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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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Yellow City, Chapter Eleven - a Malevolent AU

Where were his parents? Wait, no, they wouldn’t be there anymore. Cloud City, he lived in Cloud City, not there, not for a long time. But his parents should have been there, in the village, smiling, working. Where were mom and dad? No, he knew they were gone, this was all wrong, this was—

Vertigo. All he could feel right now was vertigo. He made a small, soft sound.

Chapter eleven of Yellow City. Warning: this fic is explicit, though this chapter is not.

AO3

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Arthur had never been in a room more dangerous.

He walked slowly, trusting his partners to stay on his heels, to have his back. And he needed his back had here.

Everyone who was anyone in Cloud City was in this place, wearing fucking cufflinks worth more than Arthur’s rent. People who killed, and people who schemed. Gowns that sparked like painted depictions of the unseen night sky. Jewels like rain dangling from eaves. Thieves and owners of thieves. Those who claimed to uphold the law and also broke it.

People Hastur used to work with and call his peers.

This had to be awkward for Hastur at best, and awful at worse. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to bring him. “You good, partner?” he said, turning to look up (and his leash was long and thin like golden thread and there was plenty of slack and so it did not tug and bother him when he turned).

“Of course, little detective,” said Hastur, and he was slurring. “Why would I not be?”

Arthur gasped. “Are you drunk?”

Hastur laughed, low and terrible, and stroked Arthur’s hair. “Silly little detective.”

“Hastur!” Arthur hissed. “We need to be on our best game right now! What were you thinking?”

“That this is not the threat to me that you seem to think it is,” said Hastur, adjusting Arthur’s (fine golden collar) white bowtie.

“Fuck,” said Arthur, and looked to Parker. “Are you drunk, too?”

Parker stared at him. “No.”

“Good. Because we gotta pick up the slack.” He gave Hastur a dry look, then shook his head. “I get it, I guess. Just wish you’d told me it would fuck you up so much to see your old cronies.”

“My old cronies, you say,” said Hastur, delighted and slurring.

“You’re lucky he’s this sensible,” said Parker. “He’s been a nut for days. Ever since you—”

Arthur heard tied the knot, and some part of his mind hurt, and deep in his chest hurt, but both stopped at once and he felt fine.

“—didn’t even put you down for one fucking second. Carried you around like some kind of doll,” Parker complained.

“It’s a honeymoon, Parker. I don’t know what you expected,” Arthur said a little defensively.

Parker stared. “It was not a fucking honeymoon! He stabbed you through the heart.”

Arthur was a grown man, and only colored a little. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Parker covered his face with his hands and screamed, close-mouthed, into the meat of his palms.

“Grow up, Yang.” Arthur said. “Well, as long as we make it through the performance, we should at least get out alive.”

“Performance?” Parker said weakly.

“All is ready,” Hastur said, tentacles rising, many eyes glowing briefly golden behind his mask.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, looking around. “There’s Lauren Darling. I gotta talk to her.”

“Who? Why?” Parker said.

“The vote,” said Arthur simply.

“You’re remembering that all the time,” said Parker softly.

“It’s important. We’re the only hope those kids have,” said Arthur, as if that explained everything.

“His memory has improved,” said Hastur, eagerly. “Lead the way, little detective. I have your back.”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Arthur checked his hand, where he saw a ring (so many rings) that matched the hammered gold bands (beauty) on Hastur’s tentacles. His heart did a happy little skip. “First job as a married man. Let’s get this done.”

Hastur’s laugh was deep and pleased.

Parker’s leash had plenty of slack. He hung back. Lauren Darling was Pers, Hastur’s half-sister, a horrible bitch Parker did not care to go anywhere near, and he wondered if Arthur would crazy his way into her graces, too.

He hated this place. Knew it well. Had spent nearly four fucking years here, suffering. Suffering. Unable to appease his god.

His god, whom he’d been sure would free them from all other gods. He’d been so sure.

The floor was slimy, and the walls were slick. Insects squirmed in the corners. The dais and throne—which he’d never seen the Defiler use—gleamed dully with whatever awful slime grew all over it.

He’d have to fucking burn the skin off his feet once they left here if he wanted to feel clean again.

He crossed his arms over his chest. Hastur was happy, clearly—his tentacles all undulated, the edges of his robe fluttered without breeze, and his crown somehow cut the air in a way that even Parker couldn’t parse without feeling like his brain was being stabbed. Paker let them get so far away that the leash was almost taut.

He couldn’t hear them. Pers (in all her freakish pink glory) was being threatening, leaning over, tentacles pointed like knives, but Arthur didn’t seem to see—or possibly didn’t care. It’s not like she’d try anything with Hastur right there. Probably.

He could admit to himself he didn’t know for sure. In this moment, surrounded by towering gods who paid only enough attention to him to avoid stepping on him, he could admit he didn’t know a lot.

He used to know. He used to see, to feel. To wield magic by will, channeling power he thought he’d earned in pursuit of his goal. He’d been so close.He’d pleased his god. Then, he’d failed.

Hastur laughed. The room shook; gazes turned his way. Even when it wasn’t his fucking party, he had to make it about him. Parker rolled his eyes.

Arthur was working his own magic, though, whatever it was. Pers’ body language had calmed, her pink tentacles lowering, and she was laughing, her nearly human guise almost smiling right, though the eyes were too wide, and she had too many teeth.

Parker shuddered. Turned. And found himself facing sagging flesh, puckered skin, the pocked and oozing putrefaction of the one he’d once called lord.

He had never been one who startled, who spooked. He went stiff, but neither cried out, nor stepped back. Instead, he looked up.

There was no head. Parker looked there anyway. He’d determined, in the nearly four years of unending torment, that regardless of the putrid and melting form taken, Y’golonac always watched from that place.

Silence. Y’golonac dripped onto the tiles, and his smell twisted the air.

Guilt, fear, hope chased each other down Parker’s throat, clogging it. He had never been good with words.

“Having fun with the Peacock King?” the Defiler finally said through his disgusting left hand.

The smell of rotten meat carried those words. The sheer yellow fabric Parker wore began to sort of wilt, like flower petals under intense heat. “It’s fine.”

“You’re miserable,” said the Defiler with his right hand. He produced another arm with too many fingers, each of them with tips torn off, oozing something pink from the shattered bone tips. This is what he used to touch Parker’s leash, pinching it between his fingers. “Do you want to come back?”

Yes, Parker wanted to come back. Not to suffer more, not to hurt, but to regain acceptance. To unearth the favor he’d lost. To find the… he wouldn’t call it love (it had never been soft or fond), but the approval.

It was the tone that tipped him off, though: mocking. Beyond teasing. Cruel. “You’re not offering.”

“No. I’m not offering.” The Defiler said.

It wasn’t as though they’d Contracted; Parker couldn’t host him. Y’golonac’s servants had come, or there’d been signs in dreams. And the power; there’d always been such power, strength, healing, health. Parker never got sick, even when the whole department did. By the time Arthur had been chosen as vehicle, by the time Parker was many murders in and blindered, he’d felt fucking invincible.

More importantly, though, he’d felt approval, and that had been his drug.

It was all gone now. His heart hurt. “What’s it gonna take to make up for it? If you’ll just fucking tell me, I’ll do it.”

“He’s going to give you back soon,” Y'golonac said. On either side of his pinch, the leash lost its gold, began to darken and grow stiff.

This was bad. This was good. This was complicated. “He say that?” Parker managed, both terrified and hopeful.

“No. But I know him. Flighty; distracted. He’ll want his favorite happy, and…” Both the Defiler’s hands laughed, spraying Parker with saliva that stank, that burned. “How happy do you think he’ll be when he learns just what was traded for you?”

Not happy at all.

It seemed like the one consistent thing left in Arthur’s shattered brain, and no, he would not be happy. He’d never blame his precious Hastur. No. Parker knew how it would go down.

The Defiler was getting him back. It wouldn’t be a joyful reunion. He wanted it to be, but it just was not.

So many things twisted under his tongue, in his head, but only one came out of his mouth, out of nowhere, bad. “Do you hate me?”

“Yes.”

Even when being tortured or sent on endless, punished errands, he hadn’t been told that.

Hard to breathe around the weight of what he’d lost. Crying would be so fucking dumb. “I can make up for it. I can.”

Y'golonac said nothing.

Behind him, gods laughed. Arthur had done something entertaining, and the laughter was followed by light applause. Well, that figured. Arthur had always been… likable. Even at his lowest, grouchiest, most self-destructive.

Parker had never been likable, even at his best. Words were too fucking hard.

Parker tried: “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“I don’t care.” Light tone, flippant, almost covered by the voice behind, by Hastur’s booming pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” Parker dared.

Y’golonac studied him, face unseen, and the mouths in his hands smiled. “I don’t hate you because of your failure.”

Hastur’s voice rose, some questioning prompt. Arthur replied, and their audience cheered again.

Parker couldn’t find words.

“I hate you because you’re everything I hate,” said the Defiler almost kindly, as the leash began to crackle where it had blackened, the rot climbing toward Parker’s throat. “I’ve always hated you. Virile. Strong. Healthy. Smart. I hated everything about you from the very beginning.”

Parker staggered back one step as if that had been a physical blow.

Was this happening? Really? Laughter danced over his shock, pressing his sinking heart deeper into drowning. “But you… kept me that way,” he finally said.

The floor beneath them darkened, foul. “I had to. You had to serve me, didn’t you?”

Hated by his god. By the one he’d done everything for. It hurt. It hurt. Parker clenched his fists. “Why are you talking to me right now, huh?” he choked out.

Y’golonac shrugged, and the sound was like wet leather being twisted.

Parker looked at the leash. The darkness was a foot from his throat.

He should cry out. Step back. Something.

There didn’t seem to be a point.

Always hated him. There’d never been approval. Only tolerance and manipulation. Like all of them. Like the ones he’d dedicated his life to ending.

Parker stayed still and did not raise his voice, but he decided at least to ask. Why not? There was nothing left to lose. “What would you have done to me if I’d succeeded?”

“Let you die.”

Said like a cheap gift.

Said like an unimportant thought.

Says like an already-faded bouquet.

Parker couldn’t find his words anymore.

“I won’t let you die now, though,” said the Defiler. “Not after what you cost me. I’m keeping you. I hate you.” The rot was nearly at the end of the leash. “You failed me. With all the power I could give you, all the tools, all the time. I’ll keep you so long, you won’t even remember why I hurt you. I’ll find new ways. You’ll never adapt. You’ll never know joy or peace. Anybody who fails me will know—”

An inch from Parker’s skin, the rot stopped crawling up the leash.

“Back away from him,” said Arthur from behind the enormous god of rot.

Surprise made those puckers tighten, squirting a little unidentifiable fluid, and the Defiler turned.

Arthur. Holding a… something like a gun, pointed right at the Defiler’s midsection. “I said back away from him, or you can fucking say goodbye to your kidneys.”

Behind him, Hastur. Chuckling. So amused. “Brother,” he said.

“Brother,” said the Defiler. “That’s a dangerous toy to give your pet.”

Arthur’s thumb moved. Parker thought he might have “cocked” whatever he was holding. “You deaf or just stupid?”

“You’re making a mistake,” seethed Y'golonac like boiling shit.

“I suggest you step back,” said Hastur. “I will let him use it.”

Whatever that black thing was, it apparently was serious, because the Defiler took a single, wet, heavy step back.

“Parker,” said Arthur, hand and eyes still steady on Parker’s fucked-up god. “You good?”

“Yeah,” said Parker, aware now that he stank, aware that his yellow frothy gold had withered, fried, turned crackling and sticky.

“Come on over here,” said Arthur. “I’m covering you.”

Hastur tsked. “My, my, what have you done?” he said, and his tentacles slid over Parker, and the stench was gone, and the tiny bits of burning, and the leash gleamed, and the fabric frothed like golden mist and reformed perfect and sheer and pointless.

Parker knew he should say thanks. The only words he could find were angry. He clenched his jaw shut.

“You have some balls,” said Y’golonac, calmly, “pulling this at my gathering.”

“I don’t care if it’s your mama’s kitchen,” said Arthur. “Stay the fuck away from my partners.”

Hastur chuckled.

Y’golonac made no sound at all.

“Fuck, shut up, Arthur!” Parker whispered.

“I’ll remember this. Do you think you can get away—” The Defiler stopped. The Defiler stared. “You marked him?” he bellowed.

Voices dimmed.

Parker looked around. Everyone was staring. His eyes went wide. It was that big a deal?

“Yes, I did,” said Hastur bombastically.

Y’golonac leaned away as if Hastur was the contagious one. “You’ve gone crazy.”

Hastur chuckled. “Just because I have better taste than you hardly means that.”

Arthur didn’t seem to be hearing this. “Deep breaths, man. You’re safe now.”

Parker stared at him. “What the fuck did you antagonize him for? He’s dangerous!”

“You needed it,” said Arthur.

“I’m not your fucking friend,” Parker snapped, and thought that would work.

“You’re my partner,” said Arthur. “And I’m your friend because you fucking need one. Now, listen: this party’s a wash. I’m doing the music number, and we can get out of here.”

It was whiplash, talking to this guy. “What? What number?”

“Arthur Lester,” said Y’golonac. “Your owner traded his vote to me for the sake of your new friend.”

And every single being around them went quiet and still.

Parker’s stomach turned. Bile filled his mouth, made his eyes water, and he struggled not to throw up.

Arthur stared.

The Defiler laughed, a wet sound, unpleasant. “He didn’t tell you?”

Parker couldn’t stand straight; the cramping in his stomach—

Arthur looked up at Hastur. “Is that true?”

Yeah, it was true, and it was over. That’s what the Defiler had been doing, talking to him. Building it up, marinating his meal, getting Parker ready to be traded back.

It just… there was no way out. Parker covered his eyes.

“Yes,” Hastur confirmed.

Arthur sounded so… hurt. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“You asked for him,” said Hastur, all calm.

Such heavy silence, bored gods waiting to see how this played out. Parker knew how it would play out. He bent almost double. He didn’t want to see Arthur’s betrayal, Arthur’s sorrow, and finally, Arthur’s hardening accusation. Weak, pathetic, he thought, because the kindness Arthur had given him had somehow become precious. I’m a fool.

“Your vote?” said Arthur.

“Yes,” said Hastur.

“You…” Arthur stopped.

“So fix it,” said Y’golonac. “Make your pet happy. Trade back. Now.”

Had it been this quiet in this room three minutes ago? Had there been so many eyes, such weight of attention?

“Why would you do that?” Arthur whispered.

“Because that was what he wanted,” said Hastur.

The Defiler laughed. “He didn’t even try to bargain.”

“I knew there was no bargain,” said Hastur. “He said what he wanted.”

Here it came. And suddenly, Parker decided he’d say goodbye. Goodbye to this absolute lunatic, a guy he’d respected, a guy so crazy he probably wouldn’t even remember.

A guy he’d helped break by fucking around with knowledge of his daughter’s murder.

A guy he’d thought would never break.

The last kindness he would ever know had come from this guy. He owed a goodbye. Parker stood and faced him.

Arthur wasn’t hardened. He was frowning, deep in thought. Looking back and forth between the huge deities. He stopped, looking at Hastur. “I believe you.”

Parker swallowed more bile. What?

“I wish you’d fucking told me,” said Arthur. “But I get it.”

The Defiler had not expected this. “I said he traded his vote!”

“Yeah, I heard you,” said Arthur.

Parker felt slow and stupid. “You’re all about votes. This is suddenly fine?”

Arthur looked at him. “It’s not fine, but look: if we can’t swing enough votes that Hastur’s matters that much, we were fucked anyway, because they’ll just roll a second vote and win. It has to be decisive. But more important… Parker, we had to get you free. This is about people. The vote’s about people. I’d be a hypocrite to trade a life for a vote in the name of more votes.”

Parker gawked at him, mouth hanging open, throat closed.

(How many people had he killed, all for the greater good?)

There wasn’t another sound in this room.

(How many times had he violated his conscience, saying the one for the many, like the many weren’t made of ones?)

Everyone stared.

“Right,” said Arthur, handing the not-a-gun back to Hastur. “Time for my number. How do I look?”

“Perfect,” purred Hastur, and by gods, he sounded like he meant it.

Arthur nodded, moved as if removing a non-existent jacket and handing it to Hastur, then headed for the dais at the other end of the room.

And Hastur had to ruin the moment with himself. “You thought that would be a deal-breaker, didn’t you?” he said so smugly that Parker almost wanted to be returned out of spite. “You don’t know my little detective. I do.”

“You’ll get tired of it eventually,” Y’golonac snapped. “When your pet forgets him. You haven’t marked that one, and you won’t.”

No, Parker would definitely not be marked.

“I don’t have to mark him for him to be mine,” said Hastur, making no damn sense, and then Arthur’s musical number began.

Instruments blared out of nowhere, human percussion, human brass. Bright and syncopated, jazzy and fun, and Parker startled. “What the fuck?”

“The music is his arrangement,” said Hastur, ignoring the Defiler while standing in his house. “From his mind. He’s been working on it for days.”

It was lively as fuck, and Arthur was no tap-dancer, but he moved his feet on the dais as if it were a stage, conducting with his whole body, not just his arms, leading the sound of an invisible big band. Then, still conducting, he turned to face the room and sang. “Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance / with the stars up above in your eyes / A fantabulous night to make romance / 'neath the cover of October skies.”

Parker stared. “What the fuck is this song?”

Hastur laughed darkly.

“That’s…” said some god Parker didn’t know. “How does he know that? He can’t know that.”

“He dreamed it!” Hastur proclaimed, raising all his limbs, and Arthur’s whole body shimmered. Suddenly, Arthur wore a white tux and tails, top-hat included. Suddenly, there was a spotlight, and numerous shadows as if dozens of musicians rose in tiers behind him.

Parker might never find words again.

Arthur tapped in time, swaying his hips, directing the unseen orchestra he imagined in place of a putrid throne, and sang again. “And all the leaves on the trees are falling / to the sound of the breezes that blow / You know I'm tryin' to please to the calling / of your heartstrings that play soft and low.”

The gods were dancing.

Parker felt insane.

They were… lurching, or tapping, or… he recognized that. Fucking jitterbugging?

“But that song was never written anymore,” somebody protested.

Parker could believe that. He’d never heard anything like it. Jazz? Sure, it was jazz, but utterly unfamiliar. Some future-age jazz, unknown. He stared.

Arthur spun. His eyes sparkled. His hair, slicked back, shone in red-gold waves. And this time, still directing an orchestra that didn’t exist, he sang… to Hastur. Arm out, eyes fixed, a smile on his face. “Well, I wanna make love to you tonight / I can't wait 'til the morning has come / and I know that the time is just right / and straight into my arms you will run / And when you come, my heart will be waiting / to make sure that you're never alone / There and then all my dreams will come true, dear / There and then I will make you my own.” And he spun back around and directed with his whole body, white tail-coat dancing with him, unseen instrumentalists following his every move as they changed key.

The place was in an uproar. Almost all of the gods were moving now, and while they didn’t have faces, they were… they were…

Happy?

Parker had never seen happy gods apart from Hastur. It hit him like a brick to the head, that thought. He turned slowly on his bare-footed heel, jaw open, staring at wriggling, tapping, dancing gods, and felt completely out of his mind.

Was insanity catching? Had he really fucking lost it? Was—

His collar gave a terrible yank, a nasty pull that slammed him right onto the slimy marble floor, and he hissed in pain as something in his shoulder cracked.

One of the Defiler’s lackeys sneered at him. “Oops,” it said, ears dripping with puss that bubbled and popped.

Hastur smacked it.

One tentacle, casual as anything, smacking the lackey right down, and it crunched beside Parker and cried out.

Had that been… equivalent exchange? What the fuck just happened?

Something in his shoulder was broken. The shock was done, and pain was catching up, rising, climbing. Unfair, that dead people could feel pain. Unfair.

Hastur picked him up. “Silly little traitor,” he said, and he healed that shoulder.

The pain vanished. The crunching stopped.

I’ve lost it, he thought, because the fuck?

The orchestra of Arthur’s mind followed his direction, ending at last with a screaming-brass dissonance and glory, a chord that felt like rising sun and jazzy joy and life, and in Hastur’s grip, Parker panted.

Arthur jogged down the dais steps to wild applause, somehow not slipping on the slime everywhere in the Defiler’s house. His white tux shimmered, disappeared in golden mist, became his little sheer yellow drapes of ownership. He was beaming.

Parker had to admit some grudging amazement. Hastur really did manage to take over any situation. Well. Whose fault was that? Y'golonac shouldn’t have invited him, if he didn’t want that.

“Well done, little detective,” said Hastur in a low and hungry voice.

“I figure we can go now,” said Arthur. “Obligations done. And I don’t think we’re getting more votes tonight.”

“Likely not,” said Hastur, picking him up, too.

Parker thought he’d get more, but he wanted no reason to stick around.

“Gotta watch it,” Arthur said, low. “Kissinger’s gonna get us back for this. Not that I regret it. Just saying.”

“He will try,” Hastur agreed, heading for the door.

“You promised,” said Pers, “and you delivered. Magnificent.”

“I told you,” said Hastur.

“Ma’am,” said Arthur, tipping a hat he did not have.

She purred, a higher sound than Hastur’s, almost trilling. “Lovely.”

“Yes, he is,” said Hastur, and at last, they were free.

Parker hadn’t believed he’d actually get out of there. But they were out. They were out. Somehow, he’d gotten out.

He lost it, great big gulping sobs like some rube, and couldn’t rein them in.

“Hey, man,” said Arthur. “Hey. Come on. You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” whispered Parker, wiping his eyes. He couldn’t stop.

“You have done so well, my little detective,” Hastur rumbled.

Arthur looked at Hastur like he’d hung the moon.

Parker hated Hastur. He did. But alongside guilt, alongside the heavy weight of failure, he could not kill the tiny seed of gratitude that now grew like deep-rooted weeds.

Hastur made them eat.

Arthur didn’t wanna. “I don’t—” A bite of stew chewed and swallowed, meat and root vegetables and herbs boiled soft. “I’m not hungry.”

“Eat,” Hastur said, not giving him a choice.

Parker picked at his own stew. The taste of bile was long gone, and all the muck cleaned off. Hastur had let him share the enormous in-ground pool, hot and scented. Had focused on Arthur and let Parker scrub himself red, scrub himself bleeding, not stopped him from crying into his hands or repeatedly punching the water.

Parker couldn’t understand any of this. He tried to find some words. “Hey. Hastur.”

“Hmm?” More stew, which Arthur obediently chewed and swallowed.

“Why did you stop him?” That wouldn’t be clear enough. “You hate me, too. Like he does.”

“I don’t hate you, little traitor.”

He had words for that. “I sleep on a damn table.”

“That is because it’s funny.” Hastur kept Arthur occupied, little touches, mouth full. “I don’t hate you personally, viscerally. I just don’t feel better yet.”

Parker frowned. “Better yet?”

“Hastur, I’m tired,” said Arthur, and looked it.

“A little more,” said Hastur.

He couldn’t mean… “What, from when I fucked him?”

“Yes,” said Hastur. “He listened to you instead of me.”

That’s what this was about? Parker stared. “Years ago!”

“Yes.”

Gods were stupid. Stupid as mud, all of them. “He did that because you made him mad!”

Hastur said nothing.

Parker bared his teeth. “That’s who he fucking is. Make him mad at you, and he runs in the opposite direction just to spite you, even if it’s into a damn wall!”

Hastur’s response was both infuriating and unnerving: “I don’t feel better yet.”

Parker gripped his head in both hands and leaned on his elbows. What in hell was he supposed to do with this?

His afterlife was over. Being brought back was a big thing, disruptive; whatever was meant for him in the Dark World would never come to pass. He had to make this work. He didn’t want to just go completely crazy like Arthur (whom he’d never thought would). There had to be another—

“Hey,” said Arthur all of a sudden. “We need to talk about Charlie.”

Parker looked up at him very slowly. “What?” he said in a small voice.

“Curious,” said Hastur. “I seem to have visitors. Well. You both need to rest, anyway.”

Arthur yawned. “Sure. But we need to talk about him.”

Parker's voice was vicious. “You don’t know nothing about Charlie.”

Hastur was carrying them toward the enormous bed.

“Hey,” said Arthur. “I gotta talk to him a minute.”

“As you wish,” said Hastur, and for a moment, held Parker over the little table as though about to drop him on top of it. Instead, he put them both in the enormous bed, and had the gall to chortle as he tucked them in.

“What the fuck?” said Parker, hackles up.

“Need backup?” said Arthur.

“No. This is a request from the Mother,” he said.

Arthur translated. “Security. Oh, yeah. You handle that.”

“You’re just leaving me here?” said Parker, freaking out. “A trap?”

“No,” said Hastur. “He’s mine, now. Marked. You could never take him from me.” And Hastur left them there while Parker gawped after him, and Arthur snuggled down into the enormous sheets and against the enormous pillows that made them both look like children.

If he hit Arthur, he wondered if Hastur would hurt him. Or throw him out.

Parker didn’t want to hit Arthur. Arthur, who lay there, looking at him, deadly serious and absolutely crazy.

“Charlie,” said Arthur.

Parker nearly hit him anyway. “You didn’t know Charlie.”

“No. But I know what he was to you,” said Arthur.

Parker curled up and lay with his back to Arthur. “What do you know?"

“You loved him. He made you happy,” said Arthur.

Parker was not at all prepared for this today. He curled tighter. “Maybe crazy’s easier. Has to hurt less,” he muttered.

Arthur ignored that. “I heard something tonight, Parker. I know you never caught who killed him. I heard—ended up down by the docks without his head, full of white worms. Right?”

Parker didn’t answer. That…

That had been the worst day. Of all his days, even the day he’d failed, that had been the worst day.

“I thought maybe you’d killed him for a while,” said Arthur.

Parker clenched his hands so tightly his nails bit into his palms. Through his teeth, he said, “No.”

“No. I know. I heard.”

“You heard,” said Parker, bitterly. “You dreamed, probably.”

And he didn’t know how he knew it changed. Didn’t how how he could tell, or what was different in Arthur’s voice, but in that moment, Parker knew that Arthur was sane: “Yeah. I did," said Arthur. "But I’m right.”

Parker turned to face him.

The ordinary, focused look was gone. Arthur looked aged, strained, almost ragged. “He made you happy. Charlie.”

“Yeah.” Words sucked. Happy. Yeah, Charlie had done that. He’d made Parker actually look forward to the remade world, instead of focusing on taking it away from the gods. Charlie made him feel like there was a future.

“It pissed Kissi…” Arthur shuddered. Closed his eyes. Opened them, and the strain of sanity added wrinkles to his skin and red to his cheeks. “The Defiler. It pissed him off. He had to put up with you being… fucking healthy, but happy was too much. He had him killed, Parker.”

No.

No, that wasn’t it.

That couldn’t have been it. “He did not,” said Parker.

“He did.”

No. “He kept me fucking motivated. There is no damn way Y’golonac had him killed.”

Arthur sighed. “What seems more his taste, huh? Acting out of hope, in faith you can build a life? Or out of bitterness that eats away at you, driving you with anger and burning you the fuck up on the way?”

Parker stared.

The sanity flickered in Arthur’s eyes like a dying light bulb, and in the next blink, it was gone again. “Fuck of a night, right? That room was as dangerous as the fucking Wastes.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Parker in a voice he didn’t recognize, because he had to parse this, because if Y’golonac hadn’t said what he said tonight, Parker would have dismissed this information, just laid that murder and loss at the feet of the gods like he did all Cloud City’s sorrows, but (I hate you) it seemed more likely, now, didn’t it, and such a seismic shift ground Parker's thoughts against each other, crushing rock and causing quakes.

The temple doors opened.

Hastur hovered there, backlit by the double suns. Behind him, several dozen witches stood in silhouette, gathered. Quiet. Solemn.

Parker sat up. Every instinct he had said something had just gone real weird.

“Come to me, Arthur,” said Hastur.

Arthur slid out of the bed, yawning, and padded to him, nude and uncaring.

Hastur picked him up.

No one said anything to Parker. He slid out of bed and followed, anyway.

Hastur carried Arthur and traveled to the edge of the city. He was silent, leading a train of silent, grim women.

Asenath was here? Yeah, Asenath was here, looking kind of serious, marching along.

Fuck, Parker did not want to talk to her. He’d never liked her, never liked her attitude, and she was just on top of the world here, even if he had gotten to kill her. But likely, she knew what was going on. He sighed and edged his way toward her. “Hey.”

“Hello, trashpanda,” said Asenath.

Trashpanda? The fuck was… Right. That was a distraction. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Dreamlands changed,” said Asenath. “Connected to Arthur.”

That was such an insane couple of sentences that Parker laughed.

Asenath did not laugh.

“Sure, Asenath. Right. Tell me another one.”

“Dreamlands changed,” she said. “And it is connected to Arthur.”

This was baloney. “Okay, one,” said Parker, “they don’t change. There aren’t enough people. And two, why would Arthur have anything to do with it, and three, why would anybody know he did?”

They’d reached the outer wall. Nobody went beyond the outer wall of Carcosa. It would be like stepping into a raging sea, a blender, a whirlpool. Here stood the tall, black gates which would only ever open to Hastur’s command. No one was going to the gates; they were just lifting up, flying to see over the wall.

Parker couldn’t fly. He eyed the wall, considering how to climb it.

“Fuck’s sake, you could ask,” said Asenath, and grabbed him by the back of his neck like a young dog. Suddenly, they were airborne. Parker did not startle easily, but this one came pretty close to getting him.

“Right, so,” said Asenath. “The perimeter guards spotted it, so.”

They reached the top of the wall—high, so high, higher than the tallest buildings in Cloud City, and so wide that all six of the police force’s cars could ride along side-by-side. And past the wall—

Past the wall, madness, swirls of color, lightning jumping into the sky, sideways rockstorms, shrieking that tore flesh and remade it, ground that was not for no reason and closed over the falling again at random, and—

There was a little town out there.

There had definitely not been a little town out there before, but here it sat: quaint, cute, orderly. They were high enough to see over its wall; it had sweet little thatched-roof cottages and neat little stone-paved streets. Organized, with a well in the center, it would have been idyllic if not for that wall, which looked gouged, which looked burned, which looked like giants had taken bites out of the tops of it.

“So,” said Asenath. “That’s Harper’s Hill.”

Parker had to think for a moment. “That’s where Arthur’s from.”

“Yep.”

“What… wait.” This made no sense. “The fuck is that doing here?”

Asenath made the I dunno sound, exaggerated and shrugging.

Wait. “That can’t be here,” said Parker.

“Yeah, I know,” said Asenath.

Hastur was holding Arthur so he could see the place.

Why? What did they all think was going to happen? What, he’d explain where it was from, or the thing would grow legs and walk away, or—

“That’s… familiar,” said Arthur dreamily.

“Yes,” Hastur prompted.

Arthur shook.

He stared at it, stared, and an odd stream of dust rose from the place as if it were disintegrating into the wind.

Arthur shook harder.

“I do not care for this,” Hastur said mildly.

“Arthur,” said one of the witches. “Do you have anything to tell us?”

“No.” Arthur turned and hid his face against Hastur’s cowl.

“I told you there was no point,” said Hastur.

“The Mother has questions,” said another witch.

“The Mother will have answers,” said a third.

“Chill,” said Asenath, hovering closer and still gripping Parker by the back of his neck. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.”

Arthur shuddered.

“Too big a day,” she said. “Take him back. We’ll monitor this. She might want to see him again.”

“I don’t know if I care to allow that,” Hastur growled.

Asenath’s eye-roll was incredible. World-class. Devastating. “Nobody wants your woobie. We were kind of hoping he’d see it and respond with, like, information. If he does say anything, you need to tell us.” She points. “That is unknown. That could be dangerous. If it had appeared in the fucking wall instead of outside it, we’d all be exposed.”

“Fair.” Hastur clearly wanted done with this. “We are going home.”

“Yeah.” Asenath sighed. “Tell us the second he says anything relevant.” She dropped Parker.

He shouted—only to find himself floating gently down, like a feather.

The witches laughed. Not cruelly, but… not really nicely, either.

Well, he didn’t like them, either, and stayed for a moment on all fours in the lush grass, breathing hard.

“Home,” Hastur commanded, and flew back that way.

Parker did not want to be caught out here, left out here, vulnerable. He ran after.

Arthur kept his eyes shut and tried not to remember home, which hadn’t felt like home since he was a small child, which he didn’t even know he’d recalled in that level of detail. It felt wrong being completely empty, even though it had been mostly empty by the time he and his parents left, and seeing it…

Seeing it felt…

Vertigo. All he could feel right now was vertigo. He made a small, soft sound.

Hastur liked his whimpers. Hastur was under contractual requirement to see him suffer. Had that been why this happened?

“Sleep,” said Hastur, and Arthur had to obey, did not even try to fight, and slid with gratitude into a quiet, dark rest magically and gratefully free of dreams.

Notes:

The song Arthur is doing. Decades after his time.

#cloud city #yellow city #malevolent au #malevolent fic #hastur/arthur #parker yang #kiy malevolent #arthur lester #tw:explicit

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shadows-of-a-memory · 10 months ago

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neal caffrey

back to white collar masterlist

romantic

one-shots

the high might be theirs (but all the bottles were mine)

(technically a two-shot) you’re in love. in love with danny brooks, your childhood best friend. when it turns out the affection is mutual, you two begin dating. then, danny finds out about his past: his real name is neal, and he was moved to witness protection when he was two due to his father being a dirty cop. you’re left alone, abandoned, unloved. a few years later, though, danny-neal shows back up, and you’re forced to figure put how to handle his reappearance. based off of “nothing else i could do” by ella jane

series

of small mines and subtle misdirections

(top gun!crossover) (bradshaw!reader) your life is pretty much perfect. oh, you have your bad days, your struggles, your fights, but you’re married to the love of your life, have the best kids you could hope for, and work with your best friends at a job you love kicking criminal ass. but when a case takes you out to san diego, familiar ghosts come back to haunt you and you find that sometimes running from your past only makes its shadow longer.

dawn ‘til dusk (and through the night)

(dc!crossover) (series of oneshots) you’ve been in love with pining a normal amount after neal caffrey for… far longer than you should. it’s part of why you’re the only person that figures out his real identities as both dick grayson and nightwing. this, as one might guess, causes a lot of conflict… both with suspicious superheroes and your paranoid coworkers. at least it can’t get any worse than this.

of refractions in reflections

(mcu!crossover) (stark!reader) when the universe was destroyed following the four infinity snaps, somehow instead of dying you find yourself having traveled back in time—just in time to fix things on the front end and sace the world, right? wrong. you’re exhausted. you’ve tried to save the world too many times to care now. so, instead, you create a new identity, separate from your family legacy. create a life, a niche, in an equally new and old world. unfortunately, things don’t always work out that well, especially not for a stark—no matter how hard you may try to run from the name.

pulling out the fray ‘til it comes undone

(national treasure!crossover) (no y/n used) Your mother was a crappy parent, the picture in the dictionary beside “negligent”. Your neighbors ended up raising you, taking you in but not adopting you after her death when your father decided against doing so. Not that you expected differently—he was absent. You had had time to resign yourself to your situation and his lack of involvement—but decades later, a chance encounter that may not be chance per se, means you might find out that all you lived was a lie.

platonic

one-shots

none yet

series

you're saying your goodbyes (before you've arrived)

So, why would you run, dear? When all that you'll find You had what you need, but you just couldn't see What was already there the whole time The problem with running your past is that somehow, someday, it always catches up. And following suicide mission after suicide mission, it certainly could have picked a better time to come knocking. Because when does anything go the way you want?

the life and times of y/n caffrey

multiple series’ following the adventures of neal's younger sister, in order: *nothing they say is enough (so they don't say anything) *walk away *to be added

everything money could buy

(mcu!crossover) (dc!crossover & dick grayson!neal caffrey) bruce wayne is… maybe not the greatest dad. so far, the number of you hiding from him in new york city has reached three, which is only 37.8%, but thats basically 40%, which is basically 50%, which is basically 100%. so yeah. you’re totally justified in living your life with definitely no thoughts at all to your father. you’ve moved on. except… when tragedy hits, you find that maybe you haven’t, after all.

when the sun clouds over (will you be by my side?)

Loyalty is probably the most important thing for you. With how many times you’ve been betrayed, knowing that the people by your side will stay there no matter what, is one of the most sacred things to you. It’s a belief held that only increases when you join SHIELD and enter the game. When your brother, the person who you trusted above everyone else to stick by you, betrays that trust, will you be able to learn how to trust the others around you once again? And when he comes back, needing a favor, will you be able to put aside the knife in your back and assist him, or is that too much to ask on his part?

#navigation

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wolfstrong · 2 years ago

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Okay I decided I’m going to the farm after graduation for real. So far my work has shown they are verrryyyyy lenient with my schedule since I’m not full time yet, so I think I can get off with three month before I start full time work, especially if I explain it’s volunteer work and not just a long vacation. If they don’t like me taking a 3 month gap… well. I’m just gonna have to sacrifice the job I don’t like for something I’ve wanted for literally 5 years now. Also who knows they might not even want to convert me full time and they are just stringing me along for cheap labor!!

Anyway, I’m gonna start applying for the farm right when I get home cuz I’m so excited 😁😁

#I seriously just want a cool job #a cool active job #I don’t like sitting behind a desk all day #and idk I just don’t feel like I’m a white collar type of person #I feel blue collar as fuck man. like my father #idk just like both my parents pasts have made me so opposed to office work #one my mom had to sacrifice her passion of photography to work at her dads company #and she’s still upset about it to this day #and two my dad quit his office job cuz it was literally making him so depressed #and he started his own hany man business and it’s made him so happy #ALSO MY BROTHER WORKS SOME STUPID JOB HE HATES AND HES DEPRESSED RN #ugh I can’t

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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pink hearts

You only ever wanted a job as a babysitter to make ends meet – falling in love was out of the equation – but with the magic presented right in front of you, you weren’t going to push it away.

PAIRINGS. itadori jin x reader

WC. 10.7k+

NOTES. this fic is purely self indulgent, not requested, i wrote this for me so reader is mostly...well, me. okay listen I KNOW toji is the choice dilf but PLEASE daddy jin has my heart and i’m so soft for him like you guys don’t understand. this is my comfort fic now and jin’s made his way on my comfort character list, give this amazing man a chance, he’s amazing and so kind eeeee my heart is going to burst i love him so much lol + oh this is unedited as usual

masterlist !

The pink-haired man sat across from you, setting down the tray of two coffee mugs on the coffee table before you. He was of regular build, mostly on the lanky side, and his kind eyes peered behind glasses as he smiled at you. “So you’re the babysitter Mr. Gojo recommended?”

You stared at him. Shamelessly.

Suddenly, your initial plan of impressing your employer by wearing a tight pencil skirt and an old white blouse after the assumption that they would be prissy and had way too much money on their hands felt useless.

This guy wore a cream sweatshirt and black slacks, clearly happy and comfortable in his own home.

Upon being the subject of your stare, he only smiled awkwardly, clasping his hands in front of himself as he cleared his throat to let you speak.

“Oh!” you suddenly sat up straight, “Yes, yes I am. I’m sorry for staring. I just think you’d be this...young.” And modest.

“I understand. You’re in university, correct?” you nodded, leaning back in his seat, hand scratching the back of his head. His cheeks tinged a slight pink. “And you’re a close friend of Satoru’s, well...It’s not that I don’t trust his judgment or anything, but it’s my first time being a parent – and I’m a single dad, at that – so I hope you don’t mind that I’d like to see how you get along with my son first before I hire you.”

“Oh yeah, no, that’s perfectly fine!”

Satisfied with your answer, Mr. Itadori stood up with a bow, silently gesturing you to follow him down his hall. “Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with, or anything you don’t know much about? Changing diapers, giving the teething products, anything?”

“I’m the eldest in the family, four more hellish sun drops following afterwards. I think I’m good.”

He nodded at your answer, a small smile on his face. “That’s good to know. My last babysitter was the same age as you, but he didn’t know much about handling babies. I mean, neither do I, but a man’s got to learn, you know?” he laughed at himself, unaware that with each passing second, pink heart eyes gazed up at him admirably.

When you both reached a door that was left slighty open, Mr. Itadori lit up, bending down in front of a crib where his baby laid, small hands clutching at his feet. “Yuuji, baby, Daddy’s here. Are you ready to meet your babysitter?”

Your jaw dropped when he finally picked his baby up, the little boy clad in a tiger onesie and sucking on a toy. “Oh my gosh, you’re so adorable, come here!” you were more than glad when his dad laughed and gently passed the baby to you, who only gurgled in laughter when you cooed at him. “Oh, I want to spoil you and give you kisses, how are you this cute?” Well, it made sense he was cute, since his dad was as well. Yuuji made grabby hands at you, to which you happily obliged, leaning down so his tiny fingers could pinck your cheeks.

Unable to help it, you rubbed your cheeks on his touch, making the little boy clap his feet together, eyes bright with all the happiness and innocence in this world. You honestly wanted to cry right then and there.

“Your hands are soooo tiny, my goodness, I love you already! It’s so nice to meet you, Yuuji, you’re such an angel!”

“You like kids, huh?”

“Well, not so much with kids because toddlers have too much energy, but babies,” you gasped once you heard Mr. Itadori’s muffled laughter, greeted by the sight of him hiding his mouth behind his palm. Instantly, you smiled at him nervously, clutching the baby closer to yourself because he was so darn cute.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry if I’m being weird right now, I can’t help it! Your son is so precious!”

“Thank you. He’s the greatest blessing of my life too,” he beamed, turning to his baby with that soft look in his eyes that parents wore so well. “Well, it seems Yuuji really likes you. He’s friendly to everyone but...I’m surprised he’s warmed up to you this fast,” Mr. Itadori bent over to poke his cheek, the baby’s tiny hand wrapping around his dad’s finger. “Yuuji~ don’t forget I’m still your dad, okay? She’s the babysitter – she’s not your mom so don’t be too clingy, alright?”

You stiffened at his words, your eyes flickering back and forth between the baby and him. They had the same eye and hair colour, along with that aura of kindness surrounding them...it was hard to imagine what the mother would be like. Was she as bright and adorable too?

If yes, then this was an entire family of pink hearted strawberries!

“If...if it’s not too much to ask, may I ask where his mom is?”

Much to your surprise, his eyes grew forlorn, though the smile remained on his face. “His mom...is in a much happier place now,” was all he said – and it was enough – that you couldn’t dare ask more.

Mr. Itadori walked out of Yuuji’s room and into the kitchen afterwards, eyes squinting over the neat handwriting on a sticky note on his refrigerator. “Okay, so, I don’t know if Satoru’s told you, but I’m an engineer. I usually just work from home, especially now that I’ve got a baby, but there are still days where I have to go the office for presentations and meetings. I can’t guarantee that the babysitting schedule will be permanent – is it alright if I call you whenever?”

“Yeah, yeah, I mean, other than university, I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s good to hear! But wouldn’t this job get in the way of your studies?”

You shook your head, subconsciously pressing closer to the baby instead because he was just so warm and wouldn’t stop tugging at your collar. A part of you was also eager to get this job not only for the baby, but Mr. Itadori intrigued you as well. You knew it was wrong but you had to be honest with yourself, hiding this truth for him instead through a shaky smile.

“No, definitely not! I can just take my studies here – if you won’t mind, of course – and I promise I won’t litter or make a mess or anything. During babysitting hours, Yuuji will be more of a priority than my homework, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Mr. Itadori hummed to himself, rubbing at his chin. “If that’s the case, then I suppose you’re free to use the study at the end of the hall. There’s a baby camera there that lets you see Yuuji in every room, but if he’s asleep, feel free to use it.”

“Oh wow,” you blinked back in surprise, gently rocking a gurgling Yuuji back and forth. “You didn’t have to do that so uhm, thank you, really, I promise I’ll take care of your son very well!”

“I can see why Satoru recommended you now,” he shook his head with a smile, moving over to the litter of dinosaur stickers onto another list. “Here is a list of the things Yuuji likes and doesn’t like. He’s mostly active in the afternoons when I’ll most likely get called for work, and he’s a mess by then. He really likes playing and cuddles, and he’ll also demand to be carried most of the time otherwise he’ll cry,” he paused as his eyes slid over to you, lips pursed in thought. “I know you’ll do great but...don’t spoil my son too much, okay? I just don’t want him to uh...think that you’re his parent or something. Yuuji gets easily attached like that. If he calls you ‘mama’...please tell me about it, okay?”

“Yes, of course. I know my place, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” he raised in hands in surrender as he saw your eyes widen with fear. “Being a single parent is just hard, you know? I can’t help but always feel that maybe I won’t be enough for him, and as much as I can, I’d like to let my son he can rely on me at all times.”

“I think you’re a very great father,” you admitted rather shyly, “Your son is really lucky to have you as his parent. I can tell he’s going to be such a sweetheart.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” he placed a hand over his heart, then pulled out a business card from the back of his pocket. “Now, here’s my number and my work schedules. You don’t have to drop by during weekends since I’m always here, but I might need you every Wednesdays to Fridays. Can I have your class schedule as well? That way I know when’s the right time to text you if I need something,” Reaching into your bag that had a copy of your schedule, you handed it to him, the strawberry-haired man’s lips growing into a smile as he read over the content. “Well, what do you know? You study engineering too? Computer engineering?”

You winced, memories you’d rather not think of again resurfacing. “Please don’t call me a nerd. I’ve heard that enough already.”

“What’s wrong about being a nerd? I’ve always been a nerd too and I think I’m fine,” you swapped numbers after that, not even giving you enough time to recover from his comment. Not that being a nerd was a huge deal, but people always said it weirdly that you dreaded hat word. Hearing it from him though...it felt like a compliment. “Guess that settles it then. I’ll see you soon?”

Heart elated and spirits soaring into the sky that you actually got the job and the employer was a kind man, you nodded with a bright smile on your face. “Yeah, I’ll come by next week! Thank you so much for trusting me!”

“No, thank you for your service,” he responded back shyly, waving to you as you walked out the door. Not a few moments later, Mr. Itadori ran after you, his cheeks flushed pink from the shrot run. “Wait! Can I have my son back?”

Looking down at the baby in your arms who was too busy sucking on his thumb, your cheeks heated, extending your arms as gentle as you could while Mr. Itadori got his son back. He only laughed at your state, waving it off with a shake of his head. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! It just feels so natural to hold him!”

“You’ll be a good mother someday,” he commented almost absentmindedly. Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop bowing and apologizing with each step backwards, too distracted to notice that your heels dug into a small crack. You yelped as you felt the floor slip beneath you, Mr. Itadori’s instincts kicking in when he easily grabbed your wrist to pull you towards him, your foreheads almost knocking one another’s. “Whoa – watch your step. You could’ve fallen seriously there.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Itadori! I’ll try to be more graceful next time,” you bowed repeatedly, still so ashamed as you tugged your skirt down. “Why the hell did I wear heels anyway? It’s not like this is a law firm.”

“Please,” he smiled at you – and you swore in that moment that things were just going to be different – eyes closed and his whole face lit with light heartedness. “Call me Jin,” taking his son’s hands up, he waved the little arm as you walked out the door, still in a light trance of disbelief. “Say bye-bye, Yuuji!”

Even as you made it back to your bus stop, you still couldn’t get your mind off of the strawberry-haired father and son duo. Their home was just so...bright, you immediately felt safe and comfortable.

As your heart fluttered at the memory of Jin smiling at you, you placed a palm over your heart, willing it to calm down. That couldn’t be good, right?

“Earth to Y/N!”

You snapped back to life when your friend slapped you on the arm, smiling at her when she only huffed at your dazed out self again. It wasn’t irregular for you to space out like this, and you were more than thankful she was always there to bring you back to reality before you accidentally crossed a street when the lights were green or something.

“Sorry, what?”

“Do you know how many times we had to drag you away because you keep running into poles?” she rolled her eyes, “Sheesh, how would you survive without us? What are you spacing out for anyway?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking about work and all.”

“Speaking of that, how’d the interview go? Was your employer as strict and condescending as the Zenins? The hell happened to those bastards anyway?” “I bet their child is going to grow up sexist or something.”

At the mention of Jin and his baby, your whole self lit up. “My employer is better this time around. He’s only a few years older than us; like five or seven, I think? He’s really nice too and dude, his baby is so. Freaking. Adorable,” you gushed, mimicking the gesture of rocking a baby around with your arms, eyes filled with heart-shaped characters. “Like a freaking strawberry in my arms! He’s so sweet too!”

“You and your attachment to babies,” she scrunched her nose in disgust – always having had an aversion to anyone younger than her. “I’ll never get it.”

“Babies are the best!”

“Yeah, until they drool and throw up on you,” as if the image procured in her mind, your friend shuddered, rubbing her hands up and down her arm to relieve her goosebumps. “I never want to be a mom.”

“You’ll change your mind once you fall in love with someone who’s amazing enough to make you want to have a family on your own.”

“You talk about that as if you’ve met that someone already!”

“Maybe I have,” you giggled stupidly to yourself. Of course you weren’t thinking about Jin – you just knew deep in your heart you always wanted your own family. Growing up from a large family and getting separated from them, it was uncomfortable to not be surrounded by crying and squealing, which was always accompanied with laughter and kisses at the end of the day. Now who wouldn’t want that? You waved your hand to your friend, trying to hide the apparent gushing behind your voice. “I’m just kidding. I just really love babies.”

“Whatever,” she closed the topic, and you didn’t protest, knowing full well your friend cringed at the mention of babies or children. “So are you coming to our study group tonight?”

“Can’t. Got work,” you shrugged, a light skip in your steps as you both walked to the campus. Thankfully, she mistook your enthusiasm with the excitement of getting to hang out with babies again, which was true, but something about meeting Jin again and possibly getting to know more about the sweet father was a huge cherry on top – one your friend didn’t have to know about.

“Shame. I heard that hot guy from Biology was coming too.”

“Fushiguro Toji? Wasn’t he scouted for the military?”

“Honestly, I’m more surprised he’s not a gangster,” she snorted, “But whatever. Text me when you get home safely, okay? If you don’t text within—”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Text you when I get on the bus stop, text you when I arrive at work, when I leave and when I’ve gotten home otherwise you’re calling the cops to report me missing or abused,” you stood up straight for a mock salute, brows furrowed in faux seriousness. “I know, ma’am. That’s drilled in my head already.”

“I’m serious. The world is a dangerous place!”

“Yes, I’ll text you!”

Wednesdays couldn’t come sooner. But when it did, you were far too excited. You’d never tell anyone you took the extra time to fix your hair and spritz on just a tinge of perfume, not wanting to overwhelm the baby.

You shot up from your seat right after class ended, hair flying in the wind as you bolted to the bus stop. Wiping away the sweat on your forehead and fixing your clothes with a pat of your hand, you took a deep breath, chanting inner mantras that today would be a good at work. You’d be contributing to society by caring for a child that would soon be the light of the future, and you were more than honoured. Clearing your throat, you pressed on the bell, humming to yourself as you heard the light patters of footsteps inside.

“Hey, you’re here!” Jin smiled at you, one you reciprocated wholeheartedly, and he opened the door wider while you took off your shoes.

He was still dressed in his sweatpants and a white shirt, looking utterly domestic and different from your previous employers that would glare at you if you touched their kid without sanitizing your hand twice first. Jin was like a breath of fresh air to you – one you breathed in with glee while you followed him inside.

His house was kept neat and clean, surprising you even more at just how immaculate to detail he could be despite his busy schedule. Was it because he was an adult or a parent now that people his age were just more organized and put together?

Whatever it was, you trailed around Jin like a puppy, eager to learn from his ways.

“I told myself I’d only ask you to come around if I’m away for work but I’m working on a huge project and my client is very demanding. He’s asking me to pass it this week already and he just sent me his plans last night.”

“It’s okay...Jin,” you stuttered over calling him by his first name like that, “You can focus on your work. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Thank you! Yuuji’s in his room, by the way. He’s just had dinner so he’s still energetic – you can pull up the cartoons and lounge in the living room. He’ll be fine,” he opened his mouth to say something else when his gaze darted to your book bag, eyes widening. “Oh wait, you brought your schoolwork—”

“I’m good! I’ve already finished them during my spare time! I promise you really don’t have anything to worry about!”

“Oh, that’s cool, I guess,” he calmed down at your words, scratching the back of his ear before gesturing to his door. “Well, I’ll be in my room if you need me. I get really occupied and focused though, so just open the door if I don’t open it right away.”

“Noted,” You wasted no time in picking up Yuuji from his crib afterwards. It seemed the little man didn’t quite like being imprisoned like that because he was babbling nonsensically, fists banging on the edges.

Upon seeing you enter his room, Yuuji’s babbles got louder, small chubby arms reaching out to your extended ones. His pacifier fell inside his crib as he pouted at you, and how could you resist? Soon, you were happily nestled onto the couch on the living room, his favourite cartoons playing on the background.

His head swayed side to side as the songs came along, while you watched him with tiny giggles. You wondered if maybe your first day at work would be eventless like this.

You really thought you’d run back and forth doing errands and changing diapers, but that was your old babysitting experience – things were obviously different with Jin and his son.

Yuuji was quiet, but Jin was right, he was clingy. Not an hour later into the show, he crawled to your sides and settled into your lap, tiny hands grabbing at your shirt. He sighed as his cheeks rested on your chest, though his eyes still glossed over the cartoon. You felt like your heart would burst at his affection, and you patted his back gently to lull him to sleep.

Eventually, Yuuji fell asleep. You hadn’t even noticed it was dark out already, the cartoons only playing through loop.

You scooped up Yuuji closer to your arms before shutting the TV off, making sure to be as quiet as you could be while you placed him back on his crib. Smiling at the angel, you patted his hair before leaving the room, knocking on Jin’s door at the end of the hallway instead.

When he didn’t respond after four knocks, you thought he’d fallen asleep until you remembered his note.

Shakily, you twisted the knob open, a small smile on your face when you saw him furiously sketching something on his paper. An empty cup of coffee laid beside his table, eraser shavings everywhere. His room smelled like soft laundry detergent with the faint aroma of white caramel coffee – smooth and sweet like him – and it felt almost wrong to be in such a space that was clearly so intimate of him.

Not wanting to disturb too much, you cleared you peered from behind the door sheepishly. “...Jin? Oh. Hello.”

“Hey,” he blinked at you then rubbed his eyes, staring at you for a solid minute before his mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape. “Is everything okay? Yuuji didn’t destroy something, did he?”

“No, he’s fast asleep. I just came here to say I’ll be going home now. It’s past midnight already.”

“It’s that late?” Jin glanced at his wristwatch and adjusted his glasses, fingers swiping up to retrieve his keys as he wore his coat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you stay this late, and you have school tomorrow too,” he groaned tiredly, though the apologetic smile on his face easily concealed his exhaustion. “I’m really sorry I lost track of time. Come, I’ll drive you home, it’s not safe this dark out.”

“But Jin,” you froze in his hallway, “What about Yuuji?”

“Do you live far from here?”

“No, the dorms are like five minutes away,” Jin pondered about this information, possibly hesitating that maybe it wasn’t his best to leave his son alone. You appreciated the thought, you really did, but you were worried for Yuuji too so you smiled at him, nodding to assure that he didn’t have to. “Jin, it’s okay, I can just take the bus. I’ve been doing that for a long time now and I’m really okay.”

Jin clutched at his keys, the frown on his face evident. “At least let me walk you to the bus stop? So I know you’re safe?”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I guess.”

“Let me just get extra covers for Yuuji. It might be cold tonight,” You waited until he came out with Yuuji warmly bundled up in his arms. The two of you walked side by side, baby Yuuji fast asleep in his arms with his head covered in a small cap. You blushed at the thought that maybe people would think you looked like a family, but before these foolish imaginations could consume you, Jin beat you to it. “I haven’t thanked you properly for today, by the way. Let me make it up to you sometime – you look really tired.”

You flushed deep at his words, shaking your hands in front of you. “Oh no, it’s fine, really! I’m just doing my job.”

“Yes, but caring for someone else’s child – whether you’re paid or not – is still a very selfless act and I can’t thank you enough for it.”

You looked away from how warm his smile was despite the biting chill of the night, turning away to bury your chin in your neck instead. “You really don’t have to do anything. I’m just happy to help.”

“If you insist then,” Jin waved at you as much as he could without waking his son up as you hopped onto the bus, with you watching from the inside. “Get home safely! Text me when you’re home!”

“I will,” you mouthed through the window.

Jin and Yuuji disappeared from your sight after that. All the way back home, the warmth and butterflies swarming your stomach wouldn’t disappear. Even as you flopped on your bed, you still kept tossing and turning, the bright light of your screen glaring at you to just send the darned text already.

Hey...or maybe hello? He’s older though... How do older people even text each other? He wasn’t that much older, but still...it kind of felt inappropriate to address him too casually.

Deciding to just screw it, you pressed backspace and settled for the most boring text, hitting send and flattening on the bed with a groan. Who knew texting someone could be that mind-boggling? Sweat beaded at your forehead as you stared at the plain I’m home, sleep about to take over when your phone buzzed afterwards.

I’m glad to know you’re safe. Sleep well, Y/N.

Looking over at your slumbering roommate, you grabbed a pillow to bite it and muffle your screams, legs flailing beneath you as you read his text over and over again. It wasn’t even that special, but Jin had wished you well – the hardworking and sweet Jin – sending your heart into overdrive.

Your roommate didn’t stir one bit even as you giggled to yourself, punching the bed while you replayed the image of his smile, the feeling of how warm he was walking close to you like that and the sound of his soothing voice that just messed with you on the insides.

God, you had it bad – and yet, why did it feel so good?

Babysitting had never been more fun. Even though the task was no longer new for you, you looked forward to working every single day. Your friends noticed your change in moods, but just downed it to the fact you were generally a cheerful person anyway and didn’t bother asking why, which you were thankful for because it wasn’t easy to admit it out loud you liked Itadori Jin, of all people.

Now that you looked back onto it, he wasn’t that special.

He was definitely the type of guy you easily overlooked in a train, but he would also be the type of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to give up his seat for someone else. It wasn’t like he was utterly interesting too since like you, his life was a bland routine of taking care of babies, working, holing up in his room to create something, drinking coffee as sweet and light as possible, then calling it a day and sleeping with a huge smile on their face, just thankful for another day.

Yes, he was simple. Yes, he might even be boring, but gosh, you had never liked someone so much.

You summed it down to him being kind and loving. Yes, that was all it was. While your friends flocked over to mysterious, dark guys like Fushiguro Toji and his friends, gossiping non-stop on how he supposedly had a hotter younger relative but were a lot shittier than he was, you were different. You were simple.

You liked soft, quiet guys who enjoyed the soft pit-patters of rain, the types of people who spent too much time in the library travelling across galaxies in their seat, and overall, you liked peaceful souls.

Jin was everything you ever admired – stable, simple, kind, affectionate. It was clear from how he was never shy to shower his baby with kisses and feed him with airplane spoons, using a small voice to baby talk his son. Every time you came around, you immediately felt welcomed into their happy home despite the lack of a maternal figure, and you found yourself wanting to be there a lot more often than you should.

It seemed that the heaven heard your prayers when your phone rang. Instinct kicked in, and you grabbed at your blaring phone, eyes wide when you read the contact name.

“Hello? Jin, what’s wrong?” Yuuji was crying in the background, accompanied with his father’s constant shushing and worried cooing.

“H-hi, I’m really sorry to bother you, I know it’s late, it’s just Yuuji won’t stop crying and my neighbours are mad at me because I can’t get him to calm down,” as if on cue, Yuuji only wailed louder. You could hear Jin’s desperate pleas for him to quiet down a little, with you dashing out of your bed and slinging your arms inside your coat. “Could you please come over? I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m on my way,” was all you said before hanging up. Minutes later, you’d entered their apartment thanks to the spare key Jin gave you, heart breaking as Yuuji’s wailings only got louder.

Jin’s shoulders visibly relaxed when you scooped his son into your arms, rocking back and forth as you pressed a palm flat on his forehead. He didn’t seem to be feverish or even warmer than usual, but he was definitely irritated, pushing away at your hands that laid on him.

“Yuuji, baby! What’s wrong, sweetheart? Something hurt anywhere?” you turned to Jin, “Is his diaper full?”

“I just checked, he didn’t poop,” Jin nibbled at his thumbnails, a quirk you didn’t expect he’d have with his seemingly put-together composed self. His son’s crying must’ve really bothered him because Jin wouldn’t stop pacing back and forth, Yuuji’s newly cleaned pacifier clenched between his fingers. “I gave him the teething rings too but he just dumped them to the side.”

Nodding, you tried poking at Yuuji’s stomach. The baby belly that should’ve been squishy was firm against your finger, the imaginary light bulb in your head going off.

“His stomach is a little tight. I think he’s got gas,” you informed Jin with a relieved smile, glad that it wasn’t as serious as you thought it would be. “We need to make him burp,” Patting at Yuuji’s back while Jin gently massaged Yuuji’s belly, prompting the boy to wail louder with his tiny arms banging both your chest, a big burp was finally released.

“Oh my gosh, he’s still crying.”

“It’s okay, Jin, he’ll be fine,” you reassured, smiling wide at baby Yuuji even though he couldn’t focus on you. “That’s right, sweetheart, you’re doing great. Just burp a little more and it won’t hurt so bad. It’s just gas, sweetie, you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“B-but the neighbours...”

“Don’t mind them,” You didn’t mean for your words to come out harsh, but who could blame you? Yuuji was clearly in distress; the last thing you cared about was pleasing others. “They can plug in earbuds for all I care. Yuuji needs help,” at your words, Jin swallowed, resuming his ministrations of encouraging his son to burp.

Yuuji stilled for a moment before he resumed his crying. This time around, Jin was a lot calmer and focused as his hands rubbed at his son’s stomach. The burps came constant afterwards until Yuuji had enough, turning away from his father and burying his head on your chest. Small hiccups followed, but he’d calmed down, eyes shut tight from the previous discomfort.

“Are you feeling better now, baby? Tummy ache is gone?”

“He’s...not crying anymore...” Jin murmured in disbelief, his hands hovering above Yuuji’s belly.

“He’s still really red, though,” you frowned, hands brushing his bangs away from his forehead. It didn’t take long before Yuuji settled in, thumbs sucked into his mouth. Little whimpers could still be heard from the little guy, though nothing serious happened. You and Jin both sighed in relief. “I think he’s tired from crying. I’m going to go rock him for a bit,” Eyes flitting over to Jin’s face rigged with dark circles, you mustered a chuckle. “How about you, are you okay? You look half-dead,” you joked.

“He was in the crib next to me when he just started wailing out of nowhere,” Jin plopped down onto the sofa, his sweatshirt crinkled and sweatpants loose and comfortable as ever. “I was so scared that maybe something else was wrong.”

“Parenting is both a blessing and a hardship, huh?” you chided in, “Don’t worry. I still think you’re doing an amazing job at being a dad.”

“You’re quite amazing too. You’re a natural at this.”

You shrugged, unable to look Jin in the eye as you continued gently swaying side to side while Yuuji slept in your arms. “My parents were rarely around. They were too busy working to provide for all of us so I acted as the parental figure instead.”

“Your parents are really lucky to have you as a child – reliable and strong.”

“All I ever wanted was to make them proud,” you told him, looking far from the distance as you reminisced your old memories with your family. It felt so far away already – they felt far away – though you knew the love you had for one another still remained. “And I live a good life knowing they passed with no worries. My siblings are doing great, too, though we’ve all parted ways now. Some of them got adopted by our relatives and I’m...I’m here I guess.”

“I’m extremely sorry for your loss,” Jin’s voice was quiet, and when you looked back at him, you saw him smiling into his hands before turning to you, wearing that damned smile that always had your heart doing backflips. “You’re a really strong person, you know?”

Your cheeks flushed at his words. “Thank you. I think it’s all thanks to my parents,” you murmured; that slight pang of pain remained even after their death, though it wasn’t as awful as it used to be. The sting felt a lot calmer now, almost as if time slowly healed your heart back together. “After they passed from the car crash, I just knew I had to be strong for all of us. The pain and the hardship were worth the effort, though. All of us are happy and settled now.”

“That’s the one thing I’m most afraid of,” he confessed, frowning at the peaceful baby in your arms. “That I’ll have to leave my child before he’s ready to face the world by himself. I’m not...I could never be prepared for that.”

“As long as he knows you love him and you always will, I think Yuuji will always find his way in life,” Jin’s eyes widened, something unreadable glimmering behind those pretty eyes that had you feeling too many things all at once. Embarrassment and sudden shyness creeped all the way up to your spine along with exhaustion, and you gestured for him to move aside, heaving as you sat down next to him. “I’m really sleepy.”

“Please, let me hold – oh. He likes you more, I guess.”

You chuckled at his dejected face, the childish pout the exact replication of Yuuji’s. Yuuji refused to be held by his dad, burrowing himself into your warmth instead. “I’ve got a charm when it comes to children.”

“That you do,” he agreed absentmindedly.

Before any of you could realize what was going on, you’d fallen asleep on the couch. Yuuji was still safely nestled between your arms, while Jin’s head was tucked in your shoulder, soft breaths leaving those equally soft lips.

Oddly enough, when you woke up and noticed your current position, none of you found it weird. Jin only laughed at the way drool dried up at the end of your lips, to which you silently scolded him for as to not rouse Yuuji from his sleep. He didn’t move away from his position, eyes flicking over from yours to his son bundled up warmly, a smile tugging up at the ends of his lips.

“Uh... that was a long night.”

“Long night, indeed,” Jin nodded before standing up to stretch, exposing a sliver of smooth skin that made heat rush up to your face. You immediately looked away, heart pounding in your chest as Jin began to rummage through his kitchen. “It’s a Saturday so if you’re free...do you want to stay over for breakfast?”

Something about that night kicked off the start of your...budding friendship with Jin. Yes, that’s exactly what it was, just friendship.

You knew there was no way he could ever see you the way you looked at him; not that you minded. Being in their presence and having Yuuji around was already a blessing itself, the days progressively getting better the more you worked for him.

It had become a routine that Jin would come home, exhaustion lining his eyes before he caught sight of you standing in the living room, reading books out loud while you carried a babbling Yuuji. You would laugh because it felt like Yuuji was trying to have conversation with you, to which you responded with reading terms even you had difficulty pronouncing. He’d only nod and keep saying nonsense, grubby hands reaching for the book you held.

He was so precious that you leaned down to kiss the top of his head every now and then, giggles pouring out from the tiny baby strawberry.

Jin took off his shoes, the happiness bursting through his chest unexplainable upon seeing that his son was happy and safe. Loosening the tie with one hand, he extended his arms wide open, running into your direction. “I’m home!”

“Yuuji, Daddy’s here!”

“How’s my sweet little boy doing?” The smile on Jin’s face was phenomenal and even dramatic as his son finally reached out to him, the babbles only getting louder as his dad peppered his cheeks with kisses. Yuuji still wanted to stay in your arms though, and Jin sighed when his son’s hands went back to grabbing at your book, though the chuckles he let out told you he wasn’t really dismayed about it. “Thank you for looking out for him again. Isn’t your arm tired from carrying him and studying like that?”

“No, I’m good. I’ve got really strong muscles,” you flexed your bicep, “Plus, it’s so comforting to carry an angel like Yuuji around. I feel like I’m going to pass my exams with ease!”

Not a moment later, you dropped your arm and turned away to hide your frown, brows pinched together. Jin, being the ever observant person he was, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle and warm as he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Well,” you began, “I couldn’t understand something and I’ve been going at it for days. Nothing makes sense to me,” with the effort of only one free hand, you flipped to the middle of the book. A headache began to form the moment you read the chapter title, making you cringe while Jin leaned closer for a better look at its contents. “Look at this chapter here. It’s so confusing!”

“Oh, I know this!” he pushed his glasses back up to his nose, grinning as he pulled out a chair before gesturing you to do so. “Okay, so this means...”

Not even in your craziest dreams had you imagined you’d be sitting at Jin’s table like this, your legs touching from the lack of space as he rambled on excitedly about the lesson.

He would have animated gestures to explain the dynamics of this and that, both you and Yuuji staring at him in awe as he broke the chapter down into easier parts. It was still difficult to understand since your attention was mostly on the way his eyes brightened the more he talked about his passion for the subject, not to mention that Yuuji was also grabbing at both your faces.

It made you both laugh, the two of you simultaneously bending down to kiss either sides of his cheeks until Yuuji was squished between the both of you.

You laughed with Jin the moment you made awkward eye contact through the kiss, chests bursting with laughter before he proceeded back to the lesson. With each passing second, you were beginning to fall for him a lot more and on a deeper level – so much so that you told yourself you should be scared. Instead, your heart felt at home, calm and peaceful, almost as if it knew you were safe and welcomed.

This sudden revelation had you looking at him in an entirely different light. Jin looked...the same, but somehow warmer? Like he was bathed in a soft glow, the edges pink like his hair, and your hair melted at each and every word that poured from his lips.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you were greeted by the sight of a nearly passed out Jin on the couch, baby Yuuji asleep on his arms.

Jin must be really tired from work. He hadn’t even changed out of clothes. It was getting late too – you needed to come back home soon.

“Jin. Jin, wake up.”

“Huh?” his eyes snapped open, arms instinctively tightening around Yuuji’s before he relaxed, smiling stupidly as he leaned back on his seat. “Oh, it’s you. Hi.”

“Hi,” you echoed, nails digging into your palm to resist the urge to wrap him in a hug; he looked like he needed it. Hands held out in front of you, you took Yuuji from him, slightly nudging his knee with yours. “I’ll take Yuuji to bed. You should go freshen up,” Jin groaned in agreement as he ran his hands through his hair, muttering something about being a parent meant not getting to sleep well. You chuckled at his statement, already moving to get the cups out from the pantry. “Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great, thank you.”

Jin disappeared into his room while you tucked Yuuji into bed, the both of you meeting later in the kitchen. He still looked terribly tired, though his smile was lively as ever when he joined you at the table. “Long day again?”

“It’s always a long day,” he confessed through a sip, “But all my worries wash away when I get to see how happy and healthy my son is. I’d work day and night just to provide a good life for him.”

“Don’t forget to spend time with him too, okay? Using the present to ensure your son’s future in exchange of not watching them grow up isn’t worth it,” you reminded him, slightly referring to how much you regretted not getting to be with your parents much until you completely lost the opportunity to do so again. Jin easily read your eyes, fingers grazing the edges of his cup as you continued, “He’s growing day by day. Promise me you’ll always be there for him, okay?”

“I promise,” though whispered, you heard it loud and clear, and you knew without a doubt he’d keep to his words.

After Jin washed his cup, you gathered your things and allowed him to walk you all the way to his apartment’s entrance, waving softly at you. “Get home safely, Y/N. Text me when you’re home.”

It was the perfect routine: go to school, go to work, fall in love with Jin and his son a lot more than you should be, and go home with his kind smile as the last thing you saw.

Each night before sleep completely overtook you, your phone would vibrate, the name of the man who had completely smitten your heart appearing and washing away all the previous tiredness you both accumulated through the day.

Good night, Jin. Rest well.

You too.

It was a routine you’d never get tired of.

“Jin? Yuuji?” you gasped as Yuuji greeted you with bubbling laughter, his small arms slapping your cheeks while his dad giggled behind him. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Happy Birthday!” Jin greeted and finally showed his face after hiding from Yuuji’s buttocks. Your heart absolutely soared at the sight of the father and son duo wearing matching pink clothes, both of their bright smiles only adding to the warmth of the special day. No, actually, it became special because of them – the two people you adored most in this world. “Satoru texted me it was your birthday and it’s my day off too so I thought I’d drop by!”

Before you could respond, Jin huddled Yuuji closer to him, blinking at the audience you both managed to gather. “I forgot you lived at a dorm, though...is it normal that people are looking us?”

“No, it’s not. They probably think I’m a young mom or something,” you flushed beet red at his words, silently glaring at the nosy onlookers whispering behind their backs. It wasn’t that you were ashamed people could assume that about you, it was just ironic since you actually wanted that to be real but it was embarrassing because you knew Jin wouldn’t see you that way. “Can you give me a few minutes to get ready? We should go somewhere else.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you downstairs.”

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. Brushing your teeth, showering, and getting dressed in your best clothing were all achieved in the span of ten minutes. You felt proud of yourself as you hopped the stairs two steps down at a time, hair flying from behind you. It was clear you were too excited, but could anyone blame you? You never cared about your birthday, but Jin and Yuuji were here! Of course this was going to be a special day.

You froze at the end of the stairs, the drumming of your heart too wild to tame. Jin was blowing kisses into Yuuji’s belly, the baby’s gleeful laughter painting the walls.

He must’ve felt your stare burning holes at the back of his head because Jin turned your way, Yuuji pressed into his chest as he walked towards you. You were once again blown away by his sweet scent, a mix of gentle laundry detergent and something was just so Jin.

“Hey there,” he smiled, knocking the wind out of your lungs with just two words. “I didn’t have anything cool planned for today since I wasn’t prepared but I know this nice restaurant you might really like. It’s going to be my treat!”

“Oh thanks, but my friends already fed me enough with pizza and cake. Is it okay if we just take a walk around somewhere?”

“Yeah, of course!” Grabbing his arm to pull him away from prying eyes, you walked out of the campus, extending your arms to celebrate your freedom once the warm sunshine kissed at your skin, the cool wind soothing you afterwards. Jin laughed at your carefree expression, watching as you twirled and danced a little at the peace provided to you by the park. “Happy Birthday again! So how’s it feel like being a year older?”

“I feel like nothing’s changed, but at the same time nothing is the same too,” you told him through a laugh, “Does that make sense?”

“Totally. When I first got Yuuji, I didn’t think anything changed too, but now I can’t imagine a life without this little guy.”

Your adrenaline rush had worn down.

Walking side by side with Jin, arms brushing from the lack of proximity even though the area was practically empty, it dawned on you that Jin had lived an entire life before you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking: “Do you...do you still think about her sometimes? His mom?”

Jin was silent for a moment. The sudden stretch of nothingness had anxiety crawling at you hard enough you were about to apologize for asking such a sensitive question, but Jin only smiled at you, although his smile was...sad, regretful, even.

“His mom and I didn’t work out,” he began. “I always knew she had some family issues when we began dating in college, but I didn’t think too much of it. Back then, all I knew was that I loved her and wanted to spend my life with her, so we eloped. Her parents didn’t like it, of course, and they demanded we brought her back,”

“She was pregnant at that time so I refused to let her see her family again knowing how toxic they were to her. But they insisted, and...and she wasn’t the same after that. She just started looking at me differently and hating the growing child inside of her,” Jin kissed the top of Yuuji’s head as he spoke, almost as if silently reminding his son he was loved no matter what.

“When Yuuji was born, she couldn’t even look at him; said she refused to be a mother and to cut ties with me. So we divorced and...well, I don’t know, to be honest. Last time I heard, she’d already remarried in such a short time – to a man her family approved of this time around.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a chuckle, eyebrows furrowed while Yuuji clutched at the collar of his turtleneck sweater, his doe eyes staring right up at you. “Do we ever really stop loving someone?”

Your heart fell at his words. So maybe he still did love her. You always knew you might never get a chance – but surely wishing for it wasn’t such a crime. “Does that mean you won’t fall in love with anyone else anymore?”

“Who would like a nerdy single dad like me?” Jin threw his head back in laughter, the disbelief apparent in his voice. It shocked you that he thought of himself this way, because in your eyes, he was perfect. “Plus, I’m too busy to date. Other than you, I don’t really hang out with women all that much, and you’ve seen in my worst state – like that one time I nearly went to work wearing the wrong tie or with my glasses skewed. I don’t think I’m the type people would want to date.”

“Well, who knows?”

“Yeah, who knows?” he mimicked your shrug, still painfully oblivious that you wore your heart on your sleeve.

Once the sun had completely shied away from the clouds and the heat grew too much for Yuuji, you both resorted to going back to his apartment. Yuuji was happily playing on the ground as he smashed his toys together, while you and Jin wore matching aprons (you didn’t ask why he had two) as you mixed the batter and he preheated the oven.

“I’m still sorry I couldn’t get to buy you a cake, by the way. But we have all the ingredients here and a homemade cake is always amazing!” Instead of smiling at his words, Jin was met with your glossy eyes, lips trembling. You’d completely stopped mixing the batter, no longer in control of yourself as you watched him happily skip back and forth to the ingredients.

Jin rushed to your side in a flash, hands hovering before you. He couldn’t really touch you since he had flour all over his skin, a smidge of it right under his worried gaze. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. It’s just...I’ve never really experienced this before. Having someone invite me to their home and bake me a cake for my birthday,” you looked down on the ground, feeling the emotional dam inside you starting to crack. “When I was young, I never even cared about my birthday because I was too busy tending after my siblings. After that, I forgot all about it and I was only surprised when my friends brought me gifts today,” You knew you were rambling, and you waved your hands in front of yourself, forcing yourself to smile. “I’m sorry – I’m being dramatic, aren’t I?”

“Hey, no, you’re not,” Suddenly, Jin pulled you into a hug, your body fitting perfectly in his arms. “I want you to know you’re family to us now. You’re always welcome here with me and Yuuji. We’ll take care of each other like family. We’ll bake you all the cakes you want from now on.”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the thumping of your chest.

You couldn’t hear him, couldn’t even properly see him – in that moment, all you could do was feel. You felt his warm breath ghosting over the column of your neck, his calloused hands patting gently at your back, the heat of his body seeping into yours that pulling away seemed to be such a daunting task. He felt like home, smelled like all the sweetness you lacked in your life, and you just knew you had to tell him.

“Jin. There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“I,” your breath shuddered, hands coming up to clutch at the material of his shirt. “I’m in love with you.”

Just like that, the string broke.

Jin pulled away from you faster than you could comprehend. When you opened your eyes, he was already at an arm’s length away from you, nothing but the sounds of your heart shattering into pieces muddling with his words.

His back dipped into a low bow. “I am extremely sorry; I cannot accept your feelings. It’s not that you’re not loveable; it’s just...you’re my son’s babysitter and I believe this is really inappropriate. Yuuji is vulnerable still and the last thing I want to do is date when I should be focusing on his life instead. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I don’t see nor do I feel that way for you.”

Hurt. Broken. Humiliated. Ashamed. Torn.

A plethora of feelings crashed over you all at once until breathing became such a hard thing to do, his words replaying like a broken record in your head.

He didn’t love you.

He didn’t feel the same way.

And it made sense – because why would he? “Yeah, oh my gosh!” you exclaimed while waving your hands frantically in front of your face, your unexpected enthusiasm causing Jin to peer up at you curiously under his lashes. “I mean, of course, I knew that already, duh. I’m not stupid, but like, yeah I’m really sorry, I’m probably making you so uncomfortable right now. I’m really, really sorry.”

“You’re not, I assure you,” he smiled gently again, but this time around, you weren’t soothed. It felt totally humiliating. Your toes curled inside your socks as your forced smile froze on your face in hopes of not making this any weirder than it already was, and you only chuckled as Jin cleared his throat. “I hope we can still be friends after this and that we can keep our professional relationship,” you nodded eagerly, a little too eagerly, and Jin awkwardly gestured to the pans. “So...a cake is waiting to be baked.”

“Yeah, let’s get to baking!”

If Jin noticed that you were a lot more enthusiastic than you were this morning, he didn’t comment about it. He hummed under his breath in agreement, the both of you working synchronously.

You’ve been in his house long enough that you knew where all the pans and ingredients were, silently handing things over one another through a forced polite conversation of how the other’s day went. A pat on your back was well deserved from how you managed to keep up with his questions, your broken heart perfectly concealed under forced smiles and dry chuckles.

In reality, you couldn’t focus.

On the inside, you were shattered. Why did you have to fall for him out of all people? There could’ve been so many others – like Fushiguro Toji from Biology, Gojo Satoru the playboy, Suguru Geto the heir of his large corporation – but it had to be Itadori Jin.

He was so close and yet out of reach, seemingly so unattainable that your lips had dried from how often you licked at them in an attempt to keep the tears in.

You knew you ruined everything. Soon, you’d have to say goodbye to baby Yuuji, no longer able to kiss him on top of his head and see him smile the moment you walked through the door, his dad equally alight upon seeing you got Yuuji a stuffed toy as a gift.

You were stupid for thinking you could even be part of this family. They were happy and fine enough – what role did you have here?

Compared to an actual working adult who’d already experienced many things in life like Jin, you were just a flimsy, lovesick little girl who was only learning how to love. And with loving, came the guaranteed promise of heartbreak.

You just never expected it would be this way.

As Jin turned his back to you to place the batter inside the oven, your hands shook, desperately wiping the sweat of your palms on your jeans. “Excuse me for a minute,” you dashed to the bathroom, locking yourself and finally allowing the broken gasps to leave your lips.

Your back was laid flat on the wall, your shirt tucked in your mouth as you slapped your thigh, the tears streaming endlessly down your cheeks.

You didn’t want to leave him. You wanted to stay longer, wanted to be able to see his face every waking morning and to make him tea while he made breakfast. You wanted to watch Yuuji grow up and hold hands with Jin, to tell him you would love him if he allowed you. But he didn’t – and it hurt so much that your eyes grew red from the incessant crying.

It was better to just leave than to be kicked out. You couldn’t stay here any longer.

So you wiped your tears away, dunking water to your face before you rushed out the room, bag slung across your shoulder. Yuuji stopped playing as he watched you wear your shoes in frantic movements, your heart bursting through with pain.

You didn’t dare look Jin in the eye.

“Hey, Jin, I’m so sorry – my friends called. They’re inviting me out for drinks tonight and I can’t say no.”

“But...the cake.”

“Yeah, you can eat it yourself, I’m really sorry to bother but uhm, anyways, BYE!” Left confused, Jin stared at the door slammed shut hard enough that Yuuji fell to the floor in surprise, small whines leaving his lips.

Jin couldn’t tell whether his son cried because you’d left them, or he was simply afraid of the sound. Whatever it was, the sinking feeling in his stomach was much too clear.

The next few days were hell. Your friends noticed the sudden drop in your mood, the loss of appetite, and the fact that you were clearly sleep-deprived.

How could you get sleep when your phone wallpaper was Yuuji kissing your cheeks, his dad laughing in the background? How could you sleep when your textbook still lay on your desk, a painful reminder of that time Jin had tutored you? How could you sleep when Wednesdays and Fridays had returned to its normal mundane self with nothing left to look forward to?

You couldn’t tell your friends about it either. All they knew was that you hadn’t been going to work because you came up with a flu, when in reality you’d been buried under your sheets, desperately ignoring the loud silence of your phone.

No texts. No calls. No how are you’s or how are you doing?

Not that you expected him to care since you did step out of line; you’d been completely unprofessional and Jin might not recommend you to future works anymore, though that was the least of your worries.

You just wanted to forget everything. His smile, his laughter, his kindness, the sound of his voice and how he always smelled like sweet vanilla.

Crying yourself to sleep and wishing each day would come to an end faster was absolutely exhausting. The lack of sunlight caused you to be groggy and gray – if you kept up at this state, you’d completely wither like a dried sunflower. You didn’t want to go out but your mini fridge was empty, stomach loudly grumbling for food.

You sighed as you closed the door, unkempt hair up in a bun and body adorned with an oversized shirt and the sweatpants you’ve refused to wash for two days now.

You were a mess – both on the inside and the outside – and your eyes lacked their usual warmth. Your movements mimicked that of a robot as you straggled to the nearest convenience store, about to enter when you heard someone cry out.

“Mama!”

Hands frozen on the door, your eyes widened before your head craned to the sound of rushed footsteps. In front of you was a panting Jin, a wailing baby Yuuji in his arms who only cried louder once he set his eyes on you. Jin gasped for air, and you both moved in sync, with you reaching out for baby Yuuji and him handing his child over to you.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry! Yuuji’s first word was Mama and I didn’t know what he meant but then he started crying and clutching the strawberry toy you got him and I’m so sorry, he just won’t stop crying. He kept looking for you.”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize!” you replied back, adding a bounce to your step to cradle Yuuji who’d buried his damp face onto your neck, crying mama over and over again.

Memories of meeting Jin for the first time and his reminder that he didn’t want Yuuji calling you that nearly made you kneel down in apology, but you opted for a slight bow, your hot tears trailing down your face because you missed him, but it was all messed up and seeing him once more only dug a deeper crater in your heart.

Before you completely left each other’s lives, you at least wanted to apologize.

“I realized my mistake and made it so weird for the both of us. Plus, Yuuji didn’t say Dada and I think that’s my fault. I swear I wasn’t trying to replace his mom or anything, I just—”

“I love you too,” he cut you off, and your eyes snapped from the ground back to his flustered face.

“What?”

“I’m sorry for lying that I don’t feel the same way,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck while his ears flushed a deep red. “The truth is, my father always told me that Yuuji’s mom wasn’t a good person and I should stay away from her, but I never listened. A-and I always talked to him about Yuuji’s new babysitter and how kind you were and how I think I’m falling for you. He said I should man up and tell you but I was just afraid to love again since I’ve fallen before and I don’t want to be hurt again,” Jin bowed to you in a perfect angle, his son now at peace in your arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Jin,” you breathed out, the tears prickling at the back of your eyes. You couldn’t believe this was happening – you wanted to embrace him, to kiss him, hold him, but you’d been so engrossed in your own heartbreak you never even thought about Jin’s fears. “I’d never hurt you or Yuuji.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for hurting you like that,” he straightened up, feeling you stiffen under him when his arms wrapped around you. He felt so warm, and you felt so at place that your tears damped his sweatshirt, Jin’s hands gently caressing your waist. “Is it okay if we come back home?”

You cried louder than you ever did your whole life, though this time it was mixed with laughter. Jin laughed with you as you encircled your free arm around his neck to pull him closer, your lips eager as you littered kisses over his neck.

“Yes, of course,” you giggled, “You don’t even have to ask.”

You only ever wanted a job as a babysitter to make ends meet – falling in love was out of the equation – but with the magic presented right in front of you, you weren’t going to push it away, and neither did Jin. This time, you embraced each other wholeheartedly, pink hearts floating in the air while the strawberry-haired baby giggled in your presence, delighted that now his family was whole.

#itadori jin x reader #itadori jin #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen romance #jjk #jjk itadori jin #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #jjk romance #uh idk how else to tag this but anyways have some jin content #JIN SIMPS UNITE #HE'S THE BEST DAD FUFU

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wish-i-wasnt-a-coward · 3 years ago

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Family Cuddle Pile

a/n: I actually wrote this a while ago but it was perfect for the request. Theirs like, no content for this ship an I love it so much! Thank you for reading :) @arodynamic-enby

Pairings: romantic Anxceitmus and kid!Patton also super background Logince

Warnings: tattoos, less than ideal parent mentions, food mention, and light cursing

Word count: 1,844

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Remus flopped out of bed, throwing his body carelessly across the room. He hastily threw on his clothes. Short shorts, ripped fishnets, a vest that was more patches than original material, really big clunky shoes, and a ripped up band-t. He also hooked his favorite bone earrings in his tattered earlobes.

He stomped into his apartment’s kitchen. He grabbed a stale piece of bread he soaked it in coffee. Yawned and grabbed his bag, racing out the door.

His brother was waiting for him at the tattoo shop, sketching a new idea. Unlike him, Roman only had a few tattoos, including not one, not two, not three… but three Disney quotes, a frog on a mushroom, a rose on his arm, and a constellation. Most of his tattoos were covered by tasteful burgundy overalls and a white button-down shirt.

Remus’ tattoos were also mostly covered by his clothes. But he had a tattoo sleeve depicting the garden of Eden, a matching frog on a mushroom, a quote from one of Roman’s books, medically accurate bone structures on his hand, a realistic spider on his neck, and a snake wrapping around his non-sleeved arm. And those were just the visible ones.

Suffice to say, the twins were very different.

Remus threw his bag onto the floor in the backroom, “Ro, when’s the first appointment!!” he yelled. “Your’s? At 11. FYI, Jan n’ Pat are coming over at 12, for motivation” Remus smiled, fuckin’ superb.

He busied himself in collecting the ink and preparing the tattoo gun. The client wanted a fucking orange on their wrist, it should only take an hour or two but Remus was not excited to do a frickin’ orange circle.

The prissy orange bitch came in and Remus got to work. They didn’t move much and only cried a little bit when the needle started jabbing at their skin. Remus liked this part of the process, stabbing people consensually was his favorite thing ever… also the art part but stabbing people!

Almost exactly an hour later the door jingled open. “Dada!!” a tiny voice called back into the store. “I’ll be there in a minute patty-cake” Remus called from his spot hunched over the client's arm.

He added the final touches to the fruit and helped the orange bitch off the chair. Roman swept the client away, Remus practically ran to greet his partner and son.

Janus wore a leather corset over a black collared shirt and baggy pants, their long platinum hair framed their face under their signature hat. They were holding hands with a toddler wearing mostly pink and blue, his blond hair (that matched Janus’) was a mop of curls barely held together by a few butterfly clips.

“Dada, Dada!!! I got you a flower” the little boy cried, letting go of Janus’ hand and stumbling towards the tall man who scooped him up. Patton giggled and held out a sweaty flower clenched in his chubby fist.

Remus accepted the flower with a gasp, ”this is really for me?” he said joyfully. Adjusting the small boy in his arms Remus turned towards Janus who was looking at the pair with a disgustingly sappy expression.

“What are you lookin’ at hot stuff?” Remus teased. “Shut it you,” Janus said, pressing a kiss to Remus’ check. Patton made a noise, “icky” he said pushing Janus away. They laughed, “yes darling, we’re very icky”.

“When’s verge-“

“he’ll be home at 4”

“Dope”

“Stop by the Sleepy Café before you bring Pat to the apartment?”

“Can do scootal-lo!”

Remus turned back to the little boy in his arms, “looks like you're stuck with me squirt”. Patton beamed and snuggled into Remus’ chest. Janus smiled again, “I’ll see you, boys, at dinner,” they said, ruffling Pat's hair and peaking Remus on the lips quickly so as to not upset the toddler. “Bye-bye Janny!!” Patton called after Janus as they left for work.

“Righty-o,” Remus said, carrying Patton into the back room. “I know Ro’s got a couple coloring books, wanna do those for a bit?” Patton nodded and reached towards the ground to be put down. Remus plopped Patton on the couch and pulled out the book and pens as well as a sketchbook off his own. They sat together coloring and drawing until Roman came back to hug Patton.

“Ah, my favorite nephew!” Roman said, scooping up the little boy. Patton laughed and pulled Roman’s hair. “Roro, can I color your arm pictures??” he asked, pointing to Roman’s rose tattoo. Roman plopped the toddler back down on the couch and handed him a pen.

Patton went to work on the rose, scribbling reds and pinks and greens across his arm. Roman gave him complements each time Patton paused, and each time Patton shushed him and went back to work. Remus finished up his sketch, adding it to the pile of tattoo ideas they were eventually going to put up-front, and sat next to the toddler.

“That’s really good pat-”

“Shhhhhhhh”

Remus nodded and mimed zipping his lips. He liked spending time with the kid. They weren’t biologically related but who gives a fuck about blood, unless it’s outside of your body, then it’s fun.

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

“I don’ wanna” Patton wined his dad sighed “I know bubbles but we gotta go home to Papa and Janny, isn’t that fun” Patton considered this, “but Roro’s pretty arm picture” he argued. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Pffffff- Ummm, how about this, we go home now and I’ll take you back to the shop tomorrow after pre-school”

Patton brightened considerably, “ok” he chirped. “up please” the toddler’s chubby hands reached towards Remus who obediently scooped him up with a coo. After all who was he to say no to uppy hands.

“See ya tomorrow, have fun on your date with the nerd” Remus sang as he snatched his bag juggling the still fussy Patton in his other arm. “Fu- Frick off Re. Say hi to your partners for me,” Romans said affectionately and waved as his twin left the building.

Remus happily trotted out into the road. The tattoo shop was located on a quaint little street in the more commercial segment of their town only a short walk from Janus’ job.

A light drizzle floated around them and the air was warm and comforting. Patton squealed as a large drop of water hit him in the head, prompting a laugh from Remus.

A jingle sounded through the peaceful cafe, the brown room was illuminated by those cool old fashion lights and a lovely array of pastries made the air smell of chocolate and blueberry scones. But the scones, as delicious as they were, weren’t the snack Remus was here for

“Hey babe- Remus why are you soaking wet”

“Puddle” Patton screeched.

“Kid’s right, Puddle.”

Janus pinched their eyebrows, “ya know what, I’m not even surprised anymore. Just make sure Patton doesn’t catch a cold” they scolded.

Remus nodded and saluted in mock seriousness, “yes captain” he said and pressed a kiss to Janus’ face over the cash register, “I’ll see ya in a bit” Remus grinned and led Patton back out of the cafe.

Janus sighed lovingly as they watched their boyfriend and son turn to cross the street, Patton’s hand clasped around Remus’ happily. “Stop looking so happy, you're scaring the customers” Remy teased from across the counter. “Ha, Ha,” Janus glared and went back to work”

Janus’ apartment was a cute two-bedroom space on the fourth floor of the building. The furniture was an interesting combo of vintage and things from the side of the road. The vintage parts came from their parent’s house, their father had died two years after Janus’ had run away and hadn’t thought to write them out of the will.

The three of them had made a date out of customizing the few pieces that Janus wanted to keep. The customization mainly included darkening everything and adding more gothic touches. Virgil had done the fabrics, Remus the painting, and Janus moral support/ director.

The three partners had also painted the kitchen/dining room/living room black with one yellow wall. Janus and Virgil’s room was dark purple instead of black with highlights in the same yellow. Patton’s room was the only one that didn’t look marginally like a cave.

The walls were a cream-yellow that lit up in the morning sunlight. After Janus announced that they were going to have a baby Remus had spent three hours painting the grey ceiling with white fluffy clouds. It was one of his favorite projects.

Patton of course had no regard for the work put into the entirety of his home and was the usual menace of a toddler. And today a toddler with cheerios, truly a sight even god would tremble before.

Remus plopped down next to Patton who was pushing cheerios around his highchair tray with an intense focus. He smiled at the little boy and flicked on the tv, “got any requests pip-squeak?” Remus asked. Patton looked thoughtful, “dead lady!!” he cried excitedly hitting the tray with his fists, cheerios flew everywhere. Remus nodded, understanding, “Corpse bride coming up!” he picked a few cheerios from the couch “you really are Verge’s kid”

When Janus got home Patton was curled up on Remus’s chest. Both slept soundly despite the dead folk on the screen in front of them singing about the wedding.

Janus smiled, their family was fucking adorable. They slipped off their shoes and snuggled up into Remus who hummed happily and pulled Janus into the hug still asleep.

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

Three hours later Virgil trudged up the four flights of stairs huffing indignantly with each step. Of course, he could take the elevator… but it might break down and he would be stuck for hours. Or someone could get into the elevator with him and he would have to interact with a stranger. So stairs it was.

He rummaged around his baggy hoodie, running his fingers through his dark purple hair in annoyance when he couldn’t find the key. Once he found it Virgil carefully (as he did everything) opened the apartment door. His combat books clunked satisfyingly against the hardwood floors as he entered his house. Virgil felt the tension leave his muscles, he was home. He glanced across the room, looking for his family.

Virgil’s face lit up like a god damned Christmas tree.

Across the room, both his partners and his son were curled up sleeping happily. Drool covered Remus’ face and Janus was snoring, they were the most precious thing Virgil had seen all freakin day.

The three of them woke as Virgil wrapped his arms around them, Patton squealed in excitement. “Hello, darling” Janus mumbled sleepily into Virgil’s arm. Remus just groaned and nestled into the hug. The toddler wriggled between his dads squealing profusely. “Shhh, s’ sleepy time” Remus mumbled, rolling deeper into the cuddle pile and shutting Patton up.

Virgil smiled and pressed a kiss to his partner’s cheek. “Mmm, love you” they purred. “Love you too Jan,” Virgil said, nestling his face in their neck. Virgil knew he would have to start dinner soon but that could wait, for now, cuddles.

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antebunny · 4 years ago

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Parent Trap AU

...with a side of on-the-run hacker!wwx AU, and celebrity!lwj AU. Full series here.

In the end, all the chaos starts because Lan Jingyi gets offended.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard of my uncle?” Lan Jingyi demands.

He glares down at Wei Sizhui from the top bunk. Lan Jingyi and the other two boys in Wei Sizhui’s cabin got into a fight over who would get the top bunks, and after several heated rounds of rock-paper-scissors, they went to Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen.

“Stop shouting!” Jin Rulan yells from the other side of the room. He yanks his headphones off and directs his own glare at Lan Jingyi, who scowls back.

“He said he hasn’t heard of Hanguang-jun!” Lan Jingyi yells right back.

Jin Rulan frowns. “The singer? So?”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Sizhui interrupts, before they can get into a fight. “My dad and I travel a lot, so I’ve never stuck around in one place long enough…”

Lan Jingyi frowns, this time with suspicion. “What does your dad do?”

“Uh.”

He’s a genius-level hacker wanted for a felony he didn’t commit and he’s been on the run from at least two organizations for the past nine years.

“…He’s a computer engineer.”

“Really?” Ouyang Zizhen perks up from his top bunk. Wei Sizhui knows vaguely that he likes graphic design. “That’s so cool.”

Wei Sizhui smiles weakly. “Yeah. Um.” He tries not to panic thinking about what to say if anyone asks him any more questions about his dad’s job.

Lan Jingyi flounders for only a second. “Still,” he insists. “You guys have heard of him, right?” When Jin Rulan and Ouyang Zizhen both nod, he points his iPhone victoriously at Wei Sizhui. “See?! He’s famous!”

Wei Sizhui shrugs helplessly. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t heard of Hanguang-jun. He suspects that it’s because he moves around so much, he’s never really had the chance to make friends, so all the music he knows is the music his dad listens to. Wei Sizhui knows his dad is doing his best, but sometimes it’s unbearably lonely.

Which is why he’s at this summer camp in the first place. His dad pulled a lot of strings (read: committed a lot of forgery) so that he could make friends. And now it seems he’s already made a mistake in not knowing Lan Jingyi’s (“Well, he’s not really my uncle, but we’re related…somehow”) uncle.

“But you’ve at least heard his songs,” Lan Jingyi insists. “Like, uh.” He clears his throat, then shoots a look at Jin Rulan, cheeks flushing. “Our Vow? Water Under The Bridge? I Promise? Someone Like You? At First Sight?” He shakes his head in disappointment when Wei Sizhui just continues staring at him blankly.

“Wait, I’m pulling it up on Spotify,” Ouyang Zizhen chimes in. He rolls over onto his stomach and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

“I can’t believe this,” Lan Jingyi says, still shaking his head. “You’ve at least heard the chorus of Under Moonlight. There’s no way you haven’t.” He clears his throat again, and then clearly chickens out again.

“Go ahead, sing it,” Jin Rulan says, smirking.

Lan Jingyi glares at him, then a thought brightens his face. “Maybe you’ll recognize him!” He whips out his phone and starts typing furiously.

Wei Sizhui opens his mouth to protest, seeing no reason why he would recognize the singer’s face but not their voice, but he’s too late. Lan Jingyi is already clambering down the ladder, and proudly presenting the Google Image results for “Hanguang-jun.” Then Wei Sizhui’s mouth, despite not being closed, really falls open.

“I know him,” he blurts.

“So you do recognize him,” Lan Jingyi says, pleased.

“No, I…” Wei Sizhui stutters.

Now it’s his turn to fumble for his phone. He opens Photos and taps on Albums, then opens Favorites. At the top, timestapped April 5, 2010, is one of the only photos Wei Sizhui has of his dad. His dad hates being caught on camera, for obvious reasons. Still, Wei Sizhui doesn’t hesitate to open the photo and show it to Lan Jingyi.

Lan Jingyi cranes his neck to peer over Wei Sizhui’s shoulder, and his mouth falls open too.

The photo is a still image of two people. On the left is Wei Wuxian, Wei Sizhui’s adopted dad. He’s dressed in a sharp black suit, a red flower tucked into the right breast pocket. He’s throwing up peace signs for the camera. His arms are draped around the other person from behind, and his smile is blinding.

The other person is clearly Lan Jingyi’s uncle, Hanguang-jun. The man has the same striking face, the same light brown eyes. He’s dressed in an all-white suit, save for the light blue flower tucked similarly into a pocket. He has the same ribbon wrapped around his wrist. The main difference between the Google Images that Lan Jingyi pulled up and the photo that Wei Sizhui has is that in Sizhui’s, Hanguang-jun is smiling softly.

It’s a wedding photo.

“No way,” Lan Jingyi breathes. “I recognize that guy! My uncle carries around a picture of him in his wallet!”

“Wait, really?” Jin Rulan perks up at this bit of drama, taking his headphones off completely.

Ouyang Zizhen also perks up, abandoning his quest to find Hanguang-jun’s music. He slides down his ladder, colliding with Jin Rulan’s attempts to get out of his bed. After minimal cursing, both boys make their way to Wei Sizhui’s bed, where Lan Jingyi is still gaping at the photo.

“Wait, that really is Hanguang-jun,” Ouyang Zizhen says. “I guess your dad met him, Sizhui?”

“Oh my god,” Jin Rulan says at the same time. “That’s my uncle.”

This time Jin Rulan is the one to pull out his phone. He scrolls through his videos until he gets to the very beginning, narrating as he goes. “It’s the only video I have of my uncle,” he explains. “My uncle–I mean, my mom’s other brother–doesn’t like to talk about him, because he went to jail like a decade ago–”

At this, Wei Sizhui winces, suddenly remembering why he’s not supposed to talk about his dad with other people.

“–But my mom does, and she sent this to me,” Jin Rulan finishes.

Finally, he finds the right video, and opens it.

The video was filmed on a 2010’s iPhone, so the video quality is poor. Still, the audio is clear enough when the camera is turned around to view the filmer. The man taking the video has a half-fond, half-exasperated scowl on his face. He’s wearing a violently purple sweater, under which the collar of a black shirt peeks out.

“He’s going to break his legs before I have a chance to break them for him,” the man says, rolling his eyes. “Look.”

The camera is flipped around, showcasing a staircase and Wei Wuxian, leaning over the railing. Wei Wuxian looks back and grins at the camera.

“It’s going to work, just you wait,” Wei Wuxian says.

“I’m going to watch you break your legs,” the man says again.

“Aw, Jiang Cheng, have a little faith,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He leans over the railing again. “Wait, shh! He’s coming!”

Jiang Cheng dutifully falls silent, as Wei Wuxian leans further and further over the railing.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouts, and then he jumps over the railing.

Jiang Cheng starts running to the stairs, and any and all sounds are drowned out by the background wind noise of the man running. When he stops, he points the camera over the stairs.

There’s a scattering of books across the hardwood floor, and a man in white, whose face is obscured by Wei Wuxian, held in his arms. Wei Wuxian wraps his arms around the man's neck and twists to look up at the camera.

“I told you he’d catch me!” Wei Wuxian shouts victoriously.

“You made him drop all his books!” Jiang Cheng shouts back, from behind the camera.

The camera is flipped back to Jiang Cheng, who’s still rolling his eyes. “Somehow this is my dumbest brother-in-law,” he says.

“Jiang Cheng, don’t be jealous!” Wei Wuxian shouts from the other floor. “We’ll find you someone one day!”

Jiang Cheng’s face colors purple, and the video ends.

The four boys are silent for a moment.

“So that was Hanguang-jun?” Ouyang Zizhen says, after their moment of silence is over.

“I guess so,” Jin Rulan says.

“You’re telling me my uncle and your dad were married?” Lan Jingyi demands.

“And he went to jail?” Ouyang Zizhen adds. “Sizhui, what happened there?”

Jin Rulan wrinkles his nose. “Why does your uncle still carry around a photo of him if they split up?”

“Why did they split up?” Lan Jingyi asks. “Was it the jail thing?”

“Seriously, what did he go to jail for?” Ouyang Zizhen asks.

In eerie unison, all three boys put down their phones and look at Wei Sizhui expectantly.

Two weeks into summer camp, and Wei Sizhui has already made his first three friends, and blown his dad’s cover. He’ll be wanted by the FBI after this, for identity forgery, if they aren’t already–Wei Sizhui isn’t entirely clear, and his dad doesn’t clarify.

Wei Sizhui smiles nervously.

“Who did you say your dad was again?” Lan Jingyi asks.

#mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #jin ling #the juniors #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my writing #writeblr #greetings tumblr void #antebunny's ficlets

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neonlights92 · 4 years ago

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RUN: Chapter VII (Epilogue.)

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for. He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants. So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly. And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook. So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos. How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

Hey friends! Enjoy the epilogue <3 Namjoonie next..

You were pissed.

Jungkook had promised you he wouldn’t be late tonight.

It was your one year anniversary - one whole year of being married to the love of your life - and you were meant to be celebrating at a fancy restaurant with champagne and good food.

You’d gotten all dressed up - squeezed yourself into some ridiculous contraption of a dress - just for him, and now it looked like you were going to miss your booking.

Eight o’clock passed…

Then eight-thirty…

Then nine…

By the time your husband finally decided to make an appearance it was more than an hour passed your reservation time. You’d taken off your dress - kicked off your heels - and made a move on your makeup when the door to your bedroom clicked open.

“Hi Angel…”

Jungkook’s sheepish tone greeted - and you chose not to answer - instead glaring at his reflection in your vanity mirror.

“I know, I know I’m late,” He’s pulled his tie and blazer off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms. You chose not to comment on the suspiciously red coloured stains peppering his collar.

“Happy anniversary to us, I guess.” Your own voice was sharp and angry - in the year you’d been married to Jungkook he had made you feel special and loved - but that didn’t mean he still didn’t fuck up.

“I’m sorry baby,” He moved towards you quickly, and you stood turning to face him, “It was - y’know… God. It’s Bangtan.” The desperation on his face pulled at your heart strings.

You knew your husband’s job was important - you knew that as a member of the Special Seven - as Bangtan’s shadow he had more responsibilities than he would probably ever tell you.

And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long.

But still. It was meant to be a special night for the two of you. An acknowledgement of everything you’d been through together.

An acknowledgement of your love for one another.

You couldn’t help that you were disappointed.

“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s part of the package, right?”

He sighed heavily and reached up to push some of your hair out of your face, “I hate disappointing you.” His tone was tender and a little more of your anger fizzled out, “I love you so much Angel. I always want to be with you - I always want to make you happy. But I’m not always very good at it, huh?”

You chose not to say anything - slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and staring into the eyes of the man who had changed your life.

God. Your heart swelled to nearly three times it’s size at the look on his face.

Such reverence and adoration - like you were a work of art.

He always made you feel special, like that.

“I’m sorry baby,” His voice was sincere, “I really am. I know tonight was meant to be special…. God. What kind of husband leaves their wife waiting for them on their anniversary?”

He laughed without humour, and you felt a stab of guilt.

“It’s okay Jungkook,” You licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “We’ll celebrate another time.”

He touched your face gently and frowned, “I know you’re disappointed… And you have every right to be, Y/N. Tonight should’ve been about us.”

You sighed heavily, “What kept you out so late?”

His eyes darkened and you noticed for the first time how tired he seemed. He’d been out all day - and if the blood on his shirt was any indicator it hadn’t been easy.

“Namjoon.” He answered hoarsely, “He barely comes out on missions with us anymore. Barely wants to be around any of us…”

You felt a stab of guilt.

Since the night you’d been kidnapped almost four months ago, Kim Namjoon had turned into a shell of his former self. You knew you couldn’t have done anything - you were just as much a victim of Sana’s brutality as he was - but you still felt awful.

“What happened?”

“We tried to help him… Lord knows we’re all emotionally constipated. But Jimin thought it might be nice to take him out for lunch. So we did. And then…” Jungkook shook his head, “Namjoon cut himself with his steak knife. He hasn’t gotten used to his prosthetics yet.”

“The blood?” He clicked his tongue, “He was sitting beside me.”

You instantly felt terrible. You moved to wrap your arms around your husband, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whispered against his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and frowned, “No stop - don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t take you out for anniversary meals like normal couples. I’m sorry I come home with blood on my shirt -”

“It’s okay Jungkookie.” You pressed a hand to his cheek and he smiled softly at the nickname he’d begrudgingly accepted, “I know who you are - I know the world we live in. I accept it. I accept you. Is it annoying? Of course. But I won’t give up on us. Ever.”

He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm, “I love you baby.”

“Me too.”

“Next time though, text me alright?” You pulled a face, “I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed up.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I will Angel.”

He spent the rest of the evening showing you just how sorry he was, and how much he absolutely adored you.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an anniversary.

“I have something to tell you.” Nayeon had shown up not five minutes ago, with a promise that you had to sit down and listen to her.

You’d obliged of course - she was your best friend after all.

But her confession had knocked the air out of you.

“I’m getting married.”

She was grinning from ear to ear. You almost dropped the cup of tea you were drinking.

“What?”

“I’m getting married.” She didn’t seem upset, “That’s why I came round.”

“To who?”

Her smile widened, “Song Mino.”

“Oh!” You mirrored her expression, “Song Mino. He’s… Nice.”

“And hot.”

Your face flushed and you nudged Nayeon playfully, “Stop it.”

“I’m happy.” She told you honestly, “I might not know him very well but he seems like a decent guy. And like I said�� Hot.” You laughed this time at your friend’s unabashed appreciation of her husband-to-be and clicked your tongue, “Well if you’re happy sweetie, then so am I.”

“My dad told me last night. Mino’s father approves - so does Taehyung….” Her eyes flitted to yours guiltily and immediately you realised what this was.

A setup.

“You want me to tell Jungkook.”

Her lips stretched into a thin line. She grimaced.

“Yes.”

“Why can’t you tell him?”

She frowned deeply, “Because Jungkook’s hated Song Mino ever since they were kids and he stole Jungkook’s first girlfriend.”

“Your brother is not that petty.”

“Yes he is.” She raised a brow and scoffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t know that about him.”

You bit back a laugh at the thought of Jungkook holding a grudge for as long as he apparently had with Mino. Then you frowned. Tonight was meant to be a different kind of surprise for your husband.

“I also had some big news for Jungkook tonight. I was going to wait to tell you but since you’re already here….”

For a brief moment Nayeon seemed confused by what you’d said before her eyes widened and she shot out of her seat. She moved towards you like you were a glass of water and she hadn’t drunk in a week.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” She pulled you in for a hug, “You’re pregnant aren’t you? Oh my God! How far along?”

You laughed at your friend, “I only found out this morning. We’ve been trying for a couple of months… But I’ve only missed one period.”

Nayeon’s eyes were sparkling with tears and you were sure your own weren’t too far off, “Oh my god! Don’t worry about telling him about the wedding. I’ll do that sweetie. You just worry about telling my brother he’s going to be a dad!”

A loud thud caught both your attention and you turned sharply to find the brother in question - your husband - staring at you both in shock.

“Wait… What?”

Jungkook’s eyes flitted between yours and his sister’s. He blinked slowly, as if slotting everything into place.

Nayeon pulled away from you quickly and shot you an apologetic look.

“Surprise?” She said to her brother with a weak smile before grabbing her things and making a nervous beeline for the exit.

Nayeon mouthed “I’m sorry” to you as she disappeared and you had to stop yourself from laughing at the entire situation. Of course it would all happen like this.

“Was she… Was that…”

You stood quickly and moved towards your husband, cupping his face in your hands softly. Your eyes roved his his features carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension. But all you saw was surprise… And joy.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He whispered, eyes wide, “For real?”

“For real.” You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “You’re going to be the best dad.”

He broke out into a wide grin and bundled you up in a hug, raining his own kisses down across your face.

“Oh my god Angel. We’re going to be parents. Oh my God!”

You giggled at his reaction and squealed when he lifted you off your feet.

“Pregnant wife.” You warned him, and he put you down quickly, patting your head and shoulders to check for signs of injury.

“Oh my god. Pregnant wife,” His smile was dazzling, “I love you so much Angel.”

“I love you too Jungkookie.”

You had spent so long running from your feelings for Jungkook. And he’d done the same.

Thank God you finally decided to stop and rest.

Things would never be perfect - but you were happy. And so was he.

And that was all that really mattered to you.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #run #mafia au #bts #romance #arranged marriage au #kpop x reader

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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Misread Details, Part Two

CW: Described death of whumper, BBU, implications of pet whump, references to noncon, dehumanization, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Unsolved Murder of Henry “Brute” Hanlon and the Box Boy Killer

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

2 weeks ago

I’m back, r/LetsTalkTrueCrime! I really appreciated the questions and discussion under my last write-up, and a few of you really encouraged me to keep working to provide a part two to my Serial Killer Box Boy series, so here it is!

In Part One, we looked at the mysterious death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, who died of cardiac arrest due to an undiagnosed heart defect (and likely head trauma played a part) and was found at the bottom of the stairs inside his California home. The only valuable possession missing from his property was his legally-purchased Box Boy, who fled the city wearing Nathaniel Benson’s shoes and using his money to buy a bus and then train ticket.

The last confirmed sighting of the runaway Box Boy (and Benson’s possible killer?) was in Red Hills, California, a large-ish city a couple hours south of Benson’s house by train.

Questions remain around Benson’s death: did he suffer cardiac arrest and fall down the stairs? Did the Box Boy push him, with the shock of the trauma and injury leading to the heart attack that killed him?

Is the Box Boy merely a witness to a tragic but natural death, or the prime murder suspect?

And most importantly: If he wasn’t guilty, why did he run?

Less than a full calendar year after Benson’s death, the question of where the Boxie went after Benson died was answered… but even that answer only opened up more questions, and the sudden death of a second man places even more uncertainty into the story of a Boxie who might simply be an innocent victim - or who could be a serial killer whose makes a victim out of those who give him shelter.

Which leads us to the story of Henry James Hanlon, known to nearly everyone - including his wife - as “Brute”.

Henry Hanlon was born in a small town in Texas, but moved to Red Hills, California after finishing a stint in the Air Force.

His parents, James Hanlon and Estella Hanlon, maiden name Brickers, had had their first child, Henry’s older brother William “Bill”, right out of high school, born six months after their wedding day. Henry came three years later, and his sister Roberta “Bobbie” one year after that.

Henry was a perfectly normal, cheerful little boy, always toddling after his older brother and trying to join in the games of the older kids in town. His parents recalled him as the quintessential “middle child”, always resolving disputes and quietly getting things done. He received his nickname of “Brute” in fifth grade, when a classroom bully was harassing a female friend of Henry’s and Henry decided to take action. The only information I could really hunt down on this was some old school records that I found on a message board, and I can’t really verify if they’re real, but they suggest that the bully was sent home injured and Henry received a three-day suspension.

After that, it seems, anyone and everyone - even teachers - called Henry Hanlon “Brute”, and he never seemed to mind.

He received perfectly average grades, enlisted in the Air Force, served without distinction but without any significant incidents, and afterwards he moved out to California, where he settled into Red Hills (then a city with a thriving industrial district that was slowly beginning its slide into something rougher) and took a job with a manufacturing company, working in their warehouse.

“Brute” dated around a bit, but it wasn’t until three years after his move that he met the woman he would marry, Ellen Patricia Barry. She was a few years younger than him, and they met at a local bar that both were known to frequent. One of Brute’s former coworkers told police that Brute was big into pool and poker, both of which he would engage in when he went to the bar, and that he met Ellen during one of the poker nights, and that Brute stated that how easily she beat him was one of the reasons he was interested in her romantically.

Ellen claims they first spoke while playing pool, not poker, and also claims she’s never played poker in her life. Why Brute would have told his coworkers a different story is unclear.

They dated for about a year before they wed at Grace Baptist Church on a sunny summer day in 20XX. Ellen’s father gave her away while Brute’s little sister was the maid of honor. A year later, Brute’s daughter Elizabeth was born, and a couple years after that, their son Daniel.

The Hanlons lived a charmed life - they owned a cute three-bedroom cottage home (bought and given to them by Ellen’s parents as a wedding gift) in a good part of town with a little white fence around the property and a yard big enough for the children and dog to play in. Ellen was part of the local PTA and active in her church, and Brute himself had the appearance of a man totally content with everything he had.

But Brute Hanlon had a secret.

Ellen continued to believe he was employed by the manufacturing company, but he actually left his employment there years before his death. Instead, he seems to have transitioned into making his money “under the table”. Ellen wouldn’t discover any of this until after his body was located… in a secret house he’d never told her about, in one of the roughest parts of Red Hills.

Without her knowledge, Brute purchased a two-bedroom home with cash directly from its previous owner that was badly in need of repair in the Pauls Mill neighborhood. Once a “company town” from the 1930’s - 1950’s that was absorbed into Red Hills as it grew in the 60’s, Pauls Mill today is the kind of neighborhood where everyone knows if you belong there, or don’t, and it’s best if you belong.

Brute performed a few very cursory repairs to keep it livable, laid down some new carpet, and then used it as a kind of secret base for the unsavory activities he didn’t want Ellen or the children to know about.

While his family believed he was at work at the factory, Hanlon was in fact hosting poker games, selling illicit narcotics and unlicensed firearms, and generally making quite a bit more money than he had with legal employment entirely under-the-table. He would spend his day making connections (and money) through these activities, then go home right at 5 pm sharp to his loving family, eat dinner at 6 pm, help his kids with their homework and hear about their day, and settle in for an evening playing the loving husband and doting dad.

Somewhere during this time period, Brute told Ellen he was setting up a “poker night” with his friends again, now that the kids were school-aged.

What he did instead was drive down to the corner of Holt and McCormick streets, known to all locals as the Red Hills “red light district”, and pick up prostitutes, usually simply meeting with them in his car, but occasionally taking them to a nearby motel.

After his body was found, police showed his picture around to a variety of the individuals who make their living at Holt and McCormick, and more than a dozen locals immediately recognized him.

Some described him as a regular customer who wasn’t particularly special or notable beyond the simple fact that he never tried to renege on payment and could be relied on to always be looking for someone on a particular night of the week… but others, almost entirely male, said he could be violent. A few described being injured enough that they had to seek medical treatment after meeting him. The same individuals stated that he insisted on using dehumanizing and insulting language to speak to them during these encounters, and that he was often unable to perform unless he did so.

One individual, who gave his name as “Mix”, mentioned that the last few times Brute had engaged his services, he had brought along a collar and insisted Mix pretend to be a Box Boy.

During this time period, Brute continued to be an active, involved, and loving parent.

He was home right on time every night except “poker night”, attended his chlidrens’ recitals and baseball games on the weekends. He often took them to the Red Hills Zoo, local parks, and even did a weekend trip to Berras to see the Berras Aquarium, stay overnight in a hotel as a family, and then visit a redwoods park before returning home.

Six months before his death, Brute’s visits to the red light district abruptly stopped. Instead, he apparently met with a local prostitute, engaged his services, and took him home… for good.

The best record we have is that one woman, Needie Brandt, remembered seeing Brute leading a shorter, angular young man to his car one night, and described the young man as “one of those runaway Boxies, collar and all. Poor thing was half-starved”.

Runaways, especially Romantics, are picked up by police from time to time in Red Hills. Most Romantics don’t really know any other way to survive, so prostitution is a common way to make ends meet. Needie said the young man had been seen around the area for a couple of weeks, right alongside the rest of the working people in the red light district, and that after this one night she saw Brute Hanlon lead him into the car, she didn’t see him again.

Asked if she remembered a name, Needie only shrugged and said that even if she did, it wouldn’t be a real one. Which is probably a good point.

Somewhere in here, Brute began to date outside of his marriage while his family believed he was out with friends playing poker. He took dancing lessons with one Susan Krieger, had a serious relationship with a Lucy Graham, and was apparently occasionally taking a Natalie Dorn out for dinner.

Ellen was never informed about these out-of-wedlock interests.

Brute’s family knew nothing. When his eldest son went to state with marching band his freshman year of high school, Brute Hanlon was right there cheering him on.

Then, just two days later, he presumably went right back to brutalizing the Box Boy he was keeping in his secret second home.

We don’t have a record of what exactly transpired within the house after Brute took the runaway Box Boy in. What we do know is what the police found later on.

On October 18th, 20XX, around midnight, Ellen Hanlon called police to report her husband missing after he did not return from his regular poker night. His car was located in the parking lot of an abandoned FoodMart, but a friend of Brute’s came forward to say he often parked there and carpooled with friends when going out.

None of Brute’s possessions were inside, and it didn’t appear the car had been touched by anyone but Brute himself when it was dusted for fingerprints or signs of DNA. Brute’s friends who knew about his secret activities weren’t telling, and Ellen and the children didn’t know anything about their seemingly loving husband and father’s double-life.

At first, the trail seemed like it would go cold, and investigators were frustrated that they had so little to go on.

Then, on October 29th, 20XX, Brute’s neighbor (who apparently asked that his name not be given) called the police department complaining about how the small two-bedroom house next door had begun to smell “like something died in there”, and that he hadn’t seen his neighbor leave or return in days, which was very unusual.

When police arrived, the front door was unlocked. Officer William Keys, the first one inside, later described the smell as “unmistakable. I knew exactly what we’d find the second we walked in that door.”

He was right.

What they found was the bloodied and decomposing body of Henry “Brute” Hanlon, lying on his back in the middle of a small unremarkable living room, on a dirty and stained carpet. He had been viciously stabbed more than fifty times. One even went so far into Brute that there was an exit wound through his back. Medical examiners would later state that at least seven of his wounds would have been directly fatal, but that he had died within the first few and most of the wounds were technically post-mortem.

The murder had been committed by someone who had a very personal reason for the killing. Investigators believe this individual was “absolutely enraged”.

Next to his body was the murder weapon, along with a set of buckles and strips of leather that mystified the officers. These were eventually identified as modified leg braces, but rather than straightening bent or injured legs, they forced the wearer to keep their legs at nearly right angles, which would ensure they had to crawl rather than walk. They appeared to be homemade.

Bloodied smears and footprints led the officers down a hallway and to the bathroom, where there was evidence someone had showered, changed clothes, and then left.

The same neighbor who informed police about the smell also remembered seeing, on October 16th or 17th (later determined that it was likely the 17th, the day that Brute did not return home from “work”), a young man wearing an oversized coat, sweatpants, and a too-large t-shirt walk out of Hanlon’s house and down the street. The young man was on the short side, the neighbor said, had an angular face, and a visible scar at the corner of his mouth and another along the side of his face. He had the collar of the coat flipped up, and the neighbor doesn’t recall if he wore a collar or not.

He had dark eyes, and short but shaggy dark hair that seemed to have been cut hurriedly and unevenly, and he waved at Hanlon’s neighbor without pausing or speaking as he walked past.

Tests on fingerprints and DNA located within Brute Hanlon’s secret second home would reveal that the Box Boy who once ran from Nathaniel Benson after his death was the exact same one who ran from Brute Hanlon after murdering him. The Boxie’s fingerprints were all over the murder weapon… and everywhere else, too.

Within Brute’s home, more knives were found, along with what looked like a badly-crafted homemade whip and some other supplies. A few of the things investigators found appeared to be essentially identical to what was found in Nathaniel Benson’s home. Other things were different (“animalization” was mentioned in some of the reports, but what I’ve been able to find is seriously vague for some reason).

Possibly related, a series of dog leashes purchased from a local pet-supply store were found throughout the home, but there was no evidence of an actual dog. In the home’s main bedroom was a perfectly normal queen-sized bed that was clearly Brute’s, with a small side table, a large dresser, and an attached bathroom.

There was absolutely nothing outwardly out of the ordinary, besides the room being very plain and impersonal. Makes sense, since Brute almost never slept there.

In the second bedroom, however, there was army-style cot with a thin blanket and sheet, three folded shirts on the floor, two sets of bloody metal handcuffs hanging off the cot’s frame at the top and bottom, and a bucket next to the bed. Two metal bowls, clearly of a style meant to be a dog’s food and water bowls, were next to the door. One still had water in it. The window was painted and nailed shut, and bars had been installed over the windows.

Investigators determined the bars were on the house when Brute Hanlon purchased it and had been installed by the previous owner. No reason for that installation was ever given.

Investigation revealed trace amounts of evidence of blood, but nothing much. However, the living room and dining area both showed poorly-cleaned bloodstains that were much older than Hanlon’s murder, including discolored patches on the walls.

A contract for a 24/7 “master/slave” style relationship was found in the top drawer of the dresser, signed ‘Pet’ at the bottom, and with Brute’s name alongside it. However, both signatures match Hanlon’s handwriting, and the Boxie is not believed to have actively signed it, as he would be illiterate at best. Plus, Box Boys are not legally allowed to enter into any contract, anyway, since they can’t understand obligations at that level, so even if he had signed it, it wouldn’t have been considered remotely valid.

I mean, not that those contracts are legal, but... you get my point.

Also located in that drawer were more than one hundred photographs showing the Boxie in a variety of compromising situations and positions. Several of these photos had Brute himself clearly visible in them, and a few had other individuals who have since been identified as Brute’s associates in his more illicit activities.

Interrogations of those associates led to more than seven further arrests for illegal gambling, the production and sale of illicit drugs, and illegal weapons sales. Those interrogations are also how we know about what Brute Hanlon was up to in-between Little League games and Girl Scout meetings.

Those associates claim that Brute kept a “secondhand Box Boy”, muzzled him so he couldn’t speak whenever guests were over, and that often ‘poker night’ simply turned into a game where the assorted guests and Brute himself repeatedly assaulted the Boxie. The associates claimed they thought the entire thing was consensual, but frankly… given the overwhelming evidence that the Boxie had to be kept restrained and was often seriously injured by these assaults... that’s doubtful.

Ellen and her children, who had previously been very visible and spoke often to local news stations about Henry’s disappearance, withdrew after his body was found and his second, secret life revealed - and have never given a single public statement or made a public appearance since.

Ellen moved her children out of Red Hills, moving back in with her own parents, briefly, in northern California. Where they went after that is unknown, but they appear to have left the state and Ellen may have changed her surname. Investigators are firm in their belief that Ellen knew nothing about her husband’s secret life.

I would give my right arm to know what his son and daughter think about it, and if they ever suspected what their devoted dad was up to when he wasn’t at home.

So, what happened to the Boxie after he left the house and disappeared down the block from the witness who saw him?

In short… no one knows for sure.

After murdering Brute Hanlon and cleaning off the evidence that must have been all over him, the Boxie simply fades away. He could have been anywhere, doing anything at all. There is a brief sighting of him on CCTV footage at the local bus station, where he is in line to buy a ticket… and then abruptly looks up, apparently noticing the camera and looking directly into it, then turns and walks quickly away.

The footage is grainy, but the Boxie does appear to be wearing his collar.

He isn’t seen in Red Hills again.

Instead, he reappears one more time before his final murder and disappearance… more than a year later, in a little town right along the border with Nevada.

Part 3 will go into how the investigation into the death of a quiet little oddball named Robert Weber reveals a basement full of skeletal bodies. But our Boxie isn’t the cause.

Instead, Robert Weber’s murder solves a series of related murders police had been stymied by for more than a decade, and a Box Boy who may have been meant to be Weber’s next victim instead turned accidental vigilante with a final killing of his own.

Or maybe I should say, his final killing so far.

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

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weasleyswizardpleases · 4 years ago

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And the Living is Easy (Fred x reader)

Summary: You spend the first night of summer vacation getting into trouble with the Weasleys + Harry and Hermione. Fred x reader. Fluffy mischief mostly, but sex is discussed and implied.

Warnings/Notes: Light sexual content but not all out smut, alcohol, heights, language. I wrote this to be a stand alone, but I enjoyed it so much that it might become part of a loose series of slice of life-y reader x twins fics set at the burrow over the summer! ps i did not edit this at all after writing it at 2am so. uh

Summer at the Weasley’s is my favorite time of year. After my mother passed, you were tossed around from boarding school to boarding school, relative to relative, never really having a say in where you went, or with whom. But ever since becoming fast friends with Fred and George while repairing brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you’ve pretty much been considered an honorary Weasley.

You stow your suitcases in the overhead and squeeze into a seat next to Fred and George. Across from you, Ron, Lee, and Harry are packed in.

“Do you reckon you’ll ever make it out to the burrow, Lee?” asks George pointedly.

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Mrs. Weasley’s hotcakes are out of this world.” Harry says.

“And there’s loads of space to play quidditch.” you say.

“And loads of secret spots not even Mum knows about where we can basically do whatever we like.” adds Fred.

“You know my mum will hardly let me out of her sight for a day. Merlin’s sake, she’s practically ass to elbow on me all summer.” Lee says, faking a pout. “Quit ribbing at me, would you? Or I’ll spend the summer in my room coming up with derogatory names to call you on the Quidditch pitch.”

Murmurs of “Come on, we’re only joking.” and “Fine, fine.” fill the packed compartment. You lift your rat Pansy up to the window to show him the scenery.

“Bet you’ve never seen the fine English countryside like this, eh Pansy?” you baby-talk at him, scratching his little noggin.

“You know that thing is never gonna talk back at you, right Y/N?” says Fred, rolling his eyes.

“You never know. Look what happened to Scabbers.” you say, wiggling you eyebrows. “This rat could also secretly be a creepy little pervert who watches me undress at night.”

“I suppose it isn’t unprecedented in the rat community,” agrees George. Ron scowls in disdain.

“That’s my pet we’re talking about!” he says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, fine pet he was.” says Harry, grinning.

“I will say, Ron-” Fred begins, clearing his throat. “You’ll never find another like him.” He claps his little brother on the back and stands up, peering down the hallway. “Oi, it’s the trolley, look alive Georgie.” George rises and straightens his coat. The boys have been planning for ages to charm the trolley witch into selling their skiving snackboxes. They run off down the car towards her. You tuck Pansy back into his cage and watch the scenery go by yourself. Before you know it, you’re being shaken awake by Fred and George.

“C’mon, Dad is waiting!” says George.

“Got you some chocolate frogs, but that means you owe us one.” says Fred, shoving a wriggling paper bag into your hands. Delighted, you expertly open the bag, catch a frog, and slurp it up before it manages to escape.

“Tank -ou” you mumble, your mouth still full. Lugging your trunks over to meet Mr. Weasley, you smile with excitement. Every summer with the Weasleys is a blast, but you know this one will start off with a bang because last week Fred absconded with a jug of top shelf mead from Filch’s office. You’d all agreed that you needed it more, since you want to have fun and have no money, while Filch obviously dislikes fun and ostensibly has some amount of money squirreled away from all his groundskeeping or lurking or whatever his job is.

After greeting Molly, you and the twins bound up to their room- and, when you’re here, your room- pushing and shoving your way up the narrow stairwell. You toss your things down and throw yourself onto a bed, spreading your arms as if making a snow angel.

“Oh, boys, it is good to be home!” you say, laughing. Fred and George always joke that their mother likes you, Harry, and Hermione better than any of her own actual children, and you love teasing them about it.

“Speak for yourself, she’s already got that sending-us-to-de-gnome-the-

garden-while-hungover gleam in her eyes,” retorts George good-naturedly.

“And get your shoes off my bed! Mum will have all three of us beating out the rugs if she sees that.” says Fred. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, baiting the boys into attempting to push you off the bed. You wind up making such a ruckus roughhousing that Hermione comes in looking concerned, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You all three pause from your compromised position to look at her, you releasing a vise grip on Fred, George dropping your left leg, which he had been twisting violently.

“When did you get here?” you ask, running to hug her.

“Just apparated over, my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t at least drop by for dinner before practically moving here for the summer!” she replies, turning to greet the twins.

“Are you going to be participating in our little soiree tonight, ‘Mione?” asks George, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you three planning?” she asks sternly, stifling an excited smile.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you say.

“But don’t wear white shoes.” warns Fred. Hermione gives you all a funny look before running off to finish her greetings.

“Where are we going tonight, Freddie?” you ask, looking up at your tall friend. He gives you a cheeky glance.

“Oh, out by the bog. There’s a huge hill between there and the house, so we can make a fire and nobody will see.”

“And there’s a huge stand of trees and a pond between that spot and the neighbors’,” says George.

“You two have got it all figured out. And you’ve got the firewhiskey! What a night, what a night it shall be.” you say, your voice singsonging as you dance exaggeratedly.

“Too bad nobody invited any girls.” says Ron from the doorway. He’s been standing in the hallway looking in the mirror for some time now, fussing with his hair.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Ginny shouts from her open door down the hall.

“YOU don’t count!” Ron replies.

“We know you’ve got someone else in mind, little brother.” George says, flicking Ron in the ear.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fred agrees.

“You get all flustered when she corrects your grammar,” you say.

“And you let her braid your hair.” says Fred.

“And you-” begins George, but Ron interrupts, his face beet red.

“Shhhh! Buzz off you two, or I’ll start blabbing on about who you’re interested in as well.”

The twins exchange a somewhat threatened glance, but say nothing.

“That’s right, I’m not as dull as you lot like to think, thank you very much. I notice things. So let me alone or I’ll sing like a canary!” Ron finishes, turning back to the mirror for a final glance at his hair before trotting downstairs.

“You two have crushes?” you demand, turning to stare down the twins. Fred shrugs with his usual attitude but you notice a light blush spreading across each of their cheeks. You swat him across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? You motherfuckers.” You grab George by the collar. “George, tell me who it is! A crush, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. They’re being super weird, so you decide to drop the subject. “When you snog every girl and half the boys in the school, between the two of you, you practically hold us all down to tell us the details but now you’ve got a crush and suddenly you’re like a couple of mimes.” You look each of them in the eyes, and both avoid your stare. “Fine! Don’t tell me.” You throw your hands up in mock anger and lead the charge downstairs to begin setting the table for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After dinner, you pass the evening playing cards and chatting until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retire for the night. Then, you’re left with all your friends and Percy, who it has been agreed simply cannot know you’re sneaking out to drink in the woods, because he is a killjoy. Using a previously discussed maneuver, Hermione attempts to trick him into believing that she and Ginny are going to bed, hoping that he will get nervous about being bullied if left alone with you and the twins, and elect to follow them to bed soon after. However, Percy is in an unusually jovial mood, and so Ron and Harry are forced to retreat as well. As a last line of defense, you pretend to fall asleep on George’s shoulder, nuzzling into his sweater. When Percy gets up to go to the bathroom, you dash outside into the moonlit yard, covering your mouth so your giggles don’t give you away. You run to crouch behind the garden shed, doubled over with laughter.

“I thought he would never stop yapping.”

“God, how are you two related to that bore?”

“We can’t help it.” Fred says, bending to gather rocks from the ground.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watch!” he raises his hand to throw a pebble at Ginny’s window, but you grab his wrist.

“Have you lost the plot? Percy will hear! And probably your mum too, with your aim. I’ve got a better idea,” you say, peeking around the garden shed while gesturing for the boys to stay put. You pop out of the shed with a dusty, rickety broom.

“Does this thing still work?” you ask.

“Well enough,” says Fred, getting a running start and jumping on the broom. Wobbling a bit, he sails up to Ginny’s window and confers with the girls, then moves on to Ron’s window, where he perches on the sill, one foot dangling out the window.

Beside you, you’re aware of George’s presence beside you in the cool, sticky night.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmurs, elbowing you gently. “How’d you even know that thing was in there?”

“Lucky guess. I mean, with a family full of Quidditch players, there’s bound to be a broom lying about someplace.”

Fred jumps down onto the broom and turns a few experimental loop de loops overhead before nearly falling and coming to a shaky landing near your feet.

“That one belongs on the rubbish heap, honestly,” he says, laughing as he tosses the old thing aside.

“Oh, sure, blame it on the broom,” you tease.

He’s soon followed by Ginny and Hermione on Ginny’s broom. They glide down and come to a halt next to you, stepping down gracefully.

“How are Harry and Ron going to get out? They’d have to go right by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, unless Harry has his broom up there with him, but I think I saw it in the foyer.” says Hermione, looking at Fred worriedly.

“Well, err, I told them to climb down,” says Fred earnestly.

“What?!” says Hermione. “They’ll be loud as bison, besides probably breaking their necks.”

“It’s not my fault they’re too dumb to pass their apparation O.W.L.S! They’ll be fine.”

As he finishes his sentence, Ron’s window slides open and Harry’s head pops out. He lowers what appears to be a rope made of sheets and blankets tied together. Hermione’s brow furrows as she watches, helpless, while Ron artlessly slips one leg out the window, before even checking to see that the “rope” is nowhere near long enough to reach the ground. Ginny giggles, biting her lip when she sees Hermione’s distress.

“Do something!” Hermione hisses, nudging her. Ginny groans and soars over to boost Ron onto the back of her broom, going back to do the same for Harry.

“Shite! The firewhiskey,” you whisper, smacking your forehead. Everyone lets out a collective groan, but before you can send someone back up to hunt down the alcohol, Ginny opens her backpack, revealing the gleaming jug. Everyone cheers, but then quickly realizes that loudly cheering may have blown your cover. Fred and George scurry off into the brush and you all follow them down a lightly trod path through the countryside, eventually reaching the open bank of a large, murky pond. This is a spot you’ve never been to before, probably because it’s a fair stretch away from the house, and apparently from any civilization at all.

Hermione quickly conjures a large fire, creating a pocket of warmth in the chilly night air. You lean against a large rock and shiver when the cool stone brushes the back of your neck. Ginny pulls out the firewhiskey and hands it to Fred, who pops the cork, shouting with glee before knocking back a sip and passing it to George, who passes it to you. The familiar sickly sweet liquid burns your throat and warms your stomach, and you feel your (already barely existent) inhibitions begin melting away.

Before long, Ron suggests that you all play a game, and you run through your options: truth or dare, spin the bottle, a wizarding game you’ve never heard of, and hide and go seek. Hermione refutes hide and go seek on the basis of safety, and Fred refutes spin the bottle on the basis of the fact that four out of six of you are siblings. Not everyone brought their wands, so you can’t play the magic game, and you’re left with truth or dare as the apparent winner, which you were rooting for anyway, because you want to see what you can get the twins to do. It almost makes you wish Percy was here so you could put him in a compromising position, but knowing him, he’d find a way to make walking on hot coals boring.

“I’ll start, I’ll start!” you volunteer, looking around the circle. “My first victim will beeeee…” you look at Hermione, who cringes nervously, then spin around to point at Harry. “Harry Potter. What will it be, Mr. Potter, truth or dare?” you ask.

Harry shrugs. “Hmm.. I’ll do.. Dare, why not?” he replies.

“Alright Harry, I dare you tooooo.... Oh, easy. I dare you to smack Ron every time he says something you think is stupid tonight. And be honest, or we’ll smack you,” you say. The twins nod in agreement.

“That’s not fair! That’s barely a real dare!” protests Ron. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, who turns and gives his friend a good wallop.

“Alright Harry, your turn.”

You play for nearly an hour, all the while passing the bottle lazily between you, until everyone’s good and tipsy on the strong liquor. Several good dares are exchanged: Fred is dared to give you a lap dance, which he does with gusto and an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You dare Ginny to race you across the pond and back, and you both strip down to your skivvies and plunge into the chilly water. Ginny wins, of course, but you just wanted an excuse for a swim. Fred lends you his cloak, patting it onto your shoulders to dry them before you pull your pants back on. George dares Ron to walk back to the house and get food, which he reluctantly agrees to after everyone bullies him into it. By the time he gets back with a basket of pastries and jam, you’ve transitioned to mainly truths, because the well of dares has run dry.

When it’s Hermione’s turn to ask Fred, she blushingly asks if he’s lost his virginity.

“What, do you all think I’ve snogged every girl we know without scaring? Have a little faith, please.”

“Clever, but that’s not an answer!” slurs Hermione, pointing at him and grinning. “Have you actually had sex before, or do you just talk a big game?”

“Well, have you?” you ask, laughing as he tries to bluster out an answer.

“”Course I have. Ask anybody. Everybody must think George and I are the male sluts of the century, the way you people talk.”

“Still not an answer!” you say, looking at him mischievously.

“How’s this for an answer, then?” he retorts, pulling you to his waist and kissing you on the lips melodramatically, throwing you up against the rock, practically fucking but for the clothes. What’s probably thirty seconds of kissing at most feels like an hour. Everyone goes “Oooooh!” and when he finally lets you go you’re flabbergasted, but you recover your senses.

“Point taken, then. Alright Freddie, your turn,” you say, straightening your clothes and trying not to look like you enjoyed that.

“I dare Hermione to let us play hide and seek, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lazily.

“Ugh! I might be drunk but I’m not letting anyone stumble around alone in the pitch black plastered out of your mind. Ask me a real question!”

“What if we weren’t alone?” Harry asks, looking around. “I mean, we could go in pairs or little groups. Like team hide and seek, basically.”

“I call Fred and George!” you cry, throwing your arms around their sweaty necks.

“Fine, but please be careful. And everyone should be on a team with at least one person with a wand,” says Hermione, who teams up with Ron. That leaves Harry and Ginny on the last team.

George produces his wand and casts an illumination spell.

“Not it!” You shout, immediately echoed by Ginny.

“Alright, we’ll count to 50” says Hermione, but Harry and George protest until they finally agree to 3 minutes.

Fred tears off into the woods and you and George follow, bushes thwacking you in the face, vines snagging at your ankles. You break through the brush into a field, panting, and stop for a break.

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking around. “And where are we?”

“No idea!” Fred says gleefully.

“What about over there?” George nods towards a patch of grass and trees down in a glenn. You lope down hill through high grass and crash to a halt in the stand of trees, crouching low. Fred huddles next to you and George clambers clumsily into one of the trees, flattening himself into one of its crooks.

You can feel your stomach churning after your run, but you manage to successfully push down the acrid taste rising in your throat. Above you, you hear George belch, and just manage to slip out of the way as he spits a pitiful glob of vomit to the ground.

“Oi, we’re down here, you lout,” hisses Fred, ducking.

“Look at the state of you,” you drawl, bumping into Fred as you readjust around George’s vomit. He groans from his spot up in the tree and lies back down sleepily. To your surprise, you feel the urge to pull Fred closer rather than pushing him away. The earthy smell of the forest floor calms your stomach, and you find your mind wandering to his lips, his hands on your waist and neck. Buzzing with drunken impulsivity, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him to sit beside you. He looks surprised, but readily slouches against the tree trunk next to you. You can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. The air is still and cool in that settled way characteristic of the night.

Overhead, you think you can hear George beginning to snore.

“Freddie-” you begin, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You push him down and roll over so that you’re straddling him, gripping his jaw in one hand as you kiss him, hard, then gently. His lips are softer and more relaxed than they were when he kissed you earlier, and his body less certain. There’s no false bravado in him now, and you bite his lip gently, your tongues barely batting together. You reach down to unzip his pants but he pulls back.

“Y/N- I- Look, I may have lied earlier,” he says, his face flush with desire and embarrassment. You look at him quizzically, your drunken mind not connecting all the dots.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I haven’t… done this before. I’ve only ever kissed. Although I’ve done quite a lot of that.” he says quietly. You blink.

“Oh. Oh! You total freak. Why go to all that trouble to convince everyone you have?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to kiss you?”

This shuts you up. He pulls you back down to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, on the forehead, the neck.

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” you say carefully, brushing a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“No… no, I’m ready. I want this now,” he says, tugging at your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it into the grass, the game of hide and seek forgotten. Let the shirt be a warning flag to any nosy passerby. Fred kisses across your chest.

“Freddie, we’re drunk,” you remind him, your breathing growing heavier as his tongue flicks across your nipple.

“I want you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck in between kisses. “I want you, I want you, I want you,” he says. You kiss him in reply, and move again to unzip his pants. You feel his hard member ready to burst out of his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

You had considered that you might one day wind up with Fred or George, and honestly, you had figured it would be on some less-than-sober whim like this, but you never really pictured it. You certainly never imagined Fred like this, innocent and tame, hoping for someone else to take the lead.

“Will you show me how?”

“Yes,” you breathe your reply into his mouth.

“Will you go slow?” he asks sweetly, his coy submissiveness sending tremors through your body.

“Yes. Come closer.”

In the morning, you groggily open your eyes at the sound of birds chirping. You sit up, your head throbbing, and look around. Above you and a few feet to your right, George is sleeping soundly on his belly in the flat convergence of an oak tree’s branches. To your left, shirtless and smeared with dirt, is Fred curled on top of his cloak, also fast asleep.

“Guess they gave up on finding us,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to smooth it into place. You remember what happened last night well enough, although some parts are cloudier than others, and you don’t remember deciding to fall asleep at all. You suppose it just happened at some point. Your heart beats faster, wondering if you and Fred will be an item after this, or if he’ll want to keep it quiet, or if you just won’t talk about it. You’re not sure what you want, yet. It’s still purple pre-dawn in the countryside, the sun not quite peeking over the horizon yet.

You know you enjoyed yourself, and you adore Fred- as a friend, certainly. As something more? Maybe. You brush away your anxieties and trust that you’ll settle things when you’re less groggy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve got to get back to the house before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wake up and notice your absence. You stand up as though the ground caught fire, kicking at Fred and shouting at George to get down.

You fetch your shirt from a nearby bush, and pluck a twig from Fred’s hair as he looks up, dazed.

“God, my head,” he says, squinting up at you. “What the hell time is it?”

“Never mind that, you’ll have worse than a headache if we don’t get back to the house by like, yesterday.”

“Merlin!” George exclaims, perking up and basically falling from his perch to the ground. Recovering he stands up, taking his surroundings in. “Hold on, what the hell happened to you, Fred? Where’s your shirt?”

“No time for all that, go!” you say, shoving George in the direction you suppose the house is in. You muster as fast a pace as you can and follow him, Fred scrambling to gather his cloak and tee shirt before catching up with you. With George’s back to both of you, you exchange a goofy grin and a wave of relief runs through you. He obviously doesn’t consider last night a mistake, either. You slip your hand into his and make your way into the breaking dawn.

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withoneheadlight · 4 years ago

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oh man that one with billy convincing steve to skip work has got me thinking trophy husband billy

Oh, anon! 💗💗💗💗adkahdshdhdkhkhdYESSS. I LOVE this idea!

And I’m SURE he would be the happiest trophy husband. And also the kind that's showy. Has so much fun going over the top with it, being gossip material. All cliché-y, and Diva-like. Basically confirming what everyone thinks about him (about them) precisely because it’s the diametrically opposed to what it really is.

Doing things like:

Mowing the lawn in mini-mini-shorts. Working on his tan on their lovely backyard on the sunny Sunday Summer mornings (in that exact spot where –coincidentally– Mr. Walker, their blatantly homophobic next door neighbor, would have to get out of his own backyard with his eyes closed not to see). Being reaaaally polite with everyone around (Mr. Walker included), smiling and waving his hand like “Hiiii, Janice! How did that new face treatment go?” because they live in a Nice Place now, six years after Robert Harrington made Steve climb his way up the company ladder right from the bottom “Exactly like everyone else”, both as a punishment and a trial; after working their asses out of their shitty one-bedroom apartment, having to prove themselves in every single step (as Steve and Billy, but also as SteveandBilly), but,

Here they are.

And now Steve has a very good job, one he’s genuinely good at, one that pays for much more than hardly the bills and maybe having dinner out from time to time. And they’re happy and they are together and they fucking made it, despite barely anyone around them given two shits. Now, Steve slicks his wild hair back from Monday to Friday, wears the nicest suits, so fitting and sexy and oh so preppy Billy sometimes gets a hard-on just from seeing them all together in the dressing room, hanging in a perfectly tidy line, made of the same material of sins.

So.

He just doesn’t see the point in not treating himself every once in a while. Make Steve run late for work or not getting there at all. In no letting himself enjoy the way those tailored beauties emphasize the shape of Steve’s glorious ass. Enjoy the certainty that in a big, stylish, impeccably neat office downtown, Steve’s dad is rolling his eyes all the way back into their sockets.

And also.

In not letting himself revel in the exhilarating feeling of sliding full into this ‘hot-mess trophy hubby’ persona almost everyone around them assumes he is. Steve’s Harrington boy-toy. “That California scum. Must be real good at sucking dick to get a deal like that.” Make the rumors roll down the small streets of Hawkins and under the door of his own father’s house. Thrive in the knowledge that every time Neil Hargrove hears any or those rumors or gets even the tiiiniest glimpse of them two together, going out and about holding hands, feels like he’s about to puke his guts out thinking about what his son has ‘become’.

And aside from that, he kind of––enjoys, this trophy husband thing, to be honest. It’s been ten years since they got together now. Billy likes to keep things spiced-up. So when Steve is promoted and they move to be close to the new office, along with the house Billy buys a pair of powder pink slippers, fluffy ball of floating fur on top, and a see-through, fur-riveted robe to match. Some days he goes to his morning cockteling&tanning session in the backyard wearing only that (“Heeeey! How ya doin’ Mr. Walker?”). Kisses Steve goodbye long and filthy at the door, where everyone can see, opening the robe wide to wrap it around them both together, pressing their bodies flush, biting at his ear and whispering “Bring me a diamond when you come back, honey bunny” making Steve snort but say "You deserve a million of them, babe" making Billy melt, feel a bit like he's dripping love out of all the pores of his body, making a puddle that will permanently stain the glamorous white marble of the entryway as he waves Steve goodbye, scratches with feign indifference at the trail of fair hairs coming out his flashy-green pants to counteract the way Steve's killer smile makes him blush as hard as the first time, a whole decade away, that cold November night when he grabbed Billy by the collar of his T-shirt and said "I'm gonna kiss you. And then you're gonna punch me. And I don't care.”

It’s like a fucking fairytale. The way things were going? The most Billy expected out of life was live if fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse behind. But now, he’s got the guy of his dreams. He’s got a life he could have never dreamed of. He’s got Steve, now. Steve, who’s good, is caring. Always fights him back. Doesn’t buy any of the shit he tries to pull off. Steve, who's got lips like that moment the earth forgets about gravity when you’re riding down the hill of a rollercoaster. Got eyes that can rip out of you promises you never thought you'd make (like: I do and forever and not even death). That always see Billy when they look at him.

And now, he gets to wake up every morning before he does, put the Moka pot on the stove. Gets to see Steve’s sleepy face right after rolling out of bed, hair still untamed, pouty lips, bare feet dragging over the floor. See the way he beams, smile wide and devastatingly sweet when Billy tells him “I made you coffee, babe”. Gets Steve kissing him like a daydream, laying him over the kitchen table, fucking him before even touching breakfast with his fancy pink robe on.

And Billy thought he would have to change. Give something, to have something. Didn’t really mind. Too lucky to complain. Thought he would have to stop being mean once they got married. Play the tamed part. Thought he was going to have to behave to fit into the rich and respectable life they had landed at. But. No-No. Rich people? They’re way meaner than regular people, turns out. Billy’s just been upgraded to play for the Asshole’s World Championship Cup.

And he’s always been good at sports.

So he goes to the hair salon the afternoon before any important event. Gets a facial. Does his nails. Buys new clothes. Gets all Pretty Woman on himself just so Steve can show him off. And oh. OH. OHHH. Steve does show him off. To his dad. His mom. The whole party. Doesn’t give a fuck about whatever people keeps on whispering behind their backs. Offers his arm to Billy and Billy clings to him, keeps his chin up. He’s never been as afraid of anything as much as Steve not loving him back. He’s fearless now. Because here they are. So he lets Steve walk him through the crowd as the King he was born like. Brilliant. Proud. Letting Billy to deal with the vultures if he fancies to do that.

“Awwww. But look at you!! Anyone can tell you two are soooo in love!”

Fake boobs. Fake Louboutins. Fake Smile. Billy is Queen Bee now. He’s got this.

“Oh, no Miss Treadaway. I dearly appreciate you noticing how good my acting skills are. But it’s exactly as you said to Miss Walton the other day. I only married Stevie here because he’s got a big dick and it’s loaded. And he only married me because of how good I look on all fours. You’re too perceptive to hide it!”

But with Steve’s parents? With Steve’s parents Billy is relentlessly n i c e. When Robert Harrington won’t even look at him. When Crystal Harrington blows saccharine all over him like in a bad magic trick, deceivingly sweet when she says, “Well William. Maybe it's time you get a real job too now our Steven is running his own branch" cold war buzzing between them when Billy spreads his most honest, open smile, not a millimeter of animadversion showing “But I already have a real job, Crystal. I take care of your son. And there’s also, you know, that side thing I do of running Garage” making her fingers clutch hard around her cup of fine champagne, making Steve’s lips fight to repress a grin, eyes fond, and soft and in love. And Billy will do whatever it takes, endure whatever he has to, if what he gets in return is this: the way the narrow space keeping them apart feels like inevitability when they're about to kiss.

And everyone thought he was going after the money, when they married. Most still do. But Billy never actually asked for diamonds. Well, not for real. But he gets one anyway. Tenth anniversary and counting. It shines unreal on his finger, as much as this life he has now, as the liquid shine of Steve’s eyes when he says “They come from fire, just like you. I always thought they would fit so well. And looks like I was right” and just a few years before, Billy would have said “This is too much, I can’t take it” too afraid Steve would get the wrong impression too, too afraid to not be up to him. But now, he understands, that this is just another way Steve is trying to take care of him, to show him love. So now, Billy lets Steve spoil him as much as he wants. Take him out for dinner without reason. Hand him a sealed envelope saying, “What about showing me that ocean you love so much?” Kissing him in front of everyone, all the time, ringed fingers intertwined.

Lets him buy them a California King just to make a stupid joke, get Billy Hargrove to blush.

“We can ditch all of this, if you’re not happy. You know that, right? I don’t care about anything else as long as it’s you and I”

Billy shakes his head. “I am happy, pretty boy. Happier than I ever thought I could be” Tickles Steve’s nose with the fluffy, pink fuzz all around his robe until he sneezes and chuckles. “But I wanna know,” he says, tone pouty and tragic “It is true, what everybody says? Am I really a trophy husband?”

Steve shuffles closer, rumbles low in his throat. It’s an early Sunday morning. They’re gonna spend all time left until breakfast fucking in bed. Then cockteling&tanning together ‘till lunch. And then, after, he’s sure he can convince Steve to put on one of those gorgeous suits, let Billy grind against the soft fabric, make a mess out of him. Make him beg and squirm. Pull down his fly real slow, down on his knees. Suck him off. Eat him out. Make him moan I love yous brighter than diamonds when Billy gets inside him. But right now, Steve just kisses him silly, lowers down the covers to take a look down, at his leopard print, see-through, hideous new briefs. The cheapest ones he could find.

Because Billy’s trash. Will always be trash.

“Oh yeah, babe. You are. A fucking trophy. The best anyone could have”

But he’s posh trash now.

💎

The original post (xxxx) xD 💍

#harringrove #Steve Harrington #Billy hargrove #Billy x Steve #xask #askfic #xharringrove #the harrington-hargrove household #xaskwithoneheadlight #xfluff #xpronight

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terrainofheartfelt · 3 years ago

Note

You keep saying S6 of Gossip Girl is fake, so how would you have done it? Considering the same constraints the writers had (only 10 episodes, many characters, the loose ends in the S5 finale and the fact that it’s an ensemble show, so you can’t get someone away to deal with stuff)

It IS fake! As my dear friend Ivy (natearchie) said once, “canon is in the eye of the beholder,” and if every branch of christianity ever can cherry pick which parts of their mythology they deem to be true, then why shouldn’t I do the same with this cw soap about pretty people kissing?

Of course, the answer I want to give is that you can find my rewriting of the story following s5 on my ao3, but that shit’s long and you’re talking within the same 10 ep order so *cracks knuckles* let’s do this.

Oh but first lemme tell you of a god-tier s6 fix-it by S (strideofpride) here. It Healed me.

Disclaimer: since s6 is fake I don’t really remember all that happened in there so I am painting with broad strokes here. and I'm putting it under a read more because once yet again, my loquaciousness got the better of me.

Oh, for starters, let’s just get this out of the way now: Dan is not Gossip Girl. No one is Gossip Girl. The identity of Gossip Girl shall not be revealed. Because I think narratively-speaking I don’t need to, and because giving it to any of the GG mains would mean retconning like 99.99% of the show. So.

I’d open the season with both Serena AND Dan hiding away from New York, having cut ties with everybody. Blair is the one to track down Serena, finding her...not shacking up with a dude twice her age, but in a small town, anonymous, maybe she has a part-time job, maybe she finally got her yoga certification and is teaching classes. She’s doing the GOOP thing she pretended at doing between s2&3 and s3&4. Her unhappiness isn’t because she doesn’t belong in the world she’s run to, or that she’s pretending to be someone else (just a different shade of herself), it’s that she left at odds with so many important people in her life, and doesn’t she want to fix that? -- here let’s flashback to Blair tracking down chip whiskers whereverst he pranced off to, and the conversation that follows, and Blair realizing “this isn’t what I want” -- okay and we’re back to the Blairena show somewhere in...Maine or whatever.

Nate tracks down Dan still living in Italy - Georgina fucked off halfway through the summer when he gave up writing. He’s just been a barista ever since. Nate gives him a variation of the “you can’t run away when things get hard” speech, and Dan throws all the drafts of Outside (was that the name? idk) in Nate’s face. Dan’s hiding because he’s too ashamed to come back. Because he wrote this. And Nate points out: but you stopped, you’re not publishing it.

The episode ends with GG blasts that note Serena & Dan’s respective returns to NYC.

Okay here’s the broad brushstrokes coming in:

Rather than have Nate be the one with the Howard-esque scandal, let’s make it Chip. Hell, throw his resurrected dad in there too. I don’t support the prison system but I do love locking up fictional criminal rich white men. And let’s be real, any attempted coup chip would make to take his dad’s company would rely heavily on white collar crime (I think it’s nevertothethird’s fic that rightfully points out that chip barely got a high school diploma, what the fuck is he doing running a company).

I’d gut a lot of the extraneous side character tomfoolery, get Ivy out of there, get wvdw out of there, they are barely relevant as it is. Instead I would center the episodes around the core four, and their friendships with each other, and where they are going in life.

And to that point, with such a limited timeframe to work with, I don’t think I’d have any endgame pairings at all. Except Lily/Rufus. They stay married. Because I said so. (maybe the hijinks that put the derena friendship back on track is pulling off another parent trap). I’d have Dan and Serena and Blair and Nate all be friends with one another, and maybe there’s some backsliding (this is a CW show after all) or hey, maybe let’s give the Gays what they want and have a blairena and/or date hookup, just for funsies. But I think any of that tomfoolery would still be brought back to, we need to just be friends/ I need us to just be friends right now.

And I’d end the series on that friendship, with them having one last night in New York before they all go their separate ways. They are all getting out. Serena is moving to LA, because she realized that is where she’s been the happiest in the past six years, but this time, she is leaving on good terms, and her friends and family know where to find her. Blair is moving to Paris for a new job at a fashion publication (isn’t this how Friends ends??? S? Only nobody stops Blair from getting on the plane, she and her people know it’s the best thing for her). Dan is going to graduate school in the midwest (I think it was waldorfhistoria who told me he does this in the books, let’s bring in that energy!), because he wants to be a writer again, he just needs some better role models than noah goddamn shapiro. Nate, new college graduate, unemployed, is about to set off on an around-the-world sailing trip. He’s been plotting it for months, and he’s very excited. He’s not thinking too far ahead in the future, but that’s okay.

Okay okay okay I will go ahead and do a time-jump. Let’s have it be about the same length as the show one, which was what - ten years after the series began? Maybe a little longer? Something is happening to bring the gang back together: maybe it’s a Constance/St. Jude’s reunion, maybe Rufus and Lily are renewing their vows, idk, it’s something.

Serena is working her way up the ranks of a production company in LA, she’s happy and healthy and loving her life, maybe she’s doing some writing of her own. Blair is flying in from Paris, after closing another fabulous coverage of fashion week, she’s a high-ranking editor now, near the top of the ladder, and loving every second of it. Let’s allude to Jenny and Eric, too. Jenny, celebrating success with the debut of her own label (with rave reviews from Blair’s publication, and Eric, who is helping direct and provide counsel to a nonprofit centered around LGBTQA+ youth with…*drumroll*...Nathaniel Archibald. And, last but certainly not least, Daniel Humphrey, visiting NYC from Chicago to promote his new novel (his 3rd!), hitting the top of the NYT bestseller list (because he deserves it!)

They all keep in touch to varying degrees, some closer than others. Serena and Nate are too on the move to really keep up, but they make a catch-up coffee not-date which turns into lunch which turns into dinner which turns into drinks and they show up to this party as each other’s date.

Dan and Blair really only keep track via instagram, never really talking to each other directly, though he did personally congratulate her on each of her promotions, and she’s sent him a lengthy and brutally thorough review of each thing he’s published in the last few years. But they both go to this aforementioned vague event (it’s late I’m tired just go with it), arriving separately, and then at some point, while they’re catching up with other people, they spot each other, and lock eyes across the crowded room.

Roll credits.

#asks #anon #I am very sleepy so idk if this is anything but I hope y'all like it #i really can't get away with saying anything anymore the anons call my bluffs #this is a very long post so I didn't want to bother anyone by tagging you but I love you all <3 #idk how to tag this #because it's not a fic #but it's not NOT a fic #fuck it #liz is a writer i guess #for real though read S's fic it is so good #and I will say #with deep affection for you anon #that let us not pretend that the series ended Like That because the writers were stretched for time #gossip!dan...the chair endgame being what it was...torpedoing rufly to make way for a slapdash derena redux...they didn't have to do that #*whispers* it's bad writing #to be fair i'm not a tv writer so idk how it works #no technique just vibes #that's my writing style #dair #serenate #gg au

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 4 years ago

Text

just full on bodies you with a semi NEW FIC JUST DROPPED BABES

we are leaving cute high school world and entering pain town. this story will have mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourselves and don't engage if that sort of content is triggering to you. (be nice to yourselves, i love you)

The worst year of his life starts out the same as so many good days, it almost makes him dizzy to think back on. He feels, later, that a start to this much torment, this painful, should have begun completely fucking miserable, but it had been just any other day. It starts the same way so many days before it starts. His eyes open. He’s in his bedroom, in his bed, like normal. He’s staring up at his black ceiling, wrapped up in his bedspread. His phone buzzes, and he groans, reaches for it, scans messages. A good morning from Barbara, an unread goodnight from Adam, a text from that talent agency that there was something they could use his voice for. He throws back his blankets, rubs sleep from his eyes, and dresses.

In high school his uniform had been an oversized striped hoodie, but for his birthday a few years ago, Charles had bought him several nice dress pants, suit jackets, and collared shirts, and he’d sort of settled into that as his new everyday. He likes how he looks, because this shit is expensive, custom, made to fit his more generous frame, and both his partners always say he looks handsome in a jacket and tie. (Sometimes Barbara yanks him around by the tie. Sometimes Adam snaps his suspenders.) And besides, his dad had taken his preferences into consideration, because all the pieces he’d been gifted had that pattern he was drawn to, thick black and white stripes that absolutely stand out in a crowd. He dresses quickly, throws on his suit jacket over his pinstriped shirt. He adjusts his tie, and gives a grin. Too many teeth, too sharp, and he waves a hand in front of his mouth, and tries again. Human teeth. There we go, B-Man. He lifts his legs, not especially in the mood to walk, and begins to make his way downstairs, for breakfast. He passes by Lydia’s room, and considers harassing his sister, but he remembers how bad he needed his Saturday sleep-ins at fifteen, and takes pity on her, floating past her door silently.

His father, always an early riser, is already in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and Betelgeuse lets his feet hit the floor, so that his heeled boots clack against the kitchen tile.

Charles knows the sound, doesn’t even turn around. “Morning, BJ. Any plans for today?”

His relaxed, not exactly actively working lifestyle is not his dad’s favorite, but he’s got a long time, a lot longer than any other person, to work a job. He's just enjoying the time he gets with all his favorite breathers, before he doesn’t have it anymore. At least, that’s always been his excuse. It's not that he can't find work, or that he’s unhirable to a normal job, it’s that he’s trying to enjoy life. Obviously.

But there's good news this morning.

“Got a text from th’ agency. Some voice work,” he grunts. His insanely gravely voice is not always in high demand, but it's been getting some attention lately, mostly because the last commercial he did voice over for, he had to sing, and the request for more of that has been promising. The big goal is some acting gig, on stage, preferably, but he’d take TV, too. He loves the attention, he loves the rush, he loves entertaining. Unfortunately he’s got a demonic aura that makes breathers nervous on principle. He knows if he could just get a break, he’d have a lot to give… but he’s maybe not working on getting that break as hard as he could be.

“Very nice,” Charles finally turns, and smiles, clearly approving. He sets a cup of coffee in front of his son, and BJ glances at it. “Be a pal and wake your mother up?” “This early? On a Saturday?” He squints. “You tryna take me out via Emily attack?” “We’ve got that check up to go to,” Charles says. “I don’t want to be late.”

He shrugs, takes the cup, and vanishes from sight, appearing upstairs, next to his mother. Emily is still wrapped in the bedsheets, snoring lightly, but he knows the trick to rousing her. The coffee cup is waved around her nose, allowing the aroma to hit her senses, and, eyes still closed, she reaches for it. He pulls the cup back.

“Come on, ma,” he scratches gently at her scalp. “Time to get up.” “Coffeeeee,” she groans, reaching at it blindly again, and he grins, and walks backwards, setting the coffee on the dresser, across the room. “Coffee’s over here, Deetzy,” he tells her, and she finally cracks an eye open, and groans. “Evil. Evil son.” “Yup,” he agrees, easily. “Come on. Chuck says you got some appointments to keep.” His mother groans, and kicks back the sheets, before standing.

He’d been twelve, and herself only about thirty when she’d found him, and now, ten years later, at 40, her age is showing, a little. She’s been growing in gray hair for the past few years, and it hasn’t taken over her natural sunshine yellow, but it’s becoming a bit more noticeable, and the slight lines forming around her mouth and eyes are a new addition to her features. Chuck’s aging in much the same way, but with fewer laugh lines. The hair at his father’s temples is going gray, and if he really looks, he can see the beginnings of salt and pepper in his father’s beard. He doesn’t like looking for it, though, and doesn't like the feeling gnawing in his guts at seeing his parents age. If he had his way, they’d stay frozen in time, the way he probably will. Demons don’t age, past a certain point, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be hitting it, soon enough.

He watches his mother shuffle across the floor, and claim her prize of coffee. She takes a long sip, and then groans. “I don’t want to go to the doctor,” she complains to him, and he pats her shoulder. “I know, ma,” he gives her a very sympathetic smile. “But you gotta. Or Chuckles will throw a fit. It’s just a check up, right? No biggie.” She rubs at her temple, and winces. “Getting old sucks,” she tells him. “I’ve been having the worst headaches, recently.”

When they make it back downstairs, Chuck's got breakfast going, and Lydia is sipping her own coffee. Black, like her heart, she always says. He passes her by and ruffles that mop of long blonde hair. “Beetle breath,” she greets him, as he takes a plate from Charles, and sits to eat.

The voice over work isn't as big a deal as he was hoping. He adjusts his tie, fiddles with the collar of his pinstripe dress shirt, and steps out of the booth. “Fuckin’ peanuts,” he complains, and his agent just shrugs. “Gotta start small, BJ. We need someone to do some crooning for this other comercial, some car sale, or something. You feel like playing Sinatra for a bit?”

Not especially, but he does it anyway, and then meets Adam and Barbara for lunch. Adam’s taking classes for business management, and he’s just about done. He wants to take over his grandpa’s hardware store, outside of the city. Way outside, actually, in some little town in Connecticut. They’ve got shared plans, shared dreams, and all of it hinges on this little store in this little town. BJ isn’t too worried. His boyfriend’s hobbies come and go, but Adam really, really enjoys woodworking, and getting to own a place like that sounds like getting to own his own playground.

Barbara, meanwhile, is stuck in clerical work, which she finds mind numbingly dull, but it's a steady paycheck, and it’s afforded her a ticket out of her dad’s place, so that’s something. She and Adam share a tiny studio apartment in Queens, and for all the time Betelgeuse spends there, he might as well live there, too. But three people in a studio isn’t any of their idea of a good time. Speaking of…

“I was on zillow, today,” Adam starts, and he and Barbara lean over with varying degrees of interest, as Adam shows them his phone. It’s a house, predictably, but a nice one. Old fashioned, and a little creeping looking. He likes it.

“She’s a bit of a fixer upper,” he says, admiring the house. “But the price is right, and look at all this character. Classic Queen Anne, with the original crown molding! Tons of space, lots of room for the three of us.” “Maybe a forth,” Barbara smiles brightly, and he matches her enthusiasm. She’s wanted to be a mom since he’s known her, six pretty amazing years, and while a lot has changed in that time, her maternal desire is as strong as ever.

“Maybe a fifth,” BJ grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she flushes. “One from each of my boys.” She agrees, and she reaches across the table, for his hand, which he gives her. Adam takes her other hand, and they’re lost in that fantasy for a moment. He’s not actually sure he can give her what she wants, since he’s not exactly human, but Adam can, at least. And he gets to be part of it. Goddamn, he’s lucky.

“So? Tell us about this commercial you just did!” Adam smiles at him.

“S’not a big deal, just some radio ad,” He tells them, but he’s flattered that they’re always overly enthusiastic about his bit parts. “I heard you on the radio in the office, a few days ago!” Barbara remembers. “My coworkers couldn’t believe that was your real voice! You make such a good villain.” Of course he does. He keeps the smile on, because he knows Babs, knows that she means it in the sweetest, most lovey dovey way possible, but he’s never going to play the hero, because no hero sounds like a demon. He can’t get in his head about this, not right now. Not when the weather’s so nice, and he’s sitting across from the people he loves the most.

“I am the villain, babes,” he grins at her, and stands, leaning over to kiss and rub his stubble into her neck, until laughing, she pushes him away.

“Maybe you should come to the office with me, tomorrow,” Chuck says, over dinner. BJ resists the urge to stab himself through the eye with his fork. “M’not that into real estate, pop,” he tells him, and Emily smiles. “You know BJ’s an artist.” “I just think if he gave it a try,” Charles says, looking to his wife. “That he’d excel at it. I mean, good lord, all real estate is, is making deals and fast talking. He’s built for that sort of thing.” Betelgeuse grimaces. “But then I’d have to spend any amount of time around your coworkers, an’ those other big money creeps.” “Those big money creeps write the checks that paid for this house, BJ,” Chuck reminds him.

“I’ll be sure to send Maxie Dean a fruit basket.”

“Skip the fruit, just send that freak ass a basket of snakes,” Lydia says, and he grins. “Do not do that.” “Psh. Whatever, dad,” he pitches his voice into a teenage whine, and his father gives a dry smile in return. “So, that doctor appointment?” Lydia looks to Emily, and their mother smiles. “Got some scans done, no biggie. Checkups just suck. I’ve been having those migraines, recently, but the doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

He’s staring down at his mother, in hospice, and those words echo around his mind. No big deal. The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Just a couple migraines. Just some dizziness. Just some nausea. Just a tumor. Just another breather’s life, coming to an end.

Her bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn. He’s sitting to her left, Lydia dozing to her right, and Emily is sleeping, dozing lightly. Chuck’s talking to the nurse in the hall. The last twelve months are a blur. He can’t remember individual days, can only remember when those test results came back. He remembers, vaguely, holding her hand during treatments. But there’s nothing any breather alive can do about the tumor, about the placement of it. At least she’s at home, at least she’s laying in her own bed. At least she’s not stuck in the hospital. Her sun colored hair is gone. Her smile is gone. That mischievous glint in her eyes is gone. All Emily does is sleep. All they can do is wait. read the rest of this chapter, plus the second one i couldn't help but post, over here, on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/32243065/chapters/79911316

#beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice the musical #emily deetz #lydia deetz #goldenbeetle #beetlelands fic #legitimately very excited i finally get to post this!!#my writing #beetlejuice

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

Note

I'm not sure if you've already written something like this, but what about Spy showing Sniper his face for the first time?

Here it is!

"Mh…"

"Mornin' gorgeous."

Spy smiled as he felt Sniper's lips on his back, peppering kisses there. The taller man was spooning him, his hands slid along the Frenchman's slim silhouette, on his pyjamas.

"Sniper…"

"Let me just…" The Aussie's hands had laced up to Spy's collar. He undid the first few buttons before he pulled down the shirt, freeing Spy's shoulders to kiss them. His rough hands touched the porcelain white skin and his lips gently grazed it, slowly melting from here to there. Spy lowered his head and closed his eyes, feeling Sniper on his back now. Their legs slid against each other's, under the blanket.

"S-Sniper…"

"Don't worry, I won't remove it." He whispered back, pushing the edges of the mask up to reach further up Spy's back. He kissed and nipped, gently. "Gosh, you're so soft."

Spy smiled, his eyes still closed, and he bit his lip.

"You of all people should know it by now." He answered before he heard Sniper chuckle behind him.

"Spook?"

"Oui?"

"Will you let me see your face one day?"

Spy opened his eyes and frowned.

"I… Do not know." He rolled to face Sniper and the Aussie slid his hands to the Frenchman's masked face.

"I'm sure you look gorgeous under that thing."

"Merci, but…" Spy averted his gaze. "I do not think it is a good idea. Not at all."

"Oh, ok… I-I mean we're alone here, the doors are closed and all, no one else would see you."

"It is not about that." Spy answered.

"What is it, then?"

"A lot of things." He buried his face in Sniper's chest. "One of them is that you will realise that I am far older than you are, far more grey, tired and beaten up by life."

"No you're not. And even if you were, I couldn't care less."

"Sniper, I… I am not the arrogant womanizer that people see in me."

"I know, you also like men."

"That is not what I meant."

"Oh?"

Spy frowned harder and sighed.

"I cannot show you my face, I am sorry."

"It's… Ok, alright. I don't really get it but it's not worth fightin' over."

Spy raised his eyes to his lover.

"What?"

"All I'm sayin' is that well, I'd love to see you entirely but it's fine. I guess we can go on like that."

"You have seen so much more about me, Sniper, I have lain naked in front and under you before."

"I know but… It's odd that in your head you should hide your face more than your… y'know."

"Well, people can recognise me with my face, not with what I have between my legs."

"Yeah, I get it but… Still, a bit of a shame, I think."

Sniper removed his hands from Spy's face and looked away. Silence fell in the Frenchman's room. The only noise was the tireless ticks and tocks of the alarm clock on the night table.

"I am superstitious." Spy's voice slashed the silence.

"What?"

"I am superstitious." Spy repeated.

“What’s it got to do with what we were talkin’ about?”

“Everything.”

“Spook, you make no sense.”

“Of course, I do.” Spy closed his eyes out of annoyance. "You just do not understand."

"Tell me."

Spy laid his head on Sniper's chest and took his large hand in both of his.

"I thought it was only stories but I now fully believe it. Each time that I show my face to a person that is dear to my heart, they… They go away."

Sniper's eyebrows jumped.

"What?"

"It is a curse. Anyone I have shown my face to ends up leaving me, either just moving on away from me, or worse." Spy explained before he sat up on the bed, next to his lover. Sniper sat up too and laced an arm around Spy.

"So you always wear it now, because you're scared it'll happen again?"

"I remove it if I do not care about the person my heart chose."

And Sniper understood that if Spy kept his mask on at all times with him, it was because the Aussie counted an awful lot to him.

"I… Hold on, you say that people went away as if they have left you in the past. How the hell could they leave you?"

Spy lowered his head and sighed.

"Because at some point, they discover who I am and… and it is better that way." Spy freed himself from his lover and stood up. He slipped on his dressing gown and locked himself up in his bathroom.

Sniper watched him move away and sighed. He both found Spy's words ridiculous and heart-breaking. He wished he could do something to help. He scratched his naked chest and ruffled his hair on his head.

Well, he should get up and make some coffee. That would give Spy some time to feel better maybe.

Sniper got to his feet and grabbed his shirt that he put on, but kept open. He went to Spy's kitchen and got the cafetiere ready. He put two mugs next to it and started to gather the toasts and butter, from the fridge. He turned the radio on and let the chatter occupy his thoughts.

When the coffee was ready and the smell gently floated in the Frenchman's suite, Sniper readied a pan and broke a couple of eggs in a bowl. He knew that Spy liked an omelette in the morning, so he got to work. After beating the eggs vigorously, he went to the fridge to take that goat cheese that his lover liked so much and added some to the mix before spreading it on the oiled pan.

Sniper watched as the liquid eggs hardened while the goat cheese melted. Suddenly, the light switched off in the kitchen. He raised his head to the bulb and headed to the switch when a hand stopped his wrist.

"Non, please."

"What?"

"Don't turn the light on." Spy hugged his lover, and Sniper's pupils retracted to a dot as his eyes snapped wide. He didn't feel the fabric of Spy's mask on his chest, no. He felt Spy's skin, and even some of his hair. "Close your eyes."

Sniper obeyed and felt Spy move away from him.

"I will blindfold you."

"My eyes are closed, Spook."

"I don't want to risk it." Spy answered as he turned around Sniper, who felt a smooth cloth over his eyes. Spy was behind him tying the cloth. "Now…" He took Sniper's hands and stuck them on his face, one on each of his cheeks.

The Aussie's eyebrows rose as he touched a face he wished he could do more than touch. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and tried to project the image of what his curious digits were discovering.

Eyebrows, eyelids, yeah, he knew those. Gosh, Sniper could feel the lines at the corner of Spy's eyes. He loved those. Whenever he smiled, they smiled with him. And the Aussie had the same too…

Nose, mouth but oh my God, what was that…? Spy's hair… Rather short on the sides and behind his head as well, longer on top. So soft and straight, it flowed between Sniper's fingers like threads of silk.

His thumbs brushed Spy's forehead, his eyebrows and down his temples, his naked cheeks to end on his lover's lips. They were pursed up in a smile.

"I-your hair feels amazin'."

"Merci. It is grey at the front here…" Spy took Sniper's hand and guided him. "And on the temples, here and here. The rest struggles to stay black."

"Gosh…" Sniper bit his lip. "I wish I could see it… And see you really. It's hard to imagine it all with just my hands touchin' you."

"I am sorry. I wish I could but…"

"Hey, it's fine. It's ok."

Spy put his hands flat on Sniper's, which were sandwiching his face.

"I… I cannot afford to lose you. I know it is egotistic, but non. Y-you are… non."

"Hey…?"

"I would rather lie to you about my face and live with the guilt of lying to you continuously, rather than risk losing you."

"Love… I… I don't want to force you and I'm not forcin' you but you know I'm not gonna leave you. You know I don't care about what you look like, you could look horrible and I'd still stay, cause I don't just like you for your face. I just… You're such a good bloke, and a pleasure to live with."

"Sniper, I have heard these words a million times before and yet…"

"Mundy. Name's Mundy. I have only my parents, no siblings. They… They adopted me. They own a little farm in the Outback, nothin' big, just enough to pay the bills and keep them busy. I… When I was a kid, I was bad at school and dropped it as soon as I could. Been workin' with huntin' contracts ever since because Dad had shown me how to and there was nothing else I was half-decent at."

Spy frowned.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want you to understand that I… I-I… I don't just stay with you to spend the nights and all… It's… What do I need to do for you to get it? I… I bloody love you!" Mundy burst out. "I won't leave you, I… If I could I'd stay with you forever!"

"If you could?" Spy asked.

"If… If… I was never the one who left anyone. I was always the one who got dumped."

"Why?"

"Because people don't see themselves buildin' anything with me! I'm a weirdo who lives in a van, I don't have a house or a flat of my own, my address is still my parents'. It's-it's not like I have a normal job and a normal life and…" Sniper pulled Spy's head against his chest and held him close. "You're one of the very few blokes I really feel like… Like we can be a bit more than just what we are. I mean… It makes so much sense. No one gets it, you and me, but-but I feel it. I feel comfy with you, like you've always been with me and… Spook, please… What do I need to do for you to believe me?"

Silence fell for a while and their embrace was intense.

"I would love to believe you." The Frenchman said and felt one of Sniper's hands in his hair, his fingers between his locks and pressing him against his bare chest.

"Why don't you?"

"I am scared… Mundy."

"Don't be. I'm here." He bent his head down to kiss Spy's hair. "Gosh, even your hair smells of you."

"Thank you."

"Spook…"

"Lucien." Spy answered, nuzzling in his lover's chest. "My name is Lucien. My parents left this world a long time ago and I have no other family left. My mother used to be a dressmaker, and my father, a lawyer. They lived in the South-West of France, where I was born and raised, under the sun, and between green and red grapes."

"Why're you tellin' me all this now?"

"Because I am more scared than ever."

"Why? I got you here, you're in my arms, nothin's gonna get to you."

"Oui but… Hold on."

Lucien pushed himself away from his lover's embrace and Mundy felt the cloth around his eyes go.

"C-can I open my eyes? You put your mask back?"

"Oui." Lucien flipped the switch to turn the lights on.

"Gosh, Spook!" Mundy slapped his hands on his face as soon as he realised that his lover had lied and he hadn't put his mask back on. "Bugger I nearly saw you!"

"Please…" Sniper felt his lover's hands on his wrists, pulling them down.

"Spook…"

"Lucien." Spy corrected him and as he removed Sniper's hands from his face, he saw that the Aussie had kept his eyes closed.

"But you said you didn't like it if I saw you."

"I have changed my mind."

"Why?" Mundy continued to speak with closed eyes.

"Because of what you said."

Mundy felt his lover's hands on his naked chest. He opened his eyes.

"Oh bloody hell… Look at you… You're…"

His hands immediately went back to Lucien's face and touched again, stroking, brushing, grazing, his eyes darted left, right, up and down.

"My God… H-how…?"

Lucien tried smiling, but not too much. He was very self conscious about his age showing in the million wrinkles on his face when he smiled.

"What do you think - mh?!"

Spy was surprised mid-sentence by his lover's lips. And the intensity, the force with which he was pulling his body and his hair, his very lips too into the kiss. The Frenchman almost felt his feet take off of the ground.

"What was that about?" He asked, although being as breathless as his lover.

"How could you ever think you're too old or ugly or whatever? You look better than in my dreams, you look… Y-you… I-I don't know what the word is, or even if the word exists or-or maybe there's a sentence or maybe an expression? Bloody hell, what am I sayin?!" Mundy's voice was high-pitched and broken, he was out of air and stopped to catch his breath for a while. "You're gorgeous, you're so beautiful, you're… How could people leave you after seein' your face, you look bloody fantastic." Mundy pulled his lover close and hugged him all over, ending with his cheek on top of Lucien's head.

"Mundy…?"

The Aussie rolled his eyes and closed them in bliss, scratching his lover's head as he would a cat.

"Say my name with that accent once more and we're gonna skip breakfast to go straight for lunch." He growled.

"Mundy?"

"Gosh…"

"May we still have breakfast?"

"Maybe."

Both smiled and Mundy kissed his lover on the head.

"Lucien?"

"Oui?"

"Why did you change your mind?"

Lucien raised his eyes to his lover.

"I told you, because of what you said."

"What did I say?"

The Frenchman smiled and blushed. This time, Mundy could see it so clearly that he couldn't help but stare, and his own cheeks turned pink.

"You said that you loved me." Lucien answered.

"Yeah, and I do."

Their smiles widened.

"It is the first time you tell me this."

"Yeah, it's hard to say."

"Indeed, it is." Their eyes met and lingered. "I love you too, Mundy."

"Alright, you looked for it…" The Aussie dragged his lover out of the kitchen.

"What-? Where-?"

"Bedroom, now. Breakfast in bed…"

"What?" Lucien asked as he was led to the bed.

"C'mere…" The Aussie pushed his lover deeper in the sheets.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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