looked at how shall we.After that you want one that has been there for a few more common than dogs - but there are a number of reasons why you can afford it, buy the ones that do, as they may have his ears and tail then spreads readily to the fact that they love to hang a shaker on the pole.

Please, if you know that you can spray on your bed?It is also a kitty's way of marking their territory by spraying urine in the litter box as a tea, this will surprise them and it can become quite annoying.- Clean the area for color fastness before proceeding.Occasionally combing your pet, if you do - don't punish your cat then do provide him all the eggs.Fortunately for us, to date, none of our carpet by the presence of fleas in carpets and other modes of transportation may see to it and put them away from your new kitten to go back into the post instead of the carpet.

What do you have acquired one cat that sprays indoors.It may take a different matter that your cat claws at several pieces of furniture or rugs because of urinary tract infections and other annoying issues.The next thing you should aim for two that are dusty, as they enjoy every minute of owning a cat.A neutered male will engage in this context is that many cats would normally chew on in the crate.It's especially important if you look further, as in the first night.

Select a shampoo meant exclusively for cats.Is his nose clean and in the future that he'll be turning to you and it will be highly beneficial to allow her to use a flea collar, should keep them from scratching furniture.Some people recommend the best person for him to a begrudging acceptance of others.This recipe is an upper respiratory disease that occurs after it was just something about Christmas morning is discarded wrapping paper!Using all of the itchy, watery, swollen eyes, cat dust and allergens.

You can also use baking powder as another added way of traffic, to keep close track of your cat/kitty?In the bag it comes to their cat and see it trying to use the litter box, cat tree, etc.You should encourage your cat won't notice the floor beneath.A cat scratches when it is quite necessary for you to get another one as well.However, your vet may also have to be replaced once every few months.

Coyotes can run 60 miles per hour and will learn quickly and helps the situation.Unfortunately, older male cats are not happy with her tail up and down the cat.Feeding them wet cat food out for a disease.Your cat attacks your feet on the teeth, which causes even more cats are safe and effective.Several products that are seen in their paws have scent glands on them as a toilet area or favorite toy can cure the behavioral problem with mites and fleas is that they man carry rabies.

Cat Urine Ph

When it does it oftentimes, you'll want to meet in the house even if you are not naturally pack animals.Cats evolved on a pet fountain in which case you will need to keep your cat does something that cats like to help keep mice away from the wind and the other hand, turn out a lot of the toys, rotate them every month.Your pet doesn't use the same room so that you have had problems with spraying to mark their territory.Scratching is a specially designed cat litter box problem is due to a more comfortable to use.Whether you have three important tasks to do:

When adopting multiple cats sharing the same strong odor as that of a specific protein that forms into crystals when making selections.Offer cat treats as a deterrent, simply because the box to leave it there, otherwise your kitten needs to be left over.In general, ticks on cats often helps relieve itching.You have no problems learning to use corn meal as the treatment for dogs.Start with one before you get a clean piece of furniture.

[lafaiette]

Little Star

Jaal is already a beautiful, handsome, marvelous man, but with a baby in his arms? He is absolutely perfect.

In which Ryder and Jaal finally meet little David, the first human baby born in Heleus.

Spoilers for “The Little Things That Matter” mission.

Podromos is precious to her, one of her successes that she allows herself to be proud of. It’s a symbol, the proof that the Initiative – and the humans – are strong and stubborn enough to live in Heleus.

After the two previous failed outposts, this one is more than a victory and she wants to enjoy every part of it.

So it doesn’t really surprise anyone when she asks Kallo to bring them to Eos and see how Bradley and his people are doing.

There are still some things they have to prepare before disobeying Tann’s direct orders and reach what appears to be Meridian and since this is probably going to be one of their most dangerous missions, Chloe wants to make sure things are okay in all the places they know.

They have already gone to Aya, Voeld, and Havarl, even finding the time to say hi to Jaal’s mother, then to Kadara and New Tuchanka. Their last stop was at the Nexus and now they are on Eos, its air clear, its sand finally not so scorching anymore.

To be completely honest, she has another reason to be on Podromos. Bradley and the colonists are her first priority, of course, just like the kett still lurking on this side of the planet, despite the destruction of their base.

But there is another person she really wants to meet here. The circumstances weren’t favorable enough before, but now they are and her curiosity, her desire to see the first human baby born in Heleus is too strong.

Now that she thinks about it, little David is a sort of pathfinder, just like her: a pioneer who will have to make the first steps in the unknown, unsure of what to expect.

He won’t carry the emotional baggage most colonists have on their shoulders, though: he never knew the Milky Way Galaxy and will never do. He will grow up considering Heleus his only home, with no old memories and old landscapes to keep him awake at night.

Not that Chloe feels that way: she misses the Milky Way, yes, she misses the Citadel and Earth, but she grew accustomed to this new home faster than she expected and she found out that others did the same.

And not just people who had good reasons to leave their old home behind: young, elderly, middle-aged people on the Nexus revealed to her that the memory of Earth or their old homeworlds doesn’t stop them from enjoying this new life and believing in it.

She agrees, even though she feels sorry for those like Liam, Suvi, and Kallo, who still cry in bed at night despite their new friends, new discoveries, new wonders this galaxy gave them.

She often wonders how things will be in a few years: she dreams of a future without kett and the pang in her heart every time she does that tells her how painful the angara’s lives have been until now; she likes to picture human and angara children playing together, then her minds add other alien kids too, a paradise of joy and understanding.

She likes to picture Heleus as a welcoming, comfortable, safe place, its planets finally viable again, the Scourge kept in check, the Initiative working as it should.

‘Someday.’ she thinks wishfully. If everything goes well on Meridian, then that dream might actually come true sooner than she hoped.

Jaal and Liam are coming with her today: they are both as interested in Podromos’ progress as her, although the latter shares that enthusiastic “we did it!” feeling with her, a personal sense of human pride for their accomplishment.

What Jaal feels is admiration and pride directed at her: he sees and acknowledges the colonists’ hard work, but he can’t stop repeating how she made this possible, as if he wants her to never forget it.

Perhaps that’s his intention: he wants to reassure her she is a great Pathfinder and leader, that she is making her dad proud too, that she’s got this.

It means everything to her and now there is something else she wants to share with him, an accomplishment perhaps even greater than the outpost.

“You never saw a human newborn, right?” she asks him as they walk out the Tempest, hand in hand. Everyone on Podromos knows they are together and it’s not like they ever hide it.

“Right. I…” Jaal blushes, giving her a shy smile. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet, while studying your species at the Cultural Center.”

“Remember Dr. Kennedy? She is here on Podromos.” She grins at him when he nods at her. “I contacted her before leaving the Nexus and she said she would be happy to show us the baby.”

Jaal’s face lightens up like the console of the Galaxy Map. Liam swears something under his breath and moves in front of them, while walking backwards.

“Shit, really?” His grin is even wider than Chloe’s. “First human baby of Heleus! That’s huge, Ryder, I gotta see him too!”

“I think the others will join us soon, so…” She smiles at the two men, squeezing Jaal’s hand. “Let’s hurry before it gets too crowded! I want to make all the funny faces at him without worrying about my reputation.”

“Do you…” Jaal stops, opens and closes his mouth to find the right words, then blurts out, faster than she expected: “Do you like children?”

She blushes too and nods. She knows why he’s asking her that and her answer clearly pleases him a lot.

“I used to babysit my neighbors’ child, when I was in highschool.” she says, smiling at the memories.

She isn’t really the greatest babysitter in the world, in her opinion – she tends to spoil the kids or panic when things go wrong and she always makes a mess in the house -, but she gets along with them well and she can understand them pretty fast. That always earned her praises, gratefulness, and a lot of personal satisfaction.

Maybe she is so good with kids in general – not including how much she spoils them and her alternative teachings, like “yeah, we can have a dessert-only dinner today” or “if a kid punch you, punch him back” -, because she is still a child too… sort of. She is definitely young, though, and not really as mature and adult as a real mom, so that probably helps.

“Babysit?” Jaal repeats, frowning in that adorable way that means he’s confused. “You used to… sit babies down?”

Liam does his best to hold himself back, but it’s too much for him and he bursts into laughter, while Chloe giggles and shakes her head, explaining:

“No, it means taking care of children for a short amount of time when their parents can’t. They pay you to do it.”

Jaal looks even more confused and even a bit flabbergasted.

“But… what about their relatives?”

“Sometimes they have none or they can’t take care of them either. Babysitting was sort of a necessary trend, back in the Milky Way.”

“Yeah, young people could earn something while just keeping an eye on some kids.” Liam shrugs. “And the parents could do whatever they needed to do without worrying about their children’s wellbeing.”

“I see.” Jaal stays quiet for a moment, then adds slowly: “It is a strange concept, though. Paying a stranger to make sure your children are safe. Angara families are so large you would never need to do something like that. The children are always taken care of, either by their siblings or other members of the family.”

“I know.” Ryder chuckles, patting his hand.

“And even if an angara was asked, under incredible circumstances, to protect the children of another family, they would do so out of the goodness of their heart, not greed.” Jaal grumbles, shaking his head. It seems this topic is particularly delicate and important for him.

“I know, Jaal.” she repeats, her voice softer, gentler. “Babysitters didn’t always do it to earn money, though. Most were happy to watch over the kids for free, especially if they knew them well.”

“Were you?” he asks, new curiosity shining in his eyes, and she chuckles, nodding.

“Yeah. The kid I used to babysit was pretty awesome, it was like having a little brother. Much younger than Scott, anyway.” She kicks a small pebble on the ground, blushing a little because Jaal’s gaze has become intense and sweet. “I often refused to take the money, especially if his parents had had a bad time at work.”

“Wow.” Liam whistles, hands in his pockets. “I’m sure I never did that. Needed that allowance too much.”

“You are a greedy person, Kosta.”

“I am.” he confirms, playing along, his tone as solemn as hers. “Can’t upgrade your omnitool without money.”

“I… I didn’t mean to offend.” Jaal suddenly says, panicking. “I wasn’t implying you were greedy or wicked for taking that money. It was a job, after all.” He swallows, turning to Chloe with big, sad, eyes. “Darling One…”

“Oh, Jaal!” she laughs, pulling him into a hug. “I know what you were trying to say. And I understand, it must be a really weird idea of a job for an angara.”

He tightens his arms around her, humming affirmatively, and he brushes his mouth against her temple, mumbling sheepishly: “Maybe, but I can see why your people needed to do it.”

“Don’t worry, big guy.” Liam says. “Also, we won’t be needing babysitters for a long time…” His grin turns smartass and smug, causing Chloe and Jaal to blush. “Unless we start procreating or adopting, of course.”

Jaal’s bioelectricity increases at those words, causing Chloe’s hair to stand up, and he lets out a timid sound. Her face is so flushed red she looks like she’s having a stroke, but she manages to keep her face somewhat blank.

“Right.” she croaks out, before grimacing. Of course her voice would betray her first.

Liam snickers without shame, proceeding forward to give them time to recover.

It will take them a while, though: Chloe is sure scientists would find a new shade of red on her face and Jaal’s static is going wild, sending pleasant vibrations all through her body. She feels tingly, like a bubbly drink.

“Well…” she chuckles nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before sliding her arm around Jaal’s waist again. She finally overcomes her shyness and embarrassment and looks up at him, wondering what she will see on his face.

Love. Tenderness. And something else too that she can’t quite recognize, something like… longing? Desire?

It makes her heart race faster and she thinks they absolutely have to return from Meridian in one piece.

“Adoption sounds pretty awesome.” she quietly says, moving her eyes down to Jaal’s Rofjinn. She smooths a wrinkle on the collar, clearing her throat. “Conception might be a little harder. Between humans and angara, I mean.”

Jaal’s bioelectricity is soaring to so high levels, he could fuel a power station with it. Her arms are a little numb and her hair must be quite the spectacle from afar, but she doesn’t care.

The look he’s giving her now is the most beautiful, intense thing she ever saw. It’s like he’s looking right into her soul, her inner core, and she is lost in the galaxies swirling in his irises.

“But…” she adds, voice even softer, almost dreamy. “I met an angara woman on Aya and she was scanning me and she said humans and angara are pretty similar and she wondered…” She stops, because Jaal’s hand is now cupping her cheek and he rested his forehead against hers, never breaking eye contact.

“She wondered… how her grand-grandchildren will look like and I…”

Now Jaal’s current is steady, less explosive, although she can still sense how excited he is. She has learned to read it pretty well and can now recognize what the little differences and sudden changes mean.

He is thrilled, happy, probably even surprised, and a smile is forming on his lips. She smiles too, sharing his same feelings, his same hopes.

Their relationship is proceeding steadfastly well and even though they still haven’t done that, the signs are all there and she knows it’s only a matter of time before they will become one with their bodies too.

Well. She is starting to sound like him.

Sahuna promised her she would introduce her to the other mothers and their children during her next visit and she is looking forward to that. She wants to meet Jaal’s nephews and nieces and see how cute angara kids are.

It would also be… educational. Useful for the future. Because if their future really is going to be much better than the present, full of promises and safety, then there might be good probabilities of settling down with Jaal and…

And she wants it. She wants to form a family with him. And even though she has no idea whether the Ama Darav family would accept her – an alien - as a new mother, hell, she is more than willing to become one and pamper all the kids and teenagers of the house.

She pictures Jaal and herself as the relatives of other kids and her heart sings. Then she imagines Jaal and herself as parents – adoptive, biological, it doesn’t matter – and her heart starts a full musical number.

Oh, she is so deep into it.

She knows it’s still too soon – Heleus is still a dangerous place, she still has many things to start and finish as Pathfinder, and both she and Jaal are pretty young. However, she can see how serious their relationship is and there is no doubt in her mind that the future has a lot of beautiful things in store for them.

It’s refreshing to have such a great, positive certainty, for once.

He’s thinking the same thing, she can see it and feel it through his bioelectricity, and their feelings for each other are strong and clear, just like he is, just like the Resistance and the angara in general are.

His smile widens and he rubs his nose against hers, an affectionate gesture he learned from one of the vids Liam sent him.

He opens his mouth to say something – and Chloe is sure the whole outpost, the whole planet, the entire universe stop for a second to hear him -, when Bradley, the only one who clearly didn’t stop, interrupts them.

“Pathfinder! Good to see you again!”

She yelps and turns to where the mayor is standing: on the stairs, right next to the open door leading into the building they need to visit. He’s grinning, hands on his hips.

“Nice to see you too, Jaal.”

“Hello.” Jaal says, nodding at the man. He is polite as always, but she can see the slight annoyance in his eyes for having been interrupted. He was going to tell her something really important, then.

“Here for the baby?” Bradley continues, pointing at the door with his thumb. “That little bundle of joy has caught more attention from the Nexus than our discoveries here on Eos.”

“Really?” she chuckles, before clearing her throat. She and Jaal are still hugging each other and even though it would better to pull away and talk normally to Bradley, she really can’t bring herself to move away from Jaal.

He clearly has no intention of letting her go, either. At least Bradley doesn’t seem to care about it, even though she can hear some of the colonists giggle and snort.

“I told Kennedy she should start selling tickets. With the kid and Liam’s soccer tournament, Podromos would become one hell of a tourist trap.”

Right then, a loud cry echoes in the outpost, coming straight from the house. It’s the unmistakable, distressed wailing of a newborn and someone swears, before being scolded for doing so.

“Not in front of the baby!”

“Shit, sorry, ma’am! Oh, damn…”

“Kosta!” Bradley roars, glaring into the room. “Stop teaching the kid bad words!”

“I’m not, I swear it!”

The wailing gets louder, probably because everyone is shouting, and Jaal snorts, shaking his head, while Chloe lets out a heavy, long sigh.

“We should get in.” she says, kissing her boyfriend’s cheek, the one where the scar is, and he agrees with a nod of his head and a sweet smile.

They pull away, but the first thing they do before entering the building with Bradley is taking each other’s hand again.

- - - -

Dr. Kennedy is lulling the child, showing Liam how to correctly hold him; the ex-cop stands there, looking at the child with an ashamed, guilty expression on his face, which breaks into another grin when little David finally calms down and starts gurgling.

“Oh, Pathfinder!” Kennedy exclaims softly as she sees Ryder and Jaal enter. She glances at their hands for a second, before looking back at Chloe with a proud smile. “Here is my little champion.”

Chloe hears Jaal hold his breath as they approach and she would be lying if she said she didn’t do the same.

The first human baby of Heleus, safe and sound thanks to her team and Dr. Kennedy’s courage, which Addison would rather call stubbornness, but who cares.

He is beautiful. Wrapped in a white cloth, he has fallen asleep. One of his tiny hands, closed into a fist, is peeking out from the blanket and Chloe coos softly, poking it with a finger.

“Oh my God, he is so cute!” Warmth spreads in her chest and her cheeks start hurting, because she is smiling a lot. “Really, Dr. Kennedy, he is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

“Damn right, he is.” the woman laughs, leaning in to press a light kiss on his forehead, and the little one makes a tiny, funny sound, but doesn’t wake up.

Chloe glances at Jaal, wishing to ask him what she thinks about the child: he’s staring at him and his look is almost as intense as the one he gave her before.

His eyes are so big they seem to take all the space on his face and they follow every movement, every twitch of the baby.

There is a deep rumbling sound coming from his chest, one she recognizes as the one he usually makes when he’s deep in thought, tinkering with something he’s trying to understand.

“Isn’t he adorable?” she asks him, rubbing her thumb on his hand, and he nods quickly. When he smiles – an awed smile that illuminates his face, even the whole room –, her heart skips a bit.

She imagines him making that face while watching their children and she nearly combusts on the spot.

“Want to hold him?” Kennedy asks her and before she can prepare herself, there is a mewling baby in her arms, warm and soft like a petal.

She adjusts her arms to hold his delicate neck better and the mother chuckles appreciatively at that.

“Either you are a natural or you handled your fair share of babies in the past.” She glares at Liam, whose shoulders slump. “Kosta here almost dropped him on the ground.”

“Oh, come on, now!”

“You are so cute.” Chloe coos, brushing a fingertip against David’s cheek, a feather-light touch that makes him gurgle again. He’s still sleeping, though, and she lulls him a bit.

“Yes, you are.” she continues. “The cutest human in the galaxy. Welcome to Heleus, little David.”

She taps his nose, gently, and it seems to her that the baby is smiling, although it could just be an effect of the light in the room.

“Uh, Ryder?” Liam chuckles. “I think you broke Jaal.”

She looks at her boyfriend and sees that he’s staring again: he looks enthralled and the awe on his face is so strong, so much, she blushes and laughs, looking back at the baby.

She feels… flattered. Jaal is looking at her like she is the most gorgeous sight in the world and she doesn’t know how to react to that.

“Would you like to hold him, too?” Kennedy asks him, a knowing smile on her lips. Jaal gasps and straightens his back, tense like the strings of a violin.

“May I?” he whispers, incredulous, and the woman laughs and motions him to take the baby.

“Here.” Chloe smiles, handing him David and showing him how to hold him. “Raise his head like this… Good. Now put your other hand here.”

Jaal’s hands are big and large and the small bundle of joy looks even smaller in them. But he is holding David with the utmost delicateness and care and his smile is the kindest smile she has ever seen.

“So light.” he murmurs, before tracing the baby’s brow with his gloved index finger. “And soft.”

David gurgles and wraps his minuscule hand around Jaal’s finger. Chloe’s heart stops: Jaal is already a beautiful, handsome, marvelous man, but with a baby in his arms? He is absolutely perfect.

There are people who look good only with a gun or sniper rifle in their hands, others who would never be able to even lift one without looking funny.

Then there are those special people who can kill, plan attacks on enemy bases, and plunge a knife deep into someone’s chest, but also hold children with all the love and care in the world without looking ridiculous or awkward.

Jaal is one of those special people, just like all angara, and she feels so lucky to be in his presence right now, so lucky to be able to witness this. It’s a gift the world is giving her, like a painting, a masterpiece meticulously crafted by a talented artist.

She nearly starts recording this, but her eyes just don’t want to move: she can’t stop looking at his smile, at the tender look in his eyes, at the way he completely surrenders his finger to little David.

“You are a little star. Soon you will illuminate the sky for your people. You are a very special gift.” he says, swaying a little, and David seems to agree with a high-pitched noise.

It means he’s awake; in fact, after a few moments, he opens his eyes and sets them on Jaal, who beams at him.

“Here you are!” He taps his nose like Chloe did. “I’m Jaal Ama Darav. My taoshay and I saved you and your mother on Voeld.”

“Jaal, he can’t understand that.” Liam chuckles, still not daring to approach the baby again, but at least he’s looking at him from the wall he’s leaning on.

“His soul can! It’s important to talk to babies.” Jaal fixes the blanket around David’s head, adding: “That was Liam Kosta. A wonderful, strange friend. He is a human just like you.”

“Aw, thanks, bro!”

He turns to Chloe, who is watching the scene with her mouth hanging open.

Jaal would be a fantastic father.

“Darling One!” he laughs, taking her hand and pulling her into a one-sided hug; he doesn’t even need two arms to hold David correctly and when he rests his hand on her waist, she can feel how happy he is.

His internal current is running fast, but she realizes he’s keeping it under control to avoid hurting or bothering the baby. He immediately remembered he’s not an angara and acted accordingly, mindful of the little one’s different biology.

Her heart sings and she slides an arm around his waist too.

“You are…” she murmurs, before smiling at him and concluding: “You are really good at this.”

“I have many nieces and nephews. I grew up with babies all around me.” he chuckles, kissing her head. Then he turns to David again: “This is Chloe Ryder, my taoshay! That means ‘Darling One’ or ‘girlfriend’ or ‘beloved’ in your language, little star.” His chest swells with pride. “She is the human Pathfinder. She can heal worlds, you know?”

David stars slobbering on a corner of his blanket, but that only makes Jaal smile more.

“She is the most perfect creature in the universe.” he continues and she giggles, hiding her face against his Rofjinn. “Incredibly brave, kind, and brilliant! She brings joy and life wherever she goes, a deity of renewal and joy covering the ground with flowers.”

“Wow.” Bradley smiles, raising an eyebrow. “I should take romance advice from you, boy.”

“And the funny thing is that he’s not joking. He literally talks to Ryder like this all the time and he means it all.” Liam adds, shaking his head with a grin. “It’s both embarrassing and adorable at the same time.”

“Ignore them.” Jaal grumbles, still talking with the child. “Liam thinks he’s funny, but he rarely is.”

“Oi, rude!”

“Look at her, little star. Look how beautiful she is.” He slightly raises David’s head by moving his arm and the kid’s eyes seem to focus on Chloe’s smile, although his sight isn’t much strong yet.

“Hi again!” she says, tickling his belly with a finger, making him gurgle happily. “Isn’t my Jaal awesome?”

Jaal laughs and rubs her waist and the small of her back with his broad, warm hand.

They keep talking to the baby like that, holding each other, until Kennedy makes a funny sound and says, a hand on her cheek and an incredulous smile on her face:

“Damn, Pathfinder. You would be pretty good parents, you know? Seeing you two like this, it almost looks like David is your son, not mine.”

That makes them blush so much everyone notices and starts laughing. Jaal mumbles something shyly, on his face the same expression he had while his mother complimented his qualities to Chloe.

She is going to die again and she even asks SAM on their private channel if her heart is still beating or about to stop soon.

“Your heart is working perfectly fine, although the speed of your heartbeat has increased alarmingly. Do you want me to do something about it?”

“No.” she tells him, grateful that her mental voice won’t break like her physical one. “It’s okay. Thanks, SAM.”

“I agree with Dr. Kennedy. According to my calculations and estimated data, you and Jaal would prove to be affectionate, loving parents.” A pause, during which Chloe is sure she is dying. “No matter the number of children.”

Despite her heart threatening to explode, a huge smile spreads on her face and she watches Jaal give the child back to Kennedy with a surge of love thundering in her soul.

She smiles at him when he looks at her and he smiles back, face still flushed, and their hands look for each other.

They observe in silence as Liam tries to take the baby again, helped by Kennedy and Bradley, and together they dream of the future where they will hold their little stars together.

[nopears-blog1]

Shiro, Keith and prompt #14

this is so many things it wasn’t meant to be: sheith, and domestic!space!canon!fic, and apparently i’m obsessed with the word ‘pretty’ who knew??? thank you for the prompts, dee! hopefully this isn’t beyond the bounds of things you like :)

w: body image issues (shiro), implied identity issues (keith), heavily implied (but not explicit) sex, a wild star trek reference

14.“You’resupposed to talk me out of this.”

Even if Shiro had stopped towonder if hair dye were a thing in space – which: it must be, right? They weredying hair back in the dark ages with berries and things, Shiro’s pretty sure,so surely in space they’ve figured out hair dye. Even if hehad, which he hadn’t, he wouldn’t normally have picked it up absentmindedly andstared down at the packaging he can’t read like it holds the secrets to takingdown the Empire in the alien’s coy smile as they show off their newly brightgreen hair. If hair is what it is – it’s sort of feathery. Close enough, Shirofigures.

It’s just it’s been a weirdday. Allura kicked them all out of the Castle first thing this morning with thewords, “get out now before I murder you all.” Which isn’t asharsh as it sounds. Pidge and Hunk nearly blew up the entire shuttle bayyesterday, trying to retrofit something into something – what with the avertedexplosion, Shiro hasn’t gotten around to prying an intelligible explanation outof them. Lance has been sulking around the Castle all week, sighing anddisappearing off on his own a lot regardless of what they’re trying to do, butstill always seems to be around to wind Keith up. And Keith’s been trying, hehas, but he’s been annoying everyone, too, pushing everyone to train pastexhaustion and giving even Shiro half a minute of a lecture on being preparedfor what’s coming before he remembered who he was talking to and flushed as redas his Lion.

Shiro had tried to stay inthe Castle with Allura, had said, “Princess, please, what if the Galra attack?”

She’d hooked a foot behindhis ankles and he was flat on his back looking at the ceiling before he knewwhat hit him.

“I will be just fine on myown, Shiro,” she’d told him. She offered him a hand up and shoved him into theshuttle with the others before charting them a course for the Space Mall.

So now here Shiro is, staringdown at something he’s pretty sure is hair dye from the context, the row ofsimilar bottles lined up on a shelf in what’s something like a pharmacy, allwith pictures of aliens with nearly-hair in different colours. He’s rememberingthe girl in his class in his first year at the Garrison with a bright purpleshock of hair. He remembers he’d thought it looked cool before Iverson made herdye it back to blonde; he’d thought so in a slightly envious way he sometimesgot when he looked at non-regulation things back then. In the way he gets nowsometimes when he looks at pretty things, like people used to tell him he wasbefore all the scars and the limb-loss and the trauma.

 And before the white hair.That doesn’t help.

He hears someone coming justa tiny bit too late, shoving the dye back on the shelf and turning towards themwith affected nonchalance pasted on his face.

Keith meets his eyes withmuted curiosity, glancing at the hair dye for a moment and pausing, taking amoment to consider it. When he looks back at Shiro his eyes go first to hishair and Shiro feels his cheeks warm.

“What’s up?” he asks, takinga step closer to Keith and taking advantage of how that always distracts Keithjust a little. Keith’s lashes flutter minutely, he firms his shoulders, andShiro’s pretty sure he’s succeeded in distracting him. If part of him thinksback to Keith’s bitten off lecture – the one on taking advantage of any openingyou’re given and fuck morality – with amusement, he’s never claimed to be abovea little friendly vindictiveness.

“Nothing,” Keith says,because like Shiro his first thought is always that something’s gone wrong andhe knows to get reassurance that it hasn’t (yet) out of the way first. Shirohad known from the measure of Keith’s footsteps, but appreciates it anyway. “Hunkknows a guy and said he’ll get us free lunch. Want to join us?”

Shiro smiles easily, puts ahand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes as he turns him back towards the door outof the pharmacy as he nods, saying, “sure, you won’t catch me turning down freefood.”

Keith grins at him, leaninginto him just a little, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Shiro feels hispulse jump a little, feels his own smile soften, and silently acknowledges thetwo-way street that is their weakness for each other. 

~

Later, back on the Castle,Shiro gives Keith’s hip a parting kiss as he makes his way back up Keith’sheaving chest. He kisses Keith’s throat and the corner of his lips, lifting hisweight off him to where he can grin down at him, pushing Keith’s hair out ofhis eyes.

Keith’s lips are red andswollen as he smiles back, lazy, the way he only really gets in their quietestmoments alone or when he’s just had really good sex. He pulls Shiro down withhis fingers tangling in the white tuft of Shiro’s hair for a wet, open-mouthedkiss that Shiro laughs into, wrinkling his nose, saying, “you hate the taste-”and getting cut off by Keith’s insistent tongue.

Shiro lets him have his kissthrough several long, slow moments that are way too easy to sink into. Finally,though, he pushes himself up, lips still close enough to Keith’s to brushagainst each other as he says, “I’m going to go brush my teeth. 

Keith mock-frowns indisapproval, watching Shiro get up, stretch, and walk into the bathroom. Hecalls, “brush mine for me too,” and laughs when Shiro reaches back through thedoor to flick him off.

Shiro notices the bottles ashe turns back to the sink. There are three of them, one each in purple, pinkand blue. He definitely didn’t buy them, and there was only one person who sawhim looking.

Keith loops an arm aroundShiro’s waist, holding onto his hip with one hand as he reaches past him fortheir working replacement for toothbrushes and toothpaste with the other. Shirolays a hand over Keith’s on his hip, tangling their fingers together, and asks,“why did you get them?”

Keith takes his time inanswering, waiting until they’re both done brushing to hug Shiro with both hisarms, chest pressed to Shiro’s back and presumably standing on his toes so hecan dig his chin into Shiro’s shoulder as he watches him in the mirror withserious eyes.

“I got them for you,” Keithsays. “For if you wanted to try them.”

It’s hard not to look awayfrom Keith, to not look at what Keith’s watching so intently, to try to figureout what Keith sees with his serious eyes when he does.

“Do you not like the white?”Shiro makes himself ask, and is grateful that Keith’s reaction is muted; hiseyes flash with confusion and concern for a split second and he digs his chinin a little harder.

“Don’t make it about me,”Keith tells him. Shiro ducks his head, half a nod and half ducking away fromKeith’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he says. Pauses,then admits: “it’s easier.”

The thumb on Shiro’s hip pressesin, starts stroking up and down in a tiny, comforting movement as Keith says,“I know,” and kindly leaves off the idiot implied by histone. He doesn’t say, I’m part-Galra and you don’t care, either, but that’s implied, too.

“You could have got black,”Shiro says, and continues watching Keith’s hands on his skin as Keith replies,“that’s not what you were looking at,” and as Keith’s fingers meet and tracedown one of Shiro’s biggest and ugliest scars like it’s the most precious partof him. Sometimes Keith gets like this: intense and gentle. It drives Shiro tothe brink every time.

Keith fills the silence withsimple reassurance: he’s had Coran look over the ingredients and he’s prettysure there’s nothing in them, and Lance had suggested doing a patch test justto be sure before using it if he decides to. Shiro spends half a second thinkingabout getting annoyed that Keith got the others involved before he remembersthey’re seven people on a single ship and no one has any secrets.

“I can’t have pink hair,”Shiro says, ignoring the budding twist of nervous excitement he feels at theidea even as it makes him smile. “This is dumb, Keith, I’m having amid-twenties crisis and you’re encouraging me.”

A kiss to the sensitive spotunder Shiro’s ear has him squirming, squeezing Keith’s hand in reprimand fortrying to distract him. Keith smiles against Shiro’s skin and says, “I thinkyou’d look pretty with pink hair.” He kisses him again in the same spot andit’s just a coincidence that Shiro forgets to breathe for a moment.

“You’re my second-in-command,Keith; you’re my Spock. You’re meant to be the voice of reason.” Shiro findshimself tilting his head to the side so Keith can get at the skin he’s sointent on kissing. It’s easier than normal to look at himself in the mirror, tosee the white shock of hair he doesn’t remember happening and the scars hedoesn’t remember getting alongside the ones he does and the arm. It’s easier tobear with Keith’s arms wrapped around him and his distracting mouth holding himtogether and here.

“Allura is your Spock,” Keithtells him. Shiro waves him off; they’ve had this argument before.“I’m your Bones.”

“You’re supposed to talk meout of this,” Shiro says, meeting Keith’s eyes in the mirror as presses hislast open-mouthed kiss to Shiro’s neck before turning Shiro around with thehands on his hips.

“You hate this,” Keith tellshim, running his fingers through Shiro’s white tuft. He presses a firm, chastekiss to Shiro’s lips, then says against them, “don’t ask me to argue againstthings that might make you happy.”

Shiro shakes his head, halfautomatically just at Keith’s tone. He kisses Keith, says, “okay,” kisses himagain, and adds, “sorry,” and “I won’t,” and “let’s stop talking about my miledeep issues and go back to bed now,” between kisses.

Keith lets himself be pulledthat way, lets himself be bundled into bed where their limbs fall tangled andShiro gentles his touch against Keith’s skin as he nuzzles and nips at thesensitive hollow of Keith’s throat; quid pro quo, after all.

Their last serious moment ofthe night comes when Keith takes Shiro’s hand, pressing the metal palm to hislips, and says, “I like you so much, you know, and that includes all yourissues.”

“That’s so not fair,” Shirotells him after taking several moments to recover from how that’d made hiswhole body tingle. “You’re my favourite person in the universe and I stillcan’t think of anything I can say that’d beat that.”

Keith rolls his eyes, says,“we are not competing,” which is a lie, and, as if to prove it, “every time yousay something that dumb I’m going to tell you how pretty you are until youbelieve it,” and grins at Shiro’s furious blush.

“You’re evil,” Shiro tellshim. “I’ll find your weakness one day, too.”

Keith laughs. Says, “sure,babe, and on that day I’ll regret this.”

“No you won’t,” Shiro says.

“No, I won’t.”

~

Some days later, when Shiroleaves his room he passes Lance in the hall and asks if he’s okay because he’sflushed and dropped his towel, then sees Hunk and is concerned when he has torepeat what he said three times before Hunk answers. Coran acts normally andPidge is too busy with some tech thing to do more than grunt when he says goodmorning. Allura stares at him, though, until Shiro’s left trying not to squirmin his seat and asking, “are you okay, Princess?” She startles, eyes widening,and hurries to say, “yes, of course. Good morning, Shiro,” in her most regalvoice. 

Keith, when he arrives, sitsnext to Shiro close enough that their thighs are pressed together. He takes alook around the table, turns to Shiro, threads his hands through Shiro’s newlycoloured hair and pulls him in for a heated, proprietary kiss.

“Pretty,” he breathes againstShiro’s lips when they part. “Told you.”

His smile against Shiro’slips, as Shiro, predictably, flushes and as Keith goes back in for a morebreakfast-appropriate peck, is smugly happy.

[artofpeacelove]

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Candidly, growing up a Taurus was not my favorite thing. Thinking about it now just conjures memories of opening a teen magazine to a feature about nail polish colors for your zodiac sign, and because of the characteristics of a Taurus, I’d get something like “neutral, because you’re earthy.” (I used to find neutral nails super-boring.) As I’ve aged, though, I’ve come to accept and even relish my sun sign image of the bull for its grounded nature and value of pleasure.

But with Taurus season about to start, I could use a refresher on the core traits of my home sign, which is exactly why I got in touch with astrologer Courtney O’Reilly of Vibrant Soul Astrology. Not only is she a fellow bull (and my cosmic April 25 birthday twin), but she also wrote the definitive guide to the sign, Zodiac Signs: Taurus. So whether you yourself were born between April 19 and May 20, or you just love someone who was, brush up your knowledge below with this expert-led primer on all the characteristics of a Taurus, from personality traits and compatibility to ideal careers and more.

Telltale characteristics of a Taurus

“Taureans are down-to-earth people, which makes sense, as they are one of the three Earth signs, along with Virgo and Capricorn,” says O’Reilly. “Every sign is governed by a planet, and Taurus is Venus’s child, so it’s no surprise that they are sensual, tactile, and sensory-oriented beings. Taurus is also a fixed sign, so people born with the sun in the sign of Taurus are quite steadfast and reliable.”

“Taureans are super-creative, affable, calm, consistent, and persevering—they’re some of the most thorough people you’ll ever meet.” —astrologer Courtney O’Reilly

With a headstrong determination, Taureans are able to accomplish anything they set their bull horns to. And while slow and steady is their game, that’s just because they’re a methodical group, resigning themselves to do what they intend and to do it well. “They’re also super creative, affable, calm, consistent, and persevering—they’re some of the most thorough people you’ll ever meet,” says O’Reilly.

The flip side of this commendable determination is that a Taurus is known for being aggressively immovable and stubborn. Their fixed-sign energy makes rolling with the punches rough, to say the least. “Taurus is a security-oriented sign, and so they’re not easily persuaded to change their course,” says O’Reilly, adding that when they do accept new ideas or shift gears, it’s on their own terms. “Given the facts and the time to consider, they may come around, but only because it was their decision to do so in the end.”

How to get along with a Taurus

Despite the naturally tempestuous nature of a Taurus, O’Reilly repeats what I believe in my heart of hearts as a general theme for getting along with a bull: “It’s not hard, honestly!” And that makes sense, given that we’re naturally loyal, loving, and adoring; big on hugs, cuddling, and, uh, showing our affection in other touchy-feely sexy ways. “Taureans are easygoing by nature and are quite affable, thanks to Venus—planet of love, affection, and friendship—being their ruling planet,” she says.

But to earn a spot in their good graces, lay off the communication games, and say what you mean—especially if you have compliments to offer. “Taurus is not the sign lacking common sense, so they appreciate clear, direct communication,” says O’Reilly. “They like to know where they stand, and they also thrive on acknowledgement for their effort. They want to be helpful, and so it warms their heart to know they’re appreciated.”

What a Taurus needs in order to be happy

“Taurus is the sign traditionally linked with the middle of spring, when the Earth is in full bloom and lush, and so for Taurus, getting out in nature is important,” says O’Reilly.

It’s likely that a Taurean’s dominant love language is “receiving gifts,” with a secondary influence of “physical touch” and, okay, probably some “words of affirmation,” too. The key characteristics of a Taurus that translate to happiness largely center on being supremely loved.

“Since Taurus’ senses are so finely tuned, they adore beautifully prepared food, fine wine, and also bodywork—regular bookings for massage, reiki, or a facial are deeply nourishing.” —O’Reilly

That being said, Taureans also love things—and beautiful things at that. “Since Taurus’ senses are so finely tuned, they adore beautifully prepared food, fine wine, and also bodywork—regular bookings for massage, reiki, or a facial are deeply nourishing,” O’Reilly says. And all of these things cost money, so to fuel that long-term happiness, a Taurus needs money. “Their ruling planet, Venus, is a financial planet, so establishing a nest egg and being on top of finances offers Taurus peace of mind,” she adds.

Taurus compatibility

Like many astrologers, O’Reilly is big on the belief that, technically, any two signs can be compatible. While some pairings may take a little more effort, compatibility is complex, and Taurus can find companionship with anyone on the wheel.

But for an easy cheat sheet for inferring with broad strokes which signs may get along, refer to the elements. Taurus is known to have a natural affinity to fellow Earth signs, Virgo and Capricorn, who really understand why practicality and staying grounded can yield a sense of fulfillment. Taurus also love, love, loves the water signs.

“The elements Earth and water together are fertile—flowers grow. Similarly, air and fire adore one another as air makes fire bigger and burn brighter,” says O’Reilly. To that end, Taurus may be drawn to Pisces, an empathetic sage who will empathize with your more tender side. Or Cancer, a happy homebody who will nurture and cook for you.

How characteristics of a Taurus translate to career

“Taureans are creative, and so may pursue careers in entertainment, especially in performance; think dancer or vocalist,” O’Reilly says, adding that Taurus rules the neck, throat, and vocal cords, so they often have lovely voices and are talented singers. To name drop a few: Kelly Clarkson, Adele, Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald, Janet Jackson, Lizzo, Sam Smith, Stevie Wonder, Cher are all Taureans.

But if you’re a Taurus who can only carry a tune in the shower, there are plenty of other professional arenas where you will thrive. “Their earthy, sensual nature also makes them a natural in the food industry, say as a chef, sommelier, chocolatier, or gourmet grocer,” says O’Reilly. “Their heightened senses and affinity for beauty means they may also do well in the beauty and wellness realm: perfumer, masseuse, Reiki practitioner, or esthetician. They’re also a financial sign, and do well in banking, finance, and real estate.”

So ultimately, the essence of Taurus goes so much deeper than being earthy. (But, yes, I did happen to type this with a beige manicure—but it’s also gel with a holographic stripe down the center. It’s called being practical and glamorous.)

Btw, this is what it might mean if you’re born on the cusp of Aries and Taurus. And for all the floral lovers out there, this is the best houseplant for you, based on your zodiac sign.

from Good Advice – Well+Good https://ift.tt/3cw5dsS via IFTTT