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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 2 years

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Rolling - Chapter Two

Just a hunt fic with lots of weirdly close brother moments.

Words: 3788

Relationship: Just the brothers being weirdly close, no wincest, no smut, but this definitely qualifies as weirdcest.

Warnings: Angst.

Read it on AO3 here

Read from the beginning here

“Beginner’s luck.” Dean said, trying not to grumble but hearing it in his own voice anyway.

They’d climbed into the Impala just before dawn, the trees silhouetted against the brightening sky , Dean up front, Sam in the back, their usual places, and passed out. When the sun finally rose up high enough to shine over the tops of the trees, and right through the windows of the car, the air, still crisp and crystal clear, offered no filtering or muting of its brilliance. Dean figured they’d gotten about three and a half hours of sleep, at most, which wasn’t nearly enough but was likely to be all he got until nightfall. There was a potential case in Chicago, which was a solid ten hour drive away.

As soon as he started moving around, Dean knew it was going to be a bad day, but when Sam said that he felt fine, and actually looked like he meant it, it just turned Dean’s mood from bad to worse. He knew that some people felt fine after the first time they took ecstasy, but he had never been that lucky. Coming down off the stuff made him sullen, irritable, and kicked his natural depressive tendencies into high gear. Sam seemed to sense it and was quiet and quick to get ready to go. He was waiting in the passenger seat when Dean came back from taking a piss against a tree.

Before they got on the highway, Sam pointed to a greasy looking truckstop diner, “Food?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“Do you want to stop?” It came out harsh and kind of accusatory.

“Not really.” Sam said.

“Then why did you mention it?” But it wasn’t really a question and Sam was smart enough to not rise to the bait. Dean couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse.

Just before noon, Dean had to pull over. The car needed gas and they both had to pee. Sam went inside to return the restroom key to the clerk, and came back with a couple of plastic wrapped sandwiches. He didn’t say anything, just handed a sandwich to Dean and proceeded to unwrap his. He ate it in what seemed like four bites.

“Why don’t you let me drive for a while?”

He almost said no, but his stomach lurched with the first bite and he decided that eating and maybe taking a quick nap might do him some good.

“Fine.” and he traded places with his brother.

Out on the road again, Dean forced himself to eat but without the distraction of driving, his mind wouldn’t shut up. Sam didn’t know, because Dean hadn’t said anything at all about it, but when the shadow person had squeezed his heart, it had also squeezed a lot of thoughts and fears to the surface. Even through the serotonin bliss of the ecstasy, it had managed to drag some of the nastier spiders up from the depths of Dean’s mind. Sam resented him for dragging him back into all this crap, and only tolerated him because he didn’t have anyone else. Not that Dean would have let him go be with someone else, not his pathetic, clingy self. Although Sam was going to leave again, it was only a matter of time. The next chance that came along, the next excuse, and Dean would be left alone with nothing but the raw hollow ache inside him that nothing seemed to fill when he was out there on his own, just another piece of garbage drifting through the world.

His head slowly slid against the window as he fell asleep, but to him it felt like he just sank beneath the surface of a pool of negativity and self hate. The dream seemed to start immediately.

“I can’t stay here, Dean. I’m leaving.” and Sam, looking sad and lost, slung his backpack over one shoulder and walked out the door. Dean was right behind him, but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Dean!” Sam screamed from somewhere far off.

Dean ran through an empty parking lot, down an alley, he was running along a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, through a forest and his side was cramping up, and his breath was coming in painful gasps.

“Dean!” and Sam’s voice, full of pain and fear, came from somewhere just out of sight.

Dean turned around and there was his brother, laying crumpled in the corner of a dirty warehouse, a werewolf looming over him. Dean didn’t hesitate, he put himself between Sam and the monster just as it brought its claws down. The real memory of claws tearing his flesh flickered through, and then he was the one on the floor, bleeding out, and it was Sam standing above him.

“Why did you do that? I can take care of myself, Dean.” and Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out the door, more irritated this time than sad.

Dean ran out right after him and onto a college campus with students walking everywhere. Sam was way ahead of him. Dean couldn’t catch up, there were too many people in the way.

“Dean!” Sam screamed. But everyone looked like Sam from the back, same jacket, same backpack, and he couldn’t tell which direction the shout had come from.

“Dea…!!” Sam came flying out from behind a corner and slammed into a wall, a demon slowly advancing on him. Dean had Ruby’s knife in his hand and he charged at the black-eyed son of a bitch. But it easily caught him by his throat and squeezed. Dean’s windpipe collapsed and his neck snapped. The demon dropped him like a ragdoll and Dean fell at Sam’s feet.

“I need to go, Dean. You have to let me go.” Sam said before he turned and walked off.

Dean fell into darkness and landed in a graveyard. Sam was wearing a red suit, his eyes black as coal. As Dean approached, Sam started to swell, to stretch. His face distended, features bulging as he laughed, until his skin split open and a gigantic, red, horned Devil ripped out of him like he was a tear-away suit.

“NOOOOO!!!” Dean screamed and fell to his knees.

“Stop holding me back, Dean, I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.” Sam said defiantly as he stepped out from behind the Devil. “You need to let me go, this isn’t healthy. I’m not going to follow you around like a lovesick puppy anymore. I don’t need you.”

Dean couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, even though he wanted to shout, to be angry, to stop him, but his heart was ripping apart. Why couldn’t he stop him? He couldn’t stop him from leaving or from getting hurt, no matter what he did.

Sam leaned down into Dean’s face, his eyes glowing with some malevolent inner fire. “I don’t need you and I don’t want you, you’re angry and you’re corrupt and pathetic. Just a sick, sad, perverted, worthless nobody. I hate y…”

A shining blade cut through Sam’s neck, severing his head cleanly from his body.

“Dean.” Sam’s head mouthed his name.

His vision was blurring and his throat ached from holding in the scream that was trying to claw its way out of him. If he let it out, if he started screaming, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop.

“Dean, wake up!” Something grabbed him by the shoulder and started to shake him. His eyes snapped open and he gasped, feeling his heart pounding inside his chest.

Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, the grip a little hard, and he looked worried.

Dean breathed in sharply through his nose and then out through his mouth. His hand came up and rubbed his face. His cheeks were wet.

“Hey, are you okay? You were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Dean tried to get his heart to calm the fuck down. He looked around and had to squint, the sun was shining brightly at a low enough angle the roof didn’t block it.

“Where are we?”

“I70, coming up on Triadelphia.”

“We’re halfway there?” Dean looked around again, trying to shake off the nightmare. They were pulled over to the side of a highway.

“It’s been about three hours since we switched. You just started shouting and thrashing around in your sleep.”

Dean wiped his face on his sleeve and sank back against the seat, breathing out heavily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Sam put the car in drive and checked his mirrors, “there’s an exit coming up with a few motels. We’re going to get a room for the night and get something real to eat. The thing in Chicago will still be there tomorrow. ” He started going and pulled back onto the road in a gap in traffic.

Dean was still trying to shake off the lingering strands of the nightmare so Sam got no argument as he took Exit 11 - 41 Dallas Pike and pulled into the Econo Lodge parking lot.

After they’d gotten settled and had taken showers, changed the clothes they’d been wearing for the last 36 hours, they found a local restaurant by a nearby truck stop called, eloquently enough, Ruttenbucks.

“Evening, fellas. I’m Chrissie. What can I get for ya?” The waitress asked. She looked to be in her thirties, with medium brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and a black tee shirt with the restaurant logo in orange over her heart. A gold wedding band with a modest diamond ring graced her left hand.

“I’ll have the Smokey Mountain Burger, medium, with fries instead of chips and a beer, whatever’s on tap. Thanks.” Dean said with a smile, the idea of a big old bacon cheeseburger making his stomach growl.

She nodded and looked at Sam.

“Uh, the pulled chicken salad with Balsamic vinaigrette.” His jaw clenched for just a second, like he could sense Dean’s eyes rolling, which they were. “And I’ll have a beer too.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.” Sam said with a polite smile as she started to walk away.

“Oh, hey, Chrissie?”

She turned back towards Dean.

“Can we also get an order of the grilled pierogies with onions?” He said with a hopeful smile.

“Of course!” She said and smiled back at him before heading to the bar to put in their order. Sam saw Dean’s eyes focus on her ass before turning back to him.

Dean never failed to be Dean, he thought

Unlike the club from the night before, Sam and Dean blended in a little too well here. Everything was wood paneling and mounted deer heads and antlers. The other customers were mostly burly, redneck-types in trucker caps, camo, plaid and well-worn denim. The place had a real salt-of-the-earth vibe.

When the food came, Dean ate with gusto, his appetite obviously bouncing back and it set Sam’s mind at ease a bit, even if watching his brother eat was somewhat embarrassing. Dean had grease smeared around his mouth, his lips glistening with it, and egg yolk was dripping from the corner of his mouth. Then there was the pornographic moaning, “Mmmmm! Oh god! Mmm.”

“Dude.” Sam said.

“What?” Dean asked around a mouthful of burger. “It’s good.”

Sam gave a little shake of his head, his brow furrowing. “Use your napkin?”

“Alright Felix, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dean finished the burger in a couple more bites, his cheeks stuffed like a squirrel, picked up his napkin and daintily patted the corners of his mouth in mock propriety as he chewed.

Sam laughed. “That is not going to cut it, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just jealous because you only had a salad. Here,” he stabbed a pierogi with his fork and held it out towards Sam, “try one of these. Come on. Try it.”

Sam wrinkled up his nose. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Your loss.” Dean said as he shoved the entire thing into his mouth, butter dripping down his chin.

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

***

Back in the motel room, after Dean had washed the remains of dinner off his face, he’d stretched out in bed and flipped through the meager selection of channels before finally settling on some HGTV show about flipping houses.

“Really?” Sam had asked.

“Shut up.”

But it seemed to do the trick because Sam heard soft snores coming from the other bed a few minutes later. He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and turned the tv off before rolling over and drifting off to sleep himself.

“Sam.”

It was said so quietly that it took Sam a minute to realize that it hadn’t been part of his dream. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked around the room. Dean was laying on his back, eyes scrunched closed, breathing fast and shallow.

“No.” Dean mumbled quietly, talking in his sleep.

Sam pushed up on his elbows and looked at the clock. They’d only been asleep for maybe half an hour.

“No, don't,” a little louder. Then, “Sam, no!”

“Hey, Dean.” Sam said.

“Don’t,” Dean said, and the raw fear that one word carried made Sam get up and reach out to touch Dean’s arm.

“Dean. Wake up.”

“Don’t go, Sam!” His head tossed back and forth. “Get away from him! SAM!”

Gripping his brother’s upper arm, Sam shook him. “Dean! Wake up!”

Tears were streaming out of Dean’s eyes. “No, Sammy, don’t leave.”

“Dean! I’m not leaving. I’m right here. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” Sam’s other hand gave a few gentle slaps to Dean’s cheek, “Come on, wake up, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, “Sam?”

“Yeah, I’m right here. It’s okay, Dean. It was just a nightmare.”

Dean’s eyes blinked rapidly a few times as he looked around before settling on Sam. Sam was completely unprepared for the sudden, fierce hug that Dean pulled him into, and he almost fell on top of him on the bed.

“Whoa! It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.” He repeated as he awkwardly hugged back. “It was just a dream.”

After a minute, Dean let go. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Sam sat down on the side of his bed as Dean got up and swung his legs over the edge of his own, putting his feet on the floor. Dean wiped at his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam said gently, trying to walk that fine line between being caring but not too caring. He knew from long experience that moments like this were delicate for Dean. Sometimes he would open up and let his problems and fears and worries spill out between them. But if Sam pushed at all his brother would clam up tight, and whatever was bothering him would just keep festering until it leaked out again and again.

Dean looked at him and Sam could see the wheels grinding in his head. Dean looked away, looked around, looked down at his own hands. Sam just waited.

“It’s stupid.”

“Not if it’s bothering you this much.”

“It’s,” he shook his head and closed his eyes to say the rest, “it’s just old fears, I guess. Got all stirred up when that thing…” he opened his eyes, still looking down though and rubbed his chest, right over his heart. He didn’t say anything else and the silence stretched out between them.

“I’m not going to leave.” Sam finally said quietly.

Dean looked up at him and the doubt that was there for just a second, just a heartbeat, cut right through Sam. But then Dean gave a small smile (that didn’t really reach his eyes, Sam noted), nodded and stood up. Sam watched him walk to the bathroom and close the door without saying anything else.

Sam blinked his eyes, willing them to stay dry, and he swallowed down his own insecurities as they started to well up. He deserved that doubt, he knew. He had left Dean, more than once. Every chance he’d gotten, in fact, he’d cut and run. At the time, he had been blissfully unaware of anything but his own need to try whatever he could to find a normal life. But knowing now what that had done to Dean would eat away at him if he let it. Instead he took a long breath, in and out, and reaffirmed to himself that he would do whatever he had to, for as long as he had to (for the rest of his life) to make it up to Dean.

Although it took Sam a long time to unwind, once Dean was settled watching a movie on Sam’s laptop, he finally managed to get a few hours of sleep, drifting into fitful sleep sometime well after midnight. When he woke up, Dean was still awake, sitting at the little table by the window still looking at the laptop but with earbuds in so he wouldn’t disturb Sam. A steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

They didn’t talk about the nightmares. Sam got up, they both got ready to go, loading their stuff into the car, and headed for Chicago. Dean insisted on driving. He didn’t sing along with the radio, he didn’t tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel, he didn’t talk at all except when he had to, all the way to the city. The time for dealing with whatever this was would come eventually so Sam just let the silence roll on and did his best to ignore the growing dark circles under his brother’s eyes and the dimples that only appeared when he was annoyed.

The deaths in Chicago turned out to be exactly what they figured, vampires. A nest of them had set up shop and were culling victims and recruiting new members to their fang club at a bar called The Empty Bottle. They had obviously been trying to be careful, to keep a low profile, they just didn’t keep it low enough. It took about 24 hours of investigating for Sam to make the connection with the bar, and then just an hour or so in the place to spot a vamp and follow it back to the nest.

“Looks like there might be about a dozen of them. That’s not a walk in the park.” Sam said.

Just then a group of nine vampires left the nest, split into ones and twos, and wandered out, probably to hunt.

“Odds just got a lot better. I say we hit the nest now, wait around, and pick off the rest as they come back. We should have it cleared by morning.” Dean got out of the car , a cloud of trillium, saffron and skunk cabbage smoke pouring out of the car, and opened the trunk. Sam joined him, strapping a machete to his belt and loading a dart gun with dead man’s blood syringes.

They had the element of surprise, thanks in large part to the obnoxiously loud music that was banging out from the stereo and were able to take out the vampires that had stayed in the loft quickly, all at once.

“Did they really stay behind just to fuck?” Dean wondered out loud.

Sam shrugged, wiping blood from the blade of his machete onto a couch cushion next to the tangle of beheaded, naked bodies. “The others will smell the blood when they return. But the music should mask our heartbeats.”

“Great. So now we wait.” And they took up positions near the door, where they wouldn’t be seen right away and they waited in silence.

***

“That was the dumbest bunch of vamps I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how they made it this long.” Dean said as he walked into their hotel room just after dawn.

“I think they were all recently turned.”

“Which means there may be an older one around here somewhere. We should get ourselves a few states away before nightfall.”

They packed up their stuff and were headed south by 8am.

They made it to Noel, Missouri just north of the Arkansas state line by sunset and checked into a room at Arthur Murray’s Motel. Dean had made a joke about Sam taking dance lessons while they were there that Sam didn’t laugh at. The room had a rustic, mountain lodge motif and two queen-sized beds, brown leather overstuffed chairs, and all the other usual stuff, mini fridge, microwave, tiny coffee maker, dresser with a tv on it, etc..

Even though it had been a couple of days since he’d slept, and he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before that, Dean still made a quick run out to a liquor store, loaded up on beer and a bottle of whiskey before settling in for the night. It took a six pack and about a 1/4th of the bottle of whiskey before he finally passed out just after midnight. But just minutes after his breathing had shallowed out with sleep, Sam heard a quiet, mumbled, “no.” Dean’s brow scrunched up and his head slowly shook back and forth.

Without thinking about anything other than the fact that they both needed to get some real sleep, Sam reached over and covered one of his brother’s hands with his own, applying gentle pressure. “I’m right here, Dean. I’m not leaving.”

Still sound asleep, Dean clutched at Sam’s hand with both of his.

“I’m not leaving, Dean. I’m staying right here. Get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

***

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinking to clear his vision and freeing his hand so he could rub the sleep out of them. He wondered what time it was, felt like he’d been asleep for a week and he raised his head up to look around. Sam was sprawled out next to him, still sound asleep, but on Dean’s bed instead of his own. He realized that he’d had to let go of Sam’s hand when he’d moved it, that he’d been clutching onto him in his sleep.

“What the hell?” he said quietly, a barely audible grumble. He turned and looked at the clock. It was almost 11am. He didn’t remember falling asleep, he’d drunk himself into unconsciousness, hoping to escape the stupid nightmares this time. He thought back and even as his dreams were turning to vapor and wisping away he recalled one moment. Instead of running away again, Sam had come back and held onto him.

“I’ll be right here when you wake you.”

“Screw getting up,” he thought, closed his eyes again and drifted, half dozing, until Sam finally woke up.

Next Chapter --->

#spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #weirdcest #gencest #angst

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

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Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

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You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.”

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!” you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

#acofas #acotar #azriel #acomaf #azriel x reader #acowar #acofs #acosf

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rabidpotato · 3 years

Text

I have Castlevania brain rot send help

Ho boy. I have FEELINGS.

Season 4 spoilers and (longwinded) Discourse(TM) below the cut

A happy ending? In MY Castlevanias? It’s more likely than you think. With as grimdark as the series has been I fully expected to have my heart torn out and shat on, so to get an actual satisfying happy ending was a whole lungful of fresh air. Gimme that sweet sweet rush of Everybody Lives Nobody Dies, I need that shit pumped straight into my poor serotonin-starved brain.

What a hell of a season. There was enough material there for at least two seasons (and I would have LOVED to have two seasons, but that’s just because I’m greedy and want more…) and I was skeptical that they could even try to wrap up all those threads..and then they DID IT. Hot damn.

Hot Takes:

In this house we stan Greta and will tolerate no disrespect against our sword-and-hammer wielding queen. I love her, and I love her and Alucard’s dynamic with the deliberate parallels to Dracula and Lisa. I think she’s good for him.

TREVOR AND SYPHA UGH I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH I’m out here crying ugly tears at how much this stinky himbo and tiny nuke love each other ;______; Battle Couple OTP.

I would watch the shit out of an entire season of everybody building the new village and Trevor and Sypha learning how to be parents and Alucard and Greta getting closer and everybody just being HAPPY. This is because I am trash, not because there would actually be any storytelling value in such a thing. Same thing with onscreen kisses between Trevor and Sypha. Is it necessary? No. Doesn’t mean I don’t want it. But hey, that’s what fandom is for, right? I’ll just be over here drawing beetus-inducing fluff and being vaguely disgusted with myself.

Papa Trevor would be so soft. I think my ovaries just exploded.

I 100% expected Trevor to die and leave Sypha grieving and pregnant with the way they teased it in the trailer and the way it would have thematically fit with the rest of the series, and I am SO GLAD he didn’t. I’m tired of sad endings. I really love that he gets to be part of this world of people who know how to build things.

“I love you.” “I know.”

That single flash of Sypha’s face as he’s fading out knowing he’s going to die and being at peace with it, augh my fucking heart. T_T

Horse is secret MVP. That horse knows things.

Isaac confirmed for a) stand user and b) monster fucker. King out here living his best life, you love to see it.

But for reals tho, Isaac’s arc was one of my favorites. Nice fakeout with the conquest line in the trailer. The philosophical discussions on the nature of humans and night creatures, the way he comes to realize that he (and Hector, and by extension his own night creatures) is/are more than a tool to be used in the hands of others, the way he reclaims his own agency and decides he’s going to live...I fucking loved it. (Also paves the way for post-series forgehusbands…)

SO FUCKING HAPPY FOR STRIGA AND MORANA. I was holding my breath expecting them to get horribly killed the entire time and then they just...weren’t. The hot vampire wives got to literally ride off into the sunset (sunrise?) together, in a way that made sense. The General and the Organizer looked at the data on the ground, discussed, and made the calculated decision to stick with what really matters to them, not just Carmilla’s ambitions. More of this, please! Would have loved to see Striga fight more than once, though. Also I would shank a man for Morana’s cape.

Respect for Carmilla for going out on her own terms, even if it did feel a little heavy-handed. The cinematography of her and Isaac’s fight sure as hell made up for it though- that was one of the prettiest fights of the series.

Reunited trio’s fight was the other prettiest fight of the series. Holy fuck, what gorgeous animation.

I actually liked that St Germain’s lady friend never spoke- it reinforced the way that he has mythologized her to the point where she’s not even a person, just an ideal. It was also exactly what he deserved that she turned her back on him in the end. She’s just not that into you, bro.

Varney is a hoot. A greasy, flea-infested slimy hoot. Nice twist, too. Death’s design is *chef kiss*

Loved the themes of moving on and rebuilding and change and how there’s a pretty clear split between the people who are able to adapt and change (and live), and those “relics of the old world” who can’t or won’t. Ratko was criminally underused in this respect. I think there just wasn’t enough time.

Quibbles:

Pacing. I know Castlevania is notorious for uneven pacing, but in this case I think this is on Netflix- they should have been given a full two seasons to wrap this up, just to give things a chance to breathe. As it was, though, I think the writers did the best possible job given the constraints they were under.

Zamfir should have lived to learn the lesson about caring for the people who are still alive, and been the one to take charge of rebuilding Targoviste for the living. Having her die was straight-up pointless in a predictable way.

Did Trevor just straight-up forget he has TWO weapons with range when fighting Ratko? You have like a 30 foot reach what are you doing bro

Lenore is Problematic, and I wish there had been more tension between her and Hector. Like, I know Stockholm Syndrome is a thing, but he’s weirdly chill with her in a way that glosses over just what she did to him. Also I would have liked to see more self-awareness of “Oh, being a pet in a cage really is shitty, no matter how nice the cage. Now I know why what I did to you was wrong” before she dips. Her ending sure was poetic, though.

Wasn’t Trevor’s left arm broken in that last fight? How the heck is he even able to use it at the end? Also damn dude it’s been two weeks you should probably at least have washed those gaping wounds by now. Do you want sepsis? Because that’s how you get sepsis.

Unpopular Opinions:

Look I love Dracula/Lisa as much as the next shipper but “Hey we’re alive again for some reason!!” was totally out of left field. It felt like something out of a fix-it fic and it was just kinda baffling and jarring. Also go see your fucking kid, jfc you two are terrible parents.

Is Lisa just...kinda fine with the fact that Dracula tried to commit genocide in her name and almost killed their son? That must have been an awkward conversation.

I’m actually cool with Alucard spilling his life story to Greta on the march. He’s starving for human interaction, who’s to say he wouldn’t just want to TALK about what he’s been through? It’s treated in a way that’s a bit flippant for my taste, but we’ve seen enough of his trauma onscreen. I want to focus on his healing.

I’m hesitant to kick this particular hornet’s nest, but I really don’t think the ot3 has to be sexual? If it is, it damn well be an ot4 polycule with Greta. I see them more as two couples that are close friends and found family. But that’s the great thing about fandom! Rock on, shippers of all flavors, there’s room enough for everybody.

In Conclusion (jesus fuck how much did I write)

Castlevania pretty

Have you seen my braincell I think I misplaced it

Moar plz

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binniesthighs · 4 years

Text

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: I sincerely apologize for the pain caused with last chapter...so naturally, i had to go and write more pain muahaha. i also apologize for the wait on this one, for some reason i had a weirdly hard time getting this one out of my head, ahhh i think I’m just lil sad about it all ending :( but! we’re almost out of the woods cuties!! thank you so very much reading as always!! <3 this is the second to last chapter and idk how to feel ahhhh

Part 7

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, some kissin’ and that good, good makin’ out, soft n’ intimate body touchinggg, mentions of getting drunk in the past, mentions of a toxic familial relationship, gahhh lots of crying and emotions in this one but it’s bc we’re figuring things out :)

CW: dub-con-ish scene due to conflicting feelings but it gets stopped pretty quick

Word count: 7.6k

Chapters

Jisung shared his apartment with two equally messy boys. You had forgotten their names despite meeting them and seeing them around on more than one occasion. Lucky for you, they each had distinguishing features so you named them as such: tall one and younger one with white hair. Once upon a time the four of you had hung out and they weren’t unbearable, just a bit cookie-cutter as you had called it. Both of them were in the same music school as Jisung and didn’t have many other interests outside going to music shows and playing PC games while loudly shouting.

There was never food in that apartment but somehow there was always dirty dishes in the kitchen. Sure, it smelled a bit like dirty socks, but you never paid too much attention to that when you would clambering in the door with your lips locked with Jisung’s. It was strange walking in not doing so. Tall one and younger one with the white hair sat on the couch eating pizza with feet kicked up on their banged up coffee table. They didn’t say anything as they watched you walk in, but merely rolled their eyes and pretended that you weren’t there anymore.

“We can go to my room.” Jisung raked his hand through his greasy brown strands, then kicked aside approximately ten pairs of sneakers. He held onto your hand tightly--so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

You nearly slipped on that rug that lined the wooden floors of their hallway. It wasn’t the first time.

Just as the rest of the apartment was, Jisung’s room was strewn with all kinds of random articles such as dirty clothes, tangled up cords and old to-go containers. His bed was unmade; it was those navy sheets that likely hadn’t been washed in several weeks. You could never really pinpoint what they smelled like, just that they smelled like him. You had spent nights there too, but they were nothing memorable. No groggy mornings with coffee or sunlight streaked onto his features for you to admire in the golden sheen. It had been running late to class and the dozens of times that you had left jewelry and hair-ties.

“Wanna sit down?” Jisung patted the spot next to him, and you did so.

The two of you sat in silence, the atmosphere became thick with the tangible sense of disaster that hung around the both of you. It was catastrophic.

His trembling hand came reaching for yours, and you let him take it. He sniffled, and it triggered your eyes to fill with the same hot tears.

For the first time, you wondered, what am I doing here?

“You want to lay down?” His puffy eyes asked you.

You nodded, crinkling those bedsheets that were probably full of dust.

In all your months of knowing him, you had never, never cuddled. This was the first time and you really weren’t even tied together anymore.

His nose had turned pink, and he rubbed a bit of snot away with his wrist.

“Thank you for coming here.” Jisung whispered. “But--what are you doing here? I thought that you were with Changbin now?”

I am. You thought briefly. Am I?

“I just...so confused right now. I don’t know...there’s just...I don’t know...”

A tear fell down Jisung’s cheek, and you couldn’t fathom why he would be the one crying when it should’ve been you. You wiped it away. You had never thought of it before, but seeing him cry brought a sting to your chest.

Jisung leaned forward, and the bed creaked lightly, then he kissed you. It wasn’t really a passionate one, but one that he had used to say more than he could himself. His lips tasted salty running over yours, and your brain froze deciding what to do. Jisung never changed: as broken as it felt, he was still starving, needy, and rough. You tried to find meaning in it, or if it made you feel.

It didn’t.

Jisung held your face in his hands, and with a hesitant sigh, he said, “I really, really wanted to do that for so long.”

As desperate he had seemed for you, you couldn’t find the same desire if you had tried. Maybe, you had to find it?

“Kiss me again.” You hushed.

He licked his lips with a gaze softening. “Okay.”

This time he swung his legs around your hips and straddled you with the kind of pressure that you had craved, once upon a time. He bent down to press even more of his heated desire on your skin. He was a good kisser, and you remembered once again how you really had wanted to have him kiss you like this, once upon a time. His tongue slicked against your bottom lip and you gave him the permission, testing it out just to see.

You had thought back then that he was unreal.

Jisung rutted his hips down into your waist, and you had already felt how he had hardened in his sweatpants.

You knew how it would go...or how it used to.

“Baby, I want you so bad. You have no idea. I-I don’t think that I want anyone else besides you--” He broke to meet your eyes. Your world blurred, and sobbed out from under his gaze.

What am I doing here?

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Worry flooded over his face.

“I-I can’t do this, I shouldn’t do this, fuck--what the fuck am I doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please just...get off of me. Please...”

He did so, but still looked just as shocked. “Did I do something wrong?”

He too started to tear up again. At last you could finally name what it was that tugged at his soft brown eyes. Fear.

“Can you please tell me what I did wrong? Y/n, I don’t understand, you’re confusing me so much--”

“--This isn’t right Jisung!” You nearly yelled with broken sobs. “We aren’t right.”

Jisung’s face fell, crestfallen. “N-no--”

“--We destroy each other!! Don’t you see?? Never have we ever been happy together, we’re just...coping! That isn’t love!!”

“Then why the hell am I in love with you??” Jisung spat out the words, and then it was immediately evident that he had regretted saying them.

A deadly silence fell over the room, and all that was left was the both of your weak sniffles.

“What did you just say?”

Jisung grabbed one the pillows then threw it down on the floor with a poof.

“Fuck!!!” He literally shouted. His face had turned red, and snot dripped down to his lip. “I have fucking feelings for you okay?? Is that enough for you?”

“Ji...yo-you can’t--”

“I can’t what?! Is it a fucking crime? Listen, I’m scared out of my fucking mind saying this to you, alright? I don’t know why the hell I am but--”

“--We-we can’t, Jisung..”

“Can’t what?!” He threw his hands up into he air in his exasperation. “Stop fucking confusing me!!”

“We destroy eachother.”

Jisung grabbed another pillow to pummel to the ground, but then stopped himself, digging his fingers into the fabric until his nailbeds turned white.

“We hurt eachother too much. An-and...I don’t think that it’s really our fault either. It’s just...who we are. I can’t give you what you want and you can’t give me what I want.”

Jisung sobbed out horribly, then buried his face in his hands.

“But I fell in love with you...?” His voice was terribly cracked.

You watched as tears dropped into your lap and made little wet dots on your jeans. “I fell in love with Changbin...”

His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but still glistened, like the way that oil would slick in rainbows with the snow.

“Then what are you doing here?” He asked one more time, but now he had appeared to be utterly broken.

You rose from the bed, looking down at him and drying your face. “I...think I know why.”

“And?”

Outside of Jisung’s window, the view was similar to your own: city lights in an array of colors; each of them like stars on the ocean. On the wall adjacent from his bed, you noticed there was a crack. You had never realized that it was there before.

“I’m admitting something that I should’ve a long time ago.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You had likely forgotten to close a window in your apartment somewhere because the winter cold had pervaded the whole space. It took you about ten minutes to realize that it was in your bathroom from when you had taken a shower earlier to air let out the steam.

The second thing that you noticed was the crumpled up blanket resting on the couch from before. For some odd reason, you felt the strong desire to wrap it all around yourself like you could capture some essence of him in it. Sure enough it did smell like that scent of his that you had grown so used to. You let the blanket trail behind you has you made your way to your room to pull on one of his shirts over your head.

“Who told you that you could look so cute in that?” He had said one time.

[23:16] Bin

me: can i call you?

[00:18] Bin

me: if you’re asleep, can I call you in the morning? if that’s okay? i said things that I didn’t mean...i just didn’t know it then.

i’m so sorry

how i treated you...you didn’t deserve that

i understand if you’re mad at me. you have every right.

i’m sorry that i couldn’t see that things that you were trying to show me.

i see them now.

You had thought that now the snow had finally faded into the edge of the winter that near it’s conclusion. Early March, and you wanting nothing more for spring buds to peep from the snow capped floral beds on street corners and for the white hugging the trees to dissapear forever. The winter had felt as if it had lasted for a year--even though this year you had seen less snow than other years.

There had been a time when you firmly believed that once the snow melted, it would get better. Snow was a bitter memory, and it was curse that had to happen each and every year.

The night that you had met Changbin, it had been cold. Cold like the winter that you had tried to hide from. You hadn’t thought of it until now, but he was much like the way that snowflakes melted on your skin. It reminded you of the icy coldness of the world for fleeting moments, then faded just as quickly as it arrived. The little wet mark of him warmed on your skin.

Outside of the miniscule window to your living room, snowflakes got caught up in the edges of the frame, and sprinkled the surface of the glass in their variety of gorgeous fractals and unique shapes. A full moon was painted into the sky with a brightness that could’ve paralleled the sun on this clear night swimming in deep azure.

You hugged the fabric of one of his shirts even closer to your frame, pretending for a moment that it was him that had been hugging you and not the cotton.

“I’m so sorry.” You cried out weakly to the empty room.

Your phone screen flashed with the time: [00:42]. You wondered, maybe he really had given up like he said that he would’ve. Maybe he walked home in the shivering cold, hands shoved into his pockets and decided that he was done waiting; that you weren’t worth his time and the effort. Maybe he walked in his front door, closed it behind himself, and said the words, This is it. No more. Maybe he walked into his room and cried. Maybe he didn’t. You couldn’t decide if you had wanted him to cry for you or not. Both hurt.

[01:13.]

Your eyes dragged with sleep, but your mind moved faster than the pace of your dry eyelids. Dust had settled on the white sheet that you had drawn over the painting in your room. On the underside of the sheet, globs of acrylic had dried and turned into multicolored flecks: a bit like the sheet was a piece of art and and of itself. It was nearly finished, and only had about one more quadrant left that was void of color.

Your wooden pallet had been resting by the window, so it was cold to the touch--as were the little aluminum bottles of paint resting beside it. You used your shirtsleeve to dry away one tear that had battled its way to your lid, then sat back on your desk chair, facing the easel head on.

Black first. Then deep blue, then bright yellow, burnt orange and gold.

Hairs brushed over the canvas, and swept in wide strokes back and forth. With an empty mind, you smeared over the dark colors that faded to the edge of the canvas into the glowing light of the edge of the alleyway painted here. His figure was prominent, even though you couldn’t see his face. He wore black clothes that were simple. Frankly, you didn’t really remember what he had worn that night, but it didn’t matter much. Neon blue and red restaurant signs met on as reflection on his dark black hair.

It was as if your chest and hand had been weighted down even further, but you fought through it to raise them. While you let the tears fall at first, they dried after long and made the skin of your cheeks tout. The room was silent, and so it was outside with the drifting snow. Soon, the painting would be finished, and you could sleep. You couldn’t sleep until then.

if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it?

The pink lights lining your room provided the only light to the room, however not much else was needed than that.

You bit your lip, now mixing yellow with red.

If you couldn’t tell him. You hoped with every fiber that this would.

[04:51] Bin

me: if you’re up to it, can we talk? or, i can call you?

goodnight

wait its morning

good morning then.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chan was good at keeping his promises. There was not one time in your whole time in knowing him that he hadn’t kept a promise, no matter how absurd it might’ve been. He had promised you to buy you ice cream on the first day of snow, and he had promised to share his lyrics with you, no matter how much they would make him cringe. He promised that if you ever needed someone to watch your guilty pleasure reality shows with, he would be over as soon as he could. Next to Felix, you had figured a long time ago that if there were ever people in your life that you were destined to meet, he was one of them. Admittedly, there had been a time when you had harbored a crush on him, but as usual, you had been best at getting in your own way before anything could’ve happened. This, and you loved him as a friend too much.

Too many jell-o shots were both of your enemies. Halfway into the driest seven minutes in heaven of your life, and halfway into your confession to him, he had passed out right in your arms. You were lucky that he had forgotten the event entirely. Or, he was keeping his promise that you had hurriedly made asking him to forget that it ever happened when you and Felix carted him out of there.

While he was good at keeping promises, you more so wished that he had forgotten that one.

Chan had promised that he would personally use his ID card to get into the soundproof booth in the music department to scream.

You hadn’t ever taken him up on the offer until today.

It was nearly midnight and unopened text messages still sat in in empty bubbles on your phone screen.

Even though you had consistently texted “good morning” and “goodnight” for three days straight, the action of sending them didn’t make you feel any better.

Chan didn’t ask any questions, but merely let you through the halls which echoed from your squeaking wet shoes. The green light of emergency signs appeared to be the only guiding lights, but Chan knew the way well.

“Careful. The floor is slippery. They mop after everyone leaves.” He hushed in the silent hallway.

Your fingers and lips cracked from the cold and felt tingly warming up in the dry heat of the building. The two of you turned two more corners, then Chan carefully wrapped his veiny and red hand over the handle to the door marked with “Studio Five.” He tapped his key to the reader, and it beeped with flashing green and orange lights.

“Here. This is the entrance to the booth. I’ll enter from that door to get to the other side of the glass. You don’t...want me to go in with you?”

“Want me to wreck your ears?” You have him a feeble smile.

He mustered his own kind of strength that he had been keeping up just for you. “Hm. You’re right.” Your friend clicked on the light, and it burned your eyes at first compared to the black hall. “Take...all the time that you need, I’ll just be over there. If you wanna...talk about things, I’m here for that too.”

The booth was an ugly shade of lime green, and you wondered how anyone could ever be creative in a place such as this. On the other side of the tinted glass, you watched as Chan flicked on the light, then made his way to push the button to the little intercom system. His voice buzzed with a tinny sound.

“No one can hear you, so....go nuts.”

The walls were too padded with black foam insulation, and for a moment you considered how strange it was, that you, had entered that place to scream--not make music like the room had been used to. Even though the walls were lime green. It still brought a sense of sadness to your chest.

The room spun lightly behind your eyes, and you panted out frantically.

What the hell am I doing in here?

[23:29] bin

me: I hope that you sleep well tonight. i’m thinking of you.

“Is everything okay in here?” Chan’s voice said over the speakers.

“W-what am I doing here?” You repeated the question, feeling panic rise up your throat.

“Getting your anger out?” He tiled his head. “I-I don’t know why else because you didn’t tell me. You angry at someone? Something?”

“N-no? --I mean, yes...I-I don’t know.” You said with uncertainty. Suddenly the foam walls of the room started to close in. “I need to get out of here.”

“Woah! Woah! Y/n! What’s--” Chan chased you out of the room, back into the empty hallway with the squeaky floors and the green light.

“Hey, let’s just...take a breather here for a sec.” Your friend reached out to smooth down your arms. “If you wanna talk about it, I can help maybe?”

You tore from his gasp, then slumped against the wall to slide all the way down and sit on the cold linoleum floors with the heaters pumping steadily above your head.

“He’s not...messaging me back, and I think that I royally fucked up this time. I think that I finally did it, I finally pushed him too far.”

“Who? Changbin?” Chan crouched down to sit next to you. “Is that what this is about?”

Shallow breaths filled up your lungs, “I think...I think I just lost everything that I could’ve had with him, and it’s all my fault...I’m fucking angry at myself, Chan.”

“A-are you sure?”

“I basically told him that I didn’t know if I wanted to be his girlfriend...after everything that’s happened, everything that he’s done and how patient he’s been...but...there was Jisung an-and...I realize that I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, I want to be with him so fucking badly and I was just too caught up to see it and--”

“--Stop!” Chan barked. “Stop and give yourself a second to breathe! Did you realize that you’re not doing that?

You hadn’t. Nor had your noticed your shaking hands. However, Chan had seen them, and held them with his.

“You said that you do want to be with him but you told him that you didn’t?”

Somewhere in the hallway, one of the emergency floodlights blinked with a harsh white light.

“Yes.”

“And did you tell him that you didn’t mean it?”

“I have but he hasn’t gotten back to me? He would always get back to me, no matter what it was--it makes me worry--”

Chan cupped your hands then brought them to his chest where he held them earnestly. “Some things are out of our control, Y/n. And, I hate to say it but, now, I think you need to come to accept the possibility that maybe...” His gaze softened. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say something more or better but I’m not him and I can’t know...”

You scoffed, “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

Chan tsked, as he often would do with a little sarcastic drag to his voice. “A long time ago I promised you that I would always be honest with you, and you know that I hold to my word.

He rubbed his thumb into your hands.

“Do you want me to say then to go running after him? Throw it all to the wind? Even if it doesn’t end up going your way?”

“...Maybe.” You swiped a tear from the corner of your right eye. “Would it be worth it?”

“Maybe.” He sighed.

A silence filled the hall and the space between you two, and Chan kept holding your hand. It was a simple touch, but you hadn’t realized that you had craved something as such.

“Y/n? Can I say something?”

“Yeah?”

“Even if it isn’t him that it ends up being, I think that you should know that you still deserve happiness in someone. Even after all that you’ve been through, you still do. It sounds like to me...you’re finally realizing it.” He smiled with a bit of a wrinkle to his lips. “I’m proud of you.”

You squeezed his hand. “Thank you. Its...been a long time coming.” Your head hit the wall behind you with a slight thud. “I’ve been painting recently. And...it means something to me. I feel like I found something, like I’m seeing something for the first time in a long time and it makes me really... full. Like he does.”

Your friend let go, then went to play with his shoe-laces.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was the final straw?”

“He just...loved me different. Better than I ever could myself, and I think that it made me realize that in order for me to love him too, I had to make peace with myself, and just...” You breathed out a laugh, “...Chill the fuck out. But--I know that I can’t let go of it forever. What happened, made me. I can’t give that up, but that doesn’t mean that I should wallow in it forever. I don’t deserve that.”

Chan leaned to give you a light slap to the arm. “Look at you.”

“I...saw Jisung too.”

While anger laced his voice, Chan remained level headed. “...And?”

“Me and him just dug ourselves into a deeper hole. Even he...he could do better. He needs a “Changbin” too. You know? I can’t be that for him. I never was even close. I feel sorry. I should probably see him one last time...”

The image of Jisung’s disparaged face burned in your memory in the midst of it all. Somehow you had forgotten that he had gotten feelings tangled it up in it all, and you had just left. Through all that you had been through with him, you couldn’t let it just go so easily.

“There’s a lot of things that I need to make right.” You sighed out with finality. Next to you, your best friend did the same.

“Whatever happens, Felix and I will be here for you. Like always.”

“Mm. Thank you, Chan. Really. Thank you so much. The two of you are the best friends that I could ask for. I don’t know how you put up with me...”

“Ahhh, don’t mention it.” He shoved his shoulder into yours playfully. “Ya know, if this goes south, we could just date.”

“What?!” Your head whipped over to him so hard it hurt.

“As I recall, about a year ago all it took were some jell-o shots...”

You smacked him upside the head, causing him to burst out laughing in that empty hall.

“I told you to forget about that!!”

“I’m just joking!! Jeez! Can you take a joke!?”

You laughed with him, your goofy and kindhearted best friend. You realized it hadn’t happened in quite some time.

“Yeah Changbin is alright, but me and Felix are forever. Got it?” He teased, and you slumped your head on his shoulder.

“I know.”

In your pants pocket, your phone vibrated and flashed with a white light.

[01:36] L. Minho

minho: i fucking hate that i’m in this position

but

bin’s in a bad way and i’m fairly certain that he hasn’t told you about it all

idiot.

anyway, his parents are being shitty assholes and i think that he really needs you right now, even if he isn’t saying anything about it. actually i know that he does.

i also wanna ask you to kindly resolve whatever shit that you have going on before you walk in our door. out of kindness for both yourself and him.

sorry not sorry. i really do love the both of you and it hurts me to see it be like this.

i suggest that you come over as soon as you can.

Your heart beat its way into your throat with a million emotions, but out of them all, fear for Changbin ached the most.

“Chan, I have to go.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

It was likely Minho who had buzzed you in.

Luckily, the night had somehow gotten warmer--at least warm enough to where you couldn’t see your breath in front of your face any more. Unfortunately though, you had still worn the shoes that Changbin would scold you for wearing on snow-packed nights. Luckily, the snow had started melted too.

The door clicked when it unlocked, and you slid inside the glass entrance that was smudged with fingerprints and the wet from dog’s noses pressing on the surface.

For a reason unknown to you, you decided to take the stairs--even though he had lived on the seventh floor. Partially you had decided that you had done so because it meant that you had more time with your thoughts; more time to decide if you really had resolved all the shit that you needed to leave on the outside of his doorstop.

You thought back to the painting sitting finished in your room. It waited in all of it’s beauty for the sun to shine on it and the rest of the world to see it. For him to see it. It was for him that you had painted it in the first place. Every ounce of pain and confusion was lathered across the canvas, it was bare for anyone to see after you had kept it concealed for so long.

He would see it.

You took each step slow and carefully, and listened to the way that the sound bounced off of the walls and how the carpet matted on each stoop.

Chan had said, “Even after all that you’ve been through, you still do.”

Minho opened the door after three clicks wearing a bathrobe and slippers. For being so distressed like his message had said, he looked perfectly cozy. You remembered that Minho really was one to keep it all together when shit would get intense. Somehow he had the ability to write whole papers over the course of one day and had passed tests after studying for only four hours. You wished you could manage as well as he could.

“Fuck. It’s late.” He rubbed his eyes. “Come in. Take off your shoes please.”

You did so, and rubbed your toes into their carpet. It was almost as if you were waiting further instructions, but you knew full well what you had to do.

Minho glared at you expectantly. “Well? Shits left outside?”

“Shits left outside.” You repeated with a nod.

“l’ll let him explain. It isn’t really my place. Just--listen to him okay? I think that’s what he needs right now.”

The apartment itself was a bit barren, the only things that were placed in the small space were the things that the inhabitants needed: a dining table, a leather couch, a TV set, a few beanbags and a kitchen kept clean by Minho. It was strange seeing a place so organized and...neat. It was as if this apartment was from an other side of the world compared to what you had grown used to previously. Changbin’s thick and dark black coat hung on one of the dining chairs, the same that he had worn the night that he had last seen you. You wondered if it had been sitting there these past few days.

“Go on.” Minho flapped his hands to usher you down the hallway to Changbin’s room. At the end of the hallway was the bathroom, and seeing it flooded your skin with the feeling of warm water and defrosting skin, lips on lips with heated desire; tracing fingertips that got caught with the translucent stream of water as they brushed down spines and hips. If you could’ve gone back to then and done it all over...you wondered if you would’ve.

“Knock first.” Minho mouthed.

You did, breath hitching when it opened slightly, and you called out his name. “Bin? Its me. Can I...can I come in?”

His hesitant voice called back to you, “Yes.”

He was a crumble on his bed, black socks twisted up with his dark bedsheets and his hoodie riding up his back to expose a sliver of skin where he laid facing away from the door. His beautiful dark hair was knotted.

“B-Bin? A-are you okay?” You advanced forward carefully, reaching out to touch his arm. You had never seen this confident and headstrong man reduced to something so small, it broke your heart into shards to see him as such. You didn’t know what to do with yourself: sit with him? Stand? Crawl in to bed next to him? Unspoken words filled the air, and he sniffed out loudly into it.

“Thank you for messaging me still.” Was what he had said first. “I saw them a little bit ago. I was...too scared to open them at first...your messages. I was...ashamed to...”

“--Bin,” You took two steps closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

He sniffed in with a clogged nose once more. “I’m sorry.”

Two more steps. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t listen to you, and took all of your patience with me for granted. I really don’t deserve it. I tore you up, and that was awful of me. You somehow ended up being collateral damage to me figuring my shit out and I can’t say I’m sorry enough. I understand if you don’t want to keep this going that we--”

“--Can you get into bed with me?” He suddenly interjected. Changbin twisted his hand back as if he knew that yours was there in some superhuman way, and grabbed at it. “It’s...cold.”

Your heart paused, uncertain if you had heard him correctly.

“Please?” Changbin muttered. “Two bodies is warmer than one.”

Silently, you crossed the room and shimmied off your coat so it fell to the floor. It had been partially absentminded, but you had pulled on one of his shirts that day. It was light grey, and had nearly lost all semblance of his scent on it. You pulled the covers over both of you, peering just enough to see his puffed and red eyes and red wet nose. Seeing him like this, you had to fight every instinct to pull him into your arms, but rather keep a respectful distance.

From seeing the way that he dominated the stage to how he looked under the soft glow of your pink lights, to how he had looked as thin and as fragile as glass now, it had all finally made sense to you. As brash and forthcoming as he was, it wasn’t all of who he was in the slightest. If anything, it was who he had pretended to be.

Tears fell over his pink lips. “I didn’t tell you because...I was embarrassed. Fuck,” He laughed a little, “It’s so fucking pathetic. I’m so pathetic for getting so messed up over this all. I-I shouldn’t. That and...it’s not something that you should--”

“--Don’t you dare say that I shouldn’t worry about this Bin. How many times do you need me to say it?” You traced his dark hair over his ear. “What happened to being each other’s problems?”

He smiled with a weak grin, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Minho didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head. “He said that you should be the one to.”

Changbin sighed out, then pulled the comforter up to his nose, adjusting himself to meet your eyes with his that were strained with pink.

“They’re disowning me. For real this time. They asked me to do a legal name change and everything...as if...they’re cutting me out of the family line. Fuck, I mean, they basically are.”

His chest shook with an inhale, and a thick and burning mucus felt as if it had clung to your throat. It was anger and rage, the kind that was so foreign to you, it even started you to feel such a thing.

“Bin, I’m so sorry. They’re...they’re fucking less than human is what they are. Treating you their own son like this...like they think that they can reverse time so that you were never even born of them...” Under the sheets your knuckles clenched so hard it bit the skin of your palms. “I-I’m sorry too...that you were going through this by yourself--”

In one single motion he had spread out his arms to circle them around your upper body and pull it into hm.

There he was again. Rosemary and cedarwood.

You were in shock, but feeling the warmth from his body on yours made you shiver--it was the contact that you had craved so intensely now that you had it, it was so all encompassing that your brain scrambled feeling it.

“Thank you for coming.” He whispered to the top of your head.

Your hands snaked around his body, and you held him back.

In that very moment, you had decided that you would spend the rest of your life holding him back if he would let you. If there was someone out there listening to your thoughts, you prayed that they would let you hold him.

Changbin patted to top of your head with a trembling hand.

“What the fuck do I do?”

Your fingers tugged at the thick cotton of his hoodie.

“They said that either I meet with them to sign away my name, or I pack up, and go back with them as if nothing happened. They said that they were willing to “forgive” everything that I had “done” if I chose to come back home with them, so to school, and forget everything that I’ve ever written, performed...”

“They said that??”

The young man remained silent, but instead nuzzled further into you.

“They said that they could arrange for a meeting with their legal team to finalize it in as little as two days if I decide to do it. Those assholes expedited the whole process and called up their lawyers to make it happen as quick as possible...”

“Bin...” You cooed, and smoothed up and down his back. Being close to him like this you could nearly feel his own heart breaking in his chest against yours.

“Do I forget everything that I was to chase this...dream? Or do I go back, get their support, live a normal life...”

“--Stop.” You gently pushed his hand away to look up at him. “This, all of this is your life Changbin. It’s what you’ve worked hard for relentlessly and it’s what makes you happy, isn’t it? Yeah, it’s harder to do, but you’ve gotten so far, people love you! You’ve made a name for yourself, people want to hear your music--”

“--Yeah, my names gotten itself out there a little too well for my parent’s opinions.”

You wiped a tear cascading from one of his exhausted eyes. “They should be proud of you, not trying to suppress you.”

“They...don’t want me to be Changbin any more. Do you know how that feels? I’ve lived my whole life being me and now they just want to take away the very last thing that I have that they didn’t touch?” He stifled a sob.

“Hey! Just because you change it on paper, doesn’t mean we have to call you that!” You laughed out gently, “If you want to get a driver’s license or something it might be important...but, you’re always going to be Changbin to me, and Minho and everyone else who knows you. A name is just a word. You make up who you really are.”

Changbin laughed out, then returned his hand to pat at your head.

“Who told you to say that?”

You chuckled back at the way that he had turned your words back on you. “No one.”

“I’m just me, but...” Under the covers, your legs intertwined. “I think that if we compare a life of missed oppurtunties to a life where you leave a couple things behind, its worth leaving.”

Body heat swirled between the two of you, and it was as calming as a song. Changbin brought his hand down to caress the side of your cheek with as much gentleness one would with those fragile snowflakes.

Past his shoulder, your eye caught a small piece of paper that had been pasted to the wall above his desk: right in a space where he could see it if he had sat at his desktop. It was crinkled and held several creases and the lead that had been used to draw on it had smudged as if it had rubbed up against itself.

It was a picture of a bench, some Christmas lights, and the city skyline behind it.

Tears flooded your eyes, and then fell freely onto his his fingers where he held your face. They caught in the corners of your mouth, and heated up your eyes.

“Woah, hey, what is it?” Changbin rubbed away the wet and pulled you even closer to him.

“Y-you kept it?” Your voice wavered.

“Kept what?”

You pointed a shaking finger to your drawing posted on the wall, and his eyes widened at first like he was embarrassed, then he slowly faded into something much softer.

He nearly whispered the words, “Of course.”

“W-why?”

“It reminded me of you and that night. I think that I realized something then.”

“What’s that?” He wiped your tears once more, stretching the skin of your face as he did so.

“I realized that, well...I’m in over my head here.” He laughed out lightly. “Do you need me to say it again? I love you a fuck ton, alright? Getting over things, and healing from things...it’s not easy. You...don’t have to apologize for the mess of things and what it did to you. It’s not your fault.”

You threw your head into the crook of his neck to sob openly. But I hurt you. I made you wait...I-I don’t wait you to wait any longer.”

“And I made you wait too. My stupid...my parents fucked me up too, and I couldn’t get over the fact that this fucking mess that they made of me put a wedge between me and you. I didn’t feel like you deserved...I’m a mess too. A fucking nervous, cocky bastard at times and I don’t know how to talk about it. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“What?? No--”

“You wanna call it even then?” He grinned out, and it was his sly little smile that you had found yourself thinking of after you had seen it for the first time those months ago.

“I--”

“Damn. It does feel kinda good to talk about things.” He joked.

You cried out his name even harsher, then melted into his whole body. He was boundless in the way that he had understood you, and how he had looked you without condition or pause.

You don’t have to be scared any more.

With your face muffled in the fabric of his shirt, you let the words fly of your tongue with reckless abandon, and it felt as if you had finally been rid of the crushing shroud fogging your mind, and chaining your heart.

“I-I want you to be...my Changbin. An-and I want to be--”

“--Wait!” Changbin pulled you back by the shoulders with a new and wild smile on his face that only grew wider by the second. A type of excited panic flamed in his chocolate brown eyes. “Willyoubemygirlfriend???” He said at light speed.

You were confused as to why he had said it as such, but you nodded, finally feeling the sense of respite that you had searched so hard for. “Y-yes?”

Changbin startled you with his sudden crack of laughter, then squeezed you so tight that it became hard to breathe. Once he let go looser, he bowed in deep to press dozens of kisses on your mouth and around it. Most of them missed the mark, but that didn’t matter to him. He only stopped for a couple moments to mutter the words, “I wanted to say it first.” You would’ve laughed had he not been attacking you incessantly with more and more pecks that you struggled to keep up with.

“I-I’m sorry again that I made you wait--”

Changbin rolled his weight over to lean carefully over your body tangled up in the sheets, then kissed away at your lips with “don’t say that’s “ quietly. “Thank you for trusting me.” He said quickly, then returned, pouring out oceans of admiration onto your lips until they felt a little raw. You kissed him back too, and you kissed him like you wanted to spend your whole life holding him back. His blissful little “oh’s” tickled at your lips, and you giggled at the way that they vibrated.

Once you had properly kissed nearly all of the air out of each other’s lungs, you laid back, gasping, and each still a bit bewildered.

“Thank you for trusting me too.” You turned your head to look at him where he lay with quickened breaths quaking his chest.

“When I go through with this name thing, can you...be there?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He said, barely loud enough for you to hear. His strong hands fell down his shirt which you wore; down to the small of your back where he snuck up the fabric. His fingers tickled at your tiny hairs there.

“I have one more loose end to tie myself. One more place that I need to make peace.”

Changbin nodded. “Mm. We’ll get through it together.”

To your surprise, Changbin then took to pulling his sweater over his head, revealing his bare chest, then pulled off his pants from his legs a bit awkwardly under the covers.

“W-what are you doing?”

He giggled, then pulled at the hem of your shirt for you to do the same.

“Trust me.” He whispered.

You held his eyes as you did, and your bare skin too met the crinkling edges of the sheets which were a bit colder than you had expected. Changbin watched as you did so with a prideful little grin.

“I-I’m confused.” You hugged your arms over your cold torso.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He merely muttered, uncrossing your arms for him to look at you fully, then pulled you by the under sides of your chin back to his lips. He pulled gently at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Clothes were getting in the way.” He hushed, then set to unhooking your bra behind your back.

“Getting in the way of what?”

“Me being as close to you as I possibly can.”

While he had said the phrase calmly, it still sent heat rising straight to your cheeks.

“I want to hold my love like this for as long as she’ll let me. Can I?”

Your two bodies met in the middle, flush, buzzing with a kind of giddy energy that only heightened the more curious that your hands got eating up each other’s presence.

“As long as you’ll let me do the same.”

You couldn’t quite tell, but it had almost felt as if Changbin had scribbled little invisible messages into the skin of your back.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He answered.

You took his wrist to kiss at the line of a scar that lived there. Naturally, Changbin blushed rosy from the action--then promptly pretended that he just hadn’t.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Lilies of the Valley

This one’s for you @mourntheantagonist! And @cherrydreamer, thanks so much for the loan of your name!

Harringrove April Prompt day 30: Lilies of the Valley! Neil had opinions about Billy's mom, and Billy's mom's makeup, and Billy. What he thought doesn't matter anymore, but Billy's still a little worried about bringing it all up to Steve. GNC Billy.

When Billy was five, he’d tried on his mom’s gold pumps and her rainbowy nail polish, and she’d laughed and spread her arms for him to stumble into. “Hey, glitter-bug,” she said, kissing his head all over until he giggled, trying to protect his neck from her attack. “How’s the prettiest boy in town?” she whispered, blowing raspberries down his chest and stomach, and then finally letting him up once he was giggling so hard he couldn’t breathe.

She’d let him sit on her fancy vanity stool, spinning him now and then so they could see how he looked from different angles in the three mirrors. “Oh no,” she whispered, her eyes very wide. “I thought you were prettiest from this side, but every new side is prettier! How is it, sir, being the prettiest,” she asked, offering him an imaginary microphone.

He beamed into her face, and cleared his throat. “You’re the prettiest,” he told her, his eyes big with anticipation, and sure enough, she yelled and scooped him up, dumping him on the bed and cuddling him until they’d both laughed so hard their lungs hurt.

“You are,” she whispered. “I made the prettiest boy in the world.”

“You’re the prettiest girl,” he said loyally, and that time she kissed his nose. “Anyway,” he whispered, “—you have…” he trailed off, reaching up to touch the sparkling powders over her eyes, and the bright greasy red on her lips.

She drew a shaky breath, pushing herself up, and glancing towards the door. “...do you want to play with my makeup, baby?” she asked, and he sat up too, springing upright so fast they nearly clonked heads.

“Can we?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers, but nearly vibrating with excitement.

She bit her lips together, tucking some of his curls behind his ear. “You know how there are some things we keep secret from Daddy, sweetie?”

Billy squirmed around to face her, nodding, and folding his hands like a grownup. “Like when you kiss Mrs. Sally,” he whispered, then, belatedly, cupped his hands over his mouth.

“Like that,” she told him, nodding. “If I’d kept kissing Sally, he might have found out, and not let me see my lil’ glitterbug anymore.”

“I won’t tell,” Billy said, shaking his head, his heart pounding with the weight of adult responsibilities.

“I know you won’t,” she told him, smiling, but she looked sad. “But I can’t do anything that might make Daddy take you away, can I?”

Billy shook his head, wondering, as always, why his mom had married someone who didn’t like either of them very much. He kind of wanted to ask, but she reached out and held his face, squishing his cheeks together like a fish, and he batted at her hands.

“Makeup is like that,” she told him, and he frowned, trying to understand. “If I put makeup on you, Daddy will be very angry,” she told him. “So we have to wash it off before he gets home, and keep it a secret, just like me kissing Sally, right?”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, because Billy had seen his dad fussing with his hair, and his ties, and he knew his dad wanted to be pretty too—but maybe, he thought, his dad was mad because he was jealous, and that kind of fit. He nodded seriously, licking his lips, as he wondered what the lipstick would feel like.

It felt weird and sticky, but it looked beautiful, and he gasped as he opened his eyes in the mirror, leaning closer to touch the mirror, and then touching his lips.

“You’ll smear it,” his mom said, smiling, and Billy yanked his hand back into his lap. He closed his eyes and felt the shiny powders brushing over them, his mom’s warm hand steadying his chin. Very slowly, so as not to jar her efforts, he kicked his feet in happiness.

“There,” she said,” rubbing her thumb along his eyebrow, and squinting into his face. “You’re adorable, honey. Your mamma did so good.” She spun him to look in the mirror again, and he stared as she kissed his cheek, and then redid his lipstick, because he couldn’t stop chewing at it, fascinated. “Other mommies would be so jealous of my lil’ glitterbug,” she whispered.

An hour before his dad got home, she popped him in the bath, leaning in to scrub his face gently, and he sighed to see it go.

“We’ll play again, sweetie,” she told him, kissing his forehead.

That night Billy’s dad clicked his tongue at her bright red lipstick, and went and got the Bible. He made them stand, listening, while their dinner got cold.

“‘Therefore I say unto you,’” he read, “‘Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. For the life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment.’ What do you suppose that means, Billy?”

Billy watched his mom shut her eyes, swallowing, and he tried to think, to get it right, but he never understood the Bible. He told his mother once that he thought they should have somebody write it all down that talked normal, and she laughed for the whole afternoon, and then told him that was another thing to not tell his dad.

“I thought that school was teaching him to read, and now he can’t even understand language,” his dad said, and Billy’s mom flinched.

“It means we should think about god more than looking pretty,” Billy’s mom said dully, and Billy watched her, and then his dad, wondering why he’d even wanted to marry her, because she was beautiful and funny and perfect, and Billy’s dad even got mad over things like the neighbor’s Christmas lights.

She didn’t wear the bright colors, after that.

Years later, Steve was driving back from picking up burgers, and Billy shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, and slurped his soda.

“You ever miss fucking a chick,” he said, weirdly flat.

“Uh,” said Steve, who hadn’t. “...um. Uh, d’you?” he asked, warily, and Billy shrugged, unwrapping his burger. He took a huge bite, grunting appreciatively, and Steve tried to think of what to say. “What...are you missing,” he asked, slowly, and Billy smirked over.

“Nothing big, don’t flip your shit,” he said, taking another bite of burger, and staring out at the passing scenery, as Steve tried not to shake him, or bite his lip, or look like he was flipping his shit.

“...what is this,” Steve asked, finally, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “You cheating on me?!”

“No,” Billy said quickly.

“You want to? You wanna break up?! Where the fuck is this going, Hargrove?!” Steve hissed at him, and Billy sighed, letting his head thunk into the window.

“No, fuck you, I don’t want...any of that,” he sighed. “Calm your tits, Harringt—”

“Fuck you,” Steve spat back. “If you’re fucking bored—”

“No! I didn’t mean that!” Billy shot back, throwing a french fry at him, and Steve grabbed it and ate it, chewing with his mouth open, and his teeth bared. “Fuck you,” Billy sighed. “I just asked you a question, don’t get all pissed.” He sighed again, lowering the burger to his lap, and frowning past it. “I just wondered.”

Steve had kinda relaxed, waking every morning and seeing Billy sprawled next to him, his hair in his open, snoring mouth, and he’d forgotten he was Steve Harrington, the guy people left. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“I just meant the—they’re soft,” Billy said, glancing over, and then back down, his jaw working.

“You’re saying I need to get fat?” Steve asked dryly, through his teeth, as he pulled into the garage.

“No!” Billy shoved him against the door of the car. “Forget it.”

“Not likely,” Steve muttered. Billy shouldered past him into the house, and then ignored him until Steve went to bed, and Steve laid up in their bed alone. He didn’t cry much, but the couple tears that escaped went right in his ear, and he was tempted to just...go down and throw every porn cassette he’d ever owned at Billy’s head.

The next morning he got up and made bacon and eggs—he was hungry, even if Billy was being an asshole—and Billy came in and helped himself.

Billy’s eyes were swollen and red, and Steve didn’t know what to do with that—he’d never broken up with anybody he really liked, he thought, dully. Maybe it was hard. “Sorry for trying to have a conversation,” Billy hissed, and walked off, and Steve slid his plate of food aside, suddenly not hungry.

After a few minutes, Billy stomped back in. “What, you gonna stay out of rooms I’m in now—” he started, snarling, and then he stopped, and probably took stock of Steve’s head in his arms on the counter, and his breakfast getting cold. Steve jerked his head up, rubbing his face. “Fuck,” Billy muttered, grabbing Steve around the waist, and turning him enough to kiss. “I don’t…” he said, softly, biting his lip. “I don’t want somebody else. Don’t be a fucking dumbass, jesus, of course I don’t want someone else—”

“How the hell should I know?!” Steve hissed back, but relaxing, a little, into the kisses. “You just said you missed fucking women. I’m not one, if you missed that—”

“I didn’t say that,” Billy told him, taking Steve’s hands. “I asked if you missed it. Stroking your hands up here,” he breathed against Steve’s lips, and slid Steve’s palms up where Billy’s sides were shirtless and smooth under his denim jacket. “Feeling something...elastic, maybe,” he whispered between open-mouthed kisses, and lifted Steve’s hands up farther, to stroke over his nipples. “Something silky.”

It felt like the conversation had taken a sharp tilt, and Steve felt like the marble in a little maze, trying to avoid dropping through the holes. “...on you,” he whispered back, to be sure, trying to imagine it.

Billy was perfect already, he wanted to say, from the little softness over the waistband of his jeans where he’d stopped working out so hard, once he was away from his dad, to stretched pink scars that reminded Steve there were more places to kiss. But Billy was already withdrawing again, his shoulders hunching as he smirked, and Steve tried a “Keep talking.”

His hands were abruptly fuller of Billy as he leaned in, shoving Steve back against the counter. “I gotta keep things fresh, right,” he whispered. “Make sure you still want what I got. Maybe…” Steve waited as Billy searched his face, biting his lips, and then took a shaky breath. “Maybe dress up...a little,” he mumbled, losing momentum, and Steve hurried, feeling the need to catch some fragile part of Billy before it smashed.

“You wanna dress up for me?” he asked, making sure to grin, because it honestly sounded weird, but Billy wanted to—and Steve didn’t really give a shit about flowers, either, but even if they gave him hayfever, he knew to be happy when somebody picked him out a present. At least, he thought, whatever Billy was talking about was unlikely to make him sneeze.

Billy’s smirk went a little smaller as he flushed, and he laughed, shaking a little. “If—if you want,” he said fast, grinning tensely. “If you...if that…” he muttered, looking a little shiny-eyed, and Steve slid his hands around the soft, scarred skin of Billy’s back, and down toward the swell of his ass. “Imagine something bright down there,” Billy whispered, breathing against Steve’s jaw. “You could snap the elastic, pull me over.”

That sounded like Billy Hargrove wanted to wear lace panties, and Steve fought back an instinctive snigger, squeezing him closer, and trying to think of something to say, something that wasn’t “You’d make duct tape hot, babe,” or “Y’know we could not do that, and just fuck,” or anything else that made it seem like Billy’d asked him about something weird as hell, and important to Billy, and Steve hadn’t even listened. “Yeah,” Steve whispered, not sure what was required. “Sounds hot,” he said lamely, but Billy relaxed against him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding, and laughing, and stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair so clumsily he almost poked Steve in the eye. “Yeah, yes, it’ll—it’ll be good, you’ll like it,” he whispered against Steve’s lips.

The next day Billy disappeared after school, and came home squirming and pink-cheeked. He wandered up like nothing was going on, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turned and drew him in. Billy had his jacket buttoned, for once, and a flushed smirk, and Steve unbuttoned it from the bottom, sliding his fingers up over what felt like soft, elasticy cotton. It was a clingy little camisole thing, he realized, nearly a tanktop, nearly unisex, but the satin edging around the top, the thin straps, and the bright red put it squarely in the women’s section.

Billy laughed nervously. “It’s not even that pretty,” he said, glancing at Steve’s face, and then baring his teeth a little into the distance. “Fuck, this was dumb, in this little hick town, I couldn’t even find anything—”

It was stretched out across Billy’s chest, not the shape it expected to fit, and his nipples showed around the straps, the soft fabric clinging to his skin. “No,” Steve whispered, sliding his hands over ropy satin straps, and Billy’s skin. He ran a finger along the strap and down, his nail catching on Billy’s chest, so he shivered. “No, it’s—it’s really...pretty, Billy,” Steve breathed, and Billy reddened like Steve had never seen before, his smile widening into a beaming grin.

“They’re just cotton,” Billy whispered, “—but they were red, at least—”

Steve smoothed his hands over the soft fabric. He slid his fingers down the back of Billy’s jeans, and felt—yep, he thought, grinning as he felt Billy laugh, another thin elastic edge that definitely wasn’t Fruit-of-the-Looms. “Just cotton,” Billy whispered again, sighing.

Steve had bought lingerie before, but he’d never really thought about it for Billy—or even Nancy, who was too ticklish for lace, and liked the spontaneity of showing up and pushing Steve onto his back on the couch more than she wanted to set anything up with candles and rose petals. He felt a little guilty, though, seeing Billy squirming around, panting a little, his dick hard as a rock in plain cotton briefs, red or otherwise. “So you…” Steve started, and then stopped, uncertain what he was trying to say.

“What,” Billy bit out, glaring up at him, which looked...less than intimidating, in what looked like underwear for a kid, or somebody’s mom. Steve ran his fingers along the line Billy’s dick made in the panties, fascinated, and it twitched. Billy jerked his knee up, grinning, his freckles fading into his blush. “Quit it,” he said. “You’ll make me mess ‘em up.��

“...you like being...pretty,” Steve said, and Billy twitched, pulling his knees up and together. “No, don’t, uh, don’t pillbug up,” Steve told him, leaning in to hug his boyfriend’s knees. “Um, how...how pretty? What...what kinds of…”

“The hell d’you mean how pretty,” Billy growled, warily, and Steve bent his head, pressing a kiss to Billy’s tanned knee.

“You just...want pretty clothes?” he asked, as Billy took a shaky breath. “I just—I mean, you were talking about...girls. You want like…” Steve ran his thumb over Billy’s tense, curled toes. “You want I should paint these?”

“God, will you?” Billy asked, pushing himself up as he yanked Steve into a kiss, knocking them both off-balance so Steve landed on top of Billy in his soft, elastic cotton, and Billy groaned.

“Yeah, I’ll paint ‘em,” Steve whispered, kissing Billy’s hot face. “Don’t...really think you can get much prettier,” he said, feeling Billy’s cheek grin under his lips, “—but I’ll help. I might have something upstairs.”

“The hell would you have,” Billy snorted.

Steve felt indignant for a second, then kind of dumb as he shot back “I could wear nail polish, you don’t fucking know,” before he registered that it probably hadn’t actually been an insult, and he started to feel his ears go red. He cleared his throat. “...uh, no, though. I don’t. But my mom. There’s some of her stuff up there.”

“Oh,” Billy said, sitting up. “You...you’d let me use your mom’s stuff?”

“Why not,” Steve shrugged, pulling him up. “Maybe she’s got some nylons or something.”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, but he grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back around. “You don’t think she’d...she’d think it’s gross, right,” he asked, still smirking a little, like he was trying to keep it up. “She wouldn’t want some dude wearing her nylons.”

“You’re not some dude,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “—and if she’s so damn precious about ‘em she can buy some more, come on.” He drug Billy upstairs—Billy was very manhandleable, in bare feet and a sheer cotton underwear set, and Steve tried not to think about the difference it made—and pushed Billy down to sit on his parents’ chintz duvet cover. He dug through her drawers, and found some nylons, and brought them over. Billy laughed, wide-eyed, and Steve reached down and grabbed his foot, thinking. “...y’know what,” he said, “—Mom used to do all this stuff to her feet, and I bet it kept her damn nylons from running.”

“...you saying I should go get a pedicure?” Billy snorted, and Steve shook his head, squeezing his boyfriend’s toes.

“Nah. Lemme see what she’s got, we can figure this out,” he mumbled, pulling out drawers. “Can’t be that hard.”

“...you gonna give me a pedicure,” Billy muttered, like he didn’t know whether it was a question or not, and Steve was about to roll his eyes when he finally found the right drawer.

“Oho,” he said, grinning over his shoulder. “The mother lode. Come look at the colors. I mean, they’re mostly kind of pink, but there’s some reds.”

The bed creaked as Billy got up and came over, and his breath hitched. He reached towards the lipsticks, and then jerked his hand back, and Steve grabbed the reddest one, and leaned to kiss him, softly, opening the lid. Billy closed his eyes, panting a little, and Steve kissed him again, because Billy’d probably wanna sprawl around looking pretty for a while without anybody smearing it, once he had lipstick on.

“Open your mouth, babe,” Steve said, and Billy did. Steve could feel the pulse pounding in the skin under his fingers, but he just brushed the tip over the corner of Billy’s mouth, narrowing his eyes intently.

Billy licked the tip of the lipstick, and Steve hissed at him, hsht! like Billy was a little kid, or a cat. “I can’t do this if you eat it,” he pointed out, and Billy laughed.

“It tastes the same,” he said, softly.

“...you eat it a lot?” Steve asked, realizing he had mouth open in concentration, and his tongue licking his teeth in the direction he was rubbing the lipstick on. He bit his lips together, smiling in embarrassment.

“I used to,” Billy said, letting Steve turn his head left and then right, and smiling. “Mom would dress me up.”

Steve paused for a second, at that, his hand on the lipstick stilling, and then he started again. “Dunno if I’ll do as good a job,” he said, and Billy laughed again, swallowing hard. “...maybe I’ll get better with practice,” Steve told him, and Billy grinned, yanking him in for a hard kiss. “Who-mmmph,” Steve protested, then leaned into it, feeling Billy sigh contentedly, and hum.

When Steve pulled back, his dick went half-hard just for the way Billy looked, leaning back against the side of the bed in his soft red underwear set, his eyes closed, his grin smeared and lazy. The red stood out, shiny and rich, and Steve wished—silently, to himself—that lipstick ever tasted even a tenth as good as it looked. “...jesus, that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m the prettiest, right,” Billy whispered, and a couple tears leaked from under his closed eyelashes. He sniffled as Steve lifted and turned his chin to fix his lipstick. “Shut up,” he said hoarsely, even thought Steve hadn’t said a word.

“...just thinking you look gorgeous,” Steve told him. “You look so pretty, babe.”

“...’life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment’,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve said “...what?”

“It’s a bible thing,” Billy said, his eyes widening as Steve pulled out a tray of eyeshadows, and held them up to Billy’s face, squinting.

Steve squinted, decided the green would make Billy look like he had a weird Christmasy disease with the lipstick, and pulled out the other one, pinks and golds.

“...it means you should worry more about following god’s word than dressing up like a slut,” Billy said, quirking his mouth. “‘Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ Like, God makes you like he wants, you shouldn’t...change it. Try and...look...different.” Billy sighed. “He used to make us say it whenever we asked for new clothes. I told him I might as well go to school naked, then.”

“I don’t remember the part in the bible where Jesus called people sluts,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss Billy’s cheek, and then concentrating on brushing gold over his eyelids.

“Just be as nature made you, y’know, don’t...try to be...what you’re not,” Billy said, smirking. “He never found out I wanted to wear lace panties.”

“Good,” Steve told his boyfriend, then whispered “God,” as he sat back. “...Billy, god made you a lily.”

“What?!” Billy laughed, scrambling up to go look in the bathroom mirror. He was quiet for a long minute, and Steve got up and followed, grimacing.

“I’ll get better with the little brushes,” he said, leaning through the door, but Billy was just making kissy faces at himself, entranced.

“I’m the prettiest boy in the world,” he breathed, and Steve bit back a laugh. “Come here.” Steve wandered over to slide his arms around Billy’s waist from behind, and kiss his neck. “...you like it, right,” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, squeezing him.

“Come on,” he said, “Lemme do your toenails.”

“Jesus,” Billy said, giggling, kinda, his eyes shiny, and Steve just held him there, letting him look.

The next day, Billy changed the oil in his car, his nails and lips red, and his face smeared with engine grease when Steve pulled him out from under the car for a kiss. While he was tinkering, Steve drove clear to the Indianapolis Victoria’s Secret. “I’m dating an Olympic swimmer,” he told them, having practiced the lie. “She’s got no tits and these big shoulders, and she’s hotter than anyone else in the world, can you help me out?”

My other Harringrove prompts are here!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Billy's mom used to make him pretty #Prettiest boy #He hasn't thought about it much since #But now...now he feels safe #With Steve #Hurt/comfort a little?#Fluff #GNC Billy

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dioko · 3 years

Text

~Childhood Headcanons~

random things i think they did when they were younger

Characters : dekusquad

Warnings/Includes : no warnings, fluff (?) idk iss just headcanons

a/n 1 : unedited, almost all my works are unedited if y'all find anything tell me

he picked up worms like they were nothing

and also those... potato bug things

this absolutely horrified bakugou, you cannot change my mind

he was a dirt child idk how else to put it

used to take clean pots from inko to go outside and make 'stew'

this stew consisted of dirt, leaves, pinecones, flower petals and occasionally some type of grub

imo this habit didn't fully die off and he has a small terrarium in his UA dorm room

was also obsessed with bubble baths

like, there was probably some kind of All Might themed shampoo/body wash/bubble bath 3-in-1 combo that he would never not get

he still uses it probably

i really like ochaco i think she's rad

she drew her own hero posters. there was no way she was allowed to spend money on a shiny piece of paper

you know, they actually turned out pretty good

she was able to keep those better ones and to this day, still has them hung up

she ALSO made nature soup

in winter she could break a slab of ice where there was a body of water, roll snowballs and then dip them in to 'deep fry' them

that is weirdly specific because i did that

she and her parents painted their nails ✨funky colours✨on weekends because fun

one time she snuck on her mother's makeup and got caught halfway through

110% this guy watched Crayon Shin-chan when he was young

ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM

moving on

he wasn't really an outdoor kid but he really liked making bird houses with his brother

this tends to be a popular hc but imo you could definitely see kid-iida's buttcrack every time he squatted down

he would try to get other kids to put earthworms back into the dirt so they could 'properly survive'

his hair was almost always greasy, this did not get better until his second year of junior high

at one point he felt like his glasses were inconvenient so he tried to switch over to contact lenses

it worked... temporarily

TW EYEBALL STUFF

one morning it got stuck in the corner of his eye. it terrified him permanently so that was the end of that

ive got the same mbti personality has her and i normally dont trust this stuff but PLS it makes me so happy

she hatched from an egg

at one point she had a tail similar to a tadpoles tail

she was extremely concerned when it started to shrink

she read countless kids' animal encyclopedias... like, for fun

she didn't fully walk on two feet until around her third year of grade school, walking (hopping?) around on all fours meant she moved faster

despite her small stature she was a volleyball champion ✨

the first time she manifested her whole quirk was when she was playing tag and she was trying to catch one her of her friends when she tried to laugh and her tongue just... grabbed them LOL

the catch was declared an interference smh

childhood my ass

i wholeheartedly dislike (thats an understatement) endeavour ANYWAYS

his math/science homework was covered in tears

on a brighter (?) note

sticky child

like his hands were just always sticky with some kind of unknown substance

he read A LOT of chapter books/novels for older audiences when he was young

which is why the last time he picked up a book at sat through the whole thing was like sixth grade

the attention span to read full, tangible books just doesn't exist anymore

a/n 2 : this ended on a kinda sad note oops i hope you liked it tho lol

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #todoroki #todoroki shoto #uraraka ochaco #uraraka #deku #izuku midoriya #bnha tsuyu #bnha headcanons #bnha iida #tenya lida #tsuyu asui #my hero headcanons #boku no hero headcanons #🛒 ; main aisles

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

'Till Death Do Us Part

Part 2 of 13

When Alex has to bring Philip to work, he and Thomas discover that they both have something in common: they lost their love. They form an unexpected bond and connection about this that grows into something more.

A medium burn with parental feelings about Philip and flowers.

On AO3.

Ships: Jamilton

Warnings: grief/mourning and mentions of unhealthy coping and death.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Dwarf Sunflowers Means ‘Adoration’

Thomas phone lit up on a Sunday, the screen blinking with Alex’s contact as Thomas frowned confused as he picked up: “Alex? What do you need?”

“Oh thank god, Thomas,” Alex’s voice sounded hoarse, like he’d been crying.

“Are you okay?” the words were out of his mouth before he could question them.

There was a shaky breath, before Alex said: “No- yes- maybe? I don’t know, just- fuck- it’s- it’s his birthday today and I normally can handle it, but- I don’t know, just- Pip was so excited about getting his Halloween costume and they look so much alike and I- I can’t deal with it.”

“What can I do? Just tell me what to do,” Thomas urged him, already changing his sweat pants for comfortable jeans.

“Can you come over?” Alex sounded small, “I know it isn’t really what we do, but Pip likes you and I just can’t be alone right now, but everyone always looks at me so pitying and I just- not today.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m on my way, be there in five,” Thomas said, grabbing his keys on the way out.

Before he hung up, he swore he heard a soft thank you come through, but he must have made that up. There was no way Alex was thanking him.

He got to Alex’s house in four minutes and felt oddly nervous as he knocked on the door.

After a few seconds the door swung open to reveal a rumpled Alex. He was clad in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair tied up in a messy bun and he had red rims under his eyes as the world seemed to weigh him down.

From inside the house a TV could be heard and Alex shrugged: “I sat Pip down with a movie and that probably makes me a shitty parent, but I think it would be more shitty to have him witness my breakdown in the bathroom.”

Thomas didn’t respond, just stepped forwards and pulled Alex into a tight hug, standing there as the other started to cry again, clutching his shirt.

“Just let it out,” he encouraged Alex as he walked them to the kitchen, still hugging as he closed the door behind them and made sure they wouldn’t attract Philip’s attention.

He waited, holding Alex as the man cried out his frustration and grief, while Thomas just petted his hair and let him. He said no soothing words, there were no words that could soothe this deep ache and he knew it.

After a few minutes Alex had tired himself out and just hiccuped slightly.

“Alex, I’m gonna ask you the shittiest question there is, but what has you most upset right now? Out of everything, what is making you the most upset?” Thomas asked.

It wasn’t quiet as Alex thought, the man mumbling under his breath. He’d always done it and Thomas just had to wait until Alex could form his thoughts louder.

“I guess- I guess I’m just frustrated that I can’t enjoy something as stupid as going to buy a Halloween costume with my son, that I can’t seem to shake the shadow in the happy moments even when I want to and I know John would have wanted me to,” Alex finally answered.

Thomas nodded, his mind forming a plan.

“What’s Philip dressing up as?” he asked.

The question threw Alex off guard and he simply answered: “A dinosaur, why?”

He chuckled slightly at the costume choice, then said: “Okay, this is what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna go upstairs, you’re going to shower, you’re going to get dressed in comfortable but presentable clothes. Yeah? And then we’re going to the store and getting Philip his costume. After that we can go say hi to John if you want, show him the costume and then we’re getting hot chocolate. You got that?”

“I really don’t know if I can go outside today. I don’t want to see the world move on when I feel it should just stand still,” Alex whispered.

Thomas gave him a comforting look and said: “I know. It fucking sucks, but Philip is excited for his costume and sitting here feeling shitty for yourself isn’t going to make you feel better. Either of you.”

It seemed Alex was giving in, so Thomas played his ace: “I’ll be there the whole time, if you need to break down, I’ll handle Philip. Let him have a good day.”

“Fuck, I hate that you’re right,” Alex sighed. Victory.

“I’m always right,” Thomas smirked, he couldn't help himself, “Does Philip need to get dressed or is he good to go?”

“Just needs shoes,” Alex replied.

“Good, I’ll go chat with him and you are going to…” he waited for Alex to finish the sentence.

“I’m gonna go upstairs, shower, put on some clothes,” he listed.

“Exactly, now go,” Thomas ushered Alex up the stairs, before starting the kettle. Coffee wouldn’t do the man any good, but tea might help. With that in progress he made his way over to the living room where Philip was watching A Land Before Timewith rapid attention, obviously captivated by the story.

He sat down next to Philip and smiled when the boy looked at him: “Hi there, Philip. Do you remember me? I’m Thomas, we met at your Papa’s office a while ago.”

Philip lit up: “Mr. Thomas!” then he got confused, “What are you doing here? Papa says you aren’t not-work friends, he says you wouldn’t come.”

Thomas tried to ignore the fact that Philip had apparently asked if he would be coming and Alex had decided to describe them as friends – work friends but still – to his son, no matter how much it made him happy inside.

“Well, kiddo, your Papa changed his mind, because today we’re going to get you a costume,” he told Philip, “I heard you’re going as a dino and I wanted to know more about them. Since you explained so well last time your Papa let me tag along, so you could explain more.”

“Really?” the boy’s eyes were like saucers and stars were dancing in them as he started to tell Thomas everything about the cool dino costume he was going to get.

He listened closely, nodding at all the good points and asking questions the kid seemed capable of answering.

When he heard noises of someone getting out of the shower upstairs, he led the kid to the door as he talked, getting his shoes on before Alex came downstairs.

Alex looked much better when he returned downstairs. His hair was still up in a bun, but it wasn’t as messy or greasy, just wet. His clothes were more comfort than fashion, but he didn’t look like a dumpster fire anymore and the bags under his eyes seemed to hold less weight.

Philip noticed his Papa, because he turned to him and rambled: “Papa, Mr. Thomas is coming with us to learn more about dinos and it’s going to be so much fun and he promised to buy me hot chocolate and he agrees that purple is a good dino color.”

“That’s nice, Pip,” Alex smiled tiredly, scooping the boy up into his arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek, before getting their coats.

Thomas held out his hand as they stepped outside and Alex shot him a confused look. He explained: “I’m driving, go sit with Philip in the back.”

Alex wordlessly handed him the keys and got in the backseat without any complains as he gave him the name and location of the costume store he’d wanted to visit.

While they drove Thomas watched how Alex just smiled at his rambling son. It was strange how patient and silent the man could be for his kid’s benefit, but Thomas could clearly see the same focus Alex gave all the tasks he seemed to care about.

At the store it seemed to be going fine, until Philip stepped out in a particularly shitty costume that looked more like a turtle than a dinosaur

Alex choked up, Thomas felt it beside him and with one glance it was confirmed when Alex nodded and gasped: “I’m gonna go for a sec.”

“Alright, Alex, go,” Thomas assured him, not looking to see him walk away.

Philip looked confused and asked: “What’s wrong with Papa?”

“Nothing to worry about buddy,” Thomas smiled, “He’s just having a bit of a rough day today and he needed to step away for a moment.”

The boy thought it over, then softly asked: “Is it like the other sad days? When one of my Aunties or Uncles come to pick me up and we have a sleep over?”

It seemed the kid was as smart as Alex had bragged and Thomas was surprised how open Alex was with the kid, though it seemed to be working.

“Yeah, buddy, kind of like the other sad days, but today your Papa is trying to turn his sad day into a happy day, so he’s trying to do that right now,” Thomas told him, “How about we go try on the purple dino costume? Purple is better than green anyway.”

Philip perked up at the suggestion and when Alex came back a little while later, he seemed a bit more put together and managed a real and big smile at Philip’s costume. They got the costume and Philip refused to take it off.

“Hey, Pip, do you want to go show Daddy your costume?” Alex asked him as they walked out of the store, the uncertainty weirdly tinting his voice.

The boy thought about it, then said: “Mr. Thomas says you’re trying to turn a sad day into a happy day, but you always seem sad when we go to show Daddy things.”

Alex was taken off guard by the reply, but squatted down to Philip’s level as he said: “Pip, going to show Daddy things might be sad, but it’s important to me that he gets to see you grow up. If you don’t want to go that’s okay, we won’t, but you don’t have to say no for me.”

It seemed Philip got it, because he asked: “Can we get flowers for Daddy? I liked leaving him flowers, it made his special place more special.”

“Of course we can get Daddy flowers, Pip,” Alex’s voice was thick with emotion and Thomas took the lead when walking to the flower shop.

Philip took extra care in picking out the flowers. He spotted dwarf sunflowers and asked: “Papa, you said Daddy’s favorite color was yellow, right? And that he was your sunshine.”

“Yeah, I sure did, Pip,” Alex answered, spotting the sunflowers Philip was looking at.

“Can we get these for him?” Philip asked, pointing them out.

“Yes, he would love those,” Alex said, picking up the flowers and paying for them.

They left the store and now the hard part came. Thomas was still driving, he hadn’t trustedAlex’s mental state before and he certainly wasn’t now, but he had to ask which cemetery to go to. Luckily, it seemed Alex had remembered as well and he just whispered: “Calvary cemetery,” as they got into the car.

The drive was quiet and Thomas wasn’t sure if he would be welcome to come with them, but when they got out of the car, Alex grabbed his hand, slightly shaking and pulled him along. So, Thomas followed as they walked through the rows.

Philip obviously already knew the way and he skipped out ahead of them the way only a kid who didn’t fully realize what this meant could. He stopped before a simple grave that read:

Lt. Col.

John Laurens-Hamilton

1988-2017

Loving father and doting husband

Noble soldier that protected his men till the end

Embedded in the grave there was a picture of a young man with long curly hair pulled into a ponytail. He was smiling into the camera, freckles splattered on his face like the milky way as he looked at the person behind the camera fondly. He was dressed in a basic military uniform and in the background there was a dusty military base visible.

Alex fell to his knees in front of the grave and greeted it: “Hi, Jacky, how have you been? Good, I hope. I’m going to have words with God if I come there and I hear they’ve been treating you like crap.”

He let out a shaky sigh, then went on: “I wanted to come wish you a happy birthday. They didn’t have the candy you liked at the store, but I’ve always told you licorice is disgusting so we got little chocolate bars for the trick-or-treaters instead.”

Silent tears streamed down his face: “I brought Pip with me, he’s going as a dinosaur this year and he wanted to show you his costume.”

Philip was standing next to his Papa, looking at the grave. When Alex said that he spoke up, this was obviously not the first time: “Hi Daddy, look at my costume,” he told the grave happily, “It gots spikes and it’s purple. Papa doesn’t like purple that much, but Mr. Thomas does, he helped me pick out my costume. I’m gonna be the bestest dino ever.”

Thomas hadn’t expected his name, so he looked up shocked from where he was keeping his distance. It was strange to be introduced to a dead man by his kid.

He hoped Alex wouldn’t mind that Philip talked about his rival to his late husband, though they weren’t really rivals anymore. They still argued, but there was a more familiar atmosphere around them.

It was nice, different, but nice.

Meanwhile Philip had been rambling on about school and what the other kids were dressing up as, before he remembered the flowers. He held them up and said: “We got you flowers. They are sunflowers and they’re yellow. Papa says you like yellow and they look fun, like little suns. Do you think that’s where they got their name?”

“I think so, buddy,” Alex answered for John with a strained voice.

“That’s cool,” Philip said, before going on, “I’m gonna put them on your special place. Auntie Eliza says this is kind of like your home, but it looks boring and yellow is a good color to help you be less boring. My room is yellow and it’s the bestest room there is. Papa allowed me to paint on one of my walls and I painted some dinos there.”

Throughout Philip’s conversation with John, Alex had pulled the little boy onto his lap and hugged him tightly.

When the boy was out of things to tell John, he started to squirm slightly, but it didn’t really look like Alex was willing to leave or let go. So Thomas stepped in.

He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder startling him slightly and softly said: “Here, I’ll walk around with Philip. Don’t worry, just take your time.”

Alex nodded gratefully and let Philip go, Thomas took his hand and asked: “Want to play a game with me, Philip?”

“Yeah!” Philip clapped in his hands.

“We’re going try to find all the stones with a little cross on it, okay?” Thomas felt slightly bad that he was turning other people’s final resting places into a game with a kid, but with his view of what death was like, he didn’t think they’d mind.

They had found around twenty-onegraves with a cross on it when Thomas noticed Alex get up. He steered Philip back to John’s grave while they looked and when they got back to the grave Alex smiled watery at Philip and asked: “What do you think of hot chocolate, Pip?”

Philip bounced excitedly and asked: “Is there whipped cream? Uncle Herc gave me hot chocolate with whipped cream and it was the yummiest.”

“We can ask,” Alex replied, taking his kid’s hand.

The drive to the small cafe started silent, but then Philip asked Thomas what sort of flowers he liked. Thomas told him cornflowers were his favorite and after that the two talked about flowers, while Alex stared out of the window.

It was still strange to see Alex without a fire burning in his eyes and Thomas remembered how Angelica had told him that Philip had probably saved his life. It was disturbing how accurate it seemed and Thomas wanted to shake the man until he was back to office Alex, but he knew that wasn’t what he needed right now and he knew he would have hated it.

Today reminded him that their grief was different. Alex’s was younger and unexpected. When he’d married Martha, he knew they would have limited time. She was not ripped from him, just softly eased out of his arms.

The loss still hurt, God, it hurt so much and sometimes he wanted to curl up into a ball and yank all of his hair out in the hope the numbness and pain just went away.

But he got used to it.

Martha was someone he could never forget. She’d always be there in his heart, guiding him to be a better man and keep going. It had taken a long while for him to get there, for him to see her hand on his shoulder wasn’t holding him in place, but pushing him forwards.

She’d always told him, he would do great things and he’d better keep a picture of her with him so that she could see it. And he would try to do that.

But Alex didn’t have that.

Alex had a man who had promised him a future together, who had told him forever ‘till the end, who gave him a family and said they would raise their child together. A man who was taken without warning.

Thomas couldn't imagine, but that wasn’t the point. He couldn't imagine the loss, but he could help soothe it by being there right now, because Alex couldn't use anyone pitying him today, couldn't use having to worry about Philip. So Thomas did what he couldn't.

In the cafe he got excited with Philip over the triple chocolate hot chocolate they had and ordered tea for him and Alex. He pointed out the painting they had on the wall and played I Spy, leaving Alex to sip his tea absentmindedly.

When Philip had a sufficient chocolate mustache and was falling asleep in his chair after the day, they left. The drive silent with Philip’s dozing.

At the house Thomas asked: “Do you want me to cook or are you good for now?”

Alex hesitated, then said: “I always make Hoppin’ Johns on his birthday and stuff, it’s a long story, but uhm- if you- I’d like you to stay. For dinner. Only if you want to of course.”

Thomas hadn’t expected the invitation, but accepted after a beat: “Well, I won’t say no to free food and Philip did promise to show me some of his drawings.”

“Who am I to deny you a Philip Hamilton Art Tour,” Alex smiled and let him into the house, informing Philip of the evening plans, which of course caused the boy to perk up again and drag Thomas along with him, while Alex retreated to the kitchen.

Alex sat down at the kitchen bar and just took a moment to sit and breathe.

This day had gotten easier throughout the years, but he could clearly remember how that first time he’d almost ignored baby Philip’s cries just because he didn’t want to get out of bed. God, he’d felt so guilty. John had always wanted a family, Alex too, but John dreamed of being a dad and he’d almost ruined that.

Back then he’d sworn to himself that Philip would never fall victim to his own grief ever again, so when he found himself spiraling today, he did what he found hardest: he asked for help.

He hadn’t known exactly what he was doing until Thomas picked up. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but he was glad he had. The man seemed to know exactly when to step in, what he couldn't handle and what he needed him to do.

And Pip liked him.

If you’d asked him about a month ago if he’d be okay with Thomas watching Pip and Pip being excited about it, he would have thrown a fit, but Thomas was surprisingly good with Pip. He seemed to listen and engage, never talk down.

It was weird to see, but Alex didn’t mind that much. His reaction to everything had been a breath of fresh air after all the worrying his friends always seemed to do.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved his friends and they had dragged him through his darkest times, but they couldn't seem to get that he was doing fine. It was just some days that the grief creeped in and dragged him down, but that didn’t mean he would go back to zero immediately.

Sometimes their worrying made him feel like he was a bad parent and he had been a slightly bad parent when John had just died, but he had tried and he wanted to prove that he would die for his son, his pride and joy.

He knew it was stupid that he felt like that, that he felt the need to show them that they didn’t have to check up on him and take Philip for a few days when it got too bad, but he had always struggled with getting validation, so he cut himself some slack.

Looking up he saw the clock. Half an hour had already passed of him just sitting there and he should really start cooking.

Slowly he set out all the ingredients for the Hoppin’ Johns. He tried not to tear up too much as he cooked, though he felt justified in blaming some of the tears on the onions.

When he was done, he set the table, feeling weird that there were three plates. Usually his friends came together and it rarely happened that there were three people. It felt wrong on some level, but also nice. Alex preferred not to think about it as he called them for dinner.

Pip came bounding down the stairs, pulling Thomas along as he yelled: “Papa, Papa, I showed Mr. Thomas my dino drawings on the wall and the wall with my other drawings and he says they’re very good and I wanna be an artist some day and Mr. Thomas says I probably could, isn’t that cool!”

Alex smiled: “That’s very cool, Pip. Now come here and eat your dinner.”

“Yes, Papa,” Pip said, climbing onto his chair and sitting down. He saw the food and said: “This is Daddy’s food, right Papa? Are you gonna say the words?”

“Yeah, Pip, it’s Daddy’s food,” Alex confirmed.

Thomas shot him a questioning look and Alex explained: “We eat this on days special to John, his family was religious. He wasn’t that much, but he liked the idea of Heaven, so we say grace for Daddy’s food.”

Ah, Thomas thought, that made sense. Martha hadn’t been religious at all, but she had a great love for Christmas, so Thomas dutifully decorated the house each year, no matter what.

Alex held out his hands and Pip grabbed one and also held out his hand, Thomas grabbed them both, following their example and bowed his head.

“I thank you, Lord, for the food on our table,” Alex began saying grace, “Today we eat this food with gratefulness that you, up in the Heavens, are watching over our sweet departed John. May he be happy in your presence and well taken care of until we can join him. Amen.”

“Amen,” Philip echoed, so Thomas did as well, before they started eating.

The food was good and Thomas made sure to complement Alex on his cooking. The man blushed and said: “I picked it up over the years. There are only so many times you can eat instant noodles, before you try to learn.”

Thomas laughed at that and agreed, before Philip asked what instant noodles were and the conversation moved on.

When dinner was done, it was already quite late. Alex got up and said: “Come on, Pip. Plate to the kitchen and then we’re getting ready for bed. You have school tomorrow.”

They brought their dishes to the kitchen and Thomas offered to clean up while Alex got Philip into bed. Alex protested and Thomas said: “It’s not charity, Alex. It’s as a thank you for the food, it was delicious and my Southern hospitality wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful.”

Alex eyed him suspiciously, but tiredness just won out and he nodded, before leading Philip out of the kitchen despite his sleepy whining that he wasn’t tired.

It still baffled Thomas how soft Alex got with Philip, how all his burning passion seemed to turn into a hearth of warmth to keep Philip safe from the cold. Thomas was sure that if Alex had to sacrifice everything in his life just to make Philip smile, he would.

After half an hour the kitchen looked clean and Alex came down the stairs, saying: “He must have been really tired, he’s already asleep,” there was a beat of silence, “Do you want coffee? Or maybe wine after this day.”

Thomas smirked: “I don’t think wine is a good idea or too much caffeine, but I wouldn’t mind some tea though.”

“Good. It was mostly a joke anyway – the wine part – I need to be up early tomorrow again to catch up on all the work I’ve ignored today,” Alex replied, starting the kettle, “Maybe tea is a good idea, I’ll join you.”

“Alex, it’s Sunday, what work could you have been doing?” he asked, baffled.

The other shrugged: “I work on my financial plan for the company and Washington isn’t the best with tech, so I go through his inbox to check if everything send correctly or if he missed anything accidentally. And I write essays for this blog I run, though that’s not really something I have to do per se.”

“Damn, you’re going to burn yourself out if you keep going like that,” Thomas told him, “And does Washington know you’re doing that?”

Alex shrugged: “I think he’s on to me, but he hasn’t confronted me yet, so he either hasn’t noticed or it’s helping and he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Thomas made a ‘that’s fair’-face, before commenting: “You and Washington are close, if he allows you to do stuff like that.”

“I suppose,” Alex pouring the hot water in their cups, “He’s kinda the one who was a solid in my life ever since I got to the States. Me and John both served under him in the military.”

“You were military?” Thomas asked, surprised.

“Yeah, didn’t last long though,” Alex answered, “I joined at seventeen, came out as trans two years later and quit, not the best environment. The only good thing in that whole institution were John and Washington.”

“I didn’t know,” Thomas said, “That explains the Grandpa George thing.”

Alex blushed at that and muttered: “I didn’t start that, it’s fucking embarrassing. Angelica taught it to Pip and Washington went with it because he’s a little shit and I can’t really say anything, because he and his wife are the only grandparents he has.”

“John’s parents are gone?” Thomas asked.

“Nah, but they were homophobic transphobic bigoted assholes, so they’re as good as out of the picture,” Alex told him, “Both our sides were equally empty at the wedding, though some of his siblings managed to sneak out.”

“What was your wedding like?” Thomas asked, they had moved to sit at the kitchen bar while they talked and Alex lit up at the question.

“It was one of the best daysof my life. We both had decided on white suits, I looked like and idiot, but John was beautiful,” Alex told him, “John wanted to walk down the isle real bad and Washington gave him away, he cried. Never admitted it to anyone, but he cried. I did too though, so I can’t really judge.”

Alex took a sip, then went on: “We convinced Herc to be our flower girl, it was hilarious. And the Schuyler sisters rapped as a bridesmaid speech, it was absolutely priceless. Did you know Eliza can beat box?”

“No,” Thomas chuckled.

“Me neither, but she can and it’s so weird. She had like this blue dress Herc made, looking like a proper lady and then she beat boxed while Angie and Peggy rapped about how me and John were both stupid for not confessing for three years,” Alex laughed.

“You did confess for three whole years?” Thomas asked with disbelief.

He tried to ignore how his own crush on Alex had been festering for the past two years, ever since he’d met him. A crush he had pushed down and instead argued with the man every time as if he were a school boy, but he had his reasons, he told himself.

“Yeah, we were great at dancing around each other,” Alex smiled, “Both convinced that him using every phone call while away on duty to call me was super platonic. And then in college we roomed together, shoving our beds together, platonically of course.”

Thomas laughed at that, before asking: “How did you get together if you were both that dense?”

Alex was blushing like an idiot, Thomas noted, and he hadn’t answered Thomas’s question. Glee lit up in his eyes as he asked: “Okay, how dumb was it? It must be dumb if you’re that embarrassed about it.”

“We accidentally lockedourselvesinacloset,” he confessed quickly as if saying it faster made it disappear.

“How the fuck do you do that?” Thomas wheezed.

“It was a stupid closet anyway,” Alex huffed, crossing his arms and looking away, “It was a supply closet and we were cleaning it and we had set the brooms outside and when I closed the door to get behind it one of them fell and locked us in.”

“That’s amazing,” Thomas said.

Alex gave up his huffy manner and grinned as he agreed: “In hindsight it was hilarious, yeah. God, it was so stupid, John was so stupid.”

It was quiet for a moment, Alex was lost in thought and Thomas just reveling in the calm.

“What was he like? John, I mean,” Thomas asked softly.

Alex raised a brow as he looked at him, but apparently saw nothing off putting in them, because he answered: “John was the stupidest, bravest and kindest person I know. He and Pip are so alike that it hurts sometime.”

He sighed deeply, then said: “He was rash, always rushing into danger first when in the military, last one out too.”

The last part sounded bitter and Thomas couldn't blame him.

“John loved to draw as well,” Alex told him, “I still have all his sketchbooks and one of the rooms in the house is an atelier. At first I couldn't bring myself to change it, but now- well, maybe Pip will use it someday.”

“But he wanted to be a nurse, drawing was just a hobby,” Alex wenton, “John loved helping people. Whenever someone in ourfriend group was sick, he would be at their door with soup and meds in no time. Whenever I had my period he would cuddle with me and watch shitty movies and bring me chocolate, it was so sweet.”

“He sounds like a catch,” Thomas said.

“He really was,” Alex chuckled, voice slightly breaking. It was nice to tell Thomas about John, he hadn’t known him. Everyone already knew John, had their own stories with him and their own interpretations of him. They would always color Alex’s John with their own versions of him, but Thomas couldn't do that. It was refreshing.

They talked for a little while, before Alex was drooping in his seat, the day had been emotionally exhaustive.

“I’m gonna go home and you should go to bed, Alex,” Thomas said after watching Alex almost fall out of his chair a few times.

“You know, for once I’m not even going to bother arguing with you,” Alex replied, getting out of his chair to see Thomas out.

Before he could leave, a small voice stopped: “Thomas, I, uhm- I wanted to- just, uhm, you know, thank you.”

Thomas turned back, trying to keep the surprise off his face as hesmiled: “No problem. Goodnight, Alex.”

“Uh, yeah, goodnight, Thomas.”

The big shift he had expected a month ago happened that Monday, though big wasn’t the right word necessarily. It was subtle for anyone who didn’t know any better. The arguments turned into banter and the screaming matches about company protocol turned into tentative collaboration.

No one who hadn’t known before how much they yelled and argued would call the changes big, but there was something that made it special.

Two months ago everyone would call them rivals – enemies if they wanted to be dramatic – with a mutual hate that permeated the work floor. But now there was a soft friendship starting between them that grew through the weeks.

~~~~

A/N:

This is not a guide on how to deal with grief, for the love of god don’t take advise from fics. I have tried my best to make it not shit and somewhat accurate, but I can promise nothing.

#RR writing #tw: grief #Hamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #philip hamilton #Hamilton AU #John Laurens mentioned #'Till Death Do Us Part #'Till Death Do Us Part Part 2 #'Till Death Do Us Part AU #jamilton

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escapingpost · 5 years

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Five Things Everyone Knows (Final)

Part 1: Five Things I Know About Cho Seungyoun

Sequel: Five Things Cho Seungyoun Knows About You

Suggestive and language warning.

The kiss in the alleyway would have been the cherry on top for this mess of romantic comedy. It would be the turning point of the plot where the next few scenes were merely a fast-forwarded, shortened down versions of what would be to come with your perfect “friends to lovers” relationship.

But, you were hit with the reminder that this was not an actual romantic comedy and reality is much harsher.

The next day, you woke up from a text from yours truly telling you that the girl he was texting ages ago finally got back to him. They were going on a date this weekend.

Your mind went through different thoughts in a span of one minute:

Were the two of you that drunk yesterday? If that was the case, you would have a hangover. And Seungyoun? You were sure he was too busy making Hangyul drunk to drink himself.

Were you just dreaming? No, your hair definitely smelled of rain water and you could still almost feel Seungyoun’s strong arms around your waist.

Then, what the hell was this?

As if answering your thoughts, Seungyoun sends another text message.

younie: I smell like sewage right now. What even happened last night.

And with that one text message, you were brought back to the reality of romantic relationships in your twenties.

Romance was dead and so were your feelings.

NOT my best friend: Dumbass, how am I suppose to know.

“I can’t believe you did that.” Woohyun was currently hovering over Seungyoun on the couch as Seungyoun holds his phone out of his reach. Woohyun gets up and dusts himself off. “Have fun being lonely. I’m rooting for Hangyul.”

“Wait, Woohyun.” Seungyoun also gets up from his couch. “I’m sorry. I just, I can’t do it.”

“Seungyoun, what do you mean, you can’t?” Woohyun says trying to keep calm. Him and the guys did the most to get Seungyoun to realize his feelings, but when he actually does, it backfires.

“I don’t want to mess us up.” Seungyoun says, avoiding Woohyun’s gaze.

“You know the feeling is mutual, so why?” Woohyun asks.

Seungyoun takes out a few crinkled pieces of paper from the small trash in his studio. He takes the first crumple piece of paper and hands it to Woohyun.

Woohyun looks at Seungyoun weirdly before unfolding it and reading his chicken scratch writing.

I wish you happiness

It's okay if it's not me

I don't think I'm good enough for you

We're so different

Woohyun takes the rest of the crinkled papers and unfolds them.

Tell me you're tired of me

Tell me you're seeing someone else

For me, even just a little bit

To hate you, just lie to me

Woohyun stops reading and crumples the paper into its original state, “This is different from the last time. You know it.”

“We’ve been best friends for years. I just can’t risk that.” Seungyoun looks down, his fringe hiding his eyes.

And Woohyun could not think of a comeback with Seungyoun looking like he already lost the most precious thing in his life.

“You know, its true what they say about musicians. You are all creative, crazy messes.” Woohyun says with a huge sigh.

Which brings us to the first thing everyone now knows: 1) Seungyoun, for a fact, has slight commitment issues.

A week passes by after the night with Seungyoun. You try your best to avoid him, but he stuck to you like nothing had happened. Sure, it was only the alcohol that made him do it and the reason why he could not remember. But, he should take some sort of responsibility, right?

The day of his date with the girl, you went to a library to study for your classes, but the silence was worse. It only made your sad thoughts louder. Letting out a deep sigh, you run your fingers through your hair and leave the quiet room.

“Hey!” Before you could start walking down the staircase to the lobby, a familiar voice calls your name.

You close your eyes. You knew exactly who it was and he was probably the second person you did not want to run into. Quickly changing your expression into a neutral one, you turn around to him, “Hey, Hangyul.”

Long story, short: You and Hangyul did go on a date. You actually had more fun than you thought and he said he would call you back, but never did. When he did end up calling you for a second date, the two of you still had unfinished business. Seungyoun crashed your second date before the two of you could talk about it.

Hangyul scratches the back of his neck, a habit of his whenever he felt uneasy. Your fake expression was apparent to his eyes, “Do you want to go to a cafe? I hated the silence in that library.”

You said yes and maybe it was the fact you wanted to show up Seungyoun for being on a date. Or, it might have been that you believed Hangyul was a nice, decent guy so he deserved some sort of explanation.

“I just wanted to say sorry for everything.” Hangyul says with a soft smile.

“Sorry about what?” The warm tea hits your throat and it calms your nerves.

“Sorry about not calling you when I said I would.”

You let out a petty laugh, “So you did know.”

Hangyul moves in closer, “Of course, I did. I was just confused and needed time to think.”

You purse your lips, “Well, I’m sorry for taking Seungyoun along on our second date.” You look down at your cup of tea.

Hangyul plays with the straw of his smoothie, unsure of what to say.

“It was a dumb decision.” You add.

“Did something happen?” Hangyul carefully asks.

You shrug, not wanting to think about it, still looking down.

Hangyul takes a deep breath and lowers his head so he was in your peripheral view, “Hey, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were actually available.”

You are forced to return his gaze, his face a little closer than a few minutes ago, “What do you mean?”

“I know you don’t have a boyfriend.” Hangyul was now staring at you intently with a soft expression, “But, on our first date, it didn’t seem like you were emotionally available.”

And that’s exactly what everyone thought: 2) No one else was really good enough for you, but him.

The guy with cute dimples? You preferred adorable rabbit teeth. The talented vocalist? A high-toned voice with the duality of IU’s ballads and Flowsik’s rapping was more your genre. The possible future president of the country? How about the person who you trust all your secrets, dreams, and inside jokes with?

As exaggerated as it was, Seungyoun just started to infiltrate your mind with no invitation.

You gulp and slowly nod your head, “Sorry, Hangyul.”

Hangyul feels a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders and he gives you an assuring smile, “We’re good.” He pats the side of your head.

You return his smile, feeling ten times better.

"I’m not sure what happened with you and Seungyoun, but if you want, I’m meeting with him later with the guys. Maybe you want to come?”

Your ears perk up at hearing his name, “Wait, Seungyoun is hanging out with you later?”

“Yeah, Seungyoun and some other people from the Taekwondo club.”

‘What about his date?’ You think. ‘Did that brat lie to me?’ You add. Did you not just have a small monologue on how great he was?

Hangyul calls out your name.

You snap back to reality, “Oh sorry, why don’t you text me the address and I’ll meet you there?”

The night was a little colder when it was predicted to be a warm summer night. Mercury was in retrograde or something along the lines of a pseudoscience explanation. 3) Everyone just knew it was going to be an interesting night.

“You like to hurt your own feelings?” Dohyun scratches his head.

“Masochism. Its called masochism.”

“Yohan, shut it. Don’t teach him that.” Hangyul rubbed his temples.

“Well, at least you’re better off than Seungyoun. He didn’t even give closure. He completely made his whole friendship awkward as hell.”

Hangyul blows out air from his nostrils. He wanted to keep it a secret and was not planning on inviting you to see Seungyoun. It was his chance to ask you out for a third date. But, taking advantage of your vulnerable state was the last thing he wanted to do.

Yohan hands Hangyul his black jacket, “Here, buddy. At least look cool while setting up the two idiots.”

Hangyul turns to Dohyon, “Don’t you dare learn from Yohan.” Hangyul moves closer to whisper in Yohan’s ear, “Yohan thinks he’s some sex god.”

Yohan has an appalled and disgusted look on his face, “A dude grinds on the floor one time and automatically becomes the icon of greasiness.”

Hangyul receives a text message alert and stops their conversation.

soju girl: Hey, I’m already here. My phone’s on vibrate so just text me when you get here! Too loud to take a call :(

“Lets go, idiot three.” Yohan puts his arms around Hangyul.

hangyul: see you soon

You bite down on your bottom lip and pull down on the short black dress that you wished did not sacrifice to cover either your chest or thighs. It was one or the other. You furiously shake your head to get some sense in you, “I need a drink.” Or not.

One drink turned into two, then three, then four and it all went downhill from there. The last sober thought you had was the fact that you could change your social media addiction and put your energy in making a blog about the wonders of alcohol.

“Close her tab.” you hear a voice and the person has reached over the counter. That was weird because you only conditioned yourself to listen to one specific voice through a loud bass of music.

“Oh? Its my best friend, Cho Seungyoun.” your voice slurs and you see he is confused because he can’t hear anything through the music and you made no effort to talk over them music. Seungyoun quickly scans your state and has you wear his oversized bomber jacket. You do not put up a fight while he quickly zips up the jacket. “Am I your date for tonight?” You say with no energy or volume.

Seungyoun gets to eye level with you and smiles, “Lets go.” He mouths.

The unapologetic smile, his eyes that assured you that your were safe, and his eyebrows that drooped in worry made you furious. The alcohol spoke and made the decision for you, “Fuck that.” You push him away and stagger through the dance floor.

And Seungyoun never felt so awkward trying to keep you away from other people on the dance floor while still remaining a sinful centimeter away from you and that miniature piece of fabric people called a dress.

His eyes darted around to catch the glimpses of other people on the dance floor to make sure they knew you were with him. Just when he thought people were getting the hint, a stranger attaches himself behind you.

He quickly snakes his hand around your waist and pulls you into a secure hold, turning your whole body like a tango move.

You continue to shamelessly dance, not giving a two coins because all you could see are the blurry lights, your mind was still buzzed, and whose ever arm was around you felt too good.

No matter how much he tried, there was only one answer to your shenanigans.

If you can’t beat them, join ‘em.

Seungyoun brings you into his chest as close as humanely possible and lays his hands on your hips as you two dance. He can only catch glimpses of your face, but when he did see you through the club lights, the look on your face got to him.

Your eyes were no longer the awake eyes that he could see from a distance away. Your eyes were half-lidded and seductive. Your baby hairs stuck to the side of your face and your cheeks flushed pink.

Then, Seungyoun’s ears were blocked as if he had water stuck in them. Your mouth was moving, but he could not understand what was happening anymore. The loud bass drowns out any reasonable thoughts.

Seungyoun did not drink any alcohol that night.

But, he got the same sweet alcohol on the tip of your tongue and caught the same alcohol buzz.

When Hangyul left the club that night and did not get to see you or Seungyoun, it was already a given: 4) The literal climax of the story that everyone would know of.

By the time you were all partied out and the two of you got to his apartment, the alcohol high wore off, but neither of Seungyoun’s or your hormones did.

The conversation was said through messy kisses, but it went something along the lines of Seungyoun apologizing for being a coward and a liar. Then, you try to say something back, but whatever he was doing down there did not help you form a coherent thought.

It was the climax that happened in Seungyoun’s small studio, both emotionally and physically.

Finally, it was the scene before everything fell into place. At least, as much as reality allowed you to.

“That dress wasn’t going to cover anything.” It was the morning after and you did not wake up glamorously. It was a good thing Seungyoun always saw you like that and nothing about his feelings changed. He laid on the couch and watched you find your stuff that was lost in the hurricane.

“Yeah, but your sweater will.” You quickly slip into it a sweater that he left hanging on his chair and Seungyoun curses in his mind for being weak to the cold.

“Wanna get breakfast?” Seungyoun sits up and also looks around for his lost t-shirt.

“Not like this.”

“I can pick something up from the convenience store.” Seungyoun finally finds his clothing piled up on the side of the couch.

You two only had to be apart for ten minutes, but Seungyoun was running back from the store like he left a stove on.

Also, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into until Seungyoun drops the food on his small desk and starts to make his way towards you. Alert, you hold him back with one finger, which stops him for a grueling second until he picks you up like a bride and lays you down on the couch.

You always thought Seungyoun looked like a rabbit with his two front teeth. Now, he looks like a tiger creeping up on his pray (read: you). You were quickly reminded Seungyoun was actually a bear because he pulls you into a warm hug as the two of you lay on his couch.

“There’s not enough space, so we have to stick as close a possible.” Seungyoun is breathing down your neck and you were not sure if it was on purpose.

You stir in his arms and he looks at you.

The images of you two playing tongue hockey in the middle of the dance floor flashes through your mind and you wanted to dig a tunnel into the couch because this time, he was there to remember it.

Seungyoun bit back a silly smile.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything?” He says with a smirk.

“Hey, we can’t tell anyone.” You are talking to his chest because you could not bear to look at him without being reminded of last night.

“Why not?” Seungyoun, on the other hand, had no shame and kept his eyes on you. “I swear, I was going to post this on my story.”

“Seungyoun!”

He gives you his cheeky, smiling eyes and presses his forehead on yours, “I’m sure every already knows.”

“That’s a little bit T.M.I, no?” You ask him.

“Not with them. They know everything.”

The two of you look at each other both thinking that everyone was weirdly invested in the two of you getting together. You and Seungyoun laugh knowing the same thought went through your head.

“I like you so much.” Seungyoun unconsciously says.

“I like you too.” You say making random shapes with your fingers on his chest. “Hey, um.” You finally muster up the courage to look at him.

“Yeah?” Seungyoun gives you his full attention.

You gather your arms and push him off the couch, “I’m hungry.”

Even if you were not hungry, Seungyoun’s scent was getting to your head and all the red flags went off.

He didn’t have to know that, though.

Months pass and you two are still together and annoying.

“Can you not?” You step on Seungyoun’s foot under the table.

“What?” Seungyoun moves his hand closer to your inner thigh, but you swat his hand off.

“Can you two just stay in Seungyoun’s studio? Forever.” Wooseok pretends to barf.

“We would, but the AC is broken.” Seungyoun shrugs.

You smack him on the side of his head.

“I don’t even want to sit on that damn couch now.” Seungwoo slowly shakes his head.

“Maybe it was better for you two to stay single.” Yohan taps on the table.

“Hey, I’m all for that.” Hangyul chuckles as he opens a bag of chips.

Seungyoun’s neck almost breaks turning to Hangyul, “If you eat chips like that, your fingers are going to stain.”

“Well, I’m gonna eat it with chopsticks.” Hangyul retorts.

“Where are the chopsticks, genius?” Seungyoun mocks Hangyul’s matter-of-fact tone.

Hangyul’s eye darts back and forth, until he sees you slipping him the chopsticks. “Here.”

Seungyoun makes a face at you, “Whose side are you on?”

You give him a chaste kiss and the self-proclaimed all rounder turns into one thing and it was the fifth and last thing everyone knew.

5) “Whipped.”

#cho seungyoun #seungyoun #seungyoun scenarios #seungyoun imagines #x1 scenarios #x1 imagines #x1 #Hangyul #lee hangyul #hangyul scenarios #hangyul imagines

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missmarquin · 4 years

Text

Parallel (FE3H, Sylvix)

Parallel

--Fire Emblem Three Houses

--Sylvix

-- Oneshot, Rated T

-- Modern AU, Twlight Zone Inspired, Alternate Universe AU

Please read on A03 for better formatting! :D

###

Felix cuts a sharp figure in his slick suit, fingers wrapped loosely around the handle of his briefcase. His key slides into the lock and it turns, the door creaking open, as he slips into the foyer of his brownstone.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out, but there’s a bitter edge to his voice as he flips on the hall light. “Oh wait, that’s right. I live alone.” He drops his briefcase onto the table in the entryway and moves to loosen his tie.

Felix is used to being alone, he’s been alone for a very long time. His brother is dead. He doesn’t talk to his father. He spends his days analyzing numbers and taxes from nine-to-five, and then sipping at a decent whisky from eight-to-ten.

He doesn’t really cook even though he can, and when he slides into his sheets at night, clean and tired, he congratulates himself on a decent day of work. When he sleeps, it’s dreamless and dark, but satisfying. He wakes up with a slight crick in his neck, but it's because he’s too stubborn to replace his mattress, and he persists sleeping on his side, even if it’s the lumpy one.

It’s routine. It’s well-known. He likes having a schedule and expectations.

He hates how empty it feels.

The next day is a Wednesday. It’s full of numbers and taxes and names, and Felix tiredly rubs at his eyes as he tries to make sense of them. But his head hurts and his brain is barely working, and maybe he’s coming down sick and that’s why it’s hard to focus.

Still, he persists and it isn’t until Annette says something that he realizes he’s stayed over by an hour, back hurting from leaning over too long, eyes straining from the fine print he’s been pouring over.

“Felix,” Annette says to him, her sing-song voice at ends with her sad gaze. “I’m worried about you.” Of course she is, she always is. It doesn’t matter that she moved out nearly six years ago, or that her side of the bed still remains cold, she’ll always care .

And it’s not that he doesn’t care for her or anything, he loves her deeply. They just aren’t in love anymore.

“Nonsense,” he tells her. “I’m only tired.”

She watches him for a long moment, catching her lip between her teeth and chewing at it, then says, “Mercie and I are going for a drink. You should come.”

Felix almost says yes, but then he remembers that he’s thirty-two and too old to go out for a round or two and still wake up easily in the morning. As much as he loves Annette and Mercie, their company is draining and he isn’t in the mood.

“Thank you, Annie,” he says to her and while he doesn’t give her a smile, there’s a slight quirk of his lips, and she’s one of the few who gets that expression regularly. “But I think I’ll head home to bed. My eyes are burning.”

Annette looks like she’s about to say something, but she opts not to, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder instead. “All right then. Good night Felix.”

He offers her the same and leaves the building alone.

And drives home alone.

And slides the key into the lock alone.

The key turns and the tumblers with it, and he pushes the door open with his hip. His briefcase drops onto the entry table. The light switches on, and he contemplates his quiet existence and empty house for a solid moment before sighing, “Honey, I’m home.”

The rest of his ritual is already on his lips, but he doesn’t get to complete it because, before he can, there’s a clear and distinct answer from the kitchen.

“Oh good. I picked up some pizza.”

####

Felix freezes at the voice. It’s deep. It’s male. It doesn’t sound like Dimitri and he kind of wishes that it was, because it wouldn’t be the first time that he’s snuck into his home with his spare key and slummed it on the couch after fighting with Dedue and being too Faerghan to talk about it. Dimitri Felix can handle, even in his tired state. He’s not so sure about a stranger who’s broken in.

Felix adjusts the position of his keyring in his hand, cool metal sliding between his knuckles. He took kendo and is better with a sword, but he knows how to throw a proper punch without breaking a thumb. Gripping the keys tighter, he slowly makes his way to the end of the entrance hall, carefully peeling around the corner towards the den and the kitchen.

The man is tall. He’s slightly tanned, with wild and unruly red hair. He wears a burgundy plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up halfway. He’s… also wearing Annette’s old Kiss My Buns apron which is confusing, because Felix knows that’s packed away and stored in the hall closet and has been for years --

“Felix,” the man says with ease. With familiarity. With warmth . Felix narrows his eyes. It doesn’t make sense; he’s never seen this man before, but it’s clear that he knows him. It’s evident in his tone and in the way he moves through the kitchen with ease, because he’s having no problem finding dinnerware and utensils.

Felix pauses at that, watching him load a plate with a piece of pizza, only to set a fork and a knife next to it. How does he know his preferred method of eating such a thing? The man looks up and smiles, and Goddess it’s striking, wide and warm, and for a moment, Felix is jealous that a man can look so happy.

And then he remembers that this man has broken into his house.

“Come over,” he says, waving towards the plate set for him. “Eat. It’s gonna get cold if you don’t.”

The man unties the apron, folding it neatly before putting it in the wardrobe with the china and how the fuck does he know that’s where it goes when it’s not being used and --

This is madness. This is nuts. Felix must have fallen asleep at his desk and dreamt this wild fantasy up, because it’s too weird, it’s too uncanny, it feels--

Well, not wrong; it feels right, and it’s kind of freaking him out.

The man is staring at him, head cocked to the side, auburn eyes soft with affection, freckles dusting across his nose, lips parted slightly and then-- “Felix, are you alright? You look tired. Did work go okay?”

“I’m… tired,” Felix is unsure why he bothers to answer, because playing along can’t be safe.

“Is it the Von Aegir account? I know that man has a lot of things to shift through, but he’s at least easy to work with, right?”

Felix is absolutely certain he’s now dreaming, because there’s no way a stalker would know that. Half of his office doesn’t know that. His accounts are secret. He loosens his grip on the keys, dropping them in his pocket, before moving to sit down.

It doesn’t feel like a dream. He’s never had a dream so vivid, or where food is warm and steaming, or where he’s aware of just how uncomfortable these dumb stools are or--

The man slides a hand along his shoulder and squeezes gently before letting go. It’s a practiced motion, full of familiarity.

“This is going to sound odd,” Felix blurts, “But how do you know about that account?”

The man blinks at him. “You complain about it literally every night,” he says around a mouth full of pizza. “I can’t even read in bed before the lights go out, because you’re too busy harping about Ferdinand and his terrible tea choices.”

“We share a bed?” The words come before he can stop them and Felix hopes that he hasn’t royally fucked whatever this is up.

The man quirks his brows, mouth parted gently before it snaps shut in surprise. “I mean, yeah, for like four years.�� Then his eyes narrow. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He reaches out, pressing his hand against Felix’s forehead, frowning. “You feel like you could be a little bit warm but--”

“What’s your name?” Felix regrets it, he really regrets it and he’s not hot because he’s sick, he’s hot because he’s flustered. But it’s probably easier to think that he’s just sick, because it’s the only explanation there is; how can he be sharing a bed with a man that he’s never met?

“Sylvain--”

“It was a joke,” Felix speaks over him, but it’s not because he doesn’t know a Sylvain . It doesn’t ring a bell, there’s nothing familiar which is a damn shame because Felix would definitely want to remember meeting this man.

Sylvain smiles but it parts his face only halfway, like he wants to believe Felix but he doesn’t quite. Something here is off, and for the first time since he’s stepped through his doorstep, Felix isn’t sure the stranger is the problem. The man sitting across from him is at ease here, he knows where he is; it's clear that he knows Felix.

And Felix has the distinct feeling that he’s the intruder here, even if that doesn’t make sense, because this is his home. Sylvain is quiet as he watches him eating, but the calculating gaze that he wears just makes the food in Felix’s mouth turn to ash.

“You know Sylvain, I’m not feeling very well after all. I think that I’ll head to bed.” He pushes away from his stool, but then pauses. “Thank you… for bringing home food. I’m sorry.”

Felix isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. He kicks open the trash can by the foot pedal and the pizza slides in with a greasy tumble. He sets the plate in the sink gently, before turning to leave the kitchen.

Sylvain is still watching him, chin in his hand, a little line furrowed between his eyebrows as Felix casts one more look at him. He shouldn’t feel guilty. This is his home, he doesn’t know this man but--

He feels weirdly vulnerable and it’s not because there’s a strange and beautiful man in his kitchen, it’s because that man knows him, Felix can tell this man knows him deeply. He brushes past without another word, trying to avoid the tense air between them.

“Felix,” Sylvain says quietly and Felix turns back. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks once more.

Felix seriously considers telling him the truth. He’s this close to just blurting that he has no idea who he is, that he wants him out of the house, that he’s tired and Sylvain needs to go. But he doesn’t, he can’t, something holds him back from hurting this man and he doesn’t feel in danger.

Felix can handle his own anyway.

He sighs. “Yes,” he says, and he hopes that this time there’s more conviction in his voice, but the moment the word is breathed, he can tell that he’s failed. Sylvain’s expression is pinched, but he doesn’t press. In fact, he doesn’t say a damn word, and for some reason, it speaks volumes more than any other thing would, because for the ten minutes that Felix has known the man, Sylvain doesn’t seem the type to keep quiet.

So Felix runs. He turns on his heel and retreats into the bedroom.

####

His bedroom is different and that’s how Felix knows this must be a dream. A wild and disturbingly vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. The room isn’t chaos, but it’s well lived in. It lacks the clinical tidiness that Felix is prone to, because he works too much and is too tired to truly enjoy his home. There’s an extra dresser. Knick-knacks and pictures that Felix doesn’t recognize. A desk that he certainly doesn’t own, with an unfamiliar shirt strewn over the chair next to it.

He steps into the bathroom, gray tile cold underneath his feet like so many other things in his life. The bathroom is different too, with bottles of hair products strewn about, two sets of toothbrushes and the ugliest burnt orange shag bath mat he’s ever seen. He turns the water hotter than he normally likes. Felix strips and his hand lingers on the doorknob before locking it.

He stands under the boiling stream beyond the time it takes to run cold. Felix doesn’t pull himself out until his fingers and toes are ice, hair hanging limp and wet around his face in clammy strands.

The person that stares back in the mirror looks tired and haunted, circles bruising deep underneath his eyes. Felix tries to make sense of everything that is happening to him, from the handsome man that he’s created in his mind eye, to the brilliant vividness of this entire experience.

He opts not to blow dry his hair, twisting it into a wet knot to at least get it off his face. He slips into the soft pajama pants and plain T-shirt he’d brought into the bathroom with him. He brushes his teeth and moisturizes, slapping lightly at his cheeks like it’ll wake him up.

It doesn’t.

With a sigh, he unlocks the door, gliding into the bedroom that’s fallen dark. There’s a lump in the bed, nestled into the sheets on the side that isn’t Felix’s. Red hair curls around Sylvain’s face, brushing across his cheekbones. Felix watches him for a long moment before his gaze cuts to the empty side of the mattress.

He can’t sleep in here, he can’t share a bed with a man that he doesn’t know, dream or not. Quietly, he tiptoes around the edge of the bed to the closet. He pilfers a spare quilt, before grabbing his pillow from the bed and--

“Felix…”

Felix pauses at the quiet muttering of his name, hand on the bedroom door as he glances back. Sylvian is still asleep, brow furrowed, arm out and fingers fisting the sheets where Felix would normally sleep.

It doesn’t feel like a dream anymore; it feels too real and Felix feels like he’s an outsider intruding somewhere that he doesn’t belong. He slips from the room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he can manage.

The couch is cold and uncomfortable, and the soft leather of it sticks to Felix’s skin. Still, he turns on his side, pulling the quilt tighter around him, pressing into his pillow. It doesn’t smell like him, he realizes, it smells like the other man. Sylvain , with his tanned skin burnished with soft brown freckles and easy-going demeanor.

Felix settles back onto his back, before he finally manages to drift to sleep.

He thinks he remembers a soft kiss on the forehead and the whisper of loving words, but he must imagine it.

####

Felix wakes up to the smell of bacon and he’s come to the realization that this isn’t a dream. He doesn’t know how he knows it, but he can feel it in his bones. He’s the intruder here and whatever Felix has made his life with Sylvain, has temporarily vanished.

There’s dread that settles through him, as he sits up. Sylvain’s poking around the kitchen in his pajamas, tongs in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, standing over the gas range. He looks just as tired as Felix feels, a slight raggedness to his form that makes Felix wonder if Sylvain realizes that there’s something off about all of this too.

The quilt slips around his shoulders as he yawns, and Sylvain looks up, eyes carefully hooded as he regards Felix. “I must have snored really bad last night for you to slum it on the couch,” Sylvain says, turning back to the pan to flip the bacon.

“Snoring,” Felix replies. “Right. Absolutely terrible.”

Sylvain hums at that. “Odd,” he says, “Considering that you’re the one who snores, not me.”

Sylvain knows, he definitely knows that something is off. Of course he does though. If Sylvain has a version of Felix he’s lived with for years, he would definitely know the difference. Still, it’s better to play sick than a different man.

“Sorry, I’m just---” Felix sighs wearily. “I’m tired and the bedroom just felt… wrong.”

Sylvain says nothing as he pulls the bacon off, setting the strips on a paper-towel lined plate. Felix watches as he sets about making another cup of coffee, setting a pod into a single-serve maker that Felix wouldn’t be caught dead owning. Once it’s done brewing, he doesn’t add anything, opting to bring it to him black.

The familiarity that radiates off of this man punches Felix in the gut. He takes the cup from Sylvain without a word, cradling it between both of his hands, leaning over the steaming liquid. Sylvain pulls a chair up next to him, dropping onto it backwards, arms draped over the spine.

“Felix,” Sylvain says, “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I-- nothing .” But the word feels like dirt in his mouth and he can feel the way that his lips tug downwards, and there’s no way that he sounds remotely convincing. Felix isn’t and will never be, a good liar. So he tries again. “It’s work-- and not just the Von Aegir account. I’m tired at looking at numbers all day and it’s starting to really sink in, I think.”

Sylvain takes a sip of his coffee, considering his words for a long moment as his eyes rake over Felix’s tired form, but he eventually nods. “Okay, Fe,” he says, and the nickname pulls at Felix. “Okay.”

Sylvain gets up, placing his mug back on the counter. “I made breakfast,” he says, and this time there’s a little more pep to his voice. “It’s only bacon and toast, but you still have time before you head into the office.”

Felix blinks as he watches Sylvain turn to pull two plates from the cabinets. He lifts himself from the counter with a sigh, retreating back into the bedroom. Sylvain’s tidied up a bit, dirty clothes properly thrown into the hamper and the bed made.

Still, he struggles to dress, staring into his closet blankly before he remembers that he’s trying to get ready. He looks worse than the day before, a ghostly image blinking back at him in the mirror. He doesn’t bother to brush his hair, even if he knows that it’ll knot. He ties it back hastily instead.

When he comes back to the kitchen, there’s a plate waiting for him, loaded with bacon and toast and that dumb red plum jam that he insists on paying way too much for. He’s surprised that he can eat, but maybe it’s because he’s starving, or maybe it’s because Sylvain has retreated to dress himself, or--

Felix doesn’t really know, he doesn’t seem to know anything in that moment. The bacon is well cooked and the coffee is exactly how he likes it, but he can’t even focus on them, because his mind is too busy trying to figure shit out.

When Sylvain comes back in, he’s scrubbed clean and smells like Aqua Velvet, which Felix normally hates, but on Sylvain he doesn’t. He kind of leans into it, when Sylvain bends over and pecks him on the cheek. And then he remembers that this man is a stranger and pulls back. Sylvain doesn’t notice, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sure that I’ll be home before you again,” Sylvain says. “Would you like me to bring home dinner again? Or would you like me to cook?”

“I-- um, whatever works for you. I guess.”

Sylvain lets out a sigh, like he’s trying to figure him out but can’t, and says, “Alright, I’ve got it. You just worry about those dumb tax accounts, okay?”

“Yeah,” Felix replies. “Dumb.”

Sylvain laughs, full and warmhearted, and for a moment Felix can believe that this man actually loves him.

It bothers Felix how much he misses that feeling.

####

Felix learns that Sylvain isn’t a singular presence locked in at his home. Whatever it was that is happening, is happening everywhere , because Annette greets him by asking him how Sylvain was doing. Apparently, she misses his dumb butt .

“Annette, help me here,” Felix asks her later at lunch, “How did I meet Sylvain?”

Annette blinks back at him, and then bursts out laughing. When he blinks back at her, head cocked to the side, she sobers up slightly and says, “Wait, were you serious? Felix, how could you have forgotten?”

Felix rubs at his neck sheepishly. “Well, it’s not that I just-- look, I want to hear it from your perspective, I guess.”

Annette goes strangely quiet, eyes downcast and gaze contemplative. “Odd, that you would ask me that,” she muses, and it catches Felix off guard. “There wasn’t a lot to it,” she continues. “But I always told you that those track pants were too tight on you.”

Felix freezes, eyes narrowing. It was odd, how many similarities there were with his world and wherever this was. His favorite pair of running pants had been a size too small and she constantly complained about them.

“Track pants,” he repeats. “You always told me that I’d split them.”

Annette crosses her arms, smile spreading wide across her face. “And that’s exactly what happened,” she says, and Felix blanches because he’s mortified, absolutely mortified at the idea of it. “But how lucky you were that such a hot and studly man was right there, willing to lend you a sweatshirt. You looked ridiculous coming home that day, shirt tied around your waist and a sheepish stranger behind you.”

Felix falls very quiet. He and Annette had been together in this lifetime too, and he’d met Sylvain while they were still together. For a moment, there’s a horrible thought, a horrible, horrible thought that he’s the kind of man that could cheat and that Sylvain is the kind of man that could wreck a home but--

Well, Annette and him were still friends, and she looks upon this memory with a strange fondness.

Also, what a ridiculous way to meet a man.

“Annette,” he starts quietly, “Were you ever angry that…”

He doesn’t finish the question, but she seems to grasp what he means, and she looks surprised. “What, you and Sylvain? Felix, of course not.” Annette pauses and let’s out a long sigh. “You’re overthinking things like you always do. Sometimes things are simple and you just overlook them. Whatever fight the two of you are having, you’ll figure it out.”

“We’re not--” Felix sighs. “We’re not fighting, there’s just… I’m not quite myself.”

Annette hums at that. “Yeah, I noticed. You went for the red mug instead of the green one.”

“Er-- what?”

“I gave you the red mug nearly a decade ago, Felix, and while I’m glad that you still have it, it was really weird for you to use it over the one Sylvain gave you.”

“I just-- I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll… it’ll be fine. I’ll get over this funk.”

Annette is quiet for a long moment, before she says, “I have a feeling that I’m not the one that you should be telling that.” She stands, before squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Whatever it is, talk to him about it. Sylvain is the kind of person that will worry himself into his grave.”

For not the first time in his life, he curses Annette for how perceptive she is. At the same time, he loves that about her. “Thank you, Annie,” he says quietly.

“Of course.”

####

Felix doesn’t talk to Sylvain about it, mostly because he has no idea how to talk to the man.

Felix has a distinct type of person, when it comes to dating. Quiet, demure and definitely not male. Hell, he’s never even considered dating a man. But then again, his type clearly isn’t a standard, because Annette wasn’t any of those things and he’d nursed a ring for months with the intent of marrying her. Instead of saying yes though, she’d only replied with an Oh, Felix , and two months later she’d moved the bulk of her important things out of his home.

Sylvain doesn’t question him. As promised, dinner is taken care off, falling into his lap in the form of Chinese take-out from Wok and Roll. They forgo the counter and stools, settling into the couch, Felix as far to one side as he can manage and legs stretched out to keep Sylvain from snuggling too close.

This must be a familiar motion, because Sylvain just winks at him, pulling his feet into his lap instead, kneading at his tired arches.

Felix doesn’t stop him.

But then bedtime comes and he panics, citing that he’ll sleep on the couch again. Sylvain’s face falls, but when Felix tells him that his back aches from leaning over reports all day, he seems to understand.

“Let’s swap sides then,” Sylvain says. “I can handle the lumpy part of the mattress for a night or two.”

Felix hesitates. “No I-- it’s terrible, I can’t ask that of you. It’s fine, I’ll just sleep out here.”

Sylvain looks like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it, and Felix takes the awkward moment to run into the bedroom and ready himself for the night. It’s the same kind of feeling as the morning really, staring off as he finds his sleep clothes, brushes his teeth and preps for sleep.

When he emerges, Sylvain eyes his pajamas with a frown on his face. Somethings off, something is wrong and Felix starts to panic--

Sylvain leans over with the intent to kiss him goodnight. Felix turns to the side though, lips catching his cheek, and he closes his eyes in a wince because that was absolutely the wrong thing to do. He can feel Sylvain stiffen against his cheek, and when he pulls back he doesn’t look angry, he looks sad. Lips tugged into the tiniest of frowns, his hands on Felix’s shoulders and--

Felix hates this, he hates hurting this man, because it isn’t fair to him. Whatever Sylvain has for his Felix, is real love; the kind of love that’s enviable, that people spend entire lifetimes trying to find, and it’s obvious in the way that Sylvain goes about everything in their carefully maintained life.

“Sylvain,” he blurts suddenly, “I’m-- I’m sorry.” The words are a harsh whisper and he watches Sylvain take a deep breath and sigh.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he says quietly.

“No, I-- I don’t think I can tell you this,” Felix murmurs. “But it’s not you, it’s definitely me, and I just need… I need a little bit to sort it out.”

Sylvain is silent for a long moment, moving a hand to grip his chin gently, thumb sliding along the smooth skin of Felix’s cheek. “Okay,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead and Felix reaches out, one hand grasping at his shirt tightly. Sylvain is the perfect height to fall against, to be pulled closer, to just fall into and just disappear. His lips linger there, soft against Felix’s forehead, like he’s trying to savor the moment and he’s afraid that Felix will pull away.

“Okay,” Sylvain says again. “I love you.”

Felix wants to vomit; he’s going to, because he can’t say it back, even if he knows that the other Felix would, knowing that there’s no way he doesn’t love this man. But he can’t, he can’t, he can’t , even if only to pretend for Sylvain’s sake, because he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve any of the wretched shit that Felix is being put through.

When Sylvain pulls back things are different than before. Sylvain is stiff and words are caught in Felix’s throat, because he knows that no matter what he says, he can’t fix the damage that he’s just done.

Felix lets go of his shirt, smoothing it out in a nervous gesture, unable to meet his gaze. It’s not him that retreats this time, it’s Sylvain, shooting him one last glance before he shuts the bedroom door behind him.

Felix needs to find a way back, because he can't keep doing this, he can’t just slip into this life that isn’t his. He’s going to wreck this wonderful foundation that Sylvain has built with someone else, and it’s because he doesn’t know him, and even if he’s Felix, he’s a different Felix.

He needs to sort it out. He’s got to find a way out of this, because it isn’t fair to break the heart of a man who doesn’t deserve it.

####

Sylvain doesn’t greet him in the morning.

He doesn’t make breakfast.

Felix’s coffee mug remains empty and cold.

Sylvain dresses in silence and doesn’t say anything as he leaves for work, and that’s how Felix knows he’s fucked up.

Later that night, after a long and grueling day of numbers and taxes, and one very annoying tea monger, Felix slips into the house quietly. When he walks into the kitchen, Sylvain is there, hands already in the sink washing up as he prepares to make dinner.

He barely glances at him.

“I know that you love me,” Felix tells him, and Sylvain pauses. “I know that you do, I know--”

“Felix--”

“And I just…” Felix shuts his eyes tight, taking a deep breath and-- “I love you too,” he tells him, hoping it’s as convincing as he’s trying to make it sound. “Things are weird now but--”

“Yeah, I know,” Sylvain interrupts. “It’s not me.” His tone is flat, but Felix can sense that abrasive quality there. Sylvain must not be the type to get angry often, because he seems almost unused to it.

Felix slides next to him, turning the faucet back on. “I’ll cook tonight,” he says.

Sylvain’s head snaps to the side in surprise, but he dries his hands on the dish towel. “Alright,” he says quietly. He hesitates and then leans down, kissing the crown of Felix’s head. “Thanks.” The words are soft, but they sound at least a little bit relieved, and Felix knows that he’s not just thanking him for dinner.

Fifteen minutes later, Felix is cutting up carrots and Sylvain watches him. He slides the knife along at an angle and that must be odd, because Sylvain’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Carrots, huh?” he finally asks.

Felix looks up, meeting auburn eyes, but instead of glowing with affection, they breed suspicion. Felix swallows thickly. “New recipe,” he mutters.

Sylvain doesn’t reply, but Felix knows that this time, he doesn’t buy it.

They eat a good dinner and watch a movie, but it’s with a quiet silence that fills the room. There’s room between them again with Felix stretched out like a cat to cover space, but Sylvain doesn’t pull Felix’s feet into his lap. He doesn’t move to rub at them. A palpable distance stretches between the two of them and it makes Felix sick.

“I’ll grab the quilt,” Sylvain says when he pulls himself from the couch.

“No--” Felix starts, and Sylvain stops, paused in the entrance of the bedroom, looking back over his shoulders. “I’ll… let’s go to bed.”

Sylvain lets out a short laugh, but it sounds annoyed more than anything. “That was the intent.”

“No, I mean…”

Sylvain is the one that sighs, before turning back towards him and leaning against the doorframe. “Felix, come here,” he says softly.

Felix does, pressing a hand to Sylvain’s chest. “I don’t want to sleep alone,” Felix tells him, and it’s true, he really doesn’t.

He hasn’t wanted to sleep alone for years, but there’s not anyone to share that with, because he’s so very alone. And now here’s Sylvain, who doesn’t love him, but loves something like him, and maybe it’s dumb that Felix feels like indulging in it for at least one night.

Sylvain’s hand hovers over his shoulder, almost like he’s afraid to touch him, but then he pulls him closer. “Yeah, okay, come here.”

Felix lets the man hug him and then they part, stepping into the room. Felix retreats to the bathroom to ready himself, and when he comes back, Sylvain’s already nestled into the covers. “Those are your pajamas,” he says. He sounds confused.

Felix looks down, fingertips roaming across the soft t-shirt and plaid flannel of his pants. “They’re comfy,” he replies.

Sylvain doesn’t elaborate on whatever he’s thinking. Felix slides under the covers and clicks off the lamp beside him, the room falling into pitch darkness. There’s light filtering through the window and he can see Sylvain’s pinched expression in the soft moonlight.

He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, rolling over instead. He’s in a T-shirt and boxers, and Felix stares at the wide expanse of his back, fingers itching to rub across his strong shoulder blades.

It’s not fair of him to feel like this, because Sylvain isn’t his.

Felix has never felt lonelier.

####

Two more days pass in a similar way.

Felix is starting to ease into the presence of Sylvain, but the other man pulls away slightly. He doesn’t blame him, because Felix knows that there are differences. He’s not the same man as the other Felix, and who better would know, than Sylvain who loves him?

Annette would have known in a heartbeat. Actually, Felix thinks that even now, even as just a friend, she still knows, because it’s evident in the way that she regards him with curiosity when she thinks that he isn’t looking.

When Felix comes home that night, it’s rinse and repeat. Sylvain makes dinner this time and Felix picks the movie. They sit on opposite ends of the couch. They barely talk. When preparing for bed, Felix doesn’t bother hiding in the bathroom, because there isn’t a point. Sylvain knows what he looks like and it’ll only drive the wedge between them even further.

He’s pulling on his pajama pants when Sylvain finally says something. “Those are your pajamas.” It’s not the first time he’s said it, and it’s still just as weird to comment on.

“You said that the other night,” Felix replies, fingering the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

“Since when have you worn your own clothes to bed?” Sylvain asks and Felix’s blood runs cold. “And that’s… that’s not the only thing that’s off,” he continues. “Cutting your carrots at an angle. I’ve only seen you do it in rounds. And sleeping on the couch? You hate that couch, and you constantly remind me about what a waste of money it was.” Sylvain sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“You said you felt off and I believed you. You told me that work is commanding your attention, and it often does. But not stealing my clothes to sleep in? Showering alone? I always brush out your hair before bed. You always call me during lunch-- always-- and not a peep for days and then--” Sylvain’s words are coming a mile a minute and he takes a shaky breath, like he’s afraid to say whatever’s next.

“And then you tell me that you love me.”

Felix is confused. “But I--”

“Of course you do Felix, Goddess, I fucking know, but you never say it. I tell you that I love you and then you call me something stupid, like baffoon or sentiamental dolt or fool, and that’s the way you reply, because you-- that’s just what you do. ”

If Felix were to be honest, that sounds on brand for him and he’s a fool, an utter and complete fool to think that he can pretend to be the man Sylvain loves, for however long this farce goes on.

“I’m not me,” Felix says, and Sylvain laughs loud, bitter and angry and annoyed all at once, and it’s the ugliest thing he’s ever heard. “No-- I mean, I’m not-- look, I don’t know how to explain this but--”

“Am I not enough anymore?” Sylvain asks him, his voice barely above a whisper, and Felix’s heart clenches because no, no he can’t fuck this up.

“I’m someone else,” Felix blurts. Sylvain looks at him, head cocked to the side as a sneer falls across his face. He’s offended that Felix has come up with a ridiculous sounding excuse, even if the excuse is real. “Sylvain, I don’t know who you are-- I just met you. I came home the other night after living alone for years, and you were just there and I--” He’s the one to take a shaky breath this time and he knows that he sounds crazy.

“That’s not funny,” Sylvain tells him. He’s sitting on the bed, head gripped between his hands, fingers twisted in his brilliant red hair and Felix knows that the words coming won’t be good. “That isn’t remotely funny, Felix. That’s--” He stands abruptly.

“I’m going to Ingrid’s.” Felix has no idea who Ingrid is, but Sylvain’s already pulled out a duffel bag, stuffing it with clean clothes from the wardrobe and--

“Sylvain--”

“No,” Sylvain snaps. Felix halts, shying away from him like a skittish colt. “No, Felix, I can’t-- I can’t fucking do this.”

“Do what ?”

“Of all the things you can say, you go with I’m someone else? Goddess, Felix, I can’t even look at you right now.”

“It’s true,” Felix snaps right back. “What you have-- how much is it worth to you? Are you just going to walk out and not say anything?”

“What we have,” Sylvain replies. “It’s what we have and how much it’s worth to us , Felix. Together, as a couple. Four years together, and you’ve reduced everything that we’ve ever shared to something as stupid as I don’t know you . How can you even say that?”

Felix knows that it doesn’t matter what he says, because no amount of words or proof or anything, is going to change Sylvain’s mind.

“What about our promise, Fe?” Sylvain has zipped the bag up and thrown it over his shoulder, and now he’s looking at Felix, face wet and eyes red, and Goddess above, Felix is next. And Felix never fucking cries, but he wants to cry for Sylvain, because he’s a wonderful person that the universe has irrovacably fucked up.

“Sylvain, I…” But the words die, because he has no idea what Sylvan is talking about.

Sylvain pushes past him and out of the room, Felix following him close behind, but when he reaches the front door of the brownstone, he stops, turning back around. Felix hates the look on his face, he hates the raw and burning emotion behind it, and he suddenly realizes how lucky he was that he and Annette agreed on the break up, because he wouldn’t wish this kind of thing on his worst enemy.

“Felix, I love you,” Sylvain tells him, and it’s with enough emotion that it makes his heart stop, because it feels like he’s telling him , not his counterpart. It punches through Felix and he feels it in his bones, tugging at his core. “Goddess, I love you more than anything, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my fucking miserable life before you, it’s that it doesn’t matter how much you love someone, because they can still hurt you.”

“Sylvain--”

“You push people away, Felix. It’s what you’re best at, and if that’s what you want, then fine . You’ll work your job everyday from morning to night, and you’ll come home to an empty house and you’ll be alone . You’ll wallow in that loneliness forever, because you think that as long as one person puts in the effort, it’s enough, but it isn’t Fe. It never will be, and if you don’t learn that, you will spend the rest of your life miserable and without a single person by your side.”

Sylvain gives him one last look, and it’s sad, pitying and angry all in one go, before walking out. Tears finally slip down his face and there’s a pathetic sob that rips through him, uncharacteristic and burning, because this man has just analyzed him down to the very core, without even truly knowing who he is.

Sylvain knows him, better than he knows himself, and that’s when Felix realizes that no, he doesn’t want to be alone; he never wants to be alone again. He’ll do anything, if it means that he doesn’t live in that empty, vacant existence where he does nothing but barely live.

####

Felix has never been able to hide anything from Annette and that’s probably why they didn’t work out in the end.

Felix isn’t sure how much time passes before he calls Annette, but he’d sobbed some ridiculous, gut-wrenching words at her through the phone, and fifteen minutes later, Mercedes was at his door, pulling him into a tight hug and not letting go.

And now Felix is at their small kitchen table, a steaming mug of hot tea in front of him and a plate of delicious looking pastries cooked by Mercie herself. He knows he needs to eat something, but all he does is stare at it miserably instead, mind roaming a mile a minute as he tries to figure out what he’s going to do when he gets home. He’s not sure that he can fix things. He’s always been bad at that.

“Felix,” Annette says, rubbing at his back gently. Mercedes is on his other side, holding his cold hand in her warm ones, thumbs rubbing across the back of his palm. He’s dumb crying again, eyes red and face tired, nose stopped up and dribbling everywhere. He’s a goddess-damned mess and the last time his Annette had seen him like this, was when his brother had unexpectedly died, and he’d spent a week in anger before breaking down on the kitchen floor, tucked against a cabinet with a half empty bottle of scotch clutched to his chest.

It’s weird, that this feels way worse.

“Felix,” she says again, and her words are softer this time. “You seem… well, I haven’t seen you look like this since we um… well you know , and I found you...” But she sighs and Felix can’t help but let out a stupid little snort. He’d already known that they’d been together in whatever and wherever this is, but he’s struck by how typical he is, having fucked up things with her too.

“Annie,” he finally says, sounding nasty and pitiful and pathetic, but Felix finds that he doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t want to care about anything. “Do I push people away?”

“Is that what he said to you?” she asks gently.

“Everything that he said was true and I-- I’m so angry at myself,” Felix admits in a soul clattering confession. “And it’s unfair; it’s not okay. How can such a wonderful man love me? How can he even think that I’m worth anything like that. And even after all the shit this week, after everything, he still fucking says it as he walks out the door and it’s unfair. ”

Unfair, because he’s not the one that deserves Sylvain, he never was, and now that he’s had this weird taste of what could be domestic bliss, Felix kind of wants it back.

“Is this what happened to us?” he blubbers. “Is this why we didn’t work? Am I just incapable of--”

Annette doesn’t let him finish the thought. “Oh, Felix,” she soothes as she pulls him to her, nestling his face into her neck, her fingers combing through his midnight hair. He’s never really deserved her either, and that’s why he never married his Annette, because the moment she had met Mercie, he knew that she could do better.

“Don’t say such ridiculous things,” Annette tells him. “Some people aren’t meant to be, and that’s okay.”

“But Sylvain--”

“I was talking about you and I. Ignore the big oaf; he’s being dumb.” Felix tries, focusing on Annette’s soft comfort and Mercedes’s gentle hand on his back, rubbing circles, but it’s hard and it’s dumb.

It’s also dumb to think that maybe you can fall in love with a person in only a few days, but Felix has always doubted himself, and even moreso since this entire mess started.

“I ruined us, and now I’ve ruined him,” Felix says against her neck.

“No honey,” she says to him, lips close to his temple, and Felix is glad for her, he’s glad that he can still count on her. “And I’m going to tell you exactly why. You and I had our problems, but it was never you . Do you want to know when I knew that Sylvain would be the one?”

“No,” he groans into her neck, because it isn’t something that’s meant for him, the other Felix should hear this. But then again, the other Felix would have never let this happen.

“Too bad,” she laughs, and he’s not surprised, because Annette will always tell you how she feels, whether you want her to or not. “You had your gay panic,” she says, “Freaking out about liking a guy, and convinced that he’d never like you back, so you never asked him. You refused to, but then there was Ingrid’s Yule party that year, and he just couldn’t stop looking at you, or you him, and I just knew, Felix. It was never that we didn’t love each other, it’s just that you loved him more, and that’s why I told you to go after him.”

She had done what now? Whatever relationship Annette and Felix has in this life, clearly transcends all other friendships, because what woman tells her man to go after another man? Annette is an angel. She’s a Goddess, she’s something else entirely, and Mercedes too, because she sits there beside him, humming lightly.

“Your problem isn’t pulling away Felix,” Annette continues, “It’s that you love too fiercely-- so much so that you don’t know how to express it. You keep it wound so tight and when it comes time to show it you just… you don’t. It’s scary to love a person and it’s even scarier when they love you back.

“Sylvain is dumb, but he loves you more than anything; more than you and I ever did. Leave him be for the night and stay here. We’ll pile into the bed, we’ll watch something terribly sappy, and Mercedes and I will eat so many cookies that our stomachs will hurt. You will sleep in and when you sit here, eating lunch tomorrow, you will call him, understand?”

Felix nods against her breast, breathing out a sigh of relief. Annette and Mercedes drag him into the bedroom after making him eat the food on his plate. It’s dumb how much he loves the domestic coddling, laying against Annette’s chest as she strokes his hair. Mercedes is on his other side, hand on his shoulder gently, still rubbing those soothing circles. He falls asleep first, tired and exhausted and barely watching the movie on the television.

When Felix wakes in the morning, alone in the large bed and sunlight peeking through the windows, he feels more rested than he has in years.

####

The kitchen table is quiet, but it’s comfortable. Annette and Mercedes call in to work, despite Felix’s protests.

“No amount of work is worth losing the only thing that matters,” Annette said to him earlier that morning, when she’d dragged him from the bed. Felix knows her tones well, and he knows when it’s useless to fight her.

She sits to his left in fluffy pajamas, one leg crossed over the other as she reads the paper. Mercedes flits about the kitchen proper, fully dressed in a cream colored blouse and a soft-looking mahogany skirt. She drops a tea mug in front of Annette, leaning over for a gentle kiss and Felix’s heart twists at the sweet domesticity of it.

He’d fucking lost his mind last night, coming here but… he’d needed it. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t ever lose it like that -- it’s been nearly a decade since it’s been so bad. But he doesn’t regret it. His face hurts and his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, but his heart feels light, like the years that have weighed him down are suddenly gone.

Or lighter. Felix is a work in progress.

Mercedes drops a cup in front of him next, followed by a plate of pancakes. Annette’s always teased him about refusing syrup, but he tucks in without a word, thankful for their kindness and their willingness to not judge.

Yesterday, Felix would have said that he doesn’t deserve friends like these.

Today, it’s not that he thinks he does, but he’s come to the conclusion that he’s done some pretty fucked up shit in his life, and that he needs to do better. He needs to be better, to the people in his life.

“It’s nearly noon,” Annette says. Felix sees that she’s dropped the paper to look at the clock hanging above the sink.

Noon means doom. Noon means calling Sylvain and trying to patch up whatever he’s fucked up, because if there’s anyone who doesn’t deserve what’s happened, it’s the only man who seems to truly know him, and his own personal Felix.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I’ll--” He looks at his plate and the pancakes the Mercedes has made for him. At his tea, perfectly brewed. “As soon as I’m done with this.”

He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t frown.

It’s a start.

####

Unlike Felix, Mercedes and Annette live in a proper house, with a proper backyard.

He sits on their porch, painted white but already chipped with age. There are plants everywhere, carefully tended to by Annette and her silly songs, watered and pruned with love and it shows, because they seem to thrive in bursts of bright colors.

He sits on the step, instead of one of the outdoor chairs, outfitted with soft cushions, made by Mercedes herself. In his hand, sits his phone, Sylvain’s number pulled up on the screen and his thumb hovering over it.

He’s not the right Felix, so he has no idea if he can fix this, but he’s sure as hell going to try. He’s tired of fucking things up, and leaving them fucked up.

He backs out of the phone app and pulls up the photo gallery. Felix isn’t one for pictures, but Sylvain seems the type to thrive on them. He slowly scrolls through them, one by one, taking in what kind of life they have.

He hates pictures, and maybe this Felix does too. But he’s in a lot of them. And he looks-- well, he looks annoyed in every single photo. Never smiling, always like he’s one moment away from strangling the other. Sylvain leaning over his shoulder, draped across him, Felix scowling in return. Sylvain doing something dumb, like flirting with a garden statue. Pictures with friends-- Annette, Mercedes, and a blonde woman that is probably Ingrid, mentioned the night before.

It’s odd, seeing his face, stare back at him from pictures that he’s never taken.

He comes across one and halts, thumb twitching as he regards it. Someone else had taken it-- probably Annette, because she likely knows his phone pass code. He never changed it after , so The Felix that belongs here was probably no different.

Sylvain chatting with friends, Felix off to the side, nursing a drink. He watches Sylvain in the picture, the harsh lines of his figure and face severe, but eyes soft and his lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, and it’s like his heart crashes all at once.

Felix knows he’s never looked at Annette like that, not even when he was on a knee, ring held out and asking her to spend eternity with him. And she’d known, she’d known , which is why she had said no, because this is what he’s supposed to look like when he’s with the person he loves.

He doesn’t love Sylvain, but this Felix does, and if he’s going to be stuck there for eternity… Well, maybe he can too. Eventually.

He doesn’t get the chance to think any longer on it, a call coming through with a picture flashing across the screen. Sylvain, sticking his fingers up his nose in a ridiculous fashion, eyes crossed and tongue sticking out, and it’s singlehandedly the most ugly and endearing thing that Felix has ever seen.

He’d pick the same picture, probably.

“Hey,” he answers quietly, pressing the phone against his ear.

“Hey,” Sylvain breathes on the other end. “I-- actually, I didn’t think you’d answer.”

Felix snorts at that. “Why would you think that?”

Sylvain hesitates and Felix can see it, him standing there, rubbing at his neck awkwardly. “Well I uh-- I said some pretty terrible shit to you last night.” He doesn’t apologize though, and Felix doesn’t think he should.

“Look, Felix,” Sylvain says, sigh cresting through his words and he sounds tired, he sounds so tired, just like Felix. They’re exhausted and not just from the fight the night before, but from a near week of dancing around each other like strangers. “I don’t know exactly what it is that you want.”

“I want to come home.” The words come easily, naturally, like he’s known Sylvain forever.

He can imagine the sheepish smile that Sylvain is prone to, even at the worst of times. Especially at the worst of times, if the pictures that Felix scrolled through told him anything.

“Oh, Felix,” Sylvain says quietly.

Oh, Felix . It’s what Annette had said to him, as Felix waited for an answer, knee already sore from the tile he knelt on, ring suddenly heavy like lead in his fingertips. Oh, Felix, we need to talk .

But Sylvain says something else. “Of course you can come home.”

And it’s dumb, that Felix is crying again, because Felix only cries when he’s in the midst of a massive, emotional breakdown. He definitely doesn’t cry for two men that he doesn’t know. He definitely doesn’t cry in relief.

Sylvain must hear his poorly kept hiccups through the call though, because then he says, “Darling, it’s okay. Come back home, okay? It’ll be okay.”

It’ll be okay.

For the first time in nearly a decade, Felix believes it.

####

Nearly a week ago, he’d lived an existence where he unlocked this door everyday, only to open it to a lonely, negative existence. When he’d locked it last night, he’d left behind an empty house, charged with angry energy.

Never go to bed angry, Glenn had once told him, and it’s one of the few things that he can remember of his brother that doesn’t bring up feelings of dread. Felix hadn’t gone to bed angry though, he’d gone to bed in the midst of his mid-life crisis, sopping wet with tears and snot.

Most people buy cars. Felix gets jettisoned into an alternate reality, where he fucks everything up for his counterpart and learns how to feel in the process. He already hates it, this soft, mushy feeling in his chest and he hopes that it’ll go away.

Felix slides the key into the lock with nervous energy. He steps into the home quietly, before dropping his overnight bag in the entry hall. He leaves the keys on the table by the door. His shoes are slipped off and carefully tucked away on a rack.

Sylvain comes running around the corner, sliding across the wooden floors in his socks. But then he just stands there, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare Felix off with the slightest movement.

Felix knows that he looks terrible, but he walks right up to him and pauses, before dropping his head against Sylvain’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and Sylvain reaches up to wrap his arms around him, pulling him closer and Felix can’t help but sink into him.

Felix has spent the week pulling away because he didn’t want to overstep boundaries, but he likes this, Felix likes the warmth that radiates off of him. Sylvain smells like sandalwood and cinnamon, and it’s unfair, it’s just unfair , because he doesn’t belong to him.

But Felix will let himself have this small moment of comfort, even if it isn't meant for him.

“It’s okay and I’m sorry too,” Sylvain whispers into his hair. “It doesn’t change what I said, but I’m sorry.” He pulls back to look at Felix, thumbing at his cheek, eyes red and puffy too. “We’re a mess.”

“Yeah,” Felix says. He reaches up, but hesitates. Then he grabs Sylvain’s hand. “Yeah we are.”

“Did Annette take care of you?”

“She’s the best.”

Sylvain hums at that. “She always has been.” Sylvain pulls away to take both of Felix’s hands, thumbing over the back of them. “Come on, I ordered food.”

“Please tell me it’s not pizza.” Because as far as Felix is concerned, he never wants to eat pizza again. Sylvain smiles at him, wide and and slightly lopsided before winking at him, and Goddess above, Felix isn’t remotely surprised that this man somehow warmed the ice-cold of his Felix’s heart.

When Sylvain tugs at him, Felix follows without a word.

####

Dinner is a quiet affair, full of well seasoned street tacos and orange soda.

Now, they’re sitting on the couch that Felix hates, but they aren’t a world’s length apart and trying to avoid each other, and Felix feels one part relieved and one part annoyed. Sylvain’s got his arm slung around his shoulders, Felix pulled close to his side as they stare at the television without really watching it. It shouldn’t feel so natural and effortless. Felix should push him away and maintain that distance but--

Sylvain’s fingers thread across the crown of Felix’s head, and he can’t help but sink into the touch, because it’s been far, far too long since he’s found comfort in intimacy.

“Felix, let me brush out your hair?” Sylvain asks quietly, mouth close to his ear. It sounds nice and domestic, and the kind of thing that a couple would do after a bad fight, so Felix nods, trying to keep up the facade of a man trying to patch things up.

Sylvain pulls away, giving Felix a long and appraising look, and there’s something there that strikes Felix as odd. Sylvain’s looking at him like he’s trying to figure him out, like he’s not quite sure what it is exactly that he sees. But then he smiles and leans forward to kiss his forehead. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers against the skin there.

Felix sinks into the couch, relishing the moment as he tries to gather his thoughts, but Sylvain returns surprisingly quick, a boar bristle hairbrush in his hands.

Sylvain’s Felix has taste.

Sylvain motions for him to turn sideways on the couch and Felix complies. Then Sylvain turns off the television and panic creeps into the pit of his stomach, because he can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t--

Sylvain’s fingers dip into his hair, pulling out the hair tie with careful ease and a softness that belies his large hands. “We need to talk about it, Felix,” he says quietly from behind him.

“Yeah,” Felix breathes, fingers fisting the soft material of his pajama pants at the thigh as the pit of his stomach sinks lower and lower.

Sylvain is quiet for a long moment, using his fingers to pull apart Felix’s hair, waving gently through the strands to separate them. “Things have been weird the last few days,” he says and finally he raises the brush, pulling it through a small section of Felix’s hair.

Felix is hard with his hair. He doesn’t take good care of it and when it comes to brushing, he yanks hard at it, because the sooner the chore is done, the better. Sylvain though, holds his hair reverently, one hand wrapped around the silky strands as the other tugs at them softly with the brush. He starts from the bottom, working is way up, gently pulling at the tangles.

“It must be weird for you too,” Sylvain continues. “Easing back into unfamiliar things.” His voice is soft and Felix is half compelled to think that Sylvain has figured it out too, with the way that he crafts his words around such a strained topic. “Too many work accounts. Ingrid’s wedding coming up. Dimitri and Dedue’s dumb housewarming party-- like I get it, they’ve bought a house, cool. We’ve never had one of those though, and it’s annoying. All of it is.”

“I’m just tired,” Felix says with a sigh, but the explanation is just as flimsy as the first couple of times he tried it, and he can tell that it still doesn’t work by the way that Sylvain’s hands pause in his hair.

“I would bet,” Sylvain finally replies, hands resuming. Felix wants to sink into the touch, head falling back as Sylvain parts off another section. “It’s exhausting when you have no idea what’s going on.”

Felix opens his eyes, mouth parted in a question, but he doesn’t ask it. He doesn’t want to breach the trust that’s been tentatively forged between them. So he says, “Exhausting isn’t the half of it.”

“It’ll be okay,” Sylvain says. Felix hums, closing his eyes, relishing at the tug at his hairline and Sylvain’s fingers as they comb at his scalp. “We’ve been through a lot, you know. There’s an entire story behind Felix and Sylvain, and it’s taken a long time for us to figure things out.”

Felix is silent as Sylvain brushes on, thinking back on everything that’s happened in the last few days. Sylvain was right; Felix did push everyone away, made a point of it even. Went out of his way to hold people an arms length apart, and it’s not because he’s afraid of commitment, it’s because Annette was right.

When Felix loves, he loves deeply, but it’s easier to pretend that you don’t; because when you do, people feel the need to comfort you, and it almost makes it worse. And even if you haven’t moved on, even if you’re alone in your pathetic misery, all you need is for people think that you’re alright and they leave you alone.

It’s easier, Felix thinks, to be alone, because then the only person that you can disappoint is yourself.

Sylvain is quiet, brushing with well-practiced and adoring ease. When he’s done, he braids Felix’s hair down his back, before tying it off with a hair band. He swipes it up, throwing it over his shoulder, fingers ghosting along the back of his neck.

“Felix, look at me, would you?” Felix does, shifting around on the couch until he’s face-to-face with Sylvain again. “How long has it been since someone’s taken care of you?”

He knows. Felix knows that he has to, from the question that he’s just asked, to the way his copper eyes pity him. He realizes that he hasn’t called him Fe , like before, not once that night, but--

Sylvain doesn’t broach the topic further, or imply anything else.

It’s unfair for Felix to feel attached to this man and his kind words, and the way that he wants to soothe him.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Felix says quietly, and it’s like a weight has been crushing him for years and years has just been lifted. Tears don’t threaten, but his chest feels tight, and he can’t breathe and--

Sylvain reaches out for his hand, his skin warm and fingers soft. His thumb rubs circles across the back of his palm. “Felix, you--” A pause and then a sigh, like Sylvain’s thinking about the situation they’re in and the logistics behind it. His gaze is soft though, almost sad. “You aren’t. You don’t have to be.”

There’s heavy implication there. “Sylvain,” he breathes, but Sylvain interrupts him by bringing his hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to it.

“Let’s go to bed.” Felix can barely swallow around the lump in his throat, staring at Sylvain’s hands wrapped around his own, like they might burn him if he holds on any longer. “Felix,” Sylvain says, and Felix meets his gaze, warm and soft and inviting, and it feels like it’s actually meant for him .

Felix nods dumbly. Sylvain tugs at him lightly, pulling him from the couch, before slinging and arm around his shoulder. He leans down but hesitates, lips lingering just against his skin. Then he pecks the side of Felix’s head lightly. “Come on,” he says.

Felix follows him without a word.

####

Felix and Sylvain both go to work. They come home and share a quiet, but not silent dinner. Afterwards Sylvain watches television, while Felix reads through tax reports from work. Sylvain brushes his hair out silently, and they go to bed.

Then things shift.

Dinner turns from polite conversation to actual conversation, as days pass. They pick shows together to watch afterwards, lounging about with bone-weary satisfaction, Felix’s feet in Sylvain’s lap as he rubs at his arches idly.

Sylvain still brushes out his hair before bed, but he takes longer now, sweeping touches down Felix’s neck and across his shoulders that warm his skin.

Sylvain knows that he’s different, but he’s never commented on it, and Felix wonders if it’s because he wants to be wrong about his suspicions, or he’s figured out that Felix is the loneliest man alive. They’ve just gone about trying to live normally, which makes no sense, but it’s starting to work.

Felix… doesn’t hate it anymore, whatever this is. Sylvain’s an idiot, but he’s a comfortable idiot, and Felix has forgotten how nice it is to come home to someone every night.

It’s been about a week, and Felix closes his eyes, sinking into the soft touch of Sylvain’s fingers on his neck. The boar brush tugs gently, but the slight burn at his hairline is nice, and his hair hasn’t looked this healthy in what seems like years. The Felix that belongs here must not take care of himself either, because Sylvain’s motions are the practiced ones of a man who forces self-care.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Felix says. Because Sylvain is. He’s gotten so used to the constant chatter that streams from his mouth, that the sudden silence seems odd. But-- since when did he actually care ?

“I’m just thinking,” Sylvain says. He puts the brush down, rubbing at Felix’s scalp lightly before tying his hair into a sleek braid. “It’s nothing, just… Sometimes I think about things.”

Felix frowns, but doesn’t say anything, unfolding himself from Sylvain’s lap. He’s about to head into the bedroom, when he pauses to look back. “Look, I know that--” A sigh. “I know that things have been weird, and that I’m not the chatty type. But if you need to talk, I’ll listen.”

Sylvain smiles at him from the couch, small and lazy, but it looks content, and it makes Felix’s heart beat wildly in a way that he doesn’t like. He retreats before Sylvain can properly respond.

When Felix comes out of the bathroom, fresh and minty, he’s wearing Sylvain’s clothes to sleep in. It’s because his are dirty and the laundry hasn’t been done, and really, what’s a pair of boxers and a plain t-shirt in the grand scheme of things but--

Sylvain looks up from the bed, where he’s leaning against the headboard, book in his lap and a finger marking his place. His lips part slightly at the sight of Felix, swallowing thickly and--

Felix immediately bristles. “Mine are dirty.”

“No, I-- um , it’s fine. It’s nothing.”

But Felix knows it isn’t nothing, because even if he isn’t his Felix, he still looks like him, and Sylvain-- while a man of considerable and admirable restraint-- isn’t immune to the way that he looks in his clothes.

Felix sighs. “I’ll do the laundry tomorrow--”

“Felix, it’s fine. You can wear my clothes,” Sylvain says quietly.

Felix levels him with a quick look and then slides into the covers. Sylvain looks like he wants to say something else, but opts against it, turning back to his book. Felix watches him finish the chapter, before leaning over to turn out the light.

It should be awkward, sharing a bed like this, but it’s not. His side of the bed doesn’t seem quite as lumpy anymore, when paired with the warmth that radiates from Sylvian at his side, a veritable space heater in his own right.

Felix's chest aches at the feel of it. It aches because it’s been too long since he’s had this kind of domesticity. It aches because he misses it, the little things; sharing your day over dinner. Fighting over the television remote. Soft fingers smoothing through his hair with care. The way the mattress sags under another person’s weight.

He hates this feeling of affection, worming slowly through his heart, because it doesn’t matter how much he’s come to like this man, Felix knows that this is likely only temporary.

It hurts.

####

“You’re awake,” Sylvain says quietly into the darkness.

It’s been exactly two days, four hours and goddess knows how many minutes, since Felix has come to terms that he might might be falling in love with this fool.

“I can’t sleep,” Felix says, knowing there’s no reason in pretending.

“Seems to be pretty standard lately.”

So, Sylvain has noticed that Felix doesn’t sleep well, often laying on his side and staring at the broad expanse of his back instead, itching to reach out and touch it. It’s dumb. Felix doesn’t like men. Except Sylvain, and it’s not because he’s unfairly handsome and Felix is mildly curious.

He’s noticed that Sylvain doesn’t press the issue though, which is in it’s own way, a comfort. Felix hates pushy people. Sylvain rolls over properly in the bed, arm shoved under his pillow, head propped up so he can get a proper look at Felix. The light from outside the window casts an eerie glow, but it suits him, the soft moonglow that settles over his tired form.

Sylvain looks concerned, genuinely so.

“Sylvain, I--”

“I know you don’t do feelings well,” Sylvain interrupts. “But I promised that you weren’t alone anymore.” A pause, with that cute little furrow he gets, falling across his brow and then, “Come here, come closer.”

Felix hesitates, but shuffles closer to Sylvain, and he’s warm and he smells nice, and he takes a moment to sink into it. When he opens his eyes, Sylvain’s looking at him, really looking at him, soul searching and deep, and Felix can feel his bottom lip about to wobble, because he doesn’t do emotions well, and they’re welling up very suddenly.

Sylvain reaches out, hand soft on his face, thumb rubbing along the bottom of his lip, like he’s thinking about kissing him. Felix wants, he wants so many things. To fall into this, to feel that comfort and warmth, to forget about shitty things and tiring work, and how fucking lonely he’s been.

“Felix,” Sylvain says quietly, raising up on his elbow to lean closer. Felix grabs the front of his shirt, wringing the soft cotton tightly in his hands and Sylvain freezes, like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he moves to pull away like he’s embarrassed.

But Felix holds firm, pulling him back.

They’re both surprised, but Sylvain speaks first. “I miss this,” he says quietly. “I miss a lot of things about you.”

“Yeah,” Felix murmurs, and Sylvain takes his chin again, thumb barely pressing into the seam of his mouth. Felix misses it too; the connection and intimacy shared with another person.

“Felix, I really want to kiss you,” Sylvain breathes. Felix’s breath hitches slightly at the bold statement, but he wants, he wants, he wants--

“So do it,” Felix says with more conviction than he thought capable. Sylvain regards him carefully in the dim light, before closing the gap between them.

Sylvain’s lips are soft and pliable, and Felix sinks right into his presence, into the feel of him. He grips his shirt tight, pulling him closer, rolling Sylvain overtop him, hips cradled between Felix’s bent legs and--

Sylvain gasps into the movement, tongue sliding across the seam of his mouth. Felix responds in kind, opening up to him, opening up everything to him, and it’s scary; it’s really scary because this feels wholly different than other experiences he’s shared-- even with Annette. The woman that he wanted to marry . Maybe it’s because Sylvain knows what he likes already, or maybe there’s a real connection there, something something soulmates , but the idea sounds dumb the moment that Felix even entertains it.

The universe has never been on Felix’s side, but for this moment-- for this tiny moment-- it feels like it is, and he never wants it to end.

Sylvain pulls back, breath heaving against Felix’s face. He leans on a forearm above him, his other hand snaking up to brush Felix’s bangs back. “Felix,” he murmurs softly, eyes shimmering with hope and love and adoration, and for a moment, it feels like it’s truly for him , not the Felix that Sylvain has been in love with for Goddess knows how long.

“It’s the same,” Sylvain says, and it’s like he’s reading Felix’s mind, because the words are too on point for anything else, too close to home, and he thinks all sorts of things that he doesn’t want to, because if he does, it’ll be too hard to pretend in the morning when all of this is over.

Sylvain must see the apprehension that bleeds through him, because he plants his knees firmly into the mattress, gripping Felix’s face in his hands and repeats, “You’re the same.”

“Show me.” Felix’s voice hangs between them, Sylvain looking down at him like a man starved and wanting, hands cradling his cheeks gently. Felix doesn’t feel like this gaze is for someone else, he feels like it’s for him and that Sylvain’s words hold a deeper meaning, he knows it. He knows it.

Sylvain kisses him again, slower and sweeter this time, mouth slotting against his expertly. Sylvain lets go of his face, moving to grip at his hips instead, pulling them closer, pressing deeper and heat rolls through Felix, rising up and--

He moans and Sylvain smiles against his lips. “Fe,” Sylvain whispers, his breath lingering between them. His hand rucks up Felix’s shirt, pressing hot fingers against his hips, and Felix is burning, he’s burning up in the touch. “Fe,” Sylvain says again, and their eyes meet, Sylvain’s half-lidded and hazy.

Sylvain slides down, their eyes locked together, and Felix wants to throw caution into the sea and fly into the sun.

So he does.

####

Sylvain loves him.

Felix doesn’t know how he knows it, but he just does. It’s in the way he mildly flirts with him. The way that he handles chores and rubs Felix’s feet after work and lets him wear his clothes. It’s tattooed into his skin when Sylvain worships him in their bed, chanting his name over and over, as Felix presses himself deep into him.

Sylvain loves his Felix, but also him , and it’s enough to ease the pain of being stuck in this weird pocket of the universe for what seems like forever.

Felix has gotten used to it, he thinks, this strange reality and Sylvain, the man with a smile as radiant as the sun, and Felix feels himself slipping deeper and deeper and -

Felix pauses. When had it become their bed, not just Sylvain’s? Felix looks forward to falling asleep, Sylvain cuddled around him like he might disappear at any moment, sharing warmth and comfort and--

Felix knows this feeling that cracks through his carefully maintained facade, and it’s been a long time-- it’s been a really long time-- and Goddess above, Annette had been right when she said that some people just love others and that you’d know when it was different, when it turns into a matter of being in love.

Sylvain walks into the kitchen, khaki shorts and gray shirt covered in green stains. He leans over to kiss his cheek, smelling like fresh cut grass because he just mowed the lawn, and Felix’s heart aches for this man in such a good way that it rips right through him.

“Felix,” he says warmly, fingers curling into his long hair, before kissing his forehead too. For good measure.

“Sylvain,” Felix blurts, half surprised by his sudden appearance, warmed by his affection and--

He’s going to tell him, either by accident or in the heat of the moment, and Felix knows that it won’t fuck anything up anymore, which is the scary part. Sylvain pulls back, face expectant as he waits. But Felix doesn’t say anything, words caught as his throat tightens and this is what always happens. He’s never been good with feelings and he never will be.

But Sylvain knows that, and he knows Felix; better than Felix knows himself. So he presses a kiss to the crown of his head and says, “I know, Fe. You don’t have to say it.”

He should, he really should, because Sylvain is ever patient and understanding, and he deserves it.

“Sandwiches,” he says instead, pointing to empty plates and containers of meat and cheese on the counter. “Go pick something to watch, I’ll be right there.”

As Sylvain turns to leave the kitchen, Felix reaches out, grabbing at his shirt and says, “Wait.” Sylvain does, Felix pulling him back, hand fisted in the front of his loose shirt. Sylvain’s already smiling as he ducks lower to meet the kiss, short and sweet, and exactly what Felix wants. He can feel the way that his cheeks burn red, but the panic in his chest loosens, limbs crackling with heat, and it’s not just from something as innocuous as a kiss.

Sylvain tugs at a loose strand of his hair, smiling wide with practiced ease, and he’s perfect. Felix wants him, he wants to stay, he wants this life, and it’s terrible and it’s selfish, and he wills himself not to think about what’s happened to the man that he’s replaced.

Felix doesn’t want to leave, now that he’s found what he’s been missing in the huge, gaping hellhole that had been his life.

He makes the sandwiches in silence, looming over him like a threatening cloud. Mustard and turkey for Sylvain, mayo and ham for him. Two slices of cheese for the former, none for the latter. Sylvain’s cut in half, because he complains about having to hold a whole sandwich with two hands, when he’d rather hold Felix’s knee with one, as they sit side-by-side. Felix cuts his as well.

He has to say something, Felix decides, carefully taking the plates in hand. Sylvain deserves to know that this isn’t some one-sided and awkward fling, even though they don’t talk about the elephant lurking in the room.

Felix turns the corner to find an empty living room.

Not just empty, but different.

Sylvain is gone, no where to be seen.

“No,” Felix breathes. The rocking chair and handmade quilt, courtesy of Mercedes, is gone. The couch is still the one he hates, but it’s stiff because it’s never used, not because it’s got bad back support.

Sylvain’s things have vanished.

Felix drops the plates, not caring that the food tumbles to the ground, or that they burst apart in a shower of ceramic. He’s too busy searching their home, trying to figure out what’s happened and where everything has gone and where--

It’s his home, as it was before, back to the clinical and neat tidiness that’s more expected in a realtor's model house, than a place where someone actually lives. The bedroom is crisply kept with his boring furniture, bare of any personality.

“No, no, no,” Felix murmurs, sinking into the bed. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, there’s no sandalwood or cinnamon, and his heart cracks in two. Sylvain’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone , and he chokes on his tears, refusing to sob because he’s better than that , but the tears still slip down his cheeks.

The universe is cruel, Felix thinks bitterly, to let him taste happiness only to rip it right back. He doesn’t want to be here; he wants to go back, he wants to find his heart again.

But as it cracks open and bleeds, and he weeps, Felix wonders if he’ll even have a heart to fix, because he feels like he’s drowning. Drowning in feelings that he should have expressed properly, and now he can’t, because Sylvain never belonged here.

Sylvain had never been his, and Felix was a fool for thinking that he ever was in the first place.

####

As far as anyone was concerned, nothing had happened. Annette and Mercedes greet him normally at work, never once hinting that he’d been gone. His tax accounts have been worked on--oddly-- everything in proper order. Felix would have been convinced that the entire thing was a massive fever dream, if it weren’t for the spoiled groceries in his fridge, nearly a month past their use-by date. Or the small and random objects in odd places. Laundry that had been done, neatly folded but not put away, because his room is arranged just a little bit differently.

The other Felix must have been here, he surmises. Played with things that weren’t his, ordered out instead of cooked-- things that he would have done as well, in a moment of wild insanity.

The other Felix must have been lonely, and for some reason, the thought poisons the pit of his stomach. He wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone, no matter how much he misses Sylvain, with his warm, freckled skin and lopsided smile.

Annette is the first one to say something, because of course she is. Annette can’t keep her mouth shut for whatever it’s worth, and because Felix has spent nearly two weeks looking like a kicked puppy, she decides to be the one to broach the topic.

“Felix,” she says at lunch one day, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth as she shakes her salad box around to mix the dressing. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but you need to snap out of it.”

Felix immediately bristles, put on the offensive. “Nothing’s wrong,” he snaps, but he regrets his tone the moment he sees her face fall. It’s not fair to treat her like this, because the only thing that Annette has done wrong, is fucking care for him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she repeats, and he knows that tone, the one her she sounds tired and her voice warbles just a little bit. She’s more worried about him then she’s let on. “Does this have to do with anything about your weird behavior this last month?”

“I haven’t been--”

“Who’s Sylvain?”

Felix’s heart stops at the name, because he’s made a point to not even think it. It hurts too much and it aches even now, his heart tipping to the side like it’s about to burst. He’s trying not to feel anything, he’s trying to be that pitiful, emotionless husk he was before, be he can’t .

He doesn’t say anything, and Annette pops open the lid of her salad container. “You asked me where he was weeks ago, and I had no idea who you were talking about. You were annoyed by that, by the way, but I would think that I would know if some man had entered your life. And I’d be hurt if you hadn’t told me--”

“Annie, please don’t,” Felix asks, weary beyond belief and not at all equipped to handle this conversation. “Just -- please .”

She reaches out, fingers wrapping around his hand gently. They’re cold, unlike the warm hold of Sylvain, but it’s nice, and he loves Annie, truly he does but--

He pulls his hand from hers and she looks hurt, but she doesn’t try again. “He’s no one,” he tells her. “Just a fling. It ended.”

“Badly?” Annette asks.

“No, it just-- It wasn’t meant to be, I think.” The words sound weak and pitiful, and they don’t make him feel better. He knows she’ll see right through him.

“Somethings aren’t,” Annette says. “But you and I know that better than anyone. Felix, look at me please.” He does and she tuts, seeing his red-rimmed eyes and ragged face. He looks like he’s aged years, probably. “I don’t know what happened, but I do know this-- You love more fiercely than anyone I know, and one day that’ll count for something.”

Felix laughs at her, and it’s bitter and acrid tasting in his mouth, and she looks at him like he’s an absolute madman, but he thinks it’s better than crying, because that would imply that he still had the capacity to feel such a thing like love .

He can’t anymore, Felix thinks. His heart’s too damaged to ever truly recover.

Annette purses her lips in annoyance. “Get out,” she says when he’s done. “Go do something. Take a walk. Run in those ridiculously tight joggers you’re attached to. Cooping yourself up and moping about it won’t help.”

He laughs again, this time a little chuckle as he shakes his head, but his lips curve into a little smile at a memory. At another Annette, saying something very similar. In fact, this entire conversation had been weirdly familiar.

“Thanks Annie.”

He means it.

It’s winter.

####

The air is cold, but Felix feels better. It’s taken months for him to properly take Annette’s advice, but that’s because he knew that she’d be right, and it thoroughly annoys him.

His track pants are stupidly tight, but they were expensive and given to him by Glenn, so like fuck he wasn’t going to make use of them until he can’t anymore.

Felix used to run in this park every morning, until his mornings at work got to be too early. Then it was late evenings. As his caseload got heavier though, and his hours longer, he’d stopped entirely.

It’s chilly and brisk and way too early to be up on his day off, but he felt like it. He doesn’t know why, really. Felix woke that morning with an urge to just go run out his frustrations. It's working. His lungs burn and his muscles cramp with expected soreness, but he feels more alive than he has for the better part of half a year.

It’s gotten better, kind of. But he’s not right and he doubts that he ever will be.

Felix taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently, taking in the coffee shop. It’s got a dumb pun for a name, but he thinks that a warm latte would be a nice end to a successful run, so he slips inside, standing in line.

Ten minutes and a take-away cup later, he turns from the counter only to slip in a wet spot, falling against a hard body, and shit it’s embarrassing, because Felix isn’t the type to slip on anything. His sneakers are supposed to have good traction and--

“Woah buddy, you okay there?”

Felix’s blood runs cold at the smooth voice and the way that it curls around words. He’s hearing things, he’s got to be, it can’t--

Sylvain stands before him, hair bright in the artificial lights, smile easy and wide under a spattering of freckles. Once he gets a proper look at Felix, he stiffens, fingers tightening around his arms as he steadies him.

Felix is going to vomit, he’s going to puke all over the floor, because this shouldn’t be happening, this can’t be happening. He must look ill, because Sylvain tugs him to the side. “Hold on, let’s get you seated okay? Yeah, just like that.”

The seat is cold and hard under him, but Sylvain’s hands are burning against his skin and when he lets go, Felix feels like he’s lost everything again and--

Sylvain only went to get a cup of water and as he sits, Felix sees that he’s covered in coffee. “I’m sorry--”

“Not a big deal,” Sylvain says, sliding the water to him. “I mean, I’ve had worse thrown at me, I promise you.”

Felix drains half of it, knowing that he must look ridiculous. Sylvain watches him carefully though, looking like he wants to say something but is unsure exactly where to start. So they sit there in awkward silence.

The vampiric barista brings Sylvain a new coffee, sneers at Felix, and sets about mopping up the mess. Felix sneers back. Sylvain laughs, wrapping his hands around the warm mug, eyes twinkling like he knows .

Felix does something really, really dumb. “Would you go on a date with me?” he blurts, and Goddess above he sounds insane, because who spills coffee all over a person and then immediately asks them out?

But Sylvain’s gaze softens, his smile affectionate and Felix knows that something weird is happening here, because he reaches out to take his hand, thumb soft as it rubs across his knuckles.

“Of course, Felix,” he says. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, actually.”

####

Elsewhere

Felix has come back to him. Sylvain doesn’t know how or why, but he’s there next to him in bed, reading over work reports with glasses perched smartly on the tip of his nose. Sylvain watches him carefully. Quietly. Like he’s afraid that he’ll disappear again.

The glasses had been the first clue, really.

That, and the fact that he’d never brought those sandwiches he promised, instead walking in through the front door in the worst mood that Sylvain’s ever seen him in.

“You’re staring,” Felix says to him, not bothering to look away from his work. Sylvain smiles, sliding closer. Felix immediately lifts an arm as Sylvain slots in next to him, cheek resting against his collarbone.

“I’m glad that you came back to me,” he murmurs sleepily. Honestly, it’s been a long month and Sylvain is tired .

Felix pauses before closing the folder. He pulls off his glasses, folding them gently before tossing them onto the bedside table. Then he digs into the sheets, fingers nestled into Sylvain’s hair as he cards through it.

“Me too,” he says quietly. And then, “I forgot how dumb you were, when we first met.”

Sylvain laughs into his neck, but he’s glad, he’s glad and happy and he can rest easily now. Well, maybe.

He waits a bit before asking, “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

Felix hums at that, fingers slipping down from his hair to his neck, cold against his hot skin, but soft as he rubs circles there. “Yeah,” he says.

Sylvain presses a kiss to Felix’s neck, slow and languid, the start of something that the both of them are way too tired for, but they’re kind of desperate. Felix rolls over Sylvain, hair falling in a curtain around his face, looking at him fondly.

“Yeah,” Sylvain repeats back, lips sliding into a devilish smile as he pulls Felix down to him. “Yeah .”

#fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #felix and sylvain #felix/sylvain #Sylvix #sylvixfanfiction

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vernonfielding · 5 years

Text

Ain’t no one that can touch me

Story No. 7 of my Season 7 Countdown Project.

Summary: “I actually feel like I need a little bit more time to readjust.”

Jake meets Enigma. Takes place at the end of Kicks. (Read on AO3.)

Gina can see through the peephole that Jake is Not Okay, but when she swings the door open she says, “Girl, you can’t just show up unannounced when someone’s just had a baby” as she waves him inside. Jake ducks his head, sheepish, and alarms are going off in Gina’s head because Jake does not do sheepish.

She heads back to her couch, which has basically become her bed and her dining table and her kitchen and her entire friggin’ life over the past nine days. Enigma’s already fussing in her arms, rooting around for a boob, and Gina reaches for the leopard-print nursing shawl Terry and Sharon got her – it was a registry item, but she was still pleasantly surprised – as she settles back down into her nest of blankets and pillows. Jake’s hovering at the edge of the living room, eyes all over the place except on the baby. But he must sense Gina watching him because he looks up just as she’s pulling up her sweatshirt and drawing the baby to her breast.

“Gina!”

“It’s called feeding my baby, loser. Sit down and get over yourself,” she says, and drapes the shawl like a curtain over her chest.

Jake hasn’t been to see her since the baby was born, and honestly, Gina gets it. She saw him, briefly, the day he got home – long enough to hold him too-tight against her enormous belly and stroke a hand through his greasy hair and tell him his beard was gross but weirdly hot at the same time – and then later that night she went into labor. Anyway, she knows he’s had a lot on his mind. And it’s not like Enigma is remotely interesting at this point. Jake could probably wait a year or two to meet her and it wouldn’t make any difference to anyone.

Still – Jake is literally her oldest friend, he’s basically a brother, and Gina literally just experienced the miracle of birth and nearly died doing it because Jesus Christ, that shit is no joke. She realizes, now that he’s sitting across from her, perched on the edge of the armchair like he’s ready to bolt any second, that she needs him to meet her kid. And also, Jake needs it too. He looks like crap, all droopy-eyed and droopy-haired and frowning.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Gina says. She winces as Enigma clamps down rather harder than necessary. The baby took to nursing like a champ, and Gina’s nipples are having a hard time keeping up.

Jake rubs the back of his neck and Gina knows it’s bad. “I, uh. Had kind of a rough day.”

Gina nods and doesn’t press it. Everyone’s been keeping her up on the work gossip. She knows he’s two days back and already assigned himself desk duty.

“Where’s, uh-” Jake hesitates, looks around the living room.

“Milton’s helping dig wells or something in Northern Canada,” Gina says.

“He’s- wells?”

“Or something.”

“Cool cool cool cool.” Jake finally looks back at her, gaze dropping to the bulge of baby under her shawl and not meeting her eyes. “Are you okay, on your own? I mean, you have a baby.”

“Good detecting, detective,” Gina says, catching the flash of a smile, there and gone, on Jake’s face. “Nah, Iggy and I are good. Honestly, all we do right now is eat and sleep and shit – and I mean we, as in both of us. I’ve got my bodega guy leaving food at the door every other day so I don’t even have to put on pants.”

“And yet, here you are, all pantsed up,” Jake says, nodding to her sweats-clad legs.

“It’s like I knew you were coming,” Gina says, and there’s that split-second smile again.

Gina realizes the baby’s stopped eating, is now just nuzzling at her boob, so she pulls her off and burps her, already economical in her movements, passing this tiny creature from one arm to the other and throwing her over her shoulder like a sack of (tiny, precious) potatoes. She can tell Jake is deliberately looking away, though she’s not entirely sure why.

“C’mon,” she says, pushing herself up off the couch with a heartfelt groan.

Jake gets up, fluid and graceful like he’s trying to annoy her. “Where are we going?”

“The nursery. You’re changing a diaper.”

+++

Jake sputters behind her down the short hall to the baby’s room, which of course is just Gina’s room but with a bassinet on one side of the bed. Almost all of the baby furniture and supplies are stacked up against a wall, still in their boxes. So far they haven’t needed them and Gina hates putting together furniture, it’s so menial and she’s bad at it and she hates being bad at things.

She kneels and lays the baby on the changing pad spread out on the floor, and motions for Jake to join her.

“I don’t-”

“Quiet. I’ll walk you through it,” Gina says, and she does.

She unwraps the blanket that’s bound loosely around the baby, then tells Jake to unsnap the crotch of the onesie – “Are you allowed to say ‘crotch’ about a baby?” Jake says, and she tells him that her child will only be taught the appropriate words, no dumbass made-up ones – and gather the baby’s ankles in one hand and lift.

She hands him a fresh diaper to slide under the old one, then passes him the wipes, one at a time, and reminds him to be thorough. She tells him to make sure the new diaper is nice and secure, tighter than he’d think it should be, because the last thing anyone wants is a blowout. When he’s finished snapping the onesie back in place he looks up at her, wide-eyed and triumphant, and she grins at him and says, “You did it, kiddo.”

She wraps up Iggy in her swaddling blanket again and leans against the end of the bed, and Jake gets up and hands her pillows and grabs one for himself, and they make themselves comfortable, right there on the floor. When Jake’s settled, she hands him the baby and he gets real close to her, makes Jake-faces at her – scrunched up eyebrows, tongue sticking out all askew – while Iggy blinks up at him slow and milk-groggy.

Gina tells him about the birth, about how brave and amazing she was. “You have no idea, Jacob,” she says, and he nods and says, “John McClane should’ve been a woman” and it’s true, he should have.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Jake says, tucking the blanket back around the baby’s feet where she’s managed to kick herself free. He’s sitting cross-legged and he’s kicked off his shoes. His socks aren’t matching.

Gina doesn’t know what he’s referring to but she doesn’t think it’s the birth, because obviously he wasn’t expected there. She says, “It’s cool, boo,” and she means, ‘It’s not your fault,’ because duh.

They talk about Previous Babies They Have Known, which includes the kids Gina used to babysit when they were freshmen and sophomores in high school and Jake would sometimes come over and not-help. From there it’s an easy segue to reminiscing about their shared childhood, and when Iggy starts fussing and Gina takes her back to nurse again, Jake doesn’t looked panicked this time, just stretches his legs out in front of him and curls his toes.

Gina passes the baby back when she’s done, and she drapes a burp cloth over Jake’s shoulder and shifts Iggy so she’s sitting up in Jake’s arms, curled up into his chest. She coaches Jake on burping – to use the ball of his hand, to hit her harder than he thinks he should because she’s not as fragile as she looks.

“She’s resilient,” Gina says, enunciating, and she doesn’t meet Jake’s eyes when he looks up at her.

Jake thwacks her on the back, twice, and Iggy’s burp is loud and meaty, echoing off the bedroom walls. Jake barks a startled laugh and Gina says, “That’s my girl.”

Jake’s still laughing, only when Gina looks back at him, she sees that no, he’s crying now, his hand rubbing slow circles over the baby’s back, his nose pressed into the feathery hair on her head, and his body shaking. His eyes are closed, tears spilling down his cheeks already.

Gina moves to sit beside him, beside her baby who is soft and gentle and smells so nice. She lets Jake have this, for a little while.

End Notes:

Title is from IHOP (Bash Brothers).

I don’t think we know exactly when Gina had her baby, but if my math is correct it must have been sometime just before or just after Jake and Rosa got out of prison (I really, really hope it was after, because the alternative is seriously way too sad).

This story was a way for me to explore two topics: one, Jake’s troubles bouncing back after prison, and two, the first time he meets Enigma. I was hoping to get across that it would be a weird and overwhelming, but hopefully life-affirming, experience for Jake to meet this baby so soon after going through what must have been the darkest time in his life.

#b99 fic #b99 season 7 countdown project #jake peralta #gina linetti #jake and gina #baby enigma #missing scene #kicks

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dr-gloom · 5 years

Text

Confession Time, Here’s What I’ve Got (Ch 2)

Commission Me (please)

Ch 1 Ch 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: none

Tags/Warnings: vomit mention, confessions, Roman’s a butt

Read it on AO3

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Virgil woke with a raging headache. His brain pounded against his skull before he even opened his eyes, drawing a weak groan from his dry lips. He pulls his blanket over his head to stifle the little light coming into his room before almost immediately throwing it off; it was too damn warm for blankets right now.

Speaking of which, he felt like he was practically drenched in sweat, his skin feeling clammy. Virgil slowly sits up, raising his arms above his head in a stretch, planning to take a shower. He exits his room, nearly running into Roman in the hall and has to stumble back just before the impact while his brain processes his confusion. He puts a hand to his head when it throbs, looking up at Roman’s annoyingly smug, sober face. “What’re you looking at, Princey?” He grumbles, squinting up at the other.

Roman grins down at the other, taking in his disheveled appearance. “Sleep well, Vomit-y Central?” It takes Virgil a moment to process the question and do a mental inventory before he realizes,

“I never puked, asshat.”

“No, but you look like barf!” Roman laughs, the noise jarring and painful with Virgil’s hangover. Virgil punches his shoulder as Roman runs off towards the living room, then continues on his way towards the shower. The hell had him in such a good mood?

After a long, relaxing shower, Virgil feels at least marginally better. By the time he’s stepping out of the bathroom with his towel around his waist his friends are all awake in the living room, chatting quietly. Virgil gets dressed and goes out to join them, sitting next to Roman.

“I don’t even remember most of the night,” Patton admits. Ah, they must have been trying to recount what happened. Virgil wondered if anyone remembered the whole night. Roman probably did, actually; he doesn’t really like to get drunk. “But I did have a super…. Surprising dream,” Patton admits, looking down at his lap. Roman grins, the same smug look he’d worn when Virgil ran into him earlier.

“Oh? What sort of dream was it, Padre?”

Patton flushes pink and shakes his head. “Oh, nothing important! Just some weird dream nonsense! I don’t even remember most of it!”

“Whereas I feel as if I have not slept at all,” Logan chimes in. “Though, before either of you ask, I only remember some of the events prior to my loss of consciousness. Mostly senseless games and watching Patton and Virgil becoming increasingly inebriated.”

Both Patton and Virgil adopt an embarrassed expression upon hearing that. Virgil didn’t really care much for drinking either, but he’d been so stressed and sad lately that he’d thrown his inhibition to the wind and decided to just let what happened happen. He was starting to regret that now, though. Clearly he missed something good if Roman was this happy.

“I don’t remember jack shit, but that might just be the huge headache I have,” he grumbles, voice gravelly. Patton for some reason looks away, cheeks slightly pink (though that could just be the light filtering through their curtains).

Roman snickers. “I remember the entire thing, and there were some real golden moments. Huh, Pat?” He claps Patton on the back and Patton startles, looking at Roman with wide eyes. Well, that confirms Virgil’s hypothesis.

“I don’t really know what you’re referring to, kiddo. I only really remember some of the games we played.”

“Probably because they were so dumb.”

“Au contraire! There were a few rather intimate moments, wouldn’t you say?” Roman winks and nudges Patton, who blushes again.

Seriously, what was up with those two?

“Whatever. I want food.”

After a little discussion and a consensus of greasy goodness being met, the four of them set out for their favorite diner. Virgil and Roman sat across from Patton and Logan, Virgil and Patton being directly across from each other. Patton seemed deeply interested in everything that wasn’t Virgil, and Virgil had his face buried in a menu, trying to decide what to eat. Roman sighed to himself as he watched the awkward duo (un)wittingly avoid each other. This just wouldn’t do.

“So, Patty, Big Daddy, anyone you got your eye on?”

Virgil gives Roman a side glance, raising an eyebrow. Seriously, he was too hungover to deal with this. What was Roman playing at?

Patton waves his hands around, eyes wide and obviously flustered. “What would make you think that? I don’t- well- maybe, but it’s not like anything will happen… ” He trails off, and Virgil glances at Patton curiously. He thought Patton and Logan were already dating? It was totally obvious!

Patton looks at Virgil, blinks, then laughs. “I’m not dating Lolo! He’s like my brother!”

Oh. Had Virgil said that out loud?

“Yes.” Roman says with a smirk. Apparently hungover Virgil had loose lips.

Virgil’s mind catches up with him and he squints at Patton, scrutinizing his roommate. “Hold up. If you’re not dating Logan, who do you like? Do we know them?”

“I’m sure you know him very well, Virgil,” Roman says with a cheeky grin. Patton flushes. Virgil’s eyes widen. No freaking way.

“That’s why you’re in such a good mood! You and Pat hooked up!” Virgil smacks Roman’s arm. What a traitor! He knew Virgil liked Patton! Roman swears, rubbing his arm.

“What? No, God, relax. It isn’t me, Judy Gloom.”

“Will you all cease your prattling. The server is here,” Logan grumbles as their server approaches. Apparently a sleepy Logan is a grumpy one.

Virgil’s thoughts throughout breakfast were about Patton’s mystery crush. Who could it possibly be? Roman seemed to know, which was…. Weird and conflicting. Virgil would have thought Roman would’ve told him sooner so he could like, grieve or whatever, and yet Roman seemed weirdly happy about it. And Virgil was still clueless. Some friend.

Patton’s mind seemed to be occupied similarly. He was quick to blush and get flustered, and he kept avoiding eye contact with Roman and Virgil. Was he embarrassed? Was it someone Virgil used to hate in school, or something? Had he confessed it while they were drunk, and that’s how Roman was the only one who knew?

Logan was the only one who didn’t seem to give a flying fuck about the topic, or his friends’ inner turmoil. He wasn’t heartless, of course, but he figured whatever this was would sort itself out. And if it was about what he thought it was about, he’d been waiting for this for months. It might as well happen while they’re all varying degrees of tired and hungover.

Once everyone had some food in them, things seemed to relax. Virgil’s headache wasn’t quite as bad, Logan wasn’t as moody, Roman was closer to his baseline extra-ness, and Patton had at least stopped blushing. They’re sitting on the couch watching Saturday morning cartoons when Patton suddenly sits up from their cuddle pile, making Virgil fall into Logan’s lap.

“Oh gosh, I remember.”

Virgil grunts and sits up, fixing his hair. “Remember what, exactly?”

“Everything! From last night?”

Roman is positively beaming, sitting up as well. “Oh? Does that mean-?”

“I thought you and Roman were dating!” Patton interrupts, pointing an accusing finger at Virgil. There’s a beat of silence before Roman stands up and walks out of the room. A moment later, hysterical laughter can be heard from Virgil’s room.

Virgil blinks. “What? No. We’re just friends.” His eyebrows furrow. “Hold on. Why does this feel like dejá vu?”

“Because we talked about it last night! When we were playing Would You Rather!”

“Can we please stop yelling?” Logan mutters disinterested from where he sits reading a book on the other end of the couch.

“Sorry Lolo,” Patton apologizes, then turns back to Virgil. “Me and Lolo totally thought you guys were dating but you and Ro told us you were just friends. Then later I-” he cuts himself off and turns red. “Oh…”

Virgil shifts anxiously. He didn’t like the sound of that. “What? What happened?”

Patton can’t seem to look at Virgil as he mutters, “I asked you who you like.”

Virgil’s breath catches in his throat. Oh god, what did he tell Patton? “And?”

“You said... me.”

Taglist: @bunny222 @a-fander-named-skittles @eggy-boyo

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #virgil #virgil sanders #patton #patton sanders #logan #logan sanders #roman #roman sanders #moxiety #ts anxiety #ts creativity #ts logic #ts morality

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ladywolfmd · 5 years

Text

carpe diem, the night is young and so are we

7:02pm: Sansa sips slowly from her glass of fresh lemon-strawberry slush while slowly nodding..and generally just trying to make some effort to look polite while her blind date - Harry Hardying, was trying to (and with great enthusiasm) chat her ear off with his many wins, being, as she discovered, as a decorated fencer from the Vale and then some. She can’t really remember because somewhere in the middle, she started zoning if she was being honest. It turns out though, that she has been using the same tactic for the course of the half-hour run of their date at Meraxes and Queen beside the Dragonpit up in Rhaenys' Hill, in between replying polite 'hmms' and 'ohs'. She would pick at her food, and give warm smiles in between, but in her mind she'd already decided that, great smile and stellar achievements not-withstanding, there would be no second date. He was nice. He was handsome. She decided. Yet she felt more a head hunter being talked to, the way he listed his qualities like a curriculum vitae. She then starts regretting that maybe she should've ordered something with alcohol to get through this but decided that she'd fare better with a clear head.

8:50pm: After a very hasty good-bye to her date (it literally dragged too long as she thought anyway), she took a ride down to Smallfolks, one of the outdoor drinking hubs that occupied the night food strip, stretching along the Street of the Sisters, getting stuck a bit in traffic. Once she got off the taxi, she was immediately greeted with jeers and cheers from her friends, Mya Stone, Myranda Royce, Marillion Flowers, and the siblings, Beth and Jory Cassel, as they raise their bottles of cheap beer and different meat-on-sticks. She waves them off with a playful roll of her eyes and takes the offered bottle and sits down, telling them of her lackluster date and how she would never trust them to set her up again. While her friends, who by the looks of it, had been here for a while now were busy rambling about everything, she swirled her bottle, nodding away like earlier while she half-listened, finding the other people coming in and out of the busy street against the neon lights more interesting.

10:45pm: She was only on her second bottle, resolved not to get drunk tonight though tomorrow she was still off duty. Not too long after she thought that when she smirked as she received a group text from her co-workers at Visenya Hill Hospital, with the invite to Alchemy, the new themed music pub. Excusing herself from her merry friends promising to come back, she started walking the short distance to Alchemy, weaving in and out of the people on the busy street expertly only to be almost tackled to the ground by no other than Dr. Rhaenys Targaryen and a smirking Dr. Arianne Martell. She laughed and relaxed as she was lead to a private booth with the best view of the band of the night. Ska. She thought as she heard the music. They were treated to cyber-electro-Ska tonight and green Absinthe housed in test tube shooters, Wildfire, as it was infamously named - the former by the two-man band Dunk & Egg, the latter, from no other than her fellow Neurosurgeon, Dr. Jamie Lannister. Despite feigning obliviousness to the doctor's flirting, Sansa was having a great time relaxing to the music and enjoying being with her visibly relaxed and loose-for-a-change friends when she suddenly bolted out the door after hurried excuses.

12:06pm: Sansa ran into the nearest 24-hour store, calming herself by the frozen goods at the back as she recalls seeing her ex, Joffrey Baratheon walk in Alchemy arm-in-arm with Margaery Tyrell. How dare he, she thinks furiously. She shakes her head and thinks instead, how dare she? She calms down as she receives a text from Rhaenys telling her "Oh" and then suggests she find Mya and the others or go home. Unless she wants Jamie to come get her? Or one of them? She sighs and shakes her head as she replies that she's walking back to Smallfolks. She gets the smallest slushie to go, her eyes still puffy with some frustrated tears that came out and paid without issue. The cashier has likely been there too long tonight to care enough to ask how she was.

12:10pm: Halfway she gets a call from her brother Robb asking where she was and if she's seen their sister Arya's posts on instagram. She tells him she'll check with Arya first then call him back. Once she fires up her instagram, it's flooded with Arya with Gendry and Hot Pie, tearing holes in Fleabottom's scene, one ig-story after another-- #NotToday. After calling Arya, promising to get Robb off her back, she calls Robb telling him that they'll both be fine and would call in the morning then ending by guilting him about his own time in King's Landing before the "Age of Jeyne Westerling."

12:23pm: Sansa arrives in Smallfolks only to find out that her friends already left. She finds out that they are in Cobbler's at Cobbler's Square where they asked if she'd follow. She replies with a maybe, not really wanting to take the slightly long trip there but still wanting to go somewhere distracting. Her phone is on fire tonight, she thought when she received another invite but frowned when Harry's name lit up her phone, telling her that he was at The Mockingbird Bar and asked if she'd let him buy drinks for her. She types furiously a "no way in seven hells", knowing that The Mockingbird had a bar and a "boutique hotel" adjacent to it that was a fancy way of saying bordello. Almost giving up the night or stay mingling with the street walkers - anything, she sees a familiar face. Black curls in a man bun, grey eyes behind metal frames, was Rhaenys' younger half-brother, Jon Targaryen, now Jon Snow, who everyone called the Crow doctor in the North. He sees her first and shyly smiles at her when he approached, asking why she was alone and if she's hungry.

1:03am: Sansa is on her second bowl - or more precisely, Jon's (she makes them swap after tasting his and he lets her easily while ordering another bowl of the same for him - he doesn't like the Sea Men Seafood Surprise she ordered) of Crazy Chasu Pork ramen in Weird Essos Noodle House, situated in a corner of Eel Street. Jon laughs as Sansa still manages to daintily slurp but she somehow feels comfortable with him as she listens (this time with actual interest) about how he had his own disastrous evening. Sansa teases him about changing his name and he said it was appropriate as he did self-exile himself to one of the veterans hospital at the Wall, far far from King's Landing. They talk about how she's adjusting to being on her first year as a full fledged surgeon in Visenya Hill, as well as how he was also still struggling but happy in Eastwatch-by-the-sea as one of their Trauma Surgeons. She asks him why he never talked to her when he used to visit Robb. He tells her, flushing while rubbing the back of his neck, that he never got the impression that she wanted him to talk to her. And they lapse in a tense silence, finishing their food and avoiding glances.

2:15am: While they both were waiting for their own Uber, Sansa, suddenly confessed that she thought he didn't want to talk to her. "What?" Jon blurts out incredulously, blushing curiously and then Sansa remembers that she was a bit of a prissy brat back in the days, before her brother Bran's accident and thinks that maybe this miscommunication was more her fault. Feeling bad she asks him if he wants to go to The Hook to dance their unfortunate night away. After saying that he actually was more of a Fleabottom hidden pub guy, he agrees to come happily anyway and both cancel their rides to book a new shared one. And to Sansa's surprise as they dance goofily away, she starts to think that Jon was starting to look cute but shrugs it off, thinking, it's only because he's the single most genuinely nice guy of the night.

4:35am: They decided to share an Uber to Street of Steel to get to Recovery the 24-hour breakfast place for night owls with hopes to refuel from their awkward yet fun dancing - with mostly Sansa drawing out Jon from his shy shell and Jon, despite being out of his element, letting her get away with everything. On the ride to greasy eggs and bacon, Jon notices Sansa growing silent. He points it out and she just smiles at him brightly in answer, showing him that she's happy with the way the night turned out despite the lousy date and the lousier run-in with her bastard ex. She doesn't notice Jon trying to hide his blush and looking at her weirdly as she turned to look back out the windows. They finish their breakfast in comfortable silence. And for the first time this night-no-morning, she was sad that it was drawing to an end. So before they left, Sansa was surprised when Jon said, "If only it wasn't cold. It might be nice to walk around the Blackwater Rush." Sansa looked down where they can faintly see the bay from where they are and looked at it longingly. It would be nice to walk there. Nicer if she was with Jon. She remembered that night at the Regency in Casterly when she and Jon watched the docks to the Sunset sea and wonders if he remembers. That night meant so much to her and she felt bad that she never followed up with Jon. But he didn't either so maybe he was just being his usual nice Jon self. She also didn't know that as she was looking at the bay, Jon was looking at her instead.

5:15am: Jon walks Sansa to her apartment despite her protests. Once at her door, they stare down the floor awkwardly. Sansa braves looking up and grinning at him and tells him sheepishly "We should've just tried to talk before. Forgive me for being a priss back then." Jon grins back and it's the first time she sees that rare smile trained on her, all crinkly and lopsided and warm. "There's nothing to forgive. I was a judgmental coward too," he replied with a shrug. She beams and blushes. "Crazy night right?" Jon laughs and shakes his head, his hand finding its way to his neck again. "It was certainly interesting." They laugh for a moment, share a look before being interrupted by the alarm she forgot she set up blaring from inside her apartment. She huffed a sigh before apologizing. Jon shakes his head and motions for her to go inside, saying he should probably go as he was going back to Eastwatch in a few hours. "I'm glad I ran into you" she gives him an awkward hug after they couldn't figure out if they shook hands or kissed cheeks or something before settling. "Me too." Sansa opens her door before looking back and calls out to Jon. Jon stops walking and looks back at her. She doesn't really know what to say but she wants to say something. So she settles for "Take care of yourself there Jon." Jon looks like he wants to say something more but decides the same with Sansa. "You too, Sansa. Be safe." They part happy, knowing that their night could not have gone the way it had if they didn't run into each other. But then come the next day, Sansa and Jon went back to their respective work, going through surgeries and patients and then some, the night becoming just another memory - fond as it was - as life went on.

It would be three years later when they would meet again by chance and once more on another eventful night but this time, on Jon's territory where they, like this night, explore more than the harsh beauty of their new city at the North, but more importantly, each other.

#repost #jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #doctors au #modern au #vignette #because i'm too sad to work #doctor on leave

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throughtheglassdarkly · 6 years

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Missing Pieces, part 1

“Maybe this isn’t home, nor ever was – maybe home is where I have to go tonight. Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark.” – Stephen King, It

Welcome back to our misadventures. The last time you were here, we’d finally escaped Arcadia and found ourselves disoriented and confused. Evain, another changeling, was welcoming us to the Greater Freehold of Upstate New York. And so that’s where we’ll begin.

Evain figured we were pretty out of it, which we were – getting through the Hedge was disorienting as hell. But, he told us, we were at least safe-ish and he recommended that we come back to his place. We didn’t have any real other option, so we took him up on it. We ended up sneaking out of the orchard and through a back road, avoiding the families and young kids who were crawling everywhere. As I was looking around, I suddenly realized where we were: Altamont Orchards in Altamont, New York, about thirty minutes from Albany. I’d gone there a few times to pick apples and try to figure out the spice mix they tossed their cinnamon donuts in.

Given that we looked like refugees from a crappy Ren Faire (to say nothing of how inhuman we looked), we crept our way through as quietly as we could, eventually getting to Evain’s SUV. Bella tried her best sad puppy dog eyes, but Day wasn’t going to let her sit on his lap. Pam, Bella and I shared the middle seat, with Yova riding shotgun and Day in back by himself. Pam was pretty wrecked and nodded off almost as soon as we got on the road. The rest of us introduced ourselves. Evain seemed to be handling us with kid’s gloves, not really pushing conversation on us as we drove into Albany. One thing I did want to know was what year it was; I was thinking back on how Adrian and Cassi had been in the Hedge for years and years. I knew we couldn’t have been gone as long as them, but I was still a little stunned when Adrian told us it was October 2017: two and a half years after we’d been taken.

We got to Evain’s duplex and he let us inside, explaining that he lived on the second floor and had a friend renting the first floor. His apartment was pretty bare aside from the essentials and he got us some snacks. Pam decided to lie down for a bit, but the rest of us were pretty hungry and started noshing. When we sat down, I thanked Evain for letting us crash at his place. “Hey, I’m just glad you guys let me get close,” he said. “We’d seen you at a few places, but every time someone would get close to you, one of you would scream and run away. This is the first time in a week someone’s been able to talk to you.” We all stopped eating and talking and just looked at each other. None of us remembered any part of that, and it definitely didn’t seem like we’d been escaping through the Hedge for a week.

Yova and Day polished off the better part of a bottle of rotgut vodka while Evain tried to get some formalities out of the way. He told us about the freehold and how most of the upstate New York region was contained in it. “But even though it’s big, it’s still easy to get around because of the Hedge and portals.” We also learned about the seasonal courts: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, each headed by a changeling or changelings who would lead the court three months out of the year. Since it was October, Autumn was currently in charge. He hinted that it was in our interest to join one of the courts, if for nothing other than protection and being a part of the freehold community.

He asked us about who we were before we were taken and we each gave him our elevator pitch. He was taking notes and said he’d pass that along to the courts so they’d have an idea of where we might fit in and how we might make use of some of our skills. He also told us that if we wanted to reclaim our lives and take out our Fetches – assuming we all had one – there were people who could help us out with that. Bella was looking really unsure about this and asked how we could take our lives back when we looked the way we did. It was something that, weirdly enough, hadn’t even occurred to me until that moment: with the possible exception of Pam, we all looked inhuman – nothing like we did before. Evain told us not to worry, that there was some supernatural magic that kept normal humans from seeing what changelings look like. “I guarantee, you’ve walked right past a changeling before you were taken and you never knew,” he said.

Around this time, we’d polished off most of the chips and crackers he’d set out and he offered to go get us some Chinese takeout and some clothes that looked better than the makeshift stuff we had on. I asked if it was possible for him to pick up some stuff that I could use to make cookies. It had been way too long since I was in a full working kitchen with ingredients that weren’t goblin fruit and I was champing at the bit to bake something again. Yova asked for some more vodka. “Well, that goes without saying,” Evain said. I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed really tense around Day before he made his way out the door. “Friend of yours?” Yova asked. “Or someone you arrested?” Bella asked. “Nah, I’d remember his face,” Day said. “Well…” I started and Day sat up straight, eyes wide. “Oh, wait… maybe I wouldn’t remember his face,” he said.

As fascinating as thinking about Day’s long record of manhandling criminals was, it was around this time that Yova started looking uncomfortable. She reached up and detached her collar, saying something was moving in there. She looked inside and her eyes went wide. And that’s when I saw a telltale blue head pop up and smile. “Paisley? Darling, I’ve never been more glad to see anyone, but – what are you doing here?” Yova asked. Paisley climbed out of her hiding spot and I saw a piece of paper tied to her tail. My heart sank and I said, “Oh, no. No, he didn’t. He didn’t.” Paisley climbed over onto my shoulder and I untied the paper from her tail. My hands were shaking, but I opened it up and read it. The paper read “D: So I’m not really apart from you. -A.”

I can’t even explain what I felt, reading those words. A swell of emotion, bubbling up through me. Anger at Adrian for sending Paisley away when I knew how important she was to him being able to see and experience the world. A hot flushed mixture of desire and pleasure that he’d thought to do it. Worry for what it meant for him. And regret – regret again that I couldn’t save him and Cassi from their contract and that he was stuck in Arcadia, serving an Amberleigh who was completely unpredictable. “Why… why would he do this?” was all I could get out. Paisley flitted up and booped her nose against my own. That got a smile out of me and I scratched her under the chin. I can’t explain it, but looking into her eyes, thinking there was a chance he might be seeing me… it made me feel a little better. I’m not the sort of guy who ever had a lot of luck in relationships and Adrian making a gesture like this – as stupid and over-the-top as it was – it let me know he cared about me as much as I cared about him.

And then Yova had to say, “You know, Derek. Those are his eyes. That could lead to some opportunities…” “FLASHING HIM!” Bella piped up. And I began to think about what the statute of limitations would be for murdering two people who technically don’t exist any more. But doing that so soon after we got back wouldn’t be polite, so instead I looked over at Yova and said, “You know what this means. I get to pet Paisley whenever I want.” I might as well have stuck a knife in her and twisted it.

About an hour passed, during which point we learned that the two years we were gone were not an entirely bad time to be away from what was happening in America, and Evain came back in carrying some huge bags of clothes and a plastic bag of greasy takeout. Yova met him at the door wild-eyed and shrieked, “HOWISTRUMPPRESIDENTHOWHOWHOWHOW” and, to his credit, Evain didn’t even blink, just responding, “Because the world fucking sucks.” Truer words were rarely spoken.

Evain put the bags of clothes down on the floor and the takeout on the tiny dining table and told us that he’d heard back from the seasonal rulers, who’d asked us to meet them for dinner at 7:30. It was only about 2:00 by the time he got back, so we had plenty of time to eat, get changed, and even go out for a bit if we wanted. Bella and I started looking through some of the clothes – he’d grabbed about everything at the Goodwill that looked like it might be in our sizes – while Yova said she wanted to check the library and do some searching about what happened to her. Day said that he thought he might look into some things as well and that was when Evain started laughing – and not a pleasant laugh either.

Day looked over and very darkly asked Evain what was so funny. “Oh, my friend,” Evain said. “You’re not going to have to look hard at all. You made headlines.” Day looked like he wanted to choke Evain out and asked what the hell he was talking about. With no small amount of glee, Evain told Day that after he disappeared, the police started looking into things to see if maybe somebody took out a hit on him as retribution for an arrest. That’s when they realized everything Day had been up to and all the times he’d planted evidence or blurred some lines to get a bad guy. That’s when Day’s Fetch showed up, immediately realized how much trouble he was in, and went underground. Nobody’d seen hide nor hair of his Fetch since then.

Day started breathing heavily, looking like he was going to reach over and rip Evain’s face off, and Yova quickly popped up, escorting him outside. Evain was still snickering to himself and I was about to speak up when, much to my surprise, Bella let him have it with both barrels, telling him that he was out of line and didn’t have to tell Day the way he did. “Yeah, he can be an asshole, but you don’t have to be mean about his life going down the tubes!” she said, displaying her usual sense of restraint and decorum. “Sweetheart, you don’t understand the context here,” Evain said, without going into any more detail. He did seem to at least feel a little bit of remorse, because he toned down the snickering and told her he’d try to keep it to himself.

Outside, Yova was trying to comfort Day and tell him things were going to be okay. “No, he’s right. I’m not a nice guy,” Day said, head in hands. Yova wasn’t sure how to respond to that and asked as gently as she could if there were a lot of things the investigators might have found. Day admitted it would have been Internal Investigations’ wet dream. Yova took a deep breath and told him that even though things might be bleak, this was actually going to give him a clean slate: they’d be looking for his Fetch, not for who Day was now. “You have a chance to start over and I know people who would kill for a chance like that. I’d think on that,” she said. She also reminded him he had the potential to be better and that he shouldn’t squander it. Day sat there for a minute, not saying anything, before he pushed himself up and said he needed to take a walk.

Yova came back inside, glaring daggers at Evain, and said she was going to take the bus to the library. Evain offered to drive her and Yova turned full ice princess mode on him. She at least accepted a few bucks from him for bus fare and left, slamming the door behind her and leaving me, Bella, and Evain sitting in very awkward silence. “Well,” I said, getting up. “I think I’m gonna make some cookies.”

I found later Day took a long walk and found a park to sit and think for a while. He was about as shaken as he’d ever been, thinking back on how many of the convictions he’d worked so hard to get were probably getting overturned on what the internal investigators had found. He was thinking about how things weren’t ever going to be the same and how he put in all that work for nothing.

Back at the apartment, I made a triple batch of my signature molasses cookies (which are awesome as hell, thank you kindly), Evain grabbed a pipe and went out on the porch for a smoke, and Bella rage-sketched.

Yova got a bus to the library and got a pass to use one of the computers. She Googled herself and found almost nothing after her abduction. She of course found everything about herself before that, but after her abduction, it was like she dropped off the face of the earth. She tried checking her personal website, but it was out of commission. Her Gmail account still worked, so she sent out a few messages to some contacts. On her way out, however, she spotted an ancient Missing Persons poster that looked vaguely familiar. When she got closer, she realized it was Cassi at about age 12. She took the poster and folded it up, breathing very slowly.

We were mostly left to our own devices, with Evain leaving us alone until it was time to go meet the monarchs. He opened one of his closet doors and we saw a giant mirror inside. We got Pam up and she seemed more herself after getting some rest. We all joined hands and Evain grabbed a razor blade, cutting his arm and smearing some of the blood on the mirror. We all could feel something in the air shift. He stepped through the mirror and we all got pulled through with him. It felt weirdly normal as we passed through, emerging in a large coat closet. A very severe-looking woman with gray skin and blonde hair was staring at us. Evain seemed to be playing up a bow to her, but she just rolled her eyes and told us the monarchs were waiting.

We got led through a kitchen and into a dining room. It seemed like we were in a B&B somewhere, a weirdly calm, comforting environment. There were a group of changelings sitting and standing in the room and it was set with dinner. We were introduced to Cahir, King of the Summer Court; Mistress Lilly, Queen of the Spring Court; The Dagda, Speaker of the Autumn Council; and Kassandra Winterdale, ruler of the Winter Court. They had a big spread of food that looked almost like Thanksgiving dinner: a big turkey (which made me kind of ill to think about) and a lot of side dishes. I tried to put my plate of cookies on the table as unobtrusively as possible. The Dagda, however, made a beeline for them, asking, “Are those cookies?!” I stammered out a yes, and he picked them up and smelled them deeply, then said, “Oh, man, he’s my favorite. Kassandra, you have to smell this!” Kassandra was about as icy as her name, telling him there would be time for dessert later. I think she might be allergic to joy, but that’s just me.

Mistress Lilly was interested in making sure we were feeling welcome, telling us that they all wanted to make sure we were comfortable and got to eat. I couldn’t really handle the roast turkey, but everything else was delicious. Yova started chatting up the rulers, schmoozing with all of them and trying to network. Kassandra may have given a slight smile, and both The Dagda and Cahir were very taken with Yova. We learned the basics about the Courts and the benefits of joining a Court. We were strongly encouraged to think about where we would be the happiest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, as friendly as the rulers were all being, they were extremely interested in as many of us joining their specific courts as possible and were willing to undercut each other to make that happen.

As dinner wound down, Yova started looking around anxiously. I was sitting next to her and low-key asked what was going on. She admitted that now that she was back, she was jonesing something fierce to play a piano. “Dude, we’re in a B&B. There’s going to be a piano in the parlor,” I said. Her eyes widened and she got up and bolted from the room. Before anybody knew what was going on, we started hearing the entirety of “Rhapsody in Blue,” much to Mistress Lilly’s delight.

Some of us took the opportunity to speak with the rulers more one-on-one about what their courts might offer. Day asked if anyone was looking for muscle or investigation and Cahir told him Summer was always looking for additional brawn. Bella mentioned that she used to be a geologist and that started something of a bidding war between The Dagda and Kassandra. The Dagda said, “She’s an academic! She’s ours!” “You don’t have a monopoly on intelligence,” Kassandra said frostily, turning to Bella. She was about as warm as I saw her (which even then is to say, not very), telling Bella that there were very few Helldivers in the freehold and that Winter had significant need of someone with her specializations.

As for me, I had been listening closely and thinking about what pitches each of the rulers made for their courts. Mistress Lilly seemed lovely, but a bit on the flighty side and I wasn’t sure Spring would be a good choice given how awkward I can be. Cahir was definitely all about macho supremacy (one of the women hanging off of him was giving Yova a dirty look when Yova was talking to him – I desperately wanted to “Oh, honey” her but thought it would be a lot more fun to see how that played out) and he seemed most interested in strength and front-line bruisers like Day. Kassandra, as I’ve noted, was just flat-out frosty and was more interested in what any of us could do for Winter than what Winter could do for us.

So that left Autumn. I had a chance to speak one-on-one with The Dagda, who was a pretty jolly guy, and asked him what the Autumn Court was all about. He told me in between eating cookies that Autumn was mostly made up of researchers and academics, always looking into fae magic. That piqued my interest right away, given how I was still trying to figure out how to help Adrian, Cassi, and the others break their pledge to Amberleigh. The Dagda also told me about how Autumn’s primary emotion that it drew on was fear. He assured me that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, how they were more interested in the power of fear and considering how it worked than in causing fear itself. He also said that the woman who we met when we first made it through the mirror into the B&B shouldn’t be considered a typical Autumn courtier; “We’re not all uptight,” he said, chuckling a bit.

While the evening went on, I thought about what I learned from him, and the possibility of pledging myself to a group like the Autumn Court. I’m not much of a researcher or a scholar (hell, I barely managed to get above a 3.0 GPA in undergrad) but the more I thought back on what he was saying, the more I realized that was the place where I could see myself. Ever since I’d changed, I’d been picking up more on the meanings in what people said and how their words committed them to promises or actions. Even if I wasn’t going to be, say, the stereotypical bookworm Autumn courtier, something about it felt natural, like it was the right place for me to be even if I didn’t fully understand why yet.

And besides that, my birthday’s in November. Autumn totally is the best time of year.

After a few hours of dinner, conversation, and Yova oh-so-nonchalantly serenading us with the entire Gershwin library, the evening came to an end. The Dagda offered to let us stay in the B&B – turns out, it was owned by the Autumn Court and he offered each of us a room until we got our feet under us. (Also, given how badly Evain pissed each of us off with the way he treated Day, it was a little bit of an unspoken relief for all of us – and him – that we didn’t have to stay at his place) Before she left, Kassandra took an extra minute to talk with Bella about how her talents would benefit the Winter Court. After she left, Yova and I took a little time to tease Bella about how Kassandra was interested in her. “Wait, really?” Bella asked. “Oh, yeah. She totally wants to bump clams with you,” I said.

Sleep came easily for most of us that night, but not for everybody. Pam told me later how she had a dream looking through the eyes of the woman who replaced her. She saw her eldest daughter getting ready for bed and hugging Pam’s Fetch, but that there was something very, very off about the way her daughter hugged her: she almost looked nervous. Day, too, had a hard time settling in. Just before he nodded off, he had a recollection that he might actually remember somebody with Evain’s face after all.

But what kind of storyteller would I be if I didn’t leave you with a bit of a cliffhanger? Next time, you’ll learn a little more about how we found our places in the courts and dealt with the whole… coming back thing. Until then, be chill and try not to make your houseguests all want to murder you.

#Changeling: The Lost #CTL #changeling #recap #ic #no more poultry please

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