#r. line sure won’t keep his memory alive in a way that matters and he doesn’t care about oblisi

[presidentcircles-assistant]

you’re just like your father

[ID: A digital drawing of Trey, a stylized original Flatland character, done against a beige background. Trey is an grey Isosceles triangle with dark brown markings, dark grey limbs, a blocky, dark grey eyebrow, and a single grey eye in his center. On his legs, his ankles have small triangular spikes.

He has markings that consist of two curved lines across his bottom two angles connecting his bottom side and his other sides, two thin triangles curving slightly inwards right above his eyebrow, and a curved line connecting the two sides below his top angle.

He is slighting facing to the right, looking down at the camera. He is standing with his right leg to the side and his left leg facing slightly outwards. His left hand is held in a fist at his side, and his right hand is resting, held slightly behind him. His top angle is thinner than the rest of his body and slightly chipped. There are uneven lines around his body and his left fist to show he’s shaking.

His eyebrow is pulled down and his eye is squinted in an angry expression. He has a slit pupil and there are tears in his eye.

Behind him, stretching out like a shadow, is a faded Isosceles triangle named Easton. He has a single closed eye. There are two curved lines connecting his sides above and below his eye, creating a circular center. His center is light grey, and his bottom half and top angle are dark brown.

End ID.]

[justatiredghost]

Everything I ever wanted Ch3 Read More AO3

Dave died in Vietnam, but then he suddenly wakes up again in some sort of science facility. He has no idea what’s going on or where Klaus is, but he’s pretty sure he’s a prisoner. (The Commission has the technology to offer Five a new body, but since the Hargreeves siblings went on the run after failing to stop the apocalypse, they’ve managed to advance that technology even further.)

-

Dave jolted awake, half remembered memories of pain and terror spurring him on as he scrambled off of a bed, trying to get away while he still could because he wasn’t restrained anymore. He was moving too quickly, his stiff limbs protesting, but he didn’t want to waste this chance in case it was all he was going to get. 

His legs gave out almost immediately and he fell to his hands and knees, a pain in his chest knocking the air from his lungs. He clutched at the spot, gasping, trying to catch his breath as agony radiated through his body. Then he remembered the gunfire, the blood, and seeing his own lifeless body laid out in front of him. 

He clawed at his shirt in his panic, pulling it down enough to see, but there was no blood, not even a scar. He gagged at the memory, but he didn’t have anything in his stomach and ended up retching painfully. Once he’d regained himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and, while he waited for the world to stop spinning, glanced around to get his bearings. He might as well, nobody was trying to stop him yet, after all. 

The room he was in was pristine, white walls and minimal furniture that looked generic enough that they probably duplicated them for hundreds of rooms that looked exactly like this one. It reminded him of the barracks, just without bunks filling every space available. It wasn’t a home and it wasn’t a hospital, just a place to sleep at night. 

There were two doors, one propped open and leading to a small bathroom, the other large and heavy-looking, like the kind meant to keep someone inside, just without the bars. There was a huge window taking up most of the wall next to the door, but the glass was dark and opaque and he couldn’t see anything through it. Maybe it was just a bad mirror. 

None of this made any sense. He had no idea where he was or what could be happening. At least he wasn’t tied down and kept company by his own corpse anymore. His stomach clenched threateningly. He wondered what they’d done to him. It felt absurd to even consider, but what if he really had died? What would that make him, some sort of clone? Was he even the same person?

But then, how was that even possible? All of this was so surreal. This sort of thing didn’t happen, not in real life. And definitely not to a nobody like him. Maybe this was all some sort of hallucination induced by whatever they were using to keep him under for surgery. Or maybe he was just dead. Whatever was going on, the one thing he was sure of was that he needed to get out of there.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stand up. The world swayed and his knees shook, but he didn’t fall this time. Using the bed and wall for support, he made his way towards the door. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any sort of doorknob or lock. It was just a solid surface. He pushed on it, banged on it with his fist, but nothing happened. 

There was a solid looking white side table next to the bed, and, with a shrug, Dave picked it up and threw it at the window-mirror-thing. He put as much weight behind it as he could, but he just felt too weak and wasn’t surprised when it bounced off ineffectively. That didn’t stop him from trying a few more times, until he collapsed to the ground again, winded, his limbs feeling shaky like he’d been marching all day and night. It didn’t seem like he was getting out of here any time soon. 

“It seems like a waste of time to me, but if it makes you feel better, by all means, please continue.”

The voice startled him and he looked up in surprise to find that the glass was no longer dark and opaque. Now, he could see through to the corridor outside and an older woman watching him with some amusement, smoking a cigarette. She crossed her arms, apparently pleased by the effect her entrance had had on him. Something about her unsettled Dave. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew this woman could be incredibly dangerous.

“Where am I? What’s going on?” he asked, clambering back up onto his feet, trying not to show how wary he was of her. “And where are the others? I was on the front line; where’s the rest of my squad?” 

“My, aren’t we just full of questions,” she said with a chuckle. “Lets see. Where to begin? Well, you are at the Commission headquarters. The R&D department, specifically.”

“Can I leave? Or am I a prisoner.”

“You’re not even a tiny bit curious as to what the Commission is?” 

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure you’d give me an honest answer.”

“Fair enough,” the woman sighed. “We do safeguard all of space and time, but very well. Moving on; the Umbrella Academy, or, the Hargreeves siblings, a name you’re no doubt familiar with, have been causing us quite a bit of trouble lately.”

Hargreeves? As in Klaus Hargreeves? He had mentioned the Umbrella Academy before, so it was possible. Dave nearly asked in his excitement, at this hint that he might still be alive, but he bit his tongue. He still didn’t know what she wanted and he didn’t want to give anything Klaus wouldn’t want her to have. So he simply stayed quiet and hoped his expression didn’t give him away. He doubted it. He never had been very good at that sort of thing.

“We’d like to strike a bargain with them; put an end to all this nonsense. This is where you come in. Since you were obviously close to one of its members, we brought you back as a sign of good faith.”

“Brought me back?” Dave echoed, worried he knew what the answer was going to be. He just needed to hear it.

“What we’ve done here is a scientific marvel, really,” the woman said, looking pleased with herself. “Sure, we can recreate a person’s body, keeping our employees at the top of their game, that’s easy. But bringing someone back from the dead? That took a bit of creativity. But I’m proud to say it worked in the end. Hopefully our next experiment will prove just as fruitful.”

Dave could hardly listen, too stunned to pay attention. So he really had died. He absently brought a hand up to rub at his chest, where he could so vividly remember the feeling of having a ragged hole ripped into him. He tried not to think about that. He tried not to think about how the grief on Klaus’ face had been the last thing he’d seen before it all went dark. 

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the here and now, like he did on the battlefield. He could have a breakdown or something later.

“So,” he said, taking a deep breath, hoping his voice would be steady. “What you’re saying is that you want to use me as leverage to bribe the Hargreeves to stop fighting against you?”

“‘Bribe’ is such a crude way to put it,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’re doing them a favor. And you, too. We can all come out of this with something we want.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Dave said. “I appreciate it and all, but maybe you should put me back where you found me. I won’t be part of anything that might put the Hargreeves in danger.”

“Oh, rest assured, that can definitely be arranged,” she said and her cruel smile made him certain that she would follow through with it without hesitation if the mood struck her. “We can certainly do this the hard way, too, but we’d much rather do this with your cooperation. It would be so much easier.”

Dave always had a feeling there was more going on with Klaus than he let on. He’d said some things, painting vague pictures that Dave still struggled to completely put together. It didn’t help that they’d been high for a lot of their discussions, too. But this seemed like some sort of secret government shit that Klaus had certainly never mentioned. It was all too big for Dave and he had no idea what to think. Except that he wouldn’t ever do anything that could put Klaus in danger. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t help you,” he said, steeling himself for whatever was going to happen next. He half expected the woman to pull out a gun. 

“Well,” she said, adjusting her hat as if it could be anything less than perfect. “The hard way it is, then.” She turned and left, the sound of heels clicking against the floor echoing along the corridor as the window went dark again. 

Dave would have slumped to the floor in relief if his legs hadn’t given out first. They were trembling from exertion just from standing there. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so weak. Maybe this was just what it was like, being a clone. Or maybe he needed to rebuild whatever muscle he had had. Later, though. For now, he laid back on the carpet, completely exhausted.

Dave was a lot of things, but mostly he would describe himself as a disappointment in nearly every aspect of his life; with his family, with the military, everything. But the one thing he truly felt proud of was the way he had made Klaus smile, how happy he had seemed when they were together. If that was all he managed to accomplish in life, he would still consider it a success despite all of the other failures. That was the one thing that truly mattered. And he certainly wasn’t going to jeopardize all of that by working with a group that must have done some terrible things if Klaus had decided it was worth it to join up with the Umbrella Academy again. 

That was good, though, wasn’t it? His family had never seemed like the most supportive people, but maybe they could patch things up and look out for each other. That’s what Dave hoped, at least. Klaus wouldn’t be alone, and he had his whole life ahead of him. He didn’t need Dave. He’d probably already moved on from him and was getting on just fine. He was a survivor. 

Honestly, Dave felt a little bad for this Commission. He wasn’t really sure why they’d chosen him, he wasn’t special enough to use as some sort of bargaining chip. But even then, he wouldn’t want Klaus making any sacrifices for him, either. He didn’t even want to put Klaus in a situation where he had to make that sort of decision. So, he decided he needed to make sure he couldn’t be used against the Hargreeves in any way. He needed to escape, or die trying. If they killed him soon, maybe Klaus would never have to know. He wouldn’t have to grieve for him all over again.

[letsperaltiago]

ok time to break my silence caused by the fact that i spent all day making this lol too many feels 

so.. palm springs thoughts !! and there are manyyyy so buckle up and feeel free to hit me up with either matching or contradicting thoughts or whateveer!! i would LOVE to nerd out about this movie with someone:’)

here comes thoughts and pictures!! 

we basically start off with a mr. samberg sex-scene okAYYYYY the mood is set. we love the view

nyles aka. mr. samberg is the most gorgeous man alive and it was a true pleasure to admire him for 90 minutes straight 

CURLS!!????! THEY ARE UNREAL. i shall dedicate an entire post to them

Cristin Milioti is perfect for her role. her acting? *chef’s kiss* I love that she’s not the stereotypical female rom-com lead.

Her chemistry with Andy? Gosh.. Can’t believe Nyles x Sarah is my new main movie-ship!! They play off of each other SO. WELL. Their characters are equally stone cold and bitter, but then again not really, and they both portray it so well!!

“You don’t ned a leg up.” *moans* “Hold my leg up!” i SCREAMED

“Don’t you kiss me.” “Don’t you tell me what to do.” hoW DARE THEY!

Ok ur basically on love already stop it

The fact that they were just gonna fuck on a blanket on top OF ROCKS?!

but then again in this movie’s already insane universe it’s prob pretty normal:)

The overall dark, existential humor?? This is what I live and breathe for on a daily basis. Basiaclly both main characters are a BIG MOOD

Nyles not giving a shit vs. Sarah severely freaking out in the beginning is an iconic dynamic

“I am the antichrist” and then the rock falling? For a hot sec I literally thought the movie was gonna take a turn with Nyles being some magical/scientific creature that’d created the timeloop or something idkkk ahhha

Nyles in the suit... ridiculous(ly hot)

The torture methods Roy uses on Nyles and the fact that he’s not mentally scarred?? How?? 

On that note I love that Nyles and Sarah keep their memories even if the day starts over. Would’ve been a completely different concept if they had to “meet each other for the first time” every day and it wouldn’t’ve allowed their relationship arc to evolve as it did 

Darla is the fucking shit 

Nyles in the baseball cap, amirite?

THE BARTENDER TALKING ABOUT HITTING A GUY WITH THE CAR SHE’S CURRENTLY GIVING NYLES A HANDJOB IN IS COMEDIC GOLD 

“You fucked Jerry Schlieffen?” “Well he fucked me.” Yes SIR. Andy Samberg’s characters are all bottoms and we’re here for it

Sarah’s tongue click and “nice try” when Nyles asks her about her sex life?? 

IDK WHY BUT SO GOD

Randy is hella annoying. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

THIS ENTIRE SCENE:

the fact that they both start waking up smiling because now at least they have each other 🥺😭🤯

uhm i love a good ship that’s like... best friends to lovers and the montage of them basically becoming besties killed me 

this outfit Y E S: 

sarah falling off the car and nyles laughing it off is relationship goals

the crashing plane I LOL’ED

okay so... big moment... the DANCING AND MATCHING OUTFITS? THEY ARE MY DREAM TEAM. Also how excited they are running away from the bar 🥺

IM POSITIVE THIS IS THE MOMENT NYLES KNOWS! LIKE HE DOESN’T ADMIT IT TO HIMSELF COMPLETELY BUT HE KNOWS 

the bomb in the cake and french pirate-skit? so fucking random but i lovee it because it’s so them

*DRUM ROLL* PERHAPS MY FAVORITE MOMENT IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE: 

STORYLINE WISE AND VISUALLY A++++

the deep talks by the fire were SO well written. they were actually deep and genuine, allowing the characters to grow and opening up to us as viewers but also remained fun and witty

sarah trying to get nyles to admit he cares for her and him joking it off??? the flirtinggg

really wish we’d gotten to know more about what nyles meant with “it drifts away: just like they all do.” because it really seemed to trigger something within him. Like WHO “They”???

the dinosaurs lmao no comment but at least they got a cute cuddly moment

from the very first millisecond inside the tent you can CLEARLY tell Sarah is just dying to do something about them!!!

 the disbelief on nyles’ face when sarah says “lets just get it over with” because she’d clearly stated he didn’t want to and even though he obviously did he’s respected it and not done anything further about it oh babey

we love some good making out:’))) 

NYLES HALTING TO TAKE IN THE MOMENT EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO SCREAM INTO THE VOID 

i will die for a post-sexy timez cuddle and how sarah is trying to staying awake to be besides him is just *explosion* 

this has to be *the moment* she realises 

and they’re both sooooo fucking happy when they wake up after damn love me like that pls

THE GROOM BOOO FUCK OFF CAN’T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO REMEMBER HIS NAME CHEATING SCUM 

THIS FACE:

Baby is trying so hard and is so cute and nervous about it. SARAH LISTEN TO HIM HE LOVES YOU.

HE FELT GOOD WAKING UP BECAUSE OF YOUUUU, GIRL. DO NOT CALL IT “FUN”, SARAH 

“Going to bed maybe just got a little better” 😭😭😭😭

The entire cop scene is just pure insanity, very Lonely Island and I’m here for it even though I just want Sarah to rEALLY LISTEN TO WHAT NYLES IS TRYING TO SAY 

“Pain is real” oh babey that means SO MANY THINGS 🥺💔

“I followed you into that cave because I liked you!” like jake would say: don’t love how we got here but we’re going where i want

“pretentious sad boy” me

not shocked that they’ve hooked up before because c h e m i s t r y but don’t like how it got out :)))

why is nyles’ one sleeve shirt rolled up? im triggered

drinking pure vodka? oh babey its gonna be okay 

WE LOVE A SMART BOI WHO RECOGNIZES HIS GIRL’S PERFUME 

Sarah’s parents singing:)) i would cry too, nyles

"I love her.” “I see... That’s interesting” lmao savage

I actually really love Roy’s character. It turns out to be very humble actually and he has some insightful and lowkey poetic that lines i love. Besides that he’s hilarious. 

SO the whole time i was wondering how they’d get out of the whole “same day forever”-thing, if they were to. and I LOVE LOVE LOVE that they had such a logical way out of it: science. Not anything cheesy like “a true love’s kiss” or “you learned your lesson”. Pure logic and Sarah’s hard work to get there. Huge fan of this. 

I will never get over how good Nyles looks waking up and Sarah is xtra pretty in that scene:’) 

Nyles just wants to stay in a loop forever because it means for sure that he gets to stay with Sarah forever and I’m lowkey into it but also like lowkey LISTEN TO HER AND GO WITH HER PLAN, NYLES

“I wanna stay with you” *sniffles*

“I love you. How about that?” PRETTY FUCKING GOOD 

I love Nyles’ character development. He started off so nonchalant and cold, closed off and by this point he’s the softest, smiliest in love fool I’ve ever seen and Andy does it so good. SAMBERG HEART EYES!!

“Nothing is real in here” YES SARAH UR LOVE IS

I’m taking Sarah’s asking Nyles to believe in her and leave with her as her first “I love you” because it’s very clear that she wants to leave with him rather than without. 

just- this entire scene i ugh <3 <3 <3 <3

BREAKING. UP. WITH. MISTY ! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

glass of wine filled to the brim? sarah’s my type of gal

the speech was really beautiful and sweet without being too cheesy and kudos to cristin for really delivering it like a pro! especially her “abe, don’t fuck this up” like yes girl kill him, chop him to pieces with your eyes!!! also camila is such really pretty bride

nyles looks like a cockatoo here :

nyles taking the shot and smashing the glass into the ground got me 🤭😵😏🥵

“I’m your son” I SCREAM

GIVE THE MAN A WHITE HORSE DAMNIT

Gotta admit Sarah looks like a bomb (lol nu pun intended) ass super hero in her bridesmaid dress and C4-gettup 

The sentence ending up being total grammatical gibberish but Nyles trying so. damn. hard is the sweetest thing ever and should and will go down in rom-com history. It’s super romantic but also well-balanced by humor and I just.. so good. This is the kind of characters and relationships I love and wanna write myself 

“you’re my favorite person that i’ve ever met” 🥺🥺🥺

“i’d rather die with you than live in this world without you” WHY AM I SO SINGLE SOMEONE LOVEE ME LIKE THIS 

okay so idk but “what if we get sick of each other?” “we’re already sick of each other. it’s the best.” is so so so soft, the way nyles says it like it doesn’t matter and is honestly another key moment for me: they’ve experienced basically everything imaginable during their time in the box/loop. they’ve liked, disliked, loved, hated each other and still: he loves her. the fact that nyles knows no matter what happens it won’t stop that because it’s them?? ouch my heart. 

this chaotic mess of a pairing?MESSY BOMB BRIDESMAID AND CURLY-HAIR HAWAII SHIRT-BOI!! MY OTp

Them dissing Nyles’ mom on their way into potential death? that’s love, baby 

the fUCKING KISSSSSSS MANNNNNNNNNN!!!! SO ICONIC AND THE EXPLOSION IN THE BACKGROUND AND JUST WE DESERVE THIS THEY DESERVE THIS EVERYONE DESERVES THISSSS!!! 

NEVER OVEER THIS EVER FOREVER NEVER

Ok so I was SURE that when it faded to black that it was done and I grew super ficking frustrated because it would leave us with this “the ending is up to whatever you chose”-kinda thing kinda a la Celeste and Jesse where it just feels unresolved and I WASN’T OKAY WITH THAT. So I’m so happy we got to know that it worked and the bebes will live happuilly ever after with Nyles’ shaggy dog:’) 

Their hands on each other’s knee >>>>>

all in all 100000/10 

[nctwd127]

Letting go.

Set you free – MYMP / Let you go – Mountenz

Four Months later

“(Y/N)?” Sicheng called for you when he walked into your home. He had a paper in hand he didn’t understand, it was a notice letting him know that you had removed your name from the deed of the house and put it under his name solely.

There was no answer so he assumed you weren’t home, maybe. He made his way down the hallways to feel uncomfortable. The walls were naked and painted over, it had no real detail of you. Walking you’re your room, he was met with just his clothes on the bed.

The dresser was empty, no perfumes or lotions on top, the drawers had nothing in them. The closet was empty except for the clothes that he had left there. Back in the living room, he noticed now that the walls were also naked.

Confused, he took a seat on the couch and decided to call you because none of this was making sense to him. He pulled out his phone and looked for your name, the other line didn’t even ring before it gave him the disconnected phone number message.

Sicheng felt something in the depths of his heart, a weird sense of brokenness. You had left and changed your number without letting him know. This all came to a surprise to him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again only to notice an envelope on the coffee table.

To Winnie.

With shaking hands and a heavy heart, he picked up the envelope and opened it. Suddenly, he remembered what you once had said to him as he unfolded the letter that was inside, “My heart was ripped out of my chest in cold blood and delivered at my fucking door in an envelope.”  

He began to wonder if that would be case for him too because at the end of the day, no matter how he saw it. This place was home, it was the first house he bought with the intention of it being home.

A home for you and him.

Dear Winnie,

By the time you read this, I should be long gone. I hope you understand that I had to leave, that I had to do it for My own wellbeing. This place, this house, it stopped feeling like home ever since I had to let you go. Your memory stopped running down the halls when you got married.

I couldn’t keep living here knowing that this is the Place where we promised each other forever. We thought this is where we were going to have our little family Winnie. To have and Raise kids here. Just you and me.

But that wasn’t the case, you stopped loving me long ago. Now you’re married and Excepting a child with someone else. Someone that I Guess wasn’t meant to be me. At least not at your side.  

Letting you go was and is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. There isn’t a day or Night that I don’t think of you, us and what we could have been and were. Leaving the place I called home broke my soul. Leaving you behind and moving on, broke my spirt.

Every night for the last year since you’ve been gone, I wished and prayed that it was All a terrible dream, a Nightmare. That you would come home and wake me up, that you were still at my side and that you loved me and only me.

But I never woke up from this nightmare.

There’s a good chance that you don’t know but the day of your wedding, I was there. That’s where I found out that Jin Ae is pregnant.

Watching you say your vows, put a hurt in my heart that I’ll never be able to explain. But your happiness means everything to me and I had never seen you as happy as you were when you said them.

That’s when I realized that loving you the way that I do, meant I had to set you free. I had to let you go so you could move on with your life and not worry about me anymore.

So before you walked down the aisle as husband and wife, I left. I gave you my last goodbye from afar and in silence knowing that I would never see you again. Which I guess is for the best for the both of us.

Thank you for everything, for all the beautiful memories that I will forever carry with me. Thank you for loving me the way you did.

Lastly, thank you for the last night you gave me. I missed the little things we did, like cuddle all day and watch movies together. Or how you made me laugh and how you made me feel alive.

That night meant more than you’ll ever understand and gave me more than you’ll ever know.

This is me letting you go fully and completely. Live a healthy and happy life Winnie, you deserve it. Make all your dreams come true with your wife and child to be. Take care of yourself.

Dong Sicheng, I love you more than life itself, more than my own. But now I have to live for other memories that are to come.

Love,

Forever your eternal princess

P.S

Don’t come looking for me, you won’t find me.

Sicheng wept into the letter, feeling the brokenness fully settle in his heart. He began to wonder if this is how you felt when he left, like everything you ever knew was ripped out from right under you. He felt his heart get crushed and the overwhelming burn that the tears left in his eyes.

There was nothing more that he wanted than to wake up from this nightmare now. He wanted things to be like they were before, he wanted you.

He wanted to hold you, love you and have you as his and no one else’s. It was you and it’s always been you. He doesn’t know how he could have left you like this. If he had just given himself the time to think a year and so ago, he’s almost sure this would have never happened.

It should be you that he was married too and having his child. 

If he looked a little closer at the letter, he’d see that you were also giving him a child and not just his wife.

Two Years Later.

The years went on and you never returned to the place you once called home. You haven’t seen or heard from Sicheng personally since the last time you saw him, his wedding day.

He made headlines every here and there, you never got to read about the birth of his child because you were going through your own. You and your baby were healthy as could be.

You had a boy, Jin Ae had a girl. Three days apart, your baby was born first.

There was no trace of you in the media, everything you ever had was deleted. You left without warning, no goodbyes and no acknowledgment of your pregnancy when you left home.

The most recent thing you heard about him from the media was, ‘Dong Sicheng and Jin Ae, agree to 50/50 custody of daughter, finalizing their divorce.’

That was maybe a month ago or so. The news came as a huge shocker to you but as much as you wanted to have the hope, there was no use. You still loved him and carried him in the depths of your soul but you couldn’t do that to yourself again.

You had a son to think about now. And that stopped you from putting a false hope on your life, you let him go. You desperately fought day in and day out for two years to let him go.

There was no one in your life, there was no point. You couldn’t love like you did before and you weren’t going to try. There was only one man in your heart and that will never change.  

You were in the kitchen making lunch for your baby boy and you, when the doorbell rang. You thought nothing of it and passed the living room to open in.

Your son sat on the floor watching one of his cartoons when the doorbell ringing a second time caught his attention, “Momma!” He shouted and ran as fast he could to you. You carried him in your arms and continued to the door.

When you opened the door, your eyes went wide and mouth hung open looking at the person standing there. They haven’t changed even one bit.

“Winnie.”

Two years later and that nickname still pulled at his heartstrings.

“Princess.”  

Just like that one pulled at yours.

Sicheng looked over at his son and smiled so big and bright, it was like the sun was smiling down on you again. He walked in and planted a kiss on your son’s forehead, “Hi little buddy.”

Your son smiled at him, “Daddy.” 

He smiled and giggled at his dad like he had seen him a million times before and not like this was the first time he was seeing him.

Sicheng brought his attention back to you for a moment and cupped your face. He held you so tenderly, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks and looked you right in the eyes. His face was so close to yours, you felt his breath fan your face when he spoke.

“I need you to wake up now.”

Come wake me up

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found (Chapter 12)

Warnings: there is smut in this. Pure filth. Because that’s what the muse wanted.

tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007 @hemmyworthy

Four hours later Esme finds herself in the kitchen. Barefoot in denim shorts and simple white t-shirt, up to her elbows in soap and water as she scrubs the dinner dishes. Tyler works alongside of her; unusually quiet (even for him) as he dries the items waiting in the drainboard. It is these moments of normalcy that they have learned not to take for granted. That easy, smooth way that they work side by side even during the most mundane of tasks. They have never had to resort to mindless chit chat; their silences had always been comfortable, never awkward. Meshing right off the hop. Easily able to read each other's cues, recognize one another’s body language, allow their eyes and their facial expressions to do the communicating if need be. In the five days they'd worked side by side, they'd become very much in tune with one another.  Their very different skill sets playing off each other well.

And there had been the other aspect as well. Giving in to that sexual tension and suffocating need for physical contact. To feel alive again. To be reminded that they were worthy. That they were broken, but still good.

A year ago they were in entirely different places; he in that rundown shack of a house in the outback as she floated from motel to motel, working her way through North America. Spending an extended amount of time in New York City,  subletting a quaint little studio apartment in lower Manhattan.

A week before they'd met she'd started packing up her things and putting them into storage. Nik had tracked her down through G and offered her a job. She'd have her choice on where she wanted to settle down. The Big Apple wasn't on that list. Her plan had been to repeat the nomad lifestyle of living out of suitcases and ending up wherever life and the job took her. She'd been doing it since leaving the corps and it had become second nature to her. As if it were normal and everyone did it.

I have a job for you, she can hear Nik's voice as clear as day. I need some intel work done. An inside person. A drug dealer in Dhaka has kidnapped another dealer's kid. Information is slow coming. I need you to go there and get your pulse on things. Make friends with the locals. Get them to trust you. Word has it he's being held in or around the market area. But there's a catch. And I need you to trust me when I say I know it sounds crazy but I know it's going to work.

The next day she was on a helicopter heading for Australia. Out into the middle of nowhere to meet 'the catch'.

Only Nik hadn't told her 'the catch' was as insanely attractive as he was. Or as haunted and broken. He was an immensely private person; tortured by the bad decisions and the demons of his past. And she'd been intrigued by him. By the mystery that surrounded him. By the walls that he'd built up around himself. He was an enigma. A challenge. And she had found herself captivated by those brilliant blue eyes, that sad smile, and that voice. Low and steady, his accent dripping off every syllable. Physically he was a tall, cool drink of water on a hot summer day. Pleasing. Refreshing. But it was the way in which he carried himself that had drawn her in. Confident. Not cocky.  A man that lived on the edge and showed no fear.

A death wish, Nik had told her on the way home.  It's why he takes the jobs he does. It's not really the money. It's the hope that one day, the job is going to take him out. That it will make it all end.

A month later she was out of the job. Just as abruptly as she had gotten into it. Back in Australia and in charge of handing over possession of that shack in outback to one of Tyler's friends while he himself teetered between life and death in that hospital.  She'd found herself wandering down a new and often terrifying path. Starting an entirely new existence with the help of Nik and the surviving members of the tea.  A new life in a new country in a small two bedroom bedroom apartment. Spending the majority of her waking hours -a lot of her sleeping ones- at his bedside.

Four weeks after that she started feeling sick. Rundown. Taking the nausea, the headaches, the fatigue, and even her missed cycles, as signs of stress.

Until two little pink lies had told her otherwise.

She had bought the test on a sheer whim. A lineup in the hospital pharmacy bringing her directly into the aisle where they were store. She'd grabbed one, and hadn't even given it a second thought until later that evening and she'd gone into shopping back for something she'd needed.  And she can vividly remember sitting there on that cold porcelain toilet in the washroom connected to his private room. Barely thinking about that test that now lay on the sink ledge. There were too many other things to think about it. She couldn't remember when she had her last meal. Her last shower. Her family was leaving her strings of endless text messages and emails demanding to know where she was. Who she was with. Was she okay? It was too much. All too much. There was already an overwhelming heap of sadness and worry on her plate. Why would whatever higher power (if there was one) just add something else.

And then there it was. Her new reality staring her in the face. Things were already serious enough, and now there was a whole other layer being added. There was a life growing inside of her. During all that craziness in Dhaka....within those four dirty motel walls...she had had a hand in creating another human being.

She can even remember his face when she'd told him. The lucid moments were more frequent by then.  The amount of pain medication being pumped into him had let up and he was conscious more often than not. Still struggling with remembering all of the details of what happened. Things were hazy; he wasn't sure if he was recalling things that actually happened or if it was what he had wanted to happen so his brain was manifesting them as actual memories.  He  could vividly recall everything up to the moment that he'd been shot in the neck. He could even remember the sensation of choking on his own blood and feel it seep between his fingers. He was fairly certain he'd made it to the sidewalk along the bridge.  But after that...nothing. Nothing concrete and clear anyway.  

He still hadn't had a lot of strength. He grew tired and weak easily. But he would smile. Even laugh. He'd even bitch at her when she'd attempt to trim his beard and keep it under control.  And he'd wrap her in his arms and pull her down onto the bed with him and he'd hold her. They wouldn't talk.  She'd just lie there in his embrace as he played with her hair. Her head on his chest, listening to his heart.

Some days, they'd go for walks. He'd refuse to use a wheelchair, even on the days where he felt the most pain and the most weakness following his knee surgery. He hated feeling helpless. Weak. And she'd always try to ensure him that he wasn't any of those things. What he was, was alive. Recovering. And that's what mattered the most.  

It had been on one of those walks that she'd told him about the baby. Sitting on a bench when he needed a break and a chance to rest the knee.  And the sun had been high in the sky and the breeze had been crisp and fresh and the sounds and sights of live continued around them as she dropped probably the second biggest bombshell of his life on him.  It was the first time a silence between them had been agonizing. And she'd been screaming internally at him. To say something. Anything. To tell her that this wasn't the worst thing that could happen.  That this wasn't the end of the world. That this was just another thing that they'd get through together.

He had just stared at her. Shell shocked. Things had happened quick between them. They hadn't had time to catch their breath. And they hadn't wanted to fight it.  

“You're sure?” he'd finally asked, and it wasn't until he spoke that she became aware that she was crying. She usually kept tears to herself. She didn't like him seeing her in that kind of state. She had to be the stoic and solid one now, after all.

She told him about how she'd been feeling. The nausea. The migraines. The inability to sleep. The missed periods. She should have started just after the events in Dhaka. But it had never arrived and she'd just assumed that her body was in shock over everything that had went down.

Then he'd said the single most hurtful thing she'd ever had anyone say to her in her entire life. She'd tried to remind herself that this was all happening so fast. Too much, too soon. What did they really know about each other outside of the walls of that crappy motel? They'd jumped head first into...something. It couldn't really be called a relationship, yet casual sex didn't seem serious enough.  They were falling in love with one another. But they weren't in love. Not yet.

“Is it mine?”

She had wanted to slap him. She'd wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and strangle him. But she didn't blame him for asking. She understood his trepidation. If she'd fall into bed with him that easily, what's to say it wasn't a reoccurring behaviour for her?

When they'd been holed up in the motel she'd told him about her failed marriage. About her ex husband and his issues and the torment and torture he'd brought into her life. And on that bench she told him that she hadn't been with anyone besides him in over a year.  That sex had never been an overwhelming need.

Until she met him.

“You don't have to stick around,” she'd told him. “I don't expect that from you. If this isn't what you want...if I'm not what you want...you just have to say it, Tyler. I won't hate you. I'll walk away and I'll never bother you again. You don't have to be a part of this.”

Those normally brilliant blue eyes had immediately clouded over. His mouth setting into a grim line.

“Is that really what you think of me? You think that little of me? That I'd do something like that? That I'd just let you walk away?”

“You already have a lot on your plate. You're healing. It's going to take a long time. And you don't need me being in your way. You don't need me hindering you.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his eyes had narrowed, his voice low. Almost menacing. “Is that really what you think? You think I don't want you here? You think I look at you like some kind of obstacle in my way? The only reason I'm doing this...the only reason I held on and I keep hanging on...is because of you. For you.”

That had made her cry even harder. And her face had dropped into his chest; his fingers burying in her hair as he held her to him.

“I love you,” he'd said. It was the first time he had let those words come out. He'd later confess that he'd been feeling them since the beginning. Maybe not love itself. But the realization that he was falling in love.  “I love you and everything is going to be okay. We're going to be okay.”

She'd cried into his chest. Telling him that she loved him. That she hadn't meant to fall in love with him. Maybe it shouldn't have happened. Dhaka hadn't been the ideal place to meet the love of your life.  But it had. And she didn't regret that.

For a long time, neither of them had spoke. They'd just sat on that bench as she clung to him and he consoled her. And then he'd gently yanked on her hair in an effort to get her to look up at him.  Those blue eyes had been sparkling again. There was a smile...a genuine smile...curving his lips.

“We're having a baby,” he'd said. “I'm going to be a dad.”

They have never taken things slow. It simply wasn't in their nature. After that first night in Dhaka, they never looked back.  They'd given into lust. The promise of something new. Empowered by the realization that someone wanted them. Needed them. That maybe...just maybe...their two broken halves could make a slightly dented whole.

****

“How'd it go today?” he asks now, as he stands behind her and reaches over her to place dishes on the higher shelf. “Your little girls day.”

“Good. It was fine. It was nice to forget about everything else for a while.”

When she'd gotten home, she'd run that photograph of Farhad through the paper shredder. Covering her tracks. Something she'd become good at thanks to the job. But the rule of thumb was that no matter how smart and cunning you thought you were, there was always someone smarter and far more cunning.

And that person is Tyler Rake.

She watches the way his hands move as he does something so simple as drying cutlery. They're big. Powerful. Calloused palms, long, thick fingers, scarred and swollen knuckles, and wide wrists that lead into muscular forearms.  And she notices...obviously not the first time...just how attractive he actually is. Those eyes. That mouth. The way his hair falls over his right eye. The scars and the tattoos. All mixing together to create on hell of a man.

“You're staring at me,” he says, snapping out of her reverie. A grin playing on his  lips.  “That's creepy. Stop being a creeper.”

“Dick head,” she retorts, and flicks soap and water at him.

He's mocking her. Playfully, of course. Using the exact words she'd tossed at him during their first massive blow up in Dhaka at year ago. When she'd disappeared from his sight in the market after he'd distinctly told her not to leave his side.

“I told you to stay right next to me,” he'd roared. “I told you not to wander off on your own. That I wanted to be able to see you. At all times. That I wanted to be able to feel you beside me. To even smell your hair if it comes down to it.”

“Is that what you've been doing while I'll sleep?” she'd shot back. “Smelling my hair? That's creepy. Don't be a fucking creeper, Rake.”

She'd meant it as a joke. To break the tension. But it had only made things worse. And the floodgates opened and all the pent up rage just came exploding out of them. His hand wrapping around her neck and his fingers digging into her throat, his eyes menacing as he backed her up against a wall.

“Do you think this a fucking game? Does it look like I'm fucking joking?”

The fight had been intense. His anger raw. And he'd been powerless to contain it.  Or what happened when it had transformed into something so much more.  Greedy hands pulling at each other's clothes. Hungry, needy kisses. His hands biting and bruising as he took her right there and then up against that wall.

****

She clears her throat noisily and fights the urge to splash cold water on her face. Her hormones have been out of control. Especially within the last week. He's always had a powerful effect on her. It took for very little effort on his behalf to rile her up. But this level of intensity...this level of need...was something she'd never experienced before.

“Admiring,” she corrects. “Not staring. I was admiring. In case you haven't noticed, you're pretty easy to look at.”

“Yeah?” he steps behind her once again, an arm circling her waist. Palm against her stomach, drawing her tight against him. He drops his head, his hair and the tip of his nose brushing against the nape of her neck. And he feels her shiver against him when he presses his groin against her ass.

He can't help but smirk.

So easy. It's always been so easy.

“You're not too hard to look at yourself,” he says, his breath hot against the back of her neck.  He's feeling it too. It's always been intense between them. The sex incredible. But since the decision to return to Dhaka, the desire and the longing and the desperate need had only increased. He couldn't get enough. Didn't want to ever get used to getting enough. Afraid that at this time next week, one of them may not even exist anymore.

He swallows heavily and closes his eyes. Desperately trying to rid himself of those thoughts. They'd come this far.  They'd gotten through some serious shit. There was nothing that could possibly come between them now.  He nuzzles his face in her hair; inhaling the sweet of the sweet, fruit scented shampoo she favours. Committing that smell to memory.

Just in case.

His mouth is  soft and warm against the back of her neck. Feathery kisses that make her shiver and her pulse quicken.  And his hand slides from her stomach to her stomach; both palms gliding over the cheeks of her ass before bringing one of his hands down in a ringing, stinging slap. A smirk on his face as she bucks against him, his fingers roughly grabbing at the spot he'd hit.

“You're a fucking dick!” she exclaims, wincing, struggling to turn around to face him. “That hurt. Fuck you, Tyler.”

He uses his body weight to pin her in place, sliding a hand between her legs. Feeling the heat and the moisture that pools there, even through the fabric of her shorts and the panties she wears underneath.

“That's exactly what I want to do,” his voice rumbles deep within his chest. “Fuck.”

****

They make it as far as the living room. Clothes hastily discarded, forming a trail behind them. With the baby asleep, and Nik and the rookie back at their hotel for a remote final strategies meeting with the team, they once more have the run of their own place His hands are rough and needy as they explore her body. He knows every inch by heart; every secret little spot that, when manipulated, drove her insane. He can remember the early days; that fascination and wonder that comes with getting to know someone elses body. With learning what they liked, and showing them things that they'd never experienced before. It had been that way for him. After his first marriage had broken up and he sworn off ever going down that road again, he'd had his fair share of hook ups; randoms he met in bars, friends of friends, women in different countries that -if he was in town- he could call up for no strings attached sex. Esme had been the opposite. Two men before him. Including her ex husband. So Tyler had taken it upon himself to show her exactly what she'd been missing.

Her body is softer now. Her hips wider. She's had a baby. His baby. And while it's familiar, it's still exquisite. A beautiful wonderland that only he gets to visit. And he still worships it...and her...as much as he did when they first met.  And as often as he can.

He stands above her as she lays sprawled on the couch, ready and waiting. Chest heavy, his eyes hooded as they take in every inch of her. Those dark eyes filled with desire, the flushed cheeks, those full supple breasts with their rock hard nipples. Stroking his own cock as he watches her playing with her clit. Exactly like he told her to. Growing even harder when her eyes close low and her head falls back, a long, tortured moan escaping her lips.

“No,” he says, when he senses she's close, and he yanks her hand from between her legs.  “I get to do that.”

She reaches for him but he shoves her hand away.

“Sit up,” he orders. “Back against the couch.”

She does as she is told. The perfect little submissive that she is. He gets off on it. Knowing just what he can get away with.  The kind of punishment that he can not only inflict on her, but that she can actually take. No woman had ever given him that kind of freedom with their body.  None had ever had that pure, blind trust in him.

He tenderly cups her cheek his hand, turning her face up towards him as he kisses her. Soft. Sweet. His other hand still tending to his direction, and he backs away when her fingers come in contact with him.

“Not yet,” he tells her, and then drops to his knees between her thighs. Sliding his hands between her and the couch in order to grab her by the ass, yanking her forward to give him access to what he really wants.

She gives a small cry the second the tip of his tongue makes contact with her clit. Bathing it with long, agonizingly slow licks that has her toes curling and her back arching. His fingers biting into the soft flesh of her ass when when he uses his tongue to penetrate her; jerking himself off as he tongue fucks her. Using it in the same way he could his cock. Spurred on by the obscene noises that are escaping are mouth and the fingers that are scraping across his shoulders.  

“Tyler...” she whimpers, and her hands are in his hair and her hips are rising from the couch to match every move of his tongue. “...shit...fuck...Tyler...”

And when he knows she's close...when he knows she's teetering right on that edge...he abruptly stops. Leaving her a near sobbing, panting mess as his hand drops away from his cock and he stands.

“Get up,” he demands. “I want you to get up.”  

Her legs are trembling. Weak. And he gently grabs a hold her arms and helps her to feet, pulling her into him a for a long kiss. The tip of his tongue briefly touching hers before gliding along the roof of her mouth.

“I want you to ride me,” he says. As if she has a choice in the matter. This is his game. He's in charge. And she never resists when he is. “I want you, to fuck me.”

She nods in understanding, and he runs a hand through her hair and grabs a hold of the tresses. A firm hold. But not hard enough to hurt. Just enough pressure to pull her head back so she looks at him.

He smiles. It's soft. Reassuring. They've been playing these games for almost a full year now.  She knows he'd never hurt her. That with the simplest word or the hint of discomfort, he would stop.  She trusts him. Maybe too much at times. An almost blind faith that both flatters and frightens him.

It's his turn to sit on the couch. Thighs splayed, his hand finding his own cock again. The other reaching out for her, resting on the small of her back and giving her that extra sense of security as she straddles him. Those small hands resting first on his shoulders and then sliding down onto his chest. He guides her with that hand on her back and the other around his erection, lining it with that warm, moist, welcoming entrance.

“Fuck...” It's his turn to groan, eyes closing and head falling back as she sinks down onto him.  And she pushes her hips forward, a movement that has him bottoming out inside of her.  And he releases more profanities and a low hiss when her nails dig in; scraping down his chest and over his nipples.

She pushes her torso forehead, and laying a hand on the back of his head, pulls him forward. His face buried between the valley of her breasts as begins to ride him. Slow, smooth movements that is torturous for them both. His hands slid up her thighs and over her hips. Up her back to her shoulders. And he takes one of those hard nipples into his mouth. Rolling it along his tongue before stepping up his game; fingers pressing into the soft skin of her shoulders as he aggressively sucks. And she moans at the sensation, her fingernails digging into his scalp as she moves faster.

His hands drop to her hips, removing his face from her chest and allowing his head to fall back onto the couch cushion. Sweat beads on his brow and at his temples. His chest heaves from the work it takes just to hold back. Allowing her to have this moment. Where she is the one in control. Temporarily giving her that power.

She smiles down at him and kisses him; her teeth painfully digging into his bottom lip when she pulls away.  

“You like this, yeah?” he asks, as he fights to keep his hips still “You like being in charge, don't you.”

She nods, and drops her head into the space between his neck and his shoulder. Where she kisses, licks, and nibbles at the side of his throat and bulging trap muscle.

“Jesus...fuck...” he winces when her teeth dig in. Hard enough to break the skin. And that signals the end of their little game. It's time to take that control back. He wasn't a submissive man. He never could be. Never will be. And curling an around around her waist, yanks her off of him and tosses her onto the couch.

“Kneel...” he orders, and she's watching him over her shoulder and running the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip as she does so.  He smirks, loving that innocent look she gives him. Those huge eyes and her hair wild and tumbling over her shoulders and swaying against the sides of her face. “...fucking do as I say,” he snarls, when she hesitates. “...I'm in charge here. Got it? I said fucking kneel.”

He snatches her by the hips, positing her exactly where he wants her, using his own knee to push her legs apart.

“Down...” he lays a hand on the back of her head, pushing her face into the back cushion of the couch.  “...just do as I fucking say, alright?”

She nods.

“What? I didn't hear you.”

“Yes. I'll do what you say.”

“Yes, you'll do what I say, who?”

“Tyler. Yes I'll do what you say, Tyler.”

“Wasn't so hard was it? Huh? What did I just ask you? I asked you if that was so hard. Was that hard to do?”

“No.”

“But you want it be, don't you.  You want something hard. Inside of you. Say it. Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“I want it,” her body shudders as she talks, and she shoves her ass out towards him. “I want you.  I want you inside of me.”

“That's a good girl. Such a good girl,” he kisses his way down her spine, runs the tip of his tongue over the small of her back. Over that tattoo that she'd gotten when she was eighteen and regretted ever since. He'd laughed when he'd first seen it. Not because it was horrible. Far from it. But because she'd actually wanted to leave her shirt on so he wouldn't see it. Mortified at her teenage decision.

She shivers at the sensation of the cool air on her skin, and her eyes close and her head drops forehead as he pushes into her. Not the brutally hard thrust that she had expected. But slow and deliberate. Letting her feel each and every inch until his balls are settled against her ass.

“I love you,” he whispers against her back, a deviation from the stone cold and demanding persona he'd been just minutes before.  “I love you so much. And I can't lose you. I can't.”

She opens her mouth to tell him that she loves him. More than he could ever possibly comprehend. But all words are lost as he pulls out and then pushes back  in, listening to that low growl that he emits, feeling those fingers digging into her hips.

He says nothing more. Neither the calm and quiet Tyler or the rough and demanding one. The hand on her shoulder that holds her in place is gentle, barely touching her. And those fingers on her hip release their painful grip and his hand slides around to her stomach. He moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that she swears can feel the way into the pit of her stomach.

He grunts when she pushes her ass against him, and he reaches around to pull her hand away when she attempts to reach between her legs for that extra pleasure. Replacing her hand with his own, fingers easily finding her clit and rubbing deftly at it. Until her body begins to quake and her back stiffens. His name leaving her mouth in a sob that's muffled by the cushion underneath her.  

He continues to rub that painfully sensitive nub until he's coming as well.  His head falling forward, eyes closing, profanities spilling from his lips.

****

“You realize we're probably never coming back here, yeah?”

They lay in the middle of the living room floor. Naked bodies wrapped in the flannel throw that's kept on the back of the love seat. A cushion from the couch serving as a pillow.  Moonlight streaming through the patio door.

She raises her head from his chest to look at him. One of his arms wrapped around her, the other behind his head. Brow furrowed as he stares at the ceiling. She hates that look on his face. Dark. Intense. His adrenaline is starting to kick it up a notch, driven by the nerves and the bizarre sense of excitement that you feel before every job.  The softness in his features his gone.

This is the old Tyler. She recognizes him well.

And although she'd encouraged it, his emergence scares her. Just a bit. More for him than for herself. Even the old Tyler was trustworthy when it came to her. Protective. Almost too much so. He would never hurt her. But when it came to his own well being, he was reckless. And she was worried if he crossed that line, that she may never get him back.

She moves onto her side, propping herself up in her elbow. Side of her head resting in her palm as she watches and waits. Her free hand on his chest, fingertips softly gliding against his soft skin and over the scars that use his body as a canvas.

“You do realize that, right?” he finally looks at her. His eyes are hard. Lips set in a grim line.

“You mean come back here as in here here or as in...” she lets her voice drift away as he gives an annoyed scoff and looks away.

“I don't mean it that way. I don't mean death. I mean here as in Australia. As in this apartment. This room.”

This is definitely the old Tyler. The one that was easily aggravated if she said something he viewed as stupid. Or if she dared challenged his power and control over situations.

She lets it go. She feels the stress and the nerves and the fear herself. The old Tyler always struggled to express those kind of emotions. He was stoic and solid. He hid his true thoughts and his true feelings. Locking them deep down inside and throwing away the key. The new Tyler had worked hard to give over that. Struggling to learn how not to close himself off and push her away.

Their return to Dhaka is less than twelve hours away. A place that holds a lot of memories. Some good. Most bad.

Most horribly, horribly bad.

“There's no way we can come back here,” he continues, and as if doing battle with his former self, he closes his eyes and then opens them again. His arm relaxing around her, knuckles brushing against her shoulder.

 “This will never be finished,” he says. “Well and truly finished. For every one Asif we kill, ten more will pop up. And each one will learn about what happened. What we did. How Asif himself failed. They won't let that shame go. They'll avenge him. Six months from now, six years from now. It doesn't matter. There will always be someone that wants revenge.”

She remains silent. Fingers skimming along his chest and over his collarbone. Nails scrapping along the underside of his chin, palm coming to rest his cheek. And he turns his face into it, beard scraping against his skin, lips finding her palm.

“If they know our names and know where we are, we can't stay here,” he reasons. “It would never be safe. We'd always be looking over our shoulders. We'd always be jumping the second we hear something moving in the shadows. And I don't want that for you. Or our daughter.”

She finally speaks “What about for you?”

“That doesn't matter. It's my job to protect you. It's my responsibility to make sure you're safe. That she's safe. And I know neither of you ever will be if we stay here. What's happen if I'm not here? I can't be here twenty four seven. And that's when they'd make their move. When they know I'm not here. And I can't take that chance.”

She rubs the back of her hand along his jaw. The top knuckle of her index finger skimming over the scar underneath his right eye.

“You deserve better than that,” he says, as he struggles to contain the emotion that chokes at him. “So does the baby. You deserve better than this life. Better than me.”

She pushes his face towards her and silences him with a kiss. “Stop that,” she gently orders. “You're perfect for us. We're safe with you. I never doubt that. I never will.”

He manages a smile and lifts his head kisses her softly. One on the lips,  then the tip of her nose, followed by her forehead.

“Where will we go?” she asks, when he settles his head back onto the cushion. Her fingers now move to the chain around his neck, the pad of her index digit running along it.  

“Colorado.”

“You actually want to throw yourself into that? You really want to subject yourself to my family?”

“I would be nice to have a family. Outside of the three of us.”

“We have Nik. And the rest of the team.”

“That's a fucked of vision you have of a family.”

“Like I've said. You've never met my brothers. You might meet them and wonder what the fuck you were ever thinking. What kind of fresh hell you ever got yourself into.”

“They can't be that bad. And you need to go home. Your mom misses you. And I know you miss her. And your step dad.”

“I don't miss them enough to force you to be somewhere you don't want to be.”

“I'd follow you to the ends of the earth. You know that. It's what you practically did for me.”

“This isn't a competition, Tyler. You don't have to do something because you feel you have something to make up for. I didn't come here and stay here because you forced me to. I came here because you needed me. And I stayed because I love you.”

He smirks “Not to mention I knocked you up.”

“A surprising little turn of events, but yes. That too.”

“A good surprise,” the smile is softer now. “A very good surprise.”

“We could always go to New York City,” she muses, sighing wistfully at her memories of the Big Apple.

“Isn't that where Crocodile Dundee ended up? Isn't one Aussie enough?”

“Hmmm...yeah...you might be too much for even them to handle,” she teases. “There's always Boston. Boston was nice. Chicago wasn't bad. Or Texas. I enjoyed Houston, actually.”

“We could also move to Canada,” he suggests.

“Won't work. You hate hockey.”

“It's not that I hate it. I think it's stupid.”

“Bite your goddamn tongue, Tyler Rake. How dare you.”

“I also hate that shit that you tried to feed me once. With the french fries and the gravy and the pretend cheese.”

“That wasn't pretend cheese. It was cheese curds. Very much real cheese. And poutine is a delicacy, I will have you know. Just because you can be an uncultured swine...”

He chuckles, then wrapping an arm around her waist, hoists her up on top of him. His hands on her thighs as she straddles his hips.

“There's always the west coast,” she says, as runs his hands along over her knees and up her legs. “I didn't mind Seattle. They have great coffee. California would probably be the best fit for you. There's lots of beautiful beaches. You do love to surf.”

“Colorado,” he insists, his hands settling on her hips.

“There's mountains. And snow. You need beaches. The ocean. Surfing.”

“I don't need those things. I can live without those.”

“San Francisco is supposed to be nice. I've never been there but I hear it's decent. And they apparently have a good football team.”

“Let's not start that argument again, love. That is not fucking football. And I already said it. Colorado.”

“Los Angeles.”

He shakes his head. “Colorado.”

“San Diego.”

“Nope. Colorado,” he slowly stresses the word.

She sighs. “Why do you always have to be such a stubborn little shit?”

“Because I can. Because you let me get away with it. Because you love me enough not to strangle for me it.”

“Not yet anyway,” she leans down to kiss him, her hair falling over both of them,  brushing against his chest when she sits back up. “I know you think this is what I want. Going back there. But you don't have to do this.”

“I don't think it's what you want. I know it's what you need.”

“Since when did you become an expert on what I need?”

“You seemed to think I was an expert at knowing what you needed half an hour ago,” he teases, and then winces and laughs when she grabs the part of his beard under his chin and yanks. “Actually, I think I proved I'm an expert. At least at those things.”

“You're like a fourteen year old boy. Mind always in the gutter.”

“You blame me? You're sitting on me. Naked.”

“You put me here. And then you complain? That's fucking rude.”

Curling an arm around her, he unceremoniously drops her onto her back. “That better?” he asks, a hand on the floor beside her head as he bends down to kiss her.

“Much better,” she says against his lips, and then sighs into the kiss.

He pulls back to look at her. Giving her a wink. “Colorado.”

“You are an insufferable bastard, Tyler Rake.”

“I am,” he agrees. “But you love me.”

She smiles up at him. “Only on days that end in Y.”

“That's good enough,” he declares, and kisses her once more. Longer this time. More passionate. Pulling away with a wide grin. “Colorado.”

“You can be a real annoying little bastard,” she teases, as she pushes his hair out of his eyes “You always have to have the last word?”

“Always,” he says, giving her a wink and then kissing his way down her entire body.

No more words are needed.

[ren-c-leyn]

Farewell, Father...

Another fusion short story, and another sci-fi one, so this is again, a bit out of my norm. 

 This one is made up of this prompt by @p-r-o-m-p-t-s, this prompt by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor, this prompt by @humdrummoloch, this prompt by @unpromptly, these 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12 prompts by @thependragonwritersguild, and this prompt by @givethispromptatry.

 There is death mentioned in passing, as well as mentions of a war/conflict in passing as well. It is a bittersweet/angsty piece, but there is no gore or violence in it.

 I had only been visited this planet twice since we left, and both times were for my father’s sake. Well, my adoptive father.

 I don’t remember much about the first time, since I had been a little kid. Little flashes come to me from time to time. Ribbons, faces, small snippets of conversation. It seemed like a big deal, but that likely has something to do with the award for his service during the war and his role in the dealings that ended it.

 Something I do remember vividly was the way there, though. It had been a strange flight through the stars, and in those short days from our little dwarf planet to the big, shiny pink one, I had seen more emotion on his face than I believe I had ever seen before or seen. Unease, sorrow, regret, excitement, fear, anger, so many things people believed his people were incapable of feeling.

 Was it the third or the fourth day I finally asked? I don’t rightly remember anymore. But at one point, child me tugged on the synthetic fabric of his sleeve, peering up at his pale, grey face and past glowing green lines into bright yellow eyes. Eyes that were filled to the brim with so many things I do not believe I’ll ever fully understand....

 “Are you alright?”

 “The short answer is no, but if you’re willing to listen to the long answer, I’d be more than happy to explain.”

 “I’ll listen,” I said.

 There was a small pull on his lips, a smile, and then it disappeared into it’s typical blankness as his eyes turned to the viewer. Slowly, he zoomed in the holo screen to show the pink planet in all it’s glory. A moment of silence passed as I stared, mesmerized by the swirling clouds and glow of the atmosphere. 

 “I have a complicated relationship with this planet,” he began in his smooth, detached, and chronically bored-sounding voice, leaning back in the pilot’s chair. “It is... the place we were both born. Our home planet, or some would say. But it was never much of a home for me, and, unfortunately, not for you either. Many, many terrible things happened beneath those clouds, my star, and many people, both good and bad, lost their lives there. People like my... siblings? Yes, I believe that is the term. My siblings, as well as your birth parents, they were all lost to that pink planet.”

 I looked back up at him, my young mind struggling to understand.

 “So it’s a bad planet?”

 He patted my head, eyes still transfixed on the image before us.

 “I... I do not know how to answer that question. It can seem like it when all that’s left are bad memories.” Father looked down at me and smiled again. “But I do not believe it is all bad. After all, it is the place we were born, and you are surely a good thing.”

 Staring at the same holo-projection of the very same pink planet all these years later from the same seat he had sat in made the memory sting all that much more. Over time, I came to understand more and more of the implications and events that were tied to that small conversation we had that day. Even now, I know I do not have the entire grim story of my father’s life, nor would I ever.

 I found myself to be the center of attention in the spaceport. Old comrades of father’s, reporters, and the like wasted no time in swarming me. After all, today was a historic day.

 If father wasn’t in the history books already, he was about to be. After all, he was the first android to be granted a funeral. Not just any funeral, either, but a hero’s send off.

 We unloaded the casket I had chosen from the cargo hold, and began the trip to the cemetery dedicated to the soldiers who fell during the revolution. It took a lot longer than I would have preferred to arrive. Trapped in a hover vehicle with my father’s body literally right behind me left me too much time to reflect on things. Too much silence to deflect the memories of the end....

 It had been a sudden change. He had been his normal self, untouched by time, and then... he came home one day, glowing.

 “You’re glittering.”

 “I don’t want to talk about it, not right now.” He pulled me into a hug and just held me for a while. When he did break the silence, it was with a quiet voice. “Remember, my star, I’ll never leave you. Even when you seem alone, I will be there. Please remember. Please do not forget.”

 I had never been so confused in my life, but I nodded all the same.

 “I won’t forget.”

 Then, his condition got worse suddenly. Glitches and errors and breakdowns. I brought him to a hospital, but not many are equipped to deal with android patients yet. Frustrated, I brought him to a mechanic instead, and he told me that some of the bio-mechanical parts were failing. They could be replaced, but it wouldn’t be my father anymore. So, the mechanic and I put it to him to choose, and he chose.

 I remember sitting next to his bedside back home, hands clasped together as I stared at my knees.

 “I... I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” I choked out, feeling like I had failed him somehow. 

 Even now, I feel like I failed. Like maybe there was something more that might have been done. But he patted my head.

 “There is nothing you can do. This was going to happen eventually.”

 “But I... I feel like I failed. And I, I didn’t want to fail you.” And I had broke down crying at that point, frustrated, scared, not ready to let go. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

 He wiped the tears away.

 “You’ll never be a burden to me. No matter how little time is left or how big a mess you make.” 

 “But....”

 He cut me off with a soft shush.

 “How much of life is wasted hating who we are? Blaming ourselves for things out of our control and choices we made with the limited information we had at the time?”

 I stared at him, not sure how to answer, or even if he wanted an answer. He smiled at me. Not a very good one by most races’ standards, but it was downright stunning for him.

 “I don’t want you to waste your life on such things, my star. You make me proud by choosing what makes you happy. So long as you are happy, that is what matters to me.” The smile faded. “And I know these are not happy times now, and neither will be the ones directly after my... passing, but never blame yourself for them, and please keep an eye out for the good times that will come for you again.”

 I nodded, unable to get a single word out from behind the lump in my throat.

 And that lump had returned with a vengeance as I stepped out of the hover vehicle into the gloomy fog that had gathered and watched them unload the casket. Hundreds of people looked on, as well as anyone could, as full services were done in honor of my father, an android whom probably wouldn’t have cared at all for the flowery speeches and high praise being shoveled onto his name. But one of them caught my full attention.

 An android stepped up to the platform. Even in this weather, her form stood out. She had bright, almost neon, red hair, glowing orange lines, and deep blue eyes that glowed with the same energy father’s used to. Slowly, she took the voice amplifier and faced the onlookers. After so many years with father, I knew what the subtle creases on her face meant, distress and sadness.

 She spoke with a more mechanical voice than father, her speech patterns slow and halting, and I doubted the emotional overload was helping her anymore than it helped anyone else speak in coherent sentences.

 “Heroes of legend are not the strongest or the wisest of us. They are those who had the selflessness and courage to do what was right. And he was, most certainly, one of those people, even if not all would call him a person.

 There... are many lessons my friend taught me while he was alive. Nothing is inevitable. Keep fighting, is one he would say repeatedly when we were trapped in... what were hopeless situations. Even went people told him awful things, like that he was just a mirror. Reflecting the world back because there’s nothing inside of him, he did not quit. He held fast to his path, to his beliefs, to us. And, he was right. There were days when, I knew I would die, and I did not because he did not allow us to give up. And, not only did I live, but we changed this planet for the better.”

 She paused for a long moment, eyeing the crowd for a long time before clearing her throat and continuing.

 “But my dear friend suffered greatly to make these things happen, we all did. Time doesn’t ruin people. People ruin other people, and perhaps that is why we find people like my friend so amazing. Because they go out of their way to not only avoid ruining other people, but strive to help them. And I... I am glad that my friend’s efforts did not go in vain. I am glad that none of our comrades and lost friends’ efforts went in vain. The blood and the oil spilled... can never be replaced, but we can make it mean something more than senseless violence as we move forward. That is all.”

 She put it down, and disappeared into the crowd. I found myself mulling over her words for long after the crowds started to part and leave. After many well-wishes and condolences, I made my way to father’s grave, preparing my final good-bye, only to see the red-haired android already standing there. She was talking, but I could only make out the last sentence of it as I approached.

 “I never understood why you did that.”

 “Why he did what?”

 She looked up and offered me an android smile.

 “Well... why he decided to raise you off planet, instead of staying and working with me to fix the mess the war made of the place. He would have had a good-position in office, a home, a purpose... almost everything we androids seek from the time we are constructed.”

 “Ah, well... I can answer that one for you since I asked him a very similar question.”

 Her eyes widened with hope as she stepped towards me.

 “What did he say?”

 “He told me that no amount of power will make you happy. You’ll always want more, and it will never love you back. And that all the real treasures of this world are so small and fragile that they would get lost in the face of power. So, he decided to take his small treasures and find a good place for them to grow.”

 She nodded slowly.

 “Yes, yes... that does sound like him.”

 I smiled at her.

 “Sounds like you knew him well.”

 “Very well,” she replied with a nod. “He was my very first friend, after all, manufactured in the same factory.”

 “Really? Then can you tell me more stories about what he was like before?”

 She nodded. 

 “Yes, but I do have to return to the office shortly.”

 “Then walk and talk?”

 She gave a nod.

 “Walk and talk.”

 And so we did. We walked side by side as she told me about some of the memories she had at father’s side, including the day they found me, a tiny infant, laying among the rubble left by the war.

 “He felt guilty about the loss of your family, and thought the best reconciliation he could offer was to give you a new family.... Unfortunately, your adoptive aunts and uncles, the other members of his line, we all lost during the war as well, so he was the only one left.”

 A heavy silence floated between us before she spoke again.

 “I am sorry you had to loss him as well. He did not wish for you to loss more family. I am sure he would have stayed by your side until he turned to rust.”

 I smiled weakly at her.

 “He said he would never leave me. He kept his promise.”

 She stared at me, the clearest confusion on her face as we stopped at a cross section.

 “I... Well, I hope so. This is where we will need to part ways, little star. Please be careful on your way back home.”

 I gave a nod.

 “I will be.”

 The red glow of the traffic light in the fog silhouetted her as she stepped into the dark space between the buildings.

 I returned to the ship and sunk into the pilot’s chair, father’s seat, and reached into my pocket, fingering the data stick that the mechanic had given me after father passed: his memory and personality data files.

 Remember, my star, I’ll never leave you. Even when you seem alone, I will be there. Please remember. Please do not forget.

 “I won’t,” I mumbled, tears rolling down my cheeks before I powered up the engines.

[vagrantblvrd]

werefox trevor with werewolf bro ryan? fahc au would be amazing!

Okay, so!

I really, really love these two idiots as brothers, and then you go and want them as werefox and werewolf and FAHC to boot? Yes, okay, I love to the moon and back.

So let’s say in this one the two of them are half-brothers, right?

Ryan’s dad fucks off when he’s a kid so for the longest time it’s him and his mom and this loose pack they have with various family members and close family friends and it’s pretty great?

But then her job takes her to a new city and things go downhill for them for a while. Ryan’s a Good Kid who does his best to help out around the house, gets a job as soon as he can to help with bills and the whatnot. (Maybe gets into stuff he shouldn’t for the same reasons, but nothing too dangerous, right? Just. Things he can’t tell his mom about.)

And then she meets this guy somewhere. Kind of an asshole and Ryan’s not a fan, but he makes his mom happy and that should be the important thing, right?

The fact she takes Ryan aside and tells him to be careful about the whole werewolf thing around him should be a warning sign, but she’s always careful about that because people get weird about werewolves.

She’s not a wolf herself, no, that was Ryan’s deadbeat dad. His mom changes into a pretty little red fox that laughs at Ryan on his big clumsy paws and used to coax him into chasing her so he’d learn how to control all four limbs, track prey – some dumb kids lost in the woods they’d spook back to the right path out before they got into too much trouble out there – and so on.

But she’s got this paranoia about people finding out that she passes on to Ryan along with a sense of family he never forgets.

But with this new guy in her life, she hides part of herself she never had to before and it unsettles Ryan,  has him keeping his distance a little more.

And then she gets pregnant, and then she has this sweet baby boy. Soft tuft of dark hair and gunny little smile and dimples and Ryan is just a kid but he knows, knows he loves this dumb little baby so much.

The asshole who fathered him isn’t around much, long-haul trucker and all, so he isn’t there to see the baby shift on its first full moon.

Wide startled eyes in a soft fuzzy face, pointed muzzle and soft gray-black fur and the cutest fox kit Ryan’s ever seen.

Wobbles after Ryan like a baby duckling and ferociously attacks his tail, tries to climb all over him while their mom watches, laughing at her idiot sons and this sadness to it Ryan doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

They carry on with things, life, for a while and it’s good, it is, but then Ryan gets in trouble or something else happens and he has to leave.

(He doesn’t, but he’s young and stupid and thinks it’s the only way, the smart thing to do.)

Wanders for a bit before ending up in Los Santos and loses touch with his mom and baby brother – too young to really remember Ryan at the time, which is probably a good thing considering how Ryan’s life turns out.

The things he does to get by, kind of person he turns into as the years go by.

Eventually he gets to a point where he thinks he can look behind him, check on the family he left behind. Enough favors saved up he goes to his most reliable contacts in Los Santos and calls in some favors.

The news they give him when they look into things isn’t the best, nowhere near.

His mom got sick a few years ago and passed on less than a year ago. That asshole she was living with stopped driving that rig of his and took a job in a factory in some small town a few states over, and his little brother is still with him.

Supposed to graduate from high school soon and all these honors to go with it, but doesn’t have the money for college and there are all these…concerns about the whole living situation with his dad.

(Scholarships and the whatnot he would have qualified for but didn’t bother with the applications for and that’s a Concern.)

The accounts his mom had  saved up for Trevor’s college fund and various other things all but drained dry and Trevor holding down a shitty job at a bar. (Small place in the kind of town where everyone knows everyone and people look the other way sometimes.)

And Ryan, okay.

Ryan goes on a little road trip, all this anger in him – at himself the asshole his mom fell in love with all those years ago. The world for being what it is, all kinds of reasons.

Skulks around the little town for a while, on two feet and four depending on the situation until he knows for sure what’s going on.

Trevor’s the one keeping the family of two going, running himself ragged with school and the job he shouldn’t have but someone took pity on him and anyway, anyway.

Trevor’s dad crawled into a bottle when his mom got sick and never left, takes out his anger and grief and shortcomings on Trevor. Hasn’t hit him from what Ryan’s seen, or hasn’t done it yet, but it’s a matter of time with a bastard like him.

So.

Ryan goes to have a chat with the bastard one day when Trevor’s supposed to be at school.

Tells him since Trevor seems to be such a burden on him, he’ll be taking him off his hands, make everything nice and easy for him again.

And of course Trevor comes home early – got into a fight at school with some bullies or just. Got tired of being there, who knows.

Balks at seeing a strange car in the driveway, San Andreas plates and more expensive than anything he or his dad could ever afford. (Let alone anyone they know, because Trevor’s dad cut off all contact with his mom’s side of the family and moved them around so much there was no chance of them finding them if they didn’t have the right resources.)

Trevor walks inside to see his dad squaring off with someone he doesn’t recognize, someone who smells dangerous, gives off this aura that has Trevor immediately wary of him.

Gets to hear his dad say, “You want the little bastard he’s yours. Go knows he’s not worth the trouble of fighting you over,” with this derisive sneer to it that hits Trevor hard.

(He’s known for a while what his dad thinks of him, what a burden he is and what a good thing his mom isn’t alive to see him now and so on and so on and so on, but be never expected this?)

Ryan growls, this inhuman sound that has Trevor eyeing him warily and he pulls his anger back. Tells Trevor to pack his things, they’re leaving and of course, of course Trevor is just.

??? and he can’t? Because school and work and…and everything?

Ryan’s expression softens and tells Trevor to pack again, that he’s got a room at a motel in town and they can settle everything there.

And now, of course, Trevor is doubly worried because shady as hell, what the hell? But with the way his dad is glaring at him he knows he doesn’t really have a choice.

Goes and packs what he can. Clothes, precious things – mostly reminders and gifts from his mom – and aches for the things he has to leave behind.

Ryan sees it, when Trevor comes back out with a backpack and duffle bag packed full, and he throws money at Trevor’s dad. Warns him if he touches anything Trevor left behind before he has people come through to pack up the rest and ship it off to Ryan’s place he’ll know and he’ll come back. (And Trevor’s dad won’t like it if that happens, okay.)

Trevor stares at Ryan because he hadn’t expected that? But Ryan doesn’t say anything about it – doesn’t know what to say to the raw hurt in Trevor’s eyes at how easily his dad gave him up.

The ride to the motel is awkward as hell, and Ryan knows this has to be scary to Trevor. (Can smell it on him, read it in his body language.)

Orders takeout for them when they get to his room, Trevor taking the spare bed and nervous as hell and Ryan introduces himself to his own damn brother.

Breaks out what proof he has – the birth certificate he’s had squirreled away where the authorities couldn’t get their hands on it and so on and watches with this heavy sense of guilt as Trevor relaxes the tiniest bit.

Tells him when the pizza gets there that he can pay for somewhere for Trevor to live until he graduates or whatever he wants, that he doesn’t have to go with Ryan, you know?

Will help him with college and so on and apologizes for not being there for him.

And Trevor mulls over his options.

He’s all but done with school as it is, just a formality at this point and no offense to this sleepy little town but he’d love to never see it again.

Doesn’t…doesn’t know what he wants to do college-wise anymore, so maybe a gap year until he figures it out?

And.

He doesn’t know Ryan at all, does he? Has these fuzzy little memories (fuzzy, ha!) of toddling along after a big black blur of a figure, his mom this bright blazing red one so small next to it but happy, and maybe, maybe Ryan’s like him? (That growl, back at the house. No human throat should be able to make one like it, so…?)

Tells Ryan he wants to go with him back to Los Santos, he just. Wants to say goodbye to the people who were kind to him here first before he does.

And Ryan agrees, a little taken aback that Trevor wants to get to know him better after he was out of his life for so much of it.

Lets him say his goodbyes and drives them back to Los Santos, Trevor cautious and wary and so goddamned smart.

Figures out too damn fast Ryan’s line of work is hardly on the legal side of things but he doesn’t ask. Just watches and observes and comes to his own decisions about that.

Gets a job at the little grocery store down the block even though Ryan tells him he doesn’t need to, and Trevor laughs. Sheepish little thing because he needs something to do other than occasionally exploring the neighborhood and such you know? (Still coming to terms with not having to be the adult, not being the responsible one. Knowing Ryan won’t get angry with him for being a clumsy little idiot still getting used to his last growth spurt and all if he accidentally knocks something over or spills something.)

Things are okay between them for a bit, getting comfortable being around one another and slowly building a healthy relationship, but then!

Then the full moon rolls around and Trevor turns into this mess, all nervous and high-strung as his instincts go a little haywire. Nervous and scared because what if Ryan isn’t like him? What if he realizes what Trevor is and kicks him out or worse?

Ryan doesn’t get what’s wrong at first, but then he glances at a calendar and is like, oh, of course.

Makes arrangements for a little cabin in the woods and tells Trevor they’re going on a little trip, or okay. Comes home one day and tells him to pack and gets Trevor staring at him and a “Did I do something wrong?”

Ryan is…Ryan bites down on the flash of anger at the question because Trevor sees it, thinks it’s for him, and forces himself to calm down.

“No, Trevor, no,” he says. “We’re going on a trip.”

And then he has to get the fuck out of the room before he says something he knows he’ll regret, because Trevor doesn’t deserve that.

Trevor packs, and goes a little quiet for a bit thinking Ryan’s mad at him, and Ryan doesn’t know what to say to make things better and it’s a mess those days before they leave for the trip.

Trevor’s nerves frayed as he fights against his instincts and worried about making Ryan mad and Ryan furious with Trevor’s dad and himself for not going back for Trevor and their mom sooner. (For not being there and it’s just. DRAMA.)

The cabin’s in an isolated location, no one else around for miles and Trevor is delighted and a little spooked by it all. He knows what Ryan does even though Ryan’s never said a thing about it or tried to draw Trevor into his world. (Just how easy would it be for him to hide a body out here?)

Ryan brought him out here for the full moon, a chance to let Trevor run around without worry of being discovered because it’s pretty obvious he hasn’t had the opportunity for a long, long time.

But Trevor doesn’t shift, change, and Ryan’s worried he’s forgotten how to?

Ryan shifts the first night there, sniffs around the cabin obvious as hell, and Trevor just thinks he’s seeing things, right?

Sneaks out through the window in his bedroom one night before the full moon proper takes one of the deer paths down to the lake a quarter mile from the cabin. Sits on a rock overlooking the lake and goes so, so still when he spots a big bastard of a wolf watching him.

Big, big, bastard, pale, pale eyes and oh, hell, because that’s Ryan isn’t it?

Of course it is, couldn’t be anyone else.

Trevor sits there as Ryan pads over, careful, careful the way he’s been with Trevor all this time, and cocks his head, this whine in his throat that makes Trevor’s chest hurt.

“Well then,” Trevor says, shaky little laugh as Ryan watches him. “I guess that answers that.”

Those fuzzy memories and his mom’s laugh, playful growl as the shadow he was chasing after tumbled him over a careful paw dancing away with laughter in his eyes as Trevor struggled to right himself to retaliate.

Trevor shifts, chill in his bones because it’s been so long and he’s forgotten what it’s like going from two feet to four, the way the world comes alive around him with sharpened senses and a new set of instincts overlaid on his human ones.

Ryan whines again, bit of happiness to it as he greets the sleek little black fox blinking up at him.

Trevor’s not as graceful as Ryan because it really has been a long, long time since he was able to shift like this – hiding from his dad and then no time for it when his mom got sick and school and work and all. (Easier to deny that part of himself that face the truth of things, and this, now – scary and exhilarating and it gets in trouble, of course it does.)

Ryan coaxing him into chasing after him the way he used to when they were younger, when things were still good, and Trevor races after him.

Fucks up the timing on a jump and ends up in a pool created by the stream that feeds into the lake somewhere down the mountain from them. Slick rocks his paws scrabble against as he struggles to get out.

Not deep enough to pose a real danger but the sides are too high for him to climb or jump out of easily and he splashes around fruitlessly for a while until Ryan comes back to check on him.

Big bastard peering down at him and laughing at his predicament like an asshole before he rolls his eyes as Trevor deliberately splashes him in annoyance.

Grabs Trevor by the scruff making him go limp as he’s plucked out of the pool and gently set down a little ways away, Ryan grinning a wolfy little grin at him as Trevor shakes the water off best he can, scowling at him because it’s not his fault he’s not an insanely huge beast of a wolf, alright?

Ryan bowls him over with one of his massive paws and pulls him in close because there’s a cold wind blowing and warms Trevor right back up with his body heat and thick fur. Trevor grumbles about it, but doesn’t try to get free and it’s just.

It’s nice.

And then, you know.

Shenanigans?

The two of them getting closer, form a pack of two and Ryan trying (and failing) to keep Trevor out of the criminal life, but when it’s clear he’s not going to be deterred he makes damn sure Trevor can take care of himself.

Teaches the ins and outs of Los Santos, how to take advantage of his heritage because a little black fox can do things a bumbling human can’t. (Trevor shows talents in Thieving, and Ryan worries because of course he does. Worries the same way Trevor worries about him and anyway, they’re idiots aren’t they?)

Meet these people along the way and get pulled into the Fake AH Crew once they come on the scene, and then it’s all a disaster of the best kind.

The two of them end up buying that little cabin in the woods and go there every full moon they can to run around without worry of being discovered.

It happens at some point though, the crew finding out about them and oh what a terrifying moment that is, but of course, of course it works out even if a dog joke or two sneaks in there for a while before things go back to normal.

And then more shenanigans?

Geoff walking into the penthouse living room and there’s a fuckoff huge wolf on his couch getting fur everywhere. A little black fox snatching the last slice of pizza before darting for safety next to the wolf because God knows no one’s going to fuck with Ryan when he’s all-over furry. (Well, okay. Gavin would, but he’s an idiot, so…yes.)

[crackimagines]

Reunion (FE: Three Houses Short Fic)

Edelgard misses someone dear to her, only to be surprised.

(Alternate Take on the Reunion scene, cause I’m a sucker for extra fluff)

Black Eagles, Post-Time Skip

“PROFESSOR BYLETH!” Edelgard shouted out as the Monastery was collapsing.

He had bought his class enough time to escape it while enemy forces were concentrating on him and retreating.

Edelgard wanted to rush back in and save her beloved Professor, but Hubert had to physically hold her back, Dorothea and Ferdinand coming to help.

“Lady Edelgard, you will die if you enter!”

“And he’s going to die if we don’t-!”

Before she could finish, the building fell completely, with Imperial forces beginning to move into the area.

Edelgard’s knees felt weak, a million thoughts running through her head, wanting to at least call out for him, but she couldn’t do it.

She didn’t want to say what anyone was thinking. Instead, she said something to comfort herself for now.

“...The Professor is alive. There’s no way something as simple as a building collapsing would kill him.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, until they all began to chime in.

(Ferdinand) “For once, I agree. We gotta have hope he’ll come back.”

(Caspar) “Yeah, I think so too!”

(Bernadetta) “...R-Right!”

(Dorothea) “I hope he’ll be alright...”

(Petra) “I have wishful thinking, he’ll be all-okay.”

(Linhardt) “I wonder if we will be without him...”

(Hubert) “Come my lady, we...must see to fortifying this position in case of enemy reinforcements.”

Edelgard nodded, and everyone began to move up as a bodyguard detail fell in behind her.

She looked up at the building again, her hope perilously close to fading...

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

Edelgard’s eyes opened wide, noticing her breathing was very heavy.

Slowly she got up and held her head, the headache she had was hurting, and her chest was feeling very tight.

“...That dream again.”

It was more of a nightmare, really. A memory she couldn’t escape from.

The room was filled with a somber light, and she decided to dress herself and go on a walk.

Five long years had passed, and not a single sign of their professor had presented itself. Although her hope was fading more with each day, she never wanted to believe he had truly died. There wasn’t any evidence in the Monastery after all. Maybe that’s why she had everyone from the class stationed here. Just in case if he did come back and went to the Monastery, they’d be the first thing he’d saw.

She felt like crying, but no tears came out. Those tears fell out long ago, before all the bloodshed occurred in the name of Independence for humanity. All the former friends she had to kill.

As she put on her armor, she left her room, and strolled down the familiar halls by herself.

Outside the gate...

Two guards were chatting about their patrols and other miscellaneous topics. Hearing the sound of footsteps, they stopped and held their spears at attention, but not drawing it out yet.

“Halt, civilian.” One of the knights said.

“This is a restricted area. You do...not...-”

Both the knights raised their visors on the helmets, and looked at the man before them.

“...By the goddess...”

“Is it...really you?”

The man pulled out a sword they had never seen before, but neither of them drew their weapon out in response. Instead they slid their visor back down and stepped aside.

“Lady Edelgard is making her rounds near the Cathedral. T-Try not to scare her too much, sir.”

“And sir? Welcome back.”

“Thanks.” The man said. He walked up the stairs, causing quite a stir amidst the troopers garrisoned there, not believing their own eyes.

Edelgard stopped in an empty room for a small break, still struggling to get her mind off the nightmare. Everytime she had it, it would stick around for quite a while much to her despair.

Another dark thought came up, realizing what the date was.

“...Today was supposed to be the Millennium festival...”

Five years ago, the class had promised to meet up no matter what happened as a sign of nothing could truly separate them.

It was thanks to this war that had not come to pass.

As she sighed, she heard someone’s footsteps coming up. It wasn’t heavy enough to be one of the knights, nor was it light enough to be anyone from the class. She slowly reached for her axe’s hilt, but didn’t turn around, seeing the shadow of someone approaching from behind.

“Identify yourself, or I will-”

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Edelgard.”

That voice...

Her heart stopped and she held her breath as she slowly turned around, eyes becoming wide as soon as she heard that man’s voice.

“...P-...Professor...?”

Once she laid her eyes on him, it was her green haired professor in his signature black uniform, albeit was quite dirty.

"It can’t be...! No, this is a dream, or a trick! There’s no way!”

She wanted to believe it was him, but after all that happened, the way he disappeared without a trace? This was clearly an illusion, she thought.

It’s when he smiled, seeing that familiar warmth that had finally broken that line of thought.

“...Today’s the day when all of the Black Eagles were supposed to meet up, right?”

She gasped, not even bothering to hide her shock.

“Heh I...guess I managed to keep my promise.”

“W-Wha...What happened?! We searched high and low for you, but you disappeared without a trace! My teacher, what have you been doing all this time?! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Byleth had his signature blank stare for a moment until he started rubbing the back of his head nervously.

“I uh...I think I was dead.”

It wasn’t really clear if that was a joke or not, regardless Edelgard began shouting.

“Joking, at a time like this?! YOU’VE BEEN GONE FOR FIVE YEARS, DAMN IT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW GUILTY I FELT?! YOU TRYING TO THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY GETTING US OUT OF THE BUILDING?! DO YOU KNOW HOW BROKEN OUR HEARTS WERE?! HOW BROKEN MINE WAS?!”

Byleth looked down, not able to meet her eyes. 

Edelgard felt her eyes water, slightly surprised that they were even able to form after all she had endured.

Her voice began shaking, as she became quieter and quieter.

“I...Told myself so many times that I knew you were alive but..but...!”

“Edelgard I’m...I’m so sorry I left you and the class alone for so long.”

She slowly looked up, to see Byleth with a sad smile now. He was speaking as quietly as her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere this time. I’ll be right here.”

“Byleth...!”

Without warning, Edelgard grabbed Byleth, and held onto him tightly, afraid that if she even let up a little, he’d disappear again.

Now, the tears began to fall.

“I’m...I’m so happy you’re safe...!”

“Edelgard...”

“Five years, Byleth...Five long years you’ve been gone...It’s been hard without you but everyone’s still here. I made sure none of us died so we can all see you again...!”

He heard slight hiccups as she held him tighter, and in response Byleth hugged her back, gently patting her back.

“...W-We’re...still here...!”

“It’s okay, Edelgard...let it all out, I won’t leave you alone again...”

Five years worth of pain and suffering were let out with those tears she pent up inside her.

Five years of waiting and hope had finally paid off.

Five years later, the person so dear to her, despite all the odds, had finally come back.

Edelgard slowly dropped to her knees as she continued to cry, at this point she didn’t really care if anyone besides Byleth saw her, but fortunately it was only him here.

Byleth knelt down as well, making sure Edelgard wasn’t going to hurt herself by dropping.

The two held each other, the sounds of Edelgard sobbing her pain away were the only thing that filled the halls for quite a long time.

Author’s note:

God I wanted to use this song SO BAD, but I feel like that’d kill the mood considering the whole genre shift, lmao.

I wish this scene wasn’t quite rushed and had time for something like this considering all that happened, but man was it sweet.

[iiimber]

A to Z for Dabi?

idk if anyone knows, but i’m a huge todoroki! dabi supporter so i’ve kinda…melded that in with these a bit assdfkjf

A= affection

Honestly, not the most affectionate. There’s a 1% chance that he’ll touch you or talk sweetly to you in public; if he feels like someone is a threat to you (or your relationship), he’ll step close and put an arm around your waist, but that’s about it and it doesn’t last long. In private, he’s a little more open. Takes him some time though.

B= best memory

Anything with his mom. Rei was the only good adult in his life while growing up, so he views any memories he has of her in a rose-tinted view. He likes thinking back to when she would use her quirk in front of him– though sometimes it makes him bitter that he had to inherit his quirk.

C= cat or dog person

Cat. He’s really not much of an animal person, as he’s never been in a place to own one, but if he was able to own a pet– it would be a cat. He likes their temperament.

D= dreams

Long ago, so much so that it almost feels like a past life to him– Dabi wanted to be a hero. It was when he was young, but old enough to understand that his father was not one– he wanted to be a hero that was like All Might. It fell through, obviously, and now all he wants is to tear down any false idols.

E= evenings

Drinking or on the town. His nights are either eventful or non-eventful. If he’s up to it, he’ll visit you in your apartment and stay awhile. This isn’t rare, but you know not to expect it. Deeper into the relationship, he tends to spend most of his free evenings in your presence. 

F= first date

There really wasn’t a first date; nothing like a first date should be, anyways. It was him hanging in your apartment for the night, with pizza and too many drinks. Some kind of confession took place, knowing him it was blunt and perhaps a little heated– most likely ending up in bed after.

G= giggle

He doesn’t laugh genuinely much anymore. He’ll chuckle– it’s deep and a little raspy, kind of hard to hear. It can be considered pretty sexy, he guesses, but it doesn’t matter to him.

H= hugs

Warm, a little tight. He doesn’t care for hugging much, but if he likes you well enough he’ll oblige. Sometimes though, he likes the feeling of you in his arms.

I= instument 

He doesn’t play anything, never had the interest to learn, but if he did he would probably enjoy drums or bass guitar.

J= joy

There’s not a lot that brings him joy– at least not the pure kind. He supposes he could be cheesy and say the idea of his family (minus Enji) being happy makes him full, but he’s left that far behind. Maybe someday, he’ll be able to say your presence makes him happy.

K= kisses

Rough and quick, when it’s not leading to sex. Sweet kisses aren’t his thing, so don’t expect it. When it gets heated, it’s hot and wet and nicely skilled– he kind of likes kissing everywhere, although they later turn into small bites.

L= love

He’s blunt and straightforward. If he likes you, then you’ll know it. He won’t treat you any gentler, but there is a clear difference from his action towards you compared to others. He’s a closet possessive, and won’t hesitate to act on letting others know that he plans to have you as his.

M= memory

He’s not soft, and will avoid thinking about this in order to keep that up; but the first night you spent together is a bright light in his memory. Waking up next to you was warm and nice.

N= No

Dabi 

O= occupation

Dabi supposes that if raised in a different, better way, he probably would’ve gone on to be a pro-hero. He tries not to dwell on this thought, as it makes his bitterness grow.

P= parent

Probably not the best father. His example his whole life was abusive and unloving-- he has no idea how to properly love and care for a child, and he’s not that much of a monster to want to put a kid through that. The thought of being a father one day still crosses his mind, but he’s signed his life away with that first kill.

Q= questions

Dabi would be an atheist. No matter how many times he’s felt the need to reach out, nothing ever reaches back. After entering the villain world, any mention of religion was hidden-- no one believes there, so he never will either.

R= romantic 

Sadly, there’s barley a romantic bone in his body. Romance eludes him and he doesn’t care enough to figure it out. The closest he has become to being romantic is any late night flings that feel much more passionate and heated than others-- but he’s always gone in the morning, and there’s nothing in his chest that makes him ache for anything more.

S= smile

Dabi’s smiles are more often than not, creepy. He doesn’t smile outside of teasing or goading someone on. The only rare, real smile he lets cross his face is whenever he thinks of Rei, but even that is bittersweet.

T= together

Dabi is not a clingy person. If he were to somehow find himself in a devoted relationship, this still doesn’t change. Even if he cares for this person, his arms don’t really ache for them, and he doesn’t have this overwhelming need to be around them. The clingiest he could be is when he makes sure other people know his partner is his.

U= unbearable

Dabi has a habit of picking at his skin. It’s gross and uncomfortable for others to watch, but he doesn’t care. Dabi himself can’t stand tapping; the rhythmic sounds that go off over and over could drive him crazy. 

V= videos

Due to his line of work, Dabi doesn’t keep the most high-tec of devices on him-- let alone have any social media to post on. If in a relationship, it’s the other party that would take most of the pictures or videos.

W= wedding

A wedding was never in the books for Dabi, but hypothetically, it would be small. He doesn’t care much about all the extra shit, and if he could, would just go to court and get it done there. Since that’s out of the question, a wedding would be just him, his partner, and a pastor; somewhere secluded and quiet. He would’ve liked for Rei to be there, but he tries not to think about that too much.

X= eXtra

Dabi has nightmares-- vivid, realistic and scary nightmares. Most of them are about burning alive, purple flames eating up his arms and legs while he screams in pain. Any others are about his childhood, just much more exaggerated. 

Y= Yuck

Dabi, in traditional Todoroki fashion, hates anything hot. He doesn’t eat or drink hot things, and will always turn them down unless he’s absolutely starved.

Z= zzzz

Dabi is a very light sleeper, so he sleeps in a room with no windows and always shuts and locks the door. If woken up before he wants to be, he’s grumpy and scary, shooting anyone who dare messes with him an icy glare.

[bvidzsoo]

Gucci Lane (Final)

     @everythinkpop thank you for your always amazing moodboards!

 Author: bvidzsoo

 Warning: if you can’t handle fluff...

 Pairing: Oh Sehun x female reader

 Word count: 3, 967

 Summary:  High school is supposed to be easy, right? Not when you are classmates with EXO. They are the typical bad boys, whipping girls off their feet with their looks. You hate bad boys ever since your step brother tricked you, you hate them with all your heart. One day Oh Sehun suddenly enters your life. You must babysit his younger sister, because he is an irresponsible bad boy. I guess there’s a thin line between love and hate…

    It felt the same sitting in the car. Taeyong’s baby, my favourite car...An orange Nissan Skyline GTR R34. Rims a neon green, accompanied with slick tires. It was the perfect car for races. Taeyong won many races with it, he is a really good driver but the car is good too. Sitting inside of it, I felt alive. Memories came back, but honestly I missed this car too much to give attention to my memories.

“You missed it, didn’t you?” Taeyong glanced at me with a grin and I found myself nodding with a smile.

“You know I love this car” I muttered, feeling the texture of the board.

“Why are we going though” Taeyong asked, turning the radio a bit down “You haven’t told me”

“You just drive and take me there” I huffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“That’s what I’m doing...but I deserve an explanation too” Taeyong sighed, leaning his head against the headrest.

“Fine—someone I know is there, and I need to make sure he’s fine” I huffed, looking out the window. The car was moving fast, the trees a blur. Being used to it, it didn’t bother me.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Taeyong raised an eyebrow.

“That shouldn’t bother you”

“Y/N—Is he your boyfriend?”

“Yes, so what?” I glared at his profile, suddenly not enjoying the ride anymore.

“That’s funny” Taeyong chuckled, glancing at me “Seems like you like boys like me”

“Don’t compare him to you” I growled, palms turning into fists “He is nothing like you”

“Say it” His voice was hard, making me look at him again. Taeyong looked at me before turning back to the road.

“He’s much better than you” I licked my lips, turning away “There, you wanted to hear it”

“At least does he—”

“Can you stop?” I sighed, tired of his acting “I know you don’t care, stop pretending”

“I care!” He suddenly exclaimed “I always did”

“No, you never did!” I shouted, annoyed with him “You really have no shame saying things like that”

“You don’t understand—that one year I was away—I admit it, I was the biggest dick ever” Taeyong sighed, running a hand through his hair “I am very sorry for what I did. Playing you, lying to you like that—I was so wrong to do that”

“You beat me, Taeyong” I whispered “I was hospitalized”

“I am very sorry” Taeyong muttered, moving his hand from the wheel to clutch my arm. I flinched at the contact and slowly pulled my arm away.

“You are still afraid of me” Taeyong sighed, placing both hands on the wheel.

“Are you surprised?” I chuckled, leaning my head against the window.

“No. I realized too late that I love you” He muttered, eyes on the road, not glancing at me anymore.

“You should stop, I will never be able to love you ever again” I shrugged, checking my phone. Before leaving I messaged Chanyeol and asked if he, by any chance, knew where Sehun was and if he was really racing. The answer was that he doesn’t know and what race I’m talking about. I thought Chanyeol would know since he’s friends with Sehun.

“Can you tell me the name of that boy we are going after?”

“No, just keep driving”

“Why?” Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“Because I don’t want to, now shut up” I rolled my eyes too, looking out the window again.

“At least...is he older than you?”

“Yes, now seriously shut up” I huffed, staring at my black phone screen. There’s no use in messaging Sehun, he won’t answer.

Half an hour later we were at the place. It was outside the city, close to a smaller city. This really is a Sprint race. Big chances are that it will be from the suburbs to the small city. That would make half an hour for the race to take place. People parted when they saw the new coming car and even starred. I unbuckled my belt and got out after Taeyong parked the car.

“Are you here to race?” A familiar voice asked, making my eyes widen.

“Jongdae—”

“Y/N—”

“What are you doing here?” We asked at the same time, staring shocked at the other. If Jongdae was here, who else was?

“I take the money for the bets and sign you up for races” Jongdae explained, eyebrows raised “Your turn”

“I came after Sehun” I shrugged and pointed at Taeyong “That’s Taeyong, but he’s not here to race”

“Or should I?” Taeyong asked with a grin, running a finger on the hood of the car. Jongdae narrowed his eyes, examining the car. He hit the tires with his foot, bumped his hip into the hood and glanced inside.

“Nice car, man” He patted the roof of the Nissan “Haven’t seen one of these around in a long time”

“Thanks, it’s my baby” Taeyong said with a proud grin. I lost my interest, I don’t care what Taeyong does next. But he did promise a long time ago that he’s done with racing. I craned my neck, trying to find the boys. If Sehun was here, at least Jongin would be here too—I heard them speaking.

“Sorry, I’m done with racing” Taeyong patted Jongdae’s shoulder “I’m just here to give a ride to my sister”

“Step sister” I corrected, glaring at Taeyong.

“Right” He muttered, looking embarrassed.

“That’s a shame man” Jongdae sighed “I gave big chances to the car”

“I’m glad you said car and not him” I smirked, making Jongdae chuckle as Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“Jongdae” I called out, when I saw he wanted to leave.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Do you know where Jongin is?”

“Follow me” He started walking and I hurried after him.

“I’ll wait here” Taeyong called and I nodded.

“Why didn’t you come with Sehun?” Jongdae glanced back as we pushed through the big crowd.

“Well...He actually doesn’t know I know of him racing” I shrugged, grabbing Jongdae’s arm as I was almost pulled away by someone “I mean, he might suspect I know something. I overheard him speaking with Jongin about it. I just had to make sure he’s fine”

“Seems like you are familiar with these things” Jongdae smirked, looking around.

“My step brother raced a lot when he was younger, and I usually accompanied him” I explained, smiling a little at the memory.

“Sehun has been gone for at least fifteen minutes” Jongdae informed me as I could see the sun kissed skin of Jongin. My eyes widened when I saw the tall boy standing beside him, ears huge, hitting Kyungsoo while he was laughing. Kyungsoo? What is he doing here?

“So I was right...Sprints between the two cities?” I raised an eyebrow, Jongdae nodding. He nudged me forward and left, collecting more money. Since the boys didn’t see me, I decided a little beating would do good to Chanyeol. Before he could turn around, I kicked his shin hard, making him cry out in pain.

“What the—Y/N!” His eyes widened, alerting everyone around us “What-what are you doing—here?”

“I could ask you the same” I narrowed my eyes at him “Seems like you do know what a race is, right?”

“Okay, I might have lied” Chanyeol smiled, scratching the back of his neck “Sorry?”

“Asshole” I glared at him, turning around when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Jongin asked, looking confused.

“I’m here for Sehun”

“Uh—he’s not here, why would he—”

“Jongin, I know he is doing the Sprints right now” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Oh—okay” He sighed a little, before eyes widening “Don’t tell Seulgi! She’d be so worried and then she’d get mad and she’s scary when she is—Y/N, don’t tell her before I do, please—”

“Jongin, shut up” I sighed, placing a hand on his arm “I won’t tell her”

“Thanks” Jongin smiled at me and I nodded.

“Y/N” A hand placed itself on my shoulder, making me turn around. Chanyeol smiled at me, fear still visible in his eyes.

“Chanyeol” I glared at him a little, just to tease him.

“Don’t tell Minseok!” He whispered, eyes wide. I couldn’t keep my laugh in anymore and started laughing loudly. He’s seriously afraid of Minseok instead of his parents?

“Hyung will kill me, don’t tell him” He pleaded, clutching my shoulder tightly “He said he will beat me up if I ever do anything illegal”

“Oh, that’s such a pity” I sighed, teasing him more “I can’t keep secrets from oppa”

“Y/N” Chanyeol whined, crouching down to be eye level with me.

“I’m just joking” I grinned, making Chanyeol close his eyes and mutter some curse words.

“Thank you” He suddenly pulled me into a tight hug making me yelp in surprise.

“Sure, now don’t kill me” I chuckled and pulled away before I would get suffocated.

“Hey, they are coming!” Jongin exclaimed, dragging me closer to the finish line.

“Who’s first?” Someone yelled beside me, making me glare at her profile. A light blue Honda Civic R was in lead, right on its teal a black matte Panamera 5.

“Shit, Sehun is in second place” Jongin pulled a little on his hair, watching nervously. Chanyeol draped his arm around my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“He usually does that” Chanyeol snorted “Letting the other think they are winning and then suddenly, he’s first. No matter how many times Sehun did it and does it, Jongin still gets nervous” I laughed as I watched Jongin tapping his feet against the ground. The screeching of gears was loud as they were almost at the finish line.

“Sehun—what are you doing!” Jongin shouted, eyes wide. They were side by side, the two cars coming fast. Before the Honda Civic could enter first, the Panamera passed by, winning the race. Everyone cheered loudly, Jongin being so loud I jumped. He started to run, pushing everyone out of his way, trying to get to Sehun faster. I looked at Chanyeol who was grinning and he pulled me after him. Time to greet my boyfriend. The crowd was huge around Sehun, as the Honda Civic was parked beside his car, people were pooling around that too. As we got closer, I could make out a blonde long haired girl hugging Sehun. She was pretty, small and had a nice smile. Chanyeol pushed away the way too excited guy in front of us and stopped behind Sehun.

“Chanyeol!” The girl exclaimed, making Sehun turn around. His eyes widened when he saw my, visibly at loss of words.

“Wendy, hi!” Chanyeol left my side, going to hug the girl.

“Y/N—”

“Congrats, champion” I smiled at Sehun, walking closer.

“What are you doing here? How?” Sehun still looked too shocked.

“Close your mouth, babe” I chuckled, tapping his jaw “Taeyong brought me here...Did you really think I didn’t know where you’d be?”

“You eavesdropped, didn’t you?” Sehun smirked, snapping out of his momentary shock. He pulled me closer by my waist, resting his arms around me.

“It was too tempting” I shrugged, smiling up at him “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry you and—I already do many bad things, I didn’t want to add this to your list too” He pecked my cheek. I sighed and cupped his cheek.

“I like you the way you are, Oh Sehun” I leaned closer “You don’t have to change for me”

“I want to or else I will hurt you and it’s not worth it” He muttered, lips brushing against mine “I won’t be like your step brother”

“I know” I smiled, and kissed him. Sehun hugged me closer to him, slowly kissing me. All the loud voices were cut off as I focused on Sehun. He felt so warm and I felt safe around him, it felt nice liking someone again.

“Sehun has a girlfriend?” A girl voice exclaimed behind us, making us break the kiss.

“Yes” Sehun chuckled, pecking my lips again. I turned around, looking at the blonde girl. She was smaller than me, and I suddenly felt too tall.

“I’m Wendy” She extended her hand and I shook it.

“Y/N” I smiled at her when she grinned at Sehun and I.

“I’ve known this asshole for five years” Wendy chuckled “I’m glad he finally has a decent girlfriend”

“Wendy” Sehun threatened, eyes narrowing.

“What? I’m just pointing out the truth here” Wendy shrugged, leaning against Chanyeol’s huge body.

“Leave us” Sehun whined, pushing her a bit.

“Don’t be rude” I nudged Sehun, making Wendy laugh.

“Don’t worry, I need to catch up with Chanyeol so we will be going” Wendy smiled up at Chanyeol, who pulled her after him.

“Where’s Taeyong?” Sehun asked, looking around.

“Why?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Well...don’t you want to go back with him?” Sehun raised his eyebrows.

“No” I chuckled, hugging his torso “You take me home”

“To my house” Sehun smirked, nudging my nose with his.

“No, Sehun” I pinched his back, making him yelp “Your parents still don’t know, and it’s too late to just barge in”

“You know I live there, right” Sehun laughed “That’s not barging in and I think mom already knows there’s something going on between us”

“You are taking me home, okay?” I blinked up at him “And after you tell your parents we are dating...I might sleep over, okay?”

“Okay” Sehun smiled, pecking my lips again. I giggled, tapping his chin.

“You are cute” Sehun laughed, hugging me. I chuckled into his neck, shaking my head.

“When I want to be—most of the time I’m sexy” Sehun laughed as he patted my head.

“I won’t deny that” He pulled away, opening the door of his car for me “Get in, but before we get home we’ll stop and eat, I’m hungry”

“I want a big burger” I widened my eyes at the yummy food.

“What about your diet?” Sehun mocked, halfway closing the door.

“I don’t have one” I stuck my tongue out at him and he closed the door with a chuckle.

“Glad I won’t be yelled at for ruining your diet” Sehun patted my thigh as I buckled my seatbelt.

“Just shut up and drive” I slapped his shoulder, making him chuckle.

 One month later

      I love warm places. And the bed I was laying in right now was one of the warmest places I love. I sighed contently, rolling around. The sunlight irritated my eyes, so I turned back to my initial position. Big arms wrapped around my hips as I was pulled into a warm body. I smiled, nuzzling my face in the neck I loved so much.

“Why are you up?” I whispered, my voice hoarse from just waking up.

“Because I wanted to watch you” Sehun muttered, petting my hair. I chuckled, hugging him.

“You can watch me anytime you want, you don’t have to wake up earlier for that” I muttered, opening one eye. Sehun was looking down at me, hair still messy, a big grin on his face.

“But you look the cutest in the morning” He reasoned, pulling me a little up on his body. I pouted when I couldn’t nuzzle my face in his neck anymore, resting my arms on his wide collarbones.

“And I don’t even try, that’s the problem” I sighed, making Sehun laugh quietly.

“But it’s something only I get to see” He winked, leaning down and kissing my cheek.

“What time is it?” I muttered, my eyebrows furrowing. I rose a little bit, pushing my chest away from Sehun’s, craning my neck too see the watch on the bedside table. Nine o’clock, that’s fine, Lisa should be still sleeping, she usually wakes up at ten. I dropped back on Sehun, smiling up at him as he gasped.

“Please, you don’t weight like a feather does” He rubbed his chest, making me widen my eyes.

“I’m not even heavy!” I exclaimed quietly, punching his shoulder.

“You still weight, bubble butt” Sehun shook his head, tapping my ass underneath the blanket.

“You are bad” I glared at him and rolled off him, staring up at his white ceiling.

“Am I?” Sehun chuckled “Really?”

“Yes, you are” I nodded, and avoided his eyes when he hovered over me.

“Look at me and then I will be sure” He said with a serious face, almost making me smile.

“Don’t want to” I shrugged, licking my lips and finding his room more interesting.

“Y/N” He whined, tapping my cheek “Don’t make me”

“Maybe I don’t want to look at you” I teased, glaring a little at him before averting my gaze.

“Bubble butt” Sehun sighed, gripping my jaw and turning my head. I looked up at him bored and raised an eyebrow at him. Sehun shook his head with a smile, before leaning down and kissing my lips. I smiled before kissing him back. I cupped his cheeks, pulling him a bit down, making Sehun almost fall on me. To avoid that, he settled between my legs, one hand holding the back of my neck while the other traced my thigh. It was nice kissing Sehun like this, slow and loving. Sehun smiled as he tugged on my lower lip, pulling away. I chuckled, stroking his cheek. This past month had been the best. He never failed to make me happy or feel loved. Sehun was an amazing person and if I was a little bit afraid of dating him, the biggest mistake I could have done was not date him.

“I love you” He whispered, kissing me.

“I love you too” I muttered as best I could while he kissed me, his soft lips always a temptation. I pushed my lips harder against his, wanting to part them. Sehun didn’t try to fight back and parted his lips, letting my tongue roam his mouth, he grunted quietly, enjoying it. However, it didn’t take him long before he was sucking on my tongue, gripping my thigh a little harder.

“Oppa—” I jumped at the girly voice, pushing Sehun’s face away “did you get off Nini?”

“No” Sehun said flatly, looking at his little sister.

“Then can you get off?” Lisa sighed, still covering her eyes. I chuckled and pushed a little bit Sehun but he wrapped his arms around me and tightened his hold.

“No” Sehun answered again.

“Nini, push him off” Lisa whined, standing in the doorway.

“I can’t” I rolled my eyes “He is holding me too tightly”

“Fine” Lisa sighed and when she removed her hands from her eyes she glared at Sehun “You are a nasty man, oppa”

“Well, man are usually nasty, Lisa” Sehun grinned “Better get used to it by now”

“Sehun!” I slapped his chest, trying to push him off again.

“No, just you are nasty, oppa” Lisa rolled her eyes “If you don’t want to get off Nini, come and cook me breakfast”

“No, do it yourself” Sehun scoffed, turning his head away and burying it in my chest.

“I can’t” Lisa crossed her arms in front of her chest “If I could I would have done it already”

“Lisa, get out!” Sehun called, voice muffled.

“No!” Lisa scoffed “Should I call mom and dad and tell them Nini slept over the whole week while they were gone?”

“Don’t you dare, little rat” Sehun’s head shoot up as he looked at Lisa.

“Or maybe about the funny business you started in the kitchen and finished in this room?” My eyes went wide, Sehun’s mouth falling open.

“What the—”

“Now, language oppa” Lisa shook her head “I’m still small”

“Small my ass!” Sehun scoffed, still shocked “I can’t curse and you talk to me about funny business—how the hell you even know about that?”

“I couldn’t sleep” Lisa shrugged “I heard you being downstairs and wanted to see what you were doing”

“Lisa, why didn’t you tell unnie you can’t sleep?” I raised my eyebrows at the girl.

“Well, I thought I’d fall asleep later but seems like that didn’t happen” Lisa shrugged, smiling devilishly at Sehun “Now, cook me breakfast or I’ll tell mom and dad where oppa’s fingers were that night”

“Oh my god” I muttered, face flushing a deep red. Sehun growled and was up in an instant, my body feeling cold once his was gone.

“Lisa!” Sehun shouted as Lisa ran away with a shriek.

“I will call mom and dad!” She shouted as I heard her heading downstairs.

“Dare to do that and you never see the daylight ever again!” Sehun threatened, voice loud as he chased her. I buried my face in Sehun’s pillow, trying to get the redness go away. How could she see something like that, oh my god! No wonder these two are siblings, I quickly exited the room when something was dropped to the ground and Lisa whined and Sehun laughed. Someone will die if I don’t stop them right now.

“No! That’s not!—” I groaned as another pancake fell to the floor, making Lisa laugh louder.

“Shut up, little rat” Sehun glared at Lisa “You can’t do this better”

“I can always try” Lisa smiled smugly at Sehun.

“No, now shut up” Sehun glared at her “and don’t laugh”

“Sure, big rat” Lisa chuckled at her own words, making Sehun turn around and narrow his eyes at her.

“I swear to god, Lisa if you don’t—”

“Sehun, are you going to burn that pancake too?” I raised my eyebrows at Sehun as he turned back to the stove, the pancake turning too brown in the pan.

“Shit” He muttered and quickly removed it, clumsily turning it around with the spatula. Lisa giggled, watching me flip it easily over.

“Nini can do it well, why can’t you?” Lisa raised her eyebrows at Sehun, making him sigh.

“Because I never made pancakes before, okay?” He answered, hands moving around. Lisa giggled again and nodded her head slowly.

“You’d probably poison all of us if you cooked”

“Yah!” Sehun threw the spatula on the counter “Little brat, you are lucky you are my sister”

“I love you too, oppa” Lisa smiled at Sehun.

“I don’t” Sehun muttered, turning away from her.

“I know you do” Lisa giggled, playing on my phone. I caught Sehun’s little smile as he poured dough into the pan.

“Breakfast will be ready in five” I smiled at Lisa as I placed the pancakes we made so far on the table.

“Just tell me which are yours so I know I won’t get poisoned” She whispered, eyeing Sehun with a grin.

“Seriously—I will just act like I don’t hear you” Sehun sighed, leaning against the counter. Laughing I walked to the fridge and took out some strawberry jam, when walking back stopped in front of Sehun.

“Don’t be sad, Hunnie” I pecked his lips “We love you”

“I love you too” He smiled at me, as I placed the jam on the table. Lisa smiled at the both of us and winked at me as she started smearing jam on her nutella pancake.

I should thank Lisa for getting to know Sehun better. If it wasn’t for her, and her needing a babysitter, maybe Sehun and I wouldn’t be here today. I smiled at the two people in the room as they kept bickering about who was better at this and that. And for once, I knew no one could ruin what I have with them. Not Taeyong, not anyone else. Because this two people, I love with my heart and will keep them around myself for a long time.

 ~Previous Part~

 A/N: This was a short part, I know. I want to thank you for your support, you are the best! I never got so much love before like this time and I’m so thankful. I tried my best with this story and I will kinda miss writing cold Sehun and sassy Lisa. Once again thank you, it was great writing this and hearing your thoughts!

[heelturntoo]

Tread Lightly, She is Near

Summary: Tim spends his first night as a real Robin

Next you're going to tell me how simple it all is."

"Well, yeah. It's pretty basic math."

On his first night living in Wayne Manor, Tim lies, unable to sleep, staring up at the roof of his bedroom.

He had stayed in The Cave, curled under the weight of his cloak, until four AM, pretending to work as he monitored Batman from the cave and then watched him go through his warm down and debrief. The truth is he hasn’t retained more than a half-dozen data points all night about the villains he had been tasked to study.

When even Batman was ready to finish up for the night, he had asked to stay down in the cave a little longer, to more fully accustom himself to the computer’s system.  But Batman had been stern. “We sleep when we can. That’s as important a part of the job as any other if we want to maximise operation at peak capacity.” He had said, not unkindly and sent Tim to go change.

It was easier to be Robin. As Robin, he felt tougher, safer. He could keep the pain at arm’s length. It was all harder to deal with when he was just Tim. The pain felt sharper, more immediate. 

At the foot of the stairs, Bruce, now in sweats, had reached out and, when Tim gave a tiny nod, placed his hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing very well.”

“T-thank you.”

Bruce had walked him to the door of the guest room – no, not the guest room any longer – his room now, Alfred had said, for as long as he needed it, but hadn’t come inside. “I’m just down the hall. You know where to find me?”

“Yes.”

“Good night.”

It’s a nice room, if impersonal. His duffel bag and boxes of belongings still sit on the floor. Alfred had wanted to unpack them, but Tim had asked him not to, preferring to do it himself.

There had been a tray sitting on the table by his window when he came in; a glass of milk and a sandwich. Alfred had gone to bed as soon as Bruce had jumped out of the car and proved himself not in need of stitching up. That was, apparently, his custom, but he had left the snack for Tim before retiring. Tim just hadn’t been able to summon up an appetite.

Now he is lying in bed, staring straight at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep.

Bruce will be disappointed with him if he doesn’t sleep.

He has been released from school this week, in deference to his father’s illness and his mother’s death.  The funeral will be Thursday. There was no family to help organise the fine details of the memorial, so his father’s lawyer had looked after the legal side, and Alfred had looked after the personal details.  Alfred is good at that sort of thing. Tim is beginning to realise that Alfred is good at everything.

So, it doesn’t actually matter if he doesn’t get any sleep. It’s okay if he wastes the rest of the night thrashing, or lying, gazing up at the roof. He doesn’t actually have anywhere to be.

Except, if he does not sleep now, he won’t be sharp come tonight and there is no excuse for that.

Nightwing had promised to come over later today too and play video games with him. Tim had told him thank you, but that his aerial work was still weak and could they practice that instead, please?  They had compromised on Dick taking him to the track and showing him how to do pin turns on the bike as long as Dick could take him out for burgers after.

He tries shutting his eyes.  Whenever he does, he sees his mother’s body on the slab in the mortuary when he had been taken by Bruce to legally identify it - her. He hears the beep of the respirator doing his Dad’s breathing for him. When he thinks about those things, his stomach bucks and his breathing quickens. All the control, the mastery over fear he had maintained during their kidnapping, is slipping through his fingers like smoke. To his mortification, he realises he is crying.

He buries his head in his pillow and bites down on it, trying to stop himself from making a noise. God, please let Bruce not have heard that. Please.

After a while of quiet sniffling, he throws the covers off himself, pulls the throw from the end of the bed and wraps it around himself like it is Robin’s cap. He discretely wipes his eyes on the corner. Then he slips out of his room.

The mahogany panelling makes everything in the manor’s upstairs corridor seem darker, but dawn is starting to slide through the eastern window, enough to see by. Alfred had told them that the floorboards are designed to squeak, a nightingale floor to act as an extra layer of security if someone dangerous makes it as far as the manor. He hasn’t learned the trick to walking silently across it yet, but he does the best he can. He reaches the top of the stairs, wonders about the likelihood of being able to get into the cave without Bruce or Alfred being alerted and decides it is not very likely. He keeps walking.

Eventually, he comes to a door and eases it open.

The room is spotless. Alfred wouldn’t abide dust. There is a copy of The Big Sleep thrown down on the bedspread, as if the room’s occupant has just left for a moment and will be right back. But things are too tidy, and the air is thick, undisturbed. After less than a year, the room is already turning from a bedroom into a museum.

He walks a circuit of it once, afraid to touch anything in case it would be seen as an intrusion. It’s just an ordinary room, books,  a sleek laptop closed on the desk  and a closet full of clothes that will never be worn again. There is a big bay window, east facing with a window seat set beneath it. Outside, the woodlands are a riot of autumn colours, red and gold and deep green. Silver mists gird the lawns. Beyond the forest, the city lies, handsome and unthreatening at this distance, like a lounging apex predator.

Wrapping his blanket-cape around him he sits down, curling into the deep pillows of the window seat.

Ives had called yesterday, and the day before that and there had been a card sent over signed by all the kids in his homeroom. People know how to do these things properly in Gotham. He has signed a couple himself in the past. One for Cecily when her sister had been hit by joker venom. One for Mark after the fire that had killed his dad.

There had been one for Jason too, or for Bruce and Alfred. It had been passed diligently around the classroom and Tim had felt unable to sign it. Anything he could have written would have felt too much like a lie.

“What was he like?” He had asked Dick about Jason once, and Dick had squirmed and said, “You’re nothing like him,” and quickly changed the subject.

But lately, Tim has realised that Dick didn’t really know Jason at all. They had been legally foster brothers for almost three years, but Dick had managed it so their lives were kept carefully separate. Tim thinks about it from time to time, when Dick’s helping him with his rapelling or teaching him capoeira or they are just sitting on the couch, scoffing popcorn and playing videogames. He wonders if Dick’s doing this because he enjoys Tim’s company or because of an obligation to the dead boy for whom he didn’t have room in his life.

It occurs to him sometimes that even though he only knew him through a lens, he might have known Jason better than anyone alive except for Bruce, Alfred and maybe Barbara. That this is true, that this will always be true and that there is no way for him to fix it, sits like a small stone in the pit of his stomach.

He has missed his chance. He will never know Jason better than he does now.

Just like he will never know Mom.

He blows on the glass and traces geometric shapes with his finger. Up and down. He tries his breathing again, tries to put all the raw, broiling emotions back on the high shelf, not gone but... removed.

When every window pane has a hexagon or a tetrahedral drawn on it he instead switches to tracing the loops and eyes of the window seat’s wooden panelling.

...And sees the knot.

It’s an imperfection in the wood just where the wood panels become window frame. Close enough to the window to be well camouflaged, but not so close it will interfere with the sensors. You would have to be sitting precisely where he is sitting even to notice it.

There is something squeezed inside.

After a minute and a couple of wooden splinters beneath his fingernails to get it out. It’s a piece of ordinary copybook paper, rolled up like a cigarette. He can see the faint blue copy lines.

He unrolls it and holds it up to the light. On the side facing him is just the letter “R”, simple and un-stylised. He turns it over. On it, in neat cursive script are five lines of text.

He reads it. He reads it again. He reads it a third time. He rolls it back up into a cigarette.

He is crying again. He’s not sure why. He longs absurdly, pathetically for his mother, as if she had ever been the sort to hold him and rock him to sleep.

Outside, sunshine is starting to line the distant skyscrapers in gold. He presses his head against the window. The glass is cold against his cheek.

The next thing he knows, there comes a gentle knock on the door and he realises he has fallen asleep. “Master Timothy?”

He lurches up, remembering where he is, remembering what a violation it is to be in here, let alone sleep here.

Alfred looks around the edge of the door and seems entirely unsurprised. “Ah, there you are. When you weren’t in your room I began to worry.”

“AlfredImsosorry. Ididntmeantobeinhere. Ididntmeanto –”

Alfred waves this away. “Calm down, lad. It’s alright. I just came to see did you want your breakfast and when I couldn’t find you I was worried.”

“You were?” Tim is confused.

Alfred crosses the room and joins him at the window. Tim expects him to sit, but Alfred is not the sort of person who sits. “Shall we say, it would not be the first time a grieving young man left this house to go do something... impetuous.”

“You mean Jason?” He glances around the room as if the ghost will be sitting cross-legged on the bed or over at the desk.

“Not exclusively, no. Grief is, I’m afraid, this family’s constant companion.”

Tim realises that ‘this family’ includes Tim himself and doesn’t quite know how he feels about this.

“At least,” Alfred’s eyes sparkle a little, “You are not dangling from the chandeliers.”

Tim smiles a watery smile. “I could dangle from some chandeliers. Would it make me feel better?”

Alfred returns his smile. “Perhaps. It often worked wonders on Master Dick.”

“And Jason? What worked for him?”

Alfred would never do anything so gauche as to flinch, but there is a definite loosening of his hold of his sang froid. “The roots of his pain had grown rather deeper. He was alone for a long time before he came to us. I sometimes wonder...” He trails off

“Bruce says he was angry.”

“Often, yes.”

“Bruce says that it made him reckless, that that’s what got him killed.”

Tim realises he was mistaken in his assessment, because this time Alfred does flinch. “Ah,” he says, “Yes.”

“Alfred?”

“Yes?”

“I want to be Robin but... I don’t want to die.” His face burns with shame at saying it and he wants to bury his head in his hands.

But Alfred smiles and says, “I am glad to hear it. I don’t want you to die either.” He hesitates and then says in a kind tone. “Do you want to stop being Robin.”

“No!” It comes out much louder then he meant and the depth of emotion, of alarm that it might be taken away from him, surprises him. He never wanted to be Robin, not truly. He’s an understudy and when the time comes he will step aside. But now, just now, having Robin, having this life makes him braver. When he feels better, when the pain faids, it won’t be hard to give it up. “No thank you, I mean.  I still want to be Robin. I just have worries, sometimes.”

He shoots Alfred a nervous glance. “You won’t tell Bruce?”

“On my honour.”

“Thanks.”

“Perhaps you would like to come help me prepare breakfast in the kitchen?” says Alfred. “I could certainly use the company.”

“And Bruce doesn’t like people in this room?” he guesses aloud.

This time Alfred makes a show of irritation. “Well, you know him. Something of a hoarder. Cards and pennies and dinosaurs. “ And glass cases, neither of them say. “He likes when things  remain as they were.”

Tim’s hand must have tightened on the roll of paper, because the movement attracts Alfred’s attention. “What do you have there?”

“Nothing.” Tim crumples the note he found in the knothole up in his hand. “Just a message someone sent me.”  He looks around the room again. “Alfred, were we anything alike?  Jason and I?”

“What did Master Bruce tell you?”

“He said we were nothing alike.”

Alfred nods. “Then I suppose it must be so.”

**

EARLIER PART HERE

[vanilluhbeaux]

early mornings with her

distinque (on ao3 & ff.net)

Summary:

Maybe he should visit more often // Dabi has more homes than he knows.

early mornings with her

x

Every third Wednesday of the month, Dabi pulled himself out of bed at seven-thirty in the morning instead of his usual twelve in the afternoon. And instead of applying a fresh bottle of dye to his normally black hair, he spends thirty minutes longer in the shower and scrubs the already fading black dye out of his head, revealing a distorted, greyish-pink color that, while he isn’t particularly fond of, gives him a soft sense of familiarity. When he leaves the bathroom, Toga’s waiting outside the door, towel and pout in tow. Watching her sharp, yellow eyes glare at him gives him that same sense, and he fights the urge to stick his tongue out at her. He looks at her for a moment, silent and observant, watching her slightly angry expression slowly morph into something more annoyed than mad. “You’re up early,” he decides to say, falling into the familiarity.

“I have school, Dabi,” she answers, and that’s where the sense ends. He’s looking down at her and doesn’t want to block the bathroom any longer to get her worked up, or hide her lotion in the baby’s room because she needs it, or lick her favorite pen and it’s his now, or stick his tongue out at her because he’s only teasing Yumi, calm down. No, he doesn’t want to do any of those things anymore and he lets out a sigh and steps out of the way.

“You don’t go to school anymore, Himiko,” he says before turning to walk away, watching as she entered and stood by the door.

“Go to hell!” she shouts, slamming the door, and bringing that feeling back, though now it was too little and too late for him to relish in it. Still, it bought a small smile to his face and silently he’s thankful. Moments pass before he hears the shower running and that’s when he walks away, drinking in the small, almost pleasant, reminders of home against his better judgment.

But then he finds himself in his room, staring at himself in the mirror, picking at the patches of wrinkled, purple skin that covers his body. He tears himself from the mirror and throws on a pair of jeans and white t-shirt, adding a grey jacket when he realizes his arms are out and his burnt skin isn’t the best thing to have on display today. Then it’s back to the mirror, staring at the deep patches of skin under his eyes and jaw, unsatisfied. He takes a pair of dark sunglasses and puts them on with the utmost care, and then glances back at the mirror, seeing that he’s hidden his eyes and the surrounding area. There’s still the issue of his neck and jaw, but he isn’t as concerned with it. It’s nothing that he isn’t used to, and it’s unsightly but so is he—sometimes.

And with that, Dabi leaves out his room and locks his door, to be gone for what he estimated to be no more than a few hours.

x

Riding crowded busses brings back more small feelings for Dabi, and he doesn’t hesitate to give up his seat for the schoolgirl with bright blue eyes and glasses, employing the manners instilled in him by his mother. The girl smiled at him and started studying, and then he suddenly found himself looking at a younger Yumi, who always had her nose in a book. It took everything he had to control himself enough so that he wouldn’t flip the book out of her hands with a flippant, sarcastic, ‘oops’. Instead, he dug one hand deeper into his pockets and let another hold on the railing above his head, closing his eyes. He leaned his head against the wall, not unlike he did when he was in school.

Exhaling, he realized this this was going to be a longer trip than he thought.

He exited the bus a few stops than his intended destination, finding it easier to walk a few blocks than stand and watch The Girl read without reaching out to touch her. She looked like a smart girl; she kept her nose buried in the book the entire ride. Every so often she looked up at him, and he looked back, though she didn’t notice underneath his glasses. Dabi didn’t want anything from her, but for her to either tell him some lame thing she read from the book or to say some smart, sassy comment, but she didn’t do either, preferring to keep her peace. It was slightly incredible to him, how someone could bring some of your memories alive without bringing all of them back.

It was torture.

He didn’t notice how his eyes were drawn to every white haired woman on the street, watching them for a moment longer than he needed. If he could sneak a peek at their faces, he would find himself slightly disappointed and their green and brown and red and not blue or grey eyes. Unconsciously, he’d wrinkle his nose and pout, like he was a child and he was not getting his way.

He should visit her.

x

Dabi’s nerves gathered themselves together and attacked when he approaches the bright, white building with far too many windows. He almost felt himself sweat when he grabbed the door and pushed it open. The cool rush of air invaded his nose and he would’ve choked, but he is far too composed to do something so uncool. The staff downstairs are dressed completely in white, with plastic smiled placed on their faces. Without hesitation, he walks to the front desk and asks the lady sitting behind it, “Is Rei Todoroki still on the twelfth floor?” His voice comes out even and cool, and he’s thankful because his stomach is twisted into knots that he hasn’t felt since he was a child.

She looks at him with narrow eyes and said, mechanically, “Only select people are allowed to see her.”

He drops his glasses further down his nose to reveal his eyes, staring down the worker. Her bored expression, softens when she sees he’s got the same eyes as him. He lowers his voice to say, “That’s not what I asked.”

The lady nods her head, “Twelfth floor, first room from the elevator. May I have your name?”

He looks back at her and drops his glasses, “No, you may not.” And he walks to the elevator with a large, cocky grin that reminds himself too much of his father, but he doesn’t let it stop him from smiling. The elevator is sterile and fast and that makes him queasy, and he steps out of it just as quickly as he got on.

Her door is white and pristine, and Dabi assumes that Enji is paying to get it painted every two weeks to keep appearances up. He doesn’t miss the snowflake embellishments in the corners and surrounding a gold nameplate reading TODOROKI R. The whole floor is a little warmer than the rest of the hospital, and little decorations are scattered throughout the hall, feeling more like an apartment building than a hospital.

He pushes the door open swiftly, without knocking, and outwardly cringes, remembering his manners. Still, he walks in bravely and finds R. Todoroki sitting on her bed, staring out the window. She looks at him and a smile breaks out on her pale face, wrinkles forming in the corner of her grey eyes. “Hi, Touya,” she says, standing, “I’ve missed you.” Dabi was slightly taken aback at hearing his birth name, but then realized that Touya was the only name she knew him by. Taking off his glasses and putting them on a desk, he wrapped her in a hug, surprised to find how small she was in his arms.

“I missed you too, mom,” he says breathing into her white hair. He pulls away from her and looked her up and down, taking her appearance in. He remembered that she was always slim and pale, but she looked a little thicker and her face seemed more colorful. Still, her hair was the same bright, white and trailed past her shoulders and her eyes shined the same way they did when she looked and Yumi and him when they were kids. Aside from the fine lines appearing around her eyes, she doesn’t look like she’s aged, almost as did she were frozen in time, stuck at thirty forever. “...I really missed you, mom,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Touy,” she says, sitting down on her bed and patting the spot next to her, signaling for him to sit with her. “I jus—“

“It’s not your fault,” Dabi interrupts, placing his hands on her shoulders, “You did the best you could with us. All of us.” He drops his hand and lays his head on her lap, like he did when he was six and Mom and Yumi were the only people who mattered. Rei let her hands entangle themselves in his hair, and she smiled once she found his scalp.

“You’re still coloring your hair?” she probes, remembering when his hair was as red as his father’s. When he was twelve he bleached it to match her and his siblings, and by the time she went away it was still white. She smiles when she feels him nodding and hears him hum in response.

“It’s black now, but my roots come in red. I’ll bleach them and then add the black on top,” he answers, closing his eyes. Gently, she reaches down and touches his face, first the smooth, pale skin of his eyelids and then she trails down to the rough, burnt patches under his eyes. “I hate my red hair,” he adds, nonchalantly.

“You’re still my handsome boy,” she chirps, bringing a kiss down to his forehead. He smiles at this, and although he wants to swat her away from his forehead like he used to, he lets her, knowing it’s been a while since he’s got a mom-kiss and it’ll be a while before he’ll get another. He hopes that it won’t be eight years, like it has been, but he can’t be sure.

Jokingly, he says, “I’m 25, mom.” She abruptly sits up and looks at him in mock disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” she says, directing his chin to look at her, “because I’m your mother and I’m only 32.” He holds her gaze for a moment but then drops it, laughing.

“I must’ve forgot.”

“Are you being good to your sister and brothers?” Dabi pauses for a long moment, looking at his moment, his eyes blank. Everyday, he thinks about Yumi and Natsu, though thoughts of Natsu are few and fleeting and Yumi is always on his mind. He can admit to himself that he misses them, and before he joined Tomura he’d send them packages, but lately he hasn’t done anything remotely nice. And Shouto? Normally, Dabi doesn’t think of him at all, let alone as one of his siblings. Thinking back, Dabi can’t remember them being close, even as children.

“No, mom,” he finally answers, “I don’t think so.”

His mother tsks and tells him, authoratively, “You should be. Fuyumi’s a teacher. Kindergarten, I think. And Natsu’s doing well in college. Shouto’s—“

“I’ve never spoken to Shouto,” he lies, slightly. He’s taunted him as Dabi a few times, but as Touya? Never.

“That makes me sad, Touya,” she chides, placing a hand on his forehead. “He’s a good kid. He’s got a really good head on his shoulders and he’s very kind. Enji did a good job with him.”

“If Endeavor raised him, I want nothing to do with him,” Dabi dismisses flatly.

“That’s an awful thing to say, Touya!” she scolds, using the same voice she did whenever he pranked one of sister. “Don’t let your anger for your father ruin your relationship with Shouto. Anger does awful things to people...it can make us do the worst that we could possibly do. Shouto’s better than Enji, and you should be good to him, too.”

“I miss Yumi,” Dabi says, changing the subject. His mother notices it, but doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, she lets out a sigh and asks, “You haven’t seen her?”

“I haven’t been very good to anyone, lately, mom.”

This time, she pokes him, causing him to open his eyes and look at her. He finds her looking down at him, a perplexed look floating about her grey eyes before gardening, and he watches as she clenches her jaw. “Is this because of your father, Touya?”

“I-“ Dabi starts, but cuts himself off seeing his mother look at him so harshly. Her face is turned into a small frown and wrinkles appear on her forehead, making her look more her age.

“You can be angry at him,” she starts, her tone strict and heavy, “By God, be angry. Kick and scream and express yourself, but do not let it consume you. I’d hate to see your anger drive your actions.” Dabi looked at her, his blue eyes darkening and closing. Gently, he shakes his head and places a hand to her cheek.

“Mom,” he starts, his voice low, “it’s a little more complicated than that.” She kept her eyes on him, clearly not pleased with his answer. “Things are a little crazy right now, mom, and I can’t say why.”

“If things are crazy, it’s your job to stay sane.”

“No excuses, huh, mom?” he says jokingly, dropping his hand from her face. Looking at her, for a moment, she’s actually only thirty-two and he’s nine, being reprimanded for putting glue in his sister’s hair gel.

“None.”

“You want me to be good to them?”

“I want you to be good to everyone, Touya,” she says with a small laugh on the tip of her tongue, “but you can start with your siblings, I suppose.”

“I’ll be good to anyone you ask,” he says, stretching the truth just a little bit. When work comes around he can’t always be good, but he knows he doesn’t always have to work.

A knock on the door startled them both, sending them jumping out of their skins and scrambling over each other as to not show just how close they were, though they quickly relaxed when they seen a bright pair of glasses and soft white hair. The young woman looked from the door in awe, unable to find the courage to walk in. “Touya?” She gaped, her eyes wandering like a child at Christmas.

“Hey, Yumi,” Dabi said, sitting up and alert at the wide-eyed adult. She was bigger than he remembered, older, with pretty adult features taking over her awkward teenage ones. She was still wearing glasses, even after swearing them off after years of him hiding and breaking them. Her white hair reached her shoulders and definite, bold red streaks littered the tresses. She almost reminded him of his mother, but her face held a serenity that he’s never seen in his mother.

“Did Dad—“ Fuyumi began, but quickly covers her mouth and cuts herself off, shaking her head. Dabi didn’t miss how her grey eyes narrows slightly, and tears began forming on her lower eyelid, threatening to spill over. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long enough,” Rei answers, running her thin fingers through his hair.

The rest of the evening lazed on carelessly, lively periods of excitement and chatter turning into lovely periods of tranquility and peace, and that oh-so-familiar feeling crept into Dabi’s chest, squeezing his heart and preventing air from flowing into his burnt lungs. Though the inevitability of the moon landing in the sky is enough to bring Dabi to his legs and walk out of his mother’s door and away from his sister’s company, though not without kisses and promises that he will return.

Immediately after he closes the door, he hears something break, but before he can open it, he hears his mother’s voice.

“He hurt my son again.”

Dabi decides it’s better if he walks away.

x

When he arrives home, it’s darker than what he expected. The moon was taking on a waxy, yellow hue instead of the clean white that he knew and trusted. He walks in and finds Himiko sitting on the couch, a textbook in her hand and eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

Without thinking, he asks, “Don’t you have parents?”

“M’ father’s dead,” she replies smoothly, not taking her eyes off the book.

“Mine too.” He goes over and sits with her on the couch, peering into the textbook only to find it blank. The girl mutters something about hating math, and he could never understand how she does what she does.

“He hit me, so m’ boyfriend killed him.”

“Mine too.”

“You had a boyfriend?”

“I had a father who hit me.” Himiko didn’t say anything after this, burying her nose in the wordless book and focusing all her energy into studying. “I have a little sister, too.”

“I’m your little sister.”

“Close enough.”

[resetmypatientviolence]

Please (Drake x MC x Liam)

Please– Part 11 of “Supposed To Be”

Part 1: Not Yet Part 2: Wait Part 3: Confused Part 4: Didn’t (NSFW) Part 5: I’m Pregnant Part 6: Choice (NSFW) Part 7: Future (NSFW) Part 8: Fight Part 9: Show (NSFW), Part 10: It’s Yours

Word count: 5,994 (er... settle in.) Pairing: Drake x Jaela x Liam

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: Language; Non-explicit descriptions of sex; I literally shed tears

Summary: Jaela grapples with the aftermath of The Homecoming Ball.

Suggested Song Accompaniment: Without You-- Lapalux feat. Kerry Leatham

Notes: THANK YOU ALL for your incredible support, tears, and reactions that make me cackle. Some slightly sad news is that this series will be on a very brief hiatus next week (possibly two) due to life. Boyfriend is turning old af 27, my thesis defense is next week, I... might have slipped on homework, and overall I need to organize my life as I get to graduation. Don’t worry, this just means I get to finish headcanons and others fics and other nifty things coming your way in place! These chapters just take A LOT, so I need some r & r from this saga.

** There IS a read more attached to this after the first paragraph. Tumblr mobile just hates everything. Y’all won’t be clogging up people’s dashes, I swear. get your shit together tumblr

Tag List: @boneandfur, @mariawalkerwrites, @ninamckenzie22, @hhiggs, @drakesfiance, @pbchoicesobsessed, @umccall71, @mrswalkerreynolds, @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @mfackenthal, @zarina-x-zig, @ahteneah, @tmarie82, @viktoriapetit, @theroyalweisme @heatherfilliez

Her eyes fluttered open, the room coming into focus, blurry and spinning. She gripped the tight fabric in her hands, trying to steady herself, raising her head slightly. Blinking, she touched her forehead, the world starting to fully form lines sharp and defined. “Where…”

“Mm, good afternoon, love.” Liam’s hand slid along her side, around the large swell her stomach, burying his head in her neck, lips leaving soft, tender kisses. Their bedroom was clear now, Jaela over the covers of their king sized bed, ceilings high, curtains letting in the late afternoon light.

“Hey, that tickles!” she giggled, rolling over in bed—with some difficulty—to look at him, laying on top on the covers, a grin on his face, hand over the bump, thumb drawing lazy circles. He kissed her lips, both chuckling. After they separated, she yawned, rubbing her eyes. “How long was a napping for? I swear… I just wanted to lay down for a few minutes….”

“Three hours.”

“Shit! Did I miss—”

Liam moved closer to her, their heads touching as they rested against the pillows, legs intertwined. “Jaela, I firmly believe at eight months pregnant, you get to miss any meeting you want.”

“Heh. The benefits to feeling like a beached whale everyday, huh?” She slid her own hand to meet his. He loved feeling the baby kick at every chance he could.

“You know you’re just more beautiful every day, my Queen.” Jaela flushed, meeting his gaze before glancing at the sparkling ring on her finger.

“I just can’t wait,” she sighed, happily. “Four more weeks… if that.” Liam grinned, lifting his head, pushing back her hair. “I’m happy you aren’t leaving Cordonia until after they’re here.”

Liam rubbed her cheek. “Of course, love. I can’t bear to leave you when we don’t know when they’re coming.” His smile faltered, eyebrows drawing close in concern.

Jaela shifted, own smile falling, interlocking their fingers together. “What is it?”

“Just…” His hand moved from her face to her chest, over her heart. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying in the palace until they’re old enough to not fall under suspicion of being conceived before our wedding?”

Ah, the big lie, decided a month ago. Jaela bit her lip in thought, holding his sky blue gaze, and then nodded, smiling. “Are you kidding?” she said. “I get to stay away from the public eye, don’t have to deal with stuffy nobles and government officials for months all to stay and take care of our baby. Plus, I can wear jeans and leggings and everything else I can’t. Of course I’m happy with that, Liam. Of course.”

“Mm, good. I know you’ve got that wild side, Jaela.” Her smile twitched, turning down for the briefest of seconds. “I don’t want you to feel limited, or constricted, or—”

She placed a finger over his lips. Liam kissed it, silencing, sliding his hand lower, to the edge of her tight white shirt. Her breath hitched, but she continued speaking, despite the distraction of his fingertips brushing along the skin between shirt and jeans. “Liam, the only regret I have is… is not telling you about the baby sooner.” She gulped, the scar on her forehead almost burning at the awful, still awful, memory of that night. She touched it, as she always did, when thinking about the Homecoming Ball and…

Hand pausing its trail of fire, Liam pulled her close as he could, sighing deeply, her head against his chest. “Jaela… it’s the past. We can’t change it. It… it happened. We move on. We have to.”

“But…”

Just then, Liam’s phone rang. They froze. It was the hospital ringtone, only calling personally if it was about him.

“Drake!” They breathed, Liam sitting up quickly, dashing to it on the table by the window. Heart racing, Jaela slowly sat up, eyes wide. He answered, breathless, and she held hers.

“Yes?”

The last time they called, in the middle of night, it was because they thought he wouldn’t make it through. She couldn’t be consoled, heart breaking over and over until they arrived at the hospital… but by that time, he was improving, heading back to stable. Still. She dreaded that ring, always. Jaela watched Liam’s face, the suns rich golden light falling on it, concern etched along every inch. His eyes widened; she clutched her stomach.

“He’s awake? For how long?”

Awake. Awake. Awake. Awake. Bounced all around, in and out, unable to process anything more Liam said, his voice but a distant echo as everything—oh god everything—flooded back.

“Two hours?”

“Σε αγαπώ….”

“Why didn’t you call—no, no I understand, family first, of course.”

“Always, Abdi. I’ll always be here for you.”

“The Queen and I are on the way.”

“Just tell him and enjoy being Queen.”

“No, we’ll tell him. It’ll be better that way, coming from us.”

“I love you… so much…”

“Jaela, he’s awake. He’s awake. I… Jaela?”

“I’m have to. I’m sorry,”

“Hmm?” Liam shook her back to reality, lips tight, eyes wet. “Oh-oh, okay—”

Wordlessly, Liam helped her off the bed, glancing at her every few seconds as she scrambled to find a cardigan to wear, hands shaking as she fumbled through the dresser. Calmly, how was he so calm, Liam handed her one from the closet, a deep crimson. “Thank-you,” she mumbled, putting it on. Grabbing her purse, she was about to walk out the door when Liam took her hand, lips brushing against her cheek.

“Are you going to be okay, Jaela?”

It was more than a question about her ability to process Drake’s recovery-- awake and alive after six months. It was about her emotions, her feelings, her love of him, cut short. Jaela turned, gripping Liam’s hand tight, husband of nearly six months. “I love you,” she said, firmly, the shock of the update fading, though, her heart still beat too fast. “I love him too, but… not like that, anymore. We’ve discussed this. You’re the father of our baby. You’re my husband. He’s… it couldn’t be.”

“He’s our best friend,” Liam said, but Jaela saw behind his eyes. The late night talks, the what if’s if he woke up and how she felt as the months went, the everything else that was silenced by a gunshot. “But Jaela… I just want you to be happy, you know. If…”

“Don’t you ever think there’s an if,” she said, quickly—maybe a little annoyed that he still didn’t believe her when she said she loved only him like that, or maybe it was just the pregnancy hormones—turning to him. “I love you, my King, the father of this baby, my Liam. So… so let’s… let’s tell him what’s been going on, like we’ve wanted to since… since he didn’t wake up.” Her second sentence faltered; after all, it was easy to say it was over when her stomach grew and Drake lay there, motionless. But… no. This was her duty now. Queen. Liam’s wife. Isn’t that the fairytale she always wanted, was destined for? Why else would she come to Cordonia the day after meeting a prince, a stranger?

Though it took only a half hour to reach the hospital, their hands tightly clasped, few words exchanged between them, it felt like hours had passed by, a lifetime. The events from the Homecoming Ball flashing through her mind… every bit of it. Liam kissed the side of her head when they pulled up to the private entrance, as they had for the past months. First, every day. Then, a few times a week. Lately, it had been twice a week, if they were lucky. Sometimes she went alone. Jaela never said anything when she was alone, just spending a half hour with him, wordlessly holding his hand, silently willing him to wake up because she—they, it had to be they—both needed him.

The only time she did speak, when alone, was a week after their wedding, a hurried but grand affair, so nobody would suspect. Liam even gave Madeleine a dutchy so she’d keep her mouth shut. Their honeymoon was the following day, delayed due to Liam’s duties, so Jaela visited alone, so soon after the Homecoming Ball, Drake still hooked up to a million monitors, long before he almost died on them.

Jaela sat next to him, wearing a loose shirt as she had to until she was far enough along to pass as pregnant enough where it didn’t matter, slowly blinking, mind blank as she listened to the rhythmic beat and the forced respirator, keeping him breathing. Alive. The shell of a man she knew. Loved, and not like a friend. Tentatively, she reached and held his hand, not returning her grip… as he always used to when they snuck holding hands, hidden in her skirts at balls, or under the table.

She sighed, lips trembling, ring shining bright on her hand. “Drake,” she whispered, voice cracking. “So much has happened.”

Since then, when alone, she’s said nothing more. Only with Liam, urging him to come back to them. To them. And it was the truth. The love and passion she once felt simmering away because Liam… Liam was everything. He was everything she ever could have wanted and needed in her life. Why did she need anything more?

Outside of his all too familiar door, Liam and Jaela stood. This was it. They gulped. They practiced the conversation, or how to tell him what happened in six short yet long months, but neither knew what he’d say, or expect or react or… “You ready, Jaela?”

She nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go, eyes trained on the door. “I still can’t believe he… he woke up. They didn’t think….”

Liam chuckled. “I’m just happy to have him back. I owe him my life.”

Liam touched the doorknob, looking behind him when she didn’t follow. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll follow. You first,” she said, wrapping the cardigan around her. Not that it did anything to hide her stomach. But why hide?

Entering the all to familiar hospital room, Jaela followed close behind Liam as he rushed to Drake’s side, instantly gripping his hand. Jaela peeked from behind Liam, noticing how Drake’s eyebrows shot up on his nearly gaunt face. “Liam?” Why was he so surprised?

“My god, Drake, we didn’t… we didn’t think you’d make it. I’m so happy you’re here with us, finally, brother.” Tentatively, Jaela touched the railing, Drake’s flicking to her right hand.

“Brother? But—”

Liam pulled away from him, eyes shining. “It’s… it’s all behind us now, Drake. You saved them. I owe you my life. I… I don’t know where I’d be today if you didn’t…”

“Them?” He whispered. Jaela touched Liam’s side and emerged from behind him, ring catching the light. Instantly, his gaze flew to her stomach then ring, almost too bright for the room. Drake gulped, looking into her eyes, a small smile on his face.

Jaela touched her stomach, glancing to Liam, urging him to continue. How could she say it? We got married three weeks later while you were fighting for your life so nobody would gossip, we could distract the public, and so everything would be right with the pregnancy to not scar everybody in Cordonia that the King and Queen, the former whore of the court, had premarital sex. Shocking, right? Don’t get me started. Not even Regina and Constantine know. It would be too much to take in.

“Our baby, Drake. Jaela would have been shot if it wasn’t for you… and we could have lost them both. We’re so… we can never repay you, but we’ll never stop trying. Right, Jaela?”

She nodded, Drake’s gaze now to her ring. She touched Liam’s arm, eyes soft. “Could you get that iced tea I like? You know the one from the vending machine on the 1st floor to the left of the water fountain next to the reception?”

“Of course, love,” he said, flicking a glance between Drake and Jaela, smile failing. “You sure you need it now?”

Tugging on his sleeve, Jaela nodded. “You know this baby gives me the weirdest cravings. Please? For the baby?” Liam smiled, kissing her softly.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The sound of the door shut was expansive, both watching till it stopped, silence filling in the room. Finally, Jaela looked down at Drake and took his warm hand. He smiled half-heartedly and squeezed back. She lost count how many times she wished he’d do that when she sat by his bedside, just waiting for him to wake up. Now, he was… and she was Liam’s, completely.

“Boy or girl?” he asked, his question startling her.

“Uh…”

“Oh wait, Cordonian monarchy tradition, not knowing the gender until they’re born. Still getting my bearings, Abdi. Savannah did warn me there were changes in six months around Cordonia. She wasn’t lying.” He laughed, it hallow. Jaela bit her lip. She thought of this day too many times and still never settled on what to say, every version different.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I mean it. Without you…”

He removed his hand and tried to sit up a little better. Jaela automatically adjusted the pillows as best she could before her stomach pressed against the bed. Drake, slowly, eyes asking for permission that he didn’t need to ask for, reached out and touched her stomach when she nodded. He sighed. “I’d do it again and again, Abdi.” What was he thinking of? When he kissed her breathless that night, trailing blazing kisses down her body like there was no tomorrow? “Heh.”

“What?”

“Guess I should call you Rys now, huh?”

Jaela shook her head, frowning. “Call me Abdi. We don’t need to change everything, Drake.”

He lowered his hand, a pained look in his eye. “But… Jaela. You’re the Queen. Everything’s changed.” Running a hand through his hair, he sighed deeply, the pain evident. Jaela nodded, a twinge of regret still there. After all… everything ended without closure. And there never would be. She didn’t need to say it; she made her choice. I chose Liam. I couldn’t wait, Drake. I know you understand. She rested her hands on top of her stomach, heart aching with the words she couldn’t say, even when she was alone with him in the hospital.

“You were right, you know, when you said that so much has happened.”

“Wait—what?” she gasped.

“I could hear, you know, sometimes.” He smiled ruefully. “You… you were quieter than I thought you’d be. But that’s okay. I got sick of people saying the same things over and over.”

Jaela half smiled. “Oh… I… I didn’t know what to say, Drake. How can I when—”

“I know.” He reached out for her, taking her right hand, squeezing tight—well, tight as he could, so much weaker than the other times. “I get it. I… I know. I’m happy for you two… three. When are you due?”

“In a month. But anytime, really.” A real smile lit on her face and Drake returned it.

“Nothin’ like a royal baby to make them forget about an attack. Guess you’ll be in demand with all the magazines wanting the first picture the second they come. Sounds like a nightmare.”

Her smile changed to a grimace. “No, I won’t be. I’ll… I’ll be stuck in the palace with the baby. We… we lied about the conception. They think it happened on our wedding night. They’ll just think the baby’s a few weeks early… and then when they look like they should after a few months, I can do all that. You know, gotta keep up appearances,” she said, bitterness leaking into every word. What was she supposed to say to Liam when he proposed it to her? No, let’s ruin our reputations—again—just so I can go outside with the baby here and there?

Drake let out a breath, capturing her gaze. Though his cheeks hallowed, his eyes held the same intensity they did six months ago. “Jaela… are you happy?”

“Very,” she answered, with no hesitation, letting go of his hand as the door opened, Liam returning with the tea, kissing her cheek, smile back on her face. “Oh Liam, thank you!”

“Anything for my Queen.” Liam touched her stomach, as he always did at every spare second he got. “Now… where were we?”

  “You’re staring again, love.”

“Hmm? Oh!” Jaela blinked, the room coming into focus, far away from that hospital room. She stood before a mirror, hands frozen in place, holding a pearl necklace. There was a ball tonight, as usual. She was rusty since the birth of their baby, not going to one until they were about three months old, but this was about the fifth one she’d been to since then.

Liam laughed coming up behind her, gently taking the necklace and clasping it, fingers so soft across her back. She shivered. He wrapped his arms around her waist, sliding hands over the light blue fabric of her dress. “You look beautiful.”

“Yeah, tell that to the tabloids who think…”

“Jaela, you had a baby. Our child. You’re more beautiful than ever. Don’t listen. They’re bored.” Jaela sighed, touching his hands.

“I know, I know… didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

“They didn’t sleep much again?”

Jaela nodded, yawning. “They are their father’s child, that’s for sure.” Liam chuckled, kissing her neck. They swayed together, Liam humming quietly, their eyes locked on each other in the mirror.

After a minute, Liam spoke. “Are you happy, my Queen?”

Jaela smiled, lowering her eyes. “Of course. Always with you.” She shifted, touching the pearls.

“Good.” Liam kissed her cheek and straightened up, adjusting his medals. Jaela smoothed out her dress and turned, looping her arm through his, tilting her chin up.

“Ready for another grand entrance?”

“It’s always grand with you, Jaela.”

She blushed and giggled, letting Liam lead the way to yet another ball, as it always was.

Turning around, Jaela rolled her eyes as her and Liam walked away from a prime minister, trying to worm more money from Cordonia. Liam nudged her side, shooting her a warning glance. “Remember, you have to stay stoic. We’ve talked about this…”

Jaela sipped her whiskey, biting her tongue. “He was also staring at my chest half the time. I think he deserves an eye roll, Liam.”

“Still, Jaela. You’re Queen. We’re the face of Cordonia.” Did he really just use that King tone with me? She grit her teeth. Behind them, the music played, dance floor filled. Maxwell drew a crowd with his breakdancing, Bertrand shaking his head and walking away. Jaela’s lips twitched when she looked back, wanting to be out there. Instead of… handling relations and politics with nobles. Couldn’t she have fun anymore?

They stopped, some nobles eyeing them, but nobody approaching them—yet. Another sip of whiskey, looking around the crowd, familiar faces in and out. “Jaela…”

“What?” she snapped, looking up at him. Maybe she was also a little tipsy. Another no-go for the Queen. So many no’s. Too many. Maybe she was still stircrazy from all those months in the palace, caring for their baby, Liam gone far too many times than she liked, but never said anything about. He was King, after all. He had duties. And she was there just to….

Jaela took a large gulp, glass nearly empty. Every noble made it clear with the talks of children and how to properly carry on a legacy and to serve the King, like she was nothing more than his silent mistress with a crown. Might as well have a whole brood of children incase they turn out anything like Leo.

“I thought we were going to try tonight,” Liam sighed. “You can tell me that you’re not ready for another… or that you’re not happy, Jaela.”

“I am,” she whispered, tears hot behind her eyes. “I’m Queen of Cordonia. That means I serve it and sacrifice myself for country in anyway possible.”

“But Jaela—” She traced the glass, finger going in circle around the rim, over and over, searching the crowd once more.

“I’m happy, Liam. But it’s too late to think we’ve done everything we’ve wanted to our way. It’s always been about and for Cordonia. I wouldn’t have married you three weeks after the Homecoming Ball. I wanted to wait. You know I did. But… but we couldn’t. Cordonia’s taking as much from us as it gives.” She stopped tracing the rim, staring off at the doors, the exits.

Liam ran a hand over his head, sighing deeply. “We’ll… we’ll revisit this in the morning. Why don’t you get some rest? The night nurse isn’t just for evenings. She’ll stay overnight.”

“Yep.” Jaela finished off the whiskey, turning, kissing his cheek, eyes bright. “I think I will.”

Hurrying through the crowd, brushing against dresses, suits, and stiff conversations, setting the glass on the bar, Jaela snuck out through one of the side doors, vanishing from Mara and Liam and into the hallway. Her heels clicked as she walked, heart and head pounding. She rounded a corner, an arm reaching through the darkness and pulling her close. “Mm…” she whispered, taking in his scent. “Hi.”

Drake said nothing but kissed the top of her head, fingers trailing down her spine. “Earlier than usual, Abdi.”

Jaela looked up, grinning. “I was worried you wouldn’t notice the signal.”

“I’m always noticing you,” he murmured. “Why so early though? You and Liam—”

“Remember? No talking about Liam or politics or… or anything… when we meet like this.” Drake sighed, tightening his hold on her, sadness settling on his face. “I need you, Drake. Please.”

At her begging, desperation twinged with something caught between regret and sadness, their lips met in a hunger, as they always did, just like when they were on the Engagement Tour, secrets buildings higher and higher, ready to burst. He pressed her against the wall, a thrill running through her at his roughness, so unlike Liam—most of the time.

Her hand slid along the wall until she found the closet door, opening it and the two of them stumbling in together, light already on. Drake was prepared, condoms even out on the small table of their ball hook up spot. Not the only place in the palace, but it was useful for times like these, when the pressure of being the perfect Queen, wife, mother—person—was too much to bear.

Times when he could hitch up her dress with a grunt and drop to his knees, like now, making her come alive, nearly screaming his name on her lips until he would cut her off with a kiss, leaving her weak in the knees. Times when he’d let go fully and leave marks, Jaela thankful Liam was either away or didn’t notice, blending in with her skin. Times when she could stop everything and go back in time before a choice was forced into her hand, straightening her back, and laying out her future before her without consent.

 Drake groaned, pinning her wrists above her head, pressing against her hard once he came up from under her dress. One hand slid up her chest and gripped the pearls, tearing them off her, them scattering all around. Jaela groaned. He was rougher than usual, but she didn’t mind. She loved it. She needed to let go, release. But first…. Jaela wriggled her wrists free, kissing him hard before pulling away, smirking. “Abdi…” he breathed. Slowly, Jaela went to her knees, working his belt, never breaking eye contact with him, forehead still pounding but it didn’t matter. Soon, she’d be against the wall, or maybe she’s be on top, or maybe—

 Pulling her up, Drake held her by her shoulders. Pain mingled with desire on his face, hair hanging low. Jaela’s nostrils flared, narrowing her eyes. “Drake. I want to—”

 “We can’t keep doing this,” he said. All forms of pleasure that was coursing through her stopped, hearing nothing but a ringing in her ear, body going numb. He removed his hands from her, stuffing them in his pockets.

 “What? Are you… are you actually ending this?” Ending. How she hated the word.

 Drake squeezed his eyes shut and Jaela noted the tears at the slits. Her lower lip trembled. No. This couldn’t be. “I… Jaela,” he breathed, stepping closer to her. “We thought it was over when I got shot.”

 Not that, again, so fresh and clear, as if she could hear the bang if it was only minutes ago. “There wasn’t any closure, Drake. We couldn’t have been, no matter how much we-we tried to deny it.”

 Drake nodded, his breath hot, the closet warmer than ever before, the heat of the moment, the tension, too much. This couldn’t be it, could it? Drake didn’t know how much she needed him, trying to pour it into every kiss, every touch, every moment over the past two years. “Fair. Okay. But what about when we first kissed after that. Remember what you said?”

 “How could I forget that moment?” she whispered. Her bedroom. Liam was gone. Baby, just a month old, crying all night until Drake came and held them till they fell asleep. Jaela telling him over and over that she couldn’t do it, that she needed somebody there. Until, finally, even after her child was sound asleep and in their crib, they kissed urgently, falling into the sheets together, fire alive in her soul again, one she didn’t know that would come back after the baby was born.

 “You said that was the last time. We now have a closet. We have my room when Liam’s gone. You refuse to talk to me about your problems with him, with being Queen, or how you feel, or if you still love the both of us. You’re not telling him the truth and… and… I can’t do this to him, not again. Not anymore.”

 A shot through the heart. She gripped her head, hurting every second more. “No, no, no Drake—I need—”

 Holding her arms tight, Drake held her close, eyebrow furrowed. “You need to make up your mind, Abdi. Liam doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this. Your kid doesn’t deserve this.” He let go, stepping back, frowning.

 Goddamn, she didn’t even drink that much whiskey. Her head refused to stop hurting and the world started to spin. “Drake—I—I it’s all so complicated. I don’t… I don’t know… what the hell to do when I’m—” She shut her eyes, taking deep breaths.

 “You’re bleeding.”

 “What?” She touched her forehead, over the scar, pulling back her hand to reveal… nothing. “Drake, I’m not—”

 Except the front of her gown was stained, big red stains all down the front of her dress. But nothing hurt in her stomach. The ringing, louder and louder, head threatening to explode. She touched the blood, the red coming on her hands and she stared, eyes wide, everything spinning. Faster and faster and faster and—

 “Drake!” she screamed, red spreading all across his chest, fast, pooling and dripping to the floor. Him, motionless but paling, faster and faster. “No, no—”

 “Don’t sleep….”

 “What’s happening—”

 “… please for us…”

 Pain in her head, so great, pinpointed to one singular point, so intense, that all she could do was scream, Drake and the closet and the blood fading into one brilliant flash of white.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jaela turned her head, eyes still shut. It felt like a million bricks were in it, heavy and painful. More beeps, a soft shuffling of feet. Everything, so quiet and peaceful. And warm, too. Pressure, a tug on her left hand. Tentatively, Jaela opened her eyes, the lights took bright, nausea washing over her. “Ugh…” she groaned, covering her mouth, eyes still shut.

 “Oh dear… King Liam did say you had bad morning sickness. To your left.” Jaela listened to the voice, leaning over and throwing up the bits she managed to eat last, into a bucket of some sort. Or trash. She didn’t know. “Ohh, be careful of the IV. Let me help you back. I have some water, too.”

 The woman’s touch, a nurse, she assumed, was comforting, somehow. Laid back down, Jaela finally opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings as bits and pieces of the night filtered in, bit by bit. The IV bag and wires, connected to her, the white hospital room, only containing her and the nurse, couch and chair. Dawn, peeking over the horizon. Other machines she didn’t know the names to. Raising a hand to her head, she touched her forehead, feeling the bandage there.

 The night, racing in just as fast. It was all real. Too real. She glanced down, donning a hospital gown and tucked securely under the covers, no more blood on her from… Drake. Her breathing hitched. Drake. Oh god. “How’s…”

 “The baby?” the nurse said, chipper, wearing a smile, approaching her, checking the IV bag. “They’re just fine, don’t you worry. You were dehydrated and your vitals were low, but that’s not uncommon if you have severe morning sickness. Starts right around here, usually takes those who don’t know by surprise. I wish we could give you more for your head, but we can’t do too much with the pregnancy.” She was far too happy. Jaela needed to know about Drake, but she couldn’t find a chance to break in as the nurse chatted about her pregnancy while checking her charts and pulse.

 “Okay… but how’s Drake…?” She needed him. She needed to know. She needed everything but the information the woman was providing. Couldn’t she see it in her eyes?

 “Who? Oh!” The nurse went to a table next her bed and handed Jaela a picture. No. Not picture. Ultrasound. Her breath caught, tears sprung—but not of happiness, Drake far from her mind. No, how could she be, looking at the ultrasound of something that wasn’t just a dot, like she hoped, but something small… yet distinct in what it was. A baby. She failed it longer than she realized. Since day one.

 “How far…?” She choked out, tracing the edges of it.

 “Almost ten weeks.”

 Her eyes widened. “Te-ten?”

 “I mean, more or less, always hard with figuring out the conception date.” Jaela touched her stomach, hesitantly, looking at the photo, tears falling. “King Liam wasn’t in the best state to provide answers for us.”

 “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the ultrasound, to her baby, even though they wouldn’t hear it, wiping her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.” The nurse paused, tilting her head.

 “I’ll call for the King and leave you two alone.” Jaela shook her head. “If it makes you feel better, Duchess, I’ve never seen a noble express emotion like King Liam did when he watched the ultrasound. It was touching. I swore he stared at it and you for five minutes straight once we gave him the copy.”

 The tears came down harder, silently, head pulsing. She didn’t need to know that. She didn’t want to know that. She didn’t want to imagine Liam like that. But she… she did this to herself.  She deserved this pain and his anger. Jaela just stared, the world pushed to the side except for the ultrasound in her hand. This was real. It was real.

 Jaela didn’t even notice when the nurse exited and the door opened again, Liam standing in the doorframe, just watching her crying and staring at the ultrasound, whispering sorry every few seconds, shaking, the sun rising in the distance.

 His hand on her shoulder, strong, broke her quiet moments of overwhelming guilt. She looked up, caught a mid-sorry. His eyes, always so warm, were cool—but red, too. The lines of his face defined as he looked down at her, from her face to the ultrasound, and then, quietly, sank in the chair next to her, burying his head into his hands, shoulders slumping.

 Could she look away? No. She had to face him, despite her shaking body, terrified. The silence was worst than anything. Couldn’t he just yell at her? Tell her she’s scum and just get it over with? Why the silence, unable to see his face, a King worn and torn in a few short hours, world upside down.

 Jaela set the ultrasound next to the water, never taking her eyes from him. They were like that, in silence, for three minutes until she opened her mouth, unable to handle it anymore. “Liam—”

 “How long did you know?” he whispered, lifting his head, the hurt twisting a knife deep in her side. Hurt like never before all across his face, hurt worse than when she was dragged away at the Coronation. Than in New York. Than last night….

 “New York,” she said meekly, gripping the railing with one hand. “In the airport before we flew back. I bought a test there and took it.” He rubbed his eyes.

 “No. You don’t just take a pregnancy test when you first get an idea. Jaela. When did you know?”

 An exhale, Jaela looking up to the ceiling. “I suspected in Shanghai.” Liam gripped his knee, hand curling, letting out a deep breath. As Drake did. Drake… “Liam… how’s—”

 But he was speaking, fast, eyes now looking at her anymore, just into his hands. “I should have known something was wrong. That’s when you… when you started to pull away. God, I’m an idiot. What kind of King—no person—am I if I can’t tell when a person is acting different, or pulling away? Fuck. And all of this time wasted? I should have just asked, god, I should have. Then we could have gotten you cleared sooner, I wouldn’t have cared about damned appearances with Madeleine because I would have personally made sure my child wasn’t made a bastard—god we could have ended the tour so early. Fuck, we could have been planning for the wedding for weeks now, and not rush it like we need to now…”

 He continued, but Jaela stopped listening. Wedding. Wedding. Wedding. Like bells, it rang in her head, heart leaping to her throat—or was that vomit?—no, just dread. Just fear. Just… everything. Why a wedding if she might not even—oh my god.

“Liam!” Jaela said, cutting him off, growing numb by the second. “Look. We… we need to talk about this, actually talk but—”

 “There’s no buts, Jaela. We should have been talking about this for weeks by now,” he snapped, voice horse and stern. The wound, deeper. The next words died in her throat and she shrunk back, letting him continue. “I could have gotten you the best doctors around and we could have been taking care of the baby better. We could be preparing, already. We’d need to lie to the public about its conception, but if we caught the pregnancy earlier, than there wouldn’t be that much to hide when it came to it compared to now….”

 Was there no other option with him? No other option besides her marrying him? “Liam!” she yelled, this time, Liam stopping, eyes wide in shock at her outburst. “Liam,” she repeated, quieter. “I… we need to talk. But I’m not talking to you about this until… until I know about Drake.” At his name, Liam hung his head, expression unreadable.

 “Nobody told you?” he whispered, voice thick.

 She gasped, tears fresh. “No, no… Liam, please just—I can handle it. Just tell me… just tell me how he is. Please. I’m begging you.”

 In seconds that lasted a lifetime, Liam raised his head, locking tear glossed eyes with her, lips trembling, shaking his head.

 “Jaela…”

Disclaimer: All rights belong the Pixelberry Studios.

[siiinfvl]

continued for @shewassoferal

After he escaped vault D, they had the chance to sleep together twice - always completely platonic, beside cheek kisses or kisses on the top of his head - and there has always been a sort of what if feeling between them that she wasn’t sure of how to explain. At first, when she had met Kara, she had thought there was something there, but he had made clear they were just friends, as if he thought they should have that kind of conversation despite not being anything but friends. So Jemma had always thought of him in aspecial way, an almost, a maybe, and then the bloody planet had changed everything for her. 

He doesn’t even know. 

Because he and Kara were busy fighting Hydra, and Fitz had no way of contacting him, and anyway they probably couldn’t have helped, he doesn’t know about Maveth, and Jemma thinks that the only reason why after eight months without hearing from her (he must have thought SHIELD had to stay even more hidden, last time they talked she had told him they were making progresses with inhumans, and then apparently inhumans started popping out everywhere) he still seemed to care was that she had welcomed him with an enthusiasm she hadn’t been able to conceal, almost jumping on him. Of course then he had also realized something was different because she dressed differently, spoke less, and the way she fought was just—

She had meant to talk, but after saying she’d take some time off to be with him, which had been correctly interpreted as ‘alone’ by the others, they had ended up talking about other things, mostly him, and she had relaxed, and eaten, and watched Doctor Who, and she was all too awake, still watching it, when he had dozed off against her, getting cuddled because she had no way to not do it. 

She’s still cuddling him when another episode is finished, but he moves a little and she sees the mark on his wrist again, the scar - it’s so different from hers in every way, but they probably have in common a dislike for their own - and she gently brings his wrist to her lips to kiss it. She turns in his direction and her heart jumps because he’s awake, looking at her in a way that keeps her from apologizing, and for a second, maybe because tired, she thinks this is okay, she forgets what happened to her, what she is. This is so real, this time, and he’s so close, eyes full of emotion, and Jemma turns more and surges forward, her hand cupping his cheek as she kisses him heatedly, with a need that has once again nothing in common yet everything to do with the soft one to his scar. The moment his lips move she deepens it and almost pins Ward down against the mattress, her heart and body far stronger than her mind apart from the thought that she has to make it last as long as she can because then she won’t have to face what happens next.

                      absence   makes   the   heart   grow   fonder . . .

     it’s a saying that grant ward has never thought would ever apply to him. after all, the mere possibility of attachment was an enemy he had always run from in the past years. if there’s no attachment, there’s no room for affection. if there’s no affection, there’s no way the heart will want to bury a home in someone else’s chest.

    for the most part, he had succeeded. and even when he had almost failed, when his foot had slipped and brought him sliding down the edge of the cliff, he had managed to claw on the rocks, find a niche to bury his fingers into and anchor himself. but as he was there, dangling for his survival, jemma simmons came like an unexpected storm, blowing him away. and no matter how hard he tried to hold on to the rocks, he fell. he fell, and he fell, and he fell. but instead of swinging him violently until he crashed down to the shards of the earth waiting below, she whisked him to the air carefully, until he landed on his feet, completely safe.

    so, it’s not at all his fault that he grew attached. but just as he was burying his roots in, trying to find a sturdy foundation to make a home on, she vanished. as quickly as she stole him, she was stolen from him.

    for the first few months, he’d tried to forget about her. it was an adventure --------- the journey of unwrapping his arms from the promise of what he could have had with her. when telling himself that his feelings might not be as real as he believes --------- that he was alone and desperate in his isolation in the vault for so long that he latched on to the first person that had given him a slice of their time ; that after being left so lost, he had merely latched onto the closest lifeboat, desperate for salvation --------- had not worked, he tells himself that she’s not coming back. not to him because, finally, she had begun seeing him again as the monster he’s always been. he tells himself she’s woken up from the nightmare he’s trapped her in, and now that she’s free of him, she’s never coming back.

                                                          his attempts worked.

                                                              or so he thought.

    the few months bleed into several, until the counter hits eight, and for all that time, he had expected the memory of her to feel like a life long lived, a past to never revisit. and then --------- and then --------- she comes back.

                                                       SHE   COMES   BACK . . .

    and, just like that, all those months of work unravels with just a smile. with just brush of the pads of her fingers against his cheek, just her arms around his neck, and he’s back once more on the side of that cliff, floating slowly on the way down, laying on a cloud of protection she has fashioned out of her own attachment to him, and when he looks down... he finds her waiting for him down below.  

                                            he tried to forget her, and he finds out...

            A B S E N C E   M A K E S   T H E   H E A R T   G R O W   F O N D E R . . .

    one after another, he forgets about the days he hasn’t spent with her until he feels as though there’s no time that has elapsed at all. the awkwardness he thought would wrap around them is as non---existent as the space that sits between the two of them as they lay atop her bed, her tv on, her favorite show a background to the comfort she’s slowly enveloping him in.

    he doesn’t care much for the show, hasn’t seen it before, and doesn’t even understand it. but he watches it through unfocused eyes, a content smile upon his lips, as he listens to the sound of her breathing. his head is on her shoulder, his back against the headboard. his position is a tad bit awkward, but the satisfaction rings in his every sigh of relief.

    she’s so warm...   he thinks to himself, his arm atop her thigh. and it’s that thought and her familiar scent that lulls him to sleep, relief seeping into his muscles as his weight eases against her until his forearm rolls inside out on her thigh, his scar greeting her.

    it’s as if he wakes up from a dream when he opens his eyes slightly after what feels like only a few minutes, and finds her lifting his arm to her lips, a kiss light on his skin. and it’s as though his skin is directly connected to his heart as the very brush of her lips brings a jolt to his chest. brown eyes open and he stares at her half in confusion and half in expectation.

    a million and one questions line his features, parts his lips, but before he can utter a single one, she’s silencing him with her own lips.

                                       absence   makes   the   heart   grow   fonder . . .

                                        a   kiss   makes   a   man   fall   harder . . .

    all his emotions burst out from him with that one kiss. with the taste of her mouth on his tongue, he kisses her hard, tells her without words the billion words he has wanted to tell her while she was gone. with every bite, every suck, he tells her a million different versions of the same three words.

    his fingers don’t want to let go, so they move of their own accord to her hair, tips carding through the soft locks until they find a perch behind her neck, keeping her in place while pulling her closer at the same time. he feels her weight trying to imprison him between her warmth and the mattress, and he lets her, slides down his back until it hits the soft bedding. and when his arm hooks around her waist, he pulls her on him, acting on the yearning, the longing to get lost in her.

    it’s only when the lack of air burns in his lungs that he’s forced to pull away. but underneath her, there’s only her face to gaze upon, and he has not seen a view as beautiful in such a long time. breath is shallow in his chest, heart battering his ribs one beat at a time, and he has not felt as alive as he did then.

                                            brown gaze on the freckles on her cheeks.                                            how many of those did she have before ??    

                           tongue darting out to chase the taste of her on his tingling lips.                                                                 can i get more ??      

                                   body yearning for the permanence of her weight.                                                             i want to keep you...

                                                            heart in his eyes.                                                             take it, it’s yours...

                   and he tells her one of the million variations of the same three words...

                                      ❛ i’ve been waiting for you... ❜    

[lichlover]

Idk if you’ve done this but: taako just keeps doing dangerous stuff(probably with lup if we’re being real) because his boyfriend is death and it’s no biggie if he dies

tread carefully for discussion of death and suicidal ideation!

There’d been a world that had ended like this, in fire and brimstone and ash clogging up his lungs, clouding his eyes and making it impossible to think, or breathe, or do anything other than wait for the ceiling above him to come plummeting down and turn his bones to dust.

He’d laughed about it on the cycle that followed—“C’mon, Lulu, you’ve gotta admit to the irony there.”

“There were children in there, Taako,” was all she’d said.

“Dead children,” he’d replied, a little too sharply, and the ice that coated his voice provided momentary reprieve from the burning, screaming memory of what had only been seconds ago.

Except this isn’t a memory. He’s far too familiar with the liminal, off-kilter sensations that chase after him in his worst flashbacks, turning the world around him into the dredges of an unreliable recollection; scenery that shifts as suddenly as he does. This isn’t the paralyzing stillness of a night terror that holds him in stasis, pressing through his chest and slowly crushing him alive. He feels the wood beneath him burning through his shirt, and crumpling under his weight, and he can’t move.  He can’t move and everything is burning and the world is ending.

The world is ending, and Taako laughs.

He wheezes into the blackened air, wracked with shuddering fits of mirth and a whirlwind hysteria that would sweep him off his feet if he wasn’t already on the ground. “Well,” he rasps, “we’ll get ’em next time, won’t we? Adios and—“ Taako’s ribcage rattles in a violent, wrenching cough. “And—and sayonara, right?”

He’s—

He saying goodbye but the world isn’t ending, he’s—

He’s made a terrible miscalculation—

What happens next doesn’t fill his vision with light.

Instead, what happens next grabs his collar and drags him headlong into a space that shifts, tilts, and ripples with iridescence. In the next moment, Taako’s lungs are assaulted with fresh air, and he gags and chokes on it; has to turn on his side and hack up congealed smoke. The ground is cool and hard beneath him. Tile. He’s on someone’s floor. And there’s a voice shouting in the background; high, sharp, piercing through the ringing in his ears.

The world isn’t ending. He’s not back on the Starblaster. In fact, he knows this tile, because he’d had it installed himself; it is, after all, the only acceptable flooring for a decent kitchen. And now someone’s on their knees next to him and talking to him, lifting him up, but all he can think about is what a nice shade the ceiling is and how it really opens up the space. There’s a light fixture above him that he recognizes, too, because he’d insisted on it during their first furniture shopping trip. It’s a little gaudy, and slightly too glitzy for an otherwise nondescript apartment, but that too is a work in progress.

And he knows this because—

Taako tries to pull in another breath and realizes it’s getting harder, and he knows what that means, which is that he’s about to waste an afternoon backed up at the offices of the astral plane. Except that makes entirely no sense, because none of this matters—he’s going to reform in hours, if not minutes. Rewind. Reset. The universe will knit him back together, free of scars and burns and the pressure of too much smoke clogging his lungs.

And he knows this because—

He isn’t allowed to finish his train of thought, because a melody drifts overhead and Taako’s eyes grow leaden, weighed down by the promise of sleep. It’s an easy temptation to succumb to. He’s exhausted, and his body even moreso, and regardless of however he dies this cycle he deserves a little R&R. And that’s when something twinges in his gut—wrong, wrong, it whispers, like it knows something he doesn’t. But he ignores it. He lets the song sweep him away, further into unconsciousness.

“Rest, love,” says a man’s voice overhead.

And Taako falls.

“He was just—I mean, shit, he was just lying there, Kravitz. He could’ve gotten up and he just didn’t. I had to drag him to the fuckin’ rift, and he looked like—he didn’t even know I was there.”

“He wasn’t flashing back, was he?”

“No way for me to tell. But if he was, I just… it was a bad one. The building was coming down around us and he didn’t make a move.”

Their voices filter through a thick soup of awareness, muddled and viscous and clinging to him as he fights his way into wakefulness. Taako’s head is light. He tries to sit up and the world starts to spin, so he settles for pushing himself up into a semi-recline. The room around him is still moving like a supercharged Fantasy Tilt-A-Whirl, but this time he can pick out colors and textures—the art on the walls around him, for instance, and the silk of the chaise beneath him. The chaise he and Kravitz had picked out together. The one he’d approved after a heated discussion over the pros and cons of extended sofas.

He’s home.

Taako goes to open his mouth, to say something clever—or literally anything, for that matter, to prove to himself he hasn’t gone and gotten his vocal cords incinerated—but all that comes out is a strangled, grating sound that scrapes against his throat. Immediately the two vaguely fuzzy figures at the other end of the room are on their feet. “Thank the gods,” says Kravitz, and he’s the first to reach Taako’s side, looking faint with relief. “Oh, Taako. We were so worried.”

“Yeah. About that.” Lup’s smile pulls taut across her face as she grabs Kravitz’s arm. She leans in to murmur to him, and Taako’s ears twitch, straining to listen in. “He’s not lucid, y’know? That healer dosed him up with enough potions to knock out an army. We’re not gonna get anything out of ’im even if we do play good cop, pissed-off cop. And believe me, I intend to interrogate the fuck outta him when he’s back to being himself.”

“Oh, hell,” Taako drawls in their general direction. “Somebody’s in trouble. And that, uh, somebody is me. I dunno why I said it like that.”

Lup’s head snaps back around in his direction, and they scrutinize him with bone-deep exhaustion in their faces. He wants to tell them exactly what had happened, that his mind just flaked sometimes and it was nothing more than that, but when he goes to speak the words trip and get tangled up in each other before they can escape. He’s not lucid, Lup had said. Taako’s brain knows what this means, but for the life of him he can’t piece together the implications.

“Oh, c’mon, Lulu,” he says, reaching towards her with a loose hand. “Give it to me—heh—give it to me straight. What’d I… what’d I do this time, huh?”

Lup’s jaw is set, which he knows means she’s angry, but he can’t bring himself to worry about it. “Taako,” she starts, and then, “babe. You, uh… you chose a real bad time to take a nap. Do you remember anything about that?”

He does. “Sure,” Taako slurs. “ ’S, uh… Cycle 61? It was when—when everything was on fire, tha’s it.”

His sister sits back like he’s shoved her. “Cycle 61,” she says to Kravitz. “We, uh… we died together in that one. End of the year, world was going to shit, I went in to try and get some kids out of a burning building. Taako went in after me. We both took in a lotta smoke, I got crushed… I think he did too. It just came down on top of us.”

Kravitz goes pale, and it sticks with razor-sharp clarity through the haze in Taako’s mind. He’s made his boyfriend worry, and lucid or not, Taako knows there’s nothing he hates more. “Hey,” he says, reaching out for Kravitz’s arm. “Hey. Hey. ’S fine. No big deal. ’M all fine now, see? Taako’s all in one piece. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

“What doesn’t matter?” Kravitz catches his meandering hand in one cool palm.

“Oh, y’know,” says Taako. “Dyin’. No… no big deal, right? No big deal during the, uh… the century, no big deal now. Gotta pretty sweet deal when your—your future mother-in-law’s life ’n death ‘n your boyfriend’s gotta handle on alla that, right?”

He’s more than pleased with his line of reasoning there, but Kravitz’s eyes flick to Lup, who’s looking more disturbed by the second. “He was flashing back to the century,” she says. “I thought that was why he wasn’t doing jack shit, but he—Taako, honey, do you remember what we were doing back there? In the burning building?”

Something about spell components. He tries to say so, and it comes out as painfully garbled, but Lup seems like she gets the gist. “He’s got the basics,” she murmurs. “Flashback seems like it’s over, which is good, but…”

“You said he’s not lucid. He might not know what he’s saying.”

“If this were anybody else I’d agree with you, but Taako’s a fucking liar on his best days. If he’s not talking nonsense there’s a good chance he’s telling the gods-given truth.” Lup kneads her forehead with two fingers. “So this isn’t just about the flashback. You dumbass. Taako, what happens when you die?”

“Hachi-machi,” Taako manages, through what feels like a mouthful of cotton. “Tha’s a real deep question, isn’t it?”

“You know what I mean.”

He shoots her a lazy smirk. “Easy. Kick it, drop in on the family, shake up the astral plane. Rinse ’n repeat, back in time for dinner. No… no big deal, ’s what I said. Who cares?”

“Taako,” says Kravitz. He’s not quite meeting Taako’s lazy stare, training his eyes instead on the rings stacked on Taako’s fingers. “Acting as an emissary of the Raven Queen comes with—with its benefits, of course, but if you die, you—you die. I can’t barter with the passage of life and death.”

“Yeah,” says Lup, and she looks furious all over again, simmering with frustration that rolls off her in waves. “So when you pull dumb shit like that—”

“Okay, he’s—he’s high off his—”

“No. He’s talking like—I mean, ‘Who cares’? I thought he was past that. I thought we were all past that. The only reason I agree to do dangerous shit with him anymore is because I trust him, but he’s not—he’s not who I left behind, okay? Treating death like it’s a joke—I mean I get he hasn’t exactly had conventional experiences with it, but this shouldn’t be—it shouldn’t be happening, okay? It shouldn’t—“

She stands up, and the sudden movement sends ripples through Taako’s field of vision, and—well, that’s not normal. Lup presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and breathes out, and he can see her shoulders shaking.

“Fuck,” she mutters into her sleeves. “I’m sorry. It’s been…”

“A rough day,” Kravitz finishes. “I know.”

“You’re a doll.” Lup sighs and looks back at the kitchen. “I’m gonna make everybody some coffee, and, uh… I guess try and get in contact with Merle. Dunno when his adventure thing is ending, but it’s worth a go, I guess. Mocha for you?”

He gives her an affirming smile, and she returns it with a weaker, distinctly un-Lup-like grin before she retreats to the kitchen. Kravitz stays with Taako, thumbing over his knuckles and watching his face with something that walks the line between confusion and knife’s edge concern. And Taako hates it—he knows he hates it, that this is wrong, that he’s made Kravitz worry for no reason. But the reassurances don’t come. Instead he shifts on his side and says, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Lup makes fuckin’ terrible coffee.”

A choked laugh drifts from the kitchen adjacent. Kravitz’s smile morphs into something exhausted but endeared. “She doesn’t need to know that.”

“I think… she already does. She’s real smart, y’know.” Taako’s eyelids are starting to flutter again. “I think she’s upset with me.”

“She’s worried,” says Kravitz. “We both were. You were in bad shape.”

“Yeah, but…” He takes in a soft breath, and his hand begins to loosen in Kravitz’s. “Doesn’t matter, right? N’worries?”

And then the world dissolves into a thick, liquid film, and it drags him down, further from the light and the bitter aroma of burnt coffee and Kravitz’s hand around his. Far from the burning, screaming memory. Far from the century and the flashbacks that cling to him like a layer of cold sweat. Far from the voice that drifts overhead and tells him You do know we’d miss you terribly, don’t you? We care about you—we love you, Taako…

And Taako falls.

[carraville]

 year in fic review (2017)

using the wonderful @neyvenger​ ‘s template! everyone should do this i wanna read <3

Year at a glance:  Total number of completed stories: 25 (26 if u count hockey) Total word count:  146929

Overall Thoughts:

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?  LOTS MORE it’s probly bc i wrote a hella lot while jumping from train to train traveling all of Europe, and probly bc i gave up on school by mid-sem last year, and probly bc the only thing i can do at work that looks like i’m still doing work when i’m not is write 

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? The fuCKING GERMS i blame it on germs like i 100% would never have thought i’d write 16k of thomasfips who does that also joemilly??? but i luff

What’s your own favorite story of the year? i dont have one i love and hate them all equally... i guess strangeways here we come just bc i took so damn long to write it and tbf i didn’t write a lot of carraville this year so it was kind of like my One and Only 

Did you take any writing risks this year?

writing a lot of people I didn’t know how to write, writing about a lot of Big Things (particularly on the bridge between starshine and clay) that i wasn’t sure about, writing a lot of aus i’d never done before, writing ??? PORN???? even tho ive never banged anyone in my life

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? all 12 months of football prompts! hopefully! and writing more new ships and meeting more people and reading good fic  also finally doing all my historical aus bc if there’s one thing i’ve learnt this year, it’s not to give a shit what other people want and just write what u want even if no one is going to read it xoxo

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year: from a writing perspective i think an die nachgeborenen just bc it was the most? complete, i guess? and plotty? like if i changed the names and pretended it wasn’t creepy i could probably send it for rejection 

My most popular story of this year:  strangeways, here we come i guess cos i published it around that time the r*dditors were sneaking around lmao

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:  the wonder of my world cos it’s niche and manc but!!!!!!! i love my mancs

Most fun story to write: fuckin.  30 Shades Of Red

Story with the single sexiest moment: The Anonymous Present That Appeared For Sab’s Birthday That Doesn’t Exist 

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: Again, The Anonymous Present that Doesn’t Exist 

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: I’m pretty set when it comes to characters, I guess, because I only like writing when I understand them, but maybe Aubade bc I’d never written Iker till then and I really liked how it turned out

Hardest story to write:  summer sang in me a little while bc it was a) wrestling with a Lot of Football feelings that I didn’t know how to talk about, b) wresting with trashbag xabi alonso and what I thought of him vs. what other people thought of him, c) writing ships and people I had 0 idea about

Biggest surprise:  i like germs! wtf

Highlights + Wrap-up:  ok I TRIED TO PICK DIFFERENT ONES FROM ALL FIC 

Favorite Opening Lines (3):

when the world was ours

There's a crunch. There's a crunch and it's over. 

the setting sun is sweetest last

When all the hands have been shaken and hugs exchanged someone presses a microphone into his hands and he fumbles, not quite sure how to put what he's feeling into words. Eventually he settles for something about looking towards the final on Saturday and he sees David from the corner of his eye shaking his head, almost as if to say: god, Gaz, how do you manage to make everything about United when this should be about you.

In the end, it's simple.

cheesed to meet you

Philipp calls Thomas first, because he always calls Thomas first.

"I didn't do it," Thomas says immediately, with the kind of well-practiced plausibility that only comes from doing the things he says he hasn't done.

Favorite Closing Lines (4):

yes, yes, we are magicians

You jog back to the halfway line. Your face must be shining under the lights, and you wonder if mum's in the crowd, smiling. Let's go to Wembley some day. Rooney rolls the ball to you and you're off again, no marcus's ball scribbled into the patchy leather, no divots and pot-holes in a sandy, well-worn pitch.

You're nineteen years old and going to the Euros.

Every blade of grass here is the exact same height.

in this story we belong to ourselves

Liverpool is. A river that runs before two men who used to have numbers on their backs and now have a house no longer empty. A stream of memories and breaking apart and going again. The Mersey, quiet, grey, flowing gently through the Narrows and out into the great big sea, ever so slightly out of reach.

Variation IX

He says I've missed you, mate.

I say You know, I thought you might.

He says I hope you missed me too.

I say Well of course, otherwise where would I go for Christmas this year?

And then he starts laughing and I start laughing and we laugh and laugh and don’t stop until he kisses me again.

yes, there will be song

You step back and turn, take the steps two at a time. Somewhere outside Anfield there's a man with a shirt that's as as red as the names on the back. He's got a scarf around his neck like a docker, and he presses his face to the Shankly gates like he's kissing a trophy. Make us dream, he whispers, a secret he's never told anyone else, his heart heavy and his eyes tired but his body trembling with a belief too full for words. Above him, the sky is golden.

Favorite Lines From Anywhere (5):

strangeways, here we come

It's weak against Paraguay, it's tired against Paraguay, but the England fans are singing and they have to listen. Countries are not clubs. This sinks deeper than loyalty, at once more insular and more ubiquitous than Liverpool or United could ever be. There are little flags hung up in Sainsbury's, strangers with their arms round each other in pubs, the radios of an electronics store tuned in to Radio 5 Live. Come on England. Bandied about like a mantra, a swear word, a secret password offered by old hands who brace themselves for more disappointment with a nudge and a wink. England always - a host of words go here, crash out , fuck up , lose , but -

Believe rises above them all. Maybe it's delusional. Maybe it's arrogant. Beckham takes a free kick that delights and astonishes the way his free kicks do and it ends up in the back of the net. Every four years St George goes back up and people who still remember '66 are bought a pint, and for every we'll go out at the group stages there's an underlying thread of god help me, we might win this yet, because what is hope if not alive?

Come on England. The cup awaits you and is yours.

sekrit yuletide fic

In his dreams he doesn't leave. Salvador Iglesias Sr. doesn't die and Chava doesn't become a dickhead. He keeps the number on his back and the band around his arm. He doesn't cheat on Ximena, but he tells her, and they part as best friends. In his dreams they win the championship. And again the next year, and again the one after that. Each time Potro scores the winning goal and Moi runs to him to celebrate and Potro kisses him for the whole world to see, over and over, until their lips are numb and all they know are themselves.

summer sang in me a little while

Why are you still here? you ask him. It is easier that way. He turns to you, dark circles under his eyes, and doesn't reply. Only reaches over to tangle his calloused fingers in your hair, rests his forehead against yours.  This time you are the one who leans forward to kiss him, immersing yourself in the warmth of his skin. You taste his blood. You taste the salt and iron of his blood.

the wonder of my world

What makes a club? Love, belief, hope - and someone to attach it to, the player everyone grows up watching, whose name is instantly recognisable to the point that you don't have to mention who he plays for next. Who pours his soul into the game and hammers his heart onto the crest. You don't get that kind of player very often. United were lucky to have three.

So here. The last musketeer. He's not looking at the crowd anymore, just the middle distance. Still the thousands sing. Love, belief, hope, and memories. Ryan might never run again but Paul realises that it doesn't matter. It's that he's already run. And in a hundred years from now someone might pull up a grainy youtube video and watch the number eleven on the left wing and fall in love, all over again. The way he was meant to be loved. Ball at his feet. Red.

an die nachgeborenen

"I don't need a plan," Thomas says, like he's talking to a child. "That's the beauty of it. All I have to do is wait and see what happens. It's only – " he smiles again, wan, quiet. "Well. You know."

The refrain arcs, jagged, through Philipp's head.

"I promised you wouldn't die."

"I won't." Thomas stands up, leaves a hand on Philipp's shoulder. His palm is still warm. "I'm invincible, didn't I tell you?"

And with a single, chipper whistling note, he hits the exit button and slips out, the door closing immediately behind him with a gentle click .

Fic Goals for 2018:

i wna write gifts that people will like :> aka MORE NICHE BULLSHIT