#now i'm off to be sad and sluggish for the rest of the day

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Fever

A/n: You fall into a strange fever dream, burning from the temperature. You wake up next to her, burning again, but now a sense of shame.

Inspired by the song "hostage."

You open your eyes half-asleep time after time, and the first thing you see is the invigorating coolness of her eyes, where you want to dive in headfirst.

"I would love to drown in you," you babble in a fever delirium, and Billie smiles knowingly gently, laying you back down. You feel her firm hand on your back before plopping back down on the sheets. The bed seems to be getting endless.

"Don't strain yourself until I get you some tea," her hand touches your forehead and a silver snake of sadness runs in her eyes for a second. - "You're hot as hell again."

"Of course, I'm right next to you!" - God! You'll be so embarrassed when the mercury column slowly creeps downward, releasing you from the captivity of the fever, mark my word.

"Little fool," - a smile and a pleasant chuckle adorning the next precious verbal clarification. - "My little fool."

Billie goes off to get another mug of green tea, the amount of which makes you feel nauseous, as if you were standing on the deck of a seagoing ship with your hands resting miserably on the rail. A new wave of heat sweeps over you and makes you want to peel off your skin, to say nothing of your ill-fated home T-shirt. Covering your eyes is the worst idea imaginable. The ceiling or any other interior object you throw your tired gaze at, zooms in at an imaginary x4 zoom. This only makes your ship rock more, causing more misery. You hear the button of the electric kettle in the kitchen click and the spoon rattle against the walls of the full cup. God, not the green tea...

Eilish returns with the mug in hand, sets it on the wooden stand resting on the bedside table. You watch as the green surface of the herbal tea reaches almost the most ceramic edges and your appearance becomes deader than dead.

"I understand, my heart," Eilish's hand accurate strokes your face, and you only caress closer because her hand is so cool and just because it's her, Billie.

"I'm going to throw out all the green tea in our house."

Billie nods and assures you of her help as swornly as if you were two partners in crime dumping a corpse in the river.

"We'll have a Boston Tea Party together, you just get better."

She bends down to touch your lips with her own, but you immediately put your hand on her shoulder, resisting. The previously sluggish muscles are now as tense as possible. Eilish meets your categorical "no" again, which is the only stoic thought in your infernal delirium.

"I don't want you to get sick." - Eilish doesn't make any extra effort, but you're in no hurry to remove your hand from her shoulder either, just in case.

"Please." - An ingratiating, pitiful whisper crawls into your skull, mingling with the sickening heat. Reality slowly slips away from you again, and Billie leans a little closer to you, participating as your muscles loosen again. - "I've missed your lips so damn much these past three days, Y/n. I miss being in bed without you at night so much."

"No." - you catch her sad look overriding all prudence and something breaks inside. You hastily try to make things a little better. - "Not until the temperature breaks."

Eilish sighs, but tacitly agrees to your condition. It's not clear what prompted her to do this more - the string of interviews next week or just a deep moistening to your wishes. It seems to be all of the above together. The sadness from her eyes travels over her entire face, freezing her like a mask: the corners of her plump lips are lowered, and the inner corners of her straight eyebrows are raised upward and slightly drawn together. Your resolve cracks, and you soften your sentence a little.

"If..." - The line is suddenly torn by a fit of your dry cough as you reach for the pills on the nightstand. - "If you take some antivirals, I think you can lie next to me for a while."

Billie's face shines brighter than the many gold figurines on her living room shelf, which will soon run out of room. She immediately scrambles out of her seat on your bed and disappears into the gradual silence of the house, retreating to the bathroom. You wash down the bitter pills with green tea, drowning in the world's sorrow with each sip, and fall back tiredly. You cover your eyes and return from a state of half-awakeness, only when you feel something fall sharply to your left on the bed: Billie is back and the smile on her face simply cannot be erased by anything in the world, which greatly alleviates the bitterness of any colorful pills.

"Do you want me to put some vinyl record on in the background?"

You nod, a little suspended in your thoughts, while she's already going through a lot of records. The albums slap against each other amusingly as Billie flips them back, as if digging through a filing cabinet. Slap, slap.

"Any number from one to forty?" - her neat fingers freeze in anticipation of your answer.

"Seven." - You squint, and yellow and red flashes flash before your eyes, giving you some sort of foreboding feeling. Eilish hums and you look at her with interest, lifting yourself up and folding your legs into a lotus position on the bed. She raises her arm as proudly as if it were a flagpole, and her flag cloth is indeed yellow and red. The "Don't smile at me" vinyl. The hunch really worked.

"You love me so much that you only pick my songs?" - she purrs contentedly like a cat, deftly pulling out an iridescent, two-color CD. Yellow and red echo the gamut of the cover and the smell of lemon and strawberries suddenly hits your nose. Sometimes you feel like the more you live with Billie, the more you feel this artificial synesthesia clinging to you.

The glass lid swings back, reflecting the rays of the setting sun from the window, and the record lies flat in its proper place. Billie gently lowers the turntable claw, and with a click of the button the needle runs leisurely along the embossed tracks of the record, filling the room with the sounds of her own voice, but younger and not as strong as it is now. Eilish is slightly embarrassed, and it's so beautiful to you.

"I love you always." - you spread your arms out to the side, inviting her in. - "Come here."

Billie smiles, settles on the bed with you and practically agrees to your terms, but adjusts them slightly. While you are sick, she is your caring big spoon, no objections. You feel the warmth of her body against your back as she chops the rhythm of a playful "my boy" with her fingers, hear her soft soprano entwining your heart with a satin ribbon as she intimately sings "party favor" in your ear and endlessly kissing your entire face, except for your lips, of course, which you have vetoed. You're basically her little spoon most of the time, though she so pleasantly loses and relents when you masterfully take the reins of leadership into your own hands.

"Rest, my girl," she whispers affectionately, biting you on the lobe (revenge for the kissing ban), "I'll be right there."

And with the first chords of "ocean eyes", filled with her two-voice, you fall into slumber.

×××

"I wanna steal your soul," - the hems of Eilish's white robes sweep upward slightly as she dives predatorily toward you, kneeling down for eye contact. - "And hide you in my treasure chest."

The two of you are in some incomprehensible space, where dark emptiness and the cool ripples of water on the floor coexist peacefully. You are the water-chained prisoner kneeling on your knees, she is your personal devil. The loneliness shared by two and the coolness of the water. Nothing more.

Eilish's lips bend in a tempting smile, so devilishly seductive that you feel attraction mixed with fear of incomprehension as goosebumps run through your body. Strangely, you freeze under her gaze, filled with Edenic blueness, and she just stares at you silently, and you don't try to free your hands behind your back again. The water chains no longer rattle.

She bends down a little closer to you and touches your neck with her lips gently, almost weightlessly - she leaves her mark on you. It feels like your body is being hit by a high-voltage current, although you are physically fine.

"What do you want from me?" - you mutter softly, not taking your dumbfounded gaze away from her. It is still unclear where you are, whether this is reality or something else, but the coolness unobtrusively enveloping you is pleasantly soothing. As if you needed it.

"Let me crawl inside your veins, I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain," - she rises to her feet, towering over you. Her words have a musical tune to them that draws you in even more. And indeed: one click and you feel the weight of the water collar around your neck. Another click, and then she lifts you up, yanking you by the chain of the collar that appeared out of nowhere. It doesn't hurt at all. - "It's not like me to be so mean."

You reach up to her face to make sure it's just a dream. Your fingertips twitch with excitement, but Eilish walks calmly toward your thought and actions, her cheek resting against your palm. Devils dance in her blue eyes. It is completely tangible. You yank your hand away, like accidentally fell under a stream of boiling water, reflexively examine your palm and only further nurture the seed of confusion in the depths of your soul. O'Connell is still smiling the same way.

"What is it...?"

"Gold on your fingertips," - she approaches you with a soft step, like a misty haze over water, - "fingertips against my cheek."

"Say, I'm asleep now, aren't I?"

Billie shrugs her shoulders in a childishly funny way, and it seems to you that she really sincerely does not know what to say. Her hand gently touches your shoulder while the other finally weakness the tangle of water chains, opening up to you a great variability in the distance. In the end, you decide to relax, despite the curiosities of the environment: You trust Billie even in your sleep. She does not utter a single word, just looks at you with some mysterious note in her eyes, and the answer to her dumb question already comes into your head, which you are in a hurry to denounce in words.

"I don't know what feels true," - your lips almost touch hers, so close together, - "But this feels right so stay a sec."

"Gold leaf across your lips," - the chain rattles, the free end touching the water surface, which is why circles began to form on the surface under you, driven by the white foam of the splash. Both her hands gently touch your face, without pressure, but you feel that you personally want to obey her completely. Through her beautiful raven-colored hair, falling over her face, you catch a glint of precious yellowish luster: gold is spilling on her cheek, which you recently touched, resembling a thin twig. Her eyes hungrily catch the glare, as if turning greenish. So mesmerizing. - "Kiss me until I can't speak..."

You feel the heat on your lips and wake up.

×××

The record has stopped playing, the room is completely silent, and Eilish is kissing your lips more unabashedly than ever before. After such a strange dream, you juxtapose reality so difficult that you pull away in consternation at only the third kiss. Billie laughs loudly, bringing you back into her arms. You frankly remind her of a chicken just out of its shell. Slightly disheveled and completely lost.

"You were mumbling in your sleep and I couldn't find a better way to wake you up." - her voice sounds so playful that you don't even need to turn around to see her confident-skanky face. - "Foreshadowing your concern - your forehead is absolutely not hot. The fever's gone down."

"Such a crazy dream..." - you snuggle into her shoulder, and she's only glad, pulling you closer to her.

"I don't know what feels true?" - you see her eyebrow raise ironically. The gears in your head wind up, returning to their usual healthy mode and you bounce on the bed again, nearly falling off it from the weight of understanding the situation.

You experienced her song "hostage" in your fever dream and even spoke lines from it out loud! Oh my god...

Billie realizes just in time to keep your still sluggish but recovering body from an incredibly "pleasant" encounter with the floor: her hand deftly grips your waist and pulls you back. She smiles just as she did in your dream and you're instantly pierced by the ubiquitous lightning bolt of deja vu.

"Will you tell me more about it? Maybe we can even do it again?"

In her humble (no) opinion, your face in color now resembles the most beautiful pink rose while your state of mind is completely withdrawn under the aegis of feeling embarrassed. And before you can open your mouth, choosing words to describe the dream, she kisses you. With a groan of long-awaited pleasure and absolutely no modesty.

[seaoflove07]

Cravings in the Dawn🌹

• A commission artwork by Lesyarei •

Oc x Canon.

Characters: Azusa Mukami & Christine Melendez. (Rose)

A commission Fan Fiction Written by @afi-writes @afi-mukami

Author Oc @yuriko-mukami

Fandom: Diabolik Lovers.

🔞⚠️⚠️ NSFW, Not for Minors! ⚠️⚠️🔞

Note: I can't bring myself to write my own smut. 😅 So I'm glad there are writers who do steamy commissions.

I did give the dialogue to the writer and the rest she poured her magic with her style.📝 🔥🔪🌹

The pinkish hue spreads through the sky just above the high trees, the first cue of the morning. Christine has been watching the dark sky for a while now, tossing and turning every now and then. Now light dangles into the room, caressing the rosy curtains and bedsheets with its sparkles. No way Christine can fall asleep this morning, not when every nerve in her body tickles. There is this deep yearning rising in her, pulsing through her veins, demanding attention.

The arms locked around Christine aren’t truly helping the situation. Especially not when Azusa nuzzles her locks in his slumber, his scent of fruity black tea with a hint of flowers sailing in as Christine draws breath.

Five days.

For five days without making love to the man who lays next to her. A sigh presses past Christine’s lips. Five days full of work for Karlheinz’s plans. Five days full of chores in the mansion. Five days hitting the bed in the brick of dawn and passing out from exhaustion.

Yet now, Christine is wide awake, feeling how neediness courses through her body. Such a wrong timing.

Azusa lets out a soft mumble while Christine’s gaze embraces him. He has worked so hard, deserving every ounce of rest he can get. Not wanting to disturb him, Christine sneaks from under his arms gradually. Another mumble, an arm tugging a pillow, hugging it instead. An adorable sight.

But adorable isn’t what Christine would need now. Not even the long bath earlier has shaken the throbbing need away. Slightly annoyed by her urges, Christine grabs a silk robe from the backrest of a chair and wraps it around her. Even though the fabric is light, its touch on her skin is enough to send shivers all over. Oh, she would need so much more. Drawing a breath, she pushes the longing aside and heads for the kitchen. Perhaps a glass of water can cool her down.

But this isn’t a lucky morning for Christine. Of course, the water couldn’t help her. Heading back, yet another sigh vibrates through Christine. She reaches for the doorknob, but it escapes her fingers just when she’s about to grab it. Lifting her gaze, she meets the eyes that bore through her full of worry and anxiousness.

A second passes, perhaps two. Cold fingers grip around Christine’s wrist, and Azusa hauls her into the room, slamming the door shut.

“Azu, what’s the matter?” The question jumps off Christine’s lips.

“When I woke up…” Darkness slithers into Azusa’s eyes and he only firms his hold. “...you weren’t there near me in the bed… Or rather… you weren’t around… in the room at all... I feared that you might… have abandoned me...and had left me... Just thinking about it… It got me feeling… very sad… and incredibly scared...”

“Azu…” Slowly, Christine pulls her wrist from Azusa’s fingers only to lean in and cup his icy cheeks. “I will never leave you because I love you.”

But Azusa’s gaze is like the one of a hurt animal. “Then why… did you leave the room… without telling me…!?” His usually sluggish tone of voice pitches higher.

Christine shifts in front of him. “You were still sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you up.” She allows a tiny sigh to leave her mouth again. “I couldn't sleep. So… I went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.”

“Really…?” Confusion wafts over Azusa’s face. Yet it is soon twisted into suspiciousness. “Or you might be using that… as an excuse for me… to lower my guard...then use that opportunity… to run away and leave me…”

“Azusa stop!” Christine frowns, staring at her love. “You need to learn to trust me. I haven't given you any reason to think that I'll leave you for someone else.” So frustrating! Always this! Always! Why can’t Azusa see how much she loves him? Why can’t he trust that she will stay? Stomping her feet on the carpet, Christine gives the man a final glare. “I'm done talking to you, I'm going to bed now.”

“Wait!” Azusa’s voice is almost insinuating with desperation.

But Christine doesn’t mind. She has gotten enough of this. Turning her back, she refuses to answer. The bed is calling for her.

The next step is never taken.

“Don't you turn your back on me…! I’m not done talking to you yet...!” Azusa seizes Christine’s shoulders, his fingertips digging into her skin as he turns her around so fast, that her head is spinning for a moment. But only for a moment, for the reliant lips capture hers.

“Azusa, no…” Christine shoves Azusa’s chest, breaking the smooch and forcing a whine out of the Vampire. “I want you to trust me…”

For a while, nothing is being said. The couple stares at each other and the silence is thick between them.

Azusa shifts as if he is feeling physically uncomfortable. “It’s hard, Rose… especially when I know… that other men want you…”

His anxiety is kicking in, isn’t it? Christine locks her gaze with Azusa’s while she lets her robe slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. Lifting her hands, she tugs the straps of her nightgown until they run down her upper arms. With a sway of her hips, she allows the piece of garment to drop and pile around her ankles.

“Azu…” Without a hurry, Christine steps out of the nightgown and brings her hands on her curves. There is fire in her loins and desire in her belly. “...you have had my body many times. But…” She slithers her fingers under the waist of her lace pink thong. “...I want you to know.” She draws the lingerie down little by little revealing everything as the ache between her thighs grows more and more insistent. “I'm still yours. My heart and body will always be yours.”

As Azusa’s eyes caress her with lusting, invisible fingers, Christine steps closer. He is all she wants; all she can think of. “My body craves you… Azu…” She sinks into his eyes, and the wet heat flares in her. Lust burns in her brain and she can concentrate on nothing else. “Please… make love to me…”

Azusa swallows. “Rose…”

For a tiny while Azusa’s eyes settle on Christine’s breasts. Just a moment later, he lifts his hand and starts to unbutton his shirt. One by one, the fastenings drop open, baring his chest to Christine’s waiting gaze. He drops the piece of clothing on the floor, and with a swift movement, he scoops her up and carries her through the room, tossing her on the bed so hastily that her head sinks into the pillow. She doesn’t even have time to dampen her lips with her tongue before he is over her, showering kisses on her.

The smooches take over Christine’s senses as she sinks into bliss along with them. Trembles course through her as Azusa takes her lips with his own. So all-consuming. It’s impossible to resist the pull of passion that draws them both in. The kiss is hard, then soft and hard again, coming like waves to the shore, making her blood pulse in her veins with a scarlet web of desire.

Finally, Azusa breaks the kiss and tugs Christine’s bottom lip, scraping it with his peeking fangs. A metallic inkling of a taste wafts onto her tongue, a cue of her own blood. Azusa’s mouth moves down to Christine’s slender throat, his teeth finding the column of her neck and piercing it. The white pain strikes her mind, and she can’t hold back a whine that pushes past her lips.

“Sing more… for me, Rose…” Azusa traces Christine’s side while he focuses on sucking her blood. Releasing a moan, he licks over the bite mark and fishes the last drops of the delicious liquid of life before moving down.

When Azusa’s breath breezes over Christine’s skin, her nipples perk up from the mere thought of what is to come. A cry escapes her when his fangs thrust into the ample flesh of her mound. Drawing blood once more, Azusa caresses her other breast and toys with its hardened peak, gliding his thumb over the nub. Combined with the bite, the sensation hauls Christine into a mixture of sweet pain and luscious pleasure.

As if asking forgiveness, Azusa kisses the reddish bite, tracing the mound until he reaches the stout bud. Flicking over it, he forces a whine out of Christine. Grazing with his fangs, he sucks the nub into his mouth and whirls his tongue around it. Shivers run down Christine’s spine, and she squirms under her lover, wailing.

Releasing the bud, Azusa captures the other and gives it the same treatment. More laments of lust escape to the air while yearning ignites deep within Christine.

“Your voice… spurs me on…” Azusa breathes against the nipple. “Rose… let me hear… more…” He inches closer, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of Christine’s breast. Squealing, she laces her fingers with his hair, presses his head closer, and arches her back to meet his lips and fangs again and again.

And that is only the start of their tingling tango of delight and desperation. Azusa’s fangs find all the sensitive spots of Christine’s, for he knows them well. The mouthwatering scrunch of her upper arm, the cushiony of her waist and belly, the bounciness of her thigh. With each bite, comes a mark of ownership, a sign of love and dedication like no other, painted with pain like proof of life. The perfection the couple only shares with one another and no one else, raw need meeting pure desire.

Heat uncurls in Christine’s abdomen, the urgent need that demands more. She thrills at the thought of Azusa moving inside her.

“Azu…” A quivering whisper. Christine craves more, her body flaring with fervor and mind hazing with urge old as time. This man, this love is all she needs. Meandering under him, she calls him to take what belongs rightfully to him, teases him with the promise of delight.

“Rose… your scent…” Azusa showers Christine’s stomach with thousands of smooches. “...it is… like a garden… My own… rose garden…”

Releasing his grasp, Azusa shoves his pajama pants down along with his underwear as if a cue that Christine’s carnal desire will no longer be denied. He kicks the clothes off the edge of the bed. “You are mine, Rose… I will not hand you over… to anyone…”

Azusa seizes Christine by her waist and flips her over. Her cheek meets the pillow, sinking into it as she wheezes. Just a moment later, Azusa’s fingers entangle with her hair while he buries his nose in it and breathes her in. As he kisses down her nape, his breath is ragged in her ears. He traces her skin, enlacing his fingers with her hair and tugging gently while keeping his other hand on her shoulder blade and scraping her neck.

The soft pecks of his lips on her spine are ever-so-gently. Yet, the possessive desperation lingers between the couple and paints every touch, every lungful of air.

Nuzzling Christine’s spine, Azusa presses another series of smooches on it and inhales deeply. “Your scent… Rose… It’s intoxicating…”

Christine loves to hear Azusa’s sweet words. He clenches his hand in her hair, his digits delving into it for a while before he slides his fingers down her back, cherishing every inch of her skin.

Soft moans of satisfaction sail out of Christine as Azusa holds her waist and caresses the small of her back with his mouth. She can’t help but sway her bottom for him, and he answers the cue, hauling is closer and covering the buttocks with kisses as well while palming the squeezy flesh over and over again.

The fangs puncture Christine’s buttock, forcing a lament out of her. Azusa can’t resist suckling even more of her sweet liquid of life. Her palm meets the headboard of the bed, fingers scratching it as Azusa moves south while his hand reaches the apex of her thighs; the tip of his finger dips in followed by a moist draining sound.

“Rose, you are… so wet… for me…” Azusa’s words vibrate against Christine’s skin just before his tongue glides to the valley between her thighs, savoring the sweet cavern. At the same time, he lets his digit sneak past her pearly gates, sinking in and retreating again. He works his fingers into her once more, igniting her. Her body vibrates in response, and she bites back a whimper.

Azusa’s swirling fingers spread Christine wide, spreading her wetness all over her rosy petals. Curling his digits, he provokes more muffled moans out of her, inflaming her veins with gratification. Kissing and licking, Azusa traces Christine’s swollen folds. She opens for him like a flower as he inches his fingers out only to slash his tongue inside, working her entrance, driving her wild. The sensation locks her in the prison of desires, moistness spreading on her thighs with each delicate flick while his digits reach her already throbbing nub of pleasures.

Christine’s breath comes in soft pants as Azusa’s fingers keep stroking her, sending her into shivers of ecstasy. Her clit cries out for him, her back arches and her fingers clench the blanket as if it is the only thing that keeps her in this realm while he drinks deep from her candied well of bliss. Again and again, bold swipes of his tongue send her spinning in the whirlpool of sacred sensations.

“You taste… so good, Rose…” Kissing her entrance, Azusa slides his tongue toward Christine’s buttocks, snaking its way between them and forcing yet another whimper past her lips. She tenses for the unfamiliar sensation as Azusa tests the new waters, a soggy lick probing the opening he hasn’t conquered yet.

Shivering, Christine squeezes the blanket. What is this? But the protest dies on her lips as Azusa keeps going, kissing and lapping with relish. Small drifts turn into tidal waves of delight, taking Christine beyond reason. Whimpering, she surrenders while Azusa’s tongue wins over her confusion and his thumb dances over her pulsing pearl.

“Every part of… you is mine…” The whisper vibrates against Christine’s buttock, and right after the wet tip of Azusa’s tongue gives her another thrill of rapture.

• Full Uncensored Artwork, Here •

Wailing, Christine grasps the blanket under her and instinctively tugs it into her mouth, stifling her voice. If anything, that drives Azusa further, and his tongue starts to tantalize and tease her whilst his stroking and petting on her glossy bud never stops. She writhes against his hand and the tongue that slips in, tormenting her ever-so-sweetly.

Almost losing herself to the pleasure, Christine shifts her hips adapting to Azusa’s moves. Rapture shoots through her at his touch and tortured moans squeeze from her mouth. If this doesn’t stop soon, she will come apart right here and now. Her moans break through, echoing through the room… and just then, Azusa’s fingers withdraw, and his tongue leaves a wet trail on her bottom.

“No! Azu, please! Don’t stop!” Christine’s cries of yearning cut the air.

“We should… cum together, Rose.”

As Christine wails and heaves, Azusa collects her into his arms, supporting her against his chest. She can’t help the trembles that dash through her muscles from both exhaustion and eagerness.

Nuzzling Christine’s nape, Azusa nibbles it with the peaks of his fangs only. His mouth tells her without words how loved she is. He grabs her chin, gently tilting her head to captivate her lips and lock her into a prison of smooches. The earth-shattering kisses sail into Christine’s heart, for they are not only because of lust but adornment as well. Like Cupid’s arrow into her chest, Azusa’s lips speak a language of their own in a long and leisurely manner.

I love you.

I need you.

I’ll never let go of you.

Spoken words aren’t needed. In silence, they flow from one another as an endless stream that binds them together.

While they kiss open-mouthed, Azusa grinds his erection against Christine’s backside. It slides across her folds, and she can feel how ready he is to take her, to show her to whom she belongs. Nudging her dampened petals, he briefly pauses at her pearly gates, then pushes them wide and shoves his length into her core. Heat meets coldness, creating an inferno spiced with an ice storm.

Azusa sighs with satisfaction as his hardness fills Christine, stripping away everything but her need for him. He places one hand on Christine’s hip, holding her there as he hits the deepest parts of her. For a moment, he breaks the kiss and bites her lower lip, drawing a drip of blood. The wound is sealed fast but the swollen sensation doesn’t leave Christine while the couple sinks into the dance of smooches and bounces. Her body molds against his, as she enjoys the coldness of his skin and the roughness of his thrusts.

“Rose…” Azusa’s breath whispers over Christine’s lips. He ravishes her body while kissing her over and over, pushing all else from her mind. His kiss is full of possessiveness, greedy for even more.

Christine groans into Azusa’s mouth while he claims hers again and again, his lips crushing against hers. They gasp, moan, and writhe while the sun rises above the trees and paints the room with a golden hue of rosy pink. To kiss Azusa like this forever would not be long enough.

• Full Uncensored Artwork, Here •

Christine cherishes the feel of his tongue rubbing hers and can’t help but suck it, enjoying the suction. He’s in her, filling her completely. Not just her body but her mind and soul as well.

Azusa’s hands are cool but demand more and more from Christine. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and the golden cross along with them, hitting her chest every time. He cups her mound, squeezing and caressing it. Gently at first, then rougher. His thumb rasps against her hardened nipple, and soon, he can’t resist the urge to roll and pinch the aching bud, forcing out wailing moans from Christine but only to muffle those with his smooches.

They pant in pleasure, lost in heat as they move together as one. Azusa presses harder into her, deeper, filling Christine up with his cock. Her pussy tightens around him as his length pierces her from behind over and over again. As she stretches and melds, clenching him, he releases a hungry moan into her mouth. His harsh, rough strokes rock her body while they merge, lips on lips.

“Rose… you are…” Azusa pants onto Christine’s lips. “...mine…”

Trapped between torment and ecstasy, Christine’s inner walls ripple against Azusa. He slows down but only to hasten his pace again. Pounding into her depths, he groans, almost growls into their kisses.

Christine’s whole body is on fire with bliss. Her toes curl and her back arches as the waves come, sizzling through every part of her. Azusa’s steely bouncing sends her toward the edge as he pulses in her, making gratification rocket along her veins. He clasps her hips with both hands, pulling her hard into his final thrust, and at the same moment, a soul-shattering orgasm robs Christine of her senses. Azusa’s jerking shaft gushes into her, and his growls of pleasure mingle with her laments. His body tenses as he pours his load deep into her, unleashing his love and melting in her heat.

As he wraps both arms around Christine, Azusa stays inside, letting her milk him while nuzzling her nape through her sweaty hair. “Rose… I love you… so much…”

- End -

Thank you for reading. 📖 🌹

• Artwork by Alluraalteal •

[spectrechosts]

Heaven Sent - Chapter 2

Everyone is so so sad that an angel came and yelled at them, it's giant cuddlepile time.

Full Series

A harem of near-500 succubi is actually more manageable than one might expect, all things considered.

Lilith can't be everywhere at once, but she doesn't need to be- all her darlings can sense her, feel her love for them whenever they want. They know she cares more for them than anything else in all of existence.

And they're all more than happy to share. She tries to get some good one-on-one time with one or two a day if she's not busy; but spending time with groups, sleeping in cuddly piles of her loves- it's not very difficult for anyone who wants to be close to her to do so.

Even when it is, she's not the sole object of their affections. Her girls are happy to fraternize amongst themselves most days, some might even love eachother more than they love her! It's wonderful. Everyone is happy, nobody feels left out or neglected, life in her palace is smooth and comfortable.

Most of the time.

Most of the time, Lilith doesn't fuck herself up wrestling an angel instead of waiting a couple minutes for Lucy to handle it.

Most of the time, she doesn't have to manage four hundred and eighty-four succubi who are all worried sick and want to see her and dote on her and cuddle her and be reassured by her, specifically, right now, or they're going to wallow in their misery.

And they are wallowing. She can feel it, the deep funk that has settled into her palace like a heavy fog. There's no fooling around, or cavorting, or even coquettishness. Nobody's gone out on a summon since the angel fell.

It simply will not do.

Days of recovery in the lava spas and dozens of gifted souls from her worried darlings have her feeling almost back to normal. She probably shouldn't push herself too hard, but- Well, surely just a little couldn't hurt.

She rises from her woefully empty bed and stalks silently to her door, opening it to reveal a gaggle of succubi trying very hard not to seem like they're snooping on her.

"Mistress! Um-"

"Were you sleeping in there Mistress? I had no idea-"

"MISTRESSSSSSSSS ARE YOU OKAY DO YOU NEED ANYTHING I LOVE YOU-"

She draws the last to speak into a hug, and the others join in hesitantly when they see she isn't wincing at being touched anymore.

"I'm okay, Qintora, thank you." She says, and the demoness squeezes her tighter and chokes back a sob. "Girls, spread the word: Mistress is starting to feel better, and wants to spend some time with all her darlings. Everyone should gather at the orgy chamber for cuddles tonight. Got it?"

The succubi nod eagerly and scamper off to pass along the invitation. Lilith stretches languidly, and sets off to prepare for the night. As long as she takes it slow, her body should be able to handle it.

~

Lilith lounges in a pile of cushions as her concubines filter into the orgy chamber, all looking excited but nervous.

Her tail snakes down out of the pile, coils on and on and on until it reaches another lounging place, connects to another Lilith resting atop it.

And another, and another, and another- she numbers almost fifty of herself in all, connected together by a web of tails interwoven across the chamber floor.

Grezayla looks predictably bewildered as she sees them, still too new to have seen her flaunt this particular show of shapeshifting prowess before.

Everyone else, however, recognizes that this is rather subdued.

When Lilith's at her best, when she's using the orgy chamber for its intended function, she can usually manage at least one of herself for each of her darlings to play with. Essentially mindless ones, granted- driven by pure primordial appetites to rut and claim and devour- but still. Her transformations feel sluggish, difficult. If she ever sees that angel again, she'll make sure it regrets it.

But now is not the time for grumbling about infernal vengeance. Her girls are joining her, piling in to be close with each of her bodies. She has to focus, make sure that she can be a proper, doting mistress; fifty times over, simultaneously. This is their night, and she's going to make sure that each of them comes out of it free of any more worries.

"Mistress, you're- How are you- There's so many of you?" Says Grezayla, as she cozies up to one of her.

"Thank fuck you're okay Mistress, I was so worried when I heard you fought the angel." Mumbles Tinixi, burying her face in another's shoulder.

"Mistress it was so scary, it made me think all these bad things about myself…" Sniffles Zrixira, curling herself around another's arm.

"A trifle, while I'm still resting. I'll show you just how many of me there can be, once I'm recovered." She says. "You can learn it too, it's just very difficult. We had five Azzies once, but they were all rather uncoordinated."

"I'm okay, Tini. Everyone is okay, thanks to you. My good girl…"

"Mistress, we all missed you so much!" Whines Jaentia, hugging one of her midsections tightly. "Never get hurt again, okay?"

"I know, Zrixi. Don't even think about what it made you think, it's nonsense."

"If any more angels show up we all agreed we're gonna beat their asses!" Says Vylona, pumping her fists resolutely.

"Do you need more souls, Mistress?" Asks Aezorim, eyes full of worry. "We can get more!"

"Ah- Vy- wait. Jaentia, darling, I'll try. Don't worry about me."

"Vylona do not under any circumstances do that. Call me and Lucy. Aezorim, I don't-"

"MISSSTREEEESSSSSSSSS-" Sobs Qintora, clinging to one of her heads.

"Aezorim, I don't need more souls, thank you, you've all been very kind. I'm feeling practically good as new." Lilith says, squinting and blinking rapidly to clear her heads.

"Mistress it tried to make me think I was wrong to come down here-"

"I was so scared when we couldn't find you after-"

"Dearests, I-" Lilith grunts, through gritted teeth. Her heads pound, trying to hold all these conversations at once.

"The angel said I was-"

"And we couldn't see you-"

"Are you sure you're-"

"Darlings!" She snaps with all her mouths, as several of her cradle her heads. "I… Just, slower, okay? I can't… We have all the time in the world to talk, just, please slower."

Dozens of her succubi begin bawling, worried that she's still hurt and they made it worse.

"No, dearests, oh no don't cry-" She coos as she tries to comfort them all.

~

Days pass in there, slowly working through everyone's worries until they're all relaxed and drift into sleep. Lilith feels better too, having done so. Not perfect, but close enough to it. Feeling that her darlings are calm and happy is good for her vile heart.

Lucy appears in the center of the chamber, wings gently carrying her over the mass of tails.

"Lilith."

"Lucy." Lilith says, gently shifting one of herself to sit up without disturbing her sleeping succubi. "What is it?"

"You seem well." Lucy says, peering over the room. "Will you all be returning to work now?"

"I think so."

"Good, good." She says, as if her mind is elsewhere. "I have something I'd like to put under your purview, if you're up for it."

"Of course." Lilith says, further extracting herself to stand with Lucy.

"The angel-"

"No." She immediately interrupts, and Lucy sighs.

"Hear me out-"

"No! Not a chance! Lucy, you saw what it did-"

"Lilith. I would not do this without cause." Lucy states flatly, and Lilith frowns but holds her tongue.

"It insists it hasn't fallen, that this is all a test."

"It can insist whatever the fuck it wants, you can sense it as well as I can."

"I can." She says, nodding. "It fell to your circle for a reason, Lilith. These things don't just happen, maybe you can-"

"We're the highest circle. Maybe it got stuck."

"Lilith." Says Lucy sternly, and she huffs. "I'm not telling you to be its best friend. But I know exactly how much it hurts to fall, and you know better than most. It needs someone to help it acclimatize, accept that it can be happy here. Just- try to figure out what it wants, okay?"

"…It had better fucking behave." Lilith grumbles.

"It will."

"I mean it."

"It will." Lucy insists. "Tell me when you're ready, I'll bring it by."

And with that she vanishes, and Lilith snuggles the body that had been speaking with her back into the loving embrace of the succubi surrounding it, clutches just a little tighter with all of her arms.

[grineerios]

Tennotober Day 24- "Beard"

The cephalon paused for a moment, his interest drawn by a set of statistics. With a mildly frustrated sigh, he hovered towards the exit of the non-functional liset.

"Op- Drifter, are you out here?"

A hunched figure sat by the cooking fire, still and silent. They didn't turn their head, even as Ordis approached.

"Drifter?" His voice took on a worried tone.

Callan stared deep into heart of the flames, not shifting his gaze or responding to the query. He looked sickly, with glassy eyes and an exhausted complexion. Red marks around his eyes, nose, and forehead told the story of the past few weeks.

"Your cortisol levels are hitting a new high. They should be coming down by now, not going up. Are you... feeling well?" Ordis made a vague gesture at the golden veil sitting on the stone ring that surrounded the fire, "It's been almost a week since you returned. Whatever effects the Veil inflicted on you should be wearing off- the Ostron you saved appears to be doing well."

"... I'm fine, Ordis." Callan's voice was barely more than a gravelly croak, "Just need to... keep going. You got any more leads on Narmer outposts? I can try to head out at dawn-"

"Operator!" The cephalon was clearly agitated, "Forget Narmer! When was the last time you had a good meal? Or tried to relax?! Or-"

Ordis paused. "... You haven't slept yet, have you?"

The silence was all the confirmation he needed.

"No wonder your cortisol levels are spiking! You know that will kill you, correct? Operator- you need rest!"

Callan exhaled, his gaze drifting to the veil, orange-yellow in the firelight.

"'s fine. I'm okay Ordis. I can keep going." His speech was sluggish and slurred, "I don't need you to tell me how to take care of myself."

"CLEARLY YOU-" the cephalon glitched, before lapsing into a brief moment of silence.

"Fine. I will return to my duties then." He spoke as if through gritted teeth. There was a tiny pang of sadness in his systems that he tried to shrug off as he left the stubborn drifter alone in the night.

[godkilller]

He slides a plate across the tile, until it rests against the bars. It's like pulling a finger through dust, the trail it leaves in debri and dirt. Does this place have rats, he wonders idly. nd the noise it had made.. Grating. It'd almost make him flinch. Upon the plate: persimmon cut into parts. He was not allowed to bring a knife down here, so he'd stood and cut the fruit right there at the gate, while the guards had watched. "I'm sure you don't know what day it is.." He murmurs, sitting back on his haunches and waiting to see if his gift will be accepted.

"Nonetheless.. Happy birthday.." [for prisoner verse !]

gin's birthday asks! open from sept. 9 - 16th.

HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT DAY IT WAS, nor did Gin think it particularly mattered anymore -- he wasn't keeping track, his sentence was quite the lengthy one. But it was surprising nonetheless to see Izuru here, in the damp darkness of his cell's dim lighting. He recalled being warned about how sad this day made his previous lieutenant by the new captain of the Third, at least in a hazy memory of the brief meeting the year prior. So why was Izuru here, then, if his existence was such a pained thing? Better to forget about him, to move on, to let the traitorous Shinigami rot down here.

There were rats, and in his absent-minded boredom Gin had given them a few names by now, too. Silly ones. It kept his humor from dying off completely.

Gin didn't move at first, didn't acknowledge Izuru's presence whilst he kept to his far corner, slumped and coiled inwards to rest his chin upon a propped knee held close to his marred chest. An ankle braced with chains had enough slack to allow the prisoner to walk forward unhindered up until he reached the bars to his cage, but that was when the length of chains grew tense -- and he'd have to reach out to grasp at the tray placed down in offering. Gin remained where he was, glancing toward Izuru in the flickering lantern's light haloing behind him.

❝ What're you doin' down here? ❞ Offering ignored, for now, Gin turned his head properly to regard the other Shinigami, nearly enshrouded in darkness save for the glint of light dancing across dirtied strands of silver. A gleam, subtle, met the glint of azure of an opened eye. Gin shifted, moving to stand with a sluggishness that spoke of ache and weakness -- reiatsu smothered with seals and body neglected and underfed, he was slow to approach the bars with the jingling drag and scrape of metal chain links following his steps. His ankle was rubbed raw and bruised at the joint where the restraint remained fastened.

Gin dipped back down into a crouch, coming further into the light's touch and revealing a worsened appearance than before -- dark undereye circles akin to bruises against pale flesh given a sickly tinge, hair unkempt and with a portion dyed by dried blood by his left temple. The prisoner lowered himself fully into a seated position, cracking a weakened smile at the sliced up arrangement, fondness bittersweet.

❝ You shouldn't've. ❞ He let that brimming nostalgia fuel a more fitting smile to mask the hurt, grinning wider and finding it in him to keep that expression in place. His eyes slid away into hiding once more, head bowing down a touch.

His remaining hand reached out to slide between the bars, albeit barely able to go beyond the tray's position flush against them, to fetch a slice of persimmon prepared by Izuru. He brought it to his mouth -- and bit, the subsequent taste so sweet that Gin's body felt a rush of rejection from head to toe, gut churning. How potent that sensation, feeling sick to his stomach. But he ate regardless, each and every last slice, and he did not bother to even pretend to ask if Izuru wanted a piece, to indulge in that old back and forth of theirs, already knowing the answer would remain the same as it always did.

[therealrpalmas]

Lost and Found

A silence followed. It seemed to last for hours. Then the reply from the computer: Flash message received.

Play.

"Mercutio? From yesterday? Where are you, what happened?"

Send reply. "Landslide. Near the border." Where? She tried to recall the map, but thinking was hard. "East-southeast, from where we met. Can't move."

"Fornication. Hold on, I'm coming."

The part of her mind which was only loosely connected to reality noted that the translation matrix had improved enough to understand the curses now.

"Not much choice," she flashed back and closed her eyes. Now all she had to do was to stay alive until help arrived.

Time became unhinged. Fluid. Sometimes she thought she heard voices, but it turned out to be the sound of wind and groaning rocks. Another tremor shook the ground. Pain flared up and she moaned again.

The belt pouches were crushed. She reached for them, hoping that she could find the mini-medkit. Her grabbing hand found the pouch. She noticed dimly it felt sticky and too flat. Still, she managed to open it and grab what was inside. Pulled it out. Looked at the sad remains of the miniature autodoc. Not that she figured it would be able to do much, but at least it could apply painkillers and tell her how bad it was.

She was thirsty again. Reached for a bottle which wasn't there. It was only then that she realised her backpack hadn't come with her when she translated herself. She looked around, insofar as possible, but couldn't find it. And the bottle had remained behind as well, and had probably rolled down after the last tremor. Or when she translated and the boulder fell and rolled away. Either way, the result was the same. No water.

The wind picked up, moaning through the hills, or were they actual voices this time? She realised, very belatedly, that she still had the camo field active. Or… was it still active? Probably crushed with the rest of her gear.

No, that wasn't the wind. Definitely voices, coming closer. She tried to call out for help, but couldn't manage more than a wheeze. The arm she wanted to raise to wave at them fell back almost right away.

"There! There she is!"

And now time clicked back. Footsteps, not running this time, but moving slowly over the unstable hill, slipping and sliding, muttered curses. She forced herself to open her eyes. In the early twilight she could see silhouettes, people struggling up the hill. When they came closer she recognised the three she had seen the day before, followed by a few others she hadn't seen yet.

Marelynah dropped down next to her and exclaimed: "Oh, fornication, what happened to you?" Someone else gave a startled, horrified scream.

Before she could answer, the older man said, in a tone of exasperation. "What, her again?"

Marelynah stil sounded shocked. "Excrement, Hyrall, I told you. She really needs our help now."

"What were you doing here anyway?"

It took her two tries to croak out: "Trying to leave."

"Where is your suit? Where are your friends?"

That's right, her sluggish mind informed her, they still thought she was a larper – whatever that was. Apparently larper (larping?) was something you did with friends.as

"Gone."

"What, they ran off and left you?" That was Marelynah.

Thinking, right now, was not her strong point. How to explain the fact she was alone? "We, ah…" Breathing was getting harder. Oh please, merciful stars, not another episode.

Marelynah made a curt gesture. "Never mind that, we need to get you out."

"I am not going to call the emergency services." That was the person called Hyrall.

"No, now, wait. What if we carry her out when it's dark and we call once we're on the other side?"

"Do you really want to lift her?"

She didn't want to ask just how bad it was. Bad enough from what she picked up. Facial expressions and gestures didn't mean much to her yet, they were not so universal as people seemed to think, but she could sense the shock of their minds.

"It's either that or calling them in, no?" Maralynah snapped.

"And how do you want to carry her? We don't have a stretcher or anything." That was Hyram again.

"Blanket. Spread it out, put her on it, each of us grab a corner. Lift her out that way. By the time we make it down it'll be dark."

"Excellent way to slip and fall down yourself," Hyram commented. "You know, figure it out yourself. I'm out of here."

"Sure, excement body opening, run off and leave us." That was someone she didn't know.

"Thank you, that's exactly what I'll do." And he turned around and walked away, further uphill.

"Anybody else who wants to leave?" Marelynah asked. Nobody else apparently took her up on the offer. She took a blanket out of her backpack and spread it out.

Seeing the backpack jolted her memories. "Have you… seen mine?" Again she had to repeat it a few times before they could make out the words.

"I'll go and look for it," someone she couldn't quite see said and moved away.

"Alright, Mercutio. We'll have to move you to get you on the blanket. It'll hurt. I'm sorry."

She sighed weakly. "Go."

Someone (Marelynah?) started to lift her. Blinding pain. More darkness.

And then there were minds, lots of minds, pressing against her feeble, failing shields, people moaning, people screaming, sick people, injured people, dying people. They pressed upon her, jolting her awake, no chance to escape back into the dark. Amplifying her own pain, stacking. What how where?

Open eyes, slowly, blinding light oh merciful stars. She blinked away tears. Through them she saw Marelynah sitting next to her. She tried to speak, but no sound came out at all.

Still, Marelynah seemed to understand her. "Emergency room. Yes, it's always this bad this close to the border. There's triage, they didn't even rate you as the highest priority. You'll have to wait. I'm sorry."

She tried to look around, but Marelynah stopped her. "Try not to move. There's no saying how much damage you've already sustained with us having to drag you here and all. If you're looking for the others, they're gone. Brought you out and left. I didn't want to leave you alone, though."

"T.. thanks." She couldn't even hear herself, but Marelynah seemed to understand her anyway.

"You're welcome."  

(To be continued)

[that-vicious-vixen-blog]

Airing my thoughts on 13 Reasons Why

What’s interesting is that I wasn’t passionately for or against the show until the last two episodes. I didn’t think it was good per se; character arcs were weak and not at all satisfying, plot points were left dangling, very few of the characters were likable...but we figured we’d finish it since we’d started it.

WARNING: this post will contain MASSIVE spoilers for the show 13 Reasons Why, as well as discussion of rape, mental illness, suicide, and all the other god-awful things that happen to these kids in this show. With that out in the open, click the cut for my bullet-point thoughts on the show.

1. These kids are deplorable. With the exception of Clay, Jessica, and MAYBE Sheri, I have a hard time feeling any sympathy for the myriad of monsters and bullies that were thrown at me. The harder I think about a character the more I dislike them, remembering issues they could have tackled or times they could have stood up for someone. And don’t pull that “they’re teenagers, they’re developing!” bullshit on me. If I had the opportunity to stop a rape I would have. I got a kid suspended from our high school for telling a girl he WANTED her to be raped. Marcus and Courtney were gross and more concerned with being the best than helping people in need. Justin, Alex, and Zach VERY ardently protected a rapist from being exposed. Am I supposed to feel bad for Tyler? He was a sexual predator. I don’t fucking pity him. 

And you keep waiting for someone to learn a lesson! You keep waiting for someone to change, to make the right decision, to step forward! And they don’t! Sure, they all start to come clean at the deposition, but that only seems to be out of fear of getting in worse trouble for getting busted. Alex FINALLY shows that one of them can feel remorse and he attempts suicide over it! Awesome message, show!!!

2. Wow. Clay is fucked up for life. ”Clay, you shouldn’t be on those tapes because you’re a good person but once when we were about to have sex I told you to stop and you didn’t push. You should have pushed!” Are. You. Kidding. Me. Like. Was I supposed to find him problematic because he’s a shy kid who didn’t always know what the fuck was going on? And now he’s being tormented through these tapes and by the kids at school, nasty little punks who don’t want to take any accountability. Also, remember how I mentioned dangling plot points? What the fuck happened to those hallucinations he was having? The poor got hit in the head MULTIPLE times, was clearly suffering a concussion, and they never touched on it again. I was in so much pain watching HIM in pain. And then his suffering was for nothing. Yes, he got Bryce’s confession, but we got no confirmation that the little bastard ever had charges pressed against him. 

“Am I the reason Hannah Baker killed herself?” “Yes.” NO. No Clay, you are not at fault for Hannah’s death. And it is wrong and disgusting that you never got to learn that in the show. You can’t love away someone’s mental illness, their hopelessness. And no one, not Hannah, not Tony, not you yourself, have any right to put her death on you.

3. What the fuck was that ending? So you’re giving us this bit of hope through Clay reaching out to Skye. He gives a big speech to the shitty guidance counselor about how we have to try better, to do more for each other, which I can totally get behind (though it’s not your fault Clay). And then we find out that Alex tried to kill himself and Tyler is planning on shooting up the school. WHAT THE FUUUUCK DUDE? You’ve completely taken away from whatever weak ass ending/lesson you were going for. Instead, you’ve shown that there’s no hope for any of these kids. Justin leaves town to go who the fuck knows where. Do you think he’s going to have any luck on his own? Alex is dying. More kids are going to die at Tyler’s hand (again Tyler you’re no fucking innocent you’re a predator). Jessica sure as hell ain’t going to be fine. Also, Clay’s relationship with his mother is a loose thread just hanging around for no reason. We see her finding out he had the tapes, and then nothing. Show’s done. 

4. Man, what were those parents? It’s like the show’s entire attitude towards parenting was, “Eh, they suck as guardians but they’re well meaning.” Each kid on that show had the exact same set of parents for chrissakes. 

5. Okay, let’s discuss the suicide and rape scenes. They were graphic. Incredibly graphic. During one of the rape scenes (there are two instances, one is shown multiple times) the camera was zoomed in on Hannah’s face and you could see her body rocking as Bryce thrust into her. For a while. During the suicide, we were treated to the image of Hannah actually cutting her wrists as she cried out in pain and struggled to finish the task. We saw her parents find her body in the bathtub, saw their breakdown (I got to watch my parents sit with my brother’s dead body. Kate Walsh deserves an Emmy. It hurt to watch). We saw it all. And it was filmed beautifully. And that makes me nauseous. 

6. Did we learn anything from this? I’ll level with you. I’ve been a victim of penetrative rape (not that non-penetrative isn’t just as traumatic). I’ve lost someone very close to me before either of us graduated high school. I’ve messaged my therapist at three in the morning because I wanted to hurt myself and I was scared and didn’t know what to do. I’ve fucking been there, again and again. And I came out okay. I was one of the lucky ones.

I felt no hope at the end of this show. I didn’t feel like anyone could walk out of it understanding mental illness, or victim’s rights, or rape culture, or anything that could save these kids from the bleak world they (we) live in. It didn’t tell kids how they could survive these social trip-mines unless you have a tape recorder and you don’t mind taking a beating to get someone’s confession. I walked out feeling sad, and broken, and tired, and hopeless. And that’s not something you can risk, with the type of people this show is going to attract. It makes me genuinely afraid for anyone who might go into this show not having a decent idea of what they’re getting into.

But hey, it’s the most Tweeted about show of 2017. Congratulations.

-

If you’re having thoughts of self-harm and suicide, please reach out.

If you’ve been the victim of sexual abuse, you have options and you have my support.

[katsukikitten]

Part one. Master list for plus one can be found here.

Just a nice fic I decided to write for fun. Please enjoy!

Asshole!

He was nothing but a huge, giant fucking ASSHOLE for the entire two years the two of you were dating and he decides NOW is a good time to break up with you?

Two days before your cousin's wedding and over TEXT MESSAGE?!

That fucking asshole.

He knew how you felt. Exactly how you felt about going alone to your cousin's wedding after your family begged to meet your boyfriend and teased you for "probably making him up." Which hell, he may as well have been made up considering how absent he was in the relationship. Using work as an excuse to come home late but forgetting to turn off his snap location when he showed up at the bar.

So you did what any rational woman in her upper twenties would do.

You drowned your sorrows in booze, tonight red wine as it was the only thing around, and you scrolled through your socials in hopes of distracting yourself from your suffering.

Alas the devil that is Instagram only amplified your sadness and irritation. Showing couple after couple, your friends on hikes kissing on the mountain top, kissing in the flickering light of candles at a fancy dinner or, worst yet, getting proposed to. The video showing her in hysterics screaming, "YES I DO I DO!"

And it feels terrible to feel this way. Especially about your friends, the people you love and want to support, still it stings. You hadn't told anyone about the breakup, you weren't even sure your friends even remembered that asshole's name.

A teardrop lands on your screen, magnifying all the magical lights of the led beneath the glad. You wipe away the tear and with that the feed refreshes. A new post has come in at the top, Res Riot's official account.

Kirishima stands with a fat white cat in his arms. He dwarfs the animal with his large stature that looks larger as he still has his Red Riot gear on. The caption reads something along the lines of "missed my precious baby."

Red wine is a dangerous thing as your body acts on its own. You go to his page to hit the little arrow to DM him. Typing out and backspacing your message as you struggle from the booze, you decide to say fuck it and use the voice memo feature. Before you know it your sniffling voice is playing back to you after you've hit send.

"My ex broke up with me before this stupid wedding. It's in two days and my family is going to roast me big time when I show up alone. They think I made that asshole up. I don't know why I'm even in your dms. Your account is probably run by some dick head who can't even capture your kindness. I guess I'm here cause my first thought seeing you on my timeline was Red Riot has always been my hero…"

Ugh totally fucking cringe.

There is no surprise as you see the three normally ominous dots pop up, probably his social media manager about to ask you to stop your "advances" as Kirishima is too busy to date and he'd hate to block you or some other bullshit.

But there it is a surprise to see a little bubble with the play button and some vertical lines in various heights. It takes your sluggish brain a moment to realize you've been sent a voice memo. Odd. Your thumb smashes the screen faster than you can think and a deep voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone.

"Actually I run my official and personal socials. And I'm sorry to hear about your ex doll. He sounds like a real ass. I'll be your hero, I'll go with you to the wedding."

Your heart stutters, no way, no way in HELL this was Red Riot. You had read about the horror stories before or pervy account managers taking advantage of women who so desperately wanted to talk to their hero.

Hell, it's happened to Dynamight plenty of times.

You swallow quickly but the bile rushes up your throat. Not just from the anxiety of a possible con but from drinking an entire bottle of wine with nothing on your stomach after months of sobriety. Quickly you stumble to the bathroom, abandoning your phone on your bed. You barely make it in time to praise the porcelain Gods before you fall onto your back. Looking up at the light in your cramped bathroom, the orb doubles and spins as you feel the Earth turning on its axis. You curl into your side using your bathmat as a pillow as you drift off into sleep, totally forgetting about the voice memo on your phone.

As you sleep peacefully on your memory foam bath rug, Kirishima settles into his nightly routine. One giant hand grabbing strands of long dark red hair into a towel while another sits snugly around his Adonis belt and the thick, black happy trail that follows up the center of his abs before spreading out onto his chest. He tosses the towel over the open door of the bathroom before sitting in his favorite armchair with phone in hand. Diamond, his beautiful white cat he rescued a few years ago, jumps onto the arm of the chair, purring loudly when Kirishima's free hand scratches her ears absentmindedly.

He chuckles to himself as he realizes exactly what he's done. Acting on a feeling instead of logic all because he heard a "damsel in distress." Starting off his rare vacation with spontaneity starting with an impromptu date with a stranger. He really isn't sure what you look like and it's obvious your handle doesn't have your real name in it, just PrincessPeach with some random numbers at the end. He takes the time to scroll through your profile. Seeing pictures of food, of many sunsets, a friend's dog that guest appears often, your own cat and plenty of strays.

It takes him a while before he sees a photo of you. His heart stutters in his chest as he looks you over. Laughing with a friend, soft lighting from strings over head that blur like little fireflies. Your smile is wide, half hidden by your hands as your eyes seem to smile with you. Sparkling as if they held stars.

For a moment Kirishima forgets how to breathe, it isn't until Diamond jumps down from the armchair does he inhale. He smiles softly to himself before he drops his towel, puts his phone on charge and promptly falls asleep in his bed.

Kirishima rises before the sun even has a chance to filter through his blinds. He sighs softly, getting up to a sitting position disturbing a fluffy white ball that lays beside him.

"Mmrow." Moon stone eyes blink slowly as they look at the mountainous man hogging the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you sweet baby." He says softly, going to pet the soft white fur only for her to get up stretch and give him her butt before plopping back down.

"I know, mean ol' daddy woke you up too early again." He says softly, his hand falling onto her back before he rises from the bed. Fishing for his running shorts, socks, headphones and shoes. He makes his protein shake, leaning on the counter as he drinks it, looking at how you read, or better yet, listened to his message but still no reply. It was late and there was a small slurring of your words, he figures you've passed out. He just hopes you're okay.

His run goes as usual, up before anyone else unless they were the normal avid runner. Passing by the usual array of people. An old man holding onto his youth by jogging through his daily five mile morning run, Kirishima knows he runs another five in the evening while the sun is setting. He hopes he can embody some of this man's commitment when he is older. Then he passes a middle aged woman, who gives him the biggest smile as she pases, jogging backward to send him a wink before plowing ahead. Occasionally he'll see a running group or a few teens training to be heroes, they always ask if they can run his route. "It's long." He always warns in a kind, warm voice. They assure him they will be fine so far only one other person could handle his 12 mile morning run. A young woman in her second year of hero courses at UA. Since then Kirishima put in a word with his boss and so every time internships roll around she's in the office.

By the time Kirishima is rounding back towards his high rise apartment, the city begins to stir. Slowly waking as men and women in business suits rush towards the train, parents flinging open the doors or curtains fussing at their children who cling to an extra few minutes of sleep before school.

This was always his favorite part of the run, not because it was almost over, oh no it was because he had a chance to glimpse at everyday life. Of nine to fives, of school hours and after school hangs outs at snack bars or the library.

What most would call the mundane but Kirishima would never call it that. It's why he worked so hard to protect it.

Diamond greets his sweaty form at the door. Glaring angrily with her moon stone eyes. Tail swishing before she goes to the kitchen by her bowl. Waiting impatiently.

"I'm not late, sweet cheeks." He coos, and she glares, "I know I know. You're hungry now."

He opens the fridge, gets out the highest quality food there is and places it on her dish, sure to keep it all in the middle or she'll claim her bowl was empty. He added a splash of water too since the weather was starting to get hot.

He sucks down a water or two, demolishes a protein bar and then heads to the apartment gym.

A few hours roll by and without hearing from you yet his worry over your well being begins to cloud the forefront of his mind. He pauses his music, picks up his phone and talks out a voice memo.

A loud DING echoes from your room and around your skull as you rise with a throbbing headache.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself grabbing at your head as you shakily rise to your feet. Yanking the handle of the faucet to drink from the stream before looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Ugh." You grunt ignoring your swollen face and eyes, yanking the mirror door open to snatch at the bottle of aspirin. Swallowing THREE extra strength pills before slamming the door shut and turning off the faucet. You make your way towards your bedroom, more than ready to sleep the rest of your day away. Grabbing at your phone to charge it you see the push notification of an Instagram message from Red Riot.

The fucking Red Riot.

Internally you scream before it bubbles up your throat and escapes. You fumble to unlock your phone before looking that it's a voice memo.

Mortified you realize you sent one too. And first at that.

"Fuck MEEE!" You plop onto the bed. Nervous this second voice memo is probably about how you're a weirdo or something as you relive the memory of asking him to be your plus one.

Hesitantly your thumb hovers over the play button before you find the strength to press the cool glass. A soft thunderous voice plays out.

"Good morning sleepy head. I haven't heard from you yet, I hope you're okay. Be sure to drink some water and eat something greasy. Trust me, late nights with Denki and Bakugou taught me something. Since the wedding is tomorrow I'll need a picture of your dress for the color and style so I can match you Sweet pea. Contact me soon so I can know where to pick you up."

Did he… did he just call you SWEET PEA? Your heart pounds in your chest before it registers he's asked for your dress color and lowkey asked for your address. This couldn't be real. It sounded like Kirishima, his voice familiar from interviews you've watched but it very well could be a prank. Defeated you hit the small microphone and reply.

Kirishima hears a sharp DING in his headphones over his music as he finishes his set. He wipes the sweat from his face on his shirt giving the few people in the gym a lovely view of his sweaty and thick torso. One woman trips on the treadmill but it goes unnoticed by Kirishima. He pauses his music and hits play on the little memo. Your beautiful yet groggy voice comes in through his ear buds causing Kirishima to bite his lip. It causes such a flutter of butterflies in his stomach he has to listen a second time to actually hear what you said. Although he understand, he cannot help but feel hurt by your reply.

"How do I know you're not just some pervy guy using Kirishima's Godly looks to prey on unsuspecting people."

Your phone chirps at you from the bed stand and you growl reaching for it. You had hoped your message would have been clear. An unspoken of you know they're a fucking creep taking advantage of their PR job.

"What can I do to prove it to you, Sweet Pea?"

You hate how that cute nickname sends your heart into a somersault and your stomach in delightful knots. Still your doubt pulls a harsh tut from your lips before you reply.

Kirishima doesn't need his phone to alert him that you've messaged him, he's been looking at his screen for far to long without having to restart his set. He listens to your voice as if it were music.

"Fine, you wanna prove it to me so bad. Take a picture of yourself shirtless with the word 'Sweet pea' you love so much and send it to me. No photoshop I know what my favorite hero looks like!"

For over an hour you don't hear back and you figure you showed that perv.

But now you can't sleep so you nurse a water, door dash a "greasy" breakfast all before cranking your shower as high as it can go. Your phone dings and you try to ignore it. You really do but as the saying goes curiosity killed the cat. Opening the message you see a classic guy mirror selfie. Kirishima is clear as day in the photo, his large hand pointing to his bare, hairy chest where sweat pea is scrawled in his adorable handwriting. He winks at the camera as his kissable lips wear a dangerous, almost cocky eyes travel down his bulk following his happy trail that dives under a pair of black shorts, the best part of the view getting cut off by the vanity. At first you try to rationalize that this was fake but damning evidence was sitting on the vanity. A fluffy white cat in a diamond and ruby encrusted collar sits on the counter giving her owner an odd look.

His cat Diamond that everyone knows he loves and adores. Slick begins to collect between your thighs and especially so after you listen to the voice memo that comes through shortly after. His normally friendly and soft voice comes out a bit dark, husky as he says in a playfully annoyed tone.

"Now send me a picture of that dress, Sweet Pea."

[keity-devil]

I have this idea like, two days ago, and now it's here.

Context.

From @breathlessmorro beautiful SCP (Ninjago) Au.

--

After Nine Days After Suffocation

--

The first day after suffocation.

Morro was waiting, he didn't know what he was waiting... Oh, Kai. He still felt awful after that.. suffocation.. that he was forced to do to Nya. He didn't want that, but it happens. It was awful, he didn't think he was ever going to do that to anyone he cared about ever..

Half the day had passed and no sign from Kai. Morro's wind had become choppy, as had his form of air. An equally agitated smile had appeared on his face, a hurt one.

"It's okay. It's with Nya. It's okay.. H-he needs space. To calm down. Yes.. A day or two is fine. Mhm. I can resist.."

The day after suffocation.

Morro felt suffocated, smiling in pain. He flew slowly from one corner to the other, looking at the bars with sadness every time, after at his hands. Transparent.. wounded.. Criminal.

"..With these hands that possess power I made her unconscious.. I hurt her.." His voice broke at the end. "I'm really a monster."

The third day after suffocation.

"I'm sure he'll come tomorrow, I'm sure of that!" He was lying to himself. He knew deep inside, but he still hoped... a lot.

He could feel the soul that was still in him alive, breaking in two. It was painful how the person he cared about so much, loved him with all his heart, trusted him... to hate him, not to talk to him, not to want to look at him at all. It hurt terribly. He could feel a terrible pain in his heart, causing him to fall into a dark corner of the cell and lie there for the rest of the day.

The fourth day after suffocation.

He had not appeared.

Morro listened in horror to the silence around him, from the same place where he had fallen the day before.

'I lost him... he hates me..'

The wind had become cold, sharp, beginning to hurt him, making visible signs on the human side of him that could be seen a little in its incomplete form of wind.

'I deserve it... fully.'

He closed his eyes, letting the depressing, brutal wind in him to hurt him.

The fifth day after suffocation.

A sphere created of sadness, despair, hatred of oneself and other thoughts and feelings that Morro could not decipher, is created overnight in that cell filled with pain.

The wind became uncontrollable and brutal minute by minute. No one touched him or approached at all. They did not know what was happening to him if he had succeeded, but they were interested in his evolution, in the evolution of his inexplicable pain for them.

Surprisingly, Kai hadn't found out about this. He hadn't heard anything about it. If he had, he would have been with him already.

The sixth day after suffocation.

"It's ok.. it's ok! I knew this relationship will not stay.. It's OK!! It's ok..! It's ok..!"

If you went inside, you could feel yourself running out of oxygen. He was cold, sharp, brutal, full of sadness and other negative emotions in him. You could tell that his condition was slowly getting worse. A broken heart is the deadliest, it can kill you easily, slowly... but lethally.

The seventh day after suffocation.

The wind stopped a little. The sphere slowly evaporates overnight. Morro now possessed wounds on his skin, and others would soon accompany them.

The eighth day after suffocation.

The wind subsided, leaving a windless owner with no strength or hope in him. He stared blankly into the outside of the cell.

"Heh.." A small shattered smile appeared on his lips. "He hates me.. hehe.. he..."

However, some of him zealously refused. In his mind.. come as if by a miracle the desire to go to him the next day, at least to see him..

The ninth day after suffocation.

Morro had had enough, having the courage to escape containment. There had been gusts of wind. The gusts were sluggish. They were not fast and agile as usual, they were wounded and easy to catch.

Crossing the hallways to Nya's cell, there.. he had seen Kai with his sister. Morro felt himself suffocate again with fear, but he was also calm that Nya was better.

He approached her, slowly playing powerlessly with her hair.

Kai felt something strange suddenly enter the atmosphere of the cell. He look around for that. Nothing. When he returned, he could see how his sister's hair was lightly beaten by the wind.

He sighed.

He realized who was, it wasn't that hard. He was trying to remember/count how many days he hadn't spoken and seen Morro. Nine days.. nine days. There were many. What if Morro hadn't appeared now? Would he have continued to avoid him?

He sighed again.

"Morro, I know you're here. Come out. You don't have to hide." He said calmly.

The Soul of the Wind perishes for short seconds. It didn't matter how calm or gentle Kai's voice was, how he was.. he was scared. He become visible.

Kai looked at him for a while. Something was... off. But he didn't know what. He couldn't see what was it.

"Morro, I.. I'm sorry I didn't stop by your cell. I wanted to calm down.. I knew that my sister's suffocation was not intentional, it was forced.. but I felt like I was getting mad there."

'Because of me... It's my fault!'

"Angry that you were forced to do this and because Nya was in pain, not at you." He finishes, now looking at Morro's own scared and guilty eyes. "No... don't tell me you thought- Morro.. Oh no, no, no! I'm not angry at you, hey."

Morro could no longer control his emotions. No longer hearing the voice of his love, he wanted to cry there, to run, to disappear from the face of the earth. That's not because of his destabilized emotions.

The wounds were visible. Kai hadn't noticed them, he was too worried about Morro's emotional state. But Nya.. YES. She put her hand to her mouth in shock, she couldn't believe what she saw.

"Morro," Kai continued.. until he looked closely at Morro's appearance. "What.. what happened to you..?! Why- " He had taken his hands, still looking at the wounds. "You would... no.. you wouldn't do that. You wouldn't do that. Right? Morro, right? Right?!"

Morro looked down, nodding. Kai felt that he had made a huge mistake to stay away from his love for so long, especially after what happened...

"Nya.. can I.."

"Of course. Go." Nya understood what he wanted to say, and she agreed. He also wanted Morro to be emotionally well.

"Thanks."

He took his boyfriend from one place to another. Kai sat down, and Morro sat down next to him. He would usually put his head on the fiery shoulder and hold his hand. But now Morro was afraid to do it. What if it hurt him too? He would not forgive himself till his death.

Kai took Morro's hand in his, squeezing it slowly. "Hey, I love you. I'm not leaving you, I'm here.. with you."

Morro stared at him, feeling that pain in his heart again. He leaned over Kai, slowly tucking his head under his neck. The gusts of wind were just as weak.. but gentle.

"Everything's fine.. okay?"

Morro approves with a kiss, after.. they start to enjoy each other..

After Nine Days After Suffocation.

[sleepdeprivedsloth]

OMG YES you don't understand how excited it makes me to see your requests open! I've been waiting for this moment for so long!! XD I would freakin LOVE to see what you do with Hinata and Kageyama! I personally prefer their platonic relationship and lee Kageyama has my whole heart, but I'd be 100% happy with whatever you decide to do!! For the numbers, maybe #6 and #19? Thanks so much for opening requests! I'm so excited you don't understandddd!!! <3 (Also I hope you feel better soon! ^^)

a/n: thank you so much for all the kind words!! ik it's been a (very long) while since the last time i posted, and i sincerely apologize for the wait! I"M SO GLAD THAT YOU REQUESTED PLATONIC KAGEYAMA AND HINATA BC THEIR FRIENDSHIP WAS SO FUN TO WRITE IN THIS!! hope you all enjoy :)

Someone Admitting Something

[Haikyuu - Hinata, Kageyama]

words: 1.4 k

#6: “Don’t you even dare touch me…”

#19: “Geez! You sure do squirm a lot!”

--

Some setter you turned out to be. Kageyama winced at the internal criticism, his movements sluggish as he packed up his belongings in the club room. Can’t even control something as simple as your timing.

It wasn’t even a real game, just another practice match against Seijoh, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t matter. Kageyama was off his game right from the start; the ball sat uncomfortably in his hands at every serve, his fingers clumsy with every set. He was losing more points than gaining, until he was benched and Sugawara subbed in for him. After Suga came into the picture, Karasuno was luckily able to turn the match around and earn a win against Abajo Sai. No thanks to Kageyama.

Why are you even on the team when you can’t help out during a match? Kageyama closed his eyes and sighed, feeling completely and utterly defeated.

“What’s taking you so long, slowpoke?” Kageyama’s eyes snapped open at the voice. Looking around, he realized that he and none other than Hinata Shoyo were the last two left. “Are you trying to race me to see who can take the longest to leave?!”

Kageyama looked back to Hinata with the most deadpan expression he could manage, hoping that his face was conveying just how stupid this thought was.

Unfortunately, the message went straight over the ginger’s head. “Ha! I accept your reverse-race challenge! Prepare to lose, Crappyama!” he exclaimed as he bent over to start untying his shoelaces in a slow motion type manner.

Kageyama only shook his head and continued to pack his things away, for once ignoring the childish competition proposed by his teammate.

“Kageyama?” Hinata asked, beginning to sense that something was off. The Kageyama he knew would never turn down a chance to one-up him, even if it was something as silly as a slow-mo race. “You doing okay, dude?”

“Do you prefer me or Sugawara?”

Utterly confused, Hinata could only respond with, “Huh??”

Kageyama looked down, his bangs covering over his eyes. “As a setter. Do you prefer to hit sets from me or Suga?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one! I prefer both of you!” Hinata replied, not missing a beat. “You guys are both super talented and experienced, so there’s no way I could only choose one of you.”

“Even after today?” Kageyama spoke barely above a whisper, his voice quieted by shame and regret. “Even after I was so useless to the team that Coach put me on the bench?”

Suddenly, Kageyama felt a pair of arms wrap around his lower ribs from behind him in a tight embrace. After the initial flinch from the unexpected contact, he looked back and saw a mess of orange hair pressed against his spine.

“Is this sad mood really because of the practice match?” Hinata mumbled into Kageyama’s back, sending shivers to run through the ravenette’s body. “It was one off day, dude. One bad game doesn’t determine your worth as a setter, especially when you’ve had so many great and amazing days!”

Kageyama shrugged away from Hinata’s hug and turned to face his teammate, raising his voice to argue, “All of those other days don’t matter if I can’t give you a good set when it actually counts!”

Throwing his arms exasperatedly into the air, Hinata was quick to shout back. “That’s why you have a whole team to back you up, stupid! If you give a bad set, the spikers will adjust. If your serves suck ass, we’ll prepare to go on the defense. If you’re feeling off your game, the team’s got your back! Coach didn’t put you on the bench because he thinks that you’re a bad setter, otherwise you wouldn’t be on the starting lineup! Suga subbed in for you to help out. That’s what a team does, for crying out loud!”

Kageyama could only stare into Hinata’s eyes, mouth slightly agape out of shock. He certainly didn’t expect to be lectured into feeling better. But the setter had to admit: his teammate wasn’t wrong.

“You got that, Sulkyama?!”

“Uh, yeah,” Kageyama breathed out, snapping out of his thoughts with a teasing smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, Shorty.”

Hinata crossed his arms in front of his chest and spoke with a playful sternness, “I don’t want a ‘thank you,’ I want you to admit it is okay for everyone to have bad days.”

With his usual, competitive attitude having returned, Kageyama challenged, “Isn’t my ‘thanks’ good enough for you? No way you’re getting my gratitude and me admitting anything as silly as that.”

“Oh yeah?” Hinata asked with a raised eyebrow, taking a step closer to his friend. “I bet I could make you.”

“Mhm, and how would you manage to do that?”

“I have my ways,” the ginger teased, raising his hands up and wiggling his fingers threateningly towards Kageyama.

The ravenette’s eyes widened, a wobbly smile already finding a place on his flustered face, knowing from experience what Hinata’s go-to cheer up tactic was. Backing away slowly, Kageyama warned, “Don’t you even dare touch me, you human tanger-IHIHIHIHINE! Nohohohoho!”

Before he could even finish, the shorter boy had rushed over and latched his hands onto Kageyama’s sides, wiggling all ten of his fingers into the sensitive flesh. And poor Kageyama had no time to even try and resist the bouts of laughter that started to flow out of him. Curse Hinata’s stupidly fast reflexes!

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that over your helpless laughter,” the ginger teased, moving his hands down to squeeze at Kageyama’s hips. The ravenette’s knees buckled as he slid down to the floor, but nevertheless Hinata’s ever-relentless squeezes followed. “Is there something you wanna admit for me, Sulkyama?”

“NahaHAHAhaha!!” Kageyama writhed underneath Hinata’s hands from his position on the floor, but despite his best efforts, he just couldn’t dislodge his friend’s torturous hands from his hips. “Gehehet your hands OHOHOFFA MEHEHEHE! Thehehere’s nothing to admiHIHIHIT!”

Hinata stopped his squeezes, but kept his hands firmly in place holding Kageyama down as he clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. “Nothing? Huh, that’s weird,” he spoke as his hands slithered down to rest on top of the ravenette’s thighs.

Kageyama’s breath hitched from the subtle contact, eyes widening in a giddy horror. “W-wait, no-”

“Because I could’ve sworn that someone needed to admit something,” Hinata gave a small squeeze to Kageyama’s thighs, watching with a smirk as the taller boy shrieked with a full body jolt. “And y’know what? This would be a perfect time to admit something before someone gets tickle-tickled somewhere that’s a little too tickle-ticklish~”

“Nohohoho!!” Kageyama’s hands grabbed desperately at Hinata’s, trying anything to get them off of him. Just the mere presence of those small torturous squeezers on his thighs was enough to make him giggle uncontrollably. “Nohohot thehehere! Plehehease, anywhere-”

“Anywhere but here?” Hinata teased with a few quick pinches. “Poor, ticklish Tobio. Whatever shall he do?”

“Nahahahaha, stahahahahahap!!”

“You know what I wanna hear, Ticklyama!” Finished with the taunting touches, Hinata grabbed onto the outer sides of Kageyama’s thighs and dug in with all his might, wiggling his fingers deep into the flesh.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NONONOHOHOHOHO!” Kageyama’s legs began kicking spontaneously, his waist bucking up into the air in a fruitless attempt to lessen the strong tickly sensations traveling throughout his entire lower body. “STAHAHAHAHAP!! PLEHEHEASE, I-IHIHI CAHAHAN’T!”

“Geez, Kageyama! You sure do squirm a lot!” Hinata exclaimed playfully, keeping a firm grip on his friend’s legs. “You know how to make me stop, just stop being so damn stubborn!”

“OKAHAHAY FIHIHINE!!” Kageyama gathered up all of his remaining strength and admitted in a single breath, “EVERYOHONE HAS BAHAHAD DAHAHAYS AND THAHAT’S OKAHAHAY!! NOW STOHOHOP!”

“Hmm, how about you also admit that you have a stupid face?” the ginger teased.

“SHOHOHOHOYO!!”

“Okay, okay, i guess you’ve had enough,” Hinata spoke with a fond smile, taking his hands off of Kageyama’s thighs after a few final pinches. After bouncing back onto his feet, he extended a hand towards his giggly friend and helped him off of the ground. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah, thahahanks,” Kageyama nodded his head as the last of his chuckles and titters slipped out. “Yohou can really be a little shihihit sometimes, you knohow that?”

“Oh please, you know you love it~”

“What?! Take that back, you turd face!”

“NAHAHAHA!! Wahahait, Kageyamahaha, I take it back! I TAHAHAKE IT BAHAHACK!!”

--

a/n: thanks for reading everyone! life update post coming soon :)

[mikkomacko]

Toothpaste smears at the corners of his mouth as he scrubs the brush over his teeth, the white foam getting dangerously close to dripping down his chin. Y/n eyes his reflection in her bathroom mirror, swiping a cotton ball of toner over the bridge of her nose. Last minute, Harry leans over the sink and spits, turning the faucet on to rinse his mouth and messy chin.

"One of these days you're going to drip toothpaste on your toes and I'm not going to help you clean it." She says, now reaching for her night serum. Harry scoffs, towel pressed to his face as he turns to face her. He drops the cloth on the counter, wiggling his butt onto the countertop.

"I've been brushing my teeth for over 20 years. Know what m'doing." He argues, eyebrows furrowing as he watches her rub the moisturizer into her skin. He does that often when they get ready for bed together, watching her skincare routine as if he were going to be rigorously tested on it later. But he never comments on it other than the occasional "that smells good" or "made ya all soft" when he presses a kiss to her cheek.

She's always wondered why he's so interested in it and apparently tonight is the night she gets some answers.

"Have ya always used all that stuff darling?"

Surprised, her eyebrows raise just the slightest bit, but she does her best to remain casual when she speaks. "Started having like a real routine a few years ago."

Harry hums, reaching for the dropper she'd previously held in her hand. He squints, reading over the label as she takes a chance to prod more. "Why bub?"

Innocently, he peers up at her through his eyelashes. "Don't know," he shrugs, "just never knew so much went into cleaning ya face. Thought some people just have good skin and others have bad."

He then reaches for her moisturizer, reading that bottle too. "There's no good or bad skin" she responds, "for some people acne is more manageable. For others it requires more time and probably money too. And some people just don't want to mess with their spots or marks. It's all normal."

Placing the products back on the counter, he gently reaches up to run his thumb over the pink bow on her headband. "So ya don't think I have bad skin?"

His tone is neutral, but a little too forced for him and she realizes why he examines her so closely when she takes care of her skin.

She lets her gaze meet his. "No Harry you don't have bad skin." She says earnestly. "You have very pretty skin. Look at how shiny your cheekbones always are." Harry smiles softly when she cups his face, running the pad of her thumb over his natural highlight.

"I've got a lot of spots though." He argues, reaching up to take her hand in his. Y/n shrugs, resting her hip against the counter. She can finish in a sec, right now she needs to talk to her extremely adorable boyfriend.

"You breakout because you workout everyday and you don't really have a routine Harry. But that doesn't make you gross or bad or anything. It's just normal."

He hums again, chewing on his bottom lip and dropping his gaze to their hands. He looks...upset. A little sad about her words. Y/n squeezes his fingers, drawing his attention back to her face.

"If you want to you can use my stuff tonight and if you like it we'll get you some too?"

Immediately his eyes light up, lips spreading into a smile. "You'd do that with me? Like show me how and everything?"

Y/n giggles, her heart wanting to burst with love for the man in front of her. "Of course I would. Can even use my other headband."

"The one with the bunny ears?"

She nods, amused by his eagerness. "Okay." He says, rising from the counter and releasing her hand to dig through the drawer for her white bunny headband. She gets him a clean towel while he slips the cotton over his head, pushing it up his forehead so the ears rest just in front of the frizzy bun on his head.

While Harry lathers her cleanser into his face, paying special attention to his forehead and hairline, y/n rolls her jade stone over her face before cleaning it for Harry. She can't help but giggle at the way his face crinkles and pouts as he focuses, his tongue poking out of his mouth.

"M'being thorough." He mumbles, not even glancing at her. Once his face has been rinsed and dried, she instructs him to sit back on the countertop. Harry does so, excitement buzzing from him as she stands between his thighs.

He's watching her intently when she reaches for the toner and serum he loves so much, and she takes a moment to button their mouths together. Sometimes it's difficult for her to imagine this man in a boxing ring, fighting simply because he loves it. Harry gently takes a hold of her waist, tilting his chin up so she can better apply it to his face.

"The toner cleans your face a bit more and gets off extra dirt and stuff that the wash didn't get." She explains, swiping the cotton ball over every inch of his face. He hums his acknowledgement, trying not to move when she drips serum onto his cheeks and forehead.

"This moisturizes. It's the stuff that smells real good too." Harry fights back a small smile, a sluggish blink dulling his eyes. They still brim with happiness, but he looks peaceful, enjoying the feeling of her fingers massaging his cheeks and jaw. She wipes her hands off, reaching for the little tube next.

"This is pimple cream. You just put it on where you actually have noticeable pimples but only a bit or it'll burn and itch." She says, squeezing some on her pointer finger. Then she dabs it to his face, remaining gentle.

"Wha's next?" He finally questions, his accent thicker with sleepiness. Y/n smiles, adjusting the crooked headband on his forehead.

"Moisturizer. Then roller."

Harry's head lulls back when she applied the moisturizer to his face, rubbing small circles into his soft skin. His whole body has melted into a cooked noodle-like state, a lazy smile on his lips. Before he can fall asleep on the counter, y/n gently rolls the stone up his neck and under his jaw. His eyes flutter shut, a satisfied purr rumbling his chest when she rolls it over his cheeks and under his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep on me baby," she murmurs gently, rolling over his cheeks and under his eyes. He hums, smiling peacefully at the feeling of the massager.

"Didn't know it felt so relaxing," he whispers "no wonder you're also so sleepy after this."

She finishes with the bridge of his nose, sealing the process with a kiss to his nose. "You're so handsome Harry," she says after she's put the roller away. He blinks his eyes open, cheeks squished when she cups his face. "Spots or no spots I've never seen another man as beautiful as you."

A blush rises to his dimpled cheeks. "Thank you darling, I like when you call me beautiful."

"Yeah?"

Bashfully, he nods. "Makes me feel....soft. Or gentle ya know?"

She looks over his face, heart softening at the bunny ears on his head and the sleepiness of his eyes, and she thinks about he spends his life doing violent things but he's really just a teddy bear at heart. All he needed was for someone to love that side of him as well.

"I'll always tell you that you're beautiful." She promises, giggling when he pecks a few kisses to her jaw.

"Beautiful, but manly right?"

Snickering, she nods. "The manliest bub."

[kotachii]

Beauty Sleep

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

Synopsis: You were staying up late cramming for an exam and Sanji catches you.

      You stared at your textbook trying to cram in the last bit for your exam tomorrow. The glow of your computer screen illuminated your eyes, with dark circles underneath. You downed another cup of coffee, and you're all out. Again. You got out of your seat, it was already way past midnight but you can't sleep just yet. You crept down the stairs, careful to not make it creak. You didn't want to wake Sanji up. He will be worried.

       You entered the dark kitchen, ready to make more coffee. As you pour the boiling water through the filter, you accidentally burnt yourself. By instinct, you let go of the entire pot of water. Smooth (Name). Hot water spilled onto the kitchen tile. You cursed at yourself for being so sluggish, so stupid. If anyone else was here, they would of known that it was because of your sleep deprivation, however, you mentally denied that possibility. You're stronger than this and you need to study.

       Feeling sad for yourself, you went to the counter to grab some papertowel. As you turned around to go back to the spill, you bumped into something---someone. Sanji stared at you with concern. You were scared that he would be mad at you. It was really late, he always woke up early to make you breakfast so he must be tired. And plus, he didn't like it when you stayed up late. A girl needs her beauty sleep he would tell you.

       Tears crept up to your eyes, you've always been an emotional one. Something about being so tired, having enough of studying, burning yourself, spilling water and now confronting Sanji made you want to cry.

       "Sanji, I'm sorry. I'll clean it up right away," you said while fumbling over your words.

Sanji's expression softened and he wiped the tears from your eyes.

       "(Name)-chan, you've worked hard. Go rest," he whispered to you.

       "I spilled water, I should go clean it. And I still need to study," you answered back.

       "Let me take care of the spill. And you should rest, you won't remember anything at this rate."

       "But--"

       "No but," Sanji interjected, "A lady needs her beauty sleep."

       And with that, Sanji walked you back to the bedroom and tucked you in to your side of the bed. He gave you a kiss on the forehead and whispered, "(Name)-chan, you should take better care of yourself."

       When you fell asleep, which didn't take a lot of time, Sanji retreated back to the kitchen. He cleaned up the mess, than he went to the office where he turned off the computer and closed the textbook. He made sure to leave an encouraging note in your pencil case to cheer you on for your exam.

       You woke up the next morning, feeling tired but more refreshed than the previous days. Sanji's side of the bed was empty...as usual. You went downstairs, still rubbing your eyes and when you walked into the dining room, you stared amazed. Sanji has prepared a feast for breakfast. It was only 6 in the morning so god knows how early Sanji woke up to make this.

       "(Name)-chwaaan! Goodmorning!", Sanji said from the kitchen upon seeing you.

       He brought out the last plate of an omelette and set it on the table. You couldn't help smiling at your energetic boyfriend. He was the best thing that ever happened to you. You ran up to him and gave him the most sincere hug and Sanji's eyes turned to hearts and he looked like he was about to get a nosebleed.

       "Thank you so much Sanji-kun for taking care of me!"

[feminaexlux]

All That Matters (Pt 1: I Got Chills)

Happy Valentine’s Day! This is my @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers exchange fic for @nobodyfamousposts. Find this on AO3 here!

Summary: What if Miracle Queen happened 6 months later in the dead of winter?

Part 1 of 3, probably.

⁂

"Ladybug?"

"Yeah, Chat?"

"I have a girlfriend."

"Oh! That's wonderful, congratulations!"

Chat Noir looked… confused, which was odd given the news that Ladybug just got. "I thought you'd be jealous," Chat said eventually. Part of him sounded chagrined, but another part of him sounded a little relieved.

Ladybug tilted her head. "Why would I be jealous? I'm happy for you!"

"Thanks," Chat said with a small smile. "It's new for me, you know? I've never done this before. I feel like I'm going to mess something up."

Ladybug laughed. "You're a good guy, Chat. I think all relationships are going to be hard and there will always be ups and downs. But I think you'll be fine if you work together on the problems." Ladybug then had a concern. "You're not dating her as Chat are you?"

"Pfft, no, no my Lady, the real me is doing that part," Chat laughed.

"Okay, good. Remember you can't reveal your identity to anyone."

"I know, my Lady, I know." Chat sighed. "I wish I could, sometimes. It sucks having to leave her without a good explanation, you know?"

Ladybug paused and considered. "Can I ask how you deal with that?"

"Luckily for me, my fath-- uh, family has a pretty tight leash on this cat. I say that they need me and… she understands." Chat leaned forward and pulled up his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "She's… sad whenever that happens so I try to make it up to her."

Ladybug laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "That's good. It sounds like the sooner we can take down Hawkmoth, the better."

Chat turned to her and nodded. "Yeah. Agreed."

Ladybug took her hand off his shoulder and rested it back on the roof of the building they were on. They had done some patrols and met back up again to report nothing out of the ordinary. They sat together watching the sunset as they did on the good days.

It was partly cloudy and chilly in the early days of winter. The freezing cold hadn't yet settled in but Ladybug knew it was coming in soon. She'd noticed in the previous winter that part of her felt sluggish and her body felt more lethargic in general, even in her powered up super suit. Tikki had said something about how ladybugs didn't do well in winter, and maybe that was why? Okay, sure. Ladybug didn't want to be any sort of liability to Chat or to the city of Paris when it got cold so she was able to convince Master Fu to lend out the other Miraculous on a semi-permanent basis.

Rena Rouge and Carapace were more than recurring heroes now. Ladybug had entrusted the Miraculous to Alya Cesaire and Nino Lahiffe after they promised to protect their identities, each other, the city of Paris, and to not misuse the Miraculous powers for personal gain. She’d done the same for Pegasus, Ryuuko, and Viperion. Ladybug didn’t know who King Monkey was so she had enlisted Fu’s help in tracking him down.

Queen Bee was… on an as-needed basis. Chloe Bourgeois was still an unknown. She had her moments of true selflessness but they'd been rare and unpredictable and that wasn't an ally Ladybug or Chat Noir could trust. They tried explaining that to Chloe once, but it ended when the mayor's daughter threw them out in a fit of tears. They still gave her another chance but the last time Queen Bee was used was with HeartHunter and Ryuuko had to bail them all out when Queen Bee stopped listening to them.

It wasn't going well.

"How are you doing, 'Bug?"

Ladybug snapped out of her thoughts and turned to face Chat. "I'm… okay. It's starting to get cold."

"Maybe you need to find yourself a boyfriend and get some warm snuggles," Chat grinned. "What about that boy you love?"

Ladybug closed her eyes. "He's found someone else," Ladybug said softly. She had a small smile on her face, remembering how it felt to see Adrien and Kagami together. Kagami fit in to his life so seamlessly and Adrien looked happier than Marinette had ever seen.

"I'm… I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Ladybug sighed, looking back out at the sunset. "I think he's happier now." And now Marinette wasn't feeling like the universe kept pushing back. It hurt a little bit to know nothing was going right with Adrien and there wasn't anything she could do to change it. She finally made the decision to stop feeling hurt all the time and allowed herself to let him go. "And I think I'm happier too."

"Okay," Chat smiled, sighing in relief. "That's great to hear. I'm sorry it didn't work out but I'm glad that you're happier. A happy Ladybug is always good news."

"And a happy Chat Noir is always good news as well," Ladybug giggled. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Of course. You're my best friend, Ladybug. I want to tell you everything, but…"

"You shouldn't tell me. It's to protect us," Ladybug stressed. "But… you know you're my best friend too."

⁂

One good thing about no longer obsessing over Adrien was that Marinette had less to worry about. The GirlSquad was no longer a pain in the proverbial butt about getting her to ask him out either. Instead Alya had fixed her sights on improving the LadyBlog and tracking down interviews with the other semi-permanent heroes, though (for obvious reasons) she had way more articles about Rena Rouge than any of the other Miraculous holders. It didn't seem like it was for personal gain as Alya had styled the interviews as asking the heroes advice to inform all of her blog readers how to defend against or prepare for akumas, so Marinette decided she'd let that pass for the greater good.

The only thing that felt a little weird about the GirlSquad sometimes was that Juleka seemed like she kept wanting to talk with Marinette and then backing out at the last second. That probably meant Juleka still felt confused about Marinette dating her brother.

Marinette knew it looked kinda bad to date someone else soon(?) after giving up on Adrien, especially since Adrien started dating Kagami(!), but it just happened so… naturally. Marinette had been the one to keep visiting Luka at the Liberty. Luka had kept inviting her to watch movies with him. They'd just felt like having lunch together often. After months of not-dating Marinette had finally asked, flustered and tripping over her words, if they actually were. Or… If he had wanted to.

"If you want to, I'm game," Luka had said casually, but Marinette had seen the faintest blush on him.

They had both been surprised when she said "Yes."

Their relationship was nice and easy. They had taken it slow. Most of their "dates" were just hanging out, low key chilling around each other, listening to music or working on Lycée homework. He would lend an ear to whatever she wanted to talk about and offered his thoughts and commentary. She'd given him small gifts here and there. They'd gone out ice skating and met up with other friends a few times. She had been worried that she'd been a pretty boring girlfriend overall but he said "If you wanna be here with me and I wanna be here with you, that's all that matters."

Whenever she and Luka were together during an akuma attack Luka did have the penchant for staying with her for as long as possible. He did eventually give an excuse of having to check up on Juleka or his mom and left Marinette to run out as Viperion… and then she would transform into Ladybug and follow after him. If anyone caught on that Ladybug always came in right after Viperion, the other heroes were smart enough to not comment on it. Nor comment on how they always left at the same time. Luka had, after sprinting back to her, breathlessly apologized the first few times for leaving her but Marinette had said it was so brave of him to look out for his family's safety and that'd been enough. Marinette did have to admit to herself that dating another superhero was actually pretty convenient. Chat would never let that go if he found out.

On the bad days it'd been so good to melt into his hugs when she felt the weight of the world press down harder on her. He'd been the calm in her life she so desperately wanted. It hit her like a ton of bricks just how much she needed him when he got taken from her.

⁂

Marinette and Luka were hanging out at Place des Vosges having coffee together after defeating yet another akuma. It had gotten much easier dealing with Hawkmoth most of the other heroes helping out, and the fight was over in practically no time at all. Just when everything calmed down again she and Luka heard screaming nearby and saw people running away from… a swarm of wasps?

They got up and started running, but they were too slow and the wasps were catching up. "Aw crap," Luka yelled. "Marinette watch out!" Luka pulled her into his arms and shielded her from them, getting stung in the process.

"Luka!" Marinette felt his arms drop from her shoulders and she looked up to see his face devoid of any emotion. His eyes turned a weird shade of yellow and he wasn't responding to her shaking him. "Luka!" For one tiny moment he blinked and looked down at her with concern, then his face went slack again. "Oh no, what happened to you?" He turned away from her and started walking off. "H-hey! No! Don't go!" She took his hand and tried to pull him into the bakery but he resisted and kept walking. Another swarm of wasps was closing in on her and Marinette cried out in frustration, letting Luka slip out of her grasp.

Wasps… wasps? Was this Chloe?! Oh no, Marinette thought, turning on her heels to sprint toward the Seine. She transformed while diving in, making sure to use her aqua powerup. She plunged into the river and then looked back up to see the swarm hovering above the water and eventually disperse away. She pulled out her yoyo and slid the cover up, checking if any of the other Miraculous holders were active.

Oh no. None of the other heroes were showing up on her communicator. At least not yet. Oh no. Ladybug let the communicator close and swam in circles, wondering just how she'd be able to handle this on her own if she had to. Suddenly she got a ping and Ladybug whipped out her yoyo, franticly checking which of her allies was nearby. Oh thank goodness Chat Noir was alright. Okay. She swam to meet him as he was heading in her direction and they met up halfway. "Chat! I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Yeah, I'm definitely glad to see you, 'Bug!"

"Th-this is… this is Queen Wasp again, isn't it?" Ladybug fretted and pulled her hair in a mix of frustration and guilt. "I… I thought…"

"We beat her before and we can do it again," Chat said, squeezing her shoulder with his hand. "And… and I have this, if we need it," he said somewhat sheepishly, pulling out what looked like a necklace. It was a choker… a very familiar choker. One she had given to Kagami Tsurugi to keep for the time being. What was Chat doing with the Dragon Miraculous? "I… found this near… a girl after she got stung by one of the wasps."

Ladybug blinked at the choker a few times. All she could think of was the dread she felt when the wasps were after her and Luka. What had Chat Noir gone through? And he had been conveniently nearby Kagami and the Dragon Miraculous and recognized it fast enough to grab it? "We might be able to use this." Ladybug closed Chat's hand over the choker. "You keep this for now, let's make a plan. None of the other heroes show up as active on my locator yet--" As soon as she said it she got a series of pings on her yoyo that indicated that most of the other Miraculous holders were becoming active, all but Ryuuko, and all at the same time and location.

Even Viperion showed up on her locator… she knew that Luka had been taken. Which could only mean…

"This is bad news." Ladybug bit at her bottom lip. "I personally saw that… one of the holders got stung. This means they've captured everyone else with a Miraculous and we're on our own. We'll have to use the Dragon and get any edge we can." Chat nodded at Ladybug and she sighed. "This is going to be tricky. We need to take Viperion out first."

"How are we going to do that?"

Ladybug and Chat Noir looked at each other in silence for a bit. "We have to split up and you have to use the Dragon Miraculous. You can't be caught by the wasps or Pegasus if you're in Wind form and I don't think it's safe to do a frontal assault with Viperion working against us."

"And what about you? What are you going to do?"

"I'm… going to use the Mouse. They can't capture all of me that way… hopefully."

Chat looked pained. "This sounds dangerous, 'Bug."

"Do you have another idea?" Chat shook his head. "Then let's do this for now. We'll have to play this by ear." Ladybug called her Lucky Charm and got a scarf, now waterlogged with Seine water (ew). "A scarf? What the heck am I supposed to do with a scarf?!"

⁂

To be continued (insert Jojo music here)

Actually j/k it's right here

[sweetandsourfics]

Baby Widow Two

Natasha Romanoff x Pregnant Reader | SFW | 2 out of 3 | NEXT  》

Summary: A quiet day at home for Natasha and her girlfriend has turned into the most exciting day of their lives.

Warnings: Labour, explicit language.

Author's note: Part two! I have another part planned, but I am more than happy to extended on Mama Natasha as we all deserve more Mama Natasha. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story! Please enjoy!

Baby Widow One

»———————————————————————«

Natasha's trained eyes never leave you as you waddle around the living area. Your sweatpants ride low on your hips like every mother, in her last trimester, you feel heavy, sluggish and big.

Your due date is only two days away your stomach has dropped. Your hips, back and pelvis hurting more with each day and Braxton hicks are becoming a daily thing.

You hand Natasha her bowl of ice cream. The Avenger takes the bowl only to put it to the side, her hands landing on your hips. She draws circles with her thumbs and kissing your stomach.

She rest her forehead against you. Natasha could feel the gentle movements of the baby, and you comb your fingers through her hair.

"I love you and your mama more than anything in this whole world." She whispers, pressing another kiss to your stomach.

"And we love you." You slowly lower yourself into your spot. Looking at Natasha with a goofy grin on your face. You pull her into a passionate, loving kiss.

Natasha sits with the exercises ball under her legs. Getting her use out of it. Each day the two of you were trying to do something that you wouldn't be able to do as often as you would like once baby Romanoff gets here. Today was movie day.

"I'm going to miss having my own personal table." You say causing Natasha to shift her attention. Your bowel of ice cream sits on your baby bump.

She laughs, kissing your temple. "You'll have your personal table back one day."

You raise an eyebrow at her, trying your hardest not let the smile break out. "You mean..?"

"Baby one isn't even here yet, so don't go thinking of baby number two." She teases. Your smile broke free a giggle following shortly.

Your giggles were cut short when a sharp pain shot through your body. Letting out a noise of pain one hand holding on to your ice cream and the other on your stomach.

Natasha watches wide-eyed. Her heart in her throat, body tense and ready to pounce. "You okay?"

Your hair bounces as you nod. "Can you help me up?"

She doesn't need to be told twice. Natasha holds you as you try to keep your breathing steady.

"I need to move around..." you breathe slowly, "think it's just a Braxton thingy."

"Okay, do you want the ball?" She asks, her heart racing.

"Yeah. Please." You sigh softly swaying side to side.

Natasha slowly lets go of you and rolls the red excise ball over. She ushers warmly "come here."

Once you were sat and Natasha sits on the coffee table hands on top of you're thighs. One of your hands supports your stomach and the other lay on top of her hand.

Natasha goes through her mental checklist. The hospital bag is packed and ready by the front door. She remembers the birth plan and everything thing she's learnt in the past nine months.

Her thoughts must have reached her features because you give her hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey, we are more than prepared for Baby Romanoff. We'll be okay, you'll be okay."  You say with a reassuring smile.

How the hell did she get so lucky?

Natasha lets out a small nervous laugh. "You're right."

"Aren't I always?"

"Don't get cocky." she teases kissing you.  

You moved from couch, floor, ball and standing until you had eventually fallen asleep on the couch. Natasha had paused the movie and shifted to the dining table where she could get some work done. She'll rejoin you once you're awake.

You woke up an hour later with a dull pain ringing through your body. Not thinking much of it, you rub your eyes and sit up. Natasha still sits at the table busy with her work.

Make your way over to her the pain doesn't go it just lingers.  She kisses you hello before asking. "How are you feeling?"

"The usual." You smile. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"I'm okay. I'll just finish this then we can continue the movie." She explains, turning her attention back to her laptop screen.  

You hum out a yes and shuffle into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. As you wait for the kettle to boil, you feel the pain growing, tightening.

You groan out hands massaging your stomach. Natasha's sharp hearing picks up on your discomfort.

"Hey, you okay?" she calls her voice full of concern.

You let out a shaky breath "Y-yeah just a little pain." The pain died down to a period cramp level pain.

You manage to make your tea and move out of the kitchen, but you were met with the intense stare from Natasha.

"What?" you question.

"You sure you're okay?" She fires back.

You cross over to her, her emotion written clearly on her face. "I'm sure. I'll let you know if I wasn't." You rub her shoulder affectionately "Shall we finish the move?"

You're grip on Natasha's shoulder tights as pain ignites every nerve in your body. "Shit..." you hiss out between clenched teeth.

"You're going to labour," Natasha states as she jumps to her feet. She checks the time 5:38 pm.

`"Movement and excises will help the baby move down." She says aloud for both of you. You nod your head as Natasha slowly walks you over to the ball.

Being who she is and what she does for a living. Natasha works well under pressure, and you were so lucky to have her.

6:20 pm

You've done several short sets of different positions on the ball.  Natasha holds your hands as you rotate your hips. Your grip tightens on her hands you grunt in pain as a contraction hits.

"Breathe," Natasha says softly and checks her watch.

"Fuck!" You curse.

"Ten minutes apart and lasting for twenty seconds." She kisses you softly. "Do you want to have a warm shower?"

"Please." You say, your voice wobbles as a sob threatens to bubble up.

Natasha leads you to the bathroom, sitting you down she starts up the shower. She helps you out of your clothing.

Natasha doesn't need to be asked. She strips down and joins you.

She kisses the top of your head. You hug her tightly, the warm water numbing out some of the pain. "We going to have our baby girl in a few hours." You mumble against her skin.

A large smile settles on her face, "we certainly are." Natasha hooks a finger under your chin, lifting your head so she could kiss you. "You are absolutely gorgeous." And just like that, the spy had you blushing like a lovesick high schooler.

You giggle shyly, hiding your face in the crook of her neck. Natasha smirks at you, hands on your hips as she gently sways both of your bodies.

Natasha feels your body tense against hers. Pushing your full body weight onto her, you cry out in pain.

Natasha whispers words of encouragement, mentally counting the seconds that go by.

7:48 pm

Natasha had gotten you out of the shower. You're dressed in grey sweatpants and a black tank top. She's made sure you have eaten and that your water bottle is never less than half full.

Natasha also has been on and off the phone with your midwife, letting her know how your progressing.

Natasha sits next to you on the floor, rubbing you back as you cry. You're on your knees with your arms and chest resting on the ball.

"In and out, that's it." She coos softly eyes glued to her watch.

"It hurts!" You sniff, turning your head to look at her. "I knew it would hurt but fuck it hurts..."

Natasha wipes the tears from your cheek, kissing your nose then your lips. Your contractions are getting longer it wouldn't be too much longer till you have to go to the hospital.

8:15 pm

The hospital bag, car keys and shoes sit on the coffee table ready to go. You squeeze the plastic water bottle in your hand and try to breathe through the pain.

Your whole body feels as it's on fire. Pain and hot flushes have been drowning you for hours now. Natasha holds you tightly as you shake in her arms. You have found comfort in semi-sitting and squatting positions.

Your contractions are now 4 minutes apart and lasting for 55 seconds. Active labour, it's time for the hospital.

4:02 am

After 9 hours of labour Widow Ellie Romanoff was brought in the world at 2:38 am. Natasha held herself together through labour and delivery. It wasn't until the nurses had left your little family be that Natasha let the first tear roll down her cheek.

She sat in the stiff hospital chair her daughter cradled in her arms. The scene made you cry. It's rare to see Natasha cry. Happy or sad tears seeing her cry always made you cry.

"Hey, hey. You've cried enough today." Natasha teases with a light sniff.

"Oh, shush." With the back of your hand you wipe away the stray tears.

Natasha leans over, kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[greenygreenland]

Birds of a Feather Pt 1: (platonic) Scrooge McDuck & Reader

-i usually do star wars buuuuuut I'm becoming multi-fandom

-the original was deleted

-thanks a LOT technology. Three hours of hard work, down the drain

-comments will really help my mood, so please tell me if you like this

-happy father's day

Important note: You’re cursed with immortality, so you’re forever the age 15

Summary:

Scrooge has been hiding a secret from you for over two decades. You two argue and your relationship becomes rocky.

A week before

(Y/n) was seething in anger. Her chest heaved and her fingers curled into fists so tight that Scrooge worried she’d draw blood. “Twenty--no, thirty something years, Uncle Scrooge. I can’t believe you’ve hid this from me since the day you found me half-dead! How--how dare you?” 

Scrooge couldn’t stand the way (Y/n) was looking at him. Her eyes were ablaze, filled with hatred and sorrow he could not place into words. Seeing (Y/n), the girl who wasn’t so little anymore, look at him like that made his battered heart burst into little pieces. “(Y/n), I didn’t mean to--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it! You told me my family was dead! You said that I was the only one who survived that assassination.” (Y/n) stuffed a pair of trousers into her suitcase and zipped it shut. “You lied to me for decades! Why?” Scrooge’s lips withered into a frown. “I was trying to protect you!”

“’Protect me’?” (Y/n) echoed. She heaved her suitcase onto its quad wheels with a scowl. “Oh yes, because the wee little duckling who knows martial arts needs help despite surviving countless near-death experiences, adventures as your side-kick, and defeating archenemies. Yes, yes, I’m powerless, aren’t I?” Scrooge’s brows knitted together. He knew full-well that (Y/n) could take care of herself. She survived being stuck on an island as well, being swallowed by a gold-hunting dragon, and so many other things that could have ended her life for good. 

But this? It wasn’t that Scrooge thought she was weak. No, no. It was only that he knew she couldn’t handle the truth. The Eider family were an absolute nightmare. Besides the fact that they were abusive, they were greedier than the greediest ducks, and more power-hungry than the worst of kings. They believed themselves to be the best of the best (which in itself was not a lie), but because of their arrogance, their enemies spread father than the deepest oceans.

Funnily enough, that was what got (Y/n)’s parents killed.

She was a smart lass, Scrooge gave her that, but the one thing she could never seem to do was let them go. During the years Scrooge hid the true story from her, she never gave up in researching and looking into what happened to her parents. It was as if that were the only reason she existed. 

And now that she knew the truth, Scrooge worried what she’d do when she actually got back in contact with her family. Although it looked like she forgave them for ruining her life, abusing her, and for being absolute blockheads, it was clear as daylight to him that she held a deep grudge against her family. “You’re not going back to them are you?” he quietly inquired. 

(Y/n)’s glare made him feel as though he were the dust on an old book. “Guess again, Scroogey.” His expression hardened and the air thickened like jam. “Lass, you are not going back there.” (Y/n) made her way to the door, a tight frown on her face. “I don’t have to listen to you, liar.” 

Scrooge’s jaw unhinged. “I’m your guardian!” 

“Only because my parents died.” 

His shoulders tensed and he slammed the door shut. “You listen here and you listen well!” He yanked (Y/n) away from the door. “Me lying will never compare to how terrible your family treated you. You want the truth so bad? Well, your rubbish aunt hired a hit man to assassinate your parents! There! That’s the truth! Are you happy now?” (Y/n) slapped Scrooge’s hand off her shoulder, but he didn’t pay any mind. 

The two had a silent stare-off that may have lasted for an hour if it weren’t for the knock on the door. “(Y/n)?” Scrooge eyed the door as (Y/n) made her way towards it. She cracked it open just enough to peek out at the little girl before her. “Sorry Webby, I can’t play right now. I’m a bit...”

“Busy?”

“Yeah.” (Y/n) offered an apologetic smile, to which Webby frowned and twiddled her thumbs to. “Okay then. I’ll be in my room.” She made her way down the hall. “Alone.” (Y/n) frowned. “I’m sorry Webby, promise I’ll make it up to you in two weeks time. How about we get ice cream?” Webby froze, eyes wide. “You mean it?”

“Promise.” (Y/n) said. Webby smiled. “Okay.” 

Once (Y/n) was sure Webby was gone, she closed the door behind her and turned on Scrooge with a dark glare. “I’m done arguing with you. I’m leaving.” she announced. Scrooge folded his arms across his chest and seized (Y/n) by the collar. “Oh no you don’t!” He reeled her away from the door and kicked her suitcase out of her hands. “You are staying right here.”

“I’m not a kid anymore Uncle Scrooge!”

“You’re fifteen. Still a kid.”

“If you add the years after I was cursed by you--”

“It was an accident!”

“--I’m about thirty-five years old.” (Y/n) finished. Scrooge ruffled her hair with a roll of his eyes and a light-hearted chuckle. “You’ll always be my kid in my eyes. I suggest you reschedule with Webby to tomorrow.” There was a good pause before he added, “You don’t need to see your sad excuse of a family anyway. They’re nothing but trouble.”

Present

“Lauchpad, please try to stay on the road!” exclaimed (Y/n). The large man-child sped through Duckburg as if he were in a NASCAR race. Speed-bumps and pot-holes caused (Y/n) to slam into the door and Scrooge at least fives times in a row, and since he had a long day of meetings, the old man’s patience ran thin. “Eyes on the road McQuack!”

“Sorry Mr. McDee, (N/n).” 

(Y/n) wanted to be nice to Launchpad, but her stomach did flip-flops and her head ached. She should have expected this, because it was always like this, but her being her always held onto the sliver of hope that Launchpad would miraculously learn how to not crash a car. Scrooge took a good look at (Y/n), a short sigh escaping his lips. “Every dent in this car is coming out of your salary!” 

“Absolutely. Hey, hear about that crazy snow storm on the Drake Barrier Reef? I’d hate to fly into that one. You see, I’m a bit of a pilot--”

Without looking up from his newspaper, Scrooge pressed a button on the door. The glass divider slowly rolled up and forced Launchpad to keep his eyes where they should be: on the road. 

(Y/n) lied down on the seat with a sluggish frown. “I’m just gonna...close my eyes.” Either Launchpad forgot how brakes work, or he had zero brain cells left, because he continued charging through the city until he came to the manor’s gates despite Scrooge’s protests. The limo came to a screeching stop. If it weren’t for Scrooge, (Y/n) would have flown into the windscreen. 

“Why aren’t we moving?” demanded Scrooge. (Y/n) harshly swallowed and sat up. The impatient beeping of the limo’s horn didn’t help her spinning head, and neither did Scrooge’s yelling as he hopped out of the car. “Hey!” he shouted. “Jettison that jalopy from my driveway, ya deadbeat!” 

Who was he even talking to?

“Donald Duck.” 

Oh. 

“Uncle Scrooge.”

Oh.

(Y/n) didn’t care to listen to the arguing. All she wanted was a good cup of tea and a bed. 

“Jettison that jalopy from my driveway this instant, ya deadbeat!”

“Oh, here we go again, giving orders like he’s the richest duck in the world!”

“I am the richest duck in the world, now move!”

(Y/n) couldn’t take the arguing anymore. Her head spun, she felt like she’d throw up, and she really craved that cuppa probably waiting for her in the dining room. “Can you both shut up?!” A pair of footsteps made their way towards the open car door. Through the disgustingly bright sunlight, and the splitting headache, (Y/n) made out the angry face of Donald Duck.

“What did you do to her Scrooge?!” he shouted. Scrooge let out a large gasp, a clear sign he was beyond offended. “What did I do to her?! It was Launchpad’s driving!” 

There was some more chatter before three identical children piled in the limo. (Y/n) didn’t care who they were, and it seemed like the feeling with Scrooge was mutual. When the gates opened and they arrived at the front door, Mrs. Beakely scooped (Y/n) in her arms and brought her to her room. “My, my, was it Launchpad’s terrible excuse for driving again?” 

(Y/n) wordlessly nodded as Beakley set her on her bed. She poured a nice warm cup of tea and handed it to the car-sick girl. “I suggest you rest for a little before you get caught up too much excitement again.” Mrs. B. said. 

A little rest, Mrs. B. said. It would be good for you, she said. Only after waking up did (Y/n) realise she had been drugged by the one-and-only housekeeper. It was obvious she knew (Y/n) wouldn’t get a wink of sleep because she had a tendency to lay awake in bed until three in the morning, but in her eyes, that did not justify her actions, especially after all the action she missed out on. 

That morning, she stood in the dining room, PJs on and mouth agape as three identical triplets bombarded her with an arsenal of crazy questions.

"Aren't you Uncle Scrooge's famous sidekick?"

"Isn't your family crazy rich and extremely prestige?"

"How do you still look the same after so many years?"

"Botox?"

"Water from the Fountain of Youth?"

"No, plastic surgery?"

(Y/n) sent Scrooge a silent look for help, to which he shook his head with a warm smile. "Boys, don't be rude." he merrily said. "She's just cursed is all." The blue one's eyes widened, and for a second, (Y/n) thought he had chocked on his scrambled eggs. "You're cursed? How?"

"Uh..."

"Actually, I have a better question, how did you meet Uncle Scrooge?"

(Y/n) swallowed a bite of toast. Her gaze nervously snapped towards the old duck, to which he folded his newspaper shut and said, "Alright, boys. That's enough. I think it's a bit early for all these questions, especially for her. She hates mornings." (Y/n) smiled a little. "Yeah, I do." She returned her focus on the faces of the three kids. Each had large, bright eyes, extremely large smiles, and loud personalities. Which also happened to remind her of...

(Y/n) leaned over to Scrooge's ear and subtly face-palmed. "They're Della's kids, aren't they?"

"You just figured that out now?"

"I was tired, what do you expect?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes. "Besides that, we're going to Atlantis tomorrow." he nonchalantly announced. (Y/n) almost spit out her tea. "Wait, you're serious?"

He nodded, a sparkle (Y/n) hadn't seen in a while shining in his eyes. (Y/n) couldn't help but feel grateful for Scrooge. If he hadn't stopped her from seeking out her family, she'd probably be dead. (Y/n) Eider didn't belong with a bunch of prestigious, scholarly ducks. She was an adventurer, an explorer, who walked through every corner of the Earth.

But most importantly, she was Scrooge McDuck's one and only side-kick.

[lizzzybooo]

I Think I'm Breaking Down

Summary: “Hello?” he answered, surprised to find his voice calm under the circumstances.

“Phil,” Martyn’s voice was tired and tight, and Phil wanted more than anything to hang up on him and crawl back under the covers for a few more hours. Days if possible.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t ask the question, they both knew what the phone call meant.

It didn’t make it easier to accept though.

words: 8498

 warnings:  Minor character death

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12361284

(a huge thank you to my friend @p-hantasticpheels, who encouraged me a lot with this fic, gave me advice and listened to my concerns <3 )

He got the news on a Saturday morning, when he was still in bed with Dan.

Dan was pressed against him, not quite cuddling but sometime during the night Dan slid a little down the bed and now his forehead was pressed to Phil’s forearm and his knee was digging into Phil’s side.

Phil woke up from his ringtone, an inappropriately cheery tune he decided on months ago. Now a days he never went to sleep with his phone muted, just in case something would happen.

He knew immediately it wasn’t good news when he saw his brother’s caller ID on the screen.

His brother knew very well that Phil never woke up before 10am, especially not on the weekends.

Martyn was spending the weekend with Cornelia at their parent’s house. Him and Phil both took turns spending their weekends there for the last month, trying to help however they can. So naturally, he felt his sleep clouded brain fill with grief and defeat even before answering the phone.

“Hello?” he answered, surprised to find his voice calm under the circumstances.

“Phil,” Martyn’s voice was tired and tight, and Phil wanted more than anything to hang up on him and crawl back under the covers for a few more hours. Days if possible.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t ask the question, they both knew what the phone call meant.

They both saw the way their father’s state deteriorated in the last few months. Both saw how he went from going to work to resting at home to lying in a hospital bed. Both saw how his chubby, red cheeks, that almost always held a smile on them, became hollow and pale. Both had the conversation with their mum and the doctor and each other.

It didn’t make it easier to accept though.

“I’ll come as soon as I can,” Phil added after the silence had stretched for too long.

“See you when you get here,” Martyn said before hanging up.

Phil put his Phone back on the night stand, feeling his movements slow and sluggish. He sunk down on his pillow, turning to his side and finding Dan facing him, awake, with wide open eyes filled with sympathy.

Phil didn’t have to say anything. They both were expecting this type of phone call for weeks now.

“Come here,” Dan said, reaching out his arms and pulling Phil to his chest, holding him as close as he could.

“I’m so sorry Phil,” he said, and he sounded choked up and Phil couldn’t handle someone else’s grief at the moment. Couldn’t bear someone else’s tears.

“I’m going to take a shower, and then we should book the earliest train.”

He untangled himself from Dan, avoiding his eyes and went to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him.

**************************

When Phil first heard about his dad’s sickness from his parents, he tried not to think too much about it.

The doctors caught it early, his dad said.

The prognosis is good, he said.

Don’t worry about it too much, he added, when he saw that Phil and Martyn’s faces still looked a little confused, a little unsure how to react.

His mum tried to smile at them reassuringly, holding both their hands in hers, but it was clear she was shaken by all of this. Clear by the way her smile wavered and her eyes were just a little too puffy.

Phil hasn’t seen his mum cry for years, and the thought of her doing so now made him really uneasy.

But he knew his dad was strong, he was always strong, and he would make it, he had no doubt about it.

And even though Phil wasn’t a child anymore, and he stopped idolizing his parents years ago, there was no question in his mind about how resilient his father was.

And when he left their house that day with Martyn, saying goodbye to each of his parents, he hugged both of them tightly.

“Do you need any help with anything?” he asked his dad when he let him go, his hand still resting a little awkwardly on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it son, I have a great doctor, and I’m starting treatment, and if it was up to me we would have never bothered you and your brother with this, but you know,” he made a little head gesture towards his wife, who was quietly talking with Martyn a few steps from them.

“Dad, please promise to call if you need anything. Whatever it is. You know money is not a problem,” Phil said, even though he already knew what his father’s reaction was going to be to that.

“I’m not going to take my child’s savings. Don’t worry about it Phil, we’ll be fine,” he said, leaving no room for arguments, right as Phil’s mum joined the conversation, standing close to her husband and wishing her sons a safe trip back home once more.

When he got home that evening Dan was in the kitchen making both of them dinner.

He tried to talk to Martyn about everything on their train ride to London but sometimes Martyn could be even more closed off than Phil and other than a few nods he couldn’t get a lot out of him.

“Hey, I had the craving for pasta, hope that’s okay,” Dan said as soon as Phil walked into the room, smiling big and bright at him in a way that clearly stated ‘I missed you you dork.’

“yeah, that’s fine,” he answered, walking straight up to Dan and kissing his lips softly, then burying his face in his neck, breathing deeply to calm himself down, clinging to his side.

“You’re going to make me burn the sauce you weirdo, let me finish at least before you start sniffing me.”

Phil made a whiny noise, just to humor Dan, but let him go after one last squeeze and went to sit down by the table.

Dan took a few more minutes to finish his cooking, and Phil sat quietly, watching him move his hips a little while adding more salt, or listening to him hum some unknown to Phil tune.

By the time Dan put the food on the table Phil felt clingy and sad and he just wanted to go sit on the couch and watch some mindless TV show while being curled up with Dan’s arms around him.

But they made the decision not too long ago to try and eat their dinners at the table because that was ‘the adult way to do it,’ so Phil settled for reaching for Dan’s hand before he had the chance to sit in front of him and bringing it to his lips, leaving a kiss against his knuckles.

Dan chuckled but leaned down to leave a sweet kiss on Phil’s forehead before sitting down and looking at him with amusement.

“Someone is clingy today,” he said while putting food on his plate.

“Just missed you,” Phil answered, and something about his tone made Dan look up from his plate and examine Phil’s face.

“I missed you too,” he said, no teasing. Phil guessed that his expression probably looked a little too serious for that.

“You look a little off, are you feeling okay? Do you have a headache?” Dan asked, looking a little concern.

Now that Dan had mentioned it, Phil did have a slight headache. But it wasn’t a migraine, not yet at least, and was probably caused by the stress of the day. Nothing a good night sleep couldn’t fix.

“I’m fine, just tired,” he smiled at Dan reassuringly.

“Okay, we could go to bed early if you want,” Dan said, still sounding a little suspicious. Phil just nodded at him. Going to bed early was exactly what he needed. And if Dan was willing to go to bed early with him… well that was just another bonus.

“How’s the parents?” Dan asked after a few minutes of silent eating.

Phil could feel the tension in his head building, but tried to ignore it.

“Dad’s sick,” he said.

“Oh that’s too bad. Is it the flu? I told your mum last time they should get the shots.”

Phil felt his stomach turning. He really wanted to go to bed, have this day be over.

“No, Dan. He’s like sick sick. Like, cancer sick.” He said, a little reluctantly.

It sounded so much worse when it was said out loud than he was willing to admit it was at this point. He couldn’t brush off the seriousness of the situation when he was looking at Dan’s face of realization. Seeing his eyes widen and his hands flying to his mouth.

“Oh god-“ he started, only to be cut off by Phil.

“Don’t. Please, just… don’t be dramatic about it right now. I can’t handle this reaction right now.” Phil said, and he could feel his headache starting to get stronger by the second.

He knew he was being a little mean. Dan was a dramatic person by nature, and his initial instinct was usually to over react to situations, especially when he was worried. But Phil knew Dan would not hold it against him. Not with this.

“What did your parents say?” Dan asked in the calmest voice he could master.

“They said… that the doctors caught it early. That we shouldn’t worry too much about it. He’s going to start treatment next week.”

“That sounds… reassuring.” Dan said carefully, looking at Phil intently.

“Yes, it does.”

“Did you, like, did you offer our help? You know, with everything?”

Phil let out a small laugh, which immediately caused a wave of pain in his head.

“I did, but you know dad, he doesn’t want to take anything from me.” Phil said.

“Then I’ll just have to talk with your mum,” Dan said determinedly.

Phil smiled at him again, and he could feel a little bit of pressure leave his throbbing head.

It was a miracle how well Dan could read him some times. How he just knew that Phil felt uncomfortable not being able to do anything for his dad. How much he hated feeling useless to the ones he loved.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out across the table and taking Dan’s hand in his, feeling him squeeze around his fingers tight.

“He’ll be fine.” Dan said reassuringly, locking his eyes with Phil and trying to soothe him with the simple touch of his hand.

“Yeah, I know.”

*******************************

‘Daniel Howell: I’m heartbroken to inform you that Phil’s father passed away this morning. Please send all your love and comfort to @amazingphil and the Lester family, and most importantly please respect this time of grief and give them the space and time they need to heal. #RIPNigelLester-‘

“Is that okay?” Dan asked, showing Phil the tweet, making sure Phil approved before posting it.

They were sitting in a cab on their way to the train station. Phil was staring out the window before Dan spoke to him, his eyes covered with sunglasses, but Dan could see the pained expression he had on his face none the less.

They got out of the house in record time. Dan took it upon himself to get their suitcase ready, book train tickets and make Phil’s morning coffee for him all before Phil got out of the shower.

Dan felt lost, because for the first time he wasn’t sure how to make his boyfriend feel better.

And it wasn’t the first time he saw Phil sad, but it was the first time that he felt like there was nothing he could do to make it better, to make the pain go away for him.

The situation was behind his control and that scared him.

So he settled for trying to do all the day to day tasks for Phil, trying to at least make things easier for him, make sure there’s nothing he needed to worry about except his own emotions.

And even though Dan could feel his own heart aching from the loss, his own body twisting on the inside, he knew it must be a million times worst for Phil.

Phil’s lips were in a tight line while reading the tweet, and for a second Dan thought that maybe he wrote something wrong.

“Yeah, that’s okay.” He said eventually, not lifting his eyes to meet Dan’s.

He did, however, move closer and laid his head on Dan’s shoulder, his hair tickling Dan’s cheek.

“Thank you for thinking about it. I didn’t even think to tweet.” He said quietly.

Dan put his arm around Phil’s waist and pulled him more comfortably against him, relieved by his reaction.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, dropping a kiss to the top of Phil’s head.

They were usually less affection when out in public, even in the privacy of a cab.

By this point it was less about them hiding and more the force of a habit. They were privet people and they liked to keep it like that.

But the driver wasn’t paying them any attention and with the day Phil was having Dan was more than willing to provide any kind of comfort his boyfriend needed, whenever and anywhere he asked for it.

***************************************

There were two girls looking in their direction in the train station. They were whispering and pointing and obviously recognized Phil and him and Dan was praying to whoever was willing to listen that they won’t approach them.

And they didn’t.

Whether it was Dan’s tweet or the way Phil was leaning on the wall next to him, arms wrapped around himself and the corners of his mouth pulled down in the most pitiful way, they didn’t come near them.

But by the time the train approached the station and Dan took their suitcase and whispered a soft ‘come on,” to Phil, he was so relieved he could feel his body physically deflate.

Dan really didn’t want fans to come up to them right now, didn’t think Phil was able to deal with that at the moment, and there was a lot less chance that someone would come to talk to them on the train.

They sat down, and even though Dan would whine about it usually he gestured for Phil to take the window sit.

He knew it was silly, knew those little gestures didn’t actually do anything to help Phil and lessen his pain. But he was unable to do anything else, useless in the face of Phil’s loss and he just wanted to do something, anything to make it at least a little bit better.

Phil slumped on his sit, immediately turning his face to the window.

“Here, I bought you a sandwich.” Dan said, looking through his bag and taking out a chicken sandwich he bought Phil when he went to get himself something to eat.

They didn’t have time to eat breakfast before leaving, so Dan went to the little train station store to buy himself something quick to eat, while Phil waited on the platform, shaking his head no when Dan asked if he wanted something too.

“Not hungry,” Phil answered, not even giving the sandwich a second look.

The train started moving and Dan could feel the curious gaze of the woman set opposite them, watching their interaction with the corner of her eye. Dan pointedly ignored the uncomfortable feeling her presence caused him.

“Phil…you have to eat something,” Dan tried.

“Really Dan. Not hungry,” Phil sounded tired and short and so unlike Phil and Dan really didn’t know how to approach this version of his boyfriend.

“If you’ll eat it there’s going to be a certain someone’s favorite chocolate bar at the end for you,” he tried to say teasingly, not missing the way his voice sounded pleading.

They had a long day ahead of them and Dan felt responsible of keeping Phil fed and hydrated. They really didn’t need anything else on their plate at the moment.

To Dan’s relief Phil’s lips twitched a little in a soft smile.

“You should have started with that,” he said softly, taking the sandwich out of Dan’s hands.

Dan knew Phil was just trying to make Dan feel better, humoring him so that Dan wouldn’t feel so tense.

Phil always hated making anyone worried, especially Dan, who worried way too easily. He hated feeling like he was burdening anyone with his feelings. Which was, quite frankly, ridiculous after so many years of companionship in Dan’s eyes. But as it was working in his favor at the moment, he wasn’t going to say anything.

And even though Phil only ate half of his sandwich and ended up not wanting the chocolate bar Dan had bought him at all, it was still something.

********************************************

They got a message from Martyn saying they should come to the house instead of the hospital when they were nearing Manchester.

Dan was thankful, as selfish as that sounded. Phil looked exhausted after more than 2 hours of train ride and Dan knew if they were to go to the hospital Phil would insist on doing all the paper work himself.

And even though his thought proses was unfair to Martyn and Ms. Lester, Dan could only really focus on one Lester at a time.

They took a cab to Phil’s parent’s house right after getting off the train.

Phil took off his sunglasses by then and his eyes were red and puffy even though Dan couldn’t really put a finger on when Phil actually cried.

Dan held his hand the entire ride. Running his thumb up and down Phil’s knuckles, drawing circles on the back of his hand and squeezing tightly when he felt Phil’s hand tremble a little.

Dan took out his phone, going through the ‘RIPNigelLester’ tag on twitter. There were a lot of lovely messages of support, a lot of messages directed at Phil and his family, and a lot of messages directed at Dan, telling him to take care of Phil.

“Look,” Dan said, catching Phil’s attention and showing him the screen. Phil always loved reading through their audience’s messages, loved to feel like he had this huge mass of people standing behind him.

But to his surprise, Phil gave a quick glance towards Dan’s phone before averting his gaze to the other direction, letting go of Dan’s hand.

“Don’t show that to me,” he said harshly and Dan couldn’t mask the confusion from his face, feeling like a huge lump settled in his throat.

“Sorry,” Dan answered quietly.

He heard Phil take a shaky breath to calm himself down and then his hand was back in Dan’s, squeezing reassuringly.

Dan clung to his hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it a few times.

“Sorry,” he said again, even though he couldn’t understand what he was apologizing for.

*************************************

They were standing in front of Phil’s childhood house hand in hand, bracing themselves.

Even though Phil spent every other weekend in this house for the last month, he still couldn’t ignore the obvious changes.

The driveway was a mess, covered in leafs and dirt, the flower garden that was always the envy of the entire neighborhood was dry and neglected and the paint on the walls of the house started to peel.

Phil felt the knot in his guts became tighter.

For the lack of better word the house looked… dead.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Dan’s hand pulling his gently.

“Let’s go inside.” Dan said, starting to walk, puling Phil and their suitcase behind him.

********************

When Phil was young he wasn’t too close with his father. And it wasn’t that they were cold or distant, no, it’s just that Martyn and their dad always were really close, had similar interests and opinions.

And Phil, well, Phil was always a mama’s boy.

He could say it with pride now. Not a lot of people had the close relationship he had with his mum. Not a lot of people felt like they could talk to their mum about anything, feeling like she would always have their back.

And even though his relationship with his dad was pretty good, he could still remember feeling tension between them some of the time. Especially when he was younger and less sure about himself and the path he chose to walk on.

Because Martyn was everything their father ever wanted in a child. He was confident and smart and good at sports and practical. Their dad always laughed fondly at all of Martyn’s shenanigans, ruffling his hair with a smile, telling over dinner the silly tales of the things Martyn did that day.

But Phil…was different. He was quitter and shyer. Always hiding behind his mother’s skirt, crying when he was the center of attention.

“Go play with the other boys son,” his father always said when Phil was a kid and they were out on the playground, because his dad was a good dad and always made sure to spend time with his kids whenever he could.

“I’m having fun over here,” he always answered.

And he did. Have fun, that is.

His father never understood that being surrounded by all those other kids and playing physical games made Phil’s insides twist and turn. Because they were pushing and teasing and touching and running and none of those things were appealing to him.

But he did like to sit with his dad and watch his brother play with his “big” friends, letting his imagination go off in different directions.

And when they would walked home and his brother would run ahead of them, full of energy and youth and covered in dirt (like a boy should be after a day of playing, according to his father), Phil would walk next to his dad, hold his hand and rumble about his fantasy world.

He would tell him about his pet flying lion and the ice breathing monster and the super special magical stone he found that could tell the future and his dad would nod and listen but he would never fondly laugh, like he did with Martyn. He wouldn’t ruffle his hair or ask more questions about the stone or the lion.

He would, on occasion, ask, “But why didn’t you go play with the other kids? You could have met some friends.”

And he always said it softly, reassuringly, never harshly or demandingly, because he wanted what’s best for Phil. Phil knew that.

And that’s why he always answered, “next time I will.”

And it’s not like he didn’t have friends, he always had, even if not lot. But they were the kind of friends Phil spent time talking about video games and comic books with, not the “let’s go outside and play soccer,” kind of friends that his dad wanted him to have.

“Let him do his thing Nigel. He has his head in the clouds, like me.” His mum would say to his dad from time to time, when they were spending time together as a family and she would overhear her husband encourage Phil to do something he wanted with a little too much persistence.

And she would smile sweetly at Phil and kiss his head and tell him how special he is the way he is and how much he reminds her of herself.

And Phil would be happy because his mum was the best person in the world and being like her was the highest compliment for him.

But still. He couldn’t understand, at the time, why his father wanted him so much to be different.

And one time when they were out in the park and Phil was sitting next to his father on the green grass and showing him the coin that he found, telling him how the coin used to belong to pirates two hundred years ago, and that an evil witch cursed the coin because the pirate captain broke her heart, his dad snapped.

Granted, Phil knew his dad was in a bad mood. Things were tense at his job and he and Phil’s mum had a fight just before he took Phil and Martyn to the park and Phil did notice the impatient way in which his dad was nodding along with his story.

But it still came as a surprise when his dad’s piercing blue eyes suddenly looked like storm, staring at him pointedly.

“Why can’t you go play with the other boys Phil?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t gentle and encouraging like usual, it was demanding and exasperated.

“I’m- I’m having fun over here,” Phil said, even though he could feel that his answer wasn’t enough this time.

“Fun? How is this fun? That-“ his father gestured vaguely towards Martyn and his friends, “is fun!”

Phil physically flinched from the rise of his dad’s voice.

“Why can’t you go play like all the other boys? Why can’t you act normal?”

“I am acting normal,” Phil said quietly, because he was. How could doing the things he liked be considered not normal?

His dad shook his head. “It’s not normal for a boy to not run and play. To sit alone instead of being with the other kids.” His tone was short and impatient and Phil wanted to cry because he didn’t understand anything. Why was he being yelled at when he didn’t do anything wrong? Didn’t break his parent’s rules? Didn’t get in trouble?

“But I don’t like it,” he tried again.

“You would if you tried it! But you refuse to do anything other than sit here and imagine your silly worlds.” He used air quotes when saying the word “worlds” and Phil never heard anyone in his family refer to his worlds with so much contempt.

It was a term his mother used a lot.

“He is in one of his own worlds,” she would say to his grandmother when he would lose concentration while having a conversation with her.

“Are you in one of your worlds love? Come back to earth for a little,” she would say to him over dinner, always with a smile.

But the way his dad said it… made him feel almost ashamed of them. And he couldn’t figure out why. But all the warning bells were ringing in his head and he hated disappointing his parents and even more he hated being yelled at.

“I’m sorry daddy, I’ll go play if you want,” he said quietly, standing up and hugging himself, starting to feel the tears well up in his eyes.

He could see the shift in his dad’s facial expression. Could see the guilt settling in, overpowering the frustration.

“I just want you to do what the other boys are doing sweetheart,” his dad said desperately, apologetically. Because he was a good dad, he was. He just couldn’t understand why his son insisted on being different.

“Look at your brother. He’s having so much fun,” he added.

“I just want you to have fun like him, do you understand?” he said, tugging on Phil’s arm to get him closer.

Phil felt the tears starting to spill down his cheek.

“I know he’s having fun but I don’t like it. I’m sorry I’ll try again but I’m just having fun here with you.”

His statement felt inaccurate because at the moment he definitely wasn’t having fun. He was full on crying, and he just hated the way his dad always brought up Martyn and other boys. Why should it matter to his dad what other boys did? Phil was Phil.

“Philly I’m sorry, come here,” Phil felt himself being pulled to the ground and to his father’s lap, being held closely to his chest and soft belly.

“I didn’t want to upset you. If you’re having a good time that’s what’s important. I won’t force you to do anything but I just don’t want you to miss out okay? I’m sorry I yelled, daddy had a bad day and he took it out on you, I’m sorry.” He was petting his hair and kissing his temple and doing anything he could to make Phil feel better. But Phil couldn’t erase the uneasiness he was feeling.

Because even though it was the first time he got yelled at for it, it wasn’t the first time his father mentioned the way Phil was different to the other boys. And by this point, Phil was old enough to understand the concept of disappointment.

***********************************

They spent the day going through the motion. Making phone calls to inform all their loved ones and making funeral arrangements.

Phil’s mum had a constant stream of tears down her cheeks and Martyn’s face looked so pained that Phil had trouble looking at him directly.

He knew he probably didn’t look much better himself. Probably looked exhausted and so so sad and like he was going to break down at any given moment, judging by the way Dan was looking at him with constant concern.

Dan and Cornelia both did as much as they could to help, but Phil could tell how uncomfortable they were feeling inside this privet family grief. How they didn’t really know what to do and how to react and what their place was.

And Phil hated himself for thinking about that all the time, hated that he couldn’t just accept Dan’s support and presence without feeling like he was burdening him with his family matters. Like he was supposed to smile, just a little, to make Dan feel a little more at ease.

“You can take a break if you want. Go rest, you went to bed really late last night,” Phil said to him after Dan hung up on another one of Phil’s great aunties, looking emotionally drained.

Dan looked at him questionably.

“We both went to bed late last night, I want to help.”

“I know you do, but don’t force yourself,” Phil said, and even to his ears he sounded a little dismissive.

“I’m not forcing myself to do anything. I want to help you, the family. And you know I cared about your dad a lot too.” Dan said, and Phil could hear that he was a little offended by Phil’s words, even though he tried to mask it.

And he was really glad that his family wasn’t in the room. There was nothing he hated more than arguing with Dan in front of other people.

“I know you did Dan, but he wasn’t your dad, he wasn’t your family, you don’t have to do all those things. I know they’re not exactly fun.” The second he said it he knew he didn’t phrase himself right.

Dan’s eyes flushed hurt and anger and Phil kind of wanted him to storm off instead of confront Phil because guilt was already settling in his stomach and he didn’t know if he could have a fight right now without saying more things he’ll regret later.

“So suddenly he wasn’t my family? Do you think you are my family only when I’m going on vacations with you or coming to birthdays or doing the fun things? Is that what you think of me? That I don’t want to be a part of your family when things are suddenly not so great?” his voice was trembling and Phil wanted to punch himself in the face.

He quickly made his way to Dan and engulfed him in a tight hug, feeling him breathing quick breaths in the attempt to pull himself together.

“I’m sorry. It came out wrong and really not how I meant it. You are a part of this family, have been for years and I know how much you care about my parents and I know you’re not here just for the fun parts.”

Dan was hugging him back just as tight and rubbing his back reassuringly, as if saying it was okay, he was forgiven. It made Phil feel a little bit sick, but he pushed through it.

“I just hate to think that you’re doing all those things you don’t really want to do because you feel like you have to, like, like it’s your obligation as my boyfriend. I’m sorry, you know how I get sometimes,” he continued, because he felt like what he said just wasn’t enough.

“Shh I know, I’m sorry for overreacting. it’s okay.” Dan was kissing the side of his head and squeezing him tightly and Phil didn’t feel better at all.

*****************************

When Phil entered his teenage years things between him and his dad became the tensest they’ve ever been.

And it wasn’t unusual. A lot of Phil’s friends were having fights with their parents and feeling misunderstood in their own homes.

And Phil barely ever fought with his dad, or his mum for that matter. He was generally a good kid, did what was asked of him and didn’t get into too much trouble.

And still, the tension was there.

Because Phil didn’t really change over the years the way his father had hoped. He didn’t stop inventing silly stories or started playing sports.

He started straightening his too long of a hair (like a girl’s hair, his dad used to say) and spending a lot of his time on his computer instead of going out and having fun with other kids (like a young boy should).

He didn’t like to go to parties over the weekend and still liked to sit and talk with his mum about everything he was thinking and feeling while she would make dinner or do the laundry.

And Phil could tell it was bothering his dad, a lot. And he had no doubt about how much his dad loved him, he knew he just wanted his child to be the way he should be.

Because that was how he was raised by his father and how he raised Martyn to be and he just couldn’t figure out what went wrong with his youngest.

And at this point Phil was starting to get tired of thinking about rules and guide lines to being a “proper” boy.

Because dying his hair is not manly. And wearing tight jeans is not manly. And liking the color purple is not manly. And listening to his weird, whiny music is not manly.

And at this age Phil was old enough to understand social constructs and gender expectations and it wasn’t like his dad was the only one throwing comments his way.

And the way his mum always shot her husband warning glares when he made a comment about Phil’s clothes or hair or lack of a girlfriend made Phil feel even worse.

Like there was something wrong that needed polite avoiding. Like he had this giant sign on his face describing some kind of a problem, and everyone were staring but afraid of making comments, as to not to offend the freak.

And he hated the way his father was ecstatic when Phil had his first girlfriend at the age of 15 (that lasted the whole of two weeks), because a lot of his friends never had girlfriends by this point and why was it so important that Phil will have one?

And his dad would give him extra money to buy her chocolate and take her to the movies and when they broke up his father patted his shoulder and said that it’s okay, that there are many more girls out there for him.

And then he grew older and went to university and suddenly he could feel so much lighter, like so much of the tension he was carrying in his body started dissolving. Because his dad wasn’t there to make comments about his clothes or to make a face when he decided to dye his hair black. And even though there were other people making those comments instead of him, Phil didn’t care about their opinion as much.

And when he met this one boy with curly blonde hair and a big shining smile in his English course he didn’t feel bad for looking at him. He didn’t feel like it “wasn’t manly” to want to hold his hand and kiss his cheek and do all those things his dad wanted him to do with a girl.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t know he was bisexual before. He knew that for years. But for the first time he didn’t feel the need to repress his crush and ignore it, because it was easier than trying to explain to his parents another aspect in which he was different to the other boys.

And he wasn’t an idiot. He knew why his dad was so happy whenever he went on a date with a girl. Knew why he was asking about every one of his female friends and pointing out cute girls at the shopping center to him.

But suddenly all that meant very little because his dad was far away and the blond boy was inviting Phil to hang out in his dorms and Phil couldn’t find a single thing wrong with that.

And when on one of his birthdays his dad bought him a hammer drill for a present instead of the camera equipment he asked for Phil was able to laugh about it and give his dad an eye role instead of feeling the need to take the hint to heart.

“Dad I think it’s time you understand that I’m never going to be able to fix things, only break them.”

And everyone laughed, including his dad, and even though it wasn’t all okay it wasn’t all bad either.

Because he knew his dad loved him. He loved him enough to not give up on him and keep gently pushing for the things he thought were right, even if he was wrong for doing that.

And when after graduating uni he told his parents he was going to try and make the YouTube thing work instead of going to look for a “proper” job, his parents were concerned but also supportive and it was so much more than a lot of other people ever get.

And then… and then Dan entered the picture.

And no one could deny how unbelievably happy Phil was all of a sudden, how much wider he smiled and how much more confident he was feeling.

And when his mum asked him quietly one night if he loved Dan, without questioning their relationship or Phil’s sexuality or his past girlfriends, Phil couldn’t bring himself to lie.

Because there was nothing shameful in his love for Dan and he wouldn’t insult his own feelings by down playing them in front of the person who always supported him.

And Phil never really needed to tell his father because it was so obvious to everyone in the Lester house from the way he would blush when Martyn gently teased him or the way he and Dan looked at each other and laughed and shared a room whenever Dan came to visit.

And there were still little things that were hard for his dad to except, still glances and comments but Phil knew, despite that, that he was trying really hard.

“You made me question things I never had to before you came along,” his dad told him one time when they had a rare late night conversations on one of Phil’s visits.

By this point Phil had moved to London long ago and his relationship and career were solid and his dad couldn’t mask his inability to understand his son’s path with concern.

“It was always so clear to me that there was a certain way a man should be like. That was how I was raised, that was how I raised you and Martyn. But you were always different, always doing your own thing, and I didn’t know how fix it.”

It was late and they were drinking tea and even though Phil felt a pang in his chest from his father’s words, he knew this conversation was long overdue.

“It didn’t need fixing.” Phil said gently, sipping from his cup and looking at his lap.

His dad was looking at his him with his bright blue eyes and a little regret.

“I know that now. But I couldn’t understand how you could be happy, acting the way you did. I couldn’t understand it and I thought it was a cry for help, one that a less involved father would have missed. I wanted to help you fit in and I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to, that people wouldn’t get you, because even I couldn’t.”

Phil had trouble listening and staying calm. He wanted to yell a little at his dad. Wanted to yell for his child self who never had the courage to stand up and speak his mind because he really didn’t want to make anyone upset. Really didn’t want to be a disappointment.

But he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t because it really wasn’t his style. He was a strong believer in actions speak louder than words and his happiness and success in life proved his father wrong more than anything he could ever say.

He felt his dad’s hand settling on his knee, squeezing and encouraging him to lift up his head.

“I should have said this to you years ago, but I’m sorry if I made you feel that how you are isn’t the way you’re supposed to be. You are my son and I’m so proud of you, and I would have been no matter what.”

Phil felt his eyes well up with tears but he didn’t bother to turn away, because there was nothing unmanly about crying.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, giving his dad’s hand a squeeze.

**********************************************

Phil spent a restless night in his childhood room the day his father died. Dan stayed awake with him, even though Phil insisted he should try to get some sleep.

Dan traced his face with his fingers and hummed small little tunes to try and make him relax and fall asleep but Phil’s head was buzzing with grief and thoughts and even though his body was begging for some rest, his eyes refused to stay closed.

“How are you supposed to live without your dad?” he asked suddenly, meeting Dan’s brown eyes, pleading for answers.

There was something easier about talking when the room was dark and other people were asleep and his heart was hurting enough for his mind to let his guards down.

“Like, it’s my dad. I don’t have a dad anymore. I’m a son with no dad.” He knew he was rumbling, but he didn’t know how else to describe it.

Dan shook his head, moving one of his hands to Phil’s hair and pushing it back, letting his blunt fingernails scratch Phil’s scalp.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“Like, if I need some advice on something that broke in the house, who would I call? We're both useless with those things.”

Dan laughed a little, the sound watery, and shook his head again.

“And… and if I’ll want to tell him about a project I’m doing? Something big, maybe one of the things that I always wanted to do but never had the courage, I wouldn’t be able to, he would never know I achieved that.”

He could feel his eyes becoming scratchy and the words stuck in his throat. Dan looked lost and sad and his eyes were shining but he said nothing.

“And if I’ll have kids one day, if we’ll have kids, he would never know them. He wouldn’t be able to go to the park with them like he did with me and he wouldn’t be able to buy them Christmas present and spoil them and he wouldn’t even know he’s a grandpa.”

He was crying, and Dan was crying too and he scooted closer to Phil and took his face in his hands, trying to dry the never ending stream of tears with is thumbs.

“And they won’t ever know him. I would tell them about him and show them pictures but they won’t know him, they won’t associate him with warmth and hugs and summers spent up north. They wouldn’t love him.”

“Phil-“ Dan started but his voice broke and he didn’t look like he was able to actually say anything.

“And I’m so mad at myself Dan. So mad for not being here yesterday and holding his hand for the last time and seeing him take his last breath. What were we doing last night? You remember? We were watching TV and eating pizza and while we did that my father was spending his last few hours without me.”

He knew he was blunt and cruel with his words, he knew he wasn’t fair to himself and to Dan but everything hurt so much and his guts were about to explode from the pain and the only way he could get some relief was by speaking out loud his darkest thoughts.

“Phil, you know it could have happened the other way around. You could have been there instead of Martyn, it’s just how it is. You did everything-“ Dan stopped talking when Phil shook his head violently from side to side, still held in Dan’s hands.

“No, I didn’t do enough. There were so many things I should have done, so many things I should have said to him before…before he…” died.

“ -And I planned on saying them but I always got scared because they felt so final and I didn’t want it to be the last time. I wanted to tell him that I forgive him for everything I ever held against him, that even though he wasn’t always right he was a really really good dad, and I always felt love from him, always loved him too, even when not everything was good between us.

He will never know that. He died thinking he wasn’t a good father to me, that I’m still mad about things that were forgiven long ago.”

Dan’s face was so pained and teary and Phil felt a weird satisfaction out of making him cry, because Phil’s pain was too big to express by only one man’s tears.

“He did know that, I know he did. You were such a good son Phil. You called him all the time, even before all that, and you came to visit as much as you could and when you saw a movie you thought he would like you always bought it for him and you did everything to show how much you care. How could he ever doubt your love?”

Dan’s words made Phil’s chest even tighter, made his arms and legs and guts ache from loss. There was so much on his mind and he didn’t know how to say everything, how to explain all the things he was feeling.

“I feel like such a horrible person Dan. I’m so jealous. I’m jealous of everyone. I’m jealous of Martyn for having a few more years with him that I’ll never get, I’m jealous of him for being closer to dad, for understanding him better.

I jealous of you for having both your parents. I’m feeling bitter because you have a dad that you barely call or talk to or appreciate but somehow the universe took mine away. I’m sorry, I know it’s horrible and petty but I can’t help it.”

His vision was blurry from tears but he felt himself being pulled into Dan’s arms, being engulfed by a warm body pressing to him as hard as possible.

“You’re not horrible, you’re anything but. You’re kind and you’re loving and you just lost someone very important to you and everything you feel is valid.”

He let himself cry in Dan’s arms. He let himself cling and sob and soak Dan’s T shirt with his tears.

And he knew his words most have hurt Dan a little. His relationship with his parents was complicated and Phil just talked about it so dismissively.

But he was hurting. And he knew Dan wouldn’t hold a grudge. He would forgive and forget because that’s what you do when the one you love is breaking down.

They were lying like this for at least 15 minutes before he could feel himself starting to come down a little, could start hearing Dan’s soft voice shushing him and humming in his ear over the sound of his crying.

“I obviously don’t know what you’re going through, and he wasn’t my dad, but I feel a lot of the things you said as well to an extent. I hate that he won’t know our kids, or see our future house. I hate that he wouldn’t be able to see how good I’m taking care of you, wouldn’t see his son hundred percent settled and living the life he always wished for him. I hate that I wouldn’t be able to ask for your hand when I’ll want to propose, or see his smile of approval if you’ll beat me to it. I really want our family to be whole and I hate that there is a part missing.”

Phil was listening carefully. His tears were stopping and starting every few words but his eyes were beginning to feel heavy and his mind cloudy from all the crying. But he needed to say one more thing before letting himself succumb to exhaustion.

“He loved you.” He said to Dan, squeezing his body closer to him.

“He told me that more than once, he thought you were funny and smart and he loved that you made me happy. I’m so sad Dan, so unbelievably sad, but I’m happy he could get to know you before he died, so happy he approved of you. I’m happy he knew I found the love of my life, that he didn’t have to worry about me not fitting in anymore like he used to. That he knew I found my place with you.”

He could feel Dan leaving lingering kisses on his head, could hear his whispers of “I love you so much,” and “it’ll be okay.”

He could feel his own lips moving, sluggish, like out of a dream, kissing Dan’s neck where his head was buried, saying “I love you too,” and “I know.”

And his head was throbbing and his throat hurt because he never cried so much in his life and more than anything he wanted to fall asleep and wake up and realize that it was all a dream, even though he knew that wouldn’t happen.

He knew that when he’ll wake up the pain will still be there and the feeling of loss won’t subside. And he’ll cry again and again because he loved his dad and he deserved to be cried over.

And Dan will be there and hold him close and kiss his head and cheeks and it won’t make it go away but maybe it will make it bearable.

Notes:

this was... the most personal thing i have ever written. i had a really hard time writing this and being objective about what i write because it meant so much to me. my dad passed away a few years back. we were really close and it definitely was a very hard time in my life, one that i'm not completely over yet. my experiences were personal and different than Phil's in this fic, but i did use a lot of my own emotions to describe his i guess...

anyway thanks so much for reading! please send your thoughts ! (especially since this fic means so much to me, i would love to hear if you liked it as well or not)