#sixteen years later they managed to make me cry

[somuchstrdst]

Brazilian emo bands still rock so hard

[taeraemisu]

home ; hao zb1

synopsis ; reader constantly had to move when they were younger, so no place ever felt like home to them. even their childhood home felt foreign. but they have only ever considered one place truly home and that is right in hao’s arms.

genre ; angst, the scariness of growing up, homesickness, small mention of death, reader and hao knew each other as kids but fell apart

pairings ; hao x reader

word count ; 2.2k words

you looked over your room. the falling off posters, the scattered lego pieces on your desk, the worn out papers and books. that was what you had expected to see, a reminiscent of your childhood. instead, a nearly empty and neat room was staring back at you. it was as if you had never lived there.

you moved around a lot as a kid, mainly because of your parents’ jobs and living situations. but you always managed to end up back at your childhood home, as that was where your mother lived. you spent most of your school breaks there before moving away again for school to start.

you took a step into your room. your room was almost empty. or at least, it felt empty. the books were neatly arranged and your bed was neatly kept. the posters were placed nicely on the wall. it felt foreign.

how could something you spent a good portion of your life at feel like a stranger to you?

with your mother’s passing, you went back home just to gather and pack a few things. it had been years since you have last seen her and you really wished you had hung around a lot longer. you dismissed any negative thoughts away, you had a complicated relationship with your parents. no point in dwelling over them.

you walked out to the backyard, looking at it with a sense of longing. you played around in it with your grandparents once. they passed years ago. the house may feel like a stranger to you but its your house, your memories were still intact.

a memory of you playing football with a young boy flashed into your head. you smiled bitterly at the thought. hao, you thought. you haven’t seen him in so long. how was he? was he even still living in your town? probably not.

he was probably the only consistent thing in your life. you used to go to school with him when you were still living there, and you two quickly became the best of friends. so when you first moved, you could not bare the thought of telling him that you left. how could you? the thought of seeing a crying hao broke you.

so you left.

without a goodbye.

of course, you came back to visit your mother during your school breaks and that’s when you saw hao again. he lived a few houses away and according to your mom, he always came over to see if you were back. a nine-year-old hao, coming over to your house almost every single day, just to know if you were back.

you first went back when you were eleven, two years later, and facing hao broke you. it was too much for the eleven-year-old you. hao was so prepared to be angry at you for leaving but seeing you break down in front made him forget his initial anger.

he comforted you, saying that it was okay that you left without a goodbye and he could never hate you for it (he did but he still got to see you again, no?). you felt so bad, crying into his arms. you didn’t say goodbye because you did not want to see him cry, but now that you were back, you were the one crying.

“hang out with me everyday to make up for it.”

so that’s what you did. you hung out with hao at every chance you got. you had to make up for it. on the days leading up to your departure again, you and hao made a promise to spend every break with each other.

and that’s what you did.

the next few times that you came back was when you were twelve leading all the way till you were sixteen. and for some reason, you stopped after that.

you never went back home.

you didn’t know why, it just happened. you got busy a lot when you were sixteen, studying for so many exams. you spent one of the few school breaks studying so you didn’t travel. and that continued. so you stopped going back completely. you even lost contact with hao. you lost his phone number when your phone broke and you had zero means of contacting him again. so when you stopped heading home, you stopped seeing him too.

it was around the time you realised you caught feelings for him. but what could you do? you just let yourself suffer in silence.

you snapped out of your thoughts. you wonder how was your friend doing now. did he go off to school for music? you knew he loved to play the violin, there were times where he would play for you. in fact, there was a song he composed just for you, and he would play it only for you.

you left the house, deciding to go around town and look back on the places you frequent. you passed by the playgrounds you went to with hao, the cafes and shops you visited with hao. no matter where you went, you could always connect it with a memory back to hao.

the shopowners recognised you, saying how much you have grown since the last time (which was something they said every single time you visited).

“have you met with hao yet?” one of the restaurant owners asked you when you entered the store to greet her.

you passed at the mention of his name. the mention of his name made your heart drop. all these years and you are still the same.

“not yet,” you said. “but i should go-“

“yn?”

your ears recognised the voice instantly. everything is the same. you turned around and there he was, a guy wearing a white hoodie and glasses staring right at you.

if your heart dropped at the mention of his name, your heart dropped to the pits of hell with the sight of him.

“it has really been a long time, hm?”

it was now the middle of the night. the both of you were at the playground you both always played at as kids. you guys were sitting on the swings, silence surrounding the two of you.

“so …” you cleared your throat. “what have you been up to?”

hao shrugged, looking over at you. “well, i am majoring in music. i get to play violin every now and then …” he started to say. “i’m working on getting a teaching license to teach people how to play the violin.”

“woah, that’s great hao!” you beamed. you felt happy for him. you knew how much hao loved to play the violin so seeing him doing something he loves made you feel really happy. “must be a really eventful last few years, right?”

hao looks at you with a look on his face that you couldn’t pinpoint. did he look angry that you never came back and randomly showed up after all these years? “… right,” he finally says after a moment of silence.

the silence surrounds the both of you again. you guys could have talked for weeks straight when you were kids, so why was it so different now? how much has time changed?

“look i have to go,” hao says as he gets up from the swing, getting ready to leave. the awkwardness was too much for him to bare. “it’s nice seeing you again, yn. you don’t have to find me when you leave again,” he emphasised on again, confirming your suspicions that he was angry at you.

he started to walk away when you got up from the swings, stopping him from leaving, grabbing his arm. “hao, wait.”

he looks at you, seeing what you have to say. “i’m sorry for not coming back,” you said. “with exams and everything … i just got so busy. and my phone broke! i lost your number and-“

hao removed your grip on his arm. “i get that, okay? you don’t have to apologise,” he said in a more harsh tone than he expected. “sorry,” he quickly apologised. “and look, we were kids. everyone falls apart. not everyone keeps their childhood friendships so i get that. it’s just … it always felt like you never made an effort to try.”

you were stunned. was that how hao felt? you always made an effort, didn’t you?

“i …” no words were coming out of your mouth. why couldn’t you say anything?

hao looks at you, hoping for some type of answer from you before sighing. “i have to go. see you whenever, i guess.” he walks away, leaving you in the playground alone with your thoughts.

you were back at home, but at what cost? did it take you losing your mother and friend to come back?

you were back at your childhood home, thinking about the encounter with hao. did you really make no effort? you try to deny it but the more you thought about it, the more you realised you really didn’t. it was always hao doing things. he always comforted you first, he always asked to hung out first, he always asked to go this and that first.

it was always him.

you didn’t even tell him you were going to move at first, and that made you feel like the most horrible friend. and once you were sixteen, you always made excuses to not return to the town. saying that you had to study, or that you have to work, always making up excuses. you avoided the town at all costs, probably because your relationship with your mother had worsen a little too.

but shouldn’t hao be worth coming back to?

you felt a strange sense of homesickness. you felt a weird longing to go home. but you were home. you were in your childhood home. but why didn’t it felt like one? why did you still want to go home? you felt suffocated in the house, wanting to go home but you were clearly there.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you had to go see hao. this time, you had to make an effort.

you gathered your things and quickly left, heading to hao’s house. you knew the way from the back of your mind. you knew all the little shortcuts to his house, it was as if you never left. you got to his house. you couldn’t leave again without even see him.

you were about to ring the doorbell but you realised the window was open and from the outside, you overheard the melodic sound of the violin. you listened carefully, you knew hao was practicing his violin and you didn’t want to disturb him. you listened to what song he was playing and your ears perked up immediately. you recognised it.

it was the song he made for you.

he stopped playing after awhile and sees you outside his window. you saw him looking at you and you quickly ducked, embarrassed. hao finally opens the door and sees you standing there. “what are you doing here?” he asked in a cold tone.

no words came out of your mouth. what were you going to say?

“hao i’m …” you start to say, tears swelling up in your eyes. “i’m so sorry. it’s not that i don’t make an effort i’m just … so scared. i leave a lot, i’m always moving. i’m constantly changing. but yet you—“ your voice cracks. “—are always here. you are always the same. i don’t want you to deal with someone like me so yes it seems like i don’t make an effort but i’m scared that you will hate me so much if one day i leave and never come back so-“ you were breaking down by then and hao hugs you, stopping you from crying.

“it’s okay,” he says in a soothing tone. “no matter how many times you leave, i’m always here. i will always stay.” he pats your head, calming you down. “i’m still here, aren’t i?”

he pulls away slightly to look at you, his arms still around your waist. “i can never hate you. yes, i hate you so much for leaving and moving and not coming back. but i am still here. i will always wait for you in this house of mine. and i will always wait for you at your house. waiting for you to come back to me.”

you pull him back for a hug, crying into his chest while he calms you down. how could someone be so perfect? you didn’t deserve him. “is it a bad time to say …” you hiccuped a little. “… that i realised i had a crush on you when we were like sixteen and i didn’t come back since?”

you hear hao chuckle while he continues to pat your head. “why do you think i made a song for you and played it only for you?”

you looked up at him, hao wiping your tears away. he gives you a peck on your lips. “i said i will always wait for you to come back to me, right? i always will but please, don’t leave me again.”

you smile while you hug him closer, thankful. you guys stayed like that for awhile, you in his arms.

finally, you were home.

© taeraemisu do not copy my works !



[bundoesnotcompete]

Reader is kaeya's blood sib and is roughly two years younger then Kaeya. Kaeya is a little less than a year younger than Diluc. I fudged with the already vague timeline a bit. Reader is a Fatui Harbinger. THE X READER IS PLATONIC

The biting cold of Snezhnaya was unpleasent against your skin. Whatever clothes you had borrowed from the unsuspecting Fatui agents did little against the cold. The clothes were either too large or too small for your sixteen year old frame. You had lost a tremendous amount of weight since you left Mondstat. Well, it felt like being exiled to you.

The look your brother had given you when you had happily approached him was one you would never forget. The sheer hatred and disgust in his eyes and he yelled at you was seared into your brain. The fact that he was crying made it worse. Then, you had found out Master Crepus had died.

The next few days had been tense as everyone seemed to ignore you. Not to mention, the fight between Kaeya and Diluc had left your blood brother injured. Then, when you had asked Diluc why everything was happening and why he was so cold, the hatred and anger in his face and eyes hurt you more than any flesh wound could. It was also then that you had basically lost your home.

"Why? You're asking me why when you are both traitorous spies?!" Shock filled you face as he began to yell. "How else am I suppose to feel when both of my siblings are traitors and my father is dead." A weak protest barely left your lips as you began to cry. "Get out of my office. I don't want to see you right now."

When you had asked Kaeya what had happened, he did not answer at first. He had given you a blank eyed smile before just saying that it had been a simple arugement. After pushing, he finally revealed that he had told Diluc about where you both had came from. You were a little angry with him after that, but did not leave until a few days later.

No one wanted to give you straight answers to anything. Diluc was ignoring or being down right nasty with you and Kaeya avoided questions, even though he looked guilty. The maids merely gave you looks of pity and told you not to worry.

Crepus's funeral had been tense and you decided that you would leave that night. From the stares to your family ignoring you, it seemed to you that you were not welcome in Mondstat anymore. So, you packed anything of great importance to you and left.

You had no plans when you had left, so you had wondered north. Bartering and haggling with traders to get supplies. You were getting good at manipulating people to get what you wanted. When you made it to Snezhnaya, you were plum out of supplies and seemed to be unable to find your way out of the frozen hellhole.

So you stole and bartered your way to survival, even setting up a couple of "accidents" to happen after some of the camps were hostile to you. You looted what you could from those accidents and moved on. One of your favorite pass times was manipulating and gaslighting the Fatui camps into doing things for you, or turning them against eachother. Looting them was always easier when they were fighting.

The few times you had gotten caught, you had managed to talk your way out of it. With a bit of luck and some gambling, you squirreled your way out of some sticky situations. You even got good at gambling and cheating in order to get supplies. The Fatui in the area did like to play poker, and you just happened to make good bets.

It seemed now that your schemes had caught up to you after a few months. The too big boots were crunching the snow beneath your feet as you ran. The camp you had robbed had a Harbinger in it. Well, at least you managed to screw them out of quite a bit of money before going back to rob them. Then you had discovered the tall, old man giving you a disappointed dad look as he caught you.

You managed to duck out of his grab as you ran out. You malnourished body getting you quite far. You were quick to run out of energy. Between the thick snow and tall trees, ypu energy was sapped out of you. You could see you breathe as you took a small breather. It was snowing again.

You took a few wet breaths before you began to cough. The wet sounds of your coughing were loud even when you tried to muffle them. It seems the cold was continuing to aggravate you chronic illness. The black tar that you heaved up wasn't a good sign. You haven't had a flare to this bad since you were a kid.

Heavy footfalls and the sound of snow crunching caught your attention. You needed to run but you just couldn't stop coughing long enough to catch your breath in a meaningful way. You were on your knees by the time he caught up to you. A warm hand was on your back as you coughed. He patted your back in order to help you.

When you finally stopped coughing, you accepted your fate as a caught mouse. You sat down fully and looked to the man kneeling beside you. The thick clothes and cloak he wore made him far more intimidating. The half mask along with his greyed hair a beard made him look horribly old. He looked at you with a curiosity when he saw your eyes.

"Finally done coughing?" He asked and took your wrist when he saw you about to flee.

"You've been causing quite the ruckus." You tried to free yourself from his grip and scoot away but he merely hauled you up on your feet. "We will discuss that later though, I am taking you back to camp first." His grip never loosened as he dragged you back to the camp. When he put you into a chair in one of the tents, you knew you were toast.

The guards waited outside as the man sat across from you. The fire inside the tent was keeping it wonderfully warm. You were still sopping wet from the snow, so you were still a little cold. You finally gained the courage to speak.

"What are you going to do to me now?" The man across from you never wavered in his gaze.

"You've caused many to be killed with your actions and managed to talk your way in and out of many situations. Not only that, but you have managed to negotiate with the more traditionally hostile locals for food, a feat even some of our more experienced Diplomats couldn't accomplish." He listed off. "Tell me, what do you think will happen?"

You shuffled nervously in your seat.

"You'll send me to prison. I know you have to be mad about what I did to the camp by the river." He hummed in response.

"It would be a waste of your skills, even as unrefined as they are, to send you to prison. As director of the Fatui, I have the power to pardon your crimes at a price. Tell me, would you be intrested in joining the fatui?"

The old man you had later found out was called Pierro. You had negotiated with him and you were shuffled into the ranks of the Fatui. Your skills in manipulation and diplomatic affairs had quickly sharpened. With a willingness to gamble and the ability to turn what would seem like a political disaster into an advantage, you rose the ranks fast. Your skills only continued to grow as Pierro quietly indulged you in a few lessons from him.

Soon, you rose to be a harbinger in a few short years. The tenth harbinger, Brighella, The Diplomat. The Fatui had soon become a family. Sort-of. You wouldn't trust any one of the harbingers to save your skin, but you did care for them a bit.

Among the lower ranks, you were known for being the best to work under and for being somewhat normal compared to others. Though, those that worked closely to you would disagree. Your recklessness and bad habits were going to turn your secretaries' hair grey. You had a saying, treat your employees decently, and they will produce better results.

Unlike Sandrone or Il Dottore, you did not work your lower ranked people to the bone for little to no rewards. By being a decent person you had earned the unwavering loyalty of many underlings.

Mondstat and your sibilings were buried in the back of your mind. Even when someone like Scaramouche threw your past in your face you did not care. You were someone new. Someone better. Not the scared youngest sibling. Though, all that was going to change with your next assignment.

It had been many years since you had been back home. Here you were, riding on horseback back to Mondstat after five or so long years. The trail to Mond from Snezhnaya was well worn from constant travel and enemies were few and far between. You had even ran into Grandmaster Varka's crew along the way, though he seemed a bit disappointed that you joined the Fatui. He did not treat you unkindly and it had made for a pleasant rest stop.

The breeze even smelt the same as you remembered. The weather and warmth was wonderful and nothing like the cold your new home was constantly in. Having air that didn't aggravate the abyssal sludge in your lungs was nice too.

You arrived to Mondstat with no fanfare. The guards waiting at the gate were asleep due to it being the middle of the night. Oh, Jean will be thrilled when you tell her of the sleeping guards.

Taking your stead up the stairs and to the Goth Grand Hotel, you were met by two diplomats, Mikhail and Lyudmila. Lyudmila took your horse to the stables when you got off of her while Mikhail took you the rest of the way to the hotel.

"The entire hotel has been on lockdown as ordered." He spoke as you passed by the door guard and entered the hotel. You hummed in response.

"Good. In the morning order every diplomat to the main hall. Seven am sharp. Do not inform them of my arrival. I am going to have a nap. See you in a few hours Mikhail." You waved him off as you wandered into what would normally be Dottore's office. Flopping on a comfortable couch, you sunk into it. The delusion on your belt hanging down as you drifted off. Il Dottore always got the nice seats, it wasn't fair.

At seven sharp, every diplomat was gathered into the main hall. You were dressed into a nicer outfit and cleaned up by the time you came down the stairs. The bath had been wonderful, but duty called and you were going down the steps of the second story at the agreed time. Lyudmila's sharp yell of formation had startled the diplomats and they quickly sorted themselves into rows.

Lyudmila and Mikhail were at the front facing the diplomats. Only one was missing and that was Luke, the loyal man made for a good door guard dog.

"Everyone is here as ordered, Brighella." You stood between the two diplomats and gazed at the group.

"Is everything and everyone ready?"

"Yes, my lord." They replied at the same time beside you.

"Good." You raised you voice as you spoke. "I want everyone to kneel on one knee." You commanded. There was hesitation before everyone kneeled.

"My arrival early was planned. We have rats in our midst." You began before calling out. "My dears, tie the filth up please." Several pyro agents came out and tied up five diplomats before setting them in front of you and kneeling.

"As you can see, we have rats. Now you souls are lucky, I cannot kill you. However, Il Dottore has requested you, so you will be going to him." Fear appeared in their eyes. "Now, next time everyone in this room will not be lucky. Next time, we will go back to stoning. We all know what happened in Natlan, I would like to avoid that. Take the rats away." The pyro agents did so. They would deliever them to Il Dottore.

"Now, I have other matters to attend to. Dismissed. Get out of my sight." The remaining diplomats were quick to flee. You turned to the two remaining diplomats.

"I have a meeting with Grandmaster Jean in twenty minutes. Mikhail and Lyudmila you are both dismissed. Good work. I will see you compensated." The two nodded and fled. Well, time to stroll your way to the headquarters.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and made your way to the Knights headquarters. It had been so long and yet, so little has changed. As you opened the door to the headquarters, you were promptly ran over by a small red child when she had slammed the door open and ran out.

You did not fall, but did take a few steps back and catch the red child. Klee you think her name was.

"Klee is so sorry! Oh please don't be mad!" She cried to you as you set her down. She looked up at you and gave out a soft wow. "Your really pretty and I'm sorry for running you over. "

"Thank you, but I'm a bit in a rush. You are forgiven as long as you run off to play." She smiled and took off, waving goodbye as she did so.

The meeting was to take place in a large room on the second floor. A guard was quick to come over and take you to the room. She was quick to flee too. Entering the room, you felt the shock ripple throughout the room. You hadn't been seen in Mondstat in five long years. Closing the door, you gave you standard diplomatic smile.

"I apologize, I ran into a certain Spark Knight on my way in." You spoke and took notes of everyone in the room. Jean was rather pale but kept her composure much like Lisa did. You saw some family heads you did not care about. Kaeya seemed unbothered, but you knew him too well. You knew he was shocked by your appearence and who you were working for. Diluc kept his face neutral, but you could see his eyes flicker to the delusion hanging on your belt. Was that guilt in his eyes? Oh, it didn't matter, what matters is the present.

You took the only open seat and began.

"I am Brighella, tenth of the Fatui Harbingers. I have full authority over the Fatui while I am here in Mondstat. Now, We have much to discuss. So let's deal with the first issue: the complaints..."

-------

End notes:

Me oh my what was supposed to be a small drabble turn into 2500 words, oopsies. Nothing is proof read as usual. Pumped out in like two hours. Hope you enjoyed!

[plague-karm]

Hadalpelagic Zone Part 8. Lena is going through it and thinking back on how she even got here. Yeah basically this is all Lena stuff, I was worried about focusing too much on the human characters but guess what motherfucker it’s MY fic and I can do what I want with it hahahahahhahahahhhahha.

Lena was sitting out by her balcony after a long day of work, she was thinking about what Ellie said…should she tell them? She still wasn’t sure, the last thing she wanted was to be seen as lesser because of the operations done on her. She was hoping they wouldn’t catch on, the poor coordination, the head splitting migraines, the lightheadedness…it was all something she dealt with on a daily basis, some days were better than others.

“Heya Len”

Lena shrieked as Bentley waltzed in, but she quickly calmed down after realising who it was…

“Hey…”

“You alright? You’ve been a bit down since yesterday…still reeling over those new hires?”

“Yeah…and my legs keep having spasms”

“Shit…well, me and Val are going out tonight, so if you’re awake when we come back…maybe we can-?”

“No”

Lena’s response was quick and to the point, something Bentley expected from her at this point but she had never been that fast before.

“I uh…listen…I don’t think I want to do it anymore…”

“Really?”

“Yeah”

“It’s just not hitting the same?”

“Not really…I don’t even know what we are at this point”

“Hey, as long as we don’t hate each other, I don’t care what we are”

The two hugged as Bentley walked out.

“See you later, Len”

She heard the doors close and she went downstairs to make sure everyone was gone, she liked the company her friends gave her, but she needed a small break from the chaos. She was lying on the sofa in the living room, mindlessly staring at the ceiling, the glare of the light blinding her a little, she was too tired to move though. And she felt it all coming back, from all those years ago…

She was sitting in her fathers lab, she had just finished playing with Bentley when she saw a few diagrams on his desk, diagrams of her, she got excited as she ran up to him, her father explained to her that he was preparing for his biggest project yet.

“You said it was gonna help my brain get better?”

“Yes, we will pick out the parts that are deemed unnecessary, and we’ll be left with someone who will take us to newer heights”

“Who’s that daddy?”

“You, my little aster”

“Woah…”

She was eleven when the operations started, her father believed that her mind needed to reach its fullest potential, he lacked the patience needed to truly let her intellect blossom naturally, but he had committed a great sin, his impatience had led him astray and Lena’s distress grew more and more with every operation she had.

“B-But…! I don’t wanna…! My headaches are getting worse…! I’ve been trying to cry but I can’t…!”

“Now now my little aster we talked about this, don’t you want your mind to be free of all limitations? For it all to get better?”

“But it’s not getting better! My head hurts!”

“What is progress without pain? I promise you my dear, whatever “pain” you’re feeling is only a result of your brain processing without the unimportant pieces, it isn’t real”

“But it feels real!”

“Lena. Get in the chair.”

“But-!”

“Get. In. The. Chair”

“…Okay”

The side effects were getting worse, she was struggling with walking, processing her emotions more often than normal, she even felt dead at times. By the time she turned sixteen she realised all of this was wrong, so one faithful night, she managed to run away, despite how much pain she was in. She got on a plane, and moved away, it was easier than she thought it was going to be, she landed in Cali and found where Bentley was living, after his own family tragedy he moved here so he could cope with life without the cruel reminder of what was taken from him, so seeing his friend standing on his doorstep was quite the surprise.

“Lena…? How did you even get here…? It’s really dark out here…”

He looked at her and saw how upset she was, she was shaking, breathing heavily, she looked awful, like she hadn’t slept in years.

“Hey…”

Bentley helped her inside and closed the door, she immediately dropped her things and looked like she was crying, no tears were. He hugged her and listened to her explanation

“I-I didn’t know where else I was supposed to go…!”

“What happened…?”

“They hurt me…! I had to get away…!

“Lena…”

That night was a dark one for the two of them, Lena drank for the first time, Bentley did the same, the two felt lonely, they were all they had in that moment, one thing lead to another…and it stayed that way for years. If either one of them got upset they’d just indulge in each other until the sadness stopped, and then they’d continue being friendly like nothing happened. It was wrong, but they never realised that it was wrong, it was normal to them, because who could teach them differently?

Besides, it made her feel safe, if something (or someone) made her feel safe, she’d do it, no questions asked, she was deprived of security and autonomy for so long, she’d take anything that resembled it. She knew it was wrong to think like this, but she was young, desperate, afraid, she just wanted to be safe.

But she’s older now, she hasn’t felt the same about her and Bentley’s nightly activities for a while now, he actually offered to do it to calm her down back when they were in the Blacksite, but she refused, he has always been respectful of her needs, protected her, brought her out of her shell…but there were times where it would be excessive.

Maybe that’s the reason she broke it off? Wait, what did she even mean by “break it off”? They weren’t even dating! She doesn’t even know what they are!

Which leads us back to present time, Lena fell to sleep after a while, completely unaware of the monster that just came back from a long run of making trades.

“That was so easy that I almost feel guilty for-“

Sebastian paused when he saw her sleeping, he sighed and shook his head

“Where’s the blankets…?”

He got a few out of a spare cupboard Valen used whenever he needed to put a random thing in a random place. He placed them on her as gently as he could (claws and strength be damned).

“You’re lucky you’re so tolerable…”

Sebastian started counting his money on the table, finally, he was actually getting somewhere with his blackmail plot. All that data he received back at the Blacksite was finally going to pay off soon, all of Urbanshade’s crimes were going to come to light, he wouldn’t see his name under a false murder report anymore. His choices might be limited now due to his new form, but hey, maybe he could be seen without the cloak in town for once? Maybe.

He hummed to himself as he finished counting his money, but then he glanced over at Lena and that came to a screeching halt, he saw the indent scars on her shoulders…he doesn’t know how he didn’t notice that until now but they were definitely there

“What the hell…?”

He went back down to his room after a while but the image stayed in his mind. Despite how much she confided in him, he didn’t really know her all that well, he could pick up on Bentley and Valen’s deals pretty easily, the former was an overly theatrical clown who lets anyone into his heart regardless of how opposed they are to his optimism, while the latter is barely keeping his shit together through a smile and amateur puppetry, and despite them talking more often, he could sense these was still some hesitance on Valen’s part.

Lena? He didn’t know, the only thing that stayed consistent about her was the way she sounded, always curious, always quiet, which made her louder moments a lot more unexpected. He knew she ran away from home, but he didn’t know why, he overheard their conversations from in here all the time but that was still the one mystery he hadn’t snuffed out. Well, he didn’t want to waste the rest of his hours thinking about her again, so he just curled up and went to sleep, something he had gotten better at doing lately.

Thank god Bentley was out, here’s to hoping he could get a quiet morning for once.

[witchyleehibernates-fics]

Late Night Hot Chocolate Remedies

Summary:

“Do you need a hug? Do you want a hug?” He asked her, the water filling the mugs quickly as he turned back to make sure they didn’t overflow. Jubilee took the small moment to wonder; did she need a hug? Did she want one? The answer was yes. She would love a hug at the moment, but Gambit was doing something. “Yes please,” She answered in spite of what her thoughts told her. She wasn’t a burden, not here, and not with Gambit. She knew that, so she answered, though her voice was quieter than it normally would have been. The water was turned off and the mugs set to the side as Gambit walked back towards her, arms open. Jubilee quickly jumped up and ran into his arms. She relaxed as they enclosed around her, and her eyes fell closed for a moment. It took Gambit rubbing her back and gently beginning to sway, rock, them for her to realize that she had started to cry too.

Content Warning's/Trigger Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Mentioned Nightmares

Characters: Jubilation Lee (Jubilee), Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1,644

Status: Complete

Fanfic Links:

|| Ao3 || Fanfiction Net ||

......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... .........

Jubilee startled awake, a gasp punching out of her chest hard enough that it hurt. There were tears running down her face and her hands were sparking lightly. A deep breath, as deep as she could manage at least as she tried to not cry, her hands coming up to rub her eyes. She didn’t remember what the nightmare was about, but the fear she felt was immense.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Jubilee repeated to herself as she pushed herself up, only once she trusted that her mutation wasn’t going to fry her blanket or the sheets. Her heart was still thudding rapidly, and her mind was stuck on the fear that she felt. And her throat felt dry. There was currently only one thing she could fix about that situation.

“I’m okay. Come on, get a grip on yourself.” Jubilee sighed, swinging her legs and standing up. She needed a glass of water. She walked towards the door, rubbing her eyes as she stepped out into the hallway, mentally repeating that she was safe at the X-Men mansion.

She walked down the hall and down two flights of stairs, really the size of the place was ridiculous some days. Others, well, on the others she was glad for the space when she just needed to be alone. Being an X-Men was hard, never mind the fact she was nearly sixteen. She wasn’t even an adult like the rest of them, and sometimes… sometimes she felt alone, and like no one understood where she was coming from.

She sighed as she made it to the kitchen, the chill of the winter air finally getting into the mansion and settling. Maybe she should invest in some warmer pajamas, but that was a worry for later. For right now she just wanted a glass of water. She walked into the kitchen, not even bothering to find a light. She was pretty good at memorizing where everything was after nearly three years of living here.

“Petite?” Jubilee jumped, spinning to find Gambit sitting at the kitchen table. There was obvious concern in his voice. Her heart pounded even harder than it had been originally, still feeling the fear from her nightmare, although it was much less than when she woke up.

“Gambit! You scared me!” Jubilee exclaimed, her hand moving from where it had subconsciously jumped up, as if to stop her heart from jumping from her chest. Jubilee quickly found the light above the stove, which should have been an indicator someone was in there, since some of the X-Men don’t like the light when in the kitchen at night.

“Sorry, petite, Gambit didn’t mean to startle ya,” Gambit winced, apologizing. Jubilee took a moment to breathe as she processed that Gambit sounded awake. He’d been awake for hours if she had to guess, which was unusual. “What are you doing awake, chère?”

“Could ask the same of you.” Jubilee responded, but she knew that he would never answer why he was awake, but expected her to answer anyway. “But I had a nightmare, needed a glass of water.” Gambit’s face twisted into understanding.

“Do you need water, or would you like hot chocolate?” Jubilee stared at him in confusion, a tilt of her head indicating that she was confused. “Whenever I have nightmares, I typically drink Hot Chocolate, when I have the option of doing so, if you know what I mean.” Gambit laughed lightly, even though nothing he said had been funny. It was a non-humorous laugh.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Jubilee answered anyway, “But…” She spied the mug that was sitting in front of Gambit and had a suspicion. “Yeah, I would like some hot chocolate.” She wrapped her arms around herself a little as Gambit smiled and motioned for her to sit down.

“Let me, chère.” He offered, and Jubilee took it without hesitation. She sat at the table, near to where Gambit had been previously sitting, and she watched as Gambit moved around the kitchen, jokingly hissing at the light which got a quiet giggle out of Jubilee.

“What was yours about?” Jubilee asked, watching as he grabbed a mug and a hot chocolate packet, and a second one for himself she assumed. Gambit paused, tilting his head for a few moments, as if lost in thought, before shaking it and offering her a smile. It was smaller than before, and a little shaky.

“Nothing for you to worry about, petite.” He answered, “Gambit’s nightmares are for him alone, however, would you like to talk about yours?” Jubilee made a face as Gambit turned back to focus on what he was doing. She crossed her arms over the table and rested her head on top of them as she watched him, it was helping calm her down she realized.

“I don’t actually remember the nightmare itself,” Jubilee answered, “but it scared me really bad. Had to wait several minutes to trust I wouldn't accidentally fry my blanket if I touched it.” Jubilee sighed, her fingers twitching at the reminder. “I was just so scared.” Gambit slowed before turning towards Jubilee and just staring at her for a moment.

“Do you need a hug? Do you want a hug?” He asked her, the water filling the mugs quickly as he turned back to make sure they didn’t overflow. Jubilee took the small moment to wonder; did she need a hug? Did she want one? The answer was yes. She would love a hug at the moment, but Gambit was doing something.

“Yes please,” She answered in spite of what her thoughts told her. She wasn’t a burden, not here, and not with Gambit. She knew that, so she answered, though her voice was quieter than it normally would have been. The water was turned off and the mugs set to the side as Gambit walked back towards her, arms open. Jubilee quickly jumped up and ran into his arms. She relaxed as they enclosed around her, and her eyes fell closed for a moment.

It took Gambit rubbing her back and gently beginning to sway, rock, them for her to realize that she had started to cry too.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Why are you sorry, petite?” Gambit asked her when her voice failed her.

“I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“That’s alright, chère,” Gambit murmured. “It’s perfectly okay to cry. Healthy even.” Jubilee didn’t deign that with a response, just holding tighter to Gambit as she finally let the dam break. She didn’t even realize that there had been a dam in the first place.

All throughout it, Gambit just held her, the mugs of water slowly growing colder in the freezing air. He made a mental note to look into getting more hoodies or sweatshirts, to carry one at night just in case, because Jubilee was shaking. He wasn’t entirely sure that it was just because she was crying.

After a while, neither were quite sure how long it was, Jubilee pulled back, rubbing at her eyes as she finally felt calm. Gambit checked on her, gently cupping her face and helping to wipe away the tears.

“Better?” Gambit asked her, searching her eyes with his one as she answered him.

“Much.”

“Bien,” Gambit smiled at her comfortingly. “You still want Hot Chocolate?” Gambit asked, “they are a perfect late night remedy, especially after nightmares or crying.” Jubilee snorted, nodding slightly as Gambit slowly released her. He was not going to force her to move if she was not ready too, though he had nothing to worry about as she moved to sit down again, her arms wrapping around herself. This time Gambit was sure it was because she was cold and not because she was fearful and trying to hide it.

Jubilee watched Gambit move around the kitchen again, and smiled thankfully as Gambit set a mug of Hot Chocolate in front of her. She had missed the microwave beeping, apparently, she noted as she saw Gambit’s own mug currently in the microwave. Crying really does just take the energy out of people.

“Drink.” He pointed at her, “it’s no good cold.” Jubilee snorted again, picking the cup up with both hands and letting herself just feel the warmth seep into her hands. It was almost unbearable, but she was able to take a sip. The warmth that spread through her was worth the almost burning feel of her hands.

Gambit soon joined her at the table again, with silence falling over the kitchen once more. Time was passing, but Jubilee wasn’t exactly paying attention, just sipping on her Hot Chocolate as she sat in company with Gambit. Neither felt the need to fill the silence, some internal demons just needed the company of others.

Jubilee hadn’t even realized she had finished her Hot Chocolate until Gambit gently took the mug from her hands, and she blinked tiredly as she watched Gambit set both mugs in the sink.

“Come on, petite, let’s get us back up to bed, oui?” Gambit asked, and Jubilee nodded as she got up from the table. Gambit turned the stove light off and the two of them quietly left the kitchen, with Jubilee leaning against Gambit.

She barely noticed herself stumbling, but Gambit did. It was a split second decision, but he scooped her up into her arms, which she barely noticed as her head rested on his shoulder. She was out before they got up the first flight of stairs. But Gambit didn’t mind, and simply carried her to her room, and very carefully pushed the door open and settled her back in her bed. He kissed her forehead before tucking her in carefully.

He smiled to himself as he slipped from her room, shutting the door behind him and making his way back to his and Rogue’s shared room.

[allwaswell16]

One Direction fics that made me cry as requested in this ask. If these fics make you cry, don't say I didn't warn you and direct all crying to the comments for these amazing writers. lol. You can find my other fic recs here. Happy (??) reading!

LARRY

Light, Spark and Fire by green_feelings / @greenfeelings

(E, 239k, a/b/o) If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down.

And Then a Bit by @infinitelymint

(E, 158k, canon) Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real

Wear It Like A Crown by @zarah5

(E, 141k, royal au) As part of a team of fixers hired to handle a gay scandal in Buckingham Palace, Louis expects Prince Harry to be a lot of things—most notably a royally spoilt brat. 

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by @100percentsassy, gloria_andrews / @gloriaandrews

(E, 134k, symphony au)  Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. 

Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere

(E, 124k, a/b/o) “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

I'll Fly Away by @juliusschmidt

(E, 122k, small town) Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not

Nobody shines the way you do by wildestdreams / @butyouneverdo

(E, 115k, fake relationship) Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to help him win back his douchebag ex-boyfriend, but things don’t go according to plan.

 Emperor’s New Clothes by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 92k, exes) Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

 Nothing But You On My Mind by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense​

(E, 83k, royal au) Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. 

Feels Like Coming Home by phdmama / @phd-mama

(E, 60k, exes) The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) by  thedeathchamber / @louehvolution

(E, 55k, secrets) Harry thinks he has good reasons for avoiding relationships. Meeting Louis puts those reasons to the test.

The Second Hand Unwinds by @kingsofeverything

(E, 51k, time travel) When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

 where the lights are beautiful by twoshipsdrifting / @polkadotlou

(E, 48k, a/b/o) the accidental bonding a/b/o fic.

take my hand (and my heart and soul) by bananasandboots / @anylessreal

(E, 45k, amnesia au) the one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

The End Should Be A Good One by bananasandboots / @anylessreal

(E, 43k, exes)  the one where Harry loses the love of his life on New Years Eve and finds him again, six months later, ready to open some poorly-stitched wounds.

You Might Want to Marry My Husband by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(NR, 24k, moving on) When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him.

 With These Arms Folded by @taggiecb

(NR, 21k, famous/not famous) Harry Styles is living a peaceful existence in California as a very successful song writer. That is until he receives a curious email one sunny summer morning, and his life almost immediately gets turned upside down by a force that's bigger than any storm he's seen outside his window.

RARE PAIRS

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 122k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) Nick and Louis don't like each other, not even a little bit, not even at all.

leave my life outside (or let me in) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 52k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is a 111 year old demon who is trying to decide his future. Liam is a 17 year old human struggling with his own life

 Somebody Hurt You (I Know A Place) by @writcraft

(E, 20k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) An unexpected encounter brings Nick and Louis together but before they can tell anyone about their relationship an attack on Louis tears them both apart. 

Miss Missing You by harriet_vane

(M, 16k, Liam/Louis) Louis wakes up after an accident with a year of memories gone and something not quite right about his relationship with Liam.

[marvelmaniac715]

I recently re-read my first ever Chucky fic (go back on my blog and read it if you haven’t so this will make sense) and I think that I can do better. So this is my official rewrite of that first ever fic, with a similar structure and plot, but with better writing (or at least much improved writing). If you guys like it, I’ll rewrite the two follow up fics in that au and (maybe) write a part four…

————————————————————-

When Nica was seven, she was assigned the task of making a Father’s Day card at school. All of her classmates talked about their dads with such pride and excitement, whilst all Nica could do was bite her lip and look down at the floor. They were meant to draw a family picture with their dads in them, but all Nica managed was a stickman with a question mark over the face.

When she went home that afternoon, she presented the card to her mother, who looked like she was about to cry. But then Barbie came home from school and the matter was forgotten. However, that evening as she was being tucked into bed, Nica looked up at her mother and quietly asked:

“Mommy, what happened to my Daddy?”

Sarah startled at the question, unable to meet her seven-year-old’s gaze. She’d always believed that honesty was the best policy, but how could she tell her young daughter the truth? That she’d been taken in by a stranger in a bar’s charm and allowed him to impregnate her? That her one night of foolishness meant that her husband (Nica’s stepfather, as shameful as it was to admit that) was killed? She couldn’t say that, so instead, she looked at Nica and said (guiltily):

“Your father’s dead, honey.”

It wasn’t a lie.

————————————————————

When Nica was sixteen, she was walking home from high school with some friends when she was stopped by a blonde woman wearing sunglasses. She was used to this (a surprising amount of older people were patronising to people in wheelchairs - especially when they were children) so she launched into her well-rehearsed ‘smile and nod’ routine. But she was thrown off when the woman gushed:

“Oh, you look just like your father!”

Nica was stunned by this. She had no polite comeback prepared, she just sort of awkwardly stammered:

“I… do?”

The woman nodded and replied:

“Yes, I can’t see any traces of your mother at all- which is a good thing, believe me.”

Still confused, Nica politely laughed and tried to make an excuse to leave. Then something important hit her.

“Wait… how did you know my dad?”

There was silence, and then…:

“I’m his wife.”

Nica asked her mother if her father had been married to anyone else when she got home that day. Her response was that sometimes people make difficult choices. And that was the end of it.

————————————————————-

Alice’s doll was looking at her. Nica didn’t know why or how, but he was.

————————————————————-

Hours later, Nica had realised that there was a very specific reason why the doll had been looking at her. He was alive, and now her entire family was gone. Her poor mother, struck down first by a vengeful ex-lover (was that even the correct term? Maybe just captor, yeah, that sounded more accurate). Next it was the nanny. Then it was Barbara, killed by a childhood tormentor. Finally it was her brother in law, who didn’t deserve his fate. Now it was only her and Alice, and poor Alice probably didn’t have long left.

Nica could feel a heart attack coming on (why couldn’t she just die from the killer doll instead of her heart condition?) and then there was a clicking sound. Looking down, she noticed that her heart medication was being injected into her thigh… by Chucky. 

She didn’t really know what to say about that. Why wasn’t he killing her? Was he playing with his food before the final hunt? Or was there another reason? She asked him why he was doing this and he simply gave her an odd smile and responded:

“Not telling.”

Before she could say anything further, the police arrived, and Chucky became inanimate once more. But she could have sworn that he winked at her during the trial.

————————————————————-

The mental hospital wasn’t fun. Neither was life itself, Nica didn’t particularly enjoy living anymore. So when Chucky told her that he would be possessing her, she didn’t resist as much as she would have. Of course a lot of it was to do with the drugs, but she herself didn’t oppose it either. She asked him why he wasn’t killing her just to get it over with, and just like at the house he offered her a strange smile and said ‘Not telling’. Only this time, he softly added:

“You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.”

It sounded almost like praise, but before Nica could ask what he meant by that, voodoo chanting filled her ears, and the world quickly went dark.

————————————————————-

Living with Chucky was quite strange. Tiffany Valentine was one thing, with her weird ‘family bonding’ activities that she insisted upon for whatever reason. Nica had the strangest feeling that she’d met Tiffany before, but she didn’t know where she’d seen her. 

Tiffany was one thing, but Chucky was something else altogether. He was weirdly… respectful, he’d always look away whenever Nica got changed, and Tiffany had told her that he closed his eyes whenever he got changed in her body in order to respect her privacy. He’d use her body to seduce guys, sure, but he never went any further than flirtation (anybody who tried to kiss her/him was given an especially brutal murder). 

The weirdest thing of all was that he seemed to be looking out for her well-being. Every night he’d talk to her and say what he’d eaten that day as if to assure her that he’d eaten the correct number of calories. He urged her to eat, sleep and bathe when she had control of the body and on her birthday she found that her favourite book series had been ordered for her by Chucky and that her favourite movie had been bought on the tv.

He’d even make conversation with her whenever her mind started to spiral. He’d talk about his childhood in the late sixties, and sometimes he’d ask about Nica’s childhood (he seemed especially interested in that subject). Sometimes he’d tease her whenever she thought of something particularly embarrassing (having someone read your thoughts was bizarre) but it was always fairly lighthearted as opposed to cruel like she’d been expecting.

One day, she couldn’t take the niceness any longer and asked him why he was acting this way. He played it off at first as him just being concerned about the well-being of the body he was inhabiting, but Nica pushed further and further until Chucky gave in and said:

“Look through my memories and find the night of your conception.”

Nica was confused, but she did so, mildly unsure as to why Chucky knew when that was. What she found was terrifying. The memories seemed hazy, and reminded her of being drugged at the hospital, or the few times she’d decided to get drunk. The memory seemed like a lot of Chucky’s memories from back then, with him seducing an ill-fated young woman to her death, but there was something different about this memory as opposed to the other ones.

In this memory, Chucky said something that must have been funny, because the woman laughed, and the laugh was so… familiar. Nica concentrated harder and realised that the woman was… her mother. All the pieces suddenly fell into place: the reason why Chucky helped her, why he was so weirdly nice to her, why her mom was cagey about the identity of her father, even why she recognised Tiffany (the ‘I’m his wife’ comment suddenly made a whole lot more sense). But she had to ask one more thing:

“How long have you known?”

“Since I first met you. You look a lot like I did when I was in my original body.”

Nica nodded, unsettled that he’d known that long. But that made her ask another question:

“But why did you hurt me when we first met? If you knew I was your… y’know… why did you cause me pain?”

Chucky seemed quite defensive when he responded:

“Hey, I saved your life when it came down to it, and tensions were high, I’m sorry if I lashed out.”

There was one more question.

“Why did you possess me?”

Chucky (Nica’s father, apparently) responded in a shockingly casual tone:

“I wanted to get closer to you.”

At that point, Nica may have began to lash out herself:

“Instead of talking to me and being like ‘hey, you’re my kid, sorry for the emotional trauma’ you decided to voodoo your way into spending time with me?”

“Would you have agreed otherwise?”

That was a good point.

————————————————————-

Glenda stared down at the person claiming to be their father. They refused to believe this story until they (he?) started to describe the dreams that Glenda and Glen had been having for years as if they were facts, fond memories even. When Glenda was convinced, their father grinned and nodded to himself.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. She’s taking a nap right now- big day yesterday, took up a lot of energy- but this is your older sister, or her body at least. Her name is Nica.”

Glenda was confused by this, and asked how on Earth that came to be. The response they got was:

“I’ve lived a long and complicated life, kid. You’re the youngest of three, I can understand how that may be a devastating blow, but your sister is an amazing person, she’s smart, talented-‘

“How the hell did Glen and I get red hair if our sister is a brunette? Was she born with red hair and decided to dye it?”

‘No, I had her in my original body, you and your twin were born when I was in a doll. You got the doll version of me’s red hair, although I’d argue that you inherited my human eye colour, and you and Glen definitely got my original nose.”

As Glenda processed this, their father began detailing their plans to escape Tiffany’s house.

————————————————————-

Nica had had it. She couldn’t take Tiffany anymore, and she’d fully snapped. She had no guilt or remorse as she stared at her nemesis down the barrel of a gun. She couldn’t feel the gun due to her new metal limbs, but she was so fuelled by rage and bloodlust that it was as if the cool metal was beneath her fingertips.

Tiffany screamed and begged for mercy, but all Nica did in return was let out a cackle that sounded vaguely familiar to her and fire the gun.

Hidden away in a bush, Chucky watched this happen with a beaming grin, filled to the brim with overwhelming pride. ‘That’s my girl’ he thought.

[blahhhh-dead]

Haha story time: TW! Venting about my shit life lmao :p

I was separated from my class for most of elementary school and given no recess at any time in the day. Instead I was told to redo the same page of long division over and over till I got it right while sitting beside the most disgusting dudes that are no doubt creeps now.

In middle school I went to a charter school that forced nationalism and conservative agendas. At that point I had a counselor but no one diagnosed me with anything because I "seemed fine". The teachers would disclose my medical history willy nilly and never made any real accommodations even though I tried to advocate for my quiet self at age 11.

I became extremely depressed and suffered with severe apathy and passive suicidal ideations choosing to stay in my bed and ignore hunger or anything else. I was the only one trying to help myself and felt extremely alone. I often wished I could go to sleep forever and imagine how cool the after life must be. Started maladaptive daydreaming to cope.

Once I heard a rumor about the school janitor that mind you WAS IN CHARGE OF THREE OF THE SCHOOL ELECTIVES. I asked the actual PRINCIPAL, she told me it was fake and made up. Not long after I left that janitor was arrested as a p3d0. Exactly what I'd heard from that rumor.

High-school I was only diagnosed with anxiety and OCD but nothing else. The school was too small to have so many kids making the halls packed and hard to navigate for the first time. The teachers didn't care and never knew what was happening so I was always confused.

I wore face masks to keep warm from cold weather and avoid being perceived only to be told I had to take them off and see my full face. Surprise surprise half a year later covid forced quarantine.

Several students were openly racist, homophobic and harassed girls but nothing was really done. Yet when I played my dumb anime game on my phone under my desk to cope with anxiety I was immediately found out and berated for it.

My anxiety was so bad I felt phsycal pain and struggled to sleep every single night before school. I was so exhausted I barely managed to retain any information or even stay awake most days.

The only female friend I ever had started telling rumors about me behind my back even though all I ever did was be nice and listen to her problems. My only long term friends at the time slowly drifted away then the moment they found a reason too they started an argument and I blocked them both.

I barely made it past freshman year. By the end I transferred to a home study school and segregated myself from everyone I had known at the time. I also started needing guidance medication because the phsycal discomfort from anxiety was had grown too strong and kept me magically spiraling all the time.

The charter school housed a teacher that deliberately sabotaged my autistic younger sister because she didn't seem autistic enough to actually need help. They kicked her out of the school and made my mother cry. I finally stopped maladaptive daydreaming at least.

Graduated with barely enough credits to get by and was on a few different pills to manage my anxiety and help me sleep, one of which made me hallucinate which is why I stopped trying to sleep normally.

All my life people thought I was fine because I made jokes, kept silent when in pain because I couldn't even fell it myself, and was singled out by teachers for no reason at all. After graduating I was diagnosed with ADHD and wouldn't you know it SEVERE anxiety as well as a mind set that made me spend too much energy trying to be careful and mindful of others and deny my own exhaustion and need for soothing.

I never smoked, never broke into places, never got into any fights, never harassed people, never dated, never even had a kiss or a proper crush, never partied or snuck out, I just existed. Never played catch with my dad, never had a sweet sixteen or quince, never had a best friends or even a real close friend, I just kept existing.

I'm gonna be 20 by the end of the year but I feel stuck in the age I was that freshman year. Yet at the same time I know I'm more emotionally mature then I was and smarter then the other small town idiots. I have close friends, I try and take care of myself but my body struggles from the left over effects of neglect, I take more medication and barely leave the house due to fear of other outside my home and safety net.

And yet I'm so much happier then I was before and even if it's slow I'm working to get better and love myself. To be the bright smiley person I pretended to be for decades

Man is so tire now -_-

once again shout out to the kids that were left behind in school, when the teachers failed us, treated us like burdens who couldn't do anything right cuz we had a pretty bad learning disability.

[angellgguk]

Classic powerful ceo seokjin×unwilling student reader!He goes to a university to deliever an inspiring speech,reader caughts his eyes,he stalks and gets obessed with her,promises her to get a job in his company but makes her a trophy wife.10-11 year age gap?

If you can plz make it non-con.

[ genre : smut ]

[ content warning : dubcon/noncon age gap (reader is 24 and seokjin is 34/35 he has a few strands of grey lmao), trophy wife (ig idk), slight dumbification, breeding, virginity loss, size difference, cervix fucking THIS IS A MESS]

[ note : I'm so sorry for being ia for so long I wasn't intending to but due to unavoidable reasons I had to stay away from here for awhile, sorry! ]

You saw Kim Seokjin on the front page of the daily newspaper when you were fourteen, peeking over your father’s shoulder and merely giving attention to your father’s constant praise over the young man who had managed to achieve what men his age couldn’t.

You were a blushing, gasping sixteen year old when your friends were gushing about the luxuries Kim Seokjin would give his alleged partners, brands you would never be able to purchase were name dropped making you wonder what dating a man as rich and influential comes with.

Kim Seokjin held back from letting his jaw drop when you served his coffee as a sophomore in SNU during the part time that gave you the money to work with your scholarship with a smile that promised him that you were a once in a lifetime chance but he didn’t quite understand why you had rejected his proposal two years later.

He later realized that even though you found him attractive and ached for a chance to work under him you didn’t have any thoughts on dating a man, who was old enough with visible grey streaks in his hair and you definitely were not interested to tie a knot with him at such a young age.

But he disregarded it all two more years later and had you on all fours, hand wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to his crotch and another holding your jaw closed around three of his long digits.

He fucks into you, making sure that you feel every inch of him in your inexperienced pussy. His hand travels down to your clit to rub circles around it, “pretty little cunt taking me so well” he praises and pulls his fingers out of your mouth, your drool dripping down your chin as soon as he does so.

Seokjin doesn’t give you a chance to become a babbling mess as he turns you to the side by your jaw to kiss the corners of your lips,”o-oh” you found yourself pleading and he found himself snickering as he let your jaw go to use the hand to cup one of your tits in palm, rolling the puffy nipple between his fingers.

When you realized that you were too intimidated to ask him to permit you to cum after he had ruined your very first release twice for the night you gripped onto the sheets below before falling down on the comfort of his bed. He chuckles and pulls your ass up to himself as he keeps ramming into you, your perspiring ass jiggling against his thigh.

“You wanna cum baby?” you refuse to answer and only claw onto the sheets beside as you sob into it, the pain of your virginity being taken by a man you never wanted was more agonizing than the pain of your pussy being stretched for the very first time.

His groans come out strangled, indicating that he too was close. With one hand still on your waist he sneaks the other under to rub your clit around sideways harshly getting watery hiccups from you. “I’m gonna fill you up baby” he promised with a chuckle under his breath.

He grabbed onto the globe of your ass to land a sharp spank on the supple skin, earning a loud cry from you. You clenched more around him at the stinging feeling and that only triggered the beast in him as his animalistic thrusts grew along with the squelches, skin slapping and your cries.

You felt his heavy chest against your back when he leaned down to nibble on your earlobe and to roughly grope your breast in his calloused palm once again, “fuck baby if you don’t start begging i’ll have to fuck you all night” he heaved and fondled with the flesh of your breast, smirking at your growing cries.

“Please” you pleaded under your breath and he hummed into your ear as he slid the hand below to your tummy, pressing down on your navel, he disregarded the whimper and pressed down on the bulge poking from your tummy “you feel me here baby?”

With your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth hanging open with drool dripping down your chin to land on the sheets you could only manage to groan, the feeling of his cock nudging your cervix was all too new for you, you screwed your eyes shut “too m-much” he snakes his hand below to draw circles on your clit and hood, the pads of his fingers grazing your labia during the process.

Your toes curled and you let a gasp out before trying to flail away from his hold but he was quick to grasp the situation as he grabbed onto your arm and pinned you down, eliminating all the hopes for your escape. “Don’t even fucking think about running away now” he growled and pinched on the bundle of your nerves as a warning before resuming the motions of his finger, harsher than previously.

Seokjin elicits a throaty moan as he continues to thrust into you without giving your sensitive clit a break, “i want you to cum all over my cock baby” you only squealed as you felt the unfamiliar coil in your abdomen, the urge to let it out rises as you let your senses lose to fuck yourself against him, earning a proud smack on your ass from your husband for it.

Your body trembles and your toes curl and you let out a loud cry as you let your orgasm wash over you, with irregular breaths he watches you cream his cock, never once ceasing himself from pumping his thick shaft in you, chasing after his own orgasm. You were not able to calm down from your very first orgasm as you shook below him from his continuous rams.

Bending down he buries his face into your tousled hair, groaning into it and you were only able to grip onto the ruined sheets to cry into it at the over stimulation. His hand gripped onto the back of your trembling thighs to spread it further, he pressed down on your clit, attempting to calm you down with soft hums.

You stuttered for pleas through your sobs as he twitched inside you, “I’m going to see you full with my babies soon, yeah?” his grip on your waist tightened as he filled your ears with one final growl before he let his own spurts of cum fill you up to the brim. The load was too much as strings of his release trickled down your thighs.

He refused to pull out from you, opting to rock all of his semen into you. Turning your head to the side by gripping onto your jaw he wiped away the tears that were cascading down your cheeks before leaning down to leave pecks around the side of your face.

He tucked sweaty strands of your hair behind your ear as he moved his lips down to your own to pull you into a breathless kiss, “you did so well” he breathlessly praised when he pulled out and hovered his lips over yours. His thumb rubbed over your cheek when he left another peck on your nether lip, “my dumb little baby, all mine”

[mistydear]

soften me now, let me take as is given (xvi)

billie dean howard x reader

summary: You meet Billie in mourning. She's too professional, and you're too angry, and it takes too long to see her again. And again. And again as your lives tumble together.

w/c: 4k

taglist: @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @strawberryshorttcakkee (talulahmae??) @max-the-d0g @mistysswampmud @angelxsarahp @billiedeanspearls @madamevirgo @cordithatgurl @mayfair-fleur @saucy-sapphic @whatfutureiamdead

chapter one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

notes: hiiii. sorry about the break, my mental health took a nosedive. it's peak season at work and i might be losing my mind a little bit. hoping to get back into the swing of it though. still have big things planned for this story. would love feedback!! warnings!! smut in this ch. it's pretty tame tbh, purposefully not as emotional as i would usually do

When Billie goes to brunch a few days later with Matthew and Holly, she tells them everything. And in the back of her mind she can still feel the weight of you holding her, the smell of your perfume, and the blush in your cheeks when you tripped over her—when she caught you and held you close. Your hands are so warm and soft when hers are cold, and she could still feel them on her now, the brush of your thumb across her skin. 

“You kissed her?” Holly drawls, low and hushed as she leans over the table. Matthew nearly rolls his eyes. 

“She kissed her cheek,” he corrects, feeling less monumentally shaken than Holly. 

“You kissed her,” she repeats, waving Matthew off. Billie feels her face heating and quickly grabs a drink of ice water, glancing around to make sure no one heard. She can’t quite believe it herself, not sure what had come over her. 

“That isn’t out of character for Billie, Holl,” Matthew argues, stabbing his fork into an egg, resting his elbows on the table. 

“With me or you, yeah. Or when her southern hospitality comes out. Not like this,” Holly enunciates, her accent coming out thicker the more emotion that creeps into her voice. Matthew pauses, his eyes drifting to Billie who has a knot in the pit of her stomach that’s tangling itself a little tighter each day. She swallows, twisting a ring around her finger. 

“I pushed her too far,” she says, and there’s a heaviness behind her eyes, but her voice is cool and even. “I shouldn’t have told her.” 

“You shouldn’ta done it,” Holly presses, and Billie gives her a slow, hard look. It’s one she’s perfected over the years. Giving the least amount away while maintaining the potency of her anger. 

“It’s too much and still not enough,” Matthew jumps in, hoping to break Billie’s rumination. “You can’t manage Y/N’s grief for her. And you can’t keep holding onto your feelings so tightly. Eventually you’re gonna break, and based on everything you’ve said, we are gonna have a level three biohazard on our hands when you fall apart.” 

He motions between himself and Holly, and Billie’s reminded of what happened the last time she visited her mother. When she came home to LA, she couldn’t stop crying. Matthew and Holly had never seen her so emotional and untethered and raw. He told her one day he needed a hazmat suit just to bring her coffee. A laugh bubbled from her between sobs, and Holly practically jumped on it, kissing her cheek and saying there’s my Billie. There’s a reason she holds herself so tightly and at such a distance from everyone else. She never learned how to heal, never learned how to guard herself without shutting the world out. She’ll never admit it, but Matthew and Holly know that she’s fragile, know that her heart is always either caged or bleeding. 

“Not enough, my ass,” Holly says then turns to Billie, a hand on her arm. “This is the most strung out I’ve seen you since Olivia. You do realize this is flirting.” 

Billie hasn’t seriously dated anyone in a long time, and the mention of Olivia stings a little. They ended on bad terms. Billie wasn’t willing to come out, and Olivia was always very outspoken and proud, and eventually it became a point of contention. She never once called Billie cowardly, but she didn’t have to. Billie thought it enough times to do the damage herself. 

“She got you to dance? In public?” Holly points out, and Billie’s heart twists uncomfortably. You were so welcoming, so soft, and there was never any pressure. It was easy in a way Billie hasn’t experienced in a long time. She was relaxed, which is not a word she uses lightly. And the reality of that thought hits her harder than she expected. She’d spent the last few months dancing around the idea, not quite letting it sink in, not letting herself fully grasp the feeling. But now it’s here. It’s right here, and Holly’s right. 

“I think I’m in trouble,” Billie says, feeling weightless. 

“Honey, you’re way past trouble,” Matthew smirks. 

. . . 

“You’re stewing. I can see you stewing,” Norah says between bites of her takeout. It’s Monday night, and you’re watching a dumb movie you can’t even recall the plot of. 

“I’m angry.” 

“No you’re not,” Norah shoots back, and you pause before you can even start your tenth rant of the week. Norah sighs and shifts on her couch so she can face you directly. “If you were as angry as you say you are with Billie then you’d be done with her. And if you were done with her you wouldn’t be stewing so loudly. You’re not angry. You’re frustrated because you know Billie’s right even if what she did was wrong. And you’re confused because Billie kissed you right before she gave you the most weirdly devotional gift anyone’s ever given you.” 

You go red, not sure how to process those words, but your chest is tightening at a rapid speed, and you suddenly feel like someone pulled down your pants in the middle of a crowded hallway. You open your mouth, but Norah holds up a finger to stop you. 

“Yes, kissed. On the cheek, maybe, but the intention was clear. Gift, yes, because you and I both know you needed that kind of closure. Billie gave you something so precious, Y/N, and I don’t want you to ever forget that. And devotional, extremely yes. Billie Dean Howard is busy and famous and does this for a living, and she chose to devote time, energy, and care into you. She’s a strange woman who shows her emotions in strange ways, but I promise you they’re right there on her sleeve.” 

You sit quietly for a long moment, shoulders slumping down into the couch, needing some kind of support to carry you right now. 

“You think Billie has feelings for me?” you ask, dumbstruck. Norah just stares at you, mouth open. You’re feeling more lost with each moment that passes until Norah grabs her food and faces the TV in a huff. 

“You’re such an idiot.” 

You frown, slumping down further into the couch as silence lapses between you, the movie playing in the background. Billie Dean Howard has feelings for you? For the person who was nothing but cruel to her, who played hot and cold with her for weeks, who used her as a crutch for your grief, who’s still grieving, who’s trying to find a new normal among ghosts and Andy and Billie. Billie. 

Billie with the deep brown eyes and long nails and string of pearls. TV personality Billie Dean Howard. Medium to the Stars and woman who choked you on her bedroom floor. There was a moment sometime after that, right after you fell asleep on her couch, when you realized that this is real. She’s real. It wasn’t as earth shattering as you expected but much more unfathomable than you knew how to process. You’re sort of numb about it in the wake of Kate. In the wake of everything. And you’d never felt selfish about it until this moment. There were times you wondered how much of a burden it must be, how frightening it might get, but now you can’t help but ask yourself if you’d used her. Is she the one being taken advantage of? By the show and her fans and her abilities. 

And why you? Out of everyone’s grief, everyone’s hurt, everyone’s cruelty, why does she want to endure yours? 

“I have to make a phone call,” you mumble, standing up.

“Finally,” Norah grumbles as you step out onto her balcony and close the sliding glass door behind you. 

Your phone rings and rings, and your heart starts beating faster. Right when you think it might go to voicemail, the line connects. 

“Hello,” she says on the other end. It’s not a question. It’s softer than that. 

“Billie, I’m sorry,” you rush, and there’s a heavy beat of silence before you hear her breathe again. 

“What?” 

“For everything. But especially for how I reacted at the bar.” 

“You had every right to—”

“I wish I would have listened to you sooner,” you interrupt, needing to get it out there in the open. “I’m sorry.” There’s silence on the other end, and you’re afraid to break it. So, you listen to the static in the line, almost forgetting to breathe. 

“So am I,” comes the mournful response, and you swallow, looking out over the LA skyline at night. You don’t know how to ask her why, the words stuck in your throat, don’t know how to erase the hurt you both feel. 

“I need you to stop being my medium now.” You hear a little huff on the other end, something that could have been a laugh, and you allow yourself a small smile. 

“Where does that leave us?” she asks, and your heart twists and jumps. Us. You wonder what that means to her. 

“Do you wanna go to Insomnia tomorrow?” Billie does laugh this time, light and relieved. 

“I wish I could,” she sighs, and you lean against Norah’s balcony, chewing your lip. “I have more press to do.” 

“Still?”

“Still.” She sounds just as weary about it as you do. “I can do Thursday night.” You tell her that works, and she tells you okay, and then there’s more silence. 

“Billie?” 

“Yes, Y/N?” You squirm at how she says your name, low and slow. 

“Can you not…get rid of my house yet?” You’re embarrassed for even asking, and it makes you feel so small and childlike, desperate. 

“It hadn’t even crossed my mind,” she says, and a knot you didn’t know was there unraveled. 

. . . 

On Wednesday night, you’re at Andy’s apartment. And up until about thirty minutes ago you had been watching a movie after a nice evening out. Now, Andy’s laying naked underneath you on her bed. Two of your fingers are buried inside her to the knuckle, and your mouth is on hers as she whines. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this with her, and it won’t be the last. Her hips buck into you, your palm is soaked with her, and she’s gasping so desperately. When she cums, it’s sweet and heady and her back arches with a high moan. And as she rides it out on your hand, you kiss her, deep and slow. 

Gradually, you pull your fingers from her and slip them between your mouths and into hers. She doesn’t blink, her eyes devouring you as she sucks your fingers clean. When Andy kisses you next it’s harder and faster, and you let her flip you over so she’s on top of you, straddling your still clothed thigh. 

“Andy,” you sigh as she kisses your neck. She hums, hand sliding up your bare stomach, gripping your ribcage. “Hey, you know I’m not…” she bites your throat and all rational thought falls away. “Oh god.” 

“Not ready?” she asks, pulling back to check in. You haven’t let her touch you yet. You haven’t let anyone touch you since Kate. It always felt too much like a violation, like you were breaking your vows or her trust or her respect or just her. You feel like Kate might shatter if you were to let someone else touch you the way Kate always touched you. You swallow, watching her chest rise and fall, her curls fall into her face, her bruised lips part for you. 

“Kiss me,” you say, breathless and nervous, and Andy needs no further prompting before she’s spreading your legs and settling her hips between them. She grinds into you, slow and tentative, holding your face in one hand, her mouth sucking marks on your neck. Your heart pounds and you sigh, letting your eyes close. Before you realize it, you're rolling your hips hard up into her, your legs around her, pulling her into you. 

“Baby,” Andy whispers, kissing your neck sweetly. You don’t respond, deciding instead to kiss her. She matches your pace, and when she slides a hand across your chest, still in a bra, you break. This is going to happen or it isn’t, and you’ve just reached the point of no return. 

“Fuck, just—” you struggle to articulate, warmth spreading between your legs. Andy hums, teasing, but she takes the hint. Slowly, she sits back on her heels, hands sliding down your body. You tense, nerves prickling. When her thumbs dig under the waistband of your sweatpants, your breathing quickens, and she pauses. 

“We don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” you respond quickly. And you do. You want to get past this barrier. So she slides them off, tossing them to the floor. You’re left in your underwear and bra, and Andy quickly comes back down to kiss you, one hand gripping your hip, the other your cheek. You’re thankful for the distraction, pulling her down harder. She smiles into you, digging her hips into yours. When her hand finally slides under the elastic of your underwear, you both sigh. You’re wetter than you thought you were, and Andy smiles into your mouth. As her fingers circle, she kisses your neck, sucking and nipping, and you close your eyes, trying to focus on the feeling. 

Without warning, a hollowness builds in your chest that you can’t shake. Your mind drifts and worries. Something isn’t right. You can feel Andy’s fingers slowing, and when she lifts them to your mouth, you take them obediently. The warmth between your thighs cools, but you let Andy touch you with saliva soaked fingers, and that helps, but something’s missing. Why don’t you feel more? 

“Let me taste you,” Andy breathes, and you nod, unable to form coherent thoughts. You squirm out of your underwear, and she tosses them aside, settling down between your thighs. Her hands are soft across your hip bones, and her breath is warm on the hair between your legs, and at the first stroke of her tongue, your head falls back against the pillow. 

Your eyes close, and it feels good, but you know it’s not good enough to make you cum. And it’s not Andy. Fuck, you know it’s not Andy. So you let yourself drift, and a memory surfaces. 

It’s a Sunday morning, and the blinds are half open, sheets crumpled at the end of the bed. You’re naked, and Kate’s mouth is buried between your trembling thighs. She’s already made you cum twice, and there’s a wet toy laying near your hip. 

“Kate, please,” you moan, breath stuttering. 

“Please, what, sunshine?” she asks, breath hot against you. You roll your hips into it, gripping the sheets with one hand. The other is tangled in her hair, pulling her gently back down. “So needy this morning,” she mumbles with a grin, and you groan, head hitting the pillow again. 

“Fuck you,” you grit, but it turns into a loud moan when she sucks on your clit. You break into a sweat, her tongue dipping inside you. “That feels so good,” you whine, bucking your hips up into her mouth. 

You thought that thinking of Kate during sex would hurt. Instead, it makes you so incredibly wet you can hear yourself on Andy’s mouth. Fuck.

Kate hums into you, and it sends a shock wave of pleasure through you. She knows exactly which buttons to press and how often and how hard, and you can’t get enough of it. 

“You wanna cum, baby?” Kate asks, never taking her lips off you. And those words would have sent you tumbling over the edge right there if Kate weren’t actively looking for an answer, looking for you to wait. 

“Yes. God, Kate, please,” you moan, pulling at her hair. You feel desperate, needy, and you’re throbbing, sweating, trembling. Kate kisses you between your legs, drags her tongue up your center, then tells you to cum for her. And you do. 

You do. 

Riding out waves of pleasure on Andy’s mouth, you moan, gripping her hair. As she slows, your mind races, heart pounding. Fuck. 

. . . 

Billie’s there when you get to Insomnia the next night, one leg folded over the other, a book in her hand. She looks up when the bell chimes and stands as you approach, sitting only as you sit. It’s chivalrous and affectionate in a way unique to Billie, the way she holds your gaze as you move. You know she’s calculating and precise in everything she does, but when she looks at you there’s always something deeper, something softer and more careful. 

“Hey,” you breathe, already feeling underdressed and needing some way to break the tension that crackles between you. “I really wish you would just wear normal people clothes every once and a while.” She raises an eyebrow, a smile already creeping onto her lips. 

“I assure you these are normal clothes.” She’s in slacks and a blouse and heels you’d break your ankle in, and her makeup is flawless for 9pm. In response, you look down at your long sleeved shirt and corduroy pants and motion between you helplessly. “You look lovely,” she says, voice softening. 

“You make me look less lovely,” you argue, and she cocks her head down skeptically at you. 

“I promise you it’s the opposite,” Billie responds, and you can tell immediately that she’s serious and wonder if she’s suffered a concussion recently. So, you take a deep breath and shrug your shoulders. 

“I guess we’re both just really ugly and unfashionable then.” Something sparkles in Billie’s eyes, and she chews her lip as if considering whether to let your ridiculous compliments sink in. Your lip quirks up at her, and then you stand. “Come on, let’s order.” She follows you to the counter, and when you pay for her desert, she gives you a withering, embarrassed look but doesn’t put up much of a fight otherwise. Vivian is there, and though she doesn’t smile, you’ve learned that a head nod is essentially equivalent, so you give her one back and stuff a couple dollars in the tip jar. You feel like she’s seen you at some of your worst moments in the same way that Billie has. 

“So how are you?” Billie asks as you dip your spoon into your sundae. You consider the question. You didn’t end up sleeping over at Andy’s last night. Instead, you squirmed in bed with her for an hour before making up an excuse to leave. Then you cried in your car for twenty minutes because you can’t cum without thinking about your dead wife, and you’re not sure what that means. But you think that may be too much to talk about with Billie right after you had a fight about said dead wife. 

“I’m…okay. You?” Billie raises one shoulder. 

“The same.” 

“Scintillating,” you nod, and Billie rolls her eyes. “Tell me about the press stuff.” 

“Really?” Billie winces, digging her fork into her slice of apple pie. You nod, wondering when she’s gonna start believing that you care about her stuff. She tells you that season two’s been officially confirmed with Lifetime, and you congratulate her earnestly and enthusiastically. You think she might even believe it. She also tells you that she’s heard rumors of an Emmy nomination. It’s dismissive and a little sheepish, so you reach over and squeeze her hand. 

“That’s amazing, Billie. Really.” The smile that tugs faintly at Billie’s lips is embarrassed but proud, and that’s enough for you. When you let go of her hand there’s a moment when you miss the coolness of her skin on yours, and you swallow, letting the silence hang for a second between you. 

“Can I tell you something?” You nod, and she looks up at you, her eyes more guarded than before. “After you left, and I didn’t hear from you for a week, I started to think you didn’t want to speak to me again. And I was going to respect that. I’m just…confused. You confuse me.” She shakes her head, looking at you like you’re a puzzle she’s determined to solve, and you’re not sure whether that’s a compliment or not. So, you decide to be honest with her. 

“I’m upset that you went behind my back. I’m angry, actually. Because you lied to me for months,” you say, voice even and strong. “But I also know that you gave me…a precious, invaluable gift. And I don’t know how to even begin to thank you for it.” Billie presses her lips together, an emotion you can’t place swelling behind her eyes. Embarrassment, maybe. “And I’m sorry I gave you whiplash. I just…I don’t think it’s worth it, really, to be angry at you. I’ve already wasted enough months being angry at you. I want…” you sigh, faltering, because what do you want? What is all of this coming to? “I want to keep doing this. Me and you. At Insomnia. Or at a jazz club, stepping on your toes. Or at your wrap party arguing with your coworkers,” you smile, shrugging, and it pulls one from Billie too. Her hands are in her lap. She’s holding herself tightly, as if too much emotion will make her crumble. 

“I want that too,” she admits, voice hoarse, and you watch her eyes deepen, something inside her swell against her will. Before you can prod at it, she pushes it down. “And I understand you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry. I wish it were different.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask, your chest tightening. She presses her lips together, gathering her thoughts. 

“If we’d met under different circumstances, there’d be less hurt between us,” she explains, fingers digging into her chest at the word hurt, as if it were a physical pain. And maybe for her it is. 

“Billie,” you sigh, leaning over the table and grabbing her hand from her chest to hold it in both of your own. You didn’t realize she had such a profound guilt complex. Though you suppose in her line of work it becomes inevitable. “If the circumstances were different we wouldn’t have met at all,” you remind her, searching her eyes, thumb swiping across the back of her hand. She gives you a tight, watery smile, and you realize that what she’s feeling is insecure. Your stomach sinks, and you frown, squeezing her hand. “I would have been fine without you. But I’m glad I don’t have to be.” 

She laughs, abrupt and gasping, and you smile, searching her eyes, hoping you conveyed the message you wanted to. There doesn’t seem to be enough words in the English language to express to Billie how you feel. That if you’d met her at Insomnia and she didn’t have the gifts she does, you’d still be glad to know her. Though she seems to understand because she squeezes your hand back. Still, you stand up and round the table, bending down to wrap Billie in a hug. She’s stiff for a moment, but when her arms eventually slide around you, they’re careful and delicate. Briefly, you spread a hand across the back of Billie’s head, holding her against you, leaning your cheek into her hair. 

“We’re good, okay?” you whisper. She doesn’t answer, but you feel her hold you a little more purposefully. When you pull away, there’s a rare vulnerability in her eyes, an openness you savor. You think this might be one of the first times you’re seeing Billie without a mask. 

“Finally?” she asks, brow quirking up, and now it’s your turn to laugh. 

“Yes,” you enunciate playfully. And before you go to sit back down, you steal a bite of Billie’s pie. Her smile is soft and willing and easy as she watches your lips close over her fork. There’s something else in her eyes too, something just a shade darker. And as you stand over her and she looks up, you think maybe Kate used to look at you like that. 

[sinofwriting]

They'll Have Me - Ethan Payne (Part One)

Words: 1,767 Summary: After learning she’s pregnant, she tells her boyfriend and father of her child and in a move that shocks her, he leaves. Dumping her and then blocking her number. With no one else to turn to, she turns to her best friend Ethan’s mom, who reminds her that she’s got her and Ethan. (Part One of ?)

The room is at a standstill, the only sound that can be heard is the sound of heavy breathing from across the room. “What?” She manages to get out, mind still spinning from his words, disbelief that those words could have come out of his mouth so easily. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I said get rid of it. Or don’t I don’t care. Just don’t go looking for me to pay for anything. I want nothing to do with you or that.” He spits, before turning on his heel and walking out of her flat.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, standing there, staring at the door, staring after her boyfriend, her ex boyfriend now. It’s only from the pressure of her bladder that gets her to move and once she’s done and is washing her hands, she realizes she’s been crying. Tears have soaked the collar of her shirt and face, her chest is heaving, and sobs leave her mouth.

And she sinks to the bathroom floor. Water still running as she brings her knees up and cries into them. Sobs echoing throughout the bathroom.

When she manages to get off the bathroom floor, everything aches and she can no longer cry. She feels lifeless as she turns off the water. Leaving the bathroom, she wipes at her eyes despite tears no longer falling.

Picking up her phone, she ignores the many notifications she has and goes for Andrew’s contact, hoping that everything he said was a lie, that he didn’t mean it, or maybe he changed his mind. But when she calls it doesn’t go through. And when she texts it doesn’t go through and it hits her that he blocked her. He wasn’t coming back, he wanted nothing to do with her or the baby.

It’s at that realization she grabs her phone, bag, and keys and gets in her car. Driving the familiar way to a place she’s been to a thousand times.

Knocking on the door, she practically collapses into familiar arms when it opens. “Alice?” A panicked voice asks, but holds her tighter. Moving her out of the doorway so the door can be closed before asking her what happened.

She pulls herself away slightly, looking at the woman who’s pretty much a mother to her. “Andrew left me.” Ruth’s mouth drops open, but it’s the next words that make her pull the younger girl back into her arms. “I told him I was pregnant and he left.”

She has to take a deep breath, but it doesn’t stop the tears from spilling as she holds the girl to her. She wouldn’t wish what she had gone through on anyone and it hurt her to think that Alice of all people was left just like that when she deserved so much more.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and have some tea, it’ll help calm you down.” She adds, steering the girl there. It’s only when she’s sat her down at the kitchen island that she bustles around the kitchen to get the kettle going and cups down.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” She asks as they wait for the water to boil. She shrugs, pressing her lips together. “I was excited and a little scared, but now I’m just scared. I don’t know if I can do this alone. I’m not strong like you are, Ruth. I don’t think I can do this.” “Oh,” She sighs, rounding the island to pull her into another hug. “You’re a lot stronger than you believe. And you won’t be alone. You’ve got me and you’ve got Ethan. He’ll be thrilled to find out.” “I’ll have you?” She doesn’t know why she asks, she knows that Ruth will be there for her. Has been since she lost her parents when she was sixteen and the remaining members of her family just a year later, but she finds it hard to believe that for herself. “Of course.” She hugs her tighter before letting her go and going to tend to the kettle. “I’ve always thought of you as a daughter, as soon as Ethan brought you home. Even if nothing has ever happened between you too.” Alice can’t help the laugh that escapes her and the smile that forms from the familiar complaint. “We’re just friends, Ruth.” “Oh, I’m aware. But an old woman can wish.” “You aren’t old.” She scoffs. “Glad to hear someone say it.” She smiles, before passing over a cup of tea just the way she likes it.

“Are you going to?” She gestures to her stomach and she nods. “I’m keeping it. “How far along?” “Eleven weeks.” Her hand drops to her stomach, resting there. “Have you had an ultrasound?” She nods, reaching for her bag that she never took off and grabbing the ultrasound picture to give to her.

“Oh my.” Ruth breathes, staring at the picture. “They’ll be gorgeous with you as their mum.” She looks up from the ultrasound to smile at her, “You ready to be called mum?” She laughs, shaking her head. “God no. Are you ready to be a grandma?” Her mouth opens slightly. “What?” Alice shrugs, looking down for a second before looking back at her. “You’re pretty much my mum, and I have no doubt that you’ll be in my baby’s life forever. Only seems fitting that you’d be grandma.” “Sweetheart.” Ruth breathes, tears coming to her eyes and the younger girl laughs. “Don’t cry yet, mum. I haven’t even got you a shirt saying that you’re the best grandma.” She teases. “I’ll wear it everyday. Better get me a mug too. The girls are going to be hearing all about this. Won’t be talking about anything else.” She tells her, rounding the table to give her another hug. “Can’t believe my daughter’s giving me a grandbaby so soon.” She relaxes into her arms, taking in the comforting and familiar smell of Ruth. “Love you, mum.” She whispers. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

A few days later, she finds herself trying to gather the courage to tell Ethan.

It’s odd how nervous she is to tell him the news, but she knows it’s because he’ll find out about Andrew she can only imagine the reaction he’ll have to that.

“You alright, Fe?” Ethan asks, watching as his old and closest friend fiddles with her fingers. She smiles at the childhood nickname, at the reminder that Ethan saw her as fearless when they first met. “Yeah, I just,” She pauses, unsure of how to say it before deciding not to say anything at all. Instead she reaches for her bag and fishes out the ultrasound and hands over to Ethan, holding her breath as she watches his face. His face is filled with confusion as he’s handed the picture and as he looks at it, he doesn’t understand what it is until his eyes finally focus. His mouth drops and a smile starts to pull at his lips.

“Holy shit. You’re pregnant?” She nods, letting out a laugh, body relaxing at the excitement in his voice and on his face. “Holy shit.” He repeats before setting the ultrasound down and getting up and pulling the girl into a hug. “I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be an amazing mum.” He whispers into her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She hugs him tight. “Thank you. I’m scared, but mum said she’d be there, that you’d be there for me.” His hold had tightened at her calling his mum her’s so casually. Something she'd only ever done when sick or offhandedly when not thinking. It warmed him that she was just doing it. “She’s right, you know? I’ll absolutely be there. In fact when’s your next scan, all your scans, all your appointments, I want to be there. If I get them now I can tell the boys I need to reschedule for those times if we have anything and mark out that I’m not available.” “You don’t need to do that.” She laughs, pushing him away so she can sit back down. “Bullshit. Of course I do.” His eyebrows then furrow a thought striking him. “What about Andrew? How’d he take it?” Her smile dies and sighs, eyes locking onto the table. “He left. Doesn’t want anything to do with me or the baby.” He curses, anger and years worth of hurt filling him at the news. “Shit, Fe.” She chuckles, “yeah. I told Ruth after he left. Or more like showed up crying and collapsed in her arms.” Ethan sucks in air between his teeth. “Why didn’t you come to me?” She shrugs, still looking at the table before making eye contact with him. Her next words are soft. “I think I needed a mum.”

He sits back in his chair, across the table from her. “How’d she take it?” “Good.” Alice smiles. “She’s very excited to be a grandma.” Ethan blinks at the words, seeing now why she was so easily calling his mum, mum. “You made her cry, didn’t you?” “Only a little!” She protests, making him laugh. “But no, she took it really well. We talked for a long time that night. She’s actually going to be clearing out the spare room for me.” Ethan frowns. “Why?” “My lease ends this month and I don’t want to stay in the flat with a newborn baby. The poor thing would wake up due to all the noise. So, I’m going to stay with her for a while. I’m hoping I’ll find something before I’m too big but she told me that she wouldn’t mind me staying even after the baby.” “She’s a little lonely sometimes.” He mutters and she nods.

It’s quiet between them before he breaks the silence. “You could move in with me.” “What?” He shrugs, “I’ve got that big house now and it’s just me and the dogs. You come over anyways to watch them when I’m gone for too long or out of town.” “Ethan,” she starts, but he cuts her off. “Come on, Fe. We’ve always wanted to live together. And don’t bring up the baby, you know I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t want the baby living there too.” “What if you want to bring a girl home?” She tries. He raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, I’ll bring a girl all the way from the center of London to my place over thirty minutes away for a shag.” “And if you get a girlfriend?” “If she can’t accept that you two are my family, then it was never going to work out to begin with.”

[heich0e]

hii! hope you’re doing good!

could you pls write “wanna play some mario kart? it'll give us both a reason to cry when you beat me.“ with makki?

of course if it inspires you <33 thank you!

this came in at the EXACT same time as another ask with the same prompt but with oikawa so i included him in this one just to make it fair <3

pieces hanamaki takahiro/f!reader (haikyuu!) word count: 1k tags: angst, hurt/comfort, implied oikawa/reader, pining, makki being the best boy on earth, this made me sad! Send me a prompt and a character!

Takahiro has always loved puzzles.

He loves the satisfaction of taking pieces and fitting them into something new. Something whole. Taking something broken and putting it together again.

Maybe that's why he's been hopelessly, irredeemably in love with you since he was fifteen years old.

You, who shows up at his door every few weeks with tears in your eyes and your arms wrapped tight around your midsection as if to hold yourself together.

You, who can't help but choke out a sob when Makki invites you in, just like he always does, and ruffles your hair gently as you pass him in the doorway.

You, who has been in love with his best friend for as long as he has been in love with you, and who has been chasing Oikawa's ghost since he left you to follow his dreams in Argentina.

The routine is always the same. You sit at the end of Hiro's bed, and he sits at the top, against his pillows.

You wrap your arms around your knees to pull them to your chest, and he offers you something to drink (which you always decline.)

Next he starts the guess work, trying to decipher exactly what it is that has driven you to his doorstep this time around.

It's not very hard to guess what has brought you to his place on this particular occasion, as Takahiro had seen the post on Instagram likely around the same time you did: a photo of Oikawa (as tanned and chiselled and radiant as ever) with his arms wrapped around a girl, posted to his private account with a caption in Spanish which had badly auto-translated to 'the sun shines brighter when i'm inside her' which he almost would have laughed at if he didn't immediately know the photo was going to devastate you.

Not even 30 minutes later here you are, sniffling at the end of his bed, eyes rimmed in pink.

He hates how pretty you are when you cry.

Hates that even when you're at your lowest he can't help but look at you and feel his heart quicken under his ribs.

Hates that he knows that even though he's going to try, he's never really going to be able to put the pieces back together in a way that will finally stick.

"Wanna order takeout?" he asks you gently. "We can get chinese from that place down the road. I'll even let you have my fortune cookie."

You shake your head a little.

"'M not hungry," you manage to rasp, but it's weak and watery.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Hiro tries again, crawling a little bit closer to you on the bed, his hands sinking into the soft give of his mattress as he inches towards you.

You shake your head once more.

"Wanna play some Mario Kart?" He's draped himself across you at this point, nestling his chin between your knees, peering up at you from his position in your lap.

You reach to trace your trembling fingers through his hair, snorting a little--the sound wet with snot and tears.

"You haven't beat me at Mario Kart since we were sixteen, and that was only because I had mono and was half-dead."

The mono Oikawa had given you, Hiro wants to remind you, but doesn't.

"It'll give us both a reason to cry when you beat me," he teases, but it's at his own expense.

You endeavour to smile, but it's feeble.

"Can you just... hold me for a bit?" you ask the question quietly, like you're embarrassed by it. Like it's not the only thing Makki ever wants to do.

"'Course," he says, feigning like he's not aching for it. He flops off of your legs and flat onto his back beside you on his bed, his feet by his pillows. He opens his arms so you can nestle yourself down into them, your face tucked into the warmth of his chest.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Makki tracing shapes into your back that he's lost track of mapping, letting his fingers move however they see fit against you. He starts writing words after he's exhausted every abstract shape he can call to mind to knead into your skin.

Makki loves when you lay with him like this. Pressed so tightly against him, clinging to him, so close he stops being able to tell where he ends and you begin.

The two of you fit together. He knows you do. He feels it when your breaths fall into sync.

Your eyes are closed, but he can still see tears clinging to the ends of your eyelashes when he steals a peek down at your face--droplets matting the lashes together and glistening in the waning afternoon light streaming in through his bedroom window.

It hurts him to see you hurting.

Hurts that he knows there's nothing he can do to fix it.

Hurts that he will never be the boy you're crying over--not that he would ever give you reason to if you would just choose him like he's been silently begging you to for the past ten years.

But he'll settle for this.

For being the one to put you back together.

For being the one that will get you to eat something when you wake up from your nap, who will distract you with an episode of your favourite TV show that the two of you have already watched enough times to recite the dialogue from memory, who will be the first person to make you laugh again, who will walk you to the station to catch the last train home, who will wait on the platform until it disappears out of sight.

Because he knows that's the piece he is to you.

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[inkybirdy]

Ganlink ;-;

Cousin Goro is only a few months into his parents letting him lead supply outings for the caravan on his own, but his sixteen years and the fresh responsibility have bestowed upon him a lofty wisdom. 

At least, toward his juniors - fourteen-year-old Link among them.

It was a mistake to tell him about the kiss, Link muses, hands full of a produce basket and trudging behind in the wake of Goro’s laughter. 

It had been a quick thing, when the caravan had last stopped in the Kara Kara Bazaar. Sitting on the lookout tower late into the night, watching the dancing and drinking around the bonfire below - Link’s jaw cupped in a careful hand, Ganon had kissed him. While it was a bit of a shy, clumsy thing, startling enough to make Link dizzy, lips chapped from the desert and hours of chatter, it was warm and… soft. Earnest. 

“You’re-- uh, really--” Ganon stammered, only pulling back enough for their foreheads to rest together, “--pretty.” Pretty. Link had barely gotten his wits about him again before Ganon had frozen, his own bold impulse leaving him dumbfounded, and then scrambled away. 

Weeks later, Goro is the first to hear Link’s admission about the kiss - his first kiss - and his confusion at Ganon’s retreat.  Who else would he tell? Lasli is often irritated by ‘kid nonsense’ and, even among the caravan, there are few cousins anywhere near Link’s age. Nabooru had been around at the Bazaar, but she was more Ganon’s peer and confidante than his own. Certainly not Nanna, absolutely not his uncle. 

“Pfft-- didn’t take long for him to regret that, did it?” 

It’s a mistake. 

“Don’t take it to heart, cousin.” Goro dismisses after his laughter eases, holding up a fruit to gauge its worth, “He’s gonna get a crown and marry some general, or some Highland mystic, and get too busy for farm boys.”

‘Regret’ buzzes in Link’s ears and he struggles to swallow the burning shame he feels bubble in his throat. His face heats like he’s stuck his head into an oven, his fingers ache from how tightly he grips the basket, forcing himself not to simply drop it and run - somewhere, anywhere else. He mumbles, but it’s choked. 

“... Cousin?” Goro tilts his head, pausing when he notices Link has stopped walking. 

“I-” Link sniffs, flushing further now that he feels the tears starting to drip down his cheeks, “I said, I know.” He can’t manage. He drops the basket. 

_______

Perhaps an hour later, Maz Koshia finds his nephew a few earshots away from the caravan’s campsite. Sitting by the river, the boy is curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as he muffles his crying with his arms.

Maz barely needs both hands to count the times he’s seen Link cry, since the time he could speak. Always trying to defer to the quiet Maz exudes, desperately avoiding a scene, he tended to hide his more fraught emotions and outbursts.

While Maz wants to muse on how much of that is his own fault, he sets the line of thought aside for the moment. Instead, he lets his footsteps scuff enough to be heard and takes a seat next to the boy. 

“Goro said you ran off, in the market.” Maz says simply. He holds back a grimace at the gruff tone his voice holds, even when he works to keep his volume soft. He’s never been good with ‘tender’. “I’m s-sorry.” Link curls tighter, his own voice a miserable wreck, “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to.” While he hesitates for a moment, Maz reaches and gently pats Link’s hair, “He told me what happened.” Somehow the tips of Link’s ears get redder, and Maz hears a mutter, “It’s stupid.”

An ill-fated crush, a stolen first kiss, a shitty comment from a cousin.  

Oh, to be young, with a small world shaken by simple things. 

“It’s not.” 

Maz wraps an arm about Link’s shoulders and scoots the boy up against his side. He rests his cheek on the top of Link’s head as the boy crumples and clings, now sniffling against him. 

“Good things don’t last, boy,” Maz says after a while, carefully, “But, they do happen.” He takes the way Link stills as a note to continue. “The little sh - the prince - has been your friend. You like him, you’ve had… fun.” A ghost of a nod against Maz’s shoulder. “That’s good. He won’t stay forever, but you’ve known that. For now, you can have fun being his friend; when the time comes, we’ll… deal with it.” 

Link’s arms wrap around Maz’s middle, and he hugs Link tightly in return. “Okay.”  

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 1

Your feet dangled down from the stool, elbows on the granite counter when Jeff turned around. “Alright,” he said, lips in a thin smile when he revealed the plate of reheated lasagna that someone dropped off in the last few days. “Smells good.”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed stare. “It looks a little disgusting.”

“It’s vegan, I think.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes. “You start one all natural skincare line and people think you only eat plant-based shit.”

He let out a small laugh, set the plate down and watched as you picked up the fork. One bite--mediocre. Not exactly hot enough, but after all Jeff had done for you the last few days, you didn’t have the heart to demand he put it in for another minute.

“So--do you think it went well?”

You laughed around the food in your mouth, picked up a paper napkin and let your head tilt to the side. “As good as a funeral could be.”

The lights in your kitchen were dim and the sun had already faded behind the trees, the house quiet after people finally filed out. Friends, extended family, strangers you’d never met had flocked to Los Angeles for the funeral of your famous father.

It’d been coming from a mile away. His health declined, an obvious result of the cocaine and the cigarettes and whatever else he’d ingested regularly in the 70s. A heart attack a year ago put him on a fast track to the afterlife, but he always joked that he’d probably end up in hell.

Being in the music industry ruined him, in a way--it ruined your parents’ marriage and it ruined a lot of the relationships your father had. Blow outs and big fights that left him exiled from a lot of social circles, sometimes never speaking to people again after one bad phone call. But it was never like that with Irv.

“Well, I’ve never seen my dad cry so hard,” Jeff smiled. “He really loved him.”

Another bite of the soggy noodles and fake cheese. “I know.”

A comfortable silence, the doors off the kitchen were open, a breeze from the backyard let the southern California warmth blow through the sheer curtains when you sipped at your left over wine.

Jeff was the closest thing you had to a sibling, his family was all you had left at this point. You were tossed in the bathtub with him and his siblings as a baby, shoved into family photos and tagged along for vacations.

Being closest in age to Jeff meant people always hoped it would be the two of you that would end up together. Happily ever after or having babies of your own. But when you saw Jeff wolf down a whole pizza at his bar mitzvah, any hope of a spark between the two of you had been permanently extinguished.

His older sister was the one who told you what it meant to have sex, and after your mom died, his mom helped you pick out a dress for your Sweet Sixteen.

She was the one who talked you off the ledge when you found out you were pregnant only a few years later, she was the one who threw you both baby showers and she was the one who helped you through your divorce only six months earlier.

So now that your dad was gone, too, you wondered where you fit into their family and what your definition of family even was.

Before the thought could cross your mind, the front door was pushed open and the sound of high pitched giggles floated in from the foyer.

CeCe’s tiny voice echoed down the hall. “Uncle Jeff?”

“Is that my CeCe?” He took a few steps forward and she ran straight into his legs, he hoisted her up onto his hip when Maeve rounded the corner with Tristan in tow.

“Hi honey,” you opened an arm so your ten-year-old could fit into the side of you. She leaned her head on her shoulder. “How was ice cream?”

The easiest ploy to get them out of the house while you hosted some kind of awkward afterparty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But Tristan said that funerals are a selfish attempt by the living to hold on to someone after they’re dead.”

You blinked a few times and looked down at her, shocked by the words and apparently, her ability to understand them. You looked over at Tristan, arched eyebrows to communicate how displeased you were.

His eyes went wide when Jeff choked down a laugh. “I didn’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about Maeve.”

You kissed Maeve on the head. “Well, Tristan is wrong about a lot of things, trust me. But you two should go get ready for bed, it’s been a long day.”

You looked over at him again--younger by two years and easily one of the most important people in your life. You met him only a year after you started your business, he had a knack for brand management and eye for design that you couldn’t pass up. He was way too sarcastic and cynical to be your regular babysitter, but Jeff and his family were basically in the receiving line beside you.

Jeff let CeCe climb down and Maeve took her by the hand as they headed for the kitchen stairs to the second floor, leaving you alone at the island with two of your closest friends.

He waited until he heard the water turn on from their bathroom sink, then whispered in Tristan’s direction. “Great idea to say that to a ten-year-old and a six-year-old after their grandpa dies.”

Tristan rolled his eyes theatrically, “she asked why so many people came and why she’d never met any of them if they loved her grandpa so much.”

“Well, you can expect a bill for their therapy in a few years,” you laughed, forking more lasagna into your mouth.

Tristan made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the glass dish, helping himself to a piece when Jeff took a seat beside you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” you glanced at him sideways, suspicious about any ulterior motive he might have.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jeff laughed, Tristan eyed you from over his shoulder like he didn’t believe you. “Let me try again. How are you feeling emotionally?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the most recent bite of dinner. “Oh, you mean cause my husband left me six months ago and my dad just died and now I’m a single mom with two fiesty daughters who just inherited a giant house aaaaaand,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect. “I’m a business owner who barely gets any sleep?”

“That’s what I was getting at, yes,” Jeff nodded and fought a smirk.

“I’m alright,” you sighed. “Tired. Kind of freaked out about what the fuck is going on in my life, but, I’ll survive. I always survive."

You knew you would--in fact, you’d been waiting for this moment for the last few weeks. When Jeff’s mom called to tell you your dad needed to be put in hospice, you prepared. You talked to Maeve and CeCe and explained it all in a way they’d understand. His life on earth is over, but we can still talk to him and visit a pretty garden to remember him.

It was a lot to deal with only a few months after your high school sweetheart turned husband admitted he’d been having an affair and moved out, you saw on Facebook that he’d since bought a motorcycle and was spending most of his time at bars along the coast. That whole fiasco was harder to explain to your children.

And now suddenly everyone wanted to make sure you were okay. Frozen dinners, offers to drive your kids to and from their extracurriculars, a lot of attention was suddenly thrust onto you and your family, as if you hadn’t always hated that growing up.

But you knew the time would come when life would settle back down. Cousins and aunts and uncles would fly home, people would stop asking how you were doing post divorce. Dust would settle and the sun would set on this chapter and frankly, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

So here you were, the funeral was over, the dinner in his honor at Jeff’s parents, the media coverage was starting to die down and life could return to normal. Or, at least, a new normal.

Your dad had been a fixture in your life--weekly dinner dates with grandpa gave you a minute to yourself after working long days and answering endless phone calls. A glass of wine on the couch or even dinner with Tristan and Zoey was a nice escape from breaking up fights or figuring out how to reattach the head of a Barbie doll after someone shoved someone into a closet and tears and screaming ensued.

“You will definitely survive,” Jeff nodded.

Tristan came and sat, forked into the lasagna and made a face when he realized how bad it was. “Is this fake cheese?”

“Unfortunately,” you nodded.

Tristan made a face and then cleared his throat. “I, for one, think this is the start of a new chapter for you. New opportunities, new love,” he smirked.

A quick retort: “Yeah, that’s obviously the first priority right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Jeff said. “You have a fresh start, a totally new chapter.”

You nodded--they were right, but easing into a new chapter felt a lot better than trying to dive right in.

“Speaking of a fresh start, you know, changing things up,” Jeff forced a grin in your direction. “Can we actually talk for a second?”

You eyed him suspiciously, put your fork down to bow out from eating the world’s worst lasagna. “Yeah?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask. And--I know it’s kind of bad timing, with everything going on, but--just hear me out, okay?”

Instead of replying, you watched him, lifted your brows to encourage him to continue and tread carefully.

“So I have a client who isn’t from here, he bought a house but it’s in the middle of getting renovated. There’s kind of been a lot going on, it’s a long story.”

“Okay,” you nodded, unsure where he was going with it.

“He needs a place to stay, and I was wondering if maybe he could stay here for a little.”

“Here, like, here here?” You pointed to the floor of your kitchen, an elegant upgrade from the more modest house in Woodland Hills you’d occupied before the divorce.

Along with the death of your father came the inheritance of his Bel Air estate and all of the bedrooms, the four car garage, the manicured lawn and the pool out back. Some people thought you should sell it, use the cash to make trusts for the girls or save for college.

Selling it didn’t feel right, though. It was the house he worked so hard for, the house you called home for the later half of your teen years and the place you always came back to when things got hard. So instead of putting it on the market and closing that chapter, once again, you returned to the safe haven in the hills when you didn’t know where else to turn.

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but you have the room and it might be fun to have someone else around and--”

“I have two daughters, Jeff, I can’t just let a stranger live with us.”

“He’s not a stranger, Y/N, he’s my friend. We’re really close.”

“Who is he?” Tristan asked, waving his fork in the air to remind us that he was still present.

“Harry Styles.”

Tristan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The kid from the boyband?”

“No way,” you shook your head, dismissing it before you could even let his name register. “I’m not having a pop star boy band kid stay in my house.”

“Okay,” Jeff held up a hand to get Tristan to relax, then moved to point at you. “He’s 24, number one. He’s not a kid, he’s, like, only a few years younger than us.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “exactly. I don’t need a 24-year-old living with my daughters.”

“He’s not like that, though. He’s responsible and he’s a family friendly dude, and--”

“Then why can’t he live with you? Or with your parents?”

“I don’t have the room,” he said. “And my dad hates house guests.”

You rolled your eyes, it was obnoxious, but it was true. Irv hated having people stay over almost as much as he hated it when your dad beat him in golf.

Jeff took your silence as an opportunity to continue selling you on the idea. “He just finished his tour, he’s working on his second album. He’s probably going to be in the studio a lot, Y/N. Do you really think I would let some crazy party animal live with my nieces?”

Another eye roll from both you and Tristan.

“Is this like, just a few nights?” You asked.

“Like, two weeks. Tops.”

“Two weeks?!” You shook your head. “No--I can’t put them through that after all the shit that’s been going on this year. Why can’t he just stay in a hotel?”

“Cause that’s lonely and he’s a people person and--I don’t know, it might be good for you to have someone around.”

You rolled your eyes that, was it a jab at your new status as a single mom or new status as a fatherless daughter? Unsure.

Jeff stood from the counter and grabbed for his phone on the far end of the island. “Just think about it, okay? I’ve gotta run. A few weeks, built in babysitting, maybe--he’s great with kids.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” you told him, resting your chin in your hand and offering a sugary sweet smile. “No fucking way.”

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice called from upstairs, you hoisted yourself up, ready to tuck them in and forget that Jeff had ever asked such a ludicrous question.

“I would owe you big time--it might be fun! You’ve got the room, he could be a positive male influence on the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence--like that would really sway you.

“And I’m not that?” Tristan pulled his head back, offended.

“You’re the one who told them funerals are stupid,” Jeff said with a sarcastic smirk.

“And you’re the crazy one trying to let a stranger move in here like it’s an AirBnB,” you shot back at Jeff. “So maybe they do need a better male influence than both of you.”

“Mommy!” CeCe called again, more impatient this time.

“I’m coming!” You shouted. “You, let yourself out when you’re finished eating this terrible meal,” you pointed at Tristan and the lasagna. “And you,” you pointed at Jeff with a smirk. “Please never speak to me again.”

He was already heading for the door, keys in hand when he blew you a kiss. “Love you, see you soon!”

“Love you,” you called back, bounding up the stairs, mom mode activated.

**

A text message the next day when you were at work:

Jeff Azoff (1:43pm): 🙏😇🙏😇

You blew air from your lips, Zoey sat across from you at a conference table when you took a late lunch. She was the first friend you made when you started high school, your long time confidant aside from Tristan and Jeff and a sure bet to tell it like it is.

Now she regularly popped into the Luna offices and she loved nothing more than acting like she was a higher up at your business. She’d rather be doing that than admit she was a new mom with no clue what the next chapter of her life would look like. You had that in common.

Her two-month-old son, Benny, sat in a carrier on the ground, his eyelashes fluttered when Zoey put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Jeff is being annoying.”

“What’d he do now?”

You looked over at her, nose deep in her phone when you took another bite of the burrito bowl she’d picked up for you. You didn’t know if it was worth it to explain it all. Zoey was excitable, never one to turn down an adventure and her aptly timed identity crisis that came with becoming a mom was sure to make her encourage bad decisions even more.

She looked up at you, suddenly aware of the wheels spinning in your mind.

“Spill it,” she instructed. She put her phone down and let out a breath, clasped her hands and waited for you to fill her in.

“He asked me to let a friend of his stay with us in my dad’s house.”

“Your house,” she corrected. “Deed’s in your name now.”

“My house,” you nodded. “And I feel weird about it.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Some client of his,” you tried to wave it off as if the name didn’t matter.

It didn’t, really. You’d long been exposed to the rich and famous just because of the nature of your father’s work. He was one of the biggest managers in the music industry in partnership with Jeff’s dad, so you were no stranger to beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes. When Jeff took on the family business, you only grew more accustomed to it.

“So a celebrity?” she shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “Which one?”

“Harry Styles,” you said the name slowly, quietly, even though it was just the two of you in the second floor conference room and even though this was your office that you bought and you owned and you ran.

“He’s hot,” she nodded casually, less impressed than you’d expected.

“He’s also like twenty-something, so it's disgusting for you to say that.”

“Oh relax,” she dismissed your concern. “He could be your pool boy.”

Zoey--who also grew up in Southern California and spent plenty of time at your house as a kid--hadn’t yet grown so accustomed to the coming and going of celebrities. Her parents owned a florist shop in Santa Monica and in high school you had to tell her she could only come to a Britney Spears concert if she didn’t cry when you inevitably met her in the green room thanks to your dad.

“I have children,” you reminded her. “A ten-year-old who might as well be fifteen and a six-year-old who would think I literally bought her a human playmate.”

“But if he’s friends with Jeff I highly doubt he’s a serial killer,” she reasoned.

“Wow, you are completely missing the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“It’s weird--I can’t have a stranger move in with my kids.”

“Why not?”

“Because first their dad left us and now their grandpa died.”

“Sounds like they need a new man in their life.”

You ignored the similarity of her words with Jeff’s from the other night. “I just think it’s crazy.”

“Okay,” she sat up straight and suddenly looked like this was morphing into a business conversation. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh my god,” she turned her palms towards the sky. “Just do it.”

“What? No!”

“It’s two weeks--it’ll take your mind off of all the shit that’s been going on, it’ll be a fun distraction for the girls. You have so much space in that house you will never even know he’s there. And you’re helping a friend.”

She wasn’t wrong: Harry could likely stay in the bedroom all the way on the other end of the hall from where the girls slept. Maeve was thrilled to get her own room in the move and CeCe would occasionally run into your room after a nightmare, so the space was a plus.

He’d have his own room, his own bathroom. Hell, he could even park in the extra garage and enter from the back of the house. Maybe you wouldn’t even notice he existed.

You sighed, tugged at your necklace when you met her gaze. “I just feel really protective over them right now. I feel like Luke ruined their sense of family and now with my dad gone--”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust at the sound of your ex’s name. “I get that--but they have you. They have Jeff and his family and they have me and Shawn and now Benny.”

You offered a small smile at her reassurance. She was right in a lot of ways. The Azoffs were as much a family to your daughters as they had been to you. Shelli and Irv were like grandparents, they offered to babysit plenty of times and they always managed to get the girls the most amazing birthday presents.

But something in you knew it wasn’t the same. You’d dreamed of giving your daughters the sense of family you never had: a mom and a dad who loved each other. One house, not two that had two different beds and sets of books or toys.

Luckily and unluckily, your ex hadn’t made a huge deal about custody. Visits here and there were outlined in your divorce papers, but at this point in time he didn’t seem the most interested in maintaining a relationship with his daughters, even though he promised way back when that he’d never leave.

Getting pregnant with him during college wasn’t planned, but he swore you’d make it work and you tied the knot only a few months before Maeve was born. Things were good at first, you always knew you’d have more than one--if only to combat your own only-child loneliness--and then CeCe came five years later when you felt a little more prepared.

“I don’t think it’s going to traumatize them, Y/N. I mean, the least you could do is meet the guy.”

You watched her for a minute, blew air from your nose in a huff before you picked up your phone.

Y/N L/N (1:56pm): Fine. I’ll meet him.

Three days later you pulled up to a cafe in Brentwood and took a deep breath in the parking lot. If he was creepy, you wouldn’t go for it. If you got even the slightest weird vibe from him, you’d ex-communicate Jeff and only go over to visit his parents with the girls when he wasn’t around.

You’d already been leaning towards just doing it, especially once Tristan got a glass of wine in you and reminded you what your dad would have said: he who helps is one who prospers.

A few sleepless nights left you staring at the ceiling and wondering if you were crazy. You just now had the chance to let life settle down and here you were, mourning the loss of your biggest supporter, trying to piece yourself back together post divorce, and considering letting a stranger move in? Grief really did do strange things to people.

But when you walked in and found them sitting at a table in the back, something clicked.

Your dad was already fond of your possible houseguest, which you only knew from overhearing previous conversations between him and Irv about how proud they were of Jeff for picking up the family business, and now it all made sense.

A small part of you--probably the stupidest part of you--wondered if there was something cosmic about it. Your dad was always one to let his artists stay in the house, if they weren’t creepy, of course. You grew up with bands rehearsing in the backyard and going to shows at the Troubadour before you were old enough to drive, and you turned out fine.

“Hi,” Harry stood, offered a hand and introduced himself after Jeff gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Harry, pleasure to meet you.” Polite, maybe a bit of a kiss ass. Your dad must have loved him.

“Y/N,” you nodded, sat down when Jeff tugged out a chair for you. “Thanks for--uh--meeting with me, I guess.”

“Thanks for maybe letting me stay at your house,” he offered a sheepish smile, held your gaze for a second when Jeff adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.

“I’m actually surprised you guys haven’t met before,” he said.

“I’ve been a little busy this year,” you reminded him with a nod. “But--nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, a dimple in his left cheek ignited a tiny spark in your chest, but you pushed Zoey’s words out of your mind. Two weeks, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be in and out and this would be a blip on the radar.

“We can order coffee or something, but Y/N, I’m assuming you have like, a whole interrogation mapped out?”

You pretended to laugh at Jeff’s joke, turned to Harry and offered a no-nonsense smile. “I have two children, I got divorced earlier this year and my dad just died. So I don’t need any drama or anything. This is temporary and I’m doing this to help out a friend. Jeff, that is, not you.”

He laughed at your clarification and nodded. “Right. This is just me living in your house. No drama. Short-term.”

“And obviously my children will be there, so no guests.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay I’m not that much older than you,” you said it quickly, offered a small smile when he looked a little scared.

“Sorry--no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”

“No ma’am,” you added a rule, pulling a laugh from both of them when you lifted another finger in the air to count them off. “No drugs or alcohol, unless it’s like a glass of wine at dinner or something,” you shrugged.

“Look,” Jeff leaned forward. “Y/N’s kids are great, she’s got a great skincare company and she’s a kickass human. And you need a place to stay, so don’t fuck this up.”

“You both have my word. No drugs, no alcohol, no guests, no ma’am,” he smirked in your direction. “I’ve lived alone for a while, so, it’ll be nice to have some roommates.”

You nodded slowly and watched him for a second. A hoodie with the name of the management firm your dad and Irv had started, a backwards baseball hat and simple Ray-Bans. You ignored the fluttering in your veins from just looking at him, your own words echoed against the walls of your skull: he’s also like twenty-something, so that’s disgusting.

This was his brand, you were sure. Something Jeff had worked hard on--the looks, the smile, the exact formula that management firms drooled over was playing out in front of you. You sipped your drink once the waiter delivered three cappuccinos. Two weeks, tops.

**

Los Angeles afternoons were meant for playing outside, which is what your daughters did best if they weren’t busy pulling each other’s hair. You had dinner on the stove--enough for five--and a knot of nerves in your stomach when the wheels of his fancy car crunched atop the gravel.

The girls ran to greet him and Jeff showed him around the house. Now, Harry sat across from you at the table, Maeve to his left with an unimpressed look on her face when you cleared your throat. “Okay, gratitude time.”

Jeff set his fork back down, a guilty look on his face to admit he’d forgotten about your pre-dinner ritual.

CeCe squirmed in her seat, let out a sigh when Maeve protested with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I don’t have anything to be thankful for,” she informed you.

“That feels a little hard to believe,” you nodded, losing patience for her attitude over the last few days. “CeCe, do you want to go?”

Your younger daughter looked up at you, scrunched her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t have anything either.”

You tried not to groan aloud. After the week you’d had and the sudden changes in your life, disciplining your daughters felt like the last thing you wanted to do, if only they’d just behave.

“I can go,” Harry lifted his hand sheepishly as if he was sitting in a classroom and not in your dining room, a dimple on his cheek when he smiled sheepishly.

“Take it away,” you motioned towards him.

“M’thankful for being here, having a place to stay--and what looks like it will be a delicious meal.” By now he had a bit of smug look on his face, maybe proud of the fact that he’d broken the ice and stepped up to the pre-dinner prompt.

“Mom’s cooking is a solid six out of ten on a good day,” Maeve looked over at him, her fork now in her hand as if she was ready to dig in.

“Okay,” you leaned in and caught her gaze. “Drop the attitude or go to your room.”

“I’m thankful for Emma,” she named her friend, her quick submission after she rolled her eyes told you she just wanted to eat and get this over with. “She warned me today that Hayley was wearing a shirt I wore last week so I think she’s copying me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, you’d accept anything at this point. “CeCe? Last chance.”

“I’m grateful for pudding.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, you nodded and said: “Great. I’m thankful for you two,” you smiled at them, hopeful that this nightly tradition would hold some type of meaning, more than just eye rolls and pre-pubescent angst from Maeve.

Jeff looked over at the girls, “I’m thankful for my friend Harry getting to meet my other friends, CeCe and Maeve.”

“Aww,” Harry smiled, a hand clutched to his heart when he looked between them.

“Alright,” you were annoyed by how good your daughters were at turning on their charm for anyone but you. Jeff was often the fun uncle, just like your ex had been the fun dad, which left you forcing them to play this gratitude game every night after they finished their homework.

CeCe wasted no time digging into the spaghetti on her plate, leaving Jeff to ask Maeve: “so what are you going to do about Hayley?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve sighed. “She’ll die when she finds out that you’re sleeping over,” she pointed her fork at Harry.

“He’s not sleeping over,” you corrected. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms, remember?” You’d already explained it a few times to them. A few weeks, he’s working on more music, he’ll be busy, he’s not here to play with you.

“Whatever,” Maeve said. “Maybe I’ll hold it over her.”

“Maeve,” you looked over, unsure what had gotten into her. “I thought we talked about this stuff with Hayley?”

“I know--but she just keeps annoying me,” Maeve explained.

“Dump pasta on her head,” CeCe suggested with a giggle.

“Don’t do that,” you looked at CeCe and poked her in the stomach.

“I personally am a big fan of that idea,” Jeff smiled over at CeCe. “But it’d probably be better to just forget about it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Or the sincerest form of annoying,” she retorted.

Harry let out a laugh at that, caught your gaze when you wondered how soon it’d take him to get annoyed with your kids.

They were great--smart, funny, clever, definitely witty and sometimes dramatic. But they were good kids.

You remembered how tough it was to adapt to motherhood, even though they were your own. Something told you that Harry, no matter how short his stay would be, was not in the chapter of his life that entailed finding joy in playdates and pillow fights.

But he made it through dinner, quiet but friendly and as soon as Maeve was finished, she begged him to play squishball outside before sunset.

“Squishball?” his eyebrows dipped together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s basically just baseball but with a softer bat and a foam ball cause mom doesn’t want us to break our skulls,” Maeve informed.

“I never said break your skulls,” you argued.

“But it’s what you meant,” she shrugged.

“I would love to play,” Harry laughed, unbelievably entertained by the back and forth he’d already witnessed. They yanked him outside and set up their tiny diamond, CeCe pulled on a tutu just for flair and you and Jeff were left to handle the aftermath of a family dinner.

Jeff put the final plate into the dishwasher after a little bit and offered a hesitant smile when he turned around. “So?”

“So what? It’s been like an hour and a half of him being here.”

Their laughter from outside was audible, CeCe shrieked when Maeve made contact with the bat and sent the ball soaring into the air. “The girls clearly love him.”

“Of course they do--they love anyone for the first two hours.”

“I think he’ll be good for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, wiped the counter with the sponge when he continued.

“And you guys will be good for him.”

This got your attention. “How so?”

“He’s a people-person, never likes being on his own too much. Some structure and responsibility is good for him.”

“So I’m babysitting him?”

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Relax, will you? This could be a mutually beneficial thing if you let it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You didn’t read too much into it, you figured Jeff was peppering you with reassurance only to calm your nerves or quell your concerns. When he was finished helping you clean, he hugged the girls goodbye and waved over his shoulder, leaving Harry alone in your house with you and your daughters and nothing but good intentions.

You left him downstairs at first, helped CeCe brush her hair and sat on the floor when Maeve picked out her clothes for the next day: hopefully Hayley doesn’t own this dress.

When you headed back downstairs an hour later, the girls were tucked in, the lights were off, and your usual plan would have been to check your work emails if it weren’t for the dimpled guy in your living room.

He stood at the bookcase, hands clasped behind his back when you found him.

“Hi, sorry--bedtime is always a--” you paused, not even knowing the right label. “A shit show. But thanks for playing with them earlier.”

He laughed, turned around and offered a smile. “No worries--they seem like great kids.”

“They are,” you assured. “Maeve’s been a bit snarky lately but I think that’s just the whole beginning of puberty thing.” You cringed a little when the words left your mouth, wondering if it was too much information for someone who likely had cooler things to do than talk about ten-year-olds and training bras.

But he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets when you said: let me show you around.

He’d arrived at the worst time. Homework, dinner prep, CeCe crying because Maeve finished her homework first. You didn’t have the chance to give him a tour and you figured it would be better coming from you than from Jeff, that way you could remind him of all the rules.

You showed him the ground floor first. The library, the family room, the two offices and the three different remotes that all worked different TVs or speakers or lamps. He marveled at the pictures on the wall in your dad’s old office space, he was a legend, he told you.

He climbed the stairs behind you and whispered in response when you pointed out what was behind each door. Bathroom, Maeve’s room, CeCe’s room, guest room, another bathroom, master suite, guest room, his room.

You pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. Gray walls, a wooden four-post king-sized bed. Throw pillows you’d picked out when you moved in a few weeks ago, a dresser to the left. He looked around and nodded. “S’perfect.”

“Good,” you said, walking over to a small linen closet in his attached bath. “Towels are in here, should be soap and stuff in the shower--had our housekeeper stock it.”

“Thanks,” he nodded again.

“I don’t know where you parked, but there’s a garage in the back that my dad used to keep some of his sports cars in--there’s definitely room and that way you don’t have to leave yours out if it rains.”

Were you talking too much? You just wanted him to feel at home or at least welcomed.

“Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

A repetitive answer but it didn't stop you from rambling.

“Keurig’s on the counter--creamer in the fridge. Should be plenty of food but obviously feel free to stock what you like. Except like, weed.”

“Weed doesn’t go in the fridge...” he eyed you suspiciously, the same dimple appeared on his cheek and you rolled your eyes.

“I know--I know weed doesn’t go in the fridge.”

“Just the no drug policy,” he nodded.

“Right. Am I forgetting anything?”

He shifted his weight on his feet and shrugged his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you nodded, one final look around the room to make sure he had what he needed. His duffle bag was already in the corner, you’d told Jeff to put it upstairs and out of the way so CeCe and Maeve didn’t get nosy.

“I just have a question actually, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“When did you move in here?”

“Uh, beginning of August, so like, almost a month ago.”

He nodded, his eyes curious despite the fact that he didn’t ask more.

“We had to put my dad in hospice, I was looking for a place anyway after,” a quick motion over your shoulder to gesture to the girls. “My divorce, so--a lot of change, but it’s been nice to be home.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the quiet of the bedroom suddenly felt heavy. “S’a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” you looked around the room again, if only to put your eyes somewhere other than his face. “I felt shitty about redecorating it at first, but--it was a little too much of a 70s bachelor pad.”

“Leave it to Walt,” he joked.

That piqued your interest. “Did you know my dad? Like, did you spend any time with him?”

He pushed his lips out in thought but shook his head when he sat down on the bed. “Not really--met him a few times at events with Jeff, but I never spent any quality time with him.”

You nodded--he was a busy guy, popular and well respected in his industry. “He was a good person, good grandfather, too.”

Harry smiled at that. “Always heard that Irv was the balls but your dad was the heart.”

You laughed, scrunched your nose at the saying you’d heard a hundred times. The two of them were partners in crime, two peas in a pod, yet they couldn’t be more different. He spoke again before you could reply, voice soft in the sleepy house.

“I mean, if you're his daughter he obviously did something right.”

He held your gaze just long enough for you to feel something, something you pushed out of your mind so quickly that your hand was on the door knob before he could even say goodnight.

Two weeks, tops.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

tag list: @sunflowerryvol6 @trulymadlykiki @kaybee87 @thurhomish @tpwkhoney @70s-harry @la-cey @sing-me-a-song-harry @morethanamelodyy @theresnooneheretosave @ihearthemcallingforyou @sunfloweratheart @g0bl1nqueen @millennial-teenybopper @rainbowparadiseharry @justsaying20 @andwhenshesays @harryinsweatersandbandanas @harrys-cherriesss @harrys-cherrry @cronias13 @burberryharold @15christyxoxo @dayxoxodreamer @stepping-into-the-light @mvaldez7821 @barnestann @styles217 @fineelineee @ursamajor603 @tayrenea @hayyyayy @mellamolayla @lovelylemonadeaddict @harrystyle-ish @harryspirate @apples2019 @goldeng1rl8 @rainbowbutterflyboy

[mountswhore]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 — mason mount

summary: after your breakup, mason realises just how much you need him. and how much he needs you too.

warnings: mentions of drinking, slight mentions of drugs, swearing, angst

requests are open!

It had been a month since your breakup, and you were at an all time low. But you couldn’t let Mason or anyone else know that. Luckily, you lived alone. So you had your own flat to mope about in, before painting on your fake smile and leaving for whatever errands you had that day. Your breakup was… unfair. Mason treated you like a toy, thinking he could just drop you and then pick you up just as quick. But you weren’t having it anymore.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you laughed in disbelief at the words your boyfriend was spewing, “you’re really doing this to me, again?” Mason just stood with a stone cold face in front of you, in the comfort of his own living room.

“Y/N, believe me when I say I didn’t want to do this.” Mason consoled, taking a step forward. “You’re a distraction to my career, I barely see you. What would be the point of this anymore?” His words were like bullets, your chest full of holes and you were bleeding on the floor. But Mason was just staring back at you.

“I’m a distraction to your career. Lovely.” You mentioned, pushing past him and grabbing your bag from the stairs. Mason tried to stop you, he wanted to talk this out. “For the love of God, stop trying to hold me back. What is there to say? Or do you just want to ease your conscience? If you’re going to break up with me, be a man and own it. Leave me alone.”

With that you left, and you hadn’t spoken since.

You were going to meet a good friend for lunch, a WAG, but your breakup with Mason didn’t affect your friendship. She was adamant on it, saying, “just because Mason dumped your fine ass, doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with you. He’ll just have to deal with it.” You’d gone to your usual place, waiting in the foyer for her before booking a table together.

“How’ve you been, doll?” Abigail asked, putting her bag down beside her. “You know, considering.” You nodded, putting your fake smile to good use.

You let out a small giggle. “Good, yeah. I’ve been focusing on my work, which I should’ve been doing from the jump. I think I’m really making progress.” Abigail just nodded and smiled.

She didn’t seem the least bit frightened to say what she said, as she’d heard how you felt. “Good, because you’re coming to a party this weekend.”

“What?”

“A party.”

“Yeah I heard you,” you groaned, “are we sixteen- years old? Or am I just growing quicker than the rest of you?”

“Oh shh,” Abigail sighed, digging into her food that had now arrived with yours. Every time you came here, she got the carbonara. “Look, you said you’re making progress, and I want to have fun with my best friend again. And if I’m honest, all the other girls just aren’t as good of a laugh as you.”

“Thanks for the ego boost.” You added, smiling a genuine smile at her. You were still thinking heavily about this party, where was it? When was it? Who was going?

“Clear your weekend. It’s this Saturday, at some private lounge in London.” Abigail stated, twirling her fork once again. “It’s the England squad celebrating something or another, I don’t know. Dec told me about it.” The reason the pair of you were so close, was mainly because of your boyfriends being so close. Declan knew that his girlfriend was still friends with you and planned on keeping that, he’d always ask about you.

“Right. I’ll see if I can work overtime on Thursday to make up for my weekend off.” You mentioned.

So it was settled. You’d be going to a party with Abigail and the England squad. You weren’t the least bit excited, the only fraction you were was purely because you’d be seeing Abigail. You had your dress, you’d worked your overtime, and you were on your way to this private lounge in London. No matter how nice looking this lounge was, you’d always feel out of place. You were wearing your nicest dress, tallest heels, and Abigail had even done your hair and makeup.

“How are you, Y/N? You doing okay?” Declan asked, in the seat beside Abigail. You were sharing a taxi, Abi in the middle. Both you and Dec on either end. It was quite awkward, to see Declan. To know that he still speaks to Mason.

“Yeah, I’m doing good. How’s football going for you?” You asked. You despised small talk, it make you want to throw up. But it was only being polite to Dec. Declan mumbled a similar answer and paid attention to his phone. A text from Abigail appeared.

I don’t think she’s okay.

Declan wrote back to his girlfriend: I was thinking the same thing.

The three had gotten to the private lounge, Abi promising to not leave your side. You spent the first hour with her, constantly drinking to increase your confidence. Abi had finally left you, like you knew she would, but you weren’t mad. She’s here for her boyfriend, it’s only right she spends it with him. So now you were the loner at the bar, downing shot after shot.

Mason was sulking around like a shadow, holding tightly onto his mixer and speaking to some of his teammates. He’s not even sure why he came, all he knew was Declan forced him. And yet Declan had barely spoke to to him all evening. His mixer was empty, so he made his third beeline for the bar this evening. And saw you.

His heart had began beating irregularly, clammy hands almost dropping the cup he had. Why was he so nervous to see the ex he dumped? Luckily, you were occupied with talking to Jesse, so he could quickly grab his drink and leave. He found himself staring at you during his wait, how you laughed so genuinely with Jesse. You always did. He was one of your closest friends and now talking to him felt awkward because of your breakup. You looked at Jesse so happily, he wished it was him. It was a stupid thing to wish, considering he dumped you.

What had dumping you even done for him?

“Mount. Whatever the hell has happened to you outside of training, undo it. You’re off today.”

“Mase, why haven’t you been as on par as you usually are?”

“You keep playing like this and you’re being benched next game.”

Nothing. The answer was nothing. He was told he wasn’t playing well, saw you as an issue and dumped you. And now he plays worse. He’d been benched on his second game, overlooked by his manager due to his lack of focus in training. It was horrible. But you told him to leave you alone, he could never forget the look on your face. The look of exhaustion, of being dumped and picked back up again.

Mason had zoned back in, seeing you looking at him rather lazily. You looked drunk, high, or both. Jesse had gone, and you were throwing the shots back. You made it a game. Every time you had a good Mason thought, you’d have a shot. If it was bad, or any thought at all, you’d be having your stomach pumped by the end of the night.

Mason watched the bartender pour straight vodka into your cup, and then watched you stagger away to the stairs. The stairs led up to toilets, and were empty and quiet. Perfect. You collapsed onto the stairs, still sipping on your vodka before laying your head onto a step. You didn’t know Mason had followed you until you felt his hands on your arms.

“Come on, we’re going home.” He declared, holding you around your waist. You frowned at him, trying your best to use your half-working limbs to push him away from you.

“We’re? No, you are going home. I’m staying here.” You slurred, downing the rest of your drink and throwing the cup at his head. You laughed at the face he made, finally freeing you and you returned to your seat on the stairs. “You aren’t my dad, or my boss, or my friend. So leave me alone.”

“You’re off your face. So you’re going home.” He reaffirmed with you, folding his arms. You just shook your head again, looking up at him. You were having good Mason thoughts again, seeing just his face stare down at you. It made you want to cry and throw up.

“Get me a drink.” Mason left after your instructions, returning with a cup. You had downed it, waiting for the warm throat and slight burn. But nothing. “Not water, you asshole.” Mason kept a stone cold face with you, resting against the wall beside the door. Nobody had come into the toilet and you wished they had now. You needed someone to save you from happy Mason thoughts.

“So how is football? You must be scoring goals left and right.” You jested, tipping your head back and laughing. “Right?” Mason sat down beside you in defeat, knowing this wouldn’t be an easy conversation with you. It would end in you crying, or leaving, or both.

“No, actually.” Mason admitted. “I’m doing rubbish. My friends know I’m off my game, the gaffer knows I’m off my game. It’s atrocious.” You stared at him, kind of feeling bad but then remembering what he did to you. All those times he’d break up with you, just to say he missed you a few days later. If you were being honest with yourself, you thought it would happen again. But a month had passed, and nothing.

“Oh.” It was all you could say. Knowing what he did was for no reason, it had no benefits whatsoever. Your life had been completely thrown out of balance for nothing. It made you mad all over again. “So you’re telling me you broke up with me, and nothing good came of it?”

Mason hated to admit it. “Yes.” He spoke quietly, ashamed of the answer he was putting out there. “I was actually told to fix whatever happened outside of training, in an effort to make me better again.” You should be laughing in his face, glad he’s been royally fucked over after he royally fucked you over. But instead, you held your hands to your face to hide your tears.

“Hey,” Mason hushed, pulling you into his side. He knew you’d had a lot to drink, so maybe your emotions were all over the place, “don’t cry about it, you don’t need to be upset.” Why was he being like this? He broke up with you, why did he care how you were now?

“What’s happened to us?” You cried, pulling away from him. Just because you were at a low, doesn’t mean he can swoop in. “Ever since we broke up, it seems our lives have been shit.”

Mason laughed through the pain, resting his elbows on the step behind him. He’d tried to avoid his feelings instead of confront them, but it proved difficult when you had showed up. “I might be benched for the next game, or better yet, be taken from the squad.”

You shook your head. No matter how much you hated him at this very point, you couldn’t deny the man’s talent. “You deserve that spot on the team. There’s a reason you start for England every time. Don’t doubt yourself because something bad happened to you.”

Mason took your words and remembered them, keeping them in his head for the rest of the night. “Come here.” He put an arm around you and held you tight, sighing as your heads rested together. “I’m sorry I did this to you. I shouldn’t have left you, I had issues with myself and saw you as the problem instead. I’m really sorry.”

“I just don’t think I can take it again.” You confessed, laying your head in his lap and keeping your eyes closed. “I can’t take being broken up with again, only for you to end up in my bed a few days later. It hurts me everytime, Mase.” Mason was rubbing your back, hating himself for the way he made you feel before. And he hadn’t seen an issue with it, he treated you like it was okay to use you as an emotional rag doll.

“You don’t have to jump straight into it,” he whispered, hands now smoothing your hair out of your face, “you can take as long as you need to trust me again. But I’m telling you it’ll never happen again, I’ll never throw you about like I did before. It was reckless of me and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Mase.” You sighed, the weight finally freeing your chest. You could finally move forward with your life, and choose whether or not to take Mason with you. It wasn’t an answer you needed to know now, it could take it’s time. And Mason was willing to wait.