#my room is awful too like damn.. am i 16 again or what

[paponela]

unfortunately the consequences of drawing yang xiao long 30 times in a week and neglecting every other aspect of my life are catching up...

[sesamestreep]

New Taylor Swift prompts! 16, Matt/Foggy

16. I’ve missed you all this time (from this prompt list) I don't know what this is, but it's technically set in the 60s, even though I did not make that explicitly clear anywhere in the text and it serves no purpose beyond just...vibes. I mostly just wanted to write silly new year’s fic, don’t worry about historical accuracy or world-building, everyone be cool! happy 2024, you silly and sultry geese! on ao3 here 🥂✨

Matt can still hear the noise of the party, barely dampened even when he's several rooms removed. He’d be able to hear it from the lobby of the building, truth be told, but here he can still make out conversations without having to focus that hard. He tries to direct his senses somewhere else—somewhere with less overlapping chatter and clinking glasses and shuffling feet over plush carpets—and breathe deep, so that maybe he can regain some equilibrium and hopefully go back to the party in a few minutes and act normal. It’s almost midnight, after all, and who goes to a New Year’s Eve party just to ditch out before midnight?

“Matthew Augustus Murdock,” a voice calls out from the far end of the paneled hallway.

“Not my middle name,” Matt says, smiling, “as you already know.”

“But wouldn’t it be better if it was?” Foggy asks, as he slides down to sit next to Matt. 

“Yes, I imagine I’d have lived a much easier and more successful life, if only my middle name was…what was it again?”

“Albert,” Foggy says, “or something. Who cares?”

“Good point,” Matt says, pressing his shoulder into Foggy’s happily. “How’d you find me?”

“I used the one and only superpower God graced me with: I’m like a homing pigeon for you specifically. I always know where to find you. It’s eerie, frankly, and damned useless, but—“

“Not to me,” Matt interjects, too readily. “I mean, for what it’s worth.”

Foggy nods, his overly long hair that he keeps meaning to get cut rasping over his shirt's stiff collar as he does. “That’s a good point.”

“I make those occasionally.”

“Occasionally,” Foggy repeats in a comically shrill, tiny voice, like he’s doing an impression of a cartoon mouse, for whatever reason. He’s a little drunk, clearly, which Matt could tell from the way he’s talking and the way he’s moving and the way he smells and, well, that’s probably enough evidence. 

“If I’m ever in trouble, I know who to call,” Matt says, which is maybe too honest, but Foggy doesn’t have to know that.

“You wouldn’t even have to call, Matt,” Foggy replies, solemnly grasping his shoulder. “If you’re ever in trouble, I’ll know and I’ll come running.”

“I would pay real money to see you actually run anywhere.”

“You’d have to, my man. I imagine it would take a massive breakthrough in science for you to see anything at all, and those things tend to cost a pretty penny,” Foggy says, grandly. “And also, on a much more serious note, go fuck yourself.”

Matt laughs and collapses against Foggy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just know how much you hate running.”

“Which means you’ve entirely missed the inherent capital-R romanticism of me offering to do it for you! Classic Murdock. Absolute philistine behavior. I should expect it by now.”

“Your gallantry is wasted on me,” Matt agrees, still doing that thing of being too honest.

“I know,” Foggy sighs, theatrically, “and yet, here I am.”

“Why are you here, anyway?”

“Missed you, came looking. Same as ever.”

“Aw,” Matt says, leaning into his side even more. “You’re right, I really don’t deserve you.”

“I never said that. You said that,” Foggy says, poking him. “But anyway, I lied and the real answer to your question is that I got tired of girls coming up to me and asking where my handsome friend had got to.”

Matt knows two things with a decent degree of certainty: Foggy hadn’t been lying when he gave his first answer (Matt would have heard it in his heartbeat and likely noticed any other number of tells that Foggy has when he does lie, besides) and that no one would have had to ask him to go looking for Matt after he disappeared. His joke about homing pigeon-like tendencies is more truthful than either of them would like to acknowledge. When Matt goes missing—as he very frequently does at these types of things—Foggy always comes to find him. Matt’s been doing this since way before he met Foggy—having overly heightened senses does not make crowded social functions more manageable in general—but he can probably admit that he does it more now that he knows someone will come looking for him.

He also knows that girls like Foggy a lot more than Foggy thinks they do. He’s always talking about how girls seek him out to get in with Matt, but Matt doesn’t really believe that. There have been a few girls, here and there, certainly enough that Foggy’s right to be a little paranoid about it, who have turned their sights from Foggy to Matt, which on top of being unkind is just bad business sense. Anyone with a brain in their head would see that Foggy’s the better option of the two of them. And Matt’s got plenty of flaws, but he’d certainly never take up with anyone who hurt his best friend, so it doesn’t work out the way anyone hopes it will, anyway, when they do. Still, he's sure Foggy could have found a nice girl to keep him entertained until Matt got back to the party, if he put his mind to it, and that maybe he'd just been looking for an excuse to duck out himself when someone asked about Matt.

“This is where I got to,” Matt says, with a slightly pathetic shrug.

“Who says I meant you?” Foggy asks, absently. “I have other friends that are handsomer than you!”

“Not only do you not have a single handsomer friend in all the world,” Matt says, belatedly unsure if ‘handsomer’ is even a word, but otherwise too confident to turn back, “you don’t even have another friend at this party.”

“I’m exceedingly charming, Matthew,” Foggy over-enunciates. “Everyone at this party is my new best friend.”

Matt loops his arm through Foggy’s and leans his head back against the wall. “Sounds like I’ve got a lot of competition.”

“You’re not having fun?” Foggy asks, the change of topic so sudden and his tone so unexpectedly serious that Matt has a brief moment of confusion that he means with this joke they’ve got going. It takes a second to realize he means at the party in general.

“It’s fancy.”

“Too fancy, you mean…”

“You know I don’t go in for all this stuff,” Matt says, shrugging. 

“Like I do, you mean?” Foggy asks, lightly, even though Matt can feel him warming with embarrassment. 

“Like I used to,” Matt clarifies, and trusts his meaning to be clear.

“Right,” Foggy says, and the tone in his voice is the one he uses exclusively when he refers to Matt’s ex-girlfriend from junior year who almost caused him to drop out. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

“You can head back. Really, I don’t mind. I just need a few more minutes.”

“No, you’re right. It’s…a bit stuffy, isn’t it?” Foggy muses. “I mean, I didn’t even know people still had apartments like this, outside of, well, the Rockefellers.” 

The apartment belongs to the parents of one of their friends from law school and the only reason they have free rein over the place is because the parents are vacationing in Aspen with friends. Even without being able to see it, Matt can tell it’s a swanky place. The rug he’s currently sitting on is so plush that he can basically sink his entire hand into it. Every table he passed on his way to this hiding place smelled so strongly of Pine-Sol that there has to be a maid on staff, if not a team of them. He’s fairly certain this random hallway he discovered is actually a back passage to the kitchens, so the servants don’t have to be seen coming and going. He's not sure if he asked their host about it that they'd even know it existed. And Matt’s shoes, as well as most of his clothes, are secondhand.

“You were having fun until I made you feel bad,” Matt says, tucking his chin onto Foggy’s shoulder and trying to look contrite.

“No, I mean—I like having you around, Matt. You keep me honest,” Foggy laughs. “Two and a half years of law school, four years at an Ivy before that, I think I’ve just made peace with having to go to parties in uncomfortable clothes and to make conversation with people I don’t really like. I don’t think I’d call it fun, but it’s a social life of some kind, I suppose.”

“We should have gone to Josie’s,” Matt says, holding onto him too tightly, even with the excuse of a few drinks.

Foggy snorts, thinking of the beloved dive bar they sneak off to in Hell’s Kitchen whenever they can, whenever they’re home. It’s only a matter of blocks to get there, but sometimes, at school, it feels farther away than all that.

“I don’t dare imagine the caliber of our prospects for a kiss at midnight there,” Foggy says, with an exaggerated shudder.

“Can’t be any worse than our prospects here,” Matt replies. 

Foggy whistles, low, under his breath. “You’re going to be disappointing a lot of nice girls with that kind of talk, Murdock!”

“Better to disappoint them now than later,” Matt says, fully burying his face in Foggy’s shoulder now. He gets like this when he drinks. Foggy's used to it.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t do the whole ‘going steady’ thing anymore,” Foggy says, leaning in conspiratorially. “You’re too damaged and that means you’re never going to get married, so you’d rather not lead anyone on.”

“You say that like it’s not true,” Matt whispers back.

“It isn’t true, you moron!” Foggy laughs. “One day, some beautiful girl is going to turn your head so quick, you’ll have neck problems for the rest of your life!”

“Sounds uncomfortable,” Matt says.

“And I’ll be there,” Foggy continues, like Matt didn’t even speak, “laughing.”

“Well, as long as you’ll be there, Foggy.”

“Did I mention you’re a moron?”

“Yes. A few times now, in fact.”

“Then, I’ve done my duty.”

“And what about you?” Matt asks. “When’s somebody going to turn your head?”

“Somebody turns my head every goddamn day, it feels like,” Foggy grumbles. “The problem isn’t my head. It’s everybody else’s.”

“There’s plenty of girls who’d be more than happy to trap you in matrimony.”

“Hmm, well, I’m sure that’s true enough,” Foggy replies, thoughtfully. “I guess it’s more about finding someone you wouldn’t mind being trapped with.”

“And you haven’t found her yet, I take it?”

“No,” Foggy says, sadly. The girl he dated for most of their sophomore year—the one everyone had been certain Foggy was going to end up marrying—had just gotten engaged last month. Foggy still wasn’t entirely over it, Matt was pretty sure.

“And you’re certain she’s not here?” Matt asks, encouragingly.

“Unlikely,” Foggy says. “None of the girls here would be caught dead with me in the daylight. One of them might be unscrupulous enough to let me kiss her at midnight, though.”

“So, go back,” Matt replies. “Find the girl in that room with the lowest standards and lay one on her!”

“I will if you will.”

“I don’t know this for sure, but I do have serious doubts that any girl in the room will let the both of us kiss her at midnight.”

“I meant, you should—you know what I meant!” Foggy exclaims, embarrassed again. 

“I was trying to be funny!”

“‘Trying’ being the operative word there…”

Matt sighs. “What’s the point of kissing someone at midnight when there’s almost no chance of seeing them ever again after tonight?”

“You’ve just described the point yourself! It’s just for fun, to start the year off right! There’s no pressure!” Foggy says, disbelieving. "What’s gotten into you? I thought zero expectations romance was your specialty!”

“Maybe I’m just not a New Year's kind of guy.”

Foggy hums thoughtfully. “Can I tell you my theory?”

“Your theory? About what?”

“About you, and New Year's, and all of that.”

“Oh. Sure. Go ahead.”

“I think you’re afraid,” Foggy says.

“Afraid?” Matt asks. “Of…New Year’s Eve?”

“You don’t want to participate in these silly little rituals, like kissing someone at midnight, because you’re secretly terrified that something good is going to happen to you, and then you won’t know what to do with yourself.”

“Really, Foggy. Be serious!”

“I am serious,” Foggy replies, casually. “You’re scared of being hit over the head with it again.”

“Hit over the head with what?”

“Love,” Foggy says, simply. “You felt it once and it nearly derailed your whole life, so now you avoid any situation where you might accidentally meet someone interesting or have more feelings than you’ve carefully rationed out for yourself for that particular day.”

Matt swallows, feeling utterly exposed. It’s not something he would have been able to say for himself an hour ago, but the words feel true to him coming from someone else. He doesn’t like anybody knowing him well enough to know all of that, though, and if it wouldn’t be so utterly obvious, he’d pull away from Foggy right now just to be safe. Like that would even help, he thinks reluctantly.

“You missed your calling not going into psychiatry, Foggy,” he says, stiffly, once he’s gathered his wits enough to form sentences.

Foggy’s hand, warm and a little damp, closes over Matt’s where it’s still resting on his arm. Matt wants nothing more than to flinch away from it, but he controls the urge in the interest of saving face.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Foggy says, quietly, like there’s a chance they might be overheard somehow and he wants Matt to be the only one who hears this. “I’m just trying to tell you that, in avoiding fun and frivolous things, you are not sparing yourself from being hit over the head. If you’re meant to get hit over the head, it’ll happen whenever and wherever Cupid so chooses. It’ll happen at the deli or the bank or while you’re waiting for the bus. Which means that the only thing you’re ultimately sparing yourself from is fun and frivolity, and that’s a stupid way to live your life. That’s all.”

“I think you just called me a moron again,” Matt says, weakly. He doesn’t know what else to say. The rest of it is...too much to consider.

“I called you stupid, actually, but I see your point.”

In the distance, Matt hears the noise of a crowd of people all simultaneously trying to shush each other, with limited success. He imagines even Foggy can hear it too a moment later when they all begin counting aloud.

“Last chance…” Matt says, tipping his head backwards in the direction of the room where everyone’s gathered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Foggy says, apropos of nothing, as far as Matt can tell. He’s about to ask what he means when Foggy continues, anyway. “I have someone who meets your criteria.”

“My criteria?”

“Yeah. You’ll only accept a kiss from someone you’ll see again after tonight, right?”

“Uh, I don’t think I said ‘only’, I just meant—”

“Too bad,” Foggy says, as the countdown reaches its conclusion. “Happy New Year.”

Matt’s halfway through formulating a question or an objection of some kind, which is the only reason he turns in Foggy’s direction at that moment. It’s clear from the noise of surprise Foggy makes that he absolutely had no intention of kissing Matt right on the mouth and was probably, in fact, aiming for his cheek, trying to be funny and charming after Matt was such a spoilsport about the whole kissing at midnight thing. If Matt hadn’t moved, there’s no doubt in his mind that that’s what Foggy would have done and then it would have been over and they’d already be laughing about it and moving on. But Matt did move and, even awkwardly off center, Foggy is kissing him on the mouth right now and they’re both just frozen like that, shocked and useless.

Matt doesn’t give himself much credit for genius. He’s reasonably smart, and can be even smarter if he applies himself to a subject and really studies up on it, but there’s plenty of people in any given room smarter than he is, most of the time. He has his moments, though, and this is one of them. He sees very clearly the two paths available to them. Down one, this moment stretches awkwardly and they allow it to become a source of discomfort and then outright pain that they'll avoid talking about for years, or maybe possibly forever. Regardless, it has the power to ruin their friendship and Matt simply can't abide that. Down the other, they don’t flinch from it and they don’t make it any stranger than it has to be and it becomes one weird but not fully objectionable moment in their long and storied relationship. They’re not going to trot it out as an anecdote at parties, sure, but they’re not going to become crazy about denying it happened either. If Matt can steer them in the direction of the latter, he thinks maybe it will all be okay, but it’s going to require him not to make matters worse. For whatever reason, the only way he can think to not do that is by kissing Foggy back.

It’s immediately apparent that, momentary genius or no, while it does not technically make things worse, it also does not make them better. Then again, Foggy makes a sort of interested noise as he feels Matt return the kiss, which Matt is infinitely better off for knowing about and having heard and being able to think about some other time when he’s alone preferably. 

They don’t take it any farther than just that. They’re not necking in some random person’s hallway or doing anything truly objectionable. They just stay there, mouths pressed together so that Matt can smell (and sort of taste) the champagne Foggy’s had and the last cigarette he smoked and a hint of that sugary gum he always chews, even though he hasn’t had a piece since before they came to the party. It mostly feels, more than anything else, like they’re breathing together and it’s not sexy the way wild, passionate groping in the dark can be, but it’s intimate in its own unique way. Matt, against his own better judgment, puts a hand on Foggy’s cheek, and he doesn't really know why beyond just really wanting to and that seems to be reason enough.

Foggy doesn’t try to slip his tongue into Matt’s mouth—despite the alarming reality that the moment Matt realizes that’s not what he’s doing, he also realizes he’d let him—or try to escalate matters one bit. His hand is still grasping Matt’s collar from when he first pulled him in, but his other one doesn’t roam. His lips, still pressed to Matt’s, only move to exert a little more pressure and to alter the angle at which they meet slightly. He takes precisely zero liberties and makes no effort to get fresh with him at all. It’s very gentlemanly, and Matt doesn’t know what to do with himself because it doesn’t feel awkward or fumbling at all. It feels like restraint, and once he knows that, everything is different.

The tune of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ reaches him from the other room, but it’s drowned out almost entirely by the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat in Matt’s ears. Foggy must hear it too, though, because he breaks their kiss with the worst sort of gentleness, pulling back only enough for them both to have space to breathe but not far enough that Matt can’t feel that breath on his face.

Matt traces his thumb over the curve of Foggy’s cheek before dropping his hand back down into his own lap and licks his lips as he slowly turns away. 

“Happy New Year,” he says, aiming for calm and unaffected and likely missing it by a lot.

“You too,” Foggy says, even though he already said it first. His heart is still beating too fast and too close and too loud for Matt to read his tone, which is too bad, because he’d really like to know how Foggy feels right now and if he feels anything like Matt does.

Because Matt feels like he’s been hit over the head.

✨

[breestanaccount]

So i watched the new spiderman movie (like a week ago lolll) and i am finally over it enough to share my toughts so BUCKLE INNN

first of: my baby boy MILES MORALES WHOOP WHOOP

Look at him and tell me he isn't the best. You cant. Ik you cant bc Miles is the best and he needs a damn break man. He is just a kid, like?? He's literally my age (15, i think) and he hit SO close to home in EVERYTHING for me. His jokes, his relationship with his parents, his feelings EVERYTHING. I am very passionate about him. And like, i get it that he shouldn't stop canon events but thats his father that we're talking about. And you can see that miles adores his parents. And given his personality he obviously can't stand back. And miguel had no business saying all that (i'll have more to say about that so bare with me please🙏)

In conclusion: if you don't like miles i do not trust you

NEXT: my girl (who y'all hate 2 much on) GWEN STACYY

She beautiful😻😻.

ANYWAY

the hate she gets is ATROCIOUS. I understand the whole "she betrayed miles" but did she not get a whole group of spider ppl to HELP miles?? Or did y'all skip over that part? What's crazy is the fact y'all hate on gwen and i haven't heard a word abt peter or miguel? Y'all biased as hell!!! She's just 16 and she went through a lot too. And she obviously cares for Miles. All thr hate she's getting is concerning and i will defend her w my life. Miles has all the right to feel betrayed though, I won't argue against that cuz i can't. Ofc, everyone has different opinions, but I feel like she wouldn't get half the hate if she were a man (which is that case with miguel, but i'll get to that, pls don't kill me cuz ik a lot of y'all love him)

CONCLUSION: we love gwen here.

NOWWW ALL YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FORRR (bc ik some of y'all wanna end me rn #iattackedurfave): MIGUEL O'HARA BABYYYYY

He's handsome i won't lie to you, but not rlly my type now let's get into it.

I don't think what he did is right. The way he handled that situation is just wrong, in my opinion. And so many ppl excuse that bc he's 1) hot (which is the case in so many other fandoms, with ppl bashing female characters while uplifting male characters for th same actions) and 2) bc of his trauma. But, heads up, trauma is and never will be an excuse. Trauma is an EXPLANATION. There is a very big difference. He went through something traumatizing and that is awful, but he didn't try to understand miles. Like i said, miles is 15. And i get that miguel was just trying to protect the universes, I understand that. But when he was calling Miles a mistake, that he never should have been bitten by that spider, acting as if it was MILES'S fault?? Not the best way to handle that, which, again, trauma. Not an excuse, but an explenation for his actions. I can't find myself to rlly like him just now. Maybe in the next movie. I can't just like a character bc they r hot. And I know this will make some ppl mad, but AT LEAST try to look at this from my point of view, and at least try to understand why i don't like Miguel. If y'all like him, that's fine. But my boy miles deserved better.

Still, I think Miguel is an intresting character with so much room to grow and I really hope to see that.

CONCLUSION: idk. Maybe you noticed i am mixed abt him

NEXT. HOBIE MF BROWNNNNNN

Here's a pic😻🙏

Here's another pic and let's get into ITT

Hobie might be the coolest, and kindest and best character. I don't think he has done a bad thing in that whole movie. He helped miles, he helped gwen and by helping gwen he helped miles AGAIN. I love his vibe, too. His relationship with miles is perfect, like brothers. And his friendship with gwen is adorable, they r similar with similar intrests if you think abt it and i do hope we get to see him again in the next movie, maybe get a little more on him and his backstory, maybe his canon event(?). He's a beauty, what can i say💕💕

CONCLUSIONN: i love him ur honor

NEXT: PAVITR PRABHAKAR

Look at this cutie. Tell me he isn't a lil pookie cutie and that he wouldn't give the best hugs.

Given his personality, it makes sense that he's 13-14 but damn given his looks i would think he's 16 (which means he gets the prize for not looking your age since he had half the fandom fooled).

The edits i've seen of him r the best and the "Chai tea scene" was so funny, btw.

CONCLUSION: he's 10/10 if you don't like him or think he's "annoying" i don't trust you.

HONORARY MENTIONS: JESS😜😜😻😻😍😍

she did all that pregnant u got to give it to her that she's good as hell. In my opinion she might be the strongest. Love my girl🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

And that's abt all. Ik there r so many different characters i can talk about but those r the ones that stood up to me the most. Pls don't kill me abt my opinion on Miguel, but different ppl have different opinions, y'know? I don't like characters just cuz they fine, thats just a bonus☝️ hope y'all liked this shit of me goofing along, and if anyone wishes to share their thoughts they r most welcome to!

I am kinda nervous to post this since i hate arguing with ppl on my opinions, but at the same time i am very stubborn and i am very passionate abt my opinions so these two but heads a LOT. But i will be getting over my fear with this and i did come to the conclusion that y'all won't eat me alive so yeah

Bye lovies💕

[bernadettelovestokiohotel]

"I care!"

Hi!This is another Vinney fic,about the Brance fic...imma do it tomorrow,in this fanfic Vance is 17 and Finn is 16

The two teens were dating for about 2 months or so,they never really had any heated arguments,or ever yelled at each other,but..sometimes that has to come too,doesn't it?

One day,things got a bit out of hand.Vance and Robin had a huge fight where they both got physical and ended up in wounds,both of them.

Of course,Finney was terrified,he finally thought that his best friend and lover would get along eventually,but...that didn't seem to work out.

"What were you thinking?!You two could've killed each other!"

Finney yelled as he put a cotton wool on Vance's bloody wound that was on his hand,near his wrist.

"He started it!He was being a dick,not me!"

Vance argued back,as he groaned while Finney put alcohol on his wounds.

"It doesn't matter who started it!You both need to understand that fighting each other isn't gonna win me over!"

Finney said as he closed the first aid kit.

"well I'm sorry,Mr.Politeness,but what else was I supposed to do?!He tackled at me!He asked for it!"

Vance argued as he got up from the bed.

"you both need to stop with this shit!You aren't children anymore!"

Finney was filled with fear of the day they might break each other's bones or worse.

"children??"

Vance asked,he felt offended being called a child.

"yes!You two have a mental stability of children!"

Finney said angrily.

"Oh-ho-ho!You wanna talk about mental stability of children?!Look who's fucking talking!"

Vance laughed angrily.He didn't even think about what he was going to say.At that point he just wanted to tell Finney off.

"what are you talking about?!.."

Finney asked,clearly upset.

"YOU CRY WHENEVER I LEAVE THE FUCKING ROOM!I MEAN..HEH..ARE YOU THAT DESPERATE OR SOMETHING?!YOU FOLLOW ME AROUND LIKE A FUCKING DOG! HOW'S IT MY FAULT YOU HAVE ATTACHMENT ISSUES AND LOVE PEOPLE SO QUICKLY EVEN AFTER THEY GIVE YOU A LITTLE ATTENTION!"

Vance stopped.He realized what he said.The guilt already ate him alive.He heard sniffing,and whimpering,he looked into Finney's brown eyes,seeing they're filled with tears.

"Finney..I-Im so sorry.."

As Vance is about to grab Finney's hand and pull him into a hug,Finney gets a mental picture of his dad grabbing his wrist and hitting him with all strength.

"DON'T HURT ME PLEASE!IM SORRY!"

Finney yelled as he cried out.This reaction terrified Vance,a lot.Finney slowly sits in the corner of the room and curls up in a ball and starts shaking.

"Finney!!I'm not gonna hurt you!"

Vance said as he tried getting closer to Finney,but Finn just get more scared and scared.Finally,Vance pulls him into a hug.

"I'm sorry i said all those awful things to you.I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that."

Vance apologized,in a calm and gentle tone.Finney's still shaking uncontrollably and still trying to catch a breath.

Later that night,it was awkward for both of them.They didn't know how to talk to each other or how to react to one another.

As they're laying on the bed,facing separate ways,both of them are re-thinking their choices of words a few hours ago.

Finney then gets the idea to hug Vance.

He hugs Vance's back,and breaks down in tears.

"..Please don't hate me..."

Finney whispered.

"Finney..shhh...I'm sorry.."

Vance apologized again,he knew damn well he will apologize over a 1000 times if he needs to.

Vance cuddles Finney softly,his arms around his body while Finney curled up in a ball,resting his head on Vance's chest.

"shhhh...just sleep,darling..it's okay..it's over."

Vance comforted Finney softly with his voice as he kissed Finney's head.

Finney calmed down a bit.He wasn't crying anymore,he fell asleep pretty fast.Vance didn't sleep that night.All he thought was about how much of a garbage person he is.

The next morning,at 6 AM,Finney walks into the living room,seeing Vance making tea for him.

"hey sunshine,how'd you sleep?"

Vance asked,he was smiling but you can see he didn't close an eye last night.

"go-good."

Finney said,being quite surprised Vance is even talking to him.Vance hands over the tea cup to Finney and offers him to sit down.

"I know that you're still upset with me,and that's alright.It's my fault i said those things,that aren't even true.I know i havent been the best partner in the world,i doubt I'm even a good one at this point but-"

Before Vance could finish his sentence,Vance already hugged him,tightly,not letting go.

Vance smiles gently,holds Finn's face and pressed a kiss against Finney's lips.

"how do I make it up to you?"

Vance asked as he went through Finney's messy hair with his fingers.

"well..there are a few things."

Finney giggled.Vance couldn't help but smile and giggle himself.

That day they did everything Finney wanted to do,and they've made a promise to never ever talk about each other like that again.Let's hope they're keeping that promise.

[blueberry-sunshines]

Late Night Rendezvous - Keith x Reader One Shot

Summary:

You are a fellow pilot at the Garrison and Keith's only friend, he sneaks you out to show you something during the night...

Word Count: 3.2K

Slight Angst | Sweet, Vulnerable Keith

{This can also be found on my wattpad: @/blueberry_sunshines}

{POV: Yours}

You were sitting criss-cross on top of your small bed in your dorm at the Garrison. The dim yellow glow of the school commissioned lamp lightly lit up the pages of your biology textbook. You were staying up late trying to study. Your roommate offered to stay up with you to help but you told her just to go to sleep. You didn't want her to be all sleep deprived.

Keith Kogane wasn't in all of your classes, but he was in a few. You were both fighter class pilots so your curriculum was quite similar. Everyone always says they're so surprised he's nice to you, and your roommate loves to tease you about it. She says that Keith has a 'soft spot' for you, but Keith just says that you're the only person he can stand.

Besides, you've known each other since you were kids. You both transferred to the Garrison at the same time and were partnered together. At first Keith was really cold towards you, but you always just thought he was shy and it didn't bother you that much. He seemed bored with the simulator and you always found his showing off to be rather funny. After what happened with James, Keith finally opened up to you and after that, you two were rather close. By the end of the year you two definitely started to become real friends...

You guys are 16 years old now and Keith is probably your best friend. There's always been a thin barrier between you two, but you've been ignoring it because you don't want him to push himself further away. You kind of always wished he would open up more. You thought about asking him to help you study tonight, but boys and girls aren't allowed in each other's dorms and you've been trying to make sure he stays out of trouble because you've been worried about him recently. He's been kind of distant lately and much more aggravated. A lot of people had been antsy lately because the Kerberos mission was a few months away. You knew that Keith sees the pilot, Shiro, as an older brother figure. He took Keith under his wing, so maybe that's what he was thinking about all the time when he was out of it. You had talked Shiro many times about Kerberos and he seemed very confident about it, so you never thought to worry about it. You shook your head, trying to refocus on your biology book. You turned around to look at your alarm clock and saw it flash "1:13 AM" in its big, red numbers. Damn, you really needed to wrap this up and get to bed soon...

-Knock Knock-

You had just about jumped from the surprise of someone knocking on your door. You looked over to your roommate's bed to see her definitely asleep. You sprung off your bed knowing exactly who it would be. Shaking your head in half disappointment, you put your hand on the button on the wall and let your door slide open to see none other than Keith Kogane. You felt the accidental smile form on your face the moment your eyes met his. He looked uncharacteristically nervous as he stood there in the hallway all dressed up in his red jacket and boots. You loved seeing him in his outfit because the Garrison uniforms were rather bland. Although, you thought, Keith could probably pull of anything.

"Are you gonna let me in?" Keith whispered to you with a furrow on his face. Your face began to heat up in embarrassment from spacing out.

"Sorry, just tired..." you whispered back, peeking outside the door to see if there was anyone there before grabbing Keith's sleeve and pulling him into your dorm room.

"I didn't think you'd be awake..." he admitted quietly as he walked towards your bed.

     "What's up?" You asked curiously. Normally he tells you he's coming before he does, so you weren't sure what he was doing here.

"Get changed, we're going out." He was sitting on your bed now and had his arm crossed. You looked down at yourself and realized you were still in your old T-shirt, sleep shorts combo. Eh, well this isn't the first time Keith's seen me in my pajamas.

"Keith," you sat back down on your bed, pulling him down with you. "I don't know if we should." You cautioned, "You're always getting in trouble and you can't afford losing your scholarship. You are the best pilot here, you were born for this."

     He frowned at you before speaking, "(Y/N), we're not gonna get caught. Besides, if I get kicked out, they have you left." He bumped into you jokingly.  "Where are we going?" You asked quietly to make sure your roommate doesn't wake up. Keith started standing up then and shook his head, "You'll find out soon." He said shortly, not leaving any room for you to guess what he's planning.

     "Come on," he stood up quickly and held his gloved hands out to you. You placed your hands into his and felt the warmth of his palms. It made your heart jump for a second. He pulled you up off your bed and slightly spun you over towards your big, gray wardrobe.

    "Now get dressed and come with me~" he whispered into your ear and pulled back with a smirk. He let go of your hands then and slipped out towards the door, "And hurry before we get caught!" He whisper-yelled to you as the door slid shut.

     Your heart was beating so fast. Something about Keith always made your adrenaline start pumping. Maybe it's because we're always doing things that could get us in trouble. You thought to yourself.

     Okay maybe more like convinced yourself. You then started changing out of your pajamas and into your regular outside of school outfit to distract yourself from your thoughts. You didn't want to like Keith. You guys are best friends and there's no reason to ruin that just for a silly crush. Once you were changed you made a dash to the door and snuck out next to Keith as quietly as you could. You smiled up at him and he looked down at you kindly before heading down the corridor with you stealthy following after him. You were glad to see him like this, this is the first time he's really seemed happy in the past couple weeks.

     You slipped around past some adults and teachers before making it out of one of the dock's open doors. You and Keith had snuck out of the Garrison many times before but you normally don't go with him every time he goes out. He likes being alone and so do you, so you understand.

Keith was leading you around the side of the building to stay out of cameras' and lookouts' lines of vision you eventually managed to creep around to a corner and ran until you were in the spot where you are completely hidden, there you two found Keith's land speeder. Keith plunked a helmet onto your head and started to get on before you protested.

     "Hey I wanna drive!" You whisper shouted to him hoping he'd let you be in charge of the speeder. Shiro had taught Keith to ride them ever since you've known Keith, you tried to convince him to let you join them when you were younger but he always refused. It wasn't until you were older you realized your boundaries much better. Over the past year, though, you had asked Keith to teach you and he's been trying. You weren't the greatest yet but you were definitely learning.

Keith let out a soft chuckle, "No way, sweetheart." He snipped at you in a playful tone while using a sarcastic nickname that always caused your chest to ache. "Besides, you don't even know where we're going." He fully sat down on the seat now and patted the seat behind him, other hand on the handlebar. You reluctantly obliged and slid on behind him. He turned his head around to look at you and gave you a smirk, "Hold on tight, we're going fast."

     You grinned and nodded then wrapped your arms around his torso and hung on as he revved the speeder and you two went rushing across the desert. Your heart began to race as you pulled yourself closer to Keith, feeling the wind on you as you flew through the air. You began thinking to yourself where Keith may be taking you as you looked around at your surroundings blurring past you. You eventually leaned your cheek against his back as the ride wasn't super short.

"We're almost there!" He yelled back to you, not turning his head back this time. You could hear the smile on his face and it made you smile too. You picked your head back up to start looking around again to see if you knew where you were. As you slowed to a stop, you peeked your head around his shoulder to look in front of you.

"Hey!" You began laughing, "You liar! I so know my way here!" Keith had driven you guys to his old house he used to live in with his dad. You guys have come here many times in the past. Keith comes here all the time and even skips classes to be here. It's a cute little home but it's not very cleaned up inside. Perhaps Keith likes it the way it was left and you can see why. Keith joined in on your laughter.

      "This isn't the place, we're just stopping to pick something up." Your laughter subsided as Keith got off the speeder. "Stay here," he smiled down at you, "I'll be right back." He then pushed down the visor on your helmet just to tease you before he walked off towards the house. You flicked back up the visor and rested your hand on your palm tiredly. You were starting to feel tired again after that adrenaline rush. You yawned as you thought about what on earth Keith could be grabbing. By the time he came back you started to feel more awake when you began having conversation again. Keith had a long case in his arms and he strapped it safely to the back of the speeder. Keith got back on and began driving you two up a long hill a small while away from the old Kogane house.

Once you made it to the peak, you two both got off the speeder and you got to see the beautiful sky line over the dessert mountains. You let out an amazed sigh at the sight. You were pulled out of your awed state when you heard the sounds of Keith doing something behind you. Turning around, you saw Keith setting up a telescope. You looked at him in confusion because you didn't think Keith liked telescopes, especially not after that full semester on telescopes and astral charts two years ago. He looked up at you through his long hair that was sagging in this face from his bent over stance. He didn't really look so amused either which just pushed your confusion even further.

"Come here." He beckoned after he was done setting it up. "Come here and see what you can see, right in the middle of the scope."

You looked at him skeptically before getting down to look into it. In the middle of your view was a small faint blip in the sky. "Dude," you snorted, "what star is this?" You still had no idea what he was having you look at.

"It's a moon. Jupiter's Europa." He said shortly. You stood up from the telescope and saw Keith sitting nonchalantly on the ground now. You walked back and sat down next to him, letting your hands fall behind you to hold yourself up.

"Europa is about 365 million miles away. That's nothing compared to Kerberos." He said, his voice starting to sound a lot more unhappy. "It's over 3.2 billion miles from here. And Shiros actually going!" He shouted with a growl in his voice. There it is, you thought, this is about Kerberos.

You kept quiet. You knew during times like this, it was better to just let Keith talk and you were perfectly fine with that. Looking over at him, you could see him still looking up at the night sky. His eyes were sad, his gaze was lost, yet angry. "I heard him fighting with Adam when I was outside his door a couple hours ago. Adam told Shiro that if he goes to Kerberos, that he won't be here for him when he gets back." His eyes wavered down at the ground between you two now. "And it got me thinking, everyone's been saying this is just a routine mission but, why would Adam be so worried about it?" He looked over to you now, helplessly, you didn't have an answer, and he didn't expect you to have one.

       "I think you should confront Shiro tomorrow and ask him to tell you the truth about it." You offered finally after a small moment of silence. Keith nodded slowly, thinking about your response.

      "Thanks, Y/N." He gave you a small grateful smile before laying down on the ground now, face up to the sky. You followed suit and laid down, suddenly even closer to him than you were before.

      "Anytime, Mullet." You grinned turning your head to face him. You saw him looking at you with a disappointed scowl on his face, causing you to let out a small laugh. Keith let out a sigh as you stopped giggling. You never knew what he was thinking, and the look on his face, you could tell he was thinking deeply about something. "What are you thinking about?" You decided to ask him, thinking there'd be no better time to have real conversations with him than tonight.

Keith looked back at the sky now opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. Most likely thinking over his words.

"I've been thinking about something else too. I don't know what I would do in Shiro's shoes. I'm impulsive and stupid as hell, and when I want to do something I don't let anything stand in my way, but if someone I really loved tried to stop me from doing it, I don't know if I could, even with the thought of them leaving me for me. And it scares me, Y/N, so many people have left me and I don't know what I'd do if it were my fault you left."

You felt a lump form in your throat from hearing Keith talk about this. This is one of the times in a very long time he has let you in on how he feels about anything. Hearing him openly express your emotions was touching and you felt so honored to be the one he tells them to.

"Y/N?" Your name escaped his lips again, this time asking as if he was longing for you. You turned your head again to look at him. You held your breath when you noticed that your faces were close enough that your noses could be touching if either of you moved any further.

"Yeah?" You asked him suddenly much more quiet now, you cursed yourself for sounding so nervous but you couldn't control your pounding heart at the proximity. You were searching his eyes to see if you could guess what he was thinking, he's never been very touchy and you were oh so close to touching, you started to sit up a bit to give him space, but you were stopped in your tracks when you felt Keith's hand grip onto yours as he sat up too, pulling your hand towards him.

The warm touch so foreign and yet so familiar. An hour ago in your dorm, a month ago while guiding you in the simulator, a year ago when he tried to help you fix your bad hair day, all the way back to age 13 when he handed you back your glitter gel pen in class and you felt the flaming rush in your chest.

"I want you to know," he whispered, holding onto your hand a little tighter now, "no matter what happens, I will never do anything on purpose to make you leave me."

You didn't know what to say, so instead you flung your arms around him and pulled him into a loving hug. You let out a shaky sigh as you felt Keith's body relax into yours. "I know you wouldn't." You were in this weird state of shock having never seen Keith this vulnerable before.

"God I'm so fucking stupid..." you hear his muffled voice growl from your shoulder. He pulled away from the hug then, angry at himself for just simply showing you his emotions. You shook your head quickly and put his hand back into your own.

"No you're not, Keith." You reassured him, "Thank you for telling me this." You said then, hoping to make him feel more secure again.

"Yeah..." he sighed then, "Let's get you back in your dorm, they should be switching look outs soon." He quickly changed the subject. You frowned at him, both for putting back up his wall and for making this night coming to an end. You agreed nonetheless, you were glad Keith was beginning to let you in and you were willing to accept that the boundary was back up. Keith means the world to you, and you'd never let that go.

Keith drove you guys back to his speeders hiding place before helping you sneak back in and back through the halls to your dorm. There wasn't any talking on the way back but it was a comfortable silence. Once you were back at your door, you thanked Keith for the wonderful night and told him to get some sleep before the sun starts to come up. You turned them to your door and were about to open it when,

"Hey, uh, (Y/N)?" He whispered for your attention once again. "You're really important to me." He said shortly but still full of so much love. You pulled him into another hug. "You too, Mullet." You whispered into his ear, "Never forget it... please?"

You felt Keith nod and he gave you a quick squeeze before letting go of the embrace, slowly, his hand sliding down your arm as he began to walk away, once it reached your hand and gave it another quick squeeze before he finally let go and slipped around the corner into the darkness. You let out a large breath you didn't know you were holding once you saw him disappear. God were you in love with him. Even if he's never usually like that during the day, you love every Keith and maybe one day you'll tell him....

__________

Hey!!! Let me know what you thought of this one shot :))) I know Keith was pretty ooc, but I like thinking of him being very sensitive around the ones he loves!

Also this didn't proof read yet because I rlly wanted to get this chapter out to you guys !!!!!

This is my first like official Voltron work so bare with me!

PLEASE PLEASE REQUEST SOMETHING LOL

[reidyoulikeabook]

Sometimes You Just Don’t Know the Answer

4 times you don’t know the answer, and the 1 time you do

This is the 2nd part to Personal Google! (You don’t have to read it to understand this, but it exists if you want to).

Ship: BAU!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: You’d call yourself a pretty educated individual, and most people wouldn’t argue with that, given that you’re a member of the BAU at Quantico. There’s just something about your best friend Spencer Reid that gets you all tongue tied.

Warnings: Mentions of cases and case-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Spencer and Reader being idiots again.

Word count: 3k

A/N: The feedback (in asks and the tag reblogs) for Personal Google was so lovely and encouraging and I am very grateful for it! I only made this account a few days ago and I’m already so glad I did :) I hope this is a satisfactory second part and, requests are open!

(This is the Reid I’m imagining here)

“What is up with you and Reid?” Emily’s volume is unmoderated at the best of times but right now it’s like she’s trying to alert the entirety of Virginia to your dating woes.

Dating woes might be a stretch, actually. Somehow, just her implication that something is happening between you and Spencer (even though it isn’t, unless you count two exhausted idiots falling asleep on each other and being too bashful to ever mention it again), is enough to get you feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “Well. I don’t know, honestly, nothing I guess? We haven’t spoken about that night.”

Emily’s eyes rake over you, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to continue.

“There’s nothing!” you object, “We just, it was accidental, we fell asleep because we were watching a documentary and we were tired and neither of us fell asleep on purpose.”

She laughs, dry and amused, “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to have sorted things out before you’re 50.”

You scowl, but it’s only because you know she’s right.

***

You don’t have much time to think about your situation with Spencer for a few weeks, considering the rate at which the cases come rolling in. This newest one arrives within about two days of the last one you’d just wrapped up. It’s actually kind of rude, you’ve decided, that the serial killers of America have decided to deny you two weekends in a row.

You’re briefed on the case quickly: four women have gone missing over the past 7 months from a small town in Ohio. There’s no distinct pattern that can be discerned among the victims, the oldest is 60 and white, the youngest is 23 and Asian-American. However, the first three have been found dead in the past two weeks, all within a mile of each other and all killed with the same MO: ligature strangulation.

“So we have no idea how he’s choosing them,” you say.

“No,” Hotch replies, with a sigh.

Meaning that this is probably going to take a while. Spencer senses the way you tense up a little as you absorb that fact. So he goes out of his way to sit next to you on the plane. Once the discussion about the case is done, he nudges you gently, “Did you bring a book?”

You shake your head, “I finished the one in my go-bag. Didn’t have a chance to replace it.”

“Would you like to read this with me?”

You place your hand on his wrist, gently turning it so you can see the cover, “Spencer this is written in Greek.”

“I can translate,” he says.

You move closer to him then, your head resting just against his plane seat and your chin almost jutting against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

He nods. The remaining 45 minutes of the flight are spent with him reading to you softly, adding in his own thoughts as he translates and sometimes going off on little tangents. By the time you land you’ve entirely forgotten about your ire with the case. You’re focused only on the characters he introduces you to, who are clearly in love even if they’re too stupid to see it, and the way his nose crinkles a little when he reaches a word with no direct English translation.

Whhat you don’t realise, is that you end up folding into him: head pressed against his chest. Somehow, neither of you notice how you naturally gravitate towards each other. Some pair of profilers.

--

Hotch sends you in different cars to the precinct, and you’re soon reminded of your frustration as you’re caught up in the hub-a-bub of the case. It’s not until you’re leaving the station, after a long and relatively fruitless briefing with the medical examiners and local PD, that you even have time to acknowledge Spencer properly again.

And even then, it’s only when Hotch says.

"You'll be sharing a room with Reid, alright?"

He’s only really asking as a formality. Nobody questions Hotch’s assignments for them. So why, then, do you feel yourself flush a little.

Why then, do you feel so embarassed replying, “Alright.”

***

There was nothing much to be nervous about with sharing a room, as it so happened. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind since the unsub had snatched a fifth victim. You’d been sleeping in shifts, making sure that some of you were awake at all times to keep working.

You were working on the geographical profile with Spencer, and had taken to driving around to look for landmarks at night, when there was nothing much else to do. There were maps but sometimes it helped just to get things embedded in your brain. And now, at 4am, you’re bursting into the conference room occupied by Spencer and Rossi, because you might just have got something.

"I have an idea,” you say, and before anybody can even respond you’re scribbling hurriedly on the whiteboard.

“Slow down kiddo,” Rossi laughs.

“Sorry I’m just,” you cut yourself off, slightly flustered and tapping your foot with frustration as you try to put the last pieces of it together, “Diana Matthews.”

“Yeah?” Spencer responds.

“She was the one who lived on Lakefield right?” Rossi asks.

Annoyingly, you can’t remember off rote. Spencer sees the pinch of frustration in your brow. He senses that you’re heading for the case file.

So, he answers, “Yeah 38 Lakefield Drive.”

Smiling gratefully at him, you breathe a sigh of relief, “There’s three different stores in the area for this local electronic repair company, Gladston Digital, in this area. Two of them aren’t accounted for on the maps because these are from last year, and one of the ones on Google is pinned to the wrong street, there are two Minister Avenues and one’s on the complete opposite side of town.”

Denoting the map with annotations as you go, you continue, “All of the victims had residences within a mile of one of the three stores. And we interviewed the area manager, Paul something, he manages all three stores. He came to speak to me and Hotch while we were scoping the area.”

“Inserting himself into the investigation,” Rossi notes, “Fits the profile. A stalker like that would want to remain an illusion of control.”

“I just need to get Garcia on the phone to see if it checks out.”

Spencer just watches, slightly in awe, as you make the phone call to Garcia. She manages to cross-reference bank statements and emails, showing that all five of the victims had taken something of theirs in for repair sometime in the year before their disappearance. And he feels something in his gut. Pride? Maybe. That’s certainly a part of it.

But there’s something else in there too. Your eyes meet his, with a flicker of recognition. He realises what it is then: marvel. Your brain works so fast, and that’s not novel to him, he knows you’re intelligent but there’s just something about how fast you manage to put it all together. You conjure something out of nothing, a link that he’d missed. And he’s reminded, again, that he has to try and keep up with you sometimes. He wonders if you know that.

Probably not, he thinks. You’re rambling down the phone and gesturing with your hands, in a way you may or may not have picked up from him, and all he can think is how you look so in your element. And beautiful.

He’s a little embarassed about how normal it feels for that last observation to pop into his head.

***

“To _____!” Prentiss cheers.

8pm has rolled around. Since your revelation 16 hours earlier, you managed to confirm your thinking, apprehend Paul Bader, and save the fifth victim. All in all, a pretty good days work. It’s not just down to you, but everyone’s singing your praises so loudly it’s making you a little embarassed.

Even Hotch sets a drink down in front of you, squeezing your shoulder, “Really good work today ____.”

Fair to say you’ve probably peaked there.

Spencer is sat to your left, sipping at a Mai Tai that you know is going to have him giggly in about an hours time.

“I wasn’t trying to keep you out before,” you tell him, “I was going to come and wake you up when I got back but you were in the conference room.”

He smiles, “I know. It was my shift to sleep.”

“Bet you’re paying for that now.”

“A little,” he chuckles, “It’s worth it.”

"I just didn’t want you to think I was hanging you out to dry. You know, to make myself look good,” you decide to press further: mostly just because the team has sung your praises and that kind of attention makes you shirk at the best of times. Let alone when you’re sat with the guy responsible for creating half the damn profile.

His eyebrows furrow. You worry for a minute about what he’s going to say, but then, “I would never think that about you. We’re a team.”

He squeezes your hand. Maybe that’s your favourite thing about Spencer, really. More than the fact he remembers to get your caffeine just how you like it, more than how gentle he is with just about everybody he encounters, more than his relentless enthusiasm for your questions about whatever pops into your mind. No, it’s his modesty. The way he doesn’t even think for a moment to be prideful or arrogant about his intelligence. He genuinely roots for you in every moment, you think.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You seem a little..quiet.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realise you’d let your thoughts run away with you, “No. I’m good. Just thinking about how good of a teacher you are.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so. You’ve taught me. I didn’t know the first thing about geographical profiling when I got here two years ago. I could barely read a map,” you laugh, keeping your tone sincere, “You’re a really good teacher Spence. I feel like I learn so much from just being around you.”

“I often don’t give you much choice.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t want you to. Really. I’m always interested in everything you have to say. I think you know that. But I wanted to tell you anyway. So you’re sure.”

He’s incredibly grateful you get pulled into a conversation by Morgan, giving him a moment to process.

A lifetime of being insecure. Of feeling like nobody was interested in what he had to say but not being able to really control whether he said it anyway. All this time being insecure in himself, and you liked it. Complimented him on it, even. Considered him a teacher. He doesn’t think he could articulate, in any of the languages he speaks, the sense of peace that brings him.

-----

The Mai Tai’s do make him sleepy. Buzzed, but sleepy. After being bought rounds by Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer, you’re feeling exactly the same. It’s only 10:30pm by the time you decide to make your departure for the night. This is much to the chagrin of Emily, who lolls against Rossi’s side demanding that you stay.

“Some of us have been up since 4 this morning, breaking their backs to keep this country safe,” You tease, putting on a melodramatic air just for affect, “Besides, you’re going to regret this when you have to be up and back on the jet in the morning.”

“You will, especially since you still owe me that report,” Hotch teases, with a smile.

Emily rolls her eyes, “You two are no fun.”

She’s joking, goading you, but unfortunately for her you have a sleepy Spencer nuzzling against you which is a far more pressing matter to deal with.

“Come on Spence, let’s get you to bed,” You say, gently wiggling out from under him and offering him your hand.

He pouts at the momentary loss of contact. It’s subtle. You catch it though. He links his fingers through your own, holding your hand properly, and you try not to read into it too much. He’s tipsy. He’s tired.

Ignoring the deliberately obvious eyebrow-wiggling from Morgan, you make for the lift.

“You didn’t have to come to bed just for me,” Spencer says, “I feel bad for taking you away from the others. I’m not that drunk, I could get myself to bed.”

You shake your head, “I wanted to go to bed with you.”

His eyes snap to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean, I wanted to go to bed. And we’re sharing a room. So I’m going to bed with you. As in we’re going to the place where bed is, together.”

He’s just enough tipsy to be confident enough to jest, “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Morgan.”

“What did Morgan say?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what Morgan always says whenever anybody goes off together.”

“That they’re having sex,” He giggles, tipsiness shining through again.

“Yes, Spence, that they’re having sex.”

“But we’re not.”

The elevator dings as you arrive at your floor, saving your brain from delving into the implications of what he’s just said. And whether that was a disappointed or netural tone.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. He walks to the door with you, still keeping your hand in his. It’s hard not to let yourself read into it now. How holding hands with him could be such a casual thing. Hard not to imagine walking through bookshops with him, one hand in yours and the other picking books off the shelf he thought you’d like. The domesticity of it sickens you.

Then he lets go to cross to the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna put your pyjama’s on?” You ask.

“I wasn’t gonna sleep yet,” he says, “I was gonna...”

He looks bashful, suddenly, self-consciously licking his lower lip, “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to watch something with me. You can pick. I always pick.”

“This an excuse to get me in bed with you again, Spence?” You tease, just past tipsy enough not to care that this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged that night.

"Yeah, the Pearl Harbour ruse doesn’t work twice,” he jokes.

You wish you could find the courage to tease him more. Unfortunately, the liquid courage seems to have run out, and the topic somehow feels too delicate to touch.. Instead, you change quickly into your pyjama’s. Together, you pick something to watch, settling down. You’re suddenly thankful for the single bed, the necessity to be cozied up against him as you watch. To feel his chest, every beat of his heart. You swear it’s beating fast. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

***

Just like last time, you wake up huddled against Spencer. Unlike last time, there’s no Emily banging the door down to drag you to the police station. No, it’s quiet.

You can’t see what time it is because there’s a Spencer between you and the clock. Your phone is in your back pocket but it’s hard to find any motivation whatsoever to move when you’re like this: face pressed into his chest, his head resting atop of yours so a single curl of his hair tickles your nose, his hand on your hip holding you against him.  

His eyelashes flutter, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

He smiles, “Me too.”

“Looks like we did it again.”

“Looks like we did,” his voice is quiet.

“Do you want me to move? If I’m...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

His free hand comes up to your chin, tipping it so you’re looking him directly in the eyes. His pupils are dilated. In the dim light it’s hard to place the look on his face exactly. But it’s soft.

"C-Can I kiss you?” the question spills quickly from his lips, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it out fast, “I just. I don’t know if that’s what you want too, I’ve just really-”

"Kiss me, Spence. Please kiss me.”

The smile on his face would have made you fall in love with him, if you weren’t already. And then he kisses you. Barely. Your lips are just grazing against one anothers. You tilt yourself upwards, towards him, giving him a better angle. Then he really kisses you, capturing your lips in his. It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s...it’s everything. It’s everything, how his hands tangle themselves tentatively in your hair, how he kisses you so deeply, drinking you in.

His hand cups your cheek, then he’s pulling back, just a tiny bit, to mumble against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The only appropriate way you can think to verbalise your agreement, is closing the gap between your lips again. There’s an urgency to it this time. Your lips move quickly, passionately. He swipes his tongue across your lower lip and you let him in, your tongues delicately dancing together. He’s good. He’s good and you don’t even notice the morning breath or faint taste of rum, it’s just Spencer.

When you finally come apart, you’re out of breath.

“I didn’t think you’d ever do that,” you say, “I was worried I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

He frowns then, that little nose crinkle appearing again, “I thought I was too obvious.”

“So did I. Maybe it’s best if we don’t tell Hotch how bad we are at profiling each other. He might rethink his decision to take us on.”

He laughs, “Not being able to profile when somebody’s in love with you might be a cause for concern. There are several obvious phyical signs of love, including dilation of pupils when looking at the object of your affection, heart rate synchronisation.”

“How am I supposed to know if our heart rates have synchronised?”

He smiles. Pressing a finger to your lips, he dips his head in the small chasm between your two chests. In the silence, in the early morning quiet, in the absence of all distraction you can hear it. The steady thrum of your hearts, pounding away at identical paces. The sound that told you that some part of you had always known.

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

Tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith​​ @sassiest-politician​​ (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this list)

[myherowritings]

hearts intertwined | t.s.

— You and Todoroki have been roommates for months now but have barely had more than a two minute conversation. When quarantine hits and everyone is on lockdown, you find yourself forced to spend more time with him and actually end up...enjoying it? 

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader word count: 3,055 genre: roommate au, pro hero!shouto, fluff warnings: suggestive content, 16+, mc and todo are both mid-20s

a/n: this is written as part of the crackhead sanctuary’s server collab! (pls excuse my server name lmfdkgfdg i have terrible naming skillz) i hope y’all enjoy and pls lmk what u think!! xx sof

In many ways, Todoroki Shouto was the perfect roommate. 

He cleaned up after himself, always made an extra serving of food and set it aside for you (though it may only have been because he sucked at measuring out ingredients rather than him intentionally planning on leaving you leftovers), and generally kept his volume to a minimum when entering the apartment at ungodly hours of the night. 

There was also the fact that he was the most attractive person you had ever shared a living space with in your life, and seeing him shirtless on his way to his bedroom from the bathroom was a definite bonus.

But despite all that, he was never someone you considered yourself close to.

You needed help paying for rent and expenses and he happened to be a friend of a friend of a friend who was looking for a place in the city to stay. Call it a divine intervention, a gift from the gods, or even fate… But you still wouldn’t consider yourself his friend.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to befriend him--Todoroki seemed like a sweet person. It was more along the lines of neither of you having the time. While you spent most of your day in the lab studying and doing research, Todoroki was always working in his office or out in the field to fulfill his new hero duties. 

This quarantine was probably the first opportunity either of you had to be in the same building for more than thirty minutes at a time. Which was why, as the two of you sat side-by-side on the living room sofa, no one knew exactly what to say.

“So, the weather--”

“Looks warm out--”

Both of you opened your mouths and shut them at the same time.

“Sorry,” Todoroki said with a small smile. “You first.”

“I-- Oh… It was nothing,” you managed, clearing your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “Just trying to make some small talk.”

With a tight-lipped smile and wide eyes, you slowly craned your head away from his view. Who admits they’re trying to make small talk? That breaks all the rules of how to properly talk to someone.

The faint sound of the television playing old infomercials buzzed in the background while you and your roommate sat in silence. You never struggled to talk to him during those brief moments of passing, so why now? 

Looking at the screen to pass time, you noticed an outdated commercial of an older Tamagotchi game playing and felt yourself breaking out into a grin.

“Aw, I miss that game!” you cried as you turned to Todoroki with an excited glint in your eye. “Don’t tell anyone, but in elementary school I used to play it in class and since I was such a goody two-shoes, the teacher never suspected a thing.”

He raised an eyebrow in response. “I see we have ourselves a rebel in disguise here.”

“It’s our little secret, though. To everyone else, I am the epitome of innocence.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze travelled down your body and lingered on where the fabric of your oversized pajama shirt stopped and the expanse of your thigh started. 

“Sure. I believe you,” he said in what was almost a teasing tone. 

You felt your face growing hot but you paid it no mind. 

“As you should,” you sniffed, crossing one leg over the other haughtily. When he chuckled, you turned back to him. “How about you? Are you a secret bad boy who played with his Tamagotchi in the back of class?”

Todoroki shook his head. “I never had one. I actually never even knew what it was until high school, I think.” 

“Really?” Your eyes widened. Sure, the hand-held game was marketed to girls, but to never have heard about it through your whole childhood? You weren’t sure how that was possible. “Not even your older sister had one?”

Now, you didn’t know much about his personal life (whether or not he was dating someone, if he slept on the left or the right side of the bed, which leg he put in his pants first, et cetera), but you did pick up on a few things about his siblings from the previous interactions you’ve had with him.

“Not to my knowledge,” he said, looking away thoughtfully. “My father never afforded us such luxuries.” 

You frowned. “What about toys like Pokemon? Oh! Or Yu-Gi-Oh cards?”

“Yu-Gi-Oh cards?” repeated Todoroki slowly, as if he was unsure what you were talking about.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You never played--? Oh, never mind. How about family games like Twister or Just Dance?” 

As far as you were aware, Todoroki Shouto came from a rather affluent family. So it was a wonder why he never participated in at least one of these experiences that characterized a whole generation’s childhood.

Again, he shook his head. “Never did those either. I wasn’t exactly allowed to play with my siblings, let alone other kids my age. My father always made me prioritize my training.” 

“That’s not right of him.”

You winced. Of course he never had the opportunity to have a “normal” childhood. How could you be so insensitive? It was no secret Endeavor had a troubled relationship with his family, but you weren’t exactly sure to what extent. You didn’t focus much on the whimsical world of heroes and, ever since you were a child, you know you wanted to pursue the field of research rather than use your quirk. The lives of heroes--even top ranking ones--was something you never paid much attention to. Still, even you have heard some gossip about the estranged Endeavor. 

“Sorry for pressing you,” you said, toying with the hem of your shirt. “I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”

He gave you a nonchalant shrug and a small smile to let you know it was okay.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/L/N. You didn’t mean to,” he comforted. “Besides, it’s been a long time. It would be useless to hold a grudge against my father for this long.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Forgiveness, huh? That’s very mature of you, Todoroki. I think I admire you.”

His shoulders moved upward in silent laughter. “Thank you. I admire you, too.” 

Ignoring the faint heat you felt in your cheeks, you beamed. “Thanks. Anyway-- You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“You did not have a childhood.”

While his face remained passive, you could have sworn you saw his eye crinkle in amusement.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he said in agreement. “My youth was spent quite differently than most.”

You nodded profusely. “Right. And while I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with that, per se, it could be beneficial to do these things you haven’t had the chance to!”

He examined you curiously as you bounced up from your seat on the sofa with an excited grin. After a few moments of silence, he craned his neck, prompting you for clarification.

“You’re bored on lockdown, I’m bored on lockdown,” you stated matter-of-factly. “What better time to reclaim your childhood than now?”

Todoroki didn’t bother to hide the small smile making its way across his face at your determined words. “Okay, then. Count me in.”

- - - - -

When you decided you wanted to help your new friend Todoroki reclaim his childhood, you expected your days to be full of cute Beanie Babies and Webkinz, as well as the presumed amounts of chaos that followed edible bubbles and candy kits. And while the first few days of the week consisted of that, the tone changed rather drastically when a certain game was introduced. Of all things, what you expected least was to be practically panting on top of Shouto as you braced your muscles and tried not to collapse onto him.

“Left hand, blue,” he called after flicking the spinner. 

How he managed to turn the spinner with one hand and keep his body balanced with the other on a Twister mat without toppling over was a mystery to you.

Stupid heroes with their stupid, bulging muscles, you thought crossly as you relived your many previous losses. You tried to ignore the bead of sweat dripping down your face as you struggled to stay up. 

Somehow, you turned your head just enough that you had the perfect view of Todoroki’s flexed triceps as he held himself in a modified pushup position of sorts. There was a look of concentration on his face and, while you found his furrowed brows to be rather cute, you still couldn’t help but focus your attention on his arms. He had a lean type of muscle that you thought would feel especially comfortable wrapped around your waist-- 

“Y/L/N, do you forfeit?” 

You blinked, feeling lightheaded both from this game which you lacked the stamina for and from the lack of oxygen that travelled to your brain as you held your breath while staring at Todoroki. 

Once your mind processed his words, you huffed. “Forfeit! Me? Never! Why would you think that?”

“Because I called ‘left hand, blue,’ minutes ago and you still haven’t moved.” 

Blood rushed to your face and you were thankful you had the exertion to blame it on. It wasn’t your fault Todoroki’s arms were so toned and strong and...distracting.

“No,” you said, unsure if there was even a question asked for you to reply to. “I don’t quit!”

Your eyes scanned the mat feverishly, looking for a blue circle to place your left hand on that would cause the least amount of strain. Shouto had already won the first two rounds and you’d be damned if you were to let him win again. (As much as you loved witnessing him succeed, your pride would simply be too hurt if you lost a third time in a row.) 

“Find a spot yet?” he asked in amusement. “I’m not sure how much longer my arms can hold.”

Of course, just the mention of his arms drew your attention from finding the optimal Twister position to staring stupidly at his triceps again.

As you attempted to tear your gaze away from him, you spotted hints of a smirk lingering on Todoroki’s face.

Did he notice your staring? There was no way… 

You looked at him, wide-eyed and dubious, and almost choked when you saw his shoulders start to shake as he tried to hide his laughter.

His laugh was muffled by his shirt in an attempt to keep his volume down, but it still rang rich and deep in the air. It was the first time you heard him laugh like that and you wanted to do anything to hear it again. 

With a shake of his head, he removed his hands from their spot on the Twister board and sat upright beside you.

“I concede,” he said when he saw you eyeing him with curiosity. “You win this round. My arms were getting too sore.”

After hearing the sweet sound of Todoroki saying, “You win,” you let yourself collapse on the floor, rolling onto your back to get a clear view of your cream-colored ceiling.

“For some reason, I sincerely doubt that your arms were getting sore,” you said, stretching your own--genuinely sore--arms out in front of you. “But seeing as I was about to fall flat on my face if I waited any longer… Thank you for conceding.” 

“Doubt I’d be sore?” he repeated, craning his neck to peer down at your face. He placed his left hand on his right bicep and gently massaged it with his thumb and forefinger. “What for?” 

By then, whatever rational thought was left in your brain had been fully replaced by Shouto’s arms and Shouto’s arms only, and you couldn’t even complain. 

“Mmm, what did you say again?” You blinked, clearing your throat. You suddenly had the desire to chug a cool glass of water.

Todoroki’s only reply was another small--almost imperceptible--smirk. It would have been easy for someone to miss, but to you, someone who was perhaps being more attentive to their roommate and newfound friend than they’d care to admit, it was clear as day.  

“You’re totally messing with me!” you groaned, covering your face with your hands as you continued to lie with your back on the floor. “Aren’t you?”

He let out a breathy laugh and shrugged, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “Sorry. It’s just cute seeing your reactions. I didn’t know you liked my arms so much.”

You could’ve sworn he flexed once more for dramatic effect and an indignant squeak escaped your mouth.

“I-I don’t!” you protested, making sure to look anywhere but his arms. “I just never noticed how...proportionate they were before! Just thinking about how da Vinci would admire them. For scientific purposes, of course.”

“Sure.” 

You gaped at the knowing look on his face. “How did you even notice? Aren’t you a bit of the oblivious type?” With wide eyes, you slapped your hand over your mouth. “Wait-- I’m sorry. That was rude to say.”

Todoroki waved it off with a smile to show he wasn’t offended in the slightest. “I guess I was rather oblivious in the beginning of high school. But as I grew up I became more accustomed to picking up on such things.” 

You hummed in silent contemplation. Of course he had to have grown used to people making moon eyes over him. He probably got it all the time.

“I usually pay it no mind,” he continued as he stood up, peering down at you sprawled out on the floor. “But when you do it, I find it sort of cute.” 

As if he didn’t just say something that caused your heart to skip a beat, Todoroki extended a hand out to help you up.

Ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks, you gently placed your hand in his.

“Thanks,” you murmured as Shouto pulled you off the mat and towards his body, a feeling of lightheadedness overcoming you at the sudden motion.

One hand held yours while his other was placed firmly above your elbow to help you steady yourself.

“You okay, Y/L/N?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he watched you regain your balance.

“Oh, yeah! No worries. This happens all the time, to be honest,” you admitted, vaguely taking note of how your chest was almost fully pressed against his. “Whenever I move my head too fast I get a bit dizzy. And whenever I stand too fast my knees sort of just crack.” 

Your words did nothing to soothe the worried furrow between his brows.

“Is...Is that not normal?” 

He blinked.

You grimaced. “Okay. Guess not. Maybe I need to work out more.” 

“You can work out indoors with me,” Todoroki suggested with a small smile. He looked so sincere you were just about to agree until he opened his mouth for a second time-- “As long as you don’t spend the whole workout gawking at my arms.”

With an indignant cry, you pulled yourself away from his loose grip, face burning with such intensity you wouldn’t be surprised if he were able to sense the rise in temperature. “I never gawked at your arms.” 

He hummed. 

“Well, okay, maybe I did,” you relented with a huff, bending down to fold up the game mat in front of you. “They look very strong. Being a hero must be hard work.”

Todoroki shrugged, helping you clean up. “It’s worth the toll it takes. I can imagine your research requires hard work too.” 

You tried to hide the look of surprise on your face. You briefly talked to him about what you did during the roommate-finding process, but you didn’t think it was anything interesting enough for him to recall. It brought an odd warmth to your stomach knowing he cared enough to remember. 

“I guess. But I’d say it’s nowhere near as difficult as hero work,” you brushed off. “Not everyone has what it takes to be a good hero.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he followed you into the kitchen for a glass of water.

“There are lots of great heroes,” he stated, filling up two cups and handing one to you. 

“Yeah, there are. And greatness is one thing, but you’re a good one-- In the heart.” Your gaze flitted to his, unsure why you were filled with the sudden urge to have such an intimate conversation after a game of Twister. Still, you rolled with it. “I know we haven’t talked much prior to this lockdown...but even I can tell how caring you are. And I’m looking forward to getting to know you more.” 

A comfortable silence filled the air as he took a seat beside you. If Shouto was taken aback by your sudden compliment, he did a good job at hiding it, simply giving you a small smile as he let his shoulder rest against yours. You glanced over at the point of contact and bubbled with elation. 

“Todoroki?” you called quietly, the edge of your pinky brushing against his. 

He looked down at the gentle touch of your hand and didn’t move away. Instead, he took the initiative and placed his fingers on top of yours, his hand surprisingly soft despite the calluses on his fingertips. The back of your neck heated at the sudden movement, but you decided you rather liked how his hands felt on yours. 

“Hmm?” 

“Thanks for letting me drag you along to play these childhood games,” you said, letting out a sigh of contentment. “It’s a nice change of pace while we’re stuck indoors.”

Shouto shook his head. “I should be the one thanking you. These are much better childhood memories than the ones from my actual childhood,” he admitted with a light laugh. “I’m glad we had the opportunity to spend more time together, Y/L/N.”

By now your fingers were intertwined with his, his thumb lightly stroking the peak of your knuckle.

He continued, “I hope this continues even when quarantine is over.” 

“I hope it does, too.” You couldn’t stop the grin from spreading wide across your face as you nuzzled your head on his shoulder. “Let’s keep making memories together, okay, Todoroki?”

“Happily.” 

[xoxo-teddybear]

FOR TILL COLLEGE - Bakugou Katsuki

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

If y’all couldn’t tell from the title, I’ve been watching iCarly A LOT recently and one of my favorite episodes is when Carly kisses Bad Boy Griffon and Spencer catches it

So imagine Bakugou and Y/N’s daughter, Katsumi, doesn’t get along at all with some ex-delinquent bad boy who is tryna be good. This bad boy still has his bad boy ways and so Bakugou took him under his wing bc this boy reminded him of his younger self...except worse for obvious reasons.

Y/N is out doing pro hero patrols and Bakugou gets back early to find Katsumi and Bad Boy smooching on the couch

SCENARIO

Bakugou walked through the door expecting to find his little mentee working on the project he left for him to do in his home. What he didn’t expect was for his daughter to be making out with this ex-delinquent on their family couch.

“Whaaa-HUHHHHHHH?!?!??” Bakugou continuously screames as the two separate, Bad Boy remains calm on the couch and Katsumi stands up in shock. Bakugou gestures to the whole scene with his hands as he finally stops screaming.

*Time Skip to like 5 minutes later*

“Let’s just recap! I catch you robbing a store, I give you a second chance and decide to not have you arrested, I take you in to mentor you in the ways of hero work, and you pay me back by chewing on my daughter’s face?!” Bakugou says as he finished pacing in the living room as Bad Boy and Katsumi sit on the couch away from each other .

“We were kissing,” Bad Boy says.

“GUILTY!” Bakugou screames in Bad Boy’s face but then Katsumi spoke up.

“I KISSED HIM FIRST!” Katsumi explained. Bakugou just looked at her in shock before opening his mouth to speak but then closing it again. He then turned to Bad Boy and spoke.

“Out!” He said and began to drag bad boy’s arm to the door and kick him out. On the way there, the two teens began complaining.

“I will talk to you later!” Bakugou says to the ex-delinquent but when bad boy makes it to the door he speaks to Katsumi again.

“I will call you,” bad boy says.

“Kay!” Katsumi joyously replies.

“You’ll call no one! .....Ever!” Bakugou says to bad boy as he steps back into the house. Bakugou runs to the kitchen to grab the first thing he sees, an apple, and runs back out to throw it towards bad boy hitting him on the head. “Yes!” He exclaimed and ran back inside.

Bakugou rubs his temples and huffs out a frustrated sigh before he spoke to his teen daughter.

“I don’t under- how did- ....WHEN I LEFT HERE, you hated him. How did you go from hate to......mwuahhhhhh,” Bakugou said and then stuck his tongue out all over his face to over-exaggerate the kiss as he made out with the air to mock his daughter.

“Well! I was trying to study but *bad boy* kept turning up music so I came down here to yell at him, I called him obnoxious and he said I needed to get a sense of humor, so I said ‘oh really?’ Then while I was telling him how immature he was, I realized he was really cute annnnnd then he asked me if I liked music and I said ‘who doesn’t like music?’ So then we started talking and I realized he’s really sweet and smart and his lips were right there infront of me so I leaned over and kissed him!” Katsumi explained as her father stared at her in shock with his hands pressed together as he kept them infront of his lips.

“And I don’t kiss like mwuahhhhhh,” Katsumi said mimicking her father’s ‘make out with the air’ action. “I KISS LIKE A PRINCESS!” She exclaimed. Bakugou exhaled deeply before he spoke calmly.

“You are grounded...forrr...till college,” he calmly stated.

“For till college?!?!?!” Katsumi questioned.

“FOR TILL COLLEGE!” Bakugou quickly replied.

“Why?!” She asked.

“For kissing that delinquent!” Bakugou said as he walked to the kitchen as Katsumi followed.

“You’re the one who took him under your wing!”

“Well this ‘wing’ shalln’t flap no more!” Bakugou replied!

“*Bad Boy* is never allowed here again and you’re never allowed to have any contact with him,” Bakugou said with a triumphant smirk. Curse the damn parent card.

“Why?! What did I do that was so bad?!” Katsumi asked.

“Oh you know, Lipsey!” Bakugou stated. Katsumi stared in shock.

“I’m almost 16!” She said, “how old were you when you started kissing girls?!”

“Eleven..? THAT IS NOT THE ISSUE RIGHT NOW!”

“The issue is that you’re totally over reacting!” She said.

“Say whatever you want,” Bakugou said as his smirk returned and he crossed his arms, “you’re still so grounded.”

Katsumi stood still once again before she smashed a dinner plate on the ground. Bakugou remained unphased and copied her as he dropped another plate to the ground. Katsumi threw another plate and as she was about to throw another one, Bakugou interviened.

“Wait wait wait....That’s my favorite china, you can’t break it.” Bakugou said with one arm up and a stilled face.

“Am I ungrounded and can I hang out with *Bad Boy*?!” Katsumi asked with sass.

“No you are not and no you can not- ARGHHH!” Bakugou screamed as Katsumi threw the china to the ground. Katsumi then ran to her room frustrated with her father. Once her door slammed, Y/N returned from patrol. She walked to the kitchen to find her loving husband.

“Hey love, I- woah.” Y/N said as she saw the mess on the ground. “What’d I miss?”

Bakugou sighed and began to get the broom as Y/N bent down to pick up a few broken pieces.

“Awe man, this is the china I was gonna gift to Midoriya for his upcoming birthday. It looks exactly like your favorite one. Too bad he won’t get it this year.” You pouted at the pieces of broken plates.

Bakugou still had his back turned as he retrieved the broom but a smiled fell onto his face as he heard about how it was Deku’s broken present and not his favorite china. He let out a relieved sigh as he turned to clean up the mess. Well part of it at least.

Now he has a moody teenage daughter and a bad boy to take care of.

[toosicktoocare]

writing a 3-chapter 911 fic set after 911 S4 Ep 3 and 911 Lone Star S2 Ep 3 :) 

Also found on AO3

Buck thumbs at the screen of his cell phone, eyes blurring faintly around the edges. He taps to his messages, working around a yawn as he types out a quick text.

[To: Eddie] made it

Even through the dirt and pollen prickled across his windshield, the apartment complex before him looks nice, modern, and somehow a little out of place. His phone buzzes in his hand, and he frowns when he spots Eddie’s name flicking across his notification bar. It’s late… Well, Buck thinks, looking at the red 3:16 AM time blinking at the corner of his jeep’s radio, it’s actually really early, and Eddie should definitely be asleep right now.

[From: Eddie] Good. I was worried.

Buck doesn’t miss the faint blush that creeps up his cheeks, and yet, his eyes all but sink at Eddie’s text. The warmth flushing his cheeks is superficial; it doesn’t touch his eyes with bright colors, nor does it guide his lips into a smile. It just… hurts. His chest feels tight, and his heart feels too small against a towering, empty rib cage. Sighing, he taps back a message.

[To: Eddie] you’re such a worrywart

The sudden low rumble of thunder overhead scares Buck. He jumps, and his phone flies from his hand, hitting the passenger seat floor with a thump. “Shit,” he mutters, feeling around for it in the dark, snagging it only after it buzzes with a third message.

[From: Eddie] how am I not supposed to worry when you tell me you’re taking a solo boy’s trip right after a 24-hour?

[From: Eddie] I’m pretty sure the single gray hair I found on my head is not because of Christopher.

[From: Eddie] He’s bummed you didn’t take him, by the way.

Buck skims through the messages, shaking his head.

[To: Eddie] tell Chris he’s my wingman for my next 10 trips

[To: Eddie] also go to sleep old man

His phone lights up with a series of emojis, some of which don’t actually make sense, and Buck can’t help but laugh quietly to himself. He and Hen have been teaching Eddie to use emojis more in his texts so he doesn’t “sound like such an old geezer,” as Hen so nicely puts it, and since then, he’s been using every symbol he can get his hands on, unaware of how inappropriate many are. It’s cute, and that alone is enough to have Buck’s smile curving back downward, and the pain that was temporarily pushed back by harmless messages of angry face emojis comes back to the center of his chest, a heavy pressure he can’t shake. His eyes flick across Eddie’s final message.

[From: Eddie] I can hear you groaning from here, so I’ll stop. Seriously though, get some rest, Buck. I’m pretty sure my old man heart can’t take another 20 hours of you driving back on no sleep.

[To: Eddie] will do. night Eddie

He locks his phone, and for a moment, he just stares at the raindrops drumming lightly against his windshield. They mix in with the dust and grime of a twenty-hour road trip, streaking down in inconsistent zigzags that blur the apartment building in front of him. Even enclosed in the car, he can feel the thickness of humidity pushing against his jeep, and he can only imagine how heavy it is when paired with the rain.

This is stupid, he thinks. He shouldn’t be here. Sure, he can give spontaneity a run for its money on many an occasion, but this? Twenty hours in a car on no sleep? Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to cut it, neither does the headache pounding dully against his temples. Still, he knows that if he didn’t come, he’d be spending yet another sleepless weekend alone, with only his thoughts twisting into daggers in his mind.

He works through his nerves, breathing low and deep, focusing on how wide his lungs can expand along his rib cage and not on the fact that he’s sitting in his jeep twenty hours from home ridiculously early in the morning in a different state.

“Come on, Buck,” he tells himself, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders. “Just go.” He follows his own verbal lead, hopping out of his jeep with a low gasp. The rain is somehow suffocatingly hot against his skin yet cold enough to have him trembling. He curses under his breath, wrapping his arms around himself as he jogs up to the apartment building, whipping past rooms until he stops on the number he’s read everyday in a text for the last three weeks.

He’s tucked under an awning, staring at the door that somehow seems far too large and daunting, just like everything else in this damn state. “Knock.” He rolls his eyes at his own voice and lifts his hand, rapping his knuckles quickly against the door.

It takes a moment for a light to flick on behind the closed blinds, and then Buck can hear locks clicking. His breath goes tight in his throat, stopping just before his lungs, and his shaking slows until he’s impossibly still on this foreign apartment step. The door opens, and he frowns, eyes briefly flicking from the tall, dark, and very shirtless man and back to the number on the door that he knows he got right.

“Hey, man. Can I help you?”

“Uh,” Buck drags out around a nervous laugh. He smiles sheepishly, and on instinct, rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry. I was looking for—”

“—Buck?”

The man’s face twists, his jaw tightening into a sharp line, and Buck leans over, looking past the man’s shoulder to see TK walking into what appears to be a combo living/dining room from a dark hallway. He looks tired but openly worried, and Buck can feel what little composure he’s hanging onto by a frayed thread crumbling.

“Woah, wait. This… This is Buck? This is the guy from LA you’ve been texting for weeks?”

TK rolls his eyes, but the furrow in his brow remains, so prominent against his pale face. He pads quickly across the room, squeezing into the doorway. “Stop, Carlos,” he mutters, sharing a quiet look with Carlos before he turns back to Buck, frown deep. “Buck? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Buck can only imagine how he must look: pale, drenched, tired, broken. He can feel his eyes stinging, and he swallows thickly. “Do you remember when I asked you if you wanted to hang out sometime if you’re ever in LA, and you told me you have a boyfriend?” The words are practically spilling from his tongue. He practiced. For twenty hours, he ran through just how exactly he planned to initiate this impromptu visit, but now that he’s living the scenario, his mind’s a jumbled, shaking mess.

“Uh, sure?” TK cocks his head to the side, and for a moment, he holds an expression that shows how lost he is, but then his face softens, and Buck can already hear the apology mixing in with recognition.

“Shit, Buck. I didn’t mean to insinuate—”

“—no, it’s…” Buck struggles with his words, his voice shaking. He laughs again, but the small huff of air cracks, and even though he wishes he can blame the sudden dampness on his cheeks on the rain dripping coldly from his hair, he knows his eyes are overflowing wells he can no longer control. “I just… I guess I’m just really confused, and… I wanted… You seem so confident, and I just—”

“—Hey, it’s okay,” TK tries softly. His eyes, Buck thinks, are endless pools of understanding that tug him in.

“Why don’t you come in?” Carlos starts, stepping aside. “You’re shivering.”

Buck jerks through a nod, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes, and he follows TK and Carlos inside, arms wrapping back around his middle tightly, whether to warm himself or keep himself from breaking, he’s not too sure.

“Do you have any clothes to change into?” TK asks, frowning as he plucks at Buck’s wet, short-sleeve shirt that’s clinging to his torso.

“Ah, no,” Buck laughs weakly, eyes falling to the floor. “I didn’t really… I kind of just left?”

“Okay,” TK nods carefully, eyes holding onto Buck’s shaking frame for a moment. “Carlos, do you have something he can borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Buck watches as Carlos disappears into the dark hallway, and then, he just sort of checks out. He can feel that he’s being ushered into a bathroom, and he’s faintly aware that the bathroom is nice. It’s large, open, and for a moment, he’s mutely in awe. But then there’s dry clothes being shoved into his arms, and he stares blankly at them, frowning.

“Buck?”

Buck’s slow to pull his gaze from the clothes to TK, but when he does, TK’s still frowning, and Buck offers a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”

TK’s nod is hesitant, matching his motions. He stops to pull open the mirror and rifle through it before he slips out of the bathroom, and Buck stares, tired and numb. He’s slow and shaky when removing his wet clothes, but when he’s slipping into dry clothes that, though are a tad short, fit him fairly well, he begins to feel more present and aware.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He paces the length of the bathroom, eyes catching onto his flushed, worn reflection. “Shit,” he repeats, louder, because he’s staring in a mirror in a bathroom in an apartment in freaking Texas.

“Hey, Buck? You okay?”

Buck turns to the knock on the door. “Y-yeah. Coming!” He shakes out his arms again, briefly bends over to splash some water on his face, and then he slips out of the bathroom, feeling an odd concoction of apologetic and embarrassed.

“Better?”

TK’s eyes are mutely narrow, almost to the point that Buck thinks he’s being looked through not at.

“Yeah, thanks.” He steps after TK until he’s dropping down onto the couch after TK motions toward it. “This place is… it’s really nice.”

TK opens his mouth to speak, but Carlos cutsin, slipping from the kitchen and masterfully balancing three coffee mugs between his two hands.

“Thanks. Coffee?”

“God, yes,” Buck all but groans, and he eagerly accepts the mug, his fingers stretching and wrapping around it, leeching the warmth. Carlos drops to the couch beside him, and Buck smiles softly, turning back to see TK sitting down on the edge of the coffee table across from him, his coffee going untouched.

“Look,” Buck starts, clearing his throat. “I’m really sorry. I should have called.” He takes a moment to see that both TK and Carlos are now sporting shirts, but their hair is still rumpled, and though both are alert and focused on him, he can still catch the hint of interrupted sleep in their eyes. “And I should have not shown up stupid early in the morning.”

“Well,” Carlos drags out, leaning back against the couch and propping his feet up on the table. “You’re here, so let’s hear it.”

“What?” Buck knows what, but the question’s quick to slip from his tongue.

“What you said at the door,” TK clarifies softly, leaning forward to pat Buck’s knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Buck pulls his gaze to the mug still wrapped tightly in his hands, his eyes watching the dark liquid, the steam still billowing faintly up, breaking at the rim. “How’d you know?”

“That I’m gay?” TK supplies, and Buck nods, keeping his gaze trained downward.

Laughing, TK leans back. “It’s kind of just something I always knew. I just never thought of women the same way my friends did.”

Frowning, Buck pulls his gaze up from the cup, working TK’s words around his head, new gears slotting into a stuttering machine. “What if I like women, and I thought I only liked women, but—”

“—then you met someone, who happens to be of the same sex, that you click with so well that it’s almost scary how right it feels?” Carlos interrupts, and Buck whips a wide gaze to him, nodding quickly.

“And you think maybe you’re just really great friends with this guy, but then you start to think about how you can’t imagine what your life was really like before him, and you really don’t want to imagine what your life would be like without him.”

“Holy shit,” Buck breathes, nodding still. “Yeah, all of that. How’d you…”

“Have you considered that you may be bisexual, Buck?”

Buck turns back to TK, frowning. “No? I mean, maybe?” He groans and leans forward to set his coffee mug down before he throws himself back against the couch, running his hands down his face. “I guess I haven’t really tried to label it? It’s not something I really thought about before—”

“—Eddie?”

Buck drops his hands to his lap, sighing, his entire body deflating against it. “What gave it away?”

“Every other text you send me has something to do with him or his son,” TK supplies, and Buck nods, a weak smile trying at his lips.

“Sorry about that.”

TK shrugs. “It’s cute. You two seem really close, and it’s obvious his son thinks the world of you.”

Buck smiles again, and though small, it feels natural, real, and he stops looking at the plush carpet as if it’s the most endearing thing in the world and pulls a slow gaze back up to meet TK’s present, encouraging eyes.

“You haven’t told him.”

It’s not a question, but Buck still shakes his head anyway. There isn’t a single inch of his entire being that doesn’t want to tell Eddie, that doesn’t want to open up to Eddie, to tell him that he’s the only constant that makes complete sense in his life. It’s maddening, enough, apparently, to drive twenty hours to Texas to confide in people he’s really only just met.

“I don’t know how,” he mutters, his voice cracking. His eyes are stinging again, and he doesn’t try to blink back the tears. “I’m so… scared,” he adds, his hands smoothing down his thighs. “I almost ruined everything between us once—I can’t… I don’t want to risk that again.”

“At some point,” Carlos starts, leaning forward and clapping a hand to Buck’s shoulder, “you’ll have to tell him. Not for him, but for you. You go on like this, and you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Plus, while I don’t know Eddie personally, from what you say about him, it sounds like he’ll be understanding regardless of how he ends up really feeling.”

Buck’s gaze, though blurry, shifts between TK and Carlos, back and forth, two warm, kind faces that encompass him. He knows, deep down, that they’re right, that Eddie will understand no matter what because that’s just the type of person Eddie is: impossibly kind and endlessly forgiving. Still, since he’s accepted that something’s wrong, that his heart’s sporting some cuts and bruises that’ve been building over the years, he’s afraid. He’s scared of what will become of his own mind if he tells Eddie how he really feels because of all things he faces on a daily basis, his thoughts are the most frightening.

“I just,” he tries, a hushed sob ripping up his throat. “Sorry. I just… I’m not usually this—”

“—emotional?” Carlos finishes at the same time TK cuts in with “feverish?”

“What?”

“I second that,” Carlos starts, frowning. “What?”

TK grabs the ear thermometer he snagged from the bathroom minutes before, waving it before Buck’s face. “Your skin’s warm to the touch, and people aren’t usually chilled after running around in humid, Texas rain.” TK leans forward, pressing the thermometer into Buck’s right ear, and Buck can only frown, pressing the back of his hand to his own cheek and sluggishly equating his headache to the heat that brushes against his knuckles.

“101.4,” TK mutters when the thermometer beeps. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Buck cocks his head to the side. “It’s Saturday morning, and I worked a 24-hour Thursday to Friday, so Wednesday?”

“Jesus, Buck!”

“You drove here after a 24?” TK spits out, slipping to his feet and crossing his arms. “With a fever?”

Wincing, Buck makes to get to his feet, slipping until he’s perched only on the edge of the couch. He’s heard this disappointment before, always after he’s done something others deem too reckless, and he’s found the best remedy is to remove himself from the situation, to reflect alone, work through his own, warring thoughts. “Sorry, I’ll go—”

“—what?” TK stammers at the same time Carlos almost growls “you most certainly will not.”

Buck blinks slowly. “Sorry, I’m confused?”

“Buck, you’re definitely not leaving this apartment to venture out into a state you’re unfamiliar in with a fever.” TK softens his tone, and his expression follows suit. “Sorry for yelling; we’re just worried.”

“Oh,” Buck mutters, his lips rounding. “I’m probably just tired.”

“I wonder why,” Carlos teases, and Buck laughs around a yawn.

“Are you guys sure, though? I can find a hotel—”

“—Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” TK cocks a brow, and Buck smiles, sheepish and small but real.

In minutes, he’s set up on the couch with blankets and medicine already pumping into his system, and in the short time it’s taken to get him settled, he must have thanked the two, at least, forty times, stopping only when Carlos slammed a pillow into his face. He assured the two, repeatedly, that he’d wake them if he feels worse, and once they were sure he wasn’t lying, they slipped off to the bedroom, leaving Buck alone.

It’s nearing four in the morning, and Buck’s already nodding off, the weight of exhaustion and the heat of the fever pulling him down, but when his phone begins buzzing, he jerks forward, squinting at the name: Eddie’s (Dumb) Landline.

Eddie doesn’t call from the landline; he specifically calls from his cell phone. Christopher however… Buck can’t press the answer button fast enough.

“Chris? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is your dad okay?”

“Hi, Buck.”

“Hey, Bud,” Buck says, voice tight, worried. “What’s going on?”

“I had another nightmare.”

Buck’s face falls, and he gnaws lightly at his lower lip. “Yeah? How come you didn’t wake your dad?”

“He’s tired. He said you’re on a trip.”

“Ah, yeah,” Buck mutters, smiling softly. “I drove to Texas to visit some friends.”

“How come you didn’t take me?”

“Because,” Buck draws out, “I had to make sure they were prepared to meet the single coolest person on the planet.” Christopher laughs on the other line, and then he tries to hush himself, mumbling how he has to be quiet, and Buck smiles wider.

“You should go back to bed, Chris. It’s really late. Remember what we talked about: you’re stronger than any nightmare.”

“I’m stronger than any nightmare,” Chris parrots back, and Buck nods, more to himself.

“Night, Buck. Love you.”

Though Buck’s heard it countless times, hearing Chris so openly express himself to Buck never ceases to catch Buck’s breath, to spread warmth across his chest, press band aids against wounds only he can see.

“Love you too, Christopher.”

[therenlover]

Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

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

James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

-------

a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters! 

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3

[laurenairay]

Ooh can you do number 12 with Jake virtanen?

Thanks for requesting this one, anon! I haven’t written for Jake Virtanen before, so this was fun!

And thank you to @danglesnipecelly for giving me a rundown on Jake – I hope I did him justice! Also tagging @denis-scorianov because I love your Jake fics!

“Shut up and take your pants off”

*

Another Friday night, another party/get-together/casual drinks. There were many perks to your best friend dating one of the Vancouver Canucks – the parties and gatherings were just one of them. At this point, you’d hung around the guys so many times, that you felt like could call some of them your friends. God knows you had enough of them texting you asking you for advice on basic life skills. They were all just so easy to get along with, so easy to like, and you always had fun when you hung out with them. What’s not to love?

Speaking of guys that were easy to like…

“Oh my god Virts, I’m so sorry!”

You turned your head sharply at the gasp of one of the team girlfriends, a few others following like meerkats, and you winced when you saw a large red wine stain spreading across his pale blue jeans. By the hisses of the people in the kitchen around you, they agreed – red wine was a bitch to get out of clothing. Anything, really. But ouch.

“Hey, not your fault, we both crashed,” Jake said with a smile, shaking his head.

But then he looked down at his jeans again and grimaced slightly, and you could tell how devastated he was. Who could blame him – those jeans look good on him. But now wasn’t the time. Jake Virtanen was one of the guys on the team that you were closest too – always there with a way to make you laugh, to smile, to have your heart beat a little faster with his flirting – and if you could help him, you absolutely would.

“I can get the stain out, like, right now, if someone can find me a tub of table salt?” you offered.

“You can?” Jake asked hopefully.

Like you could say no to that smile now.

“Of course,” you nodded, smiling back at him, “But I’m going to need your pants,”

Jake immediately blushed at the swell of cheers, and you felt your own cheeks flush warm as well, but you just rolled your eyes fondly.

“If our very generous host could loan you some basketball shorts so you’re not just walking around in your underwear?” you mused.

Brock laughed but nodded, clapping Jake on the shoulder as he walked out of the room. The kitchen started to clear, giving Jake some space as he unbuttoned his jeans, and you bit your lip before looking away from him. Then Jake nudged you with his elbow, making you look back at him.

“You know, if you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just asked,” Jake grinned.

Oh god. What a thought. What a flirt.

Not the time.

“Shut up and take your pants off, Virtanen,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“At least buy me dinner first” he smirked.

Huh. Was he…was he really…

There was no-one around to make this flirting a joke – was he actually serious this time?

“Nah, I think I’ll let you buy me dinner,” you said calmly, although inside your heartbeat was racing.

Too much?

Jake’s eyes widened in surprise, before he smiled widely. And then he shoved his jeans to the ground, making you shriek with laughter, looking firmly in his eyes and not downwards like you wanted to.

“It’s a date,” he grinned.

You bit your bottom lip to hide the stupid grin threatening to spread across your lips, even more so as Jake almost tripped over his shoes in an effort to take them off to get the jeans off his feet. So cute.

“So, about dinner…” Jake said.

“Virts! Shorts!”

You startled at the sound of Brock’s voice and stepped backwards as Brock walked into the room. He winked at you, making your cheeks flare with warmth again, and tossed the shorts to Jake.

“You needed table salt, right?” Brock asked you.

“Yeah, table salt and a large bowl. While the salt is soaking into the wine, I’ll boil some water and pour it over the salt. It might take a couple of tries but it should ‘push’ the stain right out. Then they can just be washed as normal,” you explained.

Both men looked at you a little stunned, but you just laughed.

“Removing a red wine stain, from all kinds of spills whether its light fabric, heavy fabric or upholstery, was one of the first things my mom taught me when I turned 16. She didn’t raise a fool,” you shrugged.

“No she didn’t,” Jake murmured, awe tinging his words.

You grinned as Brock laughed, nudging his friend, making Jake blush fiercely. Bless him.

“So, salt?” you prompted, trying to ease Jake’s embarrassment.

“Coming right up. While I’m getting it, maybe you can give Virts your number so he can take you on that dinner date,” Brock said faux-innocently.

Oh damn. Whoops.

“You heard that?” Jake winced.

“Oh yeah,” Brock smirked, “and I already texted Petey,”

“Well shit, now the whole team knows,” Jake huffed.

Well you sure as hell weren’t going to let him feel awkward, not now.

“So are you getting your phone out or not?” you said, smiling sweetly.

Brock just laughed again at the stunned look on Jake’s face, even more so as Jake scrabbled to pull his phone out of his wet jeans. So much for Jake’s earlier bravado!

“He’s usually smoother than this,” Brock teased, passing the container of salt to you.

“I know. But this is cute too,” you grinned back, unashamed.

“Suck it Boeser,” Jake said cheerfully, putting his phone on the counter.

Brock laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds to it. Yell if you need anything more for the pants,”

You grinned to yourself, laying the jeans out flat on the kitchen counter, covering the red wine stain liberally in salt while it was still damp enough to soak in properly, before reaching for Jake’s phone. You could feel him watching you as you typed in your phone number, but it wasn’t until you saved it and put the phone down that you looked up at him.

That pretty smile. The cheeky flirting. That gorgeous face. Those strong tattooed arms. That sweet heart. All of that, just for you?

“He’s right, I’m usually way smoother,” Jake mused, finally tugging on the borrowed shorts.

“I like both sides of you. Makes things more interesting,” you shrugged.

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“Yeah,” you nodded, not bothering to lie. Why lie? Why deny yourself what you want?

The sparkle in his eyes sent the butterflies in your stomach crazy, and you turned away from him, using the excuse of finding a large bowl to get your control back. Jake truly had no idea what he did to you, did he?

“I’ve gotta boil the water, probably a few times, so don’t feel like you need to hang around,” you said, reaching up on your tiptoes for the bowl you needed.

You startled as you felt a hand on the small of your back, Jake’s familiar scent filling your senses as his body pressed close to yours.

“I think I like where I am right now,” he murmured, easily picking up the bowl you were reaching for.

You inhaled sharply at the return of his easy charm, looking up at him with a smile. Oh this was going to be fun.

[books-letstalkaboutem]

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue Quotes that I Loved

This is just a list of quotes or excerpts that I highlighted while reading the book- literally all of them and there are a lot. I’m going to go ahead and say spoilers below just because there are so many quotes and while I don’t think the quotes actually spoil anything, I don’t want to accidentally spoil something for someone.

Some of the quotes might seem a little weird out of context but these are quotes that hit close to home, made me say “Hell, yeah, Addie!!!", quotes that made me laugh, and then basically all of the other quotes that I loved while reading.

I know that I didn't completely fall in love with this book like so many other people did, but it was still so beautifully written and there were so many amazing quotes in this book.

And just a heads up, I read this on my kindle, just in case the page numbers I list don’t match with your copy of the book.

Spoilers Below:

Quotes that Hit Close to Home

“Three and twenty, a third of a life already buried.” Page 39

“The day passes like a sentence. The sun falls like a scythe.” Page 41

“[...] and when she dies it will be as though she never lived.” Page 42

“I am so tired of not having choices, so scared of the years rushing past beneath my feet. I do not want to die as I’ve lived, which is no life at all. I—” Page 46

“[...] she swears sometimes her memory runs forward as well as back, unspooling to show the roads she’ll never get to travel. But that way lies madness, and she has learned not to follow.” Page 61

“His parents meant well, of course, but they always told him things like Cheer up, or It will get better, or worse, It’s not that bad, which is easy to say when you’ve never had a day of rain.” Page 97

“But then a night would go long, and a day would start late, and now he feels like there’s no time at all. Like he is always late for something.” Page 119

““I see someone who cares,” she says slowly. “Perhaps too much. Who feels too much. I see someone lost, and hungry. The kind of person who feels like they’re wasting away in a world full of food, because they can’t decide what they want.”” Page 140

““Life is so brief, and every night in Rennes I’d go to bed, and lie awake, and think, there is another day behind me, and who knows how few ahead.”” Page 167

““I mean feeling like it’s surging by so fast, and you try to reach out and grab it, you try to hold on, but it just keeps rushing away. And every second, there’s a little less time, and a little less air, and sometimes when I’m sitting still, I start to think about it, and when I think about it, I can’t breathe. I have to get up. I have to move.”” Page 177

““Small places make for small lives. And some people are fine with that. They like knowing where to put their feet. But if you only walk in other people’s steps, you cannot make your own way. You cannot leave a mark.”” Page 179

“It was such a lovely jar she had kept them in. But the glass is cracking now. The water leaking through.” Page 215

“Moments of joy register as brief, but ecstatic. Moments of pain stretch long and unbearably loud.” Page 225

“[...] you’ve never felt called to any one thing. There is no violent push in one direction, but a softer nudge a hundred different ways, and now all of them feel out of reach. Page 226

“[...] in wanting to live, to learn, to find yourself, you’ve gotten lost.” Page 226

“He lets it ring, holds his breath until it stops. He tells himself that if they call again, he’ll answer. If they call again, he’ll tell them he is not okay. But the phone doesn’t ring a second time.” Page 229

“He misses the structure, misses the path, misses the purpose. And maybe it wasn’t a perfect fit, but nothing is.” Page 257

“That he’d blinked and somehow years had gone by, and everyone else had carved their trenches, paved their paths, and he was still standing in a field, uncertain where to dig.” Page 283

“And those first two years, he was happy. He had Bea, and Robbie, and all he had to do was learn. Build a foundation. It was the house, the one that he was supposed to build on top of that smooth surface, that was the problem. It was just so … permanent.” 283

“Choosing a class became choosing a discipline, and choosing a discipline became choosing a career, and choosing a career became choosing a life, and how was anyone supposed to do that, when you only had one?” Page 283

““The vexing thing about time,” he says, “is that it’s never enough. Perhaps a decade too short, perhaps a moment. But a life always ends too soon.”” Page 333

“He is all restless energy, and urgent need, and there isn’t enough time, and he knows of course that there will never be. That time always ends a second before you’re ready. That life is the minutes you want minus one.” Page 421

“The world is wide, and he’s seen so little of it with his own eyes. He wants to travel, to take photos, listen to other people’s stories, maybe make some of his own. After all, life seems very long sometimes, but he knows it will go so fast, and he doesn’t want to miss a moment.” Page 438

Quotes that Made Me Laugh

“Henry loves his sister, he does. But Muriel’s always been like strong perfume. Better in small doses. And at a distance.” Page 120

““Sorry, Book,” she mutters, lifting the cat gingerly onto the back of the old chair, where he does his best impression of an inconvenienced bread loaf.” Page 248

““It’s Halloween!” defends Robbie. “It’s the twenty-third,” says Henry, but Robbie treats holidays the way he treats birthdays, stretching them from days into weeks, and sometimes into seasons.” Page 274

Quotes that made me say “Hell, yeah, Addie!!!”

“If she must grow roots, she would rather be left to flourish wild instead of pruned, would rather stand alone, allowed to grow beneath the open sky. Better that than firewood, cut down just to burn in someone else’s hearth.” Page 31

“[...]from this moment forward, her life will be her own.” Page 48

“There is a defiance in being a dreamer.” Page 117

““It has only been two years,” she says. “Think of all the time I have, and all the things I’ll see.”” Page 132

“It will take time, but time is the one thing Addie has plenty of. So she opens her eyes, and starts again.” Page 192

“But then Addie straightens, lifts her chin, smiles with an almost defiant kind of joy. “But isn’t it wonderful,” she says, “to be an idea?”” Page 261

Quotes that I Love

“[...] never pray to the gods that answer after dark.” Page 7

“What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?” Page 15

“The things that last, even when memories don’t.” Page 16

“As if you couldn’t like one place and want to see another.” Page 23

“Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.” Page 35

“The kind of place where time slips and blurs, where a month, a year, a life can go missing.” Page 39

“[...] attraction can look an awful lot like recognition in the wrong light.” Page 56

“The rise isn’t worth the fall.” Page 56

“Being trapped, buried alive, these are the things that scare you when you cannot die.” Page 57

“Funny, how some people take an age to warm, and others simply walk into every room as if it’s home.” Page 58

“Déjà vu. Déjà su. Déjà vécu. Already seen. Already known. Already lived.” Page 66

“[...]a lifetime of knowing brushed away like a tear.” Page 73

“[...] and it is sad, of course, to forget. But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten. To remember when no one else does.” Page 77

“[...] ideas are so much wilder than memories, that they long and look for ways of taking root.” Page 77

““These days, everyone’s looking down,” muses Sam. “It’s nice to see someone looking up.”” Page 101

“Being forgotten, she thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered?” Page 103

“If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?” Page 103

“Dreamer is too soft a word. It conjures thoughts of silken sleep, of lazy days in fields of tall grass, of charcoal smudges on soft parchment.” Page 11

“She considers the cut of their clothes, the absence of bone stays or bustled skirts, and thinks, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, how much simpler it would be to be a man, how easily they move through the world, and at such little cost.” Page 129

““I remember you.”” Page 135

“The darkness claimed he’d given her freedom, but really, there is no such thing for a woman, not in a world where they are bound up inside their clothes, and sealed inside their homes, a world where only men are given leave to roam.” Page 163

“She watches these men and wonders anew at how open the world is to them, how easy the thresholds.” Page 165

““I think there are many ways to matter.”” Page 179

“But ideas are so much wilder than memories, so much faster to take root.”” Page 210

“He is full of roots, while she has only branches.” Page 212

“Easy to stay on the path when the road is straight and the steps are numbered.” Page 229

“Outside the window, the day just carries on as if nothing’s changed, but it feels like everything has, because Addie LaRue is immortal, and Henry Strauss is damned.” Page 235

“[...]I didn’t want to live forever. I just wanted to live.”” Page 236

““There’s this family photo,” he says, “not the one in the hall, this other one, from back when I was six or seven. That day was awful. Muriel put gum in David’s book and I had a cold, and my parents were fighting right up until the flash went off. And in the photo, we all look so … happy. I remember seeing that picture and realizing that photographs weren’t real. There’s no context, just the illusion that you’re showing a snapshot of a life, but life isn’t snapshots, it’s fluid. So photos are like fictions. I loved that about them. Everyone thinks photography is truth, but it’s just a very convincing lie.”” Page 239

“God, it feels good to be wanted.” Page 256

“[...] And ideas are wilder than memories. They’re like weeds, always finding their way up.”” Page 261

“Homesick—Henry knows that one is supposed to mean sick for home, not from it, but it still feels right.” Page 262

“Dressing up, he thinks, is just like watching cartoons, something you enjoyed as a kid, before it passes through the no man’s land of teen angst, the ironic age of early twenties. And then somehow, miraculously, it crosses back into the realm of the genuine, the nostalgic. A place reserved for wonder.” Page 274

“Bea always says returning to campus is like coming home. But it doesn’t feel that way to Henry. Then again, he never felt at home at home, only a vague sense of dread, the eggshell-laden walk of someone constantly in danger of disappointing.” 282

“He doesn’t know what he believes, hasn’t for a long time, but it’s hard to entirely discount the presence of a higher power when he recently sold his soul to a lower one.” Page 284

““You can’t make people love you, Hen. If it’s not a choice, it isn’t real.”” Page 290

“He has asked the wrong god for the wrong thing, and now he is enough because he is nothing. He is perfect, because he isn’t there.” Page 290

“A life reduced to a block of stone, a patch of grass.” Page 299

“The present folding on top of the past instead of erasing it, replacing it.” Page 306

“She knows the paint will fade, rinsed off by a puddle, or simply wiped away by time, but that’s how memories are supposed to work. There—and then, little by little, gone.” Page 307

“Without the bells, the organ, the bodies crowding in for services, the church feels abandoned. Less a house of worship and more a tomb.” Page 311

“God is so large, why build walls to hold Him in?” Page 311

“Once you know about a thing, you start to see it everywhere. Someone says the words purple elephant, and all of a sudden, you catch sight of them in shop windows and on T-shirts, stuffed animals and billboards, and you wonder how you never noticed.” Page 314

“There is a freedom, after all, in being forgotten.” 325

“Memories are stiff, but thoughts are freer things. They throw out roots, they spread and tangle, and come untethered from their source. They are clever, and stubborn, and perhaps—perhaps—they are in reach.” Page 327

“They’ve been lucky, so lucky, but the trouble with luck is that it always ends.” 329

““You said it yourself, Luc. Ideas are wilder than memories. And I can be wild. I can be stubborn as the weeds, and you will not root me out. And I think you are glad of it. I think that’s why you’ve come, because you are lonely, too.”” Page 332

“She closes her eyes, reminds herself there are many ways to leave a mark, reminds herself that pictures lie.” Page 337

“She may not feel the years weakening her bones, her body going brittle with age, but the weariness is a physical thing, like rot, inside her soul. There are days when she mourns the prospect of another year, another decade, another century. There are nights when she cannot sleep, moments when she lies awake and dreams of dying. But then she wakes, and sees the pink and orange dawn against the clouds, or hears the lament of a lone fiddle, the music and the melody, and remembers there is such beauty in the world. And she does not want to miss it— any of it.” Page 342

“Luc’s smile darkens. “Because time is cruel to all, and crueler still to artists. Because vision weakens, and voices wither, and talent fades.” He leans close, twists a lock of her hair around one finger. “Because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end,” he says, “everyone wants to be remembered.”” Page 351

“It is a sign, when even gods and devils dread a fight.” Page 367

“And this, he decides, is what a good-bye should be. Not a period, but an ellipsis, a statement trailing off, until someone is there to pick it up. It is a door left open. It is drifting off to sleep.” Page 419

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 16

<- Part 15 | Part 17 ->

Summary: A flirtatious moment in the hospital garden turns sour. 

Warnings: Brief nsfw themes, injury-recovery angst, post-traumatic stress/flashbacks, graphic past injuries, KISSING, hurt/comfort. Love and fluff. 

3,700 words

After being gutted left him with a limp, a cane, and an overbearing sense of weakness, Frederick Chilton began copying Hannibal Lecter. His patterned suits, his clean-shaven face. The mimicry wasn’t deliberate exactly, but he looked to a man who radiated calm dignity and strength, and tried to capture some of it for his own.

It didn’t work. Frederick Chilton was still Frederick Chilton.

But shaving the beard did make him look younger. The razor glided over his smooth cheek as he cut through the facial hair that had grown unruly in the hospital. A new man stared back at him. One not traumatized by Gideon’s knife.

Only a few months later, he was shot in the face, and let the stubble grow back to distract from the scar. To obscure the hollowing where maxillary bone was missing. Like a chameleon, Frederick was always changing—hairstyles, wardrobes, colognes—always imitating someone, drawing the eye away from a flaw, never comfortable with himself. Ever improving. Refining. Hiding.

Every day, the burn ward’s physical therapists had him using one exercise machine or another. A pedaling machine lowered over his bed so he could build muscle while lying on his back before he was able to walk. The next step was a tall, rolling frame that he strapped into like a fighter pilot hanging from a parachute harness, which allowed him to take a few weightless steps. His legs shook. His feet did not know how to align themselves on the ground anymore. He hissed curses when you cheered him on just for shuffling one foot forward along the smooth grey linoleum.

One damned foot.

As if he couldn’t walk before. As if one shaking, machine-assisted step was an accomplishment. He was an overgrown baby in a Jumperoo.

While he could not walk on his own yet, he could get into and out of a wheelchair without screaming bloody murder. This allowed him a new level of freedom, if not autonomy. He still required two nurses to lower him into the chair. Still needed help getting to the bathroom. But he could at least use the bathroom instead of a bedpan and catheter.

Healing came at a cost.

Until now, he had caught flashes of his reflection in polished surfaces. Warped teeth in a metal IV pole. The fuzzy silhouette of a mask in the black of his computer screen.

He stood with his hands on the bathroom sink, staring. The nurse at his left elbow tugged him, told him it was time to sit back down in the chair. He needed support to stand, a babysitter to ensure he didn’t fall, and she was tired of waiting.

The thing staring back at him did not move.

When he took the compression mask off for the one hour per day he was allowed to remove it for cleaning, he somehow expected to find his own face beneath it. Skin. What he saw was a stranger. Gnarled scars made an uneven backdrop for one dead blue eye and a skeletal grimace. His own bones were buried somewhere underneath like bedrock, but the flesh was rearranged and distorted.

If he had met this man a year ago, Dr. Chilton would have felt inward pride at his ability not to sicken at the sight. He would have shaken his hand with a smug, professional detachment that said, “I am accustomed to horrific things in my line of work—abnormal psychiatry. This does not shock me as it would a layperson.”

He was a creature to be pitied.

Then a familiar reflection appeared out of the blind spot of his left side. Your image wrapped its hand behind the broken stranger, and he felt it land on his lower back. Warm. Comforting as your face, which was knit with worry. You told the nurse you could handle it from here, and she retreated out to his room.

When she was gone, Frederick began to laugh, dark and cruel, eyes never leaving the matching set staring cruelly back.

“What is it?” you asked, tightening your grip on his arm as he began to tremble.

“Do you think I look younger without a beard?”

The laugh cracked in his throat. His shoulders heaved as he finally looked away. It was too embarrassing to watch a grown man cry.

***

The heat of July was not easy on a body that could no longer sweat and was covered head to toe in a compression suit, but Frederick Chilton was thrilled to be outside. As the automatic sliding doors opened, he breathed in deeply through the nose and exhaled the spinning summer fragrances with a blissful sigh.

You resisted the urge to tease him. Of the pair, you were the more outdoorsy by far, and the last time you dragged him camping, he’d managed to complain the entire two days. He was not, generally, one to appreciate sunshine and birdsong. But this was different.

It was his first time away from the lifeless hospital air—the same smells day after day—in four months.

Now a breeze hit his face—a breeze! He had forgotten what that felt like—and brought with it the smell of cut grass and flowers, and exhaust fumes from the nearby roadways. The scent of gasoline urged his stomach to wring itself empty, but it was faint and easy enough to shake off as sparrows chirped and flitted about the hospital’s “meditation garden.”

Gently curving paths snaked through the landscaping of lush greenery and small trees. Few flowers were planted, out of respect for patients with allergies, but a fountain at the center babbled soothingly. The walkways were wide and smoothly paved, so the grey wheels of the hospital-issue wheelchair rolled over them easily, performing their function despite being over-worked and worn down, not unlike the staff. The black rubber handle grips had a dull patina from hundreds of hands, yours being the latest to circle around them as you pushed.

It was nice to have a private courtyard to enjoy the fresh air without the eyes of the general public watching.

Frederick was able to wear clothes from home now, but they had to be loose-fitting and short-sleeved to not interfere with his treatment. In a navy polo shirt and athletic shorts, he felt horrifically under-dressed, and did not want to be seen that way. The fashion crime was almost as bad as the face he could not bear looking at.

An elderly patient and what appeared to be her adult daughter sat on one of the benches between two daylily patches, blooming garishly cheerful red and gold. The daughter looked up, and Chilton looked away.

“You are certain you checked the bedroom closet? Left-hand side, second drawer to the bottom?” he asked again, agitation rising.

He was looking for the more fashionable Chino shorts he rarely wore, preferring to overheat in long pants than expose his pale, door-knob knees to imagined ridicule. You told him the housekeeper must have misplaced them.

He clenched his fist as tightly as the pink, shiny-scarred claw could manage and went on a gruff, impotent rant about the help growing careless without him to keep them in check. (If anything, the “help” were desperate to keep you in check without him there to manage your habit of leaving everything out—your clothes on a chair, the cereal box on the counter.)

“I know, I know. Awful,” you nodded along to the music of his words, if not the lyrics. You wished he would change the subject, but he pressed on with his investigation of the Case of the Missing Shorts.

“Mrs. Pérez brought a load of laundry down from the bedroom last Wednesday,” he noted. Frederick had taken to watching the security feeds remotely from his laptop. “Has she been using the cheap dry cleaner on Cherry Street instead of the good one so she can skim the difference? I have explicitly instructed the staff not to use them—they have lost or ruined several articles over the years. Inform Mrs. Pérez that I will not stand for lazy—what?”

Your tense smile began emanating a tenser whine.

It was rather suspicious.

Frederick watched you for a moment, puzzled, and then resumed, “The new security guard shares my pant size. Perhaps—”

“I DID IT. I brought them to Good Will.”

“You what?!”

Clicking the wheelchair brake, you doubled over the back of it, laughing at your childish ruse and how seriously Frederick had taken it. God, the man could never let anything go! “Over a year ago! You never wore them!”

“Come here.” His clipped tone did not invite argument.

You walked around to the front of his chair, the repentant pout on your face strongly undermined by rounded cheeks that were barely holding back a chuckle.

He growled with affectionate anger—the kind where he wanted to grab behind your knees and pull you into his lap, telling you with a low purr exactly how much trouble you were in. Except at the moment, your weight crashing onto his skinny, bony lap would have bruised a femur and torn five stitches. And if he was not confident enough for a kiss, he was in no condition to promise punishments of that nature.

So he gave your rump a sharp smack and tried to make his mouth smirk in that playfully disdainful way that said, “I love you, but I am going to kill you. You know that, right?” Sometimes wanting to kill someone can be such a personal, intimate love language.

“Doctor Chilton!” you gasped, feigning shock. “Such a naughty patient. I have told you time and again, this is simply unprofessional.”

The old woman and daughter had moved on, leaving you alone in the garden.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, catching on to the new game you were playing. Back when he was the administrator of the BSHCI, you would often saunter into his office playing the oversexed patient to his sleazy therapist. Now the roles were reversed.

“You protest,” he said in a low, lecherous tone, “and yet you continue to lavish extra attention on me. Do not think I have not noticed.”

“I don’t know what you could mean,” you deflected coyly. “Please keep your hands to yourself, sir.”

He grabbed your hand and spun you to face him, skeletal fingers interlocking with yours. Even through the compression glove, you could feel how skinny they had become, knobby knuckles protruding.

“Doctor,” he corrected.

You swallowed. “Doctor.”

“Why deny it? You guard all my treatments for yourself like a prize when other nurses could do it. You crawl into my bed to warm me with your body heat—hardly standard practice. I think you like the attention,” he said, giving your ass another lurid slap.

“D-Doctor! I’m not supposed to—we’re not supposed to…”

“If you worked at my hospital, I would fire you for such fraternization. Yet you call me unprofessional.” His hand still rested on your ass.

“You would fire me, doctor? Why fire me when there is so much I could offer?”

“And what is it you would offer me?” he asked, voice thick with meaning. His fingers kneaded the fat of your ass gently. It would have been harder, more possessive, if his hands were at full strength.

Not long ago, getting an erection had been painful, though he’d had several corrective surgeries since then, and the grafting had time to heal. Perhaps the sunlight was sparking him back to life. He was in a flirtatious mood—more excited than you’d seen him in a long time, and you were not about to tell him to slow down.

“Anything you want, doctor.” You lowered yourself in front of his chair, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him expectantly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

No one else was in the garden, and statues and shrubberies hid it from the road, but it was not entirely private. Anyone could walk in or see from a window of the tall buildings. You were just pretending. You weren’t going to slip his cock out right there and suck it for all the world to see. And yet… it had been so long. The thought of your moist lips closing over his lonely, aching hardness, your head bobbing in his lap…

“You… are fascinated with me, nurse,” he observed, licking his non-lips. His composure was holding, but barely. “You have seen many patients, but never one as badly burned, have you?”

“No.”

“Does it excite you?”

You took a moment before answering. Part of him resented you for still finding him attractive. At his lowest, he even blamed you for wanting these brutal injuries to happen. A bird sang a few metallic notes on a nearby branch before fluttering down to drink from the fountain. You stroked the top of his narrow thighs, careful not to push too far by going near his cock, but he showed no sign of hesitation today. The heat in his eyes as he watched you was not accusing, but hungry.

“Yes,” you panted. “You are striking. I’ve never met anyone so strong, so resilient.”

“Do you dream of kissing me? Your most striking patient?”

“Yes.”

The sun beat down hotter, but it was only your own internal temperature rising. The birds seemed to pause in their songs, and the leaves on the trees ceased to flutter.

You had waited so long—was he really asking?

His gloved hand reached down between his legs, and nailless pink fingertips stroked the side of your face thoughtfully a few times. Then he motioned you to get up off your knees, offering his hand as a symbolic gesture only. You put some of your weight on the padded rubber armrest as you stood.

“It will not be pleasant. For either party, I imagine,” he said, breaking character.

“It will be for me.” Your voice was soft.

“I do not know what to do like this. Mash my teeth against your face?”

You laughed a little. It was probably more nuanced than that, but that sounded basically accurate. “We’ll find out together.”

He looked off into the distance, toward the humming road weaving through the city. A warm breeze brought the smell of sea off the harbor: salty, humid, and stagnant with rotted fish and garbage. “The memory of your lips against mine is already fading,” he said. “That memory is all I have left of them. Whatever this will be, it will not feel the same.”

“I know.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. The dark blue polo was informal for his old life, but the woven cotton texture was rich compared to the thin hospital gowns you were used to him wearing. The last kiss you shared with Frederick was preserved behind a glass display case in your memory palace. A new kiss might break the hermetic seal. You could forget what it felt like to kiss him before. But it seemed worth the price to build new memories—a future just as full of love as the past.

He looked up at you like a broken ceramic being pieced back together with gold. His eyes shone with love, but his shoulders were slumped low.

“You may say I’m a slutty nurse for wanting to kiss my patient, but you’re to blame!” you said, playing the game again. “How could I resist your charm? I bet you seduce every nurse—I’m only your latest conquest!”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

“No, my dear,” he purred, grabbing your arm and pulling you down to him until your face was inches from his. “Only you. I only want you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

He breathed in. He nodded.

You leaned the final inch down, and pressed your lips to his teeth.

The Red Dragon’s teeth sunk through flesh and tore deep. Coppery blood flooded his mouth, the taste so metallic and strong it drowned out almost everything else out—the pain, the unnatural tearing, little pops of veins, ligaments, and muscles stretching to their limits before giving up, his own screams. The truth of his face with all its illusions of grandeur was revealed before him: it was just meat. Nothing but raw, shredded meat.

“NO!” he screamed, and pushed you hard.

It was different than the peevish denials other times you’d tried to kiss. He pushed you away with so much force you staggered backward, and his wheelchair nearly tipped over. It reared on two wheels like a panicked horse and would have fallen except the worn brake gave way, and he shot backward several feet until the vacant bench stopped the chair’s momentum.

“No, no! Get away! No!” he begged no one, shaking and thrashing so violently he risked ripping his healing scars.

His back, legs, and arms were glued to the wheelchair, and he couldn’t escape. No—could have if he were desperate enough, strong enough. But he was terrified of ripping his skin off. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat and made it difficult to think straight. Dear god, he was afraid something happened to his back. Of being disfigured again.

He was afraid to die, but he dreaded even more the thought of surviving yet again to find another piece taken from him.

Not another. Not again.

If he cooperated, he had to be spared this time. He would cooperate. Do everything The Red Dragon said, and fate would be merciful. He had to go home. He had to go home. To see you again. It was not fair that he survived two attempts on his life only to die here. It was not fair! He was going to get married to the love of his life. Things were finally going right. The Dragon’s shadow fell over him. The acrid stench of his breath as he leaned down toward Frederick’s mouth—

“Frederick!”

You ran after him and tried to restrain him before he climbed out of the wheelchair and fell to the pavement, but it only made him struggle harder. Fuck. You weren’t sure if touching him again was a good idea, but you didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt himself.

“Shh, I’m here.”

Crouching next to him, you tried to keep him seated, murmuring soft, reassuring words. Eventually, he stopped thrashing to escape, his jerking limbs resigning themselves to passive trembling. His eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They didn’t see anything but a dark room with a flickering projector.

You laid your head on his lap. “I’m right here. It’s OK. You’re safe, Frederick. You’re safe. Shh, shh...”

It took several minutes, but his breathing began to slow, and he began to calm down. His fingers found your hair and stroked it, mindlessly running over the contour of your scalp. Familiarity. Recognizing you, he grasped at your shirt to draw you closer, clutching you like a teddy bear to his chest. It was an awkward angle, but you shifted so your butt was partially supported by the bench he’d crashed into, and used the chair’s armrest to hold yourself in the bent position. Frankly, even if every muscle in your body cramped up, you weren’t going to leave him as long as he needed to hold onto you.

Finally, he whimpered your name and asked what happened.

“I… kissed you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

He sniffed and wiped his face, which he discovered was soaked with tears, and looked off into the trees. You sat back onto the bench, straightening your crooked spine, but keeping a firm hold on his hand, staying close as he returned to reality. He would be embarrassed. Add this to the growing list of Ways Frederick Chilton is Broken and Useless. But for now, the humiliation was dulled by the fact that he was not in that room again, with the projector flickering. You stayed that way for a while, sitting in the dappled shade of the garden and the warm breeze, the fountain burbling a constant, relaxing, tuneless song.

“The last man to bring his lips to mine bit them off.”

“I’m so sorry, Frederick. I shouldn’t have been so stupid...”

He squeezed your hand. Straightened up in his chair. “I heard the FBI has the video. Have you watched it?”

You shook your head, then quickly added, “No,” aloud, knowing his vision was poor and still focused on the tree branches swaying and morphing in the wind. Jack Crawford had offered, but you didn’t want to see it. You couldn’t bear to.

It had been hard enough hearing him describe how Francis Dolarhyde glued him naked to his grandmother’s wheelchair and made him watch macabre home movies of the families he had slaughtered. His voice was too calm, too distant from the memory as he dictated graphic details for the Journal of Psychology, desperate to tell his story, grab his fame before he died.

You should have known how your mouth coming at his would make him feel. You were so caught up in your romantic imaginings, you forgot how kiss-like that moment of horror must have been, just before the pain.

The nightmare his life had been for months already, and would continue to be. The scar tissue that wouldn’t fully mature for two years. Two years wearing a compression suit to help them heal. Years of follow-up procedures so that he can continue to move. To breathe. To hear. Longer until he could get a new face. His entire life altered forever.

It started with a kiss.

“We don’t have to kiss. I should never have pushed you to,” you apologized, wincing preemptively.

You expected him to be angry. To sarcastically tell you, “Now you decide we don’t have to? Now that it is too late? What fine timing.”

“I am not weak,” he bristled instead, but his agitation only spanned the length of a breath. He squeezed your hand softly, and pulled you halfway into his chair to wrap his arms around your waist and back. “I did not think that would happen either,” he spoke comfortingly into your hair. “Attempting it for the first time in a wheelchair was a mistake. I should have been more aware of that, but I grow tired of not being able to show my affection. You are not the only one impatient for my recovery, darling. I want to try again.”

“Now?” You pulled back, widening your eyes at him.

“No,” he said plainly. “I think not.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @barbingchilton​ 

[nnightskiess]

r e q u e s t: Hi !! I love your writing ❤️ I want to know if it’s possible for you to write something with Quinn fabray x reader ? They are together in quarantine in New York with Rachel, Kurt and Santana. Also Reader and Santana are best friends. Can you add humor and fluff please ? Thanks ☺️

Quinn and Y/N were walking hand in hand through the streets of New York. They had planned a little getaway together to the big city. It was mainly Quinn’s idea, she wanted to propose to her high school sweetheart— Y/N. But most of their trip, and thus Quinn’s plan, fell apart due to the rapid spread of the Covid virus. Their tickets for Broadway had been refunded. The cute tearoom where Quinn had planned to propose to the girl— and where the two women had shared their first kiss during Glee club’s Nationals in New York— was closed down due to the virus. Most of the things Quinn had planned out for the proposal got refunded, except for the hotel. Quinn decided that she’d postpone her proposal to another time. She didn’t want to propose to Y/N like this. She deserved a proper proposal, like the one Quinn had planned out in her head for years. Quinn tried not to let it get her down but she found it hard to lie to Y/N about the frown on her face. 

“I know it’s different.... but... I’m still glad we’re here.” Y/N brought their intertwined hands together and planted a kiss on Quinn’s knuckles. “New York always brings me back to high school.” 

“Remember when we broke the bed during our pillow fight? And, oh God, how Tana fell off it when you smacked her across the face?” Y/N shook her head in amusement, “But the thing I will never forget is when we shared our first kiss in that adorable tearoom near the hotel.”

Quinn gave her a distant smile. 

“And remember how panicked I was when Mr. Schuester walked by the window and I thought he had seen us out of the hotel room?”

Quinn hummed softly, rubbing her thumb across Y/N’s hand. She remembered every little detail about that morning, which made this all so much harder.

Y/N came to a halt and stood in front of Quinn, which caused the latter to bump into her. 

“Oh, baby-”

“Why are you so quiet? I don’t like it.” Y/N seemed genuinely worried. 

Quinn looked at the ground for a second and held her temple, trying to come up with a good enough lie. 

“I-” She looked back up at her girlfriend and her expression immediately softened. Whenever Y/N was worried— particularly about Quinn — her eyebrows would furrow and she’d pout her lips ever so slightly. 

Quinn sighed, “I’m just disappointed that we couldn’t visit it this time. I feel like a visit to New York is never complete without a high tea at our place.” Y/N smiled softly when Quinn grabbed her cheeks to comfort her.  

“You know what else makes our trip complete?”

Y/N grinned like an idiot, immediately knowing what she was hinting at. 

Quinn smiled, 

“Let’s go pick up our stuff from the hotel first and then drive there.”

✫彡

“Wait, let me scare her.” 

Quinn shook her head in amusement as her girlfriend plastered herself against the wall next to the front door of the apartment. Quinn knocked a few times before the door slid open. 

“Oh my God! Quinn! It’s so good to see you!” Kurt’s voice rang through the hallway. He quickly hugged her before calling Santana.

“Quinn’s here!” 

He turned back to the blond in front of him, “Are you alone?” Kurt was in disbelief, knowing very well that Quinn and her girlfriend were inseparable. Quinn quickly looked at Y/N through her peripheral and saw her nod her head.

“...I guess so-”

“Wait... you two are still together, right?” Concern filled Kurt’s voice, but before Quinn could reply, Santana appeared out of the bathroom.

“Ha! You bet they are.” She smirked at her friend, “Wait... where’s the fiancée?” 

Quinn’s eyes widened and she immediately faked a long, awkward laughter. “Good one, San.” 

Kurt looked between the two girls in confusion, and even Santana seemed lost. 

He let out an awkward chuckle. “Am I missing something?” 

Santana got the hint after Quinn shot her another look, “Oh- that’s just an inside joke of ours.” 

“Y/N! Oh my God!” Someone squealed.

The three turned around and saw Rachel stand in the hallway, two large bags in her hand. She had seen Y/N hide behind the wall when she walked up to their frontdoor.

“Damn it, Berry.” Y/N groaned. “You ruined my surprise.”

Santana snorted, “Well, I knew you were somewhere. Quinn gets rashes when you’re not within a radius of 16 feet.” She opened her arms wide when Y/N revealed herself. “C’mere, I missed you.”

The two best friends shared a sweet hug while Rachel clumsily carried her bags inside.

“What’s up with that?” Kurt turned to her.

“Oh- well, now that our shows are postponed to God-knows-when... I thought I’d bring the stuff from my dressing room back home.”

“Why’d you bring this coffee machine home? We already have one.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like that one.”

“Rachel! We have no more countertop space... or available plugs!” 

He gasped when he saw the brand, “These coffee pods are thirty dollars per package?!”

Santana rolled her eyes and walked Quinn and Y/N to the living room.

“So...while we let Bert and Ernie bicker... what’s up? No trouble in paradise?” She turned to the couple, hoping to cryptically find out why Quinn hadn’t proposed.

"I can’t believe you think we’d be able to part ways.” Y/N joked back and cuddled up against her girlfriend, who shook her head at Santana to let her know she’d tell her later.

“What do you girls want to drink? Or do you want some of Rachel’s exquisite coffee?” Kurt asked from the kitchen.

“Can I try a sip first?”

Quinn smiled at the childish antics of her girlfriend. Rachel gestured the girl to come over, which left the two ex-cheerios alone to talk.

Santana leaned in closer so that no one would hear,

“What happened?! Did you freak out at the last minute? Tell me you didn’t...”

Quinn sighed and rubbed her temples, “No, my whole proposal fell into pieces thanks to this freaking virus.”

“People are dying, Q.”

She sighed, “Gah, I know. It’s just- I’ve had this all planned out in my head for years. This was how it was supposed to go. And now everything is ruined.”

Santana gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her knee. “And there’s no alternative that you’d like?”

Quinn shrugged and shook her head softly.

“Well, if I may speak freely... we’re the only people who know Y/N in and out... which means that we also both know that she wouldn’t care if you went on one knee in a clown suit or if you wrote your big question in the sky with a plane...” Santana looked back to see if they were paying attention to their hushed conversation, but Y/N was sitting on the counter, her feed dangling while she took gentle sips of the expensive coffee. A small smile appeared on both girl’s faces. 

“The only thing she cares for is that you are the one to ask her.” 

Quinn’s eyes were filled with tears as she came to the realisation. 

“Thanks, Santana.”

“Anytime.” 

The two hugged until they heard Y/N run up to them.

“I want in!”

✫彡

A few hours had passed and all five of them were sprawled about the couch, their take-away food on the coffee table. Y/N’s head rested against Quinn’s chest while her legs were put on Santana’s lap. Quinn mindlessly played with the strands of Y/N’s hair.

It had become a tradition for them to watch ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ every time they visited their friends in New York.

“This scene breaks my heart every damn time.” Y/N mumbled and threw a napkin at the TV when Holly left the cat on the curb in the rain. 

“She goes back for him later, though.” Kurt spoke.

“I don’t care. Damage is done.”

‘People do fall in love, people do belong to each other. Because that’s the only chance anybody has for real happiness.’ Paul, one of the characters spoke.

Quinn put her head against Y/N’s at hearing that. She was filled with so much joy at having this wonderful girl in her arms.

“I’ve been carrying this thing around for months,” Paul grabbed a wedding ring box out of his coat which caused Quinn’s mind to wander off. Even though she had seen this movie a dozen times, she was still surprised to be reminded of her ruined proposal. 

Before she could make herself feel miserable about it again, Rachel’s phone rang. She quickly excused herself but motioned for them to not pause the movie. 

Rachel walked to the living area after a few minutes, her expression tense and filled with worry.

“Guys...”

Kurt paused the movie as the girls turned to Rachel.

“We might have a tiny problem...Well... a big one, actually.”

Everyone got the memo that it was something serious and they sat up.

“One of the ensemble members has been tested positive for the virus... which means that everyone— crew and cast — needs to go into quarantine at home... and that includes everyone they have been in contact with... so that would mean that we have to stay inside for the next two weeks too...”

The bunch on the couch took a moment to take the news in until Santana shot up, 

“I am not going to spend two weeks, non-stop, in here! I already go insane with too much of you as it is. I usually can deal with curtains as walls, your stubble in the sink or your god-awful annoying vocal exercises when I’m trying to sleep but that’s because I get home from work, eat and head straight to bed. But I will literally kill someone if I have to go through that all day long. I was supposed to see Brittany this weekend but hey, thanks a lot, Berry.”

“This is hardly Rachel’s fault. It’s the responsible and safe thing to do. You wouldn’t want Brittany to get it, right?”

Santana avoided eye-contact, but it was clear that she agreed with what Kurt said. 

“Wow, I feel so unwanted right now.” Y/N mumbled out, slightly joking. “You get to spend your quarantine with us!”

Santana gave her a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “I know, that’s the only good thing about this.”

Rachel saw the gloomy looks on everyone’s face. “They won’t tell us who it is for privacy reasons, but I usually don’t hang out with the ensemble anyway so I hope I’m safe. I’m so sorry, you guys.”

Kurt stood up with a sigh, “I guess I’ll go find the spare mattress then. You two can take my bed.” He was about to walk off but pointed a finger at Quinn and Y/N. “No sex... in my bed.”

Quinn pursed her lips, not that happy with Kurt’s rule.

“You were the leader of the celibacy club, you can last two weeks without sex. Besides, there are no walls so I will know when you break my rule.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you and Blaine before.” Santana rolled her eyes. “But great. We’ll have five, sexually frustrated people cooped up together in a tiny apartment with no walls for privacy, no natural light and no entertainment. Someone’s definitely going to get murdered... by me.” She added.

“My vote’s on Rachel...” Y/N mumbled out. Santana stuck out her hand behind her back for Y/N to high five.

“I’m just glad we decided to check out of our hotel this morning and bring our stuff to you guys... because no matter how much I love you all, I am not going to wear any of your spare panties.” Quinn stood up to go and help Kurt.

“You could just go commando.” Y/N shrugged, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Quinn sent her a teasing look and winked.

“I would say get a room but yeah, we don’t have any...so...” Rachel shrugged. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to have to do this.” Santana sighed and walked off to her part of the apartment. 

“Hey- but, look at it this way. We’ll have two weeks of non-stop karaoke, binge-watching and eating junk food. Doesn’t that sound great?” Rachel tried again but no one replied.

 ✫彡

One week done, one week to go. 

For Quinn and Y/N, this week had consisted of a lot of cuddling and making out in bed, watching silly movies and cooking with whatever they could find in the pantry.

Santana had surprisingly been on her best behaviour, though they let her be whenever she had a ‘don’t-talk-to-me’ look on her face. Y/N suspected that Brittany had probably told her to be nice and to make the best out of it, but she also liked to think that it was because of her presence. She hadn’t been able to visit her best friend often now that they lived so far away. But it was like old times whenever they saw each other again. However, Quinn had caught herself feeling jealous that the two women had spent that much time together. But her jealousy washed away when she saw the best friends joke or laugh like they used to when they were still 16 year olds. It warmed her heart.

Kurt blended in perfectly and knew exactly when to give someone space or when to approach them. He and Quinn made sure there was food on the table and he had ordered a lot of, mostly useless, stuff online to try and keep everyone entertained. The twister game had been everyone’s favourite so far. And the effort he put into his bingo night was even too wholesome for Santana to make a comment about it, no matter how bad she wanted to after getting a rubber duck as present when she won.

Rachel did her best to help wherever she could and she was, surprisingly, a lot of fun to have around when things got boring. Though, yes, the daily vocal exercises got a bit out of hand when she woke them up belting high notes at 7.30. Santana was close to killing her had it not been for Quinn and Y/N holding her back. Santana wasn’t intimidating at all with her bed head, tangled up hair and red PJs and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh.

Quinn had been over the moon, so to say. She got to spend two whole weeks with the love of her life. Yes, they lived together but that was different. Now, there was no schedule or work to interrupt them or cloud their minds. It was just them, enjoying being in each other’s arms. For a lot of couples the lockdown and quarantine would probably be make or break, but Quinn hadn’t been worried about a negative outcome at all. When you’ve been together for that long, and been through hell and back, you know you will persevere together. The company of Kurt and Rachel was fun, and it was certainly good to have Santana around again but Quinn couldn’t help but wish it had just been Y/N and herself in quarantine. If that had been the case, she knew they wouldn’t just spend their days only cuddling in bed.

Y/N was the only one that was visibly annoyed and on edge. She would roll her eyes or sigh in annoyance if things went wrong or if someone said something she didn’t like. Quinn had caught her staring out of the window, to which Y/N explained that she hoped if she looked hard and long enough she might see the dragon that would save her. She wasn’t used to sit around and do nothing and was bored out of her mind.

Quinn and Y/N were lying in Kurt’s bed with their legs tangled together. Quinn held her girl close to her chest. She squeezed her and inhaled the scent of her freshly washed hair. The window was slightly open, causing a chill breeze to slightly move the curtains.

“Now I’m sure of it...” Y/N started, getting Quinn’s attention, “I’m never going to commit a felony.”

Quinn let out a breathy chuckle, “Were you questioning it before?”

“I can’t imagine being stuck like this for years.”

“Well, you still have access to the internet, great food, your friends...and your wonderful girlfriend.” 

Y/N looked up at Quinn and grinned. She grabbed the girl’s cheek as she kissed her. 

“Can’t believe I’m about to say this but I’m actually really thankful we got stuck in quarantine.”

Y/N subtly arched a questioning eyebrow.

“It made me realise two things— too much of Rachel Berry will be the end of me-” Y/N let out a breathy chuckle at that, “-and...” 

Quinn stared into her girlfriend’s eyes, was she really going to do this now? Yes. Yes, she definitely was. This was the-

“Oh my God!” Kurt’s exciting squeal filled the apartment, startling both girls. They heard Santana shush him and it suddenly got very quiet. Too quiet... 

Y/N tiptoed out of the bed in her PJ’s and fluffy socks and opened the curtain to see Santana and Kurt staring directly at her. She had clearly caught them with something, but with what? Quinn appeared behind Y/N and noticed the jacket that Santana was trying to hide behind their backs.

Kurt noticed she was doing a poor job at it and snatched the jacket out of Santana’s hands to hold it up to his face, admiring it like it was a newborn baby. “Oh my, it’s so pretty! Where did you buy this?��� 

Quinn quickly glanced at Y/N, who didn’t seem to notice what was happening. “Guys,” She groaned, “I thought something happened, you interrupted my peace.” She walked back, irritated, and closed the curtain in a swift motion. 

“Why were you snooping in my stuff?!” Quinn hissed and plucked her jacket out of his hands.

“Um, excuse me? When where you going to tell me that you plan on proposing to her!?” Kurt whispered, enthusiasm clear in his voice. 

Quinn didn’t reply and instead searched the pockets. “Where is it?”

“Here,” Santana gave her the jewellery box. “It fell out when Kurt was organising the coat rack.”

“Why haven’t you done it yet?”

“I had everything planned but the virus ruined it. It was suppose to happen the day we came here, but our favourite tearoom was shut down and so were all the other activities I had planned.” She sighed, “I was about to do it just now, in the heat of the moment, but then you two interrupted that. Whatever. I’m glad I didn’t. She deserved better than that.”

Santana crossed her arms, not happy with the fact that Quinn had apparently totally forgotten what the two of them had talked about a week prior.

“Damn, I wish you would’ve done it just now. That would mean the end of wicked witch Y/N.” Rachel joined their conversation. “Oh, so you can make fun of me but not the other way around? It was just a joke.” She added and raised her arms when she saw the looks Quinn and Santana were giving her.

“Okay, I know everyone’s feeling a bit irritated, but it’s just one more-”

The bell rang. 

“Don’t tell me you bought us all matching boho outfits for your Mamma Mia night. I’m not wearing it.” Santana crossed her arms.

“I didn’t order anything?”

Y/N appeared again and opened the door.

“Thank you so much. Here, keep this.”

She closed it, walked over to the kitchen table and went to put everything down, completely ignoring the rest. She noticed the silence and turned around.

“Oh- Don’t worry, I ordered for everyone.” 

Quinn eyed the table and recognised the familiar logo on the napkins. 

“Baby-”

“I felt so bad that we couldn’t go to our place this time. So when I found out that they started doing deliveries this week, I knew I wanted to order their high tea menu. I got the one we usually get... to make you feel better...”

Quinn wrapped her arms around the girl’s waist from behind and put her chin on her shoulder. Y/N leaned into her touch.

“This is the sweetest thing ever. I love you.”

Y/N kissed Quinn’s forehead and sat down, immediately grabbing a brownie.

“You need to wife her up, fast.” Santana whispered into Quinn’s ear when she walked by.

And she would, when the moment was right.

✫彡

Kurt was watching a movie with Blaine through face time, Rachel was practicing some lines and Santana was face timing Brittany. Quinn and Y/N had promised to do the dishes, but Quinn ushered the girl to take a nap on the couch when she saw how tired her girl looked. 

Quinn took quick glances towards the living room every few seconds and saw that Y/N had finally fallen asleep on the couch. With a faint smile on her face, she grabbed a blanket and tucked Y/N in. One of Rachel’s dvd’s, The Sound of Music, was still playing in the background. She slowly took the remote out of Y/N’s hands and turned it off.

“You’re the best and most precious thing in my life. I love you.” She bent down and caressed her cheek.

She widened her eyes when an idea suddenly struck her mind. 

✫彡

“What do we sing?”

“No... no singing proposal. Y/N would hate that.”

“I loved it.” Kurt shrugged.

“So, then what’s the plan?”

“Listen up...”

✫彡

Their quarantine was over and no one had gotten sick. No one from Rachel’s crew or cast had gotten it either. Brittany and Blaine came over as soon as they could. They were over the moon to hear about Quinn wanting to propose and agreed to help. 

“Love, what are you doing?” 

Y/N sat on her suitcase, desperately trying to get it closed.

“I thought I had gained weight, not my clothes.” She grunted, “If we want to get home before the dark we should drive off by-”

“Actually... I had something planned before we go home.”

“Oh?”

“Is it okay if we leave as soon as you can? Bring a jacket, I don’t want you to get cold.”

Quinn left Y/N to get ready and anxiously walked into the kitchen where the rest were whispering words of encouragement to her. Quinn knew how much they had loved each other for the past years, but something inside her was still very insecure if Y/N would say yes to her question... to her. What would she do with herself if Y/N didn’t accept her ring?

“She’s going to love it.” Santana hugged her tight but quickly let go when Y/N opened the curtain.

“Why are you all looking at me?”

“Because you look lovely.” Quinn grabbed her hand. They all sent her thumbs up as she took one last glance over her shoulder. 

✫彡

Y/N was eating a pretzel that Quinn had bought her in the park. The two were walking in a comfortable silence. Quinn glanced to the girl beside her, hoping that Y/N would catch on on what was happening soon. 

They had walked almost the very same route that they walked on that morning in New York many, many years ago. Their end stop would be at the edge of the park, where Santana and Brittany were now probably busy setting their high tea up.

“Why are pretzels so much better in New York?”

“Eh, I don’t know. I’m not really a pretzel girl.”

The park was normally crowded with locals and tourists, but they had barely seen a handful of people so far. 

“Wasn’t this where we sat with the kids from Glee?”

Quinn smiled softly.

Finally.

“Yeah, it is, actually.”

“Oh- Well, everything from that trip is very blurry in my mind, except for our first kiss, of course. I can even still tell you the colour of your coat.”

Quinn gave her a playful smile and grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Which was?”

“Red.” She booped her nose with the end of her pretzel, earning a giggle from Quinn.

She grinned softly, “Remember that snow globe I bought for you? With New York’s skyline?”

Y/N gasped, “I loved that thing.” 

The two laughed, remembering that Y/N had dropped it when they rushed to cross the street only half an hour after buying it.

“Then you bought me a couple others throughout the years but none of them have ever been able to have the same value to me. Sorry not sorry.” 

Quinn smiled to herself, hoping she was about to change that in a few minutes. She saw Santana and Brittany sitting on the grass in the distance and guided Y/N to the two. They left without saying a word, but not before giving the two enthusiastic but knowing smiles. Santana wiggled her eyebrows but Britt pulled her away.

“I am so confused right now.” Y/N hesitantly sat down on the blanket. “Why were they here?”

“I asked them to help me set up this little picnic so it could be a surprise. I know you ordered the high tea last week but I wanted to end our trip off like this, with just us. Also, we’ve spent the last two weeks in NYC without even a day outside. I didn’t want to leave before we went somewhere. I hope you like it.”

“Like it? I can never get enough of their cheesecake bites.” 

Quinn smiled nervously, trying to hide how stressed she felt. She poured the juice in their glasses and fed Y/N a bite of a scone with butter and peach marmalade.

“How does that taste?”

Y/N threw her head back and groaned. “I’m going to miss their food.” 

Quinn barely replied, too focused on how she was going to bring it up. Backing out now felt like a good way to calm her nerves but she knew she shouldn’t. Not only because Santana would kill her if she did, but also because there would never be a more perfect moment than now.

“Quinn?”

“Uh-Yeah, love?”

“What is this?” Y/N repeated. 

Quinn’s eyes widened when she saw the wrapped up package Y/N had grabbed out of the basket. 

“Oh- I... that...-” She sighed, “Screw it.” She went to sit on her knees and ushered Y/N to open it.

“For me?”

Quinn nodded, a big smile on her face.

“Quinnie... you-”

“Open it, my love.”

Y/N removed the wrapping paper and gasped when she saw what it was. It was a handmade snow globe, made in a mason jar. The New York skyline was glued to the bottom of it with a laminated picture of the two of them that they took during their first visit to New York. (Thank God Kurt was into a crafty phase during the second week of quarantine).

“I’m not the best at crafts but I just thought-”

“I love it.” Y/N beamed from ear to ear and her smile only widened when the snow inside of it fell onto the skyline.

“This is the most thoughtful gift someone has ever given me.”

“I’m glad you love it.” Quinn grabbed Y/N’s hand and softly moved it around so that the bottom of the snow globe was now facing up. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows until she realised what was scribbled down onto a piece of paper at the bottom. Quinn put the snow globe down and grabbed both of Y/N’s hands in her own, brushing her thumbs against the girl’s knuckles.

“I must admit that I thought what I’m about to say a million times over for the past days and I imagined what I would say to you in this moment for years—but truth be told, I kind of forgot all of that because of the nerves,” Quinn let out a chuckle, “To be honest, I have always known that you were the only girl I wanted to be with in this life. I don’t know what it was, but we’ve just had this instant gravitation towards each other. I know I wasn’t always the kindest to you in the beginning yet you still helped me through everything. The pregnancy, the accident... Now I can say all this cheesy shit about how you and I bring the best out of each other and how much love we have for one another but I think I don’t need to say that. We both know how much our relationship means to us. New York has always been a special place to me since it reminds me of why and how we fell in love. Which is why I wanted to do this here. This is were it all began. Now, I had everything planned months ago but... the situation changed and well... yeah. I had to adjust. At first, I wanted to postpone it all. Until I realised that I couldn’t wait any longer. Y/N, you are my everything. I want to be by your side until eternity. I want to be your person for as long as I can. I want to love and care for you for as long as you want me to.” 

She let out a shaky breath.

“So I guess...what I’m trying to say here is...” She grabbed the box out of her pocket, opened it and presented it to Y/N. “Would you like to marry me?”

Y/N looked at the box in shock, she hadn’t made eye contact with Quinn ever since she had presented her with the ring in her hand. 

The silence lasted only for a few seconds but it felt like minutes to Quinn, who slowly lowered her hands. 

Y/N suddenly let out a sob, then another. She jumped onto Quinn and wrapped her arms around her neck.

“Yes.” She said through her sobs. Quinn let out a gasp of relief and squeezed the girl in her arms, letting her own tears fall freely now. 

“Oh-” Y/N groaned and let go of her embrace. “I stepped into the scones...” She pouted and looked at her marmalade stained knee. Quinn laughed through her tears, realising this was exactly why she had asked this girl to marry her.

Y/N forgot it immediately the moment she locked eyes with her fiancée. She held her tight and kissed her like she never had before. 

They let go like two love-sick puppies when they heard all of their friends approach. The newly engaged couple was radiating.

“I love you, so much.”

[wallwriterstuff]

Obsession ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. If this is triggering to you, do not read this fic. This and posts like this one will be tagged under dark themes so please feel free to block that tag if you do not want to see content like this in the future. 

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK. 

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/ 

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post. 

Words: 3116

Summary: A request for @tiger-khans-blog Savings your sister’s boyfriend was an act of kindness, something you had done out of the goodness of your heart, but hadn’t they always said the road to hell is paved with good intentions?  Alec is aged up to 16 in this fic.

Part 2: When You’re Lost I’ll Leave My Gaslight On 

Part 3: These Violent Delights 

It had been near constant since you’d entered the room.

His eyes were the most piercing ruby red – until they weren’t. The onyx colour had followed you ever since you’d set foot in the throne room, a sharp inhale being the extent of his communication with you. If he wasn’t so damn creepy he might have been handsome, with his shock of dark hair framing a pale face with all the sharp, angular cheekbones and jawline of a model. He was taller to, definitely taller than you by at least half a head, but his stare was piercing and completely at odds with his otherwise apathetic expression. He showed no emotion at all yet the way he looked at you…it was like the whole world revolved around you and only you. There was hunger and excitement and need and envy and a whole host of other emotions in his eyes. It had made you so uncomfortable you’d gravitated towards Alice as best you could, but the whole plan had gone out of the window when the hulking mass of muscle they called Felix started towards your sister.

Isabella Swan was two years older than yourself, but for most of your life she had been the one taking care of you. Renée hadn’t planned on having a second child but like so many other things in her life, you were a complete accident. As loving as your mother was, she wasn’t necessarily fit to take care of one child, never mind two. Bella was the one who had helped with homework, who had crawled into your bed with you when you had nightmares or were sick. To see Felix coming straight for her was like something straight out of a nightmare and you’d moved without thinking. One minute you were facing the taunting smirk of a mountain man and the next the room had blurred, and your vision was filled with the furious stare of the boy who had been watching you all day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. His grip on the tops of your arms tight enough to bruise. You winced, wide eyes filling with tears, and in the next second the boy had released your arms and moved to tenderly cup your face. “Shhh, shhhh sh sh, it’ll all be over soon.” He promised, thumbs stroking your cheeks while you tried to squirm out of his grip. His eyes hardened, clearly unhappy with you trying to escape him. You could only see him, his face the only thing in your vision, but you could hear what sounded like rocks colliding, granite smashing. Your body trembled, anxiety filling you up. It wasn’t clear if the boy was more upset with your trying to get out of his grip than your interference with Bella’s execution, but those coal black eyes never lost their laser focus on you.

“Alec?” the petite blonde beside him sounded thoroughly confused while you fought off a shudder. You hated how his name sounded so appealing. Everything about him was enticing, even his scent, but he terrified you beyond belief with the way he was acting.

“Is it the noise? Would you prefer not to see? To hear?” he asked. In the next second it was all gone, like the world had fallen away around you. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear; you were left screaming in your own head with absolutely no idea if you were still in that awful, awful room or if your soul had mercifully fled your body before you could feel any pain. There was simultaneously nothing and everything, an endless abyss of silence and the imprecise, ever-shifting image of what you thought you remembered the Volturi’s throne room to look like wavering in your head.

Being left alone with your imagination was somehow worse than seeing the actual thing. In your mind Bella was torn in half, one hand stretched towards you while the other remained in Felix’s grip. Alice was trapped by Demetri, Felix holding Edward by the throat. Then the scene would shift and Bella was limp in his arms with Felix’s mouth attached to her neck, both Cullen’s dead and Alec descending on you with that insane stare of his. There were too many ways to envision what mutilation might have occurred and you were beginning to drive yourself insane with them when suddenly the darkness faded.

You blinked rapidly, unsure if what you were seeing was real since it was so blurred. A gentle hand dabbed rough wool beneath your eye and you realised the world looked so watery because you had been crying. Alec used the sleeves of his jacket to dry your tears. Bella was watching you with horror filled eyes, your trembling body almost giving way as you fought the urge to run – you were sure Alec would just drag you back. You could feel his breath on the side of your face. He clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal space.

“Mesmerising, to see what you have seen before it has happened.” Aro murmured, stroking Alice’s hand before she pulled it back with a clearly forced smile.

“But what will.” She reminded him. He clapped his hands, looking so joyful you were left utterly paralysed with confusion. Did he not understand how terrifying this all was? Had he not seen the sheer crazy that was waiting to burst forth out of the boy holding you back? His behaviour was erratic, completely at odds with the rest of the refined and well disciplined Guard. How could Aro not see?

“Yes, yes it’s quite certain, you are free to leave.” Aro informed them. Your breath escaped you in a rush and you immediately tried to dash for your sister. Bella had opened her arms straight to you and the safe haven was so close, yet so far. Alec didn’t let you take a step, hauling you back against his chest and burying his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“No you don’t, I’ve waited too long.” He grumbled. You struggled frantically, the tears springing to your eyes again as Caius tried to protest his brother’s decision. You had drawn the attention of most of the Guard and the man you knew to be Marcus by now though, the brunette king looking somewhat sympathetic towards you. For a man with no respect for human life to look at you like that could most certainly not be a good thing.  

“What are you doing brother? Let the foolish thing go.” Jane said, reaching for his arm. His head snapped up, a growl rumbling through his chest into your spine. If looks could kill, you had no doubt the petite blonde would have burst into flame then and there, bursting into a thousand pieces with the intensity of the danger in his glare.

“Bella!” you whimpered. His hold was like having an iron beam wrapped around your torso, two strong arms refusing to let you move so much as an inch from his chest. It didn’t make sense, none of it did, why was he so obsessed with keeping you near? Did he want you dead? He couldn’t, he’d had plenty of chance to do so by now and hadn’t taken a single opportunity to hurt you on purpose. So what was his problem with you?  

“Alec, dear one, is something the matter?” Aro asked, eyes glistening.

“Aro.” His brother held a hand out to him and the black haired leader flashed towards him while you continued to struggle, your frustration mounting.

“Let me go!” you cried, You stomped on his foot – nothing. You threw your elbow back into his ribs – nothing except a sore elbow for you. You tried to pry his arms away from your body – nothing.

“No.” he hissed. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Let me go! Please! Let me go!” you begged.

“I said, no.” he repeated, his voice ice cold. Your heart rabbited in your chest, the nausea in your throat rising until you were sure you were on the verge of throwing up. You could barely breathe and it wasn’t just his tight grip that was the problem. There was a panic attack looming on the horizon for you if he kept this up.

“Please, let her go, she’s done nothing wrong. Aro said we were free to go.” Bella tried. She took a step towards you and with one swift jerk he had turned his back on her. You screamed, your limbs fatigued and losing strength with every hit.

“I’m afraid young Y/N will not be going home with you,” Aro’s voice was soft, “To separate them would clearly only cause harm. Alec cannot leave his mate.” You froze in his grip, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as you lip trembled. Mate? Mate? What the hell did that even mean? Animals mated, not humans! Was that what he was implying? The boy was so horny for you he wouldn’t let you leave? The fear that gripped you was utterly paralysing as you thought of a thousand different scenarios that made you want to be utterly sick with the horror of them; your choices taken from you, your voice inconsequential as he did things to you you never consented to.

“She’s my sister! Please, I’ve looked after her since she was born, you can’t just-“

“And from this day forth she’ll be looked after by me. She is mine.” Alec snarled quietly. He didn’t seem to notice you’d gone completely rigid in his grip.

“Alec her father will be devastated, she hasn’t even finished school, if you keep her here you’ll just make her unhappy.” Edward tried to reason with him, but he merely tightened his grip on you. You cried out, a sharp pain ripping through your midriff as he almost choked the life from you. The blonde-haired Guard appeared in your line of sight then, his expression somewhat concerned as you struggled to force air into your lungs. If Alec could hear you rasping for air he didn’t show it.

“Alec, old friend look at her,” he coaxed. Alec had done plenty of looking at you, you didn’t want him to look anymore. You shied away from his gaze, head ducking and hair falling between you. Shuddering gasps escaped you as your heart began to roar in your ears, a sure sign there wasn’t enough oxygen getting into your lungs. One arm moved from around your waist but you were too scared to move away from him now, his freezing cold fingers gently brushing your hair back. You flinched.

“She’s mine, Demetri.” He insisted, frowning like a petulant child who was being threatened with their favourite toy being taken from them. Demetri nodded his head.

“She is, and yet she flinches from you. You are scaring her Alec, and she will most definitely bruise if you keep holding her so tight, that’s I she doesn’t suffocate first. Do you want that for your mate? Do you wish to hurt her? To make her fear you?” he questioned. Alec gave a soft wince, immediately loosening his grip.

“I’ve hurt you?” he asked, looking a lot like a wounded puppy now. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, not trusting your voice to remain steady and simply nodding in response. His eyes were still wide with conflicting emotion, but Demetri seemed to be getting through to him at least. You were grateful, and pleaded with your eyes for the man to keep going.

“You cannot simply claim her Alec, she is so young still, would you not prefer her to live a full life and come to you willingly?” Demetri wondered. You felt your stomach drop as Alec’s expression hardened.

“You’re trying to take her from me to.” he growled.

“Alec you are-“

“She, is, not, leaving!” he snarled, a sea of black exploding around him. Your eyes widened, a cool mist swirling about your legs as you finally managed to stumble away from him. Only Bella was still standing, the others having crumpled to the floor until only he, you and Bella remained conscious.

“Y/N!” she cried out. He didn’t stop you running to her this time. You stumbled into her arms, sobbing and shaking. She held you tight to her, her fingers pressing harshly into her skin. It felt like butterfly wings caressing your flesh compared to Alec’s vice like grip. “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out, it’ll be okay, you just have to-“

“Make this quick, say goodbye to your sister. That’s what you want isn’t it? A proper goodbye?” Alec asked, mist still pouring from his hands as his black eyes followed your every move. You shook your head frantically.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, I want to go home! Let me go home!” you begged. Alec hissed.

“What don’t you understand? You are my mate! I’ve waited a thousand years for you, you are mine and you cannot walk away from me!” he snapped. Bella tried to hush you, stroking your hair gently as you collapsed into her.

“Please don’t let him keep me here.” You cried. Bella remained silent, horribly, startlingly silent. Her hands shook as she held you close. Alec approached you, the mist seemingly absorbing back into his body as he walked. The room was in an uproar as soon as everyone was on their feet again, Felix and Demetri forcing him to his knees with furious expressions. He still never took his eyes off of you, his expression devoid of any and all emotion suddenly.

“Are you insane Alec? Using your gift on us? We’re trying to help you!”

“How could you brother? You broke our promise and for a human no less!”

“What insolence is this? Need we remind you of your place boy!”

Alec didn’t respond to any of the accusations, his neck straining so he could keep his eyes on you. Aro only had to touch his hand to know his intentions for you, but you didn’t dare look anymore, choosing instead to bury your face in your sister’s neck as you struggled to calm your breathing and sobbing.

“I would advise you leave now.” Felix huffed.

“We can’t,” Edward’s voice was quiet, apologetic, “Y/N, if we take you, he’ll destroy us all.” Your chest constricted, you felt like you could barely breathe as a lead weight settled in your gut. Destroy them? Alec was a killer, if the red eyes hadn’t told you so then his actions just now had. It wasn’t difficult at all to believe he’d go so far as to kill anyone who stood between you both, but what hurt even more was that you didn’t trust him to be good to you if you stayed either. Why did it have to be you? You’d come to Volterra to do something good, to save someone’s life! So why were you losing yours?

“You ought think on your actions Alec, your mate will be here waiting for you, but for now you need some time to reflect on your position. I think two weeks in the dungeons ought to suffice.” Aro’s voice was ice cold, his fury obvious. Clearly, he had never thought one of his own guard would dare use his powers against him.

“You monster! You fucking monster! Edward I can’t leave her here, she’s my baby sister!” Bella protested. You tightened your grip on her shirt, eyes itchy red and cheeks wet as the terrible weight of hopelessness sank down on your chest. There was no way out. Even if they had tricked Alec and let you leave what then? Did you run from him for the rest of your life? Did you just wait for him to find you? Maybe the dungeon might mellow him out some? It was a bit of a relief really, when the stress just shut your brain and body down, even if the moment of relief was as brief as blinking.

You could almost pretend nothing had ever happened, that perhaps you were at home, as your consciousness dripped back into you. You were on soft sheets, your pillow cradling your head, and you wanted to just burrow away in them. The only thing was, you could feel sunlight warming your skin, and that addictive, woodsy smell was not the lavender your laundry usually came out smelling like. You felt awfully nauseous for a moment when you opened your eyes, your body readjusting to having your brain in control once more, but the red eyes that met yours were far kinder this time than Alec’s aggressively territorial stare. The chestnut brown hair and angular face was familiar to you, and you warily sat up to lean back against the headboard. Demetri let you put the distance between you with an aura of calm that tempted you to relax to. He was alone, no Felix or Jane by his side, but that didn’t mean he was any less dangerous.

“Where’s Bella?” you whispered. She had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Or had gone to find food and drink? How long had you even been out? Whose room was this?

“She and the Cullen’s departed for their return flight to America not an hour ago.” Demetri informed you. Your stomach dropped, your nausea rising and face paling.

“No…no she – she didn’t leave me here, she didn’t….you’re lying!” Knees curling to your chest, you gripped tightly at your jeans until your knuckles turned as white as your face.

“Not without protest,” he assured you, his voice softer now with sympathy, “But it seems Alec has become unpredictable. His reaction to the mate pull unnerved us all, you are not alone in your fear, though perhaps we fear different things.” His voice was soothing in a way not much else to you was right now. Thoughts swirled in your mind, the bitterness at your abandonment only outweighed by terror at being left behind.

“What is he going to do to me?” you asked, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. Demetri’s head tilted.

“And that is why I am afraid…I truly cannot tell you.” He murmured. He didn’t exactly comfort you when the tears came again, your eyes beyond irritated with all the crying you’d done today, but he didn’t stop you from letting your emotions run away from you instead. He remained close enough to remind you you weren’t alone, but Demetri didn’t hold you as Bella would, or stroke your hair or do anything remotely soothing. His greatest gift to you in that moment was to simply let you be human.

You didn’t know how long that would last.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Disclaimer that I am not a therapist nor bipolar but I have had a therapist so I’m hoping it’s not too awful of a depiction. Also want to add a minor content warning for the ending scene for homophobia, nothing explicit or even verbal, just a woman with an icky vibe.

Wednesday, 16:04

Song: Haux - Youth

Sander tips his head against the back of the couch and stares at the fan in the corner. It drones in slow circles, doing little more than disturbing the air right in front of it. It still makes the air in the room chilly enough that Sander is glad he’s wearing a sweater, though.

Between it and the window is an ‘abstract’ painting of the brain. Abstract in that the supposed organ is actually scattered in pieces throughout the canvas, all in various states of destruction. One has trees growing out of it, for example. Another is on fire; it’s Sander’s favourite.

He’d stared at it with an absurd sort of fascination in his first session, almost two years ago now, and his therapist, Agathe, had simply smiled at him and asked if he liked art. It was a sneaky way in, but he supposed that was the point. These meetings have gotten fewer and farther apart over that time, now that he can supposedly manage himself to a high enough standard on his own. Well, not quite enough, he supposes, or he probably wouldn’t be here at all. He can practically hear Agathe’s rebuke that they are just ‘casual check-ins’, and Sander is free to go whenever he pleases.

At every one of those reminders, Sander debates doing exactly that—getting up and going. Instead, he usually ends up slumping sullenly for a few minutes before Agathe prods her way back in.

They haven’t been mandatory in a long time, these sessions, but now there’s just something...reassuring. There are still times he doesn’t bother making an appointment, but knowing he can, and knowing that someone with the right knowledge doesn’t see any reason to worry about him, leaves a pretty damn good sense of relief.

And he did have a bit of a blip, at the start of the year. A few days in which he had to be prodded and coerced into just taking a drink of water, and had spent the majority of in his room. It had overlapped the holidays, so he’d let Robbe come and cocoon himself with him for a good chunk of the time.

It hadn’t made him better. But it made him...safe, or something similar, and that was the most he could hope for.

It was the coming-out-of-nowhere aspect that had shaken him a bit. He’d felt better, just keeping up his sessions then, being sure that he was at least doing alright with his medication. It’s working okay, the sitting and talking, so he shows up and just lets Agathe keep making sure.

The door cracks open now and she slips back in, dropping into the couch across from Sander and shooting him her usual calm, too-happy smile through light lipstick. It brings out her dimples. She’s not yet marred by wrinkles, but there’s something soft and aging about her face, anyway. Maybe it’s the graying roots. “Sorry about that, I forget this thing way too often.” She holds up the clipboard she’d carried in with an exasperated sigh, murmuring under her breath as she flicks through it and gets settled.

It’s all painfully familiar. It makes Sander smile.

He does like her. He’s never bothered denying that.

“So, how are we today?” It’s the same way she always starts, though it’s usually accompanied by—ah, there we go—clasped hands and another smile.

“Good,” Sander says. It’s automatic, but he also means it. Today is fine. It’s good.

She raises her brow when he doesn’t offer anything else. “Alright, good. Belated birthday wishes are in order, I believe?”

“Yeah, thank you. Just yesterday.”

She nods, and Sander does not think about how that was dumb when she obviously already knows. But she just settles back and crosses her legs. “Did you do anything to celebrate?”

Sander’s lips finally stretch in a smile of his own. He thinks it’s probably a little dopey, a little lovestruck, and she probably knows exactly what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “I had breakfast with my parents because Robbe took me out for dinner. Then he had a surprise party planned at our friends’ flat.”

“A party on a school night?” Agathe’s brows raise, and she shakes her head with a small laugh. “How do they deal with that today?”

“No clue,” Sander breathes out a huff of his own, trying not to feel overly amused by how Gilles had been in the class they shared with Sander earlier in the day. For once, they hadn’t said a word, just sat with their head down for the entire lecture, wincing every now and then when Sander laughed. He hadn’t even heard from any of the others, but Robbe had looked dead on his feet this morning, as well. He’d sent Sander a slightly sunnier selfie about half an hour ago, though, so he’s probably fine. “Not very well, I imagine.”

She tilts her head. “You seem well enough.”

“Well, I wasn’t drinking,” Sander shrugs.

At this, her serene little smile returns and her nod seems approving, and even though Sander hadn’t been looking for it, he grudgingly admits that it feels good. “I know that can be a difficult choice, and I’d rarely be able to make it myself,” she laughs again. “It’s great that you feel strong and comfortable enough in that group to do your own thing.”

Sander can’t help a little snort. “Are you kidding? It was one of them that had me drinking mocktails.”

“Really?” Agathe grins.

“Yeah, but then he got kinda drunk, and the last couple he made me were just disgusting because he thought these awful mixtures would be a really good idea.”

She laughs gently. “Well, it seems like it’s not the worst. ‘He’ isn’t Robbe?”

Sander shakes his head. “No, but one of his friends.”

“And what about Robbe, then? How is he?”

“Good.” A soft smile steals over his face. “The best, as always.”

“Treating you well.”

Sander’s smile widens, and he raises his brows without saying anything.

Agathe points at him. “Not what I meant, and not what I need to know.”

“I thought we can talk about whatever I want in here,” Sander says innocently.

“Alright, then,” she acquiesces. “Tell me all about it.”

Sander blanches. He thinks about it, opens his mouth, and then thinks about it some more. Closes his mouth again.

Her smile is downright devious. “That’s what I thought.”

He huffs. “It’s very healthy, just so you know.”

“I am sure.”

“Explorative. Always consenting, of course. Frequent.”

“All very normal and well for teenage boys,” she nods, and it would be completely serious if Sander couldn’t see her eyes twinkling. She pauses. “Although, I can’t call you that anymore. How does it feel to be twenty?”

Sander narrows his eyes. “Nice change of subject.”

“Oh, if you had more to say, please continue. Just a thought that occurred to me, I don’t mean to steer you, you know that.”

He does know that, and it makes him pause, because. How does it feel to be twenty? He realises he hasn’t thought about it. He realises that’s probably a good thing—that he didn’t get stuck on his birthday this year, that it was something he just enjoyed. Maybe it was simply going to sleep next to Robbe that helped, but no anxiety had taken over at the end of the day.

Even after his conversation with Jens. It’s not the most prominent part of the day of Sander’s mind even now. Instead he finds himself tucking his hand into his pocket and grasping Robbe’s key, running his thumb over the already familiar ridges.

He hadn’t even been worrying about his major fuck-up with his assignment. He’s still not.

He’s not really giving himself the chance.

Should he be?

“It feels the same as being nineteen,” he says finally. “I didn’t become a different human in a day, sadly.”

He can see her latching on. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“‘Sadly’?”

“It’s just...a joke.”

“Okay. But why do you think it’s funny?”

It annoys him, because she’s not judgmental. She’s neither amused nor disappointed. Just curious, earnest, all focused and attentive as she gazes calmly, patiently at Sander. Even his attempt at throwing her off, making her awkward, hadn’t shaken her. She remains unfazed, as always. It’s annoying.

“I don’t,” he admits, “I guess. I don’t know what I’d consider it.”

Agathe nods, softening in her understanding, and it makes something twist in his chest. “Are you not happy with the human you are, Sander?”

He gives her a bland look. When she keeps waiting, he shrugs, gesturing at the room.

“I know,” she says gently, “that of course, you feel you would be happier without your illness. But who you are now—what you study, what you’re passionate about, who you surround yourself with, how you live your life day to day. Do you wish all of that was different?”

Sander doesn’t have to think about it quite as much. “No. But I—“

He cuts himself off, hesitating. She raises her brows and nods, prompting him onwards but not pushing. If he really wants to wait her out, she’ll move on.

“I just wish that it was easier,” he says.

She tilts her head. “Easier how?”

“I messed up. At college. I completely missed an assignment because I mixed up the dates with another one.”

She winces in sympathy. “And what happened in that case? Does that mean that assignment is marked as a fail?”

“No,” Sander admits. “He gave me the time I thought I’d have to do it. Marked it down as an extension. It’s due on Friday now.”

“And is it going alright?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t struggling with it too much?”

“No.”

“Then it seems like a fairly simple mistake. Easy to make and also, thankfully, easy to fix for you. It’s not unusual. But do you see it as an effect or consequence of your illness? Is that why it bothers you?”

Sander is quiet.

She sets her clipboard aside and leans forward, clasping her hands again as she considers him. “You have to remember, Sander, that all humans are not without fault. That regardless of who we are or what we may have to deal with, we will inevitably make mistakes. Not every slip up is a reflection of you, or a sign of failure, of failing health. You’ve actually been doing very well for a long time, now. But this belief, or this worry, that it is taking a hold of you again can sometimes help it take on that direction. Do you know what I mean?”

He takes a moment to absorb the words before nodding, knowing that if he answers too quickly she won’t believe he’s listening. But he does know. He understands. He hates that she’s probably right.

“So in a situation like this,” she continues, “do you not think, that it is more beneficial for you to focus on correcting your mistake and the fact that you have that ability? Not only mentally, but overall. That your professor is so understanding must mean he thinks well of you.”

He shouldn’t ask. He does anyway, quietly. “You don’t think it’s just pity, or something?”

“No,” she huffs. “No, I do not. Did he give you the impression that that was why he was doing it?”

Sander rolls his shoulders, adjusting his position. “No.”

Her smile returns. “I think,” she says slowly, “that this all shows just how well you’re doing. That you can acknowledge your doubts are likely just that—doubts—and that you take responsibility when you mess up and try to rectify it. Do you not think those are all good things? Things just as healthy as your sex life?”

It shocks a laugh out of him, and he sees her eyes crinkle. “Maybe,” he allows. “But it really is very healthy. I don’t know if anything else should be forced to live up to the standard.”

She represses a smile. “I remember there was a time when you would never have even spoken about this in such a kind way.”

She’s right. It still freaks him out, sometimes, the hypersexuality that can be induced by his mania, and it even made him hold back from Robbe after his episode, at the beginning. The last thing he wanted was to freak Robbe out, or disgust him, or make him uncomfortable. Then Robbe had seemed downtrodden for about a week before hesitantly asking Sander if he’d done something wrong or if Sander wasn’t actually attracted to him, and Sander had corrected his doubts and behaviour fairly quickly, because how dare the most beautiful boy in the universe think that?

“How do you feel you’re doing, Sander?” Agathe asks. “Because although I can observe, only you can feel what you feel. If you are genuinely worried, we can talk about it.”

“No,” Sander admits, after a moment. “I think everything is okay, actually.” Which is the best it can ever be, really.

Now her smile is genuinely happy. “I think so, too. And I think, even if it comes about that it’s not, you have a better support than ever. Do you agree?”

That one’s easy. “Yes.”

“It’s important to remember,” she adds, “maybe more than anything else, that if a lapse or an episode or whatever does occur, it’s not the end of the world. It’s also not a reflection of you, or a failure. Bad days, bad weeks, that’s all a part of life, and something we know you’re more than capable of dealing with and getting past. I’ve watched you do it many times before now and it’s an admirable, wonderful thing.”

Sander doesn’t actually know what to say to that. He just swallows, and feels oddly emotional, and offers her a slight nod.

The rest of the session passes in a lighter atmosphere. She lets him ramble about his assignment to alleviate what stress he does feel over it, and they spend the leftover minutes discussing his party.

Sander considers talking to her about the other thing on his mind, but ultimately decides against it. She’s already taught him how to work through that, and he really doesn’t think it will help to be putting it back into open air. Instead he leaves with a fairly upbeat farewell, and heads in the opposite direction from home.

Robbe had texted him about where he was meeting with Yasmina for a study session, and it takes Sander less than ten minutes of walking to get to the small cafe from his appointment. He sees the two of them as soon as he enters, but neither of them notice him, so he moves to the counter to buy himself a coffee before making his way over.

He’s a couple of feet away when Yasmina catches sight of him and offers her bright smile, and then Robbe is looking over his shoulder.

“Hello,” Sander greets them both, grinning as he cups Robbe’s cheek and leans down to kiss the crown of his head. “I can see we’re very busy.”

Robbe has his hand wrapped around Sander’s wrist, preventing him from pulling away. He turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to Sander’s palm, nuzzling lightly against it. Sander lets his fingers slip over and tug gently on the boy’s earring before Robbe tangles their hands together and offers Sander his crinkly smile. “Hi.”

“Not anymore, I guess,” Yasmina says dryly, but she’s still grinning when Sander glances back at her.

He raises his hands; well, his free one. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He hadn’t, really, he’d just wanted to be here when they were done to take Robbe home. He always likes being in the other boy’s company after a therapy session. Despite them not being quite so heavy at the moment, it’s always draining. Robbe is always able to replenish him with soft touches and soothing kisses, providing Sander with a silent, comforting company.

“Don’t be silly,” Robbe rebukes, predictably, swinging Sander’s hand idly now. “How are you?”

Sander squeezes his hand. “Good. I’m surprised you look so healthy, though.”

Robbe groans and buries his face against Sander’s arm. “Don’t. I’m suffering in silence.” He tilts his head ‘subtly’ at Yasmina.

Yasmina raises her brows at him, somehow managing to look wholly unimpressed and teasing all at once. “At least you can stave it off with sugar and coffee.”

Robbe has the sense to look sheepish, ducking his head in a nod. “You’re right, sorry, sorry.” He lets out a sigh. “You’re on too high of a level for me, Yasmina.”

“Queen shit,” Sander agrees, just to earn one of the girl’s unimpressed glances for himself. “Should I run now?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just sit down and drink your coffee. And keep your hands to yourself, if you can manage it? I still need my study partner, thank you.”

Sander grins and obeys, swinging a seat from the next table around to join them, dropping into it happily. He doesn’t place it as close to Robbe’s as he’d like, but Robbe leans into him for a moment anyway before refocusing his attention on his friend.

For the first while, Sander is content to listen and sip his coffee, feeling tiredness begin to creep into his bones. He lets his head loll against his own shoulder, trailing his eyes over Robbe’s profile and drifting into a sort of daydream. He can see the boy’s lips moving, but he has no idea what either of them are saying. They only let out the occasional comment, trading questions and answers and sighs and mutters. Robbe’s eyes are still red and a little puffy, a sign of his lingering exhaustion. He rubs at them absently as he looks down at his book and lets out another sigh, and leaves an eyelash on his cheek.

Sander reaches out and gently swipes it away with his thumb, an entirely mindless action that has Robbe looking at him in surprise before breaking out into a smile. He catches Sander’s hand before Sander can withdraw it completely, laying it on the table next to him. Instead of holding it, Robbe runs his hand along Sander’s sleeve, rubbing the soft seam between his fingers as he continues his work.

For some reason, it makes Sander blush. He’s sure his smile is unbearably happy, and he flicks a glance at Yasmina just to make sure she doesn’t know, only to catch her eye. She’s already smiling at him, and she purses her lips and raises her brows, teasing. Sander pulls a face at her, and she simply shakes her head as her smile widens.

“Can you work on your assignment while you’re waiting for us?” Robbe questions suddenly, drawing Sander’s attention back with a tilt of his head.

Sander glances at his bag, which he’s carried with him all day since he had to go straight to his session from a class. He considers for a moment but ultimately shakes his head. With yesterday being an exception, he usually prefers working at night—and when it’s not cutting into time he could otherwise spend admiring Robbe. “I’ll work on it when I go home,” he promises. Then, because he can’t help himself, “You’re too distracting.”

Robbe’s grin is small, and exasperated, but he yearns towards Sander, leaning across the table. Sander meets him and presses a quick kiss to his lips, then his nose, his cheek, before resolutely sitting back and waving at the textbooks and notes strewn in front of them. Robbe’s grin turns into a pout for half a second before he squeezes Sander’s wrist and focuses again.

Sander sinks back with a sigh, enjoying the feeling of Robbe’s fingers brushing against his wrist and skimming his hand, but he doesn’t feel quite as settled. There’s a prickle skittering over his neck, and he looks to his side and finds a woman staring at him.

Her nose is screwed, and there’s a vague curl to her lip. The disgust in her expression only heightens as Sander meets her eye and she flicks her gaze down to where Robbe’s hand rests over his. Sander can only stare back, dumbfounded.

When she looks at his face again, he raises his brows, as utterly bored as he can manage, and it only takes a moment for her to look away and get out of her seat across the cafe.

Sander tenses as she gets closer, hand enclosing around Robbe’s entirely, but she merely offers him another look before leaving. He deflates, squeezing Robbe’s fingers. It’s only when Robbe squeezes back that he panics again and quickly looks at the boy. But Robbe is in the middle of asking Yasmina a question, neither of them having noticed a thing.

“I meant to wish you a happy birthday,” Yasmina says, breaking him out of the moment. His mind has fogged over, and it takes him a moment to process the words. By then, she’s already moving on. “How was the party, anyway?”

Robbe and Sander share a look, and Yasmina waits. “Jens hardly said a word to me the whole day,” Robbe tells Sander, but he seems more amused than upset, so Sander allows himself to laugh.

“You didn’t tell him we didn’t actually do anything?”

“I did!” Robbe raises his hands. “He didn’t believe me.”

“What, what did you do to Jens?” Yasmina asks, confused. Then, after a second, “You know what, no, I probably don’t want to know.”

She cringes, and Robbe apologises profusely as Sander bursts into laughter, the weird incident from moments ago already forgotten.

Totally forgotten.

~^~

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