#me from june of last year. my hair goes past my shoulders now which is curly hair growth is a Big Deal

[intraosseous]

matchalover22 @ hotmail dot com

[amaya-chwan]

Takeaways from Therapy Game: Restart Chapter 13 (and some Therapy Game news!)

Hello everyone! I hope you've all been well these past two months and taken care of yourselves! 💜

Before we get into our takeaways for chapter 13, I saw some news from Hinohara-sensei's Official Twitter that I would like to share with you all!

First piece of news: Therapy Game re:start volume 2 will be released on 1st June 2021! 🎉

Second: in conjunction with the release of the second volume, Sensei will have an in-person fan signing event at the Ikebukuro Animate store (animate honten) AND will have a special limited time shop featuring goods of our favourite dorks! This shop will be opened 6th-20th June! 🎉🎉

Image from Sensei's Official Twitter post! ❤️💛💜❤️

Now, what does the second piece of news mean for us not living in Japan (such as myself)? 🤔 Well, one of two things could happen:

We could see the merch on Sensei's Twitter and wish we could buy them one day 😭 OR

Animate could "potentially" release this merch for online order!

I'm not trying to get anyone's hopes up, but when I saw Animate open a special Yuri!!! on Ice shop last year, I didn't think they'd release merch online. But they did, for a very, very short period of time only! So my only hope is that they do that again for Hinohara-sensei! 🤞

Here's the special website from Sensei's twitter that has information about the fan signing event and limited time shop! It seems they'll show what merch will be available in the shop when it's all been finalised.

If I spot anymore updates about that, I'll try to post about it here! ❤️💛

Alright, down to business as usual! Let's get into our takeaways~ Thank you for being so patient with me! Life has been a little busy this year with juggling work and social life! So I really appreciate your patience! 💜

Here are our takeaways for this chapter:

Loving the brotherly love we see in this chapter! Warms my heart to no end! ❤️💛💜❤️

Minato, bb, you are growing up a lot! I am proud of you! 😭

Did I ever tell you guys that I really love Mito-san too? No? Well now I have ahah! He is just amazing and I love the energy he has--cool and lovable, yet smooth and sexy! Loving the domestic vibes I'm getting! 😍😍

AHHH SHIZUMA! Your smile is too pure, it's blinding! 🥰

Just couple goals from Shizuma and Minato, AND from Mito-san and Shouhei! (Why I don't call Mito-san Itsuki, I'll never know ahah I blame Shouhei! XDDD) ❤️💛💜❤️

The younger sibling moments in this chapter are so relatable! (I am that younger sibling ahahah!) 🤣🤣🤣

I honestly don't know what to think of Onodera at this point in time? 🤔

The (supposed) date time with Shizuma and Minato went from adorable anticipation to steamy relations in a split second, but not NSFW! 😲

And that’s it for this chapter’s takeaways! For a more detailed breakdown/summary of this chapter, please continue after the cut! Since it's been a while since the last chapter, I threw in some extra surprises in this summary, so keep reading if you want to see~  😉✨

Our chapter begins with an image of Mito-san and Minato, with Minato's cheek leaning on Mito-san's shoulder. The dialogue reads: When it seems like my overflowing emotions are about to burst from the seams, I really do yearn for this back (i.e. something familiar he can always lean on).

We see Minato spaced out on a sofa, being called by Itsuki. Itsuki tells Minato to go home if he's just going to sit there like that since he is very busy cleaning his entire home for when Shouhei moves in with him! Minato gets up, understands the situation, and helps Itsuki out.

Itsuki, knowing something has happened between Shizuma and Minato, asks Minato directly since he only goes to Itsuki's place when he is troubled, and he must be troubled by something related to Shizuma. He also says that Shizuma is worried about Minato, especially since Itsuki lied to him about Minato's whereabouts.

Minato brushes it off, saying that it's nothing big. He talks about the time when they had to drop by Shizuma's workplace, he saw a woman/Onodera (not knowing she's Shizuma's director) and that Shizuma made an very adorable face while talking to her.

Minato stops talking, so Itsuki asks if that is all to the story. Minato then says yes, so Itsuki deduces that Minato is ignoring Shizuma because he happily spoke with that woman (Onodera) and confirms with Minato, who then agrees. Itsuki blames himself for raising Minato like this and apologises to Shizuma in his inner monologue.

Minato defensively says he's told Shizuma not to do that, yet he still does. Minato's monologue says that this Shizuma--who is talking to someone unknown to him, about a story he doesn't know, in a place he doesn't know about--seems like a distant person to him.

He realises that even though he and Shizuma are together, he cannot monopolise him, and that it annoys him. So rather than tell him not to speak with others, he has chosen not to see Shizuma until he calms down. Suddenly, a handyman appears at Itsuki's home to beginning furniture installations.

Image translated from Sensei’s Twitter post here!

Minato is surprised Itsuki replaced a lot of his furniture, to which Itsuki replies: "I wonder if Shouhei-kun prefers the new ones too."  Minato says Shouhei would freeze from this "surprise" and imagines Shouhei asking how much it cost!

Itsuki, still in his happy bubble, says he wants Shouhei to also select some household furniture and accessories, so they'll go shopping together next time. Minato is happy for them since their house-moving plans are going well. Itsuki goes back to their previous topic of conversation, and says how Shizuma and Shouhei both are very charming. He recounts how Shouhei would handle different kinds of customers, from the difficult to the sad ones, how his charms and personable skills would change their mood completely, and calls him a genius who has a knack for calming customers.

Minato asks if Itsuki dislikes that, since he himself doesn't know what to think of Shizuma showing his charm and friendliness to others and that some misunderstandings would arise eventually.

Itsuki then reminds Minato that out of all the people in the world, Shizuma asked Minato to live with him, and that thought alone must've made him happy.

Minato does agree, yet it doesn't change the fact that he is unaware of what Shizuma does outside of the home. Itsuki is then suspicious that Minato and Shizuma are going to move in together too.

Minato panics, and says he just meant that from Itsuki's point of view since he's moving in with Shouhei. Just as Minato thinks he's almost let the secret slip, he gets a phone call. Itsuki tells Minato that it's Shizuma, but Minato refuses to pick it up as he is "still cleaning"--the real reason is that Minato told Shizuma he wouldn't forgive him if they speak before Minato gave the OK to talk again.

Itsuki, being the older brother, answers the phone and slides it on the desk near Minato and leaves him to talk with Shizuma, even putting it on loud speaker since Minato is preoccupied.

Shizuma is frantically trying to get a response from Minato, to which Minato responds with a simple: “What... I can hear you.” The first thing Shizuma asks is where Minato is at this present moment, fearing that he might be at a suspicious place. Minato says he isn't and is in fact in the neighbourhood doing some errands. Shizuma breathes a sigh of relief and is thankful his call finally reached Minato as no one he asked knew where Minato was, and because Shizuma was overthinking things, he was just about to go searching for him.

Minato tells him that he doesn't need to go to such lengths and make such a big fuss about it, but Shizuma tells him that he will always make a big fuss about it since it's about Minato. To avoid such a thing happening again, Shizuma tells Minato not to make him worry. Then these pages happen:

Just as their talk of their brothers' moving into together comes to an end, Shizuma gets all excited to go apartment hunting with Minato again and reminds him, not knowing that Itsuki is also listening. The Mito brothers freeze in surprise, with Itsuki soon confirming his earlier suspicions with Minato--his eyes and aura going all kira kira (i.e. sparkly). Minato tries to reprimand him for bringing it up now, but Shizuma continues on, saying he's found a few places he likes and they should start inspecting prospective apartments soon before they're overwhelmed by it all.

Minato hastily agrees to it all, and Shizuma smirks on the other end of the phone, asking Minato when they can see each other. Shizuma suggests Friday if he is too busy at the present moment, and just as Minato gives work as an excuse not to see him on that day, Itsuki jumps in and says he can go see Shizuma.

Shizuma, very surprised by the fact Itsuki overheard their conversation, says his name aloud, and Shouhei overhears him. Itsuki thanks Shizuma for letting him overhear such an adorable story featuring Shouhei. And then this happens:

Still very flustered, Minato quickly agrees to seeing Shizuma on Friday and promptly ends the call before Shizuma can even finish saying "Wait!" Itsuki happily approaches Minato and asks to hear more of their apartment hunting adventures, to which Minato replies that nothing is final yet!

We change locations, and Minato is now on the balcony scrubbing the floor. Minato recalls how he wanted to tell Itsuki about his and Shizuma's plans to move in together further down the track. He then is overjoyed at the thought that Shizuma missed him and wanted to see him. While he awaits Friday, he remembers and is embarrassed by how furious he was the last time they saw each other. He plans to start a skin routine to care for his face and to get his hair done.

Just as he thinks this, he is called out by none other than Shizuma, who is on the ground floor outside. Minato, visibly surprised, asks Shizuma why he’s here. Shizuma tells him that the shop is close to his home. Minato knows this, but is more curious as to why he is here since they just agreed to see each other on Friday. Shizuma is taken aback for a moment, before saying: 

While Minato hides away from Shizuma and quickly tries to style his hair, Itsuki overhears a ruckus on his balcony and goes to investigate. We then find out that Shouhei accompanied Shizuma. Shouhei calls out to Itsuki and asks why he didn't tell him that he was cleaning the whole house. The Ikushima brothers offer to help out with the cleaning, with Shizuma joining in because his younger brother will be under Itsuki's care soon. Itsuki happily agrees, saying that he wouldn't be able to fully clean the place if only Minato were there.

As the Ikushima brothers are getting ready to go upstairs to help, Itsuki says the brothers are indeed good, endearing people, and their charming personalities would probably make Minato and Itsuki anxious at times. Minato agrees. Itsuki then continues to say that while Shizuma and Shouhei charm those around them, the only ones who can make them smile the way they do are themselves. Minato is concerned about a possible intruder in their relationship, and Itsuki provides some brotherly advice.

We change scenes to Onodera, smoking on the clinic rooftop and thinking about Shizuma's smiling face.

We change scenes again to Minato, waiting for Shizuma at a predetermined location since it is now Friday. Happy with his new hairdo, Minato reminds himself not to get angry, to sort out the current situation they're in (i.e. Minato's one-sided anger at Shizuma), and to be calm and collected.

Shizuma then gets out of a car across the road, and looks around for Minato. Minato, who can see him very clearly, smiles happily and decides to let Shizuma look for him a little longer. A few more moments pass by, and Shizuma spots Minato and then waves happily to him. However, there is a slight problem.

Minato sees “the woman from last time” (Onodera) driving the car who then passes Shizuma his phone, with him smiling awkwardly at her. He recalls Itsuki's brotherly advice. Minato had actually asked Itsuki a follow-up question: "You say ‘just don't lose,’ but what should I actually do?" Itsuki tells him that it's something he has to figure out for himself.

Shizuma runs to Minato, apologising for making Minato wait. He explains that he was running late due to various issues, and he seemed to have dropped his phone in the car of the person who dropped him off. Before he could even tell Minato that it's his director who dropped him off, Minato says he doesn't need to say anything else and to just go out with him.

We see that Shizuma and Minato are now at a hotel, with Minato quickly pushing Shizuma onto the bed. Shizuma is annoyed at himself for letting Minato see such a scene that would cause a misunderstanding. Before heading over to the bed, Minato closes the door, turns to face Shizuma, and grins. He crawls onto the bed and immediately kisses Shizuma. He calls out Shizuma's name before asking him:

He softly pleads with Shizuma, asking for a quick response. Shizuma wonders if Minato's jealously is making him want to be held right now. He thinks Minato is really, really adorable, but also realises this isn't the right time to be thinking this. So Shizuma does tell Minato he loves him, that it's obvious he loves him very much. He apologises for causing him to worry and that he never once intended to do so. Minato cuts him off, saying that he understands and that it's okay.

Despite saying so, Shizuma notices the atmosphere is a little different than usual. Minato then tells Shizuma that he's been thinking of a way to ensure he doesn't lose Shizuma to anyone or lets anyone take him. The final page shows us this:

Again, THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! 💜 📢  As always, please support Hinohara-sensei by purchasing her books and CDs! 📢

And that’s it for this chapter! 😲 Another cliffhanger here, and ngl that was a little (SFW-ish) steamy? I honestly do not know what to expect in the next chapter!! Dominant Minato?????  But I hope you enjoyed the few extra panels in this summary! 💜 My laptop struggled to keep up, so I will go back to only showing a handful of panels in future summaries. Please also refrain from resharing these translations and images outside of this post! Thank you for understanding! ❤️💛

The next chapter will be in next month's Dear+, so the wait isn't too much longer! So I shall see you all next month for our next set of takeaways to find out what happens next!

As always, stay safe during these turbulent times and look out for each other and for your loved ones! 💜❤️💛

[shuadotcom]

Letting You Go | KSJ

꙰   Summary: When returning home from vacation, the only person you want to see is Seokjin. When he isn’t at the airport to greet you, you decide to go to him. What you find breaks your heart. ꙰   Pairing: Seokjin x Female!Reader ꙰   Genre: Angst, idolverse ꙰   Rating: PG13 ꙰   Warnings: Profanity ꙰   Word Count: 2.1k ꙰   Project: @thebtswritersclub‘s February “dishonest love” project ꙰   A/N: Very big thank you to the lovely Noor @papillonsgf​ & Rid @taegularities for beta reading this for me and giving me their suggestions and commentary!! I appreciate you both so much!! 💗💗

You should know something is wrong as soon as you step into the terminal without seeing his broad shoulders hovering inches above the crowd waiting for you. You pull your phone from your backpack and check your messages, hoping to see one with a dozen exclamation points and sad faces accompanying an apology about being late. Instead, there are two new messages from Hoseok and Taehyung, asking when you would be landing back in Seoul.

You reply and tell them both that you’re already here and that you’ll stop by their dorm after dropping your luggage off at home. You scan the crowd once more before dragging your large suitcase behind you to get a taxi.

Two hours later, with your luggage sitting in the living room to unpack later, you’re leaving your apartment after a quick shower. You change into a blush pink sundress that Seokjin always compliments, saying he loves how the pastel color looks against your skin tone. On your feet are a pair of white heeled sandals he had bought you because he said he liked how they make your legs look.

The sun is hot as it beats down on you, making you start to sweat. You pick up the pace while cursing the unforgivable late summer heat. You arrive at the building soon after and greet the security guard at the desk. You’ve been here enough times that he recognizes you and always gives you a huge smile and loud greeting when you arrive. Once off of the elevator and in front of the apartment, it only takes two knocks before the door is thrown open, and you’re engulfed in a hug.

"Noona, you're back!" Jungkook pulls you inside, shutting the door behind you. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too, Kook." You laugh and ruffle the younger man’s hair. Given his height, you have to stand on your tippy-toes, even in heels. You slip off said shoes and stick your feet into a pair of pink slippers by the door. Seokjin has often told you to leave a pair of your own there since you were at their place so much.

"Do I hear who I think I hear?!" Hoseok's voice reaches the living room, and you see his dark head of hair appear from the hallway as he runs over to pick you up and spin you.

"Hobi put me down. I’m too heavy!"

"Nope! And just because you said that, I'm going to keep holding you!" He tightens his grip on your waist and continues to twirl with you, making you let out a string of giggles.

"Hobi, put her down before she gets dizzy!" Hoseok sighs yet stops at Namjoon’s words. He’s next to pull you into a hug, followed by Jimin and Taehyung, who come barreling out of one of the other rooms. Yoongi is the last who’s been in the kitchen the whole time.

"I started making lunch for you since Taehyung and Hoseok said you'd be coming over." Yoongi grins at you, causing you to do the same.

"Aww, thank you, Yoongi! You guys are way too nice to me."

"Hey, stop. You're our friend, and we like having you around," Taehyung says, pulling you down to sit next to him on the couch.

"So, how was your trip? Was it nice to be back home?" Namjoon asks as he takes a seat on the couch next to you. Hoseok and Jungkook squeeze in next to him, squishing you against Taehyung.

"It was great. I enjoyed seeing my family again." You went on to tell them about your family reunion and how much had changed in your four years away from your home country. You left Korea in late June, only anticipating staying until early July, but you had gotten so caught up in being home again that you extended your trip to the whole summer.

As much as you love talking to your best friends about your family, you can’t help but gaze down the hallway. Everyone you have wanted to see has come and greeted you except for the person you wanted to see the most.

Once you finish your story, Yoongi announces that lunch is done, and he brings the large pot of noodles to the middle of the dining room table. Before anyone seats themselves, you finally ask the question that’s been gnawing away at you.

"So, where's Seokjin?" The question causes silence to overtake the room. The guys all share a look before glancing at you. Jimin is the one who speaks up first.

"He's out right now. He had a, uh, meeting."

"Oh. That's probably why he didn't pick me up from the airport. I texted him last night, and he said he would, but he probably forgot." More glances are exchanged. Before anyone else can say anything, the front door is opened, and the voice you’d waited to hear in person sounds throughout the apartment.

"I'm home!" You feel a smile break out across your face, but you don’t care about how goofy you probably look. You stand from the couch, intending to meet Seokjin when he rounds the corner into the living room.

“Hey, Y/n, wait.” With Seokjin being the only thing on your mind, you shake off the hand that Namjoon places on your shoulder and barely hear him from beside you.

"Seokjin, I'm back, and I..." Your sentence trails off as you see him enter the room, hand-in-hand with a petite Korean girl.

"Oh, Y/n, you're here!" Seokjin flashes you a large, bright grin, not noticing how your own smile has slipped away. He lets go of the girl's hand and crosses the room to sweep you into a hug that you only meekly return. "When did you get here?"

"Um, about half an hour ago." If he has any recollection of the conversation you had last night where he said he would meet you at the airport, he doesn’t let on.

"Well, I'm happy you're back! I'd like you to meet someone. The guys already met her last month, but Y/n, this is my girlfriend, Juhee. Juhee, this is my best friend, Y/n." The dark-haired girl bows to you, and you return the gesture even though you don’t want to.

Seokjin then goes on to talk about how they met, not that you’re listening. The only sound you hear is your heart beating too loudly and the blood rushing through your ears. Your stomach begins the acrobatic act that it always does when Seokjin is in the room, but it’s much different this time. Your hands are sweaty, and your body is shaking as you feel the hot, painful sting of tears in your eyes. Taehyung’s hand has slipped into yours at some point, trying to give you comforting squeezes.

"Right, Y/n?" Seokjin is speaking to you, which breaks you out of your stupor.

"What?"

"I said, we've been friends for almost three years, right?" You nod, too afraid to speak. Your throat is dry as a rush of dizziness makes your head spin.

You eye the girl that’s smiling and nodding next to Seokjin. She’s the same height as you, but that's where the similarities stop. Her hair is jet black and pin-straight, probably naturally that way. Her skin is clear and pale, and she’s the type of thin that you’d never be, no matter how hard you exercised. She’s everything you’re not and probably more.

You have to leave before you break down completely.

Without another word, you rush past Seokjin and leave the apartment as quickly as possible. Without any responses to the men calling your name behind you, you’re out of the door and all but running down the hall to the elevator.

“Fucking come on!” you hiss, fingers jabbing the call button with enough force to break it. Your vision is blurring, and your throat feels tight, feeling yourself about to cry.

Finally, the elevator dings, and the doors open, but before you can step in, you feel a warm hand on your upper arm, turning you around.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Seokjin’s close and looking at you with concern. His eyes immediately widen in panic at the sight of the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Y/n, why-"

"Do you love me?" you blurt out. He looks taken back at the outburst.

"Wh-what?"

"I said do you love me?"

"Of course. You're one of my closest fr-"

"As more than a friend?" His mouth opens and closes a few times, his grip on your arm tightening slightly.

"Y/n, I have a girlfriend now." Again, that word, coming from his mouth and not talking about you, shatters your heart all over again and pushes more tears from you.

"I thought...I thought you were in love with me..." You watch his eyebrows furrow before his mouth goes slack. "Oh, I get it. You're allowed to flirt with me and buy me things and hold my hand and call me 'baby,’ but that doesn't make me your girlfriend." You yank your arm from his hold. It feels as though your heart is going to beat out of your chest by this point. "You can fall asleep on the phone with me, and you can fuck me whenever you're horny, but I'm not good enough to date?" Seokjin glances over his shoulder, probably making sure no one has overheard your loud tone.

"Y/n, I-"

"So what were we, Seokjin? Friends with benefits?" You’re met with silence. "I've been in love with you for two years, Seokjin! Two years! I’d feel like the luckiest girl on the fucking planet when you’d pull me into your lap or brush my hair out of my face or kiss my cheek. I fall for you more and more every day! Every time you touch me or compliment me or even smile at me, I feel like I’m going to explode because I’m full of so much happiness and love for you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else except you, Kim Seokjin, but you obviously never felt the same. I was just someone to pretend with until you got a real girlfriend, right?" On top of the pain in your chest, you’re also bubbling with anger at this point.

"Y/n, it's not like that. I care about you so much, I really do. I just...I never saw you as someone who could be my girlfriend."

"Why? Why her and not me?"

“Y/n-”

“Is it because she’s prettier than me? Am I too ugly to be your girlfriend?”

"Come on, no! You're amazing, and I think you're beautiful."

"Then why don't you love me, Seokjin?!"

"I don't know! I just don't know, okay?! But it doesn't matter because I'm with Juhee now, and I really like her!" You swallow the lump in your throat. That's all you needed to hear.

You turn on your heels and press the elevator button again. This time when the doors open, you step in without being stopped by Seokjin. It isn’t until the doors start to close that his hand shoots out and stops them. "Y/n, please don't hate me." You avoid looking at him, and you push his hand away.

"I don’t hate you, Seokjin." This is true. Your outburst has erased all traces of anger in you. All you feel now is a hollow emptiness in your gut. "Just don't talk to me for a while, okay?" You hit the button to close the doors, and this time, your eyes are on his face the whole time. You take in all of his features once more before the doors close and the elevator starts to move.

Once you’re alone, the real sobs you’ve been holding in slip out in the form of a shrill scream. More hot tears run down your face as you lean back against the wall, wrapping your arms around yourself as some form of comfort.

It isn’t until the elevator stops at the lobby that you realize you’re still wearing your slippers. There is no way you’re going back upstairs for your shoes, so you leave the building in the pink, opened-toed house shoes and start your walk home. Seeing how Seokjin has bought you those sandals, it is probably better that they stay anyway. You think of it as a small piece of him you’re leaving behind.

Picking up the pace, you’re intent on going home and getting rid of everything he has ever bought for you or given you as a gift. You make a note to get rid of the dress you’re wearing as soon as you get inside. The sooner you can get all thoughts of Kim Seokjin out of your head, the quicker you hope to be able to heal the painful, gaping hole in your chest.

[alltimesos]

Three Thousand- Ashton Irwin

Another fic I found in my drafts ♡ This week is spring break for me so I am hoping to sit down work on a few requests! 🍑

word count: 2.3k

warnings: cursing, brief mentions of unprotected sex, tooth-rotting fluff

“Ashton! Will you come in here for a minute?” you called from the doorway of one of your son’s bedrooms. A few moments later your husband appeared into the room and walked over to you with confusion all over his face.

“What’s going on babes?” he questions, kissing your forehead.

“Will you please tell your firstborn son that fifth grade isn’t scary and he’ll make plenty of friends?” Ashton grins, kneeling in front of the bed to talk to Ethan. You sigh as you walk out of the bedroom, leaning against the wall.

You and Ashton have five kids together. Your eldest son, Ethan is 10, your second-born son, Jaxon is 7, your third-born son, Oliver is 6 and your twin daughters Amelia and Charlotte, are 4. “Mummy! Jaxon stole my toy!” You hear Oliver shout from the room over. You rub your temples before stepping into the boy’s room, to take care of the situation.

+++

The following morning was chaos, to say the least. It was the first day of school and nothing was going right. Your alarm never sounded, meaning you woke up twenty minutes late. You scramble to get out of bed to get dressed and at least attempt to fix your hair.

You jog down the stairs to smell bacon cooking. You furrow your eyebrows as you take the last step, appearing into the kitchen. A huge weight is lifted from your shoulders as you see Ashton standing at the stove, cooking bacon and waffles, not wearing a shirt but your pink apron wrapped around him. You giggle, walking towards Ashton to steal your daily morning kiss. “I didn’t even notice you were missing from the bed,” you tell him against his lips.

“Well, thanks a lot babe,” he replies sarcastically. You giggle once more, wrapping your arms around his neck. He presses his lips against yours slightly pressing you up against the counter.

“Ew!” you hear your small children yell. You push Ashton off of you, turning towards the twins standing in the doorway. “Good morning babies!” you pick both of them up, placing them on each hip. Both of them inherited Ashton’s sandy curls and hazel eyes, which you admired deeply.

“Are you guys excited for your first day of school?!” you ask carrying them upstairs. Charlotte, the older twin, only by a few minutes, nods against your shoulder. “X’cited mummy, I have butterflies in my tummy.” Once you reach the bedroom you place the girls down on their beds. “What about you Miss Amelia?” She was the shyer one of the two, a girl of a few words.

“Nervous, mummy.”

You open the closet door to pick out their outfits for the day. “No need to be nervous, darlings. School is lots of fun and you will make new friends!”

You help both of your daughters get dressed before styling their curly hair. You kiss their cheeks before patting their bum lightly. “Go downstairs, daddy made you breakfast.”

You walk down the hall, knocking on Ethan’s door. A few moments later he opens the door and steps out. “Did you make your bed?” “

Yes, mum,” he groans. You pull him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. “No matter how old you get you will always be my baby. Fifth grade will be awesome!” Much to your surprise, Ethan squeezes you tightly. “I love you, mum.” He lets go of you, grabbing his backpack and going downstairs.

“Hey there rockstar!” you hear Ashton yell at your son. Since Jaxon and Oliver were close in age you allowed them to share a room. The door was wide open already so you walked in, ignoring all of the toys scattered around the room. “Mummy!” Oliver yells running over to you. “Hi, sweetie! Are you almost ready?” Oliver nods, grabbing his backpack. “Daddy made you breakfast!” you barely finished your sentence because Oliver was already running downstairs.

“Is my soon-to-be second grader ready?” Jaxon doesn’t say anything, just pushes past you and walks down the stairs. You stand there confused but don’t say anything.

+++

“All right does everyone have their backpacks and lunches?” Ashton asks before opening the front door. All your kids’ nod, Oliver saying “yep!”

“Okay let me get a picture!” Ashton lines all the kids up by height and snaps a few photos as a group and then individually. “My babies are all grown up.” You laugh, taking Ashton’s hand in yours.

“Okay, let’s go before daddy starts crying.”

The crew gathers in the car with only a slight fuss, the boys arguing who’s going to sit where. You buckle the twins up in their car seats before sliding into the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Let’s rock and roll,” Ashton says pulling out of the driveway. “Gosh, I swear you become cornier by the day,” you joke with him.

The drive to the first stop wasn’t too long. Ethan slipped out of the car after giving you both a kiss on the cheek muttering out a “see you later”. You and Ash call out a “bye have a good day!”

The next two boys get dropped off as well without too much of a hassle. Ashton pulls into a parking space at the last elementary school. The two of you help the girls out of the car, Charlotte grabbing your hand and Amelia grabbing Ashton’s.

The four of you walk into the school, searching for the right classroom. Once you find it, you walk the girls into the semi-quiet room. The teacher walks her way up to the girls, kneeling down. “You must be the Irwin twins! Charlotte and Amelia right?” Charlotte starts babbling her head off while Amelia tucks herself into her daddy’s side.

“I’m Mrs.Penner, I’m very excited to have you guys in class!” Charlotte hugs you and Ashton before grabbing the teacher’s hand. Ashton bends down and picks up his littlest one. “Hey, there pretty girl. Pre-K is gonna be awesome! It’s only for a few hours okay? Mummy and daddy will be here at 12:30 to pick you and Charlotte up!” Amelia nods, snuggling into her dad.

Ashton puts her down after kissing her forehead. She turns to you, hugging your legs mostly. “Bye mummy.” She tells you, turning around to join her sister. “Bye baby.” You whisper back. Ashton wraps his arm around your waist, walking towards the car. Once inside, he high-fives you then pulls you in for a kiss. “We did it, Mrs.Irwin! And we only let out a few tears.”

“Way to go daddy-o!”

When you guys get home you immediately plop down onto the bed with your husband. Ashton sprawls out onto his stomach, one arm around your body. “Hey babe?” he asks. “What’s up?” You answer him, closing your eyes.

“Can we have another kid?”

You lay there for a moment before propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Ashton, we already have five. I don’t think we need any more,” trying to keep your voice calm. He sits up himself as well to look at you.

“But I really want another one. I think it would be great to have a huge family!”

“I don’t know Ash… it just doesn’t seem like a good time to have one.” He nods, crawling on top of you. “But baby, in nine months from now it will be almost June. The kids won’t be in school. It just seems like the perfect time to have one…” You nudge Ashton over so you’re the one on top of him.

“We’ll discuss it later babe. But right now we have three hours to kill before we go pick up the twins.” your voice dropping an octave, sliding your hands up his shirt to feel his abs. Ashton sits up to slide his shirt off and then taking yours off after. His hands rub and down your sides, causing goosebumps to form. “You’re so beautiful babe,” he says honestly. Before having kids you weren’t small and now five kids later, you’re definitely not small. You hadn’t lost all of the baby weight yet from the last pregnancy, due to being a stay-at-home mom.

“Thank you, Ash,” you whisper. He firmly grabs your pudgy waist and flips you onto the bed. He unhooks your bra, setting it aside as well as your panties. He smirks down at you as he tugs his underwear and shorts off. His hand comes to rub circles on your clit, creating a slow movement.

While he thumbs at your sensitive nub he places his head into your neck to suck softly on the exposed flesh. “A-ash,” you moan out. “Feel good darling?” he mumbles against you. “Yes, always so good.” He places a final kiss below your ear before pulling off. You are now dripping wet from him playing with your clit. “Relax baby girl.”

“Fuck..” you whined already needing more of him. Your husband has the power to string you apart like a tangled mess of Christmas lights. You feel Ashton thrust slowly into you, ecstasy building up in your stomach. “What a pretty girl you are,” he compliments you, quickening his pace. “Such a good girl taking me like this.” He leans down to suck on your nipples, the wetness of his tongue sliding around on your skin.

You groan, knowing you’re going to cum any moment now. It had been a while since you and Ash had some intimate time. Any time you were without kids the two of you always caught up with each other or took a nap. It’s always quick handjobs or sloppy blowjobs before the kids wake up.

You still yourself as Ashton slows his pace, dragging out the moment and all you can think about is how sweet his release will be. “Ashton please,” you beg but words are broken. “Please what?” he prompts. “Please go f-faster” you moan and your husband finally picks up his pace. With one hard thrust that has your vision dancing, Ashton is releasing a hot load inside of you, making you cum as well. He pulls out of you, caressing your cheeks, words of praise escaping his lips. He helps you get dressed and he slips his clothes on too. You are lying on your back with Ashton on his side next to you. “My pretty girl,” Ashton whispers and you beam back at him. “I love you.” He kisses your cheek, sliding underneath the covers, catching up on some sleep before you two go pick up the twins.

+++

The first month of school goes by smoothly. It is now a Saturday morning and you have family pictures planned. You usually do it during the fall but decided to do it this year with the weather being warm. Everyone is dressed in matching colors, you and the twins are wearing sundresses, the boys and Ashton wearing colored short-sleeved button-ups and jeans. As you’re putting on your last earring, Ashton sneaks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

"My beautiful wife. Still looking good even at thirty.”

You and Ashton had started your family young, with Ethan going to be eleven soon. You turn around and pecked his lips, grabbing your shoes on the way out of the bedroom. “Boys, let’s turn on the video games please.”

“But mummy-” Jaxon starts.

“Boys. The video games will be here when we get back, please listen to your mummy,” Ashton warns them lightly. The boys nod and turn the television and game console off, standing by the front door. Amelia grabs your hand, wanting to be picked up. “You’re so pwetty, mummy.” You smile and kiss her cheek. “You’re so pretty too, miss Amelia.” Ashton locks the front door behind everyone and helps the girls into their car seats. The car ride to the fairgrounds was thankfully short, Oliver becoming somewhat fussy.

“I think it’s really cool we’re doing carnival-themed pictures!” Ashton tells you after getting everyone out of the car.

“Yes! I’m very excited. It was time for a change.”

After meeting up with the photographer, an old friend of yours, she snaps a few photos of the boys and the girls. She takes some of just you and Ashton and then Ashton with the boys. After she snaps a few of you and the twins, she lines you up in front of the Ferris wheel for a family photo.

With everyone in position, she says “ 1, 2, 3, Y/N’s pregnant with twins!” the camera clicks.

Everyone’s heads whip in your direction. “Did she just say you’re pregnant with twins?” Ashton asks you, eyebrows furrowed. You nod excitedly as he picks you up to twirl you around. You can hear the photographer taking pictures of the precious moment. “How long have you known?!” his voice high and squealy.

You giggle as Ashton puts you down, giving you another kiss. “Just a few days. I called Lindy, our photographer, and told her and she came up with this idea!”

Charlotte comes up to you, tugging the end of your dress. “Mummy? What’s going on?”

Ashton smiles brightly and kneels down to meet her at eye level. “You’re going to have either little sisters or brothers, or one of each! Mummy has babies in her tummy!”

Amelia and Charlotte pat at your stomach while the boys surround you with a hug. After taking more photos, you and Ashton treat the kids to ice cream.

They all sit in the booth next to yours and Ashton’s, talking about names for their future siblings. Ashton smiles and leans over to you, wiping the chocolate ice cream off your chin.

“I have some pretty powerful sperm,” he whispers in your ear and plants a kiss on the side of your face.

Your hand meets the bottom of his ice cream cone, the cold cream hitting him in the face. Ethan looks over and says, “look at daddy!” The rest of the table laughs, smearing their own ice cream on their face. You chuckle, watching this perfect family of yours, knowing this is true happiness.

Taglist:

@hoodhoran

@suchalonelysunflower

[notyourdayrdream]

Tan Hands and Tan Lines

Day Three, Side A: Ubiquitous

(read it here on AO3)

Nobody wants to spend their summer vacation working. But spending it with your two best friends wasn’t too bad. So when Mercedes told Rachel and Kurt that there were two openings at the retro fifties diner in downtown Lima, they jumped on the opportunity.

Diner in the Sky started out as a relatively slow job. It had just opened a few months ago and the word hadn’t gotten out to much of the city that it even existed. In those early days, Kurt and his friends spent the afternoons and nights singing through the empty store, twirling on black and white checkered floors. Finn and some of the other New Directions would stop by before the sunset and order milkshakes with fries. He and Rachel would not-so-mysteriously disappear for five or so minutes, and Kurt noticed the way Mercedes and Sam giggled around each other. He eventually cornered her during a graveyard shift, and she admitted that they had been dating in secret since prom. It took two days for Mercedes to win Kurt back, after buying him the new Marc Jacobs piece he had been dreaming about.

It was a cute job with even cuter outfits. Until July fourth came around.

The mayor of Lima stopped by that night and made a big show of it all, forever putting the little diner on the map. The appearance knocked out every ubiquitous fast food joint in town. It’s been packed every night since.

“I need a number five without onions!” Kurt hears Rachel scream into the kitchen, followed by the clanging of a few plates. She storms out a minute later, hair sticking to the sweat on her face.

“I hate this job,” she grumbles to him as she makes her way to another table of hungry customers.

Kurt leans his body weight against the counter. The metal is cool against his skin, a nice distraction from the oppressive summer heat. The bar isn’t nearly as packed tonight as the rest of the restaurant, mostly just little kids ordering heart attack inducing malts and ice cream cones. He’s adjusting the stupid rectangle shaped hat on his hat when he hears the door jingle at nine o’clock on the dot.

Blaine Anderson strolls into the diner with his little private smile, pulling his usual denim jacket off as he goes. He’s humming again, a pop song Kurt notices. Probably Katy Perry. He overheard Blaine tell Rachel she was his most listened to artist last week. Not that he was listening to hear if his name came up in conversation or anything like that. That would be crazy.

They meet eyes for a brief second, hazel to blue. Blaine grins before sliding onto one of the red leather barstools. “Hell again?” His cheeks are flushed pink, but Kurt blames it on the heat.

“Yeah,” Kurt replies, sounding breathier than usual. Blaine has a way of doing that to him. With his funny quirks and ability to make restaurant issued bowties sexy, the Dalton Academy junior has snuck his way into Kurt’s heart from the second he started working with him.

There’s a particularly loud crash in the corner of the building, followed by a baby screaming. Blaine takes a moment to sober himself, eyelashes fanning out on the apple of his cheeks. “I better get to work. I mean, I should get to work.” He’s flailing, adorably so. “I mean, I should check that out.” Blaine stumbles. The back of his neck is red as he walks away.

“Remind me again why you won’t ask him out?” Mercedes says with a poke to Kurt’s shoulder. Her hair is still intact, textured curls bouncing at her shoulders. The only way you’d know she had been working was the ketchup colored stains on her baby blue dress and apron. “He’s obviously into you.”

Kurt’s thought about it so many times, and the answer is that he doesn’t know. Competing schools wasn’t an excuse, it was summer. Besides, the Warblers had been so gracious in their loss at Regionals that they invited the New Directions over for coffee at the Lima Bean.

Truth is, he was scared. He’s never had a boyfriend, let alone asked a boy out or even told one they were handsome. This is still Ohio, and being out and proud has its consequences. He knows Blaine is gay at least, so his crushing isn’t creepy.

It sort of terrifies him to care about someone so deeply. When Blaine came in with red rimmed eyes after his fifteen minute break one night in the middle of June, Kurt sat with him as he ranted about how awful his dad was. He’s the only friend Kurt has that likes to watch old black and white movies for fun. Blaine makes him laugh so hard he cries, and everytime he brushes past Kurt during the busy nights, the spot tingles for until he gets home.

Kurt sighs. “I don’t know.” He rests his head against the edge of the soda machine. “Crushes are so damned difficult.” Mercedes hums in sympathy.

“It’ll work out, boo. Even if Rachel and I have to force the two of you to close together like last time.” He can feel her laugh beside him, and soon he’s laughing too. That was a good night.

“Kurt! ‘Cedes!” Rachel all but screams, turning a few heads. After knowing the girl for two years, he’s convinced she only has two settings: Loud and Louder.

Her face is bright pink and there’s a deep crease between her brows. She’s got her Business Face on. “What’re you two doing? This large party just came in, and you guys are just sitting here! A little help would be appreciated!” She huffs, pumps tapping against the floor as she walks to the back at a dizzying speed.

Kurt and Mercedes share an eye roll before going opposite ways. The party Rachel was talking about is huge, five adults and three kids under ten years old. After finding a table large enough so they’d all be comfortable, he pulls out a notepad and asks what drinks he can get them started with.

An older woman starts speaking in rapid fire Italian, gesturing to the rest of the group, who nod in return. Kurt instantly regrets taking up French instead of literally any other language.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, hoping they could understand. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

A younger man with a beard cocks his head and speaks in an incredibly thick accent. How a family of Italians decided to spend a summer in boring Ohio confuses him. “Could we get another waiter?” He stutters through the sentence, and Kurt feels bad to inconvenience them.

There’s a familiar tingle on his left shoulder. “I can help them,” Blaine whispers, side-stepping him to get closer to the table. He says something to the family, who grin back at him. He has that effect on people.

“You speak Italian?” Kurt hisses. This guy is just full of surprises.

Blaine puts his head down and smiles. He shrugs like everyone in America is fluent in the romantic language. “I spent a few summers in southern Italy with my grandmother when I was younger.” Because of course he did.

“Oh,” Kurt offers lamely. “Okay, well tell them I’m really sorry for any inconvenience.”

Blaine smirks at him and turns to the table. He says something to them, laughing afterwards. Kurt watches behind him, amazed at the way Blaine can make anyone feel so important. Not to mention Italian is such a hot language to hear coming out of his mouth.

A kid who can’t be above twelve pipes up, pointing back to Kurt. The rest of the family looks back at him too.

Kurt pulls at the edge of his crisp button down. They’re looking back and forth between him and Blaine, unnerving him beyond belief. He feels called out and exposed even though he has no idea what’s being said about him. So he just returns a wavering smile and turns to leave and prepares to never show his face again when he hears it.

Amore.

That stops him in his tracks. Love? Kurt’s no language expert, but the word is pretty universal in every one of them. He turns around to ask Blaine for a translation, but to his surprise he’s gone uncharacteristically silent.

Blaine eventually stammers through a reply, hands stuck stiffly at his sides. Kurt hears him murmur, “I’ll be back with your drinks,” before walking into the kitchen as fast as he can. He won’t make eye contact with Kurt the rest of the night.

Diner in the Sky closes at eleven every night, and it takes another thirty minutes on a good day to scrub stains from the tabletops and lock everything up. It’s Kurt’s night to close up. Usually either Rachel or Mercedes is on schedule to help him, but since his luck is just absolute shit, he has to clean up the place with Blaine.

Closing up is usually an intimate job. Just two people, the nostalgia of an old diner, and a jukebox. Depending on who you’re with, it’s either heaven or hell. Kurt’s not sure which one he’ll get tonight. The other two times he’s had to suffer through it with Blaine, it’s been fun. They dirtied dishes making vanilla shakes and doo-wopping along to the jukebox tunes.

Tonight feels like purgatory. Blaine avoids him at any cost. If Kurt goes to mop the kitchen floors, he goes to the front room, and vice versa. He won’t speak to him, or even acknowledge him when he accidentally sweeps Kurt’s feet. It’s fine at first, Kurt can handle the awkwardness. But eventually, it simmers to anger.

“Can I talk to you?” He calls after Blaine. He stops like a kid caught in the cookie jar, hand freezing on the light switch. He turns slowly, eyes as big as saucers.

“Yeah?”

Kurt glares at him for a moment before speaking. “Look, I don’t know what that family said to you, but it gives you no right to be so absolutely rude—”

“They said I looked like I loved you.” It comes out as if it pains him to say.

That sentence makes any anger Kurt has, flow out of him and into a pond on the floor. Love?

He scraps up any dignity he has left and smiles to himself. “Well, do you?”

“Do I what?” Blaine snaps, coming to sit on the stool next to him. His leg trembles on the floor. Kurt can recognize now the little tells he didn’t know he ever noticed; how Blaine presses his thumb and ring finger together when he’s especially nervous, the way his eyes seem to light up when he looks at him.

“Love me?” Kurt continues, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He wants to hear him say it.

Blaine doesn’t answer, instead opting to bury his head into his hands. Kurt hears him mumble to himself. Something about not the right time and tan messed everything up. His stomach flip flops.

“So,” Kurt drags, tapping the edge of the metal counter. “Love, huh?”

“Shut up,” Blaine mutters. They sit in comfortable silence for a little, until the hum of Ella Fitzgerald fizzles off the record. Then, Kurt feels a warm, almost clammy hand on top of his. It’s enough of an answer for him.

[moonflowerlesbians]

I wrote the 10 year anniversary fic

She's short but she’s sweet. Please enjoy.

to be loved a whole life long

Rated T, ~2.6k.

~~~

What is an anniversary, really, if not merely a ploy to indulge in all of the little pleasures one denies on any other day? Saying, “oh, well, we ought to save it for a special occasion.”

And, what, Jamie thinks, is an occasion more special than the day marking the tenth year since she began this beautiful, insane journey with the love of her life. A woman so remarkable that Jamie almost can’t believe she’s real. Almost can’t believe that she can wake up beside the same person every morning, smelling the same fruity shampoo, spend the day working side by side, and still, every night, fall into bed, eager to pull Dani close. Then wake up the following day and do it all again.

It’s a stability Jamie never thought she would have. After years of bouncing from foster family to foster family, Bly was the closest thing to home she’d ever had. Until, that is, these ten, wonderful years with Dani in the flat they share above the little shop that they built from the ground up.

She thinks as much as beams of cozy sunlight filter through the gossamer curtains Dani picked out for their bedroom. She has an arm draped over Dani’s middle, her front to Dani’s back, her hand tracing idle circles on the plane of Dani’s stomach beneath her sleep shirt. Jamie can hear the quiet exhalations puffing against Dani’s wrist, which she’s managed to trap against her cheek. Jamie is certain she’ll be graced with complaints of pins and needles when Dani wakes. Jamie will laugh and offer to massage the numbness away, and Dani will roll her eyes but allow her limb to flop inelegantly into Jamie’s lap.

Jamie props herself up on one elbow, her fingers trailing a path from Dani’s midriff, up her arm, to brush a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Dani begins to stir as Jamie presses slow lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder, moves to the shell of her ear, her temple, the slender curve of her jaw.

Dani makes a noise low in her throat.

“Ah, there she is,” Jamie hums, her voice, though quiet, still too loud in the morning stillness.

“Thought we w’re gonna sleep in t’day,” Dani sighs, already preparing to nestle deeper into the blankets.

Jamie runs a playful finger down the bridge of Dani’s nose. “Already did that, love. ‘S nearly half nine.”

“F’rgot you get up ‘fore the early birds,” Dani grumbles, “An’thing past six ‘s late for you.”

“The plants wait for no one.”

“They’re plants. ‘S not like they have anywhere to be.”

“You don’t know that. Could have important plant business to attend to.”

Dani, at last, rolls over incredulously. “Like what?”

“Dunno,” Jamie shrugs, “but you’re awake now.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Mhm,” Jamie chuckles, “happy anniversary, baby.” Their kiss is languid, sleep-heavy. When they break apart, their foreheads still touch.

“Happy anniversary,” Dani whispers, thumb absently caressing Jamie’s cheekbone. Her eyes glimmer with mischief when she meets Jamie’s gaze. “Wouldn’t be opposed to staying in bed all day, though...”

“Need food first.”

Dani huffs. “Fine.”

“Thought we might try the new cafe on the corner of Leeland and Huntley for brunch. Apparently, they’ve got terrific blueberry muffins.”

“And you know this how?”

“Kid and her mum came through the shop the other day. Wee gremlin wouldn’t put the damn thing down,” Jamie gripes. “Got crumbs all over my daffodils.”

“She sounds cute.” Dani sounds almost wistful.

“‘Course you’d think so. Once a teacher, always a teacher.” She waves dismissively. “Or something like that.” Jamie rubs her palms together. “Right, then, up and at ‘em. Those muffins won’t eat themselves.”

“Didn’t realize you were so excited by baked goods.”

“Not the baked goods I’m excited for. I seem to recall mentions of returning to bed after food.”

+++

They are dressed and out the door in record time.

+++

They’ve closed the shop for the day, allowing themselves a brief reprieve from the discord of the wedding season. Every other day, it seems, a new blushing bride parades through their doors, followed by a mother or mother-in-law with a thousand questions and a dozen requests per minute. Jamie enjoys the work, truly. Seeing the delighted relief wash over the room as the arrangement designs are finalized is immensely gratifying. Almost as gratifying as watching her flowers, her precious creations, adorn ballrooms and churches, surrounded by people celebrating life. The joy of being alive.

She feels it now, she thinks, the sheer euphoria of existing. Here, walking down the street, a take-away cup of tea in her hand, with Dani’s arm roped through hers.

They are living on borrowed time, she knows, stark reminders of blue and brown present in every reflection. Every so often, Jamie catches herself longing, pleading for more time. She should be grateful for what the universe has gifted her. But, on days like these, days where the air is right and the sun is warm on her skin, she finds herself wishing for a forever that she cannot have. A forever unpromised to a monster that lurks beneath the most beautiful smile in the world.

She pushes the thought aside. Tomorrow is never promised. All she has is today. And she’ll be damned before she lets it slip away.

+++

They feed the waterfowl in the park with muffin crumbs. There are ducklings this time of year, and Dani’s gleeful cooing, high-pitched and elated, travels across the pond. Dappled shadows drape across her shoulders. Tree branches sway in a gentle breeze, casting a spotted cloak across the scene. Jamie feels the tension drain from her neck.

They sit, side by side, on the swingset, watching the joggers run past, waving at their neighbors and their golden retriever, the couple whose engagement party The Leafling decorated last month. Dani exchanges pleasantries with them all. It’s the Midwesterner in her, she likes to say, amicability is in her blood. Jamie does not understand, but she does her best to nod less than awkwardly while her partner makes smalltalk.

They stop for ice cream on the way home. It is a special occasion, after all, and the balmy June weather provides the perfect excuse to indulge in seldom-savored decadence. One, Jamie decides, they should absolutely partake in more often, if the child-like giddiness Dani expresses over cake batter ice cream is any indication. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she grins, and Jamie thinks she has never looked more lovely.

+++

A trans-Atlantic call to Owen foils their initial plans of baking their own lasagna after Dani lets slip that they weren’t planning to boil the noodles before layering in the sauces.

“For the love of God, please order in. The both of you are im-pasta-ble. It’s like I’ve taught you nothing.”

“That pun was weak, even for you.”

“This is what you’ve reduced me to.”

So, they call in a delivery order to the Italian place down the road. Jamie chivalrously offers to pick it up, and Dani ushers her out of the flat with a vigor that has Jamie raising an eyebrow. But, she simply shrugs and slides into the drivers’ seat of their second-hand pickup. The familiar rumble of the engine is comforting, the crooning of some jazz singer on the radio soothing background noise. Crickets chirp in the early summer evening.

She swings through the grocer to pick up champagne on her way home and juggles the bottle and the takeaway bag of food as she fumbles her key into the lock. Dani opens the door just as she’s about to turn the knob, and Jamie falls forward, Dani catching her by the arm.

“You alright?” Dani asks, but there’s an amused lilt to her voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. If you could just take…” Jamie’s mouth goes dry. Her face is level with Dani’s hips, which she has come to realize are covered in a velvety fabric she does not recognize. Her eyes flick up, coming to rest on Dani’s collarbones, the exposed skin of her arms, the accentuated curve of her waist. “You… I… uh….”

“You could’ve knocked, you know. I would’ve let you in.”

“I… yeah, could’ve… knocked.” Jamie realizes she is frozen in the entryway, jaw on the floor, and, in all honesty, cannot bring herself to care. Not when Dani is standing in front of her, clad in a gorgeous purple dress Jamie’s never seen before, her bangs styled to frame her face, while the remainder of her hair is pulled back. Jamie clears her throat. “You, ah, you changed.”

“I did.”

“You, you look…” Jamie searches for the right word, but none seem to encapsulate the overwhelming rush of emotion she feels, looking at the love of her life in the dim light from the bulb in the hallway outside their flat, on the tenth anniversary of the start of life she never thought she would have.

Damn the limitations of this bloody language. She can say “I got absolutely goddamn shitfaced last night” in a hundred different ways, but there is no succinct way to phrase, “I love you so fucking much and you are the most incredible person in the world and I don’t know how I got lucky enough to know you and I could spend the rest of my life holding your hand.”

It seems, at least to Jamie, a grievous failure of linguistic evolution.

“Beautiful,” she settles on, at last. “You’re so beautiful.” It’s not enough. But it will suffice.

“Come on, loverboy,” Dani says, tapping the bottom of Jamie’s chin with a slender index finger before giving a tug on her sleeve. “Food’s getting cold.” She’s blushing, though, a faint tint coloring her chest as she takes one of the plastic bags from Jamie. Jamie, who merely stares at Dani’s retreating silhouette before remembering she’s supposed to follow. She shuts the front door behind her and stumbles into the kitchen, setting the bottle and second bag on the countertop next to the stove.

When she turns around, Dani is in the living room holding a match to two candles set on a ceramic dish on their kitchen island. She’s laid out their nice dinnerware, which, really, consists of the four gold-encircled plates and matching napkin rings they’d found at an antique store in Milwaukee, back when they had been exploring the country Dani called home. A vase of roses is positioned on the coffee table, and it’s evident that Dani arranged them herself, and oh, oh, how Jamie loves her for it.

“Surprise?” Dani says shyly.

Jamie blinks at her. It’s all she can do not to break down. Instead, she settles for taking two bold steps to Dani's side of the counter and kissing her senseless. Dani lets out a squeak of surprise, but quickly relaxes into Jamie’s touch. She’s biting her lip when they separate, Jamie’s twirling the fine hairs at the nape of her neck as she presses their foreheads together.

“Let me change, and we’ll eat, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Dani’s breathing is an ounce heavier than normal.

Jamie winks slyly, wanders to their bedroom and opens the closet, pulling out the first acceptable outfit she sees. She doesn’t have to change, she knows. Dani could care less whether she’s wearing a three-piece suit or sweatpants. (Though she suspects the suit might have the edge.) She dons a white, three-quarter zip and black slacks, pausing briefly to add a pair of black leather suspenders she knows Dani likes. Something about being easy to grab and pull.

Dani is struggling to uncork the champagne when Jamie returns to the kitchen. Her tongue pokes adorably out of the corner of her mouth, and her soft grunts of frustration are surprisingly endearing.

“Hand it over. Come on, now. Before you put your eye out.”

“I can do it,” Dani protests. “Just. Need to tweak it. A little.”

Jamie takes the opportunity to press against Dani’s back, her arms wrapping around to cover Dani’s hands where they fiddle with the bottle. For a moment, Dani forgets to be cross and reclines her head, resting it on Jamie’s shoulder. She sighs, relinquishing control, and Jamie huffs out a quick laugh. She holds the champagne over the sink to catch the overflow when the bottle pops.

Dani mumbles something about “having loosened it,” which Jamie meets with resolute agreement and a, “‘course you did, baby.”

The lasagne, an Owen-approved non-abomination, has been plated, Dani having evidently done so while Jamie was shucking her dayclothes. She pours them each a healthy flute of champagne and seats herself beside Dani, raising her glass.

She hesitates.

“Wait,” Dani exclaims, hurrying to the hall closet. She rummages for a second, bringing back the Polaroid camera Jamie had given her their first Christmas together. She checks the film, appears satisfied, and balances the device on an upturned colander to set up her shot. She sets the timer and sidles under Jamie’s arm, picking up her champagne flute. “Smile!” Dani beams.

When the image prints, the picture reveals Dani, with the biggest grin Jamie swears she’s ever seen, and Jamie at her side, looking positively smitten. The flash has illuminated the silver streaks in her hair, the lines embedded in her skin. Time has been kind to her, she reminds herself, others are not so lucky. And, in any case, when she looks at this photograph, she will not be looking at herself.

Dani kisses her cheek and moves her keepsake to the coffee table for safety. Too many important documents ruined by spills for her to risk it. She props it gently against the roses. It’s perfect.

Again, Jamie raises her glass. She inspects the contents.

Again, she hesitates. Then, a toast:

“To another ten.”

Silence.

Dani stills, looks at her.

Jamie can see the beginning of an argument forming on the tip of Dani’s tongue, and Jamie holds her stare. It’s a challenge. A dare, even.

They do not often speak of the distant future. Only when it is absolutely necessary do they broach the sensitive topic.

A world-weary smile paints Dani’s lips. Her eyes are burdened, the vivacity present mere seconds ago seemingly having vanished. She is tired. It shows in the slump of her shoulders, the crease of her brow, the way the giddiness of earlier has slunk away, leaving Dani bare-boned and fatigued.

She lifts her glass.

She says nothing.

“I love you,” Jamie murmurs after the faint clink of glass on glass. “So much.”

“Always,” Dani finishes. And Jamie knows she means it.

+++

They embrace beneath the sheets that night, sweat cooling in the dry air. Jamie’s fingers are tangled in blonde waves highlighted with grey. Dani’s breathing has evened out, short puffs tickling Jamie’s sternum, as Jamie contemplates the window over her head.

She has found someone to love, and someone to love her in return. Someone who will stay, even on the bad days. Someone who expects nothing and deserves everything.

Dani is everything Jamie thought she never deserved. Dani is good. Dani is good and exquisite and utterly unbelievable and, god, how Jamie loves her.

She loves waking up beside her every morning, and she loves smelling the same fruity shampoo on the pillow. She loves spending the day working together on the business they built from the dirt up. She loves falling into bed every night and pulling Dani close. Every minute they have together is a gift that Jamie refuses to take for granted.

To another ten years, she thinks, and allows her eyes to close. Dani sighs against her.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some great bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of June. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Until You’re Home | Explicit | 1039 words

Louis lives in London, Harry lives in Tokyo. They make it work.

2) He Holds My Paradise | Mature | 1332 words 

“What is it that you want, baby?”

“Your dick” Louis breaths out, choking on his own words, neck still covered by his boyfriend’s hand.

“And where do you want it, baby?” the Devil asks him, a satisfied smirk painting his lips. “in my pussy, please.”

3) Morning | Explicit | 1428 words 

Harry and Louis wake up and have a 'productive' morning in the shower ;)

4) Let's Go To The Beach | General Audiences | 1489 words 

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut, but since it’s omega Louis, we’ve included it. This is a sequel. Part one of this fic is #6 on this list. 

"Louis," Harry repeated.

"Right," Louis sighed. "He tried to scent me."

or the one where Louis has a meeting with an aggressive alpha and Harry calms Louis down.

5) Sweet Relief, Pretty Please | Not Rated | 1840 words 

Louis is drunk, sad and alone, and Harry is a wanker.

6) Hey Moon, Don't You Fall Down | Mature | 2574 words 

Note: The sequel to this fic is #4 on this list. 

"Make me yours," Louis opened his eyes and put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'm ready, alpha, always been ready for you. Since the first day we met, I was yours. Please," Louis gasped as Harry slid his fingers out of him.

or the one where Harry and Louis finally bond.

7) Nothing Like Anything | Explicit | 2614 words 

Harry is bored of his frat parties. No one interesting comes anyway.It's always drunk people, grinding in the living room, strangers trying to catch his eye. He's about to leave, just to ease his pounding head when he sees him, sinful on the dance floor and suddenly the party isn't so bad.

8) Over Exposed - Part Two| Explicit | 2840 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Harry and Louis take a quick break from Harry's tour to attend the VMAs, then have a night out at a club.

9) Sweet Vanilla Cream | Explicit | 2896 words 

Harry fights to resist his roommate's new omega boyfriend, Louis. Louis maybe doesn't want him to resist.

10) Take Off Your Glasses | Mature | 3742 words

Louis was enjoying his time, as he decided to spend his weekend clubbing, Louis knows no one in there, yet someone wanted to mess with him to know who's Louis the attractive boy in the black skirt.

"It’s Louie.. Sir."

11) Rose’s Fortune | Mature | 5055 words 

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut but since it’s a/b/o we’ve decided to include it in this monthly roundup.

Omega Louis takes one of his siblings to the doctors (check up, possible broken bone or possibly injections?) and the new Dr is Alpha Harry. Harry is great with kids and Louis is smitten. Harry is smitten too but attempts to act professionally and keep his distance whenever Louis visits the Drs with his siblings or to pick up his prescriptions. But Harry realises there is no reason for him not to make a move as Louis isn't under his care.

12) Dare You To Move | Not Rated | 6060 words 

The one where Harry falls in love with the omega who is the brain behind the omega march he joined.

13) Savage Garden’s Song Rules Sometimes (While Yours Always Reign Supreme) | Explicit | 6261 words 

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

The morning after one too many nights of isolation for Louis Tomlinson and his hot & dangerous boy.

Aka how insanely adorkable Harry Styles could be after a sulking episode. [wordplay edition]

14) I Can Feel Your Blood Pressure Rise | Explicit | 9292 words 

"Hello, your Highness," Harry heard a familiar voice coming from behind him. Chills ran down his body as he felt the coldness of something sharp poke the back of his neck, "Turn around slowly or I'll hurt you,” the voice said in a teasing tone.

Where Louis is some sort of Robin Hood and sneaks into the King's castle, only to be fucked hard.

15) You Know What They Say | Explicit | 10323 words 

Nice guys always finish last.

16) Teenage Dream | Explicit | 10333 words

Harry and Louis get reintroduced to each other by their friends. It’s an instant connection. Now they’ve just gotta get to know each other.

17) Move So Petty (You're All I See) | Explicit | 10548 words 

Harry’s pretty content with his life. He loves his job- a veterinarian at a local clinic who’s already built up a name for himself despite his young age. He loves his gorgeous flat with its wide, open space and minimalistic, yet still homey feel. He loves his family who he talks to and visits as much as possible, not bothered by the long hours of driving to Holmes Chapel from London he endures multiple times a month. He loves his friends and his coworkers and his neighbors- especially Allison, the little old lady next door who brings him and Louis cookies on holidays and who always comments on how “strong and handsome you are, Mr. Styles,” everytime he sees her.

And most importantly, he loves Louis, just- maybe in a slightly different way.

18) When Tomorrow Comes | Explicit | 11111 words 

The one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.

19) Smells Like Omega Spirit | Not Rated | 11769 words 

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut, but since it’s omega Louis, we’ve included it.

Louis is an omega doing a test run on neutralizers for a class project. Every time he talks to Harry he smells completely different.

Harry is an alpha who can't figure out if he's going crazy or his sense of smell is broken, but all he wants to figure out what Louis' real scent is.

Somehow they figure it out.

20) You Kill My Mind | Explicit | 13181 words 

Harry has always been ashamed to reveal his kinks to friends and partners alike. One day he meets a man who seems perfectly designed for him and they embark on a wonderful, sex-filled exploration journey.

21) In The Heat Of The Moment | Mature | 15743 words 

When Louis unexpectedly goes into heat in maths class it takes him way too long to figure out why (it might have something to do with a certain curly haired boy sitting next to him).

22) Was In No Hurry, Had No Worries | Explicit | 21485 words 

The year is 1999 and Harry can’t stop dedicating songs to Louis on the radio. Or the one where Harry hits Louis with his car.

23) You're The Smell Before Rain, You're The Blood In My Veins | Explicit | 21945 words 

“It was him you talked about, when you used to call me late at night, saying you were missing your ex? Was it him, your important five-year long story? Was it him the person you had thought about proposing, one day?” Nick asks with a low voice, almost inaudible, almost like he’s talking to himself “He’s my boyfriend…” he whispers again, without looking up.

“I know! And you shouldn’t worry, because you don’t have a single reason to do so. He’s yours now, he’s with you. I really don’t understand why you came here, honestly” Harry says defending himself out of instinct, even if he has no reason to react like that. He just- just wishes for Nick to leave his room and go back home to Louis. Because at this point Nick has Louis and fuck, why can’t he just go fuck off for once? Doesn’t he have enough shit do deal with already? Does he really need to get into this as well? Right now?

24) Like The Earth Around The Sun | Explicit | 23600 words 

The one where Harry bursts in on Louis in heat and things only get more complicated from there.

25) The Blood of Love | Explicit | 25273 words 

Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

26) Habit | Teen & Up | 27095 words 

In which Louis is a Donna who has a soft spot for alpha Harry.

27) Let Me Carry Your Weight | Explicit | 28633 words 

Louis is fresh out of a bad relationship with someone who made him feel awful about how he looked. on his journey to better himself, he meets harry - the ridiculously attractive and fit personal trainer.

28) Robbers And Cowards | Explicit | 33237 words 

A modern day Robin Hood AU where Louis and Harry (don’t really) hate each other but they hate greedy billionaires more.

29) Caves End | Explicit | 39711 words 

The one where Harry has lost his future, Louis has lost his past, but maybe together, they can find a way through the dark.

30) Soaked In The Blood Of Angels | Explicit | 40867 words 

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

31) With Stars Of Brightest Gold | Explicit | 41109 words 

Louis Tomlinson is the premier courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. In his dreams, he has always wanted to be a famous stage actor. Locked into his contract, he has little means of escape until a handsome duke promises him freedom with a romantic alliance. Due to a case of mistaken identity playwright Harry Styles is thrown into the mix, compelling Louis to choose between his head or his heart.

32) We Both Got Nothing To Hide | Explicit | 43811 words 

Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.

33) In A World Alone | Explicit | 50787 words 

Harry’s breath catches as the glow grows bigger and bigger until he’s squinting his eyes and blinking at the sudden intense brightness. He closes his eyes, rubbing at them helplessly. When his eyes open again- he gasps, grip loosening on his bow as he gawks at the sight before him.

Because the swan is gone.

And in its place is the prettiest omega Harry has ever seen.

A Swan Lake AU.

34) Hunting Ground | Not Rated | 583658 words 

Note: This fic is the third part of a series. Part two is #38 in this list.

Louis Tomlinson didn’t know how complicated life could be until he became a werewolf. And until he was mated to Harry Styles, the son — and enforcer — of Liam, the leader of the North American werewolves, he didn’t know how dangerous it could be either...

Louis and Harry have just been enlisted to attend a summit to present Liam's controversial proposition: that the wolves should finally reveal themselves to humans. But the most feared Alpha in Europe is dead set against the plan — and it seems like someone else might be too. When Louis is attacked by vampires using pack magic, the kind of power only werewolves should be able to draw on, Harry and Louis must combine their talents to hunt down whoever is behind it all — or risk losing everything.

35) The Wrath of the Emerald Eyes | Mature | 85205 words 

His chin is grabbed harshly, facing the two deep green eyes that have been getting on his nerves for the past ten minutes. The smirk on the man's face does not vanish. The grip of his hand on Louis' chin does not soften, his thumb at the side of his lower lip.

His smile widens as he answers Louis' question, ''My name is Styles, but you will call me Captain."

Pirate AU.

36) Cry Wolf | Not Rated | 85205 words 

Note: This fic is the second part of a series. Part three is #36 in this list.

Louis never knew werewolves existed, until the night he survived a violent attack... and became one himself. After three years at the bottom of the pack, he'd learned to keep his head down and never, ever trust dominant wolves. Then Harry Styles, the enforcer—and son—of the leader of the North American werewolves, came into his life.

Harry insists that not only is Louis his mate, but he is also a rare and valued Omega wolf. And it is Louis' inner strength and calming presence that will prove invaluable as he and Harry go on the hunt in search of a rogue werewolf—a creature bound in magic so dark that it could threaten all of the pack.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go... 

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

         “Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

        “Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

        “So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

         “Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

         “And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

         “Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

        “I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

        “Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

        Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

        She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

        “Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

         Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

        Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

        Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

        She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

        Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

        Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

        “Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

        “Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

        Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

        “If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

        “But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

        “You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

        Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

        Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

        For better or worse, they were sisters.

        Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

        “Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

         “Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

        “John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

        She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

        This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

        Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

        “Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

        “Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

        “Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

        Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

        Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

        Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

        Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

        “Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

        “So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

        “Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

        Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

        “Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

        “How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

        “Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

        “Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn​

[andawaywego]

A fic where Damie say their first “I love you’s”?

hey! yes! this! i’ve had a few requests for this and i hope you don’t mind, but i set it in a No-Ghosts, Modern AU bc why not? we see what i assume is Jamie’s first “i love you” in the show, which i may touch on later, but i wanted this quiet scene surrounded by the people they love first.

i hope you like it!

..

In the early hours of the day, the kitchen is chilly and mute, blue-gray sunlight drifting in through the windows to cast empty shadows across the counters and floors. The wind rattles through the house, sliding in through any gap it can find, and Jamie thinks that, if she tilts her head just so, she can hear the way the boards beneath her feet, the wood and stone surrounding her, bend and bulge to make room for it.

She tucks herself a little tighter into her sweater and looks across the table at Flora and Miles as they happily eat their cereal, talking to one another and Hannah. Owen is leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, his cup of tea cradled in his hands and steaming a little, still. Providing warmth, perhaps, where the house tries to leech it. Beside her, Dani shifts and their shoulders brush together and, as much of a jolt passes through her at the slight touch, the real magic is this:

That secret, little smile Dani sends her way after. 

Like they are each from a hidden world that belongs to only them—where they exist and twine together in one existence, away from the prying eyes of everyone else—and are only visiting this realm for breakfast, of all things. It says a hundred secrets they’ve whispered in the dark to one another, limbs laced together warmly beneath the sheets as they caught their breath, as they kissed slowly and loose-lipped. Learning and familiar.

It’s been six months of nights spent tangled together in Dani’s bed. Six months of dinner dates in the empty kitchen late at night; of drinks at the only pub in Bly and phone calls before bed. Six months of Dani slowly figuring out sexting and Jamie nearly regretting teaching her about it when she’s interrupted in the middle of the work day with a less-than-appropriate message or worse: photograph.

Six months after that first kiss in June when they’d been walking the grounds one evening. Jamie saying something about her lost family, her shadowed childhood, and Dani turning right then and there and just kissing her. Beneath the sunset-pinked trees at the edge of the property, the heat of the summer pressing down against her skin, sticking her tight to her clothes, as Jamie presses forward into it. 

Dani.

Jamie loves Dani. 

It’s been right there on the tip of her tongue for three full months. She’s come so close to blurting it out on more than one occasion that she’s talked to Owen about it. Hannah. She’s called Rebecca in London and asked for advice on when she’s allowed to just say it. More than once for each of them.

So often, in fact, that Dani might be the only person sitting at the table that doesn’t actually know.

It aches in her chest, rattling around and begging to be set free, but Jamie hasn’t yet. Is too frightened, perhaps. Or maybe there just hasn’t been a good enough time.

Whatever it is, Jamie can see her own pinching emotion reflected back at her from Dani’s smile that morning so clearly that it’s nearly blinding. She’s waxing poetic about wanting to spend a fevered hour beneath the heat of Dani’s mouth in her own mind when Miles’s voice catches her off guard.

“—this afternoon, Miss Clayton?” he is saying.

Dani tears her eyes from Jamie’s and blinks, dazed, then seems to catch up. 

“What’s that?” she asks. Then, “Sorry.”

But Miles doesn’t mind. Doesn’t even register her apology. Just repeats his, “I was asking if we’ll still be painting the school room today,” with little fanfare.

Understanding blesses the soft lines of Dani’s expression. “Yeah, of course,” she says. “You and Flora are going to have to put on clothes that can get paint on them, though, okay?”

Miles nods and Flora lights up the room with a smile of her own. “Oh, splendid,” she says. “I had a dream last night that we all painted a family of bears on the wall! One for each of us. Owen, yours had a mustache.”

“Did it?” Owen asks. “Sounds like a handsome bear.”

“Oh, he was.”

The conversation falls apart then, the children too excited about how they’ll be spending their day to settle down. That’s one of the funny things about Dani: before she showed up, it was like pulling teeth trying to get Miles or Flora to participate in anything resembling a chore. The school room is one that’s needed repainting for a long time—given the humidity of the rainier seasons and its position in the house, the paint has been chipping for years. Jamie always figured that, at some point, she was going to have to just give in and do it on her own, but, now that Dani is here, it seems she’s acquired three new sets of helping hands. Maybe it’s the years of teaching two dozen students in America, or maybe it’s just a special talent, but Dani has managed to turn the mundane into the extraordinary so many times that Jamie wonders sometimes if she might actually be Mary Poppins.

Wonders if that makes her Bert.

Briefly imagines dancing with a cartoon penguin and almost jumps out of her chair when a hand touches her arm.

But it’s just Dani, giving her a look that’s half-amused, half-concerned. “Sorry,” she says, but Jamie shakes her head.

“Don’t hafta apologize for touching me, Poppins,” she says, giving a little wink, and Dani’s cheeks blush pink. “Just caught me off guard.”

Beneath the table, Dani’s hand is still on Jamie’s arm, her grip loose and lovely, sparking like wires up and down the length of Jamie’s skin. She remembers that morning—Dani pressed into her back beneath the covers, one of her arms wrapped around Jamie’s stomach, her fingers moving fluidly and madly between Jamie’s legs. She clenches her thighs together and tries to calm down. 

It doesn’t work.

That’s the thing she’s learned the most often since that first kiss in the gardens: being with Dani is almost like being on fire all the time. Jamie can’t seem to catch a break, and she really believes now that she wouldn’t even take one if it were offered.

“You’re so pretty,” Dani breathes, but that’s clearly not what she’d meant to say. It just comes out in this drifting voice that Jamie recognizes because she has one just like it. Part of her is constantly reassured when Dani speaks like this that she is not the only one left dazed by their each interaction. 

“So are you,” Jamie says. “Before you ask, I’m going to go pick up the paint after breakfast.”

Dani’s eyebrows lift a little, then settle back down. That’s what she’d meant to discuss, apparently, and, now that Jamie has finished the thought for her, she seems a bit more in control of herself and the situation. 

“You’re a saint,” she says next and Jamie rolls her eyes.

“Hardly.”

Across the table, Hannah is getting to her feet and the children are doing the same, grabbing their used dishes and toddling after the older woman to take them to the sink. Dani and Jamie linger at the table for a beat, neither of them willing to release the other from their hold when faced with a long day spent beneath the watchful, innocent eyes of two children.

Finally, Owen stands up and they have no choice. Their only alternative is to spend the rest of the day sitting right there and Jamie thinks she’d end up getting a little stiff if they decided on that. 

Dani offers to take Jamie’s mug to the sink and Jamie smiles.

Says, “Thanks,” and watches her girlfriend make her way over, setting the dishes she’s carrying on the counter beside where Miles is obediently filling up the sink with warm, soapy water.

“Who’s going to be my dish-dryer?” she asks, her voice enthusiastic despite the content of her question. 

Still—magic as ever—Miles and Flora flood the air with eager I will’s and let me’s. 

Owen gives Dani an impressed look. Hannah just smiles and leans against the island counter. 

“I’m gonna head to the hardware shop,” Jamie says, seemingly to no one in particular, but it has its intended effect. 

Dani turns around from the sink and smiles over at her. “You really are a saint,” she says without a hint of joking.

“Just make sure the little gremlins are dressed and ready when I get back,” Jamie tells her. “Housework waits for no man.”

“Hear, hear!” Owen says and Dani laughs as she steps around the counter to reach Jamie, still standing there.

“If you think of anything else you’ll need, let me know,” Jamie says and Dani nods, reaching out to touch Jamie’s cold hand with her own. 

“I will,” she says. “Thank you. Again.”

Jamie shrugs. “No trouble. Won’t take too long.”

Normally, this would be the part where Dani would give her a quick peck on the cheek or on the lips and say her goodbyes. Just a quick thing because they’re half-a-year into being together and that’s the sort of thing couples do. Or so Jamie has seen on TV and is learning now—she hadn’t much experience before Dani. It’s happened so often in the past that it’s practically routine now, but things are different just then.

Something changes.

Because Dani does lean in and give Jamie a quick kiss on the lips. She does say, “Hurry back,” like she normally might have, but there’s an extra part thrown in at the last second. 

“Love you.”

Dani says it so quickly, so thoughtlessly, that Jamie responds before she even processes the significance of those two words.

She just says, “Love you, too,” and goes to pull away.

But, before she can, everything comes crashing into her like a freight train. Dani seems to be undergoing the same realization Jamie is given the way her eyes are wide and unblinking.

They stare at each other for a moment—seemingly forever. Dani stands in front of Jamie, the light from outside brightening her hair into a halo like an angel’s, and her blood is pumping swift through her heart and veins. It’s strange that all she’s doing is standing in the kitchen—Miles and Flora and Hannah and Owen standing just behind Dani—and yet she feels like she could very suddenly run to the moon and back without needing a break. 

Like she could fly or spread her arms around the world without an ounce of trouble and squeeze it tight. Like she should because Dani just said she loves her and shouldn’t that make her capable of anything?

She thinks so.

“I love you,” she hears herself say, slower this time, making sure that Dani understands.

Dani’s lips part just barely and she nods like she’s agreeing to something, but Jamie isn’t sure what. “I love you, too,” she says. “Hey.” 

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, her eyes tracing the gentle shape of Dani’s face, the dip of her nose and the slender arch of her neck. 

Dani leans forward a little, their foreheads brushing. “I love you,” she repeats.

Their lips brush together, soft and singing reverence in a kiss that can’t be sustained because each of them is smiling too much for that. Cool fingers wrap themselves around Jamie’s hands and it very suddenly doesn’t matter who else is in the room for this. It might as well just be them.

An ordinary morning. Breakfast in the kitchen and work to do later. After a night spent doing normal things; making dinner together and watching TV. Jamie vacuumed her flat and Dani wiped down her counters and then they fell into bed together because that’s what it is to love someone. 

That’s how you do it.

In the little in-between times. Love in offering your jacket when it’s cold; in pressing your chilled toes against the warmth of your other’s skin; in brushing your teeth side-by-side and holding hands when you’re waiting in line with your shopping basket at the market.

What is so frightening about that?

What better time to say it than when you can’t keep it contained any longer?

Nothing.

There isn’t a better time.

Easy does it.

Life ticks on around them—the children laughing and splashing one another with water, Owen making a joke that only Hannah finds funny, and that soft, green paint waiting to be picked up in town—but Jamie takes a moment to breathe. To let the puzzle pieces slide together, colors mixing in and stirring out smooth. Clean.

Leans in and kisses Dani again, longer this time, and says what she’s been wanting to say all along, which is this:

“I love you, Dani. I love you, too.”

..

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 26

The sun had set long ago and they were all crowded around a card table in Louise Brooks apartment, the radio playing “Side by Side” by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. Sipping a glass of bourbon, Louise was humming merrily along, but Nelly’s lips were set in concentration. She wasn’t a good bridge player by any measure, but the important thing was that she was getting better. They were in no danger of hitting a grand slam, but Buster thought they might be able to get a small slam out of the game. Keeping his eyes on their cards, he tilted his whiskey glass to his lips, emptying it. 

“Top you off?” said Louise.

Buster looked at Nelly, who raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight,” he said, and saw Nelly’s shoulders relax. He kissed her behind the ear and saw her cheeks redden in the lamplight.

George laid down a seven of clubs, Buster threw in a five of clubs, Louise put in a four of diamonds, and Nelly swept the trick for them with a six of diamonds. George had a good poker face. Louise’s was skilled simply by virtue of the fact that she was usually in a good humor whether her hand was bad or good. Nelly needed to work on hers. She straightened her expression as if hearing his thoughts. 

He’d been living a double life for years now, but with Nelly in the picture, it had lately become a triple life. Buster One was the gay host always ready for sport, drink, and good company. The quiet man left in the gay fellow’s wake was Buster Two, who never forgot that Lady Luck would decide someday to be done with him, and maybe soon. Buster Three was content to spend afternoons and evenings with his girl in her small apartment where she watched him work out gags for Snap Shots and sat patiently as he gave her bridge lessons. She found him pleasing in bed, and never complained that the only dance floor he led her across was her living-room carpet and their only orchestra the tabletop phonograph he’d bought her. As February gave way to March, his routine of visiting her apartment two or three days a week for a couple hours at a time seldom changed. Twice he’d taken her for a drive into the Valley, although that was always risky in case someone recognized his car as he left town and got to wondering about the girl in the passenger seat. Last weekend they’d had their first bridge game with George and Louise, the first time anyone else had seen them together. Nelly had had the time of her life. 

Buster Three couldn’t help wanting more, though. He longed to take her to a picture or have her on his arm during a premiere or benefit, dressed to the nines. He imagined her warming his bed at night, swimming laps in his pool in the morning, and playing bridge games in the billiards room on weekday afternoons. He was finding out that a mistress was a funny thing that way. The more you got of her, the more you wanted.

He stroked her back as she looked over at his hand, deciding which card to play next. They could take at least five more tricks by his count, which would put them at eight. Whether Nelly would spot them was the question. They were playing for a nickel a point. He’d wanted to do quarters, but Nelly had complained about how bad she was and insisted on a lower bet, so he let her have her way. 

It was now getting close to ten o’clock. He knew they’d have to wrap the game up in the next half hour if he wanted to be home by midnight. It was the first time he’d stayed out so late with Nelly and not told Natalie where he was going.

“Just Molly and me,” Louise sang in a soft, idle voice, examining her cards. “And baby makes three. We’re happy in my blue heaven.”

Nelly yawned and he rubbed her back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you home soon, sweetheart,” he said in her ear. 

Nelly responded with a smile and he was gratified to watch her discard a three of diamonds in the next moment. He was pretty sure he could take the trick with a Jack of diamonds if neither George nor Louise played the Queen.

They left the apartment at a quarter to eleven, many nickels richer. Louise kissed Nelly goodbye on both cheeks. It made Buster happy to see the girls get along so well.

“How’d I do tonight?” said Nelly, as they walked through the darkness toward his Lincoln town car, holding hands. 

“You’ll be able to play pro soon at the rate you’re going.”

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t tease.”

“Well okay, but we can start playing for quarters any day now.”

“Maybe dimes,” she said, laughing. “Maybe.” Another big yawn hit her. 

“Don't fall asleep yet, you hear? I have things in mind for you.”

“What kind of things?” she said. From her flirtatious tone, he had a pretty good idea that she already knew.

“Let me take you home and I’ll show you.”

Though she was falling asleep on her feet by the time he parked on Genesee Avenue, she allowed him to walk her inside, persuade her onto the couch, and lift up her skirts. That gave her a second wind and she joined in the excursion with enthusiasm. When they were done and he’d buttoned his trousers back up, he watched her wander around the apartment in nothing but her garter belt and stockings, getting ready for bed. Apart from the nudie show, which he enjoyed tremendously, he found he’d missed watching her take down her hair and return from the washroom wearing it in braids, her cheeks shining from scrubbing her face. Tonight the routine was the same except that she was in the buff. He grinned, looking forward to having something to think about on Monday morning when the tedious conversations about Snap Shots resumed with the M-G-M brass and his surplus writers.

After Nelly had brushed her teeth, he followed her into her bedroom and watched her get into underthings and a pink sleeveless nightgown with ivory lace at the bodice. 

“Sticking around to tell me a bedtime story?” she said, giving him an impudent smile. 

He swatted her derrière in rebuke as she climbed into bed and drew the covers over her. “Sure. What’ll it be?” He sat on the side of the bed. 

“I don’t care. Surprise me.”

“Once upon a time Charles Lindbergh flew over the Atlantic to find the prettiest girl in the world.”

Nelly giggled. “Oh, is that what his flights are about?”

“He gets to England. Nothing worth seeing. Same story in France and Italy and Indonesia.”

“Indonesia’s not in Europe.” Nelly was laughing, but her eyes had also closed. 

“Who’s telling this story?” he said, tapping her shoulder. “So he gets back in the airplane, flies all the way across the Atlantic again. Gets to New York. All the dames he sees look like dogs practically. Well, he gets back into the airplane again and he commences to visit every state he can, Pennsylvania, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee. You name it, he visits it. It’s no good. He never saw such ugly girls. Any how, he’s running low on fuel for his airplane and he decides to make a stop in Chicago.”

“Mmm,” said Nelly. Her lids were beginning to twitch. 

“While he’s there he goes and sees the sights. He takes an elevator up to the very top of the Tribune Tower. Guess who he meets on the top, top floor?”

Nelly sighed. 

“Miss Nelly Foster, that’s who. That’s how he found the prettiest girl in the world.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. She gave a vague smile at the caress, but otherwise was out like a light. “G’night, sweetheart.”

He collected his jacket and locked her front door with the key she’d given him, which was in his pocket more often than not these days. It was half past midnight by the time he made it home. He half-expected Nate to be waiting in the sitting room or at the foot of the stone staircase demanding to know where he’d been, but the house was silent and dimly lit; he stubbed his toe on his way to the kitchen to see what Caruthers had left in the refrigerator.

Standing in the kitchen eating cold roast and cold cooked carrots from a priceless bone china plate a few minutes later, he was back to being Buster Two, bewildered that this could be his life. Buster wasn’t half bad at Shakespeare. The problem was that Nelly could barely recite her lines without laughing over his sober-faced version of Olivia, who spoke in a high, breathy voice. “Stay,” he would say, “I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me,” and clutch his hands in front of his heart so earnestly she would be in stitches. 

“That you do think you are not what you are,” she’d answer, giggling. 

She had a feeling he was trying to cut her up on purpose, but the straight face never faltered. After a half hour of practicing, Nelly called it a day. She would just have to learn the lines on her own. Buster seemed content to set aside the little green Arden Shakespeare edition of Twelfth Night. He drew his legs onto the sofa and put his head in her lap. She ran her hand through his thick dark hair as he closed his eyes. “You’re burning the candle again, Olivia.”

“Hmmph,” he said.

“Auditions are next Monday night. If I get the part, you’ll have plenty of time to help me rehearse my lines, I guess. The play doesn’t open ‘til the second week of June.”

Buster opened his eyes. “About that.” His brows were pinched.

“What?” she said.

“I’m leaving for New York on the seventh,” he said with a grim expression. 

“Oh.” She’d known in an abstract way that Snap Shots took place in New York, but somehow she’d failed to imagine that Buster might shoot on location. Knowing now how he had traveled in order to film Our Hospitality, The General, and Steamboat, it was a conclusion she should have come to. “How long will you be gone?”

Buster sighed. “July. If I’m lucky.”

“How long have you known?” she said, wondering why he had waited to bring it up to her. 

“Awhile. Before we started going together. Guess I just thought the day’d never get here.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said frankly, as she combed her fingers through his hair. 

“I know,” said Buster. “I’ve been thinking about how to get around it. Maybe I’ll send for you at the halfway point or something. You ever been to New York?”

“Not once,” she said. She briefly considered the practicalities of traveling all the way across the country while trying to keep her job at United Artists and, if her tryout with the Los Angeles Players Company was successful, star in a play at the same time. She was also thinking of his wife, who would doubtless accompany him. Buster, always so honest and hopeful when he built castles in the air, plainly had not thought of this.

“Well, I got some good news, anyway. That was the bad news. Wanna hear it?” He looked up at her so earnestly that she couldn’t resist bending her head to kiss his mouth. 

“Of course.

“I just rented a place just outside the M-G-M lot. A bungalow. Figured it’d save me some time going home every day. Plus you could stay the night. I got it all worked out.”

“Oh?” It sounded risky, but her stomach fluttered at the idea. 

“Sure. I’ll pick you up and take you there after dark. We get up before the sun comes up and no one’s the wiser. I can get you over to United Artists in the  morning.”

The scheme was more than a little hairbrained, but to Buster’s credit it worked. For two weeks before he left for New York, Nelly spent Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings at the bungalow. It was actually a double bungalow with separate entrances, the other half belonging to Edward Sedgwick, Buster’s new director, who used it as an office during business hours. Sedgwick’s half was always dark by the time Buster ushered Nelly through the door after nightfall, though. Buster’s side of the bungalow was a combination dressing room and gymnasium. The dressing room occupied the first room and contained a stove, refrigerator, and worktop so Caruthers could whip up meals. Like Sedgwick, he too was always gone by early evening, but left a hot dinner for two ready, never asking (or so Buster said) why he was cooking for two. The second room held weight equipment, a rowing machine, a punching bag, and other exercise equipment. Nelly had learned a few weeks back that Buster’s splendid physique was not the result of pratfalls, but of dedicated training. Off the gymnasium there was a small washroom, and at the back of the house a little bedroom with a double bed, a nightstand, and a chair. It was here that Nelly would fall asleep next to Buster, waking up more often than not in his arms.

The alarm clock would ring at a rude five a.m. and Buster would reach over her to silence it. Sometimes they would make love. Other times, Buster would fall back asleep and Nelly would watch him, letting him seize a few extra minutes before reluctantly shaking him awake again. Although he had every outward appearance of boundless energy when he was around her, she could tell in the droop of his eyes and the redness that occasionally invaded them that he was always tired. It was no wonder. There were bridge games with Louise and George Marshall, often stretching until midnight, and when there weren’t bridge games, he was practicing songs on the ukulele while she studied her lines, having recently gotten the part of Maria in Twelfth Night. In spare minutes, he’d tell her about baseball games, meetings with the M-G-M bigwigs, and lunches with other stars. He didn’t seem to have a second of his day that wasn’t filled. 

One subject he didn’t discuss was his wife and children. It was as if that part of his life didn’t exist, though Nelly knew that he must spend time with them. At first, she hadn’t wanted to know about Natalie because it would have curdled her with guilt to think that she was monopolizing another woman’s husband. Now she didn’t want to know because her feelings for Buster had strengthened. She could almost convince herself that if she didn’t acknowledge that other part of his life, the fairytale that was their time together could stay in place forever.

And it was like a fairytale, even the ordinary parts, like Buster stumbling out of bed so he could go into the front room and make coffee. She loved his sleep-mussed hair and bare feet, the bleary way he groped for his pack of cigarettes and lit the first one of the day, how he would shrug on a dressing gown over his underthings—if he was even wearing underthings, which was never a guarantee when they were sharing a bed. While he was thus occupied, she would get dressed for the day and throw on a dab of lipstick and a quick brush of mascara. As the coffee percolated and Buster dressed, she’d make breakfast, either wheat cakes with eggs or steak and eggs. They always kept the curtains drawn, and if any early-morning peddler knocked on the door to attempt to sell Buster vegetables, soap, and any other number of commodities, she would creep to the back door and leave Buster to turn them down.

Despite their precautions, spending the night at the bungalow still felt dangerous. Nelly knew it would take only one pair of unfriendly eyes to spot them and the jig would be up. Buster, she thought, was much too casual on this point and she always made him double-check that none of his neighbors were peeping out of their homes as she hurried into his car between six and six-fifteen-a.m., depending on how long she’d let him sleep or whether carnal matters had preoccupied them for an extra ten minutes. Even so, it was hard to stay nervous with his cheery attitude. He had only to throw her one of his beautiful smiles, upper teeth straight and gleaming, and she would be set at her ease again.

Notes: Is this chapter too sentimental? Be honest. 

I should warn you that because life is hectic right now for me, I’ll probably go down to an every-other-week update. I was away this weekend and got to working on Chapter 26 when I returned, only to discover I needed to add just two sentences to it. -_- Sorry for the delay.  There are some anachronisms here and there will be in the future. Louise Brooks wasn’t in the States at this time. I think I did get the timing on the bungalow right, though. The opening part of the second part of this chapter takes place around March 24th.

[cheezritsu]

Taiwa 2014

Summary: It’s been a long time since Tsukishima has traveled back to his hometown, Taiwa. The last time he was here, he was moving out. But even still, there’s this unsettling feeling that he never truly left. Everything that ever mattered to him, Karasuno, Yamaguchi, his family, they were still here, like always. So why did it feel like something was missing?

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei X Reader

Word Count: 9.7K

A/N: I’m bringing what’s probably one of my favorite fics over to tumblr. crossposted on AO3 if you prefer the format. Also pain; lots of pain.

                                      ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sitting in Yamaguchi’s car with the windows down, messing up the left side of Tsukishima’s (too long) hair, he recalls one of the reasons he left Miyagi. 

He has resigned to not lean his arm outside, because the grey exterior has super heated to an ungodly degree, and he’s sure there’s a 1st degree burn that will be agitated the moment it slides against a volleyball court. He joked that Yamaguchi was trying to sabotage him, that maybe if they weren’t best friends he’d actually be upset. 

But it’s not like Yamaguchi can block out the sun. He didn’t remember Miyagi summers being so damn brutal, especially not in June. The sun beamed down on them as if God had a laser pointer on Yamaguchi’s Acura LX, which seemed pretty harsh even if the car was old. 

Sendai fades into the background, and the buildings get shorter and shorter like they’re descending stairs. Telephone wires criss cross the highways overhead, and incoming traffic gets a little congested. Yamaguchi leans back, exhaling slowly through his nose. 

“It’s always like this now. Everyone’s moving out of Tokyo and coming up north and for what? So they can hike up grocery store prices?”

“That’s awfully prejudiced of you, Yamaguchi. Why would they raise prices if they don’t know how to cook?”

Yamaguchi laughs. “Tokyo boys ain’t shit.”

“Careful,” Tsukishima gives a close lipped smile. “Your country accent is slipping through.”

“Yours is all gone.”

“I never had an accent.”

Yamaguchi hums when he grips the steering wheel, jerking the car left as he changes lanes. “Sure.”

Tsukishima keeps his mouth shut, as if sealing the evidence. 

The rip of motorbikes replaces the stalled car engines as his hometown becomes a highway exit. Like it’s been anything other than that. 

Tsukishima reels as they start to pass familiar landmarks. He never realized it was all so close together; it seemed like trips that used to take hours were now whizzing past at the blink of an eye. It couldn’t be Yamaguchi’s featherfoot on the gas, either. 

Suburbs isn't the right word to describe Taiwa. Hinata used to ride his bike uphill both ways to get to Karasuno, and all of his friends were spread out across the large expanse of undeveloped land. Animals likely outnumber the amount of residents in the town. When Kuroo used to call the team country bumpkin crows, he wasn’t exaggerating. 

Tsukishima narrows his eyes, and Yamaguchi’s gaze flickers over. “What’s got you so upset? You just got here.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, then catches Yamaguchi still trying to look at him. “If I tell you, will you keep your eyes on the road?”

“As long as you don’t tell me something that’ll make me crash the car.”

“Just don’t crash the fucking car?”

“Spit it out, Tsukki!”

He grumbles at the old nickname. “I get enough of Koganegawa calling me that, thank you.” Date Tech’s school used to feel hours away; how long would it take under the wheels of this thing?

“Everything’s just. Closer than I remember.”

“Closer?”

“The places, I mean. The town feels smaller.”

A snort. “Sure is, hot shot. I see you got acclimated to Saitama real nice.” 

There’s something charming about the northern drawl of Yamaguchi’s words he knew he’d hate coming out of his own mouth. “It’s not the same.”

Yamaguchi’s chuckle tapers into a sigh. “Neither are you.”

The blocks become residential, and houses he used to know are obscured into oblivion. The people that bike by are different, the parked cars are newer, while some faces are just older in a way that settles like lead in Tsukishima’s stomach. 

And then he sees it: the house with wood paneling in the front, white everywhere else. Atop the stone pillars are the plants still taller than him, even though he’s upwards of 195cm these days. White undershirts catch the summer breeze on the clothesline, billowing like flags. Cross-hatched metal gate, a new car in the driveway. Faded pink door. 

Your house. With a for sale sign in the window. 

Tsukishima nearly breaks his neck as Yamaguchi passes it without so much as a glance. 

“Did you see that?”

“What?” Yamaguchi checks his mirrors. “Did I see what?”

The houses blend together once again. Everyone on the street carries on like Tsukishima hasn’t been shot through the chest. He slumps into his seat, listening to dogs barking and the laughter of children as everything goes accordingly. 

“It’s nothing. A kid fell off his skateboard. It looked pretty awful.”

Yamaguchi hesitates, but doesn’t question it. He minds his business, even when Tsukishima’s scowl falls into something a little more melancholy than usual. 

                                      ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tsukishima frowned from his post at the front desk, annoyed how your presence alone could stir...things in him. 

It had been a long time since he’d seen you at the museum. Perhaps that was good for his job security, but when he saw you walking up to him in a wool blazer that looks like a mirror image of the one he had on, he couldn’t help but admit he’d missed you. He didn’t know where you’d been, and he wanted to ask, but you flashed him the 460 yen entrance fee before he could speak.

“I’ll take the 4:15 personal guided tour.”

He schooled his face to keep it flat. “How many times have I told you—”

“It’s your last day, what are they going to do, fire you?”

The sarcasm was dry, and there was no twinkle in your eye. Tsukishima sighed, taking the money and putting it in the register. His replacement, a quickly scouted kid that was barely his shoulder height, tapped away on the computer next to him. “Hey, Hiroto.”

The boy was obviously younger, probably still in high school by the way his eyes widened when his senpai called for him. “Yes, Tsukishima-sama?”

You lean against the counter. “Sama?” you mouth, lips curling into that smirk he hated to love. 

“Take over the front desk for me. I have a tour to do.”

Hiroto squinted in confusion, but as soon as Tsukishima slid out of the booth the kid immediately took his place. He looked so nervous and unsure, and you, still leaning over the counter, sent him a wink. 

“Don’t worry kid, just make sure you turn this over.” Your fingers toyed with a plaque, tipping it over so it read Closed. Then, you cupped one hand over your mouth, whispering close to his ear. 

“This guy sucks at customer service anyways, and they kept him for a whole year.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes at your loud-as-all-hell whisper, pulling your arm. 

“Leave the kid alone.”

“I’m just giving him some friendly advice!”

“You’re going to give him a lot more than that if you keep with the “friendly” attitude.” Hiroto looked absolutely mortified, standing like a wooden plank at the front desk. You hummed. 

“How old is he?”

Tsukishima ignored your question. You looped your arm with his. “I feel like college students keep getting smaller and smaller these days.”

“That’s because you hung out with giants.”

You walked through an ornate archway into an octagonal room filled with glass cases of samurai memorabilia. The armour room had only a few stragglers left, all of them in silent contemplation. Against the archway, an employee Tsukishima recognized gave him a long glance as you two strolled past, but Tsukishima was more preoccupied with looking at you. He would sneak glances at your reflection in the glass, concerned by the indifferent frown you sported. Maybe it was the exhibits; samurais and swords were never your thing. But there was something he couldn’t put his finger on that made him anxious.

You either didn’t notice him staring, or you didn’t care. Waltzing through the halls like you were the guide, you two stepped into the completely secluded painting wing. Sharp angled walls jutted out to create more surfaces to hang the portraits. You tilted your chin, studying them like an art critic.   

 “Are you going to miss working here?”

Tsukishima shrugged. “It was fine. Gave me a use for my degree.”

“You regretting college now that you’re a superstar athlete?” The words are punctuated with tiny jabs to his arm, but they lack conviction. “Kinda seems like a waste, huh?”

Tsukishima frowned. The implication that the past four years spent being in your care and watching over you were suddenly useless didn’t sit right with him. “It’s not like I didn’t like it.”

“I know,” you sighed, moving onto the next painting. “It just seems like a detour now, doesn’t it? I mean, you’re a pro-athlete.”

There was a stress on how you said “athlete” that didn’t slip past him. He realized what was so off: you weren’t imitating the goofy poses of the long dead samurai anymore. Your all black outfit, once chic, seemed like you were in mourning. The heel clicks of your loafers brought his eyes back to you, where you stood with your hands grasped behind your back, pulling your fingers tightly. 

Tsukishima drew up to your side. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

You whipped your head around like you’ve been caught. “What’re you talking about?”

He snorted. “You’re a bad liar, you know. Your accent is your tell.”

“Shut,” you started to say, though it lacked a hard T and it made Tsukishima laugh. “Shut up.” 

It almost feels normal between you two. Almost. 

“It’s been weird, you know,” you started, voice barely a whisper. You looked like you were talking to Date Masamune’s portrait when you said “I’m back at home, and you’re not there anymore.” 

He didn’t know why you were saying that. He should have kicked himself in the ass and given you some kind of reassurance, but he was frozen, mouth agape with an unasked question. 

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Tsukishima always thought your profile should have been on these walls. You looked regal, even with your eyes fixed on the ground and an ashamed smile. “Who woulda thought two kids from Taiwa would be all the way out here, hm?” Your chuckle is self deprecating. “And now you’re gunna be playing for a Division One team in Saitama. Fuckin’ hot shot.”

You finally turn to him, head cocked with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m glad you’re getting out, Tsukki. It’s what you wanted, right?”

He can’t pinpoint what’s wrong with this image. Sometimes, it appears to him in dreams, your smile warped and faded like an overexposed photograph. The right words are floating in the ether above him, elusive, mocking. But he is destined to say the wrong ones. 

“Yes, it is.”  

You looked into Masamune’s eyes once again, like you could read the brush strokes and find the answer to the universe in them. “You deserve it, you know. Miyagi never suited you.”

 The irony was lost on him, as were most things in the moment. Your presence had now soured his mood, but you hooked your arms through his like nothing was wrong. 

“C’mon, this is the last time I’ll ever step foot in the place again; tell me something cool.”

You didn’t say “probably.” Tsukishima dwells on this now more than ever, because his response never addressed that. “Did you know there’s an anime series based on the Date Clan?”

Your laugh; that’s what he was more focused on. The way it lit up your face, and how you said “seriously?” a little too loud for the dead silent museum. Tsukishima hasn’t been back to Sendai City museum either, because this memory is pristine, and it’s the last one he has of you.

                                     ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Tsukishima’s family is still the same. 

His mother has kept her hair short for the past fifteen years of her life, and Tsukishima might have a childlike tantrum if she’d cut it otherwise. But when Yamaguchi pulls up to his childhood home, she steps out of the house with her signature bob, sans a couple more grey hairs. 

The way golden hour makes his mother look ethereal never ceases to make him smile. She gives Yamaguchi a one-armed hug as he carries Tsukishima’s luggage inside, and Yamaguchi kisses her on the cheek like a better son would. 

All Tsukishima can do is stand in front of her with his hands behind his back, head dipped with a bashful smile as his mother cocks her hands on her hips. He feels sixteen again, fidgeting with his fingers when she comes closer, giving him a smile that could coax anything out of him. 

“You never stop growing, do you?” She has to stand on her toes to brush back his fringe. “Even your hairs’ gotten longer.”

“Can you cut it for me? I only trust you.”

A smile. He’s suddenly even younger; twelve years old, standing in front of the house and holding up the award from the science fair. His mother is so brilliant that the sun goes away, shamed by her beauty. 

“Of course, Kei. Come on, your brother’s waiting.” 

Nothing’s changed in the house. Muscle memory brings him to the kitchen, where the table is set for four. Yamaguchi sheds his jacket, but Akiteru swoops behind him, snatching it from his hands. 

“I’ll take that, Tadashi.” He’s as smooth and polite as ever, grinning the megawatt smile he inherited from their mother. Akiteru may be a full head shorter than Kei now, but the slap his older brother gives him still makes him lose balance. 

“You done growin’ yet, you little jerk? Huh?” Akiteru has grown less doting in years gone by, much to Tsukishima’s own (disgusted) dismay. Akiteru stops, looking him up and down before that teasing grin distills into something prideful. In a flash, he is pulled into a tight hug, the pats on his back more tepid and loving. Tsukishima leans in for only a moment, and then Akiteru holds him at arms’ length. 

He suspects Akiteru will say something sappy, but Yamaguchi’s jacket is thrust into his arms. “Be a good friend and put away Tadashi’s coat, will you?” He gives an infuriating wink before helping his mother in the kitchen. 

Tsukishima turns, even if only to hide the sentimental smile that graces his lips. When dinner is finally ready, Tsukishima sits beside Yamaguchi, facing his mother, and suddenly he is nine years old again; Yamaguchi is over for dinner and Akiteru will no doubt embarrass him, but it’s okay because mom cooked their favorite. Time stands still and the sun doesn’t set, not for them. 

It’s almost enough to make him forget. Almost. 

“Did you know the (Surname) house is for sale?”

Yamaguchi blinks, but his mother doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you saw?”

“It’s the one on the way here, with the pink door. It’s hard to miss.” Tsukishima keeps eating like its normal conversation--isn’t it?--but Yamaguchi’s eyes are trying to x-ray his skull. 

“It’s been up for a little while, hasn’t it Aki?”

Akiteru, who’s sixth sense is his little brother’s emotions, clears his throat. “Probably since March.” 

“They’ve been wanting to get rid of that house since (Name) left.”

Hearing your name out of another person’s mouth sends a ripple through Tsukishima, like he’s been punched in the stomach. Akiteru and Yamaguchi don’t miss the way his breath hitches, how he drops his utensils to crack his knuckles. 

“It’s probably too big for them anyways,” he says, returning to his meal, head bowed so he can’t see their prying eyes. “They’re getting kind of old.” 

“It’s been so long since it was full, hasn’t it? Their older daughter moved out over a year ago, I think.” 

His mother’s words buzz in his ears as the conversation dornes on. Akiteru steers it away from the house, asking about Tsukishima’s appointed condo in Saitama, but he only gives one word answers through the fog in his mind.

Suddenly, he is eighteen, time fast forwarding as his glasses change and his hair gets shaggier, and you, like his mother, brush it out of his vision. Yamaguchi sits on Akiteru’s left because Tsukishima scowled at the idea of you sitting next to his brother. It’s not like it even matters, because you aren’t his: everyone in the room is showering you with attention and you have to divide yourself four ways, giving them individualized smiles.

“--(Name) really broke their hearts when she left.”

“Huh?”

As it turns out, eighteen wasn’t so long ago. His mother smiles fondly at a memory. “She was a firecracker, wasn’t she? Used to walk around like she owned the place. Her older sister was always more respectful.”

“Wasn’t her older sister in a rock band?” Akiteru reminisces. 

“Yeah, but which one was constantly skipping school and getting caught with boys?”

“Younger sibling privileges. They get to do whatever they want and never get punished.”

His mother laces bridges her fingers, then leans her chin down. “But everyone still loved her, didn’t they?” His mother’s eyes are far away, like she was in the same moment as her son. “I miss her.”

Tsukishima doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but he has to force the words out of his throat. “Why’re you all talking like she’s dead? She just lives in...wherever the hell she got whisked off to. Who knows?” 

The entire table halts, staring at him. Akiteru and Yamaguchi share another secretive glance, and Tsukishima’s forehead throbs. 

“Whatever, can we just talk about something else?”

Another reason Tsukishima revered his mother: she knew how to deal with him. “Of course dear,” she says, her voice never even missing a beat. “You haven’t even told us about your last match!”

“It was televised,” he drones, but Yamaguchi gangs up on him

“It was your first time playing against the Black Jackals, though.” Despite his years of practice, Yamaguchi still has some hesitance when he changes topics. “Was it satisfying blocking Hinata’s spikes? I bet you liked shutting down Miya Atsumu.”

There’s a twitch to his lips as he gives Yamaguchi a grateful glance. The rest of dinner goes off with little conflict, and Tsukishima groans when Akiteru pulls out strawberry shortcake and the alcohol that pairs poorly with it--beer.

“I’m not drinking that.” Tsukshima means it, too, leaving his brother and Yamaguchi to their own devices. His mother cleans up easily with the extra set of hands, and while they chat over booze, he drops his things off in his old room. 

It’s the same as when he left. His old books are still on the shelves, the dinosaur figures covered in a thin, disrespectful layer of dirt. His first Karasuno jersey still hangs next to his door, swinging idly when he enters. 

It, like Taiwa, feels small. Perhaps it’s because his bed is still full sized, and his feet hang over the edge. His suitcase doesn’t really fit anywhere, and when he sits down at his desk, he can barely fit his knees under it. He feels like he’s in a dollhouse, or worse; a museum. 

The last time he was here, he was moving out. But even still, there’s this unsettling feeling that he never truly left. Everything that ever mattered to him, Karasuno, Yamaguchi, his family, they were still here, like always. 

So why did it feel like something was missing?

There’s a knock on the door he didn’t remember closing. When it opens, the light from the hallways creeps in, and Yamauchi peers inside. “Why are the lights off?”

“It wasn’t dark when I sat down.”

Yamaguchi pushes the door open with his back and when Tsukishima sees why, he lets out a snort of disbelief. “Where did you dig that up?”

The Kahlua bottle has a layer of grime on it bleach probably couldn’t cut through. It’s barely half empty, sliding across the desk into Tskishima’s waiting hands. How his friend was able to balance the bottle, a beer, and a glass of milk between his fingers was beyond him; perhaps it was the years of volleyball under his belt.

Tsukishima isn’t light handed when he pours his drink, clicking the glass with Yamaguchi’s beer and relishing it with a long sip. 

“You looked like you needed it.”

“I’m fine,” he hides his lie with another sip. Yamaguchi isn’t fooled in the slightest. 

“I didn’t know they’d bring it up.”

“You guys can stop using euphemisms, you know.” His amber eyes are dull when he looks over his glasses. “She’s not Beetlejuice.”

Yamaguchi laughs. “I suppose she won’t appear if we speak her name three times, but she’s frightening all the same.”

“Frightening isn’t the right word,” Tsukishima thinks, staring at how the liquor and milk swirl galaxies in his glass. Maybe if he looks hard enough he’ll find the right word to describe you, but the thought stays unfinished. 

Leaning on the wall, Yamaguchi turns his head to look out the window at the last vestiges of light. “Sometimes I think I see her in the convenience store; you remember the one we used to eat at after practices in third year?” Tsukishima nods at the memory. “I’ll just be standing in line, and then out of the corner of my eye, there she is. Like a hallucination.” 

Yamaguchi’s glazed eyes come back into focus, smiling sheepishly. “It’s stupid I know. It’s just,” he stares down at the floor, shifting his weight. “I know she hated Taiwa, but I thought she loved us.”

The drink has gone sour in his mouth. Tsukishima sets it down with a heavy thud, looking at Yamaguchi with a blank expression. 

“I guess she didn’t.”

Yamaguchi frowns, then tilts his head back to finish his drink. “I don’t know why I thought I’d talk to you about it,” he humorlessly scoffs. “It’s been what, five years?”

“You’re the one seeing her in grocery stores. She got what she wanted; she left this place, married her rich CEO husband, and forgot about us ‘northern folk,’” Tsukishima exaggerates the accent he fought so hard not to maintain. “I’m not going down memory lane with you. Not this one.” 

His tone drips with finality, and Yamaguchi pushes himself off the wall. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he says, leaving the Kahlua bottle on the desk. “But don’t act like you didn’t want her to stay, too.”

Yamaguchi leaves him alone in the dark. His footsteps pound down the staircase, and as they cease, Kei slouches into his chair, defeated. He tops off his drink, taking a miserable sip while his feet push the office chair side to side. 

 He spins idly, and the years unravel at the seams. 

                                          ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Not so suddenly, he is twenty years old. It’s not a milestone, not in Japan, not anywhere in the world, and yet, you wanted to celebrate. 

The day after his birthday was a lot more memorable than the actual party. Not because he was black out drunk, but because when he came back to your apartment after getting a fabulous nights rest, he was greeted with not just you, but your three overnight guests. 

“What the hell happened to them?” 

It was both luck and a curse that the MSBY Black Jackals were in town for a match. The few members that knew Tsukishima had come over for his birthday party, and the morning after they were face down at your kitchen table. Instead of their usual lively antics, they were slumped with hangovers, groaning in harmony. 

“You’re too loooud Tsukki!” Bokuto yelled, making Atsumu Miya hiccup. 

“Bokkun, please shut the fuck up,” he whispered, that melodic Kansai dialect shriveled and dry in his throat. His presence had been most shocking, but the way he called him “the snarky middle blocker” proved that he truly did remember him. 

“Language,” Hinata’s tiny voice squeaked out and you chuckled behind your hand. 

“They’ve been like this all morning. apparently they can’t head back in this condition, so,” you held up a frying pan. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Yer an angel, sweetheart,” Miya said, drawing himself up from the table. “If you had any painkillers you’d be a god.”

“You better get to worshipping then,” you pointed to the cabinet. “Bottom shelf, all the way against the wall.”

“Marry me,” he joked, and Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at your laughter. There was something about how your hair was pulled back with a headband that made him want to possessively kiss your forehead, but he held himself back. 

“What?” You said, and he realized you’d been staring at him too. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“There’s nothing picture worthy here. Except maybe those two.” He jabbed a thumb to the duo rolling on the floor. “Might keep it for blackmail.”

“You can’t blackmail people who don’t get embarrassed,” you reminded him, beginning to crack eggs into a bowl. Everything looked so effortless when you did it; even Miya was impressed by how you whisked together the eggs in a homogenous scramble. 

“Gosh, is there anything you can’t do?”

“Basic mathematics, hold her alcohol, go five seconds during a movie without crying,” Tsukishima ticked off his fingers. “Need I continue?”

“I can’t stand you, so there’s another thing,” you bit back, and Miya laughed behind you. You hummed. 

“You’ve got a pretty voice, Miya-San. Where’re you from?”

He raised an eyebrow at your compliment. “Well ain’t you sweet? I’m from Hyogo, darlin’, more specifically Kawanishi.”

The stove made that loud tick tick tick! as the flame flickers to life. It’s like that scene from Howl’s Moving Castle, and Tsukishima is enraptured at the sight of you pulling apart strips of bacon and placing them in the sizzling pan. 

“Kawanishi,” you muttered, and Tsukishima knew that longing, tired voice of yours. It always broke his heart. “Is it big?” 

“Not really; maybe ‘bout less than 200 thousand people.”

You scoffed. “Where I’m from, that's huge.”

The setter cocked his head. “Ain’t you from Sendai?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the last consonant. “I’m nobody from  the middle of goddamn nowhere.”

“It’s not like you had to bike uphill both ways to get to school!” Hinata piped up from the table. “At least you lived closer to Karasuno than I did!”

“Ah, is that how you know this guy?” Miya jutted his chin toward the taller blonde. Their gazes met momentarily, and through Miya’s whisky brown eyes, Tsukishima saw a black hole of hunger. He looked back down to you as you drained the bacon onto a paper towel. 

“Yup.” You were proud when you said it. “Tsukki and I have been together forever.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were dating.”

Tsukishima didn’t correct him, but you did. “We’re not not dating. Hell, to be honest we don’t even go that far back. We’re both from Taiwa, which isn’t really weird because it’s a huge place, even though there’s barely thirty thousand people in it.” A fond smile played on your lips, and you fixed Tsukishima with an adoring look.

“Thirty thousand people, and I lived walking distance from you. And you never even knew I existed.”

If he wanted to kiss your head before, the urge was stronger now. He licked his lips, putting the feelings aside. “What do you want me to do, apologize?”

“Hmm, no. I think I’ve harassed you enough to make up for it.”

That little smile on your lips said it all. You busied yourself with cooking once again, and Miya looked between you two like there was something tangible. If there ever was a red string of fate tied to your pinkies, it has long since been severed. But in this memory, the two of you danced around each other in the kitchen with ease, plating breakfast for five like husband and wife. 

Actually, it was just four. You returned to cleaning the apartment, quite a monumental task with all the drunk volleyball players you’d had over last night. Tsukishima had dipped after everyone was either safe at home or tucked in on your couch, and daylight was not kind to the aftermath. 

“This is why I didn’t ask for a party,” he said, watching as you tossed beer cans into a trash bag. 

“You should be grateful she threw ya a party, string bean,” Miya said in between bites of toast. The eggs on his plate matched the blonde of his hair, and Tsukishima can never unsee this. “Even more so that it was a rager.”

“Yeah! (Name)-san has always been so nice to you.”

Tsukishima choked on his drink. “You must have gotten the memory knocked out of your head with a receive, shrimp. That woman has never been kind to me.”

“I threw you a whole party!”

“I am once again asking when I told you to do that.”

He could hear your petty insults drift away as you walked out of the living room. There was only the sounds of utensils scraping against plates until you stomped back in, holding up a box that filled your arms. It’s wrapped up perfectly, because you were always good at that; in second year of high school, every member of the volleyball team brought their Secret Santa gifts for you to wrap. You charged everyone five dollars, except for him. 

When you got closer he could see the dinosaur stickers you’d placed sporadically across the surface, and Miya snorted with laughter when you unceremoniously dropped the present in Tsukishima’s lap. 

“Happy birthday, asshole,” you spat, but he could see how the corners of your mouth tipped up in a suppressed smile, getting wider by the second. 

“Well? Open it Tsukki!”

“Yeah, I wanna see!”

The peanut gallery beside him banged their hands on the table, and Miya groaned, clutching his forehead. “I’m begging you two to stop.”

Tsukishima let them carry on in their torture for a little while longer, liking the sight of the setter gnashing his teeth. When it became too much for even him, he opened the gift at the seams, careful not to rip the wrapping paper. It was pretty cute, and he smiled at the visual of you sitting down on your bedroom floor and strategically placing the stickers, your head bouncing to a playlist he’d shared with you. 

When he lifted up one long edge, he caught a glimpse of the gift, and his breath hitched. He gazed up at you in disbelief, peeling it all back to reveal the turntable in all its glory.

Tsukishima is a pro-athlete now; he could afford music systems that cost more than a regular citizen’s car, and yet he still proudly displays this exact one in his Saitama apartment, and he always gets compliments from the girls he brings home. Above the wall, in a frame never to be touched, is the first record you ever gave him; the one he will find out momentarily was sitting under the box. But he wanted to drink in that particular moment, the moment his heart stopped completely. 

The other three leaned over to get a better look at it, oohing and ahhing at the sight. Tsukishima was too busy memorizing your proud smile, your hand on your hips, and how the constriction of his heart resembled love a little too closely. 

“Because you’re always lamenting you don’t have one. Just so you know, the only presents you’re ever getting from me are vinyls.”

He should have hugged you. He should have told you how much it meant to him, but he just assumed you could see it on his face. Maybe he expected too much from you. 

But he did say, “Thank you, (name).” with the most sincerity he’d ever used, and you’d smiled like you knew he loved you.

                                           ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tsukishima knows he does not have enough money to buy a house, and isn’t even interested in buying one, but that doesn’t stop him from putting on his (second) best clothes and working through whatever the hell he’s going to say to the person who opens your (old) front door. 

It’s the second dumbest thing he’s ever done. The neighborhood is bustling today, and a couple people do double takes as he strolls by with his headphones up, cap tilted low. He’s aware he kinda looks like he’s undercover in a Marvel movie, but there’s only so much he can do; height is a curse, he keeps telling people, but they never listen. 

He blends in enough not to get stopped, which may be yet another curse, because then he’d have time to recollect his thoughts and ask what the fuck he thought he was doing walking to your parents house in the middle of the goddamn day like they didn’t have jobs. Had his brain finally conked out now that he was a jock for a living? 

Maybe so, because the faded pink door was finally in sight. From the street he could see it clearly: a realtor’s number under the brilliant bold FOR SALE, like it’s yelling at him to leave. But his eyes drift, catching the little details of your house.

Everything in his memories has shrunk and distorted, but not this place. It’s still as clear as day: the red brick steps up to the door, lined with potted plants your mother had a talent for growing. The iron gates have rusted with time, and they stand much shorter now that he’s 195 cm. The bushes were trimmed into weird rounded shapes, both indicative of the neighborhood, and still odd in your front yard. The second story balcony had the same sheets—the same fucking ones from high school! Tsukishima had to laugh. 

And then his laugh tapers off as he realizes they’re yours. Purple with little moons and cartoon bunnies on them. The sheets from Sailor Moon! Your whine is an echo in his ears.

He’s just standing there, hands in his pockets as the memories bombard him one by one, crowding his brain, making him lose his—

The front door opens, creaking like a horror movie sound effect. Tsukishima steps back, watching in terror as a figure comes into view, checking his pockets before lifting his head up and seeing a man—a fucking giant—standing right outside his house.

“Hello?” he greets cautiously, stepping closer.  

Tsukishima holds in a breath. Your father has gotten old; almost all the hair on top of his head has thinned and greyed, like a samurai in a black and white movie. He’s still wearing the same uniform from the manufacturing plant he was employed at back when you were in high school, his (your) surname stitched on the pocket. He holds a lunchbox in one hand, the other curled into a defensive fist by his side. Intimidating as always.

 That is until he squints, and then his eyes light up with recognition. “Tsukishima? Tsukishima Kei?”

With equal hesitation, Tsukishima walks up to the gate. Your father pushes it open, and when he walks down the steps to be on even ground with Tsukishima, he laughs at how much shorter he’s become. 

“My god,” he whispers it like he’s staring at a ghost. Tsukishima feels too aware of his long legs and arms, holding them behind his back when he bows respectfully. 

“(Surname)-san,” he says, and your father’s eyes twinkle. “It’s been a long time.”

“So it has. How have you been, boy? I hear you’re playing for Saitama now.”

The recognition has him reeling. It’s too much, he shouldn’t have come. His stunned silence makes your father laugh. 

“No need to be modest about it! We’ve been following your progress, you know.” He sounds proud, as if he was talking to his own son. “I always brag to my coworkers that a pro-athlete used to come to my house. Three of em, really! How fortunate you’ve all been.”

“Thank you,” he says stiffly. “It’s been such a long time.”

“How is your mother?”  She must be awfully lonely without you two boys in the house.”

“I’m visiting her now. She told me your house was for sale?”

Your father was never an idiot. He looks up at the for sale sign, something heavy settling on his shoulders. “Both of my daughters have moved farther away than we intended,” he sighs, although there is no particular sadness in his tone. “I’m proud of them both, really, although (Name) has less filial piety than her sister.”

“She was,” Tsukishima cannot use the word that comes to mind in front of your father. “Something.”

Your father barks out a laugh. “That’s the polite way to say she was a pain in the ass.” Tsukishima’s posture visibly relaxes. “You couldn’t tell her nothin’. Sort of a shame she’s someone’s housewife, ya know? She would have done great things.” 

This time there is a wistful quality about his voice, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. “You know, you haven’t been here in a while. (Name)’s mom would love to see you. You were her favorite of all (Name)’s friends, I think.” 

A paternal pat on the arm makes all thoughts of weaseling out of this fly out the window. Tsukishima ascends the steps, the top of his head brushing just underneath the archway. 

“They don’t make houses for your height, I’m afraid.” 

“I’m used to it.” 

He wasn’t sure why he expects the inside will be any different. There’s no new furniture, the walls are all the same color, even the books your parents kept out were arranged the same way from nearly five years ago. The only difference is you’re not running down the stairs to save him from the embarrassment of talking to your parents.  

“Honey?” your father’s voice calls out as they round a corner. “You’ll never believe this: there was a professional athlete just standing outside.” 

You mother looks over her small glasses from where she’s sitting, her brows furrowing, then raising as she places her hand over her mouth. Much like his own mother, time has been kind to her, the only signs of aging appearing in the grey that grew from her back roots. 

“Oh my-” she’s standing in front of him with an awed look, and Tsukishima remembers that you and your mom have the same face, just older. He once thought he’d get to see you this age, maybe even in a house like this. His eyes fall to the floor, because your mother looks like the future he can no longer have.

She holds his arms like she’s going to lift him, her lower lip trembling. “Look at you! So tall, still so handsome. (Name) was an idiot for never making you my son-in-law.”

It used to be embarrassment that pained him. Now it was bittersweetness filling his mouth as he thought of something to say to that. “Yeah, she was” feels a little too familiar, and not at all cognizant of his broken heart.

“Oi,’ your father warns. “Enough of that, yeah?”

“Oh,” she swats her hand in his direction, then looks back up to Tsukishima with praising eyes. “I’m kidding. Kind of.”

Tsukishima rubs his arm, giving her a strained grin. He didn’t expect your parents to reopen the wound he’s done his best to forget. Time is supposed to heal all, but you are a fever that’s never broken. 

“I came by because I saw the house was for sale.”

Your mother’s face softens. “Oh, you must have so many memories here. Gosh, you haven’t been here in a long time.”

“Years” your father pipes up. 

“Years. You should head up to (Name)’s room, you might find something in there.”

This simultaneously piques his interest and fills him with existential dread. “Is that alright?”

“You’re probably the last person in Taiwa that has attachments to this house besides us.”

The sobering reality of that statement makes him drag his feet up the stairs. He looks back down, and he feels like he’s staring backwards in time. Every step forward is another year, and suddenly he’s anxious like he’s entering a girl’s room for the first time. 

Your presence, though missing, is overwhelming. He remembers condensation from something dripping onto the hard word floors he’s standing on now, your heart patterned socks mopping it up behind him.

                                         ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was still up over the horizon, late July prickling Tsukishima’s bare arms with the last vestiges of heat. Your white dress shirt was speckled with little dots of red like a blood splatter. 

“You look like a homicide victim.”

“You look like you swallowed blue paint.” 

Convenience store slushies were actually a terrible way to beat the heat. They condensed and made the cup soggy, meanwhile the ice in the drink melts immediately after it leaves the machine. But Tsukishima wasn’t going to say no when after ten minutes of begging, Hinata proclaimed he would buy him “his last slushie of high school.” Tsukishima had just clicked his tongue, telling the excited middle blocker, “As long as you’re paying,” so he wouldn’t see how red his ears were.

Hinata and Yamaguchi chuckled at your little back and forth, while Kageyama slurped his drink with a seriousness that didn’t suit the moment. Bathed in sunshine, you all looked like bronze statues: immortal, eternal and infallible. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but Tsukishima still liked the analogy. 

“You would think after spending like, every waking moment together these two would be nicer to each other.” Hinata hummed.

“I thought graduation might make them sentimental,” Yamaguchi sighed. His hair was long back then, decorated with multicolored clips you had strategically placed to match their uniforms. Tsukishima has told his friend once and only once that he liked this hairstyle on him the most. He doesn’t know if it’s because he has the happiest memories associated with it or not. Not that Tsukishima would ever say that. 

Yamaguchi pulled his little ponytail taut. “And to think, I wanted them to get their happily ever after.” How a person could look so much like the tear drop emoji, Tsukishima would never know. Your disgusted grunt broke his thoughts. 

“Ugh Yama, please,” you begged, throwing away your slushie like he’d spoiled your appetite. “Will you cut it out with this fantasy of yours?”

“What? Wouldn’t it be nice if my two friends got married?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Tsukishima deadpanned.

“I’d divorce him and steal all his money.”

“Now you’re entertaining the thought.”

Hinata jumped excitedly. “I think it’d be really cute! You guys are going to the same University right?”

Tsukishima bristled, staring at his shorter teammate with contempt. “That means nothing.”

“It means you still have time!”

Tsukishima hated the gremlins optimism, but in that moment, with the sun painting a strip of light across your already brilliant eyes, he’d had the fleeting thought that Hinata could be right. 

(He can’t kid himself. It wasn’t a passing thought; it was all consuming, like a tsunami. He couldn’t sleep, because he would dream of domesticity, and your next words cemented how unrealistic this was.)

You waved your hand at Hinata. “I’m not the marrying type, Hinata-kun.”

(A complete lie, but back in 2014, he’d believed you.)

“Besides, what’s so exciting about marriage when Kageyama’s going to be a famous athlete by next year, hm? And you’re off to fucking Brazil.”

All eyes shifted to the quiet setter, still casually drinking his slushie. When he opened his mouth to speak, his mouth was comically purple. 

“Marriage isn’t any less significant than being an athlete.” He’d said, sounding very much like the student counselor. Then he grimaced. “But you two would be an unholy couple.”

You broke into piercing laughter. The sound still rings in Tsukishima’s ears. “Kags, will you join me and Tsukki in an unholy matrimony?”

“You want me to get married to you two?”

“No, idiot, she wants you to officiate the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“I-“ Tsukishima shook his head. “Good fucking question. I’m not marrying you.”

He wonders from time to time if you’d been serious back then. It didn’t make any sense when you were third years, but in retrospect, maybe, just maybe you were hinting something. That sun-made sparkle in your eyes glittered with dimension, and underneath the mirth was something Tsukishima never understood. He thought he would have more time to. 

“My original point still stands,” you said, exasperated. “You’re all going off to do great things, and I’m just going to Tohoku.”

“Oi,” Tsukishima chided. “Don’t make it sound so inconsequential when I’m going there too.”

“You're literally going on a full ride with your volleyball scholarship,” you rolled your eyes. “So, no, it’s not inconsequential. It’s just not the same.” 

Tsukishima will not be able to fully read you until freshman year of college, so he didn’t catch your downturned lips or how you tried to blink away welling tears. He just thought you were malfunctioning. “You’re being weird.”

“It’s not weird to miss your friends.”

“AHHH! (Name)!” Hinata jumped high enough to nearly kick you in the head. He looked at you with teary eyes and you’re astonished, even though you’ve known him for three years. “Don’t miss us! Don’t be sad!!”

“We’re not even gone yet,” Kageyama grumbles, and you grasped at your heart, confusing him. 

“Kageyama...do you care about my feelings?”

“What about his response gave you that idea?”

The black haired setter clicked his tongue. “I’m just saying, we haven’t graduated yet so you don’t have anything to be sad about right now.”

“I can’t believe the Kageyama Tobio is giving me a pep talk,” you dabbed at your eyes dramatically. Kageyama flicked water onto your face, and you giggled. 

“Hey!” He was relentless, so you hid behind Tsukishima who didn’t have a quick enough reaction time to be mad at you. Not that he would say anything about the way your hands touched his sides, sending a jolt down his body. His face is probably as red as a slushie. 

“Kageyama, when you’re rich and famous I’m going to send all the embarrassing pictures I have to the paparazzi.”

Yamaguchi laughed at the mental image. “That would take an hour long special.”

“A two part hour long special.”

“You’re a fake friend,” Kageyama said, and you prop your head on his shoulder. 

“That would imply that I don’t love you all, and that could never be true.”

You used to say such brash things so casually. Kageyama, with his congested emotions, bloomed into a furious blush. Hinata mocked him, pressing his wet hand against his heated face, much to Kageyama’s dismay. Chuckling at the freak duos antics, you shuffled into Tsukishima’s side, who simply looked on with indifference. 

“You’re such a sap, (Name),” Yamaguchi notes, and you gave him a brilliant smile, more golden and beautiful than the sunset at their backs. The only thing Tsukishkma laments is that the smile wasn’t aimed at him. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Tsukishima walked ahead of everyone, slurping aggressively on his slushie, trying to quell the jealousy that erupted in his chest. He didn’t have the right to feel so possessive over a friendly declaration, but it still worked its way into his heart. 

Suddenly you were beside him, leaning forward to catch his expression. “What’re you hiding from?”

“Who says I’m hiding.”

“Ya know, Tsukki, you shouldn’t be jealous,” Your grin is troubling and sweet, because you’re a walking contradiction. Here and gone all at once.

“Who says I’m—“

“Because I love you most of all.”

                                          ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The door to your room is open. Tsukishima stands at the threshold, hands stuffed in his pockets so he can’t feel them tingle as he approaches. 

Already he can tell something isn’t right. The blinds are closed even though it’s the middle of the day, making slits of light like jail bars shine across the floor. The walls are completely stripped of posters and pictures, but they never stripped away the paint. The blue has faded with years gone by, and everything is a hollow shell of what it used to be. 

Tsukishima steps in. It doesn’t feel like anything special, which annoys him a little. But then again, how could it feel like anything different when the room has changed so much?

It’s a storage room now. Your bed is gone, your bedside table stuck up against the wall. Your antique dresser, the one you were so proud to steal from your sister, stands alone on the far wall, no clothes sticking out. Your closet is open with suitcases crammed inside, the hangers swinging idly and the floorboards creak under his weight. 

It feels colder in here. There’s no peach scented candles, no window open, no nothing. This isn’t yours. This isn’t right. 

It’s blasphemous what they’ve done. Tsukishima is not an irrational, angry person, and yet he has the violent urge to take a metal baseball bat and smash everything in your room. Not your room. 

Tsukishima's trembling fingertips trace over a water raised circle on your bookshelf, a scar to mark your existence. And there, on the side, where you recorded the length of your growing ivy plant, the months going down down down like a timeline until they stop. Until you’re gone with hardly a trace. 

Tsukishima balls his fists. You did leave something behind. He just can’t touch it, can’t see it anywhere else but his mind's eye and he curses because no one can see how you’ve ruined his life and continue to, even in this void you’ve created in your absence. 

He stops trying to control it. The memory swirls over him like a hurricane, pounding against his skull as tears well in his eyes. He falls to his knees to take a breath, then lays on the floor, in the exact spot where your bed used to be; in the middle of the room, parallel to the windows. He can almost feel the Sailor Moon sheets, closing his eyes. His panicked breathing splits into two, and like Athena from Zeus, you’ve sprung from his mind. 

You’re catching your breath. The drawn curtains turn afternoon sunlight into a diffused red glow. It colors Kei’s pale skin and blonde hair a dreamy pink, and you roll onto your naked stomach, legs kicking up playfully. 

Through the haze of warmth and pleasure, Kei cracks open an eye just a little bit to see you gazing at him with a sickly sweet smile. Your index finger traces his collarbone, setting fire to the skin underneath. 

“What’re you doing?” He croaks, and your chuckle sends waves of pleasure to his crotch. You drag your blunt nails across his throat, and he suppresses a hiss. 

“Can’t I touch you?”

“No.”

“Hmm. It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”

In all the years that came after this, Kei couldn’t figure out why this happened. It felt like—still feels like—a fluke the universe handed out to him. It never happens again and you never talk about it. 

This memory is his most prized possession: he keeps it under lock and key in the back of his mind because the way his palm tenderly connects to your cheek baffles him. His hand slides down, knuckles skimming your jaw in soft strokes, like he’s carving you out of clay. 

“You said—“

“I know what I said.” Your hand catches his wrist, bringing his long, slender digits to your lips. You inspect the cuts and bruises, how they’re bent and mangled from blocking harsh spikes and slamming down equally powerful ones. You kiss them like you could heal them, and Tsukishima wouldn’t put it past you. 

“Did I change your mind?” He has a smile that’s a little too smug. You’re ignoring his face and he feels anxious; he wants your eyes on his so you’ll melt, so he can devour you while you helplessly watch just how you’ll go down. 

That never happens. Not with you. You open your mouth and give one clean suck to his index finger, and Kei inhales through his nose to control the heat pooling to his abdomen. 

You kiss the pad of his finger. “I guess I had second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts?”

“You’re trying to get into Tohoku, right?”

“So are you.”

“Right. If we don’t get in—“

“Don’t jinx it, stupid.”

“—if I don’t get in, I don’t want to feel like I wasted my time.”

His brows furrow. Kei draws up on his side, catching himself with his elbow. His body is thoroughly wrecked from giving you everything, and he shivers upon seeing the damage on your neck. But he pushes aside all thoughts of pleasure and stares down at you. “What are you talking about?”

Your hands drag down his chest, trailing the curves and contours of the muscle he’s built up for three years. His shoulders have broadened out and his waist tapers into a trim V. He is chiseled marble, a statue come to life in your bedroom. If only he were as permanent. 

Kei follows your gaze, reaching down to intertwine your hands. The gesture is obscene, intimate, and reverent all at one. “(Name),” he pleads, and your eyes flicker up to his. 

“You really think you’re going to stay in Miyagi? You, Tsukishima Kei? With the handsome face and the brains and the brawn?” You’re joking, trying to put on a smile but your voice is thick with emotion. You can’t hide, not after what you’ve just done. “You’re going to be, I don’t know, something great, and I’ll be here, like always.” 

(Tsukishima, the one on the cold floor with his eyes closed could laugh. What he wouldn’t give to be here, with you.)

The old him didn’t share that sentiment. “So, you wanted to have sex with me because you didn’t want to miss the opportunity?” 

“You’re missing the point, Kei.”

“Hey now, just because we fucked doesn’t mean you can get familiar.”

You try to pull your hand out of his grip, but his fingers curl, locking you in. He pulls you closer so your bodies are flush, and lays his head next to yours. 

“You act like you’re not more than capable of getting out on your own.”

“It’s easier for you,” you admit, words nothing but a whisper. “You’re so bright, Kei, so talented. I think it would be cruel if you didn’t leave.”

“God you’re so,” he‘s stuttering, trying to keep the awe from your voice. He can’t hide from you, not after what you’ve just said. “You don’t get it, do you? How you’re the only good thing about Taiwa, about fucking Miyagi.”

“Kei,” you whisper, on the verge of tears. “Kei stop.”

“This is the only time I’m going to say something nice about you, so.” He tilts your chin with the hand that’s bigger than your whole head, gentle as a lamb. “I don’t want to be like all the other Karasuno grads, living and dying here.”

“We can’t do anything about it.”

“Like hell we can’t. If either of us get out, if I get out, we’re going together.”

“Ha,” you laugh dryly. It certainly knocks him down a peg to hear you reject his proposition. “Please don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

“Well, you gotta keep up your end of the bargain. Get into Tohoku and we can take it from there. It’ll be you and me.” 

“This doesn’t sound like the Tsukishima I know,” you say coyly, lopsided smirk making him crazy. “What’s got you so sentimental all of a sudden?”

“It could be that there’s someone I don’t mind being sappy for, especially if they’re naked under me.”

“I’m not—“ the words are stolen from you as Kei bruises your lips with a kiss. His hands turn your cheek toward him, and he kisses you into the mattress, all while climbing on top of you. He pulls back with a satisfied smirk, your lips glistening with (his) saliva. 

“You were saying?” 

You shove him and he falls back against your knees. “No, you were saying.”

Kei presses his chest against yours, kissing your neck, your jaw, then your lips in a softer kiss. “We’ll get out of here together. How does that sound?”

You don’t have a hopeful face. Your eyes have closed and you sigh, like you’re looking into the future and seeing Kei’s broken promise play over and over in your head. You two were young, but even you were less optimistic than he was. 

You opened your eyes, letting your face morph into a happiness Kei now realizes is tinged with melancholy. He thinks it’s beautiful, in a tragic sense. Tragedies were timeless classics, like you. 

“It sounds like you should put your money where your mouth is.”

“Do I ever disappoint?” 

This brings out your real smile, beaming at him like the sun and the moon and every star in the galaxy. “Never. Not to me.” 

Tsukishima lays on the cold floor with his hand over his eyes, lungs threatening to pop as he tries to exhale the guilt and heartache. None of the memories of this god forsaken town and this goddamn house hold anything but guilt, nothing but a knife in his stomach; the same one he stabbed into your back the day he signed on for the Saitama Spears and left. 

He used to firmly believe that if you never try at something, it can’t break your heart. He took that attitude to volleyball and wasn’t proven wrong. Tsukishima does not know if it would hurt more if he’d tried with you. It wasn’t like he did it on purpose; he simply forgot. Somewhere in the shuffle, somewhere between keeping his promise and not, it slipped from his hands like a bad block. 

He tries wiping the tears from his eyes. It’s not like thinking about it matters anymore; there’s no differentiation between the memories and the reality, only the same crushing pain. 

And yet, Tsukishima finds himself dissociating into the ceiling. If he stops breathing, he can hear your laughter echo off the walls. Perhaps his ghost and yours can live here forever, like they do in his mind. 

It’s the only way he can keep his promise.

[jbbarnesandnoble]

Hungry Eyes: One-Shot

Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: a night out with your friends leads to you singing karaoke in front of an entire bar. you might be singing in front of them, but everyone knows who you're singing to.

Warning(s): fluff, drinking, bar setting, cringy dialogue (i did not hold back on this one yall) happy ending, my bad writing, and this was only edited once (by me, i can tell you in full confidence that my editing skills suck)

Word Count: 3,059

Prompt: Hungry Eyes by Erik Carmen

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts since june i believe, and i have wanted to post it so badly! so naturally when i try to post it (after MONTHS of not postint) tumblr stops working and messes my whole plan up... im sorry my friends, but second times the charm (that's how the saying goes, right??)

(not my gif)

It is 9:38pm on a Saturday night, Dirty Dancing plays on your TV in the background while you get ahead on some work. It is your fifth time watching it this week, but you can’t not watch it, it is your favorite movie after-all. On the coffee table next to you, your phone vibrates. Picking it up, you greet your friend on the phone.

“What up babe, I hope you’re wearing somethin’ sexy ‘cause we’re going out tonight!” Natasha announces into her phone. You sigh, knowing there is no way for you to escape going out tonight, not after bailing on her the last four times.

Which is how you find yourself here, at O’Malley’s Bar and Karaoke. Sitting at a center table in the dimly lit bar while an intoxicated man belts out a Fleetwood Mac song. You choose a seat at the mostly empty table. Nat, who is talking with her younger sister, Yelena. Sits on your right and Sam -your other best friend- sits on your left.

“Y/n, haven’t seen you 'round here in awhile. How’s it hanging?” Yelena asks, shifting in her chair, she tries to hear over the sound of the man's bad and loud singing. If you can even call it singing.

“She's been avoiding us,” Nat says, pushing all your buttons perfectly. You do your best to ignore her antics. The wood chair scraps against the hardwood floor as you pull it out and sit between your two best friends. You answer Yelena’s question with a generic answer, ignoring her sister - and her comments - who doesn't seem to care.

“What’s up, kid. It’s been a while since you last came out with us. Nat finally blackmailed you to come with?” Sam jokes with you. You turn to face him, as he sips his water. Ice clinks around in his glass from the quick movement.

“Drinking water tonight?” You ask, more out of intrigue than anything else, though it is a good way to turn away from the current topic. Since you don’t feel like explaining your reason for not hanging out with your friend group much anymore.

It isn’t like you don’t want to go out with them, you do. But you aren’t all that fond of being around Bucky and his girlfriend Dot. You have had a huge crush on Bucky since college and have been best friends for even longer. You thought that over time that small childish crush would go away, but much to your dismay, it did not. In fact, it grew and it never stopped growing. So now, here you are, years later, in love with your best friend who you can’t have because he’s in love with someone else.

That explanation is a great way to kill everyone’s fun. Which is why you haven’t told anyone why you don’t want to hang out anymore. It’s too hard to see them together. You pushed past the pain for almost an entire year, but you aren’t sure that you can do it anymore.

“Somebody has to keep an eye on these kids,” Sam explains, acting as a true mature adult. “Also I drove,” he adds, quieter than the first part, he hides behind his drink.

“There it is.” You say, to which he responds by pretending to be hurt that you didn’t believe he would be the mature one by choice.

A waitress comes around moments later asking you what you would like to drink and eat. A smile on her face the entire time, one you recognize as a customer service smile. Completely fake, but real enough that the customers are none the wiser. You thank her, asking for only a glass of water.

“Forget whatever she asked for, she would like a beer.” Natasha interrupts the young waitress as she is about to leave the table.

“Natasha!” You shout at her, she shrugs in response taking a swig of her own beer.

“I agreed to come out with you, but I didn’t agree to drink.” You point out and it’s true. You don’t feel like drinking tonight and you have to drive yourself home so you really shouldn't be drinking.

“You agreed to drink when you said you would come out with us, plus Sam’s driving.” The redhead tries to argue as she leans back in her chair.

“Yeah, he’s driving you, unlike some people I drove myself.” She shrugs, becoming uninterested in the conversation. She goes back to talking to Yelena.

The same waitress from before comes back, water in one hand and a beer in the other. She sets them both down in front of you, a smile on her lips the entire time. Her long black hair sways back and forth as she moves around the table. She checks in on the rest of your friends who had just arrived.

“Y/n!” Clint and Tony yell in unison. While Steve greets you more calmly than the others as he claims a seat across from you. You offer a kind smile in return. Your eyes scan over the group that had sat down at your now full table and you notice two faces missing from your group.

“Are Bucky and Dot coming out tonight?” You ask no one in particular. Everyone shares glances and avoids looking in your eyes.

“It’s been so long since you’ve been out with us, we all forgot you didn’t know.” Tony said, eyebrows drawn together and a sympathetic smile on his lips.

“Know what?” you ask, letting your intrigue get the best of you. Sam is the first of your friends to speak up, seeing as he is one of your closest friends the duty fell to him.

“Buck hasn’t been out with us for a while, kid. Once you stopped hanging out with us we started to see less and less of him. Now he rarely hangs out with us.”

Your eyes scan around the table, no one is looking directly at you except for Sam and Nat. You shrug, not seeing the huge deal about the whole thing. It’s his choice not to come out, just like it is your own.

“He’s been distant with us.” Tony adds, hiding behind his drink

“His loss.” You state causally, though deep down you are a bit disappointed. It has been a while since you last saw him, it would be nice to know he is doing well.

-------

Two beers and most of the bar’s nachos later, you’re having a better time than you expected to. You forgot how much fun being around your friends is. You wish you hadn’t been such a child about the whole Bucky thing. You could have been having so much fun had you simply ignored your own feelings instead of dwelling on them.

A group of young girls is on the stage, singing along to some new pop song you have not heard before. They are not the best singers, but you can tell they don’t care. They are having fun and enjoying themselves that is all that matters. The song ends and the crowd, filled mostly with drunk people, clap and cheer as they exit the stage.

Someone’s hand pulls three times on the sleeve of your shirt. Grabbing your attention from the drunk guy who stumbled onto the stage. His friends cheer loudly as he gets ready to sing and someone from the crowd yells happy birthday. Across the bar, you find a table full of young guys and girls. Balloons and streamers decorate the booth. A banner hangs above it, written in bold blue marker reads, ‘Happy Birthday Tom'.

“Y/n, you know what you should do?” Yelena starts and you can tell the alcohol is starting to kick in the tiniest bit. Though she seems to be better at holding her liquor better than some of your other friends. “You should go up there.”

“No, no way. There is no way I’m going up there.” You argue, holding your hands up as if trying to physically stop her idea.

“Come on, it would be so much fun! Plus, if you do it Clint will pay you twenty bucks.” The blond bargains with you, both of your eyes look to where Clint is happily unaware of her idea. A smile spreads across your face.

“Fine, but I’m gonna need one more of these and you’re buying,” you say, waving your empty beer bottle back and forth.

You take your time finishing your beer, your nerves grow larger with each sip. Soon enough, Yelena caught onto what you were doing and yelled at you to drink faster. Well, you think that’s what she was doing. With her switching between Russian and English it was hard to tell what exactly she was trying to say. And Natasha’s so-called “help” did nothing, seeing as she was also speaking in Russian.

“You’re up next,” Sam announces which earns cheers from all your friends. Settling back in his chair, he pats your shoulder offering an encouraging smile. The next four minutes go faster than any other song before. The girl on stage announces your name and you reluctantly walk onto the stage. Your friends cheer you on, which helps ease your nerves. Also, the fact that most of the bar is drunk, the chances of anyone remembering this is not very high.

“Hey Sam, why didn’t you tell her they broke up?” Steve asks from across the table, which gains the rest of the group's attention. Except for Clint who never knows what’s going on. Which usually has to do with the fact that his hearing aids are off about half of the time.

“That’s his job, not mine. I’m not his babysitter.” Sam says curtly.

“He can tell her when he gets here,” Tony tells everyone in the most nonchalant way possible. All eyes are on him, confused by what he means. “I texted him, told him she finally stopped avoiding us," he pauses to correct himself, "Him, and came out for the night.”

“You drunk genius!” Clint shouts

“You’re drunk too, you idiot,” Yelena yells at him. He promptly turns his haring airds back off and mumbles something about being the soberest one there in response to her statement.

“Shut up all of you, she’s singing,” Nat yells at them.

An upbeat melody begins playing over the speakers. A small screen in front of you flashes the lyrics of the song you picked on it. Another second passes and it’s time for you to start singing. You start off quiet, not quite believing in yourself yet.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,

I've got this feelin' that won't subside

I look at you and I fantasize

You’re mind and tonight.”

Your friends, after being quiet for a while, start cheering you on again. Their support gives you the confidence you need. From in the crowd, Sam yells, “That’s my best friend, y’all, stay jealous.” which causes you to laugh, you collect yourself and keep on singing.

“Now I’ve got you in my sights,

with these, hungry eyes

one look at you and I can’t disguise”

The song continues on and suddenly you feel like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing. Feeling more confident you attempt to do some of the dance moves that you can remember from the movie. You aren’t the best dancer, but you don’t care all that much, you’re having a lot more fun than you thought you would. In fact, you’re almost happy Yelena encouraged you to go on stage.

“I want to hold you so hear me out,

I want to show you what love’s all about

darling tonight.”

The next set of lyrics pop on the screen, not that you need them, you know this song by heart. It’s then the front door swings open and your eyes find a set of steel-blue ones, your heart skips a beat or two, or maybe three. You stutter over the words once or twice before you collect yourself enough to sing the next words.

“I’ve got hungry eyes

I feel the magic between you and I

With these hungry eyes

Now I’ve got you in my sights.”

Lyrics that meant nothing before, now mean a little too much to you. All thanks to Bucky, who had to enter the bar while you were on stage. With your heart pounding a little harder thanks to him, you keep on singing and the crowd keeps cheering. You watch as he chooses to stand a few feet behind your group rather than join them.

“I need you to see

this love was meant to be.”

Your dancing has slowed to a slow sway back and forth, your eyes never leaving Buckys. The music is quieter than before and all you can see is him. You try your best to look away, but it’s too hard when he’s staring at you like that. With his soft and gentle smile and his hair that is so fluffy all you can think about is running your hands through it. At this point, you’re well aware that you are singing to him. What you don't notice is that your friends - and everyone else in the bar - are also well aware of what is happening, and who you are really singing to.

“I feel the magic between you and I.”

“Now I’ve got you in my sights

With my hungry eyes.”

Just like that, as quickly as the song began it ended. The bar fills with applause as you leave the stage. Making a b-line to your friends who are all standing when you reach them, ready to pull you into a hug.

“Dude, that was amazing. I was even considering giving you twenty bucks myself… But I won’t, I’ll let Clint do that.” Yelena says, patting you on the back and leaning her arm on your shoulder.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that.” Steve complements, in his usual awkward manner. You thank him as he pulls you into a small hug.

“Get out of the way losers,” Sam yells from the back of the group, which makes you laugh, “You got some pipes on you, kid. I’m a bit hurt that you never told me, your best friend, that you can sing. But I’ll forgive you this time. All it'll cost you is a pizza.” he says with a wink so you know he’s only kidding, not that he needed to do that. He is your best friend, after all, you know him better than Steve and Bucky do.

Sam pulls you into a huge hug when your eyes meet Bucky’s who is standing behind the group. You turn your eyes away when you go to hug Nat next, “You should probably talk to him.” she whispers into your ear before letting you go and yelling, “Next rounds on me!” Which is the perfect chance to escape. “Waters all around!” You hear her add while walking away, boos erupt from all of your friends and a smile pulls at your lips.

“Hey, wanna get some air?” Bucky asks when you’re close enough to hear him, you nod without hesitating.

It is a bit colder outside from when you first left your apartment, a cold, Autumn breeze blows through your thin blouse. You regret not grabbing your jacket before leaving the bar. In an attempt to gain some warmth, you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Dot and I broke up,” Bucky blurts out, the sudden confession causes you to stop in your tracks. He does too, choosing to stand next to you. “I feel like an idiot about the whole thing if I’m being honest. She said that she couldn’t date me while I am in love with someone else. It took me too long to realize who she meant, when I did, everything else began to make sense in my life again.”

“So, who is it?” you ask, somehow convincing yourself that it can’t be you.

"And I thought I was an idiot." he states, a smug, joking smile on his lips.

Before you have the chance to ask him what he means. His lips crashs into yours and his hand cup your face. The kiss is slow and sweet and everything you ever imagined it would be plus more. It’s the kind that sweeps you off of your feet and steals your breath, and leaves you feeling a little dizzy afterwards. It’s the kind of kiss at the end of a rom-com when the guy finally gets the girl.

“I feel it too,” he says through soft pants, his forehead resting against your own. You hum, silently asking him what he means. “The magic between you and I, I finally feel it. Although it’s about five years overdue.” His words, as cheesy as they might be, are perfect and romantic in every way possible. Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer so that your noses are almost touching.

You’re about to say something when your stomach speaks first, doing it’s best to be as loud as possible. There is a moment of silence between you before you both start laughing. Bucky’s hands fall from your face and down to your shoulders to pull you into his chest. You stand there laughing with your face buried in his chest.

“Let’s go find you some food, yeah?” he asks you, fingers running through your hair. You nod into him, more than happy to find something to eat.

“You never answered my question from before.” You say and you begin to walk to find food, your arm looped around his waist, his around your shoulders. It takes him a moment to realize what you’re talking about when he does he says,

“This girl from work, I've been in love with her since I first saw her.” He teases with a playful smirk on his lips.

“You are really mean, you know that?” You complain, faking a pout. A laugh bubbles in his throat before he plants a kiss onto your head.

“Yeah, but you still like me.” he points out before stopping to shrug off his jean jacket, after he notes the goosebumps littering your skin.

“Can’t have you catchin’ a cold on our first date.” You smile up at him as you walk to the closest pizza shop that is down the street.

[hms-chill]

Father’s Day

Summary: Father's Day in the Claremont-Diaz-Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor household is a lot. Henry is the father of the youth shelters, so it's his job to look after the one in Brooklyn at the very least. And Alex and his dad are close, so of course they'll spend the day with Oscar. But Henry's missing his own father, too. (lots of Emotions™)

When Henry gets home from work, he wants nothing more than to relax with Alex for the night. They've got one of their biweekly cooking lessons planned if Alex doesn't have too much work to do, and hopefully, they'll have time after that to just relax together. David greets him at the door, and Henry rubs his ears a bit before going up to their shared office to drop his bag off and say hi to Alex. He's just opened the door a bit when he hears Alex's voice. When he peeks through the crack in the door, Alex is on the phone, leaning back in his desk chair.

"Yeah, I mean, I'd like to, but I'll have to talk to Henry. I'm not... we haven't really talked about it yet, and I can see it being hard for him... exactly. So I don't want to do anything to make it harder for him. I don't know if he'll need me or want me here, but I'll see... sounds good. I'll talk to him."

Henry pulls the door to the office shut. Now isn't the time to bother Alex, and he tries to convince himself he only thinks that because Alex is on the phone. He leaves his bag in their bedroom instead, leaving his tie there, too, as he goes to feed David. David follows him, whining slightly, and when Henry bends down to feed him, David all but climbs into his lap. Henry sighs.

"I'm okay. You're a good boy, but you don't need to worry about me. I'm okay." David whines again, and Henry nods. "I know. But whatever it is, Alex will tell us when he's ready. He said he'd talk to us, and he... he wouldn't let me stop him from doing something he wants. Once he wants something, he just goes for it, so we don't have to worry, okay?"

Except that, maybe, Alex would let Henry stop him from doing something he wants to do. He'd only picked NYU for law school because Henry was going to be in Brooklyn. He could have gone anywhere, and maybe he would have liked it better somewhere else. Instead of even looking other places, Alex had changed his whole life plan and ignored everything to be able to live close to Henry. If he'd let something as simple as Henry's presence change that much of his life, Henry has no idea what else Alex would sacrifice for them, and the realization scares him. Maybe he's already given up big things so he can stay close to Henry, or because he thinks it's something Henry wouldn't like. Maybe, if it weren't for Henry holding him back, Alex would be happier or more successful.

He's still trying to think that through as he finishes feeding David, and he's watching to make sure David doesn't eat too fast and make himself sick when he hears Alex coming down the stairs. A moment later, arms wrap around his waist and pull him in for a hug, and Alex leans up to kiss his cheek.

"I didn't realize you were home."

"I got in a bit ago. You were on the phone."

Alex's arms tighten a bit, and he asks, "everything alright? You'd normally say hi, at least, or make sure I know you're here."

"It's fine. How was class?"

"Okay, see, that's how I know it's not fine. When you're actually okay, you'll say you're okay, or that nothing's wrong, or something like that. You don't just change the subject. You... you can talk to me, you know that, right? Baby?" Henry closes his eyes and takes a breath, his hands moving to rest on Alex's arms.

"I know. It's okay, really. Let's... let's just focus on dinner, alright? If you have time tonight?"

Alex turns him around to study him for a minute, then nods. He looks concerned, but he lets it slide, going to get their aprons and focusing on Henry's cooking lesson. They're making tacos today, and it should be easy enough, but Alex is insisting they make their own seasoning blend and their own tortillas, which add a layer of complexity that Henry wasn't quite expecting. Still, it's nice to have something else to focus on, and even if he keeps sneaking worried glances, Henry is thankful that Alex hasn't asked anything more about what's wrong. It gives him until he's at the stove, focused on browning taco meat, to ask "you... you wouldn't let me hold you back from anything, would you? If there was something you wanted, or somewhere else you wish you could be. you wouldn't let me stop you?"

"You're not holding me back, Henry. If anything, you're pushing me to be better."

"But if there was something you wanted, you... you'd do it, right? You wouldn't let me stop you?"

"What's this about?" Alex asks gently. He's at Henry's side, cooking tortillas, but Henry keeps his eyes trained on the meat.

"I... I overheard a bit of your phone call. You said you wanted to do something, but you'd have to talk to me first. If you want to do it, you should; it doesn't make sense to wait for me to tell you that. I love you, and I want you to do things that make you happy no matter what."

It takes a second, then Alex pulls Henry closer and wraps an arm around him, hooking his chin on Henry's shoulder. "That was a phone call about lunch plans. I don't want to make plans on a day you might need me. Not that you need me or anything; you're a strong independent prince who don't need no man. But, you know. I wanted to be around if you want me here."

Henry just hums, and Alex leans over to flip a tortilla, though he keeps his arm around Henry's waist. "But if you really wanted something, you'd tell me? You wouldn't let me stop you, or tie you down or anything?"

"Of course I'd tell you, and if it took me away from you, we'd make it work. We did distance for over a year, and it sucked, but it worked. I don't want to do it again, not ever, but, you know. We could, if we had to." Henry nods, and Alex hesitates for a moment, then says, "if you wanted something, you'd do it, too, right? You uprooted your whole life for me; if anyone's worried about something like this it should be me."

"Alex, I... I think I would have moved here even without you. You were the push I needed, but moving away from Pip and Gran and all that is the best thing I've done since I kissed you."

"Are you telling me you didn't move across the globe just to be closer to me? You didn't base your life-changing decision purely on the fact that it would make it easier to see my ass? I'm shocked, I'm upset, I need three to five days to process this. But hey, it looks like the meat's done, let's get it in a bowl and we can keep going from there, okay?"

Henry agrees, and they finish up, and dinner is considerably lighter than it could have been. It's not until they're cuddled under a blanket on the couch, Henry held safely under Alex's arm while he scrolls though Netflix, that he thinks to ask who Alex was talking to.

"Oh, just my dad. We... he thought maybe, if on Father's Day you're doing something like what you did when you brought moms to the youth shelter for Mother's Day, he could come up for the day. June and I make fun of him for being like... the most stereotypical dad, so he thought maybe he could hang out there for a while and just, you know. Make dad noises, tell bad jokes, listen to old music. That kind of thing." They'd also talked about Oscar coming over to make dinner to celebrate, but Alex isn't sure how Henry would feel about that. British and American father's days are the same, and it feels wrong to celebrate if Henry's going to need to take the day to grieve.

"I'd like that," Henry says, pulling Alex back into their conversation about plans, "is there anything you usually do for Father's Day that you want to do?"

"Well, the past few years, June and I would get breakfast or brunch with Leo, then I cook dinner with my dad and June hangs out. So he... Dad offered to bring steaks and corn on the cob and we could make dinner here, but we don't have to. What... what about you? Is there anything you want to do that day?"

Henry sighs, picking a bit of fluff off the blanket and flicking it away before he answers. "I... I hadn't really thought about it. We visited his grave the first year, but that felt wrong. Then I just tried to ignore it for a year, just pretend it was any other day, but that... that felt wrong, too. And it's sort of impossible to ignore. Bea and I watched some movies we were on set for last year, and that was nice We all have movies where he snuck us into costume and into a shot or two, so we watched those and some home videos. We'd pause them and share stories about what we remembered from being there, or what we missed about him. But I... I don't really know if we're planning on anything happening this year."

"Alright. Well, whatever you need, I'm here, okay? I... you don't have to make a decision now, but when you do, I'll support whatever you want. Promise."

"What about your dad? I want you two to have a good day, too."

"My dad gets it. I can make dinner with him another day if I need to."

Henry smiles, leaning over to kiss the slight stubble on Alex’s cheek. “How did I get lucky enough to have you?”

“I ask myself the same thing every morning,” Alex says, smiling. He plays with Henry's hair for a moment before adding “just let me know what you need that day, and we’ll do it. Even if it’s different the morning of, or halfway through, or anything. Dad and I get it, and we love you.”

“I... I’ll let you know. Thank you, Alex, truly. It means a lot to know that you..." Henry struggles to find the words for everything he appreciates about Alex, but there aren't enough words in English or French for everything he's feeling. "Just... thank you for being... you know.”

“I think so,” Alex says, laughing a bit. He kisses Henry's forehead, and Henry just smiles as he leans his head on Alex’s shoulder with a yawn. Alex pulls him closer as they find a show, and Henry is overwhelmingly thankful for him, and his dad, and the opportunity to think things over before he decides on plans for Father's Day.

--

What he decides is that they'll do a Father's Day celebration at the youth shelter, and then Oscar will come over for dinner afterwards, and he'll be fine. He'll call Bea in London that afternoon, and then he and the Diazes will go to the brownstone to cook dinner together. He'll join Alex and Oscar's tradition, and they'll be happy to have him, and he won't have any problems with it. Alex teaches him to grill corn the week before so that he can make elote, and Oscar buys plane tickets, and everything is set. Alex is excited, and Oscar is excited, and if Henry's a little less excited than they are, it's just because he's not quite sure what to expect. Still, even if he's not thrilled, he is looking forward to it.

Except that, when Father's Day comes, Henry doesn't want to do anything. He'd thought he'd be okay, he really had, but then a tweet about how much Pez loves his dad is the first thing he sees when he opens Twitter, and all of a sudden Henry misses his dad so much it physically hurts. All he wants to do is cry, or maybe spend the day in bed with David and Alex, but he can't. He can't disappoint everyone who's expecting things from him, not today, so he kisses Alex's forehead and gets up to build a prince around his grief, burying it in pomade and Burberry and a perfect press face. Alex comes in just as Henry's about to start shaving, pressing a kiss to the stubble on Henry's chin before it disappears for the day.

"Good morning," Henry says. His smile is real as Alex's arms wrap around his waist, even if it is a bit smaller than it would normally be.

"Good morning. How are you doing? Feel okay about today?"

Henry could tell him. He could say something, and Alex would abandon his plans in a heartbeat. But they're plans Alex is excited for, plans he wants to do with people he loves, so Henry nods. "I feel good. I'm excited to see your dad."

"Me too. What time is it?"

"His plane lands in half an hour; we should head to the shelter soon if we want to beat him there."

Alex just hums, planting another kiss on Henry's stubbly cheek. Half of Henry's face is coated in shaving cream by now, but until Alex stops rubbing on it like a kitten, his other half will stay stubbly.

He's shaved the free half of his face and finished with his hair before Alex moves away to start getting ready himself, and Henry finishes shaving and goes downstairs to heat water for coffee and tea. Alex joins him not too long later, and Henry, who's given himself a few moments to text Bea and let himself be sad between starting the water and feeding David, greets Alex with a thermos of coffee just the way he likes it. Alex thanks him with a kiss, and they take their drinks to go, Alex driving to the shelter and occasionally glancing over to make sure Henry is doing alright. Henry smiles every time, eventually convincing Alex not to worry enough that Alex just grins and talks about how much the kids at the shelter will like his dad.

Oscar arrives only a few minutes after they do, greeting them both with big smiles and bigger hugs. He calls Henry "mijo", and while Henry normally loves that, today it feels like twisting a knife. He just smiles, leaving Alex and his dad to catch up while he goes inside to greet other dads who've volunteered their Father's Days to help kids who might be missing parents.

He thanks them for coming, and he wonders how many of them know about his dad. How many of them know that he's grieving today, and can any of them see it on his face? Will any of them bring it up? They've got a pancake station set up, and as he leads the pancake flippers to their griddles, he wonders if any of them have lost their own dads or children. Maybe, if they're in the same boat he or the kids at the shelter are in, this will help them. He hopes so. There are grills set up in the back, so he leads the dads who know how to grill to the back yard, where they've got grills and backyard games set up. Then it's back inside to great the kids who've come to breakfast, wondering how many of them know about his dad.

Oscar is sitting with Alex and a group of kids, at a table full of smiles and laughter. Alex moves over on the bench and grabs Henry's hand as he passes, clearly expecting Henry to sit down, but Henry just leans down to kiss him before moving on. If he spends too much time there, Alex will know something's wrong. So he finds a different table, with a dad who seems completely different from his own, and he laughs with those kids and that dad, playing board games when they finish their pancakes. He keeps seeing Alex and Oscar in passing, and he doesn't let it become obvious that he's avoiding them, just tells Alex something about wanting to spread out to not pick favorites as he finds another table to join. Hopefully, Alex doesn't realize he's never worried about that in the past.

After lunch, Henry slips out of the main rooms and goes to his office to call Bea. The knot of sadness in his gut has been steadily growing, twisting and turning and pulling more and more of him into it as it threatens to overwhelm him. And it hurts. He misses his dad so much his whole body aches with it. Bea and his mum are together, and he video calls them, and they laugh and cry and share stories about his dad for so long he has to plug his phone in. They're both proud of what he's doing today, and his mum says that his dad would be proud, too. She tells them both how proud he'd be, and how much he loved them both, and them Philip joins the call and they get to mourn with him, too. For the first time all day, Henry lets himself miss his dad. He lets himself feel sad, even for a few minutes, and it helps. There's still a twisted knot of pain and loneliness that he's hiding, but it's not as all-consuming as it was.

Eventually, it's late enough in England that his mom is going to bed, so they end the call and Henry is left alone in a quiet office.

He can't go back to the party. He doesn't have it in him to pretend to be happy and put together anymore, not without more time to process everything. So, instead, he takes out a piece of paper and a pen to write a letter.

Happy Father's Day, Dad

I’m spending it with some of the kids at a youth shelter I’ve opened in Brooklyn, New York. It’s... it’s a bit bizarre, really, how different things are now from when you left, but I think you’d be proud. If you were still here, maybe you’d come visit today. Alex’s dad is here, and the kids love him a lot. I think you’d like him, too. You’d probably give Gran a heart attack if you spent too long together, but she has it coming you’d have fun. Maybe if you were still here, you’d be here in Brooklyn with us today, stepping in as a dad for kids who need one. You’d be good at it. You’d have your guitar, and you’d somehow know every song they asked for. Maybe you’d do a duet with Oscar, and you’d make them all so happy. But you’d be there for quieter moments, too, to tell kids who were lonely or sad that you love them. You'd find every kid hiding in a corner or who was upset, and you'd help comfort them, just like you did for us growing up when everything got to be too much. Maybe you’d be a pen pal dad for some of them, writing in to keep up with their lives and love them. They’d like that a lot, I know it.

We're planning on going home-- Alex's and my home, I wish you could see it-- soon. Alex and his dad always make dinner together on Father's Day, so we're doing that. He's been teaching me to cook so I can help them, and I'm not as bad as I thought I would be.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so much. So, so, so, so, so much. I wish you'd gotten to meet Alex. I wish you could have met Oscar, or seen the life we've made here. I wish you could meet Martha, and see how amazing and tough Bea is, or all the good things Mum's doing. I wish... I wish I'd told you. About me. I'm gay, dad. I know I've written it before, but I never told you out loud, and I wish I had. I'm sorry I didn't. I should have said something, but I was scared. I don't know why; you wouldn't have cared. You loved me, right?. You loved me. You would have loved me no matter what.

I hate writing about you in the past tense. You love me. You're... somewhere. I don't know what I believe, but I want to believe you're somewhere, still loving and looking after me. I want to believe you've seen Alex, and you know him some, at least. Oscar's Catholic, and I don't know everything about how that works, but it means he believes in an afterlife. Maybe he can get a message to you or something.

I love you. And you love me. Whey you were here, you said it was past, present, and future, so it's still true. You're somewhere, and you love me, and you always will.

I have to go; we're heading home soon so Alex and Oscar have time to cook, and I have to put a game face back on so I don't ruin their day. I love you. I miss you. Happy Father's Day.

-- H

He folds the letter, then seals it in an envelope, then just stares at it for a long moment. Mailing it feels stupid, and he's not sure where he'd even mail it to, but he's not sure what feels right. Eventually, he reaches for the candle on his desk and dips the corner of the envelope in, watching it catch fire and slowly start to burn. They'd cremated his dad, maybe by doing the same to the letter he can get it where it needs to go.

When the letter's gone, Henry straightens his tie in the mirror and puts on his best press face, the one not even Alex can see through sometimes. He takes all the emotions he's let himself feel for the past couple hours and twists them into the tightest ball he can. If it unravels him a bit, leaving him frayed at the edges, well, at least all of the pain is in one place instead of being woven into the fabric of his being. Then, he takes that twisting knot of pain and shoves it into the deepest, darkest hole he can, down into the pit of his stomach where he can ignore it as it slowly pulls him apart and makes a home in his gut. They're having dinner with Oscar before he takes a late flight back to DC, which means Henry has to keep it together for another few hours at least before he can curl up in a ball in bed and feel all the emotions he's spent the day burying. He tries not to think about what Alex will say when he does retreat to their bedroom, because he knows it will just give him more emotions to twist up and bury, and the pit where he's been putting everything is already getting dangerously full. He's not sure how many more bits of himself he can pull away before he falls apart completely, but hopefully, there's enough of him left to make it through the night.

He rejoins the party, smiling at and helping kids and doing his best to ignore the dads. He's looking for Alex when he finds one of the kids instead, curled up in a corner. Henry sits down next to him carefully, and says, "can I help?"

"I... I just want my dad back. I don't want someone to try and pretend; I know some kids need that but I... my dad loved me. It only got bad at home after he died, so I don't want people trying to replace him, I just... I want him back."

"I'm sorry. I... I know how you feel, at least a bit; my dad died, too. It can make Father’s Day hard.”

“What do you do?”

“I just... when it gets to be a lot, I let myself feel it,” Henry lies. The mass of repressed feelings somewhere in his gut twists. “I wrote him a letter earlier, just to have written it. It didn’t bring him back, but it felt good to spend time with him and tell him things.”

“Does it... does it get easier after a while? Do you miss him less?” The kid asks. His eyes are so big, and Henry swallows.

“Yes and no. Parts of it get easier, and it’s... it’s not so consuming, but it’s never gone. You always miss him, and there are always bad days and hard days. I never plan anything on my dad’s birthday because I know it’s a hard day. But it's... there are good days, too. There are times when my sister and I just talk and laugh about him, and it doesn't feel sad anymore. It doesn't feel sad to remember him, at least not all the time. So I... I guess you just sort of learn to navigate it and find ways to celebrate and ways to grieve. I’m sorry I can’t promise it stops hurting.”

“It’s okay. It... I think, if it went away totally, I... I’d feel bad. I think I’d feel like I’m forgetting him if I wasn’t sad. But it... sometimes it’s okay to be sad, I think. Like in Lord of the Rings, when Frodo has to leave and Gandalf says that crying isn’t always bad. Sometimes, if we’re sad, it’s because we lost something important or good, and then it’s okay to be sad.”

“Exactly,” Henry says, shoving his own sadness deeper as it threatens to explode. “Sadness has a place and a role, just like everything else. It helps us remember and process things.”

The kid next to him nods, then says “thank you for sitting with me. It felt good to talk. I know there’s a therapist I could talk to, but that... that feels like a big deal. It was nice to just talk to someone like it’s normal.”

Henry smiles, then says, “Want to come out for the barbecue, or would you rather I bring something in?”

“I’ll come. My dad couldn’t grill, so it’s... it feels different.”

“Okay,” Henry says. He helps them up, and the kid smiles, and Henry puts on his best press face as they head toward the fleet of grills and he looks for Alex and Oscar.

He finds them looking for him, and they slip out of the party to head home. Falling behind a bit, Henry can see just how happy Alex and his dad are, and it's so overwhelmingly clear they're related. Henry has no place in this Diaz world of expressive hands and roaring laughter, not with the knot of feelings he's been burying or the quiet letters and phone calls he's been using to get through the day. He slips into the back of the car, insisting Alex and Oscar take the front, and he leans his face on the window and squishes all his feelings down.

He won't cry.

He will not cry, no matter how much he misses his dad.

He misses his dad so, so, so much.

Alex's hand lands on his knee, and Henry processes that he's said something about Oscar staying for dinner, and Henry agrees that it sounds great. He wants nothing less, but it will make Alex happy, so he'll push down the part of him that wants to cry and he'll be a good boyfriend. Even if every moment between them adds to the knot in his gut, and even if every time Oscar calls him "mijo" he wants to scream, he'll smile and laugh and let Alex be happy.

At the house, David comes straight to Henry and refuses to even go out until Henry picks him up. He immediately starts licking Henry's face as Henry carries him outside, and he barely moves away to go to the bathroom before he's back to whining at Henry's leg. Henry just sighs, settling for sitting on the ground and letting David climb into his lap.

"Hi, boy. I'm okay. You.. you don't need to worry." David doesn't seem at all ready to listen, just to curl up on Henry and lick at his hands and face. That's how Oscar finds them eventually, Henry trapped under David and trying to process things as Oscar sits down beside him, reaching over to rub David's ears. Henry, who's started to let his emotions out again, slams them back down with the force of a meteor crashing to earth.

"That was a good thing you did for those kids today. I can't imagine what you're going through, but just... just know I'm here if you need me, alright, mijo?"

At that 'mijo', Henry feels the knot in his stomach twist as his last thread of composure gets sucked into the yawning pit that's taken over the inside of his being. He stands up so quickly that David has to scramble to get his legs under him. Henry knows that he says something, some empty, meaningless platitude that hopefully excuses his abrupt exit, then he's inside, ignoring David's cries and Alex saying something in the kitchen as he goes to curl up on their bed, barely remembering to close the door as hot tears spill onto his cheeks. He can barely hear David whining outside, but he's pretty sure whatever excuse he gave Oscar wouldn't justify kidnapping David, so he ignores him in favor of curling up on the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest as all the loneliness and pain of the past day overflows.

He misses his dad.

He's lonely, and he's sad, and there's a twisting in his gut that feels suspiciously like guilt. Guilt for trying to be happy today, guilt for acting like he could forget his dad. Guilt for letting Oscar call him 'mijo' all this time. Guilt for leaving Oscar outside when this isn't really his fault.

He doesn't hear the door open, but somehow David is there, snuggling into the space between Henry's knees and his chest and licking at Henry's tears. Henry hugs him, sobbing, and his sobs renew when he feels Alex's arms wrap around him, pulling him in close.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Henry manages. "You... you should... should be with your dad."

Alex just shushes him, pulling him closer and rubbing his back. "It's okay. We'll cook together another time; he had to take a call anyway. I'm sorry I didn't notice you were hurting. I... it's going to be okay. I love you. I love you, and your dad did, too."

That gets another sob out of Henry, and Alex just rubs his back gently, keeping him close. Slowly, Henry's tears die, replaced by quiet hiccups as he curls in on himself more. He tries to move away from Alex, to let Alex get back to his dad and his happiness, but Alex moves with him.

"You... you don't... your dad. I... can you tell him I'm sorry? I... I can't... I can't do the rest of today, but can you... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If... if I could I'd help with dinner, and we'd have fun, but I... I can't. And I think I might have yelled at your dad, so now that I'm okay and you can go back, can you tell him I'm sorry?"

"H, I'm not going anywhere."

"But your dad. You... he's here to see you; it's Father's Day. You should spend it together. He's still got his face buried in a combination of a pillow and David's fur, so he's not sure what Alex's face is doing. He's almost afraid to check. Alex should leave; he should go back to join his dad and not let Henry ruin their night. He's ruined so many things for so many people; he doesn't want to ruin this, too.

There's a hand in his hair, gently tugging his face out as it plays, but he just curls in tighter around David. He's not going to ruin Father's Day for Alex and Oscar.

“Baby, I... I thought we agreed you’d talk to me today. I thought you were going to tell me how you feel; my dad and I both knew things could change. We planned for them to change if you needed. Either one of us is happy to do anything you need, just... just please don’t shut me out? I... I love you.”

Henry’d thought he was done crying, but at ‘baby’, another sob claws its way up his throat. Alex pulls him closer, and Henry says, so softly he’s not sure Alex can hear, “I miss him.”

Alex's hug gets impossibly tighter. "I know. I'm sorry he's gone. I'm sorry I can't do anything to bring him back. I love you."

Henry just cries more. He's not sure how long it takes for him to uncurl from his little ball, but when he does, he's pulled closer to Alex immediately, and any space between them that's not occupied by David disappears immediately. Alex plays with his hair and presses kisses to whatever skin he can find while Henry cries off and on, just missing his dad.

"I'm... I'm scared I'm forgetting him. That I... I don't remember his hugs, or the way he smelled, or... or so many other things. This place... my whole life is so different from what he knew, and I'm... I'm losing him."

Alex pulls him closer, somehow, and Henry cries. He wants to grab Alex’s shirt, to keep him here, but he’s already doing so much to ruin Alex’s day he doesn’t want to make it worse. So he keeps his hands down, so Alex can leave whenever he wants. If he leaves Henry curled up on the bed to cry, well, that's not the end of the world.

"I'm... I'm sorry. Do you... would it help to tell me about him? You don't have to, but would it help?" Alex asks, and Henry freezes. He's not sure. He'd talked with his family, and that had helped, but Alex... hasn’t he ruined enough for Alex today? Alex doesn’t need Henry’s sad memories or his guilt on top of everything else.

But Henry does want to talk. He wants to talk about his dad, wants someone else to understand. So he says, “I... I don’t want to make you sad. I’ve... I already ruined your day; I don’t... I’ll just make it worse. You should go be with your dad.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. If you want to tell me about your dad, I want to hear about him.”

So Henry does. He starts slowly, talking about things like movie sets and public appearances that Aelx probably already knows, but it's not long before he's getting deeper. He tells stories of his dad sneaking them out at night to look at the stars or get ice cream. Stories of his dad looking after him when he was sick, or staying home when the kids were uncomfortable going to an event, and it never felt like a chore for him. He was what got them out of things they didn't want to do as kids; as a non-royal he could avoid things more easily than their mom. Henry talks and talks, telling stories to Alex's chest and David's back until he finds the courage to talk to Alex's face. When he finally does look up, Alex's eyes are watery, and there's so much sweetness on his face Henry almost can't bear it. Then he notices tears on Alex's cheeks, and he stops in the middle of a story to reach up and brush them away.

"You... I'm okay. You don't need to cry; I'm fine."

"I know. You're so tough. It just... it hurts to know you've been upset today, and you've had all this buried inside you, but I missed it. It's scary. I... I just want to be here for you, okay? Whatever you need." He takes Henry's hand in his, pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles and Henry wipes a tear from Alex' cheek. "I love you."

"I'm sorry you had to--"

"Hey, no. I didn't have to do anything. I wanted to come look after you. I... I wouldn't leave you alone. Not on a day like this."

"Still. I'm sorry I couldn't do everything we planned. I wanted to, I did, I just... I woke up this morning and just missed him so much, and it all... it felt like I was cheating, somehow, or I was moving on and forgetting him. I'm sorry. I thought I'd be okay, I really did."

"It's okay. I... I don't understand, exactly, but I know feelings are complicated and hard. I'm sorry I didn't pay attention. I... I should have known something was wrong."

"It's not your fault; I've been avoiding you all day. I didn't want you to know."

"Still. I'm sorry. If you get to be sorry you were hurting, I get to be sorry I didn't notice."

Henry's quiet a moment, and Alex uses that quiet to brush a few tears from Henry's cheeks. Henry turns to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, then says, "I love you. Thank you."

"I love you, too. And I'm here for anything you need, okay?"

Henry nods, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I'm going to get some water and some dinner, okay? If... if you want to come, we can cuddle on the couch, but otherwise I can bring things up and we can stay here."

"What... what about your dad?"

"He was going to see if Nora was free, or if Cash wanted to go somewhere together."

"If... if he wants, we... maybe we could still do dinner? I know it's probably too late to cook, but he... he came all this way." He can hear how small his voice sounds, and he hates it. Alex just studies him for a minute, then nods.

"I'll see what he's doing. We could order pizza and play some card games or something? Maybe, if you want, Shaan and Zahra could join us? I think she came up with Dad so they could spend the day together."

Henry smiles, and the face Alex makes is so loving he's nearly speechless with the force of it. "I was just thinking I should thank Shaan for everything he's done. Before you, he would have been the one to help like this. I... if your dad's still here, I think having them all would be fun. I bet Zahra's great at poker."

"Oh man; I am the worst at poker. You'd have to be on my team and help me," Alex says. He's smiling, and even if the room still feels a bit heavy, it's better than it was. They go downstairs together, and they find Oscar on the phone, though he ends the call as soon as he sees them.

"Henry, I am so, so sorry. I never meant--"

"It's okay. It... it wasn't you, it was just... I missed my dad a lot today. Way more than I thought I would. I'm sorry I snapped."

"Forgiven and forgotten," Oscar says. He looks almost hesitant, but he opens his arms, and when Henry hugs him, Oscar hugs back tightly.

"I... I do like it when you call me 'mijo'," Henry says. "Just... it was just a lot today."

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"Forgiven and forgotten." Henry smiles when he pulls out of the hug, and Oscar pats his back a few times. Alex explains their plans, and Oscar agrees that pizza and games sound good, so Henry texts Shaan while Alex orders pizza. Shaan and Zahra come, and they rope Cash into their games so they can play in pairs. When Oscar has to leave a few hours later, he leaves behind smiling boys and a stack of empty pizza boxes. They wave goodbye to him and Zahra from the stoop. When they're out of sight, Alex kisses Henry's cheek and goes inside, leaving Henry and Shaan alone.

"Thank you," Henry says. "I don't say it enough, but I mean it. Ever since Dad, you... you've just been here for me, and I really appreciate you. Thank you. I... I love you."

"I love you, too," Shaan says. He pulls Henry into a hug, and Henry hugs him back tightly. "It has been an absolute pleasure to get to know and watch over you. Your dad would be proud of you. I know I am."

Henry hugs him a little tighter. Somewhere, he knows, his dad is watching. And wherever he is, he's proud.

On AO3

Notes:

I wrote that fic for mother's day, and then I saw that Henry refers to himself as the father of the youth shelters, and what can I say. I needed this to exist.

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[goose-books]

goose-books productions: a 2020 review

view the image in higher quality here! (open the image in a new tab to zoom in.) thank you to my dearest @yvesdot for the template

transcripts and month-by-month details under the cut! for reference, you can find my projects here :-) overall, new and old followers, thank you for another good year over here! [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your h

january

i spent late 2019-early 2020 working on 2019’s nano project, quark, aka the speculative fiction thing about new york city and prophets and dissections of the chosen one trope and gay people. quark is my second-oldest project (five years!), but it’s also probably the most ambitious, so it’s been... difficult to wrangle into place, and i didn’t end up finishing a first draft. oh, well.

enjoy a snippet that is devastatingly emblematic of everything about quark. the tone. the homoerotic tension. the ensemble cast all talking over each other. the fact that caelum has spent pretty much this entire scene crying. fun autopsy report meeting.

Marble stares at the notebook in Shade’s hands. Or maybe he’s staring at Shade’s hands. Dawn feels a little voyeuristic, so she does what she does and says a dumb and unrelated thing: “Augustus, I think this pizza-on-the-floor thing is hurting my ass.”

Augustus flutters his hands. “Sometimes nonconformity is painful.”

“At least we’re originals,” Caelum mumbles into his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Augustus says.

“True originality doesn’t exist,” Marble says.

“Oh,” Shade deadpans, “it’s going to be a fun autopsy report meeting.”

It isn’t.

february

in january i stressed myself out trying to make the plot of quark work. so in february, i decided to take some time and write something Entirely For Fun. like, entirely for fun, no rules. and. my god. how do i explain the project i started calling “third eye for the bad guy.”

it was an unholy mashup of many of my past hyperfixations, including the gone series, a tale of two cities, warrior cats, and the left hand of darkness. one of the characters was a canon scalie and one was a canon fictionkinnie. it centered around a polycule of wannabe-evil-overlord high schoolers. i only wrote like three chapters but i was lost in the sauce for all of february and then i just… like… wiped it from my mind and moved on? somehow??? one character was a werewolf and that literally wasn’t relevant at ALL

I.

Someone was going to die on these steps.

This had been Ivy Lee Palomo’s thought last year during the all-school photo, and it rose in her mind again now. The one hundred marble stairs leading up to the great double doors of Saint Constantine Academy were the school’s pride and glory, steep as the mountain, sharp as the blade under Ivy Lee’s skirt. With the cutting wind and snow glazing the stone more often than not, with the freshmen wild and wired on their first day of their first year, it was really only a matter of time before someone slipped and cracked their fucking head open.

It wasn’t going to be her. Not when she had Doc Martens and reflexes like an electric coil. Still. Ivy Lee didn’t want to watch someone die. She didn’t get along with dead people.

march

in march, i got back to the project i’d started in 2019 - AMT, my podcast! it’s a shakespeare retelling set in a modern high school; this excerpt is funnier and also more unnerving in context. (double, double, toil and trouble...)

INDRAJIT: What the hell are you doing?

[PAUSE.]

DEE (like she’s lying): Making pasta.

[ALL THREE OF THEM LAUGH.]

NONA: That’s right.

MORA: We have the keys to Mab’s office.

DEE: We’re using her stove.

NONA: To make pasta.

DEE: Do you want some?

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

INDRAJIT: No.

april

and darkling rears its head! all of my other projects have existed for at least a year; darkling (specfic king lear retelling) is... special. it was conceived in april, when i started hyperfixating on king lear, and i still managed to write an absolutely ridiculous amount of content for it. it was like the power of hyperfixation let me speedrun the entire process. which. okay.

iv: control

They say Cressida Stayer was nine years old when she turned her hair to gold. They laid her down in bed blonde, and the next morning, the waves cascading down her shoulders were solid metal, glinting harshly in the sunlight, weighing her down, creating that odd head-cocked expression she still wears now. Nine years old. Two or three years before most people develop enough magic skills to dye a single curl. Much less transfigure their hair into precious metal.

People also say Leovald Stayer’s immediate reaction was to hack it off her head and melt it down for cash. But generally they say that part a lot quieter.

may

in may i wrote AMT episode 15, by which i mean that in may there was a day when i sat in my room with the door shut for literally five straight hours listening to the same three songs on loop as i wrote the climax of one of the plotlines of AMT. so. that sure was… a day.

ISAAC: Do you want… do you want someone to drive you home? Hawk, you’re worrying me -

HAWK (almost cutting him off): Don’t. Don’t say that. I’m here to help. With your… thing.

ISAAC (quietly): I… don’t know if you should be here to see this.

HAWK (a little louder, more audibly upset): Well - what else am I going to do? Go home and - and have my dads talk at me and - and not be able to answer them? Because I can’t? I can’t. I don’t know what to say.

[PAUSE.]

ISAAC (V.O.): I wonder if this is what he feels like, on the outside, looking in at me. Watching someone else hurting. Helpless and afraid.

He still fits perfectly in my arms. I rest my chin on top of his head and pull him close to me, like I can stop him from shaking, like I can stop anything from happening the way I know it’s going to. I bury my face in his hair. He smells so familiar. He’s so warm.

God, Hawk. I love you so much. You shouldn’t be here to see this. Something bad’s gonna happen. And you’re not the kind of person who belongs in a tragedy.

june

okay, honestly, i should talk about “night shift” here, because in june i wrote a whole short story in one night (and then foamed over it for a week), but i am still in the process of submitting it places! so i am terrified to put even a sentence of it online. instead: the other thing i did this month was to finish AMT! (sixteen episodes and somewhere around 175k, iirc, but don’t quote me.) these lines are the opener to the final episode!

RAHMA (V.O.): The combined series of sophomore year disasters stretched through November. It’s June now. It’s taken me… a long time to get this all put together. I was going to make a vlog about it, initially - well, calling it a vlog sounds frivolous. I was going to make a video recounting the whole deal. All of it. From when I kissed Avery Fairchilde to the very last night. I scripted dozens of drafts; I put together dozens of bullet-pointed lists of what to cover… and it was never enough. Because Avery and I weren’t the only ones involved. Even if I was only focused on the two of us, it wasn’t just the two of us.

So… I gathered up everyone else. The whole town of Ellisburg is still talking about the week the town went crazy, but it wasn’t just a week. There was a lot leading up to it. And I think if anyone’s going to talk about it, it should be us. The people who lived it. So here we are. The most ambitious Rahma Ashiq production of all time - at least so far.

july

every july i pause whatever else i’m doing to celebrate the birthday of aurum & argentate, twins from my oldest and dearest WIP The Mortal Realm. july fifteenth! mark your calendars. they’re princes, though argentate would really rather not be; you can read the full birthday piece here.

“Do you… plan to get dressed?” A bit of the usual humor crept back into Aurum’s voice. “Although if you want to speak to the kingdom in your underthings, by all means, you have my full support.”

Argentate scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t dressed, no, but the usual malaise hung over his shoulders like a cloak. Guilt. Nerves. The sick sense that he hadn’t done something he was supposed to. The numb knowledge that it was too late to change a thing.

“I meant to,” he said. “Get dressed, I mean.” The rest went unsaid: I have just been sitting here. On the floor. Thinking about how I should get dressed.

“Ah,” Aurum said, extending his hand. “The traditional route. We’ll save the nude speeches for the future, then.”

Argentate took his hand, stumbling a little as Aurum pulled him to his feet. He steadied himself on the closest wall, taking a few deep breaths. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. His hands found their way to the cross, again and again.

august

this summer, i wrote an entire draft of Valentine Van Velt is Dead, AKA “holden caulfield goes to exposure therapy,” AKA the weird little personal side project i keep tucked into my coat. interesting features include second-person narration from a narrator who doesn’t like the main character all that much. so reading it is kind of like the book wants to kill you? with an added dash of general melancholy.

You used to live here. That’s the thing that’s got you feeling so off.

You didn’t recognize your old house. I mean, you kind of did. You remembered that the road was on a hill. That hill felt like a goddamn forty-five degree angle when you were a kid. But if you didn’t have the address written down you wouldn’t have known it at all. It would have been just another little suburban house in rows of perfect little towns that make your skin crawl.

So now you’re in this diner looking out a gross smudgy window trying to block out the elevator music pumping through the speakers in the ceiling or whatever. I don’t know how speakers work. You’re trying to tune that shit out. The waitress comes over and catches you by surprise so you just point at some coffee thing on the menu so she’ll go away. For the record: you don’t drink coffee.

There’s a public library across the street. A little square building. You probably used to go there. The lady comes over and thunks your coffee on the table and gives you a kind of look, like she wants to know what in the goddamn hell you think you’re doing here and not at school. You sip your coffee and look out the window until she leaves you alone again. And then you spit it back into the cup because, for the record: you don’t drink coffee.

september

i spent september and october prepping for nano, so i was mostly working on darkling...

It’s late spring; still, at this time of night, on a rooftop, there’s a chill. The wind plays with the end of Ruby’s coat, with her hair. She hands the bottle off to Jasper, stares up at the fogged-over sky, wishes she were lying in Dany’s arms in Dany’s bed instead of here. Wishes, even, that Dany were the one on the roof with her. At least then they’d be cold together. At least then she wouldn’t have to imagine what Dany would say; she could just listen, and watch Dany’s flashing smile and her flinty eyes.

(She cuddles. This is another thing Dany does that Dany probably shouldn’t do, based on everything about Dany; it’s not like rattlesnakes cuddle. But Dany likes to nuzzle into Ruby’s side and rest her head on Ruby’s collarbones and toss an arm over Ruby’s chest, and hold her down like she’s worried she’ll float off somewhere. She’ll card her fingers through Ruby’s hair and hum. Even though they could get caught, even though she’s probably got better places to be - Dany cuddles.)

Ruby imagines it, momentarily, both of them on the roof together, sprawled like horrifyingly beautiful gargoyles, sharp teeth flashing, blood running hot. Up here - it’d be like they ruled the world.

But whatever. Jasper’s fun. He’s hot. He’s got a sharp tongue in a lot more ways than one. And she likes when he lets the mask down. She likes seeing the soft bits underneath. She wants to sink her teeth and nails into them so hard she draws blood. Masks don’t bleed. Ruby would know; that’s why she is what she is.

october

...though i was also in creative writing class in school, and thus ended up writing a bunch of poems of varying quality (my teacher had a real thing for poetry) and also one darklingverse short story where rory and cressida hold hands! which you can find here.

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

november

and then november of course was nano which was an adventure all the way through. (opening tumblr on the fifth day of nano to find out about d*stiel... was something.)

“Apologize to me. Or get out of my house.”

Gracen’s voice is very, very low. For a moment she thinks he hasn’t heard her at all. Then he spins, eyes blazing. “What did you say?”

Gracen watches her own chest heave. She pushes herself up off the desk, stands with the effort of pushing a mountain off of her back. Leovald is six-foot-four. Gracen is six-foot-two. In her heels, in the heels she must wear to be a professional woman, to be a lady - they are the same height.

Gracen wipes her nose. When she lowers her arm, there’s a streak of blood across the back of her hand. Fire shivers in her chest; her heart rings in her ears; her voice could cut steel.

“I said,” she says, low, slow, volume building, “apologize to me. Or get. Out. Of. My. House.”

december

and finally, the poem i posted this year! it’s called the beast sonnet, and you can find it in its own post over here (with commentary! how sexy.)

i kill the beast and drop down to my knees, my blade stained dark with blood of stygian hue, and for a moment these scarred hands shake free, and hold a world unfurled for me anew. but once-mourned victims, victors, vices find; fear winged me; now its absence strips me bare. my sword now dulls, my legs, my voice, my mind; the beast, pried from my throat, leaves no skill there. and still i hear it laugh, O DEVOTEE— O CHILD DEAR, NO GLORY WITHOUT ME.

i was quite productive this year; i have to think it was because i was avoiding things... the peak of my productivity happened over the summer and in november, AKA, college app hell. (almost done with the last applications! pray for me.)

a general breakdown of what occupied me this year:

(no, i don’t know why the “various other things” category ended up so large... i blame all the one-off projects i wrote a single page for, and also whatever the fuck happened in february. yes, i do know why it looks hideous; it’s because each of my WIPs has a theme color

thank you once again for spending some time at goose-books dot gov this year! what to expect for next year: well, i very much hope i can produce AMT... also hoping to get darkling ready for beta readers, so keep your eyes out!

[gloves94]

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 7

Warnings: None   Rating: PG-13   Pairings: Zuko/OC   Summary:  “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” “No.” He said softly. “Not everything…”  His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. “I guess not.” She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes.

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

Feeling smug about the events at the abbey and riding that beast around the land Tsai decided to go for a walk to clear her head.

Should she have done more to capture the Avatar?

It would've been wrong to steal Zuko's glory. After all he had made capturing the Avatar his life's mission and who was she to try and take that away from him? And then he always said that she only got in the way. This thought irked her to no end. 'If only he knew,' a cocky smirk made way to her face.

xxx

'Again!' Her grandfather had once said to her.

'But grandpa! I'm so tired. We've been practicing all day the nine year old dropped to her knees exhausted. 'Mecha doesn't even have train half as much as I do with his fire bending.'

He looked at her with hard brown eyes.

'Mecha can afford to be weak. He has the gift of fire bending and I'm afraid you don't.' She lowered her light brown eyes sadly. 'You're always going to work twice as hard for everything that you want Tsai. Both as a woman and as a non-bender.' He explained.

He took in a deep breath before the older man took a fighting stance. The man was about to bark again but instead changed his mind. 'Come with me,' he had said turning away calmly instructing his grand daughter to follow. 'I want to give you something.'

xxx

The girl toyed with the choker sunstone necklace around her neck. He had given it to her that day and she had seldom taken it off. Her grandfather had said it had once belonged to her grandmother. An elegant lady from the Fire Nation whom Tsai had never met since she passed the day in which she was born. Her grandfather rarely spoke about her, she always assumed the memory was too painful for the man. However, in family portraits and paintings she had seen that they both shared the indistinguishably blazing red hair.

Zuko had been terribly rude to her the day before so he deserved to suffer out his paralysis for a little while longer. She did not want to be around by the time that June awoke and face her wrath and she had the feeling that Iroh was in a heavenly bliss with the beautiful woman laying on him. And so she traveled the local market and took her sweet time buying rare herbs, tea and even some local perfumes and lotions as souvenirs for her family.

She took her sweet time, even pulling her wrist to her nose every once in a while to enjoy the scent of her new perfume. However, as she attempted to steer her thoughts clear she kept on flashbacking to the Avatar's expression as their eyes met across the abbey. She still hadn't figured how to interpret that. The Avatar, he was a symbol for equality. Maybe just maybe he would be able to help her bring some peace to her nation... Would she be considered an aid to him? Letting him go like that? She would've become a blood traitor to not only her family but to her nation. The daughter of the Vice-Royal Governor a traitor to her own people- she shook her head not even wanting to think of the royal chaos that would be.

She still debated if she had done the right or wrong decision in not fighting the Airbender. There was something about it that bothered her to no end.

The sun was setting by the time that Tsai arrived on the ship. She arrived just in time to see the soldiers stepping out.

"We're going to the local market for some supplies," explained the cook. "While the mechanics check the ship engine and make sure everything is well functioning." Not giving it much mind the girl nodded and walked in. "Also-" Added the lieutenant. "This arrived for you," he said handing her a scroll that arrived with one of the ship's fire hawks.

It had to be from Mecha! She grinned broadly and leaned against the one of the ship's walls cooly as she unwrapped the scroll snacking on some mixed nuts she had gotten at the market.

Her heart stopped and a nut went the wrong way when she read the words that her brother had writte. She beat her chest in an effort to lodge it out of place and gasped at the attached paper he sent.

It was a WANTED - REWARD poster with her face plastered on it. The charges were the following: obstruction of justice, breaking in entering restricted military premises and being an accomplice and aiding of enemies of the Fire Nation. Under the information was a very well descript drawing of her. Names: Unknown, alias "Haru".

'Tsai,

Tell me why my sister 's face is on a wanted poster and goes by the alias of "Haru?"

This is either the coolest of the dumbest thing you have ever done. (Know that I am having it framed and hanged in my room). I have been hiding the posters from mom and dad and the rest of You Dao but it won't be long before somebody realizes that it is you and identifies you. I'm afraid you can't get very far with that bloody hair color of yours my dearest sister.

A traitor to the nation huh? Just what are you doing in that boat with the banished prince and his uncle? I have been taking care of all of your governing duties, so do not worry about that. Baku, Moss and Ana send their helloes. It's been nice getting to know some of your friends.

(Mother keeps asking if we should plan a Royal wedding- ignore that. (She insisted that I wrote that.) I had to remind her that you are ONLY just sixteen.)'

She rapidly flipped the page of the scroll and read his inked words in the back.

'And in regards of the Avatar.' He began. 'I wish I could just ship the library to you. But after extensive research I'm afraid I didn't find much. I mean why would there be any texts about the Avatar in the Fire Nation colonies to begin with?

However, here is what I can tell you. Air benders are particularly skilled in defensive techniques. They were known to be peaceful people, have mainly vegetarian diets, their leadership was guided by monks- they are known to be fast and easy on their feet. One hasn't been seen in more than a hundred years. Also apparently they were famous for their custard pies.

In regards of the Avatar- His last life was Avatar Roku born in the Fire Nation, the next will be born a water bender. You see the Avatar follows a cycle. Fire, Air, Water and Earth. It follows this cycle over and over again and must master the elements in that order. In this case it's going to be Air, Water, Earth and Fire. Get what I mean?

I hope I was of help. I miss you Tsai. Please be safe. Do not make me worry. I don't know how much dad can do to pardon you if you get into too much trouble.

Be safe, please.

If you're getting in trouble... I hope it's worth it.

- Mecha'

The nuts slipped off her hand and spilled all over the floor. She ran inside of the Captain cabin on the deck's floor where she knew that all of the maps and Avatar information was being kept. She pointed a finger at it and lightly traced the map with her finger. It seemed as if Zuko had been following the Avatar's trail all the way from the Southern Water Tribe up north. He had been traveling north for some months now and simply seemed to be climbing higher and higher in the map. It was then that the realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

"He's going to the Northern Water Tribe," she breathed her finger landed on the icy north pole. It made sense. The Avatar had already mastered air, he had to master water now if he wanted to advance to the next element.

"He's going to the water tribe," she repeated again almost in disbelief. She had figured it out. Her grip tightened around the letter her brother had sent. Dropping the goods she had bought she sprinted outside and tore the letter into the ocean. She leaned over the rail her eyes following the bits and pieces of paper that drifted down to the black waters and vanished into the darkness of the sea.

She had to get out of here. And fast. Before Admiral Zhao's men came to lock her up and collect their reward. She felt that Zuko wouldn't hesitate in fingering her over to the Fire Nation authorities. He'd be more than glad to have her of his ship! What if they got in trouble? What if her family got in trouble?

She had done a grave mistake. Feeling her anxiety churning in her stomach she quickly turned around ready to gather her belongings and leave but suddenly stopped in her way. Prince Zuko was standing a few feet away on the ship's deck and he did not look happy. He wore his hair up, his eyes appeared to glow with the sun which was setting behind them. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't only unhappy, he was fuming, absolutely and completely livid.

"You!" He snarled out. He stomped towards her. "You had him in front of you and you let him go!" He put his hands on her and shoved her in a provocative matter. "What are you talking about?" She scoffed back pushing his hands of her person. "The Avatar!" The other roared. "He spoke to you! You had him in front of you and you let him go!" He raged.

In Zuko's eyes this was the greatest betrayal. She had had the opportunity to capture his honor. To help him. To for once to help him reach his ultimate goal and she didn't. Instead she stood there and conversed with the enemy. She was a snake. A beautiful venomous red snake that would slowly consume him.

"How could you do this to me?!" His voice cracked and he shuffled uncomfortably at the crack of his emotions.

"How could I do this?" She raised an eyebrow confused. "What did you want me to do? Knock him out with my bare hands?," She once again scoffed at his ridiculous suggestion with heavy sarcasm. "I guess I just didn't want to "Get in your way,"" She said nastily before brushing past him brushing past his shoulder as she passed him.

She didn't see it. The rage and anger that was boiling inside of him like a volcano ready to explore.

"Agni Kai! You and Me. Now!" He demanded, his voice hard and void of emotion. She looked over her shoulder and huffed before shaking her head.

"You can't do that," she turned once again granting him her full attention. Her eyes momentarily drifted to the dock. Just where was Iroh? Or anybody else? SOMEBODY that could intervene.

"Now!" He roared once again.

"You're insane," she said eyes blowing wide with a blend of shock and fear. "You've gone mad. I'm not like my brother. I can't bend fire."

It was then that he walked towards the nearby wall and grabbed a broom that was leaning against the wall. With one swift movement he split it into two breaking it over his knee.

"Who said anything about fire?" He said raising up he a half of the broom in one hand and aggressively thrusting it in her direction. She shifted her body dodging it and looked at him perplexed before he threw the other half at her, the half with the hay sticks at the end that was functional for sweeping. She barely caught it and held it awkwardly between her hands.

She was beginning to regret ever coming abroad this ship. This was a huge mistake. Coming on this trip. It was then that he charged towards her, and now Zuko was going to make a roasted kabob out of her.

"I am not going to fight you!" She protested as she dodged his swift attacks. She blocked another with her makeshift broom sword. "Zuko stop!" She pleaded.

He attacked again. "Good reflexes, "he complimented the slightest grin on his face.

"I'm trying my best," she struggled but failed to hide the odd smirk that was also growing on her features.

It was finally that with a handful of clever hits and swats he whipped the wooden sword out of her hands. Her back was pressed against the deck's railing she was cornered and heaving. Sweat slid down her temple from the strain of fighting him. He presently had the wooden stick directly pointed at her throat.

It was almost night now. With the sun glowing an orange light and the clouds turning shades of pink, lavender and dark purple.

"I said, I wasn't going to fight, and there's no honor in winning a one sided battle." She appeared distraught as she looked down at the pointy end of his 'weapon'. He wanted to push her to the edge. He wanted to see that darkness he knew she was hiding beneath the layers of poise and properness that she carried herself with. He wanted to know who was that vicious person he found skulking around the Pohuai Stronghold. He had to know what she was hiding - all of her vile secrets.

"Ever since you arrived on my ship you have been nothing but a pest! You are irritating! You distract my Uncle and I can't stand you." He took a deep breath. "What do you want?" He demanded inching the stick dramatically. She remained silent, only looking at him with horrified eyes. "What do you want? Why are you really here?" He shouted his voice getting rougher and louder with each sentence He tossed the broom stick to the side and his hands pried themselves to her upper arms as he held her in place. "Why are you-"

This. It was just like that other night. She knew that Zuko had many inner and outer demons to fight, but would he actually hurt her? She wanted to slap herself for letting out a vulnerable whimper as his voice became more stern. He saw her eyes become large as they welled with tears. "Why are you-" His voice was softer now, almost a whisper. The strong grip on her arms became more gentle.

Zuko hated this part of himself. The instinctual one that reminded him of his father. The one that made his blood go and his temper fly in an uncontrollable rage which had been feed by years of mental and physical abuse. For a split second he saw himself in her eyes. And then it happened- He saw the shift in her poise as her eyes darkened with ill intent. Her hand jolted forward fisting the neckline of his armor just like she had done that fateful night of the Blue Spirit. She pulled him close, so close to her that she could see drops of honey being reflected in her eyes.

"Listen," she managed to utter in a menacing tone. He silenced her threat by kissing her.

Tsai felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on her. Her grip on his armor weakened, she attempted to inch back but was caught between the railing and his body. His kiss was soft, gentle, almost shy. She had not expected it to be like this. She wasn't expecting to feel a full body chill and a fire stir in the core of her stomach. It took her a full moment to react and with a hand flat against his chest she pushed him back, keeping him at arms length. Her eyes wide, her expression unreadable.

He turned away before she could speak. What had he done? What had she done?

"Zuko!" She reached for his arm and held it. "Wait!" She held him back. He pulled his arm back and glared at her. His eyes filled with hurt and rejection. For a moment she had forgotten all about the anger, about the fight, about their agni kai and honor. The wanted poster and her plan to run away.

"I'm....confused," she admitted.

His expression remained stoic, lips drawn into a thin line as he remained silent. "You always remind me how you want me off your ship. You repeatedly address me as a pest. I thought you hated me- and now you- you kiss me?"

"Why don't you make your rejection less painful and just tell me it's never going to happen?" He snapped.

He was presently beating himself up for what he had just done. Unsure of his uncontrollable emotions. He regretted it so much. There was no way that a girl like Tsai would ever be interested in somebody like him. Specially somebody as hideous and temperamental. A banished prince with an obvious facial deformity. A beast. It was impossible.

"It.. It's not that," she admitted shyly. Her face glowing with a tint of a red blush.

He could not believe it. He felt her hand reach for his and hold it. He marveled at how perfectly it fit against it. Her fingers tucked in between his. He held it tightly, proudly. Not knowing when he would miss the absence of her heat.

"I've seen good in you Zuko. I've seen compassion, I've seen empathy," she stepped closer. "I know there's goodness in you and it's not only because of your many redeemable qualities," she spoke tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She gave a step closer to him.

"But you are also troubled, you're obsessive, and very rude towards your loving uncle, towards me, and let's not forget my family, which is something I cannot forgive." She leaned in close and he flinched slightly when she gently placed her hand on his cheek, leaned in and kissed his scarred face lightly. He felt as if he had been brushed with a rose's petal.

"What you're saying is, you can't be with me until I've regained my honor." he gave a step back.

"No," she sighed feeling a growing frustration. This is exactly what she was talking about. It was always about honor and the Avatar and redemption with him.

"I can't be with you until you are a changed man," a light breeze blew by and she let go of his hand. He clenched it empty, being more than aware of the coldness of it. "You need to fight your inner demons and- that's only something you can do. I will only get in the way."

"Goodnight Prince Zuko," she whispered before leaving.

xxx

AN: D-D-Damnnnnnn Finally we are getting some fiyahhhhhh burning up in here! I just wanted to say that I do not support abusive relationships and let's be real Zuko is a total prick in Book 1. Also I wouldn't let Tsai be with him with (not with that attitude at least (and don't even get me started on that haircut (the ponytail? Really?))) all the growth and development he still has to go. This idea seemed a little unrealistic to me. Both still have a long way to go!

Thoughts? I'd love to hear what you think!

xxxx

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CHAPTER MASTERLIST

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets XIV

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, 

• • •

The car was mostly quiet while you drove, except for the low 80’s hair bands playing over the radio that you didn’t care to change. Whenever you sat in this car you got a bit sad. But it was a kind of bittersweet sadness. SInce you learned to drive here in Hawkins.

Dad always promised that he’d teach you as soon as you turned sixteen, that he’d take you to get your permit, and be your emotional support when you took the driving test. 

Pa always said that he’d help you buy a Volkswagen. A kind of generational thing to him. His dad owned a Beetle as a broke kid in Connecticut, he owned the exact same year and model as you currently did. Except yours was preowned, and you knew with how he was raised, he bought it new. 

“We should have a tape.” 

It caught you off guard a little, being off on your own train of thought to remember the eighth grader who was in the seat next to you.

Turning your head to briefly look at Will, you looked back at the road. “What?” 

“Well I mean, you, Jonathan and me have all been hanging out together a lot when you’re not hanging out with Steve, we should have a cassette we play whenever we’re hanging out together.”

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Will was your dad. They were technically the same person, and yet, they were different. Your dad and you were as close as could be, a lot of people seemed to be closer to their moms growing up. But considering you didn’t have one you attached yourself to your dad. But Will was just a kid, who went through something terrible that was traumatizing, and it was hard to connect the two together. But you did realize that your little brother looked a lot like your dad when he was younger. The only difference being their eyes. With Will having hazel eyes and Danny having dark brown eyes. So, you often found yourself treating Will like you would Daniel. 

Will’s suggestion reminded you of the fact that you and Pa had made a playlist on Spotify for the trip to Hawkins. It had been a good idea, and you got suggestions from both your dad and Daniel, but now, it just made you remorseful. 

“Nevermind, it’s a bad idea-”

“What? No! It’s a good idea!” You rushed, looking back and forth from the road and back at Will. seeing the arcade sign in the distance. “Just make sure you put some Queen on there.” You added with an awkward smile, seeing Will’s face light up a bit. 

Pulling into the parking lot you found a spot by the door, seeing Mike, Dustin and Lucas all walking up to the bike rack right outside, and waving as a greeting to the two of you. 

“Okay, what are the rules?” You asked turning to Will as he reached down to the floorboard and pulled out your bag, handing it to you. 

“If we get separated, don’t walk or bike home, just ask to use the phone and call mom, and if anything happens to find you.”

You nodded, taking the bag from him, taking the keys out of the ignition. “Sweet, let’s go.” Opening the door of the driver’s side you got out of the car. 

Having grown up when places like arcades and movie rental places started going out of business, you never got to go to them. The first time you’d gone to the arcade with the boys, you stuck to Pac-Man, always being able to go on your chromebook at school and play it on the google browser. 

You had the high score on Pac-Man since March of that year, and when they got Tetris in late June, after it came out, you quickly took the high score of that game as well. Having had it on your phone since sixth grade, you knew how to play. Not even Dustin or Lucas could beat your scores. 

Giving the three other boys a smile you went inside, seeing Keith behind the counter, you walked over. “Hey, can you sneak me a drink?” 

Arcades didn’t technically sell food or drinks, they weren’t going to because of the games, and children being irresponsible. But Keith would sometimes hide a few sodas in a minifridge to sell them to the older kids and teens. 

“Two dollars.” He told you, leaning down to grab one from the minifridge while you pulled out a two dollar bill, briefly seeing the portrait of Thomas Jefferson while you exchanged it for the beverage. “Tell Robin that our section leader wants her to change seats-”

“Sorry, I don’t speak ‘band geek,’ bye.” You told him, opening the can of sprite while you made your way over to the Pac-Man machine, placing the can on the slanted control board, letting it lean on your abdomen to prevent it from falling on the ground. 

You played your game for what felt like a good thirty minutes, the map changing every time you beat it until you eventually died one too many times. 

Taking a sip from the aluminum can you sighed a bit hearing Will and his friend clamoring on the other side of the isle, at ‘Dragon’s Lair.’ before their voices fell silent, meaning that whoever had gone up to play it, died. But that was only for a second before you heard the faint cursing of Dustin. 

Smiling to yourself you pulled out a quarter from your back pocket, inserting it into the machine. 

Placing the drink down, you heard the unexpected sound of sliding, which made you panic, because you knew that the drink was about to fall. 

You acted quick, but the boy to your right acted quicker. He caught the can and looked up at you, he looked almost terrified that you seemed to notice his presence. 

He looked oddly familiar, he was a boy, with medium brown hair that was at an odd length, and he seemed disheveled. 

“Heh,” he laughed nervously, holding the can out to you. “Here you go.” He said. Taking the drink from him you saw how quickly he practically ran off. He couldn’t have been much younger than you. Maybe a year or two, if that. 

“Okay. . . that was weird.” You told yourself before the string of “No, no, no, no,” Came from behind you. Turning around you saw Dustin turning to Dig-Dug

“Who’s Madmax?” Dustin demanded of Keith, while you walked the meter or so over to the group. You wanted to say something related to Madmax: Fury Road, but you knew better at this point. 

Over a year spent in a time period where no one understood the references you made, you learned to usually not make the jokes or sarcastic references. 

“Better than you.” Keith responded, with a shrug. Both you and Dustin held up your middle finger to the highschool senior. 

Usually you were the mediator between him and the kids, and often times you wondered if that’s how it felt to be either one of your fathers who tried to stop you and your brother fighting with each other, or how Uncle Jonathan felt trying to get you and your youngest cousin, who was your age, to stop fighting whenever you all got together. 

“Is it you?” Will asked, holding up a hand and pointing at Keith. 

He scoffed and shook his head. “You know I despise Dig Dug.”

“Then who is it?”

You watched them converse with the older male while you held your soda, taking a small sip. 

“Yeah, spill it, Keith!” Dustin told him.

“You want information, then I need something in return.” Keith looked from Dustin to Mike, and you knew what he trying to get. 

“Gross, Keith.” You told him, grimacing.

“No, no, no! No way! You’re not getting a date with her!” 

“Mike, come on. Just get him the date.” Lucas reasoned while you glared at him. 

“Guys, she has a boyfriend.” You reminded them.

Mike nodded and pointed back at you. “That, and I’m not prostituting my sister!” Dustin and Lucas began to bicker with Mike while you and Keith began your own bickering. 

Sure, you were a lot like Will in many ways, but you were also a lot like your Pa in many others. Always being the one to try and prove someone else wrong, or just bickering for the fun of it. 

“You’re friends with Robin, Jonathan, Nancy and Harrington, yet you hang out with toddlers?” He tried to insult, while he took a cheeto from his bag. 

“Different hairstyles exist, Keith, you don’t have to try and copy Steve’s from last year.” You told him with a fake smile.

“Toddlers,” He said again, gesturing to the boys who were still bickering. 

You smiled a bit and pointed to your own two front teeth. “Cheeto dust.” You told him, before pointing at him.

Keith turned his attention back to Mike, Lucas and Dustin while you turned yours to Will upon feeling his shoulder brush against your arm while he moved past you. 

“Will, you okay?” It was a simple question, that would probably have a simple answer, with a complicated background to it. A complicated lie he wouldn’t ever say was one. But you blinked and suddenly everyone but Will was gone. 

“Do you see the-” He turned back around and his eyes landed on you, confused and worried. You looked at the front windows and saw the white particles that at first looked like snow, until a second longer and they reminded you of the Upside Down. 

The lights went out and you looked to the Pac-Man machine to your left, seeing the screen was on, but something big was covering most of it. The lights flickered on the machines, and the sound of electricity struggling to stay on had you stuck in one position. Which was your legs tensed and your hand clutching onto your soda while you stared at the screen, finally placing what it all was. 

There was a loud bang, which made you drop your drink and grab onto Will’s arm, pulling him back only to realize it was just the door that had swung open. 

“You see it too?” 

You nodded before taking small steps towards the door, keeping Will behind you while you walked outside. The sign still turned, but in the distance you could see clouds, which you didn’t remember from being in the Upside Down. It had always been too dark to see any sort of sky. 

The lightning was red and while you stared at the sky, you felt an uneasy feeling come that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The same chills that were sent down your spine the year before having you practically paralyzed in fear. 

You couldn’t quite put it into words, but it felt like all of those stories where you look into a certain spot in the woods that’s so dark you don’t know what’s there, but know there’s something, that you’re not just crazy, and it felt malevolent. Like it wanted to hurt people, but specifically, you. 

You felt someone grab your sleeve, and looking down, everything was normal again, with Mike and WIll right by your side. Will still looked scared, but Mike seemed confused and worried. “Y/n, you okay?”

You nodded a bit “Yeah, I’m fine.” You told him, taking one last look at the sky.

• • •

The woman hummed a gentle tune while writing something down in her notebook, a college textbook in front of her. 

“Y/n, don’t stalk me, just have a conversation.” She told you, turning her head to look up at you, her eyes the same as your own while she gestured to the seat across from her. 

You glanced over to the seat before sighing and walking over, taking a seat on the uncomfortable wooden chair. 

“You came here for a reason, what’s going on?” You shrugged a bit, crossing your arms on the table and leaning down to rest your chin on your forearm. “Sweetheart,” She reached out, a gentle hand on your exposed bicep, your pajamas consisting of a muscle shirt and ballet shorts. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me?”

You knew what you wanted to ask her, but you were nervous. “Did you know? That’d I end up like this? That’d I be like you?” 

Her face softened a bit and she shook her head, eyes downcast while she placed her pen down, giving you all of her attention. 

“No,” She answered. “I didn’t. I only knew when you were born. I felt it. And I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this.”

Looking at the textbook in front of you both, you examined the picture that was upside down for you, seeing the diagram of the human skeleton.

Getting up from her seat she came over next to you. “You carry a burden, and so many people will try to use you as a weapon, because you have abilities that could destroy entire nations. People want to manipulate you.”

“You’ve told me.” You reminded her. “I saw the Upside Down.”

Her face fell as she kneeled down next to you. “You got back in?” 

“No. One moment I was safe, in the arcade, and the next, I was there. And there was a storm in the distance. The lightning was red, and I was frozen, in fear. It wanted to hurt me, I could feel it, it wanted me dead. Anne, I don’t what to do-”

“Miss L/n!” 

Your eyes snapped open, and you quickly wiped your nose of any blood looking up to see the entire class staring at you, while the principal stood by the door, and Mr. Haul pointed to the book “Before Mr. Olson takes you, can you tell me what the main message of Animal Farm is?” 

You gave a nervous chuckle. “Communism, bad?” It got a few laughs out of the class, while Mr. Haul scowled at you before jerking his head to the side to let you follow the principal out. 

In a rush you shoved your things into your bag and got up, going over to Mr. Olson. This happened once or twice every few months. 

The older man led you out of the class and down the hall, while you struggled to get your walkman out of your bag. Looking up you saw Steve coming out of the restroom, sunglasses on. “Jesus,” You shook your head a bit as you and the principal came closer to crossing paths with Steve. 

“Only blind people and assholes wear sunglasses inside, Steven.” You mumbled when you passed him. 

“Funny,” He mumbled back, hiding a grin from you while he walked back to his class, and you smiled as well when Mr. Olsen opened the front doors, where you saw Hopper waiting by his car. 

“Have a good afternoon, Miss L/n.” He told you  as you left the building, with you returning the sentiments.

When you were in the car, it was mostly quiet between the two of you. The music that came from the foam headphones drowning out the killing silence. You needed it. In the past year, silence always felt like it was trying to kill you. Lately everything felt like a death trap, and you felt like you were going crazy. 

“You gained a pound.” Owens informed when he walked in the room, where you sat, Hopper was to the left of the medical seat, while the stool Owens usually sat at was to your left. “That’s good news.” He added, placing the clipboard on the table.

You hummed a bit. You were slowly but surely getting back to the weight you should be at, from a month of being starved and dehydrated from the Upside Down. It fluctuated for a long time, being so one moment you were on the right track and the next, you were under the original weight you had been at when ending up in Hawkins. 

“How has your medication been working out?” 

“It’s been fine.” You stopped taking them six months ago, and currently had a small box of plastic pill bottles that you used for noise when you forgot batteries for your walkman. 

“That’s good.” Owens commented. “Are you doing anything for Halloween? I know Will is going trick or treating.”

“Probably just gonna be home watching Halloween and handing out candy.” You shrugged a bit, feeling uncomfortable under the eyes of the nurse, Hopper and Owens. 

“No parties?”

“And get ‘sheet faced?’” You quoted the party invitation Nancy had showed you when she tried to convince you and Jonathan to go. “No thanks.” 

Owens chuckled a bit, and Hopper put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Looking up at the Chief, he gave a tight lipped smile, showing he was just as uncomfortable as you were. 

“Okay, let’s talk about this episode you and Will said you had.”

You nodded a bit, knowing that all Owens would do was come up with a stupid excuse as to why you and Will had the same experience that you both nervously talked about on the car ride back to his home. 

“I. . . I took Will to the arcade so he could spend time with his friends, and so I could a game or two. His friends and I got into an argument with someone who worked there, and then I felt Will move past me. . . One second we were in the arcade, and then everyone was gone, then we were. . . back in the Upside Down.” You told him. 

“Okay, what happened next?”

“The door. . . it was flung open, and we walked outside. I kept Will behind me, and when there was a storm brewing. And it was straight out of a comic book, the clouds were dark, and then there was red lightning, I felt. . . I felt. . .” 

“What did you feel?”

“Like I was in danger. Like there was something staring back at me. Something evil, that has no. . . human emotions. It’s like when you’re a kid, you just watched a scary movie like Paranormal Activity or something, and you feel like there’s something in your room when you’re trying to sleep. You feel like something’s there with you. It wanted me dead.”

“The evil?”

You nodded and looked up at him, feeling the parts taped your head shift a little under the tape. “Yeah. It wasn’t like it wanted everyone dead though. It wanted me dead.”

• • •

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