#she’s leaving the hallway light on. she has her tv blasting

[acrosstimeandspace]

girl it’s nearly 2am shut your tv OFF go to BED you live with other people ffs. put some headphones into a computer or phone or something like what is this

[ivlymonii]

Beyond What the Lights Could Offer - Chapter 1

Soukoku Kowloon Walled City 1980s Filmmakers AU. Prepare thyself for agonisingly slow updates, a lot of references towards Hong Kong and me screaming into the void.

original fic link on AO3 (by yours truly): Beyond What the Lights Could Offer by Lemon(ivlenyxx)

May 14th 2023, 29 years, 10 months since the release of Stray Dogs.

“Nakahara-san, Dazai-dan, nearly 30 years have passed since the release of the hit movie ‘Stray Dogs’,” the interviewer says with a smile. “It has grossed over 800 million USD at the box office and many consider it a classic. Many fans have wondered ‘Just what is the story behind the film?’. Now that’s a question that’s been asked for nearly thirty years now, so we beg of you,” she claps her hands together to form a prayer gesture and bows her head. “What exactly is the story behind Stray Dogs?”

The pair sitting opposite her both chuckle, amused. 

“Alright, alright. Since it’s nearly the 30th anniversary, we’ll tell you.” the man in the fedora answers.

Nakahara Chuuya, age 52, executive producer of “Stray Dogs”, sits up straighter as he ponders the question, combing through his faded copper hair with his hand; his partner, Dazai Osamu, age 51, director of “Stray Dogs”, smirks slightly, wrinkles spreading across his face. “Come on, Chibi, can’t keep our fans waiting,” he nods towards the interviewer and the TV crew across from them. “Unless the Great Nakahara Chuuya is getting slow in his old age.” he teases, leaning over Chuuya’s neck.

Nakahara noticeably bristles under his partner’s breath, that discomfort quickly morphs into annoyance and reaches its stunning conclusion as Chuuya grabs Dazai’s collar. “I swear to God, you shitty mackerel-” he snaps as the other man whines and wallows dramatically under his grip. “We’re the same age! I can’t take a moment to think?!-”

“No! Oh no! Chuuya is attacking me!” Dazai exclaims and yaps, notes of fake panic and amusement dripping from his voice. (The interviewer sits awkwardly in silence while the rest of the crew whisper amongst themselves) “My God, this is marital violence!” He throws up his arms (making sure to flash a gold wedding band at the camera) and easily overpowers his dear Chibi, shoving him onto the far end of the couch before redirecting his attention to the interviewer, the poor unfortunate soul bearing witness to Nakahara making grabby hands at Dazai while the latter holds him off with a hand in his face. “It goes a little something like this…” 

April 29th 1986, 8 years before the release of Stray Dogs.

Chuuya’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but okay.

The red light floods the crowded, 40 square foot room, Chuuya’s eyes hurt from the strobing lights;Chuuya’s ears are bleeding from the music blasting through the crackling radio.

Oh second thought, not okay. Chuuya wants to leave. 

He puts down the half finished glass of cheap whiskey before manoeuvring his way through mountains and seas of people dancing to the beat of something that just came on. (something American, he doesn’t want to know) The red lights continue to pull assassination attempts on his eyes, which is only made worse by the pixelated screens displaying images of half naked men and women “available” in this cursed brothel-nightclub hybrid. The two dozen people making out in every direction doesn’t help either. 

If there was such a thing as unsee juice in this world, Chuuya would like 10 litres of it, please. 

Finally, Chuuya makes it out of the brothel-nightclub, (thankfully in one piece) he looks back at the bouncer, who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Hell, he didn’t even ask him for any form of ID, despite him obviously being underaged. His short stature speaks for itself.

Guess that’s Kowloon Walled City for ya. 

Chuuya makes his way through the interconnected hallways, counting and reading the posters plastered all over the place. 1, 2, 3, 4… 28. He thinks half of them are advertising stuff for the Port Mafia Gang. Interesting. He’d heard of them, of course. The most powerful underground organisation of the Walled City, operating in the dark (well, as dark as the City of Darkness could get) or even beyond. He’d heard rumours of them stretching all the way to Lantau Island and the Shatin District. Hell, even Cheung Chau’s underworld carries traces of their interference! 

Not that he’s ever personally been down there, of course. The underworld, he means.

Chuuya kicks at his feet as he makes his way up to the rooftop of the building, the gate creaks agreeably every time he pushes it and it returns to its original position with a pleasant clang! He squeezes his way through the drying sheets, careful not to bump into them in his dirty clothes, and legs it across a huge pile of scrap. At last, he reaches the edge of the rooftop and leans on the railing, taking in the sight of the City in the middle of the night. There are still a few lights on at this hour, not counting the establishments of the night, aka the opium traders, nightclubs, gambling dens, makeshift casinos etc etc. He spies one on the far left, the light of the balcony flickers in a way that reminds him of moths flapping their wings, and under the light is a boy his age with black hair and a bandage over his right eye, teetering back and forth on his feet, fingers gripping tight on the handrail. His eyes are downturned, expression blank.

What a weirdo. Chuuya thinks. He turns away to light a cigarette and takes a long drag. The next time he looks, the light is off, the boy is gone. 

He can’t help but feel disappointed, somehow. 

Chuuya shrugs off the feeling and takes another drag of the cigarette, looking straight ahead, beyond the Walled City, at the Kai Tak Airport. Planes take off and land dangerously close to the buildings nearby, another few soar mere metres above Chuuya’s head, their loud, rumbling engines sing a comforting tune to accompany the city’s orchestra of dripping air-cons and creaky pipes down below.

It’s as beautiful as ever.

One of these days, I’m getting outta here. He vows, before putting out the cigarette and flicking it off the roof. 

He doesn’t know how many hours have passed, only that this is the perfect way to celebrate his fifteenth birthday.  

Chuuya continues to admire the view of the Kowloon Bay, occasionally glancing over to Victoria Harbour for a glimpse of its colourful and lively skyline. The best part about this corner of Kowloon Walled City? It contains the tallest building. One can pretty much see everything within a 20 km radius, and if one’s lucky, the clouds’ll part for the stars, and even the shortest, most 150-centimetre-ed of people could enjoy their glory.

He reaches for the radio beside him, switching between channels until he finds one that plays something that suits his favour. 

It ends up being an English channel, playing something from a new writer from America. 

“Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe,” the presenter states calmly, before a low and unsettling voice takes its place, narrating the tale of an insane man who murdered his elderly housemate. 

Chuuya listens absent-mindedly as he lights another cigarette and continues to watch over the Walled City, his position giving him a handy bird’s-eye view over everything else. More lights have switched on, the opium dens are starting to close, the bars and brothels are chasing people out like a restaurant owner at animals like you see in movies or it’s 20-something A.D. and they have leprosy. Must be nearly morning. 

Oh shit it’s nearly morning. 

His eyes widen as he catches the faint blue ring of the sun rising over the horizon and slowly but surely evolve into a blinding orange light that pours over the Sai Kung District to the east, then to the Uni of Sci and Tech, to Tseung Kwan O- Chuuya throws his cigarette over the railing for the second time before shutting off the radio and making a mad dash for the gate, legging it over the scrap, nimbly contorting his body to avoid touching the sheets, before finally bolting down the stairs and out of the building. He passes the town square - a relic from the Walled City’s past as a Song Dynasty military outpost - and nearly slams straight into a bunch of bakbaks and popos doing taichi. A couple of them yell at him for his insolence. He zips his way through alleyways full of drunkards and shakes off a madman trying to gut him with a knife, (it’s the Walled City, he’s seen worse) he looks up for a split second and stops in his tracks.

He can see the sky from here.

The small slit of bright, warm blue peeks out amongst the mess of pipes and haphazardly built roofs, the clouds dance across it in pinks, soft oranges and light yellows. Chuuya stares up at that beautiful sight through the gap, the City has never been this generous before, the most daylight he ever got to see was approximately none, except for when he headed out of the Walled City every few months to run for supplies that the Triads couldn’t access. 

Chuuya looks around for a landmark that he can bookmark into his memory, and spots another one of the Port Mafia Gang’s posters on the wall to his left. 

He sighs. That oughta do. And so the poster enters his mind. 

He allows himself several more minutes of staring at the sky before booking it back home, he just hopes that Shirase and Yuan won’t be too pissed.

Unbeknownst to him, a boy with jet black hair and bandages all over has been looking at him through a window for a while now. 

[siempre-bucky]

What are you Afraid of?

Dad!Druig x Reader

Summary: Druig has a nightmare and his daughter asks him the important question: "What are you afraid of?"

WC: 1k

A/N: more dad!Druig that no one asked for but I live for Druig as a girl dad sooooo :') poorly edited at 4am. also, this gif screams soft!druig and I'm not mad it.

"I should have done this five centuries ago," Ikaris admitted gruffly as he aggressively grabbed Druig by the throat, the pads of his fingertips digging into his soft skin. As they flew up into the air, Druig clawed at Ikaris' forearm desperately; broken gasps of air escape his lips as he struggled to breathe from the tight grasp Ikaris had on him.

Ikaris came to an abrupt stop high in the air, his stone-cold eyes staring into Druig's bloodshot ones. He was going pale in color, and it only made Ikaris choke him harder like some sick satisfaction.

"I-I," Druig managed to choke out, "I have a daughter Ikaris. Please let me go." The taller Eternal's jaw clenched tighter as Druig pleaded with him. Out of all the things Druig did, he never begged.

"I don't care," Ikaris responded coldly before blasting him into the rocks below.

Druig woke up in an ice-cold sweat, gasping for air as his eyes opened wide. He was alive and safe. He blinked rapidly to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He reminded himself that he was in Ajak's house, and they won. Druig's shakey fingers touch his sweat-covered neck; the pain of the many oval-shaped bruises gave him a grim reminder of their victory.

Turning over, he looked at you, hyper-focusing his gaze on your side until he saw your chest rise and fall slowly. He sighed in relief that you were alive. He allows his forehead to connect with your bruised shoulder blade gently, pressing a soft kiss to the black and blue spot. His little family was safe. Orla. His head snaps up, damp strands of dark brown hair tickling his forehead.

Propping himself up on his elbows, the Eternal looked over the bed and saw the empty cot in the corner, Orla's pink stuffed bunny discarded carelessly on the floor along with the blanket. His blood ran cold, the sinking feeling in his stomach made him sick. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

Druig practically jumped out of the bed, not realizing he was holding his breath as he swung the creaky door open. His breathing was jagged, just as scattered as his mind.

He checked out back first since it was the closest to their bedroom; the cold night air connecting with the sweat on his skin made him shiver. The singular light of the porch illuminated barely anything, but she wasn't out here. Walking back in, his footsteps created loud thuds he knew would wake Makkari if he kept going. He checked every open door near the back of the house checking for the girl and doing his best to remain quiet for the other Eternals sake. "Fuck," he growled under his breath.

There was a soft blue glow at the end of the hallway that lead into the kitchen. Cocking his head, Druig followed it. And there the girl sat on the couch, her hand stuck in a bag of chips as she watched cartoons. There was nothing more relieving as when he saw her with her eyes glued to the tv. Druig let out the shakey breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Orla turned her head when she heard him exhale. Gasping, she took her hand out of the chip bag and stuffed the loud bag behind the throw pillow behind her. "Daddy, you look like you saw a ghost," she whispered with raised eyebrows, looking at his paler than normal skin. Druig smiled in relief and started to walk over to the couch.

"I was just a little scared when I didn't see you in your bed," he responds warmly, plopping down beside her and making her bounce on the cushion from the impact. The 6-year-old giggles and nuzzles up to his side, her cerulean eyes never leaving the tv. Druig's arm wraps around her, rubbing her arm lovingly with his thumb.

After a moment she spoke; "Kingo said you never ever, ever get scared. I think he said you were fearless." Her eyebrows furrowed a little as she tried to remember the big word he used earlier that day.

Druig scoffed lightly and looked down at Orla, her matching colored eyes looking back at him, "Everybody gets scared, m'darlin," he explained to her. Orla puffed out her rosy cheeks and climbed into his lap, her small fingers finding and touching the little bruises that littered his throat. The gold chain around his neck glimmers in the TV light, her hands gently drag it out of the inside of his shirt and start to play with his gold wedding band that was looped through the chain.

"What are you scared of?" She asked innocently. Druig let out a drawn-out sigh and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Well," he murmured as he tried to collect his thoughts, "Erm... let's see: I'm afraid of your mom getting hurt, I'm afraid of people fighting and I can't help them," he lists, watching her fiddle with his ring. "And...I'm afraid of losing you," he boops her nose with his finger as he finishes his sentence.

Orla giggles and wrinkles her nose, "But I'm right here, Daddy," she said with a pout. Her innocence made him smile softly, pushing back her brown bangs and bending down to kiss her forehead.

"I know," he said happily, followed by a sleepy yawn. "What are you scared of?" he returns the question, it was only fair and besides he already knew it was the dr-

"Drain. I'm afraid of the bathtub drain. It's too loud and I might get sucked down in it," she tells him, grimacing at the thought. Druig fights back the chuckle and simply hums in amusement.

"Well I promise no drain can stop an Eternal," he reassures her with a boyish smile. Orla grins back at the mention of the title. She never understood what being an Eternal meant, she just knew her parents had cool powers. Maybe one day she would too.

"Do you really promise?" she asked determinedly, tilting her chin upward. Druig matched her action and stuck his nose in the air, eyes looking down at her.

"I promise, promise," he yawns. "It's time to go back to bed," he groaned sleepily. Orla slides off his lap and back to her spot at his side.

She pursed her pink lips, "Can I finish my show... it's almost over?" she asks with a small whine in her light voice, widening her eyes cutely.

Druig stood up and reached behind the blue pillow, snatching the potato chip bag she hid from him. "Fine, just don't tell your mom."

[minimitchell]

“Can i at least take my shoes off before you pounce of me?” Because I know you want to😏

(smut ahead)

.

7:36.

7:37.

7:38.

Ben watches the minutes tick by on his watch, following the minute hand as it makes its rounds around the black clock-face. The house is empty and quiet; a far cry from its usual state with two kids running around at all times of day.

Today though, it’s sitting silent and idle on the square. There’s no music blasting from Lexi’s room, no cooing coming from the nursery upstairs, no low humming from Callum cooking in the kitchen. Ben didn’t even switch on the TV to keep him company.

Instead, he’s sitting alone on the couch in complete silence, alternating between staring at his watch and at his phone in his other hand, waiting for a message from his husband.

He will always be supportive of Callum and his career - they’ve gotten over their hang ups about their different career choices a long time ago and ever since they had their baby Ben hasn’t had much of a criminal career anyway - and he will always be on Callum’s side, whatever his husband wants to do.

He just wishes becoming a detective would come with less seminars and time away from their family.

Callum spent the last two weeks up north around Newcastle, completing a course and attending a seminar to prepare him for his final exam, and while Ben is insanely proud of him for doing all this training and studying to climb up the ranks in his career, he also misses him terribly whenever he’s away.

It’s worse at the moment. Their youngest daughter is right in the middle of teething and while they really lucked out with her when it comes to crying and sleeping through the night, it’s still exhausting to deal with this all on his own. Not to mention juggle the housework, his own job and Lexi as well.

He’s lucky that Lola and his parents were here to help; that they’re always willing to take Lizzie for the afternoon so he can get some paperwork for the Arches done or just take the girls out for an ice cream so Ben can take a quick nap. It’s completely exhausting, and he really doesn’t envy any single parents out there, but he wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

They tried to facetime every night when Callum was done for the day so he could say goodnight to the kids - sometimes Lizzie only falls asleep once she’s heard Callum’s voice for the day - and talk with Ben about their days. It’s not the same though, not even close, and it’s certainly not enough to satisfy the longing that’s made a home in Ben’s chest for the last two weeks.

Which is why he’s sitting alone in their home right now.

Callum called him a couple of hours ago to let him know he’s on his way home and now, over four hours later, he should be here any minute.

Ben is positively vibrating out of his skin; he desperately longs to have his husband back with him, to have him back in his arms, to feel him against him again. Hearing Callum’s voice is great, but it’s never gonna trump actually having him here with him in person.

He takes one more look at his watch when he hears a key being inserted into the lock in the front door, the sound of clothes rustling and a suitcase being hauled in following soon after.

7:51.

Ben doesn’t give his husband much time to arrive, strutting into the hallway and taking Callum’s face in his hands to pull him into a kiss before Callum can even get a word out.

Callum makes a noise against Ben’s mouth in surprise, before he lets go of the handle of his suitcase to wrap his arm around Ben’s middle, his other hand dropping his keys and settling on one side of Ben’s face, cupping his cheek.

The kiss deepens, with Ben pushing their tongues together before nipping at Callum’s bottom lip, not letting up until his mouth is puffy and red. There’s a hunger thrumming low in his stomach; a familiar need taking over every rational thought and only leaving room for feeling, wanting.

The vibrations of a low chuckle reverberate in Callum’s throat when Ben moves down to litter kisses along his neck; the hand previously on Ben’s face runs up into his hair, tangling in the soft part on the back of Ben’s neck.

“Can I at least take my shoes off before you pounce on me?”

His voice is light, filled with a smile Ben can somehow hear without directly looking at it, and god did he miss this voice. He still heard that voice every day for the last two weeks but for some reason he missed it terribly regardless.

Ben relents, disentangling himself from Callum to give him enough space to take off his coat, hanging it on the hook right next to their front door, and shrug his shoes off. As soon as his second sneaker finds its place on their shoe rack though, Ben’s hands are back on Callum’s chest, fiddling with the top button of his shirt in his quest to get it unbuttoned.

“Lexi is at a mate’s house all night, Lizzie is at my mum’s.”

Ben looks up at Callum from under his eyelashes, biting his bottom lip into his mouth. His mum had definitely seen right through whatever flimsy excuse he tried to give her when he asked whether she could watch their baby for the evening. But he just wanted some alone time with his husband after being separated for a fortnight, alright.

Callum’s eyebrows rise higher on his forehead; a sly smile spreading over his face. Callum shared a room with another colleague when he was away so there wasn’t much phone action going on at night and Ben just knows Callum’s as desperate as he is to finally have each other again.

“So I really need you to fuck me right now.”

Callum is back on him in a flash, hands wandering down to Ben’s ass and mouths smashing onto each other while he walks them into the living room and in the direction of the couch. Ben falls backwards onto it with a heavy thump, not being able to hide the hungry look on his face when he looks up at his husband. He feels almost dizzy with want; every second he doesn’t have Callum against him feels too long, too wasted.

Ben watches on as Callum unbuttons his shirt and throws him somewhere to the side, using the downtime to get out of his own shirt and get his jeans unzipped. It’s oddly reminiscent of the beginning of their relationship, the time before their kids were lurking around every corner, for them to just be able to get it on like this without a second thought. But god does it feel good to not overthink how loud he’s going to be or be aware that they always have to keep one ear on the babyphone.

He loves his kids but right now he really loves that they aren’t here.

Before he can pull his pants and underwear down though, he’s stopped by Callum’s hands on him, running up his thighs. He’s perched in front of Ben now, knees on the rug in front of the couch. Ben scooches down a bit, bracketing Callum in-between his legs.

Their eye contact never breaks as Callum pulls his pants and underwear down in one go, letting them fall haphazardly to the floor beside him. His fingers trail back up Ben’s legs, over the coarse hair there and down the crease of his hips. Goosebumps are following his digits, breaking out on his skin in response to the soft touch.

Callum leans down to press kisses over his thigh, inching closer and closer to Ben’s dick in the process. It makes him reach out to tangle a hand in Callum’s hair, holding onto it with a vice grip. He wants to tell Callum to stop teasing and get on with it but no words are coming out. It’s like he’s too turned on already to speak; the sight of Callum on his knees in front of him enough to render him speechless.

A moment later, Ben is sure he wouldn’t even be able to speak if he wanted to anyway, not when Callum seals his lips around the head of his dick and starts running his tongue all over it without much warning in advance. The curse that falls from Ben’s lips is loud and uninhibited, his fingers tightening in Callum’s hair.

He’s been practically half-hard since Callum had announced he’s on his way home and it only takes a couple of bobs and tugs for his dick to stand to full attention.

It’s not going to be a very lengthy endeavor, Ben knows it the second he feels that familiar tug in the bottom of his stomach, that pressure running through his lower half. He also didn’t get off in two weeks now, telling Callum it’s in solidarity when in reality he just much prefers his husband’s touch to his own by now, and right now it feels like it won’t take more than a few more seconds for him to tip over the edge.

“Fuck, babe, I won’t last like this.”

He’s torn between wanting to come and trying to draw it out a while longer, maybe get there together with Callum, but the decision is made for him when Callums pulls off with a wet sound, pressing kisses up Ben’s stomach on his way to his lips. Ben welcomes the kiss to his lips with a sigh, pushing their tongues back together to taste himself.

God, he has missed this.

Callum gets his dick aligned with Ben’s - he isn’t sure when exactly Callum lost his own pants and underwear; it must’ve happened when Ben was too busy wading off his impending orgasm - bucking into him in a way that wretches a desperate moan from him.

It feels too good, them sliding against each other like this, with just enough friction to make it just as dirty and rough as he likes it. Blunt nails dig into the skin of Callum’s back when he trails his mouth down Ben’s neck and onto that one particular spot that never fails to make his knees weak.

“Are you close?”

The words are groaned right into his ear, wet breath hitting his skin and making him shudder. There’s an edge to Callum’s voice that tells Ben he’s close himself, their hips meeting in quicker, more desperate, thrusts now.

“Yes, fuck, almost there.”

Ben arches his back more, twisting and changing the angle until he’s seeing stars whenever they glide together. He presses his legs closer to Callum’s body, trapping him in-between his thighs, gripping every bit of skin his hands can reach.

Callum is making these familiar, low-pitched noises in his ear where he’s pressed against his neck and they run straight to his dick, delivering that last bit that gets him to finally tip over the edge.

They must get there almost at the same time because when Ben comes back down to earth again, Callum is spent and panting in his arms; his chest rising and falling rapidly. Ben runs one of his hands back up into Callum’s hair, raking his nails over Callum’s scalp, getting a satisfied murmur in response to the gesture.

“Missed you, baby.”

Ben’s voice is quiet in the overall silence of their home, like the words are a precious secret only to be shared in the confined space between their bodies. Callum’s hand finds Ben’s free one on the couch, tangling and knotting their fingers together. He presses a kiss onto the skin underneath him and from above him, Ben sees that his eyes are firmly shut.

“Missed you more.”

“Not even possible.”

Ben presses a kiss into his hair, soaking up the feeling of having his husband back in his arms. They’ll have to get up in a minute, go for a shower and maybe order some food in, enjoy the rare evening they can spend with just one another. But for now he’s content in lying here, skin on skin and heartbeats aligned.

Time can run on without them for a while. Everything else around them can wait.

On his wrist, the minutes tick by undisturbed.

[elizabeethan]

Keeping It Professional

Please enjoy this dialogue-heavy fluff-fest, in which Emma and Killian work together on a popular TV show, and Emma is just trying to keep things professional.

Rated T

~3200 words

Summary: Join us this Thursday with Emma Nolan, the star of the hit show, Neverland! Emma plays Emma Swan, a mom who's trying to get her son back from Neverland, but Peter Pan is not who you'd expect. We'll discuss a new season, the upcoming finale, and, of course, her on and off screen relationships with her costars! You won't want to miss this one!

In which Emma Nolan hates interviews.

A/N: Oh hi, I wrote this while I was being no-showed. I have no idea what it is.

see other stuff that i’ve written on Ao3 or tumblr

The ostentatious applause and blinding lights are things that Emma Nolan has grown accustomed to over the years. The show has been on for four seasons, having just been picked up for a fifth, and it’s grown in popularity during that time.

“It must be interesting playing a character with your same name.”

“Definitely. No one ever has an excuse to get my name wrong on set,” she laughs lightly, drawing similar sounds from the audience.

“Right! And I’m sure it much be interesting, working with your brother?”

“Oh, yeah. David’s a great actor, and he’s also my best friend. It’s a blast.”

“Now, at the end of last season, we found out that Baelfire was actually alive!” The audience cheers. “How’s that for a turn of events?”

“Oh, I know. Crazy right? We’ll have to see how it will impact everyone’s relationship with Henry.”

“Not to mention Emma’s relationship with Hook, right?”

The audience whoops and hollers, and Emma smiles. “I guess we’ll have to see!”

“Now, Emma, everyone is dying to know. The chemistry between you and Killian… there’s got to be something there, right?”

Emma loves to act— and she’s damn good at it. She loves the show she’s been a part of for almost five years now. She even doesn’t mind doing interviews, usually. What she does mind, however, is how everyone and their mother assumes she’s sleeping with her costars.

Emma fakes a laugh— she’s a good actor, remember? — and lets her eyes light up and a grin split her face, saying jokingly, “I’m a really good actor.”

The audience laughs, as does the interviewer, reaching between their chairs and touching Emma’s knee lightly. “You're too much! But come one—you and Killian? You and Neal?”

Okay, she hates interviews.

Emma shakes her head, trying her hardest to maintain an air of light and playfulness rather than rolling her eyes like she so badly wanted to. “Just keeping it professional, you know?”

“Well, Emma Swan has had some steamy moments with both Baelfire and Hook, so I think the audience would agree when I say we want to know who the better kisser is! Both of them are so delicious!” The audience doesn’t cheer; screams violently is more like it. Emma tries to laugh it off, but seriously? How is this question even allowed to be asked?

“Uh,” she starts awkwardly before she snaps herself back into interview mode and smiles again. “No comment,” she says with a smirk and a flirt in her tone.

“Oh, come on!”

She hates interviews.

“We’re all good friends. We’re just trying to keep it professional so that we can continue to work together.”

“Well, your brother David and Mary Margaret got married last year and they seem to work together well.”

Emma’s left eye starts to twitch, and she’s glad that it isn’t the side of her facing the audience. Let it go, lady, she thinks. “I’m so happy for them—they're great together, aren’t they?” The audience cheers again. “I’m really glad they were able to work things out between them. They’ve always had a thing for each other, and their relationship is so strong both on and off screen that it just worked out.”

“Are you saying you don’t have a strong relationship with Killian or Neal?”

“No, no, it isn’t that. I guess I’d just rather put my professional relationship with them over any of my own wishes.”

The interviewer smirks, and shit. “So, you do wish to be with one of them?” Oh my god, she thinks. Yes, but leave me the hell alone about it.

She starts to panic, thinking about what Killian would say in response, how he would tease her for anything that comes out of her mouth. Then she starts thinking about his mouth, then his eyes and his cute nose and his weird, charming ears, and her heart starts racing and her palms start sweating, and she has to get herself under control, dammit!

“All I want is for people to continue to love the show, and if my on-screen chemistry with my costars assists in that, then I’m happy.” Phew, take that, Kelly. Emma is a professional actor, thank you very much.

“Alright, alright, we can’t get anything out of her today, guys, sorry. Emma Nolan is the star on the hit series Neverland, which portrays Peter Pan in a very new light; catch up online or before the new episodes air every Sunday at 8 pm!”

The audience shouts again, and they're finally given the cue that the cameras are off as the lights dim, and Emma stands from the chair she was perched on and starts to unhook her mic from her top.

“Thank you for coming in today, Emma! It was so lovely having you.”

“It was great being here, Kelly, thank you.”

Emma practically runs from the stage once she’s cleared to do so, making her way down dark, winding hallways until she reaches the dressing room with her name printed on it. She shuts the door firmly behind her and presses her back to it, taking a deep breath and sliding down to the floor with her face in her hands. She tries deep breathing, but she finds it nearly impossible to get any air in.

Her phone chimes, alerting her to the message she’s received, and she attempts to pull herself together so that she can stand and grab it.

Nice one, Swan

She rolls her eyes at the moniker Killian has given her, but she can’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. Knowing that he must’ve been watching her interview from his own dressing room across the building makes her heart rate pick up. Knowing that he must know how nervous she is, because she hates interviews, makes her cheeks go rosy.

i hate interviews.

I know. You did great, love. Very professional.

yeah, well. don’t let kelly bully you next week like she did me. go get em, tiger.

No matter her mood, she can’t stop herself from flirting with him, and it’s seriously a problem. They can’t be doing this, and she knows it.

~~~~

“Hey Nolan,” she hears with a knock on her trailer door as it swings open.

“Hi Neal, what’s up?”

He smiles at her sweetly and gestures into her trailer. “Can I come in for a second?”

Emma nods, nodding her head towards the small couch. “Sure. What’s going on?”

“Just wanted to say, I saw your interview with Kelly. You did really well.”

She smiles at him sweetly as she takes a seat on a chair across the small trailer from him. “Thanks. She was persistent, huh?” Did she mention that she really hates interviews?

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Okay…” She’s hesitant to speak now, not wanting to push him in either direction, but honestly nervous for what’s about to come out of his mouth.

“I was just thinking… well, I like you, Emma. Not just as a costar or friend. I think you're cool and funny and pretty, and I was just thinking… well, everyone already thinks— I mean, I know you said you want to keep everything professional, but we can date and still be professional, right?”

“Neal…”

“Go to dinner with me. Just once. I really think we could have something great here.”

She shakes her head, her heart racing again as anxiety sets in. “I can’t. I’m sorry Neal, I just… I can’t.”

He nods, smiling at her again, and thank god he isn’t as much of an asshole in real life as she thinks his character is. “I get it, it’s alright.”

“I just want to keep everything professional. We work together…”

“Right, I know. So, it isn’t because of Jones?”

“What about Killian?” She screws her face as much as she can manage, but panics as she fears that he knows.

“You guys just have chemistry, too, that’s all. I wasn’t sure if you were together or something.”

He doesn’t know, she reminds herself, breathing in deeply in an attempt to relax. “I want to keep everything—”

“Professional, I know. No worries, Em.” He smiles once more, standing up and squeezing her shoulder before he heads out the door.

~~~~

“So, what’s it like working with your ex?” The audience reacts excitedly as Kelly presses, perhaps making it her mission to ask the most uncomfortable questions she possibly can.

“Oh, it’s alright. Milah and I are in a good place. We were together so long ago, and we’re both adults, so we’re able to keep things professional.” Emma nods at her screen, biting her thumb nervously as Killian gets grilled once again.

“That’s so amazing, isn’t it, guys?” The audience cheers. “Now last week’s episode was just… so heartbreaking. I’d love to get into that a bit with you.”

“Yeah,” he nods, and the audience aws collectively. “It was a really tough one to shoot. I don’t want to give much away, but the last scene with Hook and Emma was very emotional.”

“For the characters, or for you and Emma?”

“Both, I’d say.”

Kelly nods somberly as the audience aws again. “It looked it. I heard a rumor that the kiss Hook planted on Emma’s forehead when the rowboat was leaving the island was unscripted. Is that true?”

The audience gets excited, and Emma loses her thumb nail to her front teeth. “Yeah, actually. That scene in particular was really, really emotional. Can I drop spoilers?”

“Anyone who hasn’t seen the season finale yet is out of their mind. Drop away!”

He laughs blithely, the light in his eyes shining brightly through her iPad screen. “Well, Pan had put Emma in an impossible situation. She had to choose between getting Henry out of Neverland without a sleeping curse, or risk never waking him up and leaving Hook behind. I think it’s clear by the season finale that Emma has feelings for Hook, so that decision was really difficult for her. That final scene between the two of them… well, it was emotional for Hook too, because his feelings for Emma are obvious.” The audience cheers again.

“Super obvious. I mean, the chemistry between the two of you…”

“Right,” he quickly brushes her comment off. “So, we shot that scene at, like, 3 in the morning. It was freezing, it was raining, we were tired, and we don’t really know what the writers have in store for the next season. So, I guess my emotions got the better of me, and Hook and Emma— Swan, that is— finally had that moment when feelings were admitted—”

More screaming, as Killian refers to the steamy make out scene that aired last week. “Oh, we remember!” Kelly shouts over the audience.

He laughs again, a blush rising over the tips of his adorably pointy ears as he continues. “So, yeah, shooting the final scene between the two of them, where Emma needs to leave Hook on the island to ensure Henry’s safety, it was really difficult because there was finally a chance for them, and that chance got ripped away and we don’t know what’s going to happen to Hook. And like I said, it was cold and late, and I guess that just got the better of me, so I went with it.”

“Well, I think I can say with confidence that the viewers are glad that you went with it. I mean, how sweet was that, Hook kissing Emma’s forehead so softly? It was adorable!” Even more screaming, and Emma thinks she can see Killian cringing just the slightest bit.

“Yeah,” he says softly, still blushing. Emma wants nothing more than to reach through the screen and grab him to plant a big fat kiss on his cheeks.

“It only works so well because of the chemistry between you and your costar, Emma Nolan.”

He nods, blush permanent on his features. “We’re close.”

“Any chance we could see the two of you as more than friends off screen?” Kelly’s smirking, and she audience goes absolutely insane and threatens to blow out Emma’s headphones.

“Not sure that you’ll ever see that. We’re just keeping things professional, Kelly. She and I are costars, first and foremost.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll back off,” she laughs, as does the audience. Killian’s is discernibly fake.

By the time the interview ends, Emma’s face is as red as she imagines Killian’s to be. She puts her iPad away and lies on the couch, covering her eyes with her arm and trying hard to relax before she has to go out on set. The season finale aired, and they’ve already started shooting for season five, which requires even more chemistry between Emma Swan and Captain Hook.

The polls don’t lie; the viewers were absolutely obsessed with Emma and Hook’s relationship. Captain Swan started trending internationally after the finale, when the writers made it clear that the relationship between Emma and Hook was beyond just physical. Of course, what helped that along was Killian’s accidental smooch to Emma’s face during shooting.

What was an accident born from emotional exhaustion ended up being edited into the scene, driving the nation crazy once it aired and absolutely blowing up both Emma and Killian’s social media accounts. Not only were fans of the show obsessing over Captain Swan, but they were now also suspecting that Emma and Killian were an item. Emillian was trending as well, and Emma couldn’t help but cringe each time she was tagged in a Tweet or an Instagram fan edit.

The thumps on her trailer door finally drag her out of her own head, and she shouts for the knocker to enter.

“Hi, love,” he says, making her heart race before she even saw his face.

“Hey.” She sits up from her position on the couch as he takes a seat on the chair across the trailer.

“Did you see it?” She nods. She wasn’t able to watch him shoot the interview live as he was when she was on the show, so she had to watch it when it aired along with the rest of the country.

“You always handle those questions well.”

“It’s getting a bit insane, though.” She nods in return, agreeing that the questions they're asked about their relationshipare becoming intrusive. “Milah talked to me just now.”

“Did she?”

“Aye, she congratulated me on the interview and the finale. Said my costume looked great.”

“I would hope so; she designed in.”

He chuckles, standing from the chair and taking a seat on the couch next to her. “She asked me to dinner.”

“Oh,” Emma responds, her heart falling into her stomach. “What, uh, what did you say?”

“I said my girlfriend probably wouldn’t like that.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, and is tempted to whack him across the chest. “No, you didn’t!”

He laughs, jumping playfully away from her as she does swat at him. “No, I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

“Killian,” she sighs, flopping her body down on the couch and covering her face with her arm again. “We can’t. What if something goes wrong and it messes with our on-screen relationship? Are you willing to risk your job over this?”

“Yes,” he deadpans at her, and when she moves her arm and looks at his face, she knows he’s serious.

“Killian—”

“I am. I’m in love with you. I'm tired of hiding it.”

Her face falls, her heart beating frantically and her chest burning. “I love you, too, but…”

“What are you so afraid of? That we won’t work out? Love, we’ve been together for almost two years. This is very Emma Swan behavior that you're displaying.” She laughs at his reference to her character’s emotional constipation and leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just… I’ve never done this before.”

He kisses the top of her head gently before speaking. “It’s alright. I’m sorry I’m pushing you. We can wait. Just know that I love you and I’m all in. I know you're nervous that we might not work out, or that it would impact our jobs, but… I believe in us. I know we’re stronger than that. And I’ll wait as long as you wish for me to until you believe that, too.”

Dammit, she thinks. How could she not have fallen for him immediately after meeting him? She sighs against him and hoists herself up off the couch before planting herself on his lap, her legs straddling his and her face finding its usual spot in his neck. “I love you,” she says softly into his skin.

“I love you, Emma.” His arms run up and down her back, soothing and warming her simultaneously. “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you when I joined the show. I’ll never stop loving you.”

“Do you think we can still keep it professional if everyone knows we’re dating?”

“Aye,” he nods, and she can feel his chin scraping against the top of her head. “But I also think that a lot of people already suspect that we’re together, ever since my royal screw up on set.”

“That wasn’t so bad. I liked it.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and in her ear. “Not very professional, though.”

“Is it professional to seduce your costar in your trailer an hour before shooting?” she asks boldly, pressing her nose into his neck below his ear and tracing his pulse point with her tongue.

He’s growling, and the sound goes straight to her core as his firm hands find her backside and squeeze. “No, it’s not. But that hasn’t stopped you before.”

“It’s not going to stop me now, either.”

~~~~

“We should come clean,” she whispers into the air between them once she catches her breath. The couch wasn’t quite big enough for cuddling, but they do their best, with Emma’s back pressed into the back of the couch and Killian’s bare, fuzzy butt dangerously facing the door.

“You think? Are you ready for that?”

She shrugs. “Just… you're right. I want this with you. I'm in it for the long haul. I don’t know what I’m so afraid of.”

“It makes sense to be afraid, love. We don’t know how going public might impact our relationship.”

“Yeah, but… we are stronger than that. We’re stronger than whatever the fans or critics can throw at us. I love you, and I want to be with you.”

He’s grinning as he brushes his nose against hers before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “You're sure?”

She nods. “I’m sure.”

~~~~

They wait until season five is about to air before posting an Instagram photo of Killian kissing Emma’s temple with the captain #Emillian. It trends for weeks. Views and ratings for the show skyrocket. Emma and Killian started attending interviews together, and she finds them to be pretty tolerable.  

~~~~

~~~~

i’m just tagging people who have been nice to me: 

@courtorderedcake @shireness-says @kmomof4 @gingerpolyglot @klynn-stormz @tohellwiththepancakes13 @emelizabeth88 @captain-emmajones @onceratheart18 @stahlop @itsfabianadocarmo @superchocovian @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones

Please let me know if you're interested in being tagged in other stuff that I write--or if me tagging you is annoying and you want me to stop! 

[allsassnoclass]

how about “i know we hate each other but it’s christmas eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside” for muke? xx

Here you are my darling I hope you enjoy it!

Ficmas Day 6

Rating: teen and up

Read on AO3

Michael is woken up at ten in the morning by Mariah Carey passionately singing about what she wants for Christmas, accompanied by a voice that Michael has become unfortunately accustomed to within the past four months.  He groans and flops over, pulling his pillow over his head and hoping for the thousandth time that his neighbor might suddenly lose his voice, or at least lose the ability to blast music when Michael is still trying to sleep.  He’s coming off of the night shift and it’s Christmas Eve.  He should be allowed to actually sleep.

The pillow doesn’t help, so he slaps his hand against the wall as loudly as he can.  That doesn’t seem to help either, and Luke keeps hitting high notes that would be really impressive if Michael wasn’t currently plotting his murder.

Plotting Luke Hemming’s murder is something that Michael does frequently.  He’s never immediately disliked someone so quickly, but Luke is not only a professional at waking him up during what little sleep Michael is trying to get, but he has managed to set off the fire alarm with his cooking failures three times already, he sometimes keeps a bike in the hall that Michael almost always manages to run into no matter where it is, and when he watches TV it’s always bad reality programs at top volume.  His mail continuously somehow ends up in Michael’s slot, and he never says “thank you” when Michael gives it to him.  He has an endless trail of people tramping in and out of his apartment at all hours, but Calum said he got passive-aggressive about buzzing him up when Michael was still in the shower, despite them having met in the lobby multiple times and Luke knowing that Calum is Michael’s emergency contact.

When Michael ran into him during his move-in and said hi, Luke’s dog had growled at him.

Dogs love Michael.

Despite his cherubic blonde curls and dreamy blue eyes, Luke Hemmings might be the devil.  This was only confirmed when he started playing Christmas music and decorating his door the day after Halloween.

Michal isn’t a grinch.  He likes Christmas as much as the next person who grew up celebrating it, but he likes when it’s confined to the proper month.  There’s something to be said about the feel-good movies and lights twinkling against the snow at night, but he works overnights at a 24 hour grocery store, and at this point Christmas music makes him want to claw his ears off.  Luke doesn’t seem to listen to anything else, and he has a wreath and line of jingle bells on his door.  Michael doesn’t even want to see what the inside of his apartment looks like.

His one solace is that today Luke is catching a plane to go back to his parents’ house.  Their bedrooms share a wall, and Michael has heard him making plans to load up Petunia and spend Christmas at his childhood home.  Michael is not so lucky, confined to his apartment for the holiday.

He’s not sure what his plans are yet.  He’s trying not to be too sad about it, but it’s difficult when everyone under the sun is getting to spend it with family and he’s going in for a night shift.

The song on the other side of the wall switches to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”  Michael tries to block out Luke’s self-dueting and viciously stamps down the jealousy bubbling in his gut.

-/-

Luke finally leaves the apartment at 2 pm.  Michael hears him cooing to his dog and the jangle of keys as he locks up, and then the apartment is blessedly silent.  He lays in bed for an hour scrolling through his phone, but eventually seeing everyone’s messages about the holiday and seeing their families becomes too much and he gets up, making his way to the shower.  The apartment is colder than usual, and when he looks out the window he only sees a mass of white, swirling too fast to make out individual flakes.  Chicago seems to be living up to its nickname.  Maybe it’s a good thing that he doesn’t have to drive far to get to work tomorrow.  He bundles up in his coziest sweatshirt and sweatpants and his favorite pair of fuzzy socks, anyway.

Michael is getting something to eat when he hears Luke’s voice again, still talking to his dog.  It’s clearly coming from the hallway, and Michael frowns when something thumps, followed by Luke apologizing.  He leaves the plate with his half eaten toast on the counter and presses his ear to the door, trying to make the words take distinct shape.

“... know, girl, but we’re almost back,” Luke says.  “Then we’ll… I don’t know.  We’ll figure something else out, right?  Fuck, where are my fucking keys?”  Something else hits the floor.  Luke sniffs.

“Fuck,” he says, but it’s small and fragile.  Michael hasn’t heard Luke sound defeated before now, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to hear it again.  To know that someone who typically is annoyingly joyful is unable to keep up that demeanor outside the privacy of his own home makes Michael’s heart break a little.

Maybe that’s why he opens the door.  Michael doesn’t know; if he was asked, he’d have to say that he was reaching for the doorknob before his mind caught up with his limbs.

Luke scrambles at the sound, wiping at his eyes.  He’s crouched on the floor, mittens in his hand, a large duffle on the floor next to him and a backpack open in front.  Petunia’s dog crate is blocking part of the hallway.

“Luke,” Michael says.  He doesn't have anything else to say; he didn’t think this far ahead.

“I’ll be quieter,” Luke sniffs.  “Sorry.  Don’t want to ruin your perfect day.”

“That’s not why I’m out here,” Michael frowns.  “It’s just a normal day for me.  Did your flight get cancelled?”

“What do you think?” Luke snaps.  “It’s a blizzard out there.  All flights are grounded until at least tomorrow.”

“Sorry,” Michael says.  Luke’s face twists up, and he looks down and takes a breath.  He paws through something in his backpack, but it’s packed in pretty tight and he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, hands falling uselessly after a moment.

“I can’t find my keys,” he says, voice small again.

“Oh.  Do you… you can come and look for them in my apartment, if you want.  Just so you’re not spilling all your stuff in the hallway, you know?”

Luke frowns.

“I guess I could make hot chocolate, too?” Michael offers.  “I mean, it must be pretty cold out there, with the snow and wind and everything.”

“You hate me,” Luke says flatly.

“I know.  Well, I don’t--” he sighs.  Even when he’s trying to do something nice for him, talking to Luke is infuriating.  “Look.  I know that we don’t like each other, but it’s Christmas Eve and your flight was just cancelled.  Do you want hot chocolate or not?”

Luke looks at his backpack, then at the dog crate.

“Can I let Petunia out?”

“Sure, as long as she doesn't growl at me.”

Luke considers for another moment, long enough that Michael has to tamp down the urge to fidget with his sleeves.

“Okay,” he says.  Then, after a delay, “Thanks.”

Michael nods once, then retreats back into his apartment and holds the door open.

Luke gathers up his backpack and drags the dog crate behind him, immediately crouching to undo the clasp once Michael closes the door.

Petunia woofs in the crate while he fumbles with the latch, launching forward and nearly tackling Luke once he finally gets it open.  He hugs her to him, burying his face in her back, and Michael makes himself look away, reaching for the mugs instead and checking to ensure there's water in the kettle before putting it on the stove.

If Luke wants his cocoa made with milk, he can suck it.  Michael hopes he isn't expecting whipped cream, either.

"Can Petunia be on your furniture?" Luke asks, still hugging the wriggling beast.  She's a solid dog.  Michael isn't sure how Luke got her crate down the stairs.

"Sure," he says.  Luke gets her go and she wanders around the apartment sniffing every corner.  Michael hopes he didn't leave any snacks lying around.  He breaks eye contact with the kettle to peer around the corner and ensure that his bedroom door is closed, too.

"So," he says as he gets out two packets of cocoa mix, ripping them open and pouring them into the mugs.  "Where... um, where does your family live?"

He glances at Luke, standing in the middle of the room and looking around with a slight frown on his face.

He could try to seem less judgmental.  Michael's trying to help him out here.

"They're in California," Luke says.  "The northern part."

"Oh.  That'd be a long flight."

"Yeah," Luke says.  He doesn't say anything else and Michael has just about run out of his small talk, so he turns back to the kettle and wills it to heat up faster.  Petunia's dog collar jingles and Michael looks back long enough to see her hop up on the couch next to where Luke has finally sat down.

"You don't have any Christmas decorations up," Luke says.

"Oh," Michael replies.  "No, I guess not."

"Do you not celebrate?  Sorry, I don’t know your religion or anything."

"Not really," he says.  "I mean, I kind of do, but I'm an atheist, and since I can't go home doing Christmas by myself felt depressing.  Calum and I already exchanged gifts."

"Oh," Luke says.  "Where does your family live?"

"St. Louis.  I have a shift tomorrow night, so it didn't seem worth the drive."

"Sorry," Luke frowns.

"S'okay.  Better than trying to go home and having the flight be cancelled."

Luke purses his lips.  Michael hopes he doesn’t start crying.  Thankfully the kettle chooses that moment to squeal, giving Michael something to do besides stare dumbly at Luke.  For someone who spent what was probably a very frustrating and frazzling amount of time at the airport, his hair looks infuriatingly good right now.

"Do you want marshmallows?" he asks.  "They're a little stale."

"Sure," Luke says.  "Thanks."

Michael gets the marshmallows from his cupboard and plops a few into each of their drinks.  He gives Luke the mug his parents got him with his college logo, keeping the Marvel one that Calum bought for himself.  Luke takes the mug with both hands, their fingers touching, and Michael tries not to snatch his hand back.  Petunia leans forward to sniff, making Michael give her a wide berth on the way to his wicker armchair.

"Are you scared of my dog?" Luke asks.  "Look, I know she has some pit bull in her, but that doesn't mean she's a monster.  She's really sweet."

"She growled at me when we met."

"When was that?"

Typical.  Michael isn't even a big enough blip on Luke's radar for him to remember that they met when he moved in.  Sure, Luke probably met a lot of people that day, but Michael lives right next door, and they've obviously seen each other a lot since then.

"When you moved in.  I was leaving for a shift, you were moving boxes around, and she came out and growled at me."

"Huh."  Luke looks at her.  Petunia looks right back, completely unbothered.  "She's really not typically like that.  The stress of the move made her moody.  If you let her sniff you now, she'll let you pet her.  Come on."

He sets down his cocoa and gestures Michael forward.

"Dude, it's not a big deal."

"It is," Luke says.  He looks sincerely distressed.  Michael immediately wants to correct that, like Luke has some sort of weird superpower that makes everyone around him want to keep him happy.  "I want you to like my dog.  She wants to like you, too."

"Fine," Michael says, rolling his eyes.  "I'll meet your stupid dog."

Luke beams.  He has dimples.  Somehow, this is the worst thing that has happened to Michael today.  His insides feel funny, like he swallowed pop rocks.

"Be nice, Piggy," Luke says to the dog.  Michael cautiously holds out his hand, letting Petunia snuffle at it.  Soon enough she must decide that he isn't worth the trouble because she puts her head back down and lets Michael run a hand over her back.

"She really likes it when you scratch behind her ears."

He tries that out, watching the way her ears flick forward and back and how she keeps moving her eyes from him to Luke.  She sighs and smacks her lips twice, kicking out her back leg and stretching further on the couch.

"See?" Luke says.  "She likes you."

Michael smiles, sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch so he can continue to pet her.

"I miss dogs," he says.  "I keep wanting to get one, but I work too much right now."

"What is it you do?" Luke asks.  He drinks some of his hot chocolate, pulling a face but going back in for another sip.  MIchael’s not sure if that means his cocoa sucks or is acceptable.

"I work nights at a grocery store, but I babysit for some of the families here, too."

"Really?' Luke asks.

"Don't sound so surprised," Michael snorts.

"Sorry," Luke says.  "You just don't strike me as a kid person."

Michael shrugs.  Luke has a point.  Michael was an only child and he gets tired and grumpy easily.  Still, hanging out with his kids usually isn’t that bad.

"It pays well.  They're little demons, but at this point all of them like me, so it's not too bad.  The hardest thing is pretending to be bad at their video games so they don't get upset because I'm beating them."

“I guess,” Luke says.  “I’m a hairstylist, and our salon is pretty high-end.  We don’t get a lot of kids, thank goodness.  I’d be scared that they’d move and I’d cut off the wrong chunk of hair.”

Huh.  That must be why his hair always looks so good.

“You think my hair looks good?” Luke asks.

Shit.  Michael is too used to being alone in the apartment and allowed to speak all of his thoughts to the air.

He shrugs.

Luke makes a pleased noise and drinks more of his cocoa.  His cheeks look a little red, possibly a side effect of him still wearing his coat even though he’s inside with a warm drink.

Michael goes back to his chair and picks up his own cocoa.  Luke takes a few more sips, but it seems like he has used up most of his small talk, too, although he tries as he goes through his backpack, commenting on the book he tucked in there but probably wouldn’t have read and occasionally cooing at Petunia.  Michael is grateful when he finishes his own drink and can take it to the sink to rinse it, spying his half-eaten toast and taking a bite along the way.

Luke finds his keys quickly, zipped into an outside pocket.

“Thanks for the cocoa, and letting me let Petunia out,” Luke says, standing in the middle of the room again, backpack on and keys in hand.

“Yeah, sure,” Michael replies.  “Hope you have a good Christmas.”

“You too,” Luke says.  Michael looks at everything in the room other than him.  Luke grabs his things, calls to Petunia, and leaves for the apartment next door.

-/-

There’s a knock on Michael’s door a few hours later.  It’s still snowing pretty heavily outside, white flakes standing out against a black sky whenever they pass by a light, so it must be someone in the building.  Michael hopes it’s not someone needing a last-minute babysitter.  He’s still tired and trying to savor his one night off, even if he doesn’t have any plans beyond video games and movies.  He’s going to have to resist shouting at the tv into the early morning now that Luke is home again, but he was still looking forward to it.

Luke is standing outside his door.

“Hi,” Michael says slowly.

“Hey,” Luke says.  “Do you want to have dinner?”

“What?” Michael asks, sure that he heard something wrong or is misunderstanding something.

“I dunno.  You’re here, I’m here, neither of us are doing anything.  I don’t really want to eat alone on Christmas Eve.”

Oh.  Michael hopes for once his pale complexion isn’t betraying him, but he can feel his ears burn.  Luke is not asking him on a date; he’s just bored and lonely.  Luke also has automatically assumed that Michael doesn’t have a life and isn’t doing anything which--while true--is a little offensive.

“Okay,” he shrugs.  “What do you want to eat?”

“Well…” Luke looks down at his feet, ever so slightly pigeon-toed.  He has really nice legs, even when they’re covered in baggy sweatpants instead of the usual skin-tight pants Michael typically spies him in.  “I wasn’t planning on being here for a bit, so I have some pasta but no sauce, or I have pancake mix.  We might be able to walk to the Chinese place at the corner, but I don’t know if they’re open with the blizzard.”

“Pancakes sound good,” Michael says.  “I have some eggs, if you want those.”

“Thanks,” Luke says.  “I have some bread for toast and jam and butter.  That’s a full meal.  Want to come to mine?”

“Sure,” Michael says.  “I’ll get the eggs.”

Michael lets his door swing closed.  He toes on his shoes and grabs his phone, then almost forgets the eggs anyway and has to double back to the kitchen.

He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to walk right in to Luke’s apartment or knock out of politeness.  After a moment of deliberation he chooses the latter, navigating around the wreath to rap his knuckles against the wood, which sends Petunia barking and therefore might have been the wrong choice.  Luke doesn’t seem bothered when he opens the door, though.  He just smiles and steps aside, then tells Petunia to stop.  Petunia actually greets Michael at the door, too, snuffling at his feet before trotting after Luke to the kitchen area.

"Woah," he says involuntarily once he gets a clear look at the apartment.  There's a fake tree in the corner, which he expected, but what takes him aback is the tinsel hanging from the ceiling in green and red, the small Santas and snowmen standing proud on available surfaces like the TV stand, side table, and counter, and the numerous other fake evergreen springs scattered around.  There are Christmas pillows on the couch.  There's a wooden reindeer on the wall.

Michael knew that Luke loved Christmas given the numerous carol-sessions and decorations seen from outside the apartment, but somehow he still hadn't considered that the inside would look like this.

"I got started already," Luke calls from the kitchen.  Michael breaks himself out of his decoration shock and follows him into the small area, looking in the mixing bowl Luke gestures to.  The batter inside doesn't appear to be mixed very well, just milk sitting around a mound of powder.  "I don't know when you usually eat, since you work so late, but I hope you don't mind.  If you hate it you don't have to eat it or whatever; I'm not the best cook and I know that you're just humoring me."

Luke puts his hands on the counter and sighs.

"Sorry.  I'm rambling."

"It's okay," Michael says.  "I prefer rambling to awkward silence."

"I'm great at awkwardness," Luke says.  "I excel at being awkward.  If it's possible to make a situation more awkward, I can do it."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Michael says, eyeing him.  This Luke is different than the Luke Michael so often sees in the hallway.  He's softened by the grey tracksuit he's wearing, hair now pulled half-up, slight embarrassment staining his movements.  This Luke is approachable and comfortable.  Michael thinks he can find his footing here.  The Luke that he interacted with before today is intimidating in his heeled ankle boots and silk shirts.  This one seems like... well, a little like a dork.

Michael reaches for the pancake mix box while Luke takes a fork and starts stirring.

"Hey, did you put an egg in?"

Luke freezes.

"This needs eggs?"

Huh.  This Luke is a dork who is hopeless in the kitchen.

"You weren't underestimating your cooking skills earlier," he says.  "Have you made pancakes before?"

"It was a while ago, okay?" Luke defends.  "I eat out a lot."

"Every self-respecting person should be able to make pancakes," Michael says.  He takes one of the eggs and cracks it over the bowl, Luke pausing in his mixing to give him room.  Thankfully, Luke seems to have a griddle plugged in and warming up.  Michael thinks it probably was a housewarming present that doesn't get much use.

"What kind of eggs do you want?" Michael asks.

"Uh, scrambled."

"How many?"

"You choose."

Michael has never cooked with Luke.  Michael has never seen Luke eat and therefore doesn't know his appetite.  Michael has no clue what to do with that answer.

"Can I have a pan?" he asks.

"Sure," Luke says distractedly, forcefully stabbing at the egg in his mixing bowl to break the yoke.  "They're right over there."

He kicks his leg out towards one of the lower cabinets, right behind where Petunia has taken up residence.

"Hey Petunia, want to move?" he asks her, crouching and slowly opening the drawer.  She stares at him.  He scratches behind her ears and continues to pull the drawer out as far as he can, but it's not far enough.  Eventually she must find the drawer pushing into her back more inconvenient than shifting her position, because she heaves herself up and leaves to sit by her food dish in the corner instead.

"Is this mixed enough?" Luke asks.  He tilts the bowl and Michael cranes his neck to see.  The fact that Luke is asking him at all is weird, because Michael himself isn't exactly in the running for a Michelin star, but there's something to be said about the easy way Luke has admitted his weakness here and turned to Michael for help.  Michael himself would probably just keep messing stuff up rather than admit he needed guidance.

"Um, it's a little lumpy still."

Luke sighs and begins mixing again.  Michael finds a suitable pan and begins cracking eggs.

True to his promises, Luke keeps rambling all throughout the dinner-making process.  He talks about his favorite foods and his friends and asks Michael if they can add chocolate chips to half the pancakes, as if Luke is the guest here instead of Michael.  When he remembers to catch his breath, he asks Michael about himself, seeking the information he had already ended up word-vomiting.  It's a lot more endearing than Michael thought it would be.  For how annoying he finds Luke, there's something endlessly charming about hearing him nervously spout facts about himself.  It's even more charming when he doesn't reprimand Michael for eating some chocolate chips straight out of the bag.

He manages to get batter on his nose halfway through the cooking process.  When Michael points it out, Luke's cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and Michael makes himself turn to start the toast.

The pancakes land themselves on a plate and Luke gets out another two for them to use.  Michael splits the eggs between them and Luke hands out the toast, then they take two of the stools at the counter to eat.

They're not exactly the best pancakes he's ever eaten, but they're not bad at all.  They're made even better by the fact that Michael isn't eating them alone.

Being on a different schedule than everyone else and living alone means that the vast majority of his meals are spent by himself, typically with the tv on just to give a bit of noise.  While Luke turns on the radio softly, Michael barely registers it, too busy listening to Luke's stories of the salon and countering with tales from the night shift at the grocery.  It's deceptively easy to keep conversation flowing between them.

Before Michael has taken his first bite of pancake, he's already decided that hating Luke was a stupid decision.

Of course, Luke is just lonely on Christmas Eve.  While he's smiling and laughing hard enough at things Michael says to sometimes duck forward, close enough to rest his head on Michael's shoulder if he wanted, there's no guarantee that something like this will ever happen with them again.

Michael chews his last few bites slowly.

“Hey,” Luke says as he’s putting the plates in the sink, where the mixing bowl and pan are already taking up residence, “do you want to stay for a bit?  If you don’t have work or anything?  I usually watch some movies on Christmas Eve, but if you don’t want to we can do something else, like…”  He looks around his apartment, biting his lip.  Michael does not stare.  “I have some decks of cards?  We can have more hot chocolate?”

“I’d be down for a movie,” Michael says.  Luke's shoulders slump in relief.  It makes Michael feel better that Luke would be relieved over him staying.  He's astoundingly easy to read up close, emotions flickering over his face and seeping into his body language to create an open book.  It makes it easier to believe that Luke was asking out of a genuine desire to keep his company, rather than misplaced politeness or simple loneliness.

"Great!" Luke says.  "Awesome."

"What do you usually watch?" Michael asks.

"Uh, the Lord of the Rings."

That wasn't what Michael was expecting.  Honestly, he was betting on Elf.

"Like, all three?  Isn't that twelve hours?"

"We usually have them going right after lunch.  I think my parents hoped that watching would tire us out so we wouldn't wake them up early to open presents before church."

"Did it work?" Michael asks.

"Nope," Luke grins.  "Jack--one of my brothers--always ensured we were awake when the sun rose."

"If I had a brother wake me up that early, I would kill him," Michael says.

"Not me.  I wanted him to," Luke says.  "I loved running to the living room and seeing all of the presents and our stockings lined up.  I didn't want to wait a moment more than I had to."

Michael tries to picture a younger Luke Hemmings running excitedly to look under his Christmas tree, early rays of dawn streaming in through a window and fresh snow on the ground.

He doesn't know what Luke looked like back then.  It puts a damper on things, but the image is soaked in nostalgia and happiness regardless.

"If you wake me up early tomorrow it'll be the last thing you do, but we can watch Lord of the Rings," he says.  Luke grins.

"Can we make a blanket fort, too?" he asks.

"What are you, six?"

Luke's face immediately crumples.

Shit.

"No, not like that!  It's not a bad thing!" he backpedals.  "Like, I'm just teasing.  I do it with all of my friends.  If Calum had asked I'd have said the same thing even though I want to."

Luke eyes him critically.

"We're friends now?"

Michael rubs at his chest.  He hadn't even thought before he had said that.  He shouldn't have assumed.  If Luke hadn't warmed up to him in the entirety of their four months as neighbors, why should one night make any difference?

"I guess," he says.  "Why not?  I gave you eggs."

"Yeah, a true sign of friendship," Luke says dryly.

Fuck.  He fucked this up.

"I should go," he says, starting for the door.  Luke lurches into motion, catching his arm as he passes.  It sends goosebumps erupting across his skin, freezing him in his tracks.

"Wait, don't," Luke says.  "Sorry.  We're friends.  Don't go, please.  I didn't--we're friends.  I want us to be friends."

He releases Michael's arm, and Michael feels like he can breath again.

"We're really bad at this," he says.  It makes Luke laugh, lifting at least half the heaviness in the air.  "We're friends, we're going to make a fucking blanket fort, and we're going to watch Lord of the Rings.  Right?"

"Right," Luke says.

"Good.  Let's get started on that blanket fort."

Luke's definition of a blanket fort is more of a nest.  They don't have anything tall enough to prop up a ceiling unless they take the cushions they need to use as a floor, even with Michael going back to his own apartment to bring pillows and blankets.  In the end, Luke moves his small coffee table and they simply pile as much padding and blankets as they can find in front of the couch.  Luke pops a bag of popcorn and offers beverages.  Once he gets settled Petunia flops down next to him, leaving Michael to set up the movie with Luke giving directions, since neither of them could disturb Petunia in good conscience.

Luke ends up disturbing her anyway to take her outside for the bathroom so she doesn't interrupt the movie.

Being alone in Luke's apartment with no distraction is strange, so he takes out his phone and texts Calum.

To Calpal: im in lukes apartment we had pancakes and now we are watching lord of the rings

From Calpal: ???? hot mean neighbor luke?

To Calpal: yeah his flight was cancelled

From Calpal: ????????????? I thought you hated him

To Calpal: hes kinda a dork cant cook for shit his dog likes me now hes kinda funny too we are officially friends

From Calpal: ??????????????????????

Luke’s door opens, and Michael has to scramble for the popcorn so Petunia won’t be able to get at it while Luke takes off his boots and jacket.

To Calpal: g2g tell you later

“Hey, Petunia,” Michael says when she presses against him, stretching for the popcorn he’s holding out of reach.  He runs a hand over her back, fur cold and damp.  “Is it still snowing?”

“A little,” Luke calls.  “I think it’ll stop soon.”  He gets the main light, leaving a lamp on a side table lit, then flops down on the blankets and cushions, shoulder knocking Michael’s briefly.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Luke presses play, and the opening instrumental and Galadriel’s narration fills the small apartment.

Luke is chatty during movies.  Michael would be more annoyed by it if this wasn’t clearly a movie he had seen millions of times before with a million memories to accompany.  Besides, when Michael says he’d like to be a hobbit so he could snack all the time, Luke makes another bag of popcorn for him without asking.

“Do you think--” he asks, then stops.  On screen, the Fellowship arrives at Lothlorien.

“Do I think what?” Michael prompts.

“Do you think I’ll be able to go home tomorrow?”

Michael looks at him, lounging back on the cushions with one of the blankets pulled around him.  He let his hair down, curls shadowing his face a bit more in the low light.

“Yeah, if the snow stops,” he says.  “But if not… if you’re still lonely, you can hang out with me until I go to work.”

“Really?” Luke asks.

“Yeah, why not,” Michael says.  “If you’re not sick of me, I don’t have any plans.  I was just going to play video games.”

Luke smiles at him.

“I like video games.”

“Great.  We’ll play video games.”

Michael turns back to the movie, but Luke’s hand snakes over a snoring Petunia and grabs his own.

“Thank you,” he says.  “Really.  You’ve made what would’ve been a really shit time into a surprisingly nice Christmas.”

“It’s not even Christmas yet,” Michael says, feeling his cheeks heat up.  Thankfully Luke won’t be able to see it in the low light.

“You’ll make that nice, too.”

Michael squirms under his attention.  It feels too nice, and that’s something he can’t afford to consider right now.

“Um, I think there’s an important scene coming up,” he says.  Luke squeezes his hand again, but returns his attention back to the screen.  

Michael is the one to put the second movie in, because Luke is still sniffling over the ending of the first.  Michael’s not sure if he’s allowed to tease him for it, especially when his own eyes welled up.  He cries over movies pretty easily, and there’s something to be said about the loyalty and love packed into the last piece of the story, something that Michael occasionally wonders if he’ll ever find.

He comes close with Calum, but Calum also has a roommate and boyfriend.  Michael wouldn’t mind another person to love, too.

“I think this one is my least favorite,” Luke says drowsily when Michael presses play.  “Too much Gollum.  He used to give me nightmares as a kid.”

“Really?” Michael asks.  Luke nods.

“That, and the scene in the first one where they’re making the Uruk-hai and they appear from the mud.”

“When I was young, I had lots of nightmares about showing up to school in my underwear and everyone laughing at me.  It would happen once a week.  I started ditching school because it made me too nervous.”

Luke hums.

“I wouldn’t have laughed at you.”

“It was middle school.  Everyone would’ve laughed.”

“Not now,” Luke says.  “I know you now.  I’d wait until I knew you were okay to laugh.”

“Thanks,” Michael says.  Luke nods.   He keeps sinking lower and lower into the blankets, eyelids drooping more every time Michael checks on him.  Michael himself would still be in the middle of his shift at the grocery store on a typical day, and he could keep going for hours.  The relaxed atmosphere they’ve formed might let him clock out early, though.

They watch most of this movie in silence, Luke’s commentary diminishing more and more as the movie wears on.  There are a few times where Michael thinks he’s finally fallen asleep and he should take his leave, but then Luke will shift or say something else.

“Michael?” he asks eventually, voice small and eyes closed.  He’s curled on his side facing him, giving up any pretence of continuing to watch.

“Hm?”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Sure,” he says.  Luke smiles and snuggles deeper into the blanket.  His breathing evens out more, slipping seamlessly into sleep.  Michael looks at the way his eyelashes brush his cheeks, savoring the unguarded expression on his face.  He’s almost ethereal like this, as fair and otherworldly as the elves on the tv but twice as captivating.

Michael puts the third movie in once it’s time.  He’s asleep within ten minutes.

-/-

Michael wakes disoriented, tangled in multiple blankets and propped on too many pillows.  There’s noise somewhere near him, someone else shuffling and the rustle of a jacket being put on, but it doesn’t feel out of place.  This person isn’t an enemy breaking in.

“Wha?” he asks, trying to turn towards the noise.

“Sorry, sorry,” Luke murmurs.  “I’m going to try to see if I can get to church.  Go back to sleep.”

Soft fingers brush his hair to the side, lingering.  He leans into the touch before it’s gone.

He rolls over and goes back to sleep.

-/-

The smell of coffee draws him fully out of sleep a while later.  Michael blinks and does his best to detangle himself, sitting up and looking around groggily until he processes Luke standing at the counter, mug in hand.  It’s a sight that Michael could get used to if he was allowed.  He’s in his typical jeans and fancy shirt, a juxtaposition to yesterday, and Michael isn’t sure what that means about the dorky guy who wanted to make a blanket fort rather than the one who always brushed by Michael in the hallway.

He clears his throat.  Luke’s answering grin is wide and familiar.

“Hi,” he says.

“Good morning,” Luke says.  “Afternoon.  Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he hums.  “Coffee?”

Luke pours another mug, offering Michael cream and sugar.  He brings it over, and this time when their fingers brush over the mug Michael doesn’t feel the need to snatch his hand away.

“How was church?” he asks.

“It was good,” Luke says.  “The plows were out overnight, so I was only a little late.”  He looks down at his mug, fingertip tracing the rim.  “I wish I had been able to go with my family.  It’s fine though.  Mum will probably have us go on Sunday.”

Michael nods.

“I, uh, got a message from the airport, too.  My flight got rescheduled.  I’m going to have to leave in about an hour.”

“Oh,” Michael says.

“Sorry.”

“What?  No, this is a good thing.  I’m glad you get to go home,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too disappointed.  He had been looking forward to spending part of the day with Luke more than he thought, and to have that taken away from him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Guess we’re going to have to reschedule the video games,” Luke says.

“Yeah.”

“Or,” he says, “we could go on a date?”

Michael gives himself whiplash with how quickly he looks up.

“I, uh, don’t know if you even like guys,” Luke says, “but I’ve had a lot of fun with you, and I’ve always thought you were cute.”

“I thought you didn’t like me until yesterday.”

Luke shrugs.

“I can think you’re hot and be frustrated about it at the same time.”

Michael nods because yeah, that tracks.  Michael has never kidded himself about how nice Luke is to look at, even when he was cursing his name for waking him up with Christmas carols.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah, you agree that you’re hot and frustrating?  Or--”

“Yeah, let’s go on a date.  Or stay in on a date.  Whatever you want.”

Luke grins.  Michael hides his smile behind his cup of coffee, but Luke can probably see it anyway.

“Want some pancakes?” Luke asks.  “We have the leftovers from yesterday.”

“If you can handle heating them up.”

Luke swats at him on the way past and Michael tries to trip him in retaliation.  It almost works, earning him a reproachful look that he responds to with a wink.  Luke ducks his head.

Michael is going to flirt with him so hard in the future.  He can’t wait to see Luke’s face turn different shades of pink.

They have to clean up the blanket fort after breakfast, and by then Luke barely has time to get Petunia ready before needing to leave.  Michael offers to drive him to the airport, but Luke says Petunia rides best in his car, and he’d rather park it at the airport so he doesn’t have to call for a ride home.

Luke walks him to his door, even though it’s only a few feet away.

“Hey,” he says.  “Thanks again for making me pancakes and watching movies with me, and for inviting me in for hot chocolate earlier.  I’m glad you did.”

“I’m glad you said yes,” Michael says.  “Let me know when you get back.”

“I will.”

“Have a good time,” Michael says.  “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Michael.”

Luke leans forward and kisses his cheek.  When he steps back, he’s smiling again.  Michael mirrors it and stays standing in front of his door until Luke has disappeared into his.

His apartment feels small and empty after sharing Luke’s for the night.  There’s no pillow fort spread on the floor nor dog lounging on the couch.

Of course, Luke’s apartment will be empty soon, too.  He’ll be with his family, enjoying Christmas day with them, while Michael’s own parents will be without him for the first year since he was born.

He brings out his phone and dials his home number, listening to it ring a few times before someone picks up.

“Michael?  How are you?  Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas Mum,” he says.

“Oh, we miss you, darling,” she says.  “We wish you could be here.  Are you still having an alright time?”

“I actually am,” he says.  “I, uh, was celebrating with someone this morning.  Have I mentioned my neighbor Luke?”

“No, I don’t think you have.  Why don’t you tell me about him?”

Michael gets comfortable on his couch and tells his mother all about spending Christmas with Luke Hemmings.

[stillchaoticlogic]

Falling

Pairing: Raihan x Reader

Falling in love is easy...

It's falling out of love that's the hard part.

As you try to run from old feelings you meet someone who is determined to bring the spark back into your eyes. Raihan isn't sure what happened in the past and he doesn't care. He's got one shot to make you his and he's going to take it.

Begin at the End

You gaze in disbelief as, with a final fire blast, Hau’s Incinaroar sends your Ninetales to the ground. Your eyes widen and you summon her back into her Pokeball robotically. You smile at the new victor and you know, for the first time in three years what freedom tastes like. You walk towards Hau, no longer a boy of fifteen, but a young man of eighteen, and Alola’s new champion. You feel nothing but relief as you shake his hand and congratulate the shell-shocked male in front of you. 

You can practically feel the world jump to life as a new champion joins the ranks. You walk out of the arena for the last time. You wish you could say it’s bittersweet, but all you can feel is the joy of escape.

The hallway leading to the locker room is long and dark. You notice a figure leaning against the wall near the end, you don’t pause just keep walking until his voice pierces the silence. 

“Did you throw the match?”

You stop and turn towards Kukui, your friend and co-worker, the man you had fallen in love with. The man you could never have. 

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me…”

“It doesn’t matter if I did or I didn’t… I’m no longer the champion of the Alola region. As far as I’m concerned I’m a free woman now.”

“You make it sound like we’ve been holding you prisoner.”

“I came here to escape the limelight and yet you were determined to throw me into it all over again. I did as you asked! I built your league, I chose and trained your gym leaders and I put Alola on the map. I would like to be left alone now.”

“(Name)... what happened? I thought you liked it here… You’ve been so distracted lately… and now your loss…”

“Hau will be a great Champion, he grew up on the islands and his grandfather will help him. He will be a wonderful leader and a shining light to trainers here. Don’t worry, your league will be fine.”

“But-”

“Kukui I need to go. I can’t stay here anymore…” You mutter forlornly as you continue on your way leaving him to his thoughts in the darkness. 

That night as you sit gazing at the TV screen a ping on your phone alerts you to a new message. 

Hello (Name)! 

This is Leon, Champion of the Galar region! It has been brought to my attention that another champion has taken over your mantle. Your final battle as champion was absolutely smashing, by the way! The Galar League would like to invite you to consider heading our own league. We are aware you helped to build The Alolan League from the ground up and after the recent loss of our own chairman we are looking for someone to take his place! We believe you would be perfect! We understand that this is a large commitment, so we would like you to come to Galar to get a feel of our League. All expenses will be paid by the committee, of course!

I look forward to your reply!

Leon 

You gaze down at the email before you and you can’t help but feel desperation come over you. A way out! A purpose! A distraction! Better than all of that… An entirely new region away from the man you aren’t supposed to be in love with. 

Your reply back is simple: 

I’ll leave tomorrow.

(Name)

Your escape from Alola is quick and quiet. You are dressed in a pair of ripped blue jeans, with a black top and a blanket like ruana along with your combat boots. You board the plane that almost no one is on and sigh in relief as the plane takes off. Perhaps you will feel more guilty about running off without an explanation later, but right now you need the solitude. 

***The Galar Region***

Raihan can hardly believe his eyes as he watches the replay of the championship match. The (Name) (L.Name) lost to some kid? Raihan is mad about her and had looked up to her for the last couple of years. She is cool, confident, and funny with this cunning wit that he loved. He loved to watch her battle because it was always wild. He could tell that she had grown up battling with these intense strategies and insanely powerful pokemon. They were all powerhouses in their own right; his favorite though, is definitely her Garchomp.

He had noticed the last few months things had been different. She seemed bored in her battles and where she had always been quick-witted and charming during the post-battle interviews, she was now short with her answers. He was a little worried about her, but he had also never met her before, so it’s not like he can just slide into her DMs and start asking personal questions. This last battle had confirmed his suspicions though. She looked relieved when she lost. The champion that he looks up to would never be relieved to lose. Raihan frowns over his eggs as he continues to watch the report. 

The distinct ring of his phone woke him from his musings. Raihan would normally ignore a call so early in the morning, but it’s Leon and he had been helping him look for someone to replace the chairman. 

“What could you possibly need this early?” Raihan asks as he answers the phone. 

“Raihan! She’s coming! She’s on a plane and she’s arriving this evening!”

“Who is?” 

“(Name) (L.Name)!”

“What? How?” he asks in bewilderment. 

“I sent her an email last night! She replied while I was asleep and she said she’s leaving today! It’s a ten-hour flight from Alola! She’s going to be here tonight!”

“She lost her title yesterday! How is she already getting on a plane!”

“I don’t know! But we need to book a room and arrange tours and dinners! You know she would be perfect to run the League! And we’ve been looking for months!”

“I know man… I know… Let’s just take this one step at a time…” Raihan says with a sigh as he leaves his uneaten eggs on the table and heads to his room to change. He hadn’t been expecting his idol to arrive in Galar tonight, but he’s not complaining about it. 

***Later***

You pull the ruana closer around you and adjust the sunglasses. Your steps are quick and sure as you head towards the front of the airport. The nice thing about being a champion is the perks it affords you as you flash your credentials. You walk over to the luggage carousel and pluck your bag from the belt when it comes around. 

You notice a small crowd formed around a couple of people. Upon closer inspection, you see Champion Leon and the eighth Gym Leader Raihan. You walk closer to them and only stop when you hear a small gasp. You look down at the small girl and smile as she squeals.

“Y-you’re- (Name)!!”

“I am! And who are you? You ask as you bend down to speak to her. You don’t notice the silence that has taken over the crowd, or the awe in which they look upon you. 

“I’m Claire! You’re my favorite!” she declares in excitement. 

“Why thank you! Do you have a favorite?” you ask indicating the pokemon on your belt.

“Aurora!” she squeals. 

You tap the top of one of the Pokeballs and Aurora pops out. She gazes around at the crowd before addressing the 8-year-old girl in front of her. You smile at the look of wonder and awe on her face. 

“She’s...beautiful!”

Aurora sits regally beside you then yips at the little girl and bowing her head. Claire looks up at you, you give her a nod of permission then she takes a hesitant step forward and gingerly touches the soft fur on Aurora’s head. 

“She’s fierce in battle, but a total sweetheart otherwise.” 

Aurora lets out a soft cry as she looks back up at you. You run your fingers through her soft fur. 

“Thank you!” Claire says as he gazes up at you in wonder. 

“You’re welcome!” you say as you pull a card from your pack. You sign it before you hand it to her making her gasp. 

“This the best day!” She exclaims as she rushes back to her parents. They look over at you with gratitude before beaming down at their daughter. 

Aurora taps her Pokeball with her nose and a moment later she is nestled inside against your hip. 

“That was...really cool of you to do,” Raihan says as he walks up beside you. He takes the bag from the floor beside you silently offering to carry it for you. 

You shrug in reply, “She’s sweet and how can I turn down such a face?” 

 “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, but I’m glad you could make it! I’m Leon!” Leon says as he steps forward. 

“I’m sorry it was such short notice, but I need a break from Alola. I know I didn’t really give you any time to prepare anything, so just take your time with things. I’m in no rush.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re hungry! There is a great steakhouse near here if you would like to go? My treat of course!”

You give Leon a soft smile, “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m tired from the flight. Perhaps something quicker?”

Raihan, who had been letting Leon do the talking and silently psyching himself up, interjects, “What about pizza?”

“A man after my own heart…” you say as you give him a smile, he happily returns it.

Sitting at the pizza place you feel yourself relax a little bit. Leon is doing most of the talking and Raihan seems to be shooting you glances every now and then but doesn’t speak much. 

“I was thinking that you could take a day tomorrow to get adjust, maybe we could show you the town. Then we will start the tour of the gyms and give you a breakdown of the League.” You rest your head on your hands as you listen to Leon. You can tell both of them are nervous, most likely due to the upcoming Gym Challenge. Their former chairman has been stripped of his title and is currently atoning for, well almost destroying the world. They need someone to run things, and you can tell from the bags under Leon’s eyes that he’s been burning the candle at both ends. 

“Don’t be so nervous, I think this will be a good fit for me. I’m mostly curious about the challenges and your gym leaders. My understanding is you don’t have an elite four? You do a challenger competition then a tournament leading up to the championship battle. It’s a little different than what I’m used to, but I can roll with it,” you say with a shrug.

Leon’s shoulders sag in relief, “I’m glad you think so, things have been crazy trying to figure out what needs to be done for the upcoming challenge. I don’t think I can coordinate that and fulfill my champion duties. Raihan and several other gym leaders have been helping out, but they won’t have time for long. I think you would be a great fit and I hope you think so too.”

“No, of course not, you all have things that need to be done for your own gyms. Also, I’m not trying to be presumptions but it sounds like the job is mine if I want it.”

“It is,” Leon says with finality. 

“I think that was the easiest job interview I’ve ever had,” you say with a smile as you take a bite of the pizza in front of you. 

Both men look relieved as they bite into their own food. 

The next day dawns with a text message from Leon stating he’s got some business to attend to, but Raihan will be showing you around. So you’re not surprised when Raihan is waiting in the lobby for you with a cup of coffee and a danish. 

“Did you bring me coffee and food? Watch out… I may decide to marry you on this tour.”

He laughs as he hands the treats over to you, “I wouldn’t be too opposed to that…”

You pretend not to see his wince and the silent chiding he gives himself. 

“Oh? So you like getting married to women you just met?” you say with a smile over your coffee cup, teasing him. 

“Ehh more like getting married to women I admire. I’m kinda a huge fan of yours…” he trails off and looks down obviously embarrassed. 

You smile as he attempts to hide his face from you, “I think that’s awesome that you’re a fan. You’re a really amazing trainer so it’s an honor that you like the way I battle.”

He looks up in surprise, “Really? You’ve seen me battle?”

“Of course! I don’t want to play favorites or anything… but I’ve been hoping you’d take the title for a few years now. You’ve got a… wildness… that Leon doesn’t have. Kinda reminds me of...me…”

“I’m not going to lie… Several of your strategies have inspired a few of mine. That battle you had with Lance a few years ago… That was intense!”

You laugh, “Lance is an old friend, every time we get together I goad him into a battle. He taught me a lot about dragons and battling in general, he’s a little stiff, but he’s great at what he does. He mostly just thinks I’m the little sister he never wanted.”

“You know a ton of great champions and trainers don’t you?”

You shrug as you head off down the street towards the taxi he called, “It comes with the territory… When you make champion I’ll make sure you meet the right champions to further your career.”

“When?”

“We both know it’s going to happen… You have too much passion and drive for it not to.”

Raihan stops at the casual way you proclaimed his victory over Leon as if it had already happened. As if it’s set in stone. Do you really have that much confidence in him? 

“Well if you keep talking like that then we just might have to get married today,” he says with a laugh as he bumps your shoulder. 

You giggle as you climb into the taxi, and for just a moment you feel light and free with the giddiness of hope that this is where you need to be.

Notes: 

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my Raihan fic! I think it’s an interesting dynamic and it’s going to be fuuunnnn! I basically just want awkward yet smooth Raihan flirting with me making me feel like a queen all day. Come at me....

Anyway! Please let me know your thoughts!! Also, do you like the thought of certain parts being told from his POV? Let me know and I’ll play with it if you do!

[caysophia]

Danielle Moonstar x Reader (f)

Y/n pov

I walked down one of the many hallways in this place, Passing the dorm hall. I looked down, hearing footsteps echo to a room. It was Reyes and girl, she was in the light blue clothes everyone is put in when they come here. Reyes opened a door and they walked in.

"new girl... wow," I said to myself and walked to the common rooms to go tell the others. We haven't gotten anyone new since Roberto, and that was a while ago. I wonder what her power is? why is she here though, she must have done something bad...

I walked into the common room, Rahne watching a movie on the old Philips TV, Illyana doing the same. Sam and Roberto were playing a round of Foosball. I tapped on the door and walked through "Hey!" I greeted and elbowed Sam's back, not as hard as to hurt him. Roberto nodded, focusing on the game. Illyana looked from behind the couch "Hey Copycat." with a laugh. Illyana isn't that bad, she's just scared. Rahne waved not looking up from the TV.

"Whatcha doing?" I heard Sam ask, I turned to him "I don't know." and jumped on the couch "Eh! We gotta new gal." That caught Rahane's attention "eah just came in. Probable 2 days ago. She just woke up." and turned around.

"I wonder if she'll be a group?" I questioned "Probably, I would think" Sam answered stopping the game "I wonder whys she here? We haven't gotten anyone new, or well since I came. At Least." Roberto asked the foosball game now over. I shrugged "I wonder what her powers are?" Illyana asked.

" I don't know but, we'll find out soon. I0 think, Faster then Roberto's, that's for sure." I said in a teasing tone, Roberto scoffed " Yeah ok, printer." I gasped and started laughing "That's not even good! that's trash dude, try again." Rahne chuckled turning off the TV, and cleared her throat "We have group soon, we should get ready." and stood up, I waved to her as she left.

I'm going to go take a shower, see ya." Roberto said leaving the room as well, the same thing with Illyana. I and Sam said goodbye to both of them. I leaned forwards putting my arms on my knees, Cracking my knuckles "this shit sucks."

"I know." sam said with a groan, falling to the chair on the side of the room.

3rd person, group

" Rahne why don't you go first, tell us about the time you first changed." Reyes started turning towards Rahne"I-' she was cut off as the door opened and in walked a girl with flannel on. Her hair was short, about to her shoulders and kinda wavy.

"This is Danielle Moonstar."Reyes start "For real?" Roberto laughed, Reyes glared at him "Oh, you're serious." Y/n gave a little chuckle to his stupidity, " you can sit right there." Reyes said pointing to the empty chair next to sam.  Reyes smiled at Rahne " Continue." Rahne nodded and started to tell her story again.

Y/n sunk into her chair, she pulled her hat down covering a little bit of her face. She couldn't stop looking over at the new girl, Danielle. the way her hair fell on her shoulders, in such pretty waves. Y/n jumped hearing Illyana yell " I'm done." she stood up throwing her jacket over the shoulder "wonderful, can you show Danielle around. since your up." Reyes asked her with a smile, Illyana argued with her. Giving in and leaving the room with her.

The session finished about 15 minutes after.

Danielle's POV

I and then stood up from the table we were eating at "Who are these people?" I asked, I don't know anyone names. Rahne smiled at me "Ok, That is Y/n and Sam." Rahne pointed " They are twins. Both are really smart if you have a question about really anything. Go to them."   The two looked up 'they looked like twins.' i thought to myself Y/n smiled before looking back down at a notebook.

"that's Illyana, she's kinda crazy. Y/n and she are friends, they are quite close. connected right away. So watch out if you mess with one of them." Rahne gave a small chuckle to me "Okay, got it." I laughed "but don't worry Y/n is nice, just like sam. she's one of the 'goodies'."

We walked up to a guy with headphones on "This is Roberto." He smiled "New girl, Puppy." and took our trays.

I looked at Rahne "That's everyone?" she nodded "Yup, Sam and Y/n Guthrie, Illyana Rasputin, and Roberto da Casto. That's everyone. And Dr.Reyes, of course." we both laughed, I looked around the room one more time before Rahne and I left. Y/n was looking in our direction, I gave her a small wave and a smile. She nodded her hat and turned around.

3rd person

A few days later

Illyana, Roberto, Sam, and y/n ran past Dani's room "What are you guys doing?" Rahne asked, "Attic, you coming?" Y/n asked before turning "No, the new girl isn't invited." Illyana stated, in a stern tone. "come on, both of you." Sam gestured and the group continued their walk to the attic.

"Is this where you guys hang out?" Dani asked, looking around the old room "Yeah, its got stuff here from before this was for mutants." Y/n stated, her accent sounding like Sams but for the feminine. Y/n sat next to sam, as he sat on a stool.

Illyana grabbed a silver briefcase "what's that?" Danielle asked "Lie detector test." Roberto answered as he sat in the chair. Rahne hooked him up and sat down next to the machine "Dare." Roberto states "You cant ask dare." Illyana said in a smartass tone "Fine, truth."

Sam looked around "How many girls you been with." he said with a smirk "I can't even count how many." Roberto said with a smirk, Rahne shook her head "Lie." y/n laughed "how many?"

Roberto cleared his throat "three." sam nodded "that's not bad." Illyana looked at Rahne "Lie." Y/n laughed and looked at him "Why?" Dani looked at her, she sat with her elbows on her knees. She looked like a prison interrogator "I get too hot..." Roberto said getting out of the chair "sam your turn."

Sam got up and sat in the chair "Fine." Rahne hooked him up, Dani cooked her head "What's up with the piece of coal?" Sam looked up " My dad, he gave it to me before he passed." he looked down, Y/n cleared her throat "Yoy got your question, up." Illyana said standing up from her seat and getting in the chair "Well hurry up." she said to rahne, she muttered an 'ok'

"Why are you here?" Dani spoke up, y/n chuckled "I killed 18 men... one by one, with my sword and Lockheed." Illyana stated looking directly at Danielle "shes telling the truth, the line is flat." Roberto stated.

"Your turn, Y/n. Don't think we forgot about you." Roberto smirked, y/n stood up fixing her sleeve "Oh really now? ok." she grabbed the stuff from Illyana and sat down, hooking her self up.

"What's your power?" Danielle asked "Energy blasting and Channeling. I can copy people's power, and send a blast of energy out, causing mass destruction.." Y/n stated, looking towards Danielle, "I can copy them, sometimes I'm able to keep them. Like sams." Illyana smirked, "she's a copy cat, watch out."

Danielle looked at y/n "So you could copy mine?" Y/n nodded "If I see it, yeah. But since I haven't seen it, or heard it. No, not yet." Danielle slowly nodded. Y/n started taking off the equipment "Why have you been acting weird lately, y/n?" sam asked, of course right before she could take off the finger cuffs "What do you mean?" she chuckled, Roberto looked over at her with a smirk "She has, hasn't she?"

"I don't get it, what?" she looked around, Sam and Roberto were smirking at each other " You like someone?" Rahne asked y/n laughed "No... why?" she sat up in the chair, Rahne looked at the graph "Who?" she said with a smirk, Y/n shook her head and took off the cuffs "shut up." and stood up to walk out of the room "Well who is it?" Illyana asked leaning forwards "You guys don't need to know. Why is it such a big deal ?!" Y/n maintained her strong act.

"You do! Who is it, Roberto?"  Sam laughed, Y/n fake gagged "No way in hell." Roberto acted hurt, putting a hand on his chest and falling back in his seat"Hey she doesn't want to answer that." Dani started, Y/n looked at her and put her hand up "Its fine, I swear. Don't worry." she said with a smile, Rahne though for a second before "She likes you!" she yelled pointing at Dani.

"What the fuck?! No, I-I don't even know her." She started to defend herself, y/n looked at sam wanting some help. he put his hands up "you started this, just answer the question." her face got red, with embarrassment and anger. Her hand twitched and she cracked her knuckled "I'm going, you assholes." and again started to leave.

"Just tell us? what's the big deal, it's just a question y/n. Stop being overdramatic. You're not in the south anymore, you don't have to wait till marriage." Roberto mocked her, Rahne looked at him and shook her head "not funny Roberto." Sam looked at him with a glare and flicked his hand against his throat, signaling to cut it out.

"You wanna know? Do you really want to!" the room shock a little "You really want to?! Fine, I like Danielle. There, you happy now." and with that y/n left the room.

Sam looked around the room, so did Rahne. Roberto sat in his chair, in silence. Illyana had a smirk on her face "What's so funny?!" Danielle asked her with a serious tone, Illyana shrugged "I just can't believe anyone would like you..." she smirked.

"Ok that's enough, imma go find my sister." and he stood up and left the room "I'm going to too!" Danielle ran after him. Leaving Roberto and Illyana alone in the room to pack up.

Y/ns POV

I ran down the stairs leaving the old room, slamming the door shut. 'I can't believe them!' i yelled in my head my fist clenched,  I could punch sam right now. Even though he didn't mean to make it a big deal, he just wanted a simple answer but still.

My shoes echoed down the empty hall, Reyes was definitely able to hear me. My eyes watered up, and I felt energy start to bottle up in my body. I need to get outside, now. I ran to one of the many exits and started trying to open it. It's locked. I started pushing the door harder, hoping it would bust open.

"Please open, please!" I yelled and banged on the door harder and harder. The energy that would be released soon would probably wipe out this side of the building. I cried harder "Open the fucking door, Reyes!" I screamed the door unlocked and I busted through and ran straight for the field in front of the building "Y/n!" I heard a voice yell from the building. I kept running.

I tripped on a stick and fell to the ground, the energy being released when I hit the floor. I screamed as the blast rang out. I heard a faint scream and a barrier was put around me, Reyes. Once the blast faded down, slowly. I looked up from the ground, the field incase in the bubble Reyes cast was either on fire or charred. I broke down.

"Y/n!" I heard Sam yell as he ran down the hill towards me before Reyes put a dome around him to keep him from going any further.

3rd person

It sounded like a bomb exploded outside the brick building, Sam and Danielle ran towards the girl in the field. Reyes ran out soon after that, putting a field around her bug enough for the fires to not spread anywhere else.

"What the hell just happened?" Dani yelled, Sam looked over at her " she exploded. What does it look like?!" He screamed and ran towards his sister, crashing into a field.

"No, don't go near her." Reyes stated and walked towards sam "What happened for her to explode?" she looked Between sam and Dani "We asked her if she liked anyone, she got defensive and we didn't leave her alone. She got overwhelmed and ran out." Dani confessed, Reyes looked at her "thank you, Danielle." eyes gave her a small smile before turning to sam with a stern face "Sam why didn't you stop them? you know she can't control it."

Sam looked at the Doctor and shook his head "I don't know, I fucked up. Just please let her go." he pleaded, Reyes looked at the dome down the hill. The fire had gone away and the girl was in the middle of it.  She lifted the doom and smoke flooded out from it, y/n stood up and looked at the people on the hill.

"Your gonna need to be separated from the others, you know that y/n?" Reyes spoke to the girl as she walked up. She nodded and looked at Sam, and shook her head at him "Look I'm sorry-" he started before y/n cut him off"don't. I'm sorry Dani you had to see that." before leaving the site with Dr.Reyes.

"Is she mad?" Dani asked sam Shook his head "No, just disappointed and embarrassed that all. Well, see her a few days though." Sam said turning towards Dani, she raised a brow "In a few days? What is gonna do to her?" she asked, " she's gonna run a few tests on her, and put her in confinement to make sure she can be let out again." Sam started walking towards the building in the dark. Danielle thought to herself for a little bit.

"Do you think that was all over a question about if she liked me or not?" Dani asked looking at sam, he shrugged at her "Could be, I mean she likes you but It could have been something else as well. You'll have to ask her that yourself."

Sam and Dani walked into the building seeing Illyana, Roberto, and Rahne by the exit "What happened?" Roberto asked sam "She exploded. What do you think?" Sam said in an angry tone "Probably all because we wouldn't leave her alone about her little crush on Danielle. And now I won't be able to see my sister for a good week all because of this bullshit." and with that sam walked off to his room.

the group stood there in silence, sams boats echoing down the hall. Slowly fading off. Danielle looked at Rahne "I feel like this is my fault..." she started "no, not yours. It mostly me and sam. We started it, we joke a lot with her but we sometimes forget her limits. She won't hate us for it, She won't hate anyone for it. But don't expect to hear her talk for a while." Roberto stated in a quiet tone.

"Whys that? we won't see her for a week sam said, but why won't we hear her?" Dani asked looking at the 3 "When she explodes, she gets embarrassed and will give us the silent treatment. We also will not hear from her for a while because when she explodes, It injures her voice box. It comes with the power." Rhen scratched the back of her neck.

"will she forgive us though?" Danielle asked the group once more question, Illyana laughed "always. It's just her. She forgives and forgets." Illyana looked up the Lockheed puppet "That's why she gets along with everyone so well." she shoved Lockheed in her back pocket "I'm going." Illyana turned on her heel "I'm going as well, see you guys tomorrow morning.

Dani and Rahne looked at each other "Do you like her as well?" Rahne asked Dani. Danielle shrugged "I don't know, I haven't talked to her that much. She's nice but, who knows." Dani smiled at Rahne and they walked to their rooms in silence saying goodnight teach others and closing their doors.

y/n fell asleep, the explosion still ringing in her ears and occurring through her dreams. And like Sam said, "Not mad, just disappointed." and embarrassed.

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word count-2753

[thethousandyearwitch]

The Show Must Go On! Chap.6

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 6 “Blue Sky Athletic” out now!

AO3 Link

The hotel room was quiet, the Italian sun hadn’t risen yet. Illumi sat himself up in bed and started to mindlessly comb through his hair. He had excused himself from the fashion show the previous night as early as he could. Because he couldn’t stand the lights. The music. The smells. The people.

Yet he was going to return the next night. There were contacts to be made, images to be upheld, a new name to be made for himself…

And he didn’t have to be alone.

A single text message to his butler:

“Illumi: Get me the keys to a Mercedes AMG GT Black series and leave me be the rest of the day.”

.

.

.

Killua had run away from home for the first time when he was 10 years old, with the intent to stay away. His father had scolded him about neglecting his studies, and in response he snuck out through his window with a backpack stuffed with a few clothes and snacks. In the end, a butler had caught him before he was able to sneak through the fencing around the large property.

He was undeterred and proceeded to perfect his means of sneaking away from the mansion. By the next summer he was able to consistently make it into town and stay there for an hour or two before a butler eventually found him. Though he wanted to, he never went further than that. Afterall, where was he supposed to go? A young boy traveling without adult supervision would attract attention almost immediately, and it wasn’t like he had friends he could visit (And the risk of running into his father or grandfather when visiting Alluka was too great).

But what if he had a place to go? He was older now, old enough to travel by himself for sure, and money wasn’t a problem as long as his lazy brother would stay blissfully unaware of his credit card expenses. Neither Illumi, his father, nor grandfather were home to surveillance him. Milluki barely registered what happens in and around the mansion. Kalluto was young enough to be bribed and trust his big brother when he tells him to keep quiet.

The setup couldn’t get more perfect. Now or never.

Killua shouted down the hall that he didn’t want dinner, peppered with swears here and there to underline anger, and he told Kalluto that if anyone were to set food in front of his door, he was free to take it for himself or Milluki. His CD player blasted metal music loud enough to give the impression of a moody teen dealing with anger issues, but not too loud as to prompt his mother to come in and turn it off herself.

Another cautionary glance down the hallway before he closed and locked his bedroom door from the inside. Now or Never.

Killua grabbed his pre-packed duffle bag and executed his well-practiced escape via window. His mother would regret the day she removed the bars framing it, foolishly thinking that Killua was ‘grown up’ enough to stop his escape attempts.

A cold breeze grazed his face, and the young boy granted himself a couple of seconds to take it in, wild hair gently swaying in the wind. Of course, he was not going to leave forever. It would only be a matter of time before someone went to retrieve him and lock him back in, chiding him about his ‘responsibilities’ that he couldn’t care less for.

But I won’t make it easy. With that thought, he gave the mansion one last middle-finger, before he quickly turned and headed towards the edge of the property that was closest to town. By now he had the surveillance pattern of the guard dogs memorized and knew exactly where the brick fence was covered by enough ivy to enable easy climbing. Soon enough, Killua was treading through the thick forest in a steady pace. He tried to listen for signs of someone coming after him despite his heart drumming louder in his ears.

Usually he’d be calm, collected, non-caring for breaking out. But this time was different. This time he had a destination in mind, wouldn’t be collected so easily. The grip around his phone tightened. He wondered how long it would take someone in the house to notice. Who would be sent after him; A butler? Would Illumi be called back? His father? How severe will the punishment be-

A branch snapped into the boy’s face, pulling him back from wherever his thoughts were about to wander. The lights of the town became clearer in his sight with every step. It wasn’t a big city by any means, but he didn’t need it to be. All he needed was a cab driver to who accepted credit and didn’t ask question.

In the end, an older cabdriver, he must have been in his sixties already, shrugged carelessly at the request of the young boy to be driven to the airport, mumbled something about rebellious youth and getting paid regardless. Killua discarded the duffle bag into the trunk of the car and sat himself down in the backseat as he fumbled with his phone. The Radio played some repetitious top 40s song about being young and freedom and friendship and following your heart, and he couldn’t help but snort at how grossly it fit.

The sun set against the horizon, the town steadily disappeared behind him, until it was completely out of sight. Every new meter the car cleared was the furthest Killua had ever made it away from home alone.

Ping.

His phones alarm startled Killua out of his thoughts once again. A single discord notification.

GON: Good morning! =v=

The runaway looked through the windshield of the car, in the distance an airport started to come into form.

Kil: morning, did u sleep okay?

GON: Like a baby :p

GON: How’re you?? Did you get your PC back yet?

Kil: about that actually

He handed the driver his/Millukis credit card and lifted his bag over his shoulder. No one ever told him how much to tip a cabby, so he assumed 50% was about right.

Kil: remember how you told me to give you a heads-up if i ever came over so you could clean?

GON: Yeah?

Killua took a quick peace-sign selfie in the large entrance of the airport, in front of the arrival/departure board, and send it promptly in their chat.

Kil: get cleaning.

.

.

.

Gon paced around the house as if driven mad, he mumbled about preparations, and food, and accommodations, more to himself really than to Mito who sat at the table, gentle smile on her lips.

“Gon, it’ll still be almost an entire day till he gets here. I’m sure he won’t be disappointed. Now remind me again, his parents are really okay with such a spontaneous visit to a virtual stranger across the globe?” Her smile was warm, but her eyes drilled threats into him.

“We’re not virtual strangers! We’ve been talking for months; I probably know him better than any of his siblings!”

“I’d just feel a bit more at ease if I could have talked with his parents in advance. What if he has any illnesses or allergies I’d need to be mindful of? What if there’s an emergency and I need their contact information?”

Instead of admitting that he did not think of all of that, Gon chose to smile with more confidence, “I’ll just make sure there’s no emergencies! I’m not a little kid anymore!” He stepped closer to where she was seated and rested with his arms and head on the table. “He’s a really good friend and hasn’t been feeling well. I think this could be really good for him, and it’s not like I have many other people to hang out with around here. But if you are really that concerned, I promise that he’ll write down his parents’ number and address! So, it’s okay, right?”

The woman sighed in defeat and brushed through Gon’s unruly hair. “You really are a troublemaker with best intentions. Don’t make me regret this.”  The young boy beamed in response and pulled his guardian into a hug. Before he could promise that he wouldn’t, she raised her voice again, “But don’t think this will get you out of studying.”

Gon groaned in agony, though it was quickly followed by another laugh. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded once in a while. Now go fetch the cot from the garage, or do you want your friend to sleep on the floor?”  

With an energetic nod, he sprinted out the room, leaving Mito alone in the room as she tapped her fingernails against her cup of tea. Her eyes wandered to an old picture of Gons father. He’s becoming just like you. She didn’t know if the thought made her want to laugh or cry.

.

.

.

Gon was a bundle of nerves the entire drive to the airport. Killua had offered that he’d take a taxi from the airport to Gons home, but Mito insisted that they’d meet at the airport (“Just to be sure, you know?” And Gon didn’t know).

He tapped his fingers at increasing speeds against the interior of the red Subaru XV, and watched as the scenery outside transitioned slowly from deserted dirt roads to busy highways to the even busier parking area of the airport.  

Would Killua even recognize him? Would he be able to recognize Killua? He’d like to think so, but then again, people always said celebrities look different face-to-face than on TV. His heart was beating hard and fast against his chest, but a smile never left his face, strained in anticipation of the best kind.

Mito sat down in a designated waiting area, exhausted from a long drive. She considered asking Gon to sit down as well but disregarded the thought as he fidgeted and started to pace again. Excess energy needs to be let out somehow.

“The plane has already landed, right? Shouldn’t he be here already?” he blurted out, nervously bouncing on his heels.

“He’s probably still waiting for his luggage, things like this take ti-“

“Gon!” Mito got cut off by a voice that shouted his name in such a familiar way, so recognizable that it was almost startling.

He whipped around, and his eyes caught onto the silver hair in the distance immediately. There was Killua. He looked like he had just jumped out of any of the pictures that Gon had ever seen of him, messy hair, bright eyes, pale skin, and a confident yet laidback smile.

It took about 5 seconds before Gon had cleared the distance between them, and he wrapped his arms around the other boy in a big hug. Killua hesitated for a moment, before he returned the hug, and patted Gon on the shoulder.

“It’s really you!”

“Who else could it be?” Killua snorted.

“I don’t know! But it’s still so weird to, just, have you here now!”

They spent what felt like an eternity looking at each other, laughed and giggled and commented on each other’s features, more defined than any picture could do. Killuas eyes sparkled in the low airport light, and Gon tried to burn every detail of his face into his memory, his long eyelashes, the creases of his eyes, and his sharp smile. Everything looked so natural, so right, and Gons heart stumbled over itself.

“So, would you like to introduce your friend to me, Gon?” As Mito spoke up, both boys pulled out of the hug with a jump.

Killua quickly held out his hand and stood straight, “I’m Killua, thank you so much for letting me stay over for a bit, miss. It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand with a giggle. “You can just call me Mito or Auntie, alright? And it’s nice to meet you too, thank you for getting along so well with this little troublemaker.”

Gon felt heat rush to his cheeks but couldn’t bark a complain before Mito ruffled a hand through his hair. “How about we all grab something to eat, and then had home. You must be starving, Killua. Do you like burgers?”

The boys cheered in unison, and the group headed towards a fast-food chain.

And if Gon didn’t notice how easily he and Killua fell into step next to each other, too deeply invested in conversation about flights and food and seemingly the entire world, Mito surely did.

[bqstqnbruin]

Sneaking In

Ugh, I love Charlie McAvoy. My best friend and I have had many a late night conversation involving me freaking out over him while she’s just there like bruh shut up.

But this was requested from the fluff prompts, which I’m still taking requests for (and have another one to write it’s just been a weird day today) 

31.  “You snuck into my room, at 4am…to cuddle?”

__________________

“Hey, babe, I thought you were supposed to be here by now?” you pick up the phone, already struggling to stay awake on your couch while waiting for Charlie to arrive at your apartment like he promised he would after he got home from the game, your roommate curled up in the chair with the TV blasting. They were flying in from Chicago and tomorrow was one of the first days in a long time that the boys had optional practice, which Charlie took as ‘sleepover night with his girlfriend before leaving for a later practice.’ 

“We’re delayed. They won’t let us take off so we aren’t going to be leaving for a while,” he huffs from the other end. 

“What?” you say, sitting straight up, now wide awake, “What’s going on, is everything ok? Is everyone alright?”

“No, yeah, we’re all fine, there’s just a lot of wind or some crap that air traffic control won’t let us take off, so we’re all stuck here.” You hear him on the other end, frustrated as the other guys are yelling in the background. 

You hear who you think is Jake say, “C’mon, Chuck, we’re going to explore the airport, Cass is letting us go rouge.”

“That is such a bad idea. One of you idiots is going to end up dead if you go rouge, bring Krejci,” he says, away from the phone.

“He’s asleep, come with us.” 

“I’m on the phone with my girl.” 

You loved hearing that. You can’t help but smile. “Char?” you say, trying to get his attention away from Jake who’s complaining about Charlie going soft since you two started dating. You know it’s only teasing because they’re supposed to be tough as hockey players, so you just brush it off, “Go with them, I’m just sitting here watching TV with Isabella. How often do you get to go rouge in an airport?”  

“Are you sure? I have to watch them.” “Yes, I’m sure. Go act like the father of the group.”

“Fuck, I don’t want to be their dad,” he says. You know he’s rolling his eyes, running his hands through his hair as he watches some of the guys run off in their suits, like children in adult bodies, “I’ll call you when we’re able to leave?”

“Alright, babe. Love you, have fun.” 

“Love you, too.” 

You hang up, letting out a sigh. You were so excited to see him tonight, it had been maybe two weeks since he had enough time to actually hang out and spend a night with you. You had everything planned: you were going to watch a movie together, go to sleep, and when you were both awake you were going to go to your favorite diner before he had to leave for practice. 

“Where is he?” your roommate asks.

“Stuck in Chicago, he has no idea when he’s getting in. I might just turn in until he calls me.”

“We could stay up and do some stuff together? We haven’t had a girls night in forever!” she begs, jumping onto the couch beside you. 

“We’ve spent the last five nights in a row drinking wine and watching movies, what do you mean we haven’t had a girls night in forever?”

“Then we make it a sixth night!” she yells, jumping up and running to the kitchen. You’re already about to fall asleep as it is, the wine will just make you more tired. Look’s like you’re going to just fall asleep on the couch instead of in your own bed.

“Hey, wake up!” A pillow hits your face, 

“What?” you whine, throwing the pillow back and her and turning so you’re facing the cushions.

“Charlie is calling!” 

You feel around the table for your phone, refusing to around to look for it. You get to it before it stops ringing, letting out a groggy, “Hello?”

“Someone sounds like they’re full of energy.”

“Late. Tired.” 

“We’re leaving in half an hour. How about we still do breakfast tomorrow?”

You open your eyes enough to see the time on your phone: 1:30 am. “Ok. I’m going to my bed.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says on the other end. You mumble something in response, not even knowing what noises came out of your own mouth. You hear him laugh as the boys in the background start to call for him again, probably to get all his stuff so they can board, “I love you.” 

He hangs up, knowing that you’ll just mumble something again that neither of you can understand. “Ok, sleepy, let’s get you to bed, I’ll clean up,” your roommate says, helping you get off the couch and bringing you to the room. You never were a night owl. Your job had you up early, and you worked out before leaving for work so you were up even earlier, every single day. 1:30 in the morning is when most people your age were still out messing around before the bars closed, but you were always fast asleep in your bed, no matter how many times your roommate begged you to come out. 

You practically collapse on your bed, setting your alarm for 7 am so you can work out before breakfast. 

You were happily asleep, snuggled in your bed until you heard your apartment door opening, figuring Isabella was just up wandering around for some reason. You try to go back to sleep, until she opens your door, letting the light that she turned on in the hallway spill into your room.

“Belle, what the fuck?” you say, sitting up, squinting as your eyes try to adjust to the new amount of light. “Charlie? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“I said I was going to spend the night with my girlfriend, so here I am. I miss having someone to cuddle with. Jake isn’t the same as you,” he says, as he climbs into your bed with you.

“You snuck into my room at,” you reach for your phone to check the time, “at four am?”

“Yeah?”

“To cuddle?”

“Yeah.” 

“You’re psychotic.” 

The next morning, Charlie takes you out to breakfast once you get back from your run at the diner down the street from your apartment.

“I can’t believe you broke into my apartment last night,” you tell him as the hostess sits you down, giving you a weird look.

“I asked Belle to let me in when I got back. I didn’t even land until about 3:30, dropped my stuff off at my place and then sprinted over to your place to be with you. Like I said, I promised you a night together, so we got our night together.” He puts his hands up in defense as the hostess comes back with menus for you, this time looking relieved that he wasn’t your capture or holding you hostage.

“That’s sweet, but you could have told me your plan,” you smirk, looking down at the menu.

“Babe. You weren’t coherent. If I told you, you wouldn’t have known what I said anyway.” You both laugh as the waitress comes and takes your order. You don’t even know why you opened and looked at the menu to begin with; both of you ordered the same thing: Charlie always ordered one of the breakfast combos and you always got the French Toast, as you do at every diner you go to.

The waitress brings your food, both of you diving in. “So, I was thinking,” Charlie says between bites, “What if I didn’t have to sneak in your room anymore?”

You look at him confused. This question could go so many ways. “What do you mean?”

“What if your room was my room?”

You put down your utensils, fold your hands on the table, and just look at him, smiling, “Charlie McAvoy, are you asking me to move in with you?”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a key, “Do you want to? You could at least have the key to my place, if not.”

“I would love to.”

[neerasrealm]

just imagine this: slender and jack are going out and bc all the responsible pastas are out they hire a babysitter (y/n) to look after slendra. she’s rlly shy at first but eventually she and y/n become best friends (and they steal slender’s gramophone to play some music while they make cookies and maybe wreck the kitchen in the process depending on y/n and slendra’s combined skills)

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS REQUEST AND I HAD A BLAST WRITING IT sorry it took so long school murdered me plus I was jumping from draft to draft and just. A lot happened ok. I didn’t get all the prompts in because I couldn’t work em in but I feel like I did good. I loved writing y/n just subtly noticing that this house Is Not Human and it- it was a fun dynamic to do gshdjdshj Also new hc this is the origin story for y/n in the poly slenjack fics

You're starting to have regrets about taking this babysitting job. Maybe it was that you'd seen too many slasher movies, or maybe you were just paranoid. Or maybe it was the fact that you were dragging your bike through the woods in order to get to the address you'd been given. The sane part of your brain is saying that this is dangerous and you should turn back, but the broke millennial part of your brain is saying that the $500 paycheck is too good to pass up. I mean- $500? For babysitting for one night? That's insane! It’s gotta be a joke right? Maybe it is. Maybe you are going to be murdered horribly tonight in the middle of the woods. 

You’re broken out of your thoughts by the sight of- a house. Presumably the house you’re supposed to be babysitting in. It’s gigantic- more of a mansion than a house. The outside looks refined and welcoming. There’s even flowers planted around the place. Cute pink pansies and blossoming bushes of roses. You look around hesitantly, then wheel your bike along up to the front door. You very carefully lean it against the wall and look around some more. How come you never heard about this place? I mean- a giant house in the woods? Why has that never come up? You’d think someone would talk about it, right?

As you’re looking around this odd place you realise something. It’s sprawling with cats. At first you only noticed a couple, and assumed they were pets, but now your counting has hit the double digits. Why do cats hang around here? Are they all pets? Is the owner of this mysterious house a cat person? Or do they just- kidnap cats? What if you’re babysitting a cat…

Okay no that’s dumb. You turn around again and knock on the front door. It’s silent for a moment, and out of awkwardness you look down at your feet. You’re standing on a fancy doormat that reads ‘welcome’ in elegant cursive. The door opens and your head shoots up to attention. 

Standing in the doorway is a tall man. Far taller than you. His skin is deathly pale, almost white, and his hair is neat and blonde. He’s wearing a suit, and as he looks down at you you realise his eyes are the brightest blue you’ve ever seen. 

‘’M-mister Schlankwald?’’ you ask, stepping back and away from this strange man. He nods and smiles.

‘’That’s me.’’ he holds out a hand to you. ‘’You must be y/n, yes? The babysitter?’’ he smiles gently, and you realise he actually- looks kind of nervous. That’s a tad reassuring. You take his hand and shake it. You nod.

‘’Yeah, that’s me.’’ you say. He steps aside and you cross the threshold. As you take your coat off you look around. Past the small entryway is a large living room. There're three whole couches, and a few more armchairs scattered around. There’s a large TV surrounded by cabinets full of DVDs and videogames- it looks like a very luxurious place. And also there’s more cats just- hanging around in various places, but you’re not really paying attention to them. Your attention is grabbed by the person standing in the living room. He’s- insanely tall, with long black hair, striped socks and sleeves, feathers on his shoulders for some reason and- bandages. Just wrapped around his torso. He’s also wearing a grey crop top, and what you assume to be white face paint. His nose is striped too, and cone shaped. Everything he’s wearing is either black or white. You stare at him in surprise and just- disbelief. He raises a hand in greeting.

‘’Ey.’’ his voice is deep and rough. ‘’Ye’re th’ si’er?’’

You blink for a moment, not sure what he- even just said. ‘’Y-yes?’’ you say, hoping that’s the right answer. Apparently it was, because he smiles at you.

‘’Ah!’’ he steps towards you and leans down, holding out his hand. ‘’Me name’s Jack. pleased ta mee’ ya!’’

You shake his hand and nod. ‘’I’m y/n.’’ you murmur. Jack stands back up and you look over your shoulder at Mr Schlankwald. He gestures to the other male.

‘’This is Jack, my husband,’’ he explains. ‘’Do excuse the makeup. He’s a performer, you see.’’ 

‘’Ah.’’ you relax a bit. A performer...that makes sense. I guess. You look around a bit. ‘’So uh- where’s the kid?’’ In all this strangeness you almost forgot why you hiked into the deep dark woods. 

‘’Righ’ ‘ere.’’ You turn to look at Jack again and watch him step aside to reveal a small girl who’d apparently been hiding behind him before. Her eyes widen as she comes into view and she stares at you. Her skin is a dark, almost reddish-brown colour. Her face is peppered with freckles and her hair hangs around her shoulders. It’s bright blonde, like Mr Schlankwald’s, but a bit more yellow. She quickly skitters back to Jack’s leg and hides behind him again. You frown. Jack looks at you. ‘’She’s a bi’ shy.’’ he murmurs. He crouches down to the girl. ‘’Ey, luv, i’s okay. Th’ si’er isn’ gonna ‘urt ya.’’

‘’Wh-wha’ if I scare ‘em or say somefink?’’ she mumbles. She has the slightest hint of her father’s accent, but more- refined almost. And a lot easier to understand.  

‘’Ye’re no’ gonna, ye’re a smart girlie, ain’t ya?’’

Mr Schlankwald taps your shoulder and you look over at him. ‘’We- haven’t gotten a sitter before, so she’s a little nervous about the whole thing.’’

You nod. ‘’That’s alright, I’ve had shy kids before.’’ you smile at him. He seemingly brightens up. 

‘’Righ’,’’ Jack’s voice interrupts you two. You look at him as he stands up. The girl shyly steps out from behind him and Jack lightly pats her head, ruffling her hair. ‘’We’d be’er ge’ goin’, luv.’’

‘’Of course.’’ Mr Schlankwald says. He shakes your hand once more and then looks at the girl. He holds out his arms and she quickly runs over, hugging him tight. ‘’Be good now, won’t you my dear?’’

‘’I will.’’ she mumbles. Her parents step away, with Jack heading for the door. Mr Schlankwald looks at you again.

‘’Her bedtime is at nine thirty, snacks are in the kitchen,’’ he nods towards a door behind you. ‘’Feel free to help yourself.’’

‘’Got it!’’ you chirp back as they leave. Once the door has closed it’s just you and the girl. She turns slowly and looks at you. You smile at her and lean down to her. ‘’Hiya.’’ you greet. ‘’I’m y/n. What’s your name?’’

She gulps and steps towards you. The tiny child looks you dead in the eyes and holds out her hand to you. ‘’I’m Slendra. Slendra Jackson.’’ she says with all the authority of a business CEO. you almost, ALMOST, crack up laughing but force yourself to take her seriously. You shake her hand.

‘’Well nice to meet you.’’ she retracts her hand. ‘’How old are you, Slendra?’’

‘’Fo-’’ she stops. ‘’Eigh'. I’m eigh'.’’ she folds her hands behind her back, just like her father did. You smile at her. She takes after her father, you suppose. It’s cute. 

‘’So what do you like? Got any hobbies?’’

‘’Uhh…’’ she toys with the sleeve of her striped shirt. ‘’I like...music...and bakin'...I like readin' too and uh-’’ she shrugs. ‘’That’s abou' it, I guess.’’

You nod. ‘’I see.’’ you smile at her. ‘’So what do you wanna do? We got…’’ you glance down at your watch. ‘’Three and a half hours to kill.’’ She shifts on her feet and shrugs again. You tilt your head at her. ‘’We could watch TV...maybe draw something? Are you hungry?’’

She seems to perk up a little bit. ‘’I have drawin’ stuff in my room,’’ she says. ‘’We could do tha'.’’ there’s a glint of excitement in her eyes. ‘’I-if you want to.’’

‘’Of course I do,’’ you stand up and smile at her. ‘’Lead the way.’’

Slendra smiles a little in excitement and turns, heading quickly up the stairs. You follow after her, looking around curiously. This place is massive. Upstairs is a hallway with doors running all along the right. Each one is decorated differently. One is striped, with ‘laughing jack’ written on it, another is pink with a castle-shaped sign on it that reads ‘Sally’ and under it ‘& Dina’ is written in what looks like sharpie. The one right across from the stairs that Slendra climbs up has a metal sign on it, decorated with a skull and crossbones, that reads ‘Kate’s room, keep out!’

You follow Slendra up the staircase and arrive on the third floor. Slendra leads you to her room. Her door is also decorated, with flowers and butterflies and bowties. Her walls are purple, and the room kind of reminds you of...and office. She has a large desk covered in boxes and papers. Shelves are piled high with toys and trinkets, and she has a massive bookcase stuffed to the brim with- well, books. Fairy lights hang over her bed, which is large and round and covered in pillows and plushies. Glow in the dark stickers decorate her ceiling and walls.

Slendra grabs a large plastic tub from under her desk and drops some paper sheets onto it. She picks up the tub and smiles at you. You frown. ‘’Isn’t that heavy?’’

‘’Huh?’’ she looks at the box. ‘’I guess- I’m kind’ve strong though.’’

You smile a bit. ‘’I bet you are.’’ you step towards the door and open it. ‘’C’mon. If you need help with that I’ll take it.’’

Slendra shakes her head and walks past you. ‘’I got it.’’ she says, holding her head up proudly to show off how big and independent she is. You smirk a bit and follow after her. You walk past the hallway of odd doors and through the living room into the kitchen. Slendra places her box on the dining table and smiles over her shoulder at you. You glance around the kitchen. it’s- well, a normal kitchen. The fridge is covered in children’s drawings and magnets, but oddly no photos. Thinking about it now, you haven’t seen a single photo up on the walls. Odd.

‘’So you like drawing, huh?’’ you say to Slendra. She pulls out a chair, which has a big ginger cat sleeping on it. She pets it and nods.

‘’My brother Helen is an ar'ist. He lets me join 'im sometimes, and he teaches me a lo'.’’ she smiles over at you.

‘’Your brother’s name is Helen?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ she tilts her head. ‘’It’s a unisex name innit?’’

You- don’t really have the heart to say no, so you just nod. ‘’How many siblings do you have?’’ you ask, watching the ginger cat roll over. Slendra scratches its stomach. 

‘’Ten.’’ she replies without batting an eye. You freeze for a second. You blink. Huh- so- Mr Schlankwald, the strange gay man who lives in a mansion in the woods, apparently has eleven children. You slowly tilt your head.

‘’How many people live here…?’’

‘’Fourteen, though my uncle Ivan sometimes comes to visi', so maybe fifte- oh!’’ she’s interrupted by the ginger cat suddenly jumping down off the chair and wandering off somewhere. She climbs up onto the now empty chair and looks over the table at you. "Dad left snacks for us," she points over at the counter by the fridge. "Do you wanna grab some?" 

"Oh uh- sure." You walk over to the counter Slendra pointed to. There's some plates and a bowl covered in tin foil, probably to keep the cats from eating whatever's been left for you. You grab one of the plates and peel away the tin foil. You're greeted by a plate that's sectioned into thirds. Each third contains...snacks? Of some sort. One section is miscellaneous coloured potato chips, one is full of little black squares that look like...seaweed? Maybe? And the third section looks like- thin slices of various vegetables. Dried out to a crisp. You slowly glance over at Slendra.

"What're uh- what're these?"

"Oh! Dad's healthy snacks. They're real good." She smiles. "Try one!"

You hesitate, then reach to grab one of the potato chips. They're all different colours. Orange, red, yellow- even a couple purple ones. You grab a yellow one and very carefully bite into it. Your eyes widen as you chew. It's...good. really good. A nice balance of cheese, onion- are those chives? Yeah! Chives. Fancy. You pick up a second, orange one and toss it into your mouth. It's a bit sweeter, but still just as good. 

Pulling aside the foil on the bowl you're greeted by popcorn, nuts, and various shaped potato chips that also appear to be homemade. You grab one and toss it into your mouth, and get hit with soy sauce and spices. Surprising, but still really good. It reminds you of asian takeout. You take the foil off the last plate and- "Oh! Cookies!"

"Yep! Dad made 'em especially for you." Slendra says as she opens the box she brought down and pulls out a few things. "He always tries to make sure we have food for guests. Every time we ge’ a visitor he tries to feed 'em."

"Huh…" you grab the plates very carefully and carry them over to the table, setting them down between you and Slendra, who's already begun her drawing. "What is your dad like anyway? How'd he afford a giant place like this?" You ask as you wander back over to grab the bowl you left.

"Oh uh- well-" she suddenly seems nervous. "He said tha’…" she pauses for a moment, like she's thinking. "He invested in stocks b'fore the economy wen’ bad." She finishes, speaking like she's reciting a line. You smile a bit.

"I see." You put down the bowl of various snacks and grab another potato chip. Slendra reaches over and grabs one of the black squares of seaweed, biting into it and crunching on it happily. "Weird that I never heard about this place, huh? Giant mansion in the woods…’’ Slendra stares at you, eyes wide. ‘’...That’s full of cats for some reason…’’

She nods and smiles sheepishly. ‘’Heheh, yeah…’’ she puts down her pencil and grabs a thin, dried out tomato slice, crunching on it quietly. ‘’Dad feeds 'em. He loves cats.’’

‘’Huh.’’ you grab a cookie from the plate and bite into it. It’s soft and crumbles in your mouth. Like shortbread, but with deliciously sweet chocolate chips. Without thinking you reach for a second one before you’ve even finished your first. ‘’So what’re you drawing?’’ you tilt your head at her. 

‘’Fairies.’’ 

‘’Oh yeah?’’ you lean over to get a look. You were expecting to see friendly, childish drawings of little people with wings, but instead...you’re greeted by creatures with odd proportions, eyes in odd places, sharp teeth and mean expressions. ‘’...oh.’’ you regain your composure quickly. Kids sometimes draw scary things, it’s normal- probably. ‘’You’re really good at drawing.’’

‘’Ehh…’’ she shrugs. ‘’I guess. I’m still learnin'. Helen says I’m gettin’ better though!’’ 

You smile a bit. ‘’Keep practicing. By the time you’re ten I bet you’ll be amazing.’’

Slendra laughs a bit. ‘’I only really draw when Helen asks me if I want to.’’ she murmurs. ‘’I mostly like to sing.’’ 

‘’Oh yeah?’’

"Uh-huh. Dad taugh’ me to play piano, and pops taugh’ me the accordion." She grabs a handful of popcorn, chips and nuts from the bowl and calmly grabs a single nut, putting it in her mouth and crunching on it softly. "I'm learnin' ukulele right now."

"Wow," you tilt your head at her. "Guess your parents can afford a lot of tutors for you, huh?"

"Nah, we're all homeschooled."

"Oh." You blink in surprise. "Does your dad do all of that?"

"Uh-huh. He's real smart." Slendra puts down her pencil and neatly puts her page aside. She delicately grabs a couple more snacks. She has awfully good table manners. A thing that comes from her father, you guess. ‘’He makes learnin’ fun too. My brothers say school is real borin’.’’

‘’Huh…’’ 

You spend a couple hours sitting there with her, watching her draw odd creatures and talk about her even more odd family. The cookies have been eaten, and most of the other snacks are gone completely. Including the seaweed squares, which weren't actually all that bad when you tried them. And now you're lounging back in your chair, petting a chubby chausie cat that's apparently named Brian. 

"So...he covered up...the hole in the wall...by making more holes."

"Yep."

"...No offense but this Jeff guy sounds pretty dumb." You say. Slendra laughs a bit as she puts away her coloured pencils, dropping them back into the large box of supplies she brought down. 

"Jeffery is a good boy, he means well." She murmurs. She grabs the last of the dried out tomato slices and crunches it down. "Wha’ now?"

You shrug. "I dunno. Whatever you want." you smile at her. She frowns in thought, then suddenly perks up. 

"Oh! I could practice my music," she looks suddenly excited. "Dad has a lo’ of records in ‘is office. Could we listen to those? And I can play along with my ukulele."

You shrug and smile at her. ‘’Sure, I don’t see why not,’’ you tilt your head. ‘’Where’s his office?’’

‘’Downstairs.’’ Slendra hops off her chair and grabs the box. ‘’I’ll grab my things! You go wait.’’ she adds before quickly leaving the room. You laugh a bit and grab the last couple potato chips, then the half-empty bowl, just in case. After nudging Brian off your lap you walk down to the basement and look around. There’s a few rooms, but the thing that catches your attention the most though is the lounge area that’s full of comfy looking chairs and cabinets stuffed with videogames. And also the cats, there’s even more down here, but you’re kind of used to them by now.

You glance around at the doors down here. There’s three doors on the left, and none of them are really decorated. There’s a couple other doors, and one of them has a large padlock on it for some reason. The one next to it, surprisingly, is decorated. Fish and deep sea creatures are painted onto it. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by footsteps on the stairs. You look towards them and see Slendra running down them with a ukulele in hand. She grins at you as she walks up to you. You notice she has a small concertina accordion hanging off her waist from a shoulder strap. ‘’Dad has the door locked,’’ she says as she walks past you towards the last door on the left. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out...a cat claw…? You frown. ‘’I can ge’ it open though.’’ 

You watch her attempt to pick the lock with the claw. ‘’uh...I don’t think that’s gonna-’’

‘’Click!’’ the door opens as if to spite you. Slendra grins over at you. 

‘’Told you!’’ she chirps. She walks into the office and you follow her in, bemused. Inside the office is...odd. Grey walls and carpet, lots of bookshelves, a cat tree in the corner, and comfy looking wicker chairs in front of the desk. On the walls are photos of Slendra and other kids who you assume to be her siblings. There’s an...odd painting hanging on the wall across from the door. It contains two faceless white beings, a similar being with black eyes and no mouth and a strange creature with similar black eyes and a wide smile. You frown at it. Abstract art, you suppose. The creatures remind you of Slendra’s drawings. 

‘’Here we go!’’ Slendra catches your attention again. She’s knelt on the ground, looking through a drawer stuffed with records. You glance over at a table in the corner of the room. To your surprise, it isn’t a record player, it’s a gramophone. An old looking one at that. Must be an antique. It honestly wouldn’t surprise you if Mr Schlankwald was a collector or something like that. Slendra gets up and very carefully places a record on the player and drops the needle. It’s silent for a couple moments and then a delicate piano starts playing. Slendra strums her ukulele and begins to sing.

‘’I know...you belo-o-ong to so-omebody ne-ew…’’ her voice is almost...mesmerising. You relax despite yourself as she sings along. ‘’But tonight, you belo-ong to me.’’ Maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you can hear multiple voices coming from her. Or maybe it’s just the vocals from the record. You’re not really paying attention. Instead you sit down in one of the wicker chairs and watch her. ‘’Although…’’ she smiles a bit. ‘’You’re a apa-a-art, of my he-e-a-art,’’ her eyes catch yours. They seem to glint a moment and something- odd, passes over you. You suddenly feel extremely relaxed, all tenseness leaving your body. You lean back in your chair. ‘’And tonight, you belo-ong, to me.’’ 

-------

You don’t remember much else from the evening after that. Just that Slendra continued singing along to the greatest hits from the fifties and sixties. Things start to become a bit less fuzzy around nine thirty. Her bedtime. You read her a bedtime story, told her goodnight with a wide smile, and took a seat on the couch downstairs. Which is where you are now, watching a movie in the dim lighting. You feel...good. Really happy for some unknown reason. Not that you’re complaining.

The front door opens and you glance over as Mr Schlankwald steps inside. He closes the umbrella he's holding while Jack shakes himself off, kind of like a dog. Mr Schlankwald looks over at you and smiles. 

"Ah, hello." He steps towards you, with Jack following after. He strides past the blonde and collapses himself in one of the armchairs. Somehow his makeup is still flawless despite the rain outside. "How were things?" He asks, tilting his head. He seems nervous, slightly. Jack opens one eye and looks over at you.

"Good," you sit up. "No trouble at all. She behaved excellently, we just sorta...chilled." you smile a bit. "She's the most well behaved kid I've ever looked after honestly. She didn't even complain when it came to her bedtime."

"Oh!" Mr Schlankwald smiles a bit. "I'm glad to hear that- we were worried, eheh." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He frowns. "Hm...Jack have you got three hu-"

"Righ' 'ere luv." Jack reaches into his striped sleeve and pulls out a small wad of notes. Mr Schlankwald smiles and takes them, folding them up neatly before holding them out to you. 

"Five hundred, as agreed." He says as you quickly count the money. You knew you'd be getting that amount but still, actually holding the money now you can hardly believe it. You stand up quickly.

"Thank you." You barely manage to get the words out. "I had a great time babysitting her- I uh- I've babysat some real demons before so uh- heheh-" you're just rambling now because of the sheer elation of actually being given five hundred fucking dollars. Mr Schlankwald smiles, as polite as ever.

"Well, if we ever need another sitter we'll call you." He says, walking over to the door. He grabs your coat from the coat rack and holds it out. Quickly, you walk over to him and take it. He opens the door while you put it on. "Do get home safe," he murmurs. "Does your bike have a light? Do you need an umbrella?" He frowns at you, apparently worried. 

"No, no. I'll be fine." You give him an anxious smile while you pull your hood up and step outside. You grab your bike, flicking on the light on the front of it. Mr Schlankwald smiles at you, pleased to see that you won't be in the dark going home. You walk off towards the forest path you followed earlier and wave over at him. 

"Get home safe!" He calls as he waves back.

"I will!" You turn away from him and smile wide.

That's the best babysitting gig you've ever had. 

You really, really hope they call you back for another night...

[farelian]

Galactic Quarrels: Unexpected Visitor

And here I am, back again with another edition to this series. Thank you all for your support, this one I flashed through and had so much fun writing it! Be prepared for the next one because things are about to get... teddy bit crowded

~~~~~~~

In the early morning, as the sun rises over the horizon, Michael is out on the balcony doing stretches, bending his body and legs in ways a Zarqonan would most definitely find disgusting and painful.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes returning back into reality, looking left and right looking at all the high-rise buildings and the large blue lake over in the distance.

He needs to maintain his physique and strength, but as of now, he hasn’t built up the courage to go outside in sleeveless shirts and running pants with shoes. So to substitute for it, he starts doing body exercises and stretching in his residence.

Walking back inside he walked to the coffee table picking up his holo-watch and taps it a few times. Screens show up showing his fitness routine and exercise record, not enough by him letting out a disappointed sigh.

He is still a citizen of the UTF as per the migration deal, he’s basically just out on vacation instead of moving away from his parent’s house and finally moving into his own.

And being a citizen of the UTF, he is still a Lieutenant in Frontier Command, UTF’s equivalent of a space army and fleet. 

He wonders if he should go home again.

Turning the watch off and placing it back on the table, he walked to the kitchen counter taking his glass of orange juice. It’s a surprise when he got a package of Earth’s fruits, he also got a blender so better use it rather than leaving them in the fridge.

He feels watched though, the last few days he has this unease in his heart and the feeling of being watched 24/7, even when he’s going to go to sleep. He looked up and around the apartment again, there have to be cameras in here there has to be.

He returned his focus back to his orange juice and went behind the counter to blend some dragonfruit. The sounds of the motor and turning blades blast the room while the noise of the fruit being chopped and blended echoes outside into the hallway.

“I hope they don’t think I’m making a bomb in here” *He muttered to himself as he waited and waited. Turning it off and pouring it into another glass, he raised it up to his mouth, ready to drink the dragonfruit only to be interrupted by the quiet knocking of the front door.

“What?” He said quietly, he knows Yaku, or any Zarqonan never knocks on the door and just burst in unannounced, this is new. “Coming” He yelled putting down the glass of dragonfruit and cleans his lips with some tissues before walking to the door.

He looked around again as that feeling of being watched still lingers, then he faced the door. No peephole or see-through tech, he wished he was back on Earth now. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the knob. This feels different, it feels like it’s not a Zarqonan over on the other side. Could it be a Murumur? Could it even be a government agent that came to pick him up without telling him in advance?

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know if he opens the door he will wake up inside a shipping crate on his way to the edge of the galaxy to be sold in the galactic black market.

A muffled feminine voice can be heard. “Come on what’s taking so long?” Human, a human voice.

He’s taken aback, he turned the knob and slide the door open and looked down at the figure. A human woman, wearing a black and dark red coat with a full military-style uniform. Taking a quick glance at the woman’s face, yellowish eyes with hair that’s tied back into a long ponytail that stretched down to her hips.

Around 5’7” tall, he couldn’t believe it. “Um, hello how may I help you?” Michael let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Haven’t seen a human face for a while”

“Of course you haven’t” The woman replied with a relatively sour but somehow comforting attitude. “Jill Porter, nice to meet you, Michael”

“You know me?”

The woman laughed while nodding. “Everyone knows you, Lieutenant! The mad man that wants to migrate to the Zarqon homeworld” Mad man? Is that his title now? The mad lieutenant?

“Oh, that’s uh… interesting I guess” “Yeah, interesting indeed” Jill claps her hands together and peeked into his apartment. “Can I come in?” Michael stepped aside. “Sure, let yourself in.”

As the woman walked into Michael’s apartment, he walked into the kitchen finally drinking his glass of dragonfruit while the door automatically closes itself. Glancing back towards the girl, he prepped a cup. “Tea or coffee? They’ve come from those weekly packages.” He said taking the coffee jar.

Jill took a seat on the armchair in the living room, looking back at him. “Cofee would be good” Then she looked up and around his apartment. “Nice place”

“I thought every room is designed like this?” He responded while brewing a cup of coffee.

“I mean yeah mine is basically a carbon copy but it’s nice to be polite” Jill replied with a chuckle as she fixed her attention to the tv, turning it on.

He walked over placing the coffee onto the coffee table and sat on the couch, leaning forward resting his elbow on his thighs folding his hands together. “Alright, cut the chit chat. Who are you and what do you want?”

Jill laughed as she looked back at Michael with a smile. “Are you deaf? I just said who I am. Jill Porter.” She shrugged and tilted her head. “For what I want, I want you to help me here.” She said pointing at Michael.

Silence, a few seconds pass by without a word being spoken before Michael replied to her request. “I like to know who my employer is.”

Jill laughed once again, shaking her head then nods. “You’re smart Michael, no wonder you go through the ranks at a young age.” Jill reached into her coat and pulled out an id card. “Jill Porter, lead xenobiologist for the Putter Institute.”

He took the id card and looked at it. A rotating model of Jill, name, age, occupation. He returned it and sighed. “Alright, what do you need help with?”

“I need a willing specimen, a Zarqonan”

“And what will you do with them?”

Jill pulled out a holoprojector. “Exactly one week ago a Zarqonan arrived at our local Topirus branch, the outermost colony in UTF space” An image of the Zarqonan in question appeared. “She is missing a back-left tentacle after a horrible accident in one of their orbital research stations.

To create the prosthetic requested by the Zarqonan, we need to examine the back-left tentacle.”

“Let me guess, they don’t let any humans onto the station?” Michael concluded first before she continued.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Alright, I understand why you’re here now,” He said nodding while Jill put away the projector.

Jill leaned back into the armchair. “So, lieutenant? Can you help”

A few seconds of silence as Michael stared at the ground. He looked back up and answered. “I know a girl”

~~~~

Michael’s residence has been turned into a makeshift examination lab and Yaku was brought in for the examination. The xenobiologist, Jill, worked examining Yaku’s left-back tentacle taking scans and examining its structure.

Yaku herself did not mind but is thinking if there’s another way to make this more efficient and not resulting in a mess.

Power cables scattered across the floor connecting the power to the lights and scanning equipment Jill brought with her. The doctor looked eager examining the subject, asking Yaku all sorts of questions.

“So what are the purposes of your tentacles?” The doctor asked while Michael is leaning back against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Moving up one of her two front tentacles, she speaks. “The two front tentacles are used to maneuver, turning left and right and to slow down.” She then lowered the tentacle lifting up one of the back ones. “The back is for moving around.”

Michael grunted as he pushed himself off the wall and walked over, crossing his arms on his chest. “I still don’t know why you just don’t render a model immediately and make it.”

While continuing the examination, Jill answered. “At Putter we do not waste resources. We take the exact measurements, the exact height and preferred weight, joints and muscle contraction points” Writing the last bit of info into her datapad she stood back up.

“Also, this is a great learning experience for us, in the case aliens demands for prosthetic rises,” She said turning away to the table and portable little computer transferring the data.

“So there’s a consumer satisfaction stance, and a marketing stance,” Michael concluded once again.

“A hundred percent correct Michael, I thought you would be hard to work with” She turned back around. “But it looks like everything worked out fine.”

Michael turned to Yaku and nods. “Thank you Yaku”

“No problem Sir Michael, I’m glad to help.” Yaku said turning to Jill and make an attempt at smiling.

The two humans not noticing the subtle small attempt of smiling, both of them shook hands. “Well looks like everything’s done now, thank you, Michael, I’ll get an update soon enough”

“My pleasure” Letting go of the firm handshake. “Well since everyone is bored and doesn’t have shit to do, want to stay and watch some movies?”

Jill chuckled and shrugged with a smile. “Well sure! Just don’t put on a romantic one, we’re not there yet.”

Michael laughed and waved her away. “Oh, how bold of you to think that we are already in a relationship? We’re just acquaintances” That gained laughter from the opposition. Michael turned to Yaku and gestured to the couch and armchair. “You want to join Yaku?”

Yaku looked over at the couch and tv before nodding slightly. “I would love to.”

“Great!” Michael was about to go to the kitchen only to realize all the equipment in his room. “Oh uh, clean this mess first would you?”

Things are starting to get a tad bit crowded.

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 22

Chapter title: My Starlight

A/n:  THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOR PATTON’s BIRTHDAY BUT I MISCALCULATED THE DATE BUT IMMA POST IT ANYWAY BECAUSE WRITING! ANYWAY, ENJOY ITS BAD. I decided to post it today because then it won't be a thing on Pats birthday and I can just focus on that Anyway this chapter is smOFT and im love them sO much and im gonna cry hes bapey. SORRY THIS CHAPTER SUCKS...ENJOY??

this is so bad lol it went from zero to a hundred real quick and it sucks

First | Previous | Next

words: 4270

summary: Its Pattons birthday and the day shall only be fun-filled

pairings: logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, hospital, crime scene,  murder, gun mention, guns, swearing, abuse, graphic descriptions, alcohol

Ao3 Link  

“Happy Birthday!” Two squeals can certainly awaken a man from his troubled slumber. Those two bouncing on him as they hug him as well they can definitely do the trick. Patton blinks himself awake enveloping the twins in his arms, kissing them as thanks. They scramble practically buzzing around the room allowing their father to sit up, rub his eyes placing his frames delicately on his face.

“Good morning” He greets through a yawn, they giggle. A new figure becomes apparent, a smug Virgil and shy Damian approach. “Ah, I see” Patton recognizes, the plan unfolding.

“Why don't you guys go carefully get your dad's breakfast” Virgil wonders, the twins nods dragging a tired Damian with them. They disappear singing down the halls in delight. “I used the key you gave me” He admits, Patton laughs shaking his head. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning in for a quick hug. “Happy birthday Pat” Virgil celebrates

“It is indeed the day of my birth” He yawns once more, dry tears welling from exhaustion. Virgil furrows his brows, checking Patton's face. “Hmm?”

“What time did you-”

“Breakfast for papa!” Valerie cheers, wobbling carefully through the door as Remus and Damian help her. “Look! We helped!” She announces, Virgil lifts her up on the bed with the other two joining soon after. Presenting a beautiful meal, bright fresh fruit, wafting eggs, and a seeping cup of coffee tinted with cinnamon.

“Oh it looks amazing!” he exclaims, the twins walk towards him hugging their father. “Thank you” he kisses them each, making sure Damian receives a hug for his effort.

“Cartoon time!” Remus decides taking the buried remote, he asks his father for assistance. Patton obliges turning the Tv on. The three children sit at the end of the bed watching the pictures across the screen. Virgil sits next to a starved Patton, only half paying attention.

“What are you fun-filled plans for the day?” Virgil whispers as a theme song plays out. Patton swallows a delectable bite watching his children bob along.

“Work, unfortunately,” Patton laments “but it'll be great!” he tries, his tired voice apparent. A quick buzz from his nightstand and he turns. “Gotta take this, I'll be right back” He takes his phone moving to the hallway. “Patton Hart!” As he had done so many times before

“Happy birthday you big doof!” Barbara's voice rings out, Patton laughs crossing his arms against his soft chest, the pajamas only warming him. “Love you!” She excites

“Hey, Babs!” He bites his lower lip, fidgeting with the ends of his pajamas. “Thank you, I love you too” He replies, sweet yawns released from both siblings. “Whatcha up to today?” he questions moving to the kitchen, the slight mess in the kitchen giving him something to do.

“Marce and I were gonna stop by your office before we left but Marce is afraid of missing the flight so..” She responds, a quick shuffle in the phone and soft mumblings.

“Good morning Patton” Marcy greets, Patton smiles to himself as he cleans away the remnants of the breakfast. “Happy birthday”

“Hey Marcy, thank you” He listens as more whines come through before the phone is retrieved. “She seems happy” Patton jokes, Barbara gives a dry laugh.

“She's tired, and mean!” She calls out, Marcy laughs retreating away from the phone. Patton shakes his head, practically visualizing their antics in his mind. “Alright, I love you Pat but I should finish packing,” She says, Patton nods realizing she can't see him. “Bye, and happy birthday”

“Bye!” And the phone goes dead, he sets it down. Humming carefully as he puts away the dishes, feet are heard behind him. He turns giving a small smile at Virgil who holds his breakfast tray. “Hey”

“Wanna finish in here?” Virgil wonders placing the tray down, Patton nods thankfully. “You okay?” Virgil sits on the counter, swinging his legs as he watches Patton.

“Yeah” Patton sighs “Just...tired” He stares through the window, watching the day move faster than usual. The bright January morning, putting up a warm facade knowing that should he step into a cold chill would entrap him.

“Any word from…” Virgil trails off, Patton groans quietly setting down the last dish. The warmth of the water leaving as the faucet shuts off. “Sorry”

“No, you're fine just...not today ok?” He requests, Virgil nods hopping off the counter as the children scatter into the room. “Hey munchkins!” Patton smiles, the twins race up to him tugging as his clothes. He picks them up planting soft kisses on their forehead. “You might wanna go get ready,” He tells them, they nod disappearing into their rooms.

“I should head out” Virgil checks his ever noisy phone, Damian takes his hand and places his other one in his mouth. “You okay Dee?” Virgil checks, the little boy yawns nodding.

“Sleepy” He responds simply, his thumbs getting quite clean. Virgil shakes his head playfully waving one final goodbye to Patton as he leaves. “Bye-bye uncle Pat” Damian waves, a slobbery hand Patton's final image.

Soon after he's finished with his food, Patton cleans up once more before taking his own advice. Choosing a more risky option for attire, risky meaning its much more Patton than it had been in a month. A light pastel shirt, a flowered patterned jacket, and dark pants. He smiles tightening his tie around his throat. Patting himself down, checking it out in the reflection. So safe he feels in his house now, his children laughing in earshot as he prepares for any usual day.

“Done!” The twins emerge showing off their own outfits. Patton gasps grinning as he claps excitedly.

“Absolutely marvelous!” He cries with an accent, they laugh taking his hands. Somehow after a few minutes, Patton finds himself in the driveway strapping the twins in for a ride. They play across their seats creating stories.  “All good?” Patton asks Remus, he looks away his gleam washing away. “What's up crabcake?” Patton strokes his cheek gently, Remus goes to say something but decides against it. Shaking his head is final.

With a new doubt planted in Patton, he sets off on the road, assuring both his children he loves them dearly as the ride continues.

~~~

“Oh god, you really shouldn't have” Patton mumbles, his face dusted a deep red. Roman bobs grinning wide. Patton closes the door behind as his eyes gaze across his office, balloons, streamers and music blast through. “WHats the occasion?” He jokes, setting his things down

“Happy birthday padre!” Roman cheers, Patton laughs rolling his eyes playfully. Roman opens his arms asking for a hug, Patton allows him a tight hug maybe lingered. “I have a cake coming later, and presents of course!” Roman lists, almost as if a schedule had been made

“Oh, wonderful” Patton comments sweetly. Roman pouts slumping his shoulders. “Oh, no Roman I adore this I promise!” He assures, taking Roman's hands as he marvels at the room. “I'm just....a little out of it Ro”

“Well, then let's get you into it!” Roman exclaims, dancing in time to the music. Patton laughs, his voice carries through the room. “Come on” Roman begs, Patton starts slow, a simple sway before suddenly the pair are at their own private disco. The music catches them as they twirl around the room.

“Pardon?” They stop, Roman, shutting off the music as Patton's face increases fast a bright red. Logan stands cautious in the doorway eyeing the room. Patton rubs his forehead, clutching his palms soon after digging. Logan watches the movement and rushes his words. “Patton, may I speak to you for a moment?” He extends a hand hoping that will allow the lawyer something else to take. Roman raises an eyebrow but sends the father forward. Patton takes Logan's hand, a soft twitch as they make their way into the hallway.

“Hi” He barely squeaks, the image of him dancing replaying in his mind. Wanting nothing more than to curl up in the corner and hide for eternity. Luckily a distraction would work, as Logan goes to speak Patton's phone beats him to it. “Patton Hart” He tires “Oh! Hey mom…” Logan's face morphs, his head cocks becoming alert. “Dinner? With you, dad and…” He sighs, pursing frustrated lips “Liam” He clicks his tongue. Logan takes the phone making sure Patton remains unscathed, pressing it to his own ear.

“Hello Gloria, unfortunately, Patton has plans tonight” Logan explains, Patton stifles a questionable laugh. “Oh I know, what a shame” he rolls his eyes, the most monotone voice he could conjure. “Goodbye!” He shuts the phone, returning it safely to Patton. Folding it softly in his hands, keeping a gentle hold.

“Plans?” he ponders, a smirk appearing. Logan licks his lips, nodding. “Do I get to know more or…?” Patton questions, Logan twirls his fingers in Patton's shaking his head. He leans in a soft kiss on Patton's cheek.

“Happy birthday Patton” He gives a final squeeze before retreating to his own office. A flushed Patton stands outside his door, hoping someone might catch him should he fall. A clearing of his throat, a quick adjustment to his glasses and he returns his posture.

“You were listening weren't you?” He asks a knowing Roman as he steps into the party. A giddy Roman sits nodding.

“Obviously” He waves it off, Patton sighs through a smirk. “So what does this mean?”

“Roman-” Patton tries

“Are you guys together?” Roman inquires, tapping excitedly

“Roman!”

“What does this mean for you and the twins?” He goes further

“Roman!” Patton interjects finally, his eyes wide

“None of those are answers” Roman notes, they laugh softly. “Come on Pat...tell me!” Roman pleads, a mocking pout as he leans across the desk.

“I don't know, something...happened at the party but...we haven't really discussed it since” Patton admits, tracing the nape of necks, careful sweat flows. Roman pokes him and so Patton recounts the tale of the confusing evening Patton had during the holiday party. Keeping only a few things and words to himself. “And I really haven't seen or talked to him much since then” Patton finishes, a worrying pace as his feet do their own dance.

“Oh my god...Farkles a romantic” Roman gasps, his fingers drumming with swirling ideas. “He actually said that? Nobody says that!” Roman would know, indulging himself in romance and love as much as he can. “Oh my god…” Disbelief oozes from the judge

“Roman?” Patton raises his brows, the judge meets his eyes.

“Do you think he looked it up?” Roman snickers, a playful nudge is registered. “I'm kidding, but he actually said that? Like he said the words ‘I want a fairytale?’” Roman tries his hardest not to laugh.

“Don't be mean, it was sweet…” Patton dazes away, remembering the soft sparkle of curiosity Logan emitted. An excitement as he tries something new, ready to document the outcome. Roman backs off, noticing a look he hadn't seen on Patton in awhile. Not since Liam, before everything, there was a time he did love Liam. And that same look graced his face. “What?” Patton snaps in front of Roman's face.

“You are happy, like actually genuinely happy,” Roman tells him, Patton fans his slight blush. “I hope it's what you want it to be” Roman stands, as the hour beckons him.

“Me too” Patton whispers “Bye Ro, thanks for...all of this” He gestures around the room. Roman gives him a quick squeeze on the shoulder.

“Always Pat” He promises “Happy birthday” And soon enough he's gone. Leaving Patton to his own devices, the room should feel empty but for once it bursts as Patton's thoughts run wild with possibility. His cheek still burning with the fading touch of Logan's lips against him, a connection he longed for more of. What a day! He chuckles to himself, giving himself another brief pause to simply be. Ignoring the incoming birthday messages because only one notification matters to him, Logans.

“Happy birthday!” Remy and Emile know no bounds as they bust through the door, laughing with a giggling Thomas in their arms. Patton places his buzzing phone on the table to greet them, an infinite smile as Thomas is secured in his arms.

Roman was right

He was happy

~~~

“Hey Logan, you busy?” Roman knocks, the lawyer shakes his head ushering the judge in. Roman takes a confident seat, sinking his back into the chairs he felt all day.

“Not at the moment, what may I do for you?” Logan wonders still reviewing the files across his desk, checking through the papers he listens to a snickering Roman, his mind somewhere else. “Roman?” Logan questions again

“Oh nothing” He sighs, tapping gently on the wood, a clicky echo through the room. “I just...wanna hold a hand” He admits wistfully, Logan hums used to his antics simply nods. “I wanna be with someone, I wanna get lost...in someone's eyes” He continues a smirk, leaning into Logan blinks finally adjusting his papers.

“Pardon?” Logan squeaks, keeping his demeanor stable as Roman stifles his laughter. “S-sounds like a fairytale” He coughs, loosening his tie, had the room become hot?

“Then goddamnit Logan, I want a fairytale!” Roman can't believe how perfectly it had been set up. He bursts laughing, Logan groans burying his head into his arms. “I should fight for my happily ever after” He deems

“Patton told you?” Logan guesses from his hidden cove. Roman nods as his hearty cheers fill the room, full light of joy. Logans not sure what to do except exhaling sharply, feeling as though his nose would fall off.

“How drunk were you?” Roman barely laughs, wiping away the tears from his fit. Logan clutches the table organizing the files, a frustrated mumble as he does so. He stuffs away a small box, wrapped neatly, into his drawer.

“I had approximately one drink” He remembers, his fingers itching desperate for Patton's hold in his. “Its stupid, I understand” He rubs his forehead, Roman clicks his tongue shaking his head.

“No, its romantic Lo, like nobody says that stuff in real life but uh...romantic” Roman smiles “So, birthday plans?” Roman leans forward, placing his intrigue in his hands, a sweet smile. Logan feels his face arise in a lovely shade of red, he lets out a shaky laugh feeling his mind drift away. His hands interlaced carefully with Patton's as they walk through the chilly remains of January, the twins rushing ahead of them in laughter. Entrapped in their own frolics and games as Patton watches with love pouring from his beautiful eyes. Logan tightens his hold, a sweet kiss to Patton's forehead as they make their way to…

”Dinner” He whispers, the room opens once more. “A nice walk, and home” He recites simply because that's what Patton needed. Something simple and loving, a way to show his affection through slow means. Nothing complicated, no pressure, and a celebration.

“Sounds wonderful” Roman compliments, he snaps his fingers “You know the twins are staying with Virge right? Remy and Emile are taking them to dinner” Roman reminds, Logan's stomach tugs not sure which feeling to settle on. Excited for this intimate moment the lawyers will share together, but disappointed, he was...looking forward to seeing the twins. He shakes his head nodding.

“Well, I suppose it's just the two of us” He takes his glasses, wiping the glass with a cleaner on his desk. A giddy rush passes through him, Roman watches the man's face switch through, as if he held his own remote.

“Hey, do you love Patton?” Roman lets out, shrugging as he leans comfortably. Logan coughs on his dry throat, frantically grasping for water.

“I-” His eyes widen, the typical curiosity that pools them replaced with fear of what the future deemed. Roman chuckles running a soft hand through his hair. “I like Patton, and I lo-” He steps delicately on the floor, pacing in position. “I don't know!” He stands quickly

“Logan, I was kidding, take it easy, look you don't have to…” He watches the fearful man “Know that right now but it has to be headed that way dude. He has two kids, you both have full-time jobs and you're headed towards commitment. I love you dude but you're way past casual dating.” Roman recites, dusting off his robes “You have to be in this for the long ride-” Logan stops him

“I know Roman, I made it clear that I was serious about this. I'm not going to walk away. I feel like I'm repeating myself. I love Patton's kids, and I care, so much, about Patton.” Logan assures, Roman bites his lower lips smirking. “Why is this anyone's business but ours?” Logan pleads, Roman chuckles

“You're kidding right?” He checks, Logan remains, sighing deeply. “Ok we love you, but you're not Logan Tolentino the lawyer anymore. You're not Patton's friend anymore, you're more than that. Which is an amazing thing to be, but-”

“I'm not Liam.” Logan argues, he scoffs angrily. “Why does everyone keep implying that?”

“No one has ever actually said that, but you keep making the connection” Roman notes “For a reason, you're not Liam but if there is even the slight chance?” Roman cocks his head “Just make sure you're in this, because I swear to god, if Patton gets hurt one more time...”

“I know” Logan agrees.

“Just focus on dinner for now ok?” Roman goes around the desk, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “You don't have to worry about the twins, about Liam or his parents about whether you love Patton or not. Just uh...give him a nice time, ok?” Roman asks

Do I love Patton?

Does he love me?

Am I Liam…?

Logans brain races fast, his mind overwhelmed. Flashing pictures and memories flow, he feels dizzy as he sits once more. Burying his head in the desk, what was wrong with him? He longed for when none of this concerned him. For when he saw the twins and Patton and kept his infatuation away, locked in a box to rot. Whether he loved Patton or not was consuming his mind every waking moment, each step he took burning with hot desire.

Do you love Patton?

“I think I do”

~~~

“Be good for me ok?” Patton kneels holding his twins close, they smile exhausted from their journey of a day but conjure up a nod. After sweet farewell kisses, he watches his friend take their arms waving goodbye to Patton. He will never get used to it, that sharp pain as Patton's hold over his life drifts away. It goes away after a moment but that transition hurts.

“Patton, are you alright?” Logan wonders, Patton turns his mind clears as his eyes fall upon the figure. His eyes glisten reflecting the stars above. “Patton?”

“You look...you always just look…” Patton marvels, a soft smile spreads across his face. “Nice, you look so nice” He decides, feeling the overuse of ‘perfect’ in the past few months. Logan stifles his smile, he extends his hand through the chilly air, Patton takes it feeling his favorite spark. Logan pulls him close, walking them side by side.

“Patton you look stunning” Logan whispers through his frosty breath. Patton averts his gaze towards the moon, hoping his blush isn't as evident. Logan fiddles sweetly with Patton's fingers in his own, Patton wishes for nothing more than to stay connected.

“So! What's the evening plan?” Patton inquires, leaning into Logan's coat much to the lawyer's excitement.

“A simple dinner, a nice walk and then home” Logan lists, Patton hums delighted at the sound of something so perfect. “Does that sound enjoyable?” Logan checks, Patton lifts their joined hands kissing Logans softly.

“It sounds absolutely perfect” He assures yawning. The walk continues until they reach the restaurant, Patton puts distance between him and logan keeping their hands together, he stares through the window. “Shall we?” He asks, Logan purses his lips he tugs gently at Patton's hand bringing him in. He places his under Patton jaw kissing him. A quick shock but Patton leans into it feeling safe wrapped in his arms. His eyes remain closed even as Logan pulls away, he opens them once more grounding himself.

“We shall” Logan leads him in, allowing the host to seat the pair at their reserved table. Taking their coats, they sit, Logan helps Patton into his chair before taking his own place. Patton smiles as he browses the menu, his favorite routine as they meet across the table, fingers interlaced. “Anything look good?” Logan questions, looking through his own menu.

“Mmm, water” He hums, Logan chuckles. “Maybe a non-alcoholic mojito?” He checks, Logan nods skimming the wine menu. Quickly the night moves on, a nice flow as they order their drinks than their main courses. “Oh, my...delicious Lo” Patton swallows a delectable bite.

“I'm glad, I was wary about the vegetarian option” Logan admits, Pattons smile falters a shaky smile. Patton found it silly how much that simple thought meant. When picking a place, Logan took into consideration Patton.

Logan...took into consideration...Patton

Me?

“Patton?” Logan tilts his head, squeezing the man's hand. “Everything alright?”  Patton nods finishing his food, swallowing his overwhelming thoughts with water. Patton kisses Logan's hand, grateful for simply the entire night.

“The twins want you to join us at Disneyworld'' Patton adds, Logan smirks twirling his spaghetti. “They also want you to join us for snuggle Sunday” He raises a brow, a coy sweetness. Logan chuckles biting his lower lip.

“I would not mind both of those” Logan admits, Patton grins thanking the waitress as she clears their plates. “Which reminds me, I have a gift- er gifts for you” Patton sighs, feeling his cheeks flush. “Don't, I know what you're thinking and just...don't” Patton leans in

“You shouldn't have” Patton rushes, Logan slams his hand delicately laughing.

“I should and did so…” Logan swishes his lips “Deal with it” He snarks, Patton giggles rolling his playful eyes. “Ok, this if for, you and the twins…” He hands Patton an envelope watching as a cautious look quickly turns to shock. A small gasp as tears threatens his already weak eyes.

“Logan…” He can't find the words, they dance around but nothing amounts to the absolute thankfulness he feels. “I can't accept this, you know that right?” Logan groans, Patton wipes away the soft tears.

“You can and will, plus seeing as I'm coming with you…” Logan trails off, Patton shakes his head returning the envelope. “Think it over ok?” Logan requests, Patton sighs but nods knowing he's in no state of mind to argue. “Thank you, I have one more item for you” He reaches into his coat pulling out a small box, one he had spent hours gently piecing together. The wrapping a sweet baby blue with fragrant flowers decorating them.

“You spoil me” Patton giggles taking it, opening the paper carefully and neatly.

“Not nearly enough” Logan mutters to himself, Patton finds a deep box under it and opens it. A sweet gasp as he removes the item from its home. A navy blue tie is shown, beautiful patterns are etched through it in white and pastel colors.

“Oh, it's...beautiful Lo…” Patton looks at it, an absolute glimmer in his eyes. After dessert, maybe too many thanks from Patton, the pair retreat back outside. The warmth from each other circling them gently as they walk. They decide to go off their path, Logan leads Patton by the waterside. Humming softly Patton keeps himself quiet as to listen to the wonderful melody.

“You're quiet” Logan notes after a brief pause, Patton chuckles, his breath appearing in the starry night a moment later.

“Oh do keep going, you sound lovely” Patton requests, Logan stops them under the opening of the stars. He leans in kissing Patton carefully, cupping his cheeks as he does so. Patton meets Logan's hands pulling apart in a calm smile.

“Pat, look” Logan gleams watching the stars above him “Oh the sky..” Patton purses his lips, he takes Logan's cheek, kissing him softly. Logan melted into it, fiddling ever so delicately with Patton's hands in his own. “The stars Patton…” Logan wants to take one in his hand, play around with it, study every sparkle and feeble thing till he exhausted its draining light. Patton smiles.

“You're my star” He whispers gently watching as Logan continues marveling at the starlights. “Happy birthday me” He shines with pure joy, broken ever so quickly by his phone. “One-moment starlight” He excuses himself, neither phased by the nickname poured of affection, lingering on Logan's hands for a second.

“Patton Hart” He greets, a state of euphoria.

“Tick tock mister Hart, you don't have much longer” Why must the line go dead?

[mukettyl]

Train Rides and Late Nights // Chapter Two

click for Chapter One

(tumblr won’t let me minamize this, i’m so very sorry)

Two weeks have gone by and Eddie couldn’t get the train boy out of his mind. He rolled over onto his side to look out the ajar window at the grey morning mist covering the sky. Breathing in the fresh and foggy air, he began imagining different, intricate, ways that the scenario could have played out. He could have said absolutely anything besides, “Why are you staring at me?” But no, he just had to choose those particular six words.

He pulled the blankets around himself tighter, and let the warmth engulf him for a few moments longer, before getting out of bed.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and shuddered. God, it’s cold.

He looked around for a second before deciding to put on a pair of sweatpants and oversized, worn, navy sweatshirt, over the t-shirt and boxers he had slept in. On his way to the kitchen, he regretted having not put on socks as he felt the cold linoleum tiles underneath his feet.

“Well good morning to you too, sleepyhead.”

Eddie looked up from the coffee pot he was now standing behind to pay attention to the voice coming from the living room in front of him.

“Good morning, Stan.” he replied groggily, dragging out the word “morning” until it had six extra sylobols. “One or two sugars?”

“Two, thank you.” Stan said, putting down his book, “I have to go visit Bill at some point today at the shop if you want to come with me. My engine light is on but I can’t figure out why, and I’ve stopped trying to guess.”

“Bill’s a mechanic?” Eddie asked, walking into the living room. He handed Stan his coffee and sat across from him on their lazy boy so that he could face him.

“No, not quite. But his dad and best friend are.”

“Oh, interesting.” Eddie took a long sip of his coffee before continuing with, “Yeah sure, I’ll tag along. I don't have any classes today anyways, so there’s nothing else I have going on.”

“Okay, that’ll work. I just need to get dressed and then we can head out now, if you’re ready.”

-

The two boys stepped out of the car in front of the shop. Stan had decided to completely step-up Eddie’s sweater and sweatpants by wearing a real outfit.

He was wearing a light blue polo with a blue jay embroidered onto his breast pocket, a pair of khakis, and an oversized grey cardigan. Eddie’s Betty Boop socks were no match.

Above the front doors read, “Denbrough’s Auto Repair,” in big, bold, blue letters. Eddie had never realized that Bill’s dad owned this place. He passed it all the time on the bus on his way to school, but it had never occurred to him that they could be the same “Denbroughs.”

After what seemed like ages, Bill walked out to greet Stan and help him figure out the issue with his engine light. Eddie stood there sort of awkwardly as they said their hellos and talked about the past few days in which they hadn’t had a chance to see each other.

“Hey Eddie! If you want, there are some doughnuts and coffee inside from earlier this morning. Help yourself!” Bill said to Eddie with a smile. Thank God, Eddie thought to himself, a reason to escape.

Eddie walked up the stairs and through the front doors. There was an empty front desk in front of him to the left, and a hallway that seemed to lead to a smaller room to his right. Assuming the doughnuts were in said room, Eddie took a right. He found a pot of coffee and a half empty box of a baker’s dozen on the table. Bingo.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and added creamer and two sugars. He grabbed a powdered doughnut, as well, and went to take a seat in the lobby area.

Napkins, I need napkins.

Attempting to hold his coffee upright and not drop his doughnut all while grabbing napkins was not working for him. He decided to hold the doughnut in his mouth and grab napkins with his newly freed hand, instead.

Walking into the lobby with his doughnut in his mouth, still trying not to spill his coffee, he almost didn't see the person about to walk directly into him. Correction, he did not see the person who ended up walking directly into him.

“God, my bad. Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

No way. Not now. Not today.

Eddie took a better look at the boy, who was now on his hands and knees searching for his glasses. Train boy. He recognized the tattered blue jumpsuit and the mass of dark, curly hair. The boy stood up and Eddie was able to half make out “Richie” on the jumpsuit’s nametag.

Eddie stood there dumbfounded as he watched the curly haired boy attempting to get his grounds and clean off his lenses,“Hey bud, thanks so much for the tremendous amount of help, totally not like you just stood there and let me suffer for the last minute and a- hey, it’s you!”

-

Two weeks. It’s been fourteen days since he last saw him, and he couldn’t get the damn boy off his mind. Richie had purposefully taken the night shift everyday he could, just in case they’d end up on the same train again. But it was to no avail.

After these two weeks of desperately attempting to run into him, Richie gave up. He decided to believe in destiny, fate, and all that, and that if they were meant to meet again, they would.

Richie got off work early on Thursday, so he decided to take his time on his walk to the train. He put in his earbuds and he was off. He naturally walked fast, so he knew that he’d have plenty of time to get to the station before the train reached his stop. He had about 45 minutes, so he decided to wander around the city. It was getting colder as the days passed, so Richie decided to start wearing his dad’s old bomber jacket.

After the death of his father, Richie’s mom decided that she couldn’t stay in Boston anymore. Richie and his dad never really got along. He knew he loved him, but the amount of fighting his parents did had been unbearable for him. He really didn't mind leaving it all behind. So at ten years old, Richie and his mom got on a plane and never looked back. They have now lived in Chicago for the past nine years, but since the move, things have never been quite the same.

Richie knows that his mom blames him for his father’s death. Remarks such as “Well if we never had you…” or: “God! I understand why he couldn’t put up with you anymore!”, helped his claim. He tries to not let it get to him, but it's on nights like this when it all builds up. The moon was almost full and the amount of stars visible was mesmerizing, for the city, that is.

Richie could hear the roar of the train’s engine as he approached the platform. He had continued to board the same car and sit in the same seat as he had two weeks ago. Not as if this would have changed, but the idea of maybe seeing him again was just adding to his reasoning.

-

He woke up the next morning in the dark and dying of heat. His sheets were sticking to him as if his skin were adhesive, and his mouth was as dry as the air filling his room. His blinds weren’t completely shut, but the lack of sun led him to believe that it must be before 6:00 a.m.

Fuck, it’s hot.

He knew that the furnace in his apartment would turn itself on at full blast if it got below 67 degrees fahrenheit. He knew this because he hated it with a burning passion.

He discarded the sweaty sheets off of himself by kicking at them until they fell off of his bed, and rolled over until he could reach his glasses off of his nightstand.

He sleepily propped the frames onto his nose while simultaneously trying to keep his curls from blocking his vision so that he could read the time.

5:49 a.m. Yuck.

Richie didn't have to be anywhere until 10:00 a.m. today, so he landed on a shower being his best option at the moment. Well, technically he didn't have to be anywhere today at all. But he told Bill that instead of coming in at night like usual, that he could come in today early and just stay late. Bill has been his best friend since he moved to Chicago. After hearing about the death of Richie’s father, Mr. Denbrough immediately took Richie under his wing. When he turned sixteen, Mr. D. offered him a job at his auto shop, and Richie has been working there ever since.

After lazily walking to his bathroom, Richie turned on the water in his shower. He proceeded to get undressed, which just consisted of taking off the mis-matched socks and boxers that he had fallen asleep in. The ice cold water felt soothing against his skin. He lathered his hair in shampoo that smells heavily of green apples, and just used the remnants of it to clean his body. Bill had stayed over one night and gave him trouble for not owning body wash, but couldn’t argue with the fact that Richie did always smell very good.

After drying off and wrapping a towel around his head, he walked back into his room and to his closet to get half dressed. He still had three hours before he had to leave, so there was no rush. He put on his favorite t-shirt that said, “The Revolution Is My Boyfriend” that his friend Bev had gotten him at a small thrift shop on her trip to Minneapolis with her boyfriend, and a pair of neon orange briefs.

He walked into the kitchen to make some half-assed breakfast. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and made some toast. While waiting for his bread to turn to toast, he switched on the tv. The only thing on at this hour besides infomercials and news was Seinfeld.

It’ll do.

*ding!*

“Gahh!” Richie yelped as he spilled orange juice all over himself. “Da fuck was dat foh bruhv?” To which his toaster didn’t respond.

As a child, Richie used to talk to himself extensively while his parents argued, and to keep himself entertained, he’d use accents. Now, whenever he got startled or caught off guard, he would automatically start talking in a British or Australian accent.

He picked up some paper towels and cleaned up the spilled juice as best he could. He then grabbed his toast and smeared grape jelly all over it before putting the pieces together and wrapping it in a paper towel, rather than dirtying another plate. He took his toast and the remainder of his OJ into his living room and sat down to watch Seinfeld until he had to get fully dressed.

-

As Richie walked up to the shop, he heard, “Morning, bud!” from in the doorway atop the front stairs.

Without looking up, knowing who it was, he responded with “Guten morgen, Big Bill!”

Instead of waiting for a response, he walked directly past Bill and towards the donuts he saw on the table in front of him. He grabbed one covered in strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles. Without even bothering to ask if they were up for grabs, he ate basically half of it in one bite.

“Help yourself, I’m gonna go greet Stan, he just got here.”

With a mouth full of donut all Richie could mutter was, “O-ay. Hank youh!”

After scarfing down as many donuts as he thought he could muster before getting sick (three), he poured himself some coffee and decided to get to work. He went around back and put up the garage doors, took out the trash from the past week, and listened to the voicemails that had been left since yesterday. Because it was so early, he really didn't have much to do, so he went to go pour himself another cup of coffee when he walked smack dab into someone turning the corner as well. His glasses fell off of his face so he immediately dropped to the ground to start searching for them.

“God, my bad.” Richie managed, “Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

Richie was sure that whoever this kid that he had just ran into could see him frantically looking for his glasses, but just stood there as if everything was just peachy keen. After what felt like an hour, Richie’s hand finally felt the frames. While happy he found his glasses, he wanted to make sure whoever this schmuck was knew that he was no help.

“Hey bud, thanks so much for the tremendous amount of help, totally not like you just stood there and let me suffer for the last minute and a- hey, it’s you!”

It was him! It was the boy that had sat in his seat on the train exactly two weeks ago. The cute one who told Richie to stop staring at him. The one who was now standing in front of him and staring at Richie like a deer in headlights.

“Why on Earth are you at an auto shop at 10:00a.m.?”

The boy looked extremely flustered, and while holding a donut in his mouth, just responded with “I gotta go,” as best as he could.

“Wait, what’s your name?” Richie called after him, but he was already out the front door and down the steps.

A few moments later, Bill walked in, questioning, “Why’d Eddie just run outta here like that?”

Eddie.

(Richie’s shirt)

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Motorcycle Race

Has a bit of Mick and Lisa friendship. Takes place between Rogue Air and Family of Rogues.  "Okay peoples let's get this party started!!!!!" Shawna shouted in the middle of the crowd in Saints & Sinners. 

Mark Axel, and Hartley burst in quickly behind her. Mark's small hurricanes blew the door hinges off and people ran screaming out. Mick, Leonard and Lisa dragged behind. 

"I can't believe we're robbing this place." Leonard muttered disgustedly as the crowds pushed and ran past them. 

"Aww c'mon on Lenny. It's Shawna's birthday let her rob S&S if she wants to. Besides look at all the wallets people are leaving around." Lisa grinned as another patron ran away screaming, not noticing Lisa's hand dipping into her pocket as she ran past her. "I already got 7!" 

Leonard shook his head with his usual "Why-in-hell-am-I-related-to-you-and-why-did-I-agree-to-this-stupidity" sigh.

Lisa rolled her eyes, he was the one who created the group who wanted to do said stupidity. He was the one that had wanted to get more villains to go against the Scarlet Speedster, and now they were stuck with them. 

It all had started when Shawna came to the warehouse with a bunch of shopping bags, announcing that no one should go to her room tonight because it was her birthday. Then Axel came up with the idea that they should celebrate. And with Rogues, what better way to celebrate than by filling their pockets with cash, jewelry and other stuff they got for free. Shawna insisted on Saints & Sinners because she wanted to crash at the bar so off they went. 

Lenny hadn't wanted to go, but Lisa had goaded him to it because what would it look like if the leader of the Rogues was so noticeably absent from a theft. 

"Like he is the only sane one, so that's why he's the leader" He drawled. He ended up going anyway because he didn't want anyone to end up in jail before going on their next heist. 

Lisa had to admit, she had been against the idea of having more in the Rogues besides the three of them. Sort of an exclusivity. But it had been generally okay. Mark and Axel were all over her when Lenny wasn't around and it was nice to be so pampered and admired. 

Despite his lovesick gazes, Axel was the jokester and she thought he was the best one to hang out with. who wouldn't love a buy who stole the cold gun, freezed the hallway and started sledding races. She didn't know quite what to think of Mark and Hartley they mostly stood to each other or by themselves. But as long as they didn't mess up her life with whatever inner angst they were holding up she didn't care. 

Shawna was fun to be around, it was nice to have another girl in villainy and they sometimes compared notes on Cisco and made fun of him and the other Rogues when they went clubbing. But she also had a sneaking suspicion that she had been using her powers to get into her room, and steal her make up which was not cool at all. She had stolen those Clinique bottles through her own hard work and she wasn't going to share. The place was finally clear, the owner of the bar stared at them through widened eyes. He looked like he was going to stand his ground but one glare from Mick sent him scurrying off. 

“Best day ever" Shawna sighed satisfied sipping her bottle of vodka she took from the bar. Axel and Hartley were jamming up the cash register and Mark seemed to be trying to take off the disco ball with his mind. 

"So how long do we get to crash before the police arrive?" Mick asked absent-mindedl, lighting a cigarette. 

"10, 8 minutes or so" Leonard said checking his watch.

"Cool we stay here until last second and then off out" Shawna grinned, as she spotted a sequined purse lying under one of the tables.

"Maybe you can but we can't." Mark said, looking at the locked front door.

“Oh yeah, it must suck that you have to leave early because you're not fast enough to outrun the cops" Shawna mock-pouted "Poor baby.”

"I can out-run the cops anytime I want.”Hartley shot back.

“No way, your stick legs can't outrun a snail" Axel jeered.

“Yes I can" Hartley shoved him. "No way" Shawna called out.

"Forget running, best way to go is by motorcycle" Mick said.

"And that title is held by me" Lisa added.

“Please" Mick snorted.

"Please what?" Lisa scowled.

"I'm the one that actually taught you how to drive fast. No way you can beat the master." Mick smirked. It was true. Len had been the one that taught her to drive car, how to drive a motorcycle, how to repair the, but Mick was the one that taught her how to drive fast ad dangerously. They used to drive around Central, breaking all kinds of speed limits. 

"Mick, stop talking drunk and be serious.” Lisa snorted.

“Guys, I have the perfect way to solve this" Shawna grinned.

"Beer" Mark said helpfully.” 

“Yes, that and we race on it." Shawna suggested. The Rogues stared at each other and ran out of S&S. They headed to the old dump yard at the edge of the skate park, and took some bicycles lying around while Leonard, Mick, and Lisa took their own motorcycles. "Okay first up,” Lisa announced "You four go race starting at the half pipe, to S&S and back again. Then Mick and I will go, winner race winners." Leonard just settled down at the park bench watching them intently.

“Do we get to use our powers?" Hartley asked eagerly.

"Of course" Lisa purred "What fun would it be if we didn't?"

The four got on their bikes, and glared at the lights of S&S and the police cars in the distance.

"Ready, set go!" Lisa called Axel started up the fight by setting off parachute bombs at Shawna who was up front, she disappeared just as the bombs hit the ground. 

Which made Mark and Hartley scramble off balance into some trees. Mark fought back as lightning blast out of the sky, making Axel zig-zag into the street.

 "SHIT!! Biker coming through" he yelled as car honked and barreled toward him. Shawna reappeared once more in front but was soon overpowered by Hartley when he aimed his sonic gloves at the ground. The whole race sorta crumbled after that. 

They got so distracted with fighting each other that jumped off their motorcycle and use their powers and combat skills in a four way fight. 

"Guess we can get started then," Mick commented. “Done" Lisa pulled on her helmet, and crouched on her golden motorcycle "See you at the finish line old man" Lisa crowed.

Mick grunted. Leonard placed their guns next to him and called out "Start!”

It had been fast and furious, without the added distraction of firing fireballs me gold at each other they swerved precisely and smoothly across the streets. Lisa sorely tempted to drive over by him and hit him against the curb, but one thing she re breed from racing him years ago that knocking out you're opponent also made sure you slowed down too. 

They made it to S&S and we're greeted by the police, and the owner. "Yes, they helped rob the place!" 

"Drive back, drive back, tactical retreat" Mick shouted at her, she didn't need to be told twice. 

She zig zagged as people always said to do if you don't want to get shot by the police. She certainly didn't want to today and in this outfit. The blood would stain the chiffon for sure. She heard the squeal of tires blowing out, and cursed to see her motorcycle tire with a bullet in it. Mick was a little ways ahead of her, already getting dragged off by the police officers. 

She shook her head, dejectedly and let them cuff her without a fight. Without a gun, against their many many holsters, it didn't seem worth it. 

As she got shoved in with Mick, he huffed on yet another cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Ya know your brother is gonna killed us." 

“He could kill Shawna... She was the one with the whole birthday robbery idea and then the motorcycle race." Lisa said, "This is not worth getting killed over. If anything he would kill you for screwing me.” 

She was thinking of Leonard's ever present threat, to murder anyone, especially partners having sexual relations with her. 

"He wouldn't kill me" Mick said, carelessly.

"Really?" Lisa added doubtfully, she knew Mick was like Leonard's closest and only friend but she didn't think their friendship extended that far. Hell, he said that Mick was the last person he wanted her having sex with. “I believe his exact words were, If you think one impure thought about her I will catastrate you, boil your nuts and burn you alive." Mick said thoughtfully as Lisa stared at him in horror, with more than just the threat in mind 

“Did you like me?" She would never admit but she had a crush on Mick for a few months when she was 14. Nothing big, and it was before she knew the extent of his craziness. All she knew was that he had a car with license, had wicked prison tattoos, and an intriguing deep guttural voice. It went away after awhile but never once did she think Mick would have looked at her the same way. 

"I just saw you in a one of your evening dresses, and happened to compliment your rack out loud. That was it." Mick said. “That explains it" Lisa smiled, "And you and I dating. Never. I don't go for balding, old men."

"I don't go for idiotic train wrecks" Mick retorted.

They settled to an easy silence before she broke it again, “So what do you think of the whole Rogues thing?" 

“Worst plan ever. A guy who can make thunderstorms whenever he cries, a disappearing act that thinks robbing S&S is big game, a dumbass engineer with parental issues, and a daddy's boy with bombs. Len couldn't pick up someone cool and useful like someone who could control minds, or an assassin." Mick snorted. 

“Let’s face it. The original three of us pulled off more cons than we did with the rest." Lisa agreed. 

"Well we're stuck with them for now. It'll be like our own reality TV mess." Mick snorted. 

"I bet I could get Shawna in a fight with Mark over the bathroom and then have Axel and Hartley making out in the closet in no time." Lisa smiled, mischevious thoughts running through her mind.

"Mark and Hartley in the closet? I bet Mark and Hartley. In Leonard's office" Mick corrected.

“You're on. I can't wait to see Lenny's face when that happens" Lisa grinned.

 "After we get out of this, we're going for another round though" Mick added.

 "You want to get beaten by me twice?" “I was way ahead of you before the cops came." Mick sneered.

"You have proof?" "I don't need proof, I'm better motorcyclist than you'll ever be. I was back then and I am now.” Mick snarled. "Things changed, Rory. I'm number one now." Lisa glared back at him. 

“Things haven't changed that much, Glider. You still need to learn how to zig zag without getting shot, don't you think for a second you're not the same kid that I had to drive to school and help with...with Brazilian waxing" Mick said, with a rare smile at the memory. 

Leonard had forced Mick to go to her wax appointment with her when he got stuck at a job with Lewis. It had been a hard ordeal for both of them, and Mick ended up with a broken wrist. "It was my first time, and you wouldn't let me hold your.." 

The truck stopped with a halt, and Shawna appeared in front of them. "You're anti-heroes of the day have arrived" she cheered, opening the door and pushing them out. They fell to the ground, "Would you mind, uncuffing us first" Lisa spit dirt out of her mouth.

“Oh of course!" "Here let me help!" Mark and Axel scrambled to uncuff her.

“A little help here" Mick hissed, jingling his cuffs, as Leonard rolled his eyes to help. “That's enough for tonight" Leonard used his stern, leader tone and gestured to the motorcycles waiting at the bench.  

"You head out, we have a score to settle" Lisa said, and winked at Mick. “Yeah Goldie wants to get her ass kicked.

"Don't get so cocky, Rory" Lisa smiled, revved her engine and the two roared off to the pipeline. 

[korpuskat]

Summary: Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over. Rating: Explicit (citrus, violence) WC: 7,131 Warnings: Violence against reader, menstruation >Chapter 1 >Chapter 2 >Chapter 3 >Chapter 4   >Chapter 5 >Chapter 6 >Chapter 7 ======

You stand on your porch and kick the rug back into place. The wind last night had turned up one corner and dragged it just far enough to not hide the staining beneath. You sip your coffee and drag a chair over to hold down the troublesome corner with one leg.

It’s not a pretty thing- just a brown woven mat that covers between the stairs and your front door. You’d taken the time to paint your stairs- and the columns on each side a fresh, fetching blue, but painting your whole porch would be much harder. So you didn’t bother. You’d scrubbed it down with bleach to remove as much as you could and eventually gave in and just bought the rug to cover what you couldn’t scrub free. Which was a lot.

If you squint you can make out the road through the white blankets of snow. You’re sure there’s a dark green car nestled up on the shoulder of the country highway with two freezing people inside, one with binoculars pressed up to the glass. You’d spoken with them a week ago, even brought them hot cocoa as a peace offering. They’re just there to remind you now.

It’s freezing out, long icicles hang from the roof over your porch and the handrails. But you stand there, warm your hands on your cup and peer out into the distance. You want something other than a forest green sedan. You want to see something other than a tan hat peeking over the snow mounds when one of them has to piss. So you stand there and scan the trees, hope the eyes you feel on you are not just the police’s.

The wind kicks up and you shiver, duck back inside before your coffee cools too much. January had arrived with a vengeance, bitter cold and unpleasant and with a violent snowstorm. It had snowed again two days ago, the perfect fields untouched around your house. Not a single set of footprints maring the pristine surface.

You had no need to leave now. Your house was back in working order, save for some items the police kept under lock and key in hopes that Michael Myers would turn up again.

The idea of Michael in court- maybe even trussed up in a suit- made you smile.

You settle onto your couch, curled up in one corner as you flick the television on. You rub at another painful cramp in your belly as the static fades. The news plays, an update on the families of four fallen officers. A man weeps and recalls his husband’s bravery and valor and the horrors of not even being granted an open casket for closure. It changes to a woman speaking about her brother, you recognize her.

She’d lain flowers at the end of your porch one morning. When you stepped out she startled and something dangerous flashed in her eyes. She kept it reigned in and curtly explained herself and left. She hasn’t returned. The yellow flowers she’d left are frozen solid, preserved in ice.

In the end, you were tried only in the court of public opinion.

”Simply not enough evidence.” The district attorney had said, gritting out the words. There was outrage; two men had been murdered on your doorstep, a murderer’s fingerprints all over your house. Blood soaked deep into every crevice of your home. You were complicit.

You are complicit.

Hateful letters appeared in your mailbox for the first week- sometimes worse.

And then it leaked. Some broken-hearted nurse somewhere dropped your medical evaluation online.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs of dutiful descriptions of the bruises, new and old, on your arms, neck, hips, and thighs. The half-healed perfect impression of Michael Myers’ teeth on your shoulders, your chin. Invasive, personal details- inflamed, bruised cervix. Scrawled in nearly unreadable doctors’ handwriting: Definite proof of insemination.

And after it all, there were pictures. At least the nurse had conveniently excluded the more revealing photos. But even the initial exam had been damning. Your eyes were glazed over and far away, empty. Too easy to mistake one kind of trauma for another.

Blues and purples ringed your wrist and neck like gaudy jewelry. Amateur internet detectives even outlined on your neck the shape of Michael’s hands where he’d choked you, pinpointing the exact places where his fingers met at the back of your neck.

The outrage turned overnight- you were a victim. Coerced became the word they liked, coerced over duress or hostage. Why else would anyone help Michael Myers?

The hate mail faded, replaced with tearful outcries of the injustice. Well-wishers hoping your life would get better, more than a few requests for interviews. You politely declined them all, answered only once that you simply wanted your life back.

And you had it. More or less. There were still faded bloodstains on your porch and two empty slots in your knife block. Your bed was empty, but neatly made.

Another cramp makes you flinch and press harder into the skin between your navel and the hem of your jeans. The caffeine of your coffee was not helping, but you enjoyed the warmth too much to set it aside. You even had that back in your life- the stress of it all had pushed your cycle back and bloodless through November and December. Come the new year, it finally retaliated. You’d rather it stayed a thing of the past, but in an unfortunate way, being surrounded by blood was becoming familiar.

But your life was not quite complete. There was only one thing missing; it would snow again tonight.

The thought brings a warmth through your chest. You don’t know how you know, can’t begin to explain how you know. The police released you from “protective custody” a month ago, but even still they lurk at the street. They wander through the Mortons’ property in guise of looking for evidence, yet they stare to your little cabin. He hasn’t been able to get close enough yet, not without a conspicuous trail of bodies.

It could have all been a blood bath. He could’ve killed every cop that touched you, reclaimed you and resumed your frantic run. It’s what the police expected, a mindless killing machine to appear at your door again. They even wonder if he’s dead now- why else would he stop?

You want to laugh at them, want to scold them for thinking of him as something so lowly. He’s smarter than that. The clean snow that surrounds your home tells you so.

You finish your coffee, push down on your belly before the next wave of pain comes. The news moves on as you leave the living room, move into the kitchen. You’ve been waiting for this.

You cleaned the slow cooker a week ago and froze some beef chuck. You pull that out and leave it in the sink to begin to thaw. The slide of a knife out of your block feels taboo, a personal little thrill as you begin to cut up vegetables. It’s wrong. You don’t stop smiling.

Though it hasn’t thawed much, you drop the beef right in the center of the ceramic pot. You scrape carrots and onions and potatoes into the slow cooker, pour in water and broth and a healthy mix of spices. It’ll be done by nightfall; if he liked your soup, he should enjoy your pot roast.

The thought warms you, bring a queasy sort of calmness. Like the forest when the wolf is near. You plug in the slow cooker and set a timer. You’ll be ready. You’re sure it’s tonight.

With that beginning to heat, you pour another cup of coffee. A pang from your belly reminds you how terrible caffeine is on your period. You curse at nothing and realize one other thing you’re still missing. You should’ve remembered! He’ll need bandages and you need medication. Especially for when he arrives.

Your ibuprofen is tucked inside the first aid kit the police kept as evidence. You haven’t replaced that yet. You’ll have to go old-fashioned on it. An old plastic water bottle is good enough. You turn the hot tap on full blast, dipping your fingers under the water and waiting for it to heat. You fill the bottle, listen to the quickly rising pitch. When it’s bursting you screw the cap on and take your improvised heating pad with you to the living room.

Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over.

You start to doubt yourself when the shadows of the trees stretch long over glistening snow. Your heart hurts, anxiety rearing its ugly head. What if you were wrong? No, no. He’d be back. He came back twice before. Had he finally gotten what he wanted from you? It can’t be- surely that’s too much to invest just to have sex when he could’ve taken it so much earlier.

You pull a pillow to you and hug it close, push the warm bottle flush with your skin. The first whiff slides in from the kitchen. He’ll be back. You press your eyes closed and hope you’re right. He liked your soup too much.

It’s cold. You blink awake- it’s dark in the living room. The TV plays on, bathing the room in too-bright, multicolor lights. You rub at your arms through the sweater- it’s damn cold. Too cold. It’s never been that drafty before-

The kitchen light is on. You stand, water bottle and pillow dropping to the floor with a thud and wump. You step closer. Your heart soars; wet boot outlines track down the hallway and around the corner- you can hardly breathe.

You peek into the kitchen. The rich smell of the cooking- or perhaps cooked- pot roast fills you, helps to fight off the chill that bites through your sweater. But aside from the light being on, the kitchen is empty.

Thrill overtakes disappointment; the puddly bootprints are still there. They stop in the middle of the hallway already smaller and thinner than the larger, glistening pools towards your bedroom. He should be here, you know, but if he hadn’t woken you… You follow the bootprints backwards, down the dark hallway and into your laundry room.

Wind whistles, fresh snow pours in through your back door. Outside, a single set of tracks from the trees are already filling in in the falling snow. You grin- A single set of tacks. He’s here. You’d left it unlocked just for him, had been leaving it unlocked for weeks. Your smile hurts its so wide.

You kick the snow aside and push the door closed, squint against the freezing winter wind that chaps your cheeks. It closes- and suddenly your house is all too quiet, the buffeting sounds of the storm locked out once more.

You turn, heart beating out of your chest- but the doorway to the laundry room is still empty. The little bits of half-melted snow on the tiled floor confirm again he’s been here and yet he hides. You creep back towards the hallway.

What if it wasn’t him?

The first touch of alarm slides over you. If you had an intruder… you carefully wrap your hand around the molding and peek one eye around the edge. You gasp, shoot upright-

A hand, big and cold wraps around your throat. He turns, slams you into the wall at the end of the hallway. Your cry doesn’t make it past his palm, your hands find his chest, dig your nails into thick fabric-

And he presses in close to you; you smell machine oil and rust and long dried blood. Low and steady breathing, made louder through the tiny nose holes. Above you empty black eyes bore into you, the plain emotionless face of a white latex mask ghostly in the low light. You sag in his grasp, fingers twitching to pull him closer. ”Michael.”

He stares down at you, stiff and unchanging. It’s about as warm a welcome as you expected. But he’s here, he’s not out slaying your neighbors, and you can’t hide how comforting his presence is. Even as he makes your heart race, makes your hands tremble with the growing tension- you’d rather him be here.

He leans in close, close enough for you to feel his hot breath escaping the mask, close enough for you to smell the bitter, metallic tang of old blood deep in the crevices of the mask. He’s nearly cheek-to-cheek with you, white latex fills the left side of your vision- and air whistles in through the nose holes.

He stands there- then slowly cocks his head. He switches hands smoothly, his left coming around your throat before you even realize the right hand has moved to his mask. He pushes the latex up; it’s awkward and difficult with one hand, but he lodges it over his nose and leans close again.

You whimper, close your eyes expecting the sharp imprint of his teeth- and get only cold air pulled over your shoulder, the long noise of Michael’s slow inhale. He’s smelling you. The thought makes your blood rush- what does he find? He moves close, septum almost touches your skin as he sniffs again.

His head tilts the other way. Cold fingers slide under your shirt, pushing the thick sweater up. He feels your stomach, the chill permeates your skin, makes you cramp again. You flinch, flex your stomach away from him in protest- it does not go unnoticed. The mask tips to look at your face- and he rucks your shirt up. He looks at your stomach, runs his hand over your skin, searching for something.

He doesn’t find it. He leans in close again, inhales just over your navel, makes you squirm. He pops the button to your pants and pulls them down to your knees without unzipping them. Cold air makes your skin prickle, makes you press your thighs together, but Michael’s quickly warming hands make up for it. Again, he feels over your skin with probing, curious fingers.

He tips his head again, this time releasing your throat in favor of dragging his hand down to your sternum. He pushes there, makes you short of breath and keeps you pressed to the wall.

And Michael Myers sinks to his knees before you. You don’t have to meet his icy blue eyes to know he still has all the control. His right hand is almost delicate as it curls into the hem of your underwear and slides the thin fabric down your thighs. His mouth twitches at the sight of your bloodied pad.

You think you know what he was smelling. You flush, feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment and wish he’d stop his exploration already.

His fingers slip between red-tinged labia for only a moment. You whimper as he brings the now bloody digits before his eyes, looks closer. The suffocating presence fills the hallway, threatens to drown you then and there.

His left hand grabs your hip hard; the right delves between your legs, brushes harshly against your over-sensitive clit and finding your entrance. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, nails scraping on the wall as he pushes just the first knuckle inside. It should feel amazing- the first time he’s been inside you at all since the motel. But you’re too sensitive, too tender-

He withdraws just as fast, makes you clench your jaw. The hand at your hip is bruising, demanding your attention- and he holds up the two bloody fingers before you. They glint in the moonlight that seeps in from the laundry room. You can’t see his eyes but you know from the painful bite of his nails in your skin that you’re in danger. Chills race down your back, adrenaline floods your veins. Something just short of rage leaks from his fingers into your thigh.

You don’t know why he’s so furious, that makes it so much worse. He looks to you and you know he expects something from you. why has your blood infuriated him? You can only hope he’ll be more helpful if he knows you don’t understand. “What’s wrong?”

It’s the wrong question. He’s upright before you can blink, the bloodied hand wrapped tight around your throat. It’s clear now the grasp he’d used before was only for control, for keeping you still and where he wanted you. This time his fingers bite into the base of your skull, pressure from his palm makes your vision staticky.

Real fear makes you twist your fingers into his coveralls, stare wide-eyed into the mask’s eyeholes. His mouth is distant, and horrifically emotionless. His voice is the same monotone, disconnected from the rage in his fingertips. A single grunting word. “Who?”

Your mind races. He was mad- you were bleeding- You can barely form words over the pressure on your throat. “Who… hurt me? Michael, I-“

He growls, deep and primal, and surges forward. He’s hard, grinding up on your side through the coveralls. You whimper, fight off fear and lightheadedness to chase any possibility. Rage, blood, he’s hard, sex maybe-

Oh.

It’s not rage, it’s jealousy.

You shake your head, only making your vision swim harder. “Nobody, nobody.” You tap at his hand weakly in a plea for air. ”Michael.”

The suffocating presence does not subside, but his thumb eases off your jugular. You blink, feel your head bobbing. “It’s my period. People with…” you pant, wish there was a better way to explain, but between the hypoxia and Michael’s limited patience you opt for fast over comprehensive. “vaginas just, bleed sometimes. It’s not… It’s not a sex thing, Michael.”

He doesn’t relax, keeps the same threatening hand over your neck. You squeeze his wrist in what you hope he understands is meant to be sincerity. “There’s nobody else, Michael. Just you. Only you.” You pause, seek the mismatch of his eyes. “Ever.”

Only then does his head begin to tilt, a long moment passing before the bloody, violent hand loosens around your neck. You sigh, lean back against the wall. The mask sweeps over you, slow and deliberate. His right hand slides down your body, over your bunched up sweater and down over your belly, brushes through the dark hair- and nudges back between your legs.

You whimper, “It’s sensitive…”

Michael doesn’t seem to hear you. He doesn’t look up, but instead brings his middle finger back up where you can see it. It’s glossy, near black in the low light, just as it had been before. And Michael brings it close to his lips- You can hardly breathe.

His pink tongue slips out and licks, long and slow, over his fingertip. He isn’t looking at you. This isn’t for you. His head tips slowly as he considers something, thoughts hidden behind his mask.

He grabs at the rolled-up fabric of your jeans caught on your thighs, thumbs curling into the leg holes of your underwear as well and shoves. You yelp as he forces them down, your skin exposed to more cold air. You shiver, go back to digging your nails into the wall because you know well enough you can’t stop him now. You even lift you leg so he can tug the denim off one leg- and he settles that thigh onto his shoulder.

The cold air dries the blood to your skin, making it prickly and stiff, pulling at the hair on your thighs. Even on his knees, Michael comes right up to your sternum. He presses the palm of his hand to your stomach, a silent command to stay still.

You cup your hands over your mouth, hold your breath- and can’t stifle a gasp as his tongue, scaldingly hot on your cold skin, touches to your thigh. He licks at the blood drying there, slow and methodical. HIs hand fits easily under your knee, pushes your leg out farther so he can find more. His scruff scratches at your skin, tickles your inner thigh, and his tongue delves into the sensitive crease between hip and thigh.

You squeak, instinctively try to bring your legs back together- but Michael’s hand is firm under your knee. The mask tips up in warning; with anyone else you might complain that you can’t control if he’s the one tickling you, but Michael’s already wound up. He’s rough enough when you’re compliant, you’re not sure what he’d be like if you were obviously rebellious.

But his tongue laves across your inner thigh again, saliva chilling uncomfortably on your skin, until your skin is pink with diluted blood. A ghost of teeth on your skin is the only warning you get.

He sinks in, ripping at the delicate flesh there and you try so hard not to squirm too much. Your nails scrape on the wall behind you and you cry for mercy, “Ow! Michael, please, fuck!” He ignores you, sucks hard there until you’re sure he’ll really take a bite out of you.

He lets go with a wet pop, freezing air somehow better than the painful heat of Michael’s mouth. At least it doesn’t feel like he broke skin this time.

With your weight on the other leg, his cheek presses fully to the warmth between your legs for him to taste the blood that’s gathered on the other thigh. You whine, rock gently against him in hopes he’d understand. But Michael is in no hurry, his patience is near unlimited- and he holds all the control.

He cleans the blood from you with a twisted jealousy- he’d been furious at the thought of someone else making you bleed. That makes a cold shiver shake your shoulders. He wants your blood for himself, he wants to be the one to make you bleed. He has and he will again, you’re sure of it.

He gives the other leg only a nip, a glancing scrape of his teeth that still makes you stiffen, ready yourself for the piercing pain of his bite. Instead he sets your leg on his shoulder, slides his palm close to your body. The blood has stuck some of your short hairs together, they tug and part painfully as his thumb slips between your labia and pulls your pussy open.

Being watched now while you’re bleeding is just as exposing as when he’d peered so observantly at you before. You bite your lip, expectantly watch the mask, still half-wrapped over his nose, as though it would whisper to you what he thought of your body.

You don’t have to wait long.

His tongue swipes over your swollen, irritated clit. You scream, nearly jump out of your skin- it’s too much, the nerves of your pussy too raw to be able to focus on the pleasure behind it. You instinctively try to pull him away- wrap your fingers in long, soft hair and try to make him ease up on this torturous touch-

But all you get is the wobbling of latex, a displeased grunt, and a punitive lash of his tongue against your clit. His right hand still holds you open- so the left curls into the same soft hair you did and pulls the mask off, dropping it to the floor.

His eyes hold you in place even as he his tongue slips deeper, towards the source of the blood. His gaze is icy, dangerous. An edge of a threat written across his scarred face- he’s already warned you to be still once. You can’t help it, the sensation is too much, too powerful on your hormonally-wrecked body; he tries to lick at your entrance and his bumps against your clit.

You sob and reach for him again, weak pleads for mercy already spilling from your lips, “It’s too much, please, please.” Your fingers find his scalp and the short, coarse hair there. Too short to pull him off, you can only push weakly at him. Cool blue eyes narrow- and you cry out as his hand wraps around your wrists. There’s no kindness to his grasp; he pins your hands with brutal efficiency, keeps them just at the end of your sternum to keep them out of his way as he licks into you.

You writhe, fight to free your hands, try to close your legs around him, but he pays you no mind. Only brings your hips forward, away from the wall, so he can press in closer. Each time you twist, his stubble scrapes across your thighs- now so sensitive it burns. You whimper, try to still your movements if only to minimize the pain.

The edge in his gaze softens, his tongue flattens against you and gives a slow lick across your weeping pussy. His attention returns to claiming every drop of your blood, not quite closing his eyes, but no longer focused on you. The briefest pause of his relentless attack makes the wires cross in your brain. Each touch still hurts, sharp pangs of unmitigated pain- and yet the warmth of his tongue, the soft texture as he slides down to suck at the bottom edge of your labia.

He tongues into you, just barely slipping the tip of his pointing tongue in- and his nose presses to your clit again. You whimper, close your eyes, and rock against him. The motion sets your thighs alight again. You shake and try to spread them wider- which is hard enough with one leg propped up on his shoulder, but you roll your knee out to try to give you at least a little more room.

He pushes closer, grinds the bridge of his nose into you. You sputter and grind back- pain and pleasure warring under his touch. He slides up, wraps soft lips around your clit. Your head thrashes back and forth, shaking desperately to get away and to pull him closer.

You look to him- and his eyes are trained only on you. The piercing blue and milky white hold you, makes your breathing stutter to a stop- until his tongue laves slow and purposeful across your clit. He draws the moan from you and the dangerous glint in his gaze returns. Your reaction has caught his interest again.

You whimper and he licks your clit again, the point of his tongue edging from bottom to top, pushing the hood of your clit back. You jerk under him, whine, his tongue already returning for another swipe, slow and steady. Your mouth falls open, breath caught in your chest as you can’t decide between a gasp and a scream.

He continues on, lapping at your clit with merciless precision- tears burn at the corners of your eyes and you know he wants it to hurt. He passes over you again, warm and repetitive, and you want to beg him to stop- it’s so good and it hurts and he’s made you suffer enough, but-

The pain has masked how good it really feels. Stimulation good or bad has been pushing you up and up. All at once pleasure is winning out and you’re right at the edge and you’re gasping, head lolling back against the wall. It’s all too raw, too acute on your senses- but the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you- and Michael does not stop his incessant torture. You shake, grinding against him without even feeling the burning rub of his whiskers across your thighs and labia. You wobble on your one leg and hope Michael would catch you if you fell.

You don’t have to worry; his hand securing your wrists keep your torso pressed to the wall, no matter how hard you buck. And he still doesn’t stop, moving back down to lick languidly at your entrance, tasting your release. You tremble in the aftershocks, each motion of his tongue on your skin brings a new skittering pleasure until you’re whimpering with soft pleas for him to stop.

You yelp with a startled, ”Oh!” as he stands, your leg falling from his shoulder to sit in the crook of his arm. He stares down at you, and in the low light you can see the sinful red discoloration of his beard, the proof of his bloodlust. He lets go of your wrists, and your arms fall limply to your sides. He reaches to his crotch- and, oh. These are new coveralls, nice ones, the kind with a double zipper. He unzips no more than he needs to, withdrawing his cock and revealing nothing else.

He’s expressionless, cool and guarded even with how much he’s already made a mess of you. He presses his cock against you and oh, the heat of his mouth was nothing compared to this. He ducks down for a moment- and his three-fingered hand slips under your other leg and hefts you up. You grab at the wall on instinct- your shoulders and neck still grounded, but your lower body is supported only by your legs caught on his elbows.

It only makes you more aware of how much control he has, how strong he is- that you can’t escape him now. You draw an inhale through your mouth and stare up at his eyes. He’s so hard to read, but you can’t imagine he’s not enjoying the frantic too-fast pace of your breathing, the hammer slam of your heart against your ribs. He adjusts- and lodges himself right up against you.

You bite your lip, push away that same feeling of overstimulation- and he fills you in one brutal thrust. It knocks you against the wall, nearly folds you body in half as he moves closer, finds just how he wants to hold you. His hands seek out your wrists again, pin you down to the wall, and like this, you can’t even move.

He rocks into you again- and though it hurts- he’s too big and your period has you too sensitive, you moan and let your eyes fall half-closed. It feels right, feels like what you’ve been missing for so long. He fills you entirely to bursting, his pubic bone meeting your clit with each roll of his hips.

It’s too much, but you can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop the little noises that slip from your lips unbidden- and he draws them out with such precision. A liquid heat settles inside you, your first orgasm easing the way for you to numbly bypass the too sharp pain. His cock bounces against your cervix and you know you’ll have the same, deep bellyache as before.

With him holding your legs, you can’t even meet his thrusts, can’t get any sort of leverage at all. It feels so good, his cock fills you, even as overstimulation tinges nerves. He moves steadily in his familiar, somehow comforting just barely too hard, achingly slow thrusts. It makes you mewl, scratch your nails against the wall in frustration- you want him to move faster, to bring you that same white hot pleasure. But his pace is as unchanging as his face, cool and unaffected by your growing plight.

Your lip trembles dangerously; hormones have already destroyed your fragile hold on you emotions, Michael’s cruelty was pushing you to the wrong edge. “Michael…” your voice wavers.

His head tips in bland acknowledgment.

“Please,” you know it’s useless to only beg. Everything happens by his will, petty pleadings alone won’t change his mind. Maybe something else would. You lick your lips, inhale slowly to draw up your courage. “I need you, Michael.”

Something flashes in his eyes, his fingers tighten around your wrists. He shifts you in his arms, urges your legs higher onto him, tilts your hips back further. He doesn’t say anything and other than the intensity in his eyes, he may as well have not heard you at all.

The next drive of his hips you understand. He spears into you, knocks hard against the sensitive patch inside you before sliding in deep. You gasp, clench around him in the sudden, lightning pleasure- the next thrust makes you cry out. Pleasure builds fast as Michael’s hold on you stifled the instinctive, rhythmic rocks of your hips. The heat deep within threatens to burn out all thought, all rational ideas beyond Michael Myers’ cock inside you.

But as you focus on the liquid pleasure between your legs, the rough impacts of his thighs on yours- your breath catches. The added sensation has your head spinning, but there’s a problem. He’s tortuously slow. No, he’s a sadist.

Another thrust has you mewling, cunt clenching desperately on his cock. Your body pleads on instinct, begs him to stay deep inside, to chase his pleasure with reckless abandon- but all you get is the parting of his lips, soft pants of exertion. Even that makes you feel closer, thinking that he’s enjoying the wet, slick heat of your body. The soft glaze to his eyes, the dusting of pink across his cheeks-

It brings you right to the edge. You’re close before you can even process it, the heat threatening to boil over. You’re moaning and waiting for one more harsh thrust to push you beyond the point of no return-

It doesn’t come. Focus returns to Michael’s eyes before you can find release, his hips stilling while you’re stuffed full of his cock. No, no- frantic desperation overtakes you. Primal need makes you writhe on him, weakly trying to fuck yourself on him.

Your left leg drops- the adrenaline rush of falling ceases all other movements. And it does not stop when Michael’s hand wraps around your throat. You manage to slip an inhale in before he presses down and constricts your breathing. He pushes in close to you, until your body is right up against the wall again. Like this, he fills your vision, reminds you just how tall he is. His intense gaze returns, staring at you with his mismatched eyes- waiting for something.

Hypoxia sets in fast, your mind losing track of what’s happening-

Before he pushes into you again. Pleasure lights up the parts of your brain still functioning. Your eyes roll, but he picks up his pace. Your eyes threaten to close, the darkness collecting in your vision with each passing moment. But his fingers loosen, readjusting so he can deny you even unconsciousness.

Without his arm to support it, your left leg dangles uselessly, waving in time with Michael’s powerful thrusts. With newfound freedom your left hand grabs at his arm- not to beg for air, but only for stability, to pull him closer. Just to feel the fabric of his coveralls under your fingers.

You blink, try to focus- and realize you’re drooling over your chin. A weak moan slips past his fingers, and he’s rutting into you. He grinds against your clit, fills you, rubs deep inside- over and over until it’s all you can think about. His chokehold steals all thought, everything beyond the torture he provides and pleasure that boils over.

It comes in waves, weak and distant with your oxygen-addled brain struggling to keep up between savoring the pleasure and processing the sharp snaps of Michael’s hips. You clench hard around him, vision going double and blurring. You twitch, fingers digging into thick fabric, left leg kicking against his calf. Each motion inside you drags it out, keeps you suspended somewhere outside yourself.

Through the haze you feel hot breath puffing on your cheek and hard grind of his hips. His hand tightens and your ears ring. Low, guttural grunting fills your head, warmth spilling between your legs.

His grasp loosens. Awareness returns with low, shallow gasps. You’re dead weight in his arms, every limb lax and useless, but he holds you aloft, keeps you pressed close to him. He stands over you, breathing slow and even through his parted, chapped lips. The same deceptive peacefulness has descended over his face; his eyes are closed softly, not pinched or pressed- the usual hard edge to his countenance is long forgotten in post-orgasmic bliss. Your free arm, because he still holds the other to the wall, wobbles, but you manage to reach the back of his neck, feel the short hair curl over your fingers.

His lids lift, dark eyelashes fluttering. He looks to you, and you cannot name what lingers behind the soft blue of his iris, but it settles deep behind your ribcage. You grin and know you must look half-crazed, loopy and drugged out and everything else you could call someone who smiles serenely at a serial killer. It doesn’t matter; a laugh burbles up through your chest, soft and airy, and tears prick at your eyes because he’s back and he’s real and oh my god your thighs hurt so much-

He tilts his head, confused by your strange display of mixed emotions- laughing and crying and wincing all at once. You shake your head, dismiss it all. “I missed you.”

His thumb rubs over your irritated throat, you think that’s as gentle as he can be.

He pulls out- you whine at the burning drag on your walls, the whisker burn across your labia and thighs. And wince at the soft, wet dripping noise from the floor. Michael lowers you and steps away- leaves you braced against the wall, struggling not to slide down to the floor. Something slides down your inner thigh and it stings.

Michael’s gaze stays on you for a long moment, watching the heaving of your chest, the absolute mess he’s made between your legs. He looks lower- to his cock. He’s softening already, but his head tips as he looks- and takes it in hand. He doesn’t stroke, but glides a finger over the shaft. You blink, squint, and look closer-

It’s covered in blood and cum. Long red streaks mixing into a milky pink mess of your mutual pleasure. You blanch, remember what had drawn Michael into fucking you in the first place. With what he’s done to your thighs, pads will be excruciating. You sigh, “We both need a bath now.”

His eyes lift and meet yours. Even now he makes you shiver with his intensity. The empty gaze has returned and you mourn for the strange, foreign look that surfaces from time to time. You know it’ll return. But now, Michael’s dopamine and oxytocin slurry has subsided back to his regular difficult self- and you watch, disgusted but not surprised, as he tucks his cock away into the coveralls and rezips himself.

And yet, it almost makes you break out into laughter again. He doesn’t even wipe his hands. He’s disgusting and you’ll probably fuck him again before the night is out.

“Okay, give me a minute then. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” You lean on the wall for support and navigate around him back to your room. For now, you leave your pants and underwear in the hallway- you’ll have to clean up later anyway. Footsteps behind you tell you he’s following you. Some things haven’t changed.

You retrieve underwear and a set of pajamas, keeping your legs pressed tight to hopefully minimize any drips. He follows you to the bathroom and stands in the doorway just to watch you clean up. It should be so much more embarrassing, but you’ve held his dick while he peed.

You pee, ignore the tiny smug upturn of his lips that does not disappear when you wipe and wince. In the stark bathroom light you can see the pink tinge that covers your vulva and thighs, along with the red outline of his teeth on your left leg. Honestly, it could be worse. From the first beginnings of a yellow-green shadow over your wrist, it’ll probably all darken more. Your throat throbs in reminder.

You’ll have to wear more scarves. You think that’ll be just fine.

Michael watches, face blank and inaccessible, as you press a pad into fresh underwear and carefully pull it up. It hurts, but you realize something as your skin complains: you’re not cramping anymore. There’s a dull ache behind your belly button where Michael’s dick has tried to pry you open further, but the rolling, sharp pains that would make you double over have ceased.

You change into the pajamas and drop your shirt- the only thing remaining of your earlier outfit- into the laundry hamper.

He follows you to the kitchen- and Michael’s stomach growls. His brows draw together in sharp disapproval of his own body’s noises and you struggle to keep your smile under control. At least he liked the smell. You retrieve two bowls, Michael watches from the hallway as you ladle out the pot roast- making sure to give Michael some vegetables in a vain hope he’ll eat some.

You offer him his bowl- and in the kitchen light you blush at his still dirty hands and the blood caked into his white stubble. Of course. If he can kill without being disgusted at the gore, this probably was clean to him. You shake your head and move towards the living room.

It’s still dark, illuminated only by the television playing an evening police drama. You step towards your normal chair in the corner, only to find Michael’s hand at your side, pulling you with him. You blink up at him in the darkness, but his hand falls away when you stand in front of the couch. He sits and immediately begins devouring messy spoonfuls.

You sit next to him for the first time, feeling the casual touch of your leg against his, the warmth that radiates off him now that he’s out of the snow. You watch him as he stares at the screen, apparently taken with whatever show was playing- and you wonder if this is what he feels like. Watching, wondering what goes on in other peoples’ heads.

Your bowl sits warm in your hands, the thick, hearty smell drifting to you and making your mouth water. You smile at him and lay your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the touch for a moment. The motion of his arm as he eats, the soft noises of his breathing, nearly drowned out by the television.

With your curtains drawn, nobody will know he’s here. Fresh snow will cover his tracks. Nobody will come looking for him. You sigh, open your eyes again- and find the mixed blue and white looking down at you. You press closer, rub your cheek over the thick, rough material of his coveralls, feel the shape of his arm beneath. Three words slip from your lips.

The strange softness returns to his eyes.

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