#not sure where it was it was a bedroom maybe his

[rafesweetie]

need a jealous bsf!rafe x reader where he is possessive and doesn’t want other guys touching her even though he touches other girls, so she is basically over it and at a party, she dances on another guy and he gets mad

౨ৎ in which bsf!rafe just can’t help wanting to protect you.

you were done with rafe cameron. you’ve decided it. he was your best friend, sure, but he was controlling, mean, overly protective, and he acted like he owned you or something. so you were completely done with him, forever.

this is the third time you’ve promised yourself that, and news flash — you never dropped him.

it wasn’t your fault, you try to tell yourself every time. he just wouldn’t let you leave him, shutting you up whenever you’d even try and be reasonable with him, yelling louder than you or slamming his palm over your mouth. but a little part of you knows that you like the attention. you like that rafe cares so much about you, even if it does ruin your chances of getting a boyfriend. today is the day that you break the pattern though, and rebel against his constant authority.

parties are where rafe thrives. he’s like a celebrity, it always wonders you how much people love him. during parties, he keeps less of an eye on you, assuming you’re just busy gossiping with your friends. but little does he know, you’ve found a boy — it wasn’t often you’d get the opportunity to chat with a boy that wasn’t rafe, and you were loving every second of it. you felt so free from your friend’s gaze, listening to the boy talk, his deep voice vibrating your brain.

but the issue was, the boy was boring. he didn’t talk about cool things, like dirtbikes or his life or death adventures or money. you hated to say it, but he just wasn’t rafe. your mind kept flashing back to him, how much more you smile and enjoy his company. maybe rafe was right. you just didn’t need boys when you have him.

you’re so close to excusing yourself from the boy, going back to rafe’s arm and giggling with him and talking with your faces really close together. you glance back to where he is, ready to retreat, until you see it. you see her.

you’re not sure who she is, but she bothers you. her hair is so gorgeous and healthy, and you can’t see her face from behind but she must be gorgeous. her arm is on rafe’s bicep — your bicep, the one you always hang onto while you’re walking with rafe. you hate that you’re jealous. rafe’s your friend, not your boyfriend, you have no reason to be. but it’s like you can’t control it, your rage, and before you know it, you’re blinking back any potential tears and touching on this boy — this stranger — like there’s no tomorrow. tyla is blasting through the speakers, and yours and these boy’s hands are all over each other’s bodies. you really hope rafe sees you like this, drunk off the smirnoff pink lemonades and enjoying another mans company.

it really doesn’t take long for him to notice. he’s so predictable. shrugging the girls hand off of him, rushing over to his dear friend to get her away from this lowlife.

usually he’d reason with you. coax you away from the boy nicely and lecture you. but he’d had a few beers and a line of coke and he was in no mood for politeness. a rough hand pushes the boy away by the chest, and rafe isn’t muttering a word to anyone, grabbing your wrist and stomping away with you stumbling behind.

he pushes you into a spare bedroom, the first private place he could find. sitting you on the edge of the bed, he starts pacing in front of you and rubbing his face as if this was hurting his head. it’s like your brain flicks a switch, back to “rafe rafe rafe” as you’re sat there with tears brimming your eyes, fiddling with your manicure as you bat your eyelashes up at him, remembering the girl flirting with him, and now you making him mad, and now he’s got you in a puddle of guilt.

“shit— it’s like, you never do what i say, huh?” he mutters, still pacing. “you know i do everything to protect you, kid. you even know who that fuckin’ guy was? no, m’sure you don’t, cause you don’t think. thought by now my voice would be in your pretty head, there to help you make some smart decisions every once in a while. but nah, nah, you see one other boy and it’s back to square one with you,”

you go to speak, glossy lips parting, but he shuts you up with a quick “no”, and stopping pacing to go kneel in front of you.

“everything i do — for you, okay? for you. my girl,” he often calls you that, it makes you weak every time. he grabs your hands. “stop fiddling, paid for this polish.” you stop instantly. “i know— i know you think that my protectiveness is, uh, stupid, but i need to be like this, or you’re gonna get hurt. i know you, baby. i need to be all over you for you to even have a slight awareness to not do stupid things. so i do take some ownership over you in that sense—“

you cut him off, muttering a, “don’t want you to take ownership.”

he huffs. “yeah, but i do, so…” he shrugs. “you’re mine. my friend, my girl. so i don’t like it when someone else touches my girl, or when you’re the one intiating it. makes me so fuckin’ angry, kid, makes me wanna, like—“ he cuts himself off. “so i need you to knock it off.”

you wanna argue so badly, but your brain turns to mush around him. so you sniffle and nod hesitantly.

“no, i want a ‘yes rafe.’ need your words.”

“i just think that—“ you try.

he cuts you off. “yes rafe. say it with me.”

“..yes, rafe.” you both say.

he squeezes your hands and gets up. “yeah, there you go, good girl. now do you, uh, need a minute, fix your makeup, or d’you wanna go back down there and hang out with me?”

your hand goes to his bicep as you stand up with him, and a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “wanna go with you,” you say softly, leaning into him a bit.

“yeah, that’s what i thought.”

[earthtooz]

x : DREAMS OF US :*+ﾟ

in which: you bring a little faith in promises back to itoshi rin.

warnings: 600+ wc, fluff, talks of moving in together, gn!reader who is in uni, rin is a pro (?) soccer player.

a/n: PHEWWW when was my last itoshi rin fic? been a while :> i have another rin (but it might turn into a reo fic tbh) fic and a sae fic in the works <3 this is my new year gift to you all. returning to our blue lock era for 2025!

Itoshi Rin doesn’t believe in shared goals, shared ambitions, shared dreams. 

He did, at some point, and it came crashing down on him like a snowstorm. He still remembers the snow, the frost permeating his bones as his older brother left him behind in a cold field, a once-treasured dream now in pieces. 

Since then, he hasn’t really wanted to accomplish anything with anyone else.

“It’s snowing.”

Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. Rin looks up from the cup of coffee he was stirring, thoroughly dissolving the spoon of sugar he just added. His teal eyes find you sitting at his kitchen bench, laptop and papers forgotten so you can admire the tiny snowflakes beginning to fall with a fascinated gleam in your eyes.

It warms him. You ignite a part of him he thought was snuffed out years ago.

“It is,” he says, rounding around the kitchen counter to give you your mug of coffee, made exactly to your tastes. 

“Thank you,” you smile up at him. He leans down to kiss your temple, pressing his lips firmly against your skin so you can’t forget the depths of his adoration. 

The professional soccer player only then notices what you were looking at on your laptop.

“Two bedroom apartments in Tokyo?” Rin reads out loud, even squinting at your screen to make sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Are you moving out?”

You’re not meeting his eyes, shrinking into the comfortable fabric of Rin’s hoodie and he suddenly gets the impression that he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. “Something like that,” you murmur into the mug.

“Two bedrooms? Are you going to move in with someone?” 

There’s a tight knot in Rin’s chest. Why couldn’t you just move in with him? 

“I, uh, was supposed to ask you this later but… would you like to move in with me?”

His eyes widen, mouth falling slightly agape as he stares down at you, and now you get the feeling that you’ve asked something you weren’t supposed to. Maybe almost two years of dating wasn’t enough time for the question to be asked, and now you just feel like an idiot-

Rin shakes his head, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “Dumbass, you basically live here.”

You straighten your spine, a telltale sign that you’re about to rebut whatever he’s just said.

“Whatever! You were talking about finding a new apartment closer to central Tokyo, I thought this was the perfect opportunity for us,” you defend. “It is a bit expensive, though.”

“I earn enough. We can find a place close to the train station, you can get to work and university easier,” he suggests, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his torso. “Why are you looking at two bedrooms?”

“We can have a dedicated study. I can’t sleep sometimes when you’re watching your recorded matches in bed, y’know.”

Rin snorts. “Right. Can’t sleep so you drool on me.”

You punch his shoulder, and he doesn’t even react, eyes trained on your laptop screen as he scrolls through potential housing options. From where your face is pressed against his sternum, you murmur, “I like your current apartment, though, I like the wide windows, I can see the snow.”

“You can enjoy it until my lease is done. We can hunt for an apartment with wide windows until then so you don’t miss the snowfall.”

“‘Kay,” you murmur contentedly. “This can be our shared dream, then.”

And it’s funny, because Rin hasn’t heard that term in a long time. Every dream of his, he’s done alone. He hasn’t ‘shared’ a dream with anyone since Sae, and that came crumbling down in the blink of an eye. If he can’t trust his older brother to keep his word, then who can he trust?

However, you’re snug in his arms, in his hoodie, in his apartment, and a silent promise hangs in the air, and he realises now that with every dream of his, he has always imagined you to be a part of it.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[solarmorrigan]

Wrote this a while ago for I think an Angsty August prompt but never posted it. Stumbled across it a few days ago and realized I actually liked it, so here it is

Rated: T | Words: 935 | CW: Anxiety attack | Tags: hurt/comfort, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington has chronic pain, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, the stress and imperfection of caring for someone with a chronic illness

-

There are bills. There are always fucking bills – a pile of them lying on the kitchen table where Eddie sits now, head hanging, hair clenched in his fists as he tries to breathe.

He’s pulling so hard that he’s giving himself a headache, and it nearly makes him laugh, but he refrains. He gets the feeling that if he starts, he might not stop – he’ll get louder and louder, maybe get a little hysterical, and then he’ll disturb Steve, who’s currently laid up with the mother of all headaches. Eddie’s little tension headache pales in comparison to the might of the migraine.

At least it’s Saturday. Steve hadn’t had to miss another shift, and Eddie is free to stay home and keep him company. Not that there’s much Eddie can do; he takes another shaking breath, trying to burst the band of anxiety wrapped tight around his chest, but his thoughts keep racing.

The envelopes piled on the table stare back at him as he blinks watery eyes down at his placemat, rent and utilities and medical bills all crying out for payment. Eddie’s job is barely enough to keep them afloat, and Steve – he helps as much as he can. His new job doesn’t pay as much as his last had, but fewer and more flexible hours reduce the chances he’ll get fired after calling out one too many times (like his last job).

(And Eddie can admit, if only in the privacy of his own head, to some frustrated, bitter thoughts in his weaker moments, wondering why Steve can’t just push through his pain like Eddie does. There are days when Eddie’s scars act up, when his body aches and he wants nothing more than to stay in bed, but he doesn’t.

But then he sees the results of Steve “pushing through it” – ignoring the way his whole body hurts, moving until he physically can’t anymore, until even breathing feels painful. Shoving off the impending signs of a migraine until they get mornings like this one: vomiting and stuttering and auras, sitting on the bathroom floor until Eddie can coax him back to bed.

He sees it, sees how much it kills Steve that he can’t do more, and feels ashamed.)

It isn’t just the bills weighing on Eddie’s mind, though. More even than money trouble—something with which Eddie at least has experience—it’s Steve that’s scaring him the most. The days when he’s overwhelmed by pain or by exhaustion, by fogginess and migraines, seem to be increasing, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Scrape together enough money to go see another specialist who will tell them shit they already know and recommend treatments they can’t afford?

(Eddie would. If Steve’s doctor gave him yet another referral, Eddie would find a way to make it work. He’s just not sure anymore that it would help.)

He hates feeling useless. Hates sitting by, unable to do a damn thing, unable to solve the problem, stuck in place just like he had been in high school, dead weight, no good to anybody–

A rustling of sheets followed by a quiet groan reaches Eddie’s ears from the bedroom, snapping him from his spiral.

He sits up, then, releasing his hair and rubbing his hands over his cheeks, catching any stray moisture from beneath his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, shaking less now, and stands from the table. There is one thing he can do, and even if it doesn’t feel like enough, Eddie is going to do it.

The bedroom is dim, curtains drawn over east-facing windows that blessedly get less light in the afternoon. The bed is a wreck of pillows and sheets, moved around or cast aside in an effort to alleviate the pain, to warm up or stay cool through a fluctuating body temperature. Steve lies in the middle of it all, turned now to face the door, one arm stretched over the empty space where Eddie had been.

His eyes are closed, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s awake – sure enough, he pulls his arm back as soon as the bed dips under Eddie’s weight. Eddie slides back beneath the sheets and takes Steve’s hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Hey.”

Steve hums, eyes still closed, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. “Where’d you go?”

“Just got up to stretch my legs,” Eddie answers (it’s an easy lie, one Eddie feels no guilt over, because it’s better than explaining that he’d gotten up to avoid waking Steve with the anxiety attack that had built in his chest the longer he’d lain in the silence of their bedroom, watching the furrow between Steve’s brows that made him look pained even in his sleep).

After a moment, Steve’s eyes flutter open, searching Eddie’s face. Whatever he finds there makes his frown deepen.

“Kinda ruined our weekend, huh?” he says quietly. “’m sorry you’re stuck with me like this.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says lowly. “Never apologize. I’m not stuck with you, I love you.” He leans up, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and Steve sighs.

He takes their joined hands and brings them to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against Eddie’s skin.

“You need anything?” Eddie asks, before he really settles in.

Steve makes a noise in the negative. “Just you,” he says, lips still brushing Eddie’s hand. “That’s enough.”

Eddie can’t help the overwhelmed tears that well up in his eyes again. This is enough – they’re enough. As long as Eddie has Steve, they can figure the rest out together.

And that will always be enough.

[sheepispink]

happy new year everyone, this is probably crap but just take it im tired

being a homebody with roommate!simonriley is a strange experience. He had told the landlord he hadnt minded having a roommate occupy the spare room but with so long and no sign of interest, he had ultimately forgotten altogether. Until one morning, the landlord had texted him and soon he was opening the door to you, standing with your suitcases and an embarrassed smile. He helped you bring it in, although he wasn't the most friendly and the both of you were dead silent the entire time.

“Dont really care what you do here. Just dont bring friends over and leave a mess, dont come home in the early ‘ours and leave a mess and dont go out and leave a mess.” You blink at him, and then point to yourself, almost unbelieving of his words. When have you ever gone out? “Yes you, who else?” He has to resist rolling his eyes, and a little smile peeks out, an awkward one but it breaks the ice enough to make him raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

.You quickly revert to your quiet demeanour, giving a meek salute in response.

“Okay, okay, yes sir, i’ll follow all the rules.”

And you did, almost too well. There was never a mess left in the kitchen, infact he hardly saw you most days he was home. Given that your shoes were never near the door too, he just automatically figured you were out partying all evening or hanging out with friends. It almost made him roll his eyes, that you could have so much energy but also just waste your life away like that. He knew you went to work on the weekdays, saw you slip out the front door quietly, and then return to your room in the evening.

It’s one of those weeks in British winter which is just freezing for no apparent reason, even if it’s barely December yet. Simon’s skin is practically about to turn blue, having just come back from a long deployment yesterday. The usual clothes he uses for underlayers had been ripped and torn throughout the mission, aswell as his usual balaclava. It was one of the toughest yet, leaving him littered in bruises and a wave of exhaustion that refuses to leave. He sighs, rubbing his temples as he lays on the couch, head resting against the armrest whilst he flicks through the tv channels.

Though his activities are interrupted when he hears a small click, causing his eyes to immediately flick over to the direction— he was sure you were out. After all, there wasn't a single sound in there all day. Has someone broken in? Did you have a dog he hadn't been told about? He’s never heard a bark, maybe it’s something quieter like a cat, sneakier like a snake even. Then the handle turns and he tenses, eyes trained and his grip tightening on the remote control. Who the hell was behind that door?

What he hadn’t expected, was to see you shivering with a frown, your hands wrapped into the pockets of the thick hoodie as you tried to warm them. You intended to grab a hot water bottle from the kitchen, since you had left it there drying the night prior. Though, naturally your focus moves to the tv, forcing you to see the full view of his bare face and eyes widened. “You’re home?!” You squeak, trying to turn back incase you witnessed something you shouldnt have, only to hit your head smack against your bedroom door. He quickly sits up himself, face tinting with colour as he practically snatches his ripped mask from his pocket and forces it on. “I should say the same to you.”

“ Its the weekend, I never go out on the weekends.” He looks at you with clear disbelief, a hand tugging his shirt down where it had ridden up on his stomach. “Your shoes ‘ave never been by that door though.“ You blink, opening the door to your bedroom to show him the shoe rack and he falls silent. “ You never come out of your room. How do you even survive?!” He watches your cheeks burn pink but he’s had enough, wanting to understand how you had evaded his senses for so long. Before you can protest he’s pushing past you, looking around your room.

“We literally have a stove.”

“This is more convenient!”

“You’re just lazy!”

He waves the self heating pan in your face and you frown, embarrassed at being caught out for being so lazy that you even make your own lunch and dinner in this room. Instead, his gaze moves over your current set up which is adorned with everything soft and comfy. He’s starting to understand after he sees the wide screen pc, the stash of snacks in your cupboard and the cans lined up. “Yknow, most keep paperwork in their cupboards.” He grunts and your hands plant on his arms, attempting to push him out of your room before you instantly recoil. “You’re freezing!”

That’s the first he’s chuckled for a while, and presses his knuckles against your cheek making you recoil like a hissy cat. “Oh come on i’m not that cold—“

“Ice on my face! Literally ice!”

His mask creases, but you’re right , there’s even goosebumps along his skin now. But damn, that throw blanket on your bed looks comfy..

“If i make ya some good food, will you give me that blanket?”

”Thi’ is so good-“ You say through a full mouth, coddled beneath a blanket as you scoff down a bowl of chicken salad. He doesnt know when he picked it up, but he has a few memories of Kyle giving him and Johnny a bowl when they didnt know what to do with the few ingredients in the fridge. “That’s ‘cause im a good cook.” You mumble something in response to his grumble, but it’s difficult by how stuffed your cheeks are, almost looking like a squirrel. It makes him want to laugh but he’s growing more tired by the minute, eyes threatening to fall. Whilst you were stuffing your face, he had gotten exactly what he was promised, currently enthralled by your heated duvet. You even have one on your mattress to warm that too, and a plushie that you can microwave— he feels like he’s in a heater heaven.

“Hey— I said a blanket, not my whole bed.” Finished with your meal, he supposed you’d be back to lazing around now, either gaming, watching the latest episode of your series or starting a new book to finish within the hour. “Hey— move-” You try to push him but he only grunts, already halfway to dream land. He owes you breakfast tomorrow.

[mythicmanuscripts]

I can't remember where you said it, but I remember you saying how Aemond likes the deep pressure feeling of you lying on top of him. I was wondering if you could write smth about that?? Like, I personally LOVE having someone lie on me, too. It's like the ultimate weighted blanket! I'd love to hear more thoughts on this, and maybe even with the roles reversed and him lying on you

Absolutely anon!! Absolutely!!

This is mostly just soft and SFW but since it mentions nakedness and some suggestive themes then I'll hide it under a cut just to be safe. Enjoy lads!

This is something I think Aemond would always have liked and sought out even before he fully knew what it was. When he was younger he used to wrap his blanket as tightly around himself as possible. Often that was the only way he could fall asleep.

That's also one of the reasons why he loves traveling with Vhagar so much. She always opens her wing out and stretches it over him while he sleeps, never moving until he wakes up. He always used to sleep so much better while traveling with her, and often he would willingly take longer routes home just to spend an extra night or two like that.

It's not really a desire he fully understood back then. He just knew that the feeling of something heavy or tight around him made him feel so much better, so much safer.

You first discover this a few weeks after you finally start cuddling regularly. One of Aemond's favourite cuddling positions is to lay cuddled up against you, resting his cheek on your chest and bending his legs to rest on top of yours. He especially loves it when you wrap an arm around his shoulder.

But sometimes it seemed like Aemond couldnt relax? He'd constantly be shuffling and nuzzling against you, pulling your arm tighter around him. You ask what he wants and honestly he's not even sure? He just knows he could be closer somehow, and he wants it.

The next time you're laying together, you come to bed after him and he's laying on his back. So you switch places with him and this time it's you cuddled against his chest. He pulls you closer, tighter and buries his nose into your hair, like he can't get you close enough.

You try to change positions and in doing so you accidentally end up nearly on top of him. Before you can even apologise he is already pulling you closer so your weight it on him. You try to get off, telling him that you must be squashing him but he won't hear it. He falls asleep so easily and in the morning when you bring it up all he can say is that he felt secure.

Of course now that you're armed with this information you lay on him much more often, sometimes he even asks for it. Maybe, since we all know how much he loves to be of service, you ask him if he would like to try reading to you while you lay like that?

He sits up against the headboard with you curled up in his lap. You let your body rest over his legs rather than try to avoid it. He loves it, always keeping a hand on your back.

At first he would only read you whatever you had suggested, and never suggested anything himself. But over time as he grows more comfortable with you and begins to show you all the different sides of himself, then he starts to read you history books? It becomes one of his favourite things to do.

I also think he would love that sort of pressure when not in the bedroom as well? Obviously far more toned down.

If you two are watching Aegon hold court then you tend to stand off to the side with Aemond. He leans against the wall and then pulls you closer, holding you against him and letting him hold up some of your weight. He wraps one of his arms around your waist and will often rest his head on your shoulder (especially because he can whisper things to you about how boring this is and how Aegon made the wrong decision and all his other complaints.)

[angelkiyo]

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who you met at a house party that your mutual friend oikawa threw. your friends got the flier on instagram and decided to bring you in attempts to bring you out of your shell—where you were brought in his sights while getting something to drink. you in your sparkly pink velour halter top and skin tight jean mini skirt drove him crazy, driving the need to talk to you.

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who comes up and talks to you once your friend gets caught up in the party, awkwardly starting the conversation by asking what you’re drinking. catching wind on how you want to get fresh air from the heavy presence of weed, alcohol, and sweat, offers to drive you around the neighborhood. he simply does so, turning the windows down, stopping at a grocery store’s parking lot and offers you some weed to which you surely agree to. “the night’s been rough” — in which conversation and sativa rush ends in a rough make-out session before he drops you home and leads both of you wanting more after.

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who slowly but surely, became the only guy you really talked to after the party you attended, with every other guy attempting to ask you out scared off by him. maybe it was his rough and intimidating exterior— with his years of self-discipline showcased by his biceps and the tattoos tattooed on his sun-kissed skin, or maybe it’s his demeanor; talking eloquently and clearly adding on to his intimidating appearance. either way, both reasons are some of your favorite things about him (and he knows it and loves that).

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who brags about you, his smart and pretty little girlfriend. he loves to show you off at parties, especially when you showcase your necklace with his name on it or your nails with his initials. once you’ve reached a year with him, he definitely has your lipstick mark tatted on his neck. if he isn’t promoting his business on social media, he posts those subtle mirror selfies with you, the flash covering your face as he wraps his arms around your waist, fingers slightly toying with the waistband of your skirt.

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who spoils you fucking rotten. you want those “preppy little” van cleef bracelets? he’ll buy it and a matching necklace. you get money to do your nails every week and have his card connected to whatever app you want to buy something from. he loves to spoil you when it comes to shopping — addicted to your smile and the way you look when you do a little fashion show of your newly bought clothes ranging from elegant vera wang slip dresses to bedazzled and lacy lingerie sets bought exclusively for him.

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who always makes sure you come first, whether it be priorities or bedroom matters, you are on the top of his list, putting your own pleasures and preferences on number one. he puts his clients on hold just to make sure he gives you what you need.

͙͘͡★ plug! iwaizumi, who eats you out like you’re his last meal but grabs on your thighs gently while doing so. he might have an intimidating and scary presence however, he knows how to treat and pleasure a woman. the way he knows where to hit your pleasure spots in every position he tries with you as long as you’re comfortable.

hehehe hope you all had a nice holiday!!

[cyrdling]

Lovey (Jason Todd x Reader Oneshot)

a/n: i really hope i wasn't gone too long, lol. hope you guys like the blog retheming! for the story, reader is broke and lives in a shitty apartment.

now, you didn't know jason todd was the red hood. how were you supposed to know that the total hunk with mysterious scars all over and a tendency to leave in the middle of the night was a fucking vigilante? okay, yeah, maybe you were a bit oblivious. but nobody could blame you for it, since you were slaving away at your job and you lived in gotham, for goodness sake. if you had one week without some random attack by the local crazies, you could count yourself lucky. this meant that the time you had outside of work and city-wide emergencies was very, very little- you couldn't really sleep all that much, and you couldn't do any of your hobbies. in essence, you weren't really living- just surviving. no time to think about pretty boy jason, or to figure out how to lie being fine.

despite your oblivious nature, you knew jason was incredibly observant. you didn't need to know he was a vigilante (which, by the way, he still teases you for) to know that he's very aware of his surroundings. he takes care to be very, very aware of where you are- other things he doesn't really care about. he wants to make sure he knows where you are so he doesn't hurt you if you startle him. he just wants to be as gentle with you as possible. however, because of his observance, he's noticed something is up with you.

he wakes up in the morning to you rushing to get ready for work, remembering how late you went to bed last night. he decides to say something.

"sweetheart, why are you going to work? you slept so late last night," he practically mumbles. he has to keep his voice quiet, or else you might notice the soft little whine to it- he just wants to cuddle and keep you close, so not being able to absolutely breaks his big heart.

"sorry, jay- i need to work, i won't be affording this apartment and i can't miss a day just because i'm too tired. i know you'll miss me, baby, but i'll be back before you know it," you tell him, speaking at a volume normal to you, sure, but the quiet paradise of your bedroom was practically shaking from the sound. jason sighs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes to try and guilt you into staying. you're his little angel, he wants to hug you like a teddy bear while he curls up under your blankets.

you sigh, kissing him on the lips, while his adorable tactic doesn't help his case. then, you grab your phone, and leave. he sighs, deep and tired, as he pulls out his phone to check the time before he gets up. he goes through his morning routine without you- brushing his teeth, combing his hair, putting on his sweats and a tee shirt, eating a balanced breakfast (which he's very sure you didn't do, because the one he made for you and put in the fridge is untouched) and then sitting down in front of the television to think about you.

now, jason doesn't think about you every second of every day- he has to figure out how to save the city, after all- but he definitely comes close. he'll be walking down the street and see some items you might like, in a little storefront. he's watching television, and an ad for that one show you like shows up, and he looks to his side to talk about it with you, but you're not there. he decides that if he wants you to be happier, he'd have to do a lot of work.

first, he goes to the grocery store and buys all the stuff you're running out of, and stuff you've said you wanted to try but never had the funds. he even gets a couple extra things he thinks you might like, too, even if you've never said anything about them. he racks up quite the bill, but it's fine- bruce will pay for it.

second, he goes to a furniture store to replace your ratty couch and get you something cute and nice. he gets you some insanely expensive furniture, especially in comparison with what you bought for yourself, and even got you a couple knickknacks from an antique store nearby. like the first bill jason got, bruce will, once again, pay for it.

last, he goes to the wayne manor. there's some things he wants to get that he can't exactly buy- mainly sentimental things- but he wants to show you that he's making an effort to trust you, and turn your apartment into a home. he gets some framed photos off the walls of his old bedroom, some books, and other little things that he thinks you might find cute. while he's carrying his huge bag of goods, he comes across bruce. they stare each other down for a while, and bruce speaks first.

"is this for your partner?" he asks, stern voice bouncing off the walls and buzzing in jason's skull.

jason smirks, "yeah. what's it to you?" the last word ending in a slight raise of his voice.

bruce sighs. "nothing. just tell me the next time you plan to spend that much money in one day," with that, he turns and leaves- a barely imperceptible smile on his face at the fact that finally, finally jason has found someone to love.

jason hops in his car- he couldn't trust himself to carry that much on his bike, let's be honest- and drives back to your apartment. he drags all his luggage up to your floor, struggling only slightly to open your door. thankfully, all of the furniture he got was delivered- thank goodness for money- and he just took a few trips to carry it up (and also had dick help some).

with all of these things in his sight, he suddenly became insecure. what if you didn't like the foods he got you? what if you didn't like the furniture, or thought the stuff from his childhood room was stupid?

he heard footsteps down the hall.

heard someone fiddling with their keys.

heard the door opening.

you came in, and saw him in the center of a long day of work- his eyes widen, and he greets you- nervously, stuttering a little, just a bit too loud for the situation.

"hey, sweetheart- um- i got you some things," he sighs, almost defeated. oh god, you're gonna hate him. you're gonna leave him for someone who knows what gifts to get you, who knows how to talk to you about things. he feels his palms going clammy, his heart thundering away in his chest, his lungs struggling for air- wait, why are you smiling? you're not supposed to be smiling. does this mean you're happy with this? you laugh, and he feels his heart shoot directly through the upper floors of your apartment and into the stratosphere. he's sure you'd be losing your security deposit for that, but he can't bring himself to care. he'd pay for it, a million times over, just for you.

with his help, you put all of the food away, throw out your ratty couch, rearrange the furniture, and set up the knickknacks and sentimental items around the place. the entire way through, though, jason stares at you starstruck- if you look close enough, you might be able to see the hearts forming in his eyes. he, in his ever-helpful wisdom, told you to quit your job. when you ask why, he only told you one thing- and he kept repeating it whenever you'd ask.

he'd tell you, "it's my job to take care of you, lovey. i'll pay for it," his eyes full of love and his thumb caressing your cheek. he is quite the partner, ain't he?

please reblog if you enjoyed this one!! i definitely had a lot of fun writing it!

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 1 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 1.4k

pairing: quinn hughes x single mom reader

notes: probably going to make this into a mini series because i have too many ideas to fit them in 1 fic. enjoy

y/n was walking into her apartment when her mom called, telling her how worried she was.

"mom, will you relax? i'm going to be fine. it's safer for me out here anyway." y/n walked into her apartment and set her keys down on the counter. her daughter took her shoes off and ran to her bedroom.

"have you met any of your neighbors yet, sweetie?"

"no, mom. i haven't met anyone in the building yet and i don't plan on it any time soon. i've been really busy with work and stuff and just haven't had the time nor the interest in doing so. plus, you know how abby is with strangers."

"i would feel better if you made at least one friend, dear. you're all alone in vancouver. anything could happen to you."

"what if i meet the wrong person, mom? ever think about that?"

"that doesn't worry me because i know you'll trust your instincts."

"and that's why i haven't bothered to talk to anyone in the building yet. besides, it's only my first week here. there's still plenty of time."

"okay fine. but i want you to keep me updated at all times."

"yes ma'am." y/n switched the phone from one ear to the other. there was a knock on the door and she jumped. "i gotta go mom. dinner's here."

"alright. love you sweetie. give abby a kiss for me."

"will do. love you too. bye." she hung up the phone and opened the door. "about time. i'm starving." she looked up from her wallet. "wait, you're not the pizza guy."

"no, i am not. my name is quinn and i live across the hall there." he turned and pointed to the door behind him. "i noticed you just moved in recently and i thought i'd be neighborly and come say hi, see if you needed any help with anything."

"that's very kind of you, quinn. but so far, i've got things handled. thank you though."

"well, if you ever need my help with anything, you know where to find me." he smiled and turned back towards his own apartment. just as y/n was about to shut her door, quinn turned back around. "i'm sorry. i completely forgot to ask for your name."

"it's y/n."

"mommy, i'm hungry." abby came up to y/n and looked at her.

"i know, sweetie. the pizza should be here shortly."

"okay. i'll be in my room." the girl turned around and headed down the hallway.

"she's adorable. how old is she?"

"she's 5, almost 6."

"they're always the cutest at that age." quinn smiled. "well, it was nice to finally meet you, y/n. see you later." he waved and entered his own apartment, leaving y/n to finally close her door.

"hey, abby. want a snack to hold you over until dinner gets here?"

"yes please." abby came out of her room to grab a snack from her bucket and headed back to play with her dolls.

y/n was about to send a text to her mom, letting her know she finally met a neighbor, when there was another knock on her door.

"this better be the pizza." she opened the door and saw quinn standing there holding a pizza box.

"they brought it to the wrong apartment. but don't worry. it's paid for. the guy didn't have time to walk across the hall so i paid him."

"you really didn't have to do that, quinn. but thank you." y/n accepted the pizza and looked at him. "would you maybe want to come in for a slice or two?"

"sure." quinn followed y/n into her apartment and sat on one of the stools at the island.

"abby, dinner's ready."

"yay. pizza!" the little girl yelled and ran out of her room. she stopped in her tracks when she saw quinn. "hi."

"hello."

"quinn, this is my daughter abigail. sweetheart, this is quinn. he lives across the hall."

"do you have kids?"

"no. not yet."

"how old are you?"

"i'm 24."

"oh, so is mommy. she just had a birthday."

"did you really?" quinn turned his attention from abby to y/n.

"no." y/n set the plates down on the island and helped abby into her chair. "well, i didn't just have a birthday. it's been a few months now."

"oh. well i'll be 25 next month."

"in case i don't see you, happy birthday." y/n smiled and began eating her slice of pizza.

"thank you." quinn smiled back and looked at abby,

"shit." y/n pulled her ringing phone out of her pocket and answered it. "hello? yeah. i'll be right there." she hung up and looked at quinn. "i barely know you but i just got called into work for an emergency and abby's normal sitter is busy tonight. would you mind-"

"go to work. i'll watch your daughter."

"you are a lifesaver quinn." y/n ran to her room to get ready. she came out 5 minutes later. "this is crazy. it's my first night off and i was hoping to relax but of course there's an emergency when the hospital is short-staffed."

"oh, you work at the hospital? how are you liking it?"

"it keeps me busy and pays well. but it's a very demanding job. i don't get to spend as much time with abby as i would like."

"that's alright, mom. i understand."

"i love you, sweetheart. now, be on your best behavior for quinn. if you're good, we can get you some new toys this weekend. how's that sound?"

"like an easy task." abby smiled and looked at quinn.

"okay great. thanks again, quinn." y/n smiled and walked out the door.

"alright, abby. what do you want to do?"

"dolls, makeover, tea party?"

"sounds like fun. shall we add music?"

"yes! dance party! mommy never has time for one."

"then we shall have one." quinn went on his music app and put on some popular music that was age appropriate and followed abby to her room to get the makeover started.

after a few hours of playtime, they settled down and quinn put on a random disney movie. abby cuddled up to his side and fell asleep within the first 20 minutes.

when the movie was finished, quinn put on another one and waited for y/n to get home.

he was halfway through the third movie when y/n walked through the door.

"i am so sorry. it took a lot longer than i thought but-" she stopped when quinn put his finger to his lips to shush her. "awe look at that. she must really like you."

"why do you think that?"

"she never falls asleep for anyone other than me. and she loves her usual sitter."

"oh." quinn smiled and adjusted his legs as y/n picked abby up.

"mommy?" abby rubbed her eyes and when she saw it was her mom, she just cuddled into her more.

y/n put abby in her bed and made sure she went back to sleep before she headed back to quinn.

"thank you so much for doing this. i didn't expect to get called into work tonight." she went to hand quinn some money but he stopped her.

"you don't have to pay me. i had a lot of fun."

"was she good?"

"very good. and such a polite child."

"what did you guys do?"

"after you left, we played with her barbies for about half an hour. and when she got bored of that, we had a tea party and then she did my 'makeup'." quinn chuckled. "oh. and we had a mini dance party before i put on some movies for her to settle down to. she was out within the first 20 minutes."

"well, sounds like you had a good time and honestly, i can't thank you enough for watching her. i owe you."

"it's fine. like i said, i had fun. consider that my payment."

"you're the best." y/n walked with quinn out into the hall. he walked up to his door and looked back.

"if i'm not busy & you ever need someone to watch abby, i would be more than happy to do it."

"really? oh my gosh. you really are the sweetest person i've ever met."

"what can i say? my mother raised me right." quinn flashed her a smile and opened his door. "good night, y/n."

"good night, quinn."

[squatch-and-stretch]

Do You Remember?

Fiddleford McGucket/Ford Pines | 2,916 words | Memory Lapse, Hurt/Comfort

An old man wakes up in an unknown room with a handsome stranger and no memory of who he is.

Fic under the cut.

He wakes up tucked into a comfortable bed with a pounding headache and a pervasive sense that something is wrong. When he opens his eyes and sees the opulent room around him, that feeling only intensifies. He can’t quite recall where he’s supposed to be, but it’s certainly nowhere quite so fancy-shmancy. He’s not quite sure who he is, but he’s not the fancy-shmancy sort.

He should probably know who he is, right? That seems sensible. He should figure that out.

He sits up, shrugging off a thick duvet. His head swims, vision spotting for a moment before it clears. The air is a little cold, but it’s tolerable. He’s wearing a large sweatshirt, and as he looks down at his hands, he realizes he’s old. His fingers, blurry even at this distance, are nearly skeletal, swollen around the joints, skin pale and paper-thin, spotted with a hundred small scars and age spots. He pushes the sleeve up, admiring the body he seems to occupy. There’s a thick scar along one arm, and as he runs his fingers over it, he feels something strange beneath the skin. He checks it against his other arm, and yes, there’s something wrong with that one that isn’t wrong with the other.

Or maybe it’s the other way around…? No, he’s fairly certain the unscarred arm is the normal one.

He runs a hand down his face curiously. There’s only a few stubborn wisps of hair still on his head, but he’s got a pretty impressive beard underneath one heck of a big nose.

He rolls his sleeves back down. The room is a little cold. The window across the room is cracked just slightly, letting in chilly morning air. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, but when it does, it’ll shine right through that window. He usually wakes up before it does.

So he’s an early riser, and his room is on the east side of whatever building he’s in. He’s old and he broke his arm at one point. He’s also pretty darn sure he’s a he, now that he thinks about it, and that’s something.

“Fiddleford?” a voice says gently, accompanied by a light knock on the doorframe.

He— Fiddleford, is he Fiddleford? What a ridiculous name— freezes like a deer in headlights. Without waiting for a response, the person at the door opens it.

He’s tall, somewhere around 60, and very handsome. Fiddleford— yes, that’s him, he’s Fiddleford— does not recognize this man, but a strange flurry of emotion is stirred at the sight of him.

Anger, betrayal, terror, concern, affection, all at once, suffocating in their strength. It’s all so confusing, but he focuses on the fear. It’s not the most powerful, but it is the most understandable reaction to having a stranger in his (his? is it Fiddleford’s?) bedroom. He does not know this man and he does not know why he’s evoking such a powerful emotional response from him and he does not know where he is and why this man is here.

“Who’re you?” Fiddleford demands shakily, and there’s a southern twang to his voice that this stranger does not possess. He draws the blankets back up to his chest like a shield, backing himself up against the headboard. “Where am I?”

The man, who had moved to enter the room, freezes. The gentle expression on his face gives way to confusion, then alarm, then concern.

“Fiddleford, it’s me, Stanford,” he says, stepping closer. Fiddleford flinches, pressing himself tighter against the headboard. The name sends a shiver down his spine.

“I… I don’t reckon I know you,” Fiddleford says, nearly a whine. Does his voice really sound like that? It’s terrible.

“No, I don’t suppose you would, at the moment,” ‘Stanford’ says, soft and heartbroken, “but please, believe me when I say that I mean you no harm.”

“I… I dunno that I do,” Fiddleford mumbles, watching him like a hawk.

Standing there looking like a wet dog, this man does not cut a particularly intimidating figure. There’s a bulk to his shoulders and chest that implies strength, but he’s hunched over, hands fluttering awkwardly. They’re big hands, wide, with one more finger than Fiddleford’s. His own hands tingle, a phantom sensation of warm, thick fingers between his own. He clenches his hand into a fist to squash the feeling.

“If you really don’t wanna hurt me none, how ‘bout you stay over there and answer my questions?” Fiddleford says sharply. As sharply as he can with his voice shaking, anyway.

“Of course,” Stanford agrees, keeping his hands in view as he steps out of the doorway.

His eyes flick towards the open door, looking away from Fiddleford for the first time since he’s entered. He looks like he wants to close the door, but he doesn’t.

The door opens out into a long hallway, and even if he can’t see the entrance from where he’s sitting, he knows it’s that way.

He glances at Stanford. Stanford stares back, brows furrowed, eyes wide.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Stanford asks, gesturing with one hand toward a cushioned wooden rocking chair in one corner, the wall behind it lined with bookshelves. A well-loved quilt is thrown over the back of it, and a banjo leans against it.

Part of Fiddleford prickles possessively. He doesn’t recognize anything in this room, not really, but they’re his. He doesn’t have much, what he does have he needs to protect.

But that doesn’t make much sense, does it? Isn’t this his fancy house?

No, it can’t be. Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong in a place like this. This must be Stanford’s house. He doesn’t know why or when or how, but Stanford must have dragged him here himself.

What does he want from him? He’s a frail and confused old man. If he has— had— any skills, he doesn’t remember them now.

He was smart once, wasn’t he? Was he? He certainly isn’t now, not when he’s taking advice from the small, scared animal burrowed in his chest.

It’s telling him to run.

The man, Stanford, he said something, didn’t he?

“Huh?” Fiddleford breathes.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Stanford repeats, patiently.

“… go ahead,” Fiddleford allows. “Careful with that there banjo.”

Don’t provoke him! the scared animal squeals, but Stanford just smiles at him. The concern— fake, he’s tricking you!— remains in his eyes, but there’s a soft, kind curl to his lips. He looks fond.

“Of course,” Stanford agrees, gently repositioning the banjo so it’s leaning against the wall instead of the chair. “Now what did you want to ask me?”

Fiddleford watches him. He’s leaning forward, templing his hands, and his eyes do not leave Fiddleford.

“Well, uh…” Fiddleford glances around. “First things first, just what is that?”

Fiddleford points away from the door. Stanford, that gullible son of a gun, falls for it, following his finger to frown at the bookcase.

Go, go, go, hurry, he’ll hurt you if he catches you, the scared animal says, and Fiddleford agrees.

He scrambles out of bed, and his balance tilts, vision going dark for a moment. He comes back to himself on his hands and knees, and he doesn’t know how long he was out but he needs to get out. Stanford isn’t blocking the way to the door yet, so Fiddleford scampers on four legs towards the opening.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford gasps, and he steps in front of him, hands extended.

He can’t stop himself before he’s crashing into Stanford’s legs, and a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t think, just reacts, and he twists his head to bite at Stanford’s wrist. His teeth— of which he has very few, he’s realizing— catch on the sleeve of his sweater. Stanford doesn’t back off though, he just secures him with his other hand.

“No!” Fiddleford yelps. “No, no, lemme go!”

“Fiddleford, please,” Stanford nearly begs, but his firm grip doesn’t falter, “I don’t want to do this but we’re on the second floor, you’ll hurt yourself on the stairs!”

“No! No no no, stop!” Fiddleford sobs. He hears the words, but he doesn’t register them. “Lemme go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Something familiar scratches at the back of his head. Yellow eyes, skin so pale it was nearly transparent, large clawed hands, men in uniform and scowling townsfolk.

A crowded room that always smelled like coffee and tobacco and damp, a couch beneath a stained glass window, caves and campfires and constellations.

His head throbs painfully, and the thoughts leave his head as quickly as they came. Stanford’s grip shifts, tightens, and Fiddleford struggles until he feels his wide palm on the back of his head, pulling his head into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Stanford says. His neck is right there. Even through his sweater, he could hurt him. The scared animal demands that he do so, but he knows this man. He doesn’t know why, but he does, and his tired old body aches.

“Stanford…” he whines, and the name tastes familiar in his mouth. He buries his nose in his shoulder as he goes limp against the larger man. He smells like sweat and coffee. “What… what’s goin’ on?”

He sighs. Fiddleford can feel it against the top of his head.

“You’re having a memory lapse. It’s a side effect of a device you invented,” he explains, stroking the thin hairs clinging stubbornly to the back of his head. “I have yet to help you through one, but I have plenty of experience with my brother’s. I… I could get him, if you’d prefer.”

“Brother…” Fiddleford echoes. He knows the meaning of the word, understands its importance to this man in particular, but he doesn’t know why.

“Stanley, my twin brother. He was… affected by the same device, so he has direct personal experiences with its consequences,” Stanford elaborates, voice strained. “Besides, your relationship with him is less… complicated than our own. It may be best—“

“No!” Fiddleford fists his hands into the back of Stanford’s sweater. “Please, I don’t…”

I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want to see anyone else, I don’t want to bother anyone, I don’t… Fiddleford doesn’t know what he means, but Stanford hushes him with a gentle noise and lets it go.

“Let’s get you off the floor, m— Fiddleford,” Stanford says.

What had he been about to say? Fiddleford has bigger concerns, but the curiosity claws at him.

“Mm-hm,” Fiddleford agrees, and for some reason, instead of moving away to stand up, his body curls closer to Stanford’s.

Stanford takes this in stride, carefully repositioning Fiddleford in his arms. With an ease that’s a bit irritating given his apparent age, he stands up with Fiddleford held against him. His stomach swoops with nausea, and he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face further into Stanford’s neck as he lets out a soft whine.

Stanford replies with a soothing, wordless noise from deep in his throat. Carefully, he sits down on the bed and releases Fiddleford, keeping himself between him and the door. Fiddleford wiggles out of his lap, but stays close beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He still doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know if he can trust him, but his body seems to think he should. Or maybe he’s just that lonely, so lonely that he’ll seek comfort in some home invader or kidnapper that possibly gave him brain damage.

“So,” Stanford began, clearing his throat, “what is the last thing you remember?”

Fiddleford tried to think back, but everything beyond this morning was a blur. Thinking about any of it too hard sent a painful pulse through his already aching brain.

“Um… well, I reckon I remember wakin’ up this mornin’.”

“You… you don’t remember anything?” Stanford says, voice tight. Fiddleford looks down at his lap, twisting his hands together anxiously as he nods.

“Okay… okay. I don’t— this has never happened with Stanley, but that’s fine! That’s… that’s fine.”

“Your name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and you were born the second of five siblings on a hog farm in Eastern Tennessee. You have an older sister, two younger sisters, and a younger brother, as well as countless cousins, I swear you changed the number every time we talked.”

“I didn’t change the number just for the heck of it, my aunts and uncles just kept havin’ kids,” Fiddleford argues. “That’s what happens when you’ve got seven uncles and nine aunts of varying ages.”

“You remember?” Stanford says, delighted.

Fiddleford blinks.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Fantastic! It’s working then! What else do you remember?”

“My siblings, we used to be real close, loved ‘em to death and I reckon I still do, but after I got married—“ Fiddleford stops, heart stuttering in his chest. All the comfort his mind had tricked him into taking in the other man drains away in an instant, and he scrambles away from him. He hits his back hard on the headboard. “My wife! Emma-May, where’s my wife!? My son!?”

“They’re okay! They’re fine, I promise I haven’t done anything to harm them!” Stanford holds his hands up placatingly, but his expression falters slightly. “At least, not directly, and not in the last thirty years…”

“Then where are they? What are you talking about!?”

“Emma-May still lives in California, I believe, but…” Stanford sighs, “the two of you got divorced approximately thirty-one years ago.”

“… oh,” Fiddleford says. It really isn’t a surprise. Emma-May, the poor darling, was bound to catch onto him eventually.

… catch onto him? About what? What was he hiding from her? He looks at the man sitting in bed with him and knows that he is related.

“Why? What happened?”

Stanford winces.

“It’s not really my place to say, but… I took you from them. We met in college, do you remember?”

“… the McGucket/Pines Hologram Conjecture Theory,” Fiddleford says. He remembers it, remembers the heat on his face from embarrassment and tears, remembers the taste of coffee and cola, the equations scribbled on paper and sticky notes and windows, the weight of this man’s arm around his shoulder, their wide grins. He remembers the excitement, the joy, the affection. At some point, he had loved this man.

So that’s what it was.

“Exactly right!” Ford agrees, and his smile now is so much more restrained, but twice as affectionate. “After we graduated…”

“You moved to Oregon, I went back to Tennessee. Reconnected with Emma-May, and we got married, but…” Fiddleford frowns. He knows Emma-May, knew that he loved her in some sort of way, but… but he didn’t do it right. Always too reserved, too awkward, too distant. He couldn’t love her how he was supposed to.

“I called you up to Oregon, to Gravity Falls, to work on a project.”

“A polydimensional meta-vortex,” Fiddleford agrees, heart twisting at the words, “and I did it. I left them both, easy as that.”

Ford remains silent for a long moment, watching Fiddleford with palpable guilt.

“I don’t think it was easy. You visited when you could,” Ford says eventually, and his hand flutters as if he wants to reach out to comfort him, before it falls in his lap.

“It wasn’t enough,” Fiddleford sighs. “I left her, and she made sure it stayed that way.”

Ford nods, ashamed.

“And we did it, didn’t we? We made… we made the vortex,” Fiddleford continues, voice shaking. He remembers breathless terror, even if he can’t quite recall what made him feel that way, can’t recall what he saw beyond a single massive eye. “That’s why I’m like this.”

“Yes,” Ford agrees, voice thick. For all his bulk, he looks like a scolded child. How was he ever afraid of this darling man? “Though you were its inventor, I was the one to drive you to create the memory gun.”

“None of that, darlin’,” Fiddleford soothes, and even though his head throbs with every thought and memory that flows through it, reaching out to him is easy as breathing. He takes Ford’s hand, threading their fingers together. Ford flinches, but Fiddleford holds tight, squeezes his hand gently. “I made it, I decided to use it on myself, I got addicted to it. Now you aren’t one to take credit for other people’s work, are ya?”

Ford smiles, even as his eyes remain pained.

“We’ve done this before,” Fiddleford muses.

“We’ve been doing it a lot, ever since I came back to you,” Ford agrees. “I still struggle to believe I’ve earned your forgiveness.”

“Ain’t something you really had to earn, hun,” Fiddleford soothes, and he wiggles closer to Ford now that he knows who he is, now that he knows that his body’s instincts to trust him were right. “I had enough of being angry and scared, and I certainly had enough of forgettin’.”

Things still don’t make a whole lot of sense, and his head hurts like no tomorrow, but he knows he’s safe here, with this man in this house. Ford pulls him closer and presses a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“Are you alright, my love?” Ford asks, soft and sweet.

“Hurts,” he says vaguely, curling into the man.

“I know,” he soothes. “I should get you some water and painkillers.”

He tenses as if to move away, but Fiddleford shakes his head, burying it in his chest.

“Later,” he mumbles. “Just stay with me?”

“Of course.”

[d3athmaskd1v1n3]

"Before it all ends, let us end it ourselves"

Yandere TwoFace x Reader

⁽ᶜᵂ: ˢᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ, ⁱⁿᵛᵃˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵖʳⁱᵛᵃᶜʸ, ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ,ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ ᵃⁿᵍˢᵗ. ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁱˢ ˢᵘˢᵖᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵀʷᵒ⁻ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵈʳᵃˢᵗⁱᶜ ˢʰⁱᵗ⁾

ᴺᵒʷ ᴾˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ: ᴬⁱˢʰⁱᵗᵉ ⁱᵗᵃ ⁿᵒ ⁿⁱ ᵇʸ ᴹᴬᴿᴱᵀᵁ

Neither Harvey or Two-Face liked sharing, even amongst themselves. One side was always worried about the other fucking things up.

Harvey is worried that Two-Face's violent tendencies and unpredictable nature will drive you away from him. He knows every time that coin lands scarred side up, he risks losing you. How far is too far for you? He doesn't want to find out.

Two-Face hates how Harvey is stealing all your affections, diverting your attention. Harvey is kinder, more noble... but you cannot separate Harvey from Two-Face. Inevitably, you'll look for that kindness elsewhere, leaving them both alone.

༺═────────────═༻

"You still love us, right?"

That question is usually met with a quick and confident "yes" but recently your reassurances have seemed more tired...

Less sincere...

While Harvey tried telling himself that nothing was wrong, Two-Face was quick to jump to conclusions.

So one winter's night, while you slept in your bed, the pale moonlight streaming in through the window and covering you in its glow, he snuck into your room and quietly grabbed your phone off the nightstand.

He then went into the hallway, going through every part of your phone, looking for incriminating evidence...

Photos, social media, private messages...

Nothing.

He sighs, going back into the bedroom (still being as quiet as humanly possible) and putting the phone back exactly where it was before.

"Why would you even think they'd betray us like that? Why would you think they'd be so heartless?" Harvey mutters.

"Why else would they be so distant? Something's off. I just know it." Two-Face replies, his voice just as hushed but much more gravelly and harsh.

"Forget it. It's late, and we'll only get more paranoid if we stay up all night worrying about it."

༺═────────────═༻

Nothing has gotten better. Anxiety and distrust gnaws at them from the inside as you continue to act strangely around them. Harvey keeps clinging to hope, praying that he's right. Maybe you're just stressed.

He really hopes your love for him hasn't died and withered away so quickly.

It's been so perfect. Your love has been the kind of love people see on TV, or in the movies. Two-Face felt it was too perfect for him, that he was undeserving, yet despite his fears that you only held affection for Harvey, you showed love for him as well.

When they returned home after a long day, you were there. When they'd get caught and sent to Arkham, you'd visit and send letters. When they break out, you'd be waiting for them, helping them lay low for a while. One time you spent a week or so in a safehouse, avoiding the police. Harvey felt incredibly guilty for dragging you into this mess, but you never seemed to despair. You even joked that staying inside with him was like playing house. A twisted game of house, sure, but it was cute how you kept your spirits up.

You loved both halves. Both halves of your beautiful, yet flawed darling. That's what makes them dread the thought of your adoration going to some unworthy third party.

No matter how many times Harvey tries to shake the thought of that happening, it keeps popping back up.

༺═────────────═༻

They mourn your love. Your love is dead.

They found a second phone hidden away in a drawer. A second fucking phone. Two-Face could have laughed if he wasn't so pissed. It just seemed so ridiculous, but it was there the whole time, right under his nose!

He waited for you to come home, barely containing the hurt and feelings of betrayal inside him.

"Even though I loved you..." He thought to himself.

"I'll still treat you like the traitor you are."

While Two-Face was filled with rage, Harvey felt as if he had fallen right into the pits of despair. It was a familiar feeling, but still a terrible one, like all the sadness was clawing its way out of his throat.

They heard the doorknob turn as they mentally prepared themselves for whatever it was they were going to do next...

༺═────────────═༻

Neither of them even recalled flipping the coin. It was all a blur.

All they know is that they're now cradling your body as it loses its warmth. That awful feeling was still clawing at their throat as they tried not to weep.

It was horribly silent. They could hear their heart beating in their chest, a drum keeping time for a dirge dedicated to the lover they've just slaughtered.

(Author's note: I pray that wasn't too fucked up! I wanted to write a fic inspired by a song, so here we are. I mentioned this fic to my mutual @yandere-wishes. I hope they like this one despite the fucked up ending. I also apologize for the less linear, more abstract format. I didn't know how to put this one together in a way that is whole.)

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (11/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: You and Sylus attend the autumn harvest festival

Content Warnings: Emotional damage.

Length: 5k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (12)

Read on AO3

“What about this one? Does this look alright?” you gestured to the dress you had on.

Sylus was leaning against the doorway to the bedroom appraising the dress you had changed into. “It looks splendid, as did the others. Why are you fretting so much about what you’re wearing?”

“Because it’s the first time I’m going back to the village in months and the only clothes I have up here are the mourning attire we found in that chest. I don’t want everyone to think I’m so ghostly spectre come back to haunt the village.” you groaned, already tearing off the dress and looking for another. You sifted through the pile of clothes in the chest. “Why do none of these even have a hint of color?”

“Calm, wildfire.” Sylus pulled you back up to standing. “It will be fine no matter what you wear.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t need to bother dressing up, you can’t even wear a shirt.” you sighed, “I really wish I had kept the dress I came here wearing in better condition.”

“If it means that much to you maybe we can search the hoard room for a different dress. I’m sure one of those chests has to have more clothes in it.”

“No…” you grabbed one of the black dresses and tugged it back on. “We don’t have the time. At least when we go back I can pick up my old clothes to take back with us.”

“There you go. Now come along, I know how anxious you are to see the village again.” he pulled on your hand out of the cave. You could just barely see the village down in the glen. The faint echo of music could be heard if you strained your ears.

Sylus picked you up so to fly you both down and it was at that point you realized that he had retracted the armor around his claws to reveal more human looking hands. You knew he didn’t do it often since it caused some discomfort to forcefully recede the scales. So why now? He also had some large swath of fabric draped over his one arm.

Before you could ask what it was about he took off into the air with you. You flew down the mountain closer to the village. Per your instructions you stopped a bit a ways from the actual village. You were going to go in first and assure everyone that you were safe and have your reunions before trying to introduce Sylus to everyone.

When he set you back your feet he took the cloth draped over his arm and swung it across his shoulders. A long dark cape covered him, although part of it was awkwardly pitched up where it caught against the large spike of armor on his one shoulder.

“What’s all this?” you asked, helping to straighten out the cloak since he was having trouble.

“Like you said, I can’t wear a shirt so this is the closest I can get.” he shrugged, “That is all.”

“Uh huh,” You looked him over, noting for the first time how clean he looked. Paired with his clawless hands and the large cloak that covered most of his body you realized that he was nervous. This was his effort to minimize the shock of his appearance to everyone in the village.

You pushed yourself to your toes, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him tenderly. “There’s no need for you to worry. They will adore you.”

“I’m not worried.” he said.

“Liar.” you poked his chest. “It will be alright, I promise.”

“And if you are wrong?” he muttered. “If they chase me out?”

“Then they chase us out and that will be that. I’ll be disappointed but I won’t stand idly by and watch them harass you either.”

“Us?”

“Hm?”

“You said us. You’d still come back with me?”

“Of course. You said I’d be free to come and go from the village whenever I want now so long as I come home to you. In this hypothetical situation why would I stay after they were cruel to you?”

“Because this is your village. Your friends. Your family. Your life.” he gritted his teeth. “If you said you wanted to remain here I would not force you to come back. If…if you would really want it, you may live here again. No need for you to remain in the mountain with me. You paid back the price of protecting your village and then some. You’re not mine to keep anymore.”

You had been so glad when Sylus said you could come back and forth to the village but now you were worried that he intended to return you for good. “Where is all this coming from? Are you trying to kick me out?” you demanded.

“No. But a life with a dragon cannot be what you had hoped for yourself.”

“It was not what I thought life would be certainly but I will not trade it now.” you snapped at him. “So stop trying to convince me! Gods above, what brought this ridiculous talk on?”

Sylus’s eyes widened. “I didn’t--that is I thought--” he cleared his throat. “I just wanted to give you the option.”

“Well you’ve given it, but I do not want it. Now, can we move on? I can smell the food from here and I am starving.”

Sylus smiled, pulling you close and planting a passionate kiss on your mouth. The breath was stolen from your lungs as he kissed you. “Thank you for wanting to stay.” he murmured against your lips.

“That’s not something you have to thank me for, Sylus.” you grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “Now let’s get going.”

You pulled on him as you got closer to the village. The trees became scarcer as glen opened up. You could see the village now. People were bustling about inside. The music was loud and cheerful, the smell of seasoned meats, roasted vegetables, and sweet fruit tarts floated on the wind towards you. Everything you had ever known was just a few yards away.

You turned to Sylus, squeezing his hands. “I’m going to go in and come back for you in a few minutes. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

“I believe you.” he seemed reluctant to let you go, but he did.

You took in a deep breath, straightening your appearance and left the cover of the trees. You had gotten so used to the quiet of the mountain you had forgotten how loud civilization could be. The village was a cacophony of noise and laughter. For a minute no one had taken note of you, too wrapped up in their own merriment. But then you looked up and saw one of your childhood friends. She caught sight of you at the same moment and her mouth dropped open.

“Is it…” she dropped the cards in her hands and crept toward you as if you were a ghost. “Is it really you?”

“Tara!” a smile split your face as you embraced your old friend. She hugged you back even tighter, crying into your neck.

“You’re alive! You’re actually alive!” she cried.

At this point you had made enough noise that you started garnering the attention of those nearby. You heard similar gasps and cries of shock as the villagers realized that it was you. The girl they had sent up the mountain to the dragon. You had returned.

So many people crowded you, some to embrace you, others asking a million questions. There were some who kept a distance, unsure what to make of your appearance.

“Oh thank the gods you’re alright!” Tara was still crying. “We thought that you had died months ago. How are you here? Did you somehow escape the dragon? What happened?”

“Slow down. I will gladly explain everything if you give me the chance. But first, I want to see my father. Where is he?”

“His workshop. He rarely leaves it nowadays.” Tara said. “Not after you…”

“I see.” you glanced back at the treeline. Sylus was going to have to wait just a little longer.

You sped your way through the familiar streets until you came to your father’s workshop. It was right next to the place you had called home all your life. So familiar and yet so distant from who you were now. Your hands were shaking as you knocked on the door to the workshop.

“No visitors today.” came a gruff voice that elated your heart.

You opened the door and saw your father standing in front of the large furnace, a piece of molten glass cooling on his staff. “I said no--” he turned and the staff dropped from his hands, the half cooled glass creation shattering into a million pieces.

“Father.” you stepped closer.

“My sweet pea,” he took a shaky step towards you. “Is that really you?”

“Yes father.” you embraced him. “I’m so happy to see you.”

His arms closed around you, molding you to him. “My little girl. My sweet little girl. I thought I had lost you forever. Thank the gods. Thank you for returning her home to me!”

“Father--”

“How is this so? You went up the mountain. No one has seen you since. How did you escape? How are you alive?”

“It is a lot to explain. But you and the rest of the village need to know the truth about the dragon that resides in the mountain.”

Your father nodded. He took off the work apron and gloves he had on and followed you back out the workshop. It seemed the whole village had heard about your return and was waiting for you outside. Well, you were not going to have a better crowd than this. There was an old crate next to the workshop and you stepped on top of it to give the villagers a better view.

“Hello. I cannot begin to say how wonderful it is to be here and to see all of you again.” you raised your voice to be heard by all. “I have missed you all terribly. Now that I here, I know you have questions about where I have been and what happened when I left. I will tell you now.”

Either this was going to go well or end horribly. “I can assure you all that I am perfectly fine. My time away I have not been harmed. In actuality, I have been well taken care of while…while living with the dragon in the mountain.”

The gasps and murmurs started again. You steeled yourself and continued. “When I left this village and ascended the mountain I expected to lose my life to a dragon in return for protecting our village. What I found was not at all what I was expecting. The dragon spoke to me, told me that he had no interest in killing me, and instead invited me to work in his home in exchange for protecting our village. His name is Sylus and he is like no dragon that this world has ever seen. He may seem scary but he is a kind person.”

“Is this true?” your father asked. “You’ve been living with the dragon all this time?”

“Yes. He gave me a bed and these clothes and lets me live as I like in the mountain with him. Over the course of my stay I befriended him. And…” you braced yourself for whatever reaction you were about to elicit. “I invited him here to join in the festivities. I thought that you may like to thank him personally for protecting the village during our time of need.”

The townspeople had gone quiet. No one seemed sure what to say or how to respond to what all you told them. Finally someone shouted out from the crowd. “You invited a dragon! Are you mad! Even if it is kind as you say we have no room for a dragon to be wandering around!”

“Oh, that is another thing. The dragon is not like other dragons, not just in behavior but in appearance. I assure you, he is not large enough to knock over buildings or anything like that. He’s actually rather human.”

This is what caused a bigger uproar of confusion. Your father tugged on your hand. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “There is so much excitement with just you here again, do you really want to bring a dragon into town as well?”

“He’s my friend, father. He’s only ever been spurned by humans in the past and I promised him that things would be different this time. I intend to keep my word.” you looked back out at the crowd. “At the very least you can let me show you him. He deserves your thanks for what he went through protecting this village all on his own.” You remembered his broken wing and the pain he had been in when you had to set it. “I beg you. Please.”

You jumped down and started heading back through the town. The people followed behind until you got to the edge of town. They would not move any farther. You forged on ahead and back into the trees. You found Sylus leaned against a tree. He had drawn the hood of the cloak up over his horns.

“They want to meet you.” you reached up and pushed the hood back. “And they are going to see you as you are and they are going to like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now come.” you took his hand and pulled him out of the woods. Even from a distance you could tell that the townspeople were confused by the figure you led towards them. When you got closer the people stared at him intrigued and confused. They whispered amongst themselves, noting how strange Sylus was and questioning if this really was the dragon you had spoken of.

Your father was the first to speak up, stepping out from the crowd to approach you. Sylus tried to pull his hand away but you interlocked your fingers and kept him still. “So, this is the dragon?”

“Yes. Father, this is Sylus. Sylus, this is my father.” you nudged Sylus to say something but he only nodded.

“I suppose I should thank you for not killing my daughter and for watching over her these past months.”

“You do not need to thank me for that.” Sylus said and you watched people gasp once again. Sylus ignored them, his focus on your father now. “She has been a delight to have. She’s brought so much light and life to the mountain, it is hard to imagine life before her now.”

“Yes, she has that affect.” Your father looked to you, a wisp of a smile on his face. “Than allow me to thank you for protecting our village. Allow us.” your father looked back at the townsfolk, ushering them to give their thanks.

The others fell into the expressions of gratitude quick enough, some looking more at ease than others. “There. Now that we’ve all gotten to meet, how about we celebrate? Do we not have much to celebrate this day?”

Everyone was quick to agree and turned back to head to the festivities. Some stayed near you, talking to both you and Sylus as you walked through the village hand in hand. You refused to let him go, scared he may take off into the sky if you weren’t keeping him tethered to the ground. Without his armor over his hands you could feel his palm sweat.

You went to the main square where a series of tables were set up for everyone to sit at. Throughout the streets there were stalls set up with different games and a puppet show for the children. The harvest feast would start soon so everyone was gravitating towards the square.

Anyone that had not immediately left their work to come see you when you showed up saw you now, hand in hand with your dragon. You could see many fingers being pointed your way as other villagers went about explaining the situation to those that hadn’t seen you before.

You settled down at a small table near the edge of the large congregation, hoping to ease Sylus somewhat. He had yet to say anything since meeting your father. His hand was crushing yours in his grip. You leaned in closer to him. “Are you sure you are alright? If this is too much you can leave. I wanted the people to meet you and they have. You don’t need to stay just to please me.”

“I’m fine, little bird.”

“Then can you ease up on how tightly you’re holding my hand? My fingers are starting to go numb.”

“Apologies.” he let go of your hand entirely. You flexed your fingers to get some life back in them.

“So…” your father was sitting across from you. “What have you been doing all this time on the mountain?”

“Well--” Sylus started with a sly grin and you stomped on his foot. Although, given how armored his feet were it hurt you more than it did him.

“Housekeeping mostly.” you said. “Keeping the cave clean, cooking meals, that sort of thing.”

“I see.” your father kept his eye on Sylus. “I’m sorry, I have to ask. You do not look much like a dragon, why is that?”

“Father!”

“It’s alright. I understand it may be confusing.” Sylus said. “The simple explanation is that I am only part dragon, the other half of me is human. But I am a dragon, do not mistake that.”

“Have you been around humans before?”

“I lived amongst humans for a good many years but that was before my draconic bloodline started altering my appearance.”

You knew why Sylus was lying but it still broke your heart. Under the cover of the table you surreptitiously placed your hand on his thigh, trying to give him some comfort.

The celebration continued and slowly but surely the townspeople started to warm up to Sylus. When he had made mention that he hadn’t had human food like anything they were serving in years that instigated many people to come forward with their own dishes, telling him that he just had to try this old family recipe. As nervous as Sylus had started he was doing much better now with food in front of him. He always needed to eat a lot so he took every offered plate with gratitude and a sharp smile. He had even shedded the cloak he had been wearing.

As the meal concluded people started moving tables away to clear a spot in the center for dancing. You turned to Sylus with a wide smile. “Hey Sylus, remember the lessons I gave you a couple weeks ago?”

Sylus stared out at the people dancing in the square and shook his head. “No. Don’t remember a thing.”

“Well then, this is going to be very embarrassing for you cause we’re still dancing. Come on.” you grabbed him and pulled him out of his chair.

“After spending all that time getting the people to like me you want them to fear me again, don’t you?” he muttered. “I’m going to end up hitting someone.”

“No you’re not. It’ll be fine.” you went to the center of the floor and held out your hands for him to take. “Just go through the steps like we rehearsed and keep your eyes on me.”

His gaze softened. “If this is a disaster I am blaming you.”

You smiled as the song began and you helped guide Sylus through the first couple of steps. His feet were heavy as he tried to go through the steps like you taught him before. You pulled him a little closer. “Eyes on me.” you whispered.

He picked his gaze up from his feet and from there he loosened up. He was by no means a perfect dancer and more than once he forgot the next step but he stayed, his gaze never straying from you. He spun you out and back in, your chest pressed flat to his. You half expected him to start flying while you danced, if only to be able to hold you close without having to worry about moving his feet.

“Are you starting to have fun?” you asked.

“I will say, I was surprised.” Sylus said. “I didn’t expect everyone to be so accommodating.”

“I told you there would be nothing to worry about. I’m glad you could be here with me.”

“Are you?”

“Of course I am. I love spending time with you, and now I can share part of my world with you like you did for me.”

He leaned in closer, so close you were worried he was going to kiss you in front of everyone. “Do you think anyone would notice if we snuck away for twenty minutes or so?” he whispered.

Your face went aflame. “Yes, I think they would. Goodness, you are insatiable. Do you know that?”

“Can’t help it. Not when you’re so close and you look so beautiful.”

“I wear this dress around the mountain all the time.”

“You think the dress has anything to do with it?” his hands wandered down to your hips. “My wildfire, kingdoms would fall for a chance at your hand. Which is why I’m glad I get to keep you all to myself.”

Your mouth hung open, unable to respond. How dare this man tell you that he is incapable of falling in love and then say such things to you. Even if he was right and the kind of love that you had grown up knowing was impossible for him to replicate, you still could. And it was a cruel punishment to make you feel such a way when he could not.

You did not ask for this ache in your chest. This uncertainty that hung in the air around you as you realized that Sylus meant something to you. Something much more than a friend or a bedmate.

“My dragon has such a way with words.” you said, biting back the raw emotion in your voice.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his gaze narrowing. “You look as if you may cry.”

“I’m just happy.” And you were. So terribly happy, and it only made the pain in your heart worse.

The song ended and you led Sylus back off the floor. Before you could get back to your table Tara and some of your other friends intercepted you. “We want some time to talk to our friend. We’ll return her later.” they said to Sylus and you were dragged away out of sight.

“What is going on with you all? You could have just asked nicely instead of ambushing me.” you said.

“What is going on with us?” one of the girls scoffed, “What is going on with you?”

“Me? What are you talking about?”

“Well, you see the girls and I were wondering something.” Tara said, looking sheepish. “What exactly is going on between you and the dragon?”

“Nothing.” you said perhaps a touch too quickly. “We’re just good friends.”

“Did you go blind while living with the dragon?” one of them stared at you like you were mad. “Did you not see the way he was eyeing you? Do you now that you’ve been staring at him the entire night?”

“Girls, please, I really do not understand what you are talking about. Sylus was not looking at me in any particular way, nor I him.”

“Is she being serious? The man looked as if he wanted to add you to his hoard and you are acting like you would have absolutely no problem with that.”

“Girls--”

“Are you just his servant or has he been forcing you to--”

“That is enough!” you snapped at them. You sighed, reining yourself back in. “Sylus has not forced me to do anything that I haven’t wanted to.”

“So have you done something?” Tara asked, giving you a knowing smile.

“That is none of your business.” The girls gasped and muttered amongst themselves. You should have just lied and said nothing was happening. They knew your answer meant that you were keeping something hidden from them.

“Listen, the lot of you!” you snapped their attention back to you. “Not a one of you is going to discuss this with anyone else. Do you hear me? It is not your gossip to spread, it is my own personal business.”

“Fine. Fine.” they looked mildly disappointed. “But you have to answer one thing for us.”

“What?”

“Is it good?”

A ripple of heat shot down your spine. “Very. That’s all you’re getting. Goodbye.” You quickly turned and wove your way through the crowd back to your table.

Sylus was standing with a hoard of children crowded around him. You noticed he had his tail up and wrapped around himself to keep it away from the kids. You stifled a laugh and approached your father who was watching the scene with similar amusement. “How did this happen?”

“One of the boys came in with a wooden toy sword and asked if he wanted to play knights and dragons. He said no, the kid started crying and angrily threw the sword at him, he used his tail to break it before it could hit him, that made the kid cry louder. But then the other children saw what happened and thought it was amazing and started crowding around with things like apples and branches for him to break as well. He’s been stuck in the middle of them for a couple minutes now.”

“Oh no,” you laughed. You looked up and saw Sylus staring at you, his eyes pleading to come help him. “Hey kids,” you raised your voice, “He also has wings that grow out of his back.”

The kids started jumping up and down flapping their arms and asking Sylus to please show them his wings. The bolder kids were asking him to take them flying. Sylus only glared at you. You were going to pay for this later but it was so fun to watch in the moment. Eventually Sylus cracked and produced his wings for the kids to see. They cheered and asked him to fly around which he happily granted since it meant he could get away from them. He flew off over the roofs and disappeared. When it was apparent he wasn’t coming back any time soon the kids pouted and walked off.

It was getting late anyway. You needed to think about heading home. You went with your father back to your house. You immediately went upstairs to your room. Everything had been left exactly as you had left it.

“I haven’t had the heart to come in here since you left.” your father said, standing in the doorway. “Good thing I didn’t. It’s been waiting for you.”

“I am grateful that you didn’t get rid of any of my things.” you went to the wardrobe and started pulling out clothes and stuffing them in a large bag.

“What are you doing?” your father asked, grabbing a shirt from you.

“Well I’ve been stuck wearing the same ten dresses for months. I was hoping that now that I’m back I could bring back some of my normal clothes.” you took the shirt back. “I’m also taking some of my books and other belongings. I don’t want to take everything cause there may be a time that I come back and spend the night but considering I’m living in the mountain I’d like my stuff to be there as well.”

“You’re going back?”

Oh.

“Yes, father. I am.” you set the bag down.

“But you’re home now. Is the dragon forcing you to still stay in the mountain?”

“He’s not forcing me. I want to go back. I like it there.”

“With him?”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I respect him as much as I can for protecting our village and I am glad that he has not hurt you, but that is not where you belong. He may be partially human but he is still a dragon. He belongs in the mountain and you belong here in the village.”

“Why can we not belong to both places? I love the village and Sylus has warmed up to it as well. Even the townspeople like him to a degree. I am sure they will only come to like him more if he can spend more time with them. But the mountain is our home.”

“This is your home.”

“Where you call home can change. And perhaps you can even have more than one. This village will always be my first home. Anywhere you are is my home because you are my family and I love you. But I like living in the mountain. I like living with Sylus.” you took a deep breath. “Father, I do not wish to lie to you. The relationship between Sylus and myself is not entirely platonic. I have feelings for him and I believe he may have feelings for me as well.”

“He’s a dragon! Have you lost your senses!”

“Father please! I know this is a lot to take in and I’ve put you through so much already but this is not how I want this night to end. Please.”

“For months I thought you were dead. Now you waltz back in spouting nonsense about being in love with the dragon that everyone thought had killed you. How do you want me to respond? Do you want me to be happy?”

“I thought maybe part of you would be, just a little. I too thought that my being picked to go up the mountain was a death sentence but I see it now for the blessing it was. I have found someone that I really care for, experienced things I never thought possible, and I’m happy. I don’t expect you to understand or even approve, but I want you to know that this has been my choice. And I’m not disappearing again. I’ll be back to visit often. Just please, do not let us end this day that we have been reunited like this. Please father!”

“I…” your father closed his eyes, the deep furrow of his brow crinkling as he thought. “If you are looking for my blessing I cannot give it to you. I will not stop you, but I do not know how to look at you right now.”

“Father…” he walked away, the front door slamming behind him as he left you the house entirely.

You slumped to the floor, your face buried in your hands as you wept. The day had started so well. You thought your father and Sylus were getting along. Where had it all gone wrong?

There was a tapping at your window and you saw Sylus standing outside. You got up and opened the window for him. “You can just come inside through the door you know.”

“Why are you crying?” he wiped the tears from your eyes. “What’s happened?”

“My father, he doesn’t approve of us.”

“You told him?”

“Yes. He cannot fathom that I would want to return to the mountain with you if you’re not forcing me. I do not know what to do.” you started crying again. “I was so excited to see him again and now I fear I’ve lost him in a new way.”

Sylus paused and clambered to the front door, letting himself inside and back into your room. He picked you up, holding you tight in his arms. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry, little bird. You didn’t deserve this.”

“I love him so much and I feel like I’m letting him down.”

“You’re not letting anyone down. You’re a grown woman making your own choices. If he does not like your choices, that is not for you to worry about. So long as you are safe and happy with them, there’s nothing the matter with what you choose to do with your life. Do you understand me?”

“But--”

“But nothing. He just needs time. I promise.”

You hugged him tight, weeping into his chest. “I know.” he pressed reassuring kisses to the top of your head and temples. “I know it hurts now but it won’t hurt forever. It will get better.”

You nodded mutely. “Can we go home now?”

“Yes we can.” Sylus handed you your bag and scooped you up into his arms. You walked out of the house and took off into the sky. The light and merriment of the festival was dying and fading away as you flew back into the wilderness.

[sams-art-domain]

Why not me?

Ivan/till

No alien AU

Inspired by this artwork by @carlozw

Chapter 1 of 2, 4007 words, 99.99% angst,

Till is more emotionally mature than I meant to make him so he’s a little sillier.

Tw - general TW of death and all that entails

hehehe Please reblog if you enjoy! :3

ff under the cut.

It’s summarized pretty well by the first few sentences.

A weight on his shoulder, a squeeze around him. Maybe even an all too familiar head pat. Till knew what was going on,

 Ivan couldn’t even leave him alone through the afterlife.  He was sure of it. 

That freak had somehow found a way to bother Till, even though he was dead. And it was starting to get hard to bare, 

Till sat in a criss-cross position, drawing. Not really paying attention to what, it had been about a week since Ivan died, and his fucked up producers was going to make Till show face on stage in a few hours. Just saying a few things about the… stunt Ivan pulled, and he did not want to do that. 

Till’s face reddened at the idea of it. He couldn’t believe that selfish- annoying- Idi- 

Till jumped out of his train of thought- A strong hand patted his head, he could feel it but it wasn’t there. 

“Fuckin- Ivan-“ Till swatted his hands above his head. Even though he was alone in his bedroom, he felt stupid and if anyone else saw him, they’d probably call him crazy. 

Till stared at his paper, he had drawn the stage. Where Ivan was shot. By some insane fucked fan. Of his. His fan. It wasn’t Ivan’s fault that Till was a worse singer. If Till sang better that fan wouldn’t have flipped out and shot Ivan. If Till had moved faster then he might’ve been the dead one. Not Ivan. 

Till stood up. Suddenly very- something he didn’t know what he felt but he was pissed about it anyway, 

“God fuck this-“ He went to go punch a wall. Even though this was an apartment rented by his producers, they would have to pay for the damage. 

He hit something that’s definitely not a wall. 

“Fucking- IVAN-“ He hit him again. And again, and again, and for once in his 17 years of living he would have done anything to have been able to see Ivan’s face. Probably smiling like the weird ass freak he was. 

He slumped against the wall? Ivan? He actually didn’t care. He was tired. Really fucking tired of having to feel like this. His face scrunched up in that empty angry way. When you want to scream with frustration but there's no air in your lungs to scream with. Till stared at the floor of his stupidly fancy building.

Ivan’s fucking dead and Till just gets to move on? He gets to go show face today and make thousands of dollars while Ivan just sleeps in his coffin. It’s not fair. Till should be in the ground right now. Not Ivan. 

Till leaned more of his weight on to the wall(ivan). He exhaled in less of a sigh and more of a last-breath kinda way. He felt dizzy. Exhaustion taking hold in his bones. Like he had never not been tired. “Why not me?” He asked under his breath. Knowing no one would hear it. 

He fell asleep standing there. 

He woke up an hour or so later. Lying in his bed, his heated blanket on the highest setting and wrapped around him. He curled in on himself. Not really remembering how he got to his bed but he didn’t really care. He checked the time. 

1:45ish. He has to get up, like. Now if he wants to make it to the stage in time. “Fuck this…” Till Weakly hit his head on his pillow a few times. He didn’t want to get up. 

Something tugged at his arm. Tug. tug. Till looked at his arm, above the blanket. Something definitely was tugging his arm. 

“Ivan-” Till knew he sounded insane. It was kinda stupid, really. But what else would it be? He wasn’t exactly close with any other dead person. 

“Augh-” Till grunted as one swift, strong tug had him upright in a sitting position. Tills head spun from the sudden change. He felt weak. And tired. Really, really tired. But of course, the producers wouldn’t care that he was being haunted or that he was grieving or that he was tired. They’d threaten him. Or his mom. Tell him that her wellbeing rests on his shoulders. And he knows it does, They wouldn't be able to afford her treatment otherwise. It sucks but that's how it is. And Till loves his mom. He isn’t a quitter. 

Till stood up, and as he did, he felt Ivans hand pat his shoulder. Which was oddly tame and almost comforting. He sighed, and then got dressed in the outfit his producers instructed him to. All black, the shirt having a wide neck that was slightly off of the shoulder. The same outfit he wore in round six. The same outfit Till wore when Ivan died. Sick fucks. Didn’t give a crap about him. 

Whatever. Not like he had a choice. 

Till went to the bathroom, did his own routine rather swiftly. Covered his eyebags with concealer.then swiped eyeliner on his eyelid. Per request of the producers, he put on some subtle black eyeshadow. Till looked in the mirror. HIs brain still felt asleep. Fuzzy. Sedated almost. He just looked at himself. Thin. Thinner than usual? Tired. More exhausted than usual? He looked kinda dead. Ironic all things considered. Till felt like crying. His nose burned like he was about to. But he couldn’t cry. He just put on makeup.. 

He was hugged from behind. It was horrifically comforting. If this was all in his head he was gonna need to have some serious medication to fix it. It felt so real and as much as Till wanted to believe it was real there was always that doubt. ‘You’re crazy. Insane.’ Till didn’t really know how to feel. Never did anymore.

 He wanted to quit this stupid idol job and do something with his stupid life. But he loved singing. 

He wanted to cry but also didn't want to wallow in his own self pity. 

He wanted to see Ivan’s stupid face but also wanted to forget him more than anything.

His life was just stupid contradictions and ultimatums. Hell- his own birth was due to a failed abortion. His mother wanted to get rid of him but couldn’t. 

Till slammed his fists down on the bathroom sink counter. 

Ivan pulled him away from the sink. Holding his hands, still behind him. Till squeezed his eyes shut. Willing the tears to go away. He went to check the time. Ivan held his hand still. Sometimes Till wasn’t even sure this was Ivan. He thought Ivans soul? Spirit? Whatever. Would have been troublesome. And chaotic. Not cuddly and touchy-feely.

 Maybe this is what Ivan had wanted. To be near to TIll. To be able to hug and hold TIll. Maybe it would’ve been easier if Till had let him. Why’d Till even push Ivan awa-

Till's phone rang. He scrambled to pick up his phone. Ivan let go of him. Tills phone read “evil assholes” The producers. “Fuck my life I guess.” 

Till answered. 

“WE NEED YOU HERE IN 5 MINUTES. NOW. THE TAXI IS ON THE WAY. BE READY, IF YOU’RE LATE YOU BETTER CATCH A TAXI TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE THE BILLS ARE GONNA GET REAL HARD TO PAY REAL FAST.” The producer on the other end practically screamed through the phone. Good thing Till hadn’t cried. He wouldn't of had time to redo his makeup. 

“Yes. Sir.” Till spoke through his teeth. Enraged he was being held by a leash like a dog. He wanted to punch that fucker in his jaw for threatening him like this. Till hung up aggressively. A silent fuck you to the producer. 

Till walked out of the bathroom. Seething. So fucking angry. Too. Fucking. Angry. Till could feel his breath hitch like he was gonna scream. But couldn’t because this was an apartment with thin walls. Didn’t want any of the stupid rich ass CEO’s next door to flip out. Instead, Till sat on the cough to get his shoes on. Slamming his fists down on his knees hard enough to bruise before slipping his shoes on.

Till, now with his shoes on, had a moment. Briefly mind you. But a moment. To be really. REALLY. Fucking angry. Nothing even mattered to Till right now he just wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt. Whether it be him or someone else didn’t actually occur to him. Till gripped his own shoulders like a crazy person. Furious he had to live like this. Why’d his mother get sick? What did he ever do to deserve such fucked up shit to happen?  

“Fuck. THis-” Till hit his own head with the ball of his hand. He didn't even know what to do with himself. He just wanted to hurt something. He stood up. Practically shaking with anger. He couldn't even remember why he was angry. Hardly. He should be used to being held by a string like this, it had happened since his late middle childhood. When his mom got sick ad his life was turned upside down and the fucked organization that ran this show found him and abused him until he was so completely dependant on them he couldnt escape. Honestly? “Why am I even surprised!? THEY NEVER EVEN FUCKING HELPED!!!” Till was trying to stop from yelling but he had let that one slip. He trembled with anger and he couldn’t put it anywhere. His hands balled into fists seemingly on their own. He turned towards a wall and began punching. Harder. Harder. Harder. His hands hurt bad. His hands were scraped now. He kept hitting the wall and then-

“Till- you have a ride prepared. It is here now.” A higher pitched voice called through the door. Snapped Till out of his rage. 

Till looked at the door and then his hands. Shaking like he was in a snowstorm. His left, index knuckle bloodied. He didn't have time to care. It would just make the producers look bad. Till didn't mind that at all. He exhaled. And turned to the door. Putting on a straight face. Trying to hide any evidence of his breakdown from before. He could only imagine he looked horrible. He hadn't eaten in 2 days. Hadnt slept well since Ivan died. He hadn't even hardly gotten out of bed since Ivan died. Only getting up this morning because he had to.

Till ran his hand down his face, then opened the door. 

Till had made lots of mistakes in his life, but walking out that door? Probably the worst. He was bombarded with paparazzi, 3 professional grade cameras. Tons of other people with their phones out. How do they always find where he lives? What the fuck. 

“Till, I'm so sorry they just followed me and then I couldn't get them to leave-” The girl apologized, but Till just nodded. Deciding he was gonna mentally tap-out right about now. Already overwhelmed as people yelled questions at him(that he of course, ignored.) 

They practically crawled through the crowd and to the taxi as he got in, it finally being a bit quieter. 

“I’m so sorry- I didn't know if i should call security or not, I hadn’t meant for it to get this out of hand.” The woman looked like she was going to cry, and Till knew it wasn’t her fault. 

“Next time just call security, they’re here for a reason. It’s not your fault they don’t know how to act.” Till looked out the window.  But then decided to just rest his head on the front passenger seat. Already far too tired to be doing this. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he went to look and woe-and-behold, no one. Well, not technically no one. Ivan. The woman driving had shivered, under her breath, saying something about how cold it was in the car. Promptly turning up the heat in the car, despite it being 80 degrees. 

Ivan hadn’t felt cold to Till. He had always seemed somewhat cold when he was alive, but he was always warm to Till. Something of comfort even. Till always felt far from Ivan when he was alive. Though now Ivan felt so close to Till it was suffocating. 

Kind of like the night after it was made public that Mizi was kidnapped, almost a year ago. Ivan had visited Till. He had felt so weirdly there. And close. He was so real then even though usually Ivan had felt fake and far away. He had even asked before hugging Till. Who at the time was so distraught and scared that he had let Ivan hug him. It would have been normal for any other person, but the softness and vulnerability was so new and different. It was really nice. Which is something Till didn’t know he could have with Ivan. Till thought about that night often. He had sat on the couch with Ivan and he wrapped his arm around Tills shoulder. They hadn’t said much that night. Just hello, goodbye, and Ivan had asked- “Can I hold you?” That was really it. Ivan had hugged and cuddled Till while he cried. But since then they hadn’t said much. And then Ivan was shot. And died. And Till could officially say that this was the worst year of his life. The only thing that could make it worse was his mom dy- 

Don’t jinx it. Do not finish that fucking sentence. 

Till had started to think he was the one hurting the people he loved. The day before till was going to confess to Mizi she was kidnapped and had not been heard from since. The day that he had started to really think about Ivan as more than just an annoying guy he’d known for years he died. He died. 

The car stopped. Great. He was at the place he thought of as hell on earth. It was so fucking hot in the car yet the woman driving still had the heat on. 

He sat in the car. Wishing a crazed fan would shoot him next. But he wasn’t shot, so he opened the door. 

Y’know how earlier he thought he had made the worst mistake of his life? Well this was a worse one. 

People, people, people people- Till had decided then he HATED people. There were hundreds. Some with microphones and news reporters. Some were just phones. Some polaroids. He hated being watched like this, fuck his stupid life.  

A man holding a large camera asked him a question, loud enough that he could actually hear outside of the loud ambience of a crowd this huge. “Had you been dating Ivan before he was shot?” 

Why? The. Fuck. was the first question he was asked. Not. ‘Are you okay, how have you been? Why are you back so early?’ 

No. It had to be about that stupid thing- Ivan- Fucking hell Ivan why did you have to kiss me- and then die?! 

Till thought he might’ve punched the guy. Then he felt a strong hand grab his. Ivan. It made Till tired. Sad. Less angry. So he did what he did best and ignored the question. Just wanting to get backstage and away from these people. 

And he did just that. 

Once backstage, Ivan had let go of his hand. And Till felt an emptiness. Ivans soul was very… comforting? Safe? Whatever. 

Till didn’t get to feel safe here. 

As he walked through the entrance to the room directly leading to the stage, several makeup artists rushed him to a seat and began working. Obviously, they had to make him as emo as possible. Heavy eyeliner, using contour to make him look more tired than he was. Trying their best to really make him look like he was mourning- but in an aesthetic way not “I’ve barely eaten or slept in days because I’m, so horrifically distraught and empty and of course the soul of my dead person is haunting me why wouldn't he?” kinda way. 

Once they had finished, The producer. Anakt. Came up to him. Great. 

“WE NEEDED YOU HEAR 10 MINUTES AGO!!!! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN???” 

Till looked up at him, a sickening amount of rage washed over him. He stayed silent though. 

“UGh- fuck this. Just go out there, say some kind of basic-ass eulogy, confirm you are NOT. gay or queer supporting at all, tell them that round 7 is in two months and then get off the stage. I’ll be deducting 10% of your paycheck for your tardiness. Don’t let it happen again.” Anakt walked away. Leaving a Till trembling with rage and fear.

He stood up, and made face. 

On this stage alone is a privilege. Usually only given to the winners of Alien Stage. But of course, Till is standing here because he wasn’t shot. 

He walked up to the microphone. Sick with so many emotions. Resisting the urge to cry. And he didn’t know what to say. The crowd went silent. 

Till figured if this was gonna be about Ivan, this was gonna be honest. Something he never was with Ivan. 

“Hello everyone. I-” Till gulped. his throat already dry. “I’m here to talk about the events that happened 6 days ago on this stage. The day that Ivan-” He paused, debating his words. “The day that Ivan was murdered. Shot 3 times through his back.” Till swallowed tears. 

He looked at the crowd, the one that was usually cheering. But now dead silent. 

He felt a strong hug. Arms wrapped around him. He decided to keep going. 

:”I’ll miss him. A lot. And I don't think my life will ever be the same again.” Arms squeezed tight. Till let it happen. 

“I think I deserved to have died on that day. Taken Ivans place.” Despite being a celebrity, Till wasn't good at words and struggled on what to say next. Ivan rested his head on Tills. It felt like it was just him and Ivan. Words came easier. 

“But I didn't. So it's up to me to keep living now. I’m sorry that this is how things ended up.” Till sighed. 

Ivan pressed his forehead to Tills. And Till leaned into it. He probably looked a little weird, but who cared. 

“If I could say something to him today I’d say this: 

Ivan, you have been the person I've been closest to for almost 10 years. You have made me happy and mad and sad and made me feel just as much as I didn't know I  could. But despite that you’ve always been fabricated. Hidden. Far away. Yet I could always feel your warmth. LIke the sun, so far away yet warm all the same. 

Maybe under different circumstances we’re normal kids. Not forced to fame. Not used liked dolls. Maybe we bicker and fight but we never have to worry about faking it for PR. Maybe you’re genuine and real and we’re close and we hang out after school and play video games. 

That’s truly impossible now. And I think- I think I hate the man that shot you. Which is hard for me to say because I don't want to hate anyone. But I do. I know I do. And I think there was a time in my life where I hated you. For always being so clingy yet distant. For always being so blunt but hidden. It pissed me off. 

But now I don't think there's anything in the world that would make me hate you. Nothing at all. The only reason I hated you is because no matter how much I tried I couldn't understand you. You were so fixated on me. But was never honest. Never real.  Never close- I’m just going in circles now. But anyway. I didn’t understand you, and I still don't, and I don't think I ever will understand you. And I guess I'm stuck with that now because you’re gone. Sometimes I think you’re not really gone. Sometimes it feels like you’re right there. That I could reach out and feel your stupid hand. Or that if I could just squint a little harder I could see your stupid smile. But I guess you are really gone. I’ll never know you. And that's my biggest regret. I think. 

Since you’ve died I've barely slept, eaten, or got out of bed. Since you’ve died every morning when I check my phone, I feel something in me die when there's no good morning. Every night, I feel like my whole routine is thrown off because I don't get a good night's text. I don’t think I've had any real conversation with someone since you’ve died. The fucked up part of someone dying is that they’re existence doesn’t end. They still exist, just not with you. They’re still alive in an unfulfilled routine, a memory, a dream, a feeling. The hurt. And it's the worst. Like how when you empty a cup of water, you’ll get thirsty again but the cup is empty, and eventually you die of dehydration. And there's nothing I can do to fix it.”

Till couldn’t stop from letting a few tears slip. Ivan squeezed him, holding him like he was trying to protect him from himself. Till swallowed and kept going. He knew his producers were much more than furious at this point. Figured he could keep going. 

“I said that I wish I had died that day, not you. And that's true. Ever since you died all I have been able to think of is ‘why not me?’ ‘Why wasn't I shot?’ And I still wish I was dead right now instead of you. Though I don't think I would've wanted you to suffer like I am right now. The last thing I would have wanted was for you to be forced on stage to excuse your death while you’re still grieving. So there's gotta be a reason I didn't die. I don't know what it is. But I know that there has to be one. Right as you died. Hands around my throat, you smiled. You smiled like this was the best day of your life, and maybe it was. Maybe you were surprised, but happy with your death. Maybe you wanted it. You always were selfish. Always just doing whatever you wanted- or maybe you didn't want it? But you had accepted it anyway. I don't know. I could ask questions like these all day. It doesn’t matter.”

Ivan was holding till so gently. With so much caution and love- and Till was crying. Fat, hot tears rolling down his face as he tried to only look at his feet. 

“I don't know what was hoped to be accomplished with this. But I did it. So, before I go, I want to confirm two things.” 

This might be the true, real, most horrific mistake of his life. But Till seemed to have been making lots of those lately. So he figured, Why not one more. From this, he realized something. From Ivan dying and this speech, he had made one of the scariest and most upsetting realizations of his life. And now he was gonna tell the world. He tried to hide his slowing tears as fast as possible.

“Ivan loved me, that's why he kissed me that day.” The crowd seemed to perk up at that, lots of whispers, and Till figured that he might as well make his worst mistake, ever. 

Ivan let go of the hug, him not even expecting this.

Till decided to just say it, get it over with and walk off the stage. “And I love him. Which is why I let him.” Till remembered that at the time, he had tried to push Ivan away, so he added. “Sorta.”

“That is my eulogy for Ivan. Round 7 in two months.” Till walked to backstage, and the crowd fucking erupted with cheers and claps and screams. 

Ivan held his hand the whole time.

also yes of course the title is a mitski reference what do you take me for? A good author?

[hoonigiris]

wishing you the merriest (teaser)

pairing: l. heeseung x f!reader

wc: 1.3k out of ~13k

summary: between handling all the incoming holiday orders from your bakery, warding off your best friend's attempts at matchmaking, and actively avoiding the ex you're stuck living with for another six months, christmas is the least of your worries. that is, until heeseung's parents come into town. million dollar question: what's worse than having your ex's parents stay with you? answer: having your ex's parents stay with you, not knowing that you two have already broken up.

notes: hallmark movie coded, exes-to-lovers, fake dating au, sorta angst, mostly not! ok, so you got me. it is in fact NOT christmas anymore (it's not even december anymore) but hopefully this fic revitalizes your leftover holiday spirit. everyone knows that christmas starts after thanksgiving and ends in february!!! send me an ask if you want to be added to the taglist!

So maybe Sunoo was right. Maybe you can’t avoid Heeseung forever.

If there was one thing you hated, it was hearing the taunting ‘I told you so’ echoing in the back of your mind. Unfortunately for you, that is the only thing running through your head as you stand at the doorway of your room, face-to-face with Lee Heeseung. Ex of your nightmares, ground zero of your many woes.

“Hi.” He has the decency to look embarrassed, at least.

You blink. “Hey…?”

You stare at each other for a few seconds longer. You shift your weight from one leg to the other, hand still on the doorknob. Tuna, your cat, looks at the scene from behind, curious.

Maybe you should end this now, as to not further confuse the children through the divorce. Or whatever they say. (‘No,’ you picture yourself saying to Tuna through a sack of catnip, ‘Mommy and Daddy are not getting back together.’)

“Do you… need something?” you try civilly. Whatever it was, surely it could have been communicated through a note stuck on the fridge or something. To not confuse the kids, you repeat to yourself. And to not confuse me.

You can’t even remember the last time you talked. Probably around the time he was moving all his stuff from your shared bedroom to his office. Hell, you can’t even remember the last time you saw each other in the same vicinity, considering you were always at work, and Heeseung was always either in his office or at the university or something. Never here. Never where you could see him.

“I, um,” Heeseung starts awkwardly, shifting back and forth. His eyes drift everywhere around him, maybe to find what to say, but eventually he seems to make up his mind. “…How are you?”

“Seriously?”

It comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, a bit harsher than if you would have said intentionally. He cringes at the rebuke (Heeseung 2-0 for self-awareness, at least), hurrying to apologize.

“Hi, I know, sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Heeseung,” you say, not unkindly. it’s rather plain, the way you say his name now. “Why are you talking to me?”

What could you possibly want after five months of not speaking to each other? You’re surprised he’s even home at this hour, considering he always got back from work late at night. You always made sure to get all your stuff done in the shared space before he returned home, to avoid—well, to avoid whatever this is.

Heeseung pinches his nose and sighs deeply. “Ok well, there’s no easy way to say this, but…” Like ripping off a bandaid. “Remember my mom?” 

What kind of fucking bandaid— “Of course I remember your mom.”

“Great. Well,” Heeseung continues, sheepish at the poor buildup. “She may or may not have heard that my grad program gives us a holiday break, and it just so happens that this year is the first year that my parents aren’t going on a fancy Europe trip during the holidays.”

You nod slowly.

“And, well, the reason they’re not is because—okay, do you remember my grandma?”

“Heeseung.”

“Sorry, okay. Long story short.” He takes in a deep breath and says everything else in one breath. “It’s my grandma’s 100th birthday this year and you know she’s a Christmas baby so we always celebrate her birthday and Christmas together, and you know, it’s her 100th, haha, and she lives close by, sorta, so—”

“Heeseung.”

“My parents want to crash at our place until New Years.”

“Okay...” You could work with that, ex-almost-in-law awkwardness aside. Definitely something he could have brought up through post-it, but you appreciate the transparency. “That’s fine. I mean, you’re probably going to have to sleep on the couch if they take your room, but that’s up to you guys—”

“They don’t know we broke up.”

Pin drop silence. You churn the words carefully in your head, Sunoo’s background loopings of ‘I told you so’ slowly getting replaced with ‘They don’t know we broke up—they don’t know we broke up—they don’t know we broke up—they—’

“What?!”

Tuna startles at the loud noise, ears flattening, eyes darting from you to Heeseung to you again. Mommy—Daddy—Mommy—Daddy. so much for not confusing the kids.

“I just—” Heeseung’s embarrassed. He should be, considering the fact that he’s been lying to his parents for the past five months, or at the very least, omitting the truth. The very important, crucial truth. “I meant to.”

“Tell them,” you insist. Heeseung falters. “Tell them before they book the plane.”

And then Heeseung presses his lips together, and shakes his head. “I can’t.”

You would have flung your hands into your hair and started pulling at the strands if you weren’t such a calm, collected, and mature individual. So you start pacing.

“Ok, fine, so they already booked the plane. Tell them now, so they know what kind of mess they’re about to walk into.” Heeseung looks a little offended at the description, but at least he knows better to keep his mouth shut. You pace a few more rounds, before you turn to him. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Y/N, i can’t.”

You swing your head at him with wide, wild eyes. “And why the hell not?!”

Heeseung winces, and says weakly, “My mom really likes you.”

You gape at him.

“Listen,” Heeseung stresses (as if he has any right to be stressed, that filthy liar). “I was going to tell them, okay? I don’t like lying to them any more than you do, but what was i supposed to say? ‘Hey Mom, long time no talk! My girlfriend of five years broke up with me but oh, by the way, we’re still living together for another seven months. Love you too!’” 

Well, when he puts it like that.

You did exactly that, but your parents did give you a disappointed speech, and your mom never fails to give you a reproachful glance or two every time she’s reminded of your living situation, so maybe Heeseung was onto something.

“And you know my mom,” Heeseung adds. “She…”

“Would not take it well,” you finish, morosely. There wouldn’t be screaming, but there would be crying. Lots and lots of crying. and you liked his mom—you didn’t want to see her cry, or else you’d be like—you don’t know—the most evil ex-almost-in-law in history. The ex that ruined christmas.

You cannot be the ex that ruined christmas.

“Fine,” you grit out eventually, the ultimate seal in ending your peaceful solitude. “I’ll play nice and pretend to be…” you gesture vaguely, “ …with you…again.”

Heeseung sighs, so very relieved. He almost moves forward to give you a hug, or clasp you on the shoulder, or something, but he decides against it, arms falling awkwardly at his sides. You watch it linger, and you don’t know whether to be grateful or strangely disappointed. “Thank you,” he says, still, even without the proximity. “Really, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, smiling thin. “I like your parents anyway, it’ll be good to see them again. We can talk details later.”

Heeseung shoots you another smile, leans down to scratch Tuna behind the ears, and walks away. Finally.

You look down at Tuna, gazing up at you with large pupils that fiend for more Churu. It isn’t the first time the thought ‘oh, to be a cat’ has crossed your mind recently, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Tuna pads up to you, purring and rubbing his face against your leg. Distantly, the thought ‘oh, to be a cat with divorced parents that have to pretend to not be divorced anymore’ appears in your head, and it sounds infinitely less appealing. It seems like no one in this household is winning this month.

“Oh Tuna,” you sigh, squatting down to meet him at eye level. “What the hell did I just get myself into?”

[misskentuckyrain]

The Queen to the King

Word Count - +1.1k

Warnings: Not really. Smut got left behind for New Year but I did throw in some mild dirty talk to make up for it! - Happy New Year to all!

Chapter 5

“Dija Evah?”

May 1960

Elvis chuckles down the phone line at you “Baby, I’ve been gone less than 24 hours and you’re joining me in less than 48 hours and I miss you already”. You laugh along with him, twirling the receiver cable around your index finger. “You just miss having someone in your bed Mr Presley…” He lets out a guffaw “I miss having YOU in my bed and I miss having YOU with me. We was apart for 2 years, ya’d think the universe would see that as enough time”. A rustling comes dow the line as Elvis makes himself more comfortable in his trailer. He was in LA and had just started on his next movie, GI Blues.

You were aware of the storyline of the movie and were very much looking forward to seeing Elvis in uniform once again. You didn't think you had a kink up until Elvis enlisted but the second you saw him in his uniform you fully understood that you did. The second he stepped out for the first time in uniform you felt yourself getting inappropriately wet. You found your mind starting to wander to the night that he returned back to Graceland after serving his two years overseas in Germany. You had asked him to put on his uniform one last time that night and as you recall the events that followed you start to feel that arousal tingle down your spine once more.

“Baby?…Ya still there?” Your day-dreaming is interrupted by Elvis’ voice in your ear “Sorry…sorry…" you stutter "The line got really bad there for a moment or something” Elvis laughs again “Or something… I know that tone in ya voice, I can always tell. Come on, tell me what it is that’s on ya mind”

You felt yourself getting a little red with embarrassment, which was ridiculous as Elvis couldn’t actually see you, but you forget how intuitive he is with you. “I….I..was just thinking back to your first night home from Germany is all” The line goes silent and then some more rustling. “Hhhmmnnn” you hear Elvis sigh “THAT was quite the night. You really showed me how much you missed me that night honey! Rocked my socks right off…an' my pants…an' my co…” “Elvis!” you squealed into the telephone, making him laugh. “What?!? You did! I mean I know we have some good lovin’ often but that night nearly topped the night of the first” “And we don’t need to talk about that right now!” you interrupt. “Awww baby, no need to be embarrassed. I’m proud of the fact I made our first time so good you passed out cold on me. I was clearly too much for ya to handle” he laughs some more. You know he’s being a little cocky now but at the time he freaked out so much his mamma had him breathing into a paper bag.

Your mind starts to wander again this time back to that night. Elvis had made you come so hard the second time you passed right out in his arms not long after. He had run out of the bedroom, butt-naked, yelling to his mamma and daddy to come help as he thought he had killed you somehow. Thankfully you came around fairly quickly but were mortified to be surrounded by Elvis and his parents fussing over you, as you lay in Elvis bed, naked. It wasn’t funny then but ever since it brings Elvis much amusement to refer to it only as “the night of the first”.

“Keep teasing me and the other night will be the night of the last” you mutter down the line, referring to the night before he left for LA when you had ridden him, several times, into the early hours.

“Don’t be sore baby, you know I’m just teasing ‘cause I love you. Biggest fright of my life that night. Pretty sure Daddy hasn’t got over it, he didn’t know what to do or where to look!” he pauses “Maybe I can try again tomorrow night when you get here? Celebrate my baby coming to be with me by making sure my baby is coming over and over again…” “Elvis!…” you interrupt him again with a laugh “You and your filthy mouth!” You berate him but your tone gives away the fact that you don’t mean it, you quite like his filthy mouth.

“Ok, Ok I’ll behave. What time does your flight get in? I’ll get one of the guys to come pick you up. I want to do it myself but I’ll be on set. I’ll get them to bring you here so I can see you the second I’m done.”

Leaning over to the bedside table you scour the flight details that you’d scrawled on a bit of paper earlier.“It get’s in at 1pm….” It was Elvis’ turn to interrupt “So I can get in you around 8pm?”

Rolling your eyes with a smile “How’s that good behavin’ workin’ out for ya? Besides I can’t believe you would make me wait that long!” there’s a moments pause, you can hear Elvis’ mind whirring away. “You’re right…” he starts “I need to get in you around 3pm, then I’ll take you for dinner and then I’ll take you from behind at 8pm” You try not to encourage him but you can’t help it “Ooooh I’m gettin’ the fancy treatment tomorrow night”

You’re both now laughing. It’s part of why you are so in love with Elvis Presley. Aside from his often filthy mouth he makes you laugh like no other has.

“In all seriousness honey I’ll take you somewhere real nice tomorrow night. Somewhere romantic and private, just you and me.” Elvis states softly. “I’m very much looking forward to it. Who knows if it’s private enough maybe I can get on my knees for dessert” you say quietly, hearing a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

“Who’s got the filthy mouth now honey?” he tries to ask seriously but you can actually hear the smile on his lips.

“But isn’t that one of the things you love most about me Mr Presley? My filthy mouth or…" you pause, pretending to thing for a moment "more accurately your cock being in my filthy mouth?” More rustling sounds out down the line. You imagine Elvis is having to rearrange himself in his pants, aroused by your conversation. Maybe lingering his hand there longer than necessary. You shake your head to try to clear your thoughts, before the spike of arousal in your own body gets stronger and you find yourself doing the same.

“Well, the future Mrs Presley. I do confess your filthy mouth to be one of the reasons I asked you to marry me”

Elvis chuckles and you along with him as you glance down at your left hand. The light coming through the window hits the diamond sat on your ring finger at that moment making it sparkle.

Tags:

@iloveelvisss @atleastpleasetelephone @wildhorseinkansas

[sturnioz]

fan!reader runs into someone a little familiar.

part two to ꒰ THIS ꒱ but it can be read as a standalone. and thank you @cvnntagious for the pic of chris !

you hadn't spoken to chris in almost a week.

you dmed him after your girls night—finally alone, sprawled across the blankets in the comfort of your own bedroom—letting him know you had watched his video and what you had thought. you had even sent him a picture of the aftermath, your face hot as you hit send, imagining his reaction.

but he didn't respond.

he didn't even read it—that little 'delivered' tag sat there, mocking you every time you opened the app.

you wanted to be annoyed, maybe angry or hurt, but deep down.. you knew you didn't have the right.

chris didn't owe you anything. he didn't know you—not really. you weren't friends, he hadn't seen what you looked like, and on top of that, he is a popular guy, probably busy with a million different things.

you told yourself this, over and over and over again, but it didn't stop the familiar knot of disappointment from tightening in your chest each time you checked your dms.

"would to stop checking your phone?" kaia says, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the restaurant, elbowing your side as you step through the doorway, catching you off guard. "seriously. what's got you glued to it tonight?"

"it's just my mom," you lie easily, slipping your phone into your purse as you offer a tight-lipped smile. "talking about some family plans, that's all."

kaia arches a brow, her gaze lingering on you for a moment too long, the way they always do when she's trying to figure you out. you already know she doesn't fully buy it, but before she can dig any deeper, megan chimes in, saving you from a further interrogation.

"i'm sure the plans can wait for one night.." megan says lightly, pushing her glasses up her nose as she leads the way, weaving through tables toward one tucked in the back corner.

you follow them both quietly, your heels clicking softly against the floor as the hum of chatter and clinking glasses fills the space around you, pretending not to notice the look kaia throws you as she slides into the booth while you smooth the hem of your skirt as you sit down.

megan is already scanning the menu, oblivious—or pretending to be—while kaia picks up hers, leaving you a moment to quickly glance at your purse where your phone is tucked away, the faint buzz of anxiety still lingering in your chest.

you try to shake it off. it's not like checking your phone every five seconds is going to make him reply any faster... or at all.

once ordering, you try your best to push the nagging thoughts at the back of your mind as you include yourself in conversations, genuinely smiling and laughing. it feels good, even if it's a bit forced at first. kaia, thankfully seems to forget her earlier suspicions—her eyes lighting up as she excitedly tells you both about a new job offer, which you immediately raise your glass for a toast with a wide congratulatory grin.

but the grin slowly falters on your face, inch by inch, as your eyes drift over kaia's shoulder. you blink repeatedly, trying to refocus, but the sight in front of you still doesn't change.

maybe you're imagining things. maybe your brain is playing tricks on you. maybe you've had too much to drink already—which is sort of impossibly considering you've hardly sipped your wine.

because there is no way,

in this massive city,

in this random restaurant,

that you're staring right at chris.

he's walking in through the front entrance, that signature grin is spread wide across his face, the kind you've seen a hundred times in videos, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

your heart thrums as you watch him greet a waiter near the entrance; not with a polite nod or handshake, but a warm, familiar hug that pulls a genuine laugh from the both of them—the waiter patting his back like they've known each other forever, and chris seems completely at east, like he belongs here.

you blink again, your fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. you try—you really try—to tear your gaze away, only for your eyes to betray you, snapping back to him the second you hear his voice.

you've heard that voice countless times before; in the videos he posts, in videos and audios he sends you. but this is different. it's so casual and natural. it's just... him.

you chest tightens, and your mind begins to spiral as questions start to repeat in your head. why is he here? does he live nearby? are you dreaming? is this even real?

you breath hitches, and before you can think, you're already moving, pushing your chair back abruptly as you excuse yourself from the table. you keep your head down, eyes fixed on the ground as you slip past tables and crowds, ducking into the hallway that leads to the restrooms.

only when the door swings shut behind you, you finally exhale, pressing your back against the cool tile wall as your hands tremble, clutching your purse to your chest.

you're not entirely sure why you rushed off like that. maybe it's the fucking absurdity of the situation. or maybe it's the dread of being recognised by him (even though he literally has no idea what you look like... at least above the chest).

you decide to splash some water on your face, the coolness immediately soothing the heat in your cheeks, and you take your time carefully dabbing away the excess water with a paper towel.

straightening up, you let out a slow, deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves before you turn and push the restroom door open.

but the moment you step out, you falter.

he's right fucking there, standing just a few feet away outside the men's restroom, his head tilted down as he scrolls through his phone, the other hand casually tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

you're staring. you know you are, but you can't stop. it's like your body refuses to listen despite you telling it to move, your feet rooted to the spot as your wide eyes take in every detail of him.

he looks just like he does in his videos, yet somehow... more.

the sharpness of his jawline, the way his tousled hair falls slightly over his forehead, the faintest scruff along his chin for not shaving in a few days—it leaves you completely struck.

he's not just a face on a screen that you rub one out to anymore; he's here, standing right in front of you, living and breathing in the same space. you feel like a creep gawking at him like this, and the realisation only makes your embarrassment worse.

your mind continues to scream at you to do something—move, look away, fucking anything—but you're paralyzed.

he's still scrolling, oblivious to your presence, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder what he's looking at. a message from someone? a dm from another fan? the thought stings more than it ever should, but you shove it down, focussing instead on the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

your stomach twists into knots, and your palms grow clammy as you fight the urge to turn and bolt back into the restroom. but it feels too late, because in the next moment, chris lifts his head, his gaze landing squarely on you.

he doesn't say anything, and neither do you. but then, he gives you a warm, easy smile—the kind you'd offer to a stranger in passing. it's polite, friendly, but so distant. like he doesn't know you... and he doesn't.

you don't like this feeling—this strange, hallow ache of knowing him while he doesn't even know you. after weeks of back-and-forth dming, sending each other explicit texts and videos that felt a little too real, you had foolishly let yourself believe that you weren't just another face hidden behind a screen.

worse of all, you can't really tell him. you can't just blurt out that you're the girl he's been talking to... or, more accurately, one of them, if there are more.

you part your lips, a simple 'hello' sitting heavily on your tongue, ready to break the tension of this god awful and awkwardly silent staring contest, but the sound of the men's restroom door swings open, making you flinch in surprise.

two figures step out, and for a moment, you think your brain must be short-circuiting. you must be going fucking crazy...

because they're him; the same face, the same sharp jawline, just with different hairstyles.

your eyes dart between the three of them, your mind struggling to process what the hell you're seeing while chris doesn't bat an eye at the two join him.

you blink, stunned, quiet. you can't do shit.

you don't have time to fully process it before the three of them start moving, chris slipping his phone into his back pocket as the group makes their way toward the front of the restaurant.

you stand frozen, still rooted to the spot as they walk without so much a second glance, the knot tightening in your stomach even more as you watch the door swing shut behind them, the quiet jingle of the bell signalling them leaving.

and just like that, he's gone.

© STURNIOZ

[reikaryu]

a quiet new year’s eve with hoshi

fluff, established relationship, clingy!soonyoung, soonyoung is so cuddly I want to squish him, one swear, talks about marriage

this is my gift to @wabatle as part of the carat secret santa exchange! it’s rather late but things have been so busy recently 😞 anywho, happy new year to everyone! and to emi, I hope we can get closer ☺️

This year’s plan had been a little different compared to previous ones. For starters, your outgoing introvert boyfriend was cramming all his end-of-year meet-ups into the few days preceding New Year’s. He wanted to spend New Year’s Eve all alone with you.

But even then, your day was spent huddled up in your shared apartment, atmosphere less lively than usual. Alexa was taking a well deserved break from blasting songs all day, save for the occasional dim of lights.

Soonyoung would normally be bitching and groaning at the lack of enthusiasm for the new year, but this time, he was perfectly content with spending it lowkey — so long as he got to spend it with you.

He climbed out of bed slowly, lifting the covers off of his slender body before setting his feet down on the floor. With little energy, he exited the bedroom, blindly following the faint sounds of your kitchen shenanigans.

When he arrived at the doorway, his eyes landed on your form, moving about the kitchen with mugs and spoons in your hand. His line of sight shifted to the container sitting on the island: Super Good Hot Chocolate (SAVE FOR SPECIAL DAYS!)

He chuckled at the memory of you scribbling down those words in marker. The mix wasn’t even that expensive.

Your serene bubble seemed to be disturbed at his low laugh. You spinned in the spot, staring at him like a deer in headlights. He was going to laugh aloud, but all he did was give a bright smile that turned his eyes into crescents.

Your tense form relaxed at the relief that he wasn’t an intruder. Turning your attention back to your little project, you mumbled, “Scared the shit out of me … Thought I was gonna have to sacrifice my hot cocoa …”

Soonyoung took light steps towards you, wrapping his muscular arms around your torso and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Hmm? What was that?” he all but hummed, finding comfort in the warmth you radiated.

Shaking your head, you dismissed his question and focused on making your drinks.

You had a foolproof plan in your head: finish up the sure to be delicious hot cocoas and cuddle with your boyfriend on the couch. Maybe turn on a show, or just ramble with Soonyoung.

But he seemed to have other plans. His eyes drooped, his breathing steadied and his hold on your body began to loosen. Was he falling asleep on you? Standing up?

“Soonie.” You prodded his head with a finger, praying that he was at least seventy per cent awake so you wouldn’t have to carry his heavy form to the bedroom. Soonyoung stirred, mumbling an incoherent “Hold still,” before smushing his face into the crook of your neck.

Warmth bloomed like a flower in your chest, settling right where your heart was situated. Heat travelled up to your cheeks, staining your skin a faint red.

Stumbling over your words, even though this had happened a hundred times before, you said tenderly, “Soonyoung, you— I can’t— Ugh … Whatever.” You gave up, sighing with a light shake of your head, but there was a smile on your lips. Soonyoung must have heard the fondness in your voice, because he pressed his face further into your neck.

You finished up the hot drinks with your boyfriend clinging to your body. Surprisingly, when you attempted to move the two of you to the living room, he obliged and followed your footsteps.

Fast forward to twenty minutes later, your legs were tangled with Soonyoung’s, bodies close enough to hear each other’s heartbeat. Your hot cocoas were left on the glass coffee table right in front of the couch, the steaming mug already halfway to emptiness.

“Babe?” you heard him mutter out beside you. With a snuggle closer to him, you acknowledged his call. “I can see a forever with you.”

The sentence caught you off guard, but you didn’t shift from your position. You replied the only way you knew how. “Me too, Soonie. But why so suddenly?”

He hummed in response, thinking about his answer. He didn’t know. He just said whatever was in his head.

“I thought about doing this every year with you,” he said with a smile that you could feel against your hair, “and then I thought: Hey, that doesn’t seem too bad at all. I’d love doing this with you every year. Hell, even every day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his confession.

You turned in his embrace, staring up at him with adoration in your eyes. He smiled at you, and that feeling of warmth bloomed once again.

“Maybe propose to me first,” you suggested in lightheartedness, almost combusting at the expression on Soonyoung’s face. He hadn’t expected that, but his reply said otherwise.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been planning that since I met you.”

You were about to counter him with an accusation of weirdness, but he shut you up with a sweet kiss on your lips. You melted into him, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips.

Caught in each other’s love and affection, the two of you missed the fireworks that set off outside your window. But no matter — you’ll have plenty more to witness in the future.

hoshi will kiss you if you reblog ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ