#this little moment has been bouncing around in my brain since sunday :))

[habitant]

MTL@MIN: Conférence de presse | Post Game Press - 12 janvier 2025 [whenever you're meeting young girls and are signing autographs and whatever, and they're wearing their own jersey, what does that mean to you?] ...go ahead

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Person A and person B accidentally giving each other flowers at the same time.

Dealer's choice as to whom :)

13. Person A and person B accidentally giving each other flowers at the same time. i'm at the beginning of fjord's arc in c2 so let's have a lil fjorester on this sunday afternoon

Fjord knows that he could be better with the whole romance thing. Well, he thinks he's romantic, but Jester has standards—which she should, because Jester is wonderful and deserves to be reminded of that fact as often as possible. But sometimes Fjord forgets the reminding part. He is trying to be better.

Which is why he's particularly proud of himself when spots a little florist as he comes back from the market one morning and thinks, Jester would like some flowers. Hell yeah, Jester would love some flowers. He buys a bouquet with the most varieties he can find, knowing that Jester appreciates color and chaos, and has a spring in his step as he saunters back to the little house beneath the water tower.

When he pushes in, a basket of food in one hand and the bouquet in the other, his cheerful "Oh Jester!" is cut off as he sees a different bouquet of flowers, a oceanic collection of blues and greens, waiting on the tiny dining table. He sets the basket down on the kitchen counter and looks at the flowers, confused.

"You're home!" He turns around to see Jester bounding in from outside, a few more flowers in her hands. "I thought I had more time!" She slips the flowers, sea foam green and white, into the bouquet, and then squeals when she sees the blooms in Fjord's hand. "Oh Fjord, you remembered!"

Panic floods through Fjord like seawater. "I...yes, I did."

He absolutely did not.

She bounces up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I thought you would have forgotten." Without waiting for him to offer them to her, she plucks the bouquet from his hands and bounds deeper into the little house, searching for another vase. "It isn't one of our more important anniversaries, I know, but still, it's one of my favorites."

Oh no. Fjord begins wracking his brain, running through a catalogue of every moment Jester could be referring to. One of the hardest things about dating Jester—not that there are many, of course, because there aren't—is her tendency to make a holiday out of everything, including anniversaries of each and every significant moment in their relationship. Clearly she thinks the flowers he bought on a whim are meant to commemorate some moment he absolutely cannot remember, and he wonders how long he can bluff his way through this.

"Well, you know, I know how much it means to you, Jessie." He begins to put away his market purchases, hoping he can hide his face so as not to give himself away.

"Ah hah!" Jester holds up an old jelly jar, which she'd been planning on using to hold water for her paintbrushes. She sticks the bouquet inside and takes it to the sink. "You're so romantic, Fjord. Just like that night! So beautiful and quiet. I really felt like that was the first time we really understood each other, y'know?"

He very much does not, but he sticks his head in a cabinet to avoid her eyes. "Yep. Sure do."

"Fjord."

He fights a sigh as he turns to look at her. The jelly jar has been filled with water and the flowers sit on the counter. Jester stands just beside him, hands on her hips, an all-too-familiar mischievous twinkle in her eye. "You have no idea what day it is, do you?"

His shoulders slump. "I...do not, no."

She rolls her eyes and kisses his cheek again. "You are not very hard to see through, Captain Tusktooth. But you make up for it by being very sweet." She buries her nose in the flowers. "They are wonderful, especially since you got them just because."

He grins, wrapping his arms around her. "You're not mad at me for forgetting...?"

"The jellyfish bloom!" she supplies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The first night we after stole the Mistake! When we were on watch together!"

If he's being honest, Fjord barely remembers what she's talking about, but if it means so much to her, it must have been quite the night. "Of course. How could I forget?"

"Mmm, because you're not very smart." She pecks his lips. "Very handsome, though!"

He rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright, you can objectify me later. I've got to head down the docks to check on a shipment."

And so he leaves her, adjusting the two bouquets so they nestle in together on the dining table, and as he strides through Nicodranas on this warm, sunny morning, he wonders how the toothless orphan from no one and nowhere ended up in a place like this with a girl like her.

[s-brant]

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

​​Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

[ofhouseadama]

Thoughts don't come to completion in my brain very well, but maybe when Lorraine first finds out she's pregnant? How happy but also scared she is (cause you know she's gotta be) and then her telling ed and how happy and scared he is as well? 😅😅

Like I said idk how to form complete thoughts about a lot of things 😅😅

In hindsight, she knew the moment she conceived. Laying there in the darkness, she felt the moment a piece of Ed joined with a piece of her. It wasn’t even that she didn’t recognize it for what it was, but that she couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. In the eight years they have been married, her cycle had never been so much as a day late, arriving like clockwork every twenty-eight days. Textbook, really.

When it didn’t come, she held her breath. After eight years, she’s become a master at refusing to get her hopes up. She remembers the ambivalence she felt, the morning she realized she had gotten her monthly courses after their honeymoon and she was back at her parents’ house and Ed, back on a ship in the Pacific. She’d been relieved then.

In the years that followed, after buying a four bedroom home they’d hoped to fill up with babies, relief had turned to confusion, then to frustration, then to grief. And it became tolerable, with time and prayer and faith, but oh how she yearned, and yearned, and yearned.

And learned to fill up the space that she wanted to fill with her and Ed’s children with ghosts.

Lorraine Warren finds herself bouncing her leg on the linoleum floor of the doctor’s office on her lunch break, two weeks after the first missed period of her life. And she knows, some heady mixture of mother’s intuition and all her other gifts from God. She knows with a painful kind of clarity that she carries a life inside her. She wonders if Ed’s noticed that she never drew her little red dots on the calendar, hasn’t complained about cramps and bloating, hasn’t brought home a box of Motrin and menstrual products. He rarely misses anything about her, but it’s just been Christmas and they’ve just had a case, a real one. The kind that drives him to distraction.

She pees in a cup and the nurse, in her starch white uniform and impeccably clean shoes, tells her that the results will take at least three days and possibly up to a week to come back, that it will depend on how busy the lab is. The nurse smiles conspiratorially, like she’s gotten a tidbit of insider trade knowledge, and tells her that she thinks she’ll know by New Year’s Eve whether or not she’s going to be a mother.

Lorraine vomits in a bush on her way back to her car.

---

New Year's Eve is a Sunday, in 1961, and Lorraine’s last day of work before the holiday is that Friday, when the nurse from the doctor’s office calls her desk. It is almost, exactly to the hour, four days since her appointment.

Somewhere between, “Congratulations, Mrs. Warren,” and “we’ll need to schedule you for a follow-up appointment in the next four to six weeks,” her vision blurs, and her legs drop out from under her. Clumsily, she manages to catch herself on the edge of her desk, lowering herself gently down onto her chair.

“Yes, yes, I can make the week of January 29th work,” she says, furiously wiping away tears as she flips through her planner, frantically reaching for a pencil. “Yes. One in the afternoon is fine. Thank you.”

Slowly, she hangs up the phone.

Lorraine makes it another twenty minutes at her desk, thumbing through the Diocese of Bridgeport finances, mindlessly sorting purchase orders and invoices. Before slowly, then all at once, it hits her. Pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, she swallows down a sob.

They’re going to be parents.

---

They had just given up. Because of course they had.

But God had other plans.

---

She drives home in a daze, glad that it’s the middle of the afternoon. She’s not sure how she would have made it from Bridgeport to Monroe if she had waited until five o’clock. It feels as though she’s experiencing the world from underwater, from the inside of an upturned snowglobe.

You’re expecting, Mrs. Warren. The test came back positive.

How is she going to tell Ed? She never thought this far. Not since they were newlyweds and she was dreaming of the little clothes she had sewn for her trousseau. She had plans back then, of cooking him dinner and sitting him down over candlelight and a nice meal, and telling him with a silver rattle tucked into tissue paper in a box, or with a silver spoon, a baby’s hair brush. Now she has half a mind to just drive straight for where she knows he’s teaching art classes at the VA, march inside, and drag him into his office like a madwoman and tell him straightaway.

Damn ceremony, they’ve waited long enough.

Pulling into the driveway, she turns off the engine and sits there for a long moment, fighting back tears. She’s going to walk into their home, and she’s going to know which room they’re going to clear out to turn into a nursery.

She’s known which room they were going to turn into a nursery since the first time they walked into the house with the realtor.

After a moment, the tears win.

---

In the end, it goes like this:

Lorraine makes lasagna, because it’s hard to screw up and she’s having trouble concentrating on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. She knows how to make sauce, cook noodles, and assemble layers. Ed likes lasagna. Ed does not like lasagna so much that he will be immediately suspicious when he comes home to find her making lasagna. She’s usually home before him anyway on Thursdays, the only day of the week he has a four o’clock class.

Ed comes home a little before six, his forearms speckled with paint.

He talks enough for the both of them, and if he notices anything’s off about her, he’s kind enough to wait until after dinner to bring it up. Kissing her cheek sweetly, he loops his arms around her waist and pulls her close.

“I missed you today.”

Then he’s pulling away again, taking down plates and cups from the cabinet and pulling out silverware to lay the table.

Then, despite all the ways she’s been practicing all afternoon, Lorraine turns from the stove to look at him folding napkins at the kitchen table and feels such a warm burst of affection in her chest that she can’t not say it.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, holding onto the counter for support. “The doctor’s office confirmed it today. I’m -- I’m pregnant. Like really, really pregnant. And I’m a little terrified, because it doesn’t feel real, but it apparently is real.”

The red napkin he’s been folding into a triangle falls from his fingertips, face freezing with shock.

“Wait--”

“We’re having a baby,” she says, realizing that she’s rambling, but unable to stop herself.

His brow furrows, confused. “Lorraine? Are you telling me--”

Biting her lip, she nods. “Yes.”

“Really?”

Crossing the room to her, she can see comprehension dawning on his features. This isn’t a dream. They’re both awake. It’s not a joke. Lorraine wonders if she should have driven by the doctor’s office to get a physical copy of the test results. Ed’s always liked being able to see things on paper.

“Really,” she says, as a smile splits his face and he reaches her, sweeping her up into his arms and lifting her off her feet, spinning her. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

She’s so happy, she’s lightheaded.

And she wants to kiss him, so she does, framing his dear face with her hands.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

---

With a look of reverence on his face that drives her back to tears, Ed drops to his knees right there in the kitchen, pushing up the hem of her blouse.

“Hi,” he says, pressing his lips to her stomach. “Hi baby.”

Wiping the tears from Ed’s face, Lorraine thinks she might never stop laughing, might never stop crying.

---

In the end, they eat their lasagna on the kitchen floor, right out of the pan. She’s half in his lap, and there’s not a candle in sight.

It’s perfect.

[babygirlgalitzine]

two dads (are better than one) (ao3)

Lexi’s nervous. Ben can tell that from just looking at her. It’s obvious. She can’t stop moving, squirming around on the floor as she draws in her latest colouring book. Another in a long line of them, all with different themes and levels of difficulty as she gets older. She puts down the pencil she’s just been using and lets it roll across the table, pushing it back and forth underneath her index finger. There’s a pause of her childish movements, and then she looks up at Ben, who’s sitting there on the sofa, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. 

“Dad?” She asks, her voice sweet and shy.

Ben instantly puts his phone down, giving her his full attention. He smiles. “Yes darlin’?” 

Lexi looks down at the pencil once again, continuing to play with it. She refuses to look back up at Ben for the minute, too scared to share the thoughts that have been plaguing her mind for the last few weeks. She opens her mouth, and Ben can practically see the cogs turning in that little brain of hers. 

“What’s wrong princess?” Ben asks, leaning forward on the sofa to get close to her, ready for any comforting he needs to do. 

Lexi shakes her head with a precious smile and indelicately pushes the wisps of her blonde hair behind her ears. She stands up, watching as her pencil falls to the floor but she doesn’t care for it right now. Instead of picking it up, she just sits next to her dad, allowing her knees to hit against his leg softly.

Ben reaches out instinctively and curls a piece of her hair around his index finger gently. He does this at night when she’s tired, helping her to sleep. It’s a comfort blanket to her, almost, to have her dad playing with her hair. 

A sigh escapes her mouth as she manages to speak. “I was wondering.” Lexi starts. “Do you think Callum would like me calling him dad too?” Her voice comes out shy, the nerves showing on her face as she blushes.

Silence falls between them as Ben attempts to connect his mouth to his racing brain. A smile forms across his lips eventually. “Is that what you want to call him?” Ben asks, happiness and light in his voice. 

Lexi nods her head, slowly at first, but then more assuredly as time ticks on. 

Ben grins and puts his hand on the side of her head, gently pulling her in for a hug. Lexi rests her head against his chest, instantly calming her down from her nervousness as Ben continues to play with her hair.  

“Do you want me to tell Cal that you want to call him dad?” Ben asks. “Or shall we keep it a surprise?” 

Lexi pulls out of the hug and looks up at her dad. “A surprise!” She grins, giggling away at the idea.

Ben chuckles softly and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. “I think it’ll be his favourite surprise ever.” Ben admits. 

Lexi looks at him with shock and happiness. “Really?” She gasps out.

Swiftly, Ben nods. “Absolutely.”

Lexi stretches out across the sofa, her tiny body not even taking up half of the space. She’s reading a book, one beyond her age category, but she’s always been a confident reader. It’s raining outside, the first day of summer and the weather doesn’t match the season. The rain collects in puddles on the pavement outside and bounces back up as it gets heavier. 

Callum’s just been out, picking up some food from the Minute Mart. He ran there and back, but still came back soaking wet through. Ben’s with him, both of them standing in the kitchen as Callum takes the food out of a plastic bag and puts it in the fridge. 

“Daaaad!” Lexi lets out, elongating her call. She puts her book down, the covers of it facing up, and she looks at the door, waiting for a face to appear. 

Within seconds, Ben appears at the door, poking his head around the frame. He smiles as he looks at his daughter. “Yes princess?” He asks.

They stare at each other for a second or two, a silent conversation happening between their eyes and facial expressions, and then Lexi giggles as she shakes her head. “Nope.” She says, loudly enough so that Callum can hear her from the kitchen. “My other dad.”

Ben retracts his head from the door frame, stretching backwards so that he can spot Callum’s reaction. 

Callum’s eyes go wide as he hears Lexi’s words. It doesn’t quite sink in, not fully. Not that quickly, anyway. He turns his face to look down the hallway, and his eyeline matches up with Ben’s. “Me?” He mouths out, pointing to himself.

Ben beamingly grins, a blush swirling across his cheeks. He nods, and bites at his lip with all the nervousness that rushes through his body. He knows that Callum’s happy, he can see it in his face. But it’s a huge deal to all of them. Even though they’re both married now, this is the first time Lexi’s ever called Callum her dad. It’s important. It’s the next step in their relationship - the next step for their family. 

Callum closes the fridge door just as it starts to beep out at him, informing him that it’s been open for too long. He shakes his head in disbelief, and then starts to walk towards Ben and Lexi with shaky legs. He wraps an arm around Ben’s waist, entwining his fingers with his shirt in a vain attempt to calm him down.

“What do you want darling?” Callum asks Lexi. 

It’s so normal, like this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. 

Lexi smiles. “What’s for dinner?” 

Callum turns his head towards Ben for a moment, and his brain rushes with memories of how he never thought that he would get this lucky, never in a million years. 

“Pizza?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Lexi grins, nodding her head and she picks up her book once more, reading from where she left off. 

Callum remains there for a second, just watching her. A hand snakes around his body, and before long, Ben’s pulling him in for a hug. Callum puts his head in the crook of Ben’s neck and breathes in. “Was that the surprise you told me about the other day?” He asks, warm breath against Ben’s neck.

Ben lets out a soft chuckle, running his hand up and down Callum’s back. “Yeah.” He admits. “She asked me last week, if you would like her to call you dad.”

---

It’s been in the works for a while. Ever since Lexi saw the first signs up in shop windows saying that Father’s Day is coming up soon, she’s been wanting to make cards. It’s one of her favourite things to do. Every birthday or holiday she creates her own little cards instead of finding some in shops. 

She makes Ben’s first, folding it over so that the edges meet, and then she opens up her special pens and draws carefully, creating the image she has in her mind on the front of the card. It takes her a while to perfect it, but when she does, she stares at it fondly, proud of her creation. The final step is to write a message inside, and with her best handwriting, she does this. The steps are repeated exactly the same for Callum’s card. 

The day finally arrives, a warm, bright Sunday. The cards are in envelopes now, with Dad and Dad 2 written on Ben and Callum’s respectively. She’s nervous, and both of them can tell. She’s called Callum her dad a few times now, but for some reason, writing it down seems much more important and real. 

Callum doesn’t think he’ll get a card. It’s not something he expects, anyway. He’s taken Lexi out to buy Ben a present a few days prior, and she never said anything, so he just presumes that he won’t get anything - and he’s fine with that. 

Lexi stands in the middle of the room, hands behind her back. In front of her are Ben and Callum, sitting right next to each other, their arms and legs touching. She moves her left arm, stretching it out towards Ben with a beaming smile on her face, handing him a card. 

“Thank you darlin’.” Ben smiles softly, taking the card from his daughter and starting to open up the envelope.

“Wait!” Lexi calls out, holding up her free hand, pointing her palm at him to mimic a stop motion. 

Ben raises an eyebrow questioningly. “What?” He asks, though a small grin appears on his face as he notices another card poking out from behind Lexi’s back. 

A beaming smile proudly appears on Lexi’s face as she moves her other arm, holding a card in front of Callum. “For my other dad too.” She says.

Callum’s eyes widen in shock. “Really?” He gasps out, taking the card from Lexi’s hand.

Lexi nods, smiling to herself. 

Ben opens his card first, both of them watching him. On the front is a drawing of them both, Lexi with yellow ringlets for her hair, and Ben with an over expressive face. Over the top of the drawing, written in Lexi’s neatest handwriting is ‘Thank you for being my dad’, and inside is a short and yet sweet message, clearly written in pencil first and then traced over in pen. 

“Thank you darlin’.” Ben smiles. “I love it.” 

They both turn to look at Callum, and with shaky hands he tears open the envelope and pulls out the card, staring at the front of it. Ben places his chin on Callum’s shoulder, watching the opening of the card intensely. Like Ben’s, on the front of the card is a drawing of Lexi and Callum. Her ringlets are the same as on Ben’s card, but Callum’s quiff is exaggerated, standing at almost the same size of his face. Above the drawing is Lexi’s neatest handwriting once again, and it seems as though both Callum and Ben read it at the exact same time, if the hitch in both their breaths are anything to go by. ‘Thank you for choosing to be my dad’, it reads. 

Callum looks at Lexi instantly, with hot tears bubbling away in his eyes. “Come here.” He lets out, opening up his arms. Lexi walks into his arms, falling into a cuddle, and Ben rests his head on Callum’s shoulder until Callum opens up his arm again, allowing Ben into the hug too. 

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Okay so Aguni is sound asleep, just enjoying the few hours of peace he has, when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it, but the person just keeps knocking and knocking.

"Morizono, open the goddamn door!" he hears Takeru call, "This is an emergency!"

He groans to himself before standing up and opening the door.

"What?"

"So, remember that weird chonky cat Niragi found?"

"Yeah... what about it?"

"It's not fat... and is not a cat."

Where Hatter and apparently every other idiot at the Beach mistake a domesticated pregnant genet for a fat exotic cat. And it just gave birth on Hatter's bed.

I have no idea in what direction this is supposed to go lol but hopefully something chaotic.

alright I had to look up what a genet is and DAMN they are CUTE AS HELL and I’m love them v much

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Terminator

Rating: PG-13 for dialogue and like one drug reference

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Aguni Morizono is a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures.

He enjoys a healthy slathering of grape jelly on his toast. He enjoys watching the sunset reflect over the ocean. He enjoys watering his garden and reading the newspaper and taking naps on the sofa on Sunday afternoons after he’s finished his grocery shopping for the week.

What he does not particularly enjoy is being shaken awake by a borderline-frantic Takeru in the middle of the night.

Takeru insists that he has a good reason; that this is an emergency. Aguni reminds him that running out of marijuana does not qualify as an emergency, and pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to shut the very exuberant man out.

But the aforementioned exuberant man refuses to be shut out, and he references the aforementioned emergency again—this time insisting that it is an actual real emergency and requires immediate attention. Aguni sincerely doubts this and tries his damnedest to fall back to sleep—a truly Herculean task, given Takeru’s incessant talking and the way he’s bouncing on the other side of the mattress like some kind of weird large puppy. Aguni is just about to enter the first misty moments of dozing off as Takeru says words like ‘Niragi’ and ‘cat’ and ‘bed’ and it’s all somewhat possible to ignore until he utters one word that makes Aguni sit straight up.

‘Babies.’

Now, ‘babies’ as a concept does not bother Aguni. He’s actually somewhat fond of them, the way they unabashedly stare at him on the train or in the park, eyes wide and fat little hands waving a clumsy ‘hello’ in his general direction. And if he waves back sometimes, well...that’s his business. (It’s only polite, after all.)

No, the issue here is that ‘babies’ and ‘the Borderlands’ sounds like a terrible, terrible mix. What’s worse is that said babies have, for some reason, been left in Takeru’s care. And, judging from Takeru’s presence in his room, the babies have been left alone.

It takes no time at all for Aguni to throw on a pair of pants and slip into his boots. It takes even less time for him to grab Takeru by the collar of his robe and physically drag him down the hall, the other man switching between heartfelt thank-you’s and desperate pleas for Aguni to be gentle when handling the raw silk of his ensemble.

Now, to those of us on the outside of Aguni’s brain, it may seem like he hasn’t thought this through; that he has tunnel-vision’d his way through the last two paragraphs without a logical thought as to how and why ‘babies’ may be present. That is simply not true. Aguni has considered that ‘babies’ could actually mean a number of things aside from ‘human infants’ and has thus compiled a short list of the three most likely candidates:

The spider plant he had placed on Takeru’s windowsill has propagated—or, as some would call it, ‘had babies.’ This is Aguni’s favorite option of the bunch. It is also the least likely.

Something about the cards. Although Aguni has never Takeru refer to them as ‘his babies,’ it is no secret that he is very protective of his prized collection. Seeing as this may or may not affect the entire Beach, it’s important for him to be aware of the situation.

Takeru is high as a goddamn kite and hallucinating. This is, unfortunately, the most likely scenario.

It is also important to mention that Aguni has taken a good look at his life and his choices throughout this ordeal, particularly when Takeru commented on the state of his biceps and made an off-color insinuation about the right one looking slightly more defined than the left—and then asked if he would like to discuss his love life, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. Aguni chose not to comment. He also chose to push Takeru into the doorframe on the way into his suite, and took a smidge of pleasure when his head collided with the wood with a satisfying clunk-ing sound.

“Look,” Takeru says proudly, pointing a finger at the bed, “babies!”

Nestled in what a bulging nest of fluffy white blankets are...things. Fuzzy things. One big fuzzy thing, with sleepy eyes and what looks to be a long spotted tail wrapped around one, two, three tiny fuzzy things. When Aguni leans in to get a closer look, the big one quirks a corn-chip-shaped ear and gives him a wary glare.

“What,” Aguni asks, “in the goddamn—“

But before Aguni is able to finish his sentence, Takeru is giving him a stinging slap on the arm.

“Aguni Morizono,” he hisses, hands balled into fists and perched on his hips like a mother hen, “I will not have my children exposed to that kind of language.”

There are plenty of things wrong with what Takeru just said, but Aguni is having trouble getting past the idea that these...creatures have somehow been claimed by his very silly friend.

“Think about it,” Takeru continues, swanning his way past a very confused (and tired) Aguni to sit on the edge of the bed just behind the brood of fluffy individuals, “This lovely lady could have given birth on anyone’s bed...but she chose mine.  Why do you think that is?”

“Because you leave the sheets all balled up in the middle and it’s the perfect place for an animal to make a nest?”

“Wrong, but I like how confident you sounded when you said it!”

With his hands pressed together and held in front of his lips, Takeru looks almost prayerful as he very seriously explains his theory.

“A woman alone-- heavily pregnant, scared, and lost in these cold and cruel Borderlands.  Her thoughts shift to her young.  Who will keep them safe?  Who will help take care of them?  That’s when her instincts took over,” Takeru opens his arms, the silken cuffs of his robe pooling around his elbows, “and, using her superior sense of smell, followed her nose to the den of the nearest alpha male for protection.”

Aguni wishes he could say that this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He also wishes he had a cup of coffee (with a healthy glug of Bailey’s in there for good measure) before this whole event took place.

Takeru has since busied himself with the tiny new mother and her young, watching with gentle fascination as the newborns snuffle and snooze against her with unopened eyes and clumsy paws. When he reaches out a ring-bedecked hand to stroke along the bigger one’s head, she gives him a small growl and a pointed glare—to which he laughs and withdraws his touch, saying something cheeky about “the last time she let a man get too close” and quickly following it up with a promise to talk about it “after the kids are asleep.”

Takeru has just held up his hand for a high-five (which Aguni has decided to not reciprocate) when they hear a crash and then a bang and then the thundering thumpthumpthump of angry booted footsteps rapidly approaching their position in the bedroom. For some reason—a reason he’s not very keen to dwell upon at the current moment—Aguni instantly snaps into defense mode, hands curling into fists and shoulders squaring themselves in anticipation of a coming attack.

“WHERE. IS. TERMINATOR!?”

Niragi bursts into the room like a firework, all noise and flash and fire in his eyes. His knuckles strain around the dark of his rifle, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Of course, Aguni knows (hopes) he won’t actually resort to filling Takeru full of bullets, but he keeps a close eye on his trigger finger, anyways.

“Ah! There’s my co-parent,” Hatter says with a measure of glee, gesturing with a flourish of his hand towards the cute, hairy pile on his bed, “As you can see, our lovely Terminator is doing very well and—“

“Our? She’s not fucking ours, she’s fucking mine,” Niragi snaps, “and I’m gonna fucking kill you for stealing my cat.”

“Not a cat,” a calm voice says, and Aguni turns to see Last Boss lurking in the doorway, katana sheathed and arms crossed, “She’s a common genet, native to the savanna’s of Africa.”

“Ooh, does that mean the babies have dual citizenship? No, wait,” Hatter claps his hands together with glee, “triple citizenship? Africa, Japan, and the Borderlands?!”

“Africa’s not a country, it’s a continent, dumbass,” Niragi retorts, “and I think we have bigger problems than what’s going to be on their fucking passports.”

It’s probably not the best thing in the world for Aguni to let Takeru and Niragi descend into heated bickering—a back-and-forth of ‘you stole her’ versus ‘no, she chose me’—but Aguni is simply not interested in breaking up their squabbling. Instead he goes to stand by Last Boss, who’s watching the two long-haired men argue like it’s a mildly interesting tennis match.

“So,” Aguni says, “you, uh, seem to know a lot about those things.”

“I did my research when Niragi first brought her back,” Last Boss says calmly, “He’s good with her, but I wanted to make sure we were taking care of her correctly.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“I had my suspicions. Niragi wouldn’t listen, though. Kept telling me she was just fat.”

“Yeah, I thought she was ‘just fat,’” Niragi interjects, his gun no longer pointed at Takeru but a murderous gleam still in his eye, “because this fucking asshole kept feeding her potato chips!”

“Because she loves them,” Takeru shouts back, throwing his arms up in the air, “So shoot me for being a nice guy and sharing my snacks with your weird cat!”

“Don’t,” both Last Boss and Aguni say in unison—which is very uncomfortable for the both of them, but at least it has the desired effect of keeping Niragi from blasting a few dozen holes through Takeru’s person.

With the two of them quickly getting back into their heated back-and-forth, Aguni turns his attention to the creatures on the bed. Somehow, despite all of the noise and excitement, the mother and her babies have curled up and fallen asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of their bellies a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them. Aguni feels jealous, but also, feels bad about feeling jealous because this...Terminator thing has undoubtedly had a rough night, too.

“Luckily,” Last Boss says, “genets are pretty independent creatures. She’ll be fine to take care of the kits on her own, provided that she has access to food and water.”

“So we should just...leave her alone?”

Last Boss shrugs.

“More or less.”

Aguni sighs internally. He sighs externally, too, but the internal sigh is the one that really sums up his thoughts on the whole situation. Just getting one of those hot-headed men to leave those poor animals alone is challenging enough, but both of them? That’s bordering on ‘damn near impossible.’

But, for the sake of those weird fuzzy babies, he has to try.

Takeru jumps when he feels Aguni’s hand on his elbow. He also manages to shut up for a moment, which is a nice bonus. Last Boss has also sprung into action and seems to be talking to Niragi in hushed tones, a hesitant but friendly hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Aguni says, gentle-firm as he guides Takeru into a standing position—much to the other man’s confusion.

“Mori, what—?”

“You’ve had a big night. I’ve had a big night. But do you know whose had the biggest night of us all?” Aguni gestures to the snoozing creatures in front of them, “Terminator. She’s exhausted, and the last thing she needs is the four of us keeping her up. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“But,” Takeru protests—an iota quieter, now that he’s realized that the pipe on the bed is now a sleeping pile, “we can’t just leave them alone, can we?”

“You’re right. Which is why,” Aguni says, “Last Boss is going to stay with her and keep an eye on things. If he’s okay with that, of course?”

Last Boss offers a solemn nod. Aguni makes a mental note to thank him for this later—maybe he’ll let him pick the music on their next supply run (provided it’s from Aguni’s list of pre-approved artists, of course...)

“You know what? Fucking fine,” Niragi spits, flicking his hair back with a quick jerk of his hand, “it’s too goddamn late to deal with you fucking losers, anyways. I’ll come back to collect my cat and her kittens in the morning.”

Aguni does not risk correcting Niragi on his incorrect terminology regarding his pets—frankly, he’s a little too busy being amazed at how suspiciously easy it was to get him to leave. With a sharp pivot, Niragi is exiting the room in what could be called a ‘brisk saunter,’ no doubt wanting to put as much distance between himself and whatever-the-hell just happened in this room as possible.

Aguni, for once, can relate to Niragi quite well.

With Last Boss keeping vigil over the new little family, Aguni is able to wrangle Takeru away from his room with minimal fuss. It’s probably because the man is very tired—despite multiple claims that he ‘isn’t sleepy yet’ and ‘can stay up for hours.’ This theory is proven when, within a grand total of seven seconds of Takeru flopping face-first onto the middle of Aguni’s bed, he’s managed to slip into what only can be described as a ‘light coma.’

Aguni manages to wrestle a stray pillow away from his sleeping friend’s grasp (he’s a notoriously cuddly sleeper, which has led to some...interesting situations over the course of their friendship) and settles his weary self onto the couch. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate his height, but it’s good enough for what will most likely end up being an extended nap before the sun comes up and he needs to solve whatever other issues have popped up at the Beach overnight.

...But, at least those problems won’t involve babies.

Probably.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Also here is a common genet and DAMN SIS U CUTE AS HELL

[beeexx]

A little Tarlos moment fron 2x09

Read on ao3

TK’s headache has moved further down from his forehead, to settle like a blanket of pain wrapped over his eyes instead. It makes sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair all the more worse, the bright light doing nothing other than adding to his growing discomfort and slight nausea. He is tapping his leg, the sound bouncing off the quiet sleepy room, and he thinks that the only reason Marjan hasn’t whacked him to make it stop is because she’s still pitying him over his brief spell in a room similar to the one Judd is in for a concussion that still hasn’t completely gone away. He moves his head between his legs, closes his eyes to try and drown out some of the blinding lights and breathes through his nose. 

He keeps bouncing his leg though.

TK hates hospitals. He has many reasons for disliking them but he’s never had to spend a night on the edge of his seat, worried sick for people he cares about before, not in this capacity at least and it’s making him feel sick.

The worst thoughts rush through to the surface unbidden. What if he never gets to see either one of them again, hear them laugh, joke around with Judd, dinner at their place every other Sunday. What if Judd doesn’t make it? What if Grace dies? What if -

“Hi, you okay?” It’s Carlos of course, back from his coffee run, who gently places a hand on his shoulder. TK tenses for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly ready to bolt right out of his seat. He can’t fully tamper down his reaction and Carlos notices of course. TK thinks he’s probably frowning and it doesn’t take long for Carlos to start to shuffle around until he’s sitting on the ground in front of TK, coffee cup left forgotten on the chair. TK opens his mouth-

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, it’s very obvious that you aren’t.” Carlos chastises making TK look up from the ground he’s been staring holes at. His lip twitches though and he nods.

“Yeah, I won’t.” He promises and it makes Carlos’ worry lines less prominent for a moment. His hair is still a little sleep tussled, a few strands of curls at the back Carlos spends ages on each morning to lie flat are now loose and he looks tired, he is probably as tired as TK feels. 

It’s been just a few days since the kidnapping and TK’s gotten used to having a particularly sort of nasty headache as his daily companion since then, ruining both his days and nights with spells of pain that won’t go away. Well, it’s probably ruined Carlos’ nights too, judging by the growing circles underneath his eyes, and TK’s constant tossing and turning every time they’re in bed. It’s been a few days of bad sleep and lounging around the house with Carlos worrying. It makes TK feel really bad, he hates it when Carlos worries about him. 

Both he and Carlos had however gotten their best night’s sleep in days when the call came through, waking them both and sending TK into a near panic attack when he heard what had happened. He’s strung so ridiculously tight he’s scared he’s going to snap in half and he goes back to bouncing his leg, trying to distract from his discomfort, averting his eyes.

“Hey, no shutting me out.” Carlos gently cups his chin and forces him to meet his eyes, thumb stroking up and down in comforting motions, eyes kind and understanding. TK sighs but he nods.

“Sorry.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to get the lingering thickness away. He looks away for a moment, sees Mateo is asleep with his head resting on Paul’s shoulder while Paul is reading, frowning slightly as his eyes move across the text, flipping pages now and then. Marjan left with Tommy a while back to go do something TK isn’t sure of exactly and he hasn’t seen his dad for a while either. They are all somewhere near of course, lurking, in case something changes.

“I’m scared.” TK keeps his voice down though, just in case. Carlos nods and moves his hands to cover TK’s thighs, pressing gently down on his right leg to stop the movement. It’s an involuntary reaction on TK’s end that he stops, the effect of Carlos’ touch on him, anchoring, calming him down almost immediately. Carlos gently squeezes his knee.

“I know baby, I am too. But the doctors are optimistic and we have to believe them.”

“They are cautiously optimistic and I don’t know what that means in doctor lingo but cautiously sounds like it’s not something to celebrate yet.” He mutters. 

“Maybe not, but it’s not cause for sitting here looking close to fainting either. I don’t think Judd would like it if you ended up in a hospital bed yet again after getting out of one so soon.”

“I would do it if it would make him wake up and bust my balls.” 

Carlos' mouth twitches.

“He’s going to wake up.” Carlos says with such conviction TK believes him.

“But what about Grace?” He whispers, dread filling his stomach. Grace with her kind eyes, easy smiles, never ending patience and generous support TK’s not realised he’s cherished this much until she’s suddenly been hurt, with the outlook not seeming good. He is scared, terrified even that she might not make it. He doesn’t know what it would do to Judd if that was to happen. Carlos grows serious and his eyes travel to the room she is in, sadness passing over his features. With Michelle gone a lot Carlos and Grace had formed an easy friendship to fill up that empty space, and so it wasn’t totally unusual that when TK came home after shifts to find Grace and Carlos out on the patio together, drinking lemonade and chatting away, smiles wide and whatever task they had said they would do, long forgotten. It’s not just TK it pains to see Judd and Grace hurt, it pains Carlos just as much and TK immediately reaches forward, cupping Carlos’ cheek and leaning his forehead on his, offering his comfort up like it’s second nature. They both exhale, breathing through it together. 

“It’s going to be okay, it has to.” Carlos says quietly and gives himself over to the worry for a moment before he pulls himself together, pushing the worry down. TK knows compartmentalising like Carlos can do is something that isn’t always the healtihest of coping mechanisms. Right now though, TK isn’t going to say anything, god knows he has a terrible track record of bad ways to deal with things, and he wishes at this moment that he could do it too, push it down and focus on something else. 

“The doctors say Judd is going to wake up but it will be a few hours until then, so we’re going to have to believe that everything is going to be okay. In the meantime why don’t we go home and shower and change clothes.” He suggests.

“Not to sleep?”

“I’m not aiming that high today, I don’t think either of us will be able to do that. But you don’t look too good right now and it’s worrying me a little, so instead of checking you into this hospital myself I suggest we go back to mine and recharge for a moment and come back with food for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all need it.”

It’s a distraction, probably as much for Carlos as it is for TK, but it’s a distraction born out of kindness and a big heart, the need to do something other than sit here and worry sick. Carlos, TK has learnt during this year, is the kind of person that needs to do something, he’ll feel absolutely useless sitting still. His brain works best when he’s doing things while TK tends to be the other way around, shutting down, unable to do anything other than freezing, standing still in his growing anxiety, until everything boils over and the urge to either get high or do something almost as equally stupid gets too much and he can’t stop it, sending him down bad paths. 

So he takes the opportunity and nods. Carlos gets to his feet and holds his hand out for him. TK takes it and gently and carefully Carlos pulls him to his feet and wraps an arm around him immediately. For a moment TK snuggles close, nosing at Carlos’ neck before he moves his head away, focusing on walking instead.

“How’s your head?”

“Sore.” He admits out loud and Carlos frowns. “It’s feeling more like a migrain though so maybe it’s just stress?”

“Maybe, do you want an ice pack?” TK thinks of saying no but he isn’t looking forward to getting into the car with the raging monster banging against his eyelids so he nods. Carlos gently kisses his forehead, squeezes his hand before he walks away, leaving TK alone in the mostly deserted hallway, with his thoughts again. 

Being a firefighter has made TK somewhat immune to certain high risk situations, gruesome injuries, fright so visceral people become unpredictable, or shock so silent it feels it lasts for days unable to break free of, and death too, to some extent at least. His dad’s cancer, which had been a suffocating presence, expanding each day inside of TK’s ribcage, making it impossible to focus on anything other than it, giving him little room to exist outside of the anxiety and constant worry. Tim more recently, which had been quick and taking the breath out of him, slamming straight into TK like a block of concrete, catching him unaware. 

His own overdose is a reminder that it takes different shapes.

And then this. Relentless, big, sudden. Impossible to escape. Scary.

They all wear their worry on their faces and clinging desperately to hope that feels like it’s dimming with each moment he stands here. 

He twists the string of Carlos’ APD hoodie, the first thing he had gotten his hands on when they were rushing to get here in the middle of the night. It was a few hours ago now and there hasn’t been an update for a while now, other than that they can only wait which anyone knowing him should be aware he’s terrible at. 

Carlos comes back shortly after, holding the promised ice pack, TK looks behind him at a nurse with red cheeks and a bright smile as she watches them. 

“Carlos Reyes did you flirt with a nurse to get me this?” But he accepts it gratefully and presses it to his face, exhaling in relief at the cold seeping onto his clammy skin. 

“I charmed her more likely, by talking about my very cute but bratty boyfriend.”

“Yeah I’ve changed my mind, I don’t care how you got it, I’m just happy that you did.” Carlos snorts and ruffles his hair. 

They drive back and Carlos helps TK up the stairs before he disposes of him gently onto the bed. When he goes to leave, TK tugs him back, holding tightly onto his hand.

“Where are you going?” He sounds small, he feels small right now.

“Just to get some water, I’ll be right back -” But TK shakes his head, moves the pack of ice away and pulls harder on Carlos’ hand until he gets the hint and climbs into the bed. TK pulls him close, arms wounding around his neck and tucks his face into Carlos’ neck. Carlos' hands come to rest on his waist, big and strong, secure around TK. He feels the heath of them through the shirt he is wearing. He can feel Carlos’ heartbeat against his ribcage too, riverbating through him.

Still here. Still alive. 

TK is used to danger. 

But he isn’t used to this kind of danger, when it feels deeply personal, like an attack. 

And it’s all so sudden, after Carlos’s suspension that has luckily been lifted but had given him enough stress and worry making TK wish he could march into Carlos’ precinct and yell at his boss that one of their best officers deserved better. It comes too soon after he was taken hostage and hurt, the wound hasn’t even begun to heal and it’s been roughly torn open again making TK feel so goddamn unsteady, the fear he’s suddenly been slammed with so tangible as it presses down on him from all sides. He feels he’s been edging closer and closer to a panic attack all night and the only thing that hasn’t sent him completely over the edge is having Carlos near. 

But he’s also so goddamn scared suddenly. He’s suddenly terrified of losing Carlos. A car accident, those happen so often and maybe TK’s been naive but this has never felt like such a palpable threat to him before, until now. Until Judd and until Grace. 

“Talk to me?” Carlos whispers, forcing TK out of his thoughts for a moment and TK hugs him closer, biting down the tears that have come unwillingly. 

“You can never leave me.” The words come pouring out of him and his voice breaks, unable to be kept steady. He bites down hard on his lip but an audibly sniff escapes and when Carlos tries to move his head away TK hugs him tighter, not wanting any space left between them.

Carlos is quiet for a moment, but no longer than that. He takes his hands away from TK’s waist and wraps them gently around TK’s wrists to gently tug them away from his neck so he can look at him. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks and takes TK’s hands in his, holding them delicately, stroking his thumbs soothingly across TK’s skin. TK angles them slightly against Carlos’ chest, closer to his ribcage, where he can feel the thumping of Carlos’ heart underneath his shirt. It comforts him, the only steady rhythm to latch onto at the moment, to try and steady his own breathing, copying the unwavering rise and fall of Carlos’ chest. 

“I don’t know…” TK whispers, unable to meet Carlos’ eyes. He focuses on his and Carlos’ tangled hands, trails the blue veins with his eyes, Carlos’ slender and long fingers, trying to find the right words, while also buying some time. 

“No?” Carlos gently pushes and TK shakes his head. “TK.” Carlos sighs before he cups TK’s cheek and angles it up so he can meet his eyes. TK blinks a few times to clear his watery eyes and Carlos wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, expression stricken, like it gets when he wants so badly to help but doesn’t know what to do. 

“When I was taken hostage…” He begins, clears his throat a few times, can’t bear watching Carlos upset. “I didn’t really stop to consider how awful it was for you during those hours, and I haven’t been able to grasp the intent completely behind your worrying these few days and now it makes me feel like such an ass. But I understand it now too, what happened to Judd and Grace, it could happen to us too and it’s so scary, so scary Carlos, what if -” He stops, gulps down more tears and bites his wobbling lip hard. 

“Hey, hey.” Carlos says gently and TK’s eyes snap to him. They are sad, but determined too. “It could, but even so I will always promise to fight to get back to you.”

“I wish you could promise me you won’t leave me or that I could promise that nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Well knowing you, letting you out of my sight has proven to be a massive mistake, I swear you’re the most accident prone person I know.” TK wetly chuckles and Carlos’ mouth twitches, the joke easing the tension between them.

“I get scared too, all the time…” Carlos confesses and TK searches his face, reaches out automatically to smooth over the worryline on his forehead, itching to kiss it away.

“Yeah?” TK asks. Carlos nods.

“Yeah, all the time. Especially where you are concerned. But I do think it’s only normal with our jobs and so on. Just… I don’t know, try and be more careful?” The frown grows into a wry little smile and maybe if TK wasn’t so shook from earlier he would have joked it away, but he nods seriously instead.

“I promise. I will always come back, always. Even if I leave.” It’s a painful reminder of TK walking out on Carlos a few months back, still making TK feel ashamed of how he acted. But things are different between them now and walking away from Carlos and from everything they have built together and are going to continue building, that is not an option anymore. “Good.” Carlos whispers and kisses his nose making TK smile. “I will always come back too. Always. I will fight every day to make that promise true.”

“Me too.” TK promises, takes their intertwined hands and kisses the promise into their hands, hoping that the day will never come where he doubts it, doubts them and their future. 

“We’re going to be okay.” Carlos promises and TK closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Carlos’, slowly starting to accept it. 

“Yeah.” TK whispers. 

“And so is Judd and Grace.” 

TK isn’t fully there yet where he dares believe it to be true, but he isn’t giving up hope that it’s all lost either. 

“So, how about a shower?” 

TK opens his eyes, yawns before he stretches, pops his back and nods.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Carlos helps him to his feet and in the bathroom they undress each other before they get in together. TK hums in content as the hot water washes over him and with it the last doubts he has about the future, down the drain where it belongs. As soon as Carlos joins him inside TK walks close, presses his body to Carlos’. It’s not sexual, but it’s a need, to have him near, to let the calmness of Carlos’ wash over him and bring with it a comfort only Carlos can bring out in him and judging by the harsh breath escaping Carlos’ he craves the contact almost as much as TK does. TK presses a soft kiss to Carlos’ heart and it grows comfortable between them. That’s until Carlos decides to squirt shampoo loudly on top of TK’s head, breaking them out of the moment. TK’s glare turns into a laugh and Carlos’s eyes sparkle, so very much alive and TK’s insides flutter.

They shower for longer than what they had planned and when they do make it back to the hospital, carrying food from a place Carlos knows to be one of Grace’s favourite takeaways he feels better, more hopeful and willing to believe that things will work out. Carlos’ hair is messy from TK running his fingers through it, but his arm is secure around TK’s waist and TK’s leaning on his shoulder, watching their family help unpack the bags.

And then Judd wakes up.

[gubes-sweaters]

Never Be the Same

Authors Note: Before you read this please don't kill me it's left off on a cliffhanger on purpose and I will write a second part soon. Also I write about what happened in Mexico (spoiler alert if you haven't seen season 15) I know that Lindsay didn't actually do anything (Cat mentions it in the episode date night) but at the time Spencer didn't know so I wrote it as such. 

Content warning: arguing, light smut, brief mention of physical and sexual assault, spoilers for season 12+.

Word count: 1.6k

It's been officially three months since Spencer has been home from prison. I know things will never be the same and I don't expect him to be the person he once was, but he's been incredibly distant. Between being manhandled by fellow inmates in prison and feeling violated after what Lindsey Vaughn did in Mexico I can understand why he's been so distant. Most people don't see Spencer as a cuddly person, but that's only because they aren't in a relationship with him. Most people think Spencer is completely averse to human touch, but once he gets close to you he has no problem with it. In fact, when I met Spencer he was so attention and touch starved that he practically followed me around like a puppy for the first couple of months we started dating. 

Normally we would wake up together in the morning when he was home and I would cook breakfast while he would stand behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist swaying back-and-forth to music. He would also often plant kissed up and down my neck, side of my face, and the crown of my head. If he was still home by the time lunch came around we would still be right next to each other either being on the couch watching Doctor Who or snuggling up and reading books together. Spencer was always a bit of a homebody only because he spent so much time away from home on cases. When he was finally home he didn't wanna leave until he had to. 

Now most mornings when I wake up Spencer is facing away from me. I wake up only to make breakfast separate from him, sometimes we eat together sometimes we don't. Now we kind of just live separate lives. Sometimes I even make excuses to leave the apartment because I don't feel welcomed in there. I want this to change, I need this to change.

It's not for my own selfish reasons well not completely, but I know if I let this continue Spencer and I aren't going to last much longer. He will push himself away further and further until he's in a rut that he can't come out of. I miss him and I miss us. I decided this morning to try and convince him to go out to dinner with me tonight. Today he doesn't have any classes to teach and he's still on his sabbatical, so he has no excuse as to why he couldn't when it comes to being busy. That leads me to where we are right now, a typical Sunday morning and I am making breakfast while he’s in the living room planning for his next lecture. 

"So how do you feel about maybe going out to eat tonight?" I asked while setting a plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes right in front of him. I take a seat next to him on the couch waiting for his response.

"Oh... uh... yeah, sure I don't see why not." He says still engrossed in his papers. He flips through them so fast that he doesn't even fully pay attention to what he agreed to do tonight.

I put my hand on the file that he's reading before closing it and pulling it away. I then push his plate in front of him and ask him once again if he wants to go out tonight. All he can do is look at me like he's staring at a brick wall. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water before just avoiding the question and starts to eat his breakfast.

"It’s just that we haven't done anything since you've been back home. If you don't wanna go out that's fine, we can have a movie night or anything I just want to spend time with you. I don't want you to push yourself away from me like I know you're doing right now. Your lecture can wait and you have a bit of time until you can be reinstated to the BAU. Take a little time for me and you please." I beg of him knowing he probably won't be able to resist the puppy dog eyes I'm giving him.

"Ok, yeah you're right I need a break from work for a minute. I don't really feel like leaving the house I think I'm too anxious to leave right now, but a movie night with takeout does sound really good."

I'll take it, I mean he agreed to at least have a movie night with me. I also don't want to have an argument over what were doing. I also don't want to push him too far. It's a step forward, but little does he know I have a little bit more planned than that. 

-time skip-

For some reason, we decided to watch Rocky Horror Picture Show first, and Spencer decided to get pizza for dinner. Like I said right now I'm gonna take whatever I can get from this. As we're about halfway through the movie and completely through the pizza I realize we're sitting on opposite ends of the couch. We look a little less like a couple that's been together for four years and more like two awkward teenagers having to watch a movie with either one of our parents. I slowly start to scoot closer and closer to him before I'm glued to his side. After a while, he relaxes into my touch and wraps his arms around my shoulder. I start to plant kisses on his neck and jawline. Once I find that spot on his neck I'm so familiar with it doesn't take him but a couple of seconds to become putty in my hands.

He suddenly grabs my jaw and kisses me furiously. He kisses me with so much vigor and passion, that same passion I've missed too much. Before I even fully comprehend what's going on he's already carried me to our bedroom. He plops my body on the bed with such force that my body bounces in place a couple of times. 

Spencer crawls over me and begins sucking on every inch of my neck and collar bones that he can easily get to. After becoming frustrated by the lack of canvas for him, he tugs at the bottom of my shirt a bit before looking at me silently asking for permission. I nod a lift my torso up ever so slightly and lift my arms over my head so he can take my shirt off. He continues marking me until he retracts his head back to see what he did. When I was expecting him to share the same enthusiasm as I had his face dropped. I squinted at him trying to ask if everything's alright without outright saying it. For a couple of moments that were filled with tension, he continues to just stare at me. He's not even looking at my eyes he's just looking at the marks he left. When his eyes started to the water I became nervous and I wanted to know what's going on. I reached out to touch him and he completely retracted before backing up off the bed. He still didn't say anything while he quickly, but very calmly gathered his keys, wallet, and shoes before walking out.

The entire time I was  calling out to him wondering what's going on once I got my shirt back on.

"Spence... hey Spence what's going on?" I say while following him out the door. This time I make sure to grab him and when I did I was met with nothing but unbridled rage. With tears in his eyes and a disgusted look on his face, he ripped his forearm from out of my grasp.

"I don't want to talk to you right now! Isn't that fucking obvious why do you think I'm walking away? Don't even think about following me! I don't want you to talk to me, I don't want your sympathy or help, and most importantly right now I don't want you!" He shouts at me before stomping down the hall. 

Two concerned neighbors peeked their heads at the door as he went down the hall. All I could do is stand there in horror and confusion. I mean Spencer and I have argued, but all couples do. That wasn't even an argument I don't even know what to call it. Most importantly he has never even raised his voice at me. Normally when Spencer is mad he's calm, and he talks to you with a disappointed almost sad tone rather than an angry one. I don't know who that was because that wasn't my boyfriend. 

I slump myself against the door and curl my knees into my chest before letting out heavy sobs. My shoulders rack as my brain tries to adjust to the whiplash of emotions. I cry until I can't anymore and at this point I'm just letting out hiccups while trying to control my breathing. After a while, I don't even have the energy to cry. After sitting numbly on the floor staring at a random corner of the room I pick myself up and just go through the motions to get ready for bed. I can't even call Spencer because he left his phone, so I don't even try and bother worrying about him. After I shower I lay in our bed with still-damp hair. I don't know where he is or when he's coming home but my body is basically shutting down while I'm worrying about where he's at. My eyes are closing against my own will. I'm just hoping I'll wake up next to my boyfriend's curly hair tickling me like most mornings.

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Taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @haylaansmi​

[mintaka14]

Coryphée

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Six – Coda

“I heard,” one of the seamstresses said from her workstation, “that the results of the concours are going out today.”

And of course, the backstage staff knew before the dancers themselves had even received the letters of offer or rejection. Marinette shifted on her stool and frowned down in concentration at the old costume she was unpicking, one laborious stitch at a time.

The names of the new premiére danseuses and premier danseurs were tossed around, and Marinette only paid them half a mind, until someone asked, “What about the new sujet? Who got that one?”

“Oh, Mireille Caquet got the promotion,” someone else said, and Marinette put down the seam ripper in surprise.

“Not Lila Rossi?” she asked, and the girl across from her started laughing.

“Not in a month of Sundays,” Nicolette snorted. “That one’s never going to make it out of quadrilles, I can tell you that, and bad luck to her. Always so rude, and I don’t envy anyone who ever gets her for fittings.” She giggled. “We always make sure Mlle Rossi gets the last pick of the gowns and wigs, the one that’s always just a little bit too tight or a colour she doesn’t like much.”

Marinette couldn’t help the gasp of laughter that escaped her.

“Did you know her?” someone else asked Marinette.

“Of course she did,” Nicolette said. “Marinette was in the corps until she grew a brain and got out.”

Marinette just smiled and picked up the seam ripper again.

“Besides, I heard there’ve been discussions going on,” Pascal said from his workstation as he concentrated on the placement of another sequin. “Lila Rossi pissed off the wrong person, and the Director of the Conservatory himself got involved. They’re not going to renew her season’s contract when it finishes soon.”

That provoked an uproar in the atelier, and Marinette’s seam picker fell from her fingers to bounce on the floor.

“But… she was a permanent contract! She said she was permanent.”

Pascal was shaking his head gleefully. “No, no, chérie. She was a seasonal.”

There was a knock on the atelier door, and a ripple of excited murmuring ran through the room.

“Marinette,” one of the seamstresses said in a singsong voice. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

And Luka was leaning against the doorframe, his gorgeous blue eyes only on her.

“Ready to go, melody?” he asked, and Eloise Marchand waved her off with an indulgent smile.

“There’s nothing that can’t be done tomorrow,” the costume director told her. “We’ll all be packing up soon anyway. You go and enjoy your evening.”

Marinette ignored the giggles and sighs as she carefully put away the costume she’d been working on and gathered up her things. It was all good-humoured, and Nicolette whispered, “You’re so lucky” as Marinette passed her.

“I know,” she whispered back, and then Luka took her hand, his smile lighting up, and she followed him out the door. All the way down from the sixth floor they talked about inconsequential things, and how his search for an apartment was going.

“I mean, I love the Liberty,” Luka sighed, “and I’m going to miss Ma and Jules, but I’m really not going to miss Jules banging on the wall or making comments any time you come round.”

Juleka had been having way too much fun with playing spoilsport lately. Marinette felt the embarrassed fire rising in her face, and changed the subject. She eyed Luka thoughtfully, and brought up a suspicion that she’d had since Pascal had shared his piece of gossip.

“I heard a rumour today that Lila’s seasonal contract with the company is getting cancelled, and that the Director of the Conservatory of Music was involved. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” she asked, and he cast his eyes up.

“I may have had a conversation with my mother’s ex-boyfriend who just happens to be the Director of the Conservatory,” he said with feigned innocence. “The subject of Lila may have come up.”

“Luka!” She shoved his arm gently, and then sighed. “I could almost feel sorry for her. She was never going to get ahead in the company, and I think she knew it.”

“She put glass in your shoes,” Luka said, and she shouldn’t have found that rumbling growl in his voice as sexy as she did. Distracted by that thought, it took her a moment to realise that he was watching her.

“Do you wish I hadn’t said anything?” he asked her, and she subjected that to some consideration.

“No, I think I’m glad you did. If she’s done things like that to me to get what she wants, she’ll do it again to someone else if she’s left unchecked,” Marinette said. They’d reached the entrance hall, and Luka held the door open for her. “That recording was only going to hold her back for so long.”

He took her hand again as they crossed the courtyard and passed under the huge and embellished stone archway, and steered her in the opposite direction when she started to turn towards the metro.

“How do you feel about dinner at Midi12 tonight?” She gave him a startled glance, and he shrugged self-consciously. “I finished my thesis today, and I feel like celebrating, and galette.”

Marinette stopped and flung her arms around him. “Luka! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I still have to edit a couple of things, and get my supervisor’s okay on it, but… it’ll be ready to hand to her when she gets back from Madrid in a few weeks. The research component’s all done.”

She glowed up at him. “We definitely need to celebrate.”

Palais Garnier loomed majestically behind them. The sky above the streets was still waiting for sunset, but the late afternoon air was starting to grow heavy and the golden light from the cafes and restaurants spilled over the grey slabs of concrete under their feet. It was starting to turn cooler, and the figures around them were hurrying a little now. Marinette leaned into Luka’s warmth, and he put an arm around her as they walked.

Marinette shot him a mischievous look. “You do know Papa does much better galette than Midi12?”

“Tom does better pastries than anyone,” Luka agreed, then his grin became a little wry. “I’d just kind of like you all to myself for a little while before we have to head home.”

“I like the sound of that.”

The umbrellas outside the Palais Garnier restaurant were furled behind the stone balustrade and hedge, but they could hear the distant clink of china and cutlery, and the soft hum of voices from the early patrons. Classical statues gazed down indifferently from their perches along the balustrade, and the huge iron streetlamps weren’t lit yet. They made dark, spiky silhouettes against the thick blue sky.

“So how did things go for you today?” Luka asked, running his thumb along the edge of her hand.

“Well, it wasn’t finished the thesis exciting, but Mme Marchand has me going through the costume archives right now, and I’ve been unpicking some of the old costumes to try and match fabrics. It’s fascinating, the way it was constructed. I’m learning so much, and so much of what I did when I was on stage makes a lot more sense now. She said she’ll take me to the fabric warehouses with her the next time she has to source something.” Luka grinned at the little skip of enthusiasm that she couldn’t suppress. “It’s going to be exhausting once my course gets underway, trying to juggle that and the residency program, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll get to work on the next season costumes – Adrien said his father’s sponsoring again, so they’re going to be stunning.”

Luka was watching her with a half-smile. “You saw Adrien?”

“I caught up with some of the company for lunch today, and Adrien was there.”

“How is he?”

Marinette giggled. “He’s started sneaking out to date the daughter of one of his father’s business associates, so he’s happy.”

“Sneaking out? Does his father disapprove or something?”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said with a  shrug. “I think Adrien’s just developed a taste for sneaking around. He’s got a lot of years of rebellion to catch up on, apparently.”

Luka laughed. “You’re a bad influence, melody.”

“He’s heard a rumour that next season is going to be La Bayadère, and I love the costumes for that. The colours are just glorious, and I’m really looking forward to seeing what M. Agreste’s take on it is.”

“Any regrets that it won’t be you wearing those costumes?” he asked.

“Not really. No. I mean, I have the odd moment when I miss that feeling, but I’d much rather be making them than dancing in them.”

They turned away from the Palais Garnier in its opulent grandeur, an isolated island of magnificence, into the noisier streets where the rumble and honk of traffic was overlaid with voices and conversation and laughter. Buildings and shops crowded above Marinette and Luka as they strolled towards the crêperie, lost in their own world.

“So, no regrets?” he repeated quietly, and Marinette knew he was asking about more than just costumes. She couldn’t help laughing.

“I got away with the heist without going to prison, I got into a course that I’m loving for a career that I’m excited about, and Mme Marchand got me into a residency that most people in theatre design would kill for, even though I haven’t got my qualifications yet.”

She lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips along the line of his jaw, loving the feel of his breath on her palm as he leaned into her touch.

“And I get to go home with the man I adore,” she said softly. “No regrets. Not ever.”

There was something in the way that Luka was looking at her that brought a blush to her cheeks and left her heart stumbling in her chest.

“What are you thinking?”

He ducked his head until the blue tips of his hair shadowed his eyes, but she could see the soft smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“I can’t tell you, because you didn’t want me to get too far ahead of myself. Ask me again when you’ve finished your degree.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Oh. Okay.”

They walked a little further. Marinette glanced up at him.

“That’s a whole three years away,” she said pensively, and his eyes were back on her now. “Would you tell me if I asked when I’ve completed my residency?”

There was that quality of stillness in the way he was holding himself, as if he didn’t quite dare to believe what he thought he was hearing. “That’s... June. End of June.”

“Is that too soon?” she asked, and gave a faint squeak as Luka kissed her hard, and kissed her again, and again until they melted into softer kisses, heedless of the people passing by. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair, and his arms were around her, pulling her close while life moved on around them. Perhaps there were a few frowns, or a few indulgent smiles, thrown their way, but neither of them noticed.

“June, tomorrow, today, whenever you want,” he breathed when they finally came up for air, his voice a little husky. “I’m yours, melody.”

And Marinette pulled him down for another kiss, too happy to speak.

[yourfavewriteress]

check you out (part 2) | connor mcdavid

part 1

Teaser: “Really wanted to get to know me, huh?”

You weren’t desperate. If a guy said he was going to text you, you waited until he did so. You didn’t count down the minutes, or jump whenever you got a notification to see if it was him. You just weren’t that type of gal. Usually.

It started with an email from your school, an hour after you got home from giving Connor your number in the parking lot. Even though your text messages and emails had clearly different ringtones, your shoulders still slumped when you saw that it wasn’t him. You thought you could tell when someone gave you longer looks, you thought you could tell when someone was interested in you. At least, a little. 

But, you still knew nothing about Connor besides his healthy eating habits and his somewhat shy but also strong demeanor. Maybe he’s just not actually into you, you finally sighed around 9:30 pm, hours after you had gotten home. You hated the way you were feeling and you hated how one guy you barely knew just decided to open up shop in your brain with clearly no intention to deliver.

To take your mind off of things, you took a long shower and prepared yourself for bed. While your music played, the song paused, alerting you of a notification. Coaching yourself, you ignored it. If it was him, he could wait a few minutes. If, it was him.

Exactly two minutes later, the music paused again with the same tone, confirming that you had a text waiting for you. You were basically done at that point, doesn’t hurt to end a shower early. As if someone was watching your excitement over, technically speaking, a work crush, you kept your composure as you dried yourself off and moisturized your skin. Once you were completely done with your rushed night routine, you took a deep breath and finally looked at your phone. 

Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Connor. Did you make it home okay?

You bit your lip, adding the number to your contacts before you began typing a response, I did, thanks! How about you?

Connor: I’m not going to lie, I did trip on my way up to my place and nearly lost everything I bought at the store today

You: Seems like you’re just destined for destruction, huh? First the store’s machine, now your own groceries

Connor couldn’t help but laugh at that. He knew you were never going to let that go, and if the tables were turned, he’d probably do the same. She’s funny, he thought. He was already interested in you and the fact that you even gave him your number meant that he had a chance. And, no matter what, he was going to try.

Connor: I accept no responsibility for that evil machine your store owns. But it did get us to meet so I’m not too salty about it

You didn’t know if you should laugh or swoon over his message, so you stared at it. Is this what flirting is? you asked yourself. 

You: Hey, I spend hours with that machine everyday, keep your swear words to yourself

You: But, now I’m wondering if you broke the machine on purpose that day…

Connor: I didn’t in the moment, but if I got the chance to go back, I’d definitely make sure it happened again

Connor: Do you have any free time this weekend? 

Holy shit, you thought to yourself. The movie that you planned on watching that night had clearly been forgotten as you had found your way in bed, under the covers with the only light coming from your phone screen. This is really happening.

You:  Besides working Saturday morning, I’m pretty free. Why?

Connor: Do you want to have lunch on Sunday? I know this place near where I live that has the best menu I’ve ever seen

You smiled then, taking a second to scream into your pillow before responding.

You: That sounds amazing, I would love to

Making sure to be clear that you accepted, you also wanted to keep things light.

You: But, I have seen what you buy at the store so is the menu filled with only kale and string beans? I just need to know if I should eat before or not

Connor: It hurts that you think I would really take you somewhere like that

You: I just had to make sure :)

Connor: So, can I pick you up around 4 on Sunday?

You: I can actually meet you there, if that’s okay. I don’t want you to go out of you way to get me 

Connor: It’s not a problem but we can meet there too

Connor: 4 works for you, though?

You: Yeah, it’s perfect

His heart clenched at that, and he was finally able to let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Not only did he get your number, he got a date with you, too. He was proud of himself for finally putting in the effort with someone and something other than his hockey career.

You didn’t stop texting there, continuing to go back and forth with him for a few more hours. It felt nice, to talk to someone new after a while. Connor was still trying to figure you and your story out, but you were doing the same with him. 

Since it hadn’t come up in conversation, Connor was almost certain that you didn’t recognize him from the league. Hell, he didn’t even know if you watched any sports. And, while this made it easier for him to talk to you, it also made it harder for him to come up with a way to tell you about his life that wouldn’t scare you off or make you look at him differently. He’s had too many experiences letting in the wrong people that were only after him for attention.

He could just wait until he fully trusted you to bring it up, but he had a feeling that would make you question him even more. He could tell you on your upcoming date, but that might end things before they even had a chance to get started. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew he wanted to find out.

He could feel the excitement in his body as the week went by and it only intensified as it got closer to the day you were finally going out. He wasn’t nervous at first, especially since you had kept in touch everyday since he last saw you. But, when he arrived at the diner he set for you two to meet up, he couldn’t help the nervous bounce of his leg as he waited for your arrival.

He got there early, because he wanted to make sure he was there when you showed up, especially since he was the one who extended the invitation. He also was just really excited to get to talk to you in person, without someone interrupting you because they needed help in self-checkout. He was finally going to be able to talk to you, and learn about you and your life.

You, however, were a mess. When you agreed, you had forgotten how long it had been since a guy had asked you out, and even longer since you’d been on an actual date with someone that you barely even knew. You didn’t know what to wear, or how to fix your hair, or how early you should be, or even how late. You were a mess.

Since it was still chilly out, you settled on best fitting black pants, a nice casual shirt, and your favorite boots. It was simple, but then again, you were meeting at a diner in the middle of the day. You prayed you weren’t underdressed as you finished your hair and the minimal amount of make-up that you were still working on perfecting, and if you were, you couldn’t risk being overly late anyway.

You were a few minutes late walking into the diner but you spotted Connor almost immediately, seated in a booth in the far corner. Taking a deep breath, you slowly made your way to him.

“Hey,” You said, softly. Connor looked up, standing at the same time.

“Hi, I’m glad you make it,” He smiled. He pulled you in for a hug and after the initial shock, you returned it, breathing in his scent. “You look amazing.”

Happy that he couldn’t see your blush, you gave him a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, you too.”

After you separated, Connor stepped back, motioning for you to sit down. You thanked him again as you sat, taking off your coat and placing it next to you.

“I hope this place is cool with you, I usually like staying in lowkey spots,” He said as he took his place across from you.

“Usually?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “You take all your dates here?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He blushed, shaking his head. “I’m just not a fan of being around a ton of people and noise.”

“This place is nice,” You looked around. “I’ve never been here before so I’m kinda jealous that I didn’t know about it.”

He smiled, “Good.”

You shifted under his eyes, picking up the menu. “So, what made you finally ask for my number?”

It was a risky question to ask but after your past experiences with interested customers, you knew you had to. Although Connor had been respectful every time you saw him, that didn’t ease your fear of everything ending badly. Especially since it was the first time you actually gave your number out and didn’t regret it immediately after.

“Besides the obvious fact that you’re really beautiful,” He smiled as he looked down at his menu. “Every time we talked, you made me laugh. Which most people would say is hard to do.”

“So, I’m beautiful and funny,” You nodded, smiling slightly. “Thank you.”

He laughed, “What made you give me your number?”

You narrowed your eyes at him firing your question back at you but he just smiled again. Thinking for a second, you looked back at the menu.

“You laughed at my jokes,” You said as you glanced up at him briefly. He was still watching you as you continued, “And, you’re very easy on the eyes, I guess.” 

“Fair enough,” He responded.

“Plus, you asked.” He rolled his eyes at that but you could see the smile on his lips as he took a sip of his water.

You thought about it for a second, wondering how honest you should be. “Actually, do you want my true answer?”

You felt that since you had been texting back and forth with him for a few days, the least you could do was tell him the truth. He nodded, raising his eyebrows. 

“I was already hoping you would ask.”

You bit your lip nervously, but he grinned and you felt his knee nudge yours under the table. The gesture calmed your nerves a little, but your senses were all heightened by the contact. 

“How do you like working at the store?” He asked after a few moments.

“It’s alright,” You shrugged. “Not the ideal and I definitely don’t plan on doing it forever but it pays.”

“Do you have plans?” He asked, and you noticed that his arms were now folded on the table over his menu. His full attention was on you, and you could feel your skin tingling.

“I’m still in school, so I’m kind of in the process of figuring that out, especially since my mind changes every month,” You responded. “What about you? What are you doing for work right now?”

“I play hockey.”

“Professional?” He nodded. “Like, the NHL?” He nodded again. “Seriously?” Again. “Huh.”

“What?” He laughed.

“You’re a professional hockey player,” You said, slowly. “Did you see where I work?”

He shrugged, “What about it?”

“Nothing,” You shrugged as well. “Nevermind.”

“I asked you out because I really wanted to get to know you. Outside of the supermarket, and without all the peering eyes.”

You smiled, “Really wanted to get to know me, huh?”

He laughed, taking a sip of his water. He still held your eye as he did so and you narrowed yours at his next clear attempt to avoid answering. “What are you studying?”

“Sociology,” You answered, laughing after.

“You must be pretty smart, then,” He replied. “Soc is pretty complicated from what I remember.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Everyone thinks so, but I wouldn’t say I’m especially smart or anything. It’s not that bad.”

“The really smart people usually don’t,” He smirked, just as the waitress walked up to your table.

“Can I start you guys with any drinks or appetizers?”

“I’m good with this water, thanks,” Connor said.

“Iced tea, please,” You smiled.

“Okay, perfect. And, are you guys ready to order or do you need another second?” You were both ready and gave her your orders. With your menus in hand, the waitress disappeared to the back.

“No alcohol on the first date?” You teased, leaning on the table.

He laughed, “Yeah, I’m watching my figure actually.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing with him. 

“Where are you from?” He asked.

“Originally from Boston, moved here to Edmonton for school,” You said.

“So, you like the cold?”

“I do, actually,” You smiled. “What about you?”

You were nervous, that was a given. You had forgotten what holding eye contact with a guy could actually do to you, especially when you had no one to buffer. You worried about having something in your teeth or god forbid your nose, or suddenly making an embarrassing noise. But, when Connor basically slapped his drink off the table while talking, resulting in the loudest sound of glass hitting the floor, you couldn’t help the also loud and real laugh that came out of you at his shocked expression.

“I’m really sorry,” Connor apologized to the waitress as she appeared to sweep up the few broken pieces of glass. You tried to control your laughter as Connor’s face was now bright red.

“Don’t worry, it happens more than you think,” She laughed, standing back up straight. “I’ll be back with another water for you, no biggie.”

“Thank you,” Connor replied. “I’m sorry, again.”

Once she was gone, Connor looked back at you and you tried to hide your smile by taking a sip of your drink.

“I can’t believe you just laughed at me.”

“I’m sorry, I probably should have held it in,” You responded. “Bad first date etiquette.”

He smiled, shaking his head, “Evil.”

“You have to admit, it was funny,” You teased.

“I probably looked like a deer in headlights,” He breathed. “That was definitely the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me, especially on a fucking date.”

“Well, lucky for you, I won’t use it against you.”

The date was better than you expected it to be. Not because you both were overtly flirty or anything, but because you actually talked. You explained why you chose to move to Edmonton from Boston, what your studies meant to you, and what you hoped you could accomplish. Connor spoke about growing up in hockey, and struggling to be the player he is today. Even though the conversation was deep at times, it didn’t feel heavy or suffocating. The conversation flowed so smoothly that you forgot you were on a date at times.

While stepping out of the diner almost three hours later, you knew that whatever happened, you hoped to at least have Connor as a friend. Once you could get over the huge crush you had on him, you knew you both got along and could talk about anything. You hoped you wouldn’t have to get over your crush, though.

“I had a really nice time with you,” Connor said as you stepped back into the windy air in the parking lot.

“Me too, thank you for inviting me,” You responded, hugging your arms tighter to your body.

“Anytime,” You both reached your car, and you watched as Connor appeared to be contemplating something in his head, eyes glues to the ground.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” 

He laughed at the question, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “I’m trying to find the right words to use to ask you out again but everything I’m saying in my head sounds lame.”

You knew you were blushing once again, shaking your head at him as you locked eyes. “I’ll go out with you again, but I’m picking the location this time.”

“I can live with that,” He smiled. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay,” You nodded, finally unlocking your car. “See you later.”

“Bye, Y/N.” He waited until you were safely in your car before stepping back towards his.

[harryspet]

little doe [2] peter parker

[Warnings] aged up peter parker x oc, multiverse oc, peter being domestic af, mj exists but she’s not with peter, doe goes into heat, dd lg dynamic, broken english, some sexy stuff, fingering

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on the last post! 

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 2.6k

Peter was an early riser. Not because he enjoyed it but because he was so used to four a.m. calls from Fury. In the morning, he woke up disoriented mostly because he didn’t even recognize the room he was in. It took him a moment to realize all the events of yesterday. Doe, a superhuman from another version of earth, was now living in his apartment. 

“Peter,” although her voice was silvery and light, Peter almost jumped out of his skin. He had forgotten that he had fallen asleep in her bed, mostly against his will. 

“Doe,” Peter clutched his chest because his heart was beating so fast, “Jesus, you scared me.”

The young girl was now sitting up in the bed, her white hair now a bit tangled, and she seemed to worry about the way he was holding his chest, “Peter?” Even first thing in the morning, he thought she was beautiful. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” He assured her as he sat up in the bed. He had to remind himself that he had to adjust the way he spoke to her because she didn’t understand the nuances of the language. She reached out to touch his hand and Peter simply stared as she grabbed it, wrapping her hand in his, “Well … good morning.”

Peter looked at the clock on her nightstand to see it was only seven in the morning. With his other hand, since Doe was still holding his other, Peter rubbed his tired face, “Maybe we should sleep in. Sleep, Doe.”

He gestured for her to lay back down but she raised an eyebrow. He tried to pull his hand from hers but she only gripped his tighter. Looking at her, the girl was clearly wide awake now. Maybe they ran on less sleep on her version of earth. 

Fine, he was used to this. Peter sighed, “We’ll start the day early then,” Peter hoped by noon she’d be tired and they could take a nap. 

Peter moved to climb at the bed and she followed him, still keeping their hands interlaced. “Good morning! Good morning!” Doe exclaimed, practically bouncing. He showed her to the bathroom and, luckily, the functions of the bathroom translated well. 

To say the least, Doe was not shy at all. If it was up to her, she’d hold his hand through the shower, when she was brushing her teeth, and even when she was relieving herself. He had to pry his fingers from her, deciding that he had to lay down the rules or she’d never have any sort of independence, “Doe, I like when you hold my hand, I do,” He squeezed her hand and smiled, “But we don’t need to hold hands in the bathroom.” He shook his head. 

She frowned, of course, but he promised he’d keep the bathroom cracked open as he waited in her room. 

“Peter?” He shouldn’t have been surprised when she arrived in the doorway, completely naked. He stared, only for a moment, and then realized he hadn’t given her any clothes to change into. 

“Stay there,” He spoke sharply and she froze. He looked through the drawer of clothes and pulled out the first dress he could find and then the … underwear. He tried not to look down as he handed her the clothes. 

Peter turned around and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

She tapped his shoulder when she was done and then she was standing there, her wet hair dripping onto her mint green dress. 

He was already drained and didn’t feel like attempting to help her dry her hair. Instead, he said, “Okay, Peter’s turn,” He had a feeling that he might be speaking in the third person from now on. 

She interlaced their fingers again and Peter led her out of the room and down the hallway. The rising sun lit up the apartment thanks to the far wall practically only being made of windows. He told her to sit on his bed and she obeyed without hesitance. She was still bouncing with excitement, ready to begin the day. 

“Stay, Doe. Okay?” Peter raised his hands into two thumbs up. She stared down at her own fingers before mimicking him. 

“Stay,” She repeated. 

He had to admit, though he was glad to get a moment alone, he didn’t like not being able to see her. Peter went on with his routine, changing into a regular t-shirt and grey sweatpants. A lazy Sunday was hopefully ahead. 

Doe had wandered around Peter’s room which didn’t seem to have nearly as many decorations as hers. She wondered why Peter wanted her to sleep in a different room than hers. Were their souls not intertwined? Maybe since Peter was from this version of earth, he couldn’t feel the same bond that she did. 

She found a couple of photo frames. Peter with a tall girl with dark and curly hair. Peter with an older lady who looked just like him and Peter with an older man with a goatee. He was smiling so hard in that one. Doe picked it up, tracing her fingers over Peter’s face noting how young he looked. 

She hadn’t even looked up as Peter returned from the bathroom. Peter walked over calmly, already knowing what she was looking at, “Peter?” She pointed at the man standing beside him in the photo, “You … you,” She searched for the right word, “F-fa… f-”

But he shook his head, a solemn look on his face, “No, he’s not my father. He was a great man though.”

Doe raised an eyebrow, “Sad?” 

Peter nodded, “Yes, but not because of Doe,” He tried to assure her. 

She pressed a hand to her chest to say “my” and then tried out the new word again, “F-Father, he leave.” He hadn’t even thought about the Family she was probably missing. She had grown to like him so easily that he hadn’t even considered it. 

“Your father? He left?” She nodded but he had the idea that “leaving” to her meant something different. Something darker. He wasn’t sure how to talk to her when there was such a barrier between them, “I’m sorry.”

Peter grabbed her hand this time and Doe smiled. Then she moved closer, leaning into him and, out of instinct, Peter wrapped his arms around her. 

Perhaps that barrier was just in his head. It seemed that this, their touch, was all each other needed in that moment. 

+

He had poured Doe a bowl of cereal as he made a cup of coffee and some toast for himself. And, like everything else, Doe didn’t like the way he did things. She wanted the toast and coffee and, when Peter insisted she eat her own meal, she climbed into his lap and started to eat his food. Really, it was most likely because she didn’t want to sit in her own chair. 

The dimension she was from must lack the concept of personal space. They weren’t together, she couldn’t just sit in his lap platonically. She shouldn’t be comfortable with him seeing her naked and he definitely shouldn’t have liked it.

Realizing he had to lay down the law once again, he lifted the girl and returned her back to her seat. Besides that, he did not want to see her with caffeine in her system, “Your chair, your food,” He told her before returning to his seat, “My chair, my food.”

She scowled at him, picking up her spoon, “Peter i-is . . . mean.”

Peter froze, in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee. She was learning faster than he expected, “I’m not mean,” Peter spoke, sounding offended, “You are a brat.”

“Not brat!” She didn’t understand what it meant but knew it was an insult, “Peter is brat.”

Her hands curled around the spoon tightly as she grew frustrated. Peter suddenly remembered that he hadn’t given her the suppressant pills. He stood up from his seat, “Doe, eat your cereal,” he spoke sharply, “Now.”

She took a few breaths as if to calm herself down before dipping her spoon into her cereal. Of course, she thought it was delicious. All this was only to prove some type of dominance over him and Peter decided he couldn’t tolerate it. 

Peter walked into the kitchen and opened the small kit that Pepper had given him. It had several weeks worth of pills as well as some sedatives in case she lost control. He collected two pills and a glass of water. 

When he returned to the table, she had finished her food but she was staring off sadly. He held out the pills to her and she simply stared, “Doe is not brat,” She told him, sounding resolute. 

“No, it was mean to call you a name, I’m sorry” Peter sighed, setting down the glass of water, “But Doe has to listen to Peter. Peter is in charge and he will take care of Doe.”

“Doe is sorry.”

He gestured to the pills again and she took them from his hand, swallowing them before grabbing the water. “Good girl,” Peter brushed his hand through her hair and she blushed, “How about we watch a movie?”

+

If they had a version of TV in Doe’s dimension, she certainly didn’t act like it. She was entranced by pretty much every movie he put on the TV and they had gone through several of the Star Wars and Terminator movies. Despite them being his favorites, she wasn’t nearly as impressed as when they got to the cartoons.

The giant blue genie on the thumbnail intrigued her and then he watched her fall in love with both Princess Jasmine and Abu. She was crying, holding his hand tightly, as Aladdin gave the genie his freedom, “Again!” She shouted her new favorite word as she forced Peter to play the movie again. “Please,” She added quietly and Peter only laughed. 

And that’s how they ended up watching Aladdin three times in a row. Luckily, as it played for the fourth time, Doe rested her head on Peter’s stomach and began to doze off. 

Peter gently moved her head to rest on a pillow before standing and covering her with a blanket. He had a missed call from MJ that he hadn’t wanted to take while he was alone with Doe. Peter walked to his office and slowly shut the door. 

“MJ, hey-”

“Ned told me everything. I knew you were hiding something, Parker,” She interrupted him and spoke in her usual cool, monotone voice, “You’re keeping a literal alien in your apartment? Did something in your brain ever say ‘hey, that might not be a good idea’”

“You want to meet her, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Peter smiled, walking over to the window, “You realize that her existence disproves a million known scientific theories. She’s probably valuable too. I bet a bunch of countries would be interested. You’d probably never have to work another day in your life-”

“You talking about selling her to a foreign government is not convincing me to let you meet her.”

“Fine, sorry,” MJ continued, “Here’s something that will. You know literally nothing about girls.”

“That’s not true!” Peter exclaimed defensively, “I’ve dated … I dated you for christ sake, MJ!”

“That is highly debatable,” MJ laughed, “Anyways, I can help! Feminine projects, did you think to buy those?”

Peter was silent for a moment, “Well …”

“Does she have bras that fit? Things to do her hair?”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Do you even have those things yourself, MJ?”

“I’ll see you soon, Peter,” MJ said before hanging up and Peter only pressed his lips into a thin line. Peter knew she’d keep her word and, knowing her, she probably had her own key to his place. 

When Peter walked back into the living room, he heard Doe calling for him. Well, that nap lasted quicker than he thought. As he made his way to the couch, he realized something was very wrong. Her face and skin had turned a shade of red and she looked like she was hyperventilating, “Peter,” She gasped, tears in her eyes. 

He rushed to her side, flinging the blankets away as he tried to find where she was hurt. He saw lines of blue, like electricity, running beneath her skin. He gulped. He couldn’t find any physical wounds but she was writhing as if something in her core was wrong. She clutched her stomach as she continued to moan his name. 

“Doe, Doe,” He was panicking, it was their first real day together and it was already going so wrong. She didn’t answer, only moaned his name. Peter cursed, pulling out his phone to call Pepper. 

Peter placed a hand on her forehead, she was burning, “Please pick up, please-”

“Peter, is everything okay?”

“No, something happening to Doe. She’s burning up and she’s holding her stomach. I think something's very wrong.”

“I’m not sure what it could be … I’ll have a doctor sent over. If he can’t figure it out then we’ll have to run some tests. A sedative will help while you wait,” Peter was already running to the kitchen, grabbing one of the needles. He might vomit in the process, but he would do anything to ease her pain. 

He expected her to be afraid but her mind seemed to be elsewhere. As the needle entered her arm, she winced and began to cry even more. He put the syringe on the coffee table before sitting on the couch and lifting the girl into his lap. 

“I’ve got you,” He spoke softly though his heart was racing fast, “I’ve got you.”

She shifted reaching a shaky hand to touch his cheek, “Peter,” she spoke again, “hot.”

“I know, you must have a fever, Doe,” He couldn’t understand how she had gotten sick so quickly, “Just rest, the sedative should kick in any moment.”

She didn’t close her eyes, she shifted, positioning herself so she was straddling his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling her face into his neck, and Peter wrapped his arms around her. They were so close that he was starting to feel that heat too. This was more than a fever, Peter thought, but as he held her he could feel some of the heat melting away. 

“Peter,” He felt her breath against his neck and a shiver went down his spine. That’s when she started to move her hips against him, “Hot … please Peter …” She was begging now. 

His hand fell down to her thigh and he felt her bare skin as his hand rose up her dress. He could feel her nodding and she grinded harder against him, “Doe,” he was begging now, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop if she kept going, “Doe … I can’t.”

Then she bit at his neck and then kissed the spots she bruised. She reached back to grab his hand, moving it so it was positioned between her legs, “Please,” she begged, and he felt the heat of her sex. She held his hand there, grinding against his hand now, “Take care.”

Heat. 

The need to be … relieved was causing her sickness. He followed his instincts, now beginning to move his fingers in a circle against her most sensitive part. She lifted her head, tilting it all the way back. “Thank you,” She mumbled over and over and he watched as the color came back to her skin. 

She shook as she finally reached a climax and as she moaned his name, Peter’s eyes darkened. 

She breathed heavily and her skin was cold against his as she fell back against him, “Peter .,, t-thank you,” She whispered. She rested against him and he knew she was sleeping now. 

It seemed he was more powerful than the sedative.

+

Thank you for reading! My idea for Doe is that, in her universe, there’s an A/B/O type of dynamic in society. 

Please reblog or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to a taglist! My request are OPEN so if you have a specific peter drabble you want me to write then I can! Also, if you have any ideas/wishes for this series then feel free to send me an ask too. 

part 3 is up!

[forever-rogue]

Okay so like reader finding out their pregnant with Din Djarin's (mandalorian) child. Like there's excitement over the fact Baby Yoda is gonna be a big brother! Would you do it? Pwease!

So apparently it’s soft Sunday again, so please enjoy!

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your eyes snapped open as you felt your stomach start to churn. Remaining still, you tried to see if you could wait out the terrible feeling, hoping it would pass. It was a quiet morning, and the intention was that you could remain wrapped in your lover’s arms as long as you liked that day. But your stomach had a different idea, and it apparently wasn’t going away, evidenced by the nausea that was quickly overwhelming you.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, you wiggled out of Din’s arms and started heading, sprinting honestly, to the refresher to empty the contents of your stomach. You could barely wait for the door to open before getting down on your knees and leaning over the lavatory and emptying out everything you had in your belly. You hadn’t realized that Din had followed you; apparently you had made more noise than you originally intended. He squatted down behind you before softly pulling your hair back and out of your face, murmuring a few soft things to you as you heaved and heaved.

“You’re sick again,” he observed quietly as you finally finished upchucking and sat down on the floor, wiping off your mouth. He followed suit and sat down next you, pausing only for a moment before pulling you into his lap, giving the crown of your head a kiss, “are you alright?”

“I think so,” you sighed as you rested your head against his chest, “must have been something I ate. I don’t see what else it could be...or it’s just some sort of stomach bug.”

“It’s been happening a lot lately,” he said softly, and you knew he was right. More often than not lately had you found yourself running and throwing up in the mornings, all sorts of different things causing your stomach to sour. Maybe you’d caught something on one of your trips to the various planets you had been exploring. The worlds were foreign and there were tons of things that you weren’t used to - surely there was something that could have gotten to you, “maybe it’s something you should get looked at.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you tried to reassure him, looking up at him and nuzzling your nose against his, “it’s probably something that’s just hanging on and will clear up on its’ own.”

“Y/N, my love, I don’t want to take the chance that it is nothing,” he insisted, putting his hand under your chin so you were looking up at him, seeing that there was nothing but concern in his soft brown eyes, “please promise me that you’ll get it checked out. If not for your sake, then do it for mine.”

“How can I say no to you?” you decided it was easier to give in to his simple request than try and fight him on it. Perhaps he had a point anyway...maybe there was something more to it than you originally thought, “I promise that I’ll go and get checked out and we’ll see what’s going on.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The following afternoon you found yourself trudging through the crowded city square making your to the local medfacility. They were few and far between in this little corner of the galaxy, and you were thankful to be in the right place at the right time. You felt a sense of nervousness at the idea of going, especially since you were alone. Din had stayed behind with the Child, and you were glad they did, since you didn’t want to expose them to all sorts of illnesses they could catch. But it didn’t help the aching in your heart as you longed for them.

Walking up to the counter you found a woman sitting there, giving you a big grin, which mildly helped but your nerves at ease. You walked up to her, setting your hands on the counter anxiously, “h-hi...I was wondering if it was possible to see a doctor or healer?”

“Of course! You’ve  come at a good time, we’re actually slow today,” she smiled at you; of course. Part of you wouldn’t have minded if you were turned away and could return to Din and pretend you’d gotten checked out and that nothing was wrong. But you knew he would be able to see through you either way, “what’s been going on?”

“I’ve been getting sick a lot lately,” you started to explain, “mostly in the mornings, sometimes throughout the day. Just general nausea, and more lethargic and things like that. I just want to make sure it’s nothing serious. My husband was getting concerned too.”

“O-oh,” the woman smiled at you, almost in a knowing way as she scribbled down a few notes, “go ahead and take a seat. I’ll have someone with you in a few minutes.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Before you knew it, you were sitting on an examination table, swinging your legs back and forth as you waited for the doctor to return. She’d spent a few minutes talking to you before  performing an examination that didn’t last long. It was almost like she, just as the receptionist at the front, already knew what was going on. Part of you felt like it was just going to be something very obvious, that should have easily been able to figure out on your own.

“Y/N,” the doctor came back in, a smile on your face as she clutched her clipboard to her chest. She didn’t seem worried, but happy rather, and you felt a bit of relief wash through your body, “you don’’t have anything to worry about. But I do have one question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“What is the date of your last menstrual cycle?” she posed the question and you were taken aback for a moment before trying to think of the date, racking your brain. That’s when you realized you couldn’t remember...it hadn’t been last been last month, the month before that or...

“Umm,” you said as you hung your head, “I honestly don’t remember...it must have been at least-”

“3 months?” she asked and you nodded in response. How had it been that long and you didn’t notice? It had always come like clockwork every month...except recently. You should have noticed...this was a huge deal to miss, “which, I think you know what this means.”

“Huh?” you asked as you still didn’t manage to put two and two together, “I-I don’t...”

“You’re pregnant,” she said and your jaw dropped at her declaration, “you’re about three months along.”

“Pregnant,” you repeated, the word bouncing around in your head. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant, “I can’t be...pregnant.”

“Well, I’m here to tell you that you are,” she pulled a few papers from her clipboard and handed them to, “this has all the details and information you need. There’s going to be a lot of changes happening so there is plenty of information on that, and different options. I know you might be scared right now, but it’ll be okay. You’ll always have someone by your side to help you with whatever decision you make.”

“I..thank you,” you hadn’t realized that tears were welling up in your eyes, from fear, excitement, and relief now that you had an answer. You should have known that all the signs pointed to this, you should have known. She put a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle, but reassuring squeeze, “it’s a lot. I feel like this is really obvious but I had no clue.”

“Don’t worry,” she said with a wink, “a lot of people don’t. It may seem obvious, but in the moment when it’s happening to you, it’s not obvious at all.”  

“Thank goodness,”  you said with a nervous laugh, “it’s a lot to take in...”

“Congratulations,” she beamed at you, “I’m sure you must be excited to tell your husband.”

“My husband,” you repeated as realization set in and you’d have to actually tell Din. Besides, it wasn’t something that you were just going to be able to ignore for much longer, and he’s know anyways, he was perceptive as could be, “yes, I’ll have to tell him...that should be interesting.”

“Is this your first?”

“No..I mean, sort of. We have an adopted son,” you explained, wondering where to even begin on that molehill, “but this is the first otherwise...”

“I’m sure your family has so much to be excited for!” she said as she made a few notes on her chart, “well you’re free to go, and make sure to come back and see us soon, to make sure to set appointments for regular check ups.”

“Of course,” you were still feeling shell-shocked as you tried to process everything, “I’ll be sure to do that.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

When you returned to the little house that you and Din had decided to make your home, you found it empty, and for some reason you were relieved. You had recently decided to make a permanent home for yourself, putting behind the bounty hunting life for the time being and deciding to raise the Child in a place where he could be safe and grow. You’d gotten married shortly after, deciding to finally make it official, even you in your heart you knew you were Din’s and he was yours.  Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui he had always promised you. We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything.

But you just hadn’t expected to bring a new bundle of joy, a whole other person into that mix just yet. How was Din even going to react? Would he be happy? Worried? Angry? You were more nervous to tell him than anything else, but you knew you had to it.

“Y/N?” he asked as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, “you’re home.”

“I’m home,” you smiled at the sound of his familiar voice, “where were the two of you?”

“We were just out,” he spun you around so you were facing him. He reached behind him on the counter and showed you a blooming bouquet of bright flowers, “getting you these. I figured they might help cheer you up since you haven’t been feeling well. The little guy helped.”

As if on cue, the Child pulled on your pant leg before raising his arms to be picked up and cooing happily. You felt your heart melt before you bent down and scooped him into your arms, giving him a tight hug, “my favorite boys. Thank you so much, seriously. You have no idea what it this means to me.”

“It’s because we love you,” Din reached over and brushed a lock of hair out of your face.

“I love you too,” you said as you leaned into his touch, having rested his hand on your cheek.

“How did it go with the doctor? Did you find out what’s been going on?” he asked and you nodded in response. Of course he was going to ask right away, he was probably more concerned than you were. You thought about lying to him, but didn’t have it in your heart, knowing he would call you out about it right away.

“I did, yeah,” you answered, giving him a small nod before looking at the Child in your arms that was currently snuggling into your arms, “it’s nothing bad.”

“What’s going on then?” he asked, trying to get you to look at him, “what happened, sweetheart?”

“Umm,” you suddenly felt nervous, unsure of how to spit it out and just tell him the news. It was just two simple words, but you somehow they seemed like the hardest ones, “it’s just...that...I’m...”

“What is it?” he asked softly, oh so softly,  as he gave you that megawatt smile, his dark eyes soft, and dark ruffled into that way that you loved. You loved everything about him, but in that moment it all seemed intensified; Din really was your everything. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned over and pecked his lips, lingering against them for just a moment. He chuckled as he put an arm around your waist, “come on, tell me, you’ve got me on pins and needless here!”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, a hand going to your mouth in surprise. Din looked at you stunned for a moment for a moment, his brow furrowing as a look of confusion crossed his features. He remained silent for a moment as he went through about ten different emotions all at once.

“Pregnant,” he repeated as he tested he word out, seeing how it sounded coming from his own lips, “pregnant? You’re pregnant.”

“Yes,” you said as you tried to figure out whether or not he was happy, “please tell me you’re not upset.”

“Upset?” he asked quietly as you gave him a small nod, the back of your eyes stinging with tears, “I’m not upset, not in the slightest. I’m happy, my love, so happy.”

“You are?” you asked as a single tear rolled down your cheeks, only to be quickly wiped away by Din, “I’m so scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said as his own eyes started to get glassy, “I”m scared too, but it’ll be okay. Everything will be perfect, because we’re having a baby. We’re having a baby. I love you so much, Y/N.”

Almost as if he understood what was going on, the Child made a sound to get your attention back. You gave him a kiss before scratching his big ears, “you’re getting a little brother or sister. You’re going to be a big brother! I hope you’ll love them as much as we love you.”

“You’re both perfect,” Din pulled you close to him and rested his forehead against yours, one of his favorite signs of affection, “I can’t believe this is happening. Everything is perfect, I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Din,” you said quietly, “I love you so much.”

“I am and I love you,” he whispered back, “more than anything else in the galaxy. All three of you.”

[sylvesterlestermanchester]

Fearfully and Wonderfully

Summary: Dan wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to experience when he starts his first semester at Uni, but he was pretty sure an incredibly sheltered Catholic boy stealing his heart wasn’t on his list of typical college tropes.

Word Count: 12401

Genre: Humor, fluff, angst. All mixed together. Fun times!

Warnings: Conversion therapy, homophobia, brief allusions to sex and genitals. One puke joke?

A/N: This is my first ever published fic-I’ve been writing for literally years little bits and pieces, but COVID has me going crazy and I just wanted to put some effort into an actual thing. Thanks for reading!

-

Dan wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walked through the door to his dorm the first time, parents and sullen little brother in tow. All of his knowledge about Uni had been from TV and movies-maybe he would have some frat guy in the bed across from him, or maybe a stoner, or maybe a weird silent dude who will disappear after the first week and let Dan put their beds together so they would actually fit his gangly body.

What he isn’t expecting is to have an eight-year-old girl bodyslam herself into his legs, followed by a loud groan and a sharp voice scolding “Suzanne, we told you to stop running!”

Dan’s eyes look down at the (quickly retreating) girl and blinks a few times as he takes in the scene in front of him. There are way too many people in the crowded room right now-he counts two identical boys, both around 10, bouncing on the stiff dorm bed, one pre-teen digging through a cardboard box, a girl around Adrian’s age whispering something to an older woman with a toddler in her arms, standing next to a quiet-looking tall man, and, of course, the eight-year-old, now having been scooped up by a sheepish looking guy around Dan’s age who’s giving him an apologetic smile. This must be the Philip Lester on his room assignment form. “Sorry. My family is kind of, erm, excited.” He says with a small, nervous laugh and sets the girl aside before sticking out a hand to shake. “I’m Phil! You must be, um...Daniel, right?”

Dan takes a second to readjust the bags in his arms to shake Phil’s hand awkwardly, trying not to look too overwhelmed at the scene in front of him. “Dan’s fine.”

The kids have all frozen in place, staring at Dan with wide eyes like Dan just sprouted a second head. There’s a few long beats of silence as Phil shakes his hand just a little too enthusiastically for just a bit too long. 

Finally, Phil’s mum places a hand on her son’s shoulder, beaming brightly. “It’s so great our boys will be living together!” She cheers to Dan’s mum, who looks a bit bewildered. Ms. Lester gently takes a few of Dan’s bags and sets them on the bed, continuing to chatter on. “Come on, we can unpack while you two get to know each other better. I need to know who my son is going to be rooming with, right?” She continues to babble in a thick northern drawl as Dan glances back at his parents, who look like they’re about to bolt for the door and leave their son to be swallowed whole by these people.

“You’re rooming with an absolute freak,” Adrian mumbles in his ear with a small smirk. “Karma is a bitch, huh?” “Shut up.” Dan hisses back through his teeth, trying to look as interested as possible as Phil’s mum keeps talking. 

“The weather here is so nice-it’s already getting cold up in Rossendale, can you believe it? Max and Adam were running around outside, and I was so scared they were gonna catch cold, you know how quickly little ones do. Oh, the drive here was wonderful-” “We saw cows!” One of the kids butts in, and suddenly they’re all talking, any nervousness they had around the strangers suddenly vanishing.

“And horses!” “We got hamburgers, and there was this huge truck-it had to have, like, forty wheels-” Phil seems to take after his dad, quietly but quickly unpacking since his siblings have seemingly given up on it in favor of telling Dan’s family every detail of the six-hour car ride. At one point he makes eye contact with Phil, who gives him an apologetic look, his cheeks flushed and an embarrassed grin on his face as the kids chatter along excitedly like they’ve never talked to another person before.

Finally, right when Dan feels like his ears are going to fall off, Phil speaks up again. “I-I think I can get this from here, guys. Mum, Dad, why don’t we go out for a walk before we say goodbye? I know you guys want to see the geese on campus, right?” The kids all cheer like geese are the most exciting thing on Earth, scrambling for the door. Phil’s mum gives Dan a tight hug and Phil’s dad, still not having spoken a single word, even gives his shoulder an uncomfortable pat before they head out. The small space suddenly feels vast and empty, and the silence is almost tangible. “Well. They seemed...friendly.” Dan’s mum says after a few moments, his dad snorting. 

“You’re in for quite a year, huh, kid?” He jokes. Dan laughs weakly, but in all honesty, it doesn’t seem that funny. 

Just what did he get himself into?

-

Dan’s curled up in his bed when Phil finally comes back a few hours later, giving Dan that same crooked, shy grin from earlier. Now that it’s just him and not him with (presumably) his entire Brady Bunch-style family, he can get a better look at his roommate. He’s tall, about an inch taller than Dan, and lanky. His black jeans are just a bit high on his ankles, and his faded green shirt clings to his skinny frame. As Dan’s eyes travel higher he takes in his flushed cheeks, his blue eyes wide behind his oversized glasses, all behind shaggy black hair that doesn’t match his ginger eyebrows-ginger like every other family member of his. Dan suddenly feels a bit self-conscious in his Game of Thrones pajamas and old school shirt, pulling his covers up a bit higher as he takes in the other young man with a strange feeling in his chest. He’s definitely different than anyone Dan’s ever known. But damn, if he isn’t cute.

“Sorry if my family was a lot today.” He says after a slight moment of silence, a slight giggle slipping out as he walks over to one of the boxes on his side of the room. “I’m the first to go to Uni out of my brothers and sisters, so my parents decided to, like, make it into a whole thing.”

The memory of the chaos is still fresh in Dan’s mind, but hearing Phil talk about it, he can’t help but smile a bit as well. “I’m the oldest, so I get it. And they were nice. Your siblings are very...uh, talkative.” He says slowly, trying not to sound rude, but Phil’s giggling again before he can worry too much about it.

“We’re from kind of the middle of nowhere, so they’re just excited to see, like, humans outside of Rossendale for the first time.” Phil joked as he started reorganizing some of the things his siblings had just sort of dumped around the room. “Plus, they don’t usually get sugar, but they had soda on the way here. So they were practically about to explode by the time we pulled in. They just exploded all of that excitement onto you.” 

Dan can’t help but laugh a bit at that as he watches Phil set some thick books up one way and then rearranges them. “Oh, Jesus. That car ride must have been nuts.” Phil looks over his shoulder, grinning wider now. He looks more and more relaxed each minute, as if he was just as nervous about Dan as Dan was about him. “You have no idea, oh my gosh. They were already wound up for today, and then there was soda, and Max and Alex-they get carsick even worse than I do, and then Suzanne had to pee, like, forty times an hour, and Mum was all weepy...this has been the longest day of my life.” He joked, laughing along with Dan. 

Even though Dan can’t connect any of the kids to their names, he feels like he knows them decently well. In fact, as the conversation drifts into more goofy road trip stories, Dan’s surprised with just how close he feels to Phil like they’ve known each other before they even met.

It’s strange, he finds. But then again, Phil’s pretty strange, after all.

-

Dan doesn’t fully realize how strange Phil is until the next day. There’s a few hints-Dan makes a reference to some TikTok audio and Phil admits he’s never used it before, staring in awe as Dan scrolls through his ForYou Page for him.  When they head off to orientation in one of the lecture halls, Phil’s head jolts up and his face flushes bright red when one of the countless speakers jokingly curses (if you can count “ass” as a curse-Dan honestly can’t). But it’s not until they’re out at the quad with some of their new peers for lunch when Chris turns to Phil and asks if he went to the school his cousin went to up north. “Oh, I didn’t go to school.” Phil says with a bright smile, before quickly adding “I mean-I was homeschooled. So I just kinda did the work when I wanted to.”

“Your parents homeschooled you? Didn’t Dan say you had, like, twenty siblings?” Louise questions as they all turn to look at Phil. Dan feels a migraine coming on just imagining being home with all of those kids all bloody day, though he can actually picture Mrs. Lester teaching them all pretty well. Phil laughed a bit, cheeks flushing pink as he looked down at his sandwich. 

“We all were. My mum and dad didn’t like the schools in our area-they wanted us to be more connected to the church, said that “our values weren’t instilled in traditional education’.” He explained with a small shrug. When PJ raised an eyebrow at that Phil pulled a small cross necklace out from under his shirt. “I’m Catholic. I actually have plans for Seminary after getting my bachelor’s-so if you’re planning on getting married, I’m taking bookings now.” Phil’s last comment was clearly meant to lighten up the mood, but it’s obvious that the subject matter was making the group a little uncomfortable, considering they all just met. Dan’s mentally running through Phil’s belongings in their dorm-were all those books Bibles? Was he going to start hanging crosses everywhere? Or make him wake up early on Sundays? 

Before his brain could spiral out further Chris blurted out “So, were you raised in a Jesus bubble or something?” Louise smacks his arm but Phil giggled. “I-I have been told I’ve lived a bit of a sheltered life before, yeah.” “Were you allowed...TV?” PJ asks slowly, eyes widening when Phil shook his head.

“Not cable. We could watch DVDs, but they had to be approved, so it was usually educational. I know a lot of animal facts, actually. Did you know hippo-”

“What about the internet?” Louise cuts him off.

“Not after my older brother got caught Googling “bikini girls” when he was 10.” Phil joked lightly. “But even before that, my mum was pretty anti-internet. If I really needed it for school or whatever, I’d go down to the library.”

“No Harry Potter?” “Promotes witchcraft. Apparently. I haven’t read it for myself, but-”

“Dating?” “Not without serious intention to marry-and I’m not exactly ready for that, so-” “Running water?” “You know what’s funny?” Phil says, giggling a bit and bringing his knees loosely to his chest. “You guys think I’m weird, which is totally understandable. But your guys’ lives before this sound weird to me, too. Like-Chris, you got to play video games as a kid, right? And I was taught that those would turn me into some homicidal maniac. Dan, I saw you have a horoscope app-that’s the occult, so that’s a huge no-no.” Wow, okay. Before Dan could feel too offended, though, and Chris could jump in, Phil keeps going. “But, like, I get that you’re not a witch, or Chris, you’re not gonna chop me up into little pieces when I’m sleeping. There’s gotta be some middle ground here, right? So...you guys could show me how to live more like you, and maybe you guys would be more interested in what I’m into?”

There’s a small silence that falls across the group before a wicked grin slowly appears on Louise’s face.

“What do you want to learn first?”

-

The next few weeks are a bit of a whirlwind for Dan. Between classes, hanging out with new friends, homework, scrambling to find a job, remembering to text his mum and let her know he hasn’t died, he’s barely able to keep his head on straight. But the time he spends trying to introduce Phil to the “real world” is some of his favorite. 

Phil had set some ground rules-nothing that could kill him or ruin his life if it got out on social media. If he got too uncomfortable, he was allowed to tap out, but he’d give it an honest attempt. And nothing Satanic. (Dan had laughed until he realized by the look on his face that he wasn’t joking).

Granted, their friend group hadn’t done a great job at the start. PJ thought it would be hilarious to let Phil start with some “iconic reading material”. 

Dan had been in class when they had presented the book to him, and the two were in their respective beds when Dan heard a shocked gasp from Phil’s side of the room.

“You good, mate?” He rolled over, watching as Phil sat upright and started flipping through the pages. “Do-Do you know about this book?” He asked, face turning impossibly redder as he held up the cover for Dan. 50 Shades of Gray. As Dan burst out laughing, his roommate whined playfully.

“What-Phil, who gave this to you?” “PJ said it was necessary reading!”

“PJ is a dunce. Give it here, I’ll protect you from the big bad book.” Dan teases, but Phil quickly shoves the book into his hands like it’s on fire. 

“I’m gonna have nightmares about ties and rich men for weeks.” He grumbled playfully, curling up on his bed and reaching for his phone. “I’m never trusting Peej again.” 

Louise turns full maternal the next day when he struggles to recount the experience in polite language (Dan holding back laughter), and she decides to go the complete opposite way, launching a mission to, as she put it, “reshape Phil’s lost childhood”. Phil lightly pushes back against wording, because he feels like he had quite a nice childhood, thank you very much. 

Still, Louise comes over a couple of nights later, armed with her laptop.

“They couldn’t come up with a more creative name than “High School Musical”?” Phil teased gently as she pulled it up on her screen.

“Phil, you sweet boy, High School Musical is a cultural milestone that you need experience. So no backtalk!”

“Whatever you say.” He said, sitting on the other side of her and holding a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

They watch the first movie, and then the second, and then Phil’s begging to watch the third. As the final song plays Dan glances over and sees that Phil has his head ducked down, shoulders shaking gently.

“Phil?” Louise asks gently right as a choked sob erupts from him. She lets out a yelp as Phil flings his arms around her neck, laughing shakily. “It was just...Troy chose basketball and music…both of his passions...” He blubbers out, nuzzling into her shoulder as she coos. “You’re so weird, hon. You know that?” Once he’s calmed down enough (when Dan offers him a hug the waterworks start up all over again, sniffling. “So. Is that what your guys’ school was like?”

Louise and Dan glance at each other before bursting into laughter, only stopping a couple of minutes later when Louise turns to Phil once more. “If you liked High School Musical, you’re going to love this show Victorious…”

Of course, it’s not all smutty books and (incredible) movie trilogies. 

Being homeschooled meant that all Phil knows is doing school when he feels like it. Lucky for Phil, he’s a huge nerd, so homework and studying actually excite him. The problem is, these things tend to excite him at 3 in the morning, and he actually has classes to go to now outside of his room. 

By day three of no sleep, Phil swears Dan’s grown wings, and Dan intervenes. They make up a rules sheet-bedtime is 2AM, wake up at 10AM, eat three meals a day, no more than five cups of coffee a day (of all the vices Phil was deprived of, caffeine was clearly not one of them-Dan’s never seen anyone drink more coffee in his life). He gets him down to one all-nighter a week, and in turn, Phil wakes him up each morning and helps him with schoolwork so Dan doesn’t have to face going to the tutoring center. It turns out that Phil’s kind of a genius, despite never being in a classroom until a couple of weeks prior.

Chris is the one who convinces Phil to get social media, telling him that “only serial killers and old people” don’t. Phil’s not the greatest at it at first (there’s a lot of pictures uploaded on accident to his Instagram stories and nonsense tweets), but he slowly gets more used to it, getting his terrible puns and weird things he sees on campus out to the world (all 20 of his followers).

Dan can’t help but get slightly annoyed when Phil’s phone is shoved in his face to choose a filter of some stupid looking goose that’s close to attacking him, but the look of pure elation that Phil gets when someone sends a dog meme in their group chat is enough to warm his heart in ways he didn’t want to address fully but knew he couldn’t ignore.

There’s so much to teach him, and it seems like each day something pops up. Still, Dan’s surprised by Phil’s world, too. 

First, he brings them to a non-denominational bible study group. PJ groaned quietly as Phil handed them all cheap paperback Bibles before they entered the church.

“Can’t we do something a bit more...fun? With less reading?”

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again,” Phil said with a grin, rocking back and forth on his heels. “And if you like it-which hopefully, you will-we can come back once a week, and I’ll get you some nicer Bibles. These are just to start out with.”

Louise forces a small “yay” as they head inside, Phil leading them through the sanctuary with a happy sigh before taking them down some stairs, where a young woman sits in front of a small arrangement of chairs. “Phil, you brought your friends!” The woman cheers and Phil laughs happily. “Caroline-this is Dan, PJ, Chris, and Lou. They’re new to all this, so we’ll go easy this week?” He joked lightly, and Caroline nods, asking them about their religious beliefs.

“Uh, went to church a few times with my Nan. Atheist.” Dan says, biting his lip. He never actually said the “a'' word around Phil, and he’s a bit nervous that he’s going to suddenly flip out, but he still seems just as excited as when he walked in.

“Atheist. Never been-parents hate churches. Can I still grab snacks?” Chris adds and Caroline laughs, nodding.

“I’m a little complicated, but it’s basically just hippie church.” PJ says, shrugging. “Singing and chanting and all.”

“I go about once a month-I’m Episcopal, officially, but I’ve been to other churches too.” Louise gently smiled, and with that, the group got started. They went around and talked about their weeks, a few upcoming events, a prayer, and then Caroline instructed them to get their books. Phil pulled a well-worn leather Bible out of his bag, and Dan’s eyes widened a bit when he opened it. There are post-it notes everywhere, with entire passages highlighted and notes covering practically every margin in Phil’s stupidly perfect handwriting. It’s clear that Phil’s spent a lot of time with the book.

“Since we have guests, I figured we’d take a break from our reading of Matthew and focus on a couple of specific verses today,” Caroline says brightly. “James 1:13-15: “Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.”

There’s a slight pause and Chris furrows his eyebrows. “Huh?” “In simple terms-don’t say God isn’t the one to tempt you, because when you stray off His path, that’s on you.” One of the group members explains. “And if you do sin, it’ll lead to, uh, death.”

“Well, does God not tempt us to do bad things by putting so much pressure on us to be perfect?” A girl with blue hair jumps in, raising an eyebrow. “He sets the standard so high. Sometimes I’m just like, ‘Chill, dude. I can’t do everything. I’m not you.’ “

PJ snorts at that, giggling. “You call God dude?” They’re all laughing now, but Dan can’t believe it-he wants to jump in.

“Can I ask a dumb question?” His voice is a bit quiet but inquisitive. “Isn’t God supposed to be loving and forgiving? Why does He want you guys to be perfect? That sounds kind of...harsh.”

“Well, He knows we’re not perfect.” Phil says, and another guy nods.

“He asks for us to be because it strives us to be better. And it teaches us that messing up is okay.” The conversation keeps up for a bit before Caroline interrupts, asking them to focus on the latter half of the passage.

PJ narrows his eyes at the text before looking up. “Am I really gonna die if I sin?” “Well, sin was what led us away from eternal life in the first place-Adam and Eve kinda messed that up for us.”

“Yeah, but our personal sins can lead us to death, too. Not just old sins. That’s what God’s warning us about here.”

“Not every sin does, though. Like mixed-fabric shirts.” Louise grinned a little. “Or grabbing dudes by their nads during fights.” PJ’s eyes widened and he turned to Phil. “Are those actual rules?!” “It was a different time!” Phil giggled as he watched him flip through the pages quickly.

“Where does it say we can’t grab nads?’ “Can we stop saying nads in church?” Phil pointed out, still laughing despite his red face.

Caroline tuts and wags a finger playfully. “Uh-uh, Philip. No judgment. They can talk about nads all they want, now.”

The entire room is laughing again as Phil buries his face in his hands. Finally, when he controls his giggles, Caroline speaks again. “Do you think talking about that kind of stuff in church is a sin, Phil?”

It’s teasing at first, but Phil actually thinks about it for a moment.

“Well...my household was pretty strict growing up. I mean, I got yelled at once for just sneezing during church.” He admits slowly and Dan’s eyebrows furrow a little. He can’t imagine either of Phil’s parents yelling at him, or anyone, really. “But I get why it was. They wanted me to love God, and respect Him, just like they loved and respected me and I loved and respected them. So I think if you do things with love, genuine love, it’s not a sin. But if you do things out of hate, or anger, or with the intention of hurting, that’s a sin. And that’s not automatically bad-like T’andra said, we’re all gonna make mistakes. Just keep on acting with love, and I think you’re good.” There’s a pause, and Dan’s face flushes slightly. Not just at how much Phil was saying “love”, but the words he spoke, and the true thought and passion behind them. 

The moment is cut short when PJ snorts. “So if I love nads, I can talk about them to Jesus?”

By the time the room is back under control, the group is over. “Y’know, that was actually pretty fun.” Chris said after they had all grabbed snacks and talked to everyone. 

“It was! It was like...philosophical debate.” Dan said. “The real nitty-gritty. The topics of good, evil, life, death, corruption-” Louise shoved him gently. “So deep, Dan. Of course you enjoyed it.” She joked lightly before adding “No offense, Phil!” Phil doesn’t seem to care-he’s grinning so wide it must be hurting his cheeks, and Dan would be lying if he isn’t tempted to start reading the whole Bible from cover to cover just to see him grin like that again.

Phil also manages to bring them to actual church services a couple of times (though getting college students out of bed before noon on a weekend proves to be a practically impossible task). 

Dan has to admit he’s not as impressed with this as he is with the study group. The group is fun-they can all talk, and laugh, and actually discuss the points. Church is...not. They sit on hard pews. They listen. They stand and sit and kneel and stand and sit and kneel. They sing a few songs, and while Phil’s quiet baritone makes Dan’s sore knees quiver, it’s not enough to really warrant him waking up at 8AM on a weekend. 

Phil is politely understanding of this, though it’s clear that this is of certain importance to him that his friends might not ever understand. It’s admirable if nothing else.

Other than storytelling from his childhood (which does little to make him seem more normal, honestly) and the weekly study, though, Phil doesn’t talk too much about the church to his other friends. Dan, however, is different. Maybe it’s just the fact that they live together and their space is more shared, but Phil opens up to Dan a bit more about it. He reads passages and verses to Dan, he prays in front of him, and he answers his questions in a non-condescending way. Dan has to admit that while he likes what Phil says, he can’t find himself connecting to it in the way Phil has, with his entire heart and soul. But Dan can admire the stories and the way his friend sees the world, and this new world that he’s entering with him.

It’s been a month of them being friends when Dan realizes that he’s seeing the world in two ways-Dan’s universe, and Phil’s universe. They’re so different, but (and he’s sure he’d never admit this out loud) Dan prefers when their universes collide. 

When Dan comes home after a long day of classes and working at the campus bookstore, he’s exhausted. The soft music fades through the room as he opens the door to find Phil chewing on a pen, looking just as anxious as him. “I think my brain is leaking out my ears,” Phil said wearily, looking over the top of his glasses at Dan. “Do I have brain on my desk?” Dan snorts and rolls his eyes, reaching over and grabbing his textbook. “We need a break. And you need sleep-I know you took that second all-nighter last night, rule-breaker.” “Fine. Watch something with me?” He says after a moment, grabbing his laptop. They load up an episode of Zoey101 (they’d finished Victorious the week before) and hit play.

As the bars from the theme song fade out, Dan suddenly feels a strange pressure on his shoulder. He glances over and finds Phil with his cheek pressed to Dan’s shoulder, glasses sliding down his nose as he lets out a soft snore. Dan pauses the show, and for a brief moment, it’s just the two of them. Dan and Phil. 

He lives for those moments: Getting coffee after a class. Sending each other memes. Trying new food at the dining hall. Brief greetings in the halls. Shared looks as they hang out with their friend group.

It’s been a month of them being friends when Dan realizes he's never fallen quite this hard before. He doesn’t just want to make out, all hot and heavy, or go further than just that. He just wants this-Dan and Phil-forever, even just as friends. He didn’t expect to find that in this pale, bible-banging weirdo, but now that he does he never wants to let him go.

-

Dan’s getting that feeling now more and more, the Dan and Phil feeling when they’re in the study group a few weeks later. They’re both sat towards the back, trying (and failing) to hold back laughter as they’re hunched over Dan’s Bible.

“I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots. Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold. We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver…” Phil says under his breath in a low, gravelly tone. 

Dan turns to the next page. “O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes!” He whispers, still trying to make his voice sound high-pitched.

“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from-”

“Dan, Phil, I’m guessing you both are whispering about how excited you are about our retreat at Camp Brabeck?”

The two both fall silent, Dan quickly glancing between Phil and Caroline, her smile wearing a bit thin from having to call them out. Phil’s eyes are wide, suddenly all signs of laughter gone. “Camp Brabeck?” He squeaks out, and the leader nods.

“On our upcoming four-day weekend. It’s up North, so it’ll be a bit of a drive, but we’ve already got the vans rented out and everything.” She says before noticing Phil’s sudden change in demeanor. “Phil, you’re from around there, actually. Have you been before?”

Phil blinks a few times before nodding, curling up into his seat a little. “O-Oh. Well, I actually did, once, but-”

“Great! So you’ll be down to come, right? We’ve got more space in the van, and it’ll be fun…” Caroline says hopefully, not letting him argue as he starts shaking his head. “Plus, if you’ve already been there, you can tell us all about it! C’mon, this is right up your alley. I think you’ll-” “I’ll go if Dan does.” Phil blurts out suddenly, looking nervously over at. Dan’s definitely confused now-Phil loves the outdoors. He loves this group. He loves-well, to be fair, Phil seems to love most things. He’s racking his brain trying to figure out what it could be, but he just can’t, and now all eyes are on him, and-

“I mean...as long as someone brings bug spray.” Dan says slowly, Caroline beaming and writing on her clipboard before talking excitedly about the campground. The two stay quiet, Dan focusing on Phil’s eyes trained on her and hands gripping his Bible so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

The minute the group ends Phil makes a beeline to the door, walking so fast that Dan can’t catch up without actually chasing him. Dan’s phone dings a short moment later:

Sorry 2 run! Had 2 catch up w some1 4 a thing. Thx 4 signing up w me ^_^ - Phil!

Dan furrows his eyebrows, and not for the normal reason of Phil’s stupid abbreviations and the fact he insists upon signing all his texts. He’s trying to piece the pieces together from the few characters on his screen when Louise puts a hand on his shoulder. “So what was all that about?” She asks with a raised eyebrow, giggling a bit as she gives his arm a light squeeze. “What did you show him that spooked him so bad?” Before Dan can speak, Chris is at his side.

“He’s just embarrassed that Dan was flirting with him during the Jesus Power Hour.” “Dan, were you?” Louise gasped teasingly, and Dan sputters a bit, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. “Chris-what?! No, no, I wasn’t flirting. I wasn’t! He just-when she mentioned the retreat-and the camp-” Dan’s face is bright red now, suddenly the words from Solomon seem a lot less goofy and a lot more...romantic, to outsiders, with their heads bowed together with dumb grins on their faces. 

Louise and Chris shoot Dan equally doubtful looks. “Dan-” She starts, but Dan grits his teeth.

“We’re not-neither of us are like that.” He snaps. As she steps back and Chris raises an eyebrow, guilt starts to pool in his stomach, but he can’t stop. “For one, I’m not gay, and two, Phil is gonna be a priest, remember? Aren’t they, like, sworn to celibacy?”

Chris and Louise glance at each other. “Mate...chill, yeah? We were just joking. We know you’re not...y’know.” “Good.” Dan said before turning and stomping up the steps, the unnerving sense that the painting of Jesus had his eyes following him the whole way.

A few minutes later, Dan is sitting in the back garden of the church that Phil helps tend to after services, the wind whipping through his hair. Usually, he’d be walking to a Starbucks with Phil, discussing that session’s theme in-depth and watching Phil’s face turn pink as Dan releases the string of expletives he’s been holding in for an entire hour. The expletives are running through his head at top speed, as he spends about three minutes crafting the perfect text message. 

hey, i’m sorry if i weirded you out today! didn’t mean to haha. i was goofing off way too much and i know you take these meetings p seriously. i’ll take it more seriously next time and not distract you

Dan hits send after rereading it about a million times, groaning audibly as he does. It’s not exactly a “Sorry I have a crush on you and made you seem gay but I get you’ll never like me and that’s fine I just wanna spend all my time with you”, but it’s the best he can do.

No worries! OMGosh I was just embarrassed 2 b called out like that hahaha! 0_o <= Literally my face. I was def the 1 who was whispering 2 loud. Lol! -Phil!

dude, it was totally on me. Dan texts back, chewing on his bottom lip. Phil had looked pretty freaked out, but if he was fine, maybe they could just...move past it? really, i started it. 

Noooooooo! I take all the blame. I had some cookies b4 group and I was on major sugar rush. Btw...I had some of those cookies ur nan sent! Sorry, I’ll buy some snacks 4 us. Ask her to send more, tho? So good <3 Thank u! Take dancing men as an apology (/-_-)/ |(-_-|) -Phil!

okay, seriously, who taught you to text like this? my head hurts trying to decipher everything

DANCING MEN 4 U (/-_-)/ |(-_-\) ~(*-*)~ (/-_-)/ |(-_-\) -Phil!

you’re ridiculous. Dan can’t help but laugh, in spite of the churning feeling in his stomach. He drops his phone onto the grass next to him and looks up at the sky. 

“If you know Phil so well, big guy, what do I do?” He asks before he can stop himself, before pausing. Half of him expects a thunderstorm to start, and him to get struck by lightning, or a rainbow to leap across the sky and the clouds to part to show Phil’s shining face as the sun. But after a few long moments of silence, Dan realizes he’s not going to get any divine intervention and groans. 

“Well...let me know when you figure it out.”

-

The next couple of weeks go by quickly. Everything seems normal-they go to classes, they go to work, they go to group, they goof off. The four-day weekend creeps upon them, but before they know it the whole group is up at 6AM standing in front of a huge white van.

“This isn’t cult-ish at all.” PJ yawns, chucking his duffle bag into the trunk. Louise sips her coffee and squints over at Phil.

“This has to be a sin, you know. Not giving a girl her beauty sleep.” Usually, Phil would spout something about “being beautiful in His eyes”, but right now he’s getting the same sense of panic in his eyes that he had when the camp was first mentioned, laughing weakly as he adjusts his glasses. Dan is just awake enough to get the sense that Phil has been repressing the idea of the trip until this exact moment, but he also knows just how to fix it. He had been stockpiling on Phil knowledge for this exact moment.

Phil jumps a bit as Dan nudges him. “Relax. Listen, I know what’s up.” He says quietly, watching as his friend’s eyes widen and a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“What?!” Phil yelps a bit as Dan gently leads him away from the rest of the group. “I mean...what do you know? What’s up?” He asks quietly, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.

Dan holds back a fond noise as he smiles gently, shaking his head. “No need to be embarrassed, Phil. My mom went through the same thing for years.” As Phil looks more and more concerned, wringing his hands, Dan digs in his own backpack for a moment before pulling out a small box of Dramamine and handing it to him. “So you don’t upchuck all over us.”

There’s a beat as Phil stares down at the box, eyes wide, and Dan almost thinks he’s got it wrong. Does Phil not get carsick? Was he insulted? Was he really that embarrassed by it?

Phil finally starts to giggle, but it seems more relieved than anything. He nudges Dan lightly and opens his mouth to speak.

“Ah, Dan and Phil! The dynamic duo. You two can sit in the back with the bags!” Caroline’s voice cuts through whatever Phil’s about to say, and he turns to Dan with a small shrug. 

“Looks like it’ll just be you I puke on.” He says, a slight grin on his face as he pulls the door open for Dan, who rolls his eyes but steps in “Gotta get you a poncho for the splash zone.” Dan gags playfully before squeezing in to sit next to Phil amongst all the bags, rolling his eyes and plugging his earbuds in before holding out one bud to Phil and turning on their shared playlist-a mix of indie, Christian rock, (mostly clean) emo jams, and Disney Channel top hits. It’s not the most welcoming thing to listen to at 6AM, but if it keeps Phil calm and Dan from actually needing a poncho, he’ll welcome it.

The majority of the drive is spent in and out of sleep for Dan, guitar chords and vocals bouncing around his sleep-deprived brain. He’s not fully conscious until around noon when they’re about an hour away from the camp. The roads are getting twisty, and it’s then that he notices that Phil has his eyes screwed shut and face scrunched up, both hands shoved into his messenger bag. It only takes a slight peek for Dan to see his fingers curled tightly around his well-worn Bible, and he bites his lip. 

Phil talks about leaps of faith a lot in group. Dan doesn’t quite get it, but he’s pretty sure he’s taking one when he slides his hand into the other’s bag and gently coaxes Phil’s hand into his own. The young man stiffens up for a moment before turning to stare at Dan with wide eyes.

“Shush. It’ll help nausea.” Dan mumbles, his own face red and praying that Phil won’t ask how exactly it will. There’s a pause before Phil smiles weakly, turning his face away, and Dan is about five seconds away from opening the van door and hurtling himself onto the road.

Phil’s probably just been playing nice, and now Dan’s gone and made it uncomfortable for the both of them, and Phil can’t even look at him. Dan’s whole body turns hot, but right before he can pull away, he feels Phil’s slender fingers intertwine with his own.

It’s not the first time they’ve held hands-they do it at the start and end of study groups, and at church, and that one time Phil got them all to hold hands while standing on a hill to reenact the ending of High School Musical 2 for his Instagram. Dan was a bit flustered then, too. But this is different. It’s...intimate. Phil’s never held his hand with such need before, fingers locked with his and palm quivering gently as he mouths a silent “thank you.” Dan feels his entire body buzz, and he can’t help but close his eyes and try to focus on the music and not the fact that he feels like he’s literally twelve years old.

The rest of the ride somehow takes an eternity and only a minute before the van stops, Chris bemoaning his hunger loudly and the rest chattering excitedly. Phil finally opens his eyes and turns to Dan, slowly pulling his hand away. 

They both look at their hands, and then back at each other. There’s a long pause before he opens his mouth, and Dan’s heart starts pounding so hard he’s surprised Phil can’t hear it.

All that Dan has thought about them staying platonic goes out the window. Dan wants nothing more than to lunge forward and shove his lips against Phil’s, to run his hands through his hair, to climb into his lap and- “I didn’t puke!” Phil blurts out loudly, loud enough that everyone hears. The group falls silent before one of the other young men, Raz, gives Phil a thumbs up. “Good for you, bud. C’mon, let’s get these bags up to the cabin, and then we can get some food to celebrate.” Phil laughs a bit too hard at that, face bright red. As he clamors out of the van he leaves Dan in the backseat, trying to climb over the mountain of bags as he watches his friend chatter away as if nothing happened. He watches for a moment before shaking his head quickly, trying to erase the memory from his mind. He was just making things more complicated than they needed to be. They didn’t share a moment. No way.

Dan hauls his bag over his shoulder and walks along with PJ and Lou, struggling to stop the loop of those ten seconds from playing in his head.

-

Dan liked that the Bible study group wasn’t too Jesus-y. It was more philosophical than anything. Even church was just an hour a week on the weeks he went, which was really only once a month when Phil promised brunch afterward.

This weekend, he and his friends had realized, seemed to be where the group could get enough Jesus to last them until the next retreat. It started with grace before lunch-simple enough. But then a pastor had started to preach to them during lunch. And then after lunch. And then afternoon Bible study-for two hours, with a lot more reading and praying than actual discussion. Pj, Chris, and Louise were clearly trying not to fall asleep, while Phil sat off a bit, eyes trained on either the priest or his Bible, hugging himself tightly as he stayed completely silent.

“It’s just so boring!” Louise groaned once they were all finally outside and out of earshot. “I’m sorry, I know this is what you want to do with the rest of your life, Phil, but we’re in nature! Why are we just stuck in some stuffy room listening to an old dude read for hours when we can see the cool stuff God apparently built for us?” “God wants me to climb some of those rocks over there.” PJ agreed, snapping a few pictures on his phone. “He tried to call me earlier to tell me so, but reception sucks here.”

Phil laughed a bit, but it’s definitely more hollow than his normal giggles. “I’m sorry, I-I really thought-”

“Wait. Haven’t you been here before?” Louise asked as PJ started jogging over to the huge rocks, Chris following shortly after. Phil paused before rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I mean, yeah, but-” 

They’re both cut off by someone calling Phil’s name, and he whirls around to see the priest-the same “old dude” Louise had just been insulting-walk over and clap a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Philip, you must have grown a full foot since I last saw you!” Dan glances over at Phil with a slightly surprised look. He knew Phil had been here before, sure. But to know this man? Someone who seemed so different from Phil in so many ways?

“O-Oh, Father Richard. Hey. Guys, Father Richard worked at the camp I came to a-a couple of years ago.” “And Philip was one of the finest boys there, wasn’t he?” If the man notices Phil shift from one foot to the other nervously, he sure doesn’t show it. “I mean, they were all wonderful young men, don’t get me wrong. But Philip-you’re truly going to be a man of the cloth. Don’t you both think?” Dan is watching Father Richard’s face closely, immediately feeling himself wanting to leave the conversation as soon as possible. If it wasn’t for Phil, he’d have made an excuse and walked off by now. It seems like Louise isn’t thrilled, either, but she smiles and nods a bit. “It’s clearly his passion, uh, Father Richard.”

“Oh, absolutely. As long as he keeps his head out of the clouds.” He throws his head back and laughs, Phil’s grin looking more like a grimace as he chuckles along. “I swear, this boy would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to him!” “I think Phil’s pretty smart, actually.” Dan says suddenly, a good bit of bite to his tone. He’s not sure why, but something about this guy gives him the creeps. He stares him in the eyes as he gets a surprised look from both him and Phil.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Well...I suppose he’s matured a lot over the past two years. Good to see you again, boy. We’ll have to catch up.” With that he heads off, giving Dan a slightly curious look as he does so, and Phil watches him go before shaking his head.

“Jeez. Phil Lester Fan Club over here.” Louise teased gently before frowning. “What’s his deal?” Phil bit his lip and sighed. “That’s how he is.” He explained quietly, yelping as Louise pulled him into a tight hug.

“Philly…” She cooed before moving to sit on the grass with him, motioning for Dan to do the same. “Talk to us? You’re not usually closed off like this. We know something’s up.” Phil squirms, and Dan can tell he’s debating whether or not to lie. He’s seen it before-when Chris asked if he looked good in his new neon t-shirt, or when some girl asked him once if she was being too annoying after complaining about her roommate to them for five minutes straight. “I just...I came to this camp when I was younger and had different ideas than I do now.” He explains finally.

“Like how interesting that Richard guy was?” Dan tries to joke, instantly regretting it as Phil brings his knees to his chest and curls up into himself.

His voice gets quiet, as it does sometimes when things get serious in group meetings and he’s comforting someone with a verse or trying to explain a tough concept to Dan. 

“Like...I was raised to think God ruled with a vengeance. If you sinned in any way, He would punish you. That’s what my parents said. We were supposed to fear Him, y’know? And when I came here...Father Richard pushed that hard.” Phil explained gently. “But I don’t think God’s like that. I think we’re all sinners-we all make mistakes. James 3:2 and all that. God loves us in spite of our flaws. Hearing him talk about God like he was so cruel, and then reading about His love for us...it was the first time it didn’t add up for me.”

Dan’s eyes widened. In all his time of knowing Phil-two months doesn’t sound like much, but it feels like a lifetime ago-he’s never once heard him speak against his parent’s beliefs. Sure, he could admit that they were a bit extreme at times, but it was always quickly followed with how their intentions were good and that everything had been great. 

“And as someone who wants to be a priest, I don’t think the way to get people to turn to God is to scream at them until they repent and scare them into not sinning. I think you need to be like Jesus. Hate the sin, love the sinner.” He continued, forcing a tiny smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Because we’re all His children, after all. And He’s got a path for all of us-fear won’t guide us onto that.”

There’s a moment of silence before Louise reaches down, giving his hair an affectionate tousle. “You start preaching like that and I’ll come to your church every Sunday. I’ll even sing in the choir.” She joked. A slow beam spread across Phil’s face-a a genuine one, and he stood up before pulling her into a tight hug. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. “Thank you both. I-If I had known he would’ve been here, I’d have at least warned you-”

“Shush, mate. You had no idea. Trust me, you’re way too much of a softie to lie to us, we know that.” Dan laughed a bit, giving Phil’s back a light pat. Phil giggled a bit before pulling away, taking a deep breath. 

“Wanna go make sure Chris and Peej don’t crack their heads open?” He said finally, and before they could say anything the two of them were taking off towards the rocks, Dan chasing after both of them. Despite his grin, he still couldn’t help but feel like his head was heavy with questions. Father Richard had seemed boring, and a bit grumpy, but not angry. Were Phil’s changing beliefs really all that had happened?

-

Phil had seemed relieved to talk for a bit, but the mood shifted again once evening activities started. Father Richard had preached again during dinner-and again, nothing terrible happened. He made a few dry jokes, he talked about having “complete and total faith”, he read some long passages that Dan didn’t care about. He was too busy glancing over at Phil next to him, who had left his food practically untouched. 

Then there are evening vespers, with Phil’s hands clenched together so tightly in prayer that his knuckles turn white and his fingernails dig into the skin. The firepit seems to be going well-he shares a s’more with Dan, but before he could get another he’s pulled aside by Father Richard. Dan’s sure at one point the two glance over at Dan, but then Phil’s walking back over, trying to look interested in some story one of the group members is telling as he brings his knees to his chest. Even Chris and PJ seem to notice that something’s going on, but with a pointed look from Dan, they give him some space.

They turn in for the night, but Dan wakes up way too early to find Phil curled up on his bunk pouring over his Bible. The bags under his eyes tell Dan that he didn’t sleep a wink last night, and he sighs. “C’mon, you gotta show me where the showerhouse is.” He says gently, and Phil looks up at him with a tired laugh. “Do I?” He teased weakly. After a minute though, he sits up and stretches. “Mmm...fine. But no chickening out.” With that he hops down from the bunk, peeling off his shirt before walking over to his bag.

Dan’s pretty sure he gulps audibly as Phil grabs a change of clothes and a towel, eyes wandering over him. Though Phil braved the communal showers at Uni, he was always sure to change in the stall-Dan had never seen him in so much as a pair of shorts that went higher than his knees. And yet, here he was. Dan would feel guilty about watching him, especially considering he knew Phil was having a tough time, but…

He couldn’t help it. His best friend looked hot as hell from behind. He couldn’t help but admire his slim frame, his lean but toned arms, and when he turned around, the slight smattering of chest hair that slowly turned into a happy trail that crept lower, into-

“I’m telling you now, if you forget a towel you’ll regret it.” He said, voice still low from sleep, and Dan snapped his head up. “Towel! Right! Let me go grab that.” He squeaked and quickly moved to grab it, trying to hide his flushed cheeks as he snagged a change of clothes as well. By the time he looked up Phil was already heading for the door, humming under his breath, and Dan followed him quickly.

After a few moments of silence, Phil spoke. “Father Richard is leaving tonight, so you won’t have to sit through his lectures after today. He’s just stopping by to talk to us. So we’ll have less worship-y stuff and more free time tomorrow.” Phil glanced over at Dan. “Sorry if I’m weird about it. I just..y’know.”

Dan nodded and relaxed into the shared feeling of relief, even if he didn’t exactly know what Phil was talking about. Before he could ask, though, they were at the small building-just a row of four stalls that looked like bathroom stalls, built out of wood. As Dan stepped inside and stripped-definitely not thinking about how Phil was doing the same just inches away, especially as he heard his sweatpants hit the ground-he rubbed his eyes. “Is there coffee here?”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t need coffee here.” Phil laughed a bit, a genuine one, and Dan raised an eyebrow, glancing over at where his head peeked over the stall. 

“Dude, I’ve seen you-sweet fuck!” Dan shrieked as he turned the single knob on and freezing cold water shot out of a showerhead on the ceiling. “How the fuck do you get the hot water?!”

Phil was really laughing now, his witch cackle carrying over Dan’s screams. “No hot water at camp.” He sang playfully. “And no swearing, either, but-”

“Christ on a bike, no wonder you were fucking miserable here!” The words come out before he can realize it, and suddenly he freezes (as well as he can while shivering like mad), but Phil only laughs harder. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Dan can hear the grin in his voice, and he lets out a long breath. “Whatever. Shitting fucking fuck! Let’s get this over with.”

Dan somehow manages to survive the worst shower of his life, his hair curling as he towels himself off before tugging on clothes and leaving the showerhouse. If it wasn’t for the bright smile on Phil’s face, he’d say it wasn’t worth it. But at least for right now, Phil is his old, giggly self again, and Dan comes to the realization he’d do just about anything to keep him like that.

Unfortunately for Dan, it doesn’t last long. As they’re walking back to the cabin, Phil glances across the way and sees Father Richard, walking through the trees. “Oh, shoot, c’mon-” Phil grabs Dan’s arm and tugs him along a bit faster, not looking behind him for nearly a full minute. As he glances over and sees the look on Dan’s face he finally stops, sighing softly. The joy from before is gone. “Sorry. I just...too early to try to handle that right now.” “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s just get going to the cabin, yeah? I’m still freezing.” Dan jokes weakly, and Phil tries to crack a smile, still looking uncomfortable as they walk along the trail in silence.

The rest of the day is disturbingly similar to yesterday, and the whole group is sensing that Phil is just...off. He’s usually eager to jump into discussions, but even when Father Richard gives them the chance to talk, Phil seems totally holed up in himself, mumbling something about wanting to give others a time to speak (which pushes the topic along to Louise, who fumbles it totally and is earned a condescending smile from Father Richard).

By lunch, Dan thinks he can’t sit through another hour of this. By mid-afternoon, he’s considering faking being possessed by Satan. And by dinner, he’s come up with about forty ways to fake the possession. The only reason keeping him from doing so is that when he mutters it to PJ he tells him to wait until after dinner-if he keeps Chris from food, he’ll have bigger things to worry about than a camp full of religious fanatics thinking he’s possessed.

They set the tables and then get in line to eat dinner. Dan immediately realizes Phil isn’t anywhere to be found, exchanging concerned looks with Louise. When they get five minutes into dinner and realize that Father Richard is also missing, he starts to worry. 

What if Father Richard was...well, what would he do? 

The truth is, Dan doesn’t know what the big deal is with this guy. He honestly doesn’t seem to be too bad, but the control he has over Phil’s emotions is genuinely weird. Still, he doesn’t want to cause a scene. 

“Hey, Caroline!” He says, quickly jogging over to the young woman, and she gives Dan a kind smile. “Dan, hey! How have you been enjoying this so far?” She asked gently, resting a hand on his arm. “I know it can be intense, considering your, um...well, you weren’t exactly in the church before you joined us, and-”

“Caroline, it’s all great, but do you know where Phil is?”

She smiles and gives Dan’s arm a squeeze. “I’m so glad you two found each other, you know that? You guys are like-”

“Caroline.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t be mushy, even if you guys are my favorite freshmen.” She winked before waving her hand towards the door. “He’s out by the lake with Father Rich. They go way back, did you know?”

Dan nods slowly. It’s clearly not the answer he wanted, because Caroline leans in. “Don’t tell him I said this, but trust me, Phil’s not choosing Father Richard over you. You’re still his BFF.”

Wonderful. That’s the reassurance he needed right now, that Phil wasn’t going to choose a 65-year-old man to be his ‘BFF”. He manages to smile and thank Caroline before going to wait on the mess hall deck. If Richard was going to drag Phil away, then dammit, he was going to be the first to talk to him when he got back.

-

Phil doesn’t come back up to the mess hall for at least another hour. His eyes are rimmed red, and he’s alone. The second Dan hears his footsteps he shoots up. “Phil!” He shouts after he yanks his earbuds out, and Phil lets out a yelp, laughing shakily. “Oh my God, did he-did he make you cry?!”

Phil rubs his eyes quickly and giggles weakly. “Dan, I cry at everything. We cried together over that muffin in the dining hall on Wednesday, remember?” 

Dan doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but suddenly Phil’s arms are pulling him into a long hug. “We just had a long talk. Don’t tell me I missed anything?”

“They went on some dumb night hike, but-don’t tell me you wanted to go on the night hike?” He asked as he saw the disappointment on Phil’s face, frowning. “We can go! We can go right now, and meet them, and-” “Dan. Breathe, okay?” He giggled and led Dan inside. “Our group can go on our own little night hike tomorrow, I’ll survive. Besides. I haven’t gotten to spend time with you these past couple of days, and I’ve missed you.” Phil’s voice is a bit softer, and he gives him a shy smile.

Dan’s face turns red and he sits down in one of the faded couches, Phil flopping next to him. “It’s only been, like, a day and a half.” He mumbles.

“It’s been a long day and a half.” Dan nods slowly, looking up at Phil. “Is he gone?” “Yep. Just left camp now. Didn’t wanna make a fuss.” Dan can’t help but roll his eyes a bit at that, shaking his head. “Now, c’mon. Can we talk about something fun? Like…” He reaches out and snatches up an old copy of Women’s Health from a bin by the fireplace, clearly meant for kindling. “What advice can we find for two lovely women like ourselves?” 

As he flutters his eyelashes at him, Dan can’t help but laugh, grabbing the magazine from him. The two swap it back and forth, giggling like children at the stupid advice and making fun of all the pictures. The tension from before melts away, and suddenly it’s just Dan and Phil, the two of them being absolute idiots and laughing over nothing. After the last day and a half, it feels amazing to just laugh.

When they finish that one they go to the next one in the bin. They read through issues of Runner’s World, Golf Digest, Christian Living, Better Homes and Gardens, and even a Highlights before Phil’s stomach lets out a loud growl.

“Oooh, I need some food. Why don’t I go grab us some snacks from the kitchen? There’s some board games in one of the closets, find something for us to play?” 

With that, he’s up and going into the kitchen, and Dan wanders over to one of the closet doors. Sure enough, he sees some old board game boxes peeking out behind some moving boxes. Dan goes to move one out of the way when he catches a peek of the pile of brochures inside. His eyes run over the text and clip-art outline of a strong-looking man. Program Judges 6:12 at Camp Brabeck: For teen boys and young men struggling with sexual impurity.

Sexual impurity? Dan grabs the brochure and flips it open.

Today, our young men are raised in a culture where abnormal lifestyles are being accepted, even praised and celebrated. It’s no wonder that more youth than ever before are turning out oversexualized and confused, and more than ever are struggling with same-sex desires...

From there on, the words start to blur together for Dan, and he flips the brochure over.

And then Dan sees it. In the top corner is Father Richard, smiling wide.

With his hand on Phil’s shoulder. 

Dan feels his stomach churn violently as he looks at younger Phil. There’s no way it could be anyone else. Even if he’s a bit shorter, and his hair isn’t dyed, Dan’s studied Phil’s face long enough to know it’s him. As Dan grips the picture frame in his hands, Phil’s words from yesterday come back to him, hitting his chest like rocks.

“Hate the sin, love the sinner.”

Phil worked with Father Richard, at this-this “camp”, this place. They worked together.

“God loves us in spite of our flaws.”

Not only was Phil not gay, thus extinguishing the slightest bit of hope he had, but Phil was actively homophobic. Phil worked at a bloody conversion therapy site, for fuck’s sake.

“He’s got a path for all of us.”

Phil wasn’t uncomfortable about Father Richard-he was uncomfortable about Dan and their friends being around Father Richard, and them finding out just what a homophobic, lying, fake-

“I found Pop-Tarts!”

Phil’s voice interrupts the swirling thoughts in his head, and he slowly turns, holding the brochure up. “Were you ever going to mention this?” Phil’s face goes pale. “I...Where did you…” He whispers, but Dan growls. Actually growls. Red hot anger is taking control now as days, weeks, months, years of suffocated emotions rises to the top suddenly. A lifetime of not fitting in, a lifetime of hiding, and to be rejected by Phil-like this.

“Nice pic of you and your friend, Phil. You worked with him on this? You and Richard, two pals-and you knew we’d judge you for it, so you just decided not to tell us?!”

“Wait, wait, Dan, no. It’s not like that. That’s not what-” Phil tries to butt in. Dan isn’t having it.

“Do you realize what kind of damage you do to people, Phil?! You can’t act like-like Little Mr. Innocent about this, this is some seriously fucked up shit you’ve done!” Dan’s properly yelling now, getting to his feet and not even stopping as Phil cowers back. “And-And worst of all, you hid it from us! You talk like you love everyone, hiding behind your stupid flowery language, but you’re a total fucking hateful dick!”

Phil suddenly stands as well, putting his hands in front of his chest, but irritation is creeping into his voice. “Daniel. Listen to me, you don’t understand. I’m not hateful-” “Oh-Oh yeah? Not hateful, huh? Not hateful when you say ‘gay is an artificial construct, created to celebrate people’s sinful homosexual desires’? Or when your stupid fucking camp goes to ‘remove young men from their unhealthy environment to bring them to Jesus and see the errors they’re making’?” Dan’s reading directly from the pamphlet now. “That doesn’t sound loving, Phil!”

“Dan, let me-” “There is literally nothing you could say to make this better. You think you’re helping, don’t you? But you’re just-just spreading hate, and-” Dan’s words are cut off as Phil suddenly grabs him by the back of his head, pulling him into a hard kiss. For possibly the first time in his life, Dan is rendered speechless, especially a few moments later when Phil pulls away and his eyes well up.

“Dan…” He choked out, sinking down onto the couch and starting to sob. “I didn’t-I didn’t-” After a moment he grabs the brochure weakly. “I didn’t work at the camp.” He chokes out finally, and Dan just stands frozen in place. “I was a camper.”

Dan hates that he doesn’t know whether he should trust him or not. But...this is Phil, crying ugly, hard sobs, and he can’t help but feel his heart break in two. “A...camper?” He asks slowly, moving to sit next to him but keeping his distance.

Phil lets out a pained noise but nods. “I signed up to go. Because I kept having these-these dreams, and these urges. And I thought if I did everything right, if I listened to Father R-Richard…” He has to stop himself to catch his breath as it comes quicker, curling into himself and resting his head on his knees. “I thought if I could be perfect, I could b-be like him. A priest. A husband, to a wife. A father to my k-kids. An ex-homosexual.” He said, tears streaming down his face. “Dan, I-I tried so hard…” Dan frowns, running a hand through his hair slowly. “You can’t just-I mean, I don’t think it works like that, Phil,” Dan says after a moment, and Phil nods quickly. “I know, I know. God knows I know. They tried everything on m-me. I mean, everything. But the more they did, the more angry I got, with myself, with Richard, with God. I hated God, Dan, I hated him so much, and I did all this stuff…” Dan can’t stop himself but reaching out and taking his hand at that, and Phil clings to it almost instantly. “I lied, and I ripped up my Bible, and I did stuff with the other guys there…”

Dan blinked a few times. For Phil, that was intense, and he can hear the guilt and true sorrow in his voice. “You-I mean, no offense, but kissing a few guys and tearing up a book aren’t exactly unforgivable sins.” He says, hoping to bring him comfort. To his surprise, Phil laughs sadly.

“I did more than just kiss, trust me. When Richard found me in the showers with one of the guys-” 

At that Dan’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. Phil, who half an hour ago was blushing at ads for tampons, in the showers with a guy? “He-He decided I needed more intense therapy. It was hours and hours of just being told how disgusting I was, being shown these videos, being preached at, b-but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop feeling like I did.”

“Phil…” Dan feels his broken heart finally crumble. He pulls him into a hug, letting him sob into his hair.

“F-Finally I just lied my way th-through it. That’s what m-most of us do. And then I was th-the big success story, and they took that dumb picture, and it was finally over. I went home, and I was so mad I decided I’d go through my Bible-the nice, new one my parents had bought me, when they heard that ‘somebody’ tore up my old one-to s-see how wrong I was before and how terrible He was. So I stayed up for nearly a week, no school, no nothing. Just reading.”

Phil pulled away to reach out, grabbing his copy of the Bible from his bag “ And as I read, I…” 

He took a deep breath as he opened it up and slowly turned the pages, motioning to the Post-Its and notes littering the scripture. “I didn’t find that. I found a God that wanted me to love-He wanted me to love my family, and my friends, and my neighbors, and-and guys. He wanted me to love you. He wanted me to love you, romantically.” At that, Dan feels his heart stop and he gently moves to look Phil in the eyes. “You really think that?” He whispered, Phil nodding quickly as he ran a hand through Dan’s hair.

“God gave us all the ability to love-fully, and deeply, and wonderfully. And-And I love you, so much. I didn’t want to freak you out, and I’m not ready to be out, but-” This time it’s Dan’s turn to cut him off with a slower, gentler kiss. “Shh. We don’t have to tell anyone.” He murmured.

“It can just be us?” Phil asked in a small voice. “Just you and me?” 

At that, Dan is pretty sure he’s going to explode, because dear God that’s all he’s ever wanted. He wants to scream, he wants to jump up and down, he wants to run down the fucking mountain and throw rocks at Father Richard’s car-

Instead, Dan takes a deep breath before smiling and nodding. “Just me and you.” He agreed quietly.

He leaned in and kissed Phil again, cupping his cheeks. This time was gentler, and Phil let out a soft, relieved noise as his lips moved against Dan’s and he pulled Dan close to him.

“I love you,” Dan says once they pull away. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Have I ever read you Proverbs 17:28?” Phil interrupts with a giggle. Dan raises an eyebrow but grabs Phil’s Bible, flipping to it.

Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.

“Did you just ask me to shut up and keep kissing you through a Bible verse?!” Dan whined, but he can’t help but grin as Phil kept laughing, nodding as he connected their lips again.

Time seems to stand still. Two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes, ten hours, ten years-Dan can only guess how much time has passed when they hear the group off in the distance. “Shit-shit, okay, one last-” Dan jerked away but Phil giggled, grabbing the plate of Pop-Tarts and Dan’s hand before dragging him outside. He took him out a bit before they got down to the lake, sitting on the sand and wrapping his arms around Dan. Dan pauses before shyly climbing into his lap, and then they’re kissing again, Phil only pausing to catch his breath and murmur “I’m sorry you thought I could be homophobic.” “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before jumping to conclusions.” “I’m sorry I didn’t open up about what had happened.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you away from Father Richard.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you away from Father Richard.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been that guy in the showers with you.” The words leave Dan’s mouth before he can stop himself-humor is a coping mechanism for him, but right now, he wants to kick himself when he hears Phil’s gasp.

“Oi! Not yet, at least.” He said with a slight laugh, pressing his lips to Dan’s cheek and watching as his face burns red. He grins and presses a few pecks to his lips before looking up at the sky. 

“...You really think God wants this for us?” Dan says and Phil closes his eyes, snuggling closer.

“‘For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:113 to 114’.” Phil recited quietly. “God made us fearfully-like, with great awe and respect of us-and wonderfully. He made us find each other, he made us love each other.” He kissed Dan’s nose. “So that’s us. Fearfully and wonderfully made.” Dan looks at Phil with a soft smile, a bit worn from all the excitement of the day, but feeling...free. “Fearfully and wonderfully, huh?”

Phil nods, and Dan pulls him even closer.

“I could get used to that.”

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter eleven

I was initially going to hold back on this update until Sunday but y’all already know my impulse control is nonexistent and with the encouragement of new friends (hey naomi and elena!!) I had to go ahead and post. Tried something a little new with this chapter and it focuses a lot on Malcolm and I learned I actually like writing in his POV a lot so that’s new. It also features more Edrisa bc I love her and she’s my best friend’s absolute fav so I had to do them some service after the help with the last chapter which got some of my most insanely complimentary comments. Like one of y’all really commented how I wrote Martin well and I didn’t stop smiling the entire day. That’s fucking insane. Hope y’all enjoy the update and are staying safe!

Gil steps out of the room, exhaustion settling into him. Immediately Ainsley sits up leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“How is she? Is she ok?” The drive back from Claremont had been the worst. Jessica had jumped with every siren sounding and in New York? It was a lot. Ainsley held her hand the entire time while Malcolm rocked, his brain firing off at a million miles a minute. Nobody said a word but it was Jessica’s silence that was the most concerning to them. 

What the hell happened in that cell?

“She remembered what happened, didn’t she?” Malcolm casts a glance at Ainsley who doesn’t meet his gaze. Gil can only shrug.

“She still hasn’t said anything but something in there definitely got to her. I called Dani and JT. They agreed to be the new details until we can sort out why she got so uncomfortable when we passed the guards on our way out and the drive home.”

“We should go get mom’s things.” Ainsley says. “She only packed clothes. She left all of her products and things she’ll probably need. Who knows how long this stay will last, we should at least make her comfortable.” But she shifts her eyes to the door where Jessica was sleeping, or at least pretending to. She feels guilty for leaving her twice, it’s written all over her face.

“I’ll go.” Malcolm offers. “I feel like we missed something that night. It’ll give me a chance to look again.”

“Hell no.” Gil protests immediately. “I’m not comfortable with you going alone.”

“I’ll bring a detail.” His retort is interrupted by the sound of movement from the other room, like someone shifting around in the bed. Jessica is listening and for whatever reason, she doesn’t like that.

“We can go tomorrow. Right now I want all of us under the same roof.” Malcolm tips his head back, annoyed then rises again with an idea.

“What if I bring Edrisa? She’ll be able to help me look around and we’ll be back before you know it.” No more sounds of ruffling interrupt so Gil has to give in.

“Fine, but I want updates. And if you get even a whiff that something is wrong you two get the hell out.”

“Deal.” Gil sighs as Malcolm rushes off to text Edrisa.

The Whitly’s are going to be the death of him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“This is so exciting.” Edrisa practically bounces with every step up the driveway. “I’ve never actually got to be a part of the actual investigation.” She pauses, a thought interrupting her excitement. “Should I have brought something to defend myself?”

Malcolm smiles, her enthusiasm is refreshing after his day. Honestly, part of him just wanted to talk to her to get some of the weight of the world off his shoulders. For a brief moment this case isn’t a killer threatening his family. It’s just him and Edrisa. “Edrisa, we’re just getting clothes.”

“Are you sure cause I have pepper spray in my car.”

“Yes I’m sure.” He holds the door open for her gesturing to enter. “And besides, you’ve got me.” She beams at that, her pep coming back in full force as she bounds to the kitchen. He follows with a shake of his head.

“Ok, so what are we looking for?”

“Well, my mother drinks tea like most people drink water.” He points to the cabinet where they usually keep it. “It’s her comfort but Gil doesn’t keep tea in the house.” If Edrisa is curious why, she doesn’t show it. His tone is enough and he’s absolutely certain she read the casefile from that night.

Tea was how the surgeon sedated his victims, Gil was almost one of them.

When Edrisa opens the cabinet her eyes widen. The shelves are stacked with bags of tea, neatly sealed with tight creases. “That’s a lot.” She chuckles.

“It’s everyone’s favorites. Chai for Ainsley, the black is mine. She has every worker’s favorites, I think she even managed to get JT’s but don’t tell him that.”

“My lips are sealed. Matcha is my favorite, by the way.” She winks.

“Oh, she knows.” He grins at the wide, starry eyed look she gets. She blushes and clears her throat before turning back to the task. “Mother’s is the earl grey supreme.”

“What’s the difference between that and the earl grey?”

“Honestly?” Malcolm shrugs. “Price, probably.” Often she falls into the trap of the more expensive the better, it makes for an interesting Christmas and a pain in the ass to get gifts for her when she just buys anything she could possibly want on a whim.

Edrisa stops for a second, her posture straightening, and then getting on her tiptoes to see better. Even from behind he can tell she’s got something on her mind. It’s confirmed when she reaches inside pulling out a smaller, black bag. His head tilts because his mother never bought small bags. Even for people that rarely passed through she wanted to make sure they were prepared. Then the label catches his eye, it’s a completely different brand then what she normally buys from. A brand he hasn’t seen in years.

The brand his father likes.

“Where did you find that?” He asks, on edge and looking out the door. The house is silent other than the two of them but that doesn’t mean that can’t change at any second.

“It was on the bottom shelf and it’s open. All the rest are sealed. Why?”

Just like that it all pieces together. 

His mother had asked him that night if he made tea. He’d told her no and that made her seem more agitated. At first he thought it was because the killer had made her tea, had been in her room. No, it was much more than that. With Freddy’s connection to Claremont, the ability for the killer to find her bedroom and the kitchen so quickly, and the tea that his father used to make.

“The surgeon. He knows who the killer is.” The rush of emotion the punches him in the chest makes him stumble back against the counter. Edrisa runs to him, one hand on his elbow to steady him. Her presence isn’t enough to tamper the anger thudding in his chest with every heartbeat. He knew. He knew when she was missing. He knows now that her life is being threatened.

He was the one who got her to remember.

“That’s why she’d gone to him. She recognized the tea and didn’t say a word about it. Why didn’t she tell us?” Anger clashes with sadness burning at his retinas. He shuts his eyes tightly pressing the heels of his palm to them trying to get himself back under control.

“Malcolm.” His own name sounds unfamiliar in Edrisa’s voice. She’d always called him Bright. Never Malcolm. “Let’s get her stuff and go. They’ll get worried soon.” Her calmness has him taking a deep breath and nodding. “Good.” She extends her hand to him, it’s an almost childish offer in its innocence. Her hand is something to ground him to the world. It gives him something different to focus on rather than his feelings.

Wordlessly, he takes her hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Malcolm and Edrisa arrive the house is more crowded than before. JT is by the doorway with Ainsley and Dani sharing the couch. Gil has made coffee for everyone, certain that it will be a long night all around. They all look relieved to see them but Gil reads it on his face before anyone else.

“You found something.”

“Hooooo, did I find something.” Edrisa lingers next to him, unsure if she should stay or go. She decides on the former when Ainsley scoots on the couch leaving room for her to sit on the end closest to where Malcolm still stood. “Is she awake?”

“Bright, is this a good idea?” Dani asks sitting up a little straighter. He notes that she’s in much more casual clothes, probably looking to rest before trading shifts with JT.

“Nope. But I think she knows who the killer is. And if I’m right?”

“Go. We’ll be right out here.” Ainsley nods, making the final decision.

He shifts the bag over his shoulder opening the door to the bedroom slowly. In the dim light streaming between the curtains he sees his mother sitting on the side of the bed, she’s got something in her hands but it’s too dark to make out.

“Mom?” Her head turns to him, her expression isn’t the blank unreadable one from earlier. No, she looks relieved that he’s back. The news twists uneasily in his stomach as he shuts the door behind him. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?” He doesn’t really expect her to answer. But when her breathing doesn’t pick up or really make any uncomfortable movements he takes it as permission.

He grabs a chair sliding it so that he can sit across from her. Closer he can see how tired she is. Her breakdown likely didn’t help but she definitely didn’t fall asleep at any point in time since she got back.

“Stop me if you need to, ok?” She blinks at him so he continues. “Why did you go see him?” He treads lightly, testing the waters first. An annoyed expression passes over her face but she doesn’t shift or startle. He digs in the duffel he brought along pulling out the bag of tea. “Is this why?”

When her eyes land on the bag she takes a shuddering breath, it’s confirmation enough. 

“This was the tea he used to make.” She blinks back the tears, correct again. “This is why you visited him. The killer made you the same tea, you knew he had something to do with all of this.” Her lower lip wobbles but she holds herself tightly wound. “He knew who did this.” The first tear that slides down her cheek makes him feel like the worst. “Do you want me to stop?” She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. Her hand unfolds and in it is a crumpled note. He takes it, slowly as not to startle her into shutting back down.

Just like you like.

“Did the killer write this?” A nod. Malcolm takes a breath trying not to be frustrated that she kept this from them. Had they known they would have questioned his father so much sooner. The information she knew, it’d be common knowledge. “Thank you.” He says instead, taking her hand and enclosing it in both of his. She’d held his shaking hand like this countless amounts of times, her fingers stroking the back of his hand in the same way he mimics now. “I need you to tell me what he told you.” She starts, but doesn’t pull away. “Please.”

Her voice is deep, more tonal than he’s ever heard come from her. He almost thinks he imagines it. It’s too low to understand what she says.

“What?”

“He’s a cop.” Her eyes meet his, glassy from unshed tears. He smiles at her sadly, too caught up in the fact that his mom is back before the gravity of her words hits him full force.

Oh.

Shit.

[lostinmirkwood]

Gendrya Kinktober Day 24- First Time

Find it on AO3 here.

It takes six months after they run into each other as adults for them to go on their first date. Arya had moved to Storm’s End after she’d finished her Economics degree in the Riverlands and had run into Gendry completely by accident at the public library on a rare sunny Saturday. They’d grabbed coffee to catch up, having not seen each other since Gendry helped her move out of her dorm after her first year of school nearly four years previously. Arya left him with her number but it wasn’t until they’d run into each other a few more times before Gendry finally began to text her. When Arya suggested grabbing drinks at a pub near both their offices he agreed and drinks turned into dinner, turned into him walking her to the train, shoulders brushing, far too late to be out on a work night. Neither of them realized the time until their waitress had stopped by their table to close their tab so she could head home for the night.

Their second date is much more intentional, Gendry takes her to the arthouse theater when he sees they’re screening her favorite movie, The Legend of High Heart, as part of their Autumn Festival. Afterwards they get a late dinner at a Braavosi restaurant near the water that Arya had suggested. This time Gendry takes her hand as they walk to the nearest station and gives her a kiss on the cheek when they go their separate ways.

It’s a few weeks before they can go on their third date, both of their jobs getting in the way. Arya texts him early on a Sunday and they meet at the farmer’s market downtown. They end up spending the entire day together having a picnic lunch from their market spoils, playing games in the arcade on the pier at Shipbreaker Bay, holding hands and wandering the city sharing bits about themselves as the sun slowly sunk in the west. Arya offers to cook them both dinner at her apartment if they can make a quick stop at a grocery store and Gendry accepts, not wanting to end the perfect day they’ve had. Arya picks up everything she needs for a quick and delicious pasta dish and when they arrive at her place she puts Gendry to work as her sous chef, having him prepare a salad and slice a nice loaf of bread from the market. She pours wine and over dinner they continue to share stories.

When the topic turns to how he found architecture Gendry hesitates for a moment before telling her the story was tied up in his family, “Mum died when I was 14 and it had always just been the two of us. I was angry for a long while and bounced between several foster homes for a year before the Seaworths took me in. They had seven boys and it was a bit of an adjustment to go from being alone to always having people around, people who cared. I stayed with them until I aged out of the system, they were my first real family after I’d lost my mum. When I was seventeen I was contacted by a lawyer. Turns out my father always knew who I was but never lifted a finger to help while he was alive, even after I was placed in the system. He’d recently passed and to spite his ex-wife had left me and his four other bastards a chunk of inheritance, on the condition we took his last name. I wanted to refuse outright, because fuck him, but Davos convinced me to cool off and think about it for a few days before I made any final decision. I hated the thought of taking anything from that deadbeat prick but I had my heart set on architecture. The day after the lawyer contacted me I received early acceptance to one of the top design schools in Westeros and there was no way in the seven hells I could afford it. The inheritance dropped that opportunity in my lap. So I kept Waters as my middle name and took Baratheon as my last name. I’d paid for so much in my life that the dead bastard owed me that much. And now I have even more siblings than you, Arry.”

Arya can tell he feels a little uncomfortable having just spilled his life’s story to her, so she smiles at him, tops off his wine glass, and changes the subject to an upcoming footie match between Winterfell and Storm’s End. The mood lightens as they begin to passionately debate their opposing sides and Gendry tells her to come to his place the next weekend to watch the match. Their night ends earlier than either of them would like but they both have work in the morning and Gendry feels a bit emotionally wrung out after their dinner conversation.

--

They spend the week leading up to the match texting constantly, even managing to sneak away from their offices to meet for lunch on Wednesday. Arya offers to walk with him back to his office as they’d lingered over the last few chips on their plates for far too long and he eagerly accepts, grabbing her hand as they step out onto the busy sidewalk to walk the few blocks to his building. Standing near the door Gendry goes to kiss her cheek again, right as Arya turns to do the same. Their lips meet at a slightly awkward angle and they both pull back startled.

“Oh, uh,” Arya stutters out, blushing. Gendry’s not much better, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at his shoes.

Arya takes a deep breath, “Try again?”

Gendry’s head darts up, eyes meeting hers as she smiles. One of his hands comes up to cup her cheek as he leans down to press a true kiss to her lips. It feels electric, lasting both forever and just an instant. Their eyes flutter open (when had they closed?), and Gendry has to step back towards the door to his building or he will never leave, saying, “See you Saturday?”

Arya nods, still blushing. Her eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, looking thunderstruck before she gives him a brilliant smile and heads into the midday crowd to return to work. When he gets back to his desk his phone chimes

Arya (1:02pm): We should definitely do that again

Gendry grins to himself, and sends her a reply.

Gendry (1:02pm): Lunch or the other thing?

Arya (1:03pm): Both, but I really liked the other thing.

---

The rest of the work week seems to drag on. Their texts have taken on a flirty tone that makes anticipation lick at Gendry’s spine, though he’s not sure for what. Saturday finally dawns cool and rainy, unsurprising in the Stormlands no matter how nice the weather had been all week. He spends the morning cleaning his apartment, something he does every Saturday anyway but today’s has a bit more vigor behind it, wanting to impress. Arya arrives just before the match starts rain splattered and grinning, waving a six pack of Northern beer in support of her side.

She gives him a lingering kiss on his jaw, breathing in the smell of his soap and skin, butterflies churning in her stomach as he wraps his arms around her for a long moment before taking her coat and hanging it next to his on a hook rail near the door. Noticing his socked feet she slides her own shoes off next before setting her bag down and following Gendry into his kitchen. He waves her towards the living room, taking the beer from her to stick in the fridge, telling her to make herself comfortable. She eagerly accepts the opened beer from him as he moves to plop next to her on the couch, his arm thrown across the back of it just above her shoulders.

Neither of them could tell you much about the match, both keenly aware of the other’s proximity. Every small move is catalogued, each brush of their bodies analyzed. Sometime in the third quarter Arya’s hand had settled on Gendry’s thigh and his breath had stopped entirely for a moment. When Gendry’s arm had migrated from the back of the couch to gently playing with a loose strand of hair on her shoulder she froze before melting softly against him. Their eyes had caught as the game went into extra time and the next thing Gendry knows Arya’s muttering, “Fuck it,” and swinging her leg over his to settle onto his lap. She gives him a moment to process her new position before her lips descend to his in an earth shattering kiss.

He sits dumbstruck for a moment too long and she pulls back, worried she’s misread and pushed him into something he wasn’t interested in. He gives a low whine as her lips leave his, his brain finally coming back online. His hands reach up to tangle in her hair and tug her mouth back to his, giving her plump lower lip a nip with his teeth as he starts to kiss her again. Her tongue slips into his mouth when one of his hands drops from her hair to her waist, tugging her closer. Arya gasps at the feel of him hard through both their jeans, grinding down against him as her hands scrabble down his firm chest searching for the hem of his shirt. Finding it she runs her hands across his stomach and scratches her nails up, drawing a groan from him as he moves to help her take his shirt off. Arya pulls back for a moment to admire the sight of him below her. His hair is in disarray, blue eyes dark, breath heaving as her nails leave slight red trails through the smattering of hair of his bared chest. It’s a good look for him, she thinks.

Gendry’s hands find the hem of her sweater and he looks up at her in question. Arya nods rapidly, helping him pull it off her, revealing her lacy bralette. The sight of her nipples hard through the black lace makes his mouth water as he begins to kiss down her neck and across her chest, hands reaching up to palm her tits through the thin fabric. His lips close over one of her pearled nipples, gently nipping and sucking, his warm breath fanning across her chest. Arya moans quietly, her own hands moving to shrug her bra down off her shoulders to reveal her rosy pink peaks to him. His blue eyes meet hers as his fingers reach to begin to tug and roll the exposed buds, Arya’s eyes fluttering closed as his mouth returns to work and her hands bury themselves in his hair to hold him close. Her hips roll with more force, chasing the building fire between them. Suddenly Gendry’s hands leave her chest and grip her waist as he stands from the couch. Arya yelps and wraps her legs around him as he walks them through his apartment to his bedroom door. He nudges the door open with his foot and steps across the room to his bed, dropping her on the mattress.

Arya stares up at him from his rumpled sheets, enjoying the picture he made standing at the edge of the large bed shirtless and breathing hard. He plants one knee on the bed next to her and leans over her, catching her eye and softly asking, “Is this okay?”

Arya nods, “Yes, yes. So okay.”

Gendry gives her a brilliant smile and dips to kiss her as Arya moves to sit up and do the same. Their foreheads bump as they move, causing them to draw back with an “ow!” before they both laugh and Arya holds still for Gendry to kiss her again. Successful this time they continue to make out, hands wandering. Arya runs a hand down his impressive back, dipping into the back of his jeans to squeeze his arse. She cocks an eyebrow at him and grins when he pulls back, “I’ve wanted to do that since you turned and walked away from me the first time. You’ve got an amazing arse, Gendry.”

Gendry flushes for a moment before running his hands down to her waistband, flicking open the button of her jeans, “Can I?”

Arya nods and he begins to work the tight denim off her legs. Once bare he stands at the edge of the bed again and admires her. It’s Arya’s turn to blush, “Sorry.”

“What on earth are you sorry for?” He’s confused, she’s almost naked and absolutely beautiful sprawled out before him.

“I wasn’t expecting this, otherwise I’d have worn sexier underwear,” she stares down at her plain black cotton panties, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. She’d put on the lacy bralette thinking they’d maybe neck on the couch a bit and he’d see that. She didn’t want to get her hopes up that they’d get this far and then have him think she’s slutty by wearing lacy underwear too. It’s a confusing feeling, both wishing she’d look sexy now that she’s almost naked in front of him but not wanting him to think she was expecting and wanting sex by wearing it.

Gendry shakes his head, freeing her lip with his thumb, “You look so fucking beautiful. You don’t ever have to apologize for what you’re wearing to me. Do you want to go further? Because we can stop right now if you don’t want to and it won’t change anything.”

Arya looks him over, his obvious erection straining his jeans. His bare chest is practically glowing in the evening light streaming through his bedroom window. And he’s looking down at her with nothing but affection and desire, no trace of judgement at her clothing choices. She nods and smiles, “Yes, I want you. Take your pants off? I’m feeling a little exposed.”

Gendry grins at her, his hands dropping to his fly. He’s a little distracted by her in the golden light and he’s hard as diamonds in his jeans. Quick as he can he shucks both his pants and boxers, which seems like a great plan until one of his ankles gets stuck and he nearly tumbles on the bed next to her naked as his nameday trying to free himself. His clothing blunder eases the slight awkwardness she’d felt at her insecurity and they both lay next to each other giggling. Gendry’s chuckle turns to a gasping moan when Arya’s hand finds its way around his raging cock, grasping and giving it a few firm strokes. She grins at him as she strokes again, his hips pressing towards her. It’s her turn to moan when he rolls over her, caging her in his arms as one of his hands delves into her underwear, seeking her out. He pets his fingers through her damp curls, dipping into her center before moving to her clit. Finding the hard bud he meets her eyes as he starts to circle. It feels good as Arya snakes one of her hands down covering his. She slips her fingers around his and begins to guide them, adjusting the pressure and motion until he catches on to how she likes to be touched. She pulls back as she begins to writhe, enjoying the smile on his face as he brings her pleasure. She comes with a gasp when he dips a finger into her as he continues to work her clit.

Gendry sits back with a pleased look, bringing his damp finger to his mouth to taste her. He moans as her salty sweet flavor bursts across his tongue. Arya’s eyes darken and she scrambles out of her underwear, wanting him inside her now. Finally naked she tugs his arm, asking, “Condom?” as she pulls him over her.

Gendry nods and leans over to dig through his nightstand, pulling a foil wrapper free from the drawer. Her eyes follow his movements as he opens the packet and rolls the rubber over his impressive erection. A small worry niggles in the back of her mind. He’s a very large man and she’s rather small. Gendry must catch a change in her expression when he finishes wrapping himself. “Still sure?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah, you’re just much bigger than… others.”

He smiles, but it’s not cocky despite how much it deserves to be, “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow.”

Arya smiles back. She doesn’t have a wealth of experience but she trusts him. He’s already taken instruction well and has continually checked in with her. She believes he’ll take care of her.

It takes a bit of fumbling for them to get him lined up correctly but when he begins to slide in Arya gasps. The stretch of him feels delicious. He pulls back a little and rocks in further. He keeps up the gentle rocking until he’s fully seated then stops. Arya’s face is scrunched and he’s worried he’s hurting her until her expression eases.

“So full,” she mumbles, “you can move, you feel so good.”

Gendry begins to thrust, keeping his pace slow and steady. She feels incredible around him, the hot clutch of her center dragging him to the edge much faster than he’d anticipated. Arya feels warm and loose as

[slxyangel]

Let The Tables Turn (Duff McKagan x Reader)

Summary: The narration of a story full of broken promises and strong hopes.

Wordcount: 4k.

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, probably the most angst I’ve ever written, insecurities, really dark and dramatic shit.

A/N: This was informally requested by @holyjunkie a while ago, and it has been stting in my drabbles for like a month now, but since today it’s Duff’s birthday I thought it was the perfect oportunity. I’m really proud of the result and I hope you all enjoy it so much, let me know your thoughts :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN || ASK ME FOR TAGS

Masterlist: https://slxyangel.tumblr.com/post/189625800403/masterlist

Your leg bounced up and down from its place on the stall. Really, really fast; really, really angry. The anxiety being there provoked you wouldn't wear off in the slightest with such an insignificant action, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. What the fuck were you doing there anyway?

The air was thick, the lights were red and the music and voices didn’t even let you hear your own thoughts. Though maybe it was for the better, because what good could you draw from them in that very moment? The club was jam-packed with people, but you were alone, sitting right next to the bar and waiting for Duff to show up from somewhere in there, get his ass in your car and go back home with you. Because at least that was the plan. Going to the damn party for less than an hour, saying hi to everyone, going back home and, like he profusely promised, celebrating your birthday as the law commands.

Because yeah, your birthday had been four days before, but not only he hadn’t spent a single minute of the day with you, but he had been too busy doing God knows what to even call you and wish you, the girl he had been living with for five months and dating for a year and a half, a happy birthday. Nah, instead you had to spend the whole day with no news from him, pacing around and going to bed worried about something serious having happened to him, only to then, at four in the morning of a Tuesday, wake up to the noise of destroyed furniture and his little whines. When you went downstairs with a fucking baseball bat in your hand, just in case you had to smash a burglar’s skull, what you found made your heart sink down to underground levels. Duff was there, on the floor of the kitchen, lights off, eyes unfocused, and the broken table table at his feet.

He was drunk. But he was not just drunk, he was completely fucking wasted. He was so drunk he couldn’t even stand on his own and needed the help of the table. In fact, he was so drunk he wasn’t even able to hold on to the table properly, so he ended up throwing it down with him. You hadn’t seen him or heard from him since Sunday, and you had spent your whole 23rd birthday worried in case something awful had happened to him, only to end up kneeling in the floor of the bathroom, holding his hair and your tears back.

The problem was that, lately, Duff was not Duff. He wasn’t the sweet, caring boy that would show up one day with a box of gingerbread with raisins and your favourite movie from the videoclub just because, in one occasion, he had heard you say you used to have gingerbread with raisins for breakfast when you were little. Or the guy who called to your home for eight days in a row while you were on a roadtrip and dealt with your sister telling him you actually were on a roadtrip, until the ninth day it was finally you who picked up the phone. Not anymore. The past few months had turned him into this irritating, troubled man who only opened his mouth to complain about you being a fucking killjoy because you didn’t want to have sex with him after he drank seven shots of vodka. It was the alcohol what had made that out of him, and it awakened demons in you that you didn’t wanna have to face.

But you held on. You held on for him, you held on for the love of your life and for all the stories you had built with him, you held on because you still had faith. Even when he was the way he wasn’t supposed to be, you still saw in his eyes the flick of shine that had dragged you towards him in the first place. You loved him so much it physically hurted, and seeing him like that was ripping apart a side of you you didn’t know you could miss so badly.

And it’s not like you hadn’t had conversations about it, man, you fucking had them. When he was not drunk, he was still easy to talk to, and he reasoned. One of the few mornings he woke up in your bed and wasn’t recovering from a night out and its subsequent hangover, you took advantage and, almost scared of his reaction, addressed the issue. And he understood, and he told you you were right, and he apologized, and he cried, and he made love to you, and he promised to try. And he also promised to be there on your birthday for a fucking picnic or a movie night or having lunch together at McDonalds, you really could not care less about the choice, because what really made you happy was that he was going to try. So you trusted, and you held on. But what did you hold on for? A broken table, a broken promise and a broken heart.

He immediately knew he had fucked up. His eyes, even behind the mist of alcohol, unmistakably told you so. But you really didn’t have the strength to talk about it in that moment, that would have cracked you. So you bit your lip, you put him to bed, left a glass of water and a pill in case he woke up before you did, and curled up next to him to try and get some sleep before the conversation that was inevitably going to happen the next morning. But the next morning the glass was empty, the pill gone and his side of the bed cold. He had left. And you couldn’t fucking understand why he would do that, not after what happened the night before.

You didn’t hear from him for almost three days after that. Again. He didn’t call, he didn’t show up, nothing, and if it wasn’t for the fact that all his clothes were still in your wardrobe you would have thought that he had finally left for good. But on Thursday night he called you.

-Babe… -- In your side of the line he only found silence, but he dared and started talking -- I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t deserve to even have the chance to tell you this, but I am so, so sorry.

You still didn’t answer. You couldn’t, you had lost your vocal chords. You wanted to yell, you wanted to rip off the phone cable, you wanted to smash his skull against a corner, you wanted to kick the pieces of the table that still were there because you hadn’t had the courage to throw them away, because you had the feeling that they meant something. But instead you could only bring yourself to ask him:

-Why didn’t you call?

The sound of your voice was little more than a fine thread, but you couldn’t risk it. You couldn’t speak louder because then your voice would break, and if your voice broke you would immediately follow. And that couldn’t happen, not with him at the other side of the phone.

-Because I was ashamed--the answer left you frozen--.I was ashamed and I am ashamed. I can’t look at myself in the mirror, because what I see makes me sick. And I don’t mean on the outside, it’s the inside what I am talking about. It’s what I’m becoming, it’s what I’ve become, and it’s what I have done to you and what I will still do to you if I keep on going down this path. I’m fucking scared, and I don’t know what to do, but I really, really want this to go away. And this thread of the conversation has to stop, I have to cut it here because this is not about me being a victim, that’s a narrative I won’t use. It’s about me owning up to what I did, because I made a terrible mistake, and presenting solutions, not diving in the problems. And that’s why I want to tell you that tomorrow there is a thing.--He made a pause, testing the fields, but he went on after your expected silence--It’s a small thing, for the band, in a bar. I really have to go, they require me to. But when the other day I said I wanted to make it better I meant it, and I mean it now, I want to make it better. So, if you want, if you trust me, which I wouldn’t expect you to but I would be extremely thankful for, you can come. We will be there for less than an hour, shake a few hands, sign a few autographs, and then get the hell out of the place. And you could also not come if you don’t want to, I can go directly home right after my strictly necessary time in there has passed, but I thought it could be a good idea to show you that I can do better. Like… at a party… not a single drop of booze, nothing. I really only want to be with you. And then we can go home and watch a movie or have an indoor picnic, or McDonalds or I can’t care less. And, if you want, we’re going to fix the table. Will… will you come?

The silence that followed his words filled the line with screams. Screams that asked for forgiveness. Screams that longed for redemption. Screams that fought against screams to see which one would become the loudest one. But the silence still pierced your ears.

-Okay.

Your mouth betrayed your brain before you even had the time to puzzle the consequences your answer would surely have. It was done, quiet and broken, but done. Then, you heard him say the word “Yeah?”, exactly like that, with a question mark, as if he wanted to make sure what he had heard was not him hallucinating, but an actual agreement of you giving him he billionth chance he knew he didn’t deserve but was willing to fight for. You could have backed off then, you could have unsaid your words, but you didn’t. Instead, you nodded, because the knot in your throat was so tight you couldn’t make a sound. But he sensed your nod, and the next thing you heard was a whispered “I love you” and a click he really didn’t want to make, but he knew he had to.

You slid down, with your back against the wall, until you reached the floor, and you cried the bitter tears that were flooding your eyes. You were tired, and if there was one thing you had no doubt about, it’s that you didn’t want more hopes, because your experience tended to always find new ways to tell you that hopes never end up well. But the heart has reasons that reason does not understand.

_______________________________

That was it. You had just about had it. Two hours fooling around alone in there were more than enough, and the wait for your hopes to crash down yet again was making you sick, so why make it longer. What had to happen was going to happen, whether you had come here or not, whether you wanted it or not. That night on the phone, on the floor, you hadn't been wrong, and your guts knew it all the time. You can't trust a drunk. Especially not one that has proven to always find a method for getting his way, because he is used to it and, if he has seen his ways work, why would he fucking change them? Even if those ways are lying, drinking, apologizing and repeating the circle, which is visibly wrong even to his eyes. He was not going to suppress one single step of the process if it always ended up in him not having to suppress one element of the resolution, those being you and booze cohabiting in his life. But he had to learn. And not for you, not only for you, but for himself. If his life revolved around getting away with his downfall by always finding the most particular excuses, what was going to happen in the future? When that practice was so intricately integrated  with his life that he no longer would be able to tell apart one thing from the other? That was definitely something you didn't want to experience with him and you weren't willing to put up with through the years, but that didn't mean the perspective of Duff ending up like that didn't break your heart. So if you had to be the first one who threw a bucket of ice-cold reality in his face, you would do it. 

You downed the only fucking shot you allowed yourself to have that night, because leaving a life behind took a courage you didn't think you had, and, for God's sake, he was the one who was not supposed to drink, not you. Then, you grabbed your purse, you stood up, put the sequins of Duff's favourite red dress in place and made your way out. You didn't even bother to look for him, you had tried to when you first arrived there, but it was unsuccessful. All that you got were condescendent looks from the staff as if you were a groupie and not a glimpse of his blond hair or any of his bandmates. And it's not like he didn't have it easy to find you, you had been sitting at the bar the whole evening. If he knew you were going to be there, which happened to be the case, he should have moved his ass and looked for you. But of course he was busy shaking hands and raising his elbow.

The fresh air of the night was relieving. It was November, but in downtown Los Angeles it was never really cold. You breathed in and breathed out just once, and started walking to your car. But a voice amongst them all made its way to your ears, clear as light and choking you as always. You stopped in your tracks.

Duff's hand held yours from behind, as if he wanted to stop you from taking a step you were not taking anymore. You were still, you didn't turn around, you were splitting in half. You were going to leave, you finally were, but he had to show up in the last fucking minute and ruin your power of will. Goddamn prick.

-Babe…--his voice was all but firm. He sounded scared but, if your ears didn’t deceive you... --I didn't know you were here. I… I haven't seen you.

He was sober. Now you turned around and faced the cause of your ruin. He looked good. His hair was all over the place, as usual, and he was wearing a leather jacket you’ swear you had seen on Slash before. But he looked small. His six feet four of frame looked incredibly small and frail. His eyes were all around like he didn't dare look at you but he didn't know where else to look at. His bottom lip almost imperceptibly trembling in spite of the careful smile he was trying to keep. His hand was still holding yours, but the grip was very light, as if he was scared of losing you, but willing to let you go if that was what you wanted.

-Were you leaving?--your silence, yet again, was an eloquent enough answer to his question --Why?

His voice was so low, so close to a whisper that you almost didn't notice the crack that came with it. Now his eyes were on you, and you knew he was waiting for an answer other than silence.

-Because, after three days of not knowing about you, it seems to me that two hours alone in a bar you wanted me to come to are more than enough.

-But I didn't see you. 

-Well you should have looked for me.

-I did! I looked for you, I swear to God, but I couldn't find you. I… I thought you had regretted.

“I have, Duff, I have regretted. That's why I'm leaving”. But you didn't tell him. He looked like he was stepping along the thin line that limits defeat. His shoulders were down, his eyes were glossy, his breaths were shallow and he was no longer trying to contain his shaking lip behind a smile. Instead, he just looked at you. And he kept trying.

-We can leave. We can go, now. As I promised. I don't have to go back in there for shit, I'm just done. We can go home and talk or sleep or eat or whatever you want to do. Anything. It's fine for me, I only want you to…

-I'm tired--your voice interrupted his with all the weight of the words he never let you speak - I'm really tired, Duff. I'm tired of you telling me that it's going to be okay, that you are going to make it better only to then show up crawling across the hall because you can't stand on your feet. I'm tired of not knowing about you for increasingly longer periods and when I do it's only via someone who wants me to pick you up from some bar or some fucking corner. I'm tired of having to cling to happier memories of happier times and fight the dread that comes with knowing that I won't be making any more of them, all of this while I clean the mess you made the night before. I'm tired of going on and on with the same circus, all over again. And I'm tired of waking up on my own, worried about you, but I'm scared shitless that some day I might wake up without you and not worry anymore because that's just "the way things are", "he'll come back" or "he won't". I can't do this, Duff, I can't lift the weight I have on my shoulders, I'm not strong enough.

You deflated like a balloon. That was all you had, every word you had to say left your body with an ease you would have never expected. And not even then you felt relieved in the slightest. But how could you feel relieved after telling the love of your life that he is hurting you beyond the point of repair? That's not nice, that's not even cathartic. It just brings emptiness. The only thing you could cling to and that had kept you company for so long, as nasty as it was, all the hate, all the sadness, all the soreness were gone now. Where there used to be an unspoken "No, things are not going to get better", now there remained the same sentence, but said, stated, now it was a fact, now it was a reality. Unspoken meant hope, because although there was no affirmation, there was no negation, and to that you would hold on for dear life even if it was red hot metal. But once spoken? Hopes are gone. And at that point your life was only fueled by hopes. That was the only reason you went to that party, that was the reason you waited for him on your birthday, that was what kept you holding on for months; hopes. All of them based on unspoken words that were now gone.

And he looked just as speechless as you. If before he had been balancing above defeat, you could almost swear that, by now, he was down the pit. His eyes were fixed on you, as if that was the place they only ever wanted to stay in, but he was unsuccessfully trying so hard to fight their will to be exposed to you. The eyes are the doors to the soul, and now he was the most vulnerable he had ever been. He didn’t want to be vulnerable. He wanted to be okay, and stand tall and be there for you when you needed him, he wanted to play that role. And if he ever let himself be vulnerable it could only be under the protection that the certainty of your love and your presence gave him. But lately he had done everything backwards. He had let the alcohol take over his insecurities and he had closed the door to you. And you had restlessly called and knocked and smashed it, but he had ignored the noise, and now the noise was over. You were leaving, you were done with it, you were done with him, and he miserably knew he couldn’t blame you. But he couldn’t blame himself either. Because, yes, it had been fully and entirely his fault, but, as he had told you the night before, guilt was a narrative he wouldn’t let himself drown in, because one thing he had learned was that drowning in a negative feeling only sends you further down, and he could not afford that under any circumstance, not if he really wanted to change.

You saw him pat the pockets in his jacket with a nearly desperate face, looking for something he most definitely couldn’t find. Then he looked in his jean pockets and grabbed from them the thing he was looking for, whatever it was. He handed it to you like a last strand, with the expression of one who is waiting for a death row pardon but is unsure it’s gonna come. It was a round metallic piece, not much bigger than a coin and not much smaller than a medal. It was golden and heavy, and on one side it had an inscription that read “24 hours”. You turned it around to see the opposite side of it, and the letters “A. A.” greeted you.

-I know it’s not much. I know. It’s… This is not an apology. I don’t have one, no apology on Earth is valid for all of this. I just wanted to show you I mean it, I want to change, and want to get help and I’m getting it. It’s just one day, I went on Wednesday and then on Thursday they gave me this. I was going to give it to you at home, but now I don’t know if…

Your body crashed against his with such force you two almost lost balance and fell to the floor, but you genuinely wouldn’t have cared, you probably wouldn’t even have noticed. Your arms held him the tightest they physically could, and when he overcame the shock, his arms responded the same way. With your face buried in his chest, you hadn’t realized you had started crying, and your tears and your muffled sobs freely lost themselves in his clothes. He was not going to try, he was actually trying. This was far beyond a promise, this was an actual move for the first time in forever, this was the materialization of your hopes. You had spent so many hours and days and months unconsciously preparing yourself for the crash you sensed was gonna come, that you had forgotten that the chance of flying existed too. And it was indescribably better than you could have ever imagined. His lips whispered against your scalp the words that had made that long nightmare a bit less unbearable: “I love you, I love you, I love you”. It was not an “I’m gonna try”, because he was already trying and he didn’t have to tell you, you could see it now; it was not a “Thank you for a chance you are freely giving me”, because, unlike all the other times, today he was earning it. It was an “I love you for staying despite all the things I have put you through, I love you for trusting me, I love you for being so strong and I love you for having such capacity for pain but an always bigger capacity for love”. He loved you, and you loved him no matter what, but now more than ever. And, for the first time in ages, loving him didn’t hurt.

_________________

Tags:  @whisperess33 @agroupiewhore @ethereally-distorted​ @holyjunkie