#i was watching this on a plane at like midnight and i had to physically stop myself from laughing out loud

[madeline-kahn]

"Murray Chilton died. That's one less person I'm not speaking to."

You've Got Mail (1998) dir. Nora Ephron

[caws5749]

hiii i saw that you were looking for fluff requests so could u do something like natasha and reader both busy and not looking while walking through stark tower or soemthing and y/n obviously knows who natasha is has a bit of a crush on her and nat is like teasing her. later on they keep bumping into each other until nat is like “i’m done with the meet and greets” and asks reader out on a date. (nothing specific lol take and pick at if if you’d like, i just wanted to pitch in! :))

WARNING: THE BAREST HINT OF THIRSTING AND MENTION OF BREASTS IM SORRY I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF

A/N: you know that part in despicable me where she goes "IT'S SO FLUFFY" ?? yeah that came to mind reading this because ITS SO FLUFFY AND CUTE AND SUCH A GREAT IDEA THANK YOUUUUU <3

Consulting with the Avengers team was something you still couldn't believe you had the privilege to do. You had more been consulting with the brand itself versus the actual humans, but it still felt like a privilege.

You were a bit rushed leaving the compound, face glued to your phone looking at the plane tickets for the upcoming weekend. You were set to visit a friend but hadn't even bought your ticket yet. With one strap of your bag hanging off your shoulder, you rounded the corner and bumped right into someone...hard.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," you quickly got out, eyes finally moving up to meet lively green ones. Your jaw dropped a bit.

"Are you alright?" Natasha asked softly, eyes scanning your form for obvious injury. When she found none, she focused back on your face. She didn't even seem fazed by the collision.

"I'm fine, I'm so sorry, are you?" You questioned quickly, nearly slapping yourself in the face once you realized you asked an Avenger, hell, the Black Widow, if a bump into you had injured her.

"I'm alright, thank you. You seem like you're in a hurry, I won't hold you up."

All you could do was nod as she walked around you and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

++++++

Somehow the exact same thing happened again, though this time it wasn't your fault.

Natasha was exhausted, just returning from a mission that drained her both physically and mentally. While it was only just after five in the evening, she couldn't wait to go straight to bed after a warm shower. She exited the elevator as soon as the doors opened, walking right into you.

"Oof," you muttered in surprise.

"Are you- I know you," the red-head stated, her eyes scanning over your form for injuries as they did previously, even after just a simple bump. "I'm sorry, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Natasha," you replied as you sent a reassuring smile. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

"And you are?"

You blushed. "I'm Y/N L/N. I consult for the Avengers."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'll see you around."

You entered the elevator, your legs feeling like lead. You turned just in time to watch her continue her walk down the hall. It just might have been the greatest sight you'd ever seen.

++++++

The universe must have been against you because it just seemed utterly impossible for you to not run into the widow.

It was just after midnight and you couldn't wait to leave. You were trying to finish up a big project and you knew having it done as quickly as possible would be a good thing, especially because you believed in the project so much. So you stayed in a conference room working later than normal. But you were exhausted and it was time to go home so you quickly tossed your things in your bag and headed out the door. You reached the door to the hallway and pushed it open with all of your might, eyes widening when a certain red-head had to jump out of the way to avoid it.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Again," you rushed. "Are you okay?"

"It didn't hit me, I'm okay," Natasha responded, before tilting her head. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Just trying to finish up a project. I hadn't really realized what time it was, to be honest."

She hummed thoughtfully. "You know, we do have guest rooms if you want to stay the night. You might not want to be out driving this late."

God, you knew it wasn't her protecting you or being worried about you because there was no way, but you couldn't help the flutter in your chest and the red that creeped into your cheeks.

The woman across from you smirked at your pink cheeks. She wasn't sure if you were like this with everyone or just her, but she loved it.

"Oh, I'm fine, but thank you. That's really nice of you... guys. That's really nice of you guys," you babbled, feeling the heat spread to your entire face.

"Just don't tell Tony I offered, he's picky," she laughed, before pulling the door open and walking through.

"Might want to check your temperature, Y/N, you're flushed like you have a fever," Nat yelled back, amusement in her tone.

No chance she hadn't noticed then. You were certain you couldn't make any bigger a fool of yourself.

++++++

The next time you ran into her, thankfully there were no close calls for injuries. Natasha had just finished her workout and was heading to the kitchen for a snack, where you had just finished a conversation with Sharon Carter, who had helped you on your latest project. She had told you to grab anything you wanted from the snack drawer, something that was somehow empty by the end of each day.

You searched the drawer for something that seemed appealing, jumping out of your skin from a smooth voice that came from behind you.

"Find anything good in there?"

"Natasha," you breathed as you whirled around, heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes widened as you took in her sweaty appearance, skin glistening, the top of her breasts just visible with the sports bra she had chosen.

"See anything you like?"

You flushed a deep red. "I, uh-"

"In the drawer, Y/N," she interrupted, eyes sparkling with humor.

"I- not really."

She walked up to you, the distance between the two of you now nearly nonexistent. You could see the dimension in her green eyes, the sweat bead slowly making its way down her right temple, the gentle pink to her full lips. You gulped, trying to steady your breathing when her arm reached around you, grazing your skin as she grabbed a snack from the drawer.

"I'm tired of these little meet and greets. Meet me here later at 8."

She gave you a wink and walked out.

You weren't quite sure what you'd done to deserve a date with that woman, but boy were you grateful.

[laiiaaa]

THE PART WHERE YOU KISS ME — JJ MAYBANK

summary: You're stuck with the job of getting a very drunk, very lovesick JJ into bed.

length: 2.4k

contains: tooth-rotting fluff, obsessed boyfriend JJ, soooo touchy he can't keep his hands off of you (can you tell my love language is physical touch lmfao???), mentions of heavy drinking of course, zero plot, he's a flirty little freak and i hate him

note: Not the happiest with this but I haven't posted in a week and I'm in the middle of writing three other pieces right now...so take this as an apology gift for not having the GFAW chapter out yet <3

Driving to the Chateau this late is never ideal, especially when you’re tired and ticked off from a busy shift. Your feet and back ache, your head could use a few Advil, and you would be perfectly happy to stay home and sleep for twelve hours. 

But when Kie calls you, groaning and saying Your boyfriend is wasted and won’t shut up about you and you need to come pull him to bed, you go. It’s as simple as that, really. Partially because JJ is already painfully stubborn when sober and only gets worse as the night goes on (code for: he won’t listen to anyone but you), and partly because you get a sweet kick out of his clinginess and extra loving.

So when you finally pull up and hop out of your car, the sound of Pope sighing Finally doesn’t surprise nor offend you.  Kie and Sarah scurry over, welcoming you with hugs and jokes about how sorry they are they had to call you while John B and Pope still tend to the drunken blonde.

“It’s alright,” you assure them, “I don’t mind.” And you really don’t, not at all, not when he acts all the more helplessly in love with you.

The bonfire still burns on, red-hot embers breaking off into the midnight sky. Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon plays from a speaker nearby, and beer bottles litter the ground as you approach. The fire’s warmth wraps around you, a handle of Tito’s—only half full—entering your field of vision as you find JJ reclined back on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes while his other hand taps along to the song. You crouch down next to him and hear him hum in tune.

John B stands behind you, feeling a little helpless. “He’s been talking about you nonstop since he got, like, three shots deep.”

“And as much as we love you guys together,” Sarah adds, leaning into the boy’s side, “He doesn’t listen very well once he gets started.”

You shoot them a smile over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it. You guys can head in if you want, this might take a while.” The two lovebirds wave you goodnight as they walk back inside with Kie and Pope, and you turn your attention back to your exceptionally troublesome boy. “JJ? Time to go to bed.”

He grumbles without moving an inch. “I told you to fuck off, Sarah, I just wanna see my girl.”

Your heart flutters at the name—his girl. You’ve never heard him call you that. Does he seriously think you’re Sarah? “Your girl?”

“Yeah, you know the gorgeous one?”

“Might ring a bell.”

“Yeah, well, she’s the most…the most beautiful person in the history of…of forever, and she’s mine, so get outta here n’…go flirt with John B or somethin’.” He lazily waves you off, mumbling something you don’t quite hear.

A smile fights its way to the surface, and you gently place your hand on the smooth plane of his shoulder. “Oh, but I wanted to flirt with you instead. How’s that sound, hm?”

He quickly pushes your touch away. “It sounds like my girl’s gonna kill you any second now, so watch it, Blondie.” He slurs his words as he speaks, pulling giggles from your lips. You gently take his wrist in your hand to remove his arm from his eyes and press a kiss where your fingertips touch him. His eyes stay closed, and he juts his chin in the opposite direction in protest.

“Jay, baby, I’m not killing anyone anytime soon,” you coo, leaning over his chest and face while running a hand through his hair. 

He opens one eye, suspicious of your claims, but quickly realizes it’s you, and turns to look at you like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, his expression swallowed by a smile. “When did you get here, baby?”

“Oh, just now,” you answer, laughter lacing your words, “Kie called me over.” You press a kiss to his forehead before sitting back up, your hand quickly taken by his.

“You should’ve come sooner.” His other hand makes its way to your thigh, smoothing over your skin. “I was waiting for you, all by myself, and—” he abruptly sits up— “there’s something I have to tell you,” he whispers. He casts a glance to the Chateau. “It’s top secret.”

With him this close, you can smell the vodka on his breath. “Yeah? What is it?” You loop your arms around his neck and scratch at the nape of his neck, to which he instinctively responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and rubbing the palms of his hands along your back.

“This is top secret, classified information, princess, you can’t just get it for free. Everything comes with a price.” A sly little grin comes over him, tugging you a little closer.

Knowing JJ, you already know where this is headed. You decide to play along anyway: “Name it, then. I’m sure we can strike a deal somehow.”

He mulls over his words before saying, “Hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“You—” he points at your chest— “give me three—no, five kisses for the info up front.” When you raise your eyebrows in suspicion, he continues, “And every follow up question is worth another kiss.”

“This must be very important information.”

“Very.” His hands, still soaking in the feeling of you beneath them, start to play with the hem of your tank top, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric to feel skin. “Better pay up soon.”

You feign a look of shock and place a hand on his chest. “I didn’t even agree yet, don’t get too excited.” 

He pouts with furrowed brows, convinced his offer would be impossible to resist. “Why? Baby, come on,” he urges, holding you tighter, “This is the part where you kiss me.” His eyelids droop with drunkenness and fatigue as he presses his lips to your neck, but you quickly take his jaw in your hand and pull him away. 

“Ah ah ah,” you tease. “You come to bed first, then I’ll give you kisses for your secrets.”

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.” His hands work their way from your waist down to your hips again, soon grazing your thighs the way he knows erupts butterflies in your stomach. “I wanna stay here with you…have you boss me around. You’re very sexy when you do it.” He smirks while looking up at you, and you know for a fact he’s just trying to push your buttons.

You roll your eyes and push his face away as you start to stand up. “You’re a pain in the ass, I hope you know that.” As bitter as you try to sound, you’ll always have a soft spot for him the way he does for you, especially when your bitterness is met with that beautiful smile of his. You hold out both hands, towering over him and urging him to stand. “C’mon, Jay.”

He leans his weight onto his hands, stubborn as always. “Will you stay the night?”

“Not if you keep this up, I won’t.” You lend him a condescending smile. 

“But Baby,” he groans, finally complying now that the stakes have been raised. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I miss you.” He starts to shuffle where he sits, taking hold of your hands as you pull him up, dizziness causing him to stumble into your arms. “Can’t a boy just get some love from his girl?” 

There he goes again—his girl. 

You loop his arm over your shoulder and wrap yours around his waist as you lead him into the Chateau, surrounded by his warmth and the smell that’s so distinctly him: a bit of beachiness, mandarin and musky from his body wash, a hint of marijuana.

“You’re very kind,” he rambles on, “for coming here so late. I missed you.”

“I know, baby. You told me.”

He makes his way up the steps with you, following as you open the door. “Well, I’m making sure you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, love.” You smile to yourself, a little caught off guard with how open he’s become.

“I still have to tell you that top secret information,” he whispers, leaning down to your ear-level. His body wraps around you as you stand in front of him to open the door to his bedroom, his arms start to wrap around your waist again. “And you still owe me kisses for it.”

You usher him into his room, shutting the door behind you. “C’mon, let’s get into bed. That was the rule.”

He does as you wish without complaint for once, though when he does sit at the edge of his bed, he also pulls you to stand in between his legs. “I’m in bed now.”

“I can see that,” you giggle, hands massaging his neck and shoulders.

“Does this mean you’ll give me a kiss now?”

“Not yet.” You tug at the fabric of his shirt. “Take this off, please?” You don’t think much when you say it, but once the words slip out and you see JJ’s brows raise as a cocky smirk crosses his face, you realize you need to cover your tracks.

He bites his tongue to oblige, nabbing the back of his tee before pulling it over his head. Revealed to you are his broad shoulders, his chest, those toned arms that are, admittedly, to die for, though you’d never tell him that directly. 

“You’re trying to undress me, baby?” he asks, too quick for you to correct yourself. His hands take purchase of your hips before taking up your thighs, his hands molding to your curves and getting treacherously close to your inner thighs.

Your face goes hot—why is he so good at this?—but you keep a straight face and grab his face, one hand cupping his jaw while the other supports the back of his head. “Do you want your kiss or not?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he responds, almost immediately. His eyes glaze over, entranced by everything you are. A drunk smile is sent your way, and he can’t really tell whether the tingling all over his body is just from the vodka, or if it’s your hands on his body, your snippy tone that he knows is full of love. He’s sure that no matter how flustered he can make you, it’ll never compare to how you make him feel with even the slightest of touches.

Your grip goes soft, and you rake your hand through his hair, his eyes falling shut and his head gone slack into your hands. “You’re beyond wasted, aren't you?”

He laughs heartily now, eyes still shut as he nods his head. “I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, princess.” Giggles line his words and his face scrunches in a smile, dimple on display.

“How much did you drink?”

“A few beers.”

“And?” You tug lightly on his hair.

“Mm, some vodka, maybe. A few shots.” His hands drag from the backs of your thighs, to your hips, to your waist.

“JJ.” You stare down at his clearly vodka-dazed face. “How many is a few?”

He hums to himself, as deep in thought one can be when wasted. “Maybe seven…or nine…don’t remember,” he mumbles.

You sigh to yourself, not surprised by his recklessness but still not all too happy with it. 

But before you can formulate a single thought, a single articulated response, he starts to pout—eyes still closed of course, because your boy is nothing if not a truth-teller. “You sound mad.” Even when wasted he knows you so well.

“I’m not,” you fib a little, for his own sake. You kiss his forehead, then his cheek before letting go of him entirely to pull back the covers for him. “Come on, time to sleep, yeah?” You give a soft tug on his hand as his body goes pliant.

He slowly but surely crawls properly into bed, giving you a show of his back muscles flexing and relaxing before falling face-first into his pillow with a hmph. You lay down next to him as he lifts his arm with all his might, slowly turning onto his side to make space for you. Legs intertwine without words, the warmth of his body blankets your senses, his weight grounds you.

“You need to hurry, princess. I need to…need to give you the information.” The words are half-muffled by his pillow, and his eyes are still shut. 

“Oh. We’re still doing that?” You’re surprised he even remembers the information at this point—whatever it might be. 

He squeezes you tighter into his body, pulling a smile from you as he groans. “Yes, we’re still doing that…it’s important. You need three more…”

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. “Does that count?”

“Mhm, two more.” A stupid, drunk, terribly charming grin crosses his face, and it feels like you’re falling for him all over again, teetering at the edge of a cliff. His arm, still heavy on your waist, shifts a little, and his fingers dance along your back and light fires where they touch.

You curl your hand, gently, along the crook of his neck and kiss his jaw. “And that counts as well?”

With the way you’re whispering your words into his neck, JJ swears he could die happily. “Mm, sure does.”

For the fifth and final kiss, the corner of his mouth. It curls into your kiss like he knew it was coming, and you give him one more just for good measure—and, maybe, because seeing him smile is worth his weight in gold. You brush your hand through his hair before hugging him a little tighter towards your chest, all too aware now that you won’t be getting any information out of him the rest of the night. This minor inconvenience, however, doesn’t seem to compare to having him in your arms, his breath against your neck, his arm wrapped around you to tell you he’s there, and he’s there to stay, and he wants to be there more than anywhere else.

You think that you could play this game a million times over. The part where you kiss him—that is, when his lovely, sweet little smile peeks through that rough shell—will never get old enough to retire.

(But for tonight, you can live without more of his drunken teasing. Just for tonight.)

[mayasaurusss]

Having a situationship with Shauna in the wilderness headcanons:

A/n: Guys and gays, a few things. I wrote this in like fifteen minutes, and also I've never wrote either headcanons or explicit sexual content, so consider me an amateur for this. I only did till the doomcoming episode cause I haven't finished watching the first season. Tell me if you'd like a longer version of this with a full on smut scene. I feel so embarrassed of myself.

You and Shauna don't start off as friends. You were just another girl on the team that she did not pay attention to.

When the plane crashes, all of you start to rely on each other more and more and as time passes, Shauna starts to warm up to you.

When you find the lake and take a swim, you and Shauna both decide to pounce on Van.

Later, you and her talk together on the rocky shore of the lake and discover your mutual love for literature. Shauna secretly hopes to make Jackie jealous but wouldn't dare to say that to you.

The first night at the cabin, you and her talk together well after midnight, whispering in eachothers ears and giggling. This makes Jackie roll her eyes and clinging in her sheets in annoyance.

During senace, Shauna clings close to you terrified, when Lottie starts to workship unknown gods, much to Jackie's dismay.

After the Lottie incident Taissa decides to sleep in the attic to prove it's not haunted, Shauna follows close behind her. As you too were making your way to the attic to keep them company, you hear Shauna and Taissa talk, talk of a 'baby'. You can't quite make up what they're saying but are smart enough to understand. You leave them alone and go back down stairs.

Shauna watches you when you chop the wood for the fire: all those weeks in the wilderness and the physical effort you had to endure (usually doomed to the heavier task) had made you stronger. After Jackie so graciously spilled Shauna's secret out, she doesn't do as much as work as she did before: during the afternoon she sits outside talking in the light and pure air of the forest. Sometimes she writes in her journals (so secretly, she wouldn't want you to read her most secret fantasies) reads the few books she brough with her or, most of the time, spies you chopping off the wood.

Something about how you move your body makes her shift, she thinks she looks like one of those horny ladies in old movies watching their husbands or the new mechanic work.

You feel her eyes on you, but when you watch her she's caught up in something else.

Food begins to be scarce, no one eats much but whenever you have a bit of food you instantly give it to Shauna, making her worry for your health but she accepts it anyway, she's really hungry after all.

When the team is sure to die, Jackie has another idea, to host a doomcoming.

All the girls wear their nicest clothes, adorning their heads with flower crowns. You get into one of your best dresses, leaving your arms exposes and unknowingly sparking a heat in Shauna's body.

She watches you drink the alcohol Mari made, how you talk to others and can't help but want you all for herself.

Shauna feels her eyes shifting painfully, her vision goes blurry and she branches herself on a stump. She's hungry now. She doesn't know why, she just wants something to eat. She looks at you.

At one point, everything starts to blurry together and you fell asleep. You woke up at the cabin, someone had brought you back. You're tied on a chair and your teammates are around you.

You feel everyone starting to touch you, but when Mari tires to kiss you, Shauna feels her blood boiling. She roughly shoves her friend away and sits on your lap, her mouth on yours kissing you sloppily and grinding on your thigh while everyone looked.

The others watch, their eyes fixated on the both of you, some try to get behind you and touch you from there but Shauna clings to you so tightly no one can get close to your skin.

You feel embarrassed, you feel hot and bothered but to Shauna, this is a way to make you hers, letting everyone watch her make your mouth and your body hers is her way to make you two bond and claim you as hers and only hers.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 14: DREAM CATCHER - Episode 24: A Flashy Greeting

Sakyo: How are the ticket sales going?

Manager: Pretty much smoothly. But there are quite a lot of weekday show tickets left.

Sakyo: With all the buzz the New Fleur Award has been creatin’, there are more shows going on. There’s bound to be lots of overlap between show schedules, so the audience is dispersing between everything they want to watch.

Izumi: We might need to think of some kind of promotional tool.

Sakyo: No, we still have time, so let’s see how it goes.

[Door opening]

Kumon: Tenma-san’s coming back soon!

Izumi: Eh? Really?

Yuki: That’s pretty quick.

Misumi: Let’s welcome him back~

Kazunari: Right-o!

-

Tenma: I’m ba–

[Party poppers going off]

Misumi: Welcome back~!

Kazunari: Welcome back, TenTen!

Muku: Welcome back!

Tenma: No, what’s with this greeting!? Acting like it’s my birthday!

Yuki: Everyone's suggestions gradually got flashier.

Muku: At first, we thought of just doing a casual greeting.

Kazunari: But for the last one, we just had to pull out all the stops~!

Tenma: Alright, I’ll get my luggage settled, so meet me in the practice room.

Kumon: Already!?

Kazunari: We’re practicing RN!?

Izumi: Aren’t you jet-lagged? Are you feeling okay?

Muku: I think you should take a break…

Yuki: Don’t start going wild the moment you come back only to collapse on us later

Tenma: Who do you think I am? I’m a big-shot actor who can handle even the most packed schedules.

Yuki: No way you’re saying this about yourself.

Kazunari: Haha, that’s our TenTen~

Yuki: He’ll be fine if he’s feeling this cheery.

Misumi: It’s been a while since we all practiced together, I can’t wait~!

Kumon: Let’s hurry~!

Izumi: Okay, then we’re starting in 10 minutes.

Izumi: (They’re all fired up after succeeding in their “challenges”!)

-

Tenma: “Ah, I forgot. I’ll go fill it up”

Tenma: “Whaddya mean, while at it!?” 

Misumi: Ding dong!

Tenma: ?

[Door opening]

Kazunari: We’re from Summer Eats!

Misumi: Six triangle rice balls from the midnight diner!

Tenma: Uh, these are too many!

Misumi: Let’s eat them with everyone~!

Yuki: Let’s put up this soapbox as a table.

Kumon: Oh yeah, Tenma-san, want me to give you a massage later? I bet your body’s stiff from being on the plane so long.

Tenma: A massage?

Kumon: I used to study sports massages when I was in the baseball club, and a while ago, Yamaguchi told me that I might be able to use them for actors too.

Kumon: I looked into it, and found there’s stage trainers who give massages to actors to keep them in good physical condition.

Kumon: I also found a bunch of massages that might be helpful, so I wanna give them a try!

Tenma: Am I a guinea pig!?

Kazunari: We do exert our bodies during performances tho. This kinda thing would be a big help.

Muku: It could also help us prevent injuries.

Misumi: I wanna get a massage too!

Kumon: Alrighty~!

Kazunari: Oh, also, the flyer’s been printed. Take a looksie!

Muku: Wahh, it’s so cool!

Tenma: This is nice. It’s got the vibe of the debut performance, but there’s a sense of growth.

Kazunari: My ideas just wouldn’t stop flowing, thanks to all the inspo I got while traveling all around Europe~

Kazunari: I think I’m pretty satisfied with how this design turned out!

Muku: Yuki-kun’s design for the costumes didn’t have any big changes this time.

Yuki: Yeah. The costume design for our debut performance fitted perfectly both for ourselves and our character.

Yuki: So I went with this design.

Tenma: I agree. I think something that gives off the feeling of a simple update is good.

Muku: It could also shift the focus to our growth as actors.

Misumi: I love the Genie’s costume~

Kumon: I’m happy my Genie of the Ring’s costume looks like a matching set with Sumi-san!

Kazunari: These costumes are perf cause their accessories make the flyer’s design stand out.

Yuki: Speaking of accessories, Misumi, how’s the bromide case I made you?

Misumi: Ah, it’s a perfect fit! Thanks, Yuki!

Muku: Bromide?

Misumi: Look~!

Kazunari: This is…

Misumi: A picture of Grandpa! Syu gave it to me~!

Yuki: Ah, good for you.

Kumon: It’s not often we get to see a photo with Hakkaku-san front and center!

Kazunari: And is Hakkaku-san holding a photo of a baby?

Misumi: It’s me~ Syu said the picture was taken around the time I was born.

Misumi: He said that if I had grown up to become an actor, Grandpa would have liked to see me on stage.

Kumon: Is that so…

Misumi: Grandpa didn’t really like having his picture taken, so there aren’t a lot of pictures of him. I was shocked when I saw this one~

Tenma: He took great care of such a precious photo, that’s Syu-san for you…

Kazunari: He takes his Hakkaku-san business serious~!

Yuki: Good for you for getting your hands on such a prized possession.

Misumi: He said it’s best that I have it. Look, at the back–

Muku: Is that your name written on the back?

Misumi: Yup. Grandpa wrote my name here to show it after he decided on it.

Tenma: Then it’s definitely something you were meant to have.

Misumi: Ah, but Syu also took a picture of it with his phone.

Kazunari: Syu-san sure knows his stuff~

Misumi: And then Yuki made me this holder, so I don’t have to hold it as is~

Yuki: It’ll crumble immediately if you keep it as is in your pocket.

Muku: It has a lot of triangles, it’s so cute!

Misumi: Ehehe, it’s nice, isn’t it~ It’s a treasure, so I’ll carry it with me all the time!

Misumi: If I have it with me during the performance, it’ll be like he’s watching up close!

Yuki: It’d probably be better to leave it on the side of the stage during performances.

Kumon: Cause you might drop it.

Misumi: Okay, got it!

Tenma: Since Hakkaku-san will be watching us too, we gotta do our best.

Misumi: Grandpa, watch over us as we grow stronger than ever.

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[sunny6677]

Flames.

Summary: Skid is saved from a situation he never thought he'd be in. But now he has to heal from everything he went through. And he doesn't know how.

Chapter 11: Keender.

TWS: REPETITION, TRAUMA, NIGHTMARES, SKID HAS A NIGHTMARE, PEOPLE BEING ASSHOLES, PEOPLE SIMPING OVER A LITERAL ABUSER, UNFORTUNATELY REALISTIC DEPICTIONS OF HOW PEOPLE TREAT BAD PEOPLE WHO HAPPEN TO BE SOMEWHAT GOOD LOOKING, PHYSICAL ABUSE, CHILD ABUSE.

(SERIOUSLY. SKID GOES THROUGH A LOT IN THIS SHIT. BE WARNED. YES, THIS IS A STORY ABOUT HIM SLOWLY HEALING FROM HIS TRAUMA, OR AT LEAST TRYING TO. BUT THAT DOESNT MEAN ITS NOT SOMEWHAT DARK. BE WARNED. DONT WORRY THOUGH, IT DOESNT ROMANTICIZE ANY OF THE DARK THINGS IN IT THOUGH. IT IS POTRAYED AS A BAD THING. THIS IS JUST ABOUT SKID HEALING FROM A BAD EXPERIENCE.)

(I ALSO PARTIALLY WROTE THIS STORY TO KINDA COPE WITH MY TRAUMA, SINCE WRITING ABOUT PEOPLE SLOWLY HEALING FROM THEIR TRAUMA KINDA MAKES ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT MY OWN EXPERIENCES.)

————

Skid wouldn't be going to the candy store for a little while.

Well, that was at least what his mother had told him. She had apologized to him, saying she shouldn't have brought him there and that she should have known better. And despite Skid's pleads for her to know she did nothing wrong, she refused to believe otherwise.

As of now, Skid had already been suited back into his pajama's. They felt comforting against his skin, like a warm hug being pressed against himself. In all fairness, he really did need a hug right now. The sky was now a color of midnight black, stars speckled across the plane of the source of the darkness from above. The moon was shining brightly and peacefully from on high. Skid could hear the faint chirping of the crickets from outside.

As of now, he was in his bed. His mother had decided that maybe it was best he got some rest for the night. He had been tucked comfortably beneath the fuzzy covers of his blanket. His knees felt weak and numb underneath the blanket. And for literal minutes now, he had basically just been laying there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling helplessly. What was a kid like him to do?

Pump was already gone at this point. His mother had sent him off, saying that maybe Skid would need to rest for a little while. Yet, even as Pump left, Skid could see a concerned shimmer in his eyes. Pangs of guilt shrouded Skid internally, like a knife being forcefully shoved into his chest. It pierced deeply, as if a physical wound had really opened up inside of him. Skid was really starting to wonder just what was wrong with him.

He turned over. He could hear the muffled sounds of the TV from outside of his door, despite it being closed. His mother was still in the living room, most likely sitting on the couch and attempting to watch something in order to forget most of what had happened today. Skid gulped. Internally, he scolded himself for.. for what had happened today. He didn't know why he broke down in the candy store today, but he felt as if it was all his fault.

Skid weakly looked upwards. A thought entered his mind. He considered perhaps attempting to get out of bed and apologizing to his mother, but.. she'd be angry, wouldn't she? If he had gotten out of bed. No.. she wouldn't. She wasn't like that. Skid knew that so! So why did his mind seem so intent on portraying her like she was going to hurt him even though she never did?! Was it a fear? Some kind of anxiety?

Or maybe he was just ungrateful..

Skid grumbled weakly. He raised up one of his hands, and lightly bonked himself on the head. What was he thinking? Treating his own mother like she was some sort of monster... just what was wrong with him?

As he laid there in silence, he suddenly heard the audio from the TV switch to something else. Despite it being outside, he was able to tell that it was clearly on something else entirely now. It wasn't anything important certainly. He considered just trying to sleep for a few moments more, and possibly apologizing tomorrow so his mother wouldn't be worried for his own sleep. A part of him kept thinking that for whatever reason, she would be angry though.

Then, he blinked. He could hear what the voice on whatever channel his mother was watching was saying. Judging by the firm but professional tone in the male voice that was on the channel, he assumed that most likely, it was the news channel. He arched a brow—wondering why his mother would be watching the news late at night.

He then heard, and began to process the muffled words of the voice that was speaking. "Last night, there was a 35 year old man by the name of Keender Roosevelt arrested for kidnapping and possibly child abuse. He was faced with charges, but some individuals online have taken a strange liking to him."

Skid clenched his sheets, his eyes widening.

The voice continued to speak. "Most of the followers online are young women, who claim that Keender shouldn't be in jail because reportedly, he's 'too handsome to go to jail'. Some individuals online try to claim that what he did was justified for various reasons, and some even empathize with him. Some have even written fan letters to him."

Skid's pupils shook, water beginning to form in his eyes. He didn't understand exactly what he was hearing.

"Other information about Keender Roosevelt reportedly states that he was a failed screenwriter. Supposedly, the monster had a wife and a son of his own at the age of 28, but the two apparently mysteriously went missing. The last reported sighting of Keender's son had apparently been—"

...the voice stopped. Judging by the sudden clicking sound, and the muting of the audio, the TV had most likely been turned off. His mother had turned the TV off. In the gaps of his hearing, all Skid could hear now was the sound of the air conditioning and the chirping of the crickets.

Skid clenched his sheets yet again, tears slowly seeping out from the corner of his eye. People.. liked Keender? But—but why? He didn't even understand any of what he had just heard. In the silence, Skid continued to lay on his bed, his eyes wide open in the dark.

Skid then heard the sounds of distant light footsteps.

He then clenched his eyes shut, burying his face into his pillow. He hoped to god that soon he'd drift off to sleep and forget all about what he had just heard. The footsteps drew nearer, Skid's skin grew clammier and more tingly. But even as it did, Skid felt his muscles become numb, and the world around him slowly began to fade into the cage of slumber that resided within his innocent mind.

————

In a hazy vision, Skid was in a car. Upon the hot metal seating of a car, in fact. He was in the back seat of a car. The seat beneath him felt hot, warm. Painful, even. He could feel it underneath his tiny legs. It ached, and he wanted so badly to squirm in his own slight agony. Yet for whatever reason, he didn't. He held it back. He held back the urge to quietly whimper.

He could feel heat against his pale skin. The warm summer air of.. wherever he was. Most likely, the AC in the car wasn't on, and due to that, it felt warmer than any fire that could be started. Skid could see the light blue sky outside, and various cars that were parked near. He didn't know where he was, but it almost felt familiar.

In the car he was in, Skid could see various items. Stacks of unmoved clothing, bags of opened snacks, an empty can. He could smell something foul, but he wasn't really sure what it might have been. The sun blazed it's glow upon him, and he held back another whimper. His eyes clenched tightly shut. His skin felt clammy and hot, and he could feel a wet feeling in the corners of his eyes. He felt weak.. weaker than before. He didn't even know what was happening.

"Jesus fuckin'.. I swear to.." He heard Keender's masculine and rough voice speak from in the front of the seat. Skid raised his head up, not out of curiosity, but to see what exactly it was that Keender had been cursing to himself about. As he raised his head, he could see Keender in the driver's seat with a cigarette held between his slender fingers. There was a light red cut on one of his fingers. Skid already knew what it was from. He had recalled a few days ago that Keender had somehow given himself a paper cut whenever he was trying to take a piece of paper from Skid. Skid internally blamed himself, feeling at fault for what happened.

Even so, Skid couldn't tell what Keender was mad about. A wasp buzzed from outside, and lightly ran into the car window that was beside Skid. Hesitantly, Skid spoke up. His voice still sounded meek, as it usually did whenever he spoke to Keender. "I—I'm sorry.." He didn't know what he did. But he assumed that Keender was most likely cursing because of him.

Keender turned his gaze toward him, and a chill went down Skid's spine. A bead of sweat slightly trickled down Skid's cheek. He held back the urge to whimper in the sheer fear of Keender staring at him. Keender then grumbled, saying, "Sorry for what, kid? And didn't I tell ya not to speak unless I spoke to you? What the fuck are you speaking for?"

Skid merely quietly whined in response, looking off to the side. Keender looked away from Skid, sighing. "Jesus fuckin' Christ.. whatever, kid. Just don't talk, okay? We'll be back at my house once I'm done smokin'." Keender stated. Keenders lips then lightly touched his cigarette, and outwards came a puff of smoke. Skid couldn't exactly see his face when it was turned away from him. He was weirdly glad he couldn't see his face though.

Skid then looked away. Beside him, there was a chipped cup of water. It was something Keender had gotten for him while they had been out on this little trip of theirs. Skid didn't really know why Keender decided to take him. He was going to consider yelling for help whenever Keender wasn't looking, but considering Keender was with him at all times, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to do that.

A bit of thirst internally pulsed inside of Skid's throat. He was longing for something to drink in this heat, and his water was the only thing he had. He looked at the cup, his eyes feeling dry from how many times he had cried today. He then lifted up his hand weakly. It shook slightly, violently even. It was hard to really hold onto things with how weak he had been lately. Yet even so, he continued to reach out for it.

Finally, his palm touched the cold glass. He held back a whimper, and let his fingers clench onto it. Then, carefully, he began to slowly try and grab it so he could pull it toward himself. Successfully, he managed to grab it. Tightly, with his hands clenched around it, he pulled it close to his dry lips. He needed something to drink right now. And fast.

He then tipped the cup, and let the liquid enter his mouth. It felt cold.. a bit of a chill ran down Skid's spine when he drank it. But it tasted weirdly good even so. Water never really tasted good to him. So maybe the heat was just affecting him? He then slowly stopped drinking it, and slowly pulled it away from his lips.

Skid then began to try and put the cup back where it was. A puff of smoke went out from Keenders lips again. His hands kept shaking, yet he tried to keep them steady. Steady. Steady. What was steady? He was starting to forget the meaning of the word because of how long he had even been around Keender.

Then, it slipped.

It fell from his hands, and onto the fuzzy messy floor of the car. Liquid poured out from the cup, and it fell with a hard thud. It was almost a miracle that it didn't break. Skid gasped softly, his voice barely audible. He immediately looked upwards at Keender, his gaze helpless. Already, Keender had been looking back at him. "What.. what the fuck?" Keender cursed. Pants began to violently escape Skid's mouth. Keender leaned his head over to see whatever had just fallen. In the darkness of the floor of the car, Keender could barely see.

Keender then looked back up. And judging by the sharp glare in his eyes, it was clear he wasn't happy. His brows were furrowed, his mouth was drawn back into a snarl. Skid opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He suddenly felt a hand wrap around his neck, and with a push, a sharp pain formed on his face! His body contorted further back into the seat of his car, and on instinct, he began to curl up into a ball.

Sharp, hurtful slaps began to be inflicted on different parts of Skid's body. Skid covered his head with his hair, and his eyes remained tightly shut. He could tell it was Keender who was slapping him, even though his eyes weren't even open. Keender began to yell violently, his voice tinted with an unpredictable rage that had been unleashed from him like a volcano. "You little brat! I just fucking got that water for you! How could you?!"

Skid whimpered. Sobbed. Cried. But there was nothing to be done in this situation, no one was around to help him.

He began to cry, whining. "I'm sorry.. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

A final blow was landed near his head, and in that last moment, he sobbed again, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm.."

————

Skid began to writhe violently on his bed. His legs began to kick, his arms gravitated towards his eyes in an effort to hide his tears. The tendrils of his hair were now messy thanks to his constant tossing and turning. His eyes were completely wet with tears that he had presumably been crying while he was asleep. A pitiful but tiny scream began to escape his mouth. He whined, over and over through tears and gasps, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

The door immediately opened. In this moment, he wasn't able to tell who it was. But whoever it had been approached fastly toward the bed, and two arms were softly wrapped around his body. A hand went to his head, stroking it gently. "Agh!" Skid yelped. It wasn't hurting him. But he couldn't help but yelp anyway.

"Shhh.. shhh.. its okay, it's okay.." Skid heard his mother's voice speak. It was only then he processed that it was his mom speaking to him. He began to cry more in the realization. "Mama.. mom.. mom!" He whimpered. His eyes were still shut, tears pouring out from them like a waterfall.

His mother continued to presumably hug him, speaking in a soft tone, "It was just a nightmare.. its okay.. I'm here.. you're not there anymore.." She seemed to have known what happened despite not even being there herself. Was Skid really that obvious?

Skid sniffled again, his sobs becoming quieter. He opened his eyes. He could see his mother's concerned face in the dark of the room. His hands instinctively went to her, and he could feel her shoulders beneath his hands. "Mom.." He quietly whimpered. "Its okay.. you don't have to tell me what happened. You're here now. You're safe." She assured him.

Skid let out one last sniffle, and began to quietly cry, for it was all he could do. But even with his cries, he could have sworn he heard sniffles coming from his mother too.

//////////////////////

E

[ainyan]

Memory

He strode along the darkened streets, his eyes upon the shadows that fluttered to and fro, following the ghostly echoes of memories long consigned to the dusty corners of his mind. He did not make the mistake of looking at them with his soul-sight; he’d done that only once before, and the physical agony upon seeing so many of his people with no more aether than the twisted husks that inhabited the world above had debilitated him for an entire day.

Instead, he walked amongst them as if they did not exist, his attention turned inwards. The words of that hateful creature kept resounding in his head. If you can see the color of souls, then surely you can see how rich and varied hers is, so many beautiful shades of blue. Absurd! To think that a fragment of a fragment, so shattered and sundered that he barely existed on the physical plane, much less the metaphysical, could dare to dictate to him the color of anyone’s soul.

Ridiculous.

And yet, though it pained him, he had to admit there was some color to her soul. A hint of cobalt in the heart, periwinkle along the edges, cornflower rippling through a tenuous ocean of sapphire…

No. Absurd. Such a soul could only belong to the best of them, the brightest. One worthy of the greatest honors, the greatest respect. And she was gone, gone as they were, lost to the catastrophes that destroyed their home and ripped their world and hearts asunder.

It was impossible. She would not. She could not…

He stopped in the middle of the square, ignoring the shadows that flitted around him, and took a deep, bracing breath. Holding out his hands, he formed the concept in his mind - one of two concepts in this and any other world that he knew so intimately, so completely, that he could never fail to bring it instantly to mind. And from there, to hand.

Aether flowed and twisted, coalescing into a tall, slim form - shorter than he, but still immense compared to those monstrosities above. Round of hip and breast, with a slim, puckish face made for mischief. Such playfulness was echoed in the emerald eyes that glittered beneath the fall of ebon bangs tipped in lavender. His breath came in short rasps as she grinned up at him, hands set on her hips, delight curving her lips. He reached forth, fingers outstretched to touch her. “Mnemosyne,” he whispered.

Aether twisted and warped, collapsing into a shape less than a third of her height, small and slim, with only the barest swell to distinguish feminine from masculine. Dark horns swept back amidst midnight hair, and lavender-rimmed eyes stared at him in sorrow amidst a sea of pinprick freckles like stars scattered on her indigo skin. A long tail swept forth from beneath her robes, tearing through them and lashing lightly behind her. With an inarticulate scream, he clenched his fingers into a tight fist, nails biting into his palm as he spun his aether back into himself, releasing the form into a puff of pale blue smoke that quickly dissipated.

“You know as well as I do.”

He spun, hand coming up in a defensive gesture, but the robed figure that stood behind him watched him impassively. Behind the ubiquitous white mask that all of his creations wore, he could see a hint of pink eyes. “I know nothing of the sort,” he said rudely, cutting them off before they could say anything else.

As they always had, as they always would, they continued speaking, heedless of his ire. “You cannot recreate any soul that yet lives on. Only those lost to feed His hunger remain for your magics to reform, hollow though they may be.”

Snarling, Emet-Selch turned his head away from the compassion he could see in that pale gaze. “So her soul was sundered. It does not mean it exists here. It does not mean it exists within that twisted mockery of life, no matter how unusual it may be.”

The arms that slid around him were as solid now as they were then, more than ten thousand years in the past. The wiry strength, the gentle compassion, the overwhelming love; all of these traits existed within the single, solitary shade that held more than just semblance of will, but actual will.

What was it he had thought when he’d summoned his sorcery to bring them to life? No one has ever understood me as they did. No one can know my heart as Hythlodaeus did.

No one…

No one but her. And she was as lost to him as they were..

The sobs ambushed him; tears welling up and spilling over between one breath and the next. Angrily, he tried to pull away, but as he had discovered so many times in the past, when they did not wish to let him go, he would go nowhere at all. Arms locked about him, holding him tight against a slim, rangy body, and the voice in his ears whispered the same soft words of comfort as they had uttered a thousand times before, thousands of years ago.

Finally he gave up and sank to his knees, feeling them lower themself behind him, still holding fast. He reached up to grip the arm stretched across his shoulders and turned his head, pressing his face against the offered shoulder. In silent agony, he wept one last time for all that which he had lost. His life. His world. His home.

His hearts.

And as his tears faltered and faded, so too did the pressure; the shade of Hythlodaeus was as much a slave to the inevitability of time and fate, even when that fate was prescribed by magic and sorcery. Just as he was. Just as she was.

[corndoggod]

Shirley Chisholm State Park

Surrounded by planes with their jet engines whinnying like Pegasus and cooled by a fine breeze, I paused. The bike mechanic recommended the park after seeing my tires. “You could totally do the gravel at Shirley Chisholm,” he said. “It’s nice out there. Bring your girl. They got birds. Peregrines, red tails. It’s not big, but it’s nice and green.”

I was there to buy three tubes since C.’s front tire had a tear too big to patch and was sold this plan instead.

………………..

We skirmished earlier in the day. Not fighting really, but exasperated misunderstandings. We ruined our morning with more sex. My legs ached from last night’s late-night marathon. “Do all that again,” she said, but I barely remembered. I remember I had five drinks, but Coyote pours them strong so it was probably more like 7 or 8. I woke in a bog of my own making; my peers already done with their long run and I felt behind.

It began with an errand. C had to copy Sav’s studio keys and drop them off for someone. Her new studio mate actually. Sav pawned it off to C, since she chose a 3 bed by a pond and working on a hippie farm upstate after their Clinton Hill landlord raised their rent. I suggested we divide and conquer since we also wanted to buy groceries and return IKEA stuff while we had the car. These scattered tasks became monumental, crushing our weekend elation. We sat on the floor to problem solve and I learned a thing or two about how C.’s mind works that I filed away for later use.

………………..

But now I’m out here and it’s peaceful. Birds all around and a breeze on my sun-blocked back. I’m starting to get hungry and very, very thirsty. I’m filming planes, trying to take nice shots of the sun and clouds and metal marvels, after my Dad told me I had a good eye. I’ve always shied away from visuals, partially because I had too many artist friends to fool myself into any confidence. But nature’s beauty is hard to sunder, and so is C.’s, so I’m moving a bit slower, trying our my mechanical eye. 

Writing, biking, running -- these things help me think, but I’ve never thought of all three of them as engines for thought. I used to pedal around all the time typing on my phone just to think. But that’s difficult to do safely in New York. Even Prospect Park is too dense unless you’re there just after dawn or well-past midnight. But out here with Shirley where the city recedes to a couple of legos its wide as the Sargasso Sea.

………………..

When the park closed, I biked to Sultan Room to watch Emma perform with her second band Skortz, a 90s-style rock band leaning into heavy electric guitar. The singer was like a hawk, powerfully belting long, unflinching notes into the mic. She was a poster child for the satanic panic. The guitarist had long shaggy unkempt hair, but everything else about him was put together just so: his glaring collar pulled over the lapels of his two-piece suit, which stopped just short of his bare ankles and leather dress shoes. The drummer didn’t give a shit. He was just there to wail on the skins. And then there was Emma, beaming with the biggest smile as they sang of death and pain and betrayal.

Sunday morning was kinder, easier. We turned on the AC and draped our bodies over each other, giving one-handed foot massages. I’m reading the WSJ weekend edition, the first physical paper I’ve ever subscribed to. She’s reading Bluets by Maggie Nelson.

[dovabunny]

Part 11 - Tesoro

Soap stood in the back of the small crowd as the 141 hopped out the heli.

It was somehow both a lot harder and a lot easier than he thought it would be to see them again. He can't quite get enough air in his lungs but his hands are steady and his feet planted. He's a lot stronger than he was 9 months ago. He didn't realize it till this moment

On a drunken night about 4months ago Soap spilled everything to Rudy. Every sordid detail, broken dream, empty promise, and the killing blow - the bar, their fights, his expulsion.

They left the choice to him whether to help the 141. He insisted they should. His only request was to not mention he's here.

So here he is, looking in on his old life as Price greets then with a warm smile. "Alejandro, Rodolfo, it's good to see you again. It's been too long."

"Welcome! Price, Gaz, Ghost, and -?" Ale asked, all Corporal Vargas on the surface.

"This is Roach! Sargent Sanderson. Excellent infiltrator and all round soldier."

"Oh," Rudy gave an innocent smile with a slight head tilt. "Soap's replacement. Speaking of, how is Johnny?"

Ale subtly elbowed Rudy with a whispered "Eh, pórtate bien." (behave)

It wasn't lost on Soap that Rudy used 'Johnny' just to show he could 'pull it off'. Not on Ghost either, judging by the way the man flinched.

"Laswell says he's well," Gaz added a little defensive.

"I heard about your 'secret weapon'," Price interjects. "Where is this myth?"

Ale grins and glances at Ghost. "Our arma secreta is not a secret we want to hide. He is our Tesoro. But he prefers the shadows and we respect that. But you must be tired and there's much work."

The six walk towards the base. From the shadows Soap sees Price's slightly forced smile, Gaz's small pout, and Ghost's eyes and shoulders screaming exhaustion and discomfort.

He wonders when's the last time he slept. He wonders if he still has nightmares when sleeping on a plane. He always preferred to stay awake. Soap used to tell him stories to take his mind off it. He wonders if Ghost remembers is meds. He often forgot when he was tired and it made it worse.

He sees Roach out his arm around Ghost.

Soap looks away and melts into the shadows.

Turns out the 141 had chased a dangerous arms dealer they'd been hunting for months all the way here, only to find he's hiding behind a cartel. The 141 is out numbered and in over their heads. Together with the Los Vaqueros they devised a 2 part plan.

3 days later they're gearing up for phase 1.

Ghost barely spares a glance at the 7 other men accompanying the 6 of them. Price had been very curious about this 'secret weapon' Laswell told them about, apparently the underworld's boogyman.

Ghost didn't care, knows first hand the power a dangerous persona can have. He's 'The Ghost' after all. A monster, a merciless agent of death that strikes fear in enemies and allies like.

(No one knew Simon Riley was a deeply flawed man hiding behind the mask)

It's midnight when they approach the cartel compound. They're here to get Intel on where their target is hiding. The 141 approach from West, the Ale and Rudy from the East, with 3 snipers on watch, 4 in the shadows to assist where needed.

The challenge is they can't be seen. If their target thinks he's compromised he'll run again. They need to keep it quiet, quick, and clean.

He physically shakes his head to rid himself of the whispering voices telling him Soap loved 'keep it clean' missions.

It's starts well. The watchtower guard is put to sleep, the snipers are their eyes to guide them, and if a kill is unavoidable the body is quickly removed.

Finally on the roof, Ghost reaches for the door when loud beeping on their radio stops him.

"Everyone stop!" Ale commands. "Tesoro, report."

Rudy translates the more code beeps that follow. "The door is rigged."

Roach examines it. "It's a custom job on the inside. Nothing I can do from this side."

"Shit. We'll have to regroup and find another way." Price says.

Another few beeps. "No need. Seems you'll be meeting our arma secreta after all. Tesoro - you're up."

Out of the dark a grappling hook is shot into the side of the building, quickly followed by a figure in black.

The figure sneaks into an open window. Shortly after there's soft shuffling and scratching at the door.

It opens and he looks up into a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes he would recognize in any lifetime.

"...Johnny?" His rough voice echoes the name his heart whispers in disbelief.

Johnny is in all black gear, a backwards cap under his headset hides his trademark hair, and a black mask covers his nose down to his neck.

For a moment he can't breathe.

How...

"Lieutenant Riley."

It's a voice he'd never forget but a tone he doesn't recognize. Soft. Cold. Distant even though he's right in front of them.

"Hurry. I need to reset the rig."

The 141 wakes up from their shock. Price looks firmly ahead and leads them in. Ghost gives a last glance back but the door is already closed and Soap is gone.

There'll be time. For now he needs to focus. Tomorrow... He'll get answers.

By some miracle they get in and out with no issue. The only trace they leave is 2 missing guards and a watchman who fell asleep.

Ghost didn't miss the looks Gaz gave him or Price.

Soap is here. Johnny. How?

As they make their way back to the rendezvous point he starts running.

But Soap isn't there. His eyes go over the 7 other men and counts only 6. No kind blue eyes, mohawk and bright smile.

He starts to wonder if he imagined it when he sees Rudy's knowing hard stare. "He'll meet us at the safehouse. He's cleaning up after us and hiding the bodies."

Two trucks stand ready to take them to the safehouse. They let the Cowboys on first, leaving 2 spots per truck. Price doesn't look at him and gets in the first, Gaz cautiously follows, leaving Roach and Ghost to take the second.

Roach bumps his shoulder and asks if he's okay. "I don't know. That'll depend on the answers I get."

At the safehouse it's a flurry to settle in, review the Intel and plan for phase 2. It's near dawn when everything is ready and they can stop to eat and sleep for a few hours before heading out again at 13:00.

Ghost barely took anything in, his eyes constantly scanning the room, standing back to make it less obvious. Or he would if Price didn't constantly ask for his input to pull him back to the table and into the conversation. He's not stupid. He could tell it was on purpose. Price's frustrated glares at him confirmed it.

He doesn't understand why Price and Gaz aren't equally anxious and curious why Soap is here.

At breakfast he sees Soap at the end of the table bracketed by Ale and Rudy.

He sees Soap's hand.

The thumb on his right hand is missing, replaced by a prosthetic that's attached to a glove he wears.

Ghost carefully sits in front of Johnny, eye on his hand. "What happened?" He asks. He's not sure why but it pains him to see Soap got hurt. Like he could've prevented it. If Johnny stayed.

Soap doesn't look up so Ale answers. "The thumb? Unfortunately, that was my doing."

"WHAT!?" Ghost yells, startling everyone. "What kind of CO would shoot at his Sargent?"

Johnny sighs and stands.

"If Ale didn't put a bullet in my hand, I would've put a bullet in my head."

He leaves the room in deafening silence.

"And it's 'Captain' now," he adds.

GhostSoap AU - Replaced

Cw: angst

They'd been a (secret) thing for almost a year now. Soap was smitten, but respected Ghost's boundaries to keep it private.

But over all these months, Ghost never said he loved him too. He never makes future plans with Soap either.

He keeps turning down invites to go on leave together or meet his family,l. When they're out on missions will always elect share a room with Price over him.

Soap starts to feel like less of a secret lover and more like... Ghost's dirty little secret.

Like he's just being used.

(Read rest below)

It all blows up one night.

The gang had been at a local bar. Some flooze had apparently been making eyes at Ghost and Gaz noticed. Thinking he's being a good friend and wingman, he introduced the two.

Soap had to sit and watch Ghost talk to her at the bar for 20minutes.

Everytime she touched his arm or bought him a drink he wanted to rip her off him.

But what hurt more was that Ghost didn't immediately turn her down, instead entertaining her attention for a drink or two. He didn't tell Gaz he wasn't interested.

Soap was just a spectator.

"So? Get her number?" Gaz eagerly asked when Ghost returned.

"Nah. Not my type. Too chatty."

Gaz rolled his eyes. "Picky bitch. She was pretty. And if you're not into chatty why do you keep him around?" He playfully winked at Soap.

It was a joke. Didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Not when Ghost didn't even reply.

Soap announced he's leaving early. Ghost followed and caught up to him. The cold air did nothing to ease the burning hurt.

"You coming over to mine tonight, Johnny? I doubt they'll be back till after midnight."

Soap grit his teeth and kept walking. "Dunno. Maybe you should go ask your redhead slag."

Ghost glared, voice cold. "That's uncalled for, Johnny. She was just being friendly."

"Friendly, huh? Too bad she's chatty. Apparently that's huge turn off for you."

Ghost grabbed his arm and stopped him. His eyes and tone incredulous. "That's what this hissy fit is about? You're jealous and touchy over that comment? I thought you'd be happy I didn't take her number."

"I would've been happy if you didn't entertain her flirting at all!"

Ghost's eyes turned hard. "And what gives you the right to dictate who I talk to?"

Soap stared for a moment. It hurt. It fucking hurts but he needed to know.

"What am I to you, Simon?"

Ghost was quiet.

"A fling? A partner? A lover? A fucking sex toy? What am I to you!?"

Months of insecurities were bubbling up. The alcohol that loosened his tongue didn't help either as he yelled.

"Don't raise your voice to me, Sargent. I'm still your commanding officer." Ghost said in a tone reserved for intimidating interrogations and reckless recruits.

"...that's it? You're my CO and I'm your Sargent? That's- that's all it is for you?" Soap hated how his voice trembled.

"I didn't make any promises, Soap." (Soap. Not Johnny.) "You have no right to make demands of what I may and may not do, and I won't be chained down!"

"I don't want to chain you down! I just wa-"

"Sounds like you do. Bloody hell, if you didn't want to fuck anymore - fine. There's no need for the tears and the drama, Sargent."

It was only then that Soap realized he was crying.

Ghost cursed and kept walking without him.

Soap feels like he's been punched in the chest, a gaping void left where his heart and lungs should be.

Apparently all the secret kisses Ghost stole, how he held his hand when no one was looking, the way he held him when they were alone were all just what? Drama? In his head?

Soap spends the night sobbing his heart out off base in an empty parking lot with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

By morning he told himself there's no use crying over spilled milk.

But it wasn't that simple. For either of them. It was the start of the end.

[xvreadsbooks]

In Your Arms - azriel

azriel x gn reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: blood, swearing

anon: azriel x mate reader where they have an argument before reader goes on a mission and gets hurt and bat boi is upset and worried for reader :) <3

I hope this is along the lines of what you were thinking anon :) thank you for the request

I left the reason behind the argument up to the reader. It can be as serious or lighthearted as you want.

Azriel and I had gone weeks without talking before – weeks, months, whatever the mission required.

But we had never done it willingly.

The argument seemed hopelessly pointless now, and if I had any strength left, I might have laughed.

The shadows drifting around his shoulders looked heavier than normal, their restless movement irritating me for no reason other than existing.

"I want you to leave." My voice was low, rough, from all of the yelling.

He stared at me for a moment, eyes shadowed beneath a lowered brow, the muscles in his jaw tensing, before he uncrossed his arms and strode from our bedroom.

I do not know what hurt more: watching him leave without putting up a fight or trying to sleep that night in a bed that smelled like him.

A tear slid down my face. It slipped from my cheek, tumbling, falling, into the pool of blood at my feet.

Trivial.

It all felt so trivial alone.

////

"Y/n?"

Ah, I know that voice.

"Y/n, hey—" Warm hands brushed against the inside of my wrists, the skin of my neck. "—open your eyes for me."

Azriel's magic wrapped around me, gentle and quiet as the midnight breeze, and I blinked my eyes open. When had they closed?

It was definitely night now: the sky was dark, the mountains even darker, and above their jagged edges the stars flickered dimly. The tree I had collapsed against for shade hours earlier now waved gently in the breeze, its dark limbs hiding fragments of the night sky from me.

Azriel kneeled before me, worry and pain clearly written across his face. Relief relaxed his shoulders as our gazes met, and I forced my mouth into a smile. "What a disappointing end that would have been, huh? Dying before you even got to me."

Not once did I doubt whether or not he would come for me despite the fight and the silence between us since then, but it was still a relief to realize he found me.

He frowned at my words but otherwise did not respond, his focus concentrated completely on evaluating my wounds. They ached – everything ached – but after drifting in and out of consciousness for hours, the pain felt as if it was echoing in a different dimension to a different body.

I watched his face as he treated me, the perfect planes limned with light from the moon, and wondered what had gone through his mind when I ended the silence between us by screaming down the mate bond for help.

"Well, it would have been better than dying in your arms I suppose."

Immediately I regretted saying it.

Azriel did not physically recoil, but the agonizing pain that ricocheted all the way down the bond ripped out a piece of my soul. It was the first thing I had felt from him in so long and it hurt.

"I didn't mean it that way," I murmured, hating how his hands shook against my skin as they prodded and wrapped and tied. "I meant—"

"Shut up."

I stuttered to a stop at his voice.

"You are so goddamn stubborn and annoying. Only breaking the silent treatment when you're bleeding out in a fucking forest?" He snapped, the anger in his voice a stark contrast to his gentle touch as he helped me to my feet. "Now I'm going to have to scrape your blood off of my boots—" A scarred hand dragged through his hair. "—and going on this mission alone? How dumb are you?"

I was quiet as he adjusted his group around me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that I don't want to die in your arms." He began to shake his head and I rushed to explain. "Not in that way. Not because I hate you, but because it's heartbreaking and depressing as shit and I would never want you to go through that."

He shot me a look, but I noticed the harsh lines begin to soften.

I smiled, reaching up with one hand to cup his jaw. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"I would want to hold you," He muttered against my skin, shoulders unwinding as the anger in the air rapidly dissipated. He turned his head to press a kiss against my palm. "But stop talking about dying," He warned, "You're not going to die in my arms tonight."

Magic hung heavy in the air, swirling around us as he prepared to winnow us home.

"I would die in your arms for you."

"Shut up, that doesn't even make sense."

[fruitcoops]

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

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

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

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

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if Bella had met the Volturi's as a child? What would it change and what ties do you think it would have?

It’d change a fair amount, as in, the entire plot of Twilight would have been derailed. Or, that is, it might change nothing at all.

So, we have three options here. 

Nothing Changes

Bella is an extraordinarily delicious child visiting Italy and the small medieval town of Volterra.

If Bella doesn’t happen to be on the tour, probably whoever’s looking at her sighs, looks longingly at her delicious blood, and then walks away. The Volturi do not lose control in their own city.

Bella goes on her merry way and Twilight presumably happens. Except maybe Bella goes to Alice, “Oh yeah, Volterra, I went there once. Nifty place, nice buildings.” Alice stares.

Bella’s Eaten

Bella’s an extraordinarily delicious child whose mother thinks it’s a great idea to sign them up for the tour of Volterra castle. It’s a very exclusive tour you know! Bella’s eaten almost immediately, she’s probably fought over, Jane gets one limb and Alec gets another.

Years later, Edward arrives in Forks, his personal purgatory where he listens to the banal thoughts of teenagers. Bella Swan does not arrive. Edward continues to be miserable and depressed.

The Cullens have a game of baseball with James, Laurent, and Victoria. Unfortunately, James recognizes Alice, and is intrigued enough to come after her. Unfortunately, Alice is a vampire and not a human with human relatives to hold hostage. The Cullens murder him, Laurent flees to have sex with the sexy Denali ladies, and Victoria swears vengeance upon Jasper.

Unfortunately, her gift tells her that any attempt to murder Jasper will end up with her dead. Jasper doesn’t give her the time needed to plan. He hunts her down and murders her in cold blood.

Carlisle has the world’s worst weekend. 

Edward is still depressed and concludes this is why vampires are abominations without souls. Irina gets to keep her boyfriend, he cheats on the diet and leaves within the year. Irina drowns herself in rebound sex with pretty mortals to try and feel better abou tbeing dumped. It doesn’t work.

Aro Discovers Bella

And this is probably the route you were thinking of.

Perhaps Aro’s taking a midnight stroll with Renata, perhaps he catches Bella on the tour, but somehow he manages to meet her and happens to brush her hand. Suddenly, eating Bella is off the table forever.

Bella’s gift isn’t game changing in the way Alec and Jane’s were, necessarily, but it is something Aro does not want falling into enemy hands and something he may one day need.

He’d probably do something similar to what he intended to do with Alec and Jane. He’d leave her to live her mortal life, keep close tabs on her, and turn her when she’s a young adult (probably around twenty).

Which means Bella returns to America, probably tailed by Demetri, and has no awareness that she is at some poing going to become an immortral blood drinking creature and move to Italy to become a member of an ancient vampire sect.

Bella moves to Forks, she has a run in with Edward Cullen who very nearly eats her, Demetri calls Aro to say “we have a problem”. At first, Aro isn’t too concerned, he’s delighted to hear that Carlisle’s alive and well and my god he has a coven now. Given Edward is Carlisle’s progeny, Aro is probably sure Edward will leave the city completely to avoid temptation and the others will quickly move on.

Edward’s back within the week. He attends school. He sits within a foot of Bella Swan in Biology class.

Demetri at this point probably summons Bella out of school in the middle of Biology with no warning, gets her the hell away from Edward, and has to come up with the world’s most ridiculous lie of why she should never enter within 20 feet of Edward Cullen ever again.

Demetri is a federal agent and Edward is under suspicion of being a sexual predator and serial murderer. Here are all the women who have disappeared in various towns the Cullen family have lived in.

Bella is of course horrified and shocked, but given Edward’s reaction in that first Biology class and his weirdness in the second one... 

Aro calls Carlisle. It’s a very awkward talk. Carlisle apologizes for not writing in forever he got... distracted. Aro says it’s fine, no big, CARLISLE MISSED WATCHING THE MOON LANDING WITH HIM. But regardless, Aro is calling to ask him what the fuck.

Aro tells him about Bella, Carlisle is very uncomfortable with this girl having no choice but to become a vampire and no idea what’s going to happen to her, but there’s no talking Aro out of it. He’s even more uncomfortable that he has been begging Edward to skip town but, for some unknown reason that is perhaps pride, Edward is refusing. 

“All these worlds are yours,” Aro undoubtedly says, “Except Europa, attempt no landing there.”

In other words, hands off Isabella Swan.

Carlisle tells Edward. Edward is appalled and conflicted. At this point, he’s unwillingly fascinated by Bella but has not yet decided he’s in love. He doesn’t quite have her Carlisle persona crafted yet  and so she’s not the saintly figure deserving of worship. Right now she’s just this plain, boring, girl who dared to smell delicious.

So, a part of him thinks it serves her right. Now she will suffer for all eternity as he does. More, he can save face, the monster inside him can go back to sleep for her days are number and he can pretend he’s the wonderful person everyone thinks he is. Everything will remain as exactly as it is. EDWARD IS FINE, THIS IS FINE.

Another part of him panics. First, this girl is condemned to the worst future imaginable. Not only is she becoming a demon, but a blood drinking demon at Blood Drinking Demon HQ. More, if she becomes a vampire, no blood for Edward. And remember, this is a scent he would scour the world for. Edward salivates over the thought of her blood, obsesses over it constantly, and fantasizes over how he will devour her. Suddenly, Edward may not be able to eat her. In canon, the option of eating her is always on the table, and some part of Edward is always thinking about it, always leaving it open. Here, it’s soon to be gone.

Edward probably sneaks into her room at night to watch over her sleep. Telling himself he’s protecting her from meteors but also realizing that he’s there to test his own will power and ponder over the future in which he quietly eats her in the middle of the night. 

Now, this can go two ways

Bella wakes up, and that guy Demetri said is a sexual predator targeting her is IN HER BEDROOM LOOKING SCARY AS FUCK. Bella undoubtedly screams bloody murder and tries to hit Edward with something.

Edward panics at the noise and eats her. Then when Charlie comes running he eats Charlie Swan too. The house is an utter blood bath, Edward stands there in a daze knowing the monster inside him has won. He no longer looks anything like Carlisle Cullen (this is a thing Edward does).

Probably though, Demetri is there. Which means Edward has heard his thoughts from the beginning. While Edward has the overconfidence of Gilderoy Lockhart, and tells Bella things like the laws of physics not applying to his driving or that he could beat Jasper in a fight with both hands tied behind his back, usually when push comes to shove he knows where he stands. (He tries to fight Jane in Volterra, it doesn’t go well, and he acts very meek at being confronted by Jane, Felix, etc. When he fights Victoria, he doesn’t fight at all, but just blathers nonsense and it somehow works out for him.)

So, while Edward will tell Jasper later that he totally could have taken Demetri, he’s not going to try. 

So, instead, Demetri goes, “Hey buddy, looking for a midnight snack?” and Edward shuffles and petulantly asks, “Aren’t you looking for a midnight snack?!” Edward’s here to protect Bella, you see. Demetri just nods, of course, Edward’s here to protect Bella.

They stare at each other.

Neither leaves.

Eventually, Edward slinks away, feeling very disgusted with himself, angry and Demetri, and internally raging that he didn’t get to eat Bella.

Demetri calls Aro and notes that they’ve got to turn the girl. Demetri cannot watch her 24/7 and this boy is 100% going to eat her. Aro hops on a plane in record time, bringing Renata, and makes an awkward visit to both Carlisle and Bella.

Aro tells Bella the truth about Edward which is... a little different but also pretty scary, the truth about what’s going to happen to her and why it’s important, and anything else she wants to know.

I imagine Bella quietly and stoically accepts her fate. 

Edward doesn’t get to eat Bella Swan. He feels very conflicted about it and is filled with self-loathing that he’s conflicted about it. I imagine the Madonna complex he holds for Bella blossoms at this point, and he later comes to Italy with the intent to free her from the Volturi clutches.

This doesn’t work out. 

Knowing Edward, his attempts increase in desperation until, finally, he does something very illegal in an attempt to free her and make up for damning her to this life.

The Volturi are forced to execute Edward.

Carlisle gets yet another awkward, terrible, phone call from Aro.

[immortalecstasy-blog]

You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth 18+

Chapter 21/26 Pairing: Eddie Munson / Chrissy Cunningam Need to catch up? Click Here for Chapter One or View Full Work on AO3

When Chrissy finally woke up, she was mute. People are sympathetic at first, but when she doesn’t magically get better, she slowly finds herself as one of the ‘freaks’. Lucky for her, there’s one freak in particular she really doesn’t mind finding herself beside. 

Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, PTSD, Chrissy still got attacked by Vecna but didn't die, Eddie still got mauled by bats but didn't die, Hurt/Comfort, Abuse.

The hazy days between Christmas and New Year passed by in a blur of sleeping in and days of not getting dressed. Wayne’s sleep schedule was thrown completely out of sync and the four of them – The Henderson’s and the Munson’s – spent their days just playing boardgames or watching crap television.

The adults disappeared from time to time, running errands or whatever it was grown-ups left the house for. Eddie and Claudia teamed up to work on his next Dungeons & Dragons campaign, incorporating Claudia’s sweetheart-fighter more than Eddie had originally intended as she’d gone to the effort of not just naming Thamior Sianndol (which admittedly, she had taken from the suggested names in the players handbook) but selecting his race and giving him an entire backstory which she had nervously presented to Eddie in her spidery handwriting.

Chrissy had another hydrotherapy appointment, but because her dad wasn’t at work he’d insisted on going with her, so Eddie had had to miss that one. Which was infuriating because it had been one of few and far between chances to actually see Chrissy, and he’d gone to the effort of getting her physical therapist – Emily – a Christmas card.

The half-cocked plans for a new year celebration never really came to fruition, Steve’s parents were still at home and everyone else had too many parental rules or didn’t have enough space for the entire party.

Chrissy was at a ‘family’ party, but Eddie was in her room when she got home in the wee hours, giving her a ‘Happy New Year’ kiss more than two hours after midnight had been and gone.

It was when he was walking home from this early morning excursion that a bat – an actual fucking bat – flew overhead. He ducked instinctively, and then – miraculously – found himself laughing. The thing was no bigger than his thumb if you ignored the wingspan. Nothing on this plane of existence – apart from perhaps Laura Cunningham – could be as terrifying as the shit he’d seen on the flipside.

He was still shaking his head at himself as he snuck back into his room and climbed into bed.

“And he was just there, in your room?” Nancy asked, pushing the cotton balls in between Chrissy’s toes.

“Yep, stuck in through the window. No idea how long he’d been waiting.”

“He’s so love-struck it makes me sick.”

Chrissy laughed.

“Then again… so are you.”

Chrissy didn’t even try to defend herself. “True.”

Nancy smirked, glancing up at Chrissy as she picked up the bottle of nail polish Chrissy had picked out.

“Did you go to Jonathan’s for new year?”

“Yeah. Mike went too – No idea what mom and dad got up to, but they got a sitter for Holly, so they must’ve done something.

Nancy gave the bottle a good shake and then paused, “Eleven is being… weird.”

Chrissy nodded in agreement as Nancy unscrewed the lid and wiped the excess off the brush on the lip of the bottle.

“She’s losing weight.” Nancy added.

“I know. I tried to speak to her at mine and Eddie’s graduation party thing. But… she didn’t want to know.”

“Do you…”

“Do I think she’s like me?”

“Like you were.” Nancy corrected; her eyes focused on Chrissy’s toenails as the obnoxiously bright yellow polish slid across the bare nail.

“I don’t know.” Chrissy admitted, “But there’s something.”

Chrissy paused, watching Nancy concentrate on painting the tiny canvas of her pinkie toe.

“Vecna caught you, didn’t he?”

“Briefly.” Nancy admitted.

“Do you still dream about it? Or… have nightmares?”

“Sometimes.” Nancy admitted. “But not for a while.”

“Oh.”

Nancy jerked her head up, accidentally overshooting with the brush and streaking Chrissy’s foot with yellow. Cursing, she picked up the nail varnish remover and a cotton ball to fix it.

“I take you still do?”

“Not Vecna.” Chrissy explained, “But… the upside down.”

“Just the upside down?”

“I don’t know.”

Nancy stayed silent, cleaning up the messy paintjob and putting her hand out for Chrissy’s other foot.

She was almost finished when Chrissy spoke again.

“It’s… whispers. I can’t understand what they’re saying. But I’m just… stood outside Eddie’s trailer, but… the other version, and I just feel this… desperation, like somethings missing. Like… I don’t know.”

Nancy finished the foot and looked at it critically.

“What colour are we doing yours?” Chrissy asked.

Nancy pulled off her socks and sat her feet in Chrissy’s lap, eyeing up the polishes on the bed. “Hmmm… not yellow. Why have you gone for yellow?”

“No one sees my feet anyway, and I just fancied something bright.”

“No one?”

“Nope.” Chrissy answered easily, examining the colours. “How about blue?”

“Purple?”

“The dark one?”

“No, the lilac-y one.”

Chrissy nodded. Picking up the nail polish labelled ‘Lavender’.

“Are you still working for the paper?”

Nancy hummed the affirmative. “I’m re-applying for colleges though. I… I got into Emerson last year, but… after everything I just… I didn’t want to leave. I think they’ll let me in again though.

“That’s good.”

“What about you?”

“Still thinking about it.” Chrissy admitted. “I’ve got time.”

Nancy nodded in agreement, looking at her toes. “Oh. I hope it dries like the colour on the bottle.” She said, scrunching her nose at the colour.

Chrissy put the brush back in the bottle. “Shall we wait five minutes? See what we’re dealing with?”

Nancy nodded. “Did you hear about V C Andrews?”

“Yes!” Chrissy exclaimed, remembering how sad she’d been to learn of the authors death just before Christmas. “One of the papers said they’re going to get a ghost writer to finish the Dollanganger series.”

“Ewww.”

“I know…” Chrissy sighed, “I don’t have high hopes.”

Nancy tittered in agreement, and they sat in comfortable silence as they waited for the paint to dry.

“No. I don’t like it.” Nancy said finally.

“Blue?”

“Blue.”

Eddie and Wayne had another few days before they were due back at work, and Wayne didn’t seem like he was trying to get back onto his usual schedule at all, spending all day awake and relaxing with them all. He drove Dustin around, insisting it was too cold to pushbike whenever he wanted to go see a friend or go to the arcade, helping Claudia make dinner.

One night, when Eddie was sneaking in from visiting Chrissy he caught him making his way down the hall from Claudia’s room back to the spare room he’d claimed for his own. Neither of them said a word to each other as they pressed themselves against opposite sides of the wall, passing in the darkness, heads downcast.

Eddie was convinced that their night-time encounter should’ve been less of a shock for his uncle – it was an unspoken secret that Eddie regularly disappeared for hours at a time, if not for the whole night, but Eddie still wasn’t about to say anything about catching his uncle sneaking out of Claudia’s room.

The next morning, however, his uncle would barely look at him, and the day after that he absconded completely.

He came home just intime for dinner, Chrissy hadn’t managed to sneak over but they had Steve and Robin over, and even those two – not knowing Wayne all too well – noticed something was up and scarpered after dessert instead of staying to watch television like they usually did.

Eddie forced himself to stay awake as first Dustin and then Claudia made their way to bed, leaving just the two of them in the living room, some terrible soap opera re-run blaring out the screen.

Eddie noticed Wayne breathe in to speak once or twice, but he bottled it and said nothing. The soap opera grew to such bullshit drama that Eddie couldn’t pretend to watch any longer and scooped up his guitar. Dissecting and then playing the outro of the soap just for his own amusement.

“Ed.”

“Hmmm?”

“You remember… you know, when the trailer got… condemned, or whatever.”

“Yep.”

“They offered me a house.”

“Yeah.” Eddie remembered, his brain already racing twelve steps ahead and forming his own conclusions which resulted in a rather scathing look towards his uncle.

“It’s not… much. Two bedrooms though.”

“And?” Eddie asked coldly, ready to put his foot down about wanting to stay with the Henderson’s. A small part of his brain reminded him that if he got his own room again it would make things simpler for him and Chrissy, and that he’d been thinking of finding a place himself - but he wasn’t about to let that get in the way of the family unit that had developed over the last several months.

“The mortgage is paid off. It’s just sat there.”

“So?”

Wayne sniggered.

“What?” Eddie asked.

“I thought you might want it.”

“What?” Eddie asked again, his tone changing completely.

“You’re a grown boy, job, girlfriend.”

“We don’t take hand-outs.” Eddie pointed out.

Wayne sighed “I don’t know what happened. That night, those weeks. Why they slung our trailer into Area fifty-one crap… I don’t know. So yeah, for me it’d be a hand-out. Buying my silence on shit I know nothing about anyway. I get the feeling we ain’t in the same place on that… you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“You think maybe, after everything that went down, maybe you deserve a… a reward?” He saw Eddie scowl and backtracked, “If not you, then… maybe Chrissy?”

“What?”

“She deserves more than that hag of a mother.”

Eddie hit a bum note on his guitar and lowered it to the ground as Wayne held up a set of keys.

“What about you?” Eddie asked finally.

Wayne grinned at him, “I think I might stay here.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows, but Wayne didn’t have any more parting wisdom as he threw Eddie the keys and made his way to bed – not his bed. Claudia’s.

So, Wayne had finally accepted a new house from the state, all fully paid for and in his name in return for him keeping silent about the inter-dimensional portal in his trailer. That had been shock enough for Eddie. But it was even more of a shock for poor Dustin when he found out Wayne had handed Eddie the keys and moved his things from the spare room and into Claudia’s room.

So now Eddie had a house, apparently.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. When he first thought Wayne was suggesting they both leave he’d been ready with some very colourful language about his opinion. He wasn’t fully sure of what his opinion was now.

If Claudia and Wayne were bunking up, surely Eddie could take over the spare room. Give Dustin his space back. If he was only thinking about himself, that would probably be his first choice. But Wayne was right about Chrissy.

He knew she’d rejected all the alternative options he’d presented her with over fall break. But all those options had been dependant on the goodwill of others, and he knew as well as Wayne did – how shitty that felt.

This was different.

“It’ll be weird, having my room back.” Dustin admitted one night when they’d both gone to bed.

“Dude, I’m barely here anyway.”

Dustin giggled, “Well no, but you’re usually here when I go to sleep. It’s… nice.”

“This your creepy way of saying you’ll miss me?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, I won’t miss you.” Dustin told him confidently, “I heard Wayne. There’s two bedrooms.”

“Hey! No! No, you don’t get my spare room.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I said so!”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s my house.”

“It’s Wayne’s house.”

Dustin dropped the subject, but Eddie heard him huff in annoyance.

“I’ll miss you too.” Eddie admitted, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Of course – and you can’t have the spare room, but, I dunno, I guess you can stay over sometimes.”

He stayed on Dustin’s floor for another couple of days, until Dustin had finally told him to just ask her – for gods’ sake.

“Okay fine.” Eddie had said, climbing out of bed, not even bothering to pretend he didn’t know what Dustin was talking about.

“Where are you going?”

“To ask her.”

He had walked the ten minutes to her house, made the awkward climb up to her bedroom window, and slipped into bed beside her, still dressed. His chest pressed up against her back.

“Just me.” He had whispered when she’d finally stirred as the blankets had re-settled.

She’d reached wordlessly behind her, capturing his cold hand, and pulling it tight against her.

It amused him that she didn’t seem surprised, acted as if he broke into her house and stole into her bed every night. She buried her face in the pillows tucking his hand up against her cheek.

“Chrissy.”

“Shhhh.”

“No, Chrissy I need to ask you something.”

She twisted over so that she faced him, his arm falling to the small of her back, as she blearily opened one eye.

“Are you real?” She asked, frowning,

“…Pretty sure.”

“Then it can wait.”

Eddie stifled a laugh, “You’re serious?”

Chrissy hummed, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her face into his chest.

“You feel real.”

“I am real.” He told her, smoothing back her hair. He wondered if this was just a very sleepy Chrissy or if the medication she still occasionally took to help her sleep had sent her a bit loopy.

She peered up at him from between the wayward strands of hair. “Okay.” She agreed after a moment, “Ask me.”

“You want to get out of here?”

“Now?”

“No, I mean for good. Do you want to move in with me?”

“Into Dustin’s?” She asked, perplexed.

“No, I’m a homeowner now.”

She lifted her head off the pillow and squinted at him.

“Hero perk – well, technically ‘government bribe’, but… I like to think of it as a hero perk.”

She considered him for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay,”

“You don’t want to know where the house is?” He asked.

“No.” Chrissy told him, turning away from him again and shuffling back so that her body curled into his.

“I don’t care.” She explained after a moment.

“No? What if it’s a cardboard box at the back of the arcade?”

“Is there room for two?” She asked sleepily.

“Yeah.”

“I like the arcade.”

He laughed, burying his face in her neck, and inhaling her smell.

“Soon?” He asked.

“Tomorrow.” She answered, reaching behind her to take his hip in her hand and pull him even closer.

“Tomorrow?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s your mom going to say?”

Chrissy played with his hand, splaying his fingers before threading her own fingers into the gaps, and tucking their hands up against her chest.

“You know… I don’t care anymore.”

“No?”

“Nope.” Chrissy confirmed, popping the ‘p’, and wriggling backwards to press against his body.

When she woke up the next morning, she was curled up into Eddie’s side, one of her legs circling his own and trapping him there. She realised with a sinking feeling that her pyjama bottoms had ridden up around her knee, exposing the worst half of her scarring. She tried to reach to pull them back down, but the movement stirred him.

He’d been lying on his back, letting Chrissy use one arm as a pillow. Now he opened his eyes and yawned, absently scratching at his chest. It took him a moment to figure out why she was lying at such an old angle, but once he realised, he simply took hold of her hips and pulled her higher up the bed, battling with the duvet so that it draped back over her legs.

“Do I really get to move in with you?”

“If you want to.” Eddie answered, playing with a strand of her hair.

They stayed in bed way too long. Chrissy’s parents were awake and moving about the house, it wouldn’t be long before one of them came to check in on her.

When she finally admitted defeat and climbed out of bed, he still lay there in the tangle of sheets.

He watched her get changed, removing her pyjama top, and putting on a bra, a t-shirt, and a jumper with sleeves long enough to fall past her fingertips. He was pleased to see her ribs were nowhere near as visible now.

She had changed without any self-consciousness whatsoever. But then she clammed up and stood looking at him with a pair of jeans in her hands.

“You want me to close my eyes?” He asked.

The look of vulnerability that crossed her face took him right back to the day Vecna had got her. He’d never minded always being in the dark, as much as he had longed to see her face, to examine every inch of her. The recent discovery of thigh high socks had made that a reality. But he hated why. Hated that she thought so little of herself.

He didn’t know what the answer would be long term, but he already knew from experience the best way to reassure her, it had just never felt like the right time.

“You think I haven’t seen a pair of legs before, Chrissy Cunningham? C’mon. You’re not that special.”

She was startled into laughter, looking over at him with that same incredulous but amused look she so often cast his way.

“Well, No. You’re special. Like, e-special-ly weird. But your legs, eh, they’re just what keep you moving, right?”

He sat up, and then stood, undoing his belt, and then taking off his jeans.

“What are you doing?” Chrissy asked, looking at him like he was a fascinating exhibition at the zoo rather than a boy casually stripping off in her bedroom.

He pointed to the mottled shiny scar on his leg where a chunk of him had been ripped away.

“That was the bats…” he explained, and then pointed out an obvious bite mark. “Also bats…”

He led her through all his scars, including the discoloured rectangles on the back of his thighs where they’d borrowed the least damaged skin to graft over the most damaged parts.

“That one?” She asked, looking at a shiny one under his knee.

“That is a very very heroic tale.” He told her seriously, waiting for her to ask again before saying “Nah, I fell off my bike when I was a kid.”

Chrissy laughed and watched as he pulled his t-shirt off too and lifted his arms to expose his sides. She had seen him shirtless many times before. But he’d always been blindfolded whenever she’d studied them with her hands or mouth, so she let him present them to her. His torso was honestly more scar tissue than it was skin. There was one scar, on his side, below his ribs, that she knew bothered him. She’d often caught him rubbing at it as though it ached.

His legs had definitely gotten off easy, protected to some degree by the thin layer of denim perhaps.

The one on his side was an ugly beige colour, bigger than her hand, as if he’d just had a part of himself torn away – which, Chrissy knew, was exactly what had happened. She had felt the uneven tissue beneath her fingers that first time at Reefer Rick’s but had been too lost in the moment to pay any attention to it. Had politely kept her eyes cast somewhere else every consequent time the scar had been on show, giving him the same kind of courtesy, she was asking of him.

But she looked now.

“This one went all the way down into my lungs.” He told her matter-of-factly, putting his arms back down.

“See?”

“See what?” She asked.

“You really think your scars look as bad ass as mine? Think you can beat this?” He asked, pointing to the scar on his side. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Chrissy shook her head, rolling her eyes, but the grin on her face wasn’t going anywhere.

His smug little grin disappeared when she pushed him back onto the bed though. When she stood in front of him and slowly slid her pyjama bottoms down and stepped out of them.

Eddie was staring resolutely at her face until she gave him a little nod.

He stroked down her thigh gently with one hand, still gazing up into her face as he felt the dips of each circular scar, she flinched as his hand passed her knee and he paused.

“They’re ugly.” She whispered.

“Chrissy, there is nothing about you that’s ugly.”

He took her hand, straightening her fingers and turning her wrist so they were both looking at the back of her hand, the lines of scars slicing down each finger and down to her wrist. He kissed each knuckle, reaching for her other hand to kiss every scar he found there too.

Slowly, giving her all the time in the world to stop him, he lowered his head. Casting his eyes over her legs with a painful ache in his chest, when he bent down to stroke her calf, she rested one hand in his hair. He wondered how she actually felt about his scars. They were asymmetrical lumpy horrible things compared to hers.

He looked back up at her when he’d carefully examined both legs. Taking in each shiny surgical scar, each pockmark that showed where she’d been literally pinned back together. The scars of a survivor.

“Yeah, I was wrong.”

“What?” She squeaked.

“They’re pretty fucking special, actually.” He grinned and she smiled back at him in relief, her cheeks reddening.

“They are not just legs for a to b travel. I should have known. They are… the most beautiful legs I have ever seen.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Chrissy ducked her head, stepping away to pull on her jeans with shaking hands. “You should probably go.”

Eddie threw his clothes back on, and then moved to stand beside her, his fingers running through her hair as he cupped the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“What are you going to say to your folks?”

“Nothing.” Chrissy joked, holding up her whiteboard.

Eddie grinned, “Okay, smart ass. What are you going to write?”

Chrissy beamed and then laughed, “I have no idea.”

“Well good luck with that.” Eddie teased as they moved to her window.

He didn’t have the same dexterity and Steve, but he’d made the climb a couple of times now and it was getting easier.

“You could just write them a letter and leave it on your bed. No confrontation required?” He suggested as he lowered himself down. Chrissy leant on her windowsill, smiling.

Her mother was never going to change. No matter what people said, there was always a point where you had to draw a line. Even if that meant turning your back on your own blood. Family didn’t always mean what it should.

“Maybe.”

They kissed, just a quick meeting of their lips before Eddie dropped down.

There was a strangled cry from out on the street and Chrissy looked out, freezing in terror as she saw her mom at the end of the driveway.

“You.” Mrs Cunningham spat, pointing at Eddie. “Inside. Now.”

Eddie briefly considered running, he might have done if Chrissy wasn’t still upstairs and at risk of her mom’s wrath. But he wasn’t the running sort anymore.

With a quick glance up at Chrissy, he turned towards the front door. Only slightly amused that in the many times he’d been inside, this was the first time he was using the front door.

“Sit down.” Mrs Cunningham had demanded, pulling out a chair. “Phillip!” She shouted as Eddie sunk down into the dining chair, “Phillip. Get in here.”

Mr Cunningham appeared in the doorway, looking from his wife to Eddie and back again.

“What’s going on?”

“I just caught him climbing out of Chrissy’s window.”

“He… what?” Mr Cunningham asked, frowning. “Should I…” He made a gesture, clearly asking if he should go and get Chrissy.

“Sit down.” His wife instructed, and so he did. Taking the chair furthest from Eddie and looking at him with evident concern and dislike.

“Do you want to explain yourself?” Mrs Cunningham asked.

“Not really.” Eddie answered honestly, “You don’t want me to explain myself either, do you? You’ll just hear what you want to hear.”

“Don’t you play smart with me. I know what you are. What you’ve done.”

“I could say the same about you.” Eddie said, crossing his arms and getting comfy in his chair.

“I just don’t understand it, why her? Why our Chrissy? Why did you have to pick her to corrupt for your satanic worship?”

“Oh Jesus Christ…” Eddie sighed, exasperated, “Here we go.”

Why did it not surprise him? That even after catching him leaving their daughter’s bedroom, Mrs Cunningham was more concerned about the temptation of the devil than something normal.

“It’s all your fault she’s so broken.”

“She isn’t broken.” Eddie said through his teeth.

“Not broken?” Mrs Cunningham scoffed. “Ever since you came into our lives, you’ve corrupted her, silencing her, fattening her up, turning her against me.”

She kept going, a litany of insults and woes for her useless daughter. For all the work she had put in to make Chrissy thin and popular, to have every chance of success. But now only the lord could fix her, the devil had corrupted her, broken her beyond repair.

“She’s. Not. Broken.” Eddie yelled, his hair vibrating with anger. “I tell you what. Let’s break every bone in your body and see how quickly you get over it, huh? I’m sure Phillip here has a hammer in the garage, we could do it now! I’d be more than happy to! I saw what you did to her arm that day you stood losing your shit on the Henderson’s doorstep. And I know – I fucking know – that’s not the first time you’ve put a hand on her. Starved her. Or how about you get it through your dense skull and into that pea sized brain of yours that you fucked her up long before now. Huh? What? You didn’t notice she was puking up her dinner every day? I God damn noticed ---”

“Don’t. You. Dare!”

“I fucking noticed! and I only ever saw her in the hallway between classes. She was living under your roof you selfish – you nasty – piece of shit. I mean Jesus Christ.”

“Get out! Get out of my house!”

“You blame me all you want, you evil bitch, but you know just as well as I do that you’re the one who’s going to be burning in hell, not me. Who the fuck does that to a teenage girl? To their own fucking daughter? You know that thing only targeted her because you’d already got into her fucking head and gave it a way in?”

Mrs Cunningham was slowly turning purple.

“This was your fault.” Eddie spat, pointing a finger at her. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you think of me. But I will never ever let you in her head again. You won’t ever touch her again. Do you understand me?”

“Who the hell do you think you— “

“It’s no wonder your son fucking killed himself, I would too if I had a mother like you.”

Mrs Cunningham’s eyes flicked to the doorway and Eddie turned, regret pooling in his stomach as he saw Chrissy was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide.

“Chris… I’m sorry.” He half-whispered, his cheeks reddening.

“I think you should leave.” Mr Cunningham said finally into the silence. He looked uncomfortable but defensive, his eyes kept darting back to Chrissy and Eddie knew he only now realised the effect his wife’s obsession had had on his daughter, maybe was only just connecting the dots for the first time.

“You stay away from our daughter.” Mrs Cunningham spat.

“No.”

It was so quiet Eddie thought he’d imagined it. But from the way Laura’s jaw had dropped, he knew he hadn’t.

“Chrissy?” Her dad asked. Chrissy flushed crimson.

“I said no, Mom.”

Mrs Cunningham was speechless, staring at her daughter, the purple draining from her face until it was ashen and grey.

Eddie licked his lips. “Chris, you um, do you still want to get out of here? Come live with me?”

Chrissy almost rolled her eyes. He could have played such a power move if he hadn’t doubted himself, doubted how much she cared about him. But it was sweet that he had simply asked, hesitant and unsure, even after defeating her dragon. Even with her parents right there in the room. She gave her dad a small, apologetic smile. Then looked back at Eddie and nodded.

“Now?”

Chrissy’s nose wrinkled as she smiled and nodded again.

“Well okay then.” Eddie agreed, with a small sigh of relief.

“Live with him?” Mrs Cunningham demanded, “With – with – Chrissy! That is enough of this foolishness! Go to your room and stay there while I deal with this.”

“No, Laura.”

They all turned to stare at Mr Cunningham, even Eddie.

“You’ve said your piece.” He continued, “She’s… she’s a grown girl now, you can’t stop her. All you’re doing is driving her away from us.”

“You want to let her go and live with Eddie Munson? Where are they going to go? The trailer park? You want her to be knocked-up trailer trash with no college education? No future?”

“I want her to be happy.” Mr Cunningham told her, finally raising his voice. “And so help me Laura if you don’t let her go, then I will.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll leave, Laura.”

“You don’t mean that.” Mrs Cunningham spat derisively, but after a moment there was a flicker of unease in her eyes as the idea sunk in. “You don’t mean that.” She said again, more desperately.

Mr Cunningham turned to his daughter, “Pumpkin, I’m so sorry…”

“Daddy…”

Mr Cunningham’s face twisted and he held a hand up, shaking his head. “You… you take my keys. Load up my car, I’ll take you, okay?”

He turned to Eddie, inspecting him unhappily.

“You do anything to hurt her, you’ll have me to answer to young man.”

“Yes sir.” Eddie replied seriously.

Mr Cunningham thrust his hand out with an expression that said he would regret this until his last breath. Hesitantly, Eddie reached out and shook it.

When Eddie got back home, he was immediately ferreted away into the room he shared with Dustin without being able to get a word out.

“Well, the hell have you been?” Dustin demanded, “Dude. Tell me you did not spend the night at Chrissy’s. I know you didn’t go to Ricks, your vans out front. Do you know how much trouble she’d have been in if you were caught?!”

“Wait, so, you… don’t want to know what she said?”

“You didn’t chicken out?”  Dustin asked, looking stupefied.

Eddie raised his eyebrows, scowling.

“Well, what did she say?!”

“Well – for you information, Butthead, I have only come back to collect my things.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Oh, yeah, man, she and her dad are packing up her things as we speak.”

Eddie cackled at Dustin’s expression. “I know dude.” He sympathised, clapping Dustin on the shoulder. “Ol’ Phillip Cunningham is a bona fide hero.”

[fantasticfemmefatale]

Cold- Spencer Reid

not my gif

SUMMARY: reader is kinda bad at dealing with cold weather lmao, Spencer is rlly sweet, and everyone is happy for once in their trauma-filled lives. i live for this man. there’s some slight emily x reader if you use a microscope, i guess.

WARNINGS: fluff, canon atypical happiness, there’s this one homophobe in it, they should burn

Cold.

It was cold.

Had you left a window open? 

No, the window on your side of the bed was still firmly shut.

Why was it so cold?

You rolled over, on the couch, eyes screwed shut, half desperate for his warmth although you’d promised you’d give him space, after you were nearly on top of him when you two woke up last time.

Oh.

That’s why it was cold.

Sliding out of bed and grabbing your fuzzy robe off the floor, you somehow managed to make it out of the room while only tripping once. You wanted to laugh at him, tell him depressed elephant who? I am graceful after all, loser! However, gloating in his face required having his face nearby.

Where was he?

You thought back to those crappy stories you’d heard from Emily of sleazy guys in bars who’d scramble for a hook up then leave a girl high and dry before sunrise. But he couldn’t do that if you hadn’t hooked up, right? If he was just a friend who’d come knocking at your door at 8:43 for your biweekly movie night, then got stuck at your apartment because of the storm? Although, you wished he was more than a friend.

A sharp hiss resounded from the kitchen, followed by the faucet running, as you padded in. 

“Spence?”

His head shot up fast, like a puppy caught dragging trash through the house. He shut off the faucet with his right hand, and reached for a towel to dry his left as he spoke.

“(Y/N). Hi. Hotch called me saying we had a case, and I told him you were here with me so he didn’t need to call you, and I just thought I’d make you coffee before I woke you up,” he explained with a small, tired smile and equally tired eyes.

“Did you burn yourself?” you questioned, remembering the commotion when you’d walked in.

“Uh, yeah.”

You laughed slightly, one of those sharp nose exhales accompanied by a half smile when you just can’t laugh at the moment. Frankly, you were far too exhausted. You took the mug he was holding outstretched towards you with a grateful smile, returning to your room to get dressed. The warm mug contrasted deliciously with the cold air of your apartment. You didn’t need to tell Spencer that he could change in the bathroom if he needed to; he already knew. After the first time you’d been called in to work while Spencer was staying over, you’d developed a system. He brought his go-bag over with him, leaving it next to the door along with his Converse that you always said made him look like he was still 12. He’d bring two extra pairs of clothes to leave at your apartment, one for when you left and another, comfier pair for your return. Then, he’d gather anything he’d left in your apartment and walk down to his own. It was funny, honestly, how his apartment was just three floors down from your own and yet he refused to leave his stuff there. He’d ramble on about how but leaving my stuff at your apartment saves 9 minutes and 27 seconds, and that’s time we could be spending saving lives, and-

You left your room, dressed in black skinny jeans, combat boots, and an army green long sleeve with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows at the same time Spencer exited the bathroom in Converse, brown pants, a vest, and a button-down shirt. No words were spoken as you two grabbed your duffels from where they were sitting near your door, and Spencer grabbed his messenger bag as well, slinging it over his shoulder in the most uncoordinated way possible while simultaneously trying to open your door, resulting in him on the floor with a loud grunt. You laughed, loud and clear, and you grabbed his wrist and helped him to his feet, opening the door and locking it securely behind you.

The bullpen was colder than your apartment had been, you thought with a shiver as you walked in, with Spencer falling into step behind you. Still slightly groggy and nursing the coffee from Spencer- which you’d transferred to an insulated water bottle prior to leaving- you stayed quiet through Penelope’s run-down of the case and Hotch’s typical wheels up in 30. 

On the plane, you sat on the couch with Spencer, careful to leave an inch between you two. In the two years you’d known each other, he’d warmed up enough that you could touch him some, but you tried not to do anything more than the occasional hug or shoulder pat when the time called for it. Right now, nothing was calling except sleep. Just by looking outside the window, you swore you could practically feel the frigid night air of Wisconsin, the lovely location of today’s deranged criminal, a kidnapper. When you voiced your feelings about the cold to Spencer, he spewed facts from who-knows-where about different places the air could possibly get into the plane, meaning you weren’t just making up the feeling. You listened attentively, knowing how much it meant to him when he didn’t get cut off for once. After all, he just wanted to help.

The plane landed, and you were the first one out.

Cold.

It was cold.

And you forgot a jacket, idiot.

Morgan chuckled as he passed by you, clad in a t-shirt, no less, saying, “Cold, baby?”

“As if.”

You were in an interrogation room. 

It was less cold than the rest of the precinct, but still chilly.

The woman in front of you, a blond, small thing, looked to be no less than 20. And yet, she was kidnapping the children she babysat for after their parents returned, then trying to pass them off as her own. She was kidnapping the children of same-sex couples, a religious fanatic who believed that being anything but straight was worse than murder. Wow.

Screw homophobes.

Honestly, the case had wrapped itself up fairly well, complete with a glittery red bow, once Penelope- thank god- had figured out that each family had used the same babysitter at least once. Rebecca Umbrige. To be fair, the team had spent a while focusing on the same-sex couples aspect of it, only to change paths after all that turned up from that was dead ends. Then Rebecca came into the picture and brought everything together nicely. 

With that red bow, of course.

Still, one more thing was needed.

A confession.

Emily was in the interrogation room with you, watching as you took the lead. You were hoping to get something out of her through subtle hints at attraction between you two, and it worked, eventually.

All it took was holding Emily’s hand. Sad.

Emily laughed as Rebecca was dragged out of the room in handcuffs, earning her a stern look from Hotch when the two of you left as well.

Ugh, why did the rest of the precinct have to be so cold?

The plane ride home was uneventful, and so was leaving the bullpen after the last of the paperwork was finished, just before midnight three days after you’d left. Until, at least, Spencer jogged up to you, brown curls waving wildly in the D.C. wind, asking, “Wanna go out?”

“Like a date?” you asked, incredulous. If it was a date though, you wouldn’t  be upset. You’d had a not-so-small and not-so-sneaky crush on him for almost the entire time you’d known him.

He stopped suddenly, speaking so fast it was a miracle he could get the words out at all.

“Slow down, Spence.”

“I just meant, maybe we could go get hot chocolate, or coffee, or whatever, and then just walk around D.C. or something? I don’t think I can sleep right now,” he blurted, brown doe eyes watching you expectantly in that way that made your heart flutter.

“I’m cold”, you said, almost pouting like a child.

He laughed for a second at that. “We can stop by your apartment first and change if you want.”

26 minutes later, according to Spencer, the two of you arrived at the doorstep of a slightly shady 24-hour coffee shop that Waze had been all too happy to lead you to. After getting some surprisingly good lattes, you two wandered aimlessly around D.C., occasionally bumping shoulders from how close you were. He’d tell you the history behind different buildings and monuments you passed, and you’d interrupt every few minutes because oH MY GOD SPENCE THAT HOUSE LOOKS LIKE A FACE!, or, LOOK THAT CLOUD LOOKS LIKE A BUTT! 

Spencer laughed every time you got distracted, letting his eyes linger just a few seconds too long on your face when it lit up like a kid’s on Christmas, wanting to commit your face without stress, or fear, or anger to memory. Moments like these didn’t come often in your line of work.

When you realized it was starting to snow, Spencer swore he’d never seen you look this stunning, bundled up in one of his sweaters that you’d stolen months ago, with rosy cheeks and a red nose to match, eyes glimmering with excitement and lips spread wide in a smile and you spun around, eyes on the sparkling sky above. 

Eventually, he said, “(Y/N)?” in a voice barely above a whisper.

Your head whipped around, and you stopped suddenly, all your attention focused on Spencer, something that never failed to make him feel cared for. “Yeah?”

He didn’t answer, instead slowly reaching out to hug you, the first physical contact between you he’d ever initiated. His arms around your waist were uncertain, and he haltingly rested his head on your shoulder, thankful you couldn’t see him grinning like an idiot. As soon as you hugged back, he pulled you in closer in a bone-crushing hug that you could’ve sworn made time stop. 

“(Y/N)?” he mumbled against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I know I said this wasn’t a date, but if you wanted it to be one, maybe it could be one?”

“I’d like that, Spencer.”

Cold.

It was cold.

But with Spencer holding onto you like there was no tomorrow, you were much, much warmer.

[realcube]

waking up the hq boys at midnight to get ice-cream hcs🍦

characters: tsukishima, tanaka, nishinoya, ushijima, sugawara,  oikawa,  kageyama 

note: yes, this was very much inspired by that one tiktok sound where the girl wakes up her bf to get ice-cream- 

also, i use midnight as like..the middle of the night- not actaully 12AM lol

tw// fluff, sangwoo- 

Tsukishima Kei

you did not need to wake him up at 1AM to get ice-cream

man was already up, having just came off his phone and laying like this 😐 in bed as he either waited for himself to fall asleep or was thinking about an awkward interaction he had earlier that day 

anyway, as soon as you turned to him like ‘tsukki, do you wanna come with me to get ice-cream?’

he was suddenly 😴 fast asleep, fake snores and all

you were stubborn though, so you hopped out of bed up to go get ice-cream by yourself if he was just going to ignore you 

although, once you threw your coat on, tsukishima decided to start questioning your unusual behaviour, ‘why do you want ice-cream? it’s night; can’t you just sleep like a normal person and have ice-cream in the morning?’ 

honestly, tsukishima probably finds your nightly antics more endearing and cute rather than annoying 

he’d never admit it though- 

if you talk to him after midnight, on the outside he always looks displeased but really, he loves talking to you period

whether it is at 5PM or 1AM

you shrugged, without an explanation for your craving, ‘i don’t need to reason my midnight urges to you.’

with that, you turned on your heels to head out the door with the full intention of going to get ice-cream - this wasn’t a game 

tsukishima groaned as he finally deduced that you were being dead serious and not just doing this to irritate him

‘ugh, wait.’ he scoffed, forcing himself out of bed to follow you, ‘we have ice-cream downstairs, dumb-ass. don’t bother going out.’ 

you didn’t spare him a glance, continuing to venture to the front door, ‘yeah, but we don’t have strawberry.’ 

tsukishima glared at you, realising that persuasion would not work in this situation so he’d have to resort to brute force and trickery

‘ah, alright.’ he let out a sigh of defeat, ‘at least give us a hug before you go then.’

you paid no mind to how he referred to himself as plural, which is something he only does when he is lying or guilty as he is talking on behalf of his two faces 

also, you should’ve realised something was up when he actually asked for a hug instead of just expecting you to give him one

obliging, you wrapped him in a hug; allowing him to scoop you up into his arms, throw you over his shoulder and carry you to the kitchen

‘let me go, you whore!’  you squealed, lightly slapping his back as if that’d make him let you go 

tsukishima snickered at how childish you were being, ‘you can’t go out in the middle of the night to get ice-cream. you’ll die.’ 

‘i won’t die!’

‘you definitely will.’

anyway, he ends up making you both a bowl of ice-cream and eating it with you at the kitchen table while watching Spirited Away

and despite the fact he had some too, he’ll tease you about this for..the rest of your life 

like sometimes he’ll just wake you up in the middle of the night (during holidays ofc - he respects your sleep schedule) and whisper in your ear, ‘(y/n), do you wanna come get ice-cream with me?’

Tanaka Ryūnosuke

IORFHIEBGEGBO THIS MAN

ik most ppl would think he’d just go with you without a second thought or that he’d be the one asking you to go out for ice-cream but- no- 

well, yes; he wants to 

but when you wake him at 1AM 

(which he doesn’t mind btw bc  sometimes he accidentally wakes you up at like 3AM bc he’s ragin’ on Battlefield oop-)

and you’re all like ‘ryū, wanna go get ice-cream?’ *puppy eyes*

he’s like ‘sure!- but i ain’t got money so- no ❤’ 

then he goes back to sleep 

however, if you say that you’ll pay..he’s already standing with your bags by the door

so you’re definitely gonna have to fork up some cash for that good quality pistachio gelato for him if you want his presence 😌

but tbh, if you said that you were just gonna pay for yourself, he’d come anyway-

Nishinoya Yū

y’all go out at midnight for ice-cream at least once a week-

and it literally began bc you were watching ASMRs and Mukbangs together at 1AM during a sleepover 

and one person was having some lemon gelato and it looked 👌✨ immaculate

in that moment, you both looked at each other and neither of you had to utter a single word for you both to know that there was a mutual goal in mind; to get ice-cream, ASAP

so yeah ig you didn’t have to wake him up but you did need to awake the desire for ice-cream inside him

needless to say, y’all ran to the nearest ice-cream place 

and you made a race out of it 

(you won, ofc)

AND YOU BOTH SHARED A CUP OF GELATO AND IT WAS SO CUTE ! q(≧▽≦q)

and y’know the trope where you have food on the corner of your lip/chin etc and the person kisses you to get rid of it? 

yeah he tried to do that with the trope in mind but he deadass LICKED you IWFBVBBFRI

he was like ‘omg (y/n), lemme get that for you’ 😋👅

honestly, ig it depends if you are into that kinda stuff but ik some ppl would leave fast af ( ﾟдﾟ)つ Bye

Ushijima Wakatoshi

sorry i might have a bit of favouritism going on but i feel like ushijima would be a bigger bitch about it than tsukishima (at first)

but it’s like- solely bc you woke him up y’know?

‘ushijima, wanna go get ice-cream?’

he’s just laying there with his bed-head like :/

silently livid bc you messed up his potential 9 hours of sleep

‘no.’

pester all you want but that is the best you’re getting out of him that night

HOWEVER, the following afternoon (after practise ofc), he took you out for ice-cream 😊

and unlike some would believe (by ‘some’, i mean myself 2 secs ago.) i don’t think he’d be all ‘ice-cream is horrible for your health, (y/n)’ or ‘i can’t believe you’re eating that filth. your body is a temple.’

but that rather he’d just happily eat gelato with you; everything in moderation ig :)

OH AND HE’D PURPOSELLY BUY A DIFFERENT FLAVOUR FROM YOU SO HE COULD BE LIKE

‘(y/n), do you want a bite of mine?’ and give you a spoonful to try like the romance king he is  

Oikawa Tōru

you wouldn’t wake him up bc mf needs his beauty sleep

plus, it was during a sleepover at your house so ofc you didn’t want to wake up your guest 

but he’s a light sleeper so when you’re shuffling through your stuff at 1AM, sneaking around the house to find a jacket (trying to be as quiet as possible so you don’t wake him up); his eyes are open and he’s speculating that sangwoo is near

until he turns around to notice that you’re not laying next to him and he is in fact being spooned by a large pillow (probably a sangwoo body pillow smh)

after that, he hops to his feet and storms through the house in search of you so he can yell at you for ruining his sleep grr

however, once he finds you and realises that you look ready to head out, he feels inclined to firstly ask, ‘where are you going? you know it’s 2AM, right?’ 

you replied by explaining your plan to sneak out for ice-cream and he just stared at you, absolutely bewildered for a few moments

he stood like a statue with that stupid expression on his face for ages so you asked him if he was alright, to which he responded, ‘that’s such a stupid idea.’

‘so, you’re not coming with?’

‘of course i am.’

so you both ended up sitting with your ice-cream cones, in your pyjamas, on a park bench somewhere, admiring the moonlit sky along with the stars adorning it

oh, and that was actually the first time he said ‘i love you.’

Sugawara Kōshi

if feel like suga would be exactly like the guy in the sound/video: confused, tired and extremely reluctant but ofc inevitably he ends up standing outside of a dessert place, hand-in-hand with you

he’d wake up, weary from fatigue and he barely has the strength to argue with you during the day - so how exactly was he supposed to do it in the middle of the night? 

thus, he lugged himself out of bed and threw on a coat but as soon as the cold winter air bit at his nose, he was flooded with the energy and will-power to try convince you stay in with him

(It’s his parental senses) 

‘you’ll catch a cold, darling!’ (yes, he does call you that.) ‘and it’s night too, there’s probably a bunch of creeps out and around!’

at that point, it was just a battle of will

bc you both had each other’s wishes at heart

you wanted him to have peace of mind and he wanted you to have ice-cream

(and he was kinda craving some himself tbh)

so you both decided to stay in, tucking into the half-eaten tubs of Ben & Jerry’s in the fridge 

and after that, neither of you got any sleep bc you both stayed up watching movies and cuddling 🥺

Kageyama Tobio

he was wide awake at 2AM, laying beside you on the bed, practising sets 

so ofc the time wasn’t an issue

but kageyama wasn’t big on sweet treats so when you suggested that y’all should go out for ice-cream, you were shocked - to say the least - when he simply replied 

‘sure’

like why would he oppose? he was already awake. plus, he was kinda craving something sweet tbh

also, he could tell it’d make you happy and he’s whipped tbh

so you took advantage of this indifferency by immediately jolting up and dragging him to your favourite dessert place

the whole time, he acted as usual - it was as if he was just on a regular walk to school

when you got there, you both shared a sundae and he paid; what a king (❤´艸｀❤)

(it was bc you had forgotten your wallet/purse at home- but still a kind gesture 💕)

you both just sat in a booth, pecking away at the sundae while talking about anything and everything that came to mind as the low, distant R&B music from the shop’s speakers played in the background

 ‘it is flat. have you ever been on a plane before, (y/n)? did you see a single curve? no.’

you rolled your eyes, finding it physically painful how stupid kagyeama could be sometimes, ‘it’s science, kags. the earth is round! the curves are just very subtle.’

‘no.’

‘YOU CAN’T SAY NO! IT’S SCIENCE!’ 

[slicesofapple]

A Late Flight

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Relationship: Eren Jaeger/Jean Kirstein

Summary: Jean has a late flight home

Teen and up

Tags: alternate universe- modern AU; aged-up characters; not cannon compliant;  Romance, Idiots in Love, Getting Back Together, Idiots, Fluff, Mild angst

Posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36368296

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

         Jean is tired. The work trip sucked, in addition to sucking every last bit of energy out of him. It also sucks that it’s a Saturday, he’s on an evening flight which won’t get in until after midnight, and now his weekend is gone, too.

             He buckles into his seat, feeling wholly beaten down by his horrible job, the frigid air in the plane, being squished into a too-small seat with no leg room, and, to top it all off, he can’t seem to keep thoughts of Eren out of his beleaguered mind.

             Maybe because he remembers, all too clearly, sending Eren an itinerary of this very trip, way back when he had booked it, ages go. He had been so excited to ask if Eren wanted to come with him, spend a few nights in the city together. Eren hadn’t been able to go, which Jean had been disappointed about at the time; but that, of course, certainly worked out for the best in the end.

             He sighs. It’s been months already, and he should be well over Eren, but he’s not.  He misses him so much, it’s like a physical ache, like a literal hole in his heart. At the same time, he’s so freaking angry at him, too, the stubborn motherfucker.

             Almost as angry as he is at himself, for starting the argument in the first place.

            He had been grumbling about his job, ranting about it, really. Eren, naturally fed up by this tirade, had finally said, “Then get a new one! You don’t have to spend the rest of your life as a corporate tool!”

            It was a perfectly reasonable response. Jean has no idea, now, sitting on this cold, dark, plane, an empty apartment waiting for him back home, what had possessed him to bite back with such venom.  Probably simply because Eren had been there, and Jean’s such a shitty person that he couldn’t resist letting fly at the easy target in front of him.

             “Oh,” he had said, his voice dripping with condescension, “I should do what you’re doing? Saving the world one fish at a time?”

            Jean had been staring right at Eren, chin out and eyes narrowed, and so he had seen all too clearly the look of deep hurt flash across Eren’s face, before it had tightened in anger and he had spit out, “I’d rather be saving a fish than pillaging the planet and screwing the disenfranchised.”

             Even though it was an old argument between them, it was not usually phrased so baldly, and Jean had immediately lashed out, the words pouring out of him like a waterfall of toxic waste.

             “If you think you’re actually doing something, actually saving even one fish, you are more delusional than I ever thought you were, and that’s saying a lot.” Even while he was saying the words, Jean had been appalled.  They in no way represented his actual feelings on the matter. If anything, he was incredibly impressed with Eren, how he had managed to establish a working career as an environmentalist.  He was good at what he did, good enough that people paid him decently to do it, at the same time working his ass off to make the world a better place.

             Eren had sprung to his feet, his face so thunderous that Jean had braced himself for a left hook. It was a familiar dance for both of them, using their fists – it had been their primary means of communication throughout college. That was in the past, though. They had both mellowed considerably in their twenties, at least towards one another, and by this point had been together, practically living in one another’s spaces, for more than a year.

             Instead of hitting Jean, however, Eren had blinked twice and then his face had smoothed over into a frighteningly blank mask before he had said, in a robotic monotone, “Goodbye, Kirstein.”

             Jean could only watch, stunned, as he had methodically gathered up the work he had spread out on the table, then gone into Jean’s bedroom to retrieve the few books he stashed there, then to the kitchen for his favorite mug, and finally to the bathroom to collect his toothbrush.

             He had not looked at Jean again.  

             Jean had had a terrible, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had fucked up for real this time.

            And it was true. He had. Because after that, there was nothing: no texts, no calls, no emails, and definitely no visits. Not even any angry ones.

             Eren was gone for good.

              Even when Jean had eventually woken up and tried to contact him, fully ready to apologize (which he planned to do, right after telling Eren off for being his usual annoyingly self-righteous dickish self),there had been no response. The only email Eren answered had been the one asking what Jean wanted him to do with the few articles of clothing he had left at Jean’s apartment. All Eren had said was to leave them outside his door the following Thursday, and he would pick them up.

             He had done so while Jean was at work, leaving nothing behind.  

            And as much as Jean told himself that he was well rid of the kind of jerk who couldn’t even do him the courtesy of giving him a chance to apologize, he knew it was a lie. He missed Eren like crazy, and the whole damn thing had been entirely his fault.

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

             Armin had called a few weeks later.

            He had said, with his usual eager enthusiasm, “We’re going to surprise Eren by taking him out on Friday. Does that work for you?”

             Jean had had to swallow the lump in his throat – apparently, Armin didn’t know.

            All he had said was a terse “No,” and had been about to hang up the phone, when Armin had offered up a different date, and then another (“Eren will really want you to be there, Jean,”), until Jean had had enough. He had hissed into the phone, “We’re not together anymore.”

             “Oh,” had been Armin’s surprised response. “That explains a lot.”

             “What the hell does that mean?” Jean had asked, voice rising in self-righteous indignation.

             “He’s been looking like one of the Walking Dead. That’s why we wanted to get him out, actually.”

             And if that hadn’t stabbed Jean through the gut, he didn’t know what would.

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

            Jean shifts in the airplane seat, vainly trying to find a more comfortable position. Once more, Eren’s terrible, hurt face swims up in his mind, and he wants, more than anything in the world, with a hopeless, crazy passion, to be able to go back in time, to stop himself from showering vitriol on the person he had loved most in the world.

             Still does, if he’s being honest with himself.

            But he also knows Eren, and once Eren has decided something, especially about people, that’s it; there’s no going back.

            Jean, unfortunately, isn’t able to sleep on the flight. By the time he arrives, he is cramped, cold, and utterly exhausted.

            The airport is surprisingly busy at this late hour, and Jean shuffles his way through the disembarking horde, moving one foot steadily in front of the other.  

             Just one more leg of this journey, and then at least he’ll be home and able to crash in his own bed.

            He stuffs aside the unhappy thought that Eren won’t be waiting for him – why can’t he just let it go? Eren’s gone. Gone and never coming back, you dipshit, he admonishes himself. There are some mistakes that simply can’t be fixed, and this is one of them.

            Once off the plane, he runs a tired hand across his face, shifts his bags more securely on his shoulder, and starts the long trek out.

            By the time he makes it past the security checkpoint, he’s picked up the pace, eager to get home, moving at such a rapid clip that he almost bumps into the figure looking up at the giant screen listing all arrivals and departures.

             It’s someone with a familiar shade of brown hair, and a familiar build, and when he turns, it’s a familiar face, too.

             Jean stops in his tracks, feeling like he’s unknowingly gone into hyperspace and ended up at an entirely different location than he had planned. He looks around, bewildered, but – yes, he’s still at the airport, and, yes, it’s still the middle of the night.

             Which doesn’t answer the question of what the hell Eren is doing here, right now, at the very moment Jean is exiting from his own flight?

            And he wishes his heart would stop hammering with excitement because, he reminds it, he’s angry at the jerk who’s standing in front of him - blocking his way, even, like the annoying prick he is.  

             “What are you doing here?” he growls.

            Eren doesn’t answer, just looks at Jean warily, like Jean is a rabid wolf and he’s gotten a little too close for comfort.  

             And then it hits Jean. Eren is here to see him! He was looking up Jean’s flight on the board! He came to find Jean!

            Nothing on Eren’s face indicates that to be the case, but Jean knows it’s true. Eren’s here to see him, and that means… that means, crazily, unbelievably, he still has a chance.

             And he’s not going to fuck it up this time.

            With a hoarse cry, he drops his bags, steps forward, and throws his arms around Eren. He swallows down the lump in his throat, takes a deep breath in, and – it’s a waterfall again, but this time he hopes it’s the right one.

              “I didn’t mean any of that shit I said. I was angry at myself, and I never should have taken it out on you, and I love you so much and I miss you, and please will you give me another chance,” he babbles like a raving lunatic, clutching onto Eren like he’s the last mast on a sinking ship.

             And then Eren’s arms are around him too, and he’s hugging Jean, tight enough that it’s borderline uncomfortable, Jean squeezing back, until they’re both having trouble taking a full breath in.

             And when Jean lets go, Eren grabs hold of his face and kisses him, hard, right on the mouth.

             Then he reaches down to take Jean’s bags, hoists them up onto his back, and says, “Want a ride?”

            Jean knows his smile is wobbly, but he can’t seem to firm it up, not with Eren looking directly at him with those eyes of his.

             “Only if you’re coming home with me,” he manages to say, his voice rough, but the words are perfectly clear.

             Eren’s face relaxes into a smile, his lovely, sweet, real smile, and he nods once, firmly, as he reaches out to take Jean’s hand in his.